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shirophantomvox · 3 years

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Chrollo, Hisoka, and Illumi Headcanons

Chrollo, Hisoka, Illumi, and Leorio headcanons

Hello, anon! I am so sorry for taking longer than usual to respond to this post. I have been so busy with A LOT lately but I have time now! I don’t know if you want N/SFW, romantic or non so I’ll go based on what comes to mind! I know many Tumblr users have made these types of assumptions for them a lot but I wanted to join in. I started writing this last night so forgive me if there are any unbearable grammar errors. I hope you like it anon, I tried my best. I have to work on my headcanons for them because I try to keep them in character. Since we don’t have much background info on ⅔, I have to keep it as realistic as possible. FYI N/SFW content is mentioned.

Discord for Voltron and HxH fans

Let’s start with Chrollo.

Chrollo (SFW)

I’ve seen on here that a lot of you headcanon Chrollo to be an understanding man when it comes to feelings for his significant other. Given his soft voice and calm demeanor, I’m sure that is somewhat true.

It seems like Chrollo isn’t on board with over-the-top PDA meaning he would agree to hand-holding and his arm around you but nothing more. He saves the...other stuff for when you two are alone. Because of Chrollo’s past, it seems like he wouldn’t want to be seen in public that much because that can cause him to get caught by the authorities.

He takes your safety very seriously. You understand that when he is with the Phantom Troupe that you are not to interrupt until the business is over. He doesn’t allow you to get involved with the missions because of how dangerous they can be (example: the auction). He knows you can handle it, he prefers for you not to be involved. Feelings and work can make things difficult.

Although Chrollo hides in the shadows, I imagine he lives in a penthouse with expensive furniture, white and black color pattern, and large windows that have an astonishing view of Yorknew.

After you both have worked long and hard, you open the door just to see the lights dimmed so dark that it matches the night atmosphere. There are rose petals leading to the bathroom where a bubble bath is waiting. As you enter the bathroom, your boyfriend is waiting there, submerged in bubbles sticking his arms out. Candles light up the tiny room casting a romantic shadow from your body. You grab his hand and gently sit in the tub. The warm water felt amazing; it helped your aching muscles (from exercising) feel better. Chrollo gently grabbed your arm and pulled you into a warm, loving embrace. He wrapped his toned arms around your body and rested his chin on your shoulder. He didn’t say a word but instead breathed heavily, kissed your shoulder, and leaned back against the wall. On days like this, he didn’t say much but his actions spoke louder than words.

Chrollo NSFW

I think Chrollo is a passionate lover. This assumption comes from his calm demeanor. He seems to be incredibly patient so if you aren’t positioning yourself the right way or something, he’ll work with you to make sure you get it and you are comfortable.

He is touchy. That means during the nitty-gritty, he likes to touch your face, chin, lips, and your torso as a way to show more affection.

When he is in the mood, he moves slowly then very fast. He cannot resist the urges and feelings he has for you.

He loves to do this while the drapes are open although you have expressed that you like your privacy. It’s ironic. He doesn’t like extreme PDA but is ok with sleeping with you while the lights from the city shine near your penthouse window. Ah, guys are confusing.

After the climax, he lays flat on the bed and pulls you close. He leaves about an inch in between because heat is still radiating off your bodies and it’s summertime.

Hisoka (SFW) If his significant other was shy.

People have mixed feelings about Hisoka, feelings, and whether or not if he is gentle or not. I don’t think that Hisoka is gentle but begins to lay off the harsh jokes or pranks as he sees that you both have fought before and you’re not as weak as he thought.

Unlike Chrollo, he is all for PDA. This ranges from hand holding to playful kisses to passionate kisses. When I saw Hisoka for the first time, I immediately thought he was a fuck boy. A fuck boy is a boy that is only interested in sleeping with someone and doesn’t intend on pursuing a relationship.

He’d take the pleasure of appreciating your presence as well as testing your patience. If you are shy and are easily flustered, he will change that. He’ll do things like kissing you, calling you affectionate names, or anything that will cause you to respond. You hit him jokingly. Still not getting the message, he continues and you hit him harder. This is where he releases a medium moan which causes everyone to look in your direction. You freeze; face flushed and he’s laughing his ass off.

“What’s the matter,” he asks, covering his mouth. “You look flushed~♥.”

“You’re doing too much. Stop playing around! People are staring~💯.” You cover the side of your face. True enough you were a little mortified but in a good way. You knew he did this because he liked you but sometimes he played too much.

This is when he pulls you closer to his face, your ear next to his mouth, and whispers something in your ear that sent chills down your spine that made you blush more than before. He nearly puckered his lips as he spoke. He took his index finger and thumb to caress your cheek.

“Raising your voice at me? That simply won’t do. Aren’t you aware of the consequences~♥?”

You knew better than to not say anything because he would cup your cheeks and pull you into a deep kiss, and wouldn’t let go until he was sure that everyone was looking.

Both of you enjoy red, white, and rose wine. To him, wine equals classiness and sophistication. After fighting each other for hours (which he considers training for you and exercise for him) drinking wine and watching Lifetime (television for idiots) is a great way to end the night.

NSFW

As stated above, I originally thought that Hisoka was a fuck boy, so I am going to roll with that thought. This man has the potential of being rough and if he is too rough this is the time where you can speak up and say so. He’ll listen to you. Similar to Chrollo, he can be very romantic if he wants to. The rose petals gimmick was played out.

Instead, he hides in the darkest part of the living room waiting for you.

You turn on the lights and immediately head to the kitchen to drink a bottle of ice-cold water. Summer nights in Yorknew were hot and humid, almost unbearable. It felt like you were being suffocated. Becoming impatient, Hisoka clears his throat loudly causing you to nearly jump out of your skin; choking on the water you were drinking. He released a sexy chuckle. When you turned around, there stood your chiseled buff boyfriend bare with a ribbon tied in various directions around his body. Your birthday was two days ago and he was your gift. Although you have seen him like this before, for some reason you were too flustered to make a move. He already knew that you were tired from work, so he carried you in his arms to the Exercise Room and laid you gently on the floor. You smiled as a rush or passion took over your body resulting in you tearing off the ribbon tightly wrapped around his body. Since this was your birthday gift, he made it a night you’d remember forever! Surprisingly, no roughhousing, just soft and gentle. This proves that Hisoka has the capability of being humane. His strokes were to your liking and the gazes that you both exchanged were mind-blowing. Why couldn’t he be this way all the time? After it all, you fell asleep at her quickly. You were on the floor but now on top of your king-sized bed, with the message control on high. He stayed awake, watching TV, and thought about how he was going to pick a fight with you at the crack of dawn.

Hisoka’s ability to flirt and send the intended person swooning is a talent of itself. Lots of people do not possess this talent. Sometimes it's intentional and sometimes it's not. He speaks softly and smoothly, are he has to do is ask and it shall be done.

Illumi SFW

Illumi gives the impression that he is a “quiet” freak. This means that true enough he is focused on his job but if the moment comes along he will give in. He isn’t into PDA at all and if he does feel like showing some affection it will be done in private. Even though he appears to be a zombie, laying on or even cuddling with his significant other will help him relax for once. Imagine having to complete many missions in a day, exhausted, and have a wonderful person waiting to act as a human pillow for your weary head. Even Illumi can’t resist that.

If he likes you and plans to marry you, he will make that known to everyone to avoid confusion. Illumi represents the stereotypical shy boy; he is anti-social, prefers to only be around people he knows and trusts, and carries out the duties of his job.

After everything has been completed for the day, he wouldn’t mind ( and secretly begs) for silent cuddles with his significant other and to just fall asleep. At this point, you are used to it so this is all you want and you are satisfied. When he does talk, it’s usually about something he found out from work that he knows should be kept quiet but he tells you anyway. Late nights are the time of day where Illumi vents for a few hours. The details of these vent sessions could range anywhere from “I wish you were there to see it” to “No, it would be too much”. As quiet and reserve as he is, his love is shown in a unique way that you have grown accustomed to.

NSFW

When the urge slaps him across the face like a sack of rocks, he cannot resist. Usually, he fights off the urge by exercising (mainly because you are out of the house or sleep) but this time he couldn’t shake it.

Before he gets started with anything, he styles his long hair in the shape of a bun so it doesn’t get in the way of action.

Although he is portrayed to be an emotionless zombie, he has some feeling deep inside him that he unleashes just for you. This is shown by gentle moist kisses being placed along your neck and once he reaches your shoulder that is when you wake up. Halfway through your sleepy eyes, you see a man with a devilish smile painted across his face. Who is this man? This couldn’t be your boyfriend. No way, no how.

Once he sees your sleepy smile, he just releases so many kisses that you throw the blanket off and he pulls you in closer.

Illumi will allow you both to switch the roles meaning he is in charge one time and you are on another day. Since you were still asleep, he decided to take on the role. He is surprisingly gentle in the beginning but as soon as it takes off, your ride him like a donkey. It ironic; he releases more noises than you! You have to remind him that noise travels! Great, you’re doing your job well! While it is important to take your job seriously, you need to have time to release that stress.

He uses his large eyes to stare into yours; you always found yourself lost in his gaze.

After it all, you lay back down waiting for your boyfriend to return from the kitchen. Illumi craves food like crazy after a good session. What’s better than donuts at 3 AM? COMFORT FOOD!!

These urges also come when you two are training together. Several times he’s had to guide you from behind on how to aim his needles. This time you noticed the packing of his pants which surprised you.

“Any questions,” he asked in a monotone voice.

“Yes. Why did you wear jogging pants? You’re giving yourself away.”

It was at this moment, he knew he fucked up. But let’s be honest, ok? He is standing behind the most beautiful person in the world, nostrils full of perfume, hair tied up, and has his left hand placed loosely on your thigh?! What was he thinking by wearing jogging pants when he was with you? He acted as if he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“You really don’t know?”

You kicked your backside out against him causing him to fall to the ground.

“Wow! Your legs are like jelly!”

“Why tease me,” He asked breaking out a small smile.

“You’re the one denying it.”

“Just get to it. I can’t wait any longer or else I’ll explode.”

The quiet ones are always the freakiest.

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drxwsyni · 4 years

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Yandere Eraserhead with an S/O that has a Cat quirk (Neko girl basically) but like he’s possessive and everything but she is super chill and go with the flow with life like the cat she is.

Mm yes cat quirks are my weakness, thank you for the request! This was gonna be just a headcanon thing but i couldn’t help myself, so here’s a oneshot! (oh god how do i always write more than i mean to)

_____

Yandere Aizawa/Eraserhead x f!Reader

(3435 words) ︱ title: Complaisant

It’s only natural that when people see a cute little animal they want to pet it. So when those around you, even strangers sometimes, approached you to pet the soft, fluffy cat ears atop your head so often, it became clear that it was easier to let them rather than fight it.

It was a recurring event that you were all too familiar with growing up. Almost absentmindedly, your friends and family would gently stroke the irresistible fur as they spoke. One would think that’d be irritating, but a side effect of your quirk, which you still hadn’t decided if it was unfortunate or not, was that the feeling of being on the receiving end of this affection left you in a relaxed, purr induced state―similar to an actual cat.

Slowly, you realized these experiences weren’t all too bad.

You resolved that putting up a fight was useless, as doing so never seemed to deter people from getting their way anyways.

Without you even realizing it, other traits of furry little felines had bled into your personality. You were quieter than most, and never shied away from affection. One thing your friends liked to tease you about was how easy it was to read your emotions. While your facial features didn’t give them away, the thumping of your soft tail when you were angry, or how it tucked in between your legs when you were frightened did. Other times your ears would fold back against your head when you were sad, or perk up when you paid attention to whatever had caught your eye.

Little adaptations like this were all too normal nowadays. Especially today, as you literally embodied that of a stray cat, having taken up residence on the rooftop of a random building.

It was nighttime, and you had originally come up here to stargaze. But the heavy sensation of your eyelids and the growing fatigue was becoming all too alluring towards a harmless cat nap. Curling up into a ball, you figured a bit of shut eye wouldn’t hurt for a few minutes. You drifted asleep, a welcoming sensation that you could never resist.

_____

Now, you were certain that before you fell asleep there were no other people on the rooftop, so how you ended up covered in a black jacket when you woke up was beyond you.

At least it was, until coming to your senses you made out a man leaning against the rooftop entrance to your right, arms crossed and eyes closed. He was wearing some sort of scarf, with yellow goggles hanging loose from his neck. Looking further up, you saw he had long black hair and a scar under his right eye.

He must’ve sensed your awoken state somehow, opening his eyes and lazily uncrossing his arms, instead shoving them in his pockets as he pushed away from the wall behind him.

“It’s about time you woke up. The hell were you thinking, falling asleep up here alone?” He tiredly sauntered over to where you were still stationed, now sitting up with what you presume to be his jacket falling slightly off your shoulders.

He didn’t let you respond. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” The man outstretched a hand towards you before continuing. “C’mon, it’s too cold to stay out here and I need my jacket back. I’ll walk you home.”

It hadn’t been in your nature for a long time to argue with people. This situation was no different, the man seeming to be trustworthy enough after guarding your sleeping form for who knows how long.

You took his hand and were pulled swiftly to your feet before feeling him readjust the jacket onto your shoulders. He headed towards the rooftop entrance without looking back, assuming you’d follow suit.

Once on the street he let you lead the way, your tail swaying gently as you moved. For the most part the journey home was in silence. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat, and you spoke up.

“You a pro hero or something? Or do you just like watching people sleep?” Normally you weren’t this bold, but the situation was fitting for it you figured.

The man let out a huff. “Yes to the first question, but I also have a habit of taking in strays. Explains how I came across you.”

The two of you were nearing your destination, that being your old, run down apartment complex.

“I’m obligated to warn you not to repeat such reckless behaviour, but I get the feeling that won’t stop you.” You stopped outside the front entrance, turning to face him as he spoke.

“I appreciate the concern, thanks for walking me home.” You offered a slight smile as condolence as you returned the jacket, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him either.

He audibly sighed before responding. “Well, looks like I’ll just have to patrol the rooftops a little more often.” The man walked past you, continuing in the same direction past your apartment, giving a quiet “Stay safe,” before walking off into the night.

_____

Of course you resumed the apparently reckless behaviour, not being able to resist the calm of night in such a secluded place. So when you once again awoke to the same jacket draped over your form the next time, it didn’t come as a surprise.

If anything, the occurrence almost became a routine between the two of you. A few nights a week you’d return to the same rooftop, basking in the moonlight before dozing off, knowing you had a hero keeping you safe.

The walks back to your apartment were mostly quiet, neither of you speaking up until you’d almost arrived at your place. However, slowly a comfortableness settled, and you learned a few things about the mystery hero.

He called himself Eraserhead, his real name being Shouta Aizawa. He was a teacher during the day and hero at night. Generally speaking he was a quiet and collected man, but after gaining these details you decided to do a little research on your own. You’d found that he definitely didn’t let on to how strong he was. You saw clips of him expertly utilizing the capture weapon around his neck, mind you these videos were quite hard to come by, which you noted was likely because he seemed to prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Aside from that he was just the kind civil servant who watched your back, although you figured there were more important things the erasure hero could be doing with his time.

Regardless, you looked forward to the walks home with Shouta, and unbeknownst to you, it was always the highlight of the man’s night.

He’d never admit to it, at least not yet, but he’d grown quite attached to you, and thus was getting more and more invested in your wellbeing. Why you chose to put yourself in such precarious situations was beyond him, but he’d be damned if he let anything happen to you while you did.

So, every night he’d watch over the usual place you’d go to rest at the time you’d normally arrive, always from a distance, whether you showed up or not. If you did, he’d wait until you fell asleep before making his way over to the rooftop, routinely offering up his jacket.

Now, he’d be lying if he said having to resist the urge to run a hand over your velvety cat ears was almost painful. For the longest time he’d left well enough alone, fearing you’d wake up and be mortified.

But tonight, seeing you curled up in a little ball, ears twitching ever so slightly while you slept seemed to spark something uncontrollable in him.

Shouta resolved to sit down next to you, taking his chances and petting down the fur atop your head. Much to his surprise, and gratitude, a deep purring quietly resonated in your chest. More importantly, the sensation didn’t cause you to wake up. It was so easy to get lost in the action, being soothing for the both of you.

So naturally he did get lost in it, mind drifting off into thought while he continued to unconsciously caress your ears.

Before he knew it almost an hour had passed and he was still repeating the same action. Except now you were very much awake, unbeknownst to him, pretending to sleep while enjoying the affection. However, you knew he had hero duties to attend to, and thus it wasn’t fair to keep him longer than necessary.

“Y’know if you wanted to pet them that badly you could’ve just asked.”

He froze upon hearing you speak, but you only found it humorous. “It’s fine, really. Everyone ends up doing it sooner later and it’s not like I care so…” At this point you were sitting up, looking at the man waiting for a response.

You let anyone do that to you? Yeah, no… that’s not gonna fly.

Shouta lazily stood up, once again offering a hand for you to do the same. “It’s late, let’s get going.”

Like clockwork you took his hand, letting him pull you up from the floor of the rooftop.

Except this time he didn’t let go, dragging you behind him towards the rooftop entrance. And you made no objections, compliance was something you’d just grown used to. After all, there was no need to fight him. He’d only proven to be trustworthy, a subtle comfort in your life that was all too constant nowadays.

By now he had memorized the walk to your apartment, so you let him lead the way, opting to mindlessly observe the passing surroundings.

Before you knew it he’d stopped outside the complex, releasing his hold that had gradually become tighter as he had to pull you along.

“I know I’ve said this before, but your habits are dangerous.” You removed his jacket as he spoke, silently handing it off to him.

“It’s not dangerous if you’re keeping me safe.”

Shouta, like always, appeared to be tired with your careless response. Running a hand through his long, messy locks, he continued. “I can’t always be there to watch over you, not like this.”

He seemed uneasy at the prospect of leaving your safety up to chance. In an attempt to console him, you gave a small, warm smile. “Whatever happens, happens Shouta. If something or someone gets to me then it wouldn’t be your fault. That’s just how life works.”

You started in the direction of the front entrance doors before he had a chance to respond, turning back and waving goodbye before stepping inside.

_____

It’d seem what you said to the erasure hero that night didn’t sit well with him.

Since then he didn’t talk much on the way home, not that he ever really did in the first place. Now however, the few questions he did ask were… personal.

He’d ask about your family life, any close relationships, just things that only you would know―personal opinions. A few times you could tell he didn’t like your answers, the grip on your hand getting just a bit tighter.

However, like always you shrugged these things off. It was easier that way. You’d get to continue enjoying the company of the moonlight for a bit, and sometimes you’d wake up relaxed as Shouta occupied himself with running a hand over the top of your head.

Generally speaking, it was nice. Neither of you found it awkward in the slightest. So, you figured, the oddly intimate interrogations on the way home now and then were worth it.

He’d grown attached to the routine just as much as you. Therefore, naturally he was irked when you showed up late one night to your stargazing session.

By now he resolved to wait for you there, sitting in your usual spot with his jacket ready to serve as a makeshift blanket. The two of you would never talk until you’d woken up, but the delay in the unspoken schedule made him curious.

“Care to tell me what was keeping you?” Shouta was always blunt with his questions, something you didn’t really mind. Mostly it just caught you off guard.

“Nosy neighbour business. Kept trying to tell me they saw someone come out of my apartment from the balcony when I wasn’t there. Frankly, I always thought they were a bit strange so this doesn’t really come as a surprise.”

So much for going unnoticed.

You sat down, or rather laid down next to him. In an act of boldness you propped you head up on his thigh, using it as a pillow and got comfortable.

Shouta sighed at the development, acting like you were a nuisance when really he was living for your affection. “And you’re just going to ignore it? What if they were right and someone did break in?” He covered you with his jacket before placing a hand atop your head, gently petting the fur.

You shrugged in response. “It’s whatever I guess. Didn’t see anything out of place so what’s the big deal, right?”

The erasure hero didn’t respond to that, letting you continue with your absentminded ramble.

“What I should be worried about is this guy who won’t quit bothering me at work. Thinks I love him cause I offered to grab coffee for him on my lunch break once like a month ago.”

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you, the thought of some grimy old nobody coming onto you striking a nerve. “Need any help with that problem?”

You yawned audibly, stretching a bit before curling up. “Not really. It’s a bit tiresome but it’s what I’ve got to deal with. Thanks though.”

Shouta could tell that you didn’t have the energy for discussion right now, as you didn’t even bother to watch the stars above shine for a while like you did every other time you met up with him. So he let you drift asleep, head resting in his lap, concluding he’d have to make peace with his desires one way or another before this new threat could give you any real trouble.

_____

In truth, the erasure hero suspected that whatever he had in mind to deal with your reckless behaviour might not please you. And if you were initially upset, he was in too deep now to care.

It took longer than he hoped for, but his home was finally fit to bring back another stray.

The decision was drastic, that he was well aware of.

Were there better ways to help you handle the everyday uncertainties of life? Yes. Would these ways leave you with little to no situational whiplash that may or may not severely affect the way you saw him? Also yes.

But he knew if he didn’t do something soon, people would take advantage of your irresponsibility one day. The thought of him not being there to protect you in these circumstances was more than enough to outweigh the question of his morals. So, he finished up with preparations and drove to your apartment complex.

_____

You noted regrettably how you weren’t able to visit Shouta tonight. It had been a little over three months since your first encounter with the hero, and by now you were closer to him than most people in your life.

It was late, work had kept you until these ungodly hours and you were more than thankful to finally be stepping through the threshold of your apartment door.

Like most nights like these, you worked through the fatigue to prepare some form of dinner. Tonight it was leftover soup coupled with some stale slices of baguettes, which you popped in the toaster oven in an attempt to improve the overall quality. You washed the meal down with a cup of herbal tea, not that you needed its calming effects to help you fall asleep, the accumulated exhaustion from the workday serving as more than enough assistance in that matter.

Yet as you got ready for bed, it seemed that whatever was in the blend of leaves and flowers ended up being the final nail in your coffin. Almost alarmingly so, you stumbled back to your bedroom, swiftly falling onto your mattress. You couldn’t even be bothered to get under the covers as sleep soon enveloped your body entirely that night.

_____

The rest from that slumber was practically blissful, making it quite the struggle to open your eyes when you drifted awake. The pillowy mattress and ever so soft comforter weighing against your frame threatened to pull you back into unconsciousness.

It almost did, until groggily you identified with the few alert senses you had that oh, this isn’t my bed…or my room for that matter.

You meant to sit up as fast as possible, but doing so proved to be difficult when your head was so nauseously dizzy. Not only that, but the anchoring you felt at the back of your neck kept your weakened state from moving much at all.

With fear bubbling in the pit of your stomach, you moved your hands up to your neck. They were met with a thick leather collar, and upon further inspection it was revealed that there was a thin but sturdy chain protruding from the back of it. You followed it, but it only disappeared beneath the edge of the mattress, sandwiched between that and the headboard of the large bed.

Giving the chain an experimental tug, and then a panicked pull proved that it was not going to budge anytime soon. Staring at it for a few seconds, you pondered how on earth you’d managed to get yourself in this situation. Sure, you were never one to be all that cautious in life, but this was a new low.

However, much to your appreciation for new information, the door to the bedroom swung open.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Recalling to the first night you found yourself under the watch of Shouta, you finally comprehended just what you were doing here.

The erasure hero closed the door before stalking over to the side of the bed. You simply observed him, not knowing how to respond. You weren’t necessarily frightened anymore, seeing him being the one to put you in this predicament. Rather, it was a more complaisant confusion you felt.

“Always the silent type, huh.” Shouta set a glass of water down on the nightstand, looking back to you with arms crossed.

Not knowing what else to do, you returned his gaze.

“You’ve really got nothing to say? Not gonna ask why you’re here, or where here even is for that matter?”

It seemed he knew just as well how odd the events unfolding were. He’d somehow gone and brought you to who knows where, without your consent, even going as far as to chain you to a bed.

You wanted to be mad, you really did. Yet, the only constant in your life was to understand that some things just weren’t in your control. Did that mean this was a healthy display of concern? Maybe not, but you got the message nonetheless.

So you did what you do best, and accepted the outcome of your behaviour.

Shouta had always been kind to you, protecting you at your most vulnerable times. You could trust him, right?

“I get the feeling we both know there’s no need for questions.”

To that the erasure hero silently agreed. “Well if that’s the case then I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve sacrificed a lot of sleep to see that you weren’t robbed almost every night of the week for the past few months.” He passed you the glass of water before taking up the spot next to you in bed, laying back with his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. He was wearing casual clothing, but you could spot his capture weapon resting on the nightstand, of course out of reach to you.

Gingerly, you sipped the water, grateful for alleviation to your dry throat.

“You should know that I had no choice, maybe if you weren’t so irrational things wouldn’t have come to this.”

The remark almost made you laugh, but instead you placed the glass atop the nightstand on your side, only to scoot over to his position, resting your head against his chest.

“Yes it would’ve, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

And just like routine, you felt his hand drift to your head, his other arm moving around your waist pulling you closer.

“Go back to sleep, kitten. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#yandere bnha #yandere eraserhead #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere mha #yandere eraserhead x reader #yandere bnha x reader #yandere shouta aizawa x reader #yandere mha x reader

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booksimp · 3 years

Text

Flame of Autumn - Part One

Midnight at Rita’s

A/N: My first attempt at writing smut! Let me know what you think :) Also, sorry it’s a bit late. This scene took on a mind of it’s own & ended up being wayy longer than originally intended.

I’ve felt his attention on me all night, like a physical touch. Mysterious hazel eyes monitor my every move, from the rotation of my hips to the way I throw my head back in celebration when I laugh. For a while, I pretend not to notice. But he is not the kind of male you ignore. I blame what happens next on a mixture of drinking and dancing, and the encouragement of my friends. Instead of hurriedly looking away and disappearing into the crowd, becoming a wallflower like I usually would, I meet his eyes. The unabashed appreciation there surprises me. That look sends electricity sizzling through my blood, waking my body in a way no one has in a long time. So I decide to dance for him.

A small smirk plays on his full mouth, dark eyes glinting as I run my hands along my body, through my hair, putting on a show meant only for him. He leans back in his booth, the picture of male satisfaction, and raises an eyebrow appreciatively. Keep going. Heat scorches across my skin at that smirk, and I can’t help but picture his lips in wicked places.

His face is elegant, classically handsome in every way. If it weren’t for the tattoos, scars, and diaphanous shadows swirling around him, I’d even say he was pretty. There’s an enthralling lethalness to him that acts like his own gravitational pull, completely captivating me. I always did love a bad boy.

I spin and twirl, the silk of my dress flaring in a halo of midnight blue. I move for him until sweat runs down my bare back, and glistens in the hollow of my throat. And he keeps watching me, until the smirks and wandering eyes have me desperate for more than just his gaze. The rest of the club has melted away, leaving just us.

I look at him from beneath lowered lashes, a question in my eyes. Are you just going to watch all night, or actually dance with me? He’s outright grinning now, his eyes on my exposed thighs. He shrugs, and relaxes further into his seat. Why rush things? I quite like the view from here. I sigh, wrinkling my nose in frustration and flipping my hair over my shoulder. He smirks again, and twirls his finger. Spin for me.

I do just that, the pleasure of following his direction like honey in my veins. I don’t even know this male, and yet I can’t help but do what he wishes. He’s the kind of otherworldly gorgeous that's utterly unattainable. Tousled raven hair, bedroom eyes, exceedingly tall, and a body that would make the gods weep. And Cauldron above, those wings.

I keep turning in place, hips swaying and hands in my hair. I feel the exact moment he glimpses my naked back, covered in sapphire blue tattoos that perfectly match my dress. I found this gown in the palace of thread and jewels, and the shop owner would not let me leave without it.

I’m endlessly grateful for her sage counsel when I glance over my shoulder to catch the males reaction. He knocks back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet, dark eyes devouring every inch of my bare skin. My breath catches in my throat as he slowly makes his way across the bar, until he’s standing mere inches from me.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an incredible dancer?”

His voice is startlingly deep, and smooth as velvet. It takes me longer than it should to formulate a coherent response.

“I- no. No, just you.” Well, not entirely coherent.

He smiles anyway, dimples appearing in his cheeks. Gods above, dimples too? The male leans close to whisper in my ear, and his scent hits me. Cedar and moonlight, rain on the pavement. I can’t help but inhale deeply.

“I’m Azriel. May I have this dance?”

I can only nod, his proximity scattering any intelligent thoughts in my head. He places one scarred hand on my back, the other on my hip, and we begin to sway with the music, our bodies pressed together intimately. My skin smolders beneath his touch, stoking the molten fire he’s awakened in me.

“I’m Sabine.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sabine.”

From the intensity of his gaze, I know he can scent every reaction my body has to him. I lock my eyes on his as he trails a finger from my cheek, down my neck, and back again. I gasp when he leans down to press a kiss to the point where my neck and shoulder join, a throbbing starting in my core as he gently bites down. A small, involuntary moan leaves my mouth. Azriel chuckles darkly against my skin.

“Did you like dancing for me, love?”

He inquires, voice soft as he tightens his arms around me. I let my head fall back, exposing more of my neck for him to explore. He obliges by trailing hot kisses up my throat, and nibbling on the shell of my ear.

“Y-yes.” I gasp, heat rushing up my neck to fill my cheeks.

Azriel growls low in his chest, and I can’t help but notice a considerable length pressing against my thigh.

“I’m going to make you say ‘yes’ just like that, all night long.”

I shiver in his arms, finally opening my eyes to see his have gone completely black with arousal. There’s a promise in them that has my knees going weak. His reaction to me inspires a sudden boldness.

“Then take me somewhere I don’t have to be quiet, Azriel.” I murmur, biting my lip and hesitantly stroking a hand down his chest.

A confident, male smile graces his lips. Without a word, he turns and leads me out the back door. His hand is rough and calloused on mine as we hurry down the streets of Velaris, a fact that only makes me want him more. I can only imagine how they’d feel between my legs.

Azriel leads me into a luxury apartment building, and we cross the marble floored lobby to the elevators. The doors take their sweet time closing, and as we wait, he admires me from the far wall. Hands in his pockets and smirk on his face.

“When we get to my apartment, I want you to undress for me. Can you do that, baby?” He leaves no room for argument as the doors finally close, and he moves slowly towards me. A lion, hunting his prey.

And I am eager to be caught.

“Yes.”

As he stands before me, he tilts my chin up and presses a soft, tender kiss to my lips. A flower of flame blossoms in my chest.

“Yes, what?”

I am only confused for a moment. He must see the realization in my eyes, because he hums in approval.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes flash, and then his mouth is hard on mine. He backs me to the wall, pressing his body so firmly to mine that I feel every line and hollow of his muscled chest. I moan into his mouth, pushing myself up on my tiptoes for better access. Sensing my struggle, Azriel cups the back of my thighs and wraps my legs around his waist. For a moment, anxiety shoots through me and I stiffen. I’m not exactly small, with my soft stomach and round thighs. But he lifts me effortlessly, and with finesse. Thank the cauldron for Fae strength. When the action lands me directly on the bulge in his jeans, he releases a delicious groan.

I smirk into the kiss as I rock my hips over that firmness, and Azriel’s hands tighten their grip on my thighs.

“Don’t tease me, Sabine.” He growls, hands slipping farther beneath the hem of my dress.

“You may not like the consequences.” This he whispers in my ear as he finds the heat between my legs, and begins to rub slow circles over my clit.

I gasp and tighten my already shaking legs around him, as he pulls my panties to the side and slowly inserts a finger in my sex. Within moments, I feel myself teetering on the edge of an earth shattering orgasm. Something about Azriel’s touch makes everything feel keenly hypersensitive, bewitching in it’s intensity. Thankfully, the elevator door dings before I can make a fool of myself by cumming before he even has my clothes off. Instead of setting me down, Azriel cloaks us both in shadows and exits the box, still hefting me in his arms as tenants enter the elevator behind us.

“Azriel!” I hiss, hiding my bright red face in his shoulder.

“They can’t see you, baby. But soon, they’ll be able to hear you.”

I vacate my hiding spot so I can meet his eyes, not bothering to hide the overwhelming, all encompassing need burning in them.

“Promise?”

His eyes are molten obsidian, making his answer obvious. We reach his apartment, and he seals us inside immediately. Azriel wastes no time taking me to his bedroom, and I am so wrapped up in him I don’t even peek at his apartment. Is it a swanky bachelor pad or minimalist studio? I make a mental note to snoop around a little before I leave.

Azriel’s kisses have grown softer, almost reverent in their slow rhythm. He gently deposits me amongst his grey blankets and pillows. He hovers over me for a moment, a strange, almost confused light in his eye.

“Az?”I whisper, suddenly self conscious. Has he changed his mind?

And just like that, his eyes are clear again. He fixes me with a warm, male smile.

“I like when you call me that.” He kisses my throat once more, then skims his lips over the top of my breasts, my nipples peaking in response.

“Didn’t you say something about me undressing for you?” I murmur breathlessly, practically writhing beneath his ministrations.

He chuckles against the skin of my shoulder before rising from atop me. Azriel crosses the room and settles into a leather armchair by the fireplace, which crackles to life as he approaches.

“How could I forget.” He murmurs, once again observing me from afar with eyes that promise immeasurable pleasure. While he sheds his leather jacket, he motions for me to begin.

I start by crossing my legs in order to unzip my thigh high boots, before discarding them at the end of the bed. My hands shaking under the weight of his stare, I extend my leg and start to remove my stockings.

“Keep those on for me. Just those.”

I look up at his voice, and my mouth goes dry as I notice Azriel adjusting the very apparent tent in his jeans. Gods, a bulge that huge has spine tingling implications for later. My heart skips in my chest, and I’ve become so wet I know I’ll find my underwear a sopping mess.

“Yes, sir.” I whisper, rolling the lacy garment into place as requested.

“Good girl.”

A moan slips past my lips at that, shocking even me. Never, ever did I think that I’d call a male ‘sir’ and get off to following his commands. But here I am. If it was any male other than Azriel, I’d laugh in his face or slap him.

But it is Azriel, and he’s already awoken a part of me I had no idea existed. It lay dormant inside me until now, waiting for him to show me what I’ve been missing. And we haven’t even fucked yet. I shiver in anticipation.

“Does someone like that? Being praised?” His voice is the deepest I’ve heard it, slow and commanding.

“Y-yes, sir.” I’m still seated at the end of his bed, boots discarded and aching with need.

I look up from beneath thick lashes, heat spreading across my face as Azriel unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, his jacket now draped across the back of his chair.

“Look at me, love.”

I obey, of course. The ocean of longing I feel is mirrored in his dark eyes, and I bite my lip to keep from begging him to take me. Take me and never stop.

“You don’t have to feel nervous with me. You’re safe. I know surrender can be scary, but I promise I’ll cherish the control you’re giving me. I’m honored that you’d give yourself to me like this.”

A light, warm sensation spreads through me at his words. The sincerity in his hazel eyes is what does it for me. I rise from the bed, and all of my nerves melt away under the scorching heat of his gaze. All my worries about my body, his expectations, become unremarkable. With my eyes never leaving his, I reach under my dress and hook my fingers around the waistline of my panties. Slowly, I slide the scrap of lace down my legs. He lets out a puff of breath, fingers gripping the armrests of his chair, all sense of smug relaxation gone.

With a feline smile, I toss them into his lap. He grins back at me, while stuffing the panties into the pocket of his jacket.

“I’m keeping these.”

I turn towards the bed, and look over my shoulder at his face as I slide the thin straps of my dress down my arms.

And it falls to the floor in a puddle of silk.

I am completely bare before him, and I have never felt more beautiful. Azriel looks like a male seeing his first sunrise, after spending an eternity in the dark.

With a growl, he crosses the room in three strides. His hands land on my naked hips, and he pulls me smack against him. I moan at the feeling of his length pressed to my backside, and my body grinds against him without my permission.

“You have the most perfect ass I have ever seen. I think I may spank you later.”

His lips are at my neck, kissing and biting. He spins me around in his arms, onyx eyes exploring as he runs his hands down the curve of my waist and hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groans, massive hands coming up to cup my breasts.

I whimper as he begins to pinch and pull gently at my nipples, and he relishes the sound. When he takes one of them into his mouth, I nearly fragment right there.

I have to feel his skin on mine. I need him in me, immediately.

“Az, please.”

With desperate, shaking hands I yank open his fine black dress shirt. Buttons fly and scatter across the ground, but I hardly notice.

Azriel’s naked torso is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. He is all lean muscle and broad shoulders, a deep V leading beneath his pants. Black swirls of ink cover his chest, and trail down his arms. I curse under my breath and run my hands over every elegant line and ridge of his body, mouth agape. When my hands find the waist of his trousers, his core tightens and a strained chuckle leaves his lips.

“Gods, love. Keep looking at me like that and you’re never leaving this bed.” For the first time tonight, he sounds just as breathless as me.

“And if that’s what I want?” I purr, looking up at him from my kneeling position on the bed.

He gives me the slow, confident smirk that first enraptured me at Rita’s, and unbuttons his pants. In moments, they’re discarded on the floor with my dress.

I look down.

Sweet cauldron above.

Torrid flames lick up and down my body, and I can’t stop myself from touching him. It would take two hands to properly pump him, and who even knows if I could fit him in my throat.

Soon, I would find out soon.

Azriel hisses at the contact, hips thrusting into my hands. Next thing I know, his lips are slamming into mine and my back meets the bed. He takes my hands in one of his and forces them above my head as he kisses me, hips slowly thrusting against mine.

His cock slides between my folds, and we both groan into the kiss.

“Fucking gods. You’re so wet, baby.”

His voice is rough with pleasure, and my entire body tenses at the sound of it. I could easily cum to just his voice alone.

“Oh fuck, Az please, oh gods please.” I cry, rolling my hips against his in an attempt to get the release my body is screaming for.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

My reply is inarticulate, the need and frustration boundless. He chuckles against my mouth, and soon he’s trailing kisses down my body. I gasp and tremble beneath him, squeezing my legs together when I realize where he’s headed. I’ve only ever let serious, long term lovers pleasure me in that way. It feels so intimate, so vulnerable.

“Relax, beautiful. I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?”

He murmurs soothingly, massaging my hips with gentle hands. I hesitantly let my legs fall open, and I glance down at the gorgeous male.

The sight of him between my legs alone nearly has me climaxing. Azriel presses hot kisses all over my thighs, his hands still massaging my hips. I feel myself go limp in his arms, my eyes closing in complete bliss. If I’m going to make an exception for anyone, it's him. Especially since I know that if there was anything I wasn’t comfortable with, he wouldn’t push me.

“That’s right, love. Relax. I’ve got you.”

I smile, and reach a hand down to tangle my fingers in his tresses.

And then his mouth is on me, and my back is arching off the bed and I’m gasping his name. Azriel devours me until my legs are shaking and tears are streaming down my face as I cum, his fingers pumping inside me.

And he does it again. And again.

By my third climax, I’m nearly sobbing and my body is quaking under his hands.

I open my eyes to see Azriel hovering over me, adoration in his eyes and lips glistening. He leans down, and I crash my lips into his. Kissing him is like… like coming home.

I’ve had a few one night stands throughout my adult life. Most were drunken and sloppy, with zero emotions involved. Something about this time feels different.

“Azriel.” It comes out as a whine, and if I weren’t completely unraveled, I would be humiliated at how desperate I am for this male.

With a heated look, he grasps my hips and angles them up, settling himself between my legs. He rests his forehead against mine, our panting breaths mingling. When the tip of his cock pricks my entrance, I dig my nails into the scarred skin of his back. I think I even whimper.

‘I’ll be gentle.” Azriel promises, pressing a torrid kiss to my swollen lips.

“For now.”

I open my mouth to comment on that remark, but Azriel buries himself to the hilt inside of me.

In unison, we let out guttural moans that are loud enough to wake the neighbors. He curses into my shoulder, his breath fanning across the sensitive skin there.

As he begins to gently thrust, letting me adjust, I realize just what it is to be with a male of his size. I am filled entirely, stretching in new, delicious ways. I realize now why he was so insistent on pleasuring me so thoroughly. I’m sure he loved teasing me, but it was also to prepare me for him. I wrap my legs around Azriel’s waist, urging him deeper.

He complies, angling his thrust with a low moan. A string of incoherent curses leave my lips as the change strikes me deep, pleasure forking through me like lightning.

“Right there?” The supreme satisfaction in his voice, and the smirk on his full mouth undoes me.

“Quit teasing me and fuck me like I know you want to.” I snap, glaring up into his eyes. This male has me beyond frustrated, beyond desperate. And he knows it.

He raises an eyebrow, that cocky grin only growing. But he remains silent as he strokes his thumb across my lips, his attention drawn to where he and I are joined. His face is flushed, muscles tight with restraint. I feel a deep sense of delight when I realize he’s just as affected by me as I am by him.

The grin falls from his face, replaced with absolute primal need, as I take his thumb into my mouth. I can’t help but grin mischievously at the look on his face, and I swirl my tongue around his fingertip. With a growl, he gives me exactly what I’ve been begging for.

Azriel unleashes himself, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing through the master suite. His hand wraps around my throat, and he uses this new leverage to pull me onto him each time he thrusts. I cry out, the sudden increase sending my vision into fractures. Azriel’s hips meet mine again and again, our moans combining into a symphony.

“Bend me over.” I gasp, and I’m surprised when I hear the words leave my mouth. Azriel’s grins down at me, raven hair falling into his eyes. He chuckles darkly.

“As you wish.”

Suddenly, Azriel is flipping me onto my stomach, and dragging me to the end of the bed by my hips. I squeal in surprise, the sound cut off by a moan as he sheathes himself in me once again. With a strength I’ve only ever seen Illyrian males exhibit, he hauls my hips back to meet each thrust, eliciting screams of absolute pleasure from me. Az tangles his fingers into my hair, and then there’s a sharp sting across my ass. I gasp, though the pain soon turns to pleasure. Azriel leans down, his voice in my ear.

“Look at you taking all of my cock like a good girl.”

I whimper and feel myself tighten around him, his voice always my tipping point. He presses his chest to my back, and groans into my shoulder, wings coming down to encircle us.

“I-I’m close.” My voice is hoarse, and entirely breathless.

Azriel gently turns me until I’m on my back again, his forehead meeting mine.

“I want to watch you cum.” He gasps, his movements becoming more and more fervent.

I wrap myself around the shadowsinger, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. He claims my lips once more, our tongues and teeth clashing in desperation. Heat flares inside my belly, my inner thighs beginning to shake with our rapid, passionate joining. I know I’m about to fall off the edge and I’m desperate to take him with me.

His massive, silky smooth wings are still curled around me. Guided by an unknown instinct, I press a kiss to the scarred underside of his wing, my tongue stroking softly.

His eyes shoot open, entire body going rigid and roaring as he spills himself into me. At the sound of my name falling from his lips, my own orgasm plows into me, our climaxes nearly simultaneous.

My vision goes black, and then bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors, my entire body alight with white-hot pleasure. I shake apart in his arms, and he in mine.

Then something miraculously unexpected happens.

The mysterious, ethereal link I’d felt enthralling me to him all night explodes into existence; pulling taut and snapping into place with dizzying velocity.

His eyes are blank with astonishment, face pallid. I blink up at him, feeling as if I’m on the edge of sleep, not entirely awake.

Azriel sits up abruptly, wings flaring behind him as he pants. I freeze, suddenly feeling very exposed beneath his gaze. I yank the nearest sheet over me, my face blazing red. It's as his eyes are searching my face that I feel it. A questioning, incorporeal tug down the bond.

The Mate bond.

Oh gods. Oh gods. I sit up hurriedly, scooting myself to the other side of the bed, even if moving away from this male feels like ripping myself in half.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Azriel is -

“Oh, fucking hell.”

#azrielfanfic #azriel #acotar #acotarsmut #acotar fic #feysand #nessian #smut #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre cursebreaker

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dandelion-person · 3 years

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You know, I absolutely adore playing as a dwarf. I have a heartfelt connection to them. But aside from my personal preference, I find the character development to be wonderful. In Origins, when you play as a noble, my favorite part about the backstory in general is how warden develops. He/she starts as royalty, some wonderful person who very well may absolutely hate being rich. Hates the way they are looked at, but knows no other way. Someone who does their duty unquestioning and loyally. Who thinks of battle as something as simple as dusting the house. Perhaps they are even in a forbidden love with their second. These things: hiding relationships, knowing your death is tangible on any given day be it by darkspawn or relatives, never getting to be seen as a simply normal dwarf, are just a normal part of life. Until everything changes. And you’re thrown into this world that is ever so bright and scary. Something totally different. And you, young warden, are so practiced in the ways you have lived that people often mistake you for being callous. Monotone. Unfazed. They’re not wrong. At this point, it takes a lot to rattle you. But this is your life now. And you must learn.

I love thinking about the various situations Aeducan finds themselves in. Stumbling out of the deep roads barefoot into the wardens, who are visibly shocked, battering you with questions that should have been comforting, only to be so numb and hardened that the only thing you can muster is a very formal “it is good to see you again, Duncan.”

Then, meeting Alistair, watching the conversation with a mage and apparently something to do with these odd human religions and traditions with the most resting bitch face imaginable. As is your habit. You’ve grown accustomed to never showing emotion. Dwarves are accustomed to battle and honor and tradition, not emotion. And Alistair, thinking you’re offended or something and you simply replying with “You must be Alistair.” You didn’t mean to sound so scary, wow.

Then Duncan, briefing you on your joining tasks, and you, switching automatically into army general mode, asking the strategies and alternative solutions should problems arise. Duncan finds himself smiling internally. Your level head will surely balance Alistair’s emotional panic in the future.

On to Morrigan. These humans never cease to amaze you. She has nearly no clothing on. How can she survive a battle? None of this shows on your face of course. The never changing diplomatic hardened expression masks your internalized thoughts. It is at times a blessing, not allowing others to see your confusion and fear and curiousity as you learn this new world.

Battle at first is a bit distracting. You’re caught off guard by the fear and disgust the other recruits show. It’s as if they’ve never seen darkspawn...but wait. They haven’t. And you’re reminded again of your people (of whom will never speak of you again) who have faced these monsters for centuries. You find yourself wondering if these humans had experienced the hug of their mother. Harmless games with their fathers. Bonding with their siblings. You consider your own personal family life. You suppose in your own dwarven ways, your family had been very close. But you know if you were to ever try to explain that to these humans, that your version of bonding with your brothers had been training so harshly and brutally that you had sometimes had to spend days in the medicinal wing, they would think you a monster or a war machine. Perhaps...perhaps that’s what you are.

Then waking up in the hut. A pounding headache and intense body pain. You shift into automatic response. Is my duty completed? Are my men safe? What must be done to finish the assigned task. You walk outside to find Alistair. Who expresses some strange sort of gratitude, for what you don’t understand. You consider that humans take death very personally. Death is not something humans are ready and willing to face at any moment. How strange. You think your face must display some sort of confusion, because you swear you see Alistair give a small sad smile. Almost like he’s pitying you. The very look of it makes your stomach turn. Pity is for the weak.

Then there’s Leliana. The most odd creature you’ve found yourself encountering in this new strange land where the sky seems like it can swallow you. She speaks of some man in the sky. You presume a human. She has tried to explain it to you, but it makes no sense. Your body will one day return to the stone from which it came...but then you think further. Perhaps you won’t be returned to the stone. You’ve been exiled. There is no longer somewhere for you to go after you die. For the first time in your life, dying in battle doesn’t seem like a desirable choice.

Sten, oh Sten. Sten quickly becomes one of your most trusted companions. You and him understand each other. Sten is not blinded by emotion and vengeance. Sten exists. And you can appreciate that. Sten has a purpose. Long ago, you were a lot like Sten. Now, you have no idea of your purpose. This world confuses you. You take each day as it comes. Something you’re not used to and find quite annoying. You do not know what to expect. The one thing you can appreciate though, is duty. Duty you took upon yourself. You pride yourself in it really. For the first time, you are doing something that you chose to do. Something not assigned to you. Something you control. It is comforting, and when you look at the sky and grip your toes into the ground so it doesn’t swallow you, you think of this one piece of your culture that will always stay with you: your duty. Sten helps you realize this. And with Sten, you find yourself talking strategy. In some ways, Sten reminds you of Trian. In other ways, Gorim. You cherish Sten. He is a rock in this strange floating bright world.

Then comes Zevran. One of the first elves you’ve ever spoken to in depth actually. Among the first you’ve ever encountered. You find yourself considering him almost to be charming? The word sounds foul to you. He’s a piss poor rogue. Of this you know. At first you find him rather annoying? Almost angering? A piss poor rogue and an even poorer assassin, he turns his back on his duty immediately. You find his desire to avoid death deplorable. But for some reason, the idea of killing him (for the first time in your life mind you) strikes you as being morally wrong. Why? You weren’t sure. Perhaps it was your vacancy for tendencies of vengeance. You did not even seek to kill Bhelen after all. Bhelen had simply done what any dwarf would’ve, had they been smart enough. Bhelen’s act did not provoke hard feelings. You still loved him even. Your little brother had grown into an outstanding noble and you could not deny that. He had simply beaten you at a game. Once again, if you expressed this opinion to your human companions after they learned your story, they considered you to be insane. Apparently, vengeance is a common thing amongst humans. Humans, you feel, are incapable of accepting that which they do not enjoy. You find this odd. Relating back to Zevran, Zevran is not human. And though he acts nothing like the odd elves from the trees (the first trees you’d ever seen by the way), Zevran is refreshingly morally corrupt. The more you get to know him, the more he reminds you of your people. And this is comforting. He tells you of Antiva. Perhaps you even ask him if he will someday take you there. Maybe there would feel like home. It certainly sounds like the politics are the same. Zevran’s moral instability and cowardice are exactly what makes him so comforting. He makes you feel at home.

Sorry, I suppose those are just some ramblings/drabbles that go through my head when I play as a dwarf. Let me know if you’d like me to write any other background stories. I’ve played them all. The way my brain can spin their personalities and character development affects the way I build each character. I’d love to share more if anyone liked this!

PS: I have played all 3 games. The only backstory I haven’t played so far is the Qunari and it will have to wait because I just upgraded from 360 to One and now I have to buy another inquisition.

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ronnytherandom · 3 years

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I started Writing My Thoughts On Things Again, I'm Sorry

15/8/2021:

Mass Effect Legendary Edition (Whole trilogy w/ all dlcs, Adept Class, Hardcore difficulty, 68 Hours):

Still brilliant! I adore this series. The first Mass Effect was one of the first games I ever played back in 2010 and Mass Effect 2 is one of the games I’ve played the most accruing several hundred hours over multiple playthrough from 2010 onwards, while Mass Effect 3 is a game I greatly appreciated but have more mixed feelings towards. Retrospectively as much as I liked the first Mass Effect, I did not nearly appreciate it enough back in the day. For a first entry in a new IP it is incredibly fleshed out with interesting Lore, an intriguing story and a cool galaxy to explore. I appreciate its combat far more now than I did back then but would still argue it is relatively weak in comparison to more modern titles and its own successors. Though the VA is rough in some places it is excellent where it matters, especially in the case of Sovereign whose iconic dialogue on Virmire is etched into my brain. A key element of the first mass effect I felt was sorely missing from the later entries was its exploration. While the galaxy grew routinely larger no game after the first had a drivable Mako, a vehicle I adore, and further lacked the opportunity to land on and explore the terrain of alien worlds for resources and side missions which I feel lends a lot to the atmosphere of the setting and could be made even more compelling using updated technology and a larger selection of assets and interiors which might have emerged from the higher budget successors. As it is I appreciate its inclusion in the first game. Mass Effect was also my first encounter with impactful choices in a video game and this is certainly something I appreciate but leads me to a major criticism specifically targeting the dialogue wheel layout as it is strange to me how you can puzzle out all of these possible dialogue outcomes but put exactly all of the positive outcomes behind the Upper Left dialogue option. While this is less pronounced in the First entry as the Renegade dialogue fills roughly the same purpose while sounding more badass, it becomes truer throughout the series as renegade options routinely just become nasty and exclusionary.

Mass Effect 2 innovates in some key ways which I have grown to appreciate more in the past 20 hours of play than I did when it launched. Primarily, its focus on characters and your relationships to them. Barring a couple of notable exceptions I found myself greatly invested in every single member of the Normandy crew and I think it’s a remarkable feat that each crewmate could be written to be so sympathetic, relatable and interesting in a world so full of appreciable elements. I would go into specific examples but id end up listing every character except Miranda and Jacob. This of course plays well into the Suicide Mission narrative which is perhaps my favourite overarching plot within the trilogy as it incorporates not just all of these incredible characters and plays upon your investment in them but also relies on the threat of both the Reapers and Collectors which are two excellently designed enemies which I find significantly more compelling than Saren and the Geth or Cerberus and the Reaper Husk Armies. Mass Effect 2 has a powerful horror element composed of the Collectors phobic horror and the reapers cosmic horror and it does wonders for the game’s atmosphere. I remember at this moment the Collector soundtrack which, like the rest of the soundtrack is absolutely excellent. Inasmuch as I would criticise it from a purely musical perspective for being simple at times and perhaps overly repetitive it perfectly fits the camp space opera that is mass effect. Galaxy Map and Suicide Mission are absolute bangers. I would hesitate to call the combat great. Playing the game as a weapon heavy class is superior, I’d argue as even with an armour build dedicated to decreasing ability cooldown it is too long to adequately utilise the powers of ability heavy classes like the adept. Additionally, ability play feels far more limited than in the game’s predecessor due to the limitation of this games skill tree elements which are frankly a step too far in simplifying the interface. It doesn’t massively affect enjoyment of the game but I couldn’t help but note every time I visited the abilities menu how much I missed Mass Effects abilities menu. So while I would say Mass Effect maintains a very well balanced game with regards to combat, roleplay and story, Mass Effect 2 eschews combat and mechanical roleplay in favour of an excellent story. Additionally while lacking an exploration aspect the more structured side-missions found by scanning planets throughout the galaxy create a lot of fun moments and interesting gameplay, emblematic of the fact that mission design vastly improves between this game and its predecessor.

Mass Effect 3 goes some way to resolve its predecessor’s imbalance as the majority of the game possesses enhanced combat, a much better abilities mechanic and an excellent story. First the addition of more mobility, loadout and engagement options benefits the combat greatly, while the addition of more complex enemy types than previous games pushes you to fully utilise these new options. A massive reduction in ability cooldown combined with liberal cooldown reduction bonuses in the skill tree means that abilities are very useful and versatile and you generally feel very powerful. Sometimes too powerful if you’re thinking from a balancing standpoint but given it’s a single player game this criticism is much diminished and being powerful is fun regardless. The skill tree system in this game forms a synthesis between its predecessors’ systems and comes out the better for combining a regular sense of empowerment with interesting choices within your own character build. All of this contributes to a much-improved combat experience, especially over Mass Effect 2. This also lends itself to the old multiplayer system which I honestly enjoyed when it launched (who cannot love a playable biotic Volus?) and feel is sorely lacking from this legendary edition. I would argue the only real problem with the multiplayer was requiring a player to engage with it in order to achieve the best story outcome; the actual multiplayer gameplay was thoroughly enjoyable and it gave players the opportunity to experience combat as an STG agent or a Krogan Warlord which were both fulfilling experiences from my memory. The aforementioned story is truly excellent and successfully builds off events in previous games but primarily succeeds due to Biowares exceptional character writing which persists from Mass Effect 2. Even in the case of its worst side mission content but especially in its primary missions the stakes and outcome of events are thoroughly compelling and the involvement of beloved Normandy crewmates is bound to incite intense emotions. This is possibly the only game that makes me cry multiple times throughout a normal playthrough. Unfortunately my goodwill often runs out when it comes to consider the ultimate ending of this series which I do not approve of. I admit there are mitigating factors: you should not play the mass effect series for the culmination of its plot. This series lives and dies with its characters and all of the major character arcs reach satisfactory endings before the final moments of Mass Effect 3, so the final moments have no real meaning as the thematic purpose of the series is achieved by galvanising the galaxy and uniting all these disparate races into a single force to fight the Reapers. Thematically the game is a success but the extent to which it utilises the choices the player has made, upon which the series builds its reputation, is limited in scope. This can likely be laid at the feet of the leaks of the original story ahead of the games launch which pushed the developers to create a new ending to avoid spoilers, but the quality of that ending is poor as it boils all the choices made throughout the series down to selecting the colour of a space laser. To make an odd comparison, this is why I think Game of Thrones’ and Mass Effect’s endings are different kinds of bad. Mass Effect reaches a fully satisfying conclusion in the moments immediately after launching the final mission, whereas Game of Thrones built its whole series asking the question “Who Will Sit The Iron Throne” With the final answer being “Actually, no one” after slogging through multiple series which did not live up to the quality of the first. Mass Effect answers its dramatic question of “Can Shepard Unite The Galaxy Against The Reapers” satisfactorily following sixty hours of excellent content and the colour of the space laser doesn’t actually matter. It just hurts to think that the finale could’ve been so much grander and more interesting. I would recommend the games, the disappointment of the finale doesn’t even come close to outweighing the grandeur that is the rest of the experience of Mass Effect 3, let alone the whole series.

There are only a few pieces of content I had not encountered prior to this Legendary edition playthrough. The Mass Effect DLC Bring Down The Sky is fun in that it adds an interesting combat experience with incredible stakes and immerses you in a stellar scale event, but the experience is very short. As part of the legendary edition I recommend it but having to pay extra for it at its time of launch I would have found it disappointing. Mass Effect 2s Overlord DLC is very good, introducing fun combat encounters, an opportunity to operate the fairly fun Hammerhead vehicle (even if it doesn’t live up to the Glory of the Mako) and explore a nice open environment with a truly haunting ending which is a kind of non-choice but it is gratifying to make that choice anyway. Additionally the visuals in the final station when interacting with the VI elements are very nice. The Arrival DLC is also quite fun, with a pseudo stealth section to open it, something which I believe occurs nowhere else in the series. The general element of operating solo is quite novel for mass effect as I believe outside of this moment, the opening of the Citadel DLC and the final moments of Mass Effect 3 there is no point where you fight alone. The indoctrinated nature of the project team does not come as a shock but regardless the dlc is enjoyable as a combat experience and the scale of destruction shown necessary to even slightly inconvenience the reapers lends a lot to the scale of their threat. I do not believe I played any DLCs in Mass Effect 3 before, insofar as I did not consider From Ashes DLC content as it was already on the disk and all buying the day one dlc did was activate it. Leviathan is very interesting from a lore perspective and does interesting things with its investigative process but I find it to be a relatively passive and uninteresting experience for the most part. Omega was more my style with a lot of good combat and interesting new enemies and a bit of bombast besides but still left me largely unmoved. Citadel was excellent but mostly for its “endgame” content rather than its story content. Despite featuring many hilarious moments throughout the actual plot it failed to interest me but I was definitely there for all of the fun character moments and the party is absolutely hilarious.

Ultimately a hearty recommendation but with tempered expectations for the finale.

Deaths Door (True Ending, 13.7 hours):

A Delight. Deaths Door is a charming little game about a bird that stabs things and I love it. It is incredibly impressive that this was made by a team composed of two people. The gameplay is fun in all regards. Navigation is a good time especially when all of the environments are lovely and full of personality. Obstacles come mainly in the form of puzzles and these are at a sweet spot between ease and frustration without being at all complex. Combat could’ve used a bit more work, primarily to create more meaningful distinctions between weapons or add a little depth, but it is still engaging and good fun. While the main bosses are challenging and satisfying to defeat, I worry over the side bosses; perhaps something could’ve been done to make them more distinct from one another? But a small gripe. I like the world, the aforementioned environments are well realised, the general aesthetic is artful and distinct and the story is good if slightly sparse. One notable element is the dialogue which is very good with a quick wit. The finale of the main game has the right amount of spectacle and weight while the endgame is cool and fantastical, with an ample supply of secrets and collectibles to find. Over all the music is incredible, soundtrack full of absolute bangers. I really enjoyed completing this game and I’d recommend it to anyone who’s into action adventure and souls-like games.

The Bad Batch (season 1):

This was Allright. To open I cannot overstate how good the animation and art of this series is. It is routinely beautiful and well-choreographed. Visually there are no complaints. The problems begin with the opening episode which I feel overpromised on a relatively dark take on the Star Wars universe by immediately dropping us into an Order 66 plot full of death, danger, brainwashing and the threat of an emergent empire. Now granted this series never explicitly promises that all of this would continue but I enjoyed these elements of the first episode and I was dissatisfied by their limited usage throughout the rest of the show. This is not to say I disliked the show, I did enjoy the characters who are all good fun, and most of the plots were good. This series I felt had a lot of filler episodes, which I’d simply describe as episodes I enjoyed less due to underwhelming plot or conflict, but they were still enjoyable despite what id perceive as a lesser quality. The show also “suffers” from what I’d called Star Wars Syndrome of Filonitis which is how Everything Must Be Interconnected, with regular cameos from extended universe characters which I feel is beginning to get a bit much. These features feel to me more often like nostalgia grabs rather than organically featuring a character in service of the plot and development. For example, I appreciate the Captain Rex feature as that served to highlight the inhibitor chip problem and drive the characters to seek a solution, however I appreciated Rafa and Trace’s feature less both because I’m less attached to those characters (especially Rafa) but also because the episode didn’t serve any particular purpose or create any particular set piece which couldn’t have been achieved without those characters. This is a similar issue I have with The Mandalorian, I adored season one as it was relatively self-contained and only featured vague or subtler references to the wider canon: to contrast season two is full of cameos from the wider universe sometimes for no reason other than to have a cameo when those roles could easily have been filled with new and creative content which doesn’t rely upon nostalgia to make something interesting. Ultimately Bad Batch is worth watching for the characters and the good episodes, it is fun and entertaining, it just has its issues.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 1: The Phantom Blood:

Its uh, its not good. Now that’s a very broad statement, as to assess this show critically at all is to take it far more seriously than you should, but to be more even handed the show certainly has a bunch of fun elements. Only from a story perspective, there isn’t really that much there; and from a pacing perspective it needs to be seen to be believed. I’m certain that if you condensed the show down to a reasonable size for the amount of content it has, you’d probably have a movie with a two-hour runtime at most which would be quite enjoyable but on a whole this first part wastes about 80% of its time on overlong drawn-out internal monologues and the dilated timeframes of the show’s fights. It also has an annoying habit of overemphasizing the weight of a moment or the genius of a characters unexpected action usually with no less than three people commenting on any slight manoeuvre which ruins the pacing beyond belief. Now I understand this is a staple of the Jojo series, only part 1 handles it very poorly in comparison to later parts. The fighting is especially hindered by this as most actual combat usually involves only four or five punches but they tend to take twenty minutes getting to each one. Additionally, Johnathan Joestar is pretty boring as a character with no notable qualities aside from being good both morally and at fighting. The intrigue of the stone mask is cool but this part deals in that very little. Like I say though, Part 1 is still fun to watch if you can disengage your brain and admire the potent meme quality of the series. It is not “good” from a critical perspective but it is incredibly amusing and the campness gives it a degree of charm. If you just want to watch a bunch of beefy men shout at each other and perform magic punches this is a good time. Speedwagon, despite being the worst offender of the “Explain Everything Twice and Ruin the Pacing” category, is still entertaining for the awful accent and endearing character. He’s also definitely in love with Johnathan and I will not be taking questions on that. Baron Zeppeli has a cool hat. Theres a lot of fun to be had as the show embraces the weirdness of everything that’s going on. So, check it out, it might just be a So-Bad-Its-Good Masterpiece.

300 (film):

This film was not so great in my eyes. I think there was one particular shot of the landscapes around Sparta which I felt was visually cool but everything else about the film lacked quality for me, barring practical effects which have aged significantly better than the graphical effects. The visuals are largely uninspiring, the washed-out colour pallet doesn’t help. Perhaps the dialogue was amusing at release but for me it’s all been memed to death. I can’t say any of the performances are particularly compelling, nice to see Magneto and Faramir though. The action could’ve been good and there are certainly moments where it has impact, but the constant application of slow motion I feel reduces the sense of power that should be there, like watching people fight on the moon. Ultimately, I can’t stomach it for two primary reasons: Historical inaccuracy and Racism, which feed into each other. The values of the Spartans do not accurately reflect ideas that historical Spartans held to and I must ask why? Historical accuracy is the default state, so to usurp those ideas in favour of others means the author of the graphic novel Frank Miller and director Zach Snyder replaced those ideas with purpose, in order to make the film more appealing to a mass audience or to express their own ideas perhaps? And the values they chose for the Spartans were freedom, justice and democracy which were things the slaving and monarchical Spartans did not believe in at least in the modern sense. This reeks of an imposition of the propagandised values of western nations on a historical society. This in itself would not be so much of an issue without the demonisation and perversion of the Achaemenid empire and the peoples therein. To establish the primary conflict as one of Civilised white westerners against barbarous non-white easterners, when historically the conflict was between two nations of a broadly similar heritage both possessing facets of good and evil, in the early 2000s? It feels as though some reactionary interpretations of the War on Terror have simply been recreated here with classical history as window dressing. Add to that reactionary attachment to the battle of Thermopylae as a representation of the western world’s struggle against the eastern world, in addition to other more problematic interpretations, and this film plays straight into extreme right-wing ideas of race. Cannot recommend, there’s a lot more better things you could be watching.

18/08/2021: Darth Vader (2015) comic (incl. Vader Down event):

This was really cool. The first comic I’ve ever actually read so I don’t have much frame of reference but I certainly enjoyed this. It was compelling, I’ve blitzed through this whole run in a single day. I think it serves a valuable purpose of demonstrating Vader’s potential and development between Episodes IV and V, as well as the nature of internal conflicts within the Empire. A side note, it is amusing that Palpatine identifies infighting as a factor in the fall of the Sith Empire and yet encourages it for his own political purposes anyway. I felt that the art and style was very good and fit well with the Star Wars aesthetic, though I couldn’t say if it is truly excellent or just standard: it certainly wasn’t bad, though I think a few designs such as Dr Aphra’s ship were hard to read as it were. Speaking of, I think characters new and old were well portrayed. The titular Vader is unmistakably the same character as appears in the classic trilogy, similarly for Han, Luke and Leia etc. And it was a pleasure to see Chewbacca absolutely destroy someone. The aforementioned Aphra I thought was fine but she lacks distinction to my mind, the real star was Triple Zero and by extension Beetee who I thought were excellent comic relief in addition to being a genuine threat, something I can’t necessarily say I felt with regard to the antagonists. This latter part doesn’t matter overmuch, I think the purpose of these antagonists was more to present Vader with pressure to fulfil his personal goals rather than actually oppose him and they work well in that regard, but are unmemorable beyond their basic attributes. What I think this comic does particularly well is create a kind of puzzle narrative and its almost thrilling at moments when Vader’s plots might be discovered. As a result of this I am looking forward to reading more comics in future.

The Suicide Squad (2021): Highly enjoyable! A big step up for the suicide squad as a franchise and a lot more fun, playing into a brighter and more humorous genre than its predecessor to good effect; This time with good editing, soundtrack, direction… well good everything in comparison. I enjoyed all of the characters and their acting particularly the rivalry between Peacemaker and Bloodsport and Margot Robbie is still fantastic as Harley. They all pale before King however, who is endearing beyond belief and a lot of fun to boot. The “villain” if that term is applicable is very interesting and actually threatening, no mere beam of light into the sky! And the willingness to engage in more mature elements such as gore and character morality is of immense benefit, serving to distinguish it from generally more childish superhero media and reach towards more interesting themes around colonisation, foreign intervention, America and such. Only a reach towards however as I don’t think it ultimately says anything beyond “This thing, kinda bad and dumb”. As I saw noted, it observes the theme but doesn’t comment on it which is a shame as that would bring it all together quite neatly. I feel it can drag a little at times and sometimes the dialogue and specifically its humour don’t hit right but the rest is of such quality that it hardly matters. It looks good, sounds good and offers a chance to engage in a little mindless and bloody violence. I hope Harley keeps the javelin.

27/08/2021: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 2: Battle Tendency: TW: Mention of Nazism, Discussion of Sexism

This is MUCH better. Part 2 covers most of the problems I had with Part 1. The Monologues are less egregious so the pacing is much improved; the lore is fully integrated into the story and creates a genuinely good narrative and Joseph is a much more compelling and interesting protagonist with a quirky and entertaining personality. The Pillar Men are excellent villains and the fights are fully engaging. Even when you know that Joseph will pull out a “And next you’ll say” twist at the end of a losing fight it’s still surprising simply by dint of the strange and wacky solutions he creates. And these adventures are even more bizarre, playing into the weird camp of the series which works so well. All in all, the quality is excellent here HOWEVER there are some highly problematic elements. The show being set in the 1930s is a neat part of the travelling through time factor of the series but when you’re globetrotting around Europe you need some solution to the problem of Nazis popping up everywhere and this show does not provide one, and fails so drastically to offer even a slightly critical perspective on the fascist characters. The noble sacrifice of Von Stroheim and his later resurrection and heroism serve to idolise a Patriotic German Nazi Officer, which is not good, and this unchallenged perspective on an Actual Nazi is troubling especially when the character himself is an unrepentant mass murderer. Additionally, the show has a horrible attitude towards women, who exist almost exclusively for sex appeal and romantic interest in this show. Lisa Lisa does demonstrate ability and character but when presented with genuine combat is relegated first as a bit of eye candy during the fight with Esidesi (notably eye candy for Her Own Son) and later as a Damsel in Distress during her fight with Kars. Women are frequently used as objects in this part; Caesar Zeppeli uses women as props by controlling them with his Hamon powers and Suzi Q exists only to be rescued from Esidesi and then to be romanced by Jojo. It’s pretty ridiculous to be honest. I am informed that this improves over the course of the series but as for this part in particular it is a lot of fun just so long as you can ignore some incredibly troubling portrayals.

13/09/2021: Rick and Morty Season 4:

There is ultimately not much to say as Season 4 is simply more Rick and Morty and operates as such. It is good, even very good. It’s still very funny. Its voice acting is still the pinnacle of such work. It is still smart and has a lot of interesting ideas, only not to the extent of the copypasta fan boys. Its sci-fi universe is cool and its design and aesthetic are still excellent. I feel the show has passed a threshold however as there’s only so much time you can spend on the “dysfunctional family is dysfunctional theme”. I hope season 5 proves me wrong once I get to it, but season 4 is fun and I’d recommend it all the same, it’s just more Rick and Morty and I think that’s enough.

Shang-Chi and the Ten Rings: Spectacular! Very easily amongst the best if not The Best Superhero Movie (aside from Into the Spiderverse). To begin with complaints as they are limited, the colour grading was a bit dark in a couple of the fight scenes and in some moments of the climactic fight the CG effects are a little Too Much and distract from the central action of Shang-Chi, Xialing and a Dragon owning the shit out of a multiversal super spectre, which incidentally is fucking epic. Additionally, the standard MCU comic relief dialogue is a little meh at times but what’s new there? They still need to get a handle on that, especially because this film was really strong when it was serious. As much as I love Ben Kingsley’s Trevor Slattery, he was just a tad much here. Aside from a few moments of weak dialogue however the rest of the film is excellent. Acting is good, effects are good, the film is quite beautiful primarily once Ta Lo is reached and the score is bangin. I appreciate most of all the fight sequences which to me look well-choreographed with interesting arenas which were always appropriate to demonstrate the characters abilities; the sequences serve to develop character and plot at key moments also. The way the camera is handled during the fights is also a big step up, with wide perspective and long shots rather than the snappy close shots of old which serve to really show off that choreography and don’t muddy your understanding of the flow of combat. There is a good thematic line throughout the film of reconciling the bad and the good of your familial and personal history, to understand yourself better and channel that into developing and achieving your ambitions and I adore how that ties in with Shang-Chi and Wenwu’s final confrontation due to the nature and treatment of the Ten Rings themselves. They are a very interesting fantastical element especially once Shang-Chi acquires them and the way that he utilises them create a very cool combat style I can’t wait to see more of, even considering that their full potential is yet to be unlocked. I additionally approve of how they have been differentiated from their comic counterparts which to my understanding are just slightly weaker infinity stones; thus, a one-to-one reproduction would’ve been a boring mistake to make. It’s a fantastic film, go see it.

26/09/2021: Sable (20 hours, 99% complete) Sable has the makings of an absolutely fantastic game, it just has a few hiccups and hurdles to deal with. Thankfully most can probably be dealt with by patch as there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the game; but a game should never be released in a state where it needs a patch to function normally. This game is incredibly buggy. Probably one of the buggiest games I’ve ever played at launch, and I preordered Skyrim. Most of my complaints are with the menus, which simply do not work properly sometimes, but there are other documented issues with collision detection and weird bike movement among others including one annoying persistent issue with the soundtrack being replaced by random ‘bong’ noises. For these reasons I cannot recommend the game Right Now until it is patched or if it is on a significant sale. However, once the bugs are fixed this game will be a stunning achievement. The story is good and leads to powerful emotional moments, aided along by an excellent atmospheric soundtrack and beautiful visuals. The style and colour give this game an exceptional look, though diminished by a fairly rapid day/night cycle. I understand that this creates a visual contrast to make the daytime feel more vibrant and impressive, but I would also hold the sun still in the sky if that were an option. The world is well built, with interesting lore and cool design work. Varied environments show off a range of colourful landscape all with their own distinct atmospheres and landmarks which are good both for navigation and exploration, this being the bulk of the game. Exploring these environments is satisfying for curiosities sake but also offers collectible Chums that I adore and an intriguing backstory and world history to consider. Riding a hoverbike is cool and fun, and the customisability is nice though I would take issue with the “balancing” of bike parts as the best bike can be acquired only a few hours in and must be bought, where bike parts earned through long quest chains pale in comparison. This annoys me as I believe players should be rewarded more for great deeds than for acquiring currency, besides which the quest bikes look cooler. This is of little importance however as the game is a very casual and chill experience, keeping an excellent balance where it is not strictly challenging but does maintain your focus and attention. This world is full of strangeness and a little sci-fi magic; though I would argue it could use more of this I think that would threaten to overwhelm the player when even this world’s most mundane elements are still stunningly cool. I think a thick coat of bugs covers what is ultimately a magnificent game with many cool things to explore and even marred by its worst features I still had a great time playing it.

27/09/2021: The Matrix

Brilliant. A very cerebral action movie which definitely earns its place as an iconic work of cinema and its clear to see why its influence is so widespread. Fantastic action with a clear and open perspective which utilises the interesting and dynamic cinematography that runs throughout the movie. I particularly enjoy how over the top the fights are in terms of environmental destruction and gestures as a whole, with a great deal of emphasis added by practical effects which I enjoy. Cool characters, good dialogue and excellent performances across the cast. And, an interesting world well-built and designed. The robots particularly are quite intimidating and I like their arthropodal form. All of the design works well to create the feeling of a greasy industrial post apocalypse which contrasts sharply with the boring homogenous simulation, the latter having its own value as a setting due to its familiarity which would’ve been especially prevalent when this film first released. I love the soundtrack, especially the final feature of Rage, but most of all I love how deeply you can read into this film and its meaning. Having watched many videos about it I was primed on the trans allegory going in and it is very clearly a present part of the narrative before even considering the context around the Wachowski sisters and their own experience. It is a very interesting part of the story and plays well into other themes built around deconstructing the illusions pressed on us by our society, drawing strong parallels between the struggles of living as a trans person and fighting against an imperialist capitalist society. It is worth watching for any of its constituent parts but together they form a magnificent work of art.

28/09/2021: Star Wars: Visions

The series is a bit of a mixed bag. It definitely overpromises with its first episode which is of a remarkably distinct style, is incredibly cool and has great wacky moments in addition to tasteful call-backs to the wider Star Wars canon. I love the umbrella sabre, it’s a fantastic idea and there needs to be more of them. From there a few episodes are fantastic, The Elder and the final episode, and id rank the Ninth jedi just below them, but the rest of the series is definitely not to my taste. The wide variety of styles on show are all fantastic and the animation is universally very good, just some of the plots are more childish than I would appreciate and the rest are simply not engaging for me to the point that despite a great deal of spectacle occurring I would often be distracted. It’s worth a look if you’re into animation and unique takes on star wars but I find generally lacking.

Django Unchained (2nd Watch) TW: Discussion of Racism and Slavery

Red Flag: Tarantino Movie is good. Very good. Stellar performances from Jamie Foxx, Kerry Washington, Leo Di Caprio, Christoph Waltz and everyone else in the movie to be frank; a special note for the trivia about Leo Di Caprio’s cut up hand during the dining room scene, a lot of respect for a man who can keep working through that kind of injury. We can go through a Tarantino Checklist say the film is well shot with beautiful environments; has excellent and witty dialogue with good attention to detail and mannerism; and finally has great and gory action which does not flinch from terrible injury and really appeals to a perverse bloodlust that seems to crop up from time to time in normal people. Strangely enough however, I could not recall if Tarantino indulges in his predilection for feet here. This film does indulge in Tarantino’s other predilection however and that’s the N-word, but here I respect it. Unlike his non-period works, the use of the N-word is a facet of slavery just as chains, whips and plantations are and slavery is the subject of this film which seeks to be historically authentic. If anything, the absence of the N-word would be very wrong in this case despite being the project of a white man as without it the film would lack the context of a key form of oppression that still exists today. I think Django does an excellent job documenting and commenting on the institution as it existed in the pre-war period. Django experiences every level of status a black person would encounter in this setting: first a slave, then a freedman, a black slaver and finally a Liberator and the final message of the film is that slavery deserved to be destroyed and any argument made for its return is horseshit which is kind of a “Duh” statement but with the state of modern politics and the state of education in the US it’s something that needs reiterating. You can interpret this beyond the bounds of slavery itself in addition, by arguing that there are existing powers in this world which seek to discriminate based on skin colour amongst other factors and create oppressed minorities for the benefit of a wealthy few with power and should the systems that create this environment be completely destroyed it would be cause for celebration. Beyond this I particularly enjoyed the historical authenticity of the environments, of the very varied biomes of the wilder parts of the US at the time, and the contemporary outfits especially King Schultz’ coat which I desire more than any item of clothing I’ve ever seen. The film is good at building suspense both in the moment to moment and through longer story arcs, particularly the second act, but I do feel like the 2nd act lulls a little, perhaps spends slightly too long reaching its climax. This is a great spectacle of a film which looks and sounds fantastic, puts excellent performances on show, tells a great story and has quite a bit of meaning bundled into it.

29/09/2021: The Road to El Dorado (Unfinished)

Despite not finishing it I think this film is actually really good. It certainly has a few elements which don’t fully gel with me but I enjoyed my time with it; I only felt like I should really be doing something else and that I wasn’t fully engaged with it, potentially as I’m not keen on cons and high stakes acting as it feels like a form of vicarious embarrassment for me which makes me immensely uncomfortable. Personal hindrances aside most everything about this film is excellent, I loved the animation and the very colourful world. The characters were fun, the voice acting good, the constant horniness was a great bonus also. I take issue with the music, much as it’s not my right to criticise Elton John, I feel it would’ve been better fully incorporated into the film. I enjoy animated musicals more when said music is diegetic and I think them beginning to employ non-diegetic music is part of what led to their downfall, outside of market saturation. Additionally, I was not a fan of The Trail we Blaze, just not a song that worked for me. I also appreciate the integration of 3d and 2d animation here as I felt the styles were reconciled better here than in most movies, especially for the time. I might take issue with what seems to be a plot about two Spanish men of the colonial age coming to central America and “enlightening” its people through humanitarian acts and music as that would reflect some troubling attitudes but I hold out hope that by the end of the film they decide to come clean about the lie, return the gold and help defend El Dorado from Cortez and his troops. Its enjoyable, I don’t feel drawn to finishing it though.

30/09/2021: Hunters Moon, Ghost

Here’s a new one, music reviews. This single is pretty good I enjoy it a lot. Opens slow and gentle and rapidly builds into some strong rock with a very 80s feel which scans with Ghosts whole historical rock and metal style they’ve always employed but have gone in extra hard on since Prequelle. The lead riff the track opens on is really nice and I would love to have seen it explored further, but the heavier style that ramps up progressively as the song continues is still great climaxing on the 9/4 post chorus riff which goes hard as fuck and I love that bit especially. It feels like it would be spectacular to witness it live. The bridge is a moment I’m not so keen on, the initial bass work is a little bare bone and overly repetitive but it definitely picks up once the guitar and vocals come in, even if just for the final moments. The final chorus leads into a good finale though I think it’ll serve better on an album version with a transition into another track, as I usually prefer to be fair. Technically I enjoy all of the different sounds and effects employed on all the instruments, especially in that leading riff, all of which are played well with good time. The vocals are great as usual. It’s a great track, I feel it was maybe a little short and could’ve explored some of its musical ideas or given them a bit more time to breathe; perhaps less time could have been given to overrepresented elements like the bridge and given over to work more into the very atmospheric leading riff but this is still a hard and heavy rock track and I enjoy it greatly.

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glorious-blackout · 3 years

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Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Fix-It Part Two:

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Turns out I can’t chastise you too much for not feeling satisfied with your own work because I’m not sure I’m ever going to be happy with this part 😅 Hopefully I’ve been able to (mostly) salvage it from its messy first draft form. I’ve been editing Part Three in tandem with this one so hopefully it won’t take me too long to finish that off as well. With all that preamble out of the way, I hope you enjoy this part 🥰

Part One

Original Fic

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Alex awoke to the sight of gentle sunbeams drifting through the window, highlighting floating dust motes as golden light cascaded towards the floorboards.

It was as warm as the clear skies outside would suggest. The logs residing in the extinguished burner had been reduced to mere blackened husks surrounded by papery strips of ash. Judging by the growing discomfort caused by the many layers covering Alex’s frame, the warmth they once provided was no longer an urgent necessity.

It took a couple of seconds for his surroundings to make sense. The unfamiliar sights and smells of the seaside cabin left him drifting in confusion, unable to remember how he wound up sleeping on the floor among a pile of sweaty bedsheets. It was only when his subconscious noted a rather significant absence that the events of yesterday resurfaced with a jolt, and he found himself torn between slipping back into a dreamless slumber and lurching to his feet in search of Matt.

Because Matt should have been there, shouldn’t he? A scattered mess of tangled bedsheets remained in the spot where he had been lying last night, but when Alex placed a hand upon their surface he found that they had grown cold. The cabin remained quiet with the exception of occasional footfalls as someone pottered about behind him, but they sounded far too heavy to belong to Matt. On top of that, Matt’s lurid jacket had been left in a heap atop the pile of sheets, the mass of LED panels dim and lifeless in the absence of power. Alex knew, or he assumed he did, that if Matt had any intention of leaving then he would have woken him first, but much as he tried, he could not remember any attempts to rouse him.

The growing heat was getting to him. Alex groaned in discomfort as he became acutely aware of the sweat gluing his jeans to his thighs, and he kicked wildly at the sheets which had entrapped him overnight. The downside of lying on a firm wooden surface with little padding made itself evident as he sat up, noting every new ache across his body with a groan as the room span in the wake of his sudden movements. Only when the world stilled and the nausea settled in his gut did he acknowledge that he appeared to be the last one up. The only person remaining in the cabin besides himself was a well-rested Jeremiah who - despite being at least two decades older than Alex - appeared to have more energy in that moment than the younger man could dream of having.

Jeremiah had noticed his tortuous awakening, if the amusement glinting in his eyes was any indication. Alex’s discomfort must have been clear as day, for the older man immediately wandered towards the stockpile of water and freed one bottle before chucking it in Alex’s direction. The action was followed by the suggestive rise of a finger to Jeremiah’s lips, leaving Alex with the distinct impression that his partner would hardly appreciate this gratuitous sharing of supplies.

Not that George appeared to be here either.

Alex barely had time to be thankful for George’s absence, for his attention was immediately drawn to the precious bottle in his hands. It occurred to him that his sluggish, pseudo-hungover state could have more to do with the fact that his mouth was as dry as a desert than he’d previously appreciated. Without a second thought, he ripped the lid from the bottle and gulped as much of the lukewarm water as he could manage in one go. He could hear a distant chuckle over the sound of liquid cascading down his throat, but any self-consciousness over what he must look like left him in an instant. He was parched and sore and far too overheated for comfort, and he’d emerged less than twenty-four hours ago onto a planet that had been ruined beyond repair. Shame was hardly an emotion he had the energy to experience.

The bottle was completely drained in record time, and Alex closed his eyes in quiet satisfaction for a moment. Only upon opening them again did he remember what had roused him with such urgency, and he cast his eyes around the cabin as though Matt could somehow be concealed within its walls. The sheer impossibility of this notion became obvious quickly, given how small their living space was, but even the outside world seemed far too quiet for his liking.

George’s absence was equally unexplained, and Alex started to wonder if the two were linked. Much as he liked and implicitly trusted Jeremiah, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy about George. The man had made no secret of his dislike for strangers the second he set eyes upon the pair of newcomers. At one point his manner had even evoked echoes of Murphy, which was hardly a marker of good character in Alex’s book. Admittedly, he knew that Matt had encountered and ultimately defeated worse foes than a grumpy middle-aged man, but it appeared that finding himself exposed to this unfamiliar world had taken hold of Alex’s nerves and dialled them up to eleven.

A fact which must have been blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes.

“Yer boy’s alright, don’t you worry,” Jeremiah announced out of the blue, chuckling with mirth when Alex turned to him, wide-eyed and more than a little frazzled. Mornings had never been his strong suit, and this one was proving to be especially strenuous. Jeremiah, on the other hand, looked perfectly serene - or as serene as a grizzled survivor could look anyway. He had been in the process of strapping himself into a pair of thick walking boots before Alex’s panic had become too blatant to ignore.

“George was all fer kickin’ ya out, but yer friend made a case fer ya hangin’ around and earnin’ yer keep,” Jeremiah explained further, heaving a sigh at the mention of his partner’s lack of hospitality. Alex felt a sliver of fear creep up his spine at the prospect of having to leave their newfound shelter so soon, followed by a spark of gratitude over the fact that Matt had apparently wrangled his way out of an early eviction. “I woulda been happy with ya stayin’ regardless, but a little extra help would be nice I s’pose. They headed off about an hour ago. George always likes ta head out before the sun grows fierce.”

“Oh,” was all Alex could say, unsure whether he should feel reassured or not. At least he finally had an explanation for Matt’s whereabouts, though he imagined it would be easier to take comfort from that if he hadn’t been paired with the very man who’d wandered into the cabin wielding a shotgun last night.

The unspoken implications of Matt’s bargaining tactics weren’t lost on him either. “Take it I’m joining you then?”

His phrasing made him come across as far more reluctant than intended, though if Jeremiah took any offence, he was gracious enough not to show it.

“Only if ya fancy it,” the older man said with a bashful shrug. Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he could detect a trace of disappointment in the man’s otherwise cheerful tone, and an uncomfortable sense of guilt coiled in his gut. “Ya could always cook dinner or give the place a bit o’ a scrub if you’d prefer?”

The proposal was almost tempting. Casting a glance around the cabin was enough to assure Alex that the place was hardly in need of an intensive cleaning session, and no doubt he could whip up something edible from the extensive stockpile of canned goods their hosts had amassed. Staying here on his own would give him time to unwind. Time to breathe. He could take a stroll across the beach and let his body sink beneath the waves, just for a little while, until any trace of lingering doubt vanished from his mind and he allowed himself to accept the fact that he had made it home.

Only, the longer he dwelled on it, the more obvious it became that spending the day alone would be a terrible idea. In Jeremiah’s company, he would at least be provided with a distraction. Someone to bounce conversation off of; someone who could offer valuable information about this world which had become so alien to him. The alternative would inevitably result in his mind subjecting him to cruel imaginings regarding the fates of his loved ones, and he knew full well that his sanity was hanging by a thread as it was. Subjecting himself to loneliness was not a good idea right now, no matter how enticing the notion may seem at first glance.

“Best not,” Alex conceded, masking his inner turmoil behind a weak smile. “Me mates always say I’m hopeless at cookin’. Doubt me mum ever rated my cleaning skills either, come to think of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeremiah said with a faint chuckle, wearing an expression so carefree that his eyes were practically twinkling. He broke eye contact for only a moment, as he gathered together an old hiking rucksack and a pair of ancient fishing rods, before turning his attention back to Alex. “You ever been crab-fishin', lad?”

He had. Bitter melancholy cascaded over him as the question transported him to seaside holidays from his youth; back to lazy afternoons sat by rocky piers as his dad patiently taught him the process of fishing for crabs. As he remembered it, he always found the venture exciting for a solid half-hour, before deciding that his bucket was better-suited to building sandcastles on the nearby beach. Of all the things to be consumed by nostalgia for, he’d hardly expected crab-fishing to be one of them, but he supposed in this day and age he was doomed to become wistful about every aspect of his former life.

“Once or twice,” Alex admitted eventually. “Not since I were a kid though.”

“That’s alright,” Jeremiah said, beaming. “I ain’t had the chance to show someone the ropes for a while. Could be fun.”

With that said, he gathered his equipment together and disappeared out the door, leaving Alex on the floor with sleep clinging to his eyes and what was likely a serious case of bed-head. It struck him that Jeremiah may have expected him to follow, and with some reluctance he rose to his feet, pointedly ignoring the growl emanating from his stomach. Some food would hardly go amiss before setting off on what promised to be an intensive trip, nor would the chance to shed his sweat-stained clothes. He would not be surprised if such luxuries were denied, however. Judging by the bright sunlight beyond the window, he had likely wasted a significant chunk of the morning already, and he would no doubt be pushing his luck if he attempted to bargain for more time.

Or so he thought. While in the process of shedding his cotton jacket, Alex started as Jeremiah popped his head in the door once again with a jovialness which seemed as instinctive to him as breathing.

“You grab some breakfast now,” he ordered. While Alex doubted the man had the ability to sound stern, his tone was firm enough to convey that the demand was far from optional. Jeremiah motioned towards the extensive food stockpile with a quirk of his head – the ‘take what you like’ remaining unspoken – before pointing towards a narrow cupboard which rested beside one of the neatly-made beds. “If yer wanting a change a’ clothes, there’ll be some in that cupboard there. Can’t promise we’ll have any in yer size, but maybe you’ll get lucky. Just grab me outside when yer ready and we’ll head out together, sound like a plan?”

Once again, Alex found himself struck dumb by the man’s generosity, and all he could offer in response was a single nod. This seemed to suffice, for Jeremiah returned the action with a cheerful grin before disappearing again, whistling a jaunty tune as he went. Alex’s eyes remained pinned to the door for only a moment, until he grew tired of standing awkwardly in the middle of the room like a startled deer. Feeling empowered by Jeremiah’s offer, he made quick work of filling his belly with leftover soup and rifling through the assorted mass of clothes which had been stored away, searching for something which didn’t carry an overpowering stench of sweat.

The heat was already beginning to grow uncomfortable by the time they headed off. Alex had settled for a crumpled cotton shirt which felt more like a tunic on his slight frame, while choosing to keep his torn jeans in favour of the gaudy oversized shorts which served as his only alternative. Overhead, the sun gradually made her ascent as a colony of gulls circled the gentle waters below, squawking shrilly in vague perturbation. Treading along the sandy path towards town felt like wading through hot treacle; the air so stifling that only the breeze offered any reprieve.

Alex was grateful for the bottles of water Jeremiah had packed in his rucksack, though he knew deep down that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself once he took that initial desperate sip. Perhaps if the agenda for the day really did involve sitting by the shore fishing for crabs, he could fling himself into the cool waters once the heat became unbearable. It was already consuming all of his willpower to avoid sprinting towards the waves as they drew closer to the smoking remnants of an abandoned resort.

The trail eventually led onto a vast car-park which stemmed from what was once a rich seaside promenade. Only two vehicles remained, strewn haphazardly across fading white lines on the cracked tarmac. No doubt they had been rotting there for years, judging by the shattered windows and rust-eaten exteriors; any attempt to drive them now would be the ultimate exercise in futility.

Jeremiah led him onwards, the route ahead seemingly memorised. Alex held his tongue as they wandered along a road lined with blackened, long-dead palm trees and gutted stores which sported naïve signs declaring a temporary closure. Though there was no sign of active fires, the smell of smoke lingered heavily in the air as they passed the ruins of what must once have been a bustling resort, accompanied by another, fouler stench which Alex could not place. Occasionally they would pass by abandoned cars or overturned buses, but no evidence of humanity remained even in the form of charred corpses. Alex had steeled himself to endure that much at least, but it would appear that fate had decided to spare him from that sight.

Not that the remains of his old home were any better. Alex had known this walkway once. During their earlier trips to LA, he had strolled along the seafront with Jamie and Matt by his side, nibbling on ice-cream and joking that moving out here wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. The city had seemed so exciting and untouchable then; an exaggerated form of reality which didn’t play by the same rules as the rest of the universe.

Those qualities clearly hadn’t protected it from being reduced to a burning husk.

He was grateful when Jeremiah finally steered him away from the shattered resort, strolling towards the sandy beach instead. Their journey ultimately led them onto an elevated wooden pier which stretched beyond the shoreline and into the depths of the water. The structure creaked awkwardly with every footfall as they strolled towards the far end, and Alex allowed himself to breathe again as the thick stench of smoke made way for the tang of salt. The sun remained as punishing as ever but her effects were dulled, somewhat, by a cool sea breeze which ruffled his hair and kissed his sunburnt cheeks. As they approached the very end of the pier, Alex gazed into the lapping waves below and grinned as he envisioned himself diving beneath the surface and letting the cold seep into his bones.

His guide promptly got to work setting up their equipment, content to let Alex watch as he talked him through each step. A rudimentary fishing line was shoved into Alex’s hands with the hook dangling precariously from a flimsy piece of string, before Jeremiah dug through his rucksack and freed a partially squashed tin of sardines. Jeremiah wasted no time peeling the tin open and tearing one of the unfortunate sardines into two, skewering one half onto the hook of his own line before handing the other to Alex and informing him to do the same. Alex obeyed, managing not to screw up his face at the texture as he cracked a wistful joke over the days his dad would tell him to use bacon instead. Jeremiah simply guffawed, before informing him plainly that if - by some miracle - they ever stumbled upon edible bacon again, the crabs sure as hell weren’t getting a slice.

“Right, just pop the line in the water there,” Jeremiah ordered once they were ready, leaning over the wooden barrier to cast his line into the waters below. Alex did the same, keeping his distance so as not to get their lines caught in a tangle. The hook dipped beneath the surface with a subtle splash, the waters just murky enough to conceal it from view. “Crabs have a good sense a’ smell, they’ll latch on quick. Once ya feel ‘em tuggin’, ya pull ‘em up gently. Keep yer hand steady now, or the damn things’ll smash against the pier and escape.”

Alex nodded and turned his head towards the drifting line, waiting for evidence of a subtle tug. Memories of boyhood holidays by the seafront flooded back to him as his attention was consumed by the shifting waves. He recalled his father feeding him instructions in the same, easygoing manner that Jeremiah himself had adopted. He remembered the excitement of pulling on the line and spotting a crab dangling on the end. He remembered gathering his prizes in a bucket and carrying them from the pier to the shore, only to tip the bucket onto its side and watch as his crabs raced towards the waves; cheering on his favourites and ultimately chastising them when they dawdled. Alex doubted that any catches today would be so lucky. Childish games hardly had a place in the world anymore.

Soon enough, Alex began to experimentally raise his line only to find unlucky crabs nibbling at the remains embedded on the hook. Following Jeremiah’s guidance, he raised the line upwards with a gentle hand, wary of the slightest breeze which could dislodge his prey from their perch. Despite his best efforts, one or two did end up diving beneath the waves, having devoured the sardines and escaped for freedom, but for the most part he was able to ease his catches over the railing and dump the stunned crabs into the bucket Jeremiah had provided. Neither of them were particularly chatty while they worked, but Alex did catch sight of the other man’s lips curling upwards once or twice.

“Who knows?” Jeremiah said, shortly after Alex teased his third disgruntled catch of the day into the bucket. “If yer any good at this, I might take ya out on the boat one o’ these days. Haven’t had a good shipmate in a while.”

There was something wistful in the man’s tone, and Alex thought he could see a trace of sadness in his gentle blue eyes as they stretched across the waves. Alex followed his gaze and allowed himself to imagine a quiet trip on a fishing boat, with the shattered remains of LA so far behind him that he could pretend it no longer existed in that state. He imagined the crisp sea air washing over his skin and the tales Jeremiah would tell of his past life as a humble fisherman. Such a quiet fantasy to latch onto, and yet it made his heart ache all the same. The fact that it was even a possibility felt like a novelty after all those years stranded on the moon.

“I think I’d like that,” Alex said, throwing Jeremiah a shy smile which the older man eagerly returned. A trace of sadness still remained and Alex could feel his own longing for a simpler past tugging at his heart, but he cast such feelings aside and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

The sun grew hotter as the day wore on, but Alex found he no longer minded. The routine of fishing gave him something to focus on beyond the sweat trickling from his brow, and the occasional splashes from particularly vigorous waves provided ample relief. Jeremiah had finally relented and retrieved the bottles of water from his rucksack, and they cracked them open and said ‘cheers’ as though sharing a particularly cool beer. From the way their faces crumpled with relief, one could be forgiven for assuming they were enjoying something far more luxurious, though Alex had to concede that a couple of ice-cubes wouldn’t have gone amiss.

For the most part they remained quiet and focused, though after a couple of hours Alex decided to try his luck and threw some general questions in Jeremiah’s direction. Not enough to pry into the man’s private life – he doubted they were friendly enough for that – but enough to get a general gist of what life had been like in recent years. The events that transpired after his hand slipped from Miles’ grasp remained a complete mystery to him; a fact he had to be careful to conceal so as not to betray his overwhelming ignorance.

Not that the older man seemed to notice. He was quite happy to chat away while Alex listened intently, gathering clues as the conversation went on. He learned that Jeremiah had always lived by the sea and that his earliest memories revolved around going out in fishing boats with his mother. He learned that he had known George for upwards of thirty years and that the pair’s fondness for each other had survived in spite of George’s hatred of the open water and Jeremiah’s general dislike of hiking.

Perhaps most importantly, he learned that the world had started to fall apart only five years prior. Jeremiah and George had fled to the coast alongside thousands of other evacuees as wildfires tore through the forests before ultimately claiming every town and city in their path. The actual disintegration of humanity had stretched over several endless months, heralded by one disaster after another, but Jeremiah had stubbornly waited it out while the other evacuees fled towards hope which grew slimmer by the hour. At one point, he said, the beaches had been so overrun with desperate city folk that you could barely move without trampling on some poor sod who had stumbled to the ground. Many had fled as soon as hopeful stories cropped up from elsewhere, though Jeremiah could only conclude that the vast majority had wound up running to their deaths.

No doubt that knowledge had weighed heavily on Jeremiah’s mind once. Even now it appeared that he had little desire to dwell on it, for the conversation staggered to a halt and the older man simply returned to his task with a weary sigh. Alex was grateful for this, despite his curiosity. Had he pried any further, Jeremiah may have turned the tables on him and started demanding explanations he simply didn’t have. He doubted this world-weary survivor would appreciate being told that Alex had only lasted this long because his mind and body had been ensnared by a monster with the ability to create alternate realities at will. No doubt that if Alex - and by extension Matt – had been forced to experience the apocalypse at face value, they would have met the same unfortunate fate as the desperate souls who’d gathered on the beach to escape the rising flames.

On the other hand, Jeremiah seemed like the type of man who was always destined to survive such a disaster. Watching him go about his work in silent concentration gave Alex the distinct impression that, overall, his life had barely altered in the wake of the apocalypse. Perhaps certain aspects had even become easier. In many ways he seemed like a relic of a distant past, fixated only on surviving day to day while enjoying simple pleasures as and when he encountered them.

Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he would be able to achieve that level of contentment too, many years down the line.

By the time the sun began to dip, the bucket was threatening to overflow as their catches wrestled each other in a bid to reach the top. Alex carefully guided the line containing his last helping of sardines upward, watching as an unsuspecting crab latched onto its last meal with vigour. It had been several hours since he’d lost a catch to the waves below, and his patience served him well as he eased the line over the wooden barrier and roughly shook the crab free, clumps of meat still clenched in its jagged claws as it tumbled into the bucket. Despite the lack of facial expression, Alex got the dimpression that the creature was regarding him with a look of utmost betrayal once it had recovered from shock.

The heat had begun to settle, for which Alex was grateful. His bottle of water had long since been drained and he could easily envision the cherry-red hue his cheeks had acquired over the course of the afternoon. Goosebumps rose along his bare arms in the wake of a cool breeze and he found himself wiping sweat from his brow less frequently as the hours wore on. Concluding that his efforts for the day had been enough, he rested his back against the railing and let his eyes slip shut as an icy spray splashed across his back.

Jeremiah too appeared to be winding down. The man had discarded the empty tin into the depths of the water once the last clump of meat had been salvaged, and was in the process of enticing a rather stubborn crab over the precipice. Alex watched intently as the creature twisted awkwardly on the line, claw caught on the dangling hook. Before it could plunge to the depths below, Jeremiah shot out an arm and caught it mid-fall, dumping the creature alongside its friends before it could nip at his hand. With their last victim finally ensnared, Jeremiah took a moment to assess their yield before securing the bucket with a plastic lid and collecting their equipment into a neat pile.

“Not bad!” he announced with a wide grin hiding beneath his bushy beard. The sun had darkened his cheeks to a fiery red and his wild locks had been flattened under the weight of damp sweat, but the discomfort did not seem to bother him in the slightest. “Not bad at all. Ya might survive the apocalypse yet.”

His words were followed by a wink which made Alex laugh despite himself. They took a moment to simply enjoy the cool sea air; the gentle rush of waves lapping beneath their feet as the first traces of orange and pink spread across the darkening sky. With this view stretched out before them, it was easy to pretend that everything was normal. Alex could almost convince himself that the world was truly as peaceful and unbroken as it appeared, and that his home was still waiting for him mere miles away. He knew it was dangerous to get lost in thoughts like that. He knew they would only bring further pain in the long run, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. If reality insisted on being awful then he felt he was owed time to indulge in fantasy.

He’d become well-practiced in that particular art after all.

The moment passed. Jeremiah packed away the twin set of fishing lines and secured his rucksack before throwing it over his back, while Alex lifted the weighty bucket and set off in pursuit as the older man led the way.

The trip back seemed considerably more bearable in spite of the exhaustion creeping into his bones. Perhaps seeing the devastated remains of civilisation had been like tearing off a plaster, to the point where even the foul smells lacked the ability to horrify him. The promenade seemed shorter than he remembered and evidence of ancient tourist traps soon dwindled to make way for the slender walkway which would lead them back to the cabins. By the time they were on the home-stretch, the sun was beginning to sink beneath the glittering blue waves and the sky was ablaze with tangerine streaks.

It occurred to Alex that he had officially been back in the real world for over twenty-four hours. Long enough to convince himself that perhaps this wasn’t a cruelly elaborate dream after all.

George and Matthew were still nowhere to be seen by the time they reached the cabin. A sliver of discomfort eased its way into Alex’s gut at the pervasive quiet which greeted him. Jeremiah didn’t seem particularly bothered by their absence, however, and was quick to assure him that George rarely made it home before he did. This didn’t strike Alex as being particularly heartening, as surely having an extra pair of hands would have made George’s role considerably easier, but he elected not to mention it. Instead, he allowed Jeremiah to take the bucket from his hands and gladly agreed when the older man suggested he go outside and start a campfire, as it turned out he had little desire to watch the unfortunate crabs meet their fate once Jeremiah started preparing dinner.

Starting a campfire was a considerably easier task than Alex had expected. The fact that George had amassed an impressive quantity of lighters and matches certainly helped, as did the abundance of brittle branches which lay scattered across the beach. George and Jeremiah had already created a tiny nook for such a purpose; the remains of previous campfires lay scorched and blackened within a ring of scattered logs which provided adequate seating. Childhood memories of countryside holidays once again proved fruitful as Alex got to work, and before long he found himself warming his hands above crackling flames as a mere spark succeeded in setting his collection of sticks alight. The sky above provided a similar fiery glow, with scattered grey clouds giving the impression of smoke drifting among orange embers. Content with his task, Alex settled against one of the fallen logs and simply gazed at the sky as exhaustion and hunger took hold and the fire bathed him in pleasant warmth.

It wasn’t long before an orange glow emanated from the cabin windows. Shadows were visible from within as Jeremiah set about preparing their evening meal, his large mass occasionally passing by the window and blocking the firelight from view. Bored of the sky, Alex directed his attention towards the resort, keeping his eyes peeled for a pair of returning travelers. He knew deep down that he should take comfort from Jeremiah’s lack of concern, yet anxiety clawed at his throat regardless. Matt and George had been gone far longer than Alex had even been awake. Given the late hour at which George had arrived home last night, his mind filled with images of Matt in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans, slowly freezing as George plowed on in thermals and a snug jacket. The chill was nowhere near that fierce just yet – if anything the breeze was a pleasantly cool balm after the earlier scorch – but Alex knew from experience that it would not be long before the cold was creeping upon them like an icy specter.

Such fears were unfounded of course, though that did little to calm the sense of relief which gripped him as a trio of shadows appeared on the horizon. Midnight’s slender form was unmistakable as she was led by the reins by a much smaller shadow, both of them tailing a hulking giant of a man. The leader plowed on with little regard for his companions, but seeing as Alex had envisioned Matt being left for dead in a ditch somewhere, he was willing to take the fact that all three had returned as a sign that George didn’t completely hate the idea of company.

George appeared to change course as soon as he noted the smoking campfire, detouring away from the cabin towards the small nook where Alex had settled himself. As much as he knew his feelings were irrational, Alex couldn’t help but squirm as the older man approached with his lips set in a grim line and eyes narrowed to grey slits.

“Your friend’s an idiot,” he announced with zero preamble, before turning on his heel and storming off towards the cabin. His stuffed rucksack weighed him down as he went, giving him a hunchbacked appearance which Alex may have laughed at if he had the courage. He valued his life far too highly for that however, and settled instead for turning to the approaching figure of Matt in stunned silence, hoping that he may be able to provide some form of explanation for their host’s wrath.

In contrast to George’s simmering anger, Matt looked positively chuffed as he approached with a stoic Midnight in tow. It struck Alex then that this was the only time he had ever seen Matt wearing normal clothes. The bright red jeans still clung to his legs and no doubt his trainers were the same shiny monstrosities from before, albeit thick mud had since claimed every inch of their surface. Instead of shimmering neon decorating his torso there was only a white t-shirt, however. His face was faintly pink and his arms were tanned from the sun, a paler outline just visible beneath the fabric as he tethered Midnight to a log, but his ridiculous sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. One could almost mistake him for ordinary in this light.

They would be wrong of course, but Alex wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking it.

The source of Matt’s joy and George’s displeasure became obvious soon enough. Once he’d overcome the distraction of Matt looking like a normal person rather than a reality-hopping outlaw, Alex’s eyes widened as he set his sights on the acoustic strapped precariously to Matt’s back. His excitement was clearly obvious, for Matt halted his delicate strokes of Midnight’s mane in order to flip the guitar round his torso until it was perfectly balanced in his hands, his long fingers resting over the delicate strings.

The instrument had clearly seen better days. Its once sleek mahogany surface was tarnished by scuff marks and scratches, and the strings would ideally need changing before any attempts were made to play them, though that didn’t dissuade Matt from carefully tuning them as he came to sit by Alex’s side. The neck was intact at least, though Alex had heard enough rumours of Matt’s onstage antics to wonder just how long the poor thing would survive. Not that he could talk, considering how many roadies he had pissed off back in the day due to his flagrant abuse of microphone stands.

“George thinks you’re an idiot for rescuing that thing, by the way,” Alex informed Matt with a playful smirk as the man started to play a classical melody. The tone was surprisingly pleasant given that the instrument likely hadn’t been touched in years, and Alex’s jibe did little to distract Matt from weaving a complex improvisation with ease.

“Oh I know,” Matt shot back with a wicked grin, letting the melody fade out before amusing himself by strumming simple chords instead. “He wouldn’t shut up about it the whole way back. Kept going on about the fact that his excursions are about searching for food and medicine and stuff that’s actually ‘useful’. Don’t think he appreciated it when I told him that life without a guitar isn’t worth living.”

“He’s not a connoisseur of music then?” Alex remarked. “You know what, I’d never have guessed.”

“Nah, doubt he’s whimsical enough for any of that nonsense,” Matt agreed, his smile softening as he raised the ragged guitar-strap over his head and settled his new love gently by his feet. A small carrier bag joined it on the sand, in which Alex could see a collection of t-shirts and likely outdated packets of paracetamol, but it seemed Matt had spent more energy carting the guitar back than salvaging anything George would consider valuable. “He wasn’t so bad though. I mean, he clearly didn’t like the idea of me tagging along, but he started to open up a bit once we got going. Stopped treating me like I was invisible anyway. I bet he’s a real softie once you get to know him.”

As much as Matt’s words dripped with sarcasm, something about his sincere smile implied that on some level, he believed what he was saying. Whether that was merely naïve optimism or an acute observation based on his time with George was unclear, but Alex was willing to take it as a somewhat reassuring sign. Perhaps their host really was a mere grump as opposed to the dangerous menace his imagination had concocted.

Any retort died on his tongue as he spotted Jeremiah and George approaching from the cabin, each sporting a pair of steaming bowls. The aroma of rich soup grew more enticing as they came closer, and by the time Jeremiah carefully eased one of the bowls into Alex’s waiting hands his mouth was watering as his stomach growled with hunger. The creamy soup closely resembled the seafood chowder from the night before, with the exception that this one had been created with crabmeat alone. Any guilt over the fate of his unfortunate catches vanished in an instant as Alex inhaled deeply before digging in with only slightly more tact than the night before.

They ate in relative peace, the quiet broken only by the crackling fire and the hushed voices of Jeremiah and George as they compared notes from their day. Despite George’s intimidating approach upon returning to the cabin, he showed little animosity towards his guests as they sat by the campfire. Alex could even have sworn that he’d given Matt a friendly nod upon handing him his bowl. Jeremiah remained his usual jovial self - which was considerably less surprising - and even asked Alex if he wanted seconds once his bowl was empty, to which he politely declined. As delicious as the soup was, everyone seemed to agree that it was far too filling for the notion of second portions to be entertained, and so they simply sat back once all four bowls were polished off, feeling full and sated.

It wasn’t long before the sun finally dipped beneath the waves and deep blues permeated the sky. Any remaining streaks of tangerine were banished in favour of an ever-darkening canvas dotted with glowing stars. The breeze started to carry the threat of ice with it, sending a shiver through Alex’s frame whenever it beckoned, but the heat from the flickering flames provided ample protection for the moment.

Without prompting, Matt lifted the rescued acoustic and started to strum absent-mindedly at the strings, frowning at every imperceptible error and twisting the tuning pegs until the rich sound satisfied him fully. He seemed entirely ignorant of his audience, closing his eyes and losing himself to the music once it overcame him. His fingers danced elegantly across the strings, unleashing a gorgeous Spanish-inspired piece as though he’d been performing onstage only yesterday. Perhaps Alex would have been slightly jealous once upon a time, but for now he was content to simply watch with a small smile tugging at his lips. The piece eventually faded into the distantly familiar chords of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, and Alex spotted Matt opening his mouth a couple of times as though intending to sing before ultimately deciding against it.

The final chords sounded abruptly as Matt opened his eyes and became aware of the three sets of eyes fixated on him. Nobody said a word, perhaps too enthralled to urge him to continue, but his eyes met Alex’s and he smiled before freeing himself from the strap and handing the guitar over. It lingered between them for several seconds as Alex gaped at it, torn between desperation to lay his hands on a real guitar and terror at the possibility that his skills may have left him. Even if his experiences in the hotel counted for anything, he still spent upwards of five years relying mostly on piano, with the guitar being reserved for special occasions or more energetic crowds.

Ultimately, the itch to play again overcame any self-consciousness. He took the instrument in his hands with a degree of reverence before letting it rest in his lap. For a few moments his fingers merely ghosted over the frets as songs battled for dominance in his brain; everything from his own work to David Bowie screaming to be played while his hands remained stock-still. When he finally did begin to play, the song remained a mystery even to him. He took a moment to simply adapt to the instrument and the sensation of playing again, grateful that his muscle memory appeared to be serving him well, and a shy smile crept over his face as the familiar notes of Leonard Cohen washed over the small gathering.

The urge to sing wrestled with him too, but he crushed it down and focused on the simple act of playing the chords to ‘Is This What You Wanted’. A sharp ache pierced his heart like an arrowhead as the music transported him to a summer he’d never wanted to end; to non-stop laughter and the sweet sensation of looking across the stage to find Miles smiling back at him. He imagined that even if he wanted to sing, he would find himself choking on the words and butchering the song in the process, so the stripped-down instrumental would have to suffice.

Or so he thought, only to be proven wrong the instant a rich baritone voice joined the fray. Alex’s fingers stumbled for only a millisecond before he recovered himself. He looked up to watch as Jeremiah sang along with his eyes closed, a wistful smile playing across his lips as the music seemed to transport him back to a distant past.

His voice could hardly be called perfect on a technical level, but that only made it more beautiful. His tone was rich – the imperfections adding more character than polish ever could – and his raspy vocals added a maturity that Alex doubted he would have been able to capture himself. He grinned when Jeremiah opened his eyes and winked at him, before turning his attention fully to the acoustic, ensuring that each note landed perfectly so as not to ruin the impromptu performance.

The air was broken by an excitable whoop and applause from Matt once the final notes faded into nothingness, and Jeremiah chuckled before giving the gathering a little bow. Alex’s heart was so lifted that he thought nothing of shedding the acoustic and offering it over to George, who happened to be closest to him. In keeping with the man’s earlier attitude, he simply refused with a shake of his head, though in the flickering firelight his eyes appeared softer than Alex had ever seen them. Undeterred, Alex simply shrugged before handing the guitar back to Matt. His friend seemed to have been rejuvenated by his and Jeremiah’s unconventional duet, and once the guitar was back in his hands, he launched into an excitable interrogation of the older man, employing his usual scatter-gun delivery in the process.

The pair quickly bonded over a shared love of Nina Simone and especially Tom Waits. Before long, Matt was launching into the guitar chords of ‘Blue Valentine’ while Jeremiah effortlessly sang the vocal, capturing the precise gravitas that such a song demanded despite the smile lurking on his jolly face. Alex contented himself with simply sitting back and watching, before turning his eyes to George.

The man had been conspicuously quiet all night. Alex wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to find on his face, though he would have bet money on detecting a certain degree of disapproval resting upon a deep frown. What he wasn’t expecting was the unmistakable fondness radiating from the man’s eyes as his gaze lingered heavily on Jeremiah, nor the gentle smile tugging at his lips as he fought to keep his expression neutral. Any tension which had gripped his bulky frame had melted away and he seemed positively relaxed, in sharp contrast to every interaction Alex had shared with him. The sight made him wonder if Matt’s earlier assessment could be closer to the truth than he had previously appreciated. At the very least, it appeared that Jeremiah was George’s sole weakness, and the sight tugged at Alex’s heart in a manner which forced him to avert his eyes.

They continued their back-and-forth with Matt and Alex taking turns on the guitar while Jeremiah took up vocal duties, until the fire started to die within its nest and the night’s chill chased them all back towards the cabin. Thankfully their temporary home had been gradually warmed by the log burner and Alex wasn’t forced to relive the bone-chilling sensations of the previous night. A strange wave of contentment gripped him by the hand and settled in his chest as he laid down and rested his head upon the folded jumper which served as his makeshift pillow. He was still exhausted from the day’s trek and a degree of uncertainty remained over how long he and Matt would be able to remain as guests, but none of that mattered.

In contrast to the fear which had consumed him the night before, the pervading feeling which claimed him as Jeremiah bade them all a sleepy ‘goodnight’ was that, somehow, the future might not be entirely terrible.

#does this sequel already have a title? yes #am I still going to insist on giving it that overlong intro every time? also yes #arctic monkeys #muse #Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #my fic

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 6

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because the quest is back on!

Last time in book: Kylan and Naia have joined forces with Rian to overthrow the Skeksis. Unfortunately, Kylan has also been declared a traitor by the Skeksis. The three decide to leave Stone-in-the-Wood immediately and pursue separate plans. Rian will go to the All-Maudra with the vial of Mira goo. Kylan and Naia will go find Aughra and try to alert all Gelflings to what the Skeksis are doing.

Chapter 6

The heroes make their way through the forest to the Black River. Kylan sings a Jarra-Jen story that gets Rian to open up.

The gang... is there a catchy name for the protagonists? Kylan’s crew? Anyway, they’re leaving Stone-in-the-Wood in the dark of the night because at least 2 out of 3 and probably 3 out of 3 are fugitives.

But more importantly:

“Best wishes!” Mythra said. “When I’m big, I’ll come and join you. I fear no lying Skeksis!”

Mythra is too powerful!

“Once you’re big enough to not be eaten in one gulp. Then I’ll welcome you.”

It was the first playful thing Kylan had heard the soldier say, and it was endearing.

It really is!

I love the dynamic between Rian and Mythra.

The three set off in RPG formation: Rian in the front, squishy Kylan in the middle, and Naia in the back. Kylan, in Kylan fashion, feels bad and tells himself he brings value to the party somehow, even if he doesn’t know how.

Best boy Kylan, you’re the best boy. But also: you came up with a great third option between Rian and Naia’s position last chapter. That’s something!

The group also starts discussing whether the Skeksis have been preying on the Gelfling for a long time. Kylan brings up the census, how the Skeksis come twice a year to record the number of Gelfling. Rian even darkly calls it a harvest.

“We count the peach-berry trees every spring, and pluck half the blossoms so they bloom in the summer. That way we know they will all bear fruit, and how many. Mother Aughra taught the Gelfling these things long ago, and we’ve performed the counting and plucking every year since the Age of Innocence... and yet we couldn’t see that the Skeksis were doing the same to our people in front of our very eyes.”

Naia said, “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to consider.”

They wonder whether the Skeksis perform the census with the Dousan and the Grottan. Rian says that he’s only ever seen a single Dousan guard at the Castle and none from the Caves of Grot. He speculates that the Skeksis may have finished them off long ago without any one noticing.

Grim.

Kylan can’t help but contrast this grim Rian with the sentimental, kind Rian he saw in the dreamfast and also in his interactions with Mythra and Shoni.

Guy’s been through so much.

But Kylan has an idea! STORY TIME. Of course about Jarra-Jen, obvs.

Naia: “I could use a break from the stories of our real life.”

Mood.

Many songs of our lightning-born hero are known

From courage and cleverness are these stories grown

But no song is filled with such heartache and yen

As this one of the Dew-Tree and brave Jarra-Jen

Kylan sings the song of Jarra-Jen’s cool girlfriend Amiris of Darkwood, the Singer of Dew. She apparently personally applies the dew to every blade of grass, which is impressive.

Also, she had green hair. The Gelfling are anime people in this continuity apparently.

“Jarra-Jen loved Amiris, as a singer loves song” which is a good line. And they danced every night. They had a really good relationship.

Then Kaul, the Dark King of Sand, ruined the mood by Ganondorfing all over the happy times.

He kidnapped Amiris and took her to the dunes and demanded she make the desert green like Hyrule. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she couldn’t? Because of climate?

But Kaul was a dick about it.

So the King, at her failure, grew wrathful in spite

He took her out in the desert, upon sands hot and white

There he punished her, holding her face to the suns

“If I can’t have the Garden, then neither will no-one.”

Cool rhyme though.

On the fourth morning, Jarra-Jen finally found her but too late. ‘She wanted to cry but the tears had been burned out of her eyes’ amount of too late. She dying.

So she makes a magic seed pop out of her chest, as ya do.

Jarra-Jen pleaded and begged, cried for her not to go

She put the seed in his hand, bade him help it to grow

Then she melted to stardust. The wind took her away

Jarra-Jen left with the seedling on his loneliest day.

Dang, that’s sad.

Don’t you hate it when your gf melts into stardust after staring into the suns too long?

Jarra-Jen plants the seed like Amiris asked but it won’t grow because this is still the desert.

He called to the earth. He called to the sky

But nobody answered. The dew-seed would die

With no other hope, Jarra-Jen fell to his knees

And wept...

Bursting forth from the sands came an enormous tree

Brown of skin, strong of branch, and emerald of leaf

Its roots rippled the earth, its crown brushed the sky

And Jarra-Jen poured forth every last tear he could cry

I feeeeel like salt water wouldn’t be great for growing a tree but Jarra-Jen is a folk legend. This kind of thing is just what they do.

Anyway, Kylan finishes up the song. And I feel like this is the origin story of whatever the Patron Tree of the Dousan are. Huge magic tree in desert? Gotta be.

Naia helpfully tells the moral of the story to the audience. I mean, this is YA. And also, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the cliff notes.

“I liked it,” she said. “I think it’s a good lesson... We will always face hard times, but it’s important to remember that our sadness can often be what becomes our strength. There’s no weakness in sorrow or grief.”

Rian says nothing about the story but he sniffs and wipes his cheek. He was moved.

Good song-telling, song-teller Kylan.

And what good timing, he finished the story right as they reach the Black River and it’s time to split up.

Hm. Earlier I joked about Naia having to go to Ha’rar after all the detours last book so its funny to me that she’s still not going. I wonder if she’ll ever go to Ha’rar.

Anyway, Rian gives them directions for how to find Aughra’s house from here.

Realizing that they may never see Rian again if something goes wrong, Kylan tells him that he’s not alone and “we may be strangers by blood, but we’re family in arms.”

Rian softens for them.

“I miss Gurjin and the others very much,” Rian confessed. “I don’t want to put anyone else in danger. Every night I dream of the Skeksis hunting me, killing anyone nearby. Gurjin, Mira, Mythra, Timtri, my mother... The only way I can rest is if I’m alone. Once the All-Maudra has been told, maybe I will stop looking over my shoulder, but until then... I couldn’t see you in danger when Gurjin died to protect us.”

“I do trust you both, though. As I trusted Gurjin. I only fear that my sorrow will not be enough to grow anything.”

“Only if it’s salted with remorse,” Kylan said. “Good journey to you, Rian. We’ll meet again in Ha’rar, with help from Mother Aughra and stories of our adventures on the High Hill.”

Rian floats away in a boat and with his last words as he disappears into the shadow warns Kylan and Naia to stay away from finger vines. Whatever those are!

After Rian disappears along the river and the other two Gelfling prepare a second boat, Naia compliments how on the nose the story choice was.

“That song of Jarra-Jen was really something,” Naia said ... “I think it really moved him. I wouldn’t mind meeting the song teller who wrote it. The song that soothed the soul of the boy who first saw the Skeksis betrayal!”

“You don’t have to wait to meet that song teller,” he said. “You already did, in Sami Thicket, when he was running away from home.”

“When he was...” Naia coughed in surprise as she put one and one together. Then she crowed with laughter. “You devil! You made it up just for Rian?”

AMAZING.

Kylan figured Rian wouldn’t listen if Kylan just straight up said the stuff about sorrow growing good things so he wrapped it in a story HE MADE UP ON THE SPOT INCLUDING RHYMES and sang it!

What a good song-teller.

And Rian thought wow this ancient story about a cultural folk hero hits me where I live.

Amazing.

I hope Rian passes that off as a real Jarra-Jen story and it gets spread around and becomes part of the accepted canon of Jarra-Jen adventures.

I wonder if there was already an Amiris and a story linking Jarra-Jen to the Patron Tree in the desert. How much Kylan was able to pick up from other stories to make his seem more legit.

“I don’t regret it one bit, Song Teller,” Naia said, as the opposite bank came into view in the dark. “Taking you along. I would have been a fool not to. I hope you know this as I know it.”

It was possibly the sweetest thing she’d ever said to him, and Kylan finally let out the smile he’d been holding back.

BEST FRIENDS.

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #Song of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Rian #Kylan #Naia #Mythra #but only a little

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sebthesnipe · 4 years

Text

Wounded

First // Previously // Next

My Dearest Procyon

Masterpost

MDP Discord Server

Chapter 34

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

“It isn’t working,” Logan huffed, feeling ridiculous.

“It will, just give it time!” Patton sighed.

“Time is something we’re wasting!” Virgil grumbled from where he sat under a nearby tree. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself as he watched the other two.

“We’ll be wasting more of it if you don’t stop whining,” Patton shot back with a glare before turning back to his partner.

Logan sat, legs crossed, on the ashy ground, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed as he focused on his breathing. He could hear Patton shift closer, could feel their bond transfer the dragon’s confidence, so different from his own.

“All you have to do is reach out, visualize,” Patton urged.

“Patton,” Logan sighed softly, cracking an eye open to look at him, “Maybe we should try quiet?” Logan offered, causing the dragon to pause before giving an embarrassed chuckle.

“Right, sorry.” Patton nodded, falling silent as Logan tried to return to his meditative state.

It had been a long while since he had had a vision, since he and Patton met in fact. That of course, was not a vision he wished to dwell on in their current situation. Still, he had to acknowledge the fact that the vision still hadn’t come to fruition, which did not bode well for any of them.

“Ugh! This is hopeless!” Virgil spat, lifting the corner of the blanket to cover his mouth as he coughed.

“Virgil!” Patton grumbled in response.

Logan could hear the other witch move to stand, causing Patton to do the same.

“Relax,” Virgil huffed, “I’m just going to scout around a bit while you do…. Whatever.”

“I’ll go with you,” Patton urgered, stepping around his partner.

Logan could feel the dragon’s worry without seeing it on his face. He was fairly certain that if allowed, Patton wouldn’t let the smaller witch out of his sight for more than an instant. Virgil was far too fragile in his current state.

“Fine,” Virgil growled after a moment. “Whatever!”

A moment later, Logan felt the intensity of Patton’s emotions begin to fade as the dragon got further and further away. Finally, silence fell around him.

Even with the others gone, Logan was still apprehensive. Before Patton, Logan had only been able to see up until he met the dragon and everything beyond that was static. Patton was just too powerful! He blocked out everything else.

The dragon did have a point though. If he and Logan now shared the same power, then there was no reason Logan shouldn’t be able to have a vision. There was no power gap and therefore nothing to block him. Hypothetically, it could be accurate, but Logan wasn’t quite so convinced.

The seer tensed as realization struck him. Then again, if his lack of visions were due to the involvement of the dragon, then perhaps he could look towards something the dragon is not a part of.

Logan took another deep breath, pulling Patton’s magical energy through him. He took another inhale, centering himself before starting.

Dark blues and blacks swirled around him, reminding him far too much of the night sky as Logan stepped forward. His gentle foot falls made no sound as he collided with the translucent floor beneath him.

He knew this place…

Lights shifted around him. They appeared to be some sort of star system. Logan knew the patterns.The stars swirled around him, a small loving smile playing on his lips as he reached out for one, causing it to glow brightly.

“Hello, Procyon,” Logan whispered softly, unable to keep the smile from his lips. He lifted his other hand, caressing the star fondly before glancing about his sanctum. “Last time I was here, I had the privilege of sharing you with Patton,” he mumbled, glancing back at the star in his hands. “I believe he has grown quite fond of you. Though, he does seem quite generous in his affections to just about everything,” Logan laughed before pulling away.

“Um… Logan?” Patton’s voice came, making the man give a small start as he turned on his heel.

“Patton?” Logan mumbled, brows furrowed in confusion as he eyed the man before him.

Patton appeared saddened by something as he clung to the blanket in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” Logan rushed, heart sinking. “Has something happened to Virgil?!”

The dragon hesitated. “Roman looks cold,” he commented.

Logan’s confusion spiked for a moment before realization hit and he couldn’t help but get a small chuckle as Patton glanced away.

“I just… don’t think it’d be a good idea if I did it,” the dragon replied to some unheard comment.

Logan took a step closer, examining the smaller man’s form. He should have spotted the lack of pink in the man’s curls immediately, though he supposed he was far too surprised by his presence to really pay attention.

“C-could you… Could you maybe…” the dragon continued making Logan soften a bit more.

The witch reached out to brush a loose curl behind the dragon’s ear before caressing his cheek. It was a memory. A fond one. Patton had been so worried that Roman hated him and Logan had somehow managed to comfort him.

Patton moved as if to hold out the blanket he carried before he suddenly disappeared.

Disappointment washed through the witch at the loss, but he didn’t bother dwelling on it. He needed to continue on.

He moved further into the swirling blacks and blues, searching for something that would signal his visions. Anything to give them a clue as to-

His boot landed on the soft blades of grass suddenly beneath his feet.

“Of course,” Patton chuckled. Logan’s gaze shot to the small silhouette of the man stretched out beneath the stars. “I’ve never met anyone with so much knowledge about what’s out there. I’ve always wondered about it. How could I not?” He turned to the small specks that littered the sky. “They’re the only things that stay the same no matter how old I get.”

Logan paused. Surely he could spare a moment, just a brief minute, to appreciate the scene before him.

“I don’t remember,” Patton answered the unspoken question from, what felt like ages ago, never pulling his gaze from the stars. “I lost count a long time ago. Why try and figure it out now?”

Logan didn’t need to see Patton’s face to remember the pain he saw there. He still didn’t understand how someone so wonderful could have experienced so much pain without turning cynical.

The image faded, Logan’s disappointment returning.

They had been through quite a lot since they had met in that large cave. Logan had gone from not even realizing the dragon existed to being unable to picture his life without him. Patton was everything to him. He was his guiding light. His very own Procyon.

“So far, we’ve only found you and Patton,” Virgil’s voice came, pulling the seer from his thoughts. “Which means we need to keep going. If we can’t find this ‘source’, we’ll never be able to remain human or return home to face that bastard!” The words echoed around him, causing the witch to turn in a circle searching for the other witch.

“You mean this Noname, guy?” Roman asked, appearing on the floor a few meters off. “He sounds pretty awful.”

“You have no idea,” Virgil replied, appearing next to him.

This wasn’t Logan’s memory. That was good! It meant that he was getting closer to where he needed to be. He didn’t hesitate to move on, not wanting to invade Virgil’s privacy.

“Logan’s different,” Virgil’s voice came, “As a seer, Logan can see the truth; the future truth and the present truth…”

Logan picked up the pace.

“A half-dragon-half-witch that is also a queen?!” Roman suddenly appeared before the seer. Logan paid no mind, jogging through the image without hesitation.

He kept moving. He needed to get to the end.

“Virgil!” Roman’s voice cried out as the smaller witch appeared, eyes wide in shock as he stared down at the knife in his torso.

Logan paused, heart sinking.

The smaller witch collapsed, the prince suddenly at his side trying to save him. Roman’s first few words fell of deaf ears as Logan watched in horror, regret cementing his feet.

He should have been there for his friend. He should have stayed with him instead of spending so much time with Patton.

He watched Roman remove the knife, despite the fact that it would only worsen Virgil’s condition.

Why hadn’t Logan gone with him! He could have protected him!

“Hey…” Virgil’s weak voice came, finally pulling Logan from his panic. “It’s okay… It’s all good. Ah!... Princey…. Gonna take more… more than…”

Logan wiped the tears from his eyes. He didn’t have time for this!

He forced himself onwards, refusing to look back.

It was an old injury. He needed to focus on the injuries that were to come, not the ones from his past. If Logan didn’t find answers soon, then Virgil wouldn’t need to worry about any wounds at all. He’d be far beyond them.

The clash of metal on metal pulled Logan from his thoughts, causing him to glance up, gaze searching.

“Damn it!” Roman’s rough voice came as he appeared before the witch. The usually well kept prince was a horrific mess. His sandy locks were plastered to his forehead with sweat and… was that blood?

Roman yanked his sword back from the soldier on the end of it, suddenly materializing and dropping to the floor.

“Homuncli,” Logan breathed in relief. Roman was covered in Red clay.

He watched the prince stumble back, leaning against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. His usually white shirt was caked in the same red dust as everything else. He looked beaten and worn with large bags under his swollen eyes, lip spit, body bruised.

Roman ripped one of his torn sleeves further, managing to collect a large bit of cloth and pressing it against his opposite shoulder. The fabric quickly darkened with the actual blood Logan had missed, the color blending with the clay.

Roman was in bad shape. He wouldn’t be able to keep fighting much longer. Still, Logan watched the man push from the wall and stumble onwards.

Concealment no longer mattered. They needed to get to Roman as quickly as possible. If they were lucky they’d be able to get in and get out fast enough that Noname wouldn’t have enough time to actually react.

It appeared Logan had no choice but to agree to Virgil’s plan.

…………………………………….

Everything hurt.

Despite it all, it was a welcomed feeling. If he was in pain, then it would be difficult for Roman to fall unconscious, which meant he could keep moving. If he was in pain then he was alive. If he was alive then he could still save Virgil… he hoped.

The prince pushed onwards, stumbling down another hallway. No guards this time. Good.

Remy had been right, the place was an absolute maze. He was lucky they were on his side for more reason than-

“Roman?”

The prince tensed, forcing his sword up, ready to attack as he wheeled around.

“Holy dickcheese, Roman,” Remus breathed in surprise, stepping over another disposed soldier, mace resting on his shoulder. “You look like the dog’s fucktoy.”

“Don’t come any closer,” Roman warned, trying to look as threatening as possible despite his wounded state.

“Roman,” Remus sighed, taking another step.

“I’m serious!” Roman snapped, taking a step back.

Remus didn’t seem to pay any mind as he continued forward, starting to close the distance between them.

“What are you going to do, Ro? Kill me?” Remus mocked as he finally reached the other man.

Roman swung, the motion forcing air from his lungs at the pain it caused.

Remus didn’t hesitate to lift his own weapon, bringing the mace up to strike against the sword. The force of the blow reverberated down the blade, shaking Roman to the core and causing him to cry out, dropping it and throwing him off balance.

His twin moved quickly, dropping low and twisting to wrap an arm around his brother’s waist, steading him with one hand, the mace still in the other.

“What are you doing?!” Roman spat, trying to shove against the other man’s hold.

“What does it look like?” Remus growled in return, “I’m keeping your dumbass from collapsing.”

“I will die before I go back to the dungeons!” Roman yelled, still trying to wiggle out of his hold. “You’ll have to kill me!”

“Ugh!” Remus groaned, letting go and allowing the prince to collapse onto the floor in a very undignified manner. “You’re such a moron! I’m not taking you to the dungeon you dingus!”

Roman groaned, curling in on himself as everything screamed in protest at the impact of his body hitting the floor.

“Y-you’re not?” he breathed after a moment, glancing up at the other man.

“No, you idiot,” Remus scoffed. “I came to help, but if we’re going to get out of here, then you need to get that fatass up and keep that trap shut!”

“W-why?” Roman breathed, moving to use the wall to help him stand.

“Because you talk way too fucking much and its really annoy-”

“No!” Roman snapped. “Why are you helping me?”

“Oh,” Remus blinked before giving a sly grin. “I told you. You’re my bro…. And you’re an idiot. Somebody has gotta look after you. You obviously can’t do it yourself. Besides, what’s an older brother for?” he asked, offering out a hand.

“There is no way you’re older!” Roman argued, hesitating a moment before accepting the offered support. “We’re supposed to be twins.”

Remus considered the words for a moment, moving to pull Roman’s arm over his shoulder and making the prince groan from the action.

“You’re probably right,” Remus shrugged. “But I’m still older.”

“Whatever,” Roman grumbled, breath hitching as he tried to keep his breathing level. “Let’s just go before I change my mind.”

“So bossy,” Remus grumbled, but complied. He supported the weight of his larger twin as they headed down another corridor.

To be continued….

Taglist:

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly

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heungtanbts · 5 years

Text

Claim Your Throne

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre/warnings: hades!au; implications of smut and a lot of sexual tension but das about it.

word count: 2k

“You were jealous when Lady Anthara was up there with me.”

From where you’re sitting on your bed, you shoot him a disgruntled look. “And how exactly are you so sure of that? You were all the way up there on your throne, and I was much too far and deep within the crowds for you to even see me.”

Hoseok stands from the purple velvet arm chair and begins to leisurely pace around your chambers, a long cloak of onyx smoke trailing behind him.

“When I first became ruler of the Underworld, I had a hard time sleeping.” Hoseok reminisces, clasping his hands behind his back as he paces. “A hard time functioning in general, actually. Why? Because it was too noisy for me.”

You can’t stop yourself from snorting. “What, the walls aren’t sound proof enough for Your Highness?”

He just smiles, ignoring your comment. ”As soon as I rose to the throne, I began to hear countless voices in my head. Agonized moaning and groaning, desperate pleas, pain-ridden wailing, a harrowing symphony of voices of the wretched. I came to realize they were coming from all the souls of the Underworld. And I could hear every one of their thoughts.”

Hoseok slows his pacing to a halt, shaking his head with a sad smile. “I figured it must be a curse that I am forced to live with, a small price to pay for full dominion over the Dark Realm.”

All the sass and rebellion inside of you dies in that moment, your heart genuinely feeling for him. “That sounds... awful.”

Everyone knows the king of the Underworld is a powerful being that controls the army of the dead, but you’re pretty sure no one knows of this fact, one of the many secrets and hidden pains that lie behind the power. Though it doesn’t seem to bother Hoseok, at least visibly, as he shrugs it off immediately. “I quickly learned how to tune all the voices out. I had to, if I didn’t want to drive myself insane and wallow in eternal sorrow with them. Now I am very good at it and only hear what i want to hear.” From where he stands, his dark eyes find yours, and as if to further prove his point, he follows up with “So you think Lady Anthara is too weak and spineless to be my queen, huh?”

You freeze, the realization daunting. He can hear your thoughts as well. All of them.

“Its funny,” He makes his way over to the vanity, his movements painfully unhurried and relaxed as he unbuttons the cloak from around his neck, “I’ve mastered the art of tuning out the voices and multitude of thoughts, and yet,” he hangs the pile of billowing obsidian on the back of the chair, his gaze finding yours, “I can’t help but hear yours.”

The way your heart jumps in your chest nearly startles you, but you refuse to let that show. Instead you frown disapprovingly to cover it up. “Well I’d appreciate it if you could stop listening in and ignore mine too, please and thank you. It’s quite the invasion of privacy.”

You watch as Hoseok takes a seat at the edge of the bed where you are stationed, leaning on a hand on the soft mattress and looking like the origin of sin while doing so, strands of raven hair falling into his even darker eyes. He’s not even doing anything, not even touching you - he’s just sitting, all the while looking like the true king of the Underworld - powerful, majestic, incredibly sexy. In contrast, he tilts his head to the side, looking almost adorable and playful, well, as adorably playful as the overlord of the dead could be.

“I would stop if I could, love, but one - I can’t for some reason, and two - frankly,” his eyes twinkle darkly, “I don’t really want to.”

A surge of enraged heat rises inside of you. “Why you-“

Hoseok sighs nonchalantly, tracing his long index finger in the black silk, “You know, normally if anyone were to try to command me, let alone raise their voice at me like that, they’d find themselves taking a nice long swim with all the other souls in the River of Eternity.”

“Are you threatening me?” You retaliate, not feeling intimidated in the slightest. It’s obvious Hoseok, the conniving Dark Majesty Hades, is trying to mess with you, to get you to give in, but to what?

“No, I’m merely stating what normally happens in those cases. This is obviously not normal. Just so happens that you, my dear, defy all the odds.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Whatever do you mean?”

“You crave power, glory. The right to rule and have subjects bow at your feet. You crave me.”

His forwardness catches you off guard, a pit forming in your stomach. It’s true, deep down inside you long with all of your soul for those things. While most maidens of the Dark Realm want nothing more than a lover, the finest of wines and hot, passionate sexual escapades, you want those things and more. So much more. It annoys you to no end that he has guessed correctly about you. But that is all that it is - just a mere guess that happened to be correct. “What being doesn’t crave power and glory to some extent? And although you are objectively adequate in your looks and physique, you have no proof that I have ever thought such things.”

Hoseok clears his throat, “And i quote, ‘He’s so hot, I just want him to rip off his robes, come lay with me in my chambers, and grind up on me with his c-“

“That’s enough!” You rapidly cover his mouth with your hand, feeling crimson heat flood your cheeks. “At least you could have the decency to not say all of that out loud!” You’re absolutely mortified that he heard all of that. That means he knows just how long you’ve been pining after him, drooling over his power, daydreaming of his beautiful body all over yours, imagining holding his hand as you sit side by side on the throne. He knows everything.

“Unfortunately, I quite like my cloak so I opted to gently disrobe instead, against your wishes.” He smirks knowingly. “However, the rest of your sinful thoughts and fantasies I can most definitely make a reality.”

“Not unless I die from embarrassment first” You groan, head falling into your palms, ashamed.

Suddenly you feel Hoseok lean forward, so much that when you uncover your face, you find being cornered to lay back on the massive bed, head cushioned by ripples of black silk as he cages you in with his hands. He towers over you, his knees straddling one of your legs as you sink deeper into the mattress. The mouth-watering lines of his lean, carved body are visible even through the dark fabric of his robes as he hovers over you so closely, you can feel the heat, the raw power, radiating off of him. His eyes have somehow grown even darker, pupils blown out and brimming with lust, and that sight alone triggers another cascade of heat within you, this time not to your cheeks from embarrassment, but somewhere lower, a region where embarrassment no longer exists.

He takes his time trailing the back of his fingers down your cheek, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his surprisingly cool skin, his touch leaving shivers in his wake. Hoseok makes his way down the column of your throat, moving up and down the sensitive area in a light feathery motion that drives you mad.

“I must say,” your eyes open at the sound of Hoseok’s sultry voice as he continues explore the map of your body, grazing his fingers down your arm to draw light circles in the palm of your hand, “I do agree with you.”

“Agree with what?” you choke out, much too caught up in the way his fingers now dance across your collar bones and at the neckline of your bust. Your breathing is becoming more embarrassingly rapid and haggard by the minute, and it seems no matter how much air you take in, you’re still drunkenly dizzy from Hoseok’s scent and mere presence. He lowers himself down to an elbow so that now his body is laying on top of yours, melding into your shape and warmth, and you almost jump into the River of Eternity right then and there.

“Your thought that you’d serve to be a much greater queen than any other maiden out there.”

Your eyes widen, his tantalizing game momentarily forgotten. “God dammit, Hoseok, you just had to hear every single thought that crossed my mind, didn’t you?”

“I couldnt resist.” He leans in dangerously close, leaving barely any space between his lips and yours, “I can’t resist you.” His hot breath puffs against your lips temptingly, your heart rate sky rocketing at the feeling of his free hand now traveling further south to play with the hem of your shirt, Hoseok, Hades, is the omnipotent ruler of the Underworld, the most authoritative being in the Dark Realm, so why is he giving the Demon of Lust a run for his money with all his unbearable sexiness and god-forbidden ability to tease you to near death?

Hoseok suddenly laughs, the moment of thick tension broken, moving his head to the side to chuckle heartily into the crook of your neck. At first his reaction baffles you, but then in dawning realization, you immediately scowl. Seriously, damn him and his ability to hear your thoughts.

When his laughter finally dies down, his expression becomes serious, no signs of jest anywhere to be found. “Be my queen. Come, share in this great power of mine. Rule the Underworld by my side, as one of- no, as the most feared ruler in the universe. The Queen of Death, the Empress of the Dark Realm. Come, my love, come claim your throne.” Hoseok’s proposition is sinfully inviting, and to make matters worse he brushes his hips against your leg seductively as he says this, and you’re not sure exactly which “throne” he’s implying you should claim.

You find that you have a very difficult time ignoring the way your heart rams against your chest at the thought of spending the rest of eternity by his side, overseeing the Underworld together, indulging in the power and glory as one body, one unit. Having all of the Dark Realm at your feet, bowing in reverence and fear because of you, their feared Queen. You squirm slightly under Hoseok’s carnal gaze. Now you really don’t know which throne seems more tempting.

At your reaction, Hoseok’s lips curl up into a grin, “ I take that as a yes then?”

“I beg to differ, I haven’t said anything yet.” You quip defensively. It’s no lie that you crave power just as much as Hoseok does, that fact is just as obvious as the suffocating tension that lies between the two of you. This here is a power play you don’t want to give into so easily, all for the sake of your greed and pride. Your sanity is slipping between your fingers as the seconds pass, and you hate to admit that at this point, you’re barely hanging by a thread. Ideally, you not only desire complete domination over this world that he has claimed - you want complete and utter power over Hoseok himself.

But completely opposite to how a ruthless, all-mighty ruler would act, Hoseok begins to scatter soft kisses all over your face. Rather than bring out the overwhelming authority you know he possesses and is just teeming with, instead he forces you to bow at your knees with his sensual touches, his lips lingering for a moment too long at the corner of your lips, knowing you want more than that, need more than that.

“On the contrary, you’ve already said quite a bit, my love.” Hoseok murmurs in between kisses, pausing every now and then to admire your flushed cheeks and lustful gaze.

You huff in a weak attempt to hide just how affected you are. “Will this ‘thought reading’ thing ever stop being so annoying?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “You may have said a lot with your thoughts, but actually you’ve said much more with your body, with your eyes. So much so that I didn’t even need to hear your thoughts to know.” He presses himself against you, eliciting an involuntary moan from your lips. “Come claim your throne, my queen - please.”

And that’s all it takes for you to give in, wrap your arms around his neck and urgently pull him towards to you, your lips finally finding where they belong - molded to his, whispering sweet nothings and eternal promises of pure pleasure against them. In the moment, you may have won by holding out until he gave in, but you both knew you were already done for the moment he stepped foot into your chambers. It was a losing battle from the very beginning, starting from the day his power and might claimed your heart many, many years ago. It’s been far too long since then, and finally, finally it is time to rightfully claim what is yours - tonight, you will claim your throne.

---

A/N: i had a dream about hoseok as hades. i know little to nothing about greek mythology and the actual story of hades. i also did not intend for this to end up being about hoseok as super sexy, mind-reading, sultry king of the Underworld but that’s how it turned out sooo YEAH. also i guess i’m counting this as just a regular one shot. i hope you all can share in my pain with me thanks kbye.

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razieltwelve · 5 years

Text

Swords (Final Effect)

Commander Jane Shepard (promotion currently under consideration) ducked behind a wall as another hail of projectiles hurtled down the corridor. In the aftermath of the Reaper War, space pirates and raiders had become for more bold due to the losses the major powers had suffered. It was up to her and other elite agents to deal with them since the major powers were still struggling to recoup their losses.

It had gotten bad enough that the Systems Alliance had asked the Empire for assistance although they had been careful about rewording it as ‘cooperative training exercises’ for the press to avoid inciting a panic. Personally, Shepard would have been perfectly happy telling some of the more overzealous members of the Empire to go nuts since they apparently had a long-standing grudge against space pirates. However, the higher ups did not want to appear weak with negotiations underway.

Honestly, it was ridiculous. Even if the Systems Alliance had been at full strength, the Empire could have crushed them without breaking a sweat. Oh well. At least dealing with space pirates took her mind off the fact that she would soon be swapping her armour for her dress uniform since she was, apparently, someone the Empire had come to respect greatly, and her superiors wanted her to participate in some of the negotiations.

“Can someone clear those pirates out?” Shepard asked over the comms. “I’d rather not stick my head around the corner and get it blown off by a rocket launcher.”

In response to her words, several glowing spears flew down the corridor, turned the corner, and then hurtled into the pirates before exploding. She rolled her eyes. Honestly, Celeste was just showing off now. The pink-haired Dia-Farron had the ability to create Aura construct in just about any shape she wanted that she could manoeuvre with incredible speed, accuracy, and precision.

“Consider them cleared out,” Celeste murmured as she walked past Shepard. The hamster on her shoulder squeaked a greeting and rubbed his paws together in glee. Knowing him, he was looking forward to looting the corpses. The pirates might not have advanced technology, but the Dia-Farron had made a point of collecting any technology they encountered. “Are you coming?”

Shepard laughed. “Right behind you.”

“Of course.” Celeste inclined her head. Like most Dia-Farron, the power armour she wore was dominated by shades of pink, orange, green, and blue. It looked a bit odd, and it was absolutely lacking in anything even approaching subtlety, but she doubted Celeste cared. “Do you want a weapon?”

Shepard grinned. This was why she loved working with Celeste. “Twin swords, monomolecular edges.”

Celeste waved one hand, and a pair of glowing swords with monomolecular edges appeared. “There you go.”

Shepard heft the weapons, and her grin widened. Celeste had weighted them to feel just like real swords. “Some covering fire while I close in would be appreciated.”

Celeste snapped one finger. A series of glowing blades thundered into the makeshift barricade the space pirates had tossed up. The barricade came apart in a shower of mangled metal, and Shepard gave a savage smile as she raced forward. There was nothing quite like fighting the enemy face to face.

As she ran, Shepard took a moment to appreciate her armour. The Dia-Farron had worked on it. They had, apparently, only used technology that the Systems Alliance was capable of replicating in the near future, but the suit was far, far, far better than it had originally been. It seemed to anticipate her movements, and the servos built into it amplified her strength without hindering her speed or agility. Without her suit, Shepard was one of the deadliest humans alive. With it? She was a living chainsaw.

She struck the pirates in a blur of motion. One sword whipped up and forward, and the pirate - a Batarian - was cleaved in two. Using her other sword to relieve another pirate of his weapon - and the arm that was holding it - she spun and decapitated a pair of pirates that had tried to sneak up on her. Fully immersed in the thrill of combat, she pressed on, ducking several shots, before she leapt, twisting in mid-air to kick off the ceiling and land right in the middle of the next group of pirates.

With terrifying ease, she sliced and diced her way down the corridor. The glowing Aura construct blades seamlessly cut through everything they encountered as she decided to put some of her lessons with Celeste to work. The Empire placed a far greater emphasis on melee combat than most factions, and the moment she’d found out that Celeste was considered a master of several dozen different weapons, she had immediately badgered the other woman into teaching her whenever she had the chance.

The ultimate objective of all weapons forms in the Empire was to become formless, capable of adjusting to any situation and exploiting any weaknesses or flaws in the opponent. However, attaining formlessness required absolute mastery of form. Celeste had picked out several styles that she thought would suit Shepard best, and Shepard had worked tirelessly to incorporate them into her fighting.

Her favourite form was the one she was using now, something Celeste referred to as the Intercepting Blade. It was a style that relied on speed, precision, and above all anticipation. The ability to read the opponent’s movements and then react, striking before they could react or adjust was crucial. Given how quick Shepard was, as well as her instinctive grasp of combat, it was a style she had quickly grown to love.

A slight twitch of her next opponent’s arm gave his moves away, and she used her superior speed to kill him before he could do anything more than start his attack. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a trio of pirates, and she guessed their intentions. She threw herself sideways and let the devices built into her boots grasp onto the wall. Running sideways along the wall, she parted one pirate’s head from his shoulder and then let herself fall, rolling under a shotgun blast before springing up and bisecting the shooter as she soared over him and landed behind the final pirate. He turned, knife flashing toward her throat, but she was ready. She parried the blow with one sword and then gutted him as he skidded past.

Silence reigned for a moment in the corridor before one of the pirates, who had somehow managed to survive being cut almost in half, raised his weapon in trembling hands - only to be pinned to the wall by an Aura construct spear through the eye. The weapon dropped out of his hands, and Celeste chuckled.

“You missed one.” At Celeste’s feet, her hamster was busy scanning the pirate’s equipment and packing it away into one of his subspace pockets. When one of the other pirates twitched, the hamster squeaked and fired a thin beam of electricity into the downed Batarian. Shepard had learned the hard way that war hamsters were deadly even without transforming. Celeste’s lips twitched. “And was all of the flipping and twirling really necessary?”

Shepard chuckled. “Not all of us can just point and have a storm of swords impale our opponents.”

Celeste shrugged. “I won’t argue with that.” She summoned a glowing sword for herself and leapt to cut a hole in the ceiling. Several corpses tumbled down. There had been pirates crawling through an air duct. “But this facility really does have a lot of pirates in it. It’s rather aggravating.”

“It’s easy pickings with so few ships able to patrol at the moment.” Shepard knelt beside one of the bodies and frowned. She’d seen quite a few pirates wearing these badges. The last thing they needed was for the pirates to organise into proper groups instead of haphazard raiding parties. “By the way, you never did tell me who devised the Intercepting Blade.”

“Oh?” Celeste grinned. “The Intercepting Blade is a style that is heavily based on the techniques and tactics used by Saviour. To be honest, you really need some form of precognition or prediction to use it to its full potential.”

“Saviour?” Shepard’s brows furrowed. “As in the Semblance the Fleet Admiral has?”

“Yes. Maybe you'll get to see her use it someday, but I doubt there’s anything in this galaxy strong enough to warrant it.”

“Not even a Reaper?”

“Oh, she could kill one of those easily enough with her Semblance, but we’ve got other things that can do that too as you know. However, there are things back home that we do need Saviour to kill. Hopefully, none of those show up.”

“Let’s hope so.” Shepard shuddered. Some of the stories she’d heard about the Grimm made the Reapers seem positively pedestrian in comparison. Swarms numbering trillions of Grimm, some of which could consume solar systems? Insanity. “So are there any more pirates around?”

Celeste shook her head. “I’ve had my drones scan the rest of the facility. There aren’t any living pirates around. However, there are some personnel holed up in one of the more remote wings of the facility, so we should go tell them it’s safe to come out.”

“Ah. Right.” Shepard glanced at the two glowing swords she was holding. “Thanks for the swords, by the way.”

“It’s fine.” The swords vanished, and Celeste began to walk down the corridor with her hamster perched on her shoulder. “Weapons are meant to be used, and you looked as though you were really enjoying yourself. I’ll have to see if i can get you a plasma sabre.”

“A plasma sabre? I’m assuming that’s basically a sword made of plasma, right?”

“Basically. I won’t get into the specifics, but that’s pretty much correct. You’re not technically supposed to get one since it’ll be a while since your people get close to developing any, but I can handle the paperwork to authorise it.”

Shepard couldn’t wait. “You know, Liara thinks I’m becoming even more obsessed with weapons now that you guys are around.”

“I’m a Dia-Farron. True, I come from the more sensible side of the family, but I can hardly complain. When I was growing up, my cousins spent most of their free time building weapons that could smash cities. By the time I was an adult, they’d moved up to constructing planet-cracking weapons that were, technically, illegal but it wasn’t like anyone else in the family was going to say anything because everyone else was doing it too.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

A Shepard’s work is never done.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon. Please check out my newest story on Amazon. It’s called Monster Whisperer.

#final effect #fanfiction #shepard

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ohdeputy · 4 years

Text

100 Letters PART IV

Arthur Morgan x John Marston

Words: 6,812

Read on Archive

Part III

Pain crept periodically in and out of existence for John, alongside his blurred vision. He felt no sense of time and his thoughts were not tangible. The only consistency being the agony of his wounds. His face was hot and sore, causing him much discomfort through his restlessness. He was sure he had a fever from the amount he was sweating.

What John could only assume were days that passed by as he lay bedridden felt like hours for all he knew. Sometimes he could feel splotches of sunlight against his skin cast through cracks from the nearby window and distant chatter of people around him. Abigail’s fussing also made it through the haziness every so often. He preferred to tune it out when he could, wishing she could just let him be. It was bad enough having to listen to her when he was fully conscious. Other than those instances he was surrounded by black.

For the most part, that is. Sometimes John swore he could feel someone’s hand holding his. Rough and slightly calloused, yet so gentle. It was always at night, from what he could tell. When no one else could be heard and the air was at its coldest, making him shiver in his sleep.

He had the creeping suspension that perhaps... No. He thought, there is no way. Feeling foolish for even thinking it was who he imagined and somewhat hoped it might be. Nevertheless, John always held on tightly, feeling a deep comfort at the contact.

Soon, he started to stay awake for longer than the short moments he could only manage before. He was still confined to the cot he lay on, but he was not in a permanent state of confused slumber any longer. The pain had subsided slightly, yet he still could not move his face too much.

The first time he awoke fully rested, he reached a hand to the fresh stitches holding together the deep slashes in his skin. He winced, partly from discomfort. He couldn’t help feeling a little sad over it, too. It was… strange. This sort of thing never really bothered him before. He’d been shot a couple times, injured in countless other ways and had never thought twice about it. His scars were deeper than physical, serving as a reminder of how he alone he felt on that mountaintop.

Just off to his side, he could see Abigail. Whether her expression was of anger or worry, he did not know.

“Hey.”

Her brow shot up, “hey?! Seriously, John Marston, that all you got?”

He closed his eyes, too tired to start this again with her.

“You are a silly, silly man. You really are.” She stood up from her seat, “eaten by wolves. Never heard of such a ridiculous idea.”

She sat down again, clearly indecisive with whether she wanted to leave or continue shouting at him. “Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean really, who?!”

John breathed out through his nose in frustration, his tone curt as he responded, “I didn’t mean to, Abigail.”

Now Abigail sighed as she put a hand on his shoulder. Some of the anger had gone from her voice, “you never mean to but you always do. Always… trouble.”

“Well, I’ve certainly made my mistakes.” John blinked, looking away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she retracted her hand and he felt her intensive gaze on him.

“Whatever you want it to!” His words were a little more vicious than he intended, but he was fed up. He winced from the discomfort of moving his stitches as he spoke.

Her hand was back on him, “just shut up and get some rest.”

Underneath all the aggressiveness, John knew Abigail cared about him. He just could not understand her methods of showing it, most of the time finding her unbearably exhausting.

John continued to stay confined to the small bed for the next few days. He spent that time resting, and when he wasn’t asleep he listened to the people come and go around him. He would hear the hushed conversations between Arthur and Hosea, other times the soothing repetition of Javier sharpening his knife. One time he woke to sound of Miss Grimshaw shouting at the other girls. He pretended he was still asleep for fear of her shouting at him, too.

Throughout all of it, Abigail was always around. She mostly fussed about how foolish she thought he was, but also kept him updated on everything that was happening. When she told him how the gang finally planned to move on, he grew eager. Back down south, she had said, into the state of New Hanover. At this point he did not care where they went, as long as it was far away from the past. The land here was cruel and had already given him too much trouble.

Sure enough, once they were certain there would be no worry of another storm, they set a course south. John did not see much of it, since he was still too weak to do more than walk a few steps anywhere. After Abigail and Charles helped him into the back of one of the wagons, he did not see anything but the shifting of daylight across the canvas cover he lay under. Only emerging once they arrived at their new hideout of choice.

There, the first couple of days had blurred together. He was still not up to his usual strength, especially exhausted from their journey into the new state. He spent much of his time resting while the other gang members settled into the place around him. It was nice. Small, but not bad.

They found themselves in a clearing just beside a cluster of trees that kept them hidden well enough from any unwanted attention. At least for the time being. It had grown a lot warmer now that they were free of the snow, but a chill lingered that still caused his breath to hang in the air during the early mornings.

John had come to know this place as Horseshoe Overlook, having a wide view of the surrounding land. The lush forests and the winding Dakota River had become familiar to him from all the time spent confined to the camp. He couldn’t complain too much, though, as it was a sight to behold. Calming too, with sounds of nature all around him whenever he sat at his favorite spot just at the edge of camp. There, stood a tall oak that he would always situate himself under. Either with a book, propping himself against an old tree stump with a fresh cup of coffee, or his thoughts.

John could almost say he liked it here, but often he was reminded of the circumstance of their arrival. Blackwater always lingered in the back of his mind, lying dormant but never forgotten. He waited for the day where Dutch would properly address the complete disaster and wondered what he might say of Nico. He found himself looking over his shoulder more often, watching out for Dutch and avoiding him as much as he could. It got to the point where it may have even started to look suspicious. John couldn’t help it. He felt like a coward, but he could not bring himself to look at him.

When a week had gone by and still nothing was mentioned, John thought that the whole thing would pass by unspoken. So when he sat in his usual spot viewing the river below him, he was taken aback when he heard Dutch call for their attention.

“Everyone, gather round.” His voice came from the centre of camp, where he had set up his tent.

It wasn’t since Blackwater that he had last properly seen him. Since the day he had killed Nico and left John for dead. Because he was at the top of John’s list to avoid, and had managed it well enough, the realization hit him so suddenly. He originally thought Dutch might approach him once they had settled in. That he would corner him someplace to threaten John about what he saw back in Blackwater. To his surprise, it never happened. Dutch never once mentioned Blackwater since before the heist, and John had no intention of asking.

But it felt wrong. Not only for the horrors John faced at seeing his friend murdered in cold blood, but also for the ones they left behind. Jenny and Davey left in unmarked graves back in Colter, and the unknown whereabouts of Sean and Mac. After everything, John was left almost convinced that Dutch had put the whole mess completely behind him, never to be spoken of again. Until now.

When he hesitantly approached, their eyes locked momentarily. The blood in his veins ran cold like he was a deer caught in the sight of its predator. Fear seeped through his body when Dutch gave him a sadistic smile, and already John was preparing himself for the worst.

He joined the cluster of people around Dutch’s tent. Hosea and Arthur could be seen seated next to the gang's leader from recent conversation with him, looking a little tense. Others now stood around them, eager to listen to his speech.

“I just wanted to say how proud I am of all of you.” Dutch held a hand to his chest, feigning a sense of appreciation. John had to refrain from letting his face express how sickened he felt.

“Things may not have gone well in Blackwater, we lost some dear friends.” He paused to evoke some sort of sorrow around his words. “And we mourn them, we do. But we must stay diligent. We must carry on, or it was all for nothing!”

He looked at everyone pointedly, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his words, “would you have them die in vain? Davey, Mac? Jenny? Poor Sean?”

“We don’t even know if Sean is dead, it just looked like he was captured,” Lenny interjected, a couple of other murmuring in agreement.

“This is true.” Dutch nodded his head, “he may very well be alive. And if that is the case, we will bring him back safely. I promise you all-”

“What about Nico.”

Silence fell over the group as everyone turned to face Charles, who’d interrupted. John was overwhelmed by a sudden appreciation for the man. Charles stared expectedly at Dutch, a couple of others turned to do the same. When everyone waited for him to answer, John noticed Hosea hanging his head. He thought the older man looked ashamed.

“Nico,” Dutch gave a heavy sigh. “She was like a daughter to me.” He looked off in the distance, eyes tearing up. He blinked and returned his attention back to everyone, his gaze turning dark. “But in the end she betrayed me. Betrayed us.”

He continued, “I regret to inform that it was she who alerted the law to our plans. I do not know what caused her to become a fraud within our midst, to take advantage of our hospitality," he spat the last word out. "After all this time to find out she was not who I thought she was.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Her real name was Heidi McCourt, nothing more than a mere charlatan who infiltrated our family for self-gratification,” Dutch spoke with conviction. He turned away taking the opportunity to become wistful once more, “I only wished I’d known sooner.”

The more he spoke, the more worked up John became. Heidi McCourt? Betrayal? He felt a hand on one of his, not realizing he had clenched it in anger. Turning to see Abigail, her expression was one that pleaded him not to do anything rash. John retreated his hand away from her.

“I say good riddance, she was a rat,” Micah snarled out once Dutch was finished. “They always weasel their way into groups.”

Arthur suddenly shot up from his seat. He looked furious, glaring at Micah, but didn’t say anything.

Micah made no attempt to hide his smug expression as he focused his attention on Arthur, “you know I’m right, Morgan.” He snickered a little before continuing, “but don’t worry, rats always get what they deserve.”

Arthur held a fist at his side like he was about to hurl it into the other man’s face. “At least we can agree on that.” He walked off without another word.

John left, too. Not wanting to stick around the conversation any longer. Abigail followed, but he didn’t give her a chance to catch up as he pursued the direction Arthur had stormed off in.

He found him not far from the edge of their new camp, his arms crossed as he leaned against a tree.

“Fucking Micah,” John said as he approached.

Arthur didn’t look up as he responded, “don’t get me started.”

“And I can’t believe that stuff Dutch said about Nico, he-”

“Oh, just leave it, Marston.” Arthur cut him off, his tone short.

John reeled back, caught off guard by the harshness of his voice. His surprise quickly turned to anger, “are you kidding me?” He tried to keep the volume of his words down so they wouldn’t be heard, but could barely suppress his aggravation, “don’t tell me you actually believe any of that horsecrap!”

Arthur turned on John now. “Maybe she did deserve it!” he snapped.

John blinked at him. Arthur winced, instantly seeming to regret what he said, “oh, I don’t know.” He pressed his fingers to his temple, turning away.

John could tell he was conflicted. Still, it was no excuse for saying what he did. They had both known Nico the longest, and Arthur’s doubts only confirmed how deep Dutch’s grasp was on him.

John walked away, not sure why he even bothered to try and talk to him in the first place. The impulsiveness of his actions suddenly catching up with him. He got too emotional, deep down still believing Arthur was a good man and knew right from wrong. It was what he might have thought, but was being proved otherwise again and again.

Miserably making his way back to his tent, he threw himself on the corner of his bed. Thankfully, Abigail wasn’t there. He did not feel like talking about any of what just happened with her.

With nothing else to do and a newfound frustration, he decided to call it an early night. Not realizing how tired he was until his head hit the pillow, instantly falling asleep.

When he woke the following morning, the camp was quiet. Much of the gang had dispersed, leaving the place a lot less occupied. Micah was gone, much to John’s relief. Hopefully without the intent of coming back anytime soon, either. Arthur, Javier, and Charles had left as well. Something about them going to check out the nearest town.

John itched to leave, too. He’d become so bored from not doing anything and was once again suffocated from the people around him. He heard the town wasn’t too far away and thought he might finally be well enough to explore it.

Abigail was back to nagging him, and the combined company of Uncle and Pearson was starting to drive him insane. But more than anything else, John felt an uneasiness at the particular presence of someone else. Unlike a lot of his adept peers, Dutch had stuck around. And after his speech from the day before, John wanted to be as far away from the man as possible. The only issue was his means of getting to the town.

John sat in his spot on the stump under the oak tree. He held a book open in his lap but had stopped reading a while ago. Now he pondered on a way to make it into town. Under any normal circumstance, he would take the journey on foot, with it only being down the road. He couldn’t take his horse because… He thought back to the night he got attacked by the wolves.

He shuddered at the memory, remembering the last time he saw his horse. The last image of her fleeing from the predators that stalked him.

Though, if he was being honest, that wasn’t his horse. His actual horse was still somewhere in Blackwater, abandoned after the unanticipated turn of events.

John was struck by guilt, he hadn’t had time to think about any of it since then, with everything that followed. All he remembered was being thrown on some random horse with Javier in their escape, leaving behind the mare he’d been riding for years prior.

“How are you feeling, son?”

John turned around to see Hosea approaching him, and shook off the memory. He gave a warm smile to the old man, “a lot better. Nearly fine… but not quite there, y’know?”

“Course I know. It must be boring for you, but I’m glad you’ve been letting yourself rest.”

John was nodding, “it’s been a tough few weeks.”

“That it has,” Hosea agreed. The old man looked away wistfully as if preoccupied with something of his own.

“I was, uh, thinkin’ of heading into town.”

Hosea raised his eyebrows, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah, looking to get myself a new mount.” John gave a sigh, “thing is I don’t got no means of getting there.”

“Why that’s no issue, just take ol’ Silver!”

John faltered, “It’s kind of you to offer, but… you don’t have to do that on my behalf.”

“Nonsense!” Hosea waved his hand in dismissal, “she’ll be happy to stretch her legs. It’s only Valentine you’re heading to. Please, take her out for me. I insist.”

“Well, alright… thanks, Hosea.” He nodded his thanks after getting up from his spot. Briefly, he stopped by his tent to collect his things, slipping his arms into his coat and grabbing his satchel before being was on his way.

He walked the short distance to where the horses were left to graze. There, he spotted Silver Dollar and mounted up. The horse barely even looked up as John lifted himself up onto the animal. The older mare had known John for years now, trusting him almost as much as Hosea at this point. When John was younger, he and Arthur would joke about how the two of them, Dutch, Hosea, and Silver were the original members of the Van der Linde gang before any others had joined. He smiled at the thought, giving the old horse a pat.

John took the hidden path out of camp, emerging from the cover of trees and onto the main path toward the town known as Valentine. The ride there was relatively quick, seeing the bustle of people come into view as the buildings became more abundant around him.

It was a decent place, with a gunsmith, doctors office and saloon as well as a hotel. There was also a general store and train station, but most importantly a stable.

Horses and wagons churned through the muddy streets. John rode down them at a steady pace to take it all in. Piano music and loud conversation flowed from the saloon as he passed by. The sound of hammer and steel could be heard off in the distance, too, the town alive with folk keeping busy all around him. He always enjoyed seeing the different civilized places he was brought to. Studying new and diverse people sometimes proved to be even wilder than the western lands that surrounded them. It was fascinating.

John approached the considerably large barn at the end of the main street. He could make out the name painted in white with big lettering across the wood just above the doors.

AMOS LEVI & SONS.

Upon entering, the smell hit him before he even saw any of the horses stabled within. “Looking for a horse, mister?”

John turned to see a man polishing a saddle. “Err, yes, I am.”

“Well,” the stable owner wiped his hands on his leather apron, “what takes your fancy? We’ve got Kentucky Saddlers, American Paints... lots of fast ones.”

He thought for a moment, not really knowing exactly what he was looking for. “You have any sturdy ones?”

“Like a warhorse, sir?”

“Sure, something like that.”

The man moved to a stable just across from where they stood. “Well, we got this here Hungarian Half-bred. She’s a beaut.”

John studied the mare. She looked strong, with a dappled grey coat that stretched across the wide, lean muscle underneath. “She sure is.” He brushed a hand down her neck, “how much for her?”

“Two fifty.”

John almost choked at the price, suddenly aware of how hollow the satchel strung across his shoulder was.

“Do you have anything similar for…um, slightly less?”

The stable owner shook his head, “I’m afraid she’s as decent as we get.”

John couldn’t help but think to himself that it was no wonder they’ve always stolen their horses in the past. He left the man with an apology and the lie of a promise that he would be back when he had more money.

With no horse and a newly acquired sour mood, John returned to where he had left Silver. He untied the reins but was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t go back empty-handed, the time would come when he would need to rely on his own mount.

He walked Silver through town aimlessly, eventually wandering toward another couple of barns surrounded by pens full of livestock. Sheep, pigs, chickens, cows, the place was full, putting in perspective just how self-sufficient this town really was. It seemed too many animals were present for it to only be a ranch, though. Upon further inspection, John noticed a couple of men walking around the pens, one with a clipboard in hand. It looked like he was counting each animal in their sections, and only then did John realize the whole place must be some sort of auction yard.

As the two men strolled closer, John could just make out what they were saying. “…if we move the pigs into that barn, this area should be good for the sheep we got comin’ in from Emerald Ranch,” the one with the clipboard said as he wrote something else down.

The other nodded, taking his hat off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Sounds good. I’ll let the boys know when it’s time. You was saying it were for later this season, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Then, if you don't mind my asking, sir, why you thinking about this now?”

“Oh, cause it’ll be a big one, Pete.”

John listened, all the while making a mental note. He was no sheepherder, but neither was he a complete fool when it came to knowing there was value worth investing, or in his case stealing, in livestock.

“John? John, is that you!” The formation of an idea was suddenly interrupted when he heard his name being shouted. He looked behind him to see a coltish man make his way to where John stood, giving an awkward wave as he did.

“Hey, John! It’s me!”

John squinted, still unsure of who exactly this person that seemed to know him so well was. His memory was struck with realization when the man gave a goofy smile,“…Reedus?”

Reedus nodded with the same amount of enthusiasm John remembered him having. Save for being even taller than before and growing out a wispy looking beard, the stable hand was still the same as when he’d last seen him.

“What’re you doing here?” John asked him.

“I’ve actually come looking to work in the stables here. Amos, the owner, was kind enough to offer me a place. I grew up near Valentine, so I thought it would be nice to be around my ma again. How ‘bout you, what brings you to town?”

“My gang’s hindin’ out not far from the place, seems we are well suited in living a nomadic lifestyle.”

Reedus’ eyes widened, “no kidding! How is Dutch n’ Arnold getting along? And that Hosea!”

John smiled, “real fine, Reedus.”

The man pulled at the reins he held onto, “I actually came by the auction yard tryna sell this here horse. Won’t be needing one since I’ll be workin’ in the stables.” He gave a reluctant laugh, “you wouldn’t happen to be in need of one, would you?”

John blinked in surprise, “uh, yeah, actually.”

Reedus’ eyes lit up, “well, fry me in butter and call me a catfish! He’s all yours if you’ll take him!”

John hesitated, “I… don’t have too much to offer, I’m afraid.”

He waved a hand, “don’t be worrying about that, please, he’s all yours.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, Reedus, I couldn’t possibly accept.”

Now Reedus shook his head, “Y’all have always been good to me, I insist.”

He held the reins out to John, who reluctantly took them. “He’s an old boy, but he’s young at heart. Loyal and sturdy, too. He’ll treat you well.”

John didn't know what to say. “Thank you, Reedus.”

They said their goodbyes shortly after, and John made his way back to camp with both Silver and his new horse. Old Boy, he’d decided to call him, since Reedus admitted he never actually had a name for him.

The saddle was worn but surprisingly comfortable enough during his ride back to camp. The horse gave him no trouble and over the next while he’d grown quite accustomed to Old Boy. He took the time to care for him with not much else going on in the following days other than trying to get word of where Sean might be. Only after about a month or so of being at Horseshoe Overlook was there talk of finally getting him back. Trelawny had apparently heard about him being caught and held by some bounty hunters near Blackwater.

Arthur had spent little time around camp, but one particular night when he was around John heard him discussing with Dutch and a few others about Sean’s supposed rescue mission. When word travelled, both Abigail and Hosea advised him not to go. He reluctantly agreed, not that he was particularly fond of going back to Blackwater. He just couldn’t help but feel useless at doing nothing but sit around camp.

After a plan was put into place, Arthur, Charles, Javier, and Mr. Trelawny all rode out. Two days later they returned successful, coming back with worse company than they left with. John didn’t have anything against Sean, but the boy just didn’t know when to shut up. Already he filled the camp with his annoying rambling, though people didn’t seem too bothered. They mostly used the fact that he was back as an excuse to celebrate. So that evening crates of alcohol littered the campsite with people drinking and dancing.

The sound of laughter mixed with music flowed through the night air outside where he sat in his tent. Almost everyone was celebrating Sean’s return, though John didn’t feel too up for it. He was glad that everyone’s spirits were lifted for the first time in a while, but it just felt too soon for him to be taking part in the joyous occasion.

He grabbed his rifle and pulled aside the tent’s opening to leave. Thinking he might make himself useful at the very least, he headed toward the camp border to patrol it. He spotted Charles already at its edge, looking out into the surrounding forest.

“I can take over if you’d like.”

Charles turned to face him as he approached.

“Thanks brother, but I think I’ll leave the festivities for the others.”

“You sure? I honestly don’t mind.”

The other man gave a nod of his head, “I find more comfort amongst the trees, no risk of drunken social interaction. You should go enjoy yourself.”

John dropped his eyes, “No, I… I can’t. Not yet.”

Charles gave a look of understanding, “Yeah. I get that.”

The two men stood in together in a silence that was not uncomfortable. John always did like Charles, probably because he was one of the few of them who actually had his head screwed on right.

“You should still go to relax a bit. It might take your mind off things.”

He looked over to Charles again as he continued, “mind you, that doesn’t mean get blind drunk.”

John chuckled at that, “I hear ya. Alright, well, let me know if you want to swap out.”

“Will do. Try to take it easy, John.” Charles gave him a pat on the shoulder before continuing his route.

John was a little lost on where to go, but as he walked back he could spot Hosea sitting off to the side at a table alone.

“John, my boy! Come, come. Join me.” His words were already slurred though the night was still young.

He motioned with over-exaggeration to the spot just beside him. John had no choice but to take a seat there.

“Here, here, take a drink,” he forced a beer into John’s hands, sloshing some of the liquid on him in the process. If it were anyone else, John might have minded. But Hosea could never do anything wrong in his eyes, so he didn’t give it another thought.

“You never did tell me how you got on in Valentine, huh?”

“It was good, yeah.”

“Didn’t get into any trouble, then?”

John smiled, “Hosea, who do you think I am? ‘Course not.”

“Goooood. Good, good,” the older man slapped the table a little. John didn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this drunk.

“That makes one of my boys. You know I tried to raise you decent, right? ‘Course Arthur had to go and make some trouble for himself in town, and, and… well, y’know…” the old man trailed off.

“Sure. You okay there, Hosea?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah…” His intense nodding slowly turned into his head shaking from side to side, “No, no…I don’t think so.” He frowned, “You know, I blame myself for Nico’s death.”

John was taken off guard by his sudden confession, he looked around wide-eyed in case anyone has overheard. He had said it a little loud, but nobody seemed to pay them any notice as the others sat around the campfire. Javier strummed away on his guitar, accompanied by the terrible singing of Karen and Arthur. Some others clapped along while Sean was already passed out in the dirt beside them.

John turned his attention back to Hosea, not understanding why he would say such a thing.

“How do you mean?”

Hosea sat slouched over the table now, his giddiness replaced by a somberness.

“I just.. I should’ve noticed. Something, anything.”

He looked up at John, eyes welling up. His heart twisted in pain from the sight.

“How could I not notice, John?” He said the words with such remorse, like he was actually asking him for an answer.

John was lost at how to respond, still not fully comprehending what the man was trying to say. Hosea was back to staring at his almost empty bottle. He looked at it intently and John knew he was somewhere far away.

“If I would have seen it coming perhaps I could’ve prevented her from turning away from us... I always tried, John, I did. With you and Arthur, too. She was misunderstood, I know that. But I loved her like she was my own.”

Worry was replaced by a wave of anger that boiled within John, having to sit and listen to a man who did not deserve the harsh treatment he was bestowing upon himself. Mistaking Nico’s distance for disloyalty when in reality it was nothing of the sort. He wanted to shout out the truth, that Dutch was the one to blame, not him. Yet, John held his tongue as he listened to Hosea blame himself. No matter how bad John wanted to tell him, he couldn’t. Hosea trusted Dutch too much.

“I cannot believe it. It almost sounds like one of my elaborate stories, doesn’t it?” He shook his head grimly. “Heidi McCourt…” he said under his breath. “And now she’s gone. An old man like me shouldn’t outlive a young girl like her. It just ain’t fair.”

John thought perhaps it might be the drink talking, but it sounded as if Hosea didn’t fully accept her betrayal as being true. Not that John could risk saying anything to him. And the little consolation it was, it still gave John the tiniest bit of comfort. Hosea wasn’t fully convinced, even if he wouldn’t admit it if he were sober, the thought was enough for John.

“Things… may have been complicated, but it wasn’t your fault Hosea. It wasn’t your fault.” He emphasized the statement to try and convince him.

Hosea gave a forced smile, blinking away tears. “You would say that, son.” He gave a heavy sigh before getting up from his chair, “I think it’s about time to call it a night.” Before John could say anything else, he stumbled off toward his tent, leaving John to wallow in the weight of their conversation alone.

The prospect of drinking now became tempting after the exchange. He picked at the label on his untouched beer. The singing had stopped a while ago so the night was filled with its usual sounds once more. People still drank around a fire that was far from burning out, just with much less enthusiasm. He thought he might turn in, too, until he heard someone call out to him.

“Joooooooohhhhhhnnnnnnn Marston,” the unmistakable voice of Arthur Morgan called through the air as John saw his form blundering toward him.

“Now don’t you start.”

“Ohhhhhh, take that stick out of your ass, Marston.”

He raised his brow at that. Arthur took some uneasy steps toward the table John sat at, sloppily flopping into one of the empty seats. He was obviously quite drunk. John watched his delayed movements as he slammed down the whiskey bottle he gripped in his hand.

His lids hung low as he swayed a little in his spot. As disoriented as he was, Arthur still managed to focus on John. He gave a little smile, and John had to look away. Even after all these years, Arthur could still make him flustered just by looking at him like that. He felt so stupid for letting the other man affect him so much, like they were still young kids sitting on a roof sharing candies. He knew full well things could never be like how they once were, but still his eyes darted to see if Arthur was still looking. And he was.

John cleared his throat, avoiding Arthur’s gaze once more. He looked around them, seeing the low light of Dutch’s tent at the other end of camp. John knew he had retired to his quarters with lady O'Shea quite early.

“Ohhhh loosen’ up, John. Dutch ain’t comin’ out.”

John was surprised by his quick wit despite being far from sober. He was about to respond when Arthur continued. The ramble he went on was one John did not anticipate, making him second guess that perhaps he wasn’t really with it at all.

“So I went to Valentine, right, nd somehow managed to get into a fight.” He raised his hands innocently, “don ask mehow, I do not know. But we was fightin’ and this guy, this BIG guy was comin atchu from what I could see from the corner of meye, since, uh, this other sonovabitch was comin at me. But I knocked him out in one punch, so I go, ‘don worry Jahn, I gotchu!’”

Arthur paused to wheeze, “but it wasn you! It was Javier, nd he looks at me like whaaaat? Nd then BOOM, gets hit square in the jaw, nd. Well, I just. It sounded funnier in my head.”

Silence followed briefly after he finished. John could now make out the cut that split Arthur’s bottom lip, and how it was slightly swollen. John eventually responded, “… well, did you get the guy?”

Arthur blinked, eyes wide like he was reliving the tragic event all over again, “let’s jus say things escalated nd we nded up takin' the fight outside.” His voice drifted off slightly, “it were real muddy.”

“That sounds like quite the trouble you got into.”

“It weren’t jus me! Charles were there, too. Nd Bill, mmpre sure he started it. Nd you’s was there! Expect it were Javier stead o’ you.”

Arthur pressed his lips to the bottle of whisky, and John almost missed it as he mumbled, “you never come no more.”

John was sore just from the thought of the brawl. “I don’t think a bar fight would have been the best thing for me in my state.”

Arthur nodded, “mmprobably best.”

Another pause followed, John finding a certain comfort in their silence. The only source of light came from the low burning candle placed in the middle of the table, flickering across Arthur’s face and making his features dance.

It would be so easy to tell him. John didn’t know why the thought suddenly struck him. Maybe it was after everything he had gone through in the short span of the last couple weeks. Nico getting killed so easily and John’s close brush with death combined, life just seemed so fickle. To just to put it out in the air was so tempting. Arthur probably wouldn’t even remember the following day.

Dutch lied. About everything. I cared for you. I still care for you. I wrote you a letter every damn day and he burned each and every one of them to stop you from ever knowing…

Deep down John knew he wouldn’t say it. It was selfish. He couldn’t drag Arthur into all this, not now. Even if he did believe John, it could cause catastrophe, swaying the very foundation of the gang they’ve dedicated their lives to.

Perhaps after all this time, it had turned into John protecting Arthur from the truth. To avoid any more unnecessary damage. John already felt broken to the point beyond repair. But Arthur, he didn’t deserve to have his life completely turned upside down. For everything he knows to be a lie. At this point, it would just be a burden for him to know the truth.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, John didn’t notice Arthur moving closer until he took up most of his vision. John blinked back to reality, noting the way Arthur focused his attention on him, squinting his eyes a little as if he were trying to study John.

“Yur heal scarred up pre well.”

It took a second for John to understand what he meant, then he snorted, “you mean my scar healed up pretty well?”

Arthur frowned in confusion, “isn’t that what I said…”

John cracked a smile, unable to stop himself laughing at Arthur’s drunken foolishness. Arthur began laughing, too.

“What’re we laughing at?” Arthur asked him.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re laughing at, but I’m laughing at you. You’re ridiculous.”

It took a moment for Arthur’s stupid grin to slowly disappear as he processed what John had said. “Hey, thas not very nice of yoummarston.”

“Apologies, Mr. Morgan.” John tried to keep himself from seeming too amused, his efforts futile as he cracked up once more.

As if he had already forgotten, Arthur joined in again. He slapped his knee like John just told the funniest joke and the world seemed to stand still around them, making him briefly forgot about all his troubles. It was nice. Too nice, like it was too good to be true. John felt like they were teenagers again, getting up to no good with the fear of being caught by a scolding adult, all while acting like they could conquer the world. Talking similar to how they once did sparked that same nostalgic courage, like they could do anything. But they couldn’t, and the moment passed just as fast as it had come.

“I should, uh, go.”

“Yeah, alright, Marston. You always do.” He said knowingly, taking another swig of his whiskey bottle.

It was hard to get up from his seat. John wished he could let the moment last, but it felt…wrong. He didn’t want anyone to see the two of them like this. So he just smiled and turned away, slowly letting it fall away from his lips when his back was to Arthur.

He did not know whether it hurt less or more to talk with him like it was old times again. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, but it was a harsh reminder of what he could not have. A taste of what they once did have. And it only left John desperate for more. It was dangerous, he knew, and much too risky. And he knew It couldn’t happen again.

#john marston x arthur morgan #john marston fanfic #Arthur/John #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #jarther #Morston #morgston #arthur morgan/john marston #i usually go through it to redo the italics but i feel like no one even really reads these LOL #if you do tho i highly recommend just reading it on archive anyways!

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thedorkwiththepen · 5 years

Text

Here’s a short story that I wrote a while ago

Wreckage

Sometimes, I find it hard to breathe. My mind sinks to an abyss and refuses to let me see out of the cloak of darkness that hounds it. I claim this feeling to be the resultant of the few remaining shreds of my sanity trying to keep me bound to the woeful reality that I face, but I know the actual truth. It is the hunger.

The hunger festers inside of me, it drills itself into my bones, wrapping its icy cold hands around my neck and whispers into my ear a word I’ve grown all too familiar with: feed. The need to feed is as great as one’s need to exist, the longer you deny it, the more it reveals itself as an enemy determined to obliterate your existence. The hunger takes hold of my will and bends it towards its own needs. Regardless of how hard I try to fight against it, I am always defeated, and my mind turns into its property.

***

Today is no different from any other day, the heavy grey smoke floats over the broken city like empty sailboats after the crew has been massacred. Disfigured beings walk past, all lost in their own mysterious thoughts. We’re the walking nightmare that nobody thought would never exist.

I’m sitting upon the only patch of grass that remains in the city, it’s dry and black with soot, but I appreciate its presence. My black fingernails dig through the dirt subconsciously, making them dirtier than they already were. I sit in the empty silence of midday in the middle of what had once been a highway, all that remained now was rubble that crumbled under your feet.

My fingers brush against the grey dirt, feeling the grains of sand against my skin, appreciating the contrast of this feeling to that of my hunger. I stare heavily at the heavily dazed beings that walked past me, my hands subconsciously fisting the dried-up grass.

I was scouting. My eyes had become heavily adept at looking through the smoke from the fires, my nose at differentiating the rotten from the fresh, and my legs and mind at being nimble enough to catch my prey. The amount of prey had reduced severely since the last source of meat had been devoured by a crowd at the feeding halls a month ago, a measly sheep, but a sheep nonetheless. Ever since then, the hope of recovering our food source had died and the number of feeders has grown, thus reducing our prey.

My eyes widen as I finally spot one, a child, his hair an unhealthy shade of black, it was grey. My nose twitched, his flesh, it was rotting beneath. He’d die in a matter of days. He walked aimlessly, randomly kicking at objects around him, obviously aware of his inevitable fate. He was cattle awaiting its slaughter, I would be the bullet that took him by surprise. I slowly got up, my eyes stuck on him as if he would disappear if I moved them away. Steadily, like a snake through grass, l got up from the dirt, letting go of a fistful of sand and letting it swivel to the wind. My legs carried me over to him, and I stood behind him, watching him kick away at rocks. After a few seconds, he stopped, noticing my presence behind him and turned around to face me. I stared at his scarred face, his large doe eyes looked up at me helplessly and his tiny hands balled up into fists. “Hello,” he muttered.

“Hi,” I responded. He nodded at me, his grey hair falling into his eyes.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he cocked his tiny head to the side, revealing the burnt side of his small neck.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, taken aback but still focused.

He raised an eyebrow at me before shrugging his weak shoulders. “It’s what you do, isn’t it? You take us, and you eat us.” His gaze dropped to the floor and I swear I heard him sniff. I couldn’t think of anything to say, prey was prey, it shouldn’t talk. But this one did, and now I was conflicted and so I stupidly went with my empty gut.

“You’re not going to die,” I muttered. “Not by my hand at least.”

The child looked back up at me with a certain look of disbelief etched onto his broken features. “Wh-”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” I turned around and began walking away with my fist clenched at the loss of a perfectly good meal, but the former meal followed me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, halting and turning around to face him.

“Following you,” he said quite bluntly.

“I know that, but why?”

The child shrugged, a small groan escaped his lips as he did as if it pained him to do so. I looked at him, the ground then back at him, I’d let him follow me he was as good as dead out here anyway.

***

The child and I walked side by side in silence. The only sound between us being the crunching of rocks beneath the soles of our feet. When we became bored with walking around without aim, we sat down side by side on rotting logs. I swung my head back to look up at the grey, smoke-filled sky and let out a shaky breath before closing my eyes and enveloping myself with the darkness that followed.

The child sat beside my shuffling his feet, fingering blades of broken glass, he was bored. I could tell and couldn’t take much more of the scampering noises that he relentlessly made, so I broke the silence.

“How old are you?” I asked, opening my eyes and turning to face him.

He blinked and shook his head. “I don’t remember, nine. I think.”

I nodded my head and leaned back, he should be old enough to remember the final slaughter. “Where are your parents?”

He shrugged and fumbled with his toes. “My mama died a month ago, a hunter shot her near dead alley, and I don’t remember my dad.”

“Dead alley? How-“

He turned around to face me sharply. “Don’t ask, I don’t want to talk about it.” He nodded and his scarred face contorted itself into a small frown.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I just assumed the hunters were dead.”

“They’re not,” he shook his head, “saw one a few days ago, it didn’t do anything though, just stood around and didn’t move. I think he’s still there.”

Hunters were former humans. After the war when animals started going scarce, military officers were forced to take a mutation drug. The drug enabled them to hunt like true predators and find animals for other humans to feed on. Initially it worked, but soon after an additional drug was added to the original and it twisted the dna of these men, writhing them into another wretched species entirely. Instead of hunting for animals they hunted humans and fed on them, their sudden presence on earth stilled any thoughts of recovery. The more they fed, the more their hunger grew, they became the evil beasts that all of mankind feared. The world soon turned into nothing but a hunting ground where everyone was prey.

Camps were created for protection, restricted guns were supplied to the people and a strict five pm curfew was set. As food grew more scarce, and the number of humans decreased, people got angry and thus the war began.

Human against hunter. The loss of life was incredible. Hunters breeded to make feeders. To make people like me.

We aren’t as violent, but we feed just as they did. Or rather, as I’d just found, as they do.

“Take me to him.” I demanded suddenly, turning to face the child with snake like precision. He shook his head, his scars seemed to glisten in the sunlight, his blue veins pulsed on his forehead and red lines threatening to pierce his orbs.

“No.”

I got up from the hot ground and pointed a twisted finger at him. “Yes, you will.”

He frowned, tightening his eyes before attempting to push himself suddenly off the ground. His weak arms faltered beneath him and he collapsed onto the ground, letting out a loud shout at the impact. I took a few steps forward and stood over him. He lifted his head and and a stream of warm blood came steaming out of his nose. The stench of his rotting innards hit me once again and I fought the urge to gag.

“Can you get up?” I asked and he shook his head at me. I held out my hand to him and he took it with shaky fingers, I pulled him up and he winced at the force.

In my mind I recalculated the death date of this child, it was down to a day. I pitied him, yet I still wanted to see the Hunter, my curiosity won over the pity.

“Let’s go.” I muttered. He looked back at me with wide, defeated eyes and nodded solemnly.

***

We walked for an hour or so in silence, the heavy smoke clouds shielded us from the glare of the hot sun and the dry calluses on our feet helped to ignore the sharp sensation of sharp rocks that cracked as we stepped upon them. A heated breeze kept our bodies moist with sweat and the boy’s hair blew wildly around his head like grass in a storm, it covered the scars on his neck but did little to hide the rest.

Alas, we finally reached our destination. We stood in the center of an annihilated park and the boy pointed at something behind a sudden cloud of dust and ash. I craned my neck to see but had to wait for the cloud to pass.

“There he is.” The boy said with his finger still pointing. “The hunter.”

The cloud had passed now and I could see the figure the boy pointed at. It had on a moth beaten hat, it’s shoulders limp and its head bowed to hide its face; within its long limp hands was a rusted shotgun waiting to unload itself into the skulls of innocents. I stared in pure wonder. I was a descendant of its kind. I wouldn’t have realized that I had begun walking towards it if it weren’t for the boy’s suddenly strong grip on my hand pulling me back.

“No.” His fingernails dug ferociously into my wrist. “Please.”

His frightened body visibly shook resembling the frame of a haunted mouse. I nodded down at him and stepped back into my original place as I did so the child let out a blood curdling scream that caused me to stumble and fall onto my backside. I looked up and realised why the child screamed, so much so that I copied it with a scream of my own. The hunter stood before us with his gun aimed at the child, in the few seconds I had been unfocused he’d managed to run up on us with such agility I hadn’t noticed.

In my fear, my eyes remained on the creature and studied him intently. His breathing was as heavy as a broken creaking fan and his body heaved up and down to the tempo. His mouth was opened displaying a black broken array of teeth, and heavy drops of drool fell onto his bare feet creating a puddle on the cracked gravel.

The hunter suddenly jammed his gun onto the child’s chest and he fell to the ground with another scream. At this my senses managed to grab a hold of me once more. I kicked out my left leg and hit the hunter in the shins, his head snapped towards me along with his gun. I turned to the child, hoping that he would see this as a sign and run, but he lay helpless on the ground. His broken body finally caving into his exhaustion, blood pooled out of his nose and he blinked rapidly as if ito help him regain his strength. His fingers curled and uncurled by his side with soft snaps emitting from his knuckles every few seconds...

My attention snapped back to the hunter as he let out a long growl. He’d taken a step closer towards me and now I could smell his stench. I backed up and he took another step towards me, I kicked him once more and this time he reacted. He lunged at me, his heavy body collapsed upon mine and the fight began. His shotgun was pressed firmly across my chest, making suffocation a high possibility. His drool dripped onto my neck and his stench. Oh God the stench, it ripped at my nostrils and clawed its way down my throat into the pits of my stomach. I could feel bile shooting up my throat and when I could no longer hold it back it came out splattering onto the hunter’s face. The hunter screeched in pain as the vile liquid went into his eyes and rolled off of me. I shot up onto my feet, bile dripping down my shirt, and ripped the shotgun from his hands. The hunter continued screeching as I raised the gun above my head and brought it down upon his chest with a loud slam, and proceeded to pull the trigger. He emitted one last howling screech before resolving to eternal silence, I stared down at the body in disbelief, panting heavily as adrenaline shot through my veins.

I turned back to the child as he emitted a soft groan. I dropped the gun and rushed to his side, dropping to my knees, the blood from his nose had dyed his shirt red and his eyes were no longer blinking, his fingers continued in their motion of curling and uncurling. His tiny body seemed so fragile now, his chest heaved up and down his lungs desperate for air. He managed to turn his neck to stare at me with his sad brown orbs, I felt a heavy dropping in my chest as he did this. His body shivered in pain and as his delicate tears streamed down his cheeks, I felt my own tears drop onto my hand. I reached out for his tiny curled hand and wrapped my fingers around his own. I could feel the heat, human heat, fading from his body and watched in empathy as the life seeped out of him.

After he died I sat and stared at his empty eyes, unable to bear their empty glare I closed them gently and rose to my feet. Another day, another life, next it could be my own. The faded reality could collapse now and I wouldn’t even notice because the emptiness within me has eaten up the ability to see what is real. Even now, the child’s body begins to fade from view, but only because I cannot see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. His presence still lingers, claws into the pathways of my mind and becomes a demon of its own, to haunt me as I walk this empty path alone, forever.

#books #quotes #writers #letters #fanfiction #sci-fi #distopia #dystopianwriting #horror #horrorwriting #writersontumblr #writblr #commisionwriting #post apocalypse #apocalypse #death

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looselucy · 6 years

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Twenty Eight - H

Harry’s point of view. I had missed the feeling of waking up beside Anna Black. I had missed the feeling of just being with her.

In the week where I moved into her flat, I grew more than accustom to her company, more than accustom to waking up and knowing she was going to be there with me. The tour bus and hotel rooms began feeling bare after only a few days. I fucking loved waking up next to her again. I quietly watched her sleeping, my mind still fried after what had happened the night before. I knew there was quite a bit of time before she would stir herself, and I took that time to think about my actions. What I’d done, what I should have done instead. I turned on my side, watching her intently. It was nice seeing her totally calm in her slumbering state. She hadn’t been having the easiest time of recent, and no matter how she tried, I could see how tense it had made her. Seeing her sleeping made me feel happy for her, she was in a state of calm, even if it was just for a while. As much as I wanted to wake her and enjoy her company once again, I wanted her to be peaceful for herself, more than I wanted to have her to myself. I placed a kiss to her forehead, before slowly and quietly removing myself from underneath the sheets, sleepily wandering over to my suitcase and throwing on a pair of sweatpants. I stood at the end of the bed and watched her for another minute or so, smiling down to her frame, before removing myself from the hotel room, quietly clicking the door shut behind myself, then making my way down to Louis’ room. We had an entire hotel floor to ourselves, that way we didn’t have to worry about anyone bothering us, or any extreme fans finding our rooms. The hotel wouldn’t even allow people on our floor, and it gave us a sense of ease. Before I even reached Louis’ room, the door before his opened, Zayn popping his head out and looking at me. “Morning.” I yawned, cracking my neck. He tilted his head, signalling for me to join him inside his room. I quickly did, stepping inside to see it was just him there. “Just wanted to see how you’re feeling?” He began. “I’m okay.” “Last night got a bit...” He trailed off. “I’m sorry, man.” “Why are you sorry?” “That you had to calm me down. I lost it.” “Mate, if I saw someone acting like that with my missus, you’d have to do more than calm me down. I get it. You don’t need to apologise.” I nodded, hating even thinking about how out of hand things had gotten, how that boy had spoken to her and grabbed her. Everything just switched so quickly; one second, I was dancing with Niall, the next I saw him push up to her body, her eyes seeming threatened by his movements. The anger I felt was gut-wrenching, simply witnessing him try to corner her, touch her. She isn’t fucking his to touch. I wished I could have knocked him to the floor. I wished I could have taken him down, but there would be a story about that without a doubt. With nobody really being hurt and us being in such a private venue, I doubted anything would come of it, it would remain between those involved. But fuck, I wished I could have punched him and have nothing come from it other than total satisfaction that the prick got what was coming to him. I ran my hand through my hair, trying to shake the thought of his smug face, trying not to get riled up again. “Management think she’s trouble.” Zayn spoke lowly. “I know they do.” I sighed, running my tongue across my teeth. “I’m working on it. The article about those pictures is out in the UK today. I think everyone can have… some sympathy there. Well, I hope so. I think people will understand how she actually feels about those pictures. That’s one step closer to them realising she’s not trouble at all. She’s actually… really sweet, y’know? I know she might not seem it, but-” “Nah, I can tell.” He nodded. “Once you get to know her… she’s not anything like what they make her out to be. She’s really nice, Harry. I kind of didn’t know what to expect when you said you had a girlfriend.” I laughed a little, chuckling to the floor as I thought about where Zayn’s mind may have gone when he thought about me having a girlfriend. Their views were skewered enough thanks to what happened with Kate, but as well as that, it was me. I avoided relationships, I avoided girls who wanted to relationships, the whole thing used to make me feel sick with fear and dread. I bet he thought I would show up with some girl who was clearly there for all the wrong reasons, on her part and mine. I was more than happy with how well they had all reacted to her. They all really liked her, and that meant a lot to me. “Besides,” I started. “Alex said he’s going to sort out some kind of behind the scenes thing for her when they do another video, so people can see what she’s actually like. If she wants to, that is.” “You care about her a lot, don’t you?” “You’re only just noticing?” I laughed. “I just never know what to expect from you, man.” He smiled. “I didn’t expect it myself to be honest, but she’s… I’m hooked on her.” Zayn quickly took me in for a tight hug, patting away at my back. I knew they were all happy I had found someone, that I had eventually met someone who made me happy, that I was no longer just flitting from one girl to the next, feeling nothing. I was grateful for her too. She made me feel something I didn’t think I would, something I thought maybe I could never feel. I had described her as a vision before, and I firmly stood by that comment. That was honestly how I saw her, this beam of burning light that had blinded me but made every other sense heighten. Her touch, her taste, her smell, the sound of her voice. I was infatuated with everything about her, and it was increasing with each passing moment. Zayn pulled away from me, giving me a firm nod. “I’m glad you’re alright.” He said. “I’m fine. M’gunna go speak to Louis, so I’ll see you later on.” We said our goodbyes swiftly before I left the room again, shutting his door behind me. I stood there in the hall for a second, not quite sure where my mind was as I thought about her. I often lost my train of thought when she crossed my mind. I moved along, next knocking on Louis’ door. “HOLD ON!” I heard from inside. I laughed and shook my head, hearing him stumble about inside as he dressed himself or something along those lines. Soon enough the door was swung open, Louis stood ahead of me looking absolutely exhausted. “Alright, angry boy.” He pestered, stepping aside and letting me in. I moved across his room, sitting in the chair beside the window and looking up to him with an apologetic smile. He rolled his eyes at me, going to sit on the end of his bed, waiting for me to speak. “I didn’t mean for last night to get so out of hand.” I mumbled. “I know you didn’t, but that guy was an arse. I chose to start on him, Harry, you don’t need to apologise.” “But if a story comes out, they’re going to pin it all on you!” I screeched. “You think that was managements idea?” He laughed. “You’re an idiot, Harry. That was totally my idea.” I looked to him with furrowed brows, wondering what he was talking about. He was amused by my baffled state, chuckling under his breath. “Louis?” I said firmly. “People aren’t going to believe some bullshit story about me starting a fight over a girl. The papers would lap that up if it was about you, it’s totally different with me. I have a girlfriend, they don’t attack me in the way they attack you. Of course it was my idea to take the fall.” It was big of him to do that for me. Even standing up to our management was a task in itself. Though what he said was true, it still said a lot to me that he would do that for me, that his name could be put in a bad light because I had lost my temper. “Why would you do that?” I asked. “Just makes sense, dunnit?” He shrugged. “Besides, I’ve never seen you as happy as when you’re with her. I don’t want management to fuck that up for you.” Sometimes I would forget how much I loved the boys. I would spend months with them constantly, and then on my breaks I just would feel like maybe I needed a break from them. I didn’t. They were my best mates, my brothers, the fact that I sometimes let that slip my mind was a quality within myself that I couldn’t stand. They had been there since I was sixteen, I had grown up and matured alongside them, and thanks to them. I was happy with the person I had become, and I literally had those four boys to thank for it. “Thanks, Louis.” I sighed. “Don’t mention it, man.” He smiled. “It’s not even worth dwelling on.” We both stood up, and I experienced my second hug of the day, having to lean down a little thanks to mine and Louis’ height difference. I told him once again how much I appreciated his actions, that I appreciated everything he had done for me and the other boys over the years. Louis was our rock, he had been ever since The X Factor days. There wouldn’t be a band without him, and we all knew it. He was the core of the group, the pull in the centre of us that made us work, the one who stood up for us when we really needed him to. So I continued to thank him, before stepping back outside into the hallway, sighing to myself. I moseyed back towards mine and Anna’s room, knowing that if she was still asleep I would finally want to wake her, beginning to miss her company already. She was my weakness. I figured this to be one of the biggest offenses and compliments. My Achilles Heel. She’d drawn me in with this initial idea that she was hard, dark, completely mysterious and utterly bewitching. But she was much softer than I had originally thought, kind and thoughtful and sweet and gentle. Dainty. I always thought of the word dainty when I thought of her. I wished she could have stayed, I wished there could have been some kind of convenience and ease with her tagging along for the rest of the European leg of the tour. But I knew it would only be just over two weeks after she left until I was back in the UK, back on home turf where she would be close to me. I couldn’t wait for it, to be honest. I quietly opened the door to see her still slumbering, the sheets tight around her body, like she was subconsciously gripping onto them, her fingers wrapped tight around the thick sheets. I wondered why that was, what part of her mind wanted to grip onto something, desperate to keep herself warm and comforted and safe. I wanted so much to be a source of happiness for her whilst she was in Paris with us. I had wanted to take her from the miserable state she’d been in and bring her some well-deserved happiness, but I felt like I’d done the exact opposite. She may have been good at covering it, but the truth was that Anna had been extremely sad of recent. Everything that had been going on was wearing her down. The articles about her that seemed to be getting more constant, the way she was perceived, the pictures that her ex decided he would share with the world. I really fucking prayed I would never have to meet him. I didn’t know what I would do. I crawled onto the bed, moving so that I was lying next to her, my belly flat against the top of the sheets, resting a hand under my chin, my elbow pressed to the sheets as I watched her for another couple of minutes. I was so incredibly fond of her, even without being able to see them, I knew my eyes twinkled a certain light whenever she was in my vision. I brushed at her cheek, stroking the back of my fingers over the soft skin. My heart thudded against its cage as she flustered. Even when she was asleep, my touch affected her body. Her grip loosened from the sheets, her lips changed their shape slightly, her skin became a little warmer and pinker, and she let out a heavy sigh. I am obsessed with this girl. I couldn’t control my lips as they edged closer to her, pecking her sweetly, but she still didn’t stir fully. “Anna.” I whispered gently. I ran a hand steadily through her hair, as she slowly began to wake.I loved seeing her in such a woozy state, caught between reality and her dreams. It prompted a certain memory, the time I had lifted her to bed, the evening after my mum had been around to visit me. I remembered it perfectly; watching her face intently, studying her reactions to me lifting her, how content she had looked. I knew that was the first time I ever thought she may have been special, the first time I ever felt my chest clench because of her. I remembered thinking fondly about the day I had spent with her, pondering over about how much I enjoyed hearing about her, how much she interested me. She left me a little speechless. I didn’t even know what I felt, I was baffled by her. That night, lifting her and pressing my lips to her forehead, I knew there was something between us. “Anna, wake up!” I smiled. Her lashes fluttered up, her blue eyes shining in the sunlight that beamed from outside. So beautiful. I didn’t even realise how wide I was grinning as she woke, her eyes looking onto my face as she shuffled, moving her woken body so she was comfortable. “Good morning.” I cooed. “Morning.” She groaned. “How are you feeling?” I asked, slightly concerned. “M’fine. M’good. I missed you.” She whispered. I moved to her again, taking her into a deep kiss, loving that she was awake to I could finally brush my tongue to hers. She took her small hands and ran one through the back of my hair, the other pushing to my cheek as I moved even closer to her, my body almost on top of hers as I pulled her closer to me. A thought suddenly crossed my mind that made me feel sick to the stomach, the fear forcing me bring the kiss to a bitter end, staring sadly down to her lips. “What’s wrong?” She asked. “Did I scare you?” “Wh-what?” “Did I scare you? Last night?” She kissed at the tip of my nose, making me hum in appreciation as I closed my eyes and let her comforts work their magic. “No, you didn’t scare me.” She reassured. “I know what I can get like, but… I never want to scare you, Anna.” “You didn’t. I’m glad you were there.” I moved to kiss her again, altering the sheets to reveal her beautiful body to me, swallowing the sides of her waist with my hands. She moved so she was on her side, lazily draping one leg over my hip as the front of our bodies pressed to one another. The more of her skin that was in contact with mine the better, I was always so desperate for her touch. I mumbled her name against her lips, almost like I was crying out to her, begging for there to be even more of her against me. I grabbed hold of one of her hands as we remained in a passionate embrace and made it so she was tracing down my back. She moaned appreciatively against my lisp. “I love it when you control me.” She grunted. I felt myself twitch, my dick beginning to rise for her. We had been with each other so many times, my feelings existed and grown for a few months, and I worried that as time went on maybe I would stop feeling so incredibly turned on by her and her being. But that wasn’t the case, I still thought she was the most sexual, stunning person I had ever encountered in my life. I was apprehensive our connection would falter, but it merely strengthened. All the fears that stopped me from wanting a relationship seemed non-existent thanks to her. All the things that I thought would make this difficult didn’t seem like issues. The only thing I hated was that I couldn’t constantly be with her. But the feeling I got when she got into the car the day before was indescribable, it was almost like it was worth missing her. “I love controlling you, Honey.” I spoke. “Tie me up.” She breathed. I cocked my brows and widened my eyes at her suggestion, bringing the kiss to an abrupt end, staring at her and waiting for her to speak again, just in case she had said it in the heat of the moment. I would never want to push her to do something she didn’t want to, because regardless of everything, she had such a beautiful sense of innocence about her. I was constantly surprising myself with how much I cared about her. “Honey?” “I want you to tie me up.” She said shyly. “Are you sure?” “Yes. I want you to tease me, and… and fuck me… and I want to want to touch you. But I want to be restricted.” I didn’t think I had ever wanted to pleasure her more than I did in that moment. I had never wanted her more. I was actually pretty sure I thought that every time the moment of us being together grew close, it always crossed my thoughts that I had never wanted her more. But hearing her speak like that, hearing her request that of me took me to another level. When she had first told me that she wanted me to be rough with her, she was so breathless and nervous. But this time around, she was slightly more confident about her request, and it was such a turn on. She bit her lip as she gazed up to me. “I’d do anything to please you.” I told her. And it was the truth. Anything she wanted, I would give to her. Anything she wanted. And she wanted me.

#LETS HEAR FROM HARRY SHALL WE #Happy Tuesday I'm so tired I might collapse WOO #1dff #AMG28

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khaelisfics · 6 years

Text

Grey Hair

Paring: TenToo x Rose Tyler Rating: Mature Word count: 1800 Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff

Summary:

That's it. He's getting old. And he doesn't like it. Thankfully, Rose does.

Read on AO3

Another fluffy TenToo x Rose piece! Will probably be a two chap. explicit story, but I’m leaving it to one mature chapter for now!

Tagging @timepetalscollective and @doctorroseprompts in case this fits into a prompt!

“Doctor, I swear to God if you don't get out of that bathroom now I’ll kick the door open.”

He barely heard her threat, barely peered at the door behind him through the mirror. It was true he had spent far too long in the bathroom, but he had a very good reason. Several reasons. First, to keep her from witnessing a small-scale panic attack that might have had pulled a tear or two from his eyes. Second, to find a way to hide it, so she wouldn't see the horror of it.

Well, it didn't look horrible, but it certainly felt horrible. That was it. The very first obvious sign that this rubbish human body was aging, and all the rest it implied. According to the small plastic card Rose insisted he should always keep in his pocket, he would turn fifty a few days later. To a Time Lord, fifty was nothing but a quick blink of an eye, a flutter of an eyelid. To a human, that fifty marked the beginning of the second half of their pathetically short lives. He was old. Very old. Older than he'd ever been before, even as a Time Lord. Ancient, almost.

He wasn't scared of dying, because he had long accepted this body wouldn’t last. He was simply scared of aging. Scared the changes in his body would somehow… Make him too different from the Doctor Rose had fallen in love with. It might be too awkward to her. She had started to love him when she thought he’d always remain the same lanky man with wonky features and long spikes of brown hair. But now. Now, he certainly was different from that ideal she had married.

There was the few pounds he had managed to pack on for indulging in way too many of the meals she prepared him every night, and all those unhealthy lunches she put in his bag before he left for work. And then, his lower lip had gotten just a bit poutier, his left eye a bit bulgier, his crinkles a bit deeper. And then, this morning, he had found out about that one thing he dreaded. He could contract his abdomen when she was looking, just to make it look a bit flatter. He could smile and make faces to hide his growing wrinkles and softening features, just to pretend time wasn't taking its toll.

But there was nothing he could currently do to hide the tiny tuft of silver hair growing among the mane of brown. He had tried to sculpt the hair around to bury it, but it hadn't worked. He had tried to trim the top to make it less visible, but it hadn't worked. He was trying to paint them back to their original colour with careful strokes of his fingers covered in a thick layer of her eyeshade, but it wasn't working that well either.

“Doctor, I’m coming in, yeah?” she said behind the door - and it flew open before he could protest.

She stared at him, raised eyebrow and fists firmly planted on her hips - how had she managed to keep such a slender waist when his was but a long gone memory, he didn't know. She spotted the tubes and boxes of hair gel on the counter, the comb full of hair, his fingers dirty with black power, the contents of her toilet bag all gathered in the sink.

“What on Earth are you doing with my makeup?” she asked, picking up his wrist to watch his fingers from up close.

“I’m not, I mean, I’m not using your makeup to… Makeup,” he stuttered, hurrying to wash his hands with a blob of soap. “I was looking for your hairbrush and… It just all fell and I’m trying to… Nevermind, it's nothing. I’m done anyway. We should go.”

But of course, she had seen the hair products, the comb, the awful quantity of shiny gel plastered all over the top of his head. She only smiled, suddenly much less irritated, and handed him a towel.

“I like it, you know,” Rose pointed out, purposefully glancing at his hair.

“You like what?” he shrugged as he shoved all of the products in the bag and set it back on the shelf.

“Your hair,” she simply answered. “It's beautiful. The good kind of grey, silver and all shiny.”

“I do not have grey hair yet, thank you very much,” he huffed, though the blush spreading on his cheeks did a poor job at backing up his claim.

“You've had gray hair for ages, Doctor,” she giggled, running her fingers through the short strands at the back of neck. “It started there.”

She gently tugged on a spike going astray just behind his ear. She trailed her fingers around, until they reached the slightly flat area of his skull and scratched her nails on another patch of hair.

“Then here,” she continued - and she rolled an arm around his waist as she did, pressing into his back and staring at his reflection through the mirror. “And that one, it appeared two weeks ago.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he muttered, swatting her hand away from his head.

“Because I like it,” she repeated, pinching the light swell of his abdomen in retaliation. “I like everything about you. I like that you're human. I like that you're growing old with me, like you promised. You thought I wouldn't notice? Your breath when you try to hide your belly, or your forced smiles when you try to hide the crinkles at the corner of your mouth?”

“You… You did?”

“You're my husband, you plonker, of course I noticed. And guess what, you’re not smiling twenty-four seven, and sometimes you have to breathe like everyone does. I see it, Doctor. I’ve been seeing it for months. I said nothing because I love it. I love you, slight overweight, grey hair and wrinkles included. I just want you to be yourself.”

“Well I hate myself right now,” he mumbled, trying to get free of her hold she wouldn't loosen. “Look at me, Rose. I’m fat and hideous and so old.”

“Fat, yes, alarmingly so,” she agreed.

He frowned at those words, but rolled his eyes when she grinned at him from above his shoulder and snatched the hem of his shirt from his trousers. He grumbled when she ran her hand in circles over the small lump that, she had to admit, was slightly overreaching above his belt. But she loved it. Its warmth, its softness, its thin layer of coarse hair that disappeared under the waistline of his pants. All those things she had learnt to love about this human the first day they had spent together, and all those things she still loved despite his most vehement protests.

“And hideous, too,” she smiled, pressing her lips on the side of his neck. “But you’ve always been hideous, it just didn’t happen overnight. And old. Gosh, you are so old, I think you’re on the brink of death already.”

“It’s not funny, Rose, look at me.”

“I look at you, my Doctor, I always look at you.”

“You should have told me, then,” he groaned, still miffed that she had been seeing these things for ages when he only had noticed them a few weeks before.

“Tell you, then what? What would you have done about it? Go on a diet and dye your hair? Buy a pass to the gym and get botox in your face?”

“Well, if that’s what it takes to be the same as before, yeah, I would do that.”

“Do you honestly believe I would ever love you less because you've grown a tiny belly?” she asked in a murmur, so sincere he almost believed she meant that question - impossible, though, because that would imply he didn't trust her, and she knew just how much he did. “Or love you less because you've got a few wrinkles or gray hair, or weak knees and cranky fingers? That such ridiculous things of your appearance would ever change how I feel for my husband and the father of my children? Do you, Doctor? Because that means I haven't loved you properly.”

“It’s not about love, Rose, it’s about you finding your husband attractive,” he retorted, swatting her hand away from his belly, now revealed by the few buttons she had undone. “And, excuse me, but you never compliment me on my hair or my body anymore.”

Her fingers went back to his shirt at those words, but instead of carefully undoing the remaining buttons, she ripped the two hems apart, little plastic pucks raining down on the tiles. She pulled it down his arms with a harsh shove, staring at him through the mirror, looking at her own hands mapping the contours of his broad shoulders, trailing down his pectorals, down to his abdomen, down, downer. Her fingertips slipped under his belt, quickly, just enough to see his bright chocolate eyes darken and, quite ironically, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth deepen as he pinched his lips to keep a moan in.

“Rose, the kids…” he started, briefly closing his eyes when her nails grazed the coarse hair at the juncture of his legs.

“Are gone already. Our eldest has her licence now and this is her birthday. She took my car.”

“We’ll be late, we…”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Mister,” she scolded, biting her lips into the soft skin of his shoulder. “Do you want to know something, Doctor?”

“What?” he sighed - both because he was just a bit annoyed, but mostly because he was starting to really appreciate how her body was pressing against his.

“Maybe I don’t compliment you on your body anymore…”

“Ah, see?” he interrupted with a sad grin of victory.

“But you don’t tell me you love me anymore,” she continued, unfazed by his intervention. “The last time was… I don’t know, a year ago, on our anniversary?”

“Of course I tell you I love you, don’t be silly Rose,” he protested, stopping her wrists when she began to move her hands again. “I tell you that everyday.”

“Nope,” she smiled as she broke free from his hold and unbuckled his belt. “But that’s alright. Because I know you do. So I thought… You knew I still find you attractive, too, just like I know you still love me. Because I do. You’re handsome, Doctor, every single part of you. Obviously I haven’t made myself clear enough. I shall remedy that, don’t you think?”

“Rose, love, we’ll be late,” he repeated, bracing himself against the sink, her deft fingers zipping his fly down and popping the button off.

“They can wait. I have a beautiful husband to love, right now.”

#doctorroseprompts #timepetalsprompts #ficandchips #tentoo x rose #tentoo #rose tyler #fluff #doctorwho #fanfic #mature #getting old #otp #2

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glorious-blackout · 3 years

Text

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Fix-It Part Four:

@rock-n-roll-fantasy @elorianna I promise I will do my best to upload Part Five tomorrow because a) this one is mostly a short wee interlude, and b) I’ve kept you both waiting long enough for what comes next 😉

Hope you enjoy this part! 🥰

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Original Fic

****************************************************

It turned out that Alex had wasted four days drifting in and out of consciousness.

According to Matt, he would occasionally rouse just long enough to mumble incoherent sentences or swallow tablets with a smattering of water, but for the most part Alex had been out cold and silent as the grave. Which had been rather fitting, as that’s exactly where it looked like he was heading. Matt had sacrificed sleep himself in favour of listening to Alex’s ragged breaths, dreading the possibility of slipping into a doze only to wake up to silence. George had called him out on it multiple times, but apparently he’d refused to listen; a fact he remained unapologetic about despite Alex’s own insistence that he was an idiot.

It would take a further two days for Alex to regain the ability to walk unaided. Another three would pass before Matt stopped intercepting him every eight hours with a handful of outdated antibiotics and a bottle of water. Mercifully his fever had broken while he slept so that particular threat had already been vanquished, and with Matt acting as amateur physiotherapist, his physical strength recovered relatively quickly.

No doubt it would take far longer for Alex to feel human again. The dizziness which assaulted him whenever he stood up and the pale, sunken-eyed creature which appeared in every reflection was proof enough of that. Even after his legs had finally stopped shaking with every step, the tightness in his chest continued to limit his mobility for several days and he could barely get any words out without being gripped by a coughing fit. Nevertheless, despite his ongoing misery, Matt seemed to be pleased with his overall progress. Enough that he’d gradually begun the process of shedding his mother-hen tendencies in favour of assuming their old rapport anyway.

By the time Alex felt well enough to resume his daily excursions with Jeremiah, a full two weeks had passed. Two weeks of wasted time in which he had been little more than dead weight; time he could have spent hunting for supplies or searching for his loved ones. Alex wasn’t the only one who was bitterly aware of what a burden he’d become. George’s mild dislike of him had evolved into what appeared to be sheer indifference. The man had not uttered a single word to Alex since his awakening, nor had he so much as looked him in the eye. Once Alex had recovered the strength to rejoin the group by the campfire for their evening meals, he’d been struck by the way George kept his gaze fixed firmly on the sand beneath his feet, saying nothing even when Jeremiah visibly lit up at the sight of his approach.

Jeremiah had taken him aside one evening and assured him not to worry about George; had remarked that he was only being a grump because Alex’s sickness had robbed him of a hiking partner. While the grizzled scavenger certainly hadn’t admitted as much out loud, it would seem that he enjoyed having Matt around to talk his ear off during their trips. Perhaps he hadn’t fully appreciated just how lonely the world had become until he’d been forced to re-embark on solo treks. Or perhaps Alex falling ill and wasting their precious supplies of medicine had simply proven his point that having strays around the cabin was a terrible idea. Either way, it seemed he was in no hurry to forgive Alex for being a nuisance.

It probably didn’t help matters that as soon as Alex felt well enough to join Jeremiah, Matt insisted on coming along as well. Jeremiah had argued that they would be just fine on their own and that he would never allow Alex to overwork himself, but Matt refused to be swayed. The debate ended with all three of them wading through the thick heat towards their usual pier with Midnight in tow, with George having headed off on his own long before the sun was up. It seemed an especially hot day even by Alex’s newly adjusted standards, and he was acutely aware of how much longer he was taking than usual. Jeremiah appeared to be slowing his pace deliberately ahead of him, and Matt kept offering the reins to Alex only to be refused every time. So long as he had the strength to walk, he would continue to do so. If he was doomed to collapse in the heat, he’d much rather avoid doing it from horseback.

It turned out there were only two fishing lines to go around, which suited Matt’s plans just fine. As soon as they reached their usual spot on the pier, Matt insisted that he and Alex take turns fishing while the other kept Midnight entertained. Jeremiah offered zero protests to this arrangement and simply handed Alex his usual equipment with a weak smile, while Matt guided Midnight by the reins and took her for a wander along the beach.

Despite the heat which appeared to hold a particular grudge against them that day, Alex found it comforting to slip back into his old routine. His body offered several protestations against him being on his feet for so long, but leaning against the barrier successfully relieved his unsteadiness and focusing on the task at hand provided an adequate distraction from any underlying discomfort. He couldn’t help but be grateful that Jeremiah hadn’t returned to his suggestion of going out on a fishing boat. No doubt the rocking motions of the waves would have resulted in him either puking his guts out or simply tumbling into the ocean depths, and he doubted Matt would have taken too kindly to either outcome.

The simple task of fishing for crabs by the pier was doable enough in his current state, however. They remained as eager to latch onto their bait as ever, and Alex found it easier than expected to raise the line with a steady hand. By the time Matt decided it was his turn to take over, Alex had already contributed four crabs to the ever-filling bucket, earning a firm pat on the back from Jeremiah in the process.

Alex elected to remain beneath the awning of the pier’s humble café during his break. The midday sun had grown especially fierce, and Midnight appeared to be worn out herself from Matt’s brief jaunt along the beach. She rested nearby, having been left untethered to roam as she pleased. Alex settled himself against the exterior of the ransacked café with his legs outstretched, content to simply watch Jeremiah and Matt go about their work. To his surprise, Matt took to fishing remarkably quickly - citing a childhood spent in Devon with nothing else to do as the reason for his natural ability – and it wasn’t long before he was luring crabs into the bucket without losing them to the shifting waves or the edge of the pier. On multiple occasions throughout the afternoon, he turned to Alex to ask if he wanted to swap, but Alex remained happy beneath his meagre shelter and Matt seemed happy enough to let him rest there.

As a result of their combined efforts, the bucket was close to overflowing before the sun was even halfway to the waves. Jeremiah wasted no time in forcing the lid over the top, drowning out the clacking of claws as their victims clambered over each other in their quest for freedom. Having signalled the end of a day’s work several hours ahead of schedule, Jeremiah took advantage of the calm to rest against the barrier and gaze out towards the endless sea, closing his eyes as the gentle rush of waves and distant cries of hovering gulls provided an ambient soundtrack. Matt cast one wary look towards Alex, who simply threw him a thumbs up to indicate that he was still alive, before he too lost himself in the view.

Alex was content to simply stay where he was. The sight of shimmering waters was hardly a novelty to him anymore, though he did appreciate the need to simply bask in silence for a moment. He let his eyes drift shut and simply focused on taking one breath after another; focused on the intermittent creaking of the pier and the constant movement of water beneath his perch and the distant whickers as Midnight trotted happily across the sands.

It was Jeremiah who eventually declared that they should head back, receiving little argument from his tired companions. Dragging himself to his feet took more effort than Alex would have liked, but somehow he accomplished that monumental task without resorting to using Matt’s proffered hand. The sun had become slightly more forgiving by the time they made their way back across the promenade and towards the beach. A gentle breeze announced itself shortly after they stepped foot upon the dusty path, having been conspicuously absent all day, and Alex turned his head in its direction as it brushed over his face and ruffled the messy strands of his hair. The tide appeared to be coming in, bringing the tang of salt and seaweed with it as foam gathered across the sand with every incoming wave.

It was shaping up to be a pleasant evening. Alex knew that was a dangerous thought, but he chose to indulge in it anyway.

George had beaten them home for once. Their approach to the cabin was soon guided by the rising smoke of a campfire, the older man’s silhouette visible as he crouched upon one of the fallen logs. His head appeared to be cradled in one hand - his curved posture making him appear small in the distance - but he straightened quickly as the trio approached him. He offered Jeremiah a weak smile as his friend proudly lifted the bucket containing their spoils, and to Alex’s surprise his expression remained soft even upon acknowledging his presence. If anything, George appeared to regard Alex with a newfound curiosity, his gaze unwavering even when Alex collapsed onto one of the logs with a tired exhale. The unprovoked attention was a tad disconcerting, considering its source. Alex could feel those pale grey eyes drinking him in even when he kept his own gaze fixed to the flickering campfire, though thankfully the spotlight vanished once Jeremiah asked what everyone wanted for dinner.

George had discovered two wild rabbits in his traps that morning, so a supper of crabmeat was swiftly relegated to another day. The pair wandered off to the cabin to prepare a meal while Matt and Alex stayed behind, watching evening’s approach as the warmth from the fire wrapped around them like a snug blanket. At one point Matt raised the possibility of retrieving the acoustic from the cabin, but did not appear to have retained enough energy to follow-through on that plan. Alex may have offered to claim it instead, if he wasn’t in the process of warding off a doze himself. He was grateful that his ravaged body had survived their daytrip, but he was starting to feel the effects of exerting himself so soon after having his strength completely sapped by illness.

He must have drifted off eventually. A firm hand gently shook him awake just as the sun was finally beginning to set, and he stared up at Jeremiah’s amused face before wordlessly accepting the bowl of thick rabbit stew which was placed in his hands. A distant complaint with regard to the local rabbits getting skinnier and skinnier went in one ear and out the other, but the pleasant aroma lured him back to full consciousness and it wasn’t long before he was digging in along with everyone else. True to George’s words, the meat was scarce and leathery in texture, but the addition of tinned carrots and potatoes provided enough bulk to soothe the hunger pangs in his stomach.

When the comfortable silence was finally broken, it came from a rather unlikely source.

“That man of yours,” George started without any preamble. Having been treated as an invalid by the older man since falling ill, Alex failed to realise that his words were directed at him until Matt gave him a helpful nudge, and he raised his head only to find himself trapped beneath an intense grey-eyed spotlight. “The one you’re hoping to find. You said his name was Miles?”

Alex could feel his heart stop. Dangerous hope flooded through his veins, as potent as morphine and twice as deadly. He had only ever mentioned Miles in George’s presence once, back in the first week as they sat by the campfire one calm evening. Their conversation had drifted to the topic of life before the apocalypse, and after Matt had spoken at length about his wife and young children and his hopes to track them down, Alex had opened up about his own desire to find his friends and ensure they were safe. Looking back, he couldn’t even remember George participating in their discussion. Alex had assumed that the older man had zero interest in anything he had to say, yet it appeared he had been listening intently all along.

“Yeah,” he choked out, before closing his eyes and schooling his voice to sound calmer. Unaffected. Showing weakness to George had never served him well. “English bloke about my age. Why?”

The corners of George’s lips quirked upwards and his eyes softened, to the point where he appeared almost as kindly as Jeremiah. It was an expression which did not appear to belong on his weathered face, but which ignited a further spark of hope within Alex regardless.

“I can’t promise anything,” George admitted, his smile almost apologetic in the soft evening light. “But I bumped into an old acquaintance matching your description today. Younger guy, does trades with us now and again. Funny accent. Never actually asked his name before but I figured it was worth a shot, for curiosity’s sake. Sure enough, he said his name was Miles and that he was originally from England.”

There seemed to be a delay between Alex hearing the words and the weight of them sinking in. He could feel himself staring dumbly at George, his mouth slack and eyes wide, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The man’s description was just vague enough that Alex was able to force himself to calm down. To breathe. To prepare for disappointment which was likely inevitable. The notion that Miles had not only survived the last five years but had remained within the Los Angeles area seemed too ludicrous to be true, but that logic didn’t stop Alex’s heart from hammering against his ribs as though trying to break free from his chest.

“I wasn’t too convinced,” George continued, seemingly ignorant to Alex’s plight. “But I did a little prying and brought up your name, just to test the waters. Poor guy went completely rigid. Almost like he’d seen a ghost.”

If anything, the pounding of Alex’s heart grew even more ferocious. He could hear the rush of blood flowing in his ears and no doubt his breathing had sped up to match it. He knew, deep down, that giving into hope with only a trace of proof was a dangerous game to play. The world was surely filled to the brim with dead men named Alex. There were probably over a hundred Alex Turners in the Los Angeles county alone who were now presumed dead, and he was surely not the only one to have had a friend called Miles. Luck was not a mistress who had ever treated him well in the past; why on Earth would she start now?

He had to know for sure though. He had to meet this man and see him with his own eyes. If he turned out to be a total stranger, at least Alex could go back to square one without subjecting his mind to worthless hope for weeks on end.

“Could you take me to him?” he asked, not bothering to hide the pleading edge to his voice. He was prepared to beg if he had to. George had never struck him as a man who would go out of his way to offer him kindness, and he knew that he was asking a lot of someone who had already offered him food and shelter for a month, but he had to try.

Thankfully, any resistance he’d expected refused to materialise. If anything, it appeared that George had been expecting the request, for he simply studied Alex for a few seconds before putting him out of his misery with a firm nod.

“Already arranged it. The guy accused me of pulling his leg and told me to piss off, but he was amenable enough to a meeting after some persuasion,” he said, a weak smile pulling at his lips before his expression hardened once more. “He stays about fifteen kilometers out west. We’ll head there first thing in the morning, before the sun comes up. That’s your only chance. If you’re not ready when I am, you can find him yourself.”

Alex could have cried from relief right then and there. The severity of George’s warning barely held the power to faze him. He knew deep down that he would get little sleep tonight and would be wide awake precisely when George needed him to be.

Knowing full well that his voice would fail him if he tried to speak, he responded with a nod and a hesitant smile which no doubt betrayed his nerves regardless.

Sitting beside George, Alex caught Jeremiah glancing back and forth between them with a soft smile which failed to disguise the tinge of sadness in his eyes. Despite Alex’s initial assumption that both of their hosts would take this development as a good thing – an opportunity to regain their privacy and return to their normal lives – neither of them seemed particularly upbeat about the probability of saying goodbye to him tomorrow.

He turned his attention to Matt only to find his own disbelief mirrored in his friend’s blue eyes, alongside a degree of melancholy. The radio-silence about his own loved ones must have been tearing him apart, but he threw an arm over Alex’s shoulder and shared a hopeful grin with him regardless.

Alex knew then that he didn’t even need to ask. Matt would be right by his side when they set off in the morning.

#arctic monkeys #muse #Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #my fic

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