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ohscorbus · 4 years

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I had a thought while watching one cc show that when Scorpius first got back he accidentally slipped and called Draco “sir” instead of “Dad” and then he has to tell Draco everything about who he was in the dark timeline - do you think that could happen?

Oh I think this is exactly how it happens. I’ve actually had this headcanon for a while. Scorpius stands in McGonagall’s office and tells them what happened because he has to, but he skillfully skims over the details about Draco. He does it to protect his dad. To spare him the judgment from others, save him from his own, and partly because saying it out loud makes it real in this world too. No, Scorpius is going to bury it because that’s what is best. Except Draco can tell when he’s holding something back. He always has. But Draco decides not to call him out on it in front of an audience. He’ll ask him about it later on. Except there is no later on. Scorpius goes missing again and Draco fears his own failings have finally caused him to lose his boy.

Between their return, recovery, and classes, this specific issue doesn’t rear its ugly head again until the summer. Despite the reveal of Delphi’s true identity and intentions, McGonagall still enforces their cancelled Christmas and Easter is spent catching up on missed classes, so Scorpius doesn’t get back home until June. It’s been months since the events of October and so he’s been lulled into a false sense of security. But that first night home brings back the nightmares tenfold. He thinks it’s just because this is the first time he’s been separated from Albus since… since that place. And so he writes a letter the very next day and makes sure to place a photo of the two of them together on his bedside table. He goes to bed that night hopeful but wakes up in a cold sweat and a silent scream on his lips. This goes on for a week until that scream finally escapes his throat and Draco rushes in, wand raised ready with a lumos. But in the murkiness of sleep and the confusion between dreams and reality, Scorpius is blinded by wand light and then struck by fear of the loose blond hair behind it. He doesn’t register his dad’s mirrored horror, just of what could possibly be following it. He violently flinches back and gets out a ‘sorry sir’ before he’s even realised what he’s done. Draco is silent. All that can be heard is Scorpius trying to catch his breath between barely suppressed sobs. Then suddenly the lights are on and Draco slowly approaches, wand out of sight and hands where Scorpius can see them. Draco has no idea what’s happening but as he looks from his son’s trembling body to the letters and photos scattered on the bed beside him, it all falls into place.

“Scorpius… it’s me. Do you need me to get Albus? I don’t care what time it is, I’ll make sure Potter sends him through.”

That makes Scorpius choke out a laugh. He can just see his dad arguing with Harry through the Floo as Ginny ignores them both and tries to wake Albus up because she knows like mums always know. And as nice as it would be, to have the confirmation he’s okay, Scorpius doesn’t need that right now. Albus is safe at home with his dad. So why did he just now feel like he wasn’t safe at home with his? That’s when the guilt sets in and those words start to playback in his head. He must look like he’s going to be sick because Draco moves as quick as he can, clearly trying not to startle Scorpius again, but needing to reach the small bin by his desk for Scorpius to throw up into. He makes it just in time, but the gentle hand rubbing the back of his neck only sets off his tears again. He’s not afraid anymore, just ashamed of ever thinking his dad could hurt him. So he confesses it all. Sat there in his sweat soaked pajamas and smelling of sick. Scorpius can’t look at his dad as he spills their worst fear. But as he feels Draco start to retreat into himself, Scorpius looks up and fiercely tells him he’s not that person. He speaks with as much passion as Astoria would whenever she told him he was a good man and the kind of dad Scorpius deserved. The best. They know they need to talk about this again someday but for now, it’s enough. Draco vanishes the sick and freshens Scorpius’s pajamas and asks again about fetching Albus. Scorpius properly laughs this time. He says no and waits a beat before nervously asking if he’ll stay instead. Just until he’s fallen asleep. Draco gets on the bed beside him and lowers the lights. He pulls out a photo of Albus and Scorpius from underneath his back and asks Scorpius when it was taken. It’s exactly the right thing to do. Scorpius is smiling before he’s even launched into the tale of Albus chasing his last chocolate frog around the empty common room on Christmas day. He falls asleep with a smile still on his face and Draco stays long after it’s faded. He turns his head and looks across at the photo of Astoria also on the bedside table. He feels all the love and loss and failure and progress he’s experienced in the last hour alone and can’t stop the few tears that escape.

The next morning he’s awoken by a kick to his shins and Draco is taken back to Scorpius’s toddler years. He sits up and looks down at Scorpius still fast asleep and makes a decision. He quietly gets up and heads straight to the Floo. He manages to catch Harry as he’s eating breakfast, already dressed in his robes ready for work. He gets straight to the point. Scorpius had a bad night and while he’s better now, he knows he’d really appreciate a visit from Albus today. He knows Harry doesn’t want him at the Manor but he asks, father to father, if he’d put aside their history again for the sake of their sons. Harry must see the desperation in his eyes and as much as he hates that, it’s worth it when Harry finally promises to send Albus through as soon as he’s awake, if he wants to go. That makes Draco laugh. “I’ll see him shortly then. And thank you.”

When Scorpius comes down later on, it’s to find his dad and Albus sat at the table together. He doesn’t know who to run at and hug first. Luckily Albus is up and moving towards him before he has to make a decision, but once he’s over the initial shock of Albus finally visiting his home, he turns to his dad and gives him an equally bone crushing hug.

“Thank you. For Albus and you know, for last night.”

Draco lovingly pats down his son’s messy bed hair because there’s nothing to say. Scorpius should never need to thank him for that. He’s still learning, but he knows that’s what dads do and Draco, ever the Malfoy, is going for gold. So he pushes him back towards Albus who’s clearly itching for a tour. He’d just been telling him how Scorpius would use the ladders in their library to play hide and seek fearlessly up on the shelves. The image of a seven year old Scorpius hiding amongst the books had him laughing. He knows he can’t wait to tease him about it. So Draco ushers them out of the kitchen with the promise he’ll let them know once breakfast is ready. As the door shuts behind them, Draco stands there for a second and just listens to them talking and laughing as they catch up. The sound erases any reminding doubt that they can’t get through this. Toddler or teenager, Scorpius will always bounce back. Just like Astoria said. And if she’s right about that, then maybe they’re both right about him being a good man too.

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

(I often wonder if Draco would ever cut his hair or at least offer to after Scorpius’s strong reaction to it loose. But the more I think about it, the less likely I think he would. I’m sure he’d do it in a heartbeat if Scorpius asked or if it was a persistent issue. But it’s not. It was just that once. Plus, I personally think his long hair is a link to Astoria. He may have initially grown it out because he’s a Malfoy, but I think he keeps it like that because Astoria liked it. I imagine her reaction the first time he got it trimmed when they started dating told him so. Ever since then he’s always kept it long for her. I think Scorpius knows this too. I’m sure she often told him she loved his hair as much as she loved his dad's. So even if Draco does offer, he’d tell him no. His mum loved his long hair and he refuses to let that world tarnish that memory. Draco would agree, but he’d also keep it strictly tied back afterwards. It stays like that until the following summer when Scorpius cheekily uses a quick charm to undo the ribbon and laughs as his hair falls in front of his face, covering the pages of the book he’s reading. He doesn’t do it to prove he can cope, that doesn’t even cross his mind, he does it because his dad promised him a trip to Flourish and Blotts and he’s given up waiting patiently for him to finish his chapter. Draco threatens to cut his book allowance but they both know he doesn’t mean it, especially not when Draco realises Scorpius didn’t react just now. From that day forward, Draco doesn’t always bother to tie it back in the mornings or at all on days when it’s just the two of them. But it takes another couple of weeks for Scorpius to realise his dad is wearing it down again. He immediately gives him a hug in silent thank you.)

#1600+ words of draco and scorpius hurt/comfort anyone???#scorpius malfoy #draco malfoy #albus severus potter #scorbus #malfoy family #text post #mypost #long post #Anonymous

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murphypaw · 4 years

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so okay some PotH Clans basics, definitely not all the traits and customs but just some ones I wanted to talk about! if you wanna ask anything you can send an ask you don't have to reblog this infodump 😂

CreekClan

Uses mud and smashed berries for ceremonial purposes.

Some cats will just paint themselves for an extra bit of luck.

They use shells, stones, and mud more for their religious practices than herbs.

They do fish, but rely more on voles and frogs for food. Fish are more of a treat.

Superstitious cats believe that they have webbed toes.

They believe that prey are cats who were evil in their cat life and therefore atoning in this life by feeding the Clans.

They are very superstitious about overeating, believing it is the bad souls infecting you in life. so they never hunt more than can feed the Clan, leftover food is unacceptable.

CreekClan cats believe black and chocolate tabbies were particularly good cats in their last life.

They believe in spirits and souls, spirits being more akin to ghosts and monsters while souls are the essence of a cat that is reincarnated. a cat who isn't reincarnated becomes a spirit. [GladeClan shares this belief, but they learned it from CreekClan during Oakbelly's time. it's considered laughable by HillClan, RavineClan, and ThicketClan, while MarshClan thinks they no longer exist].

CreekClan cats are often gifted storytellers and very social, it's odd to meet a CreekClan cat who you can't joke around with. ThicketClan has a very tense relationship with them in comparison to other Clans.

GladeClan

Pacifists, believes killing a cat even in self defense rots away at your soul.

Scavengers, hunting is not wrong but is more of a last resort.

Extremely religious and superstitious, they have intensive atonement rituals and more medicine cats than most Clans.

They nearly were wiped out during a war and were rebuilt with mostly loners by a warrior named Oakbelly.

Oakbelly and her medicine cat, Fawnfur, made the rules about pacifism and scavenging.

Fawnfur also began a tradition of burying cats near important plants to fertilize them.

There is a large oak tree at the head of the camp that is said to be Oakbelly's spirit, as she gave up her reincarnation cycle in order to continue watching over her clanmates.

Cats will pray by the oak tree, eat and bury their bones, even just tell her spirit about their day. she is still included as part of the Clan. No cat will name a kit Oakkit because Oakbelly is still considered to be with them.

Medicine cats are always consulted by leaders and often cats will go to a medicine cat before their leader with issues they are having.

GladeClan cats use herb bundles as part of rituals and have a morning and evening prayer session, though it's not uncommon to see them gathering for prayers between patrols.

HillClan

Second most religious Clan.

Has two "shifts" of warriors, day and night, depending on pelt color. They have less tree coverage so their darker colored cats hunt/patrol at night to avoid them overheating.

Two set meal times, called Morning Meal and Evening Meal. Morning Meal is before dawn and Evening Meal is before dusk. This allows cats to social more with the other shift.

Cats on border patrols are allowed to catch and eat one meal while on patrol, cats on hunting patrols are allowed to eat one meal between patrols.

Deputies are considered leader apprentices and are treated no different than other warriors. they aren't necessarily "head warrior" like most other Clans they are just a warrior with exemption from certain duties due to their training.

They rarely use special suffixes, it's uncommon to see a lot of cats who don't have -pelt, -fur, -stripe, or -spots as a suffix. typically no more than five in the Clan as they believe you have to be truly exceptional to earn those names.

They have less medicine cats than most Clans, with the exception of RavineClan, due to it being considered a sacred role. They believe the other Clans have devalued the role by adding more medicine cats to their ranks.

HillClan cats are superstitious about in-Clan matin, so they have lifemates (romantic partners for life) and if they want kits they seek loners or rogues to be sires. most other Clans simply require the leader's approval for in-Clan mating but HillClan nearly forbids it.

they enforce the elders' role more strictly than other Clans, having a history of serious outbreaks of kit madness (mothers becoming so stressed they eat their kittens) every time a leader is lax on this rule. the mothers are never blamed, the leader is blamed for not enforcing the law that elders raise and prepare kits for their apprenticeship.

they believe Sunbelly (the sun god) watches over day warriors and day warriors will often pray to him for good fortune. alternatively Moonclaw (the moon goddess) is believed to watch over the night shift warriors. cats will pray to the opposite deity at the end of their shift to give the opposite shift good fortune.

MarshClan

Legitimate battle cats, they train even as warriors with each other to keep their fighting skills sharp.

Cats will duel to settle disputes, though killing is not permitted.

they don't use the -claw or -fang suffix, believing every cat should excel in combat, so other skills are always more noteworthy.

they take their dead to the edge of their territory, near the mountains, for the buzzards and other scavengers to eat. they return to collect the bones and add them to the wall/piles surrounding the camp.

they don't believe in waste, they crack open prey bones in order to eat the marrow and use the prey bones to line their borders and important places (like their training areas).

they fight for sport in the training areas, mediated by the medicine cats. they bless the matches and even let kits come to watch. cats volunteer and medicine cats choose combatants.

cats with no scars are considered shameful after they've earned their warrior names because it means they've only had "easy" fights. they've never been truly challenged and it's considered cowardly to not seek an opponent of equal skill.

MarshClan cats use mud for camouflage rather than ceremony.

most rituals are done with bones and fur and feathers (skin or scales in the case of frogs and lizards). medicine cats stockpile bits of prey for such things and many cats will use prey bits to outline their nests for good luck.

cats have to recite a battle prayer and win a fight against their mentor and one peer in order to earn their warrior name. typically they get a lasting scar from this.

RavineClan

Honestly the least religious Clan, it's common for them to be atheists or agnostics. they typically only have a medicine cat and apprentice.

They try to keep to themselves and are the most welcoming to outsiders. many exiled cats (Clan or rogue) will seek refuge among them.

They typically have very dark fur and dull-colored eyes, finding Clans like CreekClan (who have the widest variety of colors) to be impractical.

Rather than having a warriors den and such, cats dig dens to live with their families around a clearing that is considered the "camp."

When the warriors go for patrols, their kits are in the care of an elder (typically the kit's grandparent).

Typically cats will hunt for their family and any elders who do not have a family to hunt for them.

During the day the elders bring the kits to the actual camp clearing to teach them history and give them space to play.

They are very strict on family members training apprentices and very harsh on nepotism. Leaders aren't allowed to choose family members for deputy.

They don't really practice the silent vigil, instead having the new named warrior(s) simply patrol the border over night without the silence requirement. they then hunt at dawn and bring the prey to their leader as proof that they are capable.

They are very secretive about their lax rules, thinking the other more zealous Clans would run them out of the forest. Apprentices aren't allowed to go to Gatherings because of this.

ThicketClan

These cats have little to no sense of humor and don't value social skills, many have eternally hoarse voices from lack of use.

They're very large physically compared to other Clans. Despite this, they're scarily quiet and slow moving.

ThicketClan cats are excessively paranoid and mistrust just about everycat they meet, especially those outside their Clan. they are raised to fear and expect the worst of others.

They train for at least an hour every morning regardless of rank in fighting skills, unlike MarshClan it's not for pride and custom it is simply for fear and preparation.

They believe that SkyClan doesn't watch over them as the other Clans due to the dense overgrowth in their territory, so they work extra hard to pray and sacrifice animals and perform rituals so that SkyClan will not forget them or show them less favor the other Clans.

Discipline and self-control are major virtues in the Clan.

They will travel in groups all the way to the city ruins to mate and will not leave each other alone with the rogue toms. typically a few Clan toms are on the trip to keep a count and watch out for any kind of aggression.

They do not allow outsiders to join their Clan, for any reason.

They move camps every spring, during autumn cats begin preparing the new camp and they begin tearing down the old camp towards the end of winter.

Rather than exiling cats, they execute them. There are no exceptions to this rule.

#warrior cats #warrior cats oc #warrior cats fanfiction #warrior cats fanclan #warriors #wc #fanclan #oc #gladeclan #hillclan #creekclan #marshclan #thicketclan #ravineclan

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whitehotharlots · 5 years

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Liberal cruelty has consquences

This semester is winding down. As I am desperate to avoid grading student papers, I’ve spent the morning reading longish-form online articles. I just came across one that I feel very conflicted about. The online reaction to it as been troubling. So I don’t know if I have anything particularly coherent to say, but I’d like to talk about it.

The anonymously written piece is titled “What Happened After My 13-Year-Old Son Joined the Alt Right.” It documents a young man’s journey from a garden variety, liberal-leaning goon to a frothing neo nazi mutant.

The piece is understandably sympathetic, seeing as it was written by the boy’s parent. The writer’s whiny and heavy handed tone caused me, and most of my e-pals, to dismiss it. If anything, the essay showcases an immense failure of parenting. If my child were to ask me to take him or her to a “Traditional American Culture” rally, I would slap the everloving shit of them. Lord knows how many times the kid’s parents had dropped the ball before it ever got to that point.

But then I re-read the start of the article, in which the parent identifies the trigger point for their son’s downward slide:

One morning during first period, a male friend of Sam’s mentioned a meme whose suggestive name was an inside joke between the two of them. Sam laughed. A girl at the table overheard their private conversation, misconstrued it as a sexual reference, and reported it as sexual harassment. Sam’s guidance counselor pulled him out of his next class and accused him of “breaking the law.” Before long, he was in the office of a male administrator who informed him that the exchange was “illegal,” hinted that the police were coming, and delivered him into the custody of the school’s resource officer. At the administrator’s instruction, that man ushered Sam into an empty room, handed him a blank sheet of paper, and instructed him to write a “statement of guilt.”

No one called me as this unfolded, even though Sam cried for about six hours straight as staff members parked him in vacant offices to keep him away from other students. When he stepped off the bus that afternoon and I asked why his eyes were so swollen, he informed me that he would probably be suspended, but possibly also expelled and arrested.

If Kafka were a middle-schooler today, this is the nightmare novel he would have written.

At a meeting two days later with my husband, Sam, and me, the administrator piled more accusations on top of the harassment charge—even implying, with undisguised hostility, that Sam and his friend were gay. He waved in front of us a statement from the girl at the table and insisted that Sam would need to defend himself against her claims if he wanted to prove his innocence. But the administrator refused to reveal the particulars of the complaint (he had also blacked out identifying details, FBI-style) and then hid the paperwork under a book. He declared that it was his primary duty, as a school official and as a father of daughters, to believe and to protect the girls under his care.

Eck… who edited this? It would have worked so much better without a fucking Kafka reference.

So, maybe it was the tone. I dunno. But most readers seem to regard this section as exaggerated, possibly fabricated. The takeaway was “boo hoo, the nazi kid got punished for sexually harassing a girl.” Heck: If a reader is truly dedicated to the #BelieveAllWomen mantra, then this description doesn’t warrant sympathy even if it’s entirely true. The kid said something that upset the girl. It wasn’t directed to her and it wasn’t about her. But still, he upset her, and she’s a girl, so he is bad and deserved whatever punishment was doled out to him.

And this got me thinking about my experiences in high school, as a student in the late 90s and a teacher in the mid-aughts. Administrators seemed to always be adopting some or other policy of harsh punishment for bad behavior: zero tolerance toward weapons, drugs, hats, disrespectful posture, electronic devices, swearing, Simpsons t-shirts, and mentally unhygenic reading materials. During dances and social gatherings, my middle school allowed students to bring in CDs from home. That was a decent policy, but anyone who attempted to play a “hip hop” track would receive an immediate suspension for “endorsing violence,” regardless of the track’s lyrical content. My high school adopted a firm anti-bullying policy, but once a boy came to school wearing a gothic dress as some kind of vague transgressive statement, and two separate male teachers called him a fag--out in the open, in front of everybody, as part of the official business of teaching.

Once, in 8th grade, two kids were caught taking over-the-counter caffeine pills. They didn’t get sick or anything; a girl saw them and she narced. They were arrested by the school resource officer, taken in a cop car to the hospital to have their stomachs pumped, and then summarily expelled, their young lives effectively ruined over 50 milligrams of a safe and legal stimulant. At an emergency assembly held the next day, the frog-faced principal croaked out a dire warning that the use of such drugs was strictly forbidden and we would all be subjected to the same fate, should we attempt to sneak in any No Doz. As he issued his stern warning, he slurped gluttonously from a 22-ounce mug of gas station coffee.

The point is, zero tolerance never really means zero tolerance. Rules are always--always, literally always, without exception in the whole of human history--enforced arbitrarily. Harsh policies rarely make anyone safer. They are employed instead to further humiliate and brutalize those who have already been rejected by the system. In my last two paragraphs, I cited the dumbest and most conspicuous examples of arbitrary cruelty that happened to pop into my head. This doesn’t cover the everyday, petty cruelties that teachers and administrators would exact upon kids they simply didn’t like. Without exception, these were the kids who were already marginalized: effeminate boys, masculine but unathletic girls, kids who dressed poorly, kids who spoke with accents, black kids, kids with learning disabilities or behavioral problems. These kids would be given detentions or even suspensions for minor infractions--looking away from the chalkboard, slouching, sneaking in candy, laughing at importune times, etc. It wasn’t the teacher’s fault, of course: zero tolerance and all that. But, strangely, the zero tolerance policies never seemed to apply to the popular, athletic, and/or well-connected kids. If Suzie Creamcheese was caught sneaking some Starburst during Algebra--well, she’s probably hungry, seeing as she works so hard. If Raul, Roofus, or Sheena were caught doing the same? God help them.

Some teachers were nicer than others, of course. Some were downright supportive. Others were simply evil. There was one, when I was in 7th grade, who was particularly repulsive and cruel--no kidding, his admiration of Rush Limbaugh was formative in my early-adopted hatred of American conservatives. He had matted red hair and teeth like a cracked picket fence and would wear a leather jacket out to lunch. Anyhow, he would prattle on about his hatred of kids who “Just. Refuse. To. Learn.” These kids were almost always black. Pure coincidence, I’m sure. He’d make a show of tossing them out of class--sometimes physically--for infractions as minor as getting an answer wrong when called upon. One time, a twitchy white kid who wore the same t-shirt every day called him out: It’s unfair, he said, that I’m getting thrown out of class for getting an answer wrong, when right before me another kid got several chances to respond.

The teacher turned beet red. He got on his knees and put his face two inches in front of the twitchy kid’s eyes.

“I’m not throwing you out because you got the answer wrong,” he explained. “I’m throwing you out because you are you.”

Again, these are the conspicuous examples. The everyday stuff is harder to describe twenty-five years after it happened. Most people were not brutalized and they didn’t have a single moment that ruined their life, but they were still exposed to a deeply unfair and cruel system, and such exposure naturally engenders feelings of betrayal, hopelessness, and anger.

Here’s my story--it’s particularly stupid. 9th grade. One day, I walked into Spanish class, and the large woman who teaches in that classroom before my section grabbed me by the collar, physically lifted me out of my chair, and shoved her moist biscuit of a hand into my face. “What is this,” she demanded.

This was all very sudden. I could see nothing but her hand, which had a distinct fecal aroma.

“I don’t know,” I said.

She removed her hand. I looked down toward desk. She stood silently. I had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

“You’re gonna tell me what you did, right now, or I’m gonna double the detentions.”

I was still silent. Seriously, no idea what was going on. This enraged her. She began to count upward, starting at 3 detentions and stopping at 10, by which point tears were welling up and my face was flushed. I said I seriously did not know. She pointed to a small pentagram someone had engraved into the desktop. The desks, by the way, were movable. Anyone could have done it. She blamed me because she didn’t like me. I served 10 detentions and had to pay over a hundred dollars (a shitload of money for a 13-year-old) to get the desk refinished.

This isn't the end of the world, obviously. But it really, oddly broke me. Before, I had thought that so long as I did was I supposed to and didn’t break any rules, I’d be okay. Now I realized that was bullshit, that any vindictive cunt with a few ounces of power could punish me for any reason, at any time, and I wouldn’t be allowed to mount a defense. That’s the sort of thing that fucks with a kid’s head. I mean, christ--it’s 23 years later and I’m still kinda pissed about it. I hope that woman is dead.

I regained a sense of control by stealing books from the woman’s classroom. A few times a week, I would grab a textbook when I came in, use it during class, and walk out with it. At the end of the school year, some friends and I burned them in a glorious bonfire along the banks of the Mississippi.

My response was petty and destructive, but I don’t feel any pengs of guilt or shame in remembering it. I had to do something to reassert agency, to feel like I had some control, and I managed to find a way to go about doing it that didn’t hurt anybody or get me into trouble. Regardless of the morality of my particular response, we can agree that kids are now much more surveilled than they were 20-odd years ago, and that minor mischief is now much more harshly criminalized. If a kid finds themself on the outs within their school, there’s really no way they can push back. Their only available avenue of asserting control over their lives is to wander into welcoming communities elsewhere…

One more anecdote then I’m done….

My sister was in high school during 9/11. The attacks were on a Tuesday, and the whole rest of the week was assemblies and talking circles and other such activities meant to assuage fear and gin up the hatred of the dirty brown bastards that done this. Two of my sister’s friends, older boys, were the sort of kids who read Howard Zinn and listened to Jello Biafra’s spoken word records. During one meeting, they expressed exasperation at a girl who was sobbing because she just, like, didn’t know why anyone would do that. The boys certainly didn’t approve of the attacks, but they tried to explain the whole concept of the US being an unhinged and murderous imperial power that had done much worse stuff all over the globe. The audience gasped. The boys were hauled into the principal’s office. They were charged with verbally assaulting the crying girl. One was suspended. The other expelled.

So, I dunno… go ahead. If you think due process is evil, that all victimhood claims are valid and should be taken at face value, and that kids of lesser social status should be demonized and made into criminals for upsetting members of the fair sex, then you do you. That’s fine if that’s what you believe. But please don’t be so naive as to think that the bulk of these newly criminalized behaviors are going to actually be malignant, or that the genuinely malignant behaviors of secure kids will be curbed in any way. Please respect yourself enough to realize that school admins aren’t magic sages with mature moral compasses--a plurality of them were business majors in college, for fuck’s sake. And most importantly, don’t be surprised if the kids you dismiss wind up doing some crazy or awful shit in response.

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enchanted-prose · 4 years

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#8 Just a Day in the Life

100th post = returning from teeny tiny hiatus! Special thank you to my darling editor, and @ piratekingimogen for screaming about the lack of Jarogen fluff in the fandom with me!

Word count: 5,295

Characters: Jaron, Princess Amarinda, Feall (Original Character), King Oberson (Original Character), Harlowe, Imogen

Notes: Expect a few fluffy fics hurtling towards you, please consult your dentist if you develop cavities bc it’s too sweet and it happened to me. Edited

Enjoy!

Jaron drummed his fingers against his right leg.

The leg he'd broken.

Sometimes he touched it to make sure that it was still healed. Even though it had been years since he'd gotten the injury, he still had trouble realizing that he was alright.

He wasn't broken.

Lord Feall and King Oberson were seated in front of him, separated by Jaron's large desk. Both men were silent. Both were unable to look at Jaron for very long.

In a way, Jaron enjoyed watching them squirm, they'd crossed a line by not telling him about Queen Danika's missing investigators sooner.

Was this how Mott felt each time Jaron did something he wasn't supposed to and got himself caught?

"Your Majesty, we-," Oberson began, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"We'll discuss the situation when the ambassador arrives," said Jaron.

However, Feall didn't agree with Jaron's declaration, it seemed. "If I must be honest, we don't even know the situation anymore."

"Lady Amarinda does, and we'll wait for her to come before we make any assumptions, Lord Feall. I'm a little disappointed, I thought we were friendly enough to discuss political matters."

Feall frowned, and didn't respond.

Boredom was turning Jaron's feet to stone. He hated being bored. There was too much to do and too much to see.

And it was raining still.

He promised Fink they'd go out and hunt for frogs to terrorize Roden with.

The door to Jaron's study creaked open, and in walked Amarinda in a wide-necked blue gown. Her hair was strung up in a golden net. There wasn't any sign of a frown on her face. She dipped her head in greeting when Jaron, Feall, and Oberson stood up.

"My lords," she smiled. "I've brought several papers with me if you'd much rather read my words rather than listen to what I have to say."

"Please, start from the beginning. Reading wastes time," Jaron waved his hand in a dismissing motion. He was joking, of course.

Oberson shrunk in his seat with his head in his hands, but aside from his posture, didn't voice any complaint about listening to Amarinda's debrief.

There were some people who could dominate their foes on the battlefield. Others could crush their enemies without shedding a drop of blood. They could outwit their opponents with words.

Amarinda was a battle master when it came to using words for weapons. She never degraded her opponents with crude words. Never compared people to dehumanizing objects. She recognized that while people didn't agree with her, they were still human beings.

This was how she guided her foes into a corner, their only option being to take her hand and join her cause.

Her goal was not to destroy. Her goal was to create, that's what Tobias claimed.

And he was right.

Amarinda created gateways for better ideals.

Jaron caught himself grinning as he prepared for what Amarinda had to say.

She clasped her hands behind her back. "Gentlemen, we share a home country. One we take pride in. We've given many privileges to those who prove themselves to be just servants of society, but unfortunately, there was an abuse of power several years ago. I know you are aware of what happened on Idunn Craich to Noble House Thay. Rumors were sparked and an entire family was executed without a proper trial.

"Though Their Majesties Queen Danika and King Norman don't condone chasing every rumor they hear, they've made an exception. They were informed that Mireldis Thay, who would've been a child during her house's execution, managed to escape into Carthya. Many of the most skilled researchers and investigators were sent to Carthya to confirm these rumors. Their goal was to find evidence supporting Thay's innocence, and bring her home.They were stopped on their way here for several days, and during that time, I was informed that you King Oberson, went out of your way to visit them without informing the Carthyan Crown that they'd arrived," Amarinda held her head high, almost challenging Oberson to deny her claims.

He didn't, not couldn't he.

Many people had seen him ride out to meet with Danika's representatives.

A heavy pause hung over the air. Both Jaron and Amarinda were waiting for either men to try to deny her claims.

When they didn't speak, Jaron nodded. It was his turn to continue the conversation.

"Lord Feall, I was told by my captain of the guard that the investigators who were sent here were, in actuality, trying to find evidence against Thay, and that you were promoting the search in defiance of Queen Danika's orders, is this true?" Jaron kept his gaze steady, looking for any flaws in Feall's face that would betray him.

Another heavy pause.

Feall didn't squirm, and he looked at Jaron with a fierce, burning loyalty in his eyes. "King Jaron, I did request that the investigators search for evidence against Thay as well."

He fell silent.

Probably waiting for Jaron to condemn him.

However, Jaron was intrigued. He appreciated Feall's honesty. It was something that didn't come often within circles of power. Jaron motioned for Feall to continue.

"I felt a duty to ensure justice," Feall remained stoic. "While I do believe that Thay is innocent, I don't agree with only playing one side. Without considering if House Thay was really guilty, it is possible that Queen Danika's quest for reparations will bring disaster upon Bymar. Thay would likely take revenge, and as a servant to my country and to yours, I will not allow that to happen."

Amarinda's face darkened, but only for a moment. If Jaron hadn't known her so well, he would've missed her momentary weakness.

Though he wanted to support his friend, Jaron couldn't deny that Feall had a perfectly good point.

People weren't black and white.

Too much mystery shrouded what happened with House Thay.

"Do you have any reason to believe that Thay would cause harm?" asked Jaron as he tapped his chin.

Perhaps he should grow a small beard. People might take him more seriously if he stroked his beard each time he was about to say something. Many regents tried to do that, usually it was right before they did their best to be an advisor to Jaron.

If you were going to act the part, you needed to look the part.

To Jaron's surprise, it was Oberson who answered the question, and not Feall. The portly king withdrew a letter from within his coat. "The seal belongs to Thay, and you- and you can read what she wrote yourself. It was sent to me, but it- but it is clearly directed at Lord Feall."

Jaron beckoned for the letter.

The words had been written in jet black ink, and the paper was much cleaner than Jaron would've expected. The curling letters obviously belonged to a woman.

Several words had been misspelled:

King Obrson, I understand you've travelled with lord Feall. you know how much he owes me, and I reqest that you give him to me. if you comply, I promise I wont bother you again. please understand my perspective on this, you know me, sir, you know my family

So, Feall did indeed have a good reason to think that Thay was guilty.

"What would you do with Thay if you found her?" Amarinda kept a calm demeanor.

"I would return her to Queen Danika," Feall explained "Unless, however, she attacks me outright. In which case I would have jurisdiction to decide her fate. An eye for an eye."

"Those laws may work in Bymar, but that's not how we do things here."

"Then, by all means, my lady, I would try to go through with Carthya's judicial process."

Unlike other countries, Jaron didn't enjoy upholding the notion that for every crime committed, you could commit the same in return. Instead, he'd tried to emulate Mendenwal's way of enforcing justice: a vote by a body of people. Typically, two options were given, usually suggested by those who'd been the victim of the crime and the other given by the king.

Death penalties for crimes had to be completely unanimous.

"Do you think that Thay is trying to attack you still?" Amarinda asked, her hands clasped behind her back once again.

Both Feall and Oberson nodded.

"Which explains why he's looking for the Faola," nodded Jaron.

"Captain Harlowe informed me that the Faola only began traipsing through Carthya a few days before King Oberson and I arrived."

"This doesn't excuse the fact that you didn't tell us that you lied to me and Lady Amarinda about Queen Danika's representatives."

"And I humbly apologize for that," Feall held his hand over his heart. "If there is a way for me to prove my regret, tell me, and I will do so."

If he and Feall had been better friends, Jaron would've made a joke about the only way to prove his loyalty was by cleaning Jaron's feet, but he doubted the offer would go over well.

Jaron looked to Amarinda, wondering if she had anything in mind.

She only frowned ever so slightly.

There were many ways that Jaron could force Feall to prove his loyalty. Cruel and humiliating ways. Feall had to have known that. He had to have known the depth of his words.

He'd quite literally given Jaron power over him.

But Jaron didn't enjoy watching people endure humiliation of any sorts. He didn't think that proving loyalty should come at the expense of anyone's dignity.

A clever idea crossed Jaron's mind.

"I'd like you to continue helping Captain Harlowe in patrolling the streets of Drylliad," began Jaron, carefully masking his cleverness. "But you must leave capturing the Faola to him, as well as my friend, Mott. You must trust us to take care of the situation, and that's how I'll know that I can continue to trust you."

Feall inhaled deeply, his brows furrowing together. "Sir, I can't, what you-. No, I mean yes. I will do as you ask, your Majesty."

"Take good care to tread lightly, Lord Feall, this test also represents King Oberson."

"What?" King Oberson burst, his chubby cheeks jiggling with his ferocious outcry. "You can't do this! I need Feall to protect me!"

"You have all of Carthya's guards to keep you safe, as well as your own," Amarinda pointed out.

Several more spluttering protests escaped through Oberson's plump mouth, but eventually, he realized that no amount of begging would get Jaron to change his mind.

A victory, in a way.

Jaron was getting another capable military leader to ensure safety in his city, he'd done his best to uphold justice, and he managed to gain a better understanding about the Thay dilemma.

Unfortunately, however, he also recognized that he probably wouldn't ever understand what happened on Idunn Craich.

But perhaps Avenia's king, Kippenger, might know a little bit.

He hadn't been to Avenia in ages, and was overdue for a visit to check in on the reforming nation. Jaron made a mental note to suggest a diplomatic mission to Sparling.

Everybody could use a little change of scenery.

"Is there anything else you'd like me to do, your majesty?" Feall asked, sitting as tall as he could in his chair.

"Yes, I'd quite like it if you gave me your desserts as well. Especially the fancier ones with the tiny decorations." Jaron frowned when Amarinda snorted, as he was being completely serious.

A tiny smile flickered across Feall's face. "If that is what you wish, your Majesty."

"It is what I wish, actually."

"Then I solemnly swear to do all that I can to ensure that your wish is fulfilled. When would you like me to begin patrolling the streets? Would you prefer me to ask Captain Harlowe my questions, or would you like me to ask you?"

Ah, Jaron hadn't thought of any questions that might need answering.

"Go to Captain Harlowe," he said. "And if Captain Harlowe can't answer them, bring your questions to me. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir.”

Several days ago, Imogen’s new lady-in-waiting, Renlyn Karise, pointed out just how bland the great hall was. Of course, Jaron had taken down and sold many decorations on purpose, but Lady Renlyn’s various attempts to sell him exquisite imported decor were slowly growing on him.

No, he needed to use the royal purse to better the lives of his subjects first.

Beautification could come later.

When he settled into his throne and allowed for his first subject to come forward, Jaron fooled himself into thinking that court would be smooth and quick.

However, as he heard his forty-ninth claim about chickens, he realized that court was going to drag on into the next decade.

It was then that Jaron began wondering if he should heed Renlyn’s advice and have her decorate the great hall.

Maybe he’d have something more interesting to look at than whitewashed stone walls.

Jaron tapped his chin as he listened to complaint after complaint after complaint. He did his best to listen. Did his best to be a good king, but his patience was running out.

“We have never had a dispute between property before,” said a man from outside the city walls. He was holding a chicken, and pointing at the other villager beside him ever so often. “Always got along, me an’ him, we never did fight. Respected his property, I did, an’ he respected mine. But one day a chicken wandered through both of our yards-”

The chicken holding villager’s friend cut in. “A chicken wandered through both a’ our yards an’ then laid an egg on the line between our two properties!”

“We didn’t really worry about it because we’ve both got our chickens. It wasn’t really worth our time.”

“And then the egg hatched, it did! An’ now we don’t know what to do wif it! It’s a good layer, we’ve been tradin’ off every couple a days, but that just doesn’t cut it! We need you to decide for us!” Finished the second villager, vehemently pointing at the chicken tucked under the first villager’s arm.

“Well, I suppose that answers an age old question. What came first, the chicken, or the egg?” Jaron mused, buying himself time through a joke.

Both villagers frowned.

By the Saints, he didn’t like explaining jokes, humor always lost when it needed to be explained.

"There's a riddle people tend to ask when they want to annoy somebody," Jaron explained, sitting forwards in his throne. "They ask what came first, the chicken? Or the egg? And in this case, it was the chicken who came first. Actually, I suppose even that chicken came from an egg. What a conundrum."

"But who gets the chicken?" Asked the second villager with a frown.

"Who cares for it more?"

Both men raised their hands, trying to jostle each other out of the way. The second villager raised his hand to smack the first villager across the back of his bald head.

The first villager only tucked the chicken into his chest and ducked.

No blows were given, the second villager wasn't stupid enough to start a fight in the throne room.

"I have a proposition," said Jaron. He knew it didn't really matter, as he was the king, but he tried to involve his subjects in decision making as much as he possibly could.

"We're listening, your Majesty." The second villager bowed until his nose brushed his boots.

On the other hand, the first villager only bowed as far as he could without risking dropping the chicken.

A slight smirk crossed Jaron's face. "How many eggs does the chicken lay each day?"

"One, like the other chickens," the second villager nodded. "I checked every morning while I housed the chicken."

"Actually she lays one egg on the first day of the week, one on the second day, but she lays two on the third day if she is fed scraps from the table instead a grain," the first villager said proudly, holding the fat hen up for everyone to see.

The hen gave a tiny cluck.

"It's worse than I thought," Jaron muttered, wishing he had Mott beside him to joke with.

"You- you haven't decided who gets the chicken?" The first villager stuttered. "But-"

"He's the king, you fool, he can take as much time as he wants."

Jaron tilted his head at the first villager, who was nervously petting the chicken he cradled.

He wanted to smile with somebody. Wanted to smile about the fact that somebody loved their chicken so much that they knew how many eggs she laid every day.

If he were a cruel king, Jaron would've called for the hen to go to the kitchens, only to declare that he wasn't being serious and give the hen back to her rightful owner.

But over time, he'd learned that some tricks and pranks weren't truly funny.

"I know what's best in this situation," Jaron declared, waving the two villagers away and motioning for the next petitioner to come forward. "The man holding the chicken the same way he'd hold his newborn son gets to give her a permanent home."

He ignored the complaints from the second villager as they were escorted out of the great hall.

The next petitioner was a young man, requesting that his father be taken out of debtor's prison. Jaron, who was prepared to fight with nobles over situations with people in debt, agreed on the premise that the young man return to inform them if there was another threat from debt-collectors.

Ah, Jaron did get quite the rise out of showing kindness when the nobles had none.

Court went much quicker after that. As he thought of the first villager happily carrying his hen home, Jaron grinned.

How somebody could love a chicken so much, he didn't know.

Late into the afternoon, Harlowe made his way into the great hall, much to Jaron's relief.

He stood and clasped Harlowe's weathered hand, unashamed of how big his smile had grown. "I'm hoping you came to relieve me of my duties."

"I have, actually," Harlowe said with a grin. "Today was much busier than anybody expected, and I didn't think it quite fair to keep you cooped up inside."

"On the contrary, I didn't mind being held up here for once. It's raining with enough fury to challenge the Devils."

"Ah, but you won't let that stop you from what you wish to do with your afternoon, I hope," chuckled Harlowe, his blue eyes sparkling with a glimmer of content.

"Absolutely not." Jaron couldn't hide his smile. "My bones are aching from sitting."

"I wish I could tell you that aching goes away, but it only gets worse. No, no, I tease."

Jaron couldn't resist. He threw his arms around Harlowe's neck in a sloppy embrace. "Thank you, thank you for coming to fill in."

Harlowe patted Jaron's shoulder. "As prime regent, it's my obligation to ensure that the king can handle his duties. And as someone who cares about you, it's my obligation to make sure you don't run yourself into the ground."

It was still odd. . .

Having multiple people care about his well being.

"I really appreciate it, Harlowe, and I mean it."

"Then go, my king." That sparkling contentment in Harlowe's eyes rivaled the lazy Roving River. "Your friends await you."

Was it wrong to take pride in what he’d managed to set up?

It had taken almost all afternoon, and required the help from not only Roden and Tobias, but from Jolly, Lady Renlyn, and Mott too.

In the end, it was perfect.

For several weeks, Jaron had been meaning to take Imogen away from the hustle and bustle of castle life. Although they weren’t in a position to leave for more than a day or two, they could manage to spare a night away from their duties.

And he’d finally done it.

“Don’t tell Imogen anything,” Jaron said firmly, trying his best to stare down Lady Renlyn Karise as they stood in one of the castle hallways.

It wasn’t easy.

Lady Renlyn was taller than him by a good inch.

“I promise I won’t tell,” Renlyn crossed her arms. “But be thankful, the queen isn’t always the type to enjoy a surprise.”

“See, people say that, but then get excited when they’re surprised.”

Renlyn only stared in response.

“Mad that I got you cornered?” No, no answer from that either. Jaron waved his hands in defeat. “You’re dismissed, I don’t need you and your disapproval.”

“Disapproval?” Renlyn arched an eyebrow.

“Yes! Disapproval, you’re not exactly subtle about it, Lady Karise.”

“Good, it means I’ve finally got my point across.”

“Aren’t you in a feisty mood today?” Jaron snickered, putting his hands on his hips.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he wanted from Renlyn. She was remaining completely placid. “This is how I always behave, my king.”

“Is not, you’re nicer to me.”

“On the contrary, I think I’m being nicer to you now.”

He’d known the Karises before.

From his days when his family was still alive.

Jaron hadn’t been the closest to Renlyn when they were children, it’s true. She’d rather mix various ingredients together to eliminate her least favorite dolls while Jaron would rather track dirt all over the place.

In a way, it also reflected the way they handled situations at court.

Renlyn wasn’t afraid to do what needed to be done. Already the notorious gossipers of court were spreading their opinions on Renlyn’s ambition. She had but one fear: Recognition. Most of her opponents slipped away in the night, never to disturb her again.

Jaron would much rather stay away from gossipers and the like.

Made things less messy.

Unfortunately, Jaron didn’t get his retort spoken in time, as Renlyn walked away, taking the final say with her as she went to Imogen’s study.

Their exchange couldn’t bring Jaron down from the excitement searing through his veins.

Each step he took made him feel light, yet heavy. Time couldn’t pass fast enough. He was beginning to pace. To the wall. Back to where he’d stood. To the wall again. Back to where he stood. The pattern continued for what seemed like ages, but Jaron knew better than that.

The clock stationed by the door, a huge monster of wood and metal, chimed.

It was better that a few minutes passed rather than no minutes at all, Jaron reasoned.

And then Imogen quietly stepped into the room.

Dressed in a pale blue blouse with matching split skirts, Imogen couldn’t hide her smile. For a moment, Jaron suspected that Renlyn spilled the secret surprise waiting just outside the castle walls.

He offered an arm out to Imogen, escorting her through the great hall and out into the courtyard.

“I really hope there’s no crocodiles involved,” Imogen muttered as Jaron helped her into Mystic’s saddle.

Jaron cringed as comically as he could, and then swung into place right behind Imogen. “Well, ah, guess you’re not going to like what I have in store.”

Imogen’s laugh was worth all of the hassle Jaron had put into his special surprise.

The sun was barely dipping down below the horizon, throwing golden rays of light into the crisp air. A slight shimmer appeared on Imogen’s cheeks. Jaron pressed a kiss to her temple, her hair, her chin, anywhere he could reach.

She was giggling when she pushed his face away.

“Let me kiss you, silly girl,” Jaron hummed, only to once again be pushed away.

“Absolutely not, it’s embarrassing!”

“I want the entire kingdom to know how much I love my wife! It’s not embarrassing at all!”

“Yes it is!”

“No it’s not!”

“Get your filthy lips off my hair,” Imogen laughed. “I’m serious, Jaron! You’re going to run us into a-,” suppressed giggles prevented her from finishing her sentence.

“Last one, I promise.” True to his word, Jaron pressed one last kiss to Imogen’s temple, and pulled away.

Imogen leaned back against his chest. “Renlyn and I were discussing what to do with the trio of children Roden brought to us.”

“Please tell me you gave them new names.”

“We suggested it, but they didn’t seem to catch onto the idea.”

“What did you and Lady Renlyn decide? Are you going to ship them off?”

“Quite the contrary, actually,” Imogen was smiling, Jaron could hear it in her voice. “Renlyn took the subject to a business ally she has in court, and the children are to become wards here in court. We’ll be able to keep an eye on them.”

“I do love more company, maybe those three will take the spotlight off of my antics.”

“Very unlikely, but you can always hope that’ll happen.”

“Oh Imogen of such little faith.”

“Oh Jaron of such high energy.”

With a snicker, Jaron buried his face in her hair for a moment. “Copying my words now are you?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Imitation is the highest form of flattery.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Imogen countered. “Do you prefer that I copy everything you say? Is that what makes you happy?”

“Is that what makes me happy? No, it doesn’t.”

“Then what does?”

“Being with you.”

A blush spread across Jaron’s face despite the fact that he was the one saying silly flowering comments, not the one they were directed at.

He loved Imogen.

She was safe.

Without the company of guards, it was much easier to have a personal conversation.

Much easier for both Jaron and Imogen to just. . . be together.

“I, ah, I confronted Feall and King Oberson,” Jaron said over the sound of Mystic’s hooves on Drylliad’s cobblestone streets.

Imogen reached back, her hand trailing down the side of his face. “And what happened?”

The simple, shy gesture left warmth careening through his toes. Jaron tightened his arms around her waist. His heart pounded through his ribcage, but not with fear.

His heart pounded with pure, sunshine comfort.

Sunshine comfort that didn’t fade away with each new morning.

“I questioned them both, and made an offer to Feall. He trusts us to take care of the Faola, and I won’t expel him back to Bymar,” said Jaron. “I, ah, I’m playing this game for the long run.”

“As you should,” Imogen gestured to a group of ducklings swimming in the Roving River, then motioned for Jaron to continue.

He shrugged, “I plan on speaking with Kippenger.”

“Regarding House Thay?”

“Yes, but also no. Kippenger is my ally despite the history between us. I want to ensure his, and Avenia’s, success. I want to know if Carthya needs to send aid in any form, and if we need to, I fully intend to send the best.”

Kippenger was a new king.

There was no doubt that there were some Avenians who disagreed on Kippenger’s right to reign.

Revolution had to be brewing on their minds.

Imogen paused, connecting what Jaron said and what he was implying. “You need a backup in case you have to send Roden and military reinforcements to Avenia.”

“I don’t want to put Mott in any more danger than he puts himself in,” Jaron muttered. “Feall’s reputation is spotless. He wouldn’t be there for very long either, maybe a few weeks. And it’s-”

“Jaron, you don’t have to explain your choices. I trust your judgement.” Imogen said, but then she tilted her head, preparing to amend her statement. “I trust your judgement when it comes to people.”

“You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Though she didn’t say anything, Jaron could feel her quiet grin radiating through the air.

They rode in silence through the woods, waving at the few people they passed, and breathing in the sunset air.

And yet, despite the comfort, Jaron couldn’t fight the anxiety gnawing at his insides any longer.

What if Imogen didn’t like what he’d set out for her?

What if-

No.

If Lady Renlyn Karise, notorious stone-faced, heartless, ambitious businesswoman, liked what had been set out, Imogen certainly would.

The road curved left. Imogen only protested slightly when Jaron guided Mystic to continue straight.

“We, ah, I’m going to dismount,” Jaron stuttered. “But you can stay on, I’ll just guide Mystic.”

“I can walk,” Imogen insisted.

“If- ah, if you want to, I won’t stop you.”

He knew she’d enjoy the surprise, and yet, he was afraid.

Afraid that she wouldn’t-

No. Imogen was his wife. There was nothing to be scared of.

Nimbly, Jaron dismounted, and held out a hand for Imogen to do the same. He held Mystic’s reins with one hand, and entwined his fingers with Imogen’s with the other.

“Your palms are sweaty, Jaron. Are you alright?”

“I dipped them in the fountain before we came, they must not have dried.”

“You’re acting a little- oh.” Her face shifted from confusion, and then to shock.

Before them, Jaron had brought a ragged quilt he’d found in Tithio, boasting squares Imogen’s mother had made herself. Large pillows were scattered about in all shapes and sizes, some hidden behind additional blankets.

Plates of food rested on curling iron stands. A bucket of ice housed two large bottles of something sweet, Jaron hadn’t been able to decide what to take, so he relied on his head chef’s opinion. Candles on holders and stands were placed in clusters in strategic positions. Crystals hung from tree branches.

“I thought about bringing music, but I could only think of Jolly, and I didn’t want him eating everything I brought,” Jaron said sheepishly. “This- this,ah, isn’t all. I have-”

“I love it, Jaron, I absolutely love it,” Imogen was quiet, her fingers steepled together and resting against her nose.

“That’s not all, I, ah, there’s more to the surprise.”

Fink’s head poked out from one of the trees, but thankfully disappeared the second Jaron frantically shooed him away.

Imogen was still marvelling at the quilt. “This is perfect.”

Once again, Fink appeared.

Changing his plan, Jaron motioned for Fink to bring the final gift. The transaction happened in the knick of time, Fink was dashing back to the castle before Imogen looked up from the quilt squares.

Jaron held the package behind his back. “I, um, I couldn’t resist. I wanted to spend time with you. Just you, Imogen.”

“I really appreciate it,” her smile was tinged with a bright pink blush. “I don’t-, I don’t really know what to say.”

“This will probably make it worse, then.”

“Jaron? What are you-?”

He held out the package for Imogen to see.

In his hands, rested a cream colored cat with a bright pink bow hanging loosely from its neck. Imogen covered her face with her arm for a moment. When she finally looked at the kitten again, she was beaming.

“You got me a kitten,” she mumbled, covering her bright pink cheeks with her hands. “Is it mine?”

“If you want it, yes. And ‘it’ is a ‘she’, if that influences what her name is going to be,” Jaron said as he sat down beside Imogen, holding the small cat out to her.

“Where did you find her?”

Jaron didn’t mean for an instant scowl to ruin his smile. “Renlyn sold it to me.”

“Ah, I think I know why,” Imogen scratched the cat’s ears. “We were discussing different royal pets. Supposedly, there are specific cats you can train to listen to you.”

“I’m not quite sure how true that is, especially coming from Renlyn.”

“We’ll just have to find out.”

The tiny cat mewed, and tried to climb up Imogen’s blouse sleeve. She untied the ribbon, cradling the cat to herself.

Nothing in the world could’ve made Jaron feel the same way that Imogen’s smile did.

#okay I love jarogen don't yell at me #prince jaron #imogen #some people don't ship them and I don't blame them but that means its my duty to convince them that theyre wrong #the ascendance series #the ascendance trilogy #the false prince #fic friday #fic Friday except its a sunday

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jocelyn-wellson · 4 years

Photo

2 YEARS AGO, MAY

"Angel," whispered Jocelyn. She comforted her dying friend, placing a pillow beneath her head. "Angel, 'ho 'urt ya?" She glanced over toward Bet, whose hand was pressing a blood soaked rag to the woman's stomach; she was shaking her head.

"Angel," repeated Jocelyn. She took her friend's hand. Her grip was tight; she could feel Angel's own fading fast. "Tell me... 'ho di' thi' to ya?"

"I wan'..." cried out the dying woman. "I wan' me mum..."

"We'll make sure she knows, hon. I promise," said Bet. She wiped her dark brow with the back of her blood stained hand, the sight of which did nothing to comfort the victim.

"He, oh gods..." Angel gasped. "He said she's next, mum. P-please..." She started to shake violently. Blood loss. Bet kept one hand on the woman's belly as Joci turned her to the side.

"'ho is 'e," whispered Joci.

"Yv-Yvgeniy," said Angel, blood pooling from her mouth into her bright blond hair. "Don't let him... "We'll ge' 'im," swore Joci. She felt the grip of her friend's hand slip away.

Bet placed her fingers on Angel's neck. She closed her eyes, muttered a prayer, and let go of the compress on the woman's stomach. "Fuck, Joss, we can't touch him. He's in with fuckin' Dmitri. You know this."

Jocelyn sniffled. She laid her friend's head to rest. "Donnae 'ave a choice, an' ya know et. Tha' mothahfuckah's bin tearin' through us fer too long no'. Angel's th' thir'."

"You get caught, it's the fucking rope, Joss."

"Do I look like I fuckin' care, yea?" she shouted.

Bet looked away. She ran her thin bloody fingers through her black hair.

"If'fn ya wan' ou', now's th' time."

Bet shook her head. She squat down and gently picked Angel's warm body off the ground. "Wouldn't be right, Joss."

"Ge' 'er clean. I got'a talk ta someone."

"No way he's gonna let you -"

Jocelyn stared at her enforcer. "Ya le' me worry 'bou' 'im. Clean up th' bo'y."

Bet nodded. She carried their friend, all 5'0" of her, to the back room usually reserved for dinner affairs. Jocelyn walked upstairs to her room. She grabbed her brass knuckles and her rusty steak knife.

NOW

"Miss Myz," called Jocelyn from the forward sail. "Wot's our roll?"

"Our what!?"

"Roll!" shouted Jocelyn in return. "Rea' th' lit'le globe nex' th' logbook's foo'lockah!"

Myzariel peered down at the globe. It was moving three different ways at the same time. "Uhhh..."

"Movin' side ta side!"

"Right," muttered the sea sick ren'dorei. She watched for a minute. "Looks to be moving between -15 and +15 degrees, give or take!"

Joci did some quick math in her head. "Win' direc'ion?"

Myz checked one of the small vanes atop the aft mast. "West-North-West."

"Compass?"

She looked down. "East-North-West!"

Joci ran through the math in her head. "Tillah a' eigh' degrees, yeah? Keep et there til we 'it Wes-Nor-Wes, go' et?"

"Aye!"

Jocelyn figured if they slowed the speed with which they were turning the ship, the chances were better the boat would not capsize. But she couldn't be sure.

2 YEARS AGO, MAY

"Why you come to Dmitri, Jo Knuckles?" The Alterac crimeboss asked, wiping his mouth. She swore he was always eating something - borscht, sausage, pierogi, hog shank, cabbage. Anything. He was a disposal.

"Ya know I ain' been called tha’ fer eigh' years," she said.

"So you come back to fight for Dmitri?"

"Nah."

The crimeboss narrowed his eyes. "One of Dmitri's boys not pay?"

Jocelyn sneered. "Nah."

"Yvgeniy," he said, voice dripping poison.

She took out Angel's bloody lace slip and tossed it on his desk, narrowly avoiding his plate.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why you bother Dmitri with this?"

"Look a' th' fuckin' slip, Dmitri!" she shouted.

Dmitri started. He had not heard her yell like that since she had worked for him a decade prior. And certainly not with as much force. "Ok, ok. Dmitri look." He pulled the slip from the table. It was still wet. Several puncture wounds were in the center. "...you say Yvgeniy did this?"

"Angel said it."

"She can tell me."

"She's dead."

Dmitri went silent. After a moment, he called Boris, one of his body guards, into the room. "Bring me the boy," he said, face dark.

The body guard nodded. This won't end well, Boris thought, leaving without a word.

"Dmitri wants to know. You have weapon?"

Jocelyn took the rusty steak knife from her bag. She set it on the table. She slipped a hand into her pocket and when she withdrew it, her brass knuckles were affixed.

"You know it was Yvgeniy?"

"Las' wor's she say, Dmitri. Tha' an' 'e was goin' aftah 'er mum."

The crimeboss stood. "Ok, Jo. Help this old man roll up carpet. It's not worth boy's life."

NOW

"Direc'ion!" called out Jocelyn. She had finished reefing the foresail and was ensuring the bowline round her waist was tight.

"West-North-West!" shouted Myzariel.

"Lock th' tillah! Boat's in irons!" she shouted, a force of habit.

Myzariel mechanically locked the tiller in place. Jocelyn stood next to her, a short piece of heavy hemp in her hands. She tried to move the tiller, confirming it was, indeed, locked. She looped one piece of the hemp around a beam close to the hardware and tied a knot Myz had never seen before. Joci pulled up, looped the around rope and tiller again, pulled up a second, and repeated the process three times more.

"Tillah's snubbed," she said. "Wot's th' roll?" Her back was to the moving globe.

"Looks like..." Myz studied it for a moment. "...between -10 and +12 degrees. Holy gods, you did it..."

Jocelyn turned about. She studied the instruments. "We ain' outta th' sea, frien'. We ain' rollin' as much, tha's goo', bu' now we go' a two degree lis' an' I donnae why. Takin on wa'er somwhere mebbe. Mebbe somethin' shif'ed 'lowdeck. Keep an eye on et, yea?"

Myz nodded. She didn't like how worried Joci sounded. At all. "Are we going to...?"

Joci smiled briefly. "I'll die befir I le' ya ge' 'urt, ya go' et?" She gestured toward the bowline about Myz's waist as she started toward another sail. "Make th' knot tigh', yea?" She shouted over her shoulder. "An' tell me if'fn a damn thin' changes!"

2 YEARS AGO, MAY

"Yvgeniy," said Dmitri. He flicked his chin toward Boris, who pushed the boy into the room. "Leave us."

"What you need, boss?" Yvgeniy asked. He immediately noted the absence of the carpet. That couldn't be good. The small, blonde man ran his hand down his torso. "How can I help Dmitri today?"

Dmitri frowned, giant lips more akin to a frog's expression than anything else. "Dmitri has no more use for you."

The young man laughed. "So why you bring Yvgeniy to see you?"

"Jo has use for you," he said, turning his back on the boy.

Jocelyn pounced upon the man, gagging him with Angel's bloody slip. Yvgeniy had to have known how fucked he was in that moment, tasting the blood of the woman he had stabbed to death not an hour prior. He tried to struggle, but he felt a knee in his back. He fell to the floor.

Dmitri just listened.

"Yer a real sick fuck, yea. Killin' Angel jus' so ya coul' ge' off. Then goin' aftah 'er mum." She pressed down harder with her knee. She felt something in his spine slip, dislocate. She pulled back on the slip, exposing the man's throat. "Dmitri," she said.

The crimeboss turned suddenly, throwing the rusty steak knife at the floor directly in front of the arrogant boy. It struck true, vibrating back and forth, lodged in one of the planks. The boy watched. He struggled harder, grunting, squealing. Like the pig he was. Time to end it.

Jocelyn raised her fist and brought her knuckles down on his spine, just between his shoulder blades. His legs and arms dropped to the floor. He was paralyzed, though still able to breathe. To feel. He wet himself. Jocelyn grabbed the steak knife. She looked up at Dmitri. He nodded and stared the boy down. She dragged the rusty blade across the man's neck, about an inch deep, severing each vein and artery within 10 seconds. She held his head back until his blood stopped pumping, dropping it to the floor with a dense, wet thud.

"Thank'ee," said Jocelyn. Her voice was cold, but inside, she hated herself for it.

The crimeboss nodded. "Yes, Jo. Now, you send Dmitri all his men. They clean this. You have no more trouble from them. Business to business deal. Dmitri to Jo."

She wrenched the slip from Yvgeniy's mouth and stowed her gear. "Yer a goo' man, Dmitri."

"And you," he laughed, "are good woman. Good, scary woman. Now. Get Drmitri's men. They will take care of filth. You take care of girl and family," he said, adding, "Boris knows. He has money for mother. It can't bring girl back, but it does something."

Jocelyn dipped her head. "Dmitri."

"Jo."

( @myzariel )

#jocelyn wellson #wra rp #unit 8 #[ bitter-sweete profiteering ]#backstory #story #the dun morough job

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peanutsandbitterstep · 4 years

Text

Compass Heading

Summary: A GBF Soulmate AU. Everyone has arrows on their body that point them to their soulmates. Nehan has one on each arm.

The first moment of clarity in months and it comes from curing the sickness of a fellow slave. The precise measurements of ingredients, combined into medicine that would break a fever. The Magasin are more than pleased that they’ll be getting more value out of him than they paid for.

“This is the one you were talking about?” the Chief Pharmaceutical Officer asks, hand on one hip, surveying Nehan.

“You said you could use all the help you could get,” his master says. “He doesn’t look it, but he’s got a brain in there.”

“Hn. Well, some of the others are going out for supplies. Have him join them. He can’t get into too much trouble like that.”

With a wave of dismissal, the chief gets back to work.

Nehan is sent out with an overseer and some other members of the pharmaceutical team. He doesn’t resent the change in duties. Focusing on remembering plant shapes and habitats means that his mind doesn’t have space to dwell on images of blood and decaying bodies.

He practically becomes part of the medical division and formally does once the epidemic passes.

“You’re turning out more useful than we thought. Keep this up and maybe you’ll actually be something,” his master says.

The promotion would be beneficial, but it’s still the clarity that he chases, until he no longer needs to be actively focused on work to keep the memories at bay. And without the memories comes a lack of feeling that persists, even when he poisons someone and watches him die.

It’s not the death that’s notable or even the killing. He’s seen and done plenty of that already. But this was less of a professional hit and more of along the lines of experimentation of a new poison. The death is messy and drawn out over the course of a few hours, but he can’t muster up anything other than intellectual curiosity.

“Looks like we’ll need to get back to the drawing board,” the chief says, once it’s all over. “Good work everyone.”

A candy is passed to each of them as they file out of the room.

“For me?” Nehan questions, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“Of course. You’re part of the family too,” the chief says casually, as a few associates trail in to deal with the body.

Family.

The word digs under his skin and sticks, like a splinter he’d once had to spend fifteen minutes locating and pulling out. He sneaks out that night and holds his arm up against the sky, studying how the arrow lines up with the constellations. It’s the first time he’s been able to look at it since the day he’d lost his home.

There are people with nowhere else to go, there in the Magasin. Fellow slaves who make the family their home, and even find their soulmate among the others.

Nehan’s home may be gone, but there’s still one family member he has left.

At the moment, the arrow on his right arm points northeast. Toward another island, maybe even another skydom.

Sudden rage bubbles up from his chest, to his throat, and he wants to shout, ‘Come on! You know how to find me. Come and try to finish me off like you did everyone else!’

He has no illusions about overpowering Xing. The prodigy, hope of the Karm Clan. But he’s gotten better at firing a gun and has enough knowledge about poisons that they could at least go down together.

But Xing doesn’t come. Instead, a guard comes to check on him and make sure he isn’t trying anything stupid.

Some of the others might not know where they came from, but not him. Nehan knows who his family is and why they’re no longer with him.

‘I’m going to see you again,’ he thinks. ‘And when I do, I’ll be ready.’

Years pass and he learns as much as he can. Medicine and drugs, how to coax a sickened organ back to health as well as shut it down. His memory does not fail and his emotions stay out of the way. The family places more and more trust in him and he becomes busier with all the extra responsibilities.

Responsibilities that include research for the drug they’re developing, titled Project Serenity. If they get this right, they’ll get enough power to retake their territories.

Which brings him to the island.

“Nehan!”

“Hello, Mugen. How have you been?”

The lone inhabitant of the island had not been much help when it came to research. As it turns out, someone who can’t be poisoned doesn’t need to consider anything except taste when it comes to ingesting plants. There are other reasons to let him tag along, though.

Mugen tells him about all the changes that have happened since he was away (it rained and he caught a frog), and Nehan tells a heavily edited version of his most recent trip to Auguste.

He’s struggling to convey the idea of a sea when he hears the growl of a timber wolf. Right hand reaching for his gun, he searches the direction it came from.

It’s Mugen who reacts first, punching the first wolf that leaps at him. Nehan picks off two more. Out of the corner of his eye, there’s a blur and he moves just enough that the wolf’s teeth close on his jacket sleeve instead of his right forearm.

He’s aware of Mugen shouting his name, but he’s too busy gutting the monster to respond. It’s silent when he looks up again. Mugen must have taken care of the rest of the pack.

A shadow looms over him and he flinches, raising his gun. It’s only Mugen though, concern on his face as he reaches out.

“I’m all right,” Nehan says, showing Mugen his torn sleeve and unmarked skin. “See? No blood.”

Mugen studies Nehan’s arm, carefully holding back his strength as he turns it over. “Nehan have too.”

“What?” Following his gaze, Nehan sees what he’s referring to. “Oh, the soulmate arrow.”

“Soul...mate?”

“A soulmate is…a person whose life is intertwined with yours.” Scrambling to explain the concept more simply, Nehan says, “It’s two people who are very important to each other. The arrow shows where the other person is.”

“Like Nehan?” Mugen holds out his left arm and, sure enough, the arrow is pointing directly at Nehan.

Swallowing, Nehan says, “No, not like me. Look, my arrow doesn’t point to you.”

What he leaves out is that it would be the arrow on his left arm that would determine whether he and Mugen are soulmates. He hasn’t checked that arrow in a long time and he isn’t going to check now.

He doesn’t want Mugen to get tangled up in his problems.

Pulling his arm out of Mugen’s hold and stepping back, he says, “I’m sure whoever your soulmate is will be a wonderful person.”

“Nehan wonderful,” Mugen insists and Nehan laughs before he can stop himself.

“Thank you for saying so. We should keep going.”

This idiot. If the Magasin or any of the other families were to find out about him, this child with an adult body and inborn power lurking right under his skin was just going to be used. Like Xing.

Time hasn’t tempered his rage or desire for vengeance, but it has given him perspective. The Karm Clan had reaped what they sowed. Their fate had been to die at the hands of their own weapon, to pay for their crimes with their lives in the most ironic way.

And maybe that’s why Nehan is still alive. There are more than enough people who hold a grudge against him, more than enough who would deserve to take revenge.

Perhaps they will. But not before Nehan makes Xing answer for his crimes.

Another two years and Serenity Heaven is created and distributed, repositioning the Magasin in the crime world. With Nehan’s work and the Chief Pharmaceutical Officer’s death, Nehan’s position as the successor is cemented.

The most authority he will ever have. And he needs to act now because the Magasin is falling.

Alliances between the other families and poorly thought out strategies, including but not limited to his former master killing his soulmate in a feat of remarkable cunning and absolute stupidity.

Amazing how soulmates in rival families tended to bring out both the best and worst in each other. He’d seen soulmates provoke each other to anger with a meaningful look or well-placed word, as well as inspire the acquirement of new skills.

“That bastard knew what he was doing when he bought the restaurant!” his former master had ranted. “He did it just to spite me!”

And he was probably right. Because they were equally petty and had a tendency to modify their business dealings so the other person’s job would be more difficult. But with him dead, his family had made taking down the Magasin their biggest priority, and Nehan wasn’t going to wait for everything to collapse.

He supposes he shouldn’t be so critical. After all, his plans are going to upend the entire skydom.

Because Xing, as it turns out, is an Eternal. Seox, as he calls himself now. Surrounded by the most powerful skyfarers, armed with talents that he has honed to perfection.

He could have found Nehan anytime he wanted, but he hadn’t. Does he think he can run from fate?

Some people think fate is something that can be defied, but look. Here Nehan is, without his clan or home, but there’s still a mask still on his face, he has poison in one pocket, and Trancensia is in the other. It was always going to turn out like this.

The moon is just beginning to rise as he walks toward the port. He has a promise to keep to Mugen and then he’s headed to the Enforcers. He’s done waiting for someone who clearly isn’t coming. The stars will show him where he is and his arrows will guide him to where he needs to be. And then all of this will be over.

A/N: Thanks to my friend who proofread this and my other friends who listened to me complain! I hope you enjoyed reading this.

#rambling #granblue fantasy #gbf

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missjosie27 · 5 years

Text

MC Info

Character Profile: David Grant

Name: David John Grant

DOB: January 16th, 1973

Parents: John and Elizabeth Grant

Siblings: Jacob (Elias) Grant

Nationality: British

Ancestry: Pure Blood

House: Gryffindor

Height: starts at 4’10 and ends up 6’1

Eyes: Hazel blue

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Likes: hanging out with friends, Quidditch matches, chocolate frogs, dueling, having a pint, Merula Snyde

Dislikes: also Merula Snyde, anything associated with Slytherin, negative chatter about his brother, being nagged by his mother, betrayal

Friends: Rowan Khanna, Ben Copper, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Penny Haywood (Later friends include Tulip Karasu, Barnaby Lee, Nymphadora Tonks, Andre Egwu, Jae Kim, Diego Caplan, Liz Tuttle, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, and Cedric Diggory)

Enemies: Professor Snape, Merula Snyde, Ismelda Murk (formerly: Barnaby Lee), Patricia Rakepick, ‘R’, Argus Filch

Love Interest: Merula Snyde (develops a strong crush on her during Year 4), minor flirtations with Penny and Tulip

MC’s Strengths/Weaknesses/Hobbies

What’s their personal philosophy? Do they even have one?

A: David’s philosophy on life can be more or less be summed up in a single word: humor. Though deridingly sarcastic to those he doesn’t like, David is very witty, clever, and easy going. However, as becomes a pattern for him, often times he uses this natural humor and socialization to deflect from his own problems and hide away the fact that he feels a great deal of pain and guilt over his missing brother.

How do they feel about their status and reputation as the curse-breaker in the school?

A: David did not go to Hogwarts with a mission to find the vaults, which was just rumor at the time. He ached to find Jacob, but tried to adhere to his parents request that he not cause trouble. This, of course, did not happen, and as time goes on David more or less embraces the role of ‘curse-breaker’ and the responsibility that comes along with it. He does not seek attention, but does enjoy the fact that girls find him attractive.

Did they get sorted into the Hogwarts House they expected to? Did the Sorting Hat have any problems sorting them? Or did it not even have to touch their head?

A: David was relatively indifferent about which House he was sorted into and made that known in his private discussion with the Sorting Hat. The only house he dislikes is Slytherin and being a pure blood who saw the first war, knows of its dark reputation. It took the hat two minutes to sort David, but found his fearlessness was his most defining quality and decided to put him into Gyrffindor.

What are their coping strategies for dealing with everything (the Vaults, Jacob, etc.), if they have any?

A: David is somewhat contradictory. When it comes to finding the vaults, protecting his friends, and doing the right thing, he is largely decisive and endears himself as a leader. When it comes to his own emotions and dealing with familial issues, he’s deflective and silent. When pressed on his own troubles, he clams up and will either give a joke or change the subject. He has never been very good at expressing negative emotion and therefore when he fails to hold it back, it often explodes in the form of raw anger or tears

What electives do they take throughout their time at Hogwarts?

A: He takes Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes. He is not a fan of creatures, however, and only takes the class in order to talk Quidditch with Charlie. He later drops it and takes Divination instead in order to get an easy grade.

Are they in any clubs or extracurricular activities? What about Quidditch?

A: Penny has invited him before to be in the Potions club, and though he will attend on occasion, does not officially join. Due to his curse breaking adventures, David has little time for anything extra curricular until 6th year, when Charlie invites him to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a beater, a position he largely excels at. Along with Charlie, Oliver Wood, and Sky Parkin, the Lions win the cup.

How studious are they? What kind of studying strategies do they use? Do they have any study groups with their friends?

A: David is quite enthusiastic about the subjects he excels in, though he is not a ‘bookworm’ like Rowan or some of his Ravenclaw friends. Often study groups are formed with the pretext of talking about something else, namely the vaults. However, he will join Rowan, Tulip, and even Merula on occasion to legitimately go over the books.

How willing are they when it comes to breaking school rules?

A: Unlike Tulip and Tonks, David does not go out of his way to break rules and doesn’t see himself as a rebel against authority figures. That being said, he has no issue bending/breaking them if he a) feels it’s to his advantage b) believes there is something greater at stake such as the safety of his friends or finding the vaults. Upon becoming a prefect, David finds this method much more difficult to follow as he has to navigate upholding his charges while also finding a new way to get around things so as to not lose his position.

Do they hang out with any of their friends over breaks? If so, which one(s) and what do they do?

A: David does not get to hang out with any of his friends over Christmas or Summer break until his fourth year when his parents take a trip to the United States during the month of December. His mom can be quite restrictive and prefers to keep an eye on her son out of fear of losing him as she did with Jacob. After his sixth year, David spent a week with the Weasley family, immensely enjoying their company. Though he was curious, Merula refused to allow him to visit her lonely manor. This was somewhat out of safety concerns, but also because she was embarrassed and did not want David meeting her aunt.

After they graduate, do they fall off the map and keep a low profile? Or do they continue to exist in the public eye?

A: Following graduation, David trains for three years to become an Auror and succeeds. He’s not necessarily in the public eye, but he’s never out of it either. Though not an attention seeker by nature, he also doesn’t shy away from it.

How does their career path differ from what they thought they’d be doing? Or does it differ at all?

A: ‘Curse-Breaker’ was a designation that David accepted but never truly embraced over his time at Hogwarts. It was Tonks who convinced him that his talents and interests were better served in Law Enforcement as the Auror office only takes the best of the best.

Do they have any hobbies? What about any talents or aptitudes?

A: David loves a pint at a pub, Quidditch matches, and going to concerts with his girlfriend and later wife, Merula. He is also quite fond of cooking various steaks and pork chops, a skill Jae later taught him when he began to live on his own. Believe it or not, he is also a talented singer, though he prefers to give way to Merula on that score, allowing her his spot on the Frog Choir. Though not enthralled at academics, David is talented in Transfiguration, Herbology, Potion Making, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Most notably, he is one of the best duelers during his time at Hogwarts.

Do they have any favorite spells?

A: David is partial to ‘Reducto’ as he can reduce most objects to ash with it. He’ll often do this in private for fun or to vent off steam. Another, more light hearted spell he likes is the ‘Melofors Jinx’ which he uses on Merula and Ismelda more than once over the years (the spell causes the victim’s head to be encased inside of a pumpkin).

What’s one thing they did or thought as a child that they later look back and cringe about?

A: David has extremely mixed feelings about how often he used to idolize his brother. He still does to some extent, but by the time he enters his first year, it’s rather hollow and can’t help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt about Jacob and the fact that he was the only hero he ever had growing up.

If they could travel anywhere at all in the world—money, time, and language not being an issue—where would they go and who would they take with them?

A: Before Jacob’s disappearance, the Grant family took several holidays, one of which was in Normandy, France. David dreams of buying a small cottage there and take trips with his one and only love, Merula. David has also been to America and was quite fond of New York, finding the relative anonymity a perfect place to hide out if one were a wizard looking to avoid attention.

If they’re an Animagus, how easy was becoming one for them? Were they happy with their Animagus form? Or did they want it to be something different?

A: David never becomes an Animagus in my story.

Do they like what they see in the mirror?

A: David carries a cocky streak laced with vanity and knows he’s handsome to many young witches at Hogwarts. He knows and appreciates his own talent. But in terms of his own self, there is a great deal of doubt: his life, career, the vaults, family, finding his brother. Due to Jacob’s disappearance, David still feels like it was his fault that something went wrong and that his parents’ marriage became strained to the point of near divorce. He avoids these issues for the most part, never acknowledging them unless seriously prompted or pushed.

How good are they at taking compliments?

A: Very normal for the most part.

How much do they trust their friends?

A: David gets along with his friends, but due to his own inability to let go of the guilt and pain he felt when Jacob left, he does not like revealing his innermost secrets to people. He avoids talking about his somewhat unstable family life, which has become strained, stifling, and gray. He would trust his best friends in almost any other category, however, including battle or information about the vaults.

Are they pretty self-reliant? Or do they like to go to their friends for help?

A: It’s a mix. David is not one to be a martyr but he does have an obsessive streak which has a tendency to push people out when not careful. All in all, he’s very thankful for the assistance he receives from his friends

Who is their favorite Weasley? Or can they not choose?

A: David likes the Weasleys equally and enjoys Bill and Charlie in their own way, the former for being a surrogate older brother, the second for his down to earth nature and general friendliess. Fred and George are something of a nuisance with their pranks which make his job as Prefect twice as hard, however, he does hold a soft spot for them after they help him find a few secret passage ways as an apology. He does have a least favorite Weasley by the end though: Percy, whom he regards as a whiner and a tattletale.

What’s the thing they like least about themselves?

A: Despite contrasting himself frequently with Jacob, David also knows he shares a similar impulsive streak that has threatened to get him into serious trouble more than once. He’s also a sucker for women and though he never cheats on Merula, he does seek out other girls when the two break up or when they aren’t together. He also has a hidden guilt complex: everything that goes wrong in his family and relationship life he blames himself.

What’s the thing they like most about themselves?

A: David enjoys his ability to be quick with a joke and get along with most people. He’s naturally good at most things (with a few exceptions) and prides himself on being attractive to girls who see him as something of a sexy bachelor. He also comes to realize he’s a natural leader and that people tend to gravitate towards him when a dangerous or difficult situation comes around.

How bad is their temper? Do they tend to lash out at others or themselves?

A: David is not temperamental and not easily angered due to his good nature and sense of humor. However, if pushed too far, a quiet rage and tenacity overtakes his mind, blocking out all else until the episode is over. His anger is usually in response to something else- bullying, bigotry, or attacks against his family. During Year 6, David lashes out far more frequently than he usually does, alienating himself somewhat from his longtime friends. He mends the relationships later on, after discovering he was often his own worst enemy and critic.

What’s their biggest regret in life, if they have any?

A: Two in particular. He wishes he could have been there to prevent Jacob from leaving. The second is the way he handled his first break up with Merula. He felt it was his fault for letting her get tortured by Rakepick, but his own inability to solve the problem and Merula’s own stubbornness led to their parting of ways.

What kind of first impression do they tend to leave on others?

A: Carefree, funny, and witty with a zest for life.

What is the achievement they’re most proud of?

A: Even throughout his curse breaking adventures, David is most proud of his becoming an Auror and somehow convincing Merula to become his wife.

Do they like having photos taken of themselves?

A: David has a knack for taking goofy photos.

What’s one big way that your MC differs from the in-game canon?

A: I feel David Grant definitely has a more sarcastic streak and is not quite as much of a stickler. But all in all, he’s got personality. Most people’s MC’s are pretty much brand generic hero character. David, while a hero, is also a deeply flawed, wise cracking, cocky, baggage ladden teen. That reaches its peak during Years 5 and 6 and it’s only during Year 6 he manages to let go of much of the anguish he was holding onto in order to become a more complete person

What does their name mean and why did you choose it?

A: David is a common Anglo/American name that derives of course from the Hebrew King David in the Torah/Bible. I chose it for two reasons 1) it seemed to fit well with the last name I had in mind 2) it’s also my father’s name, and I modeled the character partially after him

If they’re an Animagus, why did you choose the form for them that you did?

A: David did not choose to become an animagus

How has your MC changed since you first created them?

A: Though I am still in the process of writing the story, David will go through many ups and downs before completing his arc. As an eleven year old first year, he is a curious, funny, talented, but guarded person and those traits become more intense/exaggerated as he gets older. His arc doesn’t come full circle until Year 6.

How well do you think you and your MC would get on?

A: At times really well and other times not. He is modeled after myself in many ways, but David has a higher degree of confidence, leadership, and withholds his feelings as opposed to me, a guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. I’m sensitive by nature, he’s not. But we do share a few talents- singing music, being generally good at sports and watching it, bar trivia, cooking, etc. The thing that we share above all is passion about a topic we enjoy that can become a full blown obsession. I have that feature to my person and so does David. All in all, as adults I would like David a lot and I think he would like me too.

#mc info #david grant #gryffindor #hogwarts mystery

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fangirlingpuggle · 5 years

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Jade Dragon AU Ficlet- Talking to yourself

Hi here’s a little ficlet set in my Jade Dragon AU of JCA.

This is set after season 2 episode ‘And He Does His Own Stunts’

Jade has had to deal with a lot from the month or so she’s been roommates with a certain angry giant gecko, long rants villains speeches, having to live in the old fish packing plant (that actually smelt worse than uncle’s sandwiches which she did not believe was even possible)and having to fight with Uncle Jackie and Thoru and all the others (which sucked no matter how cool the breathing fire thing was).

But this, this was pushing her past her limits.

‘This’ being the mirror based video call with a certain X-statue’s extend family.

“You are only continuing to show your incompetence Shendu!” the fish faced one hissed

“yet another portal sealed and another one of us back in this cursed realm” the bat like one howled out

“now my siblings” Jade heard Shendu say through her mouth

“SILENCE YOU WASTE OF DEMON CHI” one screamed at him

Jade didn’t need to be looking at Shendu’s face over her own in the reflection to see the flinch she felt it in her head.

He was uncomfortable and…scared.

Now Jade didn’t, well Dragonboy was a jerk and had tried to kill them before and…

“When I next see you I will make you pay for your incompetence” the electric demon threatened darkly “I would have had my palace and still be on the earthy realm where we all should if you had done what you were meant to” a cruel smirk pulled on his lips “I am sure our next sibling to enter through the portal will ensure you suffer for it but I can’t wait to make you do so by my own hands” eclectically crackled around his head in the mirror

In her mind she could feel Shendu want to retreat to not be talking to them, he was scared of them, no. He was absolutely terrified of his ‘siblings’

Jade felt her anger spike and oh she knew Jackie and Uncle and Thoru and everyone would yell at her for this, but oh no she was done with this.

Shendu’s presence in her mind was already trying to retreat and it was really pretty easy to push past him and gain control of her own body, she’s barley gained control when she felt the yell pass her lips

“WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP!”

She felt Shendu’s shock in their head as well as his expression in the mirror

“how dare you worthless human” the frog faced one began only to be cut off by the one with the weird tongue

“Well it seems are dear brother is so incompetent he can no longer keep the child he uses as a host under control…I can’t say I’m even remotely surprised” he drawled out getting laughter from the others

Jade just glared at them gritting her teeth, she could feel Shendu want to take control, even though his discomfort was still flying all over their mind, she moved her presence in front of him blocking him from taking control but also trying to block these jerks from him even if it was just in their head

“Oh save it tall dark ugly” she snapped and the laughter cut out Jade just ignored them because herself preservation skills weren’t great and she was so utterly done with every one of them “why don’t you all just shut up! You know Shendu’s opening the portals even with all of section 13 and my uncle Jackie and uncle trying to stop him which is not easy… like at all and the fact that the 3 of you who got through got caught isn’t his fault! Especially you sparky” she ignored the sound of offence from the demon “it’s defiantly not his fault you got caught just because you didn’t realise lightning didn’t work on rubber” she folded her arms smiling “which even I know and I’m a kid…you think an all powerful all knowing demon sorcerer would know that right?” she could see him open his mouth and quickly added “I mean you did tell Shendu to ‘stay out of your way’ because you ‘knew exactly what you were doing ‘ and that you ‘didn’t need help from a second class sorcerer like him’ because he ‘didn’t know anything’…isn’t that right?”

She could feel the death glare cutting all the way from the netherworld she just smiled back sweetly as could be, Shendu just stared at her from the mirror their mind was silent discomfort and fear now just a blanket of confusion

After another beat of silence Jade widened her smile “well if that’s all we should go gotta figure out how to open the next portal…I mean unless you’d rather keep yelling? Because I’m sure that won’t let section 13 find it first or anything” she teased and oh if looks could kill she would be beyond dead “ok then gotta go bye” before anything else could be said she grabbed a blanket and threw it over the mirror.

Jade stood there in silence for a moment breathing deeply before she heard a crash turning she saw the enforcers are gaping wide eyed at her looking very much like fish, a broken coffee cup slipped from Ratso’s fingers as they stared.

She just glared at them and must be channelling Shendu’s dangerous demon aura because the group turned tail and fled without a word

When she heard the door slam she walked over and collapsed against the wall closing her eyes.

“…why did you do that?” Shendu asked as he opened their eyes, his voice was unsure

For a beat she didn’t answer not sure how to put it “…your family are jerks” she settled on “you…you didn’t deserve that”

The confusion in their mind grew tinted with shock and “…I have tried to destroy you and your family numerous times Chan”

“Yeah I remember” she chuckled out before glancing at the door and mirror, it was just them she could tell the magic on the mirror wasn’t there now (thank you new weird demony sixth sense) “but you were scared of them” she felt his force bristle a denial building “I felt it” she added cutting off the retort

Neither spoke out loud, in their mind thought Jade was thinking she wanted to ask…wanted to know why why he was scared, if they hurt him, if that’s why he never tried to free them before…if he wanted them back.

Within their mind she got responses back, yes, yes, never if he could help it…but he couldn’t now not with their deal

“Your siblings are the worst” Jade said out loud finally

Shendu laughed using their mouth “I will not argue with that”

Jade smiled leaning back, this was nice actually, it wasn’t being forced about the presences themselves in their head weren’t fighting and pushing they were just their…it was odd but in a cool way.

She smiled wider leaning back “hey I always wanted to ask about the talismans” she felt Shendu perk up “they’re basically the most amazing things ever how did you make them?” she felt excitement in their head and her smile didn’t feel as if it was just her own anymore

When the enforcers finally muster the courage to go back in hours later they found the kid leaning against the wall smiling and excitedly talking voice shifting quickly between her own and Shendude’s quickly eyes flashing between brown and solid red within the blink of an eye and duel laughter ringing out.

They exchange looks and decide the leave for another few hours.

Thanks for reading =)

#JCA #jade dragon au #Jade Chan #shendu #demon sorcerers #Jade is done with Shendu's siblings #ficlet #Fic #episode related #jackie chan adventures #the bromance begins #protective Jade #tw implied abuse #shendu's siblings are the worst

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aspiringarmstrong · 6 years

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Star vs Destiny - Chapter 10

Everyone around Marco erupted with yells, orders, accusations, and panic. Marco took a breath and looked at the twitching Ludo and BuffFrog. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

“SHUT UP!” he screamed. The room fell silent. “Glossaryck. Check Jackie.”

The tiny genie creature floated and looked at her. He gave a thumbs up.

Marco pulled the dagger out of BuffFrog and checked his pulse. It was still there.

“Get BuffFrog some medical attention. He’s still alive.” Marco ordered. Some guards looked over and King and Queen Butterfly. They looked at each other and nodded.

Marco knelt over Ludo and picked him up. He wiped the foam from his mouth and checked him. The black vines have almost covered his whole face. His breathing was shallow as he twitched violently.

“Star… can you use the magic that reverted him from stone to try and pull as much of this out of him?” Marco asked, Star looked at him and nodded.

“I’ll help.” Queen Butterfly said.

Mother and Daughter stood between Marco and engulfed the quartet in a radiant light. Once his visioned cleared, the twitching creature in his hands didn’t move. The black veins had receded, but not fully gone.

“The worst should be gone.” Queen Butterfly said.

“Woah… that’s a bit woozy.” Star said as she stumbled and fell on her bed.

“I tried to use all the poison on Ludo,” Marco said. “You two are still going to need to do that for him. I… tried to aim away from anything vital. I’m just glad I was there to attend the frog dissection in class. If we could save anyone, BuffFrog has kids, so he was my priority.”

“Wait… you had a plan?” Star said from her bed. She still couldn’t seem to sit up. “That whole crazy killer Marco was an act?”

“It was a sloppy plan, but it was the only way I could see out of it. I was more making it up as I went.” Marco said. He looked over at his shocked parents. “Mom… Dad… I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re disappointed in me.”

“No matter what happens.” Mrs. Dias said as she held her son. “We love you and are so proud.”

His father gave him a pat on the back.

Everyone turned when they heard Jackie groan.

“Did anyone get the license plate of that truck?” She grimaced, holding her head. She looked up at everyone with confusion. “M...Marco?”

OoOoO

After they had recovered a bit, Star and her Mother did another treatment on Ludo. The black vines receded once again but her old enemy still looked in bad shape and the doctors didn’t know if he’d make it.

She kept thinking of the look on Marco’s face. She’d never seen him like that and it scared her. How was sweet, loveable Marco capable of being so… cold? Even if it was an act… there was definitely more to it. He almost broke.

“Star…” Her mother whispered and held her hand. “Let’s go and let Ludo rest.”

Star nodded and followed her mother out. She was going to head to see Marco, but a regal hand rested on her shoulder.

“Can… we have some tea?” Her mother asked with a smile. Star smiled back and nodded. She hasn’t spent much time with her mother for a while, and it would be nice to sit with her.

She followed her to the Royal Tea Room. The place hadn’t changed since she was little. All the old Mewnie Queens watched regally, holding a cup of tea from the old royal tea set passed down through the generations.

In the center of the ornate room sat a pot of tea, and two cups. The enchanted teapot was always hot and fresh. It would pour the preferred tea for the drinker, and could only be used by the Queen and her daughter.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been in here,” Star said, as she looked at all the portraits.

Queen Butterfly sat in her chair and poured Star’s cup. Star sat down and took a sip.

Peppermint.

“What’s on your mind?” Queen Butterfly asked.

Star took another sip and averted her eyes

“Nothing… I’m fine mom.”

“Star… You know I can tell.” She said and took a sip of hers. “We’re in a safe space, this is where we go to talk about anything.”

Star let out a sigh and set her tea down.

“It’s… Marco.” She admitted quietly. “I’ve… never seen him like that.”

“It was an act to fool Toffee,” Queen Butterfly said with a smile. “That’s all.”

“No,” Star said solemnly. “I don’t think it was. I think part of Marco worked out a plan of sorts to save everyone… but, a part of me thinks that he didn’t care if Ludo or BuffFrog lived or died.”

“Star,” her mother held her hand reassuringly. “None of us knew what to do. That girl’s life was in Toffee’s hands. Who knows what he would have done.”

Star realized something as she took another sip from her tea.

“You… know him, don’t you?” Star asked.

“Marco?” Her mother replied, confused.

“No… Toffee,” Star said. “He called you Moon. He said you two have fought before.”

“That… was a long time ago. When I first became Queen.” Queen Butterfly said. “There was a war. I used all of my power and I thought I defeated him. I never thought he’d manage to return.”

“Is there anything you can think of that will be of help getting the wand back?” Star asked. Queen butterfly shook her head.

“I’d already exhausted every option when I fought him. We… barely made it out alive.” Queen Butterfly said and pulled off her left glove and rolled up her sleeve.

All her life, She’s never seen her mother remove her gloves. At first, she thought that was her normal skin, then she grew older and knew what they were.

Under the glove was a withered hand that contained the same black vines Toffee had used on her.

“It goes all the way up my arm.” Queen Butterfly said, ashamed. “I had to make a deal with a very… evil person to gain the power to defeat Toffee and his invading army.”

Star held her mother’s hand.

“One day… it will do what it’s supposed to do. But I’m using all my power to keep it where it is.” Queen Butterfly wiped a tear from her eye. “I have quite a few years left, so don’t you worry. I’ll be an old grandmother when I finally succumb to it.”

Star got up and hugged her mother. She cried into her soft dress as Queen Butterfly stroked her hair.

“It’s okay.” She said. “It will all work out.”

OoOoO

Marco held Jackie’s hand as they walked through the castle market.

“Oh my god… that hat is so corny!” Jackie giggled.

“Okay, you can stop with the corn jokes,” Marco said with a sigh. “Mewnie’s main agricultural product is corn. Everything has corn in it. I mean, I’m Mexican, so I get it. Corn’s great! We use that for everything… but I’ve learned… it can be taken too far.”

Marco pointed to the Iced Corn cones. Jackie winced at the sight.

“Yeah… that’s a bit too much there.” She said in agreement.

“So… how much do you remember,” Marco asked, looking down at his feet.

“I wish I can say nothing,” Jackie said. “It’s like I was there, it was me, but it wasn’t. Until I started saying weird stuff and playing with that dagger, I didn’t feel like I was being controlled.”

“Glossaryck said some of the spells can influence your desires. I’m thinking that’s what Toffee whammied you with, and at the last moment, he must have enforced his full control on you.” Marco said. “I mean… you wouldn’t just come to the park and tell me that you weren’t… um.”

“I decided that a while ago,” Jackie said quietly. “I told myself when I see you next… I’d umm. We’d… well, if you were cool with it and all.”

Marco couldn’t believe his ears.

“Ahaha… yeah, but that was Toffee. Not you.” Marco stammered. “I mean, I’ve never… and I mean… I… I don’t really know what to say right now.”

“Marco… I’ve been at home, alone and scared. I get random messages from you whenever you come back from another world.” Jackie said. They continued to walk, but Marco leads her to a table and lets them sit. A waiter gave them a menu and some water. When he left, Jackie continued.

“I love you, Marco… and I feeling like I’m losing you.” She said and squeezed his hand. “Toffee or no Toffee. I wanted us to… be together. Then I can be sure that I had all of you.”

Marco was at a loss for words.

“Jackie… I-I don’t know what to say.” Marco said.

“Let's find a quiet place and talk.” She said.

“I kissed Star.” Marco blurted out. He closed his eyes to wait for the oncoming barrage. Jackie never let go of his hand. “We first started going out… it was after one of our dates. Tom took Star out and she was kind of upset about it. I was consoling her and we kissed. We both said it was a mistake and I never wanted to hurt you.”

Marco slowly opened his eyes. Jackie’s eyes were filled with tears, but she put on a brave smile.

“I figured something like that would happen at some point.” She said. “I’m… not mad.”

“Jackie… I love you.” Marco said.

“Okay.” She replied. Her eyes still watered, as if she was fighting back a torrent of tears. “Show me you love me more than her. Let's go back to the castle.”

Marco was pulled up to his feet and lead by the vice grip hand of Jackie. The pit in his stomach growing bigger with each step. He tried to talk to her, but she ignored anything he said. It looked like she was on a mission.

OoOoO

Star was walking back to her room when she saw the briefest glimpse of a bright red hoodie duck down one of the halls.

“Marco?” She called out, but no one answered. She jogged to the hallway and heard a door close, but didn’t see where. She walked down the hall opening the doors to the spare rooms, each one meticulously cleaned and perfect.

Marco must be tired and taking a nap, she thought. As she was about to open the next door, she heard Marco’s voice. He sounded agitated.

“Jackie… we don’t have to…” Marco’s voice said through the door Star was about to open the door when her hand trembled.

Was Jackie in there?

“Marco... Please.” Jackie said. She sounded desperate and on the verge of tears. “We haven’t seen each other in weeks. I almost died. I need to feel you. I need you next to me.”

Star remembered her night with Marco. She felt the same way. She knew how safe it was to be in his arms, wrapped up in his hoodie.

“Jackie… I don’t…” Marco stammered.

“Do I look bad naked?” Jackie asked.

A cold chill ran up her spine.

Were they? Are they going to?

“No, you’re beautiful,” Marco whispered.

“Then come to bed,” Jackie said.

Star could hear the rustling of sheets. She felt sick. She couldn’t see. It took all her effort to pull herself to her feet and stumble away.

OoOoO

“Jackie…” Marco stammered as he watched his girlfriend undress in front of him. “I’ve never…”

Jackie threw her bra at him and giggled.

“Neither have I.,” she said. “I told you before, I was waiting for my Marco boyfriend.”

“Now get undressed and come to bed.” She said and slipped into the oversized canopy bed. He stood on the other side of the room, unsure of what to do.

He felt his hands move almost on their own as he slowly peeled off his layers of clothes and almost robotically walked to the open sheets. Jackie threw them over the two of them and held her naked body to his.

He swore to himself that his body responded accordingly. Jackie looked up at him with a grin.

“Looks like Little Marco is happy.” Jackie chuckled and kissed him. His hand ran up and down her bare back and thighs. He couldn’t believe what was happening. All he could see was her face and warm smile. She really loved him and he could feel it with her passion and embrace.

He closed his eyes and felt her lips. He could picture her blond hair, beautiful blue eyes, those cute heart-shaped birthmarks.

“Marco…” Jackie whispered.

“Star…” Marco whispered back.

A cold chill covered him as soon as the word escaped his lips.

Jackie froze and looked up at him. He could feel her heart breaking as he held her. The muscles on her back loosened and her arms went limp.

“Jackie…” Marco whispered. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Jackie rolled over and held a pillow to her chest.

“Go… just go.” she sobbed.

Marco quickly dressed and ran out of the bedroom.

OoOoO

Star sat on edge of the safety wall that encircled the observation deck of the largest tower in her castle.

She loved it up here. And felt like she could get a clear head with things.

Marco never broke up with Jackie. She told him he loved her, he never said it back. When fighting with Jackie-Toffee, he said the women he loved, but that could mean anything.

She knew Marco felt something for her, but he wouldn’t admit it. He’s responsible and committed to his duties… and she needed to accept that Jackie was one of them.

This whole mess they’re in… it was causing everyone to be crazy. And for once she felt like her mind was clear.

“Star?” a familiar voice said from behind her. She turned to see red hair and horns.

“Tom?” She replied and scooted off the ledge. His terrified expression relaxed when she was on stable ground. He must have thought she was thinking of jumping or something. “I thought you left.”

“I couldn’t leave… not when you needed me.” Tom said. “I was so scared I lost you.”

She felt her heart melt, seeing his genuine tears. He’d never shown that to her. All the years he’d been in her life, he’d been strong and bull-headed. Now, he was trembling having almost lost her.

Was this how Marco was feeling? Falling in love with two people? A part of her knew she still felt this way for him. Tom knelt down and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.

“Please… I love you Star. I need you in my life.” he pleaded. “Anything you want, I’ll do for you.”

Star pulled Tom to his feet. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Her thoughts kept going to Marco and what she heard on the other side of the door. Without thinking, she pulled Tom to her and kissed him.

It was familiar, an old love reignited. His arms felt familiar and strong as he embraced her.

As she fell into his passion, she spotted the bright red hoodie of Marco. He was at the door of the observation tower.

Something inside her wanted to lash back at him. She was angry and hurt by him.

So, she slid off Tom’s jacket and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground. She leaned against the ledge and pulled Tom to her, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Star…?” Tom said, confused.

“Shh...’ She said and kissed him again. When she looked again, Marco was gone.

Tom’s eagerness increased and his hands moved around from the back to her front. Her mind snapped back to reality, realizing what she insinuated to Tom.

“Tom… Tom…” She said, patting his back. It took him a moment to recover his senses.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked.

“I’m… sorry, I thought I was, but I’m not ready.” Star said she could feel herself blushing.

“I… understand,” Tom said and pulled away. His dejected expression stabbed at her heart.

“No… I mean, just… that. I’m not ready for that.” She said with a giggle. Tom’s face lit up with a smile.

“Slow… okay?” Star said. Tom nodded in agreement.

OoOoO

Marco’s mind was in a daze… He didn’t know where he was going. He was just wandering the halls. None of the guards said a word to him, knowing who he was and his relationship with Star, he was given free reign of the castle.

His wandering led to a room filled with weapons and armor.

“Marco…” Glossaryck said after appearing from his hoodie pocket. “What are you thinking?”

“This is going to end,” Marco said, grabbing the sharpest, and biggest sword he could find.

One he let it out of its display case, it slammed into the ground. The thing must weigh a ton! Leaving it where it was, he grabbed a few daggers and a short sword. Threw on an enchanted cape and chest plate.

He looked at himself in the mirror, impressed with how cool he looked.

“Marco… this isn’t a good idea.” Glossaryck pleaded.

Marco grabbed a large satchel from the armory and ran to the kitchen. He loaded it up with bread, dried meats, and cheese. A few flasks of water and a small pot completed his rations.

He ran back upstairs to the infirmary. Ludo was still unconscious, but BuffFrog seemed to be up and about. A bandage over his chest covered his knife wound.

“Marco?” BuffFrog looked up at him in surprise. “I appreciate the visit… are you okay?”

“How do you feel?” Marco asked, looking around for anyone who might notice him.

“Much better. I was surprised at what you did, but once I saw where knife hit… I knew you miss on purpose. You really are good man.” BuffFrog said.

“That’s much is still debatable,” Marco said. “I need you to take me to Ludo’s Castle.”

“So plan is now in motion? Where is Butterflies?” BuffFrog asked. Marco didn’t answer and his new friend seemed to read Marco’s intentions.

“This bad plan,” BuffFrog said. “This a very bad plan. But you saved Tadpoles. My life is yours… I will take you.”

As the two of them stormed down the hall, the blue Glossaryck floated in front of them, holding out his arms.

“Marco… I can’t let you do this,” he said. Marco shoved him aside and stormed ahead. With the next step, his foot was stuck to the ground. He looked down to see it encased in ice.

“Marco… go back to Star and talk to her.” Glossaryck pleaded. His normal senile look changed to someone wise and knowing. Almost someone you could rely on.

“I’m her fated knight,” Marco growled. “I’m supposed to do this to protect her… and her…”

Marco’s mind flashed to her and Tom. Without thinking he grabbed Glossaryck and threw him as hard as he could against the stone wall. With a hard tug, he broke the ice around his foot and continued to storm out of the castle, BuffFrog following suit.

OoOoO

Star sat with Tom in her room. They had a small tray of food sent up and had their dinner set out on one of the tables. They quietly ate and stared at each other with small giddy giggles. Her foot would inch out and rub his leg… and he would do the same. It felt nice and familiar, but part of her still felt it wasn’t Marco.

She shoved that away any time it came to her mind. Hopefully, if she shoved it away enough, it would go away.

There was a small knock on the door. Tom looked over at Star who shrugged. It was probably Marco.

“Come in.” She said. A small devilish side of her wanted him to see the two of them together.

She wasn’t expecting Jackie to come in.

“Um… Star?” She said, holding her arms close to her chest. “Can… can we talk?”

Star gave Tom a glance. He nodded and excused himself.

Once Tom left, Jackie burst into tears. Star hurried over to her friend and gave her a hug. She didn’t say a word but led her to sit on the edge of her bed and rubbed her back.

“What happened? Did Marco do something weird? I’ll have him flogged for you.” Star said reassuringly. She may be mad at him but Jackie was still her friend.

“What? Why would he do something weird?” Jackie asked.

Star’s face felt flushed.

“I… I saw Macro and… followed him. I heard you two in the guest room.” Star admitted. Jackie burst out into tears.

“I… I felt so alone. I asked him to show me that he loves me more than you. I pulled him in there and we… it was going so perfectly.” Jackie hiccuped.

Star wanted to run out of the room. She didn’t want to think of Marco and Jackie doing things like that, but her friend needed her. She rubbed her back and let her cry.

“What happened? Why are you upset? Should doing that be… a happy thing?” Star asked, choking down her frustration.

“We… didn’t.” She whispered.

“What?” Star said.

“We were in bed… and things were going well and he…” She hiccuped and sobbed unintelligibly.

“I didn’t hear that last part,” Star said.

“He said your name,” Jackie said and cried into her shoulder. The little evil part of her set off a ton of fireworks in her brain. “He got dressed and ran out of the room.”

“I’m sorry,” Star said and hugged Jackie.

Wait…

Marco ran out on Jackie to find her… and she was…

“Oh no…” Star said. Jackie looked up at her.

“What?” Jackie asked. Wiping a tear from her eye.

“I sorta… was kinda pissed… sorta made out with Tom… and when Marco showed up… I kinda hinted that Tom and I were going to…” Star said sheepishly. “I was really mad.”

“Did you?” Jackie asked. Star shook her head no.

“Oh no…” Jackie said in agreement.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Star said with a giggle. “Let him suffer for a bit, I’ll explain everything to him later.”

Jackie giggled in agreement. Star flopped on her bed, Jackie followed suit.

“Are we losers?” Jackie asked. “I mean… I sorta knew that you two felt that way about each other, but… I’m not a catty, jealous type of person. I felt almost crazy when I pulled him into the room.”

Jackie paused and looked up at the canopy of her bed.

“Do… you love him? What about Tom?” Jackie asked.

“I do love Tom. We have history… a terrible flame ridden history filled with screams of torment and anguish… but we were young and in love.” Star said with a smile. “When I’m with him now, it’s different. It’s familiar… but that part of me is no longer there. Or, it��s changed.”

Jackie nodded.

“I felt that way with my old boyfriend,” Jackie admitted. “People grow together, others grow apart.”

“I only realized how I felt about Marco when he was gone,” Star admitted. “He’s always next to me, I always relied on him. I know how you feel. I feel like a crazy person, pining over someone I can’t have.”

“He told me” Jackie admitted. “About the two of you that night.”

“The way you felt when you almost died… that empty feeling where you need someone else to fill that hole and complete you. I was like that… that night.” Star said. “I was ready to do… more. But Marco held me. He stopped me from doing something I’d regret. He’s always protecting me, even from myself.”

Jackie nodded.

“I wish I had that with him,” Jackie admitted. “He’s always cool and funny and clumsy around me. He’s normal and attentive, never ignores me. The perfect boyfriend. But, when the phone rings. He’s out the door and off to save you.”

“He stood up to a monster my mother had to make a deal with some demonic creature in order to beat and outsmarted him to save you.” Star pointed out. “I think that would bring up the tally pretty close. No one knew what to do when Toffee had that knife to your throat.”

Jackie nodded in agreement.

“I felt terrible when that night happened, but that made me realize more than anything how I felt… and I loved him enough to let him be happy with you.”

“Was that the real reason you left?” Jackie asked, rolling to her side. Star nodded.

“Are we still friends?” Star asked. “I really like you and don’t want us to lose that.”

“Even though we’re both Marco crazy, I’d never want to lose my cool alien friend.” Jackie giggled and hit her with a pillow. “God… makes me think Janna might be onto something.”

“What?” Star asked. Jackie let out a snort of a giggle.

“She wanted to set up a schedule.” Jackie chuckled.

“She said that to me once before, I don’t really get it,” Star said. Jackie leaned over and whispered into her ear.

“Oh… Oh?” Star said as she realized what her other friend was hinting at. “Why did she want to be put on it?”

Jackie just gave her a look and she realized why.

“Really? Janna? I thought she hated him. She’s always stealing his stuff and pulling pranks on him!” Star said.

“Nah, that’s how she shows she likes someone,” Jackie said. “She’s been on the Marco train since kindergarten.”

They both burst out laughing for a moment when the door slammed open.

A battered Glossaryck flew into the room.

“Star! Star! Marco! He’s gone!” he shouted frantically.

#star vs the forces of evil #star vs evil #starco #star_Butterfly #Star vs destiny #Marco_Diaz #Ludo #BuffFrog #toffee #Jackie_Lynn

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alphacrone · 7 years

Text

OMGCP Heartbreak Fest Reveal!

title: anything for one more hour of light TW: major character death; vague mentions of bus crash, violent/traumatic deaths, and afterlife; ambiguous ending pairing: zimbits

On AO3 Here

Bittle was laughing just before the bus crashed.

Ransom and Holster were in the aisle, wrestling, just moments before. Lardo was perched on Shitty's lap, rolling her eye at their antics. Nursey and Dex were arguing, more playful than malicious, Chowder hanging over his seat to chirp them both. And Jack-

Jack watched it all fondly, heart feeling light despite the loss they were leaving behind. These were his friends and, in this moment, he wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

Bittle turned to him then, eyes bright in the neon lights of the highway at dusk, and Jack's heart skipped a beat. Bittle was laughing, warm and joyful and lovely, when somebody screamed and everything went dark.

Jack woke up at the Haus with no memory of how he got there.

Though he came to slowly and groggily, the moment he remembered the crash Jack leapt from his bed, stumbling out into the hall. Without a second thought, he burst into Bittle's room, heart pounding wildly.

Bittle was asleep on top of his covers, wearing the same sweatpants and t-shirt he'd had on before-

"Jack?"

Bittle rubbed at his eyes, sitting up slowly. Jack hurried to crouch next to him, eyes raking down Bittle's body, looking for any sign of injury.

"Did we crash?" Bittle asked, voice hoarse.

"I think so," Jack said, brushing Bittle's hair away from his forehead. There was a faint scar there he'd never noticed before, but no visible injuries. Bittle' cheeks grew pink and Jack pulled his hand away quickly. "I don't really remember what happened after, though."

"Me neither," Bittle said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Is everyone okay?"

"I don't know," Jack admitted. "Let's go check." He held out his hand and Bittle took it, letting Jack hoist him to his feet. Jack was reluctant to let go, but he did, leading Bittle into the hallway and down the stairs.

To Jack's immense relief, Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster were all seated at the kitchen table, staring intently at Ransom's phone.

"Oh, heavens to Betsy, I'm glad y'all're alright," Bittle said with a sigh. "I was so worried."

Lardo hopped up to wrap her arms around Bittle's chest, hugging him tightly.

"You two slept so long," Shitty said, standing to do the same to Jack. "We were afraid something might be wrong."

Jack squeezed Shitty tightly. "The frogs-?"

"Haven't heard from 'em," Holster said, gesturing to Ransom's phone. "None of our phones are working."

Bittle pulled away from Lardo, brow knitted together anxiously. "I'm sure they're okay."

"You two don't remember anything after the crash, do you?" Ransom asked, tearing his eyes away from the phone screen.

"No," Jack said. "I was hoping one of you might."

"This isn't standard procedure," Lardo said quietly. "For injured players or potential concussions. They wouldn't just drop us off in our beds."

"Maybe that's what happens when your team manager gets knocked out," Holster said, half joking. "No one's there to enforce procedure."

Shitty chuckled weakly, but Lardo's frown deepened. "Something's off," she said quietly, more to herself than to any of them.

"The weather sure is nasty out there," Bittle said, peering out the kitchen window. "So dark and gray."

"Still not used to real winter, eh, Bittle?" Jack chirped. But when he looked outside, Jack had to agree: the sky was unnaturally dark and gloomy, even for early spring.

"Hello?" Someone called from the entryway. "Anybody here?"

Bittle was out the door and throwing himself at Chowder before Jack could even turn. When the rest of them filed after him, Bittle was hugging Chowder tightly, rambling incoherently.

"Yeah, we're okay, too, Bits," Nursey chirped. "No need to worry about us."

Bittle made an indignant noise and threw his arms around Nursey and Dex, squeezing them with as much might as he could muster.

"Someone left you guys flowers!" Chowder told the rest of them. "I checked the tag but it wasn't addressed to anyone."

"It's probably for Bitty," Ransom teased. "From one of his many admirers."

Jack frowned. He hadn't known Bittle was being courted-

"Oh, shush," Bittle reprimanded. "Stop makin' fun of me, I could be concussed again for all you know."

"Not making fun of you, Bits," Holster said with a grin. "We happen to know several eligible bachelors who think you're a- Ransom, what's the exact phrase?"

"Stud muffin? Sex god? BILF? That's 'Bitty I'd Like to-'"

"I was gonna say cutie-patootie, but I think I like BILF better."

Bittle's face turned a fantastic shade of red and he shook his head. "They're probably from one of Jack's fangirls."

"Nuh-uh," Shitty said. "If it was, the tag would be addressed to the Most Glorious Ass in North America."

"Who cares about flowers?" Lardo snapped, hands on her hips. "Why did we wake up in our beds? Why don't our phones work? What happened to the rest of the team?"

The room fell silent. Finally, Jack couldn't take the uncertainty anymore, so he said, “Alright, let's just head to Faber and talk to the coaches. There has to be a logical explanation for this. Maybe something

happened to the closest cell tower. Maybe the flowers are from one of Bittle’s boyfriends-”

“Hey!” Bittle squawked.

“-but we won't know anything if we just sit around here.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Shitty chirped, gripping both of Lardo’s shoulders and squeezing until she relaxed.

They filed out of the Haus, into the oddly dark morning. Jack took up the rear, only a little happy when Bittle hung back to walk with him. He resisted the urge to take Bittle’s hand, despite the anxiety in Bittle’s eyes.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jack asked as they walked, keeping his hands shoved firmly in his pockets. Ahead, Ransom was giving Holster shit for not changing out of his bathrobe before going out in public. Behind them, Lardo just shrugged at Shitty, who wore raggedy sweatpants and nothing else.

“Yeah,” Bittle said after a moment. “I mean, I feel okay. But...things just seem off, don't they? I mean, did you see the number of flowers on our door? It's weird.”

Jack nudged Bittle with his elbow. “It's weird how many admirers you have?”

Bittle rolled his eyes, holding back a smile. “ Stop, oh my gosh, let me live, Jack Zimmermann.”

They bickered across campus, though Jack was unnerved by how few students he saw. It was a Saturday morning, but they'd seen only a couple souls at a distance, and one girl who passed them on the bridge without looking up from her notes.

They ran into no one from the team as they walked, and Jack didn't even bother pulling out his phone. They would get to the rink, talk to the coaches or use their landline or something .

When they approached, Bittle stopped dead outside Faber, eyes wide and face deathly pale.

There, on the western wall, a memorial had been erected. Bouquets of flowers were piled around the candles and pucks and the dozens of photographs that had been left there. Jack’s blood ran cold when he saw his own face among the frames. The others were there as well and...and no one else. Just the nine of them, the nine who'd woken in their own beds with no memory of the aftermath of the crash.

This was their memorial. They were-

“Dead,” Bittle whispered, shaking violently. Jack wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close. “Jack...I think we’re dead.”

“Oh,” Lardo whispered from Jack’s other side. “That...that explains…”

They all stood there in silence for a long, tense moment.

“Is this some weird joke?” Holster asked loudly. “Are we being punk’d?”

“It's not funny,” Chowder said, wrapping his arms around himself. “This isn't funny-”

“I don't think anyone’s laughing, C,” Nursey said softly. “I think this is legit.”

“I can't be dead!” Dex shouted, hands gripping at his hair. “I haven't paid off my student loans!”

“I think that's a moot point, Poindexter,” Lardo said sharply.

“Well...fuck,” Holster said, shoulders deflating like an old balloon. Ransom leaned against him, eyes wide and panicked.

No one else spoke as they stood there, staring. They didn’t move for a long time,

They gathered in the kitchen after they returned to the Haus, everyone clutching at someone else.

“I can't believe we’re dead,” Chowder whispered. “Cait- she must be-”

“Dead,” Nursey repeated. “Just...dead?”

“So you've finally figured it out.”

They all turned, startled to see two girls standing -- no, floating -- in the doorway. They both wore odd clothes, like things Jack remembered from his early childhood. They were both very pretty and wearing quite a bit of makeup and were so young...

“The sorority ghosts,” Holster said, mouth agape.

“You have to be shitting me,” Ransom hissed. “Ghosts aren't real!”

“Um.” Lardo gestured to everyone in the room. “Rans. Buddy.”

“Go towards the light,” the blonde one said.

“Excuse me?” Bitty asked.

“The light,” the brunette said. “When it comes to you, go towards it. If you don't, you'll be stuck here like us.”

“We’re not sure it'll ever come for us again,” the blonde added sadly, leaning against her friend. “Take the chance when you have it.”

“Where does it lead?” Ransom asked tentatively.

Both girls shrugged. “But it has to be better than living in a frat house for eternity,” the brunette said. “Right?”

No one dared answer, and eventually the girls left them alone in their silence.

Their parents came to the Haus in a flood. The Birkholtzes and the Oluransis -- who'd never met in person before -- spent hours in the attic, crying and telling stories about their boys. Ms. Dupre (Shitty’s mother had retaken her maiden name after the divorce) came by alone and quietly packed up Shitty’s things, not seeming to notice the weed stash or condom wrappers. She didn't speak to anyone, and left quickly, as if she could feel Shitty’s presence there.

The Bittles were all smiles, forced and polite, until they were shut up in Bitty’s room. Then Suzanne crumpled to the ground, and Coach couldn't do anything but stare at Señor Bun, perched on the beside table. They said nothing to each other as they worked, not even looking up from their hands.

Bittle cried the entire time his parents were there, and long after they left, face pressed into Jack’s arm.

And then the Zimmermanns arrived. Jack stood in his room and watched as his parents wiped at tears and touched his stupid books like they were him .

Jack couldn't bear to see his parents cry. He was right there! Why couldn't they see him? Why couldn't they sense him?

Screaming in frustration, Jack snatched the coffee mug from his desk and chucked it at the wall. It flew across the room and shattered; his mother screamed, and his father nearly fell over in shock.

“That mug…” his mother whispered, grasping at his father’s shirt. “Honey...Jack?”

“I'm here!” Jack shouted, trying to grab her by the shoulders. His hands slipped through her, though, of course they did. She shuddered, lifting a hand to ghost over the places he'd been.

“Sweetheart, are you there?” She asked, voice small, broken.

“Alicia,” Bob murmured. “It was just a cup.”

“Right,” his mother whispered. “Of course.”

They packed Jack’s belongings in silence, though every few seconds Alicia’s eyes would dart to the broken mug on the ground.

Neither of them cleaned the shards before they left, and Jack sat next to them for a long, long time after.

“Chowder tried to talk to Farmer this afternoon,” Bittle said as he joined Jack out on the reading room. “It didn't work, obviously, but he did learn that they're holding a memorial service for us tomorrow.”

“No one else died in the crash, right?” Jack asked, leaning back against the roof shingles. “Just us?”

“Yeah,” Bittle said softly. “Nursey’s been pretty torn up about it. Dex, of all people, is with him right now. Chowder told me he needed to be alone, especially after seeing his parents, but I think he's gone to try and communicate with Caitlin again.”

Jack thought back to the mug shards on his bedroom floor and could relate with Chowder's plight.

“Ransom and Holster are in the attic doing Lord knows what. I think Lardo is grilling those sorority girls for answers, specifics and, well...Shitty goes where she goes.”

“You're good at keeping track of people,” Jack said, wishing he could feel heat coming from Bittle’s body as he sat close. But they grew colder the longer they were ghosts; Bittle hadn't blushed once today, despite Jack’s teases. “You should've been a manager. Or captain.”

“Right,” Bittle scoffed. “Like I'd be a good captain. The captain who couldn't take a check.”

“It's not about skill,” Jack said firmly. “It's about heart. You try your damndest at every practice, every game. You've come so far. You love this team and these guys. I'd vote for you.”

Bittle looked up at him sadly. “Thanks, Jack. Guess it doesn't really matter, though. Never gonna happen anyway.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Maybe it was something about this weird, limbo world they were in, or maybe it was because he'd never really looked until now, but the stars were so beautiful here, far more visible than when in the city proper.

“I’ll never play in the NHL,” Jack eventually said, voice soft. “After everything…I guess I’ve been living on borrowed time, anyway…I guess I was never meant to be anything more than this.”

“More than what?” Bitty asked, a bit petulantly. “More than a successful NCAA captain? More than a big, strong, handsome son who made his parents proud? Who excelled at the sport his father loved?”

“Bittle,” Jack said softly. “Your parents were proud of you.”

“No they weren’t,” Bitty murmured. “They loved me, but they weren’t proud of me.”

“Bittle-”

“Jack,” Bittle said sharply. “You were so much in life. You worked so hard, you accomplished so much. Be proud of yourself. Just for a moment.”

“I am,” Jack mumbled. “And you should be proud of yourself, too,” he added petulantly.

They fell into silence again. The stars seemed brighter, bigger, closer.

“I’ll never have to come out to them,” Bitty said eventually, voice trembling and watery. Jack didn't have to ask whom he meant. “Even if they find my vlog, at least I never had a boyfriend to disappoint them with.”

“Bittle,” Jack started, but he didn't know what else to say.

“I’ll never kiss anyone,” Bitty said, staring down at his lap, his voice cracked and small. “God, I died a closeted virgin. How sad it that?”

“It's not,” Jack murmured. They'd drawn closer to each other, faces only inches apart.

“Will you...will you kiss me?” Bitty asked, eyes rimmed red and puffy. “Please, I don’t want to leave without ever being kissed.”

And, well, Jack couldn't say no to that.

He leaned over slowly, watching as Bittle’s eyes grew wide, then fluttered closed. They’d never really been this close before, close enough that Jack could count the faint freckles on Bittle’s nose. He pressed their lips together chastely, for a brief moment, and pulled back as something clicked in his mind.

They surged together again like waves on a stormy sea, crashing until they mingled together like salt and foam. Bittle wrapped himself around Jack, and Jack could feel the ways in which they were no longer living: no warmth under Bittle’s skin, no heartbeat fluttering against his chest. But Jack savored this moment, this last moment together, and pretended he could smell the vanilla and cinnamon on Bittle’s clothes, could taste the sugared fruit on his tongue. They were nothing but winter air and memories, but Jack held on tight and forced regret from his mind.

“You fool,” Bittle whispered as Jack kissed down the column of his throat. “We could’ve- could’ve had time .”

“I know,” Jack murmured, bringing a hand to Bittle’s face. “But we have now. This.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Bittle said sadly. Jack kissed him again tenderly.

“Thank you,” was all he could think to say in response. Bittle nodded, half-smiling, and Jack hoped he understood.

The stars above grew brighter and brighter until the dawn came. He and Bittle were there to greet the sunrise Jack knew would be their last.

They stood towards the front of the crowd at Faber for the memorial service. For once, the larger guys didn't have to worry about blocking someone’s view.

The rest of the team sat in the few rows of chairs before the standing crowd. Ollie wore a neck brace and Wicks had a cast on his arm. A few of the other guys sported obvious injuries, and the few missing ones Jack suspected were still in the hospital.

Next to the team sat the families and a few friends. Farmer, March, and April sat in a huddle, the older two stroking Farmer’s hair as she held back tears. Only Coach Hall stood at the podium, and Jack wondered vaguely where Murray could be. Had he been injured? Was he with the injured boys? Did he blame himself for the freak accident?

Coach Hall cleared his throat and said a few words, wavering and thick. He quickly departed the podium and, to everyone's surprise, John Johnson stepped up to take his place. After a moment, he began to speak.

"I didn't see this coming," Johnson said softly, shaking his head. "None of us could have predicted that these nine lives would be cut down so early, before any of them could fulfill their character arcs-"

His voice broke, and Jack stared in horror as John Johnson let out a small sob. He'd gotten along with Johnson, and John has really taken a shine to Bittle last year, but no one had been particularly close to him. Who knew he'd cared that much about any of them?

And that's when Jack knew it was all real. He was dead. He would never grow old. He would never play hockey again.

He would never wake up to Bittle's smile.

"They were too young," Johnson continued, wiping at his eyes. "I know this is a fan-derived universe-" Johnson paused, looking around at the crowd. "In another world, they will all grow older. They'll find themselves, graduate, start careers. They'll fall in love." Johnson looked straight at Jack, just for a second, then looked away. "But in this world, we can only hope they'll find some peace and strive to keep their memories alive.

"And if they're here, if they're still with us, I just want to say...I'm sorry." Johnson looked straight at them, gaze unwavering and sure. "I'm so, so sorry."

Someone in the audience wailed. Given the tears in Bittle's eyes, Jack wagered it was his mother. He wrapped an arm around Bittle's shoulder and kissed his head.

"Be at peace," Johnson said with finality, voice thick with tears. "Thank you for the stories you've left us, the memories."

As he finished speaking, a light shone through the windows of Faber, growing brighter and brighter and brighter-

“That’s it,” Ransom said softly, gripping Holster’s hand. “That’s the light.”

“It’s now or never,” Nursey said, his voice too calm to be real. “I think we have to follow it.”

“Where?” Dex asked, sounding small and young. Jack realized with a jolt that the frogs were all just 18, barely adults.

“Beyond,” Holster said with a shrug. “Eternity. Nothingness. Whatever you believe in, I guess, or...maybe nothing like what any of us believe.”

“So we just...go?” Chowder asked, face crumpled in anguish. Bitty reached out and took his hand.

“We’ll do this the way we do anything else,” Lardo said sharply, taking Chowder’s other hand. “As a team .”

That sparked something in them all, linking hands until they stood in a long chain. Jack took a deep, shaky breath, holding Ransom’s hand on one side, Bitty’s on the other.

Noticing the anxiety, the fear on Bitty’s face, Jack nudged his arm and gave him a small smile. “Don’t be afraid, Bits,” he said softly. “I got your back.”

Bittle chuckled, soft and broken, and stood on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Jack’s lips. “I wish we could’ve had more time,” he whispered hoarsely. “I wish- I wish we-”

“I know,” Jack said, his heart breaking a little. “But we have now. We have this moment.”

“I wish I was alone, here,” Bitty said, shaking as the light in front of them grew brighter. “I wish I was the only one facing this, the only one who died. But I am so, so glad to have you all by my side.”

“Here, at the end of all things?” Holster asked, a goofy grin on his face.

“Shut up,” Ransom murmured, but he was smiling fondly. “You’re not allowed to quote movies when we’re about to cross over into God-knows-where.”

“We might as well get it over with,” Lardo said, though Jack could see her shaking as hard as any of them, face drawn and determined. “Whatever happens, just know I love you idiots a whole lot. A stupid amount.”

Shitty kissed her softly. Next to him, Nursey pressed his forehead to Dex’s, whispering something Jack couldn’t hear. Bitty leaned against Chowder’s arm, tucking his face against the bright teal of his Sharks sweatshirt for a moment to hide his tears. Chowder cried freely, his eyes not on the light but on Farmer, who sat with her arms wrapped around herself.

“Alright, team,” Jack said, squeezing Bitty’s hand tightly. “Let’s do this.”

Shitty laughed softly. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

Following Jack, the rest of them walked forward, towards the light. Jack turned, just moments before, and met Bitty’s gaze, piercing and sad and full of love, before everything turned white.

#omgcpheartbreakfest #anna writes things #check please!#zimbits #major character death ///

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alleycat4eva · 7 years

Text

Stray Fallow Chapter

So I actually wrote two chapters following along the branches of the storyline. In one she stays with the group. In the other, Maly would have gone with Daryl and Carol.

This is that chapter, the one in which peeing becomes a plot point.

Her guard does not speak, and Maly is content to while away the hours of her wary observations in silence, even when Squirrel Killer comes to take over watch.

Hushed tones overtake rushed conversation and the new watcher shifts. The pounding in Maly’s head becomes a dull ache and her nausea fades into a sense of distant unease. A tiredness about her, but she does not think she will sleep tonight. It is not just the hard ground beneath her, so unlike the safety of her suspended hammock, but the fact that danger doesn’t lurk here as much as it looms.

She will give the group this; she has not been violated, has not been tortured or mangled. So far they have not bound her and have not maimed her.

They stole her things, she was attacked and captured. She was coerced into working and playing guide. In her opinion, they are inefficient, wasteful, and loud. They are lying to themselves and chasing fantasy, but she considers maybe she herself is the odd one out in more ways than one. Father Gabriel seems content to appease them, interacted and talked with them. He was scared but social enough.

They have not treated her with the vileness she bore witness to. She was given food and water, and she believes that had she wanted to pace the area, they may have let her.

This group, for all its faults, is not purposefully malevolent. It is hardened, but the people within are bound to each other. They work well and the large majority seems peaceable with one another, not enforcing ranks with dire threats and harm. A band of friends, if not family, holding on to a civilized aspect Maly no longer has.

If she’s right, her damning sin was that she wasn’t part of this secular group and that she posed a threat to them in some way. They did not know her, could not tell if she was a scout or an agent for a larger gang. She gets that now.

Maybe it is morbid, and perhaps it is the head injury talking, but she takes comfort in the fact that the largest threat they have given her is death. Not slavery, not torture. Just death and she accepted that she would die someday before this all began.

Maly closes her eyes, not to sleep, but just to rest.

And not thirty minutes later, she has to pee.

She opens her eyes again, vaguely inconvenienced by her body. For a moment she thinks about not saying anything, but the logic doesn’t follow. She has to piss, so piss she must.

Maly levels her gaze at the dirty, unkept stranger lounging across the pew nearest to her. He scans the room idly, eventually making his way back to the corner she sits in. She doesn’t want to go with him, and even before this being alone with a man could be considered dangerous, but she has little choice.

There’s a moment thick with silent starring.

“I have to piss,” Maly states, slowly forming the sounds.

The man continues staring for a moment. He cocks his jaw to the side, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to see if this is some sort of trick she’s pulling.

Whatever he finds must be acceptable, because he shoulders his weapon and stands. Maly leans forward, keeping her eyes on him as she gets to her feet. As Michonne did before him, he gestures for her to go forward so he can’t be attacked from behind. The knowledge of him behind her prickles at her skin, a constant awareness that makes her itch.

Still, she takes the lead toward the church doors and the woods outside. There’s no running water inside anymore, hasn’t been for a while. Thus the call of nature is finished in nature, a great and unavoidable truth.

The cool air that hits her face is a relief, and some of the stuffiness she felt before clears from her mind. The sound of cicadas and crickets rushes over her, accented by the cheeping calls of frogs. The wild almost always makes noise.

She wants to slip into it, but her bag remains inside, as do her weapons. She knows her limits and having nothing but the clothes on her back while being hunted through the woods in a world full of the hungry dead is one of them.

She takes her time moving down the steps, stretching the short walk a few hundred yards away from the church itself. From the corner of her eyes, she catches shapes, shadows hanging loosely in the underbrush a short distance away. As with before, she is conflicted. On one hand, she understands that she has been a food source for them and that random reinforcement such as sporadic feeding can garner better results than structured reinforcement. On the other hand, the meat-pack knows very well the dangers of people and they should have left already, headed back to the school or someplace else farther away.

Her silent observation is not the only one, and the man behind her speaks softly. Like his steps, his voice barely registers above the din of the background noise.

“They got the scraps, earlier.”

Maly stops walking, turning her gaze to Squirrel Killer. Her eyes are still adjusting from the light of the church, as meager as it was. She sees little more than his silhouette, the features of his face blurred and shaded away, the colors of his dirty clothes lost to her completely.

“Raggedy little bastards snatched it up from the bushes during dinner.”

She considers this, looking back out at to where meat-pack members move. She might not have noticed if the boy did it shortly after she spoke with Michonne, or any time her focus was on her own food. It’s plausible, especially if it was an independently initiated action instead of a delegated one.

“Good,” is all she manages to say before she starts moving again. Good that it wasn’t wasted. Good that they tossed it instead of feeding by hand. Good that they did something right.

They continue on, and Maly eventually finds a place to empty her bladder, a grand bathroom decorated it the classic style of ‘behind a tree’. It still bothers her greatly that there is someone else a few feet away, something she hasn’t had to consider since public restroom stalls were a thing, but there is no other option.

She sets herself to rights and briefly thinks about a surprise attack, but shit like that is the stuff of fiction, movies, and special ops. Her guard has the height, weight, and reach advantage, not to mention an actual weapon. Maly is concussed and she faces the same issues with running free that she did before. A risk she would be an idiot to take, so instead she begins to head back.

Only to stop when the soft crunching of leaves fill her ears, heavy and human.

Her eyes now more adjusted to the light, she stops and looks toward the sound. Short hair, gray and silver, is only just visible through the foliage. It’s the woman from before -the one who reminds her of dangerous waters- and Maly is content to let her be.

Squirrel Killer, it seems, has other ideas.

Before she can step forward, the grimy man comes forward just enough to raise his hand in front of her silently signaling for her to stop. She obeys because doesn’t really want to be on the losing end of a fight again.

He squints at her, then the woman, as if weighing his options.

Squirrel Killer jerks his head towards silver hair, and Maly cannot help but think that whatever his thoughts are, they can’t be worth much. It takes a special kind of dumbass to wander farther than shouting distance from base alone with a prisoner. That, or he has complete faith in his abilities to trounce her ass if she tries anything.

He does have all the cards if it comes to it.

Having apparently stalled too long for his tastes, he grips her by the arm and tugs her forward. She stumbles, and the noise is apparently enough to warrant him threateningly pushing his fingers against his cracking lips.

Maly stares. She was loud because he yanked her. Cause and effect. The man is stupid. She has no obligation to him, and at any point she could make enough noise to alert the woman to their presence.

She isn’t sure why she doesn’t. Maybe it is because the cool night air feels better than the stuffy church ever could, or that the sounds of nature are without the fear and wariness that hounded her. She feels safer here in the dark woods, not surrounded by people sounds and candlelight. There no talking, no scuffing of shoes and stifled coughs.

Just her and a guard, trailing a lone woman as she eventually makes her way farther and farther away. Maly recognizes where she is headed when a dirt road becomes visible, some green town car pulled off near the main highway not a mile away.

Sure enough, that is where they end up. Or where Silver ends up. Maly finds herself forcibly crouched in a thorn bush, eyeing the crossbow that has migrated to Squirrel Killer’s hands, wondering if he’s about to kill the woman.

But no, that is not what happens. Instead he watches the woman as she sets about checking the car, unhooking a hidden battery charger, walking around to close the trunk with something obviously weighing on her mind.

Maly doesn’t care what it is. She’s only here because it would be stupid to try anything otherwise.

Squirrel Killer moves again, hauling Maly up by her arm. He makes noise, using his weapon to guide tree limbs out of his path instead of avoiding them and tearing through the thorn bush instead of picking his way out of it.

The woman has a gun pointed their way faster than Maly can blink, expression going from considering to stone cold killer in half a heart beat. A frightening switch, but supporting evidence to the fact that this woman is dangerous.

Squirrel Killer pays the gun little heed, continuing on until they walk out of the treeline with his bow in one hand and dragging Maly in another, unperturbed.

“Hey,” he greets eloquently.

A look of confusion crosses the woman's face that doubles when she notices Maly, but she lowers the gun, much to the captives relief.

“Scared me half to death, Daryl,” Silver replies softly in an admonishing voice, like pointing a weapon at them was nothing. “What are you doing out here with them?”

Squirrel Killer shrugs like they didn’t just walk a mile and some through the goddamn woods at night to follow her.

“What’re you doing?” He asks in return.

The woman looks to him, then to her. If Maly was not there, she thinks the woman may have spoken. It seems like these two are close.

It doesn’t matter. She is here, and it is what it is.

The man gestures with his head back the way they came, as if all Silver got lost by herself and just needed the help finding her way again.

“C’mon.”

Silver sighs, about to step after him, but the revving of a car engine in the distance cut through the night above the sounds of nature. A yank on her arm has her being shoved towards Silver, and she’s herded away from the highway to hide in a crouch behind the trunk between the other two.

A car flies by on the main highway, speeding on the streets that have been long abandoned. Squirrel Killer slips forward once it’s barely past, racing up to where the dirt road merges with a pavement one, and stares after it.

Then he comes racing back, crossbow in his hands, and smashes the tail light by Maly’s head for no apparent reason.

Maly stares.

“Wait! What are you doing!?” Silver asks, equally confused.

“They got Beth. C’mon, get in!”

“What about her?”

Squirrel Killer looks up from busting the other tail-light, staring down at where Maly is hunched.

“Get in and stay good, I’ll get you your shit back.”

Which is a hard decision to make in a split second, but considering she’s pretty sure the other options include a bolt through the eye or being unarmed in the woods at night, it’s an obvious choice.

Maly gets in the car.

There are no words for how strange it is to be in a car after so long without motorized vehicles, not even counting the other two people in it with her.

Her brain idly notes momentum at speeds greater than Maly could ever replicate on foot, a given fact that she has always intellectually known and something that never bothered her before. Now, after hiking hundred of miles, there is a weird dissonance of registering the fact that they are moving, fast, and her body is still seated.

It does not help that the backseat is small when compared to the outdoors, or even the church. It’s too tight, too cramped. Odd, right down to the faux-leather seats.

Maly decides she is not a fan of cars anymore.

“Goddamn you stink.”

Maly spares an unimpressed look to the people in front of her, tired and weary from the day she’s had. She is aware she stinks, and that she stank before she fell in the fetid slime water of the food bank. It is unpleasant, yes, but there was -and is- no way to remedy the situation. An unnecessary comment from Squirrel Killer.

The silence lingers. It is fine with Maly. Apparently, it is not so with the other two.

“How do you know they took Beth?” Silver asks. Her voice is quiet, her tone undemanding but firm.

“Me an’ her were camped at a funeral home after the group was separated. Walkers got in. Told her to run ahead and I’d find her, but I ran up and a car with a white cross like that snatched her up an' pulled away.”

In the backseat, Maly shifts to get a better view of the car far ahead of them. Sure enough, there is a white cross across the rearview window, though if it is taped or painted she cannot tell.

Her movement is noticed.

A head turns, and keen eyes bore into her. Another set, she thinks, of unsettling blue.

She meets these ones too.

“You know them.”

Maly shakes her head.

There’s the click of a hammer, and for the second time that night, Maly has a gun pointed at her by Silver.

It’s not as alarming as it was at first, Maly thinks. She’s starting to lose count on how many times these people have aimed one her way, she thinks. But as always, the worse thing they can think of is death. It is telling.

“We want our people back,” Silver tells her coolly.

Maly levels her a blank look.

“Give her time. She don’t talk fast.”

She’s spoken more in the past day than she has in an entire year. There was no need to speak fast before now. There were only dogs.

“Four days southwest of town,” Maly states eventually. “A wrecked van with white crosses with papers belonging to Grady Memorial.”

“See?” Squirrel Killer says after a moment. “Just give her time.”

#fallow #fanfic #twd #alternative chapter #tumblr special content

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glopratchet · 4 years

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gator-weapons

apons "and" you say The old man looks at you and then turns to the door He opens it, revealing a large room with several tables filled with various foodstuffs and other items of interest There are also several men standing around in various uniforms who look up as he enters Quick aim vs slow aim You quickly take out one of them with your shotgun, but the others fire back You duck behind cover and wait for more to come As they continue firing upon each other, you realize that this is going to be very difficult The soldiers seem to have some sort of laser sight on their rifles, so you're not sure if you'll even hit anything with your shotgun ; (which isn't exactly accurate anyway) Heavy blowgun- best gun in the game The soldiers clearly rely on theirs a great deal, you should be better than them You silently curse your reliance on weapons in the first place Regardless, now isn't the time to think Time to act You pull out your heavy bumblebee nest pistol and leap out from behind the counter, aiming at the nearest soldier and squeezing off a shot Throw a fence pole like a spear You grab a nearby fencepost and hurl it at the soldier You hit him and knock his laser sight off target long enough to allow you to kill him this has alerted the remaining soldiers of your position and now they are all firing at you Throw a fence pole like a spear Golf ball - sweet spot You pick up the nearest object, a glass bottle of some sort of violet liquid and swing it at the bottles along the top shelves, knocking them over and making quite a loud noise The soldiers are distracted by this, allowing you to rush at them and get close enough to kill them all with your shotgun Golf ball - sweet spot Fence post - slow and easy to read The soldiers, upon hearing the clamor of falling glass turn towards it and away from you You rush in and kill the soldier nearest you with your shotgun Pepper spray - temporary blindess for humans, big distraction for low brain capability mutants You decide to implement your plan by drawing on your old faithful, pepper spray Fence post - slow and easy to read Spear - hunting gear You pick up your trusty spear which has served you well on many an adventure You carefully sneak through the underbrush towards the source of the noise It's very dense so it takes some time, but you hear loud crashing nearby and proceed in that direction You find one of the villagers stumble out the underbrush on the other side of a fallen tree It looks like he's been hurt, probably from whatever creature made that first noise Spear - hunting gear Lance - good to keep wildlife away You decide that you need to arm yourself if you're going to protect the others from any more big animals, or kill it if necessary Slingshot - ammo is tasty frogs You already have your trusty slingshot, with its lone projectile ready to be speed towards an opponent's eye at a moments notice Lance - good to keep wildlife away Long lance - disarm and control your enemies from afar You pick up the long lance strapped to the side of the fallen tree You had used it when hunting large prey a few times during your stay at this village Man these things get REALLY destructive with this! You grab a large piece of scrap metal Lever action - High force, low damage; Slow reload You quickly grab a lever action rifle from one of the many gun stores in town Long lance - disarm and control your enemies from afar Spirit blade - sharp and powerful; melts into your hand You find a spirit sword in the wreckage of the shops, its blade pulsating and humming despite being embedded into a wall You draw on your ability to melt through things with your mind and pull it free, continuing to boost its speed and cutting power until its weight and momentum serve to keep it humming through the air without effort on your part Spirit blade - sharp and powerful; Fire blade - Fire based sword no metal, but not durable You pick up a burning piece of wood from a nearby charred table, and begin to choke up on it as if it were a baseball bat, warming up your swing in the hopes of a good placement into the brain pan of any opponent you may face Fire blade - Fire based sword no metal, Great sword - Powerful, heavy You pick up one of the many large swords laying about on the floor and heft it It's definitely unwieldy, but with enough strength behind it, it'll do some real damage A glancing blow would crush a head, a direct hit would slice through bone and organs You pick up a long knife from the wreckage Great sword - Powerful, Dual blades - high difficulty in aiming - Higher chance of cutting enemies You pick up another knife and take it in your off hand With your enemies so close together, you'd need to learn a whole new style to use these effectively They're too delicate and high- priced for you to just practice by throwing them at prey they're sharp, and good for trapping under hard circumstances Dual blades - high difficulty in aiming - Higher chance of cutting enemies Saws Boomstick-so you like explosions-- most predators know something you don't You grab an old shotgun from the wreckage and glance it over It might be useful, but most of all, the shells are easy to reload And The ammo is easy to come by--as long as it isn't fire, a few shotgun shells can dispatch even the largest beast you'd meet in the western realms You pick up some shells and slide them into your side pouches Boomstick-so you like explosions--most predators know something you don't All your opponents will endure a glorifed explosize demise You take a few packs of the mini-sticks of dynamite laying around and slide them into your pouches as well They're more useful as bombs than for their intended purpose, but you rely on explosions C4 motherfucker firecracker bomb ; (light the wick then get the hell outta there) Tomahawks Throwing knives-higher accuracy but shorter range There are more, but they all link back to the same ones Elemental--more situational- greater damage potential but extremely inconvenient to carry around Elemental--more situational- greater damage potential but extremely inconvenient to carry around If match alligators elemental weakness --may be able to utilizing to an extent You put off your decisions and concentrate on surviving the now, focusing on any ability that will allow you get out of this situation After searching for anything worthwhile, you find an old tattered backpack and begin putting a few objects inside it Although you don? t expect anyone else will, you realize a GPS would? ve been very useful right about now If match alligators elemental weakness--may be able to utilizing to an extent Foundmental--great for general use -limited on power Source You finish up and put away the backpack, hitting yourself in the head once or twice for losing focus so quickly and easily As you turn to walk away, you hear a low rumbling You pause It could be anything--a large dog, a asphalt truck--but your instincts are screaming at you, and years of relying on them have taught you to never ignore their warnings Foundmental--great for general use-limited on power Source Deal large amount of impact damage box-crusher--breaks through most Defenses The rumbling seems to be coming from behind the stage Slowly creeping up to it, you prepare yourself for anything what is wrong with you today? First you freeze up at the museum and now you're lurking around a corner, hoping to get jumped by some-- You blink as you watch a motorcycle reverse itself out of a previously unused parking area A figure in dark leathers and a helmet sits on it Boom-boomstick --guns, lots of guns You are gifted with a clear shot at the rider and you don? t intend on missing You slowly exhale as your finger applies pressure on the trigger-- Arrows--sharp and pointy enough to go through Plasteel Before you can fire you are knocked clean off your feet by an explosion A single bead of sweat falls from your forehead as you aim for his back, double checking for any potential explosives on thecycle Boom-boomstick--guns, Secondary button appears which lets you send off a intail charge of fire gas, or electricution As you fall, you struggle to maintain consciousness Everything seems far away as you watch a figure creep up on the unsuspecting biker Bodies--lifeless and mindschooled--are no match against your opponent of course, but you? re just glad that it isn? t you Secondary button appears which lets you send off a intail charge of fire, Globhammer --Fun for the whole family Yank! You watch in horror as a young girl barely older than fourteen yanks the biker off his bike by his leg She's clad in rags and stinkso foul you can smell her from where you're lying Does she really think she can-- Before you realize what's happening, the last thing you see is the biker flying upside down straight toward your head Globhammer--Fun for the whole family Slow clumsy mess es up the joint work "Meliodas! " you spit Rebound--Off The Rim! Slow clumsy messes up the joint work Sheer simpicility and brute strength- make the monster see stars You scramble up trying to avoid the incoming teenager but fail, as you inability to move quickly due to weight and the force with which you were launched towards hits proves too great a failure You feel your head smashing into the cold concrete--then blackness Delivery jam Metal prongs inside handheld captureannon bolts out holding chamber commonly used by law enforcement and military forces When you wake up, you're surprised to find yourself still alive despite the great pain wracking your entire body Your arms, your legs, even your face all throb in horrible sensations which you've never felt before Even your eyes hurt! As you groan, several other figures appear Their ragged clothing and pale bodies make them appear almost undead as they loom over you Bee drone --quiet, flies silently "He's alive! " one hisses You grunt in acknowledgement, still agonizing over your various wounds "Don't kill him! Captain Todd said we need to take him back alive! Feeling hands take you by the arms and legs, you squeak out in terror as they lift you into the air Your mumbling and whimperings do not go unheard "Shut him up! " one of them hisses Bee drone--quiet, Fire a marker round- explosive, incendiary or blase, marker rounds leave a color trail behind ricocheting projectiles In desperation you release a burst of energy, releasing a concentrated blast of fire and burning the faces off three of your six captors Disgorging a burst of plant ash and soot, as well as burning others' exposed skin, you manage to reach down to your holster and fire off one magazine of bullets into another's chest Fire a marker round- explosive, Bee flies in the general direction of object lost without a guiding hand From there, you manage to snatch another mutant's knife and stab another in the throat with it Seeing their brethren falling like flies, some of them flee, too scared to handle you The others surround you as rather than flying into a rage and breaking free from their grasp, you calmly assess the situation You're amidst a junkyard full of rusted cars and other garbage, the yellow-white sun shining down upon you Bee flies in the general direction of object Does not guarentee it will hit the correct spot Sweat builds up on your forehead as you realize that this is it Here, in this junkyard, monster against mutant No hunter, no human, no lava monkey will save you It's just you, the mutant and whatever fate Creator has in store for you! Bone glaive fragmentation burst - reckless and imprecise risky at close range WHAT WILL YOU DO? To battle! Show these junkyard scum how a real monster fights! Invite "friends" over for a "party" Bone glaive fragmentation burst - reckless and imprecise Gather pheromones [ INSTRUCTIONS ] Gather pheromones [ INSTRUCTIONS ] Speed nectar influx--your human blood should easily overpower any competition Hunt--your stomach continues to rumble as you think about fresh meat Hide- try to blend with your environment and fool your hunters Speed nectar influx--your human blood should easily overpower any competition Dragon nectar affects this creature in many ways which way will you lean? Turn fellow mutant into a fireball flinging suicide bomb 0% 1 voter Remote control friendly Mutants -- watch the carnage unfold! Whistle loudly and draw Human enemies away from the fighting (no nectar/gene donor) Stay out of the fight--your time will come! 25% Charge in on your mecha busting your way through Dragon nectar affects this creature in many ways Ice nectar Freeze and shatter enemies 15% Blacken the sun--Darken the sky--Blind and disorient all with ash and soot! 15% 1 voter Use pheromones--influence what you can't see! 10% Reconnect controls to mecha 60% Toggle description for interactive story Stay out of the fight--your time will come! Ice nectar! Increase attack power using your mecha's weapons 25% Weaken enemy forces by drawing out Human enemies 35% 5 votes B ECOME THE BEES! 28% Increase attack power using your mecha's weapons 19% Use pheromones--influence what you can't see! 21% Reconnect controls to mecha 29% 4 votes STEALTH ATTACK 0% Turn fellow mutant into a fireball flinging suicide bomb 0% Ice nectar! Increase attack power using your mecha's weapons Speed up attacks 25% Dissolve targets with caustic chemicals! 40% 3 votes Turn fellow mutant into a fireball flinging suicide bomb 18% Wait for nightfall and catch mutants off guard 27% Attack immediately! 26% You need to heal - take a nectar now! Speed up attacks! Improve jumping height by 25% for 2 minutes! How about some Fire Resistant nectar? Increases fire resistance by 50% for 1 minute! (Flammable) You store a Numbness nectar - gives brief relief from pain for 5 minutes Them plant some confusion makes the targets hostile to each other rather than you 0% 1 voter The ol' adrenaline effect - use 20% more stamina so you can keep fighting! 0% 2 votes Weapon poison! Improve jumping height by 25% for 2 minutes! Some chariots cant go to some places even if they wanted to! You need to distract the enemies if you want some others to bring the cure! Some chariots cant go to some places even if they wanted to! Unshakeable skill - you will never be knocked over by attacks! You successfully cover the mutants in Honey then set it alight You sit back and relax--wait for mutants to break skin on enemies before leaving! 0% Your stomach rumbles not long after you start your retreat you realize that sharing the kludged Intestine ooze with a dozen mutants took its toll but still, who's counting? Unshakeable skill - you will never be knocked over by attacks! Minor wind resistance --wind resistance attacks only slow you down by 25% Your flying away triggered a more or less mutual defense protocol The remaining mutants stayed and fight the mutants who wanted to chase you; the ones who pursued you were unprepared mentally and physically and couldn't keep up with you You flash a trucker when you realize he could make better time than you when kludging the vial You have him exit from a large town first, then subdue--and dose-- him Minor wind resistance--wind resistance attacks only slow you down by 25% Mid grade earplugs -- reduces mutants' abilities to locate you Your shock collar appears to have triggered when you panicked at Nuro's destruction Feeling like it was a really bad idea to stay and possibly be captured AGAIN, you intensionally crash your plane into a group of evilly grinning mutants Mid grade earplugs-- reduces mutants' abilities to locate you Impact aka ko damage resistant When this is combined with lightweight, it makes for a great-- if suicidal-- plan of rushing out in the face of bigger enemies and slamming them until they fall Annoyed your allies decided to buy time for you, you use up all of your energy quickly to search for others- which involves flying over Greenland, Canada and Northern China You find some traces that indicate possible safe zones in Russia, and settle on heading there Impact aka ko damage resistant King of constant damage Reduce all damage you take to a constant 2 Because its easily to hide out of every attack from ground pounders you've been leaving miles between yourself and anyone else for the past 5 days You keep an eye out for stragglers and survivors but so far its just been you-- probably a good thing since the two girvinites that have the misfortune of spotting you both burst into flames before they can even scream Finally you land near a forested-mountain area from which radiates eerie whistles and howls must be Mutant Town, err Home Because its easily to hide out of every attack from ground pounders you've been leaving miles between yourself and anyone else for the past 5 days Aggressive and offensive playstyle where you dance circles around the alligator maximus before finishing it off You're almost tempted to use an escape too but you've all been upgraded since the last time you used one-- The first few times you pulled that stunt American Agents shot you in the back and you learnt: No more for me thanks Of course in this body its even easier than before since all you have is blood, marrow, brains, guts and organs Aggressive and offensive playstyle where you dance circles around the alligator maximus before finishing it off Some boomsticks can use the environment to there advantage by setting a oil slick alight, shooting through holes in thin-stone walls, dropping lanterns and so on You hardly dare use your powers in such a manner The only times you have before terrified game out of their wits Raising your fists you walk out towards them; unsure of how to approach without being autistic about it You catch sight of a few stares but reservedly accept you Can't be too hard to fit in right? Some boomsticks can use the environment to there advantage by setting a oil slick alight, The only boomstick which can perform a mount attack while going up a ledge Add aditional bonuses when the setting is canyon or cliff sides Your blunt force trauma resist and original body type has you feeling more resistance to knives and spears than others your level 3 extra defenses The number of tests run off of you, has been off the charts compared to all other super-soldiers in history You'll recover much faster from injuries 2 recover quickly from agility, range and endurance testing, 1 with a friend for language, immersion and teamwork boosts Sacirfice stleath for all out offense tree Use of actual ; (short) combos to launch, knock down and finish opponents with brutal efficiency An example would be say Foot-Stab, Fist-to-the-face, Head-Before-You-Snap-It Different styles affect your playstyle Each turn you can pick an attack or a defense 5 upgrades to hand to hand weaponery such as bone clubs, knives, daggers and other privities Sacirfice stleath for all out offense tree The defination of a purelty offensive approach to fighting Each attack boosts offense but lowers defense severely, smooth with daggers weapons at end game granting 4X offense at cost of NO defense Black Tongue: Take human souls and devour the flesh to heal Most take a bite then spit the rest out, you swallow Difficult to use properly The defination of a purelty offensive approach to fighting devoicing and leaving yourself open, unless paired with a shield You complete lose the ability to speak normally Can also be used tactically to pause a foe's assault or terrify soon-to-be meals into fleeing Offers near immunity to noise ambush attacks and can cause non-hits like feral shrieks or loud bangs Acrobatics tree provides better finesse when climbing, leaping and dodging without need of weapons or objects Difficult to use properly; A bit gimmicky if you ask me, all three trees You take the harder approach, shutting the thing in the burned out bus with a freshly killed Half toe corpse before dragging it into the woods Careful not to get to much pus on yourself or your clothes, you head back home where after a trip to the scrap heap you drag home an old washing machine and tip it over beside the trap A bit gimmicky if you ask me, The true deliveror of the swamp The 90's had grunge, 2000 had rap and club mega collas and 2010 had crunk But the 2020's? It'll have Horrorcore, power through so meaningful lyrics over dirty south beats and enough bass to blow thesubwoofers of previous generations At least, that's what you're aiming for Ever since That Year, the decaying suburbs have been slowly but surely taken over by self-professed musicians You've been hanging around Keira too much Whatever, these 'musicians' are kids with G Clean vocals who learning guitar online and studio pre-recorded bass or whatever else they can get out of their computers Keyboards are a given No one REALLY plays instruments anymore you might be able to make something out of them eventually So long as they don't swear Keira will kill you if they swear Hmm, you've got a long way to go, but maybe if you can get a couple of tracks out of them to Keira's liking, who knows? your mother hounds you every three days to visit the Proctologentologist she bought for you after the hospital released you what kind of dumb-butt name w-wait a minute! That's next on your agenda! you sure do love paperwork Wearily Standing at the bottom of the stairs, you eye the jar sitting there with disgust Inside is a mass of writhing, flailing excrement which is moving, slowly in an circular motion thanks to the worms crawling around in it at least you know your mom is feeding it As for why? You don't even want to THINK about it Your basement apartment isn't that bad it's livable Sort of It's still a basement and the walls are made of half cement and half-brick, with a wooden door as the only entrance and small windows too high to see out of or to be seen from Your bed is a inflatable mattress that's always struggling to keep itself upright while you put your belongings in a several trash bags with unknown stains on them to ensure that everything stays dry livable Waste disposal is non-existent so you're forced to use the 'facilities' as your mother calls it in a small plastic bucket in the corner It's dry And replaced every once in a while But it's better than holding it like some people do! why am I thinking about this Television helps sometimes, although the reception here is pretty poor You can barely even get Animal planet or the Travel channel, whereas some houses a few uphill get full high-definition Again, your mother mother It's still weird for you to think about her like that Always will be in some ways but really now It's not like she's your real mother, or even a step mother

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attendantdesign-blog · 7 years

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New Post has been published on Attendantdesign

New Post has been published on http://attendantdesign.com/americans-traveling-to-north-korea-face-serious-risk-of-arrest-detention/

Americans traveling to North Korea face serious risk of arrest, detention

Tour warnings for American vacationers eager on North Korea have usually been dire with admonitions from the U.S. State Department about the threat of arrest, lengthy-time period detention, coerced public statements and public trials.

This week a brand new alert changed into brought — something sounding a lousy lot like becoming a prisoner of battle: “North Korea’s system of regulation enforcement … Threaten(s) U.S. Citizen detainees with being treated in accordance with ‘wartime regulation,’ ” a revised State Department Travel caution said.

The up to date language follows the ultra-modern heightening of tensions between the U.S. And North Korea in July while the Obama administration for the primary time imposed non-public sanctions against North Korean Chief Kim Jong Un for human rights abuses.

North Korea responded by way of calling the pass an “act of battle” and severed one of the remaining final conversation channels among the 2 nations through North Korea’s United nations challenge in Big apple.

North Korea: U.S. Declared warfare with sanctions North Korea also stated it would start detaining People “underneath the wartime law of the DPRK,” the acronym for the Democratic Human beings’ Republic of Korea. The revised Tour warning from the Kingdom Department become the outcome.

“This replace adds facts related to North Korea’s published threats approximately how it’s going to deal with U.S. citizens inside the DPRK,” Kevin Brosnahan, spokesman for the Bureau of Consular Affairs at the Country Department, stated Friday.

Andrea Lee, CEO and founding father of one of the few U.S.-based totally Travel companies running in North Korea, stated the fierce warnings have proven to be a “double-edged sword” for tourism.

“On the one hand, sure, it’s not high quality. But alternatively, it makes Human beings curious and that they want to go and spot it for themselves,” Lee said.

In addition to sites inside the capital of Pyongyang, the united states function scenic mountains or even surfing and snowboarding opportunities. There is additionally a sense of excitement about journeying to a country few outsiders have seen, Lee said.

“I absolutely think it’s a type of this sense of journey. Human beings are bored with going to the identical vintage places. People need to see the sector and they need to go to places nobody else has been to earlier than,” Lee stated.

She said her New Jersey primarily based Uri Tours takes approximately 500 People into North Korea each yr and has had simplest lost one traveler detained in the communist united states of America. Matthew Miller becomes taken into custody when he arrived with a Uri tour group in 2014, tore up his visa and said he became looking for asylum. He turned into released 8 months later.

Lee maintains that Travel into North Korea is safe. “However you do want to comply with the regulations,” she stated.

The State Branch stated at the least 14 People have been detained in North Korea inside the beyond 10 years. The various today’s was Virginia pupil Otto Warmbier, who became sentenced to 15 years of hard exertions after peeling a poster off a hotel wall for the duration of a visit to North Korea with an excursion organization in January. He becomes convicted of subversion. The Obama administration has demanded the 21-12 months-antique pupil’s launch.

it is doubtful how many Individuals try and go to North Korea. Tourism is carried out almost exclusively through Beijing and excursion companies. The London-based Telegraph reported earlier this year that five,000 to six,000 foreigners visit North Korea every yr.

U.S. Urges North Korea to release American student The Kingdom Department warns Individuals that any of some of in any other case innocent acts may be handled as crimes in North Korea, together with owning material essential of the authorities, having “unauthorized” interplay with North Korean citizens, buying at unauthorized shops or, as took place in Warmbier’s case, “removing or tampering with political slogans and signs and symptoms or pictures of political leaders.”

U.S. places N.Ok. Chief Kim Jong Un on sanctions listing for human rights abuses On the grounds that there aren’t any diplomatic ties between the U.S. And North Korea, There may be little the Yankee authorities can do if a tourist is arrested, the Country Department warns.

Listening excursion

the primary broadly determined national second of silence befell in Britain in 1919, in commemoration of the nation’s inaugural Armistice Day. For 2 mins, switchboard operators declined to connect smartphone calls, subway automobiles and manufacturing facility wheels ground to a halt, and regular citizens held their tongues. Within 10 years, the somber annual subculture had grown so famous that the BBC began to air the sound of the silence. One broadcaster mused that the communal silence served as a “solvent which destroys personalities and offers us go away to be notable and time-honored.”

Whilst State-sanctioned silence changed into a novel, the sentiment of the broadcaster was now not. Silence has long acted as a leveler of ego. From the communal meditation that opens Quaker conferences to the lulling quiet that defines the lives of Buddhist clergymen, silence is significant to diverse religious traditions. “For many Humans, silence is the way God speaks to us, and while we ourselves are in silence, we are speak the language of the soul,” observes George Prochnik, author of a previous e-book approximately Sigmund Freud and the American psychologist James Jackson Putnam. In his charming new ebook, In Pursuit of Silence, Prochnik units out to apprehend the complex motives for silence’s power.

Silence enriches the intellectual life of human beings, However, as Prochnik shows, it ensures the very survival of a few in the animal state. by being silent, animals keep away from detection by using predators and sharpen their wits. Prochnik highlights the interesting case of the pink-eyed tree frog, whose embryos are able to distinguish the vibrations of a raindrop from the motion of a hungry snake. when the vibrations are due to a snake, the embryos in advance launch themselves from their jellied grasp and try to continue to exist of their underdeveloped Kingdom.

The inability to hear (or experience vibrations, a related skill) spells doom for some animals. But the biologically imposed silence of deafness, as a minimum in people, frequently results in an acute appreciation of the closing senses. Prochnik factors out that at Gallaudet College, the most desirable American institution of higher training for the deaf, college and workforce cultivate Deaf Space, an attractive philosophy of architecture that emphasizes herbal light, soft shapes, and colonnades and porches-“Space that facilitates People stay in each different’s visual include.”

If silence has such a lot of advantages, why are head-splitting rock concert events popular and iPods ubiquitous? In part due to the fact loud sounds have their pleasures. As explained by one partisan of increase cars-which sports subwoofers capable of producing extra noise than is audible 30 ft away from a jet at the takeoff-the sound the stories is “sensual.” But Humans additionally crowd their lives with noise, Prochnik incisively argues, because they’re proof against the virtues that silence exemplifies: contemplation, attention, prudence, and reticence.

Garret Keizer, a contributing editor at Harper’s, tackles basically the same subject, But from the opposite give up, within the Undesirable Sound of The whole thing We need. Perceptions of noise vary, he notes-Swedish and Dutch scientists have located that People lodge fewer noise proceedings about windmills when they financially benefit from their use. Yet he factors out that “noise took a quantum soar with industrialization,” and the racket was compounded with the advent of the car and the airplane.

The extent in many locations around the sector is now objectively dangerous (one infant in eight in the U.S. suffers from hearing loss), and Keizer argues that saddled with bad infrastructure and fewer resources, Human beings at the social margins are disproportionately affected. He recognizes that when as compared to poverty, violence, and sickness, noise is a minor environmental issue. But with noise as his motive, he seizes the possibility to decry The united states’ “loud” political discourse and climate exchange stoked with the aid of noisy factories.

Both Prochnik and Keizer quit their books with policy prescriptions. Prochnik would really like to see greater pocket parks in towns, At the same time as Keizer thinks that we have to stay nearer together to reduce our assist of the carbon-spewing car enterprise. These ideas are not off the mark, However, given how subjective noise is, the concept that we possess the strength to form our personal auditory Area is strangely lacking. You can discover inner calm inside the cacophony of rush hour, in spite of everything, or be plagued with racing thoughts in a tranquil park. A quieter lifestyle aren’t only a count number of taking note of our physical environments, But additionally to ourselves.

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