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boltslutters · 3 months

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Are all your ocs robots in some way? Or I guess what species would you classify them as (for the non tf ones)?

Nope! They might look like it, but a large portion of my ocs are anthro dragons because my writing started as a wof au and it'll cherish those roots goddamnit. And some of the more robotic ones too aren't man-made, so it's like a flavor of biological. As for species, 90% of them are made up for this world specifically. Of the ones in the image, the non-man-made-robot and organic/semi-organic species are:

Illizyka's species isn't named, but she's a void-corrupted creature that uses a metal body to be able to interact and operate in any world as sol pleases.

Don't have much on this gal's species, but it's bug-like with a chitinous exoskeleton.

9H7R-A (Niesserae)'s species is the closest to organic machine I have. They are specifically lab-grown and designed to keep a highly mechanical and technically precise civilization running essentially forever.

I think this guy is mechanical, but he sure as shit doesn't stay that way for long.

Peyon is part of a race of mortals who compliment and worship their gods. They're small, mammalian, and are trait-dependent to which god/arcana they live in. Doll is their sentient doll based off an old sona of mine.

Don't remember this guy. Think their species is semi-mechanical

This guy is completely mechanical, but wasn't built by mankind, instead, by a self-sustaining mechanical race of quadrupeds I call Cyclers due to wheels they hold on their body magnetically. (there's actually lots of more ocs of this species, but they have distinct beaked snouts instead of strict triangle and I was not going to subject myself to more torture than I had too).

Rose, Thunder, & Torus are all members of a species of insanely powerful but insanely empathic species that runs the dominant governmental body of the main world. Torus was on a diplomatic mission, had too much of their old power and was too empathetic. Through accident, they became an amnesiac and through their empathetic powers, latched onto the memories and emotions of the local populous, and ended up believing they were a member of said species and would live on before someone figured out.

Killjoy, Toizon, Heron, Guziel, Datar, Banott, Stung, & Professor Tebya are all pat of a race known as Ermista or Ista depending on how badly I cringe at the name Ermista. They're a race of bug/bird-like bipeds who completely lack sexual dimorphism, live on a planet with a sun that hates them, and has a metamorphosis where they get their wings.

Of any race here, Ermista have the most lore and culture, such as most Ermista who live up north tend to live in small villages. Most know how to hand-weave fabric, as they make a flag they put into the ground to mark where they're cocooning (they go through metamorphosis unground), then carry that flag through the rest of their lives as a mark of identity and a sort of right of passage. They have different systems of magic and those systems interact differently with each other (although some are more fleshed out than others). They don't have a dominant sex and don't really exercise gender roles at all.

This one's a god. He could use a philosophy class about pain.

These two are creations of that god (called Paragons), designed to be perfect, never rot, and never suffer, and essentially lead the happy lives he never got to.

Ionize is also a member of that same species, just far, far into the future after Titatiaraum is dead and members of his perfect race have since either left, evolved, and otherwise altered.

I've almost forgotten everything but I do remember her species was pretty short compared to everyone else.

I'll save these because you mentioned them in another ask ;)

Another god, this one turned mortal willingly and got to watch his god-siblings tear themselves to shreds.

Part of a race of immortal beings that rot into animals, and grow back/heal into trees. I suppose this guy also needs to be included too

Yet another god, this sucker's puppeting a mechanical body though

Semnastica and Mourana are both members of the same species, Semnastica being male and Mourana being female. They're both quadrupeds and have powers because they hatched under blood moons because I made Semnastica when I was 14 at most. (I'm thinking about making these two's species (or Xulanium's) predecessors of the race Torus disguises as and later amnesias themselves into.

I THINK Salisun was supposed to be a fusion of a Cycler and something else organic, but he's also 90% aesthetic.

I've never figured out how to flesh out her species or Ouna herself, but they've got goo for hair and horns. That's coincidentally the only goo-species I've ever made. Huh.

Don't have many details on his species but they were somewhat civilized warrior-cats style and built little huts despite being quadruped.

No details on Mono, they're 100% aesthetic.

These two are the member of the same species and they're small and fluffy and have only one sex. They're also fluffy.

While Bypin is a pure machine, built by "man" and a full robot, I want to highlight them because they're one member of a race of centaur dragon tanks, who live on a planet in the same System as the Ermista, but closer to their hateful sun god that frequently sends down increasingly disturbing bird-angels to destroy all life on its planets (its planets are its children so its like fleas on your child). The race on that planet stays mostly underground until they developed the technology to remove their souls and place them in mechanical bodies they can use to fight back (Remizular is an example of a member of that race who was once organic, but later became tank (I lost their redesign that account deletion comes back to bite me in the ass)).

(Honestly, tank dragon centaurs are really cool FIGHT ME)

OKAY. I CAN'T ADD ANY MORE IMAGES SO THAT'S ALL YOU GET.

There are a few more species that don't have triangular faces and don't have characters in them as like, prey or purely animalistic species. I really need to focus on that side of it more wtf.

#worldbuilding #Looooooooong ass post everyone watch out

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blam-marie · 2 months

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It's Nothing Personal - 4

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Ghost dropped casually in the chair, swiped Tristan’s coffee cup from right in front of him, and took a sip. He hoped that the other man would make a face at the triple espresso that had long gone cold, but of course he didn’t. Nothing ever really bothered him, and no expressions touched his features that he hadn’t put there himself.

The scar was nowhere to be seen today, likely concealed by a heavy layer of makeup. His chin-length hair, which Tristan was used to seeing well-brushed and slicked back, had been fluffed in a way that made him seem boyish and charming, as well as about ten years younger. He had earrings dangling from his pointed ears, but they didn’t look terribly expensive. Similarly, his sports jacket was nice, but worn at the seams. He had unbuttoned both said jacket as well as the first few buttons of his shirt, going for an air of casual dishevelment that was entirely at odd with what Tristan knew of the man’s actual personality. It looked good on him, though.

He put the cup back down, wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin, then lounged backwards in the seat.

“Your partner’s been delayed,” was his opening salvo.

Tristan blinked. He had thought that they would dance around the subject a bit longer, but clearly Ghost was in a rush. So, the plan was not to make him miss the departure of the cruise. He’d already guessed as much, but it was nice to have confirmation.

“What have you done to him?”

Ghost raised a fine eyebrow and almost looked insulted.

“Me? Nothing. Airport security, on the other hand…”

Tristan was unimpressed. “You slipped something into his bag? What is this, sabotage 101?”

“He got caught with it,” he pointed out.

Tristan shook his head. “Point taken.”

Damn it, Reed. What was he doing, falling for the most basic trick in the book and making them all look bad?! And knowing Ghost, it must have been some truly nasty shit, too. Undeclared bags of soil samples, expensive mushrooms, a pet moss ball, or a novelty magical fishing lure; the sort of thing nobody were aware they weren’t supposed to carry across country lines until they had several governmental agencies yelling at them about it. Airport security was no joke, but give Tristan a loaded handgun in his bag to explain away any day, rather than having to face the International Agriculture Oversight Committee after having tried to bring an orange as a snack for a trip oversea, when that orange had potentially been exposed to a deadly roots-melting bacteria that was common and harmless in his home country but could ravage entire landscapes if allowed to escape somewhere with a different climate. He’d have better chances of surviving close combat with Special Agent Mark.

In all likelihood, Reed would be stuck explaining himself to local authorities for hours, and might even have to be bailed out or pay a substantial fine, depending on what exactly it was that Ghost had put in his bag. If they had been on their home turf, he could have simply pulled rank and skipped the security check altogether. But the cruise was departing from a sovereign polity who had only just clawed their democracy from the claws of a rigged election that could have plunged them back into ten more years of dictatorship, so having one of their spies get caught sneaking into the country would just not be a great idea for Tristan’s agency right now. Or worse, getting caught sneaking aboard a cruise ship where the brother of the new president was taking his wife for a well-deserved and suspiciously-timed vacation along with all of their friends.

Tristan sighed. “What do you want?”

Ghost shrugged one shoulder. “Same as you, I imagine. Intel.”

“Right. So you and…” he waved a hand. “Whatever partner you’ve got are going on this little trip too, and you figured that I’d recognize you as soon as I got on board, so you decided to come and say hi out of what, courtesy?”

The other agent’s lips quirked with amusement.

“Not quite. Its a very exclusive cruise, as I’m sure you know,” he said. “All the tickets sold months ago, mostly by word of mouth. It would be suspicious if four entire passengers dropped out at the last minute and were replaced by wait-listed strangers no one knows, as opposed to just two.”

An uncomfortable rock dropped in the pit of Tristan’s stomach.

“We are not boarding together.”

“Why not? Our missions are the same, or close enough. We have no reason to get in each other’s way. Might as well collaborate.” Tristan had no idea if his side would want to keep the information he was about to gather out of anyone else’s hands, because he had no idea what that information even was. But he had caved to Ghost’s ‘we should collaborate’ logic once before, and it had been nothing but a mistake. One that he wasn’t really eager to make again, even if his entire body sung at his proximity with the other man. Or perhaps exactly because of that. Ghost took another casual sip of the cold coffee and Tristan tried not to look at his hands. Or at the quick flip of tongue that came out to wet his lips.

He tried to make his voice firm. “I am not pretending to be a couple with you.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

He could still vividly remember the rush of kissing him — as well as the flash of the gunshot and his voice, cool and steady in his ear: Don’t be upset. It’s not personal, it’s work. Yeah, no. There was a reason his ‘do not get involved with other agents’ rule was in place. Ghost turned to gaze thoughtfully out of the café window.

“So you intend to board as a newlywed on his honeymoon… alone? Or are you just going to not board at all?”

Tristan groaned and shoved his phone into his jacket pocket. He shouldered his bag. “I need to make a call.”

“Is there time?”

He looked at his watch again. “Fuck!”

Ghost chuckled. “Relax,” he said, standing up and grabbing the handle of his suitcase. “It’ll be fun.”

#writing is hard #writing #it's nothing personal #and that's all folks that's all I have for now #please read my other stories :)#and comment lots! it will motivate me to write more :) :)#authors survive on feedback #read and review plz pls #enemies to lovers #spy romance #romantasy #romcom

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anony-mouse-writer · 3 months

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“How are you doing?”

- cost of livings increasing

- everyone i know is miserable at their jobs, spanning at least 4 broad range fields (ie, retail/food service of any kind, engineering, and ‘works at computers in a capacity beyond microsoft word/excel’) largely due to managerial or company based incompetence or greed

- planets on fire and it looks like the ppl who have the power to change that dont want to cuz theyre greedy bitches

- theres like three social media platforms that arent teeny tiny and theyre all shit and actively getting worse in ways that are profoundly effecting and blindingly stupid

- multiple fights in the past half decade trying to convince people that my job is not something a computer should have

- the same people who tell me that my work is very good and i should monetize it (i am thanks) think that computer work is either just a fad that will pass soon or the just something i should accept and do not see how these conflicting messages might be frustrating

- theres a globally televised genocide happening and like half the ppl who are supposed to stop that are funding it

- KOSA and other internet censorship laws continue to get closer to passing

- “woke” is increasingly synonymous with “anyone who has basic human decency” according to several major governmentally active political parties

- casual and “just common sense” transphobia is now at an all time high as terfs are told that outright killing trans kids is frowned upon and they should try bullying instead

- food prices are so high but i have to eat

- increased social pressure to shun anyone who isn’t spending all their energy being loudly upset at the above issues and/or dying due to the above issues

- companies have more rights than we do and the government would save them first in a crisis. this is “normal” and “fine” and giving a fuck about it is also “woke liberal shit”

- our best hope for a new shitty fire hazard apartment building going up is that the rich bitches everyone hates for building their houses in ‘thats gonna fall down dumbass’’ zones decide to fight for their ‘view’

- pandemics still happening. they dont even stock masks at stores consistently anymore

- my landlord still hasnt responded to our request to fix the flickering kitchen light we have been told we are Not Allowed to try fixing ourselves

- kids are increasingly fucked over by a system that was already failing and is now failing worse due to covid-related fuck ups

- school districts are pushing to graduate kids on time despite the Actual Fucking Plague these kids had to live thru

- speaking of, kids are apparently largely not taught basic computer literacy because they can just teach apps instead

- or any kind of internet safety oh my god. i have had to personally teach every child ive met for the past two years under the age of 15 to not to tell strangers online their full government legal names. i was on roblox for 30 seconds and watched two separate children half dox themselves

- its february and i kinda miss the sun

“I’m doin’, thanks! Hope spring comes sooner than later tho haha.”

#im so fucking tired yall #i think i need to up my meds again #op #vent post #im reasonably certain most of my issues rn are exacerbated by the last one #but im so tired

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el-smacko · 6 months

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There is a bumper sticker not uncommon on Teslas which says something like “I got it before we knew [about Elon Musk].” He had a cameo in Iron Man 2 where “his” design for something is praised by Tony Stark. The latter character goes on to single-handedly invent time travel, while Elon. Well. If I had a nickel for every Anglo figure for whom “genius” was merely a carefully curated brand… would be rad if we could somehow ever at all realize that detail before we put them in unaccountable positions of power, but the people always saying “I told you so” usually have their politics called “utopian.” There was literally never a liberal reckoning for being wrong about Elon Musk. He said “I make electric car” and Al Gore voters literally fucking launched him into the stratosphere. He said, “America, don’t ever change, just ~switch to renewables~,” like? Our way of life is toxic.

People on the left and right hear the unofficial motto of Iran, “Death to America,” and, because their Americanness makes them epistemologically vacant, they never bother to ask: shit, what did we do? Because ending a nation’s sovereignty for oil and then bullying them out of nuclear energy—so they wouldn’t have to worry about oil!—when they become self-governing is fucking bleak dude. The Ayatollah is an Islamic Extremist? Weird! I wonder if that’s because the native Persian military and kingship had become so tainted by hostile European influence that the only governmental medium left for the executive was ecclesiastical? They used to be Persia, does that sound familiar? It was the name of the country for decades of my parents’ life! Notice though how Persians are treated in the American movie 300–yes, the Zach Snyder one. The British and the Russians are the ones who ended Persian sovereignty (this latest independence came after almost a millennium of dominion by khans and caliphs), then America’s “market.” Imagine being a Persian in a bipolar world, Anglos on one side, Russians on the other, both of them the ideological descendants of Greek civilization, the original polity to brand them as the paragon of barbarity. No, they would be Iranian, “comrade.” I’m not Iranian, I don’t agree with the Ayatollah, this digression was to point out that if we would have a little humility and patience, we could understand a person’s reasoning, no matter how inimical to us it might be.

Maybe someone has a point when they say “death to America”? Have you seen this place? Everybody puts up with being tired, depressed, anxious, and broke with the worst healthcare, education, and life expectancy in our income bracket, which is the fucking highest. Literally the very top. Our preferred mode of travel kills north of 500 people a week. A week. To say nothing of injuries and the fucking ludicrous cost of all these wrecks. Not for nothing, car travel is that deadly and guns are still the leading cause of death for American children. Our “War on Terror,” most recently manifesting as an ongoing genocide, is waged for oil for these fucking cars. And Elon fucking Musk says: “Keep building roads, we’ll just stop using oil,” and then sold his carbon credits to car companies not making electric vehicles while torpedoing large-scale non-car infrastructure. His individualistic, carbon-footprint-centered propaganda wagons are therefore worse for the environment than any pickup truck, with none of the sex appeal.

Did you know that so many Japanese people lived in Hawaii, an indigenous nation whose independence we robbed in the 20th century, that the entire state was put under martial law for the duration of the war? Less Japanese people lived in internment on the mainland than under martial law in Hawaii. Together they are approximately the number of Japanese massacred in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Just so we’re all on the same page, America murdered with atomic fire almost as many people of the same ethnicity as they had in internment camps domestically. But that wasn’t genocide and Hawaii is not an imperial province under apartheid? I long for the day that an international criminal court awards even a fraction of the proceeds from Disney’s Lilo and Stitch or Moana properties as reparations. Hawaiians would be able to have free healthcare, public transportation, a military, and a space program just from that. Considering the mere—well, I say “mere,” but I must emphasize: nihilistically cynical, numbingly unintellectual—mere existence of American Godzilla movies, we should consider ourselves lucky that “Death to America” is not a much more common sentiment in Japan. Godzilla, a dinosaur, is an antediluvian reptile made a fire-breathing devil by the crime of the men living in a place they style Eden. As an atom bomb incarnate, he must be killed by the only deadlier weapon, one meant to signify supreme hostility to life: the “Oxygen Destroyer.” You do not have to believe in God to know that atomic weapons are Satanic and that it is literally diabolical that their Nazi-assisted inventor and only ever user appropriated the tragic atomic monster invented by their victim, especially as some kind of objective moral paragon when for the majority of his history he had been a specifically Japanese tutelary figure. They place him beside King Kong while entirely erasing the latter’s history as a parallel for African Americans: taken from their home to be exploited in chains, then murdered for scaling a tower of industry and “stealing” a white woman.

These examples are prototypical, not outliers. America as the heir of Britain is the Great Satan, the propaganda calumniator, the single greatest fountain of evil in human history, a Rome and a Babylon to countless people… but it says it is all worth it because of the benefits of “civilization” and the market which floats it. You will not convince me that any of its geopolitical objectives are righteous, done in good faith for the common good. That is Edenic naivety.

#politics #history #godzilla #king kong #elon musk #death to america

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meaningful-negativity · 1 year

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His head dips for a moment in silent acknowledgement. Oh yes – things were always very exciting in the Thorn dynasty shit-storm. ( There were so many secrets buried in shallow graves, half decayed skeletons in closets, and demons of past misdeeds littered through the decades all leading right back to Damien. ) Of course, what old money family didn’t have those features ? No, so long as they all stayed out of sight – things could continue as normal.

He blinked, genuinely struck by the statement of bravery. Yes, he supposed he was being brave about a lot of circumstances in his life, but his societal position was not one such thing. It was simply destiny now - a legacy in the making.

“ You know, I rather like the sound of St. Damien of Chicago. Has a good ring to it, don’t you agree ? “

Bile rises in the back of his throat, hot on the heels of the blasphemy rolling so casually off his tongue. He holds it back, never allowing the momentary discomfort to show. Instead, he silently apologizes to his father - the mark of the beast on his scalp going from a burning sensation to an annoying itch.

( Even the devil had a sense of humor, it seemed. )

“ What do you mean ? If lunatics come knocking on my door — I’m going to forget exactly who I am & give them the address to your place ! “ Damien teased. ( If he’d still been a school boy, he’d have stuck his tongue out to punctuate the fictitious point. ) He’s used to inspiring a healthy interest in governmental affairs, but very few people does he take under his wing personally.

He shook his head, suddenly very earnest in his assertions:

“ Don’t mention it – I’m always glad when other people take interest in the current administration affairs. I’m surprised I haven’t bored you with all my diplomatic legislative blather. “

"I'm a scientist Damien, there's not much that can bore me as I like leaning new things all the time. I have a lot of room for diplomatic blather as you call it but I find it very interesting where other might find it boring." Thomas tilts his head to the side and then nods his head "I always like to interest people in science and things of that nature because I believe in it strongly and it seems that you believe in politics in the same way. It's refreshing to find a man that's dedicated to something."

He chuckles then cocking an eyebrow at the other man "Send them to my house you say? Well, I guess you could but I'm very selective about who I allow to darken my doorstep and the fact that I live in a gated community helps that immensely." Thomas walks over to the edge of the clearing they are standing in and smiles over at Damien "I would never have taken you for a nature lover Damien but there's much to you that I don't think that I know or that anybody else does either and I find that I'm fine with that."

His brow furrows before he laughs at what Damien says "Ah yes, Saint Damien of Chicago sounds right if you think about it a bit. I think you have some qualities that people would think you a saint like listening to my blathering on about all my experiments and such but there's to much of a darkness to you to actually be a saint of any kind. I find that people with dark sides tend to be passed over for things like that and I'm one of them so I gave up being a saint a long time ago."

"But people can be many things and brave can mean stupid also if you ask some people." Thomas then laughs at himself then nods his head "Sorry about that, I have my own set of theories on what makes a man brave but you fit into them." He tilts his head to the side and cocks an eyebrow at him " I think that anyone is brave who has an idea of what the world should be like."

@omen-promised

#omenpromised #m; thomas

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elias-code · 3 years

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The Feeling’s Mutual - c!Techno x Reader

PT 1 because I‘m taking too long lmao

Characters: c!Technoblade x gn!Reader, Philza, Quackity, Charlie S

Summary: [from an ask] The reader is kicked out by Quackity from Las Nevadas and was forced to roam around to look for somewhere to live and they end up in Techno’s cabin after passing out in the tundra. At first, you have a shared hatred of each other, but you end up warming up when you figure out he’s been making you breakfast.

Warnings: Exile, mild malnutrition, corruption

————————— Enjoy :3 —————————

“Ooh! I get to go visit you now! Like a vacation!” Charlie cheered.

“No, Charlie,” You sighed, continuing to follow him out of the city, “I’m getting exiled. I don’t think Quackity will let you visit me,”

He frowned, confused. He wasn’t the best at understanding broad concepts like exile and all the drama that brought it about. He just thinks you’re one of his best friends, and that Quackity is also his best friend. Now, Quackity was in no way your friend as you once were. He banished you for the dumbest thing, just because you challenged his integrity. Unbeknownst to Charlie, Quackity was giving away trade secrets, rigging elections and his casinos. You didn’t join him to scam people, you just wanted a new start after L’Manburg.

You walked with him in silence past the bright neon lights and street lamps of Los Nevadas. You were never going to be allowed back here, even though you built half of the damn place.

“So if Quackity doesn’t let me visit, can you visit me?” Charlie asked solemnly.

“Again, probably not,” You stuffed your hands in your pockets and half-smiled at him, “I don’t think he wants to see me back here. Ever,”

Where were you even going to go? No one would take you. Quackity had made many enemies, who were, in turn, yours, and now no one you were allied with alongside Quackity will be friendly except for Charlie. But Charlie was his lapdog, nothing could touch him and you weren’t going to be allowed around him anymore.

Your enemies list was vast, all the way up at the top, finally overtaking Technoblade, was Quackity. Congrats, Big Q, you piece of shit.

Charlie stopped at the end of the road, finally realizing this might be the last time you see each other. He wanted to cry, but he held it back. There’d always be hope, he could sneak out, you could sneak in. But you’d have to do it all in secret, and it just didn’t feel right to him.

“I’m gonna miss you, Charlie,” You said.

He smiled weakly at you and pulled you in for a slimy hug.

“We’ll see each other again someday,” He stated.

You wanted to believe that, but the pit in your stomach just sank further as the embrace came to an end. You’d have to get going, this would be the last time you see him, or Los Nevadas for that matter, in a long time at least.

You spent days wandering. Just as you suspected, no one would take you in. Not even Niki because of your governmental associations. You found the occasional scrap of meat or stale bread in some chests along the prime path, but you felt so sick to your stomach that it became hard to eat anything you found.

From the desert to the ocean to the plains to the tundra you roamed. You hunted with what little supplies you had.

There had been no food for days now, the snow was the only source of water within sight. There were no signs of life, no people, no animals, only the occasional dying tree to sleep under in the blistering cold. As if things couldn’t get any worse, the blizzard came.

Blinding white all around. The only sound audible was the whistling of the wind in the frozen, rotting branches above you. At this point, you’d gone numb, the only thing you could feel was your heart beating heavily in your chest as you lost consciousness.

“We couldn’t just leave them out in the snow, Techno! That’s just cruel!”

“They’re with Quackity, Phil. Don’t make me explain this again,”

“I’m not going to let you throw them back out,” Phil explained, “No one would willingly come here, Technoblade. They have a reason, I know it,”

You opened your eyes cautiously. It was warm, you were covered in a thick red cape and a few blankets, the fire next to you was roaring. Whatever argument was taking place had moved further into the distance, out of earshot.

Everything ached, but at least you were warm. You let yourself come to your senses. Maybe the exile was all a nightmare. Maybe Quackity wasn’t a dumb bitch after all. But where were you? Whose bed was this? Whose-

It’s Technoblade’s cape.

Your eyes widened as you shot up out of bed. The pain in your legs was sickening, but so was being in this man’s house. You ran to the fireplace and grabbed some sharp steel tongs, meant for poking at the logs, for protection. His footsteps moved closer, the conversation was over.

You brandished your weapon and prayed for dear life.

The door creaked open and he stepped through, shutting it behind him. He stared at you, looking down at the weapon and then back at the tossed bed. He looked unfazed by your threatening pose. You were more scared than he was.

“I lend you my cape,” Technoblade points at the bed, “And you decide the best move for you is to stab me?”

Guilt crept into your throat.

“What am I doing here?” You hissed at him.

“Phil found you under a tree,” He chuckled, “And decided he wanted to adopt someone else,”

“Aren’t you supposed to kill me or something?”

“Why? Should I?” He threatened, taking a step towards you.

You stepped back, bumping into the table behind you, “That- That’s what you do,”

“If it were up to me, you’d probably be buried in the snow by now.”

You scowled at him, rediscovering past hatred towards him and using that to fuel your rage.

“I’d rather be left out there,” You spat, “Not stuck in here with you-“

“Again, I agree, but Phil is the one you should be angry with if you don’t want to be here,” He rolled his eyes and held his hand out.

“I’m not giving this back to you,” You growled.

He stepped forward and snatched the spear out of your hand, tossing it behind him, out of reach. He leaned forward and hissed in your face, “Don’t try anything, kid,”

You swallowed your pride, weak and unarmed. Whether you liked it or not, you’d have to stay with him for a while. No one would take you in, so it was either deal with Technoblade or die. You might as well use this to your advantage.

Days went by where you never even saw Techno. Phil took care of you most of the time, but he didn’t have any room in his house with Wilbur being there and all, so you were forced to sleep in Techno’s cabin. It became easier and more manageable as time went on. The only time you ever really saw him were the latest hours of the night when he’d come home and, if you were lucky, at dawn when he left.

Breakfast usually materialized at your doorstep every morning around the same time. Sometimes it was yoghurt, sometimes fresh fruit, sometimes cold meat and oatmeal, but it was always delicious. You suspected Phil was behind the mysterious meals, that was until you asked him about it.

“I don’t think I ever said, but thanks for breakfast,” You smiled at Phil as you helped him load firewood into the horse’s saddlebags.

He looked at you, perplexed, to say the least.

“What breakfast? Don’t you just eat whatever Techno has?” Phil replied.

Your stomach turned, letting the past couple of weeks turn over in your head. You shouldn’t have assumed Phil was the one making your food. You should’ve asked before you just started gorging yourself every morning.

Phil watched as you turned pale and hopped on the horse. He thought that you just ate whatever Techno had in his pantries, and never questioned it. Now, all was revealed. Techno had been making you breakfast.

For most people living as a guest in someone else's house, having breakfast brought to their door would just be seen as a sweet thing, but it was dangerously blown out of proportions when it was your ex greatest enemy doing it without you even knowing. You silently reasoned with yourself that if he was going to poison you, you’d be dead already. That comforting fact backfired as you realised he could have killed you so easily. Your emotions were on a rollercoaster, and your stomach sank deeper and deeper as the more intrusive thoughts crept in.

You needed to catch him in the act. Something about The Blood God making you breakfast created sentiments of self-worth out of thin air. Part of you wanted to prove it to yourself, and part of you wanted to embarrass him for it.

The familiar shine of daybreak made the room glow orange. The fire had gone out that night, as it usually did, but the cold felt like nothing now that you had a mission to accomplish.

You slipped out of bed, clad in leggings and a simple green shirt. The floor was icy on your bare feet but you trodded out the door and down the stairs, heading for the kitchen.

The dining room was salmon-pink, highlighted by the bright orange flickering coming from the fireplace. It was already warmer down here than it was upstairs, the fire must’ve already been on for a while by now. The kitchen was out of view, but you could already smell fish frying from the base of the stairs.

Making your way through the archway, you spotted Techno’s red cape on its hook by the door next to the thick winter coat you loaned from Phil. Below them, both were black boots, sprinkled with half-melted snow. The floorboard below you creaked when you stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

Techno spun around, startled by the noise. His face flushed with guilt temporarily but was quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and confused eyes.

“What are you doing awake? It’s five,” He implored.

“I could smell the salmon,” You shrugged and moved towards him innocently.

He turned back to the fish and turned the stove off, sliding it onto a plate.

“What’re we eating today?”

“You just said,”

You scoffed and conceded. It was a dumb thing to ask, but he wasn’t supposed to answer. It was only meant to highlight the reality that you knew what he’d been doing. Nothing in his expression, now unreadable, made you think he didn’t know that you knew he’d been making you breakfast.

He gently pushed by you, letting his arm brush against yours. It made your heart skip a beat, probably out of fear, you told yourself. Your skin went cold, but you followed him into the next room where he put the dish on the table and gestured for you to sit.

“You don’t seem to hate me anymore,” You mumbled.

“I never said I hated you, just that I don’t like you,”

“Well, you don’t seem to not like me either,”

He blinked at you and sat across the table from you.

“Where are you going today?” You said with a mouthful of food, “To do mysterious things, I imagine,”

“I was going to stay here today, actually.”

You stopped eating.

“I finished my mysterious duties,” He mocked.

Well, he wasn’t going to budge on where he’d been going the past few nights, but that wasn’t particularly important right now. What caught your attention was that he was staying here for the day. Again, meaningless to most people, but with him, it was surprising.

He began snickering, just at your face.

“I was never the one that hated you,” He laughed, “You were the one who brandished that poker at me,”

Your face flushed red with embarrassment, “I can be resourceful, at least,”

He continued to laugh at you, the absurdity of the situation hitting him with full force. Right now you wished you could hit him with full force.

“Alright, alright,” He took a deep breath, “I do have some questions for you,”

You looked up at him, annoyance plastered on your face.

“Shoot,”

“Why are you here instead of Las Nevadas?”

“Because Quackity kicked me out, and-“

“How did you know I made you breakfast?” He cut you off.

“I asked Phil, but-“

“Why did Quackity kick you out?”

“I asked him too many questions, just-“

“Do you still hold any loyalty to him?”

“No, but-“

“Questionnaire over, thank you for participating,” He stood up and excused himself from the table, heading back to the kitchen.

Techno never left again after that. He stuck around and made an effort to make you annoyed and uncomfortable every chance he could get. It was becoming a sort of game with him, and you were more than happy to play along. It made it easier to get along with him in general. There’d be no more dreading seeing him, no more awkwardness surrounding your avoidance.

Now, you had other things to be awkward about. If you passed each other a bit too close in a doorway, when you tripped over a rug in the living room, the fact that you were sleeping in his bed, the abrupt flirtatious nature of the man you were now sharing a room with.

You never really thought about it, but before he moved back into his room onto a makeshift bed, he’d been sleeping on the couch. He’d wake you early in the morning when he’d get up to make breakfast, and whenever he did leave to run errands, he’d wake you late at night when he came home.

One morning, around eight, he woke you purposefully.

“Get dressed, I want to show you something,” he whispered, gently shaking you.

You groggily complied and eventually found your way to the front door where he was waiting for you.

“No breakfast?” You asked.

“Breakfast after,” He said, opening the door.

He was dressed in his usual clothes, but he carried a large satchel with him. Inside were different scraps of leftover meat and some bones. He didn’t tell you what for, but you were too tired to ask anyway.

You followed him through the fresh snow, crunching under your feet. It was drowned out by mindless conversation that you both kept up to stay awake. He brought you to a distant hill in a clearing, where a cliffside was awaiting. The conversation stopped as he told you to wait, and he went over to the wall and pressed a rock into the stone.

You could faintly hear the sound of pistons firing before the rock slid down slotted into the floor.

The sound of dogs barking filled the forest as hundreds of dogs and puppies spilt out of the entrance. Most of them went running to Techno, who was now holding the bag aloft, out of reach from the dogs. Some of them ran to you, their tails wagging happily at their new potential playmate.

“Pretty cool, huh?” He shouted.

“Holy-“ You stopped and pet the large, black dog that jumped on you, “Where’d you get so many dogs?”

“Long story,” He began to throw chunks of meat into the writhing pile of hounds, who were now obsessively sniffing you.

“I do this three times a week,” he said as he made his way over to you, “It’d get done a lot faster if you could help now that you’re living here full-time,”

“Wait,” You looked at him blankly, “Full-time?”

“That’s the idea,”

You thought for a moment, “Where am I going to sleep?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said, handing you some chunks of meat to throw.

By the time Techno’s bag was empty, it was almost noon. He shephered them back into the cavern and shut the door behind them. They were very well trained, when he commanded them all to sit once they got inside, there was no hesitation. The puppies were confused at first, but they followed along with the pack flawlessly.

Leaving the clearing, you talked with him freely about your plans for the future at the cabin. It didn’t mean you’d live there forever, knowing Techno, he might end up being hunted out of the tundra eventually. But for now, you were sticking with him.

It was strsnge to think that you were once mortal enemies, staring each other down on the battlefield with nothing but rage coursing through your veins. Now, you were cheerily chatting about what it would be like to settle down together. Between the two of you, mutual feelings of respect and redemption. The distrust was long since buried.

#c!techno x reader #c!technoblade x reader #techno x reader #technoblade #technoblade x reader #techno dsmp #dsmp x reader #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt x reader #mcyt #eli exile #elias original

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katy-l-wood · 3 years

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Hey, so, if you’re like me, you really WANT to talk to your republican/MAGA relatives about what happened on January 6th, but the second you try your brain just yeets out all the useful information you know about what happened and you’re left with nothing. I have the same issue, so I put together a sort of quick facts guide to have on hand when I follow up with my dad about the slightly scathing text message I sent him on the day of the insurrection.

I figured other people might find this useful, so I’m sharing it here. This is VERY basic, just quick facts pulled from a bunch of different articles and videos so that I can have them on hand for when I call my dad tonight. There’s no opinions included, just sources, definitions, and a list of key points. It also only covers the day of the attack, not any of the charges and actions taken since.

Talking to your republican/MAGA family about this shit is hard, and please don’t do it if you feel it will put you in danger in any way. But if you can do it, I hope what I’ve put together here can help.

Please note, some of these sources include the darkest parts of the insurrection including the antisemitic clothing, the woman getting shot, etc.. None of these pictures and videos are shown within this guide, but they are linked to.

Feel free to modify this, add onto it, whatever. Everything is below the cut.

Definitions:

Insurrection: A violent uprising against an authority or government.

Sedition: conduct or speech inciting people to rebel against the authority of a state. Seditious speech is speech directed at the overthrow of government. It includes speech attacking basic institutions of government, including particular governmental leaders.

Key Points:

Trump incited the insurrection as far back as December 19th by calling for his supporters to march on the capitol on January 6th.

The capitol was breached in an attempt to stop an official, recognized election that has been proven as fair and valid many times over.

The mob was violent, and prepared to do much worse including taking hostages, detonating bombs, and killing the Vice President.

The police supported what happened by letting the rioters in, and even taking selfies with them.

Protests stem from anger and a need to be heard. This stemmed from violence and seditious language spoken by Trump.

This was not okay.

A video from 1947 about not being taken in by fascist ideals:

https://archive.org/details/DontBeaS1947

How to Explain to Kids Parents the Difference Between a Mob and a Protest

https://www.parents.com/news/how-to-explain-to-kids-the-difference-between-a-mob-and-a-protest/?utm_source=pocket-newtab

It attempted to overthrow a democratic process. They interrupted members of the senate trying to certify a vote. The purpose was to avoid the transfer of power, not just a display of anger.

It threatened physical harm to others. Things didn’t turn violent, they started violent. Bombs were brought, there were chants to hang the VP, people brought zip cuffs to take hostages. https://www.forbes.com/sites/sarahhansen/2021/01/10/two-men-carrying-zip-ties-at-capitol-riot-arrested-after-citizen-sleuths-idd-them-online/?sh=22e3afe1771b https://www.timesofisrael.com/us-capitol-rioters-chanted-hang-mike-pence-video-footage/

What Happened

Trump called his supporters to action and encouraged everything that happened. He called the 6th a “day of reckoning. A day to gather in Washington to ‘save America’ and ‘stop the steal’.” He also said “Big protest in D.C. on January 6th” all the way back on December 19th. https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/06/us/politics/capitol-mob-trump-supporters.html https://twitter.com/votevets/status/1347546998271049729

https://twitter.com/KenDuffyNews/status/1346939132946378758

The House chamber had to be barricaded with furniture to protect people inside. House members who could not escape in time had to hide under desks and chairs and wear gas masks. https://twitter.com/Okay_Hi__/status/1347975187921129472 https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/06/us/politics/capitol-mob-trump-supporters.html

The evening before the attack people said they were “prepared to use force” and posted comments that had photos of assault rifles and other weapons they intended to bring. https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/06/us/politics/capitol-mob-trump-supporters.html

The attack was planned for months. People were encouraged to share addresses of “enemies” including judges, members of congress, and well-known progressives. https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/06/us/politics/capitol-mob-trump-supporters.html

A pickup truck full of bombs and guns found near capitol: https://www.cnn.com/2021/01/08/politics/us-capitol-riots-arrest-pelosi-desk/index.html

Cops let them in and took selfies with them. https://twitter.com/nichcarlson/status/1347674169421557762 https://twitter.com/moonddng/status/1346924307692318723 https://twitter.com/NAACP/status/1346960671506788362

The wanted to put people’s heads on pikes. “They need to pay the ultimate price.” “String them up.” https://twitter.com/nichcarlson/status/1347674169421557762

At least one member of the media was violently attacked and threatened with death. Media was attacked in general. https://twitter.com/Okay_Hi__/status/1347828397192278017 https://twitter.com/Quicktake/status/1346948891082698752

A cop was injured and crushed by the mob, despite screaming for help. Another was dragged and beaten with an American flag and other objects. https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2021/01/11/police-beating-capitol-mob/ https://twitter.com/Okay_Hi__/status/1347827632243580930

The woman who was shot was actively climbing into the House chamber when she was shot: https://twitter.com/BigDumbSwede/status/1346958570433228800

Prominent Nazis were involved. One wore a shirt that said “6MWE” which stands for “Six Million Wasn’t Enough” referring to the number of Jews killed during the Holocaust. At least one swastika flag was seen. Logos of anti-government militias were seen. https://www.jweekly.com/2021/01/07/hate-on-display-a-guide-to-the-symbols-and-signs-on-display-at-the-capitol-insurrection/ https://www.jpost.com/diaspora/antisemitism/capitol-riots-what-far-right-hate-symbols-were-on-display-654694

Rioters tore down the US flag and replaced it with a Trump flag. https://people.com/politics/pro-trump-rioters-tear-down-american-flag-replace-with-trump-flag-at-u-s-capitol-building/

#January 6th #Capitol Insurrection #Capitol Attack #US Politics #Politics

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idontblushsrry · 3 years

Text

SFW Alphabet-Hiei

Word Count: 2125

A/N: Warning in advance, i’m in a fluffy mood and I want there to be more yyh fanfics so i’ll be writing some for the next few days. I’ll try and sprinkle in some other content but for now, it is what it is. Also I changed some of the prompt options so there’s that. Also I’m going to be posting content for more obscure/dead/forgotten fandoms in general so if you have any ideas lmk!

A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Hiei isn’t super affectionate in the traditional sense. Like if you want a boyfriend who’ll hold your hand and kiss your cheek and what not, Hiei is not that person at all. His affection is moreso bickering, especially in public, he’ll act like you’re such a nuisance but like he’s still looking out for you. In private, he’s a bit more affectionate. He really does trust you with his life, he’s just a little emotionally repressed so he shows his affection by sleeping and truly relaxing around you. In his most vulnerable moments, he’ll lay his head in your lap and let you rub his hair while he falls asleep.

B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

The closest thing we see to Hiei having a best friend is Kurama and maybe Yusuke. As a best friend Hiei is very blunt, he shows his care for you by being upfront, it can honestly come off as a little callous but if you know him well (which you should as his best friend) you know that he means well, he just wants to protect his pride while still showing he cares about you. Your friendship probably starts after one of you saves the other.

C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Hiei likes cuddles but he absolutely refuses to ask for them. He doesn’t like to be too close at first and will initially only hold your hand when he knows for sure that you’re asleep. Eventually though, he gets more comfortable with you and your relationship and allows you to hold him even when you’re awake.

D: Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Hiei and domestic don’t really go together in the same sentence. His version of domesticity is protecting each other and then coming home and being near each other. He doesn’t want to settle down in the traditional “human” sense but he does like the idea of having somewhere permanent to come back to with you. He isn’t the best at cooking but he will try his best to help clean, he often uses his speed to get them done faster, all the while teasing you at how slow you’re going. Like okay buddy, you’re doing what I want anyways so who’s really losing?

E: Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If you and Hiei ever broke up, he’d be silently devastated. It took a lot out of him to open up to you and the fact that you were able to leave that (at least for him) is devastating. If Hiei ever does get with another person, it’ll be long after you’ve both broken up and moved on.

F: Fiance(e) (How would they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Hiei has sort of already made a commitment to you by the time you’ve even entered your relationship, regardless of how long you’ve known each other, he entered the relationship because of how deep his connection with you is. He wouldn’t want to/care to get married by “human” standards, in his mind you’re already married/mated. Plus he couldn’t legally marry you because of the fact that he doesn’t have any governmental documentation.

G: Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Hiei isn’t emotionally gentle at all at least outwardly. He’s very grumpy to protect his pride and image but he’s secretly a big ol softie. He always keeps track of you with his Jagan and if you’re ever in danger, Hiei is never far. When it comes to your emotional needs, he tries his best, he usually just positions himself in the best spot to be there should you need anything from him.

H: Hugs( Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?

Hiei during the course of his relationship with you tries to become more and more affectionate with you, becoming more and more open with giving and receiving it. He ofc isn’t into PDA at all but he will reciprocate your hugs if you give. At the beginning of your relationship he just stands there awkwardly but later on in your relationship he’ll wrap his arms around you and awkwardly start to pat your back. His hugs are pretty awkward but the fact that he even lets you hold him means more than his awkwardness with affection.

I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word)

Hiei thinks that the fact he “puts up with you” is evidence enough and that he shouldn’t have to say it. He maintains that until one day you just break and tell him you love him and would like to hear him say it back, he just blushes and turns mumbling out a rushed, ‘I love you too.’

J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous)

He gets jealous and also not jealous if that makes sense. Like he knows that no other could ever measure up to him and as such isn’t threatened by anyone even if they are flirting with you. But other times he sees you smiling with some stranger or laughing at a joke your co worker said and he wonders if maybe you’d be happier with someone better than him.

K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Hiei’s kisses are rough and warm and passionate. He gives you kisses usually to just straight up fluster you, he loves the dreamy expression you get and the little wobble in your knees when he kisses with you and it fills him with a sense of pride to elicit such a reaction from you.

L: Little ones (How are they around children)

Oh goodness. Please do not let Hiei loose around children unsupervised. He will just stare at them and watch as they get into whatever mischief they want and just still be staring at them. He’ll only intervene if they bother him or are in life-threatening danger.

M: Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

In the rare mornings that Hiei hasn’t completely disappeared after waking up earlier than you, he likes to just look at you. It’s a little odd but he likes to just bask in your presence, he enjoys being with you and it’s the second softest you’ll see him throughout the day.

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Hiei are incredibly tender, you spend the night in each others arms and you’ll want for naught in terms of warmth. As a fire demon, Hiei tends to give off a lot more heat than most so if you get cold at night he’ll just move closer to you and let you put your cold hands and feet on him.

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Hiei is a incredibly private and mysterious person. He reveals things about himself very slowly, most things are unsaid, revealed through his actions and reactions.

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Hiei is somewhat brash, impulsive, and grumpy which can lead to fights between the two of you. Given the fact that he is not at all patient, fights can get heated rather quickly. However, Hiei is also able to tell when he’s getting too worked up so he often ends up leaving mid-fight to walk away and cool down .

Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers the smallest things about you like the way you prefer to part your hair but fails at remembering things like your anniversary. Although, he is a telepath so in that aspect, he’s lucky. No, he doesn’t read your mind, he respects your privacy too much to do that, Botan on the other hand...

R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moments in your relationship both occurred during the Dark Tournament:

1) Was when he passed out from using his Dark Dragon technique and woke up to see you asleep at his bedside. The fact that you were there for him and stood by his side at his most vulnerable it... it meant a lot.

2) Was when you all exited the stadium and in all your excitement you kissed him yelling “You guys did it!”, he was very much embarrassed afterwards but even now just thinking about how happy you were brings a smile to his face.

S: Security (How protective are they? How would they like to be protected?)

Hiei loves to play the role of a silent protector, please let him lol. Even if you can see or sense him, pretend you can’t for his sake, it makes him feel cool. As for how he likes to be protected, he fully expects you to be reliant on him for protection if you’re a non-fighter, and he’s ok w that but if you like protect him from someone who’s trying to attack from behind, he might just admit he’s in L-word with you.

T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Hiei admittedly doesn’t put effort into dates or anniversaries. It’s one of the biggest challenges in your relationship, how he’d rather keep his pride than make an effort to be with you. You end up planning most dates as Hiei is perfectly content for you both to just stare off into space in the middle of the countryside. He will go along with whatever plans you have though, and he’ll steal you anything you want. In fact, the only thing Hiei’s actually bought you was a sword, you assume it was very expensive based on the sheer quality and amount of detail but he never says where he got it from.

U: Ugly (What are some bad habits of theirs?)

A bad habit that Hiei has are his aforementioned pride. The man is stubborn and will maintain said stubbornness until proved wrong beyond deniability, at which point he’ll avert his eyes and apologize. Another bad habit he has is that he won’t tell you if he’s struggling until he’s in so much shit that not telling you would be a matter of life or death. Like he’ll be dictating his will to you randomly one day while you’re just mindin your business, it’s terrible. His pride and secretive nature tend to be the cause of your most serious disagreements.

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s not concerned with his looks beyond the bare minimum. Hiei never really tries with his look whether it’s his clothes or general attitude/way he presents himself. He does keep clean of course, but in terms of fashion... he’ll wear whatever he’s got until it’s nothing more than rags.

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Hiei never feels incomplete without you, he’s much too independent and self-reliant to ever feel incomplete because of one person even if that is you. However, he does feel different, considering the fact that you are 90% of his impulse control and kindness, he does find himself getting irritated and acting much more brashly whenever you aren’t around.

X: (E)xes (Any previous relationship experience. How does that factor into your current relationship?)

You are quite literally the only relationship he’s ever been in, coincidentally you are also one of four people he can consistently tolerate.

Y: Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner)

Hiei gets a bad taste in his mouth at people who lack honor and integrity. He thinks that above all, whether you live or die, you should do so with honor. As such, he dislikes traitors or sycophants or the like, he doesn’t care if you’re an ass, as long as you’re honest about it.

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Hiei in general doesn’t sleep regularly and when he does it isn’t really good, restful sleep. Maybe very once in a while, he’ll get a decent night’s rest with you but overall, the man sleeps when his body forces him to.Also like to think that he can sleep with his eyes open, or at least with his Jagan open if he isn’t completely depleted of energy.

#sfw alphabet #hiei x reader #hiei imagine #hiei jaganshi #hiei yu yu hakusho #hiei imagines #x black reader #hiei x black reader #idontblushsrry

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hornyhimbofaggot · 3 years

Text

Wow, uh? I have never done this before and I have no idea what to do, lmao...

ANYWAYS!!!

I really want to start writing this story idea I've had since 8th grade, and when I started doing it with OCs, it was shit. So?

The premise: the year is 3026, and the U.S. government had officially eradicated 2/3 of human life a decade ago because of the awful amount of overpopulation. They wanted it to be quick and painless, but they had only managed to test the death-drug on rats before the crisis got too out-of-hand to keep putting it off. That being said, human and rat/rodent DNA are NOTHING alike, and no one knew what was happening because the death-drug was put into 2/3 of America's dispensed flu shots. So, because of the ultimate clusterfuck of governmental/medical malpractice, instead of dying quickly and without any pain, the society members that were infected with the "flu shot" became zombies, and began mindlessly wreaking havoc on the rest of the "healthy" population by brutally attacking, killing, and eating them. So, a big Dome was soon built around a small area of what used to be Arizona and California to protect those safe.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Now, a decade has gone by, and resources inside The Dome are getting scarce, but humanity is too afraid to venture beyond to try and find either more needed items or a cure.

Insert the first two of the three total main characters, who want to avenge their mom, whom they lost to the "flu shot". They are siblings, originally brother-and-sister, but I am open to changing the gender of the siblings. They have a strong enough will to sacrifice themselves in an attempt to save the rest of society in The Dome, and they each have a special weapon that they use especially well (Guns and Crossbow). They venture out pretty early on in my story, braving the hellish desert of Arizona almost immediately.

After a week or two of expeditionary adventures, they're both genuinely surprised to find out that those inhabiting The Dome are not the only people left alive when they stumble across another boy around the same age fighting off a hoard of zombies.

They jump in to help this boy, and after a bit of conversation, manage to convince him to aid in the search for resources or the cure. He also has a specialty weapon, which is knife-throwing, axes, and sharp metal, pointy things.

I have an idea for the brother and the boy found a little later on to have a romantic relationship, and for the siblings to be extremely close, but not so much that it's a toxic duo.

(They all die at the end, by the way.)

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

ONTO WHY I TYPED OUT THIS WHOLE FUCKING STORY PLOT AT 4AM!:

Like I said in the beginning, I attempted this book using OCs. I've tried writing and re-writing it for YEARS (I'm supposed to be a Senior, but I dropped out in September-), but it never works out. I hate that, because I am so proud of this idea, but the fact that I constantly fail to execute it is completely fucking insane to me.

So, that being said, since OCs are out of the question, I wanted to know what characters you all thought would be good substitutes.

(Preferably anime characters, but musicals and maybe other lesser-known people would be alright, too!)

My main thoughts as to what anime would give A+ characters to incorporate into this are:

- Haikyuu!!

- My Hero Academia

- Devilman: Crybaby

- Voltron: Legendary Defenders (I know it technically doesn't count as anime, but it's the art-style concept.)

- Yarichin Bitch Club

- BJ Alex (I know it's a Manhwa, but it's just the idea seems like it could possibly fit?)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡◇♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

That being said! Any suggestions you all have character-wise would be greatly appreciated!! I would also like to hear suggestions, feedback, or criticism on the plot, setting, or anything else you might see that could use some improving.

(Also, like I mentioned in the very start of this post, I am absurdly new to Tumblr, so I think it might be easier for you to get a hold of me through Instagram. My username is @trans.himbo.)

Thanks again for reading this clusterfuck of a post!!!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

- Leo-Helix Jeremy A.

#writing #author #oc #storytelling #story ideas #someone help #anime-insert #anime #manhwa #zombie #post apocalyptic #disease outbreaks #fanfic #book #angst #open to anyone #accepting criticism

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eryiss · 3 years

Text

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Matrue [Guns, Violence, Unnamed Character Deaths]

Prompt: Savage, Deadly

Summary: Perhaps having an affair with Russian spy in the middle of the cold war wasn't a good idea, particularly when Freed worked for the American Secret Service. But it was fine, America and Russia were never going to actually fight. Killing those they saw as traitors, however, was apparently a different story.

Notes: This is the forth Fraxus Week submission, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This story has gunshots, death and description of blood, so be careful if those might affect you. If that's not something you worry about, I hope you enjoy it.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

A War to Be Ridiculed

Year: 1963

Location: Moscow, Russia

When their affair had started, Freed had been paranoid. He'd picked up the habit of looking over his shoulder, trying to see if another American agent might have discovered his behaviour and was trailing him to get evidence against him. At the time, the paranoia had seemed justified: an American secret service operative sleeping with a Russian secret service operative in the middle of an international stalemate between nuclear superpowers was hardly something that would be celebrated.

The paranoia had died out fairly quickly. Now Freed's main concern was how he'd spin his meeting in the quaint little café as a business expense.

Russian pasties were divine, but pricey.

His bosses would have a fit if they knew what he was doing. Hell: half of America would brand him a traitor if they knew he'd even thought about Laxus in that way. But America seemed to throw a fit over anything for the past few years. A Russian so much as coughing unexpectedly seemed to be enough provocation for an international incident.

Ridiculous, the lot of them. Freed was just thankful that he'd found a way to profit from them.

"What can I get for you, sir?" A waiter asked.

"Just a tea," Freed requested, leaning back in his chair. His Russian was perfect both in accent and in syntax. "I'm waiting for a guest; I expect we'll be eating when he arrives. He'll have a coffee when he gets here."

"Of course."

The man left, and Freed spared a glance towards the door. He had gotten there early, he knew that, but he was starting to get impatient. His job – when he chose to do it – was a stressful one. It was what he had signed up for, of course, and the thrill of it was truly exhilarating. But sometimes the pressure of it all got on top of him, and he had come to grown fond of these meetings in their infrequency.

It was a twisted situation, he supposed. He was sent to Russia on a two-year undercover operation, trying to uncover all information that the enemy forces had on their attack plans. For the first few months, Freed had been diligent in his actions, only to find that Russia had as much on them as they had on Russia. Nothing.

Propaganda was a fascinating thing. Everyone back home seemed to think the bombs would be dropping any moment. They wouldn't. Both sides were shit-scared of doing anything.

Once Freed had discovered this, he had reported back to his commanders and had been told to remain there for the rest of the mission and continue gathering intel. Three more months of gaining the respect and trust of Russian diplomats and governmental workers had led to nothing of interest. Both countries were entirely focused on their defensive measures in case the other country attacked, so nobody had any intention on actually attacking. It was a big, boring stalemate that would never actually come to blows.

It was getting rather tedious, and then Laxus came along. A thrilling, beautiful enemy with stunningly blue eyes and a sense of menace and distrust that drove Freed wild.

Their meeting had been a setup, it was obvious. Freed's rise in Russian society had been suspicious, and so the Russian government had wanted to better understand him and the threat he posed. Freed's alias had been a businessman wanting to help the government and in return get investments, Laxus' alias was that of a rich man wanting to invest money and get a return. Freed had known what Laxus was doing, and Laxus had known what Freed was doing.

Still, pretending he was in the dark about Laxus' true intentions was fun. They both spun lies, tried to catch the other out, and there was the constant reminder that they both had weapons concealed, and the person who slipped up first would end up dead where he stood.

The thrill was brilliant.

Their third meeting had been where Laxus had taken things further. He'd worn a suit so snug nothing could be hidden if you were determined to see it. Freed had gotten chills from the sight of it, and he couldn't remember if he was more excited by the curve of the man's ass or the outline of his gun against his chest. Laxus was silently proposing advancement in their roleplay: increase the danger and increase the pleasure.

Freed almost thought it might be an interrogation tactic, a way for Freed to spill his guts once sated. After their night together it was clear Laxus saw the war in the same way Freed did. Pointless, without risk, and something that should be mocked. He wanted Freed; he didn't want information.

You went submissive if you wanted intel. That night, Laxus had been anything but.

And so, their affair had begun. At first it was just sex, with the occasional meeting of their businessman and investor character to keep up their charade. Then, as time went on and they got more comfortable, their meetings became more public, and their facades dropped slightly. They could only meet once a month or so – they had to do their jobs, of course – but it was the most fun Freed had had in years.

Eventually, the quaint little bell above the door rang, and Freed looked to see the object of his affections walking in. Say what you want about Russia; they knew how to breed a handsome man. Broad shoulders, stern features, trim waists, and large thighs. What more could a man ask for?

Freed watched as Laxus spoke to the host of the café, before being guided to sit opposite him. Freed stood and shook his hand as if they were colleagues, and they underwent their normal childishly competitive hand squeezing ritual. Laxus relented first this time, taking a seat at the table after Freed motioned for him to do so. The host left them alone, and it took a moment for Laxus to break the silence.

"So," Laxus rumbled in his beautifully accented, deep voice. "You've not been murdered."

"I'm afraid so," Freed smirked. "Nor you, it seems. We should congratulate ourselves."

"We should," Laxus agreed, mirroring Freed's expression. "How so?"

"I'm sure we're both creative enough to think of something," Freed purred as he saw the waiter approaching with their drinks.

Under the cover of the tablecloth, he brought his foot to slowly glide against Laxus' calf. He raised it higher as the man placed the two drinks on the table and asked if they wanted anything else. Freed allowed Laxus to answer, putting pressure on the part of his thigh his foot found rested at. Laxus didn't stammer or blush at the action – he was a professional, after all – but Freed knew he was just a little bit more tense. He spoke calmly and dismissed the waiter, glaring at Freed once he was gone.

"You wanna get us caught?" He growled.

"If we got caught, it would be entirely your fault," Freed hummed. "Keeping a straight face is rather standard for what we do."

"I'll get you back for it," Laxus promised.

"I certainly hope so."

Freed raised his teacup to his lips, then halted.

He sniffed as subtly as he could, then slowly brought the teacup back down to the saucer.

Arsenic.

Someone wanted to poison him.

Instincts took over, and a list of questions needed to be answered. Who wanted to kill him? Who in the café was behind the attempt? Who outside of the café might be involved? Who had noticed he hadn't actually drunk anything? Where was the quickest way to safety? How quickly could he leave the country without anyone noticing? Was this anything to do with Laxus? Had Laxus been an informant, or was he in as much danger as Freed was?

As he watched Laxus raise his own drink to his lips, Freed quickly took a chance on the latter question. Before the drink could touch his lips, Freed pressed his foot firmly against Laxus'. The flirtatious teasing was now overpowered by strength, and Laxus paused. Freed glanced to the drink with only his eyes, then gave Laxus a meaningful look.

Laxus sniffed his own drink, then brought it back to the table without drinking.

Fuck. This was a setup for them both.

They had to assume everyone around them was involved. Freed had absently noticed how there was nobody younger than twenty in the café despite families milling around the square. He'd been placed at a table in the centre of the room as well, secluded and in the centre of attention. Likely everyone was an agent of some kind, and they all had been watching them from the moment he arrived. This was manageable.

"You must tell me about your sister's birthday," Laxus said, as if the revelation hadn't happened. "She's turning twelve, correct?"

Twelve. There were twelve agents in the room. That was passable, given some luck. But they needed to know the situation outside of the café as well.

"She is," Freed nodded, leaning back in his chair, casually glancing out of the window. He caught a glimpse of something reflective from atop the town hall, and sighed. "Her cousin is getting rather angry about it, apparently her mother couldn't afford the gift she wanted, and so they've been fighting. But you know how young girls are, always sniping at one another."

"I suppose so," Laxus agreed, body tensing slightly. "I don't know how I'd deal with them. I'd want to just leave the situation behind me, but sometimes even doing that means you'll get caught in the crossfire."

They agreed then. They couldn't just walk out.

"It is rather an impossible situation," Freed chuckled, idly toying with the teaspoon as if uncaring. "Sometimes it feels like you can't escape family, doesn't it?"

"Well I don't see any of my family here," Laxus laughed. He didn't recognise any agents.

"Nor do I," Freed agreed. "Thank heavens for small mercies."

They could be facing either Russian or American forces. They had to assume that, as they'd set up their assassination attempts when the two were meeting up, either side had come to know about the situation and saw them both as too big of a risk. Whoever wanted them dead, it would end up with them both on a most wanted list. This was bad.

Conversation without drinking could only last them so long. Eventually, any agents in the café would know their attempt had been discovered, and they'd act. No doubt they'd be armed to the teeth. A bloodbath was inevitable, they just needed to be smart, and they'd survive it.

"The food here is divine," Laxus commented, picking up his menu again. "The last time I ate here, I nearly congratulated the chef."

"Perhaps this time you will."

They'd be leaving through the kitchen then. The sniper was positioned so that he could shoot through the window, so probably they'd not be prepared for any kind of escape, certainly not one through the back alleys. So long as they could fight their way to the back, they should be able to outrun them and get somewhere safer. If even for a few moments, it was better than being in the jaws of their trap.

Just as Freed was about to continue the conversation, he caught something in the reflection of the window. A man tucked around the corner of the café's counter was looking directly at them both, hand scratching at his thigh where a gun most likely was hidden. Damn.

They hadn't finished a plan, and they were suspicious. But it was avoidable.

Freed, very slowly, wrapped a hand around his teacup and brought it up. Laxus watched, face unmoving but arms tensing. Freed tried to make his movements look loose and uncaring as he brought the teacup to his lips. He tipped it upwards, clenching his lips shut as tight as they could be. The hot tea bumped against his lips and stung – either from the arsenic of just the heat of the drink – and he swallowed as if drinking. He could only hope that had sated them.

"Good?" Laxus asked, voice a little stilted.

"Enough," Freed dismissed. "I do wish I'd ordered something a little stronger. Though I suppose it's a little early in the day for that." He casually looked over his shoulder to the clock, to see it was eleven fifty-eight. Perfect. "To think, in two minutes it would have been perfectly fine."

"It's a bastard, for sure," Laxus grinned, gently tapping his knuckle against the table in a sign of acknowledgement.

When the clock struck twelve, they'd go.

What followed was a tense minute and a half, where they attempted to fill the silence with general conversation. Neither man touched their drinks, but it seemed Freed pretending to drink his tea had been enough to convince them that their plan was working. They talked about nothing, though their eyes darted from place to place to make sure they wouldn't be attacked before they could move. The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity.

Eventually, the bells of the grandfather clock rung, and they both spurted into movements.

They stood, chairs flying back as they reached for their weapons. Freed felt the wind of a bullet passing past him as he shunted himself to the left, and the back cushion of the chair exploded into feathers and dust. Nobody in the café screamed nor jolted; they'd been expecting it, meaning they were all agents sent to kill them. Good, no civilians made things simple.

Freed shot the man opposite him in the chest, a little to the left of his heart. The man staggered back, dropping his own gun as the sound filled the room. Freed quickly emptied another bullet into the man's skull. One down.

Laxus grabbed Freed's shoulders and shoved him back, banging him into a table. Freed watched slightly dazed as Laxus raised his own gun and emptied some shells into an elderly man and a young woman, who had been acting as a father and daughter. The man lurched back, falling against the window that had now been splattered in blood. The woman, who had been shot in the side rather than anywhere vital, tried to rush forward. She was holding a steak knife rather than a gun, and Freed quickly picked up a serving tray and struck her in the neck with it. He did so multiple times, before she stumbled to the ground, where Freed kicked her in the head enough times to knock her out. Either that or kill her.

Nine left.

When the window shattered again from another shot from the sniper's gun, both Freed and Laxus took refuse behind the counter. Wood splintered above them, and they could hear the sound of the other agents getting closer. Gunshots were near constant, blocking off their route to the kitchen and back entrance.

A lull in the shooting came, and Freed rose above the counter with his own gun in hand. He had expected that, with the number of agents involved, they wouldn't be as well trained as Freed and Laxus, and as such had to reload at the same time. Freed quickly shot the nearest agent, a woman in her fifties who was quickly spinning the barrel of her pistol. Freed's bullet landed between her eyes, and she staggered her final movements before falling to the ground in a lifeless pile.

Laxus, in an attempt to save bullets, picked up a sharp knife that had been put aside for cleaning, and threw it through the air. It struck a nearby agent in the cheek, and he stumbled back and grabbed at the deep, bleeding gash in his jaw. Not dead, nor incapacitated, but distracted.

Another agent shoved the bleeding man forward to get a better shot at Laxus and Freed, but Laxus acted faster. This time he did use his gun, and Freed almost winced as he saw the bullet slam into his face, eyeball exploding as the man screamed in pain. He fell to the ground, crumpling up and screaming as he rolled around the floor. Freed might have felt sorry for him, but he was an assassin, so mercy was the last thing on his mind.

An explosion of glass shattered behind Freed, and he winced as glass cut into his cheek. He grabbed Laxus' shoulder and dragged him down again.

There were seven agents unharmed and two badly injured. Feasibly they could kill them all, but it was a miracle they hadn't been hurt yet and their luck would run out. They had limited bullets available, and their impromptu weapons would progressively get less and less effective. They needed to leave and run, because if they didn't then logic dictated they would be killed. The kitchen staff seemed to have fled, so they were clearly not agents, meaning they had a clear escape route. They just needed to get across to the other side of the café without being killed.

"You go first," Laxus demanded. "I'll cover."

Freed nodded, and waited for another lull in the fighting. Knowing he needed to trust Laxus, he ran across the empty café without protection, ducking down to avoid the bullets flying towards him. He heard yelling and Laxus shooting, and hoped that Laxus was the cause rather than the victim. As he ran, he picked up the eyeball-less man's gun.

Once he was ducked behind the kitchen door, he tucked the agent's gun into his belt for later use and brandished his own gun. It was his turn to provide cover for Laxus, and he started by shooting at a woman with a pistol. She yelled and clutched her shoulder, though screamed when a bullet hit her forehead.

Freed shot as best he could as Laxus ran across the room and towards the kitchen. Freed only stopped when Laxus was inside, and the door had been slammed shut. Freed went to run, but Laxus placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What?"

"They'll pursue," Laxus grunted, moving a cabinet against the door.

"Yes, that's why we're running," Freed hissed.

"We need 'em dead. It's safer."

Rather than arguing, Freed decided that Laxus was right. They might not be top agents, but anyone left alive was a hazard to them. Three of them were completely unharmed and could track them. They needed to take any advantage they could get. Freed thought for a moment, before an idea hit him.

It took him a few seconds of routing through the kitchen to find what he needed: a gas canister for the kitchen's oven, and a blowtorch for their deserts. It was nasty and cheap, but it was a bomb. He removed his tie and quickly wrapped it around the handle of the blowtorch, holding down the trigger so that the flame would be constantly ignited. He then placed the gas canister against the barricaded door, which was being banged against by the other agents.

"The torch powerful enough?" Laxus asked.

"In time, it will be," Freed nodded, resting the lit blowtorch against the metal canister. "We need to go."

They did. They ran through the winding back alleys, utilising their maze-like qualities as best they could. They couldn't be sure who was following them and how close they were, so their paces didn't waver, and their determination kept firm. Freed felt his body aching but couldn't stop, not when stopping might mean their lives were over.

Faster than expected, they reached the edge of Moskva River. They couldn't see any bridges to cross it, and running along the river to find one was practically advertising their location. Going back into the alleys wasn't a possibility, and as such they could only do one thing. They climbed the barricade and jumped in.

The water was freeing cold, and it took Freed a moment for his muscles to acclimatise. He brought himself to the surface and saw Laxus had done the same. If nothing else, the quick submersion in the water had washed most of the blood off them both. They both began to swim to the other side of the river, Freed silently plotting how they'd hide now that they were both soaking wet. No plans came to mind, and Freed found himself hoping that Laxus had an idea.

"Boat," Laxus rasped, and nodded his head. "Look like yer struggling."

Freed didn't question the demand, and his practices swimming gave way to thrashing and panicking. He put on a façade of dread, deciding to yell when he knew the boat was getting closer. Laxus wrapped his arms around him as if trying and failing to save him. The two men in the boat noticed, and were rediverting their trajectory immediately.

When the boat was close, they climbed aboard it. The men peppered them with questions, asking what had happened and if they were alright. It took them a moment to see the injuries the two men had sustained, and their weapons.

Freed raised his gun and pointed it at them. It wouldn't work, but he felt like they didn't know that.

"We're going to need your boat I'm afraid," He demanded. Laxus raised his own weapon.

"And yer clothes," Laxus added; always thinking ahead. Two men in drenched suits might be somewhat conspicuous as they traversed the waterways. Two men in fishing apparel would be less so. "Quickly."

The men, fools that they were, took the threat at face value. With stumbling hands they began to strip and hand over their clothes. Within moments, Freed and Laxus looked like any fishermen that you might see on a river, and they'd given the poor men their suits in an act of mercy. They looked absurd and cold, of course, but it was better than finding themselves naked in the streets. Not once did Laxus or Freed remove their guns from their targets.

"You will tell the authorities you were drunk, fell into the river by mistake, and that you're incredibly sorry for causing a ruckus," Freed demanded, voice icy.

"And if you mention us, we'll kill ya," Laxus threatened.

Just as one of the men went to argue, an ear-splitting explosion shook the city. A plume of smoke burst upwards behind them, and the men watched in horror and fear. Freed and Laxus didn't react, and instead nudged their guns forward and looked at the men with feral grins as screams and shouting filled the city.

---

Year: 1970 Location: UNKNOWN

Freed woke to the sound of grunting, and the now familiar sound of an axe meeting wood. He padded to the window of the small cabin, opened it, and looked down to watch as Laxus split the firewood. The man really was a sight to behold; unbridled masculinity in all of its glory. His muscles flexed and the axe splintered the wood spectacularly, and even now Freed felt a twisted thrill at the knowledge of what that man could do when called upon.

He bathed himself in the cold tin bath, and dressed quickly. He attached his gun to his belt and walked to their shared kitchen. He placed a kettle over the fire and began boiling it, walking outside and into the forest where they now called home.

The gun was pointless, in reality. They were nowhere near either of their home countries, where no doubt they had been touted as traitors and been deemed as instant kill targets. They weren't on the same damn continent, but Freed had learned his lesson about becoming complacent. It didn't matter that they were tucked away in a Scandinavian Forest, with only a small town of people knowing of their existence; he would remain armed as to best protect himself and his lover.

Also, the gun was useful in killing the dear.

Laxus grinned at him as he approached, placing the axe down and running a hand over his sweat drenched face. Freed was undeterred, kissing the man he called husband slowly and smoothly. Laxus wrapped an arm around his waist and grinned.

"Sleepin' in again, huh?" Laxus teased, still speaking his mother-tongue in his beautifully harsh accent. "Because it was your turn to cut wood today, I think."

"It was," Freed agreed. "And yet you seem to be doing it."

"Maybe I'll find a way to make you do it."

"Maybe you'll have to."

Both men smirked, tight hand's grasped tighter, and Laxus pulled Freed into a brutally incredible kiss, one he greedily returned.

#Fraxus Week #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #1960's AU #Cold War AU #Word Count 4.1k

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years

Text

Fic: Forged Through Fire (1/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: Domestic abuse – parent on child; parental neglect; mentions of abortion.

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Forged Through Fire

One

From the moment Riza woke up, she knew that it was going to be a bad day. Her back felt like it was on fire, and she wondered if this was how the mannequins that Roy used for target practice felt like once he’d finished with them.

If she was being completely honest with herself then she wasn’t even surprised that this had happened. She’d been expecting it at some point; she was lucky to have made it this far into the process before it had happened.

Or, of course, she was extremely unlucky.

She got out of bed, looking down at the damp patch of sweat staining the sheets. Laundry could wait until she’d assessed the damage. Her nightgown was sticking to her, and she winced as she inched it up over her head, craning over her shoulder to try and see what was going on in the mirror.

As expected, the tattoo was horrifically infected. Considering her father’s penchant for getting the array down on her skin without much thought for anything else, including the cleanliness of his needles, it was only a matter of time before it happened. She reached round and touched the worst-inflamed parts of her skin, the final pieces of the array that he’d added a couple of days ago. The pain brought tears to her eyes and she clamped her jaws tight shut to avoid crying out.

Maybe she could just let the infection run its course and it would be fine. Riza shook her head. She didn’t really have much choice in the matter. It wasn’t like she could go to a doctor. The minute anyone saw the tattoo she’d be thrown in front of a firing squad.

Sometimes she wondered if her father even realised what he’d been condemning her to when he’d started to etch his life’s work onto her so indelibly. She’d known. She’d always known. She’d just never been in a position to contradict him.

Somehow, Riza didn’t think that it had ever crossed his mind. The most important thing in Berthold Hawkeye’s life had always been his research, and he’d always walked the line between the legal and the forbidden, never trusting the government with the full extent of his work.

Like all licensed alchemists, he had dutifully submitted his arrays for recording at the central library and received permission to use them and teach them to others.

The array on Riza’s back, however, had been put there and not on paper for the precise reason that he did not want anyone else to get their hands on it. Never mind that creating arrays and not submitting them for governmental approval was illegal and could carry a death sentence depending on the potency of the alchemy involved. Never mind that even though Riza wasn’t the one to mark her skin and couldn’t see the array to use it, she’d be the one to suffer.

There wasn’t really a lot she could do about it.

Still trying not to cry with the pain, Riza made her way to the bathroom, scrambling through the cabinets for antiseptic. There wasn’t any. Why wasn’t she surprised? At least there were bandages; although she wasn’t sure how much good they would do, they’d be better than nothing.

She heard the knock on the door below her, and then Roy’s voice as her father let him in. Of course this would have to happen on one of the days that Roy was due to come for a session, because her skin couldn’t have seen fit to start trying to kill her on a day when she didn’t have to worry about strangers in the house potentially finding out about the elephant in the room and on her back.

Not that Roy was really a stranger, though. Riza reflected on their strange relationship as she cleaned up and bandaged her back as best she could. They’d been practically living in each other’s pockets for the last two years ever since her father had taken Roy on as an apprentice, begrudgingly accepting that caveat of keeping his state license and finally realising that all the research into flame alchemy in the world would be for nothing if he simply took it with him to his grave.

Riza still didn’t really know what that made them to each other, though. She liked to think that they were friends, although he spent most of his time these days holed up in the study. The more secretive her father had become about the full array, the less time the three of them had spent together in a more social setting; Roy was no longer welcome to stay for dinner, as much as Riza was ever desperate for a conversation partner and someone to deflect her father’s attention onto.

Her father was yelling at her to brew some tea and get breakfast ready, and Riza sighed, trying to adopt as normal a stance as possible, not letting show that something was wrong and that she was in pain. Not that her father would care (although perhaps he would – if her back got really bad then it might ruin his array, after all), but she didn’t want Roy to worry about her.

She downed a couple of painkillers – government issue and barely better than sugar pills but she could hope for a kind of placebo effect – and made her way downstairs to start the day. She could hear Roy and her father arguing over his decision to join the military academy. It was the same argument they had every time. Riza had never questioned Roy’s decision; his life was his own and in a place like a Amestris, the rigid life of the military was ironically the best place to gain a modicum of freedom. If you can’t beat them, join them and all that.

“Riza? Are you ok?”

She jumped at the voice and immediately spun round; she’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed Roy follow her out of the study after she’d collected the tea things.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? There’s blood on your back.”

“What? Shit!” She tried to look over her shoulder, finally catching a glimpse in the shiny metal of the oven door. Sure enough, spots of blood and fluid were seeping through the bandage and onto the back of her shirt.

“Riza?”

For the first time in her life, Riza could only feel utter blind panic.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Riza, you look like you’re in pain. What happened?”

“Nothing!”

“Are you…”

“MUSTANG!”

Roy rolled his eyes at the summons. “You’re not fine,” he said, with a tone of stern finality that Riza had never heard in his voice before. He turned to leave the room and return to her father, and Riza felt herself sag, leaning back against the oven. Everything had just got so much worse.

Still, at least the cold metal was nice and numbing against her back.

She wasn’t really sure how long she stayed there, back pressed against the oven door and knowing she’d leave a wet smear there when she moved away. She should probably go and hide in her room so that Roy couldn’t question her again when he left, but at the same time, there was something in the back of her mind that wanted to speak to him again.

He was concerned about her. Riza couldn’t remember the last time that someone had been concerned about her, but now that she really thought about it, Roy had always looked out for her ever since he had first come into the house. The small part of her that had not completely given up all hope was nudging her to take the potential lifeline that might have been offered and cling to it. Surely Roy, of all people, would understand. He wouldn’t shop her to the military police if she told him about the tattoo. He knew her father, after all, knew what kind of a man he was even as he continued to learn under him.

She could trust Roy.

She hoped she could trust Roy. Roy trusted her, after all. She was pretty sure her father didn’t know that he’d grown up in a speakeasy and knew more about dodging the law than any nineteen-year-old should.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why he’d chosen to join the military. It was easier to protect the people you loved if you had inside knowledge of when the raids would be going on.

Roy trusted her. Roy knew all about living in less than legal circumstances beyond your control.

She could trust Roy.

Eventually, she could hear the sounds of the day’s session coming to a close, and her father yelling for her to show Roy out. She crept out into the hallway, waiting until he’d vanished back into his study before grabbing Roy and yanking him into the kitchen, barricading the door with a chair for good measure.

“Riza? What’s going on, are you ok?”

She shushed him.

“I need help,” she admitted. “I have no idea how you can help but I’m just hoping you might be able to give me some advice.”

“OK. You’re scaring me a little. And why is the door barricaded?”

“My father.”

“Right. Enough said, sorry. So, how can I help?”

Riza took a deep breath, turned her back and took her shirt off, crossing her arms over her chest even though she knew Roy couldn’t see anything. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he looked at the stark black ink and the wet and bloody bandages.

“Oh my God, Riza… How could he have done this to you?”

“What’s done is done.”

“Riza, I’m not a doctor but this is really bad, you need to see someone.”

“How can I, Roy? It’s an unregistered array, no doctor would touch it with a bargepole, they’ll just call the cops.”

There was silence for a long time, and Riza glanced over her shoulder at him. His brow was furrowed in deep thought, looking down at his spark gloves and the simplified flame array – the legal flame array – dyed into them.

“Please don’t kick up a fuss,” she begged. “If he knows you’ve seen the full array…”

“My lips are sealed, I promise. I think I know how to help you. Can you get out of the house tonight?”

He moved past her towards the fridge and Riza scrambled to put her shirt back on, ignoring the pain as the damp fabric brushed her inflamed skin.

“Have you got anything you can use as a cold compress until then?”

“No.”

“OK, well, try putting a couple of towels in the fridge or something to try and help keep any swelling down. If you can get out tonight, meet me by the phone booth in the park at nine o’clock, I should have got something organised by then.”

Riza nodded her understanding and removed the chair from under the door handle, letting Roy out of the house. Her father would probably have passed out by then, and it wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out after dark for a breath of fresh air and freedom.

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the front door with a sigh. If Roy couldn’t come through for her she didn’t know what she’d do, but she trusted that he’d think of something.

She trusted that he cared enough.

“Roy, this is your aunt’s speakeasy. When they said alcohol can be used as a disinfectant, I don’t think they were talking about bathtub moonshine.”

“Madam Christmas does not serve bathtub moonshine. I’ve never pried into where she gets it, but I know it’s not out of a bathtub. Anyway, we’re not here for the alcohol.”

Riza shivered in the cool night air, looking around at the deserted street. There were never many people around after dark. There wasn’t officially a curfew in Central City, but the police presence on the streets always doubled once the sun went down, and people weren’t inclined to hang around. Not that they were inclined to hang around much in the daytime, either. Even just going to the market to get groceries, everyone walked with purpose, eyes down.

“It’s a double front. Aunt Chris rents out a couple of the back rooms to an unlicensed medical alchemist. He’s not the cheapest, but he’s the safest. And he’s kind.”

“I know what that’s code for. Great. Now everyone’s going to think I’m here because I got myself in trouble.”

“Hohenheim does a lot more than that. Actually the thing he does most is stab wounds, as you do. But I won’t deny he does do a lot of that. Is that a problem?”

“Having my illegal alchemy tattoo treated by an illegal abortionist? No, Roy, that won’t be a problem.”

They entered into the quiet bookshop that served as a front for the speakeasy. Officially it was closed, although the lights were still on in the back and there was a girl sitting behind the counter, looking bored out of her mind by the pulp fiction romance novel she was reading. She just nodded at Roy, a regular visitor enough to be trusted without getting the third degree from the doorman, and he went through to the back room, opening the door to the basement and gesturing for Riza to go through.

“After you.”

She’d been in here once, a year ago now. It had been the middle of the day at the time and the bar hadn’t been properly open, just a few die-hard regulars in the corners. It had still been an experience though. Anything that wasn’t the four walls of her house was an experience. Her father had passed out and Roy had invited her to come for a walk with him, and they’d ended up in the speakeasy. She’d just turned seventeen and her father had just started to mark her back, and she’d been feeling rebellious – if I have a tattoo that might get me killed, might as well go to a place that might get me killed too.

Despite everything, including the undercurrent of fear at being caught either by the police or by her father, Riza still felt a certain warmth towards the place. It felt like more than just an illegal bar to her. It felt like a home. Maybe because it had been Roy’s home for so long, and he had seemed so at ease and alive in there.

He wasn’t quite as easy today, but he smiled at her when she looked back over her shoulder at him as they descended the stairs and entered the bar itself. It was busier tonight, in the height of its peak time, and Riza felt extremely self-conscious as Roy guided her through the room, bypassing the bar entirely and going towards the draped off area on the back wall.

He pulled back one of the curtains to reveal a suspiciously ordinary looking door. The door itself wasn’t suspicious, it was a normal wooden door, but there was something about it that made it look out of place, as if it shouldn’t have been there – like it hadn’t been there one moment and had mysteriously appeared the next. Maybe it had. Alchemy could do all kinds of things, after all.

Roy lifted his hand to knock but stopped short and turned to her. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

Riza shook her head. “No. I’ll be ok.” Honestly, she wanted nothing more than for Roy to come in with her, because whilst she definitely trusted him, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted anyone else in the establishment; but since she was already paranoid about people getting the wrong impression as to why she was visiting an unregistered alchemist, she didn’t want them to think that Roy was the one who had potentially got her into that non-existent state.

That said, no one in the bar seemed to be paying them any mind, all too focussed on their drinks and on each other. They were in an illegal speakeasy after all, so they didn’t have all that much room to judge her.

“Ok. Well, Trisha can always come and grab me if you need me.”

Riza didn’t ask who Trisha was, and Roy left her alone, letting the curtain drop back down behind her and cutting her off from the heavy smell of alcohol and the muffled music.

She knocked timidly.

“Come in.”

Like most average, law-abiding citizens, Riza had never been to an unlicensed doctor or alchemist before, and from the gossip she’d heard flying around about them, she’d been expecting a scene from a horror film.

She was a little taken aback when she entered a clean, well-lit room with a couch covered in crisp white sheets, no sign of bloody surgical tools anywhere. The alchemist was washing his hands in the corner and he turned as she entered.

“Hello. Riza, is it? I’m Hohenheim, pleased to meet you. Roy said something about a skin problem, but he didn’t give me any details.”

Riza nodded. “I have a tattoo on my back, it’s infected.” She paused. “It’s an illegal alchemy array. My father is licensed, but he likes to experiment.”

Hohenheim’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “On you?”

“No. Well. Not exactly. I’m just the notebook. He needs to write it down and he figured this was more secure than putting it on paper.”

“Hmm.” Although he said nothing more on the subject, there was sympathy in his golden eyes as he gestured to the couch. “If you take your top off and lie down on your front on the couch, I’ll take a look. Are you all right on your own? My wife’s just next door in the dispensary; she’ll happily come in if you would be more comfortable having another lady with you.”

“No, it’s ok.”

He turned his back as she pulled her coat and shirt off, and she saw him twitch as she let out an involuntary hiss of pain.

“I’m ready.”

His hands were warm on her back as he removed the dressings; she’d changed the bandages twice throughout the day, but she didn’t think it had made all that much difference to the infection.

“You’re in a lot of pain.” It was a statement, not a question. “It’s not as bad as it could have been, you managed to catch it early. If you’d left it any longer it might have caused some real damage.”

He draped her coat back over her. “Sit up a moment, I’ll need to draw the array.”

Riza watched as he worked straight onto the sheets with blue tailor chalk, marking out an intricate circle.

“That doesn’t look like alchemy.”

“It’s Xingese alkahestry. Far more widely used for medical purposes than destructive ones and sadly far more illegal in Amestris.”

“You’re from Xing?”

Hohenheim laughed. “No. I just spent a lot of time there.”

He glanced sideways at her and Riza noticed the golden eyes again. He might not be from Xing, but she didn’t think that he was entirely from Amestris either. Eye colour was usually a good indicator.

“Where are you from?”

“Nowhere.” There was sadness in the eyes now. “Lie back down, this won’t take a minute. It might sting a little.”

It was more like an electric shock than a sting, the lightning crackle of alchemy dancing over her skin, but when it was over, there was just blissful, blessed relief.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hohenheim went over to the door in the corner as Riza got dressed again, tapping lightly. “Is it ready, Trisha?”

“Yes, love.” The door opened to reveal a small room barely bigger than a closet, filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of jars and bottles. A young woman wearing an apron came out and pressed a small pot into Riza’s hand.

“It’s a tea-tree salve, a natural antiseptic,” she said. “Rub it in every night before bed for a couple of weeks and everything should clear right up.”

“Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?” She’d raided the housekeeping and the scant savings she kept under her bed; she knew how much medical treatment cost ordinarily, but this was very different.

Hohenheim shook his head. “Roy paid in advance; didn’t he say?”

“Oh. No. Oh. Well. Thank you.”

She left the room, fighting her way through the curtain and out into the main room again. Roy was sitting at the bar waiting for her.

“All sorted?”

Riza nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

“Great. Can I get you a drink to calm your nerves?”

“Roy, she’s only seventeen.” Behind the bar, Madam Christmas gave her nephew a pointed look, before heaving a long sigh. “I guess there’s no legal drinking age in a country where no one’s allowed to drink anyway. Pick your poison, hun, but I’m not serving you spirits.”

Riza shook her head. “If he smells it on me there’ll be hell to pay. I should probably be getting back before he realises I’m out.”

Roy nodded, and the brief flash of sorrowful sympathy in his face did not go unnoticed. He slid off his bar stool, walking through the bar with her.

“I’ll walk you home in case of patrols.”

They didn’t speak for a long time after they left the shop, both of them lost in their thoughts. It was only once they were nearing the Hawkeye home on the outskirts of the town that Riza remembered she hadn’t thanked Roy properly.

“Hohenheim said you paid for my treatment.”

“Yeah.” Roy’s smile was sheepish in the dim moonlight. “I figured it was only fair. It’s not your fault the tattoo you had no say in getting got infected. Why should you have to pay the price for it?”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

They stopped at the gate, and Riza knew that if this was a romance novel of the type that the bookshop front sold, now would be the point where they would kiss and declare their undying love for each other.

It wasn’t really undying love, per se, but there was definitely something there, something that Riza could not quite define yet.

Feeling emboldened now that she was no longer in pain, she darted in and pressed a peck to Roy’s cheek. Even in the darkness, she could see the beginnings of colour coming up in his face, and she could feel that hers was just the same.

“Good night, Roy.”

“Good night, Riza.”

#FMA Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: Forged Through Fire

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