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smutty-ki113r · 3 years

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🎠Laughing Jack🎠|| Carousel

Fluff one-shot x gn!reader— only warning is angst (2.6k)

Inspired by: Melanie Martinez

After months of endless nagging you finally convinced Laughing Jack to let you visit his amusement park. He had claimed it was too scary and you would get creeped out but you weren’t one to take no for an answer.

Giving you a piece of candy so the trans-dementional trip wouldn’t be too hard on you. Tasting the sour lemon taffy he gave you and making a tense face as the flavor pulled at your taste buds and stuck to your teeth.

Your head getting dizzy as your surroundings warped and his room became red and white vertical stripes. Blinking a couple times as he leaned into your face, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” You told him, almost falling back at how close he was. As soon as your perception adjusted you looked for the exit to the tent you were inside. “Onward!” You said excited, marching comedically to the entrance flap.

“This isn’t exactly the safest place”, he called from behind, catching up with ease because his legs were so long. “You need to stay close to me at all times” you smiled at him, it’s not like you were complaining, “got that?”

Giving him a keen nod you stepped out of the grand tent. Squinting at the sky, which was tainted a dusty gray, swirly clouds amber of scattered around in the background. The carnival was beautifully revolting, with littered attractions as far as the eye could see.

The place looked somewhat abandoned, if you get past the faint cries of children, from their souls stored in toys. Rides that once colored a vibrant red had paint chipped, specks of dull metal flaked over the bars.

Game stands broken down and leaning unsteadily, disturbing toys with eyes and limbs missing hanging from the top. It looked like it might fall down at any minute, but you couldn’t help but notice the newer looking boxes of supplies lying around next to the stands.

Fairy lights hung from the tilted signs, decorating the food court. A fresh trail had been made between the rides.

It warmed your heart that he had made subtle efforts to fix the place up, he certainly didn’t think you would notice.

Looking back at his nervous smile, Jack was terrified you would hate the place. You thought all but the opposite, giving him a big grin. Your expression relaxed him, assuring him that you wouldn’t think he was a freak and leave. His whole demeanor shifting, making him more comfortable and even enthusiastic.

Straightening out and giving you jazz hands, “what are you waiting for?” putting one hand on his hip to motion you to the park with the other “lets go have fun!”

Following behind you with a giggle as you approached the carnival games. The ring toss looking somewhat appealing in between the other activities, so you told him you wanted to play.

“Basically you get 5 rings, if you get at least 3 in the pins you win a prize” he explained.

“Alright alright lemme try” you waved him off, snatching the rings and giving one a toss. It missed, you brushed it off. The second one made it in and Jack gave a little cheer, it still wasn’t enough.

Hyperfocusing on the pin in the middle make a soft throw upward, the edge hitting the top of the pin and falling to the side. You gave a groan, calculating your last two throws.

Your forth throw made the pin to the side, and you only had one more try left. Aiming for another pin at the side to release, the ring clanging against it and falling to the floor.

You went to look at Jack with a frown but he wore a happy expression, “you won!” He exclaimed. Confused you turned back, finding the ring you had just tossed around the last pin. You were completely certain you had missed it, racking your mind for an explanation as jack handed you a small purple bunny that was missing an arm.

Realizing that Jack had manipulating the game so you could win, throwing him a knowing glance. He just happened to be looking away, whistling guiltily.

Squeezing the bunny you moved onto the next game, it was ballon dart toss. The stand had pale red and black balloons scattered across a board. Excitement was written all over his face, you cocked an eyebrow in question.

“It’s a two person game!” He said, “whoever pops more balloons wins!”

He handed you four darts and kept four for himself, “you can go first” he motioned with a grin. Pacing the dart in two fingers a couple times before throwing at a balloon. Giving a groan when you missed and waiting for him to go.

Being as skilled as he was he managed to land one in a bullseye. “Oh it’s on” you dared, getting one point yourself. LJ got the second one too, staring at you intensely as you evened out the score.

Giving him a small smile as the dart broke the surface of the balloon with a sharp noise “pop goes the weasel right?” You laughed, referring to his famous song.

He looked at you almost in shock, taken aback by your joke. Shaking himself into reality he broke out in a light blush, a part of him touched, as if you were accepting him for who he was.

Too distracted by your eyes on him to play the game with concentration. Missing the third one with a growl he waited for you to take your turn, which you lost. It was the last point and Jack was a shoe in, so obviously he took the victory.

You were happy for him, passing along a “good job!” as he retrieved the big brown teddy bear that was half his size, and all of yours. It was missing an eye, thin stands of makeshift fur pulled out and a silky red bow around it’s neck.

“Here” he said, dangling it in front of you.

“For me?” You asked, “but you won”, trying to look up at him but the bear blocked most of your view, only letting you see above his nose.

“Just take it” he practically pushed it into you, making you blow out an oof.

Holding it to the side at the torso with one hand you broke out in a grin “thank you for the plushie” you said, hugging him from the side and squeezing his torso “but I want you to be my teddy” you laughed. He looked incredibly flustered, frozen as you broke away.

“You’re big and tall” you tippy toed up to give his shoulder pad feathers a ruffle “and fluffy”

The man looked like he was about to faint so you decided to knock it off, laughing and telling him you wanted to go on the carousel next. Quickly, LJ happily led you too it, skipping in front of you (mostly to hide his blush).

Standing at the controls to cue a round, watching you walk around to find a pretty horse. Given, all of them had dark spots and chipped paint, but they worked all the same. Leaving the bear on another horse and climbing onto a white one that had a yellow saddle, intricate lacy designs patterned on the sides. Royal blue reigns across it’s chest and a lion on a crest.

It was beautiful, and you traced your fingers on the drawing. It must have been stunning, but the weathering of time and agony had gotten to it. A painful reminder of what was, a mere reflection of the chipping away of a joyful being.

Prying away from your thoughts as you felt the vibrations of Jack stepping onto the walkway- with one of his big smiles. Even after everything, he still wore a smile. It made you want to tear up, he really needed all the love he could get.

He was too tall to get on a horse, so he just stood by you. His big hand gracing the golden pole and holding on, watching as you peeked up at him. Even though his eyes were constantly bright he displayed something…deeper. It was a sort of shine, a sparkle if you will, luminosity glazed over in such a way that one can only get lost in its vastness.

The looped music in the background was secondary as you rose up and down with the horse, giving Jack a little smile and thanking him for bringing you here. “I’m having a lot of fun with you” you noted.

“Well of course you are! It’s a carnival” he said with joy.

“No I mean with you” you clarified “you’re pretty great Jack”. This time he didn’t avoid your gaze, his mouth open slightly, not knowing how to react to the sincerity of the compliment.

The ride slowly came to a stop, and you were feeling slightly tingly. Maybe it was the air, or the loss of focus. “How about a roller coaster?” You dared, to which he gave a tense face.

“Those are pretty broken, you’ll probably die riding one and that’s not what we want” he said, stepping off the carousel. “How about some cotton candy instead?”

You nodded your head vigorously, following him in the pursuit for the fairy floss, the bear falling behind forgotten. Passing by more unused rides that had long past rusted and a house of mirrors to get to the food court.

Jack humming happily as he dipped a paper cone into the bowl of revolving fibers of sugar. Whipping up a swirly pink and blue cotton candy and handing it to you with a proud smile.

He went to make another treat until you spoke, “I’m not that hungry so we can share” you proposed. “If you want”

“Are you sure?” He asked, concerned that you didn’t have much appetite. “Do you want some candy or maybe a funnel cake?”

You shook him off, taking a bite out of the cloud-like dessert. It was absolutely delicious, honeyed and saccharine on your tongue in a blend of flavor you had never tasted had before.

Soft as it disintegrated onto your mouth, leaving behind a remanence of something too sweet. Bringing it up to Jack, who was so tall you had to extend your arm fully to get it to his mouth.

He simply laughed at your struggle, taking a bite before giving you a thin smile and taking it from your hand. Sitting down at a bench so that you could both share comfortably.

By the time the candy had finished you noticed little bits of the silky texture stuck on his nose. Painfully stifling a laugh you turned away.

“What’s so funny?” He asked with a genuine smile.

When you didn’t answer his tone changed, “what’s so funny huh?” he sounded a bit angered.

Hiccuping through your laughter you faced him, leaning in real close to his face, enough so that you could feel the heat emanating from it; taking a bite of the pink woven candy on his nose and holding it in your teeth.

His face went red at the sight, embarrassed that he had cotton candy on his nose. Well, that and for a moment he thought you were going to kiss him.

Noticing your hands were all sticky you asked him if there was a sink somewhere. After both of you washed your hands you sat back down at the bench.

The sky was going dark, the poofs of dusty cloud fading in with the night but still managing to remain visible. You heard a whirr as Jack turned on all the rides at the carnival, lighting the whole thing up.

You sat in awe, a mere spectator in the empty yet live amusement park. Admiring the music that added to the ambiance, watching Jack approach you.

“Wanna take a walk?” He asked, but there was something…off. LJ seemed nervous as you got up and walked next to him.

He had been thinking about it for a while now, probably even before he brought you to the carnival. Even though he had washed the gooey candy from his hands they were still sticky, but it was from sweat. Giving you side glances as you paced the trail with him.

Debating to himself whether or not he should do it, if you would hate him for it. Telling himself that he would regret it if he didn’t, but thinking about the potential negative reactions you could give.

Passing the carousel once again as you noticed the usually loud and happy clown was silent, lost in thought as he stared into the distance, his lips forming a tensing line.

Wondering if he was ok, but brining up the topic might make him uneasy. Perhaps you being there at his haunted amusement park was ticking him off, or if you taking that cotton floss off his nose was too much, or if you were pushing your luck, or worse what if you triggered hi-

All thoughts faded from your mind the moment you felt a slow, shaky hand grasp onto yours. You had to look to where he held you because he was so gentile you thought it was the wind. Holding onto you softly enough that it felt like a feather, somehow still creating a little pocket of warmth between you.

A glowing thump of heat pulsing inside your chest, happiness digging into your cells and giving you the confidence to squeeze his hand.

He let out a sharp inhale at the feel, still avoiding your gaze as he relaxed into your touch. Not daring to move his hand too much or he might risk ruining the moment, afraid of hurting you with his claws.

Approaching the Ferris wheel he finally spoke, “this is probably the one ride that won’t break”, not a peep about holding you. “Do you want to go on?”

You finally caught his gaze, absolutely melting at the smile in his eyes. Responding with a ‘yes’ and letting him open the door for you. Sustaining his grip with you as he helped you on, not letting go even after you sat.

The cart wasn’t exactly small, but with a guy the size of Jack it was pretty compacted. It’s not like you minded, the lack of space gave you an excuse to bunch up alongside him. The feathers from his pads tickling your face as you rested on him.

Watching the view as the cart took you higher and higher, it was perfect. The evening set in the rich obscurity of the night, lights of the festival blinking as if they had a life of their own. The bulbs on the stands making z’s as they illuminated the red and white drapes of the far off tents.

Jack held your hand with such care and caress, you gave him a reassuring press to let him know it was ok. He was so enveloped with the passionate act that he squeezed as well. Letting you feel all the dips and curves of his hand. Clutching onto you, as if you might disappear too.

Facing him to cup his cheek with your free hand, caressing him and tucking a stand of hair behind his ear. Trailing your thumb across his skin and feeling him lean into your touch, swearing that between the lines on the pad of your finger there was a tear that you had wiped away.

Getting lost in the breaths you shared as you inched closer to his lips, giving him a second of warmth longer to prove that you weren’t going anywhere.

#creepypasta #laughing jack fluff #laughing Jack #laughing jack x you #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack rants #lj #I love lj #creepypasta fluff #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta lj #creepypasta laughing jack #creepy #🎴#♣️

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submissivekillers · 3 years

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Yo yo yoooi! Can I please have a lost boys x vamp reader who’s like the very first vampire to be born and she comes and meets the boys cause she’s traveling across the world to visit all her “children” - so basically ancient ass vamp reader who looks 20 something meets the lost boys cause she’s meeting the rest of her kind

like what i do? support me on kofi

ngl i basically pictured reader as a pre-milfication lady d while writing this jhgfdsa. brainrot!! also mild max slander

length: 2.2k

If there is one rule you’ve managed to learn over the long years of your existence, it is this: humans will take any opportunity to make fools of themselves.

Santa Carla is no exception.

Even in the early morning before the hordes of hormone-addled humans descended on the beach, the air had been heavy with smoke and blood and sex, so strong it almost overpowered the scent of the sea even when you'd peeled off your sandals to wade in. In its own way, it's exhilarating; the anticipation had your old blood stirring, your excitement mounting as the sun dipped low and the crowds swelled. From the window of your little motel room, you'd had a wonderful view of the flood of humans that spilled onto the boardwalk, the vast majority of them young and already inebriated to some degree. Ripe for the picking.

It's not humans that you're hunting for tonight, though. At least, not yet.

At a leisurely pace, you wander the boardwalk, taking your time to enjoy the local color. You indulge in a vivid blue cloud of cotton candy, try a couple rides, win yourself a stuffed whale after breaking a few bottles and promptly gift it to the first kid you see. A belligerent twenty-something who stinks of beer tugs at the hem of your white dress as it swishes around your thighs and you break his wrist without a second thought, disappearing into the crowd long before his scream of pain is lost in the echo of blaring music and shrieks of sugar-fueled glee.

You're in line behind a gaggle of chattering teens at an ice cream stand when your nerves prickle, feeling the weight of eyes on the back of your neck. Without turning, you inhale, nose wrinkling as the acrid smell of old blood fills your nose. They absolutely reek of the stuff - it's so strong that you're a little surprised even the humans aren't picking up on it. But then again, maybe they just can't pick it out under the layers of weed and exhaust smoke.

The teens disperse, laden with several precarious cones of ice cream, and the bored woman behind the counter waves you up. You open your mouth, but there's an arm around your waist before you can say a word, a cool body pressed against your side. A ringed hand slaps a crumpled five-dollar bill on the counter, mismatched bracelets jingling with the motion.

"We got the lady's order tonight, Peggy," comes a voice from your other side. You glance over the top of your glasses (cheap, heart-shaped things rimmed in vivid pink, scavenged from last night's meal) and meet the gaze of a cherubic blond, his pale blue eyes calculating as he worries his thumbnail between his teeth.

The arm around your waist squeezes tighter. You turn your head, tilting your chin slightly so you can lock eyes with another pair of baby blues. They sparkle at you mischievously as your fellow vampire, bends to whisper in your ear, teased blond mane tickling your nose. "What can I get for you, baby girl?"

You make a show of considering your options, pouting faintly as you prop a hand under your chin. You slip your other hand around his waist, idly toying with the mesh of his ridiculous fishnet top and grinning when he shivers at the scrape of your painted nails. "Chocolate shake, I think," you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. "Are you getting anything?"

Rocker boy shakes his head, tips you an exaggerated wink as he shoves the fiver towards the increasingly petrified-looking cashier. "Nah, all yours tonight."

"Sweet of you," you chirp, popping up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He beams at you sunnily, shooting an excited glance at the cherub over the top of your head.

Peggy pushes your shake over the counter, lid only half-on in her haste to get the three of you away from her little stand. You manage to flash her a smile (aiming for sympathetic, but perhaps landing closer to smug) before you're pulled away, happily taking a sip of your drink as the cherub comes to walk at your side, trapping you between their bodies. You address the rocker first, catching the way his eyes dart down to catch you licking the ice cream from your lips. "You got a name?"

"You can call me Paul, baby," he purrs, then wiggles his brows at you suggestively. "Or daddy, if ya want."

You snort around the straw of your shake, unable to resist the grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth. It's definitely one of the more low-effort pickup lines you've ever heard, but something about him - the goofy little eyebrow waggle, the answering grin when you laugh at him like he knows exactly how ridiculous he is, his overall puppyish manner - manages to push it over the line from sleazy to charming. "You should be so lucky."

"I'd be the luckiest man in the world, I think," he flashing you a smile that's slower, more seductive than his cheesy grin - the kind of smile that would make any pretty young human a little more willing to spread their thighs.

It's perhaps more effective on you than you care to admit, but you ignore the lazy heat that curls down your spine, turning to bat your eyes at the cherub. "How 'bout you, handsome?"

"Marko," he says shortly. His face is young, but he's definitely the older one here - you can always tell by the eyes. "And you're on our turf."

"What, a girl can't take a little vacation in peace? I thought this was a free country," you huff in mock indignance.

Marko narrows his eyes at you. "Free country, maybe. Not free hunting grounds." He gnaws his thumbnail again, scanning you like he's trying to judge a threat - though it seems he can't help lingering for a long moment on the bare skin of your thighs. "Mind coming with us? David wants to meet you."

David. The name is familiar - Max's first, if you recall. From what you'd heard, he could be quite a territorial creature.

Paul, perhaps mistaking your thoughtfulness for unease, squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. "Hey, you're not in trouble. We just wanna make sure you're cool, you know?" His thumb draws steady circles over the arch of your shoulder blade. "This is our turf, but if you're not gonna cause any trouble, you'll be okay."

The expression on Marko's face makes you doubt Paul's optimism, but you play along, curling a hand around his bicep and leaning in. "But what if I like causing trouble?"

Paul grants you another sunny grin. "Then you can cause trouble with us," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "I bet we could show you a good time."

Marko clears his throat, distracting you from your flirting, and you're suddenly aware of the scent of blood grown stronger - along with the pungent smell of motor oil. Looking ahead, you see a group of bikes before you, two more vampires leaning against their respective rides.

Both handsome, and you can tell they're both strong - but it's clear from a glance which one is the leader.

"Thanks for fetching our guest," the blond - David, you know instinctively - rumbles, his voice a warm, sardonic purr. He looks you up and down, the weight of his eyes like a physical thing. "Welcome to Santa Carla."

"Do you give all visitors a personal welcome?"

"Only the interesting ones." He smiles at you, the edge of a fang glinting in the light. "Come with us. There's someone you should meet."

You lift a brow. "Oh? And here I figured you were the one in charge around here?"

"I am, don't get it twisted," he shoots back lazily, pulling a battered pack of cigarettes from inside his duster. "But our sire wants to meet you."

"Ah, so you're the lead enforcer," you muse, nodding. David gives you a look caught between exasperation and amusement and takes point as you're herded after him. "And you?" You chirp, turning to the dark-haired boy who walks behind you.

He blinks languidly at you. "...Dwayne."

Strong and silent. You can appreciate that in a man.

You're lead to a video shop in the center of the boardwalk, fielding Paul's flirting, Marko's questions, and Dwayne's cautious stare as you go. David walks slightly ahead of the rest of you, puffing on a cigarette and occasionally glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

As you approach the door you hear Dwayne sniff, his rumble of "Maria's not here yet," barely audible even to your heightened senses.

"Good," David murmurs, pulling open the door with a merry chime of the little bell. He bows his head, making a sweeping gesture to usher you by. "After you."

Drifting inside, you're assaulted by flickering screens and lurid posters, a storm of color and noise. You run a fingertip down the spine of a videotape, but a whimper draws your attention. Bending at the waist, you catch sight of Max's hound hiding under a desk, watching you with ears pinned flat to his skull.

Shame, really. You found him rather cute, but the beast had always been terrified of you.

A familiar scent reaches your nose, and a familiar face follows soon after - though he's changed significantly since the last time you saw him. The trappings of the modern world suit him well, you have to admit; the thick glasses lend a sort of non-threatening charm to his face, which you suppose is the point.

"Thorn, what's gotten into"—he stops so quickly his shoes squeal against the floor, the friendly shopkeeper guise dropping in the space of a blink—You."

"Maxie." You greet, inclining your head. "You look... alive. In a manner of speaking, of course."

He steps between you and the hound, hands curled into tense fists at his sides. "What are you doing here?"

"Just sightseeing, really," you say soothingly, holding up your hands in surrender. "Figured the time was ripe to catch up with the world, see how all my little birds are doing. Carmilla sends her love, by the way."

"This is my territory," Max hisses through his teeth, eyes bleeding yellow. "You know you can't be here without prior notice, it's law—"

You sigh through your nose and snap your fingers. "Maximillian, kneel."

He falls to his knees hard enough that the tile cracks under his weight. You step closer, lifting his chin to meet his furious glare; he visibly strains against your order, a vein pulsing in his temple. You have no doubt that he would tear your throat out if given the chance.

But you've been alive entirely too long to let a little upstart like Max get the better of you.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," you say, calmly, but firm. "But I made the laws, Max. You would do well not to forget that."

He bares his teeth at you, face fully transformed to reveal the beast within. You look at him impassively for a moment, then sigh, turning on your heel and edging past a stunned Dwayne. "I'll meet you outside, boys."

You push through the door with more force than strictly necessary, the tinkle of the bell almost mocking your dampened mood. Disappointing. Max had always clashed with you, even if he lacked the nerve to do anything about it. You'd hoped that a few hundred years apart might have cooled his animosity towards you, but clearly that was too much to hope for.

You suck on your straw, making a face at the airy rattle you get instead of ice cream. All out of milkshake, and still so thirsty.

The bell jingles again, heralding the approach of Max's coven. "I apologize for not warning you," you say before any of them can speak, twirling your empty cup. "I did have a feeling Max would react badly to seeing me. He's always been a bit of a cunt when things don't go his way."

"How old are you?" Marko blurts.

"Don't you know it's rude to ask a lady's age?" You tut, waving a finger in mock-indignation. "Really. No manners at all."

David steps forward, eyes glittering in the neon lights. "You turned Max."

"No," you say, smiling to show off the long, curving points of your canines. "But I turned his sire. And I turned the sire before her, too."

Glances are exchanged. Dwayne and David hold each other's gaze for a long moment, then Dwayne breaks away to glance at Marko, murmuring something just quietly enough that you don't catch it. Paul smiles, curious and admiring, and when David looks back at you there's a cautious interest written in the lines of his face.

"Tell you what," you purr, looping your arms around David's neck. His gloved hands come to rest on your hips, leather creaking as he idly kneads the flesh hidden beneath soft cotton. "My throat's feeling a little dry. Why don't you boys take me for a drink, and then I’ll answer a few questions."

#the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagine #horror imagines #sfw

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lu-undy · 3 years

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Chapter 94 - SBT

Here it is!

"Mundy, non, I will not let you play this."

"But, Lu', it's a guaranteed win! And then I can get you that massive teddy bear."

"Mundy, if you do that…"

"What? What'll you do, eh?"

"I will spend my nights with that teddy bear and you sleep on the sofa!"

"But Lu'...!"

Both men were arguing not far from the shooting stand.

"Alright, let's do it another way." Mundy suggested.

"Hm?"

"We both try it. If you do better than me, you choose whatever you wanna embarrass me with."

Lucien's eyes lit up.

"Deal?" Mundy extended his hand.

"Deal." Lucien shook it and they both approached the shooting stand.

"Gentlemen! Get closer, c'mon, don't be shy! Here we are, here is your rifle, and here is yours!" The manager of the stand handed them both a plastic gun. "Shoot only on the wolves and avoid the sheep! Are we all ready?"

Lucien and Mundy exchanged a smile.

"Yeah."

"Yes."

"Then leeet's go!"

The cardboard targets started sliding left and right, slowly at first. Both hit them consistently.

"Oh! We have good contestants today! What about a little faster, huh?"

The cardboard cutouts slid more irregularly, some fast, some slowly. But still, both men hit the targets without fail. Lucien and Mundy moved almost in sync left and right, their eyes catching the position and speed of the target a fraction of a second before they would rotate and align the iron sights of the plastic rifle on them.

The stand manager kept on increasing the speed of the moving targets but both men managed to match the challenge until the end of the round.

"Well, I'll be damned…" The poor man said. "It's not the first time it happens, but it's the first time I see it happen with both people!"

Lucien and Mundy chuckled.

"What reward would you prefer?"

Mundy was the first to answer.

"That big teddy bear."

"And for you, Sir?"

"The black panther, please."

Each of them took their prizes and exchanged them.

"There, now you will have someone to sleep with on the sofa, hm?" Lucien winked.

"C'mon…!" Mundy pleaded and both walked away.

They wandered through the alleys, passing by families, children with balloons, through the cheers and shouts of people enjoying their time as much as the couple of older men.

"Lu'?"

"Oui?"

"Want some cotton candy?"

"If I share it with you."

"Right, c'mere." They went to a cotton candy stand. "What color d'you prefer?"

"Pink." Lucien answered.

"Then can we get a pink one, please?" Mundy addressed the man in charge who nodded and they waited there, their eyes riveted on the cloud of sugar growing bigger and bigger with every spin of the stick.

"There."

"Thanks, mate." Mundy paid what they owed and they walked away. The Aussie held the candy while both bit into it. "Oh God… Hahaha!" He burst out laughing when part of it stuck to the Frenchman's moustache and beard.

"What?"

"You got a pink beard now!"

"Oh…" Lucien cleaned himself as best as he could. "Is there any left?"

"Nah, you're alright… Let's go."

They continued their walk through the stands.

"Do you know what we call cotton candy in French?"

"No, what?"

"Barbe à Papa."

"Somethin' of dad?"

"Dad's beard, literally." Lucien answered and both laughed.

"I can bloody well see why, eh, Papa?" Mundy said.

"Indeed. Oh, here, a bench."

They both sat down and put their prizes next to them. Lucien took the cotton candy and held it for both of them while Mundy stretched his arm on the bench's back, to end up wrapping it around Lucien's shoulders.

"Gosh, I didn't remember it was that sweet…"

"Well it is only sugar, what did you expect?" Lucien chuckled.

"You're the other way around." Mundy answered.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not only sugar but you're sweet."

"Pff…" Lucien rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

"What? It's true."

"Maybe, but it is very… uh… what do you say in English again for this...? Ah! Cheesy."

"Well, I'm tryin', eh? We can't all get born seductive'n all…!"

"Very true. But what you lack in the art of seduction, you more than make up for with other skills of yours."

"Oh-ho boy, what skills, eh?"

Lucien gave that trade-marked smile of his.

"This place is full of children, it would not be decent to answer."

"Ooh, I get it…"

They exchanged a smile and finished their cotton candy, lazily watching people pass by.

"I wish I could just…" Mundy started.

"What? What do you wish you could do?"

"Just… Y'know… Hold your hand or just hold you close."

"I am right next to you, mon loup. Also, I did not take you for one who would be comfortable with public displays of affection."

"I'm not. I just don't care about people, I only see you and uh... I need to hold you."

"Is something the matter?"

"No, no… It's just me, I need you." Mundy looked at people passing by. "Feels a bit unfair that they can but we can't."

"Believe me," Lucien answered. "A lot of them would give away their lives to have what we have."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean that we love each other sincerely, not for pressure from our families or any other constraint that life might have thrown at us. I love you for who you are, and vice versa. We have gone through hell and back, and that did nothing but strengthen what we have between us."

"Yeah, you're right."

"The way I see it, we envy them for their ability to show their love, but they would envy us much more if only they knew the strength of the bond between us. It goes beyond a ring on a finger, or a promise. You saved me and I saved you, in more instances and more senses than they will ever understand."

Mundy took a deep breath and when Lucien raised his eyes to him, the Aussie was smiling.

"And they would envy me for that delicious smile you have, amongst other things." Lucien added and Mundy chuckled and lowered his head to hide his blush.

"You got a pretty smile too, Lu'. I like it when you smile and uh… Y'know, you do the thing with yer teeth."

"What thing?"

"It's like when you laugh and uh… I like your teeth, they're like in the ads."

"Like in the ads…?"

"They're perfect and they shine and… I just love your smile and laughter."

"Oh, I know…" Lucien raised lovestruck eyes to Mundy and gave him a flash of his pearly white teeth.

"Gosh, you're gorgeous… I'd kill to hear your laughter more often."

"Well, that doesn't sound too hard to do."

"Huh?"

"You want to hear my laughter? Make me laugh then." Lucien answered.

"Right… Uh… I mean… Hold on, I gotta remember a joke or two… Uh…"

And while Mundy squeezed his brains out in search for any joke he could remember, Lucien burst out laughing.

"But I didn't say anythin' yet?!" Mundy exclaimed.

"I know but you don't have to. Your effort alone is touching, mon amour…"

"So I just have to look like I'm looking for jokes to make you laugh, eh?"

"Non, just be yourself."

"Find me funny?"

"In your own way, oui."

Mundy looked down at Lucien and they exchanged a sweet smile.

"Let's put the plushies in the van and come back."

A few minutes later they were back in the fair, looking left and right at what they could do.

"Wanna try this?"

"Mundy, it's archery."

"Yeah, and?"

"Are you going to make me do all those things that you are an expert at?" Lucien asked.

"Why not? You can take me to stands where they make you wear a mask and do spooky stuff, eh?"

"That is a good idea. But fine, let us proceed to the archery stand."

They approached and queued. When their turn came, they each took a bow and five arrows.

"Ooh, I see both gentlemen know their ways with a bow and arrows, eh? But are they good sharpshooters?" The stand manager asked and the people waiting in the queue observed them.

Lucien and Mundy were about ten metres or so away from the large circular targets.

"Ready…? Set…? Go!"

Both pulled an arrow and placed it against the string of the bow. They pulled, Lucien closing one eye, Mundy keeping both open and-

"It's a bullseye for both!"

"Think you can beat me, eh?"

"Non, I am sure of it - gnh!" Lucien pulled a second arrow and shot it right next to the first one.

"Ha, you're cute…" Mundy took two and put them against the string of the bow. "Watch and learn, Princess." He pulled the string and released it.

"Mon Dieu… How did you do that?!" Lucien gasped. One arrow went to the centre of Mundy's target and one to the centre of his own.

"I'm just that good, heh." Mundy arrogantly answered and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Tu ne perds rien pour attendre…"

"Say whatever the hell you want, you've lost, darl'..." Mundy took two arrows from Lucien and while still staring at him, he aimed and shot both in the middle of his target.

Lucien sighed and lowered his head to bite his lip. If only… If only they were alone, he would have kissed the soul out of Mundy right there, right then. But too many eyes were on them and he decided against shocking all these people.

"Fine, you won… I cannot possibly do better than that…" Lucien admitted.

"Well," The stand owner approached them. "You both know what you're doing, but you…!" He turned to Mundy. "Are you a pro or something?"

"Yeah, sort of."

Lucien rolled his eyes and chuckled at the arrogance of his lover.

"Alright, you get to choose your prize then!"

Mundy looked at the plastic toys and other knick-knacks.

"Can I get two?" He asked.

"Uh, alright, go for two! What can I get ya?"

"This one, and that one, please." Mundy pointed at a French and an Australian flag.

"Sure thing!" The stand owner gave him both his prizes and Lucien followed him out.

"So…" Mundy asked when they were sufficiently far from the archery stand. "Impressed…?"

"Taken aback and twice amazed." Lucien answered.

"Here, that's for you." Mundy handed him the Australian flag.

"Hm, they really give the citizenship easily in this country." The ex-Spy laughed.

"Yup, and so does France. Look at me, I've got a flag now, I'm French!"

"Pfff!" Lucien laughed. "You need more than that to get the citizenship, I'm afraid."

"What if I was livin' with a French bloke?"

"Living?" Lucien repeated.

"Can't say more cause there are kids around." Mundy wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, I see…" Lucien chuckled. "And who is the lucky one?"

"Can't tell you his name," Mundy answered as they both went on wandering in the alleys. "But I can show him to you. I'm about to buy him somethin'."

"Ah, lucky man he is." Lucien went on.

"Yeah, and he has a sweet tooth, so I'm gonna get here and - hey, mate, two caramel apples please… Thanks." Mundy paid what he owed and handed one to Lucien who blushed and raised an eyebrow to his lover.

"Do you know what these are called in French?"

"Is it somethin' about your beard again?"

"Non, we call them 'pomme d'amour'." Lucien answered.

"Somethin' of love…?"

"Apple of love."

"Ooh, I see… Well, here we are then, I just offered the bloke who's got me an apple of love."

"I like this arrogance of yours, it's new."

"Well I just beat the world's best spook, let me enjoy this, eh?"

They both tipped their apples and bit into them.

"Mh… As sweet as your lips…" Lucien raised lovestruck eyes to his lover.

"Listen to you, and you told me I was cheesy."

"Because you are." Lucien answered and gently bumped his lover with his shoulder. Mundy wrapped an arm around Lucien's shoulders.

"Right, so I'm cheesy but you're not, eh?"

"Exactement. You are cheesy and I am seductive."

[Exactly.]

"Pfff, doesn't make any sense, why can't I be the seductive one?"

"Look into my eyes." Lucien said and Mundy obeyed. His breath calmed down and his pupils dilated. His jaw slowly relaxed and he lowered his caramel apple. Lucien gave him a slow flap of his long black eyelashes and Mundy felt a soft punch in his guts. "This is why I am the seductive one."

"Uh? What-why?"

"I can bring your heart rate down with only a blink of my eyes, Mundy." Lucien answered and they went on eating their apples. "The day that you will be able to do that to me, you will be the seductive one." He gently tapped Mundy's chest.

"Right… Tss…" They shared a chuckle and continued walking around. "Anything you want to play with me?"

"Plenty."

"Oh? What d'you wanna do?"

"It is too early and crowded for my kinds of ideas, mon loup."

"Lu'... I meant in this fair."

"Ah…" He winked. "Well, to be honest, I can barely remember the last time I went to a fair, mon loup."

"It's alright… I just want you to choose somethin' you'd like to do. So far, I've been deciding, doesn't seem fair."

"Hm…"

"You like fast stuff? Adrenaline rush and that kind of things?"

"Not really. I only ever liked the adrenaline rushes at work. Well, I learnt to like them, not that I had much choice."

"Right, so none of these fast spinny thingies…"

"Non but… I suppose there is one thing we could do. I have always wanted to try it." Lucien answered.

"What is it?"

"This." Lucien pointed straight ahead and upwards.

"The ferris wheel?"

"Oui, if you are comfortable with heights."

"Sure, let's go!" Mundy squeezed Lucien's shoulders tighter and off they went.

They queued and finished their apples while watching the gigantic wheel slowly turn. When their turn came they hopped in the cabin and took a seat one in front of the other. A few moments later they started taking off.

Lucien waited for them to be sufficiently far from the ground to gently move seats and sit next to Mundy. The Aussie wrapped an arm around him and squeezed him close.

"Mmh… Mon loup…"

"Yeah, luv'?"

"Look at this sight… We can see the entire city, the river…" Lucien's head was on Mundy's upper chest and shoulder.

"And I can see the most gorgeous bloke I've ever met, eh?" Mundy brushed his lover's hair and Lucien moaned happily. He raised his head and they exchanged a kiss.

"Mundy?"

"Mh?"

"I want to stay in your arms."

"You will. Nothin'll pull you away from me, eh?" Mundy kissed Lucien's head. "And I'm keepin' you. All the guys and sheilas in the world look at you like you're an ice cream and it's the middle of the bloody summer. But you're with me." Mundy laced his other arm around Lucien and pulled him impossibly closer. "You're with me and I'm not lettin' go of you."

"Thank you." Lucien left a few kisses in his lover's neck and Mundy smiled with his eyes closed.

The ferris wheel was such that they were at the top most position now.

"Look at this, luv'."

Their arms were laced around each other. The noise of people's cheers and chatter, as well as of the other activities in the fair were muffled by the distance. Lucien only heard Mundy's gentle breath and his gravelly whispers.

"All this city… And the desert over there, beyond it… Beautiful, eh?"

"Oui, it is." Lucien answered. "And I am grateful to see it all with you, mon loup."

"Same… I never… I never did stuff like that before, I mean, not with someone I love. Happened with friends, with my parents, never with someone special."

"Neither have I." Lucien said. "But I feel lucky that somehow, in this weird and nonsensical life, I eventually did, with you."

They pushed their smiling lips against each other and stayed there for a while. Mundy brushed Lucien's hair behind his ear and pulled him closer still.

"Lu'?"

"Oui?"

"Thanks." Mundy took Lucien's hand and held it against his own chest. "I know there's still stuff to do, I need to tell Dad about us and stuff, but… With you, I feel like I can do it."

"Of course you can, but by no means do you have to." Lucien answered.

"Yeah, I know. I'm glad Mum's alright with it all."

"She wants you to find your happiness more than she sticks her own definition of it on you. This is a rare quality."

"Yeah… Mum's great, she's the best, really."

Lucien smiled.

"I remember you told me your mum and dad wanted to force you into medicine or law and you ran away…?" Mundy asked.

"Oui. My mother was a saint, an honest, hard-working and faithful woman. The rumours of my father's death were well spread but she still refused to find another man. She insisted on being sure about it. I think she loved him more than she loved my step father. When my father's death was confirmed officially, she grieved for years…"

"I can understand." Mundy brushed his lover softly. "But she found another bloke eventually?"

"She did. Although, to be nearer the truth, one should say 'she accepted another man'. My mother was gorgeous, blond, long hair with kind, blue eyes. She refused more men than she ever showed me, a young boy. But I was growing up and started to understand that if men were complimenting her, it wasn't just out of kindness. I was defensive, very much so. I wouldn't let her go out of the house alone."

"How old were you?"

"About fifteen or so. I would hold her hand in the street and act almost like her companion. And she treated me like her guardian, her little man. I started to feel the responsibility of carrying a family, a woman whose heart was too pure to be taken by anyone else. But of course, one day, it happened. I think she didn't like him like she loved my father. She liked the feeling of safety, of having a proper man at her side."

Mundy moved on his seat to better hold Lucien, as they were slowly going down.

"Within a year, they were married, living together. He slept in her bed and acted as if he owned the place."

"You didn't like him?" Mundy asked.

"For some things, I am grateful. He treated my mother well, never raised his hand on her and treated her like an equal. But the speed at which he invaded our lives scared me and what pushed me away was the day that my mother, who was otherwise compassionate and understanding towards me, sided with him."

"For your studies?"

Lucien nodded.

"I told my mother that I wanted to become something else, someone else. Of course saving lives or defending people are noble causes. But my call was elsewhere, maybe as a policeman?"

"Oh… You wanted to become a policeman?"

Lucien nodded.

"I kept thinking that if I had been old enough to be one when my mother was being whistled and harassed by those men who came back traumatised by the Great War, I would have been a policeman and arrested all of that scum." He sighed. "My mother had nothing against me entering the police forces. My step father however disagreed. He knew me very poorly and thought that I was doing that just for the nice uniform, the status and nothing else. Besides, he thought I wanted to put my aggressiveness into something that would allow me to get it out."

"You were aggressive?" Mundy raised a curious eyebrow.

"Frustrated would be a better way to put it. I hated that he prevented me from doing something that I wanted. He kept telling my mother that it would be better if I became a doctor or a lawyer… He said it so many times that it became the truth to her, even though she knew I never wanted that.”

“So you went away, on your own?”

“Oui. It happened on a night that as usual, I argued with him, my step-father. We both ended up raising our voices at each other and… I saw my mother’s distress and I swore to myself that I would never see it again."

"Gosh… You really loved her, eh?"

"More than anyone else for a long long time." Lucien answered. "When I was old enough to find a woman myself, I struggled."

"W-what? But you're gorgeous…!"

"Oui. I did not struggle to attract women, I struggled to accept them, because the responsibility was gigantic, and what if someday they went away like my mother? I could not place my trust in any women. So I… You will find this horrendous…"

"Hey…" Mundy took Lucien's chin between his fingers and lifted his face upwards. "It's alright, it's behind you now, don't be ashamed or anythin', we all make mistakes, even gorgeous spooky men like you." He gave him a tender smile and Lucien gently nodded. "So go ahead, if you want to."

"Well… I used women… for the physical needs. I didn't have an ounce of sentimentality for them and could not care less if they did to me. For most of them, the arrangement was suitable. We would have a night, maybe a couple more but that was it."

"I guess some wanted more, didn't they?"

"Oui, unfortunately so. But I was a spy and a prudent man. I knew how to disappear, so it wasn't much of an issue."

"Were you like that all the way till you met Mary?"

"Oui, pretty much."

"Wow… I knew you could be like that, I mean, makes sense for a bloke as good-lookin' and with the manners and all as you… But I never imagined you actually were like that."

Lucien pulled himself out of the embrace.

"Well, I was. I enjoyed the privileges that Mother Nature gave me, shamelessly and recklessly. Part of me never thought I could make it out of the war anyway. I was young, inexperienced, and everyday I learnt of the death of people who were much more used to the chaos of war, people who trained about it for years. So I gave everything I had to taste life as best as I could, before I would get caught."

"Jesus… C'mere." Mundy pulled him into a hug but Lucien pushed him back. "W-what's wrong?"

"Are you…" Lucien wiped a tear at the corner of his eyes. "Disappointed in me?"

"No…? Why would I?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Lucien answered. "You would be right to have doubts about me or… distrust me."

"Lu'." Mundy's voice was assertive enough to make Lucien's eyes move up to meet his. "You can tell that nonsense to someone else. I've been through hell with you and without you. I've seen what you're capable of doing, I know you and even with all that, I love you. Every day when I wake up, I don't even ask myself about it, I don't question it, I don't have the slightest doubt. I love you. Now you take all that bullshit your mind's been cookin' up for years and you throw it out your head, ok?"

"But Mun-"

"No, there's no but." Mundy cupped his lover's face and pushed his forehead against Lucien's. "I'm takin' you and I have taken you. With all your story, with all your problems and with everythin', ok?"

"D'accord."

[Fine.]

"Lu', d'you hear me?"

"Oui."

"Lu', I know you, I know the ex-spook, I know the singer, I know the fighter, I know the stubborn, arrogant piece of a liar that you might have been before." Mundy brushed his thumbs on his lover's temples and Lucien sniffled. "But I love every bit of you. Doesn't matter what you were in any other way that it helped build you as you are now. And y'know what? Now, you're my Lu', ok?"

Lucien gently nodded.

"Say it."

"I am… I am your Lucien."

"No, that's not what I said. Say it properly."

"I am… your Lu'."

"Good. You got that in that beautiful head o'yours?"

Lucien nodded again, his forehead still against Mundy's.

"You sure?"

"Oui."

"C'mere, now." Mundy hugged him and this time, Lucien did not push him away. He clawed in his lover's sides, his back, everywhere his fingers were planted, and buried his head deep in his chest. "I love you, Lu', I love all of you."

"Merci." A muffled voice answered. The Frenchman wanted to let tears run down his face but the cabin was getting closer to the ground and he didn't want to cry in public.

Beyond Mundy's words and the comfort he was bringing him, what touched Lucien most was that feeling of achievement, of reaching somewhere that he did not know he could reach. He had been taught to grow up, get married to a lovely wife, have equally lovely children and work to support them. But life gave him an outstanding partner, a couple of beautiful cats and some years to go still.

When he broke the embrace and looked up at Mundy, his eyes red and his throat burning as it held back his emotions, he smiled. In the Aussie's lagoon blue irises, he saw all the versions of himself, the little boy, Maman's guardian, the young homeless teenager, the rookie spy, the father, the fiancé, and now, a man better than what he thought he could ever be.

"Merci, Mundy."

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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mileycyprus-hill · 4 years

Text

What the Water Gave Me

Arthur Morgan x Mermaid Reader/OC

Chapter 4– Exploration

Thought I wasn’t gonna return, huh? Fooled you—and myself. I wanna thank everyone who’s been so patient with me updating new chapters for all my series since I know it’s been weeks since I posted a new chapter.

You can find previous chapters on my masterlist which is available in my bio.

Also found on AO3.

Summary: Arthur returns to the beach after a hunt and is re-introduced to our lovely mermaid. I hope y’all don’t mind, I’ve switched my reader-insert into an OC, because writing in 3rd person with (y/n) kind of threw off my flow and felt clunky. So I created a name but kept most physical attributes vague to sort of keep it a reader-insert.

Arthur's eyes twitch beneath his closed lids, his breathing shallow and quick. He lays upon a worn cot within the ruins of the old stone fort. The tall trees above him provide relieving shade over the small camp. The events of the past couple weeks seamlessly transition in his memory: Hosea's splattered blood upon the cobblestone street, Lenny's lifeless body on the rooftop, the rolling storm clouds beyond the sea's horizon. Arthur remembers the orange glow of the flames on the ship. The intense heat, followed by the chilling dark waters below. His heart beats hard and fast, thumping loudly in his ears like heavy drums of a battalion. Suddenly, his anxiety ceases and his breathing slows at the sight of a rising sun. Its yellow light shines with warmth as it breaks above a grassy hillside. The green prairie grass grows high as a tall animal crosses the dense field. It gently pushes through the grass, bowing its head to graze on the lush greens. Arthur begins to recognize the animal: a stag. Its rounded rack of antlers sit high upon its head, like a jagged crown of ivory. With a twitch of its ears the stag raises his head and turns to him, acknowledging his presence. But it doesn't startle. The stag gazes with its glassy eyes. They hold a beautiful amber glow that matches the sunlight. Arthur had never seen such beauty in the eyes of a beast, for he had only seen the pupils of their eyes stretch to black after their life had been taken. The sun flashes brightly and Arthur wakes with a deep, ragged breath through his nose. For a moment, he forgets his surroundings until his vision clears. He remembers the gun fight, the man named Hercule, Javier falling on the beach, and the strange woman. Arthur's worry returns at the thought of Javier and the woman surrounded by the soldiers in blue while he and the gang escape into the dense jungle. He hopes Dutch will come up with a plan to get Javier back.

He hopes to see the woman again, alive.

Arthur stands with stiff joints, the skin of his cheeks and forehead feel uncomfortably tight from the sunburn. He recognizes a dark figure crouched over the small fire in front of him. The flames and smoke are kept low to avoid alerting the local patrols.

“Mornin’ Hercule,” Arthur greets with a gravelly voice, “Or should I say, ‘afternoon’?”

He looks up towards the sky to gauge the location of the sun, bringing his hand to his brow to shield his eyes. The dense jungle trees make it difficult to determine the time, and the humidity this far inland makes it feel awfully hot. It feels much like Lemoyne, where the temperature doesn’t break until long after the sun drops and stays humid well through the early morning.

Hercule chuckles lightly and responds, “I’d say it’s nearly twelve o’clock.” He too, looks to the sky with squinted eyes.

His thick accent surprisingly gives Arthur some comfort. The man speaks confidently and coolly, as if he can foretell what’s to happen. He doesn’t waste words either—unlike Dutch who can cause the most eloquent man’s head to spin with such an exuberant vocabulary and lengthy sentences that seem to reach no point.

The man could be a politician if he chose such a life.

”You’re all low on food, my friend.” Hercule says, standing up and sheathing the machete he was wiping. “Might I suggest we go hunt?”

“Now?” Arthur asks, hinting at more important tasks at hand.

Hercule shrugs to him, “Unless you’d rather starve, then yes. I doubt you had eaten anything since you arrived.”

As if on command, Arthur’s stomach growls so loudly that he smacks a hand to his gut in an attempt to stifle its grumbles. He recalls his last meal was the bits of charred rat he shared with the men at the beach.

“Alright but...shouldn’t we focus on gettin’ out of here? Gettin’ our friend back?” Arthur asks hurriedly, attempting to mask his concern. He desperately wants to get off this island and back home—back to his homeland that he knows and understands. He feels helpless being here, like a lost child in an unfamiliar place. It’s an anxious feeling he hasn’t felt in years.

“Your friend Dutch is working on that at the moment with my comrades,” Hercule responds neutrally. “Come, there is plenty of boar on this island, and it’ll be much better with two.”

Hercule picks up the bolt action rifle next to Arthur’s cot and hands it to him after checking the bullets within the barrel chamber.

“You can keep watch for anything suspicious while I hunt,” Hercule says, grabbing a handmade bow and a leather quiver of arrows.

Arthur quirks an eyebrow at the simple bow.

“Think that’d be enough?“ he asks.

“Better to hunt quietly, unless you want that bastard Fussar to find us.” Hercule replies.

Arthur hums, “Good point.”

....

If it weren’t for the fact they’re wanted men on this island, Arthur could find this place rather peaceful. He can hear the shores in the distance as he and Hercule walk closer to the coast, tracking the boar. Arthur scans the area while Hercule walks in front, following the tracks in the sand and dirt. The vibrant colors of the tropical birds catch Arthur’s eyes and he watches them fly up into the trees. Their feathers stand out against the foliage: the bright blues and yellows and striking reds. They’re as large as eagles and far more beautiful than any bird he’s seen back home. Arthur hopes his journal is still safe at home. He wishes he could sketch them right now, while he can still see them. They reach the top of a small hill when Hercule raises his hand.

“There!” Hercule exclaims softly. He notches his arrow and draws the bowstring, aiming at the massive boar below the hill, straight ahead of them.

He looses his arrow and watches it strike the side of the animal with a swift thud. The carved stone arrowhead narrowly misses its heart. It squeals in painful terror and runs in the opposite direction, towards the coast.

“Damn,” Hercule curses under his breath. Arthur shakes his head behind him, watching the broad palm leaves rustle and shake as the boar runs off.

The two of them continue tracking the animal, following the crimson drops of blood on the ivory sand. The air starts to feel cool from the ocean breeze as they walk closer to the edge of the island. The jungle brush grows thinner and the tracks turn from subtle drops to a bloody trail and become easier to follow.

Hercule speaks, “Finally. There it is.” He points to the animal lying dead on the beach. Its dark hide stands out against the white sand.

They approach the dead pig and start to field dress it: removing its hide and cutting the meat into various cuts and wrapping them in cloth. Hercule grabs his large bag and divides the cuts of meat, one half for him, the other for Arthur and the men. The process takes them close to an hour, it’s such a large beast for two men.

“These are for you,” he says, handing Arthur his half of the boar meat. It’s enough to feed the men for several days, and Arthur manages to stuff them into his temporary satchel. Arthur’s makeshift bag is stretched to its limits, holding the large cuts of meat inside its leather boundaries held together with crude stitches.

“The rest I will give to my people and sell to the villagers,” Hercule continues. “Many people are without food on this island.”

“Thank you, Hercule,” Arthur says, following him to the shore.

They walk to the water and wash the blood off their hands. It’s clotted thick on their skin like paint, but easily dissolves away once it touches the salt water. The crimson color fades away with the gentle tide and is erased from their skin.

“You are welcome, Mister Morgan. Soon we will find your friend and get you off this island.” Hercule responds, shaking his hands dry. He starts to head back towards the jungle before he stops.

“I’ll head into the village to sell this and see if I can find a captain who will take you home. I suggest you head back to your camp.” Hercule says. “Do you know your way back?” He asks Arthur, stopping to turn back to him.

Arthur looks to him and nods, “Sure. I remember the way.”

“Always be on alert, Mister Morgan. You can find me at the old fort, Cinco Torres. Not far from here.” Hercule waves a quick goodbye to which Arthur returns as Hercule quickly steps into the jungle.

Arthur now stands alone on the beach, rubbing his fingers along his cotton suspenders and feeling the loose waistband of his pants. He breathes a rough sigh before a harsh cough rumbles from his chest and scratches his throat. He struggles to catch his breath and bends over to rest a hand on his knee. It feels as if he’s still got sea water in his lungs until he finally hacks his throat clear. A thick, wet lump of mucus is coughed up into his mouth. In disgust, he spits out the bloody wad onto the white sand and wipes a trail of blood from his lips. Straightening himself up, he finds that he isn’t alone.

He sees her, peering from behind a rock in the water just several yards away. Arthur freezes in place, watching the strange woman and trying not to spook her. Like predators crossing paths in the wild, they remain motionless and wary, waiting for the slightest twitch that could send either one fleeing or pursuing. The woman remains at her spot, watching and waiting for Arthur’s next move. Her eyes are wide and glassy. Thin white membranes blink slowly over her eyes like cloudy veils and disappear behind her eyelids. Arthur tries to see the rest of her body that’s submerged in the water, but he cannot see from where he stands. He suddenly notices she’s still nude from the waist up, with her long hair covering her chest. The long, wet strands of hair lay plastered on her chest, conforming to her shapely breasts and structured shoulders. They both stay frozen in place, unsure of what to do next.

Her feminine voice softly croaks from behind the rock, sending a chill to Arthur’s flushed skin. “Your friend. The one called Javier?” She says, her voice calm. Her voice has a slight melody to it but, with a wet gargle. Arthur can only describe it as like the trill of a tree frog combined with the eerie, nocturnal warble of an owl.

”Yes?” Arthur responds hesitantly.

“He’s alive.” The woman tells him.

A quiet sigh of relief escapes Arthur’s lips and his eyes light up in a slight rejoice. The tension in his shoulders release only minutely. The woman in the water notices this and allows herself to relax slightly. The pair of them listen to the gentle waves splash on the shore during this quiet exchange of words.

Arthur asks her, “Where, uh, where is he?”

The woman’s wide eyes look down, away from Arthur as if in remorse.

“Held prisoner,” she answers solemnly. “On the plantation.”

Arthur breathes a disturbed sigh at her notification, rubbing his scraggly beard with a rough palm. Feeling brave, he decides to take a step forward in the wet sand.

The woman notices and tenses behind the small rock. Her webbed hands grip the rock tightly, ready to propel herself away. Halting himself, Arthur raises his hands up in surrender.

“Iss-alright. It’s alright,” he drawls in his accent, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Watching his every move, she waits behind the rock while he slowly removes his shoes and rolls his pants up to his knees. Like approaching the wild horses of the plains, Arthur steps forward into the foaming water with his hands raised just above his hips in assurance. The dazzling blue water gently splashes against his pale legs.

“What’s yer name?” He asks, stepping further in the water until it nearly reaches the fabric of his pants that reach just below his knees.

“(Y/N),” she answers, still guarded.

“That’s a nice name…(Y/N).”

“It was given to me by my tutor.”

“Your…your tutor?” Arthur queries with a pleasant smile, barely showing his teeth behind his lips. He feels a sudden inquisitive need: a curious desire for knowledge that needs to be satisfied.

“Yes. He gave me it. My real name is…Isopora.” She answers. Rarely has she given her true name to strangers, especially humans. But his presence feels non-threatening and oddly comforting. Though, she doesn’t know why.

“Isopora.” Arthur enunciated slowly.

They both smile at his utterance of her name. It rolls off his tongue and falls from his lips like the soft babbling of a stream. Its crisp, clear waters trickle gently over the rocks as it flows from its diverted source of the deep, dark river.

“My name’s Arthur…Arthur Morgan.” He states. His voice is warm and inviting with a rich, complex timbre that mirrors the guttural vocals of the seals from Isopora’s homeland. And that accent! Isopora can’t recognize it. It sounds funny, with his slight garbles and relaxed slurring of consonants.

Arthur reaches out, extending his sunburned hand to her in good faith. Isopora stares at his thick hand and calloused fingers, confused and unsure. Removing her webbed hand from the rock, she mimics Arthur’s pose to place her hand within his. She’s reluctant at first, twitching her hand away at the slightest touch, like a shy wild thing getting used to human contact. Arthur remains still, his arm still extended, until she finally rests her hand in the welcoming handshake. He wraps his fingers around hers in a gentle grip—firm, yet soft.

She expects him to clench his hand around her wrist in a trick and attempt to pull her ashore, but he simply shakes her hand. Her hand grips Arthur’s tightly in a small show of strength, and he notices. Isopora’s grip is firm and Arthur catches the muscles of her forearm contracting as she squeezes. He follows her toned muscles all the way up her biceps to her brawny shoulders.

She’s a work of art, Arthur thinks to himself, eyeing her well-knit body. Her sculpted arms, rounded shoulders, jutted collarbone, and sturdy midsection glisten in the sunlight. Her skin looks wonderfully smooth and her muscles stand out despite hiding beneath a generous layer of warm, protective fat. His gaze moves further down her curves as he steals a glance at her lengthy tail. It’s nearly camouflaged in the tropical blue water, but Arthur watches a bundle of silvery scales glimmer as they catch the rays of sun. Her feathery tail fin swishes against the waves to keep herself steady.

“So uh,” Arthur clears his throat awkwardly, still shaking her hand, “yer really a mermaid?”

An unexpected laugh erupts from Isopora and she bares her teeth in an amused grin. Her sudden joyful bark of laughter infects Arthur and he chuckles alongside her.

Minutes later, after a continued exchange of greetings, Arthur wades back to shore. Isopora follows close behind, but not too close. With a tired grunt, Arthur sets himself down onto the sand, allowing the tide to barely lap at his bare toes. Isopora remains partly submerged in front of him, resting on her stomach and elbows and softly swishing her flukes in the shallow water. A moment of silence passes for God knows how long. Arthur remains transfixed by her colorful form. His eyes examine the seam of her scales that perfectly mold into her skin just below her navel. Arthur expected all of her scales to be smooth and flat like a trout, but the further his eyes travel down her length, he notices the scales grow thicker and larger. Much like the textured scales of a snake, they cover her lower body in a protective armor. The glistening wet scales catch the rays of the bright afternoon sun and shimmer like tiny mirrors, flashing bright colors off her body like rainbows.

"Do you remember anything from the shipwreck?" Isopora asks him in a soft trill.

Arthur’s eyes snap from her tail up to her dark eyes. He furrows his brows in thought as he replays the memories in his mind.

"Sort of," he shrugs, "I remember Dutch waking me up, and there was a fire. And then..."

While Arthur takes his time remembering the incident, Isopora takes the opportunity to look over his features. She admires his tall frame, his broad shoulders, and barreled chest. He looks to be a man of great strength, conditioned by heavy lifting. Though his waist looks narrowed from starvation.

No doubt he's the workhorse of the family, she wonders, recalling the other men she had seen him chained to. She looks at Arthur's hands while he twitches his fingers and raises his arms to animate his story of jumping off the boat.

"...then there was this real high squealing, like a...hum or somethin’," Arthur continues, trying to articulate his thoughts, "And then nothin'."

Isopora hums in agreement, “I forget when I speak underwater, humans can’t quite understand it.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at her in a mix of shock and confusion, “Wait, that...that was you?” He points to her.

She smiles in embarrassment, cinching her eyes closed as she admits, “Yes. That was me.”

“So, you...you saved me?” Arthur points to her. The gears in his head continue to turn as he recollects his memories.

“That’s why you washed up there with me.” He finishes.

Isopora looks behind her towards the water and turns back to Arthur with a playful look. “Would you like to hear?” She offers.

“Shoar,” Arthur drawls. Like a curious child, Arthur scoots a bit further up on the sand, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Isopora’s smile grows wider and she begins to drag herself further into the water. “Okay,” she says, “Stay right there.”

Arthur watches her enter the water. Her blue-green scales disappear under the ocean as the gentle waves splash upon her. With a soft kick of her fin, she swims backwards until the water rises up to her chest. Her eyes stay fixed upon Arthur, who waits curiously on the sand. Arthur watches her smirk and dip silently below the water’s surface. He watches her disappear into the water and slows his breathing so he could listen for her sounds. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Until, an eerie howl echoes from the water. The hairs on his arm stand on edge, but he doesn’t feel afraid. Her high-pitched moans and howls continue and Arthur listens attentively. It almost sounds like singing, he thinks to himself. It’s both haunting and ethereal, like the echoing wail of a loon. Her various pitches become littered with clicks and pops that are so sharp, Arthur could feel the sounds vibrate in his ears. Arthur breathes a small chuckle of amazement at her beautiful song. It lasts for only a minute and finally ends as he watches her break the water’s surface.

She returns to him on the shore, her thick hair wet against her silky skin and the cloudy membranes on her eyes retreat back under her lids. Her naked breasts remained covered by her long hair. Isopora smiles humbly at Arthur while he softly gives a clap of his hands.

“Beautiful,” he says, “What were you singing—er, saying?”

She answers, “The same thing I was trying to tell you that night.”

Arthur looks at her in confusion.

Biting her lip, she explains, “You were struggling and I swam up to help, but when I went to pull you up for air, you started thrashing.” She hesitates for a moment but continues, “I tried telling you ‘it’ll be alright’, but you were so scared.”

Arthur finishes for her, “And that’s when everything went dark,” he says.

“Yeah,” Isopora cringes, “I’m sorry about that...I had to, uh, ‘knock your lights out’. So to speak.”

“What?” Arthur asks in surprise.

”You were thrashing so badly when I grabbed you!” She defends, “I wasn’t trying to keep you under like you thought I was. I was trying to help. But I should know by now that when trying to save a person from drowning, expect to be dragged down with them,” She chuckles.

“Well, that explains why.” Arthur laughs, “No hard feelings, I guess. Ain’t the first time someone did that.”

The smile wanes from Isopora’s face and she looks at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” She asks, her tone serious.

Arthur shrugs in response, picking the sand beneath his fingernails.

“Well,” he sighs, avoiding her gaze and looking past her shoulder to the sea behind her. It extends far beyond the horizon like a blue void. The ripples of the surface waves look like textured glass with bright yellow colors of the sun merging with the ocean blues.

“I tend to find trouble or trouble finds me. I ain’t a good man…I do bad things and bad things are done to me in return.”

“Like what?” Isopora asks, suddenly fearful for her own safety.

“I’ve robbed…killed people. Run with a gang of people like me,” Arthur answers, unsure as to why he’s suddenly opening himself up to a stranger. A creature that should only belong in fairy tales, no doubt. Why is he so talkative all of a sudden, he wonders?

He continues regardless, “Used to be that we’d only steal from the rich and give what’s left to the poor but…seems so long ago now. Now we’re shootin’ up towns in the name of survival. Tryin’ to find a place in the world.”

He speaks with such uncertainty and dread for the future, that whatever choices he makes are fruitless and inconsequential. All forked roads lead to the same inevitable end. Perhaps this is his time for confession. An opportunity to repent one’s sins, with no risk of judgement. There truly was no one else he could speak to about these things—no human being that is. Why not unveil them to this woman? This creature that, realistically speaking, could just be a figment of Arthur’s imagination?

“What made you change?” Isopora asks.

Arthur looks to her eyes with a cold stare, “Weren’t us who changed,” he states defensively, “The world’s changed. Civilization’s movin’ in. And there ain’t room for people like us no more.”

Isopora hums, as if in agreement. “Those men you were chained with,” Isopora recalls from memory, “they’re your people? Your gang?”

Arthur nods.

“That boat,” Isopora continues to pry, “Where were you going?”

“We were headed to Tahiti, initially.” Arthur answers.

Isopora gives him a confused look.

Tahiti? That’s on the other side of the world.

As if hearing her thoughts, Arthur explains.

“Our boat was supposed to go to Cuba. We were runnin’. Hopped on the boat from America and…ended up here, I guess.”

An American? How exciting, Isopora thinks to herself. She’s met different characters throughout her life, but never an American. She’s only heard about these wild, free-spirited, gun-toting creatures with a thirst for adventure.

Isopora laughs dryly, “You’re a long way from Tahiti, my friend. That’s all the way in the South Pacific…We’re essentially in the Caribbean.”

Arthur looks to her inquisitively. He never gave it much thought as to where Tahiti actually is. At this point, he thought it was a fantasy island made up by Dutch to keep spirits up. Isopora guesses that Arthur isn’t quite familiar with world geography, outside his own familiar territory. After all, she doesn’t even know that he’s only ever stayed on land. Never travelled across the sea.

“Well,” Arthur states. “Accordin’ to Dutch, it’s supposed to be an untouched paradise.”

“Kinda small,” Isopora replies.

Arthur gives her another confused look. “You been there?” He asks, almost excitedly.

She shrugs, “Oui. Une fois, il y a longtemps.”

Another blank and confused stare is painted on Arthur’s face in response to her foreign reply.

Isopora smiles, “It’s a French colony. It’s been…decades since I’ve traveled there, and it was only once. But…how do you know there’d be room for you there?

Arthur bites his inner cheek in thought as he huffs, “Hmm…you got a point there.”

“To be honest, it’s better you’re shipwrecked on the way to Cuba than Tahiti. There’s a lot more open ocean to be stranded in the Pacific.”

“You’re a hell of a world traveler, ain’t’cha?” Arthur smirks.

“One could call me that, yes.” Isopora answers with a similar smile.

“Well, I ain’t much of one so, I’ll take yer word for it.”

Isopora opens her mouth to respond until she catches movement from the corner of her sharp eyes. Narrowing her gaze, she sees two men on patrol, heading their way.

Fussar’s soldiers.

Arthur notices her chest falling and rising rapidly.

Following her line of sight, Arthur asks, “What is it?”

Without hesitation, Isopora grabs his hand and tugs him towards the water.

“We must hide!” She hisses in fear, pulling him in with immense strength. She drags him with her as she swims behind a large bundle of rocks. Three large stones stand tall above the water, with a small gap in the center— enough to hide one of them out of sight. The middle stone stands tallest, with the other two standing parallel to each other.

The gap is tight and the water is high. Arthur holds onto Isopora tightly by her waist as he feels his toes float freely in the water, unable to touch the bottom. He struggles to hold himself against the slick rock with his wet hands slipping at each attempt. Isopora’s naked breasts press against his chest as she helps him stay above the water against the waves. He tries his best to avert his eyes, turning his head awkwardly to peek at the oncoming patrol.

Idle fingers start to involuntarily caress Isopora’s smooth scales. A palm lies pressed against her hips, keeping Arthur safely close to her while the other hand tries to brace himself against the rock. His fingers cannot help but examine on their own. The sensation transitions from slightly coarse to velvety soft with each subtle rub on her scales and up to her skin. A pair of voices grow louder as they near the spot Arthur and Isopora once rested. Their words are unfamiliar to Arthur, but he can detect the casual tone of their chatting.

Until he hears a surprised exclaim from the beach and Arthur suddenly remembers.

He left his shoes behind.

His eyes grow wide and he looks up to Isopora. She mirrors his look of terror and listens to the patrolmen talk excitedly.

She understands their language clearly, hearing them talk of where this mystery person could be.

“They must be in the water,” one says.

“Let’s look,” the other replies.

With their chests pressed together, their hearts drum rapidly in sync. Despite the adrenaline surging through his veins, Arthur keeps his breathing slow. He clenches his eyes shut as he silently scolds himself for being so foolish. When his eyelids open, he nearly jerks away in alarm. Isopora remains close to him, but her entire body has now changed color. An arm is slightly outstretched above Arthur’s head with Isopora’s hand pressed against the rock behind him. Peppered with splotches of gray, black and white, her skin has turned into the same pale shade as the stones surrounding them. Her once smooth arms are now textured with raised bumps and edges that mimic the stone. She covers Arthur’s body with her camouflaged form and remains still like a statue. Her eyes turn black and the cloudy membranes of her lids cover her obsidian orbs.

Time passes slowly while they remain as still as can be. The rifle on Arthur’s back painfully presses into him, but he doesn’t dare to adjust himself. He feels Isopora’s hand gripping his side tightly, her arm wrapped around his lower back. The tips of her fingers squeeze his flesh and her body presses against him completely, covering him in a protective cocoon. Arthur’s chapped lips nearly brush her shoulder as she towers over him closely, keeping his face hidden in the crook of her neck.

Isopora’s eyes dart to her left. A man in blue stands at the edge of the tide, less than a hundred feet away.

Rifle in hand, he leans forward to peer towards their hiding spot. It’s as if he’s staring right at them, unaware.

Arthur’s eyes remain on Isopora, fearful of making the slightest movement that could give them away.

Isopora stares at the blue soldier with unwavering eyes. She watches him examine the rough pillars of stone with his own dark eyes. She can feel him follow the curves of her body that’s almost merged with the rock. Arthur stays hidden within the small gap. He squeezes his arm around Isopora’s waist for dear life.

The unseen second patrolman calls for his companion, and the man turns away to look. Isopora’s eyes follow him as he walks out of sight. She hears the men speak as they hopefully assume whoever left those boots is now drowned far away from shore. Isopora listens closely as the men leave and resume walking along the beach. Their voices grow faint until she can hear them no longer. Gradually, the splotchy pale camouflage disintegrates and Isopora’s natural tone reappears in a smooth cascade. Like the blush in Arthur’s cheeks, her beautiful color flushes to her skin. The two remain in a quiet stillness, barely feeling the other’s heartbeat under the gentle waves that splash over them. The waves push and pull in a gentle rhythm. Isopora’s body softly pushes against Arthur’s before pulling away. His own body follows towards her as the wave pulls them back, moving their hips in an almost aquatic dance.

“Come,” Isopora finally breaks the silence, drifting away and extending a hand for Arthur to follow. He lightly grasps her hand and swims alongside her back to shore.

“You think it’s safe for you to head back?” Isopora asks, looking to him with her unveiled eyes.

His clothes drenched and heavy, Arthur stands and walks up on the sand.

“I dunno,” he says, staring blankly in thought, “This island seems t’be crawlin’ with ‘em. I don’t know if it’s safe anywhere.”

An idea breaks in Isopora’s head while Arthur slips on his boots.

“There’s a cave,” she tells him, “Not too far from here, behind the waterfall. Meet me there when you can.”

Arthur’s jaw goes slack and he raises an eyebrow in question, “How do you—”

“There’s a channel that leads to it,” she explains, “I can easily go through it and it leads to a small pool on the other side.”

Arthur nods before looking up towards the sun. It’s still early in the afternoon yet; plenty of sunlight to find his way back.

“Okay. How do I find it?” He asks.

“Just follow the river upstream. You’ll see it. Climb behind the waterfall and follow the cave straight ahead. Follow the gaps in the ceiling. The light will show you the way. You’ll reach the end of the cave that opens to a clearing.” She answers.

Another nod and Arthur turns to face the jungle. He feels exposed on this empty beach with no canopy of cover to hide in, but to enter the hanging vines and broad ferns of the dense forest fills him with dread. What lurks in the dark corners of this humid labyrinth? A single step in the wrong direction could lead to doom.

“Arthur?”

He looks back over his shoulder to Isopora with his bright, blue-green eyes.

“Be safe.” She tells him.

“You too.” Arthur replies in a near whisper.

He steps forward into the trees, shoulders tense and eyes scanning his surroundings. Isopora watches him from the shore until he disappears into the thick and shady foliage.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #mermaid #guarma #fan fiction #i’m back baby #what the water gave me #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x reader #romance #slow burn

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coraxaviary · 4 years

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Sister-in-Arms | CHAPTER 1: Toccoa, GA

(Part I, Run the Gauntlet)

Summary: June arrives at Camp Toccoa.

Word Count: 5.8K

AO3 | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Author’s Note: Welcome to my main fic. This is the start of a long journey. I am proud of this fic, and I hope you like it. If you have any questions, refer to my first post or shoot me a question. Once I get about five chapters out, I’ll start posting on AO3.

Warnings: None

Taglist: @keoghans @papercinders (ask to be added)

June Hazel Diedtrich stood at the depot in Toccoa, Georgia, wondering how she’d gotten there so soon.

Cars rushed by; buses passed and young men crowded the corners of the plaza, supply trucks being loaded and unloaded. More than a few men in uniform were about the area, their jackets and pants creased and tucked, berets cocked at a slight angle. The town was rushed, hot, and dusty, but bursting at the seams with a dynamic energy: the energy of hope, and dually the uncomfortable undercurrent of lingering expectation.

Most of the men would eventually ship out. Maybe it would be months, or even years. But it was going to happen, and with combat came the unavoidable reality of pain and death that were the bounty of war.

June gripped the handles of her suitcase tighter, eyeing the military men, most her age or only slightly older. They looked energetic and diligent. Spirits were high. And yet the feeling of a held breath remained.

Such was the nature of a nation at war. The Japanese had made sure of that.

June took a deep breath of the Southern air, the dry smell of red dust drifting from the ground. A few pigeons pecked errantly at the dirt, and some flock birds chittered overhead from rooftop to rooftop. A car horn honked; someone shouted in return. Boxes and crates knocked together.

She craned her head, looking for a taxi. She didn’t expect many: Toccoa was a sort of backwater area except for the military presence that brought in a lot of soldiers and trucked-in supplies. She’d have to wait for the bus.

Some other women milled about. June figured at least some of them might know the bus schedule, and she approached one woman dressed similarly to her – in a light cotton shirt and a knee-length skirt – and cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, would you happen to know the bus schedule?” June asked, already feeling lost in the new environment.

The other woman turned around. She was blonde, tall, and her red lips curved into a pleasant expression.

“Sure. There’s a bus coming in a few minutes, heading out to the base,” she said with a mildly Southern twang. “Where are you headed?”

June exhaled, relieved that there was a bus. “I’m trying to get to the base, too.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, um…” she trailed off.

“June. June Diedtrich,” June supplied.

“Nice to meet you, June. I’m Bea,” she responded cheerily.

“Likewise,” June said, adjusting her sliding grip on her suitcase handle as her palms started to sweat in the hot Georgia air.

“You know, it’s always nice to see a new face around here,” Bea said, smoothing down a piece of hair that had come free from its pin. “Sometimes it gets a little old seeing the same few people.” She glanced quickly at June, and added, “Working up at the base is nice and rewarding, because we’re helping the war effort. Never bad work, I’ll assure you.”

June breathed a brief laugh. “I’m sure it’s that way,” she said, not sure how to relate to the woman who most likely assumed June was there for secretary work. “Good all the same.”

“I wouldn’t want to scare you off on your first day,” Bea said. “Typing isn’t bad overall.”

June watched Bea’s face, careful not to encourage any new questions about her position. She was sure it was coming, though, and she prepared for how to answer inquiries about the place she was stationed. Bea was going to ask sooner or later.

“Are you a typist?” Bea asked innocently, and June straightened, breathing deeply.

“No, I’m not,” she said, not sure how to respond. “I’m not working in the office.”

Bea looked at her curiously. “Nurse? I didn’t take you for the nursing type, but I suppose we could take on more nurses. The men are always getting injured out there, God knows how.”

June looked at Bea, careful not to interrupt, trying to find a way to explain that no, she was not going to be a nurse. She was not going to shuttle papers, pound a typewriter, or drive jeeps – half of which women were rarely permitted to do. She would not be a WAC or a WASP or a WAVES woman or another ridiculous acronym, though God knew they were needed too.

Bea kept talking, and June took that as a good sign.

“... last week, another one came in with a broken leg. And that was after he’d been denying that he needed to get it fixed, can you believe it? The nurses down at the aid station must get at least three sprained ankles a day, the way it would seem.” June understood then that Bea was an avid talker. “There ain’t much scrapping, between the boys, you know, but there are some mysterious injuries that the nurses gotta figure out. Gosh, how does a guy get all those bruises?” she finished, looking to June for some kind of acknowledgement.

June coughed into her sleeve hollowly, to stall for time, and then got out a weak, “I wouldn’t know.” Which wasn’t exactly true because James taught her to sock a guy in the eye – and knee a guy in the balls – but June didn’t know a broken arm from a dislocated elbow. “I’m not a nurse,” she said.

“Oh, then where are you? Do you drive?” Bea asked, clearly confused. “Have you not been assigned yet? Because then I’d think you’d just be a typist like me,” she said nonchalantly. She picked a fold out of her skirt and let it fall back against her legs. “Do you know yet?” she asked, blue eyes searching June’s face.

“I’m―” June started, when the bus pulled in, in front of the depot. She glanced at Bea. “It’s complicated.”

“I can handle complicated,” she said brightly. “My dad is a biology professor down at Emory.” The bus came and the women began filing inside one at a time. “I mean, he talks about very complicated things,” she said, connecting her anecdote to the conversation. “You can tell me once we’re seated.”

June stood in line with Bea, trying to come up with a way to explain. Despite her preparation for Toccoa, both mentally and physically, June somehow neglected to prepare a predetermined statement on why she was there. She’d glossed over it, probably assuming that she’d just be inducted into the barracks fairly quickly without much prelude. With the road to Toccoa looming in front of her, June was forced to reconsider how optimistic that thought had been.

She moved through the bus silently, sitting down mutely beside Bea, and when all the women were on, the bus started to drive down the road. June felt more than a few curious looks to her, the newcomer.

“Well,” June started. Bea looked at her expectantly. “It’s hard to explain,” she said, betraying a little frustration on her face.

“Aw, honey, are you trying to get a job near a husband or something? I hadn’t pegged you for the already-married type, but with a face like that, I’d be married outta school too,” Bea said.

“I’m here to join the Army,” June said quietly.

Bea looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry, girl, but the Women’s Army Corps doesn’t have much of a presence at camp, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Bea shifted, placing her bag on her lap. “You sure you’re in the right place?”

June pressed her lips together. “Mm, no. Not the WAC. The Army. The Paratroopers, to be exact.” The truth, she found, was best in some situations.

Bea squinted, trying to make sense of the statement. “You’re stationed with the Paratroopers? What, writing papers?” She half-laughed, expecting something out of June.

June cringed internally. “No, I’m going to be billeted with the men, training. Basic training. At least, that’s the plan. After that, I’m trying to become a combat paratrooper.” It was hard for June to say at this point for some reason, but she pushed out the words with diligence, as if putting them out into the world for the first time would make them more true. Her future had never seemed more remote, though. She wished she could explain more, but the words didn't exist. It was a simple statement. “It’s the plan,” she ended, not knowing what else to say. One shoulder lifted in a shrug.

Bea blinked at her, and leaned back in her seat with eyebrows knitted together for a few long seconds.

June looked concernedly at Bea, trying to gauge her reaction. Damn, if everyone reacted this way, June was going to have a hard year. Even worse, June realized, if she had this hard of a time telling people why she was here, it would be even harder than she expected.

Pale grass blurred under the blue sky outside the windows. Sparse fences passed by, and then the rare supply truck or car. A tree appeared every moment or two, and June watched it all flow together after some time trying to clamp onto the image of the clouds or the birds. It was better to just watch from afar and see the colors blend.

“So, you want to do a man’s job?” Bea said slowly.

June nodded.

Bea failed to say something multiple times, starting and stopping before settling on a phrase. “Why?” she got out.

June saw confusion in Bea’s eyes. She searched for judgement, but there was none yet, mercifully so.

“I want to make something of myself.”

That was what June’s father and younger brother had said when she was admitted into West Point. She was making something of herself, they’d said, and June took the phrase to heart. She was doing it alone, herself, and for her only. It turned into a mantra. She’d made something of herself yet: a girl from an apartment above a small grocery, smack-dab in the middle of the middle class, vying for a spot among the political and the academia. This time, she was aiming for a spot that many men didn’t even achieve. The paratroopers had one of the highest wash-out rates in the nation. She’d make it, just like she made it to West Point and out in three years. She’d do it, and make something of herself.

She’d do it, and maybe die trying.

Bea shifted somewhat uncomfortably, fiddling with her hands in her lap. June looked out the window, not as fidgety as before she’d explained, but still pulling at her fingers incessantly.

“Why didn’t you want to be a WAC? It’s safer. As a woman, you know, you should be doing more appropriate things. The men fight. And we do our own fighting away from the front lines, but it’s just not holding a gun.” Bea’s voice was starting to rise in indignation.

June looked down, then decided to straighten and face Bea. This was June’s decision, and it had been approved by the military. She was going regardless of what Bea thought.

“How is this even possible?” spluttered Bea, in disbelief. “Who let you? And why do you feel the need to–to do something like this?”

June sighed, fearing the reaction. “I sent correspondences to the military base and some other branches. I got support from my local politicians. I suppose the West Point degree didn’t hurt,” she said, trying for some levity.

Bea still looked concerned and scandalized. “West Point? You don’t mean–” Bea looked intently at June’s face. “You don’t mean you’re one of them?”

“The graduates this year?” June offered, neutrally.

Bea nodded, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, I graduated with the class of ‘42. This month of June, actually.”

Bea wore the same expression on her face, half confused and half dismayed. June told herself that minds changed slowly. People like Bea were in the majority. Most Americans found any challenge to their status-quo unbearable. She was just like June’s mother when she’d been admitted.

And because Mom was against it, so was Sharon.

June had a very distinct memory of Sharon trying to talk her out of it.

“Mom doesn’t like it, you know,” she’d said, a frown on her face. “She says it’s ridiculous. Just go to University of California or something. You wouldn’t even have to go that far.”

June told herself that she’d consider Cal. Her family had even visited – many of the young people from their area went there and it seemed like a natural progression for a girl like June. She didn’t like it – not because of the area or the attitude emanating from the school, but because for some reason, she’d already had her heart set on West Point. Assuming she got in.

When June left for West Point, Mom cried and Sharon grudgingly gave her a hug. She left with a pit in her stomach. Leaving for Toccoa had created a similar reaction.

“Stay safe,” her mother had said, probably hoping Toccoa would refuse June from the start, despite their promise in the letter to consider June’s military-style education. Sharon probably thought June would wash out. It was an elite division with high drop-out rates, after all. Paratroopers.

Paratroopers. The word was unfamiliar and sounded wrong. She figured the concept of dropping from the sky was in itself, wrong. Humans had figured out how to fly close to the sun and now they were falling voluntarily, too.

June wasn’t really sure she could do it. This wasn’t West Point, where intellectual and memorization skills could supplement your success if your other scores were lacking. This was the Army. It was physical. It was about survival and combat. She couldn’t just be there, passive, and study at night to play catch-up. She had to take her future into her own hands, once again.

It didn’t matter if she thought she could do it. It only mattered if she did it.

And here she was, having a hard time explaining her situation to an amateur typist, God forbid her struggle when she got up to base.

June checked her watch. They were going to get there soon.

Bea looked into June’s eyes suddenly. “I knew I saw you somewhere else. The newspapers…” she muttered, looking as if she didn’t know what else to say despite being full of questions.

“I know it would be a lot less audacious of me to just stay on the home front.” June said, waiting for the storm. “That’s what people have already told me. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Bea furrowed her eyebrows again, taking in the grass and trees out the window. “No,” she said quietly, suddenly uncharacteristic. “No, I won’t say that.” She sat in silence for a while, and something came up on the horizon: a peaked hill, poking up from the trees and bushes, ringed with clouds and sitting against a blue sky. “Times are changing,” she said, shifting to look once again back at June. “You seem like a nice girl. I don’t think you’ll make it. You’ll drop out in a week or two, tops,” she said, shrugging, then paused. “But in the instance that you somehow make it, you’ll have done a great thing, female or not.”

June didn’t know what to say. No one had said anything like that to her. Be it with wonder or disgust, people who knew her story would always look at her with a sort of alien strangeness.

The bus was entering the base, and gates loomed in front of them. Wooden structures started to appear along the path, and men became more and more common along the path. The bus finally broke through the fading trees and the base was spread out before them: half paved, half dirt, with wood and brush and trucks everywhere. And the sheer volume of young men, all in uniform, all making their way to a specific destination. Each soldier here was here to train.

June intended to become just like the men.

She’d almost forgotten about Bea beside her, and there was a brief touch on June’s hand as Bea got up to walk towards the front of the bus.

“Wait,” June said. Bea turned around, expression unreadable. June couldn’t figure out whether Bea had concluded that she disliked her, but it didn’t matter. “I’ll see you,” she decided to say, the statement impersonal but not too remote, because in the back of her mind, June genuinely hoped she’d see Bea around base. She’d soon have no friends and have to start all over.

Bea gave her a half-smile. “You’ll know where to find me.”

And with that, June was the last woman on the bus. She made her way out in a daze, memorizing the leather of the seats with her fingers as she stepped out into the hot sun, the sounds of the base flowing over her.

June stared up at the sky, trying to gather her thoughts. She was here to be like the other men. A girl named June couldn’t make this trip to the finish, unscathed. But maybe a soldier named Diedtrich could.

She was here to fight, to learn to kill the enemy – to advance the mission of democracy throughout the quickly darkening age. The task of the U.S. Army was something huge and something glorious.

If June’s nation was embarking on the greatest mission of faith and attrition on God’s good world, she wanted in. She wanted in, bad.

And here she was, with the hardest part far ahead.

♤

She found herself gawking at the place. The other women scattered quickly after leaving the bus, reporting for their jobs in various directions. June was left standing in the dust, taking in the huge hill rising above the camp, drowning in blue sky and flanked by hastily built wooden buildings.

A few groups of men – platoons – jogged past, running around the base. The pop-bang of rifle fire drifted distantly from somewhere to June’s north. Some yelling voices floated over the din of engines and footsteps.

A man came walking briskly out from a corner of one of the offices, in his service greens. He immediately spotted June and made a beeline towards her, dodging a passing truck. He came closer, and June noted the triple chevron on his shoulder and kept a smile to herself, preparation already paying off. Sergeant, she thought. He was dark blonde, of medium build, and tall. As he arrived in front of her, he slowed.

“Sergeant John Coates,” he said, extending a hand to her. June took it and gave a firm handshake.

After a moment of indecision, June decided in a beat to introduce herself the civilian way. “June Diedtrich, sir,” she said with a smile.

He nodded, already leaning around to take June’s suitcase. She pulled away. “That’s not necessary, but thank you,” she said hastily.

“Alright,” he said brightly, not looking put off. “I’m going to take you to Colonel Sink.” He turned away, starting up a cement path pointing away from the road.

June hauled her suitcase along, switching hands, and followed quickly after the Sergeant. Her heels clacked noticeably against the ground as she picked up speed in comparison to Coates’s boots. They were jump boots: the pride of parachutists and the envy of non-paratrooper infantrymen. June tore her eyes from Coates’s uniform when he spoke, suddenly aware that she was staring.

“So, you’re here to join the Army,” Coates commented, from a few paces ahead. June blinked in surprise. She figured no one would know other than Sink and some upper-division ranking officers. There was no way to tell, except for her suitcase, which wasn’t really an obvious indicator in itself.

“Yes, I am, sir,” June said.

“Interesting thing, a woman wanting to fight and all,” he said, voice curiously devoid of judgement. People always had to comment on the idea, and June expected nothing less of Coates, even if he seemed courteous at first glance.

“I think so, sir,” she responded cautiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always did. People always had something to say about her outlandish ideas.

The two were passed by another jogging platoon in silence. June felt the weight of their curious stares, probably sizing her up as another new nurse or secretary to try and take out to the movies.

More buildings passed. June looked out over the field to her right, a large expanse of flat green grass, which had a primitive track lining the perimeter, and forest beyond that, fading into a gradient of thin trees and ground cover. There were rows upon rows of barracks between her and the field – wooden row houses, long and narrow with square windows and thin walls. Some of them were covered with tarp fittings over the roofs and sides. June thought of winter in those poorly-insulated boxes and wondered how the men stayed warm.

“Look, I just want to tell you one thing before you go in,” Coates said suddenly, rounding a corner and facing her. June straightened again. “Colonel Sink may have let you in, but he’s not a nice man,” Coates said, looking slightly down at June, who was a good deal shorter. His tone was not harsh, but it seemed to be genuinely honest. “You’re here for a unique reason. I know that you are aware you will have to prove yourself more than any other man here.”

June looked seriously at him. “I know, sir. You have no idea how well I know.” She immediately reconsidered her statement. Was it too disrespectful? She searched his face. He didn’t look particularly upset. She told herself not to push it.

He nodded, looking at her sidelong without malice. “You will know if you didn’t before,” he said lowly. “I don’t envy your position, Private.”

June looked up, startled. This was the first time she’d been acknowledged as a military person, let alone a hopeful.

Private Diedtrich. She would have smiled to herself if not for a wave of overwhelming nervousness as she looked at the door that would lead to Sink. Coates broke eye contact and rose back up to full height.

“Colonel Sink is in here,” he said, holding open a door and following June into the building.

Inside, the air was cooler, but still warm. A narrow hallway led down the building to the left, and office doors – some shut, some open – punctuated the wood wall every few feet. June stepped aside to let Coates pass, and she followed him down the corridor to the last door on the right. Coates knocked.

“Come in,” a voice drifted out from the room. Coates nudged open the door and held it open for June, who slipped past him into Colonel Sink’s office.

The office was filled with light from the window behind Sink, who rose from his chair at the sight of June entering the office. June heard the shift of fabric behind her as Coates stood at attention, and after another brief moment of panicked debate, she too snapped her heels together and raised her right arm in salute, feeling a little strange doing it in her civilian clothing: skirt, lipstick, pin curls, and all.

The Colonel looked at June for a few seconds with an unreadable look, then back at Coates.

“As you were,” he said in a strong, slightly nasal voice. He had gray hair and a composed mannerism.

June heard Coates’s uniform shift again, and a half-second later, she relaxed her arm, not wanting to be found incompetent. She was feeling out-of-place already. Knowing how to salute and drill and address officers in the book was different than when the Colonel of Camp Toccoa was standing right in front of her.

Would he offer his hand for shaking? Was she supposed to take it and shake once or twice? Thankfully, Sink didn’t offer a handshake, but instead dismissed Coates with a brief wave.

“Sergeant Coates, please wait outside,” he said, and then turning to June, he pointed to a chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat, young lady,” he said, and June obediently pulled out the chair and sat down, setting her suitcase down next to her. The thought that Sink hadn’t called her Private briefly flashed through her mind, but June’s thoughts were so jumbled that she pushed the useless observation out of her mind and tried to breathe deeply to calm down her rapidly beating heart.

Sink sat down in his chair across from June and folded his hands, looking at her, the beams of noontime sun slatting through the blinds in the window and giving Sink a backlit glow. June met his eyes straight on, challenging him to make any assumptions before he talked to her first.

This was the man to impress. If anyone, it was Sink. He could throw her out of the camp right then if he wanted to. June was no Congressman’s daughter, no relative of a high-ranking official. Sink had the right to deny her requests immediately without repercussions, and they both knew.

Yet Sink had been the one – the only one – to answer June’s request, asking her to come on base to begin training that September. That had to mean he had some sort of hope for her when the others didn’t. It had to. Right?

Sink’s letter promised her a shot. It might have been a shot in the dark, but June took it.

“June Diedtrich. We finally meet,” Sink said, leaning back in his chair.

June nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said steadily. Sink laughed, probably at her stiffness, or maybe at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“Well, let’s get into it,” he said with an air of business, turning to a few papers on his desk and laying one on top of another. He had a particular habit of enunciating syllables and drawing them out in a Carolina accent. It reminded June of her grandfather, though she wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to make that comparison.

“In your letter you stated that you specifically wanted to join the Army. Not the WACs, or other female divisions,” Sink said, looking fleetingly at the mentioned letter and back at June. “You do realize how strange and frankly abstract an idea like this is, June?”

June kept her face stoic, but she felt a cold flash of nervousness. “Yes, sir.”

Sink scanned the rest of the letter and put it back down. “Your request has been approved by the top brass, as you already know,” he said, drumming a finger on the table and leaning back once more. “This is something that has never happened. Not once in the history of the United States Armed Forces has a female actually entered front-line combat,” Sink said with an air of finality.

She nodded, not knowing what else to say. A growing fearful anticipation of rejection grew in her mind, and she shifted in the chair uncomfortably. She reasoned with herself: why would Sink kick her out now? She’d taken a train all the way from California to get here. Sink seemed to be a man of practicality. She told herself she was being ridiculous by having anything to fear, but her own voice of logic was drowned out by anxiety.

Their correspondence had been constant, but June still knew nothing was ever concrete with such a tenuous plan relying on scant approval. Was Sink preparing to drop her right here and now? Was that why he’d kept Coates outside the office, so she could be driven back into town? June’s heart sank, even though she knew in her mind that she’d been approved to this position.

“You’re a high school valedictorian, West Point graduate, and women’s distance running champion. You have political contacts all over the country in top positions, a secure home in San Francisco, and job prospects open everywhere because of your degree. You’re smart. You’re also a woman. You have the option,” Sink said, clearing his throat and leaning forward, “of completely ignoring the war as someone who will not be affected by any possible future drafts. In fact, there will be more jobs for you when men start draining out of the country by the millions.”

June watched his face, trying to follow his logic.

“So, when I ask this, answer me honestly, because I want to know,” he said. “Why are you here?”

Bea had asked June the same thing on the bus but curiously, it seemed different when the words were coming from the mouth of a distinguished Colonel, sitting here with June’s fate in his hands. She twisted a finger in her lap and stopped herself, knowing Sink could see.

“You could be in danger if you wanted, Diedtrich,” Sink said. “You could fly a plane. You could make yourself useful by manufacturing artillery shells.” He snorted. “Hell, you could even haul ass to Europe and do some fighting yourself without being–” he waved an arm around, one side of his mouth lifting below his moustache in a scowl, “restricted by the organization of the U.S. Army. God knows we haven’t been as welcoming as some Holland revolutionaries could be on the other side of the world.”

June pressed her lips together, thinking. “I’m not bilingual, sir,” she started, and Sink laughed for a moment, his stony exterior breaking for just that second. “I don’t have a pilot's license. I don’t want to work in a factory, sir,” she forged on, wondering if her use of sir was too frequent. No matter – it was better to sprinkle in too many than too few. “I feel love for my country, this great nation I was born into. This is the land of the free and the home of the brave. And if I am daring enough to count myself to be among the free and the brave, then I intend to take up arms and fight for it too.”

Colonel Sink had asked why. Why was she here? She paused just for a few seconds.

“And if not for Europe or the free people of the Pacific, I want to fight for my country. The United States of America.”

Sink looked down at the papers without reading them, up at the ceiling, and then back at June, exhaling. Then he nodded. “That’s exactly why every other man is here,” he said. “I’m glad you feel so strongly about our country. But I’ll ask you this.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Are you prepared to watch your comrades die? To have the cloud of death and blood all around you as you pack yourself into trenches, waiting for the artillery to tear some poor boy’s arm off? To be hit by the blood and guts of the man next to you, deafened by gunfire and blinded by flares?”

June swallowed, trying to picture the carnage, knowing it was a reality that was all too near, men torn limb from limb just across the sea.

“The taste of ash and metal doesn’t leave your mouth. And if you yourself get hit in battle, sometimes it’s a mercy to not have to watch your brothers bleed out in front of you or get their helmet shot through with some German machine gun,” Sink concluded. “If you ever get through the training and somehow make it into battle, can your female mind and soul bear it?”

June stared into the distance, trying to imagine it – a familiar mental choreography she’d replayed again and again for months, trying to picture the mud and screams and rivers of red. She’d watched war films when she could, but she had a premonition the worst was never shown. She’d known veterans from the Great War, hollow and haggard, missing limbs or parts of their skin or sections of their face. Burns. Amputations. Bullet wounds. Broken arms that never healed. Big scars that were never named, but pointed to some greater wound inside their soul. Empty eyes.

June hoped she’d never get to that point. Empty-eyed was the worst that you could become.

“I know it, sir,” June said, knowing it was a woeful lie. “In the event that I am eventually deployed overseas, I am prepared for it.”

Sink grimaced. “You will never be prepared. You do not know. But I have faith that you are willing to learn what it takes to become a brother-in-arms.” He paused. “Sister-in-arms.”

June nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You are not one of them yet,” Sink said, pointing over his shoulder into the window, framing a scene of men doing drills, running, and standing at attention. “You may never be one of them. You have to make them understand, Diedtrich. You must make them. No one else will do it for you.” A brief shake of his head. “But the battle for now is not to make friends. You will earn their respect by your actions, your fortitude, and your resilience, something each man must do. And now you are a woman attempting the same thing. If they accept you,” he said, “and that is a big if, you will do it by surviving Toccoa. There is no shortcut. You either shape up or wash out, same as the others, West Point degree be damned.”

June’s eyes narrowed slightly, hating that her degree was probably going to be held over her the whole time she was here, if she lasted longer than a few days. She hated being told about her own education, because she was reminded of how she’d been given exceptions that made her class graduate in three short years.

If she ever earned something, it would be her place in the Paratroopers.

“I cannot stress this enough, Diedtrich,” Sink said. “You must earn this. The Army men will not be easily convinced of your competence unless you demonstrate it.”

June nodded firmly, face hardening. “I will try my best, sir.”

Colonel Sink looked as if he was going to try to say something else, but then decided against it. “Well, Private Diedtrich, I wish you the best, but that’s all I can do. Welcome to U.S. Army training,” he said, rising from his chair. “The Basic Training exam is in a few weeks. I’ll see you then.”

June stood up quickly too, and Sink offered a hand for a shake. June gave him her firmest handshake, and Sink nodded at her.

“Survive this, and you make history,” Sink said, face serious.

June felt the unsaid implication hang in the air.

Fail, and you’re just another drop-out.

June didn’t intend to fail. She’d weather this, just like she had weathered her other obstacles. This time, the obstacle was called Toccoa. And maybe – just maybe – she’d eventually face down the forces of Europe.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #band of brothers imagine #fanfic #sister-in-arms #run the gauntlet #writing

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thegreatantonchekhov · 4 years

Text

Love

By Anton Chekhov

Translated by Constance Garnett

“THREE o’clock in the morning. The soft April night is looking in at my windows and caressingly winking at me with its stars. I can’t sleep, I am so happy!

“My whole being from head to heels is bursting with a strange, incomprehensible feeling. I can’t analyse it just now -- I haven’t the time, I’m too lazy, and there -- hang analysis! Why, is a man likely to interpret his sensations when he is flying head foremost from a belfry, or has just learned that he has won two hundred thousand? Is he in a state to do it?”

This was more or less how I began my love-letter to Sasha, a girl of nineteen with whom I had fallen in love. I began it five times, and as often tore up the sheets, scratched out whole pages, and copied it all over again. I spent as long over the letter as if it had been a novel I had to write to order. And it was not because I tried to make it longer, more elaborate, and more fervent, but because I wanted endlessly to prolong the process of this writing, when one sits in the stillness of one’s study and communes with one’s own day-dreams while the spring night looks in at one’s window. Between the lines I saw a beloved image, and it seemed to me that there were, sitting at the same table writing with me, spirits as naïvely happy, as foolish, and as blissfully smiling as I. I wrote continually, looking at my hand, which still ached deliciously where hers had lately pressed it, and if I turned my eyes away I had a vision of the green trellis of the little gate. Through that trellis Sasha gazed at me after I had said goodbye to her. When I was saying good-bye to Sasha I was thinking of nothing and was simply admiring her figure as every decent man admires a pretty woman; when I saw through the trellis two big eyes, I suddenly, as though by inspiration, knew that I was in love, that it was all settled between us, and fully decided already, that I had nothing left to do but to carry out certain formalities.

It is a great delight also to seal up a love-letter, and, slowly putting on one’s hat and coat, to go softly out of the house and to carry the treasure to the post. There are no stars in the sky now: in their place there is a long whitish streak in the east, broken here and there by clouds above the roofs of the dingy houses; from that streak the whole sky is flooded with pale light. The town is asleep, but already the water-carts have come out, and somewhere in a far-away factory a whistle sounds to wake up the workpeople. Beside the postbox, slightly moist with dew, you are sure to see the clumsy figure of a house porter, wearing a bell-shaped sheepskin and carrying a stick. He is in a condition akin to catalepsy: he is not asleep or awake, but something between.

If the boxes knew how often people resort to them for the decision of their fate, they would not have such a humble air. I, anyway, almost kissed my postbox, and as I gazed at it I reflected that the post is the greatest of blessings.

I beg anyone who has ever been in love to remember how one usually hurries home after dropping the letter in the box, rapidly gets into bed and pulls up the quilt in the full conviction that as soon as one wakes up in the morning one will be overwhelmed with memories of the previous day and look with rapture at the window, where the daylight will be eagerly making its way through the folds of the curtain.

Well, to facts.... Next morning at midday, Sasha’s maid brought me the following answer: “I am delited be sure to come to us to day please I shall expect you. Your S.”

Not a single comma. This lack of punctuation, and the misspelling of the word “delighted,” the whole letter, and even the long, narrow envelope in which it was put filled my heart with tenderness. In the sprawling but diffident handwriting I recognised Sasha’s walk, her way of raising her eyebrows when she laughed, the movement of her lips.... But the contents of the letter did not satisfy me. In the first place, poetical letters are not answered in that way, and in the second, why should I go to Sasha’s house to wait till it should occur to her stout mamma, her brothers, and poor relations to leave us alone together? It would never enter their heads, and nothing is more hateful than to have to restrain one’s raptures simply because of the intrusion of some animate trumpery in the shape of a half-deaf old woman or little girl pestering one with questions. I sent an answer by the maid asking Sasha to select some park or boulevard for a rendezvous. My suggestion was readily accepted. I had struck the right chord, as the saying is.

Between four and five o’clock in the afternoon I made my way to the furthest and most overgrown part of the park. There was not a soul in the park, and the tryst might have taken place somewhere nearer in one of the avenues or arbours, but women don’t like doing it by halves in romantic affairs; in for a penny, in for a pound -- if you are in for a tryst, let it be in the furthest and most impenetrable thicket, where one runs the risk of stumbling upon some rough or drunken man. When I went up to Sasha she was standing with her back to me, and in that back I could read a devilish lot of mystery. It seemed as though that back and the nape of her neck, and the black spots on her dress were saying: Hush!... The girl was wearing a simple cotton dress over which she had thrown a light cape. To add to the air of mysterious secrecy, her face was covered with a white veil. Not to spoil the effect, I had to approach on tiptoe and speak in a half whisper.

From what I remember now, I was not so much the essential point of the rendezvous as a detail of it. Sasha was not so much absorbed in the interview itself as in its romantic mysteriousness, my kisses, the silence of the gloomy trees, my vows.... There was not a minute in which she forgot herself, was overcome, or let the mysterious expression drop from her face, and really if there had been any Ivan Sidoritch or Sidor Ivanitch in my place she would have felt just as happy. How is one to make out in such circumstances whether one is loved or not? Whether the love is “the real thing” or not?

From the park I took Sasha home with me. The presence of the beloved woman in one’s bachelor quarters affects one like wine and music. Usually one begins to speak of the future, and the confidence and self-reliance with which one does so is beyond bounds. You make plans and projects, talk fervently of the rank of general though you have not yet reached the rank of a lieutenant, and altogether you fire off such high-flown nonsense that your listener must have a great deal of love and ignorance of life to assent to it. Fortunately for men, women in love are always blinded by their feelings and never know anything of life. Far from not assenting, they actually turn pale with holy awe, are full of reverence and hang greedily on the maniac’s words. Sasha listened to me with attention, but I soon detected an absent-minded expression on her face, she did not understand me. The future of which I talked interested her only in its external aspect and I was wasting time in displaying my plans and projects before her. She was keenly interested in knowing which would be her room, what paper she would have in the room, why I had an upright piano instead of a grand piano, and so on. She examined carefully all the little things on my table, looked at the photographs, sniffed at the bottles, peeled the old stamps off the envelopes, saying she wanted them for something.

“Please collect old stamps for me!” she said, making a grave face. “Please do.”

Then she found a nut in the window, noisily cracked it and ate it.

“Why don’t you stick little labels on the backs of your books?” she asked, taking a look at the bookcase.

“What for?”

“Oh, so that each book should have its number. And where am I to put my books? I’ve got books too, you know.”

“What books have you got?” I asked.

Sasha raised her eyebrows, thought a moment and said:

“All sorts.”

And if it had entered my head to ask her what thoughts, what convictions, what aims she had, she would no doubt have raised her eyebrows, thought a minute, and have said in the same way: “All sorts.”

Later I saw Sasha home and left her house regularly, officially engaged, and was so reckoned till our wedding. If the reader will allow me to judge merely from my personal experience, I maintain that to be engaged is very dreary, far more so than to be a husband or nothing at all. An engaged man is neither one thing nor the other, he has left one side of the river and not reached the other, he is not married and yet he can’t be said to be a bachelor, but is in something not unlike the condition of the porter whom I have mentioned above.

Every day as soon as I had a free moment I hastened to my fiancée. As I went I usually bore within me a multitude of hopes, desires, intentions, suggestions, phrases. I always fancied that as soon as the maid opened the door I should, from feeling oppressed and stifled, plunge at once up to my neck into a sea of refreshing happiness. But it always turned out otherwise in fact. Every time I went to see my fiancée I found all her family and other members of the household busy over the silly trousseau. (And by the way, they were hard at work sewing for two months and then they had less than a hundred roubles’ worth of things). There was a smell of irons, candle grease and fumes. Bugles scrunched under one’s feet. The two most important rooms were piled up with billows of linen, calico, and muslin and from among the billows peeped out Sasha’s little head with a thread between her teeth. All the sewing party welcomed me with cries of delight but at once led me off into the dining-room where I could not hinder them nor see what only husbands are permitted to behold. In spite of my feelings, I had to sit in the dining-room and converse with Pimenovna, one of the poor relations. Sasha, looking worried and excited, kept running by me with a thimble, a skein of wool or some other boring object.

“Wait, wait, I shan’t be a minute,” she would say when I raised imploring eyes to her. “Only fancy that wretch Stepanida has spoilt the bodice of the barège dress!”

And after waiting in vain for this grace, I lost my temper, went out of the house and walked about the streets in the company of the new cane I had bought. Or I would want to go for a walk or a drive with my fiancée, would go round and find her already standing in the hall with her mother, dressed to go out and playing with her parasol.

“Oh, we are going to the Arcade,” she would say. “We have got to buy some more cashmere and change the hat.”

My outing is knocked on the head. I join the ladies and go with them to the Arcade. It is revoltingly dull to listen to women shopping, haggling and trying to outdo the sharp shopman. I felt ashamed when Sasha, after turning over masses of material and knocking down the prices to a minimum, walked out of the shop without buying anything, or else told the shopman to cut her some half rouble’s worth.

When they came out of the shop, Sasha and her mamma with scared and worried faces would discuss at length having made a mistake, having bought the wrong thing, the flowers in the chintz being too dark, and so on.

Yes, it is a bore to be engaged! I’m glad it’s over.

Now I am married. It is evening. I am sitting in my study reading. Behind me on the sofa Sasha is sitting munching something noisily. I want a glass of beer.

“Sasha, look for the corkscrew. . . .” I say. “It’s lying about somewhere.”

Sasha leaps up, rummages in a disorderly way among two or three heaps of papers, drops the matches, and without finding the corkscrew, sits down in silence.... Five minutes pass -- ten. . . I begin to be fretted both by thirst and vexation.

“Sasha, do look for the corkscrew,” I say.

Sasha leaps up again and rummages among the papers near me. Her munching and rustling of the papers affects me like the sound of sharpening knives against each other.... I get up and begin looking for the corkscrew myself. At last it is found and the beer is uncorked. Sasha remains by the table and begins telling me something at great length.

“You’d better read something, Sasha,” I say.

She takes up a book, sits down facing me and begins moving her lips.... I look at her little forehead, moving lips, and sink into thought.

“She is getting on for twenty. . . .” I reflect. “If one takes a boy of the educated class and of that age and compares them, what a difference! The boy would have knowledge and convictions and some intelligence.”

But I forgive that difference just as the low forehead and moving lips are forgiven. I remember in my old Lovelace days I have cast off women for a stain on their stockings, or for one foolish word, or for not cleaning their teeth, and now I forgive everything: the munching, the muddling about after the corkscrew, the slovenliness, the long talking about nothing that matters; I forgive it all almost unconsciously, with no effort of will, as though Sasha’s mistakes were my mistakes, and many things which would have made me wince in old days move me to tenderness and even rapture. The explanation of this forgiveness of everything lies in my love for Sasha, but what is the explanation of the love itself, I really don’t know.

NOTES

Lovelace: Richard Lovelace (1618-1658) was an English poet

#Chekhov

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writingglade · 4 years

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TMR Imagine #1

Title; Flares

Pairing; Newt x Reader

Request; None

Based On; TDC Movie

Warnings; Mild Spoilers for TDC (The Death Cure), mild angst, swearing, mild blood, alternate ending.

Words; 3597

Summary; You had to be absolutely insane, reaching for the flare gun as Thomas tried to pry Newt from your body as he attempted to bite down on your throat, driven mad by the flare.

Requests are open | Masterlist

Your back slams against the asphalt, sending a paralyzing jolt from your neck to your toes. A yell erupts from Thomas’ throat, unable to get to the two of you before Newt smacks the flare gun from your hand. If possible, you press tighter to the ground, using an arm to hold back Newt as Thomas attempts to pry him off of your smaller form. A vicious snarl bars past Newt’s clenched teeth - a sound so inhuman and unlike Newt that it manages to cause tears to prick in your eyes.

Thomas grunts in frustration, unable to pull Newt from you as you attempt to push him off. Your arm begins to grow sore, sending the other off to the side and ignoring the pain as Newt’s nails dig into your flesh. You want to cry, the flare gun close enough for your fingertips to make contact, yet too far for you to actually grab it.

“Newt!” Thomas’ voice comes out in a grunt, almost sounding like a sob as he almost falls back the moment Newt frees himself from his grip, “Newt stop! Stop! It’s Y/N!”

Thomas regains his hold on Newt, forcibly tugging his shoulders, knuckles turning pearl-white as he grabs onto him as strong as he possibly could. Newt practically roars, a mixture of drool and inky-black running from his mouth to your face and neck. The fluid almost burns as it makes contact with your skin, rivaling with the tears that fell down your cheeks in the struggle.

“Newt! Please!” You sob out a desperate croak, Newt gaining leverage on your arm barred against his chest. “This isn’t you!”

His dilated eyes are unwavering, what remained of his honey-brown irises swimming in a pool of insanity. The veins popping against his cheeks swell, pulsating under the tight skin as his body lurches forward - teeth aimed straight for your neck. You swallow, closing your eyes as your arm flies from Newt’s chest and into his cheek.

Half of his face is smashed against your palm as he hisses, some last drop of sanity swimming to the surface in his now almost entirely black eyes. You let out a shallow, shaking breath, taking his moment of weakness to harshly shove him forward. Thomas immediately draws him back as you scramble to reach the flare gun. Whatever wave that hit Newt is gone and he begins flailing in Thomas’ arms - kicking and screeching, teeth bared and spit flying just about everywhere. Thomas’ body is tossed in every direction Newt flails in, nearly ending up on the asphalt on multiple occasions within a matter of seconds.

At Thomas’ pained scream, you’re suddenly aware of the knife Newt had holstered at his hip. You bite down on your bottom lip, hand trembling as you hastily pick up the flare gun. Newt rips free of Thomas’ arms as he clutches his hand. With Thomas out of Newt’s view, his gaze lands on you and he lunges. You screech, barely managing to dodge out of the way before a shaky finger is placed over the trigger of the flare gun. Both the knife and Newt’s teeth are bared as he dives at you once more, missing by more than a long shot and crashing against the ground.

A cry of pain slips past Newt’s lips, something sounding more like the teen boy from the glade and less of whatever the flare had turned him into minutes prior. He uncurls his body, rolling onto his back, hand clutching his chest as he convulses. Heavy pants cause the space between his ribs to erratically rise and fall, newfound tears beading down his cheeks. He looks around, rather, his eyes race and scan the smoke consumed sky. His cheek is skinned from his fall, flesh peeled back and blood not hesitating to dribble from the surface of the deepest cut.

A wheeze pours from his lips, back arching as his whole body writhed. “K-Kill- Kill me!” His words come out in a scream, choking through a sob. “Please! Just- Kill me!”

Thomas noticeably swallows, stepping towards Newt as he exchanges a look with you. You shake your head, Thomas nodding in agreement before his eyes flicker to the flare gun. You raise your arm above your head, ignoring the stinging from Newt’s nail-pricks and scratches. With a deafening whistling, the bright-red flare rockets into the sky with a stream of smoke. The brilliant burst of shimmering red reflects against Newt’s eyes, against the black coating his chin and running along his neck and jaw. He almost seems enamored with the bright light for a second, entranced even - as if it was the only thing he could see.

Taking a cautious step forward, you hover a few feet in front of Newt. Scanning his body for any sign of life, hoping he hadn’t suddenly had a heart attack and died somehow. His head snaps to the side, neck cracking with a sickening sound. You let out another sob despite no tears in your eyes, rather, it was a loud cry of exhaustion - not wanting to play another game of cat and mouse where you were the unfortunate rodent. However, before he has a chance to lunge at you for the third time, his body is encapsulated with a net of white electricity.

Newt screeches, immediately falling back down to his back. Gally lowers the gun, Brenda stumbling up the stairs - vial in hand. Thomas wraps his hand in the cloth of his shirt, looking exasperated before speaking.

“About shucking time.” He groans, creating some sort of tourniquet by twisting up his shirt fabric.

Brenda grapples onto your wrist, forcing you to tear your gaze from Newt as flickers of electricity surge across his body. “Take it.”

She unclasps your fist, placing the vial of blue liquid in your palm, clamping your fingers around it. You swallow, attempting to stutter out a few words though nothing comes for a few seconds.

“Wh-what am I supposed to do with this?! I don’t know how to use this!” Your hands shake, attempting to give Brenda the serum back.

Minho groans, slumping against the stairs, “Listen, I don’t care if you’ve gotta cut the shank! Just get that clunk in his shucking system already!”

Newt stirs slightly, hoarse groan emitting from his parting lips as he curls in on himself slightly. Gally groans in frustration, nearly pulling out what little hair he had on his head as he practically snaps the gun he’s holding in half before aiming at Newt once more. You frantically wave your hands, signaling to Gally to put the gun down and that there was no need to electrocute the already suffering blonde a second time.

You approach Newt, cautiously in case he lunged at you or tried to bite your ankles or something. For the most part, he seems to be drifting in and out of consciousness. You draw in a deep breath, stepping over Newt with one of your legs so that you’re standing above him before lowering yourself - praying to whatever god that might be out there that he didn’t suddenly snap into consciousness and decide to maul you. Your hands are shaking, tremors running all the way to your fingertips as you try to unscrew the vial.

His weaning consciousness falters as his eyes peek open, black meeting the trembling gaze trained on his lips. You pretend not to notice, hoping that if he thinks you don’t know that he’s awake and could potentially kill you on the spot that he wouldn’t potentially kill you on the spot.

“Easy Newt…” You mumble to yourself, tugging his bottom lip with your thumb as you part his mouth open.

The blue liquid trickles into his mouth, slowly draining down the back of his throat before he loses consciousness once more. His body grows soft beneath you and you find yourself numb to the rise and fall of his chest. You pat his cheek with his hand, softly at first before you’re practically slapping him.

“Newt! Come on, wake up!” You feel your chest tighten, your shoulders growing heavy, and your head beginning to spin as if you were tied to the blades of a helicopter for some reason.

You want to scream, you want to cry, for a second you think you do. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach twisting in knots as it sinks lower and lower into what seemed to be a bottomless pit. For a split second, you see white and then red and then black and then you feel as if you’ve gone blind.

You squint, turquoise sky blooming in front of your eyes, cotton wisps of clouds tucking behind green canopies and gargantuan stone walls breaking into the sky like a city skyline. the ringing in your ears is replaced by boisterous chatter, several voices of anticipation overlaying over one another and created a garble of nonsensual speak. The ground beneath you shakes, following the sound of jumbled metal. A soft gasp meets your ears before the voices fall silent.

“It’s… a girl?” The voice seems almost repulsed, though heavy confusion is mixed in.

Your mind is racing around everything and nothing. You couldn’t remember anything. Not your name, your face, where you came from, or, most importantly, where you were. The sudden urge to sob tackles you like a pro-wrestler, and you find yourself wondering just what a pro-wrestler even was. As if on cue, the moment the ground shakes once more, the flood gates to your tear ducts burst open and you let out a guttural wail - still having seen nothing but the sky, yet unsure if you really wanted to see anything else.

Then it’s dark, that is, before your tear-plagued vision refocuses and you meet eyes with a squinting blonde male. Though his brows are tightly knit against his wrinkle-free forehead, he offers you a gentle smile. You feel a nudge against your shoulder, and you quickly grow aware of the aching in every fiber of your being. The blonde male looks up with a scowl, though he’s still leaning over you.

“Gally, quit it.” His accent perplexes you, however, you find that your tears stop the moment the softness in his voice, although he was scolding just whoever this Gally was, meets your ears.

He looks back to you, extending a hand. You stare at it for a moment before his hand twitches slightly.

“Come on Greenie, let’s get you up, alright?” He speaks softly, almost in a whisper, as if he’d talked any louder you’d shatter like an antique mirror.

You feel another nudge to your shoulder, this one noticeably harsher compared to the last. You hold back a cry of pain, the blonde retracting his hand for a moment as a frown creases his features.

“Gally…” His voice is dangerously low, and in complete and utter contrast toward how his voice had previously brought you comfort, you suddenly feel terrified. “quit it.”

He looks back to you, extending his hand once more as a smile washes over his features once more. “Come on now-”

He’s cut off when another face pops into your vision, significantly less easy to look at in comparison to the blonde. This must be that “Gally” person, or whatever. You internally scoff at his strange, tight-knit eyebrows and cemented-in, seemingly-permanent scowl.

“Get up.” He prods at with you with his foot, this time making contact with your cheek.

You clench your jaw, anger suddenly stewing in your stomach over his rude and dismissive behavior. The ground shakes once more and the feeling of anger quickly dissipates into fear once more. You push yourself up against the floor, scooching back until you can’t scooch back any further - meeting a wall with your back. The new person appears stern, though not unfriendly like “Gally”. You swallow nervously.

“Welcome, Greenbean.” His voice is somewhat gruff as he speaks, and despite the slight rasp to it - you find it somewhat comforting like the now, small-looking blonde’s. “You don’t got to be afraid. We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

He extends a hand, the blonde doing the same. “Gally” huffs, folding his arms against his chest. You snort without thinking as you stare at the pug-nosed man.

“Pouty.” You only mutter it to yourself, however, he quickly catches on that your talking about him and takes an abrasive step forward before being blocked by the arm of the newest male.

“Gally,” His voice is firm as he speaks, not even bothering to look at the now red-faced “Gally”. “enough.”

The blonde approaches you slowly, squatting in front of you and offering his hand once more. “Don’t be scared… I’m Newt.”

Newt? What a stupid name, what kind of name was “Newt”?

“I’m… I’m sorry?” Newt seems just as confused as you are when he speaks, brows knitting and smile falling from his lips. “Did you just call my name stupid..?”

“Gally” huffs through his nose, “If his name is so stupid, Greenie, then what’s yours, huh?”

You freeze.

“Gally” snorts, almost triumphantly before you quietly quip back. “Newt is better than Gally.”

Newt fails to stifle a chuckle at his, smile returning to his face. “She’s got you there mate.”

“Listen here shuckface-” Gally growls before the guy in the middle grabs his shoulder, pain quickly flashing across his eyes. “Seriously Alby? You’re just gonna let this she-bean insult me like that?!”

“Alby” shrugs, “I mean, you did kick her three times.”

Newt sighs, “Come on Greenie. You can’t sit in the box all day, you know.”

You hesitantly lift a hand, ignoring the soreness in your arms as your hand meets Newt’s calloused one. “I’ll show you around, alright Greenie?”

A rasping gasp comes from below you, causing you to quickly wipe the tears from your eyes before they have a chance to fall. Newt’s eyes flutter back open, still dilated but harboring the slightest hint of honey-brown. The black veins pulsating against his cheeks are fainter than they had been minutes prior. You swear your heart skips a beat as he blinks up at you.

“Y/N?” His voice comes out in a croak, just above a whisper - but it sounds like Newt.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, you hardly feel the burning on your arm, in fact, you’re too busy feeling so genuinely elated that you could die right there on the spot. You quickly clamber off of Newt, offering a hand to pull him up - ignoring the tiny jolt of electricity that pricks your fingertips when his hand comes into contact with yours. You heave him up, the pain in your previously aching arm numbed by absolute euphoria. Newt is the first to initiate contact, pulling you into a near-crushing embrace. His quiet sob is muffled into your shoulder.

You hear a cough just as you’re about to return the embrace. You look over Newt’s shoulder to see Gally gesturing vaguely in your direction.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to ruin the moment or anything…” He pauses, “But what the shuck is that?”

Brenda follows his extended finger, Thomas doing the same. Brenda freezes, eyes growing to the size of saucers as she brings a hand to her face. She, for some reason, looks incredibly stressed. Then you become aware of the searing pain in your arm once more and curse yourself for having eyes and not resisting the urge to look.

You want to vomit, you want to sob. Instead, you harshly shove Newt away, rolling up what little shirt sleeve you had and pulling at your arm to get a better look. You blink, once - twice - thrice. The black veins and purple bruising don’t disappear; you aren’t hallucinating. Newt seems to recover from the shock of being shoved away, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes before looking at you. You harshly yank down your sleeve, stretching the material and hiding what little wasn’t covered beneath your hand before Newt has a chance to see.

Minho pulls himself from the stairs, though he nearly falls back down as an explosion goes off nearby. “For shuck’s sake- Y/N? Are you… okay?”

You snap out of your mini stupor, quickly nodding your head. “Yeah! Yeah! I’m fine! But- uh…” You pause, looking over your shoulder at Thomas. “Thomas though! Yeah, Thomas… Thomas is injured!”

Newt’s eyebrows furrow, looking past you to see just how Thomas was injured. “Did- Did I do that?”

Newt pats around his hips, frowning when he doesn’t feel the knife. Thomas laughs lightly, walking over and placing his non-injured hand on your shoulder.

“It’s fine Newt,” He glances down at your arm from where he stands - totally inconspicuous. “I’m just glad you’re safe - we all are.”

Unfortunately, Newt notices the flicker of Thomas’ gaze, and his own eyes fall to your arm. “Y/N? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You swallow, “Nothing’s wrong Newt.”

Newt’s eyebrows knit once more, “Bullclunk. Tell me what’s wrong…”

A laugh forces its way from your throat, “Re-really! Nothing is wrong!”

“She’s inf-” Gally’s voice is muffled as soon as Brenda smacks her hand over his mouth - just a moment too late.

Newt’s hand is quickly on yours, trying to remove it from your arm and pull up your sleeve. He doesn’t get far, only managing to pry two fingers from the death grip on your arm, but he sees all he needs to see.

“Shuck…” He sounds absolutely defeated, and for the first time since Alby died - Newt looks overwhelmingly disappointed in himself. “I’m so, so sorry… Y/N I- I didn’t mea-”

You quickly cut him off, “It’s fine! Look! Gally got stung and he’s perfectly fine, see? I’ll be fine!”

“Gally is immune.” Newt reminds through his sudden despair, “You- You and I-…”

“Hey! You two- it’s- it’s fine!” Thomas suddenly bubbles into the conversation, “As long as we can get the serum to Y/N, she’ll be fine. Let’s not stress.”

Newt suddenly grows stern. “Don’t try that with me Tommy! What if we don’t make it in time? What then?! You saw how fast it affected Winston! How fast it affected Brenda!”

“Come on guys- Let’s… Let’s not fight. We should focus on getting back to the berg and getting Y/N the serum.” Minho quickly interjects himself between Thomas and Newt, both beginning to grow red in the face with irritation - Newt more so than Thomas.

“Yeah, come on.” You quickly agree, Gally silently nodding. “Newt, please don’t worry… I’ll be fine.”

Thomas moves to stand next to Brenda, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. You were going to be fine.

Newt laughs, almost bitterly - despite looking as if the flare had never affected him, he suddenly begins to seem just a tad bit unstable. “Don’t worry? How can I not worry about you? Honestly, Y/N, educate me on how I can’t worry about the most important person in my shucking life.”

You swallow, “N-Newt… Please, not now. We can talk about this after we get the serum.”

Newt bites the inside of his cheek but doesn’t say anything further. Instead, Newt silently walks past the others. You hold your head in your hands, earning concern from Minho.

“Y/N? Are you alrig-” Minho doesn’t have time to finish his sentence by the time you start yelling.

“You- You- You shucking clunkhead! Can’t you see that I was- that I am worried about you too? I was so shucking worried about you! And what did you tell me? “I’ll be fine, Y/N.” do you know how much it sucked? “Kill me! Just kill me!” You’ve- You’ve got to be kidding me you- you idiot! You stupid shank!” At this point, you’re screaming in a fit of almost incoherent sobs. “Yet you have the nerve to tell me you’re worried about me?! That I’m the most important person to you? You wouldn’t ask the most important person to you to kill you! You-”

Newt cuts you off with an embrace, forcing your head into the crook of his neck. “Alright love, I’m sorry. Let’s go get the serum, okay? I’m sorry. Just calm down, please. I’m sorry.”

You choke back a sob, exhaling a shaky breath as Newt draws back, “You idiot.”

“Yes love, I know. I’m the dumbest shank around, I even manage to make Minho look smart. I’m sorry, so please, calm down. I like you far too much for you to be this upset with me…” Newt presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathes you in, breathes in whatever tension was between the two of you.

Then he shifts, placing an almost clumsy kiss on your forehead - then your nose - then each cheek. Finally, his lips gently meet yours in a clumsy, awkward first kiss. He draws back once more, forehead resting on yours again before you give his chest a shove.

“Fine.” You huff slightly, brushing past him to join the others who were now playing some awkward game of rock-paper-scissors in attempts to distract each other from whatever kind of intimate moment just happened between you and Newt.

Minho coughs, almost not awkwardly. “Uh… Y/N?”

You scowl in response, but grunt as a means to tell him to continue.

“Why- why is the- where did-”

“He’s trying to say that it’s gone.” Gally cuts in, not refraining from letting his characteristic scowl fall on Minho.

“Clunk, I didn’t know true love’s kiss was-”

“Thomas, for the love of God, shut up.”

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dombenedict · 4 years

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What are some creepy photos that will send shivers down your spine? on vozout.com

What are some creepy photos that will send shivers down your spine?

Air Bird Strike

This horrifying image is the last thing you want to see aboard a plane either taking off, landing a mid-air collision between a flock of birds, and a plane is what's commonly known in the aviation industry as a bird strike. And it is a relatively frequent occurrence.

Luckily, very few bird strikes end in disaster except for the birds, that is, who are often squashed against the side of the plane or sucked into the engines.

Read More on vozout.com

A City In Cloud

This otherworldly image was captured from the viewing platform on the tallest building in the world, the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, UAE, the Burj Khalifa stands a staggering 829.8 meters tall, which is around 2,722 feet from the ground to the tip, and is so tall that it's possible to take a photo looking down at the surrounding rooftops as they piece the thick cloud cover.

The Shihad of the Burj Khalifa creates this eerie illusion that a city in the clouds is sprawled right out in front of your eyes.

See More on vozout.com

The Goat Man

This unsettling photo, supposedly of a goat-man was taken by Hunter while walking in the forest behind his house.

Hunter, who captured the freaky image on a GoPro, said I was about to take aim, but he sort of mad at me.

And then he stood up and it was a stark naked man with a long neck and a goat head.

Hunter said he thought the creature may have just been a man wearing a severed goat's head as a mask, but after reviewing the footage, was convinced what he saw was real.

Spider Filled Tree Making It Look Like Cotton Candy

In 2010, the town of Sindh Pakistan received more than 10 years of rain in one week, causing widespread flooding of the surrounding farmland.

As a result, millions of spiders descended into the few trees high enough to avoid the rising waters.

There are so many spiders in the trees that the combined webs make the trees themselves look like cotton candy.

The person who captured this image was UK aid worker Russell Watkins, who noted that if you stood under one of these trees, dozens of small, very, very tiny little spiders would be dropping down onto your head.

Zombie Like Animals

This photo, taken at dusk on a sheep station in Western Australia, shows hundreds of sheep approaching the fence for their nightly feed.

The flashes reflected in the eyes of the zombie-like animals, creating this strangely unnerving image.

Baby In Cage

London Moms of the 1930s had a novel way of creating additional space in their city apartments, allowing their precious little bub to get some fresh air. Read More

These photos of a baby carriage, a short-lived invention that was essentially a wire fence that was attached to an open window dangling precariously several stories above the busy streets below.

River Turns Blood Red

In July 2014, villagers in Chinh Major Village in Zhisheng, China, awoke to discover the river that runs through the town had turned blood red.

Some thought it may be a spiritual sign, perhaps signaling the end of the world, while others believe the eerie coloring was the result of illegal dumping by a food coloring factory upstream.

The actual cause of the blood-red river was never confirmed.

Weary Hooded Figures

When a photographer decided to take this picture of a wedding ceremony from a nearby rooftop, he didn't realize he captured something far more sinister in the building behind 12 weary hooded figures can clearly be seen lined up along the first-floor balcony.

When the photo was released, Internet speculation ran rife as to the identity of the mysterious figures and what it was they were doing there, where they secretly overseeing the wedding, or did the photographer unknowingly capture some sort of bizarre ritual?

Turns out the figures were actually part of an art exhibition by Dawn Daddo and entitled The Goddess Fortuna and her dunce's.

So not so sinister as first thought, but still makes for a very eerie photo.

#vozout.com

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changeling-rin · 5 years

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Random DL Thoughts

Physical Appearance Headcanons, here we go! LOOOOOOONG post ahead.

For the record, Anon, I blame you for getting me started. ;)

Gen - I am of the opinion that Skyloft is actually between the cloud layers, as opposed to above the clouds entirely. This is because cirrus clouds (the highest ones) happen at 20,000 feet up, where it is consistently -12*F and that just seems ridiculous for a society in cotton shirts. My headcanon is that there’s actually quite a lot of cloud cover, so Skyloft doesn’t get nearly as much sun as people might think. That said, Gen’s a bit paler than most Links, and he also tends to move a bit slower. High altitudes means varied air pressure, and when he goes down to the Surface there’s always a bit of an adjustment period where he has to get used to breathing air that’s suddenly twice as thick as what he’s used to. This also contributes to his stature: higher altitude means lesser gravity, which means Gen is easily the tallest Link in the group since there was less gravity pulling on him during growth spurts. He’s kinda lanky, actually, at least as far as Links go. We all know they’re kinda short. Sandy blond hair, and kinda dark blue eyes, almost approaching navy in the right light.

Speck - He’s the shortest one, and he’s always going to be. Poor boy’s in his formative growth stage and he spends it shrinking down to be smaller. Magic accumulates, and he’ll top out at a flat 5 feet... on his tiptoes. That said, he’s actually pretty strong and stocky for his size. Regularly having to shove acorns out of the way during the annual Picori Village Fall Cleaning will do that, and of course from hiking up to people’s ears all the time. He’s also on the paler spectrum; when you’re small, there’s a lot more stuff that can block the sunshine. He’s a bottle-blond, or at least he would be if that weren’t his natural hair color, and he’s got the bluest eyes of the whole group. If they glowed, they’d be neon.

The Four - When I say they could be quadruplets, I mean it. They’re completely and utterly identical in every way possible, except for their clothing. If for whatever reason they decided to swap colors with each other, absolutely nobody would be able to tell the difference. Not really a problem since ‘individuality’ isn’t necessarily a concept that the Four ascribe to, but still slightly unnerving when you first see it, which is why the Four don’t always like to advertise their hive-mind qualities. Bright blond, blue eyes, but a couple steps below Speck in both categories. I’d say they get an average amount of sun, so they’re probably a little bit tan - but they’re on the paler end of the scale.

Ocarina - He shares his hair and eye color with Mask, this being a golden blond and water-blue eyes, but he has a completely different complexion. Remember that whole ‘seven years in the Sacred Realm’ thing? Yeah, that screwed up his skin big time. The sun hates him, and he's happy to return the favor, because he burns within ten minutes. This is why he happily adopted the habit of wearing sleeves and leggings, because the less skin he has to burn the better. He’s also way too pale for his own good, especially the first few weeks after the time jump. He’s doing better now, having accumulated a little color in between sunburns, but he’s still the whitest Link in the group. (For now. Once we get BotW Link in here... whoo gosh. A hundred years without sunshine, that poor pasty boy.)

Mask - Conveniently having gone back in time to before the Sacred Realm screwed with his skin, he has none of the sunburn problems that Ocarina does and is very glad to have that issue over and done with. He does, however, have an cumulative and semi-permanent mild tan from the Temina three day loop. It was sunny for all three of those days, after all, and Mask was running around in the fields a lot. He’s also got a few acquired traits from the soul masks that he uses, because there’s no such thing as a consequence-free soul merging. Nothing noticeable, especially not to outside people, but he frequently finds a leaf or two growing in his hair from Creak that he has to pluck out, there’s a small patch of rocky skin on his left ankle from Darmani, and underneath his right elbow there’s the faint blue sheen of barely-there scales from Mikau. If he keeps hosting for Oni it’s pretty likely that he might develop a white shock or some partial face markings, but as of now that particular relationship hasn’t gone that far yet.

Dusk - He’s pretty tanned, since being a goatherd means being outside all day, every day. Dark wheatish blond and bright blue eyes, which are striking enough compared to the rest of his coloring that people comment on it all. the. time. At this point, he’s trained himself to respond to ‘blue-eyed [insert noun here]’ because of how frequently it happens. He’s also got quite a lot of carryovers from his wolf side, because again there’s no such thing as a consequence-free soul merge. His hair’s a bit thicker and rougher than most people’s, he’s got a few pointed canines even when hylian, and his ears have a tendency to redirect towards sounds regardless of which form he’s in. Some of the wolf’s markings are beginning to carry over too, as almost birthmark-looking things, but they’re so faint that nobody’s noticed. (Not even Dusk, yet.) He’s also acquired the ability to growl as a hylian, which was one of the few things that managed to unnerve him the first time it happened before he shrugged and got used to it. He’s also pretty stocky and muscular, because anyone who can take a charging goat, a charging Goron, and throw around a ball-and-chain the way he does in-game is at least a little bit built.

Blue, Green, Vio, and Red - They’ve all got the same complexion (relatively pale) and hair color, (sunny blond) but their eyes are individually colored in direct correspondence to their names and clothes. They also took individual traits from the original Link, so Blue took most of the muscle mass while Vio has most of the intellect - the book smarts, that is, and is overall almost wiry compared to the other three. Red is the smallest one, muscle-wise, and also tends to be slimmer all the way around, but he’s got most of the magic; and Green is built more like a runner than anything else, and coincidentally is also the most agile. He’s also got most of the tactics and common-sense-leader stuff. They look more like ‘normal’ identical quadruplets than the Four do, in that, while they still look a whole lot alike, there’s tiny little differences here and there that make them distinctive from one another... at least, once you memorize them.

Lore - I refuse to believe his hair is pink. I absolutely refuse. He is violently red-headed in my headcanons and I like it that way. He’s the only ‘true ginger’ of the group. He’s also pretty brown, in a tannish sort of way, because he’s been to enough places that it’s impossible for him to not have gotten some sun exposure. Also, Holodrum/Subrosia are very, very warm places. He’s definitely accumulated some color. Dark blue eyes, not navy, but more like deep water. He’s got an accent of indeterminate origin because of all the foreign countries he’s been to, and he’s also kinda wiry in a traveller sort of way. He’s got the kind of muscle that accumulates through constant use; not stocky or bulky or any of that, but more lean and corded. He’s also got a lot of small battle scars, mostly on his hands, because he’s really bad at using his bow correctly and keeps stinging himself with the bowstring. This is also, coincidentally, one of the reason why his long-range aim is so bad. (The other is that he just genuinely sucks at aiming.)

Sketch - He’s sort of ginger, but it’s really more of a strawberry-blond/auburn color than anything else. He’s got eyes that are more teal than blue, probably the closest to being green without actually being green. There is, once again, no such thing as a consequence-free soul merge, and as a result the whole ‘painting’ thing has some odd carryovers. For one, he doesn’t tan. At all. Instead, the sun makes him get lighter, almost exactly like paint getting bleached. He's not the palest Link, but he’s also not the darkest; I’d place him in the happy middle.

Realm - His legs are the envy of track runners everywhere. There is no excess fat anywhere on his body, at all. He's not a heavily built Link; he’s definitely over in the ‘wiry’ corner, but he is literally all muscle. Thin muscle, but muscle nonetheless. He's the only Link who can claim to be truly brunet, and he’s also one of the few who doesn’t have blue eyes (his are also brown. More of a cream-in-coffee brown though.). He’s more on the pale end of the complexion scale, seeing as he does spend a lot of time in caves, but he will tan if put in the sun long enough.

Wind - He’s dark. This boy lives on a tropical island, there’s no way he isn’t. I don’t care what the game graphics tell me. Wind has the kind of skin color that could be from an accumulated tan, but also might just be his natural tone. It makes his very bright blond hair stand out in comparison, because his hair decided to go the sun-bleached route instead of following his skin. He’s also one of the few who doesn’t have blue eyes - his are actually gray. They tend to look silver in the sunshine and black in shadow, which means he gets a neat aesthetic, but they never look blue. He can never get his hair to behave, due to a lifetime of salt and sea breeze, and he’s stronger than he looks. Wrestling the rigging of a sailboat into submission to cross an ocean is one of those things that requires a lot of upper body strength.

Steam - Probably the least physically inclined of all the Links, because he spends most of his time steering a Train. He’s bright-yellow-blond, and is the last of the Links to not have blue eyes - like Wind, his are gray. His gray is a lot darker than Wind’s though, and is much more likely to come off as black unless the light hits it exactly right. He also doesn’t get a lot of sun, because he tends to stay in his Train or in a workshop, building things for his Train, so he’s definitely on the paler end of the scale. And he’s got workman hands - calloused in every spot possible and all but immune to getting caught in something.

Shadow - He’s gray. Actually gray. The ashy stuff that a fire leaves behind? That’s his skin color. His hair is black, and his eyes are red, but that might change if he feels like it. He patterned himself to be one of the tallest Links, because of course he did, and he also took a fair bit of muscle mass. He’s a good candidate for the Dorito Ratio meme. He is a free shapeshifter though, and this means that literally all of these features are subject to change, especially in accordance with his mood. If he gets upset enough, he’ll lose focus on his physical form and just sort of dissolve into a hazy mass of black. He’s also not above shifting his facial features to be more intimidating, such as temporary fangs or opening up six extra eyes.

Oni - Somehow, he’s managed to be six-foot-three and nobody knows how he did it. If he were competing, he’d beat Ocarina for being the palest Link, but it’s not because he doesn’t get sun. He’s actually albino. He doesn’t have visible irises, or pupils, due to some sort of magic effect that he doesn’t feel like sharing, and the warpaint isn’t actually paint - at least, not anymore. Again, magic accumulates, and at some point it just became part of his skin. Also, he might be a god - there’s nothing that says deities have to look normal. He has a lot of scar tissue, which shows up kinda shiny and silver since his skin is already so pale, and of course he’s ridiculously strong. Body fat? He’s never heard of it.

I have clearly never heard of a ‘reasonable post length’. And to think, I didn't even get into BotW, Triforce Heroes, Cadence of Hyrule, Hyrule Warriors, OR any of the CDI games-which-shall-not-be-named.

...I have way too many headcanons.

#Random DL Thoughts #Headcanons #ALL the headcanons #Changeling Talks #the legend of zelda #All the DL Links #Dimensional Links

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pennys-th0ughts · 5 years

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The Wish ✨

Hope you like it Emilee and also Happy Birthday! 💕

Her penetrating gaze was all over me but especially on my hands, her stare was so fixed and focused that for a moment made me lose concentration of what I was aiming. It was my last round of three and I was almost winning. “Concentrate on your target, if you don’t want to lose, Pennywise” – I demanded to myself while aiming to the highest valued can on the shelf. Then I shot. The small bullet hit the can right in the middle throwing it out of the shelf. Emilee jumped into my arms full of excitement. “¡You did it, Penny! ¡That was great!” – She praised me giving me a tight hug. The young man in charge of the game applauded and the people behind me did the same to celebrate my success. Emilee picked a huge stuffed cat as prize that made me carry through the fair as if she was exhibiting it along with her proud ear to ear smile. We made a brief stop at a candy store that had a great variety of cotton candy, each one with a different color; popcorn and sweets. Emilee choose cotton candy and me, well, I couldn’t resist the delicious smell of popcorn warmed by the melted butter on top. Not feeling that was enough for my girl I decided to bought her a soda with ice and a couple of chocolates. “¿Where did you get all that money?” – She asked me getting one of her hands inside my frontal pocket, which I took the chance to make a naughty prank. I told her to get me something from inside of my left pocket, and then I guided her naïve hand until she bumped into something that wasn’t money. She took her hand out right away showing an embarrassing look on her face at the same time her cheeks were set on fire. I laughed so hard until my eyes watered. Emilee smacked me on the shoulder pretending to be upset but I was sure she did enjoy the little surprise. “After living for so many years down in the sewers you don’t have an idea of how much money you can find” – I revealed the mystery winking an eye. While walking backwards Emilee didn’t saw the person that was in front of her and unintentionally crashed against him spilling part of her soda on him. The man turned around furious all intended to put up a fight until he saw me rising from behind my girl. His fists were clenched as his eyes were narrowing as if he was trying to determine what to do next but I didn’t lose one more second, and shielding Emilee at my back, I bent forward and said: “Think it twice before doing anything stupid”. Guess that changing the color of my eyes sufficed since the man looked at me perplexed and stepped back swallowing with great difficulty then he grabbed his date by the hand and fled stumbling upon some people on his way out of the fair. Emilee looked at me amused because of my reaction towards the stranger and, to be honest with myself, I was slowly feeling familiar with the emotional attachment and it was still costing me to get used to. “Come, – she said taking me out from my temperamental state – let’s get out of here, Penny”. Emilee took my hand and dragged me out of the fair to the nearest park to which I thanked her for it since I needed to breathe some fresh air away from that crowded and noisy place.

It was around nine pm and the night was nice, the weather was pleasant and there was no cloud getting between us and the moon. We picked a place and sat to enjoy the view, the small park was deserted so it was quiet and that made it even better. From afar our silhouettes were as if they would have been taken from some sort twisted bedtime story for children; Emilee and I were sitting one next to the other and then there was the big stuffed cat, looking at anything in particular with its big button like eyes. “This cat looks creepy at night – she pointed while squeezing its chubby cheeks –. I love it”. We remained silent for some minutes just looking at the sky until a shooting star passed by right in front of our eyes and in that precise moment we looked at each other. “¿Are you thinking the same I'm thinking?” – She asked with a tender smile on her lips. I nodded smiling back. “Let’s make a wish then”. Emilee closed her eyes, held my hand and whispered something inaudible to others but pretty clear to me. Her wish carved an even more pronounced smile on my lips. Pretending not having heard her wish, I proposed: “It’s a good night to spend it together, ¿don’t you think?” She threw at me a surprised look and she quickly nodded in agreement. Since most part of the time we spend it in the sewers, she offered hers this time. I was excited to know where she lived and also met her so mentioned fur ball named Holly. We got up and started our way to her home located on West Broadway Street, just a couple blocks from the small park was. We passed Jackson Street and she told me a story about a little boy that mysteriously went missing long time ago in the street adjoined to hers, the boy was never found again and after that tragic incident the Denbrough family moved to other town far from Derry. The locals kept telling the story and began adding details to it that I wasn’t aware of until the unfortunate fate of the little boy became some kind of urban legend. I rolled my eyes and chuckled since I was being famous without knowing it.

One block away from Emilee’s house, she grabbed my hand and started running. We got inside, she turned on the lights and placed the stuffed cat on the couch. She took me to the kitchen and offered me something to drink. We sat at the table and talked for some long minutes until she invited me to have a late night dinner; she would order something she said she used to eat kind of often called pizza. I didn’t say no. While we were waiting for the delivery, her pet showed up. At first she wasn’t too sure about being close to me but then she approached cautiously, she smelled my shoes and then she started to rub her fluffy fur against them. “¡Oh look, Holly likes you!” – Emilee said picking her cat up from the floor and putting her in her lap –. She usually doesn’t like strangers and she is pretty reserved but I think she kind of approved you. – Emilee laughed playfully. The delivery guy finally arrived and knocked at the door, Emilee went to pay the pizza and when she came back she found her beloved cat lying down careless on my lap. “Well, she can be such a traitor sometimes…” – she pointed while waving her hand for me to go the living room. We sat down on the couch and she opened the box. The smell that came out from it was delicious, she served a couple of slices on my plate and we ate. Once we finished our food she turned on the television and we cuddled the rest of the night, we might need our strength back if something unexpected happens… Who knows ¿right?

@sunflowerskissed

#Penny's thoughts #pennywise #short story

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robbiejohnsonyr3ax3021 · 3 years

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AX2001 - University - One second a week animation - My approach & 2D sections (Summer Project)

Since finishing my first year for the summer, we were set a summer assignment/ project to complete during out time off. One was to mix a character from one series and give them the art style/ design of another series. The other was to make a short, animated piece, where we had to create one second of animation each week, but each scenario was different to the last. In this post I will explain my thought process for the entire one second a week project and highlight the 2D sections of my piece.

How did I come up with each idea?

For the most part, each idea/ second of animation I created stemmed from something happening around me, or something that was going on around the time.

Some examples include big events happening during this summer period, such as the “Euros” and the “Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games”. Other ideas came from more strange scenarios, but were memorable enough for me to include, such as dreams and bizarre thoughts relating to something I was doing around the time (E.g. What if the world suddenly went black and white like an early 1930′s film).

As long as I was able to condense each idea down to a second, I would try to create each of them, within a week’s period, I understand, I could of spent longer on some of these, but I felt like I was cheating myself by not sticking to week long period (with the exception of one, but I will explain this in 3D sections post coming out in the future).

With this structure in mind, I began the project.

2D Sections Overview and development

Teeing Off (Golf/ Start)

This first animated piece was that of someone hitting a golf ball off a tee, like a standard game of golf. This idea came to me just I began the project as due to Covid-19 the local golf course and driving ranges had to close, but were able to re-open at the start of summer. In my mind I thought of this idea as two parts (More on the second part later), the animation with ball being hit and ending (the final second) with ball going in the hole.

When creating this piece, I tried to incorporate both drawn animation and Pegged animation with the golf club and person being drawn, and the ball being animated with Pegs. The tee itself had its position and rotation changed to ensure that it remained the same size throughout its cycle.

Whilst making this piece the two areas I felt I had the most difficulty in was with the person’s rotation and the arc of the golf club’s swing. After watching many clips from multiple sources of professional players, playing golf, I never really noticed any sort of bend or slack in the club, I had to try and animate the club in the same scale. The only issue with this is I felt like the club seemed a bit stiff throughout its cycle. If I were to try this again, I would try to include some sort of the stretch to emphasise more of the strength and speed of the club hitting the ball.

As for the person hitting ball, this issue came more down to drawing a fast turnaround, I initially only had two frames for the legs, being the player facing forward, and the player facing the side. Whilst viewing the clips for the golf club I also noted that a lot of players seem to swing so hard they sometimes end up on their toes, so when making the two frames and watching the footage back, the feet seemed to snap into place, causing it to look quite rough in execution. To fix this I added one more drawing of the feet mid turn, this improved the transition between feet positions but, when slowed down the difference between the feet becomes very noticeable.

One final lesson I learned from this piece was the speed of Pegging animation and drawn animation. I was reminded through trial and error, that pegged animation works in singles (1 frame at a time), whereas my drawn animation was made in twos. At this point I was running out of time, so I made the golf ball pattern move in singles so there is no delay between the ball and its pattern in its movement (other pegged animation such as the clouds were un-altered in these final stages).

The Foodture (Plane flying through doughnut)

This animated piece, featured an airplane flying through the centre of an enormous doughnut rotating in the sky. This idea came to me after inviting some friends over to my house, one of which brought a box of doughnuts. During this time, I had shoved a kabab stick through the centre ring and held it sideways, whilst staring at this, the TV in background had a city visible on it and that's where this idea was born.

In comparison to the previous 2D piece, I animated this piece entirely with Pegs, the plane, doughnuts, icing, sprinkles, and clouds where all animated with pegs. But this wasn’t all easy breezy, as this brought new issues of which I had to address and try and fix.

The most experimental aspect of the animation was the plane flying through the centre doughnut. At first, the plane would fly over/ on top of the doughnut layer making it appear that the doughnuts where in the background and not he fore ground. I tried to change around the order of the layers to achieve what I was aiming to do, but this either caused the plane to disappear or not become visible, due to hiding behind the doughnuts. To fix this, I placed the airplane layer above the doughnut layer and erased sections of the plane frame by frame to create the look of it flying through the centre of the doughnut.

As everything was animated with Pegs, the hardest thing for me to achieve this time, was the sprinkle’s rotating around the doughnut. To overcome this issue, I had to be careful as to where I placed the start and final key frames for the sprinkles movement. The re-occurring issue was that the sprinkles, float off the doughnut, or would overlap resulting in the sprinkles merging with things. After trying to fix this for a few days, I figured out a method of preventing this issue from happening, by not only adjusting the position of the sprinkles, but also the scale/ size of them seemed to reduce this issue. So, at the start of the animation the sprinkles at their usual size, but by the end the size of them have increased slightly. By tweaking this bit by bit I was able to keep the sprinkles from leaving the doughnut and thus it was finished. I then included to more doughnuts above and below the original with the same method for their sprinkles and for the most part, this method (at least to me) appeared to work again each time.

After all the tweaks were made cotton candy clouds, an ice cream Sunday skyscraper and hill made of cake were added to emphasise the food theme of the piece.

High Five! (Live action and animation)

This animated piece was probably my most experimental piece out of everything included in this project. This idea came to me after the masses of advertisements made of the Warner Brothers animated film “Space Jam A New Legacy”. Advertising for this film for a time was everywhere, that it got to the point of me wondering, would such a piece be possible? I do not own a green screen, or a tripod so it defiantly would not be professional, but as a prototype, could this concept work? So, I decided to give it a try.

The first thing I did when creating this piece was not animating but planning. Within the the first frame I made a rough plane as to where everything would need to be, such as borders for how both me and the animated character could move in frame and where the contact needs to be made. After a few attempts of planning, I began animating my character.

For this piece, I did not want to create a character to complex as I did not want to overly complicate the making process. So, I made my character with a head body and only the top half of his legs. The reason for only having the top half of his legs was, I wanted him to be roughly in frame and at the same height as me, but this also allowed me to position the character without him exiting off screen, this made things a lot easier to judge/ adjust after the live action segment was filmed.

Now I understand this post is about animation, so I won’t dwell too much on the live action section. All I’ll say is it took 17 attempts to get the best shot you see in the final piece and the camera used was with the same camera I used for stop-motion work/ sections. This segment was not done picture by picture with the camera and was recorded.

After all this, the hardest part of this animation was creating the contact between our hands. The animated character used his arm further away from the camera, as I wanted to add facial expressions as he twists for the high five, whereas if he was the other way, you would only see the back of his head. So, I had to use my hand closest to the camera, the issue was my hand would have to cover his hand. At first, I tried using “Adobe Photoshop” and “Adobe After effects” to blur out the hand making it more convincing, but the only results I got from this was a smudge on the frame which didn't look good.

With time running out the best I could do was place the original animation in “Adobe Premier Pro” overlay it onto the live action section then make notes as to which frame numbers included the impact, open the original animation “Toon Boom” and erase sections of the hand frame by frame. Overall, this animation isn’t the best in line up of the other pieces I made, but I left it in as I felt it showed experimentation with something I had little knowledge on prior and that I was willing to try something new.

The Colour Switch (Black and White to Colour)

This piece takes place in an office building within a city, everything is drawn with black lines, but everything else is white, someone presses a red button what says colour, turning the colour back, revealing he isn’t wearing cloths. As mentioned in briefly in “How did I come up with each idea?” section, this idea came from the thought of what if everything was black and white. But more specifically this idea came to me as I was creating my first character for the character mash-up section of the project (more on that in a future post).

With this animated piece I want to create a characterised piece, as so far most of my other animated pieces were straight to the point or did not really involve too much interaction (I guess with the exception of “High Five!”). I began by drawing the office and the main character, I originally planned for the main character to face forward and turn to the button, but I felt this would take longer than a one second and not include the punch line of the piece. The process of creating this piece was a bit simpler than the others, as I animated everything in two’s and once the main character presses the button, I then added colour to the piece once the animation was done.

With the lessons learned from “Teeing Off” I used any Peg animations for minor aspects of the animation, so it did not appear too rough in comparison to everything else on screen. So a background car, the first half of the man with his coffee walking and the coffee the man spits out, where made using Pegs. Little things such as both characters having a reaction to the man pressing the button, I thought helped give a sense of comedy and character within the piece, even if you don’t quite catch it first time around.

Oddly enough, the hardest part of this piece was making sure I didn’t have too much going on, a lesson I had learned from the “Medals” piece. So, I had to resist the urge to have people walking outside or birds. From a making point of view, I found it a little difficult at first to judge how far the man who spits out his coffee should bend down, as I felt that it seemed like his body was collapsing in on himself sometimes, but felt like I did an OK job for the final piece.

Angry Planets (The Sun & Moon)

This animated piece features and mischievous Sun, who is running away from an angry Moon, around the surface of the Earth. This idea came to me in a dream I had where I looked up at the sky and saw the sun and moon rotate around the earth so fast that night and day happened every two seconds. This dream was so bizarre that I decided to make this piece but try to characterise the two planets.

The main aspect I wanted to focus on this time around was the planets walk/ run cycle and how to adapt it to a none flat surface. To begin with I created the Earth and made the Sun and Moon on each side of it, I then gave both the Sun and Moon facial features. I wanted to try and make the sun look young and cheery and make the moon old and cranky. To achieve this look I gave the moon grey bushy eyebrows and a grey moustache to show maturity for the moon, whereas the Sun lacks these features, but has a goofy smile on his face representing someone jolly and silly/ mischievous.

I referred to my past work as a guide for how to make the walk/ run cycle, I tried to exaggerate some frames of legs bending and springing upwards to emphasise that these planets were running. For the Sun tried to give his arms fast wide arcs to give off a running effect, whereas for the Moon his arms slightly bounce up and down with each footstep he takes.

The hardest part of this project was pulling off the running effect on a none flat surface. I had created the two planets’ animations upright and next to the planet, but when creating their orbiting run cycle, pieces of each character would sometimes fly off and not follow the character. To fix this issue, I would go through each of their loops roughly four to five times for each moving feature (E.g. Their eyes, Mouths, the Moons moustache, the suns triangles, etc.) to make sure nothing popped off. Once everything was fixed, I then reviewed the animation back to make sure the two were running around in a clear circle. At first, I had them clipping into the Earth a little too much, but after a bit more tweaking in double checking everything was in place, I felt I had managed to achieve this effect.

Medals (The Olympic Games)

This piece features three athletes winning their bronze, silver, and gold medals with a backdrop of Tokyo in the background. This idea came from the “Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games”, which took place over this summer and although I had already featured two sports already being Golf and Football, I wanted to focus on a different moment from the games being the award ceremony.

As previously mentioned, my main focus was the award ceremony, but after realising how quickly I was able to animate this piece, most of my time came from Japanese landmarks and culture. To start the animation was of each athlete holding up their medals to celebrate their victories, these were created in singles, although each athlete raises their medals at slightly different times, their animation cycles are not 25 frames long but 12 frames long. Other animated aspects of this piece include clouds and a blimp with the Olympic rings on it, which animated using pegs.

The most time-consuming feature of this piece was creating the background, this was kind of my own undoing, but I really wanted to add as many features and land marks as possible in this piece. These include a shop advertising Sushi, a Pagoda tower on top of a small hill, Tokyo Tower in the distance, the “Shibuya Crossing” and shop with a Tanuki wearing a hat (The writing below both the Tanuki Shop and Sushi Shop say “Tanuki House” and Sushi” in Japanese, if I wrote/ drew it correctly (I don’t really know Japanese, so this was like a small lesson of sorts)).

Although quite simple from an animation perspective, Id say this piece was quite a fun one to do, especially around the time when the Olympics were on and I can safely say I’ve learned a thing or two outside of animation on this occasion.

Extra/ Unused Images for this post

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ninzied · 7 years

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Transparent [OQ]

In which Regina is not so subtle as she likes to believe that she is around Robin. For @lala-kate (based on her three word prompt: daughter, opaque, genuine). Missing Year. [ffn | ao3]

It’s been yet another long, intolerable day, from the sweltering heat of a mid-August summer to those oppressively kind looks from the Charmings, and to that thief with the twinkling eyes, who’d had the gall to look knowing when she’d excused herself from council earlier with growing complaints of a headache.

The other castle inhabitants have made themselves scarce to avoid the afternoon onslaught of sun, the passageways empty and calm while Regina finds herself wandering. Apart from a dwarf whose name she’d never bothered to learn (he freezes mid-step when she sweeps him by, as though hoping she won’t notice him there if he’s able to stand still just enough), not a single other soul is in sight.

It’s exactly how she likes it, this distance from things, this space for her moods to catch fire without anyone else interfering. She feels her pace slow with the freedom, letting that ever-there ache in her chest draw knives to sharpen its edges. It digs deeper and deeper, rooting itself down until she hardly knows how to feel anything else, and it’s almost comforting how familiar it is.

She hasn’t been aware of walking with any particular destination in mind, but she’s hardly surprised when her footsteps take her to a small stone archway, opening onto a shadowed sort of terrace. It’s rather plainly kept, its only source of color a sparse scattering of shrubbery growing off in one corner. The paving is unfinished, unlike the pearly marbles and granites customary to every other courtyard in this castle. Thick walls damp with moss rise up on three sides, boxing the area in such that it sees little to no natural light during the day.

It’s by no means a beautiful place to behold, its northern view of the Enchanted Forest hardly one to speak about either, but it’s quiet here, secluded, and no one will ever think to look for her here: not her mother, during those years Regina spent playing unhappy bride to the King, and not even Snow now, whom Regina has caught lurking from time to time by her apple tree, ready to ambush her with yet another heart-to-heart.

Here, perhaps she can finally find a little semblance of peace for a while.

The moment she steps into that cool shade, the pressure behind her eyes abates just a little, and she breathes out a sigh that might be relief, closing her eyes for long seconds. A gentle breeze finds her, stirring stray ends of her hair where they’ve clung to a light sheen on her back, and yes, she thinks, this will do quite nicely for now. It’s easy here. It’s quiet. It’s…

Thwack!

Her eyes fly open.

It had come from some unclear amount of distance away, and she holds herself still, waiting to place it. More seconds pass without another sound, and she’s half-inclined to brush it off when there’s a second whacking thud, and then a decisive crack! like wood that’s being split in two.

Against her better judgment not to care, Regina edges forward to the balcony ledge, peering down to the grounds below.

And there, leaning over some logs piled high against a wall of the castle, is Robin. Shirtless. And most certainly unaware that he’s being watched.

Regina blinks down at him several times before deciding that she’s not seeing things – it’s the heat, she thinks, the heat that’s getting to her head and making everything blur at the edges – and then she’s left to figure out what, exactly, she’s supposed to do with all…this. Him. Bare from the waist up, with the sunlight glinting off of his skin, glistening with sweat and tensing in all the right places as he reaches for another log.

He sets it upright onto a flat block of stone before bending back down for his waterskin. He unscrews the top one-handed and tilts his head back, coaxing out the last little trickle of water into his mouth with a grimace.

The sensible thing would be to head back indoors – the sun is doing him no favors, bearing down on him with all its midday might, he’ll roast out here if he’s at it much longer – and so Regina is not terribly shocked when Robin simply hefts up his axe, takes aim, and swings.

She glares at him a while longer, as if she could penetrate his thick, stubborn skull with her secret outrage alone. Through her glowering, however, she does vaguely recall an earlier comment of Granny’s that the kitchens have been running low on wood, and of course this thief with his incorrigible honor would take it upon himself without a thought for the consequences.

Feeling more than irritated with him at the moment, Regina descends in a purple smoking whoosh, landing her some feet ahead of him with a scowl and a rather blistering temper.

He’s hacking his blade into a particularly resistant piece of log, an intense look of focus pulling his forehead in at the middle, and she supposes she should count her blessings that he doesn’t realize she’s there right away; she would have been mortified to have him catch her staring.

Looking at him from the front, as it turns out, is even more disconcerting than it had been from the back, the well-toned expanse of him on full display, sunkissed and strong and what on earth has gotten into you, Regina?

She tears her gaze away, aiming it haughtily off to one side instead, and locks her hands together in the perfect picture of poised detachment while waiting for him to finish his task.

She can sense the moment he finally sees her, his movements stilling, and he lowers his axe, landing it with a soft thump in the grass.

“Regina.”

She makes a noncommittal noise in return, still gazing away from him with an air of terrible boredom.

“To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of Your Majesty’s company?” His voice rasps slightly from all the exertion, shoulders looking heavy as they rise and fall and rise again. He wipes the back of his hand over the sheen of sweat that’s collected on his brow. There’s a brief flash of black, a lion dancing into her vision, and then it’s turning out of sight as he repositions his hand, shielding it over his eyes instead. He squints into the sunlight at her, though it does nothing to dull all that twinkling blue.

She means to disparage him, to make some remark about how the pleasure is frankly all his, that she could think of a thousand other ways she’d rather be spending her time. Instead, what comes out is a touchy-sounding, “You really should drink something.”

His breath is coming out in short panting exhales now, and she dislikes how his shoulders and arms have started to redden. Honestly; isn’t this man supposed to know better?

Robin’s gesturing to his hollowed-out waterskin where it lies on the ground, cheerfully stating the obvious that he’s a bit short on supply at the moment. His eyes crinkle at her, as though her concern is amusing to him, and it grates on her to know that declaring how little she cares – because she doesn’t, not in the least – would only make him smile harder.

She pivots a heel, with an imperious sniff for good measure, and stalks toward a bench in the shade. Primly seating herself at the very edge, she waves a hand at the empty seat next to her, and a tray appears with a pitcher and glass. She makes another motion, fingertips pulling at air, and a miniature cloud begins to form above the open pitcher, gathering wispily like a cotton candy spool. She touches a finger to it, and with a little crackling jolt the cloud begins to rain, droplets building into a steady downpour until the pitcher is more than halfway filled.

Regina turns back to Robin, arching a brow expectantly at him.

He’s gazing at her with an expression she’s never seen on him before, his smile fading into something solemn and strange. She thinks perhaps it’s the display of her magic that’s spooked him, but no, that doesn’t explain the softness to his eyes, or the way that her heart suddenly bounds up against her chest as he approaches her with that indescribable look on his face.

She tries not to notice the way his arms, his back – his everything, really, but again, it’s not like she’s noticed – lengthen and flex in long, powerful lines as he sits down beside her. He’s a good half a head taller than she is, something she’s prone to forgetting whenever they’ve gone toe-to-toe with her in her heels and her towering rage. But here, now, she’s more than aware of how small she must look in comparison, how easily he could gather her up if he chooses, how well his arms might fit all around her until she feels nothing but weightless and warm with the sun shining down on her face, and—

Regina blinks, confused about this dark, foreign place where her mind has just tried to take her.

The cloud has squeezed out its last bit of rain, and she busies herself with the pitcher for a moment, filling a glass while carefully avoiding his gaze. She can feel it all over, searching for something, reading her as he’s always done, but this up close without their usual hostility between them, it bears all the heat of a caress, and it takes everything she has not to lean further into it.

He nods his thanks when she hands him his water, and then she’s very much not paying any attention at all to the heavy swallow he takes, the quiet groan of his satisfaction as he sets the glass down for a moment. In fact, she’s put such an effort into this not noticing of things that she truly doesn’t hear him right away, his murmur of “Regina?” eventually registering in a tone that tells her it’s not the first time he’s said it.

And then she makes the mistake of looking at him.

Time seems to stretch on and on, suddenly meaningless as they stare across scant inches of space at one another. His skin is still dewy, small specks of water now clinging to his stubbled chin (her hand twitches to brush them away, a traitorous little instinct that she’d rather not dwell on right now). A bead of sweat has trickled from his temple down the side of his neck, and as he licks his lips she finds herself wondering how salty he tastes.

She feels flushed all over, his gaze pooling heat to everything that it touches, and when it drops to linger over her mouth, her breath hitches in a way that it hasn’t for a long, long time.

He leans forward, lips parting ever so slightly.

And then he flicks his eyes down, reaching for the pitcher of water to refill his glass.

Regina clears her throat and glances away. “You were saying?”

Robin takes his time, soaking down another third of his glass before he responds. “Thank you, for this.” He speaks lowly, on some deeper level of sound that she feels its rumblings inside her own chest. “Though I swear it was not my intention to have my Queen serve me for a change.”

There’s no mockery in it, none of the teasing amusement she’s so used to hearing from him – only an earnestness that she cannot bear to look in the eye, not when he’s gazing at her the way that he is. Like nothing else matters. Like he’s drinking her in while he can, while she’s forgotten not to smile around him.

“Well,” she says, as haughtily as she can manage, “I can’t be bothered with people trying to collapse from heat stroke and expect me to pick up after them.”

“No, certainly not,” Robin agrees, nodding very seriously at her. “I would hate to think of anyone inconveniencing you in that way.”

“Quite.”

He seems to be biting back a smile. “And they say chivalry is dead.” She almost rolls her eyes at him, but then he’s glancing sideways at her, gaze softening again. “Is your head feeling any better?”

“It’s manageable.” She’s not conscious of touching a lock of hair by her temple until she notices Robin’s eyes following the motion, and then her hand hovers there a moment, uncertain, before brushing it back behind her ear. He seems to go carefully motionless at that, a strained sort of stllness as though he would have preferred to reach over and do it himself.

He nudges the tray toward her. “You ought to drink something as well.”

She conjures up another glass without argument, pouring some water to keep from looking at him and wondering what all this could mean. He seems content not to press her for anything further than that, stretching back with a pleased little sound in his throat as he leans his weight into one hand on the bench and gazes out toward the forest with an easy, untroubled expression.

Regina can feel the heat radiating off of him still, heat and a light that might blind her every time the sun touches his chest just like that, his arms, those hands, and surely this is a dangerous thing, she thinks, that he could warm her this way without even moving.

She takes a sip of her water, firmly looking down her nose at some vague spot on the ground.

Robin shifts next to her, his breathing full and deep in a way that makes his whole body seem to lengthen with the movement, relaxing into the bench as though he might like to stay this way forever, here by her side with the sun all around them.

Her back has grown stiff from holding everything straight, but if any part of her loosens, she wonders, then where would it end? What would stop her from letting this moment mean something, or believing that it could possibly last, when she is all darkness and he is all…this?

He sets his glass back down on the tray, a tinkling clink filling the silence between them. “I’d best get back to it,” he says, not without a hint of ruefulness as his eyes crinkle into another smile at her. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint Lady Lucas by returning to her empty-handed.”

Regina watches him stand and make his way over to the unfinished pile of logs, swinging his arms out in a stretch behind him before retrieving his axe from the ground. She frowns at the back of his shoulders as he stops for a moment, working out a bit of soreness in them. “You know I can do that with magic.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Robin throws back without missing a beat, something winking in his tone. He takes his time repositioning the log on his chopping block, a ripple of movement down his back as he bends and straightens again in the sun.

She blinks through the light at him, not comprehending. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I’d hate to stop now,” he tells her, teasingly somber as he hoists his axe and another dazzling shift of muscle courses across his bare skin. “Considering how much Your Majesty’s been enjoying the view.”

Regina freezes, caught, but he only adjusts his hold on the axe before taking a studious swing. He spares not a glance her way as he sets the freshly split firewood aside, reaching for another log. She finds herself wavering at the very edge of the bench for a moment, her water glass still poised halfway to her lips as she battles the urge to take flight. But then Robin is stretching his back out again, swiping another bit of sweat from his brow, and he might very well work himself straight into the ground – smiling all the damn while at that – if nobody’s here to see that he doesn’t.

Settling delicately back into her seat, Regina raises the glass to her lips, sipping slowly with her gaze trained not-quite-elsewhere as Robin pauses mid-motion. His head cocks to the side, too knowing as always, with a sly flash of dimples that she doesn’t notice at all before he’s turned back to his task once more.

Not in the slightest, indeed.

#outlaw queen #oq ff #oq fic #missing year #my scribbles

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jo-the-schmo · 7 years

Text

Breaking... Ch. 1

A/N: So this is my first fan fiction! I’m really excited to show it to anyone who’s willing to read it! I’d really like to thank @iamnotthrowingawaymyshit for giving me the the confidence to write this, thank you so much! Anyway This fic is going to be a series and honestly I’m still not entirely sure what ships I want to use so I guess it’ll be a surprise for everyone XD Ok I’ve rambled long enough, I hope you all enjoy :D

Word count: 3,894

Warnings: Gun use, blood, cursing (Sorry not sorry)

Breaking Laws

You walked down the street with your close friend Anna. It was dark outside, the air surrounding you was thick and hot. Extreme weather in New York was never really nice for anyone but to you it wasn’t unpleasant. Anna couldn’t say the same however since she was wearing dark jeans and a T-shirt while you were sporting shorts and a tank top. Earlier in the day you had taken off your flannel and tied it to your waist–it was almost ninety degrees at that point and cotton was no friend to you. Anna continued to try and change the subject by complaining about the heat but you were being stubborn. “I swear on my life Anna, if you listen to this you will not be disappointed!” You exclaimed.

“I know you’re super, mega, ultra-obsessed with this play thing but we’ve talked about this hon. It’s just not my thing.” You pouted slightly at her answer.

“It’s not a play thing… It’s a fantastic representation of our history that is showcased in a hip-hop and rap music styling format…” She chuckled at your over exaggerated sadness and gave you a little shove.

“Ok I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll listen to three songs, whichever ones you want, if you help me with Algebra 3. That number junk just flies right over my head with Mrs.Gepson gone!” You couldn’t help but squeal slightly and happily agreed to the terms. You silently thanked the universe for core math classes and for the University’s uncanny habit of finding underwhelming substitute professors. The two of you continued to walk down the street and laugh at your own commentary on the way to your apartment building. The laughter didn’t last long though, you felt like you were being watched, you were still about 10 minutes away from your destination when Anna nudged your arm and whispered. “Do not turn around. This guy behind us has been on our tail for the last 3 blocks.” Her words were quiet but they were sharp and she looked like she was ready to pounce at any moment.

Both of you instantly picked up the pace, not running but just walking with more vigor and purpose than before. The man behind us matched our pace, no he was actually catching up to us pretty fast. You turned your head as we started to run and saw him pull something out of his hoodie. Is that a gun? He yelled out to us, making us stop in our tracks, the intent of his words catching up quicker than he was.

“Stop running before I do something undesierable.” His voice was deep and coarse, like he’s been screaming all day. We both look at each other, out of breath and tired from the adrenaline high we just experienced. Putting our hands up in the air we slowly turned around, not wanting him to try and shoot at us. He was about seven feet away from us at this point and still making small steps toward us as he spoke once more.

“Empty your pockets.” He ordered. We did as he asked, dropping our phones to the ground first we reached into our pockets and pulled out all the money we had on us. Anna had a twenty and three ones, you had three tens and a five on you. Looking at the money on the ground the man scoffed.

“You little girls shitting me right now? No way in hell that’s all you’ve got!” His voice sent chills up my spine, Anna was the first to speak up to him.

“That really is all we have… We just came back from friend’s and we weren’t exactly planning on going to Tiffany’s today…” Her tone was a combination of anger and fear; it was certainly not one you’ve ever heard her use before. The man gripped the gun tighter, a low growl erupting from his throat. Quickly he shifted the gun’s position toward Anna, her eyes widened and her voice got caught in her throat.

“Excuse me?! Wanna say that again?” He yelled. You couldn’t even think about what you were doing before you side-stepped in front of her, the gun now directly aimed at you. Forcing yourself to speak, you voice cracked slightly from the storm of emotions mulling in your body.

“Let’s try and be rational here… Just lower the gun, we don’t need to be too drastic right?” He didn’t seem to care about keeping a level head in the situation. His gaze never left you as he stepped closer once more, the muzzle of the gun only about two feet away from you.

“I’ll lower the damn gun when you give me the rest that you have!” He bellowed, his eyes unwavering, they were such a cold shade of blue. They felt like they were stabbing you by just looking at you. You kept your voice low but you knew he would hear you, there was no other way to do this.

“Anna run. Don’t look back, just keep running. I’ll take care of this.” She tried to refuse, she really did. But you both knew that if she stayed there wouldn’t be any chance of either of you getting away. She began to take a few steps backwards before turning around into a complete sprint. You could see the anger pulsating in his eyes, there wasn’t even a moment of hesitation before he pulled the trigger.

It was an odd sensation; you could feel the pressure in the air that pushed towards you as the bullet exited the chamber. You could feel the blunt puncturing of your skin as the round bullet burrowed into your skin, on the right side of your forehead. You could feel your skull crack from the contact. Everything was painful, it was burning and reverberating. You heard a scream and then you felt yourself falling, but you didn’t hit the concrete of the dirty city street like you expected to. No, you kept falling, at first there was no color, just white, moving white. Everything looked like silk, swirling and twisting around your body. But the soft tangles of the silk soon turned to the same intense shade of blue that that man held in his stare. Everything turned into electricity—you watched as your hair started to frizz out into a halo around your head—but you couldn’t feel anything. You were numb as your eyes finally shut.

You felt your eyes burn as sun shined onto your eyelids. With a soft groan you shifted over slightly, the ground was hard and warm. God my head is killing me. As you sat up every muscle in your body seemed to screech. Reaching up you touched the side of your forehead and winced, feeling a sudden sting wave through your brain. You finally opened your eyes and looked down at your hand, watching as the blood slid across your fingers and into your palm. Blood glided down your cheek and some small droplets clotted in your eyebrow. Your head felt like it was about to explode as the memories rushed back to you. The man, the gun, the scream. Your hand instantly went back to the spot on your head where the blood was coming from, there wasn’t any hole or anything. What the hell is going on? Looking up you saw that you were sitting under a lamp post. A dirt path stretched out underneath your body, making your legs dirty. Hooking your arm around the lamp post you used it to help you stand up, you gripped it tightly as your mind suddenly felt clouded. It was incredibly bright outside so you had to squint to look down the paths. In the distance you could make out what seemed to be a yellow house.

Only the sound of the dirt shifting under your weight kept you awake long enough to approach the building, it seemed to grow in size the closer you came to it. Your eyes fluttered open and shut, your mind wanting nothing more than to shut down. Staggering up the solid steps your legs gave out, you had to use your arms to pull yourself to the door. Your breath was short and sharp, your chest felt like it was going to collapse. Hell, your entire body seemed to feel like it was being pulled apart in every direction possible. With a clenched and bloody fist you banged on the wooden door as hard as you could. You’re almost there Y/N, just stay awake. Your body slumped over as the door opened, your eyes focused on the off white fabric that now stood where the door once was. It was a woman, she knelt down beside you and her voice was laced with concern.

“Dear Lord, child are you alright?” Your eyelids slammed down into each other once more as another wave of pain crashed into you.

“Help me, help…” And suddenly you were out once more.

The second time you woke up was much more pleasant, at the very least it wasn’t painful. Instead of hard dirt you were laying on some sort of cushion, it was so soft it almost seemed like it was a giant throw pillow. You opened your eyes and saw the woman from earlier stare back at you. This time around you could actually make out the details of her face. Her skin had an olive like coloring to it, very faint laugh lines crossed past her green eyes, a few long strands of brown hair fell out from under the white handkerchief that was wrapped around her head.

“I see that you are finally awake, child.” Her voice was soft. Child? She couldn’t be that much older than me.

“Hello.” Your voice felt a little strained but managed to at least say that. She smiled at you.

“If you are feeling well enough to stand I would like to ask you allow me to help you dress.” You nodded and slowly pushed yourself up from the bed you had been laying on.

“May I ask what your name is Miss?”

“Y/N L/N, what’s your name?” You finally took notice of what she was wearing. The long white fabric had a few red stains on it, that was probably from you. But that wasn’t what was so surprising, it was just the style of it that looked odd to you. The skirt flowed down and brushed against the floor, the top almost looked like it was in two pieces. As she turned around you could see the lacing in the back, it was almost like a corset but nowhere near as tight as the models you’ve seen. Not only that but it looks like it’s made of fabric, not metal or anything like that. She cocked her head to the side as she picked up some things in front of her.

“Rachel, Rachel Spencer.”

“That’s a really pretty name… So um Rachel, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course Miss L/N, what’s your question?” She turned back towards you, holding a small pile of cloth in her arms.

“Where exactly am I?” You questioned. She looked at you incredulously.

“Oh dear, you’re in New York.” She smiled at the words.

“No, I get that, I’m from New York. I mean where am I, like why am I not in a hospital?” She seemed to be even more confused than she was before.

“A hospital? Do you mean for all that blood? Don’t worry Miss L/N it was only a bruise when I washed away the blood.”

“Then… What exactly is this place?” You asked as your gaze slid across the room you were in; it was small but it felt homely.

“Why Miss L/N, you’re standing in the Hamilton residence, to be more specific you’re in my living quarters.” Before you could actually question her more about the matter she set the pile down on the bed behind you and clapped her hands together.

“Now please undress so that I can help you into some more proper clothes. I know what I have isn’t very nice but it’ll at least cover you up.” Your eyes widened at her words.

“Undress?”

“Yes, why is that- Oh I see, you must be shy. Very well, I’ll turn around as you undress and you put the shift on. I shall turn back around and help you with the other pieces once you are done.” She had already taken a step back and turned around before you could protest. Heaving a sigh, you made quick work of getting out of your shorts and tank before examining the cloth on the very top of the pile. Not much different than a really long night dress I suppose. You pulled the material over your head, luckily it wasn’t that off in size.

“Okay, you can turn back around now Rachel.” You were still really confused about what was happening. Where were you exactly? Some sort of colonial reenactment? Or perhaps somehow you got dropped off into some Amish territory? That would actually explain why they didn’t call for an ambulance. Rachel turned back around to you and quickly put the rest of the pieces on you. The two of you looked very similar now in terms of clothing, the only really noticeable difference was that her bodice was white and yours was blue. Suddenly the actions of this woman were flooding over you. She helped you, cleaned you up and now was helping you to blend in. The world always needs kindness like hers.

“Thank you so much Rachel, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t had helped me when you did.” You spoke like a child thanking a parent for teaching them how to tie their shoes. Speaking of shoes, Rachel had just pulled out a pair of dark boots and was motioning for you to sit so she could help you put them on.

“No need to thank me child, if there was anyone you should be thanking it would be Lady Betsy. She heard me cry out and came to see what all the commotion was about and found you lying in my arms. She truly is the kindest woman I have ever met; the moment her eyes fell on you she ran around trying to find anything that might help you.” A soft smile graced her lips as she spoke, all the while she was sliding and buttoning the shoes to your feet.

“She must be amazing judging by how much you praise her.” You stood up once she was done and silently thanked her for the help.

“She is, now come with me. Lady Betsy would actually like to speak with you.” She hopped up off the ground a led you outside the room. The corridors she led you down were narrow and plain at first but the further you traversed the wider they became. Before you knew it you were walking down grandiose white walls with gold embellishing the linings. Eventually the two of you stopped in front of a pair of double doors and Rachel gave one small knock.

“Come in.” A woman’s voice called from inside. Rachel opened the doors escorted you inside the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves; it was almost like a personal library. There was a large wooden desk at the end of the room, someone was standing in front of it. From the back all you could see was a big, blue gown with white and gold accents, part of her long, dark hair was pulled back but the rest spilled down flat against her back. She finally turned around and faced the two of us, her eyes were dark and gentle as she smiled worriedly at us.

“Hello dear, I’m glad to see that you are finally awake. You gave us all quite a fright when you showed up the way you did.” The woman spoke softly, at this point you were able to guess that this must be Betsy.

“Hello Mrs. Hamilton, forgive me for interrupting you but I would like to introduce you to our unexpected guest.” Rachel said as she gave a small curtsey, she then motioned for you to take a step closer. You did so and followed Rachel’s example by curtseying as well.

“Hi, um, sorry for showing up the way I did… My name is Y/N, nice to meet you.” She furrowed her eyebrows for a moment.

“No need to apologize Miss Y/N, I am Elizabeth Hamilton, but most people call me Eliza.” Eliza Hamilton, isn’t that ironic. You smiled up at her, she actually oddly looked familiar.

“Thank you for all of your help, Eliza. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you and Rachel hadn’t helped me when you did.”

“It is no trouble, dear. If you do not mind I would like to talk with you more on your situation once my husband returns.” She spoke like an experienced mother, it was comforting.

“Is Mr. Hamilton scheduled to arrive back at his usual time, Mrs. Hamilton?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, it is almost time for supper so he should not be too far away. Would you like to join us for dinner Y/N? It would give us ample opportunity to discuss what comes next.” Eliza went behind the desk and took a seat, holding her hands in her lap. At first you were caught a little off guard but you ended up agreeing. Eliza and Rachel’s eyes lit up at your answer.

“Wonderful! Until then you can rest in here, my husband won’t mind us occupying his study while he’s out. Take a seat, Rachel could read to you if you’d like as well.” She beamed happily. Read to me? Oh, they probably think I have a concussion or something.

“That’s very kind of you Eliza but I’m just fine! I can read on my own.” You reassured her. The other two women were taken aback by your comment.

“Oh, so you’re an educated woman? Forgive me, I didn’t realize.” Eliza apologized but the tone in her voice made her seem more questioning. Did I say something weird? I could see maybe if they thought I was homeless but I don’t know what education has to do with that. You decided it was best not to question her on the statement, she probably didn’t mean for it to sound the way she had. Rachel excused herself, she said she had to go help ‘Angie’ with her work.

You paced back and forth, your fingertips gliding across the rows of book spines as you examined the titles. Whoever Eliza’s husband is, he really likes Shakespeare. You eventually plucked out A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream, you’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t a personal favorite of yours. You always felt that you related to Helena the most out of all the characters. Taking the book, you sat down on a nearby couch. You fussed around with your dress for a few minutes so that you sit ‘Crisscross applesauce’ style underneath the layers of fabric, most of it hanging over the cushions. You had just gotten to Titania and Oberon’s confrontation when a young girl, maybe around 12 or 13 years old, came skipping into the room. Her dress wasn’t quite as big as Eliza’s, it was more…fluffy than bulky, the light purple color popped against her tan skin. Her hair was pulled into a pair of pigtail braids.

“Mama! Mama! Daddy’s home, it’s time for dinner!” She exclaimed before she finally took notice of my presence. “Who’s this Mama?” She asked, she must be Eliza’s daughter.

“Angie sweetie, this is Miss Y/N. She will be joining us for dinner.” Eliza explained as she stood up from the desk and stood next to the now identified ‘Angie’ from earlier. She gave the girl a small pat on the back and motioned for her follow as she walked off toward the door. You put the book down next to you, Angie took notice of the cover and skipped toward you excitedly, grabbing your hand to help you stand up.

“Daddy will be very excited to meet you, he loves Shakespeare!” She giggled and linked your arm with her own.

“I noticed.” You chuckled and allowed her to guide you out the door. Eliza gave a small laugh at the sight and continued to walk by your side. Your trio made your way through some more of the beautifully designed hallways, the sound of chatter becoming louder as you approached an archway that lead you into a large, open room. You recognized the door at the far end, this must be main room and that must be the front door you were slumped against not so long ago. Your gaze then fell onto a man; he wore a dark green coat with a matching pant. You could tell that the clothing was meant to be from the same era as everyone else’s, the pants stopped at his knees and a pair of long socks covered his shins. He was looking down at two young boys with mischievous grins on their faces.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look!” Angie ran up to the man, he must be Eliza’s husband. The man turned around with a wide smile stretched across his face. He quickly ran his fingers through his dark hair to push it out of his face before wrapping his arms around Angie.

“My sunshine girl! I missed you even more today than I did the last!” He said happily. Why does he look so familiar? He kissed Angie’s nose and released her, turning his attention to Eliza.

“My love, how was your day?” He asked as he made his way over to Eliza and gave her a kiss on the cheek. His eyes clouded with curiosity as he took notice of you standing next to his wife. “And who is this young lady?” He questioned, Eliza’s voice lowered slightly. Angie came bounding toward her father.

“That’s what I wanted you to see Daddy, she likes Shakespeare too!” She smiled.

“Is that right?” He spoke, sounding slightly impressed.

“Her name is Y/N, Rachel found her on our door step, bleeding from the side of her head…” She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Poor girl, she was practically naked, I wanted to wait till you came home before we asked her any questions.” She pulled away and his eyes softened. Looking back over at you, he stepped back and gave you a small bow.

“Well it is a pleasure to have you in our home Miss Y/N, perhaps we could discuss literature over supper? Pardon, you must forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name is Alexander Hamilton.” Your eyes widened as the name washed over your thoughts.

Alexander Hamilton, Eliza Hamilton?

There was no way but you couldn’t shake this feeling in the pit of your stomach that begged you to ask something, anything that could prove the growing thought in your head wrong.

“Forgive me sir, but um, may I ask what you do? For work I mean…” He seemed confused for a moment but answered you nonetheless.

“I work up in the city as the Treasury Secretary under President Washington.” He said simply.

Shit.

#hamilton #alexander hamilton #hamilton fanfic #time travel au #not sure what pairing to use #hamilton x reader #philip x reader #lafayette #mulligan x reader #lafayette x reader #john laurens #laurens x reader #thomas jefferson #james madison #jefferson x reader #madison x reader #philip hamilton

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lydjachan · 7 years

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Week in Review - 55

So I took an unintentional week off, therefore, rather than trying to catch-up I’ll just push everything back a bit. I’m sure no one will notice. ^_^*

Aww, Rats! 6-10

The Phoenix stepped lightly, following the rats as they moved down the tunnel. They would move to the end of where the beam of light shone, and then stop for her to get close to them, and then run to the end of the beam again.

She enjoyed the game. It reminded her of the types of games her children had played with her when they were toddlers. A vivid image of Ailurosa laughing, a tiny little kitten, running just out of her reach. ‘Catch me, Mama!’ she’d cried happily. ‘Catch me!’ before she ran off, again just out of her mother’s deliberately too slow hands.

She’d played that game with all four of them, when they were little. No, she reminded herself, she did not play with Medusa. Medusa did not unwrap from her unless she was physically forced to, even if it meant not eating, or if she had to go to the toilet. Phoenix chuckled as she remember the feel of warm snake pee running down her arm. My, that girl had been hard to potty train!

The rats continued to play the game with her, leading her deeper and deeper down the tunnels, the smell of decay becoming rank, and then fading to a stale stench. She saw a light in the distance, and followed the rats to an open space. She turned off her flashlight and looked around, confused.

The room was huge, obviously a former hub for the working of the sewer system. It had florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. Along one side of the huge room was an array of tables, with what looked like medical equipment. She walked over to it, and examined what was on it. Beakers, a makeshift Bunsen burner, a bucket of water, a container of…mutagen. At the far end of the table was a body of a rat. She walked over it, and covered her mouth with her hand. It wasn’t a rat. It was some sort of caricature of a rat. It was bent into a fetal like position, with too many legs, and each leg having too many or too few toes.

She turned to go back the way she’d come, the content feeling now a million miles away. There were rats all over the room, sitting on their haunches, staring at her with black, beady eyes.

“I’m going to go now,” she said out loud, and began edging toward the tunnel. She turned to make a mad dash for the opening, when a huge rat came to the entry, blocking her way. She backed up, catching her breath. It was as big as a horse, and all of the skin was gone from its face, leaving at the front part of its skull exposed. Its teeth were huge fangs, the roots showing in the skeleton muzzle. The rest of the body matched the size of the massive skeletal head, but its tiny ears looked out of place. Its red glowing eyes made up for that fact, however.

“Very good, Caligula,” said a smooth voice that made Phoenix’s stomach drop.

“No,” she moaned, now backing up into the room.

It was the crazy rat man. His awful pink eyes were covered with a bandage, but the rest of him was as she remembered. His skin was puckered, his gaunt body tall and straight. He wore the big, black sun hat she’d seen before, and without the glow that wasn’t a glow, she knew the big, black cloud still wove in and out of his skull.

“Yes,” he moved toward her slowly, and all the rats seemed to close in on her at the same time. “You are a gift, woman. Twice you’ve come to me, and now you’ve come to me exactly when I need you.”

“Me?” her voice was unnaturally high.

“Yes,” he said again. His smooth voice was unnaturally calm, and he walked toward her with confidence, a demented smile on his face. “You have come just in time, my dear.”

“I was just leaving,” she said quietly, and tried to walk to the side, but a wall of rats blocked her way.

“No,” he reached up and stroked the giant rat, and another one came in behind him.

“Yes!” In a panic, she jumped over the rats that were blocking her way, landing in the middle of them. They began to launch themselves at her, and she batted them away as she ran. She got to the entry, and thought she could skid underneath a third giant rat that emerged there. As she bent her knees and twisted her body sideways to slide, the rat reached down with both of its hand-like front paws, and lifted her up in the air, holding her off of the floor.

“No, my dear,” he shook his head, his arm still on Caligula. “You will stay right here.”

To say that he was thrilled with his prize was an understatement. The only thing better would be to have Splinter himself by his side. He felt the annoyance at his general’s continued reluctance to join him. Aristotle squeaked from his shoulder and he put a bony finger up to scritch his right-hand-rat under the chin. "Soon. Aristotle. Soon. Our brother will join us. Especially now that we have her.” He smiled, his jagged grin going wider as the white rat focused on the woman struggling to get free from the giant rat dragging her to the back of the nest.

“Careful now Caligula,” He said without turning, “She is precious cargo. Splinter will come, yesss, soon our brother will join us willingly. He wants her. He will do our bidding to have her. And she will help us in another way as well.”

“You’re out of your mind.” The woman spat at him while still flailing at his favored mount who was treating her much kinder now than the feisty creature deserved.

“It is only because you are still blind to the glory of my plan. If it were up to me I would have nothing to do with you filthy humans. But I have seen, Splinter has shown me his secrets, that I must start with you weak creatures if I am to have the subjects I need to populate this new world.” He cackled to himself at the beauty of it all. Rat-people, giant rats and the droves of their smaller cousins, all filling the earth and all under his rule. It would be glorious!!

They came to an area full of cages, but the rat king passed them by and instead directed Caligula to set her down in a chair strapping her down as he avoided the punch she aimed at his head. “My brother was always strong, that is how he reached perfection so easily, but humans, bleh,” He spit his distaste for his former life, “they are weak. But you, you my dear,” He stroked the small woman’s face tenderly, before walking the few paces to his lab table. “you heal the weak, don’t you? And you will be the final ingredient in my remedy to the human infestation.”

He laughed with glee as he approached her with the syringe. He was now one step closer to his perfect world.

Phoenix stomach twisted at his touch, his stroke down her cheek was almost sweet, as if he were admiring the feel of a prized possession. "Human infestation?“ she repeated.

"The human race is a blight on this Earth,” he said.

When he approached her with the syringe, however, her stomach clenched in fear. "What are you doing?“ She began to struggle against the bonds that held her down.

"You will help to create my army of rat people, to bring about the rightful race upon the planet.” With an expert hand, he pressed his fingers against the crook of her elbow, examining the blue vein that showed clearly through her skin.

“I won’t help you do anything,” she knew she did not sound nearly as brave as the words themselves coming out of her mouth.

“You will,” he said with confidence, as one talks to a child. "You will heal the weak, make the strong.“ When she tried to pull away from him, he clucked his tongue. "Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” He looked up from her arm, as if he could see her through his blindfold. "Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.“ He chuckled, the needle piercing her skin. He was so gentle that she barely felt the prick of it, and she would have sworn that such skill must come from a doctor. "You see?” he said. "That didn’t hurt a bit.“

She had to get out of here. This crazy man was taking blood out of her! She watched the red liquid spurt into a vial. "What do you want to do with me, then?”

Without looking toward her, he withdrew the vial and placed another on the needle. "I want you to see the truth. I want all humans to see the truth.“ He took the second vial from the needle, and then released her arm. Caligula, with a hand-like paw three times the size of a human’s, held a small cotton square to her elbow with a finger. "And you will. When you become perfect, then you will see.”

“What if I don’t want to become perfect?” she asked, struggling again against her bonds.

“The enlightened rarely want to be come so,” he said. "Usually they must be helped. With the human pests of this planet, they must be helped by evolving into rat people. You,“ his voice was filled with pity, "I doubt will be able to become physically perfect. But, we all have our failings. You will be instrumental in my plan, though. That is enough.” Again, he stroked her cheek, a sweet smile on his face. "And Splinter need only be persuaded. And you will help me with that, too.“ He bent down, moving a strand of her long hair from her shoulder, his fingers touching her neck as he did. "My brother deserves all that he wants,” he said with vehemence. "He deserves to walk in the sunshine, to be admired, to teach those who are of lesser mind. And he wants you,“ he said. "He deserves that too. I would not deny him anything.” He stood up, “He need only come to his senses.”

Splinter entered the kitchen, where Mikey pressed his shell against the fridge. "I need ice,“ the rat master lamented. "For my head. And perhaps,” he seemed not to notice the gaggle of teenagers in the kitchen with him, “a cheesesicle.”

The Rat King left the small woman, shaking his head in amusement, at the insults she threw at his departing back. His brother had strange tastes, for such strong and defiant women to continue to draw his attention. It had been true in his former life as well. He had seen as much went he looked in the man Hamato Yoshi’s soul, in search of what made him so special. No matter. Let him have his indulgences, as King, he only needed Splinter’s power, and in time, he would have his loyalty without the persuasion.

He put a drop of the healer’s blood on a slide, lowering his shoulder so that his companion could look through the lens, and examined the sample. “Fascinating.” He said to Aristotle. “I was right my friend.” He left the microscope and went to the black board, examining the equations there through the white rat’s eyes. He erased a set of equations with his sleeve only to put a diagram of chemical combinations in it’s place. “She has what we need to perfect the serum.”

He moved about his table, making combinations, taking notes and altering amounts. However his work was interrupted by the high pitched squeal of a female in distress. Aristotle looked towards the Phoenix woman, but she just glowered back in defiance. He reached out his senses and a jagged smile blossomed across his wrinkled face. “Ahh, well done Nero, it seems that our first guest has arrived. Lock her up, I am not quite ready for her yet.” He directed the giant rat, as the bespectacled teen pleaded not to be harmed.

“Don’t hurt me. Please. I like rats. Really, I do. Let me go and I’ll promise to leave sunflower seeds and peanut butter crackers in the alley every night. I swear!!”

The rat king smiled. An excellent candidate, she would take to her new form happily if he was successful. It was just an even greater confirmation that he was making a world a better place. Humans already acknowledged the greatness of his kin and were willing to pay them tribute. He turned to address her but his mind was pulled in another direction.

The tendril he had dedicated to keep tabs on Splinter’s essence flared with raw emotion, annoyance and anger. The Rat King allowed his mind to barrel down the connection that went from a tiny thread to an open highway without hesitation. Before him the turtles and humans that Splinter had taken in as his wards cowered in fear, unsure of what to do with their laughable efforts to restrain his perfected general in vain.

He ransacked Splinter’s mind with lightning fast fury before speaking through the rat man, drunk with power on his own success. “I have what I came for. Soon New York City and the world, will be mine!” He left Splinter’s mind, tearing down every mental block and spiritual prowess that he could on his way out. Making sure that Splinter would be weak against his King the next time he needed to ‘persuade’ the general into his service.

Returning to his own mind, he address his army. “Make ready to go to the surface. We need more test subjects and quickly. The time is at hand my brothers!!” The roars and squeaks of rats, large and small went up at his declaration. He mounted Caligula but turned his stead to pass by the little healer on his way out of the nest. “I cannot thank you enough my dear. Thanks to your blood and Splinter’s mind, I have all that I need. Soon you will be privileged to see the birth of the new dominant race of this planet.”

“You’re a monster. Someone will stop you.”

“My dear, the only being perfect enough to stand against me is hiding in his home for fear of my power over him. He has learned who his true master is, and soon will join us. He at my side and you at his. And all of ratmanity at our command!” He smiled and laughed with glee as he urged Caligula into the tunnels and up towards the surface.

The Rat King’s laugh echoed through the tunnels, to the station, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Phoenix curled in on herself, her mind banging against her skull with a myriad of thoughts.

“Lady,” she looked up at the nasally voice of her fellow prisoner. "Are those…deformed rats on that table?”

Phoenix looked up at the girl, then followed her green eyes to table where The Rat King had his equipment. Sure enough, a pile of different sized bodies, from the size of a medium dog, to that of a small rat, lay to one side of it. How she hadn’t noticed it before, she wasn’t sure. “Yes,” she replied. “I think they are. It looks like he did a lot of failing before he succeeded.”

“If those huge rats are his successes then he really needs to re-examine his parameters.” Irma pushed her glasses up on her nose as she looked around the room before examining her cage. “They aren’t perfect enough if they can’t figure out how to latch a door tightly.” She put her hand through the large grates and was able to fiddle with latch.

However the noise brought one of the large rats left behind over towards her to investigate and she quickly withdrew her appendage and scrunched away from the door. “Then again, maybe they don’t HAVE to be too smart after all.”

#nurturingflame #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt rp #roleplay #rp #au #oc #the rat king #irma langinstein #master splinter #week in review #illusion-na #lydjachan

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ne-nsw-stargrazing-festival · 7 years

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StarGrazing Attendees Info Pack 3:

20 April 2017

Positive preparation, all going ahead.

Other than iffy and uncertain whether, all is good. The oval and camping areas have been mown (twice). Two portaloos are in place, primarily for the public night, but also close and handy for late-night observing at the oval. Lots of other issues pretty much organised and sorted. A few last-minute issues to sort.

Below is a map of the Ben Lomond village and our management plans for the public night, Saturday 22nd of April. Hope it all works!

When you arrive:

We would like people to set up their telescopes on the main Oval. We are a little concerned we will have quite a few people turn up on Saturday night, and so the larger space of the oval keeps everything simple. There is plenty of area around the main Oval for camping.

Phone signal at the oval:

Previously, I have mentioned that the Optus phone signal, and wireless broadband signal, is strong throughout the oval and most of the village. I have been able to stream YouTube videos in the hall using a 4G Optus broadband modem with no difficulties.

I have since been able to check the Telstra signal at the Oval. It was a fairly consistent one bar and occasionally two bars for short periods over the full oval site. Probably slightly better on the northern side of the oval. I don't have a means to check level of broadband wireless signal.

T-shirts:

Personally, for those interested, I would like to see these happen. If this event goes ahead over coming years, you will all be founding members. Why not have a T-shirt or sloppy Joe for future bragging rights? However, it makes sense to take orders once your here given that we need your size and preference. We have not yet engaged with possible print places.

Accommodation:

Those who are not camping probably have your accommodation sorted. Just in case, I mentioned the farm stay “Silent Grove”. Since sending out info pack #2 I understand the whole cottage was booked by one family. However I have had indications since that they will no longer be becoming. So if you have not finalised accommodation, it might be worth a phone call to query the current status of that accommodation.

Some low level lights on the public night, why:

Good news. We have most of the LED village streetlights being turned off for the event. The lights at the local school appear to have been reduced.

Somewhat in contradiction, I want to advise in advance that we will be setting up some low level lighting just for the public night as guidance. The public night ends at 10 pm, and we can remove it then.

The reason for this is that we have no idea of how many people will turn up for the public night. We think there does need to be some demarcation of major walkways etc, even with people having cellophane covered hand torches.

To achieve low level orientation and guidance lighting, we will be trying a few solutions. From my past experience one issue I have wanted to seek some solution to is people stumbling into my telescope in the dark, and equally several people wanting to come have a look through my telescope but having no idea from which direction to approach. I have an experimental solution that may assist. Essentially some cotton rope soaked in green glow paint that can be arranged on the ground in an arc around your telescope as a fairly faint demarcation line that you can adjust as you wish easily. From experiment so far, the intense glow lasts less than 10 minutes, but a fainter level glow that I think will be quite sufficient for dark adjusted eyes does continue for a lot longer. It may not work, or be desirable, but I thought a solution along these lines worth an experiment.

Public Night:

As for the visiting public in general, we have arranged the public evening such that those attending will come to the Hall first. This is so that we can make mention of important things before people walk down to the oval. For example, no laser pointers please. No torches without red cellophane coverings. (We will have extra red cellophane and rubber bands for those that have not done so.) A few other “housekeeping” things.

I plan to have a list of Astronomy groups and other resources on the chair for each person. Given this night is about promotion of Astronomy, both as an area of knowledge, and as an interest that one may want to get involved in, this is our chance to connect people to regional Astronomy groups.

The talk, half an hour is the aim, will include a few things on Astronomy. It will be kept very basic and simple. Then we will direct people down to the oval at 7:00 pm. If the sky conditions are overcast, the talk will be longer to ensure those that have turned up feel that their time was not wasted. If there is a big turnout, we may have to do two sessions.

As mentioned, the public part finishes at 10 pm. We think most people will leave after an hour or two. We do plan to gently encourage and enforce the 10 pm end of the public night. If you have some keen people that you are happy to stay longer with you, then it is up to you. As one of the amateur astronomers just let them know their staying on is OK with you, and with your sanction, ok also by us organisers even though we are encouraging others to leave. We think this is the best way to go.

After 10 pm, the rest of this night, and the next 3 nights, is over to amateur astronomy.

Setting up equatorial mounts:

Particularly for newcomers, this task can be problematic. How does one determine true rotational Earth North. I will set up some markers that I think may help with identifying true north. As for angle from horizontal - we are at 30˚ 01’. So essentially 30˚. A nice simple number, and a standard 30/60 degree set square can come in handy.

Observer supports, late cold nights:

First, reminder that there is no 240 v mains power access available on the oval. We will set up a 240v recharging spot for small items like phones, laptops, etc. We will choose the weather shed as the closest covered point to the oval with mains power.

We also have organised to set up a ‘warm spot’, chairs and tables, soup, tea and coffee, those kind of ‘take a break’ human things, down at the Hall. This is sufficiently far away from the oval that the lighting in the room will not impact on observing at the oval. It is about 2 minutes walk.

Given this is a “test event” this year, the way we have set things up can be changed with discussion. See what works best.

Sunday 1 pm Lunch:

We do want to encourage amateurs visiting interested in the notion of an annual event here to come for an early afternoon lunch on Sunday. We are organising a hot meal, or if you have food you prefer, feel free to bring that. As organisers we think getting those interested together to share a meal and talk, is the best way to get feedback on what people think of this location in general, thoughts on the potential of the site, possible changes, downsides. And also just enjoy a little socialising. We will have people from different astronomical groups, so it is also a chance to learn about other groups. This lunch will be at the Hall. If this is not your think, just miss it.

Cloud and chance of showers peaks high Sunday day.

Anzac Breakfast:

One thing we did over look. The community will be holding an Anzac service and morning tea at the Hall - the Hall being the Ben Lomond War Memorial Hall - on the morning of Tues 25th. So we will have to relocate the ‘warm spot’ tea and coffee etc the night before. You are welcome to come along to the community service and morning tea. Anzac day is diligently remembered each year in this community.

Talks:

So far no one has indicated they want to give a talk in the Hall as part of the amateur astronomy 3 days. That is fine. If that changes, we can work out a time one of the afternoons for those staying more than one night.

Photo contributions:

Since we do hope to turn this into an annual event for this region, if you see any good photo opportunities, do take photos and share them with us if you are willing.

Weather:

I have sent out earlier this evening a weather review to all that have filled out the online survey and left an email address.

In short, the weather is not set to be stable and clear like we usually have this time of year. It is I think best described as ‘iffy’. We have had steady presence of cloud most days, but at night it has often cleared for extended periods. We are not expecting a major rain event and 4 nights of overcast skies. There is no cold front due to come through. Forecast sights suggest a gentle air mass from SE Qld, which typically means warmer milder nights for this time of year. Sunday day is not looking good, nor is the public night looking reliable. The most probable scenario outside of Sunday day, is scattered cloud, sometimes clear for a few hours, possibly some periods of overcast conditions for a few hours. This is how it has been. I have been going out checking quite regularly.

If there is an overcast night, one of the merits of this site is the hall and the ability to use that time in other ways.

One of the sites I use is the NASA Earth site, and looking at Total Cloud Water. The modelling is updated about every 24 hours and seems generally pretty good. Below are pics for 10 pm, April 22, 23rd and 24th.

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