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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 8 months

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Title board created by the wonderful @mochie85!

Lesson Eighteen

You are positive Loki has been kidnapped by The Flock, but after they leave their settlement without a trace, there seems to be little hope that you and Brunnhilde will be able to recover him...unless you can put the final piece of your power into place on your own before it's too late.

**MASTERLIST HERE** Pairing: Soft!Dom!Loki x F!Reader Content Warnings: smut, extensive mentions of death, euthanasia, and death-related philosophy, some dark content (though the characters won't be), exile, moodiness, smut, kinks of various flavors (look for specific chapter warnings), trauma and mental illness, reader is a captive, reader has a body count

“BRUNNHILDE!” you shrieked, rushing down the hill just as the King emerged from her cabin. “Any sign of him?” you called.

She gritted her teeth at your boisterous approach, shaking her head. “Nothing. Perhaps today the scout we sent west will come back with something,” the King suggested. “I can hardly believe I’m leading a search party for him, let alone actually worrying.”

Gods forbid you have some character development, you thought.

Loki had been missing for five days. The King had sent out several volunteers to search the surrounding towns, and so far, two of them had returned empty, the rest hadn’t returned at all. The others were still spreading out, searching every hill, valley, rock, and ditch.

The day after you and Loki arrived at your woeful impasse, he was absolutely nowhere. Gone without a trace. No evidence of him leaving for Oslo or anywhere else (he would have certainly left a word or a note!), no signs that he’d had second thoughts about everything and chose to bail without the risk of waiting for the results of the test.

On day three, one clue emerged, though you wished it hadn’t for fear of what it meant: The Flock’s settlement had been completely abandoned. You and The King spend the entire following day combing the empty tents, cabins, and spaces. It was as if the entire clan had packed up and retreated overnight…as if they had something new and special to conceal from New Asgard.

But Loki was magic, and none of The Flock were. How the hell could they subdue a literal Asgardian God and take him away without a trace? Even with the development, nothing came of the ghost town, and you all decided to continue guiding the search from New Asgard.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had been alerted, but due to the terms of Loki’s bargain, they could not interfere in any way. Even Thor was expressly forbidden from aiding the search in person, instead only able to occasionally monitor Norway from the skies in the quinjet whenever he had a pilot. While it wasn’t much, Thor, of course, was just as worried as you were, and he tried to pull every string he could with Fury, but to minimal avail.

Loki was on his own, wherever he was.

“I did this,” you moaned, nearly collapsing at Brunnhilde’s feet, exhausted and heaving your breaths. It was bad enough you were exerting yourself so, but you had barely slept since Loki disappeared. Your powers were quickly losing stability again. “He could be long dead and it’s all my fault.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You know they’re trying to draw me out. This is all about me,” you grunted, turning your head over your shoulder, as if looking again would yield results this time. “I think we should go back to the settlement.”

Your trainer shook her head. “Do you remember that Asgardians are significantly harder to kill than humans? You really think those inbreds could execute him so easily?”

“They sure kidnapped him without much trouble.”

Brunnhilde rolled her eyes. “Look, Y/N, there’s nothing more we can do until the last scouts return anyway, so why--”

“--because I can’t do this without him!” you threw up your hands, showing Brunnhilde that your fog was acting so peculiarly, it was beginning to change colors as it flickered less like mist and rolled more like a thunderhead across your palm. “It’s happening again!”

The King shook her head. “Stop being a damsel, Y/N! It’s not him that controls your power, it’s you. It always has been! You just need to suck it up and stabilize yourself or Loki won’t have a snowball’s chance in Niflheim.”

You shook your head, bouncing uncomfortably on your ankles like an anxious child. “Look, not everyone has to be Captain Marvel smashing through the glass ceiling,” you sniped. “Loki is the one who taught me everything I know about my magic and how to use it! I have to have him here.”

The King shook her head, taking your hands in hers despite the clouds of death waiting there for her. She did not fall over.

“Does every student cling to their teacher forever?” asked Brunnhilde. “Thank fucking Norns they don’t, let me tell you. I’d have gone bloody mad by now.”

Your thoughts went back to your conversation that night with Loki. Were you becoming too dependent on him? Were you letting your love for him cloud your higher judgment? The entire year was nearly over. The eleventh hour was nigh. Loki was likely trapped in Jonah’s basement somewhere (wherever that was) being tormented in order to lure you into his trap.

“Look,” she continued after observing you for a moment. “If I take you back to the settlement and show you that we’ve combed the entire village, will you at least take a breath?”

You nodded, but paused after, another thought coming to you (perhaps not a thought so much as a pull or an urge).

“No,” you countered. “Not the settlement. I want to go to their cemetery instead.”

You and Brunnhilde reached the top of the hill that The Flock’s burial ground was built into later that afternoon, a chilly wind just beginning to come in with the earlier dusk. In the daylight, the place somehow looked even creepier. The wrought-iron fence and gate looked even more broken and twisted. The lone tree in the yard that you and Loki had once sat beneath, kissing underneath the stars, looked as if it was no longer alive at all, and was merely a standing pile of dead wood waiting for decay to topple it.

Once you’d stepped through the gate, the voices started all but yelling into your ear, telling you to go up the hill as you’d suspected, to where the crypt bearing the name ‘Jonah’ stood.

You smiled and turned to The King as she followed you up the hill, looking annoyed more than anything. “They’re talking.”

“Good. Yeah. Great. Talk back so we can get out of here, please,” Brunnhilde mumbled back, clearly uncomfortable.

The crypt still gave you uneasy vibes as you placed a palm against the etching that labeled the marble boxes within. You braced yourself for noise, for loud voices crowing your mind all at once.

You didn’t expect yourself to travel to another place entirely.

Instantly, your senses took you away from the cemetery and to a dark, nearly-black room you’d never seen before. The Jonah you knew, perhaps about seven or eight years younger, was kneeling before a hospital bed containing an older man. Other strange, worthless details painted the picture for you: a dusty desk with loose papers and devotionals scattered about, a photograph of a little blonde boy, an ashtray overflowing with butts and ends of smoked cigarettes…

“Bjorn,” the older man mumbled, “the Shepherd calls me.”

“Father…” mumbled the kneeling boy.

“You know what you must do,” said the dying one. “What my visions brought me.”

“Y…yes…” said the teenager, clearly doing his best to hide his distress. “The demons will come from the sky disguised as refugees during the Time of New Magic. But I’m only nineteen…”

“If it isn’t you, then The Flock will fall apart, and the demons will win.”

“Oh, but Jonah…”

You bit your lip, understanding coming to you.

“No, you are Jonah now. Blessed be The Shepherd.”

Something else materialized before you as the boy began to murmur a prayer. A window appeared above the bed, and just outside the glass was a street sign, reading ‘1800 S Akersgata.’

You muttered the words out loud. “Eighteen-hundred south Ahkers-gata…”

“What was that?” Brunnhilde’s voice called out to you, jerking you out of the vision and back to the crypt. “You just said something but you looked like you were…I don’t know…spacing out?”

You repeated yourself. “Eighteen-hundred south Ahkers-gata…I think it’s an address.”

“Where?” The King shrugged as you placed your palm on the crypt again, this time nothing appearing at all.

OSLO, came the old man’s voice directly into your ear.

“I don’t…wait, yes…Oslo,” you said. It was as if someone was cracking the code to a safe, and the safe was your brain. Little pieces were coming into place, giving you the piece you needed to find Loki. At the same time, your death magic pulsed at your fingertips in pure black waves as it read the marble’s history to you, and you almost felt the urge to cry.

“Odd, it’s as if the last Jonah is the one telling me this,” you said quietly, describing verbally how you felt. “I feel…remorse coming from this tomb.”

“I get the feeling. Can we go now?” asked Brunnhilde, not even waiting for your response before turning away.

“Wait!” you called, scrambling to follow. “We have to find him! If that’s where The Flock is now, and that’s where Loki is, we can’t just sit here!”

The King rolled her eyes as she bolted out of the gate, thankful to be off of cursed ground. “Who said we weren’t going to rescue him? I may think Loki is a snake, and don’t think I’ll ever change my mind on that, by the way,” she insisted.

You shook your head as you followed her back into the woods and down the path toward New Asgard. “I never asked you to.”

“But,” she continued, “not even making an attempt at saving any of the few Asgardians there are left in the universe, snake or not…wouldn’t make me a very good King would it?”

You smiled. “No, not at all.”

“I’ll go around and ask for volunteers,” said The King. “Or, rather, blackmail and guilt, whatever suits my fancy.”

“I’ll meet you tonight,” you agreed. “I’m sure you don’t need to be reminded that time is of the essence!”

Upon returning to the village, you went your separate ways to make your preparations for the raid. As you did some drills with your knives on your own, awaiting word from Brunnhilde that the assembly was complete, you sighed, knowing what you had to do…or rather, had to avoid doing.

The Jonah before Bjorn, the one who died before you and sent you the vision, knew the truth, and wanted you to spare his descendants from his fate. He wanted you to deliver the message to Bjorn, his son, and his family, personally.

You couldn’t do that by killing anyone, or running in with daggers flying. But what if they intended to kill you or Loki? They’d certainly made that clear in the past.

How does the harbinger of death itself offer an olive branch without making it wither in her grasp?

“Blackmail and guilt, you say?” you asked, your lip twisted up skeptically. “Worked like a fuckin’ charm.”

The King stood pouting before you, absolutely no one behind her. “I told them I’d cancel Christmas! What more do you want from me?”

You mumbled sarcastically, “Clearly it is better to be feared than loved.”

Brunnhilde shrugged. “Anyway, sorry. I know this doesn’t help.”

You sighed. “Are you going to bail?”

The King shook her head almost immediately. “What kind of Valkyrie would I be if I did? The girls would kill me a second time when I got to Valhalla.”

“Well,” you said quietly, a smile unfurling, “when this is all over, it’ll be the first story we tell our students, won’t it?”

Brunnhilde smiled. “Is this a bribe?”

“No, just accepting your offer,” you replied. “Although, your added support at this time to your future business partner would be much appreciated.”

You spent an hour planning with the King. With only the two of you, it would have to be a matter of threatening or bluffing Jonah, or perhaps just wriggling Loki free enough for him to escape with his magic.

You had no access to a motor vehicle, so unfortunately, you had to pack for a thirty-six hour hike inland toward the capitol. You didn;t want to have a heavy load to bear the whole way, so you only stuffed one change of clothes and a bag of trail mix you’d found in one of the cabinets in your backpack.

That night, just after sunset, Katja met you on the porch as you slipped out to meet the King and begin your rescue. She held a bundle of cloth in her hand.

“This was Ivar’s. I hope it won’t be too large for you,” she said, throwing the cloth over your head rather abruptly. Your head naturally found the hold in the middle, and as you peeked through, you realized that Katja had just given you a drape for the chilly air.

Luckily, Ivar’s old age had shrunken him from his prime, so the poncho was only a little large on you. It felt like a big, cozy blanket of wool.

“Do you need supplies? Water? Food?”

You shook your head. “We’re well-prepared, but thank you.”

“Blessings and fortune,” Katja said, hugging you close. “Please be safe.”

“Thank you for everything,” you said, kissing Katja on both cheeks.

She sighed and looked you over once more, like a mother making sure her child had everything she needed for school. “I know you believe death is a terrible power to possess, but just remember, Y/N: without death there can be no life at all. Darkness is as important to the balance of the cosmos as light.”

“I know--”

“--but, if you ever need to find the light again, look no deeper than here,” Katja continued, placing her palm on your heart. “You were able to find a hint of love in the midst of your darkness. That power is even greater than death. Love will always be the strongest magic you’ll find.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you threw yourself into a hug.

After a long, tender moment, Katja pulled away with a scowl. “Very well, very well. Now go, Y/N! You have no time to lose!”

You leapt off the porch and made your way to the western path, where your traveling companion was impatiently tapping her foot and nursing a liquid from her canteen that almost certainly wasn’t water.

“Now, you sure you don't want to kill him?” Brunnhilde asked as you began your long, two-day walk toward Oslo. “He may just keep coming back until they kill you both.”

“We’ll be ready for them,” you promised. “Besides, Loki wants out of here as soon as we’re free. They won’t find him here again.”

Brunnhilde snorted. “He spends ten months unsure of whether or not he loves you, and as soon as he says it, he decides to leave you behind? Now THAT’S the Loki I know and loathe.”

“You don’t understand,” you said quietly. “I can’t exactly keep him here, you know?”

“Well, that’s how it happens,” said Brunnhilde with bitter pessimism. “You’ll get over it.”

“No,” you muttered below earshot, “I don't think so.”

Camping was never your strong suit, but at least your cooking skills made it easy to whip up an improvised breakfast after a long, awkwardly-quiet night of walking. You’d packed some bread, which you toasted over a small fire Brunnhilde built, and used a piece of slate as a skillet to fry some mushrooms after you found some just off the trail that you recognized as edible.

“If we keep eating like this, I’ll be ten pounds heavier by the time we reach the city,” Brunnhilde said with sarcasm. “I don't see why you like him, but I can guess at least one reason why he likes you.”

“I can teach you how to cook and bake, if you want,” you suggested. “It’s a little more work, but a lot better than drinking your supper,” you said, emphasizing the last phrase as the King went to tip the canteen of whiskey to her lips.

You moved on throughout the day, but even the King’s feet were getting stiff and sore by the time late afternoon rolled around, the sun already nearly set by 5pm. You reached the edge of the woods, where you stepped out onto the apex of a large hill that overlooked a valley several miles around. Against the darkening sky, the glowing city of Oslo sat along the horizon, waiting for you, daring you to invade. It looked like the Emerald City: a beacon of both promise and mystery.

“Let’s stop and eat again, and I’d like to sleep for a few hours,” she said. “Oslo won’t move away from us before morning.”

You growled, impatient and tired from the day’s exertions. “They could kill Loki by then.”

“Sweetheart, if they took him just to execute him as a message, they would have done so and delivered the body by then. He’s being held as bait for you,” she said with confidence. “Believe me, they are waiting for you.”

“But they could be torturing him!”

“Do you really want to go in there with your blades flying now, when you’re exhausted and hungry?! Rule Number One of Battle, Y/N, NEVER go in without a clear mind and a strategy!” her voice quickly resorted to an authoritarian, drill-sergeant's bark, and it made you cringe with surprise.

You hissed back, “Look who’s talking!” You indicated the flask in Brunnhilde’s hand.

“Let’s not go there. I just want some more of those mushrooms you picked.”

You were able to set a fire and cook the small reserves you’d brought along by the city’s light pollution that reached you from the skies. Afterwards, you decided that fighting Brunnhilde on the issue of sleep was useless and would only further deplete your limited energy, so you agreed to keep watch knowing you couldn;t sleep, in case some Flock members were keeping vigil for you outside the city limits.

“Are we really going to wait until morning?” you asked as your traveling partner leaned against a stone.

“If you’re really going to stay awake, watch Oslo and wait until the city gets dimmer, perhaps three in the morning. They may have fewer people on watch at that time.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” you remarked.

Brunnhilde yawned. “Like I said…clear mind..strategy…”

She passed out before she could finish her sentence properly, leaving you to spend the following hours watching the stars turn above your head and the flickering lights of Oslo before you, hoping to the skies that in spite of the odds, Loki would be in your arms again by dawn.

Sorry this is a bit more of a filler chapter, but the big rescue mission is coming up! Please reblog and comment if you like!

@kats72 @violethaze @cheekyscamp @javagirl328 @yelkmelk @mischief2sarawr @buttercupcookies-blog @lokidokieokie @fictive-sl0th @jaidenhawke @caothicshit @holdmytesseract @anukulee @joyful-enchantress @simplyholl @meowmeow-motherfucker @huntress-artemiss @lokisgoodgirl @loz-3 @mjsthrillernp @alexakeyloveloki @linaax @noideakitten @evelyn-rathmore @lovingchoices14 @itzcomplctd7 @praq123 @the-fantasy-loving-angel @alexakeyloveloki @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @admiralatthebowofnails @vanilla-daydreaming @technicallysassyfox @ozymdias @fall-myriad @sititran @lokisdeadcat @blog-the-lilly @satrkovaza @wolfcyanide

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ragingbookdragon · 10 months

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Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

Lindir x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: :( --> :')

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Their journey back was quiet. She knew all three of them were in a particular state of mourning, she for Fili and Kili, Bilbo for Thorin, and Gandalf for all three of them. The old wizard had felt particularly responsible for the deaths of the three, even though it hadn’t been his fault in the slightest. Usually, when someone she knew had passed, her calling as a songstress had her performing ballads of their lives and greatest deeds, but this time, she couldn’t find it in herself to sing such songs just yet. The wounds still too fresh, memories of her dearest dwarven friends still too heavy a weight on her heart. She knew if she tried, she’d break down in tears. Still though, she kept her hopes high, and her grief hidden enough to comfort the other two on their journey back.

She wasn’t sure where she’d end up. Thorin’s company had simply crossed paths by chance and that was how she’d gotten along, but now, Bilbo was going home, Gandalf escorting him, then he was off to who knows where doing who knows what but only the old wizard. That left her where she had been before—simply wandering. But she’d seen the west, seen the great heights of the Mirkwood trees, seen the low valleys of Lake-town, and the majesty of Erebor. What else was there?

Her thoughts continued to plague her all throughout their travels back, through Lake-town, through Mirkwood, and back through the mountains until they’d come back upon the elven settlement, Rivendell. She couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes, the comfort, food, and care had been greatly remembered and desired ever since she and Gandalf had departed after the company those months ago.

Lord Elrond and his council were already waiting for them when they finally crossed the bridge and the elf looked rather disheartened when he greeted them. “Welcome back,” he murmured, carefully taking in both Bilbo and her expressions of sadness. “Word has already come from the west.” Elrond looked between them all. “My most sincere sympathies go to you all for your losses.”

She cleared her throat, bowing slightly. “Thank you, my Lord Elrond. It is a most kind gesture. We…the journey there and back have been long and arduous, physically, mentally, and emotionally.” She said nothing more, feeling the tears coming to her eyes as she blinked them away and gently placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, squeezing it for comfort; the hobbit merely reached up and squeezed her hand in return, unable to speak, for his wounds were the greatest.

Gandalf looked at the two close together and asked Elrond, “My old friend, might we find refuge for a day or two before traveling back?”

“Always,” Elrond said and turned, leading them up the stairs and into the courtyard; he looked at the elf standing to his left. “Lindir, take our songstress and hobbit and show them to some rooms. I need to speak to Mithrandir.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Lindir replied and waited for the two travelers to meet him. “Has the journey back been beset by any trouble?” he asked her as he led them.

She inhaled. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” She tried to smile at him. “How has Rivendell faired since we’ve been gone?”

“As usual. Other than his lordship leaving to Dol Guldur.”

“Ah yes, I heard quite a fearsome battle occurred between the forces of evil and good.” She smiled this time. “Perhaps I shall ask Lord Elrond for the details and compose a ballad. Do you think Lady Galadriel would allow me to perform it for her?”

Lindir laughed quietly. “I would not see why not.” As he brought them to two secluded rooms near the edge of the house, he opened the first door for Bilbo. “Here you are,” he said to him, and Bilbo nodded, finally managing to look up.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly and looked over at her. “I think I’m going to rest until evening dinner.”

“I understand,” she replied and watched sadly as he disappeared inside and shut the door behind him. It was only but a second then she turned to Lindir in tears and whispered, “My heart aches so deeply for him.”

Lindir gazed at her sadly, and instead of leading her to the next door, he took her to a secluded area of the garden beneath a grand willow. She put her pack down beside the bench and sat down, tucking her legs underneath her as Lindir sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry that you have lost your friends,” he said softly. “Though I did not know them well, I did sense honor among them.”

She nodded, barely able to keep the tears at bay as she looked towards the setting sun. “Bilbo will not speak of what happened before Thorin died. He will only tell us that they parted in friendship.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “But the boys,” she whispered. “Fili and Kili were just boys. They didn’t deserve this as a fate. They deserved to grow up in their homeland. Find loves and have families.” She looked at him. “It isn’t fair, Lindir.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Her expression pinched. “I survived. A useless trobairitz who couldn’t even swing a sword or draw a bow and three battle hardened dwarves didn’t. What kind of fate is that? Why me? Why useless m—”

“You are not useless,” Lindir interrupted with a rather harsh look for the reserved elf. “You survived because it is what fate wished. You survived because fate has not come calling for you yet.”

She frowned and swallowed thickly. “But I wanted them to survive as well.”

“Yes,” he sighed, reaching over to take her hand in his slender one; he gently brushed his thumb over the back of her thumb. “That is our greatest ache. The ones who did not join us at the end.”

Her gaze met his. “Truthfully, Lindir, I don’t know where to go now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bilbo is going home to the Shire, Gandalf I assume is going to off doing what wizards do…but for myself?” she shrugged. “I am back to traveling the land singing for gold and fame.”

“You have no home to go back to?”

Her eyes were humored but had a sadness to them. “The home I had as a girl is long gone. A songstress knows no home but the next stage.”

Lindir gazed at her, mouth opening and closing for a moment before his cheeks tinted pink and he asked, “…perhaps you could make Rivendell your home?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

He shifted in his seat. “You have no home, but you acted wonderfully as an ambassador between the elves and the dwarves.”

A laugh escaped her. “You mean I mothered them and glared until they obeyed.”

Lindir smiled. “However you managed it, it worked. I could not imagine a better place for you.”

“An ambassador? Lindir, I am a singer. My role is to compose and sing the songs of our heroes. The ones who live, the ones who die. I am simply their storyteller.”

“Yes, but the people respect you for your role in Thorin’s company. You represent a great position amongst other races. I am not naïve to assume that your voice does not have sway too. You could be the connection between our races.”

She gave Lindir a look. “Something tells me, you wish me to stay in Rivendell more than anything else.”

Lindir swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and admitted, “I…have been hoping that you would come back to Rivendell.”

“Oh?”

His cheeks warmed. “Meleth nîn…”

“Oh, there are those words again,” she teased. “Lindir, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you have not been thinking I would return so much as you have been thinking about kissing me.”

Lindir looked like a startled deer, red cheeks, a bit frazzled if she were honest and he tried to splutter out some form of a reply but ceased when her laughter reached his ears, like twinkling stars and he gave her a heartfelt smile when she scooted a bit closer and leaned closer to him, nuzzling his cheek.

“If it soothes your wild heart, I have long thought about you, Lindir.”

He turned slightly, their noses brushing, and he murmured, “I have been talking to Lord Elrond about your possible staying here if you ever returned.”

“Uh huh, and what did he say?”

“He would think about it.” Lindir blinked. “That answer usually means yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what he would tell Lady Arwen when she was a child and she asked for something only to give it days later.”

“Oh? So, my stay is already promised?”

“I truly enjoyed your singing.” He cleared his throat, adding, “we all enjoyed your singing.”

She smiled at him, gently pressing her lips to his cheek, and she said, “Well guess what? You get to hear it whenever you want.”

“You will stay?”

“If you’ll have me,” she chirped and Lindir’s face split into a handsome smile.

“I would have you with me forever.”

“That sounds like a marriage proposal.”

“I…had planned on trying to court you…if you ever returned.”

She blinked, staring at him, then she shifted across the bench and laid down, putting her head in Lindir’s lap. “I think I would enjoy that greatly, Lindir.”

“O—oh?” he replied, fumbling with himself on where to put his hands until he settled for resting one on her hip and the other gently in her hair.

“Mhm…a lot.”

“I’m glad,” he said, smiling down at her as the tension began to ease from her expression and body, eyes slipping shut as they enjoyed the setting sun together.

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nmnomad · 11 months

Photo

Located just four miles west of Carrizozo, Valley of Fires is one of the youngest lava flows in the continental United States, the second youngest in New Mexico behind the McCartys flow in the El Malpais National Monument.

Volcanic vents on Little Black Peak starting oozing lava about 5,000 years ago, filling the northern end of the Tularosa Valley with streams of molten rock for about 30 years. The volcanic field is associated with the Rio Grande Rift, a part of the Earth’s crust that is being gradually pulled apart. This creates faults, which provide paths for magma to reach the Earth’s surface. Whereas most of the volcanic activity has been steady seepage, the last eruption, about 1,500-2,000 years ago, was more explosive.

In total, the Carrizozo Malpais lava flow is 4-6 miles wide, 44-miles long, and approximately 160-feet thick, covering 125 square miles of the Tularosa Basin. The view from the top of Sierra Blanca is outstanding on a clear day. Valley of Fires lava flows extend from the north end of the Tularosa Basin to 14 miles north of the gypsum dunes of White Sands National Park. Dark and light. The geologic contrast is striking enough, and large enough, to be seen from space.

#new mexico #travel #geology #geologygeek #volcanic #road trip #weekend getaway #hiking #camping #off the beaten path #road less traveled #high desert #american west

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thelordofgifs · 11 months

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Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1

Corunir vs Elulindo

Corunir:

Ranger of the North; part of Golodir's company. Waited for his trapped friends for years (Lord of the Rings Online character)

he's a ranger of the north who followed his captain to angmar despite aragorn very specifically telling them 'hey, angmar's super dangerous, Do Not'. most of his friends got stuck and/or killed by some haunted statues, and he kept trying to cross the statues to go help them (failed many times til they almost killed him) and just waited for them on the other side for years before he managed to get a message back to the rest of the rangers. love his friends So Much and will not stop following them into stupid dangerous situations

Canonically the ranger who would give the best hugs

he's loyal to a fault, staying behind (alone) in the dread-realm of Angmar just desperately hoping for word from his captain. He couldn't make it further east to where Golodir was because of a valley of powerful watching stones that killed like half of their company when they passed through them the first time. Corunir was trapped on the west side while the survivors made it east, but kept trying to pass them for years and years "until my very spirit was broken within me" as he puts it. like. dude. this poor guy! he kept throwing himself at the valley of death-statues for years and he somehow survived. he was broken by it but he did it out of that stubborn loyalty, because "I could not abandon my captain" :( he just wants his friends to be ok!!! I'm literally so normal about him. also he's somewhere on the aroace spectrum. this is canon probably dude just trust me. we love an aroace-spec king

Elulindo:

Elulindo was the son of the Teleri king Elwë, whose name was later changed to Olwë.

HE'S SILLY. he's olwe's son. he's earwen's older brother. he's one of the reasons finarfin loved alqualonde so much (love grew between finarfin and the sons of olwe!!!). no mention in published canon means you can grab him and do literally anything, the world is your oyster

Round 1 masterpost

#obscure tolkien blorbo #corunir #elulindo #queue

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volotheism · 3 months

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𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧; Conplecte Abyssum. ☽

Name: Volo Age: 27 (as of the end of PLA) Height: 6'3" Date of Birth: Unknown, within the Year of the Garchomp (Dragon) Hometown: Remote village in the borderlands of Johto and Kanto. Current Location: Anywhere, everywhere, whenever, however.

Pokémon (Team): Spiritomb, Roserade, Lucario, Garchomp, Hisuian Arcanine, Celestican Togekiss(Dragon/Fairy). Additional Pokémon: Multiple Togepi, Giratina (when properly channeled)

TRAITS

Positive: Persuasive, action-oriented, resourceful, strong people skills, curious, ambitious, observative. Negative: Impulsive, impatient, self-serving to a fault, manipulative, prone to hubris, penchant for lying.

MBTI: ESTP (The Entrepreneur) Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Sexuality: He has no clue.

BACKGROUND

❛ You see, ever since I was young, whenever I met with something painful or heartbreaking... I couldn't help but wonder why life was so unfair. Why I was cursed to live through such things. Of course, I imagine we all go through something like that. Eventually, I chose to direct all my energy into my own natural curiosity and ambition. And what tickled my curiosity more strongly than anything were the mysteries to be found in legends, in history, in ruins... You see, I fancied that by unraveling these mysteries, I could find out how the world itself came to be–and with that knowledge, maybe even forge a new, better world. ❜

' Before we were gifted names, Before we were men, We were 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. Before men crowned themselves as the authority of the land, We saw the eyes of the gods posed above the same teeth that were bared by fellow beasts.

To be a 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 was to be closer to 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫. '

The story of the world nearly collapsing atop Spear Pillar, begins not in Hisui-- but across the sea, in the land of monsters. Villages crumbled as earthquakes rocked the west. Monarchs were humbled at the capital east of the mountains. Hubris against supernatural forces larger than mortal men was deemed a death sentence. Clans and individuals residing in Kanto's plains and Johto's mountains were beginning to flee and seek refuge elsewhere from the great surge of rampaging beasts, and the natural disasters that resulted from their power.

Volo was only a child when he learned that the old ones still held absolute power over their domain, though it took a willingness to understand their tongue in order to hear their messages.

The reverence of spirits both minor and major was common practice in the time that Volo lived. Every living thing had a soul, and all souls were connected in one way or another. He supposed that was why the collective attitude of his village drew more and more grim as the community struggled with a wave of disease that they simply could not shake off after a particularly dry summer, leading into a bitter winter. He recalled being told by an older villager that the land itself was sick because it was full of anger-- that it was rippling into the monsters and people that called it home. And Volo truly believed this man-- a hardened elder who had lost his arm while defending himself from an aggressive, territorial Tyranitar in belly of Mt. Silver.

Pokémon were, quite frankly, mysterious and dangerous creatures in the eyes of many people. There was very little that the average person understood about these monsters, and those who were brave and skilled enough to tame one, were held in high regard. People paired with Pokémon partners were given the task of protecting the village from larger threats-- be it other Pokémon, other people, or even natural disasters.

This village, cradled in a valley just between Johto and Kanto, was what Volo had called home since he was born. He'd always been there, living an unassuming, but calm life. Both of his parents were appreciated by the village for their agricultural knowledge and skill, growing produce for consumption, and other wonderous fruits such as the apricorn-- the apricorns, highly valued by the traveling Ginkgo Guild, were a favorite of the merchants, who often bought as much of the family's stock as possible whenever it was time for a harvest. This reliable stream of income was appreciated, especially as the village's population seemed to fluctuate.

"Lots of the young ones leave once they reach a certain age. Not a bad thing at all, there's a whole world to explore. Oh, but it does get dangerous-- nobody knows everything that Pokémon are capable of," mentions a calligrapher, sitting up from where he was hunched over his paper, wincing and cracking his back.

"Those Ginkgo Guild folks, they sure do paint traveling around in a positive way."

"Tch, says you, why do you think they're always recruiting? Because they go west, or up north, and slip off of a cliff, or get killed by a vicious beast. If I was losing workers left and right to disasters, I'd be recruiting all day too!" Scoffs a carpenter, wiping the sweat from his brow as the summer sun beats down on him. A Wartortle sways her tail, and cools off her irritated companion.

Volo was only a child when he learned the power of 'want.' The value of working for your wants was instilled in him by his parents, and by the village residents. 'Anything you want can be yours if you work hard enough for it,' was something that he was told very frequently.

"-- I think I'll go out there!" Pipes up Volo, once he turns 11. "I want to see what types of Pokémon and people are outside of this place."

Pensively, his parents agree to it, and wave off their only son as he departs on his first trade route with the guild.

Volo took to the lifestyle very well. He had the opportunity to travel across the lands, searching far and wide with the guild for supplies and goods to sell in villages, and budding settlements. The distribution of a brand new technology, the Poké Ball, was one of the Ginkgo Guild's newest claim to fame, and Volo was able to practice with this tool a great deal on his travels.

Goods and services was not Volo's passion, however. No. He had always been a naturally curious boy, fascinated with the monsters that inhabited this world, and the legends behind them. He dreamt of chance encounters with mythical beasts, and of treasure hunts that ended in fateful meetings with powerful monsters. Since his youngest years, Volo had devoured every last bit of mythos and knowledge that he could get his hands on, whether through storytelling from his mother, grandmother, or travelers in the village-- or from the books that were in his father's possession.

From the western territories of Johto, to the eastern shores of Kanto-- across the channel to Hoenn, the Ginkgo Guild had a large foot print. It was only natural that their trade routes would eventually expand into wilderness of Hisui to the north, where more and more people were choosing to settle for a quieter life. This, naturally, piqued Volo's interest greatly.

"I've never been to the land of Hisui. My grandfather was born there, but, his father took him and the rest of his family away from the region when he was just a boy. I want to go there."

Perhaps-- this would be an opportunity for one of those chance encounters that he had been dreaming of.

Volo was 14 by the time the Ginkgo Guild had finally established a strong enough repertoire with the people living in Jubilife Village, and 15 once he was capable enough to make the long journey to Hisui himself. Though he had been with the guild for some time, staying on a multi-regional trade route was physically and mentally exhausting-- entire seasons would pass without Volo returning to his home, and it was not unusual for the guild to only appear in certain places when seasonally appropriate. Summer was harsh in Kanto, and winter was unforgiving in Hisui. They needed to be certain to always return to Johto for the apricorn harvest as well.

But, there did come the day that Volo had the opportunity to wander Hisui himself-- of course, when he was not tending to his duties.

He was quickly warned of the dangers that were present in this region: Pokémon that were far more powerful than anything he had ever encountered occupied every last corner of Hisui. The land itself was rugged too, and difficult to navigate solo. He was informed of the survey work performed by the Galaxy Team and the respected Professor Laventon, along with the established authority of the Diamond and Pearl Clans.

But, what drew him in the most, was the whispers of a witch of sorts, who lived in a secluded space in the northeast.

"I want to meet her. She should be able to tell me anything I could possibly want to know about this land!"

It took some convincing (and, perhaps, a lot of wares sold at a tremendous discount), but Volo would eventually be told where to find the witch called Cogita at the Ancient Retreat. This journey would had to be made alone though, for nobody wished to bother the powerful woman themselves; Cogita prefer to keep to herself, toiling away at her work, and minding her own.

After an incredibly arduous journey, Volo would be overjoyed to find the fabled retreat--

And Cogita would be shocked to see the face of what she could only describe as a ghost from the past.

Once a painfully shocking and awkward exchange is had between the two of them-- Volo, who was far too enthusiastic for his own good, and Cogita, who was prepared to knock this intruder out cold-- a proper conversation begins.

Cogita remembered when the last of her remaining family had made the decision to leave the retreat, and the entirety of Hisui. It came to no surprise for her: as the years passed, the younger generations wished to know what was outside of this seclusive land-- there was more to this world than Hisui, her wilderness, and her crumbling ruins. But Cogita had to remain, for reasons that she had kept close to her chest for many, many years.

Cogita's son had been the one to make the decision to leave with his wife, his sister, and her only grandchild. This boy, Volo, who appeared nearly a century after that had happened, wore the same face as Cogita's late husband.

Naturally, when she explains this to her guest, he is struck with disbelief.

"But my grandfather left Hisui when he was still a child. Your story doesn't make any sense, that would make you easily, that would make you-- HUNDREDS of years old."

Cogita could only narrow her eyes and frown. The boy really knew nothing of where he came from, what he came from, nor who he and his family were.

"Time is a manipulatable construct," is all Cogita would say to that. There wasn't a need to go into great depths about her apparently lack of aging.

"Did you only come here to bother me? Or did you have actual questions to ask? Tell me what it is you want."

And with that wondrous expression, Volo says:

"I want to know everything."

There is a pause as the old witch stares upon the boy, and then smiles with crinkles in the corners of her eyes.

"Very well."

The Celestica people once inhabited this land of Hisui. Considered to be blessed and veiled by The Great Unknowable and all of Creation, their people flourished on this land, communing with the gods, and connecting with the Pokémon that lived on the land as well. A wildly curious society, they studied anything and everything: sciences, art, transportation, language, and many concepts that would be considered arcane and esoteric by the modern man. The Celesticans had a rich, vibrant culture, owed to their deep connection with Pokémon, and the spirits that they allied alongside with. Their civilization fell, though-- and it is uncertain what exactly brought the Celestica to their knees. The full story has been lost to time, but several preserved verses from their written history suggest multiple tragedies that led to their disappearance: some allude to war thanks to the greed of a ruthless emperor, others, to plague. One tells of the sun being swallowed, the light no longer gracing the land. A darkness fell upon Celestica, fear filled the hearts of every man, woman and child. Some fled. Many more died. And then, one day-- the Celestica were no more, and this was a land only occupied by Pokémon.

"That still doesn't explain why you've lived this long," Volo would furrow his brows in confusion.

And Cogita sighs, chin resting in her palm, spoon stirring a cup of tea sat in front of her.

"I've been Chosen, you see, to assist someone on a mission delivered from above. Who knows how long I will be kept alive by the old ones? Another 1000 years, or however long it takes for this fabled person to arrive on their mission. Who that someone is. . ."

Another pause.

"I am not certain yet."

Could he be that someone--?

It would not take much further persuasion for Volo to get Cogita to take him as an apprentice in arcane practices, knowledge of the Celestican roots, and the art of wielding Pokémon. For the next decade, he would choose to remain in Hisui, calling it his home.

During the day, he would fulfill his duties to the Ginkgo Guild, assisting them creating a permanent establishment in Hisui and a great relationship with the settlers of Jubilife Village. Even the Diamond and Pearl clans would begin to conduce business with the trading guild.

At night, and while he was not saddled with responsibilities, Volo dedicated his time and energy to absorbing everything he could about the legends and teachings that Cogita offered him. He was diving into fantastical work, and into a world where the might held by Pokémon was not far removed from humans as well. He participated in rituals that had long been forgotten by most, and communed with entities that he came to know as the old kamuy. With every hidden secret that Volo learned, he grew more and more capable, and Cogita truly thought that this was the young individual that she had divined as the one with "the mission from The Almighty Unknowable."

Volo would still find time to occasional return to Kanjoh to visit his parents and extended family, though he chose not to share with them what he knew about Cogita, and the remarkable journey that he had embarked on. After all, had it not been his past lineage that chose to leave their connection to Hisui behind? Why should he reveal the secrets that HE had worked hard to obtain-- to those so far separated from it? It simply did not concern them, in Volo's eyes, and he truly believed that sharing this information would be more than either of them could handle. They were content in their life, and there was no reason to disturb that.

Over some time though, Volo's hunger for knowledge was drawing him towards darker, more deranged information. He became completely obsessed with the mythos of The Mighty Unknowable, and The Void: Arceus and Giratina. After everything that he had come to understand, the countless secrets, the fantastic knowledge, Volo would not be satisfied until he learned everything, and SAW everything.

Cogita cautioned Volo against attempting to dive into the depths of Giratina's knowledge, and strictly forbade him from make any effort to contact the vast abyssal deity.

"There is nothing that The Great Old One has to share with us, it's best not to antagonize it. Your best option is to continue your work with searching for the old plates of Sinnoh."

. . .

"But I want to know it and Arceus."

Driven by an obsessive need to meet these eldritch forces, Volo began to neglect his duties with the Ginkgo Guild. Without realizing the passage of time, he also failed to return home to see his family for many, many years. Every thought he had, every breath he took, was a part of his deranged focus of communing with these Old Ones.

And he WOULD eventually commune with the old king of distortion, deep in the depths of Turnback Cave-- from there, Volo found himself on a path that he no longer had full control of. By creating a pact with Giratina and being chosen as its herald, Volo surrendered his human life, and was removed from the mortal coil entirely; existing in an in-between state beyond time and space, he accepted a pseudo-immortal reality, where he was simply not effected by the passage of time and space. In exchange for the eldritch truth, Volo agreed to be a vessel of the void, to be used when need be.

Yet, he was not satisfied. Truthfully, if he could create a strong enough bond with the mighty Giratina, the one who had been sealed away by its creator, then perhaps he AND the king of distortion could draw Arceus out of hiding, and finally, Volo could have the satisfaction of seeing and understand EVERYTHING at his fingertips.

At least-- that was his motivation initially. All he wanted to do was see. And understand. And know. It wasn't until Volo's consistent exposure to Giratina's madness, and the eldritch truth that was instilled into him, that Volo saw visions of calamity in the future and harrowing omens from the past. He began to see himself as something greater than the average man, experiencing a delusion of divinity, that HE ALONE could alter time and space itself, and that HE ALONE could not only commune with Giratina as its liege, but also convince Arceus, The Mighty Unknowable, to heed his word.

"I saw something, I was plagued with the most disturbing vision, a world where all life has been wiped out, no people, Pokémon or monsters could set foot in this world without being wiped away completely. I saw the gaping mouth of extinction, its hands stretched out to smother. It cannot be stopped. And it will not stop in just THIS world, it will do the same elsewhere. There is no solution to preventing this reality-- the only choice is to disobey the creator, and erase this universe destined for destruction. A new one can be born from this divine obliteration. A world where the demiurge does not allow that evil miasma to destroy us, and the next universe, and the next, and the next."

Volo's meddling with the fabric of reality, as if it were nothing but a clothe for him to cut and mend at will, resulting in the space-time distortions across Hisui, and the massive rift tearing the sky over Mt. Coronet open. With the help of power granted to him by Giratina, he hoped that the disturbance would bring Arceus down from his heavenly pedestal, going so far as to bring people from other points in time to Hisui, and stirring up the Noble Pokémon into frenzied states.

Yet, there was no sign of the Creator.

The story would go on as a strange child would be the next to fall from the rift in the sky, with only one statement left in their mind before they woke up in the Hisuian Wilderness: Seek out all Pokémon.

The tale of the young hero who would quell the frenzied Nobles, compile the first complete index of Pokémon, prevent certain destruction of Hisui by creating the Red Chain and meeting the legendary "Sinnoh," and eventually reaching the summit of Mt. Coronet, is remembered by many. Though most do not know of Volo's continued mental decline as he feverishly realized that he was not the 'one with the mission' that Cogita had thought he had been-- it was this mere child. His purpose began to collapse, his identity falling apart all around him. But his divine delusion remained true. HE had to be the one to commune with Arceus, HE was the one who connected with Giratina and became his herald, HE was the one burdened with the eldritch truth and the visions of the past and future. There was no way that this outsider could take the helm of this job!

What he could do, was continue to mask as a simple helper on this hero's journey, and manipulate them into collecting artifacts and objects that he needed in a last ditch attempt to draw down the creator. Sabotaging his connection with Cogita, who was already highly suspicious and critical about her descendant's behavior, Volo spiraled.

"My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is! I MUST know what it is! If I can meet Arceus myself, then I may also be able to subjugate its power. . . And using that, I will attempt to create a new, better world! Of course, if I create a brand-new world, then the Hisui region that we currently exist in will be undone and returned to nothing. You, everyone you know, and all the Pokémon living here will vanish in an instant, as if you'd never been."

How harshly Volo would be humbled, as he was struck down atop Mt. Coronet, when Giratina itself turned its back on its herald's deranged mission. Ripped from the sky and cast aside, there were no other options that Volo could use to claim victory. His false mission was over. He was not Arceus' chosen-- the man that had become obsessed with the sun, was destined for the void.

And while he accepted that this was the end of his mad journey, Volo still had ambitions to meet Arceus.

' Someday, I'll solve every riddle in the legends of Hisui's Pokémon. And on that day, I'll stand before Arceus at last—No, I will CONQUER it! No matter how many years, how many decades, how many centuries it takes me! '

. . .

What has become of Volo since his loss atop Mt. Coronet? The man still wanders the earth, coming and going from varying points in time. Some believe that he manipulates events in history out of pure curiosity. As the continued herald of Giratina, Volo comes and goes from the Distortion Realm. When he occasionally allows Giratina to use his body as an avatar, Volo falls into statis afterwards, and slumbers in the Great Old One's plane until his body recovers, sometimes for years at a time. Therefor, Volo has disappeared from history, only to emerge at the most bizarre times.

And while it took a great deal of time, Volo has come to terms that his role as the Herald of Giratina is enough of a crown for him to wear, despite it not being the destiny that satisfied him initially. Giratina's pact had elevated him to what some would even consider to be a demi-god. Though, Volo still acts very much the same way he did as a simple human.

There is still a deeply seeded ambition to prevent the calamity that he saw in his vision all of those centuries ago. And it is his belief that if he were to take up an apprentice in his lineage in the same way that Cogita had done to him in the time of Hisui, that his successor could be victorious.

It should come to no surprise then, that one of the most fearsome and respected trainers in modern history is a woman with a fascination for mythos and legendary Pokémon-- and is the current seated champion of the Sinnoh league. Her resemblance to her ancestor is quite uncanny, it is as if the two have already known each other.

Perhaps they have.

But one thing is for certain: Volo's influence is still alive, and until Giratina itself is no more, there is no ridding the world of the man who had once loved the sun. The eldritch truth must be bestowed upon another so that Volo's vision was not gifted to him for nothing.

#𓇻 ˚ « 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐝 » Headcanon #{ IT IS FINISHED. }#{ Some details are kept vague because they will be explored in roleplay interactions and in other headcanon posts. }

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westvalleyfaultph · 2 months

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Strengthening Earthquake and Tsunami Monitoring in the Philippines: Phivolcs Calls for Urgent Action

In a recent Senate hearing, the Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology (Phivolcs) emphasized the critical need for expanding earthquake monitoring and tsunami early warning systems across the country. The call comes as part of a broader initiative to enhance hazard mapping and mitigate the potential impact of seismic activities. During the hearing, Phivolcs Director Teresito Bacolcol…

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#Disaster mitigation #Disaster Resilience #Earthquake Monitoring #Earthquake Precursors #Emergency Preparedness #Hazard Mapping #Infrastructure Projects #Philippine disaster preparedness #Philippines Safety #Philippines Senate #Phivolcs #Tsunami Early Warning #west valley fault

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dykesynthezoid · 1 year

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hearts on noorderstraat

Chapter 1

Rating: M (Chapter is G)

Pairing(s): Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence

Characters: OG Cobras, Ali Mills, Susan (Karate Kid), Mr. Harris, Original Male Character(s)

Summary: Daniel and Johnny get paired together via the buddy system for West Valley’s senior trip to Amsterdam. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

________

“Johnny was looking right at him, glaring, as if this was Daniel’s fault somehow. As if he would’ve voluntarily chosen being stuck to Johnny’s side for the next ten days, and sharing a room with him to boot.”

—

Initially inspired by @pfaerie’s incredible art. Could not resist senior class trip Lawrusso, what can I say

Read on Ao3

Spotify playlist is here

#johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #tkk #the karate kid #lawrusso #og cobras #ali mills #hearts on noorderstraat

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faultfalha · 8 months

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The world is changing. The ice caps are melting, the seas are rising, and the weather is becoming ever more unpredictable. The time has come for climate activists to take a stand. We must prioritize the front lines of this fight, where the effects of climate change are most acutely felt, over metropolitan rallies.

#Op-Ed #Climate Activism #Climate Crisis #Fossil Fuels #Joe Biden #Joe Manchin #Mountain Valley Pipeline #West Virginia #fault #Climate change #ice caps melting #seas rising #unpredictable weather #prioritize front lines

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fizzigigsimmer · 2 years

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To B, With Love

in 1858 Steve, a society omega, puts out an add in the paper looking for an alpha among the lonely hearts expanding the west. Unbeknown to him, one of his answered is from 10 year old Max and her friends who live with her brother Billy in Promised Land California, a growing settlement rich in just about everything but available omegas.

The original prompt

I honestly just fell in love with this idea and knew I had to do something with it. Still a ways off from being ready to post but I am celebrating my progress with this story by sharing a few of their early letters.

ROSE HIP & APPLE – Gentleman Omega of good family, aged 20, brown hair and eyes, long legs, good height and breath of shoulder, slender build, preference for masculine attire with a sunny disposition and even temperament, would like to correspond with alpha, male or female, age 20-40, either dark or fair, any height; drunkards, ruffians, and authors objected to. Photo required. Address – S.H. to Madam Beauforts Matrimonial Agency.

Dear S.H.

Madam Beaufort’s Matrimonial Agency

Male, 21, blond, blue eyes, landed alpha. 160 acres in California. I live in an area called Promised Land, like that story in the bible, only there aint much in the way of milk and honey. It’s awful green though in the valley, prettier than anything two eyes will ever see. You’re pretty too and apples make my favorite pie. I hope that’s proper to say, and if it ain’t then I’m sorry. I am wanting an omega who can make me smile, on account of I don’t do that enough and my face is gonna start resembling a dried potato. Do you like to tell jokes?

Dear Alpha,

Promised Land California

I was very pleased to receive your response to my advertisement along with your photo from the agency. Thank you. You’re very pretty yourself, and I think you’re a long ways from resembling a potato. I am afraid it is not the polite thing to comment so directly on an omega’s scent however, and doing so nearly ensured that I was not made aware of your interest. But I won’t hold you at fault even if Madam Beaufort will. She insists that the success or failure of any marital union hinges on scent compatibility – though she is notably less worried about whether the omega will find the alphas scent pleasing. Why first require us to flaunt our sent and then feign offense when it is commented upon? As for jokes, have you heard the one about the “widowed” matchmaker? Perhaps that joke is just on me.

Sincerely,

S.H.

Dear S.H.

Sorry. I did not know anyone would read the letter before you did. I hope I did not cause you trouble. Thank you for replying to me even though I was rude. I try not to be rude but I’m not very good at minding my temper sometimes, or apologies, but I promise to practice for you if you find yourself wanting to meet me. Folks tell me I smell like chocolate and cherry blossom but I don’t got much experience with either to know. Your Madam sounds like the teacher at the schoolhouse here. Nose in the air and head full of nonsense. My mother was a school teacher so I got a little schooling coming up; but nothing that would compare to the fancy education you probably got. How lucky you are. Have you been taught the arts & sciences? Which sciences? I want to hear bout them all and you can’t spare any detail. But only if you won’t be bored and have the time. We can also talk about corsets or babies if you like them better.

Sincerely

P.S.

On second read, reason to fear your Madam killed own husband. Are you in danger?

#harringrove #alpha!billy hargrove #omega!steve harrington #abo fic #a/b/o fic #historical fiction #mail order bride!au #Period fiction #romance fiction #steve harrington #Billy Hargrove #Max Mayfield #is a good sister

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lunearobservatory · 1 year

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Cali- 1, 6, 11

Clearly in the mood for some angst.

Oh we're dunkin on my boy tonight let's go!!

1. A song that represents their childhood

This one was tough actually. I think as far as statehood goes, as a child he was very prized, only two years after the gold rush started he became a state. He was precious and useful and a chance at new life and wealth.

However, I am firmly in the camp of him having existed as a personification at lllleast as early as Alta—same as La Florida remembering being a Spanish territory—though it's very fuzzy memories. In that case, he was used mostly for resources as well lol

I'm gonna go with Cavatina, California Guitar Trio

It has no words but feels a little melancholy. He definitely holed up with books more than he did other people, still does. There's a bit of a wondrous spark in there that definitely comes around during his peak involvement in the Wild West and such. He had his fair share of rowdy moments growing up

6. A song that represents a struggle in their life

I will not say Rät by Penelope Scott, I refuse to on principle, though he does smell of Silicon Valley trauma doesn't he?

I'll go with Avenues by Drive45, because. Uh.

Heard you moved into the avenues

But you still can't learn to see things through

Maybe you should give your ears to me

None of your friends even like you

Born in San Francisco

Maybe somewhere in the middle

Of that other busy city

What's it called, uh, Sacramento

Doesn't really matter since it didn't last forever

Eeeeyyyaaahhh. Yeah! It's the self loathing! And the "everybody hates me"!

The song feels very scattered and panicked, almost. Definitely a downwards spiral

11. A song that represents their saddest moment

Oof, Something Is Wrong by Phantom Planet

It feels very?? I think resigned is the right word. Less directly sad and more hopeless

Something is wrong

With the light of the sun

With the color of the sky

With you and everyone

It may be me projecting (it definitely is) but I think one of his biggest faults is not being conscious he's a part of the problem. Saying "something is wrong—with you and everyone" is both the frequent feeling of betrayal, yes, but also more a self actualization of him being a part of that "you and everyone", basically tripping over his own feet

I think the saddest moment, or thing I guess, is I don't think he has it in him to see that clearly

#lune talks #wttt #wttsh #ben brainard #welcome to the statehouse #welcome to the table #when ppl ask me things #wttt california #wttt headcanons

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greypetrel · 1 year

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for the dramatic and protective prompts, can I have "i should have been here. this is my fault." for Aisling 🥺

Hello!

Soooo. I thought of a couple of things for this. But I decided to go all the way. I read recently from… I don’t know if it was David Gaider or Mark Darrah, but anyway that they had to cut an attack to Skyhold from Corypheus from the storyline. And listen, I get that it lasts long enough, they had to cut some stuff… But my fic my rule. *sips from mug that says just so looking at her blorbos, as in the last Knives Out scene. All the blorbos are extremely suspicious.*

So yeah, plan for the next chapter: Emerald Graves, Corycory pays a visit to Skyhold to thank everyone for having freed him of Florienne. He attacked since he was there (would have seemed very unpolite).

Tis the prompt list.

"i should have been here. this is my fault."

Skyhold lays, strictly speaking, in shambles. The walls are still up, at least, but all the hard work they put in the last months has been severely backtracked.

Rubble all around, signs of dragon claws digging through walls, fences on fire, the north-west guard tower lays in shambles, blocking the walk through the battlements, part of the Herald’s Rest roof has collapsed, leaving a big hole still fuming from fires, the tower she assigned for the mages is now exactly as they had found it at first, and Vivienne’s space has now an enlarged window, as well as the upper story of the library. Amongst the others. The stables, at least, are still intact, and the horses safe, she gets told by a battered but not severely injured Dennet.

She nods, not really listening, patting his arm and walking her way back. Poor Bonny’s stall is covered in debris and rocks fallen from the upper battlements. She is reached by scout after scout reporting damages and numbers, hearing and replying, accepting the reports, but not really listening. She should sleep, Solas has been pretty adamant in his instructions, and she feels every weary mile she ran from the Emerald Graves, rallying what of the Freeman she could muster and stopping by the Exalted Plains just to convince master Hawen to send some of his hunters with her -which he surprisingly did. She ran back as fast as she could, when the news reached her.

Aisling,

Skyhold is under siege. Corypheus made it this way with a contingent of Red Templars and Venatori. I am holding up as best as I can. We are defensible, if taken by surprise.

Don’t rush back, please. Gather allies, write to Celene (Josephine has already, but we don’t know if the raven made it out), you need to have forces at your back if you want to make it.

I should write… I should write that I cherished every single moment I spent with you. Good and bad. If this is the last you heard of me, please know that you made me happy, in friendship and in everything else.

Forever grateful, Cullen

She rushed back, and she isn’t regretting it. It has been reckless and stupid but…

… But, they have started to gather the deads in the lower courtyard, placing them delicately one beside the other. Carriages are brought up from the valley to bring the fallen ones down and burn them, and no one is really in the mood for speaking anymore, not now. She nods to officers and soldiers still standing and working, silently, and stands to look. The scout that has been reporting to her call her from behind. “Inquisitor?”. She nods and stays where she is. She doesn’t want to look but she needs to. She must. She has to commit them to memory, good people who died because she was away. She hasn’t gotten back soon enough. She recognizes some faces, distorted in pain, or perfectly still as if they’re just sleeping. She remembers sparring with one, she was always so powerful in her hits, but left her left side open constantly. Cullen grumbled every time, often interrupting them to show her himself where she was getting it wrong. She remembers her being shy about it, and Cullen probing her until she looked back up again, at him saying she did nothing wrong, she only had to learn, but she needed to listen for it. She remembers the girl -Gabrielle, that’s… that was her name- listening, putting some effort and learning. There was, indeed, a deep gush in her torso, but on the right.

She says her goodbyes, murmuring a prayer to Falon’Din for each and every one of them she can name, and also for each one she cannot. One by one, not in a group. They would be burnt in a group -such is the necessity of war, if they don’t want illnesses to spread- she thinks they may appreciate her treating them one last time as individuals.

It takes her considerably long, but she spends the time she doesn’t have gladly. Sleep can wait a little more.

Cullen reaches there. When she turns, he’s right there, looking at her as he didn’t really believe his eyes, and a weird mixture of a frown. They saw each other when she got back and she already saw he had something to say to her. There was no time before. Her lips starts to tremble, but she manages to smile, just for him, happy that they got the time for him to scold her.

“Inquisitor.” He says, clearing his throat. “May I have a moment?”

She nods, and follows him in the guard room, hopping up the stairs and entering as he keeps the door open for her. He’s on her in the next seconds after he closes it, his hands close on her upper arms, just below her pauldrons, and he shakes her lightly.

“Why did you get back? I told you not to!” He complains.

“I needed to help.” She has no strength to raise her voice.

“You jumped head-first into a trap!”

“Yes. And Solas and I turned it back around.”

Almost, but she does not tell him that if Solas had not been there with her, she would have made the Keep explode, as the Temple of Sacred Ashes did. That could be omitted, or told another day. In 30 years when they could laugh about it. Maybe more, from how he’s still glaring at her, eyes shiny.

“You could have- You-”

She sighs stepping forward and snaking her arms around his chest, inside his cloak to hug him, pressing her face against metal. Armour to armour it’s too far and not enough to satisfy, but it will do.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t leave you all behind. I can’t leave you behind. After my clan… And Stroud… don’t ask me to do the same with the Inquisition. Please. You can’t ask me this.”

She would be shy about it, shy about pleading, but she is at her bottom, honestly, and tiredness make her fail to care or be more delicate about it. He seems satisfied tho, as his hands come to hug her closer and he presses a long kiss on the top of her head. He smells of smoke and dust, and Aisling noticed how dark the circles under his eyes were, and how he limped heavily on his right. She doesn’t ask, tho. There will be time. They have time.

“There you are.” He tells her, softly against her ear, after a couple of minutes.

“You’re terrible with letters, has anyone told you?” She tells him, waterily, as she squeezes his bust.

“I’ve been told.” He chuckles, bending down and dragging her up to kiss her properly. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, resting her forehead against his.

“No, I am. Thank you for holding on so long. I’m sorry if I got late.”

He scoffs a little, grumbling something about her not listening to what he said. He lets go first, hands coming to cup her face, gratefulness and affection making him smile. That sweet smile she likes so much and makes her want to kiss him. She hops on the balls of her feet and does just so. Too briefly, but it has to do. They’ll have time.

“I need to go. May I see you later?”

“Please.”

She holds his wrists, rubs her thumbs in the leather of his gloves a little harder than usual, hoping he can feel her, and they get on their ways, back to duty.

Climbing up the stairs is painful, she is sore all over and in more ways than physical. The scout -Irma- speaks on, listing numbers and damages and reporting what needs her attention urgently. It’s all immaterial and hazy, right now, but she does her best, going on self-drive. She directs resources to the infirmary, reparations can wait a little more, priority to healing for now; a detailed report of their food storages and the situation of the wells and the water is requested as well, with urgency. She orders to send scouts down the wells, to check the water is still drinkable, and close any that may be tainted.

It's hours since she can rest. Requisitions, people to check on, Fiona is still there to tell her she didn’t wait for her order to send her Mages to the infirmary to help. She nods, grateful for the initiative.

“Do you need some healing too, Inquisitor? That spell was-”

“I’m fine, Grand Enchanter. Thank you for your concern.”

“Mh” The older elf isn’t convinced and squints at her, placing one hand over her cheek and pushing her face so they can look at each other in the eyes. She quite likes Fiona, she has a way of looking at you and seeing you and taking no shit. “Listen to an older woman: you should rest. Plenty. That was no small feat that you accomplished, you must be exhausted.”

“I didn’t do enough.”

“You did, Inquisitor. It’s a war, there are casualties, but we were all ready. This has not been Haven. Please, go and rest.”

She nods and thanks her, but she doesn’t really feel it.

Where she turns, there’s destruction, screaming at her that it is her fault, she should have run faster, she should not have left. What kind of General leaves the place to fight on the field? All of Cullen’s books were clear. Playing chess with him made it clear. The King needs to be protected and secure, commanding his troops.

Bull pats her shoulder, firmly and delicately and squeezing a little, informing her of whom of the Inner Circle he saw around, and telling her she did very, very good, that last trick was creepy as few thing he’s ever seen, but he’s proud of her. She smiles at him, sincerely grateful, and he smiles back. She likes to believe he’s really sincere with her, not faking friendliness to spy on her better. She can’t think of it, right now: she likes Bull, a lot, she likes how motherly he can be at times and she can’t believe it’s all pretense. But, there’s one big missing in the names of people he spotted, and…

She signs a report, orders another messenger to go that way. She is standing in the threshold of the Great Hall -mostly intact, tho drapes fell down, there’s rubble all around in the first half, statues were destroyed. People are digging. She was automatically going right, in the library and up the stairs to… But there’ll be no one there, and she stops.

She was too prideful to write back, after she ordered Dorian to get back. They quarrelled, badly, and she told him to get back to Skyhold. She got a message that he arrived, before… it must have been before. She hasn’t seen him all day, she has but glimpsed at him -clad in white and distinct, who wears white in a battle?- during the battle, hours and hours ago. If he’s… She never… She was too prideful, and now…

Someone calls her from the other side of the room, but she shakes her head violently and sprints to the left, not running but almost. Her armour suddenly itches on her, it’s too tight, she can’t bear to have it on her skin anymore. The rotunda is dusty and there’s rubbles around, but hopefully the frescoes won’t be ruined. She doesn’t really care tho, she knows where Solas was, and he can paint them again. She rushes up the stairs and…

His nook is empty and desolate, the armchair got upturned and there are books fallen all over, a bookshelf fell down. There’s sunlight peeking through the hole that the dragon has carved in the opposite wall, and dust dances in the sunlight, painting the upturned armchair in hazy, milky gold. Empty. Empty. No Dorian peeking up at her and patting the pillow so they can get stuck together again. She never ordered a bigger couch to fit them both properly. She should have. Maybe if she had… They would have discussed it sitting on a couch and on more friendly terms, and not in the middle of a Forest, with her upset because there were Giants trudging on the graves of the Emerald Knights. Him tired and snappy from the long day.

Aisling blinks tears away, inhaling sharply as she rushes to the armchair and brings it up again, dragging the back feet a little on the stones with a screech, before she’s able to put it back together. She’s alone in the library, anyway, Ser Morris told her they needed to assess how the roof was faring with the hole, and if the building was stable before allowing people in. She cares not, right now, as she unfastens the belt on her waist in a frenzy and unbuckles pauldrons and breastplate, elbow protections, tosses everything on the floor in no order forcing herself not to sob, not yet.

All she cares, is that she quarrelled with Dorian, chose the worst possible time to answer to a nasty comment she could have ignored or faced calmly, but didn’t. They quarreled over slavery, and she said things, and he rose his voice, and they were screaming at each other, and at Bull when he tried to separate them, and Aisling sent Dorian back. She sent him back to an ambush, a siege, and possibly…

She falls on his armchair, curling herself up and making herself as little as she can, tucked in the corner between the armrest and the back with her knees up to her face. She hugs her thighs hard and then, just then, she start bawling, loudly and hard. She’s alone, anyway.

Cullen is fine, all her friends are, a little battered and worn, she’s very grateful. But she hasn’t heard about Dorian. Nobody told her anything about him. Radha would have told her, if she had seen him dead. Radha would have, so… Radha has not found her yet since the morning, busy in her own, probably helping Leliana rearranging her base of operations elsewhere.

Ten minutes later, when the big of her tears have fallen and she’s just crying somberly, hiccupping here and there, there are steps on the stairs, echoing loudly in the big, empty building. She snaps out of her ball, feet instantly on the ground and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands, angrily.

“What is i-”

She starts, in automatic, but words die in her throat as she opens her eyes and finds Dorian before her, looking back at her. He’s not good, his left arm is in a sling against his chest, he has some white bandages covering the left side of his face, there are bruises all over where she can see, and his right hand is pressing on his side, probably to fend off pain. But, he’s there. He’s breathing. He’s alive and looking at her with the same dumbfound expression she feels on her face, she’s sure. Nobody says anything at all, and after a minute, the big glomp in her throat raises up and though she tries, she can’t but start crying again, in earnest.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should have been here, it is my fault. It is all my fault. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

She can’t stop vomiting words, between a gasp for breath and a whine. She can’t look at him, so she just folds on herself, bending her bust over her thighs, hands on her face and breath coming difficultly and ragged.

“Stop it. Just-”

He groans, as he steps forward and kneels before her, his good arm circling her back as he rests his head on her shoulder, clutching her closer as best as he can. Smoke and dust, and the balmy smell of elfroot, they can’t quite cover the sandalwood of whatever product he uses, still faintly distinguishable under everything else. She wonders, not for the first time, exactly how strong it is that product, or how much does he use. Right now, tho, it’s comforting, and it makes her cry more, whining pathetically against his shoulder.

“… Ir abelas, Aisling.”

That makes her stop.

She spoke a little Tevene when she got there, and was eager to get it better -all in all, she really likes how the language sound, and the poetry he passed her to practice is, indeed, beautiful and musical. He helped her and he taught her better but… He never expressed any wish to learn Elvhen, and she didn’t suggest it. Hearing him apologizing in her language is weird and… She moves back, enough to look at him in the eyes. He’s crying too.

“Ir abelas, it’s not your fault. I was an asshole and I shouldn’t have said the things I said over slavery. They were cruel and uninformed and racist. You were right, and I’m sorry… and I thought I never would have the chance to apologize and…”

He shakes his head and she’s lunging forward, hugging his neck tight and slipping down the armchair, straddling him. Every brave person passing there can go fuck themselves with propriety and whatever. She hugs him as tight as she can against her, sobbing into his neck and letting go just a little when she hears him groan in pain.

“Easy, tiger…”

“Sorr-”

“Say that you’re sorry again, I dare you.”

He sighs, melting a little against her and shifting her a little more on his left side, before holding her tight as well, his head resting against hers.

“I sent you back.”

“You couldn’t know.”

“Nobody saw you, nobody told me where you were… I thought you were dead and I… And I…”

He hushes her, shaking his head and caressing her back.

“I’m too pretty to die. The hunters you brought from the clan agreed, tho they had very eloquent ideas about how to finish the work when they picked me out of some rubbles, you see.”

She stops, and would say something else, most likely, but he just clutches her closer, leans on her head more insistently and goes on speaking.

“You should have seen their faces when I just jumped in and casted a barrier around them and fought with them. Nobody could tell me where you were either, you see… I got quite worried, but then I got thrown to the side by a tail and Skyhold started to buzz and… Well, you know the rest.”

“You-”

“I stayed there, yes, they could use a mage. And well, at first they weren’t exactly enthusiast about that mage being me… But they took me out of the rubble and helped me to the infirmary, and even told me how to say Ir abelas. Laughed at my accent too, it’s not that terrible, is it?”

How he manages to make her laugh when she’s crying and sobbing is totally beyond her, but it works. Still, she collects herself just enough to push on his shoulders and frown at him. It’s difficult when she’s still fully crying, but with a trembling lips and some effort, she manages.

“You know you can’t just jump to help the first group of elves you find, learn a couple of words and hurt yourself every time I get angry, right?”

It’s not as scolding as she would like it to be, even if she bends her head sideway eloquently -she’s still blinking tears away from her eyes. But, he stops himself from laughing, nodding solemnly.

“I know, honey.”

“I’m still angry for what you said!” She remarks, sobbing a little.

“Yes, it was a privileged and thus insensible, offensive opinion. Please get angry and call me out when I say some shit, I didn’t realise it was shit.”

“I know you didn’t. That’s why I got angry, you didn’t listen to me.”

“I know. I was… too prideful. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, and I’ll do better next time, if…” He sighs, bringing her closer again, tentatively. She lets him, and it’s him this time who rests his forehead against her shoulder“Are we be ok? Will we be ok? I get it if you don’t think we can.”

She hugs him closer, squeezing him enough to make him oomph again and nuzzling him past the hem of his stupid shoulder-less shirt.

“Yes. I’m not saying you’re a horrible person. I’ll never say you’re a horrible person. But you don’t know everything. Just trust me on certain things, ok?”

“Nonsense.” He scoffs, holding her closer too. “Of course I’m a horrible person.”

She giggles, again, in all answer, and he answer in tow, chuckling a little.

“And I do trust you. I’m just an ass sometimes.”

“That’s ok.” She says, sighing. “I like donkeys.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fic #ficlet #dorian pavus #cullavellan #writing petrel #aisling lavellan

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schrijverr · 6 months

Text

The Strange Arrival of Colonel Curtis 2

Chapter 2 out of 5

Ed gets send to do an undercover mission where he is pretending to be Colonel Curtis to catch a terrorist ring. In doing so, he has to be suspicious and get involved with some shady people, which is noticed by his unit.

On AO3.

Ships: minor edwin mention

Warnings: none

~~~~

Chapter 2: The Bait

Ed isn’t sure how long he can take this anymore, honestly. Roy, that bastard, owes him big time for this when he gets back to Central, this is totally not the equivalent of 520 cenz no matter what he says. Besides, Ed is planning on paying it back, it’s not his fault that Roy can’t seem to climb ranks fast enough.

However, what’s done is done, Ed has said yes fair and square. So, here he is, in West City, playing the part of Colonel Curtis. And Ed isn’t even in the military anymore.

So, yeah, that’s Ed’s life now.

He has been in West City for a month now and he thinks he has the team and command down, which he is grateful for. Ed has never been one for the long-con missions of subterfuge and obfuscation. He prefers to be direct and to the point, specifically with his fists. And alchemy, but he gave that up, so not anymore.

But Mustang asked him. He needed someone he could trust and whose face wasn’t known in the military. Ed hasn’t been in the military for six years and had changed a lot in that time. He has faded out of public memory and never really had many missions in the West. So he was the best candidate for it, even if he had violently protested.

Still, Ed can’t deny he sometimes missed the life he lived as the Fullmetal Alchemist. Not the horrendous guilt that bogged him down or being a dog of the corrupt military, but the getting to help people, getting run into danger, getting to make an impact.

And this mission needs someone with the skills he has gathered throughout the years and they can’t afford to have someone untrustworthy do it. So, of course Ed said yes.

He called Winry before he did and Al, explaining what Mustang had asked of him and if they’d be cool with him semi-falling of the radar and plunging himself into danger without them.

Al is still studying in Xing, traveling around with Zampano and Jerso. When Ed called he was with Mei, learning about Alkehestery and going on dates. It’s nice to hear his brother so happy and Ed hadn’t been about to mess with that again, assuring Al that he’d be smart and safe about it, a promise he is planning on keeping.

Winry is currently in Rush Valley, setting up her new shop, since she claims they can’t live off Ed’s State Alchemist money forever. Ed begs to differ, however, he doesn’t say that to her, she likes building automail and he doesn’t mind investing in keeping her happy and their future prosperous.

She offered to make him a more combat ready leg instead of the travel orientated one he has been using these past few years, but Ed refused. Then she made him promise to be safe, which he happily obliged.

Ed isn’t sixteen anymore. He’s twenty-two and in a good place with people he loves. He likes where he is and doesn’t plan on jeopardizing that. He just also wants to help.

Alchemist be thou for the people.

Of course, Ed isn’t an alchemist anymore, not exactly. But alchemy is what Ed has devoted his life to. Even without practicing it, you can study it. Besides, alchemy is not just the act, it’s a philosophy and a way of life. And Ed has lived it since he was a kid. Old habits are hard to break.

Winry had been scared he’d be defenseless without his alchemy, Al luckily knows him better than that.

It’s true that Ed used to rely on alchemy to hand him weapons and shelter when he fought, giving him an edge over most opponents. But Ed is highly skilled with a knife (and he carries multiple on his body at all times), transmuted to him or not, and he has been fighting without alchemy for years now. He feels totally fine.

If he’s honest, the hardest part about this mission so far, is the getting the information part.

Usually, Ed would barge in, demand answers and deal with the fall out, however violent it may be, but that’s not really an option right now.

He’s trying to get a secret ring of informants to include them in their scheme, so he can find out why they exist, what they’re doing, how they’re doing it and who is involved. Exposing military corruption is something of a hobby of his, so he couldn’t refuse, but it isn’t so boring normally.

In order to get them to get to him, they had ‘dismissed’ Colonel Freedman, who is actually enjoying a holiday with his husband, while Ed is masquerading as his replacement.

Colonel Freedman is a great guy, who realized something was wrong and also realized that he couldn’t go to his own higher ups. He had served at Eastern Command in the time of the Promised Day, so he’d gone to Mustang instead and Mustang had gone to Ed.

Dismissing him like this, however fake it might be, had created a lot of stir around Ed, which is bound to get attention from everyone, including the people Ed is looking for. But in order for them to want to approach Ed, he has to play a part. Colonel Curtis’s part.

Colonel Curtis is created to be a bait. The persona Ed is playing is a rookie, who is desperate to rise the ranks, desperate to have something he can use to claw himself up. Whatever this ring of informants is doing, it’s getting people promoted.

When Ed plays Colonel Curtis, he bases him off his first impression of Mustang, before he truly knew the guy. A love for kissing ass of higher ups, a healthy respect for his fellow soldiers and an air of haughtiness that rubs everyone just on the right side of wrong.

However, he knows Mustang too well to fully copy him. Mustang is a softie, who never really cared about the rules, just appearances. He cares too much about those serving under him to ever consider stepping on them to get higher up, which isn’t what Ed is playing. So, he has been a lot stricter with his men and a lot more distant.

Ed does feel a little bit bad about that. He never considered ever having men under him, even back when he was an actual Major instead of a fake Colonel. He only ever needed Al to have his back and to watch out for, but now he’s responsible for five whole other human beings. And he wants to do right by them, but in order to sell this, he can’t.

Though he does try to figure out what makes them tick and how to subtly help them and he thinks he has been pretty successful so far.

First Lieutenant Jack Speltz is friendly, but highly professional. He wants to get his work done and go home, preferably without incident. He likes the people he works with and is happy to help them, but he doesn’t let his friendships get in the way of professionalism. He reminds Ed a little bit of Hawkeye and he wonders if the personality is required to get the First Lieutenant rank.

However, his professionalism makes him less useful to Ed right now. He likely isn’t the person to get caught up in an informant ring, nor the type to spread rumors about Ed’s persona to lure them out. So, Ed just lets him keep the others in check and remains cordial and professional with the guy for the time being.

Second Lieutenant Linda Ridlon is smart. She’s reserved and quiet, keeps to herself. Ed hasn’t fully ruled out suspicion on her, however, she doesn’t seem to engage much in the gossip, nor has she approached him or seemed like she wanted to.

For now she’s still under surveillance, though Freedman vouched for both her and the rest of the team, so Ed is more looking outside the unit than inside for information. But he knows better than blindly trust someone vouching for someone else. He still remembers General Raven.

Second Lieutenant Rachel Mann is a laugh and a hoot. She reminds Ed of Havoc and if the circumstances were different, he’s sure they’d get along splendidly. Alas, he is currently her stern superior, so he’s had to tamper down on her personality, something he’s loathe to do.

Overall, Ed has established that while she does like to speculate and is curious to see what’s going on, she isn’t entrenched in office gossip like others are. And her curiosity has lessened Ed’s suspicion of her, though he is aware it could be an act. However, she wouldn’t be stirring shit if she was trying to hide so much.

Warrant Officer Thomas Wagner is a cross between Armstrong and Fuery, which is mildly disturbing if Ed’s honest. The giant is called Tommy by everyone else and mostly functions as a very muscled mascot. He’s kind and nice and while Ed can’t officially clear him, there doesn’t seem to be a malicious bone in his body.

Master Sargent Mike Scherper is a different story, though jury is still out if he’s an enemy, a tool Ed can use or both. Even if Ed hates thinking of people like tools, it’s increasingly likely Scherper is a tool or both.

Scherper is not just a gossip, he is The Gossip. Whenever he thinks Ed can’t hear, he’s theorizing about how Ed showed up, what he might be up to and what happened to their former Colonel. Or he’s sharing whatever he’s heard, ranging from crackpot shit cooked up by bored soldiers with nothing better to do or tidbits Mustang’s sisters dripped into their networks for them.

Out of everyone there, Scherper is the most suspicious, though he’s very open about all his gossip, but that can be a front. Openness about one thing can hide a lot of other things.

However, because Scherper always knows the gossip and he’s smack dab in the middle of Ed’s office, he has become quite the reliable source about Colonel Curtis and his coming and goings for the rumor mills. Which is mildly disturbing, but also useful.

Ed has checked how far his reach is by dropping information in front of the young man and listening to what the rumor mill brought back. So far, he has heard tales about his sternness and professionalism that are only suitably exaggerated by the rumor mill with truth kernels in there that only an insider could provide.

Scherper is his man. And potential enemy, but that hasn’t stopped Ed from working together with people before.

So, he is planning his next move. He’s been here for a month and he’s gotten a feel for his unit and the command center.

As of now, no one has approached him yet, which means he hasn’t shown himself to be a valuable and potential asset. He has to change that and Scherper will unknowingly help him do so.

He gets to the command center exactly on time as he has always done this past month. It shows he is punctual and serious about his duty, but not a pathetic overachiever. He strolls confidently through the halls, stopping by the canteen to get some coffee, before going to his office.

There he opens his door by using his hand and the handle, disgracing himself even more like he has done ever since he’s gotten here. His unit is already in and starting to get to work, greeting him respectfully as he passes.

To get them to let down their guard, he greets them back with a nod like he has done every morning, while making his way to his office. Before he enters, however, he suddenly turns back to them and says: “Master Sargent Scherper, a word, please.”

Scherper stiffens when he’s addressed and Ed can see in his eyes that he’s going through all he has done the past month to find out what he is in trouble for. Perfect.

Ed doesn’t try to get more information out of his looks for now, finding appearances more pressing as he walks into his office without looking back. In the background, he hears Scherper stammer out a quick: “Yes, sir,” before a chair scrapes across the floor.

While Scherper scrambles to get to Ed’s office, Ed makes himself comfortable behind his desk, trying to exude Mustang’s bastardly energy of confidence, smugness and easy going-ness. He wants his subordinate to think Ed knows what he’s doing and that’s why he’s above him in the chain of command, while also putting him at ease.

Seconds later, Scherper appears in the doorway, looking a little cautious as he enters. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Ah, yes, come in and, please, take a seat,” Ed says as warmly as his professional aura allows him, gesturing to a chair. Scherper does so cautiously and Ed allows him to stew for a second, before he puts him out of his misery: “Nothing bad, I assure you.”

Scherper visibly relaxes at that and Ed can’t help but mentally cluck at the sloppiness. You don’t show you cards like that. Even Ed has learned that from being a temperamental twelve year old onward.

Ed waits until he is seated, then strikes: “From what I’ve observed and heard, you are quite versed in the command’s rumor mill, are you not?”

At that, Scherper blushes, looking a little embarrassed, but in the end nodding: “Uhm, yes, sir. I- I am, sir.”

In reply Ed gives his best fake laugh, which he hates to admit he’s stealing from General Raven. He then leans forward onto his desk, steepling his hands as he gives Scherper a sharp grin, glad when it puts him on edge again. “Good,” he tells the Master Sargent, “because I’m going to need you to do a job for me with it. Off the record, preferably.”

“A- A job, sir?” Scherper asks.

“Nothing big, of course,” Ed informs him pleasantly, leaning back in his chair. He has gotten better at this whole manipulation thing. “Not a mission you would have to go away for, just gathering some intell for me.”

That puts Scherper a little more at ease, seems like he’s used to gathering intelligence. Not odd with how much he loves gossip, Ed muses, but maybe suspicious.

“What kind of intell, sir?” Scherper inquires and mentally Ed commends him for how fast he gathers himself and goes on to get useful information. If he wanted, he might be able to get Scherper on the intelligence branch track after all this is over. Depending how well he works and whether or not he’s a traitor of course.

“I need you to find out if you can get any dirt on Lieutenant General Becker. Rumor has it he might be discharged – and dishonorably at that – if that happens, there’ll be promotions all around, especially for those who nailed his coffin. Wouldn’t you agree, Master Sargent?” Ed says, letting an evil glint appear in his eyes, though he is mostly focused on watching Scherper closely.

This is not just setting his plan in motion, but also vetting Scherper further. Right now, he looks surprised at Ed’s request, which speaks to a better moral character than a traitor, especially when the surprise turns into apprehension.

“The- the Lieutenant General, sir?” he hesitates.

And Ed picked Becker for a reason. Mustang complains about him often and Ed hasn’t liked the look of him since he got here. Either they clear him or they get him out, win-win with minimal damage to the internal affairs of the command.

Still, now he needs to get Scherper on board. “He’s already as good as out, everyone knows that,” he says. “I don’t need you to stalk him or something, just probe around a bit, poke at people close to him and your contacts to see if anything turns up. If there’s someone you trust, you can tell them, but keep it under wraps if you can.”

Scherper still doesn’t look convinced, which is a tally on the not-traitor side in Ed’s eyes, but really annoying right now.

“It won’t get you into trouble. Just deflect onto me if you’re found out, you were just following orders,” Ed says, feeling vaguely sick as he provides Scherper that excuse. “I won’t use your name when applying the information you get.” Scherper is teethering. “I’ll owe you a favor,” Ed throws in the last carrot on the stick. “If this gets me a promotion, you have a favor owed to you by a Brigadier General.”

“I’ll see what I can do, sir,” Scherper finally gives in.

“Thank you, Master Sargent,” Ed smiles warmly, though there is an edge under it. “Dismissed.”

Scherper salutes, then scampers out of the office again. As Ed watches him go, he thinks to himself: yeah, this is going to get the right attention.

A/N:

I love Ed thinking Mustang is incompetent at most things, except manipulation, which he hates Mustang for anyways, despite the two being friends for years now. He begrudgingly learned from Mustang (mostly) against his will and he shall forever be a little bit bitter about it

#rr writing #fma #fma brotherhood #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist #edward elric #roy mustang #colonel curtis au #post promised day

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