#*|* retracing steps i made before *|* :: third age | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lostonehero · 10 months ago

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Lonelyeyes maybe

Probably yes, but adopted Martin

Can you tell I like the concept of Martin being adopted

Maybe slight time travel for fear patrons only

I cross post on my Ao3

Same username

Peter turned 20 and hasn't changed in his apperence since his patron doesn't care that humans have limited life and will keep Peter in his twenties as long as possible

Jonah has little to no control or options when he body swaps the Beholder picks it and they have claimed Jonah is assigned twink at swap and yes Jonah has been Trans before hence the legal marriage with Peter

It was two days into the year-long journey on the Tundra. The old ship was quiet and even more so there was a fear in the air that was off more so than normal. Nobody knows where this child came from but they would quickly find out how he ended up here, but again there was a child maybe 4 or 5 he looked too small and his hair was overgrown on his hair and matted it was a nice red on the parts that weren't matted and disgusting. His face was splattered with freckles, and he had two crystal blue eyes you could get lost in, filled with worry and fear. Someone that age should never have. He barely had anything more on then a t-shirt and short not meant for the freezing temperatures of the ship. Tadeas grabbed the boy before he made two steps on the deck.

Tadeas was a hulking man who never seemed to smile, and his eyes were dark. He looked at the boy with his hard glare, and the boy just tilted his head and didn't say a word. He retraced the boys' steps to a cargo box that was haphazardly tossed in. It didn't have food or water, but it had rope and used tape and dark stains, and a horrid smell. They threw the box overboard.

Tadeas returned to the deck holding the boy in soiled clothes, who still hadn't said a word and went to the captains quarters. Everyone on the ship held their breath when Tadeas left empty-handed and barks orders to get back to work.

Nobody made a single comment when the captain came out with the boy following behind him in clothes not made for someone that small.

.......

Six months on the Tundra, six months since that child was found. Six months and Peter has not heard the boy speak a single word. He felt the Lonely call to him to reach out to the child and help guild him for something he didn't know. His voice was cheery and soft for someone of his statue and build. "What's your name?"

The boy blinks and stares at the man. The boy shifts, and there's that fear again, but the silence is broken. "Mum says to be a good boy. I shouldn't talk."

Peter takes a breath and rubs his face. "You're allowed to talk."

The boy looked down. "Mum isn't coming back, is she?"

Peter grabbed the boy and placed him in his lap. "I suppose not."

"..... Martin...." The boy was quiet and shaking as he clung to the much larger man.

"Peter." Peter gives the boy a hug as he looks over inventory and he just left one of his unruly sailors to the Lonely so his patron was happy, but for some reason he felt praise for holding the child. Something was different. Something changed, and he knew he had another six months before he could ask someone who had any idea. Maybe he could think of something to convince them to keep the child.

.......

Peter docks the boat and makes his way on land. He hasn't put Martin down once since they docked, and to be fair, the boy has fallen asleep in his coat. Even in the Lonely, the boy doesn't even lose a spark of color. It confuses him, but he can feel his patron ooze support against him and the boy, and he doesn't know why. He held a letter from Jonah in his free hand, a warning he has a new body and is still breaking it in. He didn't exactly mind it it's going to be the third body his partner has had since they've known each other.

Peter always expected to die from old age by now, but it seems his patron has different plans for him. Granted, he has looked the same ever since he was in his 20s. However, long ago, that was. What was Jonah's new name? He was annoyed he had to recall a new name for the man, but again, maybe that was payback for the sleeping child in his arms.

A young woman sat at the front desk, who shivered from a sudden cold. She swallows and stares up at the sea captian. She shrinks under his gaze. "Mr. Bouchard isn't expected to see anyone outside of his meetings today." Her voice quivers from intimidation.

Peter hums the fear was nice. "I'm here as a friendly visit." He knew the woman looked at him with shock his voice never seemed to match his outward appearance. Jonah always had something to say about that.

"Well, uh.... sir i..." The woman stops as a man steps behind her just coming out of his office.

"Thank you, Rosie, but Mr. Lukas is always welcome in my office. His family is quite a big donor to the institute. Come along inside." He was thin and shorter than his previous body Peter notes. His skin was lighter, which probably annoyed Jonah, but he managed to keep that obnoxious smirk.

Peter walked past her, and the door shut behind them.

"Now don't scare my assistant she's new." The man walks around his desk sitting in his chair. His eyes always remain the same. "Now you came back early. I thought this was a longer than year trip. I haven't had the chance to explore this body properly yet." He pauses for a moment. "Elias."

"Elias." Peter repeats sitting down in front of the desk

Something in Peter's coat seems to move, and then a tiny boy with red hair and piercing blue eyes blink awake and look around. He stares at Elias and then looks back at Peter.

Peter returns his arm to his sleeve and pats his head. "Someone tried to get rid of the child on my boat."

Elias blinks a look of shock on his features, making Peter smile. "Why?"

Peter shrugs, pulling the boy from his coat and sitting him on his lap he's still in haistly put together adult clothing to fit a child. "His name is Martin."

Elias raised his brow. "That doesn't answer anything, Peter."

Peter sighs he really didn't want jo-Elias to compel him. "I believe his mother locked him in a crate and put him with my cargo. He's been my ward for a year."

"You kept a child on your boat?" Elias pinches his brow. Then, he shudders as his eyes glow green he then rubs his temples. "Ok ok ok." He brushed his hair back. "Bring him to my, our home."

"The Forsaken already wants me to take care of him." Peter shrunk back as Elias slammed his hands against his desk.

"What!" Elias was wide-eyed in shock. "Ok ok ok everything is fine." He sighs as Peter gives him a look to explain. "The Beholder wishes for his care as well.... they also add that he will be an avatar of his own choosing. First, I didn't know the Eye could directly communicate anything with me, and two, it's quite insistent that the child already bonded to you."

Peter nods. "Will you marry me?"

"I suppose I do have to file new paperwork for this new body." Elias nods. "I'll have the papers written up, and nothing legal at the moment. I don't have that added bonus of a female body this time."

Peter hums in agreement. "Martin, say hello to Elias."

Martin clings to Peter.

"He will not send you back to your mother for talking." Peter sighs.

A quiet voice and a soft, scared gaze focuses on Elias. ".....hi"

Elias covers his mouth. "Oh, ceaseless watcher, guide me."

Peter cracks a smile and gets up in fog. "Come on time to go home." Martin holds on tight to Peter as they leave.

Elias presses a button on his phone. "Rosie, cancel my meetings for today it seems something has come up."

.....

Peter placed the small child on a bed and stepped away, which didn't do much because the child pushed himself off the bed and followed him. "Martin, that's your room."

Martin paused before grabbing Peter's coat in his small hands. ".....too big.... i... don't.... i"

Peter picks him up and puts him back on the bed, and sits down next to him. "It's yours, and you'll grow into it."

Martin clings to the man. "Boat?"

Peter smiles. "When you're older."

"....ok" Martin leans on him.

Peter gets up again, letting Martin fall over, but he doesn't make a sound. "Stay.... uh, please."

Martin blinks staring up at him.

Peter can feel his resolve crumble as he swore he heard a voice that shouldn't exist whisper.

(Care for the boy)

Peter holds his hand out. "I'll show you around, but then you have to stay and take a nap in your room."

Martin jumps down and nods, grabbing Peter's hand.

(Good.)

Peter shudders, feeling his patron do something, but he can't figure out what. Is this what Jonah was talking about? His own patron was telling him things, and so was his did all of the fears change? He made his way through the large house, explaining what every door was to what room.

......

Peter was giving Martin a bath, and the boy just seemed confused for the most part, like he wasn't used to being cared for. He knew showers were a luxury on the Tundra, but he did his best to keep the child clean, so a warm bath is an extreme difference. He was too small and too skinny. He did his best to keep the kid fed and safe on his ship, but it didn't help that the kid could barely keep anything down in the beginning, and he quickly realized that the boy was probably starved. He's been better about food, but it's still difficult to gauge the child he still flinched when someone raised their voice or hand.

Martin blinks and looks up at Peter. "....out please..."

Peter stares down at the boy and then lifts him out of the bath he is just about done. He thought the boy could enjoy the warm water. He grabs one of Elias's fluffy towels and dries the child off. He bundles the boy up and carries him out to his room. "You need clothes."

Martin didn't respond his eyes drooped, and he let out a tiny yawn.

"I suppose we can worry about that tomorrow." Peter hums. "I'll get you an old t-shirt and a pair of boxers with some pins."

Martin nods, leaning into the man.

.....

(Spider plush)

Elias sighs, picking up the crochet spider. He knew better than to argue with his patron no matter how much he despises the Web.

(Martin likes spiders)

He held up his bag with a few science books of spiders and some clothing for the boy. He purchased the toy and headed back out.

(Ask)

Elias stopped right before he got to his car. Ask what? Was the Beholder telling him to ask them something. He shut his eyes and settled on one question. "What happened?"

(The future is in the past. We are different. We won't let you go. You are my eye to the world.)

He put the bag neatly in the backseat and shut the door, and raised his brow. The future in the past? Well, he wasn't exactly sure what that meant they couldn't possibly be talking about time travel. However, he is pleased to know his patron won't ever let him go. Should he press his luck?

Elias nearly slammed on the brakes as his eyes flashed green. The Beholder showed him something... too much....too fast. His heart hammered in his chest. He barely kept his composure as he drove home. He didn't quite piece together what he was shown, but he knows he has to shelf that wager permanently. His hand was shaking as he unlocked the front door, trying to ignore the image of his death. The watchers crown it happened, and his patron never wanted that to happen ever again. They made that crystal clear.

"Jo- Elias." Peter's voice was a welcome distraction.

"Peter, where's the boy?" Elias takes a breath and puts on a perfect smile.

Peter puts down his book and motions to the clock on the wall.

"I know it's late, but how should I know you have him on your ship for a year. My patron won't show me them while they are in their room." It wasn't a lie, but Elias wasn't told that but was shown various things, and he made the connection. He wasn't fond of blindspots but would accept the limits.

Peter grunts in response. "Asleep."

"Very well I shall leave these in his room." Elias begins to move forward and then stops. "Does the boy need help changing if I have proper clothes for him?"

Peter stares at Elias. "You have no experience with children, do you?"

"I have no need for that." Elias huffs. "However, it was merely a question." He continues up the stairs. "Join me in bed if you like."

Peter hums and returns to his book.

......

Martin woke up with the sun leering through his curtains. He blinked, staring at the large spider in front of him. They were soft and cute. He saw another bag on his large bed and pulled out clothes and a few books. He didn't know how to read but the pictures were cool he loved spiders they were his friends. He did know how to put clothes on.

He walked out of his room quietly, fully dressed and his plush spider in his arms as he slowly made his way down the stairs. He was silent as he made his way into the kitchen and then jumped back and ran away when someone shouted.

"God heavens! Jonah, a child? What are you planning on doing with that." A elderly man slams his cane down.

"Simon, I didn't take him." Elias pinches his brow. "Peter, make sure he doesn't hurt himself, and Jude, keep your gloves on." He sighs. "Peter found him on his ship. Someone left him in cargo to die. Apperently, instead of letting the child go, he kept him on his ship for a year, and now the child is here."

Simon hums and frowns. "Who would do that to such an innocent little thing? Shameful, honestly people these days."

"I could take the tyke off your hands. Make a nice...." Jude flinched. "Right, well, I won't kill him."

Elias raised his brow. So it wasn't just his and Peter's patrons. The others were also protective of the child. How fascinating he could use this to his advantage. "No, he is under mine and Peter's care." He could feel himself preen with the feeling that his patron was happy with that statement alone.

Jude rolls her eyes. "Whatever, I'll be back or whatever for the next fucked meeting." She walls out clearly distracted by something.

Simon hums. "Does the child have a name?"

"Not one I'm giving to you." Elias takes a sip of his coffee.

"Oh spoilsport, I shall find out on my own then. He seems like such a sweetheart." Simon waves and makes his exit through the window.

Peter returns after the two leave holding Martin. "They're gone." He waits for a nod. "Good."

Martin was clinging to his spider staring at Elias.

Elias hums. "Tell me, child, can you read?"

Martin shakes his head.

"Oh, how lovely, well, take those new books, and I'll teach you." Elias smiles, holding his hand out.

Martin had a look of confusion on his face. "Not mad?"

Elias returned his hand to his side. "No, I am not mad." He glanced at Peter, who didn't have an answer for him. "Peter will make you breakfast. I shall help you tame that head of hair of yours."

Martin cautiously got down and slowly made his way next to Elias. He cautiously even slower reaches for the man's hand and nods slowly.

Elias could feel something shift in his very being, and he realized something. If anything were to happen to this child, he would burn the planet to ashes. "We can even start reading learning." He was so fucked.

Martin nods and follows Elias.

......

" spi-der." Martin's voice was quiet, and he had a slight stutter, but he points to the open page with wide eyes.

Elias smiles, he could feel pride swell in his chest. The child was getting the hang of this quicker than he was able to foresee. "That's right soon. You'll be able to read on your own."

Martin pushes the book down, trying to reach for the flash cards.

"Now we can do that later. I have to go to work. You can ask Peter for help if you so like." Elias places Martin next to him and hands him the book. "Now I'll be back later, Peter will keep an eye on you."

Martin holds the book and looks back up at Elias, who has already walked to the door. "Promise?"

Elias pauses. "Promise what?"

"Be back." Martin eyes seemed to water.

"This is my home child, so of course I'll be back." Elias raised his brow.

Martin nods and grabs at the flash cards seemingly sastified.

Elias hums, he needed to discuss this with Peter. He knew abused children tended to end up in the Forsaken, and Peter always had to drag them out. Maybe he knew more about this. He rubbed his temples as flashes of images and conversations filled his mind. How odd he didn't recognize the woman, and the boy was purposely kept from his view, but he could have sworn that was an older version of Martin. The eye could not see the future. Maybe yesterday, the future in the past made more sense than he realized.

......

Martin was an odd child, Peter's been barely back two weeks, and this kid seems to always fond him. He could have sworn the kid was marked by the Eye, but then he would be able to tell. He knew a few things. This kid was obviously neglected before being dropped on his ship, and two, the kid was incredibly smart. He still can't believe Elias hasn't figured out the kid doesn't need help reading anymore.

Peter sighs, staring down at the boy. He was what 6 maybe 7 he really couldn't tell and the boy had no idea when his birthday was. He had a terrible stutter and anxiety that could rival any teenager. Speaking of which, he should ask Elias where the kid came from. He knows Elias mentioned something about the future, and he knows the kid doesn't have an adult mind but maybe impressions of an adult mind. He really wasn't that good at figuring those things out.

Martin blinked and stared up at Peter. "Book?" He held up his spider book that was quickly becoming his favorite.

"Do you... do you want me to read to you?" Peter pauses as Martin shakes his head no.

"N-no. You get a book, too." Martin hugs his book to his chest.

"You want me to read something while you read?" Peter raised his brow as the kid nodded. "Alright, we can do that."

Martin smiles at him. It is cute, and Peter can feel his patron fill him with praise for a simple task. He really needed to figure out what happened to his patron to change them.

Martin interrupted the quiet. "When will Elias b-be back?"

Peter glances up from his novel and then looks to the clock. "In two hours unless he has other work to do."

Martin nods. He seems conflicted he bites his lip and takes a breath. "Are y-you g-going to g-give me a-away?"

Peter can feel dread in his stomach. What would make this boy think that? "I won't let you go." He knew that in his core. Even if he was meant to be lonely, even if he served his patron, he knew that this boy was already his. "If Elias disagrees, then I'll keep you on my ship."

"I like the Tundra." Martin returns to his book seemingly sastifed.

Peter has a frown on his lips. How bad was this child treated? He knows his own family wasn't a pinnacle of good parenting, but they were never physical against any of them, just neglectful. He couldn't even recall verbal abuse, just an empty home. He knew he was going to give Martin better, but he just didn't know how.

....

Elias stared at the small lanky boy who took a seat in front of his desk. He had dark skin and a glare in his eyes, which were unnaturally green.

(Jonathan, the archivist. He perfers to be called Jon. My archive. My child.)

Elias smiles. "So what brings you here today?" Archivist? Did this have to do with the future in the past?

The boy grits his teeth. "Fuck you."

Elias blinks and rubs his temples. "Look, Jonathan, why are you here?"

Jon scowls. "You know why." He huffs.

"Kid, just because we follow the same patron doesn't mean I know who you are." Elias can feel a headache forming behind his eyes.

(No fighting)

Jon bit his lip. "Fine." He sighs. "I didn't expect to wake up over a year ago as a kid, and the apocalypse never happened. I used to or will work for you as an archivist. I merely came here today because I'm looking for my partner who came back with me.... I think he came back with me."

"And what makes you think I know where your partner is, and why would I help you?" Elias leans forward, staring down at the boy.

"For one, I am the Forsaken Watcher's archivist. You're the eye we both know they want us to work together." Jon smirks as Elias scowls. "And another thing, I am only 7, nearly 8. I can't exactly track anyone. Using my powers as well takes too much out of me being this young."

Elias leans back, knowing the boy was right. "Was this partner of yours called Martin? Red head blue eyes has a stutter?" Oh, he liked that look of shock. Growing pains of this body be damned he would gladly be forced into another strange body, then deal with this. "From your gaze, I assumed correctly. He is currently under mine and Peter's care after being stuffed in a cargo box and sent off on the Tundra. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

A flurry of emotions flashed across Jon's face. "Did he come back too?"

"I don't believe so. I've been teaching him how to read, and he seems to be frightened of his own shadow and his mother." Elias hums, studying Jon shift in his seat.

Jon frowns. "Oh... I see." He looks down, seemingly fidgeting with his hands. "I don't know what to do now."

"Go home." Elias sighs.

Jon frowns. "I uh... I...." He rubs his eyes. "Would I be able to visit?"

(Yes)

"Go back home, Jon." Elias sighs. "Return here in the morning and tell your grandmother. I will have Martin here."

Jon nods and jumps off his chair and runs out.

Elias covers his face. He needed a drink and a written explanation.

......

Martin was waiting by the door when Elias opened it. He held up a new book. Peter probably got him since it was about boats. "Reading?"

Elias stares down at Martin. His shoulders sag as the stress of the day was gone. "Yeah, we can read together."

Peter snickers from the hallway.

"Just because Martin likes me better doesn't mean you have to be so bitter." Elias smirks.

Peter steps out of the fog in the hall. "Oh Elias, I think he loves me more."

Martin blinks, looking between them. He had no idea what they were talking about. He puffed out his cheeks.

"How can you fathom that? You kept the boy on your god-awful boat. It's called Stockholm syndrome. Peter, the boy, obviously loves the freedom I give him." Elias waves his hand to dismiss him.

"Freedom? He's using you Elias he knows how to read perfectly. He would much rather spend a quiet evening with me." Peter scoffs. "He even asked to return to my boat with me!" He started to raise his voice.

Elias went louder. "Oh, is that how you want to play it? You can't give him what he needs or wants you're literally built on loneliness and neglect!"

Their shouting fight only got louder. Martin was quiet and dropped his book. Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he started to cry.

(ENOUGH)

(STOP!)

Both men grasp their head in pain. The only thing heard is soft crying from Martin curled up on the floor, trying to make himself smaller.

Elias rubbed the blood from his nose and made a face. He then shifted his gaze to the small child. "Hey Martin, it's ok." He moved slowly to the boy, but Peter was quicker.

Peter grabbed the small child and hid him in his jacket. He can feel the small boy shake and whimper. "Elias...."

Elias sighs and rubs his arm. "Look, I know he doesn't understand, and it is impressive that he has already managed to manipulate me. I apologize for my shouting that it was not directed at you, Martin."

Peter takes a breath. "We tend to argue, but it won't ever mean we don't care about you." He knows he wasn't warm it's a side effect of being an avatar, but Martin never seemed to mind.

Elias sighs. "Come on, you'll catch a chill clinging to the sailor." He tries to reach for Martin but stops when the boy reaches out and grabs his hand.

Martin whimpers but is unable to speak. He just clings to both men.

Peter gives a soft smile. "I believe we should relax before dinner."

Elias hums. "I have to agree."

......

Peter was fuming. "Why are you taking Martin to the institute? You call my ship dangerous, and you have that vile woman working for you. I bet she won't hesitate to harm a child with you."

Elisa pulls over a sweater over Martin. "If you're so concerned, you can just come with us."

Peter huffs. "... fine."

Elias whips his head to stare at Peter. "I'm sorry you're willingly heading to my institute because you don't think I'm capable of watching a child in my institute." He picked up Martin with a soft oof. "I'll be driving."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Do you have a car seat?"

"Yes, I have a car seat. What do you think I did when I got him clothes? I swear I know how to prepare for uncertainties." Elias scoffs. "Come along Martin your dad is being overly paranoid." He bites his tongue, realizing what he said.

Peter stares at his partner with wide eyes. "I right well I'll head to the car."

The drive was uneventful, neither man really spoke to each other, and Martin nodded off in his seat. Elias takes Martin out of his seat, barely stirring him awake. "Alright, Martin, you're going to sit in my office today. Peter will guide you if you want to venture into the library."

Peter makes a noise of acknowledgment and follows behind him.

......

"Let them in Rosie." Elias sighs. "Peter, you don't have to hover over me or Martin he's fine."

Martin was in the corner reading a book he took from Peter's pocket, and neither man realized he took it. It was not appropriate for a child, but Martin thought it was safe because there was a ship on the cover.

"You expect me to trust you? Elias, we're in this place, and Martin is a child, might I mind you." Peter stops as the door is opened and a small older dark skinned boy enters.

The boy narrows his gaze. "Elias."

"Jon." Elias smiles. "As I was saying Peter, there is a method for what I do."

Jon rolls his eyes and spots the small boy in the corner. He makes his way over, standing over the boy wringing his hands. "Martin...?"

Martin looked up and tilted his head. He slid himself over for the boy to sit. "Hi...."

Jon sits himself next to the smaller boy. "I'm Jon. Do you remember who I am?"

Martin shrugs. "I dunno, b-but I t-think i-i do." He covers his face with his book seemingly embarrassed by his stuttering.

Jon seemed to have all the stress and worry on his features relax. "What are you reading?"

Martin pulls the book down. He hands it over and watches Jon raise his brow and then shut the book and push it away. "W-why?"

"Romance." Jon makes a face that Martin giggles softly at.

Peter grabs the book and huffs. "We will be talking later." He vanishes in fog that appears out of nowhere.

Elias has a smirk on his lips. "Now boys, what would you like to do now?"

Jon frowned.

Martin looked between them. "Talk? I w-want to talk to Jon."

Jon nodded and smiled. "We can talk."

Martin smiles back.

.....

A soft knock on Elias's door pulled him from his paperwork. He knew who it was. Of course, he glanced to the children who had gone from hushed chatter to a soft nap leaning on each other. He was stitching for a picture of the scene. "Come in, Gertrude." He could see the two kids stir, but he hopes this won't take long enough to wake them.

An older woman steps inside with a young teen behind her. "Elias." He eyes flicker to the corner. "Children? Really in a place like this."

"Oh, Gertrude, who's the kid behind you then?" Elias smiles at her grimace. "The red head Martin is in my partners care, and the other boy Jon is his friend they tired themselves out."

Gertrude raised her brow she didn't know Elias was married. "This is Gerald." She motions for the black hair dyes teen to step next to her. "He's Keays, son. I'll be caring for him. He can also help me in the archives. I'm not getting any..... younger." She paused, watched the dark skin boy wake up, and walk up to Gerald.

The boy blinks, looking up at the boy. "You should see a doctor."

Gerald blinks, staring down at the boy. "Uh, hello to you too."

The boy narrows his gaze, looking back to Elias. "Tell him to go to the doctor."

Elias raised his brow. "Now I am not the child's guardian, Jon. I can't tell him what to do."

Gertrude hums and crosses her arms. "Pray tell why he should go?"

Jon nearly bit his tongue. He knew he wasn't a good liar. Wait, he could.... they would believe him he's a child. "My mom was pale like him, and she didn't come back from the doctor. Grandma said she was sick, but she didn't look sick."

Gertrude's face seemed to soften.

Gerald crouched in front of the boy. "How about I'll get a check-up and let you know? I'll even get some scans."

Jon nodded. "Thank you, mister." He gave the teen a hug.

Gerald chuckles. "Don't call me mister, you'll make me feel old. You can call me Gerry."

"Ok, Gerry." Jon returns to his corner next to the red-headed boy who was awake and watching.

Elias sighs. "Is there anything else I can help with Gertrude?"

Gertrude hums. "I suppose not."

"I'll arrange an appointment for your new ward." Elias smiles as the pair leaves. He looked back to Jon. "What was that about?"

(Cancer)

"He dies of cancer at 19." Jon frowns. "This time, they will catch it early. Hopefully, he will be in remission rather than a grave."

Elias hums. "That is quite a young age to go. Cancer isn't exactly a pleasant way to go either." He clicks his tongue. "Very well, I expect you both to stay away from Gertrude."

"I won't argue on that point." Jon sighs.

"S-she is s-scary." Martin mumbles, grabbing Jon's hand.

"I won't let her hurt you." Jon smiles, and Marti smiles back.

Elias gets up from his desk. "Alright, you two, it's time to find a book to read."

"Spiders?" Martin stares up at him.

"I suppose we can find a book on spiders and some statements for your friend." Elias pinches his brow. "I will never understand why you like those creatures."

Martin puffs out his cheeks. "I like s-spiders."

Jon sighs. "I still like you even so."

......

Martin sat back in his carseat. "C-can i-i see Jon a-again?"

(Yes. The fated pair should not be separated.)

Elias looked back to Martin. His patron seemed more invested in their future than he realized. "Of course you can see your friends again. Jon will be doing a program with me, so he'll be visiting more, and I'll bring you along."

Martin smiled at Elias. "Where's d-dad?"

Elias pursed his lips. He wanted Martin to call him dad. "He's already home."

"Ok." Martin hugs his plush spider.

......

Peter raised his brow as Elias came into their shared room. "Why are you all annoyed? You go what you wanted. Is your new body giving you trouble?"

"My body is fine, Peter." Elias begins to strip. "I've adjusted quite well to this body even finished my wardrobe and got rid of that awful cannibus smell that lingered on this body." He puts his suit neatly away in a dry clean only bag. "I may be right this morning, but after you left, Gertrude visited. Now she didn't have much to say but introduced a teen she became a ward of, Jon seems to be attached to him even told him to see a doctor."

"Elias, none of that is bothering you. If you continue to prattle on about nothing, I'm leaving." Peter rolls his eyes as fog seems to surround him, willing to make good on that threat.

"Don't be dramatic, Peter. I'm getting there." Elias hums putting on silk pajamas. "Martin referred to you as dad."

The fog vanished at those words. Peter stared mouth open and was that hope and a spark of happiness in his eyes. "He did?"

Elias huffs and crawls into bed next to him. "I mean the nerve. I'm supposed to be dad. He referred to me as father like I'm someone he wants to avoid Peter. I've been nothing but kind to him, and I get this? All you did was keep him on your godawful boat. I got him spider themed things and taught him to read. I at least deserve Papa."

Peter chuckles. "Elias, you're upset because Martin called you father?" He starts to laugh.

Elias tries to push Peter out of bed but realizes just how strong Peter is and how frail his new body is. "Just get out, Peter." He gasps when Peter pulls him into a bear hug and kisses his forehead. He has never done that before, and it feels nice.

Peter hums, pulling Elias into his lap. "I think this new body is growing on me. You fit better in my lap now."

Elias can feel a blush creep up on his cheeks. "Peter, what happened to your patron." He can feel his blood go south, and he hasn't tested that out yet in this body.

"They seem pleased with the development." Peter shuts his eyes and leans on Elias's shoulder. "Don't tell me you haven't figured out our patrons are working together? It seems that whatever happened in the future gave them something, and they are testing that something."

Elias shivers at his partner's low body temperature. It was addicting and he can't recall why they got divorced the last time.

(Wager)

(Bet)

Peter hums. "A bet?"

Elias moves his head so they are face to face. "Want to break this body of mine in? I would like a simple wager if I win no trips for a month."

Peter chuckles. "And if I win?"

"We'll do a family outing on your boat." Elias turns back, arching his back with a soft roll of Peter's hips.

"So what is the wager? How about I made you lose that pretty voice of yours?" Peter hums.

"If you can't, I win." Elias gasps as the cold hands under his shirt.

"Oh, I'll take that bet. Jonah, I'm going to ruin this body of yours." Peter nips Elias's ear, which earns him a gasp and a soft moan.

Elias groans, and his eyes glow, and so does Peter's. Neither man know who, but they are too far gone to care.

.......

"F-f-father?" Martin tugs on Elias's slik sleep pants.

Elias's voice was barely audible. "....martin...." his hair was a mess his skin was littered in red marks, and he had a slight limp. He felt exhausted but sastified, like after he took a statement from a random person he grabbed on the street. He should ask about that when he got his voice back.

Martin tugs on his pants. "Where's dad?"

Elias knew Peter fell back into the lonely way, too overwhelmed after last night, not that he could blame the man. He knew his other half needed to destress and unwind after being intimate. It's an after effect from his patron, and honestly, it gave him a moment to pause and relax after. As much as he wanted pillow talk and to cuddle, he knew how stressed it made his partner do something else intimate after another intimate moment. They've become predictable to each other, but even still last night was a surprise. They've never been that intimate before, let alone use each other like that in such softness. It was always rough between them either man fighting for power, but for once, they were equals, and it made Elias unravel.

(He's hungry.)

Elias shook his head. "...breakfast?"

Martin nodded.

Elisa held his hand out and led Martin to the kitchen.

(We made a wager)

Elias pauses before grabbing some bread to toast. His throat hurt he was willing to talk for Martin, but he knew he needed to heal for at least a day. Even with fast healing, he still needed to recover.

(For the boy. Jon is already mine, and I have you.)

Elias nodded along as he pulled out some jam and peanut butter.

(The boy is allowed to pick two of us)

Two? That got Elias to raise his brow as he grabbed the toast. He quickly spread on the various jams and handed a plate to Martin.

(Stopped our hubris)

Stopped the Watchers Crown. This boy in the future manages that? Now, he cursed his future self for letting harm come to the boy. It was ironic he was so hellbent on what he thought was his patron desires enough so that it happened and his patron realized that he didn't want that after learning a hard lesson. He should talk to Jon. Learn more about the future, maybe avoid some things.

(No more chances)

Martin ate his toast, and Elias could see he didn't like it, but he never refused anything given to him.

(Keep him safe)

Elias sighs. "...martin you don't have to eat it." He coughs and rubs his throat.

"Too sweet..." Martin continued to eat. However, he was scared to refuse.

(Echos of his future)

Elias raised his brow. This would explain his quick learning on many subjects he was privy before being turned back to a child. It could also explain the behaviors. He was probably abused for a long time before he met Jon. He should figure out and who and pay them a visit. They also worked for him. He could use this to his advantage, but he wasn't about to push his luck and scare the kid. He took the half eaten toast and gave him one covered in peanut butter, which Martin seemed to enjoy more.

Martin finishes his food and takes his plate to the sink, but he isn't tall enough to reach the sink to place it and wash it. He whimpers and Elias knew what this meant.

Elias took the plate from Martin. "You can help clean the table. I know you want to clean the plates, but you're not big enough yet." He watches Martin walk back to the table and clean off the nonexistent mess he made. He needs to ask Jon more about Martin as an adult and why he feels like he has to care for everyone even if he's too small. Speaking of which, how big will Martin get? Jon did make a comment that he wasn't used to him being so small.

Martin looks up at Elias, watching him clean. He seemed worried like he was ready to be verbally attacked, maybe even physically attacked.

Elias slid the plate into the drying rack and dried his hands, and then ruffled Martin's hair. He smiles and lets the boy follow him into the living room to rest.

.....

Peter still wasn't back, and Elias wasn't going to keep Martin stuck inside all day. It was one of those rare warm days in the spring, and he could go to the park let Martin roam blow off steam or whatever kids do. That's how he found himself on a bench scarf covering his neck and a book in his hands and an eye on the small red head.

Martin was nervous he wasn't good around other kids, but Jon was nice, and he was another kid, but he knew Jon. He didn't know how or why, but he knew Jon. He sat himself adjacent to the sandpit and held his spider plush.

A boy with freshly tanned skin, which was impressive for where they lived and a bandaid across his nose. He actually had bandaid all over his skin and bruises to match, and his smile was missing a tooth. "Martin! You came back too, buddy."

Martin flinched at the bigger boy, but he seemed familiar, but like Jon, he couldn't tell you why. "Y-yes?"

The boy seemed to smile for a short period, and then he was smiling again. "That's ok. Want to be friends? My name is Tim, and my brother Danny is playing in the sandpit." He points to a boy no older than three waving his arms giggling. "I'm 7, and uh." He points to the girl coming up behind him with mocha skin and thick glasses.

"I'm Sasha! Future investigators of spooky things." Sasha smiles. "I'm also 7. I'm not used to seeing you so small."

Tim makes a motion with his hand against his neck.

"Oh, right not yet!" Sasha hums. "Did you find Jon?"

Martin furrows his brows. "Jon?"

"Yeah, future boss, man." Tim hums.

Martin, for some reason, knew they were talking about his Jon. He nods and gets up, holding his spider he calls Charlotte.

"I knew he came back, too. You owe me a fiver." Tim stands up triumphly.

Sasha rolls her eyes. "Yeah, when we have actual money."

"Hush, let me bask in me being right." Tim snickers. "Well, come on, Martin, we have to catch you up. Us future assistants have to stick together. Before you say anything, Sasha convinced me to do it again because now we're prepared or whatever." He huffs when Sasha leers at him. "And I have to apologize to Jon. We don't even know if he came back!"

Martin chuckles and then points to a slim dark skin boy walking up to them. "Hi, j-jon. I made f-friends."

The two kids turn to see Jon, who has a frown on his lips that slowly melts to a smile. His thick glasses were new and didn't fit his face properly yet. "Sasha, Tim?"

"Why do you have green eyes?" Sasha raised her brow.

"You c-c-can't ask that." Martin frowns.

"You're still an avatar." Tim huffs.

"You act as if I had a choice in the matter." Jon rolls his eyes. "You missed the actual apocalypse."

"We didn't stop the unknowing?" Tim raised his brow.

"Well, we did, but that isn't what I'm talking about. Never mind explaining that is complicated, and I want Martin to help me with that... right well, I can't do that now." Jon frowns. "So, uh, Martin was adopted by Elias and Peter."

"Now you owe me a fiver. I told you they were a thing." Sasha snickers as Tim rolls his eyes.

"Serial divorcees as it was." Jon hums.

(They will have to pick)

Jon freezes. "I uh what?"

Tim raised a brow.

"The Eye talks now." Martin mumbles, then looks confused because he doesn't know why he said that.

"Normally, it just spews facts at me." Jon sighs. "But it has learned to talk after its fuck up. However, it did tell me you both will have to pick a patron to become an avatar, just like Martin will."

(The child will get two)

Tim scowls. "That fucking sucks."

Sasha hums. "So I won't become not Sasha then."

"I mean, you'll have the power to stop it if you pick early." Jon sighs.

Sasha raises her browns, and Tim relents groaning. "Oh, you're going to have to explain them."

The three continue to chatter until Martin pulls at Jon's sweater. "What is it, Martin?"

Martin points to Elias, who is standing over the four. "F-father."

"Oh, he looks like an evil twink." Tim raised his brow.

Elias raised his brow. "What is a twink?" His eyes glow for a moment, and he covers his face with a groan. His voice is still horse and scratchy.

Sasha gasps. "Tim, you broke him!"

"How is that my fault? He looks like a twink and not a dilf anymore." Tim crossed his arms.

Elias waves him off. "Martin who are your friends."

"What happened to your voice?" Jon raised his brow.

(Censored)

Jon covers his face. "I'm going to put bleach in my eyes."

Tim giggles.

Sasha snickers.

Elias pinches his brow. "I assume they are like you, Jon." He gets a nod from the three. "Ok. Martin, are you alright?" He pauses as the boy nods. He gives a heavy sigh. "Alright, here's how this is going to work. You four will be under my care for schooling. I can at least keep an eye on you and make sure that after you pick a patron, you don't feed on your family. Also, since you are adults in children's bodies, I can at least keep your minds sharp."

"And why would we agree to that?" Sasha crosses her arms.

"Oh little dear, it's sim -" Elias is cut off by fog and a tired looking massive man sailor.

Peter adjusts his coat. "Why are there more children?"

Elias glares at Peter.

Peter leans down and places a sailor hat on Martin and then picks the boy up. "Did you make friends?"

Martin nods. "F-father said t-they will go to school with me."

Peter hums. "I see. Well, he can deal with that. You need to eat something."

"S-share?" Martin points down to them.

Peter grimaced he wasn't exactly looking forward to socializing. "Alright, but you have to talk to them."

Martin nods as he is placed down. He motions for the others to follow Peter.

Elias groans, watching the kids follow Peter to a snack stall at the edge of the park.

"Honestly, I ship it." Tim hums.

"Tim!" Jon huffs.

Sasha giggles.

"Will you go to school w-with me?" Martin looked back to them.

Tim curses. "Fuck I mean do we even have a choice, the evil twink has a point."

"I mean, I'm down. I really don't want to accidently hurt my family. I also want to keep an eye on Martin, and how else are we supposed to stick together?" Sasha hums.

"Sasha and her big logic brain." Tim pouts. "But fine, I'll do it."

"I've already agreed where you go I go." Jon smiles at Martin.

"Where you go, I go." Martin repeats back.

Jon smiles softly. "I know you'll be back, and I'm ok waiting forever for you."

Sasha and Tim exchange a knowing look.

......

Martin held his paper up to Elias for him grade. "F-finished."

Elias smiled and then raised his brow. "Martin, I didn't give you this assignment, and.... huh." He looks down at Martin then back to the others. "Fascinating." He walks over to the others. "Are you sure Martin hasn't come back like you?"

The three exchange glances.

Jon speaks up. "No, he hasn't. It's just imprints, nothing concrete."

Elias hums. "Was he a scholar?"

"Martin? I mean, he was observant, but like he was also a clumsy fool, and we loved him." Sasha hums. "Why?"

Elias hands Jon the paper. He knew immediately who answered this since Martin was intent on using crayons. Tim and Sasha both saw his eyebrows shoot up as he adjusted his glasses. "Martin, you did this?"

"Y-yeah." Marrin pauses as Elias pats his head to continue, and he then proceeds to explain in detail the math and how it relates to history and then how it connects to the modern day. He stops getting embarrassed at the stares.

Elias smiles and ruffles Martin's hair. "Go find Peter, and he'll make you guys a snack."

Martin nods and runs off.

"I know Martin dropped out of school to care for his mother he never said anything about being smart." Tim rubs his arm.

"Well, he has terrible self-esteem, so he didn't think he was good at anything." Sasha frowns.

Jon concentrates and blinks. "He had a full ride to any university of his choice even in America. I..." He sighs. "Martin never really talked about himself he knew more about me than I knew of him. I didn't look either he asked me not to, so I didn't push. I was happy still, even without that."

Tim whistles, and Jon is a little jealous he can do it so young. "Good on him. I mean, i don't really know anything about his family situation, but I do know he took care of his mom for a long time."

"I don't think she was kind to him." Sasha frowns.

Elias clears his throat, taking back the paper. "I've already located his mother, and I am planning on a long conversation with her. Until that, be nice to my b- Martin. Be nice to Martin."

"The evil twink has a point." Tim sighs.

"He's a little too old to be a twink child." Peter hums, holding a tray of cookies.

"Peter!" Elias huffs and pinches his brow. "Why do you know what a twink is?"

"Ask your eye." Peter hums. "Come on, little ones. I've set up some hot chocolate for these."

Sasha smiles. "Thank you, Mr. Lukas."

"Nonsense call me Peter." Peter smiles.

"Seriously though, your voice does not match your body." Tim shakes his head.

"As I been told." Peter sighs.

"Be nice, Tim." Martin frowns.

"I am being nice." Tim huffs.

"To be fair, he isn't wrong." Jon mumbles.

Peter just chuckles.

........

"Martin!" Tim shouts as he rushes through the door.

Martin jumps. "O-oh hi t-Tim."

"Happy birthday!" Tim holds a gift bag up and rushed past Peter or through him he was halfway out of the lonely so even he couldn't tell you.

Martin smiles. "You remembered?"

"Of course, Marto." Tim smirks. "And I'm the first one here!" He hands the gift bag over.

Martin peaks inside to see a little plush tea bag. He giggles.

Elias hums. So today was Martin's birthday he will have to mark this in his memory. "Oh, it's your birthday? How old are you now?"

"Seven." Martin smiles.

Tim whistles. "Geez, I forgot you're the baby in our group. Oh well, come on, Jon's going to be so mad that I got here first."

Martin giggles and follows Tim deeper into the home.

Peter chuckles. "Hey, now we know the little tykes birthday."

Elias hums.

"Elias, you are not throwing a party this short notice." Peter groans knowing that look.

"The kids do need to meet the other avatars. They have a choice to make." Elias is already walking to the phone.

Peter sighs and pinches his brow.

.....

"Hello, Miss. Sims, what brings you by?" Elias already knew she wanted to meet her grandsons friends and why his behavior suddenly shifted.

Jon's grandmother frowns and pushes Jon forward. "I merely wish to meet my Jonathan's friends."

Jon held a plush cow to his chest, and by the ribbon, it was a gift for Martin. It was a highland cow and quite soft from the look of it.

"That is just wonderful. Jon seems to be the last one here, so they are just inside." Elias smiles and leads them deeper into the mansion he stops at an open door where the sounds of children are talking.

Jonathan's grandma peers inside, and Jon can see a quirk of a smile as she looks at the three kids building a little fort out of pillows. "You have some lively friends, Jonathan."

Jon moves forward. "Grandma, these are my friends." The kids seem to run behind Jon in a line looking at the older woman.

"Hi, I'm Tim, and I got here first." Tim held a smirk and patted Jon's back, and he huffed in response.

"I'm Sasha. I got here second, well technically, Mr. Lukas got here second." Sasha waves.

Martin smiles nervously. "M-martin." He mumbles something she couldn't catch.

Jon looks back to his grandmother and she laughs.

"That one is quite small and shy, are you sure?" She says with a wry smile.

Jon can feel a blush on his cheeks. "Y-yes."

She chuckles and ruffles Jon's hair. "Now don't cause any trouble. I expect you home at a reasonable time. Keep an eye on them, Mr. Bolurchad." She walks out of the home with a smile.

Jon sighs in relief and gives a soft oof when Martin hugs him.

"Nice cow!" Martin has a cute smile on his lips.

"Uh right, happy birthday, Martin." Jon holds the plush toy out, and Martin takes it.

"Thank you." Martin smiles and kisses Jon on the cheek and then returns to the fort.

Elias hums. "You have quite the interesting guardian, Jon. Now that everyone is here, I have a few things to say. One a few avatars will be coming by since you three will need to eventually pick a patron to follow and two since Peter has banned me from going into my kitchen he will be making snacks and food so if you want to request something ask him."

"You're banned for a reason." Peter appears behind Sasha. "You learned to cook over 200 years ago and haven't changed since then."

"My cooking is perfectly fine, Peter." Elias rolls his eyes and walks out as Peter follows behind him they continue to bicker the whole way.

"F-father eats t-toast for fun." Martin adds, and the three other kids burst into laughter.

.....

"Oh, does this mean I get to see Micheal again?" Sasha takes a cookie from the table.

"Freaky door guy?" Tim raised his brow.

"They won't be Micheal." Jon sighs. "Micheal is still currently working at the archives under Gertrude."

"Man, that sucks." Tim sighs. "Oh, do you think that vampire hunter will show up?"

Martin hums. "Trever serves the hunt."

Jon clears his throat. "I did not know that. Wait, how did you know that?"

"He's marked." Martin mumbles and stares at his spider plush. "Charlotte told me." He holds up the plush spider.

"I told you so!" Sasha holds her arms in triumph. "Martin is the Web baby."

"I should have listened to you, Tim." Jon sighs and crosses his arms. "I know Jude is around. I don't know if she is coming. Simon might poke his head in. Oh, and Oliver, and uh, sorry Tim, Nikola is also around."

Tim groans. "Fuck me."

Peter shuffles in with some more snacks. "Elias isn't here?"

"Father is talking to people at the d-door." Martin hums. "Annabelle is joining them as well. I don't like her."

Peter grimaced. "Alright, I'll clean up you four. Introduce yourselves."

The four kids are guided out of the dining room and into the living room.

A black woman with cobwebs in her hair smiles and looks down. "Are you Martin? Do you like Mother's gift?"

Martin raised his brow. "I don't like you."

Jon holds back a laugh as he watches Annabelle cringe.

"Not back yet." Martin frowns. "B-b-but I don't l-like you." He promptly hides behind Jon.

Sasha giggles. "What did she even do?"

"Orginally, or currently?" Jon rubs Martin's back.

"Orginally." Tim answers for Sasha.

"Threatened to fill Martin with spiders then used him as a hostage." Jon narrows his gaze at her.

"He went willingly." Annabelle smiles. "Your friends came back as well. Are they the only ones?" He steps to the side as a thin man steps in front he had black glasses and was in a black suit meant for a funeral.

"Ah, Elias wasn't wrong. This is truly something else. Well, he normally isn't ever wrong perks of his patron, I guess. Uh, right, I know you guys aren't actually kids, and I must admit I don't think I can't even see your ends that are truly unique." He smiles and adjusts the gloves on his hands as a nervous habit. "My, I'm not good at pitching anything. I'm still new to this, but uh my name is Oliver."

"Oliver Banks Avatar of the End." Jon hums.

"That is who I am." Oliver smiles softly. "I'm again very new to this, but my patron does want me to make impressions."

Martin nods.

Sasha smiles. "I guess that can be considered reassuring you don't know when we will die. I do have questions though."

Tim hums. "Honestly, you made a better impression than the spider lady."

"Hello." A sing song voice interrupts a virus ring reader woman? Her skin was clipped on to whatever body they were using. "Oh, lookie, here aren't they adorable and their skin so soft and malleable."

Jon and Tim shudder.

"Immeditally hard no." Tim glares at the nkt person.

"I'm Nikola, and I like you." Nikola smiles well they are always smiling.

Tim pulls Sasha away from the stranger.

"Oh, I totally get the whole thing with the circus now." Sasha shudders.

A yellow door appears from nowhere behind Jon. "Oh yooohooo, Oh my archivist, you're much smaller and cuter than before." Her voice echos and distorts.

"Helen?" Jon spins around confused.

"Helen!" Martin waves at her.

"Oh yes, isn't time travel just the bestest thing ever. Can't kill me a second time being that small archivist." Helen laughs. "No hard feelings, you've brought me such better entertainment."

"Helen...? As in the lady who replaces Micheal. How is she even here?" Sasha tries to look away from her.

"It would be better if you didn't think about it." Tim mutters.

"Oh, but it's fun. Just feel your mind unravel." Helen laughs.

"I rather not." Jon rubs his temples.

"Oh my hello, little ones!" A new older sounding voice joins in, and Helen shuts her door. "An interesting lot you guys aren't you."

"Simon Fairchild avatar of the Vast. The Vast has not figured out human aging like the Lonely and doesn't do what the eye does with Jonah." Jon blinks. "Was... I uh were they boasting?"

"So not to interrupt, but uh, is that why I can never see an end to uh Mr. Lukas? I honestly thought it was all that fog." Oliver hums seemingly thoughtful.

"Wow you really got fucking everyone." A Asian woman with a buzz cut whistles. "Is this some sort of fucking career meet up for future fucks?"

"Jude Perry avatar of the desolation or the lightless flame. I don't like her." Jon sighs.

"So that's the woman who burned your hand." Tim hums. "She does have a point, though. They are here to throw pitches at us to convince us who to pick. Except for Jon, he's the Beholders' special little boy."

"Don't call me that." Jon huffs

(You are my special baby boy)

Jon groans.

Tim laughs. "Oh my God they confirmed it."

Sasha giggles.

Martin snickers.

Jon sighs. "Then why keep Jonah?"

(I like him)

Jon covers his face. "I honestly had no idea what I expected."

(Keeps Forsaken happy as benefit)

Jon raised a brow at that. "Leave it at that."

.....

"Oliver, please go home." Peter pinched his brow he had a sleeping Martin under his arm.

"I want to know how this works. How old are you?" Oliver hums, walking around Peter for another time.

"I don't really remember. I have to go through my family records." Which was a very firm leave it unspoken from Peter. He sighs and picks up plush spider.

"Oh my, I do feel like an eye at the moment. I'm simply curious about what your patron has figured out." Oliver steps back as Peter vanishes in a rolling fog.

Elias chuckles. He has already finished cleaning everything after everyone left. "Oliver, please leave."

Oliver nods and rushes out, not at all comfortable with Elias watching him.

Elias shakes his head. That went better than he expected. It was chaotic but useful, and his patron seemed nearly giddy with delight when the kids said they would work under him. Granted, when the three added on that, they refused to be avatars of the eye.... actually, that seemed to please his patron even more. Oh, this really lit a flame to his curiosity. He looks forward to the future.

#lonelyeyes #tma #the magnus archives #peter lukas #elias bouchard #martin blackwood

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writer-thrax · 1 year ago

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It had been 358 years. 358 years since the love of my life was taken from me in an unfortunate accident. And when she finally woke up, I saw her for 3 days before she was gone. The first thing she said, the moment she opened her eyes, was, "You're a monster!"

She was right, of course. She always is. I am a monster. I wasn't always one, but after 34 years of grief, I couldn't take it any longer. It took 23 years of scientific pursuit, but I found a way to steal the life of another to extend my own. Not to slow my aging, but to simply not die.

I'm a monster.

Grey skin sags from metal rods replacing my disintegrated bone. These are the third set of rods I have gone through. Creaky hydrolics hold the entire system together, all attached to the slimey mass stored where once was my heart.

Of course, my heart is part of that mass, alongside the hearts of the six orphans I found to keep me alive. They were victims of a war started by my country and ended for good by the very same country.

I was born to a monster.

My wife, my beloved, she has escaped into the wilds. Yet I do not fear for her death in the irradiated wastelands. Even if the 12 I met were worth pennies she still should be protected from death for a long while by their hearts beating in place of her own.

Her skin is supple and smooth, relative to mine, after being stored in a preservative vat only 34 years after her death. Her bones survived, although a few muscles had to be replaced with hydrolics, and the brain had to be remade completely. But she is alive.

I made a monster.

117 years have passed since she ran from me. Not once did she return, although I never moved just in case she ever did. I doubt she could retrace the steps even if she wanted to, but I stayed regardless.

I am fairly sure, no, I am certain that we are the only surviving humans now. If humans are even the right thing to call us at this point. And as the days count down, I am ever aware that my life shall inevitably come to an end, as too shall hers. Oh, my love, why did this have to happen to us?

Humans are monsters.

After your loving spouse died, you committed yourself to learning how to bring them back to life. You succeed beyond your wildest dreams, resurrecting them perfectly. So why do they want to leave you now?

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #immortality #reviving lover #revival #post apocalyptic #romance

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spikybanana · 2 years ago

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@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: divine - masterpost

once, shadows came out from the depths

and robbed me of myself

Sirius woke early the next morning. Or rather, Remus woke early and shook him awake from where they’d slept next to each other.

“Sirius?” Remus’ voice was already pregnant with a chuckle.

Sirius groaned blearily. “Hmm?” He became aware of light fingers on his shoulder, and instinctively caught the hand to tuck against his cheek. It pulled Remus off balance, and he fell onto his elbow with a huff that ruffled in Sirius’ hair.

“I was going to apologise,” Remus said, vaguely amused, “that you couldn’t have a bed of your own, but you don’t seem to mind.”

“Oh. What?” Sirius blinked a few times, willing the sleepy fog away, “why would I mind that?”

“I thought you’d— never mind. Other Londoners might have considered it strange.”

Sirius frowned. “That I don’t have my own room?”

“Well, no. That we’re sharing a bed.” Remus held back a smile. “But really, don’t worry about it. Did you sleep okay?”

Sirius hummed. “Ye. I dreamt a lot, though.”

“Ah.” Remus considered him for a moment. “Try and hold on to them, the dreams. Might help you remember things.”

“Bloody memories.” Sirius huffed in annoyance. “You know what you could do to help, though?”

“What?”

“Show me your poems.” Sirius grinned.

Remus’ mouth fell open, then snapped close, and a flush climbed up his cheek. “But you’ve already read all of them.”

So he was embarrassed. Sirius continued gleefully, “What if I don’t remember everything? C’mon! Aren’t you supposed to be helping me with my memories?”

Remus rolled his eyes at that. “Up you get, Sirius. Thought you wanted to learn magic?”

Soon, they made their way out of the house and the village, crossing the arch footbridge against a small flow of men and women heading towards farm fields and foraging woods. They retraced their way before branching off, deeper into the forest that was all shades of gold in the morning. Remus led the way, confidently with a jog in his steps. Overnight, he appeared to have entirely changed. The doubt and apprehension that hung heavy around him the day before seemed to have all but evaporated away, like the early morning drizzle that gave way to sun.

All along the way, Remus enthusiastically picked up bits of the world, its trees and its earth, explaining to Sirius their magic. But Sirius found that he could hardly focus, when Remus was talking to him like this, all animated arms and teasing smiles and twinkling eyes.

Just as Remus was waxing lyrical about the wind that whistled in the riverbed, Sirius held a hand to his flailing elbow, stopping him in the middle of a sentence.

“Okay, but.” Sirius said, imitating Remus’ wild gestures with his free hand, “Can you show me again?”

Remus laughed drolly— he really had a nice laugh— and conceded. “Fine. Not a man of words either, are you?”

Walking to the river, he picked out a cobblestone with both palms, and carefully placed it into Sirius’ waiting hands, rivulets of cool water running down both their forearms. Sirius couldn’t see anything special about it. It was unremarkably round, colourlessly grey in a world bursting with vibrant hues, and even its subtle streaks of lilac lost its lustre outside the blue river water. Sirius looked up to Remus, puzzled.

Remus gave him a small smile, before letting out a slow breath. He folded Sirius’ hands around the round stone, then covered both Sirius’ hands with his own. It was only moments before magic was flowing between them, the sparks in Sirius’ chest roused up to meet Remus’.

“Do you feel it?” Remus asked, and there’s a glint in his eyes.

“...Feel what?” But even as Sirius spoke, he became aware of a third quiet glow between their palms. It was the stone, thrumming cooly, unpretentiously with age. It was dim, but undeniably there. “Oh.” Sirius murmured in wonder.

The smile grew across Remus’ features. “There. Exactly that. Do you know what that means?”

“What— what does it mean?”

“That it’s real, Sirius. It’s real, even when you can’t be sure if anything in your head is real. That buzz, that alive feeling, in everything, in your own chest— remember that.”

“Okay.” Sirius said quietly. But all he could see was the sparkle in Remus’ eyes. Sirius looked down at the stone humming in his palm, then back up. They looked at each other for long moments, before Remus softly put Sirius’ hands down, prying out the stone to drop it back into the river.

“How could they call you lost?” Sirius asked, “when you know every inch of this place?”

They made their way back to the clearing, where light shot through between leaves leaving the ground spotted, and sat side by side. Remus plucked a stream of sunlight from the air like a string, letting the light hop and bounce and twirl between his fingers, before flicking his wrist to send it towards Sirius. He clumsily caught it and with a snap of his fingers caused it to disappear into a small burst of flame.

“I’m not sure.” Remus finally answered. “The pack always stuck to ourselves, a bit. You can’t quite help feeling the pack’s all we’ve got.”

“Does it hurt? The transformations?”

“What’s with all the questions today, Sirius? I thought you got me all figured out, with everything you’d read of me.” Remus said, full of put-upon nonchalance.

“Remus— most of those were just angsty poems.”

“What do you mean just poems, hm? Besides, they’re angsty poems nobody else has ever seen, ever. Not even the pack.” Remus sighed, darting small looks at Sirius. “And to answer your question, yes, it does hurt. You never quite get used to it either, each moon feels a bit different. But well, it’s not all bad. We have quite a bit of fun with the pack, running around on full moon nights. You could join us, actually, if you want to”

“But how could I?” Sirius frowned. “Isn’t it the point of werewolves that they’re dangerous to humans?”

“Wait— you’re not an animagus?” Remus always seemed to be surprised at the oddest things, Sirius thought. “Are you sure you haven’t just forgotten you were one?”

“Are you mad?” Sirius chuckled in disbelief, “Why would I be an animagus?”

“Oh. Right.” Remus took a moment, before his eyes went wide like Sirius had just told him something mind-blowing. “Huh, interesting. Maybe you should become one.” he said faintly.

The idea made Sirius lit up. “I could, couldn’t I? And I’d be able to join you then, won't I?”

“...Yeah.” Remus turned away, a curious small flush painting his cheeks. It only sharpened Sirius’ resolve on the matter, if only to figure out why.

Remus went back to picking at branches on the ground, then, and Sirius fiddled with conjuring flames from his fingers. He found it a delightful small trick, even if there wasn’t much else he could master just yet.

After a while, he suddenly asked, “Do you remember who bit you?”

A high noise of surprise left Remus’ throat. For long moments, he stayed silent, twirling branches he’d picked up from the ground before dropping them again. Just when Sirius thought he wasn’t going to answer, Remus said, “I do, actually. It’s a wolf from the other pack.”

Sirius snapped up, the flame he’d been fidgeting with dying on his fingertips. “There’s another pack?”

Remus nodded slowly. “Yes. They’re older, all fully grown wolves. They’re more malicious, violent. They’ve come close to attacking the village before.”

“Are they just— lurking around?”

Remus wasn’t quite looking at him. “Not now, they’re not. But they will be around eventually. They don’t just want to maim and turn a few kids, you see, they’re trying to take down the entire village.”

“We’ll— have to fight them, won’t we?” Sirius wished he could reach out and stop Remus from biting his lips. “When the time comes.”

“But not yet, Sirius, not yet. We’ve got time,” Remus said, voice urgent, “I know this. It’ll be a while before we’ll have to fight, I promise.”

“What, like you could divine the future?”

“Well.” Remus seemed to be choosing his words carefully. He looked Sirius up and down for a moment, as though seeing him anew. “There’s more ways to know about the future than divination, Sirius. For one, you could just have been to the future.”

#my writing #once upon a green haze #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #I promise this will make sense eventually #if you trust that I've thought this through

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mah-gah-lee · 4 years ago

Text

because i love you too, you dork ! - (charlie gillespie x reader)

GIF by @damnthedark

Word Count: 2320 words

Summary: Charlie and you were friends for a year now. When he asked you to come to live with Owen and him, you realized you’re having feeling for him. You try to denied but Owen noticed.

Warnings: I don’t think there’s tw in this one.

A/N: So that's it ! My first "x-reader". As some of you already know, I was really scared to post this. Be kind please, my first language is french.

disclaimer: I don't know Charlie or Owen personally or what their life are like. All you will read in this "x reader" is from my imagination. My point is not to invade Charlie's privacy. I don't want to offend him or offend anybody else in his life. This is just me, writing innocently about a boy I find totally pure. All this is not reality

Tagged: @asdfghjkl-allthethings

__________________________________________________

Living with Charlie and Owen wasn't that difficult. They were kind, smiling boys, funny, a bit charming. The only thing that really bothered you, other than that tower of recyclable waste in your apartment; that you (or the boys) must to throw away for ages now, were your growing feelings for the blue-eyed brunette. And you weren't ready to admit it out loud. You didn't know how you fell in love with him so quickly but you did and since the day you realized your feelings, things got a little more different at times in the way you both behaved.

Charlie and you met about a year ago at a festival. You went there for your birthday and some of your friends made you wear this giant crown balloon and scarf saying "out of my way. Birthday girl". Charlie didn't follow the instructions, he walked right up to you with his beautiful, chaotic energy, wished you a happy birthday, and gave you a Canada keychain. You didn't know him but you laughed so hard as you thanked him. You both introduced each other and he offered you a drink - for your birthday -. Since that day you have become close friends and next, best friends.

When Charlie offered you to come live with him while he was shooting JATP season 2, you doubted. Your apartment lease was coming to an end and you had just finished your studies. It was not the right time. But Charlie convinced you. Money was no problem; the rent was split between him and Owen. You can easily live in the third bedroom while participating in daily expenses like food, for example or helping with the cleaning thing. And then you accepted his offer and the great adventure began.

…

"Y / n, have you seen my… oh". At the moment he opened the door, you screamed. Charlie was the clumsiest boy you've ever lived with.

"Boundaries!" you said by putting a towel around you, even if you already worn your underwear.

Your best friend came out of the bathroom without a word or a look to you, heading to the living room where Owen was playing a game.

“You just walked in while she was changing, didn’t you?” the blonde guy said, mocking his friend.

“Yeah, I didn’t know she was so…undressed”

Owen looked at his roommate with a raised eyebrow. “She was in the bathroom you dork!”

Charlie scratched the back of his head, feeling embarrassed

“Yeah, I should have known that.”

You chose that moment to leave the bathroom and run towards the boys, drying your hair with a terry towel.

"I swear to God, Charlie. If you weren't so hot, you would be dead already."

Charlie looked at you, confused. His cheeks are about to turn crimson. You were dressed but the young man could clearly see a few drops of water running from your neck to the neckline of your tank top. All the things he can thought was damn, when did y/n get hot? While waiting for a response from him, you noticed his eyes sunk deep into your cleavage. It made you blush but you didn’t want he knows about. Flirt was your best respond.

"Do you like the view, Gillespie?" A smile hanging on your lips.

If Charlie could be redder than he already was, he would probably look like a giant tomato.

“I-I-I got to go… Have you seen my jacket? I lost my keys and I think they’re in there…”

You rolled your eyes and pointed to the coat rack.

“Where do you think the coats are stored?” you asked him “Thanks God, you both have me in this house." You added, watching your two friends.

Charlie looked at you with his stupid silly smile and rushed into the lobby, grabbing his jacket before retracing his steps and kissed you on the cheek.

"Thanks honey, you're the best". He slammed the door, you frosted.

Now, who's that giant tomato?

“You can’t be that obvious.” You turned to face Owen, who is sitting on the couch, his arms crossed over the back of the sofa.

Becoming friends with Owen had been so easy, you really appreciate his humor, he was so kind and caring, it seemed like you were friends from the start. He meant a real close friend to you now as much as your kindergarten friends.

“What?” you said with a misunderstood look to your friend but the blonde one didn’t say a word and it made you feel so uncomfortable “stop looking at me like that. What’s on your mind?”

Again, he kept eyes on you, without speaking, just a smirk on his lips

“Owen!”

And here we go again, the smirk was bigger than ever. Owen was so proud of himself, getting you out of your hinges. He finally decided to speak, his eyes looking at you playfully

“When were you going to tell me, you have that crush on Charlie?” Your cheeks were crimson but you weren't ready to confess your feelings for Charlie. Even though Owen was the nicest man you've ever known, let alone the brown-haired guy who lived with you and you fell in love with, obviously. Owen was Charlie's best friend and if you told him he was right he would probably tell Charlie about it. And you didn't want that.

“We’re just…friends” you knew that was kind a lie.

Your feelings for the brunette were so obvious, that wasn’t surprising Owen noticed. Your friend rolled his eyes with another smirk on his mouth. He knew you’ll deny even if he could prove you, he’s right. No need to insist so he gave up.

“if you say so”

…

You were invited by Owen and Charlie to Madison’s birthday party on set. You didn't know the cast so well but your roommates didn't want you to be alone at the apartment tonight while they were having fun. So, you ended up here, holding a non-alcoholic drink in your hand, watching your favorites boys and Jeremy doing that stupid -and dangerous- Dirty Dancing Figure. Figure they also put in the season one of Julie and The Phantoms, this time, it was Charlie on top. Your best friend came right to you, so proud of himself.

"Did you see that ?!" he said, way too enthusiastic

“I saw that. And when you’ll crashed your head to the ground, I will NOT be playing nurse for you.”

Charlie gave you a confused look and you rolled your eyes. Of course, you loved Dirty Dancing so much but you had also watched so many videos of the boys trying to do this lift again and each time your heart skipped a beat seeing them miss something and ALMOST DIE! Every fucking times.

"Come on, y / n, don't be mad… let's have fun!" Won't you come viiiibing with me?”

And Charlie did his weird dance moves, your whole face saying that you wanted to laugh so hard. You pursed your lips not to smile but you couldn't suppress it. The song changed and it was like the universe was by Charlie's side. You loved ABBA so much and had watched both films so many times that it was impossible to you to not dance to this song. You sighed, exasperated but amused before putting your drink down and joining him. Your two bodies danced to the music, improvising a kind of choreography. You didn't care if you two looked stupid, you were having so much fun. You felt light, euphoric when you were around Charlie, he made you happy and you knew, you knew that was one of the reasons you were in love with him. Charlie was holding your hands, spinning you, making you dancing and when the song ended you were in his arms with your head back. He got you back on your feet and you bit your lip. Your heart was racing, your breathing was jerky, breathless. God you loved him. Her beautiful blue eyes caught yours and you could swear you saw them ripped from your lips before returning to your eyes. You were both there and for some strange reason you were ready to kiss him. But it did not happen. Your courage flew away and you regained your composure as Charlie acted as if nothing had happened. Madison yelled for Charlie to come over and you walked back to the table where your drink was, Owen now by your side.

“Just friends, ugh? Say it again without lying now.” Owen told you, with his annoying smirking smile.

If your eyes could kill, your roommate would be as much of a ghost as his own character was. He knew he was right and it was delicious to see you almost kiss your best friend in front of the whole cast. It was impossible to deny now.

“Oh, bites me Owen” you just said with a slightly annoyed tone in your voice, making him laugh.

…

After that night you did your best to avoid Charlie as much as you could. You can't deny that seeing the sadness in his eyes when you refused to come on set with him was beyond painful. You hated yourself for making him miserable.

But Charlie was a smart boy, or at least smart enough to trap you in a corner so that you could chat one on one. He asked Owen to convince you to come on set, claiming Charlie wouldn't be there - and you were stupid enough to believe it ... Owen was an actor, and a good one, after all -.

You were watching Madison perform her scene with Owen when you felt a hand slide lightly across your hips. You held your breath as your best friend's slipped behind your ear in a whisper.

"Please y / n, can we talk?"

This was neither the place nor the time to make a scene. Ironic for a tv show set. Defeated, you nodded and Charlie slipped his hand into yours, pulled you off the set. He took you to one of your favorite settings: the garage. So it was away from Julie's bedroom where Owen and Madison were still filming. He didn't bend over backwards to start the discussion as you rubbed your arms, ashamed of the situation.

"What's going on, you've been avoiding me since Madi's birthday"

You couldn't stop staring at your feet, you had to focus on everything except his beautiful eyes.

"You wouldn't understand, please Char," let me go. " you mumbled

" No ... Not until you tell me why you are ruining our friendship "

Hearing this from him was unbearable and it made you lose patience. You wanted the exact opposite of what he was telling you. Your friendship was too important to you, you didn't want to spoil it with your stupid feelings.

" I'm not! I'm just trying to save it.” You exploded.

“Bullshit. Just for the record, you're not doing so well. So, why are you avoiding me?"

Tears were about to dropped out of your face. You hated that. You hated the fact you were stuck in this whole situation. Tears were about to dropped out of your face. Two solutions were available to you: to lose him by confessing your feelings to him. Or lose him with the possibility that he hates you, thinking you were just a heartless bitch.

“So? I am waiting…”

Although he looked annoyed, Charlie seemed to mellow. His hand released a section of your hair, then his fingers circled your cheek, which instinctively nestled from his touch.

"You know you can tell me anything"

You took a deep breath, once again, defeated. Was that the end of your friendship? Should it end like this? Your heart was preparing to be broken.

"You make me want things that I can't have ..."

Charlie tilted his head towards you, forcing you to look him in the eye as your tears threatened to fall at any moment.

"Why do you say that. What did I do?"

But the words no longer left your throat, you were paralyzed by the fear of finally confessing everything to him.

“Y/N, please tell me”

His thumb was drawing circles on your cheek in the hope of comforting you. You gathered for a moment, giving yourself all the courage, you needed before the words left your mouth.

"I am in love with you."

Silence fell like a cleaver. And that's it, it was over. Charlie was probably going to tell you that it wasn't reciprocal. But instead, your best friend's laughter echoed through the room, making your eyes widen.

"Is that all?" he asked. "This is why you're avoiding me?"

Your forehead creased and the tears that burned your eyes grew angry. You had expected anything but hearing him laugh. Your friendship was shattered and Charlie was laughing. How not to be mad at him after that?

"Didn't you hear what I said to you? Why are you laughing?"

And his laughter redoubled before stopping dead. Charlie put a big smile on his lips, happier than ever.

"Because I love you too, you dork!"

Your eyes widened and Charlie's laughter redoubled once more. Delicately, he grabbed your face and kissed you. Your heart exploded at his touch. The feel of his lips on yours was divine. Your hands crept through her hair. They were longer for this second season. You deepened the kiss until you had to recatch your breath. Charlie's smile leaving your lips dazzled the room.

"Can you please stop avoiding me and be my girlfriend?" he asked maliciously.

You pursed your lips to suppress a smile, but it was a failure. You were unable to hide your feelings now. You nodded and Charlie kissed you again. Your friendship was not ruined. It was just evolving into a love story that you didn't expect.

#jatp imagines #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #julie and the phantoms #jatp #owen patrick joyner

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satan-chillin · 4 years ago

Text

Preface

Wei Wuxian puffed up his cheeks, waving his words dismissively. “Still not fair.” He poked the stick on the same spot he burrowed. “If I’m to build a school, I won’t bother with a thousand rules, or even a hundred.” He sent Nie Mingjue a glance before his eyes darted back to the dirt. “For one thing, I won’t punish anyone who simply defended my family’s honor.”

Nie Mingjue was quiet for a while. “You heard.”

In retrospect, it's a bit of an odd start of a friendship.

(Or: in which Nie Minjue is the Second Young Master Nie)

Also available in Ao3

When Nie Mingjue marched straight to Lan Qiren to meet his punishment for his committed infraction, he did so with upright posture and squared shoulders.

The disciples who had witnessed the incident quickly avoided his path. The expression on his face that, frankly, Nie Mingjue had no idea what looked like either, was enough for them to turn away their shocked gazes to gape instead at the spot he just left.

Nie Mingjue had felt a peculiar sense of calm that he usually couldn’t achieve with hours of meditation. Baxia, who had been previously irritated to be left alone in his quarters, purred her satisfaction and glee through their shared connection like a faint thrum of strings at the back of his head.

He announced his presence to Lan Qiren and did not waste time to explain what happened once granted entry. Respectfully, Nie Mingjue ignored the bafflement from his usually stern instructor. Lan Qiren cleared his throat, recovering the next moment as he gestured for him to stand up from his bow and ordering him to spend the whole evening kneeling to mull over the Gusu Lan rule he had broken.

Nie Mingjue was prepared to copy the rules by hand, with a handstand or otherwise; it was as if he was being let off easily. Lan Qiren must have sensed his doubt, adding that it was simply a reflection for the both of them. He admitted that even he wasn’t certain what was the appropriate punishment to inflict, and if he understood that Nie Mingjue acted in righteous defense, he didn’t voice it. Nie Mingjue would know the following morning what was to be done with him.

He came across Lan Xichen on his way, bowed his greeting, and promptly excused himself to begin his reflection, tightlipped despite the warm and open, if a bit concerned, expression by Zewu-jun that was seemingly imploring him to talk to him. Nie Mingjue had no relationship with the older man to speak of, unlike his older brother who he might have been close friends with at some point, but he knew enough of Zewu-jun's character to believe that he would listen.

He was still in hearing distance to catch Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren discussing his visit when he went on his way.

Nie Mingjue hit the gravel resolutely, unminding as the points dug against his pristine disciple robes and the skin of his knees and legs. He folded his hands on his lap and began to meditate, mind carefully easing into a state of tranquility where he drifted back to the smell of pines, of ink, and of lemons and chai.

He thought of the few hours on a pleasant day spent on a low table across from his older brother, with a particularly aromatic tea between them, or, if Nie Mingjue was given the chance, his latest shabby attempt on the spicy braised pork. The latter was usually accompanied by his sullen recollection of the cook's fussy distress at his presence in the kitchen, much to his older brother's amusement time and time again.

Nie Mingjue tried not to think of the latest letter from home. A night hunt was all his brother said in his missive written in the special ink reserved for subjects only he was privy of. Although Nie Minjue took pride that he held his brother's confidence and was not being left in the dark with the pretense of protecting him from the truth, he couldn't help the same measure of apprehension for the message and the underlying meaning of it.

He knew what night hunt his brother spoke of.

It was a considerable number of hours later, with the dawn already at his back, when Nie Mingjue paused, looking past his shoulder at the slight noise. He heard someone sighing in disappointment at being discovered.

"Do you have eyes at the back of your head or something?" Wei Wuxian muttered as he went beside him to imitate his pose. At the noncommittal grunt he received in return, he pouted.

Nie Minjue was tempted to say that Wei Wuxian wasn't exactly the subtlest of people, but that could be taken as an invitation for mischief. Then again, if Lang Wangji's silence wasn't enough to deter Wei Wuxian, Nie Mingjue's wouldn't be an exception. The fact that Wei Wuxian was being punished, again, was already an omen.

He watched as Wei Wuxian's attention was immediately on the lying twig which he poked the gravel with, burrowing a hole on the ground.

“What is it this time?” Nie Mingjue asked; Wei Wuxian’s presence wasn’t a prelude to a quiet evening, after all. Certainly not when he would eventually lament missing dinner.

“Broke the barrier past curfew,” Wei Wuxian chirped. At Nie Mingjue’s scoff, he defensively added, “Hey, I’m only a minute late.”

“You don’t see the rule allowing a minute of grace period either.”

“Yeah, well, that’s inconsiderate.” Wei Wuxain crossed his arms defiantly. “What if you were supposed to get back right on time but got caught up with something important?”

“Like what exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know, like when you lost your pass and you have to retrace your steps where you might have lost it.”

“That’s negligence,” Nie Mingjue said. “Hardly anyone’s fault but yours.”

Nie Mingjue was quiet for a while. “You heard.”

“It’s what everyone’s talking about when I came in,” Wei Wuxian said simply. “Ah, I didn’t believe it at first until I heard it from a Lan disciple. Be proud that you made someone break the no gossiping rule there. And good job decking that prat by the way. Just when I think pompousness is the only quality the Jins share.” He pointed the stick at him and grinned. “And just when I thought all you Nies are aggressive and hotheaded.”

There was no stopping Nie Mingjue’s snort at that. “I proved your point then.”

Wei Wuxian made a noncommittal noise. “I’m not sure you can call that fighting in the first place. He insulted your brother, a sect leader, and you knocked him out for it. It’s a clear-cut situation. If anything, I think he got off easy. If you are what the rumors said then he’d be crawling back to Jinlintai with broken legs.”

Well, that was new. Nie Mingjue was used to people believing he was a kettle nearing a boiling point, someone who was prone to lashing out and was slow to forgive. Their impression got better as he grew older, broader, and bigger. He was never out of place among cousins and distant kins. Nie Mingjue belonged with the men that served the Nie Sect. Instead, they called him proud—and he was—and someone quick to anger but fair; a young man who had the qualities that made a perfect Nie.

Just like his father before him and so unlike his older brother, they would say. Why wasn’t the second son born first?

Stifling down his ire at hearing those common words led to him developing longer patience and fewer thoughts on wanting to smack those who thought his older brother was any less of a man for being sickly and of a delicate constitution as they were led to believe. Because his older brother never made an appearance in public since his supposed qi deviation subsequent to the death of their father and his ascension as the sect leader behind closed doors, it was equated as having a weak leader.

A pushover, Nie Mingjue had called him when he hadn’t known any better, young and impatient as he had been. A boy grieving for his dead father and an older brother who no longer had the time to spare for him. He had had the mind to repeat the insulting names that he had heard in passing, words that he hadn’t initially believed until Wen Ruohan dared to establish a supervisory office in their border unhindered. Nie Mingjue remembered the fury at the slight, but what he remembered being furious for was Nie Huaisang letting the insult be.

It wasn’t until he stormed his older brother’s private chamber to personally bring his and the restless people’s grievance that he stopped and considered what he truly knew of the matter.

Nie Mingjue recalled that day with vivid clarity: his older brother sitting behind a low table with strewn papers and documents surrounding him. He looked older, his face sharper and withdrawn with dark circles underneath his eyes, eyes that were familiar to smiles and held gentleness for small animals and a younger brother who was rather tall for his age but who he called precious nonetheless.

There was a storm of anger for the brief moment that Nie Mingjue stood there to take the sight of Nie Huaisang, who, contrary to popular belief, was not bedridden and was moving about. Easily, his older brother smiled at Nie Mingjue brightly and melted whatever hurt and rage he might have in his chest. Nie Mingjue should have been mad, should have felt betrayed that his brother was hiding from him, but his brother was alright all along and wasn’t in imminent danger of leaving him alone and that was all that mattered to the lonely boy that was Nie Mingjue.

He had not understood then why he was asked for his secrecy of his brother’s true state, but he agreed. Pleased, Nie Huaisang embraced him tightly. “You’re the only one I can trust, A-Jue,” was whispered to him.

Then, on the third evening that followed, Nie Mingjue, in what he had thought was a lucid dream, was led by the hand by his older brother. They walked sedately, unminding of anyone who might recognize them in the middle of the night a good distance from the Qishan Wen border. When asked about their destination, Nie Huaisang smiled serenely at him and squeezed his hand.

Within the hour, the mountainside blazed in a fiery light that burned on Nie Mingjue’s sight and mind, as if a Fire God had come down to rain down its wrath that swallowed that damned supervisory office whole. Nie Mingjue returned to sleep dreaming of the fire and his older brother apologizing softly for missing out on his eleventh birthday.

No one knew. No one knew what Nie Huaisang truly was capable of. Oh, they were right that they were not alike despite their shared blood. Where Nie Mingjue would rather be direct and face an enemy head-on, his brother worked in the shadows to take revenge bit by bit at their father’s murderer and who never received credit for the victories he perpetrated as stepping stones to his ultimate goal.

“It’s enough for me that you know,” Nie Huaisang would say, and all the more Nie Mingjue loved and admired him for it.

Where Nie Mingjue began to make a name for himself in leading successful night hunts in haunted forests and abandoned villages, Nie Huaisang’s hunting ground was in Wen outposts and prison encampments. Where Nie Mingjue was famed for his skill with the saber at a young age, Nie Huaisang was capable of tricks and deception through his creativity with paints and expertise in subtle performance. He could appear either as a noble or a commoner, a local or a foreigner, or as an older man or a young woman. The latter which Nie Mingjue had admittedly taken the time to get used to.

Nie Mingjue could only wish he was half the man his older brother was, therefore striving to be the heir that Sect Leader Nie could be proud of. His older brother sent him to the Cloud Recesses to study with the very intention of letting Nie Mingjue have the experience of attending lectures with his peers ( you’re young, A-Jue, make friends and enjoy your youth while you still can ), and while he understood making connections who he could form alliances with later, now that war was seemingly inevitable in the near future, it didn’t mean that Nie Mingjue wouldn’t try to be the best of his generation. He was looking forward to sending a letter of his full marks to his brother soon—if a letter about what had transpired earlier wouldn’t reach him first.

At his periphery, he caught Wei Wuxian observing him, uncharacteristically silent. When Nie Mingjue raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “Shame I wasn’t there. I would have cheered for you.”

“Not worth the trouble,” Nie Mingjue muttered with a twitch of a smile. It was hard not to around Yungmeng Jiang’s head disciple, he found during his minimal interactions with him. The most notable perhaps was when he had invited him, drunk, for a ‘communal reading experience’ that Nie Mingjue had not bothered to find the meaning of before dumping him back to his shared quarters with Jiang Wanyin who had been utterly mortified that evening and had been relieved that it hadn’t been Lan Wangji who had found his foster brother.

“If it was me, they’d have to pry me from that bastard who badmouthed anyone from my family,” Wei Wuxian declared, hitting his fist with an open palm. “I don’t blame you. Lan Qiren shouldn’t either. And if Sect Leader Jin has sense, he won’t make much of a fuss about it. It wasn’t his peacock of a son at least, so there’s that.”

Peacock of a son… “Jin Zixuan?”

“Mmh. That one doesn’t know shijie’s worth. If he’s also the one who insulted your brother, all the more reason to kick his ass.”

Nie Mingjue doubted that Jin Guangshan’s son would lack propriety, but he was familiar with protectiveness over siblings, something he could empathize with Wei Wuxian.

"Of course," he humored.

Wei Wuxian proved to be a distraction from what started as an onerous mood with his jovial personality and penchant for mischief that he was determined to involve Nie Mingjue in. While Nie Mingjue would gladly take his punishment, he didn't have to particularly look forward to it. Perhaps, though, tomorrow wouldn't be so bad with Wei Wuxian who liked to run a commentary on almost everything about the Cloud Recesses, why Yunmeng was infinitely better, and why the Second Jade of Lan would benefit with smiling more. The last one was a peculiar subject that made way to Wei Wuxian's recollection of his antics so far in Gusu, which were a lot, as it turned out. Nie Mingjue barely knew and heard half of it.

His older brother might have meant to say that he was to get acquainted with responsible young masters and disciples and not troublemakers, but if this was a start of a friendship… then Nie Mingjue wasn't about to complain.

#mdzs fic #mdzs #cql fic #cql #untamed #fanfic #fanfiction #nie mingjue #nmj #cql nmj #mdzs nmj #wei ying #wei wuxain #mo dao su zhi #nie bros #nie brothers #wwx #cql wwx #nie huaisang

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tealin · 4 years ago

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Cape Crozier: The Winter Journey

As usual, please go to the original blog to see everything formatted properly. I will attempt to put most of this under a cut, here. Forgive me if it fails.

On the morning of 27 June 1911, three men set out from Cape Evans, on the balmy west coast of Ross Island, to cross to the east coast via its southern shore. Wilson, their leader, wanted to acquire some Emperor penguin embryos, and the only known Emperor rookery was just off Cape Crozier. Based on the chicks he had seen in September the last time he was in Antarctica, Wilson estimated that the eggs would be laid in early July, so he timed the trip to meet them at the right stage of development and to coincide with the full moon, to have the best visibility in a world of 24-hour night.

Wilson had discussed this mission with his assistant, Cherry-Garrard, when the latter was applying to join the Expedition. Once in Antarctica, they agreed the obvious choice for a third was Bowers, who had amply proven his energy, enthusiasm, strength, resourcefulness, and resistance to cold.

To reach Cape Crozier at the full moon in early July meant leaving Cape Evans at the new moon, and so shortly after the solstice that most of the day was nearly black, lit only by the stars shining hard in the sky, and occasionally the aurora. The first part of the journey was over very familiar territory, so the greatest difficulty was learning how to camp when one could hardly see anything and it was too cold to take one's mitts off or touch any metal. So far, so surmountable.

The tune changed as soon as they left the sea ice and got onto the permanent ice of the Barrier (or Ross Ice Shelf, as it is now known).

They left the tempering effect of the open ocean behind, and were under the influence of the frigid interior. The air temperature plunged, and worse, for men hauling everything necessary for life on two 9ft sledges, they soon entered a zone of soft snow.

Runners slide over snow by melting the surface with friction – the glide is, in fact, slipping over a thin film of liquid water. At such low temperatures, friction is not sufficient to melt anything, so the grains of snow act more like sand. A hard, wind-polished surface would be like sandpaper, but in the deep soft snow it was like dragging a dead weight through the Sahara, albeit a Sahara where a day of -50°F felt like a warm spell.

They couldn't drag both sledges at once, so they had to take one forward, then retrace their steps and drag the other. For every mile of forward progress, they actually covered three. In the dead calm, they could use a naked candle to follow their outward steps back to fetch the second sledge. Eight hours of dragging seldom got them more than two miles from where they started, and ended with the slow process of pitching camp. After getting the tent up, the day's cook would burn his fingers on freezing tin matchboxes in a quest for a match free of frost, before he could get the Primus stove going. Eventually the travellers would get some hot liquid in them –

Directly we started to drink then the effect was wonderful: it was, said Wilson, like putting a hot-water bottle against your heart. The beats became very rapid and strong and you felt the warmth travelling outwards and downwards. [250]

– and then, after checking their feet for frostbites, it was time to thaw their way into their frozen sleeping bags for a miserable attempt at sleep.

For me it was a very bad night: a succession of shivering fits which I was quite unable to stop, and which took possession of my body for many minutes at a time until I thought my back would break, such was the strain placed upon it. They talk of chattering teeth: but when your body chatters you may call yourself cold. [241] We knew we did sleep, for we heard one another snore, and also we used to have dreams and nightmares; but we had little consciousness of it, and we were now beginning to drop off when we halted on the march. [245]

It was important for every field party to take regular meteorological observations, to contribute to an understanding of the region's weather. At regular intervals through the day, Bowers would take an air temperature reading, and while they were sleeping, a minimum thermometer was placed under the sledge to measure the temperature in a sheltered place. On 6 July, this got down to -75°F; the following afternoon, Bowers' thermometer registered -77.5°F. The day lives in my memory as that on which I found out that records are not worth making. [247-8]

The clear cold of the first part of their journey had given way to a fog, which diffused the little moonlight they got and obscured the terrain until they were practically right on top of it. As they were rounding the heel of Mt Terror this meant crevasses, and not being able to tell where they were until one fell through, which was a nerve-wracking business on top of the sleep deprivation and physical hardship.

The horror of the nineteen days it took us to travel from Cape Evans to Cape Crozier would have to be re-experienced to be appreciated; and any one would be a fool who went again: it is not possible to describe it. The weeks which followed were comparative bliss, not because our conditions were better – they were far worse – but because we were callous. I for one had come to that point of suffering at which I did not really care if only I could die without much pain. They talk of the heroism of the dying – they little know – it would be so easy to die, a dose of morphia, a friendly crevasse, and blissful sleep. The trouble is to go on. . . . [237]

Finally they were on the home stretch, a narrow lane between the rough terrain of the land and the great pressure waves where the Barrier presses up against Ross Island as it flows out to sea. This proved to be nearly impossible to keep to, in the poor light, but after much stumbling, and with a welcome rise in temperature to the mere -20s, they finally reached a moraine just short of the Knoll, within hiking distance of the Emperor colony huddled in the lee of the Barrier face below. They pitched their tent on an icy smooth snow slope 150 yards down from the ridge, and the following day set about building a igloo near the top, using the exposed volcanic stone found there, in a method Cherry had been practising at Cape Evans. July 16th, when they established the hut, was Wilson's wedding anniversary, and in the privacy of his diary at least, he named the igloo Oriana Hut, and the moraine Oriana Ridge, after his wife. The others proposed 'Terra Igloo', 'The House on the Hill,' and 'Bleak House.' In the South Polar Times, after their return, Bowers immortalised it in rhyme as 'The House That Cherry Built.' On official Antarctic maps, though, it's now labelled Wilson's Igloo and the moraine is Igloo Spur.

Our trip to Cape Crozier was a walk in the park – 35 minutes in a helicopter watching the amazing views roll by – and our greatest challenge was finding the landing site, but that was only a question of how close it was to the GPS waymark, rather than whether we could land at all. We were not exempt from the vagaries of Antarctic weather, however. When our flight got the green light, the weather at Cape Crozier was 30% cloud with 7-knot winds. Not your typical Cape Crozier weather, but great weather for helicopters. By the time we arrived, 35 minutes later, it was 70% cloud, a fog was rolling in, and winds were at 30 knots. I was warned our time here might be short. But we set off to see the igloo anyway.

The plan had been to build the body of the igloo in stone, then bank up the walls with gravel and snow to make them weatherproof. Unlike a stereotypical snow-block igloo, it was not a dome, but would be roofed using one of the sledges as a beam, with a canvas sheet spread over it, firmly anchored in the rocks. This has an Arctic precedent: in Francis McClintock's account of his search for the lost Franklin Expedition in the 1850s, he describes meeting an Inuit woman who lived in a stone igloo of very similar construction. Cherry's practice igloo at Cape Evans was an admirable structure, but the plan went awry at Cape Crozier, on account of a lack of gravel and all the snow in the vicinity being blown so hard as to be practically ice [261]. They improvised as best they could, chipping some slabs of ice out of the snowbank and leaning them against the exterior walls, but it was not as cosy a structure as they'd hoped, and they ended up stuffing spare socks into some of the larger gaps in the stones to keep out the wind. This wind, they discovered on their second day of building, was much stronger at the top of the ridge than where they had made camp on the snow. But the stone walls were more secure than the tent – which was left pitched outside the igloo's door for storage – and heralded a new 'Age of Stone' in which they could get on with their science.

It was more than just scientific interest that made a visit to the penguin colony imperative: on their grind to Cape Crozier, they had burned through nearly five of their six cans of oil. As well as the penguin embryos they came for, they needed to burn some blubber to keep warm in their igloo, so that they could use the last tin of oil for the return journey. So as soon as their building progress allowed, they scouted a perilous path down a snow drift over the cliffs and through the horrible pressure to reach the Emperor colony. Instead of the two thousand birds found by the Discovery, there were barely a hundred, and less than half of them apparently had eggs. Nevertheless, Wilson and Bowers secured five eggs and three birds' skins – the blubber comes off with the skin – and they legged it back to their camp while there was still a modicum of light to see by. Cherry broke both of the eggs he was carrying in a fall, but they made it back with the remaining three and the blubber, which got its revenge on Wilson by spluttering into his eye from the stove.

“Things must improve,” said Bill [Wilson] next day, “I think we reached bed-rock last night.” We hadn't, by a long way. [272]

The igloo is at the opposite end of the moraine from the helicopter landing site, or at least where the GPS told us it was. There is nothing between the crest of Igloo Spur and the Transantarctic Mountains, hundreds of miles away, and the 30-knot wind flowed over our minor obstruction just like a river: barely any gusts, just a constant flow, solid as water, up and over the ridge and then out towards the sea. I tried to look out for lichen as I stumbled along, but it was hard to be careful of where I put my feet when I was struggling to keep my balance against the wind. There were patches of a beige crust – was this lichen or was it a mineral deposit? Someone shouted that they had found some – it turned out to be black, and crawled along the ground like dinosaur fern. Once spotted it was obvious, and easier to avoid.

A few good minutes' scramble got us to the igloo. On the way, I saw a small log of petrified wood, shining pale on the chocolate-brown rubble. This seemed very much out of place on a volcanic island, and I wondered briefly how it had got there, before an answer came: obviously it had blown here. A joke, perhaps, but not as much of one as you might think: the further out along the ridge we walked, the stronger the wind seemed to be. At last we reached the remains of Oriana Hut.

I should have been humbled, or at least struck with a sense of awe. But all I could think was: You guys were completely insane.

The day after Wilson, Cherry, and Bowers returned from the raid on the Emperors, there was a small blizzard, and the flapping of the canvas roof on the igloo caused them some concern, so they set about weighing it down with blocks of ice and making extra sure it was securely fastened all around. They pitched the tent right next to the door and put a lot of their gear into it, to make space for themselves in the igloo. Then, with the weather calm and their bellies full, they settled down to catch up on some precious and hitherto scanty sleep.

I do not know what time it was when I woke up. It was calm, with that absolute silence which can be so soothing or so terrible as circumstances dictate. Then there came a sob of wind, and all was still again. Ten minutes and it was blowing as though the world was having a fit of hysterics. The earth was torn in pieces: the indescribable fury and roar of it all cannot be imagined.

“Bill, Bill, the tent has gone,” was the next I remember – from Bowers shouting at us again and again through the door. …. Journey after journey Birdie and I fought our way across the few yards which had separated the tent from the igloo door.

… To get that gear in we fought against solid walls of black snow which flowed past us and tried to hurl us down the slope. Once started nothing could have stopped us. I saw Birdie [Bowers] knocked over once, but he clawed his way back just in time. Having passed everything we could find in to Bill, we got back into the igloo, and started to collect things together, including our very dishevelled minds.[275-6]

Not sure when they would be able to eat again, they cooked a meal, and nervously watched the igloo roof. The problem was not so much that it was in the wind, but that it was just out of it: the wind rushing up the southern slope of the moraine created suction just behind the crest, where the igloo was, and this was pulling the canvas up. The motion of the canvas shifted the ice blocks weighing it down until they were off. Then the incessant sucking up and flapping down started to stretch the material; as it stretched it got more play; as it played more the flapping became more violent. At last the fabric could no longer take the strain and exploded into ribbons, whose frantic lashing in the hurricane sounded like pistol shots.

They hurried into their sleeping bags and rolled over so that the flaps were underneath, and huddled while the storm raged overhead.

I can well believe that neither of my companions gave up hope for an instant. They must have been frightened, but they were never disturbed. As for me I never had any hope at all; and when the roof went I felt that this was the end. [280]

And then … they slept. The blizzard had brought a rise in temperature and the snow drifting over them made a good insulator, so they were more comfortable than they had been for a while, and of course there was nothing else they could do. There was so much to worry about that there was not the least use in worrying: and we were so very tired. [282] Occasionally Bowers would thump Wilson and Wilson would move a bit to prove he was alive. When they were awake they'd sing songs and hymns to pass the time – we sang hymns because they were easier to sing than La Bohême and it was a good thing to sing something.* Quieter moments might be spent cogitating over how to get back without a tent, but the situation looked pretty hopeless. When they were thirsty they would pinch a little drift from just outside their bag and eat it, and so staved off the worst, but without a tent, 52 excruciating miles from the nearest shelter at Hut Point, and months away from spring, it seemed only to be delaying the inevitable.

Thus impiously I set out to die, making up my mind that I was not going to try and keep warm, that it might not take too long, and thinking I would try and get some morphia from the medical case if it got very bad. Yes! comfortable, warm reader. Men do not fear death, they fear the pain of dying. [281]

On top of everything, it was Wilson's 39th birthday.

I suppose the most surprising thing is that there is anything left of the igloo at all. Some of the rocks came down when the roof blew open, but the many, many blizzards since then have worked hard to dismantle the rest. And yet, in the shelter of the walls, protected by the drift that accumulates there, there are still some of the Crozier party's possessions.

Standing here, especially in a 30-knot wind, one cannot but think this is a pretty stupid place to build a shelter. Cherry acknowledges this in his book, but reminds us that they had to build more or less where the rocks were, and the rocks were where the wind kept the snow from accumulating. They had brought a snow knife to cut snow blocks, Inuit-fashion, but there was no such snow to be had; it was all ice. And I had an additional insight, thanks to my midnight hike up Arrival Heights:

The igloo is built just off the crest of the ridge, exactly like where I was standing when I felt no wind on Arrival Heights. They would have been very familiar with that ridgeline and had almost certainly observed the same phenomenon, so if they had to pick a spot on a desolate windswept hill, that was, in the circumstances, one of the better ones to pick. There was a short blizzard their first night back from the Emperors, but aside from the drift blowing through the gaps in the rocks it didn't concern them much; they just had the bad timing to meet a monstrous storm shortly after. I have never heard or felt or seen a wind like this, Cherry wrote, even after having experienced the ferociously windy second winter at Cape Evans, where they feared the hut might blow down, I wondered why it did not carry away the earth. [283] They had anticipated the wind in the construction of the hut, and the pyramid tent had amply proven its ability to stand up to blizzards in its years of Antarctic service; it was the suction that threw them a curve ball. When the roof blew into ribbons, it was still firmly anchored in the walls, and even 108 years later, it's still there.

The storm first hit on Friday, 21 July; by Monday it was beginning to abate enough that they could speak to each other without too much difficulty. They hadn't eaten for two days, but the first thing they did was go look for the tent. When that proved fruitless, they returned and cooked a meal with the tent floorcloth stretched between their heads. The cooker was full of penguin feathers, burnt blubber, and dirt, but the smell of it was better than anything on earth.

When the midday twilight returned, they had another search for the tent. I followed Bill down the slope. We could find nothing. But, as we searched, we heard a shout somewhere below and to the right. They slid down the snow slope and fetched up where Bowers had discovered the tent, which must have closed like an umbrella when sucked off its moorings, and, with so much less surface area, dropped out of the sky only a few hundred yards away. Our lives had been taken away and given back to us.

We were so thankful we said nothing.

If the tent went again we were going with it. We made our way back up the slope with it, carrying it solemnly and reverently, precious as though it were something not quite of the earth. And we dug it in as tent was never dug in before ... [284-5]

I have read Cherry's account of the Winter Journey several times, 'blind' as it were – in my head, Cape Crozier was a chaotic jumble of ice and rock with no shape I could deduce from the writing. Unlike the landmarks of McMurdo Sound, and even the Beardmore to some extent, there were no historical photos of the theatre for this action; a few closeups of the igloo appear at the end of Mark Gatiss' 2007 docudrama, but they give no context in respect to the landscape. This was why it was vitally important I stand there myself. The moment I realised that ambition, I knew it was more valuable than I could ever have pitched in a grant proposal. The tiered foothills of Mt Terror to the east, the back of the Knoll, the strip of blue sea visible from the igloo, the 'porcelain teacup' of the hollow between here and there, and most profoundly, how the igloo hangs off the edge of nowhere on this exposed finger of land. In the midst of a blizzard, with howling drift on all sides as well as above and below, it would be a tiny mote of solidity suspended in the vast blank nothing.

My companions must have been a little confused by my behaviour. I hardly took any photos of the igloo. It was interesting, for sure, but the state it's in now would not help me much, to draw it how it was then. I took a lot of photos of the surroundings, but on two sides it was blowing mist so that didn't take very long. Mostly what I did was sit with my back against a sill of rock near the igloo and just stare and stare and stare. I wanted to memorize everything – not just where things were, but the wind, the silvery gleam on the snow, the feeling of being utterly at the extremity of all things. It's one thing to read Cherry's memories, and boggle at the experience; it's quite another to stand where they were made, and be able to measure your own experience against theirs. Standing there in the light, I could see it dark. Their blizzard would have been blowing twice as hard as the wind that could have knocked me over. Riding behind Cherry's eyes, memory viewed through the lens of grief and nostalgia, his companions fill the frame, so one does not get a proper sense of how extremely tiny they all were in this vast howling nothing. And, of course, they had only themselves to get them home, not a waiting helicopter.

We had another meal, and we wanted it; and as the good hoosh ran down into our feet and hands, and up into our cheeks and ears and brains, we discussed what we would do next. Birdie was all for another go at the Emperor penguins. Dear Birdie, he would never admit that he was beaten – I don't know that he ever really was! … There could really be no common-sense doubt: we had to go back … [285] They packed what they could that night and got what sleep they could in their horrible icy bags. The next morning it looked like it was going to start blizzing again; they loaded the camp onto one of the sledges and stashed in a corner of the igloo what they didn't want or need to take back, along with the other sledge, and set off into a rising wind. After only a mile or so the weather forced them to camp, and Birdie tied a line from the apex of the tent around the outside of his bag where he slept: if the tent went he was going too. [287]

The journey back was still cold, but only hauling one sledge, they made much better time. The men were exhausted, however, and their equipment suffering from their ordeals, so it didn't afford as much comfort or protection as it had on the way out. But they were on their way home, and justifiably confident of getting there.

It was the helicopter that called time on my visit to Cape Crozier. The anemometer had clocked 38 knots at one point and nothing looked likely to improve. In the interest of fuel efficiency, the machine was a nimble fibreglass damselfly, not built to withstand this sort of onslaught, and our pilot was worried for his craft. So my coordinator came and told me it was time to go. The trek back was definitely windier than it had been when we arrived, and it felt longer, too, though that may have been because I had my head down, focusing on my footing, rather than looking at lichen and petrified wood. We piled onto the waiting machine and with no undue delay were back in the air. One last wide loop around Igloo Spur, then we rode the wind seaward, and the igloo on the edge of nowhere vanished in the mist behind.

It is extraordinary how often angels and fools do the same thing in this life, and I have never been able to settle which we were on this journey. [273]

I understand why they did what they did, and made the decisions they made in context, but I have not let go of that impression that they were completely insane. I've done pretty crazy things for an abstract goal, and while sleep-deprived, so on one hand I hesitate to judge. On the other, a tiny unrepresentative sample of the extremity they endured beggars belief that they didn't start the trek home the minute they'd got the eggs, if not a lot sooner. Surely they noticed that it was horrible?

But who is the more foolish here? They threw themselves into the worst Antarctica had to offer in pursuit of knowledge, which could only be acquired this way. They may not have known how bad it was going to be, but they knew it would be pretty bad, and went anyway, because they determined it to be worthwhile.

We, on the other hand, were only there because they had been there.

Correction: I was there because they had been there. The others would not have been there except for me.

So who is the bigger fool?

*All quotes in this post are from The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard, with corresponding page numbers, except this one, which his from his introduction to Edward Wilson of the Antarctic, p.xiv

#the worst journey in the world #cape crozier #winter journey #apsley cherry-garrard #edward adrian wilson #bill wilson #henry robertson bowers #birdie bowers #penguins #adventure #polar exploration #heroic age #exploration #science

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davids-cartoon-corkboard · 4 years ago

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Y’all know my theory at this point: when Raph was little he got separated from his family somehow and had to survive on his own for a while; the trauma from this caused him to develop DID.

It’s pretty clear Savage Raph formed specifically out of that isolation/survival trauma, but we met a third alter in “Pizza Puffs”, who I am calling “Red” for now. What’s his deal? When did he form and why?

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Raph: These guys are lost without me! Maybe I should help them.

Red: Make them do it themselves. It’s the only way they’ll learn.

Raph: But they’re just kids!

Red: And you can make them men!

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Raph: I gotta get in there!

Red: No. They’ll never learn if you always help ‘em, Raph.

Raph: But I can’t just sit here.

Red: This is for their own good.

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Raph: I knew you guys could do it.

Red: No you didn’t! I did!

Raph: Oh, you wanna go?

Red: Bring it.

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While Savage fronts when Host can’t handle being literally alone, Red spoke up in “Pizza Puffs” because Host was struggling to deal with being sort of... metaphorically alone? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and weren’t taking him or the situation seriously. Normally “it’s not good to be too dependent on others”, “kids need to grow up” and “sometimes you have to do things you don’t like” are good life lessons, but in this particular situation the life lessons should have waited until after the boys weren’t poisoned anymore. Sure, they pulled through, but Raph staying behind added an unnecessary level of risk. There’s a level of disjointedness between Raph and Red that I’m hoping will be explored and resolved in the future.

New alters form when preexisting alters are unable to handle whatever is going on in their life. What situation would Raph have been in for Red to form? When was “be independent/grow up/do something you don’t like” important? "Pizza Puffs” was the first time we’ve seen Raph do a solo mission, but it’s not the first time something like that has been mentioned.

“You went out on your own when you were [Mikey's] age.”

Thirteen is a very lonely age to be. I’m thinking events went something like this: Raph started hitting puberty at around 12/13 and Everything Was Awful. He was suddenly a lot bigger and stronger than he was used to, so he would accidentally break things around the lair more often, or get a little too rough when playing. I know we tend to poke fun at the “nobody understands me and everything sucks” mindset teens fall into, but as a mutant, Raph’s world was so, so small. Disconnected from his brothers, whose minds hadn’t hit the same milestones yet. Disconnected from his father, who would be passed out in the middle of a “Scorpion Treadmill” marathon whenever Raph needed guidance. Disconnected from April, a normal human girl who lived a normal human life he could never have.

Raph’s temper is relatively mellow now, but back then? Under those circumstances? He went too far.

And then he ran off topside, shame and nausea biting at the leftover fury in his heart.

In previous iterations, this is when he would run into a certain masked vigilante. But not in this universe. Not on this night. Casey wasn’t out pummeling pickpockets, she was training at the Foot dojo. They wouldn’t meet until “Hot Soup: The Game”, a couple of years later.

So Raph curled up on a roof somewhere with only his awful, awful thoughts for company. His little brother had been so scared of him... he couldn’t go back and face his family after what he had almost done. But he couldn’t stay up here alone either. What could he do?

Grow up.

He’s stronger now, and he has to be braver, too. He knows the way back home and there’s nothing out here that can hurt him. He can stand to be alone for a bit.

But he can’t stay here forever. He’ll have to go back home and do what he can to make things right, no matter how much it hurts.

So Red breathed in the cold night air for a while, and then retraced his steps back to the lair.

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But how are Raph and Casey going to properly meet? We saw her get kidnapped by that shadow thingy at the end of “Always Be Brownies”, so the resolution to that whole situation should be involved somehow.

Draxum gave Big Mama an orb covered in clawed, three-fingered hands. Then we see that Big Mama’s new assistant has such hands, as does the entity that took Meat Sweats and Casey. Clearly Big Mama is having her assistant kidnap people to fight in her “Fantabulous Battle Nexus Wizbang”. The turtles will be pulled into this because you can’t just not have your protagonists participate in the tournament arc.

We have yet to see Casey go well and truly Apeshit, because her previous fights have always had a certain level of shenanigans to them. Mikey fought her with an umbrella and a beach ball. Leo shoved a portal under her feet. She accidentally slashed up a corpse flower and fell into the goo. Her bonding moment with Splinter made her less willing to fight. The FBNW will give her the opportunity to show us what she can really do by pitting her against an opponent who is no-nonsense, one hundred percent ready to throw down.

Who could possibly be a better opponent for her than Savage Raph? (Perhaps Big Mama’s shadow captured the Sando Brothers, and they gave Big Mama information on a better fighter in exchange for their freedom?)

The two are evenly matched, of course, but the fight gets interrupted by the other turtles causing a mass breakout thanks to Leo’s emergency leader skills. Savage runs into his brothers amidst the chaos and they get Host to switch back in again. They defeat Big Mama and her shadow together and head home, yay huzzah plot concluded.

Casey, forgotten, also escapes and sneaks off to brood somewhere.

-----

A few episodes later, Red slips away to cool off for a bit (a habit that formed when he did, a way to decompress whenever they felt their temper getting the better of them) and happens to see some hockey mask-wearing lunatic picking fights with pickpockets. He hops down and holds her back, letting the would-be thieves get away with their skulls intact. “Listen, I get that you’re mad, but you can’t just go around-” And then he gets a baseball bat to the head.

"Back for round two, are you?!”

Red shakes the stars out of his eyes. That voice sounds familiar. “Hey, I don’t wanna fight you! Pops told us you left the Foot, we don’t have to be enemies anymore! Your heart’s in the right place with this whole crimefighting thing, but you’re going too far.”

Casey laughs a laugh that’s more taunt than humor. “Crimefighting? You think that’s what this is?” She gestures at the direction the thieves went with her scuffed and bloody bat. “This is training! You ran from our fight in the Nexus and I have been itching to beat you ever since. Die, coward!”

Red just barely manages to dodge the second bat swing. “What are you talking about? I never even saw you in the Nexus!”

They trade blows for a bit, Red’s attempts to calm her drowned by Casey screaming and cursing out this “lying turtle scum”. “Where is your fury? What happened to your viciousness? Why won’t you give me a real fight this time? Why are you holding back?!”

Her voice fades and all Red hears is the high shrieks and low roars of a crowd, harsh lights dulling the twin moons set in the green sky above as she lunges towards him and-

The bat hits his side with such force that the wood cracks a little, knocking the wind out out him despite his sturdy shell.

Casey stops bludgeoning him to better focus on gloating. “That move didn’t work on you last time. Did the first hit scramble your brains?”

Red kicks her feet out from under her and bolts, running back to the lair as quickly as he can manage with his head full of sights and sounds he can’t quite grab onto.

-----

Leo had stayed up to wait for his brother to return, so he grabs the first aid kit the moment Red emerges from the sewer tunnel. He starts to ask what happened as he unspools a roll of bandages, but Red asks a question instead. "What happened at the Nexus while I was... gone?"

Leo knows what he means, and the sun starts to rise as he fills in the gaps in his brother's memory.

-----

Casey’s ankle is twisted from Red's kick, so she can’t run after him for more than a few steps before falling over. Limping back home, she puts on her motivational Lou Jitsu playlist and begins to scheme.

---

For the record, I do think Raph and Casey will eventually become friends. But in the meantime... what kind of superhero doesn’t have a nemesis? :)

#rottmnt #rottmnt theory #rottmnt casey #foot recruit #rottmnt raph #red raph #savage raph #the 'raph is a system' theory

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trulyinspiringmovies · 3 years ago

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The Boss Baby: Family Business

“The Boss Baby: Family Business” is more of the same elements of the first film with a lot of questionable choices mixed in.

Tim Templeton is all grown up now and has a loving wife and two daughters. Tabitha, the oldest daughter, is becoming more independent and Tim is scared that she might not need him anymore. Tina, the infant daughter, is working for Baby Corp and reveals to her father that she’s been sent here on a mission. Tina needs Tim and his younger brother, Ted, to work together to crack down on a new type of school that’s been popping up all over the world. Tim and Ted must go undercover and their disguises are their younger selves. Together, they must find what the new schools are planning and put a stop to it before it’s too late.

The film had a promising start and, what seemed to be, a decent premise. Tim is faced with a role reversal of the first film and instead of having the same problem, it’s actually the opposite. Tabitha actually doesn’t really want her father’s attention the way Tim wanted his parents' attention in the first film. I was interested to see what direction this would take and what kind of message could be derived from it. Instead of doing something new, the film desperately tries to retrace the steps the first one took. They bend over backward to include stuff in the first film like having the characters be aged down so they would be the same age as they were in the first film. The film finds a contrived way to get the two into the sailor outfits they wore in the first film. It wasn’t even narratively significant because they change clothes in the next scene. The message about always being there for your brother is reiterated in this movie by having the character dynamic regress back to where it was in the first film. The original ideas that they implement in this movie are questionable, to say the least. Tim is now the same age as Tabitha and there’s a scene with them in her room together. Tabitha opens up to Tim and tells him that she’s not good at creative and artistic things. Tim shows her to be in the music and the notes will just appear. They share a song together and when it’s over, I couldn’t help but feel like there was some romantic tension going on, at least from Tabitha’s side. I know this is supposed to be a family-friendly movie, so I was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt and say that the love was strictly father and daughterly love. I was thinking, “Maybe that’s not what they were going for. Maybe it just unintentionally came off as that way.”. Then the family peers through the crack of the door and panic when they’re spotted. Tabitha’s grandfather even snaps a quick picture. That whole scene just made me feel weird and made me wonder if we were going full “Back To The Future”. Luckily it didn’t. They also made the villain look like Loafer The Living Bread and I just kept thinking of the meme every time I saw him. That’s not the fault of the makers of this movie, but the resemblance is uncanny. Still, the movie keeps the great animation that the first film had. If you really liked the first one, then you’re probably going to like this one as well. I just have to knock a star off since it bends over backward to try and be like the first film and then added questionable elements. I don’t think there’s room for a sequel and that might be a good thing. I still wouldn’t be surprised if they came up with some convoluted way to make a third one. After all, they have to uphold the Dreamworks Trilogy curse, right?

★★★

Watched on July 4th, 2021

#The Boss Baby: Family Business #July #2021 #Animation #Comedy #Children's #Adventure #Fantasy #PG #Tom McGrath #July 2021 #3 stars

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alexsmitposts · 4 years ago

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The Emergence of the Technetronic Society of Humankind The world community is being transformed. The current pandemic is only another phase of a metamorphosis set in motion decades ago. The intersection of our physical and digital lives is the battleground, where the last hopes of freedom are being bludgeoned to death. Few can see this because most people are already casualties the old world order sacrificed before the altar of liberty. Most of you reading this introduction will sense a bit of melodrama. But I assure you, anything I could type out here pales in comparison to the skullduggery that has beset humankind the last half-century. The war for planet Earth is upon us, but the battlefield is not some desert in Syria or a swamp somewhere in Latin America. The battlefield is real and virtual. It’s in the streets of Portland, Oregon, and the pages of Facebook. The Third World War is taking place in Walmart. It’s spreading to every back yard in Florida and every apartment complex in Bucharest. We’ve taken up arms against one another over every facet of life, not just whether or not to wear protective masks. Working-Class Struggle Redux Some of you already see this. You understand because you were finally forced to unfriend that high school buddy who Tweets or shares Facebook posters revealing humankind’s ignorance and meanness. We’re back to being tribal, devolution is upon us, and the end is written on the slum wall and the internet version. Wall Street is making a killing, billionaires are gnashing their teeth and wringing their hands, and the so-called little people are boiling in a kettle about to explode. Amazingly, my words here can be proven. Nobody can call “fake news” on this author. No sir. In 1970 the legendary (notorious for some) Zbigniew Brzezinski wrote a book entitled, “BETWEEN TWO AGES: America’s Role in the Technetronic Era.” The author, who was one of the five or six most influential political celebrities of the latter part of the 20th century, is well known for his aversion for first the Soviet Union, and then the Russian Federation. Brzezinski’s book was an is a “how-to” book on methods for using computers and communications technologies as a means of transforming society. Though the book reads like an analysis by a technology outsider, the work is part of a wide-spanning strategy we see coming to competition today. Let’s look at an excerpt from the first section of the book where the former counselor to President Lyndon B. Johnson and President Jimmy Carter’s National Security Advisor delineates post-industrial America’s course: “In the technetronic society scientific and technical knowledge, in addition to enhancing production capabilities, quickly spills over to affect almost all aspects of life directly. Accordingly, both the growing capacity for the instant calculation of the most complex interactions and the increasing availability of biochemical means of human control augment the potential scope of consciously chosen direction, and thereby also the pressures to direct, to choose, and to change.” I won’t tax the reader here, but I encourage you to read the book yourself so that what I am presenting will sink in. Brzezinski, in no uncertain terms, is describing the fundamental transformation of society beginning sometime shortly before 1970, when he collated the information within the pages of the book. Remember, he was LBJ’s advisor. The Rise of the Techno-Bourgeoisie He continues in this section to refer to the past ideologies of the industrial age which built and sustained America and other democracies, to insist upon a more “modern” or “advanced” central ideology. Brzezinski, who most detractors would describe as a dinosaur or archaic, was discussing cybernetics replacing humans when Bill Gates was still at Lakeside Prep School being bullied and writing his first computer programs. I mention Gates for a purpose that may be obvious to some readers. This citation from Between Two Ages will transport the reader to my line of thinking here. Brzezinski writes knowingly: “In the emerging new society questions relating to the obsolescence of skills, security, vacations, leisure, and profit-sharing dominate the relationship, and the psychic wellbeing of millions of relatively secure but potentially aimless lowermiddleclass bluecollar workers becomes a growing problem.” Please remember, this was published in 1970, years before Brzezinski would brag that he had helped cause the Soviet Union to invade Afghanistan so that it could get its very own “Vietnam.” The man was a genius, an evil one, but a brilliant geo-policy strategist nonetheless. This book is not a reflection of Brzezinski’s powerful mind, however. This book is the revelation of a plan set in motion after Dwight Eisenhower left office. It’s a blueprint for the liberal world order to completely dominate the world. But before you label me, please consider how this “growing problem” is being used today. Who is Donald Trump? Aha! Now I have your full attention. What about the psychic wellbeing of aimless lower-middle-class Americans? Or, the psychic wellbeing of relatively secure Germans right before Adolph Hitler made them afraid of all the nations surrounding their country? Wait! Don’t go to that tangent, please focus on who got Donald Trump in the White House and how this came to pass. You see, Brzezinski and his colleagues created the conditions, the society, and the “path” we see taking shape today. Think about our symbols now, for instance. How did Google come to dominate the internet? Who stood behind? What does Google do? How about Facebook or Amazon, or any of the monumental successes we see controlling this technetronic society we now live in? Google lured the masses in with “free” and with slogans like “do no evil.” The competition was driven off, through massive investment. Now billions of people are analyzed and “computed” like Brzezinski revealed, to transform society, not to simply extract money via ads. Take the case of Facebook, it’s the same story. A huge swath of humanity is studied, spied upon, and manipulated while the puppetmasters tweak ideology, foment discord, and steer the crowd toward the desired endgame. Sounds crazy and dramatic, doesn’t it? But, wait for it. In 1972, Bill Gates served as a congressional page in the US House of Representatives. He was then a National Merit Scholar who went to Harvard for a brief time, where he met Steve Ballmer, who would lead Microsoft until 2014. Ballmer was an assistant product manager at Procter & Gamble for two years, where he shared an office with Jeffrey R. Immelt, the onetime CEO of General Electric. I hope you are keeping up with me here, for these names figure prominently in the current situation. Immelt was the head of GE’s Medical Systems division (now known as GE Healthcare) as its president and CEO back in 1997. To make a very long story shorter, Brzezinski was closely tied to all the names I am mentioning either through roles at the Council of Foreign Relations, or via more intimate and secretive associations. Take into consideration GE and Immelt’s view on China from back in 2010 when he said; “’I worry about China. I am not sure that in the end, they want any of us to win.” Fast forward to 2015 and Brzezinski is pushing for Donald Trump to “outbid” everyone for the presidency. He tweeted this to his followers on Twitter: “What’s better: a billionaire outbidding everyone for the Presidency, or billionaires picking the candidates for the Presidency?” The answer to his feigned query is drop-dead simple – “It doesn’t matter, the same people control no matter what.” And the control processes were put in action once John F. Kennedy was out of the way. LBJ played his role to a “T”, Nixon got too big for his britches and had to go, Ford plated nincompoop in charge to put the plan on pause, and peanut farmer/Nuke sub commander Carter helped roll out the red carpet for our current technetronic society. But I’m getting ahead. The Immuno-Catalyst Let me retrace a step to the associations of Gates, Ballmer, and Immelt. And most importantly, the current healthcare/pandemic crisis some experts believe is an induced one. Remember Gates’ pal Immelt headed GE Healthcare, which entered an agreement with Gates back IBio to commercialize the iBioLaunch vaccine manufacturing platform. The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation has funded iBio Pharma, which has been in recent news because of President Trump grandstanding about a COVID breakthrough. The company is one of those focused on vaccines against the coronavirus. And if you’re getting lost in this maze of technocrats, now it’s time to interject another key player named Warren Buffett. Buffett, who for all intents and purposes owns IBM, is another link in what we should call the Brzezinski Plan for world domination. Remember, it was IBM that teleported Bill Gates out of brainiac obscurity back in 1980. It is not common knowledge, but the last Watson family head of IBM, Thomas J. Watson, Jr. served as US ambassador to the Soviet Union from 1979 to 1981. It was the ideas and ideals along with the patriotism of the latter Watson, from which people like Brzezinski convoluted the notion of modern democracy. Thomas J. Watson Jr. was also central to the administrations of L.B.J., Nixon, Ford, and Carter. Moving forward, most people are unaware, that Warren Buffett is also the biggest contributor to the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation (more than $30 billion). And in this, we see how the “system” of control gets its continuity. Finally, it was the Brzezinski plan that delivered us to the current sorry state of democracy. The former advisor to key presidents not only helped devise the plan to shift the world’s ideologies and social structure, but he also helped empower the super elites running the show, and the lower-middle class minions who would stoke the forest of orchestrated rebellion. When asked how he would deal with the super-rich, Brzezinski differentiated people like Warren Buffett and Gates from the rest, while at the same time feeding the mob that Trump now leads and the left learning hordes on the left hanging: “It would be increasingly helpful if there was a movement to publish, worldwide, lists of those who make, largely through speculation, enormous amounts of money almost instantly, and hide the fact from their social context.” A Government of Business Power So, a ruling elite was and is to be lifted, isolated, and protected using demonic intimidation from every vector. Today’s dog and pony show across western capitals have roots in Rockefeller’s and Brzezinski’s Trilateral Commission, established to help put in motion the tenets from the latter’s Between Two Ages manifesto. If I throw in the fact that the Trilateral Commission’s notable member list includes such notorious super-rich as Jeffrey Epstein here, I’ve no doubt the reader will be overwhelmed by the scope of this “plan” for turning the world upside down. Finally, the academic Noam Chomsky once criticized the commission’s goals as undemocratic saying the publication of the organization, The Crisis of Democracy reflects how modern democratic systems are not democracy at all, but systems controlled by elites. And the Rockefeller Foundation’s support of the various German eugenics programs and the connections to Nazi war criminal Josef Mengele and Auschwitz tarnish anyone and everyone associated with Rockefeller, and the ruling elite of this new “modern ideal” or technetronic society. In his 1980 book With No Apologies, Republican Senator and presidential candidate Barry Goldwater called the Trilateral Commission: “A skillful, coordinated effort to seize control and consolidate the four centers of power: political, monetary, intellectual, and ecclesiastical in the creation of a worldwide economic power superior to the political governments of the nation-states involved.” The Brzezinski Plan for new democracy is the liberal world order’s plan for humanity. It’s a process that’s been going on for decades, one centered around and dependent on the puppet President Donald Trump. You see, I believe it is Trump’s mission to utterly destroy the very social class of people he is supported by. It is the only idea that makes sense if you examine the loosed cannon idiocy of an otherwise shrewd businessman. What better way to bury the working class who have been bred, reared, and marginalized into mediocrity than to create a revolution against everything they stood for? The Confederate flag, the statues of heroes, the race issues resurfacing, riots, discord, snarling and biting at anyone and anything that is not TRUMP! Real Death, Real Fear, Real Monopolization For this Technetronic Era to culminate in a Utopia for the ruling classes, a pandemic was set loose, a very special kind of virus engineered (probably) for segmenting society. The hard-nosed working class would shun the femininity and weakness of mask-wearing, while the ultra-liberals at the other end of the spectrum would thrive on the morality of caring – and on winning against the callousness of right-wing discord. As I try to explain to those who ask, the situation today is a perfect storm of social upheaval engineered to bring in this new society. You see, both sides of the COVID argument are right – and wrong – at the same instant. This is as it was planned. Bill Gates and his monopoly on vaccines and the health community can hide in plain sight, while Trump’s and Biden’s handlers rake in hundreds of billions playing the dynamic markets. Watching it, at least from my perspective, is like watching the pressure in a boiler build up past the red danger gauge on the outside. In Hitler’s Shadow we find the depth of the US deep state and Brzezinski’s role in the planning for the new world without the Soviets (Russians) in the picture. There’s limited space for describing a CIA operation codenamed AERODYNAMIC which was the forerunner for transformative/revolutionary efforts in the CIS including Georgia, Ukraine, and now Belarus. The reader should understand that Brzezinski, and his father before him, were central figures in a movement to subdue and subdivide the Soviet bloc, and later Russia and her neighbors. No one reading this will know of a man named Mykola Lebed, who operated alongside Joseph Bandera and with the backing of the OSS and later the CIA. He immigrated to the United States because of his importance to the CIA and the deeps state, even though he was in league with the worst Nazis who ever breathed. Brzezinski broadened the scope of AERODYNAMIC, which was in league with former Nazi sympathizers to upend Stalin, and then later Soviet leadership. The history of it is all a deep well no single volume could encapsulate. Again, I have fallen too deep into the rabbit hole of the order, but the reader can observe via this CIA document bearing Brzezinski’s authorship how the plan for today was set in motion decades ago. Trump is destroying the Republican Party for good. Technocrat Bill Gates has monopolized immunization and will leverage it for this new Technetronic Society. The money and power behind this forceful transformation of our society are incalculable, mostly unseen, and probably unstoppable. Think about it, a plan to take over the world put in place decades ago, a plan hardly anyone notices because of its incremental, indomitable, and relentless nature. Sounds conspiratorial, doesn’t it? Well, conspiracies killed Caesar and overthrew the Czar. Conspiracies were the seeds of the American Revolution and the French one too. What? You think control is just a roll of the dice?

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sketch12artist · 4 years ago

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Alptraum

3. Puss in Boots: Part One

Timothy stared at the empty space where Tsubasa had been. It seemed he would be alone in this, but somehow he still felt like those golden eyes were watching him. They were peering from the shadows, somewhere unseen, he was sure of it.

But what to do now? Exploring didn’t seem very appealing, not at all. Maybe he could stay in the foyer until the bet was over? That seemed safer than exploring.

Something moved from the corner of Timothy’s eye, and he turned to greet whatever had passed. Nothing was there, save for a candle and matches on a small table that he swore wasn’t there before. There was a piece of paper underneath the candle, and out of curiosity he approached and picked up the candle, matches dropped straight into the bag.

He unfolded the paper.

A crudely drawn map greeted him, crayon wax smudging onto his hand. There was the foyer, then two hallways on the left and right with some rooms filled in. It looked useful, but he didn’t plan on exploring—

Something leapt out at the boy, and he quickly backed away as the large rat missed its mark, instead landing on the table. It was the size of a horse, with milky eyes and long claws and a long, ropelike tail. It was sniffing the air, glistening nose twitching, looking for him. Could Timothy make it to a door? Maybe race upstairs?

The rat turned and started rushing straight towards him. Timothy bolted to the right, opening the oak door and slamming it behind him. The rat shrieked, then started scratching the door, unable to get inside.

That was way too close.

Timothy’s heart pounded in his chest as he caught his breath. What other horrors were here? First that creepy abyss, then Tsubasa, now this giant rat. . . . He would have to keep moving if he didn’t want to be caught.

Now that he had collected himself, he was startled to hear the notes of a piano in the air. Was someone else here? Trapped like he was? There was safety in numbers, after all.

His hands fumbled with the map before he could read it clearly. There was a music room drawn on, just around the corner. It was the second door up that hallway. Good. He would have help soon.

The music got louder and louder as he approached, covering up the sound of his shoes scuffing the carpet. There were other rooms, but he didn’t care about them. All that mattered was the potential person in the Music Room.

When Timothy finally reached the door to the room, he grinned and opened it expecting to see someone inside. Instead, the room was dark and Timothy could barely make out the figure of a woman at the piano. The piano keys started to be played horridly, as if someone was having a temper tantrum, then Timothy was unceremoniously tossed out into the hallway. The Music Room door was now locked.

Now what?

Timothy retraced his steps, trying the other doors. Those were all locked save for the living room. Since he didn’t have any inclination to go back into the foyer, this was the only place he could go.

The candle flame flickered in the dimly lit room as he moved forward. Timothy set it onto a nearby drawer as he took out the matches, relighting the candle. There, now it was brighter. He could see the rest of the room better now. It didn’t seem particularly lively.

Two bookshelves were crammed against the wall in the left corner facing him, gaudy pictures covering the wall next to them. A single sofa was facing the coffee table in the middle of the room. A window was on the wall facing Timothy as well, towards the right side. For such a large space, Timothy had expected more out of it.

A few pieces of paper on the coffee table caught his eye, so he sat on the sofa and picked them up. They were carelessly tied together, messy scribbles on them. On the top of the first page, the words Puss in Boots were written in black crayon.

Puss in Boots

‘There lived an ordinary family a long, long time ago.

When the father passed away, he left a house behind to his children.

He left the mill to the eldest, and a mule to the second oldest.

The youngest was left nothing but the cat on the farm.

“I guess I can only skin you and take your fur to the market.”

The youngest had run out of money.

The cat spoke hastily when it heard these words,

“Please, don’t do that. I will repay you in kind if you show me kindness and give me a pair of shoes.”

The youngest was curious and begged a pair of old boots off a passing cobbler.

The cat, now shod in boots, followed the youngest to town.

The town keeper refused to open the gate when it started to rain that night.

Crunch crunch crunch

The cat in boots ate the town keeper.

The youngest changed into warm clothes and spent the night in comfort.’

. . . .

The rest of the pages were missing. Timothy pouted at the cliffhanger, wanting to know how the story ended. But he was also confused. Who had left this here?

“Meow!”

Timothy turned and was soon face to face with the cat from before. Both cat and boy stared at each other, until the cat ran off into the hallway.

Weird.

There were still more things to do, so Timothy stood up to see what the bookshelves had in them. He opened up one of the books:

‘Only one person is listening

A young and beautiful girl

Who is that person?

Who?

Who is that person?

Just an old man’

Boring. What a stupid poem.

A brief glance outside the window revealed a small fountain bathed in sunlight, a small garden surrounding it. It almost seemed like it was midday out there, but that couldn’t be possible. It hadn’t been midday when he looked out of a window earlier, not that he was able to tell what time it was with how fake it looked. Besides, it had been raining and it was supposed to rain for the entire day.

There was nothing else to do in here, so Timothy let out a frustrated huff and turned to leave, but not before a photograph suddenly fell off the wall, breaking the frame. Now he was staring dumbfounded at a note that had been hidden inside. Picking it up, Timothy couldn’t help but wonder if someone was really helping him, or if it had just been sheer luck that caused the picture to fall. It was an old house, after all.

On it, he could make out something:

A B C K

1 2 3 4

Was this some sort of code? If so, what for? Why were the letters and numbers colored with different crayons?

Either way, it could come in handy later on. Maybe it could help him solve a riddle of sorts, or open a lock.

Timothy noticed that the giant rat had gone quiet as soon as he stepped out of the living room. Had it tired? Had it given up, or was it waiting for him just outside the range of his candle? He couldn’t tell.

Something clinked underneath his shoe, and he looked down to see a key on the floor. An uneasy feeling started to form in his stomach, but he still picked it up. The label on it read “Left Corridor on First Floor”, a hint of where to go next. Someone was leaving breadcrumbs for Timothy, but he wasn’t sure who, or what their intentions were. Again he felt like those gold eyes were watching from somewhere unseen.

With a deep breath he opened the door and stepped back into the foyer.

Nothing. No large rat, no milky eyes staring at him, no teeth buried in his throat. It was quiet.

Timothy waited, then decided that he needed to throw something. If the rat was nearby, surely it would move to investigate the source of the noise. But what to throw. . . .

A small piece of chocolate was in his hand, and with a quick flick of his wrist it flew and landed right in the middle of the room. It didn’t make much noise, but Timothy doubted that the rat could resist the pull of sweet chocolate. After a few minutes of waiting and still no sign of the rat, he quickly darted across the foyer and unlocked the left door, shutting it tight behind him.

The fact that he couldn’t locate the giant rat made Timothy feel jumpy. It was the size of a horse, and yet he couldn’t find it. How could something so big hide so well?

The left hallway was a copy of the right, just with different rooms. On the first door he saw a poem taped on: A sparkling exterior shines but for a moment, only internal beauty will endure the ages. It didn’t open, and Timothy sighed, boredly popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth before he continued down the hall.

The other door was locked, and the hallway ended after rounding the corner to a door leading outside. It was nighttime when he peered out this time. Timothy wondered if the right hallway had a door leading outside as well.

As Timothy was about to leave the hallway, the door with the poem suddenly opened. A shiver ran down his back as he entered the room, with its large table covered in papers and a few bookshelves against the right wall.

First things first, check the bookshelves. There weren’t many interesting books, save for one: The Interpretation of Dreams. The page he opened up to was about people that appeared in dreams.

“A person’s mind will not simply create new faces. We have previously met all those we have seen in dreams, but we may have simply forgotten about them.”

Timothy placed the book back on the shelf. The information was interesting, but utterly useless in a practical sense.

The other bookshelves held nothing of interest, save for the third.

Bedtime Tales

‘I asked my brother to store my eyes in the glass jar because it was scary at night. There aren’t any lights.’

What sort of bedtime tale is that? Doesn’t sound appropriate for children.

Timothy’s eyes were soon drawn to a large safe sitting next to a fireplace. On top of it was a piece of paper.

B+C=[]

B+K=[]

A+K=[]

A+B=[]

Timothy quickly took the code paper out of his bag.

A B C K

1 2 3 4

He examined it closely, thinking carefully about what it could mean. It was strange that each letter and number, save for ‘K’ and ‘4’, had a different color, unless that was what mattered instead of the letters and numbers themselves. . . .

Oh! It was like a color wheel, and since three letters were primary colors and three numbers were secondary colors, then adding the letters would give him the combination!

So that meant B+C was 2, since blue and yellow created green. That meant B+K was 4, because any color added to black just made it tinted black, same with A+K. And A+B was 1,because red and blue created purple.

Timothy tried his combination, carefully turning the combination lock so that it aligned with his findings. 2441. That was the combination. He held his breath as the safe clicked, then attempted to open it. The door creaked on unused hinges, and Timothy grinned triumphantly.

Inside lay a piece of paper and a small set of keys. Unfolding the paper revealed a map for the second floor, but it only had three rooms marked: the room he’d woken up in, the gallery, and Kagome’s Room.

Who was Kagome?

The set of keys was clearly more interesting. How many doors could he unlock? There were only five keys on the ring, but maybe one or more of them could open multiple doors.

Now for the table. Most of it was some sort of adult talk, stuff like ‘patent’ and ‘repercussions’, but there was another part of the Puss in Boots story tangled among them. Timothy eagerly picked up the pages.

‘The youngest fell in love with the princess warbling outside the window.

But the town castle door was locked and guarded by a monstrous rat.’

Monstrous rat? Like the one he’d seen before?

“Meow!”

The cat was back.

Both boy and cat stared at each other and in that silence they came to an understanding. It was hard to describe how they did it, but for Timothy it was akin to finding a kind soul.

The cat followed him out of the room, keeping silent vigil behind him. At least it would keep the rat at bay. All rats, even big, horse-sized ones, were scared of cats.

A grandfather clock in the distance suddenly began to chime. One, two, three, four. Four o’clock? First it was midday, then nighttime, now four? What was wrong with this place?

Either way, heading upstairs seemed to be his next step, if the new map he got with the keys was any indication.

The cat followed Timothy upstairs, not even slightly repulsed by the jarring record that started playing from somewhere unseen.

“Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. . . .” Despite everything, Timothy sung a little of the opening line before stopping, self conscious about his voice even if his audience was a cat.

To the right, the song grew louder as soon as Timothy encountered the first door. It was locked, with a strange flap on it. A pit of dread formed quickly in his stomach as soon as he saw it.

“Who’s there?” The flap suddenly opened, revealing a single red eye of a mask peeking through. It was a boy’s voice, older than Timothy but not a young man.

Someone is. . . Timothy was interrupted by running footsteps behind the door, as if the other boy had decided to hide. The door was still locked. There wasn’t any hole for a key to go in, so it must lock from the inside.

Then he heard more footsteps, and the flap opened up once more. “Who’s there?”

That’s what I wanted to ask! Despite inwardly pouting, Timothy was still polite. “I’m Timothy—“

“Huh? Who’s that?” An identical voice came from another boy inside, pushing the red-eye one out of the way. The mask was blindfolded.

“Who is it?” Another boy asked, still having the same voice as his siblings.

Timothy queried, “I came in by accident, do you—?”

“Weird people can’t come in.”

“Who is it?”

“Can’t come in.”

“We’re having a very important party,” the red-eye one boasted, “Weird people can’t come in.”

“You have to have manners!”

“Do you want to come in?” The blindfold one giggled.

“Why don’t you look at yourself first?” The third teased. “Kagome always dressed nicely.”

That name again? Who was Kagome?

“Do you want to see her? Then let her in.” The boys were completely ignoring Timothy now.

“No, we can’t.”

“He can’t wear that thing to a party.”

Some laughter, then the red-eye focused its attention to Timothy. “You hear that? At least change out of that ugly suit!”

Then the flap shut. No matter how many times he knocked, no one answered.

Timothy continued down the hallway, unlocking the door nearby. Instead of a room, it was a sort of rectangular overhang, overlooking the living room. A white rail prevented anyone from falling. There was a door on the side he was facing, so Timothy walked along the overhang until he reached the door, unlocking this one as well.

The first thing he saw was a painting of the Virgin Mary. She was holding a baby with only a body and no head. To the left of that was a coffee table, two couches on either side, and a book on the wooden surface. Timothy sat on a couch and picked it up, opening the grey cover. The cat simply watched right next to him.

25. Oktober

Grounded today.

May be grounded all winter, mother is very angry.

28. Oktober

Siebel comes everyday.

It’s not necessary, but it seems that Brother asked Siebel to do this.

31. Oktober

It started snowing early this year.

Keep snowing and just bury this place.

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deepestmoonlight · 4 years ago

Text

A Silver Prince

Cal’s POV

I leave the palace as I always do, gunning the engine of my cycle as soon as I hit a straight stretch of road. The wind feels good in my hair, blowing away the stuffiness and sedentary mood of the day. Palace life bores me. I know what the duty of my life will be some day, but until then, until I’m as well recognised as my father, I still need to escape and just pretend I’m nobody for a while. I tell myself I want to get to know my people, all my people, and in part that’s true. But I also need the release of not being the future King Tiberius Calore, VII, and just being me. Just being Cal.

This night should be no different to any other, I already know where I’m headed as I’ve been there before. The slum town of The Stilts is pretty close, and I get to where I plan to leave my cycle in less than an hour. Pulling off the main road, I find the group of trees and low bushes I’ve used before and hide the machine well enough. It’s already dark, about 10pm, and I’m not really expecting anyone to come past here at this time of night. Just to be sure though, I take both the keys and the main spark plug. I don’t really want to have to walk home after some enterprising whistle made off with my ride. Satisfied with my efforts, I jump the ditch back to the main road, and start walking.

The bar I’ve chosen means little to me; I picked it for tonight as I remember enjoying the ale they served months ago but that’s about it. Most bars where Reds gather are the same: dilapidated, grey, and either dusty or muddy depending on the season. This one is no different, but as I approach there is some lively music floating towards me on the breeze, and both light and patrons are spilling out onto the street in front. Good - at least it’s not empty. When I’m out like this it’s much easier to be lost, to be ignored, in a crowd. It takes a few more minutes to get there and get inside, but soon I’m relaxed in a corner with a drink, the rest of the night in front of me.

As the alcohol gets to work on my tense shoulders, I start thinking about the day to come: Queenstrial is tomorrow. Although it will be a new experience for me, for all noble silvers my age, it’s just yet another royal duty, something I have to go through. The fact that at the end of it I’ll be choosing a bride isn’t lost on me, but I refuse to let it anger or stress me. This is how it is, this is how it’s always been. My father married my mother after she was successful at Queenstrial over 20 years ago. I’ve known this day would come about, and it’s not like I’m actually competing. At least that would make it fun. I sigh at myself for that thought. Like I would want to take on any of these girls with what they are competing for at stake. Tomorrow might get vicious, it’s a good thing there will be healers on hand.

A few hours pass and I’ve enjoyed a few jars of the local brew, not too much of course as I still need to get home. I stand up and stretch my legs, making my way to the exit. The night sky is fully dark now, but there are no clouds, so a few stars are twinkling overhead. I’m gazing up at them as I leave the place when I feel something lightly brush past my hip. A hand, heading for my coin purse. I turn quickly and grasp it, pulling its owner out of the shadows towards me. I blink in surprise at what I’ve caught - a short, teenage girl with brown hair and brown eyes, who can’t be much younger than me.

“Thief,” I say, sounding a bit more stunned than I wanted to. I realise the heat from my ability is pulsing out of me in waves, which is a bit risky in a Red slum. I hide my bracelets and put my flames in check.

“Obviously,” she says looking up at me, a slightly bemused expression on her face.

I look her over, her face, her clothes, her hair. Her boots seem two sizes too big and like them, everything else she wears must be second- or third-hand. I realise I’ve been staring and let her go - I’m not in the business of detaining street rats, even ones with deep brown eyes. I sigh and fish out a coin, a silver tetrarch, and flip it in her direction. “That should be more than enough to tide you over.”

She nearly doesn’t catch it, my generosity clearly taking her by surprise.

“Why?” she asks, almost demanding.

I shrug. “You need it more than I do.”

Conflicting emotions cross her face, like she doesn’t want my charity, like she’s too proud. I nearly think she’s going to give it back but then her face stills, and she grunts out a low thank you.

Her obvious hesitation makes me laugh. “Don’t hurt yourself.” I take a step closer to her. “You live in the village, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, motioning to her attire. I realise my clean clothes and polished boots must look so foreign to her, even though I tried to dress like a Red. I’ll need to do better next time I try to blend in.

She is gazing up at me, like she’s trying to read my thoughts, like she’s trying to see through me. So I try another tact. “Do you enjoy it? Living there?” She continues to look at me, making me a little uncomfortable.

“Does anyone?” She eventually says.

Of course. Life for a Red girl in a slum village can’t be easy. Might even be dangerous. It’s pretty late by now, almost 2am, and she’s still out trying to pickpocket people at the local tavern. Suddenly I wonder how safe she is. “Are you heading back?”

“Why, scared of the dark?” She is clearly trying to put on a brave face. Is she scared of me, too?

I try to smile at her to put her at ease. “No, but I want to make sure you keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the night.” An attempt at lighter banter doesn’t seem to have any effect on her but I press on. “Can’t have you driving half the bar out of house and home, can we? I’m Cal by the way.” She ignores my outstretched hand.

She turns and starts up the road, replying as she goes, “Mare Barrow.”

It takes a few strides in the same direction to catch up with her. “So are you always this pleasant?”

I try again to get her to talk to me, but I get the feeling she’s closing me down because the next thing she says is “The lords must pay well for you to carry whole crowns.”

Shit. Would a Red servant ever have the kind of money I seem free to give her? Why didn’t I think about a better cover? If the villagers learn who’s been visiting their bars undercover, I can’t ever come back here. “I have a good job.”

“That makes one of us,” she retorts.

“But you’re--"

She cuts me off. “Seventeen. I still have some time before conscription.��

My smile fades quickly, I almost grimace. “How much time?”

“Less every day,” she says quietly.

As we’re walking, I glance at Mare sideways, wondering what her life as been, how hard it’s been, to bring her to this point. “And there are no jobs.” I’m thinking out loud. “No way for you to avoid conscription.”

She looks confused. “Maybe things are different where you’re from.”

“So you steal.” I say.

“It’s the best I can do.” Her admission sounds forlorn. “My sister has a job though…” she trails off, eyes glazing over a little, like there is more to that statement. Her face is a mess of conflicting emotions, and I wonder if the events earlier today are playing a part in her hesitation.

I decide to prod her a little. “Were you at the Hall today?” I ask. “The riots were terrible.”

“They were.” There is a lump in her throat as she speaks, she must have been there.

“Did you…” I don’t know how to ask her. Were you involved? Did you kill anyone?

My tone invites her to speak again, and this time she does. Almost in a rush, she tells me about sneaking into Summerton, about planning to pickpocket some rich nobles. How the broadcast caught them by surprise and how they tried to escape the wrath of the Silvers who started interrogating the nearest Reds. About running, and being caught stealing by the Guard, about her sister’s hand being crushed in punishment. The sadness in her voice is apparent when she says she feels she’s let everyone down, she’s embarrassed at having to steal, and how disappointed she’s made her family. That her sister’s job was keeping the family afloat, and that now she doesn’t know how they’re going to survive.

I don’t interrupt her, and she seems calmer for having someone to talk to. Her speech rambles a little as she comes to the end of her tale, ending again with “It’s the best I can do.”

I put another silver tetrarch from my purse and hold it up for her to see, then press it into her hand. “I’m truly sorry for you Mare. Things shouldn’t be like this.”

This time she doesn’t look like she’s going to refuse it, but without thanking me, simply says, “There are worse lives to live. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

I accompany Mare towards the village, but not wanting to intrude any further I leave her at the edge of the houses. After a brief parting word, I hurry away hoping to avoid being seen by anyone that might recognise me. It’s still dark but the moon is out, and I feel like there are eyes on me, coming from the silent houses. It’s not long before I’m clear of the built-up area but it takes a while to retrace my steps back past the tavern to where I’ve hidden my motorcycle. I know I hid it well, so of course it’s still there, and once I replace the spark plugs it starts easily.

The trip back goes past in a blur that’s not just from the velocity of the machine. I’m being reckless, I know, taking corners faster than I should and testing the cycle’s max speed on the straight stretches. Although not normally the case, tonight I’m anxious to get back to the Hall of the Sun. I just can’t get the picture of her melancholy brown eyes out of my head, that look on her face when she was telling her story. If I’m going to the be the King one day, I must be able to do something to help her.

By the time I arrive back my heart is racing from adrenaline, so when I park up in the underground garage of the palace I stay seated on the cycle for a while, getting my breath back and stilling my pulse. Once I feel calmer, I pull off my leather armour I used to protect me in case I fall off and stow it in the machine’s seat. I pull the black sheet back over the machine and take one last look around. Everything in order, I kill the lights and lock the door behind me.

The palace is as quiet as a morgue, and the sound of my footsteps back up to my chambers echo in the hallway and stairwell as I traverse them. I make one small detour on the way, hoping the Head of Household can act on my request. That mission accomplished, as soon as I’m back in my room I collapse in bed and fall asleep almost immediately.

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avengers-nextgen · 5 years ago

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32, 9 and 15 for Natasha and Sage

“Can someone please explain to me, in small words, why I’m being assigned to this mission?”/ “Wait, something doesn’t feel right”/ “Don’t tell me you’re fine! I can see the blood.”

— — —

Sage wasn’t sure why she needed to be in Fury’s office. In fact, she wasn’t sure why he wanted her there at all. Sure, she was a better person now, but she had stabbed him. Still, she found herself sulking down the hallways until she arrived. But only then did her confusion worsen because the only other person aside from Fury within the room was Natasha.

“You asked for me?” Sage frowned, trying not to sound bored.

“Yes,” Fury nodded, “you and Rogers have a mission.”

Of all the things the bald man could have said...he said that. Blinking slowly, Sage tried to sort out her confusion. “I’m sorry what?”

“You and Natasha will be taking care of a mission,” Fury repeated, slower than before.

“I got it,” Sage snapped, “but can someone please explain to me, in small words, why I’m being assigned to this mission? I mean, I don’t normally go on adventures without people my own age.”

“Did you call me old?” Natasha asked, arching a brow.

“No!” Sage huffed, “I’m just confused. That’s all.”

“I’m pairing the both of you together because Natasha has experience, and you have an arsenal of powers that may be useful in making sure neither of you die. Besides, it’s about time you and the rest of the kids start handling more dangerous scenarios.” Fury explained, shuffling papers on his desk.

“We handled Prometh-you know who-and that was dangerous.” Sage reminded.

“Yes, but I’m referring to threats other than a god like man working on some weird political and ideological agenda. I’m talking about stealth missions,” Fury sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “From what I’ve heard, you’re not very...stealthy.”

“I think she understands,” Natasha interjected, quick to cut the conversation short lest the two erupt into a full blown argument. “Just brief us.”

— — —

“Oh this thing is stifling,” Sage groaned, extremely in happy about the wet suit she was wearing. Apparently, though she wasn’t sure why, the base they needed to breach was under water in an unmarked cave system.

“You get used to it,” Natasha smiles thinly.

“Yes, but your normal suit is this tight,” Sage remarked.

“That’s because as a spy you lean that baggy clothes are a hindrance. They have a way of setting off alarms,” Natasha smirked. “A friend of mine wore cargo pants. Set off booby traps and got impaled by a metal rod.”

“Where in gods name were you?” Sage stammered.

“Russia,” Natasha shrugged. The older woman simply checked over the small oxygen tank and mask. Then, without asking, she began checking over Sage’s gear. “Always double check equipment. SHIELD is good about maintenance but you never know. The last thing you want is a mask to break when you’re dozens of feet under water.”

“Right,” Sage nodded, albeit awkwardly. Despite herself, she still wasn’t entirely comfortable around Alex’s parents.

“Drop zone is below, lowering ramp,” Maria’s voice came over their ear pieces. The sudden noise startled Sage. She’d forgotten all about the device.

With a groan that shook the empty cargo hold, the ramp slowly lowered revealing calm waters below. Natasha was the first to move. She edged carefully to the lip of the ramp before leaping off and splashing into the water down below. With a grudging sigh, Sage followed.

The water was cold, or at least colder than she’d expected. She watched as Natasha pulled on the mask and took a few test breaths. Mimicking the procedure, Sage gave a thumbs up indicating she was set to descend below the surface. With a confirmatory nod, Natasha dipped below the surface of the water.

Following closely behind, Sage found it difficult to keep pace with the agent. She was never particularly good at swimming but she’d always been able to manage. However, something about Natasha allowed her to streamline quickly through the water.

— — —

It wasn’t long until they reached the cave system. It’s mouth was dark and gaping like a waiting predator, but with little hesitation Natasha pulled a large light from her belt to illuminate the darkness.

Weaving through the submerged terrain, Sage worried they’d get lost, but nearly an hour later the rocky world around them shifted to strange slick metal. They’d found the foundations to a structure looming above.

Natasha’s beam of light glanced off the metal surfaces exposing a grill in the ceiling. Was it a ceiling? Sage wasn’t sure what to call it. Pausing beneath the hunk of metal, the spy studied it with care before motioning Sage over. Though it was hard to understand, Sage finally understood Natasha’s pantomiming. She wanted her to melt the welding lines. With a tentative nod, Sage produced a green flame. It flickered out for a moment before growing brighter with Sage’s concentration. Frankly, she’d never made fire underwater before.

Following the welding marks, the water began to bubble as metal soon released its hold. With a grunt, Natasha tore the grill from its resting place. Clambering up through the opening she turned to help her young companion out of the water. Removing the mask and slipping it into her belt, Natasha surveyed the area. “We’re on a low level. Probably the lowest one if it’s connected to the sea.”

“So we move up?” Sage asked, shaking the water from her hair.

“Mm,” Natasha nodded, carefully padding down a dark expanse of tunnel managing to make little sound. Sage found the ability to walk silently much more difficult. The combination of the wetsuit, the equipment, and being cold had thrown off her natural stride. “We need the third floor. Can you detect a way to get there?”

“I can try,” Sage nodded. Closing her eyes, she searched the environment for any source of chaotic energy. Nothing came to light. Resorting to a new method, she attempted to do a trace spell-something her father had taught her quite recently-which allowed her to retrace any recent event that’s taken place within an hour’s time frame.

Fortunately, someone had been down on their very floor within the hour. The uniformed individual, made two right hand turns leading to a flight of stairs. It wasn’t much but it would do. Relaying the information, Sage kept close to Natasha as she took the lead.

Moving slowly up the winding metal steps, they neared a large heavy door. With a small wave of the hand from Sage, the lock melted and Natasha eased the door open. The room was dark aside from large running databases. “I don’t know what any of this is. You should’ve brought Fox.”

“Please. Both of you on this mission would make us all dead,” Natasha snorted, eyeing up the technology. “Besides, I know my way around.”

Holding her hands up in surrender, Sage let the spy take charge. She was certain Natasha knew more about this stuff than she ever would. Thankfully, Sage was right, and Natasha was able to locate a wide cube of metal with flashing lights, connecting cables, and a small screen flashing codes.

“Is this what we need?” Sage asked.

“No, what we need are the codes. We need to get a copy of them. That way e can analyze the order and frequency of them. Figure out what exactly this machine operates,” Natasha explained, skimming her fingers over different nooks and crannies. She paused, flipped open a latch, and removed the outer frame. If Sage wasn’t confused before, she certainly was now, because the insides of the device contained even more lights, wires, and green plastic cards.

Feeling about, Natasha located a thin plastic card. “This should keep the machine running long enough for us to get out of here before they notice something’s wrong.”

“What’d you take?”

“This little card programs for a coolant system. It’ll keep things from over heating. It runs on a cycle. What we really need is this-“ Natasha rather violently stripped another piece of plastic from the machine. “A back up coding system. It won’t stop the machine from running it’s just a safety mechanism Incase the original codes are compromised.”

“Great, let’s go,” Sage nodded. Heading back the way they’d come.

“Wait,” Natasha cautioned, catching Sage by the arm. “Something doesn’t feel right. This place is too empty.”

“We have to get out of here one way or another,” Sage sighed, “but I can try teleporting both of us back-“

“No, your strength is important,” Natasha shook her head. She remembered how haggard Sage looked the time she’d saved Alex from drowning. How exhausting it was to make sure they both ended up where they needed to be.

“Then we’ll be careful,” Sage decided, and although she wasn’t excited about it Natasha lead the way back to the lowest level. Only as they rounded the corner a series of gunfire sounded off. Acting on instinct, Natasha grabbed Sage by the collar and flattened her back against the wall.

“Don’t move,” Natasha warned, listening closely for the gunfire to die down. “Damn I knew they’d be here.”

“Well, we’ll have to move eventually. Otherwise we’re sitting ducks,” Sage hissed, flinching at the sound of a bullet piercing the wall by her head.

“Then I’ll give you cover fire. But don’t do anything you don’t have to. Our main job is to get out of here. That’s it,” Natasha warned, peeking around the edge of the wall. A stray shot rang out as she ducked away. “We only have one exit.”

Steeling her nerves, Sage gave a nod and darted around the corner. In an instant two silver blades settled snuggly in her palms, but they left as quickly as they’d appeared finding their marks in the chests of enemies. Behind her, Natasha’s gun sounded off suppressing the enemy.

Eyes glowing, Sage managed to set the uniforms of the attackers aflame though it wouldn’t hurt them too badly, as she hadn’t set the entire outfit on fire. It was just enough to cause panic and distress. Still, a few of the enemy were brave enough to hold fire.

“Let’s go,” Natasha breathed, running up beside Sage and shoving her towards the hole they’d climbed through. Slipping inside, Sage struggled to pull her mask on before reaching up and tugging Natasha down into the water. The two swam like mad before finally shooting out of the cave system. And though the light was dim, Sage was grateful for the sun. But she noticed a thin trail of copper in the water. Eyes narrowing, she noticed the source of blood. It was a wound in Natasha’s side.

— — —

“Are you okay?” Sage asked, chucking her mask aside as soon as they’d re-boarded the plane.

“I’m fine,” Natasha insisted.

“Don’t tell me you’re fine! I can see the blood,” Sage frowned.

“I’ve been shot more times than how old you are,” Natasha chuckled, “I’ll be fine. Now sit down and enjoy the ride back.”

Though Sage wanted to protest, she listened. If anyone knew whether a gunshot wound was serious or not-it was Natasha. “You’re crazy.”

“Eh,” Natasha shrugged, flashing the young girl a smile. “Everyone has to be. At least a little. Where else would the fun come from?”

Though she tried to fight the smile, Sage couldn’t help herself. Maybe Natasha wasn’t too bad after all. Or at least, not as intimidating as she’d thought.

#avengers #avengers next gen #marvel #mcu #romanogers #black widow #captain america #natasha romanoff #pepper potts #scarlet witch #asks #prompts #sage laufeyson #natasha rogers

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belmontsfate · 5 years ago

Text

MoF - The White Wolf

- The Year of our Lord 1110 -

Seven years had passed since the Prince of Darkness had been defeated at the hands of Simon Belmont. There were times when it felt like it had happened only yesterday, but then there times when it felt like nothing more than a distant memory. Now, at the age of forty-three, Simon was content living a simple life with his family in their cabin on the edge of the forest, the mountains of his youth within sight.

Never in his wildest dreams did Simon imagine he would one day find himself settled down, tamed by a single woman who held his heart firmly in her dainty hands. He chuckled at the mere thought. It seemed a bit strange after all the years he had spent devoting his time and energy into training with the hope of one day avenging the death of his parents, but it was true regardless.

He had to admit that he felt happier than he had in a long time. The last time being back when his parents were both still alive. For so long he had been engulfed by the need to seek revenge. That was why he had never bothered to get married before. He had never had the time or desire to do so. It was as if his whole life had been centered around revenge. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it probably was a result of the mirror shard he had worn around his neck for so long. He hadn't thought about revenge ever since he took it off, even though he suspected that Dracula was still alive. That led him to believe that Alucard had been correct. The mirror shard had been controlling him.

Glancing across the room, Simon watched as his beautiful wife, Selena, cooked dinner. He didn't quite understand why, but for some reason he found it oddly satisfying to watch her, watching the way her hips swayed as she hummed a folk tune to herself. Unable to help himself, he got up from his seat at the table and coming up behind her, wrapped his beefy arms around her form.

Selena let out a small startled yelp, turning her head to glance back at her bushy-haired husband. "Simon, you shouldn't scare me while I'm cooking!" she scolded him. "It's dangerous!"

Simon could only smile as he ran his hands up and down her curvy waist. "Cooking is hardly dangerous when compared to facing werewolves and vampires."

Selena shook her head at him disapprovingly, but couldn't repress the grin that tugged at her lips. "Braggart," she said, reaching up to bop him on the nose.

"Well, I do have a lot to brag about. A beautiful wife, for example."

"A sweet braggart."

His hands moved from her waist to her belly, pulling the loose-fitting material of her dress against her skin to reveal the swell that had started to form; a testament to the fact that he couldn't keep his hands off of her. This would be their third child, and if Simon had anything to do with it, it wouldn't be the last.

Simon was very much a family man now, who loved nothing more than spending time with his children. He had already determined that he wanted two of each, and there was a good reason behind it. As a child, he had begged his parents to give him a little brother or sister. All of his old friends at the time had siblings, and seeing how close they were made him feel a bit left out and lonely. As you can imagine, that wish was never granted. He wanted two of each so that his children would never feel that way.

"Could you go find the children and call them in for dinner?" Selena asked.

Simon nodded, patting her belly before pulling away and heading for the door.

Pulling open the solid wooden door, he stepped outside and looked around. The children were nowhere to be found. He let out a small sigh. No matter how many times their mother told them to stay close to the house, they always strayed off into the forest. They were just as wild as he was at their age.

"Mary! Christopher! Time for dinner!" he called.

He waited for a while, hoping that they were close enough to hear him. When they failed to appear, he started off into the forest, a combat cross hanging from his belt as always. Even though years had passed since Dracula was defeated, he still kept his father's weapon on him at all times, ready to defend his family should anything happen. He wasn't about to lose any more family members.

The forest was silent as the grave and an oddly eerie mist had fallen over, making it difficult to see clearly. This put him on edge. The forest was never this quiet. Something was amiss. With this in mind, he picked up the pace, breaking out into a run as he called out for his children.

He came to an abrupt halt as he heard a howl, followed by the sound of twigs crunching not too far away. Turning in a circle, he scoured every inch of his surroundings, searching for even the slightest movement. At first, he saw nothing, but then something started to appear out of the mist.

"Papa!" he heard the familiar voices of his children call out to him.

In a moment of panic, he reached for his combat cross but stopped when he got a better look at the wolf. His eyes widened at the sight that he was met with. Standing before him was a huge white wolf with glowing yellow eyes and riding on the wolf's back were his two children, who were smiling and waving as if there was nothing abnormal about what they were doing.

"What on earth are you two doing?" Simon asked.

"We made a new friend, Papa!" said Christopher as he slid off the wolf's back, helping his younger sister down as well.

"We named him Wolfy!" three-year-old Mary exclaimed.

His gaze went back and forth between the two children, but in the end, it stopped on five-year-old Christopher. "Care to explain how this happened?"

Christopher's mouth failed to open.

Simon was about to ask a second time when something strange happened. The wolf began to glow, and right before his eyes, the wolf began to change, slowly turning into a man. When the glowing stopped, Simon found himself face to face with none other than Alucard; the vampire who had helped him defeat Dracula years ago.

"Alucard? Is that really you?"

The white-haired vampire nodded his head, straightening from his crouched position. "I was hunting in the area when I came across two children playing by a cliffside. I thought it best to get them to safety, so I offered them a ride on my back and went in search of their home."

Hearing this, Simon glared over at his children, but they weren't paying him any attention. Christopher and Mary could only stare at the white-haired vampire in awe. With a sigh, Simon returned his focus onto his friend.

"It seems you've helped me once more," Simon stated. "Thank you for finding them."

"You're welcome."

Silence washed over them after that, both at a loss for what to say to the other. Many years had passed since they saw each other last. There were many things that Simon wanted to talk to his friend about, many things he wanted to ask him, but he didn't know how to go about it. Though Alucard was his friend and had saved him and now his children, the fact remained that he was a vampire and was a bit intimidating to say the least. He was the son of Dracula after all. It was to be expected.

Alucard broke the silence first. "It was nice being able to see you again, Simon, but I must leave now."

Simon watched as he turned and started to walk off. He felt an all too familiar tug in his heart, the very same tug he felt as he had watched his friend leave all those years ago. He knew only one thing … He didn't want him to leave … At least, not yet.

"Will you at least stay long enough to join us for dinner?" he asked.

The white-haired vampire stopped in his tracks. "You know I don't eat the same things as you do."

Simon silently cursed himself for forgetting about his friend's eating habits. He mentioned that he had been hunting when he found the children. Whether he meant humans or animals, that he didn't know. He seemed to recall something about only feeding on monsters, but he wasn't entirely sure if he was remembering correctly.

"Then at least come and visit with us while we eat," he insisted. "It's the least I can do to thank you after you saved my children."

At that, Alucard finally turned back to face them again, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Very well."

Returning the grin with one of his own, Simon motioned his children to him, taking hold of their hands as he began to retrace his steps, leading his group back to the cabin. The mist was cleared by that point, making it much easier to see. He assumed that to be Alucard's doing.

As they walked, he noticed the children kept glancing back at the white-haired vampire, as if to make sure that he was still there. It still surprised him how quickly his children had come to trust his friend. He had taught his children about the dangers of monsters, telling them stories of some of the ones he had fought. Perhaps they could sense that Alucard was different, that he meant them no harm. The thought pleased him regardless.

With the cabin within sight, Simon released his hold on the children, allowing them to run on inside ahead of them. With them gone, he took the opportunity to get a decent look at the white-haired vampire. For the most part, Alucard looked no different than he had seven years ago. Simon had to remind himself that his friend did not age. Though, he had to admit that he looked a bit more … healthy. His body had seemed a bit malnourished and corpse-like when he last saw him. It was good to see that he had regained his strength.

"Did you build this house yourself?" Alucard asked.

Simon nodded, "Aye, I built it around the time I got married. Didn't think my wife would appreciate living out in the wilderness like a wild animal."

"I don't know many women who would," Alucard let out a small snort. "You did a good job. It looks like a good home."

Simon smiled. The fact that his handiwork had obtained the vampire's approval made him feel pleased. After a moment, he followed after his kids into the house, motioning for Alucard to follow as well.

When the two of them stepped inside, they found the children already seated at the table, their mother standing with the pot of stew she had made, dishing spoonfuls of it into their bowls. It was on;y when Simon cleared his throat that Selena looked up, her eyes widening when she saw who was standing next to her husband.

"Selena, this is Alucard, the man who helped me defeat Dracula," Simon introduced. "Alucard, this is my wife, Selena."

Setting the pot of stew down in the middle of the table, she quickly wiped hands on the fabric of her dress before going to meet the man. "It's nice to meet you, Alucard," she said, reluctantly extending her hand for him to shake. "My husband has told me much about you."

Taking her hand, Alucard raised it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on top of it. "It is a pleasure to meet the woman who succeeded in taming the wild monster hunter that was once Simon Belmont."

Selena giggled at both the vampire's chivalrous gesture as well as his teasing remark. Every ounce of reservation she might have held towards him previously was now gone. "Such a gentleman. Simon could learn a thing or two from you."

Simon gasped, clutching at his heart in false shock. "You wound me, Selena."

"And I see that the two of you have been busy," Alucard claimed, motioning to Selena's belly.

Simon chuckled as he moved to his wife's side, wrapping an arm her around as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "What can I say, I find it hard to resist such an attractive woman."

Selena rolled her eyes, pulling away from her husband as she returned to the table. With a motion of her hand, Simon and Alucard joined her, sitting down across from each other. After dishing a couple of heaping spoonfuls into Simon's bowl, she turned to offer Alucard some, which he respectfully turned down, claiming that he had already eaten.

Dinner passed by in relative silence, the only ones talking being the children. Alucard passed the time looking around at the inside of the house, and though she tried to keep her thoughts to herself, she couldn't help but voice some of them.

"If I didn't know better, I would think that you've never been inside a house before."

Alucard jumped slightly as if he had been snapped out of a trance. "Forgive me for staring, but it has been a long time since I've been exposed to such warmth and family love."

Selena immediately regretted her previous remark. "I'm sorry for my rudeness. I imagine Dracula isn't the most loving father in the world."

Alucard let out a small chuckle at that. "No, he most certainly isn't, but I suppose that's hardly his fault."

This remark piqued Simon's curiosity. He had never given much thought to what it was like to be the son of Dracula. It couldn't be easy. From what little interaction he had witnessed between the vampire father and son duo, he observed that the two were not close by any means necessary. He didn't know much about their history together, except for the fact that Alucard was angry at his father for turning him into a vampire.

"What do you mean by that?"

The white-haired vampire didn't reply at first, as he appeared to be lost in thought again, but after a while, he snapped out of it again.

"My mother died shortly after I was born. My father was away at the time, completely unaware of everything that was happening. The Brotherhood of Light stole me from my home to protect me from the monster they knew my father would become," he explained. "I knew nothing of who I was or where I had come from for many years. The Brotherhood chose to reveal the truth to me after I reached manhood, telling me only of the monster and nothing of the man he had been before. Ashamed of who I was, I marched into his castle with the intent of killing him, but … fate had other plans … It was as I lay dying that my father finally saw who I truly was."

By the time he had finished his story, tears had formed in the eyes of everyone in the house, including Alucard himself. Simon was at a loss for what to say. He had no idea that Alucard had suffered such a tragic life. Though that wasn't exactly his fault either. How could he have known with the tiny amount of time he had been given to get to know him. He felt horrible. The white-haired vampire had suffered so much, and yet he continued to help humankind, as he had heard he was through the stories of the White Wolf. It was at that moment he fully realized just how selfless and brave Alucard truly was.

"And that's why he turned you," Simon finished for him.

Alucard shrugged. "There was a part of me that hoped he might have turned me simply out of love or compassion, but upon our last encounter, I realized that I was mistaken. He only saved me because he thought I would join him in remaking the world."

Simon understood why he might think that. One of the first things Dracula did when Alucard entered the throne room was to express his disappointment that Alucard had not joined him. Obviously, he did not know the mindset of the Prince of Darkness, so he couldn't say for certain whether that was truly all he had hoped to obtain in saving his son. As he thought back on the battle, he recalled something that he had found odd at the time. Someone as powerful as Dracula could have easily broken free from Alucard's hold, but he didn't … It was almost as if he had allowed his son to hold him back … It was almost as if he had been willing to die.

He shook that thought from his mind. There was a possibility that what Alucard said was true. As an experienced monster hunter, Simon knew that you couldn't allow possibilities to cloud your judgment in battle. The important thing was that they had defeated him and gotten out alive.

No one spoke again until dinner was over. Mary and Christopher said goodnight to everyone, waving goodbye to their new friend as their mother led them upstairs to bed. Soon after they were gone, Alucard got up and headed towards the door.

"I shall take my leave now and let you rest," he claimed. "I thank you for your hospitality." And with that, the door was opened and he stepped out.

After hesitating for a moment, Simon got up and went after him. A part of him was half expecting to find him gone by the time he reached the door, but he wasn't, much to his delight. He could still be seen. Although, the mist was starting to set in again, indicating that the vampire was getting ready to vanish again. Simon couldn't bear the thought of that … especially after everything that had happened this evening. The thought of never seeing him again hurt his heart.

"Father, wait!" he shouted out.

Alucard froze in his steps, allowing Simon to catch up with him. When the white-haired vampire turned, there was a look of sadness etched upon his face rather than the shock that Simon had expected.

"You know." It was a statement, not a question.

Simon nodded his head. "The specter showed me who you were in the Mirror of Fate after you left the throne room."

Alucard hung his head. "I had hoped to spare you the shame of knowing what I had become."

Simon reached out and placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "I am not ashamed of you, father," he stated firmly. "In fact, I couldn't be more proud."

Raising his head to look at his son, Alucard couldn't help but smile as he reached out and pulled Simon close, wrapping his arms around him in a tender embrace. "I'm proud of you too, son."

Simon didn't hesitate to return the embrace, clinging to him tightly, perhaps a bit too tightly, but he knew that it wouldn't hurt him. His father was a vampire after all. At that moment it was almost as if time had rewinded itself somehow, taking them back to the last time they had hugged. The only obvious difference was that he was now a full-grown man, whereas he had been six years old the last time. His father's embrace still felt the same nonetheless.

"Please, don't go," Simon pleaded. "Not again."

Reluctantly Alucard pulled away from the embrace, the look of sadness returning to his face. "I have no choice, Simon," he said. "The Brotherhood is after me and they will not hesitate to come after you as well if they find out that I am staying with you."

"Then let them come!" Simon declared, allowing his anger towards them to come out. They were the ones who had separated him from his father in the first place. "I have defeated far mightier foes than them, and so have you!"

"I know, but it's too risky. You have created a wonderful life for yourself here, and the last thing I want is for you to be ripped away from your wife and children as I was from mine."

This statement rendered Simon temporarily speechless. All he could do was stare into his father's glowing yellow eyes, seeing the deep sadness within them. It was only then that he realized that his father was right. It was too risky. He couldn't risk the lives of his children or his wife, especially not while she was pregnant. As much as he didn't want his father to leave again, he knew that he had to let him go.

"All right," he relented. "Just promise me one thing … Promise me that you'll come back when you feel it's safe enough to do so."

Alucard nodded his head in agreement. "I don't know how long it will take, but I give you my word that I will come back."

Then with one last reassuring shoulder squeeze, Alucard stepped back, transforming himself back into his wolf form.

"I'll miss you, father."

The wolf howled back at him before turning and running off, disappearing into the mist. Simon wasn't entirely sure if he was just imagining it, but he swore he heard his father's voice echo through the air saying, "I'll miss you too, son."

#castlevania #castlevania: lords of shadow #MoF #mirror of fate #castlevania: mirror of fate #simon belmont #alucard #selena belmont #christopher belmont #white wolf #castlevania fanfiction #my precious alucard #fanfic

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aerialsquid · 6 years ago

Text

Back on my nonsense.

A small fic that spun entirely out of the idea that 1. A guy named David Shield in a canon wher everyone has meaningful/pun names has a strong likelihood of being Jewish, 2. Melissa’s birthday is in early October, 3. Her bat mitzvah Torah portion was probably one of the last few chapters of the Torah. Also it’s been nearly two decades since my b-mitzvah so apologizes if I got some details wrong. It was a long day and I fell asleep on the bimah so my memories are kinda hazy in general.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Toshinori Yagi, David Shield, Melissa Shield, Assorted OCs

Content Warning: Contains Angst and Feels.

There were three types of people in the room at Melissa Shield's bat mitzvah. .

The first type saw the massive full-rack-of-beef blonde man awkwardly wedged next to Melissa's father in a pew too small for him and assumed he must be a member of the family. A brother, perhaps. His shimmering blonde hair was only a few shades darker than that of the girl leading prayers from the bimah, after all. If anything, the huge man looked more like Melissa Shield than her father did, and he was close to David in age.

The second type knew David Shield a little better, and knew that David had no brothers but had a 'good friend in Japanese hero work', so assumed the giant muscled stranger was some gentile friend of the family. The huge man didn't pray out loud with them but didn't have that look of polite awkwardness that most non-Jews had when they were invited to attend services for a faith they didn't know in a language they didn't speak. Instead, the man watched everything with quiet determination, as if this service was the most important event of his life, as if every syllable Melissa dropped was an awe-inspiring victory.

The third type didn't know why he was there and didn't care, because the third type was two teenagers silently shrieking throughout the entire service because HOLY SHIT THAT'S ALL MIGHT HE'S SITTING RIGHT THERE THAT'S ALL MIGHT.

(There were only two people in the audience that knew all three were correct. That All Might - a friend and more than a friend - was bound to the Shield family not just by love but by blood, by the gift that Yagi gave a brilliant man who could create anything except a child. Blonde hair was a recessive trait and Dave was a brunette, but in a world where children were born with scales and spider legs, no one thought to ask inappropriate questions.)

"Five bucks says you're going to tear up before she even gives her speech," Dave whispered, smiling. "I know how you are."

"I'm not taking that bet," Yagi muttered back. "I mean, look at her."

Melissa was radiant in her red dress with ruffled hem. A custom-made talis hung around her shoulders, white and blue cloth shot through with silver thread along the edges. You could power cars with the glow coming off Melissa Shield.

Yeah, Yagi was glad he'd packed a few hankerchiefs.

Melissa's eyes sought out the two men sitting in the front row. Yagi shot Melissa a discreet (as discreet as hands that huge could be) thumbs up, and he saw her mouth twitch upward in a nervous smile. It wasn't some pass/fail test, and even if it was, she'd score with flying colors like she did every other exam. Still, she was nervous enough that she almost walked into the stubby wings sticking out from under the gabbai's talis.

"Barchu adonai hamvorach," intoned the man doing the first aliyah.

"Baruch adonai hamvorach layolam vaed!" echoed back the parts of the congregation that knew the words. Yagi, silent, tried instead to exhude as much confidence and support as he could without physically getting up and shouting how wonderful she was. It was a near thing.

Melissa stepped forward, put on a bright smile, bent her head, and began to read from the scroll laid out on the podium.

Parashah Haazinu. Book of Deuteronomy Chapter 32. Yagi's thick finger traced the tiny lines of text, following in the English. It was mostly poetry, God saving this and smiting that. Toshi had never been one for religion, especially the way it was done in America - not opposed to it either, just unfamiliar with it. Dave was the first Jewish person he'd ever met and he'd had to go halfway around the world to meet him. He knew the dramatis personae - Adam, Eve, Abraham, Moses, etc. - mainly from pop culture.

There'd been a brief moment in college when he'd decided he was going to read the entire Bible, cover to cover, in English, just to impress David. The vow had lasted for the first three or four chapters before he'd given up in frustration at how wordy and dull the text was.

Melissa's voice stayed strong, not faltering for a single syllable, and Yagi's chest ached with pride. (Mostly pride. It ached for a lot of reasons these days.)

Melissa had been practicing reading her Torah portion for months, and she'd read it out to him over video chat several times, slowly tracing the lines of Hebrew with her finger as she read them out in a sing-song tone, stopping and retracing steps when she transposed one extended vowel for another. Yagi had heard it enough times that he almost could have done the reading himself, though he had no idea what any of it meant.

His mind wandered as he read and he found himself lingering on the English side of the page, gaze occasionally hopping down to the itty-bitty footnotes printed in text he almost needs a magnifying glass to read. The book was tiny in his hands already. Yagi pushed his reading glasses up his nose and skipped past the poetry and the logistical details to the final section of the portion - Moses, leader of the Jews, going up on the mountain to die within sight of the land of Israel.

Yagi felt a twist in the stomach he knew for a fact was no longer there.

He peeked ahead a few pages. There wasn't much left, Melissa was reading from the tail end of the final book of the Torah, but there might be some shocking twist...nope, no last minute reprieve. After all his hard work, Moses died without setting foot in the land he'd lead his people to. God permitted him to climb a mountain and look into the land, but not to live in it. There was a lot of tiny-printed commentary discussing, justifying, and criticizing it, but no one was arguing that Moses was actually just resting.

Yagi's hand touched the still-healing wound at his side, then flinched away before Dave could see it.

It seemed unfair. But maybe it was sufficient to know you'd succeeded. To know your children - the ones you'd raised, the ones you'd lead to safety through adversity and hardship, the ones you'd stood as a beacon for - would find peace. Perhaps Moses was content with that.

If it was good enough for a prophet of a god, it was good enough for the Symbol of Peace, right? It had to be good enough, because if Nighteye was right it was all he was going to get.

"See? I was right," David muttered with a chuckle.

"Hm?"

"I told that you wouldn't make it through the service without crying."

#davemight #bnha #david shield #melissa shield #all might #toshinori yagi #squid writes fanfic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #no beta we die like mne

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thisisabouta · 5 years ago

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This is About a... Downfall.

It’s happening. I’ve been taking Lamotrigine consistently for 8 months or so. Maybe longer. This is the longest i’ve consistently taken medication in a long time. It’s Lamotrigine along with Doxepin, Hydroxyzine and Gabapentin.

This is where my head has been during these last 8 or so months. I was driving on the freeway, about to merge and as I saw my car getting closer to the concrete barrier, I decided to go faster instead of slowing down for the car that had the right a way. I was about to crash into the side of this fucking car but I just kept going. The car to my right had to slam their brakes and I waited to hear the loud crash from the cars behind them because there was no way this wasn’t about to be a 5 car pile up.

God was there because nothing happened but that was way too fucking close to a catastrophe. The car that I cut off trailed me for awhile and pulled up next to me, I’m sure they were trying to cuss me out, flip me off, something... Whatever they did, I didn’t see it but it was justified. I would’ve been fucking heated if it had been the other way around. I cut people off all the time. I drive like an asshole, whatever. This was different.

I’ve been disassociating for weeks now. In that moment, I could see everything that was happening but my brain was not telling my body the correct way to react. I knew to slow down but I couldn’t. Everything i’ve been doing lately has had a delay. 1 minute. 5 minute. 10 minutes. My processing is delayed. My speech stumbles out of my mouth and doesn’t make sense. I’ve been blacking out and losing moments of time for years now but not to this severity. Now it’s like i’m blacking out and not fully coming back from it.

I’m around people constantly. I’m in a position of “leadership” at work so I have to direct and plan, be on alert at all times. My work day now consists of getting asked questions that I can’t comprehend fast enough so I stand there with a blank stare on my face, slowly losing my credibility. It’s worse because some of the things i’m being asked, I absolutely know the answer to but my brain just cannot get there. I can’t focus on ANYTHING. I know i’m walking around in circles (literally) and I know other people see it but I can’t stop. This circling shit happens a lot but it’s picked up in frequency. After I realize what i’m doing, it’s already done. People are trying to get my input and ideas and all I can do is squeeze my hands together and stare straight ahead, hoping my brain will figure out that I need it to work.

When I try to read, I can’t. This isn’t all the time but it happening occasionally is already too much. Words are not always making sense to me. I cant understand what i’m seeing and I have to go over things multiple times. It’s the same with counting. I shouldn’t have to use a calculator to add 30 and 20 or hold five $5 bills in front of me and stare at them until I realize what it is that i’m looking at. It’s embarrassing to even acknowledge that this is happening.

I’ve been losing things more and more everyday. I’ve had a habit of losing my keys. I lost my work keys at my last job, three times. My new job, i’ve already lost my keys once and it hasn’t even been 2 months that i’ve been working there. When my coworker texted me telling me that she found them, I just wanted to cry. That sounds ridiculous but having those keys is a huge fucking responsibility. I can get fired for losing them. Somehow I escaped that at my last job but it was a constant fear that I had. This last time, I hadn’t used the keys at all that day and I still managed to lose them. I retraced my steps and I had not taken them off of my keychain. Things like that don’t help me overcome this engrained idea I have that the universe is against me. Those keys represent me trying to do everything I can to keep it together while everything still managing to fall apart.

I’ve been forgetting to pay bills that i’ve been paying on the same day, every month for years. I’ve been forgetting people’s names. I can’t always comprehend what people are saying when they’re talking to me... that’s been a big one. I had a customer walk to my register at work. I was looking down at something when he asked if he could pay for his merchandise (I found out later on). That’s not what I heard. It came out as mumbling so I just assumed he was making a comment about something that was left on the counter. From what I remember, I said “Oh... yeah...” and went back to what I was doing. He looked at the Associate next to me and she told him that there were registers at the front where he could pay (she was already helping someone). He walked to the front and it took me about 2 or 3 minutes to realize that he was asking if I could ring him up. And to add to that awesome moment, he glared at me for the rest of the time he was in the fucking store. Yes, one small incident but that’s nowhere near how many times something like that has happened. Someone will be talking to me and i’m literally catching about every third word they’re saying. You can only ask “what?” so many times before that person looks at you like you’re the dumbest person they’ve ever met.

Writing things down... i’ll go back and read over my notes. They make no sense. Things are spelled incorrectly. Everything’s scattered. Like someone else wrote it. I walk around feeling like i’m not apart of my surroundings. My surroundings are not reality, like walking through a Fun House with no fun in sight. It’s like i’m seeing everything in those mirrors that make everything look distorted. All I can do is stare and try to figure it out. I can only imagine what that looks like from the outside. People walking around me while I just stare. Standing there trying not to cry because i’m in public.

I’ve been hallucinating. That comes and goes. I’m still forgetting why I picked certain things up, or why I walked to a certain room or what I was going to tell someone. Things a lot of people do but usually with somewhat immediate recall. I’m not remembering these things til days later, if at all. That’s the more frustrating part. Very small, seemingly insignificant things are happening over and over and over again. It’s no longer an insignificant mishap, this shit is snowballing and affecting everything. I can’t manage a store if I can’t function like a normal, fucking human being. I talked to my Probation Officer about some of the things that were happening and she asked me what medications I was taking and if any of them were used to treat seizures. Gave her the list and two of them just so happen to be used to treat seizures. I already knew that was the case but didn’t think that they would cause this long, intense stream of side effects. I know all about the side effects of medicine. You’ll basically die if you take it and die if you don’t.

I’ve experienced the lighter ones. Nausea, dizziness, dry mouth. The usual shit. Not forgetting how to read a fucking sentence. To my POs knowledge, those drugs do cause a lot of neurological problems, much that make it feel like i’m disassociating. Most of these things had been happening prior to taking the medications but it got much worse over time. I read up on the side effects in detail when I got home and everything aligned. So [because I will control this situation as much as I possibly can] I stopped taking the two that were the main issue. Should anyone ever just stop taking their medicine without consulting their physician first? No. Did I do it anyway? Yes. Now i’m going thru the withdrawal. Besides me losing my fucking mind, the Lamotrigine was actually working. It was the first medication I had taken for my Bipolar that has ever had that positive of an effect on me. But that was at the expense of me literally going insane. It’s not going to matter if I feel better when i’m dead because I crashed my car into a wall. The risk does not outweigh the reward. It did not cure anything. It did not solve even half of my problems but it did make me feel better. Not taking the Gabapentin doesn’t make a difference.

Now i’m going thru the withdrawal. I have 11 drafts on here that i’ve tried to complete and publish over the past few months and they’re just sitting in there. I know the only reason i’m able to write this one is because i’m not on the meds right now. Now my heart hasn’t felt off beat for the past few days (that’s a difficult feeling to describe) but in return, i’m the angriest i’ve been in awhile. I got in an argument with one of my employees this morning and did not feel bad at all. I got into it with another ASM a few days ago. I feel my temper coming back.

I made an appointment with a new MD for next week. I need to start over. I made an appointment to see my current Psychiatrist and cancelled it. I’m done with that guy. He keeps throwing these random pills at me and it’s not working. Not that the next doctor isn’t going to do the same, exact thing but I made an appointment at a facility that offers “Advanced Integrative Medical Care”. Basically, they’re on some new age shit. I’ve been reading up on Ketamine Therapy for over a year and even though it scares the shit out of me, i’m not completely against the idea. They also offer Medical Marijuana. I am officially now in my last 3 month stretch of my house arrest and this shit has finally gotten difficult. The first few weeks were hard because I was still trying to figure out what I could get away with and apparently it’s a lot but now, I just need this shit to end. I’m getting restless. I’m scared too tho.

I’m still going to be on supervised probation for a year (based on good behavior) but I need to get back to... something. I can’t be sober and I don’t want to be. Weed has been fine. Good, enough. I’ve grown a liking to it and found some that actually relaxes me. Alcohol. I miss alcohol. I’ll forever miss alcohol. I’ll miss it even if (when) I start drinking again. It’s that important. Watching movies, seeing people drink to have fun, to relax, to be brave, to socialize. And yet, I shouldn’t engage in that. I know I can engage in good things but the drinking is what i’ve been told I should stay away from. I’m not going to stay away from it. Alcohol makes things better. I know it, the people who tell me not to drink know it. It’s there and I need it. Yes, the problem is that I abuse it. I don’t know if I can overcome that problem. I’m going to try. That sounds crazy and insane so... it’s just going to have to be crazy and insane.

There are other ways to deal with my problems and i’m trying to implement them and hang onto them. I need those things too but I can’t walk thru the world with this open wound that is my life, unarmed. Chemicals... drugs... my brain chemistry will never be right and if I know there’s something out there that will give me temporary relief, i’m taking it. I just have to put the recklessness aside. This time around was a lot. I pray that it was enough to set me straight. Or at least to keep me out of jail for the second time.

#depression #mental illness #bipolar disorder #mental health #pain #relate #disappointment #sadness #pills #prescriptions #psychiatry #ketamine #weed #marijuana #manic depressive #therapy #focus #crash #chemistry

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