#He also looks like a hare because of his pipes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tallstars-rewrite · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 5

chapter list / previous / next

Tallkit was trying to nap, but he couldn’t stop thinking about why Sandstone didn’t tell him about Leafshine. Perhaps he simply hadn’t wanted to scare him. Besides, Tallkit didn’t know exactly why the accidents had happened. Maybe it was like Crowfur said, they were just confident that the problem was already fixed and there was no need to worry anymore. I wish he hadn’t hurt Lilywhisker’s feelings...but he hadn’t meant to, he was only trying to say that training made it safer! Maybe this is all a big misunderstanding...

It took a long time to start nodding off, but then the sound of Fallowpaw and Fawnpaw bolting into camp, tripping over each other as they went, startled Tallkit awake again. His head was still laying on the shallow dirt pile he’d been anxiously scraping at earlier with little success and he was confused to find there were twigs and grass bits covering his pelt. He shook them off and saw Shrewkit’s tail already disappearing out of the nursery entrance. Briarkit went to follow him and paused to look back at Tallkit, who was pawing another leaf scrap from his ears.

“You fell asleep in the dirt and Shrewkit started stacking leaves and sticks on top of your head.” Briarkit mewed apologetically. “He wanted to see how high he could get it before you woke up...I did tell him to stop! He wouldn’t listen.”

Tallkit was too groggy to be annoyed about the leaf litter. Outside he could see Shrewkit was already dancing around the new apprentices as they described their first view of the territory.

“It’s huge, I never thought the world was that big!” Fawnpaw said. “You’ll never guess what happened--”

“Ryepaw caught a mouse! On our first time out! You should have seen the look on Larkflower’s face, she was so fast!” Fallowpaw said.

Ryepaw padded into camp, her head ducked modestly. She had a plump mouse between her jaws as her mentor followed behind her, although Larkflower wore a surprisingly dark look and her tail flicked back and forth with obvious agitation. Cloudrunner and Aspenfall followed close behind.

“Fawnpaw I’ve already told you twice to stay with me! You’ve got to stop running ahead.” Cloudrunner scolded.

“I bet I could catch a mouse next time” Fawnpaw continued as if he hadn’t heard his mentor. Cloudrunner let out an exasperated sigh.

“Cloudrunner, Aspenfall, Heatherstar will want to speak to us about what we saw.” Larkflower called out.

Tallkit caught up to the others as soon as the older cats had padded away to the leader's den.

“Did you really catch that all by yourself?” He mewed in wonder.

Ryepaw gave her chest fur a couple embarrassed licks after setting the mouse down in the prey heap. “It was a really slow mouse.”

Briarkit was looking after where the warriors had disappeared to. “What's going on with them? They seemed in a hurry.”

“Oh! Right!” Fawnpaw gasped. “I almost forgot, that’s not all that happened, we saw the border to ShadowClan!”

“ShadowClan?” Tallkit’s voice was small. What he had heard about them from the elders hadn’t been good. Shrewkit had even told him that they ate kits that misbehaved and snuck out of the nursery. It was probably nonsense, but Tallkit still shuddered at the thought.

“It smelled just awful.” Ryepaw said, wrinkling her nose. “And some of the scents were lingering pawsteps over the border under the thunderpath. Larkflower said it smelled like a whole patrol was scouting the area. We would have stayed out longer but they wanted to report it right away.”

“ShadowClan tries anything, I’ll claw their ears off!” Shrewkit growled.

“Not if you can’t even reach their ears.” Fawnpaw snickered, “I’m not worried. The clans haven’t had a war in ages, why would ShadowClan want to bother us now?”

Tallkit wanted to believe them but he remembered the dark look of concern on Larkflower’s face and he wasn’t sure. ShadowClan sounded terrifying. A warrior doesn’t fear anything. Sandstone’s voice scolded in his head. Tallkit was going to be a warrior, and he wasn’t going to be scared of ShadowClan. If Shrewkit’s not scared, neither am I! he told himself.

“Nevermind all that,” Fawnpaw continued. “ShadowClan stench isn’t going to ruin my day. We’ve got the evening to ourselves before we have to start doing all the chores around here.”

Tallkit shot a concerned look over his shoulder. He hadn’t made much headway on his makeshift tunnel. “I don’t know if…”

“Oh come on, you’ve been scratching at the dirt all day!” Shrewkit complained.

“Maybe it would be a good idea to take a break,” Briarkit murmured. “But I understand if you don’t want to hang out with the moor runners...”

I did hurt his feelings before… Tallkit thought glumly. “No I...I can. It’s not such a big deal.” he mewed awkwardly.

Fallowpaw and Fawnpaw regaled them with surely exaggerated stories of their brief lap of the moor. It was bigger than ten camps put together and they could look down on the rest of the territories which stretched even further. Tallkit didn’t know or care if it was exaggerated. He couldn’t even begin to imagine it. The WindClan camp being tucked in a divot below Outlook Hill blocked him off from seeing very far or feeling the unrestrained moor wind. It sounded like a different world. Tallkit had even forgotten all about his failed tunnel.

Eventually Fawnpaw said, “Now that it’s getting dark...I’ve got another idea for you kittens.”

Kittens! Tallkit gave an annoyed flick of his tail You’ve barely been an apprentice a day! Don’t start pretending to be a grown up!

“What kind of idea?” Briarkit mewed suspiciously

“Me and Fallowpaw heard the coolest story from Flintfoot yesterday,” he said.

“He said it was a true story his own grandfather told him from his kithood!” Fallowpaw added. “It’s really scary.”

Tallkit wasn’t sure he trusted the gleam in the young apprentice's eyes, and he absentmindedly scooted closer to Briarkit.

“Flintfoot hardly talks to kits at all!” Shrewkit said suspiciously. “What could he have to say that’s any good? Whitetooth is way better at stories, even if he’s a grump the rest of the time.”

“But when Flintfoot does talk, it’s worth listening to” Ryepaw said sternly, “Although...I know the one you’re talking about, and I’m afraid it might be too much for them...Tallkit especially. You really want to tell that one?”

“Yes!” Fallowpaw cried “I’ve been practicing so I can tell it just the way Flintfoot did! I think I'm getting good at it.”

Ryepaw shook her head “I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Fawnpaw lifted his nose “Well alright, if you’re all too scared to hear it, I guess it can’t be helped.”

“I-I’m not too scared!” Tallkit tried to sound confident but his voice quavered.

“Neither am I!” Shrewkit said louder.

“I...guess I’m not either,” Briarkit added cautiously.

Ryepaw got to her feet and turned away. “Well I’m not going to join in with you giving the kits nightmares!”

“She’s only leaving because it scared her the first time too.” Fawnpaw scoffed.

“Good.” Fallowpaw suddenly sat up straighter and began. “So...you know about the spirits of StarClan above us, and even the good spirit messengers on the earth--”

“Yeah I know about that!” Briarkit piped up enthusiastically. “Hawkheart said there are messengers from the earth around us that tell us about helpful signs from StarClan if you know how to listen to them, and--”

“Yes, yes!” Fallowpaw said impatiently, “I know you know that but also, Flintfoot told us there are evil spirits too. Unrested spirits, even spirits of cats who were so angry in life that they could never find peace in StarClan, and instead stayed roaming the earth to torment the living.”

“I’ve never heard that…” Briarkit’s said with wide eyes.

“Why would spirits want to torment us?” Tallkit asked fearfully.

“Who knows?” Fallowpaw replied with a shrug. “Maybe they just want everyone to hurt the way they did. Maybe they think they’ll never find peace if there isn’t a payment for what they lost. And they can manifest as anything! You may not even know an evil spirit is upon you until it has you.”

Tallkit scooted even closer to Briarkit, until he was almost hiding under his plush red-brown fur.

“And the story that Flintfoot heard is about a cat who became one of those bad spirits,” Fallowpaw dropped her voice ominously, “a cat who is only remembered by the name ‘Harehead.’

“It happened seasons ago, during a cold and rainy leaf-bare when the clan hadn’t seen the sun shine for moons. Hunting was becoming more of a competition as many rabbit warrens flooded in the storms. One warrior saw the hard times as an opportunity to prove himself. They say he was a proud warrior, but a foolish one. He was sure he could hunt anything he set his eyes on, and he set them on a massive hare that had run the moors uncaught for as long as any cat could remember. Bigger than any cat, and faster too. The clan told him it was too dangerous trying to hunt such a large animal, but he insisted he could do it. No silly hare would beat a hunter like him. He chased it for three sunrises into the rain and the storms, exhausting himself and ignoring his clanmates' calls for him to give it up. The hare fled into an abandoned rabbit tunnel to escape him, and of course he went after it. Suddenly, with the thunder shaking the ground and the rain pouring in, the soil got so heavy that as the warrior was digging, he didn’t hear the earth start to fall in ahead of him. And that’s when the worst happened.”

Shrewkit was now shoved up against Briarkit’s other side, squishing him between Tallkit.

“What happened?” Briarkit asked in a trembling voice.

Fallowpaw continued with more fervor, clearly delighted by their reaction. “He heard the earth roar and shake like it was breaking apart under his feet. He tried to back out, and went running down the mud and slosh he had dug through. But he wasn’t fast enough. A large stone over his head crashed down right on top of him...and it cut his head right off!”

Tallkit let out an involuntary squeak. “Cut it off? That can’t be possible!”

“But it’s true! And that’s not the worst part. See, a mysterious rogue cat found the collapsed tunnel days later, along with the warrior's body, flailing around trying to get himself free. But it was no use. The rock had completely crushed his whole head, but his body was twitching, like he was still trying to get his head free…”

“Wait, how could he still be moving if he lost his head days ago?” Briarkit asked.

Fallowpaw gave an irritated sigh, “I don’t know, maybe he hadn’t bled too much yet because the rock was keeping it in!”

“I once saw a snake that was still moving after getting its head squished.” Shrewkit said helpfully. “Maybe it’s like that.”

“Yes, it was like that, thank you Shrewkit. Obviously he was going to be dead soon, but he was still twitching, so no one could tell! Don’t question it. Let me finish.”

“Sorry.” Briarkit whispered.

“Anyway. Where was I? Right, so, they say this mysterious rogue was once a medicine cat that got banished for abusing StarClan’s gifts. He had a habit of... experimenting with methods not normally taught to good medicine cats, and some claimed they even heard him talking with strange spirits other than StarClan’s messengers. Those spirits gave him an idea. The cat's body was in perfect condition... if only he had a head. So the medicine cat found the body of the hare, killed in the same collapse, ironically just barely out of the warrior's reach when it died. He pulled the remainder of the cat's headless body out from under the rock, of course, leaving his head behind. Right when the poor warrior nearly stopped twitching, the medicine cat fastened the hare’s head onto the body. And it worked. The warrior got to his feet, unsteady and blind, because the dead hare’s eyes had already been pecked out by crows and worms. The old rogue medicine cat hadn’t thought to check that all the parasites were removed from the crowfood he used to stick the once great cat back together, afterall.”

Tallkit suddenly felt very ill, and he wished he had listened to Ryepaw earlier, but he felt that he had no choice but to see it through as he trembled together with the other kits.

“The rogue only laughed at his distress and said ‘You wanted your clan to see the prize you swore you would bring down, and now they will always be able to see it!’ With nothing else to do, the warrior stumbled his way back to his clan. When he walked into camp, they were horrified at what they saw! But it was their clan mate all the same, right? How could they turn him away? From then on, he was only ever known as Harehead. Little did they know, he would never be the same again. He was quiet. He couldn’t speak well anymore because his mouth and throat weren’t his own. He was just a little bit off in his manner, walked a little funny, twitched every now and then, and when some cat worked up the nerve to speak to him, he would just look at them with his sightless eyes and walk away. But still, he went on walking. Even when he grew thin and smelled awful, he continued, refusing his medicine cat's attempts at treating him for illness. Harehead patrolled, and he hunted on his own, proud as ever despite it all. The food he brought back was mangled and smelled as foul as him, and his clan realized that everything he caught and fed to them was filled with worms, like it had gone rotten at his touch. Harehead grew spiteful that his clan refused his prey, and that they whispered behind his back, calling him a poor fool for his relentless chase which in the end had amounted to nothing good. He was enraged that StarClan had allowed him to suffer this curse for his folly. He wanted vengeance. He deserved better.

“And that night, his denmates awoke to a horrible noise, a squishy gnawing sound… And there, in the dark, they found Harehead. His long front teeth and ungroomed fur were soaked bloody from chewing through the neck of one of his own clanmates. He wasn’t content with a hare’s head, and if he couldn’t have his own, he intended to steal one in order to make himself feel whole again. It was then they saw what he truly was. He wasn’t just thin, he was shriveled, like prey that had been left out in the sun and turned black and dry. His insides were replaced with mushy dirt and the things that crawl in the ground had chewed at him from the inside out until he was hollow. His heart had been eaten away along with the rest of him, or else how could he do such a thing to a cat he had once called a friend and ally? He was not a cat any longer, but an unnatural shambling monster, moving along only through the power of his spirit’s fury and spite.

“His clan was horrified, they banished him and chased him out before he could harm anyone else. Harehead fled deep into the tunnels, and was forbidden from ever showing his face above ground again, lest the stars see and punish him for his crimes. And they say that to this very day, If you go into an unfamiliar tunnel alone on a night of a new-moon, when StarClan’s watchful eye is hidden in the sky, and you listen very closely, you can hear his moan. A cry that sounds neither quite like the yowl of a cat or the scream of a hare, as he wanders the tunnels searching for an unsuspecting victim so he can claim their head as his own and finally make himself whole. Just the prick of his rotten claws is enough to infect a cat with horrible sickness that lets bugs inside to eat away at you as if you were crowfood. If he catches you, he’ll pin you into the dirt, and chew off your head like he did his clanmate. He’ll leave you with the rotten hare head in place of your own, condemning you to share his curse, forever wandering the darkness alone, crying out... where is my he-eead? I want my he-eead...” Fallowpaw sang in a trembling voice.

From behind her, a dark shape leaped out of the shadows. Tallkit saw nothing but a brown blur, and then a swinging head of a rabbit with it’s jaws hanging open, empty eyes wide, blank, and staring right into his.

“I WANT YOUR HEAD!” It screeched, rearing up with it’s terrible claws flashing in the dim light.

Tallkit yowled louder than he ever had in his whole life. Both Shrewkit and Briarkit had already sprung a tail length in the air and were tripping over themselves to scramble back to the nursery, with Tallkit stumbling as fast as he could after them, wailing for his mother.

Brackenwing was the first to spring out of the nursery. The kits barreled into her, clamoring over each other and trying to dart between her legs.

“What--kits, what in StarClan’s name has happened!?” She stuttered, trying to gather the squirming kits into a bundle with calming licks. It was a heartbeat later that Tallkit was aware of Fallowpaw and Fawnpaw hooting with laughter behind them. He looked over his shoulder to see Fawnpaw drop the rabbit head he’d been holding up between his teeth as he and his sister fell into each other.

“Oh my stars, I didn’t think Shrewkit could jump that high, that was perfect!” Fawnpaw cried.

“Hey!” Shrewkit growled indignantly, apparently having already gotten a hold of himself as he pushed away from his mother’s paws, trying to flatten his puffed out fur.

“That was mean!” Briarkit yowled.

Tallkit still couldn’t find his voice. By that point, Palebird had quickly followed Brackenwing out of the nursery and was looking around her with wide eyes until she finally spotted Tallkit shivering under the brown queen's fur.

“Tallkit? Tallkit, are you hurt?” She asked, trying to nose him out of hiding. He readily buried his head into her soft white fur.

“The apprentices are pulling jokes on the kits and trying to scare them.” Brackenwing said with a growl to her voice. “Even though they should know better! You’re lucky your mother’s out right now!”

“I wasn’t actually scared, I was just surprised for a moment!” Shrewkit insisted.

The apprentices ducked their heads when their mentors came out of Heatherstar’s den, Cloudrunner especially looking very cross. Tallkit didn’t hear the rest of the lecture that the warriors gave about misusing prey. Even if it was a joke, he couldn’t stop his heart from thudding in his chest.

“Let’s go inside, Tallkit.” Palebird murmured to him.

He nodded glumly and allowed her to lift him by the scruff and carry him to her nest. For once he was happy to lie there and allow his mother to groom his thin fur. He couldn’t escape the image of a headless cat with a hare’s terrible hollow eyes stumbling through the cramped dark, cornering him with blood stained front teeth bared.

Palebird and Brackenwing talked softly to each other after Brackenwing had calmed her kits down. Briarkit had wanted to see if Tallkit was alright, but the shivering black and white kit wouldn’t come out of hiding. Tallkit nuzzled under his mothers chin, desperate for a comforting purr to drown his thoughts out. She purred for a brief moment before going quiet again. He tried to close his eyes, but Tallkit knew he wouldn’t get much sleep that night.

chapter list / previous / next

#cw gore #cw dead animal #uhh some description of gross rotting animal!!#and the bugs that go with it #FRU5 #chapter 5 #this one was fun to write tho #listen is simply think warrior cats should have more ghost stories #i want the scary nursery fables #characters are always SAYING they heard scary nursery stories but I dont think we ever get to actually hear them

17 notes · View notes

mewtonian-physics · 3 years ago

Text

i was gonna give this a fancy title or something but i decided not to bother. anyway today i’m going to be examining the vocaloid song alice in ny by teamOS and comparing it to the original alice in wonderland series. this song seems like it merely has alice in wonderland imagery slapped onto it, but i’m going to be taking a look and seeing if there are any other parallels--whether intentional or otherwise.

so the first thing notable is that alice, in this video, is a boy, as played by kagamine len. i will be calling this character alistair in the future as it will be easier for me to remember. i have no problem with this, it is an interesting decision.

the white rabbit that alistair follows is played by hatsune miku, whose role is decidedly different from the original story. despite this, we can see similarities: the white rabbit leads alistair to chase her, and the shattering heart seen in the pv suggests that they may have been in a relationship of some sort, or perhaps alistair just had a crush on her. either way, his chase leads him into the ‘wonderland’ that is new york (new yorkers, weigh in?) where he becomes a fashion designer. this part doesn’t have any direct parallels that i can figure out, but i do think it’s interesting when you compare it to how alice’s classic outfit has become so recognizable and taken on so many different forms over the years and adaptations. (this also will be seen later in the pv.)

alistair in this is described as timid, dull, and unstylish, which serves as a great contrast when he’s placed against the tall skyscrapers and glimmering lights of new york. the parallel between alistair and alice, very average people suddenly in a world that seems far too strange and sometimes far too big, might very well be intentional. furthermore, new york is described as a place where everyone puts on airs. many of the characters in alice in wonderland act superior to her in some way, from the talking flowers to the queen of hearts herself.

we are next introduced to the characters of the cheshire cat, as played by megurine luka (WHY NOT NEKOMURA IROHA, HUH. WHY. TELL ME WHY) and bill the lizard, played by mayu. this part is where it really hit me that there might be more to this song than just some scattered alice imagery, because pretty much no one ever includes bill the lizard. bill the lizard is horribly underrated. i was very excited to witness this part.

next, we are introduced to the ‘selfish queen’, labeled specifically as the queen of hearts, and portrayed by meiko. okay. i am so happy that there doesn’t seem to have been any mixing of the queens here! i’m full of delight. moving on, though. she is introduced specifically as saying she won’t forgive timid shortcuts. this actually has a really clear parallel to the original book--we see the queen angry at several card soldiers because they planted white roses instead of red. the timid shortcut here is in the way that the cards decided to paint the roses red, their fear of the queen leading them to take a quicker solution than replanting actually red roses.

the caterpillar, as played by kaito, has a really interesting design here. i’m not exactly a huge fan of it, although i do like the way they designed his pipe, but it’s interesting...

next, we move to alice, played by kagamine rin. she’s chasing the white rabbit in her own way--namely, by wanting to be her. she meets with the caterpillar by chance, who asks her to be a model. this caterpillar is way more helpful to alice than the book caterpillar... once again we have alice described as timid, dull, and unstylish, but this time the contrast is with the fashionable world of the modeling industry. i like to think of it as in comparison to the scene in through the looking glass where she meets the talking flowers. (they are a bit rude.)

next we have the mad hatter’s crew! they’re all together as they should be, with gakupo as the mad hatter, gumi as the march hare, and ia as the dormouse. i adore the designs here, as an added note. they’re incredible. the ‘mad fashionista’ won’t accept ‘safe tastes’, and so alice ends up in a whirlwind of fashion instead of tea. still, she’s definitely swept off her feet by the experience!

then comes bill the lizard, who, for the white rabbit’s sake, steals the dress that alice was going to wear. this is also a parallel--in alice in wonderland, bill is the rabbit’s gardener, who is sent in after alice when she accidentally starts literally outgrowing the rabbit’s house. (that’s what you get for sending in a random person without checking to see if they are who you think they are!)

unfortunately, the part where the caterpillar and the queen of hearts compete against each other has literally nothing to do with the books. it would be super cool if it did. but it doesn’t. same with the whole alice vs the white rabbit thing, that just doesn’t happen.

after that, there aren’t really many leftover parallels. i do however like to think that the repeated mentions of the ‘alice in the mirror’ is a reference to through the looking glass. that would be cool.

also, the cheshire cat still smiling no matter what happens... well, that really checks out, doesn’t it?

#alice #also the whole song is so gender but that has nothing to do with parallels it's just really gender

3 notes · View notes

thebigfailwhale · 5 years ago

Text

Background history on the ACE OPS

“So I tried to find the Aesop fables that the ACE OPS team are connected to and write a bit about them so that maybe they can be better understood. Hope you enjoy!

Small disclaimer: I tried to write this as comprehensible as possible but as English is still my third English there might be some mistakes in my writing, so I apologize for that. Also I don’t do any studies related to studying reading/writing so if I missed anything obvious, I’m also sorry. Allright, let’s get to it!

Clover Ebi

Seemingly the team leader with a four-leaf clover pin, a horseshoe, a rabbitsfoot and what looks like a fishing pole weapon. With this knowledge it seems his origins can be partly found in the fable. “A Fisherman’s Good Luck”.

“A fisherman had been a long while at work without catching anything, and so in great trouble and despair, he resolv’d to take up his tackle, and be gone: but in that very instant a great fish leapt into the boat, and by this providence he made a tolerable day on’t.”

Now, here’s the kicker, there is also a fable named “The fisherman and his Flute”:

“It tells of a fisherman piping to the fish to make them dance. When they will not oblige, he catches them in a net and mocks their death agonies: “Silly creatures, you would not dance for me before and now that I am no longer playing you do so.” In this context the fable is given the political meaning that those who refuse a benefit when it is first offered will gain nothing by acting as asked when constrained to”

This fable makes for an interesting possibility in the future. Maybe Clover is connected to Salem? Maybe he strives to be better than anyone, no matter the costs to anyone but himself? I have no clue, but it gives us some fun points to speculate on.

Lastly, with all the imagery associated to luck, I wouldn’t be surprised if Clover’s semblance is the opposites of Qrow, where he always gets lucky. This would also be an interesting confrontation between the 2, if something like that ever happens.

Edit: My friend jonthejournalist found that there is a god in the Japanese Pantheon that’s called “Ebisu”. This is the god of Fishermen and luck, whcih explains his last name, and has more callbacks to the fisherman and luck being part of his character.

Harriet “Hare” bree:

Harriet is presumably named after the Hare from the Aesop’s fable “The Tortoise and the Hare”. Many of you have probably heard of this one, as it’s a very popular children’s fable. It’s about a Hare who makes fun of a Tortoise, who challenges him to a race. The Hare, very confidently, takes a nap in the middle of the race, and thus loses the race.

Combined with vine’s “not everything’s a competition” I can guess she’s very competition driven and always thrives to be the best, which is why she’s a part of the ACE OPS.

Elm ederne

The buff lady with the big hammer. Elm’s fables origins I believe is in the Aesop fable “The elm and the Vine”. As elm trees are usually used to support vines, it is usually taken as a symbol of marriage. A poem from the 20th century about The Elm and The Vine:

“Ageinst him where he sat

A goodly Elme with glistring grapes did growe: which after hee

Had praysed, and the vyne likewyse that ran uppon the tree:

But if (quoth hee) this Elme without the vyne did single stand,

It should have nothing (saving leaves) to bee desyred: and

Ageine if that the vyne which ronnes uppon the Elme had nat

The tree to leane unto, it should uppon the ground ly flat.

Yit art not thou admonisht by example of this tree

To take a husband, neyther doost thou passe to maryed bee.”

this poem means that the Elm and the vine need eachother, the Elm for the company and the Vine to grow up it and get its full potential.

This leads me to believe that Elm is the backbone of the team, the support and friendly, chipper team member. And seeing ep 2. Makes it even more clear.

Vine Zeki

Could be the vine opposing the Elm tree, or Elm Ederne. Which I guess would make them a couple or married?? Besides this the only other fables I can link to Vine would be “The goat and the Vine”:

“When a goat starts eating a vine's leaves and shoots, the vine retorts that it will still have enough juice left to produce grapes, the wine from which will be poured over it when the goat is sacrificed.”

The morale of this fable is “Ingratitude perverts all the measures of religion and society, by making it dangerous to be charitable and good natur’d.”

This does seem to correspond with his monk like attitude and look, but there’s nothing more I can add to this now. (Also Zeki is a Turkish name for boys, meaning “ God remembers).

Marrow Amin

So according to a tweet by Kuppa137 on a twitter conversation with Larissa Angus (Senior Character Concept Artist) he seems to be based on the fable “The dog and its reflection.”

“A dog that is carrying a stolen piece of meat looks down as it is walking beside or crossing a stream and sees its own reflection in the water. Taking that for another dog carrying something better, it opens its mouth to attack the "other" and in doing so drops what it was carrying. An indication of how old and well-known this story was is given by an allusion to it in the work of the philosopher Democritus from the 5th century BCE. Discussing the foolish human desire for more, rather than being content with what one has, he describes it as being "like the dog in Aesop's fable".”

I also think that there could be some correlation to Marrow and the fable “The Boy Who Cried Wolf”:

“The tale concerns a shepherd boy who repeatedly tricks nearby villagers into thinking a wolf is attacking his town's flock. When a wolf does appear and the boy again calls for help, the villagers believe that it is another false alarm and the sheep are eaten by the wolf.”

In episode 2, when the team meets the ACE OPS, we can hear Marrow talking about the second time he got banned, and before he can tell us about the third time, Clover tells them to cut the Chatter. This reminds me a bit about the boy who cried wolf, because the morale of that story: “Liars are not believed even when they speak the truth.” Could come into play later in the series.

So that was my little analysis on the ACE OPS team, hope you enjoyed it, and I hope I’m not completely wrong! Thanks for taking the time to read this!!

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 7 spoilers #ace ops #Marrow Amin #Harriet Bree #Vine Zeki #Elm Ederne #Clover Ebi #my posts

693 notes · View notes

thekytchensynk · 4 years ago

Text

Choices (Fictober Prompt 11)

Prompt number: 11

Fanfiction Fandom: Ducktales

Rating: G

Warnings: No Warnings

Read this story on AO3

Gyro paced.

When Mr. McDuck, holder of the pursestrings, had determined that “Gizmoduck” was the “hero” that Duckberg needed, Gyro hadn’t agreed, but he had agreed, if you take the difference. The idea itself? Pure madness. The thought that some half-baked intern in a mechanical utility suit would somehow many the city safer rather than in far more danger struck him as the same sort of fairy tale nonsense that led to children staying up late at night enthusiastically waiting for some allegedly benevolent creature to break into their homes and leave free items, as though there would be no strings attached to THAT down the line.

But while Mr. McDuck and Gyro were on the same wavelength regarding the jolly fat man, they were not seeing eye to eye on the superhero thing. And since Gyro didn’t hate the idea of … ugh … Gizmoduck enough to potentially jeopardize access to his benefactor, he’d gritted his beak and tried to sound enthusiastic about it.

He liked to think he’d done a good job.

But the idea of actually managing the day-to-day nonsense of a superhero had turned out more complicated and irritating than he’d even imagined. For instance, despite being an intern with Gyro himself, the pilot of the suit wasn’t really a mechanical sort of thinker -- he could do passably well with wiring or a circuit board, but there was far more of a chemistry and physics bent in that one. Which meant while he could patch up the suit, and even make changes to it, he wasn’t as comfortable in that world as he was wearing the darn thing.

Which left it all to Gyro, of course. And did anyone think about that? Did anyone thank him? No, of course not. That wasn’t the flashy bit, why should anyone care if the suit was working well when Duckburg needed it?

And that was only the beginning.

There were the letters. Because people allegedly didn’t know where Gizmoduck lived (a fact Gyro assumed had to be a lie, the guy couldn’t keep the secret from literal children), they sent letters for him to McDuck Enterprises, since it publicly sponsored him. And the corporation wisely wanted nothing to do with them, so what did it do? It sent them here, to his place of work, where they were nothing more than a processed-pulp annoyance. Thank you for helping me cross the street, Gizmoduck! Thank you for finding my puppy, Gizmoduck! Thank you for swooping in to grab the gunman holding those kids hostage, ending the incident without any injuries Gizmoduck! A parade of saccharine paper waste.

And then there were nights like tonight. When Mr. McDuck and his family had hared off to some obscure corner of the world chasing money or mysticism, and some weather-based villain or something had attacked city hall (Seriously, there were so many weather baddies at this point, Gyro didn’t even bother learning names).

Gyro got notification on his phone whenever the suit started activating its more combat-oriented functions. Because combat functions meant combat. And combat meant the suit getting damaged.

And that meant Gyro up late repairing the darn thing, because if he let the city’s superhero fall into disrepair while Mr. McDuck was away … well, neither he nor his expensive invention ideas wanted to think what would happen after that.

The feed was mostly audio and a series of indicators showing the integrity of various systems -- power, the bigger weapons systems, propulsion, core movement, pie filling levels, etc. Mostly, watching them felt about like watching UV-protective resin coating dry. Sometimes he tinkered while he watched, but sometimes?

Sometimes he paced.

Tonight was one of those nights. The weather guy had attacked after a city council meeting about the curriculum in the Duckburg City Public Schools. Apparently he wanted meteorology to be a full year of study for every class in the fifth grade, and when the city council refused to vote on it (because the school board and not the city council would be the ones voting on a curriculum, Gyro assumed), he had decided to throw a tantrum and was holding the council, two reporters and everyone who’d shown up for the meeting hostage with an overly excited lightning storm.

The reason he’d chosen to pace instead of tinker this evening was that all the lightning was wreaking absolute havoc on the wifi that was beaming all this data back to the lab. He had the readouts on one of the larger displays, and the audio feed piping in through the lab speakers, but every once in a while the inane banter between hero and villain would break up in an absolutely ear-splitting burst of static. The sound invariably made Gyro jump, then he’d hop over, checking the readout and waiting for the feed to stabilize. And each time, it would come up -- power dropping but at an expected rate, pie filling holding steady, movement systems at ninety-five percent with some limited movement in the left shoulder which had been injured, as far as Gyro could tell, when Gizmoduck had dived to save someone from a blast of lightning. Nothing to be worried about. They just had to wait it out because getting hit by lightning was perhaps one of the worst things for the suit to handle.

Gyro paced.

“Professor Gearloose?” came a voice over the comm -- not the loud, self-assured tones of Gizmoduck, but the quieter, more urgent ones Gyro was more familiar with.

“Intern,” Gyro said by way of reply, expecting his word -- and tone -- to be picked up by the mics in the lab.

“I think something’s going on.”

“Things have been going on for almost an hour,” Gyro replied, unimpressed. “You should know, you were there.”

“No, I mean … something else.”

As he said this, Gyro finally picked up on a few facts. First, this marked the first time tonight the comm had been used for communication, not just monitoring the sounds at the scene. Second, it sounded like the intern was trying to keep his voice low.

And third? Well, even underwater, Gyro finally noticed the pickup in lightning activity. Echoes of lightning bolts were even making themselves seen all the way down here. It looked almost like a strobe light going off up there.

“What?” Gyro said, doing his best not to sound irritated or impatient despite being both of those things at the moment.

“He’s building up for something big. I don’t know, it’s looking apocalyptic up here. I think he’s going to try to take out the whole building with some sort of supercharged lightning bolt!”

“What makes you think…” Then Gyro’s mind wandered back over the past hour of ranting he’d half-heard from this weather villain and he answered his own question. “He told you that, didn’t he?”

“He did, but I didn’t think he actually had the power. Take out some of the brickwork, maybe, but he wasn’t showing anything like enough power to bring down a building.”

“What changed?”

“He pulled something out of the storm generator he’s using, and everything started ramping up.

“Describe it.” And as the intern did, Gyro’s suspicion quickly switched to certainty. Some sort of limiter. He’d put something similar in his own weather changing device before Mr. McDuck shut that avenue of study down. The problem was the limiter also acted as a regulator, and without it, the machine would cycle into ever-higher levels of power until…

“He absolutely can take down city hall with that machine,” Gyro said, urgency building in his chest like a physical pressure. “If that thing is allowed to continue, it might take out the whole surrounding block with it.”

“The whole … oh no, what am I going to do, what am I going to do?” The intern was clearly not talking to him anymore.

Not being directly addressed had never stopped Gyro before. “You need to get out of there,” he said. “Get the people and get out of there.”

“I can’t!” he hissed back. “There are too many. Not just in City Hall, but in most of the buildings around here, people got trapped by the fight. There have to be a hundred that I can see from here, and … I’ll just have to move it”

“What, through the streets?” Gyro asked, trying to emphasize just how terrible an idea this was. “It’s going to follow you. All you’ll be doing is picking a new spot for the guy to destroy.”

“If I fly-”

“You’ll just speed up the process,” Gyro said, frustrated that his intern didn’t understand the workings of a weather machine just because he’d never build or worked on one before. “It’s like magnets, the closer the machine is to the storm, the sooner that mega-bolt is going to come down.”

A pause. Then, “But it’ll stop at the machine, right?”

“Of course it’ll…” Gyro realized what he was unintentionally condoning in the middle and threw the brakes on hard. “Wait, wait, you can’t do that. The suit can’t handle it.”

“The city can’t handle it,” the intern came back quietly. And he was right.

Gyro tried to think. “The body of the suit should be able to take a lot of the load,” he said, voice dropping into a clinical tone, words coming fast. “But this isn’t like a normal lightning bolt. Do you have time to bond anything to it that could work as a static wick of sorts?”

“There’s no time,” he said. “And I don’t have a properly conductive bonding agent anyway.”

“Then how about-”

“There’s no time,” he repeated, and the sounds in the background shifted. He could hear the copter blades in the background, and the weather guy shouting in unintelligible rage.

“That suit is tied into your brain,” Gyro practically shouted. Why wasn’t he listening? “If you throw yourself directly into Thor’s temper tantrum, then-”

“Dr. Gearloose, you worked on this suit dozens of times,” the intern said.

“Yes, so you should listen to me when I say-”

“I think it’s stronger than you think it is. I think you underestimate your work. “I think I’m going to be safe.”

“You idiot intern, you-”

KA-BOOM. The sound of lightning striking the suit and the machine and the intern lanced deafeningly through the lab, so loud that it made Gyro jump, startled, and left his ears ringing.

The volume made the silence that followed all the worse.

“Intern?” Gyro asked into the quiet, even though a strike like that had to have taken out the systems. It might have kicked to auxiliary for a safe landing, but communications would be gone. The readouts from the suit had gone dark.

So Gyro paced.

Two hours later, the elevator started up. Gyro looked up from where he was working over the suit’s blueprints to see the doors pop open and reveal his intern, a little worse for wear and lugging that familiar duffle bag. The guy’s eyes roved over the lab before landing on the invetor.

“Dr. Gearloose!”

He sounded entirely too chipper. Gyro carefully tucked the blueprints into a waterproof sleeve and stood up. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing!” The intern sounded super enthusiastic about that answer. “The cops said I should go to the ambulance, but … hahaha no.” He started giggling, and for a moment, Gyro wondered if he’d spent the last two hours out getting drunk. If that were the case he wouldn’t have to fire the guy, he;d have to make sure he met with an accident before Mr. McDuck came back instead because Gyro was not going to put up with being left here, alone, wonder if-

“I told you so,” Fenton said, grinning at Gyro. “The lightning didn’t get to my brain. The suit handled it fine! Well.” He paused, then corrected himself. “Not fine. Like a blackout, too much light then everything goes dark and whoooosh, down I went.” He simulated the descent with one hand, like a child. When his palm impacted the work table, he almost knocked himself off balance.

Gyro blinked. “The auxiliary didn’t auto-loose the parachute?”

The intern squinted at him, mouthing the word parachute like someone who’d never heard the word before. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh! Yeah, the parachute happened. But then it caught on one of the gargoyles and riiiiiip.” He really drew the sound effect out. “The last bit was fast. Really fast. Bumped my head.” He giggled again, one hand going to the side of his head.

Where, Gyro could now see, a bit of dried blood crusted among the feathers.

“You gave yourself a concussion?” Gyro demanded.

“Teeechnically the ground gave it to me,” The intern corrected him. “But it caught me, so I can’t be too mad.”

“Come on. We need to get you to a hospital. Now.” Gyro said, walking over and turning him back toward the door.

The intern followed him unsteadily but with clear determination. “Right,” he said. “Hey, did you know you build in a breaker? Up there?” He tapped at the air where the Gizmoduck helmet would normally have been.

“I what?”

“It disengaged when the surge came,” the intern told him with the severity of a child explaining a very serious diorama of toys. “Disconnected from my brain. Just as the lightning hit. You don’t remember?”

And now, suddenly, he did. He’d put that in almost as an afterthought -- a clearly forgotten afterthought. But once the intern said the suit had been rewired to use an organic processor … well, all those thoughts of things going wrong had swirled in his head, and he had spent an afternoon putting together a couple different prototypes. Testing. Installing the best. Forgetting about it. Worried about literally nothing.

Well, not worried. He hadn’t been worried. Of course not.

“Let’s go,” he said, ignoring the fact that they were both already in the elevator. He hated that the night was about to become a lot longer while he got the concussed idiot medical care, to make sure his brain wasn’t leaking out the side of his head.

But one thing for sure. He was absolutely done pacing for tonight.

#fictober20 #11 #ducktales #fanfic #gyro gearloose

20 notes · View notes

kriffingstars · 5 years ago

Text

Spitfire | Lee Scoresby x Reader (1/?)

A/N: Hola my lovelies, this is my first Lee Scoresby x Reader. I know this is all friendship based but I promise I’m going to make the next part more romantic. I just want to get used to writing again, it been a while. When I first came up with this idea I did have an OC of mine that would have worked brilliantly so come the end of S1 I might rework the story on Wattpad possibly. This is also set in the HBO/BBC version of HDM. I’m aiming for the next part to be posted on Wednesday :)

To be added to the taglist either click the link in my blog and add yourself or send me an ask <3

Summary: Reader meets a certain aeronaut cowboy for the first time

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1619

That day had been tiring, to say the least. Spending the whole time following Lyra’s lead wasn’t easy and something you weren’t used to. Normally you'd be marching to the beat of your own drum, so this new lifestyle was rather a shock to the system.

As night fell you found yourself alone and wishing no more than to get off the boat, being so cooped up had begun to drive you mad. It seemed like an ungodly amount of time since you'd been able to go off on your own. Not that minding Lyra was a chore but it was certainly different from your old lifestyle. The pub near the docks seemed like a good place to unwind, over a nice warming glass of whatever half-decent liquor they stocked.

“Are you sure this is a good idea (Y/N)? What will Farder Coram say when he finds out you’ve left?” protested Zachariah as he trotted alongside you, his bushy tail brushing against your dark tan, woollen trousers which left a few strands of bright orange fur behind.

“It’s one drink, and I'm an adult Zach. Not like I'm the only one who can keep an eye on Lyra.”

The walk to the bar took all but five minutes, the chill of the air causing you to shove your hands deep inside the fleece-lined pockets of her coat. The smell of the oil from the port caused your nose to tingle, which on second thought was probably not the best thing for your health, even if you happened to like the smell.

As you reached the building, the roar of the fires could be seen through the cloudy window, and whilst it wasn't busy, many regular customers lounged at their tables. Pipes in their mouths and cards in their hand. Once inside the atmosphere seemed almost comforting, no one seemed out of place, one of the many reasons why the North was always somewhat of a destination when travelling.

"A whiskey please, with a shot of water. No ice thank you," you ordered.

Both glasses were placed wordlessly in front of you as you sat rubbing your temples in frustration and worry; thinking back to how disastrous today could have gone. Lyra was becoming more reckless, especially with the alethiometer. Only just that morning had she thought it was a good idea to take it out whilst at least six Magisterium were patrolling past. If that was anything to go by it wouldn't be long before Lyra had sucked her into trouble which there would be no coming back from.

When Ma had asked you to look out for Lyra it was something you felt you couldn’t say no, not that you would have done. You saw much of yourself in her, but childcare wasn’t really in your nature. Being as wild and unruly as you were most would barely call you an adult, as trouble seemed to just follow you around by the trove. Fortunately, all that good practice of having to get yourself out of said trouble had landed you with a great deal of experience and a way with words that could get you out of nearly anything. Having a small family of your own and the constant travelling meant childcare was something of an alien to you. The only interaction you really had with children was when recounting tales of adventures to them, leaving out all the crimes which had been committed along the way.

Before the Gobblers came anyone who knew you would have described you as a wild spirited, quick-witted spitfire who yearned to travel all over the world, looking for something new to explore and earning money through odd jobs as you went. As far as you went you always did come back to the gyptians, but never for long, until the news of dear Billy Costa had reached you. That naturally lead to a quick return.

“Hot rum, make it a double.”

An American voice broke you from your thoughts as you turned to see the aeronaut who’d taken the seat beside yourself, his dæmon, a rather wonderful hare perched next to him. It was the same man who you'd briefly met that morning, the one looking for the bear, Iorek Byrinson. The bartender silently pouring the drink before moving away again, back to his conversation with one of the regulars.

“I don’t think I introduced myself this morning, Lee Scoresby and this," he gestured to the hare, "is Hester.” Holding his glass forward for you to meet with your own.

“(Y/N) Fletcher, but my friends call me Fletch,” she paused looking to the fox perched at your feet, “and this is my dear friend Zachariah.”

He smiled, "Are we friends?"

"Only if you want to be."

“Now Fletch," he paused, testing out the name on his tongue, "what are you doing in a place like this?” He smirked.

“Having a moment to think,” you smiled back at him. He’d cleaned himself up from that morning, there was no sign of any blood and he looked a lot more relaxed.

The conversation started off as small talk which quickly turned to their favourite destinations when travelling.

"I like the people here, it's like everyone fits in because they don't."

And once again the conversation shifted, you bringing up that morning's shenanigans, and laughing at the reason for the blood.

"If you did that in my bar you'd be swimming with the fishes, and hear the waters quite cold this time of year," laughing as you finished off the rest of the glass, signalling the bartender for another.

“Your daughter seemed like a bit of a spitfire, I can see where she gets it from,” he complimented, after hearing about how you'd managed to land yourself in a cell for the night and talked yourself out of numerous different charges the next morning.

“Hah, he thinks Lyra’s your daughter.” Zach’s head tilted back as he laughed at the thought.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” A grin made its way onto your face as you laughed at the idea of you being a parent. Sure, Lyra was sweet, but you were there to oversee and attempt to steer Lyra away from trouble, which wasn’t exactly working too well.

“No, I’m just keeping an eye on her for the time being,”

“Good job she wasn’t offended Lee,” muttered Hester, as the cowboy cringed at his error.

Hester rolled her eyes as he began his apologies “I really didn’t mean any offence,”

“Mr Score-,”

“Lee,”

Smiling. “Lee, you really think that's the worse thing I've been called. That's not even an insult.”

Soon enough the conversation flowed again, with Hester jumping down to carry on her conversation with Zach. Time flew by as Lee began to realise that both of them had much in common, and the foundations of a fast friendship were being made. Eventually, the topic of your visit to Trollesund came to light. Arguably the place wasn’t the nicest holiday destination and it wasn’t exactly teeming with adventure and excitement. Maybe a part of you hoped that Lee would accompany you on the journey but the rational side reasoned that as much as you got along with the man you didn’t actually know him too well and more importantly didn’t know whether you could actually trust him.

“So, you’re here on business? I wouldn't bet on you being here for the people,” he asked, bringing up your comment about the people of the North earlier.

“Children are being stolen; the Magisterium won’t do a thing. We’re coming to take them back,” you spoke with a conviction that he hadn't heard you speak with before that.

Clearly, you were determined. He could tell you were fiercely loyal, and that a fight was the last of your worries. As he listened to your answer you could tell his curiosity peaked, as he leant forward, becoming a lot quieter as he spoke to you in a low voice.

“So that’s why you need Iorek. You’re starting a war.” It wasn’t a question, just the realisation of the plan in which you were trying to put in place, the one Lyra had convinced you of doing.

“Which I intend to win, some of those kids don’t have families to miss them. Least I can do is help them.”

After that, you both settled into silence as Lee mulled over what you were saying. By this time the bar had begun to empty, the lights were beginning to dim. The bartender's voice rippled through the room as the bell for the last call was rung, most did not order another, but simply left their empty glasses atop the side. It was late and you knew you should be getting back.

“I should back before I’m missed,” you sighed, scraping the stool as you stood. Your sudden movement alerting Zach that he should finish up his conversation with Hester. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, see you around.” He replied, gathering his things as well.

The walk back to the boat was relaxing, the cold air bit your cheeks as you meandered through the quiet town, but it was not as bothersome as it once was before. It was quiet, save for the patrolling Magisterium. Before you knew it, you’d carried yourself all the way back her room, pushing open the small door you flopped onto the bed, Zachariah leaping on after and settling in the red quilt.

He sunk his head underneath your hand as you subconsciously reached to scratch behind his ears before he looked back up at to you.

“You should sleep, you know Lyra’s going to be up early,”.

Taglist: @bisexuaivalkyrie @gemellath @urticadioica2 @mistoffeleez

#lee scoresby #lee scoresby x reader #lee scoresby fic #his dark materials #hdm #hdm hbo #hdm bbc #lin manuel miranda #lmm #the northern lights #the amber spyglass #the subtle knife

142 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 5 years ago

Note

So a prompt for the Wide Florida Bay, Haki meets Haruto meeting.

Wide Florida Bay | With Hands Molded, as Galatea

Issue: Jan 1994

Vogue sat down with the illustrious Ms Bergstrom, known for not only her modeling career in her youth, but also her current occupation of philanthropic works.

Bergstrom: I was an actress as well, briefly.Vogue: Yes, who could forget?Bergstrom: (teasing) You, apparently!

“God, this whole island is so fucking boring.” Andalusia slaps her copy of Vogue onto the table, glaring down the line of chaises. “Whose idea was it to come to Santorini anyway?”

“Haki’s!” Cristal pipes nervously before tilting her hat’s brim down over her face. It’s such a pitiful act, Haki can’t even manage to summon up a glare.

“Ugh, Haki, what the fuck.” Andaulsia rolls over, foxing her with a scowl that would make Cristal burst into tears. “There’s nothing here but honeymooners and old people.”

This was my mom’s favorite place. It sits right on the tip of her tongue, a sure way to win the argument, to get everyone on her side and leave Andalusia slinking around the suite like a scolded terrier. But it’s also ammunition, a piece of her that can be flung back when tempers get high or when someone needs to prove that she’s too emotional to weigh in.

And that’s not what she wants her mother to be: yet another little pin to prick her with, another weight to hold her down when someone wants to climb higher. So Haki grits her teeth, making a show of applying more sun screen.

“And sunsets,” Tomomi offers with a studied offhandedness. “Those have been pretty killer.”

Her mother had thought that too. At least, that’s what her father said, when she’d asked, a wistful expression on his face. Never the same one twice.

“God, fuck sunsets. We should have gone to Ibiza.” Andalusia flops restlessly on her chaise, like a fish on the dock. “That’s where everyone who’s everyone is. Not this shitshow.”

She knows she’s supposed to apologize now, that she’s supposed to offer a half dozen explanations for why she thought Santorini would personally float Andalusia’s boat, but–

There’s none. It’s their first trip since they started college, the first time they’ve been together so long since they flung themselves across the country to colleges so far apart it seems almost purposeful, and Haki’s just felt…adrift. She’s made friends, yes, with all the right people who go all the right places, but it all fits her like a dress two sizes too small, like she’s still trying to stuff herself into the Zac Posen she wore to her Sweet Sixteen.

She’s had a single year of freedom, a single year to think for herself, and all that’s been buzzing through her head for months is that she doesn’t want this.

“Ibiza is so last decade.” Mariazell sits up in her chaise, tossing her sheet of blonde hair over her shoulder. “God, my parents went to Ibiza.”

Mariazell had been a last minute addition, a friend of a friend of Andalusia’s who she’d met at a party and thought was as cool as a Hilton. Haki had been prepared to hate her guts, but, well–

It seems as though things are looking up.

“Saint Tropez, then,” Andalusia decides, “I heard–”

“Old news.” Mariazell inspects her nails with an air of disinterest Haki can only aspire to. No one goes there anymore.”

Outdone and annoyed, Andalusia does the one thing she knows best: pouting. “Fine, then where is everyone?”

“Mykanos.” She says simply, as if anyone with a brain would know. It’s the sort of trick that rolls off Haki’s back, but Andalusia looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm.

“Where the fuck is that supposed to be?” she snaps, red-faced even under her tan. “Turkey or something?”

Mariazell lets out a laugh. “Oh my god, seriously? It’s right here. Like three hours by boat.”

“How come I’ve never heard of it?”

Mariazell levels her with the driest expression anyone has ever dared. “It’s exclusive.”

Haki coughs, tucking her mouth into her shoulder. Andalusia was the biggest hanger-on she knew, at the forefront of what everyone else thought was cool, and now here she was: hopelessly behind the times.

God, she’s almost starting to like this girl.

Mariazell tosses her head. “Or at least it was, but now anybody who’s anybody parties there.”

“Then that’s where we should be.” Andalusia’s mouth bends into a sly curve. “Do you think we could get– what’s his name? That guy with the yacht?”

“Touka?” Tomomi supplies, casting Haki a worried glance. “Touka Bergatt?”

“Yeah, him.” Andalusia lounges, crossing her legs the way models did in magazines, as if it might make her taller. “He was all over us yesterday. Do you think he could get us there?”

Haki can’t bite back her grimace. His arm still feels heavy around her shoulders, leaning in far too close as he asked if she would like a private tour of the captain’s cabin. Alone. “Isn’t he old?”

“He’s twenty-five.” Her eyes flash, like a cougar watching a hare, and Haki braces herself for the pounce. “I mean, he’s just as old as Izana Wisteria.”

Mariazell raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh it doesn’t.” Andalusia’s sprawls on the chaise like a panther, playing with its pray. “Haki’s just obsessed with him.”

The I’m not is at the tip of her tongue, but Mariazell beast her to it.

“You are?” Her second brow joins the first. “Aren’t your families friends or something? Don’t you know him?”

“Their mothers modeled together back in the 80s, along with Cecile Seiran,” Andalusia supplies helpfully, her face the very picture of poorly-feigned innocence. “She met him once, refused to talk to him, and then hyperventilated in a hallway when he said hi.”

That’s not precisely wrong, but it’s definitely not the way she would prefer to tell that story. Which is never.

“I don’t see why hitching a ride with Touka Bergatt’s such a problem,” Andalusia continues, “not when she’d happily jump on Izana Wisteria’s dick if he let her.”

“That’s gross,” she snaps, body flushed and fists clenched. “I wouldn’t jump on anyone, not matter who they are. Just because he’s–” a genius, an innovator, and sexy as hell– “attractive doesn’t mean I want to fuck him.”

She’s known plenty of people who look good on paper but don’t complete the fantasy in real life. Izana Wisteria would probably be one of them. She’s not an idiot.

“Don’t be fooled. Haki’s saving herself for him,” Andalusia coos, drawing giggles from the other girls. Well, everyone but Tomomi, whose mouth has thinned to nonexistence.

“I’m not saving myself for anyone,” she grits out. It’s impossible, since there’s nothing about her to be ruined or rescued just from having sex no matter what Andalusia thinks, or her father, or the tabloid that ran a countdown to when she was “legal.” It’s the fucking 2000s, not medieval Europe. No one’s going to be airing her sheets on her wedding night, showing the peasants how she bled on the sheet like a good, God-fearing girl.

Not that she wouldn’t be burned at the stake by popular opinion if she did sleep around. Haki Bergstrom has a reputation to keep, but that could be solved by circumspect partners and careful planning, if she wanted to. Which she hasn’t.

Of course, this all jumbles in her throat, anger boiling it down to, “High school boys are gross.”

Andalusia grins. “We’re in college now. College boys exist.”

“You know what I mean,” she snips waspishly. “Boys our age are obsessed with getting their dick wet and anal.”

“And putting their penis between your boobs,” Cristal adds, shrinking as they all turn to her. “I-I mean, so I’ve heard.”

Andalusia scoffs, mouth curling like the has a secret. “Then don’t date boys. Date men.”

Ugh, she would say that; she’d been the first one to get a boyfriend at sixteen, a twenty-two year old DJ that had gotten her grounded for a month when her parents found him sneaking out of her window. They’d never gotten much further than French kissing and hand jobs, but Andalusia might as well have gone all the way since she likes to lord it over everyone.

Mariazell snorts, tossing her hair. “Adult men who date girls are the grossest of all.”

Andalusia recoils like she’s been slapped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on.” Mariazell smiles, giving the distinct impression that she’s outside the joke when anyone with a brain is inside. “Guys in their mid-twenties trying to shack up with girls who are ‘freshly eighteen?’ They want a blow-up doll, not a relationship. And with girls like us? They just want Daddy’s money.” She raises a brow. “Surely you’ve figured that out.”

“Of course I have,” Andalusia lies, flush spreading down to her chest. “But Bergatt’s our best bet to get off this island and into where all the right people are partying. I’ll do what I have to do to for that.”

“But will Haki?” Mariazell’s smile spreads into a Cheshire grin. “That’s who he was all over yesterday.”

“Count me out,” she says, settling against her lounge. “We could party back in Miami. I like the silence here.”

Cristal yelps, “But if you don’t go, he might not take us.”

She’s tempted to tell her, my worst nightmare isn’t Andalusia not getting her way, but it’s too cruel. As much as Cristal’s brown-nosing annoys her, she’s a skittish little thing, always scared of being left behind, and Haki knows better than anyone– they are only what their fathers have made of them.

“That’s not Haki’s problem,” Tomomi snaps. “What do we need her for anyway? Isn’t Andalusia always saying how she can get any man she wants?”

“I can!” She’s too eager, too defensive, and it’s clear the only person on the deck that even half believes it is her. “You think I can’t?”

Mariazell’s mouth curves. “I think you aren’t a tall, leggy blonde. and Touka Bergatt is used to having his pick of the litter.”

“Fine!” Andalusia bolts up from her lounge, looking like thunder herself. “You have an hour. We’re getting off this island.”

Haki snorts. “I’m not going–”

“You’re not invited,” she shrills. “We don’t need you. I’ll wrap Touka Bergatt so tight around my finger he’d take us back to Miami, and I don’t need you messing it up.”

She stomps off the deck, Cristal hurrying behind her, and Mariazell gives Haki a knowing smile.

“Enjoy your solitude,” she murmurs, unfurling from her seat. “I know I would.”

Vogue: We’ve heard that you disdain the party scene. Bergstrom: I spend much of my life with my husband in Miami or in LA doing business. They call New York the City that Never Sleeps, but in those cities no one ever breathes. Why do I need to go to a club when every business appointment is a three-ring circus?Vogue: So where do you go to unwind?Bergstrom: While I was modeling, many years ago now, I used to take trips with my friends to a small island in Greece– Santorini, you may have heard of it? The sunsets are not to be believedVogue: Once or twice. By friends, you mean fellow models-turned-business moguls, Haurto Wisteria and Cecile Seiran?Bergstrom: Yes, I believe my publicist has sent you the photo?Vogue: Yes, it’s gorgeous. Thank you for letting us print it.Bergstrom: (laughs) Oh, what woman wouldn’t like you to print a photo of her when she’s twenty?Vogue: Twenty year olds!Bergstrom: Too true, too true. We’re so harsh on ourselves, and then we look back years later and think, ‘now what did I think was wrong?!’

Haki could always ask for a car; Axel Bergstrom’s daughter would have a fleet of Santorini’s finest, discreet limos should she but ask the concierge, but it seems important to do this the right way.

She’s never ridden a bus before, but she’s seen movies. She drops her coins into the till, takes her seat, and politely ignores every person around her as she scrolls through her phone. The ride to Oia feels like a lifetime, but– but–

Her mother wasn’t riding in limos when she came here. She’d barely been older than Haki is now, a young model with hardly anything to her name.

So that’s how she takes in Santorini: on foot, relying on her smile and the few Greek words she learned from the hotel staff when she called for room service. It gets her just as far as her mother always said it would; right up to the twisty alleyways of Oia, mounting step over step to find the right vantage point.

Her calves are burning when she finds it, protesting another step: a terrace, overgrown with vines and abandoned, three ancient lounge chairs laid out across the white stone.

She vaults up the last few stairs, mouth stretching wide as she takes in the view of the caldera. It’s perfect; an unobstructed view straight out to the horizon, and it’s the closest she’s ever felt to her mother’s presence beside her. She doesn’t believe in all the stuff normally, but a find like this is beyond coincidence. Maybe there’s nothing of her mother back in Miami, but here on this rooftop, every breath she takes is thick with her, heavy with a scent she hardly remembers–

“Ah,” huffs a voice from behind her. “Company.”

Haki spins on her heel, hands clutching at the lip of the wall, as if that might somehow stop the terrace’s owner from asking her to leave. “Oh, I– I’m sorry, I thought no one would be up here. I–”

It’s a woman who emerges onto the roof, windswept blonde hair haloing around her face as she sweeps across. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I don’t own this house. I’ve just borrowed its terrace for the evening.” She sweeps out a hand, the one not holding an electric blue cocktail, and gestures toward the lounges. “There’s no reason we can’t share.”

She’s older, Haki realizes, but her age is impossible to place. There’s crows feet starting to stretch their talons at the corners of her eyes, but she wears them so casually they’re almost an accessory than a mark of time.

“Please,” she insists, perching on her own chair, “sit. Are you traveling alone?”

“Oh.” Haki sidles over to a lounge, taking an awkward seat. “Ah, today I am.”

Her eyebrows raise, perfectly shaped. “Just today?”

“My other friends took off for Mykanos,” she explains, swallowing down the good riddance.

“Ah, I see.” The woman smiles of the rim of her cocktail glass. “Santorini’s too slow for them, hm? I’ve heard that’s where the real parties are at nowadays.”

“Yeah.” That’s all she needs to say, but there’s something about this woman’s steady gaze, inquiring and yet not expectant, that makes her add, “I’m from Miami, thought. I can party any time–” not that she wants to all that much anymore– “but I can’t get these sunsets.”

The woman’s brows hike up even farther, but it’s…approving. Impressed. “I wouldn’t expect to hear that from someone your age. You must be in college now, aren’t you?”

“Ah, yes.” This is the last thing she wants to talk about. “I’m a sophomore.”

“Oh, how nice!” She sounds…actually pleased, as if it were some pleasant surprise. “My youngest is a sophomore too! But in high school.”

This woman does not look old enough to have a high school sophomore for a child.

“And my eldest just graduated a year ago. He’s getting his MBA now,” she confides with a flushed-cheek sort of pride.

Haki can only stare; this woman is either extremely well-preserved, or she was pushing out kids when she was sixteen.

“What are you doing?” she continues, interested. “You seem like the sort of girl who has a plan.”

Haki can’t imagine what about her says that; she’s a lone woman on a stolen terrace in the middle of a country she doesn’t even speak the language of, with little more than a phone and a transit card in her pocket. “Ah, not really. I’m actually Undecided. For now.” She gives her a helpless shrug. “I’m still learning what I like, I guess.”

The woman stills, eyes narrowing. “Do you mean you’ll learn what you like, or you’ll learn to live with what you’re supposed to like?”

Haki knows she looks like an idiot, sitting there slack-jawed like she belongs on the Miami version of Jersey Shore, getting drunk and having drama for the amusement of the masses, but–

But no one’s ever asked her that before.

The woman curls towards her, chin propped up on a hand. “That’s what I thought. What do you want, really?”

“I want to mean something.” She claps a hand over her mouth, mortified. “No, wait! I mean–”

Cool fingers wrap around hers, she’s filled with a sudden, complete sense of comfort. Her words evaporate on her tongue, lost. “I know what you mean. Go on.”

Haki blinks, staring at the long, strong hands that cover her own. This must be what it’s like for people who have moms. “I want to make a difference. I don’t want to do what my dad does and just…make money.”

There’s more to it than that, so much more. She’d never thought about money before, only known that she had it, had a lot of it, and then she’d went to college and–

And she’d found out the price of it. Filled in swamp lands and critically endangered animals. Weather growing worse each year as the earth changes, forced to be flat so hotels and condos and timeshares can be built on it. Laborers who work grueling hours and still can’t pay rent, who have to choose between dinner and a doctor’s visit. All to line the pockets of her father and his friends.

She can’t do it anymore. She can’t be happy knowing what she knows. She doesn’t want to be forty, seated on the couch with all the other wives waiting to be swapped out for someone younger, someone stupider as her husband brags about destroying the Everglades for a parking lot.

No, she wants to be the one that stops it. “I want to be a lawyer. A, um, environmental one.”

The woman squeezes her hand, reassuring. “That won’t be easy.”

“I know,” she sighs. “My dad will never let me.”

“Of course not.” The woman smiles. “You’ll get really good at lying.”

She stares. Adults aren’t supposed to give you this sort of advice, she’s pretty sure. Especially not moms.

“There’s a half dozen majors you can do and get into law school.” She shrugs. “Pick something that your father expects from you. Business. Literature. Political Science. And then take whatever classes you need to learn what you have to.”

It sounds so easy when she says it. “But what if–”

She holds up a finger. “Ah, remember: Axel Bergstrom never checks up on an investment when he feels like a return is assured.”

“Right. But…” Her teeth snap down with a click. “How do you know who my father is?“

One of the woman’s hand’s lift, tilting up her chin. “Oh, Haki. You do look so much like your mother. And seeing you here, sitting right where she did…”

She blinks. The picture. Her mother, Cecile Seiran, and–

“Haruto Wisteria,” she breathes. “You’re Haruto Wisteria.”

Her mother’s closest friend. And Izana Wisteria’s mother.

Oh, god.

“You…you’re…” she feels faint.

“She’d be so proud of you, you know,” Haruto says, her thumb rubbing coolly across her cheek. “She always worried the money might ruin you and Makiri.”

She can hardly breathe. “My mother?”

“Oh, of course.” Haruto smiles, distant. “She chained herself to a bulldozer once, protesting the destruction of some natural landmark in Sweden. That’s where she met your father actually.”

She doesn’t need to be told which side of the bulldozer he was on. “And then they…?”

“He was charmed by her tenacity. And Ingrid thought she could change the world, let alone a single man.” Haruto lets go of her chin, mouth giving a rueful twist. “We were young then.”

Haki can hardly picture it; even if her mother wasn’t just a blur in her memory, the though of her father young and in love…

Well, it seemed far-fetched.

“I meant to keep in touch, after…” Haruto’s voice quivers, and she takes a sip of her cocktail. “Well, sometimes we know what we should do, but the pain stops us from doing it. You understand?”

Haki stupidly, blurts out, “No.”

She expects offense, but Haruto only smiles fondly. “No, of course not. Ingrid was always the strong one.” Her hand squeezes tight around Haki’s. “I’m so glad to find you’ve followed in your mother’s footsteps.”

There’s so much to say, but she can only manage, “My mother tied herself to a bulldozer?”

Haruto laughs. “Chained, dear. Chained.”

It’s almost too much to handle. “I…I came here because I read an article about my mom. An old one. And I’d been feeling so lost lately, I just though maybe…maybe if I came here, I’d find myself too, like she did.” Haki hesitates, looking out toward where the sky has begun to pink. “But I think what I was really looking for was my mom.”

“That’s why I come here too,” Haruto murmurs, her voice suddenly thin. “I never feel her so much as I do here. If we get to choose where we are when…when it’s all over, Ingrid would be here.”

Haki turns to her, seeing the shine in her eyes, the fondness in her expression, and even though she’s only ever been a story in a magazine to her, it feels– like more than just one meeting. Like a history stretched out behind them and before them.

“I don’t remember much about my mom,” she admits, “but I feel like she’s here. With us.”

Haruto smiles down at her. “I’m glad you stumbled up onto my terrace, Haki.”

She squeezes her hand, the sky blurring. “Me too.”

Vogue: Where is this, if you don’t mind me asking?Bergstrom: A rooftop in Oia. We thought it was abandoned, only to be joined by the owners a few moments later!Vogue: Oh no!Bergstrom: No, no, they were too gracious! They let us stay, gave us cocktails. Told us to come back any time. And we have! I think they didn’t expect that (laughs).Vogue: Is this your favorite place to watch the sunset?Bergstrom: Yes, yes! I think if I die this will be my heaven. No matter how much I love my husband, my children, part of my heart will always be in Oia.

“You know,” Haruto says as the sun sets over the horizon, leaving only the palest sky behind, “you should meet my son.”

Haki nearly rolls out of her lounge. “What? R-really?”

“Oh yes.” Haruto’s lips twitch as she looks down at her. “I think you’d give him a real run for his money.”

#Anonymous #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #hakizana if you're haruto XD #ans #i cannot say how much of a breeze the first half was #only for the last half to be the world's BIGGEST BITCH #but i think i finally got it where i wanted #also once again i wish i had known haki's last name #before i'd had to make one up #but now i am locked in #since i'd already gone and made a backstory about it #before the arleon reveal #DEEPEST SIGH #now all i need is for the 'brothers' tranlsation to be right #and there's like three arleon brothers to joss me or something

8 notes · View notes

alchemine · 5 years ago

Text

modern Baxley au, pt 4

part 1 part 2 part 3 on AO3

On the Monday morning following the adventure with the pipes, Molesley sees a workman heading upstairs, green boiler suit on and tool box in hand, presumably on the way to undo their makeshift repair job. Now that he’s paying more attention, he also notices a grocery delivery van parked up across the road as he’s leaving, which answers the question of how Phyllis handles the chores of daily living. He’s still not certain whether she truly never goes out, or whether she just prefers to stay in as much as possible, but a picture is starting to form in his head. It doesn’t make sense to him yet, but he means to understand it if he can.

When he comes home again in the early twilight, her curtains are drawn as always, outlined in gold from the lamp inside, and he strains his eyes looking for a shadow or a flicker of movement before giving up and going in. His own home is tidy, but it feels cold and too quiet, even after he’s switched on the heating for warmth and the radio for company. Why on earth did he say goodbye and leave without a way to contact her, he wonders, as he slops beans over toast for his tea. In the moment it had seemed silly--she was only a flight of stairs away, after all--but now he suspects he may have been an idiot.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, he thinks, sitting down with his plate to start the evening’s marking and planning. At least there’s never a shortage of work to keep him occupied, which is probably true of Phyllis as well, up there in solitary splendour with her marvellous creations.

Some time later, during a break at school, he considers looking her up on one of the computers, but gets as far as typing her name into the search box before closing the browser, ashamed of his own unseemly curiosity. He does, however, visit her Etsy shop, which seems safe enough since she mentioned it to him, and spends some time reading the brief About section and browsing the items on offer. All the prices look breathtakingly high to his uneducated eyes, but every review is glowing and several pieces are marked as sold, so people must be willing to pay. He thinks of placing an order, not least because it would give him an excuse to visit her again, but worries that it might make her uncomfortable and refrains. Anyway, he’d look ludicrous in a pair of plus fours or a tweed hacking jacket, no matter how exquisitely tailored. And where would he wear them? To playground duty? Not likely.

On Friday, nearly a week after their second meeting, he’s on his way out early in the morning with an armload of supplies for a project he’s planning to do during the history lesson--they’re almost finished with Rome, thank goodness, although it’ll be a long time before he gets over Ollie Jacobs putting up his hand to ask why the Romans had sent legions of hares to defend their outposts. I don’t think rabbits would be very good soldiers, Ollie had opined, and Molesley had had to take a moment to compose himself before carefully writing out L-E-G-I-O-N-A-R-I-E-S on the white board.

Preoccupied with the memory, and grinning to himself about it all over again, he’s just set foot on the pavement when there’s a sharp rapping behind him that makes him start and nearly drop everything he’s carrying. Turning around, he sees old Mrs Crawley at her bay window: she catches his eye and beckons to him, and hoping she won’t make him too awfully late, he backtracks and meets her in the foyer outside her front door.

“Off to work are you, young man?”

“Yes, Mrs Crawley.”

“Hmm.” The old woman leans on her cane and eyes him as if she thinks his teaching job might be a front for something disreputable. “I’ve got a message for you before you go.”

“You have?” Molesley shifts his box of nontoxic paints and precut sundial shapes to a less awkward position. He can’t imagine what message Mrs Crawley could possibly have for him, though he wouldn’t put it past her to be in touch with people at the highest levels of government.

“Yes,” Mrs Crawley says. “It’s from Miss Baxter, above you.”

This news makes Molesley’s heart leap so hard in his chest that he’s worried for a moment Mrs Crawley may have to administer CPR to him. “It is? Did she phone you or--?”

“I paid a call on her,” Mrs Crawley says, unruffled. “Yesterday afternoon. I visit quite often. It’s a Christian charity, and also she makes excellent gingersnaps. Ginger is very good for the digestion, you know.”

“I’ve heard,” Molesley says weakly. He’s struck by the image of Mrs Crawley making her slow and shaky way to the fifth floor, climbing every step because there isn’t a lift in the building, driven by the implacable forces of her sense of duty and a craving for biscuits. And what does she mean by a Christian charity? Has it got something to do with the troubles Phyllis alluded to in passing?

“Do you want your message, young Mr Molesley?” Mrs Crawley eyes him shrewdly. “You do, don’t you? I’ve seen you staring up at her windows like a great big mooncalf; don’t think I haven’t. You’re lucky she doesn’t seem to mind it.”

“Er, yes,” Molesley says. The top of his head feels warm, as if his soul is trying to escape through it and flee his body. “I’d like that message very much, please and thank you.”

“That’s better.” Mrs Crawley nods. “She says she’d like you to come for breakfast in the morning, if you’re not busy, which I doubt you are. Half past nine. She would have rung you up herself, she says, only she forgot to ask for your telephone number.”

“You might have given it to her,” Molesley says. “I gave it to you when I first moved in, for emergencies.”

“Breakfast invitations are not emergencies,” Mrs Crawley says primly. “And I certainly would not pass on private information that wasn’t mine to share.”

This, Molesley thinks, is probably the truth. Mrs Crawley enjoys collecting information, but she’s more likely to hoard it for the sheer pleasure of knowledge than she is to gossip. It doesn’t matter, though. He’s too happy at the moment to be irritated with anyone, especially not the messenger of his good fortune.

“Would you--could you tell her I’ll be there? Are you going to visit again today?”

“I am not,” Mrs Crawley says, “But because unlike the two of you, I always get a number, I will telephone her and convey your acceptance. In my day, we used to send a card with a proper response, but times change.”

She shifts her weight on the cane and peers up into Molesley’s face, and unbelievably, he sees a twinkle in her ancient eyes. “I believe, Mr Molesley, that you have an assignation, or as you might prefer to call it, a date.”

#downton abbey #modern au #phyllis baxter #joseph molesley #baxley

13 notes · View notes

alphawave-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Evil actions and good intentions Chapter 6: Raging tempest

Summary: A blast from the past returns as Harold faces of Dr. Tempest Williams and her goons in battle. The secret to Harold’s abilities are found. A quiet moment is shared between him and Sigma.

As a special goodie, for you all, I ALSO recorded a podfic version, so you can listen on the go! Check out that version right here or find it on AO3!

Oasis University is nice enough to provide Harold with a lab for the time being, giving him a taste of what it will be like as a professor of the university. And in all honesty, he has no true complaints about the facilities. The technology they provide is state-of-the-art, the other scientists have been nothing but kind and supportive, and the sheer volume of samples at his disposal is near limitless. The amount of work he could do here is limited only by his imagination. There are moments when he thinks his earlier fears are unfounded, that Oasis is a nice university with friendly people, but then he hears something. A tiny rumour, a hushed whisper, and the hairs on his back prickle in attention.

They always start the same way. “Have you heard about the talks between the Ministries and Vishkar?”

Since his initial arrival, Harold has used his time learning more about the university and especially about the mysterious Vishkar. None of it is good. Everything from the destruction of Brazil’s favelas and the inadequate support for the displaced citizens, to the torturous teaching methods it allows within its Architech academies, to the shady backroom dealings with world governments.

The last one unsettles him the most, because it’s the one most likely to be true. He sees it in the almost militaristic way Vishkar cordons off the building where their employees work and sleep. He sees it in the soul sucking gaze they give him when he passes their way. It doesn’t help that he knows what the others don’t. That Sanjay Korpal, negotiator and board member of Vishkar, is on friendly terms with the Ministries’ own Dr. Moira O’Deorain. That Sanjay Korpal is on friendly terms with a leading member of Talon.

Despite his best efforts, he wasn’t able to get much on Talon. They are primarily a security organization with a mercenary army, though they also offer funding to many charities and research projects—mostly controversial ones with big potential. Apart from that, they’re rather elusive. Shady, but nothing he didn’t know already. Nothing conclusive.

On the third day of his stay, the university sends for him. Two women in the Oasis administration uniform tell Harold that he is ready to be interviewed. The time for judgment is near. He packs up his equipment, fiddles with the tubes sticking out of his neck, and follows them outside. Holstered within his lab coat is his trusty jet injector gun, cannisters of ammunition stuffed into his pockets.

He’s led out of the lab and down the campus walkways to a nondescript building at the north eastern corner. It's one of the few buildings left behind from Oasis's formative years, a testament of time. The pair show him up a flight of stairs that leads into a narrow hallway. Middle-aged men and women lean against the wall or sit down on the available stools, reading their notes, chatting in furtive tones. When he arrives, they all stop and stare, first at his unkempt face, then at the Lucheng Interstellar logo on his lab coat.

He frowns to himself, taking a seat on the bench closest to the stairs. The other people sitting on the bench scoot away from him.

“I don’t bite,” he says in the vague direction of the person sitting next to him. His smile is forced but sincere. “I won’t infect you either. Not on purpose, anyway.”

No one pipes up with anything, just continue staring at him. He hears them whisper about him when he thinks he's not paying attention and his stomach falls. Harold keeps his head down and waits for his name to be called.

He passes the time by staring at the lone clock, watching and waiting for the hours to tick on by. Every now and then he gets a glimpse into the room where the interview takes place. A long desk can be seen, with two people perfectly visible, the university’s symbol emblazoned on their jackets. There are another two people in the room, but all Harold can see of either of them are their arms folded over the table. Bits and pieces of their conversation drift into the hallway, but it’s muted against the heavy grain of the door.

“Dr. Harold Winston?” An assistant calls.

He stands up slowly, rubbing his back as he makes his way over, an unwelcome reminder of his age. The door is open for him, the interviewers chatting amongst themselves. There are two men of Iraqi descent chatting with one another in their native language, while the other two, a Caucasian man and woman, converse in English. His eyes widen as a cold shiver running down his spine. He has heard the woman's voice before. It's haunted his dreams for years.

He pauses in front of the doorway, gaping as he takes in her figure. Her brown hair is kept in a rough ponytail, and her makeup is heavy, but not even she can hide the ugly scar that covers half her face. There’s no questions about it. It’s her. It’s Dr. Tempest Williams.

“Come on in,” one of the other scientists gestures at him. “Don’t be shy, this won’t take long.”

Harold’s had nightmares of Tempest finding him and tying him up to a bed again, just like she did back in Horizon Two. Her smile is almost sweet as she pierces his skin with a syringe, giggling in delight as she extracts the elixir of life from his veins, leaving his hollow carcass to writhe helplessly.

He takes a step back, one hand bracing the doorway for stability. His smile is weak, forced. “I-I just…I just realized I’ve got something to do. An emergency.”

Dr. Tempest Williams’s neck creaks all too slowly to his direction. Her expression is neutral but her gaze speaks of fire and fury, a predator that has found its prey.

“Dr. Winston,” she purrs. “We meet again.”

He takes another step back, then another, and before anyone can say another word, he rushes down the stairs and bolts past the front door.

Out on the campus, the students have come out in droves, roaming around as they head to their classes. Behind him, one of the security guards slowly approach him, muttering something into an earpiece. Harold shoves his way past the throngs of people, stamping his way through with what he hopes is an intimidating look. He knows the guards are following him, but he doesn’t dare turn his head to find out. He has to get to his room in Ifrit dormitory.

He swipes his card to enter and quickly shuts the door behind him before anyone can get in. He leans against the wall, reminding himself to breathe. Ifrit dormitory is an Oasis University-sanctioned building that acts like an apartment for visiting dignitaries and guests. He remembers Satya mentioning that only the Ministers have full access to all buildings within the Oasis campus. Only special security guards have access to this building. It’ll buy him some time. Just enough time to get his essentials, call Siebren, and escape this place.

He can’t stay here anymore. Not if Tempest is here. Not after what he did to her back on Horizon Two.

He takes the elevator and presses the button for the 11th floor, where his room is. In the eerie silence, his heartbeat is so loud. Hestares at his golden reflection, haggard and tired, a shadow of himself. What will he say to Siebren, he thinks. What can he say to Siebren? It's easy to imagine that look of horror and disgust on Siebren’s face if he tells him the truth. There’s no way Siebren will take this well, especially not on such short notice. And even if he does, there’s little chance he will just run away with Harold. His position in the Ministries is almost ensured. He’s found himself new friends in Talon and Oasis. Siebren will never give that up for him.

But…what if he does? What if Siebren trusts him?

Harold scowls at his own reflection. “Don’t kid yourself, Harold. Do you really think Siebren will just run away with you because you asked? He doesn’t love you enough to sacrifice everything for you. Not anymore.”

His reflection opens their mouth to say otherwise, but the elevator dings open, and they disappear with the retreating doors. With a sigh, he steps out into the narrow, off-white hallway.

A warm red carpet lines the ways to the various rooms, metallic lanterns providing some ambient light to guide his way. It is towards the end of the hallway that he sees three figures near the door to his room. They’re draped in dark body armour, an orange visor covering their faces. Two of them have energy assault rifles in their hands, while the third fiddles with the door. He takes a step forward, there's a beat, and soon they all turn to him expectantly. They've been waiting for him, Harold realizes.

The one fiddling with the door stands up and speaks. His stance is firm, ready for a fight. “Dr. Harold Winston, please come with us.”

Harold whips out the jet injector gun from his pocket and squeezes the trigger. A purple energy bullet hits the first guard in the neck. They fall face first to the ground, unconscious but alive

The two assassins don’t waste their time. The first readies their rifle while the other opens up a communicator on their arm.

“The Jade Hare is hostile! I repeat, the Jade Hare is hostile!”

Harold tries for the doors nearest him. The first one is locked, but the second one is open. He ducks inside just as the whine of energy rounds fires through the air, peppering the door with holes. It’s a tiny single room apartment, identical to Harold’s own, with very little in the way of furniture. There’s a desk, a bed, some drawers with a TV on top, and a wardrobe. Nothing to hide behind.

He hugs the wall next to the door and checks the vial levels on the jet injector. Seven shots left before he’s empty. A quiet “tsk” left his lips. He’s by no means a spectacular shot, and he knows from experience how long it takes to reload his weapon. Every shot he misses is an opportunity lost. He has to be careful.

The cleaning lady stares at him wide-eyed from the opposite side of the room, her quivering finger pointing at the jet injector. She opens her mouth, but before she can speak, a hail of bullets rips through her body. The bed shields the gruesome sight from Harold’s eyes. The two assassins silently creep in, taking her crippled, dead body. By the time they notice Harold, it’s too late. Harold fires two rounds into the first target. They both ricochet off the body armour.

“You’re tenacious for an old man.”

Harold grits his teeth as he suddenly charges forward, using them as a human shield to block the bullets from the second assassin. The energy bullets from the rifle ping off the body armour of the first assassin, flying in all different directions around the room, ripping through the walls. After a few seconds, the gunfire ceases. Harold hears a distinct click, the sound of a gun without ammo. He pushes the jet injector right into the first assassin’s jugular vein and shoots. They fall limply in his arms, before he shoves them carelessly down to the ground. He takes advantage of the final assassin’s confusion, shoving past them into the hallway.

“Jade Hare is on the move,” they growl into the communicator. “Call for backup!”

Harold stumbles his way through the empty hallway and fumbles for the keycard to his room. He enters and shuts the door behind him, searching for anything to help him black the door. His eyes fall on the wardrobe. He shoves it with all his might, but it doesn’t budge. It’s bolted to the floor.

The assassin lets out a volley of bullets into the door, and Harold ducks, pressing his back to the wall. As the assassin loads up another round of bullet, Harold takes two shots through the bullet holes. They clatter off the wall.

“Four bullets left,” Harold tells himself silently.

He stares down at his trembling hands, shaking in terror. He can feel the fire coursing through his blood, threatening to burn him from the inside, pulling the oxygen away from his lungs. His mind is not on the horrible mistakes he’s made in the past, or the events that led him to this moment. Instead his mind is on his deepest, darkest regrets. He never got to tell Siebren his true feelings. He never got to kiss Siebren one final time.

“Dr. Harold Winston,” the final assassin says through the door. “Come on out, and we won’t hurt you.”

“How can I believe that?” Harold shouts.

“Stand down, soldier,” a female voice says. Their high heels click slowly on the hard floors, getting closer and closer before coming to a stop right in front of his room’s door. In the distance, Harold thinks he hears the sounds of sirens, echoing throughout the campus. Though he cannot see her face, it’s easy to imagine the sinister smirk that spreads across Tempest’s face. “You’ll come out for me, won’t you?”

Harold doesn't respond. He doesn't want her to hear him and his quivering throat. He doesn't want to show her any weakness.

“You’ve become so stubborn recently. Why is that? Is it your new company?” Tempest chuckles under her breath. “I’ve heard you’ve been getting comfy with the Minister of Genetics. Lucky you.”

“You’re not doing a good job of convincing me to come out.”

“Not even for your friend, Dr. de Kuiper?”

Behind the door, Harold sees the blue light of a hologram. He hears the sounds of military boots on stone tiles, the click of multiple guns taken off their safety. “Bravo in position. Newton spotted,” a soldier says. Far in the distance, Harold can hear Siebren’s humming clear as day, a distracted little tune he sings when he’s busy in his work. The hologram fades away.

Harold doesn't realize he's crying until he feels the tears drop down his face. “N-no,” Harold whispers.

“I’ll call my men off if you come with us quietly.” Tempest added, “I won’t hurt you. I won’t even touch you or do anything to you. I promise.”

Harold stares forlornly at his gun, takes in a shuddery breath, and blinks away the tears. Slowly he pushes himself off the wall and slowly opens the door. Despite his fear, he’s strangely at ease with his decision. For a lot of people, especially for Siebren, he will sacrifice a lot of things. Even his own life. It's comfortable, familiar.

In the hallway, Tempest smiles warmly at him. The hologram loops over and over in her hands, footsteps and clicking and humming. Harold stares at the barrel of the gun pointed at his forehead. In the distance he thinks he hears panicked shouts and bloodcurdling screams and the quiet tinkling of a piano. Everything is in slow motion, but his body is even slower to react. It’s an unkind reminder of his age.

“Still so naïve, Specimen 31,” Tempest says.

The assassin fires his gun directly into Harold’s chest. The flash sizzles away, the gunshot ringing in his ears, but Harold still stands, unaffected. His body is surrounded by a protective golden light. Harold’s blood vessels swell and bulge, glowing brightly underneath his skin. His eyes shine like beacons, dark irises hidden behind the glowing light. While the light is around him, he is invulnerable. Invincible. Nothing can touch him.

Before the assassin has time to gape, Harold shoots a bullet directly into their chin, making them fall to the ground. His eyes are aflame as he stomps towards Tempest, his weapon ready on her body, but she grins wickedly. She takes out from a pocket in her coat a tiny remote and clicks on a button. In an instant, the light is gone, and an overwhelming pain seizes his body. He falls to his knees, mouth agape as the skin on his hands turn thin and purple like a ghoul.

“It really is true,” she marvels. Her voice is excited and gleeful. Dangerous. “The nanobots, you can control them. They protect you. They keep you alive. But you’re weak without them, aren’t you, Specimen 31?”

She dangles the remote in front of his face but he’s too weak to attempt to snatch it. He’s wheezing, choking on the air. Each breath he takes in is another lungful of poison.

“I learned from our previous fight, you against Dr. Talbot and I. You really are smart, but I am smarter.” She crouches in front of him, her hand roughly cupping his jaw. “You might think your secret dies with you, but we’ve got a mission to go up to Horizon One. The original notes should still be there in the base’s emergency drives. Your so-called ‘secret serum’ won’t be secret for long.”

“T-then…then why are you here?” Harold splutters, before collapsing fully on the ground. He’s feeling light-headed already. He can’t breathe anymore. Everything is too hard. It’s just too hard.

“It’s very simple,” Tempest traces the pattern of her scar on his cheek with a long nail. “Revenge for Dr. Talbot, of course. Revenge for the scar you gave me!”

“Get away from him!” Siebren screams.

One second, Tempest whips around to see Siebren, bloody and angry. The next, she’s suspended high in the air. Harold hears a haunting melody play, a cruel mixture between cascading piano arpeggios and dark whispers and Shepard tones. Siebren waves his hand, and the remote flies away from Tempest’s hand to his own. Hovering in mid-air, it collapses in on itself, the force of gravity crushing it into bits and pieces of electronics.

Harold gasps as strength returns to his body. He stands up on shaky legs, watching as Tempest flails helplessly above his head.

“Siebren,” Harold breathes. “You can stop.”

But Siebren doesn’t listen to him. He’s rising higher himself, the back of his skull glowing blue. His expression is vacant, without life or soul, a black hole ready to consume all in its path. It’s not Siebren in front of Harold any more. This is the man known as Sigma. This is the man all of Talon fears.

His fingers curl slowly inwards, his teeth crunching together in a vicious snarl. Tempest shrieks as she struggles against an invisible box, crushing her from all sides.

“Siebren? Let her down.”

“I detest violence—” Siebren growls.

“Siebren!”

“—but I will make sure you never hurt Harold again!”

“I said, let her down, Sigma!”

The music stops as Siebren turns to Harold. The vacant expression turns into surprise, then confusion, and finally sorrow. The back of his skull stops glowing. He drops his hand down to his side and Tempest falls to the ground with a thud. He floats back down so he’s standing on his own two feet.

With the last remnants of his strength, Harold limps towards Tempest. Inky tears stain Tempest’s cheeks, obscuring her scar. “T-thank you, thank you,” she blubbers in relief. “Thank y—”

Without another thought, Harold shoots the last bullet into her arm before she can say more. Dr. Tempest Williams falls into a dreamless sleep.

Harold takes a step back, feeling for the wall behind him before slumping against it. He glances down at his arm, thin and pale like a skeleton, and frowns. Slowly, he takes the empty cannister out and twists in a new one filled with golden liquid. He aims it at a visible blood vessel, grits his teeth, and presses the trigger. The pain comes and goes in seconds. Soon, his arm starts to look like human flesh again. He tilts his head to the sky and releases his grip, the jet injector clattering harmlessly on the ground.

Siebren approaches Harold silently. Now that Harold can get a proper look at him, he sees that Siebren’s clothes are ruined, a few stray bullet holes ripping through his lab coat. His left arm is bleeding lightly, specks of blood painting his cheeks.

“Harold,” he sighs.

Harold doesn’t respond with a reply. Instead, he closes the distance between their bodies, pulls Siebren’s head down towards him with both his hands, and presses a long, slow kiss to his lips. It’s selfish, and sudden, and not at all how Harold imagines his kiss with Siebren will be. The taste of copper is on his tongue and the ugly stench of sweat and tears clogs the air, but it doesn’t matter. It’s right for all the wrong reasons.

When Harold retreats, Siebren is staring at him. His lips quiver microscopically, ruby coloured and ajar. Behind light blue eyes, Harold sees the world—sees Earth—in all its beautiful glory.

Guilt creeps up his throat. “S-sorry, I just…I needed this,” Harold mumbles. He presses his forehead into Siebren’s shoulder. “Just…needed this.”

Siebren lets out a deep breath. His hand tentatively rests on the back of Harold’s skull, pulling him close. He stares at the ceiling. “You’re in shock,” he whispers. “What…what was that power, Harold?”

“You saw?”

“I can feel it. Right now, hovering about your body. It’s pulsing within you. Like it’s a part of you.”

Harold closes his eyes. “I’ll tell you everything. I promise. I will tell you everything.”

Siebren hums affirmatively. The noises of the world drown away from Harold's ears. All he hears is Siebren, choking back a sob as he clutches him tightly. "I'll hold you onto that," he whispers delicately into his ear.

By the time evening falls, it’s all over the news. Two gunfights have erupted in two separate locations within Oasis University, sending the students into a panic. The reason for the shootings is unknown, although many suspect terrorist involvement. According to news agencies, it is the combined effort of Vishkar’s security, as well as the university’s own, that prevented any deaths from occurring and the successful apprehension of the gunmen. Dr. Tempest Williams, the only person to get injured as a result of the shootings, has refused to speak about the incident. The gunmen are currently being held in prison.

Siebren called in a favour earlier with Sombra, who hid all digital tracks of their whereabouts during the shootings. The police don’t give him a second glance, and don’t even ask him for an interview. That didn’t stop them however from evacuating the entire Ifrit Dormitory building. Forensics say it’ll take them at least a few days. Until then, he’s without a place to stay.

The university have generously offered to pay for Harold’s stay in one of the nearby hotels until his room is available again, but Siebren offers his own university-provided accommodations. Dutch hospitality, that is his excuse, but Harold sees the shy smile he gives when he thinks Harold doesn’t see.

Siebren slides his keycard in and opens the door for Harold. His room is almost a picture-perfect replica of Harold’s room, except for a few minor details. Papers are strewn over the desk with Siebren’s messy scrawl. The King size bed is unmade on one side, Siebren’s silk pyjamas sitting on a pile near the foot of the bed. On top of the dresser is a portable speaker, currently off and charging at 92%.

Siebren runs his hand over the back of his head. “I wasn’t expecting guests,” he smiles sheepishly.

“I can tell,” Harold smiles. His eyes fall on the bed. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor or…?

“N-no, no, absolutely not. Sleep on the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Harold frowns. “Siebren, there’s no space.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Will you really?” A small laugh escapes his lips. “Why don’t we both take the bed? Sleep together. Just like old times.”

“We shouldn’t,” Siebren says quietly, but there's not firmness in his tone. He's not entirely convinced by his own words.

Harold shrugs in a way he hopes looks nonchalant. “After everything we’ve done today, I think we deserve a rest.”

“I suppose,” Siebren utters. A small smile escaping his lips before he clears his throat loudly. “J-just this one time, of course.”

Harold knows this won’t be a ‘one time’ thing, but he doesn’t want to push his luck and call Siebren out on it. He sits down on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers over the wires and tubes that stick out of his skin. Siebren stands in front of him, taking in the burst capillaries that stain his skin purple and the age spots that dot his arms. His lips dip microscopically.

“You said you’d tell me everything,” he says.

Harold expects this. He nods shallowly, his head low. “Promise me you’ll at least keep an open mind.”

“I promise."

Harold stares into Siebren’s eyes for confirmation, but only sees his own reflection in return. In Siebren’s eyes he looks handsome and young, glowing with radiant beauty. A god trapped in a mortal body, or perhaps the reverse. With a quiet smile, he shuffles the coat off his shoulders. His hands reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. The shirt drops by his side

Siebren stares wide-eyed at his upper body. "H-Harold," he gasps.

Harold’s torso is covered in a variety of electronics. A pacemaker implant can be seen over his heart, a ventilator pressed near his hip, working to the invisible rhythm of his heart and lungs respectively. Cybernetic implants run all the way down Harold’s chest and upper arms, drawing deep lines on his skin. A spinal implant claws all the way down his back to his tail bone, scarring his skin.

Siebren crouches down, resting his hand carefully over the electronics. His fingers trace over the metal and flesh with reverence, making Harold suck in a breath. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like this, with soft affection. His eyelids flutter. “Siebren,” he breathes.

Suddenly Siebren’s cheeks stain pink, his head turned to one side. His hand retreats to his side, the other covering his mouth. A strange thrill creeps up Harold’s chest. Being able to get Siebren to blush like this in his 40s was already an achievement; in his 60s, it’s a small silent victory. He’s tempted to use this for his own will, distract or seduce Siebren so he may never have to reveal the truth, but he knows he won't. Siebren deserves the truth. He can't hide anymore.

Siebren finally casts his eyes back on his body, trailing down to his stomach. More tubes pierce into his skin, carrying golden liquid.

Harold knows the question before Siebren even asks it. “You’re probably wondering about that golden liquid.”

“It’s crossed my mind,” he admits.

“The short story is they’re nanobots. The longer story is that they’re the genetic therapy treatment meant for Winston. In apes, they work as intended. In human bodies however, or at least my body, the nanobots spread much more rapidly. It gave me the strength to get to Horizon Two, but it came at the cost of replacing my other cells. The nanobots gave me enhanced oxygen carrying in my haemoglobin and reduced muscle fatigue among other health benefits. But that’s not what’s special about them.”

He wills his muscles to relax as he concentrates. His blood vessels and eyes begin to glow once more, bathing him in light. Siebren stares intently at his glowing veins with utter fascination.

“The nanobots. You control them,” he gasps.

Harold nods. “Developed a few devices to help make it a bit easier for me. The spinal implant is probably the most obvious one.” He chuckles nervously to himself. “Doing remote surgery on your own back is certainly an experience.”

“And they protect you?”

“If I concentrate hard enough, I can will them to leave my body through my pores and protect me. I’m practically invincible when they’re around me like this. But if I do this for too long, well…” The light fades away from his body, dissipating into the air. Harold watches as his hands turn from a bright, healthy colour into a sickly white.

Siebren’s lips dip into a frown. “This is what they’re after, isn’t it? Those people, that lady. They want you.”

“They want the serum, not me,” Harold corrects. “The secret to the formula died with my friends back on Horizon One. The only ones still alive who know about the serum are the scientists who looked after me in Horizon Two. As soon as they found out the reason for my miraculous recovery, they all wanted to know my secrets. Dr. Williams—that lady from earlier—she was one of them.”

“She mentioned a fight,” Siebren remarks.

“There’s a reason I was alone when you found me. I had to fight them off, her and her mentor Dr. Talbot. I had to protect myself.” He stares at his knees and trembles. “I-I did so many horrible things to survive.”

“You were brave to survive.” He tilts Harold’s chin up with his hand. He’s victim to those crystal blue eyes that stare at him with the intensity of a black hole. They stare at him like he’s the only thing in this world. Like nothing else matters.

“Siebren,” Harold shudders.

Siebren trails his fingers down Harold’s chest, placing his palm flat over Harold’s heart. A comforting gesture, that’s probably what he intends, but it lights a fire in the pit of Harold’s stomach. His eyes flutter closed as his muscles unwind. It’s been ages since he’s been touched like this. It’s been ages since Siebren’s touched him like this.

“You’ve become so strong.”

He doesn’t feel strong in that moment. He feels weak and wanting, desperate for something he’s not sure he deserves. His body leans forward into Siebren’s touch.

“Harold,” he whispers.

“Siebren.”

His breath is on his face now, warm against his cheeks. A thousand words flutter through his mind about the kiss that awaits him. They speak to him of anticipation, of longing, of stilted breathing and soft flesh, whispers growing so loud they drown out his thundering heartbeat. He waits for the fairy tale kiss to sweep him off his feet and make him forget about years and years of heartbreak.

But Siebren pauses, his lips a hair’s breath away. A million stars glitter in his eyes, each speaking of a different story, a different emotion, and suddenly he retreats, standing upright. His posture is erect and proper.

He coughs loudly into his fist. “Y-you should have a shower, Harold.”

“S-sure,” he says. Harold tries to chuckle but he cannot hide the disappointed frown that spreads afterwards. “I'm already half undressed.”

Siebren mutters something to himself as he walks over to the wardrobe and opens it. He flings Harold a white cotton towel. Harold mumbles a quick thank you before quickly ducking into the bathroom.

He turns on the shower, testing the heat before stripping the rest of his clothes in a pile. He steps into the cramped shower stall and groans in relief. Grime and blood stain the water pink as it drips down into the drain. Steam rises up in the air. Harold doesn’t stay longer than necessary, quickly washing his hair and body. The longer he stays under the hot water, the more his thoughts will inevitably drift back to Siebren and the moment they shared barely a minute ago. Things are already awkward enough. He doesn't want to make it any worse than it already is.

When he exits the bathroom, he’s only in his underwear. The towel is draped over his shoulders. He can feel Siebren's gaze lower and lower, from his damp hair down to his flat stomach, stopping near his hips. Another time, he might be excited at the prospect that Siebren still finds him attractive in his advanced age. Right now however, it's all a bit too much to handle.

“I’ve got no pyjamas,” he explains quickly, cheeks reddening with every second. “Couldn’t get them out of my room in time.”

Siebren nods microscopically. “I-I should…I should wash myself too.” Before Harold can say anything, he’s already retreated into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

It’s been a long day, Harold realizes as he lays his head down on the bed. By the time Siebren finishes his shower, he’s already dozing off. The last thing he remembers that night are the soft pillows his head lies on, the lights turning off one by one, and then a gentle peck on his forehead as Siebren tells him goodnight. He’s not sure if he imagined the latter one. It feels too good and familiar to be real.

When his eyes finally flutter open, there's a light pressure on his side. Siebren has curled his arm over his body, resting his hand on his chest. His nose is pressed into Harold's hairline, inhaling and exhaling quietly. His breathing is a slow metronome, a warm constant, an old memory brought to life once more. Harold shouldn't enjoy this as much as he does, but it's warm and comfortable. With every second he stays there, he melts just a little more. He leans his back into Siebren's broad chest.

"You're up," Siebren mumbles against his skin.

Harold stiffens for a second. "I-I am now."

A quiet laugh can be heard behind him. "Don't worry. We're not needed for another hour or so. I think we're entitled to sleep in."

This must be a dream, Harold thinks, but the morning sun burns his eyes from the tiniest sliver in the curtains, and the breaths near his ear are so hot, and a fire burns near his stomach, directly over Siebren's hand. A knee presses up between his legs, slotting in comfortably. Siebren's other arm slides underneath Harold's neck. He's held so closely, caressed so tenderly.

If this is a dream, he doesn't want to wake up. If this is reality, he hopes it means he gets a second chance at new beginnings. He can't beat around the bush anymore. Sooner or later he will have to leave and live a life on the run. Sooner or later, he'll have to leave Siebren behind.

But that time is not now, in the early morning hours. Now, while he still can, he curls into Siebren, a quiet breath of contentment fluttering in the air. He wishes in that moment that he and Siebren are a couple again, that the future only holds happiness and joy, that his life will never know pain again.

Unbeknownst to Harold, Siebren wishes for the same thing too.

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #If you guys liked the podfic PLEASE DO LET ME KNOW #I spent a lot of extra effort on it so if you like it I might be convinced to do it for all future chapters from now on #And also reblogs help me spread the word out #This chapter was difficult #Not just because of the podfic but because of that gigantic fight scene #Also uhhh for anyone who's listening to the podfic version #I apologise in advance for Sigma's 'ultimate'#You'll know what I mean

2 notes · View notes

canaryquillastrology · 6 years ago

Conversation

Ruling Planet Deity Archetype

SUN: THE CREATOR

He is a golden Sun god, handsome and strong, with a youthful face and body. He is often depicted with a shining smile as an expression of his warmth and boyish optimism. The Creator is a god of creativity and the ego, associated with the forge, the arts, and sculpture. He is also an embodiment of male fertility and fatherhood, and patron to young children, of which he is very much alike. At his worst, he is egotistical, selfish, self-centered, and arrogant, demanding what is not given to him. He is a god that thrives on love, praise, and attention, and in turn is endlessly generous, proud, and kind to children, artists, and those seek him out.

MOON: THE CHILD

She is a silver Moon goddess, small and fragile. But what she lacks in size and light, she makes up for in emotional strength. She is the daughter of the Mother, and clings to her gravitational pull like a dependant child. The Child governs the tides, the oceans, and all bodies of water, pulling them back and forth toward her whenever she rises into the sky. At her worst, the goddess is needy, clingy, moody, temperamental, and childishly irrational. She needs comfort and security in order to settle her highly reactive moods. But in return, she gives us intuition, compassion, empathy, and all the emotions we feel.

WHITE LILIES | IVY | WATER | ALL WATER-DWELLING CREATURES | BLACK CLOAK

MERCURY: THE SCHOLAR

He is a fat, soft looking young man in a modest cloak. He is most often depicted over a book or a scroll, writing or reading, to show he is a god of knowledge, communication, and intellect. But in myths, he is usually at the center of conversation, debate, or discussion, either teaching in a classroom or in a crowd of his peers. He is a patron of rational thinkers, philosophers, scientists, and anybody else engrossed in their studies. His dark side is his intellectual egotism, short attention span, and tendency to stir the pot out of boredom. But he is a god of intelligence, memory, and language, and gives mental gifts to those who worship him.

VENUS: THE MAIDEN

She is a beautiful goddess, much adored and sought after by the suitors who covet her. The Maiden is depicted as a young, lusty woman with long hair and pouting lips. A goddess of love, beauty, sex, and true femininity, she is sensual and seductive, with a want for beautiful mortals and all the finer things in life. Her darker side comes out when she isn’t desired, where she becomes vain, possessive, jealous, fat, and lazy. But when she is secure in the knowledge that she is loved, she is pure and lovely; polite, cooperative, diplomatic, sensitive, and open to compromise.

MARS: THE WARRIOR

He is the torrid god of war, violence, and bloodshed, often depicted in battle as a heavily muscled man with rough skin and a thick beard. The Warrior fights first and foremost for his own personal gain, be it to win an item of his desire, attain some goal, or extinguish some enemy. At times his efforts are noble, heroic, justified in their brutality. But at other times, he rapes, pillages, and slaughters scores of innocent victims. He gives strength, conviction, bravery, independence, and determination to those who worship him, chiefly to soldiers, assassins, and hunters on the prowl.

CERES: THE MOTHER

She is the green Earth mother, goddess of female fertility, motherhood, pregnancy, family, food, home, and caregiving. She is depicted as a pregnant woman with wide hips and large, swollen breasts. All living things are her children, whom she loves and takes care of their whole lives long. But in this respect, her dark side is that she loses all rational sense when something threatens her child, and cries when they grow the nest and try to leave her. At her worst, she is coddling and manipulative, prone to guilt-tripping and cries of loneliness. At her best, she is protective, strong, soft, warm, and kind.

JUPITER: THE JESTER

He is a nubile man who calls himself a fool, a comedian, a trickster, and a seducer. He sees and speaks the truth nobody else wants to hear through jokes and sarcasm and wit. His charm is in his frankness. He can say things nobody else can, and get away with it, because he can make the gods laugh at their own folly. The Jester is drawn center-stage and to parties, feasts, weddings, and theatre, where he parades his antics on stage to the amusement of the crowd. He is a patron of actors, musicians, travellers, and entertainers from all walks of life, worshipped to rid themselves of homesickness, stage fright, and pre-show jitters.

SATURN: THE CRONE

She is an old woman, close to the end of her life, draped in grey hair and sagging skin, criss-crossed with bulging veins and knobby joints. She is the grandmotherly patron of wisdom withered from experience; of the harvest; of elders passing down knowledge onto the younger mortals below. She teaches responsibility, preparing for the future, focus, and sensible choices. To some she is boring, ugly, restrictive, a harbinger of a slow death and the horrors of old age. But she is respected as the one who taught mankind how to harvest and preserve food, allowing them to survive in hard times.

CHIRON: THE HEALER

The Healer is an elderly man, scrawny, with a short beard and a body covered in scars and bandages. He is said to be very kind, caring, and gentle, with delicate hands dedicated to his mortar and pestle. He is the grandfatherly patron of the healing arts, of medicine, tinctures, herbology, and surgery. It is said he hears more prayers than any other god, of desperate voices wishing for good health and to overcome what horrors they’ve fallen to. At his worst, he is useless, an embodiment of false hope in desperate times. At his best, he is a miracle worker, able to pull mortals back from the void.

MORTAR AND PESTLE | ST. JOHN’S WORT | WEREWOLF ROOT | BETONICA | ACHILLEA

URANUS: THE USURPER

His face is hidden, so we do not know if he is a young man, or an old one. What we know is that he is a disruptive, anarchic, rebellious man, set out to overthrow those in power and free the people from tyrannical leaders. Revolutionaries pray to the Usurper more than any other group, for he is the embodiment of their cause, no matter what it is. At his worst, he is a god of madness, chaos, mayhem, and destruction. He is both feared and hated for the disruptive changes he brings upon society. At his best, he is a symbol for freedom from slavery and subjugation, of revolution, and a leader for anyone who feels abandoned or alone.

SWARMS | POISON, VENOM | WOLF | STORMS | DISEASE, MADNESS

NEPTUNE: THE MYSTIC

She commands the veil that separates this world from the next. When we are born it is she who pulls out a droplet (a soul) from the sea of creation. When we die, she is there, easing our soul back into the waters of the afterlife, where we dissipate and become one with one other. She is a goddess of birth and death and rebirth, of magic, sleep, dreams, drugs and alcohol, and spirituality. Associated with death, she is frightening, foreboding, morbid, and macabre. But associated with birth, she is joyful, exciting, and a welcome sight.

PLUTO: THE MONARCH

She is a queen, a patron of royalty, money, precious metals and jewels, and seats of power. She represents those who reign safely from the throne rooms in castles in state capitals. To many she is an abusive, tyrannical, exploitive Monarch who exacts war and violence upon those under her control. But to others, she is a dedicated and faithful ruler who serves her people loyally. She and the Usurper are forever battling against one another, with him trying to overthrow her, and her trying to stay in power, the two of them locked in an immortal, unwinnable battle for all time.

262 notes · View notes

if-you-fan-a-fire · 6 years ago

Text

“The fact is that ‘rabbit’ is a peculiar word. The OED can find no ultimate etymology for it, nor trace it back in English before 1398. ‘Coney’ or ‘cunny’ is little better, going back to 1302, while ‘bunny’ is a pet-name used originally for squirrels, as it happens, and not recorded till the seventeenth century. The words for ‘rabbit’ differ in several European languages (French lapin, German kaninchen), and there is no Old English or Old Norse word for it at all. These facts are unusual: ‘hare’, for instance, is paralleled by Old English hara, German hase, Old Norse heri, and so on, while the same could be said for ‘weasel’ or ‘otter’ or ‘mouse’ or ‘brock’ or most other familiar mammals of Northern Europe. The reason, of course, is that rabbits are immigrants. They appeared in England only round the thirteenth century, as imported creatures bred for fur, but escaped to the wild like mink or coypu. Yet they have been assimilated. The point is this: not one person in a thousand realizes that rabbits (no Old English source) are in any historical way distinct from mice (O.E. mýs) or weasels (O.E. weselas), while the word is accepted by all as familiar, native, English . . . Rabbits prove that novelties can be introduced into a language and then made to fit—of course as long as one exhibits due regard to deep structures of language and thought. ‘If a foreign word falls by chance into the stream of a language’, wrote Jacob Grimm, ‘it is rolled around till it takes on that language’s colour, and in spite of its foreign nature comes to look like a native one.’

Now this situation of anachronism-cum-familiarity certainly has something to do with hobbits. . . . Smoking later appears as not just a characteristic of hobbits, but virtually the characteristic, ‘the one art that we can certainly claim to be our own invention’, declares Meriadoc Brandybury (LOTR, p. 8). But what are they smoking besides pipes? ‘Pipeweed, or leaf’, declares the Lord of the Rings Prologue firmly. Why not say ‘tobacco’, since the plant is ‘a variety probably of Nicotiana’? Because the word would sound wrong. It is an import . . . reaching English only after the discovery of America, sometime in the sixteenth century. The words it resembles most are ‘potato’ and ‘tomato’, also referring to new objects from America, eagerly adopted in England and naturalised with great speed, but marked off as foreign by their very phonetic structure. ‘Pipeweed’ shows Tolkien’s wish to accept a common feature of English modernity, which he knew could not exist in the ancient world of elves and trolls, and whose anachronism would instantly be betrayed by a word with the foreign feel of ‘tobacco’ . . . .[‘Tomatoes’ was eliminated from The Hobbit in revised editions.] ‘Potatoes’ stay in, being indeed a specialty of Gaffer Gamgee, but his son Sam has a habit of assimilating the word to the more native-sounding ‘taters’— . . . but in fact the scene in which Sam discusses ‘taters’ with Gollum (LOTR, p. 640) is a little cluster of anachronisms: hobbits, eating rabbits (Sam calls them ‘coneys’), wishing for potatoes (‘taters’) but out of tobacco (‘pipeweed’). One day, offers Sam to Gollum, he might cook him something better—‘fried fish and chips’. Nothing could now be more distinctively English! Not much would be less distinctively Old English. The hobbits, though, are on our side of many cultural boundaries.

That, then, is their association with rabbits. . . . both insinuated themselves, rabbits into the homely company of fox and goose and hen, hobbits into the fantastic but equally verbally authenticated set of elves and dwarves and orcs and ettens. One might go so far as to say that the absence of rabbits from ancient legend made them not an ‘asterisk word’ but an ‘asterisk thing’—maybe they were there but nobody noticed. That is exactly the ecological niche Tolkien selected for hobbits, ‘an unobtrusive but very ancient people.” - Tom Shippey, The Road to Middle-earth. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2003, rev. ed., pp. 68-69

#tom shippey #j. r. r. tolkien #the road to middle-earth #middle earth #lord of the rings #rabbits #hobbits #creative anachronisms #language #old english #modern english #tolkien #linguistics #etymology

544 notes · View notes

caffeineivore · 6 years ago

Text

So yes Spirits again...

I am trying to like, find the plot of this thing. I don’t know if there is one.

A/Z. Prompts used: Blue, melody

The building is standard industrial concrete, the sort which could become anything and everything from a distribution warehouse to a dance studio, and is all but empty inside when Zhen unlocks the door.

“My latest acquisition,” he tells her with a wry smile. “It used to house a self-storage company until they got into some trouble with the law. Big sting, lots of contraband of the weapons and drugs variety.” A whimsical smile crosses his mouth. “I bought it because it was cheap, but also because the walls are blue.”

It’s just the sort of fanciful thing he’d say, green-gold eyes gazing deeply into her blue ones as his smile grows, and it’s hard not to be charmed, even though she knows quite well that the charisma is part of his birthright. But she’s never been the sort to give in so easily, and so she raises an eyebrow instead of smiling. “Did you have any particular plan for this building? It could become anything, really. I’m sure Jareth would have a few notions of what to do with it if you asked.”

“He’d probably suggest turning it into something horrifying, like a Target with a Starbucks built inside,” Zhen affects an exaggeratedly scandalized expression. “Perhaps he’d come up with something even more soulless and appalling. He’s a terrifyingly creative fellow.”

Raina can’t quite hold back a giggle at the very idea of Jareth, with his discerning Ælf-kine sensibilities, partaking in anything so plebeian as the design and construction of a Target of all places. “Well. I’m quite sure it’d be a profitable endeavour if you did decide upon that.”

“Undoubtedly, but the headaches wouldn’t be worth it. Mortals are so aggravatingly rude in those types of shops. Especially middle-aged women with coupons and caterwauling offspring.” He blinks his eyes slowly, almost drowsily, the way a fox might upon catching sight of a hare it didn’t want to spook, then throws up both hands, palms outwards. And then, right in front of her eyes, the room begins to fill, furnishings and decor appearing all around them as though conjured under the wand of a stage magician. And yet... Raina takes a half-step back, right into a padded high-top stool the likes of which wouldn’t be out of place at any dim, intimate whiskey bar. She reaches out and feels smooth-worn wood underneath her fingers, and then in her view, a glistening row of bottles appear. Some bluesy melody plays in the background, a smokey rasp of a torch singer’s voice against syncopated drumbeats and the sultry wail of a saxophone. It’s so realistic, so tangible to all the senses that she would never have thought it an illusion had she not just walked into an empty building a few minutes ago.

“Impressive,” she breathes, running her fingers over the wood of the bar. Almost immediately, a squat tumbler of amber-hued single-malt Scotch on the rocks appears in front of her, the icy condensation cold and wet against her fingertips, the rich yet astringent smell of the alcohol pungent on the air. She takes a cautious, tiny sip-- it even tastes like expensive liquor-- and yet there’s something subtly lacking, as though her body doesn’t recognize it as alcohol consumption and cue in the metabolic process of converting the ethanol molecules into acetaldehyde. For all it tastes and looks and smells like Scotch, it has none of the chemical or physiological properties. An illusion, almost flawless, but not quite.

“I don’t drink, not anymore,” Zhen gives her a crooked, self-deprecating grin. “The last time I did, I ended up on a misadventure which ended up with me caught in the business end of an abandoned hunter’s trap in the mountains for a good six months. I was starving and almost feral by the end of that ordeal, by the time I’d finally gotten free. Your colleague actually found me in his backyard. Fed me a cold plate of leftovers. He was perhaps three or four years old, then.”

Raina pauses, and then, in her usual quick fashion, she connects the dots. “I wondered why you acted like you were running into an old friend at Adam’s wedding.” She also knew the bare-bones story about Adam King’s story-- a rough childhood with poor, dysfunctional biological parents which could have ended up as any number of tragic statistics, an alcohol-induced car accident which he miraculously survived, then an auspicious placement with an adoptive family that turned his life around and brought him to the place he was today. ‘It was as though I had a guardian angel who brought me out of that car wreck and into a new world,’ Adam had said to her before. Smiling, she steps away from the hyper-realistic bar and up to Zhen, reaches up with her cool fingers and touches his warm cheek. “You went to bless his marriage. That’s why you started seeing me. So you’d have a reason to be there.”

Slowly, he nods, and with a slow flicker like a set of lights blinking out, the whiskey bar disappears, accoutrement by accoutrement, until it’s just the two of them standing together in an empty warehouse again. Oddly enough, though, the bluesy music continues to play, softer and sweeter now, as though coming from the next room. He dips his head, covers her fingers with his own even as he brushes his lips over her forehead. “I did, I suppose, have ulterior motives when I met you. Not bad ones, but I didn’t just meet you for you. Until... there you were.” His eyes meet hers over the curve of a gentle, ironic smile. “I was captivated, you know. And then, immediately, sad. People live such short, short lives. I knew, if I got close to you, I’d be devastated if you left me. And yet I couldn’t resist. Do you forgive me?”

Raina thinks of her mother, who’d been wooed by a mortal man and married him hundreds of years ago. Her father had been a portrait painter for a Renaissance court, and enjoyed fame and privilege from his talent and the great wealth that his fae wife had brought with her as a dowry. But three times he’d broken his word to her mother, and so she’d left him, taking Raina with her to be raised in the Old Way. Her father had died penniless and broken-hearted, abandoning his prosperous post in court for painting water-scapes, turbulent, murky things as he’d gone from creek to lake to sea, bewailing his fortune and begging forgiveness from a wife who would never return.

“Will you promise never to lie to me, or break your word?” She feels as though she’s standing on a precipice, gazing into the unknown depths. She barely remembers what her father looked like, but she’d inherited his dark hair. She imagines that he must have been handsome, perhaps almost as charming as Zhen, agreeing readily to that which her mother had asked of him in a haze of enchantment.

He kisses her forehead again, then dips his head to kiss her mouth, lips warm and dry against her cool, damp ones. “I won’t make any promises,” his mouth traces the words against hers, feather-light. “I won’t make any promises that I might ultimately break, be it through fate or will.” The cavernous room changes again, filling with rows of well-worn pews. The music changes to something more solemn and grand, pipe-organ rather than saxophone, and the flickering light and faint scent of candles fills the air, though lacking something of the heat. It’s just the sort of back-drop, the appropriate setting, where a man might make his vows. The candlelight forms a halo around the old-gold curls of his hair, and he takes her hand, lays a kiss over the back of each. “I will make you one promise, and one promise only. And that will be to love you for as long as we both shall live.”

The room is all skillful illusion and the man is all consummate charm, and yet, Raina finds it in herself to believe him. She slides her fingers through the tousled silk of his hair, then skims them over the nape of his neck, reveling a bit at his involuntary shiver as his lips home in on hers. “We may both live for a long time yet.” The words are muffled against his mouth, his skin, and his response is almost lost against her own.

“I stand by my promise.”

At some point, later, the room shifts again, transforming into what almost looks like a luxurious suite of rooms out of a mansion somewhere. Zhen lifts her off her feet, depositing her onto soft sheets that feel precisely like silk underneath her fingertips. She finds herself laughing, even as he kisses all the skin he can reach, clever fingers tugging at fabric to expose more. “I should have figured you’d bring me here to make love.”

He doesn’t say anything in response to that. But the bluesy melody starts playing again in the background, a sultry-hot caress of notes in the air with the weight of fingers on bare skin.

#a/z #senshi/shitennou #sailor moon #fanfiction #fanfic

14 notes · View notes

summoner-kentauris · 6 years ago

Text

plotbunny zachfonse coffee shop au that im probably never going to finish but i thought you guys might enjoy it nonetheless!

It’s seven thirty one exactly on Monday morning, and Sharena runs into the café like hel on fire.

Alfonse stops wiping down the counter and does a double take. Sharena has a schedule, but it’s a very particular one. He’s never, ever seen her face before ten am, usually not until eleven-twenty, when she comes scattering in with at least one of her roommates in tow, grabbing a quick latte before grinning and bustling out of the door in a vain attempt to not be late to her eleven-fifteen class.

“Hiya!” she says loudly, and plunks her bag on the counter like it’s full of a ton of rocks. It makes a loud THUNK noise, and Alfonse winces.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, in a whisper that still manages to hover over the tranquil morning atmosphere in the shop.

“Are you late for something?” he asks suspiciously.

The somber girl standing beside and behind Sharena cracks a smile at that.

“Al!” Sharena exclaims. “I would never be late for a midterm.”

“Calculus-” the girl pipes up.

“That was one time-”

“Sharena!”he interrupts, and pats the air gently. This time, it’s Sharena wincing.

“Sorry,”she says again.

She’s certainly gotten herself worked up over whatever midterm this is, though, that wouldn’t be quite unusual. Still, Alfonse is having a hard time figuring out just what has inspired this early morning energetic panic. A study session too, if the weight of her bookbag is any indication. Looking at Sharena’s friend isn’t any help, either. Reese is hard to read on the best of days, and today she is sporting one of her many impassive stares.

“What class?” he asks.

“History.” They both answer immediately, simultaneously, with one unusually distraught groan each.

He’s a little taken aback. “I...thought you both liked your history class? What happened?”

Sharena wiggles a little and then settles into her we-ELL have I got some news posture, only to be interrupted by Reese throwing down some scattered coins onto the counter and grabbing Sharena’s arm.

“New professor, long story,” she says gruffly. “Let’s go Ray, we’re running low on time.”

“The usual?” he’s forced to call after them, as they wind their way to their favorite tall chairs at the corner table.

Reese waves her arm nonchalantly, and then they disappears into a haze of planning and papers.

He sighs, and breathes in, and takes stock of the returning calm quiet. Sharena and Reese are not the only ones swamped by paperwork this morning. All of Alfonse’s regulars are here today. Sitting outside today is the healer, a short nifl man whose light skin is splotchy red from the sunburn he got falling asleep out there yesterday. His godsawful shift at the hospital ends at six-thirty in the morning, and he originally had taken to pacing around on the sidewalk outside until opening like a lost puppy right up until the day Alfonse just shook his head and started letting him in. He’s deep into his third espresso and fourth newspaper. At the table on the other side of the door are the artist twins from down the street. They’re Askran, both with deep magenta hair. One keeps hers in a braid, the other keeps hers mostly cut off, and that’s about the only way to tell the two apart. That and a teeny little scar one of them has about her left purple eye. Alfonse is pretty sure they come from serious money, given he’s never seen them actually engage in making art, but they do talk nonstop about what they’ve bought. They’re signing energetically back and forth over an intimidatingly tall mountain of photographs. More than once, they’ve gotten too animated and knocked over their drinks. Alfonse wonders idly if he should go ahead re-drag out the supplies out for their long, complicated, terrifyingly expensive order.

Meanwhile, in the middle of the shop there are a few locals on laptops. Then in the front there is his friend Anna napping on her notebook next to a hot chocolate she never drinks. Her curly red ponytail in flopped over her face, and she’d be embarrassed if Alfonse ever told her she snores, just a little. It usually means she’s having...well, she calls them good dreams, but often they lead her to try implementing some hare-brained scheme for the shop. Smushed up with her nose metaphorically against the window is the Múspellian. She’s short, with deep, dark skin and pure orange hair that she keeps slicked back in the most severe and ‘i’m mature’ of ponytails. She’s too young to be from the college, and Alfonse has worried more than once about her. She never talks, though. Alfonse doesn’t even know her name. She came in once with a firefighters helmet though, and as soon as Sharena found out she immediately declared to a doubtful Alfonse that this meant the girl was a firefighter, or perhaps a firefighter intern, whatever such a thing may be.

And then of course in the back there is the new guy. New guy. New guy is tall and buff, intimidating and elegant. He’s got sunkissed skin that is a saturated medium brown, and the one time his large black and gold-rimmed sunglasses slipped he had underneath the most intriguing, defiant pair of eyes. One, a red color that, alarmingly, seemed to almost reflect and refract like a melted gem, the other a faint, rich gold. Alfonse has spent more time hoping New Guy’s glasses would slip again that he would like to admit, but he only hopes it because Alfonse can’t get a read on him otherwise. He doesn’t actually ever get anything other than water, but puts good coffee money in the tip jar. Other than a soft ‘good morning’ and precise pleases and thank yous, new guy doesn’t talk either, none of the Morning Regulars really ever do, but he, less than most. Unlike the other regulars, New Guy is composed in the mornings and completely free of the kinds of small tells and fidgeting details Alfonse would usually use to spin stories about his customers.

He has a routine, of course. He’s there’s every weekday promptly at 7:07, so Alfonse figures he’s taking the 7:05 aetherail into the city. Not only does he have the one Emblian red eye, but he’s also got Emblian hair, beautifully long, tantalizingly fluffy and pastel white. Yet despite the current diplomatic tension, he’s here, in Askr, five days a week. And unless he’s taking the hours-long commute from one country to another, he lives here. More contradictions, he dresses in an oddly formal, precise, businesswear that’s both charmingly antique and blisteringly modern, the kind of coldly fashionable style that is ragingly popular among the high-power suits-and-slacks businesspeople downtown. But, who has coffee uptown when he has to be downtown for work? And he has to disembark from the aetherail to boot, which means he’d have to take the metroway to continue, and everyone in the city takes the metroway from time to time, certainly, but in all the weeks he’s been coming here Alfonse has never seen the man so much as brush up against another person, dodging contact gracefully and subtly even when a collision seemed, to Alfonse’s practiced eye, inevitable…

Alfonse shakes his head and drags himself back to the present. Mystery man is a puzzle Alfonse shouldn’t be so focused on now, or really, ever. New guy has his water for the day, and his single large off-brand e-reader instead of his occasional neat stacks of paper, which means he’s busy, much like Alfonse should be. Midterms hadn’t snuck up on Alfonse, but Sharena’s arrival was a reminder that he needed to be at his most alert for the next few days.

He rolls the momentary tension out of his shoulders, finishes wiping down the counter, and then dives back into the daily work of keeping his little coffee shop running.

#kentauris' wips #kentauris writes #im ging to try and start using that tag again #zachfonse #coffeeshop au

13 notes · View notes

wildbloodcd · 5 years ago

Text

𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚊𝚔𝚔𝚑𝚘𝚜

his conception and early childhood -— ( this is a difficult read, please heed the trigger warnings )

Iakkhos and his twin brother were born to the Titaness Aura, fathered by Dionysus Bromios.

Aura was the titan goddess of the breeze and the fresh, cool air of early morning. She was described as someone who was “unacquainted with love”, “aloof from the notions of unwarlike maids”, and “a manlike maid...who knew nothing of Aphrodite”. To put it plainly, she was a virgin and very willingly so. She was increasingly proud of this fact and even highly egotistical due to it. So much so that she said the following to Artemis:

‘Artemis, you only have the name of a virgin maid, because your rounded breasts are full and soft, a woman's breasts like the Paphian, not a man's like Athena, and your cheeks shed a rosy radiance! Well, since you have a body like that desirous goddess, why not be queen of marriage as well as Kythereia (Cytherea) with her wealth of fine hair, and receive a bridegroom into your chamber? If it please you, leave Athena and sleep with Hermes and Ares. If it please you, take up the bow and arrows of the Erotes (Loves), if your passion is so strong for a quiver full of arrows. I ask pardon of your beauty, but I am much better than you. See what a vigorous body I have! Look at Aura's body like a boy's, and her step swifter than Zephyros (the West Wind)! See the muscles upon my arms, look at my breasts, round and unripe, not unlike a woman. You might almost say that yours are swelling with drops of milk! Why are your arms so tender, why are your breasts not round like Aura's, to tell the world themselves of unviolated maidenhood?’

Because of this Artemis set up a plot with the aid of Nemesis and Eros to "punish” Aura’s transgression. The unfolding of this plot ends up in Aura getting drunk on a stream of wine disguised as/glamoured to appear to be water after a long day of hunting. While drunk and asleep from intoxication, Dionysus (shot by several arrows of love/lust from Eros: “Eros (Love) drove Dionysos mad for the girl with the delicious wound of his arrow, then curving his wings flew lightly to Olympos”) violates the sleeping titaness. This results in her getting pregnant and absolutely losing her mind in grief of her stolen maidenhood:

“she shrieked in distress, held in the throes of madness; she chased the countrymen, slew shepherds beside the leafy slopes, to punish her treacherous husband with avenging justice--still more she killed the oxherds with implacable steel . . . still more she killed the goatherds, killed their whole flocks of goats, in agony of heart, because she had seen Pan the dangerous lover with a face like some shaggy goat; for she felt quite sure that shepherd Pan tormented with desire for Ekho had violated her asleep: much more she laid low the husbandmen, as being also slaves of Kypris (Cypris) . . . The huntsmen she killed believing an ancient story; for she had heard that a huntsman Kephalos (Cephalus), from the country of unmothered Athena, was husband of rosecrowned Eos (Dawn). Workmen of Bakkhos about the vintage she killed, because they are servants of Lyaios who squeeze out the intoxicating juice of his liquor, heavy with wine, dangerous lovers. For she had not yet learnt the cunning heart of Dionysos, and the seductive potion of heady love, but she made empty the huts of the mountainranging herdsmen drenched the hills with red blood.”

Aura also began to lament at the gods in grief, threatening them all for what had been wrought upon her:

“What god has loosed the girdle of my maidenhood? If Zeus Allwise took some false aspect, and forced me, upon my lonely bed, if he did not respect our neighbour Rheia, I will leave the wild beasts and shoot the starry sky! If Phoibos Apollon lay by my side in sleep, I will raze the stones of wordfamous Pytho wholly to the ground! If Kyllenian (Cyllenian) Hermes has ravished my bed, I will utterly destroy Arkadia with my arrows, and make goldchaplet Peitho [Hermes' wife] my servant! If Dionysos came unseen and ravished my maidenhood in the crafty wooing of a dream-bridal, I will go where Kybele's (Cybele's) hall stands, and chase that lustmad Dionysos from highcrested Tmolos! I will hang my quiver of death on my shoulders and attack Paphos, I will attack Phrygia--I will draw my bow on both Kypris [Aphrodite] and Dionysos! You, Archeress [Artemis], you have enraged me most, because you, a maiden, did not kill me in my sleep still a virgin, yes and did not defend me even against my bedfellow with your pure shafts!’ // She spoke, and then checked her trembling voice overcome by tears. And Aura, hapless maiden, having within her the fruitful seed of Bakkhos the begetter, carried a double weight [twins]: the wife maddened uncontrollably cursed the burden of the seed, hapless maiden Aura lamented the loss of her maidenhood; she knew not whether she had conceived of herself, or by some man, or a scheming god; she remembered the bride of Zeus Berekyntian Plouto (Berecynthian Pluto), so unhappy in the son Tantalos whom she bore. She wished to tear herself open, to cut open her womb in her senseless frenzy, that the child half made might be destroyed and never be reared. She even lifted a sword, and thought to drive the blade through her bare chest with pitiless hand. Often she went to the cave of a lioness with newborn cubs, that she might slip into the net of a willing fate; but the dread beast ran out into the mountains, in fear of death, and hid herself in some cleft of the rocks, leaving the cub alone in the lair. Often she thought to drive a sword willingly through the swelling womb and slay herself with her own hand, that self-slain she might escape the shame of her womb and the mocking taunts of glad Artemis. She longed to know her husband, that she might dish up her own son to her loathing husband, childslayer and paramour alike, that men might say--‘Aura, unhappy bride, has killed her child like another Prokne (Procne).’”

It wasn’t till she was very pregnant and near giving birth that she found out that it was Dionysus that had wronged her. How she found out was also deeply heartbreaking. Artemis at this time appeared to Aura to mock her for no longer being a virgin and being with child. It was also Artemis that delivered the news of Dionysus being the one that had raped her:

“‘I saw Sleep, the Paphian's chamberlain! I saw the deceiving stream of the yellow fountain at your loving bridal! The fountain where young girls get a treacherous potion, and loosen the girdle they have worn all their lives, in a dream of marriage which steals their maidenhood. I have seen, I have seen the slope where a woman is made a bride unexpectedly, in treacherous sleep, beside a bridal rock. I have seen the love-mountain of Kypris, where lovers steal the maidenhood of women and run away. Tell me, you young prude, why do you walk so slowly today? Once as quick as the wind, why do you plod so heavily? You were wooed unwilling, and you do not know your bedfellow! You cannot hide your furtive bridal, for your breasts are swelling with new milk and they announce a husband. Tell me heavy sleeper, pigsticker, virgin, bride, how do you come by those pale cheeks, once ruddy? Who disgraced your bed? Who stole your maidenhood? O fair-haired Naiades, do not hid Aura's bridegroom! I know your furtive husband, you woman with a heavy burden. I saw your wedding, clearly enough, though you long to conceal it. I saw your husband clearly enough; you were in the bed, your body heavy with sleep, you did not move when Dionysos wedded you. Come then, leave your bow, renounce your quiver; serve in the secret rites of your womanmad Bakkhos; carry your tambour and your tootling pipes of horn. I beseech you, in the name of that bed on the ground where the marriage was consummated, what bridegifts did Dionysos your husband bring? Did he give you a fawnskin, enough to be news of your marriage-bed? Did he give you brazen rattles for your children to play with? I think he gave you a thyrsos to shoot lions; perhaps he gave cymbals, which nurses shake to console the howling pains of the little children.’ So spoke the goddess in mockery, and went away to shoot her wild beasts again, in anger leaving her cares to the winds of heaven.”

Eventually Aura went into labour, but refused to call out to any of the goddesses of childbirth. She didn’t call to Artemis for help because she hated her, and she didn’t call out to the the Eileithyiai (daughters of Hera) because she worried that “lest they as being children of Bakkhos's stepmother should oppress her delivery with more pain”. To make matters worse, Artemis actually did mare Aura’s labour worse so that it was even more painful than it had already been. “Artemis delayed the birth, and gave the labouring bride the pain of retarded delivery.” Aretmis also returned during the labour to taunt Aura.

Eventually Aura gave birth to two twin sons, but despised them both as they were a living symbol of what had been stolen from her:

“And in deep distress beside the rock where they had been born, the mother in childbed held up the two boys and cried aloud--‘From the sky came this marriage--I will throw my offspring into the sky! I was wooed by the breezes, and I saw no mortal bed. Breezes (Aurai) my namesakes came down to the marriage of Aura, then let the breezes take the offspring from my womb. Away with you, children accursed of a treacherous father, you are none of mine--what have I to do with the sorrows of women? Show yourselves now, lions, come freely to forage in the woods; have no fear, for Aura is your enemy no more. Hares with your rolling eyes, you are better than hounds. Jackals, let me be your favourite; I will watch the panther jumping fearless beside my bed. Bring your friend the bear without fear; for now that Aura has children her arrows in bronze armour have become womanish. I am ashamed to have the name of bride who once was virgin; lest I sometime offer my strong breast to babes, lest I press out the bastard milk with my hand, or be called tender mother in the woods where I slew wild beasts!’”

She left the twins in the den of a lioness so that she might eat the infants. This perhaps would have succeeded “[b]ut a panther with understanding mind licked their bodies with her ravening lips, and nursed the beautiful boys of Dionysos with intelligent breast; wondering serpents with poisonspitting mouth surrounded the birthplace, for Aura's bridegroom had made even the ravening beasts gentle to guard his newborn children.” Dionysus knew that Aura would kill at least on of the children she bore him and so he tried to guard them. He even asked the nymph Nikaia, at the time of their birth, to save them saying “I beseech you, hasten to lift up my son, that my desperate Aura may not destroy him with daring hands--for I know she will kill one of the two baby boys in her intolerable frenzy, but do you help Iakkhos (Iacchus): guard the better boy, that your Telete may be the servant of son and father both.’

Eventually Aura does succeed in killing the twin of Iakkhos by eating him. She would have killed Iakkhos too but he was saved by Artemis as she was moved to action by how horrified she was at seeing a mother kill her own children: “The maiden Archeress [Artemis] was terrified at this heartless mother, and seized the other child of Aura, then she hastened away through the wood; holding the boy, an unfamiliar burden in her nursing arm.”

From here Iakkhos was taken to his father who delivered him to Nikaia who would be his wet-nurse. He grew up for a time in his father’s cult until he was delivered to Eleusis, to become a part of the Eleusinian Mysteries as leader-in-chief.

#infanticide tw //#rape tw //#incest tw //#suicide tw //#✕⎜post ( t a g ) — about iakkhos.

1 note · View note

rofics · 7 years ago

Text

Come Together pt. 1

Bts mafia au mixed with hybrid reader! Will feature other groups! Plus hybrid friend.

Warnings: cursing, violence, death (mentions). Really just be careful if you're sensitive to certain topics.

http://rofics.tumblr.com/post/171043039807/come-together-pt-2-bts-gang-au-x-hybrid-reader-and

My family used to rule the city, alongside our allied family. A gang combination that none could destroy, until humans rose up in power more. They no longer respected us hybrids, so our family was overthrown, human gangs taking us out like we were nothing. I knew my family wouldn't come out alive so I went into hiding with my friend, nobody would be able to find us. We would continue our families names, never forgetting the gang that tore us down.

*Present day*

My friend Sacha and I were out and about, our ears and tails hidden in a society that didn't respect hybrids. Our families left us a lot of money behind so we could live comfortably and stay low. Sacha is a black-tailed jackrabbit. Long, brown ears with black lining stand tall on her head, long legs for running and jumping, with a puffy black tail. Her eyes and hair are a light brown color. I, Y/N am an red Alaskan Malamute. My ears are short points on my head with copper red lining, and a fluffy, long, white curled tail. My eyes were blue, a rarity in Malamutes but I never grew out of them like pups normally do. However, in order to look normal in society I wore dark brown contacts when outside.

We didn't really have a plan today, just to stop by the different shops around the neighborhood. There was no need to drive as we've cramped up inside and the weather was nice, not warm but not cold. We were about to walk into a local bookstore but our ears picked up on something, struggling? We looked at each other, debating on what to do but I shrugged and marched towards the sounds, Sacha trailing behind. Malamutes were very stubborn and in charge so my hare friend often went with my antics. We rounded the store and discovered the sounds were coming from the back. We crept along the old brick wall, not wanting to be heard. I peered from my hiding spot and saw a big burly man tossing around a tall, slender male. The smaller male was fighting back but couldn't deal with the others burliness, as this guy was pure muscle.

"Y/N don't" Sacha warned, tone in a low whisper as a growl threatened to slip out of my mouth. I stare at her and let out a small whine, I didn't like seeing people getting hurt, it made my blood boil. I shrug her slender hand off of my shoulder and walk out from my spot, picking up a rock and aiming it at the burly man's head. It hit him right on his temple and he turned to look at me, the smaller male doing the same.

"Whatcha doing shit head? It's not cool to pick on someone smaller than you" I say, kicking at the ground.

"What's it to ya punk?" He growls and I walk towards them slowly. From the sides Sacha has her phone in hand, ready to call for help. Her ears pick up on footsteps and panic rises withing her, she hops out next to me and I side eye her.

"Oh look another one! And it's not even my birthday!" The man bellows, throwing the smaller male to the ground and marches to us. I push Sacha to the side and block this dirt bags punch, elbowing him back. He takes another swing but I duck and kick at his knee full force, he kneels down with a groan so I bring his face in to my knee. There's a sickening crack as I push him back but he gets up, geez this dude was strong. He reaches out to me but rips my beanie off, exposing my ears. I growl and snap his hand back, kicking at the same knee. He buckles again so I take the chance to put my weight into one punch and knock his ass out on the gravel. I kick his side for good measure before snatching my hat back from the ground. Sacha was checking over the other guy during my fight so I look over towards them

"You okay?" I question but I see Sacha's eyes shift so I whip around and am greeted by 6 other males. I take a step back, towards Sacha and the unknown male but he speaks.

"Don't worry, this person helped me. These two aren't a threat" he says, getting up with Sacha's help. He limps over to the group as we stand in front of them awkwardly

"Well, we'll take our leave now" I murmur awkwardly and take a step forward but one holds out a hand in a stopping motion. I eye him, he's in a nice looking suit and had a certain vibe..the leader.

"I'd like to thank you, for helping out my member. I'm RM,leader of the gang Bangtan" he introduces and I cease my glare. He must be second generation, first generation Bangtan was a known ally to our parents gangs.

"It's no problem RM, your parents helped ours out a lot before the incident" I reply which earns an elbow from Sacha. RM stares at me in confusion as I let out a sigh

"My last name is L/N and her last name is Bayle, our families were once very strong gangs before they were taken out" I explain and can see something click in his brain

"So you're the two I've heard about, my father will be happy to know that you're alive and well. Now I definitely would like to thank you. What are your names?" He asks kindly

"Im Y/N, and this is Sacha" I introduce

"Would you two like to discuss something in a more private place?" RM questions and I shoot a glance to Sacha, she nods and replies

"Sure" she chimes.

"Firstly, I want to know everyone elses names before I leave with you" I demand

"Of course, this is Jin, my second in command. Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook, and the one you helped is Taehyung" RM points to each person and I nod at them with a small smile while Sacha gives a curt wave. We walk behind the group, not knowing what we'd need to talk about.

"Are you sure this is okay? We haven't heard from Bangtan in years, should we trust them?" Sacha whispers and I give another shrug

"We don't have a choice, they can't be that bad, Uncle Kim was always kind to us when we were small so why shouldn't we trust his son? Besides, what would they gain from us? Ears and tails?" I mutter, adding the last part sarcastically. Sacha huffs at me, ears twitching under her thick hat. We walk to a small cafe, tucked away in a short alley. I hesitate by the entrance, knowing to never trust alleys with strangers.

"I know it's sketchy but we're not going to do anything to you" Jin pipes up, offering a soft smile. I let out a breath and follow the seven men in, Sacha right behind me. The cafe is quiet with no customers, RM gestures to a long table so we sit with the other members taking their spots.

"I asked you two here to see if you'd be interested in working for us. That guy was from a main rival gang of ours, one of their best fighters and you took him out easily. Gang life comes with a lot of enemies and we can't always look out for each other. My proposition would be for you to be our bodyguards since we haven't found any worthy candidates." RM explains from the head of the table. I look at him with an eyebrow raised

"Are you asking us since you know we're hybrids because of our families?" Sacha questions in agitation and I click my tongue, nodding in agreement.

"Well, this isn't necessarily my request...contrary to what you think my father has kept eyes on you ever since he found out you two were alive. He knows how skilled your parents were and you learned from the best. He'd rather trust you than some random thugs who would demand a fortune for this job" he explains

"Oh so you're saying we're cheap and owe you guys because of our family ties" Sacha retors and I snort, stifling a grin.

"That's not what we're trying to say, but rather that we know you two are extremely capable of this job and would do it better than anyone we could find. The pay would be very hefty in fact, even though you two don't really need it" Jin steps in and I let out a small chuckle

"Sacha's just pulling your leg RM, I'd like to talk to Uncle Kim first if you don't mind, get it from the source before sealing this deal" I say, slipping my hat off and shaking my ears. Sacha kicks my shin under the table and I shrug

"Bee I could care less if they see my ears, I'm proud of what I am" I grin, using her nickname. She huffs at me and slides her hat off as well, tall ears sticking straigh up. She crosses her arms, looking to the side with her arms crossed. Always so dramatic.

"Sure, we can take you to him" Yoongi chimes in, the only other one from the group to speak. Now thinking about it I found it weird how the others haven't uttered a word.

"I am rather curious to what your positions are, I'd also like to hear what the others sound like before I go agreeing to protect all of you" I state, looking at the others. Yoongi speaks first

"I'm in charge of surveillance, digging up people's darkest deepest secrets. Using information against them if they don't respond to physical force." Hoseok speaks up next

"I'm basically the interrogator, I can break anyone and get under their skin." He says with a smile.

"I'm the spy, infultrate gangs and find out information with Yoongi hyung. The guy from earlier found out and that's why I got a beating" Tae admits.

"I'm the weapons expert, so I supply everyone with weapon training" Jimin adds proudly and Sacha's ears peak up, weapons are her specialty as well despite her being timid.

"I'm the enforcer, the muscle of the group you could say. I'm also the best at hand to hand combat" Jungkook finishes and I lean back in my chair impressed.

"Very nice, I doubt that this matters but my speciality was hand to hand combat and making people break. I used to be very manipulative" I say since we were all stating what we were good at.

"Technology and weapons were my specialties. We gave those up a bit after loss of our parents" Sacha adds solemnly.

"Now that we all know about each other, I'll call a ride." RM states so I shoot him a thumbs up.

"Say, what kind of hybrids are you?" Hoseok asks curiously, glancing at our ears

"I'm a black-tailed jackrabbit" Sacha says kindly

"I'm a red Alaskan Malamute!" I declare with a large smile. A honk is heard from outside that signals our ride is here. RM opens the door for us then takes the lead again, opening the car door for us as well. I get in first, plopping on the smooth leather seat, watching my tail of course. Sacha slides in next to me followed by RM and Jin. The other 5 fill the other side and the car moves. The drive was pretty quiet, either this bunch didn't talk much or they didn't want to be rude. The car soon rolls to a halt and the doors open from the outside, we're gestured to exit first so I follow behind Sacha. I stretch out, it wasn't a long ride but those guys have some long ass legs and took up all the room. I smile as I stare at the Kim mansion, many memories and shenanigans happened here. The butler who opened the door guided us to the house and opened the door where we were greeted by the staff. I gasp and my ears perk up when I notice some of the staff from when we were younger. The recognize us too because soon we're in a group hug, them telling us how big we've grown.

"Still a trouble maker my Y/N?" a maid, Hana asks and I nod goofily. She laughs and pats my head, making my tail wag in my jeans. I hear footsteps upstairs and automatically know it's Uncle Kim.

"Well well well, look how big you two are" he boasts, slowly walking down. As he reaches the last step he opens his arms for a hug, Sacha and I going to one side of him.

"I'm so glad to see you again, these boys didn't cause you trouble did they?" Uncle asks, pretending to glare at the group. Sacha giggles and shakes her head.

"I'm glad you're doing well Uncle, but why did you find us just now?" I question and he sighs

"Well, I made a promise to your parents to help you maintain a low profile. I didn't want anyone finding you so I decided it would be best if I helped from the shadows. But when I heard of you jumping in to protect Taehyung, even exposing your ears I knew I had to have you two back. I know it's a rough business but you two learned from the best of the best. I'd only trust you with my boys life" Unlce explains so I side eye Sacha. We have a mini conversation with our eyes and she gives me the subtlest of nods.

"We agree to protect Bangtan Uncle" I state, giving a thumbs up. Uncle chuckles at me before Sacha cuts in.

"Where will be staying?" She asks

"Well, the boys have their own living quarters so it would be with them, in your own rooms of course" he tells us, adding the last part seriously.

"I have some business to attend to though so I'll let you two go pack" uncle adds, giving us another hug before walking back up the stairs. We wave to the staff and head back into the limo, this time I'm squished in between Jimin and Taehyung with Jungkook by his side. Poor Sacha is sandwiched in between wide shouldered Jin and Hoseok. The car pulls forward, exiting the driveway, heading towards our house. The ride was silent once again until Jimim asks a question

"So how old are you two?" looking at us.

"I'm 20 years old while Sacha here is 23" I respond and Jungkook perks up.

"When's your birthday?" He asks, hoping I'm younger.

"It's in July, how about yours?" I reply and he deflates

"Mine is in September" he murmurs, still the baby of the bunch. Tae laughs at him and pokes his cheeks, cooing at the baby. The limo soon comes to a halt meaning we're at the house. We all pile out of the car again but my breath stops as I see the fromt door tore down.

"Oh shit" Sacha mutters, pulling out a handgun from her purse, clicking the safety off. I march up to the house and stomp on the door, ears perked to hear noise...but there's nothing. The living room was in ruins, pictures torn to shreds and their frames smashed, furniture pulled apart, tv bashed in, cups, and plates litter the floor practically in dust form. Food was thrown in the kitchen, it looked like a bunch of 5 year olds got into a food fight. We head to my bedroom first and my heart lurches, it was obliterated. My figurines smashed, electronics crushed, books ripped apart, notebook paper was in tatters, even my clothes were in a destroyed heap in the corner of the room. But the part that truly broke me were my shoes, all of my custom made or limited edition ones were torn apart. All of my Timbs that I spent years collecting, I had to stifle a sob through my rage. Sacha comes up behind me and gives me a hug, my items had a lot of sentimental value so my things destroyed was like ripping out my heart. Jin barely ghosts a hand around me, leading me out of the room so we can check on Sacha's.

I was filed with new rage as nothing of hers was touched, nothing was even out of place. She looks back at me and engulfs me in a hug, I didn't need it but she didn't know what else to do. I wanted to punch something, anything to release this anger so I wouldn't lash out at one of them.

"Shhh, we'll figure out who did this okay? We'll get Kyra to fix your shoes somehow. I'll help you get your book collections back too" she whispers to me, trying to comfort me. I want to yell at her, to scream at the top of my lungs but I couldn't...it wasn't her fault. I give her a stiff nod, pushing out of her hold

"Let's get out of here, Bee get what you need...after that call Dave to torch the place" I order, going back to my room to collect my shoe carcasses. I punch the closet wall, leaving a giant hole, then I punch the other side. It didn't help at all as I stomp back to the limo, not waiting for the others. I sit fuming in my spot, brain churning out the names of my enemies who could have done this. One name keeps surfacing but this person died a few years ago..but cats do have nine lives so maybe he's still around. One by one I hear their footsteps, some hesitant to be in a cramped space with and angry hybrid, who's breed can be aggressive if they wanted to. Sacha sits right next to me, Jin and Hoseok sitting next to her. The others take the seats opposite of us and I sit curled on the seat, staring at the ground. Pretty sure I'd be half way to the earths core if I had laser eyes. Sacha hesitantly raises a hand to scratch my head, trying to so something to help me. I felt slight relaxation but my rage was too strong to subside.

"Do you have a name of anyone who would do this?" Yoongi asks and I nod my head.

"I thought he died a few years ago, but damned cats are known for having nine lives so I wouldn't be surprised if he was alive" I mutter, venom in every single syllable of my sentence.

"No way, it can't be him!" Sacha exclaims and I stare right at her

"Who else would know what to destroy? If it were just some stupid group of thugs they would have taken my shoes, not ripped them to shreds. And they would have taken something from your name brand closet but nothing was touched. This was aimed at me." I retort, trying not to lash out at her with words

"I'm just saying, we saw him die. Are you sure?" She asks, not backing down and I nod once. She lets out a sigh and nods.

"We need to look up Ayden Smith, he's a mountain lion hybrid notorious for causing trouble. He became obsessed with Y/N a few years ago to try and get our money, when his plan failed he lashed out and tried to kill us. But Y/N was furious and they had a full on brawl, Y/N ended up choking him to death, he had no pulse and his neck was practically snapped. But cat hybrids are somehow fast as fuck healers so he probably faked the no pulse thing and went into hiding to recover." Sacha explains, my body goes rigid at the mention of the fight, flashbacks rush through my head that make me want to cry. The limo stops once again and we all pile out, everyone letting me out first. The place was nice, it was hidden in the middle of nowhere, must be pretty convenient. RM unlocks the door and we step inside, I look around at the simple yet stylish decor.

"All of our rooms are on the second floor, there's five on each side. Each one has a bathroom and walk in closet. The kitchen is over there, and we have a training room over there, with an arcade in the basement." RM explains, pointing to each place. Jin leads us to our rooms, Sacha's is right next to mine.

"I'm gonna sit and cool off for a second" I murmur to everyone, not wanting to cause tension. Sacha gives me a solemn nod and I gently close the door. The colors were beautiful, maybe Uncle Kim remembered and has these rooms made for us just in case. I sit on the red silk sheets, running my hands up and down the smooth material. I slip my pants off, fluffy white tail springing out, wagging for freedom. I lay on my back, looking at the ceiling

"I will find you Ayden...and I will kill you, for real this time" I declare to the void and close my eyes.

-Ro~ what'd you think??? I changed my ending because Tumblr glitched on me and I lost my original ending progress ;( I know the boys didn't talk much but they will in other chapters as this was more of an introduction. I do hope you all enjoy and please feel free to give me feedback <3 I'd also like to thank the few who voted <33

#bts #bts gang au #bts hybrid au #bts x reader #hybrid au #bts x hybrid reader #kpop hybrid au #kpop gang au

233 notes · View notes