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clamityganon · 2 months ago

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I gotta put this somewhere because this is my hashtag official writing blog. Here is the "decay" contest winning short story:

Et tu, Falls.

Winning the lottery was something you’d never imagined would happen to you, but the Selective Service System draws your name and your reward is the joining the war effort.

“Be something bigger than yourself” is the baseline of all military sentiment. It doesn’t elicit a sense of duty in you, but it was something to do and you had nothing else going for you at nineteen.

God, did anyone?

Your mother signs you off as dead when you leave. She wears funeral black when you hug her goodbye. She plans to sell your motorbike, and you cook up a plan to use your army paycheck for a convertible when you return.

If you return.

Whatever.

You take orders perfectly because you like other people thinking for you. You learn to absorb the recoil of any gun by hugging it like an old friend. The rifle becomes your best friend out here, and it becomes obvious to your COs.

You’re sent off to some sort of sniper-focused program that you don’t know the name of. Training is all you did there. By the time you stamp a short letter to your mom to ensure her that you’re still alive, you pass out in your bunk. You don’t make friends here because you’re all too tired to realize you want socialization.

Squinting down a scope narrows your vision. Exponentially.

When you’re shipped off, you’re assigned to a unit whose core is the eccentric thought of copying the enemy guerillas. These guys stuck around longer than their tours for fun and they’re the kind of people you pray would be KIA’ed. They’re not the kind you see living normally after the war.

The only reason new flesh like you was saddled into this because they lost their sniper to an alligator in a dark, dark, swamp and they’ve been real, real good lately.

The guy dropping you off fills you in: your captain is God whose real name you never learn, Xavier is Moose for failing to run to Canada to draft dodge, Alex is Kid because he was sixteen and lied to be here, and Tim is Boy because he looked like a girl.

The supply outpost bursts at the seams with people but runs smoothly. Everyone knows what they’re doing or what they want and where to go. You’re directed to a beaten dirt road where the unsightly God and the girlish Boy pick you up in an eerily quiet Jeep.

You’ve got a smart mouth, so the first thing you say is: “Got gas stations in the jungle?” as you toss your things into the open bed at the back. You keep your rifle on you because you just like holding it and who knows if you may need to shoot something or someone.

“It’s solar.” God says smugly. He says everything smugly. You never grow into liking him, but he has an uncanny jungle navigation skills and pulls plan after plan out his ass like diarrhea, so you tolerate it. Him. You tolerate him.

Whatever.

Boy interrogates you for nickname ideas as God drives. You don’t get very far after you reveal you’re from Pasadena.

“Sunshine.” He decides. The most uncreative nickname you could ever give a Californian.

He announces your arrival as Sunshine to the others who nod at you from the game of mancala they’re playing with rocks and holes in the dirt. Moose is a man who looks more like a square than a human being and Kid has a churchgoer look about his melancholic demeanor. You can smell the Catholicism on him like sewage.

It’s decent enough with them. God plays Chuck Berryish tunes on a guitar he found because Kid hates it, and the genre grows on you. You learn songs from Moose, and you all warn Boy about trench foot because he likes having his socks wet for some reason.

There’s a moment when you feel the handshake of one of your guns as your fingers brush along it, and you hear it singing to you.

It then becomes moment where a lost kid comes across your encampment one night as Jailhouse Rock reverberates from God’s guitar. A moment where your gun croons, so you shoot him in the nose.

You should feel remorse but…

Whatever. With the kid’s face completely caved in where you shot him, it’s incredible easy to forget that he was human about until half a second ago.

The music doesn’t stop as you quietly drag your most recent kill away by the ankles. You head to the treeline where the guys don’t have to look at him. You dragged the kid— body. The body. It. You drag it into the treeline. You slide off its boots and check them. Too small for anyone here. You toss them a few yards away.

Moose is beat for not keeping a better eye out.

“Stop. Fucking— just stop,” you say to stop Moose from being further berated. “I’ll keep watch.”

You’re nice like that. A good person. Your pistol keeps your hand warm until you wake up Boy to take over.

Grit is your new name after that because takes a certain dirtiness to kill so quickly. The name Grit takes more when you kill another civilian who startles you by breaking branches behind you. It takes to Moose when you kill a small dog that jumped onto you.

The name Grit sticks the hardest when you kill a crying woman.

You aren’t even thinking whenever it happens. You just wanted her to shut up.

It makes God smile smile when you kill her. He’s proud all evening, and he’s still happy when you go on watch.

“You’re a Biblically cruel thing.” He tells you in an odd voice. You figure he’s trying to sound poetic. You figure he’s trying to sound cool.

“Thanks.” You smoke a cigarette you weasled from Boy’s bag. You have enough from the last supply run, but you don’t want to use them until you had to. You plan on dying with a flipped Lucky in your mouth.

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“Whatever.”

“Grit.” He mocks.

You consider punching him in the nose, but you settle for walking away. God doesn’t bother you again after that. He knows that your muscle isn’t just for show.

You all do dirty work. You always have grime under your fingernails from foraging, metaphorical blood all over your hands, but you’re still the only one who didn’t struggle after shooting other units through the backs of their skulls.

Well, God didn’t, but he was an exception. You have this feeling that he would shoot you in the forehead and skull-fuck your gaping head wound if he didn’t think you had an eye on him.

Remorse may be an emotion that lost on you, but you’re crazy. You’re a good guy.

Kid sniffs when you all wade through a swamp with your guns above your heads. He turns to Jesus more as the months roll by, the novelty of being a war hero scrubbed from his already smooth brain. He holds a waterlogged Bible in his sweaty hands as much as he can. You ignore him as much as you can. “How do you live with yourself?”

“Don’t look at their faces.”

You don’t tell him you don’t think of it as killing people, you think of yourself as an exterminator. Your shitty metaphor: the ants aren’t in your home so their complete eradication doesn’t matter to you. But since someone hired you to take care of them, you do it.

And if you’re on a break and you see an ant scurrying about near you, well. No hard feelings. It’s just near the wrong guy. Shrug your shoulders and dust them.

You don’t tell him that once they’re dead, they cease to be human— because isn’t that the human experience? Living? If you’re dead, you’re no longer human. Why should you care about a dead body. Why should you care about someone when they’re gone.

They’re questions, but you know the answer to them so the voice in your head that does the thinking for you speaks flatly. He knows that you know this, because he knows this.

“Grit likes it,” Boy says behind you. You don’t, but you don’t bother correcting him. There’s no obvious gaping gunshot wound in your forehead to signify the impact of your time here, but there’s an chunk of your brain missing where guilt used to live, having been gone long before you realized it was cannibalized by other things. “Loco.”

There’s a grin in Boy’s voice when he speaks, so you know it isn’t a sign to argue against him.

You push on through murky water. You pick fat, slimy leeches off Moose’s skin. They’re drained of blood and roasted for rations. You know the old you would’ve gagged.

Where is he, anyway? Why don’t you miss him?

As time advances, your unit huddles around you more. A rock in a river. The boat anchor. You kill whenever you can because you know you’re the only one who can do it. It’s your way of being nice.

You’re a nice person. A benefactor. A shield.

The others get worse. Not you. They’ve been here too long, too used to the downward spiral.

So when they all ask for you for cover as they take a risky trek on a beach, you don’t feel too bad about what you do.

Boy’s skull spray fragments onto Moose. Moose yells, but Kid doesn’t get to open his mouth. Bang, bang, bang.

God is last to crumble.

It’s very, very quick and you don’t quite realize they’re all completely dead yet until the ringing in your ears fades.

You hear God wailing.

You slide off out of the bushes you’re in, down the hill you’re on, and walk slowly.

When you were a kid visiting your grandmother for Thanksgiving, she took you to a pumpkin farm. You stepped on a half-rotten squash and it exploded into thousands of sticky little pieces, all over your shoe and the ground.

One half of God’s skull is like that rotten squash— blood, and maybe even parts of his brain leak out from the gunshot wound. You’re no medic, but you can tell he’s got a chance. He’d be crippled forever, but it’s too risky to leave him. Your trigger fingers twitches and a bullet tears through the half of his face where you can see skin.

He never screams again.

You’re thinking about floating him out to sea in a Nordic funeral because he’s… your… something…

A guy with a medic band around his arm bursts onto the sand.

“You got your boys killed?” He has a Southern accent. He’s out of breath and his face is bloodred.

“I was covering them.” You say. You know it’s a lie. He does, too.

The medic looks at the gunshot wound that’s swallowing God’s face and then at you.

“Follow me.”

“No.”

You look out to the ocean, then back at Southie. You don’t want to go to jail. You don’t want to go home. You don’t want this to end. You don’t want to be anywhere else. You flick open the soggy cigarette carton you have and your flipped Lucky’s in your mouth.

The man locks eyes with you. Brown on blue. Earth and sky. Halves that make the world whole. Life’s short though it’s on such a big world, isn’t it?

The point of your pistol nudges at your temple like a lover giving you a goodnight kiss. Southie’s too far to stop you. You’ll save yourself yet.

You don’t have a clue of what happens next, but you’re not particularly bothered. You realize that you’ve never been big on the whole caring thing, anyway.

#writing #ok i think the people emailing me will stop haunting me now #(no offense much love to you all if you happen to read these)

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rejectory · 6 months ago

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The walls are half mirrors. The mood flares blindingly golden, twitching the curtains of his undereyes, microwaving at the tip of his nose.

Just once, he wags a finger at Solar Flare. Stand the fuck down, buddy.

Homelander takes on a dissociative smoothess. His mouth concentrates as if something’s pushing obsessively past its pucker, trying very hard, then thins out to the sides of his cheeks in one fast slice. His tongue lowers to his gums.

His left ear has a hollow tune.

“You know each other?”

He’s so happy for you two, he can’t stop smizing.

Has he let a fucking mole into the Seven morphs into TWO moles morphs into a PR nightmare after he makes it rain in this very men’s room and has to fill two seats AGAIN.

Enough of this shit.

His hand comes down on Noir like a cinder block. By the back-neck vertebrae he feels like pebbles through soft yogurt, he staggers him two steps back into his space. He peels into the grapefruit of Noir’s helmet by the crack and takes his official face, cock sock and all, off.

Clackity-clack by his feet.

He puts his mouth suggestively close to Noir’s sweatiness.

His eyes warm up. His teeth stay clicked shut:

“I’ll dumb this down for both’a you. You have ten fucking seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on and which bumfuck inbred bayou shithole you crawled out of or neither of you intellectuals is making it out in one piece.”

Solar Flare? Would Solar Flare do this? When Homelander took him in from the slums?

@corsey *

He stops.

The heat on his back, before catastrophe. Before Diaz melts to the wall. A blast shadow.

Pneuma's heartbeat does not know how to do laps about this. He dropped acid at six. The baseline is somewhat beyond Jupiter.

He turns around, slowly. Posture perfect.

"Look at you. All that power. But you can't stop shaking - at the slightest proof - that you're still where I put you. Still. In that. Fucking. Hole."

@vitalphenomena *

#corsey #vitalphenomena #HOMELANDER.

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collectingsorrows444 · 2 years ago

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*Dances*

Okay, okay, so let me give you some or just information about my FNAF (Security Breach specifically) OC’s!

~•💫•✨•~

Mx. Star:

Works in the daycare (why-)

She is more inspired by astrology (obviously ig)

Has the zodiac signs on her dress! They glow in the dark with the little stars on it

Their hair is puffy and soft and full of stars (inspired by when a star explodes and reforms, it’s honestly kinda pretty)

She has no mouth but can speak with her hands! (Sign Language) There are various types of sign language but she is very fluent in them

Plus, she kinda has speakers and a voice box

Carries two pockets that are strapped around her waist! One holds tarot cards and the other holds prizes and trinkets!

Did you know, Mx. Star has wings! They are designed to be like eldritch wings :0

Let’s say, she was intended to be more humanoid so more kids could come to the daycare *shrugs*

Side Note: Parental Figure for Solar (the next animatronic)

~•💫•✨•~

Solar:

Basically based off the solar system!

Obviously is in the daycare (omg why again-)

She was originally a boy

Back then, she was intended to be child-like and to get along with the kids. She was paranoid and scared of everyone.

Mx. Star took Solar under their wing (pun intended? Probably)

But for real, Star made sure Solar was comfortable and safe

And then boom! Solar actually got her design changed a little!

Her voice box changed just like requested and so did her outfit :>

Her socks *coughs* has a really really light pastel version of the trans flag! I thought it would be cool to add that in :]

Solar is also security! Security just incase no one else can take care of a bad guy for they can be busy or overwhelmed

~•💫•✨•~

Kitty:

Mmmm, cat animatronic but a security animatronic????

What’s up with me with security shit-

Kitty has an updated design but I didn’t care to actually draw it officially-

She has a little fish plush named Mr. Fish

Mr. Fish was given by a child before they left

So Kitty holds Mr. Fish dearly to her heart (chest? Gears?)

She takes most patrols during the day since her main job is to find missing or lost kids

Kitty also works in the Lost and Found! She helps bring back the lost items as well

She also is programmed to act like a cat sometimes so-

Kitty can have random tic’s or twitches (Tics or Tourette’s) and it doesn’t have to do anything with her code

She has a handler! You’ll learn about the handler later.

~•💫•✨•~

Theo the Mechanic:

You can find this guy on tiktok!

My user is @ghoststarcookie (I think-)

He is the main mechanic, well, used to be

At the time, he was the only one who was in Parts & Services that was active and had different functions that weren’t as advanced as the others

He also has a hard time remembering time and his routine so that’s where is partner comes along!

Vi! Vi is a cat like animatronic just like Kitty but is actually an accurate cat

Vi interacts with Theo telling him to “Come on!” or “We have to go!” by meowing or Morse code

The two are so wholesome :>

Imagine Theo and Vi hanging out and kids surrounding them asking if they can pet Vi; Theo letting them and Vi happily taking in all of the love and affection?

I honestly need to redraw the two-

~•💫•✨•~

The Handler…

Mx. Valdez!:

A human staff!

Woah!

They are a mechanic and they took over Parts & Services, teaching Theo some things since he was just told to do it with no explanation

Mx. Valdez is also Kitty’s Handler

They act as a therapist or a person who can comfort her

Mx. Valdez often checks in with the both of them (Theo and Kitty) since they are their favorite *coughs*

They wear round glasses, a navy blue coat with Kitty sewed onto the pocket as long with star designs on the sleeves and pants

Curly brown hair into bun (half bun? Wait- Hair down but the top is a bun! I am not an expert with names of hairstyles-)

Tanned skin :]

Really really supportive

They can be real funny! (Dark Humor lol)

~•💫•✨•~

That’s it! Have an amazing night, afternoon and day! See you later lovely! - Dawn

#security breach oc #security breach #fnaf security breach #fnaf oc

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buirbaby · 4 years ago

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Thistle & Thorn: The Letter

Rating: General

Masterlist

Dawn always brought blisteringly bright sunlight with it, lancing through the sheer curtains and smacking Nessia right in the face. Summer in the highlands was mild, temperatures typically peaking just beneath 20°C (the 60s°F), the cracked window trailing in a refreshing breath of fresh air that caused the shades to dance. Rolling in her quilts, untangling herself from the fussed sheets, and nearly falling out of the bed to land upon the hard wooden floor, ivy green eyes peeled toward the window as talons scrabbled at the edge of the sill and an unfamiliar owl poked its head past the threshold and into her domain.

"Allo there," Nessia yawned, finally dislodging herself from the hazard of her restless sleeping arrangements. Her eyes pulled over the creature groggily, inspecting the tawny feathers banded with black, ear tufts quivering as the eagle-owl blinked pumpkin orange eyes at her. "Hae'na seen ye before. Post usually goes downstairs by the kitchen, big windows over the sink. Hoggle typically handles—" she explained, pausing when the owl offered a letter toward her. "Or is this for me?"

The owl preened, feathers lifting momentarily before it allowed her to take the parcel and bunkered down in the sunlight that streamed against the window, basking in the warmth.

Nessia hummed, turning the letter over before realizing what it was, her fingers becoming clumsy and wrists quivering in blistering excitement as she started to vibrate at the sight of the Hogwart's crest. Now, she'd known that one day that the school would send her a letter, just as all young witches and wizards in the area received one. However, she'd felt anxious because she didn't display her magic as brazen or spectacularly as Logan had when he'd been her age. Hoggle had told her all about how he'd caused a mess of the manor, from causing statues to come to life from laughs that echoed like lion's roars and knocked paintings from the walls. The most that Nessia had ever done was hiccup out a bumblebee, which Hoggle said was much more preferable to Logan's messes.

Breaking the seal, Nessia's eyes became watery, as if she'd gotten potting soil in them again from rubbing her face with filthy hands. This was no farce, written in beautiful emerald script was a letter addressed to her, welcoming her to Hogwarts for her first year, and hosting a list of supplies required as a student. Finding the acceptance form in the very back, Nessia scrabbled for an inkwell and signed her name, aware that the resting owl was roosting for the journey back and likely to also send her own reply so that she could officially be added to the roster. She wondered if anyone ever declined.

"Och," she placed the new letter before the owl, an orange eye blinking open suspiciously. "When yer all good and rested, can ye take this back? Ye can stay here as long as ye need. Here's some water too," Nessia grabbed one of her pails and filled a cup she had laying around in her room, pushing it up her desk toward the raptor. "Mind the plants, but make yerself at hame."

The owl shook its feathers out and gave a low, trilling hoot before bending down to lap up some of the offered water. Nessia took the pieces of parchment, threw on a proper dress—which was little more than a corduroy sack over her shift—and burst out of her room with more fervor than the typically quiet girl displayed. Sputtering around a corner, her socks slipped beneath her and she slid an extra few paces before a hand snapped out and gripped the bannister, redirecting her path so that she could sprint toward her grandfather's solar.

Located on the opposite side of the heirloom cottage, the home that she'd grown up in as long as she could remember, even when her parents had been alive. The MacDougal Manor, situated within the misty rolling hills of the Scottish Highlands, flanked by Loch Linsor and relatively removed from neighbors muggle and wizard alike. Despite the sheltered, rural location, the home was a hive of familiar faces including Hoggle, the house elf, to other friends and servants. In the lake was a pod of merrow, many of which didn't mind popping above the surface to spare an afternoon of conversation with Nessia, to their gardener, a centaur named Rowan who was estranged from the local clan and happily made his home amongst the MacDougal family.

Even if their own grounds were limited to those that worked and kept stock of the care and daily routines, they were often frequented by visits that related to her grandfather's connections. He had been an important man in his prime and despite the years of his youth slipping through the hourglass that was time, many still came to him for advice or whispering happenings within the shadows.

Being so early in the morning, Nessia hadn't expected it to be another day where Bhan was entertaining a guest, sputtering to a graceless halt in front of the oaken door wrought with intricately carved designs depicting the MacDougal alliance with the centaurs and merrow of this area of the highlands. Their family had always had close ties with other Beings (even if the merrow and centaurs disregarded this classification), including their own house elves which lived a much more comfortable life than most elves in similar positions. She had only just raised a tanned fist to knock upon the door when she overheard voices on the other side.

"He's escaped Azkaban?" it was her grandfather, Angus, hissing in frustration at the revelation. "How in Merlin's name? If I werenae so hoachin' I'd join the hunt for him meself. Where aboot did he get loose?"

"Further south and put a little more faith in the department assigned to hunt werewolves," the other person retorted calmly.

"Faith?" Angus huffed in indignation. "I had faith that the sleekit dug wouldnae escape from Azkaban in the first place!"

"Things happen, Angus."

"Things happen, me arse. When I worked for the Ministry this wouldnae happened. Folk be gettin' too relaxed noo that Ye-Ken-Who is pushing daisies. Noo the Ministry gets all gallus and let's a bloody lycan loose. How many ye think will be turned or killed, eh?"

"Angus, I only came here to deliver the news so you could keep your eyes and ears sharp. I doubt he'll come up here, not when there's nowhere to hide and far too many centaurs roaming the moors," her grandfather's companion sounded bone weary, exhausted by toiling with the idea that innocent people were going to be cursed, maimed, or killed.

"Makin' a habit o' eavesdropping?"

The sound of Hoggle's voice made Nessia leap up, fumbling her letters before giving the house elf a bashful, guilt ridden look. "I-I," she stammered quietly, worried that those inside the solar would hear her. "Got me letter to Hogwarts. I only wanted tae show Bhan."

"The MacDougal has a guest. Come downstairs fer now and break yer fast," Hoggle shook his head dismissively, but a tight smirk betrayed the elf's amusement by the girl's dolefulness. "A letter tae Hogwarts noo? Suppose it's aboot time ye had yer own turn there."

"Do ye ken anyone who works there?" Nessia trotted after the house elf, his ragged tartan swaying behind him, pinned in place by a rusty pennancular pendant that Hoggle took deep pride in.

"Got a few cousins who do work in the kitchens," Hoggle admitted, giving her a sideways glance. "Course they're nothin' like me."

"No one is like ye, Hoggle. Everyone's different," Nessia pointed out chipperly.

"Nay," he shook his head, batty ears swaying from their position where they'd been slicked back like hair. "The MacDougals are a fine clan. Good witches and wizards. Treat all their servants right. Hogwarts is good too, but... most places dinnae treat me kind like people. The MacDougal gae me a room, a stipend, clothes—this is a job. For other elves its servitude, slavery and they bow willfully. We were made that way... tae want tae serve. I wouldnae trade whit I hae here for anything. Me cousins... they're happy, because the folk at the school are kind and they dinnae ken better. So they might seem a bit odd compared tae me."

Nessia cocked her head, having never met another house elf aside from Hoggle. Truth be told, she thought all of the elves were servants who had their own respective quarters and free time. But slaves? Her wide lips pulled down in a frown and her steps started to trudge as she contemplated the situation others of Hoggle's kind might be subjected to. "I'm sorry, ye sound sad."

Hoggle blinked. "Is na yer fault, Nessie. Jus' the way things be."

"That's wrong though. Just like it's wrong that the centaurs and merrows are classified as beasts," Nessia huffed.

The house elf's lips tugged up in a smile. "World needs more witches who think like ye, Nessie. Be a much kinder place."

"World would be weak if it were more like me," Nessia muttered, mostly to herself as the pair stepped into the kitchen. Yet another one of her favorite rooms in the house, with high ceilings, a long table in the center of the room that functioned as both an island and where informal meals were hosted. With a wave of a knobbly hand, a stool danced toward Hoggle and he hopped up onto it.

"The world needs kindness, Nessie. It doesnae make ye weak," Hoggle assured her. "Yer bhan is kind."

"But he's also braw," she countered, plopping down on a barstool by the island.

"Och, yer bum's oot the windae, int it?" a third voice joined the conversation, the tall visage of her adult brother sauntering into view as he fixed his tie. The siblings, while having the same parents, reflected each parent in their own way. Nessia took after their mother, with tanned skin, thick curly black hair, and a flat nose-smattering her nose like a constellation was her father's Scottish freckles and the MacDougal green eyes were another telltale sign of her heritage. Whereas Logan was a shade fairer, strong jawed, tall and broad, a head of russet curls hashed with strands of auburn and gold. Whilst he looked more akin to their father, Bhan always claimed he had their mother's fire burning in his heart. Despite their differences, they did share their mother's nose.

"Ah umnae!" Nessia squeaked, cheeks darkening at the insinuation that she was talking rubbish.

"Whit hae ye got there?" Logan gestured to her folded parchment while he was adjusting the cuff links on his shirt.

"Oh! Me letter to Hogwarts," she stood on the pegs of the stool and leaned over the counter to wave it at him.

In just three strides, Logan met her and took the parchment from her, whistling low as he thumbed through it thoughtfully. "Who wouldae thought they'd accept a lil mandrake like ye. Did ye send a letter back sayin' ye'd only want tae study plants?"

"I can learn other stuff," Nessia grumbled, crossing her arms as her brother.

"Well, if that's the case, when ye get yer want, how aboot I teach ye some spells?" he offered, handing the parchment back and pouring himself a cup of tea that Hoggle had on the stove.

"I thought I couldnae practice magic outside o' school," Nessia recalled smartly.

"In front o' muggles. Otherwise, who's gaunnae stop ye? Most other students are na lucky enough to hae a big brother who's an Auror," Logan retorted glibly.

"Am not tryin' to be an Auror," Nessia reminded him.

"Och, yer too wee tae ken whit ye'd like tae do yet," Logan played off dismissively. "I do ken we hae a lot of the supplies ye need here—like the cauldron, scales, phials, telescope. I might even hae some of the books, I ken ye have the One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi one in yer room."

Nessia gave a stout nod, pleased that she wouldn't dirty new books, as she had the uncanny ability to smear dirt on them as well as the inclination to make notes in the margins. Even if the clan had a manor, comparatively Nessia wouldn't claim they were the richest or most influential family. Most of the sacred twenty-eight turned their noses up at the accepting tendencies the MacDougals practiced. They lived comfortably, but if items could be repurposed or recycled, there was no use in wasting it. Both Nessia and Logan had been raised to be appreciative of what they had, what they acquired, and to not discard belongings without regard. An old book still held the same words as a new one and personally, the old one had more character.

"Suppose I'll need tae get a wand and robes, ye were a skinny malinky longlegs when ye went tae school," Nessia pointed out.

Logan sputtered into his mug, Hoggle chortling at the description.

"Keep the heid, young master," Hoggle taunted before the man could offer rebuttal.

"Whit's this noo?" Heads swiveled in the direction of the voice from under the awning, Angus having his hands propped up on his hips as he surveyed the crowd and began carving his path toward the tea kettle. "Yer gaunnae be late fer work, eh?" he prompted, turning verdant eyes to pin Logan where he stood, still gobsmacked from Nessia's prod.

"It's an important day. Na everyday that yer little sister gets an acceptance letter to Hogwarts," Logan preened, taking a glance at his watch.

"Sounds like an excuse tae me. Whit time are ye supposed to be in?" Angus countered suspiciously.

Logan grumbled. "Och, I'll go!" With a snap the man's silhouette rippled inward and he disapparated from the kitchen, fluttering a nearby towel that was folded over the oven handle.

Plates were beginning to float from the stove, landing soundlessly on the island as Hoggle moved as if he were conducting an orchestra. Silverware, plates, and cups followed—the door banging open, followed by the clopping of hooves as Rowan entered.

"Mornin'," he greeted, pausing to wash his hands in the sink.

"So ye got yer letter to Hogwarts? Aboot time," Angus remarked, returning to the island to glance over the parchment. "Might be time tae head to Diagon Alley for the rest o' yer supplies. Hoggle, ye think ye can scrounge up the auld books? I ken Logan had a few of these."

"O' course," Hoggle agreed.

Diagon Alley had been a less than often frequented place of Nessia. To be honest, it was busy, overwhelming, and cramped. Nothing about London was favorable to her, especially when she was so accustomed to the wide open moors and the loch that spanned her home. Additionally, it was humid and frizzed up her curls, turning them into a deplorable helmet. Usually, she let her bhan go without her, but managed to suppress a sigh because she knew that this outing would result in acquiring one of the most important items as a witch: a wand.

"Dinnae look so driech," Angus chuckled.

"It's gaunnae be gross, I jus' ken it," Nessia pouted, spooning hash onto her plate and settling on a scoop of eggs to join it. "Hogsmeade is closer, innit?"

"Tis," Angus mused. "I jus' thought ye'd want the full experience."

Nessia arched a brow at him. "Full experience? I'd prefer na tae sweat me breeks off."

"Lassie dinnae care fer the Sassenachs," Rowan observed mischievously. "Cannae blame ye for that."

"Most o' yer peers are gaunnae be Sassenachs," Hoggle wagged a wooden spoon at her.

"Well, if I can put off meetin' em for as long as possible-" Nessia suggested lightly, shoving some food into her mouth.

"Feart not," Angus declined. "We're gaunnae go to the Alley."

Nessia let out a plainative groan and nearly choked on her eggs, chasing it down with orange juice. The rest of breakfast went on as usual before she was sent off to get ready for the afternoon. London was going to be quite a bit warmer than the highlands, which forced her to choose thinner robes that she preferred to wear. Bundling her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck to save her the embarrassment of it being frazzled to hell, Nessia slipped on a pair of Wellies and trundled grumpily out of her room, the owl having left before she returned.

Upon passing her grandfather's solar, Nessia paused momentarily to reflect on what she'd overheard. Lycans? Escape from Azkaban? She hadn't caught a name, but a shiver traced down her spine at the thought of werewolves roaming the countryside in search of unsuspecting victims. Living in the highlands, she was reminded duly of the protection she was afforded so far north, so removed, and by plenty of other creatures that would chase the werewolves across the moors before letting them bunker down and cause a ruckus.

Waiting by the main hearth, Angus had already dressed in his afternoon robes, including a small sash in the clan's tartan which slashed across his breast. Adjusting his balmoral cap, his heavy brows raised at his granddaughter.

"Try na tae look too enthused," he retorted sarcastically, mustache twitching up at the 11 year old's dismay.

"It's gaunnae be driech, Bhan," Nessia whined, dipping her hand into the basin filled with Floo powder. "And they talk weird."

"Whit if we're the ones who talk weird?" Angus challenged.

"Doubtful," stepping into the fireplace, the sand sifting between her fingers, Nessia tossed the powder down with pizzazz. "Diagon Alley!" Careful to speak clearly, envious green flames lanced up in front of her, obscuring her vision completely. Holding her breath to prevent breathing in the fumes and ash, she narrowed her eyes in an effort to witness her voyage up out of the tippy top of her home's chimney. Arms pinned, up becoming down, skipping from north to south, Nessia groaned when she made impact with the public fireplace of the Alley.

Immediately, she was rebuffed by the humid air of London, the cool and refreshing summer of the highlands replaced by an unusually hot day, peaking at the high 20s (nearly 80F). Pushing a few stray curls from her forehead, Nessia grimaced and stepped out of the way as the chimney above her thundered with the warning of another traveler approaching. Never a pleasant experience, her nose wrinkling as she huffed a sneeze and barely managed to move as a wizard threw a haughty glare in her direction. Rolling her eyes, she waited another moment before her grandfather materialized, dusting off his robes and tartan, ruffling his mustache and sneezing just as loudly as she had.

The mimicked fashion made her grin widely and he chuckled. "Blasted Floo. Never been tae fond of it," he grumbled, striding up to meet her.

"I dinnae think anyone 'likes' it, Bhan," Nessia pointed out to his chagrin.

"Shoulda just disapparated," he muttered, rubbing beneath his nose again. "Noo, where do we need tae go?"

Unfolding the list from her pocket, Nessia could already feel sweat beading on the back of her neck. Maybe she'd worn too heavy an outfit, the corduroy like a smothering blanket amidst the humidity. Thank Merlin Hogwarts was in Scotland. "Robes, parchment, note books, a wand-" she recited, aware that most of the other supplies could be scavenged around the MacDougal grounds. Hand-me-downs didn't bother her too much, though it wasn't as if they couldn't afford newer items; Nessia just didn't see a point when there were perfectly good ones at home.

"Generic supplies," Angus admitted. "Och, well let's get started then. Get ye some robes, 'course yer wand—it's the most important item ye'll get. Maybe if yer not too cheeky, we can stop for some icecream."

Nessia beamed in spite of the blistering weather and flanked her grandfather as they started through the brimming streets of Diagon Alley. From the sloping roofs held up by only magic, defying gravity's expectations, to the gayly hued robes that bespeckled the populace, she settled into the hum of activity. From the freshly baked pastries that filled her with fragrant thoughts of Hoggle making holiday desserts to the owls ruffling their feathers within their cages, she relaxed slightly, keeping close beside her grandfather who parted the crowd as if he had a wand out and was thrusting folks aside. Be it the prowess the broad man moved with or just the heavy expression he always wore, most steered clear of the highlander. He was easily recognizable from his hints of traditional garb and the pride each shoe fell with.

Nessia wished she possessed an ounce of her grandfather's confidence or vindication, but as close as they were they couldn't have been more unlike each other. He was outgoing, strong, ambitious, wise, and willful. Nessia was quiet, reclusive, and shy. Only those that she knew did the girl have the heart to sass, but under the scrutiny of strangers she felt nervous and sweaty. The sheer idea of having to go to school without him made her falter. For today she should have been rejoicing, as excited as the other children around her that she would be going to school soon and beginning the next endeavor of her life. Truthfully, Nessia was terrified.

"Bhan, whit house do ye think I'll be in?" she asked him as they continued down the road toward the wand shop.

"Dinnae, bit o' a toss up for ye. Yer smart, so maybe Ravenclaw. Yer also too nice fer yer own could, ye could be in Hufflepuff," he answered honestly, which made her frown slightly.

"Weren't ye in Gryffindor, Bhan?" she prompted.

"Aye, do ye think ye'll be put into Gryffindor?"

Nessia wanted to be in the same house as her grandfather, almost as if it'd prove that there was more to her than the demure plant-loving witch, but she didn't think herself very brave. Just contemplating how desperately she wanted to be in the house made her eyes prickle with tears, which she quickly blinked back. "I hope Ravenclaw," she decided, knowing that Logan wouldn't let her live it down if she got placed into Hufflepuff. Not that the house sounded bad, but when her family came from a long history of Gryffindors, it made her balk at being placed in the 'softest' house at Hogwarts. After all, she was a highlander and only Ravenclaw or Gryffindor would do.

"Dinnae fash. Ye'll do well wherever ye are, lassie. Ye ken I'm proud of ye, even if ye got placed in Slytherin. No house will change me mind," Angus assured her, tapping her on her nose, having noticed that she was fighting back tears.

The shop in front of them was dusty, but then again, many of the store fronts around here were. It was strange, considering how busy Diagon Alley was, that time was rarely allocated to clean off store fronts or afford a new repaint. Considering all it would take was a swing of a hand or wand to set brooms or dustpans to work, Nessia cocked her head as she stared at the grimy pillow in the display and itched her nose at the anticipation of stepping into the shop. Hoggle would have lost his mind.

Bell tinkling upon their arrival, Nessia shielded her eyes—not because the shop was particularly bright, in fact it was rather dim. No, it was the chain reaction that her presence caused, a box on the wall jetting out amongst the rank and file and pinging right into the side of a rickety desk. An elderly man jumped, his thin white hair going astray as he glanced from the box, the mess the wand had created by acting so spryly—spilling at least two dozen others from the wall—before bending down to pick it up.

"Mr. MacDougal," the shopkeeper smiled, placing the box up on the counter and glancing between them. "I don't think either of you will be spending very long here."

"Nice tae see ye, Ollivander," Angus greeted, palming his granddaughter's back and thrusting her forward from where she'd frozen. "Seems yer wands got minds of their own."

"I see it... from time to time," he smiled gently, turning his wizened eyes down toward Nessia. "This must be Nessia? You look a lot like your mother when she came to get her first wand."

"You remember her?" Nessia's trepidation was trumped by the man's memory of a mother she barely recalled. Both of her parents had been killed when she was little, amidst the wizarding war that had made for a tumultuous childhood for her.

"I remember every person I sell a wand to," Ollivander winked, lifting the lid to the box and revealing a wand. "She had a 12", dragon heartstring cored wand, made from red oak. A very handsome wand."

"Whit happened with that wand?" Nessia inquired, gesturing to the one that had flown clean off the shelf.

"Ah, well let's take a look," he picked up up, holding it to the oil lamp beside him, scrutinizing the ribbing and the fine lattice work of knots around the grip. "Made from vine. They have a tendency to display their attraction to potential partners. I've only seen it happen a few times before, but they're not always quite a brash as this one."

At the insinuation that the wand had reacted to her, Nessia's tanned cheeks darkened and she sputtered. "M-me?"

"Certainly not your grandfather. I'm afraid this wand would not suit him," Ollivander betrayed. "This one has been collecting dust for a while. A very long while," he insisted, reaching over to offer it to Nessia. "I made it many years ago, while I was still experimenting with other cores aside from dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or phoenix feathers. Honestly, I thought it might never sell. Griffin feathers are quite particular, perhaps even more so than phoenix feathers. Prideful creatures."

Accepting the wand, a tingle lanced up her hand, into her elbow, and caused the girl to shudder all over as if a strong gust of cold highland wind had knocked right through her. She could smell the rain on the moors, fresh air whistling through her thick curls, and roasted apples over a fire. A smile curled her lips and she opened her eyes to glance curiously at the wandmaker.

"A perfect fit," Ollivander declared. "It would seem MacDougals are always the quickest shops. I seem to remember when my father had a wand nearly jump into your hands, Angus."

Her grandfather snorted, removing his wand to offer it to the artisan, who ran his fingers along the wood with a sad, but pleased reminiscent expression upon his face. "Nessie's a MacDougal through and through," he puffed up in pride. "Griffin feather, ye hear? Makes sense, a good deal of griffins migrate to the highlands in the warmer seasons."

Always having felt that maybe being a witch was not suited perfectly for her, Nessia clutched the wand. She couldn't have wished for anything more than this perfect union with the unique wand. A tendril of confidence bolstered the girl's frail spine and she grinned up at her bhan. A griffin feather? Of all the cores, she wouldn't have expected such a braw one to choose her, but her heart soared like the creature it was made from.

"I always thought your core was so strange. How my father managed to acquire will-o-wisps and fashion it into a wand always eluded my skill," Ollivander commented, turning Angus' wand over a few times. "I would have expected the reverse for the two of you, but such rare cores are fickle and don't sell often enough to warrant making them in masses. I realized this once I had taken over, but it still warms my heart to see these wands finally find their partners."

"Served me well, it has," Angus assured him. "And dinnae forget that I wasnae always how I am noo. Nessie's got a much better head on her shoulders than when I was a lad," he patted his granddaughter affectionately.

"You were a bit naive if I recall correctly. Bright eyed and bushy tailed," Ollivander chuckled, returning the wand as he began drafting up a hand written receipt.

"Bhan?" Nessia gasped, as if the idea of her grandfather being anything other than the strident retired Auror that she'd known for the entirety of her life.

"We all grow up, Nessie. I was no exception," he mused, mustache twitching in amusement. "Mr. Ollivander is one of the few who still remembers. Though I hae no doubt Professor McGonagall might as well. We went tae school together."

"I think there are still quite a few more who do, but you're unwilling to admit," Ollivander smiled. "That'll be 10 galleons."

Mr. Ollivander packed up the wand for Nessia, which he shared was about 13.5" and had a relatively hard flexibility to it, but he assured her that the wand was rather delighted to have her. Keeping the bundle tucked close to her chest, she followed her grandfather through the streets which had only grown more busy and sweltering as the afternoon peaked. Past the shops with the pets again and to the robes shop. They passed the front of a second hand store, about to continue when a voice called out.

"Oh! Mr. MacDougal—"

Nessia didn't recognize the voice as one of the typical visitors to their homestead and glanced up inquisitively toward her grandfather who froze and wrinkled his nose. A bemused smile tucked on her face as he turned mechanically and forced a pressed, but polite look onto his face. "Allo there," by the second hand shop was a man with a head full of bright, coppery red hair. "Been a while, Arthur. How's the Ministry?"

Arthur was tall, had a face full of freckles, and beamed excitedly up towards Angus. Beside him were two boys, both of which appeared to be of similar age to Nessia, but she didn't know for certain. Just as ginger as their father, they spared her curious looks. One tall, the other a little shorter and broad. Subconsciously, she waned toward her grandfather, but still stared nonetheless.

"Not half as well since you left for good, but it's nice to see you. I hear you don't often leave the highlands, so I'm surprised to see you in London," Arthur admitted politely. He didn't look like an Auror, but Nessia supposed that was a rather rude thing to think by assessing his weathered robes.

"Me granddaughter, Nessie, starts Hogwarts this year. We came tae get the last few things we needed. Logan had quite a bit o' supplies she can put to good use again," he patted her back. "These yer bairns?"

"Ah yes, my eldest Bill, who is in his third year. My second eldest, Charlie, is starting this year. Perhaps the two of you will be in the same classes or house," Arthur suggested, motioning to his sons respectively. "Boys, this is the legendary Auror, Angus MacDougal. He headed the Aurors for many years, fought against Grindelwald and helped during the Wizarding War with intel. I'm surprised you didn't stay around, join the Wizengamot-"

"Bunch o' pompous pr-" Angus started at the mention of the Wizengamot, cutting himself off before he cursed. Nessia snickered behind her hand. "Ah, too many years workin'. Aboot time I enjoy me home, avoid the stress of the Ministry. How's work been for ye, Arthur?"

"Good!" Arthur chirped, but even Nessia caught the fleeting anxious look on the man's face and her grandfather stiffening. "Busy as always," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

"Well, it was nice to see ye. Nessie and I still hae to get some supplies before headin' back north. Tell Molly and the other bairns I've said allo."

"It was nice tae meet ye," Nessia squeaked quickly, following Angus' lead, but still finding her manners. "I'll see ye at school."

"Will do. It was nice to see you," Arthur said, parting ways.

Once out of earshot, Nessia glanced up at her grandfather. "Ye dinnae seem tae happy to see him."

"Arthur is... very passionate," Angus grumbled. "He's a good man, but he's obsessed with muggles. Half the time I see him, I worry I'm gaunnae be stuck listening to him prattle on for hours."

"Oh, he's not an Auror?"

"Oh, nay, nay," Angus shook his head. "Works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Tae be honest, that department's a bit ignored and underfunded... Ministry doesnae see the importance of it much, but we could learn so much from the muggles if we allowed our folk to study with better pay. Used to run into him when I grabbed me morning tea. Realized who I was, was a bit feart at first, but warmed up when he realized I wasnae gaunnae bite his head off. I suppose many other Aurors got their heads far up their own arses. Think they're better than people like Arthur. If any of them had as much passion for their job as Arthur, perhaps we wouldnae had so much of an issue with dark wizards like Ye-Ken-Who."

"Clan MacDougal always mingled with muggles."

"Aye, before Catholicism took hold. We had tae hide our abilities after, but we remained friendly with the muggle clans in the highlands," he added duly. "But not every wizardin' family thinks the same as we dae."

"I ken," Nessia shuddered. "That's why ye never accept those invitations that come from those other families. The Malfoys? Rosiers?"

Angus hummed in agreement. "Jus' posturin' to them. 'Look at what we have', when they dinnae work a day in their lives. Jus' takin' up space and lookin' pretty."

"They dinnae work? Whit do they dae?"

"Merlin kens," Angus rolled his eyes.

Madam Malkin's had a violet store front, a dapper, well dress family in the store display. She thought this one was considerably less dusty, as the mannequins were probably changed out enough that they didn't have enough time to collect half as much dust as the pillow in Ollivander's window. A plump, bright witch hummed around the shop and had her laden with packages as Angus commented about how thick the cloaks were and that a true highlander wouldn't need these to brave the winters in Scotland. While growing rosy cheeked at her grandfather's complaining, they acquired the necessary materials and hurried to collect the last few miscellaneous items. Without having to struggle with books, a cauldron, and the other items they had at home, they were able to easily settle down at the ice cream shop for a much needed treat amongst the heat of a strangely warm afternoon in London.

The path to the Floo hearths was a little choked up, various other patrons just as eager to head home after a successful day in acquiring their needs on Diagon Alley. While waiting in line, Nessia glanced up toward Angus.

"Bhan, we dinnae hae tae come back here, dae we?" Sweat was pouring down her neck, trickling down her back.

"Nay, not til September when ye hae to catch the train."

"The train!" Nessia whined. "But Hogwarts is not too far frae home."

"It's aboot the experience. Ye may meet yer best friends on the train," Angus wagged a brow at her.

Grousing quietly to herself, Nessia didn't shed light on the anxiety she felt surrounding the idea of having to find somewhere on a train to sit, let alone deal with not knowing a single soul. Sure, she knew the names of those two boys, but she didn't know them. To be fair, she didn't really know anyone. It was easy to get lost amongst her jungle at home, the pages of her journal, and the garden outside. There was Hoggle, Rowan, and Logan. Plus the merrow in the loch, which were quite conversational once she'd learned how to understand them. The centaurs were a bit standoffish, but they'd been polite to her.

Hoggle had located the books she needed for school, a couple of which were nearly falling apart because Logan had abused the spines. While the pages were intact—minus his maddened scribblings in a few books—she had to do some repairs of her own to prevent them from breaking further and threatening to actually spill necessary reading material everywhere.

"Knock, knock future Puff," Logan announced his presence, rapping upon the frame of her open door as he poked his head into the jungle.

"Och, ye dinnae ken that yet," Nessia huffed, blowing a few strands of hair from her face as she was sewing another binding back into place.

"Where else would ye go?" Logan stepped in, teasing his younger sister. "Ooh, sorry there. Those look as if they've weathered bein' beat by hippogriffs."

"Oh, yer sorry? Might've fixed 'em before ye handed em down tae me," Nessia quipped, but honestly wasn't that upset. The books still functioned.

"Well, how aboot I make it up to ye?" he offered.

"Ye gaunnae buy me new books?"

"How aboot I do ye one better? Ye got yer wand today, didn't ya?"

Opening the box in front of her, Nessia pulled out the pale wooden wand. "Aye, but I'm not supposed to practice magic outside of school."

"Not around Muggles," Logan corrected. "And if I remember correctly, there arenae any here. Yer perfectly allowed tae practice at home and we're quite remote. If anyone questions it, ye got me to vouch for ye."

Her brother's beguiling reassurances did little to quell the twanging nerves, plucking like an out of tune violin as she contemplated taking the bait. "Whit are ye gaunnae teach me?"

"A few defense spells—Och wait!"

"I dinnae need those. I'm not ye! I'm not gaunnae get into any fights—" Nessia objected immediately.

"Better to ken them and not need them than to be dumped on yer arse. Yer a MacDougal. Like it or not, we have a reputation to uphold and while Bhan will not say anything aboot it, I want to be certain no one picks on ye," Logan interrupted, raising a hand to deflect her disquiet.

"No one is gaunnae pick on me," Nessia snorted. "It's not like when ye went to school."

"Slytherin is still just as nasty as when I went. Yer better off, Nessie."

He wasn't going to drop it, causing her to groan at his insistence. "Fine, but I ken I'm gaunnae be foul at spellwork. Never been good at it before."

"Ye never had the chance tae really try. C'mon, let's go oot in the garden."

#harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts mystery fanfic #growing up at hogwarts #original characters #prose filled

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love-killed-the-superstar · 5 years ago

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back at it again for day 3 of cassandra appreciation week!! listen to ‘father and son’ by cat stevens while reading this for maximum tears.

CASSANDRA APPRECIATION WEEK DAY 3 - UNDERRATED

Last night she dreamt that she was appointed captain of the guard.

It was after a daring fight, and Cassandra is sure that it was a strange, psychedelic concoction of every fight she's ever been in. Zhan Tiri was definitely there in all her power-wielding glory, but so was a glowing Hector, a desperate Varian – even her father, throwing punches behind a mask. Yet it was him who patted her shoulder at the end of it all and said, voice gruff but brimming with pride, “You've left me with no choice this time, kiddo.”

The dread that filled her for a stomach-churning moment was enough to send her falling into a never-ending void, hurtling downwards, downwards, until he squeezed her shoulder and added, “Congratulations, Captain.”

Then she was soaring. She reckons she soared so far, so fast that she hit the ceiling of her dreams and smashed right through the walls of reality itself, until she slammed into the hard wood and was awoken with a sharp pain in her back and the air gone from her lungs.

That was ten minutes ago. She's finally come to accept that reality has never been so kind to her, and of course her cynical brain can't let her have nice things even in her dreams – so in the end, Cass is left with no other choice but to pick herself up and move on.

It's barely light out, but the bed opposite hers is empty, so she dresses in the dark and tugs on her boots. The green still feels a little foreign to her. It's like she's shed her skin, tossing away the red of her father's old tunic and the black-turned-grey rubble of her rock armour. Green is a clean slate. Green is a future where things are different.

Making sure her lady's favour is securely tied around her arm and her sword in its sheath, Cass unlatches the cabin door and steps out into the night as it ebbs closer to dawn. A cool breeze rushes through her hair immediately, sweeping it back and sending a shiver running through her. Above, as the dark sky smears into a lighter blue tinged at the edges with yellows and pinks, birds scatter, chattering to each other in their own tongues. As fun as she recalls it was to fly, Cass reckons she prefers her feet planted on solid ground.

Then she spots him.

Her father is sat out on the lake's edge, pants rolled up to the knees and shins planted in the water. He's smoking a pipe, something he only does when something is weighing on his mind, and she can only speculate whether its the early retirement or the fragility of their relationship that has him falling back on a vice that he always swears up and down that he's put behind him.

“Couldn't sleep?” she asks, picking through the brush to get to him. He exhales, smoke filling the air around him, fanning out until it fades into the dim light. He glances back at her, just for a second, before turning his attention back to the stillness of the water before them. It stings, it really stings, that after all they've been through there are still moments like this where he can't bear to face her.

“I – no, actually. I suppose just because I've stepped down from my post doesn't mean that my body will forget twenty-six years' worth of early morning drills.”

“Ah, but you're missing the point of retirement, aren't you?” Cass continues, forcing herself to keep her tone light, for her words not to shake, as she sits beside him. She hugs her knees, not quite ready yet to sink her legs into the freezing mountain water. “Besides, I know there's more to it than force of habit, Dad. You're smoking, for starters.”

“Don't you think about starting,” he says automatically, in protective father mode even while distracted as he is. Her father takes another drag and the smoke that funnels from his lips is chased away by the deep sigh that follows. “It's a dreadful habit.”

“I won't,” she says hollowly, and for a moment it's like Cass is watching every conversation she's ever had with her father play out simultaneously. How many times has this exact monotone scenario been run over the years? She remembers it word for word. They're like water, being carried from one state of matter to the next over and over again in a taciturn loop. But unlike all the other times, where she's been sat at his feet polishing her armour while he smokes in his armchair, both weary from a long day where things have gone wrong, they're somewhere new.

The change will surely make this run of the scenario stick out in her head for years to come, Cass decides.

“It's a beautiful place, isn't it?” her father murmurs. He leans a little, so their shoulders are pressed against each other, and it's something so small, yet something she's missed so terribly. “Like nothing can reach us here.”

“It's peaceful,” Cass agrees. “Have we come here before?”

“Once. The summer that I officially adopted you,” he muses, a small smile growing at the memory. “You were too young to actually fish, but something compelled me to show you this place anyway. I spent my childhood on this lake – even ice fished in the winter – so it only felt right, now that I had a daughter to share that joy with.”

“I remember the water. It was pretty, but I refused to learn how to swim because the summer before was when I... I got caught by that wave and swept out to sea.”

Even now, after so much time has passed, even bringing it up to her father fills her with a sense of dread. He's quiet, occasionally taking another drag from the pipe.

“...I was thinking about that a few months back,” he says eventually. After all this, her father still won't look at her. “After our... altercation at the ruins.”

Oh, fuck. “Dad-” Cass begins, a single, strangled word before he cuts her off.

“I thought about the – the way I handled you. For your whole life. And it – it was wrong. I did it wrong, Cassandra.” And he finally looks at her, looks her right in the eye. His own hold so much pent up grief that it starts to feel painful to hold that gaze, so she breaks away first.

God, she doesn't want to deal with this. It's too early, it's barely even daylight, and it's too soon in the day to have a conversation this emotional.

“I didn't know how to approach you. I didn't even know how to ask you about what you'd been through before I found you, you were so little – so you buried the memories, and I... I thought it would be easier for you if you just forgot. But, I wonder if it was just easier for me if you didn't know.”

Cass unfurls her legs and tugs off her boots.

“The time I almost lost you was the same. I was supposed to always protect you. I promised you that, but I see now that my – my responses when you shock me or scare me – they aren't what a father's should be. Anger, a stern tone, like you're some soldier who's let me down... it's no way to treat a child. You didn't know any better.”

Cass removes her socks and rolls up her leggings.

“So, Cassandra, you see, I – hmm.” He clears his throat, looking a little pained. “I want to try again. I want to do right by you this time. Because you matter more to me than-”

“Oh, Christ!”

“-anything... else.”

She chose the wrong moment to plunge her feet into the water below.

Silence falls over them, and Cass can feel he's clammed up beside her. Her outburst was far from the answer he'd been expecting, clearly – and how can she fault him for that? Idiot.

Awkwardly, she leans against his arm, resting her head just below the top of his shoulder.

“Sorry. I... I don't know what to say. I never really know what to say to you, Dad.”

He stares out at the light on the lake pensively.

“I wish we could have talked about this sooner, though,” she continues, hands clasping together as she searches her tongue for the right words to say next. “...You know, I had a dream last night. You promoted me to captain of the guard.”

“You've never formally been on the guard, I couldn't just promote you to captain out of the blue,” he says distantly.

“Right. My subconscious forgot to cross-check with Corona Law.” Cass huffs out a mirthless laugh. “It feels absurd now, that I could ever be on the guard while you were calling the shots, but I used to dream like that all the time. So eager to prove myself worthy of the position.”

“You weren't ready,” he insists, but his resolve is fragmented at this point.

“I was. You really still believe that?”

At this point, Cass firmly believes that it's the biting cold of the water forcing these words to the surface, squeezing them out along with the air from her lungs. Candid conversations with her father about their turbulent relationship are about as common as solar eclipses. Speaking the truth runs the risk of him growing cold to her, and that would make this fishing trip – the final stop before her big step out into the world, her own woman at last – unbearably tragic.

“...I don't know why I did it,” he admits, so quiet she barely hears at first, over the excited chirping of the birds in the trees surrounding, as golden sunlight hits the water at last. “Any answer I give won't satisfy you, I know.”

Cass swallows and nods, staring at how broken her toes look under the water's surface. They quiver and churn and don't look quite real.

“But you should know,” exclaims her father, compelled to justify himself, “upon your return, I... I was going to offer you the chance to try out for the guard. I almost wrote a letter at the time, but I didn't even know where to send it.”

Maybe that's the most heartbreaking thing she's heard, that maybe if she had just waited – but damn, she's never fucking waiting for something like this, not ever again. It pangs like a stab wound, or broken ribs, but one day it won't matter. She hopes.

“What's done is done,” Cass sighs. She shuts her eyes, lets the warmth of the sunlight wash over her. “I hope you'll write me on the road this time, at least.”

“Of course. I hope you'll write me too.”

“You know, I would have made the finest damn soldier on your guard. Corona couldn't have been in better hands. Could that be the real reason you retired?”

The snipe is weak, even childish, and Cass almost expects him to scowl or to give some gruff response like, “No need for the cheek, Cassandra”. (Or worse, a choked response about bad parenting that will only lead to more awkwardness.)

To her pleasant surprise, his face turns to meet hers and his lips pull into a smirk.

“Well, I certainly couldn't go on knowing I had compromised Corona's safety. Neglecting to appoint a guard due to personal feelings goes against everything a good captain does, after all.”

He reaches an arm around, pulling her into a side hug, and she feels... light.

Nothing is perfect. There's still so much to work through, she knows that, but... they're both tired, and her feet are growing numb. Enough is enough for now.

So with a tilt of her head, Cass pipes up, “So. Is it too early to catch our next meal?”

#cassandra appreciation week #cassandra week #tangled the series #tts #writing #tts cassandra #tts captain of the guard

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ohblushes · 5 years ago

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Jamie's aware that he's not always the most astute guy, but he can be forgiven for not seeing this one coming. Segs doesn't have that hot of a temper. The likelihood of him snapping on live TV because he's pissed off is so low on the list of possibilities that the PR team probably doesn't even have a plan in place for when it happens.

The time: morning. The network: Jamie can't remember, even though there are approximately forty logos in his line of sight. Jamie can't remember anything. Jamie has vacated the building. His brain folded itself into a warning siren that runs on solar energy.

It started like this:

"Now, I understand you two recently got into trouble from some remarks that might be construed as offensive," the host says. "While the Stars have issued an official apology, you've both remained silent on the matter." Okay, this is fine. They can gloss over this as much as Jamie, who still flounders in front of cameras, can gloss over anything. This is the fifth time a reporter has brought up the, uh, unfortunate wording that was accidentally caught on a night Tyler was wearing a mic, but they've mostly gotten away with it in that nobody has managed to ferret out the truth.

Except then the other host jumps in. "Surely as professional athletes, you understand that these homophobic slurs set a bad example," she says.

"Of course," Tyler says.

"Do you really?" the other host presses.

"Yes," Tyler says, and then he says, "You know what? No."

"Are you saying that you have something against the LGBT community?" the host claps back.

"No," Tyler says, "I'm saying that it's a slur when you say it. It's not a slur when I say it about myself, because I'm actually queer."

Oh god.

"...Excuse me?" One host looks startled, the other like she thinks Tyler's making a joke.

"You heard me," Tyler says. "I'm queer. In fact, so is Jamie. In FACT, we've been shacked up together for five years. IN FACT, Jamie has a ring hidden in his sock drawer."

Jamie can feel his head swivel like he's an animatronic at Disney World. In another example of the two of them picking the contextually worst place possible for any given conversation, his mouth says, "How do you know about that?"

"You hid it in your sock drawer, dude," Tyler says, and then he turns back to the camera. "We were going to wait until we retired or won the Stanley Cup or whatever, but screw it." Jamie's whole hand has crept up to cover his face, which is just as red as the alarms going off in his head, so he feels rather than sees Tyler slouch back and throw his arm around the back of Jamie's chair.

"...Okay," says host number one, his voice very faint.

"Also," Tyler adds, because apparently that isn't enough, "if anyone thinks they can come at us on the ice: you're an idiot and my fiancé can take you."

"Tyler," Jamie says, "I haven't even asked you yet."

#post tag #fic tag #the WOOOOOOOORRRRRST #remember a week ago when i was like 'i don't even go here'#remember a month ago when i was like 'hockey? what is hockey?'#bennguin #stars #i guess in this world tyler identifies as queer or bi #and jamie is gay but rolls with whatever #stars fic

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ramenbagel · 5 years ago

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I remember I made siblings for Tokoyami months ago, and while they are far from perfect, I think they are funny enough to share.

Also, It says on the top of the notepad that It’s a time skip au, which I guess means this is way after Tokoyami finishes school and becomes a hero? Though, I am unsure on how far apart Tokoyami is from his siblings.

I hope none of you get offended by these characters, as by now I’m not sure if I want to make these guys official bnha ocs.

But I do hope that you guys enjoy them, even if It’s only a little.

Tokoyami Akarui Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: Normal human with black pupils, red sharp hair in a high ponytail, a big red bird tail. Everyday clothes appearance: Short dark grey coat, simple white buttoned-up shirt, skin tight black pants, and white boots. Quirk: Liquid eyes: He can shoot any type of hot liquid out of his pupils, which can quickly turn solid. Quirk drawbacks: He can use it as many times as he wants for as long as he wants, but the more he uses it the more his eyes burn and get clogged up with the liquid. When he is does using his quirk, some of the built up liquid will start coming out of his pupils and blind him for awhile. So in a sense, it would be like crying lava-like tears. Luckily his skin does not get hurt by his quirk, but his eyes, and most importantly, family/civilians, will get injured. So he has to be very careful. _____________________________ Tokoyami Shifuta Age: 16 Gender: Female Appearance: Normal human head and body with small patches of feathers, ocean blue pupils, and short black hair. Everyday clothes appearance: Blue dress, long black socks, blue high heels, long black finger-less gloves, Vigilante costume: Crow mask, skin tight jumpsuit, multiple fake eyeball accessories glued on the jumpsuit's arms/stomach/legs, black boots with buckles, and finger-less black-rose lace gloves. Quirk: Shapeshifter: She can shape-shift into anything she wants, just by using shadows/any dark places. Whether it be an object, animal, or even another person. Quirk drawbacks: She can only use her quirk for two hours, before she is forced back to her original form. While shadows and dark spots do help her shape-shift, if where she is at is too dark (like a pitch black room), then she can easily lose control of her quirk. ____________________________ Tokoyami Kowaitaiyo (Kowai-taiyo) Age: 9 Gender: Female Appearance: Normal human body, bird head covered in white and yellow feathers, giant wings, yellow beak, long white and yellow hair, bright yellow eyes. Everyday clothes appearance: (Never made a description for this, but probably just your basic bright child dresses and shoes) Quirk(s): Mini suns: She can created small balls of fire out of her hands, and feet. Quirk drawbacks: Using to many fire balls at once will eventually give her bruises and blisters. This quirk negatively affects with her other quirk, Light Solar. Light Solar: A little avian shaped creature who does everything in his path to protect his host. It has been given the nickname of Tokoyami Raitosora, or just Raito for short. Quirk drawbacks: Similar to Dark Shadow; Light Solar will get very aggressive if around tons of light. Though, Light Solar will also hurt/drain his host in the process of trying to hurt others, even if he doesn't mean to. Light Solar loves fighting when both at his weakest and strongest, which makes it stressful for Kowaitaiyo. They are connected more when it comes to pain and strength. So, if one of them gets hurt, then the other gets the same feeling of pain.

#BNHA #Boku No Hero Academia #My Hero Academia #Shitpost #There are most definitely grammar problems #But I'm too lazy to check for more #These kids were made way before my ideas from a few days ago #Tokoyami Fumikage #It seems reasonable to tag him in this #Since the post is about fan-made siblings for the character

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underatedcharactersunite · 6 years ago

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Coming Home For Christmas

Prompt; Christmas Shopping Pairing; Steve Rogers X Reader Wordcount; 1,214 A/N; Written for @kittenofdoomage Canon Christmas Writing Challenge. Sorry this was so late, on a plus side I will be writing a part 2 to this in December.

You wrote the list for the fourth time. You and Steve were meant to be going together but since he was away on a mission you wanted to take some of the stress off of him. There was so much left to do. You had not even begun to purchase any Christmas presents yet for any of the Avengers. Luckily you’d taken advantage of Steve being away and already gone and brought most of Steve’s. It was hiding them that always a challenge. Whilst Steve was viewed as a strong and mature leader to the world and amongst the Avengers. There was something about Christmas that brought out a very childish and youthful glow around him. One thing he liked to do was to attempt to locate where you had hidden his Christmas presents.

Smiling you checked over the list, your phone began to vibrate all over the table. Glancing down at the caller ID, you grinned Cap. He always managed to call you whenever you were thinking about him. You didn’t realize the Super Soldier Serum also allowed him to read your thoughts.

“Hey”

“Hey, beautiful, I was just checking in to see how you were doing” A smile illuminated your face.

“I’m okay, just sitting here rewriting the shopping list for the umpteenth time. I know how you like everything to be organized...I don’t want to out and forget something only to rush to try and get whatever I missed. It wouldn’t be fair on you.” You could hear Steve sigh probably running his hand over his beard. A simple vocalization provided you with what you first suspected, the mission that Steve was currently on was draining him not only physically and mentally.

“About that, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind waiting until I got home...I was thinking since we haven’t been able to spend a lot of time together recently. We’re on the jet now on our way home I’ll be no more than a couple of hours, the stores will be open still.” It was that moment you realized how bad the mission had been. He’d officially gone into overdrive and whilst most people would try and reason with him on the phone because it simply wouldn’t work.

“Okay, I’ll make sure there is a fresh set of clothes out for you.” Steve rested against one of the many panels of the Quinjet, he was counting down the seconds until he returned home to you.

“What have I ever done deserve you?” Bashfully you dipped head down, even now he still managed to make you blush. Sometimes you wondered how you got a man so loving.

“Being you handsome, that’s all I ever ask.” Steve laughed receiving odd glances from Sam and Natasha whilst Bucky grinned, he knew exactly who Steve was talking to, he didn’t need to view the caller ID or listen to the voice on the end of the phone. It was the way Steve held this specific grin that only you could cause, the way Steve’s shoulders relaxed into a more comfortable natural position.

“Lucky for you beautiful I don’t know how to be anyone else...Alright, beautiful I’m going to go...I love you to the furthest galaxy and back.”

“And I love you to the furthest solar system and back” Ending the call, all you had to do was now was wait until your favorite Captain returned home to you...

Just as expected when Steve returned home to you, he was exhausted the mission left him drained, worrisome after being away for so long. Of course, he attempted to persuade you to still to Christmas shopping that very day but you put your foot down the moment he suggested it.

“Beautiful we can still go. I’m okay, the stores will still be open, we can get everything we need and then it's done.” Running your hands through his blonde hair he couldn’t prevent the groan that escaped his lips.

“We could but you have just come back from a three-week mission so you need at least tonight to eat something and get a good nights sleep. We can go tomorrow. Now go ahead and get into the shower, I’ll go and make you something to eat.”

“Yes, Ma’am...before though there’s been something I want to do.” Running his large hand through your hair, he brought your head closer towards his own. Nudging his nose against yours softly, the two of instinctively turn your heads in opposite directions, as your lips coming together as if they were made for each other. Steve kisses were always loving and tender. He wanted to express every unsaid word. Pulling away, Steve was quick to press a kiss to your forehead before getting up and heading towards the shower.

“You could always join me? And afterward, why don’t we order a pizza and snuggle up on the couch together and watch a couple of movies off of the list. ” Steve leaned against the doorway.

“I like the way you think Captain.” Steve held his hand out for you to take, crossing over the room you and Steve headed into the bathroom.

The next morning you and Steve were up at the crack of dawn, Steve had even foregone his morning run to spend the day with you. Whilst his phone was on, he wasn’t going on any missions trying to save the world. He just wanted this one day with you and nothing was going to ruin it.

Thus far everything was going well. You and Steve had already been to the car twice to drop everything off. Yet one person was being particularly difficult...Tony Stark. What do you buy for a man who has everything a man could possibly want?

“Socks are an option.” Cocking your eyebrow up at Steve. Socks? Of all things to purchase Tony Stark, the multi-billionaire, playboy, philanthropist who loves nothing more than to jest at people was socks the best gift idea?

“Don’t look at me like that everyone needs socks. They’re the perfect gift for everyone.” Stopping by the socks, you began to place several packets into the cart. Turning around, pressing a soft kiss onto Steve’s cheek, you were satisfied when a red tint dusted them both.

“The socks are for you, I knew I was forgetting to pick something up. But you best get thinking Captain because we can’t give Tony another reason to ridicule you.”

“Yes Ma’am”

The two of you were officially exhausted, the entire day the two of you had been going from store to store making sure everything was checked off and then gone over twice. Steve being the perfect gentleman that he is had gone off the list and brought more than first agreed on.

The two of you agreed to stop in a little cafe on the way home before you had to work out to get everything up in the tower without anyone noticing.

“Giving you the heads up, I thought we could start a new tradition this year by exchanging a gift on Christmas Eve.” Your mind began to think of the possibilities of what Steve’s Christmas Eve present could possibly be. Also what on earth could you possibly get him?

Guess you were just gonna have to wait and find out...

#kittenscanonchristmaschallenge #marvel oneshot #marvel one shot #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #avengers imagines #avengers one shot #avengers imagine #avengers oneshot #steve rogers imagines #Steve Rogers imagine #Steve Rogers oneshot #Steve Roger one shot

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handypolymath · 5 years ago

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WIP challenge

I was tagged by @ellewritesfiction to post the first sentence of some of my works in progress, and I’ve been struggling with this because I’m only rarely a chronological writer, and I’m currently trying to wrap up a WIP I’ve been posting as I go since last August. I also co-write with @thassalia a lot, so sometimes the first sentence isn’t mine!

So I’m cheating all over the place with this one, in part to reassure myself that finishing and letting go of Electronic Thumb is a good thing, I’ve got some interesting places to land.

Dr. Sock Sez - where they find a baby in a lab jar

Bruce pulls the poor thing out of the gestation canister, flailing and sputtering because they’d taken out the power for the base before they realized the focus of the main lab was this baby in a fucking jar, and the only thing that keeps him from hulking out is not that Tony makes a ‘filthy Bene Tleilax’ joke, but that Steve gets it.

“That’s incredibly inappropriate,” the Captain bites out, “be useful and fetch the Bruce Out Kit.”

Blankets, Bruce thinks, would make it easier to keep a hold of this squirmy damp girl, who’s not much bigger than a handful but is putting up a good fight.

“Hey, Steve’s up to Herbert on the list!” Tony says, “If he’s up to Lovecraft does that mean we can’t call the baby Mi-Go?”

Natasha unfreezes, but her face is still blank with horror as she watches Bruce curl the tiny angry newborn against his shirt. She lunges toward the control panel and starts breaking into the system. She will find out exactly what they had done, were doing, planned to do with that girl.

Chiaroscuro - our Notorious AU

Natasha swings out the tone arm and stops the turntable, lifts the record and slips it back into the labeled sleeve. She unsheathes the next record and aligns it on the center spindle, starts the platter turning, and sets the needle into the groove.

Dr. Bruce Banner makes very few calls, but the microphones in his apartment catch more than expected. He’s a mutterer when he’s deep in thought, he hums and whistles depending on mood, and he’s carrying on a rather illuminating screaming feud with a neighbor. She’s been out of town for a couple weeks on another errand of Carter’s, a field trip with a seasoned agent and yet another test that she passed without issues. Now she’s playing catch-up on her analysis of Dr. Banner.

Clint has been in Santa Monica since Christmas. She's teased him that at least he gets to talk to the scientist he’s assigned to, instead of just listening to them whistling along with Maria Callas and trading insults with the cranky old man across the alley. In turn, Clint had described kimchi. She’d asked if he realized he was talking to a Russian about cabbage. He’d sniped that he’d eaten his own fair share of cabbage, thank you, and part of her share, and he wasn’t going to stand for any more even if Dr. Cho took offense.

Natasha sighs, and sets the needle back to the beginning of the track. It’s stifling in this room, and it’s making her careless. It’s also the hundredth time she’s listened to Dr. Banner whistle along to this aria from Manon, and a part of her brain has started choreographing a pas de deux to it.

At least he’s getting better at hitting the notes.

Go Out With A Lion’s Roar - just a working stiff on Sakaar

Hulk is sorry, and sorry for himself. He did what he could to make it right, but it’s flowers for a black eye.

The nightmare he was given lingers like a sour puke tongue, makes him feel anger like lava. What he woke up to...the anger turns in on himself.

He makes people sad, and dead. So he flicks off the screen and points the nose up.

The quinjet asks him questions, and he says, “Higher. Faster.” The machine shudders around him and talks to him about oxygen scrubbers. He flexes his hand, and pictures a scrubby sponge. He knows it’s not one of Banner’s memories, because he’s standing on a stool to reach the sink; it’s from the before time, before everything. He wasn’t always a monster. The jet levels out, and tells him about fuel levels and orbit decay.

He opens his fist, and pictures dogs shot into space. Russian dogs. He hopes the dogs weren’t lonely. They didn’t deserve that.

He punches himself in the head. He’s not a dog. He’s not a good boy. For a little while, he didn’t think he was a monster, either, but he’s less sure of that. He already knows Banner’s answer, so he wouldn’t ask him even if he could find him.

For Unlikely Carnal Knowledge - the bodyswapping one

It had been nearly 78 hours of Tony cycling through coffee, mango and algae smoothies, and scotch. Perhaps nibbling a little cheese. Pepper had last slept in her own bed three continents ago, her period was due any moment, and damn it, she was going to use her boyfriend as a heating pad whether he liked it or not.

She gets as far as nodding hello to Bruce, who's scribbling an equation onto a screen with his finger - she uses the same interface but with the financial template instead of half the Greek alphabet - and opening her mouth.

It's exactly like one of those old flash cubes going off. The spike of white blue light, the puffy sounding pop that also sounds like thin crackling glass, the whiff of hot carbon smell. The disorientation makes her grip the counter, but she still knocks her head against the screen and something jams the bridge of her nose. She pushes back, and a pair of eyeglasses go flying.

The Holtzmann Effect - Clint’s apartment building was an early work of Ivo Shandor

Steve isn’t impressed by the amount of material spread across the worktables, sheafs of blueprints and building permits, zoning board meeting notes and cloth-bound library volumes full of archeologists’ hand-drawn illustrations of bullae cuneiform, which Patty describes as Sumerian paperwork.

Steve is daunted.

“Do you drink coffee?” he asks, as Patty pulls out a used yellow legal pad and uncaps her pen with a twinkle in her eye. “I can make coffee, or go get coffee.”

“Not much of a reader?” She narrows her eyes. “Not enough action scanning primary sources for keywords? I thought you also got a boost with information processing, visual memory, that kind of thing.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.” Steve bristles, “I want to help.”

“Then sit your ass down,” Patty shoves the thickest library book toward him, “and use your eidetic memory to find,” she flips though her pad to show him a page of Sumerian symbols carefully sketched: a stylized fish labeled ‘metal’, an athletic sock labeled ‘dog’, a striped wedge shape with a stem labeled ‘beer’, and a piece of erotic art, “anything that looks like these.”

Her frank expression dares him to give her any more guff.

“Anything to help,” Steve nod solemnly, then takes another look at the page. He points to the large pointed jar in the scene, from which the lady is drinking through a long straw while taking it from behind. “Is it safe to assume that’s also beer?”

Patty’s answer is a playful pout and, “I’m sure people are always bugging you about what you miss from back in the day. Well I wasn’t even alive for that part, but that’s my answer.”

Rust & Ague - that steampunk one

The Iron Man was the exception to every rule. Most airships were chartered cruisers, lumbering luxury liners, and official patrols, with a few oddball private ships here and there, small and ill-funded, or ostentatious fripperies. Stark's ship was a research vessel the size of a cruiser. It ran a small tight core crew, but rotated the bulk of its lower rank hands at every dock.

Those temporary crews were a potpourri mixed by the fine-boned hand of Virginie Petra Potts. She was a dynamo draped in daffodil crepe de chine, sitting on a camp chair behind a cleverly folding writing desk set midway down the dock. The Iron Man rose behind her, gleaming copper in the water, its solar sails furled into scrolls of gold, and she was her gatekeeper.

Main Vein - Jennifer Walters whistleblows on her diabolical law firm

"I...what do you know about Agent Romanoff?"

“You mean before finding out just now that she’s the pocket dynamite from the Battle of New York?” Jen’s look at him is reproachful, but in a teasing way. "I know she got me out of my apartment safe when I thought I’d be dead for sure. I know she had that jacket specially tailored around a double shoulder holster."

Bruce can't help checking the line of Natasha's back, remembering the feel of it snugged against his chest, surging against him slick with sweat. He takes a mouthful of ice water and crunches a cube.

Jen chews her own bite thoughtfully. "I find her skills comforting in a way I wouldn't have suspected a few weeks ago."

"Life is full of surprises."

Which is normally the kind of cliche conversation filler Bruce offers as a dry joke, but that's when the flash bang goes off.

#wip #i have not always been writing electronic thumb #writing is a ridiculous art

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betweenorbits · 7 years ago

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I’d always imagined it would be uplifting, that I’d be standing with friends and a planet at my back or behind some great captain: watching Intel or Zara or John or Amelie dress down the ignoble while I protected them from the hidden assault. Or that it would just happen naturally, without any serious issues. But they were all so far, well, not all of them. But I was standing there. Amelie had agreed, Invel had agreed, and Jimmy and Term. Brutus, well, I don’t understand what Jimmy (Mayor and Mayor’s Wife to you) and our bubble Term did, but Brutus sent the code. I was informed, not particularly politely, that it wasn’t my problem to get Brutus’ consent, that the two Silicate Generals would take care of it. And they did. Amelie had sent her code to me as a physical as a letter apparently, and Invel had sent a proxy, but I’m not ready to talk about that, I couldn’t let myself think about what it meant. But I had the codes, I would push the button.

The IPC council chamber, deep under the rocks of Luna City (Hubble City officially), was grandiose Brutalist trash, high stands of carved concentric layers, full of lights and chamberlains, councilors, Xorp executives, and elected officials from all across the solar system. The beautiful diversity of the Solar System was incredible, but the balance was sliding back towards mercantilist aggrandizement at a scale that worried the future. And for some reason, a large fraction of them in this room, were conspiring against Mars.

The rallying point of Expansionist policies, Mars, was putting a cramp on the designs of Xorp and autocratic government asset creation. Not every Executive, but any Executive. We had friends in many of the national governments of Terra, but not too many, who were still overly concerned with their own citizens, because of centuries of ecological and economic (they were still taught separately) mismanagement. The Loonies were our friends, but largely fractured and concerned with their Barrio politics. The isolated communities of the O’Neills and Asteroids, and the small Jovian research communities supported us as the same ‘oppressed’ peoples, but they were beholden to the same capital rich Xorps or governments that put up the money for the original settlements. And, many of the Xorps saw benefit to the tapestry of humanity, or some of their top executive felt that way.

It was difficult to piece apart the competing goals of these chambers, in Geneva (where the UN relocated), and here in Luna City; but the statistical nature of our work clearly meant only one thing: a cabal not in our favor. We had known so long ago it could happen, and had fought for balance, had fought for patience, had cajoled, tricked, traded, and made alliances that protected our rights, and in general making sure that life improved for the settlers and citizens of the Red Planet. But what about all peoples? What about our Silicate friends, when would they have a seat at the table? Would humanity always choose the xenophobic path where the game was setup to make a formless and changing ‘us’ the first priority. It had happened so often in our ‘glorious’ history.

Would our governing bodies always be designed for that centrism that Invel and I, in particular, had spent our lives fighting against? Someday we would go further afield, after those probes sent back their data from Centauri’s planets, or when we reached the next system or the next; somewhere we would find others out in the stars, and would humanity greet them as people or as ‘them.’ If the treatment of Silicates was indication, the current trajectory was poor. This is what Jimmy left the limelight for, to ‘hide’ out of sight and make a place of their own. The silicates wanted to be ready, and Jimmy and Term and other bio-metal brains I didn’t know were ready for their voices to be heard. We fought for ‘people’ everywhere, for every shape, every governance, every strand of dna, or line of code, for values that ignored species or race or orientation, the belief that we were an ‘all’ even when we are wildly different.

But still, I sat in a painfully uncomfortable chair—wood if you can believe it, since no expense was spared for the delegates—watching my favorite clock system in the solar system. Up high ticked the atomic counters, the system timing array headquartered here on Luna, but Solar Coordinate time was taken from all the primary standard clocks in the system. Fifteen gorgeous clocks, of three different standards were mixed for uncertainty and then beamed out to the waiting billions. The old standards: ytterbium and strontium optical ran in Paris and Boulder for historical reasons; but the gorgeous new thorium nuclear fountains that graced Mercury, the Solar standards Labs liberating at the Earth-Moon-Sun L5 lab, two Venusian O’Neill’s, and at the Mars Technical University were the primary standards fed here, and mixed for output, were the real clocks of humanity, showing a staggering system wide fractional uncertainty of 10^(-26)! I tried to read the papers that came out, but alas, the freedom of information from Terra on such matters was just as poor as when I left grad school. The council chamber had a direct feed, 90 km or so of cable, which went to the Standards Lab on the Imperial Campus. Kept running on directly was System Standard time, and from it was calculated the official times all around the Solar System, lovingly displayed on brass handed clocks, with bold-type font under each movement; they showed the time in Denver (the North American Union’s new capital), Geneva, Pearl City, Hubble City (all of Luna kept the same time since it was all underground anyway), New Greenwich on Mercury, and Burroughs on Mars (our first city). The second was the same, everywhere, and I watched them tick by, not listening to the debate, waiting for the dramatic moment.

I would start talking before it kicked off, in order to not be interrupted by the beeps and chimes of phones, communicators, across the chamber; but John would just tell me I was being dramatic again—probably true as well. Melody was with the underground at this moment, probably in her office, telling the teams where to go, readying the cry. Jarvis was sitting next to me, a wonderful boy. He is a young thirty-nine, the elder statesman of the mission here; a genius, the star student of the Applied Political department back on Mars—devious, honest to a fault, and ambitious. He was here to watch, as I’d told him it would all kick off here, the reactions in the chamber because I would be too busy not fucking up my lines. He invited the newspeople too, at least the ones that we we thought should definitely be there. I’m sure every consular staff knew that we had asked them to come too, there are no secrets from these people, it is their job. Normally there wouldn’t be stereo reporters, the top political career ones, at a regular meeting of the IPC where the agenda was tariffing amongst the Voyageur—the spacemen, sky jockeys, traders, void-caravaneers, smugglers, whatever you’d like to call them—on multi-legged trips. More and more looks, I’d noticed, or Jarvis told me later, that people kept looking at the two of us, dressed in our finery, knowing something was happening.

The Xorps: Tharis and Vensus Conglom, and the rest, had smug, assured politicians here in the chamber. They were cooking up something terrible, and John’s discovery was surely connected. Invel’s proxy mentioned something about it as well, but the key thing was that the Xorps had convinced the major governments back on Earth that something needed to change to keep the Red Planet in line. The only way to stop it, well, was to change the timeline, to do the thing that I had promised the whole solar system, that we wouldn’t have: a war.

And I’d talked with Mayor, Term, and the whole crew, and I was going to break my promise to Invel: I was going to go too far. I would go too far because, because if we didn’t, it would all disintegrate. I close my eyes, willing this all to be a dream, the choking, gagging feeling climbing up my throat, the feeling and the reality dancing in my chest, my heart sounding too fast; but the mind reminds, with emotions, visions, memories and pain, that this terror and this moment was what I had wanted. I had been ready for 30 years.

I put my hands on the table and thought, two minutes till zebra hour, time to make hay. My feet were rooted in the soft rock, sweating in their thin socks and soft-shell coverings with modern gore-tex stickies to keep me from floating off around corners at 1/6 g. Both hands pressed into the desk, the w-shaped veins and arteries, and dark aged spots on my hands reminding me of my grandfather or perhaps because I wore his ring, my wedding ring, today of all days. And, I pushed myself to my feet, not too hard that I shot out of my seat and ended at the roof, which had happened to high-grav newbie representatives in this chamber. Across the oval, a representative from Venus was speaking, I don’t know about what, but sye stopped in mid-sentence when I stood. The chair, a quiet, ferocious young person from Pearl City, looked over at me and asked, “Do you have something to add to this discussion Ambassador Miller?”

“I do your honor, and I would appreciate it no one would interrupt me for the next two minutes, I trust you will understand why,” I said, and took two deep breaths, and had I been a believer, I would have sent off a prayer to any deity that would hear me. I noticed, Mallory Padwr, the great political analyst slap her camera person, telling him to focus on me carefully, her eyes alight with what she would assume would be something weighty. I’d always liked her, so sharp, I wish she had been from Mars. “I wish to briefly address you: honored delegates, friends, foes, citizens of Sol, organic, bionic, and semi-conductor alike, and especially my friends from Mars. It is a lifetime’s achievement that I stand here before you today. It has been my eternal honor to serve you all, in whatever capacity you will have me. This council was founded with so many hopes, a new way to solve humanity’s oldest problems: rewarding endeavor, legislating anger and fear, legislating the distribution of the power that the creativity and drive of so many individuals to the great mass of our citizens who share the light of this small, yellow star. This has always been difficult, in any scheme humanity has tried, and in some ways this has been a startling success; but in others, we have failed once more. Once more we stand looking at a future where the gulf between those that have and those that do not is widening. Once more, we seek to classify different echelons of humanity, making wealth or genetics or cellular structure the basis for moral or political worth. Once more, the wolves in our hearts have marshalled the might to impress their own will over those of other thinking beings. Once more, the powerful seek to utilize law as justification for the unacceptable oppression of those who dissent.

“I have spent my life dedicated to the belief that war is a state of lawlessness in the human condition, that war is the complete opposite of civilization. Each election, debate, discussion, or side I have taken has been to further and not to diminish civilization; further that it is the role of each individual to expand the thoughts and rights of their fellows, and it is the responsibility and honor of officials such as ourselves to be the custodians of the fraternity of empathy, civilization. Your honors, I find this council lacking.”

Throughout the beginning of the speech, there was a hush, and then a murmuring, the crossing of eyebrows and the shaking of heads. Several key players looked on apparently impassively, but they were the architects of the current fracas, and their surprise was a re-evaluation of the scheme. I smiled to myself as I imagined how their thoughts would change over the next few minutes. By the end of my breather, delegates were talking loudly with their colleagues, with chattering punctuations of ‘crazy’ and ‘what on earth is he talking about?’ and my personal favorite ‘uppity miner.’

“Chair, do we have to listen to this nonsense?!”

The chair agreed, “Dr Miller, while I much appreciate your prosaic style, I must agree that if you only have a few half-hearted injuries to spew at this council, that I will be forced to find you in contempt and ask you to sit down and reconsider wasting our time,” said the delicately worded steel-eyed promises of the chair.

“Please, please, I’ve not lost my marbles colleagues, I’m still the same practical and demanding opponent or comrade as you are used to, so let me give you some facts, and then I will allow you or the press to ask me questions.”

The chair said dryly, “I’m not sure the press should be allowed to ask questions inside a legislative proceeding, it sets a bad precedent; however, we can of course grant you two more minutes for your remarks.”

I bowed briefly, “Thank you Chair.”

I straightened up. “The facts: Mars has been the joint colonial holding of several Terran nations, under the charter of operation of Tharsis Mining, Infinity Xorp, and several others; and under the protection of the IPC. We have been granted delegates to this council due to our population, but never full autonomous control over rules of commerce, emigration, taxation, or the like of our space. Our outstanding commercial success for our corporate masters not-withstanding, the freedom of the peoples of Mars been a subject long-overdue, and much derided for the last thirty years by this council and those like it. The people of Mars, in conjunction with other marginalized peoples of this Solar System thus declare their severance with this council, declare themselves free of political or economic association with any entity that believes it owns or directs choices without the expressed opinion, through election by the people, and declares our debts paid. The people of Mars ask that representatives of the relevant parties make themselves available for discussion about the roles that their organizations would care to play within the Martian sphere of influence in the future, but rest assured that it will not be in the form of governance. All infrastructure vital to the survival and livelihood of the Martian People will be retained by the Martian people as part of the same statement of Independence.

“Any resistance will be viewed as an aggressive act, and these oppressed people shall not be caught defenseless. The nascent Republic of Mars will deport all Peacekeeping Forces of the IPC, except those that wish to join the Republic as citizens, and will defend its right to Independence with every fiber of being at our disposal.

“As of, let’s see, six minutes ago, to protect these rights, an interdict has been placed on travel between the inner planets, including Luna, and the outer planets and stations until a new accord has been ratified by all relevant authorities. Any craft seeking to break this interdict will be viewed as an act of war against the people of Mars, and will be treated as a hostile force, except where sanctioned by the Republic. Does anyone have any questions?”

Suffice to say that many people clamored to be heard at once. I stayed standing, though my legs shook under the strain. The large council doors opened, and in them stood a stone man, several other silicates, and a healthy, exhilarated, but messy Melody and some of her apparent group of revolutionaries. The council could not help but notice that all of the menacing shadows in their door were armed. A hush fell over the chattering children as the image of a silicate holding a gun, the stillness of resolve painted on the faces of the revolutionaries at their door. And then, General Mayor spoke: “The interdict has been enforced on the Port, and our forces are deployed and ready to maintain protection on the craft aiming for the gates.”

“Thank you General, was there any resistance,” I asked quietly, listening to the audaciously silent council chamber, with every eye and lens on the ancient Silicate form, an anger from the crowd turned to chill foreboding at the clinical descriptions from the non-human person.

“Yes, but there seem to be few casualties at this moment. The majority of the capital ships are in orbit, and we have hailed them and will discuss their surrender. We are waiting to hear back from the other system targets. We expect to maintain Republic victory of any engagements with 96% likelihood, though we expect hostile casualties as the chance of immediate surrender seems, unlikely.”

“General, I would appreciate it if you would also answer any questions that the councilors or the press has for you, would you join me?”

“I’d be honored to Mister Miller. Long Live the free republics of Sol!” and with that, my friend Jimmy walked across the hall towards me as tears rolled down my old and tired face.

#miller #the independence of mars #folks: its been a long time #i think this will take some editing for the first time :)#god the formatting is even messed up #sigh #just trying to get the plot points down

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newtie-patootie-bootie · 8 years ago

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Bucky² (Part 2)

Summary: You’re a mutant with the power of dimensional, spatial and time manipulation, meaning you can travel to and from dimension, spaces and different times with ease. But one day, when you’re coming back from a particularly long mission, you brought something back that should never have come with you in the first place.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that Marvel has created and I certainly don’t own Sebastian Stan.

Warnings: Swearing, angst and a lot some flirting.

40′s!Bucky x Present!Bucky x Reader

||Please don’t repost anywhere or plagiarize||

Two weeks had rocketed past with no signs of change from my watch, but outside, in the sky. I could see the difference.

This is all my fault.

It didn’t matter what the others would say to me, this is my problem.

I’m the only one that can fix this. I did this. I put this unnecessary burden on my teammates’ shoulders. I’m putting Bucky the pain of having to see his younger self every time he wakes up in the morning, having to remember the better memories that were unbridled with pain and blood. Yearning for the complicity of his former life.

I’m also responsible for Sarge’s pain of knowing what’s going to happen to him in the next year, what he’ll go through. To go through it is one thing, but to know it’s coming in the next year, is a whole other thing.

To know that you’ll be conditioned and trained, used to become a weapon for the very organization you swore to put an end to, to know you will become an enemy of your country. You’ll be wiped to forget everyone you’ve ever loved, every single memory you’ve ever had, all your morals and your boundaries. Every single thing you know and who you are.

Gone.

The sliding door to the balcony opened.

I jumped at the sound, a gasp working its way through my throat and out my mouth.

I turn to see Happy Feet standing on the other side, his hair tousled and damp. He had on a white tanktop and a pair of gray sweatpants, his feet bare as he stepped out onto the cold concrete, closing the door behind him “you okay, kid?”

I turn back to to look up at the sky without another word, trying to calm my racing heart, “the stars are going out. There’s less than last night.” I muse, my voice quieter than I’d like it to be.

“Maybe the clouds are in the way and you can’t see them.” Bucky offers, moving so he was next to me, leaning on his elbows on the ledge of the glass barrier, also looking up.

“Look,” I point, “no clouds. Trust me, Buck, I know every single star out there and millions are missing.” I pull the watch from my hoodie pocket and I look at it, “the container is starting to open.”

Bucky sighs, “how long?”

“Judging by the rate the stars are decreasing,” I bite my lip, opening the watch to see its frozen state, “a month.” I glare at it before closing the latch and I shove it back in my pocket.

“Jesus. H. Christ.” Bucky blows out a deep breath, “cutting it kinda thin, aren’t ya, doll?”

“Trust me, if it was up to me, I would have taken Sarge back instantly.”

“I know you would have, doll. I know you would.”

I hum my agreement, before lolling my head to the side as I look at him, “you’ve sort of broken out of your shell when Sarge came through the portal.”

Bucky chuckles before looking up at the stars, contemplative. “How are we gonna pull this off, kid? I mean, the short amount of time we have is going to make this tough.”

“We?” I question, the word foreign to me when it comes to matters concerning my own mutation, “this is my fault, okay? I take full responsibility, therefore, I’m the only one that’ll be figuring out how to save your hide.”

“What? Only one?” Bucky asked, lifting up to face me, one brow lifted in question.

“I did this. It’s my problem to fix.” I answer blankly.

“Sorry, doll, it doesn’t work like that. You may have had to fix what you did the last time, but, Y/N, you nearly died the last time, you told us.” Bucky growled, his large hands grabbing at my shoulders and suddenly he was nose-to-nose with me. “You say how you refuse to chance it with me or my younger self, well guess what?” Bucky’s teeth clenched, I could feel his minty breath wash over my face and his piercing eyes burning holes into mine, “I am not going to have you do this on your own, do you understand me, kid?”

“This is my problem.” I say, looking into his eyes. I must look so blank to him.

“No,” Bucky refused, “it’s centered around me, so, it’s also my problem. And what my problem is, is also Steve’s problem and what his problem is, is everyone’s else’s. I’m not letting you do this alone. Can’t you see, I’m tryin’ to protect you, doll! ”

“I’m not asking for your permission, Buck.” He huffs, letting go of my shoulders as he turns back to the balcony, running his hands through his long hair. He always does that when he’s frustrated. “I don’t need to be protected! I can do this on my own!”

“Well, you ain’t.” The same voice spoke from behind me. I turn to see Sarge, his dog-tags shining in the moonlight, his own undershirt fit his toned torso and he was wearing a pair of dark sweatpants with socks. His hair had no product in it, so his hair fell into his eyes, he was leaning against the rim of the open sliding door. “You got both of us.”

“We’re right, you know.” Happy Feet agreed with himself as I felt a warm hand against the small of my back as Sergeant leaned his hip against the fence as he rested on my left while Happy Feet was on my right.

“Do you have any idea of the danger there will be?” I look to my right, my eyes finding Happy Feet’s instinctively as I look to my left, “it’s not easy by any stretch and doing it in this tight of a time frame is nearly impossible!”

“So? What’s your point, doll?” Sarge mused, a crooked grin taking over his face.

We had spent quite a while together, since Happy Feet was on quite a few missions with Steve and the others. I couldn’t be of use to them without my watch and I was fine with that. I was getting a long-needed break and I was spending it with someone who needed me more than the missions. “You’re speaking to someone who doesn’t give a shit.” Happy Feet slowly slid his mechanical hand over my own, “and nearly impossible, not completely.” He threw my own words back at me.

I have never hated my own words more than now.

“God, I could seriously kill you two.” I growl, turning my gaze straight ahead, I could feel a scowl morphing my features.

“Can’t, It’d be paradoxical isn’t it, baby-doll?”

“Shut up, Sarge! Happy Feet, stop laughing, that was not funny!”

“Then why are you smiling, Y/N?”

“. . .shut up.”

The next day, I had to tell everyone what I knew.

Otherwise Happy Feet and Sarge would have ratted me out to Steve, and I didn’t want to face a disappointed Steve. It actually breaks my heart to see Steve like that. So to spare myself, I caved.

It didn’t take long into my explanation until Bruce and Tony were sprinting toward the lab, trying to calculate how long it would be before the watch couldn’t contain the paradox. Nat and Clint would go searching for more information by way of their contacts, Thor had gone back to Asgard to collect information and Steve was on a mission that morning with Wanda, Pietro and Sam, so they couldn’t do anything.

I sat with Tony, pouring over books with astronomy, looking at local star systems. “Look at that.” I point to one, “this one’s gone.”

“Yeah, she’s right. That makes the count to-”

“twenty million.” I say in unison with Bruce, “that’s just in the Milky Way, may not seem like much, but that’s a significant amount for our solar system. No doubt some astronomers have taken an interest?”

Tony checked his phone before switching the screen up so we could all see, “see for yourself.”

Clicking on the play button, an official from NASA starts speaking, ‘we do not know how this phenomenon has occured, but I assure you, we will find why and how and we’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ve got some of our best astronomers working on it, we will find out what’s going on.’

“Don’t listen to NASA, remember what they did with that team on the Hermes?” I remind them, turning the page on one of the books, “plus, we’ll never get anywhere with them, we know the reason, they don’t.”

“That’s true.” Tony answered.

“We got a conspiracy theory, listen to this,” Bruce started, “’the cause of the stars disappearing overnight is the result of extraterrestrial beings coming to launch an attack for our resources, like the invasion in Manhattan five years ago.’ He or she is serious about this one. What do you think? Intergalactic war?”

“I wouldn’t put it past those pesky aliens. We’re in need of a Time Lord now.” I comment sarcastically, making the two mad scientists chuckle.

“I’ve got FRIDAY surveying the satellites. She’s searching above and below for anomalies, if there’s anything, she’ll tell us. Don’t beat yourself up over this, kiddo.” Tony reassured, touching my shoulder gently and I smile at him.

“Thanks, Tony.” I answer him honestly.

“Y/N! We got a problem!” Happy Feet roared, carrying a mountain of books with Sergeant right behind him, looking flustered.

My heart stopped.

Were they hurt?!

I whirl around as Happy Feet dumps the books on the table, “boys, what’s the matter?” I ask, looking over both of them quickly.

They weren’t hurt, thank God.

Sarge came forward and flipped the history book over to show me, “it’s not just the stars anymore.”

I look down to see the first few chapters, completely wiped.

The only section left untouched, you ask?

World War II, 1944.

Thank you so much for reading you guys!!

tags: @hotcheetosandsalsa @arabellaaurorabarnes @heyitsdestinyhun

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #buckybarnes #buck #reader #reader insert #sergeant barnes #sergeant james barnes #whothehellisbucky #who the hell is bucky #winter soldier #the winter soldier #sebastian stan #the winter boo bear #winter boo bear #40s!bucky #bucky barnes x reader

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topsolarpanels · 7 years ago

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‘ Who knows what we’ll find next ?’ Journey to the heart of Mozambique’s hidden forest

Since it was identified on Google Earth in 2005, the forest of Mount Mabu has amazed scientists with its unique wildlife. Jeffrey Barbee joins explorer Professor Julian Bayliss on the first trip to its green heart

The soggy boots of the team slide backwards in the black mud as they struggle up towards the ridge line separating the forest edge from one of the last unexplored places on Earth.

The rain is an incessant barrage of watery bullets firing down through the tree canopy. Thunder crashes. Tangles of vines and spider webs make for a Hollywood movie scene of truly impenetrable jungle.

Near the front of the seven hikers is a Welshman carrying a billhook, a backpack almost the same size as him, and what appears to all intents and purposes to be a briefcase. The slope is so steep that the heavy briefcase clatters against the ground at every step, so he swings it in front of him clonk like a ship using an anchor to warp out of harbour against the green, vertical tide. He takes two steps up and swings the case up the hill again. Clonk.

On this wet March day in Mozambique, Professor Julian Bayliss, naturalist, explorer, fellow of the Royal Geographical and Royal Entomological societies, is heading deep into the green heart of the Mabu forest for the first time. The forest, also known as the Google forest after the way he discovered it using Google Earth in 2005, has more recently been called the butterfly forest, after the butterflies that congregate around the summit of Mount Mabu at certain times of year. Many of the species since identified here carry Baylisss name. These include Nadzikambia baylissi, the sleek little chameleon with the prehensile tail, and Cymothoe baylissi, the graceful forest gliding butterfly, both of which exist only here within the largest rainforest in southern Africa.

One other thing we have discovered on this trip, shouts Bayliss, with a huge grin over the sound of yet another downpour on another day on another seemingly unending hillside ascent, Mabu is not flat.

The scientific discovery of Mount Mabu was a huge breakthrough. Working with Kew Royal Botanic Gardens, the Mozambique governments institute for agricultural research (IIAM) and the Darwin Initiative, Bayliss was sitting at his laptop looking at Google Earth in 2005, when he wondered whether mountains in Mozambique might also harbour some of the species he was uncovering in nearby Malawi. So he and a Malawian botanist named Hassam Patel decided to take a look.

As reported by the Observer, over the years Bayliss and the Kew Gardens team have since identified three new species of snake, eight species of butterfly, a bat, a crab, two chameleons and many plants, as well as a trove of rare birds that are critically endangered.

However, no one has ever journeyed into the heart of the forest until now. Previous discoveries came from the forest base camp, the peak and a small satellite camp, all on the lower eastern edge. To explore Mabus secrets further, an expedition has been undertaken this month by the international scientific and environmental reporting initiative Alliance Earth.

The Alliance Earth teams objectives were to create a 3D map, uncover new species, check on the health of the forest, publish an ethno-botanical study, seek out potential non-timber forest products, produce a feature documentary and film a 360-degree virtual reality experience for museums and science centres around the world, so everyone can explore the mountains mysteries.

Alliance Earths 360-degree look at the Google forest. Copyright: Jeffrey Barbee/Alliance Earth

This is a new species of Dipsadoboa, Bayliss says, holding the poisonous tree snake with a twinge of obvious concern. As it writhes, he holds it farther away from his torso. This is currently undescribed, it doesnt have a name yet. Stretching out imploringly, the snake tries to reach the perceived safety of my video camera. To find an actual new species of snake is extremely exciting, and very rare. He has now found three new snakes in Mabus forest.

According to Bayliss, on this trip the team have identified at least one new butterfly species, and quite possibly more, once genetic testing confirms them. They have also found a Caecilian, one of the rarest animals on Earth, which is sort of a cross between a reptile and amphibian, and may be a new type of its kind.

But these precious finds arent the only new discoveries that have him excited. Under a huge tree he airs his wet boots, squeezing his socks dry before putting them on again. Yesterday was great. We discovered a new waterfall, which is fantastic. Weve never been here before, and because its the rainy season the water was just crashing through the rocks.

More discoveries have come daily, such as the valley of giants, an open canyon with a central raised ridge surrounded by the largest grouping of big trees yet found. Their vast trunks stretch upwards like a cathedral, blending into the green nave of leaves hundreds of metres above. These waterfalls, huge trees, deep canyons, and riverside camping spots are important geographical discoveries that Bayliss hopes will help bring tourists here.

At times the forest guides are clearly as perplexed about directions as the team, looping round in ever-widening circles in search of a way across the maze of folded valleys, often climbing up and down one punishing ridge after another in order to make headway.

Bayliss holds what is possibly yet another previously unidentified species of butterfly. Photograph: Jeffrey Barbee

Senior hunter turned guide Oflio Cavalio, 41, and his son Bartolomeo, 26, joined the expedition one morning before breakfast, hiking from their home many kilometres away. They heard through the grapevine that Bayliss had returned and so tracked him down. Cavalio and Bayliss have worked together on every visit he has made to Mabus forest. The local hunter and famous scientist have developed a friendship and deep respect for one another.

Once Cavalio arrived, the team started to push deeper into the most unexplored parts of the eastern forest, following the tops of the ridges and making better time.

Guides such as Cavalio have an intimate knowledge of the area, making the outside discovery of Mabu a purely scientific designation. According to him, the local people have benefited from the forest for generations. It even saved their lives during the back-to-back conflicts that started in 1964 with the war of independence against Portugal, before segueing into the civil war that finally ended in 1992.

His friend, 38-year-old guide Ernesto Andr, agrees. He grew up in the forest, sheltered from the ravages of war, with dozens of other people in small forest camps. Not far into the undergrowth, holes the size of unfilled graves are clearly man-made. Standing in one, Andr explains that these sheltered whole families and were the only way to hide the sounds of crying children from the Portuguese soldiers who tried to hunt them down.

On a remote ridge line with another potential new butterfly in his net, Bayliss talks about the future of the mountain. Every new discovery helps make the case for the mountain to be officially protected, he says.

But time is of the essence. The team finds the forest intact, yet still not officially protected. A recent report in the Guardian told how, despite a two-year ban on timber exports, corruption and organised crime are still stripping Mozambique of forests such as this. According to the independent Environmental Investigation Agency, as much as $130m worth of hardwoods are stolen from Mozambique annually. Much of it is sent to China.

Ecologically aware visitors could help build a tourism industry here that protects the forest and benefits the community in a sustainable way, while safeguarding the incredible biodiversity, according to Justia Ambiental, the Mozambican environmental justice group that has been working at Mabu since 2009 to create and implement an eco-tourism plan for the mountain.

Mount Mabu expedition 2017. Produced by Alliance Earth. Edited and written by Jeffrey Barbee. Camera Jeffrey Barbee and Julian Bayliss. Copyright: Jeffrey Barbee/Alliance Earth

The groups forestry specialist, Rene Machoco, explains that its vision is for Mabu to be legally designated as a community conservation area.

Andr says that before Justia Ambiental came, his community didnt think the forest was particularly valuable, but then it was explained and we knew the truth. The forest is life and the forest is wealth.

Tourism is only one way to help people like Ernesto benefit from their home. Expedition team member Ana Alecia Lyman is a non-timber forest products specialist based in Mozambique who runs Bio leos de Miombo. Non-timber forest products, such as honey or mushrooms, can be sustainably derived from the landscape to generate income in rural communities without jeopardising local biodiversity, she says.

After seeing the forest first-hand, she is enthusiastic and feels that the more people who are engaged in these sustainable value chains, the more local investment there can be in the health of the forest.

Under the tree canopy, Bayliss is hunting an elusive butterfly that finally flutters and rests on the leafy forest floor in a scattered beam of sunlight. Butterflies use solar energy to fly. Their wing veins are usually dark in order to channel energy from the sun to engage their muscles. This is why when they are seen slowly folding their wings while perched in the sunlight, they are getting ready to take to the air. But the shy brown butterfly with the spotted wing markings is no match for the speedy scientist from Wales. A deft swing loops the net shut, I think I got it!

This is probably a new species, he says, looking through the net and walking over to a sunny spot. Extracting it gently he examines the wing spots. This is probably the one we have been looking for. He looks closer. With a breathless voice he breaks with his usual understatement. This is very exciting this is the first time I have ever seen this butterfly.

What else awaits discovery in the remote forest of Mabus basin? Potential answers to that question sit snugly in Baylisss anchor-like briefcase: motion-sensitive video cameras, the first ever to be deployed at Mabu. Encased in steel boxes and strapped to trees, the four high-definition cameras will be left running at secret locations deep in the foliage for two years.

Having finished securing the last camera above a stream, Bayliss washes his hands in the clear water among the mossy rocks, looking satisfied. Every time we come to Mabu we discover something new. Who knows what we will find next?

The question hangs in the air as he turns around and starts back on the long hike to base camp with his butterfly net in hand, his briefcase empty, and his wet boots squishing merrily.

Alliance Earth paid for Jeffrey Barbees transport and accommodation.