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macfrog · 7 months ago

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birds of a feather | joel & ellie

y'all listen to the new billie eilish album? there's a song that reminded me of a couple of someones.

pairing: joel miller & ellie williams summary: joel surprises ellie on her sixteenth birthday. warnings: nada. just me loving hard on this pair. word count: 1.5k

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Oh, my god, it is a dinosaur.

She didn’t actually believe it would be. I mean, it was her first guess – but where the fuck is he going to find a dinosaur way the hell out here? She was kidding.

Wasn’t a convertible, wasn’t a puppy, wasn’t even a lotta kittens. A litter. Whatever. It wasn’t a new pair of sneakers, nor a comic book collection. She’d almost run out of ideas, when she spotted the tail through the bushes.

Is that–? Is he seeing this, too?

It’s, like, three times the size of her. No, wait – five times the size of her. Ten? She’s gotta ask Joel.

Two thick, stocky legs planted firm into the earth. Draped in ivy and spattered with moss – the thing actually looks prehistoric. Head lifted to the canopy; teeth bared in a silent roar. His little arms – alright, they’re actually kinda fuckin’ cute – frozen, reaching for something.

It’s right fucking there. Right in front of her. A motherfucking dinosaur.

Her hands fly to her head.

“Joel!” Ellie cries, and she can hardly feel her legs with giddiness.

Joel lingers a few steps behind her. He kicks a heel through the mucky grass, just watching. Smiling like an idiot, letting the ripples from the kid’s glee wash over him. It’s like the zoo all over again, or that time he found a Savage Starlight poster while out on patrol.

Ellie’s laughter is ticklish, vibrating through his veins. She pumps her fists and sizes up the monster. She says holy shit, Joel three times before she takes a step closer.

The sun trickles through the leaves, haloing over the Rex. It’s warm, but not too warm – and the swim on the way helped cool them down. It’s a bit of a hike to get here. He’s just glad it’s a nice day.

He was, truthfully, a little nervous about it. About bringing her here. He’s never had a sixteen-year-old to plan shit for. What if she didn’t like it? Hell, what if she thought it was fucking lame?

But Ellie wades waist-deep into the moat instantly. She pulls herself through the murky water straight to the plaque, and whips out her journal.

And Joel knows he’s fucking nailed it.

“King of the tyrant lizards,” she announces, making sure she gets the spelling right. Her tongue pokes from the corner of her mouth as she sketches.

Joel wanders over to her side, hand combing through the tangles of leaves drooping from the dinosaur’s belly. He swats fluttering flies away from his face.

The water sloshes around her feet as she rounds the tail. It’s slippery with slime. She crawls over threads and vines, soles scuffing up the spine.

“What are you doin’?” he asks, a chuckle patching over cracks of sudden fear.

“I’m climbing a dinosaur!” Ellie yells. She hesitates on the snout – though only for half a second, because fuck it, how many times am I going to jump off a motherfuckin’ dinosaur? – and then she’s plummeting.

Joel’s stomach flips. He staggers into the water, breath clamped in his throat until she resurfaces again.

She’s still wearing that dumb as shit smirk. It probably didn’t flinch, the entire fall. “Did you see that?” she gasps.

Jesus. Yeah, he saw it. He pulls a hand down his face.

It’s been a year, little less than. They’re used to it by now – the slow turn of life in Jackson. Breaking bread in the dinner hall, calling the woodland creatures by whichever ridiculous names Ellie christens them with.

It took a few weeks, but eventually, their heartrates settled. Their fists loosened. They relaxed into the quiet, found respite in the negative space.

Tommy joked for the first little while that Joel had a shadow he couldn’t shake. She’s five-three, red hair, and she carries a switchblade everywhere she goes. Following him close enough that she felt more like a phantom at his heels.

Joel never minded, and he still doesn’t. He’s long forgotten the feeling of being alone – as quickly as he acquired it, it seems. These days, he waits at his kitchen table for the kick of the backdoor, the slump of a still half-asleep teenager opposite him.

He wonders how he ever got by so long without it.

He leads Ellie into the museum.

Everything looks exactly how he left it. A jungle of a building; shattered glass and overgrown grass, a muggy smell lingering in every dim corner. The stuff he deliberately left for her to stumble upon when she got here: a Giants of the Past brochure, the stupid hat he knew she’d force him to wear.

A marshland wasteland, and she still sees the magic in every square inch.

She throws fact after fact at him. Fruit flies and moon landings, gunpowder and Yuri Gagarin. She knows a shit ton, if the stacks of books on her desk are anything to go by. And when Joel tells her how smart she is, Ellie smiles smugly to herself and thinks up ten more facts, just for him.

He thinks of her books and their awkwardly long titles, the faded pictures on all the covers. Astronauts and nebulas and faraway suns. He offers the one thing he remembers from school back at her: My very educated mother just served us nice pizzas.

She’s never even heard of it.

But she’s impressed, and she repeats it to herself as she explores some more. Turning back at every new artifact she finds, beckoning Joel over with a flapping hand.

He wanders after her, thinking up questions he’s sure he already knows the answers to – just so she can tell him again. Just to see her face light, to hear her ramble as she explains.

And nine times out of ten, she corrects him, anyway.

The space shuttle is spotlit under a dome roof, more ivy spilling over the top. A little heap of machinery, succumbed to the nature around it. They crank the door open together, and a springtime heat floods from the cockpit.

Joel stops Ellie from climbing in. “You’re goin’ into space,” he says, leaning on the warm metal. “You’re gonna need a helmet.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Oh, right. What was I thinking?”

They’re too big for her – all three helmets. They’re clunky and clumsy, the visors a little grubby and distorted. But she pulls one over her head and jogs back to Joel, hoisting herself into the shuttle.

It’s cramped inside; stifling even with the door wide open. Joel feels his back twinge as he settles into the seats. But he doesn’t mind, and neither does Ellie.

She flicks button after button, her elbow knocking against his. Explosion sounds rumbling from her lips. Her breath clouds the inside of her helmet.

He could lie here all day beside her. In this quiet corner of the world, where time stands still. Guarded by the Tyrannosaurus Rex out front. Just him and his kid, listening to her mimic engine noises and pretend to lift them both into space.

But he’s hellbent on timing it perfectly. So just as she sounds the roar of a seamless takeoff, he slips the tape from his chest pocket.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Ellie blinks at the cassette. “What is this?”

“This…” Joel says, pinching it in two fingers, “…is a thing that took a mighty effort to find.”

His handwriting is carved into the label. It’s the first gift – real gift, birthday gift – she’s ever been given. Thought out and made up, addressed to her and placed in her hands for keeps. All hers.

She clicks it into her player and hooks her headphones in, thumping her helmet back over her head. She jams a thumb into the play button, and –

He did remember to rewind the tape, right? It’ll play from the start, won’t it?

Joel’s heart begins to thud. He shifts uncomfortably.

Shit, what if it spoils the surprise? What if she hits play, and the first thing she hears is –

Ellie’s head lifts. Her eyes are wide. She grins, and so does he.

He fucking nailed it.

She closes her eyes, the staticky babble of mission control in her ear. His voice tickles, pulling a wide grin across her face. 10, 9, 8, 7…

The shuttle shudders as it shoots into space. She’s holding her breath, holding until he announces liftoff on Apollo 11. The naked sun stretches over her visor, red under her closed eyelids. It disappears somewhere in the distance.

Ellie lands slowly, carefully, back in Wyoming. She blinks her eyes open.

Joel’s still right beside her, hands clasped on his chest. He waits for her to turn, waits to check her expression. He asks it softly, earnestly.

“I do okay?”

Her cheeks ache with smiling. She clutches the tape player tighter, replies through a giggle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

There might be nothing outside of this shuttle. Perhaps there was nothing to begin with. They might’ve shot straight past the earth’s atmosphere, might actually be among the stars. And it might not even matter, if they are.

Everything is right here. The sun and the moon – the entire universe between them.

Joel breathes a relieved laugh. His chest loosens, his heart settles back into place behind his ribcage.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

#in my genfic era #bye again #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller #ellie williams #joel x ellie #the last of us part 2 #tlou 2 #joel miller fic #ellie williams fic

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coriphallus · 1 month ago

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DA: The Veilguard Spoiler review pt1 - Blood Magic

alright let's do this. let's write an in-depth review of veilguard. this will be long and this will be negative and i might eventually say some good things but everything i say will be undermined with a 'BUT'.

its now been around a week since i finished the game and had some time to parse my thoughts and this is why i didnt enjoy the game; NOT why you shouldnt.

so dragon age has a very special place in my heart and i am %100 the kind that has DAO as their favourite game. i have played these games religiously, and let me prefix this by saying i was not hyped for this game, i wont lie and say i wanted bw to succeed or i hoped the game would be good etc etc. if i liked the game, it would be a surprise. alas.

so theres multiple reasons for that, but the canary in the mine for me had been the announcement on blood magic, and yeah i was not shocked after DAI but i was still disappointed. so lets start with blood magic:

Blood Magic

DA lore has changed alot over time, and just like the media it took inspiration from (ASOIAF) i was under the impression that it used unreliable narrators deliberately, just as theyve poked fun at the concept with bethanys tits. it made sense then that the people telling these stories didnt know much about blood magic therefore they couldnt explain it fully but we've known some things for certain, from the text. blood magic uses blood as its source of power instead of lyrium (blood=life force), what constitutes as blood magic is open to interpretation (i.e phylacteries), multiple groups outside of the 'civilised society' such as chasind are not so staunchly against it, knowledge on it can be passed down from a mentor and that mentor usually happens to be a spirit. it can be used to enact control over people in a literal sense and thats considered by the narrative of all DA games to be more reprehensible than burning someone alive.

now i will derail this but i swear im going somewhere with it. i grew up in a country with majority white people, some blond, most with exposed hair who lived in big cities with cobblestone roads and snowy winters and starbuckses, and who would consider themselves westerners. some religious practices i know less about than most christians know about their holidays.

where my grandma lived was at the bottom of a high slope, and once a year when we went to visit her id see a thick trail of blood trickle down from the waterway to pool on her street, and at that dinner the family (and neighbours, sometimes) would bring a myriad of dishes and we'd feast. i would see butchers shops clean their curbs with buckets of water, mopping red tinted liquid down a drain. when i grew older and we were visiting my mothers village i watched the men subdue and kill a cow that we were going to eat that night. i watched them skin it and separate the meat from its bones, explaining what parts of an animal is used for which dishes because it was their craft and a young girl showed interest. as people we always live with the knowledge that our lives depend on death, whether it be a plant or an animal. existence is not moral and clean, and death is messy. getting blood stains out of a fabric once a month is the lived reality of more than half the human population.

i was not raised religious, nobody in my close family were, i didn't feel any sort of way when those men started to pray around the cow but i knew why they did it, even if it was performative for some, for the rest they had to show respect. the cow was meant to represent somebody you cared about, offering it in their stead symbolically. it needed to be respected, it needed to be butchered without pain. save from one serving of meat, as was tradition, were donated to the food banks.

now im sure some of you are thinking 'no matter how you slice it, its still a brutal act. made more brutal by the audience deriving some form of moral superiority' and yes, i used to think that too, because what is a religious practice for them is a show to me. but it is the norm where i grew up, and in the end a cow is dead regardless because we need to eat. and some people who needed to eat more than us got to eat too.

somewhere in germany news break out that some immigrants were practicing unethical and unsanitary butcherings, you see the footage of men in kufi and puffy pants and women covered completely in black sheets get ushered out by police. they shout some things in a foreign language, speaking the name of their foreign god. they show a censored room covered in blood and gore.

so i have to ask now, when you play veilguard and see venatori torturing and exploding a halla into a puff of red smoke which image does it bring to mind, what do you think of when you hear 'ritual sacrifice'? you may not have noticed this parallel but your brain sure did, as it has been noticing for your entire life and counting, the same reason you cringe at the barbarity of people consuming raw flesh, painting their foreheads with blood, killing animals you would pet. its alien, its gross, its wrong.

i cant play this game and take it seriously with its mask yanked off, gloating about its lack of nuance every step of the way. when you hit people red stuff comes out, red stuff bad. killing bad. murder bad. that it extends more sympathy to a fantasy deer than it ever allows for living breathing people of its universe, faceless and primitive.

in other DA games there were people over there somewhere who enslaved others, built their entire civilization on the ruins of gods they cannot comprehend, practiced bloody sacrifices and rituals that doomed the world for their own power, and even in their homeland they are nothing but canon fodder to be murdered and gawked at. their traditions, religion, entire culture is less than a set dressing, because whatever grosses you out are the bad apples, because the good ones cant be anything else and still derive sympathy from the audience.

and its true, you need to be an exceptional writer to make that work, especially if you dont have any real life experience to pull from. you need to stain your hands a little, and be prepared to be called dirty.

but i see it, i see those news reports everywhere i look in the game, i see the streets being cleaned and scrubbed so the tourists wouldnt call them backwards people, unclean, less than.

ive never played a game so repulsed by and is uninterested in its own universe than DAV, in every line of dialogue i can feel it trembling in fear. my companions tell me i dont need to watch a deer getting butchered, i can look away and proceed to electrocute hundreds of masked men some of whom are talking about comically evil things like patricide.

this has always been a point of contention in the medium of video games as the most prominent way to engage with the world has been through violence, and for me the DA franchise has always managed to tackle this by allowing its main character to be messy. yes, hawke cleaves thru countless faceless raiders but theyre also an illegal immigrant trying to get by with nothing to offer to the world than their violence. warden is deliberately recruited for that same violence, the only purpose of their existence is to fight as theyre made to shed everything else from their old life. and still, still you play these characters as they are allowed to grow, heal, carve out a little space for themselves where they can laugh and joke with their peers. it is juxtaposed to that darkness in their lives that makes those moments precious.

'what is good?' the games asked, and they answered 'doesn't matter, the world can be a better place with them in it'

veilguard asks 'what is good?' and answers 'you are.'

it doesnt matter whether blood magic is bad lore-wise (and that discussion is irrelevant to this decision made by the devs), because it needs to be narratively. like tabloid news the entire premise of the story is built on it. it needs to be inaccessible to and shunned by your party and rook because they need to be 'good' and in contrast, your enemies need to be 'bad'

and like dominoes it retroactively reframes the moral stance of every game in the franchise.

so, yes, i just laughed when i saw that announcement. i didnt know what else to do. but hang on to your knickers because it gets so much worse...

#tw: animal death #tw: animal cruelty #da:tv spoilers #personal #bioware critical #veilguard critical

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crazybiscuit · 2 months ago

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Spellbind

Pairing: Mercenary!Jason Todd x Witch!Reader Summary: One second Jason's ready to leave town, the next he's married to a witch. How did he end up here? Warnings: Historical AU but it will have inaccuracies, mentions of executions and hangings (no deaths), injuries and blood Word Count: 2,335 Credits: @sweetmelodygraphics thank you for the divider! A/N: Why do I do these things to myself. I hate deadlines… Anyways, I will most likely turn this into a series in the future. Enjoy!

Shouts filled the market square, people bustling about their day carrying baskets of food and other goods. Jason weaved his way through the crowd, his dark red cloak hiding his face as he quietly stepped out of the dark alley. Despite his build, he was able to make his way without garnering much attention. He had just wrapped up the job assigned to him a few days ago and the assassination had surprisingly gone smoothly, which made him even more eager to get out of town before it all went to shit.

However, much to his dismay, it seemed the crowd grew denser as he approached the main road where his inn was. He bumped into the man in front of him and apologized, “What’s going on over there?”

The middle aged man glanced at the cloaked figure next to him and let out a small chuckle, “Execution. Our town hasn’t witnessed one in half a year now!”

Jason frowned slightly, lowering his hood to get a better view, and finally noticed the gallows standing in front of the sea of people, “What d’he do?”

“Not he,” the man responded with a smirk, “The royal guard caught a witch during their nightly patrol.”

The comment made Jason’s expression harden as he pushed past the man to get closer to the stand. A few seconds later, two graying knights dragged you, a young injured woman, onto the wooden stage. Your hands and feet were bound with iron cuffs and you had an old blindfold wrapped around your head. Blood had stained the thick white fabric due to the cuts on your face.

“Damn idiots,” the tall man mumbled to himself as he watched the cheering crowd in front of him. Jason had never believed in the stupid stories about witches. Sure, he had been brought back to life thanks to a puddle of water with supernatural abilities but he’d never met a magic user in his years as an assassin and even in his life as a knight and lord prior to his death. He personally believed the “potions” were likely just the result of knowledge on plants and other ingredients. As for things like foretelling and visions, he brushed it off as fraudsters or simply a case of hysteria.

The knights had given you to the executioner, who didn’t hesitate to wrap your neck with the noose, which caused the crowd to cheer. You stumbled as the executioner pushed you on top of the trapdoor and you cursed under your breath, frustrated with your lack of vision. The local priest hesitantly stepped up on the gallows to give you your last rites and attempt to cleanse your soul of the Devil.

This was enough, he needed to do something before these people did something stupid. Jason noticed the executioner walk towards the lever, his mind ran to find a way to help the innocent woman and he ended up shouting out, catching everyone's attention, “WAIT!”

There’s a moment of silence as the crowd quiets down, trying to figure out who shouted and why. Jason felt a little embarrassed, sensing the eyes of strangers falling on his figure, but he ignored the feeling and repeated himself with a firm tone, “Wait. I’ll marry her.”

The captain of the royal guard took a step forward on the wooden stand, his cold eyes glaring down at the man standing in the front of the crowd, “Excuse me?”

The people in front of Jason moved aside slightly, giving the knight a better view of Jason’s face. Jason straightened his posture, regretting the choice he made to not simply fight. He obviously knew it wouldn’t have actually worked but it would at least be less awkward, “I’ll marry her.”

The captain glances back at his subordinate, laughing at the statement, “You hear that Sir Harry, he wants to marry her!”

The crowd watched the knights laugh and slowly began to join in, which caused Jason to close his eyes and take a sharp breath, feeling frustrated with the situation. You had perked up at the words, recognizing them from your dream and you called out to the crowd, still blindfolded, “I accept-”

You made the mistake of taking a small step forward despite your shackles and the knights drew their swords. The captain pressed the blade against your chest, causing you to hold your breath, “Don’t move.”

“And you,” he lowered his sword and glared at Jason, “You aren’t marrying her. She’s a witch sentenced to be execut-”

Jason cut him off, not caring if he would be called insolent and rude for talking to a noble as such, “I’m asking for a foot of the gallows marriage. This will guarantee the woman a pardon.”

“A foot of the- What are you even talking about?” the captain exclaimed in frustration and Jason grew amused at the noble’s (even if he was likely only a lowly lord) lack of knowledge on the obscure laws of the kingdom, “There’s no such-”

“The 1542 pardon of Sire Fabian was the first case of a Gallows Marriage and it was enacted into law shortly after. It was never repealed, which means it’s still applicable today, even if the law is over 100 years old.”

“You impudent, lying scoundrel!” the older gentlemen shouted, “How dare you take me for a foul? Making up ridiculous claims-”

The priest put his hand on the captain's armor, trying to calm him, “Actually, the young man is correct. I’ve seen the law when transcribing the law books for the monastery.”

You let out a shaky breath as the knights seemed stunned with the words of the priest and you thank the gods beneath your breath. The priest motioned the executioner to remove the noose and approached you, seemingly no longer worried about your wickedness, “God has intervened today, my child. Don’t forget this.”

You let out a hiss, squinting as the light hits your eyes. You stared down at the whispering crowd, who looked stuck between fear and shock. The priest motioned someone from the crowd forward as the knights reluctantly began to disrupt the gathering of people, which resulted in many objections and complaints. The executioner carefully unlocked the cuffs on your ankles and wrists before helping you down the stairs with the help of the priest.

You were still recovering from the sudden turn of events as you stumbled down the stairs and you were slightly stunned to see the familiar figure of a tall, bulky man with black hair and a distinct white streak. You did your best to hide your expression as the priest asked for the man to introduce himself.

The makeshift wedding was held on the church’s steps and there were too many guests present to observe the bizarre turn of events for both Jason’s liking and your own. The vows were swiftly exchanged and there was no celebration that followed as we left the building. You stayed quiet, following him down the street, ignoring the stares of the townspeople as he led you to the inn he was staying at.

You suddenly stopped, hissing as you cut your foot on the stone and the man finally glanced back at you. You lifted your foot slightly to see the damage and he sighed, shoulders relaxing a bit. He looked around, thinking for a moment and hesitated before giving you a small blade, “Put this in your pocket and stay there. I’ll be right back.”

You don’t get a chance to object before he walks off, leaving you alone surrounded by people you personally believed would love to drag you back on the gallows. After a few seconds, you decided to sit down on the small stone wall next to the bakery. You did your best to avoid the attention and, eventually, the people went about their day, mostly losing interest in you.

The crows on the ground became the best source of entertainment for you as you waited. The blood on your foot had coagulated by now but the injury still hurt when you applied pressure to it. You could feel yourself growing tired with each minute, causing you to close your eyes for a second but it’s quickly interrupted by the sound of hooves stopping in front of you, “Sorry that took so long.”

“It’s fine…,” you quickly sat up, glancing up at the beautiful black Arabian horse as he dropped down to the ground, carrying a few bags with him. He walked over to you and lifted your foot to see the damage.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t have shoes?” he grumbled as he poured water over the wound, cleaning it out. You felt a little embarrassed as he scolded you and you tried ignoring the sharp pain, “Luckily it doesn’t look too deep…”

You let him wrap up your injury securely and he did the same with the other cuts on your body. Jason then dug through the bags and pulled out a pair of shoes he just bought and put them on you. You remarked that you could do it yourself but he ignored you. He also pulled out a dark cloak and wrapped it around your frame before grabbing your hands to help you up, “Does it still hurt?”

You shifted your weight slightly. The boots were a little too big but you could walk. They did help with the pain a bit but you still winced, “A little…”

He nodded and turned to the horse, tying the bags back up on the animal before motioning you closer. You limped over and you let out a surprised yelp as he put you on the horse. There was little conversation as he held the reins, walking the horse out of town. All he could think about is how lucky it was that despite the scene, he wasn’t recognized as Red Hood or else you both wouldn’t have made it out.

“Thank you,” you called out, clinging onto the black stallion as the forest grew denser around you.

“Don’t,” his tone was dry and you had the impression that he wasn’t much of a people’s person, “For all you know, I could kill you.”

“You won’t.”

“And what makes you so confident, huh?” he asked, mildly annoyed, glancing back at you.

“You went out of your way to save me and bought me new clothes.”

The man seemed annoyed but he didn’t respond.

You hesitated slightly, “And… I’ve had a vision of you…”

Jason paused in his steps for a second but brushed it off, “You shouldn’t make comments like that. That’s how morons of the Royal Guard think there’s women out there with actual magic.”

This was your first time confronted with a skeptic and it amused you, “You don’t believe in witches?”

“No,” his response was stern and you wondered if you should simply let it be.

“Hmm… Well, I usually don’t tell people about my abilities,” this caused him to roll his eyes as you looked around, “Where are we going?”

The sun was beginning to set, meaning the forest would quickly become dangerous, “The capital city. I have connections there that will be able to help you start a new life.”

“What about you?” you asked, sensing that he wasn’t planning on staying in the picture despite your newly wed status.

“You don’t want to be intertwined with me.”

“Why do you speak for me? We might be married but I’m fully capable of deciding the level of danger I will expose myself to.”

He gritted his teeth, sensing that he would have a hard time getting used to your presence, “Fine. Then I don’t want you to be intertwined with me and drag me down.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are kind of an ass?”

“Everyday.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, “If you’re worried I’ll hold you back from your mercenary work, it won't be a problem.”

This time, when he stopped, he turned to face you with a harsh glare.

“What did you say?”

“I told you,” you repeated calmly, “I saw you in a vision.”

“Like Hell you did!”

You cut him off before he could draw a weapon, sensing this was escalating quickly, “The curtains were down, making it easier for you to walk past undetected in the dark room. You met with the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was passing through town, under the pretense of a business meeting but you were actually assigned on a mission to kill the corrupt Cardinal.”

His eyes widened and his hand fell from his sword’s handle.

“The Cardinal didn’t fulfill his end of a deal with the Archduke of Luthor, who hired you. You killed him and his attendants without catching the attention of anyone, without getting blood on yourself or leaving any traces behind.”

“How do you know that..?” he whispered, not liking how knowledgeable you were on his kill from earlier today.

“I already told you. I have a talent for clairvoyance.”

He didn’t seem impressed but he also couldn’t come up with a rational explanation, “Are you a part of an outlaw group? Because if you are, you better let your partners know I don’t take too kindly to threats.”

“You aren’t very trusting,” you sighed, “I’m not and, honestly, I can’t really prove that to you. You’ll just have to learn to trust me.”

The man was irritated but he decided to not leave you stranded in the woods. You didn’t seem like you were involved in the crime underworld and honestly, he didn’t think you would’ve had time to be recruited by an enemy during the time he left you alone, “I’m taking you to the capital but we are parting ways afterwards.”

With that, he began to lead the black horse again through the woods. It was getting late and you could tell the ride was going to be long but you were also looking forward to learning more about your new "husband".

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #dcu #x reader #halloween fic #october #october fic

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eclectic-sassycoweyes · 4 days ago

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❄️Catch Me Before I Let Go❄️

A teaser of my coming 🎁 for the wonderful @ironheartwriter for the Tarlos Secret Santa gift exchange!

Dearest Lana - it’s me I’m your Santa in Secret (no more)!! I don’t regret to inform you of that, because it has been an absolute delight so far to think up something wintery and fun for you from the prompts you gave me! I do regret to inform you however, that I am running a bit behind😔

The Christmas Chaos simply caught up with me with unexpected intensity and I’ve had to ask the wonderful mods for an extension. I am doing my very best to be able to give you the fic in it’s finished form before New Year’s Eve!! To make up for it, and to hold you over until then, I have prepared this teaser for you including the above collage/mood board, and below a summary and a lil’ snippet to gift you on my posting day<3 I hope brings you both intrigue and enjoyment!

Best wishes for a happy holiday,

Your very own Secret (no more) Santa,

Mar💚🥰🤶

Summary:

As a former member of the school swim team and someone who generally likes to be in charge of whether his feet are moving or not, Carlos Reyes prefers water in its liquid form. As such, a ski resort should not be on his top ten spots to visit. He’s insistent to make an exception though, in order to treat his adventurous, snow-loving husband to some fun downtime before they embark together on the next big step for them, of parenting TK’s little brother, Jonah. He’s booked a cozy wooden lodge in the closest ski resort to Austin, and he’s going to be his most fun and adventurous self while also making sure that his husband is absolutely spoiled. There’s just a few things he hasn’t taken into account: 1) Carlos has never skied before in his life. 2) Carlos really hates doing things he isn’t already good at, especially if they include the risk of falling on your face and 3) One very annoying, and very hot, ski-instructor named Josh who is outrageously obvious in his flirting up a storm with TK.

-In which TK and Carlos go skiing for the holidays, Carlos grapples with the old notion of letting go of control, and has also convinced himself that he has something to make up for.

*****

On the third day Carlos is officially deemed ready to take on the real pistes. At least according to TK. And to.. Josh. Carlos knows it’s probably immature but he still has trouble accepting compliments from the ski-instructor without somehow taking it as the opposite.

Something about the chipper look on his face when he tells Carlos that he’s ‘doing super good’ or he’s a ‘really quick learner’ makes him feel five years old. Carlos might not know the first thing about skiing and yeah, they might have literally paid Josh for his advice and encouragement, but where does he get off telling Carlos what he is and isn’t ready for or that he just needs to try and ‘let go a little’? Ugh. It’s condescending.

Yesterday Carlos finally managed to slide down the training hill without face planting or tackling any small children along the way, only to be met at the bottom with Josh giving him a way too enthusiastic thumbs up and saying ‘good job!’ Carlos’ own brain had unhelpfully applied the ‘buddy’ to the end of the sentence, making Carlos feel like he was a little kid who had just managed to actually kick the ball at soccer practice for the first time. Carlos had to muster up all his willpower to smile politely and grit out a genuine-sounding ‘thank you’.

Josh seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on Carlos, and luckily so did TK - his happy smile and rosy cheeks and the hands that Carlos could just barely feel the pressure of as they gripped at his waist over thick layers while he kissed him with lips that felt cool and moist from the snow had quickly improved his mood and made him feel genuinely proud of his accomplishment.

Despite this, Carlos feels a little less sure about whether he’s really ready for the real thing, especially now as they’re on top of the hill and looking down, the daunting stretch of it is looking longer and more steep than it had seemed from the foot of it. He’ll be fine, he tries to reassure himself. If nothing else, he believes in TK and TK believes in him. According to TK (and Josh but Carlos is trying to reach a state of cool indifference when it comes to him mainly by trying not to think about him too much) it’s good to try the real piste sooner rather than later, to experience the thrill of actually skiing so as to not risk growing tired and frustrated before you’ve even experienced the real fun of it.

Better to fall on your face a few times than to stay on the training piste the whole trip and go thinking you’ve had enough of skiing for good. Carlos is trying to be on board with that sentiment even though he really isn’t the type to normally throw himself into things without feeling like he’s at least prepared enough that the chances of success are somewhat high.

‘Learning by doing’ and ‘crack a few eggs along the way’ are not normally sentiments that resonate with him. He will be the type for those though, for TK. For his wonderful and adventurous boyfriend who has put up with Carlos being a sobbing mess half the time during the past few weeks, carrying the weight for both of them as they’ve embarked on the process of adopting his little brother, and with Carlos’ absent mindedness and late nights even longer. So at least for this week, he’ll be adventurous for TK while he does his best to treat him to everything he desires.

Besides, it’s not like they’re doing the biggest pistes just yet - the plateau they’re on constitutes the starting point to the smaller slopes and they’re doing the smallest one to start with. TK will be with him the whole way, probably bored as they slide slowly down the hill with Carlos pushing the front of the skis inwards to break the whole way.

He’s already survived the trip up, gripping TK’s hand tight the whole way and trying his best to appreciate the view, mostly managing to appreciate the view of TK appreciating the view, as he found that looking down made him a little lightheaded and made his heart speed up in his chest uncomfortably.

As Carlos refastens the buckles of his ski-boots (he’s already done it twice, once when they arrived at the pistes and put on their skis, and once right before getting on the ski-lift, images of his skis falling off on the way up and landing right on somebody’s head making him guilty of negligent manslaughter on account of not tightening his boots enough), Carlos ends his little pep talk by sternly telling himself to pull it together. He can do this. This is their second to last day on the trip, and TK deserves to have some fun too, instead of having to spend his whole trip in the training area with Carlos and all the children.

Speaking of TK, Carlos rights himself and looks around for him. He didn’t want Josh to witness him neurotically double and triple check the buckles of his boots, not feeling sure that he would react nicely to Josh butting in to offer unsolicited advice or, God forbid, crouching down to help him tighten them. So he’d mustered up a confident smile and told himself and TK to go ahead and Carlos would find them.

Now he’s kind of regretting that. Carlos might allegedly be ready to slide down the smallest of the ‘adult’ hills, but the thing is, he still hasn't completely mastered the whole ‘moving on purpose in a normal walking pace’-thing. He still feels like it’s the skis, not him, deciding when he’s standing still and when he’s moving (and if he’s honest, which direction he moves in).

Spotting his husband and the ski instructor that Carlos is not currently sparing thoughts for, by the starting point of the slope they’re supposed to try first, Carlos starts slowly making his way there. Luckily they seem to be caught in conversation and Carlos hopes that it stays that way so he doesn’t have to be observed inelegantly and very slowly approaching them. Nothing more awkward than waving and then being stared down for five minutes while you’re sweating and fighting to get within talking distance.

Once Carlos is within hearing range, he picks up bits of their conversation. “Oh,” he hears Josh’s voice say, and Carlos swears he can hear, even from just that one word, that the ski instructor is flirting with his husband. “I don’t suppose they make calendars for those too..?” And at that Carlos has to stop walking to roll his eyes (he can’t do both at the same time).

Not this again, he thinks angrily. He can’t believe he’s had to witness TK being the victim of this god-awful pickup line twice in the span of their less than five years long relationship and had to fend the guy off (leading to some spectacular sex the first time, but still). Can’t these idiots come up with something better?

Carlos picks up his pace, he needs to stop this conversation before it goes any further and show this Josh-guy, Mr. ‘I’m a hot and blonde ski instructor who probably never gets caught in my head and is a lot of fun’, who TK belongs to. Even if somewhere deep within himself Carlos is finding it hard to measure up at the moment.

Carlos is sweating and panting, his brows furrowed in concentration trying to make his legs move faster, his thighs protesting as he slides one in front of the other in quick succession, using his poles to try and make sure he’s actually causing a forward movement instead of just looking like he’s using the skiing machine at the gym. At one point he gives up and turns so his side is to Josh and TK, awkwardly lifting his skis to take broad steps sideways.

He’s already preparing what to say in his head. Maybe if he interrupts the exact same thing as last time, TK will find it funny and get that wonderful crinkly and shiny eyed laugh he reserves for Carlos’ jokes that always makes his chest feel two sizes bigger, and they can laugh about it later tonight and hopefully have a repeat of the spectacular sex it resulted in last time.

Deciding he’s as close as he’s gonna get if he’s gonna make it in time before the conversation moves on, he turns towards them again. Trying to make it look deceivingly effortless as he closes the rest of the gap between them, he paints on his cockiest smile and shouts, loud enough to make sure they can hear him even though he’s barely within hearing range, “And his husband is a Texas R-“

Unfortunately he doesn’t get further than that because the thing that could absolutely not happen, happens.

In his eagerness to interrupt the blatant flirting aimed at his husband, Carlos had accidentally turned his skis in the direction of the light downwards slope toward one of the bigger pistes, and, quickly losing forward momentum as soon as he didn’t give it his full attention, has now started to slide backwards. And this time he isn’t in the training area anymore and he won’t be caught by a fence.

He sees TK’s eyes widen as his form gets smaller and smaller, and Carlos tries desperately to break, but he can barely break while going forwards, let alone when he’s going backwards, and he isn’t succeeding. In fact, he’s picking up speed, and a glance over his shoulder tells him he’s fast approaching the edge where the plateau changes to one of the steeper slopes.

In a last resort to prevent disaster Carlos lets himself fall ungracefully into the snow, but unfortunately, it’s too late. The concerned faces of people clad in ski suits of all colors swim in and out of his vision as he tumbles down the hill. The world spins dizzyingly around him like he’s the immobile center of a spinning snow globe depicting a ski-resort themed winter wonderland.

Through his dizziness, Carlos manages to send a prayer to the universe that he won’t bump into someone and cause some sort of mass casualty event, as he keeps tumbling for what feels like ages. At some point the tip of his left ski seems to catch on something causing a sharp pain to shoot through his ankle, making him cry out in pain.

The world spins a few more times and then he's landing on his back at what he assumes is the bottom of the slope. Squinting dazedly up at the clear blue sky he tries to catch his breath. Trying to move his leg which is bent at an odd ankle so he can sit up, he grimaces and lets out another cry as he’s reminded of twisting his ankle on the way down, the sharp pang settling to dull throb as he stops trying to move.

Turning only his head he sees the bright orange shape of TK in his ski suit zig-zagging down the hill at impressive speed. His hero, his wild heart, come to save him.

#tarlossanta24 #tarlos #tarlos fic #911 Lone Star #911 Lone Star fanfiction #Tarlos fanfiction #my wip’s #Carlos Reyes #tk strand

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m0chisenpai · 2 years ago

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Goldilocks

Pre!Avatar Way of Water

platonic!jake sully x human!!reader x platonic!neytiri

A child’s imagination knows no bounds. And it especially sees past tall gray walls lined with barbed wire. You were here on this new planet full of life unlike the dead, gray streets of your home planet. Unknown to your young mind that it was dying. Mommy and daddy just told you that you all would be here for a little while while daddy did research.

You were like the puppy that grew too large and out its tea cup phase. Mommy and Daddy didn’t hug you as much as they used to, had no problem sending their baby so many times into hyperspace you should have been 20 by now. But with each passage they promised their own return with you on the next. Little did they know the effects of traveling so long on a child.

When you were on the foreign planet you were placed under supervision of the scientists given one task: “if the kid goes missing or mixed up with the locals we’ll feed you to them.”

It was one of the many days when your eyes watched as a scientist carried some plant past you. You loved the plants, they danced and moved around you, like they knew you had no children here to play with. As though someone knew of your lonesome. The scientists would tell you their names that you couldn’t say without getting a tongue twist. But all you knew was they were unlike the roses your father brought your mother.

You were outside toying with an old ball near the facility that housed the avatars assisting the scientists in carrying large cases and samples. You didn’t like them. They looked more human than na’vi. They didn’t wear the clothes or beads the scientists would pull up to show.

Your ball landed farther than expected bouncing off the rim, over the fence and into a bush. And as you stumbled as carefully as possible through the gaping hole to your toy a floating seed landed atop the toy and your eyes widened as you leaned forward to eye it. It was beautiful and wispy. It glimmered in the flight and you reached a slow hand to hold it only for it to flutter away.

The floating seed seems to drift and dance along branches and atop plants, and you follow in a daze, your eyes never lingering or moving from it. And when you stopped for a moment to hop a large branch it waited patiently before continuing to lead you on this journey.

And with a childish giggle you lept and attempted to catch the glowing plant but it would float just before your hands could brush it.

You were ignorant to the animals as they watched you with lazy eyes as you stumbled through the forest. One of them even helped you to climb the large tree it landed on. It was giant, sleek and black. Like a giant puppy. Its tongue lapped at your cheek and you squealed, rewarding it with the most gentle scratches behind the ears which made it huff and bark.

It lowered itself onto the ground and you climbed atop its back and with its help stopped onto the first nook that led you up many of the steps which you climbed after thanking the puppy which barked back and trotted into the bushes.

The tree was large. Unlike any you’d climbed back home. Its roots were large and many, and it was filled with more avatars. But these ones looked nicer, more friendly. Less human. These were the na’vi. You understood bits and pieces, but you were old enough to know a human child was the one thing that stuck out like a sore thumb.

But you were small and nimble enough to stick to the more shadowy thick parts that hid your figure till you found yourself hidden in a large tent. Everything was slightly larger in proportion to your body but it didn’t matter. Your young mind told you to just touch and explore everything and anything. And from the looks of it you were in the tent of someone special by how much stuff was in it and the shiny pretty things as well.

So you toyed with the bow and arrows and when your eye caught the glint of beautiful beds you dropped the weapon in favor of rummaging through the box holding up a bracelet cooing at how it glinted in the light. You piled them on your arms and continued your venture deeper until a large rumble ended your fun.

It was lunch time.

But home was so far, and from the smell of what was sitting by the fire you knew in an instant you’d like that much more than the icky food they served for the soldiers. And so you carefully reached into the wooden bowl for the chunk of bright fruit which made your lips purse as you threw it into the fire, “too bitter!”

The one next to it had what looked like meat and you took a small piece and chewed slowly before once again spitting it into the fire, “spicy!”

You huffed and puffed, shoving the fruit in the next bowl in your mouth letting a hum as you sank into the ground eating another piece. It was just right. Tangy like a mango but savory as well. You ate one after another until none remained and your eyes felt heavy.

And so your tired eyes for anything to turn into your nap pile. Your fingers caressed coarse blankets which you threw down, a blanket woven with a fabric that was just too heavy and then you found it!

It was woven with such love and it was not too soft or too stiff, it was perfect! And it was double your size just enough for you to bunch it up and still have some to cover your body in the little area where you slumbered peacefully.

Unknown to the sleeping child the inhabitants of said tent had just returned. Ole’ , Jake Sully, ran a tired hand down his face as he sat his bow among his other weapons while his mate entered from behind hissing and spitting about the human raid they quickly silenced.

He soothed his mate as best as he could, gathering her in his arms and pressing his forehead to her own as he placed his hands to her swollen stomach. And as she stared over his shoulder taking in his comfort her sharp eyes noticed the open box containing her beads.

“My Jake…” he hummed as she whispered into his ear, “someone is here.” And immediately his arms tensed as his eyes flitted about the tent, his ears moving in every direction, listening. He could hear someone breathing and that’s when he saw the blankets shift.

“My left, your right. No sudden movement, act normal.” She breathed sharply through her nose and moved away and made her way to the box, carefully picking up the missing pieces of jewelry.

And Jake slowly moved to the bundle of blankets, hand on his knife’s hilt slowly crouching behind and catching his mates eye as she raised her own weapon, waiting for his word. And switfly he yanked the blanket to reveal,

“ A child?” Neytiri quickly lowered the bow now kneeling in front of the sleeping girl who rolled over, a pout upon her face as her hands fisted the blanket.

“How did she make it in here?” Jake tilted his head, shaking it in thought. You were so small. You couldn’t have possibly been brought on that raid. And there was no way a human child could have gotten in without some help.

“How she entered is not the problem. Who’s looking for her will be the problem.” Neytiri hissed softly. A search party would surely be sent soon as word of your disappearance was made known. But that can wait, because now you are waking up.

Your eyes slowly blunk open up at the disappearance of your comfort to be met with two large blue figures crouched in front of you, speaking amongst themselves. Now any normal child would have yelled and screamed in terror, had they not been exposed to the local life on the planet. You however, are far from normal and softly cleared your throat to speak up.

“Ex…excuse me” your broken na’vi interrupted the pair who looked at you in wonder. “Blanket..please” you held your hands out.

Silence fell and Jake looked to the piece he held in his hands and handed it for you to cover yourself back up, the beads clanking on your arms Neytiri eyed and you bashfully rolled them off of your wrists holding them out to her.

“Sorry….pretty.” Neytiri rarely flustered easily but as she took the jewelry back she couldn’t hold but hold your smaller hands for a moment. Her fingers caressing your small palm which slipped from her grasp as you rearranged the blankets to cocoon you.

“You speak pretty well kid” Jake huffed and you gaped up at the older man pouting at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could speak english” and Jake let out another huff of laughter gently pinching one of your puffy cheeks between his fingers smiling fondly at your pouting face.

“Cause you didn’t ask kid. But I have a question for you. How’d you get here? You’ve gotta be much taller to climb the steps and you're a long way from home.”

You hummed softly looking up in thought then looked back into his eyes “mom and dad bring me here for business. Because the earth is sick. But daddy doesn’t really have time for me and momma is back on earth with him because they’re gonna come back together next time!”

“And how many times have you been here, little one?” Neytiri spoke up.

“I think this will be my fourth time! Momma and daddy will be coming next time though” you nodded to yourself. And Jake couldn’t help the way his gaze softened and his ears drooped slightly. You could have been an adult by now. And Neytiri noticed this shift in her mate's behavior because she reached forward and tucked the blankets around your body, cupping your face with his larger palm.

“Rest now child. You had a long journey today and must be very tired.” You nodded and let your eyes close as she slowly removed her hand from your face. Her thumb brushed over your cheeks and gently pushed the coils that tickled your cheeks.

“How could they do this to her?” Had you been any other child she would have had you dropped back off where you were found. But Neytiri wasn't surprised. If humans could destroy their own planet whose to say their interactions with one another weren’t just as destructive? But you were so pure. How can anyone possibly do this to an innocent child?

“I don’t think they’ll be looking for her.” Jake shook his head. Who knows what affects your constant travels to the moon could have on you. You were so young and if his assumptions were correct, they were abandoning you here.

“She sent her here.” Neytiri perked up watching as the seedling fluttered to lay on your hand. And Jake watched too as it fluttered away. Who was he to deny the deity that spared his life and gifted him another? She was doing the same for you.

#jake sully x reader #avatar x reader #neytiri x reader #platonic!jake x reader #platonic jake sully x reader #platonic neytiri x reader

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valtsv · 2 years ago

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you said you grew up by the sea!! can i ask what the sea means to you? i am so emotional about the ocean i've always been so unspeakably fascinated and enamored by it

it's hard to describe because the ocean was such a constant presence that it was just kind of a part of life for me growing up. i didn't really realize how fortunate i was to have it so easily accessible until i lost it when i moved to the city.

i guess the best word to describe it would be "powerful". like i said, you could never forget that the ocean was There, even if you weren't standing anywhere near it. on days when the wind blew strongly enough in the right direction, you could hear it, and smell it. the smell of brine and seaweed was the backdrop of daily life for me growing up, and the town i grew up in was so small that whenever i left the house i was almost guaranteed to pass the ocean on my way to wherever i was going.

the danger of it was simultaneously something you quickly became desensitized to and something you never really forgot. there was always a part of you that knew that the sea could just take you at any time, no matter how careful you were. it wasn't uncommon to see a pile of flowers on the promenade as you walked by marking where someone had been washed out and drowned. pretty much everyone knew someone who had died despite the sea walls and warning signs. there were days when the waves were so strong that even the grey concrete walls that were several feet thick in the most reinforced places couldn't keep them from crashing over onto the walkways.

the beach was sand and stone, and the water was full of clouds of silt too thick to see through even with protective eyewear. you never knew how deep the water was beneath you unless your feet could touch the bottom, or what was down there. it was something you quickly got used to, the knowledge that you'd never be totally safe but were willing to take the risk. most people who got hurt or killed were, predictably, teenagers and young adults who decided to push the boundaries of how much of a risk they could take. i was one of those kids. most of us were. despite being all too aware of the danger, we never really believed that it would happen to us. at the same time, we knew we weren't immune. that's why we did it - for the thrill. i still have scars from all the times i was thrown against rocks and barnacles, stepped wrong while scrambling over rocks and slipped, or was scraped over the ocean floor. i still remember staggering and collapsing onto the shore with my heart pounding so hard my chest hurt after almost being swept out to sea, realizing how close i had come to being drowned or smashed to pieces. i remember shrugging it all off and heading back in five minutes later, accepting that the sea would take me if she wanted me and that there was nothing i could do about it, so i might as well enjoy myself.

knowing how to swim was basically mandatory, even if you never got in the water. if you could learn how to swim and didn't, you were a fool. the local swimming pool offered free lessons, and safety campaigns were a regular feature of school and community event. i could still recite some of the slogans and warnings to you now, they're so ingrained into my head (not that i didn't choose to ignore them sometimes).

small businesses thrived on the waterfront. there were so many cheap food places to choose from when you wanted a snack, from ice cream vendors to hot fried food vans to cafes and corner stores. people didn't even bother to put their clothes and shoes on over their swimwear to cross the road and grab a bite to eat on warm summer days.

body and gender neutrality was extremely normalized. nobody cared who you were or what you looked like; once you were in the sea the clouds of silt hid your body from view, and the water made everyone look more or less the same - like a sopping wet beast.

the natural environment was incredible. there was so much life everywhere - sea plants, crabs and smaller crustaceans, seabirds and fish. you could buy fresh catches each morning from local fishermen. sharks and seals were a rare novelty, a community event of sorts.

community events often made use of the seaside. sailing was easily accessible; even if you couldn't afford your own boat, there was a sailing club with a surplus. the local horse rescue volunteer association i worked at took the horses down to ride by the beach and in the water in summertime, and it was some of the most fun i ever had galloping through the waves, soaking wet and shivering with excitement and cold. there were bonfires on the beach in the fall, and fireworks and hot drinks and stories around the fireside in the winter. it was an incredibly, terrifyingly free place to live, where the only real limits were your own. i honestly can't do it justice in words. i miss it every day.

#🐉

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sunsetsands · 9 months ago

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Almud Masterpost

Seemed like a good idea to create a place to compile information about the main planet project I have going.

Most of the pictures here are hand-drawn. I have slowly been improving at digital art, so I do intend on gradually replacing them with procreate recreations, but until then, have these messy pencil illustrations.

The planet’s name is Almud (pronounced “awl-MOO-duh” (yes, the D at the end is its own syllable)). It is the second planet from its star, an orange dwarf. Conditionswise, Almud is very similar to Earth, just a lot warmer and wetter, and without a single large moon. Instead, it has a somewhat recently-formed system of rings. These rings are made of the debris from the planet’s former moon, which floated in past the Roche limit a few dozen million years ago and got torn apart. Almud may or may not also have a smaller moon or two somewhere further out. I haven’t decided on that yet.

This is a map of Almud’s entire geography, which is slightly outdated. I’ll probably make an updated version at some point eventually possibly maybe. If you’re curious, those numbers on the continents were so I could keep track of continental drift to make sure everything made sense. I care way too much about tiny details.

This is a rough (and I mean very rough. Not proud of my craftsmanship on the outlines here) approximation of what Almud’s surface looks like. The foliage uses a teal pigment to photosynthesize, and the sky appears pink during the day. Obviously, not all of the planet is wetlands, but there are definitely more wetlands than there are on Earth thanks to the much higher humidity.

I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out what Almud’s animal-equivalent life should be like. After several failed attempts, however, I think I have gotten it to a point I am satisfied with. Below is a phylogenetic tree of all of the “animal” phyla present on Almud, and an overview of what each phylum has going on. I tried not to rip off Earth's phylogeny too much, but there are some notable parallels.

Vaxistoma (roughly "vaccine mouth"): Small fishlike creatures that feed through a proboscis with an extendible needle-tooth-thing inside of it. The rest of their body is covered in thick, hard scales. They mainly inhabit deeper waters where aquatic duossei are less common.

Duosseus ("two skeletons"): The closest equivalent to vertebrates. First members were fishlike, with calcified plates covering the outside of their bodies and rod-shaped bones supporting the inside. The outer skeleton atrophied mostly in the terrestrial members, but most classes do still have notable remnants, as shown in the small drawing above.

Limosus ("muddy, slimy things"): Soft, squishy creatures without much in terms of an internal skeleton, but most groups do have some external armor like their relatives listed above. Can be accurately summarized as "molluscs, but more alieny", though a few members are more like worms or sea stars.

Jocomodivirae (very roughly "funny little guys"): Small velvet worm-esque invertebrates with a thick, leathery pad over their back. A very diverse phylum with many, many members. Definitely not just insects with no exoskeletons.

Planagelattae ("flat jellies"): What if flatworms had three eyes?

Xenigmalus ("strange, mysterious things"): I can't think of a good way of describing these, which is pretty fitting for what they are. Body plans vary wildly here, but are almost always some combination of fins, tentacles, and a big translucent sack. Like the vaxistomans, they usually inhabit deeper waters.

Cornivermia ("horned worms"): Pretty self-explanatory. The flat, hard bits at the fronts of their heads help them dig through softer areas of soil. Some groups use these growths instead as something more akin to pincers, fins, hooks, or shells.

Carniherbae ("meat plants"): You know those animal-fern things from the Ediacaran era? These are just those, but not extinct.

Vivitria ("living glass"): Soft, feathery insides protected by a crystalline silicate shell. Many species in this phylum are colonial, which tend to look like colorful, floating geodes. These colonies often have surprisingly complex sensory capabilities, and some have been found to be about as intelligent as Earth cats.

Xylovitria ("wood glass"): Terrestrial relatives of the vivitrians, almost all of which are colonial. The defining feature of this phylum, besides their terrestriality, is their symbiotic relationship with a wide range of plant-equivalent species. The xylovitrian colony forms a protective, glassy wall around the plants' branches, as well as a system of feathery roots beneath the soil which serve to both gather nutrients for their plant partner and exchange gametes with other colonies to create new, empty xylovitrians for the plants' seeds to land in. In return, the plant gives the colony some of the byproducts of its photosynthesis.

Chiforma ("X-shaped"): Four-sided radially symmetrical creatures. Contains such captivatingly creative groups such as "squids, but four", "clams, but four", "eels, but four", and, most creataculiciously of all, "coral, but four". A shining example of the innovation that specbio nerds are capable of.

Nodovellis ("tangled hair"): Formless, sessile filter feeders. Basically a slime mold trying really hard to be a sponge, but the closest it could get was becoming a loofah.

(Feel free to give critiques or advice on the scientific names I made. All I really did here was mess around with google translate. I know there are guidelines and policies for what is and isn't an acceptable phylum title, but I've never been able to understand what any of them mean. If anything immediately makes you go "That's not how that works!", let me know)

For some additional information, I imagine that life on Almud began in freshwater rather than saltwater. This made the transition to land pretty easy for most of the animals, since they could afford to just flop around in muddy wetlands without any risk of drying out. This does mean that their skin is very, very sensitive to salt, however.

There is one sapient species on Almud: These slug things. Their actual species name is Akada, if that's important. Akada are descended from a social burrowing species that learned how to cultivate the many plants and molds that thrived in the dark, wet conditions of their tunnels. They are herbivorous, have a herd animal-like social structure, and currently have a level of technological advancement similar to ours. For more miscellaneous and mostly jokey info on them, please look here.

I will expand on all of this when/if I find the time and motivation.

#art #pencil on paper #alien #slug #akada #almud #spec bio #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative evolution #xenobiology #creature design #drawing #sci fi #guess who just learned that the name I gave to this planet is also the name of an antiquated unit of measurement #good to know it's not #like #an obscure slur or something #my art

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blurredcolour · 1 year ago

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You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part Three

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

For the first time since you met, fate seems to be conspiring to keep you and Dick apart, forcing you to find new ways to remain connected to one another.

Warnings: Military Violence, Discussion of Injuries and Death, Separation, Fear, Discussion of Nazi Atrocities, PTSD, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 4568

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Bastogne – December 21, 1944

Grasping the handle of your F-S knife, Dick chopped at the thick layer of ice in the ammunition box braced between his knees, revealing the frigid water beneath. He planted the blade into the dirt at the edge of his foxhole, starting to spread shaving cream onto his cheeks as his friend Nixon threw back the tarp covering the next hole over.

He emerged into the milky light, the fog still thickly besetting the Bois Jacques, as he stumbled over holding out your scarf. Dick motioned with his head for him to set it on the ground beside him and Nixon simply sat down there himself. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“You were shivering so much after your recon I could hear your bones rattling.” He muttered as he dragged his razor over his stubble, flinching at the chill of the blade each time it met his skin.

Nixon gave him a lopsided smirk. “Sure your girl won’t mind me borrowing it? It still smells real nice.”

Dick glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “I have half a mind to stab you with her knife.”

Nixon’s grin only widened. “The poetry of it would not be lost on me, I assure you.”

With an affectionate roll of his eyes, Dick quickly finished shaving before retrieving the scarf from his friend’s hand and wrapping it tightly around his neck, tucking it beneath the collar of his ODs. Nixon was right, there was still a hint of your scent woven into the fibres and he could only hope to hold onto it. Merely nine days ago he had left you on the platform in Paris, and not three days ago he had stood at the crossroads outside Bastogne, staring back to where he knew you slept safely in your bed, making a vow to keep it that way. Your body bore enough scars from this war, he would not permit the accumulation of any more.

His hands found their way into his pockets, lips twitching as his fingers brushed against the edge of your cap badge stowed inside the right one. Pressing it between his thumb and forefinger, his heart warmed somewhat against the chill of the morning. The eerie silence was broken by Lipton’s shouted warning of ‘incoming!’ and he and Nixon quickly threw themselves into the bottom of the foxhole to take cover as yet another barrage of artillery rained down on their position. Working the pad of his thumb along the grooves of the maple leaves, he took slow, steady breaths, focusing on each ridge, on the raised lettering, using it as a tool to ground him amidst the maelstrom that filled the woods.

As the chaos eased off, the men slowly began to emerge from their cover, and Dick took stock of the dead and wounded. It was a tedious and heart-rending routine they had fallen into since taking up this position. Reports given and calm restored for the time-being, Dick took advantage of the rare moment with no demands on him to delve his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieve your letter. The creases were becoming well worn, the words nearly memorized, but the solace it brought him was no less profound.

When, at last, supplies reached them after Patton broke through the German lines, Dick was both taken aback and yet somehow unsurprised when his correspondence from regiment included a bound packet of letters bearing your handwriting. You were a determined woman, and true to your word it seemed you had been writing almost daily. With your posting in Paris, and connections at Allied HQ, your letters had been delivered through military channels rather than civilian ones.

Ordering the runner to wait, he quickly dashed off a reply to you. He kept the message free of sentiment, knowing that it would be read by numerous people along the way, but was desperate to send something to you all the same. Folding it carefully, he addressed it to you care of Major Wilkes at Allied HQ, aware that he might receive a reprimand, but after everything he’d just endured the idea of that really held no fear for him.

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Paris – January 7, 1945

It had been an agonizing three-and-a-half weeks. More accurately, the last two-and-a-half had been pure torture while the first had simply been filled with longing. As promised, you had written letters almost every day and sent them through the Allied post office. Letters about the weather, the book you were reading, the cat that lived in the courtyard of your building. Mundane topics that would pass by the censors and were in no way what you had actually wished to talk about, but you had done your best to keep the contents light as all the magazine articles recommended a lady ought to do.

And sometimes it felt like you needed advice on the subject. On how to field strip a Sten gun? Absolutely not – you could and had done that in the dark with your eyes closed. But supporting a man in the fight while you remained in the relative comfort and safety of Paris had been an entirely new experience for you.

The news of the German assault through the Ardennes, however, had put an abrupt halt on the festive feeling that had been unfurling across a city ready to celebrate its first liberated Christmas. It had not been necessary for Major Wilkes to ask you to stay late that first night, rifling through any and all decoded intelligence awaiting your translation from German into English, desperate to find out just how they had blindsided everyone. Late nights had run into early mornings, with copious amounts of artificially sweetened coffee consumed to keep you alert, thinking back wistfully to the Benzedrine tablets you would have carried if you were still a fully functional SOE operative.

The news had been dire – 2nd Battalion of the 101st surrounded in the Bois Jacques above Foy in the brutal cold, woefully undersupplied, under near-constant artillery fire. It had been all you could do to keep Dick’s face out of your mind as your eyes had raked over page after page of German, writing your preliminary translations in pencil before sending them to be typed up in order of importance. There had not been enough of importance in front of you to make a difference, it seemed.

A knock on the door to your small, windowless office had sent you scrambling to cover up the avalanche of paper covering your desk, but Major Wilkes had stepped into the room with a reassuring smile.

“At ease, Sergeant, it’s only me.” He had set a new cup of coffee on your desk, making you blink up at him owlishly before you had murmured your thanks. “I wanted to bring you word that the 101st continues to hold the line. Your Captain and his men are doing an excellent job.”

You had pressed your lips together shyly to hear the Major refer to Dick as ‘your Captain’ but had managed a nod of thanks. Your commanding officer had been slipping you bits and pieces of information as they came in, continuing to impress you with the fact that he never seemed to miss a thing. He had barely run into you and Dick at that restaurant over a week ago and yet he had retained that information and since taken the time to keep you updated on Dick’s situation.

“I understand you visit the post office almost daily on your lunch?” He asked.

Looking to him sharply, it had become even clearer to you just how astute Major Wilkes truly was. You had known him to be an acquaintance of Colonel Buckmaster, head of SOE’s F Section, for that was the reason why you had been placed under his command when you insisted on continuing to make yourself useful following the explosives incident in Normandy. But it had become increasingly apparent that Buckmaster and Wilkes may have spent a great deal of time together in similar fields to your own.

“I do sir, yes.” You had replied, taking a sip of the fresh coffee he had delivered even though your stomach had rolled in protest; you had needed the caffeine to keep working.

“Might I suggest you bring the letters to me, and I will send them internally. God knows when the actual post will reach them.”

“Sir I…” You had stuttered, taken aback by the generosity of his offer.

“I see you in here sixteen hours a day, Sergeant. Don’t you think your letters will help him just as much?” He had raised an eyebrow and you had nodded slowly.

“Good, I expect to see the first one on my desk tomorrow at 0900 for mail call. And don’t stay past midnight tonight, you’ve done that for the last three days.” He had looked to you firmly and you had nodded rapidly.

“Yes, sir.”

The news of Patton’s break through had brought with it some sense of relief but it paled in comparison to that brought by the tattered scrap of paper which found its way onto your desk that day in early January.

Two sentences scrawled in pencil upon paper bearing all manner of stains and splotches that reduced you to tears of the sweetest relief. Dick was alive. Yes, the reports all said so but to see something addressed to you in his handwriting made it real.

The pace of the war seemed to change after that – time and troop movements speeding up immeasurably. The promised arrival of six fresh-faced CWACs taking up residence in your apartment, needing constant supervision on the worldly Parisian streets only served to blur your perception of time even further. Certainly, they had arrived with a captain and sergeant of their own, but not one of them had set foot outside Canada before, save a brief stint in England, and relied heavily on you to ensure they were able to make their way to and from their posting – mercifully in the same building as yours.

Feeling not unlike a mother goose with a trail of goslings behind her, you did your best to keep them out of trouble with locals, and soldiers alike, leaving you little time to enjoy your now regular correspondence with Dick. Nor the privacy, for their Sergeant shared your bed with another girl on a single cot crammed in the corner of the room, the other four girls sharing the second bedroom. Their feminine influence did prove useful in finally eradicating your habit of cursing, however, which you had been trying to accomplish for Dick’s sake anyway.

One evening in late February, the sound of Glenn Miller and his orchestra echoed from the kitchen, accompanied by their bright laughter as they cleaned up from dinner. The girls were more than a little distracted by practicing their dance steps with each other to prepare for a dance hall outing the following night. Shaking your head fondly you signed off on your latest letter to Dick, sealing the envelope with a few dabs of glue before walking to the front hall to slip it into your shoulder bag to post tomorrow. The sound of heavy boots on the stairs set the hairs on the back of your neck on end, even in liberated Paris, while the subsequent knock on the apartment door had your heart skittering against your ribs.

Several of the girls appeared in the doorway to the kitchen but you stopped them with the firm gesture of your palm, raising up on your toes to take near-silent steps before glancing through the peep hole of the door. The sight of the Officer’s Airborne patch on the garrison cap of the man outside had you clutching at the letter still in your hand tightly, but as he swivelled his head you were startled to see dark brown hair rather than the ruddy red you had been hoping for.

Pulling at the chain before unlocking the deadbolt, you tried to deny the feeling of your heart sinking through the floor. If something had happened, the reports would have told you. Major Wilkes would have told you. You exhaled shakily as you opened the door to see Lieutenant – No, Captain Nixon – standing on your doorstep with the distinct shape of a paper wrapped bouquet tucked into the crook of his arm and an envelope pinched between his fingers.

“Good evening, Captain Nixon.” You assembled what you hoped was a calm smile on your face.

“Ma’am.” He smiled in return, and you couldn’t help but note that the youthful softness he’d had about him in Normandy seemed to have been etched from his features. “With Major Richard Davis Winter’s compliments and regrets.”

At the sound of his voice, the girls flooded into the foyer behind you with all the subtlety of a herd of cattle, making you bite the inside of your cheek as you accepted the offered flowers and envelope.

“Thank you very much, Captain. Please convey my gratitude and understanding.” You swallowed, realizing now that though his battalion had been pulled back to Mourmelon-le-Grand for well-earned rest, it seemed you were not going to have the chance to lay eyes on Dick for quite some time.

“Of course.” He grinned, eyes dropping to the letter still clutched in your other hand. “Is there anything I might deliver to him in return?” He prompted with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh…oh!” You swallowed and quickly held it out to him. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“My pleasure.” He nodded. “Have a good night. Ladies.” He nodded to the cluster of women behind you, earning a chorus of giggles and farewells before disappearing down the stairs.

Tucking the letter into the pocket of your skirt, away from prying eyes, you lay the bouquet on the dining table to gingerly unwrap the paper, revealing a dozen red roses. A collective gasp sounded from all seven of your mouths at the surely astronomical cost. The amount of personal funds that Captain Nixon added to the sum Dick had sent with him on his leave to Paris would be a secret he kept well beyond the end of war. The worn enamel pitcher from the kitchen suddenly appeared on the table in front of you along with a paring knife, the girls settling into the chairs and begging for you to tell them all about your Major and the handsome Captain he had sent with flowers in his stead.

Carefully trimming the end of each rose stem before placing it into the makeshift vase, you spun a tale of an accidental collision with then-Captain Winters at the train station. His friend Captain Nixon had been there too, and you had shown them around Paris to make up for causing such a ruckus on their arrival. Partially based in truth, by the time you got to the dinner and dancing, dreamy sighs reached your ears. Nestling the last rose in amongst the rest of the bouquet you smiled softly at how lovely the dining room suddenly looked, but the letter was fairly burning a hole in your pocket.

You were unspeakably grateful when their sergeant interrupted their barrage of questions with a firm reminder that the kitchen was still in a state of disarray, and though they let out a collective moan, they trudged back in to finish cleaning up. Mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ in her direction, you quickly slipped off to your room, shutting the door and tearing into the envelope somewhat savagely.

The personal tone of his letter, a clear indication of the level of trust he held in Captain Nixon to carry around such honest words, made your heart ache fondly. You wished that the letter you had placed in his friend’s hand was comparatively tender, but you had written it, as always, with the expectation that several others would be privy to its contents before it reached him. Re-reading it several times before tucking it away safely in the false bottom of your suitcase, you knew it was a piece of him you would hold onto for the rest of your life.

More surprises lay in store for you that month when the girls took it upon themselves to write to their superiors in London, recommending you for a promotion. A King’s crown was soon in place of your sergeant’s stripes to denote your position of Company 47’s Sergeant Major. It was a promotion which amused Major Wilkes greatly, seeing as you’d gained it through honest means, while your place as a CWAC most certainly was not.

As the Allies advanced into Germany in the early spring, however, it proved to be one of the few sources of amusement in your office. Certainly, the promise of an ever-closer victory in Europe was a spot of radiance on the horizon, but the flood of paper being returned for translation was unveiling a darker and darker truth of just what had happened under Nazi rule. You had heard the rumors, and seen their violence firsthand, but the liberations of the camps, the cold and calculated way in which these things were discussed in the documents before you – it was taking a toll.

The news of the German surrender had brought with it riotous celebration throughout the streets of Paris, but you had only felt a moment a quiet relief that Dick would no longer be subjected to enemy fire – for now. The battle of the Pacific still raged for the American army, and you could not help but dread the possibility of his redeployment there. Major Wilkes startled you on your way back into the office with just two days later with some news.

“I’m sorry to say, Sergeant Major, you won’t be remaining with your company much longer.” His eyes held their usual spark of mischief as they did whenever he spoke of your ‘company’ but you tilted your head curiously at his words.

“Sir?”

“Plans have been in place for the eventuality to see justice done in the face of the heinous acts I know you have been busy translating.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded in reply.

“We are to move into Germany as soon as possible, please return to your lodgings and pack your things and report back to me immediately.”

“Yes sir.”

It was easier said than done, navigating the streets still in the throes of celebration, but you managed nonetheless to gather your belongings and leave a note of farewell to the girls. By the time you returned to the office with your suitcase, the clerks had nearly finished packing everything into boxes and the twenty of you working directly under Major Wilkes made your way down to a transport truck to begin the long drive. Settling in for an uncomfortable ride, you did not concern yourself with the precise destination like many of the other staff who were whispering amongst themselves. ‘Germany’ would suffice for now.

It wasn’t until mid afternoon the next day when you arrived in Nuremberg, with pockets of the city relatively untouched by the air raids and invasion, that your curiosity was piqued.

“Nuremberg, sir?” You asked him as you worked together to unpack into a new set of offices.

“A hunch.” He said with a knowing grin, and you had a feeling there was an awful lot more to it than that.

Spring wore on into summer, the documents you worked on grew more disturbing, and the London Conference convened proposing an International Military Tribunal to take place in Nuremberg, confirming your suspicions about Major Wilke’s ‘hunch.’ Dick, it seemed, was enjoying his time as an occupation commander in the Alps – not four hours away and yet duty still managed to keep you apart. The office was growing busier, more cramped as men no longer required for the fight were able to return behind desks and take up the work of translation alongside you and your colleagues.

Despite the increasing volume of personnel under his command, Major Wilkes still managed to keep an eye on you, not missing the way you had developed a tendency to stare vacantly off into the corner of the room from time to time. Physically present yet taken back to some moment in time you’d been forced to bury for the sake of carrying on with the tasks before you – the face of the German soldier as he drove his bayonet into your side, the ten second plunge into the inky blackness from the belly of a silent plane, the wailing of that boy’s mother when you’d returned with her dead son draped across your shoulders.

“Sergeant Major?” He interrupted one such moment in mid-July, making you sit up straighter as you were caught red-handed.

“Yes sir?”

“My office.”

You stood quickly, feet briefly snagging on the legs of your chair making you struggle awkwardly before you were able to follow him into his office.

“Close the door.” He said firmly and you were quick to do so. “This is long overdue.” He muttered and held out a piece of a paper. “Seventy-two-hour pass to Austria. My apologies for the length of time it took to arrange it, as well as the short notice.”

You stared at it openly before he thrust it a little closer in your direction and you stepped forward to take it from him. “Th…thank you very much Major Wilkes.” You gulped roughly, holding it between both hands as though to protect it.

“Now I have it on good authority there is a supply truck departing for Zell Am See at 1030 whose driver would not be opposed to a passenger. You’ll find the address tucked inside of your pass. It will most likely not be so easy to make your way back, which is why you have seventy-two hours. You’d best be on your way, Sergeant Major.” He smirked, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

You could not help the smile that stretched from ear to ear, nodding rapidly. “Sir, yes sir, absolutely I will be back on time I swear it. Thank you very much, sir.” Turning quickly, you nearly raced out of the door before reminding yourself to walk at a calm pace in front of your colleagues. You grabbed your shoulder bag from the bottom drawer of your desk, locking up the documents you had been working on, and snagged your uniform jacket from the back of your chair before making out way out through the main door of the office.

It was only once you were out in the hall that you began a mad dash for the entrance, not even having the time to return to your billet for a bag. You checked the address on the slip of paper inside your pass before running almost all the way there, drawing far too much attention to yourself – and not caring in the least. You arrived with ten minutes to spare, a sticky mess beneath your woollen uniform, finding the driver who helped you into the cab of the supply truck. He was a gruff, middle-aged man, but after you caught your breath, a few well placed questions easily drew him into telling his life story, filling the time as you wound your way higher into the mountains that Dick had described in his letters.

It was mid-afternoon by the time you arrived at the supply depot in Zell Am See, but you still had yet to reach Dick’s lodgings. Truth be told, you hadn’t even told him you were coming; there was a chance he might not even be there. Walking down the side of the road toward the hotel you knew they had requisitioned, you swallowed as you heard a jeep pull up beside you, rather missing the reassuring weight of your knife at your hip.

“If that man doesn’t sing you ‘Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major’, he’s just not living his life to the fullest.” Your eyes widened as Captain Nixon grinned up at you from the driver’s seat.

You let out a bark of laughter, though the accompanying smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m impressed you recognize my rank badge…” You couldn’t help but admit.

“Used to be my job to know things.” He muttered, a touch of sadness in his voice.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be, knowing things.” You trailed off in a similar tone.

“I apologize I don’t have any flowers on me this time.” He tilted his head with a smirk, breaking through your melancholy silence. “But climb in, I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”

You quickly slid into the front seat beside him, thanking him profusely as he took you up the winding road to the hotel and through the checkpoint with ease. You followed him inside the building, removing your cap with its replacement badge, and up the stairs before he gestured at the door to room 308. Feeling suddenly nervous, you glanced over to Captain Nixon only to see him walking away down the hall.

“Captain Nixon where are you going?” You whispered after him anxiously.

“Trust me, he’s seen enough of my face.” He winked and disappeared into another room a few doors down.

Taking a fortifying breath, you raised your hand to knock.

-------------------------

Read Part Four

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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angelofchaos001 · 1 month ago

Text

Cut AU Writings

Okay, so I've obviously had some writings that never made it into my posts, and I figured I'd take some highlights and show them to you all! With each cut, I'll explain the situation, the AU, and why it was cut.

Enjoy!

@thunder-wolf64 and @mushroominaforest your AU's are involved here so

(Splitmind and Sizzling Waters Writing. Cut because the pair weren't in SI yet and the mask was removed a few posts after this draft.)

Sizzle limped alongside Artificer as the two walked through another stretch of land. This place, Sky Islands, as it had been called, was torture for him. It was constant large gaps he’d have to leap over, walls he’d have to climb, and he kept feeling the hot breath of lizards on his neck before they’d see the mask and move on to easier prey.

“Mom . . . ?” He didn’t know exactly what he was asking, but he had to do something. His arm made things impossible. His uncontrolled jumps had sent him crashing into walls hard enough to daze him. This had to stop.

That’s what he told himself cycles ago.

(Splitmind and Sizzling Waters Writing, from the same draft as the above. Cut for the same reasons, but additionally due to a changed scenario in the draft itself. Originally, Sizzle had fallen from a cliff when Artificer chose to fight a vulture instead, and SM Arti saved him.)

He flicked his tail and looked up at her with a sigh. “Well, what did it look like to you?”

“I was hunting a centiwing that ran this way,” she said, pointing to the green winged corpse beside her, “And when I was just about to dig in, this mask fell next to me.” Ruffian held up the pinkish mask that Sizzle’s mom had given him.

No. I can’t lose that. I - She’d - The lizards -

He couldn’t figure out who would be the biggest threat without the mask. The lizards, or his own parent.

“I grabbed it and was about to head out with my catch when I noticed you falling, too.” Ruffian reached over and pat Sizzle on the shoulder. “And of course I wasn’t about to let a friend fall.”

He smiled a little more genuinely. It felt comforting to hear the word ‘friend’ and not ‘pup’. Anything to distance this kind stranger from his psychotic mother. He wondered if she held any kind of memories from the first time they’d met.

Obviously she recognized him, but he particularly wondered if she would remember what his mom had done to her. Does she remember being . . . killed?

This was the only friend the cycles had brought directly back to him. Sizzle hoped it would last.

“I was jumping across a gap, and I fell,” Sizzle tried to play it off like nothing was wrong, but it felt horrible. Knowing that his own family thought his life meant less than the loss of a vulture’s. “Mom will come get me soon, but thank you for catching me.”

“Mmhm . . . “ Ruffian did not seem to buy it. “And if she doesn’t?”

“What?”

“If she doesn’t come for you.”Sizzle gripped his head. He felt dizzy and faint. “She will. She will.”

(Sibling and Splitmind Writing. Cut due to a poorly written situation and writer's block.)

For the first time in a long time, Artificer felt like she was somewhat at peace.

They were curled up underneath a large leaf, the gentle drizzle of rain overhead peacefully rolling off the plant and landing around them instead of on them. It made soft splashing sounds, water trickling down every surface, and despite hating the water - It calmed them down. It sounded so relaxing, so smooth and perfect in every way.

A droplet splashed onto her tail and she hissed. Perfect in almost every way.

They weren’t cold, even with the rain and wind trying to make them. Their fur was too thick to let the elements in. But the parts of them without the warm covering were absolutely freezing to them. Their nose and paws felt like ice.

She didn’t want to move, though. She wanted to hold on to this perfect moment before she’d have to keep facing the problems she didn’t want to face.

Hunter.

I mean, I tried, at least. I know I was wrong for just . . . abandoning him. And attacking him. And everything else that hurt him.

But this is how the world is. The strong prey on the weak. If he’s not strong enough, he’ll just get hurt by someone who cares less than I do. I’m still . . .

To distract themselves from their own thoughts, Artificer poked their head into the rain, flattening their ears at the feeling of being wet. It was so horribly heavy and dragged their fur down - not to mention how reactive they were to it - and they avoided it at all costs.

She also wanted to avoid her thoughts at all costs, and water was the lesser of the two evils.

(Sibling and Splitmind writing. The second attempt at it. Cut for feeling like character assassination of Hunter and Artificer.)

They patted their pup and tilted their head. “Do you . . . not? Actually, now that I look at it, what happened to your eye?”

She growled, flattening her ears. “None of your business.” At the mention of it, though, she looked closer at the stranger and saw that one of their eyes was odd. It was purely black, but with a bright green pupil that watched her closely. It almost reminded her of her own father. “What’s wrong with yours?”

“What’s -” they paused, then gestured vaguely while having such a stupid look on their face that it made Artificer want to tear it off. “Arti, it’s Hunter? Like, look, I know I’ve been a little busy with the pups lately, but Inv is literally in the den with you half the time!”

At the mention of his name, she twitched and almost reached out to claw at them - but stopped. Gourmand wants me to be better, and the least I can do is try.

“You’re not Hunter,” she said, rather bluntly.

‘Hunter’ looked even more confused. “Did a rain deer run you over? I don’t mean, like, in a bad way, I just . . . do you not remember me at all?”

They snorted, looking this slugcat up and down. “Hunter isn’t nearly as grotesque as you are. And he’s much darker than you. And his eyes are perfectly fine.” Mostly fine.

His expression dropped as he just . . . stared. “Is . . . Pebbles even there?”

“Who the hell is Pebbles?”

A switch seemed to go off in ‘Hunter’s head, as he softly made an ‘Ohhhh’ sound and nodded. “My mistake. I thought you were Artificer.”

“I am,” she snarled. “So once again, how do you know me and why do you have my brother’s name?”

“Brother?” He blinked. “You thought I was your brother?”

“NO!” Arti grabbed a spear off the ground and pointed it at him. “You’re not making any sense! I’m Artificer. The Artificer. And my brother is The Hunter. Okay?”

‘Hunter’s eyes widened and he pulled his pup closer to him. “Woah, woah, okay, put. The spear. Down! Look, my name’s also Hunter, but I didn’t choose it.”

Do NOT say it was given to you by an iterator.

The slugcat continued, not taking their eyes off the weapon’s point. “I don’t usually lead conversations with new slugcats like this, but I was made. That’s why I’m so strange. Spearmaster’s like it too, and they’re also made.”

“Made by who?” She pressed, glaring harshly. “Iterators?”

“So you know about them, then.” They tried to smile. “That makes this easier for me. But I was made by an iterator named No Signif - “

Artificer screamed in rage and pounced on ‘Hunter’, pinning them flat and growling. “I swear if you DARE finish that name!”

“Sig?” They blinked, confused and a little dazed. “What’s wrong? Did you meet him or something? He’s very nice, I pr - “

“HE IS THE OPPOSITE OF NICE, DAMMIT!” She dug her claws in, and ‘Hunter’ winced, looking for an escape. “HE’S WHERE ALL OF MY PROBLEMS CAME FROM!”

“I - We can’t be talking about the same iterator here,” they stuttered. Artificer felt like her very soul was on fire with white-hot rage at them.

“First, you know my name. Then, you claim to be my brother. NOW YOU ALSO KNOW THAT BASTARD?! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!”

(Sibling Writing. A test for characterization of Saint and Inv, cut due to feeling unfinished.)

Inv sighed and finally let their muscles relax. He was breathing too hard, too panicked, too everything. He was lightheaded at this point.

Stay strong for them. I can't even begin to think of how they feel.

She looked over at her only sibling. The only true family she ever had. Saint was shaking, balled up in a pile of green fur, but at least they'd stopped crying.

I did one thing right, then.

They gasped, pain coming back to them as their wounds cried out for attention. Inv clutched their arm and crouched down, trying to stay quiet. Saint doesn't need to be worried about this right now. Not when there's so many bigger issues going on. Not when she's looking for us.

Inv hated herself for what had almost happened. Knowing that she had almost walked both of them back into Bountiful's clutches. All because of a scavenger spook. What a mess I am right now.

If I hadn't insisted we leave, hadn't left the scavengers to be, maybe it wouldn't have been as close of a call as it was.

Their heart started to race again just thinking about it. About how close the overseer had been to seeing them. They'd stupidly gotten themselves hurt because of it.

But at least Saint was safe. That was more than Inv could ask for.

We just have to get out of here. He didn't know where they would go, but as far from here would work.

#rain world #rw #writing #rw sizzling waters #rw siblings au #rw splitmind au

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alovelyburn · 1 year ago

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WIP! WIP! WIP!

Usually when these festivals come around I try to get something together and contribute to the cause. This time I was unable to finish... because I found out about it rather late, and also had a lot going on in my real life.

But I did start something. So I'm dropping the first part of the WIP on you guys; no idea if it really qualifies for inclusion in @griffgutsweekend but I'm cool either way.

All the thanks to @zombiesgohome for basically being my cowriter on the beginning of this - she's my Guts expert. Also bear in mind this is a first draft, ok, be kind.

Quick Background: many many years ago, by which I mean in like 2014, someone told me they'd like to see me try to tackle a romance between current canon Guts and Griffith. It took a while but here we are.

It's called Thirst Drove Me to the Water.

The room has already been thoroughly trashed by the time Griffith opens the door. Before him like broken furniture and upturned chairs. All the vases have been emptied of their white flowers – their water soaked through the plush rug and dripping down white marble walls. An overturned table has been split in two, and gashes mar the walls where that oversized sword bit through the marble.

It’s unsurprising and yet somehow disappointing. Still, Griffith’s expression remains, as always, stubbornly impartial. Around him, the room ripples and shifts – an invisible wave that runs over the room and leaves all as it was, before. Immaculate. Untouched.

His guest seems less than impressed by this.

Guts stares at Griffith from his place on the floor, his one eye smoldering with black fire, his famous sword resting across his knees.

“You sure took your sweet time showing your face,” he says. There’s a sharp edge to his tone, and a growl deep in his throat. “Finally remembered I was here?” He looks like a caged animal. It’s appropriate.

Griffith tips his head just slightly. “I didn’t forget,” he says, “You’ve been pounding against my barriers all day. I thought I would give you a moment to collect yourself.” Griffith glances over the room to where a small table stands, off to the side, away from the center of the now corrected chaos. He’d had a basket of fruit and bread brought to Guts’ rooms as soon as Guts himself was sent there, unconscious, and still bleeding. Griffith hadn’t tended the wounds himself. He wouldn’t have trusted himself to. He looks at Guts. “Have you eaten?” It’s a question of propriety. From here, he can see the half-eaten bread and apple cores.

“What the hell do you care?” Guts snaps. Despite his words, Griffith catches sight of Guts’ gaze as it moves to the table.

Griffith untips his head. “Hm.” He moves to the table quietly, his fingers dragging over the polished wood, the white lace cloth that protects it.

Typically, when one stays silent during an exchange long enough, the other person eventually feels the need to fill that gap. Guts is a man of few words, yes, but unless he’s changed considerably more than he seems to have done, he is also a man without much impulse control. Griffith, being far more curious about what Guts might say than interested in talking, himself, remains silent.

A moment later, Guts pulls himself to his feet. His sword plants itself in the carpeting and the floor beneath it as easily as it would plant itself into soft ground and grass. The sound of steel splitting marble rumbles, swallowed by the thickness of the carpet. “So, what is this?” he asks. His expression hardened as his gaze. “Some kind of game? Is being King too boring for you? If you’re gonna kill me just do it.”

“Impatient as always,” Griffith says. It occurs to him that Guts is still in his armor. “And always so demanding for a mad dog.”

“You got some nerve calling me mad.” Guts’ muscles clench. Griffith can see every emotion running over his face, settling in his neck – the tension in his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw. “I ain’t the one who—”

“You can list my sins until morning and I won’t be any more enlightened than I am now.” Griffith’s voice cuts the air – sharp and soft as it is. “You invaded my home and tried to kill me, yet I have been nothing but cordial.” With some minor exceptions. Even now, he can remember the rush of battle, Guts’ steel against his. He had played along, but in the end only one outcome could have come about... and it did.

“Now that we’re here,” Griffith says softly. “Feel free to swing your sword as much as you like. It will do you no more good than it did the last time... or the time before that.”

The weight of that massive sword hits the ground with a crash that jolts the floor... and just that quickly, Guts is rushing at Griffith, his armored fist swinging. Griffith stands motionless for a moment, watching the light catch on the edges of that so-sharp black armor. Watching the barely burning fire in Guts’ eye turn to an inferno. And then, just when Guts is there – only a few short feet away, Griffith reaches up and grabs that fist in the bare palm of his hand... and holds it.

They are close – close enough for Griffith to feel the feather-light stirring of Guts’ breath. That one eye widens in—fear? Panic? It isn’t rage, not this time. There’s something savage inside Griffith that smiles at that reaction. His fingers curl down, and he feels the metal creak, just at the edge of bending, or snapping. One never knows with cursed items.

It's enough to make his point, at least, in that second before he lets go.

“You really never change,” Griffith says, voice quiet but not quite soft. “I would have thought you’d learn to control yourself between the Hill and today.” He flexes his fingers. “You should have tried a slap.”

Guts snaps his armored fist back, pressed to his chest. “What the hell is this? If you ain’t gonna kill me, if you won’t fight... what is this, just some kind of cage? I’m just your prisoner, now?”

“If I release, you’ll just keep coming after me.” Griffith runs his tongue along the inside of his lips. He can almost taste the bitterness on his tongue. “So, yes, I suppose you are.” He looks away from Guts, toward the floor length windows. From here, inside an obscure corner of one of the palace’s towers, Outside, he can see Falconia spread out before them like a painting – the view from the sky. “Well,” he says, “If you say you will leave here and move on with your life – give up your vendetta and leave me be – then perhaps I will let you go.”

“Like hell I will.” The answer comes too quickly. Griffith almost laughs; Guts says, “You know damn well I won’t.”

He does know. Or, rather, he suspected.

“That being the case,” Griffith says. “Here we are.”

“Yeah, here we are.” Guts raises his head, his back straightening to his full height. It must be terribly intimidating to anyone who isn’t Griffith. “So now what? You can’t just shove me in a box and come by when you wanna be smug for a while.”

“That’s a presumptuous accusation. I don’t recall saying I would be coming back.”

Griffith hears his own voice – hard as marble and just as cold. Guts hasn’t moved. His hand remains pressed to his chest, and outside, the sun is growing crimson with the coming night. Griffith watches the red light dye the white buildings; somehow his gaze refuses to land on the man in front of him, no matter how close he stands. And he’s never had a difficult time finding things to say – it was only ever a matter of whether he had anything that needed saying. Now, nothing that comes to mind will make its way past his lips.

Best to leave. Griffith sighs. “I don't suppose there's much purpose to my staying here any longer. I thought I should explain the situation. But I'll have servants set aside to attend to your needs. There's no need to disturb your... equilibrium any farther.”

“You send your servants in here, you ain’t getting them back.”

Griffith glances at Guts. Lines of tension run up his neck.

“Would you kill them for bringing you breakfast? Not all of them are demons.”

“Fine by me. I don't just kill demons.” Guts shrugs his heavy shoulders... but the casualty of it is affected.

Guts’ face is just as tense, just as angry. ...it’s frightened, too... though it isn’t immediately clear what it is he’s frightened of. Griffith himself, perhaps? That would make sense... though it seems somewhat incongruent with Guts’ personality to show it in this kind of situation.

No. It’s something else.

Griffith is quiet for a time, assessing Guts’ body language, the way his eye burns. Anger, frustration and fear. If he thinks about it, it shouldn’t be surprising. After all, who knows abandonment and imprisonment better than Griffith?

“I see,” He says. “I wouldn’t have thought you would want me to come back.”

Something flashes in Guts’ eye – surprise, yes, and then a wall of stone to block out Griffith’s sight... or maybe Guts’ perception of himself. For a moment, Guts is just. Silent. Motionless. He opens his mouth... even so, it takes a moment for him to find his voice.

“I didn’t say—” Three words, and then his voice fails quiet again.

Griffith looks to the table not so far away – the apple core and half-eaten bread.

“Very well,” he says, quietly. “I'll bring you your meals personally. At least for now.” He takes a deep breath and turns toward the door. It’s only a few steps off; he takes hold of the latch – silver and engraved with feathery markings, like most things in Falconia.

“Heh.” It isn’t an actual laugh. Feet away, Guts’ weight shifts. Griffith can hear the clanging metal; it shifts, but doesn’t approach. “Never thought this was gonna end with a damn God Hand offering to bring me dinner.”

“We are not one body, Guts.” Griffith looks at his hand – long fingers wrapped around the silver latch while the metal warms. “Each of us has our own goals, our own priorities, and our own experiences. I am what I am... but I am still Griffith.”

The armor shifts behind him again, and it’s so quiet. Griffith doesn’t look back. “Whatever has become of what we were... you were once the most important thing in this world, to me.” It’s surprisingly easy to say. Perhaps because it’s no longer true. “I will honor that.”

And then, without waiting for a response, he opens the door and steps into the hallway beyond.

* * *

Guts stares at the door long past its closing, his heart pounding violently in his chest. In that moment, hot rage and cold sorrow rushing through him, he doesn’t know whether to scream or cry.

#ariel writes about berserk #griffgutsweekend2023 #maybe? I don't know #it's a WIP #Let me live!

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theblackestnight-ffxiv · 4 months ago

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[ffxivwrite2024] prompt 3: tempest

The sea’s water had been stolen away for malms, so powerful was the breath of the greater fae Bismarck. Not entirely–in cracks and pools and canyons the water remained. Those places provided a haven to the sea creatures that could not venture into the strange dry world where once had been their home.

“Dry” was quite relative, in D’zinhla’s estimation. Each breath was so thick with humidity that it felt like she was inhaling fog. Still, it was dry enough that no Kojin-blessing was needed, and scant remained of the marine life she was certain should be found here.

Storm-tossed waters were among the most bountiful, she knew. She was a child of La Noscea, how could she not? She learned young that Llymlaen’s breath upon the waves tossed them into roaring heights that churned the sea below, in a way that could be demonstrated by vigorously stirring one’s mug of tea and seeing the liquid slosh over the rim. Perhaps she’d been reprimanded a time or two for enthusiastic demonstrations to her younger siblings; the lesson still clung to her. Thus, as frightening and even tragic as the stormy seas could be, they were needed to stir the waters, because as the waters mixed and mingled, they distributed riches that otherwise settled to the bottom. Not just the pirate riches she imagined as a wide-eyed child, but the riches that were, she was told, even more more valuable, in the form of food for the wavekin. Without the waves and currents, little bits of food like tiny water plants and fish eggs would all drift to the abyssal depths, and a strong storm churned them back up better than anything. La Noscea had these storms to thank for the richness of the waters that surrounded the isle.

So here, then, were seas so known for their storms that the storms were their name: the Tempest. Yet the breath of Bismarck had so becalmed them that there was no water at all.

D’zinhla frowned as she turned the problem over in her mind, just as she was turning the reel of her rod. She had found a pocket of deep water left behind when Bismarck’s breath forced away the seas, and much as she’d expected, it was thick with fish. She felt it likely that most of them were only here on account of having nowhere else to go, and would rather be swimming much closer to the surface. It almost felt unkind to fish here, and take advantage of what felt rather like a stocked pond.

But the Ondo had spoken of a fish they had seen here, one with a sudden swiftness, like the lightning that danced the surface in storms, and flashing teeth that cut and ripped flesh. A voracious predator they found little use in hunting for food, for its flesh, while sweet-tasting, was a meager prize for the effort required. Besides, it was the embodiment of the currents themselves, and taking too much of them would stall the currents and seize up the seas.

Overhunting a specific fish had nothing to do with the breath of Bismarck, D’zinhla knew, but she felt she owed it to the Ondo to prove that they had not abandoned the Tempest. Maybe they could be a sign to the Ondo that the storms, and the waters, would return, if the currents-fish was still to be found below.

That would first require catching one, and so far, D’zinhla had spent far more time fishing fruitlessly than she cared to admit. But she’d just caught a second of the large blue momora mora of the First, and she had a feeling, an inkling, that if she just kept at it, she might see a much less rounded fish on the end of her line. These feelings didn’t always pan out, of course, but sometimes…sometimes they did.

Besides, to catch a fish one must actually do the fishing.

#ffxivwrite2024 #wol: d'zinhla rhee #timeline: shb patches #can you name the fish she's trying to catch?

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years ago

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Thank you @cams4 for an adorable Sans x OC commission 🥺 I love plant mages, if I could pick any magic power it would probably be something plant related <3

---

Calypso came in from the rain, closing the backdoor behind her, cutting off the sound of the downpour that had quickly descended over the skeleton household. She pulled off her coat and hung it up beside the door, moving into the kitchen with a collection of cut plant stalks in one hand. The stems were long but not that thick, the ends dotted with what looked like hundreds of clusters of tiny balls.

When she arrived in the kitchen, Sans was already there. He was leaning on the countertop, casually, a cup of coffee in hand and an easy smile on his face.

(She hadn’t seen the way he jumped at the sound of her coming in. Though it wasn't unusual for her to come over, he hadn't been expecting to see her. She hadn’t seen how he pulled at his dirty shirt, counting the stains and wishing he’d worn something less gross. She hadn’t seen how he scrabbled at some dirty plates he’d bought down from his room and teleported them into the sink- and she hadn’t seen the three poses he’d attempted, before settling on the most casual-seeming one.)

“hey caly.” He said, smooth and warm.

... Calypso’s fern-green eyes only needed to land on him for a few moments, before he already felt himself slightly losing his cool, cheekbones prickling and threatening to flush blue. He swallowed, shifting his weight a little more onto one foot.

She visibly brightened. Raindrops hung suspended in her golden hair, like dozens of little pearls. “Sans! You’re up early!”

Sans was up early. 11am- early for him. He winked. “yup, i can’t be-leaf it either. whatcha doin’ out in the rain?”

His joke earned a modest snort, despite the innumerable amount of times he’d said that same joke to her. “Just some gardening for Papyrus. Is he home yet?”

“not yet. still working out, probably.”

He didn’t really understand why Calypso bothered with gardening. She was a mage- capable of making plant life grow on command. And yet she often still insisted on taking the long route.

“... I just think it’s much more rewarding to let the plants grow themselves, and help them along a bit. Listen to them, rather than forcing them to make the journey faster. They’re just as pretty when they’re growing as they are when they’re grown.”

... He didn’t get it. The only plant he’d managed to keep alive was a little potted cactus she’d given him a few months ago, a creature who sat happily on his windowsill and seemed to thrive on his neglect. If he had plant powers he’d use them all the time.

... But maybe there was an element of comfort, to him, about the fact that the girl he was so hopelessly head-over-heels for preferred a fixer-upper to something already perfect.

“what’s pap growin’ now, then?” He asked.

“He likes dahlias, so I’ve just planted some. He described them as ‘POSITIVELY MATHEMATICAL’.” She drew a vase out of the cupboard, filling it with water and dropping the large trimmings in. “They might take a while to grow, but that’s alright.”

Sans couldn’t help but chuckle. Of course his brother was obsessed with such a symmetrical flower.

“gotta admit, i’m comin’ up short on dahlia puns.” He supported his chin on his elbow, swirling the remaining dredges of coffee in his cup. Talking to her... it just made him feel so... relaxed. So okay. “what’re the ones in the vase, then?”

“Just some of the hydrangea. It’s getting huge, now. It’s good to garden them when it’s raining.” She gently rearranged them. “I thought they’d look nice inside, when they bloomed.”

He grinned. “bet they’ll be bloomin’ unbelievable.”

...

Calypso suddenly shifted. She looked... nervous? She bit her lip.

... Sans immediately felt himself shift too, instinctively, smile losing a few millimetres. He lowered his mug.

“... something... wrong?” He asked, carefully, after a few moments of silence.

She had no idea how much that single sentence meant, coming from him. Sans, famously terrified of any emotional subject, had a tendency to evacuate the room even when his closest friends got too upset. But with her, he felt a degree of comfort he’d only felt before around family.

... He wanted to make sure she was okay.

“N-no, not at all.” She needlessly adjusted the flower in the vase again. “I’m fine. Uhm... It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

The thought of her not being able to tell him something made him feel itchy.

“... you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. but, uh... you can tell me anything, heh.” He was wearing his most disarming smile. “‘sides, if it’s botherin’ you, it’s usually better to get it out.”

If Papyrus had been in the room he would’ve fainted at the sight of Sans not only avoiding the easy way out of the conversation (just accepting her 'I'm fine'), but actively pushing for greater emotional honesty.

As a monster, he had exceptional hearing. He didn’t want to tell her that he could hear her heartbeat getting faster.

“I’m...” Her eyes darted around, focusing on anything that wasn’t him. Were her cheeks getting red? Shit, had one of his jokes landed badly? He racked his mind for anything he could've said to make her upset. “Y-you’re right. It’s... it’ll be better to get it out.”

He was getting nervous now. Was it bad? Should he be concerned? “mhm.”

She stared at the hydrangea. She fidgeted with the side of the countertop, took a breath in...

“I... I really like you.”

...

“.......... huh?”

“... Like... erm...” She tucked some hair behind her ear, still not looking at him. “... Romantically.”

...

Not what he was expecting to hear.

...

The sound of the rain outside filled the room. Sans stood there, staring at her blankly, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for her to start laughing, grin and say it was a prank. Waiting for the gotcha!

There was no way she liked him. It was too good to be true.

... Not when he liked her so much, too.

Calypso glanced at him- his expression must’ve been something else, because she immediately looked away again. He could smell regret starting to seep out of her.

“I-I mean... it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to do anything. It’s no big deal.” She laced her fingers together, then unlaced them, tapping them on the countertop, as unsure of how to stand as he had been minutes earlier. “I just, uhm... figured you should know... nothing has to change though. A-and it’s fine, I’ll probably-”

Her cheeks were getting progressively redder and redder, and her voice progressively smaller and smaller. She was being honest.

“i-i like you too,” he blurted.

...

She finally looked at him. She stared at him as blankly as he’d stared at her.

... He had to let go of his mug, for fear of cracking the handle.

“... romantically.”

Calypso's face flushed. As it did, her eyes glimmered green for a split second- and every bud on hydrangeas in the vase instantly opened, a vivid bunch of bubblegum pink.

It kinda matched the shade on her cheeks.

...

“Y-you... do?” Her voice cracked.

His Soul was in his mouth. If it turned out she was pranking him, he’d never forgive her. don’t laugh at me.

“... you sound like you don’t believe me.” He said, as playfully as he could, in the state he was in. He could feel his eyelights all but twinkling in his sockets, they were probably embarrassingly big and fuzzy.

“I... w-well. You’re just... you’re so cool, and I...”

... Sans laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was a short sound, he covered his mouth- she quickly gave him a quizzical look. Though she seemed comforted by the sound.

i feel like my bones are gonna fall apart.

“i-i’m sorry. i just...” He dragged his hand down his face, his grin was so big it was starting to ache. “i can’t believe you said that. that’s exactly how i feel about you.”

The hydrangeas went from pink to red. Again, just like her face. “... You think I’m... cool?”

He had word vomit. “who wouldn’t?”

He was so... excited? Happy? He couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t used to not knowing exactly how he felt.

...

“... I didn’t know you could go that colour.” Calypso giggled, gently.

Sans quickly became self-conscious of the amount of magic he could feel prickling in his cheekbones. His face must’ve been absolutely cerulean; he itched his cheekbone, letting out a weak chuckle of his own and glancing away.

“guess, uh... my crush confessing to me blue me away, heheh...”

...

She reached across, and took one of his skeletal hands in hers.

He stared at the two limbs, entwined. Warmth spread through his chest. Whatever he was feeling, he really liked it.

...

“pap is gonna lose his shit when he finds out.”

“I know, right?”

#commissions #sometimes. u just want it soft and sweet #and sometimes u vehemently wish you were the character you were writing [many many eyes emojis]

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clickerflight · 1 year ago

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Burned at the stake - Part 1

Well. I have done it. 14K ish words. I'll put this out in about 5 bits me thinks. Anyways, enjoy!

Content: Vampire whumpee, out of body experience (?), mention of vampire trafficking, burning flesh

Let me know if you want to be on a tag list

.....................................

Fanatic was a word often tied to cults, to religious nuts, to conspiracy theorists, which really is quite narrow minded. The word fanatic more often applies to a wider range of people, more specifically known as anthropology students. After all, who else would spend outrageous amounts of money and time to go to some remote jungle that could most certainly kill them in a thousand different ways for the remote chance that they might find some ancient temple that some random drunk dude swore till he was blue was there, and also very haunted.

So, yes, Joanna was having just about as much fun as a human being could experience as she hacked her way through the brush ahead of her slightly less enthusiastic colleague, Kyle. Because he had more of his wits about her (more but not much more as he was a student of ancient languages and only here in case they found the temple and something needed to be translated) he was slowed by making sure they marked the path back clearly.

“Joanna, when was the last time you looked at the map?”

“Kyle, you know as well as I that time does not exist out here,” she replied, pausing to get a sip of water before pushing forward again. “But we do not need a map! All we need is our hearts and our minds!”

Kyle laughed as she flashed him a grin while reaching to pull out the map and check the compass. “Yeah, we’re on track.”

“Good,” Kyle replied. “Do you know how much farther we need to go?”

“Well, probably another 2 or 3 miles but…..”

Kyle paused, looking at Joanna who’s movements became more purposeful and smooth, like she was completing a ritual. Kyle felt it as well. There was a tension in the air. Something that said they would discover something interesting soon, like the forest was holding its breath while it waited for their reaction.

And now that he thought about it, the birds had all gone silent.

Joanna had noticed as well, and she slowed down so he could catch up with her. His shoulder brushed hers as she paused, leaning to see past the foliage ahead. It almost seemed as though there was a man-made clearing, and the tension in the air went from intriguing to nerve wracking. Kyle glanced past Joanna who tightened her grip on her machete and pushed forward. The foliage around the clearing was dense, and the effort to get through it left Joanna and Kyle exhausted as they took turns cutting the vines. Kyle was so exhausted, in fact, that when he broke through the foliage with one last swing his tired arms and legs didn’t expect the lack of resistance and he fell through into the clearing.

A cloud of fine particles filled the air around him, coating his mouth as Kyle took a surprised breath. Kyle coughed hard, stirring up the ash around him as he forced himself up and out of the cloud he had stirred into the air, trying to find fresh air as Joanna came out behind him.

Kyle continued coughing out a lung or two as she stood there silently, and as his voice came back to him, he choked out, “I’m fine, by the way.” He coughed, listening for Joanna’s apology or joke or-

He blinked hard, eyes watering as he turned to look at her. “Joanna? I-”

Joanna was pale and staring at something behind him. He turned quickly, ash swirling up around his feet. The ash was everywhere in the clearing. The clearing was huge, as well, as though it had been burned and razed. Or maybe the thick layers of ash were killing off life and keeping the plants from coming back in the clearing.

The immense expanse of ash, so strange and wrong compared to the jungle that refused to touch the clearing, was nothing compared to what was in the middle.

A pole jutted from the ground, silver chains nearly hidden in the ashes underneath the charred and blackened mass skewered on the pole. There was the faint shape of ribs in the mass, the whole thing smoking faintly in the sun.

“Uhhhhhhhh, what’s that?” Kyle asked softly, but his voice seemed to ring in his ears without the dense foliage to muffle it.

“I dunno, but I’m gonna touch it,” Joanna said, kicking her way through the ashes with a scared, though determined step.

“Joanna!? What do you mean you’re gonna touch it!?” he cried, reaching forward to stop her.

She dodged past him, turning grey as the ash melted into the sweat of her body. She reached the charred mass on the pole and reached out a hand, brushing over it. She screamed and jumped back as more ash and char crumbled through her fingers. Kyle reached her, nearly knee deep in ashes.

More of the black char crumbled away, and something pale peaked through what remained of the ribs. Something that pulsed and flinched.

Holding his breath, Kyle leaned forward as Joanna vigorously wiped her hand off on her pants.

“Er….. I think this was.. Is it a vampire?”

“What?”

“There’s a heart under here. Still beating,” Kyle replied, not removing his eyes from the heart which seemed to be fused to the pole which skewered up, just barely missing it. He was trying not to be sick, but his stomach churned right along with the pulsing of the vampire heart.

Joanna shoved him out of the way so she could look, and Kyle was glad for it as he hadn’t been sure he would be able to look away. He grabbed his water out and sipped on it, shivering slightly as he dealt with what he’d just seen.

“What do we…. What do we do with it?” Joanna asked, reaching in and touching the heart very gently, almost stroking it like one would do to the chest of a friendly bird. She watched as the heart fluttered and she touched it again gently. This time the heart pulsed in response and she found herself whispering, “It’s alright. We’re not leaving you here.”

“We’re not taking that thing, are we?” Kyle asked. “What if it was left here because it was, I dunno, a monster or something?”

“So we should just leave it here?”

“We… well, we shouldn’t leave it to suffer, obviously, but we could, er…. I’m sure we could find a stick…”

“We’re not killing it. That’s murder,” Joanna replied, still stroking the pale heart.

“We should call the government, then. This isn’t our problem!”

Joanna gave him a withering look, cupping the heart and shielding it from the sun as more of the chest cavity collapsed. “And they’ll kill it for sure. You know that this country doesn’t ‘waste’ resources on vampire recoveries.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Kyle said. He took another sip from his water and sighed. “Alright. Are we going to smuggle it back with us?”

“We have to.”

Kyle sighed. “Alright. We’d better take it back to the hotel and figure out how we’re going to get it back home. You’re carrying it.”

“Chicken,” Joanna said with a sharp grin. “Could you pass me your handkerchief?”

Kyle nodded and handed her a couple clean ones from his bag, most of them out of ziplocks and already damp to help with staying cool while they hiked, as he usually used them for.

Joanna gently wrapped them around the heart and cooed at it. “I’m sorry, love, this is gonna hurt.”

She gently pried the heart from the pole, which revealed itself to be made of silver and had burned the heart to the metal. The heart thumped irregularly as she pulled it away from the pole, leaving charred flesh behind. It nearly squirmed right out of her hands and she shushed it, pulling it more gently until she had the swathed heart shivering in her hands.

She stood up and turned, still cooing at the heart and stroking it gently, making sure the sun wouldn’t get to it by wrapping it in another piece of cloth.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kyle said with a heavy sigh. They turned back and made their way out of the jungle slowly and surely. With the heart tucked into her bag, they got a taxi in the rundown town to get back to their hotel room.

As soon as they had the door locked behind them and were all settled, she pulled the heart out. The wrappings were dried out now, though the heart looked a bit better for being damp. She went and made the handkerchiefs wet again, wrapping them around the heart, which still flinched when she touched it, but seemed to be beating at a steadier rate.

“We need a plan,” Joanna said.

Kyle sighed, sinking into the bed. “We can’t keep it here. There are only so many times we can extend the trip, and if it’s discovered it’ll be confiscated and destroyed…. Or worse.”

Joanna nodded faintly. The two of them were well acquainted with the fact that there were dark markets trading in pieces of vampire hearts, claiming them to be ancient creatures with fantastic knowledge of the past. Most of the time, the poor things weren’t allowed to grow and were just kept in a silver lined box and treated like an interesting old trinket. Or they were grown out, forced to tell all they knew, and then they had their hearts removed again so they could be easily stored or sold on. You didn’t get into anthropology without first dividing which side of that moral quandary you stood. Many of their peers were actually lobbying for even more rights for vampires so this sort of thing would be cracked down on a bit harder, though she knew that the laws they volleyed for were specifically ones that would put vampire hearts in the hands of people like them. Of course it would be in the name of helping ancient vampires transition with people who understand a bit of the world they used to live in before they were stripped of their bodies, but the motivations were the dreams of getting useful information first, and straight from the source.

Joanna would be lying if she didn’t have the same thoughts when they were riding back from the jungle.

“I guess that just leaves the matter of how we’re going to get it back,” Joanna said. “I used to know some guys we could have shipped it with, but they got arrested a couple of months ago….”

“It probably wouldn’t be safe to ship it. It might get eaten by rats on the way, or someone might hear it thumping,” Kyle replied, standing up to have a look at the heart. “I think you might have to hide it under your shirt or something.”

“Under my shirt?” She asked, annoyed. “Why my shirt?”

“Because you can use your bra to keep it from falling out,” Kyle said, sounding ashamed with having to even voice the idea out loud.

“Bold of you to assume I wear one,” Joanna said to get back at him. He spluttered in a very amusing fashion and she laughed, the heart in her hands picking up the pace for a moment.

“Alright,” she said when Kyle looked close to fainting with embarrassment. “I guess that’s fair. But someone at the gate will absolutely notice that my shirt is moving every time it does.”

Kyle sighed. “We have a few more days. Maybe we can find some way of making it be still for long enough to get through the gate. There has to be something.”

Joanna gave him a long-suffering look. “Fine. Hold this,” she said, passing the heart to him before pulling out her phone and typing ‘How to get a vampire heart to stop moving.’

………………………..

There had been pain for a very long time. How long? How does one count heartbeats when one does not have fingers to aid them? Does time even matter in the face of all of that pain? Reasoning certainly doesn’t. One learns to stop questioning the why of the pain, and try to adapt ways of ignoring it. Or using it in intervals to stay sane.

What was worse than the pain was when there was no more body to feel. Just a heartbeat to keep the time. The nothingness lasted…. Less than the pain? It was hard to tell. It was almost worse. There was no way to grow anymore, to try and escape from this place, so finding ways to stay sane became almost nonexistent. There was an occasional burning that would bring sanity back, but never for long, like the brush of a finger over a hot stone to remember what heat was like before it was doused out in a river.

Being a heart, you couldn’t properly muse. You couldn’t have proper thoughts. Just memories that played in an order of thinking. A mockery of it, like drawings of a sunrise to try and describe a sunset.

Still, it was all one had left when put in such a position. Playing memories over and over in a semblance of thoughts, hoping that the use of them in this way would not damage or destroy them.

The heart had given up on stringing memories into thoughts. It was tiresome and sad. Instead playing out favorites. The heart had grown quite good at this over time and had begun to use its infinite time to uncover new ones. Like digging. Brushing aside the sand of time like the sands in the -

“Maman! Can I dig in the garden?”

“Yes, Esial. Listen for me when I call for you!”

“Yes, Maman!”

Sand on the edge of the herb garden. Maman was a healer. Esial, the young boy with bright eyes and sticky fingers got to digging, using a nice stick he found. Usually, he would dig out lines and pull leaves off of plants and trees, shoving them in the dirt so he could have his own garden and he’d show his Maman, and she would always aww and coo at him and scoop him up. They would show father when he got home.

But just as he started this wonderful pastime, his stick scraped past a rock. He stopped and used his fingers to scoop away the dirt. The stone was small and rather round. The black color took hold of his imagination. It could be an amulet! It had to be! Why else would this small stone be so black and shiny? He giggled as he ran around, pretending to vanquish evil with every wave of the stone until his father came home and saw him.

His father had been very keen to listen to Esial describe the magic powers the stone had.

“I don’t know about putting flight and fire blasts into the same stone, but we can see what we can do.”

The workshop smelled like mint and sage and his father started painstakingly carving runes into the stone, whispering about what they meant and how they would protect his little Esial.

The Heart wished it could remember all the details.

“There,” his father said, putting a leather cord through the hole he’d drilled out with some sort of magic. “Try this on.”

Esial did, and was delighted. He loved his amulet more than anything! Except perhaps the blanket Nanan had made for him when he was born. He decided he would always keep it on him so he would-

“THERE! GET IT!!!”

Esial ran through the trees, heart thumping stolen blood through his body. He’d been so hungry. He’d needed something and it was better that it was an animal than a person, right?

“THIS WAY!”

Esial came sliding to a stop and ran in another direction, not wanting to be cut off by the hunters. He reached up to his chest to grab his amulet, but his pale fingers closed on empty air. His amulet? His AMULET! Where did he-

The Heart stopped that memory in its tracks. The Heart had control over the memories, and it didn’t want to watch that one again. Not again.

Instead, the heart reached for a memory of teenage years, pondering over them all to-

East blood.

There was a hand, pounding with east blood cradling the Heart. Why were there hands? Pain, burning, screams, flinching, fear-

The fingers smoothed over the Heart. Memories of Maman smoothing down hair lovingly surfaced and the Heart slowed, now more curious than scared. Something cool, moist, damp, was wrapped around it. The Heart relished in the feeling before the hands tugged. Sharp pain tore alongside the Heart as it was ripped from something and the fear came back as more cool, moist, damp was wrapped around it.

Time passed and the Heart got the sense of… movement. They were going somewhere. The Heart couldn’t sense the hands anymore, though. But it was moving

Eventually, the damp, cool, moist was pulled away and the East Hands stroked the heart directly. The Heart did not think, but it did hope.

The East hands placed the Heart in new ones. Rougher, bigger, Northwest blood. The Northwest hands held the Heart, though did not stroke it. The Heart grew nervous as it sensed the anxiety in the blood flow beneath it. Soon enough, though, the East hands were back and were stroking it again. The Heart relaxed just enough that, when the cold, dry, freezing touched its flesh, it was merely confused rather than afraid. That changed very soon as the East hands left and disappeared entirely. The fear became vivid and sharp as the cold enveloped The quickly beating Heart. But as the heart got cold, it grew tired. And even more so. The fear dropped to mild anxiety, then to malcontent tiredness. Then…. Nothing.

Part 2

@whumpsday

#vampire whumpee #rescue #carewhumper #having a hard time with tags right now #ancient vampire #What a good time this has been

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nobedofroses · 1 year ago

Text

December 20th

pairing: Pero Tovar x reader

warnings: angst then fluff!

words: 994

a/n: more of Pero set in the vague past, lots of tears lol. Candle light/oblivious idiots/tears prompt from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️

more Pero, Full List

🌨️🌨️🌨️

When you found out Pero was leaving, you spent the whole rest of the day in your room, burying your face in your thick woolen blankets and crying. You couldn’t imagine life without him in your tiny little village tucked into the mountains. For the past six months, he had been boarding at your brother’s farm where you lived, helping with the planting and the harvest. And for the past six months, despite your best intentions, you had been falling in love with him. But now he was leaving.

Your sister-in-law, Jane, came in the room to make sure you were alright to come to supper, and sat up to see her. You had finished crying a while before, but at the sight of her sympathetic face, you lost it all over again.

“Oh, honey,” Jane said as she sat by your side, pulling you into a hug.

“I just— I didn’t think he would leave! I thought— I thought he would stay and— and we could— we could…” you trailed off, not wanting to voice your hopes and dreams for him and you.

“I know, sweetie,” Jane murmured, rubbing up and down your back. After a minute she pulled back and looked you in the eye, “Do you maybe want to talk to him? Tell him how you—?”

“I can’t! What’s the point? He’s leaving and he’d reject me either way. He wouldn’t be leaving if he felt the same way, because I would– never— leave— him!” you burst into another fit of sobs and crumpled against Jane again.

Jane sighed and just soothed you, wondering how on earth she’d be able to get both you and Pero to admit your feelings to each other.

___

The next day you saw Pero for the first time since his announcement. You ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t notice your puffy and bloodshot eyes and also that you wouldn’t cry again.

“Did Jane tell you she and your brother will be gone until late this night?” Pero asked you, voice quiet and gruff.

You nodded, “Yes, the market. I, um, I can make supper for just the two of us tonight.”

The thought of what supper for just the two of you would mean in a different context sent a stab through your heart and you stood up quickly from the table, making quick excuses and hurrying back to your room, too quick to hear the soft entreaty of “querida” that followed you.

___

Hours later, you served Pero and yourself supper, eating by candlelight instead of gas lamps since it was just the two of you and you didn’t need it as bright.

The meal was awkward, almost completely silent. Anytime Pero tried to ask you a question, you answered with just one word, not trusting yourself to say more without bursting into tears.

You made it through almost the entire meal without looking at him. Even less so when you realized that every time you did look at him, he was looking at you.

Afterwards, you went to the water basin to start washing the dishes. Pero came over to help dry, a sweet gesture that made your chest ache.

Minutes of more silence went by before Pero finally said, “I wish you did not hate me.”

You turned to him quickly, “I don’t hate you. I l– I don’t hate you Pero.”

“Then why do you not look at me anymore? Not talk to me in the way you always have?” he asked, searching your eyes.

You wanted to look away, but his deep brown eyes were too compelling and you couldn’t. “I suppose I am preparing for when you leave us. You won’t be there for me to look at or talk to then.”

“I see,” Pero said quietly, switching his attention back to the task at hand. Only when you had resigned yourself to being heartbroken forever, feeling the pinpricks of tears in your eyes, did he speak again. “Then I will have to stay.”

“You what?” you asked him breathlessly, scrutinizing his face for even a hint of a lie or joke.

“I will have to stay, querida. Because I cannot survive one more day— one more minute without your beautiful eyes upon me, without your gorgeous smile cast my way, without hearing all of your clever thoughts,” he told you sincerely. You couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, just trying to process what he was saying. “In all honesty, I cannot let one more second pass before I tell you that I love you.”

“You— you what?” you asked, completely unable to believe your ears.

“I love you, querida. And I hope against hope that you may feel even a fraction of the same,” Pero said, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

After five seconds of heavy breathing, you exclaimed, “Oh, I do! Pero, I love you, I do!”

And then you threw yourself at him, kissing him before he even knew what you were doing. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his came to your waist, holding you tight as you lost some of your balance from kissing him so hard.

Pero reciprocated the kiss in turn and you would’ve taken him right there on the kitchen floor had Jane and your brother not arrived. The two of you broke apart reluctantly but sheepishly and you turned back to the dishes to distract yourself.

When you next had something to say to Pero, able to now without the knowledge of him leaving pervading every thought, you turned to him and saw something on his collar. It was water droplets and you realized that the darker part was not the design of the fabric but the water you had had on your hands when you kissed him.

When Pero looked at you expectantly, you said, “Um, your shirt is wet.”

Pero chuckled, eyes shining with mirth and what you thought you now recognized as love, “Yes, I know, querida.”

🌨️🌨️🌨️

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #fluff #angst #blurb #snowy fics 23 #nobedofroses #stephswinterwritingchallenge

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