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honorhearted · 2 years ago

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Short and delicate?

Ben's first instinct was to argue -- to insist her hypothetical was wrong, because he would never be asked to "just polish weapons" -- but instead, he tamped his lips together and listened, fiddling with the saber on his hip with a hint of agitation. But the more he listened, the more he realized that this was Emma's point; that there was a feeling of exasperation, of hopelessness that came from being denied one's greatest desire.

“How’d you feel? And I’m sure you didn’t talk to her exactly like that, but are you sure that’s not what she heard?”

"I'm not sure of anything," Ben softly said. "Anna isn't exactly shy in her frustrations, so I feel she would have let me know, but...you could be right. Especially since I, myself, have not been awarded everything I wish for in this fight. I have been ignored and undermined by my superiors, and in some instances my dearest friends, so I know the frustrations of which you speak. Perhaps not as greatly as a woman, but I am not immune to that helpless feeling." He shrugged. "I don't like being out of control, and yet the outcome of this very war is something I cannot guarantee. I suppose I just enjoy the feeling of control in what I can change...and that's my friends. I can keep Anna safe when she follows my rules."

But could he truly? There was never a guarantee of anything in life...

As if proving this thought correct, Emma went on to explain the horrors of her mother's kingdom. Despite it not being his own land, a spark of resentment swelled between his ribs, and lifting his chin, Ben's jaw tightened at the idea of such innocence being snuffed based upon one single grudge.

"A monster," he softly gritted. Shaking his head, Ben asked, "And this Regina...she is still alive? She still terrorizes your kingdom?" Gripping more tightly at the saber on his hip, he said, "If the war concludes before your return, then perhaps we can help you...or I can help you, if Washington refuses. Such evil is unacceptable. We are fighting to make the world better, and that should extend to our allies."

“Don’t… Please, don’t ever tell anyone I said I needed rest if I ever come up in a conversation."

Perplexed, he raised a brow. "Why would you needing rest be a source of contention?" he asked. "You are human, Swan, and humans need sleep and recuperation in order to thrive." Even as the words left his lips, Ben knew how hypocritical they were. He, himself, opted to push himself to the limit without rest, because if he paused for even a moment, he feared the brief respite would lead to irreparable damage.

Still, Ben chose not to admit as such as he passed Emma the chocolate. "You say that now," he wryly muttered, "and yet I have never once heard you 'shut up.' I think you're merely giving me false hope."

"Ah, there, you try to be accomodating,” Emma smiled, thinking that she would have been a proper demon to a man who attempted that with her. “Perhaps I can help you see things from the perspective of the fairer sex, then, or at least what it can feel like to be accomodated from a woman’s point of view. Let’s see… you are… tall. Yes, if I weren’t wearing these boots I’d barely reach your chin. Tall and strong, I’m sure, so the example I’m about to make is hopefully not going to offend you because it’s clearly not bringing up any real flaw you may have. Now imagine that you are you. Same body, same personality, same… wishes to fights and protect, to do something for your people, same idea of what’s wrong and what’s right. But not a Major, still just Benjamin Tallmadge from Sataukett. Now take this seriously, I think you are the only man in this camp who will ever hear it,” she warned him, “You go enlist and I, someone taller and stronger than you, say:… sorry Tallmadge, but I can’t imagine you actually helping here, regretfully you are too… short and delicate, have you considered supporting our troops by polishing their weapons? Other people of your size are happy to do so, and it’s important, it keeps people able to fight. If they, rightfully, happy to do their part that way, why can’t you? You can cook, you told me so, you could do that too. I understand you want to do more anyway but… oh, alright, look, if you really must, then I think I have another little job for you, something that even someone like you can do, and then you go right back to safety. Trust me, you may think you can do more, but I know you’d just get hurt, and I do know better than you, usually. Leave the real fight to us bigger folks. Now here, go do your task, little champion, you’ll be great!” she gave him a little encouraging pat to the shoulder, then dropped the condescending tone. “How’d you feel? And I’m sure you didn’t talk to her exactly like that, but are you sure that’s not what she heard?”

Of course the way his war went was the way wars were supposed to be, there were unacceptable targets and it was just common sense to see them as such. She wouldn’t put herself in that category, she fought, but she couldn’t imagine wanting to harm townspeople. Yet their enemies had always been all too comfortable doing so. “My mother was a very young woman when her step-mother Regina seized the throne and sent her out with a mercenary who was meant to kill her. He took pity and let my mother run, and… my mother didn’t want to go back and fight her, she was a lady after all, and she wanted to believe that Regina could still be saved with love, so she hid… and then, one day, she walked into a mass grave. An entire village… elders, women, children, just… there, not even buried, a punishment for refusing to give my mother’s location up. That was… already unforgivable. But Regina just got worse. She took hearts from people. My mother was living in a camp like this when she commandereed the very small group of people and then the army that took the castle back. But Regina fled because my mother didn’t have it in her to execute the woman who had raised her for years. I’ve got a scar to prove she’s still out there,” she placed a hand over her chest, “She still tries. And the men loyal to her have not changed. So there is no honor in our battles… and my paternal grandfather had a similar history and is also trying to destroy my father by hurting me. Honestly I believe that if you throw away your honor and can’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore there is no point in having survived a fight, but it’s hard to remember the lines not to cross when the enemy has none. I never thought that a warzone like this could be a place where I could have some needed rest, but… it’s admirable that both sides are trying to do right.”

“Don’t… Please, don’t ever tell anyone I said I needed rest if I ever come up in a conversation. Not that many but your general are ever likely to speak to someone who knows me, but it’s better if people don’t know.” It had slipped out, and it was the first time Emma was relieved that in at most two days time she’d leave. As much as she was enjoying her time with this man, it made her too comfortable.

And the one time she had meant to hold back on the inappropriateness, meaning merely kisses when she spoke of experience, it was obvious that Benjamin had taken it the exact wrong way. Except that the wrong way was also correct and she couldn’t very well pretend to be chaste and pure to fix the assumption. At least she could skip it entirely by addressing the last bit of his response, raising her eyebrows in skeptical disapproval. “If a man has a sweetheart waiting for him and tries to be less lonely with me, I promise you that he’ll very quickly learn how much I value loyalty. But I understand.”

So adorable. She couldn’t help the appreciative and amused smile at his request, finding it so endearing, “As you wish,” she conceded softly, and offered her hand with her palm up, “You know how else to shut me up.”

#smiletimeisrunningout #a royal pain #//lol us and short just don't go together xD #and ofc any time someone speaks of kids getting killed #ben's immediately going to be like OKAY GIMME AN ARMY I'LL GO WIPE OUT THAT S.O.B. MYSELF #the three moods seem to be mortified; emo and angry here lol #fight for what queue believe in

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serpentfever · 3 years ago

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Serpentine Headcanons Part IV

TW for Starvation, Disease, & Mentions of War

Due to the poor conditions of living in the tombs, which had little food, many serpentine born/raised in the tombs are stunted due to malnutrition. -

A lot of the serpentine also have many deficiencies and health problems, most notably a vitamin d deficiency due to being locked underground and unable to see the sun for 40+ years. This was especially impactful on the children. -

For the same reason, many serpentine, especially kids, have vision problems. -

Many serpentine children born in the tombs did not survive to adulthood due to all the issues that came with their status trapped underground. -

I changed my mind about Constrictai and Anacondrai having venom. Since they’re both based on constrictors, and both of their respective powers are passive (The Constrictai’s super strength/burrowing, and the Anacondrai’s invisibility. These both effect themselves rather than their victims). -

The reason serpentine generals carry antivenom is because they are not immune to the effects of their own powers. However, antivenom production is a laborious process, and was seen as too risky to perform with their limited resources during the tombs. For this reason, it’s in limited supply. -

Worship of the Devourer became much more prominent while stuck in the tombs, to the point of obsession. As the serpentine became more desperate, they turned to prayer as a last-ditch attempt to find some solace in their hopeless situation. -

Prior to entombment, her worship was more localized. She was viewed as a vengeful war goddess, and mostly worshipped in order to placate her endless hunger with offerings. Many prayed to her during the war, and her prayer became more common in the tombs, as the serpentine begged for release from their nightmare. Their anger turned to fear, and they took comfort in the idea of their goddess enacting revenge on the humans who sentenced them to this fate. -

Disease ran rampant in the tombs. Medicine was even more limited in supply than food was, so it was hoarded, and primarily given out to highly important members of the tribes, such as the generals and their families. Many of the ill were confided to isolated parts of the tombs and pretty much sentenced to die. Getting sick was essentially a death sentence.

#ninjago #ninjago serpentine

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dai-ou-sama · 4 years ago

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Wrote a thing for AlbetherWeek2021!! Has themes of Day 1 and 3 (warmth and dreams), but it’s mostly just Albedo detailing how (and how much) he loves Aether.

—Please they‘re the epitome of a comfort ship I MEAN, WHICH OTHER SHIP HAS A STRING OF REPRESENTATIVE EMOJIS LIKE THIS: ☀️💫✨

Read on AO3 or down below!

Albedo woke to the sight of Aether curled against his chest, what, he decided, must have been his favourite sight in the world.

He was breathing in soft, gentle puffs, his shoulders rising and falling feather-like, nearly imperceptible. The sun had just barely risen. Its rays filtered through the curtains and set the room aglow with a soft golden light.

A draft of wind rustled past the curtains, parted them, stirred the dust in the air and illuminated them so they resembled snowflakes falling from the sky of their ceiling. Stray petals, all in different shades of yellow, drifted from the bundle of flowers hanging by their window onto their bed. They landed around Aether’s sleeping figure. Albedo laughed quietly to himself. It looked like a scene straight out of a fairytale.

For a while, he simply watched. Being in a sleep-tinged daze did not keep him from marveling at the sight of Aether; at his presence. It didn’t matter that this was a scene he woke to everyday. It hadn’t yet failed to steal his breath away and fill his heart with so much pure, unadulterated joy, that he thought it might burst.

Albedo watched him breathe; counted the seconds between each inhale and exhale. He mapped out the freckled constellations dusted over his cheeks and nose. Memorised them. He started combing through his hair, gingerly smoothing out the long locks with his fingers so Aether wouldn’t stir. He wondered at the way mornings casted Aether’s hair in light. Transformed them into strands of liquid gold solidified.

When all the knots in his hair were untangled, and all the stars across his face were found, he settled back into watching Aether breathe once more. It was a simple routine he repeated daily; one he fell more and more in love with with each passing day.

He reveled in the way warmth bloomed where their skin met skin. The way he could feel the soft thumps of Aether’s heart against his own even through the layers of fabric that lay between them. Thump, thump, thump. A steady, constant beat of life, heart to heart, that made him feel, more than anything, alive and corporeal and human.

There had been a time when Albedo had believed that he was an outsider living in a realm that he didn’t belong to. He was a hoax, an imposter, playing at human life in a masquerade.

He had doubted the very basis of his existence. Had questioned if his death would have amounted to anything more than an insignificant end to an artificial life. Like a porcelain doll falling to the ground, shattering out of existence.

From the faded memories of his youth, the written words of his old master had haunted him: Show me the true meaning of life and this world. Her final task to him before she had vanished into thin air.

Albedo hadn’t had an answer then. All he’d known were the laws of alchemy, the art of creation. Earth was the cumulative memory of time and being; soil was the origin of alchemy, the basis of all life; and chalk was the substance from which primal life was molded. There, written in words of fact. Simple, scientific. This he had understood. But what true meaning could have possibly been referring to had been lost on him.

No, he hadn’t had an answer. Not even then, when he would have given everything to see his master once more. When he’d been standing in the suddenly-too-empty halls of his old home, and wondering what the gnawing sense of absence inside him was. When he’d sat at the dining table that used to feed two people and eaten a dinner he hadn’t realised had long turned cold.

His master’s disappearance severed the only tether he’d had to the human world. The concept of meaning given to life and earthly existence became entirely foreign to him. He had found it laughably ironic that his talents lay in fabricating life.

Suddenly, it had felt like he was living in the margins of life. He was barred behind an invisible line, separated from everyone else around him. The depth of loss that had affected him had surprised him. He wondered if his master had somehow carved a part of him out and taken it with her when she’d left. Or perhaps, that that had been an entirely false hypothesis, and it was simply that he’d always been hollow. An empty shell, a facade of life — now simply made aware of it.

The more time passed, the more Albedo had been inclined to believe in the latter.

At least, meeting Alice and Klee in Mondstadt had helped quieten the clamouring in his head. Living with them was chaotic. It was a flurry of action and noise and laughter and warmth – so completely different from the efficient, systematic way he had lived with his master. Yet, somehow, their presence had still managed to feel familiar.

Their presence kept his anxiety at bay. Or at least, it kept his mind off of it. Klee’s hopeless antics and explosions staved him off from falling too far into a pit of wondering, wondering, wondering what having no answer suggested. No answer. No particular purpose or hope harboured in his being. What did that make of him?

It was a question that clung to him like a shadow that matched his every step and turn. Black matter, uncontrollable, that widened and stretched and grew at the back of his mind, eating away at more and more of him until it threatened to swallow him whole.

Life became a blur of passing interests before he had even realised it. A process of finding new creations and lifeforms that piqued his interest, before getting bored and moving on to find another. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

And then came word of the Honorary Knight. The rumoured traveler who didn’t seem to have come from Mondstadt — or anywhere in Teyvat for that matter. Who had been bestowed his title from the Knights of Favonius because of his contributions to the crisis with Stormterror. Whose name continued to be whispered around town because he, despite his grand title, continued to help with the average Mondstadtian’s most mundane of worries.

‘Aether’, they called him.

Aether. Albedo knew that word, he’d seen it in his alchemical texts before. The fifth element of alchemy; the purest form of air that the gods breathed. The personification of the upper sky, and the primordial god of light.

The boy who wore strange clothes and did kind things.

Albedo had been intrigued. Questions began wandering through his mind before he’d even become fully aware of them.

Where did this stranger come from? How did he control the elements? Why was he helping all those people? Wasn’t he tired? What did he look like? Was his hair as golden as the rumours said they were? Were his smiles truly as sweet as honey? Who was this mysterious person he was looking for?

...Is he like me?

And, somehow, just as his curiosity had reached its peak, they’d ended up meeting in his camp in Dragonspine. The traveler himself had come to find him.

Even now, Albedo still wasn’t sure if it had been this fact that had made his stomach flip in a peculiar way he hadn’t ever experienced before, or if it had simply been the sight of him.

The rumours had been true. Of his hair. His sunshine smiles.

More than that. How had the rumours managed to neglect how long his eyelashes were? Or how his skin resembled warmed marble? His lips to the soft curve of a waning moon?

And before Albedo had even had the chance to try and stop himself, he’d already thrown out a wild request for Aether to assist him with his experiments regarding the peculiar seed from another world. It had been made up on the spot and haphazardly hidden behind the excuse of ‘research’. Albedo still hardly believed that Aether had agreed.

In retrospect, Albedo often reflected on that moment. The same conclusion was always reached: he must have simply lost his mind in that moment. He was just glad that Aether never noticed a thing.

They spent the following weeks together, conducting experiments that confirmed Aether’s origins from a world beyond this one; that tested which laws of the Teyvat applied to him and which didn’t. Albedo’s initial questions about Aether were answered one by one. He easily formed more at a speed that far outpaced his answers. Questioning was, after all, in his nature as a scientist.

Questions like: What does he like to eat? Does he get cold easily? What would make him laugh? If I brought him flowers, would he smile? Is he as happy as I am when we are together?

Utterly scientific.

It had been weeks into their friendship by the time Albedo had noticed just how comfortable he felt around Aether. He was surprised by how often smiles broke onto his face, how at peace he felt. The worries that seemed to have plagued his mind permanently had been dimmed down, momentarily muted, and in their place was the thought of Aether.

They had found out early on that Aether was immune to poison and corruption. Evil did not affect his soul. He had the ability to purify corrupted objects with his touch. Albedo often wondered if that magic applied to him too.

But then, of course, that was impossible. Because, as much as Albedo wanted to believe in magic, he knew that problems did not go away by themselves, unaddressed. Problems demanded responsive action. This was so in experiments, and just as much in himself.

And so, one night in Dragonspine, when the snowstorm had been especially harsh, and the biting cold of winter seemed to seep deeper into him than usual, he’d confessed to Aether, in a fleeting whisper, all the thoughts and fears that clamoured in his head.

About the fact that he wasn’t, and wouldn’t ever be, truly human; that there was nobody else in this world quite like him; that it created an inexplicably jarring sense of isolation that he didn’t think anyone would ever understand. He confessed that he could not see purpose in his own existence.

He knew everything about the creation of life, but nothing about life itself.

His words had been uttered so quietly they had nearly been lost to the howling winds outside their tent. One could have pretended they were simply sounds of the storm imagined into words. The dwindling fire light between them could have been the only thing that heard him at all.

It was the first time Albedo had ever tried to vocalise the thoughts he rarely even let himself think. To speak into existence his emotions was to concretise them, and that had always been something he had instinctively turned away from.

That night, Albedo witnessed Aether’s smile drop from his face completely. For the first time since their meeting, he watched all familiar forms of joy and ease fade away from his expression and he immediately regretted ever saying a word because he could hardly bear with the fact that he was the reason why Aether looked like that.

A suffocating silence had settled over them like a blanket of snow. A sound too loud might have begun an avalanche. And then, like a shotgun, Aether had asked, “Do you love me?” His eyes had not left Albedo’s; his words had been steady. Albedo had failed to notice these things.

His breath escaped him in a heavy rush. Love? The question stumped him. The same way his master’s question had. What was the real meaning of life and this world? And suddenly, the same feelings of loss and confusion began welling up inside him again, amplified tenfold. A black hole ripped open beneath his feet, dragging him in, threatening to drown him.

His own silence crushed him. He fumbled for an answer, choked on his words. Looked away.

“...I don’t know,” he’d said. He had found himself incapable of explaining that he did not understand what being in love meant either.

Silence. It had been short, no longer than a few seconds, but Albedo had never experienced silence quite as loud. The world had begun caving in. He had been crumbling at his feet.

But Aether had not faltered. He’d gotten up and walked over to Albedo. He’d taken his face into his hands. His palms had been so, so warm against Albedo’s cheeks. So solid. “Then answer this instead: does your heart race when you see me?”

It was strange. Aether’s voice had been so quiet, so calm, yet it had managed to drown out the storms from the outside. He became an anchor. The world around them seemed to fall away. Suddenly, they were at the centre of the universe.

Albedo swallowed. Then nodded.

“Do you feel warm when I touch you?” Another nod.

“Do you fall asleep with thoughts of me? Wake from dreams about me?” And yet another nod.

“Good. Then you’re just like me,” Aether said. “Because when I see you, my heart races. When I’m by your side, I’m warm. I’m always thinking about you, and when I can think no longer, you visit me in my dreams.”

Aether’s voice had become fiercer and fiercer with every word he had spoken. There had been no joy reflected in his eyes in that moment, but there had been fire. A blazing flame that chased away – burned away – the shadows clinging onto Albedo.

“If you don’t know if you love me, that’s fine. You just need to know that I love you.” And then Aether had taken his hands and placed them over their hearts. One hand against each of their own. Albedo had felt two beats, identical, pound beneath his palms. “There, you see. Your heart is beating just the same as mine. Doesn’t that make you human enough?”

That was the night Albedo had found his answer to his master’s question. What was the true meaning of life and this world?

He hypothesised that the universal answer might have been love. The ability to love; the gift of being loved. But his personal truth could have only been one person.

That night had been years ago now. It nearly seemed like memories from another lifetime. Now, Albedo laughed when he thought about that night, because his present worries were so vastly different.

His present, most-pressing concern involved the fact that they had a list of a dozen-some chores that they needed to complete by the end of today, and Aether was still deeply asleep. And that was beside the fact that Albedo still had not figured out what flowers they were going to be using to decorate their home in preparation for this year's Windblume.

He’d decided that they would definitely be yellow flowers months ago, but he hadn’t settled on which ones he liked best. Marigolds, daffodils, dahlias, freesias, buttercups, primroses – each of them were a sentiment of his affection. Each unique in the type of love he felt for Aether.

There were so many things he needed to do…

Albedo watched Aether’s nose twitch. He felt him shift against his chest, then nuzzle closer to his neck.

…Later, Albedo decided.

Later, he would wake Aether up with a gentle flick against his nose so he could watch the way it scrunched in annoyance. Later, he would nag at him to get up so that they could go about finishing the chores they had listed out the day before. Later, he would indulge him with kisses all across his face when he began to complain.

Later, later, later. There were so many moments of the future waiting for them. An eternity’s worth, Albedo was sure. After all, they were beings that transcended time. Kreideprinz, the prince of chalk, birthed from soil, and the Honorary Knight, the boy made of sunlight and stars. It wouldn’t hurt to lay in bed for another hour longer.

#albether #albedo x aether #albedo #aether #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH YOUR HONOUR #my writing ew

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thejosh1980 · 4 years ago

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Little Wing

(Trigger warning: animal/pet death)

Today, right now, I am sat at the spot where Mijo felt his last sunrise, just 24 hours ago.

He was 28 weeks old, he spent 20 of those weeks with me, and my family. He was my family. He was thrust upon me by my wife and mum, who knew Mijo would be the kind of birthday present I'd want, but could never ask for.

When he arrived he was unexpected. Straight from the car, into my bedroom, onto my lap, what a surprise, it was love at first sight. Those eyes, that tail, that round belly, the fur, I was all in. I had to say goodbye to 4 beautiful pets whom I loved dearly when I left Germany, so then and there I made a quiet, whisper promise to Mijo;

“I'll never ever leave you”...

We began like any other Daddy and cat story, playing, eating, talking to each other. We may have made a few messes on the bed learning to potty train, but I couldn't really fault him, he was perfect. He loved cuddles, got under our feet all the time, talked to us a lot and wanted to be a part of everything happening around the house.

He meowed very loudly too. Sometimes he'd meow from the next room sounding lost and worried. That's when I started to realized something was very different about him. It took about 2 weeks, but then I realized, he was totally deaf!!!! No vacuum cleaner, loud bangs, claps, or door slams could get his attention. When he meowed loudly, it was either because he had to, to feel himself meowing in his head, or he was missing us and could smell us, but not hear us in the next room. I had never had a cat who couldn't hear me call their name, so this was going to be a challenge.

Mijo accepted that challenge...

In a short time I figured out how to clicker train him, using a torch. I love training cats. Most folks think it's impossible, but I've taught cats to fetch, sit and come on command in the past.... So, pretty soon I had him jumping up, over and across chairs and tables on cue. I also learnt a way to “call” him; assuming he could see me, if I knelt down and tapped my leg, he'd come a running. Every time. We had it all figured out.

Grab a harness and a lead, and off we go, walking around the garden. This wasn't a cat, this was a dog. He had very little fear, I mean, he couldn't even hear the birds making a racket or the car driving by or the dog barking next door. He was fixated on me.

I bought him a blow up boat, to use in the pool, to help him get used to floating on water. It was a huge boat for his little size, but he'd hop in, and I'd “treat” him while he got used to the motion. The plan was to build him up to a real boat, or canoe or SUP. I could imagine him walking on water.

He was also great with other cats, so I could take him to visit his cousin and they'd play all day (if we'd let them). He'd come with me to visit other family and then... well, then the real adventures started. Mijo and I could go to the river, the park and the beach. We also went for coffee at the busiest part in the local village, and he took it all in his stride. We took bike rides too, as he sat in a special backpack I had for him. I could hold him while skateboarding or put him on my shoulder as I walked around. He was chill, happy to see and smell his silent world.

When Alex or I came home, and he'd be in the bedroom snoozing or gazing out the window, we could come in, take off our shoes, put our stuff down, maybe run to the loo, then we could snuggle up with him, cause he hadn't heard us arrive. He would just be waiting... He'd just wait for someone to step close enough, blow on his ear, feel a vibration and then he'd meow a big BIG hello, purr and snuggle. He was a no pressure cat... But always ready for hugs and pats.

Besides being deaf, he just didn't seem like any other cat I'd had or even met...

But isn't the way it is with all pets? They're all unique.

He loved Alex. He always had a hard decision between my lap and hers, or sleeping close to one or the other. We had a son to take care of, to love and to enjoy. At the beginning, Alex wasn't sure about having a cat, she'd pretty much always been a dog person, but it didn't take long for Mijo to wrap her around his little paw. She was hooked.

We thought he was going to be grow up to become a big boy. You know, Maine Coon sized 5-6 or maybe 7 kilo. We had high hopes for a dog-like cat, big enough to take on the world. We wanted to show him the world too.

After he had his snip (desexing) in mid March, he wasn't very well, and it really traumatized all of us, we just weren't sure why he took it so badly. He was in a lot of pain, even though the operation itself was quick and really good, with no issues. He would spend the day, in his “bread loaf” position, with his nose to the ground. It was like he was conserving all his energy for when we came home or wanted his attention.

Eventually, after a few weeks he bounced back, back to being his usual self, for a while. He actually lost a lot of fur during this time, most likely due to a reaction to the antibiotics and pain killers. Where his collar and harness were, he lost all his hair. It only took a few days, a bit too quick to realize what was going on, he rarely wore the collar or harness after that. It meant we sometimes lost him in the house without his bell on to tell which room he was in, so I'd be running around turning on and off the lights to get his attention and a meow.

It was our fun game of “Mijo Polo”.

We had noticed he wasn't eating as much, and he wasn't as playful. In fact, all his toys were being ignored, and he rarely chased anything we teased him with. When we took him for playtime with his cousin, he wouldn't last as long play fighting. Something was up, we thought he'd bounce back by now.

Overall, he was a very chilled cat, having just had an operation and now with, ringworm, a tooth problem (one adult tooth was causing him problems and needed to be pulled) maybe that was why he wasn't too interested in food. Surely it wasn't bacteria, an infection or a virus in his blood.

In early May, Mijo developed ringworm, which, by the way, isn't a worm but rather a fungal infection. The vet already had us on anti fungal cream day and night. It's very unusual to get ringworm; it's all around us, but a strong immune system, actually, a decent immune system, would fight off any infection naturally. Cats generally just lick it all off their fur. Humans sometimes get it, from a scratch or a wound. It's in the soil, it's in the air.

When we got the treatment for the ringworm, we also gave him an appetite stimulant, to encourage him to eat, but it made little difference. As nothing changed, we went back to the vet a few days later, and did a hypothyroidism test; the results were borderline.

What could be going on?

At the time of his desexing operation, he was 1.7 kilos, a week later he was down to 1.5 and eventually 1.45 kilo. His body was growing a little, but his muscle and fat wasn't.

We talked to the vet and decided, even though his ringworm was infectious, the tooth had to go, sooner rather than later. It seemed logical that it was his biggest barrier to fulfilling his dietary requirements and his well being. We wanted him fattening up, growing up, and being his usual self again, ASAP. We needed to get him back on track towards good health, enough was enough.

On Monday 17th May I dropped the little guy off at the vet for the day. A check up and a tooth pull.

Before any cat gets an anesthetic, they run a simple blood test to determine if the cat is well enough. During the day we got a call that the operation couldn't happen, and that he'd have to stay in over night or longer, with meds to help him, because his red cell blood count was low. 10%. Most cats need around 40%, if there's any complication with the tooth pull, his blood may not clot.

It's official, he was very unwell.

I was at school when I got the news. I was in shock. Our little boy was that unwell? But he does eat (a little), he does walk on the lead with me, he's eating his treats... was he that unwell?

Suddenly we had to decide on some expensive tests to figure out what was wrong with him. I mean, the red blood cells were being eaten up by the white ones, but why?? We arranged the suggested tests and they kept him in over night.

I was very distraught. How can my little guy be so unwell yet behave well? With that blood count, he shouldn't be able to walk, he should be so lethargic that he can't keep his head up!! He should be in a coma.

All in all, theoretically, he should be dead.

So was it dwarfism, hypothyroidism, mycoplasma??? And and and?? Tests... Blood being taken.. Our boy in the vet over night, alone, worried, scared??? Will he make it through the night? I didn't sleep well...

On Tuesday afternoon the vet let us bring him home. His blood level was down to 9.1%. The idea was that, at least at home he'd have cuddles and love, and that might help his immune system. He was lethargic but not completely terrible. I would need to bring him in on Wednesday for another blood test, to see how he was doing.

On Wednesday, it didn't go well, Mijo had gone from 9 to 8.1% blood level. It was now becoming almost impossible to get any blood out of him. I saw how difficult it was 2 weeks earlier when he had the hypothyroid test, they had to try on both legs and his neck to get a half mil of blood! He was a champ and barely complained. But now, I couldn't imagine the pain he went through with even less blood.

He's been that sick for how long?? Why hadn't we noticed?

We were panicking.

The vet suggested we meet with a mature, more experienced doc, on Thursday. We should be able to figure something out, we had to. Each day = less blood = more chance of...

Well, I am a hopeful guy. I realize, I live on hope. I spent years hoping certain people in my life would change, or love me in a way that I feel some love. I always hope things will change for the better. I don't know why, but it's ingrained in me to feel hopelessness or hope... I think I'm never in the middle... or is that called acceptance? OK, maybe I do feel that too, eventually... But it takes a long long time...

I have videos of Mijo on Thursday 20th, he's cleaning himself in the sun, meowing and purring, happy to see me, walking around the garden with me. Full of life and adventure.

At lunch time, Mijo and I go to the vet. He is his usual cute self, always curious at the vets, and now there's a the new guy he's meeting, what an adventure.

Before he opens the cat box he said something along the lines of “Well, because his blood levels are so low, today is really about deciding if he goes to heaven or not...” I'm not sure, but I know I heard words like “heaven” and “euthanasia” early on in the consultation. Shock was setting in. I barely heard anything else he said, luckily we had Alex on the speaker phone.

Turns out, not only is our little guy deaf, he's an anomaly.

Any cat with 8.1% should be comatose. They should barely be able to walk. They certainly can't pee or poo without help and don't drink or eat much. Mijo came out of his box and sniffed around, was alert and ready to meet the new guy!!

The vet was stumped. He had never seen this before, in over 30 years...

We didn't know he was so sick, because, he was, overall, a well behaved cat. His weight he lost, sure, but he was now at least stable. He was eating, it just took a lot of creativity sometimes to spark his interest (mostly warming up meals and giving him treats).

The vet tried to explain to me, but I'm sure Alex on the phone understood it clearly, that we had very little time, well, no time. We had 3 choices that day. Go to a specialist an hour's drive away, give Mijo steroids and hope he had mycoplasma or Immune mediated hemolytic anemia (IMHA) or, lastly, euthanasia.

Wait???? What does that even mean??

The specialist would give him a blood transfusion, and some special custom drugs which should help him. The vet said it could cost in the 10s of thousands, and may help Mijo for a few weeks, but it's not a solution that we are sure would be long term or not.

Giving Mijo steroids would give him a fighting chance, or not... Basically it could cure or kill him. Because we aren't sure what is the cause of the low blood count, it could be IMHA, mycoplasma or something else, but it's a best educated guess at this rate. If it is the wrong choice, he may die quicker than expected.

Euthanasia, no explanation needed.

We decided on steroids. According to the vet, there was a 50/50 chance it would work. If the cause of the blood cells killing off each other was for or against steroids, we'd know soon enough. Still shocked I tried to understand it all. I'm so grateful Alex was on the line and knows this stuff through experience and study.

The idea of taking Mijo an hour's drive north to the specialist, to a cubicle, a place where we may not be with him 24/7, on the off chance that he wouldn't make it and die alone, we couldn't fathom that.

Mijo took the steroid injection like a champ, he always did injections well. He was given some antibiotics to also help. The vet said, that by Saturday we'll know if it was the right decision. We'd know if he would be getting better...

It was decided that on Monday 24th we'd go back in for a blood test to actually see if the steroids were working (cause apparently one can't really tell with Mijo's behavior, the cheeky monkey).

Mijo and I came home, and well, he ate, he was purring, sitting on my lap. The usual deal. When I went out to get the washing in, he tried to go out too, something we, as parents, have been very protective about. He doesn't go out alone, he doesn't go out without a lead or a bell. He's not an easy cat to find if he runs off, not that he has ever tried. He deaf, he can't hear cars or other dangers out there.

I promised him I'd take him out to that side of the house/garden that afternoon...

So we did, we went out, we sat down, he explored. He was well, good, better, best. He was my boy. He trusted me, I trusted him. I'm always amazed how well he walks by my side, like a dog, with loose leash... Taking my steps as cues when to walk, and when to stop.

We also met the neighbor's dog, which was a first, both were not really interested in each other... But still, Mijo knew there's a lot to live for...

Overnight he went great... Woke up with him on my chest relaxing waiting for me to get up and feed him, luckily I have a wife who had to get up for work at that moment. I remember she sang him a lullaby and held him like a baby. It was really sweet to see how much love they had for each other. Rock-a-bye Mijo...

We wanted to him feel as much love as we could. We felt that, if the steroids and antibiotics were doing their part, and we did ours, there's nothing he can't beat. And he sure felt the love...

I held him while doing some singing exercises, close to my chest. It was something we hadn't done before, and he purred. He'd look up and meow every time I stopped making vibrations. He felt it, I felt it, it was a connection.

We spent a lot of time, reading, relaxing and sitting on laps. Alex and I cuddled him, told him we loved him. He was really fighting. He was eating. He was a little more playful than in recent weeks. He wanted to live. We could feel it...

He went from eating half a packet to 1.5 packets a day, plus dry food. He always wanted treats, and I was always glad to oblige.

By Saturday he was wonder cat! Kneading... Purring... Chasing toys... Eager to hang out...

We'd overcome the problem! He was getting better. There's fight, love and life left in him. He was amazing. If it hadn't been for his ringworm (which was also healing very very well) I'd say he was perfect, especially once he put on another few grams...

We had 4 awesome days, loads of energy and love. He was never alone in the house, and rarely alone in a room. We wanted him to know, to feel, that we loved him so deeply and that all we want was him in our life, for adventures and cuddles.

On Monday morning, his appetite went down... He didn't really eat much...

We all left for the day, work and school. I think we were all worried, but he'd been so good and improved so so much, that we were sure he'd be fine. We have the blood test booked for the afternoon, I'm sure he'll pep up by then. The injection could be wearing off too...

Mijo and I went in to the vet, and his test came back at 14%!!! Damn, that's 6 points!! The vet expected 3 to be a big improvement. In fact, if he had 3 or less, euthanasia may have been the only option... Happy days! He was well. He's going to live! He'll be fine.

We're not out of the woods yet, but we are in the right direction.

All that love we lavished on him, not just in the past days, but the past 4 months. The adventures, the friends he'd made (both human and animal) the smells and sights he'd seen, the vibrations he felt, it was all coming together... He was a fighter with a lot of love to give...

We were over joyed. Really, I couldn't have been happier when I got the results. I gave a “whoop” and threw my fist in the air (I've never done that before in my life!).

We changed to tablet form steroids, as they'll be better long term, keep up the antibiotics and off we go...

But we all know, that often people and animals, when they know they are dying, they give it one last shot. And that was it... We didn't realize until Wednesday, that he wasn't actually going to get better...

Mijo stopped grooming himself, he slowly ate less and less... He became more and more lethargic, he started to sit in the “bread loaf” position with his nose on the ground, as he did after the snip, resting. We thought it was the change in steroids, and as I was at school and the girls at work, we just kept thinking he'd pep up eventually.

When I left for school Wednesday morning, he was alert, but lethargic. When I came home early to check on him, he had really changed again.

His belly was a little bloated, but he had hardly eaten. He had trouble walking, it seemed like it was a mix of muscle degradation/pain and confusion. His meowing changed to a high pitch cry, similar to that of a young kitten. He also stopped eating, he wouldn't even touch any of his tasty treats. He searched for any bit of sun to stand in, but he was looking so uncomfortable, his posture had changed, half sitting, half standing. I was grateful, when I carried him to his water bowl, that he drank a lot. He also went to the toilet, I held his tail so he didn't make a mess on himself.

We spent the afternoon outside, as the sun started to set. He loved the sun, I wanted him to feel warmth... I held him, talked to him. I don't know now many times I asked him to please hold on, please fight and that I loved him. He looked more comfortable in the sun.

I did film us walking around the pool. I am forever grateful for technology, so that I could just put my phone down, touch a button and record a moment. As we walked and talked, oblivious to the camera, I recognized a change in his breathing... I may have missed it previously, but for sure, his breath was becoming more and more labored. Every 3 or 4 breaths, he just had to try harder... His eyes were changing too... But I was sure he could recognize me, the way the vibrations from my chest reached his body and the way I smell. He would react from time to time, shifting or clawing at me.

He often touched my chest with his paw. Reaching out...

Mum and I went to the vet late Wednesday afternoon, the earliest we could. I explained it must be the change of steroids. No, it wasn't. They were the same type, it was just that he wasn't able to fight anymore. We discussed the specialist, called them and made a plan to go in first thing in the morning. I arranged for a friend to come with me, and Thursday morning bright and early, we were going up to get Mijo cured. Transfusion, drugs, you name it, we were going to do it. We had to, we told him we'd make him better.

There and then, Alex and I decided to trade in our honeymoon, you know from the wedding we had 13 months ago and still haven't done the traditional thing of a week or two away somewhere. We decided the money we had aside for that, would go to Mijo's specialist costs, because without Mijo, our honeymoon, whatever and whenever we decide to do it, wouldn't be worth doing, if he wasn't around.

I made a firm plan on how to help him through the night. We would hold him in shifts... All 3 of us... If one showered, the other held him. Dinner time, we shared the responsibility, not that we ate much anyhow. We cuddled, we talked, we purred, I would blow gently on his head... He was feeling love and he was fighting...

Because he hadn't eaten all day, we decided to try feeding him with a syringe, with success. With the tablets we were putting into his stomach, I felt he needed something else down there too... With a small syringe, he took it well, lapping up a tasty liquid treat.

When it was bed time, we put pillows around the bed, incase he fell, because he was very wobbly on his feet. He would cry out at random times, possibly from pain, but I think more from confusion. He sometimes wanted to get away from us, as we know, pets know when it's time and usually disappear, isolate.

We barely slept. I managed about 3 hours... But it was tough.. He wouldn't stay still, and eventually we put him in his little bed, near our bed... Of course he didn't stay there long.

At 4am I heard him crying... I found him under the bed... Alex woke up too... His breathing had changed a lot... Every breath was labored. He wasn't getting enough oxygen.

I laid on my back, and Mijo laid on my chest. This was how it often was, especially when I was reading... We did that until around 7am... Alex taking turns, holding him, talking to him, loving him. Mijo could barely hold himself up, he just laid in our arms... Breathing... His eyes began to glaze over...

We discussed our options, we felt the specialist was now a long shot. We didn't think he'd make the drive, he was near the end. Our little man had little fight left... And we wouldn't forgive ourselves for him dying in a foreign place. There were a lot of tears and back and forwards, including mum coming in for cuddles with the little guy at 5am...

Alex called the emergency vet, and we planned to go in at 8:30... Mijo's time had come...

When the sun comes up, if the blind is open in our bedroom, the sun shines right on through to Alex in bed, Mijo was in her arms, while she drank coffee as the sun rose.

Sometime later I took the little guy out to the pool, where we walked and talked, cuddled and loved, around and around, in the morning sun. I talked to him about all the adventures we had, riding bikes, visiting people, the beach and the river. I spent most of that hour, holding him, looking to his eyes... He gazed up, I just hope he knew it was me. I just knew he felt the vibrations of my words.

We both told him, it was OK to let go now. We were ready. But he kept on fighting for each breath... I think he was just like his Dad, always hopeful..

He last moments at home, where in the chair I'm sat in now. It gets the best light, first thing, even though it's inside the “catio”. Alex had sat down while I was walking outside, I seem to do better when I walk, and I brought him in for cuddles with her in the sun... He was bathed in sunshine, in Alex's arms... It was beautiful...

Actually getting in the car and going to the vet, was tough, but it really hit me when I walked in. I held the little guy, and just burst into middle-aged-man tears and sobbing... If you were there, you'd know I was my mother's son, cause she was sobbing too... I couldn't look anyone in the eye... I didn't understand what was going on, or about to go on...

I think I was in another place...

We went into a consult room, and I just laid the little guy down, not thinking of using the blanket we had... The vet explained the procedure and took him away for his catheter and first injection, some anesthetic? I don't know, but apparently it was the right thing, it helped with his pain.

I couldn't even look Alex or Mum in the eye... I just cried...

I still had hope...

When they came back, Mijo was wrapped in a soft blanket, what a great idea...!! He was quieter, more peaceful... The vet left to give us a moment...

He was still breathing, still fighting... I put my ear to his face, and heard him...

I kept making sure his eye lids closed from time to time. I remember back when Catalina, my little girl in Germany, needed to be anesthetized for a check up. The vet put some put liquid drops in her eyes and made her blink, so her eyes didn't dry out... So for Mijo, I did that every once in a while... I didn't want his eyes to dry up... I wanted him to be able to see me, because laying on that table, he couldn't hear me.

I begged Alex not to bring the vet back in for the final injection... I think I may have screamed something at her... I don't know... I wasn't me... I was trying to hold him in my arms, without moving him... I was trying to give him another chance...

I bawled...

I don't know if I have ever cried like that before... I thought I'd be all cried out... I thought all my tears had already left the building the previous hours and days... But there was more... a lot more... and more to come...

I know that Alex and I held hands over his body... I felt the love... I felt his warmth... his breathing... I know I cried tears onto him, there were tear drops on his lips...

I looked him in the eye as much as I could, but mostly, I cried...

I felt the liquid go into him, I felt it go around my hand into him...

I don't know much about what happened after that... I know I didn't want to leave him, I had promised him I would never do it. I regret not holding him once more... I know that at that moment, I felt the life drain out of me... I felt hope die...

I walked out, not knowing what to do, and flopped down on the grass outside... I never sit on grass, but Mijo liked it...

I managed to drive home...

That was yesterday...

Since then I've tried to rest, tried to come to grips with what has happened, tried to connect with a few friends, I've tried... I'm still trying...

This morning I got up wanting to do some sport, washing, then study and take on the day with confidence... It's a new day, I should take that opportunity to get back into my routine... It took all of 1 minute, from bed to bathroom, to be bawling... Except for the time I manage to calm down enough to type this blog, I've been crying... It's now 10am... I was awake at 6:15...

We are running out of tissues..

I felt so bad this morning, I wanted to plead with Alex not to go to work, because I just can't today. I just can't. We have discussed how she copes in these situations, and I know that's how she copes, by going to work, so I kept my trap shut. I just want her to hug me all day, so I can feel her warmth.

I cried so much on the drive to drop mum off at work this morning, she started crying too, and contemplated not going to work... She wanted to be there for me, but I told her, honestly, I don't think I'd be much company today.

I don't know the grieving process, we haven't learnt that in counseling school yet, but I do know, I'm feeling very lost... I feel very numb...

I can't explain it, and maybe that's why folks can never really explain how they feel after someone close to them, or their pet, has passed. We are just lost.

I also feel that I am grieving for my other losses in my life. It's a bit like, it's a culmination of all the others before him, plus him on top, making me feel pain like I have never experienced before.

Grief is just love, with no place to go... Alex and I talked about that quote last night. I used this quote to help me through leaving my 4 pets in Germany, I know I have to find a new place for my love, but for now, I just can't.

I know I couldn't have gotten through this without the support of my Mum and Alex...

While Mum cries at the drop of a hat, she is solid and thoughtful and loving. Alex is strong and experienced in these matters. She knew what to say, and when, even if I did yell back… Both have a lot of time and patience for me.

I know Alex and Mum feel bad, maybe even guilty, for choosing him. Mijo was a present, to give me joy and love and comfort. And he sure did, in multitudes, to all of us. I would never have gotten a cat back then, I didn't feel Alex or I were ready, we were still working through our issues with our pets in Germany.

Alex and I decided that we want Mijo home with us. He was only on this earth for 6.5 months, we expected him to be with us for 10+ years. Taken too early. Once he's cremated we'll have him in a little urn. He was so small, but if there's a little left over, we will either plant a tree with his ashes or sprinkle him down by the river, the first place he went to that was close to water.

The past day or so, I have shared what happened with some friends, classmates and family, and everyone has been so thoughtful and caring. Thank you, it's really helped to know you're all out there, thinking of the little guy. He would have loved to meet you all.

He was perfection. If someone else had gotten him, realized he was deaf, they may not have given him the adventures and life he had. Mum considers him a rescue cat...

So here I am, in the chair, his last chair in his last moments at home.

I can still smell him on my shirt. When I walk around the house, dazed, I sniff my shirt. He had a wonderful smell. The smell of love and adventure. I hope that smell lasts a life time.

I miss his warmth, his meow, which was damn loud!! I miss, that sometimes he'd get lost around the house... Or he'd lose me, around the house. He was gentle, and only bit me once, by accident, piercing my thumb a little. I miss the fact he had 1 tooth growing forward, directly out, making him a tri-toothed kitten with a protruding top lip! He took on the world without fear. I've never experienced anything like it in a cat. My girl Catalina did sit on my shoulder as I walked down the street in Germany, but Mijo, he let me go skateboarding with him, played guitar with me (he'd chew the strings) and one time, I even vacuumed his tail.

All trust. No fear.

Back when he lost all his hair around his neck and stomach after his snip operation, we were pretty concerned. Funnily enough, it grew back pretty quickly, but it grew back white, not grey. He had a ring around his neck and kind of marks on his back wrapping around to his belly. Alex googled it, and actually found out, cats can often have their hair grow back white after trauma or experiencing extremes of temperature if their hair was cut short or fell out.

About a month ago, I sent my dearest of friends, Sandra, a photo of his regrowth, and she commented looks like “little angel wings”...

Fly on little wing, fly on...

RIP Mijo Angus

12-11-2020 – 27-05-2021

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#pet #pet love #pet death #sad story #loss #griefandloss

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awritingcaitlin · 7 months ago

Text

Riela is an elf-human blend of middling height. She has straight brown hair that she braids, and brown eyes. She wears a lot of makeup (for a reason) and tends to wear earthy colors.

More facts under the cut!

She is 26 and has seen a lot of shit for someone that young. She's old enough to have gained a lot of specific skills and be very guarded, but she's young enough to still have hope.

Riela will be 27 by the end of the year. She's achieved "ageless elf" age to those who aren't also elves - to them she looks young. But she's still living on human terms at the moment.

She feels obligated to be doing what she is doing in order to prevent other people from falling to similar fates as she did as a child, but she absolutely wishes she didn't have to be the one to do this work.

The Nidtrins have wanted Riela dead for a while now and it's only going to get worse. She fights them from the shadows primarily, but it's not going to remain that way forever.

Her preferred weapon(s) are knives. She has at least three of them on her at all times. She also is skilled with clubs and knows how to use a pistol. But if she had to pick? Knives.

When Riela was young, she was taken from her parents and sent to reform school. Her parents broke her out and she ran the rebellion with them... until the rebellion was squashed and her parents killed.

As a result, her memories of her parents are few and skewed. She loves them and misses them... or loves and misses the idea of them. She's been without them longer than she had them.

Thinking about getting married and having a family is one of the last things on her mind. However, she's a hopeless romantic down deep and dreams about getting swept off her feet.

Currently, she is a bit awkward around kids, until they're old enough to communicate more with her. She does like the idea of having kids of her own in the future.

Riela likes animals, but she doesn't really want to be solely responsible for one. She fears becoming too attached and sometimes she's too busy saving her own skin.

She works with her only remaining friend. She's a prickly person and doesn't make friends easily. But she does enjoy her one friend's company.

One of Riela's bigger hobbies is reading. It's her biggest non-work activity. She enjoys getting lost in the adventures of other worlds, to distract herself from the present.

She also likes to sneak up behind people and pretend to kill them, which is a debatable hobby, all things considered. But she finds it fun. At least Nathaniel plays along.

She likes adventure novels. One of Riela's new favorite authors, Seacliff, writes very slowly and ends all of his books on cliffhangers. Which frustrates Riela because she wants the next one now.

Riela has not considered herself to be much of an artist. She loves reading, sure. She loves listening to stories and music. She daydreams, but she doesn't output.

She is generally fit, but not because she has a specific exercise regiment. She gets a lot of exercise during both of her jobs, and doesn't think about it beyond that.

Riela has a really intense routine involving makeup and hair. She has expensive makeup to cover her brand as an apostate. She puts a lot of effort into ensuring no one can see that.

Her hair is kept neat, with her bangs able to hide her face if need be. She wants to be able to have a disguise, or to disappear into the shadows at a moment's notice.

Within her daily routine, Riela has a fairly regular sleep schedule. Her job maintains consistent hours, so even if she's not going to sleep until 3am, she's still getting a normal amount, just offset.

She doesn't often get sick and sometimes will try to hide it. Still, she is very good about taking care of herself when she does get sick. For better or worse, her immune system is pretty decent.

Riela's involvement with politics is keeping her head down and pretending she doesn't exist to stay safe. She's a fugitive of Eswaisil and does not want to end up back there.

She works a service job and is busy every day. Riela is a waitress at a bar. She's currently training to become an Abbess and take on a bar of her own. She also does a lot of behind-the-scenes work as a spy.

Those two jobs are her entire life. She's terrible at scheduling in (or even allowing herself to have) leisure time. Other people have to tell her to do that.

Riela primarily walks everywhere though she has a childhood history of train hopping. She does not know how to drive because she never needed to learn.

She lives in what technically counts as a big city, but she lives in a subset of it that has a small-time feel. Everyone knows everyone etc. This is a blessing and a curse.

Of the main cast, Riela is the only one who doesn't do a lot of traveling. She immigrated to Berthingtonn when she was a teenager (escaping from Eswaisil) but beyond that, she hasn't traveled.

Riela is pedantic and likes things to be organized. To the point that she will start to get on others who aren't as organized. Also, she gets really angry if someone messes with her system.

She can cook some basics, but she's more of a bartender when it comes down to it. She's into getting on-the-go meals because she's always moving around.

Riela works a good job, but she only buys her basic needs beyond that, which has enabled her to save up a very decent nest egg. This will come in handy in the future.

On the flip side, she has to be bullied into treating herself. She wants the shiny things, but doesn't think she deserves them, so someone else has to either gift it to her, or convince her to buy it herself.

Riela really does not like to talk to people she doesn't know and she won't openly get into conversation with others if she can avoid it. She likes to keep to herself and the people she's already familiar with.

She does not consider herself a leader. Sure, she's a do-er. She does lots of things. She just does those things by herself. Even when not working 100% by herself, she'd rather not be in charge.

Given the nature of her job, Riela frequently gets directions from either Mama or the Boss and must enact them. She's completely fine doing this and likes knowing what the job is.

She will generally follow rules and laws, especially divine ones she knows mean something. However, she'll slip into reasoning to get around rules and laws when necessary.

Riela is an outcast. An apostate. Her crimes (of denouncing Nidtrix) warrant a punishment worse than death in Eswaisil and thankfully she has sanctuary in Berthingtonn.

She has seen so many crimes and has committed many as well. She also doesn't give a shit because what is legal Is not always what is right.

She will lie and skirt around the truth whenever she deems necessary. She understands information is a valuable resource and sometimes people will withhold it. She does the same.

Riela swears and curses, especially when she's angry or upset. She is religious enough to be careful with her words, but she's not superstitious enough to be worried all the time.

She spent her childhood being forced to do whatever someone else said - regardless of what she wanted. Now that she's older, she's not letting that remain the case.

She's spent her entire life taking risks. They are nothing new to her. She'd like to get to a place where she doesn't have to take so many risks, but that sort of thing seems a long way off.

Riela rarely panics. She also does very well under pressure. This is a learned behavior coming from survival instincts from when she was a kid.

She is generally pessimistic. Like, she'll dream of a better future for herself. But when she's in the present, she expects the worst and prepares accordingly, allowing herself to be pleasantly surprised.

Her greatest fear is being captured and dragged back to the Nidtrins. She's a multiple-time escapee and she knows that whatever fate awaits her, will be worse than death.

When she gets nervous or afraid, Riela scratches her cheeks. This is actually a dangerous habit because her makeup hides her brand. But also the brand itches. She also sighs a lot.

Riela is terrible about speaking up for what she needs in her personal life. She usually just tries to solve the matter herself. This relates directly to her childhood.

She does not like to accept help. She feels that she will be seen as weaker if she has help. Additionally, she's spent a lot of time where help has strings attached. And she doesn't want those.

Depending on the problem, Riela will either solve it herself, or ask Mama Cass what her opinion on the matter is. Riela's capable of being self-sufficient, but won't always turn down help either.

Riela doesn't overthink her decisions. She goes with her gut most times. Sometimes, she'll stop to think things through, usually when she knows there are many factors in play.

Ultimately, Riela escaped from horror to freedom. Now, she's a reformed person trying to prevent others from seeing the same fate. Except, she can absolutely fall back on her more desperate habits.

Riela

🔪Barmaid 🔪Technically, abbess in training 🔪Has at least 3 knives on her person at all times 🔪Not a frivolous person 🔪Terrified of Nidtrix 🔪Knows what kind of drink you want 🔪Loves to get lost in a book 🔪Keeps the library organized 🔪Cleans when stressed

Pics, picrews, and more vibes under the cut!

🗡️Longing for a home that never existed 🗡️Getting lost in a book to escape it all 🗡️Hopeless romantic 🗡️Has a lot of very correct hunches both in battle and about drinks 🗡️Really confused when she gets somewhere without tipping culture

#my characters #riela

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of-tatooine · 4 years ago

Text

mercy. | chapter 15 - white

“because I know I will kill my enemies when they come.”

Flashes of bright, white light surrounded your universe.

They left no room for escape, encircled and almost trapped your vision to be limited to unbearable shine. And it was not just your eyes that felt the frustration - it was your entire mind, body and soul, in unison against the damage, trying to bring you back to your core yet to no avail.

Every single inch of your skin and every marrow in your aging bones screamed damn murder. Estranged, white hot matter engulfed your brain, occupied your thoughts and shot out any ounce of positivity that may or may not have been there to begin with.

Pain.

It invaded your entire body, every single cell and fiber of your being, like daggers digging deep into your skin. That troubled mind of yours could not recall when the last time you had been in such pain was - even getting shot seemed to be a breeze with the adrenaline kicking in.

In such a state of mind and body - all you were reduced to was wishing you had been six feet deep in some gravel already, to save you the years worth of misery and pure agony which seemed to only get fucking worse. No, these bastards holding you down did not even give you the damn luxury of dreaming of death.

Instead, the blade was dug deeper into your bullet wound.

“Motherfucker - ” was the latest addition to the plethora of curses you had spitted out in the past waking hours, the only vocabulary available to you. Sweat dripped down your jaw and trailed down your bloody neck in contrast to the freezing cold right outside the wall inches away, your flannel-covered chest heaved in exertion. Arms bound behind the chair with some makeshift rope which, in other circumstances, would not stand a chance against your nimble fingers. The jeans drenched in a mixture of blood, some dried and most of it your own, the fabric and bandages that used to cover your thigh ripped beyond recognition - and the sick fuck who would not stop grinning held the blade way too deep into your scab, reopening the wound, making blood gush out all over.

Ellie.

From the pain that rattled the very ground you were sitting on, your eyelids pushed themselves open to seek for the little girl. As much as you could make out of the bloodshot sight coated by tears, your almost lifeless irises searched for that familiar sight - heart dropping once again as you spotted her green coat in that blurred vision of yours.

Yelling, screaming and arms flailing as a couple of men tried to get a hold of her, dragging her out of the dirty cell they had tossed you both into and she put up a good fight. Just like she always did.

Just like he had taught her.

A newfound rage fueled you from within, surpassing the agony delivered by the probing into your body - the thought of filthy fingers touching her with nothing but harm intended, her screams echoing off of the hanging slabs of meat and corpses making your jaw clench and blood boil, veins bulging.

Get her the hell out of here.

“Leave her the fuck alone!” you would scream out into the bastard’s face with whatever voice you had left in your throat, body tightening and shooting up in a sudden burst of adrenaline - the movement erupting another groan out of you as the metal moved within your flesh.

Gathering all your efforts to keep your focus on the girl, green eyes would meet yours and they had nothing but absolute fear and terror in them. Helpless and hopeless, fighting yet beaten as the men pressed her against the rusty bars of the kitchen cell that was built to keep in animals for slaughter.

It was in the slight furrow of your eyebrows as your eyes met hers for the briefest of moments. The little spark of hope that never gave up on shining, no matter how much blood you had lost and how close death was. The sternness that seemed to give her some sort of determination, something to take example of. The pure rage against any and all men that walked on this very ground who dared touch her.

Be brave, Ellie.

“Now, we tried to be nice,” the greasy-haired fucker David who stood dangerously close to your face spoke, “ - but you just wouldn’t play.”

As you breathed in and out, frantically, the veins in your neck bulging as you struggled to get out of the bindings with what little strength your body could muster. “You let that girl go,” your bloodied lips would spit out, jaw clenched as you dared stare the monster right in the eyes.

Surviving for this long meant you had seen a lot of fucked up things in your lifetime, as a Firefly or sometimes on the other end of the barrel - yet your mind and soul would never forget the horrors these pack of cannibals had inflicted on both you and the little girl, in just a matter of days. It was not even about the beating they gave you, nor the scab wounds they re-opened up, no. This was so much more than your own torture, watching that little girl you had somehow sworn to protect be handled so roughly, hurt, battered and bruised.

“What are you gonna do, doll? Kill me?” he taunted you, pressing the blade a bit sideways to widen the wound, eliciting another muffled scream out of you as your head arched back slightly - if you had managed to get out of this hellhole alive, if the fucking Cordyceps did not kill you, this pain in your damn thigh would take you out. A bloody hand wrapped around your neck as he left the blade embedded, bringing your face forcefully back to match his eyesight - those sick orbs not having an ounce of light in them, shaded by a couple strands of hair.

Had you not been in such a weak position, you would have snickered at the man’s broken finger in a cast.

Lips aching to scream, legs craving to run and mind racing for the one and only Ellie, you used every inch of your leftover resolve to not give up your soul right there and then as your fingers worked softly against the knots of the rope bindings - broken fingernails digging into your skin, jaw clenching yet the rope giving away slightly. A silent prayer went up to whatever god was listening to you - it was some worn-out material that they used to tie animals with, or in this case, human meat. These fuckers had not anticipated you to be conscious, with all that residual pain after the torture.

“Take me. Let the kid go,” your hoarse voice pleaded, the desperate tonality of it lighting sick sparks inside your captor’s eyes. Another thick knot slipping through, the coarse rope cutting through your calloused fingertips.

Fuck, almost there.

“Now, how about we take you both?”

A blood-curling scream rang in the cold air of the kitchen as a couple of men carried Ellie forcefully to the adjoint freezer room not too far away from you where slabs of meat dangled all over, making you sick to your stomach knowing half of those were human.

Chest heaving in exertion and pure anger, you could only watch helplessly as David extracted the blade from your thigh in a sickening pop of blood and flesh - opting to press it against your neck, your own blood trailing down your throat as he cooed to you - an animalistic ssh that was sure to haunt you in your dreams if you ever made it out alive.

The only thing you could do was gulp, speaking would be futile as he angled the blade to keep you looking up at him. Meanwhile, your fingers worked ever so softly to untie the last knot. You still kept your hands together behind you - if that did not work, well, he would be better off slitting your throat right there and then. Even if it was your only chance, you would take it.

So you did.

“What the fuck is that?” you would hear one of his soldiers speak up, in total and utter disbelief, making your bloodshot eyes look over to the girl they had tried to restrain against the metal table. Her sleeve tugged up as her legs tried to kick at the other guy - yet their attention to a certain detail seemed to stop the proceedings, and stop time for a split second as David turned around to face his men.

Then, you saw it. From the corner of your eye, squinting a little. A fucking bite, all scabbed in its’ glory, on her inner forearm where they had tugged the sleeve upwards to make a cut.

When they told you she was immune, you did not believe it one bit. This crusade was simply for the fact that Joel needed the help, for whatever end goal he had in mind. For the contentment of the kid and her safety, nothing more, nothing less.

Now, you had seen more infected bites than you could count - and this one was no ordinary one. Jesus Christ, this was real. Your shocked orbs caught Ellie’s equally scared ones in that moment of confusion - a distraction that you probably would not get ever again.

“Run!” you screamed at Ellie as the bindings dropped from your reddened wrists, your foot lifting up with such force to hit the man where the sun don’t shine - your hands reaching to hold the blade further away from you, not even giving the cannibal a split second to comprehend what the fuck was going on as he collapsed in a loud groan, the blade tumbling over the concrete floor.

And run she did - using her little size to her advantage, she jumped off of the table before the bastards could catch her, running to the exit through the slabs of meat as you ducked into another hallway in a hurry - the pain subsided by the pumping adrenaline only for a little while. Curses and slurs rang in the coldness of the compound as the men scurried for their guns, one rushing to help David up yet you would not dare look back.

The only thing that mattered was finding Ellie outside and getting the fuck out of the village. The moment you dashed from the backdoor of the kitchen, the blinding blizzard hit you right in the eye, making your step falter in the snow. From the right came footsteps - quick yet light, your instinct told you to follow them, only to find a head of ginger hair with specks of snow scattered as you got close.

Hope filled through your being, despite the fact that your only protection against the blizzard was Joel’s flannel. Blood trickled down every inch of your skin, leg limping.

Oh God.

Joel.

Would you live enough to see him one more time? To thank him for his shirt you had borrowed? Freezing would be a big understatement in your condition, somehow the fear of death and the survival instinct pumping through you kept you in operating condition. It did not matter if you got hypothermia or suffered a long, painful death from blood loss - as long as you got this girl under safety, you could die a happy woman.

She must have seen you too, you reckoned when she collided into you, a silent throe of gratitude as her hands wrapped around yours in such force. Dragging you deeper into the snow, away from the approaching sounds of men and guns cocking and into temporary cover.

There was no way in hell they were going to spot you in this hell-sent snowstorm, unless you got too close, or shot someone. The latter would not deem to be the case, considering you had absolutely nothing to defend yourself with. You had been in fucked up situations before, but never like this, never with the responsibility of a little kid looming all over your shoulders and a gaping bullet hole in your thigh. Taking the chance to peek above cover, your arm was placed protectively around the little girl, your best attempt to shield her from harm and give her some warmth.

As the two of you took a moment to breathe, the slow crunches of snow underneath boots alerted you - they were everywhere, looking for you both, eager to get their hands on you. Muttering a curse, you looked down at her, and that was when you noticed the utter fear mixed in with blood and determination written on her face. Staring up at you with faltering eyes.

"Ellie," you whispered, head leaned in, as your arm encircled around her to press her against you. "I'll get you out of here. We need to go inside - and take these fuckers down."

She nodded quickly, tensing up at the sudden movement up ahead, her trembling hand reaching to her coat to take out her trusted switchblade.

"No matter what happens, you don't leave my side."

Another nod of confirmation, and against the protests of every inch of your limbs, you moved on forward into the unknown snow - Ellie tugging onto your sleeve as you advanced like a wolf to choke out the first of many cannibals. Adrenaline and the resolve to protect this little girl at all costs the only things giving you strength.

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

She was gone.

All it took was one second of carelessness, leaving her a couple steps behind to sneak up on another one of David’s gang members - by the time you had choked him out, fighting and stammering in the snow, the wind had picked up and made you totally lose sight apart from what was literally an inch in front of you.

Sqinted eyes searching for the little girl frantically, the jacket you had stolen off of the bodies you knocked out in your way providing some much-needed warmth. Yet another stolen item - a scarf this time, thickly tied around the gaping wound to stop the bleeding the best you could. The dizziness from the blood loss seemed to hit you in waves, faltering your step occasionally as you trudged through the blizzard. After coming this far, all this way, with the cold freezing the very marrows of your bones and your blood drying all over your skin - you would not let a fucking bullet wound take you down nor keep you from finding her.

There, over the far horizon of your vision coated by snowflakes, you could spot color. Orange, burning red, emanating from the building not too far away it seemed - it could not be if you could make it in this storm. Dark smoke starting to follow up into the sky, contrasting the white stillness of the snow with the smell of burning wood.

Praying she was alright, you would let out a silent curse and take off towards your new lead.

Fear rose up in your throat again, your heart racing as you tried to stick to the walls and be as stealthy as possible while making your way towards the burning building. Not many men were in sight, even if they had been, they did not spot you - most of them you had choked out or kicked to death on your way. There was no room for mercy, there never would be for these bastards who tried to touch the kid you swore to protect.

If only you could get your hands on that fucker David, you were going to make him wish he was never born.

Breath quickening as you silently approached the building from the back alley, which seemed to be an old, abandoned diner, an open window could be spotted near the back of it - noting that it was just near Ellie’s height. Without a second doubt, or thought in that matter, you hastily moved and carefully hopped inside of the kitchen of the joint. Alert and jaw clenched, you could hear the thuds of footsteps and the voice of that sick fuck once again as you dared sneak a peek from the crevice - along with the cracks and winds of the flame slowly emanating through the walls, originating from the entrance.

“You think you know me?”

Ellie’s muffled sounds of protest rose up in the air, your feet fucking killing you as you sneaked your way towards the two. If you wanted to save her, you needed to do this nice and so damn quiet - you were not packing and the only weapon you had was your damn hands, knuckles all bloody. The one guy you managed to snag had been out of bullets, before you decided to discard it and you were beginning to regret that stupid decision, made in your haste to get to her. It destroyed to your core, knowing that she had been through so much and you could not save her sooner - in the end, even if it meant your own demise, you promised her you would protect her.

Fire illuminated the center point of the premise as you sneaked up closer, sounds of struggle ever so prominent as you readied yourself up for the battle, now having a clear view of his denim covered back. You would not dare imagine the animalistic expression on his face.

And Ellie, laying vulnerable and beaten on the floor.

When that monster, no doubt injured by the way he was holding onto his arm, got on top of Ellie to strangle her - that was when your blood boiled to the rim. It did not matter if the fire burnt through your skin, bullets pierced your limbs, knives got stuck in flesh.

Legs pushed you up in almost an instant as you growled and lunged at the man from his back, catching him by surprise as you used the maintained stealth to your advantage. Giving Ellie time to escape the hell out. He grunted as you tackled him to the ground, laying down a solid punch to his jaw but then the remaining survival instinct in him decided to act up, much to your bad luck - his good arm came out of nowhere and punched you in your stomach, hard, pure rage spitting out of his mouth.

“You fuckin’ bitch.”

Sending you curling back on the floor as the wind got knocked out of you, that split second enough for him to try to get up with a snarl and move towards his one designated victim - the best he could do was crouch in his state.

Maybe you should have noticed, or maybe the blinding fire had been too distracting. Maybe it was the urge to get this man’s hands off of her as soon as possible, no matter what the cost. As you practically crawled on the floor towards the girl in a race with David to get to her, the shy glint of the machete she wielded stopped the breath in your lungs.

A loud hurl that no child should have to muster came out of her lips as she gave the man who had put her through so much pain a slash - right in the head, the man’s screams erupting in the burning room before ceasing abruptly as the metal pierced through his skull. Blood and brains scattering all over the hardwood, with such force - and yet she did not stop. All that frustration of captivity, the way he touched her and you, tortured you relentlessly - it was all expressed in the form of brutal, fatal slashes to David’s now unrecognizable remains.

“Ellie,” you managed to crawl up to her, your arms tentatively reaching out to get wrapped around her tense shoulders, pulling her towards your frame as tears dropped from her green eyes, sobs filling in the air.

“C’mere - it’s okay, it’s over,” you softly whispered as the girl wrapped herself around your kneeling frame, letting go of the machete with a thud, craving the comforting touch. She had done it. Killed a man viciously, without an inch of remorse, exactly the way he deserved to die. Brutalized and mutilated to no dismay. And now she was crumbling, as if reminding herself that she still was a child in a cruel, big world.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.”

Heart broken into a million of pieces, her tears coated your stolen, oversized jacket as your eyes threatened to spill - a couple drops raining down on your bloodied cheeks, chest heaving in the aftermath of it all. Fingers ran through her hair as you pressed her even closer, finding much needed comfort in each other surrounded by fire and death.

Lost in the embrace as you comforted the child, you did not hear the giant of a man run through the fire and into the burning diner, breathless and battered - who dropped down to his knees and encircled both of your pressed frames into a hug, pulling you close. Ellie shielded herself from the world instantly, grabbing a hold of his jacket while another held onto your hand for dear life as she cried his name.

Instant warmth comforted you, the scent of flannel and snow seeping through your very being. Instinct told you not to budge, not to protest - you did not have to. It was safe, he was safe, hell - his arms were be the safest place to be on that scorched earth. His calloused hands wrapped around both of your shoulders, you felt his breathing soften. He had found you - before it was too late. Before he lost the two who mattered to him the most, even if his lips were silent.

Unable to do anything else, your bloody lips parted, leaning your heavy head against Joel’s broad chest as you never let Ellie’s other hand go - her small but bruised one in your equally injured. Joel’s presence gave you all the hope you had needed in the world for that moment, as if he was this glue putting together the shattered pieces, after you and that little brave girl in his arms had gone through absolute living hell.

“Ellie, it’s okay now,” he spoke, the rugged edge of his voice breaking as his one hand cupped Ellie’s cheek, the little girl looking up to him and you with terrorized eyes.

“Joel…he, he tried to - ”

“Oh, baby girl…” he gave in, the giant of a man’s entire resolve dissolving, the pure love he held laced his tone as his thumb wiped down the tears falling down her blood-coated skin. Joel buried his face in the little girl’s hair, cherishing her very existence as his hand held her face ever so gently. It warmed your heart, this burning fire reminiscent of your entire reason of fighting to survive. It was all for love, in any shape or form. Taking care of each other and never letting go.

That was all that mattered.

“It’s okay now, I got you. I got you both.”

As he allowed her to just let it all out for the mere remaining seconds they had before you all had to flee, his neck craned down to focus entirely on you. “Look at me, honey,” his rugged voice spoke with the softest, sweetest tone, olive green eyes clouded with such concern and relief, his long fingers gently pushed your hair back. Exhausted and teary eyes met his orbs as he adjusted his arm so that his calloused hand held your cheek in a warm embrace. No doubt inspecting for injuries, always checking if you were okay. Your lips curled in the softest of grateful smiles.

“God, I thought I lost you,” he whispered, the approaching flames reflecting in his green orbs as he pressed a desperate, loving kiss to your forehead. Lips you never thought you would feel against your skin. The type of affection that could only come from a man who thought you had been gone forever.

A loud thud of burnt wood falling down the floor echoed amongst the cracks of fire. “Let’s get out of here, c’mon,” he cooed, helping both of you up to your feet as his arm remained tightly wrapped around your waist - never letting go, always holding you close. Ellie took his other hand as she used her sleeve to wrap her tears, eyes looking up to find the exit.

Joel Miller swore to himself, right there and then, that he would take care of both of you. No matter what it took, he would always be there to watch over you and fight for both of you to the ends of this earth.

As long as it meant having you in his arms again.

#i tear up every time #i hope i captured it right #mercy #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #the last of us joel #joel miller x reader #tlou joel x reader #joel miller x you #tlou reader insert

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maryellenjunior · 5 years ago

Text

There is a cutter whose name is Death

Geralt takes Ciri under his wing. That was the least he could do. Guilt fills his blood with every look he gives the young woman. He's bound her to him. Because he thought he stood above the gods, above destiny. So he fucked this child's life. What for? To finally not feel so alone anymore? They are silent. Both of them. Geralt is confused. Now that he has his child. This child that he strangely loves more than he's loved anything ever in his life. Now he doesn't know what to do. And it seems the gods are not smiling upon them.

War.

Nildfgaard has attacked and ravages upon the free lands like cancer. More often than enough they are waiting in supply lines, sneaking around borders. But of course they are not the only ones. Everyone is running.

Plague.

A good companion of war, Geralt thinks. They find their first plagued village a month after their union. Ciri is devastated. Geralt doesn't know what to say, how cheer her up. What can you say about death?

Death.

Geralt know death, plague and war. He's seen them. Often. His first Roach had died because he couldn't feed her. A cruel drought had killed the crops, made grass rot. His horse had simply died of hunger and he had been too young, too naive to kill her mercifully. Strangely that had been the first time he had seen death. It had kneeled beside her. One cannot describe death. You just know it is. It doesn't frighten you. Or maybe Geralt has gotten used to it. Plague he had seen in a village near south. A small one. It hadn't paid its debts to its lord, so he had called a magician to set a warning example. It had worked. Geralt remembers vaguely that he had visited the lord. Immune to human sickness he had stolen a pair of gloves from this village. Oh...the warm handshake he had given the lord. The lord died horribly, while Geralt and the magician had been hunting several ghouls. War he had first seen later in his life. War is not something to pull off easily. War costs money, soldiers, lives. Lives that normally would fill the halls with corn, apples, fill bellies of greedy lords. But still, Geralt had seen war. Burnt villages, burnt cities. And he knew...he knew it could rebuilt. The villages would bloom again, cities rise, strive again. But how do you explain something like that to a child? A child, that has seen too much for its eyes, too much death, to understand: death is the answer to life, not its enemy... Strangely he hasn't seen death on their path. Geralt wonders why. He pulls Roach a little tighter to him, while Ciri tries not to fall asleep on her. Their path leads to Oxenfurt. They need supplies. And though villages have more supplies... Cities have walls. It is a wearying game of what is a better way to survive. Actually Geralt hopes to find Yennefer there. He has heard rumors. That she had been fighting Nilfgaard, only some months ago. Maybe there are mages in the city-

Oh.

Death is in front of him. Standing on the bridge. On the bridge to Oxenfurt. Ciri gasps. It looks grotesque. They are hanging from the bridge, swinging softly in the wind. At least 200 men and women. That at least is what Geralt can count, from far. Death is giving him a look.

Oh.

They are hanging from the walls as well. A red cross on their gates. A red cross is one simple warning.

Plague.

"They must have hanged those who tried to flee from the sickness...," Geralt murmurs. Death is again looking at him. It doesn't have eyes. A mask is covering its face. It smiles. A smile of teeth covered in blood. He swallows, takes Roach's reign and turns around. Fear is burning his skin while he tries not to sit back on Roach and gallop with her far, far away, where death cannot find him. A small fire is crackling. Both of them can't sleep. Ciri glances at him. But he can't speak. HIs lips are tied. Why does the thought of a plagued Oxenfurt frighten him? Yen would have teleported herself out as soon as the word plague made the round and no one could have stopped her. She is too powerful for that. What is it with Oxenfurt? Yes, of course, he has never seen that city so utterly hopeless, Oxenfurt, the city of students, high education, the city of...

poetry. songs. ballads.

He gasps. His body caught in a coldness he knows. The chill of death. Ciri stares at him. She opens her mouth. A shadow glooming behind her, Geralt reaches for his sword. He makes the Aard Sign but a small brown hand turns it into nothing. Lilac and gooseberries fill the air. "Yen," he whispers. The magician's face looks tired in the crackling fire. Shadows dance upon it. Ciri looks at him. He nods. When Yennefer sits down, Geralt watches carefully. Yen's face ...is not that of a young woman anymore. Wrinkles around her eyes and frowns upon her forehead. Her lips dry. Even her dress...it is simple, made of linen. She looks like a peasant woman. She sits down next to Ciri and expands her hand. "My name is Yennefer of Vengerberg. I am a friend of Geralt."

Again is Ciri glancing at him. He sighs. "You can trust Yennefer, Ciri." For a moment everything stills. Then does Ciri take Yennefers hand. Yennefer smiles softly. Then, she turns her head sharply at Geralt, her eyes cold and hardened. "Geralt," she spits, "you must go back to Oxenfurt, at once." She stands up and throws him his bag. "He is in there, Geralt. He didn't want to leave, said it would not become a fucking disaster and now the order of the fucking mages cut the magic from Oxenfurt. I can't get in." Yen's glare is cutting him into pieces, but a last look at Ciri gives him enough strength to say: "He is dead, Yen. If not now, then by the break of dawn. Trust me. They've hanged 200 men from the bridge. Their walls are covered by hanged people. The rest is dead from the plague. I will not leave Ciri-" "You fucking ignorant prick!" Her scream reminds Geralt of a panther that had watched its cubs murdered by hunters for fun. He doesn't know what she went through these last months. But she is not strong anymore. Desperation screams from her, it lingers like a deadly poison on her whole appearance. He pities her. "Dont give me that look, Geralt!" Her hands are cramped into fists. "You have no idea what kind of shit I had to see these last months. Just fucking go there and see if he is alive." "I might be immune, but Ciri is not-" "Give her your fucking antibiotics! He is your friend!" Silence. This time Geralt doesn't really trust his voice. He coughs two, three, four times. "Yen," he tries, he really tries, this lump in his throat growing bigger and bigger. "I-" It is Ciri that takes his bag, desperately tries to put the saddle on Roach. "Let's go Geralt," she murmurs, her voice mere but a whisper. "Let's go back to your friend. He needs us." They arrive at the bridge at dawn. The dead are still hanging, silence having thrown a thick blanket on the whole city. And again Death is standing on the bridge. But this time it extends its hand towards him. He breathes. The smell of death making the air sweet. He wants to vomit. Yennefer is shivering and holding Ciri. Her violet eyes staring at him. "If I'm not back by noon-" Ciri hugs him by his hip, pushing her fingers harshly against his back. He kisses her hair. A small chill touches his back, little fingertips grasping at him. Goosebumps. The urge to vomit. To run. Adrenaline fills him worde than any poison he knows. One step after the other. Sweat breaking out on his forehead, the back of his neck. While he concentrates on nothing but smiling death, a grotesque hand covered in bandages , extended at him. The last step. He stands in front of the gate. Death standing next to him. He hasn't taken that hand. He looks at it. Never in his long life had he ever stood so close to Death. It's breath is sweet, its clothing covered in mud, no eyes, no nose, simply a mask with no features at all besides a bleeding mouth. It rises its left hand against the gate with such a soft gesture as if it is afraid to wake someone...or something. Geralt breathes. Closes his eyes. Takes one step, two steps... Opens his eyes. He's heard once of hell. A place where cruel souls that have not worshipped the gods, go to and rot, are tortured. Stories, he thought, stories people make up at night to have a little scare one in a while, to try to get people to be nice to each other. Or maybe these stories...are true. Because sometimes humans experience such vile, such cruel atrocities, but not done by humans, no...done by little bacteria that kill and kill and kill and kill... The city is a mass grave. He will not find Jaskier here. There are just too many. Too many corpses on the street, too many in the houses, too many piled literally piled upon each other in little shops. He goes through this city, take one step after the other, tries not to breath, not to think, not to feel. It seems they first tried to burn the houses that were infected. Geralt doesn't want to imagine the screams of terror, begging to leave the city...

Oh. Death. standing there at the temple.

And a voice. Singing an old song.

There is a cutter whose name is death Whose powers come from the gods He grinds all his knives So they are cutting much better Soon he will cut us We just have to wait and suffer Beware my little dandelion!

Geralt sees him. He's sitting on the stairs of the temple, a blond girl in his arms. She is dead. Geralt can smell it. Her dead eyes are staring at him. She must have been expecting... Jaskier's eyes are closed. His face pale like a vampire, dark circles around his eyes, his cheekbones remind Geralt of a skull.

How many thousand are not count? Which dies under the cutter's sickle? Red roses, white lilies He will all cut you down, You imperial crowns! Oh! The cutter will get you all! Watch out my sweet buttercup!

Death is sitting next to Jaskier. It's watching him, its head resting on its bandaged hands.

"JASKIER!," he growls, sprinting forward. He must end this madness. All of this must end now. He can't anymore, he can't...all of this is wrong, it's so wrong... Blue eyes watch him deadly. Death still sits there. Only Geralt's legs are shivering while he holds a trembling hand towards Jaskier. "Jaskier. Please. Come with me." Jaskier coughs. Blood spills everywhere, around his mouth, down his neck, on his filthy shirt. No, no, no...please...please let this be a nightmare, please, someone wake me up. Little blood drops landed on Death's mask. It grins. "Jaskier. You are sick. We must get you out of here." "She's expecting my baby, Geralt, you know?" It feels like someone is cutting him with a deep knife into his back, again and again and again. Jaskier's voice is nothing more than a whisper. "Her name is Priscilla. I am way too old for her. But she refused to let go of the baby." "Jaskier...please." Jaskier shakes his head. "Just listen Geralt. I can barely stand. Just...listen, okay?" Death draws nearer to Jaskier, putting its head on his shoulder. Jaskier doesn't seem to notice. Geralt sits down. He takes Jaskier's right hand. It's cold and limp. The knives in Geralt's back don't stop. He wishes they were real, so he didn't have to feel anymore, think anymore... He takes a deep breath, smiles at Jaskier. "I will listen, Jaskier."

#COUGHING #SORRY FOR THE ANGST #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x dandelion #the witcher netflix #im sorry guys #please ...it will get better #i guess?#hehe #this corona is doing things with my brain #i do not recommend reading decameron by boccaccio

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prurientpuddlejumper · 5 years ago

Text

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 6

<- Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 ->

Summary: First your mom’s a jerk. Then the Creature’s a jerk. You always try to be supportive and strong, because you know he was created in a lab 2 years ago and has never had any human contact except for physical beatings, but… You have your own emotional insecurities, too, and there’s only so much you can take.

The rooster crows, and you spring out of bed, rushing downstairs to do your chores with a vigor that alarmed, but pleased, your parents. Pulling on your coat in the frosty grey air, you hurry out to the barn before dawn breaks.

The dilapidated old structure looms like a ghost at the end of the pasture in the dark morning fog. The wooden door creaks as you push it open and slip inside. You discover the terrifying, ghoulish monster sleeping peacefully in the cow pen, curled up on the hay with Edelweiss and her newborn calf. A handful of barn cats have joined them, sharing the warmth.

A feeling builds up inside you like air filling a balloon, and escapes your mouth as a high-pitched squeal.

He jerks awake in an uncoordinated flailing of startled limbs, putting himself protectively between the calf and the noise. “S-sorry! You’re just so cute,” you gush, lowering your voice to a whisper. His eyes meet yours, the confusion leaves them, and he smiles.

As the previous night, he watches intently as you set about your chores. This time he asks you questions, and follows along with what you’re doing. You show him how to collect eggs, milk cows, distribute feed, and pull up water from the well—the latter he watches from a window, so he won’t be seen.

When finally you are done, you turn your attention to the creature. Your early start means there should be some extra time before you’ll be expected for breakfast, so you tend to his wound, and lay down in the hay with him. The animals graze peacefully outside in the purple-orange sunrise. He puts his arms around you, and you rest your head on his broad chest, watching them through the barn door, safe in the shadows.

“You are a gentle creature,” you yawn lazily, running your fingers through his hair, and tracing them over the uneven skin of his chest. For all he may look like a monster, he has the gentlest soul. But the comment makes his jaw clench, and shift uncomfortably.

“You don't know that,” he growls. “I am not. The power of death is in these hands.” He holds them out and turns them over. Each pale knuckle protrudes like the pommel of a dagger, attached to long, skeletal fingers. Like everything about him, they are macabre in appearance, but looking past that to the person they belong to, you can’t imagine them capable of any wrongdoing.

“No it's not—” you begin to protest, snatching his hands out of the air and clutching them to your chest. But then, you don’t really know anything about his past, and begin to wonder. “Have you...? Killed?”

He shakes his head, to your relief. “To take a life is to waste the most precious gift. But I have contemplated it, and I believe myself capable. Before we met, I was determined to wreak misery upon he who made me. Humanity hated and scorned me, and so I decided…” He trails off, breathing deeply. “I am certain, had you not found me, I would have committed unforgivable evils; such was the state I was in. I have already committed acts of destruction: I set fire to a cottage where my friends once lived. I destroyed out of spite that place where they abandoned me.”

“There’s no point worrying about what could have happened. You haven’t done anything wrong, that’s what matters. All you’ve done is... burn an empty cottage?” Wait, what? “I didn’t realize you had friends before. You always spoke as if you had been alone until now...” A dagger of jealousy pierces your heart. You push the feeling away, a pit of shame knotting your stomach—how dare you be upset you’re not his first and only friend?

His chest heaves a sharp laugh, but his eyes are sad. “I called them thus… In truth, I was their friend, but they were never mine” He tells you a story of how he took shelter in a low hovel attached to a cottage, from whence he could observe the lives of its occupants through the year, undetected. He learned to speak and read from watching them, and in return he secretly aided them however he could. They called him a good spirit, and he called them his protectors. The patriarch was a blind man, and after he had mastered speech, he sought to introduce himself when he was alone, that he might supplicate himself before him for aid, and earn his sympathy. “My plan nearly succeeded, but his family returned and drove me away. Despite all my efforts to help them, they could not stomach a ‘good spirit’ as hideous as I, and they fled in horror, never to return. Such is the fate of one wretched as I. In my life, only you have been able to tolerate me—I must assume by some anomaly in the shape of your skull which makes you immune to horror.”

His tale is just as sorrowful as you had expected, and you spent its telling squeezing and nuzzling him comfortingly. But there was one little thing that kept bothering you about it.

“Hang on—so you were spying on them for a whole year?! That’s kind of creepy, mon coeur.”

“What do you mean? I would be delighted to discover a secret friend had been watching over me this whole time.”

Your head hangs, shaking side to side. “Oh, my sweet innocent daemon.” You swivel around and squeeze both his cheeks between your hands. “Of course you would. All you’ve ever wanted is to not be alone. How could you understand what stalking means?”

“Stalking?”

“Most people find it disturbing—threatening—to be watched by a stranger without their knowledge. And for an entire year! They must have realized the mysterious spirit doing them favors was you the whole time! I’d have been creeped out too if that was how we met! They would have run away even if you were handsome as a prince!”

His face is a mask of confusion, frozen with mouth agape. After a moment of shocked silence, it falls in despair. “Then there is more than my appearance that drives my fellow-beings from me? I always believed, if not for my twisted form, I might be accepted—but there is more? My sensibilities, my utter ignorance of the simplest conventions of social existence will keep me from ever experiencing it!”

“Oh, no! Please don’t… I didn’t mean…!” Good job, you broke him. “That isn’t what I meant,” you plead, desperately stroking the side of his face, but his eyes are frozen in a faraway look, sinking under the weight of a new failure. “What I mean is, maybe it’s not as hopeless as you think! Maybe people aren’t afraid of you because of your immutable physical traits, but because of how you present yourself. And you can change that. I can teach you!”

His unfocused eyes refocus on you, silently curious about what you’re saying.

“So much of how we perceive others is based on presentation. Dress a man in rags and he will be suspected as a criminal, or in the finest silks and he is trusted as a gentleman, though he is the same man with the same soul.” You play with his hair, combing the tangles out of it with your fingers. “Perhaps if we can obtain clothing tailored to your size, if we can groom your hair to a gentlemanly fashion, and most importantly, find some way to introduce you which explains your odd figure… perhaps then, you would not arouse fear in those who see you.”

“Do you think so?” he asks, hopefully.

“We can try.”

He smiles, shaking off his melancholy. Two massive hands pull you firmly onto his lap. “You are all I want, anyway. I don’t care about anyone else.” His hand runs down the small of your back, and lower, teasing you. A heat rises in your core. Something in the way his eyes smile when they look at you… suddenly, you need him. You lean up to kiss him, pulling on his neck for support, and his lips lower to meet yours, merging with sudden fury. He pulls the back of your head toward him, deepening the kiss, while his other hand takes advantage of your hips lifting off his lap to slide between your thighs. He moans, muffled against your mouth. The sound of his arousal ignites your own, and you writhe your hips into the fingers exploring you there, directing them over your clothes to your heat. You could get lost in him.

Your mother’s shrill voice carries down to the barn, calling your name. The hens cluck a greeting, rushing to the fence to beg for food. She’s not just calling you in to breakfast, she’s coming to the barn!

You fall off him with a yelp, frantically righting your clothing and hair, while he scrambles to get out of sight, massive erection outlined clearly even through his thick cloak.

“What is taking you so long?” your mother scolds, charging into the barn. She’s in a foul mood, but at least is too wrapped up in her anger to notice anything amiss. She snatches up the milk pail by the door. “I’ve been waiting on this for breakfast!”

“Sorry. I got an early start so I could take my time this morning—it’s no later than user!”

“Don’t talk back to me, child,” she huffs. “I worried about you. I keep expecting you to disappear again.”

“Oh, mom…” you feel sorry for all you’ve put her through for a moment, but she doesn’t let you complete your thought.

“Do you know how this has been on me? Our family is the gossip of the town. But at least we had that nice service for you. How did you like the service?”

It wasn’t a real question. You open your mouth to answer, and she is already delivering a lengthy sermon on how lovely the hymns were, and how she had the best voice, because she wanted to be an opera singer when she was your age, you know.

“Anyway, I came to fetch you for breakfast, and after breakfast, I want you to go into town and apologize to that boy Ferdinand right away and get him to take you back.”

“What? I told you, I broke things off with him!”

“You can explain that the accident made you hysterical, and you weren’t thinking straight.”

“But I was thinking straight. I don’t love him!”

“You fool!” she raises her voice. “Can’t you see he’s your best prospect? Who else will have you? Do you want to grow old alone, a spinster?”

“Maybe I do!” You’ve had about enough of this. “There’s good money in textiles, and then I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone! You think I want to end up like you and dad?”

“HOW DARE YOU?” She slaps you across the face. It wasn’t a hard blow, but it stings like needles under your skin. An angry snarl emanates from where the creature is hiding. Your mother stands bolt upright. “What was that?”

“That was you hitting me,” you hiss between clenched teeth, playing dumb.

“Let us return to the house. Something unholy has fallen on this place.”

“No, I still have chores to finish.”

“Now! I will not leave my daughter alone to be preyed upon by a demonic spirit. Dear lord, what if the devil is following you? When you had your accident, you came too close to the gates of death, and now some devil has its claws in your soul… Come!”

“It was only a cow, you’re imagining things,” you plead, but she grabs you hard around the wrist and drags you back to the house.

*****

Something is wrong. You can tell the moment you enter the barn. After spending a long, miserable day under your mother’s supervision, you long for the comfort of your macabre companion’s arms, but he does not greet you at the door. It is silent. He could be asleep again, but it is not the warm, comfortable silence of rest. It is a cold feeling, as if something had sucked all sound from the air.

You climb up to the hay loft, a knot of dread rising in your stomach, and find him stewing in a shadowed corner facing the wall.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Who is Ferdinand?” he growls, not turning around.

The knot tightens.

He whips around and repeats his demand, this time a roar. “Who is Ferdinand?!” His eyes are dark. He may have been crying.

“The boy I was with when I tripped and fell in the river... the one who shot you.”

“And who is he to you, exactly?” He asks, attempting to seem indifferent to the answer, though his voice is strained and constricted in his throat.

“He was... we were courting. He comes from a wealthy family, and my parents pushed the match. Of course I ended all preludes the moment I awoke from the accident to learn what he had done to you. Then I went to find you.”

This explanation does nothing to satisfy him, or to relieve the tension in his shoulders and the heaving of his breath. He paces.

“You never told me.”

“I… I’m sorry; he’s in the past, it didn’t seem important…” But not even mentioning it was a deliberate oversight. It was to protect his feelings, you tell yourself. Or was it to protect yourself from your own shame? Girls in your town are taught to be faithful, to never rush between men. One must wait at least a year between suitors, to be proper. To do otherwise is to be called a whore. Not that you care about what is proper. Not that he ought to care.

“Did you lay with him?” he cringes. “And how many others before him?!”

“Th-that’s none of your business!”

“But you’re mine!” he roars. “I thought you were mine… I should have known you belonged to another!”

“I belong to nobody!” you cry indignantly, trying to convince yourself as much as him. The anger rising within you is overshadowed by a stronger feeling—guilt. You never lied exactly, but you omitted the truth to let him think you were better than you are. “I may have been with another in the past, but I chose to be with you now. Please...” Your appeal falls on unhearing ears as he continues to pace in a jerky, agitated manner.

“And you… you debase yourself with me! What madness would cause you to break with your own kind and seek companionship with a wretched fiend? You could be wife to a normal, handsome fellow-being, yet you debauch in the sordid embrace of monsters? You are a greater freak than I! Given the choice, I would take a normal life! You make an outcast of yourself willingly. What in the world could drive you to such self-destruction? I forbid it! Be not an adulteress to a corpse. Take my leave and rejoin your own!”

There are a million things you could tell him. You could shout at him for being cruel. For pushing you away again. You could calmly comfort him, explain to him why it’s all okay… Except you’re struggling to see how it can be okay. Your lip quivers. He’s right. A voice like a knife dipped in honey whispers in your ear, draining all your strength to fight back. You’re too much of a freak even for him. You’re an unfaithful whore jumping from man to man. Your knees go weak. You could never do the proper things a lady is supposed to do. You didn’t think he would notice? Everyone notices. Your mother is right—there’s a devil in you.

You turn to run, to escape the voice. Legs like lead, barn blurry with tears, you trip and stumble and feel your way to the ladder.

“Why are you crying?” he asks as you go, at first with cold curiosity, then softer, in a shaking voice. “Why are you crying?”

*****

You run into the woods, to your secret place to think and get away. It’s not far from home—a place you’ve come since you were a child—but hidden from view behind a few large boulders, standing out on the otherwise flat forest floor as if dropped from the sky. They are covered with moss, set in a tiny clearing where an old tree blew down years ago, letting just enough light in for a soft circle of grass to grow.

You scramble between the rocks, falling to your knees on the snow still hiding, like you, in the solace of shadows. Tears fall down hot against your cheeks, but you shiver, skin clammy with goosebumps.

It doesn’t take him long to find you.

“No, oh no…” he gasps, “what have I done?” He kneels beside you, and wraps himself around your shaking form. “No, no, no... Please no, don't cry,” he begins to sob. “I am sorry... I am a fiend! A wicked, villainous fiend to hurt you... Forgive me, please forgive me, I am sorry…”

It feels good to cry with him, the way a funeral feels good. Miserable, yet not alone. But you should be alone. When he knows the truth, he won’t want to stay. He’ll leave you alone with your lies.

“You’re right. You’re right about everything,” you sniff. “I didn’t tell you so many things I should have, because… this magical creature wandered out of the woods and thought the world of me. I didn’t want you to know. I’m a freak. I’m rotten. A disappointment. And I'm poor. I'm just a poor farmer. You think I am sacrificing my social standing by affiliating with you, yet in truth, I have no such standing. No merit. I am nothing. Even among the poor farmers of this town, I have never been accepted. Ha—and I said I could help you fit in! Who am I to teach anyone about social etiquette? Ferdinand was my only prospect; that's why mother is so worried that if he won't have me, no one will. But I thought I could at least seem normal in your eyes… but even a monster can see I am worthless.”

He flinches when you call him a monster, but it is only a blip against the look of horror and sadness in his eyes as you speak of yourself that way. “No. No, please forget those jealous words I spoke,” he croaks, voice breaking. He’s clinging to you like a drowning man, his weight against you crushing, but warm. He rubs heat back into your arms. “They were spoken in a fit of madness—vitriolic raving, fueled by envy, deprived of all logic or reason. Do not forgive me: hate me and curse my being, but do not allow my reckless malice to tarnish your own estimation of your worth. Here I speak the truth: You are everything. You are all I could ever want, and more than I dare ever hope for. You are kind, and wonderful, and strong. You are perfect, and I do not deserve to bask in your radiance. Destroy my wretched life now, if it will undo the harm I have done, and I shall submit myself to your revenge.”

It’s too late. The voice isn’t satisfied, and you can only helplessly parrot what it whispers to you. “I’m not any of those things. If you only looked normal, you would fit in better than I ever could. I wish I could trade bodies with you, so that you could be happy, and I could be the one hiding in the wilderness all alone.”

“I COULD NEVER BE HAPPY LIKE THAT!” he shouts, holding your gaze with such intensity it snaps you out of your fog. “Not without you beside me! I will never be content while you are miserable.”

“But you held me in such high esteem. I let you believe you were getting more than you were—that I was a prize of high station, with powers to lift you up in society. Aren't you disappointed?”

“I never overestimated your position. Though I am kept apart from it, I am not so ignorant of human society as to be blind to your place in its cruel hierarchy.”

“But you always say things like, I’m an angel, I’m noble, the barn is heaven, our food is lavish...”

“Compared against my own experiences, these are true. I have nothing, not even humanity. My life has been spent in wilderness, and you have been gracious in sharing what little you have. You are the noblest being I have encountered, yet it is plain in your residence, dress, and occupation that you are you are of the lower class. And to seek me out, unafraid… I easily inferred you were unusual amongst your peers. Your mere willingness to tolerate me is proof.”

“Oh.” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

He takes your hand, kneeling in front of you. “Did you believe I would think less of you? How could one so wonderful as you ever put value on the opinion of a wretch such as I? Could it truly be that you feel wretched, too, at times?” His eyes widen with realization. “That is why my words hurt you. You have borne the pain of rejection; you share, to an extent, my feeling of isolation. From my vantage, you seem so grand, like the walls of a castle that I am merely the wind howling against. I could not imagine myself capable of damaging you.”

“Do you really think I don’t care? I am not a castle. I’m not above you, or your reprobations. You really hurt me this time...”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking with agonizing understanding. He is certain you are leaving him. “I know.”

You breathe out a long sigh. Brushing a strand of loose hair from his despairing face, you give a lopsided smile. “You know... You're cute when you're sad.”

“I am never cute,” he says, staring severely at the ground. “I am hideous.”

“Stop it, you're even cuter when you're self-pitying!”

He looks up from his stupor, and sees the teasing glimmer in your eyes. “You... are forgiving me?”

“Do you forgive me about Ferdinand? You don’t think I’m a harlot?”

“I don’t care about that anymore. It is far worse to see you in pain because of my foolish jealousy. You may bed a different man each night, and I will count myself fortunate to have you return home to me. Just return to me. I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

Your lips crash against his, catching him off balance. You pull him down into you, practically hanging on the back of his neck.

“Well,” you break the kiss, breathless, “I’m not going to abandon you. But I… hope this gets easier. I don’t want us to fight all the time. You lash out at me like you can’t trust me. But you're only two years old, I suppose, so tantrums must be expected; and you’ve never had anyone else to talk to.”

He buries you in his chest with a sob, protectively scooping you off the frozen ground. He feels so warm, with his cloak draped over you, rocking back and forth. Everything is okay now.

“I am so sorry. I swear to you, I will never hurt you again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you whisper. “Just keep getting better. We’ll both just keep getting better, together.”

His mess of hair nods against your cheek, still gripping you tight.

*****

At length, you rise, finally ready to return. He takes off his wool cloak and wraps it around your shoulders. The storm between you is over.

You walk back to the barn to do the evening chores. Though it’s an unheated barn, it’s amazing how much warmer it feels compared to the chilling wind outside. The creature helps you with a few of the tasks you showed him earlier. He is slow and unsure, and must rest frequently for his shoulder, but he tries hard to be useful, pushing past the pain, as if helping with this will make up for everything earlier.

He sets a milk pail by the door, ready for you to bring back to the house for the dinner. His eyes linger over the spot balefully, where you had argued with your mother that morning.

“I should have protected you when you returned, after the way that woman struck you, I should have been there to lessen your strife…”

“You growled so loud, you nearly gave us away!” you laugh, throwing grains into the mule’s trough, eager to change the subject. “It’s a lucky thing father makes sport of dismissing mother’s fears as feeble-minded superstition.”

“How awful.”

“She’s awful.”

“But they are married. Do they not love each other, as my dear Felix and Safie?”

You snort at his naivete. “Marriage has nothing to do with love. It didn’t for my parents, and it wouldn’t if I had married Ferdinand.” You secure the lid back on the store of feed. “I have no money in my own name. The only way out of this farm is to wait until my parents die, or take a husband. That’s the choice all women here must make.”

“I never understood these laws of men, which seem contrived to force those under them to live in misery. One should not have to spend their life with another they do not love. It seems better to break with civilization entirely, if only it were not so bitterly lonely…”

“Well… I agree with you there. If it were possible, I’d run away into the forest and never look back. Except I would starve to death, or freeze. If I was like you… we could just disappear together.”

He smiles at you, wiping your hands off on your dress now that chores are finished, a strange look on his face. “I dreamed of that once. Having a companion who was like me, and spending our lives in the remote jungles of South America.”

“That sounds nice.”

You sit down with him against the barn wall. A small calico pads over and rubs her head against the both of you with a purr, before rushing off to hunt mice.

“It was my greatest hope… but then I met you. Now all of my dreams are of you. I would live anywhere, do anything, to be with you. I am so eager to devote my life to you… I am ashamed that I am equally eager to believe you would betray me…”

He’s never going to forgive himself for that. You sigh, and shake your head. “It's funny... Others look at you and see a monster. They run away or hurt you thinking you’ll attack them, or eat their skin, or steal the souls from their goats or something!” You laugh quietly. He stares at you a little horrified. When did you get so morbid? “What I mean is—If only they knew your most monstrous quality is a mundane, human thing like jealousy.”

He breathes out a single, silent laugh, and hangs his head.

“You know, thanks for saying you don’t care who else I’m with, but… The moment I laid eyes on you, it was over with Ferdinand. From that moment, you were all I could think about. You were all I wanted, even before we met.”

He picks his head up. “You really chose me? You could have had that handsome boy, but you chose me?” This time, his voice is full of wonder, not fear. A victorious smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“I did.”

He takes your hand and holds it to his thin lips, each word a kiss against your knuckles. “It is incomprehensible that any rational being would make such a selection, but… it makes me unimaginably happy.”

#frankenstein #Frankenstein's Monster #monster x human #monster x reader #the creature x reader #my writing #angst angst angst

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magioftheseas · 5 years ago

Text

The Farce of Hope

Written for @komahinaisle

Day 5: Fantasy AU, Healing, Hope

Summary: A certain hero of hope has been causing problems for those who reap despair. Hinata is assigned with breaking that hero's will through the targeting of the insipid, vapidly cheerful healer that is always by his side.

Rating: T

Warnings: Attempted murder and later kidnapping.

Notes: This is not a day late. I just can’t read. Anyway I’ve been wanting to write this idea for a long time...however I wanted to write it much spicier. I’m pretty sad that I didn’t. But hopefully it’s still serviceable if nothing else. Also demon!Hinata is v good. V, v, v good.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Lately, that hero had been causing more and more problems. Junko was getting increasingly annoying about it, which wasn’t helping.

“You gotta dooooo something, Hajime!!” she whined, clinging to him with big, watery eyes. “They’re ruining all my plans! All my despair! It’s sooooo frustrating! Not despairing, but frustrating! At this rate, the disgusting populace won’t fear me as much as they used to! And what will I do, then?!”

He grumbled. He griped. And she shoved him out the door.

“If you fail me, I’ll feel such despair that I won’t be able to resist killing you on the spot!” she chirped, cheerful now. “So! Take care of that wretched, stupid hero of hope, Hajime! In fact! I’ll make it easy for you! Target that dumbass healer always tagging along and fawning over them!” With a grin, she waved him off. “He looks like easy prey but is pretty annoyingly immune to my charm! You’re definitely more up his alley! Don’t let me down! Or else!”

And that was that.

“Urgh.”

Chief demon-in-command, Hinata Hajime, was given simultaneously a most important mission—and a most irritating chore.

It’s not all that important to mention, but Hinata Hajime hadn’t always been a demon. He was one of many former humans swayed to the side of despair due to discontentment with the current state of affairs and Junko’s promises of glory. She had presented them a paradise of free will and euphoria, and he had been desperate enough to hang on every word.

As time wore on, it was obvious she didn’t care about them at all. But, it wasn’t like Hinata Hajime cared for the other world, either. Hope, happiness, righteousness were all nothing more than farces. This hero, too, with their wide-eyed innocence and determination, was just another joke.

But the one Hinata undoubtedly detested the most was the healer. The healer who worshipped every step of the hero, and sang praise upon praise of their spread of hope, their sweeping influence as a symbol of hope. As if such a thing hadn’t already proven to be a broken promise. He was either willfully dense or just that stupid.

And yet, the hero kept him around. Likely for those asinine assurances.

Foolishness all around. But, if there was an ideal target, it was the healer.

“What sort of materials do we need for this next mission, Naegi-kun?!”

“You don’t need to worry about it so soon, Komaeda-san...”

“But! I! Insist!” With his overwhelming enthusiasm and fiery intensity, the healer having his way was inevitable, even when placed against a so-called hero. Even the most innocuous of observers could tell, and as someone spying on them, Hinata already found himself bored as the healer huffed. “A hero of hope can never be too prepared!”

As predicted, the hero sighs.

“Alright, alright. But, we’re going to relax here for a while, okay? I’m still pretty exhausted, and I’m sure you are, too.”

“If this feeble body of mine is destined to crumble, it’s no concern as long as it can still bear the weight of supporting you, Naegi-kun!”

Unsurprisingly, the hero’s face pinches up. He shook his head quickly.

“Please. Take care of yourself.”

“Oh.” The healer blinks back. “Did I upset you, Naegi-kun?”

“I’m not upset.” The hero shook his head again. “I just worry.”

“You don’t need to worry,” was insisted.

“But I do anyway. Komaeda-kun—we are running low on herbs for potions. Um. Maybe I could use a new cloak? What do you think?” A pitiful smile was given as the healer lit up, eyes bright. “I trust you on this more than anything.”

“We definitely do need more herbs,” he rattled off. “And we need to buy polish for the armor and yes, a new cloak. Preferably one resistant to poisons! We’re coming up on quite a dangerous area! So antidotes are also a must! Don’t worry, Naegi-kun! I’ll grab everything we need and then some!”

“Alright, Komaeda-kun. Thank you.”

It was painfully simple, Hinata Hajime thought as the healer went on his way. He wove through the crowd, following that bouncing healer, who was so easy to spot with his white hair and light robes. A blight, one with an infuriatingly cheerful hum as he walked.

It would have been painfully easy to burn that annoying little light into a crisp.

Just kill him—that’s all Junko asked for. She didn’t even care about extracting any level of satisfaction. I could just twist a knife into his gut and leave.

The healer tripped, and enough people parted so that he fell to the ground. The hero was too far away to witness this. Hinata Hajime drew near.

“Ahaha,” the healer murmured, pushing himself up shakily, still smiling. “How clumsy of me.”

“Do you need help?” Hinata asked, feigning concern as he played with the small dagger hidden in his cloak. He offers his hand. “Here. Let me.”

“Oh!” The healer perked up, eyes wide before he once again beams. He reaches for Hinata’s hand just as Hinata’s grip closes around the handle of his dagger. “Thank you so—”

“Out of the way! I’ve lost control!”

High-pitched whinnying. The crowd was screaming and scattering to make way for the horse charging through. Hinata was forced to yank the healer close if he wanted to avoid them both getting trampled on the spot. The healer’s mouth opens to let out a sharp yelp, which is then muffled by Hinata’s cloak. The horse races by. Its distraught owner chases after it.

The healer is still pressed close, and Hinata could feel his heart hammering. Rather belatedly, he realizes that the healer is gripping his other hand. The one that still holds the knife.

Hinata says nothing, but the healer lets out a shaky exhale.

“Oh.” He lets go of Hinata’s other hand, pulling back almost sheepishly. “That was rather exhilarating, wasn’t it?” He laughs, and his face is flushed. “I would’ve died if not for you! What truly good luck!”

Good luck?

At Hinata’s quizzical stare, the healer just gave his usual insipid smile.

“Thank you for saving me. Um.” He digs through his pouch and pulling out several gold coins. “How much—do you want?”

Does he think I’m just a thief?

“I’m sorry,” the healer went on. “I’m afraid I don’t have much gold to spare. But, I can compensate you in other ways, if you like. Is there anything you need?”

No one is paying them any mind. The menial bustling has returned now that the apparent danger is gone. It would not be that hard to finish the job anyway, the distraction be damned. The healer is smiling up at him so pitifully, and Hinata Hajime wonders if he’s still afraid.

“I don’t mind,” the healer said. “Really. Even if you were trying to hurt me, you ultimately helped me. So, you must not be that bad of a person.”

I could have let the horse trample him.

Hinata wanted to curse his impulses. No wonder this fool was trying to pay him.

“I don’t want any payment,” he snapped. “It was instinct. Your hand was already in mine. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Are you sure?” There’s finally a frown on that face. “I really, really don’t mind.”

How infuriating!

“At least let me buy you a meal,” the other insisted, to Hinata’s disdain. “Instinct or not, you saved me. Please, let me show proper gratitude! I... I’m Komaeda Nagito, by the way. I’m quite the worthless healer, but I’m not completely hopeless, haha.”

What you are is hapless.

Hinata bit his tongue, but he didn’t really have an excuse to flee. Even if he wanted to disengage as quickly as he could.

“Hinata... Hajime. Nice to meet you.” His name wasn’t given very often. The sound and shape of it were as bland and banal on his tongue as ever. “If you really want to—I guess I can’t stop you.”

“Hinata-kun!” Komaeda grins with the radiance that he preferred to see crushed. “It’s nice to meet you! I hear the food at the inn is delicious, so let’s go there!”

Hinata can only nod, fingers twitching as he does. “Let’s.”

“Order whatever you want, Hinata-kun! I don’t mind paying for it!”

“What was that about not having much gold to spare?”

“I get a discount, ehe.” Komaeda’s grin grows, looking unbearably smug. “It’s because of Naegi-kun. Surely you’ve heard of him. He’s an incredible hero of hope, you see.”

“I’ve heard,” Hinata said, if only because he didn’t want to hear more about it. “How fortunate for you to associate with someone like that.”

“Mmhm.” Komaeda nods along dreamily, eyes half-lidded. After a while, he blinked a few times and his head tilted. “You knew about him but you still wanted to...?”

He’s sharper than he looks.

“It’s because you don’t look strong yourself.” That was true, at least. Everything about Komaeda Nagito, the healer, screamed fragile. And healers weren’t known for being all that durable in the first place. It’s astounding to think that Naegi Makoto could manage with a healer this especially frail in appearance, but either Komaeda Nagito was more than he seemed—or he was quite lucky.

I’m leaning towards luck.

Komaeda laughing more or else emboldened the thought.

“You’re right! You’re absolutely right! I’m definitely a weak link! If Naegi-kun hadn’t known me for so long, he would have rightfully discarded me long ago.” Brushing away stray tears, Komaeda added. “Naegi-kun’s such a kind person. I’ve known that from the start, even before I was aware of his potential. I do want to support him with all that I have.”

“Would you even give your life for him?” Hinata asked.

Komaeda didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes! Of course!”

He’s even stupider than I thought. Does he even know that his death will be a cause of despair? Stupid. So stupid.

It was infuriating. Beyond infuriating. Even if he does kill Komaeda Nagito, the healer will part with sweet words of encouragement and a smile. He’s sure of it.

He’s just like how I was back then.

“Are you not going to order anything?”

“Mm... Toast, maybe?”

“That’s not a meal.”

“Ahaha! I don’t need to eat that badly!”

So stupid.

But, he holds his tongue. He orders a modest meal, all things considered. Junko spoils them quite a bit with high-class meals when she doesn’t randomly decide to poison them. To eat something normal without that concern would be a nice change of pace. He’s not much for a lavish lifestyle anyway, it turns out.

The food was fine. The service was fine. The innkeeper was polite, well-practiced. This kind of mundane scenario had become a rarity ever since he joined Junko. There are times where he wondered if he had understood what, exactly, he sacrificed back then. But, it didn’t matter.

None of it really mattered.

“If you insist on staring so intently,” he found himself snapping at the other. “Then perhaps order an actual meal for yourself?”

“O-Oh!” Komaeda hurriedly waved his hands. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Hinata-kun! I was just...” Wetting his lips, he seems contemplative. “You’re so methodical with how you eat. It’s rather fascinating to watch. Especially when you’re a lowly thief.”

He doesn’t even lower his voice on the off-chance that he’s overheard. Hinata wouldn’t be surprised if it had been intentional. Even with the show of charity, there was a suspicious glimmer in Komaeda Nagito’s eye. As if he wasn’t sure if what he was appraising was dirt or gold.

Hinata merely snorted, unwilling to humor him. Komaeda’s smile quirked, but he didn’t add anything else.

“What were you before you joined Naegi Makoto?” Hinata asked next, head tilting with the inquiry. “Did you have any path laid out before you prior to clinging to the hero’s coattails?”

“Not really,” Komaeda said easily. “I was always clumsy, so I never had any promise. It would have been impertinent to have ambitions. But supporting Naegi-kun is everything I ever could have wanted.”

“I see.” Hinata nodded. “How fortunate for you to find happiness in someone else’s shadow.”

“It’s more than I deserve,” Komaeda speaks brightly. Easily. “So yes, I’m very happy.”

Happy—huh?

“Is that so? You’ve no resentment at all? No regrets? You really only appreciate what you have?” Hinata stood, leaving the meal only partially finished. “How noble of you. You’re just the perfect martyr, aren’t you?”

Someone like this isn’t even worth a glance. It’s just because he’s close to Naegi Makoto that Junko wants him dealt with. He’s fortunate and unfortunate in that sense.

“It may be hard to understand, but it’s how I feel,” Komaeda said, fearless even as Hinata approaches him. He doesn’t even tense as Hinata looms over him. “Are you angry, Hinata-kun? That’s quite a scary face. I guess you must be quite unsatisfied with your current lot in life.”

“I am, but I don’t envy you.” Hinata stares, gaze sharp. “I’m not sure if I hate you or if I feel sorry for you. She certainly wouldn’t care either way as long as you’re taken care of.”

Komaeda’s expression changed immediately, smile dropping.

“She?”

“She,” Hinata confirmed, reaching into his cloak for his dagger. Komaeda blinks, but Hinata merely carves words into the table. “This is for your hero. I assume he’ll understand what comes next.”

Komaeda looks over the message, and his eyes go wide when he realizes.

“You—”

Hinata covers his mouth. He takes Komaeda’s outburst of magic without blinking, and then he yanks the squirming, struggling healer close.

“I’m doing you a favor,” Hinata hissed, and he brought his hand down swiftly.

Someone screamed, but the two of them are gone before long.

In the end, he decided against killing Komaeda Nagito. Why? Sentimentality, perhaps?

I don’t know. I just got so angry and now here we are.

Hinata sighed, resting against the wall. They’re in a hideout, now. A location that he detailed on the table and Komaeda is secured, still unconscious and curled up on a pile of leaves. His wrists are bound, his magic restricted. Like this, he truly does look utterly helpless.

Hinata almost feels bad but stomps down the rising bile and guilt.

It’s because he’s a liar. Saying he’s happy with his lot in life—what a joke. I’ll prove him wrong.

“You’re not any better than me,” he murmurs, fierce as he approaches, scowling down at Komaeda’s innocent face. “You’re just as wretched, just as wanting, just as corrupt. You’re just in denial that hope is a farce, and once you realize, that Naegi Makoto will see it, too.”

He reaches out, and as Komaeda murmurs, Hinata finds himself softening and brushing the other’s hair back.

“Mm... Where...? Hinata-kun...?”

“Komaeda Nagito,” Hinata says, suddenly tired but resolute. “It’s time for me to teach you about the Ultimate Despair.”

#KomaHinaWeek2020 #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #KomaHina #HinaKoma #makoto naegi #junko enoshima #Magi fics #I don't even know who I am anymorre #show up in the tags challenge

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lockhvrts · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Em! How you feeling about tlou2? I'm still sobbing 😭

hi rilee :’) hope you're doing well❤️ i actually wanted to ask you too lmao and same this game wrecked me

..okay so i have many thoughts n things i want to say id actually just would link you a review that goes more into detail and is more cohesive than my messy essay so i’ll try my best and keep this short as possible tho and i apologize for my english lmfao :

SPOILERS FOR TLOU2 OBVIOUSLY

also if anyone disagrees with me and is about to send me an essay why i am a h*mophobic, tr*nsphobic and alt r*ght piece of trash bc i didnt praise the shit out of tlou2

i'm glad that you enjoyed the game so much that its a masterpiece and 10/10 in your eyes , i honestly respect your opinion (and i wanted to love this game too) but maybe rethink what you're about to do and let other people have different opinions without bashing them? it literally doesn't affect you in any way that i didn't enjoy it ( and no it wasn't enjoyable for me bc a character i like died)

postive:

the gameplay is fluid and responsive (there were some minor issues but its still great), definitely improved compared to the first game, id love to have a little bit of more enemy variety bc it got kind of tiring after the 20th encounter that basically felt the same as the ones before (tho i appreciate the stealth gameplay , sneaking around the map and taking out enemies while being prone like in mgsv was thrilling)

animation, graphics , level design, acting, sound design: ND succeeded in creating another jaw dropping immersive cinematic experience is all i have to say, this is one the best looking games i've ever played (i cant believe a 7 yr old machine can run this game)

music: i'm glad that gustavo santaolalla is back for the sequel! it wouldn't feel the same without him, his music adds so much to the experience

negative: the controversial part lmao

story, characters: I’ll be honest i prefer tlou1 + left behind story wise. i personally don't like the structure of it in the sequel, too many empty side characters, some character / plot decisions generally didn't make sense for me, the dialogue/writing felt out of place and kind of odd sometimes (compared to the scenes from the flashbacks with joel and ellie) and the last hours were dragged out for some reason i just wanted to be done as quickly as possible with it tbh

jesse was your typical nice guy™ who will definitely be killed off to move the plot forward. the only thing i remember is that he’s dinas ex boyfriend + father of jj dont get me wrong i like and didn't mind him but he has nothing interesting to add to the story. also funny how they literally did not mention him once after his death

owen and the other WLF members were just kinda there..? i don't have much else to say about them besides that they felt empty i tried to understand them and their stories but i didn't care for them in the end its prob my fault but henry, sam, bill and riley were more compelling to me

lev and yara were great i liked them both , its just that especially lev was just there to make abby seem more humane, i didn't like that ND tried to create a similar dynamic between them like in the first game with ellie and joel it didn't particularly make me like her more speaking of which:

abby shows barely to no remorse for the things she did. what she did show was that she enjoyed torturing joel, killing seraphites and almost knowingly murdering a pregnant women (dina) and now ND shoves us this forced narrative of her being a good person into our face like how she would've accepted to die for the cure, has friends and a dog that she treats well (which we as ellie were forced to kill to make her seem even more like a villain in contrast to abby) , takes care of yara and lev (granted out of guilt for joel maybe? but i'm not sure) also making her seem more humane bc she has a fear of height? but abby would kill anyone who is not on her good side this time without a problem as we’ve seen plenty while playing as her what i'm surprised about is that i weirdly didn't hate her or anything guess they succeeded in making me feel some pity for her in the end

yes i also had some issues with the way tommy, ellie and joel were portrayed but i think i'm gonna stop here and give you a

TLDR:

gameplay ,graphics, animation, acting etc: solid 9/10

story (structure, writing, dialogue,characters etc) : 4-5/10 seems harsh but i am comparing it to the first game, if this was a different ip maybe an 8/10

all in all a its 6-7/10 for me, this game made me feel emotions (not particularly positive ones lmfao) i've never felt in any other medium before, only the first game comes close.

tlou2 is bleak, hopeless and messy at times with some rare light moments like the flashbacks of joel and ellie that i enjoyed the most and wished we’d gotten more of while also exploring joel and ellie's present relationship on her quest of finding the truth about the hospital incident and maybe also learning more about her immunity alas this was not the case as seemingly promoted by neil and some misleading trailers.

would i want to play this again? to be honest not really I’ll maybe try clearing the trophies but going back to just casually play it like i did with tlou1 no i don't think so for now.

#asks #apocalypsekid #finally done this took me way too long #i am actually scared to publish this but f it lmao #also my grammar is awful but yeah #tlou2 spoilers #(just in case)#txt.personal #long post #why was this tagged as g**ingedit DHJSGDG #*edit bc i phrased it weird:#i dont hate tlou2 i can see what nd was trying to do; the story just had pacing and writing issues IMO #(the fact that a character i liked died has nothing to do with my relatively low rating)

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vannahfanfics · 5 years ago

Text

The Purest Form of Love

Category: Romantic Fluff, Hurt and Comfort

Fandom: Gintama

Characters: Tae Shimura, Gintoki Sakata

Requested By: Anonymous User (FanFiction)

“You know what I was just thinking, Big Sis? I don’t think any of us have seen Gin-san ever smile for real.”

Tae blinked and lowered her chopsticks from her mouth as she regarded her little brother with slightly wide eyes. The bespectacled boy rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he crossed his other arm across his chest, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling. His frown deepened when the ceiling tiles apparently refused to provide him elucidation as to why. “We’ve known him for so long, but I just can’t ever picture a time when he was genuinely happy… It’s just strange. Surely he has something to smile about.”

“Gin-san is a complicated man,” Tae shrugged as she resumed eating her own rice and egg. Kagura had taken up cooking seriously and invited Tae over to try her “signature creation,” which was just a fried egg draped over a scoop of rice, but Tae wanted to encourage Kagura’s budding talent. She never admitted it, but Tae knew her cooking skills were hopeless; someone in their friend group needed to learn to cook properly. It wasn’t healthy for them to live off store-bought bento boxes forever, after all. Shinpachi hummed contemplatively under his breath as he rocked himself back and forth slightly, arms still crossed firmly at his chest.

“Gin-san is about as complicated as a paper hat,” Kagura snickered with a devious glance into the living room where Gintoki was sprawled out in front of the small television, enraptured by the daily weather program’s afternoon update. He was, unsurprisingly, ignoring them completely, giving the young alien girl leave to insult him all she wished with no fear of reprimand. "But... I suppose it is strange that we have never seen him smile," she considered, her face falling into a thoughtful frown.

“There has to be something,” Shinpachi repeated insistently. Tae had no idea why he chose this moment above all others to be so invested in Gintoki smiling, but she had to admit she was a wee bit curious. Thinking back, she couldn’t recall a situation in which he genuinely smiled either. She snuck a languorous glimpse at him out of the corners of her eyes. Surely, even Gintoki had something that made him elated beyond measure? She wasn’t truly sure. One wouldn’t think it by looking at him, but Gintoki was a haunted man. Warriors always were. Their belief system was a double-edged sword; no true human being could be completely immune to the horrifying shock of taking another’s life with their own two hands. Behind that apathetic expression was a man plagued with blood-soaked nightmares. Tae knew.

Tae knew because Gintoki took to wandering when they got too bad, and he had ended up at her place many a time. The first had been a few times after he had taken Shinpachi under his wing; she had awoken in the dead of night to light rapping on her door. She had bustled to the front of her house, tying the loose flaps of her kimono closed and peeking through the door to find a very gloomy and half-awake Gintoki Sakata. She didn’t know quite what to make of it, really. She could just tell by the hollow look in his eyes that something was deeply wrong. She had invited him in for tea. For once, he wasn’t snarky or smirky, just eerily… quiet, like his mind was someplace else entirely while his body operated on autopilot in the physical plane. He kept apologizing for imposing, and Tae kept insisting that it was all right and he could tell her what was troubling him, but he never did. He never did, even after several years of random nighttime callings and cups of tea and assurances that it was all right. He would just drink his tea, sit there in silence until the sun began creeping over the horizon, apologize again and then vanish like a ghost. A flitting spirit that haunted Tae on occasion, trying to communicate but never knowing how.

No, Tae wasn’t sure if Gintoki had any room in his scarred heart for true happiness anymore. He had known pain, so much pain, that it was hard to think about happiness without the tiny seed of doubt sprouting in the back of his mind. Tae wasn’t sure, but she hoped so, for his sake.

“I would like to see Gin-san truly smile, just once,” she whispered suddenly. She realized that she had spoken aloud when Shinpachi and Kagura looked at her incredulously. A faint blush rose to her cheeks and she fiddled nervously with her chopsticks. “What? Now I’m curious too!” It was a lie, a lame lie. Tae’s primary motivation was not mere curiosity. Tae wanted Gintoki to be happy, because, well… She kind of loved him.

She wasn’t sure when it started. Somehow, through it all, the misadventures and saving the world and melancholy midnight rendezvous, he just became such a constant presence in her life that she almost couldn’t help but love him. Tae really didn’t understand love all that well; no amount of shoujo mangas and romantic dramas could explain it entirely. Surely, though, the way she felt around him, the rapt attention he demanded from her by simply being in the same room, the fine details she committed to memory that only someone in love would bother to note… That was love, no? Her mind began to spiral down a rabbit’s den as she once more snuck his lounging form a lingering glance. Surely, wishing someone true happiness, that was the purest form of love there was…

“All right, then!” Kagura clapped her hands together gleefully, making the two Shimura siblings jump. “We shall quest to discover that which makes Gin-san smile!” Tae guessed that she was only mildly curious and most of her motivation came from having nothing better to do that day. It was no bother; any help was welcome because Tae knew discovering what made Gintoki happy was not going to be an easy task.

No, not an easy task at all.

They tried everything. Everything, everything they could think of. They surprised him with the newest weekly Jump issue and only got a small crack of a smile. They took him to the pachinko parlor and Tae even gave him a stack of cash to waste and the delight never reached his eyes. They took him to get that ungodly sweet red bean abomination he always ordered at the one food stall, and though they watched him with obsessed rapture every second he shoveled that grossness into his mouth, his lips never even curled. Tae managed to weasel Ketsuno Ana into dropping by, and even though Gintoki damn near fell on his knees to kiss her feet, the happiness was forced, every single time. By the end of the day, Tae was beginning to fear that the former samurai really had been robbed of every molecule of dopamine in his body.

“This is hopeless,” Shinpachi groused as they dragged their feet back to the Yorozuya. Gintoki, having been treated like a king all day, was strolling on ahead with his hands resting behind his head. The high-pitched tune he was whistling floated back on the gentle breeze to fill their ears with tinny notes. “We’ve tried everything that is so inherently Gin-san, and nothing. It’s hopeless.”

“Perhaps Gin-san cannot feel true happiness anymore,” Kagura moped, chewing on a beef jerky stick Tae bought for her at the local convenience store. Tae knitted her eyebrows worriedly before peeking at Gintoki out of the corners of her eyes. If he heard Kagura’s lamentation, he made no show of it; no tensed posture, no glances back, no self-pitying laughs. Just that repetitive tune, floating back on the wind like his apparently dreary soul.

“Kagura-chan, don’t say such things,” Tae chastised her quietly, despite the nagging possibility that she was unfortunately right. After all their efforts, how had they not managed to see any flicker of happiness within Gintoki’s silver eyes? It was like they were bottomless pools, deep and dark and abysmal. Tae watched his broad back as he shuffled along in front of them, seemingly oblivious to their avid discussion. Gin-san… Are you purposefully preventing yourself from feeling happiness? Do you not feel worthy? She wondered.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was late in the evening by the time they returned to the Yorozuya. Kagura made them dinner, a simple beef stew, and though she meant to leave a dozen times, Tae ended up passing out beside the kotatsu table right alongside the two youngsters while Gintoki lazily flipped through the television channels. The persistent drone of conversation and recorded television laughter kept Tae trapped in a state of hazy half-sleep. She lay on her belly with half her body cocooned in the dull, pulsing heat from the table, head resting on her arms as she blearily watched Gintoki in the living room. Her eyes kept slowly drifting shut before fluttering open as if she were making sure he was still there. Caught on the border between consciousness and sleep, Tae’s mind wandered frivolously.

Gin-san… What makes you happy? Did all those things make you happy, but you denied yourself the feeling as punishment? What are you punishing yourself for? Are your sins truly that burdening? I wish you would talk to me. I would never forsake you, Gin-san, no matter what you did. I love you, Gin-san…

“I love you,” she breathed as her lashes fluttered again and her unfocused eyes fixed on his lounging form in front of the television. She didn’t even realize that she had uttered it aloud. Lips slightly parted in a dumb haze, her brown eyes sluggishly followed him as he flipped off the television and sauntered over to the kotatsu table. Her body was long past the point of being numb, so she couldn’t move if she tried. He clicked his tongue disdainfully as he scratched the back of his head and looked at his two protégés curled up beneath the kotatsu table.

“Tch. Didn’t your mothers ever teach you not to fall asleep at a kotatsu table?” The words were harsh, but the tone was nothing if not loving. Tae’s eyes slowly trailed over his body until they arrived at his face, which was perfectly illuminated by the moonlight. That’s when she saw it… A smile, a true one, the most beautiful thing that had ever graced Tae’s vision. His eyes were lidded as he gazed down at Shinpachi and Kagura with intense brotherly affection. “Dumb kids…” So beautiful… So this is Gin-san’s true smile… Perhaps it was her half-sleep delirium, or perhaps it was the fact that their day full of toil had been rewarded— either way, a tear slipped from Tae’s eye to roll down her cheek. Something about the smile adorning his face moved her in such a way. She wished Shinpachi and Kagura could see it, but she also secretly relished the fact that she alone saw it. It was a secret for her alone to treasure.

She lamented the loss of the image as Gintoki walked down the hall. He came back a minute later carrying a trio of thick blankets. It was autumn; the small abode grew cold at night. Grunting as he squatted down, he draped the first blanket over Kagura and the second of Shinpachi. The young girl murmured something about “you won’t get away with this” before rolling on her other side, smacking her lips as she snuggled up into the folds of the blanket. Tae was overjoyed to see that smile appear on his face as he gently stroked her pinkish-red hair with a big palm. “Tough little Kagura… Don’t let them get away with it, ya hear?” Shinpachi snored softly beside her. Gintoki carefully eased his glasses off the boy’s face before folding them up and setting them on the kotatsu table. Tae’s heart stopped in her chest as he suddenly got up and strolled around to the other side of the kotatsu table to where she lay. If she had been in an intelligent state of mind, she would’ve pretended to be asleep. Instead, she just stared up at him with one wet eye as he came around. It took him a second to notice, but when he kneeled down to lay a blanket over her, his silvery eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“Tae? You’re crying,” he frowned, looking uncomfortable with the information. “Did you… Have a bad dream?”

“No. I’m just glad. I’m glad that I finally know what makes Gin-san truly happy,” she admitted with a contented breath. She really was happy; her entire body was humming with the bubbly emotion like she was filled to the brim with soap suds. Gintoki stared down at her with a puzzled expression before he smirked.

“So that’s what all that was about today?”

“Mhmm.” She found that she could move again, and so she shifted her body a little as the cold air began to creep in through the thin fabric of her kimono. Another tear leaked from her eyes when that familiar smirk melted into that gorgeous smile that was imprinted into her memory forever. “Such a beautiful smile… I was afraid I wouldn’t see it. I was afraid that Gin-san refused to let himself be happy.” It fell from his face as he again looked at her in surprise. Desperate to see it on his face again, she pushed herself up with her hands to grab clumsily onto the front of his clothes, hauling herself up his body to drape her thin arms around his neck. One hand cupped his face as she brought her face close, much too close for societal norms but her sleep-fogged mind couldn’t process that. “Please be happy, Gin-san. You deserve it just the much as the rest of us.” Tears sparkled on her lashes as they beaded like dew from her runny eyes. She felt the muscles of his chest tense impossibly tight as he drew in a hissing breath.

“You should be careful, saying these things and touching a man this way.” His voice was a rumble like thunder in the distance, vibrating like a cat’s purr against Tae’s chest. That smirk was back, curling and almost inflammatory as he stared at her. Those pools of his eyes were beginning to boil with a heat that sent liquid fire through Tae’s veins, making her skin grow unbearably hot all of a sudden. His hand rose to take a tight grip of her wrist. Tight, like he was strung between the decision of pulling her hand away or holding it there so he could turn his face and kiss her palm. “You should consider the consequences of your actions, Tae.” His tone was both a warning and an invite.

“I am well aware of the consequences. Perhaps I even welcome them.” Tae had never been such a combination of lucid and senseless. His eyebrows twitched a little at her response. Of course, Tae welcomed them. She knew damn well the insinuations of what she was doing right then. Her face took on a pained look as she resisted pressing herself into him because she wanted Gintoki to welcome her as much as she welcomed him. His eyes widened and her heart wailed in agony as fear flooded his eyes, and he withdrew his face a few centimeters from hers. He knew she wasn’t joking.

The line of his jaw was sharper than any sword as the tendon jumped from how tight his teeth were clenching. Afraid he would leave her clueless like every other time before, she clung insistently to him, face jumping forward as she all but yelled in his face, “I want to make you happy, Gin-san! Please, talk to me.” Her voice cracked with impossibly high emotion. “I hate seeing such a sad look on your face; please talk to me, tell me what haunts you. It’s all right. It’s all right.” She practically begged him as tears streamed down her cheeks, repeating the words he had told him so, so many times. “You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to love me. I just want you to be happy, Gin-san, I want you to be happy,” she sobbed quietly as she hung her head, her forehead landing on his shoulder.

Was she being selfish right now? Her head was just such a mess of confusion and half-finished thoughts and shadows of proper etiquette. Everything she had been holding in had just come boiling over. She couldn’t stand it any longer. After seeing that tender, loving, truly happy smile on Gintoki’s face, she just couldn’t stand the idea of him purposely refusing himself that basic human right on account of some stupid masculine preconceptions. Not even aware that words were spilling from her mouth, she kept repeating her blubbering pleas like a prayer to God. He stiffly held her as she cried out her manic emotions until finally, she felt his arm enclose around her, snugly securing itself around her waist to hug her close. The fingers of her free hand twisted into the fabric of his clothes; her other hand was still being held up to his face.

“Tae.” He said her name, but she was still sobbing too hard to respond. “Tae, look at me.” Somehow, she lifted her head to look tearily up at him. She couldn’t read his expression; he tilted his head as he regarded her, silver eyes traveling the tear tracks on her flushed cheeks, her quivering lips, her swimming eyes. Her chest heaved in the aftershocks of her sobbing gasps. The hand that was still clutching her wrist, now in a white-knuckled grip, slowly twitched to life. His thumb slowly began stroking rhythmic arc across the skin of the top of her hand, and then Tae stopped breathing because his face melted into the most beautiful smile yet.

“Thank you.” She could do nothing but stare, spellbound, starstruck, utterly and completed awed by the way he was looking at her. A fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes at the mesmerizing sight. It was so bright it could be the moon, the sun, and the stars all in one; its light cascaded over Tae to fill her to the brim with its brilliance, but her body could not hold it so it leaked out in the form of her glittering tears of amazement. Her thumb jerked before dipping down to stroke over the corner of his mouth, and she gasped as his lips curled higher into a deeper smile. The edge of his lips was such a pleasant contour that she just mindlessly caressed it, all while Gintoki gazed at her like she was the most precious thing in the universe.

“Are you happy, Gin-san?”

He grunted in agreement, his mouth closing as his eyes flickered down to look at her hand. She sucked in a breath as he finally made his decision, turning his face in her hand to press a lingering kiss right in the center of her palm. A guttural groan bubbled out of her as he began blazing a fiery trail up her arm, silver eyes burning into hers all the while as he pushed up the sleeve of her kimono to mark his path of brief, open-mouthed kisses. When he could no longer roll up the fabric, he grabbed the neckline of her kimono and pulled to loosen it, scanning her face for any kind of discomfort all the while. As the garment fell loose around her shoulders, her skin baring for him, Tae was far from discomfited. Her breath jumped into her throat with unsteady gulps as she watched him start tracking up her shoulder. Her neck craned to the side of its own volition as his burning lips approached, and she shuddered as they met her pulse-point. His hands found her hips in a bruising grip as he worked up her neck, arriving at the peak with a hot kiss to her jaw before he suddenly pulled back to stare intensely into her eyes.

“Do I look happy to you, Tae?” She swallowed at the huskiness of his voice, the way it was laced with desire. As thick and hungering as his voice was, however, his silver eyes remained impossibly soft as they bored into hers. Those deep pools didn’t seem so dark and haunted anymore; they glittered like a radiant galaxy, magnificently endless and encompassing countless stars of happiness. Happiness, just for her.

“Yes, Gin-san,” she answered in a feeble whisper. In the face of so much overwhelming, crushing passion, Tae felt like glass in his sturdy hands, delicate, threading with cracks as his fingers dug into her hips. It wasn’t scary; it was exhilarating. The impending shatter made her nerves prickle and buzz. She felt like a star ready to collapse into itself, preparing to explode in sheer brilliance at the pin drop. He smiled again, making her lungs balloon in her chest and hold.

“Good. Remember this moment, Tae,” he told her, gently. For a lifetime, she promised eagerly, but all thoughts ceased once his face began to drift into her orbit, on an inevitable collision course with her waiting lips. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Then the pin dropped, and Tae was a supernova.

His lips smoothed over hers in an intensely zealous kiss. Tae didn’t think her lungs had any more room for air, but as soon as their mouths met, she inhaled sharply through her nose because it just felt so good. His hands pushed around to the small of her back to tug her against him. He had been kneeling on the floor the entire time, and he corralled Tae between his open legs, ensuring that every square centimeter of her body was flush against his broad chest. Tae’s hand roamed the contours of his front, making a roadmap of the lines of his pectorals and abdominals, while her other hand flew to the back of his head, greedy fingers digging into those gorgeous silver threads. She moaned quietly as he kissed her with increasing fervor, his tongue soon darting over her bottom lip pleading entry. She complied and their lip-locking rose to searing levels. As his tongue dove into her mouth to tangle adamantly with hers, she collapsed into him with near-faint, like he was stealing all her vitality with the ardent kiss. Suddenly she was tipping backward, and her back landed on the cold wooden floor with Gintoki climbing on top of her, their lips not separating for an instant.

The fire died gradually into flickering embers. Their chests heaved as they gazed into each other’s eyes, the edges of their noses occasionally bumping as they eased down from their highs. Breathlessly, he gave her that smile again, that smile that made Tae’s soul alight with joy and brought tears to her eyes, and he said: “I’m very happy, Tae.”

“Good. I’m glad, Gin-san. I’m glad.”

Tae’s blood ran cold when Kagura suddenly laughed triumphantly and vaulted herself over onto her other side, her legs kicking out a few times before she mumbled something like “take that, asshole” and fell silent. Shinpachi groaned loudly and sleepily muttered for her to shut up before mumbling incoherently and also falling silent. Tae and Gintoki stared in terror at the underside of the kotatsu table, realizing that they had just had a hot-and-heavy make-out session in the direct vicinity of two teenagers. After it was evident that neither of them was awake, she and Gintoki side-eyed each other before giggling under their breaths.

“I suppose I should be grateful for once that they’re both such heavy sleepers.”

“Yes indeed. Shinpachi wouldn’t be pleased to find Gin-san making out with his sister…” He gave her a wolfish smirk, bringing his face teasingly close and nipping at her jaw, making her squeal delightedly.

“You think I’m afraid of what that little four-eyed brat is gonna say?”

“No, but you love him, don’t you?” That caught Gintoki by surprise, and he gawked at her before his face ultimately softened. He sat up some to look back across the kotatsu table at their two sleeping, snoring forms. “Both of them.”

“Yeah. Guess I do,” he huffed slightly. After such an emotional ordeal, Tae’s body was practically screaming for sleep now. Her movements were languid and unfocused as she abstractly traced patterns into his upper chest before her strength finally failed her and her hand flopped down uselessly to her chest. Her eyelids drooped before they scrunched tight, a sudden yawn splitting her face. Her eyes fluttered open again to see Gintoki had grabbed the discarded blanket and was unfolding it to drape it over her. She wriggled around to put the rest of her body back underneath the cozy warmth of the kotatsu table.

“You won’t act like this never happened, will you, Gin-san?” she asked quietly, catching the hem of his kimono as he rose. He smirked down at her, putting his hands on his hips like the answer was obvious.

“’Course not. I’ll catch you for tea sometime, Tae,” he said. Her face flushed red at the very unspoken insinuations behind his statement. As she stared wide-eyed up at him, she caught it, that smile that marked a Gintoki that she and she alone knew. “G’night, Tae,” he said before whirling on his heel and striding off to go find his own bed. The fabric of his clothes slipped from her fingers as he retreated, the nerves of her fingertips bristling at the loss of sensation before falling quiet. She smiled widely as small tears prickled at the corners of her eyes again.

“Goodnight…”

Wishing someone true happiness was the purest form of love; Tae knew this now. Because nothing could be purer than the way he gazed at her just then, or the persistent thumping of her overjoyed heart in her chest as she drifted finally into the realm of dreams, or the memory of that brilliant moonlight smile of his as he allowed himself, for once, to feel true happiness.

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