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someonewhowannadielol · 5 years ago

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My name is 01001010 01001011 (Alien!Jungkook! x Human!Reader)

Summary: “So you’re a human?” The alien that looked and acted like a human asked. The only difference between him and you was that he had two upside down triangles starting from his jaw going down under his shirt. Also, he was huge. “I’m talking 8 foot tall” huge.

Warning: Daddy kink, Dirty talk, size kink, cunt slapping, Jungkook being rlly big, fingering, nipple sucking (?), Dom/sub themes, and Jungkook being a curious alien.

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Word Count: 6.3k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

COVID-19 vs Human kind. Human kind was pretty much fucked. In front of your eyes, the world population went from a staggering 8 billion people to an exponentially low 1 million. Within two years. It was in October 2020, when scientist realized that instead of working on a vaccine, they needed to discover a place where those free from this deadly disease could live. Safely and peacefully.

Then, the people of Jubal, stepped in, and it was pure chaos. You still remember the day, 14thof December 2020. Everywhere; social media platforms, billboards, NASA’s speech, everything revolved around the message they sent us. They wanted to help us. Surprisingly, we knew nothing about them, but they knew everything about us. From our appearance to our food, cultures, languages, and what not. It low key creeped you out, not going to lie.

Nonetheless, we began building the transport link through their help and finally, one year later (pretty much the brink of our extinction), we were on our way to a new life.

Honestly, you had imagined them to look like- or well, to not look like how they looked. You’d expected Pokémons, or weird looking octopus, or even insects. But they looked just like you, expect they were way bigger in size.

After half a month or so, you had started to get used to the atmosphere. Almost similar to Earth, there were two sides to this planet, a much hotter plane, where the temperature never went below 104 Fahrenheit. You remember going there when you first arrived here, and oh god, you hated it. The temperature was too high for you; they didn’t know what ice cream was (how can they not know! You thought they knew everything, yet they’re unaware about one of the most popular desserts on Earth), you absolutely hated sweating and no amount of air conditioning could stop it, and the beach just looked out of place. The sand wasn’t the usual pale brown shade, instead it was just the color of the ocean itself – it adapted to the shade of the flowing water into a green-blue hue. Weird. Also, there was one sun in the morning, and three in the evening, gradually coming as the hours passed by.

You had also noticed that all of them ate food at the same temperature. Nothing was cold like ice, or hot like a fresh pizza. The concept was new to them, and when you asked for the water to be cold at the first restaurant you went to – the waiter just looked lost. The poor soul, he was told to make the humans feel at home, so when he realized he couldn’t do what you asked to, you just felt really bad. Still, it was funny that a seven-foot tall man was scared of you being uncomfortable. It was cute, honestly.

Also, almost similar to Earth, the two places had different types of Jubals living there. The sunny side had more tan skinned people, with bright, blond hair and bright eyes. Whereas, the cold plane Jubals had fairer skin, darker hair and doe eyes. The one similarity being – they were huge as fuck. The average height was around seven foot for men, and around six foot for females. So, standing at a 5 foot 2 inches (almost three inches I swear!), you felt tiny (and intimidated sometimes, but you weren’t going to admit that.

After finalizing that you definitely didn’t want to live in the hotter part of the planet, you moved to Corellia, it was cold there but not in the way you expected it to be. In the morning, it was perfectly fine, the cold breeze was nothing short of comfortable, but as the evening came, it started to get cold to the point where you couldn’t bear to go outside after 6 PM. Sometimes, you think you might have underestimated the cold here at night, because the two beautiful moons brought such intense cold that you wouldn’t dare go out at night. They gifted you a cozy one bed apartment with a really good heating system, which you appreciated. Also, you had never been so glad that you brought the microwave from Earth, without it, you didn’t know what you would do.

Ever since you moved, you had pretty much been lonely, because of the lack of contact with humans. Most of them preferred to live in the hotter state, wanting to get tanned - and to fuck the surfer Jubal hotties. You still remember parting with your sister and her ranting about this Jubal she met who was so “dreamy” and “good at surfing”.

As usual, you were just trying to get used to the food here, thankfully, they had a smaller section of “human,” food that mostly consisted of cup noodles, vegetables, chicken and chocolates. Getting groceries was intimidating at first (honestly, it kind of still is), because everyone and everything was so large, and everyone just kept staring at you. You still haven’t interacted with a Jubal on your own, it’s not like you were scared – you were – but also you didn’t really know how to go up to one. Until now, the only two Jubals you’ve met were the grocery store cashier and the landlord. Sigh.

You were so happy when you saw the new addition of real, organic milk in the grocery aisle! Thank god you got a break from that horrid almond milk. It was just water pretending to be milk honestly, and whenever you poured it in your cereal, it felt like drowning them in water, yuck. But, as much as you could try, you just would not reach the goddamn shelf. Why did these Jubals have to be so tall! Why couldn’t they just make this aisle according to human size!

You heard someone shuffle behind, but paid no heed until you heard laughter burst and immediately looked back to see one of them laughing so hard, his body shook.

“You- you’re so tiny!” He barely managed to get that sentence out of him, since he couldn’t stop his outburst.

Of course, you were offended.

“I’m actually not! You all are way too big!” You didn’t really know how to respond, because this was just so sudden.

“Hm, I don’t think so, you’re smaller than average earthlings. But it’s okay, because it’s adorable,” so, you were really surprised when you felt him behind you, reach up to the milk shelf and grab a container of it. Of course, being the dumb idiot you were, you suddenly turned around and had to face him again. You hadn’t noticed his physical features before, but now that you did. Holy shit.

He was tall (I know, it’s obvious by now), and had such, clear, fair skin. Two upside down triangles were on each side of his jaw and went down, disappearing under his coat. He looked at you with such doe, curious eyes, almost as if he was entertained by your mere presence.

“Here you go,” he handed you the container of milk – while still being really close (not that you minded it). Despite the irritatingly bright fluorescent store lighting, his hair shined, and looked so soft.

And after that, he just followed you around the store, and you honestly didn’t really know what to do.

“You know, I’ve been trying to find a human since a month now, but I’ve heard most of them moved to the Southern part. You should’ve done that too, because Corellia is too cold for you. You’re a little slow,”

And you’re a little piece of shit.

“But now I found you. You’re really adorable, the books didn’t tell me that. Ever since humankind moved here, I’ve been really studying Earth. Did you guys really had pink leaved trees? And forests? It must be so cool for so many trees to be in one place. I also really want to meet a lion,”

“You can’t just meet a lion,” you chuckled, he was weird, but somehow, it wasn’t awkward around him. He radiated this warm energy that you hadn’t seen in the Jubal people around you, and it was comforting, made you want to stay by his side – even if it meant answering his dumb questions.

“I can, you can’t. It would eat you, because you’re bite sized for it,” he continued to comment on your petite stature, and the worst part is that you couldn’t even defend yourself, especially when he kept towering over you.

“Hey! Stop making fun of me,” you tried to push him but the basket was too heavy for you, so you ended up just… awkwardly not being able to do it. Suddenly his – huge – hand swoops in and carries the heavy grocery basket as if it was nothing.

“You should’ve told me it was too heavy for you,” he sounded almost as if he was scolding you, and coo-ing at you at the same time. His eyebrows bunched up in frustration as he mumbled something along the lines of ‘how can I protect you if you won’t tell me what you need,’ but you couldn’t really make out what he said.

You were just pulled out of your thoughts when you heard him put something in your basket. Something that the Jubals ate, not humans.

Should I ask him to leave? No, that’s way too rude. Then, should I ask him why he’s following me?

“This is delicious, you should try it,” He spoke while continuing to look around the store, and put random items in your basket. There was a variation of their fruits (this one had a gradient of yellow and orange, with huge spikes coming out from the top), cans with God-knows-what inside (the one he put in your basket had cherry colored pentagons on it, and a juice bottle that contained neon green juice. You were not looking forward to drinking that.

“I don’t even know how to make all of this. What if I can’t eat it?” You were scared of most of these food items, you got sick easily, and didn’t know how to cope if you fell sick here. Without the medicines, you’d probably die.

“I’ll cook it for you if you want to,” He looked at you and smiled, “I know humans are fragile, so don’t worry, I made sure to get the ones which would be safe for you,” he said, while petting your hair, and smiling. You instantly fell in love with it, it wasn’t like the way he laughed at you earlier, but somehow, it was far more beautiful. His eyes crunched up into half-moons, cheeks being bunched up, he almost looked like the small bunny you had as a pet when you were younger. So. Cute.

“But I don’t even know your name, why would you do this for me?” You really were curious, why was a Jubal so interested in humans? So far, most of them have just maintained a distance from you.

“Because I want to keep you,” he looked at you, and the duality of his presence made you shiver. The small bunny smile morphed into a more serious face, his already dark brown eyes, turned into a slightly darker shade, giving you the chills.

“You can’t keep me,” you didn’t know how to fight this argument, you almost wanted to laugh and act as if you thought it was a joke, but you weren’t an idiot – and nor was he.

“I know, I can’t find the Earth word for it, I want to be with you, is what I mean,” he mumbled as he tried to find something in the cereal aisle.

The grocery trip was actually not as weird as you’d expect it to be. While you both didn’t know anything about each other, not even names (not that Jubals had actual names, they just talked through their minds?)

And as soon as you reached the cashier, before you could even take out your money, he nod, and paid the bill.

“Hey! I can pay for myself, you don’t have to do this!”

Honestly, you didn’t really know what to say after he said, “I’m paying, now be a good baby and stand still,” where did he even learn to speak like that?

It was starting to get cold now, and after you exited the heated mall, it was visible that you shivered every time the cold brushed up against your figure. You should’ve worn the third sweater, sigh.

“So you’re really a human?” He said, as he carried your groceries and followed you, on your way to the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m Y/N,”

“How can you be a Y/N? You just said you were a human,” He asked, really confused. Were you pranking him? He learnt in (one of his many books about humans) that humans liked to prank each other for entertainment. He found the idea amusing, but right now he couldn’t decide whether you were pranking or joking.

He didn’t understand the difference between pranking and joking, either.

“I- What? No, I mean I am a human, but my name is Y/N,” you were definitely amused at his seriousness, yet you couldn’t help but be intimidated by his tall figure. Also, you felt bad that he was holding all the groceries, so you decided to grab one of the bags from him.

“Y/N!” He stopped dead in his tracks after your fingers brushed against his, “I just remembered you can’t bear the cold after 6pm, so you have to wear many clothes to protect yourself. You’re already so cold,” he felt your hand, and his was so warm and felt right, intertwined in your hand. His hand was so huge, that it enveloped yours easily, and you could really notice the size difference now.

He quickly transferred all the grocery bags into his left hand, and continued to give you his coat, and held your hand again, and it felt… nice. The fact that he smelled so good, helped too, you couldn’t exactly put your finger on it, but it was really comforting.

You were quite used to the stares you got on the streets from other Jubals, and always thought that they would go away, but it’s been two weeks, yet they still continue to look at you up and down, so you finally asked him. You still didn’t know his name, and didn’t know whether you should ask him or not, was it insulting?

“Why does everyone keep staring at me?”

“Because you’re so cute,”

What. It was almost like you forgot how to breathe. How could he say that all of a sudden, out of the blue? Also, you actually could not breathe, because while he had long legs that lasted for days, you had much smaller legs and it was starting to get hard to keep up.

“Hey! Could you walk-” you took in a breath, wow, your stamina was really, uh, shitty, “could you walk a little slow?”

He looked back at you, and tilted his head almost as to ask ‘why?’, but understood quickly. Then, he flashed one of his cute smiles, again, the smile that did things to your heart that you hadn’t felt before.

“Do you want me to carry you?” He also had read previously that humans can get really tired, and sometimes not even have the strength to move on. Especially females, they were more fragile, and he could physically see that too, because you were just so small. The average height was supposed to be 5’4 or even 5’6 for human females around your age, but you seemed smaller than that. But you also didn’t seem to be a child because those under the age 18 were always with their parents right? He had almost started to doubt those textbooks he bought on humans.

“No, I can walk myself,” You tried to defend yourself, and started to mentally curse as to why you asked him to slow down.

You finally reached your apartment door. Honestly, you had thought that he would stop following you after you reached the apartment building… but he just continued to bring the groceries in.

Should you invite him in? Did you even clean your living space? You probably had your underwear lying all over the place, since now you lived alone and had no fear of someone else coming in your private space.

“Can I come in?”

Well, you didn’t want to say no to him, he’s been really nice so far, and you had to admit, picking up groceries was really hard to do, and you weren’t exactly physically active enough to carry all those bags that he easily carried in one hand.

He then walked himself to the door after putting the groceries in the kitchen. What really surprised you was how he looked back at you, not how he looked before. Before, he looked with warmth, and now. Now, he almost towered at you, reminding how much power he really has over you. He looked at your lips, and then back at your eyes and tilted his head.

“W-well, it was really nice to meet you,” you said trying to break the tension and to distract yourself from the obviously gorgeous man.

“I hope to see your cute face again soon,” he smiled one of his bunny smiles again, and kissed you on the cheek before disappearing under the stairs.

You curled yourself up in your blanket, and tried to sleep, but that Jubal kept intruding your thoughts.

Would you get to see him again?

The next time you saw the cute Jubal from the grocery store was next week Saturday. On Earth, entertainment was in the form of movies, arcades and concerts. Similarly, here too, people had a theatre – instead of a movie on a projector, it was shown in 3D form, almost like a live performance, expect there were holographic figures.

You looked around, and by now you had taken into account that Jubal people weren’t afraid to show off their skin – even though it was crazy cold here, their bigger bodies could compensate by giving them more body heat. Unfortunately, your smaller stature couldn’t provide you with the same amount of heat and you always had to bundle up in three or even four layers to keep yourself from freezing or catching a cold.

You were watching a really heated up scene, and it was getting kind of… uncomfortable. While others were simply watching casually, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, you kept shuffling in your seat – so it was a pleasant surprise when you felt someone cover your eyes from behind you.

“Wha-” instinctively, you looked behind, and it was the same boy (or man?), from the grocery store.

“Hey,” again, you waved at him, almost as a form of habit, and he looked at you as if you did something quite weird. Without any questions, he tried to imitate you, but he was really stiff so you couldn’t help but let you a laugh.

“I know I didn’t introduce myself much better last time, but we don’t really have names. Still, I decided to get one for myself, because once I get a human, she should be able to call me something,”

Did he… did he mean that you were his human?

“Well, what did you settle for?”

“My name is 01001010 01001011. I thought it was really similar to the ones that humans have. Do you like it?” He asked with a proud grin, as his face lit up.

You tried to keep your laughter in, you really did but you when it did come out, you felt like wanting to die. His face crumpled up almost as if he was ashamed of his name as he increased the distance between the two of you.

Nice one, Y/N, you made the only person who cared enough for you sad.

“Hey, look, it’s a nice name, it’s just not very human-like,” you explained to him.

“It’s the binary code for a human name,”

Because of the constant conversation you both were immersed in, the Jubals beside you were starting to get annoyed – and while they didn’t say anything, probably because they didn’t want you to feel bad (you still did, for trying to ruin their experience for this live-movie thing), you decided to head out with him.

As you both walked in one of the main parks situated in the middle of Corellia state, he settled on a spot in the corner of the massive area.

“Would you like to give me a name?” he looked at your face with such intensity, that you couldn’t help but feel insecure and want to cover your face.

“Well, what did those binary numbers represent?” you really did want to help his get a name, after all, he was your first friend here.

“I want to be called JK, but my friends told me it was a ridiculous human name, because no one was named JK before. So I settled for its binary number. They approved of that,” his eyes shone of much when he talked about it, his long lashes were uprightly curved and you couldn’t help but swoon.

You fiddled with your sweater as you gave him suggestions, but none seemed to suit him.

“Jake? No,” you were starting to get frustrated at this, “Hm, maybe Jacob?” you shook your head again, unsatisfied.

He just simply continued to laugh at you being so serious, occasionally playing with hair and pressing a finger to your soft cheeks. When he commented on you being soft, you couldn’t help but blush (and when he compared you to one their red fruits, you couldn’t help but blush harder (you denied it, obviously)).

“Jungkook!” you remember reading that word in one of the books you had in high school literature.

“Jungkook? Do you like it, baby?” He played with your cheeks with happiness, he was happy that you were no longer frustrated or angry. Finally satisfied and happy. Of course, you blushed at the word of endearment, but didn’t tell him to not say it.

Oh. Well, after that, he just continued to ask you about humans, and more specifically about you. You were amused by most of his questions,

“What is sarcasm?”

“Why do you like pizza so much, when it’s detrimental for your health? You shouldn’t eat it, I’ll make good food for you,”

“How do you make stereotypes?”

“Why do people get cosmetic surgery?”

And each one of them seemed normal for a Jubal to ask until,

“Why do humans like cuddling?”

At this point, you were quite tired, but still thought it would rude to ask him out, because he seemed really curious, every question coming right after you answer the last one.

“I guess, we just like to be touchy and close,” you said and you tried to suppress a yawn, but it just slipped.

“What was that? Was that a sigh? Or a yawn? Are you tired? That was so cute, do it again,”

“Just a little tired,” you said as you rested you head on his shoulder without realizing to do so. It was also getting really cold; the second moon had started to show up.

You both got up, and the walk back home was really pleasant. He kept cracking jokes and dancing on the pavement. You tried to imitate his dance, but your flow wasn’t as steady as his. How could someone dance so good like this, yet not be able to wave correctly? Your fingers intertwined again, and you leaned more into his body this time. You could barely reach his mid chest, that’s how tall he was. But somehow, you didn’t mind it because you both fit so perfectly – as if two parts of one puzzle.

As you reached the door of your apartment door again, you felt Deja-vu. He looked at your face, studying it carefully and looking back at your eyes, however instead of just looking at your lips this time, he leaned closer and looked back at you – almost as if asking for permission to kiss you. You nodded, and wow.

As his lips drew closer to yours, you could feel him cupping your face with both hands, one of them gradually descending to the back of your head as it found its place in your hair. They were incredibly soft, and almost overpowered you, because you didn’t expect this. As he slid his tongue and slowed himself, you found yourself wanting more, leaning towards him.

Before realizing that you needed to breathe, you started to choke, as he pulled himself back, and chuckled before saying, “Baby girl, take it slow, I’m all yours.”

“Want more,” is all you can say before leaning towards him, wanting to kiss him again. But unlucky for you, he just moved back before laughing again, and this time you pouted and slightly punched his chest.

“Now, you’re just being a brat, baby, you’ll get what I’ll give you, understand?” You could feel his breath fanning your face, and his eyes were no longer twinkling like they did, but instead were full of lust and an animalistic hunger.

‘’Jungkook, please,” you had never really been serious with boys in your high school, and so, this was the first time you had actually felt something down there. It was almost like someone – or Jungkook – lit a fire in your core, and you couldn’t help but just want more.

Fumbling hands opened the door to the apartment and you both tumbled in, messily but both of you didn’t care as you headed to your bedroom. On the way, he messily kissed your neck that made your knees buckle in a way that even walking was difficult.

He tossed you gently on your bed, that was way too big for the apartment, and ran his fingers through your hair, to you neck, and to your chest. He attacked your neck again, and started to form a pattern with his tongue as he pressed harder on some areas and trailed lighter on others.

You couldn’t help but let a whine escape your mouth when he left your neck unattended to take off your sweaters and cardigans till you were only in your undergarments and a see-through white dress.

“Fuck, baby girl, you’re so beautiful,” he said as he attacked your lips again, this time being harsher with his movements, as his tongue slipped in your mouth, doing wonders to his body.

“J-Jungkook, please,” you felt so much, so sudden, and even in this cold, the heat was too much for you – the heat inside you wanted to escape, but you didn’t know how to ask him.

“Yes, baby? Tell me what you want,” his amused voice made it obvious as to what you wanted, but still he continued to tease you, torment you, put you on the edge, “Tell daddy what you want,”

You took in a gasp as he unbuckled your bra strap from behind, free-ing your breasts, and the very next second, tore your fragile dress.

“Hm, tell me baby girl,” he asked you once again, as he took in one of you nipples in his mouth, his tongue encircling your bud, as one of his hands pinched the other one.

“Jungkook I-” you gasped as you felt a slap on your clit, it wasn’t that harsh because he was being careful, and you were still in your panties – but it just turned you on more.

“Baby, you have to call me Daddy, do you understand?” he said as his free wrist kept putting pressure on the top of you panties, making you want to rip them off, so you could finally feel him where you wanted to.

“Yes,” you said, and whined after he took off his mouth from your nipple to look at you, and after a second you understood what you had to say, “Yes Daddy, I understand,”

“Such a good girl for me, so pretty,” he said as he kissed your cheek, and you just couldn’t stop blushing. He was so harsh, yet so gentle at the same time – and it made your head spin.

“Now, be a good baby, and tell Daddy what you want him to do to you,” he said as he neared your ear, “does baby want daddy to wreck her pussy?”

You couldn’t help but shiver before speaking, “I want Daddy to make me feel good,”

His fingers slowly trailed your body, making you moan and buckle your body up towards him. You looked at him, his ears tinged red, and his eyes were darker than before, he almost looked like a fallen angel. He chuckled, looking at you seem so helpless, so fragile.

You were so soft, so ethereal, like an angel from the sky and he was there to taint you, to make you his.

He teased you by playing with the band of your underwear, he put two fingers in your mouth and you instantly slicked them with your saliva, making obscene noises that blended in with your moans. Then he trailed those two fingers right above your covered clit, and you couldn’t help but buckle up again, wanting those two fingers inside of you.

“Be patient, princess,” and it felt like an eternity as he circled his tongue in your belly button and it so, so, so slowly trailed down and down, and he finally took off your panties with his teeth.

“So wet, baby, you’re making a mess,” he commented as he rubbed you with one finger, and using the other one to encircle your hole. He pushed it a little inside, easily as your slick helped him, before looking back at you to see if you were comfortable, and when he got the green light, he continued to push it entirely in, “Such a good baby for me, think you can handle Daddy’s cock?”

You nodded in exasperation, his finger was long and hit all the right spots, but you needed more. He added another finger, while rubbing your clit with more pressure and making circle patterns with his tongue below your belly button. You were so near, so so near, you just needed that one push off the edge.

“Well, you’re going to have to work for Daddy’s cock, baby, think you can take this monster?” He took out his finger with a pop, as soon as he felt you clench down on his finger.

“Daddy, f-fuck me, please,” you moaned, missing his touch. He looked just as a mess as you were, panting and taking off his shirt. You continued to admire his body, he didn’t look buff like gym rats, but instead he had a lean, slightly muscular body.

He continued to tease you by biting his lip and taking off his boxers extremely slowly. You whimpered when his cock was free against his stomach, and it was bigger than any you’ve been before while watching porn. It was even bigger than the dildo your friend bought as a joke for your birthday present, and you had started to doubt if he would fit inside of you.

“Suck Daddy if you want to cum, princess,” he groaned as he pumped himself a couple of times before you put your mouth on his head.

Not having any experience before, you didn’t really know how to start, but you gave little kitten licks at his head, and then took it in your heated mouth. He didn’t taste how you had imagined, instead it was more like a salted caramel toffee you had, it was delicious and you wanted more. You continued to take more, and more of him and suddenly gagged because you couldn’t take anymore – only to realize you had only taken half his dick in your mouth.

“Can’t handle more? I guess you’re too small for Daddy’s big cock, huh?”

The thought of his not fucking you was almost terrifying at this point and you continued to let your throat loose and tale more of him, until you felt his cock twitch, which made you moan. Tears spilled out as he fucked your throat, fast and hard.

“Such a good, pretty baby for daddy, taking my cock so good, princess,” he groaned before pushing in it a couple of times and taking it out.

“Such a naughty baby, making Daddy almost cum,” he kissed you again, tasting his own cum, before dipping down again, “you need to be punished, huh?”

“Daddy, please t-touch me,” you whined, grabbing his hand and putting it in between your thighs, and surprisingly he slapped your inner thigh.

“Being such a bratty baby now, I guess I do need to punish you, you don’t deserve Daddy’s fingers,” he said trailing again lightly all over body, but stopping as soon as he neared where you needed him the most, “touch yourself,”

You were dumbfounded, but when you saw his serious look, you shyly dipped your finger into your heat, and circled them around, but even after two fingers, it just wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you needed more.

“Daddy, please, I c-can’t, I need you,” you cried out while rubbing yourself between your legs, filled with your slick.

“Such a needy princess, always demanded Daddy,” he tsked before adding two fingers inside you, and as you gasped, “but Daddy adores you, so he’ll help his pretty little baby,”

You moaned, not holding back, as he pumped those fingers, and let his tongue work magic on your clit. He continuously pumped his fingers back and forth, while torturing your bud and the heat inside of you kept growing and before you realized it, “Jungkook, I’m going to cum!”

“Cum on my fingers, baby, go on,” his movements became more faster and you trembled under gaze, and unconsciously arched your back before letting yourself loose. It felt like heaven.

Even after this, you had been surprised to see that he didn’t stop and the stimulation was too much for you, as you tried to get away from him, but he held you in place, his wrist holding your pelvic in place.

Despite your whimpering and moans, he took his mouth to your perked up nipple again, and scissored his fingers, to prepare you for his cock. Then, he looked at you, cupped you face and kissed you again, this time more soft, as if you were a china doll, going to break at any given moment.

After letting his dick sit on your bud, he slowly let the head of his cock find your entrance and pushed it slightly. You let out a cry, he was too big for you, but he shushed you and pressed against your lips again before letting it enter little by little. You quickly grab his upper arm and clench it, the pain and pleasure were starting to combine again and you nodded, letting him know that it was okay to continue.

The raw emotion in his eyes was enough to let you go on, and when you were finally full, you looked down only to find you could only take half of him, he was just too big for you.

“Baby, fuck, you’re too tiny, can’t even take all of me,” he groaned before moving slowly, and then finally setting a pace that was safe, but unsatisfactory for you.

“J-Jungkook, f-fas-ter please,” you whined as he started becoming harsher, and his finger started abusing your bud again, and you couldn’t help but realize you were close again. This time, it felt more intense, more powerful.

He was so big, that you could feel him everywhere, it almost felt like he was ripping you apart, but the pleasure was almost overwhelming and the way his cock filled you up made you insatiable – you just wanted more, and more. You could feel your walls being pushed everything he buckled inside you, but he just did it so right.

“Baby, you’re so cute, gonna cum for Daddy?” he kissed your nipple and trailed up to your lips before diving a tongue into your moaning mouth. You nodded, and felt your second release come near.

“J-Jungkook, you feel so good,” you moaned as your walls clenched around his cock, and finally you gushed out, and trembled as you rode your orgasm. Simultaneously, he too, slammed his hips a couple times before cumming deep into you. As he took himself out, cum poured out of you, and he chuckled before taking it and spreading it over your face. Globs of cum covered your red cheeks and entered your mouth.

“You look so pretty with my cum on you face, keep it there until tomorrow morning,” he kissed your nose and coo-ed when you squirmed in embarrassment.

You could feel tugging and pulling when you felt someone wake you up and instinctively, you said, “Just five more minutes.”

“But you said that the last time,” Jungkook looked at you, his breathe fanning your face.

Too close, too close, too close. You looked at other way and tried to close your eyes.

“You’re so cute, like a small puppy,” he coo-ed at you, making your stomach feel things you’ve never felt before.

“I- I’m not like a puppy!” You tried to fight back in your sleep, but couldn’t help the blush forming on your cheeks and ears.

You could feel the dried up cum on your face, and wanted to wash it off, but feeling too sore to move.

“Can’t move, princess? Was Daddy’s cock too much for you, last night?” he coo-ed at you, mumbling about how cute you were, and how he wanted to baby you and make you his.

“I’m too sore, Kookie,” you whined into the pillow and were taken by surprise when he lifted you and carried you to the tub.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of my little human baby girl,” he said as he laid you in the lukewarm water and washed your body softly.

CLICK HERE FOR PART TWO

You were starting to feel more at home, even more than when you were at Earth.

A/N: That’s a wrap! Hope you like it. Go to master link for more!

#bts smut #Jungkook smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts reactions #bts reader insert #bts preferences #bts #jungkook bts #jungkook scenarios #Jungkook #jungkook reader insert #jungkook reaction #jungkook x reader #Jungkook daddy #jungkook fluff

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musicallisto · 4 years ago

Text

⚔ — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥; (tyrion lannister x f!reader)

@multifandomfix requested: Hey, for your start of the year event, could I get #44 with Tyrion Lannister, please? Thanks in advance if you end up choosing it. I hope 2021 will be a great year for you. 😊

song: bazzi - beautiful | 𝄞

summary: How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

author notes: I ain’t never seen a fluffy one-shot written by me, always half of it gotta be depressing

word count: 2.7k (what the HELL)

warnings: language + the typical stuff that’s commonplace in GoT

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 younger, young enough to hear her speak freely around you, you’d often heard the illustrious Cersei Lannister, blessed may her reign be, mutter her implacable adage through slit eyes and arrogant teeth; in Westeros, when one played the game of thrones, they were either crowned or buried. Some win and some die, she’d state with a smug grin, ignoring Jaime rolling his eyes right by her. You would always nod in silence; partly because you, lesser Lady of King’s Landing, certainly did not dare to contradict your most redoubtable playmate; but also because, deep down, you believed in her truths. You’d seen it when your father came back from his battles, commanding the Crown’s armies across the Southern seas, or when you heard the whispers at Court of yet another fallen Lord who believed he could play with fire like the Targaryens; there was little more than victors and vanquished, and you, as a lady-in-waiting to the future Queen, could sleep easy at night knowing you were on the right side of the world.

Yet when the rebellion led by your father’s army of mutineers was crushed by the King’s forces, when your brothers all fled into exile across the continent; when your title, name, and lands became those of a traitor to the Crown; you understood that in the game of thrones, death was the only blessing the powerful bestowed when they were clement; for there was far crueler and harrowing a punishment than torture: humiliation and servitude.

King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.

“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”

That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...

You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.

The only one who knew was Tyrion.

He always knew everything.

Even more so when it was about you.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...

“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.

Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.

But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.

Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.

The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.

The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...

“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.

You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...

“I don’t know.”

You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”

“I’m certain he is f—”

“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.

You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.

“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?

“No, he does not.”

There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.

“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”

“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”

His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.

“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”

Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.

“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”

And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.

The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”

Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.

“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”

“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”

“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”

Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.

“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”

You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...

“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”

His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.

“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”

His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.

“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”

You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.

“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Ah, to hell with it.”

Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”

And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.

“I was wrong.”

An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.

“All these years...”

“Yes.”

“And all those girls I had to see you with...”

“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”

“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...

And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.

Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.

When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.

“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?

“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”

“Tell me. Over and over.”

There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.

He told you all night.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee @softeninglooks (all my writing)

#writing in formal english is so hard? when it's not your first language? you're just like 'does this mean something or am i making this up'#mywriting #game of thrones #got #tyrion lannister #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones one-shot #got imagine #got fanfic #got one-shot #tyrion lannister imagine #tyrion lannister fanfic #tyrion lannister one-shot #tyrion lannister x reader #will spellcheck this tomorrow morning so for now have this #multifandomfix

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writing-of-a-british-bitch · 4 years ago

Text

Blame Me - Chapter 1

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Specified gender: Female

Word Count: 4.3K

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader,

TW: canon typical violence, canon divergence, gore, mention of past major character death, zombies, a lot of time skips

Genre: Horror ig?

Series: Blame Me

Requests: CLOSED

Masterlist

A/N: (Y/N) isn’t in this chapter much but she will be soon! This is my first time writing for the walking dead, so I know Daryl is probably out of character. Constructive criticism is always appreciated :) Send me a DM or an ask if you want to be tagged! Enjoy!

When Daryl found out about what they'd done to Merle on that rooftop - left him for dead- he was livid. Merle was no angel, that was for damn sure, but that was still his brother, and they just left him there. And when they got there, and Merle was gone, with nothing left but a hand he'd had to hack off himself? It felt like his world was crashing around him. He couldn't do this. Not again. Then this new sheriff asshole had the nerve to tell him to calm down. Fuck that. He couldn't lose his brother, not him too. But Daryl couldn't seem to catch a break, and suddenly they'd lost half their camp, taken a failed trip to the CDC (that almost cost them their lives - again), and Sophia had gone missing. He was sick and fucking tired of losing people. Maybe that's why he was so hellbent on finding a little girl that wasn't even his. They'd set up a little camp on the edge of some old guy called Hershel's farm, but Daryl didn't want to get too close. He had this awful feeling creeping up his spine, something was gonna go wrong. Someone was gonna die. He couldn't take the blame again. So he stayed away. Set up his own tent, his own fire, Merle's bike parked up against a tree, animals on a line. Just like the old hunting trips he used to take with his brother. Sometimes she'd come, but it wasn't her thing. She'd been keeping him company so far. Even if she wasn't really here. Daryl was so focused on skinning a squirrel that he didn't even hear Carol creeping over. She still had remnants of tears tracked down her face, but they'd been long dried.

"Daryl?" Carol's meek voice broke through the silence, and Daryl looked up briefly a grunt of recognition leaving his throat. She sat down next to him on the log he was perched on "Thank you for everything you've done for Sophia. Her own daddy would have never done the same."

She'd thanked him twice already. He found her doll, not Sophia. As much as he wishes he had. Damn near died for it too, since the throbbing pain in his side liked to remind him

"Only found her doll," He mumbled, glancing over quickly. Carol nodded and gave him a small smile.

"Well, that's just one step closer isn't it?" She replied but she got no response except the famous Dixon stare. He wasn't much of a talker. He was just glad she understood that. They sat there for a few minutes, watching the fire, surrounded by the comfortable silence until Carol looked over to watch as Daryl skinned another squirrel, and a little glimmer on his hand caught her eye. "Hey, what's that?"

"What're you talkin' 'bout?" He huffed out, putting the squirrel to one side, and stabbing the knife into the log beside him, finally giving her the proper response she'd been asking for. Carol reached out and took Daryl's hand, examining it, ignoring the blood on his hands. He'd be surprised if she wasn't used to it by now. But she was right. On his ring finger was a silver band. Just plain and simple. Very Daryl. He snatched his hand back the second he realised what she was talking about. Carol was grinning at him, a tender look in her eyes. God damn that woman for being so observant. Though truly, they'd been in the same group for months and none of them ever noticed, so how observant could she really be? "Shut up."

"You're married?" Carol still had that grin on her face, and though her look was tender, there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. His girl wasn't with him. And while he hadn't fully accepted the fact she could be dead, he had accepted the fact that his chances of ever seeing her again were slim. Especially since it'd been so long.

"Worn ma ring whole time and you ain't never noticed?" Daryl shot back, more defensive than he'd like to have been. He didn't like being snappy with Carol, but, as anyone would have assumed, the topic was a touchy one.

"You and Merle were always off somewhere, or sitting miles away from us. Can't blame me for that," She replied, and to be fair, she wasn't exactly wrong. There was a pregnant pause, where Carol was trying to figure out what she should say. Could he even tell her? He didn't want no pity, but damn, talking about his girl, the memories? Talking to someone who wasn't Merle about her. Maybe it'd be nice. Or maybe not. "What happened to her?"

There was that silence again. The pause weighed heavy on both of them. Daryl took a deep breath and looked over at her. Fuck it. If there was anyone he could tell, anyone he could trust, it was Carol.

"Weren't nothin' bad. Didn't feel it then. Merle and me, we was goin' on 'nother huntin' trip. Ma girl only came sometimes. Weren't her thing. She was goin' to visit her ma, gave me this damn thang," He picked up a battery-powered video recorder from by his foot that Carol hadn't even seen. Yeah, maybe he was wrong about the whole observant thing. The corner of his lips twitched upwards as he opened it. "Said, 'just so you don't forget me'. I told her we'd only be gone two weeks," his fingers fiddled with the buttons, and he grew quiet, clicking onto one of the videos, but not playing yet. "Dead started risin' a week later. The ring and these dumb videos are all I have left right now."

Carol watched him as he talked, seeing the blank expression on his face warp into sadness, as he played with the video recorder, the way his eyes flickered over to his ring every now and again. He didn't think he'd been this vulnerable since he'd last seen his girl.

"She must have been really special to put up with someone like you," She teased, trying to make him a little more comfortable, nudging his shoulder. He smirked, finally looking away from the recorder.

"Yeah, she was," Daryl stated simply, before pressing play on the video.

"The hell you doin', woman?" Daryl's gruff voice sounded from behind the camera, as it spun around to reveal Daryl and a girl, maybe a year younger than him, with (H/C) loose and wild, as she danced around a kitchen. There was loud laughter behind the camera, Merle had been a dick when he found the recorder and kept filming them (he knew Daryl hated it). Lord knows he was thanking that asshole for filming it now. Merle said something in his southern drawl that Carol couldn't quite understand, but by the scowl that appeared on Daryl's face in the video, he clearly heard it. The girl beside him let out a chuckle and suddenly launched at Daryl, clinging to his arm as she bounced on her toes. Daryl lowered his glare to her, but Carol saw his eyes soften slightly. Merle spun the camera around to face him and made some raucous comment about christening the new house while he was away before the camera spun back around. It ended a second later, with Daryl swearing at Merle and using his hand to block the camera, and the girl let out a loud laugh.

Carol was smiling at the camera until she looked over at Daryl and saw a hardened look on his face. Damn those emotions of his.

"What was her name?" She whispered, scared if she spoke too loud, he'd crack.

"(Y/N)" were Daryl's final words, before he picked up the recorder, crossbow, his knife and his half skinned squirrel and moved into his tent, zipping it behind it.

His girl always knew what to do. Knew how to help. She was a leader, even if she liked to deny it. She'd know exactly what to do. Shane was a damn idiot, and Daryl knew she would have dealt with him already, rather than fucking about as Rick had. When Shane threw the barn doors open, letting all them damn walkers out, despite the whole groups' protests, he knew right there that his girl would have dealt with him. And when Sophia came trailing out, pale and cold, white-eyed, dirty with a bloody chunk missing from her shoulder, she would have known exactly what to do. But instead, he was the one catching Carol and watching as Rick put a bullet between her eyes. Daryl's girl would have known exactly what to do. But she wasn't there. As much as he wished she was. He was the one who comforted Carol and tried to help. But, equally, he was also the one who threw blame in her face and screamed at her. She didn't deserve that. No way in hell. But, he didn't know what to do. His girl would've.

"There ain't nothing out here but mosquitoes and ants," They'd only left Rick, Glenn and Maggie two hours ago, but Daryl was already starting to question his decision. He forgot how much his brother liked to run his mouth, and his hunger didn't help calm the situation much either.

"Patience, little brother. Sooner or later, a squirrel is bound to scurry across your path," Merle responded, stood over by the tree to have a piss.

"Even so, that ain't much food," Daryl kept his eyes trained on his surroundings. There'd been more than a few walkers sneaking up on them recently, and he was starting to get paranoid that it was the beginning of a herd.

"More than nothing," That asshole really have to choose now to go all quiet? All his damn brother did was talk.

"I'd have better luck going through one of them houses we passed back on the turnoff," Daryl observed, looking over in the direction of the turnoff as Merle zipped himself up and walked over. He had that shit-eating, condescending look on his face. Great.

"Is that what your new friends taught you? Hmm? How to loot for booty? You gotten real quiet since y'all left me on that dead infested rooftop in Atlanta. Them prison pussies soften you up?" Merle teased, looking over at his little brother with an amused look in his eyes. Daryl just snarled slightly, looking back in the direction of the street. "Oh, cmon now, can't be givin' ol' Merle the cold shoulder after all the shit we just went through."

"Man, fuck off," Daryl hissed back, glaring up at his brother. His side was throbbing with what he suspected was a broken rib, or at the very least bruised, after Merle's kicking and punching back in the arena. Merle narrowed his eyes in response, walking over and giving Daryl a light shove.

"What? Ya forget about how I took care of ya? Now ya spent some time with Officer Friendly and you're suddenly too good for ya brother?" He snapped, raising his eyebrows. Daryl huffed and straightened his back.

"Just lay off, Merle. There are walkers crawlin' 'round and ya runnin' ya mouth like a damn fool," he shot back, making a point to keep his voice low. Merle only let out one of his loud raucous laughs, causing Daryl to advance quickly.

"Easy, little brother. Ya lookin' like ya might pop a vein if ya keep gettin' pissed like that," Daryl didn't say anything, just stared back at him, the famous Dixon glare returning. "It's the Dixon's back together again, ain't it a good thang?"

"Not all the Dixons," The younger Dixon grumbled, pulling his crossbow up as a familiar growling filled the air, and a walker stumbled out from behind a tree. A quick pull of the trigger and the damn thing was on the floor, bolt between his eyes. Merle watched him for a second, watched the flash of anger and sadness in his eyes.

"Ya ever find 'er?" He asked quietly, as his brother walked over and pulled the bolt from the fuckers head. Daryl glanced up at him, holding his gaze for a minute before starting to walk again.

"Man, we've been at it for hours. Why don't we find a stream, try to look for some fish?"

"I think you're just trying to lead me back to the road, man. Get me over to that prison," Merle scoffed. Damn it. He knew his brother'd put up a fight but he didn't think he'd pick it up so quickly. Then again, his brother was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid.

"They got shelter. Food. A pot to piss in. Might not be a bad idea," Yeah, and the rest of his family. And his video recorder.

"If ya gonna try and lead me back to that prison, you could at least answer my damn question, baby brother," Merle stated, noticing how Daryl's shoulders tensed slightly. There was silence, apart from the occasional rustling of trees, which made the brothers look around, never letting their guard down despite the conversation.

"Naw. She was up in South Carolina before these bastards starting comin'. Knew I weren't gonna find her here. Doubt she came back," Was his response, but apparently, that was enough for Merle. For now at least.

"C'mon let's go hook some fish," And with that Merle was steaming ahead, leaving Daryl in place. He let out a sigh and spat on the ground before trailing after the elder Dixon.

But of course, they had to save someone else's asses, nearly getting themselves killed in the process. And of course, Merle wanted to rob this poor family. They had a baby for Christ's sake! "The shit you doing, pointing that thing at me?" Merle raged, once they got a good distance from the group they'd just rescued.

"They were scared, man," Daryl reasoned, narrowing his eyes for what felt like the millionth time.

"They were rude is what they were. Rude and they owed us a token of gratitude," God, if his girl were here, she would have knocked his teeth out by now. She loved Merle and cared about him, but they clashed heads more than he and Daryl did. And damn that was a high number.

"They didn't owe us nothing," he shot back, looking back in that direction, even though the red car the group had been in were long gone

"You helpin' people out of the goodness of your heart? Even though you might die doing it? Is that something your Sheriff Rick taught you?" Merle said with a cold laugh, interrupted halfway through with Daryl's comment of "There was a baby!". Merle couldn't help but think that his brother had gone soft. "Oh, otherwise you would have just left them to the biters, then"

"Man, I went back for you. You weren't there. I didn't cut off your hand, neither. You did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof. You asked for it!"

"You know-- you know what's funny to me? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now. Right?" Merle crossed his fingers in front of Daryl's face, only aggravating the hunter further. " I bet you a penny and a fiddle of gold that you never told him that we were planning on robbing that camp blind. I told you that that woman had made you soft. Hell, ya got married just ta make her happy. Dixons don't need no one but each other!"

"Ya leave ma girl out of this, ya hear? Besides, it didn't happen," Daryl growled, voice dangerously low to the point that even Merle knew he truly should drop his sister-in-law out of the discussion.

"Yeah, it didn't 'cause I wasn't there to help you."

"What, like when we were kids, huh? Who left who then?" Daryl hadn't really meant to say it. He hadn't. But once it was out, the air set on fire, and both brothers were seeing red.

"What? Huh? Is that why I lost my hand?"Merle retaliated, pointing and getting right into Daryl's face, knowing how much it got under his skin.

"You lost your hand 'cause you're a simpleminded piece of shit!" Daryl turned his back, moving to pick up his backpack from the floor when Merle lunged forward, gripping the fabric off his shoulders.

"Yeah? You don't know-!" A sharp tug, and a loud rip and Merle's words caught in his throat. Silence filled the air, as the raised and discoloured markings down Daryl's back presented themselves to the world. Some of them were from hunts, or from accidents in the apocalypse, but some, Merle recognised them too damn well from his own time spent with their daddy. Once Daryl had fully clocked what had just happened, he pulled the shirt back up as much as he could and slung his bag over the top. That was it. He'd had enough. " I- I didn't know he was-"

"Yeah, he did. He did the same to you. That's why ya left first," Daryl answered sharply, not turning back to look at him. Merle just shook his head.

"I had to, man. I would have killed him otherwise," Daryl only chuckled humourlessly, and set off in the opposite direction, only turning back when Merle added, "Where you going?"

"Back where I belong," Was Daryl's reply, not even noticing he'd started to spin his ring with his thumb at his side. Old habits.

"I can't go with you. I tried to kill that black bitch. Damn near killed the Chinese kid," Merle tried to reason, but Daryl could only scoff in response. Classic Merle.

"He's Korean," He stated simply.

"Whatever. Doesn't matter, man. I just can't go with you, "Merle pulled a face, and for a split second, Daryl felt guilty. But he was an asshole. If he decided to come, then so be it, but if he decided to stay behind, good riddance.

"You know, I may be the one walking away... but you're the one that's leaving- again."

"What's goin' on that brain baby brother?" Merle asked, leaning in the doorway to the cellblock, slightly alarmed to be sat quietly at the top of the stairway, where his sleeping bag was, spaced out. Normally, he'd be pacing or cleaning that stupid crossbow for the thousandth time. But no, he was dead still. Dead quiet. The others were out and about. Most of them were in the yard, clearing out the walkers that Axel had stupidly let in when he opened the gate. Michonne, Rick and Carl had gone out on a run to their home town for weapons against the governor fucker. And Daryl, Merle and Little Asskicker (who Daryl had found out had been named Judith, but Little Asskicker seemed more appropriate) had been left alone in the cellblock. Rick trusted Daryl enough to keep her safe from Merle.

"Ya really think she made me soft?" Daryl pondered out loud, holding Little Asskicker close to him, as he started rocking her slightly. Merle laughed, waving his metal attachment around dramatically.

"This place's 'bout to go crashin' to the ground, and you're thinkin' about your lady?"Merle wasn't a man of affection, Daryl knew that pretty well, but he also knew when he was deflecting. Merle talked about (Y/N) sure, but only briefly. Since the brothers and his girl got separated in the beginning, they both steered clear of long conversations about her. Daryl just stared Merle down, until he let out a huff, and took a few slow steps into the cellblock. "She made ya soft, ain't gonna lie ta ya. Even you can't deny that, little brother. Never said it was an entirely bad thing."

"She made me better. Never really know what she saw in me, but whatever it was, I'm glad she did," Daryl's lips twitched upwards, as he looked down at Little Asskicker. His girl would love her. She'd love Carl too. Hell, she would love everyone. She would've kept things calm.

"Look, I'm an old redneck asshole, but that girl o' yours is the best damn thing that ever happened to ya. Ya ever find her again, you don't let her go, hear me?" He didn't miss the commanding tone in Merle's voice and part of him wanted to laugh at it. Been a long time since he'd heard that tone. Daryl just nodded. "Ya still got that video recorder witcha?"

Daryl nodded, before jerking his head towards the little pile of stuff besides his sleeping bag. Merle climbed past him, careful not to knock the baby, and picked it up. He sat next to his brother, and for a second it was awkward. They hadn't been this close in years. Not like this. But when Merle opened up the camera and clicked on one of the videos, the awkwardness dissipated.

It took a second for the camera to come into focus, as the blazing Georgia sun reflected off the lens. Once it came into focus, Merle was once again filming the couple. Daryl and (Y/N) were stood in a little lake and both of them were just washing dirt and dried animal blood from their arms and legs, chatting too quietly for the camera to pick up. Merle mumbled something behind the camera about "being too fuckin' absorbed in their own world", when suddenly a laughter-filled scream tore through the peace, as Daryl sent a massive splash in (Y/N)'s direction. She was giggling but giving him a playful glare, the famous Dixon glare. He let out a loud laugh as she tried to push him into the water with little success, until he stepped back and lost his footing, pulling them both under the water. The camera shook as Merle let out a roar of a laugh, stumbling forward towards the water, as the pair came up, both sat on their asses in the shallow water. (Y/N) looked over to Merle, beaming with that smile that made Daryl's heartache, but flipped him the bird when she realised he was filming, shouting "asshole" at him. Daryl just chuckled and pulled her into him, no longer giving a shit about the camera, and kissed her, which they were both smiling into. Merle then said something childish like "horny kids" or something before the video ended, with Daryl and (Y/N)'s foreheads pressed together.

"She's something special ain't she?" Daryl said, through a voice that was thicker than he wished it to be, looking down at Little Asskicker with a sad smile.

"Hell yeah, she was."

Daryl didn't know how much more he could take. The prison had fallen, and they'd taken Beth. He swore he'd protect her. Swore to himself, swore to the memory of Hershel, swore to Maggie. And he still lost her. And when the group of assholes found him sat in the middle of the street, practically walker bait, he was starting to get desperate. He'd do almost anything at this point, he was so lost. His brother was gone now too. He couldn't even rely on that asshole. The one and only thing he'd been able to grab to remember his family was that fucking video recorder. But he'd found Rick, Carl, Michonne. And while he wished he could've found everyone, he was more than happy to have found the kid most of all. Though, he couldn't deny the anguish that filled him when he saw no sign of Little Asskicker and a sombre look on their faces when he asked I think it was safe to say that Rick was going off the deep end again. The man ripped a guys jugular out with his fucking teeth! After everything, Daryl honestly couldn't blame him, but last time Carl nearly lost who he was because of it. That couldn't happen again. Despite it all, they kept walking, and walking and walking, along the train tracks to this place Terminus. 'Sanctuary for all'. Somehow he found that hard to believe. But maybe he would be surprised. Maybe it would be a sanctuary. Maybe they could take a break for once. Yeah. As far as Daryl was concerned, it wasn't damn likely.

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calamitykaty · 4 years ago

Text

Nothing Even Matters

JATP X BTR DAY ONE SUBMISSION

Word Count: 5330

Summary: Set in 1954 two love stricken teens fight the odds to find love within one another. Pairing is readers choice. No Names. No Y/N.

A/N: please be kind, this was a big thing that I decided to try.

Wheat stalks danced around them as the gentle spring wind fluttered in through soft waves. The warm sun brought heat to their bodies as they laid entangled on a soft knit blanket in the middle of the field. Her head laid on his chest while the fingers of his right hand lazily trailed up and down her arm. Every now and then, the wind would blow her long locks of hair his way and for a fleeting moment, his nostrils would be overwhelmed by the sweet scent of lavender and vanilla.

A lazy smile found its way on his face, his eyes closed softly as the words “I am in love with you” left his lips in a hum, quiet enough that they could have been carried away with the wind. She tilted her head so that her chin was propped up on his chest. Her right hand stretched towards his face, her thumb lightly grazed across his lips, “and I, you, my dear.”

He caught her hand before it could retract and softly kissed her knuckle. She could feel his smile against her soft skin as he turned her hand over and pressed one kiss to her palm. Without hesitation, she pushed against his chest and found herself slightly hovering over him. Her hair fell forward, tickling his cheek before she leaned down and pressed her chapped lips against his. He tucked her hair behind her ear as she pulled back.

The sun began to set in the distance, the orange light cast her skin in an ethereal glow. She let her body collapse onto his, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. Her eyelashes fluttered against his skin. His left hand twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers as the silence settled between them for a moment, both knowing that their slice of heaven would be coming to an end soon but neither wanting to acknowledge it

“I have to get you home before dark, love.” He murmured, his lips pressed to her forehead.

“I know,” she sighed.

The breeze sent a shiver down her spine, the coolness of dusk settling in as crickets began to chirp in the distance. She removed herself up from his chest, his hands steadied her as she pushed herself up from the ground. Her hands smoothed over the fabric of her dress, she could imagine what her mother would say if she knew what she had been doing in her Sunday’s best.

She looked off into the distance while he shook the blanket out and began folding it into a perfect square. He tucked it under his arm and held out her canary yellow cardigan to her. She pulled the cardigan on, the material warm against her cool skin. He reached for her right hand, his palm sliding against hers until their fingers were tangled together. They walked in silence back through the field, following the small trail that had formed over the past year from their frequent meetings. She glanced over at him as they walked. His eyes locked on the path ahead of them, his lips were pulled in a tight line and his shoulders were tense. He never said anything to her but she knew how much he had hated their secret love affair.

He pulled the passenger side door open on the red Chevy pickup, his hand untangled from hers, and moved to the small of her back as she hoisted herself into the truck. Her hand immediately reached for the crank, turning it in circles to roll the window down. He put the key into the ignition, the truck roared to life, and Miles Davis’ I’ll Remember April flooded through the speakers.

“I’m sorry…” Her voice broke through the tension.

“It’s alright, little bird. When I am with you, nothing even matters.” The same twelve words that he always said poured from his lips. The words came to him out of instinct and she knew that he didn’t truly mean them.

They were from different worlds, she was the daughter of a minister and he was the son of a dead-beat. They were never supposed to cross paths, much less fall in love. She turned her attention back to the open window, rolling hills and pastures flew by as the truck rolled down the paved street. Her mind wandered back to the day she met him, it had all been a matter of circumstances, really.

-----

The summer air was sticky and humid, she could feel her neatly placed hair start to frizz under as she stood in front of the small white church. Her mother insisted that she wear the canary yellow cardigan with her white dress, despite the fact that it was mid-July and 102 degrees outside. She plastered her best smile on her face while her parents stood on either side of her to get their picture taken for her sixteenth birthday.

“Momma, can I go now? Laura Jane is expecting me for milkshakes over at pop’s!” She whined impatiently.

“Go on ahead, then. But you best not spill anything on that dress, little miss.”

She kissed her mother on the cheek and threw a “bye, daddy!” out as she took off down the pathway to the sidewalk. Her baby blue t-strap heel got caught by the toe on the uneven cement surface and she closed her eyes as she prepared herself for the fall that never came.

“I got you,” his voice was smooth and his hands a little rough as they caught her forearms.

She opened her eyes and looked up at the boy through her dark eyelashes, she caught his eyes and smiled.

“A little soon for you to be falling for me, love.”

She felt herself blush at his words and couldn’t stop the giggle that erupted from her throat.

“I’m--” he reached out his right hand to her.

She shook her head vigorously, “I know who you are, everyone does.”

His smile dropped at her words and she instantly furrowed her brows as she realized how her words sounded.

“I didn’t mean anything by that..I-i just meant that you have a reput--” she felt her face heat up as the words seemed to push their own way past her lips until she lifted her left hand to cover her mouth.

She cleared her throat and let her hand drop back down to her side, “it’s my birthday, do you want to get a milkshake with me at Ruth’s? My treat?”

She ignored the guilt that settled into the back of her mind as she thought about how Laura Jane would be waiting for her in their favorite booth at Pop’s with a strawberry milkshake.

His white shirt stretched tightly across his chest, the rolled sleeves exposed his biceps. He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, a strand falling back down onto his forehead.

“Ruths, huh? You sure you can handle roughing it on my side of town?”

That’s where it started, with a milkshake on the wrong side of town with a boy that everyone said was bad news. It was the first of many times that she stood her friends up for a secret rendezvous in places that no one from her circle would ever dare to step foot in.

-----

The truck slowed as they rounded the corner two blocks from her house, the breaks whined as his foot pressed down on the brake pedal until they slowed to a halt. She lifted her head from where it had been resting on the door frame and scooted across the bench seat of the truck until she was tucked into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. His thumb rubbed gentle circles into the fabric covering her hip bone.

“I just want the world to know how much I love you, little bird. Is that really so bad?” She didn’t miss the way his voice cracked, the state of their relationship had been wearing on him for a while.

“I want that too, you know that.”

She could feel his chest rise under her hand as he took a deep breath and let it out with a cynical chuckle. “Do you? Because it really doesn’t feel that way when I drop you off two blocks from your house so that you can walk home alone.”

Her eyes locked onto his side profile, his jaw was locked and she could tell that his eyebrows were pinched together.

“It won’t be like this forever, I promise.” Just like his twelve rehearsed words, her eight came out with the same insincerity. She had made the same promise to him over and over and over, yet here she sat making them again and knowing that when she got home she would keep the day between them a secret for herself.

His shoulders slumped as her words washed over him.

“I want to hold your hand in the hallways and show you off and you just want to hide me away, I...I don’t know how much longer I can do this, little bird.”

She swallowed the lump that began to make her throat feel tight. They had had this conversion plenty of times since their romance began to blossom the previous summer but it had never gotten to this point. Maybe she was naive for thinking that he would really wait around forever for her while she kept making empty promises to him.

“Please, please don’t say that. I--I love you.”

He pulled his arm from around her and tightly gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white from the pressure. He relaxed his grip and flexed his fingers several times before dropping his hands into his lap.

“I think you should go.” The words left his lips with hesitancy. He hadn’t wanted to say them at all but his heart was aching and he couldn’t bear the thought of her seeing the tears that threatened to make themselves known.

The passenger door of the truck slammed shut and she ignored the way she could feel his eyes on her before his truck was pulling off and she was left on the sidewalk alone. Hot tears gathered behind her eyes, she looked up at the sky, her eyes memorizing the shades of pink and purple that melted together until she felt the tears retreat. She wrapped the cardigan tight around her body, racing the streetlights to her front door.

Her mother sat on the robin’s egg blue porch swing with a bundle of yarn next to her. The clicking of her mother’s knitting needless halted as her right foot made contact with the first step on the porch. She looked over her shoulder to see the streetlight by the driveway flicker to life.

“You keep cutting it this close, Junebug, and eventually your daddy is gonna wanna know where you sneak off to after church.” Her mother’s southern drawl called out as the girl rushed into the house, the screen door clattering against the wooden door frame as it swung shut behind her.

Her face flushed at her mother’s words, wondering just how much her mother actually knew about where she had been and who she had been with. . She slipped the white penny loafers from her feet and let her toes sink into the dusty rose colored carpet. Her left hand glided across the wood paneling of the hallway that led to her bedroom. The wall was lined with photos from her childhood, some in black and white, others in sepia tones.

She stopped at one family picture, taken on the day of her sixteenth birthday. She was standing in between her mother and father, wearing the same dress that clung to her body now. The small white church was in the background and off to the far left, stood the boy that she loved, he was just a blur and if it hadn’t been for the way that she had memorized every detail about him, she wouldn’t have even noticed his presence in her picture.

She tore her eyes from the picture as her father walked up behind her and placed his warm hand on her shoulder.

“That was a great day, Junebug, one of my favorites.” His voice was raspy from the passionate sermon he had delivered earlier in the day. She caught his smile in the reflection of the glass picture frame, causing her own lips to spread across her face.

“Yeah, daddy..” she hummed out, her eyes lingering on the boy in the leather jacket for a moment longer, “it was the best day.”

“You better get yourself cleaned up, your mother’s pot roast will be ready shortly.” He gently squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

She let her eyes linger on the picture for a moment longer while her father retreated down the hallway and towards the dining room. She could hear the clattering on glass plates and tore her attention from the photo, finally making it to her bedroom.

She placed her white penny loafers onto her the small metal shoe rack that sat just inside of her closet before pulling the cardigan from her shoulders and dropping it into the white linen laundry basket. She pulled a set of red pinstripe pajamas from her chest of drawers, the iron pulls clanked against the mahogany drawer as she pushed it shut. She laid the button-up shirt and pants onto the lilac comforter that covered her bed before making her way back to her door, flicking the light switch off.

She made it to the dinner table just as her mother was placing the pot roast down onto the crocheted hot pad that would protect the wooden table. Her mother sat at one end of the table while her father sat on the opposite, she found herself sitting between them at the small round table. Her father had the Sunday paper held with both of his hands, his glasses perched on his nose as he read. Her eyes caught the headline on the front of the paper US Performs Atmospheric Nuclear Test Above Bikini Island. She knew better than to say anything about it but she was very much against the idea of nuclear weapons.

“Put the paper down, dear.”

Her father looked over the top of the paper and breathed in deep, letting the smell of the pot roast fill his nostrils as he meticulously folded the paper up into its original form and placed it onto the empty spot of the table to his left.

She let her hands fall into the palms of both her mother and father’s hands, her eyes stayed open and locked on her empty plate as her father said grace. Just like her political views and her secret relationship were a secret, she also wouldn’t dare to utter the words that she didn’t believe in God.

She patiently waited as her father filled his plate up first and then her mother before she handed her plate over to her father and let him pile it with the pot roast, potatoes, and carrots. The pot roast melted on her tongue and filled her body with warmth and comfort. She looked up every now and then and offered a “that’s interesting” or a curt smile as her parents made small talk around the table.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Junebug.” Her mother remarked.

She reached for her glass of water and took a long swallow before acknowledging the woman’s prying eyes.

“Just a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Her father’s hearty laugh filled the small dining room, “and what is on that mind of yours, dear?”

She turned her attention back to her plate, stabbing a soft carrot with her fork while she conjured up a believable lie.

“Nothing important, I have an exam in geometry tomorrow and the pep rally is Friday, we’re working on a new pep rally chant and I am nervous about getting it right.”

She bit the carrot in half and slowly chewed it, coughing when her mother clapped her hands together giddily.

“Speaking of the pep rally! The Jacobson's boy still needs an escort, I believe.” By the tone of her mother’s voice, she knew that Robert Jacobson definitely needed an escort to the pep rally and that it was being implied that she would be going as his date.

“Momma, please don’t tell me you promised them I would be his date.”

“Well, honey, I don’t see you lining up any prospects for yourself.”

A silence fell over the table and she knew that there was no getting out of it. She slowly finished her meal and waited for permission to excuse herself from the table. She took her plate to the kitchen and rinsed it off in the sink before heading to her room. She gathered the red pinstripe pajama set from her bed and headed to the bathroom where she let her mind wander to how she was going to tell him that she had an arranged date to the pep rally.

-----

Chirping birds from outside of her bedroom window pulled her from her slumber. She rubbed the heels of her palms into her sleepy eyes before glancing at the small analog clock that sat on her nightstand. 6:00 am.

She pulled herself from the bed and readied herself for the day. She cinched a brown belt at her waist over the pale yellow skirt that hit at her shins, a white short-sleeved button up with a peter pan collar tucked into the skirt and a matching yellow cardigan covered her arms. She slipped on a pair of white and brown saddle shoes over her frilly socks and let her brown leather satchel hang off of her left shoulder.

“Bye Momma, bye Daddy!” She hollered as she ran out of the house, the screen door slamming shut behind her. She could hear her mother yell at her from the living room about the slamming door but paid no mind as her feet slapped against the sidewalk.

Her heart sank as she made it to their usual spot, two blocks away, and didn’t see his red truck sitting on the side of the road waiting for her. She glanced down at the thin gold watch that adorned her wrist and frowned, she wouldn’t have time to wait to see if he showed up. She trudged herself back a block and stood at the stop sign as the yellow bus approached her. The bus driver pushed on the metal handle allowing the doors to open and she clambered onto the bus with the group of teens that stood at the bus stop with her. She set herself in the front seat behind the drive and pulled her bag into her lap. Her head rested on the cold window and her eyes stared at the passing pavement as the bus moved from stop to stop. The bus was filled with loud chatter and she was sure that the girl sitting next to her had said something to her but her mind was preoccupied with the boy that hadn’t shown up for her.

Her eyes caught his red truck sitting in the parking lot as the bus pulled up to the school and she felt her heart sink even further knowing that he hadn’t simply skipped school but rather chose to skip picking her up instead.

She pulled herself from the brown leather seat and piled out of the bus, a string of apologies flying from her mouth as she pushed through the crowd. Her heart raced as she approached her locker and found the boy leaning against it, his head tilted back as his eyes studied the ceiling tiles. He pushed himself forward as she stood in front of him, his fingers brushed against hers for a moment before he shoved his hands into his pockets. She hesitantly met his eyes as her left hand twirled the combination lock, stopping at the correct numbers from muscle memory.

“I have to tell you something.” She said, her words just above a whisper.

She watched as his eyes shifted from hers to the hallway, “later,” he breathed out just as quietly. She followed his eyes to the two approaching girls. She felt the guilt settle into her bones and opened her mouth to utter another apology only to find that he had already disappeared down the hallway.

She turned her attention back to her locker and grabbed her textbook for her history class.

"Were you just chatting it up with--"

"We have a science project to do together." She cut Marie off and slammed her locker shut before turning around to face the two girls, the textbook cradled to her chest.

"I heard a rumor that you're going to the pep rally with none other than the golden boy, Robert Jacobson." Laura Jane gushed.

"And where did you hear that from?" She asked absentmindedly.

Marie and Laura Jane shared a glance before going down the line of where the rumor started.

"Tommy Brennan said he heard it from Jessica Adams and she heard it from Richard Dean who said that Robert Jacobson told him himself."

"So?" Marie quizzed, "is it true?"

The three girls walked down the labyrinth of hallways and she pursed her lips as she peered into a classroom where the leather jacket-clad boy sat at a desk, his fingers drumming against the wooden surface.

She thought about how his heart would break seeing her with another boy.

"No," she said finally, "it's not true."

She quickly darted into Mr. Zimmerman’s classroom and slid into her assigned seat before the two girls could further interrogate her.

Six hours slowly ticked by and she felt her stomach turn to knots when the last bell rang. She stopped by her locker to drop off her textbooks before she joined the flood of students that poured out of the brick building. She looked to the left at the school bus that would take her home before looking to the right at the red truck that sat waiting in the parking lot. She could see the boy sitting in the driver's seat staring her way. She glanced back at the school bus before her feet starting closing the distance between her and the truck.

She pulled on the chrome handle of the passenger side door and slid into the passenger seat before dropping her satchel at her feet.

“I heard the rumors.” He all but snarled.

She slid across the seat and placed her left hand on his knee, “that’s all they are, just rumors.”

The tension in his body eased at her reassurance. He dropped his right hand from the steering wheel and let it fall on top of hers. His thumb ran over the top of her knuckles before he turned her hand over and slid his palm against hers.

“Can we talk about last night?” He asked, his voice more vulnerable than she had ever heard before.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, “I think we should.”

He gently squeezed her hand and slightly turned his body so that he was facing her.

“I’m...I’m scared that I won’t be strong enough to withstand all of the talk if everyone knew about us” She felt her bottom lip quiver as she forced herself to be honest with him about her insecurities.

He lifted his left hand to her face and softly caressed her cheek.

“I feel like we’ve built this wall that surrounds us and I know that you’re scared but no amount of judgment is ever going to knock that wall down, little bird. I love you more than, well, anything.”

His fingers softly pressed into the nape of her neck as he pulled her face towards his. Their lips moved together in sync before he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. His breath fanned across her face as he whispered the words into the space between them, “everything will be alright, little bird. Nothing even matters, but you and I.”

“Okay.” She pressed her lips against his for a brief moment. “Drive me home?”

“Anything for you, little bird.”

She scooted over to the passenger seat and rested her against the door frame as the truck roared to life. She quietly sang along to Frank Sinatra’s Young at Heart as he drove the familiar streets towards her house.

Without a word, he pulled up to the curb two blocks from her house and unbuckled his seat belt. He pulled her lips to his and murmured “see you tomorrow, little bird.”

The words were enough for her to know that they were okay. She pressed three more chaste kisses to his lips before she grabbed her satchel from the floorboard and hopped out of the truck. She adjusted her skirt and slung the satchel over her shoulder before taking off down the sidewalk with an extra skip in her step.

------

The smile dropped from her face when she entered the living room to find her mother and father sitting on the couch with their arms crossed and firm looks on their faces. Her father crossed the room and turned off the radio that was quietly humming.

“We need to have a discussion about your recent activities, young lady!” Her mother said sternly while her father gestured for her to have a seat in the chair adjacent to the couch. She let her satchel fall to the floor and quickly took a seat.

“Imagine my surprise when Mrs.Jackson told me she saw my daughter! The preacher's daughter shacking up in the school parking lot with that boy!” Her hands trembled in her lap and tears began to well up in her eyes as her father’s voice boomed out.

“Daddy, I..I can...it wasn’t.” She stuttered out between gulping breaths.

“I don’t want to hear a word out of you!” Her father fulminated.

She looked over at her mother who hadn’t said a single word yet, her eyes pleading with her mother to de-escalate the situation.

Her mother pursed her lips and uncrossed her arms. She pointed towards the hallway and narrowed her eyes at the girl, “you are to go straight to your room where you will spend the remainder of the night. You are to go to school and come straight home until you have deemed yourself to be trustworthy again and you can forget going to the pep rally on Friday, do you understand me?”

“Momma, please!” She sobbed, the tears ran down her cheeks faster than her hands could wipe them away.

She flinched as her father’s voice thundered out for her to go to her room. She scurried out of the chair and ran to her room where she threw herself onto the lilac comforter, her face buried into the white pillow as her body shook with sobs.

Her breathing evened out as dusk fell across the town and the cicadas began clicking outside of her window. She could hear the floors creak as her parents made their way to their bedroom. She waited for the sound of distant snores before she pulled herself up from her bed and quietly trekked through the house until she reached the kitchen where the black rotary phone sat on a small table.

The finger wheel slowly clicked as she dialed the number that she had memorized by heart, the phone pressed to her ear while she silently prayed for him to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

A sigh of relief escaped her lips a the sound of his voice, “hey…”

“Little bird?”

“Yeah”

“Are you okay?”

“Little bird?” He asked again after her silence fell through the speaker.

“They know..” she finally said.

He stayed silent as he waited for her to elaborate.

‘They know about us and it wasn’t good.”

“Hey,” his voice soothed, “remember what I told you, yeah?”

“Nothing even matters but you and I.” She recited, her lips tugged up at the corners despite her best efforts.

“Do you want to go to our place tomorrow?”

“No,” she smiled, “pick me up for school tomorrow? I wanna hold your hand in the hallways?”

“Okay...yeah, okay.” He berated out and she could hear the smile in his voice.

-------

The following morning was tense as she got ready for school. She could feel the uneasy air in the home as she meandered back and forth from her room before she grabbed her satchel and quietly bid her parents goodbye. She made sure to hold the screen door and let it gently close without even a hint of a thud against the doorframe.

Her face lit up with a smile when she reached the last step on the porch and looked up to find her favorite red truck parked at her mailbox. She ran across the yard and quickly took her place in the passenger seat. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and let her eyes linger on the living room window of her house where she could see her parents watching her.

“Ready?”

She tore her attention from the window and smiled over at the boy, “yeah, let’s give them something to talk about.”

She felt the butterflies flutter around her stomach as they drove to school in silence, her left hand entangled with his. Her heart raced as they pulled into the parking lot and she knew that he could feel how clammy her hand was getting in his.

‘We don’t have to do this, ya know that?”

She stared into his eyes and the way that he looked at her with total admiration and love. She shook her head and silently got out of the truck. He followed suit and hesitantly stood next to her.

“They can talk, say what they want about us...and nothing even matters.” She looked up at him and wrapped her arms around his waist while his right arm hung over her shoulders. The pair clung to each other as they walked across the parking lot. She ignored the staring eyes and the hushed whispers because he was hers and she was his and nothing else mattered.

@straywonpil @siennanoelle01 @choppedhoundsludgeclod @cool-ultra-nerd @hxney-bunches-x @crybabyddl @sorryyoureoutofmyleague @dream-a-little-bigger-x @kcd15 @all-in-fangirl @ifilwtmfc @onlygetaway @iainttakingshitfromnobody @angryknighttreeprune @jazzyhales @bathtimejish @lanasfandoms @miranda0102 @emotionalbruv @aliandthephantoms @multifandombabies @kinda-really-lost @5sosmukefan @alexpjoyner @mo-d3ans @hannahhistorian92 @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @i-should-be-writing-my-own-fic @sunflowerbecca @n0wornever @cherrymaybank @jatp-btr @meangirlsx @darlingsteveharrington @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic

#luke patterson x reader #owen joyner x reader #charlie gillespie x reader #reggie x reader #jeremy shada x reader #jatp fanfic #jatp #jatp reggie #luke patterson #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #julie and the fat ones #jatpxbtr

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southerneldritch · 3 years ago

Text

-A Year Later, Misha-

The smoke rose in a thick line from the burning embers of the tip of the cigarette, an off brand from the shop in town. Misha drew in a deep and long drag as he looked out across the night sky above the cold southern expanse of the Tronador valley. As he went further up the mountain, it was nice to look back towards the small lights of Puerto Varas, where he had received the intel that pointed him up this impressively cold mountain. Misha was no stranger to cold, but with how hot it was in the town this August he hadn’t expected the trek to plunge him into frigid temperatures. Nevertheless, with his collar lifted and another smoke lit, he marched forward.

The night was getting colder and the path, if you could call it one, was more than likely made entirely by wayward goats without intention or significance. Santino knew better than to give Misha bad intel, especially with something as important as this, but still there was a nagging at the back of Misha’s mind that this could be a trap.

He’d had a few difficult tussles since he left the comfort of the states to pursue what truth he had seen, what memories had been returned to him. Briefly, he considered the nightmare of New Orleans and what he’d had to do with the good Doctor. The sight of what that man had become, what that man committed to before slipping under the floodwaters of the ill-gotten city was still clear in his mind. Misha liked that his mind felt less like a mystery than before, but he was torn when he thought of the life he had built in Avenyork, the friends….friend he had made.

After another long drag of the cigarette, Misha found himself spotting the low light of a small cabin tucked into the mountainside. “Finally. I hope they have a fire going” he muttered to himself as he trudged on. Arriving at the small cabin, he could hear some music playing from inside. It sounded Russian. With a firm knock he stood out in the cold for a moment before the music fell silent and the door was cracked open. Dark brown eyes stared out from the warmth of the structure. “¿Sí, Qué quieres?”

“¿Oleg está aquí?” Misha responded. There was a slight look of confusion on the face of the man holding the door.

“Hablas español mejor que Oleg” He smiled and opened the door wider, gesturing for Misha to step inside.

“lo hago pero no lo prefiero.” Misha smirked as he stepped through the doorway, adding “¿Habla usted Inglés?”

“Si, but is not as good. But Oleg prefer it too.” The man, short in stature, shut the door behind Misha and led him to a chair at a table in the middle of the room. Misha could smell some sort of soup or stew being made on the fireplace and there was a small phonograph player on a small table to the side. “Oleg tried to make me learn Russian, HA” he laughed “Not happen”

“Russian is not easy language to master. Don’t worry my english is very good.” Misha sat down roughly, tired as he was. “Where is Oleg?” His eyes drifted around the room and saw a small bed tucked in the corner and a single door into the back room.

“He went to gather last few ingredients for stew” The man sat down across from Misha “Mi nombre es Mateo, ehhh” A pause “My name, Mateo. You?” His clothes were a bit large for his build and he seemed calm, despite a stranger banging on his door at this late hour in the mountains.

“Misha” Misha stated as he absorbed the room, gathering as much as he could. “And how did Oleg come to find you?”

“Oh as most. The people in town. They know my skills” He smiled and folded his fingers together. His nails were clean and bright yet something dark was under them. “And what is Oleg to you?”

Misha paused and considered the question. “Old friends,” adding, “How long do you think he’ll be?” He kept his eyes on swivel as he watched Mateo’s every move.

“He not be much longer” Mateo smiled wide, teeth looking wet. “Last ingredients are most important.” He gestured towards the pot next to the fireplace.

“Yes.” There was a pause in the room. The cold of the outdoors permeated everything despite the roaring fire. “The final touches are always important.” Before the pause could go on much longer, Misha asked, “So I heard music as I approached. Shall we put some on while we wait for Oleg?”

“YES!” Mateo exclaimed, his voice almost heavy with excitement. “Please go crank up the record” he half laughed “Oleg brought very good”. Misha stood and made his way towards the phonograph. It was an old thing that looked worse for the wear, and there on the pad was an old Russian record. The crank made an awful noise as he turned it. The creaking, clanking and the sound of the spring tightening was a mixture of bizzare and otherworldly sounds that caused the hairs on Misha’s neck to stand up on end.

As Mateo reached the last click of the player, Misha noticed an imperial Russian coat on the floor by the fireplace. Heavy outerwear that would work well in the growing cold outside the house. A coat Oleg would not have left without care. Misha’s stomach turned to sand and there were alarm bells going off as he felt his muscles tightened without thinking to do so.

“So Oleg?” Misha spoke as the record wurred to life with the sounds of a Russian folk tune, he turned back towards Mateo and regretted his decision immediately. Mateo with wide open eyes was looking directly at Misha, though he had not turned his body, only his head which was situated facing almost entirely the wrong direction. His mouth looked as if it had broken free and his head cocked backwards as a horrific guttural sound of nightmares filled the small cabin. Misha reached for his pistol as Mateo’s form folded and ripped and slid off of the large creature now flinging itself at him. His gun had only gotten out of the holster before the creature was on top of him. Slamming Misha down hard, the gun slipped from his hand. His head was spinning but his training kicked in harder than ever. The snarling maw of the grotesque thing was dripping down onto him as he kicked his heel back and slammed it hard into the beast. The creature folded back and shrieked. It grasped at its side that was bleeding a thick red ichor.

“Piece of Shit!” Misha exclaimed as he rolled over and tapped his heel again, the blood stained blade retracting into the side of his boot. Tumbling to his feet next to his revolver and snatching it up to look towards the creature writhing. Drawing a deep breath with a mixture of words under his breath Misha steadied his pistol on the shadowed and dripping beast. The upbeat tunes of the Russian folk music punctuated the snarl of the thing as it whipped around to face Misha.

“YOU ARE TOO LATE FOR FRIEND '' The voice spilled from various holes around the thing. With sounds of gravel being forced through flesh, the tone still somehow sounded like the small man of Mateo, even if the creature had very few traces of his flesh sticking to its dripping form. Within a second it lept towards Misha and without a second guess the gun belched fire. The small piece of metal tore through the creature, though it was not enough to stop its energy. Slamming down in front of him and bringing a thunderously hard slam into his side, the creature sent Misha hurling into the wall at the back of the shack. Wood splintered as the low light of the cabin was lost.

Misha woke, lying inside the small back room, “Uhhhghhh.” He let a moan escape before sitting up. The bodies of curious travellers and seekers of information alike were strung up and stored around the room. Likely as some sort of food source. “Oh Oleg,” he muttered as he eyed the opening now splintered through the wall into the main room of the cabin. “I guess you didn’t come as prepared as you should have.” Misha began to unload the revolver and slips his hand into an interior pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a few special looking cartridges with emblazoned symbols upon the shells. Before he was able to load them, the mass of the creature barges through, up, over and towards him.

“YOU SOON DEAD NEW RUSSIAN!” The creature gurgled forward with a sense of pained anger. While the previous strikes may not have been lethal, they certainly hurt. It clearly was angry now. Seeing it close the distance with its previous speed, Misha abandoned loading the gun and braced himself instead. No amount of training can steel one against the purely physical blows of a wretched beast. Misha found himself tumbling back out of the hole his body had just made in the wall. He managed to land on his feet and was able to load the special rounds.

“Not quite yet you piece of SHIT!” He called out mocking the creature as the last round click into the cylinder and he snapped the gun shut. The hammer set, he began to speak softly as the chamber emitted a soft glow, faint but there. “I’m not done with you!” He exclaimed as he saw the twisted gleam of the eyes of the creature peer over the hole in the wall.

Releasing a growling shriek the creature retorted, “YOU DIE NOW OTHERS ARE FOOD ENOUGH!!!” as it launched over the broken timbers and slammed foot after foot, hand after hand towards Misha. Its jaws unhinged as it lept but before it bit down into the flesh of this painful nuisance, Misha dropped down, dodging the thing and letting loose two shots directly point blank into its belly. Hellish green and blue fire erupted from the wounds as large bulbs exploded around the impact zones. The creature cried out and slammed into, then through, the outer wall out into the cold snow of the mountainside. It let out a weak chitter of pain and confusion.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here Oleg.” Misha slowly stepped over the rubble of the wall and towards the thing. It’s body convulsing and folding, bones twisting inside its loose skin. “But this thing won't hurt anyone else.” Misha stood over it and let loose a loud single shot through what could best be described as its ‘head’. A few moments of the bright burn of green and blue light and the echo of the shot through the mountains, and Misha was alone.

New snow began to fall silently. He flipped open his notebook to a page full of names. He crossed out the last name on the page, ‘Oleg Fedorov.’ The steam of his breath was thick as he let out a long long sigh. With a fresh cigarette in his lips, he glanced at the Verum Private Detective badge paper clipped into his notebook. He looked into the cold night.

Softly, to the silence, he says, “I think I miss home.”

(by J. Daily)

#paranornal #southern eldritch #microfiction #writing #eldritch #supernatural #creepy #spooky #action #monster

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wildname · 3 years ago

Note

Oh you created your own universe? Can you tell us more? 😲

Well I created Emmara, the setting, for a dnd campaign I was running a few years ago and have slowly been expanding upon it for a steady while now. I wanted to combine my enjoyment of history and fantasy a bit more than the other settings of dnd do and also give myself more liberty than using someone else's setting.

I'll give a brief overview of the nations involved on the continent and one or two big events that have been ongoing.

Endel: the largest nation and generally considered the beacon of western humanity. Endel is a nation that was founded on the ruins of much of the ancient elven city-states, yet has accepted many of the non-human groups in as their own. The current kingdom is divided amongst larger to smaller holdings, with large fiefs held by the four Knightlords. Religious belief is polytheism with a large pantheon focused around the sun goddess and the moon god, a minor faith included is the animalist Old Faith which is favored by druid sects and rural communities. Their cultural influence is a combination of Anglo-Saxon and Germanic, with a dash of Arthurian flavoring.

Iskartium: Considered the birthplace of western humanity, the collection of city-states is divided and diverse in their goals and powers, Libre boasting the most powerful army and housing mercenary companies such as the Legio Fortuna, while Argos maintains a powerful merchant fleet as the stepping stone from East and West, with the ugly reality of continuing the ancient practice of slavery. They follow the same pantheon as Endel but with minor deities and faiths sprinkled in locally. Culturally they evoke Mediterranean aspects combined with classical Roman and Macedonian aspects.

Ardenne: a nation born of zealous faith and conquest, the people of Ardenne feel themselves the inherent owners of the world through their faith, The Grand Order. The last elven rulers to fall marked the birth of the nation proper, and the martyrdom of the prophet Ardent sealed the surviving elves and halflings fate. Despite the high standards of living amongst both the aristocracy and the peasantry, the gleaming gem of the North is marred by their open mistreatment of non-humans and religious persecution of 'witches' and 'pagans'. Religiously, they are a deity-less philosophy that puts humanity at the top of the pecking order but maintains a high standard of morals. Culturally, they are influenced by early to late medieval France and the low countries.

Careth: while far disconnected from the prophet's homeland, the island nation of Careth was open to conversion due to a long history of invasion and attempted colonization by the Shal elves of the east. This was much of the status quo until an upstart cult disposed of the old monarchy and installed their own head of state. The cult of the Matron now offers the largest safe haven of Sullied (think Tieflings) in the world. Religiously they are a monotheistic theocracy, focusing worship on an enigmatic deity they simply refer to as the Matron. Culturally they are a mix of early medieval Iberian, southern French, and southern Italian and Sicilian.

Kayle: the spotty collections of chiefdoms and clans that make up the island have only been unified for a short time, well within the life of anyone alive. Ardennian troops have landed on its shores and have given the high king, Cullen Mac Cu, the footing he's needed to unite the human settlements and the fir bolg highlander clans under one banner, the first time in history. Religiously, Kayle is the only human (primarily) nation to still worship the animalist Old Faith as a state religion, with the fir bolg continuing to worship the greater fae folk pantheon. Culturally, Southern Kayle is inspired by early medieval Ireland while the fir bolg are inspired by early picts and later Scotland.

Strakof: the lands of Strakof are by all means, Ardennian, yet they remain under the rule of an ancient arch-duke; Strakof himself. While appearing human and ruling over human subjects, it took little in the way of deducing to find he was no living man. A vampire himself, Strakof filled his aristocracy with those he felt could be loyal servants of undeath. Vampires, liches, wights, and other manner of foul beings rule over a fearful serfdom, humans who have long since forgotten a time without the stench of death. Many neighboring kings and queens have attempted to cleanse the lands of necromantic taint, only to further add to his armies of undead, and only further his goal to conquer what he sees as his by right. Religiously, the higher classes worship the demon lord of undeath, Wrought, with the living serfs being denied any holy symbols, lest they rise up in divine fevor. Culturally, various eastern European areas are combined with a touch of Prussian and aristocratic French in the higher classes.

Drakar: The magistocracy of Drakar is the only nation of draconic creatures in the world. Once a lush archipelago in the western sea, the dragons chose to rip the islands from the waves and lord their arcane might in a suitably grandiose manner, creating a chain of floating islands where only winged creatures could travel. While they won't admit it, a secondary reason was to protect themselves from sea-borne raiders and jotunr incursions. A simple caste system delegates duties among the citizens of Drakar, with the ability to use magic allowing many to usurp their usual lot in society. An exception is non-draconic immigrants, respected if they can hone arcane craft but are never allowed full citizenship. Religiously, they are an atheist society that believes their creation is through the secrets of arcane magic, therefore religious temples are replaced with colleges of magic and philosophy. Culturally, they are a blend of various bronze age civilizations with a highly structured and disciplined social framework.

Elgannon: the central forests make up the last hold out of elven sovereignty in the west. A collection of outposts and settlements hidden amongst the lakes and glades of the forest where nature rules and the fae can step into the mortal realm. The elves of Elgannon were lucky to be bypassed by the Ardennian armies in the human invasions, luckier still to remain united in the civil war that engulfed their lands and drove their fel cousins into the underground, all while waging the eternal conflict against the beastial creatures that stalk the darkest reaches of the woods. To this day, the elves and halflings that make up the population guard their borders viciously, knowing the end of their culture if they don't. They maintain a strong tie to the Endelian kingdom to their south and stage raids into the Ardennian bread-basket to free elves and wound their northern neighbor. They are a matriarchal society, where elders hold council and divide tasks to their followers, high elves craft and study, while wood elves and halflings forage, hunt, and watch their hidden paths for foes. Religiously, they follow a pantheon focused around stars, heroic ancestors, and the belief in their transition into the Otherworld, the realm of their gods and faefolk. Culturally, they are inspired by Gaullic and other Celtic tribes of mainland Europe, with a tense balance needed to be maintained between the natural cycles of nature and the primal rage that lingers under the surface of creatures.

The Silverpeak: once the last true bastion of Dwarven might on the continent, the hold has fallen to the forces of the largest greenskin horde the world has ever seen. Some thirty years ago, war came to the dwarves of the Dragonhorn mountains, a half-orc by the name of Grom had marched his army into the pass. The dwarves did what they had always done, they shut the gates and prepared for siege. It took one year for the greatest of holds to fall, the horde of orcs and their kin came screaming up from the depths, having tunneled their way in from below and using their own mines against them. Now the two groups lay claim to the mountain stronghold, with many attempts by dwarven refugees made to retake their home, with no success. Endel has taken in the refugees however, knowing the value of dwarven arms and armor, and to bolster their forces should the mountains sound with wardrums once more. Religiously, dwarves follow a pantheon of God's who represent their daily life on the surface and below ground, with their chief deity lying asleep due to treachery. Culturally, dwarves are a mix of Nordic and Russian slavic cultures with a strong sense of honor and familial bonds.

Noram: the harsh cold of the far north have deterred many would be explorers from mapping the land, but the boreal forests, icy mountains, and windswept tundra are the home of the last true giants and their Goliath followers. Hailed for their skill as craftsmen, the Jotunr spend the long winter hold up in their settlements, creating their weapons of war for the summer raiding season. Massive longships and village sized greatships carve their way through the waves and into the shores of the fertile mainland. Recently, Goliath warbands have made permanent residence on various shores of the western half of the continent, much to the dismay and distrust of their mainland neighbors. Religiously, the Goliath follow a pantheon similar to their dwarven cousins, but venerate mountains themselves as ancient gods. Culturally, they are inspired by viking adventurers and giants resemble their real world counterparts.

There's more I could add to this with various sub-factions and races or with the magic system at play in the setting but this is already a super long post and took me a good bit of time to get this far so this'll do for now.

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awkwardpenguinproductions · 3 years ago

Text

Perspective

Part 11 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

Bato usually takes his evening walk a lot earlier than this, so that he can catch the sunset over the water and marvel (two years away from home and he’s still not used to the sun actually rising and setting more than twice a year). Tonight, however, a series of events have conspired to make him late, and the sun has just set when he finally leaves the Abbey and heads down to the beach toward his ship.

A month after the skirmish, and his burns are still tender and stiff, but the sisters are well-versed in healing and Bato knows it’s nearly time to move on. Hakoda and the rest of the Fleet should be somewhere in the Eastern Earth Kingdom by now, and Bato is just waiting for his Chief to send word so that Bato can rejoin his brothers.

As he approaches his ship, a flickering orange light pierces the darkness, and his heart stops for a moment. Firebenders? But the only sounds are the waves of the sea against the sand and the crackling fire, so Bato keeps his hand on his dagger and approaches cautiously.

As he gets closer, he can see the silhouette of someone sitting before a campfire, someone with what looks to be a shaggy wolf-tail. A stick snaps under Bato’s foot, and the person jolts, standing and whirling around with a weapon in hand.

“Who’s there?” Calls out an achingly familiar voice, and Bato can’t believe it.

“Sokka?” He asks, stepping into the circle of firelight. And so it is, his Chief’s son, relaxing from his fighting stance.

“Bato?” His voice has deepened, and cracks on the end where it turns up in question.

“Who the what now?” Another voice asks, male and young, and Bato can see a small body resting on one of the legs belonging to a huge furry creature the size of his ship. Across the campfire from Sokka, Katara sits up in her sleeping bag and calls out, “Bato!”

Bato braces himself as both Sokka and Katara run over to hug him, with the smaller boy and another one, nearly fully grown and shrugging a quiver over his shoulder. “Sokka, Katara! It is so good to see you! You’ve grown so much!”

“Hi, I’m Aang, and this is Zuko,” the small boy says, bowing and indicating his taller companion, who also bows. Bato is about to greet them, but Sokka speaks before he can.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Is he here?” Katara asks eagerly.

Bato hates to disappoint them, but there’s no point in prevaricating, so he tells them where Hakoda and the fleet are and invites them to the Abbey.

His niece and nephew are delighted with his room, while Avatar Aang grimaces in poorly disguised disgust and the silent Zuko glances around with an appreciative air. Bato wants to ask the boy about the massive burn scar on his face, maybe compare battle stories, but Sokka and Katara command his attention, and his relief and delight at seeing them and finding them well overwhelm his instinct to be a good host.

They eat their fill of stewed sea prunes and talk. Aang tries to participate in the conversation, while Zuko doesn’t say a word, but watches everyone keenly, and Bato could swear that his eyes flicker gold in the firelight. That’s impossible, though— Sokka and Katara more than anybody know better than to trust ash-makers . Bato puts the thought out of his mind, and conversation turns to Hakoda and the Southern Water Tribe fleet.

When he tells them about the message he’s expecting from Hakoda, the kids’ faces light up.

“Really?” Katara squeals.

“When?” Sokka demands. Between them, Zuko looks up from the arrows he’s fletching, a small smile on his face.

“Any day now,” Bato replies, almost as excited as them. “Your father said he’d send a message when they found the rendezvous point. If you wait until the message arrives, you can come with me, and see your father again.”

Sokka beams. “It’s been over two years since we’ve seen Dad! That would be so incredible! Katara!”

“I do really miss him,” Katara sighs wistfully. “It would be great to see Dad.”

“It’s been far too long, hasn’t it?” Bato commiserates. He misses his brother warriors like he would miss his limbs. “I’m not sure when word will arrive, but when it does, you’re more than welcome to come along to see your father.”

Both the kids deflate suddenly. “It would be great, but we can’t,” Sokka says gravely. “We have to get Aang to the North Pole.”

“Even if we do have time to wait for the message, who knows how far we’d have to travel?” Katara adds with typical pragmatism. “We don’t have time for a long detour.”

Bato is disappointed, but also immensely proud, and knows that Hakoda will be as well, and says so. Sokka and Katara beam, and Zuko looks a bit relieved.

With the break in conversation, Bato turns his attention to the archer, and now that he has consistent light from the whale oil lamps hanging around the room, realizes that the boy really is just a boy, perhaps a year or so older than Sokka. The burn scar on his left eye dominates his pale face, despite being half hidden under shaggy black hair.

"You've been very quiet, Zuko, I'm sorry we've been so rude," Bato says, shooting a playfully scolding look at Katara and Sokka, who sheepishly smile and smirk respectively. "I'm Bato, first subordinate to Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe Coalition."

Zuko smiles, balls one hand into a loose fist, and taps the fingers against his mouth.

"Zuko doesn't talk," Sokka says with a shrug. "We don't know why––he's teaching us his hand language, but it's kind of slow going. He can write, but he hasn't really told us much of anything about himself. Can we tell him? He's trustworthy, he's basically my dad's common sense." Sokka has turned to Zuko, who is now eyeing Bato thoughtfully, and he can feel himself shiver as that gaze lays him open and reads him like a book. Those eyes glint gold again, and Bato has a bad feeling.

Zuko nods, short and sharp.

"Okay, so Zuko here defected from the Fire Nation, basically," Sokka states, quick and simple, like ripping off a bandage. "Aang had gotten himself captured by this seriously bad news Admiral, and Zuko got him out. As soon as Aang learns Zuko's language, Zuko's going to teach him firebending."

A firebender.

A firebender. Next to his kids. Traveling with the Avatar.

A firebender. In. His. Room.

The smoke from the cookfire is choking. Pain races up and down Bato's arm. The ash-maker is too close. Too close to the cookfire, too close to the kids, too close to Bato . The knife is in his hand before he even thinks to draw it.

"Bato!"

Katara sounds scared. She should be, she's sitting next to a firebender. Ash-makers killed Kya.

"Bato. Stop. Put it down."

Hakoda? But Hakoda's in the East.

"Bato." The voice rings with Hakoda's authority, and it pierces some of the haze that's settled over Bato's mind. "Bato. There is no threat. Put. The knife. Down. "

Bato blinks, and suddenly he's back, in his room at the Abbey, and when had he stood up? The knife falls to the floor beside his foot. Sokka stands before him, tall, so tall when did he get so tall, his own dagger drawn and held at the ready, half in front of a white-faced, kneeling Zuko being comforted by Katara.

"Bato." Sokka has never sounded more like his father than he does in this instance, and Bato almost snaps to attention on instinct. He drags his eyes away from the prostrate firebender to his best friend's son, who is studying him with a hunter's gaze, cool and assessing and sharp. When did Sokka transform from a goofy boy to this warrior?

"Bato," Sokka says again, steel threading his voice. "Zuko is under the protection of the Chieftain's Heir. He is not to be harmed by word or deed. Doing so is an affront to me, and to my father as Chief. Do I have your word as a Warrior of the Water Tribe?"

This man will make a great Chief someday, Bato thinks, as he drops to one knee and says aloud, "I swear by Tui and La as a Warrior of the Water Tribe that Zuko of the Fire Nation shall not be intentionally harmed by word or deed by my hand.”

Sokka nods sharply, sheathes his dagger, and turns to his friend, dropping to one knee and murmuring to him. After a few nods and headshakes, and one odd gesture where Zuko shakily places one loose fist palm out on his forehead and then stretches out the thumb and pinky finger, the firebender slowly gets to his feet and disappears out the door. Sokka and Katara share a look, and Sokka sits back down facing Bato.

“Okay, what in La’s name just happened?” He asks, pinning Bato with a hard look.

Bato shifts uneasily on his mat. “Where is he going?”

“That’s not the question right now, but he’s gonna go hang out with Appa for a while,” Sokka replies, waving a hand as though letting a firebender run around a peaceful Abbey was nothing to worry about. Sokka must have seen something of his worry on Bato’s face, because his blue eyes turned to sharpened ice. “Zuko has my trust. If it weren’t for him, Katara and I would have died, and Aang would be on a ship to the Fire Nation capital as a trophy. You’re on thin ice, though. What. Just. Happened?”

Bato bows his head. “Ever since your father brought me here, I’ve been… struggling,” he says quietly. “Fire is not the comfort it once was. Firebenders figure… prominently… in my nightmares. When you said that Zuko was going to teach the Avatar firebending… I’m afraid I lost my head a little bit.”

Sokka’s lips press into a line. “That’s not a good thing, Bato,” he says. “You need to get a grip on that, because to end this war we’re going to need Fire Nation allies. Including firebenders. We can’t afford to alienate people willing to work with us just because you can’t handle that they bend fire.”

Bato knows he’s right. Every word is exactly as Hakoda would have said, and Bato has every intention of telling his best friend exactly how much his son has grown.

“I suppose I should apologize to Zuko,” Bato sighs, running a hand over his face. He should probably talk to one of the sisters about his reaction, as well. They’re pretty well skilled in healing both bodies and minds, and he does not want a repeat of tonight when and if the issue of …firebending allies… comes up again.

Sokka nods, but Katara pins Bato with a frown. “It can wait until morning,” she declares. “Give him a chance to calm down.”

Aang returns, a bit obnoxiously cheerful in the solemn room, and Bato wonders at the Spirits who had seen fit to grant the world a child Avatar.

Zuko doesn’t return.

The next morning, Bato leaves his room and finds Zuko in the courtyard, practicing what look like bending forms. Aang sits nearby, watching with wide eyes. The older boy is stripped to the waist, even in the chilly morning air, and every movement he makes is controlled, precise, and calculated. There is no fire, most likely in deference to their current location, but Bato can easily imagine the flames bursting from Zuko’s strikes and trailing like ribbons from his kicks.

Zuko finishes his practice, spots Aang, and reaches the Avatar’s side in long strides. He makes a series of gestures, fluid and quick, to which Aang responds with his own slow, clumsy movements. Zuko corrects him, fixing the positioning of fingers and guiding the movement of hands, all with a gentleness that Bato would never have expected to see from a firebender. Aang tries again, and this time gets an approving nod. Aang beams and skips away. Zuko shakes his head, smiling wryly, and Bato takes the opportunity to approach.

As soon as he takes the first step, Zuko’s face snaps in his direction, his entire body going stiff and his expression wiping clear. The boy watches keenly as Bato comes closer, eyes darting here and there as though searching for weapons, but Bato had made sure to leave every weapon he has in his room this morning. No need to make the situation worse. He stops just out of his own arms’ reach, and is gratified to see Zuko relax just a little bit.

“Zuko, I would like to apologize for my behavior last night,” Bato says formally. “I do not know quite what came over me, but I will ensure that it does not happen again. I am sorry; I know I frightened you, and I sincerely apologize.”

Zuko’s posture slowly relaxes, although he never loses the military-erect stance. He forces a half-smile at Bato, shrugs a little, and makes a quick couple of shapes with one hand before striding off in the direction of the bathhouse.

Later that morning, Bato and the kids head back to Bato’s ship, and Bato takes them “ice dodging”, if it can be called such when dodging rocks instead of ice. Despite Zuko’s and Aang’s obvious inexperience with sailing, the kids all work together flawlessly, and Sokka’s use of his crew’s bending abilities is inspired.

When it’s over, Bato takes a bowl of face paint and conducts the Marking ceremony.

“The Spirits of Water bear witness to these Marks!” He intones, and draws the first mark on Sokka’s forehead. “For Sokka, the Mark of the Wise. The same Mark your father earned. For Katara and Zuko, the Mark of the Brave. Your courage inspires us.” When Zuko flinches as Bato reaches to draw the Mark on his forehead, Katara takes the bowl from him and draws it herself. “Your courage is especially inspiring, Zuko,” Bato continues, smiling at the young man. “I know that I didn’t give you much reason to trust me, and your decision to bend despite your fear that I might attack you showed enormous courage and trust in your fellow warriors. That is truly inspiring.”

Bato takes the paint bowl back from Katara and turns to Aang. “And for Aang, the Mark of the Trusted. You are now an honorary member of the Water Tribe, as is Zuko.”

He draws the Mark on Aang’s forehead, over the blue arrow, but instead of looking happy, Aang’s eyes are downcast.

“I can’t,” he says quietly.

“Sure you can!” Katara says brightly, while Zuko and Sokka look confused.

Aang wipes off the Mark and backs away. “No, you can’t trust me,” he asserts.

"What are you talking about?" Katara demands, and Zuko begins to look alarmed as Aang curls in on himself, and pulls a crumpled piece of parchment from his tunic.

"A messenger gave this to me for Bato," he says quietly.

Bato can only watch as the crew that had worked together so well just twenty minutes ago falls apart before his eyes.

Sokka shouts, Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs silently, and Katara stands staring at Aang with a heartbroken expression on her face until Sokka stomps away and demands, "Katara, are you with me?"

She pauses for a moment, but only a moment, and then her shoulders stiffen and she closes her eyes and replies quietly, “I’m with you, Sokka.”

As Sokka leads the way back to the Abbey, Bato glances back to see Zuko cuff Aang across the back of the head.

Everyone is packed and ready to leave within an hour, and after a brief goodbye at the Abbey gates, Aang and Zuko go one way with Appa and Momo, and Bato leads Sokka and Katara in the opposite direction.

They walk in silence for a long time, and Bato doesn’t really know how to lighten the oppressive sadness that surrounds the kids. He’s thrilled to finally be returning to his brother warriors, and he’s so excited to be bringing his niece and nephew to see their father. They’ve both grown so much, and Bato can’t wait to see the look on Hakoda’s face when he sees them.

A wolf howls in misery somewhere in the distance, and Bato feels his spirit howling in answer.

“That wolf sounds so sad," Katara says quietly.

"It's probably wounded," Sokka replies.

"No, it's been separated from the pack," Bato interjects. "I understand that pain. It's how I felt when the Water Tribe warriors had to leave me behind. They were my family, and being apart from them was more painful than my wounds."

Sokka has a pensive expression on his face as he turns to study the path they had just walked.

"Sokka?" Katara asks.

Sokka takes a deep breath, and Bato knows what he's going to say before he says it. "We need to go back. I wanna see Dad, but helping Aang is where we're needed the most. And Zuko�� he can probably take care of himself okay, but if he gets to the North Pole and the Tribe doesn't believe Aang when he tells them Zuko's on our side… We need to go back."

Katara smiles. "You're right."

Bato is so, so proud of them he could burst. He strides forward and puts a hand on each of their shoulders. "Your father will understand, and I know he's proud of you."

There's only the slightest shake in Sokka's voice as he says, "Thanks, Bato."

"I know where to go from here," Bato continues, and fishes the map out of his tunic to hand to Sokka. "Take this in case you want to find us. I'll leave a message at the rendezvous point."

The kids each give him a hug, and Bato continues up the path alone.

It takes a month and a half, three weeks of which are spent sailing, but Bato eventually makes it to the cove in Chameleon Bay where the Southern Water Tribe fleet is anchored. During this time, the moon actually disappears for about half an hour or so, and Bato is terrified out of his wits until it reappears. He doesn't want to think about how that could have happened, so he puts it out of his mind until he's reunited with his brother warriors.

Hakoda embraces him with tears in his eyes, the strength of his hug around Bato's middle a testament to his worry. The men tease him about his "vacation", and Bato gives as good as he gets, ecstatic to be back with his brothers.

That night, around the campfire, Bato turns to his Chief.

"Hakoda," he says, "you'll never guess who I ran into."

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#atla #atla fanfic #awkpenproductions presents #dragon of the yuyan #part 11 perspective #full text post

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newstfionline · 3 years ago

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Wednesday, September 29, 2021

FBI Data Show An Unprecedented Spike In Murders Nationwide In 2020 (NPR) The number of murders in the United States jumped by nearly 30% in 2020 compared to the previous year in the largest single-year increase ever recorded in the country, according to official FBI statistics released Monday. The data show 21,570 homicides in the U.S. in 2020, which is a staggering 4,901 more than in 2019. The tally makes clear—in concrete terms—just how violent last year was. The overall violent crime rate, which includes murder, assault, robbery and rape, inched up around 5%, while property crimes continued their long-running decline and dropped 8% from 2019. But the spike in murders jumps out in the FBI report because of the sheer scale of the change. Jeff Asher, a data consultant who studies crime rates, said the increase is the largest since national records began being kept in 1960s. The homicide rate thus far in 2021 is up 10% from last year.

Haitians returning to a homeland that’s far from welcoming (AP) Deported from the United States, Pierre Charles landed a week ago in Port-au-Prince, a capital more dangerous and dystopian than the one he’d left four years before. Unable to reach his family, he left the airport alone, on foot. At least 2,853 Haitians deported from Texas have landed here in the last week with $15-$100 in cash handouts and a “good luck out there” from migration officials—many setting foot in the country for the first time in years, even decades. More than a city, Port-au-Prince it is an archipelago of gang-controlled islands in a sea of despair. Some neighborhoods are abandoned. Others are barricaded behind fires, destroyed cars and piles of garbage, occupied by heavily armed men. On Saturday, a local newspaper reported 10 kidnappings in the previous 24 hours including a journalist, a singer’s mother and a couple driving with their toddler, who was left behind in the car. Even before the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse a in July, the government was weak—the Palace of Justice inactive, congress disbanded by Moïse and the legislative building pocked by bullets. Now, although there is a prime minister, it is absent. Most of the population of Port-au-Prince has no access to basic public services, no drinking water, electricity or garbage collection. The deportees join thousands of fellow Haitians who have been displaced from their homes, pushed out by violence to take up residence in crowded schools, churches, sports centers and makeshift camps among ruins. Many of these people are out of reach even for humanitarian organizations.

Some Bolsonaro supporters have called for a military takeover of Brazil. Why do they wave the American flag? (Washington Post) On the day when Brazilians celebrated the nation’s independence, when thousands of protesters this month called on President Jair Bolsonaro to lead a military takeover of the country, a middle-aged man set out onto the streets of Brazil’s largest city, cloaked in the flag. The American flag. Wilson Gomes, 56, strutted down streets thronged by thousands of Bolsonaro supporters, the Stars and Stripes draped across his right shoulder, demanding radical change in Latin America’s largest nation. The time had come to do away with the Brazilian supreme court, which he said had been corrupted by a kleptocratic left and was unfairly targeting Bolsonaro and his supporters. The only way to save the constitution, he said, was to suspend it. At far-right rallies all over the country, where many have called for supreme court judges and opposition lawmakers to be removed, the American flag is now a staple. Supporters wear cowboy hats and belt buckles emblazoned with Texas longhorns. In a country that has more traditionally viewed the United States and its intentions with suspicion, the sudden appropriation of American symbols has exposed a political paradox at the heart of the Bolsonarista movement. A group that many here believe wants to subvert, if not overthrow, Brazilian democracy has chosen as one of its banners the flag of the world’s oldest democracy. “The Brazilian right and American have an agenda in common,” said Sèrgio Sant’Ana, president of the right-wing Conservative Liberal Institute.

Macron says Europeans need to stop being naive and assert independence from the United States (Washington Post) French President Emmanuel Macron urged Europeans to "come out of their naivete" on the world stage and assert their independence from the United States, sending one of the strongest signals to date that the diplomatic crisis prompted by a disrupted submarine deal could have long-lasting repercussions on transatlantic relations. Speaking alongside the Greek prime minister Tuesday at a news conference to unveil a major Franco-Greek defense deal, Macron said the Europeans should make themselves “respected.” “For a bit over 10 years now, the United States has been very focused on itself and has strategic interests that are being reoriented towards China and the Pacific,” he said. “It’s in their right to do so,” he continued, but “we would be naive, or rather we would make a terrible mistake, to not want to draw the consequences.” Macron’s latest remarks come as he appears to position himself as the next leader of Europe, an unofficial role so far largely attributed to German Chancellor Angela Merkel.

China energy crunch triggers shutdowns, pleas for more coal (Reuters) China faces mounting pressure to ramp up coal imports and ensure supplies to keep lights on, factories open and water flowing as a severe power crunch roils the northeastern industrial heartland. With electricity shortages sparked by coal shortages crippling large sections of industry, the governor of Jilin province, one of the hardest hit in the world's no.2 economy, called for a surge in coal imports, while a power company association said supply was being expanded "at any cost". News organisations and social media carried reports and posts saying the lack of power in the northeast had shut down traffic lights, residential elevators and 3G mobile phone coverage as well as triggering factory shutdowns. A utility in Jilin even warned power shortages could disrupt water supplies at any time, before apologising for causing alarm. The power crunch has taken hold as a shortage of coal supplies, toughening greenhouse gas emissions standards and strong demand from industry have pushed coal prices to peaks. Goldman Sachs estimated that as much as 44% of China's industrial activity has been hit by power shortages.

American siblings trapped in China under three-year ‘exit ban’ finally return home (Washington Post) China allowed two U.S. citizens, siblings Victor and Cynthia Liu, who were prevented from leaving the country for more than three years, to return to the United States on Sunday. Cynthia and Victor Liu are the daughter and son of Liu Changming, a businessman wanted on fraud charges in China. The siblings went to China in June 2018 to visit relatives but were barred from leaving, while their mother, Sandra Han, who made the trip with them, was detained. Their lawyers and the U.S. authorities described the move as an attempt to pressure Liu Changming into returning to China to faces charges—despite the siblings saying they had not had contact with their father in years. Victor and Cynthia Liu’s lawyer Marc Ginsberg told the New York Times that he believed a Sept. 9 phone call between President Biden and Chinese President Xi Jinping had “helped to break a logjam” and contributed to the siblings’ release. He added that the siblings would have no comment for the news media.

Japan to lift all coronavirus emergency steps nationwide (AP) Japan’s government says the coronavirus state of emergency will end Thursday so the economy can be reactivated as infections slow. Prime Minister Yoshihide Suga announced Tuesday that virus restrictions will be eased gradually. With the lifting, Japan will be entirely free of emergency requirements for the first time in more than six months.

Taliban issue no-shave order to barbers in Afghan province (AP) The Taliban on Monday banned barbershops in a southern Afghanistan province from shaving or trimming beards, claiming their edict is in line with Shariah, or Islamic, law. The order in Helmand province was issued by the provincial Taliban government’s vice and virtue department to barbers in Lashkar Gah, the provincial capital. During their previous rule of Afghanistan, the Taliban adhered to a harsh interpretation of Islam. Since overrunning Kabul on Aug. 15 and again taking control of the country, the world has been watching to see whether they will re-create their strict governance of the late 1990s. During the Taliban’s previous rule, the conservative Islamists demanded that men grow beards. Since being ousted from power following the U.S.-led invasion in 2001, shaved or cleanly trimmed beards have become popular in the country.

Violence in Nigeria (Foreign Policy) At least 34 people were killed in northern Nigeria following an attack on the village of Madamai in northern Kaduna state, state security commissioner Samuel Aruwan said on Monday, blaming unidentified assailants for the attack. The assault, which Aruwan said took place on Sunday, came the same day that 22 Nigerian security personnel were killed in an attack on an army base in Sokota state, also in the country’s north. In recent weeks, Nigerian states have introduced restrictions on residents in an attempt to stem the violence, attributed to so-called bandits as well as the Islamic State’s West African offshoot.

A Crypto-Trading Hamster Performs Better Than Warren Buffett And The S&P 500 (NPR) What if we told you there was a hamster who has been trading cryptocurrencies since June—and recently was doing better than Warren Buffett and the S&P 500? Meet Mr. Goxx, a hamster who works out of what is possibly the most high-tech hamster cage in existence. It’s designed so that when Mr. Goxx runs on the hamster wheel, he can select among dozens of cryptocurrencies. Then, deciding between two tunnels, he chooses whether to buy or sell. According to the Twitch account for the hamster, his decision is sent over to a real trading platform—and yes, real money is involved. Look, we’re not telling you to follow in this hamster’s financial decisions or that this process is scientific in any way. But what we can tell you is his portfolio is up nearly 20% since he started trading in June, according to his Twitter account. And as of Sept. 12, Mr. Goxx was performing better than Bitcoin, the Nasdaq 100, Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway and the S&P 500.

#headlines #news

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disenchantedhq · 4 years ago

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AURADON CITY: THE CAPITAL OF THE UNITED KINGDOM

Auradon City was once a broken down old parrish where an abandoned palace sat but following the Cauldron War, His Majesty King Adam had decided to rebuild upon the barren town bones to create a city of such magnificence and splendor which could be seen from the southern foreign lands. It is the stronghold of The United Kingdom of Auradon, its most crowning achievement, and it is here that the royal palace was constructed. It had taken twelve years of nonstop building, starting in 1801, and has since become the permanent home of the royal family. Split into Eight Districts, each boasting their own unique businesses and points of interest, it stands as the largest city in all the land. Between the shopping of Centre Commercial, the entertainment of Upper District, the magic of the Enchanted Hills, and the pristine townhomes of the Garden District, there is much to be seen in Auradon — even in its Low Town and Seaside Ridge districts, which boast some of the best foods (and admittedly seedier delights). Welcome to Auradon City; we hope you have a splendid visit.

Below the cut is a tour of all eight districts of Auradon City, as well as information on the 22 points of interest labeled on the map. Starting here on it is suggested you mention location/time frame of your threads based in and around the city. Characters are free to journey to any district, with the exception of the Garden District which is home of the nobility and the only gated district in the city. Refer to the information below for more help in understanding the city and its layout. And as always — reach out should you have any questions.

THE ROYAL PALACE

Slightly off center from the city, where the gated Garden District and Central Auradon meet, lays the Royal Palace. Home to their Majesties King Adam and Queen Belle, and their daughter Her Royal Highness Princess Emma, Auradon Palace is the newest castle in all of Auradon. While there was the abandoned Catherine Palace in the north of the city, King Adam and Queen Belle desired to create a brand new home to raise their family and rule over their citizens. It is what took up the majority of the twelve year construction project to create the capitol, and prior to its construction the family lived at either the chateau or King Adam’s former castle by the Enchanted Forest. At approximately 680,000 square feet, it is the largest palace in the entire continent. With a large guarded gate around it, and vast gardens between, it is an impressive sight to see from beyond, though few have been close. In the early days of Auradon, the King and Queen allowed for the citizens to come and visit frequently, to stroll the gardens and even tour the halls, particularly to spend time in the grand ballrooms (of which there are four within) and the library. But in recent times the gates closed off to the public as concerns over the royal family’s safety came into question. With over 2,300 rooms, 2,000 windows, 1,250 chimneys, and 67 grand stair cases, it is considered the most impressive architecture in all of Auradon and is home to many yearly events such as Queen Belle’s Ball, the Yuletide Ball, Rose Day Festivities, and much more. To get an audience in the castle is highly rare — state business is conducted often at The University or even at Queen Belle’s Chateau. Along its border gates are four guard houses where the elite members of the Royal Guard are housed on duty, with the castle grounds having a 24/7 security intel of over 100 guards on the grounds, spread throughout.

GARDEN DISTRICT

Despite its name, the Garden District actually lacks in gardens but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a colorful nor beautiful sight. The only district in the city, aside from the palace, which has a gated perimeter (of which it shares gates with the palace) the Garden District is home to the other former royals of Auradon, those who relinquished their crowns for lesser titles when uniting the kingdoms in one grand country. At least, when they gather in town. With rows upon rows of gorgeous town homes, the sizes of which are far more impressive than meets the eye, the Garden District is the one district that is quiet for half the year. It becomes let when the social season begins and the noble families travel from their various home territories to the city to mingle. The townhomes have been built in likeness, tall and narrow from the outside, but deep and long, with balconies and tall windows from which the nobles may look outside onto the well polished paved roads. The fronts are beautiful colors, pastels that befit the families within, and from the back they have long lush backyards which many have manicured in the stylish designed gardens of the palace. Carriages are rare within the Garden District, where most walk around on foot, gayly greeting their neighbors. Gentlemen callers step into the charming stylish salons to call upon the refined ladies, who sit by the windows as they needle point. There are few buildings outside of the homes within the Garden District, and as such it is the smallest district within. The closer your home is to the castle, the higher your status. As such, the three Dukes and their families have town houses which are slightly larger and grander by the gates closest to the castle. The Earls are placed near to them, and the Viscounts and Barons are the furthest housed from the castle on the noble lines. On the northeastern end, facing the N. Rue De Destin you can find the untitled members of society in town homes which are still brightly colored but are all a bit smaller than the noble town homes. And on the north western side, facing Upper District you can find a few social clubs for men and women alike to attend, one public garden (though private to the citizens of the gates) and an assembly room for small gatherings of the Garden Elite.

CENTRE COMMERCIAL

Sitting to the east of Town Square and the Garden District, and bordered by the outer city tenet farmer lands, is the Centre Commercial. As it’s name suggests, this district is where the vendors and tradesmen of Auradon have settled. While there are small stylish apartments, it is known mostly for its Rue de Magasins where the most frequented shops for noblemen and women alike are situated. The most skilled Modiste in all of Auradon City can be found here, conveniently just a couple blocks away from the Garden District gates. Young ladies are constantly floating in and out of there, wearing the latest fashions and trends which originate right here in the capitol city. Its seamstress is the most heavily regarded in all of Auradon, and she makes her clothing with fine needle and the assistance of only the most skilled birds and mice in all the kingdom. Likewise the ‘Chip in a Cup’ Tea Shoppe can be found nearby, and is considered one of the prime cafes to take a sweetheart to when you wish to be unsupervised in public. Just outside of the Garden District Gates along Evermore Parkway sits a Gentlemen’s Club, a private society club for the noblemen to mingle and jest. While it is rumored some nefarious dealings happen within the clubhouse, it is overall a pristine company which devotes itself to charity and good works. Along with these hot spots there is a general shop, bakery, blacksmith, cobbler, and artisan guild centered here, among many other restaurants and shopping experiences. Centre Commercial’s motto is this — should you desire it, then you will surely find it right here!

LOW TOWN

The southeastern most district in Auradon City, Low Town earned its name and reputation from a number of sources. Primarily because it is “lower” than the other districts, both physically and socially (though the beaches of seaside ridge are more southern), but also because of its poor maintenance and dense poor population which gives the overall district a less than savory public image. Similar to its neighboring Old Town, Low Town has cobbled streets which would be charming if they were cleaned and swept more often. While society on the other districts is more polite and the streets better taken care of, Low Town is full of foul mouthed sailors and vagrants that relieve themselves on the side of the road and who toss chamber pots from their second or third story windows. Most of Low Town is made up of banged up tenement houses and run down older buildings from prior to Auradon City’s construction. Housing the most docks on Auradon City’s coast, it’s one of the first places where poor foreigners dock when they wish to move to the city or see it. Among its points of interest are some seedier places, such as the Poison Apple Pub, oldest pub in the entire city which is hidden in a twisting alleyway, and a Brothel which is run by a Madam Plaisir and is said to be somewhere among the broken down buildings by the docks. Most of the Royal Guard and Royal Navy men can be seen patrolling the streets, supposedly on duty, keeping the citizens of Low Town ‘in line’, though they’re also known to frequent the establishments there — you can especially see the former at Madam Plaisir’s following a long voyage at sea. Any form of deviant behavior and entertainment exists here. Rumor has it that there is another private underground club, for those of certain persuasions which may not feel comfortable expressing themselves publicly just yet to meet other likeminded individuals, but its not public knowledge whether this place exists let alone where it may exist. It is also in this district where the Shadowborn boarding houses are, just by the border of Low Town and Town Square where they were first presented.

OLD TOWN

Old Town is the oldest and mostly untouched part of Auradon City, with the exception of preservationists who try to keep it looking relatively nice. It borders the tenet farms and is less city than any of the other parts. More so a widely spread country parish, it’s the quaintest area in all of Auradon City. Old Town doesn’t boast many things of interest — there is the old Hall of Records here (though most relevant documentation is now housed at the University) and there are a couple older shoppes and a general store there. Among its more interesting finds is a large Farmers Market where the tenet farmers come to sell their stock, and then the most frequented stop of all is Maurice’s Emporium, a large and odd looking workshop run by the Queen’s aging commoner father. Here one can get a glimpse of the sort of mechanics and curiosities that will ‘become the norm’ of the future, all done at the hands of the master scientist and inventor. Aside from that oddity, Old Town is also home to the only orphanage in all of Auradon: Granny Willow’s Home for Orphaned Children. The orphans are known for wearing long red capes (for girls) or coats (for boys) and can often be seen walking single file through the village. They rarely visit the city itself, but make occasional trips to see the shoppes or catch a concert whenever the royal family is generous enough to pay entry for them. Old Town is mostly quiet, a small taste of country living within the borders of the big city, and is a great place to go for a little stroll or to get away from the hectic frenzy of the city.

SEASIDE RIDGE

The other southern district to the west of Low Town is the Seaside Ridge. With the eastern coast of it at a higher elevation, on a rocky cliff featuring a single lighthouse, and the western coast a vast sandy beach, Seaside Ridge is the picturesque brother of Low Town. With sand strewn streets lined with darling Tudor homes and colorful “beach houses”, it’s sometimes jokingly called the “mini Tirulia”. Within Seaside Ridge there are two docks which the Royal Navy call their ports, as well as the official entry way for foreign visitors. It is here that the world famous Benbow Inn, run by Sarah Hawkins, sits. Here you can find the best accommodations and breakfast in all of Auradon. But if the shepherd’s pie and in house brewed ale can’t tempt you, then look no further than a few blocks to the east where you can find the Auradon City location of Tiana’s Place — the restaurant owned by Lady Maldonia herself, serving up the Bayou de Orleans’ most cherished dishes, such as gumbo, jambalaya, po’boys and the best beignets in all the continent, at all hours of the day. Tiana’s Place is considered the crème de la crème of fine dining establishments in the entire country, and has only been open for three years now. Aside from the top notch dining, Seaside Ridge’s biggest boast in the long stretch of untouched, undockable sandy beach. A favorite place to take a stroll in the wind sand, or to dip one’s feet into the cool waters of the Audratic Sea; modest “bathing machines” have been showing up on the beach, giving visitors the chance to dress and take a dip in the somewhat murky waters of the southern shore — without the nudity common in Tirulia Beach. Come here to relax and play some cricket or take in the sun and salty sea air.

CENTRAL AURADON

Central Auradon is, funny enough, not in the center of the city but is still named as the center district. The largest district in all of Auradon City, it is technically the district which houses the royal palace. In Central Auradon there sits two docks which are heavily in use by the Royal Guard, and where foreign dignitaries, such as Imperial China, Agrabah and Kuzcotopia, dock when they are visiting. Here there is a large watch tower run by the Royal Guard, as well as the largest Guard’s Barracks. The latter is often the sight of commoner balls and parties, practically every weekend, which the elite rarely take part in but are known for being the most fun Royal Guardsmen get while on duty in the capitol. A perfect place to go and dance with a sweetheart when royal balls are not scheduled for the upcoming weeks. Aside from the Royal Guard headquarters, Central Auradon is also home to Town Square, a lot mostly in the center of all districts where a large statue of King Adam sits, watching over the citizens of Auradon City with a noble scowl. The statue itself is enchanted, being able to shift between the king’s human and beast forms, and is made of a shimmery almost iridescent stone. It was a gift from the Emperor of China following the incorporation of the city and has sat in town square since 1814, one year after the city’s official opening. Further west of town square lies the grandest cathedral in all of Auradon: Notre Dame, where the royals and nobility hold their grand wedding ceremonies and the majority of Auradon City’s populace attend church. A gorgeous and tall gothic building with large bells which are rung by the bell keeper Quasimodo on the hour and on special holidays / events. There is also a cemetery here, St. Lazarus, full of marble mausoleums where the nobility bury their dead. It is considered a great honor to be laid to rest in Auradon City under the watchful eye of the royal family, and some nobles even prefer to be buried there than back in their homelands.

UPPER DISTRICT

Upper District is ironically a quieter part of Auradon. This statement is ironic only because it is home to Auradon’s Grand Theater House, the largest and most impressive opera house in all the land. Here the soprano Madame De La Grande Bouche preforms regularly, and the greatest composers and royal orchestra call home. It is a highlight of the social season to attend the opera in Upper District and it is during that period in which the nobles are in town that the grandest shows and concerts are had. On the off season, the opera house is a bit quieter but they’re always ready to rev up a performance should any nobles appear in town on the off season. It isn’t cheap to get tickets so it mostly caters to the elite. It is rumored that within the opera house there is also a higher end gentlemen’s establishment, for those noblemen who don’t want to risk sullying their reputations by seeking out the brothel in Low Town, though there is little evidence to this. The singers and actresses of the theater are rather pretty and can easily win the favor of young amorous lords with or without a Madame managing. Aside from the opera house, The Univeristy of Auradon is also found in Upper District. A college (sadly) exclusively for male scholars, it is here where men come to study the law and science, and where the magistrates and lawmakers meet. The University is home to the Hall of Records, a museum on Auradon History, the biggest scholarly library, and a hospital where medical students practice on the ill. It has a gorgeous courtyard with incredible marble statues and is popular for strolls rather than stately visits.

ENCHANTED HILLS

The northernmost district of Auradon is actually one of the oldest parts of the city, and heavily reconstructed. That’s because what is now Enchanted Hills used to be the Imperial City of St. Petersburg. Here there sits the abandoned Catherine Palace, the castle owned by Czar Nicholas and the Romanovs before their assassination in 1788. The palace and surrounding city went to disrepair and was the inspiration for King Adam to convert that entire southern area into the grand capitol Auradon City is today. Catherine Palace was originally suggested for the royal family, but they didn’t want to take up the home of the Czar. Not when rumors persisted that his daughter still lived somewhere. Instead they took the Czar’s country home and made it into Queen Belle’s Chateau, and spent much of 1810-1812 reconstructing Catherine Palace. It is now rebuilt and its maintenance kept up should the Grand Duchess prove to be alive. While it’s a beautiful sight, Catherine Palace isn’t the big draw of Enchanted Hills. It is the park which it is named after, The Enchanted Park, which gives it its reputation as the most beautiful district. This large park brings much needed greenery to the city, miles of labyrinthine gardens, winding paths through weeping willows, lanes with cherry blossom trees lining them, and an enchanted lake where the water is said to have magical properties which can heal from all manners of spellbinding enchantment. It boasts four grand fountains and over 75 marble statues all depicting various legends from Auradon history, as well as a large memorial in commemoration of the Cauldron War. It’s a garden made of fairy magic which preserves its beauty and flora through all seasons, always comfortably warm and sunny even if it’s snowing outside. The perfect place to take a stroll with a prospective spouse. Last of all, Enchanted Hills is home to the Fey Borough, or the neighborhood where the faeries live, much like the Garden District is for the nobles. Faeries from all over, even Pixie Hollow, come to settle here throughout the year to learn from elder faeries and to assist the royal family of Auradon. Their parlors are always open to those good hearted folk in need, and even just for an ear to listen to your troubles. Here they promise that that wish, that dream your heart makes, can truly come true. Just have a little faith and trust, and maybe even some pixie dust, and see it all become reality right before your very eyes!

And that my friends is Auradon City! As the roleplay continues and my vision of Auradon expands, I may continue to add to this to give more and more details on our main setting. Please refer to this page often to catch up on updates and have an understanding of the city, and please use as much of this as you can for reference! Auradon City has a lot to offer setting wise and culturally do have fun with this information and use it for your plotting and threading going forward. If you have questions about specific places mentioned or how to use them in threads, simply post in the #questions section of our discord or DM me directly. I’ll expand upon anything you guys want, this is mostly to give a general idea. You can use the images as reference as well but remember they’re more inspiration and not exactly the rule. Obviously the Royal Palace ISN’T Versailles, but it has a similar vibe. And note that each district has more hotspots than what has already been labeled, I’m just giving you guys a few places to use and offer a broad spectrum of settings within the city. You can be creative as well and talk about alleyways, homes or the kinds of stores and establishments that should exist within a regency or georgian era city that weren’t detailed here. And if you have suggestions for any hot spots — let me know! I will gladly take input and add to the ever growing Auradon of disenchanted!

As always, hit me up with any questions you have! I hope you’re all able to find this post helpful and to use it to further flesh out the universe. ☺️

#disenchantedadmin #disenchantedupdate #please note this will be updated frequently and I will notify you whenever that happens!

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whetstonefires · 4 years ago

Text

an exercise in worldbuilding

It is always simplest to start from a point and move outward, and so we begin in the Tower of Sight, where our twelve-year-old hero will first find himself summoned into this world.

The Tower is four hundred feet high, gently tapered, with a circumference of two hundred feet at its base, and the top three of its forty floors are filled with brass telescopes of every size, pointing in every possible direction, including several that do not exist within the normal three dimensions of space.

To the West these many spyglasses overlook a wide plain, all the way to the horizon, golden at this time of year and frequented mainly by roving herds of grazing beasts, both wild and tame. In the half-league nearest the Tower, tall grasses give way to the narrow strips of tilled fields, where the grain stands tall, almost ready for the harvest. If any harvest will come.

Near the other side of the Tower of Sight, a stone’s throw from the eastern point of the outer wall, runs a great river, green when the sun does not strike it directly, except in the spring when its tributaries flood and it turns to churned brown. There was a bridge here once, though it is long fallen but for the stubs of its pilings on each end, and nowadays all crossings are by ferry.

A small town clusters on both banks, even so. The roofs are of red tile, the stucco of the houses painted in shades of blue. It stands empty, but has not had time to fall into disrepair.

More farmland, speckled with villages in the same style of tile and paint, with wells in the center where they are not built on lesser watercourses, stretches away to the east, but if you look through one of the telescopes turned that way you will see it give way to blue mountains. (If you look through an enchanted telescope you may see trees without needles fail halfway up the nearest of the great peaks, and even these fail before the top, though there is a span of nearly barren stone past that line, before the snow begins.)

The range of mountains curves, and you can see them with the naked eye toward the south, on a fine clear day. To the North they fall away into a gentler, older range, which cannot be seen by ordinary human sight from this place, but which wrinkle the land between the plain and the sea into rolling green hills.

The green band of the great river cuts a sharp path through these after coiling its way lazily north over the flatlands, and spreads into an abbreviated delta full of sandbars which is generally considered a nuisance to navigate, though navigated it normally very much is.

There is a city there, the nearest one to the Tower; its outer limits have spilled up onto the hills, and its tallest spires can be made out with mechanical aid, but only one telescope in the place can cut through earth and stone to make out any of the doings of the city proper, and calibrating it to focus at a particular distance and not dismiss all solid matter is a tiresome nuisance, and only rarely worth the trouble.

The very brave and sure of foot can keep their eyes on the surrounding country all the way down the Tower, until their sight is cut off a few stories above the ground by the six shining white sides of the outer walls, because the most direct (if not the quickest) route between the ground and the great sky-searching telescope on the roof is a great spiral stair wrapping around the outside.

These stairs, like the outer wall and the tower itself, seem to be of marble, although a great enchantment must have been worked when the tower was raised for this to be so, because it is far stronger than any other marble to be found anywhere, and unlike marble statues erected in city squares has never suffered wear from the weather.

The wall and stair are of pure white, like the marble quarried in the much-contested eastern foothills of the Evrin Dulle, but the Tower of Sight itself is built of blocks veined with every color, pale blues and purples, reds and greens and golden-duns all mottling toward white and grey and black, as though its builders determinedly sourced their materials from every source of marble on five continents.

It is furthermore banded in three places with rings of solid color twenty feet high—first, nearest the ground, the warm pale red found in some of the ruins on the isles of Thassalen that is quarried nowhere anymore, and which no one knows where it came from to begin with, then the delicate even green still found in small quantities in the most seaward copper mines of the Farlon Barrens, and finally, nearest the top, the prized pure black found only in the village of Xemahan, some way inland from the Trident Coast.

The Tower is a beautiful and timeless construct of art, but our hero when he sees it from a distance for the first time will find the effect of so much color, triply striped and encased within a white spiral, slightly frenzied, and make a remark no one present understands about a Doctor named Seuss. His guide, the dousing tracker Amnaphi, will assume this person to be a famous astronomer from his homeland.

Within the even hexagon of its outer wall, the Tower encloses a great parkland, enough that if it was all put under cultivation it could easily feed as many people as could live in the Tower itself. And indeed, there are records that show the Tower of Sight was once incorporated as a town in just this way, before the Ten Years’ Winter.

For seven generations now the Tower has been held by the Watchers of the Stars, an order of wizards originally from the Duthwaithe, and they have kept it more as a retreat of contemplation than a working estate.

The only gate, in the southern wall, leads the visitor up a broad avenue paved in glittering granite, lined with stately beech trees, and just beyond these to either side an expanse of grass is rarely allowed to grow tall, as a small herd of goats is unleashed upon it once a week. At all other times, under normal circumstances, it is a pleasant lawn, where in the warm months what students have come as learners to the Tower may be found attempting to attend to their star-charts and metallurgy texts.

Thirty minutes’ easy stroll brings the visitor to a small artificial lake that lies at the foot of the Tower; it is stocked with several varieties of edible fish, which are caught by line as a recreational activity, and regularly served at supper. The wizard Chanult Foi, who was magister of the Tower for twenty years until last month, devoted a three hour block of time to ‘meditation’ every week, which took the form of fly-fishing from the nearest curve of the Tower steps.

To either side of the lake, and the Tower itself, are gardens: to the east, vegetables and herbs are grown, often with more artistry than prudence. The students generally have charge of this garden, apart from the more esoteric herbs which are tended to by a specialist, and competitions of aesthetic routinely spring up, resulting in elegant spirals of onions and gorgeously ornate trellises for the benefit of beans.

To the west grow the flowers, many of them with magical uses but some grown purely for their beauty. Kings have been known to try to sway the Watchers to their side with the gift of a particularly fine or rare live rose bush.

The northern third of the Tower’s park contains neatly regimented orchards, apples, pears, plums, and a few rows of carefully tended peaches and apricots, all clipped flat against low brick walls angled south and slightly west.

The brick absorbs the sun all day, and radiates its warmth back; fruit grown along fruit walls ripens faster and later into the season, and the peaches and apricots have survived every ordinary winter as a result, though normally they cannot tolerate this climate.

(For many years the proposition of sheltering some or all of the fruit walls behind glass, to increase their effectiveness, has been debated at the semi-annual colloquiums of the Watchers of the Stars; thus far it has always been rejected despite being rather more wizardly than simple fruit walls, which are not uncommon at these latitudes nowadays, because the space constraints of the current arrangement mean that the proposed design would require cutting down some of the existing trees and demolishing at least a few walls, and wizards, while enthusiastic about innovation in the abstract, hate change.)

The inside of the north wall itself is covered in grape vines. They were harvested three weeks ago, and pressed, but the wine-making process was interrupted after that point and the juice has all been drunk raw. There is currently considerable debate over whether the security risk presented by having a climbable side of the inner wall is serious enough to waste the potential food value of the vines’ future fruit by cutting them down.

The Tower grounds are filled with refugees.

The first to arrive were housed inside, battered survivors of the battle that killed Chanult Foi, bearing word of disaster. There was not enough space left after that for the river-straddling town of Meryn to all relocate to the Tower, so those who did not fit indoors set up camp around the rim of the lake—half clustered near the great doors and half in the partial shade of the last pair of beeches.

This division corresponds imperfectly to the usual split of the town by the course of the Meroda.

More have come since. From the villages nearby, and a few further away, although the further from the river they live the less willing farmers are to leave the grain standing in the fields even if the news has reached them. A wave of people fleeing ahead of the advance of the Moon People along the northern coast, joined and followed by people from the city who had the will and means to withdraw, but could not get passage on a seagoing vessel west, and so turned their hopes southward to this fortress of wizardry.

The lawns are now too trampled by human feet to have any extra substance for the goats, and the annual flowers have been crushed and the carefully tended bushes cut back in the flower garden to make more space.

So far the vegetable garden has not been uprooted, though it has been subjected to unsanctioned raids; one student has regretted aloud valuing beauty over efficiency at planting time, in the spring, when all seemed well. Makeshift pallets line the spaces between every fruit wall—the injured are being laid out here, now that the Tower is full, to get the benefit at night of the warmth meant to mature fruit.

Even the granite avenue is inhabited, now, although a corridor has been kept open to allow for what comings and goings remain necessary in the expectation of a siege.

The fishermen of Meryn, with additional labor sourced mainly from the nearby villages but also by delta and harbor-folk who liked their chances on the river better than taking their small vessels across the wide sea, go out every day to catch and smoke fish, and there are hopes that the advance of the Moon People will hold off long enough to let the year’s grain harvest be taken in.

With luck, care, and wizardry, everyone here should be able to survive the winter, if all the grain within sight of the walls can only be reaped and threshed and stored away.

(Space will be found for any herdsmen who, seeing the enemy advance, drive their beasts in to be slaughtered for the common pot; hope is being hung on this as well, although undoubtedly most of the plainsmen will rely on their own nomadic lifestyle to keep them out of the way and outside the focus of the Moon People, and will not come near settled habitation any time soon.)

This morning, the student standing north-sentry in the Tower of Sight saw a great column of smoke go up from the city of Tolphis, at the mouth of the Meroda. Magister Heron Yl Fanult, Chanult Foi’s successor, spent an hour carefully tuning the spyglass that can look through solid matter to confirm what they all knew: the Moon People had reached Tolphis, and sacked it in a day.

Half of them are making ready to turn south along the Meroda.

Fear is metal in everybody’s mouths. The ancient walls of the Tower will hold—should hold—they have always held before—the Tower of Sight has never fallen but by treachery or deceit, the enchantments laid in the ancient days are too strong…but the Moon People are the successors of the ancient magics, and just because they could not break the walls the last time they came, according to legend, does not mean they have not worked out a method now.

Everyone who has a weapon and the knowledge of how to use it keeps it close, as a comfort. Labors over the sharpness of the edge in the evenings, sometimes, when there is nothing else to do but sleep, and sleep will not come. People who have only the weapon and not the knowledge scramble to obtain the latter, and people who have the knowledge and not the weapon scramble to barter or improvise one.

Young wizards sit in their bunks, six each to rooms that were previously individual, and hold lighting cupped dancing in their palms. Practicing.

Outside, the blue hats and scarves of the townspeople and villagers mill about the edges of the lake, like floating petals caught in a swirling eddy. The people who retreated upriver from Tolphis can be found sitting still, today, because they are weeping.

Those who fled along the northern coast ahead of the storm are a mixed lot, more grim than panicking because they are the ones who retreated this far alive, scattered across the park in smaller groups—some with their heads decorously covered, though not always in the blues that are customary along the upper Meroda, others with naked crowns of braids, or cleanshaven in the nautical style of Hedro, where fur hats are worn for warmth rather than courtesy, and long hair is considered a risk because if it gets wet it cannot be easily removed, and this can cause a fatal chill.

The hale survivors of the First Battle of the Second Descent sit waiting in their leathers, jack-chains and helmets laughably inadequate armor against the coming danger, and yet the best hope now just as they were on Carun Tol once the wizard fell; their wounded lie still, except for a few who have been taken with fever and thrash at the foot of an apricot tree, or a pear tree growing heavy with yellow fruit.

A wizard specializing in physic, the same one who has had charge of the powerful herbs these four years, bends over a man who has been deprived of half his left leg. The golden threads in her green kirtle that mark her focus and her rank flash in the sun as it begins to sink, and sweat stands out on her brow. Threads have escaped from the braids pinned across the top of her skull: she has not had the chance to take them down for two days.

At the very top of the Tower of Sight, Magister Yl Fanult steps away from the telescope-that-looks-through-hills with a soft sigh. He makes his way around the circumference of the tower room to set his face into the viewplate of the great lens array of the roof, trained as it long has been upon the face of the moon. No change there.

He leans forward to peer through the narrow glass that has been turned on its articulated base to face the middle of the room, and relaxes very slightly. At least there has been no catastrophic alteration there, either.

He steps over the ring of silver set into the floor of the chamber. Lowers himself to one creaking knee and blows into the upraised spout of the ring of glass tubing inside of that, then hurriedly caps it, stands with care, and steps over that as well. He snaps his fingers for a spark that falls into the deep circular groove full of distilled spirits, and steps through that as well. He is not burned.

He bends another time and pours out the small copper pail of water he fetched himself from the well in the basement of the Tower, filling the final circle.

Steps over that, and pauses just long enough to breathe in.

At his feet lie a glittering piece of gold ore, a moonstone, and a carefully sanded round of pumice. Heron Yl Fanult lets the breath out again, and stoops.

He cannot take much time. He has only until the ring of fire dies.

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j-ojoxiii · 5 years ago

Text

Run Away || Seonghwa (ATEEZ)

Pairing: Prince!Seonghwa x Princess!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Some mild sadness

Summary: The prince had always longed for freedom, but what was true freedom if there was no one to share it with?

Notes: (Y/N) = Your Name

**Not spell checked**

Total word count: 2,175

Life had always been hard for the young prince. Despite what everyone outside the palace walls thought, life wasn’t always as perfect as it may have seemed.

Seonghwa, the prince of the Northern Kingdom, was often pushed to make decisions he didn’t want anything to do with. As his father told him, it wasn’t about it him. He had to be selfless.

But he couldn’t very well be selfless when all he wanted to do was be free.

On his twentieth birthday, he was told that he was to be wed to the princess of the Southern Kingdom. This news made his stomach drop.

That night, he had locked himself in his room. With papers sprawled out all over the floor, he planned his escape. He didn’t want marriage. The very idea made his stomach churn. This wasn’t what he wanted for his life.

His first attempt at escape went horribly wrong. He had barely stepped foot into town before he was caught. Turns out, one of the servants had been passing by his room when they noticed his door was cracked open. When they poked their head in to check on him, they saw the window wide open with fabric hung out the window. Thinking the prince had been stolen away, they had screamed.

Seonghwa had never seen his parent angrier than the night he was brought back. They had never been more disappointed in their son. They chose to increase security because of his first attempt.

Being stuck was one of the worst punishments he had to face. He couldn’t wander the halls without someone keeping an eye on him, much less step outside without an escort. He could only blame himself for failing to get away.

The day his bride came to the castle was chaotic. He had never met a young woman with such personality. She was polite to the King and Queen, but otherwise she was downright mischievous. She’d hide things from him; sometimes even herself. She would send the servants into panic when she decided to disappear, leaving him to be the one to have to find her. If he did, she would make a run for it. Maybe he had fun during these times.

Life with (Y/N) was something. She was lively and hardly left him alone. She got just as bored as he did, if not more. Her favorite thing was to play with his hair while he read and to leave in knots that she called “braids”. She knew how to braid, but she chose to “forget” when she played with his hair just to hear him whine.

“All done!” She said proudly as she lifted her hands away from her latest masterpiece.

Seonghwa instinctively touched at his hair, only to find the usual knots she would weave into his hair. He huffed a sigh and leaned back so she’d have to bare his weight. He nearly knocked her off the stool.

“Sit up! I’m going to fall!” She complained, using one hand to brace herself if she did fall and the other to shove at his shoulder.

The prince gave a cattish grin and hummed a “nope”.

But it was times like this that he wouldn’t trade for the world. The princess gave his life excitement and he would even dare to say that she gave it meaning, but he wouldn’t tell her. She would tease him to no end if she knew.

As the day they would wed drew closer, the more he longed to get away. Once they were married, they would be crowned as the next King and Queen. After that, their future was sealed. He loved his kingdom, he really did, but he longed for a life of adventure. No one to tell him who to be or what to do— that would be the life.

It came to a point where he confided in (Y/N) to tell this to. They had become close in their time shared together, so much that he trusted her with nearly anything. She would do the same for him, too.

“You’re joking.” She said softly, her head whipping around to see if there was anyone listening in.

They may have been in her room, but there was no telling. Secrets tended to spread amongst the servants like wildfire.

“No. I’ve been wanting to leave for years.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“I’ve tried.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m assuming you failed because you’re still here.” She grinned.

Seonghwa groaned and fell back onto her bed, his eyes staring up at the painted ceilings. He felt so defeated. Maybe freedom was something he could never achieve.

“Seongie?” He grunted at his nickname, one that she had given him early on. Did he mind it? Not too much. He had grown fond of it over time. Only she called him that.

The princess laid beside him; her head turned his way. She looked like she was deep in thought. So much that she had a pout forming on her lips. He chuckled at the sight.

“What is it?” He said, his voice even softer now.

Gosh, she loved his voice when he spoke like that. It was sweet and as far as she knew, only for her. He often used that tone when she was worried or when there was a peaceful silence between them.

“Why did you give up? You haven’t tried to leave since I’ve been here.”

That was true. He hadn’t bothered to attempt another escape lately. He shrugged lightly and went back to staring up at the ceiling. Such response had her pestering him to tell her.

“I didn’t want to leave you behind.” He said, finally caving in.

(Y/N) ceased in her actions and froze almost entirely.

“Why?” She asked.

The prince turned on his side and rested his head on one of his hands. He puffed out his cheeks while he chose his words. After a moment, she turned on her side to face him as well.

“Because you’d be trapped here. I’ve seen how sad you get when you look at the town. I’ve noticed that you’re happier when we can go…I don’t think I could bring myself to leave you here knowing you wouldn’t really be happy. I know why you cause trouble around the castle, too.”

He knew she stirred up trouble to make her day a bit more bearable and less boring. He knew she was scared to fall into a routine that would cause her to lose her smile. Perhaps they were more similar than originally thought.

“Besides,” He started. When he didn’t finish, she looked to him and repeated that one word in a question. He smiled shyly and reached out to stroke his thumb along her cheek.

“I think I would miss you too much.”

They didn’t seem to speak much about the conversation for the next day or two. Maybe it was out of embarrassment that feelings were put out in the open or maybe it was because neither side knew what to say from there. They merely returned to how they were before knowing one would miss the other.

On the second day, (Y/N) barged into Seonghwa’s room with tears streaming down her cheeks. He wasted no time in taking her into his arms to comfort her. He knew something was wrong and he hated to see her so upset. His heart ached for her.

“What happened?” Her suddenly coming to him in the state she was in had him worried beyond belief.

“Did you get hurt?”

He cupped her face and pulled back so he could see her. He checked her over for any injuries. She could only shake her head between the tears. He pulled her back to him and held her until she had calmed down.

“Seonghwa, let’s run away.” Was all she said.

He stiffened at her request. She told him why she had been crying and he understood all to well. She felt like she wasn’t ready for the responsibility of the crown and her mother had gotten angry when she expressed her thoughts. It was enough for her to be all for the idea of disappearing.

So, they made a plan together. They would leave in the middle of the night and catch a boat out to sea where they would start new lives together. They would be free.

Once again, plans fell through, but never had he imagined his princess would be taken from him. Enraged, (Y/N)’s mother broke off the engagement. She claimed that Seonghwa was a horrible influence for her daughter and that was that.

Seonghwa fought for her, though. He was shoving his way past the guards the day she was to leave, calling her name and trying to keep her. She tried to do the same, but neither could stop it. (Y/N) was taken and Seonghwa was left in a state of utter despair. He refused to leave his room for a solid two weeks and hardly said a word to anyone. His life was back to being dull and monochrome. He had no (Y/N) to make his life bright. He had no one to laugh with. It felt like there was a hole where his heart should have been.

Concerned for her son, his mother took up the fight as well. She knew her son had been happier than he had ever been when he was with the princess. She knew, because she had been that way once when she was young. She understood what it meant to be in love— even if he never told her that love was the reason. She could tell, though.

Months had passed, days filled of arguing and pleading, until he was relieved of having to take the throne. His father had seen the light in his son’s eyes go out and he knew that that being King would only make things worse on his son. Yeosang, a close friend of Seonghwa, was given the opportunity to be King instead. Not only was he trustworthy and responsible, he was like a second son to the current King.

This newfound freedom was what Seonghwa had always wanted, but it wasn’t complete just yet. His mother made arrangements so he could get into the ball that was intended for (Y/N) and her new fiancé. He was more determined now. He would rescue her and give her the freedom she wanted too. They would be free together.

The ball was crowded, and the smell of perfume was almost to strong. People from all over had come to celebrate the new engagement. He felt bitter. It should have been him standing with the princess. He betted the new man didn’t love her like he did. After what seemed to be an eternity of searching, he saw her.

His heart sank at how unhappy she looked. He knew he needed to fix that, but he had to get to her first. Seonghwa eventually managed to catch her eye and she looked shocked to see him. When his eyes flickered to the doors to outside, her eyes followed, and she caught on.

He was outside before she was, but she saw him first. She crossed the path through the garden and threw herself into his awaiting arms. It had been too long since they had been together.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her smiling returning.

“I’ve come to rescue you and take you with me.”

“Where?” She was confused, but still interested nonetheless.

“Far away.”

Now confused, she stared at him. Far away? Their kingdoms were bordering one another. How far could they possibly go. Noting her confusion, he smiled widely and bounced on the balls of his feet.

“I’m free, (Y/N). I gave up my status…I’m free.” His eyes brimmed with happy tears. It was like it was finally dawning on him that he would finally get to choose his own future.

“Come with me.”

It took (Y/N) all of two seconds to say yes and they were gone before anyone realized.

Years had passed since the day they ran away together and neither of them had regretted it. They saw the world and fell in love all over again each and every day. Now, the two were happily wed and they were inseparable.

“What are you thinking about?” Seonghwa inquired as he set a mug of coffee down for her as she stared out at the ocean from their small cottage.

She leaned her head back and smiled warmly at her husband.

“You. Me. Us. How thankful I am that you came back for me.”

The man, now in his mid-thirties, sat beside her and leaned his head against hers.

“(Y/N).”

Said female hummed in response.

“Run Away with me.”

She laughed.

“Again?”

“Always.”

102 notes · View notes

lonelyheartsclubhaze · 4 years ago

Text

Chilly mornings away from home

January 2019 // Chapter 4

Soft piano notes waded their way into my mind, rousing me from sleep. Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 1” complemented streaks of sunlight that seeped in from cracks between the window shutters.

I rolled onto my stomach, patting along the bedsheets, searching for the alarm’s source. Locating my iPhone under a fluffy body pillow, I quickly tapped the snooze button, earning myself nine more minutes of repose.

Mornings were always so disorienting. I still had yet to remember where and when I was. Such things could wait. Clinging onto that snoozy state of nonexistence, I didn’t want to wake up. I was eager for unmindfulness.

Inevitably coming to, dizziness hit like a military grade tank as I realized that my bed was facing the wrong way. My morning senses spun westward from their southern-facing expectations. Cracking my eyes open a few nanometers more, baby blue walls, rather than white, met my gaze. I faced a medium size flatscreen TV set atop a brown cabinet bordered by cream, cushioned seats and a black mini-refrigerator.

It was so easy to be surprised by mornings. Here I was, expecting one thing and receiving another. It wasn’t a huge deal, and they were natural mistakes, but jeez, was I caught off guard. My bed typically faced a window on the southern side of my room in Berkeley, confined by white walls under high ceilings. Unlike my room in Berkeley, however, the ceilings in this place were much lower with windows much wider. My forgetfulness fading, I remembered why I was in this barely decent Denver hotel room, namely, for a job interview.

Grimacing, I also remembered that the aforementioned job interview had taken place yesterday—giving me a sense for why I might have preferred snoozy states of nonexistence to waking life. It was for some technician role at a Pharma-lab. And while they didn’t pay anything close to what Ajay would be receiving at Facebook (while still remaining just as controversial), money was money. Plus, it seemed like a good way to boost my med school app during the summer. Worst case scenario: I’d just spend the upcoming summer studying for the MCAT, which had to happen sooner or later. At this rate, however, it was looking like the worst case scenario would be my only scenario.

Oh well. With a redeye flight the next morning and the interview out of the way, I had a day to kill in Denver. Classes were still on hold for another week-and-a-half and since everyone was home for the holidays, Grace had offered to put me up at her place for the day. She was supposed to come by around nine AM to pick me up.

I rubbed my eyes and pulled up the blanket. The AC units at hotels were always freezing cold—particularly on especially inconvenient occasions, like now, right smack in the middle of a January morning. I flipped over my phone and turned off the alarm. The clock read seven-twenty-one AM. Just enough time to get ready and grab a quick bite before Grace was to arrive.

My hands smacked against the headboard of the bed mid-stretch, my wrists rolling as I struggled to fully wake up. Sitting up, I checked my phone for missed messages, sending out short, succinct text messages where they were needed. I cracked my neck and thrust my legs off the tall bed, my feet grazing the hotel carpet. I stood up, stretching my arms toward the spinning fan that hung from the low ceiling, and started toward the bathroom, tossing my iPhone onto the bathroom counter.

The shower roared to life with the turn of a knob. I grabbed a hotel-provided toothbrush and some paste on my way to the shower, along with a travel-size bottle of CeraVe foaming face wash. Inside, water rushed over my short, black hair, splashing onto medium broad shoulders and size ten-and-a-half feet as I washed my face. After mopping my chest, toes, and everything in-between with an ivory bar of soap, I squirted some toothpaste onto the brush and got to work, counting out one-hundred-twenty seconds in my head. Finally, I turned off the water and reached around the shower curtain for a towel. Drying myself off, I stepped out of the shower and packed up my bath supplies into a compact travel bag.

I shook the towel over my head to dry my hair and tapped on my iPhone screen to find one new notification. Hovering my face over the phone to unlock it, a blue message from Maddie read:

To which I replied:

She followed with:

Heart racing, I replied:

Two minutes passed. I held my breath.

Four minutes—then, a small blurb of text underneath my last message read:

Read 7:46 AM

I sighed and put down my phone. My face contorted as a profusion of expletives rushed my thoughts. Shouldn’t have double-texted her.

I supposed that it didn’t matter too much. She was with someone, anyway. When I’d seen her in December, before we’d left for winter holidays, she’d been at Bear’s Ramen House in the Asian Ghetto—the food hub a block from Sproul Hall—eating with some guy I’d seen around, probably on campus. He was a moderately wealthy, white kid from Marin studying one of the various biology sub-majors offered by Cal. He was also a junior, like Maddie, so a year ahead of me, as if his towering six-foot-three-inch figure wasn’t enough to give him a leg up on me with regards to Maddie. I didn’t know him all that well, despite having had a discussion section or two with him, though we greeted each other with a polite nod of the head when passing by one another in the Valley Life Sciences Building (VLSB) or in the library. To be honest, I didn’t even remember his name, just his face. His outfits often consisted of athleisure wear from Nike and/or Champion, giving off the impression that he played sports. I wasn’t quite sure whether or not this impression was accurate, but I did sometimes see him on the Glade or other grassy campus sites playing Spikeball, accompanied by peers with faces I vaguely recognized.

We’d often talk, Maddie and I. Sometimes I’d run into her on the spiral staircase at VLSB—the stairs that’d curl around the large, plaster T-Rex model to face broad windows on the east, granting access to the morning sun. She’d be on her way to a bio lab downstairs; me, on my way to the private, grad student bathroom that I’d secretly gained access to on the second floor. The restroom upstairs was protected by a keypad, but the code was too obvious: 362 362, or DNA DNA.

“Wonder where you could be going,” she’d say.

“Just need to make sure my hair is okay. I’ll do whatever it takes to get a few extra points from Professor Meighan,” I’d joke back.

“Do you poop here everyday?” she’d ask with wide eyes. “Or maybe you just like seeing me, huh? Is that it?”

I’d freeze up.

She’d laugh, saying, “Maybe a little bit of both, right, J?”

“Nothing gets past you,” I’d mumble.

“You’re funny,” she’d say. “You should have your own TV show. Maybe once you’re done with your residency you can join Grey’s Anatomy, or Scrubs. Or maybe you can have a talk show! Like Dr. Phil, but more funny and less depressing.”

“What about me gives off the impression that I’d ever want to have a TV show, at all, in any way whatsoever?” I’d say, shaking my head.

“See? Just like that! Always asking the right questions! Like Ellen DeGeneres but all doctor-like.”

She tended to tease me a lot. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was probably part of her appeal—definitely was, on second thought.

Like a good portion of the many pre-med students out there, Maddie was a biology major. Berkeley offered a few different options for bio students, and I’m pretty sure she was studying molecular and cellular biology, though it’s hard for me to say. If I wanted to remember something about her, I’d write it down in my iPhone notes. Otherwise, my hippocampus tended to toss it out, preferring to form memories of her nose, her lips, and those low cut shirts that left me off balance.

We’d text back-and-forth about classes, sometimes. A lot less after I saw her eating with what’s-his-face. I didn’t blame her.

My phone read eight AM. I tossed on a waffle knit shirt and long johns, then a Columbia fleece and Levi jeans, topping it off with an aged ski jacket that I’d ‘borrowed’ from Adam, who was up in Tahoe at least twice a month in the winter. I slung the beaten, black JanSport backpack containing my belongings over my shoulders and headed out the hotel door, making for the elevator.

The room door shut quietly behind as I banked right into a narrow corridor housing four elevators, two on each side. I pressed a button to summon one and within a minute, the light above the furthest elevator on my right blinked on. The door opened and I entered, clicking the button indicating the main lobby of the hotel. The door shut and the elevator fell five floors before slowing to let in an older, Black woman wearing a fitted, bell-shaped hat.

“Ground floor?” I asked.

She smiled sweetly. “Yes, honey. Thank you.”

We descended the final four floors in silence. Arriving at the ground floor, the elderly woman smiled and nodded at me before exiting first. I followed her out, glanced down at my iPhone, then diverged from her path as I headed toward the central lobby to check out. After snapping my room key card in half, I left the hotel, walking toward a Caribou Coffee a few blocks north.

Under the warm skies of Seal Beach, California, where I was born and raised, people tended to take their coffee with ice more often than here in Denver, Colorado. Every Friday, my mother would pick up an americano for herself—black, with no cream or sugar—on her way to work. I’d tag along as a kid, but sooner than later elementary school drop-offs morphed into middle school bike rides, then high school walks with pretty girls I swore I had a chance with, and then the here-and-now, flying Economy for interviews that wouldn’t yield job offers.

It’s funny—when I was a kid I practically hated being seen with my parents. At back-to-school events—the evenings when parents conglomerated to celebrate the annual accomplishments of their children—I wouldn’t be caught dead near my family. Somehow, I thought it made me look childish, or immature. After graduating from high school, however, I started seeing them less and less, and I began to find myself missing mom’s morning espresso runs more and more.

It seemed as though I must have picked up my mother’s coffee drinking habits, because when I arrived at the Caribou Coffee on sixteenth street at approximately eight-twenty-five AM, I too ordered an americano with no cream or sugar.

“That comes out to three-thirty-nine,” said the female barista. She wore a black apron over red and black striped under-layers, with a white wool beanie on her head, and deep black mascara on her eyelashes.

I thanked her and handed over three dollar bills along with some loose change from my jacket pocket.

“On second thought,” I said, retracting my hand. “Can I also get one of those?” I gestured to a blueberry scone behind the glass counter.

“Sure. Just three extra dollars.” she said.

I counted out three extra dollar bills, handing the money to the barista. Then I walked over to a small rounded table situated near the entrance and sat down. Scanning my iPhone, I saw that Grace had texted me, so I responded, asking her to pick me up at the Denver sixteenth street Caribou Coffee. Then I put my phone away and tapped silently along the underside of the table, slightly impatient for my pastry and drink.

I wondered what Grace had in mind for the day. I hadn’t seen her since—well, I suppose it wasn’t that long ago—final exams last semester. Personally, Grace and I had yet to have a class together, but Adam always took one or two bullshit classes with her, so she was often around my house anyway—especially during the week of final exams, when they’d study together all day long. As an English major, she had it pretty easy schedule-wise. She hardly stressed, at least outwardly, and was rarely overburdened with work, so she never missed a chance to chat it up with my housemates or me when Adam brought her over. She was really likable too. Even Albert got along with her, making small talk about Proust or the latest Pulitzer Prize winning novel from Jennifer Egan, and that’s saying a lot.

She always made it a point to stop by my room upstairs, at 2231 Dwight, waving ‘hello’ to me before vanishing for hours into the recesses of Adam’s single downstairs. I really liked that about her.

A small vibration from my left pant pocket convinced me to reach in. I pulled out my iPhone and saw that Grace had texted me. She was to arrive a bit early, in fifteen or so, around eight-fifty-five AM. She was driving in a black Honda Civic, she’d said. I texted her back to let her know that I’d be ready.

“I’ve got a medium americano and a blueberry scone!” called the barista.

I stood up, pulling my jacket over the chair to mark my temporary territory, then hurried over to the counter to grab my order. “Thanks,” I said before hurrying back to my table, balancing the warm, paper cup in one hand with the scone in the other.

Sitting back down at the table, I huffed down the scone. Then I took off the lid of the cup, wisps of steam condensing on the furl of my lip. I blew gently, cooling the drink.

I sipped slowly, then decided to put on my jacket and wait outside. Grace would be here any minute and I didn’t want her to miss me. I was getting sick of waiting by myself anyway. Walking outside, an icy burst of air cut right through me. I shivered, then zipped up Adam’s ski jacket. It was a good thing that it wasn’t snowing, because it was cold enough as it was.

I paced around for a bit, rubbing my hands to keep warm, until finally, a black Honda Civic with a freckled girl at its helm slowed to a stop slightly ahead of the sixteenth street coffee shop.

Grace rolled down the passenger window. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said back. My pace quickened as my feet approached her car.

“I missed you, dude,” she said. “Come on, let’s go. It’s freezing outside.” A crimson hoodie hid most of her delicate contours, though the graceful arcs that formed over her breasts hinted at something more. The left side of her chest housed a star-shaped sports logo with the words ‘Broomfield Soccer Club’ below in a decorative typeface.

I opened the car door and hopped into the passenger seat. Gusts of warm air ruffled my hair.

She reached over the center console and squeezed me in a close hug. “How was break?”

“Pretty good. I mean, I was finally able to—”

“Bruh,” she groaned. “Did you read Science?”

“What?”

“The magazine,” she said, squinting her eyes.

I cocked my head to the side. “Was I supposed to?”

Grace rolled her eyes and sighed. “Can you?”

“Is there something I should be looking for?”

“Oh my god. Take out your phone.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Jesus-fucking-Christ, J.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling the iPhone from my jean pocket.

“Okay.” She cracked her finger knuckles. “Google ‘butterflies’.”

“Grace—” I started.

“Come on. Look it up.”

“Okay. Just because you’re asking.” I opened Chrome’s mobile browser on my phone, typed in ‘butterflies’, and pressed ‘search’.

She cleared her throat.

“Butterfly,” I read. “An insect from the ma-cro-lep-id-opt-er-an clade Rho-pal-o-cer-a, from the order Lep-id-op-tera—”

“No!” She snatched my phone and scrolled down. “Here. California’s monarch butterfly count drops by eighty-six percent, just last year!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is butterfly watching a hobby you picked up over break or something?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

I coughed to cover a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t know you took butterflies so seriously.”

“God, and I’m supposed to go to a guy like you for my yearly checkups?” she gasped.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Grace—”

“I don’t want to hear it, insect-killer.” She blew aside a tuft of hair from her forehead. “So, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“How was break?”

“Oh. Right,” I said. “Well, I finally got around to watching that show you and Adam were talking about last semester.”

“Peaky Blinders?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, it’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I really like Tommy’s brother, Arthur. I think he’s funny. I’m not too sure how I feel about Polly yet, though, but then again I’m only on season three.”

“Adam fucks with Arthur too. Personally, I’m more of a John-kinda-person. I think he’s less murderous than Arthur. Kills too much. How’s Adam doing, though?”

“Honestly, you probably know better than me. Haven’t seen him since we left for home.”

“I feel it.”

Grace made a sharp right onto the I-25 freeway, accelerating until our speed plateaued around ninety miles per hour. I gripped the sides of my seat—ninety was a little too fast for my tastes. I considered myself a defensive driver. Dull buildings bordered the freeway shoulders, and I tried to focus on them to distract myself from Grace’s driving.

“What do you say we stop by a park or something, J? Not really tryna see my parents right now.” Grace glanced at me, her hands still on the wheel.

I felt a bit queasy watching her take her eyes off the road. “Yeah, works for me. Something going on?”

“Eh, the usual. Just get sick of ‘em being home for so long,” she said. “But anyhow, I have a ball in the trunk. We can kick it around or some shit.”

The road grew bumpier as we drove over a waterway on the way to Grace’s neighborhood. Spoiled by scenic coastal sights on the drive up to Berkeley, the glum scenes around me felt sobering. I tapped my foot, eager to get out of the car.

Eventually, Grace took exit 225 on the right, keeping left to merge onto East One-hundred-thirty-sixth Avenue. We passed a stucco structure with a sign that read ‘Broomfield’.

“Almost there,” said Grace. “I know just the spot.”

Finally, Grace made a left into a small parking lot bordered by bright green, grassy fields on one end and unkempt trails on the other. “Quail park. I grew up playing soccer here.”

I looked around. I was glad to be there—it certainly yielded better views than the drive had. “It’s pretty.”

Grace popped open the trunk and pulled out a soccer ball and pump. She filled it with air quickly, then gestured for me to carry the ball. We walked over to the open fields, brushing permafrost aside as we squished the grass beneath our feet. Back and forth, we kicked the ball to one another, Grace showing off every now and then by booting the ball over her head and onto her knees, juggling it for ten, maybe twenty bounces before passing it back to me.

“So?” she said. “Did you kill the interview?”

I winced. “Not exactly.”

Grace toed the ball inward, using its momentum to whip the ball onto the flat of her foot. With a touch of force, she tapped the ball into the air and into her hands. “Come on, J. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

I smiled a bit. “It really was though.”

She laughed and dropped the ball to her feet. Passing it back to me, she said, “Ah, whatever. You don’t want to work in Denver anyway. You’re not cut out for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at you. You’ve been shivering your ass off since I picked you up, dummy. And I have heated seats!” she said.

“Hey,” I started. “You’re not wrong.”

“Rarely am. Anyhow, how are things with, uh, you know . . .”

“Maddie?” I finished.

“Yes, right, Maddie.”

“She texted me this morning.”

“Oooooh,” said Grace. “How’s Brandon gonna feel about that?”

Ah, right, Brandon. How could I forget?

“Brandon . . . Right. Well, I doubt that it’s a major concern of his at the moment. She left me on read anyway.”

“Oh. Well, it’s her loss anyhow. She’s missing out on a star athlete!” said Grace as she punted the ball, knocking me square in the chest.

“Fucking shit!” I howled.

“You sound like Adam more and more everyday,” she said.

“So dreams do come true.”

“Isn’t it funny,” said Grace, juggling the ball on her quads. “Don’t you feel like certain words belong to certain people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, don’t you associate certain words with certain people? Like every swear word with Adam, for example, and or maybe, I’m sure there are some you have in mind for Maddie or whoever.”

“You sure you’re not projecting, Grace?” I asked.

This time she threw the ball at me, and it proceeded to hit me right on the head. We kicked around for another hour or so, talking about this or that—how final exams went; our plans for the semester; and Pac-12 Women’s soccer, despite an utter lack of knowledge regarding the sport’s conference on my part. Around five-thirty in the late afternoon, we decided to get something to eat, so Grace drove us to a Vietnamese spot called Golden Bowl Noodle House which she heralded as the greatest phở restaurant on the west coast.

We sat down in blue booth seats across from one another, red and gold walls bordering us on my left. A large, square, green painting depicting an ocean scene lined the wall between us. I ordered the same thing as Grace, the Combo Number One, which consisted of a small rare steak phở, 2 spring rolls, and an iced tea. Grace asked to change hers to a warm tea, which was probably the better move in hindsight. Our drinks arrived first, and we sipped on them slowly. I was hungry—blueberry scones could only provide so much sustenance.

A robed Asian woman, with a slight hunch in her back as she hobbled over, arrived with a tray carrying two bowls of soupy noodles; four translucent wrapped appetizers; and a small dish with bean sprouts, Thai basil, and other add-ons. She bowed slightly and left us to our meals, so I looked over at Grace who had already taken her first bite from a spring roll. I followed her lead, feeling the cool cloak of rice wrappers over fresh shrimp, cilantro, and basil. Taking a bite, my teeth met shrimp with just the right amount of snap, the unexpected tang of hoisin sauce gifting a pleasant surprise.

Grace smacked my hand. “Use the peanut sauce! You gotta appreciate it properly, cuz some people can’t. Did you know that the rate of food allergies is increasing rapid as fuck—especially in developed nations like the US?”

I did as she said, dipping the spring roll into the gloppy, brown sauce. She wasn’t wrong—it was better that way. After swallowing my last bite of the spring rolls, Grace tossed some bean sprouts into my soup and squeezed lime juice over my bowl.

“You know this isn’t my first time eating phở, right?” I said.

Grace hushed me and continued eating. I watched her twirl a handful of noodles into her chopsticks, lifting them to her mouth over a soup spoon. Noisy slurps concluded with sapid bites followed by quick sips of tea. Rinse and repeat.

I opted for a fork, twisting firm noodles around its prongs as best I could, gulping down spoonfuls of savory soup in between steak and noodle bites. I watched the red meat cook to a brownish hue, the hot broth’s steam parting like sea waves under my chin.

“I’ll give it to you,” I said. “It’s good.”

Grace glanced at me, nodded, and continued eating. Finishing promptly, she leaned back into her chair and exhaled heavily.

I rushed to keep up with her, but it took me significantly longer to finish. Sooner or later, the robed woman limped over with the bill. I rose to my feet and met her halfway. I pulled out a Mastercard and slipped it into the folded check before handing it back to her and sitting back down with Grace.

“Real gentleman, aren’t you?”

“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me today. Besides, you’ve just introduced me to the ‘best phở on the west coast’, right?”

“Suppose that’s true. Okay, you’re right, dinner on you.”

The restaurant owner signaled that I could take back my card, so I walked over, tipped four-and-a-half dollars, tucked away my card, and we left for the car.

Grace’s eyelids were a bit heavy, so I asked her if she wanted me to drive. She handed me her keys and jumped into the passenger seat. After I buckled into the driver seat and turned the key in the ignition, she directed me to make a right out of the parking lot. I drove slowly back to her house, which was only ten or so minutes away, then pulled into her garage. The garage led into a two-story, vinyl sided, upper-middle class home with a comely, green lawn out front.

“Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

I followed her over hardwood floors into the living room, where a tall, white man with square sunglasses over his eyes and a black beanie atop his head shuffled through TV channels with a remote. The lights were off in the room even though the sun had set a little less than an hour prior.

“How are you doing, sir?” I asked.

“Wassup?” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “How are you today, sir?”

“All good.” He took a long draw from an IPA resting on the coffee table in front of him. “Catch y’all. Gracey—you got trash, yea?”

Before Grace could reply, a voice called from the kitchen around the corner, “I got today, hun!”

We nodded in acknowledgment to the man and turned to leave. “Must be your dad?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said. And that was the end of it.

I followed Grace into the kitchen. A woman—her mother, presumably—with a polka dot apron around her neck and a noticeable accent in her voice greeted us warmly. I was surprised by the speed of the woman as she rushed me with a sturdy hug, a tactic she then repeated on her daughter.

“Are you Filipino?” she asked, placing a motherly hand on my shoulder.

“No, ma’am.”

“Ayo,” she said. “No problem. Sleep good, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for letting me stay—”

“Sorry about him, mom,” said Grace. She hit me on the back playfully and the two women burst into laughter in unison. “You’re always welcome, J.”

I smiled, said goodbye, and trailed Grace as she led me up a winding staircase to a small bedroom encapsulated by canary yellow walls laden with rooster prints. The room housed a twin bed and two lamps with cube-ish shades. The bedsheets matched the walls, realistic rooster designs corresponding with the overarching theme of the bedroom.

“Don’t ask,” said Grace. “Night, J. Sleep up.”

I hugged Grace and thanked her. “Night.”

It was still early, only six-thirty or so, so I plopped onto the bed and pulled out my iPhone, intent on watching YouTube videos to pass some time. I chuckled to myself as I admired the chicken print theme of the room.

Clicking my phone to life, I was surprised to find text messages from Maddie that read:

I sighed and put the iPhone down as my heart rate spiked into the mid eighties.

#fiction #newadult #new adult #contemporaryfiction #na #youngadult #ya fiction #yafiction #young adult books #ya books

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readtheworld2021-blog · 4 years ago

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United States

One of my goals in the pursuit of this reading project is to create a list of books I deeply appreciate from countries all over the world. Selecting books that were meaningful to me from US authors was an easy task and, if anything, it was difficult to limit myself to only a select few. The works I selected are books that are not only important to me personally but are also works that I think have cultural significance.

The Color Purple Alice Walker

Alice Walker's The Color Purple was so important to me as a young girl. This story was formative for me and I continue to reread it about once a year. This book taught me that I should always strive to better myself, to connect with the people I love, and to persist in the face of hardship. As a girl, no one taught me to pay any mind to ethnicity or race so it didn't occur to me that this tale of African-American women in the 1930s should be a strange story for a young white girl in the early 90s to so deeply cherish, an oddity that was later pointed out to me repeatedly. On a less personal note, this representation of African-American life in the Southern United States is a story about America's past and therefore an important novel about American culture.

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East of Eden John Steinbeck

East of Eden was another important novel for me as a young reader. I cared little for the biblical parallels, it was the struggle of the characters that fascinated me, however the persistence of Christian thematic elements is not something one should ignore when talking about US culture. The elevation of the voice of a white male is also a popular trend in US culture and the tone of Steinbeck's writing always felt emblematic of white, male America to me, but I took strength from his novels when I was a girl. His characters fought to be respectable men who could shoulder their burdens without complaint. I wanted to emulate this behavior.

Dawn Octavia E. Butler

Dawn is part of a series that is one of my favorites by Butler, though the Patternmaster series comes in a very close second. Butler's novels always feature a strong female protagonist. This lead character is typically involved in some process of remodeling existing human hierarchies in a way that discourages violence, suffering, and intolerance. The new communities Butler creates in her novels are most often matriarchal with the value of social ties and the health of the community as a whole (without regard for lineage, ethnicity, or even species) being of the highest esteem. My favorite feature of these narratives is 1)that they never suggest such changes will be simple or comforting and 2)the center figure in this new community always seems to be a survivor who is unable to recognize her own strength or doesn't want the burden of leadership and is therefore reluctant to take the lead. From a cultural perspective, I think that Butler's stories are representative of an increasing minority of progressive US citizens who wish to dispense with intolerance and/or with aggressive forms of patriarchal leadership. I think her lead characters are also representative of US citizens who feel underqualified to take power and step up to leadership roles despite the benefits the entire nation would experience if more individuals could recognize and seize the power of their voice within the democratic political structure of the US which continues to be dominated by conservative, wealthy, power-thirsty, white, male voices.

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The Complete Maus Art Spiegelman

Maus is the story of the author's parents' experiences during the Holocaust. The story also delves into Spiegelman's difficult relationship with his parents. The Holocaust makes up an important part of world history, and Jewish culture is a piece of the melting pot of US culture. On a more personal level, the survival of hardship and the lasting impact of it are always appealing literary themes to me. This graphic novel therefore has a special place in my heart.

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In addition, I later read a study about the affect of trauma (like the trauma experienced by Spiegelman's parents) on DNA:

"...researchers taught male mice to fear the smell of cherry blossoms by associating the scent with mild foot shocks. Two weeks later, they bred with females. The resulting pups were raised to adulthood having never been exposed to the smell. Yet when the critters caught a whiff of it for the first time, they suddenly became anxious and fearful. They were even born with more cherry-blossom-detecting neurons in their noses and more brain space devoted to cherry-blossom-smelling.” (Kim)

How does this speak to the populations (not just in the US) descended from traumatic histories: slaves, World War veterans, attempted genocide survivors, Cold War survivors, Vietnam veterans, etc? What sort of unresolved or ignored traumas and anxieties are being passed on from one generation to the next, not just by culture but through possible epigenetic changes?

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References

Kim, M. "Study finds that fear can travel quickly through generations of mice DNA." Washington Post. 7 Dec. 2013. https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/health-science/study-finds-that-fear-can-travel-quickly-through-generations-of-mice-dna/2013/12/07/94dc97f2-5e8e-11e3-bc56-c6ca94801fac_story.html. Accessed 5 March 2021.

#world literature #Alice Walker #John Steinbeck #Art Spiegelman #The Color Purple #East of Eden #Dawn #Xenogenisis #Patternmaster #Wild Seed #Maus #United States

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Tuesday, April 27, 2021

Global defense spending (Foreign Policy) Global defense spending increased in 2020, despite a sharp downturn in the global economy, according to an annual report by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI). Overall spending reached nearly $2 trillion, a 2.6 percent increase from the 2019 figure. Defense budgets in the Middle East fell by 6.5 percent, helped by a 10 percent cut by Saudi Arabia. The five biggest spenders—the United States, China, India, Russia, and the United Kingdom—all increased their defense spending in 2020.

Canadians avoiding hotel quarantines for air travellers fuel taxi boom on U.S. border (Reuters) U.S. taxi and limousine services are seeing a boom in business from customers seeking to enter Canada by land to avoid a restriction on international travel that applies only to air traffic. While both Canadian land and air travellers are required to take a test within three days of departure, and again on arrival, only those flying to Canada must spend up to three days of the country’s 14-day required quarantine period in a hotel. That has led to a surge of calls for taxi and limousine services from Canadians who fly through U.S. airports in states like New York and then cross over the land border. A taxi trip across the border can cost around $200 or $250 compared with a three-day hotel stay of more than C$1,200 ($961), Canadian travel insurance broker Martin Firestone said. With the Canada-U.S. land border mostly closed for more than a year due to the pandemic, and overall tourism down, the recent surge in business has come as a relief to some struggling taxi operators. Some Canadians ask to be driven home, while others take rides to the border, cross on foot and get another ride in Canada, drivers said.

Armed Groups Step Into Venezuela as Lawlessness Grows (NYT) They bring drinking water to residents in the arid scrublands, teach farming workshops and offer medical checkups. They mediate land disputes, fine cattle rustlers, settle divorces, investigate crimes and punish thieves. They’re not police officers, civil servants or members of the Venezuela government, which has all but disappeared from this impoverished part of the country. Quite the opposite: They belong to one of Latin America’s most notorious rebel groups, considered terrorists by the United States and the European Union for carrying out bombings and kidnappings over decades of violence. Venezuela’s economic collapse has so thoroughly gutted the country that insurgents have embedded themselves across large stretches of its territory, seizing upon the nation’s undoing to establish mini-states of their own. And far from fleeing in fear or demanding to be rescued by the authorities, many residents here in Venezuela’s borderlands—hungry, hunted by local drug gangs and long complaining of being abandoned by their government—have welcomed the terrorist group for the kind of protection and basic services the state is failing to provide. The insurgents “are the ones who brought stability here,” said Ober Hernández, an Indigenous leader on the Guajira peninsula next to Colombia. “They brought peace.”

Peru’s election (Foreign Policy) Left-wing candidate Pedro Castillo is heavily favored by Peru’s electorate ahead of the country’s June 6 presidential runoff, according to a recent poll; 41.5 percent of respondents backed Castillo in the Instituto de Estudios Peruanos survey, with his challenger Keiko Fujimori receiving only 21.5 percent support. Decisions surrounding the economy seemed to drive support for Castillo, with more than half of those expressing support for him saying they would support a total change to the country’s economic system. There is still a chance that the vote could be competitive: 34.7 percent of those surveyed wanted neither candidate or were undecided.

E.U. Set to Let Vaccinated U.S. Tourists Visit This Summer (NYT) American tourists who have been fully vaccinated against Covid-19 will be able to visit the European Union over the summer, the head of the bloc’s executive body said in an interview with The New York Times on Sunday, more than a year after shutting down nonessential travel from most countries to limit the spread of the coronavirus. The fast pace of vaccination in the United States, and advanced talks between authorities there and the European Union over how to make vaccine certificates acceptable as proof of immunity for visitors, will enable the European Commission, the executive branch of the European Union, to recommend a switch in policy that could see trans-Atlantic leisure travel restored. “The Americans, as far as I can see, use European Medicines Agency-approved vaccines,” Ursula von der Leyen, president of the European Commission, said Sunday in an interview with The Times in Brussels. “This will enable free movement and the travel to the European Union. She added that resumption of travel would depend “on the epidemiological situation, but the situation is improving in the United States, as it is, hopefully, also improving in the European Union.”

Italy’s Problem With School Dropouts Goes From Bad to Worse in Pandemic (NYT) Even before the pandemic, Italy had among the worst dropout rates in the European Union, and the southern city of Naples was particularly troubled by high numbers. When the coronavirus hit, Italy shuttered its schools more than just about all the other European Union member states, with especially long closures in the Naples region, pushing students out in even higher numbers. While it is too early for reliable statistics, principals, advocates and social workers say they have seen a sharp increase in the number of students falling out of the system. The impact on an entire generation may be one of the pandemic’s lasting tolls. Italy closed its schools—fully or in part—for 35 weeks in the first year of the pandemic—three times longer than France, and more than Spain or Germany. And experts say that by doing so, the country, which has Europe’s oldest population and was already lagging behind in critical educational indicators, has risked leaving behind its youth, its greatest and rarest resource for a strong post-pandemic recovery.

Virus ‘swallowing’ people in India; crematoriums overwhelmed (AP) With life-saving oxygen in short supply, families are left on their own to ferry people sick with COVID-19 from hospital to hospital in search of treatment as India is engulfed in a devastating surge of infections. Too often, their efforts end in mourning. On social media and in television footage, desperate relatives plead for oxygen outside hospitals or weep in the street for loved ones who died waiting for treatment. For the fourth straight day, India on Sunday set a global daily record of new coronavirus infections, spurred by an insidious new variant that emerged here. The surge has undermined the government’s premature claims of victory over the pandemic. The unfolding crisis is most visceral in India’s overwhelmed graveyards and crematoriums, and in heartbreaking images of gasping patients dying on their way to hospitals due to lack of oxygen. Burial grounds in the capital New Delhi are running out of space. Bright, glowing funeral pyres light up the night sky in other badly hit cities.

In leaked audio, Iran’s foreign minister laments interference by Revolutionary Guards (Washington Post) In leaked audio recordings made public Sunday, Iran’s foreign minister complained about interference by the Revolutionary Guard Corps in Tehran’s diplomatic affairs, including efforts to undermine the 2015 nuclear deal between Iran and world powers. The audio, which was released by the London-based Iran International news channel, came from a three-hour interview with the foreign minister, Mohammed Javad Zarif, that the channel said was conducted in March. Taken together, Zarif’s unvarnished comments and the fact the audio had leaked, highlighted the sharpening public rivalries within Iran’s political circles, as Tehran engages with global powers in a fresh attempt to revive the nuclear deal, and as Iranian elections approach. The leaked conversation was the latest salvo in what has become an increasingly caustic domestic Iranian debate over the nuclear deal, pitting “pragmatists” represented by Rouhani against a conservative camp wary of any engagement with the West. The factional fights are not a secret in Iran, which hosts political debates that are more expansive and vigorous than most countries in the Middle East.

#headlines #news

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