#it seems that they have reached the point of terminal ludicrousness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jitter-bug · 4 years ago

Text

Just Like Me

Taglist: @artemisfowl11

Nines x Reader (Detroit: Become Human)

A/n: Did I hear costumes with a plot twist? And 10x scary???👀 so that the request wouldn't be too short ???🔫👀 I certainly fuckin' did. This one is too long. Sorry for rush. I love you :') plz enjoy(plz) I have so many request. And I am getting around to all of them. So don't worry for anyone that's waiting for your request, they will get done I promise! (Plz don't hurt me--)❤ enjoy- p.s I also had a hard time choosing the costume. I wanted something race neutral because as a person of color myself. There's not many couple costumes out there, that...you know. So 😌 uh. I had to run off a limb here for all my POC readers. (Gang gang 😩) (give me feedback if you any more of this, I know some people messaged me about continuing Fear. I don't do series. But I'll do em' we lit over here😩😪💅) p.s.s I edited it to gender neutral, so sorry for any errors-- (donthurtme)

"What do you mean, no?" The defeated tone of the detective echoed through the bullpen. Arms crossed as they stared at Hank. He was sitting at his desk. A hand placed on the desk as he stared at the terminal. In a way so he wouldn't have to stare at the perplexed expression of Y/n.

"Kid. I'm too damn old to be dressing up in costumes." Was his reply.

Y/n had woken up that very morning. An idea engraved in their brain like their body threatened them to remember it and not let the wonderful idea go.

The DPD was throwing a Halloween party. Which was really a celebration for Chris, he was finally promoted to being an official Detective, and for his celebration. There would be a themed party. Considering the fact that Halloween was creeping in around the corner. Y/n soon thought that they wanted to wear a costume, with someone that is. They thought sharing laughs or even going to the party dressed as characters would be fun and yet entertaining. Their first thought was Hank. But, he undoubtedly shot the idea down. And declined. Hank saw the unamused expression on their face when he tore his gaze from the terminal. Their fist was planted on his desk. As their hand was on their hip. Their eyebrows furrowed. Giving him a look that he was used to seeing when they helped him speak with suspects in the interrogation room. Though, their expression was not as hard and more so serious.

Connor, who was sitting at his desk. Across from Hank. Stared between the two. His LED teetering back and forth from yellow to stark red.

"Go ask Gavin." Hank brought up the name that seemed alien to him as he scoffed slightly at his name. Y/n quickly lost their expression before shaking her head. They couldn't say Y/n and Gavin were enemies. But they haven't interacted with each other to a point where Y/n would see themself asking him to join them on their dress up crusade.

"No." They replied. Hank has been staring at the ceiling. Arms crossed. Once hearing Y/n once again. He landed his gaze back onto them. His index finger tapping his arm.

"Go ask your partner."

Nines stared at Y/n. The two staring right through each other, but Y/n could feel themself crumble under his steel gaze. His eyebrows furrowed slightly. In an attempt to see through Y/n.

Nines originally was Gavin Reed's partner. Until Chris was recently promoted to a Detective and made to be Gavin's partner. Which pulled Y/n from Hank and Connor, into being Nine's newest partner.

Before then. They hadn't really interacted with him. Occasional greetings and ludicrous jokes between Y/n and Gavin. In which the rk900 ignored, he never cared to learn much about Y/n- or anyone at the station at that. He was reserved, observant, stern and very stoic. He...lacked certain things other deviant androids had.

Emotions.

People around the prescient knew about him. But never spoke to him, reasons being his lack of expressing himself gave people the assumption that Nines was genuinely just a rude android. Which...Y/n could see why. He didn't tolerate childish behavior, at all. Rarely participated in any outings the station threw, such as celebrations if someone was promoted. Birthday parties. Or just a genuine outing to celebrate and catch up with one another. Nines was always at the station, he - In a way deemed to separate himself from others. His eyebrows were always furrowed. In a way to resemble a scowl of some sort...which he always did.

Of course, Y/n could somewhat tolerate him, once they were paired together, Nines was non-stop pestering Y/n with things they needed to get done, things that weren't done right. He always pointed out the imperfections and mistakes rather than the good. Y/n couldn't say they were exactly friends with the rk900. He made it hard for it to be anything other than being partners. But, today was the day, Y/n decided it would be best to try and find a way through his cold exterior.

Nines didn't say anything. Y/n held her hands behind her back. The slightest smile trying to make its way onto their face. "So...I was thinking."

They started. They didn't feel nervous. But rather awkward from the sudden request. Nines didn't say anything. Instead keep his arms behind his back as Y/n slowly sat down on the desk. Planting their hands on their knees. "I was thinking, maybe me and you should go to Chris's celebration together tomorrow night, you know. As partners? Amigos? Buddies?" Y/n reached up. Placing a half-heartedly punch on Nine's shoulder.

"And. You know. Dress up? Costumes? I'd think you'd enjoy it. You know, you've been really working your heart out for these past few weeks Nines, and I think maybe you would like a break. You know, wind down." They explained. In their head. The explanation was fool-proof. Nines had been working a lot. In fact. The whole station was. With the new cases of Red Ice popping up around Detroit. Everyone had constantly been on their toes.

"I'm incapable of getting tired, Detective." Nines replied. He turned to fully face Y/n. His arms that were once behind his back, now by his side.

Y/n felt themself run into a dead end.

"I know that Nine's I'm not stupid." She muttered. Instead of replying. He only stared at her. Blinking once, that was so it took. Y/n could tell what he was thinking. They sneered.

"That's not funny, I'm serious."

"My apologies. I was unaware I was making a joke--"

"Anyway!" Snapping their fingers to get back on track. Y/n sighed. Rubbing their temple before looking back at Nine's form.

"If. You go to the party with me, and agree to wear a costume with me. I promise I'll stop fooling around on the field." They tried to compromise watching as Nine's was already turning away from her to walk over to his desk.

"I'll even stop making those lame ass jokes for an entire week. I can't say for..forever, But I mean a week has to be at least decent." They spoke up. Raising their voice so he could listen.

"A month." Nines said. His back turned from them. But Y/n could see him grabbing stacks of papers and placing them in their designated manilla folders. Y/n stared at his back. Eyebrows furrowed as they tried to piece together what he meant, the rk900 seemed to be aware of how perplexed she was.

"You'll focus on the assigned case you have, without constantly getting distracted, for a month. If you can agree to that. Then you've found yourself someone to go to the party with."

He explained. Y/n jumped slightly, the excitement shot through them like electricity, sparking them to life. This was new! Certainly new!

"Wait, are you serious? Oh my god!" They squealed. Kicking their feet so hard Y/n was afraid their shoe would fly off, flying across the room. As funny as the scenario might sound, Y/n was too distracted with the offer to worry about anything else.

"1 month?" They asks.

"1 month." He repeats.

"I mean...what about 2 weeks?" They bargained. A month, where they couldn't bullshit around at work. It felt like a sin to Y/n.

"1 month."

"But...Nines that's too long." They tried to whine. But Nines turned around. Holding the folders in his hands.

"1 month." He repeats.

"2 weeks?"

"1 month."

"....3 weeks?"

"1 month."

"No! Come on. 2 weeks. Take it or leave it!" Y/n shoots their hands in the air. Drastically expressing their distress. But Nines didn't seem to show an ounce of sorrow or care for the matter.

"Do I hear 2 months?"

"Okay, no! 1 month!"

With what Y/n assumed would be the end of the discussion to Nines. He nods.

"Okay then. Now. What is it that you have planned?"

"Okay. So. I think maybe we should do something scary. 2 years ago. Me and Hank dressed up as clowns, and scared the hell out of Gavin. It was hilarious." Y/n absently spoke. They searched through their phone for ideas that may spark interest in them. Deciding on creating something new and from scratch.

Nines was busy placing items in Y/n's bag so the two could leave the station and do whatever it was Y/n had in store.

Nines zipped up the bookbag before turning away from the desk to face. Only to find them already examining his form.

The yellow soon took the place of the blue on his LED. His eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" He asks. Y/n hummed.

"I was thinking of what would suit you." They replied. As they spoke Nines handed Y/n their bookbag, which they thanked him before slipping it on over their shoulders.

"We can head to my house and see ideas from there." Y/n started. Adjusting the straps onto their shoulders as they took several steps forward towards the exit. They didn't have much time from now till tomorrow night, the gears in Y/n's head were turning. What should they do? What should they dress as for their costumes? And most importantly. Make sure Nines had a good night out for his first ever outing.

Y/n placed the phone back in theirpocket. Before reaching over to unlock the door. They felt Nines walk behind them, swatting and flicking their hand away from the latch to open the door.

"I'm driving. You get to the passenger side and think about what your plan will be." Nines spoke. Y/n flinched their hand away from the latch.

"Ow, okay, okay--" they made their way around the car to the passenger side. Y/n was positive the only real reason he wanted Y/n to sit out on driving was because last time they were behind the wheel, a favorite song of theirs that they vaguely remembered from some time ago came on the radio station when they were patrolling the downtown area of Detroit.

All Y/n could say was how Nines was extremely pissed with their screeching out lyrics that he wasn't paying attention to. More of Y/n's abrupt screaming. Which is why he didn't want them touching the wheel while he was in the car with them.

Slipping inside the car. Y/n closed the door. Hearing from their opposite side that Nines was in the car as well.

"Keys." He spoke up. Y/n automatically reached in their dress pants pockets in search of the keys. Once feeling the cool metal against their digits. They handed them to Nines. Where as he started the car.

Y/n slide off their bookbag. And turned to toss it in the back of the car. Where a paper bag was seen lazily balled up on the floor. Seeing the Red Ice cases increased exponentially, there were many stakeouts that Y/n and Nines were assigned to. Sitting out in the car for long periods of time did spike up an appetite in Y/n's stomach every once in a while. Of course, Nines scolded them for not eating before arriving on the scene, but that didn't stop them from getting food.

Once situated and Nines driving down the street. Y/n slipped their phone back out.

"So. How do you feel being a butcher?" They asks. Nines stared at the road. Silent for a moment as he contemplated what Y/n said.

"A butcher..? Odd, how would that in any way be a good costume?" He asks. Y/n placed their phone their lap.

"Bloody butcher. You know. Kill people? Chop chop? Blood. Chains and all that jazz." They replied. Flipping through the many photos of cheap costumes that would wear out in later than a few months if they were to purchase one.

"I can't make a firm decision on what to wear. You do that." He spoke up. Y/n hummed in acknowledgment. As much as they wanted Nines to choose for himself. He often had a hard time doing so. Of course he did things his own way, but only for a purpose of doing his job. Completing his mission.

"Well then. Butcher it is," they replied.

Once making it into the warm house that groped around Y/n with its comforting warmth. Y/n dropped their bookbag on the ground by the couch. Plopping down onto the cushion. And letting out a long needed sigh. They heard Nines close and lock the front door.

The tension in Y/n's muscles slowly eased its way into relaxation. This wasn't the first time Nines had seen Y/n's place. Only resorting to be at their doorstep to wake them up at ungodly hours for emergency crime scenes that so happened to pop up out of nowhere. Or to drive them home when they are tired to do it half the time themself.

The TV was still on playing from earlier in the morning when Y/n left. On the same channel and same soft spoken volume.

"Alright. Come on. Sit." They finally mustered up the energy to speak. Nines - who was standing next to the couch, took a seat next to Y/n as they opened their phone once more.

"So. I was thinking on the way here. A bloody butcher. Both you and I. I think that would be fun." They proclaimed it was some extremely good news. But to Nines, it was more of good news to Y/n, but he didn't say anything. His pale optics pierced Y/n's face. His eyebrows raised slightly. Y/n gave him a smile, one of reassurance. "Oh come on, don't worry. You'll love it. I saw you have a knack for violent things." They chuckled. Moving over to their coffee table to pick up the laptop that was sitting on it. Nines LED flickered a stark red.

"I'm assuming you would think I'm a violent person because of how I handle things on the field?" It didn't sound like much of a question.

"Well duh. You do tend to man-handle the hell out of the suspects." Y/n replied. Nines didn't say anything else. Instead, watch as Y/n typed into the computer. After a while. They sat back on the couch and glanced at Nines.

"This should work out. Not to mention be a good sight for my budget." They said. Y/n turned the laptop around and showed a photo of the costume, which was just general ideas of what items they planned on looking for.

Nines stared at the screen. His LED circling around. Once. Twice. Before turning yellow.

"Are you purchasing these from a store?" He asks. Y/n nods. Nines nods as well.

"Yeah. Tomorrow after work we both are going to go gather the materials to put together the costume. Oh, this should be fun! Believe it or not. Gavin is such a scary cat. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to scare the hell out of him!" They gave a laugh before setting the laptop on the table.

"But, really Nines. Thanks for agreeing to do this with me. I promise. That when this is all over. I'll not goof around for 1 entire month." They said. Y/n lifted their hand, poking out their pinkie finger. Nines stared at their hand before looking at them.He lifted his hand before pushing Y/n's hand away with his back hand.

"I'll take your word on it, Detective." He says.

"Oh come on. Don't be like that. Smile for once. My gosh." Y/n lets out a chuckle. Lifting one hand to pull at his cheek. Her thumb tugging at the corner of his right lip in an attempt to tug it upwards. Nines - once again, swatted their hand away from his face. A scowl interrupting his blank expression.

"Stop."

"Whatever, tomorrow. It'll be great, you'll have fun, I promise."

Nines watched as Y/n stated at the rack of clothes. Having trouble deciding what Nines would best fit his costume. They decided to purchase his first. The two left the station an hour ago, to get ready for the party that was only 4 hours away. And time was ticking rather quickly with Y/n staring at the rack of clothes as if they had a hard time finding what to wear.

Nines felt his hand lift up. Rubbing at his temple. His elbow resting on his other arm which was across his torso.

"Y/n..."

Y/n let out a hum, signalling they heard what he said but kept their gaze on the rack.

"I think this would go by much quicker, if I were to pick out the clothes, and when you get home. You can put them together." He spoke. Y/n turned to face Nines. He saw them cross their arms.

"Are you calling me slow?" They asks. But, he could tell Y/n wasn't offended by their ack of anger that he so happened to be acquainted with.

"More, indecisive." He corrected. He saw their eyebrows furrow. But they quickly rose up as they understood what he meant.

"I'm not having a hard time picking...just--look, this is supposed to be a me and you thing. Partner to partner, friend to friend. You know. So we can spend more time together instead of always yelling at each other like at work."

It was true. Nines and Y/n rarely got a long at work, Nines being a reason for the constant start of an argument between him and Y/n. That being either working on a case. At the station. Or even at a stake out. He always seemed to feed the flame just to spark Y/n's anger into nothing more than a hungry flame ready to lash out at anyone. But that was because Nines wanted things done the way he wanted them done. And Y/n rarely gave him what he wanted...and that was being serious on the job. But the explanation did make sense. More time spent outside to get to know more about each other...or rather spend more time with each other, could lower their rate or going after each other's throats.

"So, you know. Come on. Let's Both pick our stuff out together." A hint of hope was evident in Y/n's voice. Nines nods, taking several steps forward, to analyse the rack.

"I think you can do something with this."

"Ow! Stop! Stop!" Y/n hissed in pain, feeling Nines peel off the face mask from their face. They tried lifting their hand up to push his hand away. But he was one step ahead. Smacking their hand away for the upteempth time that week. The two finished picking out the clothing and items for their costume, only had 2 hours left to get dressed and ready, a lady that was an entrepreneur and had a clothing line. Gracefully gave Y/n and Nines a discount on what they needed for their costumes. Finding the generous offer kind, Y/n paid more than needed for the clothes, and spent almost half an hour speaking to the woman. Which knocked off much more time than needed. And Nines didn't want any delays in getting dressed - so almost immediately once the two reached Y/n's house. He started laying out stuff so the two could get ready.

The first step being to peel off the face mask for Y/n so once they put the make up on their face for the costume it wouldn't be mixed with any bacteria and dirt. Which also was a pain in Y/n's ass to feel the mask pulling at their skin. And how Nines didn't seem to care much, instead. Resulting in him snatching off the mask piece by piece.

"You asshole! You're doing that on purpose!" Y/n barked. They reached up to punch Nines in his chest. But was interrupted by him snagging at the mask on their face once again. Placing the pieces in a trash can he took from the kitchen.

"It shouldn't hurt that bad, stop whining. Or else this will take much longer than needed." He finally spoke up. Y/n sneered slightly as they felt him tilt their head so he could get the rest of the god-forbidden mask that seemed to be glued to their skin.

After finally getting the pieces peeled off and placed in the trash. Nines stood up to take the trash back to its original spot in the kitchen. Y/n rubbed at their face. The skin feeling somewhat smoother, her pores finally able to get air comfortably.

"Okay. Happy? The horrible dreadful part, as you quoted, is out of the way." Nines said. As he spoke Y/n mumbled a 'fucking finally' - and stood up.

"Okay, we have plenty of time, Oh my god, this is going to be fun. Okay!" Almost immediately, Nines saw the excited expression overtake their expression again. Watching as they grabbed one of the bags and tossed it over to Nines.

"Get dressed. I'll come back in here when I'm done."

Y/n was surprised with how their costume came out. The idea in their mind wasn't as exciting as they once was thinking. But seeing the white knee length apron. Black dress shirt, the tattered jeans that were tucked into the dark rain boots showed that the costume was supposed to resemble some sort of butcher. A few things are missing here and there. But was still proud of how it came out.

Deciding on going back in the living room to get the last back on the coffee table they remembered leaving on the table. Which contained the makeup and fake blood for the costumes...which of course was supposed to be added last.

Walking down the hall and into the living room. Which was empty, in which Y/n didn't seem to take surprise. Thinking Nines went off somewhere in the house(such as the bathroom) , go get dressed. They didn't bother calling out for him. Instead, picking up the bag on the table to look through it. Seeing the many items in the bag, having a hard time choosing what to use first, they stared at the back in contemplation. Unaware of the sauntering figure that was creeping up behind them.

Deciding on finding it to be best, wait for Nines to come back and help with choosing what happens next. They places the bag on the table once again. They turned around to go and look for Nines. Only to quickly pause in their movement upon seeing the figure behind them Y/n jumped slightly. Their calves hit the coffee table.

It was Nines, dressed in the costume, the black apron tied to his waist tightly, instead of a dress shirt that Y/n sported, Nines had on a black turtleneck, which really fit with the costume. Y/n could see the chains wrapped around his wrist, the sound of the metal clanking against each other.

They saw the pig mask, the one Y/n picked out because Y/n found it oddly suiting Nines. The boar's head seemed pretty realistic, the blemishes and red markings on the facial area wavered Y/n's sense of security. They could barely see his eyes through the mask...where the eyes are of course.

"Jeez. You scared me there for a second." Y/n mumbled.

But, Nines didn't say anything. The feeling of his form towering over Y/n, made them realize how some suspects the two brought in everyday had to face his wrath in an interrogation...or just a simple ass kicking. From what Y/n remembers. Nines never lost in a single fight.

"Is this your way in trying to scare me? If so. It's not working." They let out a chuckle, which was half-heartedly. Nines - instead of replying. Let out a grunt. Which Y/n could deem animalistic. Y/n flinched. Shooting him a glare in a way to get him to knock off whatever he was pulling.

"The hell? Did you growl at me?" They spat. Instead of - once again. Not replying. Nines turned around to walk off down the hall where the bathroom was located.

"Where are you going?" They asks. There was no reply. Only the sound of the chains clanking against each other and the squeaking of the rainboots answered them question.

"..." Y/n felt their eyebrow twitch. Almost a second letter. Nines came back out the hall. Looking the same, except holding the boars mask in his hand, which he didn't seem to have any interest in wearing.

"Dude, what the hell?"

Nines looked at Y/n. His LED flickering to yellow almost instantly. He raised an eyebrow; "is there a problem?" He asks. Y/n scrunched their nose up and nodded.

"Uh, yeah. You were just out here - not even a minute ago. You just walked off. Not to mention, growled at me." They answered. Y/n saw the LED on Nines temple slowly circled to the stark red, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I was in the bathroom all this time." He said. Y/n only gave him a blank expression. Which only remsebled an expression that they didn't believe what he said.

"I was--"

"Anyway. Come on. Let's put this last bit of stuff on so we can leave."

"You're getting blood everywhere." Nines informed. Watching as Y/n drove down the ride they tried sitting themselves in the seat comfortably so the fake blood on the apron wouldn't smear on the car seat. It would be a pain to get it out.

"I know that, Nines. Shut up, pighead. Besides, it's not even real." They muttered. Nines lifted the corner of his lip in a way to sneer.

"Hilarious. I almost forgot to laugh at that one."

"You forget to laugh everyday." They quickly shot back. Nines only rubbed his temple with a sigh. "You truly are a mess." He sighs. Y/n laughed, keeping their eyes on the road.

"You're damn right, a hot mess. Trust me. Tonight will be fun! Don't worry, really!" Nines didn't reply. Instead watched the road and the many buildings that passed by. His gray optics flickered over to Y/n. Spending an entire day with his partner did have its ups and downs. But it wasn't as life-threatening as he thought it would be.

"So. Are you enjoying yourself so far? You know. Being costume twins and all. I think it's fun." Y/n asked. Nines tapped his index finger in his knee.

"Rather childish. But if it can get you to stop quiping me about dressing up with you. I guess this won't be too bad." He responds. Hearing Y/n tap the wheel with their fingers.

"Thanks for doing this with me, really. Maybe tonight you and I can go and get something to eat."

"I don't eat."

"....I mean. You could at least act like you do. Like jeez, what the hell." They muttered. Once again, complaining. Mumbling about. "Just stuff the food in your mouth and spit it out. Make it seem like you can or something--"

"Alright--okay. I'll take you out to dinner tonight. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Nines finally spoke up. Interrupting her from her charades of complaining. Almost quickly, a smile replaced their frown.

"Yes, sir. That's exactly what I want to hear. You. Nines. My partner. Taking me to get dinner." They quipped. Nines glanced at them. Shaking his head slowly.

"Holy shit!" Gavin stared at the two. Watching as Nines was busy behind Y/n speaking to Hank from behind the boar's mask. A smile graced Hank's lips. His hands on his hips. He didn't dress as anything like the majority of the people did. Instead...well...showing up in his casual clothes.

"Wow. Next year. Me and you and dressing up together." Gavin nudged Y/n's shoulder. Causing them to chuckle.

"I mean. I was going around the office asking people. And they either were dressing up as something already, or were dressing up as something already. Same thing. I know." They grinned, already knowing what Gavin was about to say.

"You didn't ask me you little shit!"

"Oops?"

Gavin rolled his eyes. Swatting his hands in a way to shoo the conversation away. "Nines look terrifying as hell." He looked over at their partner who was still speaking with Hank. Y/n nods.

"I'm not surprised. You're scared of everything." She said. Gavin shot her a look.

"Hey, plastic-prick. Over here!" Gavin snaps his fingers. Y/n saw Nines look away from Hank. And over to Gavin. Hank looked over as well. Nines walked over to the two. Once in earshot he turned his head away from Y/n to look at Gavin.

"Yes?" He asks. Gavin flicked the boar's snout.

"Sup."

"I don't know what I expected wasting my time walking over here." Nines muttered. Gavin laughs. Almost immediately, Nines jumped towards Gavin. Which also startled Y/n. The two shrieked at the sudden action from Nines. Hearing Hank laugh in the background was what pulled Gavin from his pose. Which he moved to grip Y/n's shoulder. In a pose like he was hiding behind them.

"You Jackass!" Gavin shouts. Hank howled with laughter. Walking over to give Nines a pat on the back.

"Good one!"

Y/n felt their heartbeat in their chest like drums. They couldn't find an exact reason why they got jumpy. Letting out a sigh as they placed a hand on their chest. Hearing Gavin bicker in the background along the lines of "I'll fucking end you!"

Meanwhile, Y/n stared across the street. Which had a good view of an alleyway. Seeing two figures facing each other. Once being noticeably shorter than the other. The short figure...which the two really resemble the silhouette from the lack of light in the area (considering the sun had set) the short figure seemed to be pointing its finger at the taller figure's chest. From the body movements the person seemed to be angry. As on the other hand the taller figure - standing still and stiff as a plank just stood there.

Y/n watched for a few more moments. Whatever commotion they were hearing on their side of the street was muffled to them.

Soon, the short figure head turned towards the direction Y/n was in - across the street. Which the taller figure took notice of. The two stared at them. The tall figure seemed to tap its leg. Causing the short figure the scurry off somewhere in the shadows of the alleyway.

Raising a hand. The tall figure that was left in the alleyway waved. Y/n furrowed their eyebrows.

Who the hell was that?

"Y/n! Come on, get your ass in here before you freeze!" Y/n heard Hank shout from the door. Y/n quickly snapped from their clouded reality. Looking at Hank who was holding the door open. Shoot a gaze back at the alley, only to see nothing.

"And I said. Give me my shit. Or I'll put a foot up your ass." Gavin said. The booth that was placed in the back of the room, either chuckled, laughed or said commented on his story. Which was Chris.

"Honestly. I wouldn't be too surprised if she got a restraining order on your crazy ass." Chris chuckled. Gavin only shot him a large grin. Chris's wife smiled at the two. Shaking their head. The majority of the party dressed up. Either it being werewolves, vampires, zombies. It was something...despite the fact that one of the officers came with a macaroni box.

The booth sat, Connor, Hank, Nines, Y/n, Gavin, Chris and his wife. Drinks were passed, and also laughs. (Will except from Nines of course)

The night was smooth. And not to mention fun.

Y/n, still kept tethering back and forth from the odd altercation at home with Nines. And from what they saw in the alleyway.

Nines sat next to them. Listening to Gavin speak. On and on.

"So. Are you two still together or not?" Chris asked. Gavin's and his significant other had...somewhat of a toxic relationship. Constant fighting, either it be verbal or...from what Gavin didn't want to admit. But it was obvious. Physical. From both parties. But, Y/n never really intervened. It wasn't their business. So they didn't care much about it. Though the stories were funny.

Digging into their pockets in search of their phone. They didn't feel it. Taking note they must have left it outside in the car.

"I'll be right back. I have to go get my phone."

Sitting in the driver's seat. Y/n checked to see if the device was at a proper percentage. She closed the car door and sighed. Scrolling through it sees nothing new. They turned around to face the building to return. They stopped and looked up. Seeing a figure by the light pole in front of them The figure had the same costume as Y/n. The apron. The boots. Pants. Looking up they saw...the same face. It was Y/n!

The dark circles under the eyes were much noticeable. The blue surgical mask covered the lower half of the person's face. But Y/n wasn't stupid. They saw themself many times in the mirror to tell who it was. And every strand of hair on the person's head. Could tell that certainly was Y/n.

The e/c eyes stared at Y/n's form. Boring into their face. A feeling they similarly got only from Nines. But the gaze coming from..them, made Y/n freeze.

Staring at the person. It was like an exact replica, a doppelganger.

Y/n could hear the sounds coming from the person. A muffled purr of some sort, scuffling shoes. It couldn't seem to stand still.

"...who are you--" Y/n was cut off by the doppelganger launching itself towards them - gripping the side of their face. It's nails digging into their skin. Y/n let out a surprised scream. Hearing the strained grumbles and grows coming from the thing on top of them.

Y/n felt themself land on the ground. The concrete knocking the wind from their body. Y/n was more surprised than scared. Of course they had many hand to hand combat on the field. But this didn't feel right at all.

Acting quick and raising an arm to shove off the doppelganger. Switching sides as they were now on top of the person, straddling it by the hips, Y/n felt it shift and swing an arm. Y/n quickly backed off of the person in an attempt to not get hit. It had a knife. Making it clear that it was meaning to harm Y/n. Y/n quickly backpedaled and stood up. The sound of their huffing and puffing. And both of their shoes scuffling on the pavement. The person stood up. Shaking itself as if to remove the dirt that collected on its shirt from the pavement.

"Y/n. What's ta-"

"Okay, so Nines! There's some weird shit going on!" Y/n jogged over to the door that Nines held open. He was now staring at Y/n's doppelganger who quickly had stood up staring at the two. Once it made eye contact with Nines. It seemed to stop in its former actions and stare, before scurrying away down the sidewalk.

"Who was that? What's going on?" He asks. Y/n shoved Nines into the building as he spoke.

"I don't know! But we have to do something!" She shouts. The LED on Nines temple was flickering from red to yellow. Y/n was already making their way towards the booth.

"Hank. You would not believe this. But I just got attacked by my own self. We need to find out what's going on." Y/n interrupted whatever conversation he was having with the group at the table. Connor was the first to look over.

"Yourself?"

"Yes! Now come on. This is serious." Hank could tell whether or not Y/n was joking or not. Which...truly wasn't that hard to tell if they were. He stood up from the booth, luckily he was seated on the outside.

"What's going on?"

Nines soon made his way over to the table.

"I was attacked by someone who looked exactly like me. Which, that can explain what happened earlier today. But! I have a crazy ass doppelganger!"

"Oh Christ." Hank muttered. Crossing his arms and looking at Y/n and then at Nines. And back at Y/n.

Gavin soon stood up.

"Oh, I have to see this." He spoke up. Hank ignored the man and looked back at Y/n. "Where did you last see this person."

"When I was outside. It attacked me--"

"The hell? Did you go after them?"

"No. They ran away before I can even do anything." Hank nods. Snapping his finger and pointing towards the exit.

"To the car. Let's go. Connor. Come on." Connor stoop up and stood next to Hank.

"Looks like we got some searching to do."

#detroit rk900 #detroit become human rk900 #detroit become human x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #connor x reader #connor rk800 #dbh connor x reader #dbh nines #nines x reader #gavin x nines #rk900 x reader #rk900 #dbh hank #hank x reader

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madpanda75 · 5 years ago

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“The Negative” Part Two

Greetings from Boise! During my cross country travel day, I was able to edit the conclusion of my Nevada story. Please forgive any blursts, editing is not easy in a crowded loud airport terminal.

Get ready for some super fluffy soft Nevada and of course his beloved sidekick Vegas ❤️😍

Check out Part One of the story

You came back from your run, exhausted, sweaty, and in need of a long hot shower. Not wanting to wake Nevada, you tiptoed into the apartment, only to see that he was already awake and sitting on the couch, waiting for you with a pregnancy test in his hand.

You stopped in your tracks, looking between the test stick and your boyfriend. “Where did you get that?”

“I found the cat pissing on it this morning,” he dryly said.

“Really?” You glanced down at Vegas and for a moment seriously believed Nevada. It wasn’t that ludicrous an idea, you had heard that cats could be potty trained and Vegas was highly intelligent.

“No, not really. Where do you think I got them,” Nevada snapped. “I found them in the bathroom. Care to explain?” He stood up and walked towards you, holding up the empty E.P.T. box. Hearing the betrayal in Nevada’s voice made you feel like you had just been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. You said nothing and simply stared at the floor, studying the grooves in the hardwood. “Someone in this house bought these tests for a reason and it certainly wasn’t me or the retarded cat,” Nevada continued.

“They’re mine,” you confessed. “The tests are mine.”

Nevada ran his hand through his hair. Of course he knew the tests were yours but somehow hearing you say the words made it seem all too real. “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks,” you said with a shrug and walked past him to grab a glass of water from the kitchen.

Nevada’s eyes widened, following close behind you. “You’ve known for weeks! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!”

It suddenly dawned on you that he thought you were pregnant. You should’ve told him that the test was negative but you couldn’t get the words out. Maybe they were stuck in your throat. Maybe you weren’t ready to say them out loud just yet. Whatever the reason, you played along with the idea that you were pregnant. “Because I wasn’t sure how you would react. I didn’t think you liked kids or even wanted kids.”

Nevada glared at you. “Who the fuck do you think you are. I have a right to know if you’re pregnant. It’s my kid too!” He stepped towards you, his voice booming. All of the emotions and stress that had been building up led to this moment. “Were you never gonna tell me?! It’s only after I catch you hiding the evidence that you even decided to come clean!” He paced the floor before stopping and pointing his finger at you. “You’ve shut me out for weeks. I’ve asked you what’s wrong and you don’t talk to me.”

“Well the floor’s yours, Papi! I’m letting you talk! So tell me Nevada, do you want kids? Do you want a family with me?!” You got right in his face and screamed at him. To be honest, it felt good to be angry, to have an excuse to lash out. “Do you!?! Fucking tell me!”

Nevada didn’t say anything. His face unreadable. “I thought so!” You hissed. “Oh and by the way, there is no baby. There never was a baby! I’m not pregnant! Happy now?!” Finally the words came out, lingering in the room, long after you had said them. It was a shot right through your heart. You walked past Nevada, leaving him standing alone in the kitchen, completely stunned by your confession.

The sound of the door opening brought him back to reality. He followed you down the hallway to the elevators, the two of you creating a scene that would give a trashy reality show a run for their money. It wouldn’t have surprised you if you nosy neighbor, Mrs. Castillo, had her ear pressed up to the wall, listening to your shouting match. “Oye, where are you going?! Get back here! We’re not finished.”

“Oh yes we are,” you said as the elevator doors closed.

Nevada ran back into the apartment and opened the window to see you leaving the building. “Get back here!!!”

“Suck a bag of dicks, Nevada!!!!!” You yelled, several innocent bystanders stopping to watch the scene unfold.

“Hey, you forgot your fucking cat!!!!” He bellowed back. You flipped him off and continued to walk down the street.

Nevada slammed the window down so hard it nearly broke. He whipped out his phone and called for one of his men to follow you. Even though you had just had a fight, he wanted you to be safe. The anguished look on your face when you told him there was no baby nearly broke his heart. You may not have wanted to be near him at that moment, but he would be damned if he left you alone right now.

People glanced your way as you brushed past them. You were sure you looked a mess, sweaty with tears streaming down your face, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything. Walking was all you could process. One foot in front of the other. Maybe you’d find another cat and bring them home. Out of the corner of your eye, you spied a large black SUV Escalade practically pacing you. Turning your head, you spied one of Nevada’s men.

They would follow you for blocks, giving you your space but still keeping a watchful eye out. In a small way it brought you comfort that they were there. When it felt like your feet were about to fall off, you stopped and went to get in the passenger side of the car.

“Manny, will you please take me home,” you quietly instructed the driver. He nodded his head and turned the car around.

*****

Nevada stared off into space. It had been hours since you had left. He sat in the living room, puffing on his cigar, trying to process the bomb you had just dropped. A wave of emotions washed over him, shock, anger, followed by sadness. Nevada never thought about being a father. It was one of those things that normal people who led normal lives may have wanted but not Trujillo. But then again he never thought he would ever fall in love until he met you. Nevada knew you would be an amazing mother. Hell, you were already like a mother to his men, always doting on them, stopping by the club to bring them a home-cooked meal, making sure they were taking care of themselves. But would he make a good father? Did he even want kids? Moments flashed before his eyes of you barefoot and pregnant, cradling your protruding bump then later you at the hospital, placing a baby in his arms. A baby that had your delicate features, gazing up at their father as they wrapped their tiny hand around his finger. An inexplicable warmth radiated from his heart at the thought and right then he knew. Yes, he did want kids and he wanted them with you.

Vegas jumped up on the couch, interrupting Nevada’s reverie and pawing at his leg. He glanced down at the cross-eyed, scraggly cat. “I suppose you’re pissed at me too, huh?” The cat crawled up onto Nevada’s lap, nuzzling his head against his stomach. With a tentative shaky hand, he reached out and pet the cat. Vegas purred and tilted his head while Nevada scratched behind his half-bitten ear. “This is pretty nice. I can see why Y/N likes you.” That was when he realized how much of a comfort Vegas was to you. Taking care of Vegas helped heal your heart. You needed him just like he needed you. Even though it stung that you never came to Nevada with your pregnancy scare, he was grateful you had someone or something to rely on. “Listen, thanks for taking care of my girl. I owe you one, pero I can take it from here, ok?” The cat yawned in response and soon fell asleep while Nevada waited for you to come home.

*****

You opened the door of your apartment. Nevada glanced over when he heard the latch unlock and stood up, walking over to the foyer. “You ready to talk?”

You stared at him, masking your pain behind cold eyes, refusing to let him see you cry. “I forgot my cat,” you sneered and tried to move past him.

Nevada stopped you, pulling you to his chest. All attempts made to wriggle out of his grasp were useless. The harder you fought back, the harder he held you until you eventually gave up and began to sob. He wrapped his arms around you, running his fingers through your hair.

Nevada enveloped you, resting his cheek on top of your head, not saying a word because he knew you didn’t need words, all you needed was to cry and he would hold you until every single tear was shed. You clung to him, soaking his shirt, feeling the strong sinewy muscles under your palms. The sweet smoky smell of cigars combined with the musk of his cologne calmed you. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

Vegas brushed up against your leg, softly mewling. You pulled away from Nevada and scooped him up, nuzzling your face against his soft fur as you walked towards the living room.

Nevada followed and sat down next to you. “I’m sorry,” he softly said. This was a historical moment in Nevada’s life. Trujillo never said he was sorry to anyone. It was a hard rule. Saying you were sorry meant that you were weak and Nevada never wanted to come across as weak. You were the only exception. The only person that he could be vulnerable with.

“I’m sorry too. I know I should’ve told you about the pregnancy but I got scared. Then when it turned out we weren’t pregnant, I was heartbroken,” you said, your voice beginning to crack. “Taking that test made me realize how much I want to have a family. How much I want that with you, Vada.” You reached out and took hold of Nevada’s hand, meeting his gaze. “But if you don’t want children….if you don’t want a family with me…. then I understand.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You could hear a pin drop. During your walk, you had steeled yourself to the fact that you would probably never have a family with Nevada. It hurt like hell, but you had accepted it.

Nevada leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers. “I know I didn’t react so well to the news pero it was a shock. I didn’t think you were gonna spring this on me. I needed time to think, ya know.”

“I know,” you said in a barely audible whisper.

He sighed and turned towards you, watching you stroke the cat. The image of you cradling a baby in your arms once again drifted back into his mind but then he thought of himself as a father and that gnawing sense of doubt began to creep in. “You’d be an incredible mom. But me? I don’t know if I would be that great of a father.”

You shook your head and squeezed his hand. Nevada may not have believed it but he was already like a father to his men, taking care of them and their families. He was fiercely loyal and protective. If only he could see what you saw in him. “Don’t say that. You’d be an amazing father.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.” You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his temple.

“Well, while you were out, I did look online at one of those baby store websites to see if they made baby leather jackets. Turns out we can get one custom-made.” Nevada said with a shrug and motioned towards the hallway. “We could change the guest room into a nursery or we could move somewhere else. Maybe someplace bigger with a backyard.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you listened to Nevada rattle off several more ideas he had for your family. “So does this mean we’re doing this? You and me?”

He reached out to cup your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I think we are.”

You burst into tears and practically jumped into Nevada’s lap, planting a big kiss on his lips only to pull away when another thought crossed your mind, a thought that had been plaguing you ever since you peed on a stick. “But what if I can’t get pregnant. What if this doesn’t happen for us. I can’t pick a cat up off the street every time I have a negative pregnancy test.” You looked over at Vegas, who was currently licking his crotch. “You’ll end up with a crazy cat lady.”

“That was one time. One result. We can try again. I mean practice makes perfect, right?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If we don’t get pregnant then I’ll buy you a whole fucking zoo. Don’t worry, mi amor.” He ran his hands up and down your back, kissing your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and finally dropping a sweet kiss on your lips. “And remember no matter what happens, you always have me. I’ll always need you and I’ll always love you.”

“I love you too.” You whispered before softly kissing him. The kiss quickly gained momentum, becoming feverish. He parted your lips with his tongue, groaning against your mouth. You moaned and tugged the hairs on the back of his neck, craving his touch. It had been so long since you had been intimate with each other. Your body was quivering with need. “Why don’t you come hop in the shower with me and then we can spend the day in bed. We have some lost time to make up for,” you softly said, playfully biting down on his bottom lip.

You stood up and grabbed Nevada by the hand. Your lips never leaving his, tangled in a passionate embrace as you both stumbled down the hallway, ripping each other’s clothes off. You whipped off Nevada’s shirt and blindly tossed it. The garment covered Vegas, who was traipsing behind you.

When you reached the bedroom, he stopped and picked up the cat, placing Vegas in his kitty mansion out in the living room before heading back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“What about Vegas?” You asked still panting from your makeout session.

“The cat can wait.” Nevada slowly approached you, his eyes darkened, full of lust as he raked you over from head to toe. “Tonight you’re mine,” he purred and lifted you in his arms, carrying you to the shower.

*****

One year later:

Nevada stood outside your room, casually glancing around the bustling hallway. A nurse sitting at her station, glanced over at him. She had been cautiously eyeing up Nevada for the last twenty minutes. “Can I help you with something, sir?”

“No, gracias. I’m good, Mami.” He said with a wink, trying to appear completely innocent or as innocent as a man dressed in leather could be. After a few minutes, Manny walked down the hallway with a large duffle bag in his hand, sidling up to his boss. “We all good,” Nevada mumbled, adjusting the ring on his finger.

“Yep, got it right here.” Manny looked around and made sure the coast was clear, handing the bag over to Nevada.

“Gracias, mi amigo. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nevada said, pulling the man into a half hug.

You smiled at the tiny baby girl in your arms, humming a lullaby while you stroked the soft dark downy hair of your newborn. Nevada quietly entered the room, drinking in the sight before him. He thought he knew what love was when he first met you but this was different. Seeing you cradle your child in your arms, it was almost overwhelming. Nevada could feel his heart swelling.

“Look, Lara” you whispered to your baby girl. “There’s Papi. Can you wave hi to Papi.” You gently shook her tiny hand towards Nevada, making it look like the newborn was waving to her father.

He laughed and came to sit next to you on the bed. “How’s it going in here?”

“Good. Just finished feeding her,” you said, tugging your hospital gown back up and dabbing away some milk that had dribbled down Lara’s chin.

“She’s so beautiful,” Nevada whispered.

You nodded your head. “She’s perfect.”

“You were amazing,” he said with a smile and kissed your temple. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You turned and kissed him fully on the lips, resting your forehead against his when you spied a bag that you could have sworn was moving. “What’s in the bag?” You asked, arching your eyebrow at Nevada.

“This?” he replied, picking up the duffle bag and moving it onto the bed. “A surprise for you.”

“Another surprise! I thought this was the big surprise.” You giggled and held up your left hand to show off the large diamond ring on your finger.

“I always have a trick or two up my sleeve, Mami.” Nevada unzipped the duffle bag and pulled out your beloved black cross-eyed cat. He had snuck him into the hospital just for you.

“Vegas!” You exclaimed. The feline softly meowed and brushed up against your arm. “Vegas, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” You leaned forward towards your cat, showing him the baby in your arms. “This is Lara.” The cat blinked and glanced down at the tiny baby, nuzzling against her blanket and purring. Vegas had been by your side for your entire pregnancy, laying his head on your ever-growing stomach for the past nine months, always keeping a watchful eye on you.

“You’re going to look out for her.” Nevada smirked and scratched behind the cat’s ear. It took some time, but eventually Vegas had grown on him. The two became quite close. Although Nevada still could not understand why the damn cat always wanted to sleep on top of his head.

You smiled at Nevada, his eyes transfixed on the baby. “Do you want to hold your daughter?”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied, nodding his head.

You handed Lara over to him. He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. “Hola, mi princesa. I’m your Papi. I promise I’m going to take care of you for the rest of my life, mi vida.” The tiny baby cooed and wrapped her hand around his finger.

Nevada locked eyes with you, feeling a lump form in his throat. “I love you,” he mouthed.

“I love you too,” you mouthed back, tears forming in your eyes. You and Nevada sat there gazing down at your brand new daughter completely mesmerized by the beautiful life you brought into this world, experiencing a love like no other. Finally you had the family you always dreamed about and to think it all started with a cat in a rainstorm.

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @riodallas @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @melsquared79

#Nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez imagine #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada ramirez fic #trouble in the heights #raúl esparza

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forestwater87 · 6 years ago

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A big box o’Gwenvid AU ideas: A is for "Aww” and “Angst” and “AAAH”

This post is fucking rad as balls, and I started thinking of fun AU ideas . . . until I remembered that I already have approximately 2 billion WIPs already and don’t necessarily know if any of these have legs as actual fics. But it was fun to think about, so here we are! This is the first of . . . presumably 26 of these? Who knows, but this post we have:

Accidental Marriage AU

In which Campbell convinces incredibly wealthy investors known for their focus on “family values” that the Camp is a sweet family business run by a husband-and-wife team of counselors. The problem, of course, is that it isn’t sweet and its head counselors aren’t married. Campbell only has enough booze to fix one of those situations.

He’ll figure the rest out in the morning. He thinks better with a hangover, anyway.

(Yes I think this one would be awesome in Campbell’s POV. You cannot change my mind on this.)

Actor AU

Okay, real talk this would just be @whiskyarts‘s gameshow AU. Because I kinda love the idea of Jerk!David who just pretends to be a sweetheart for the cameras. Except I would cover it with my filthy Gwenvid hands and make it shippy in that antagonistic-hatemance-eventually-turns-into-something-resembling-feelings. There would be lots of angst and snark and sparkly clothes and I would love it and probably no one else would.

Alien AU

An Interplanetary Anthropologist, Gwen, manages to land a position on the Campbell after years of education and networking and plain old hard work. She is an employee of the most impressive warship in the galaxy -- sure, it’s gone to seed a little bit in the last few decades, but it still has its shine if you look at it sideways and squint a little -- and more importantly, it’s work experience! Paid work experience . . . as a janitor.

When the Campbell picks up a POW that the ship’s commander plans to (illegally) sell to the highest bidder, Gwen decides to treat it as an opportunity to build a real-life case study on one of the universe’s rarer life forms while it’s within arm’s reach. But the more she learns about the strange, sunny alien who was his platoon’s only survivor, the more uncomfortable she is with letting him disappear into her captain’s nefarious dealings and --

Oh fuck, this is The Shape of Water, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve never seen The Shape of Water but I’m pretty sure that’s what this is. Fuck. Goddamn it. Fuck.

Amnesia AU

David takes a rogue bus to the . . . well, everything -- something that’s more or less routine by now -- and hits his head hard enough to knock him out for almost a full day. When he wakes up, he’s the same cheerful David the camp is used to . . . except for three strange new things:

He doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing -- doesn’t, in fact, remember anything after some vague memories of childhood.

He’s completely terrified of the forest, and especially of Spooky Island.

He has no idea who Cameron Campbell is, but he’s quite positive he hates him.

Android AU

Actually @ciphernetics and I put this idea together a little while ago! Basically Camp Campbell has a state-of-the-art off-brand helper android named David, who is a perfect camp counselor, childcare provider, and comes equipped with the finest Forest Survival software Cameron Campbell could find for free online in half an hour.

Gwen, the new (requisite human) hire, hasn’t ever really interacted with androids, and doesn’t especially want to now. David is used to the distrust, even outright hostility -- very few of the campers seem to like him, and he knows that his presence can be unsettling to humans, and look, it isn’t a D:BH AU okay? It just looks like one, and acts like one. And is one.

Angel/Demon AU

Um the perfect Angel/Demon AU literally already exists, but they only wrote one chapter back in 2017 and never updated, and that makes me absurdly sad. Regardless, David being very bad at being a demon and Gwen being very bad at being an angel is the ideal setup for this kind of AU, in my humble opinion.

However, David being an angel trying to reform his fallen ABFEL (angel buddy for eternal life!), who probably became a demon over something stupid and probably horny, also sounds extremely cute. They’re still friends, even though that is against literally all of the rules, and they secretly meet and hang out. David is convinced he can bring her around, and Gwen insists that she hates having him hanging off her nonexistent wings all the time.

Honestly, probably neither of those things are true. Gwen wasn’t cut out for heaven -- and probably, neither is David.

Apocalypse AU

Cameron Campbell was probably doing something dangerously stupid in the hopes it could make him money. That, or the Quartermaster was doing something dangerous for reasons only he could ever understand. Hell, maybe that’s what that weird Daniel guy’s cult was trying to do. Whoever was doing what, they ripped a hole in their dimension at the bottom of Lake Lilac, and all sorts of awful things start creeping through.

There were signs, of course -- that weird fish-monster certainly didn’t come in through customs -- but an inopportune explosion, or wayward firework, or the rumblings of Sleepy Peak Peak, or something ripped a hole in the fabric of reality big enough for Lovecraftian monsters to start crawling through. There’s no stopping it. Really, there’s no chance of even fighting it.

The second the rift opens, the story becomes one of just trying to stay out from under the Elder Gods’ feet.

Arranged Marriage AU

I think the easiest way to make this one work is by making either David or Gwen Campbell’s actual biological child -- maybe an heir, albeit to a highly illegal fortune and a mountain of credit card debt. But Campbell gets in trouble, the kind of trouble where he’s gambled everything and the only collateral he has left is a kid he got saddled with because their mother had better lawyers. A kid he’s been more than happy to put to work for the last 20-something years, who happens to have caught the eye of a ludicrously wealthy magnate -- not for her own sake (though Campbell would’ve been open to that too) -- but for her child, one she loves more than anything and keeps carefully shut away until the Right Person comes along.

His kid isn’t necessarily the right person, but for the first time in his life Cameron Campbell has a genuine treasure on his hands.

And, like all the fake treasures he’s passed off over the years, he just has to find a way to shine them up and make him a fortune.

Artist AU

Gwen is a starving artist living in a rat-infested hovel in the city, scraping by on a series of uninspired landscapes she paints on postcards and the goodwill of friends, family, and significant others. One day, a bright young man bounces up to her “studio” (it’s a cardboard box outside the park) and tells her excitedly that he’s been looking for her for weeks; he thinks her postcards are the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, and he would like to know if she’d be interested in moving down to a cabin by the lake. He runs a summer camp, he explains, and he knows they’d all be honored if she would teach them art lessons -- and of course paint in her spare time! The views are indescribable, and he’s sure she’ll have no shortage of inspiration.

She weighs the cost of what little artistic dignity she has remaining against room, board, and a steady paycheck for three months, and takes the job immediately.

Art Student AU

Put them in an art college -- maybe condense the ages so that the campers are like, younger students? -- and have Gwen as the Serious Art Student who cares a lot about theory and form and doing things right, and she’s constantly irritated by her classmate David, who sits at the same table as her and has declared them art buddies, and is convinced that the point of art is just to have fun and do your best! Maybe force them to do a group project together and really see them clash.

(Alternatively, there is the infinitely more shameless route of one being an art student and the other being a newd model for figure drawing. I am obviously much too classy to ever insinuate such a thing, but if someone was really looking for a way to write smuht . . . it’s sitting right there. On a table. nekkid. I HAVE TO CHANGE THE SPELLING TO MAKE THIS GO IN THE TAGS ARE YOU KIDDING ME)

Athlete AU

There are 4 major ways this one can go, I feel like:

Basically HSM: Gwen is a small part in her school’s musical (techie, maybe, or the orchestra) and lanky jock David -- which is the most hilarious phrase ever but he’s probably a runner or tennis player, something light on muscles and heavy on speed and springiness -- who’s well-mannered and cheerful but not the brightest, is put into the show as an extra-credit way to bump up his GPA so he can keep sporting his sports, and it turns out he’s both very good at and super enthusiastic about it.

A little like HSM, but as grown-ups: Gwen is the head of the drama/art department, which has just faced heavy cuts to support the superstar sports program, and she furiously storms over to the head coach’s office to let him know exactly what she thinks about him and his stupid meathead jocks. Of course, when the man who opens the door is a sweetheart beanpole with big eyes who already knows her name, she finds it hard to keep up her righteous indignation. And when it turns out that he was completely ignorant of the hit her department took from the budget cuts (or maybe not ignorant, just terminally oblivious) and is almost as upset as she is to hear about it, she’s forced to reconsider everything she’d assumed about Coach Greenwood; maybe he’s not the enemy after all, but someone with whom she can formulate a new battle plan.

Reporter/Famous Athlete AU: Either Gwen is a professional sportsball person and David is the shy, bumbling photographer eager to prove himself, or she’s the plucky, intrepid reporter and David is a good-natured professional athlete who she’s determined to interview.

Teammates AU: Professional or amateur sports team, and they’re just trying to scrape their way out of the bottom of the league without killing each other.

Author AU

There are a lot of potential interpretations of this AU, but my personal favorite is Gwen as a novelist with two distinctly differing careers: as G. E. Santos, the high-concept writer whose books are critical darlings in the maybe 3 publications that care about such things but whose sales can’t quite crack the triple digits; and as Annabelle Elizabeth, whose steamy erotica regularly tops the bestseller lists and is reviled by all of G. E.’s colleagues as “populist genre trash.”

The only person alive who knows about her Jekyll-and-Hyde author personas (besides her older sister Audree, who plays the part of charismatic and sensual Annabelle flawlessly) is her editor, David. He’s an odd choice, as her colleagues in both fields have pointed out -- reading her romance novels with his pen in one hand and the other covering his eyes, peeking through his fingers to write tremulous notes in the margins; stumbling through her ponderous literary works with a dictionary in his lap and his tongue between his teeth, poring through them like he’s learning a new language -- but he’s the only person Gwen will allow to touch her writing.

Maybe it’s because he always seems like her biggest fan. Maybe it’s because she’s known him since they were at a summer camp together years ago. Maybe it’s because he believes in her in a way no one else does -- in a way she absolutely doesn’t believe in herself.

David is, for reasons she’s not entirely sure how to explain even to herself, the only person she trusts.

Avian (Bird People) AU

Centuries ago, it was said, avians were a rarity, an aberrant mutation to be locked up and intently studied but never trusted. Some people thought they were antichrists, a sign of the end times, when all normal humans would be destroyed and only the strange bird-people would remain.

In a way, maybe they were. Because when the earth’s crust ripped open and flooded the planet with magma and boiling water miles deep, avians were the only ones who could take to the sky.

Not all of them, certainly. In fact, most were locked up in detention centers and laboratories when the Swamp formed, and were unable to escape in time. Considering the people who could get to high enough elevations to escape the deluge, there were decades afterwards where the decimated human population outnumbered the avian one. Those were periods of tension, outright war and tentative alliances -- even romances, the kinds of great love stories that dragged both avian and human populations a few generations along when one or both of them should’ve died out.

That was over two hundred years ago, however. Now the Swamp is a murky expanse of scalding water and the boiled remains of civilization transformed into unrecognizable muck, with islands of “land” cobbled out of what remains. This is where the avians live, now. And humans don’t live anywhere, not anymore.

At least . . . that was what they thought.

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #cc david #cc gwen #cc campbell #gwenvid #forestwriting #big box o'gwenvid aus #this was absurdly fun #the fun thing about the last one is it could be either avian!Gwen and human!David or vice versa #or avian!Gwenvid and human!insert-camper-of-your-choice (it's max. it's always max)#there are some cool ways to work with it #humans could be the bad guys #there could be no bad guys #i actually really like this au idea even though i doubt i'll write it

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semper-draca · 6 years ago

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6. the one where when you dream you’re seeing whatever your soulmate is currently experiencing. C:

When Malavai is fifteen years old his shoulder gets dislocated.

A scream rips out of his throat as he wakes up, his hand flying protectively to his right shoulder, tears welling up in his eyes. It hurts.

Within a minute, his mother is rushing into his room. “Malavai? What is it, what’s wrong?”

The pain is fading now, but it still aches. His shoulder feels hot and stretched out, as though every muscle has been inflamed. One difference is that he can move it without the pain changing in intensity, and his mind latches onto that discrepancy, bringing it to the forefront to prove that the pain is lying to him. “I had a dream,” he tells her, still clutching his shoulder. “I - they - hurt their arm. Dislocated shoulder, I think.”

His mother frowns, but nods in understanding. “Do you want an cold pack?”

“No. I don’t think it’d help.” There’s not much either of them can do about it. Nothing much anyone can do about it, besides his apparent soulmate not getting beat up. He remembers seeing fists raised and getting pushed around. “Mother?” he admits, “I think they were in a fight.”

“As in…”

“Not, you know, blasters.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. At least his soulmate probably isn’t fighting in the war. “What did you see that wasn’t fighting?”

“They’re smaller than me,” he says. He tries to pick through the dream for details. “A good few years younger.”

“Oh, well that can be nothing depending on when you meet them.”

He huffs. The age thing doesn’t really matter to him - his mother is older than his father, and he knows of soulmates that have almost twenty years between them. “I really hope my soulmate isn’t some - some delinquent.”

She just laughs and ruffles his hair.

~*~

Two weeks after his parents die on Rhen Var, Malavai gets a better dream.

In it, he’s studying for a test on Imperial government, going over the details of all the current Dark Council members and their personal histories. For some reason, his soulmate had been really absorbed with memorizing dates - are they bad at numbers or something? And they had been so worried about failing the test. End of year final exams? No, it hadn’t seemed like that. Stars, he hopes he’s not supposed to end up with someone who is not only a fight starting delinquent but also on the brink of dropping out of school.

Even so, it’s still a light in the darkness.

Everything might be in shambles right now, but at least his soulmate is an Imperial. At least there’s that.

~*~

Malavai wakes up swearing.

A sock smacks him in the forehead in response. That’d be Shen, the man he shares a barrack with. There’s two other soldiers in here with them, but they’re heavier sleepers and in the two months that Malavai’s been here, they’ve mostly gotten used to this sort of thing.

“What’d they do this time?” Shen asks groggily.

Phantom pain lingers in his chest when he breathes in and his fingers splay out across his left side, just to reassure himself that he’s physically fine. “Broken ribs,” he reports. His hand traces the bones under his skin. True ribs six and seven. Probably shattered. “They kept getting kicked.”

“Sounds unpleasant.”

“At least it wasn’t another shattered kneecap.” That had only happened once but still. No amount of uneventful dreams of studying or reading through speeder magazines could make up for just how much it had hurt.

“Stars, no wonder you’re becoming a medic. By the time you finally meet this idiot they’re going to be held together with duratape and glue. Don’t they ever have decent things happen to them?”

That’s not why he’s becoming a medic, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. “Occasionally,” he replies absently.

In this dream, they’d been armed, although it had been difficult to see what with, given that most of what they’d seen - what he’d seen - had been someone else’s boot and their own arms trying to cover their head. Maybe it was with a vibroblade? He remembers hands holding it, like for practice? Are they in the military as well? A very stupid voice in the back of his head wonders if maybe they’re in training to be a red guard, or if they’re in Imperial Intelligence, or any number of exciting possibilities.

Unlikely. He goes back to sleep and this time dreams of white medbay walls. Good. They’re not a complete idiot then.

~*~

After Malavai’s third, pointless, dreary year on Balmorra, he’s beginning to suspect that whoever his soulmate is, they spend the majority of every day getting injured. More times than not he’ll wake up nursing imaginary bruises, and even the dreams that are of just peaceful daily routine will include sore muscles and cuts on his soulmate’s hands.

One week, out of frustration at the interference to his work that these phantom pains are causing, he writes ‘Please stop injuring yourself’ on his wrist every morning, in the hopes that if they dream of him, they’ll see the message. Nothing comes of it, except one month later, when he dreams of them flipping through a speeder bike magazine, he can see the words ‘sorry - I’m trying’ written on their wrist.

Given how inconvenient walking around with ink on his wrist is, he doesn’t attempt to communicate in that manner again. And the injuries don’t decrease in frequency to the point where he starts getting in the habit of taking sleeping aids, as they increase his odds of relatively dreamless nights.

Then he dreams of reaching out, his hands closing around someone else’s neck except they’re nowhere near his reach, feeling veins struggle underneath his fingers. Watching a boy - young, maybe sixteen - choke and sputter and claw at invisible hands on their throat. Watches the boy die.

Okay, Malavai thinks when he wakes, trying very hard not to panic, my soulmate is Sith.

That’s… unexpected.

At least they aren’t some delinquent?

~*~

The revelation that his soulmate is apparently - to his surprise and confusion - does shed light on some things. When he next dreams, he recategorizes the fights he sees as training. The weapons they’re holding are vibroswords, clearly practice for lightsabers, and thankfully, the injuries petter out into very little after that revealing dream. He saw nothing from them for a month, even though he abandoned the sleep aids in an effort to find out more information, but after that month the dreams restarted and suddenly his soulmate seems to be winning more fights than losing.

Thank the stars.

For the first time in years, his sleep, and his dreams, are peaceful.

~*~

One night he sees their face.

Er - her face. He thinks. The image had been blurry.

She’d been standing in front of a mirror, black ink and blood smeared on her hands despite the sink below her. There had been a needle - She’d been tattooing her face. Her eyelids. And there had been horns. A - A Zabrak, then? A Zabrak with ludicrous pain tolerance. He sits up in bed, pressing his palms into his closed eyes to try and get that horrible sensation out. Every aspect of her face had been burning with pain, and she’d just stood there and made it worse.

It had hurt, too, and not just physically. He’d looked out through her eyes and all he’d wanted to do was curl into a ball and cease existing.

He’s never seriously considered looking for his soulmate before. Part of that had been very limited information - searching for one Sith in the Empire is a dead end before it’s even started. Part of it had been his own reluctance. He’s stuck on Balmorra, after all, and that’s unlikely to change. Why put forth so much effort for something that’s not really going to reap any rewards, and why would he find them only to have to inform them that he’s - well - trapped. It wouldn’t be fair, especially not to a Sith.

Now he’s less certain. Something has gone wrong in her life, something that just dreams can’t comprehend. Something that some deep down part of himself wants to help her with.

And isn’t that a foolish thought. He’ll meet her eventually. That’s what he tells himself.

~*~

“I didn’t mean - “

“Get out.”

“It was an accident - “

“Jillins,” Malavai says, slamming his datapad down on the terminal. “Get. Out.”

The man leaves in a rush, bumping into two people on his way out, causing one of them to swear as she stumbles into his office. It’s a blue Twi’lek woman, a slave collar on her neck - not who he’d been expecting, and she’s cursing up a storm, dragging someone else in behind her. Malavai gets to his feet, preparing to shoo the slave out of here, when the second person enters and -

It’s her.

Her, her.

Her face looks only a little older than when he saw her in that mirror, her tattoos complete and fully healed, and there’s only an echo of that terrible sorrow that had dominated her eyes before. Shorter than he expected. For some reason he’d thought Sith, and then he’d thought Zabrak, and he’d assumed a height that she absolutely does not have.

“You must be Lieutenant Quinn,” she says, bowing at the waist. Polite, he thinks. That’s also surprising. Polite and small. His mind is trying very hard to think of something less clinical to say about her. Should he be feeling something he isn’t? Does she know who he is? Does she care, does she even want to know who he is in relation to her, does she - “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she continues, “I’m Gimrizh Korribanil, Darth Baras’s newest apprentice.”

“Ah.” His throat feels like dust. So she’s - he’s supposed to be spying on her. He’s not sure if this revelation makes that aspect of his job easier, more difficult, or entirely impossible. “That - that does complicate matters.”

~*~

#swtor #gayazrael #sith warrior #malavai quinn #sith warrior/malavai quinn #gimrizh #thanks for the ask!#my writing

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kronicallykieran · 6 years ago

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LGBTQ parents VS Church backed grandparents:

Hello, my name is Kieran H., I am crowdfunding on behalf of Charlie T. my partner. TL:DR; Charlie's parents are trying to remove their parental rights due to them being a member of the LGBTQ community. They are of the opinion that being gay or nonbinary means our household is highly sexualized, and unsafe for children. After much running around, and doing a ton of footwork on our own we found a lawyer willing to work with us.

This is our current situation:

Charlie T. is a PhD student, and a parent of two amazing children. Shortly before getting accepted to school they began the process of separating and divorcing their spouse. This situation was, understandably, stressful for the children. During this time, while Charlie's youngest child was having difficulty adjusting an offer was made by Charlie's parents to provide their grandchild some respite, a safe home with space to process and get therapeutic care needed to heal and feel happy and assured that life was normal again. Charlie and their former spouse discussed the situation and came to the agreement that this seemed like it might be an ideal situation, and given the timing (right before summer) they could reevaluate after a brief period to see if it was working for their child.

Over the next several weeks the child began to settle in, building what was assumed to be a safe an stable environment. At this point Charlie and their former spouse were informed power of attorney only lasted thirty days in the state where the child had gone to visit, a fact that would be later discovered as false. They were both asked to sign paperwork to establish temporary guardianship, the two believing family members had their best interests at heart filled out the paperwork needed and sent it back. The two parties continued to keep contact with their child and Charlie's parents, tracking the child's progress and making sure the child felt safe and happy in the environment.

In July Charlie, myself (their current partner), and our two older children went to visit Charlie's parents while on our way to move for Charlie's schooling. When we arrived there was a confrontation initially involving Charlie and their father regarding Charlie's coming out as a member of the LGBTQ community. This was not in front of the children, and seemed to be resolved within a few hours, and while there were still some tender feelings and trepidation about whether Charlie's parents were truly understanding there was no question in anyones hearts at that time that they were safe or loved their grandchildren.

After we arrived, got our house settled, and two older children in school Charlie's oldest (who is autistic) started to have a very difficult time adjusting. They were displaying some behaviors that were unsafe for them in our home, and it became apparent that they might need more intensive one on one care than we could provide. Again Charlie's parents stepped up, offering respite, with much more trepidation this time, due to a history with Charlie's father, an agreement was reached with much stronger limitations than before. Again we all maintained daily contact, and all agreements seemed to be on the up and up. Again the process was started with all the paperwork "to be able to establish care and schooling" for Charlie's eldest.

Last Sunday 09/16/18 Charlie's father, assaulted Charlie's oldest child slapping them in the face hard enough to have the child hit a wall they were standing next to, while said child was in the middle of an autistic meltdown to "snap them out of it". Charlie's mother called later that day, having a full blown conversation about everything but the incident, and avoided letting said child talk to Charlie. When we were finally informed of what happened we immediately sprung into action, driving overnight without sleep to get the children out of a situation we had deemed unsafe. When we arrived (7:30 am 09/17/18) the children had been removed off property and we were informed we would not be told where they were or allowed to get them. We were also presented with paperwork for "Full and complete guardianship" for the youngest child, which was never agreed to or served to either of the custodial parents. Charlie's parents had called the police ahead of us arriving, informing them that due to Charlie's behavior and orientation they were a danger to their children. Charlie also called the police, attempting to file a complaint against the grandparents for kidnapping. Over the next hour there was an attempt to resolve the issue, this resulted in the eldest child being returned to Charlie's custody due to the grandparents not having been able to complete the paperwork and filing for the "full & complete guardianship" of that child, as hitting a child in the face is not abuse in the state in which it happened as long as no marks are left. Once it was established that they had to legally return the oldest child, Charlie's mother returned with only that child informing both the police and Charlie that she would not allow Charlie to see their own child. The younger child was left at a house of an Elder in their church. We were asked to leave or we would be arrested for trespassing, so we did.

After this we went to the court house, attempting to get a protective order for both children and Charlie against the grandparents. We were granted an order of protection against the grandparents for only the older child (due to them being autistic and being struck in the face) and Charlie, as well as Charlie being given full custody of their oldest child. But we were not ready to give up the fight, we called as many people as we could while we were there to get contacts before driving our child back home to safety.

The next day(09/18/18) we attempted to seek legal help and file reports in our state for our youngest child, but due to the child never residing in our state we had no recourse here. However, this day Charlie's parents contacted Charlie's former spouse, attempting to get him to rush their divorce and state he felt Charlie was a danger to their children. They also stated their reasoning for this was that Charlie in the last year has gotten a divorce, come out as gay, and is "getting a sex change". When he stated that he did not feel Charlie was a danger, and that he would have no problem with their children seeing Charlie the grandparent's lawyer immediately stated that he could have his counsel contact her and the call was terminated.

Wednesday afternoon, 09/19/18 Charlie drove back to the state in which we have to pursue any of this legal battle from. Charlie arrived 09/20/18 prior to the court house opening and waited. Once opened, Charlie filed for protective orders against both of the grandparents on behalf of the child remaining in their househild. Charlie also field to dissolve the guardianship. Next Charlie went to the police station of the town in which their parents reside and filed fraud charges for the guardianship which was sent off to the city attorney. The afternoon of Thursday, the judgement was returned that there was a protective order in place against Charlie's father: he is not allowed alone with the child still in their care nor is he allowed to discipline the child in any way. However no protective order was in place against Charlie's mother, nor was the guardianship disolved.

We are asking for help with legal funds at this time, the lawyer we are working with requires a retainer of $1000.00 and charges $150 an hour. This is going to be a long and hard battle for us. But we are in it for the long haul. It is not right nor fair to take someone's children away simply because they are a member of the LGBTQ community. Their stance is that our house is highly sexualized and we are SEXUALIZING the children. This is a ludicrous idea, perpetuated by their church and their prejudice. We are also aware they are receiving a significant amount of support from their community and church, as they have stated multiple times that several people involved are Elders in the church.

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adilynia-kiden · 6 years ago

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The Trinity Wedding: Part 4

Writers Note: Bole text indicates something verbally said and shared with everyone. Italics is used to denote a mental/psyonic conversation.

Oh-well...I...errr...all I wanted was cake... The absolute ludicrous thought is the only one she can manage with Lycan's vibrant smile fueling the butterflies in her stomach with Lokens mischief. But, like Terens, it is a constant that straightens her back the instant her eyes set on it when paired the use of her well-earned title beyond the borders of Nishan.

Slipping her left hand into his, again the small (and still trembling knight) managed another elegant curtsy that dropped her head down elegantly in a humble display of respect. "None of my days have been complete without your gracious company, my Lord, Kiden," Addie whispered, lifting her eyes from under her dark lashes until they found Lycans and her long ears twitched as the Countess of Hyperion’s voice lifted above the din of the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Federation, we are here today to honor our Marquis's wish to solidify his future and ours through this most sacred ceremony. To that end, we are being honored to know with certainty that not only will our Lord-Marquis' heart be secured, but the legacy of his time among us will be enriched by heirs with whom we can continue the sanctity of what it means to be Nishanian. Never again will one of Lord Kiden's potentially suicidal endeavors mean the end of another Oath-Keeper's bloodlines." Nervous but heartfelt laughter ripples through the entire crowd. Nerenna turns toward Lycan with a mischievous grin. "In addition, it means a continuation of the bloodline of the finest Guardian to ever walk among us. Light and Shadows know what a tragedy not breeding him would be." She pauses for a moment before adding. "You all can take that how you like."

The audience erupts in more laughter, appreciating the humor in the evening ahead. Quite clearly, both men's reputations precede them, even on their wedding day.

With their hands in hers, the stability in Addie was noticeable, but not so much as the almost awe-struck and adoring smile that was shared for them both. There was the threat of her knees giving out at any moment, especially when the trinity turned to face the Countess of Hyperion.

For Maladir, the crowd and everything in it fades away to the singular vision of his daughter’s hand slipping from his. While externally, the man was a bastion of strength and stillness that smiled serenely, his heart thundered in his chest and ears until he’d elegantly moved back to his seat.

Immediately, both Bri and Tanner shift to his side though don’t offer anything but their presence. It’s the Commander who reaches out to tug the young man under his arm while absently running a protective hand over Brilaria’s crimson hair in a paternal affection rarely seen.

Raelin, once freed of the cords in his hands, took his place as Addie’s Heathen of Honor. Like Anne, he took his duties seriously and with the brightest smile on his face. One hand moved to rest at his lower back in a display of courtly posture, but the other wrapped the single, and only braid in the Ironfists hair that made its home at the base of his skull. A single trinket twines at the bottom, engraved with a rose.

Brilaria made a show of ‘plucking’the Baron’s sent affection from the air, but did not grace it against her crimson lips that curved into a delicious smile. Instead, she traced the line from the point of her chin down the hollow of her throat and across the exquisite rubies wrapped around her neck. It was as subtle gesture in elegant action, but none the less potent as her eyes flare beyond blue to lick with flames at the edges. With Nerenna’s speech came not pink stain on Addies cheeks, but knowing laughter that ended up muffled against her shoulder with the subjects spoken of.

Soft expressions shifted between Teren and Lycan as drew their hands closer, to bend her head gently and lay her lips against their knuckles. Long ears twitched at the joke of the Priests suicidal tendencies and the phrase 'breeding' but the flick of her eyes to Lycan seemed to imply that such things were not going to happen again, given the determined wink she gave.

Each time the mention of their futures came up, she softened all the more as the edge of her teeth set on her bottom lip gently with the swelling of her heart that overflowed. A sweet, albeit, slightly nervous nod was subconsciously offered, as if affirming in her own mind everything the Countess said was true.

Never one to leave a bawdy remark unspoken, Lycan's retort sizzles discreetly among the three of them. You eat all the cake you want. Pretty sure Teren and I are planning to dine on you this evening.

Here, here, Mate. The Priest chimes in his agreement, still grinning as his gaze fixes on Nerenna.

Her speech continues in the ribald tradition of citizen of the Marche. Quite the accomplishment for someone born in Ironwall. "I think at all new it would take more than one person to properly state your appetites. Gentlemen." The Priestess grounds salaciously at the trio in front of her; green eyes setting on Adilynia. "What we didn't realize was that immortality might be a requisite."

Pretty sure? Cause I am 1000% sure those kodo ribs I smell will NOT be the best thing in my mouth before this day is done. Leave it to Addie to pick out ribs among the event, but at least her senses were still working. Her panic, while still enough to make her energy feel like sparklers burning bright, had abated somewhat.

Maybe it was her shock, or just the intoxicating happiness that loosened the Pixie's tongue as her thoughts were shared with Teren and Lycan. This had been the surprise of a lifetime. For as salacious as the comment was, the absolute picture of serenity took hold Addie's small from from the outside. WIth posture adjusting slightly, the panic of the moment revealed had tipped the weight of the pressure and honor what she thought she only carried, not would be be given.

Finally managing enough courage to look to Nerenna, another brief moment of awe occurs in truly studying the Countess of Hyperion who she watches shyly from under her dark lashes. The connection to her green ones draws a sharp inhale, tightening of her hands on Teren and Lycans, and respectful tip of her head that set pink color at the tips of her ears. Holding the air in her lungs, a small lance of fear was felt, as she half expected disdain for the immortality spoken of.

Nerenna holds Adilynia's focused attention with enigmatic stoicism, as if the two were meeting in a battlefield. She had no need for words. Her expression says it all. *Betray these men, or our people, and I'll see you suffer an eternity in Hyperion*. Then she smiled. It was warm. Welcoming, even. "We can only assume you know what you're getting yourself into, Dame Silverfall. If not, it's a damned steep learning curve. Trust us." The crowd laughs again at the understatement.

The message was received loud and clear, but Addie hardly shrunk back in fear for the implied threat set in a focused gaze. The Countess of Hyperion likely had no idea that she too had a hand in calming the Pixie's nerves and seeing her mind cleared with a long exhale outward that settled her shoulders. A renewed determination filled gold eyes that didn't look away, but held resolute and stalwart courage that somehow managed to be humble in its offering.

The faint smile on her face faded to a solemn expression in the unwavering look. There was no challenge in Addie's, but a determined conviction to one day make the Countess smile warmly, and mean it, by proving that betrayal was never an option. One day.

Responding to the warm smile with a practiced, but sweet and gracious one that came easily enough, Addie lifted a dark brow in playful gest as she looked back and forth between Teren and Lycan as if to imply that what she'd 'gotten herself into' was over her head, but no less grandly loved. Curve? More like zero-g loops at terminal velocity.

Still, she found her strength in the hands she held close and the sapphire and almond eyes she was never too focused to look at.

Whatever Adilynia may have assumed if the nobleman's silent communion, Nerenna's discreet nod of approval to the other Guardian is telling as to her actual opinion of the Elven Knight's mettle.

Teren's warmth and pride in Adilynia is more pronounced as she subtly earns a measure of respect from the former Ironwaller. Well done, Sesh'Thuash.

Lycan's more emphatic No kidding. is just as impressed. I'd say Nerenna got that message loud and clear.

Certainly, if Nishan thought either of us would accept a spineless spring and broken fuck doll for our wife, they're in for quite a rude awakening.

Seconded. But let's not warn them to much in advance. Despite his words of caution, Lycan bustles with energy, silently willing the views to begin.

With her heart thudding mercilessly in her ears, the subtle exhale outward is surprisingly stable, though does little to stop her electrified nerves and warring butterflies. The subtle nod, while noted, garnered no reaction from the determined knight beyond a shift of her eyes downward in momentary prayer for having survived that moment with the Countess of Hyperion.

Without even fully understanding what she had done, Addie's smile turned from the easy graceful one given to everyone, to the genuine warm and open display that only those closest to her are given. Teren's positive words lifted her eyes to his, in an unabashed display of adoration and pink cheeks that only glowed more with Lycan's follow-up.

A mutual understanding, I assure you... Addie's capacity for humility overflowed with the feelings of pride, tugging the crooked half-smile shyly from her lips as their hands were squeezed gently in gratitude with the pad of her thumb tracing slow archs against their warm skin at the phrase 'our wife'. I am not ever going to get tired of hearing you call me that.

Finally, it seemed her heart rate and breathing had found sync with Teren and Lycans and eased the line of of her shoulders with relief at one more lifeline to cling to with all of Nishan currently now staring at them.

Setting aside the gold braided ribbon for the time being the High-Priestess of the Federation speaks forcefully in a dulcet soprano threaded through with the iron will of a woman of war. "There is no one 'foundation' in any relationship. Not between enemies. Not between allies. Not between friends. Certainly not within a family. The relationships in our lives are based on a collective and persistent engagement of mental, emotional, physical and material resources. We build our bonds with others by opening ourselves up to the necessity of compromise. No one will ever have 'their way' all of the time."

#The Trinity Wedding #Teren x Lycan x Adilynia

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twitchesandstitches · 6 years ago

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Many years ago, the galaxy of the day had been a slightly different place.

For one thing, it was full of much more murder. Up until about the point that the fleet had arrived and rammed into the local splinters of the Imperial Commonwealth with the same effect as a jet plane dropping into a toy truck, with many more cries along the lines of ‘SCREEEEW YOU’.

Grimlock stood in the midst of a large street, his huge and powerfully built exoskeleton venting steam as he contemplated it all in grave thought. About him, all the buildings were variously on fire, hollowed out, or crumbling to pieces. He had not done that, nor had the fleet. It had been like that before they got there, to end the killing.

The Commonwealth was responsible for the bodies piled up and burned. Small signs indicated the crimes. He’d paid little attention to them; the dead were what mattered, not the reasons the Commonwealth decided they deserved to die. Most of them were human.

They were butchering their own people. For ideological bullshit. It reminded him too much of being young, and the sounds of screaming beneath shiny streets, and perhaps that was one reason why he did what he did that day.

He turned towards the street, against the Imperial Commonwealth armies still fulfilling their commands - riding on their jet chariots and their servants desperately powering it with their very lives, disembodied stone faces flying at him and firing off telekinetic blasts to rend the air, and the infantry to die in their droves, and he thought himself that he would be taking no heads today. Trophy taking was for things he wanted to remember.

Little honor here, on this day.

And so he fought, and then where the street had been full of smoke, it was then full of blood and fire instead.

It was over, it seemed, in seconds. His claws rained bits of meat and blood, his feet came down like the wrath of Primus, and as he transformed into his true war-form, assuming the shape of a robotic Tyrannosaurus Rex, his belly blazed with all the sullen anger and hate, the sheer bloody pointlessness of all this death-

A new sun dawned in the street. And there was no more army there.

Grimlock panted and mostly for effect at that, his heavy armor dented and nicked by the wounds they had managed to inflict, and took note of one more notable enemy: one of those grotesque war idols. A forty foot tall simulacrum of the human body in fleshy marble and veins of gold, every bulge of muscle so realistic it would turn the stomach, a lurching thing testament to why realism wasn’t always a good idea in sculpture.

Instantly, he transformed into robot mode again, rolling underneath its strike, and when he rose up, a heated blade was in his hand, and he was already striking. It took another step before falling apart and shit, even its insides were photorealistic, WHY.

He growled and started to walk off, and then a voice caught his attention:

“Filthy toaster.”

He froze in mid-step.

by this point, back up had arrived. From the corner of one of his rows of eyes, he saw Bismuth stomping forwards, the tiny shape of li’l Hal on her shoulder, and a small army of many other beings from the fleet; krogan and asari, viera and beastmen.

He didn’t see them, he just saw the soldier half-dead beneath the rubble of the war idol. Hard to make out anything beneath the blood and white remnants around her, but he took note of an imperial uniform (fairly high ranked, from the size of the fallen hat nearby), and it was ludicrously, obnoxiously ornate. Gilt-y, he thought.

He didn’t know that her name was Josie Beller. Then again, she hadn’t known or cared about the aliens she had murdered. Turnabout's fair play.

“‘Ey, big guy!” Bismuth waved a heavy hand almost literally designed for reshaping the land. “Looks like you already gotten it taken care of for us! ...Uh, Grimlock? You okay there?”

He glanced back at her, and then returned staring at the fallen human.

All this death, and now… that. His claws flexed on their own, and he longed to feel them tear. Blood run down his claws, hear a scream that needed to happen…

She coughed, spitting up a small amount of blood. She glared at them through one good eye. “Animals,” she croaked. “You… you murdering xenos abominations. Aliens and machines…” she gasped in a painful breath. “Someone, answer me… someone, kill them…!”

“...Whatever.” He tried to force down the extremely strong urge to just bite her head off and call it a day, and began to stomp away. “We’re done here. Gotta move on. Bulk of their army is somewhere else.”

Bismuth glanced around, staring at the burning bodies mounted by the soldiers they had come to stop, and at the human commander in the rubble. She may not have ordered it, but then again, she might have. And she was a commonwealth commander. This meant she was a murderer of some variety, whether endorsing the genocide of all that wasn’t human or actively taking part in such campaigns. “Get to it, then.”

Grimlock nodded at her, looking past her impressively massive bust size to meet her burning eyes, and began to move on.

“Get back here,” cried the human on the street. “Come back here and finish it, you monsters!”

He froze, every servo in his body tensing like an engine about to blow and instantly ready to explode into terminal violence.

And every single fleetmate there with even a passing knowledge of old Cybertronian social dynamics freezed up as well. Tension cranked up, and they knew this probably would not end without bloodshed. Well, more of it, anyway.

Grimlock heard, distantly, old things echoing in the scarred parts of his processors, into the scars where they tried to burn out the part of him that could say ‘I am’ and ‘no’. Old things, stinging as deeply as acid poured onto a living brain, seemed very loud indeed:

You’re not a person at all. People turn into useful things. Not an animal.

Not even a real Transformer at all. Just a beast, pretending to be alive.

You are not built for war. Tanks are warriors. Helicopters are warriors. Even trucks can fight, in a pinch. But teeth and jaws are meant only for killing.

An abomination. Another abortion of the demon Onyx.

He’s from Simfur. The land where beasts talk and pretend that they’re people.

An animal; disgusting, depraved, playing at thinking his spark really burns. Just a filthy beast!

You’re not a fighter. You’re designed for killing, Simfurite.

You’re not a Transformer, you’re an animal

You’re a beast

And in the pit of his soul, the thing that echoed louder than the way they always said animal, the sound of ‘beast’ becoming a slur to his morph-kind, was the word ‘monster’.

“What,” he snarled, head whipping around like a bird sighting prey. “Did you call me…?”

“Grimlock, hang on!” A viera canooner said form Bismuth’s shoulder, her massive cannon bouncing and banging up against her barrel-sized breasts. “She’s already going to die. Don’t waste yourself on this-”

“Alien scum!” the human in the dirt railed. “Abominations! Freaks! Machines!” Li’l Hal bristled at the way she said that last word like a curse. “I can still fight! I’ll kill you all!”

“Tough talk,” Grimlock rumbled, a dangerous air to his voice. “From a piece of meat lying on the ground.” He indicated the city. “You butchered your own kind.” He slowly reached down. “You don’t deserve to die with them.”

His claws punched through the rubble and plucked her up, out of the ground, and there he carried her a short distance away. Bismuth and the others followed. Bismuth cooly, waiting to see what would happen, the others with trepidation. Only Li’l Hal seemed intrigued at what would come.

They came to burned grounds, where there had been a forest before the Commonwealth had come. She railed and screamed terrible things; that their people had stolen land that belonged to humanity, that they would all die screaming, they were impure, weak, empty things, soulless monsters and machines… it was not pleasant permitting her to continue living.

“Grims, if you don’t kill that hominid right now, I’m going to do it for you,” Li’l HAl said thinly, an optic notably blinking in and out in anger.

“Won’t take long.” Grimlock leaned down and deposited her in the soot. She tried to crawl, reaching for her weapons in a last ditch attempt to hurt something-

And at this point, Grimlock’s foot, approximately the size of several city buses chained together and wrapped in big spiky claws, came down on her arm like a vise.

She screamed, and his burning gaze was pitiless.

“Shut up!” He lifted his foot up again, she tried to roll away, her arm a useless length of ruin, and his foot came down on her other arm. “You don’t get to scream! Not after what you did!”

His foot came up.

“Not after what your people have done!”

It came down again on her legs.

“You don’t get to just walk away from this. So…” his foot pressed in, further, to the sound of sickening crunches. “Making damn sure you won’t.”

Bismuth watched. Cold, and approvingly. Li’l Hal crossed his arms and seemed to smile, with a vicious edge. The others withheld their own opinions, and occasional nausea. That was just a problem when you fought alongside Grimlock.

“Not killing you today,” Grimlock hissed, his eyes slowly shifting shade from pale yellow to a deep and terrible orange. They glowed like fire, and at that, Bismuth did look up in alarm. Her hands began to extend into restraining hooks, just in case. Grimlock ignored this, and to be fair, would have wanted her to do so regardless. He trusted few, least of all himself. “You don’t deserve the honor of a good death. You get to live.”

He raised his foot up once more. This was a bad thing he was doing, he knew-

Josie Beller stared up, her gaze filled with even more hate than Grimlock could manage on his meanest day. “You are a machine,” she snarled, genuine and horrific malevolence twisting her face into something far more inhuman than anything she lived in mortal fear of. “Machines break. Someone will break you, xenos.”

-But on the other hand, sometimes it just felt so damn good to be a bastard to someone that really had it coming.

“Then let’s check what sound your bones make when I pop them, and we’ll see who else breaks around here,” Grimlock said, and he stepped down.

Hard.

As it transpired, human bones break just as much as metal does. More easily, too.

But he made sure she wouldn’t suffer organ failure… somehow. Nor did he break anything above the next.

With medical treatment, perhaps she might still die. But it was on her society to be semi-decent to their soldiers, he thought, leaving her to bleed in the ash.

She wasn’t his problem, he thought, vindictiveness rising like magma out a vent.

He continued to think this, until many years later, and it came to pass that he was enjoying some beryllium baloney aboard a ship cafeterium. In the vast space, countless other people in the fleet were having meals (many of them drinking dairy products derived from the productive bosoms of the mothers of the fleet, and some of them skipping the middleman entirely in open view, a common arrangement in the shameless sub-culture of the fleet), and big screens above showed various entertainment shows the fleet had tapped into, and important news the quartermasters thought was relevant to people.

“...And then i says to him,” Grimlock said to Pearl, a bit miffed that her breasts were so heavy and over-stuffed that they were making the table lean her way, which she was probably doing on purpose to annoy him. “I says, ‘Reading’s overrated, ya nerd!’. And then he punched me in the face. Mind you, he was barely bigger than a human back then, so I was kinda impressed.”

“And that’s how you met the mighty Optimus Prime, leader of your people and the chosen prophet of Primus?” PEarl said dubiously.

“To be fair, he takes readin’ real, real seriously.”

“Yes, well, he’s not entirely wrong- oh!” PEarl leaned up, her breasts buoying her upwards like a carry-on superbed. ABove her, the screens flickered, and various mugshots were visible, along with a list of crimes, personality traits, weaknesses and last known location: everything an aspiring bounty hunter needed. “Ah! The new bounties are up!” She looked pleased. “Perhaps we can bring some more wealth into the fleet. And I was feeling a tad rusty.”

“Yeah, sounds like fun. Ya wanna team up on this one or… or….” he stopped, staring at one particular bounty.

“I am fine partnering with you, unless you have an alternative.” She waited for the usual playful jibe, but not came. He just continued staring. Pearl blinked, glancing down at the, to her perspective, small but much broader Dinobot, who was still gaping at the monitor, his helm-like beak-mouth splitting into several shocked mandible sections. “...Grimlock? IS something wrong?”

He jabbed a claw at one bounty. “That can’t be. What the hell, I know I put her down!”

Pearl looked. “Hmm?” It was a human woman; blonde a frizzy halo, presumably north European from her features and skin tone, and with the coldest, cruellest expression of pure maliciousness Pearl had ever seen. From the next down, she appeared to be wearing a complicated harness of electromagnetic batteries hooked into crude power armor that was nonetheless quite revealing.

“Circuit Breaker,” Pearl said aloud, eyes widening. “Oh… oh my.” She read the crime sheet, and shuddered in disgust. “That is… a lot of murders of sapient robots. And many codes of attempted genocide, and actual… oh. Yes, we should definitely attend to that.”

There were several quotes from her, to giving hunters an idea of the kind of person they would be dealing with, and all her quotes were not things that needed to be heard. They were mostly along the lines of the fundamental soullessness of all robots, the need to kill any machine that believed it was a person, and enough concentrated poison to make all but the most enthusiastic xenophobe recoil.

It made for unpleasant reading. Pearl noted that by this point, Grimlock would have eagerly announced his intention to punch them into a sun or something, but he was eerily quiet.

“I fought that woman,” he said again. “She didn’t have the suit then, but… I fought her. I beat her! How is she still active!? What is she doing here!?”

Pearl understood at once. Grimlock had a certain reputation, and that amounted to ‘for the love of God, if he is mad at you, run and never stop running’. Actually surviving him when he took offense to your evil was an impressive feat. And she regarded the bounty again.

She hadn’t seen eyes full of so much hate since the Decepticons had come to Homeworld and laid it to waste.

Her hand unconsciously tensed, as if feeling for a spear. “I would like to help you finish the job you started, if you are willing,” she said firmly.

Grimlock nodded curtly. For once, no more jokes, no more jibes, none of their playful rivalry. This was serious.

‘Next time I take out a xenophobic dumbass,’ he privately vowed. ‘I’m just gonna kill ‘em then and there. Not wasting any of this poetic justice garbage.’

#/#//#///#////#/////#my writing #crossthicc AU #grimlock #pearl #circuit beaker #transformers #fics #queued

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supremeuppityone · 7 years ago

Text

Lightning Never Strikes Twice (Except When It Does)

This three-part story was written for klarolineauweek: Mythology and Creatures and is also a gift for @3tinkgemini, who is a wonderful sounding board for ideas and just an all-around lovely person! I also encourage you to go check out her incredibly creative, marvelous works! In this story, human!Klaus has been whisked away to a secluded resort to live out what he assumes are his final days in peace. However, his meddlesome brother, Kol, has other ideas and seems to believe the foolish legends about the mysterious resort run by an intriguing blonde.

Read Chapter 1 here.

Read Chapter 2 here.

Chapter 3: Myth Made Flesh

Kol and Bonnie slowly turned to look at him, wearing twin expressions of guilt. A peculiar look Klaus couldn’t read passed between them before they pushed the door to the library open all the way to join him. Clearly noticing Klaus’ condition, Kol dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out one of his daily prescriptions that he kept with him for emergencies. He quickly handed the correct dosage to his brother while Bonnie fetched him a glass of water. Klaus gratefully swallowed the pill, for once not minding the dry, bitter taste that followed.

“Nik,” Kol began, his tone uncharacteristically nervous as he shoved his hands back into his jean pockets as he rocked slightly back on his feet. “What you heard...it’s not like it sounded, mate. I was just trying to fix everything for you; to give you your best chance.”

Klaus replied gently, “Brother, I thought you’d accepted this. That you understood that there’s nothing left for me to try.”

The girl shot his brother a look, her head tilted almost in triumph as though Klaus had somehow made her point for her. Kol glared at her before responding with, “That’s what I thought too! But then I started researching...um...alternative medicinal options, and I kind of stumbled into this dodgy-looking website that contained all this folklore.” His boyish face lit up as he excitedly told him, “At first, I thought it was absolutely bonkers, but then I dug in a bit and you can’t deny the legends about this place, mate. So, I figured we had nothing to lose and I convinced you to let me bring you here. And then, it turns out I was right — the stories about this place are true,” he concluded happily.

Klaus squinted at the pair, trying to follow Kol’s disjointed rambling. “What are you on about, Kol? Alternative medicine nonsense? And what do legends have to do with it?”

Bonnie hesitantly opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by an impatient voice. “The legends say that sometimes the people who come to The Traveler’s Path are healed of their terminal illnesses,” Caroline explained as she confidently made her way to Klaus’ side with a neatly trimmed half-sandwich and a pitcher of water. She refilled his glass, setting the pitcher on a small table that resembled a polished tree stump.

“Healed how,” he asked suspiciously, his hands instinctively clenching the blanket at his chest.

“They’re thunderbirds,” Kol giddily burst out, as though he couldn’t contain the secret a moment longer.

Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose, irritated as she admonished him, “Kol! We agreed we’d ease him into it. That had all the ease of a jackhammer!”

“Well, if you’re fond of jackhammers, little bird, perhaps I could interest you in —” Kol’s over-the-top innuendo harshly was cut off by Caroline’s authoritative tone.

“Enough, Kol!” She turned to study Klaus, her voice deceptively soothing as she explained, “Klaus, I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but now that you have, it’s important you understand. We are myth made flesh. Creatures of legend whispered among Native American tribes for generations.” As though sensing his unease, she smiled her sweet, familiar smile that he often conjured when he closed his eyes. “Thunderbirds have the power to give life or take it away. We can summon the elements to nourish or destroy with wind or water.”

Klaus rubbed the top of his head tiredly, the pain finally dulling as his powerful prescription started to travel through his system. His fingertips brushed the barely-there wisps of dirty blonde curls and seemed to anchor him in this moment of absurdity, allowing him to ask wryly, “So where does the thunder part come in then, sweetheart? Or did you just add that bit because windbird implied uncontrollable flatulence?”

His brother snorted, dispelling some of the tension in the room, and even Bonnie visibly relaxed beside Kol as she answered, “Thunder is a created when we flap our wings, setting off a chain reaction of lightening and storms, which is why our valley experiences brief storms once a day whenever we take to the sky.”

As though sensing his skepticism, Caroline added helpfully, “You have no idea how good it feels to stretch out those wings after they’ve been cooped up. It’s very freeing.”

He slowly nodded, trying to decide how best to gracefully exit this completely mad predicament his foolish brother had landed both of them in. Perhaps with a good night’s sleep, he’d be strong enough for them to check out in the morning and leave these nutters safely behind?

Caroline grabbed his hand with surprising strength, her thumb caressing his pulse point as her melodic voice washed over him, “This is real, Klaus. We embody Shakespeare’s assertion that ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” Before he could protest this ludicrous notion, a vision startled him as it seared through his mind, and suddenly he felt as though he was soaring high over landscapes of unimaginable beauty, the weight of his gigantic wings a comfort as long, soft feathers gently caressed his back. Before he could hit his stride and float along the warm wind currents as his body ached to do, he was snapped back into reality by the insistent swipe of Caroline’s thumb across his pulse point once more.

“What the bloody hell was that,” he croaked, his voice gasping for air in the small library.

“I told you,” Caroline sighed reluctantly, her blue eyes blazing, “‘There are more things in heaven and earth...”

Before she could finish, Klaus watched in awe as the familiar blue of her gaze shifted to an impossible silver, and he absurdly was reminded of the color of lightening as it strikes — one that suddenly was reflected in Bonnie’s stare as well. Black spots began to dance before his eyes and just before he lost consciousness, he thought he heard Kol’s fearful gasp.

Klaus awoke in his bed in the late afternoon, quickly sitting up as he recalled the bizarre hallucinations he experienced that were clearly brought on by his pain medication. It wasn’t the first hallucination he had had at the resort, he mused, recalling how early that morning he thought he had seen shadows the size of planes circling the ground and flying in intricate, dizzying patterns nothing that size could ever achieve. It was a curious hallucination that he couldn’t pinpoint its cause, or why it bled into his interactions with Caroline and Bonnie. They had been nothing but exceedingly kind to him and his brother during their stay, and he had no cause to subconsciously view them as a threat.

A light knock at the door to their enormous suite sounded, and he eased himself out of bed carefully to go answer it. An attractive brunette with a knowing grin walked in pushing a small cart carrying a platter of healthy-looking wraps and some sort of berry smoothie. “Thought we’d trying feeding you again,” she said airily, stopping the cart in front of him. “And this time, try to actually eat something this time, huh? I’m in the middle of replacing a carburetor and was hoping to finish up today.” She jangled a set of keys in her hand, toying with a keychain sporting an oddly-shaped silver emblem.

Klaus shook his head, fuzzily thinking that the symbol looked familiar. “What do you drive,” he asked, reaching for one of the halves of what appeared to be a turkey and Swiss wrap.

“It’s a ’57 Thunderbird,” she cheekily replied with a wink.

“Katherine,” a stern voice said, followed by Caroline stepping across the threshold of the entryway. “Out,” she commanded, pointing to the door.

The brunette shrugged, pouting slightly as she murmured, “You’re no fun,” before exiting the room.

Klaus’ mind was whirling from the unexpected visit. What were the odds that the term his hallucination conjured would be the same as the model of that woman’s car? Caroline’s face seemed pained as she jerked her chin toward the vacant doorway and said, “Sorry about that. Katherine is a bit much sometimes. She likes to poke at people to get a reaction.” She carried the tray of food over to the rustic-looking table seemingly fashioned out of the same reddish-brown cedar as the resort walls. She glanced over her shoulder at him, that same furrow appearing in her forehead as she asked worriedly, “How are you feeling after...everything? Do you remember what happened?”

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully as he tried to make sense of his chaotic thoughts. “Well, I remember that earlier today, I watched you repaint a totem pole out in the woods. When I started feeling unwell, you brought me back to the resort and I think I overheard my brother arguing with Bonnie.” He shook his head, adding awkwardly, “And then I must have passed out,” he concluded, not wanting to embarrass himself by mentioning the absolutely mad visions his addled brain concocted.

Caroline sighed, as though disappointed in his answer. Tucking a few blonde curls behind one ear, she asked hesitantly, “So you don’t recall our discussion about thunderbirds?”

He looked up sharply, setting down his half-eaten sandwich on the tray as he said in a strangled voice, “Bloody hell, how much of that nonsense was real?”

“All of it,” she replied, blinking slowly as her blue eyes changed to a startling silver. As though she could hear his rapid heartbeat, she held out her palms in a placating manner, telling him, “I don’t mean you any harm. I just want you to understand. Can you keep it together long enough for me to show you something?”

Still marveling at the surprising beauty of her silver eyes, he nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. He watched in confusion as she threw open the doors to the deck, stepping into the sun’s afternoon rays. Turning her back to him, she unexpectedly pulled off her simple lilac halter, carelessly tossing it behind her on the rough planks of the deck. He swallowed harshly, trying to process the fact that this stunning creature was now standing on his deck in nothing but cutoffs encasing her incredible long legs. His eyes appreciatively roamed the smooth lines of her ivory skin, noting the unusual sets of tattoos on her shoulder blades, recalling that she said they were pictograms symbolizing lightening.

He let out a startled gasp as he saw long feathers smoothly emerge from the tattoos, shading from cream to a warm caramel with rust-colored bands at the edges. They spread out across the balcony, fluttering in the gentle breeze, and he couldn’t seem to reconcile what he was seeing with what he could understand. A beautiful woman was standing topless before him...with wings. A wingspan so enormous, the tips actually trailed off the sides of the deck.

He opened his mouth, unsure of what he was about to say, but before he could utter a word, Caroline gracefully leapt from his balcony, her wings stretched to the sky as she arched her back and began gliding upon the warm currents, making lazy circles in the sky. He walked out onto the deck, his gray eyes following her every movement as he watched her soar higher and higher. As she flew directly overhead, her shadow engulfed everything around him and he emitted an odd choking sound as he realized that the immense shadows he witnessed that morning must have been Caroline and her friends.

Awestruck, he witnessed the seemingly effortless way her great wings flapped together, granting her dizzying height that made it appear as though she could touch the stars if she was so inclined. Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder caught his attention, and a rainstorm appeared out of nowhere, bringing with it several beautiful but deadline sprays of lightening. He moved back inside, continuing to watch her through the open doors as she circled back around, floating to the deck once more. She perched on the wooden railing, allowing her wings to drape behind her back. Pushing back some of the damp blonde curls from her forehead, she told him somewhat sheepishly, “Sorry about that. Storms are a downside to these things,” pointing a thumb behind her to indicate her soaked feathers.

Klaus tugged at the thick collar of his navy robe, making an extraordinary effort not to gape at her incredible, impossible wings, but also to avoid staring too long at her glorious, creamy breasts unabashedly on display. “So...you could come...inside I mean, if you want,” he offered awkwardly, unable to stop his gaze from frequently landing on the delicate pink of her nipples.

Amused, the edges of her lips quirked up, and she told him, “The rain will stop soon now that my wings are dormant. They’ll need to dry out a bit before I tuck them away.” Raising an eyebrow, she added, “I can wrap a towel across my breasts if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No!” He quickly squeezed his eyes shut, not intending to be so loud. “I just mean...you look comfortable and I’m not uncomfortable with how you...look.”

She let out a delighted giggle, a musical sound that seemed to warm him from the toes up, and confessed, “I like the way you look too, Klaus.”

He felt his heart pound, excitement flooding his body in a way he hadn’t felt in ages. However, his body began to tremble where he stood, a terrible reminder that he wasn’t the man he used to be and pursuing any sort of physical relationship with Caroline was out of the question. He noted bitterly that he barely had the strength to pull over one of the wooden dining chairs to sit in. To distract himself from his disappointment, he asked, “Would you tell me more about thunderbirds, sweetheart?”

Caroline lifted her face to the rain, closing her silver eyes as a peaceful calm seemed to come over her. “We’re known as good spirits and protectors of humans.” She lazily stretched, her wings curving around her body as she favored him with a cheeky grin, “Also, we have some other noteworthy features.”

He chuckled, telling her, “I must admit, I kept thinking you would completely transform into a bird with a curved beak and sharp, ferocious claws, love.”

She cleared her throat awkwardly, curling her small hands into fists at her sides. “Yeah, um...actually, we do have talons, but I thought it might be a bit much at the moment.”

He nodded wisely, doing his best not to stare at her fingers and imagine them as elongated, deadly blades. “Considerate. But unnecessary, love. After all, it’s not like you’re a terrifying parakeet — now those are the birds you have to watch out for.” At her obvious confusion, his dimples flashed as he explained, “Growing up, my Aunt Dahlia had this bloody parakeet, a cantankerous little tosser, who used to try to eat the freckles off of my hands.”

“Noted — your turnoffs include freckle-chewers,” she laughed, shaking the raindrops from her wings as the sun peaked out from the clouds. They sat in silence for a bit, enjoying a familiar companionship that had no need for words.

He cast furtive glances at her, appreciating the graceful curves of her body and wanting nothing more than to bask in the presence of this extraordinary creature he’d never imagined could exist. He recalled her curious words in the library downstairs and couldn’t help but ask, “Why are some of the people who stay here healed while others aren’t?”

Caroline seemed to stiffen at his question, and then appeared to take her time answering as her feather slowly retracted underneath her shoulder blades. She bent to where her lilac halter had been balled up in a corner of the deck and tugged it back on, while Klaus tried to fix his expression into one of indifference rather than the silly disappointment he felt. She regarded him with her familiar blue gaze as she said, “It’s true that we have the power to give life; however, just because a human says they want to be healed doesn’t mean it’s actually what they want. While a body’s instinct is to accept healing, the mind already may have accepted death.”

Her gaze bored into him, as though she could uncover all of his secrets with a simple glance. “Everyone who comes here must choose their own path. If they choose to live, we can make them into one of us. However, if their subconscious believes it’s ready to move on, then their body will reject our gift and they will pass away.”

Klaus frowned as he considered her extraordinary words. “So, there’s the possibility that even if I say I want you to turn me into one of your kind, I could still die because my subconscious won’t accept it? Isn’t there a way to be sure?”

“Well, the ritual healing almost certainly work if you were a halfling born into this.” At his confusion, she added helpfully, “It’s when one of your parents was a thunderbird. I don’t suppose that’s the case with you?”

He shook his head, a sad chuckle escaping him. “No, I think I’d be aware if there was such a lofty pedigree running through my veins, love.”

She nodded, standing as they heard the door to the suite open and Kol walked in. “You have a decision before you, Klaus. I’ll take my leave so that you and your brother can talk.”

As she exited their suite, Kol gave his brother two thumbs up while comically wiggling his eyebrows. “Nicely done, Nik — Bonnie is still being exceedingly stubborn in succumbing to my charms.”

“It wasn’t like that, Kol,” Klaus protested with a sigh. He shut the doors to the deck and turned to face his brother. “Well, I mean she was topless for a bit, but that was just to show me her wings...I think,” he added as an afterthought.

Kol let out a derisive snort as he clapped his brother on the back. “Oh sure, the old ‘I have to take my top off to convince you I’m a supernatural creature.’ Sure, Nik. Dress it up however you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that Big Bird wants to have her wicked way with you.”

The brothers burst out laughing at that, and Klaus realized his heart felt lighter, just being around his mischievous brother. He couldn’t stop the silly grin that appeared as he recalled the time they were at a pub and Kol suddenly appeared sporting a swollen eye that was rapidly turning purple. At Klaus’ questioning brow, Kol had grumbled, “I seem to have mistaken sexual tension for just regular tension.”

That had always been the way with them — even as children, Kol had been the prankster, the one who would get his brothers in trouble but just as quickly would jump into the fray to be a part of the glorious aftermath. When they were teenagers, Kol somehow managed to track down a video of one of their teachers drunkenly singing Barry Manilow karaoke and convinced Klaus to program it to play on a continuous loop on all of the classroom TVs.

In the hilarious aftermath of the stodgy teacher hotly insisting it was his twin, Kol gleefully published his family tree (which was devoid of any siblings) on the first page of the yearbook. They both received detention for the rest of the semester, but Kol was incorrigible and talked him into nicking most of the faculty’s phones so that they could change the ringtones to play Manilow’s greatest hits. Then, during an assembly, they kept randomly calling the numbers, much to the amusement of the entire school. He shook his head at the fond memories, knowing how fortunate he was to have a lifetime of madcap stories just like that one and that it was all thanks to his mischievous brother. With a pang, he realized how much he would miss Kol. But what if he didn’t have to? What if he chose to accept Caroline’s healing ritual?

Kol must have sensed the change in Klaus’ demeanor, because he spoke in a hushed tone, “Caroline told you about the choice you need to make.”

“Yes, she told me there was a chance I could become like her and her friends.” He frowned, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “But there’s also the possibility that it won’t work and I could die,” he finished bluntly.

Kol twitched as though he had been slapped. “You can’t think like that, Nik. It’s a chance; one you didn’t have before.”

Klaus knew he was right. He felt a cold sliver of fear creep up his spine at the thought of the ritual going badly, but he realized he was more afraid of spending his remaining months in agony as he faded away. It was no way to live. “I suppose there’s not much difference to me if the ritual fails,” he told Kol with a careless shrug and a wry grin, “What the hell, mate. Let’s go turn me into Big Bird.”

“Bloody hell, you’re giving me mixed signals here, little bird,” Kol grumbled as Bonnie smacked him on the arm once more for staring at her exposed breasts.

Klaus privately agreed with his lecherous brother that the three women were making it difficult to concentrate on anything else other than the fact that they were topless, and he kept reminding himself to look at Caroline’s lovely face and not allow his gaze to dip much lower. They had gathered at the clearing where the totem pole stood, the tangy scent of the pine trees surrounding them as the women created a type of medicine wheel out of smooth gray river rocks. They carefully measured the sections of the circle to ensure that each slice was of equal distance from the center where the totem pole stood. He had watched in fascination as they placed different objects in each segment, from a white-blossomed plant that Caroline explained was yarrow, to braided ropes of sweetgrass and oblong bundles of sage.

Like Bonnie and Katherine, Caroline had painted her face and bare torso with the colors blue, red, yellow, white, and black, which Caroline told him represented the sky, sun, lightening, day and night. Their massive wings were on display, and as Caroline leaned over him to anoint his forehead with water from a spring and a thin stripe of river clay, he couldn’t help but think that she looked almost angelic. Her blonde curls fanned out around her like a halo, and he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her.

It was something he had thought about, off and on, during his time at the resort, but his illness had always held him back. He had been so accustomed to pushing people away for fear of them getting too close that he didn’t know how to properly form attachments. Then, once he had discovered the truth about Caroline, he had been intimidated by what she was and couldn’t see a place for himself in her world. However, this ritual could change everything. His heart thudded in his chest as a wary voice in his head coldly reminded him that the ritual also could kill him. He tried not to shiver at the thought, but as he lay on a thin blanket underneath the totem pole, he couldn’t help but tremble slightly.

As though sensing his distress, Caroline squeezed his hand and lightly asked him, “So, do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

Klaus smiled weakly and replied, “Why? Do you have more handyman chores, love?”

Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she answered, “We’ll have to see what the day brings.” As she studied him, the blue in her eyes flickered to startling silver and she confessed, “I’ve been wondering what this would feel like,” and surprised him by leaning over to kiss him softly on the lips.

Klaus responded eagerly, chasing her lips with his own, trying to wordlessly convey his emotions, all the while knowing that this might be the last time he had the chance. As she reluctantly pulled away, he told her brokenly, “Whatever happens, it was worth it to have had the chance to know you, sweetheart.”

She nodded, not bothering to wipe away the stray tear that had started to trickle down her cheek. She whispered, “Remember your path is your own, Klaus.” She stood, signaling the others at the edge of the ritual circle to start the ceremony.

As Klaus stared up at the impressive carvings on the totem pole, he couldn’t help but think that the lines seemed to be moving, as though the animals were coming to life. A pain suddenly shot down his spine and he went rigid, realizing that he wasn’t imagining things as he heard the impossible roar of a grizzly bear, the sinister rattle of a snake and a cacophony of other noises the exquisitely carved beasts were making as the ritual seemed to infuse them with life. He tried to block out the noises and focus on the path before him—his body wanted to be healed; it craved to be made whole once more, but there were lingering doubts that his mind wouldn’t cooperate. That it instead would want him to move on. His last conscious thought was that he would like to see Caroline’s blue eyes shine silver once more before he slipped into the darkness.

Seeing his brother pass out, Kol let out a hoarse shout, but the women pressed on with the ritual, preventing him from breaking the sacred circle. Summoned by the call of such powerful magic, dark clouds rolled in, blocking the sunlight. Bonnie and Katherine chanted with one clear voice, their strength flowing over the medicine wheel and infusing the objects in each section with light. A powerful force swept through the clearing, ruffling their wings as it caressed their bare skin. Caroline knelt beside Klaus, opening the buttons on his plain gray shirt to finish the sacred markings but gasped as she noticed a tiny silver feather dangling from a black cord around his neck. She looked at Kol sharply and said, “That’s mine. How does your brother have my necklace?”

“Our mother gave it to him a long time ago. She said it belonged to his father,” Kol explained, confusion marring his boyish features as Bonnie and Katherine began chattering excitedly beside him.

Caroline’s voice became urgent as she asked, “Was his name Ansel?” At his bewildered nod, she smiled gently and explained, “Ansel was the traveler who helped to create this sanctuary for us. In gratitude, we made him into one of us. This makes Klaus a halfling.” She nodded reassuringly at Kol as she promised, “Your brother will be fine.” She finished painting the sacred symbols and felt a comforting energy pulse outward from the totem pole.

Klaus let out a hoarse shout that startled the group, and as he opened his eyes, the familiar steel gray had been replaced with shining silver.

Someone should have warned him that these bloody wings were ridiculously heavy. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang out of compensating for the extra weight and had managed to fall off of the resort’s roof twice now, much to the delight of Caroline, who would gracefully float to the ground and land beside him with a cheeky grin. Grumbling, he rose to his feet and managed to make it back to the roof with only a few flaps of his wings. Caroline settled beside him once more on the ledge, playfully elbowing him as they surveyed the rolling green hills below.

Their wings caused a small rain storm and Klaus tilted his face up to the sky to catch the cool droplets, marveling at how everything old felt new again. He hadn’t had the opportunity to fully grasp what had happened to him since his transition, but he knew that the sickness had ravaged his body was gone now, and he felt reborn. There was power flowing through his veins and he was excited to explore what that meant for him with Caroline at his side. He leaned over to kiss her with a passion he hadn’t felt comfortable conveying before, and he couldn’t help but think that it felt like the promise of many more.

When Caroline pulled away, she asked, “So where do you think your path will take you now?”

Klaus smirked, kissing the tip of her nose as he replied, “Well, love, I always thought I’d make a good handyman.”

#klarolineauweek #klaroline fanfic #klaroline drabble #uppity bitch fanfic

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anhed-nia · 7 years ago

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i’m a bad writer

at the end of my twenties i quit any kind of superstition or “spiritual” practice cold turkey, because, to be brief about it, it was making me delusional. since then, i don’t even allow myself to read newspaper horoscopes, for fear that it will activate my imagination in an unhealthy direction. so, maybe it’s just because i’m in such a desperate situation with my job that i allowed an enthused coworker to do my chart recently. i’ve certainly had my chart read before, and i understand a little bit about how it’s supposed to work, so i wasn’t expecting too much. looking back at my experiences with astrology, it always amounted to the same interchangeable generalizations about personality, combined with bullshit projections about times of growth and times of challenge. somehow, my rando coworker made herself the first person to really surprise me. we were talking about my rising sign of capricorn, and my scorpio moon. i remarked that i always really objected to the capricorn designation, with its suggestion of being extremely competent and hard-working and even parental. it isn’t just that i find all that shamefully boring, but that i don’t think it actually represents me. naturally, i started digressing about how people usually have this perception of me being capable of *anything* because i’m sooooo smart and talented and responsible and everything--when in reality, i’m absolutely not that bright, i’m terminally impractical, and i’m really only hard-working when i’m afraid of getting in trouble or causing problems. the result of this is not just that i often feel like the bar is set too high for me, but that when i fail at something like maintaining my grades or getting an awesome job or something, then it’s seen as me just not trying, or being dramatic or petulant or something. another related issue is that when people aren’t pissed off at me for these supposedly avoidable failures, then they’re making ludicrous “the sun was in my eyes” excuses for everything i do wrong, no matter how consistently i do the same things wrong, so i don’t always get the support i need to acknowledge my real actual problems and find ways to cope. so, i’m droning on about this, when my new astrologer points out that having a capricorn rising with a scorpio moon exactly indicates the frustrating condition of people not identifying the “real you”--and specifically, people thinking you’re like this effective and upstanding citizen when the truth is that you’re kind of a mess. i had never thought about my personality in those exact terms before, i had just been blindly experiencing it, so hearing her describe me that way totally blew my mind.

it’s with this in mind that i felt like writing down the conversation i had with a friend this morning that turned into a full accounting of my life history of being a bad writer. it began with me casually remarking that i’m good at recounting events, but i have no idea how to build a good fictional story, with interesting characters and a cohesive story arc. this is something i think about a lot, because of various kinds of writing i’d like to do that are just always dreary and embarrassing when i try them. but, even though this thought occurs to me a lot, it was only this morning that i suddenly remembered every time that someone told me i was a bad writer, in virtually every school i’ve ever attended. many of these remarks were inspired by the fact that people expect better of me; i got good grades from kindergarten through high school (because i was excellent at rote memorization and terrified of being yelled at), i have a large vocabulary (more rote memorization), and i seemed really bright in comparison to the (rebellious, neglected, acting-dumb-to-fit-in, or actually kinda dumb) kids at my crappy schools. the truth was that i when i was trying to be “creative”, i was usually just laboriously copying some commercial material because i didn’t know what else to do. i wouldn’t draw or write anything with any kind of energy to it until i reached a very narrow moment in my early 20s, and none of that really translated into excelling or progressing in class or work.

the first time i remember being informed that i was a bad writer was when i was probably about kindergarten age. i had attended this cool library event where little kids got to write and draw their own books, and then the books would be bound for us and everything. i sat down with my materials, and without a thought in my head. i wound up just making a bunch of captioned drawings of some cats doing various disconnected activities. the librarians were coming around to help people, and this very disappointed-seeming woman struggled to explain to me that stories usually have a beginning that introduces you to a situation, then some kind of challenge, then a resolution. i can’t remember if i managed to add a page or two that gave it a little more structure and got her off my back, but the message was pretty clear that i had fucked it up and wasn’t smart enough to understand stories. maybe she was worried that my parents would be disappointed in the library, the way that anxious yearbook photographers occasionally went after me to smile bigger as if i were throwing them under the bus with my shitty face.

the second time it happened, i was in fifth grade or so, and our normal school routine was interrupted for us all to take this writing test. i wish i could think of the name of it, because i’m sure it’s some sort of common institution; it consisted of a series of essays, and i think it’s meant to test your critical thinking and creativity, which most of our curriculum certainly didn’t do. the first assignment was to write about your favorite animal, which really excited me because all i thought about were reptiles at that age, and i had whole encyclopedia passages about them memorized. i happily crammed my essay full of endless minutiae about corn snakes, only to have the teacher make an example out of my bad work. i had to sit there in front of everybody while she told everyone what a crappy job i had done. naturally i can’t quote her exactly, but the general content of her speech was, You students might have thought Claire would do really well on this, because she’s supposedly all smart and creative, but in reality her essay is extremely dry and boring and bad because it’s all facts and nothing else, so actually any one of you can/has done better than her. i had the feeling it was supposed to give the other kids a boost, like “you don’t need to be an A student to do well at this”, but it was pretty horrible for me.

the third time it happened was in junior high somewhere. i think we were reading To Kill a Mockingbird, and we were asked to rewrite a certain scary scene from the perspective of a side character, this kind of big dummy kid. so i wrote this frantic monolog, using all the language that i knew kids like this to use, and i totally failed the assignment because the grammar was really bad and i shifted tenses a few times, and things like that. i didn’t manage to defend myself, but this was a rare time that i really felt robbed; like, do you want me to write the way a kid like this would talk, or not?

the fourth time it happened was at the beginning of my first year at a fairly prestigious liberal arts college. we all had to take this late summer orientation course that involved discussing a lot of famous essays, and doing some creative writing, to introduce us to what would be expected of us intellectually for the next four years. my thing at that time was that i liked to pile a lot of adjectives together, because i liked the textures, and i liked the way it made ordinary things seem abstract or fantastical. *everyone* hated everything i wrote. in fact, the professor took me aside and gave me this extraordinarily condescending talking-to about how “adjectives are like salt or pepper, they’re nice to add a little bit of flavor to a dish, but you wouldn’t want them to be the whole meal...do you understand?”, with a pained expression. to get out of trouble, i downshifted to my old technique of imitating commercial work, the result of which is too humiliating to even discuss.

later in college i did some ok writing in my art history classes, which some people thought was pretty good. actually, some other people hated it a lot and told me this in no uncertain terms, because what i did was never an art history exercise; i just wrote whatever i felt or thought about the subject at the time. during my B- thesis review, one professor said generously that “if (your paper) is a failure, then it’s a grand failure”, while another one refused to even look at me, and spent the whole event with his arms folded rigidly, glowering disgustedly at the wall. it still feels miraculous that i ever got out of college with a degree, and for a while it seemed like that was never going to happen due to my hopelessness and general dysfunctionality.

definitely the best writing i’ve ever done is here on tumblr. there are two ways i know it’s some form of “good”: people tell me that they like it or that it makes sense to them, and i enjoy doing it. i think i was set up for this in some way by my deviant, misguided art history career, from which i really just learned a greater ability to express my subjectivity. sometimes i think it would be fun to do something bigger with it, like put together a print book with some illustrations, but i don't totally know what the payoff would be. i just know that as of the last few years, i finally figured out an activity that i can do just well enough that it’s fun for me. now if only i could get out of the eternal snare of people’s embarrassing expectations. a few years ago i idiotically expressed my career woes to my grandmother--an exceedingly shrewd woman with some worldly understanding who did nothing but excel professionally and financially for her entire pre-retired life--and she said to me, in an infantilizing tone, “why don’t you just become a writer?” as if my brother and father and stepmother didn’t all commit themselves to a long and serious academic career, in combination with great personal exertion and hustling in order to get published, as if people don’t write their whole lives only to die in obscurity with day jobs they hate, as if i could just quit my current gig and become a paid writer overnight by dint of choice, as if she’d ever read anything i’ve written, as if i don’t have to choose between being an astronaut and being the president when i can just decide to become the queen of the moon. maybe my family really does know how stupid i am, and i’ve just been too dumb to figure it out.

#anecdotal evidence #writing

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olwog · 5 years ago

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Today we learn that there is always the potential for a surprise, especially through airport security and, they really do call out for a doctor when someone is ill on a plane.

Getting to Stansted Airport, unless you live in London, is a real pain. I’m lucky and just been visiting my grandkids in South London so my route is very nearly direct. It’s easy to be sucked into cheap tickets to anywhere but when you add in the cost of getting to the airport then, quite often, it doesn’t add up.

I’ve crossed London and now at London Liverpool Street Station and lucky enough to arrive just as the train for Stansted opens its doors for passengers, how good is that?

The last time I did this journey it was dark so nothing really to see; however, today is sunny and being able to see the back streets of North London is a bit of a treat. It’s a 40-minute journey direct to the airport and the transport links actually at the airport are great but getting there from anywhere in the North is awful.

There’s a lot of work happening at Stansted and various areas are cordoned off making it even more crowded than half-term-break would normally have it. In spite of Ryanair’s ludicrous changes to their hand-luggage policy with strange sizes to catch you out, I’ve ‘not yet’ had an issue getting my marginally larger rucksack through. It’s five centimetres (about a couple of inches) too long due to the backplate but the other dimensions are fine when wrapped tightly using the straps.

Security

I’m not geared up for what happens in Security though. The queues are huge and we’re organised into zigging and zagging lines. There are four of them and I usually join the one that’s got more than its fair share of hold-ups and this time I do it again but there is a twist – I’m the hold-up. The bag goes into the scanning machine and appears at the other side then jerks to a halt at the dividing fork, you know the one, to the right goes all the ‘good’ baggage and to the left goes the ‘dodgy’ bags that need to be further investigated. I always hold my breath at this point due to an experience a couple of trips ago when I had an issue with an electric lead that was thought to be a bomb. This time should be fine though as I have all of the electrical stuff in a bag that has already been checked and I have it in my hands. The system jerks and it shoots up the bad-boy-conveyor, my heart sinks.

“You have some scissors in your rucksack”, it’s the lady that helped me load the different trays, the laptop on one, phone etc on another, rucksack on another and the liquids on yet another. I only have three liquids, a tube of toothpaste, some aftershave, and sunscreen but she made me put it on a tray of its own. Pea on-a-drum is a very apt description but all of that had come through successfully and was now back in my hands or at least in front of me. The rucksack; however, was not. I’m certain that there are no scissors in that bag, I don’t challenge the lady though ‘cos that’s not going to change her opinion until it’s been properly searched and approved for onward travel. Unlike last time I have lots of time so the only stress is related to the mystery of the scissors. SHe beckons me across and points at the shadow that she clearly thinks is a pair of scissors, it doesn’t look like scissors, it’s more like a flat piece of metal; in fact the only thing that gives the game away is a label that the scanner has added with a helpful little arrow pointing at the shadow “Scissors” proclaimed the label.

“I do have a metal compass in there”, I say in the hope of getting her sympathy and offering an excuse.

“Yes”, she responds, “That’s this one here”, and she points at another shadow. My mind is racing and I decide to hold my piece in case it looks like I’m guilty and she hasn’t removed all my stuff from the bag yet but I’m wondering what it could be, I know it’s not scissors so I’ll be exonerated but what might it be and hopefully it’s not going to be worse.

I offer a brief training course on how to open a rucksack at the top and also down the side so that she can access as much as possible without having to remove everything. That’s a pipe-dream and everything comes out. Socks, knickers, shorts, pully, thermal vest (it can get chilly in the mountains), pair of Sketchers (they’re comfortable and light) and Cyril – my stick. No scissors though.

“We’ll put it back through empty”, she says. This lady is from the Mrs May school of tenacity but having emptied the thing I’m happy to be proved right.

Off it goes into the scanner then comes to the ‘good-boy’ / ‘not-so-good-boy’ fork, hesitates and veers to the left. I’m still on the ‘naughty’ list. I’m thinking about spitting on the backs of my hands and rubbing my eyes. If I do it and make my bottom lip quiver a bit might I get some sympathy? …no!

She’s asking if the lining is zipped into the bag if not she’s going to have to cut it. Now I’m feeling this has gone way too far but the evidence is stacked against me even though I know that there’s nothing there.

“It’s not a part of the rucksack frame? There’s an upward inflexion to indicate that this is a question not a statement of fact.

“No”, she says, a little too quickly and then the ultimate irony, she asks her colleague for some scissors.

In the meantime I’m digging around in the rucksack looking for a zip – bingo, I find one and unzip the lining and she reaches inside and like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat removes her hand and in it …a pair of scissors.

Now if this had been drugs and the airport any city in Malaysia or the Philippines then I would have been in deep shit. I worked in Malaysia on several occasions and one particular visit involved sleeping in a hotel room that could be booked for all but one night in the month. The night it couldn’t be booked was for the activities that took place in the local prison and from that particular room, the activities could be both witnessed and photographed. It was the morning that the drug mules would face the gallows and this one room gave a full view of the proceedings over the prison wall. I think of this and shudder. OK, I’m only embarrassed and to this day have no idea how the scissors got in there. In fairness to the security lady, she is impeccably polite and merely binned them in a receptacle labelled sharps. I apologised profusely and feel such a dick but I am a little more circumspect when she confiscates my stick. ‘Cyril’ had been with me all over the Moors, Pennines and many places on the Continent but today he is going and I accept it with good grace but a moist eye that doesn’t need the fake evidence of spit on the back of the hand. I wave and he waves back from the bin into which he’s been unceremoniously tossed … ah well, c’est la vie … I’ll get another one from Santander but I wouldn’t want him to know that.

Stansted to Santander

The flight itself is ‘interesting’. Forty minutes in and I am nodding a bit when there is a noise behind me and a stampede of air stewards down the aisle.

There is a call for a doctor onboard and when this draws a blank, anyone with medical knowledge, still no-one comes forward, so they ask for taxi drivers and hairdressers and when they can’t help they plead for anyone that has read a women’s magazine health page. Still no-one so the pilot puts the plane into a steep dive with a view to landing on a pontoon in the Bay of Biscay so the unfortunate patient can be picked up with a Yorkshire Air Ambulance helicopter (alternatively, he might have been taking us to France) . A male nurse eventually draws the short straw and stuffs something in the poor victim’s mouth! This brings them round enough for us to finish the flight to Santander. I’m not sure it is anything sweet but they don’t go unconscious again!

Santander

At the airport, there is no blue-light activity so I assume that a reasonable recovery has been made and within minutes we start the zigzagging all over again but this time it is to one of the ‘two’ booths that are open to process 200+ travellers through passport control. Ah well, I’ve known it worse – then they close one and it is worse.

I’d already read that the airport bus leaves from immediately outside the terminal and within a few minutes there it is. I spend the waiting time looking up hotels on Tripadvisor and find one 200 metres from the City Centre that’s officially two stars and gets four and a half stars from the punters. I am aware that this can be bullshit but if you cross check this with registered hotels.Com users it’s usually OK so I book it for £26 – if it’s crap then I’ll walk away – it isn’t.

Nice place with a lovely lady on reception and clean. It’s also got a double bed, I’m delighted.

There’s a bar next door and the guy clearly feels that I’m underfed. I buy a beer and it normally comes with some kind of tapas and this is the case and it keeps coming. I was thinking of a bit of time downtime but change my mind and only three small beers later I’m full of prawns in mayo on a fresh baguette still warm (not the prawns), tuna on a different kind of ciabatta and a patè exquisitely presented with salad. Total cost €7 – you can’t make this up.

The morning is taken with some exploration in the city. The weather is fantastic and meandering around the art and wonderful buildings is a pleasure. I’m intrigued by the actions of some French girls who are giggling near some statues of full size nude men and women, They’re gathered around the gentleman and initially holding hands with him but you can see by the shine where hands eventually strayed, it would seem that boys and girls are the same the world over.

In the little time it takes me to walk across to the harbour the scene is repeated with another two groups!

San Vicente de la Barquera

The coach, like all continental transport, is designed around the customer and this is no exception. Seats with plenty of space between them, soft and deep cushioning, air-conditioning and always on time. If I were to be picky I would say that the number 11 bus should have been at the number 11 platform but they chose 33 so I have a bit of rush when I eventually realise that platform 11 is likely to remain empty.

The journey time is a little over an hour and through beautiful countryside so our arrival is a mix of delight that we’re here and a little disappointment that we’re not travelling through beautiful field and mountains.

I go immediately to the pensión that I’ve booked and there’s a sign that asks me to go to a cafe to register. I’m slightly wobbled but do as instructed and meet Carlos who’s very much larger than life. He takes me back to the hostel and shows me the room for approval which I like. It’s a twin bedded room and the beds are very much ample so I’m very happy. There’s also heating as well as air-conditioning the latter of which, I don’t think I’ll need this week.

St Vicente de la Barquera is a small town with a magnificent bridge and a castle. They’re particularly fond of planting flower beds and lining the roads with trees. I wander around and find a restaurant come bar opposite the main square and Plaza Mayor de Fuero. All Spanish Towns have a Plaza Mayor but this one seems to celebrate the law or some kind of charter. The sun is still shining so I have a beer and do some people watching, it’s at these times that I both don’t miss someone to share it with and, ironically, really do miss someone to share it with.

Enjoy the snaps…G..x

Please feel free to share or comment, I love comments.

Return to Santander and San Vicente de la Barquera Today we learn that there is always the potential for a surprise, especially through airport security and, they really do call out for a doctor when someone is ill on a plane.

#Camino #San Vicente de la Barquera #Santander

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iponderlifecuriosly · 7 years ago

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Over-Responsibility: The Hidden Power Thief

We have work to do, bills to pay, people and animals to care for… the list of responsibilities we carry is endless. And the people who are able to stay on top of it all are a wonder. They are respected, they are emulated. They are The Responsible Ones. As we reach the age of majority, and for some of us, far later into life, we strive to achieve this pinnacle of adulthood, to finally have things under control.

In many ways it is a worthy pursuit, but it is also a double edged sword. With a firm sense of responsibility, there often comes the threat of over-responsibility.

But what is over-responsibility and why is it dangerous?

Have you ever laid awake at night worrying about someone else’s choices? Have you ever watched someone you love doing something that was bad for them, like smoking, and thought it was your fault because you couldn’t make them stop? Have you ever tried dictating another, fully competent, adult’s decisions? Or felt guilty that you couldn’t control a situation that, in reality, had nothing to do with you?

You might be suffering from the horrible, energy sucking vampire of over-responsibility. There is a small point of balance between being caring and supportive, and becoming an ominous presence who drains other people’s energy, power and freedom, driving a wedge into relationships with loved ones. Over-responsibility also causes our own energy to become so scattered that we are left weakened and deflated. We cannot live up to our own potential if we’re putting all of our energy into taking on responsibilities that, in truth, belong to others.

We often fall into this habit, not out of a sense that we are better than anyone else, but out of fierce love.

We want what is best for our loved ones, we want to protect them, and to help them in anyway we can. And it’s good, it’s loving. But when we cross the line into thinking that in order for others to function optimally, we have to be in charge of them, we cause damage to ourselves as well as those we are trying so hard to help. We have to respect the fact that everyone is on their own path. We all came into this world with an energy of our own, with a purpose and a vision that is unique and beautiful. When we spend more time thinking about what our brothers and sisters are up to than focusing on our own truth, we become lost.

We often hear stories of families torn apart over disagreements about marriage choices, educational pursuits, or lifestyle preferences. And when it comes right down to it, most of those family members are actually trying to do what they think is right. There are logical reasons to back up what each person is saying, but there in lies the trap. Reason is subjective. Reason is filtered through perspective and perspective is coloured by multiple life experiences. And as we all know, life experiences are different for each of us. What we learn, how we grow, is completely individual. What makes sense for one of us could seem ludicrous to everyone else.

We end up going around and around in circles, arguing our point, trying to convince other people that we know what’s best for them.

With children this may work for a while, but they grow up, realize their own autonomy and either stay close to parents or get as far away as possible. The parent/child relationships that remain the strongest are those that encourage open communication, freedom, and respect for individual thought and action.

On the flipped side, many adults are now finding themselves in the role of caregiver for senior parents. We need to ask ourselves if these seniors deserve any less? Does age, and it’s related conditions, mean they shouldn’t be treated as whole human beings? Of course, most of us would say no. And yet, seniors are often treated as though they have no rights. Our over-responsibility decides that we know how things ought to be done.

When my Grandfather received a terminal cancer diagnosis, the doctors told him to go home and prepare for the end. We were furious. Who were these doctors to hand out a death sentence, leaving no room for hope? But not my Grandfather. He wasn’t furious, he was defeated. He believed them, so he went home, got into bed and waited to die. Our outrage turned to shock. How could he just give up like that? Why wasn’t he fighting for his life? Trying every alternative treatment he could get his hands on?

This situation had a whole lot of over-responsibility flying around, from both the medical professionals and my family. Both sides were pushing the “correct” thing to do onto my Grandfather, at probably one of his scariest moments. Neither side offered him the respect and support we all deserve as soulful human beings living a life experience on our own terms.

None us have the right to determine how another person’s journey is carried out, nor when it’s reached it’s end.

We do not have the right to dictate when, where, or how another person should live. We do not have the right to dictate when, where, or how another person should die. Many people would argue with this – what about the addicts, the mentally ill, the emotionally manipulated? Don’t they need someone to take care of them? Well, yes, people do need help from time to time, but there are many ways to take care of someone without taking over and exhausting ourselves trying to control two, or sometimes even more, lives. We also don’t know what everyone else has come here to learn, to accomplish. As hard as it is, sometimes we need to go through hardships to grow.

Other beings deserve no less respect. We ‘own’ animals, we hunt animals, we use and abuse them no differently than we use and abuse Earth. Many people act as though animals are property, but in reality, we can’t ‘own’ another soul. My first thought when my dog died was that he shouldn’t have been alone. But that is what he chose. He went to a place that he clearly felt was right for him. He didn’t come looking for us, to lay down beside us. He purposely went to a peaceful little area in the shade of a tree, and laid down there to take his last breath. By assuming that I knew what he should have done and what would have been better for him, I disempowered him. I disrespected his choice and acted as though my opinion was the ‘right’ one. When I was able to recognize that reaction in myself, I was able to let go of guilt, respect his choice, and move into a state of grief that did justice to the bond that we had shared for so many years.

As we move through our lives, we will continue to have responsibilities. We can live up to these, gladly and lovingly, without overstepping and spilling ourselves out all over everyone else. Most of us have experienced feelings of over-responsibility for others. Most of us have had others try to take over for us. It’s uncomfortable no matter which end of it you’re on, and in order to free ourselves of these habits, we have to find the balance point where we share and grow together, without pushing our own agendas.

But where to start? We can try the following:

Stay open to synchronistic events, they may offer solutions and guidance when dealing with loved ones and relationship struggles.

Without seeking dominance over each other, share intuitive insights in unobtrusive ways, “…always looking out for the ‘best interests’ of others, and at the same time, striving to perceive something they need in order to manifest their dreams. If we give them this information, it feels Synchronistic to them and elevates their lives.” ~The Third Insight

Overcome our own control dramas so they don’t impact those around us.

Mediate and perform other spiritual activities that elevate our own energy levels and reduce stress.

Develop stronger interpersonal ethics by uplifting and empowering those around us.

Keep in mind that while we are all connected, we are also individuals. Each of us have a personal spiritual path and life mission to carry out.

Each interaction is a chance to evaluate where we are and where we need to go. Not one of us is perfect, and we do get caught up in each other’s dramas and energies, but each time we work through things while staying in our own lanes, we move further into balanced harmony and into synchronistic flow. Soon enough, this respectful, responsible way of being will become the norm, and over-responsibility will fade into a distant memory.

Words: Holli Smith- The Celestine Vision (http://www.celestinevision.com/2017/11/relationships/over-responsibility-the-hidden-power-thief/#explore)

#celestinevision

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spryfilm · 7 years ago

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“Aftermath” (2017)

Drama

Running Time: 92 minutes

Written: Javier Gullón

Directed by: Elliott Lester

Featuring: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Scoot McNairy, Maggie Grace and Martin Donovan.

Roman: “Look at this photo. I would like for someone to say that they’re sorry for killing my family.”

Lets face it the only reason to watch this movie is to see the continuing comeback of its star Arnold Schwarzenegger after his hiatus whilst serving as the Governor of California. It is true he did make the odd appearance in film during his time as Governor, but it was not until the release of “The Last Stand” (2013) that he announced he was back to being a full-time actor as well as a movie star, his former occupations. Since then he has made “Escape Plan” (2013), “Sabotage” (2014), “The Expendables 3” (2014), “Maggie” (2015) and of course “Terminator: Genisys” (2015), all to varying degrees of success. It would be an understatement to say that any of these movies have been that fantastic, in fact a couple have been bordering on terrible. I for one enjoyed “The Last Stand”, which I think may have gotten a raw deal when it was initially released, a shame as it fits into the Schwarzenegger oeuvre very nicely as well as any of his other past films.

The one thing that is great to see, however, is the ease in which Schwarzenegger is playing his age, in many of these movies he is grey and not hiding his bulk – it may be better for him to stop trying to play the lead in a movie, maybe he should to try to become a true character actor – he does have limited range so this may suit him, it could lead nicely to a third part of his career with which to have some real success. For now though we are stuck with movies like this months straight to DVD/Blu-ray drama “Aftermath” (2017) – a film Schwarzenegger would not have been caught dead in before his run for Governor.

The movie concerns everyman Roman Melnyk (Schwarzenegger ), who is a construction worker in New York – he is getting ready to welcome his family Nadiya and Olena from overseas. Roman receives the news that the plane, with his wife and daughter onboard, has crashed, they are both dead. From this point, Roman is devastated and blames the air traffic controller for the deaths of his family.

Meanwhile, in another angle of the story, Jacob “Jake” Bonanos (Scoot McNairy), an air traffic controller, is now also devastated, after seeing two planes disappear from the radar, showing that the two planes collided and were destroyed. Although the investigators cannot hold Jake responsible for the deaths of the passengers, he blames himself.

This film is many things but I wouldn’t say good or compelling are two of them, it seems like there may be something to it than first meets the eye, particularly with the cinematography, which looks interesting, as well as the word thriller which is used to describe it, in the marketing. This movie is not a thriller, it is for want of a better description a male melodrama that never really reaches the emotional depths it would like to. This may be because of the plodding performance of Schwarzenegger himself or the fact that no real depth is given to him or his counterpart in the piece, Scoot McNairy. It seems that we are supposed to feel sorry for Schwarzenegger simply because he lost his family, but the device that is used to keep him moribund is the fact that he wants an apology from someone – really, an apology, are we supposed to buy that? People process grief in different ways but here the main character goes on a self destructive tour where he spurns help from just about everyone – he never helped himself by talking to people close to him – this is a very un-American thing to do when you work in construction – a terrible trope – which may explain why the US in such trouble now, socially as well as politically. I will not give away the ending but the way he deals with his grief is deplorable, as is the ham fisted ending that offers no real reason for this story to exist in the first place.

I can see the appeal for Schwarzenegger in taking this role in a small drama where he might be able to play someone who loses his family (maybe he saw something in his life that was familiar) but this movie was a bad choice. It is a clumsy, non-sensical revenge film that makes light of his actual loss, as well as stereotyping men who are not highly educated, seeing them as brutes who know only one thing, violence through revenge, there is no apology for it, nor is their any price paid by him in his final act – in fact he has a reduced punishment because it seems the social contract sxays he was in the right.

The writer (Javier Gullón) and director (Elliott Lester) of this movie have been involved in mainly action films before so the nuance that is required to delicately balance the emotions that both main characters are meant to be feeling is lost here. The Schwarzenegger characters idea of loss is to aimlessly wander around his home as well as his old work site, sticking pictures of his family on a wall within his home, building fences (get it, he is building real ones as well as metaphorical ones) and drink. McNairy’s character on the other hand just wants medication, does the American thing of buying a gun, lets his own family walk out and oh yes, drinks heavily. The movie is filled with outdated as well as dangerously stereotypical male actions – something you would expect from people with a political leaning towards the right of center. I find this film an embarrassment, although while you are in it you might not notice how ludicrous some of the situations are, it os only afterward if you bother to reflect on it you will see this film is as big a fantasy as any Marvel or DC movie’s released this year.

There are endless plot holes within this movie, from the farcical work environment McNairy works in, to the way in which the plane crash occurs, to the Schwarzenegger being able to stay with his families bodies where they are being stored, to the reporter giving away information, to the fact that McNairy is even to blame – the list goes on and on. I don’t require realism from all aspects within a movie, but some semblance of reality would be great.

What this film says about masculinity as well as a father or husbands reaction to loss of life is frankly embarrassing not only to me but for the people behind this movie. During the movie my wife turned to me and said, “You wouldn’t do what the main character is doing if we were in the same situation?” I can honestly say I said no. Now there may be times when you feel like he does but you could not function if that was your life. It is sad to think this movie was even made, it almost seems likes it’s a reaction to forgiving people or to tune audiences up to this new America they have woken up to in the last year or so.

I cannot recommend highly enough to only watching this movie if you are a fan of dramas that have little to do with reality or if you are a huge fan of Arnold Schwarzenegger and want to see everything he appears in. To be honest the closest thing to this Schwarzenegger has done is the under rated “Maggie” (2015) which I would recommend for something that is different and more believable than this exercise in futility.

“Aftermath” Schwarzenegger is out now on DVD and Blu-ray.

DVD & Blu-ray review: “Aftermath” (2017) “Aftermath” (2017) Drama Running Time: 92 minutes Written: Javier Gullón Directed by: Elliott Lester Featuring: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Scoot McNairy, Maggie Grace and Martin Donovan.

#aftermath #aftermath blu-ray #Arnold Schwarzenegger #bluray review #bluray reviews #dvd #dvd review #DVD reviews #DVDReviews

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rnrmarineservices-blog · 7 years ago

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Uphill all the way reliving a leg of the BT Challenge across the Southern Ocean against the prevailing winds

Tom Cunliffe introduces an extract from Uphill All the Way by Alan Sears, recounting a fearsome Southern Ocean leg of the 1996-97 BT Challenge race aboard Toshiba.

Most accounts of grim conditions in the Southern Ocean are written by skippers of race boats or owners of smaller yachts engaged in high adventure, writes Tom Cunliffe. Uphill all the Way by Alan Sears is different.

When he signed on Toshiba with the BT Global Challenge for the 1996-97 race he was a music teacher who had been, amongst other things, a cycling champion, a violin maker and a groundsman. One thing he was not was a professional sailor.

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His take on events in the storm-lashed seas centres around his shipmates being beaten black and blue by the extreme motion of a big yacht racing upwind as hard as she can go. Those of us who have avoided this experience tend not to think about the hammering that bodies take as these powerful, unbreakable boats leap from wave crests into deep holes in the ocean.

Here, we have it spelled out. From the start, Sears is suffering from a painful knee injury sustained in the previous chapter as he was washed off the wheel.

We join Toshiba and her bold crew far south with ice threatening and Cape Town an impossibly long way ahead.

Deep in the Southern Ocean, the weather continued as before. On the wheel one day, it occurred to me that the wind had not dropped below 38 knots for the past hour.

'So it is a gale,' I thought, 'and we no longer think anything of it.' Ludicrously, we had reached the point where 40 knots seemed reasonably comfortable, just so long as we had approached it by coming down from 50!

As night fell, this particular gale blew into a storm, with the wind running at a constant 45 knots, but with the sea relatively (and only relatively) flat for that amount of wind. This meant that Toshiba would crank right up to about 8.5 knots, and then we would hit a `backless wonder' or a real corkscrew.

A wave with no back gives the boat nothing to slide down; you just take off from the crest and plunge way, way down, into the trough beyond. The corkscrews pick the back of the boat up as they pass underneath, twist you round and throw you down into the trough the effect is much the same.

I felt in imminent danger of serious personal injury for every minute I was on the helm during all this. All we could see, even granted an occasional flicker of moonlight between the sullen clouds, was a dark grey horizon with a black sea billowing beneath it.

When the horizon rose up rapidly, so that most of what we were looking at turned black, we braced ourselves, gritted our teeth and hung on.

Half the time nothing happened. Toshiba would roll over the top of the wave, twist, and try to head off the wind. I would steer to correct that, there would be some spray, and we would slide down the other side, untroubled and unharmed.

Then, every so often, we would be launched with enormous propulsion, like a powerful steeple-chaser taking off at a truly huge fence, and we would plunge down, free-falling, until Tosh buried her bows with an almighty crash. If steering, you would be flung against the wheel while, simultaneously, it would be wrenched round with more force than you could possibly hope to counteract.

The instinctive reaction was to hang on for grim death or should that be dear life? If you did that, the wheel swept your hand into the narrow gap where the rim passes the cockpit seat. At best that was very painful, at worst things got broken.

Simultaneously a huge mass of water would slam into your head, shoulders and chest, knocking you backwards. It was blinding.

Even with a helmet or goggles you cannot see through solid water. Walls of white foam rushing by above the sides of the cockpit would add to the flood swirling round your feet; there was just water everywhere.

Half standing, re-bracing your legs, you would drag the wheel back because already the next black monster would be rushing towards you, climbing higher and higher on the bow. 'What a nightmare!' was Kobus's somewhat succinct summing up of the situation.

The change down from staysail to storm staysail was one of the worst tasks. It always took place in fearsome conditions, and meant working in the middle of the foredeck, with very little around to hold on to.

Struggling with the change one night, Ben's watch were practically swept off the deck by the biggest crash any of us ever heard on Tosh. Ange, Ben and Kiki all sustained minor injuries but Haydon, not long over a nasty back problem, was in serious trouble.

Unable to move, let alone get himself back to the relative safety of the cockpit, he was clearly in agony, and it looked as though Spike's worst medical nightmare had come true; we thought he had broken his leg.

The prospect of getting a badly injured person off the foredeck in these conditions does not really bear thinking about, but in fact we had thought about it, in advance. The first part of the plan to run downwind, keeping the boat stable and the deck relatively flat was easy.

After that there was nothing for it except to drag Haydon back, as gently as possible, whilst trying to support his damaged leg. His trip down the companionway steps was a miracle of teamwork and compassion, and we finally laid him on a pair of coffin bunk mattresses on the floor by the chart table.

'Are you particularly attached to that drysuit?' asked Simon, preparing to cut the fabric away. 'I am, as it happens,' replied Haydon through rather gritted teeth. So we inched his boot off and painstakingly got him out of his drysuit, and slowly, piece by piece, removed enough of his kit so that Spike could examine his leg.

Alan Sears celebrates his birthday in the Southern Ocean.

Rounding the Kerguelen Islands

It didn't look good. A possible fracture of the shin bone was only half the story; it looked as though Haydon might have broken his femur as well.

We managed, with the aid of painkillers and some improvised padding, to get Haydon secure in his bunk, and considered our options. There were not very many and, depending on Haydon's condition over the next 24 hours, pressing on was the only one immediately available.

Grateful as I was to have escaped so lightly, that still did not ease my own problem which was that every time I went on to the foredeck, I hurt my knee badly again. It simply was not possible to stop yourself being flung around, and every wrench crippled me anew.

I upped the painkillers and continued to swear flatly, vehemently, viciously and repeatedly every time it happened. When we finally rounded the Kerguelen Islands waypoint after just 24 days at sea, everyone had really had enough. Even Spike remarked to me that he was counting down the days!

As if to herald the approach of better times we witnessed a superb sunrise as the cloud dispersed, but later that day the generator exhaust failed terminally. We had barely enough fuel to charge our flagging batteries and keep the water maker operational using the main engine, and there were still 2,000 miles to go to Cape Town.

Nevertheless a certain euphoria set in and things did gradually get better. We headed up north, on course for Cape Town, and sea and air temperatures rose from freezing to tolerable.

The risks of icebergs receded, the wind no longer roared up above 50 knots with frightening regularity, and we began to look forward to some sunshine. Only a few days after his terrible accident Haydon struggled up and began making cups of tea and monitoring the chart table instruments, while still barely able to drag himself about the boat.

By some miracle his injuries were restricted to a compression fracture of his shin bone and an ugly swelling the size of a large melon on his thigh. We were almost out of it, but not quite.

The change to the storm staysail caught us once again, this time on our watch. Geoff banged a previously damaged arm and bruised himself badly being flung against the winch he was working, Mark's hand was dragged through the side netting, put in place to stop sails being swept overboard under the lifelines, and Justin banged his head.

I was practically winded by a wave which hit me square on the back, and I hurt all the bits which hurt before plus a few new ones. More 60 knot gusts followed, and in one of them we achieved one of Simon's great ambitions: we broke the starboard head falling off a wave!

A good two seconds 'air-time' was followed by an unbelievable rig-shaking, hull-quaking CRA-A-A-A-A-SH and the porcelain lavatory pan cracked wide open from base to rim.

Full steam ahead for Africa

Looking back we were able to pinpoint, to the day, our leaving the Southern Ocean behind. We looked behind us and saw the lowering clouds of the last of those massive weather systems, and from that day on things became reasonable again.

Now we were left with the small matter of trying to win a yacht race. The generator exhaust was still proving an on-off affair as Geoff and Haydon, working in spite of his leg, struggled to bond bits of old tin can and anything else they could find around the offending junction.

That meant saving on electricity by being mean with the lights, as well as using as little water as possible. The deck light had given up, the home-made spotlight was on its last bulb, and we were nearly out of torch batteries.

We had no sugar, and were low on cheese, butter and bread mix. Toilet paper was being strictly rationed, and breakfast was reduced to cereals only, but we were still able to put together a respectable chilli and rice followed by apple crumble and custard for supper.

The wind filled in, and once again we gave chase to Concert and Group 4, whose battle for the lead was, to our chagrin, taking place a few miles ahead of us. At one point Simon managed a top boat speed of 21.5 knots under a poled out No 1 yankee, and then, before anyone else could threaten that speed, decided that we needed to change down!

Kobus then proceeded to clock 18.3 knots with the No 2 yankee up, the staysail and the first reef in the main, which must be some sort of fleet record.

The Agulhas current, which we expected to sweep us around the tip of Africa, failed to materialise, but just after 9am on Tuesday 8 April, after 37 days at sea, a cry of 'Land Ho!' from on deck, brought us all up to gaze at an uneven blur at the distant edge of the sea. 'Is that all?' someone said jocularly.

'That's Africa,' I said, 'and it's the first time I've ever seen it.'

The post Uphill all the way reliving a leg of the BT Challenge across the Southern Ocean against the prevailing winds appeared first on Yachting World.

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