#its just fun to have a herd of animals that trusts you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chaoticgoodthief · 7 months ago

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Hahaha thank you so much... those two swaps were my favourite as well and were honestly the most challenging of the lot!

Oh, and I guess the note count on this thing that means operation part two (canon meets au) is a go! I schemed over it a bit but here are my thoughts + minor ship teases because I'm me (under the cut since this is going to get Really Long)

Hero:

Swap Hero: Instantly bonds with him over shared experiences in the Construct. The two of them both probably spend the majority of the meeting trying to control the sheer chaos of it all, but likely try to find a way to keep in touch afterwards

Swap Hunted: Has to keep him from trying to manipulate Broken and Smitten. It's very exhausting work and Hero was grateful, although also very shocked, when Opportunist actually helped keep the other voice under control.

Swap Opportunist: Actually gets along really well with him. The sincerity is nice, even if the accuracy that he is able to mimic Opportunist's way of acting is rather concerning.

Swap Skeptic: Without the theatre kid way of talking that Smitten has, it's hard not to notice how toxic of a relationship he has with the Princess. It's just like the Deconstructed Damsel again...

Swap Smitten: Is just so pleased with him because this one gets it. Thankful that at least one version of Smitten actually realises just how messed up the whole Damsel situation is. Even if hearing him talk normally is... rather weird.

Swap Stubborn: ...Yeesh. That's really weird. Finds it hard to get used to someone looking almost exactly like Stubborn act so ... defeated. It's actually really scary.

Swap Broken: A small, half-dead Stubborn that somehow still thinks he can take you in a fight. Still weird, but in a nice way. At least he seems happy.

Swap Paranoid: Actually a lot more comfortable with him than with a lot of the other Swap Voices. He may be more serious and emotionless than Paranoid but doesn't have Cold's tendency to throw himself in danger for no good reason.

Swap Cold: Can't help but find him hilarious. What can you say? When someone makes fun of you for being frightened of a ghost and their alternate universe self is that terrified of anything supernatural it's hard not to find it a little bit funny.

Swap Cheated: Sees way too much of the Razor in him for Hero's comfort level, made only the more disturbing by the realisation that this is Cheated with Contrarian's personality. To say Hero is concerned by this would be an understatement.

Swap Contrarian: Acts like a bully, but at least Swap Hero is able to control him and he does seem genuinely apologetic when his insults hurt deeper than intended.

Hunted:

Swap Hero: Is still so similar. Needs to eat and rest more. Still a mother hen.

Swap Hunted: Not to be trusted and lacks herd instinct. A disgusting parasite in the flock. Needs to be kept under a watchful eye.

Swap Opportunist: Friend??? Greets Hunted back properly instead of with confusion???? Flock mate??? Flock mate???

Swap Skeptic: Lacks basic instinct. A little lost chick that imprinted on a cat. Immediately sits on him like a hen over a foreign egg and protects.

Swap Smitten: Wounded animal. Approach slowly and with caution. Do not make sudden movements.

Swap Stubborn: Another one in desperate need of preening. A little chick that got pushed out of its nest before it could fly.

Swap Broken: Terrible insticts. Would sit on and protect but still sitting on Swap Skeptic. Sits on both.

Swap Paranoid: Strange but good. Lacks instinct but makes up for it in skill. Respect his choices and he will respect yours.

Swap Cold: Has strong flight instincts. Has strange rituals that seem to keep him calm but no clear reason of why. Approach slowly.

Swap Cheated: Should not be allowed access to metal claws. A small, mean trickster that rarely knows when to quit. D o not approach.

Swap Contrarian: Barks like predator but smells like fear. Possibly wounded? Attacks in a way that does not hurt Hunted but hurts flock mates. Maintain safe distance.

Opportunist:

Swap Hero: *Corporate wants you to find the difference between these two pictures meme*

Swap Hunted: Refuses to believe that this is what the other voices view him to be like. This shady version of Hunted waltzes into Opportunist's group of unwitting puppets and take control of their strings? Not under his watch.

Swap Opportunist: Finds his alternate self really weird. It's one thing to see someone you know acting like someone else, but it's another altogether to see yourself acting like someone else. What do you mean, alternate version of him? That is a bird.

Swap Skeptic: Uncanny Valley Vibes TM. Can not understand how the other voice is so damn trusting of the princess. Like seriously, Opportunist will admit that he has trust issues but that guy? That guy has the opposite of trust issues to the point that it wraps right back around to being an issue again.

Swap Smitten: Opportunist could tell him that the sky was blue and the other voice would suddenly decide that the sky must be anything other than blue. But it's not just Opportunist! Swap Smitten does that to everyone! He loves it.

Swap Stubborn: Doesn't know what to make of him. He's just so ... dead. It's creepy. Tried to have a chat with then other voice just to try get a clear read on him but eventually just gave up because nothing he said could get a reaction.

Swap Broken: Got punched by him for being annoying and totally deserved it as well. Stays far, far away from the other voice now.

Swap Paranoid: Respects his ability to take control of a situation, even if he doesn't respect him as a person. Come on, it's like the guy has eyes on the back of his head or something!

Swap Cold: Pathetically easy to scam. Would spend his life savings on trying to ward off non-existent evil spirts easy to scam. Forced to realise just how convincing the other voice's ... well, paranoia can be after off-handedly mentioning the Witch to him.

Swap Cheated: Wishes he would stop trying to stab Opportunist when he's not paying attention! Geez, come on, there isn't even a good reason to stab him! It's like he's just doing it for fun! No, don't laugh, it's not funny!

Swap Contrarian: Finds out that he has a really short temper the hard way. He said ... things about Opportunist and his relationship with Smitten that don't deserve repeating and refused to apologize until Opportunist honestly apologised. It was awkward.

Skeptic:

Swap Hero: Extremely interested in the similarities and differences between the two universes and trying to get a better understanding of the Construct through cross-examination. He just happens to be the most through way of doing this.

Swap Hunted: He is a lot more cunning and calculated, accurately assessing which Voices are most prone to manipulation and acting accordingly. He seems to listen Stubborn and Swap Broken the most, but more out of fear than any sort of comraderie.

Swap Opportunist: Understandably difficult to communicate with. He seems more empathic, conveying sympathy for the Thorn and guilt from the Wounded Wild. When under any perceived attack, he acts like Opportunist as a defence mechanism.

Swap Skeptic: Lets Stubborn try punch some sense into his alternate self and is actually disappointed (but not surprised) when it doesn't work. Seems that he has had Skeptic's trust in the princess ramped up to an unhealthy extreme ... strange.

Swap Smitten: Doesn't even manage to ask more than one question before he asks one back. They get along quite well until he reveals that he trusts nobody. Not the Narrator, not the princess, not the other voices, not even the Long Quiet itself. Then Skeptic finds himself it the weird position of being called "too trusting" by a version of Smitten, of all voices.

Swap Stubborn: Finds him extremely annoying because he just won't answer a single question properly. From what he managed to gather from other voices, Skeptic believes that the main cause was viewing the mutual death as a defeat rather than as a challenge.

Swap Broken: Although lacking the physical abilities that keep his universe's Stubborn going, he is powered by sheer spite and determination to a point that he can actually win more times than he loses.

Swap Paranoid: Skeptic's questions are all rebuked with an "It doesn't matter" or "You should stop concerning yourself with that". Decides that even his universe's Cold easier to deal with because at least he still cares about something.

Swap Cold: Struggles not to get pulled into his superstitions and absurd theories because he just keeps making sense. The Narrator is basically a malevolent spirit possessing them. If the Construct is manipulated by perception, there's no reason why good luck charms wouldn't work. They end up spiralling together, and the world ends /j

Swap Cheated: Believes him to be mimicking the Razor's personality as a coping mechanism. He's not wrong. But he's also stabbed now, so you win some and you lose some.

Swap Contrarian: Acts like a caged animal, snapping at anyone even remotely perceived as a threat. Always genuine in his apologies when he goes too far, but never seems to be able to change.

Smitten:

Swap Hero: Seems uncomfortable with Smitten's adoration of the princess. Maybe Smitten just hasn't found the right way of talking in a way he can understand?

Swap Hunted: Why everyone seems so determined to keep him away? Surely no voice can truly be as awful as everyone claims! Other than Cold. Cold can go just into a dark pit and die a slow, boring death.

Swap Opportunist: Is a lot friendlier! Just no fear at all, does not mind head pats and cuddles. But Opportunist is who he is and Smitten would never dare ask him to ask for anything more.

Swap Skeptic: Doesn't know why everyone else acts so strange about the him! He's just really passionate about his lover and not good at expressing it! They bond over their mutual unwavering love for their respective princesses and the world ends /j

Swap Smitten: Alternate him seems to not like him very much... he can't understand how any version of himself could hold that much hate for his precious Damsel. Surely Smitten can convince him of her good intentions! (Spoiler alert: No.)

Swap Paranoid: He acts too much like Cold and Smitten acts too much like Swap Skeptic for them to get along. Not really much more to say about it.

Swap Cold: He's... cute. Despite looking like a spitting image of Cold, he acts nothing like the other voice. Fidgets, rambles, jumps ten metres in the air when a twig snaps, twitches, stares up at you like a whimpering dog in a thunderstorm. Can Smitten keep him? Please?

Swap Cheated: Smitten keeps falling for the his exact same trick every time and gets stabbed. Pattern repeats until Opportunist finds out and drags that bleeding idiot away.

Swap Contrarian: Cusses Smitten out for bringing up the topic of the princess and storms off.

Stubborn:

Swap Hero: The only way he can tell the difference is that only one of them looks at him like he's a complete stranger.

Swap Hunted: Punted him like a football for refusing to take no for an answer. Now he's trying to kill Stubborn. Seriously, if Hunted didn't catch on to fact that he poisoned Stubborn's food, Stubborn would be dead.

Swap Opportunist: Skittish little guy that always seems to run away when Stubborn approaches. A lot less annoying than his counterpart.

Swap Skeptic: Wants to punch some sense into him. Tries to punch some sense into him. Failed to punch some sense into him and so just avoids the other voice because the others are right, that is super weird.

Swap Smitten: Gets along surprisingly well with him despite his tense relationship with his own universe's Smitten. They bond over the idea that Swap Skeptic and Smitten are both very deluded and need to wake up, even if they do disagree on how that should be achieved.

Swap Paranoid: Deserves to be punched and wishes he wasn't so damn good at avoiding being punched. That's pretty much all there is to it.

Swap Cold: Nicknamed him "Twitchy" after getting a full-on panicked lecture about why breaking the mirror is a horrible, terrible, no-good idea that needs to be erased from his mind right now. Secretively wants someone to please get this poor thing some anxiety meds or something but wouldn't dare say that out loud.

Swap Stubborn: Refuses to even talk to him. It's so weird and generally just depressing.

Swap Broken: Scoffed at him at first, unable to believe that someone this pathetic could possible be like Stubborn. Then just gets absolutely decked by him, laughs, gets back up, and begins pummelling him right back. The world ends /j

Swap Cheated: A rough start, but gets along with him pretty well once Stubborn realises that the he finds stabbing and being stabbed fun. Then they immediately start pummelling each other. The world ends again /j

Swap Contrarian: All bark no bite, leading to the two getting along horribly. Only made worse when he gets pissed off from it and begins making all sorts of crude remarks. Punches him, which shuts the him up... for all of ten seconds.

Broken:

Swap Hero: Hates Broken.

Swap Hunted: Really nice, actually bothering to talk to him and give him things to do.

Swap Opportunist: Keeps trying to preen Broken... Broken already gets this enough from Hunted. Broken's feathers are too ruined to fix, why do they both do this?

Swap Skeptic: His relationship with the Prisoner is like Broken's one with the Tower... but seems to get extremely upset at the comparison. Maybe best to leave him alone...

Swap Smitten: Hates Broken.

Swap Stubborn: ...Is like Broken. He understands how it feels to just see a completely undefeatable force and just give up rather than bother try to win. The two are the only ones able to make each other smile. They're just vibing.

Swap Broken: Hates Broken.

Swap Paranoid: Hates Broken.

Swap Cold: Cares too much about trying to break curses. If you're cursed, you're cursed. There's nothing you can do about it.

Swap Cheated: Only stabbed Broken once before getting bored. Something about it not being funny when there wasn't a reaction. Broken likes him.

Swap Contrarian: Is a different type of angry than Broken is familiar with from Cheated. But also seems to hate him less than Contrarian. He doesn't understand why.

Paranoid:

Swap Hero: WHY DOES HE KEEP LOOKING AT PARANOID???

Swap Hunted: Doesn't trust him. Refuses to let anyone get tricked by him if it's the last thing Paranoid does.

Swap Opportunist: Mutual distrust TM. Paranoid is sure that the uncanny ability to mimic Opportunist's personality can't possibly be a coincidence and he must be hiding something.

Swap Skeptic: Would not survive a day with the Nightmare. Absolutely pathetic. Has zero fear of the princess no matter how Paranoid tries talk some sense into him.

Swap Smitten: ...Called Paranoid too trusting???? Implied that none of the other voices or even the Long Quiet should be trusted??? And everyone thinks Paranoid has issues????

Swap Stubborn: Stubborn with depression. Not much more to say here.

Swap Broken: Broken without depression. Not much more to say here.

Swap Paranoid: Paranoid actually gets how this happened. Shutting off emotions because the fear was just too much to deal with and he had a job to do. The two of them actually get along pretty well.

Swap Cold: Gets along with him too well. The two would spiral if put in the same room with each other, with each one's own fears causing the other one's fears to skyrocket. The world ends /j

Swap Cheated: Knife dodge extreme mode. Luckily for Paranoid, this game is perfect for someone who spends every other second glancing over their shoulder for unseen monsters!

Swap Contrarian: Surprisingly, is one of the few Swap Voices that Paranoid can respect. A reasonable level of trust, a clear hatred of the insanity of the Construct, and no tolerance for pristine-blades-for-hands.

Cold:

Swap Hero: Same voice. Still so emotional about things that don't matter in the end.

Swap Hunted: Cares too much about surviving. Why put in so much effort trying to avoid the inevitable?

Swap Opportunist: Flighty and fearful. Also trying too hard to escape death.

Swap Skeptic: ...Boring. Everything interesting about him carved out and now all that's left is an obsessive Princess-pleasing shell. Not even interesting like Smitten in the Burned Grey.

Swap Smitten: Claims himself to be suspicious of everyone and everything around him yet trusting others enough to share his advice on distrusting everyone. And by sharing that advice on distrust, he is unintentionally saying that himself and the advice he offers is untrustworthy. A surprisingly interesting mess of contradictions.

Swap Stubborn: Boring. Has embraced death and yet somehow made it dull in the process.

Swap Broken: The only interesting thing about him is how many different things he manages to pick a fight with. If Cold could feel emotion, he would almost be impressed by the sheer range of ways he could die.

Swap Paranoid: The most boring possible option. Managed to turn off his emotions and yet... somehow managed to become completely dull in the process.

Swap Cold: What. The. Hell. Cold has no opinion on him. (spoiler alert: Cold meeting Swap Cold probably one of the few times anyone saw such visible emotion from Cold.)

Swap Cheated: The most interesting person here. Actually knows how to keep killing and dying in amuzing ways. The two get along like a literal house on fire. The world ends /j

Swap Contrarian: Surprisingly annoying, even able to make Cold wish for him to shut up. They end up fighting like cats and dogs, each one throwing more and more hurtful insults at eachother ad naseum. The world ends /j

Cheated:

Swap Hero: *Corporate wants you to find the difference between these two pictures meme*

Swap Hunted: Holds his cards way to close to his chest to be trusted. The same slimy cheater as Opportunist and Cheated hates it.

Swap Opportunist: Weird. So very weird. He's... actually trustworthy? Very open about his intentions and only acts deceptive when put in a situation where he believes that trickery is the only way to survive. It's a nice weird, but still weird.

Swap Skeptic: A bit too open with his intentions, honestly. There's only so many times you can hear someone repeat their entire personailty in a few sentences before it starts feeling like you're talking to a cardboard cutout of a person.

Swap Smitten: Refuses to trust even the ones that are shoving their cards in his face??? What is wrong with him? He has the answers being told to him and still just doesn't listen? Trying to convince him of anything is like telling Contrarian what to do!

Swap Stubborn: Could... probably cheer up a bit. Even Broken is less dejected than him. And that's saying something.

Swap Broken: Very, very clear about his intentions and that he'd beat Cheated up if Cheated "tried any funny business". Cheated would be offended if he didn't see alternate him's way of acting. Honestly, very reasonable and generally less miserable.

Swap Paranoid: Bluntly honest and has a surprisingly no-nonsense personality. Plays a killer game of poker and doesn't get bored as quickly as Cold does. Cheated doesn't get why so many Swap Voices hate him.

Swap Cold: Well... at least he isn't a chronic liar like Cold? Horribly unlucky to the point that even Cheated can win almost every game against him and blames it on a ghost curse. Cheated ... decides that it isn't impossible for his superstitions to be true after that.

Swap Cheated: Alternate him is far too much like his princess and it gets them into the exact same type of fight that Cheated had with the actual Razor. Everyone was hurt in the making of this video.

Swap Contrarian: ...The other voices are right, Cheated is a sore loser. The two of them flutuate between getting along like a house on fire and hating each other's guts.

Contrarian:

Swap Hero: ...He still likes Contrarian! Contrairan was expecting the worst with everyone else so different but Hero is still Hero and not something horrifying like Hero with Narry's shining personality.

Swap Hunted: Seeing Opportunist run around trying to actually stop others from getting betrayed was peak comedy and nobody can tell Contrarian otherwise.

Swap Opportunist: Keeps chirping and Hunted keeps chirping back. It was funny at first but now it's just boring. He barked at them and now feels bad because of how badly he scared them.

Swap Skeptic: It was pretty funny to see Skeptic practically pop a blood vessel trying to talk some sense into his alternate self. Contrarian had never seen the voice look so close to strangling someone else to death before.

Swap Smitten: Absolutely hilarious. First Skeptic and then Paranoid! Saying the exact same thing with the exact same reaction from the other voice! Contrarian nearly bust his gut laughing at the absurdity of it.

Swap Stubborn: ... It was a bit funny to see Stubborn screaming at himself? (It wasn't funny. Just really, really sad.)

Swap Broken: Really easy to mess woth, but there are immediate consiquences to messing with him into the form of pain. Funnier just to watch him pick fights with everyone in a five metre radius (that isn't Contrarian, of course.)

Swap Paranoid: It was funny to see Stubborn try and fail to beat him up. Wasn't nearly as fun to mess around with as Cold though...

Swap Cold: Phahahahaha- the look on Cold's face! Contrarian wishes he could have taken a picture because the sheer amount of confusion and disgust was priceless! Contrarian's never going to look at Cold without imagining Swap Cold's cute face and wide eyes hahaha

Swap Cheated: Contrarian... isn't like that? Is he? Is that how everyone sees him? Just some dumb, one trick pony that everyone tolerates but nobody actually enjoys the presense of? It ... can't be. Can it?

Swap Contrarian: For an alternate him... he's really easy to mess with. Has an absurdly short fuse and it shows. He seems... almost jealous of Contrarian? Even when everyone takes him seriously instead of just being a joke to laugh at? It's weird. He's weird. Contrarian's going to annoy him.

That's everyone? Phew, that took a long time! Hopefully I didn't miss anyone but if I did please let me know!

STP Voices Personality Swap

Inspired completely by @remaking-machine's awesome AU! I decided to put my own twist on the idea and see how it turns out! (ramble under the cut so that my mutuals don't have to watch me go insane, as per usual)

Self-imposed rules:

Personalities swaps must be based off of this line (or at least my interpretation of it) to force me to think more about how that would even work:

Princesses must be kept as close to canon as possible. I would give a good reason but honestly, it's just more fun that way

Ok, without further ado, let's get started!

Hunted (swapped with Opportunist): Will be on whatever side keeps him alive. Will be completely on board with defeating the Beast since he knows he will die if he doesn't fight her. However, he drops all pretences the moment they aren't in danger of dying. All the other voices actually like him up until he drops the helpful act, which at that point they all immediately hate him for deceiving them. For the most part, acts similar to his canon counterpart but a lot shadier in a way that nobody else seems to notice.

Opportunist (swapped with Hunted): Treats the Witch like an ambush predator and thus always is correct about her next move. False bravado comes off like a prey animal puffing itself up to be more intimidating. Genuinely looking out for your survival, but generally disliked by the other voices for his flighty nature. Does not trust Thorn, but empathetic towards her pain. Generally acts very different from his canon counterpart, but his facade is a nearly eerie replica.

Skeptic (Swapped with Smitten): An seriously unhealthy amount of trust in the Prisoner and only the Prisoner. If she told you to stab yourself he would agree with her because he's that sure that she has a plan. Completely distraught in the Drowned Grey route because he knew she had a plan and it's all your fault for not believing in her like he did. It's actually creepy how easily Skeptic falls down the exact same path as canon Smitten after a personality swap. I love it.

Smitten (Swapped with Skeptic): Serious trust issues after being stabbed to death by the princess and locked away by the Narrator. Rather than you being the one to ask questions in the start of Chapter II, he will ask them before you get the chance. Since he will force you to grab the knife, there is a much higher chance of getting the Burned Grey route. Can be calmed down if you manage to get him to put his trust in the Damsel, but manoeuvring away from Deconstructed Damsel is also a lot harder due to his insistence to get answers. Somehow even more sceptical than canon Skeptic.

Stubborn (Swapped with Broken): Most downtrodden of the lot because of just how exhausted he is from the seemingly endless fighting. Even getting with him to the cabin is a pain due to his refusal to Do This. All the other voices think he's annoying and whiny, with only Contrarian vaguely getting along with him. Interrupts the Narrator's "You're here to -", with "Die. And die. And die again. And if we're lucky... die quickly." He's just as bad as canon Broken and it's so funny yet so sad at the same time.

Broken (Swapped with Stubborn): He's not physically strong in the slightest and failed to kill the princess once already, but this time he's going to win. Comes off as a yappy chihuahua trying to fight a lion. Again. However, he's actually on friendly terms with a good few of the other voices due to this. The Tower is vaguely amused by him up until the moment that he actually wins. And then? Then's she's pissed. Would be great friends with canon Stubborn, but only after proving himself in a fight.

Paranoid (Swapped with Cold): Turned off his emotions to focus on getting everyone out alive (think MoC Cold). Clipped, clinical tone for everything, including the Survival Mantra. Thinks the others don't appreciate him enough for the sacrifices he made in order to keep their body working. He is right. Completely numb to death in the MoC route to the point he doesn't even bother to use the Survival Mantra anymore, not that it matters at that point anyway. Very similar to canon Cold, but more apathetic than bored.

Cold (Swapped with Paranoid): Extremely superstitious, believing the princess to have cursed him with her death, which is only amplified when she returns as a ghost. Urges you not to touch the mirror because you might break it, begins talking about finding an exorcist if you let the Spectre possess you, refers to the Narrator as a malevolent spirit (I mean.... he isn't wrong), the whole shebang. I'm not going to lie, this one is honestly one of the funniest to me. Do not put in the same room as canon Paranoid. It will not end well for either of them.

Cheated (Swapped with Contrarian): Over the course of interacting with the Razor, he quickly starts just messing around after realising nothing he does matters. He treats the situation less and less seriously, to the point that he's making actively dumb decisions just to see how everyone reacts. Throw the blade of the window? Sure, why not? She'd kill us even if we had it! Throw her out of the window she's she's a bunch of blades now? Sure! Why not? She'll just come back, right?

Contrarian (Swapped with Cheated): Tried to get out and now look what's happened. Actively bitter about being trapped into a set path and determined to make it as much of a hell for everyone else as it is for him because of it. Curses like a sailor and is generally just So Done With This. He's not trapped with you. You're trapped with him and he will make everyone knows that. Will still try to make it up to the Stranger, the Hero and the player for his actions later on but does not hesitate to berate you for leaving him behind in the Stranger's cabin. Honestly, he's probably the closest to canon. Spicy Contrarian, if you will (get your mind out of the gutter not like that)

Hero remains the same, but his opinions about all the others are... very different, to say the least.

Phew, that was a lot of fun! Maybe I'll come back with a part two for SwapAU meets canon!

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alloftimeandspacetosee · 2 years ago

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I Have the Power of God and Anime on My Side

so this spins off the roleplay in a way I would have loved to go but sadly that was Not the Plan.

Rather than resetting the whole world and making the apocalypse not happen by way of time travel Stuff, the twins did This instead

(and ok, I did it for the title alone but also it was just Fun. There's more of these coming (once I finish writing them))

Aurora stands where she’s always stood; between her people and the danger. Between the world and its destruction. Beside her sister. She’s powerless, half blind, tired. Her leg aches where it’s cupped by the prosthetic, the long walk and fight wearing on it.

Pink’s gone, running after Pim into the cave. Zlata and Ryun are standing before Nyx, who’s sitting up, staring at Zlata.

“How,” Giratina growls, rearing back. There’s a hint of panic in his voice, but he masters it. “It doesn’t matter, I have the power of time and space now… you cannot match me.”

Nyx’s attention snaps to Ryun. “You – it can’t be left to grow–”

“Enough!” Giratina roars. “I have waited long enough for this day, and you will not stop this.�� He rears, wings spreading like the night against the white bleakness behind him.

Nyx springs forward, between the twins. The two remaining hounds join her, yapping in concert.

A wall of distortion rises, to stop Giratina. It’s elegant and gleaming with black crystals, but barely holds before it starts to crack under the pressure he exerts.

Her legs buckle. Nyx reaches a hand towards her hounds and the distortion rises from them like ash to strengthen her barrier.

Ryun gasps as the distortion fades from him, the scales peeling clear of his skin.

“You’re healed?” Zlata exclaims.

“I suppose so,” Ryun says, faint, as if he can’t quite believe it.

“What now?” Zlata asks the twins.

Aurora looks down at the sickles in her hands; they’re worn and old and blunt, the blades chipped. There’s blood running down her arm from the torn sleeve, where one of Nyx’s hounds bit her.

The crystal shatters, and everyone is thrown backwards from the blast.

Giratina recovers first, a harsh red glow beginning to emanate from his chest. “You cannot win this,” he hisses.

Nyx looks to her mightyena. “Go, now! It’s safer there!” She points them towards the shattered doorway that Pim and Pink had disappeared through.

They leave, running into the darkness.

Nyx creates another wall of crystal and turns to the group. “In there,” she says, her voice soft and trembling. “She’s in there… maybe she can help. I can seal the door once we’re all inside.”

Arlette struggles back to her feet, her arms useless hunks of metal. She shakes her head, narrowing her eyes at Aurora, tipping her head towards Giratina.

“No – you go,” Aurora says, turning on her heel. There’s something still there, a faint thread where there had been a flood of power.

“What can you do?” Zlata asks. “If there’s someone down there–”

“Zlata,” Aurora cuts her off, “Trust us. Follow Nyx down there.” She meets her sister’s eyes and nods. “This is what we trained for, right?”

Nyx trembles as her wall of crystal shakes under Giratina’s attack. “I can’t hold him forever!”

“Then go,” Aurora says, and holds up her hand. “We’ve got this.”

Arlette nods when Zlata and Ryun look to her.

Hohenheim herds them into the cave, coating himself in flames.

“Now, where were we?” Aurora turns back to the cracking barrier. “The power of time and space on your side?” She lets out a harsh bark of laughter and then can’t stop.

There’s the thinnest of wires, barely a thread, that connects her to something. Not her sister; that connection is as steady as it had been before all of this, worry and trust and the flicker of confidence burning through it.

Giratina roars and the crystal breaks around them.

Aurora throws up her hands to shield her face, letting her sickles clash in front of her. "The power of - ok, ok." Her hands are trembling, though she tries to hide it, and the sickle is just a worn and stained sickle in her grasp, the edge of it dulled. "Time and Space? Buddy, we're still standing right here." And she yanks back on the thread that still connected her to Palkia's gem where it’s been consumed by Giratina.

Silvery-pink light suffuses her as she is lifted off her feet. A pink gem erupts from the suit across her chest, and her armour spreads from it, plating back in across her arms and down to her fingers, setting gems in the backs of her hands and turning her sickles back into hoops.

She lets go of them and they fly in arcs around her as Aurora tilts her head back, closing her eyes.

The boot is next, with a heel and a thick cuff that gathers in the loose leg of her trousers, and then the pink-washed skirt flares out from her waist. Her prosthetic shifts as well, becoming the same silvery-pink, though the pink doesn't stay static, continuing to wash through it in waves.

Wings erupt from her back, all stained glass and bigger than they'd ever been before; they're shaped like moth wings now, but twice as colourful. Every pane shows a different place where a portal had been.

Aurora brings her gloved hands up to her face as the metal plating on her head shifts to pattern like scales across both her cheekbones, underlining her eyes. A small screen appears in front of her blue eye, seemingly unattached to anything.

Silver and pink thread through the many strands of her elaborate plait, curling up into pearls every time they cross over each other.

For a final touch, a scarf unfurls about her neck and tumbles down her back between her wings, attaching to a hood that covers her hair and rests on the crown of her head, dipping to a slight point between her eyes.

The light of it fades as Aurora still hangs there. Her hoops anchor at her hips.

She winks at Giratina, still posed with her hands before her face. "And I have the power of god and anime on my side."

Before he can react, she punches him.

Giratina stumbles back from her, recovering as he stares at her with something like shock. The red chain that had connected him to Palkia is fading, pulsing weakly in the bright and empty nothingness.

"Step up, Time," Aurora calls, landing lightly on the ground again. Her wings loosen and fold about her as a cloak, the world still shifting through it.

Arlette's transformation is quicker and less flashy. Silver and blue flood her, plating armour in its wake. Her arms fill out until they aren't just metal bones but full gauntlets, and she flexes her fingers when she regains control.

The gem forms on her back and then becomes her shield. The chain in her hand finishes creating the blade at the end of it, long and wickedly sharp.

Her facemask disappears, revealing the metal lines that have threaded through her cheeks and jaw, matching the hard blue of her eyes. Half a helmet encases her head, fitting itself to the high collar of her armour, overshadowing her eyes with a dipped brim but leaving off covering her face.

Arlette steps into place beside Aurora and starts to spin the chain into faster circles until it’s a screaming blur in the air beside her.

"You were saying?" Aurora asks.

The fight is brutal but fast. Giratina has been thrown off by the surge and disappearance of his sibling’s powers, and the twins are faster than ever.

Arlette wields her chain like a whip, like a fishing line, catching through his wings and about his horns, dragging him out of the air when he tries to take off.

Aurora bounces through mini portals, just out of reach of his lunges, shredding through his grave-shroud wings. She’s content to play with him, tire him out, wear him down to nothing.

It’s Arlette, eventually, who traps Giratina on the ground. Her chain is wrapped about him, pinning his wings in place, and the blade is pointed at his throat. She stands on his chest, leaning down.

“It was always going to end this way,” she says, her voice echoing into the emptiness at the end of the world.

“Kill me, then,” Giratina hisses, his voice broken and sibilant and curling around them. “Make her like you. She will rise again and the world will fall.”

“No,” cries a quiet voice from behind them.

Aurora looks around to see Nyx in the entrance to the cave, arms wrapped around her chest.

“If - if you – I don’t want that,” Nyx says, staring at the tableau. “I never wanted... this.”

“Time,” Aurora says.

Arlette nods. She steps back from Giratina’s chest and flicks her chain up. He’s released like a spun top, and before he can right himself, Aurora kicks him backwards into the portal he’d opened to arrive here.

“We’ll come and visit,” she says, and stitches it shut.

Aurora lands next to Arlette with a thud. They stand on the plateau at the end of the world and reach out to each other.

Nyx watches – Zlata and Hohenheim too, Ryun just over her shoulder – as Aurora’s wings spread wide, her scarf flipping out and waving in a breeze that they create. They're both vibrating, glowing like suns.

The sheer white blankness about them tears to pieces as they both glow, vibrating so fast they almost disappear. Aurora’s wings are spread, the regions playing through them.

Hohenheim cries out, rushing to the edge of the platform.

Sinnoh unfurls before him, stretching far below the clouds to the horizon.

“You’ve… everything is back? You’ve fixed it?” Zlata asks.

“We couldn’t roll back the clock,” Arlette says. “We’ve just recreated what we knew. But now everything can heal.”

“Which begs the question,” Aurora says, a portal pulsing between her pink-tipped fingers. "Where would you like to go?"

“Before that, there’s - I’m sorry, she’s still trapped,” Nyx says. “I brought her here and kept her, but she sealed herself in and I could never – he could never break through.”

The twins share a glance.

“Show us,” Arlette says.

Aurora folds her hands over the nascent portal between her fingers.

Nyx leads them down into the caves. There’s a thick carpet of clear dust that leads them through the tunnel, tamped down by footprints.

It opens into a cavern with an enormous crystal in the centre of it.

Pink is already there, crouched by Pim’s broken body at the edge of the cavern.

“Fuck, Pim!” Aurora strides the length of the room and drops down beside him, reaching a hand gingerly to his head. “Will you be able to do anything for him, if we get out of this?”

“Maybe if we got him back to Alola.”

“Well, we can do that,” Aurora says. “Easy. Just – give us a minute, alright?” She gets back to her feet.

Nyx sinks to the ground in front of the crystal. She lifts a hand to place against its surface and her eyes gleam red.

The crystal is marred with scratches that rake across almost every inch of it, but they don't make it hard to see into the depths.

There’s a figure trapped inside, like a bug in amber. It is mostly sprawled back, propped up on one elbow, and legs splayed as if they were trying to get back on their feet. Their head is tilted up and they seemed to be smirking, their eyes open.

“This is your prisoner?” Zlata asks, her voice cold. “Who are they?”

“Arceus’s Chosen,” Nyx replies, her voice soft. “Jay. My godmother. Their mother.” She dips her head to Arlette and Aurora. “He wanted to kill her so bad, but he couldn’t, so I hid her down here.”

“Well,” Arlette says, following Nyx to the crystal.

“Soise and Brith did believe she was still around somewhere,” Aurora joins them.

Arlette presses her hand against the crystal, and the metal of her hand spreads out into the cracks, trying to break a chunk of it off.

Aurora taps her fingers against it.

There’s a series of bell-like chimes that emanate from the crystal, and it shatters with a blast of golden light.

Hohenheim squeaks, covering himself and Zlata with his wings. Zlata reaches for Ryun’s hand, tugging him back in beside her.

Nyx gasps and falls to her knees as the body hits the ground in a rain of crystal shards. “Jay?”

The person hits the ground in a pile of crystal shards. She doesn't look like much. She's probably taller than the twins standing, and wirier, muscles shifting under the thin white lines of tattoos that waver down her arms and darken through a smoky grey to black before disappearing under a ragged pair of fingerless gloves. The lines become blue feathers over her shoulders, like pauldrons stitched into her skin. The crescent scar on her face is faded out with age, barely noticeable. Her hair is a deep, shifting blue, tied back in a messy ponytail. Her eyes are - strange. They're mostly brown, but cracks of emerald green spread from the pupils across the irises in jagged splinters.

“Nyx,” they say, their voice rough as they twist onto their front and look up to see her. “Skies, Nyx, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry… this is all my fault,” Nyx chokes out, beginning to cry. “I just wanted her back.” She hugs herself, curling smaller.

“I know.” Jay reaches out to touch Nyx’s shoulder. “I know.”

The twins watch, holding their armour up still, their faces in shadow.

Jay looks up, noticing them anyway.

“Hey.” Aurora waves. “I’m–”

“Aurora,” Jay says, getting to her feet. She pulls Nyx up with her. “You – you pulled it off.”

“More or less.” Arlette shrugs. She searches through the bag at her side and throws Jay a bundle of fabric. “This is yours.”

Jay shakes it out to reveal a dark blue trench coat, the sleeves an almost imperceptible shade darker, devoid of the embroidered lines that pattern the rest of the coat. “Why… do you have this?”

“You left it behind,” Arlette says.

Jay glances between them. “I left a lot behind.”

“Yeah.” Aurora shifts on her feet.

“Thanks.” Jay pulls on the coat, the movement awkward as she seems unwilling to let go of Nyx.

“There’s no one else trapped down here?” Aurora asks Nyx.

She shakes her head.

“Alright.” Aurora turns to Pink. “You can save Pim if we get you to Alola?”

She nods, returning Pim to his pokéball. “Yeah.

“Galar might have the tech for it as well, they weren’t hit so badly. I know some people who would be delighted to help.” Aurora grins under her hood.

Pink smiles and shakes her head. "Alola, please, boss."

“Alright.” Aurora twists her hand over and a portal appears.

She draws it bigger to reveal clinical white walls and bright lights.

“Just call, if you want either of us,” Arlette says. “Anywhere, anytime.”

“Thanks.” Pink takes a breath and hesitates, looking around at the group. “I… yeah. We should meet up again sometime.”

Zlata shakes her head. “I look forward to welcoming you back to Ecruteak. May it be on better terms.”

Pink tilts her head, amused. “Sure,” she says. “Could be good.” She nods to Nyx and Arlette in farewell and walks through the portal.

Aurora closes her hand and the portal swirls to black in her wake. “Zlata? Where do you want to go?”

"I have to go to Kalos," Zlata says. "I made a deal."

"Let us parley with that one," Arlette replies. "Where do you want to go?"

“He won’t be satisfied with you, he’ll come after us.”

“As he would have if you’d stayed dead,” Arlette says gently. “Trust us; we will satisfy him.”

“Like I said to Ryun,” Aurora says, “There is always another way. Now. Where do you want to go?”

Zlata hesitates and looks to Hohenheim, then Ryun. “Can you promise that he won’t hurt Johto?”

“I can,” Arlette says. Her eyes gleam silver as she speaks. “You and yours will be safe from him.”

Hohenheim nudges at Zlata’s side and chirps. They exchange some kind of conversation.

Ryun nods when Zlata looks at him. “Let them do this for you.”

“You’ve already died for us, Zlata. That’s a pretty big favour to repay.” Aurora smiles carelessly. “Now. Where do you want to go?”

"Johto," Zlata says, without hesitation, finally. "Ecruteak."

Aurora flicks the portal out from between her hands and it expands before her until it’s tall and wide enough for the three of them to walk through. Ecruteak’s red leaves blow through on a distant wind, flurrying about Zlata’s feet.

Zlata still hesitates. “What about after?”

“After?”

“When you’ve - where will you go?”

Aurora grins. “We’ll see you all around, don’t worry.”

With Hohenheim and Ryun at her sides, she walks through.

The portal swirls to black in their wake.

Aurora picks it up as it shrinks, bouncing it lightly in her hand. "I'm sending you to Lavaridge," she says to Nyx. "Alex is there."

"Alex..." Jay murmurs.

"My dad?" Nyx asks.

"He's not quite as you remember," Aurora says. "But I think you can help."

Nyx nods.

"If you want to go anywhere after that, just call. I'll hear."

Jay smiles.

Aurora lets the portal expand again, and this time ash speckles the ground on top of the crystal shards and red leaves.

“Thank you,” Nyx says to both of them. “I know – that can’t have been easy.”

“It’s what we were meant to do.” Aurora shrugs.

“I don't believe in fate,” Jay says. “But I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from it.”

“The past cannot be changed,” Arlette replies, before Aurora can. “You must look to the future now.”

Nyx takes a deep breath and nods, and lets go of Jay’s hand. “Thank you,” she says again.

Jay looks down at her empty hand. “Do you want to do this alone?”

“I–” Nyx looks up to meet her eyes. “I’ve already taken you from your own family for so long, I can’t…”

Jay reaches out a hand to sweep Nyx’s hair back from her face, rubbing her thumb over Nyx’s forehead.

“You’re her family too,” Arlette says. “And we…”

“You need her more,” Aurora says. “I mean, obviously it’s your choice, but–”

Jay laughs. “Nyx. Would you like me to come with you?” She doesn’t take her hand from Nyx’s face.

Nyx reaches up to take Jay’s hand. “Please,” she whispers.

“Alright.” Jay nods. She studies the twins. “Will you come to Lavaridge, when you’re done in Kalos?”

Aurora hesitates and exchanges a glance with Arlette. “Sure,” she says. “We’ll come.”

“Good,” Jay says, and offers them a soft smile. “We should… talk.”

Aurora gestures them to the portal.

“Alright,” Jay says. “Ready?” She wipes a tear from Nyx’s face and squeezes her hand.

Nyx takes a deep breath and nods. “Thank you,” she says to the twins. “For saving me, for…” she glances over them both, still standing there in their armour.

She lets the rest of her sentence fade into the cavern around them.

“You deserved to be free,” Arlette says. “Now go home.”

Nyx and Jay walk through the portal together, and it fades in their wake.

The twins exchange a glance.

"So," Arlette says.

"So," Aurora agrees, as she squashes the portal between her hands.

Together, they walk out of the cavern and back onto the plateau. It’s recovered from their fight. The pillars of the old temple stand again, weather beaten and time ravaged.

Aurora pushes down her hood and shakes her plait free of her scarf, letting it hang down her back, to one side of her wings.

“Kalos.”

Aurora holds out a hand. “Let’s see what we can do.”

#pokemon #writing #oc #2nd gen #apocalypse au #aurora nightgale #arlette nightgale #legendaries #legend blessed #Sinnoh #mt. Coronet

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polyhexian · 2 years ago

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Okay. Finished Bambi. The movie really only encompasses a little more than half the book. It ends showing Bambi running off with faline into adulthood, happy. The book however continues and shows Bambi growing older and wiser in the ways of the forest and ultimately becoming the new prince of the forest. He is alone all the time, has no companions, has lost interest in faline and not seen her in some time. The book ends with him encountering some frightened fawns calling for their mothers and chastising them for not being able to take care of themselves. Ultimately this is a book written in 1929 about the life cycle of a wild prey animal that is like, directly pushing the narrative that hunting is bad and hunters are evil.

Which... I don't really agree with. There are no predators in this book, not of deer. The only thing the deer have to worry about is humans. They're not afraid of wolves or lions or any other large carnivores. Which means... Yeah, letting them run unchecked probably isn't actually great for the environment. Especially when we see how devastating winter already is. Now, maybe it's just that the meat industry was not as evil yet in 1929 as it is today? But I am of the distinct opinion that meat from a wild deer is more ethically sourced than meat from a factory farm cow. The conditions those animals are put through are so beyond inhumane it's indescribable. That deer had a life, a natural life, and fell victim to a predator. Its life was better than that cows ever was. Now, sport hunting is different- sort of, plenty of people who sport hunt do still use all the meat and pelts they harvest, and what harm is there in enjoying the work you are already doing?

I don't think anyone will disagree with me that killing animals for fun with no purpose isn't really... Good. If you're shooting deer and just taking antlers and letting them rot and it's not got some other purpose like culling the herd or preventing the spread of disease... Don't do that? Not that animals don't sometimes kill for fun but. We don't need to cause more suffering in the world than we have to.

It's hard for me to really get into the mindset of what the author might have really been trying to convey with this. I don't know what it's like to live in Germany in 1929 so I can't really imagine what kind of world he was living in, the world of humans and his morals or the world of ethical hunting and animal welfare. It is certainly presented that the best way to survive, to be proud and noble and regal, is to have no relations with anyone, to speak to no one, to have no friends or curiosity, to trust nothing and no one and to rely only upon oneself. Also to just get up and leave your wife one day and never go back.

On one hand, on a completely literal level, this is probably a very accurate depiction of a deers life cycle and how a deer survives long enough to become an elder. Only the lonely survive. On a message level I'm really not sure what it's trying to tell me. It does feel a bit like it's making a broader statement than just a brutal accurate depiction of wild animal life. It also hit me with a steel chair out of left field by dropping what I think the thesis statement of the book may be and it's that god is to us as we are to all other animals. Arbiter of life and death. Incomprehensible. Beyond understanding. Something greater than man is out there.

That shit was wild I wasn't expecting this to suddenly reveal Oh Fuck It's About God. So like. It's saying something. It's definitely saying something. I'm really not sure I have the context to fully understand what and I'm not sure I'd agree with it even if I did.

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javier-pena · 4 years ago

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bloodstain

Chapter 2 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Mature

Notes: First, let me start with saying that at this point taking a bullet for Dani @javierpcna doesn’t feel like it would be enough. She literally drops everything whenever I send her a new or revised chapter to look over and i cannot thank her enough! I kinda surprised myself with how quickly I finished this chapter, but that’s also thanks to Dani because the highlight of my day is sending her small snippets of what I’ve written and having her reply with “?????”. I also want to thank all of you who read the first chapter and left comments and sent messages, it means the world to me! I was so nervous about sharing this with you all, but I’m so glad I did. And finally, let me end this with saying happy birthday, Chrisann @darksber!!! I hope you have a fun birthday and I hope you enjoy the second chapter as much as you enjoyed the first one.

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The snow comes over night. The cold, clean smell is the first thing your mind registers, even before it has time to make you feel confused about the strange bedsheets wrapped around you. And then you remember.

The screams.

The blaster shots

The fire, the blazing heat engulfing you, burning your skin.

Those men on their speeder bikes, laughing, looting, taking whatever the fuck they want.

And you, unable to stop them.

The feeling of cold, all-consuming despair makes a shiver run down your spine, makes you curl up in a tight ball beneath your blanket and shake so violently it makes you feel sick. Then you cry, and with the tears comes the heat until you’re so hot you feel sweat collect at the nape of your neck and run down your back in icy beads. After yesterday, you hadn’t expected there to be any tears left, but there are, so many, and they don’t stop, they seem to be endless, like a river flowing, rushing, tumbling over rocks and down a precipice, drowning everything in its way.

You hate those men, you loathe them, you want them dead, torn apart by wild animals, you want them dead after they beg you for their miserable lives, you want them dead and forgotten. That anger and that lust for revenge that seem to take up every cell and atom in your body are what finally helps you to stop crying. They don’t help you to calm yourself – you are anything but calm – but they help you to focus your rage on one goal: kill them all.

Because with the memories of the pain and the despair and the utter helplessness you felt yesterday (and still feel today) comes the memory of him. The Mandalorian. And remembering him means remembering the hope you felt when he offered his services, when he pledged himself to your cause. Shit. You shake your head. He did no such thing. He accepted a job. He only cares about the money, he doesn’t care about the cause. Yes, he will help you achieve your goal, but he’s emotionally detached from it. And you need to remember that. You need to remember it for your own sake because as soon as you assume anything else, it’ll get messy.

And he terrifies you. He terrifies you so much, especially in the light of day. Because the morning sun makes him feel real, solid, and so much more dangerous. And you have a feeling you shouldn’t keep him waiting.

You finally sit up and roll your neck and shoulders to relieve the pain the previous day’s labors have left behind. You couldn’t defend yourself against the Mandalorian, even if the muscles in your body weren’t screaming with pain. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You don’t know why you would trust a complete stranger like that after everything that has happened to you, why you would trust a complete stranger who could snap your neck like a dry twig. Being around him feels like being constantly held at gunpoint. One wrong move and you’re dead.

But you need him.

Maker, you need him.

You get out of bed and stretch, then run your hand over your face to dry it off. There is a bowl of water on a small table next to the bed. You have to break the thin layer of ice that has formed on the surface, and when you splash it on your face, it is freezing, but at least it makes your burning cheeks feel numb and it eases the stinging in your eyes. You know you look a mess, but you don’t care. You get dressed in your soot-blackened clothes and then leave the small room. You have no idea if you’ll ever sleep in a bed again.

***

The morning air is icy cold. Two suns have risen, but the third one still hides behind the trees. The air is foggy, misty, and clouds of smoke pass you by. The settlement is already busy. In a shop next to the inn, a man heckles with the vendor in a raised voice. Two farmers lead a small herd of tauntauns down the street, while everyone tries to get out of their way. In the distance, a child is crying. It smells like fire and snow and life. You hate it.

The everyday noises are overwhelming to you; the melody of a hammer hitting metal in a nearby forge makes your skull vibrate, the voices of people talking makes you want to cover your ears with your hands and yell at them to shut up, the reverberations of the tauntauns’ claws against the frozen ground makes you want to take cover somewhere and hide until nightfall.

But you don’t run or hide or even just turn around to take a breath. Instead, you focus your attention on the Mandalorian.

He is waiting for you outside the inn. A thin layer of snow has collected on his shoulders, a sign he’s been standing motionless for a while. Even though the morning sunlight is pale and makes everything look hazy, you see him clearly. So clearly that you have to squint your eyes when you look at him. His beskar armor glistens from the sunlight it reflects, so much that the people on the street turn their heads to look at him. The wisps of smoke rushing past shroud him, but it’s not enough to dim the dancing shimmers. He carries a long staff strapped to his back, a kind of spear you’re pretty sure he didn’t have with him the previous night at the inn. And his face is hidden behind the helmet again, which probably shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. All of this just makes him look wrong. He looks so out of place standing in the middle of this dirt-poor settlement it makes you want to pretend you don’t have anything to do with him.

So you focus on what’s behind him. In one hand, he holds the reins of three orbaks, in the other a small bundle. He presses it against his chest like he’s holding a small child, not a lifeless piece of cloth. The orbaks are big, wooly beasts, dark grey in color, with two long, dangerously pointy tusks hanging from their mouths. Two of them have saddles strapped to their backs, the third one is laden with crates, saddle bags, even two long guns. The more you look at it, the more weapons you spot. What does one man need so many for? So much baggage will just slow you down. The bandits already have a day’s head start and travelling on heavily loaded orbaks will give them even more of an advantage. But this is probably the best the Mandalorian could do – the settlement is so poor, not even merchants sell speeder bikes – who would be able to afford them?

You shudder and wrap your arms around yourself, painfully aware that the fire destroyed everything except for the clothes you’re wearing. But they’re not enough to protect you from the bitter cold. You can see your breath hovering in a pale cloud in front of your face when you exhale slowly, you can feel the snowflakes on your bare lower arms as you walk toward the Mandalorian. You have no idea how he can stand there like the cold is nothing to him. Beskar doesn’t protect against low temperatures. To you, this is just further proof of how much he’s not human.

“Here,” he says, as you stop in front of him, holding the bundle out to you.

“What’s this?” you ask with a small nod at him, the bundle, and the orbaks. You don’t take it.

The Mandalorian looks behind him, then back at you. “Supplies,” he says.

You take the bundle from him and untie the chord that’s tightly wound around it. Folding back the thin cloth, you unwrap a long, dark brown leather cloak with fur linings and a thick, woolen scarf. The scarf looks itchy but feels very soft against your skin and the coat lies heavy in your arms, like a dead animal. The sight of these clothes leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and you don’t move to put them on. Instead, you stand there, pressing the unwrapped bundle against your chest, and look at the Mandalorian with raised eyebrows.

“What’s this?” you repeat.

He doesn’t reply, just nods and makes a gesture with his now empty hand, motioning you to hurry up.

You don’t. You just look at him, shivering more and more with each passing second. You’re not sure if it’s from the cold or from the anger you’ve been feeling since yesterday, since waking up this morning, since unwrapping the bundle; everything is stoking up the fire, feeding your flaming rage

“Listen,” you start. You try not to let your feelings get the better of you, but it’s impossible. You don’t quite know yourself why this small gesture enrages you as it does, you just know you need to set some boundaries right now. “I don’t need your pity,” you continue. “I don’t need you to look out for me. I can take care of myself.”

The Mandalorian huffs. “This isn’t a gift,” he says, his voice completely level. “I’m paying for it with your money. I’m not forcing you to wear it, but if you go on the journey like that,” he nods at you, “you’ll freeze. You’re no use to me dead.”

You feel heat rush to your face and settle in your cheeks. Without another word you put on the coat and tie the scarf around your neck. The coat rests heavy on your shoulders, weighing you down. It’s a size too big, but snug, and you stop shivering immediately. You run your left hand along the right sleeve under the pretense of fixing it, but you just want to feel the material under your fingers. It’s softer than it looks, which just serves to make you feel embarrassed and … stupid.

You feel stupid, so, so stupid. Did you really expect him to make you a gift? To look out for you? To care for you? You hired him to do a job and he’s just making sure you stay alive long enough to pay him. Much like the owner of a racing stable would do with his fathier. You scold yourself for having misread the situation. You blame it on the exhaustion you still feel, on the trauma you lived through, on the need for human connection you had no idea you even felt. There is no way to come out of this situation without feeling like a fool, so you just decide to ignore it. After all, it’s best if you just forgot about the whole thing. All you need to do in future is to be more careful around him so you don’t misinterpret his intentions again.

“Supplies?” you ask to distract yourself.

You wish you could see his face when he says, “Were you just going to follow them on foot with no food or weapons?” Because it doesn’t sound as if he’s mocking you, even though he should be. Hell, you should be mocking yourself. But he just sounds genuinely curious, as if this is a discussion about a topic you’re both not emotionally invested in, not a question of life and death.

“No,” you answer slowly, then look away. You have to admit you hadn’t thought about it yet, you were too focused on the idea of hunting those men down that you didn’t even consider you needed tools, supplies, food, and a means of transportation. “Thank you,” you add.

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod, accepting your words of gratitude. You’re glad he doesn’t press the subject, any subject really.

Without him, you would have been dead within a day.

***

It is still snowing when you and the Mandalorian leave the settlement behind. As you begin your journey into the unknown, tiny snowflakes settle in the fur of your orbak, making it appear white instead of dark grey. It blends in perfectly with your surroundings, where everything is light shades of blue, grey, and brown. And white, so much white. You squint your eyes and yet the light still stings to the point you tear up. You envy the Mandalorian his tinted visor and you wish you had something similar to protect yourself. Alvorine’s three suns hang low, their pale blue light filtered through hazy clouds. Everything you see is blurred and too bright to look at directly – it makes you feel vulnerable and exposed. Even as you enter the cover of the trees, their bare branches do little to help keep out the light and the snow and so you lower your eyes to your reddened hands holding your orbak’s reins as you trust the Mandalorian to lead the way.

The air is cold this morning, so cold you tie your new scarf over your mouth and nose and still feel it sting in your throat. Your face, still raw from crying, stings too. Your hands are frozen shut around the reins and you can’t feel your fingers. When you try to move them, the action is painfully slow. You shiver despite the heavy coat on your shoulders as you sit hunched over to give the cold air less opportunity to cover your body with icy touches. You would never admit to it out loud because you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one day, but the Mandalorian was right – you would have frozen to death within a few hours of leaving the shelter of the settlement.

You raise your head briefly to look at him riding ahead of you, but he is the brightest object in a 10-mile radius, you think, brighter than your orbak’s fur or the snow-covered ground. Back in the settlement, you already noticed how the suns’ light reflects off his polished beskar armor, but out here in the forest with nothing around to distract your gaze, he is like a homing beacon, like a bright, blazing fire lit in complete darkness. This brazen display makes you shiver; he is on top of the food chain, too quick and powerful and deadly to hide his presence. He could be spotted from miles away by someone on a sentry tower and yet the person keeping watch wouldn’t stand a chance. The Mandalorian would catch them sooner or later, no matter how well they were trying to hide. Nothing can escape him, so there is no reason for him to hide his presence, to sneak from cover to cover like a thief in the night.

He frightens you.

What is also bearing down on you is the silence surrounding him, you and your orbaks. Yes, there is the sound of their hooves against the frozen ground, the swoosh of their fur every time they shake their heads, the soft thud whenever they brush up against a branch, making snow glide to the ground. But that’s it. That’s all you hear. The Mandalorian travels in complete silence. His armor doesn’t squeak or thump. You cannot hear the sound of his slow, steady breathing. Even his hands lie completely silently on the nape of his orbak’s neck, the reins resting against the worn leather of his gloves. And you envy him those gloves because the further you travel into the forest, the colder it gets, and the stiffer and more unresponsive your fingers get.

You cannot recall the last time you felt this uncomfortable. You wish there was something to distract you from – well – everything. Yes, you’re grateful the Mandalorian doesn’t ask you personal questions because you buried your old life beneath wet soil and dirt yesterday, and with it you buried any desire to share it with a complete stranger. He also doesn’t ask you about the men you’re hunting, and you feel like he doesn’t have to because he just knows. Maybe he talked to the people back at the settlement, maybe it’s the years of experience he’s had hunting people for a living or maybe it’s just instinct – he knows where he needs to be going, he knows what kind of equipment to bring along, and he knows what the best strategy is to catch his quarry.

You don’t know any of these things. And the more you stray from the bare minimum of human civilization and into the wilderness of Alvorine, the more you realize you wouldn’t stand a chance without the Mandalorian. You would’ve frozen to death if he hadn’t given you the coat. Or you would have starved, or died from exhaustion from trying to carry all your supplies yourself. You would have gotten lost and eaten alive by a wild beast. Or you would, by some miracle, have caught up with the men, but would’ve gotten killed by them because you didn’t bring a weapon. By the look of it, the Mandalorian brought enough for a small army. And the more you think about it, the more you are prepared to admit that you were never seriously planning on going after the bandits. You are prepared to admit you were just looking for a way out so you wouldn’t have to live with the pain. One or two rash decisions made from a place of hurt and despair, one or two unplanned steps can mean death on Alvorine. While wallowing in your revenge fantasies, you weren’t thinking about Brea – you were just thinking about yourself.

But somehow – and this time you’re convinced it’s because of his instincts – the Mandalorian offered you a chance at success, one you might not even have wanted. He listened to the people in that inn and decided helping you with your cause is the right job for him. You’ve never heard of a Mandalorian like that. You always assumed they were only interested in money or the thrill of chasing down the rich and the powerful, in letting them know that no amount of credits can keep them safe. But here he is, content with spending a week or more in the forests of Alvorine, hunting down base criminals for the ridiculous amount of 240 credits. It doesn’t add up. And you would ask him about it if he wasn’t an unapproachable, withdrawn man, covered in impenetrable armor. You would ask him if he didn’t terrify you so much.

You wish you could talk to him about … something, you just don’t know about what.

But he makes that decision for you. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

His voice cuts so unexpectedly through the silence that you flinch. It somehow surprises you that he is real and not just a concept you’ve made up in your mind, and idea to help you live out your fantasies of revenge and vengeance.

When you don’t answer, he turns his head to look at you. You squint when you return his gaze, trying to make up your mind whether you are hungry or not (something that feels impossible when all you are is terribly, terribly cold), but then he pulls on the reins of his orbak and brings it to a halt in the middle of the path. He glides down from the animal in one swift movement; a small cloud of freshly fallen snow rises up when his feet hit the ground but there is still no sound and this is starting to unnerve you. It takes him a few steps until he’s next to you, the top of his head reaching your shoulder, even though you’re still mounted high on your orbak, and then he says in a rough, almost unkind tone of voice, “I asked you a question”.

And you remember the deal, you remember having agreed to doing as he tells you. It’s just, you don’t have an answer for him. So you just shrug.

He grabs the rein of your orbak and you finally – finally! – hear his movements make a sound, a low creak as the leather of his glove brushes against the leather of the bridle. The orbak shakes its shaggy head but he doesn’t flinch. His visor is directed at you and you know he expects an answer from you. He’s growing impatient, you can tell from the way his shoulders tense as he lets his gaze wander over your body.

“You’re hypothermic,” he observes, and as the words leave his mouth, so does the air you’ve been holding in and you start shaking uncontrollably.

Now that he’s pointed it out, there is no denying it. You’re cold, so, so cold, frozen and raw, you can’t feel your own lips, your nose, your cheeks. Your fingers are lifeless lumps against the coarse fur of your orbak. If the animal would decide to bolt at this very moment, you wouldn’t be able to hold it back. You’re not even sure you could climb down from the beast right now. Of all the deadly dangers of Alvorine it’s the cold that has finally gotten to you. It’s laughable, and you would laugh, if you could feel your face.

“Can you dismount?” he asks you then.

This is a question you can answer. “I think so,” you say, even though you know you can’t. Your legs are like two solid bricks of ice, too stiff to be moved.

“Do it then,” he says, and it sounds so much like a challenge that you’re determined to show him you can do it.

He doesn’t watch your pathetic display though. He lets go of the rein and walks to the third orbak that is carrying most of your supplies. You’re grateful for that because as soon as you try to dismount, you feel your body tense even more until you glide down from the orbak with a disgraceful plop and land in the soft snow with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. The sounds you make draw the attention of the Mandalorian back to you, but he doesn’t rush to your side to offer you help. Instead, he turns his attention back to the task at hand, looking through one of the bags strapped to the pack animal. You’re convinced he rolls his eyes under the cover of the helmet.

You try to get up, and you manage after two fruitless attempts. Your legs are shaking, but at least they’re supporting your weight. Walking on them is another topic you’re not prepared to cover yet. And then you feel it again, that hot sting of embarrassment you felt this morning, trying to make itself known by speeding up your heart rate and adding a feeling of nausea to your general discomfort. You push it down without batting an eyelash. There is no reason to feel like this, especially if you compare yourself to the Mandalorian. Not everyone can be a ruthless killing machine, immune to environmental influences.

Then he’s back by your side, and with a gruff, “Hold this,” he pushes a heating pad into your hands. You’re not sure at first if it’s switched on because you don’t feel anything, but when you move it around in your hands looking for the on button you notice it’s cranked up to the highest setting.

“You need to tell me when you’re cold,” the Mandalorian continues in the same gruff tone of voice, while he unscrews a flask.

Once it’s opened, he pushes it into your hand with such force you stumble backwards. Your whole body tenses at the contact and you realize you’re completely alone with him. There is not another living soul around for miles except for the three animals next to you, and they won’t come to your aid if he suddenly decides to kill you. And he could. He is so strong; you had no idea how strong until he pushed you back like that with a motion that didn’t seem to take any effort at all. And with another effortless motion, he could close a hand around your neck and squeeze until there is no air left in your body. You wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Drink,” he orders.

You do. It’s a hot liquid – tea, you think – but with a bitter taste to it. It warms you up instantly, much quicker than the heating pad does. You still can’t feel your fingers.

“Just tell me next time,” he repeats. “Losing a finger to hypothermia is a nasty business.”

And now you do feel embarrassed again. You’re a burden, you’re slowing him down. You already lost a quarter of an hour because you can’t handle a bit of cold. It’s not surprising he usually works alone. No one is able to keep up with him, least of all you in your weakened, exhausted state.

But you can’t turn back. You refuse to give up so easily.

You nod to show him you’ve understood his instructions. Then you let your gaze wander around, looking for something to distract you. You can feel heat rising to your cheeks, and it has nothing to do with the warm drink or the heating pad. You know it doesn’t because you’re still shivering. But you’re not going to apologize to him. For some reason, you feel like he would just brush it off, act like it’s no big deal. But it is to you, and you wouldn’t be able to bear him acting nonchalantly. The other possible response to an apology from you would be him trying to comfort you and you definitely. don’t. want. that. The mere thought makes your heart beat so rapidly it feels like it’s going to explode any second. The mere thought of one of his hands resting on your shoulder in a comforting gesture makes you want to run. You don’t want him to care for you because it’s entirely at odds with his character, his whole being. He is here to hunt and kill, not to hold and comfort. And this is what you need right now – a killer, not a caretaker.

You take a few steps, walk past him toward a fallen tree to calm your nerves. The deep breaths of cold air you take make you cough, but he doesn’t even flinch. Good. You’re usually not like this, you’re usually not someone who can’t take care of themselves. After all, you’ve lived on Alvorine your entire life, you know how harsh the winters can be and how dangerous the cold is. But yesterday’s events broke something in you, and the realization that you might never recover from it begins to dawn on you, take hold of you with a grip icier than the snow clinging to your worn-out boots. The weight of what happened to you slams into you with full force and you have to lean against a tree, its rough bark scraping uncomfortably against your cold, bare hand.

And then you see it – the bloodstain. One single, impossibly small, impossibly red bloodstain on the virgin-white snow. And everything stops.

You lurch forward and fall to your knees to examine it more closely. Yes, it’s definitely blood. You raise your head to look around, but you can’t spot anything out of the ordinary, just trees and snow and your own footprints. Your breath comes in short, labored bursts, and you suddenly don’t feel cold anymore. In fact, you don’t feel anything at all.

“What is it?”

The Mandalorian is there, crouching by your side. You point to the small, red dot, and he raises his hand to touch his helmet. His body grows rigid as he examines it, all the while not moving an inch. You don’t want to hear his verdict, don’t want to hear the conclusion he’s come to. That bloodstain stirs something inside you, a panic with such deep roots you feel it taking over your entire body, growing like weed, choking all other feelings, all life out of you.

Something in your body language must have given away this panic you feel, because suddenly the Mandalorian turns to you and says, “I need you to calm down.”

You nod, unable to speak. Then you turn your head away from him and throw up.

“Hey,” he says, and something in his voice catches your attention. It sounds almost … soft.

You turn back to him, running your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you apologize.

“I’m going to look around,” he tells you. Then he raises his hand as if to comfort you, but you flinch away from him. His hand hovers outstretched between the two of you for a brief moment before he lowers it again. “Just stay here. Try to eat something. I won’t be long.”

He pushes himself off the ground, towering over you. You stand up too, your legs shaking, but before you can embarrass yourself more by stumbling into him, he takes off in a slow-paced run and you stare after him until the trees swallow him up. And then you’re alone. Alone with three orbaks and your panicked mind.

It’s not Brea’s blood, you tell yourself.

But what if it is? a different voice asks.

It’s not. It snowed during the night, and we’re too far behind those bandits. It can’t be hers.

It can, you know it can. They could have left her here to die.

There would be more tracks.

Then why are you panicking? Why did you throw up?

You can’t argue with that. Instead, you sink to the ground again, bury your head in your hands, and scream. You scream so loudly that even though the sound comes out muffled, the orbaks still move their heads nervously. A few trees away, a flock of birds takes off, chittering in disapproval. You scream until your lungs begin to burn, until your throat stings, until you feel like you’ve just sprinted ten miles. Then you grow quiet.

***

When the Mandalorian returns, it’s almost dark. You’re not freezing anymore because you spent the last two hours or so pacing up and down the path through the undergrowth you’ve made earlier, your mind racing with scenarios of him not returning before nightfall. You fear the nights on Alvorine and you know you should have told him about the dangers these forests hold. Because how could he have known that it’s almost impossible to survive a night out in the wilderness? Almost because if anyone could do it, it would be him.

When he returns, the pauldron on his right shoulder is smeared with dirt and his chest is heaving with silent pants, but he’s alone. You’re simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

“We’ll make camp here for the night,” he decides without so much as a greeting.

You open your mouth to tell him how dangerous that would be but then close it again when you remember the nearest settlement is miles and miles away and you wouldn’t reach it in time before nightfall. You don’t have any other choice.

He sends you to collect some wood while he moves to tie up the orbaks. You scold yourself for not having done that earlier when you were waiting for him, but you had hoped it wouldn’t take him quite as long and he would be back sooner. As you move around, picking up the driest branches you can find, you glance over at him from time to time. He is lost in his own task, tying the reins to nearby tree trunks, patting one orbak’s neck, then scratching another one’s muzzle. They trust him, stand completely still in his presence while he circles them, examining them for any injuries or anything that might cause them discomfort.

Finally, curiosity gets the better of you. “What did you find?” you ask, as you break a big, dead branch into two parts.

“Nothing,” he replies in his brusque fashion you’re slowly getting used to. “A dead animal.”

You nod, then focus on the task at hand. Your small discovery and subsequent … breakdown? … panic attack? … you don’t know what to call it, has already cost you so much time. You could’ve covered twice the distance today if he hadn’t stopped here because of you. But … this isn’t a rescue mission, you keep forgetting about that. This is a quest for revenge, and those bandits will be there, no matter how long it will take you to find them. It doesn’t matter if it takes you two days or two months to reach them.

“Did you eat?” the Mandalorian asks you, interrupting your train of thought.

You shake your head and he sighs. Then he reaches into one of the saddle bags and pulls out a ration pack, tossing it to you. He proceeds to clear away the snow around the small pile of wood you’ve collected before doing something with his arm, so flames shoot out of the vambrace, igniting the stack. You can’t help but stare in fascination because you’ve never seen anything like it.

It doesn’t take him long to get a fire going. You grab one of the two bundled up, coarse blankets from the pack orbak and spread it on the ground next to the heat source, huddling up close for warmth and protection. You tear open the ration pack and begin to eat.

“I should’ve told you before, but it’s dangerous out here at night.” Your mouth full, you watch as the Mandalorian sits down opposite you, the fire between you. The warmth spreading through your body and your steadily filling stomach make you talkative. “There’s monsters in these woods.”

He chuckles softly but you’re sure it’s just your imagination. There is no way you could’ve heard a sound like that over the crackling fire. But before you can ask him about it, he raises his hand to remove the dirty pauldron from his shoulder, and you’re so distracted by that piece of steel being lifted off the body it usually protects that you stop thinking altogether for a moment. It’s stupid, you know that, but a part of you still thinks he might be a machine, and seeing that pauldron being removed from his shoulder feels almost forbidden, like you’re the audience to some ancient, sacred ritual you have no right to observe. You lower your gaze to the flickering flames.

“I’ll keep an eye out for those monsters,” he assures you, and you’re not sure if he meant for it to sound mockingly, but it doesn’t.

You still don’t think he fully believes you.

“Alvorine is a dangerous planet,” you tell him in a quiet tone of voice. “It might not seem like it compared to what you’re used to, but to us the dangers are very real.” You’re still not looking at him, but there is no point – you can’t see his face anyway.

“I believe you,” he says. “But fire is usually enough to keep the monsters at bay.”

As a response, you nod, even though you’re not sure he’s watching you. So you finally raise your head again to look at him. The pauldron is back on his shoulder, but his gaze is directed at the orbaks.

“I’m going to feed them,” he tells you. “They’re getting restless. Try to get some sleep.”

You nod again and stretch out on the cold, hard ground. Shivering, you pull your coat tighter around yourself. The fire is barely warm enough to keep your fingers and toes from falling off, and once it dies down, there won’t be anything keeping you from freezing to death. Briefly, you’re considering pulling the blanket out from beneath you to use it as a cover, but then you wouldn’t have anything to protect you from the cold ground. With a sigh, you close your eyes, trying to ignore the discomfort. Instead, you focus on the sounds around you, on the branches brushing against each other when a cold breeze tears at them, on the orbaks huffing impatiently and almost nervously, and on the crackling fire, the heat that makes a piece of wood snap in half ever so often. And then you hear another sound, footsteps, and your eyes snap open again.

The Mandalorian towers over you, and it’s the first time you were able to hear him approach. Instead of feeling proud of yourself, you bolt upright, adrenaline pumping through your veins. Whatever happens next, you know you don’t stand a chance against him. He slowly leans down, and you try to get away from him, but your muscles are frozen stiff and don’t cooperate. His arms move as if to grab you and a strangled cry escapes your throat.

But it’s just a blanket, just the other blanket, and he wraps it tightly around your shoulders. “Here,” he says with a low grunt. If he noticed your alarm, he doesn’t comment on it.

You look at his helmet reflecting the light of the dancing flames, and you wish you knew what was going on beneath it. Is he offended? Annoyed? Or maybe just as cold and exhausted as you?

“What about you?” you ask, grabbing the coarse material to hold it tightly against your body.

“I’m not cold,” he answers, standing up again. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you before sunrise.”

You watch him walk back to the other side of the fire and settle down on the cold ground with just his cape to keep him warm. And for the first time since you met him, his stoic presence doesn’t fill you with dread or panic or trepidation – he just makes you feel calm.

tag list: @bella-ciao, @chattychell, @darksber, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @magicrowiswritingstuff, @mothandpidgeon, @mbpokemonrulez, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos, @pescopadral, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #lmao i'm still a coward though and currently asleep #tw: flashing gif

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forlove2020 · 3 years ago

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Suptober Day 3 - Rainbows

Somehow he is waiting for the Deluge to begin. Herds of animals are being loaded onto the Ark, and despite the stories that will be passed down generation to generation until they are transcribed as holy scripture, there are actually more than two of each species there.

Castiel counts at least a dozen goats being cajoled up the ramp and into the massive ship, followed by eight camels. Noah is a smart man; he knows that inbreeding is not good for the animals and so he and his family lure as many creatures onto the Ark as possible. Two is actually the bare minimum for every species.

Castiel stands far away, like last time. He is invisible to the eye, sent to observe humans, but not interact with them. Sometimes, far too often for his liking, he is forced to bring down God's wrath upon them. Castiel does not have free will, as Zachariah so often likes to remind him. Therefore, Castiel must follow the commands of the archangels without hesitation or question.

Yet Castiel has questions. He has doubts.

But he does not dare disobey.

The last of the animals are rounded up and Noah's family darts into the Ark, peering up at the ugly grey sky with worry. Only Noah himself remains outside, facing the crowd who has gathered to jeer at him.

"Listen to me!" the old man pleads with his fellow villagers. "If you will just trust me, I can save you! All of you!"

But his warnings fall on hardened hearts. Noah is too different from the crowd, too odd in their sight. Castiel has the feeling that if he were allowed to speak to the prophet, they might understand one another. They both, Castiel thinks, know what it is like to be an outsider.

The first heavy raindrops begin to fall, soaking Noah's tunic. The water does not touch Castiel, and as he looks, sorrow and regret fills Noah's eyes. The prophet turns, and has his sons and daughters raise the plank. No one else can join them on the Ark now.

The rains get heavier quickly, soaking the dry earth. The villagers grumble as they leave, trudging through squelching mud toward their homes, unaware that they will never make it back. They will have drowned long beforehand.

Noah, his wife, and children weep for the villagers who will die as the Ark begins to float in the swiftly flooding valley.

Then, Castiel notices some commotion in the distance. A young woman is struggling to wade through the deep rapids. In both of her arms she carries a child, in one arm a little boy, and in the other an even littler girl. The whites of the woman’s eyes are wild as she stumbles through the water, struggling to reach the Ark. The heavy satchel on her back is packed for a long journey - she alone had listened to Noah and believed, but traveling barefoot and carrying two children has slowed her down. She has arrived too late.

She screams something indiscernible to the far-away figures on the Ark; the water is up to her rib cage now. They do not seem to hear her. She will drown, along with her babies.

Castiel was sent to Earth to watch the human beings and to bear witness to Heaven’s eventual triumph over Hell. He is supposed to watch and report back on whether or not the humans are following the straight and narrow path that leads them ever closer to Armageddon.

He is not supposed to interfere.

The mother wails as she hoists her children up on her shoulders to save them, even if only for a few moments from the angry, churning water. Noah and his kin have spotted the struggling woman: they are trying to lower a rope or a basket. Whatever they do will not be fast enough.

Castiel cannot stand to watch. He shuts his eyes and moves.

He has no vessel to contain his raw Grace; the touch of him would instantly kill the woman and her children. But just a sweeping push of his massive wings in the water causes the Ark to bob wildly, juddering up and down on the waves with a sickening motion, and the sea rolls the mother and babies on a cresting wave that spits them out, just in time, onto the Ark’s upper deck.

Castiel is overwhelmingly relieved. He has saved them. He knows it has happened down to the very depths of his being, and so he opens his eyes.

But he is wrong. Where the woman and children had been moments ago, there is now only rushing water and the woman’s satchel, floating like a rotten log in the water. The people on the Ark howl with grief.

No, Cas thinks to himself in shock. No, that isn’t right - I’ve done this before. I saved them. They lived. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen!

Icy doubt seeps into him, a chasm opens somewhere in his heart.

Noah and his Ark float for forty days and forty nights in their wooden prison. The stories that will be passed down get that part correct. Noah communicates daily with God through prayer, and Castiel watches him with something that resembles envy.

On the day the Ark reaches land, Castiel feels one of his brethren approaching. It is Uriel, his grace fluttering just with as much hostility to equal the amount in his expression.

“You interfered, Castiel. It goes against The Plan. You knew this.”

Castiel looks over at Noah and his family, who are kissing the dry ground with reverence. “I could not save them anyway,” Cas replies, but the words feel somehow bitter and wrong in his mouth. Last time, he did save them, and when Uriel confronted him, he was unrepentant.

Last time?

This has happened before.

How many times have I been here?

What is happening to me?

Uriel cooly meets his brother’s eye. “Castiel. You are to report to Naomi, a specialist, for your insubordination.”

Castiel nods with reluctance. He has never heard of this ‘Naomi,’ but he has disobeyed, and has no doubt he is to be punished.

Before Uriel can force him to fly back to Heaven, Castiel looks up at the clear blue sky, the first one he’s seen in forty days. Something new and beautiful shines there, between the puffy clouds and the warm sun. It is a dazzling array of colors.

“It’s a rainbow,” Cas remembers, and in that moment, is struck with sudden unmitigated horror.

He has seen this before - no, not before, after now, after this particular day. After this first rainbow that shines for Noah, Cas will see rainbows thousands upon thousands of times in the following millennia. He lived through eons of loneliness and confusion, watching humanity and helping them when he could. And each time, Naomi re-wrote his brain, editing his angelic programming in efforts to fix something that was only considered broken by his superiors.

“I can’t be here,” Cas says aloud, sick to his stomach. “This is the Diluvian era. I’ve been through this already, thousands of years ago. I need to get out, I need to find, to find - Dean.”

The memories flood back. How he’d saved Dean, confessing his love in a desperate life-or-death gamble, and how Dean had wept as Cas had admitted that Dean was his one true happiness.

And then, Cas had been swallowed up by the Empty.

“Oh, figured it out again, already? Such a clever widdle angel.”

Cas whips around. The Entity, or Shadow; whatever It’s called, is standing behind him, wearing Meg’s face. It looks extremely displeased despite the bored tone It’s using.

Cas faces Not-Meg wearily. “You are going to keep tormenting me.” He’s not really asking, but rather waiting for confirmation.

“Yeaaahhh, probably,” It smiles, but there is frustration in Its eyes. “You’re just too much fun to mess with, Clarence. You’ll sleep once I know you’ve actually given up. I just have to break you first. But in the meantime,” It says, clapping Meg’s hands with false cheer, “Let’s send you back to that time you broke down the barrier in Sam’s mind! That one is classic!”

The ancient world around Cas fades to pitch black once more, but he stares at the rainbow in the sky until he can no longer make out the colors, repeating the same phrase to himself over and over each time he is shattered anew:

I love you, Dean.

I love you.

Dean.

I love you.

#Destiel #100000 destiel fics #castiel deserved better #castiel appreciation #ANGST #Sorry!#post 15x18 #suptober21 #othervorld writes

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hafanforever · 4 years ago

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Tyrant Terror

So I know it’s no surprise to my closest friends and fellow Disney fans on Tumblr that I have a strong, deep affinity for villains, including those by Disney. And over the last several months, the more I wrote about King Runeard in my Frozen II analyses, the more I realized what made him a tyrant, albeit a secret one, and that led me to think about other villains in the Disney animated canon who were tyrants.

The thing is, while most historical tyrants were people of royalty, you don’t necessarily have to be a monarch in order to be a tyrant. The definition of a tyrant isn’t limited to being a KING or QUEEN who is openly cruel, hostile, harsh, uncaring, oppressive, persecuting, and unjust towards the people they rule. I mean, that is one way to express tyranny, and probably the most famous way it is and has been done. But what it really means for a person to be called a tyrant is being in a position of power, authority, and/or control over other people and MISUSING, to the point of ABUSING, that position, and often for that tyrant's own selfish desires rather than in the best interest of the people being ruled by the tyrant.

So from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to Frozen II, there are a handful of tyrannical antagonists who are indeed monarchs, such as the Queen of Hearts, Prince John, and Scar, but also plenty others who are not. There are tyrants who are corrupt government officials, such as Governor Ratcliffe, Frollo, and Bellwether, and even those who wield magic, such as Maleficent, Ursula, and Jafar. And like the villainous monarchs, the non-monarch villains prove themselves as tyrants all because they abuse their positions of power, magic or non-magic power, and authority that they have over other characters. In fact, there are even a couple of heroic characters who start off more as protagonist villains because they display tyrannical behavior before they become better people. On the contrary, the main antagonist enemies of these tyrant heroes serve as darker reflections of what the latter characters could have become had they not learned the error of their ways.

Below is my list of all the villains from Walt Disney Animation Studios that I perceive as tyrants, from monarchs to government officials to sorcerers, and what scenes in their respective movies depict them displaying tyrannical behavior. I even listed villains that would have become tyrants had they succeeded in their longterm goals.

Monarchs

The Evil Queen: Though we never see her actively governing her kingdom on screen, the abuse that the evil queen displays in her authority over Snow White by dressing her stepdaughter in rags and forcing her to work as a maid in an attempt to make her (Snow White) unattractive makes her a tyrant for sure. Furthermore, the way she mocks the skeletal remains of a prisoner in her dungeon suggests the queen is indeed a cruel, tyrannical ruler.

Queen of Hearts: If we want to consider the epitome of a true tyrant that is a monarch from Disney, it can be safely assumed that that role belongs to the Queen of Hearts. While every resident of Wonderland is insane in some way, the Queen is the most dangerous one of all by being the ruler of the land. An egotist extraordinaire, she loves to get her way, insisting that “All ways are MY ways!” and enjoys hearing the words “Yes, Your Majesty”. The Queen outwardly abuses her authority and power over her subjects by becoming furious over even the smallest of matters, during which she loses her literally explosive temper and flies into violent rages. She is also extremely irrational and unjust in making decisions, primarily by utilizing executions as her only and immediate solution to any problem, especially whenever she feels someone has wronged her, while also refusing to let the individuals she wants beheaded explain their sides of the stories. Enraged upon seeing her white roses painted red, when she misses a shot in croquet, and when she becomes the target of a prank caused by the Cheshire Cat, the Queen sentences those she deems responsible to death by beheading. All of this proves just how much she persecutes and oppresses the residents of Wonderland, instilling only fear and intimidation into their hearts. (A pun that is VERY much intended by me, the Queen of Puns! 😆😆😆)

Prince John: While possessing a short temper that isn’t nearly as explosive and violent as that of the Queen of Hearts, Prince John is displayed to be extremely incompetent as the ruler of England during the time that King Richard is off fighting in the Crusades. Stingy and greedy, the prince continually finds ways to rob and swindle his people in pursuit of wealth for himself. John shows absolutely no care that the harsh laws he decrees to gain more money drive the citizens of Nottingham into poverty and starvation, and he even cruelly mocks them on their poor states by saying, “Rob the poor to feed the rich!”. After the villagers start making fun of him with the song “The Phony King of England”, John punishes them by further increasing the tax payments. Soon everyone in Nottingham is stripped of their money and they are put in prison due to their inability to pay their taxes.

Horned King: Even though the Queen of Hearts projects herself as the ideal example of a royal tyrant, she is far less evil and scary than the Horned King. A skeletal creature with green, rotting flesh, the Horned King is completely frightening in appearance and in personality. Malicious, cruel, malevolent, sinister, power-hungry, megalomaniacal, ruthless, and merciless, he is the epitome of a tyrant who is nothing but purely and completely evil. His goal is to find the infamous Black Cauldron and use its powers to unleash an army of immortal warriors called the Cauldron Born in order to become immortal and conquer the world.

Scar: Denied a legitimate chance to succeed Mufasa as the King of the Pride Lands once Simba is born, Scar schemes to have both of them killed to become king. After murdering Mufasa and believing that Simba has been killed as well, Scar ascends to the throne. However, because he allows the hyenas unrestricted hunting rights in the Pride Lands, their overeating leads to a shortage of food, and a drought leads to other animal herds moving away. Ultimately, these events turn the kingdom into a barren wasteland under Scar’s reign, leaving it completely devoid of green vegetation, water, and food sources. Incredibly lazy and incompetent as a ruler, and caring about nothing except the power and authority that being king gives him, Scar refuses to accept that his allowance of the hyenas overeating is what leads to the destruction of the Pride Lands. He instead blames it on Sarabi and the other lionesses since the hyenas complained to him that they refuse to go hunt. When she suggests they leave Pride Rock to survive, Scar obstinately rejects the idea, not at all caring that he has essentially sentenced them to death. He argues that his place as king puts him in the right for whatever he decides to do: “I am the king! I can do whatever I want!”

King Runeard: In his life, Runeard openly presented himself as a peaceful, generous leader to the people of Arendelle AND the Northuldra. But Elsa discovers from his snowy manifestation in Ahtohallan that he did not trust the Northuldra just because they followed magic. Despite his kingdom having seen him as a benevolent ruler, the face the figure of Runeard makes as he sneers "of a king!" implies that only really cared about himself as well the power and authority he had in being a king. Therefore, he secretly misused and abused it whenever the opportunity came along. This is displayed perfectly when Runeard had the dam constructed in the Enchanted Forest, presenting it as a gift to the Northuldra. He claimed that it would strengthen their land, but admitted only to the second-in-command that the dam’s effects would be just the opposite. This was all part of Runeard’s subtle plan to destroy the Northuldra, as he feared they would try to usurp him and take over Arendelle using their magical ties.

Government Officials/Authority Figures

Lady Tremaine: Like the evil queen before her, Lady Tremaine has control and authority over Cinderella once the latter’s father dies, and misuses it by turning Cinderella into her servant. Day after day for ten years, Lady Tremaine orders and bosses Cinderella around, forces her to do every single bit of housework and menial task for her and the former’s daughters, and subjects the poor girl to an endless cycle of abuse and torment. When Cinderella is accused by Anastasia of putting Gus under the latter’s teacup, her stepmother refuses to let her explain the truth and unfairly punishes her with extra chores. Later, Lady Tremaine falsely promises Cinderella she may attend the ball if she finds a suitable dress and finishes her chores, but gives her chore after chore to do to keep her from working on her dress. After Cinderella appears wearing the dress her mouse and bird friends fixed up for her, Lady Tremaine subtly and cruelly manipulates Drizella and Anastasia into destroying it so that she can appear to be fair in her side of the bargain (”If you can find something suitable to wear”) while simultaneously keeping Cinderella from going to the ball in the first place. The following morning, when she realizes Cinderella was the mysterious girl who danced with the prince at the ball, Lady Tremaine follows her stepdaughter up to her room and locks her in to prevent her from trying on the glass slipper when the Duke arrives with it.

Sheriff of Nottingham: Despite not being the main antagonist of Robin Hood, the Sheriff of Nottingham is as much of a tyrant over the town as Prince John is to it and the entirety of England. This is because he is abusive, ruthless, and completely unsympathetic towards the people’s poverty and continually demands that they pay their taxes, regardless of what other problems they may have that hinders them from doing so. It is because of the Sheriff’s harsh decree of taxes, and then by that of Prince John once the latter takes up residence in Nottingham, that the town’s citizens are driven into poverty. The cruel, immoral way the Sheriff collects taxes includes forcing out the coins Otto had hidden in his leg cast, not caring that his act was causing the blacksmith pain from his broken leg, confiscating the one farthing Skippy had been given for his birthday and insincerely wishing him a happy birthday, and taking the single farthing that was in the Friar Tuck’s church's poor box and laughing as he did it.

Ratigan: A notorious crime lord, Ratigan is the leader of a gang of thugs comprised primarily of mice, but also including a bat named Fidget, who is his second-in-command. Although they willingly help their boss with his crimes, they also participate out of fear for their own lives. Ratigan is an abusive tyrant to his minions and threatens to feed them to his cat Felicia if they ever do something that angers him, even if it occurs unintentionally. This is shown after one of his drunken thugs calls him a rat during "The World’s Greatest Criminal Mind”, and Ratigan threatens his other minions with the same fate if they do not keep singing. Ratigan’s latest scheme is to take over London by murdering the Mouse Queen during her Diamond Jubilee celebration and secretly replacing her with a lifelike robot. He and his thugs (who are disguised as royal guards) infiltrate Buckingham Palace and kidnap the Queen, who is taken to be fed to Felicia by Fidget. As the Diamond Jubilee takes place, the Robot Queen names Ratigan as her new "Royal Consort", and Ratigan, dressed in an ornate robe, immediately presents himself in front of the gathered citizens of Mousedom, terrifying them. He then proceeds to read over his long list of tyrannical laws, one of which is a heavy tax policy for people he deems "parasites", including the elderly, infirm, and children.

Governor Ratcliffe: A completely unscrupulous and greedy man, Ratcliffe leads John Smith and other sailors on an expedition to Virginia to find gold, but he secretly plans to keep all discovered riches for himself. Upon their arrival to America, he forces all of the settlers to dig around their encampment, but refuses to do any manual labor himself out of his own sheer laziness. When no gold turns up in the searches, Ratcliffe becomes greedily convinced that it is because the Native Americans are hoarding it. He refuses to believe John's claim that there is no gold around the land, claiming that the Powhatans’ land is his land for the taking and that he makes the laws. After John is captured by the Powhatans, as they believed he murdered Kocoum, Ratcliffe takes it as the opportunity to take the non-existent gold from them, but claiming to his men that it is a rescue mission.

Judge Claude Frollo: Perhaps the darkest and most malevolent of all Disney Villains in animation (aside from the Horned King), Frollo uses his position as the Minister of Justice in the city of Paris to enrich himself and persecute anyone and everyone he considers inferior. He especially holds a deep-seated hatred for the gypsies and plots to eradicate them from the city. Despite his dark deeds, Frollo refuses to find any fault within himself and he truly believes he is a good person who is only trying to rid the world of sin and malice. Any time he commits a crime or is about to do one, he makes excuses to justify them, saying he is doing it in the eyes of God and that his victims are the ones who are really at fault. After chasing and murdering Quasimodo’s mother since he believed that the bundle she was carrying was stolen goods, Frollo attempts to murder Quasimodo since he believes the latter’s deformity makes him an unholy demon. Years later, after trapping Esmeralda in Notre Dame and upon discovering that she has escaped, he launches a ruthless manhunt around the city to find her, burning down the houses of anyone suspected of sheltering gypsies (including an innocent miller and his family, who survive thanks to Phoebus’s intervention) and interrogating gypsies who are captured. During the climax, Frollo makes the excuse that Esmeralda has proven herself to be a witch and will be executed by burned at the stake as her sentence.

Hades: The reluctant ruler of the Underworld and Lord of the Dead, Hades abuses his authoritative role by subjecting his lackeys Pain and Panic to harsh mistreatment whenever they fail a task assigned to them and any other time they do or say something that angers their boss. The two imps only put up with Hades’s abuse not so much out of loyalty to him, but out of deep fear for him. When he discovers that the two did not succeed in killing Hercules as a baby, Hades furiously grabs both Pain and Panic by their necks and chokes them as he demands they explain themselves. Later, after Hercules becomes a famous hero in Thebes, Pain and Panic adorn themselves with some of the hero’s merchandise, much to their boss’s complete ire.

Shan Yu: The ruthless yet respected leader of the Hun army, Shan Yu is an extremely dark, merciless, and dangerous individual determined to take control of China. His thought-to-be impossible feat of getting through the Great Wall to invade China soon makes him notorious and feared throughout the entire country. In his journey to the Imperial City, Shan Yu and his army destroy one village, then slaughter the entire Imperial Army and residents in another village at the Tung Shao Pass in the mountains. He and five of his elite soldiers are the only ones who survive a snow avalanche caused by Mulan. When the group arrives at the Imperial City and take control of the palace, Shan Yu orders the Emperor to bow to him, and decides to kill him when the latter adamantly refuses to do so.

Turbo: Initially believed to be the ruler of the game Sugar Rush, King Candy is secretly Turbo, a racer from the old game TurboTime who was believed to have died after his game was permanently unplugged. Having stolen the throne from Vanellope Von Schweetz, the true ruler, Turbo turns her into a glitch and makes himself the ruler of her kingdom. While he is viewed as eccentric and flamboyant, yet jovial and benevolent, to his subjects, Turbo is extremely obsessive and possessive of his new royal status. He continuously lusts for power and authority and goes to great lengths to secretly abuse his position, not just by allowing the other racers to ruthlessly torment Vanellope, but especially by keeping Vanellope from racing so that she cannot regain the role he had stolen from her.

Bellwether: The epitome of the famous phrase “a wolf in sheep’s clothing”, Dawn Bellwether pretends to be sweet, meek, and friendly to successfully hide her true prejudiced, ruthless, embittered nature. Initially the overworked assistant mayor of Zootopia to its mayor Leodore Lionheart, Bellwether secretly hates him and all predators, viewing them as nothing more than savage, dangerous monsters. In her scheme to overthrow him, take control of the city, and drive all predators out of Zootopia, Bellwether becomes the leader of a secret organization of sheep terrorists who create a serum from night howlers to turn predators feral. This would give the illusion that they were biologically reverting back to their "primitive savage ways" and eventually be regarded as too dangerous for society, allowing only prey animals to take up the entire population. However, in her goal to become the mayor of Zootopia, rather than subjecting Lionheart to becoming savage, Bellwether instead develops her plot to ensure that he is removed from office and his positive reputation amongst the citizens is ruined, allowing her to rise to power in his place.

Magic Users

Maleficent: Known as The Mistress of All Evil, Maleficent is a ruthless tyrant who rules her own subjects at her home, the Forbidden Mountain. Using her dark magic, she continuously abuses her power and authority over her minions, particularly whenever they display incompetence and stupidity. This is shown when Maleficent flies into a rage and attacks them with her magic upon realizing that, over the last 16 years in their search for Aurora, they were only looking for a baby, not realizing in their idiocy that Aurora would be growing up.

Ursula: Known for her dark reputation as a sea witch, Ursula was banished from Atlantica by Triton. She explains in “Poor Unfortunate Souls” that she uses her magic to help merfolk attain their deepest desires and only imprisons them if they can’t keep their side of the bargain. However, after she takes Ariel’s voice away and turns the latter into a human to try and win Eric’s heart, Ursula reveals she has no intention of letting Ariel follow through with kissing Eric to remain human. She proves herself to be a tyrant because all she really does is backstab the merpeople with whom she makes deals in order to ensure that only HER desires are met! When she bargains with Triton so he will surrender himself to her in exchange for Ariel’s freedom, Ursula steals his crown and trident, then grows to giant size, declaring herself the ruler of the entire ocean.

Jafar: Unbeknownst to the Sultan of Agrabah, his Royal Vizier Jafar plots to take control of the kingdom, and he needs the Genie of the lamp from the Cave of Wonders to pull off this feat. Once the lamp is in his possession, Jafar succeeds with his first to become sultan. But after Jasmine and her father refuse to bow to him, he wishes to become the most powerful sorcerer in the world to have an even greater amount of power. During his brief reign, Jafar proves himself to be a tyrant by turning Agrabah into a dystopian wasteland, dressing the Sultan as a living marionette and allowing him to be abused by Iago, and making Jasmine his own slave girl.

Tyrants-Turned-Heroes

The Beast: From the time he is cursed and until he finally starts to soften, the spoiled behavior the prince had before his curse remains. He is aggressive, rude, impatient, and frequently and easily loses his temper when something annoys or irritates him. Primarily due to his short temper, the Beast acts like a tyrant towards his servants because he is mean and cruel to them as he gives them orders, which makes them deeply afraid of him. Only on some occasions do they openly rebel against him or talk back to him, such as Mrs. Potts ordering the Beast to act more like a gentleman around Belle, and both her and Lumiere deciding to feed Belle despite being told that she was not allowed to eat unless she ate with the Beast.

Kuzco: In the beginning, Kuzco is very arrogant, lazy, selfish, and self-absorbed, viewing himself as superior to all simply for being the emperor. He rules his empire completely without the best interest of his people and always seeks to have his way, never showing any concern over the chances things could turn out badly for other people involved. This is shown when he sets his sights on building his summer home of Kuzcotopia on the top of the hill where Pacha, Pacha’s family, and other villagers reside. Since the plan will only benefit himself, Kuzco shows absolutely no care or concern that destroying Pacha’s village to build Kuzcotopia will render the residents homeless.

Would-Be Tyrants

Gaston: From what I described about him in “Bride and Prejudice” with his growing obsession with Belle and his low, inferior views of women, there is no doubt in my mind that, had Gaston succeeded in marrying Belle and starting a family with her, he would have run his household like a tyrant. He would be very controlling to the point of being physically abusive to his wife in order to get her to obey every single one of his commands and orders. Like many of the tyrants I listed above, Gaston would undoubtedly use fear and intimidation to keep his wife in her proper place of being beneath him, and he would instill these same feelings on to his own children.

Yzma: Her ire drawn after Kuzco remorselessly fires her, a furious Yzma decides to kill him so that she can take over the empire. While Kuzco is initially selfish, callous, and uncaring towards his staff and people living in his empire, he learns to change his ways by the end of the film. Had Yzma succeeded in her goal, she would have been far more of a selfish, ruthless tyrant than Kuzco was at first. This is evident during her introduction scene, which is one of many times she governs the empire whenever Kuzco is not present. As a peasant complains to her that he and his family are suffering from limited food sources, Yzma spitefully says his problem is of no concern to her, and that the man should have realized this ahead of time.

Hans: While taking over as temporary ruler of Arendelle in both Elsa and Anna’s absence, Hans wins the hearts of the people by acting as a kind, caring, benevolent ruler during the harsh conditions brought on by Elsa’s magical winter. Though he reveals his true, dark nature to Anna and his plot to take control of Arendelle, the fact that he earned the trust and respect of the Arendellians suggest that Hans could truly have been a very worthy ruler. However, now that we have Frozen II and it revealed that Runeard was actually a malevolent tyrant behind the same kind of benevolent facade that Hans used, there is no doubt in my mind that had he succeeded in stealing Arendelle’s throne, Hans also would have become a ruthless, power-hungry, selfish tyrant in secret.

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ravnicaforgoblins · 4 years ago

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Ravnica for Goblins

Exciting Planeswalker Visitors

(Caution: Before we begin, this post is going to be much more opinion-based than previous ones. These are my own homebrew ideas, use them as/if you wish, discard/dismiss them if you prefer.)

Planeswalkers are an integral part of MTG Lore, as well as several of its most iconic characters. Put simply, a Planeswalker is an individual with an inherent gift for traveling between planes, or worlds. The gift does not appear at birth, but is usually triggered by some manner of incredibly emotional (usually traumatizing) event. In addition, each Planeswalker displays a unique aptitude for a particular style of magic; be it plant growth, transformation, becoming transparent, illusions, invulnerability, summoning beasts, structural analysis, setting things on fire, etc. Whatever their specific brand of magic is, it’s usually on a higher level than an ordinary person can hope to achieve.

Planeswalkers, as a general rule, are wanderers by nature. They may have a home plane, or even an adopted home plane, but being able to traverse the multiverse leads many towards lives of constant adventuring/shenanigans. Add in the fact that Planeswalkers cannot bring anyone else with them on these travels (except in very rare cases), and you end up with a special breed of super-powerful magical loner. They show up, make a name for themselves with their big magic, and depart when they feel like it. Did you say, “Instant Adventure”?

Ravnica has a few native Planeswalkers among its citizens; Ral Zarek, Vraska, and Domri Rade. In addition, it has several Planeswalkers who have at some point or another (depending on your timeline) devoted enough time & energy to be effectively considered citizens; Azor, Tezzeret, Kaya, Dack Fayden, Dovin Baan, Gideon Jura, and Jace Beleren. Some of these are currently dead, missing, or magically barred from ever returning. At one point, Ravnica had more Planeswalkers on it at one time than any plane in the multiverse has ever or will ever see. If you are going the War of the Spark direction, good luck. You'll need it and so will your players. For everyone else, which Planeswalkers you choose to include in your campaign (if any), should be based on who will work the best for the story you’re trying to tell. A recommendation; if you find their lore too distracting and complicated, stick to the main beats. A lot of these figures can be boiled down to simple ideas, and you don’t want to bore your party with the entire novel of these usually dramatic/tragic lives. Trust me, the base concepts are enough.

With that in mind, here are four Planeswalkers that I, a random person on the internet, believe would work great for a Ravnica campaign. My choices are not based on who has canonically already spent time in Ravnica, or who would be the most powerful/dangerous to suddenly appear in the city. Several Planeswalkers have their own prior commitments on other planes that are pretty central to their character, and BAMFing them to Ravnica for a quick Bad Guy to take down wouldn’t do them justice. These four characters would slide into various aspects of Ravnica beautifully. These four would be the most exciting visitors to Ravnica.

Ashiok, Dream Render

I don’t think any MTG character could be as good a fit for a Ravnican Guild as Ashiok is for House Dimir. Ashiok is almost literally a walking shadow of secrets and intrigue. Their origins, their age, their motives, their face; hell, their gender is a secret yet unrevealed. Ashiok’s power is creating living beings born of the greatest fears stolen from people’s nightmares. Literally.

It’s like if the Dimir stopped half-assing the art of stealing thoughts and turned it into a weapon of mass destruction. Because even the mightiest of Ravnicans are afraid of things. Ask Niv-Mizzet about the Nephilim sometime, see how quickly he changes the subject. What’s better, for a Guild that prides itself on always having the up & up on everyone, Ashiok is inscrutable. They have no past that can be divined, no secrets that can be stolen, no previous encounters to prepare any for their arrival. Neither Lazav nor Etrata can claim such anonymity, despite their best efforts. Ashiok is a true enigma and a dangerous new weapon for House Dimir.

Ashiok also comes with the ability to create minions and NPCs from out of any PC’s worst nightmares, making encounters a great combination of roleplaying & combat. Fighting them is specifically facing one’s deepest & darkest fears made real. Can you say, “character development”?

Ashiok’s arrival could spread this new magical art to other Dimir Agents for a longer campaign, but it might be best to confine it to Ashiok in order to allow for a cleaner victory. Ashiok is not a fighter, cornering them into a direct confrontation should be enough to make the Nightmare Sculptor run for the hills. The mind is powerful, but also very squishy.

Tibalt, the Fiend-Blooded

You know how the Cult of Rakdos are technically Chaotic Evil but generally just a bunch of artsy hedonistic nuisances? Tibalt is to them what a gallon of gasoline would be to a lit stove. Good for fire, bad for everything else. Tibalt is an empath specializing in Pain Magic. Quite literally, he loves hurting people for fun. Drawn to pain like a magnet; physical, emotional, spiritual, psychological, etc, he is sadism personified.

His brief time on Ravnica during War of the Spark was enough to make a strong impression on the Rakdos.

“I like this one’s energy.”

This is because they do not realize how bad Tibalt would be for the Cult. There is a fundamental difference between the Chaotic Evil the Cult practices and the Chaotic Evil Tibalt delights in. The Rakdos have survived 10,000 years by taking in the freaks, the rejects, and the crazies, and giving them a place where they can live out their most depraved hedonistic fantasies. They are the voice of the outsiders bringing all figures of power & authority down a peg. They always punch up, never down. Tibalt is a young man with no home, no friends, no job, and no interests or hobbies beyond inflicting pain in as many people as possible. Tibalt punches everyone. The most important distinction between the two is that the Cult of Rakdos is a culture, a way of life for people to embrace; it might be crazy, but it welcomes & accepts people no matter how insane the world says they are. Tibalt does not care about anyone but himself. Following his example would see the city turned into the largest, bloodiest, and most destructive riot in its history; with Tibalt inciting and sicking every monstrosity he can find onto the city at once. He will burn the Rakdos candle at both ends and leave them to suffer the consequences of his fun. The aftermath being the city in ruins, the Cult wiped from the face of existence, and him moving on to his next project. In short, Tibalt will hurt the Cult of Rakdos as much, if not more, than the rest of Ravnica. Because that’s how he gets his kicks.

The one thing standing in his way will be Rakdos himself. As the single largest diva on the entire plane, Rakdos does not tolerate anyone who tries to steal his spotlight. As a 10,000+ year-old Demon Lord, Rakdos is in a league of his own, and Tibalt is just a hotshit little pain mage with a few tricks. It’s not a fight, it’s either an exit or a curtain call for the Planeswalker. If Rakdos is around, Tibalt’s spree will be very short-lived. If, however, Rakdos is doing his usual thing of hibernating for weeks, months, or years at a time, that’s a different story. Tibalt is good for if your campaign wants to bypass politics & intrigue and go straight to killing Cultists & Demons. He’s bad for anyone he comes in contact with.

Garruk Wildspeaker

In case I haven’t made my contempt for Domri Rade clear, I hold Domri Rade in utter contempt. As a character, as a Planeswalker, and most of all as a Gruul, he’s a failure. Scrawny, weak, gullible, and stupid. My chief grievance with Domri is that he fell short in all the areas the Gruul Clans idolize. He couldn’t survive in the wilderness on his own without his Planeswalker abilities, he couldn’t fight for himself except against weaker opponents or with herds of animals as backup, and he acted on orders from someone else who wasn’t Gruul. For a Guild built on independence and survival of the fittest, he failed both completely.

Garruk is the real deal. Gigantic, strong, savage, and cunning. Here is a man who, on a fundamental level, has embraced animal savagery as a way of life. He lives like a predator on the hunt, an alpha of any pack, and a fierce threat to all who intrude upon his territory. On a plane like Ravnica, where civilization has encroached on the untamed wilds almost completely, Garruk would be a gamechanger. Not only could he feasibly fight Borborygmos for leadership of the Gruul, he could win, and he could unite the Gruul under his howl of reclaiming the wilds from so-called “civilization”. Garruk would bring animal strength to the Gruul in ways they’ve only begun to tap into, and he’d do it in their language. Because Garruk understands the Gruul, and they understand him. They have so much in common with each other that it’s hard to think of any Planeswalker who could be welcomed so readily into a Guild. They would become so much more than rock-smashers and anarchists, they would become Ravnica’s reminder that nature will survive when all traces of society have crumbled away.

As if taking on the city itself wasn’t big enough already, Garruk has also taken to hunting other Planeswalkers, and can actually track them across the Multiverse. Meaning a few high-ranking members of Guilds and even the Living Guildpact have to take his threat seriously. He’s got a particular grudge against necromancers, dislikes talking, and has a special gift with animals of all varieties. All of which provides plenty of ideas to build from. He’s an 8ft tall Human Druid/Barbarian who willingly chooses animal savagery over intellectual reasoning, can there be anyone more perfect for the Gruul?

Did I say Ashiok was the most perfect fit for an MTG character in a Ravnican Guild? Yeah, scratch that. Garruk is.

Sarkhan Vol

Most Planeswalkers have a theme to their abilities. For some, that theme extends to their personalities as well. And then there are Planeswalkers who can be adequately summed up in a single word. For Sarkhan, that word would be “dragons”. Sarkhan sees dragons as nature’s purest & most destructive form, and carries a fascination with them that is perfectly healthy for anything with wings and scales that breathes fire, but generally less healthy for everything & everyone else.

One of the things that makes Ravnica unique is the distinct lack of dragons (emphasis on the plural). Ravnica has a dragon, Niv-Mizzet the Firemind, who made the executive decision thousands of years ago that he alone was sufficient to represent his entire species. Ravnican dragons are considered more intelligent than dragons on other planes, Niv himself being a prime example of this. Around the original signing of the Guildpact, Ravnica’s Godlike dragons were hunted to extinction, with Niv leading the hunt against his own kind. They were not entirely successful in this endeavor, but what few dragons do remain in the present day survive by staying as far off Niv’s radar as possible. Some dragons live by carrying out Niv’s will under constant supervision, or by hunting in the untamed wilds outside the city, or as sideshow attractions for the Rakdos (usually with their wings cut off to prevent escape). They are effectively stripped of anything that would identify them as “dragons” for the sake of their own existence. Since dragons are such a notoriously touchy subject for the Firemind, few have the nerve or fire immunity necessary to speak out against it.

Sarkhan would be horrified. If he thought the extinction of dragons on his home plane of Tarkir was bad, seeing them living like this would infuriate him beyond words. What would Sarkhan do once the initial shock of seeing his spirit animal (in more ways than one) reduced to pitiful scraps of life as lab rats, scared prey, and freak shows wears off? Let’s make it a game! Do you think Sarkhan will:

A. Cry.

B. Throw up.

C. Embrace this as a plane’s reality that he has no right to get involved with.

D. Scream.

E. Set something on fire.

F. Set everything on fire.

G. Bring back the dragons.

H. Burn the city to the ground with dragons.

I. Kill Niv-Mizzet.

J. All the above except “C”.

If you selected Answer “J”, then congratulations! You’ve just won a free trip to a BURNING METROPOLIS! Sarkhan will absolutely make it his life’s goal to bring dragons back to Ravnica and destroy the whole wretched city down to the last brick. How he would do it is up to you, but it’s a solid bet that even if every other Guild treats him like an apocalyptic madman, the Gruul might side with him over some shared beliefs in smashing the city apart with ferocious animal savagery. They tend to lean towards such ideas with uncharacteristic willful compliance. Ravnican dragons are primarily red, with the most prominent breed still remaining being the Utvara Hellkites beyond the city limits.

Oh, and Sarkhan can turn into a dragon, too. Have fun with that.

#ravnica for goblins #ravnica #goblins #d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dragons #planeswalkers #mtg #campaign #roleplaying #tibalt #sarkhan #ashiok #garruk #fun ideas #guilds

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jaskiersvalley · 5 years ago

Note

So idk if you'd be interested but I had the idea of like the witchers when they were still lil maybe before the mutations or maybe right after and lil lambert having a nightmare and lil geralt and lil eskel giving him a cuddle and making him feel better

I’ve not been able to get the idea of little witchers out of my head since you sent this in, Nonnie! And finally, I have an idea that I feel is good enough for this prompt - might lack a little on a literal nightmare but...hopefully the rest of it makes up for it. :D

The winter at Kaer Morhen was more lively than it had been in decades. It wasn’t just the usual four witchers there, this time Jaskier was there and Yennefer too. It was noisy, for want of a better word. With Jaskier around, there was always laughter and music. Even if he wasn’t the one making racket, he had a wonderful knack for inspiring the others to revert to something more lighthearted.

Truthfully, it was a little tiring. Lambert, Eskel and even Geralt had a habit of becoming so much more animated. It wasn’t a bad thing by any means but Vesemir did miss the quiet of the keep, the warm nights where they were all settled by a fire and reading or playing gwent in relative silence. Now, there was an almost constant jesting, scuffling and running around that was worse than when they were children. So, really, Vesemir couldn’t be blamed when he announced he was going to go hunting for a few days. He wasn’t running away. Simply, he was taking a breather and enjoying the silent solitude of the mountain. It wasn’t like he was leaving behind literal children, they could keep everything ticking over while he was gone. As planned, he left.

Breakfast without Vesemir was unusual. Lambert sat opposite Geralt and Yennefer who was trying her best to ignore the bickering and the fact that Jaskier’s swinging legs were kicking her ankle every few seconds. They were noisy, ribbing each other, Lambert was trying to cram a whole egg in his mouth while Jaskier was trying to make him laugh so he couldn’t do it.

“You’d look more graceful gargling a ballsack,” Eskel barked on a laugh and nudged Yennefer who was next to him. “Trust me on this one, I know.”

Obviously his comment hit its mark because Lambert threw a half eaten slice of toast coated in jam at him. Only a quick aard stopped it from splattering on Eskel. However, it instead ended up, jam side down, on Yennefer’s shoulder and hair. Silence engulfed the room as everyone watched her reaction. Without a word, she stood up and stalked out.

“Yennefer! Wait!” Jaskier was up and after her, knowing that of the lot, he would have the greatest chance of appeasing her (and probably most capable of getting jam out of hair with minimal pain).

Just outside the hall, Yennefer spun on her heel and glared at him. Not that it made much of a difference, Jaskier had grown immune to most glares and threats over the years.

“They were just having fun,” Jaskier tried to appease. “They’re home, relaxed and without the pressing worries of the Path. Childhood home and all that.”

There was a glint in Yennefer’s eyes and her smile held nothing nice. “Exactly like children,” she nodded. “They can be as they behave.”

Stepping around Jaskier, she carelessly flung a bright purple spell into the hall and turned to Jaskier. “Have fun with the kids.” Before he had a chance to ask, she opened up at portal and walked away without a backward glance.

“Shit.” Jaskier tried to listen through the door before he returned, wondering whether he’ll find three witchers knocked out or turned into goats. In the end, it was so much worse than that. Because when Jaskier returned to the hall, he wasn’t greeted by goats. Not even three idiots asleep, face first in their food. Instead, three sets of large, terrified eyes peered up at him from shirts that were too large.

Eskel and Geralt couldn’t have been more than five while Lambert was probably about three. They watched Jaskier walk in and backed away, distrust and fear clear in their little faces. It broke Jaskier’s heart.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier dropped his voice to something soft and gentle and he crouched down. “I’m a friend.”

They were obviously children but some of their memories must have remained because Geralt suddenly made a run for him, arms out stretched and a cry of “Jaskier!” as he barrelled into the bard. It was only because he was so small and light that they didn’t go toppling over.

“You’re alright, Geralt,” Jaskier soothed as he wrapped arms around the tiny witcher who was utterly swamped in his old shirt. “You two okay?” he asked Lambert and Eskel, standing up. What Jaskier didn’t anticipate was for Lambert’s lips to wobble precariously as he backed away, tripping on his own shirt. The wail of distress was only made worse when Eskel pulled himself up to his full height and bravely stood between Jaskier and Lambert without a word. He was quivering and shaking, turning a little from Jaskier but standing his ground all the same.

“Oh sweethearts,” Jaskier breathed. He crouched down and extended an arm for Eskel too. “I’ll look after you all.”

Turning away, Eskel reached a hand for Lambert and pushed him up. While keeping a tight grip on him, he edged closer to Jaskier. Close enough, Eskel made a quick dash and wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s neck while Lambert tentatively took hold of the outstretched hand.

Three baby witchers wrapped around him, Jaskier looked around and sighed. It wasn’t going to be easy and he silently cursed Yennefer’s vindictive ways. There was no telling how long the spell would last or when she or Vesemir would be back. For a change, Jaskier had to be the adult and the one to look after everyone else. The first challenge was standing up with three child witchers in his arms. With a groan and a heave, he managed and staggered over to the table.

“Right, we need to make sure you’re all fed.” He knew next to nothing about children and diets but he suspected that the mead on the table was a no go. Adult witchers might be idiots to drink at breakfast but Jaskier wasn’t. He pushed that out of reach and looked at the rest of the table. “Jam toast, who’d like some?”

Three small hands shot up immediately. Which was a good sign, surely. Pulling the bread close, Jaskier cut three slices and made sure the witchers stayed in their seats while he toasted the bread. Once it was lightly brown and crispy, Jaskier returned and was surprised to find Eskel had already managed to grab the jam jar and was wielding a knife.

As alarming as it was to see a small child with a knife, Jaskier let him put jam on his own toast while he sorted the ones for Lambert and Geralt. Only, Eskel seemed to have beaten him to it, the toast now sticky with lumps of jam was pushed towards Lambert who picked it up, uncaring of getting his hands messy.

“That was very kind, Eskel,” Jaskier said and passed him another slice of toast while giving Geralt one too. He watched them eat, smiled at Geralt’s polite “thank you”. So far, he’d heard Lambert cry and Geralt speak yet Eskel remained oddly silent.

Washing three sticky and squirming witchers was a task and a half. Jaskier was reluctant to let them out of his sight, not trusting them around the crumbling old keep. But they seemed determined to run around like children were wont to do. Tidying away the breakfast table, Jaskier watched them and realised something that made him sit down for a moment. For all their play, there wasn’t a single bit of laughter. There was a wariness to all three, they were protective of each other. While they remembered Jaskier to a certain extent, they seemed stuck in a limbo between being true children and people who have experienced a century of horror. It didn’t bear thinking about, what they could remember and how their current state allowed for the processing of it.

Not that Jaskier had to wonder for long. All too soon the three little terrors had quieted down, looking sleepy. Which meant it was probably time for a nap.

“Come on, you lot,” Jaskier herded them towards their bedrooms. “Afternoon nap.”

It would mean he got to at least prepare dinner without having to worry. Geralt’s bedroom was the first and Jaskier tucked him in, unable to miss out on a kiss to his forehead. Next was Lambert who kicked up at little fuss but Jaskier twisted the corner of a throw into a makeshift cuddly toy and he watched as Lambert shoved the tip in his mouth, eyes drooping. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find Lambert sucking his thumb when he fell asleep. Last was Eskel who was still as silent as before. He clutched at Jaskier’s hand, obviously reluctant to be left alone to sleep but it had to happen. Jaskier had other things to do.

First things first, Jaskier returned to his room. He cast his lute a longing glance but knew it wasn’t right. Looking after three child witchers was exhausting, he sat down on his bed heavily and tried to figure out what to do next. Dinner preparations. Maybe find a storybook in the library. It was easier to think with his eyes closed. And if he lay down for just a minute, to rest while he plotted out a course of action. The bed was soft and warm, he could safely think there.

Jaskier jolted awake to the sound of wailing. It was an utterly terrified child crying tears of distress. Stumbling out, Jaskier rushed towards the noise coming from Lambert’s room. The door was already open and he blinked to see Lambert, tear streaked face red and mouth curved down into the unhappiest of frowns. However, Eskel was hugging him from one side while Geralt was clambering up onto the bed too.

“Bad dream?” Jaskier asked and he perched on the edge of the bed. He didn’t expect Lambert to nod.

“Big monster.” His voice wobbled and fresh tears sprung up. “It bit me. Wanted to eat me.”

It was all too easy to reach for the bundle of witchers and pull them in for a cuddle. Lambert sniffled and described the monster while Geralt looked at him and nodded along.

“Kikimora.” Geralt suddenly said. “That’s what tried to eat you. It bit me once too.”

Jaskier could see the confusion on Geralt as he said it, the war of memory versus his current state made him frown. Especially when he peered at his shoulder where Jaskier knew he had a scar which wasn’t there in his current form.

“You’re very brave for not letting it eat you,” Jaskier added, stroking through Lambert’s hair. “How about we go down to the hall again? I could tell you a story.”

Keeping Lambert in his arm, Jaskier led the way, one hand holding Eskel’s while Geralt kept his fisted in his breeches. The fire had died down and the room was cooling. Jaskier would need to rekindle it but before he had a chance, Eskel raised a hand in a familiar sign and a powerful burst of flames shot out. It was a little too much, flames raced up the walls for a moment before dying down.

“Good job!” Jaskier said all the same. He knew witchers could cast signs but he’d never seen one so powerful.

They settled on the throws and Jaskier tried to think of old tales that would be suitable for children. Preferably none with monsters or anything that could upset them. His pickings were slim but he finally found one, a noble night and his horse on a quest to retrieve the crown for the king. It was easy enough to change a few details, come up with pit filled with spikes to swing over using vines rather than hyrda’s thousand heads hissing in a pit. All three witchers listened raptly, eyes large, gasping at all the tense bits and Lambert let out a little cheer when the knight got to the crown.

Dinner was a simple affair. Jaskier found some cured meats and fruits. While the three ate, he went to get his lute. They could have a quiet evening together. Really, the witchers were already drooping into their plates. It was kind of adorable.

Settling them on the rugs, Jaskier piled blankets and pillows around them, fussing to get them comfortable. Once they were settled into a cuddle pile, he picked up his lute and began to play. Slowly, the songs morphed from nursery rhymes to lullabies and the witchers fell asleep one by one. Placing his lute to the side, Jaskier tucked them in securely and smiled. They looked so peaceful and cute when asleep. Plus, he had been right, Lambert did suck his thumb. Grabbing a fur, Jaskier settled down and fell asleep, knowing that he would wake if anything happened over night.

Nothing did happen and Jaskier woke to the sound of the door slamming shut in the morning.

“What the hell?” Vesemir’s voice was full of disbelief, a deer slung over his shoulders and a handful of quails and rabbits hanging from his hands.

“I can explain!” Jaskier mumbled as he sat up. The witchers were quicker though and they were all backing away from Vesemir as he approached. Geralt pulled Lambert behind Jaskier while Eskel charged. With all the determination and bravery of a child, he stomped up to Vesemir and kicked him in the ankle before turning and running to hide behind Jaskier, clutching at Lambert.

Obviously, on some level they remembered the Vesemir had trained them. Jaskier didn’t know the full level of his involvement in creating witchers but the three cowering behind him told him enough.

“Yennefer got pissed off yesterday morning,” Jaskier offered with a hopeful look. “Maybe the spell will wear off.”

“I’ll get the potion to break the spell ready. You get them each a mug of warm milk.” With that, Vesemir walked to the pantry, dumped his collection on the ground and left.

Orders given, Jaskier set about getting things ready. He settled the three witchers at the table, put some fruits in front of them to snack on so he could warm up milk and pour it into mugs. By the time he was tipping the saucepan over the mugs, Vesemir had reappeared with a vial in hand.

“How have they been?”

“Fine. Minus the nightmares. Eskel hasn’t said anything though. But he has one hell of an igni.”

A world weary sigh left Vesemir. “That’s them for you. Geralt was always polite and well behaved. Eskel was all but mute until long after the trials. We knew he could speak but he only did that with Geralt, Lambert and a few others. Being more magically inclined, he had a knack for all the signs. Meanwhile, Lambert was, well, nobody expected him to survive the trials.”

“I hope you never told him that.” The look Vesemir gave Jaskier told him everything. “Well then, let’s get them back to how they should be, right?”

Three mugs, each with two drops of the potion. It turned the milk a vibrant yellow. Vesemir’s “at least it will taste sweet” was only mildly reassuring. None of the witchers let Vesemir approach so Jaskier set down two mugs then turned to take the third from him.

“You need to drink it to be big, strong witchers,” he said. There was a reluctance from the three until Geralt piped up.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.” Vesemir was cast suspicious looks and nobody touched their mugs.

“It shouldn’t,” Jaskier said and that seemed to ease things a little. “If it does, I’ll be here to help.”

Hesitantly, Geralt reached for his mug, too trusting. He took a sip and his eyes widened in delight before starting to chug it with childish delight. Taking his lead the other two picked up their mugs and drank too.

At first nothing happened and Jaskier looked nervously to Vesemir. Then he saw Geralt’s face fall into a frown, a hand going to his stomach. There was a soft poof of smoke and the next moment Geralt was sat there in his scarred, adult form. Two more puffs and Lambert and Eskel were back. They all blinked owlishly, looked at each other then at Jaskier and Vesemir.

“Oh fuck,” Eskel gasped, a hand flying to his mouth. “I kicked Vesemir in the ankle.”

“Just don’t do it now and I’ll forgive you,” Vesemir smiled. “Everyone alright?”

Three mute nods were his reply and everyone tried to make sense of what had happened over the course of the last day. While there was a silent agreement that they would never mention it again, Vesemir wasn’t surprised to find the four of them in a pile in front of the fire come evening. He didn’t even roll his eye when he saw Lambert hadn’t yet managed to shake his old habit of sucking his thumb.

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #yennefer of vengerberg #child witchers #age regression #i really hope the cut works on this #i promise i put it in but if tumblr messes up then i am very sorry #tldr: the witchers are turned back into children

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walkerwords · 4 years ago

Text

“A Sense of Time” Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

GIF CREDIT: me with footage from AMC

Summary: Six years after Rick Grimes disappeared, Daryl is still out in the woods looking for him. One day he and Dog come across you and offer you some food. Sometimes all a person needs is a little human conversation to point them home.

Word Count: 3507

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Nobody Knows” by The Lumineers

Note: This is just a short little thing I had written in my book. I like to think that Daryl visited his niece and nephew a lot, but sometimes needed a bit of a reminder. I think he also just needs a little human interaction every once in a while. Not a ship post, just a little conversation. Thanks for reading!

-----

Daryl Dixon had gotten used to the solitude the woods provided.

He had set out shortly after the bridge was blown out, determined to find his brother. He didn’t know if he would be able to find Rick Grimes alive, dead, or as a Walker. All he did know was that he needed to bring him home for all of them, but especially for Michonne, Judith, and RJ, the son Rick never knew.

Six years he searched and after a while, it was just easier to stay away. Daryl still made the occasional trip to Hilltop for supplies and to check-in with Tara and Jesus. He knew he should go to Alexandria more. He knew Judith asked about him, RJ too, but he couldn’t face Michonne. After what happened with Jocelyn, the same weight bore down on both of them and if he couldn’t bring Rick back to her, he didn’t want to see her.

It was mostly guilt on his part, even though he knew Rick had made the decision to stop the herd and protect the communities. He tried to save what they had all built together. Daryl couldn’t imagine what Rick would say if he knew how distant they all were now.

Maggie was gone, Alexandria was closed, Tara and Jesus rarely spoke to others, the Kingdom was falling apart, and Daryl wasn’t even sure what was happening over at Oceanside. Everything that Carl and Rick had wanted was now tearing at the seams, but Daryl knew it was going to happen. Nothing had been the same without either Grimes and everybody knew it. Hell, he figured even Negan knew it and the man was under lock and key.

But regardless, the world had to keep going.

Daryl walked through the woods, Dog at his side. He was on his way back to his makeshift camp after checking the traps when he heard a commotion coming through the trees.

Unsheathing his knives, Daryl moved silently. Dog kept right behind him, ready to move on his master’s command. The two had been hunting together for a while now and if Daryl couldn’t detect something sneaking up on them, Dog definitely could.

Daryl moved closer to the noise. He identified it as fighting immediately. He rushed ahead, hoping it wasn’t anyone he knew. The last thing he needed was one of his family members getting attacked or bit while looking for him in the dense forest.

Coming up to a clearing, Daryl paused just inside the tree line and watched the scene before him. About ten or so Walkers were converging on a small form in the center of the small field. Just as he was about to take his bow from his shoulder, the Dead began dropping and he finally caught sight of you.

Armed with a machete, you swung it in perfect arcs, cutting through the Dead like they were nothing. At this point in the Apocalypse, unless they were fresh, the Roamers, as you called them, were pretty much as brittle as sand. It didn’t take much force to take them out.

It was nearly second nature to kill them. You swung and swung, keeping light on your feet as you were taught. Heads toppled to the ground and eventually, all that remained was a single Roamer that limped on a bony stump. Twirling your blade around in your hand, you circled it. It lunged at you, but you easily stepped out of the way.

“Here, boy,” you taunted with a whistle. You could only imagine what your grandmother would say if she saw you playing with the Dead, but you had been alone for almost two years now and you needed a little bit of fun, even though it was a tad sadistic.

The Roamer snapped its jaws at you and soon you got bored. With a sigh, you swung your blade and took off its head, stopping the brain with your boot. Looking around at all the corpses, you got to work. You never understood why your grandmother had taught you to pile them up, but you always did it.

You thought it might be because it reminded her of a funeral pyre, just without the actual flames. Only a few times did you actually light them and that was when they were people you knew. Now it was too much of a risk to do so. It could not only attract more of the Dead but the Living too and that was the last thing you wanted.

As you dragged the Roamers into the center of the clearing, two pairs of eyes watched on from the trees. Daryl was wary of you, but something told him that you were just a nomad. It wasn’t uncommon for the lone traveler to come through the woods. Most people had the same idea: head to the Capital. Not that there was much left of Washington, D.C., but people still had hope.

Dog sat by his side, leaning slightly against him. Daryl reached down and scratched the dog’s head. He watched as you piled up the bodies and then started to go through the pockets of the Dead. He knew a few people, both living and dead that would disagree with looting a corpse, but he himself had done it more times than he could count. It was a basic survival skill these days and if you were alone, it could save your life.

You moved through the pile, looking for anything you could use. You found a new knife, an old book of matches, a bottle opener on a set of keys, and even a few bandannas you could use while walking through the more less-desirable areas. You grabbed it all and placed it in your backpack.

Pulling out your water bottle, you took a long pull and then poured some on your head, relishing in the cool feeling of the Virginia heat. You then climbed on top of the pile and sat, watching your surroundings as you took a break. This was something else your grandmother would slap you for, but you knew there was one thing that kept the Dead away and that was the smell of more Dead.

The horrific stench of the Roamers had become an odd comfort for you. It made you more at ease while sleeping and if you were being honest, you started to feel more comfortable around them than you did people. The new world was doing strange things to you and at this point, you were happy to let it.

Soon enough, though, you had to move on. Sliding off the pile, you grabbed your bag, sheathed your machete, and began moving towards the trees. The sun was going to start going down soon and you would need to keep moving if you were going to make it through the thick forest.

You headed towards the river, thinking it would be the easiest landmark to follow. The last thing you needed was to get lost in the middle of Virginia. With everything so overgrown and signs weathered, it was hard to even know what state you were in, let alone the city. Then there was the matter of direction. Grandma may have been all about free spirits and honoring the dead, but never once did she teach you how to find your way without a map.

“Thanks, grandma,” you grumbled as you jumped over a rotted tree. A rustling sound came from your right and your hand went to your machete, but you relaxed when you saw four legs, two tall ears, a tail, and a black nose. “This day just keeps getting more interesting,” you said to the dog that approached you.

The dog growled at you, showing its sharp canines. You put your hands on your hips and scowled at the creature. “Alright, boy,” you said, “normally I would kill any animal I came across, but you…” you trailed off, tilting your head, “I never thought I’d see a domestic dog like you, let alone one that wasn’t all ribs and feral teeth.” You reached out your hand when the dog barked and you jumped back.

“Okay, not too trusting,” you said, “I get that. How about this? I go my way and you go yours and I don’t have to kill you. How’s that sound?” You asked and the damn dog growled back.

“Dog!” You startled at the voice, cursing. The dog looped back towards a tree where a man stepped out from behind. This time, you hung onto the hilt of the machete as you took in the stranger. He was taller than you with long hair and scruffy facial hair that was half-hidden by a hood. Along his back was a large crossbow and you knew a man like that had to have more weapons on him.

When he moved closer to you, took another step back, tripping slightly. He put his hands up. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya, girl,” he said slowly. You watched as he kept his distance, but got close enough to where you could see him a bit better. He pulled down his hood and shook out his hair a bit.

“What do you want?” You asked, keeping an eye on his hands.

“Yer the one walkin’ into my camp,” he pointed out. He nodded behind him and just through the trees you could see a fire pit, tent, and what looked like some hand-carved spears.

“Please tell me you’re not some psycho who strings people up in trees,” you said, grimacing. The man raised a brow and shook his head slowly.

“What kind of company you keep?” He asked, but you figured it was more of a rhetorical question. Your gaze gifted back to the dog at the stranger’s side.

“He yours?” You asked. The man nodded. He then picked up a stick and held it aloft.

“Dog, go!” He yelled, throwing the stick back towards camp. The canine took off at full speed, happily barking after his prize.

“You named the dog, Dog?” You asked. The stranger shrugged.

“Didn’t know his name,” he rationalized. You pursed your lips, rocking awkwardly on your heels.

“So if you’re not gonna hang me from a tree or let your dog take a bite…” you trailed off, pointing over your shoulder.

“Where ya headed?” He asked.

“I’m lookin’ for someone. Figured I would head downriver. Guess I’ll find out one way or another.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he said, chewing on the side of his thumb. “Ya hungry?” He asked. You hesitated. “Just fish, girl, ain’t gonna be anything special.” You thought about it for a moment before nodding. He jerked his head towards camp and you followed.

“The name’s (Y/N), by the way, not ‘girl’,” you said, catching up to him.

“Daryl,” he responded.

“Nice to meet ya, Daryl,” you acknowledged. He grunted in response causing you to chuckle. Daryl lead you back to his camp and as he got to work on cleaning the fish he had caught earlier, you took a turn about the area.

Everything from the tent to the small weapons area screamed survivor. You could tell that he had been out there long, but he also knew how to live within the trees. These were the kind of people you liked. The ones that knew what they were doing and just lived rather than trying to hunt the weak or take advantage of other people. Daryl seemed like good one. He also didn’t seem scared of living out and around the Dead. “Get many Dead ones, ‘round here?” You asked. He looked at you.

“Got traps set up,” he said, slicing open the fish next to a fire he began to stoke. “Dog keeps ‘em away.”

“Bet he does,” you said, smiling fondly at the mutt as he chewed happily on the stick Daryl had given him. Sitting down by the fire, you let your joints feel proper heat for the first time in weeks. You watched Daryl work on your dinner for a while, watching as he used his knives. Just by the way he cooked, you knew he was a skilled fighter.

“Where ya comin’ from?” Daryl asked suddenly. Leaning back against one of the stumps, you sighed.

“Kind of everywhere,” you said, “I was using the highways, you know, trying to keep some sort of route. Then I kept running into trouble so I headed into the woods.”

“What kind of trouble?” He asked, his brow furrowed.

“Just the occasional asshole who thinks I’m an easy target. A lot of people out there lookin’ to steal, kill, etc. Figured I’d be safer out here considering most people don’t risk entering the trees, fear of the Dead, and all that.”

“Smart people,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

“What does that make us?” You asked.

“Used to it,” he said in a low voice.

“Used to what?”

“The fucked up world,” he said simply.

“That is the most accurate thing I have heard in weeks, Daryl,” you said, raising your imaginary glass. Daryl shook his head and went back to cooking the food. “Are there many people around? I’d rather not have to go deeper into the woods.”

“There are people,” he said, serving up a piece of fish to you in a metal dish. “A couple of communities. But they’re good people, won’t mess with ya if yer friendly.” You snorted at that.

“If they’re anything like the last community I ran across, I’ll make sure to keep out of their line of sight before they try to make me a full course meal and offer me five-star stay,” you said, remembering the young boy you met not that long ago.

“Where was that?” Daryl asked.

“A couple of days walk from here,” you said, “that way.” You pointed over your shoulder. “There was this kid, he was out in the woods around the walls. I was looking for water and we ran into each other.” You laughed at the memory. “Kid nearly knocked me on my ass with that stick of his. Thought I was an intruder or something. Anyways, he invited me back to his ‘Kingdom’, but I had to move on. The whole walls and leader thing isn’t really for me.” You finished and went back to your dinner, but Daryl had paused. “What?” You asked as he stared at you.

“Ya were at the Kingdom?” He asked.

“Wait, that’s the actual name?” You laughed, “okay then I owe stick-boy an apology. I thought he was just screwin’ with me.”

“Nah, it’s a real place. Run by two good people. The kid with the stick is their son.”

“You know them?” Daryl nodded. “Well, next time you see them, tell them a passing traveler thinks their kid is a total badass.” This got a small smile from Daryl.

“Why don’t ya like walls?”

“Why don’t you?” you asked, turning it back on him.

“Never said I didn’t,” he said with a challenging look. You raised your hands in surrender.

“I just prefer to not be locked down, I guess,” you finally answered. “Easier that way.”

“Ya lost somebody?” he asked, guessing by the tone of your voice.

“My whole group, actually,” you said. “I was on watch in a tree one night and I didn’t hear the Roamers enter the camp. I was so tired and I…” you sighed again, picking at the fish. “Anyways, they all died, including my grandmother, and I had to move on.”

“Sorry ‘bout yer people,” he said.

“Thanks.” It was quiet after that. You didn’t know if bringing up your dead family was a good idea, but then again, Daryl was a complete stranger. Who cared what he knew. You weren’t going to see him again anyways. “You got family besides the mutt?” you asked. Daryl leaned back on his forearms, kicking rocks into the fire. He nodded.

“They’re around,” he said and then paused as if he was unsure about sharing more. You waited patiently. Finally, he turned his face towards the rickety boat that sat on the water’s edge. “Got a niece and nephew too. Good kids.” It was subtle, but when he mentioned them, you could see a light in his eyes even when they were slightly turned away from you. They clearly meant a lot to him.

“Kids,” you said, “they grow up so fast. Don’t wait too long to see them again.” Daryl looked back at you and nodded. You hoped that was taking your words to heart. “Besides, maybe they can convince you to cut that thing on your head.” Daryl raised his eyebrows at you.

“Ya know me for all of an hour and yer judgin’,” he said, messing with his long hair.

“Once you share a dirty fish with someone, they instantly become your friend. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“Who made that rule?” he asked.

“I don’t know, probably Aristotle or George Bush. Who cares? It’s gospel now.” You popped another piece of fish into your mouth and licked your fingers.

“What did you do before the Turn?” he asked after a moment.

“High school,” you said, finishing your food. “Imagine that. One day I was sitting in Calculus class and the next thing I know my teacher is stumbling through the room trying to eat the assistant principal.” Daryl whistled low at that.

“Yer folks?”

“Both out of the country when the outbreak began. They were pilots. Dad was in China and Mom was in South Africa. Not sure what happened to them. Gran pretty much raised me so I stuck with her for as long as possible. Then, well, you know,” you said, referring back to the other story.

“Ya don’t seem to carry the weight of their deaths,” Daryl observed, handing you a cup of water. You placed the metal mug in your hands, watching the flames flicker in the dark.

“Don’t really have the time, you know? Can’t think about it. The way I see it, the world killed them as it died. Nobody’s fault, just the way it is now.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he said, sitting all the way up. “Kingdom isn’t the only place ‘round here that has walls and people and a place to sleep. There’s a community not too far from here called Hilltop. If ya give the leader my name, he’ll let ya stay. Then just down near the ocean, there’s Oceanside, Cyndie is a good person.”

“Why are you trying to help me?” you asked as he finished.

“Yer a survivor. At some point, ya gotta stop movin’. Let yourself feel safe,” Daryl explained. “What’s the hurt in that?”

“There isn’t any,” you said, “but like I said, I’m not one for walls. I do better on my own.”

“Nobody does,” he disagreed.

“Aren’t you alone out here with your hunting, fishing, and your traps?” you asked with raised brows.

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “Just think about it, alright?”

“I gotta find who I’m lookin’ for, Daryl,” you said, smiling softly at him.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” you finally admitted, “but I guess I’ll know when I find them. I just know it’s not here. These aren’t my people, but they are yours. Your niece and nephew, they’re gonna need all the family they can get. Go see them, even if it’s just for a day. You never know when the last time will be.” You got up from the ground, dusting off your jeans.

“If ya need somewhere to sleep-” he said, but you cut him off.

“Thanks, but I gotta keep movin’. But before I go,” you slipped your hand into your pocket and pulled out a piece of leather cord. At the end of it was a 1788 Virginia quarter. The coin was weathered from all the hands it had passed through. It had been given to you by a guy about a year ago when you came across him hiding out in an old middle school. You reached over and pressed it into Daryl’s hand. He looked at it with confusion. “Just to remember, you know?” He closed his fingers around the small token and nodded.

“Thanks,” he said. “I hope ya find what yer lookin’ for, (Y/N),” he said and you knew he meant it. You offered your hand again and he gripped it. Letting go, you reached down and stroked Dog behind his ears.

“Till we meet again, Daryl,” you said and then picked up your backpack and disappeared into the dark woods, smiling for the first time in a long time.

Daryl watched after you, his thumb running over the silver coin in his hand. Dog nudged his other hand and Daryl obliged his furry companion, petting him down his back. Looking back at the flames he decided that tomorrow he would take a ride to Alexandria to see Judith and RJ. It had been too long and he needed to see his family.

TAGS: @thanossexual

#the walking dead imagines #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #twd imagines #twd #twd season 9 #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #reader insert #Dog

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darklightescape · 4 years ago

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my personal assessment of the mysims games

MySims: personally i think this is a good alternative to animal crossing for people who like the town-building + friend-making aspect but could do without the real-time stuff. constantly being stuck with unreasonable essence requirements (seriously, half the mid-to-late-game sims ask for like 60 essences on an item whose most intricate blueprint is six blocks) is infuriating though. solid start, kind of wish there was a remake or true sequel that ironed out the gameplay wrinkles and added in the characters from later games. 8/10 MySims Party: i didn't play this. 7/10 because i mean, it's a party minigame compilation, the sole requirement is that it's playable and i trust it to be at least that MySims Kingdom: this one marks the first instance of the series flirting with the idea of having a plot. since you no longer have to build every single item you use from scratch it's usually less grindy than its predecessor, which is good. unfortunately it did take out some of the mechanics i liked from the first game even if they weren't huge game-changers, like certain sims giving sad or scary essences instead of happy ones if you were nice to them. i have a meme in my head that's like "royal academy likers vs spookane enjoyers" because i am too old and too gay to have any sort of investment in hetero high school love triangles and CANNOT relate to anyone who says royal academy is their favorite island. 8.5/10, with the half-point being deducted because why the FUCK was there so much herding MySims Racing: karts! basically just a fun little kart racing game. fast/10. MySims Agents: genuinely i think this is the best game in the series and also just an excellent game in its own right. it kind of gets away from the original series concept but when you take everything else into account it’s hard to care. has a slightly more mature (think going from 4-8 geared to 8-12 geared) plot without going fully over the deep end into “why did you make me watch justice imply dr f committed a war crime” like sky heroes does. my only complaint is that the ending comes so abruptly that i had to check and see if there were any confirmed problems that resulted in something being scrapped and wouldn't you know it, not only were there some levels scrapped there was an entire sequel planned but shelved. no word on why but judging by the release dates i think EA made the (incorrect) decision to focus on sky heroes instead. we were ROBBED. 9.5/10, half point deducted for the abrupt ending. MySims Sky Heroes: it's not like...BAD. i just cannot for the life of me take lines like "diplomacy!? the enemy's guns aren't loaded with conversation, selena!" seriously when the character saying them was just a "cartoon bully who still thinks 'oh yeah well your FACE is whatever you just said!' is the most devastating insult ever" trope in the previous game. also playing these games where he's a real actual threat just makes me miss the og and kingdom versions of morcubus where he's just kind of a hammy weirdo who talks a big game about being a dastardly villain but never actually does anything. air combat seems fine to me I’m just not very good at air combat in general. 7/10 because the gameplay isn’t bad I’m just kind of baffled by the decision for the little cartoon chibi people to have seen the horrors of war

#long post //3/43 #there that's better #anyway nobody asked for this but here it is!

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multisfabulis · 4 years ago

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Only Through Acceptance Will Love Find Us

The Florist of Belleurseul (Chapter 1)

Word Count: 5728

What's this? Another update from me within less than a week? What is this witchcraft?!

I'm joking, of course, but this is, for sure, another update! For those that didn't read the notes for "Land's Trust in Light", you can disregard this but all I'll say is that it is practically unheard of for me to post twice in the same month, much less the course of two weeks, so I'm having a bit of fun with myself.

Anyway, I know I said in the last chapter I wouldn't update this story much because I consider this a backburner project, meaning I wouldn't devote much attention to it unless it was one of the rare occasions I had nothing else to write at the moment. However, I figured that, since I only left everyone a 500 word prologue last time, it'd only be fair to write and post the first chapter so you guys would have something to chew on while waiting for the next chapter. It's after this I'll be putting this story on the backburner to be worked on occasionally, meaning no frequent updates. Have fun with the foreshadowing I put in here!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

“Thank you, have a nice day!”

At that, Venlithea Virthana slid the gold coin into her pocket. She managed to bring in a good sum of money today, despite the encroaching winter. Pride coursed through her at the thought of having sold that many flowers and she had to stop herself from jumping for joy. She instead settled on walking with a bounce to her step as she wondered if things were finally looking up.

Days like today didn’t happen very often. Some days had only a handful of regulars show up while others none. Then there were days she’d be verbally harassed or even pushed to the ground, which would spill her flowers out on the ground to be trampled upon by unsuspecting or uncaring passersby. Those happened enough times she stopped being bothered by them a long time ago. She was highly thankful today wasn’t like those days.

She had only one thing left to do before going home and that was to return the book she borrowed from the bookshop. She planned on exchanging the book with the one she regarded as her favorite so she’d have something enjoyable to read for the next few days while her mother was out of town. Gripping her basket tightly in her hands, she set off for the bookshop.

Venlithea, or Ven as she preferred to be called, has lived in the small, quaint village of Belleurseul all her life. Anyone could mistake it for being a quiet, sleepy town in the middle of nowhere if not for the people. The village sprang to life every time a visitor dropped by and they would deem the occasion as cause to celebrate. She’s had plenty of sleepless nights from the noise these parties brought to her door. It’s partly due to this she’s wanted to leave Belleurseul for years.

It’s been her and her mother’s dream to go and find a new place for them to live. A place they could truly, truly call home. In order to do that, though, they needed money and lots of it. Her mother was a traveling merchant, which fetched them a nice amount of gold, but her sickly nature’s prevented her from going on many trips. Once she was old enough to, Ven began selling flowers she grew herself as a way to help out. It wasn’t much but it kept them afloat.

Working as a florist’s been hard. She wasn’t stupid to believe she’d earn tons of money selling flowers, especially in a rural village like Belleurseul. She just didn’t expect the struggles that came with being a flower girl. Better yet, the struggles of her being a flower girl.

As beautiful as this village was, it wasn’t perfect. Some of the buildings were falling apart, the scent of fermented waste lingered in the air, and she’s known from experience how cruel the people were. They’ve made no secret on how much they dislike, and even fear, things different from them. She and her mother weren’t like them, thus they were outcasts, pariahs.

She received the brunt of their harsh treatment. She’d hear the rumors and gossip spread about her when she walked into town. Stories of how she was a changeling born from fairies or how she was a witch sent from hell to curse them were just the tip of the iceberg. She knew they were utter nonsense but what point was there in denying them if the villagers continued to tell those tall tales, regardless of how she felt? The way she looked wasn’t her fault yet---

She fervently shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. She couldn’t, wouldn’t dwell on painful memories. Today was a good day and musings of the past weren’t going to ruin that for her. She needed to get what she wanted to do done so she could help Mother prepare for her upcoming trip. She hurried off to the bookshop, ignoring the pointed looks people gave her as she passed by.

Within minutes, she arrived at her destination. The bookshop was a small, one-story building settled on a busy street corner north of the village. It had dark yellow walls that were beginning to flake with age, large windows on either side, a thin, wooden door, and a rusty sign hanging above with the word “Bookshop” carved into it. She’s come to this place ever since she was a child and the owner considered her his favorite customer. She stepped inside, the familiar smell of musty books enveloping her.

There were stacks of books scattered across the wooden floor. Bookcases that stretched all the way up to the ceiling stood at the back and sunlight streamed in from both the windows. To her left was an old, rickety counter that came up to her chest and behind it was the owner of the bookshop. He was an older man with graying hair and round glasses sitting atop his nose and was reading a book when he noticed her. He grinned warmly at her.

“Ah, Ven, you’re back!” he said excitedly, putting his book down and walking around the counter. “How’s your day been? Are you returning a book?”

“That I am--” she fished the book out of her basket and handed it to him-- “and it’s been great, thank you for asking.”

Fixing his glasses, he squinted his eyes and exclaimed, “You finished this already? It’s only been a day!”

“What can I say? I’m a fast reader,” she replied with a giggle. “Any new additions for me yet?”

He let out a hearty laugh. “Not since you asked yesterday but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Now, go on, take your pick!”

She practically skipped over to the bookcases in the back. It was a shame she couldn’t borrow more than one book at a time. It wasn’t as if the owner wouldn’t let her, it was just that she’d get too distracted with one she’d forget all about the other. She hated being somewhat of a scatterbrain when it came to books. Still, there was only one she wanted and she was going to have it. Reaching the middle bookcase, she took out the thin, hardcover book.

“I’ll go with this one.” She held it up to him. “Will that be all right?”

Taking it from her, he asked, “That one again? Haven’t you read this twice now?”

“Yes, but it’s just so good,” she replied, playing with her hands. “I consider it my favorite.”

“Oh, it has to be if you’re saying that! Tell me, what is it you like so much about it?”

“Oh, uh, well, um…”

She struggled to come up with an answer. She was a horrible liar but the truth was too embarrassing to reveal. How could she tell him about the deep sense of yearning the book left her with each time she read it? The way her heart hurt when she had to depart from the world that gave her comfort? How it filled the hole inside her by letting her have what she desperately wanted for only a short time? There was no way she could talk about such intimate things with anyone, least of all him.

“There’s just so many things I like that it’s hard to pick just one,” she answered, hoping it didn’t sound as stilted as it did in her head. She technically wasn’t lying so it might’ve seemed convincing.

With a guffaw, he put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Tell you what, why don’t you keep that book since you like it so much?”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take this from you without---”

“Ven, I can think of no one else better to hand this book to--” he squeezed her shoulder before retracting his hand and grabbing his chin-- “but if you’re so insistent on paying me back, bake me the usual.”

“Blackberry bread, right?” She grabbed the book from him and opened the door with a smile. “I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow morning!”

She turned to page one right after exiting the bookshop. Her eyes read over the familiar words just as they had twice before. It was a good thing she’d gotten so used to reading while walking in town, she knew what accidents to expect. With that, she fully immersed herself in her beloved fantasy world.

Flying down some steps with an unusual grace was easy. Pushing the sign above her up to protect herself from getting soaked, she could do with her eyes closed. She was small and agile enough to carefully dodge people barreling past her. It was when she already reached the third chapter she noticed the soreness in her legs. She decided to take a short rest and sat on the rim of the nearby fountain.

The noises of the world around her faded away as she continued reading. All she heard now was birdsong and the crunching of snow under her feet. She imagined herself to be in a castle’s courtyard, a wintry wonderland. She could almost feel the bitter cold nipping at her hands and face and she shuddered. Her heart fluttered in her chest upon seeing how close she and the princely beast were to each other. She began to wonder if there was there that wasn’t there before and then---

Loud bleating tore her out of her imagination. She looked up and saw several fluffy sheep gathering around her. One that seemed to be an older lamb pushed its way through the herd, bleating up at her. A smile broke across her face as she petted its head, giving it scratches behind its ear like she always did. She liked animals; they weren’t judgmental and she loved being affectionate towards them. Pets, strokes, scritches, and kisses were part of the whole package.

Then it tore out a corner of her page and ate it. She let out an annoyed sigh as she continued scratching the lamb’s ear. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t miffed at the small display of destruction but it was better to forgive and forget. It’s not like the lamb did it maliciously and it was only a corner. She could get over missing a corner of an illustration-less page.

Now was the time to be getting home. The sheep parted to make way for her and she flipped the page before crossing through the main thoroughfare. However, it was hard for her to focus on reading when there was a commotion going on. She looked up to see a crowd surrounding someone, with loud squeals and all. Ah, so the wayfaring Casanova was back in town.

Renard Géroux stood in the center with his signature charming smile. His blond hair flowed down to his shoulders in waves, not a stray strand anywhere on his handsomely chiseled face. The sun complemented his dark brown skin and the sheer white of his clothes made him seem as if he were glowing. The most striking thing about him, though, were his icy blue eyes. Eyes that were now locked on hers.

She felt a shiver run up her spine as he approached her. Everyone was like a giant to her but Renard was truly the embodiment of one. She had to crane her head up to meet his gaze, standing just at his chest. What could he want with her and how quick could she get away?

“Oh, hello, Thea, how are you today?” he asked, flipping his hair back. “It’s rare to see you outside at this time of day.”

Closing her book, she fought the urge to huff out a sigh and replied, “Hello, Mr. Géroux. I just got done running an errand I had to do after work so I’m on my way home.”

“Please, call me Renard,” he said while flashing a smile.

“Mr.---Renard, I’m in a slight hurry here so please, tell me what it is you want with me.”

“Since you asked me so nicely, I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me later today?”

She hoped he didn’t see her bristle at his suggestion. The many women that huddled around him gave her glares full of daggers. How she wished she could tell them he was all theirs and that she wanted nothing to do with him. It was rather unfortunate she wasn’t a mind-reader.

“Surely you know of the rumors about me, right?” she asked in an attempt to dissuade him. “Do you really want someone known to be a witch spending time with you? I’d be tarnishing your pristine image.”

“I tend to not believe in rumors, gossip, and the like. Now--” he wrapped a svelte arm around her shoulders-- “how about that walk?”

Quickly shaking off his arm, she replied in a deceptively calm voice, “As much as I appreciate the offer, I must decline. I was going to help my mother prepare for her upcoming trip and I planned on relaxing by reading my book.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “I hardly think reading some old, dusty tome is better than taking a nice stroll with me.”

She felt her temper flare up and forced herself to smile. “Some people may agree with you but I find good entertainment in books. Maybe you should try them some time.”

“What, like this one?” He snatched the book in her hands away. “How can anyone have fun with these?”

Her eyes widening in panic, she reached up to try grabbing the book from him while practically begging, “Renard, can you please give that back?”

“How can you even read this?” He carelessly flipped the book open to a random page. “It’s so wordy and long and there’s not even any pictures in it.” Then he threw the book over his shoulder. “You don’t need that.”

Her heart stopped when she saw it land in a nearby mud puddle. She dove to the ground and fished it out, praying it wasn’t badly damaged. Relief crashed over her upon seeing that it was only mildly wet. If it had gotten soaked, she would’ve been seriously upset and devastated.

“So how about it?” he asked nonchalantly. God, she really wanted to tell him off but causing a scene was the last thing she needed.

Instead, she took a deep breath and answered, “I’m simply too busy, Renard. Maybe when I’m free, then I’ll consider it but for now, I’m saying no.”

Holding the book close to her chest, she turned to go home. All she had to do was see her mother, bake the blackberry bread, and garden. Tending to her flowers always seemed to calm her down.

“So are you going to end up like your crackpot mother, then?”

She stopped walking as soon as she heard those words. Her fingers were beginning to hurt from how tight she held her book and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from shouting. She was pissed, for lack of a better term. She could handle the insults hurled her way but her mother was another story.

Breathing in, she stormed over to him and asked, “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” he replied, crossing his arms and returning her glare.

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in rumors.”

“They’re not rumors if they’re true. I mean, your mother’s always selling these so-called ‘herbal remedies’ and passing them off as medicine, right? Wasn’t it because of one of those strange concoctions her lover died?”

“You should fact-check your sources because you’re wrong on all accounts. Everyone knows how her lover died and even if they didn’t, that matter is none of their concern. Secondly, my mother’s a traveling merchant who happens to be an herbalist on the side. Herbalism is just another method of practicing medicine and is not something to be considered as witchcraft.”

“Thea---”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go help my mother prepare.”

Turning around, she started going back home when she stopped suddenly and looked behind her shoulder. “And another thing. Go to hell, Renard.”

Then she crossed over the bridge leading to her house. She was almost expecting Renard to grab her and demand she apologize but thankfully didn’t. He needed to be knocked down a peg or two. He shouldn’t have said those kinds of awful things about her mother. He was just like them.

She couldn’t begin to imagine how hard it was to raise a child all alone. Her mother tried her best to give her everything she needed, despite the struggles. There were nights she’d hear her crying, nights she’d go hungry, yet she faced her with a loving smile every morning. She became a florist to a town open with its prejudice as a way to repay her mother for all she had done for her. She wasn’t a crackpot; she was a hardworking, devoted mother and she loved her.

Her anger dissipated when she arrived home. It was a small, two-story house that sat on the outskirts of Belleurseul, with amber walls and pine green accents. It had an equally small stable around the back and a water wheel on the side closest to the stream. It may not have looked like much but it was home. She was going to miss this old house when she and Mother moved.

She walked towards the stable and she saw a woman. She was tall, olive-skinned, and a little on the plump side but it only added to her beauty. Her rich, burgundy hair was tied back into a thick braid and fell past her shoulder as she spread a handful of seed over the ground to feed the chickens. She turned to face her upon hearing footsteps and eyes the color of toasted pecans warmed at the sight of her. This was her adoring mother, Nithenoel Ravavyre.

Coming out of the stable, she greeted her daughter with a quick hug and kiss before asking, “Hi, sweetheart, how was work today?”

“Hello, Mother, it was great actually. Here, let me show you.” She took some of the coin she gathered today out of her pocket and presented them to her. “There’s more where those came from.”

“Oh my…” Mother said under her breath, bringing the handful of coin closer to see them clearly.

“Today must’ve been my lucky day!”

“I’ll say!” She closed her fingers over the coins. “Listen, how about we go inside and put those away so we can talk, hmm?”

The two women climbed up the stone steps leading to the front door. It was a dark, well-made door with a makeshift peephole in the center. Ven was hit with a blast of warmth when Mother opened the door and it felt very nice against the cold. The fireplace must be lit if it was this warm.

Upon entering, they passed by the narrow staircase that led up to the second floor and cut across the living room. It was small but it was the perfect size for them. The walls were a nice cream color and hanging off them were several paintings Mother had done when she was younger, way before her time. To their right was a light wood cupboard where Ven set down her basket and book and above it was an oval mirror. On the other side was a small, brown sofa and a low table sat in front of it on top of a big, dark blue rug. At the back was the lit fireplace and windows where sunlight was streaming in, a couple chairs were placed in front of the fireplace with a thin blanket hanging on the back of one of them. The next room they went in was the kitchen.

It was tiny. There were four cabinets above the four counters that stretched from one honeyed wall to the tall pantry. On the opposite side of the counters was a small breakfast nook that served as their dining table with a couple stools sitting under it. A footstool was tucked in the nook’s corner for when Ven needed to fetch something from the cabinets or pantry, which was every day. She couldn’t wait to have a bigger kitchen when they finally moved.

Mother sat at the nook while she opened one of the counter doors. Inside were linens meant to come out when they had guests over but that wasn’t what she was looking for. She tossed some sheets aside to uncover a mason jar. It was heavy and she set it down on the nook. Unscrewing the top revealed tons of gold inside from years of working and saving up.

It was what they called their nest egg. They needed some serious money for their dream to become a reality and this was the result of their hard work. They’d have more if times weren’t rough and they didn’t have to dip into their savings but no use in dwelling on those.

As she was dropping her coin into the jar, Mother asked, “So, any other news to share?”

“Well, I returned the book I borrowed yesterday and guess what?” She screwed the top back on as Mother looked at her expectantly. “The owner gave me my favorite book for free!”

“That’s great, honey. I suppose it’s the one you set on the cupboard back there?” She leaned back on the stool to see it. “For free, too?”

“Well, I have to bake him his blackberry bread but it was his deal, not mine!” she replied, putting the jar back in its spot under the counter. The sheets she tossed aside earlier were thrown over the jar to hide it better.

Giggling, Mother leaned forward and said, “I know, honey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. That book’s the one where the beast falls in love with the girl who shows him the true meaning of love, right?”

“Mm-hmm and it’s all mine!”

“I’m happy for you, Thea. You know, speaking of, have you found someone you can call your prince yet?”

She let out a sigh upon hearing the question. It was hard to find and be interested in someone when the whole village seemed to hate her. She had people she’d fancied before but she knew to keep her expectations low and realistic. If she did have a “prince”, they certainly weren’t in Belleurseul.

“Mother, you know I'm not interested in romance,” she replied, bringing the footstool out of its corner.

“Not interested or haven’t found anyone yet?” Mother asked.

“Both!” She set the footstool down in front of a counter and climbed up it. “I don’t see the point of trying to find love here since we’ll be leaving Belleurseul sometime in the future.”

“What about that Renard fellow? I hear he’s back in town.”

“Ugh, Mother, don’t even joke about that. That man is an arrogant and pompous jerk who thinks he’s the hottest thing alive. I don’t wanna be anywhere near him.”

“My, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so strongly about someone before. Did he do anything to you?”

“No, it’s just…he makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to explain it but--” she held a bundle of sugar in her hands before setting it down beside her-- “he gives me bad vibes. He hasn’t said or done anything to raise any red flags for me but he just gives me a weird feeling.”

She couldn’t explain it any other way. She could sense there being something off about him since their first meeting years ago. He seemed normal, if a little too forward at times, but she couldn’t shake off the apprehension she felt around him. Maybe it was her dislike of people like him that gave her discomfort. Either way, she knew she didn’t want to be alone in a room with him.

“Thea, you still have your dagger, right?” Mother asked with an unusually serious expression.

She stepped down from the footstool and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Mother, I always keep it with me when I go out. See?” She walked around the nook and lifted her skirt up to reveal the small leather holster strapped to her thigh. “If he tries anything, I’ll make sure to defend myself.”

“I know you will, hon, I just can’t help worrying about you.” She turned in her seat to cup her cheek. “You’re my only child, Thea. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“I’ll be fine, Mother,” she said, laying her hand atop hers to comfort her. “Trust me.”

Without a word, Mother stood up and kissed her on the forehead. Then she hugged her, her arms wrapped tightly around her tiny body. She returned it in the hopes it’d ease her anxiety. They’ve only really had each other for as long as she could remember; they were each others’ world, in a sense. It’d shatter if something happened to one or the other so she understood her mother’s concern. The best she could offer were words of assurance and those had to be enough.

Mother pulled away and resumed their conversation from earlier. She was good about alleviating the gloomy atmosphere so she welcomed the change in topic. It shifted back to her lack of interest in love, with Mother expressing that she only wanted her to be happy and her saying that she had a whole lifetime ahead to find love so she wasn’t worried. One of a kind, the words Mother used to describe her. She wondered if she really was so special.

She stayed in the kitchen to bake while Mother went down into the cellar to make some last-minute elixirs. The cellar was where she worked to create her herbal medicine to sell during her time on the road. She wouldn’t need to travel so far if the villagers believed she wasn’t going to poison them but her reputation was considered to be unsalvageable at this point. Ven was only allowed to tend to the herbs down there because Mother refused to let her help in the synthesizing process. There was a safety risk involved, or so she said.

Baking was a mindless activity. She didn’t need to read the labels on the measuring cups or fill the spoons to the brim, she’d done this so many times. Kneading the dough let her focus on her hands and work out any energy she may have needed to spend. It gave them food if they had none, it gave her an outlet. The last thing she did was stick the blackberry dough into the fireplace to cook. She watched as the dough expanded into its loaf shape and her mouth was watering at the smell of it. She took the newly-baked bread out and waited for it to cool down before cutting it. One half was for Mother while the other for the bookshop owner.

Then it was time to pack. They began loading up the wagon with the goods Mother wanted to sell, making sure she had enough oil in her lantern to last her for several days, and stocking her with plenty of food for both her and the horse. Dahlia was a beautiful Clydesdale, large and powerful but sweet as can be, with a chestnut coat, blonde mane, and the most soulful brown eyes. She’s been with them ever since she was a young foal and was used to taking long trips such as these.

“Well, I think I’m set to go,” Mother said, fastening her hat as she walked up to the wagon. “I’ll be back in a few days so remember to feed the animals and---”

“Take care of myself, I know, Mother, don’t worry,” she cut off. “Everything will be fine.”

Letting out a small laugh, she gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Thea.”

“Love you too.” She returned the hug. “See you soon.”

Mother climbed up to the seat and took hold of the reins. Ven approached Dahlia to stroke her neck, asking her to keep themselves safe till they were home again. With a cry, the wagon began to move and turned on the road heading out of the village. Mother and Ven waved each other goodbye.

“Stay safe!”

“You too!”

It was late in the afternoon when Mother left. She went over her mental checklist to see what else she needed to do. The animals were fed their lunch, she’d done all her chores for the day, and she took care of the bread for tomorrow. She had the rest of the daylight hours free and she knew exactly how she wanted to spend them. She strode back inside to read her book.

Before she picked it up, she glanced at the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her as she thought about the rumors the villagers spread of her. She wasn’t a witch or a changeling, that much she knew for sure. But what other explanation was there for how she looked? No one looked like her, no human in the whole world ever looked like her, so why did she? Books held the answers she wanted but those were fantastical and she lived in reality. A reality that couldn’t apply to her.

Her face seemed normal enough, even if it resembled a fairy’s from an illustration in one of her books. Bright, round eyes, small button nose, rosy cheeks, and full lips were all the defining marks of a fey. Maybe her skin counted as well, since she’s heard it described as being pale as moonlight. Long, snow white locks of hair framed her face in a way that matured her as the rest, although tied back, cascaded down her back like a waterfall to her waist. Then there were her eyes.

Everything else could be explained away but not her eyes. They were truly a mystery, an impossibility made possible. They were a vivid violet, similar to dark amethyst gems or bellflowers in full bloom. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could determine why she was born with them but that didn’t stop the villagers from making their own interpretations. They weren't quiet about it, either.

Maybe the reason she loved this book was because she could sympathize with the beast. She understood what it was like to be feared, hated simply for her looks. They were both cursed but his was a spell that could break. Hers was a matter of permanence, something she was stuck with till the day she passed on from this world. Who could love a beast like her?

She needed to escape. Her emotions were starting to get the best of her and staying in reality any longer would surely cause them to overflow. She gingerly grabbed the book, sat down in one of the chairs by the fireplace, and began to read from where she left off at. This was fine.

Be patient, she told herself. Just wait a little more and you won’t feel this way ever again. You’ll find your prince. You won’t be lonely anymore. You’ll be loved and accepted, you just need to wait a little longer.

She hoped that day would come soon.

#airi's writing #oc; Venlithea #oc; Renard #oc; Nithenoel #beauty and the beast au

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the-gedonelune-times · 4 years ago

Text

Unforgettable Memory

Hey, Happy Holidays @blueberrin I’m your Secret Santa! I’m so excited to give you your gift, but I must apologize for any grammar mistakes. (Writing this out on a phone was a pain but enjoyable nonetheless.) Regardless, I hope today is filled with lots of laugh and fun! ❤

“Are you...serious?”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Liz spoke hesitantly, trying to push out the words that had formed a lump in her throat. “This isn’t the first time that someone did this.”

“Liz...I swear to you, I’m not doing what Klaus made you do all that time ago.”

Liz looked at Zeus and then at the ring in his hands. Before she had confessed to Zeus, a certain someone else had invited her to a big gathering to pose as their fiance. It was a sense of deja vu to her when Zeus invited her to a big family gathering at the Brundle estate for the holidays. Gulping softly Liz’s hands became shaky.

“Liz, I swear to you, I’ll make you happy.” Zeus never broke eye contact with her

Staring at his eyes, Liz knew just how serious he was. A wave of relief gently washed over her as her hands reached out to rest on Zeus’ shoulders. “I know...that’s why I…” Tears gently began to fall down her face as she tried to finish her sentence. “...yes”

“Yes?”

Tears began to fall down her face as she nodded. Zeus’ eyes went wide and a smile formed on his face as he scooped Liz right off her feet, spinning her around.

“She said yes!” Zeus shouted happily.

“She said yes?!” A muffled voice asked from behind them; it was Hiro who was currently munching on some snacks that he had brought for the trip.

“That’s right, she did.” Zeus was practically beaming from ear to ear as he gently pressed his lips against Liz’s, giving a tender kiss before pulling away.

Hiro’s eyes widened before dropping his snacks to the ground. He ran over and hugged the both of them with a big smile on his face. Meanwhile the sounds of soft clapping ensued from those around who had watched the scene unfold.

Afterwards, the group finally made their way to the train station and waited for the train to pull in. Liz’s heart practically leapt from her chest as she held her hand up in the sunlight; the beautiful ring on her finger sparkled elegantly against its rays and before she knew it, tears were beginning to build up, causing her vision to get slightly blurry. She took notice of this fact and quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve before turning her attention over to Zeus.

He seemed to be having a chat with Hiro who punched him in the arm, causing the both to laugh. Liz couldn’t remember a day where she had seen Hiro this happy, but for good reason too. Zeus and him were practically like brothers and the news made Hiro ecstatic.

Just as Liz was about to say something, the sound of a whistle echoed out in the distance, drawing her attention elsewhere. It was at that time that Hiro and Zeus joined her; Zeus wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to his side.

“You think that’s our train?”

“Should be.”

“Are you getting nervous?” Zeus looked down, his eyes meeting hers.

“A little.” Liz spoke as she shifted in her position. “I mean, this is the first time I’ve ever been to your estate, let alone to meet your parents. I suppose I’m a little nervous.”

“But you’ve gone to the Goldstein's estate before.” Zeus pointed out.

“That’s different, Zeus. They’re my friends and you’re my boyrfrien- fiance.” Liz quickly corrected with a slight blush on her cheeks. “ What if your parents don’t approve of me?”

“That’s unlikely, they’re going to absolutely love you, Liz.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Zeus isn’t lying.” Hiro spoke up. “His family might bear a noble name, but they’re some of the nicest people in all of Queensblade. Trust me, you really do have nothing to worry about.”

Zeus gave her a reassuring kiss on her cheeks as the train slowly pulled into the station. Once all the passengers were off, a man’s voice called out, alerting that this would be the final train to Queensblade for the day, due to possible hazardous weather conditions later throughout the day. The three of them hurriedly boarded the train and found their seats.

After a couple of minutes, the train slowly lurched forward, departing on it’s journey. Meanwhile, Liz began to fidget a bit with her fingers as she looked out of the window, watching the scenery pass by as a blur. Suddenly, Liz remembered something and quickly looked over at Zeus and Hiro who were playfully pestering one another.

“Hey, do you two remember what the station master said?”

“Huh? You mean about this being the last train?”

“Well yes, but also no. He mentioned something about hazardous conditions.”

“Oh yeah, I heard talk about some crazy winter storm that could be blowing in.”

“I see…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it though, we get these kinds of scares in Queensblade a lot, but half the time nothing happens.”

“King Kook over there is right.” Hiro chimed in with agreement.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Liz decided to change the subject as she quickly rummaged in her bag, pulling out a cutely wrapped bag filled with cookies. “I made these earlier since I knew we’d be travelling for a little while.”

With hungry eyes, Zeus quickly snatched the bag from Liz’s hands and opened it with ease as he began devouring the cookies inside.

“Hey, King Kook, leave some for me!” Hiro shouted while reaching out for the bag which Zeus hastily pulled away from his reach.

“No way, you brought your own snacks!”

“You ate most of them!”

“Well too bad!”

“Alright, that’s it!” Hiro quickly placed his hand on the sheath of his sword, clearly ready for a fight.

Zeus wasn’t backing down either and within a few seconds the ground beneath him began to glow. Liz knew what was about to happen and quickly jumped in between the two, despite the train still moving. She stood her ground though and managed to keep her balance before holding up another bag of cookies and handing it to Hiro.

“I brought enough for both of you, now would you please stop fight- ah!”

The screeching of the train’s wheels on the rails was all Liz heard before being thrown off balance completely, falling into Zeus who quickly caught her and pulled her on his lap. The bag of cookies fell to the floor, its contents spilling out.

“Liz, are you alright?” Zeus looked at her worriedly and sighed in relief when she nodded her head.

“I’m fine...but your cookies on the other hand…”

“Forget about that, as long as you're safe that’s what matters.”

“Ugh...can you two get a room?” Hiro asked before handing his bag over to Zeus. “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

Suddenly, a man entered and looked around frantically. “I thought I heard a scream, is everything alright here?”

“Yes, we’re fine here. What happened by the way?”

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident up ahead. Seems that a farmer from a nearby village was transporting his sheep, but something happened and the sheep escaped and ran out onto the track. I’m afraid we’ll be delayed for a bit.”

“Hey, you know I don’t think we’re that far from Queensblade. If worse comes to worse we could probably just walk there.”

“Looking out the window, Zeus gave his head a good nod. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But do we really want to go out and walk in the freezing cold for that long?”

“In that time, the track could be cleared and we’d already be there.” Hiro argued.

“I must advise you on one more thing.” The man spoke up. “We’ve received word that a heavy snowstorm is slowly making its way to Queensblade. I’m worried you may get caught up in it.”

“Wait, but if the snowstorm makes it there before the train does, that means we’ll be delayed again right?” Liz asked.

“Yes, if the weather doesn’t permit any travelling then we aren’t going to put our passengers at risk.”

“How long do you think it’ll be until the storm arrives?”

“I’d wager anywhere from half to an hour.”

“That doesn’t give much time, does it?”

“I have an idea. Hiro, Zeus, I want you to help me okay?” Liz quickly hopped off of Zeus’ lap and ran to the nearest exit.

“Liz?! What are you doing?”

Hiro sighed and joined as Zeus bolted from his seat to go after Liz. “Always a lively outing with these two.” He mumbled.

Not far from the train were a flock of sheep that an old man was desperately trying to herd back into his buggy. He seemed out of breath and soon leaned up against it.”

“These darn sheep just won’t listen to anything I say!”

“Sir?”

“Huh?”

“What exactly happened?”

The old man sighed. “I’ve been relocating my farm animals to my new farm. But it seems my bad memory caught up with me and I didn’t lock the back of the buggy all the way and these slippery heathens just took off!”

“I see. Well could you give us a few minutes? We'll have all your sheep back in there in no time.”

“What? Are you serious - hey!”

The three wasted no time with their efforts. Liz used her abilities to talk and coax the frantic sheep back into the buggy while the rowdier ones were dealt with by Hiro and Zeus who lifted and carried them with ease. Within mere minutes the sheep were cleared from the rails and were safely secured this time in the back of the farmer’s buggy. The old man gave a grateful bow before taking off in his horse and buggy.

Once all was done, the three headed back to the train and boarded once more. This time there were no setbacks and the three had made it to the station; and just in time too.

“Looks like this will be the final train of the day to and from Queensblade.” Hiro pointed out.

“We barely made it.” Zeus turned his attention to Liz as they stepped foot into the station. “Why did you do it?”

“It’s the holidays, Zeus. The other people on that train were probably trying to make it home to see their families.” Liz stated. “Point is, we made it, didn't we?” she smiled.

“Yes but you were cutting it very close.” A new voice drew the attention of three, but Zeus just smiled before going up and slapping the man on the back.

“Good to see you Edwin!”

The man coughed slightly from the force. “Yes, same to you, Mr. Brundle. Enough with the chatter, we have to get you to the estate, your parents have been waiting for your arrival. They were growing worried when the heard news of bad weather. Coupled with the fact that the train had yet to arrive until now...well, I was afraid I would have to give the bad news that you wouldn’t be arriving today.”

Zeus scoffed. “As if. Do you really think that some snowstorm poses a threat to the pinnacle of all creations?”

Hiro rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Here he goes again.”

Liz chuckled as she wrapped an arm around Zeus’, drawing Edwin’s attention.

“Ah, so this must be the special guest I’ve heard so much about.”

“You’ve...heard about me?”

“Yes. A numerous number of times.” Edwin smiled before going to the horse drawn carriage nearby, opening the doors and gesturing for them to come over.

“You never mentioned anything about a carriage.” Liz whispered to Zeus.

“How else did you think we’d be going to the estate?”

Zeus gave a cocky grinned, causing Liz to shake her head as Edwin helped her into the carriage. Zeus joined her shortly while Hiro sat on the opposite end. Meanwhile, Edwin began loading their luggage before taking his seat, ushering the horses forward. Before long the carriage was filled with chatter, playful pestering and laughter as they made their way to the estate. The path began to get smooth compared to the rather bumpy start and as they made their way up the hill, Liz’s eyes widened.

A beautiful building, almost castle-like rested prominently on a beautifully decorated landscape. This wasn’t her first time being invited to somewhere extravagant, but this really took the cake. Noticing her stare, Zeus chuckled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“At a loss for words?”

Liz could only muster a soft nod, drawing out another laugh from Zeus and this Hiro as well this time. As the carriage pulled up to the front gate, Liz could hear the chatter between two others before the gate was open and the carriage made its way through. Once they came to a complete stop, the doors to the estate swung open revealing a beautiful woman locked arms with her husband. Liz caught a glimpse of them and was at a loss for words. They gave off such a regal demeanor, which wasn’t surprising considering they were nobles, but for some reason just being in their presence felt almost...intimidating. Zeus gripped her hand reassuringly with a smile before helping her out of the carriage once Edwin had opened the doors.

“Zeus!” The woman called out to him joyfully as she made her way over. Your father and I were worried that you weren’t going to be able to make it.”

“We heard news about a possible delay due to an accident happening on the rails. I’m relieved to know you’re alright.”

“It was nothing more than a little sheep accident.” Zeus smiled. “But we took care of it thanks to Liz here.” Zeus gestured to Liz.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Liz smiled.

“Oh dear, the pleasure is all ours; and no need to be so formal.” Zeus’ mother smiled. “Zeus has told us all about you in the letters he’s written to us, why, you’re practically family already.”

A slight blush formed on Liz’s cheeks as her gaze went downward.

“But enough about that, you should all go inside and warm up. We’ll make sure Edwin brings your luggage to your rooms.” Zeus’ father smiled as he and his wife headed back inside the estate.

“Come on, I’ll show you to my room.”

“Wait, we’re sharing a room?”

“Well of course. We’re engaged now aren’t we? Even if we weren’t, I’d still want you to stay in my room.” Zeus smiled as he led her inside.

The inside of the house was just as regal as the outside. Marble pillars with gold speckles adorned the entrance, as they continued walking further inside, Liz felt a sense of coziness. They soon ascended the grand staircase and walked down a long hallway before Zeus finally stopped in front of a door and opened it. The room was unlike anything Liz had ever seen before. The large room had marble flooring, similar to the pillars downstairs. In one corner of the room sat a beautifully adorned fireplace in what looked to be a study area. There was no door separating it, but rather a golden arch.

As she continued looking around, Liz took note of the number of windows adorned with antique curtains. One window in particular was larger than the rest, bearing a window sofa with an amazing view of the outside landscape. Taking a seat, she peered outside, watching as gray clouds cloaked the sky. She could hear footsteps from behind her, followed by a pair of arms that wrapped around her waist before the person in question of such gestures, took a seat beside her.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Yes, very.” Liz smiled. “You have such a beautiful garden. I’m surprised that there are still flowers growing in such cold conditions.”

“Oh, that’s because those are special flowers that came from Graceus. They’re made to withstand the harsh winter conditions.”

“Really? That’s amazing.”

“Maybe after dinner I can take you down there so you can get a closer look.”

“I’d love that, thank you Zeus.”

Taking his hand in hers, Liz gently leaned up to kiss his lips before quickly pulling away. But Zeus wasn’t satisfied with that, with gentle movements, Zeus tilted her chin back up before pressing his lips against hers. Their eyes closed as they became lost in the warmth not realizing that Edwin was at their door with their luggage until the sound of him clearing his throat filled the room. Liz quickly pulled away from Zeus who seemed to sigh in frustration at the poorly timed visit.

“Sorry for interrupting, but I’ve received word from your parents that the banquet will begin in a few hours. Guests are on their way now as we speak.”

“Yeah yeah, just leave our luggage and go.”

After the luggage was sat down and the door was shut, Zeus looked at Liz before sighing once more.

“Guess our fun is going to have to wait.”

“Guess so.”

The next couple of hours went by like a breeze and it was time for the banquet. Liz looked herself over in the mirror once more, she had done this many times and although Zeus had complimented her many times, she still wondered if it would be enough to impress his family.

“You know.” Zeus walked in as he straightened out his attire. “You’re trying way too hard. My parents already adore you, you know?”

“Yes that may be so but I at least want to give a good impression. After all, you’re telling them about our engagement tonight, aren’t you?” Liz asked softly.

“That’s right and I don’t think they’ll have any issues with that. If they do then that’s their problem.”

“Z-Zeus!”

“What? I’m being serious. I don’t need their acceptance for our engagement. I love you and that’s final. The pinnacle of all creations doesn’t need approval from anyone else but you.” Zeus gave a cocky grin. “I’ll meet you outside of the door alright? We’ll walk down together.”

Liz stared at her reflection, almost as if she was giving herself a silent prep talk to wash away any remaining anxious thoughts. Once done, she walked out of the room and then proceeded to walk down the stairs, arm linked with Zeus’.

By the time they reached the dining hall dinner was about to be served. Zeus led her to a couple of empty seats where they sat side by side. Just as they got settled dishes of all varieties were being placed down, some of which Liz had never even seen before. After everything was placed, Mr. Brundle gently clinked on his glass, drawing the attention of all the guests.

“Before we dig in to this beautiful feast before us, I’d just like to say a few words. I want to thank everyone for being able to make it out here today. The holiday season is usually hectic for all of us and this year with the threat of bad weather, I wasn’t sure if anyone would be able to make it. But here I am, standing before loved ones and even some new faces.” Mr. Brundle laughed. “I know we don’t see one another for most of the year, so today more than ever, let’s celebrate and make this holiday gathering another one to remember!”

“Here, here!”

Voices erupted as the other guests held up their glasses. It was at that time that Zeus cleared his throat and stood up.

“I have something important to say as well. This holiday season means a lot to all of us since we don’t see each other often. After graduating and continuing on with my life, I know more than ever how important this gathering means to me. But it means a lot more to me for another reason. I know that some of yu already know about my relationship with a girl named Liz. Well she’s here today, but not as my girlfriend.” Zeus smiled and Liz could feel her heart begin to race. “But as my fiance.”

The minute that Zeus finished his sentence, his mother gasped loudly and everyone looked on with widened eyes. It wasn’t until Mrs. Brundle spoke up that the others began to congratulate the both of them. After that, conversation began to go smoothly and before long Liz was talking to the others as if they were good friends. Laughter and all things merry filled the room that night and when the banquet had concluded the rest of the festivities were about to be in full swing.

But before Liz was able to go and join the others, Mrs. Brundle pulled her to the side, asking to talk to her.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Liz asked curiously.

“Well I wanted to give you a proper welcome, Liz.”

“Proper welcome?”

“To the family, dear. I know, I know, it’s so soon to be saying that but looking at you two tonight, reminded me of when I fell in love with my husband. I’ve never seen Zeus smile so much before. I do hope this means we’ll be seeing you more often when Zeus comes to visit?”

“Of course. I would love to come back here again sometime in the future.”

“Good, because we’d love to have you.” Mrs. Brundle chuckled before leaving.

Liz’s smile grew wider as she ran off to find Zeus, who was currently taunting Hiro, probably after having their usual banter. Liz had came here as a stranger and left as part of the family, this would be one holiday outing that she would remember for the rest of her life.

#shall we date wizardess heart #Shall we date? Wizardess Heart+#zeus brundle #Liz Hart #SecretSanta #no joke I was a bit nervous writing this #because I haven't really written any stories with Zeus #so I tried my hand on it #I also tried to capture his more serious loving side in this #because I know he has one #but I feel like it got covered up a lot with Solmare making him be like comedic relief friend out of the group #I hope I did him justice though #Happy Holidays once again!

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