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angxlyxn · 4 years ago

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forever - eren x f. reader

summary: Eren comes bearing a gift for his love.

warnings: mentions of abuse, blood, descriptions of wounds/bruises, kidnapping, yandere content but its sorta soft(ish)

a/n: I wrote this for a friend, and I apologize if its ooc :/ I don’t know Eren’s character that well because this story is centered around older Eren (season four), and I haven’t read much of the manga.

word count: ~1.9k

How long had it been?

How many weeks had you been here, under his “care”?

Whether it was months or weeks, or maybe even years, you did not know. All you were able to discern was the cold tile beneath your body, as well as your stiff limbs that were spread out upon it. Your eyes fluttered open, lashes grazing against the bruise that sat comfortably on your left eye, the gradually yellowing mark feeling more like a brand than a black eye. You rubbed your restrained palms against each other in an attempt to create just a bit of heat for yourself, but all that you really accomplished was gaining a few more rope burns on your wrist. You shifted your bound ankles, trying to gain back any sense of mobility as you lay stagnantly upon the uneven flooring. Looking down at your legs, you saw the various bruises and lacerations dotting them, shades of violet, red, and yellow dancing over your previously spotless skin. Your glossy eyes were glazed over, about as void of life and awareness as your mind was. It was as though you had undergone infantilization since you had been with him, you had lost touch with reality and become so useless because of his insistence on doing everything for you. It made you sick just thinking about it. You hated feeling inept, and you despised the feeling of powerlessness. There was only one thing you hated more than these things though, and that was Eren.

Eren. His name felt far too familiar in your mind, the word a fleck of dirt upon your otherwise at ease brain. The boy who you used to be so close to, the little kid who couldn’t intimidate a fly even if he tried. You had gotten into your fair share of fights as a kid, but you always ended up being far too small to ever win any. With Eren, it was half and half. He would lose some, and win some. Most of the ones that he would win would be the fights which you would team up in, what with your stealthiness and his anger. That was one thing that certainly hadn’t ever changed about the boy. As a kid he was more direct, more predictable. His bouts of rage came in patterns, and you were usually able to subdue his more unsavory emotions relatively swiftly. But now, as one might be able to infer from the sorry state of your crippled body, he was erratic, his temper having turned years ago from formulaic and obvious to completely incalculable. You hated it. You hated everything about his personality. You hated him.

Although, you weren’t entirely sure if you could bring yourself to completely loathe the brunette. It truly was a complicated situation. Feelings of affection and fondness for him left over from your childhood were still persistently blooming within you, rising through your lungs and up your throat and choking you out. You could say that you hated him a million times over, scream it at the top of your lungs, but you weren’t sure if it would ever be true. It couldn’t be. A shred of the boy you used to know must still be within him, buried beneath layers and layers of cruelty and unfeeling. He had to be there. And when you think about his old self, his stable, grounded words and determined being, you cringe a bit whenever you so much as think about hating Eren.

You just couldn’t believe how much he had changed.

As if on cue, a lock clicked, and a stream of light shone over your body, the harsh brightness of the sun pooling around your form. A rough hum of approval echoed throughout the room, the tired voice bouncing off of the walls and flooding your mind, the simple sound somehow being enough to make your ears ring. Another click, this time the door being shut and bolted behind the tall brunette. Your body involuntarily shivered as he began to approach you, your frame jolting off the floor with each step he took. He crouched before you, his form nothing more than a silhouette in your tear-filled vision.

The boy placed what appeared to be a tissue-wrapped package down in front of you, shifting onto his knees and tilting his head at your tears. A calloused hand gripped your jaw gently, yet in a manner that still demanded your attention and obedience.

“Angel,” he murmured. He never talked much these days, with the exception of whenever he got angry. “I went into town.”

You finally brought yourself to look up at him, shifting awkwardly until you had propped yourself up against the wall behind you. You hesitantly gazed at him with glassy eyes, your expression inquisitive and slightly pained.

A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, the only sound being the methodical ticking of the grandfather clock that sat in the corner of the otherwise desolate cabin which you were stuffed away in. He averted his eyes, breaking eye contact with you in favor of looking down at the package that he had brought in. He mumbled something under his breath about money as he nudged the parcel towards you, retrieving a small switchblade from his pocket after doing so. At the sight of the glinting blade you began to shuffle away from him, your bare feet catching on the billowy dress that Eren had picked out for you and scraping pathetically against the floor.

Before you could get too far, however, he grabbed your shoulder, his scarred fingers wrapping around your creamy arm with an iron-clad grip. He pulled you forward with a great force, causing you to tumble onto your stomach and fall before him, face pressing uncomfortably into the flooring beneath you. He wrestled with your hands, pulling them in towards one another and grasping your wrists together. You squirmed feverishly under his grip, wondering what you had done to make him want to hurt you. Bracing yourself for the pain, you squeezed your eyes shut and kicked your legs pitifully as you felt the blade grow closer to your arms.

However, all you felt was the release of your wrists, oxygen hitting the open gashes that had formed all over your lower arms as a result of rope burn. As he brought his blade back into his chest, the tip of it nicked the side of your forehead, which was still pressed down into the ground. Tears sprung from eyes as a bit of blood poured from the wound, the crimson substance dripping down your face and mingling with your crystal tears.

“Sit up,” he said as he looked down upon you. You complied with a bit of irresolution, your body faltering as you shifted to sit, using your numb hands to shove against the stony tiles. After you had resituated yourself, he grasped both of your hands between his. You flinched away, pulling your hands into your chest at the foreign feelings of his warm palms against yours.

He glared at your action, eyes darkening over and brow furrowing in contempt.

“Y/n,” he said in a warning voice. “Hands. I went to the trouble of getting something for you. Let me give it to you. Please, my love.”

You reached out your hands to him, allowing the brunette to grasp your small fists between his disproportionately large ones, pressing the package tenderly into your hands as he did so. Tentatively, you allowed yourself to gaze down at the parcel, your eyes drifting over the slightly crinkled tissue paper. One of your fingers grazed over the gift, pulling the tissue up from one side of it to reveal a gleaming object. You tore open the rest of the package, the silence filling the room still incredibly deafening.

Words still did not find you as you revealed the gift, which was a small brass hair clip with a metal flower fastened to the end. You discarded the tissue, instead opting to hold the barrette loosely, the cool iron brushing up against your warmed hands. You averted your eyes as you felt his palms come into contact with yours once more, grasping the hair clip and twisting it between his slim digits.

You felt a bit of hair being moved from your vision, the tangled locks effectively pushed out of your face by your captor, who only gave a small smile as he readjusted your tresses. He clipped the barrette onto your hair, the heavy clip pulling slightly against your scalp after he let go. He leaned back, his eyes shifting from jaded to soft, pupils dilating and lids opening a bit as he drank in your appearance, which couldn’t have been pleasant. Weeks without being let out of your binds had caused some dirt to clump in your hair, and your face had surely become weathered and deadened.

Yet he still looked at you as though you were God himself, like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. You reckon that Eren used to look up to you when you both were younger, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly every time he would come into contact with you. But this was different. While you were in the Survey Corps, combat training with him always consisted of him holding back on fights that should have been balanced and him murmuring something about ‘not wanting to break you’. You always took it with a grain of salt, thinking he was just being cocky by restraining himself, but it seems you were wrong, on more than one account. It was now apparent that he seemed to think of you as some prized possession, one that was “far too good for the outside world”, as he would say.

He still hurt you though. “Even Goddesses need to be kept in check” was always what he said as he cut into your skin, or hit you around whenever he had a particularly shitty day. Honestly, his treatment of you was far more confusing than it was cruel.

But maybe it was better that way.

You were brought back from your thoughts by the feeling of something rubbing against your cheek, namely Eren’s hand. He brought his fingers up to your eyes, brushing away the tears that sat upon your lashes, and then the blood that had dripped down your face. His touch mingled the two substances together, painting the skin on your face with a shade of watery red as he dragged his digits down your cheeks.

Pulling his hands away, he looked at your uncomfortable form, your quivering lips and shaking hands making their presence far too obvious.

Yet he still looked upon you gently, his mouth twisting upwards into a smile.

“You’re always so beautiful for me,” He said, his words impassioned, yet soft.

“I’m so glad that I get to have you, forever.”

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mylittlegemlins · 3 years ago

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Hello tumblr, during my childhood I was really obsessed with smurfs and since I found out that they released a reboot, which unfortunately I haven´t yet been able to see, I think I had some inspiration and ended up writing this.

I don't usually post this kind of blog about series unless I'm too immersed in it because I feel like it's too childish but to hell, blogging about-analyzing series for kids is my entertainment method and if I can't post about my likes on Tumblr I don't know why have an account.

So I present:

How to catch the Smurfs

This is the definitive tutorial on everything Gargamel ever did to catch the little blue critters.

It is based mainly on the animated series from the 80s and the 3 films that were produced between 2011-2017, I watched several episodes again to write this, but I still hope I don't forget some important information.

Following these steps:

1. Why catch the Smurfs?

During the comics, the series and the recent movies there were many reasons why Gargamel and other humans wanted to capture the Smurfs that change over time, among its main uses we have:

- They are ingredients for exotic dishes.

-Turn them into gold

- Ingredient for the Philosopher's Stone

- Use its essence to obtain magic

- Their tears serve as an ingredient for spells

-Their skin serves as a treatment to cure diseases

2. Points to consider:

This is a set of rules that fall between the lines when using a Smurf for any of the recipes mentioned above.

2.1 How many are needed:

In some episodes Gargamel was about to cook a single Smurf, so 1 is enough to eat them.

To turn them into gold you need at least half a kilo, about 6 smurfs.

2.2. They don't need to be alive

I didn't remenber any place where it said that Smurfs must be alive to use them in recipes.

2.3. Smurfette doesn't always count

She has to be a real smurf or else it won't work, during her first appearance before the papa smurf spell and the episode "smurfette unmade" where she reverts to her original form she is not a real smurf, so it wouldn't work unless that is in its blonde form.

2.4. Fake Smurfs:

The reason Gargamel can't just create another Smurf and use it in his recipes is because his creations are blue clay with a conscience, to turn them into real Smurfs you need the “true blue”spell

2.5. Artificial Smurfs:

Smurfette, Sassete, Kactus, Vicky and any other Smurf they come up with in the future, count as real Smurfs only after their transformation.

To clarify the points, these are the steps:

3.Locate them

The Smurfs are in a village protected by a magical force that makes it invisible or unreachable, it is only possible to find the village if a Smurf guides you to it, even after finding the exact location it will have disappeared if you try to return, so the best It is marks the surroundings of the village and look for them in the places that the Smurfs frequent.

It is possible to capture them when they leave the village, force them to guide you, enter the village using teleportation spells or hoaxes.

4.Traps

Catching smurfs is relatively easy, you can chase them with butterfly nets, catch them with your bare hands, using a cat or any other hunting animal, now that I think about it a hound would be very useful to track their scent.

Using some classic traps to hunt animals also works with Smurfs, traps with cages or hidden holes in the ground, or camouflage in a bush until a Smurf is close enough to catch it, you can't use traps like an obvious cage with food in it, they are too smart to fall for that.

It is more effective if they are placed in strategic places such as a field of smurfberries which is outside the village.

Small female creatures are also used as decoys, such as female smurfs, little mermaids and lymph to make a smurf fall in love and thus leave the village to a point where they can be captured.

5.Which Smurfs to capture

Personally I think there are Smurfs that are easier to catch, although Gargamel could not have a list of all with so many times that they have passed by his house, he should already recognize one or another Smurf and I remember that there is a episode where he knows some of his names.

The main cast, Smurfette, Hefty, Brainy, Clumsy, Greedy, Grouchy, Jokey and Handy as far as i can remember, they´re the ones that have been captured the most times and also the ones that have escaped the most, since they're easy to capture, it would be convenient to take advantage of this, but since they know how to get out, they should change the cages with them, put the cages in another place, move the objects that previously used to get out, and above all not to fall the same tricks again.

Papa smurf has been captured many times, he is the one who most leaves the village and if in one of his trips they capture him, maybe the others would not notice his absence, it is something difficult because he already knows how to escape and he can use spells against you, but if you manage to kill him the others would be lost without their leader, and with the disaster they would be easier to capture.

Lazy smurf takes naps during his work outside the village so it's a good chance to catch him, hopefully he might still be asleep while preparing the recipe and he won't try to escape.

According to his debut episode sickly smurf was never able to escape from Gargamel and Azrael; it is so easy that he catches him with his bare hands in 20 seconds.

Baby Smurf is more vulnerable for obvious reasons, the negative side is that there is always a Smurf looking after him, but if they manage to separate the baby it would be easy to cook , considering the life expectancy of the Smurfs is more than 500 years, it may remain a baby for the next 10 years so there is time to execute your plan.

Nat, Snapy, Sassete and Slouchy, the 4 children Smurfs that appear in season 5 are in almost the same circumstances as Baby Smurf.

In Wild Smurf's first appearance he kicked Gargamel in the face and easily made Azrael afraid of him so it might not be a good idea to mess with him.

I guess Smurfs like scaredy would never leave the village unless they forced it so the only times he gets caught is when they capture all 100 together.

6.Don't let them escape

In many occasions the Smurfs escape when they have already been captured by Gargamel, either from his hands, cages and in their closest attempts they escape from the pot.

These are the points to keep in mind:

6.1 Capture only one

If you capture a single Smurf than two or more as it will take a while for them to realize that one is missing and they will not come to their rescue, the more they are, the more likely they will find a plan to escape, so keep them in mind. separate cages.

6.2 The others will come

Once Gargamel has one or more Smurfs, it is 100% certain that the others will come to rescue him at his house, so it would be convenient to go to another place away from the forest where he can cook the Smurfs without others being able to find them. Gargamel has a basement with a secret door, he was able to hide there and pretend he didn't have them until the rescuers leave.

6.3 catch rescuers

Knowing that more Smurfs could come, you could use it to your advantage by placing traps on the doors and windows, or on the contrary, closing everything so that it is impossible to enter without having a key.

6.4 They will leave him for dead

In the episode "the tear of a Smurf ", it seems that if they don't find a missing Smurf it only takes a week for them to surrender and prepare for his funeral. You can hide the smurfs with their mouths tied up in a drawer and pretend you don't know what they are talking about until they give up, then it will be time to execute the recipes. If Gargamel had enough brain cells to keep the secret, he could eat the Smurfs and the rest would think they were eaten by birds or something and would not take revenge.

6.5. Do not look any further

If you already have 99 it is enough, even if you have only one, it is not worth risking it to find one more, it is a trap.

6.6. Don't open jokey surprises.

The characters always forget that gift.

6.7. Don't listen to them

On several occasions they try to make conversation to buy time, they trick him into thinking that he will bring more Smurfs or that he cannot eat him, everything is a trap.

6.8. Just kill them

He never did that but it's a very obvious choice, I don't remember somewhere saying that smurfs have to be alive for recipes, Gargamel has repeatedly expressed his desire to destroy them. Wouldn't it be easier to kill them before throwing them into the pot? if you can't, they don't even have to be dead, just unconscious or asleep. Gargamel has drops of lava in his lab for some reason, how come he doesn't have substances to knock them unconscious? In case he have many captured you could use classic techniques such as placing the cage in a tub of water until they drown, even stepping on them would be enough since they are very small.

6.9. Papa Smurf's books

If Gargamel tries to kill them with an epidemic, papa will have the cure, if he casts a spell, papa has the antidote, since he has been in the village on several occasions, he should take the opportunity to steal or destroy their books, he could look for the true blue spell and perhaps find another useful spell.

7.Enjoy your smurf soup

If that's all i came up with, you can already eat or become a millionaire at the cost of a smurf's life, hopefully you'll have to face a horrible revenge from papa smurf, but i'm not responsible for that.

8.Other methods to get smurfs:

This is a set of theories for alternative ways to get smurfs without capturing one from the village.

8.1. create smurfs:

In the second live action movie gargamel gets the formula for the true blue spell, so from here technically he could create smurfs, then transform them into real smurfs and do whatever he wants with them, during the series he had to look for the formula instead to look for smurfs.

8.2. Clone Smurfs:

In the episode "the hundredth smurf" Vanity creates a clone of himself that eventually integrates into the village, it is a genetically exact clone so there is no doubt that it is a real smurf. He just needs to place a mirror in front of a smurf and get it struck by lightning, Gargamel could capture a smurf and make clones that will work, he wouldn't even have to keep the original and he would have an infinite smurf machine.

8.3. Kidnap Baby Smurfs:

During the blue moon it is possible that a zork came to the village bringing a baby smurf, it can take up to 200 years without bringing one but if you are alive when that happens, you can try to hunt the zork and capture the defenseless baby.

8.4. Repeat the fake smurf technique:

If it is possible to create fake Smurfs like Smurfette, it might work on a second try, Smurfs are not very cautious around strangers, once Smurfette arrives in the village no one wonders where she came from or why she was in the forest, but rather Immediately they offer him a house, Gargamel could create a smurf and this time instruct him to lead all the smurfs in the village into a trap and make sure he does not turn good, he can also turn himself into a life-size smurf costume, Nobody will notice that there is an extra Smurf and he can repeat the same trap,third time’s a charm

9.Conclusion:

Surely there are many other methods to catch Smurfs but I can't see the whole series again even if I wanted to, because it is a series for children Gargamel never learns from his mistakes I think that catching Smurfs is not that exaggeratedly difficult, especially for someone who has access to magic may be as difficult as capturing a talking rabbit, Gargamel is just stupid.

The end.

#the smurfs #hashtag so that the blog is not invisible #smurfette #gargamel #azrael #brainy smurf #sassete #sickly smurf #no smurf was harmed during the making of this blog #vanity smurf #papa smurf #clumsy smurf #smurf village #I should look for some images #ready #a picture

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detectivesplotslies · 3 years ago

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Too many memories, two many occupants

Description: The game is over, and someone has to answer for how it played out. Tsumugi's the obvious answer, as perfectly so as her cosplay. Features VR AU and postgame spoilers. Word Count: 3591 Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1: Beyond Notice

During the trial it had been a lot easier. Having an opposition, having a role, having a part to stick to. There was the audience, there were the fans. There were her brilliant cosplays! There was the vote. She had known what she’d press. She knew where it would get her.

Waving her last, she knew what it really meant. But something within her still grew quiet. Something mourned. The triumphant grin of despair wouldn’t surface, no matter how hard she tried. Her contestants. Her classmates. Her victims. Her cast. They had sentenced her… themselves… to this.

Even though she knew better, she felt numb. Her feet were heavy, rooted to the spot. The others were out of sight. Her executioner flew around above, raining his destruction down on them while she retreated inwards, her vision narrowing. Waving, as her cosplay fell away, as the school crumbled, she should feel the heat of the explosions, but none of that reached her.

She saw the rock. She made no move. Part of her was ready. Part of her was resigned.

It went dark.

Even though Tsumugi knew better she was almost relieved.

Until it was time to wake up.

---

Coming to feels hazy, disorienting. Her limbs jerk awkwardly, as if starting awake from a nightmare, eyes still seeing darkness but hands brushing against cords, glass and consoles. A pair of hands brush her cheek as they remove her headset, and she flinches involuntarily. One of her own hands goes to her face, tugging at its electrical tethers, still taped to her in various nerve points.

She’s not wearing her glasses. Panic washes over her just as the blinding light of the room that refuses to adjust for her does, and her other hand frantically reaches around the pod for where they must have fallen. She’d never leave her glasses. Without her glasses she’s not… she’s…

The light becomes less intense as she blinks, and she can make out the blurry silhouettes of three people in front of her, standing at attention, waiting patiently. One holds a hand outstretched with something silver clasped in it.

Shakily she takes it, unfolding the arms and sliding them carefully onto her face. The unfocused world comes back into sharp clarity. She half recognizes the faces of those who are in front of her. The silence remains. Is she supposed to say something? Eventually the one who returned her glasses clears her throat, and gestures to the others. They begin to remove the wires quickly and efficiently. Tsumugi crosses her arms and rubs at them idly as the rest are secured, feeling like this should be a more private process. As the last wire is removed the one who’s clearly in charge clears her throat again and nods to her.

“The Board would like to see you.”

Slowly, Tsumugi pushes herself out of the seat, wobbling on her feet as she does so, gripping the side of the chair shaped pod, carefully avoiding the lit LCD consoles lining the edges. The trio before her make no moves to help, nor does she request it. The legs beneath her quiver a few times, threatening to fold before her knees lock with some promise of support. Her hand gripping the side betrays the truth though, trembling with effort.

“Alright, take me to them.”

---

They aren’t happy.

There’s some general gratitude that an ending was guaranteed through her actions, but thanks for it are brisk and short lived. There are bigger problems now.

Lost footage was bad enough, but a protest live on air? Sure, there were tons of supportive fans out there with a continued commitment to the brand, but the vocal few were making themselves heard. Sponsors were pulling their funding. Team DanganRonpa needed to make a statement. They refused to take fault, they had the consent waivers, despite the impassioned display on screen. They needed a scapegoat to take the fall, and who better than the face of the disaster? It was for the good of their franchise, and their only chance to hang onto enough profit to keep the company running.

They are firing her.

The show must go on, but they would make a good faith decision to change their methods for the next season. With a brand new production team.They were advancing their technologies still and R&D was indispensable right now, so the focus went towards the writing talent. It was her failure, anyways, they posited. The simulation hadn’t flickered once, even when the jig was up.

Tsumugi is silent and numb as she is told this. Turmoil brews as a debate begins around her about when to release the announcement.

How dare they do this to me? I worked so hard for them! Without me this season would have never got off the ground! Who else had the brilliant idea to move into a space epic? To introduce new worlds for the future of the story? Who risked their life to bring down every last obstacle? Who gave up their classmates? Was chased down for this mad show and they care more about sponsors? How dare they place the blame on a highschooler, when I-

Wait, no, she’s not…

She runs her fingers over her temples gingerly, swaying slightly on her feet. The discussion in front of her ebbs, attention back on her, and some expressions exchanged before they agree to resume once she’s more aware. Perhaps they were too prompt in calling her here, but they had assumed she wouldn’t need long to adjust, since she knew the truth.

They didn’t realize knowing the truth was the crux of her dilemma.

---

Deleting memories when a consciousness was plugged directly into a simulation was very simple. The centers of the brain known to store them were easily targeted without physical intervention, leaving common sense and learned skills. Untethered knowledge, learned without recalling how. The amnesia effect here was valuable. Recalling this knowledge caused a disconnect, and when memories were implanted the brain would do something extraordinary. It would map a route from the presented memory to the knowledge, all on it’s own. Connecting the neural dots and repairing the damage as though it were never there, without guidance or supervision. The human mind was a brilliantly sophisticated device.

Every cast member had been selected with some semblance of knowledge or aptitude for their assigned talent, even if it was utterly average. The knowledge was filled out for each, with painstaking researchers drafting long memories of ancient tomes, infidelity cases, star charts, blueprints, masked faces, island maps and coastal vistas. They filled in as much as possible, but even if they missed something, the mind was resilient, and would work out the holes on its own.

It wasn’t the same for her however.

There was a perk to being the ringleader for the whole affair. The person in charge had to know some of the infrastructure that was keeping them there, some of the motivations. Lest the show fall apart, or even worse be boring. So the game master went into the simulation without memory deletion.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t memories implanted. That would be too simple. They had to provide some true evidence of their talent to back up the enhancement of their skills and knowledge. Without a sturdy foundation built on confidence any additions would crumble and refuse to attach. Having worked in the costume department for a few seasons before her promotion, her suggestion of cosplayer had been approved almost instantly. Soon the research team was looking up Cosplay Masquerade winners from years past and the details of every prized piece of workmanship, photography and character acting they could find, and drafting it into a light for her as well. Tsumugi had been excited, and had even helped pick her absolute favourites to be remembered as costumes she made.

Ideally, this booster pack of memories for her talent would supplement her own enough to use to her fullest if the time came in game. Her script outline didn’t even call for her reveal, but having been behind the scenes a few seasons, she knew a lot more was up to chance than Team Danganronpa liked to let the media know. She wanted a strong backup at her disposal, should the need arise.

However, when the game began, something hadn’t been quite right. Backstory memories were implanted as planned, but the talents were yet to be placed. Already in the simulation, she couldn’t ask The Board if this was deliberate. It could be a marketing scheme to boost audition rates for the next round. But already her concern grew.

The human mind is a fascinating thing.

The others spoke of being grabbed and taken here. The dots were already connecting, firing on all cylinders, looking for solutions to lost memories that didn’t need answering. It wasn’t as though they erased everything of course, it was impossible to work with a blank slate, so the bits remaining were playing havoc with their reactions. She alone had none missing, and merely nodded along. With the arrival of the talent light, she had an inward sigh of relief. Soon it wouldn’t matter, this would overwrite any unintended connections left by this stunt.

They received the memories.

Tsumugi had never expected them to feel so real. Every costume she had lovingly picked out, from footage and articles, she could feel in her hands, as though she touched the fabric and threaded the seams. Every pose she had seen a cosplayer photographed in, she was viewing outwardly, seeing the cameramen she never even imagined existing prior, while holding her position with careful grace. Every character, be they dramatic, loud, shy, soft or brash, came to her in vivid detail. Their tales, their backstories, their struggles, their gestures and voices.

And it clashed against her memories of Danganronpa.

All these characters, all these series, they were not the ones she grew up on. They were new and relevant, often references classics, selected for memorability, for the audience. And yet now they were intimately hers. They crowded for attention, buzzing and vying for a place as her favourite.

Her true favourites, the reason for her years of work and devotion, were shoved to the very back, not forgotten, but duller. Flatter. The Ultimate Cosplayer was vibrant! Though plain outwardly her skills were undeniable! She wasn’t some drop-out made-seamstress made-scenario writer. Why would she ever want to be?

Therefore, it couldn’t be that surprising how lost in thought she was at her introductions, she spent far too long trying to remember the lines she had written to poke a reference to the show. There were a lot more than 52 killing games to think back on now. She regretted not stocking the A/V Room with more of these shows...

----

With an escort, she goes to her office to clear it out. Memorabilia lines the desk and walls, from seasons past. She looks them over passively as she is handed a box, and begins to take each thing down one by one. Every character, name, and mascot was familiar. Security waits at the door, and she wonders why. What could she possibly do here to harm them anymore than she supposedly already had? She had not been allowed online yet to confirm anything told to her, but she had resolved that when they spoke to her again she’d make it a condition before her termination. They couldn’t plainly believe she’d take their word on it when they put her… no that wasn’t right…

They didn’t put her anywhere, she put herself somewhere.

She shakes her head slowly a moment, the numbness in her hands having returned. Before she can react the snowglobe in her grasp slips out of her clumsy unfeeling fingers and shatters on the floor. Water and glitter splash the floor as tiny Monokumas skitter outwards past her feet across the room, freed from their little round prison. Security whirls around to face her at the sharp sound she doesn’t hear. She stands there staring at the base of the glass bauble, dumbfounded.

She vaguely recollects that that had been special. A collector’s item, given to her by someone perhaps? Limited edition? But she felt nothing staring down at the wet shards remaining, her arm hanging limp at her side. Whatever it was before, it was trash now.

Tsumugi is ushered out with her box half packed, with no mention of if she could come back for the rest. Part of her wants to scream to get the rest and cling to it all! It took so long to amass! Without it, what is there to prove her efforts? A larger part of her was happy for it to be out of sight.

She unceremoniously leaves the box in the corner of her recovery room. Not one of her own things is taken out to put anywhere. She likes the room bare and plain. Like her. Just like the girl she thinks she is.

---

Unlike before the game, when the research team and writers had meetings, strategy plans and long discussions, the classroom where Tsumugi stood with the Game Master interface was lonely and cold. There were no intricacies to any of the selections, they were mere branching paths. Sure, she recalled some of the writing details for each from before the season launch, especially the ones she had chosen as her outlined route, but how simply the screen stated them to her was troubling.

The talent had been supposed to be this simple too, but it had depth she hadn’t expected. The selection hovered over the Ultimate Hunt and the mass funeral choices, the ones her writing team had OK’d. She wondered what depth she’d feel seeing fake people mourn her. Would they seem fake?

She pressed the button and waited for the light to pop out of the locker, adjusting her glasses idly and looking out the dark wire barred windows. She thought about her ‘classmates’, who had nothing in their heads remaining to help them deny these. It really was a perfect system. For them.

There was a thud in the locker. Tsumugi returned to her task, like so many all nights she’d pulled before, both real and fictional. She walked over to retrieve it, carefully tucking it into the interior pocket on her coat. Once it was placed that was their plot, no rewrites, no erasing anything. Living the story was a lot more nerve wracking than writing it.

---

Tsumugi knows her way around the building without help, but that doesn’t stop security from falling into step and walking with her whenever she leaves her room. She supposes it’s not to help her, anyways, so it’s not an issue. There’s no regimented schedule for her during recovery, though doctors have visited her room a few times and there was one impromptu check-up with an actual CT scan.

She tells them all she feels fine. Everything is fine. She’s readjusting just fine, thank you for asking. No, no abnormalities. No numbness. No confusion. She does admit to being very tired. That one is a safe answer, it usually makes them leave faster so she can rest. They aren’t very good doctors, she thinks. She wonders if they are just as poorly attentive to the other patients’ issues and lies.

Without a schedule, Tsumugi avoids the cafeteria at what she guesses would be the busier times, but even doing so she has caught glimpses of her cast.

A girl sitting with an untouched meal laid out before her. Her hands clasped in front of her in her lap, eyes hidden behind loose grey hair.

A tall silent boy gazing out one of the few windows into the courtyard. He traces his no longer ringed fingers along the surface.

A coughing bout in the hallway followed by the rush of feet and a familiar loud voice shouting them off.

Echoes of their more vibrant selves, haunting the halls.

She walks into the cafeteria and stops. There are voices but she’s already through the door before she realizes it, eyes darting to the table to the right of the door. Sitting there in what sounded like a disagreement were Shuichi and Maki, with Himiko sitting idly beside the latter cheek resting on the heel of her hand while gazing at the door. The other two don’t notice her but the small redhead locks eyes with her instantly. Her posture stiffens as her eyes widen. The two girls stare at each other for a moment, the conversation a buzz in the background as the air thickens. Shuichi, who’s back is to the door must have noticed because he stops mid-sentence and glances over his shoulder. He freezes.

It’s Maki who stands, nudging Himiko behind her, taking on that intimidating stance. She’s glaring daggers across the room at her, and Tsumugi backs up involuntarily, right into the security guard who was following her into the room. Clumsily, she stumbles forwards to step out of his way and adjusts her glasses, the other three’s eyes still locked on her. Not wanting to leave, but unsure of what to do with herself, Tsumugi steps forwards to the adjacent table and quietly takes a seat.

The eyes on her and the silence are wrong. She’s not someone who gets stared at, at least not when she’s not trying to… this isn’t what she should… what should she…

A placid smile spreads on her face and she nods her head to them. “Good morning, Harukawa-san, Yumeno-san, Saihara-kun.” Her eyes squint almost closed in the forced smile, her cheeks pushing upwards under her glasses that help mask the dark bags. Practiced. Placating. A face both of her make. Painful.

“What do you want?”

Himiko isn’t who anyone expects to talk clearly, Shuichi turning to look at her. Maki squares her shoulders, trying to seem bigger. But the smallest of them narrows her eyes and waits.

“Nothing in particular, really,” Tsumugi drawls, folding her hands in her lap. Out of sight as they clench and fidget.

“Oh sure, your goons won’t give us a moment alone, but you don’t want anything. Like we’d believe that,” Maki says before Himiko can continue, venom in every word. Himiko’s mouth hangs open in the interruption, closing again with a pout.

“My goons,” Tsumugi repeats, noting the pointed look at the security detail that followed her in. “Fortunately, they should have provided you all with your contracts by now, and you can see your rights there. Please do use them to your benefit.”

“Oh right. The contracts we don’t even remember signing,” Himiko mutters.

“That is outlined in them as well.”

“This lack of contact with the outside was not, though,” Shuichi cuts in. The sureness there is from someone who clearly read the contract over more than once. Someone looking for loopholes. The memories he received must still be working overtime. She wonders if he’s as glad to have them as he was when he was when the process was explained? Probably not.

“That’s not my area, I’m afraid the simulation and preparations were my purview, Saihara-kun. Feel free to exert your rights in your contract, though. The company has to uphold it.” The strained smile slides into a more natural one as she continues to speak. It’s easier when it’s not about her.

Shuichi raises a brow. Perhaps he had expected resistance? “So they’re breaking their agreement then, holding us here?” he continues, as if to clarify.

“If that’s what the contract promises, then I suppose that’s the case,” Tsumugi answers. They should feel fortunate they got the opportunity to sign those at all, she thinks. Her hands clench tighter. They are fortunate they don’t remember.

“Like we trust you to keep promises,” Maki spat.

“You don’t have to,” she tuts, “Just use the contract, it’s your tool.”

Maki moves so quickly that thankfully Tsumugi doesn’t have the time to flinch. Himiko grabs her by the crook of the elbow before she’s rounded the table towards her.

“Stop it, let’s just talk somewhere else.”

Himiko stands, and moments later Shuichi follows suit. Maki’s expression doesn’t show any agreement, but she leaves with them nonetheless, glaring back over her shoulder on the way out. The security officers never stray from their posts. As soon as she’s sure they’re gone, Tsumugi lets out a held breath. A few moments pass, and she finally goes to get her meal.

She hopes that they really heard her. Their contracts are so much more flexible than her own. They hadn’t bequeath their identities, their citizenships, they weren’t intellectual property of the company no matter how some of the creative team liked to spin it.Their participation was a limited matter, and she was sure her classmates could argue their way through with that fine print at their disposal. She knew that much. She’d seen them face harder things than legal jargon together of course!

...Her classmates? No. Her cast. Her co-stars. A grimace grows on her face as she returns to sit. They never once had a class together, and the game could hardly be called one… not now. Not with her. Together they could bond in their ignorance. Her contract wasn’t flexible. Her consent was different than theirs. She wasn’t new, or at least not all new.

And she couldn’t leave until they decided the best way for them to kick her out. She takes a bite of her food thoughtfully.

If they can kick me out.

#ndrv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #tsumugi shirogane #shirogane tsumugi #team danganronpa #fic #my writing #danganronpa v3 #vr au #postgame #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #himiko yumeno #my mugi #dissociation #memory #Some of you may remember the preview I posted for this one

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hasereshdoneanythingwrong · 3 years ago

Text

Daydreams

Everyone has dreams. Goals they want to accomplish in their life. Challenges to overcome. Feats to call their own. Everyone has dreams, no matter if they’re human, Heroic Spirit, Deity, or Demon. Everyone deserves a chance to realize their dreams, regardless of their lot in life. Everyone has dreams. Even the Last Master of Humanity, fighting every day to preserve and restore their world, deserves a chance to dream

Faye sat at her desk, notebook out in front of her as she scribbled down her thoughts. Most of the records in Novum Chaldea were digital, as that was just easier to categorize for future use. These notes were personal, and no matter how long she spends typing, Faye could never replicate the sheer comfort of a pencil in her hand.

Between gripping the granite filled wood to the sounds of stone against a paper, it was all soothing to her. She could spend hours doing this alone. Scribbling down her latest daydream, she set down her pencil, covering her eyes with her off hand and letting her writing hand relax. Comforting as writing things by hand was, it still left her with cramps after doing it for hours on end. After her brief rest, Faye continued to write, her thoughts burrowing into her mind like worms in her brain.

Faye was so enticed by this project that she failed to hear the knocking on the door. She also didn’t notice the flowing blonde twin tails of a familiar face moving into the room. Silently, Ereshkigal moved towards her hunched over girlfriend, eager to not disturb her.

Eresh had initially wanted to talk to Faye about something Ishtar had said. Her sister was always too good at getting into her head and sometimes she needed to talk things through with Faye. Rarely was she so hard at work, however, tuning out everything around her. As such, Eresh didn’t want to disturb her. The goddess’s curiosity overwhelmed her, however, and she couldn’t help but lean over the shoulder of her girlfriend to peek at her work.

Eresh: “The sea air whipped at the captain as she stepped out of her cabin, her hand instinctively flying to her tricorn to-“

The young master screamed, falling off her chair and scrambling to cover her notebook as she looked behind her. Eresh’s face was completely stunned as Faye worked through the mortal terror of being seen. With her face beet red and her arms clutching her notebook, Faye managed to get out a stammering of words.

Faye: M-My goddess? How? What? When? How much did you see?

Eresh raised her hands and took a step back. The placating gestures seemed to have worked a little but Faye’s eyes were still wide with fear.

Eresh: I only walked in a moment ago. You were so focused and I didn’t want to distract you.

Faye: You didn’t knock?

Eresh, deadpan: I did. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even notice me! I walked in and saw you so I tried to be careful and not bother you.

Faye: Why did you look over my shoulder?

Eresh: My…curiosity got the better of me. It’s just- I’ve never seen you work so hard or passionately before. It’s like you were on another world.

Faye sighed. Closing her notebook and putting in on her desk and returning to her seat. She spun her chair to face Eresh.

Faye: I was….distracted….

Eresh: I’ll say! You were completely unaware I was even here. Even my aura as a goddess went unnoticed!

Faye: I’m sorry, my goddess.

Eresh feigned a pout, cracking open one eye to see Faye’s reaction.

Eresh: I suppose I can forgive you, but on one condition: You tell me what you were writing!

Faye’s face returned to its flushed state, her eyes suddenly finding the floor extremely interesting as she squirmed in her chair.

Faye: I was…..I was writing a story.

Eresh: What kind of story?

Faye: Just a dumb short story. One about a pirate captain and a mermaid. I just sorta….got the inspiration for it and started putting it to paper.

Eresh: I didn’t know you wrote short stories. Can I read some?

Faye: I-I don’t know, my goddess. They’re not very Good. It’s not like I’m an actual author or anything. Certainly not like Hans or Murasaki…I’m just an amateur…

Eresh gave Faye her best pleading face, complete with puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip. Faye was weak to such methods, and caved almost instantly, reluctantly handing over her flowery notebook to the Queen of Kur.

Eresh began to flip through the various pages. Multiple seemingly unrelated stories filled the lines, their words weaving worlds full of life, vibrancy and detail. Faye watched nervously as Eresh’s eyes went wide when she began to read one story in particular very closely.

Eresh: Faye?

Faye: Yes, my goddess?

Eresh: What’s this story here? Something about an inn-

Faye snatched the notebook from Eresh’s hands, slamming it shut and attempting to hide it with her torso. Her face and ears went red as she tried to find some excuse.

Faye: N-N-Nothing! It’s nothing at all! Nope! Just a draft!

Eresh: There sure was a lot for just a draft. It looked like a full story!

Faye sighed, setting the notebook on her lap.

Faye: That’s because…it is. It was my first fully written idea.

Eresh: The main character’s name was Faye too?

Faye, nodding: Mhm. I….like to write myself in. Sort of an ideal me. In this story I’m an adventurer on a quest to find a cure for a sick friend. I’m brave and strong, full of determination and a sense of justice.

Faye looked down to the floor, her shoulders slumping forward. She closed her eyes before speaking once more.

Faye: So much unlike my actual self.

Eresh: I think you’re brave.

Faye lifted her head slowly, her face riddled with confusion. Clearly the goddess must be flattering her. She wasn’t brave by any means, and she certainly wasn’t strong.

Eresh: I admit, I only got to watch you in Uruk, and wasn’t there for the other singularities and battles you fought, but when you came to my land you were full of bravery and strength. You were determined to save the world and it showed through every action you took. You stood brave in the face of goddess and monsters and even a primordial being.

Eresh got up from her chair and cupped Faye’s face with her hands. Faye could have sworn the light behind Eresh grew more intense as she looked deep into her eyes.

Eresh: You’re the bravest, strongest, kindest, most determined person I’ve ever met, and I’m so happy to have met you.

Faye’s awestruck look turned into a smile as she nodded, Eresh releasing her face and going back to her chair. Faye handed over the notebook once more and Eresh took to her reading with fervor.

Faye: Can I tell you something, my Goddess?

Eresh: Of course, anything.

Faye: I had a dream, before all this happened. Before the Incineration of Humanity, before the Lostbelts….I wanted to be an author. I wanted to write fantastic stories and give people something to enjoy during their darkest moments. Now….now I’m afraid I won’t have that chance. I won’t get time to dream anymore, not with all of this.

Eresh: Faye…..you’re already a light in the darkness of so many people’s lives. Your actions, your kindness, everything you do brings someone joy. You make people happy, and comfort them in their time of need.

Eresh closed the notebook, handing it back to Faye who in turn set it on the desk. Hands in her lap, the young master turned back to the goddess.

Eresh: And for the record, there’s always time to dream. You’re surrounded by inspiration and great authors here. I’m sure your dream will come true, and when it does, your books will save someone’s life.

Faye: You really think so?

Eresh: Faye, I’m the Queen of Kur. I know a thing or two about death.

Faye: Thank you, my goddess.

Some tags:

@hasishtardoneanythingwrong @hasmataharidoneanythingwrong @hashokusaidoneanythingwrong @hasjalterdoneanythingwrong @haskamadoneanythingwrong

#ereshkigal #faye #fayeresh #my writing #my mastersona

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diverse-hearts-ocs-a · 4 years ago

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Time Skip for @frozcnlight

Broken toys were no fun but sometimes it was required. To get to the results that he wished to accomplish, the test subjects needed to be modified - broken down but with the body strength to survive the various tests. Honestly, people may look towards him and see him as insane but he wished only to reach the same heights as a God. Humanity’s next evolutionary state. Why else would they be given access to these abilities? The research into what abilities were and just why some people gained access to them and others didn’t, it was still such a new field and he would do everything in his power to crack this mystery once and for all. The mafia had its benefits and Mirans betrayal opened the gates to all that research to have been placed on hold for so long.

Perhaps this was the reason as to why they’d survived the explosion all those years ago. He’d been foolish to believe that only himself and Miran had survived. The clone had been at the centre of the explosion but he had never known just where Chuuya fit into the picture. He dimly recalled the boy trying to help Miran to escape - but what had happened that day? Had he found the clone instead? Had he somehow caused some type of reaction to occur - despite still being in the early stages of his own tests? A lot of questions remained over the events of that fateful day but the answers weren’t too important. He had more than enough to continue with his research - additional help even - and a new test to carry out. Cloning was a difficult and timely process and the clone of Miran who laid sleeping in the cell before him, she could be seen as a miracle. Only she and one other had ever been successful and so modifying cells and DNA and transferring that between his lab rats seemed to be the safer and quickest method of testing. Chuuya had already shown how his own ability and Mirans had taken root inside him.

And so this was how the cycle would begin - a year of misery for some and large leaps in science for others. It wasn’t as though money had been Kyran’s motivation when he’d started this but he needed the funds to continue with his work and so, as long as the results kept coming and he was left to his own devices, more sponsors meant more funds for himself and Port Mafia. There were two main desires from such sponsors - that was the ability to create weapons, abilities that could be used for their own purposes, to win the tide of war and the means on which to control said abilities if there happened to be any issues. Of course, Kyran didn’t care much for war, but the results could still prove useful for his own desires. Reaching the height of the Gods. If it were possible, he’d find it. He’d captured a god before, harnessed it’s powers - it was just a matter of time before the key would be revealed.

A girl, no older than perhaps thirteen or fourteen sat on a bench that stood to the back of the room, sipping on a juice box as a woman by her side silently took some blood samples. The girls attention was focused on her father, watching in curiosity as he looked at some slides under a microscope, two of his assisstants standing to either side of him. She enjoyed when this happened, when she got to witness her father’s work in person like this - Yet, there had been this growing annoyance lately. Ever since she’d meet her original...no wait Miran was a clone too...then why was she made if her father already had a child? Though, Miran hadn’t seemed so happy at the suggestion of Kyran being her father. There was a lot that the girl didn’t understand. Usually, she was happy to be of help. Her entire life had been here inside these walls, poked and prodded almost everyday, her ability tested now and then and with small rewards that let her know she really enjoyed sweet things - but what was all this for? Never before had these questions really come to mind. Why should it? Kyran kept her away from the more questionable side of experiments and meeting Miran had been a mistake too - but once made he couldn’t keep them apart as Mia would insist on meeting with Miran as one of her rewards for when tests had been passed.

Lately, these requests had begun to be turned down, making the girl worry about the reasoning behind such. Sometimes, she tried to sneak into the deeper parts of the lab that she was banned from entering. Some nights, she thought she could hear screams or cries for help...but she’d write them all off as nightmares. She had to. All she had in this world was her father...well...that’s all she had until this year...until she’d met Miran...until her eyes had slowly been opened to how wrong all of this may be. Yet, she displayed none of these thoughts out loud. She was still the same quiet and curious girl that her father wished her to be, passing tests as required. With a small smile, she thanked the nurse by her side and shifted off the bench, walking over to the nearby computer screens, moving the mouse to bring up the camera feeds. Miran seemed to be sleeping, the usual young male sitting by her side, also looking like he may have fallen asleep. The girl didn’t know that one - she only had met Shirase and Miran - but since both had talked about one name she guessed that one was Chuuya.

“Mia?”, as always when she got too curious, her father was quick to turn off the delays and pull her gently away from the screens, “If your examinations are done then you should go and rest…” “Can I visit Miran?” “Maybe later. As you saw, she’s sleeping right now”. The girl wanted to protest but knew better, so she just turned and walked out with the nurse that had been taking the blood samples. A lot could change in a year and yet the girl still wasn’t sure who to trust in or what she was supposed to do. Was she really created just for test purposes? Was she loved? What even was love?

The year had been one full of various experiences - none all too pleasant either. Chuuya, he found it hard at first to accept that the girl he’d fought so hard to protect all those years ago, wasn’t this Miran - but that he’d failed to help her at all - that he’d fled from that explosion and left her here to suffer on her own for as long as she had. Had she been sleeping this entire time? Did she realise the pain that Kyran continued to inflict on others? They’d been so young and maybe he should be excused for running, for being afraid..as he was just a child. What child wouldn’t want to be free from the place that housed his many nightmares? Yet, he’d fled back to the very same parents to have sold him in the first place. To them, his ability was nothing but a curse - he could heal but it also inflicted wounds on himself - a sign of it’s evil origins...according to them. If only they had any idea of how things had changed now. If they could see the monster that their son would be twisted into becoming, perhaps they would have left him out on the streets to rot, or sold him once more to the highest bidder.

How he wished he could still be that same child. That child that had fire in their soul, that would have died to protect those dear to him...it wasn’t like he didn’t try still. Some of the worse injuries he’d had over the last few months was from suddenly attacking the lab assistant or Kyran himself. Daichi was the worst to deal with - he could inflict rather serious injuries without a weapon, could leave burns that would make you burn with a fever for days. It was better for him if he sat back and gathered his energy but whenever Miran or Shirase were injured infront of him, something inside would snap and he’d just move, almost on instant, almost as though something inside took control for those few vital moments -

He sighed, reaching up to twirl a section of Miran’s hair between his fingers. He had been sleeping but had moved over to her side of the cell, healing some of her wounds before just watching over her. He seemed to heal quicker now too - he had no idea when that had started but sometimes he could heal Shirase and Miran almost completely before it would get too much for him. Over the last twelve months, they had all gone through such hell. He was trying to hold onto the believe that they’d be able ot break out of here soon….but would they survive to see that day?

They’d been through a lot. He and Miran had their abilities pushed to their limits rather often, though separate, the new ability that was copied from Miran still proving to be something difficult to control. There was a special type of room that was used for those type of experiments, where gases filled the air, designed to weaken or strength as required, designed to inflict pain whenever you tried to fight back against the drugs that shut your brain down into almost automatic mode. Pain and the promise of being released from that pain - it seemed to be the main way in which Kyran pushed them past their limits - though when it came to his healing ability… That one required no pushes. He’d often find himself trying to heal those that he or Miran would have struck down earlier in the day or week. They were supposed to be weapons and as such, they’d be forced to strike down other victims in the facility that were seen as failures. Not daily, but enough that the scent of blood always seemed to hang over them. Enough that they were seen as the monsters that Kyran painted them to be. It was rather hard to hold onto the belief that he deserved something better than this - so he focused on Miran and Shirase and his old friend. He needed to stay alive in order to let them all live the life that they deserved. Yet - he’d have his off days. He’d have his breakdowns, his nightmares. Days when he wouldn’t allow anyone near him out of fear of hurting them by accident. He was trying to take on the weight of the world but honestly, lately, he’d been looking forward to the numb feeling that took over whenever he was drugged. The chance to shut off from the world, to ignore the true horror that he was stuck in. He hadn’t mentioned that feeling to anyone though but maybe they could already tell.

Shirase - he hadn’t got out of this lightly, though while Chuuya and Miran seemed to constantly be pushed to their limits in order to improve their abilities - he seemed to be losing control of his own. It wasn’t as though he’d ever been proud of the ability that he’d managed to have - it was usual but also rather draining but now that it seemed to be fading, he wasn’t sure on how to feel about it all. This was a part of him...a part of who he was and yet lately he’d been unable to use it at all. Maybe it was down to this new feeling that had been growing deep inside - almost like the sensation of pins and needles just constantly there, making his skin feel as though it was crawling sometimes. So much crap had been injected into him, he had scars from surgeries that he’d rather not think too much on and there was just this constant feeling of being drained of energy that he was unable to shake off. Sure, anyone would be exhausted when they were subjected to various tortures on an almost daily basis but even when adrenaline was flowing, he just wanted to pass out and never wake up again.

And yet, there he was, sitting in this stupid chair, wires attached to various pads over his chest as machines read over vitals, his gaze falling towards where a certain blonde woman floated inside one of the clear cylinders. Where Chuuya and Miran taken in here often? Did they have to watch that same sleeping face? If they did, were they thinking the same as he did? How to wake her? How to get them out from this place? Attacks to the scientists had only resulted in more pain or food being withdrawn for days on end, the stomach pains worse than anything he’d ever felt while living on the streets.

That same wave of cold stuck to his skin - another fun symptom to add to his ever growing list. The scars to run up the length of one arm were also another side effect - Chuuya seemed unable to heal him anymore, a fact that was pretty darn hard to keep hidden with how often the rags he called clothes seemed to get destroyed. He had to wonder if perhaps he was reaching his own limits. If this shit kept going on for much longer he wasn’t too sure how he’d be. This new sensation was annoying. He’d spend night curled up under his blankets, scratching so hard at his skin that he’d cause his arms to bleed pretty often. Other times he was so cold that he honestly though he’d freeze to death - and wouldn’t have minded that to have been his fate either.

The last fight he’d got in with Daichi had left a rather painful burn - he’d gone such a long ass time without giving up his fear of fire and yet that one little instant had caused him to panic, a lot more than he knew he should have - but at least he’d got in a few stabs of his own before he’d been drugged and dragged here for monitoring. The drugs in his system just added to that overall numbness that surrounded his entire body, that made him feel like his skin was crawling - yet they were trapped here...how much longer could they hold on like this?

They needed to find a way out and...well he was working on the details. They needed to bring both the original Miran and Mia with them too - and that was just going to make this even harder. But if they stayed here for much longer, what would happen? Would they still be themselves? He didn’t know how much time had passed since they’d been taken here but he could pretty well tell he was quickly beginning to lose this daily battle. It felt so strange. To feel like an alien within your own skin.

A few hours later and he was finally flopping onto the small pile of blankets that he tended to sleep in more than the rock hard beds they had. He’d grabbed one to wrap around his form before walking over to where Chuuya laid sleeping, head in his arms beside Miran, Shirase glancing towards the girl with a small smile, “Hey...hows it been?”. He hadn’t been back in this room for a few days now and yet he could clearly smell the scent of blood that seemed to constantly surround his friends, blood and chemicals - their new normal within this hell hole. “Have you seen Mia? Have you tried to talk with her?”. He still wasn’t sure if they could trust her or not but if they wanted out they needed a bit of inside help - that and well Miran had more or less adopted the child now so there didn’t seem to be a way in which they could leave her out of this mess, even if they had wanted to.

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snarwor · 4 years ago

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moon and old stars - chapter 4

edited because i CAN be arsed apparently

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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

It was a setup.

Fennec had picked up a coded Imperial signal that mentioned a location and the blood-chilling phrase “terminal location of the asset.”

They managed to splice a little into the feed before they moved out of back-range, but they had something they didn’t before, and in the moment of panicked uncertainty, the four agreed to steer Slave I there.

It was a moon of Lothal, and mostly made up of vast colonies of feral Loth-cats. The tourism industry on Lothal had been branching out to the creepy little fuckers, but Din seemed to like them, carefully side-stepping tails and paws and not-so-subtly petting one when he “dropped something” while passing by. Cara and Fennec said nothing, and Fett just kept watch while Din allowed himself this.

When they’d come out of hyperspace and woken from their nap, Din had been shy. Fett had expected this, but didn’t fault him. Din had a few questions, just to clarify things, spoken in a raspy voice that meant he hadn’t recovered entirely from blowing Fett just a few hours prior. He was calm after the questions were answered, and no longer felt on the back foot.

The moment he had his beskar back on, Din had said, “Don’t you dare try to drag me by my helmet again.”

Fett laughed, loud and amused. “Don’t give me a reason to, then.”

Okay, that was fair.

When they cut through a dense forest to the Imperial facility they located on the trackers, something uneasy crept into Din’s gut. He was sure the others felt it too, though none of them spoke in the dense silence, no one wanting to put a name to the dark feeling.

The facility looked well-disguised. There were no patrols skulking around, all the ships looked like they’d been deserted after the Empire fell, it was a ghost town.

Cara took a step toward the fence line.

Din noticed it through a thermal sensor - a tripwire. “No!” He shouted, surging forward to pull Cara back. She stumbled, caught off guard, and Din’s center of gravity wobbled on one foot before he fell backwards.

Instantly, he was swept up in to the trees in a net of wire, connected at the cross-points by small discs. He thrashed against the trap, while the others below shouted for him. He grunted and tried to get at his knife, something to pull him free, cut an opening, anything. The others were saying something but his pounding heart was too loud in his ears for him to understand.

The only thing he could understand was that this had been a trap. The kid was still out there, and they were chasing smoke. He was never going to get his kid back, never going to hold him or make him laugh. It made his thrashing that much more frantic.

And then the beskar gauntlet clicked against one of the discs.

Electric shocks, powerful and terrible, met between the plates of beskar. This trap had been laid for him. He heard himself screaming at the top of his lungs, his helmet connecting with one of the discs and doubling—no, tripling the pain. He felt his muscles spasm down his neck, shoulders, spine. He thought he could feel it arc between his fingertips. The display on his helmet was fried, all he could see was just that terrible blue light and the tunneling darkness with it.

Then.

There was green.

And Din was falling.

Idly, he felt himself caught, but the rest of his limbs were still lightly sparking and twitching. He’d at least stopped screaming, but the blood gushing down his chin told him he must have bitten some part of his mouth - his cheeks, his lips, his tongue. It was true that the body didn’t remember pain, and Din felt this, and the weight of his failure, in its entirety.

Whoever it was that carried him through the air set him on the forest floor some space away. The plates of beskar were ripped from him, releasing him from any remnant static. Footsteps approached, running. His rescuer barked, “TURN AWAY,” before Din’s helmet was pulled off.

Even the dimmed light through the boughs was too bright, and Din closed his eyes to it. “I know, I know, where’s it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Din sobbed out, hands clenching and unclenching to distract himself. His breath was coming in fast, shallow pants, and he knew he’d pass out if he didn’t stop.

Warm, calloused hands touched his face, wiped away blood from his ears and nose and mouth, tugged his lips and mouth open to look inside. Fingers walked over his body, just a little too rough, poking where he was hurt.

It was like his soft and secret fantasy had been poisoned and laid bare at his feet to die. Din couldn’t help the sob that came to his throat. “Shh, shh, I’ve got you. Gotta get you back to the ship. Here.”

“Helmet…” Din moaned as he was picked up again, arms behind his back and under his knees.

“Shorted out, still sparking. We’ll sort it out. Gotta get you checked.” His head was hidden carefully by the frayed fabric of Din’s cape. The reduction in light and the familiar weave over his face calmed him greatly, and he heard the sound of beskar being stacked on itself. “Don’t you forget a single piece,” his rescuer said, not to Din but to the others there. “I’m flying on ahead. When you get in, get us off of this kriffing planet as fast as possible.”

He was barely finished speaking before he was back up in the air, the lift of the jet pack just a little whiny at the extra weight. Din clutched at what he could with his useless, spasming arms, and tried steadying his breathing.

“Almost there, jat’ika.”

Oh.

Boba Fett had saved his life. Again. And he was calling him things in Mando’a. Again. Emotions surged through Din’s blood like the shocks had before, but there was nowhere to ground his feelings to. He pressed his face to the chest plate, and just held on. They landed in a run, Fett rushing up the entrance to get Din laid out somewhere for triage.

The familiar shape of Fett’s berthing came into Din’s bleary view. Fett had a whole medbay onboard, why not there? The answer came to him as Fett tore the rest of Din’s armor off, including the cape.

Din lay bare on the sheets, burns from the edges of the beskar plates seared through his clothes and into his skin. He wouldn’t be able to stay in the medbay if Cara and Fennec were coming; Din didn’t know if he cared.

He had failed the kid, again. First at that stupid temple, and again here, not seeing the forest for the traps. How many more times could he fuck this whole thing up before the kid was lost to him forever? In the few seconds between Fett setting him down in bed and when he’d returned to bring what looked like half the medbay, Din had broken.

He’d been alone in his entire fucking life. He’d been chasing ghosts of affection wherever he could since becoming a foundling, and the kid was the first real right thing he had in his life. Due to his own stupid incompetence, he’d lost that one good thing, that he’d been trusted with. Clan of two. The kid didn’t deserve that.

The kid didn’t deserve Din.

“Hey, hey hey hey. What’d I miss.” Fett sealed the door, confident he’d grabbed enough supplies and that the others would do as told. He came onto the bed with Din, hovering over him, still in all his armor and weaponry, Din helpless as he’s never been.

Din could only shake his head and shudder through his tears. He didn’t see Fett’s face tighten in sadness, but he felt a cool sting of bacta spray along his arm, over his chest, his thigh. His fingertips were an angry purple, so Fett took his time there. “Gotta jab you.”

Din made no protest, but gasped sharply when his body was turned over. A hypo pressed into the meat of his shoulder, and the bacta spread an unnatural numbness to the abused muscle. More bacta and burn patches were applied to his back before he was turned over again. He was still a bit bleary from the pain, what it’d taken out of him.

Fett patched him up good, efficient and thorough as he would’ve been on himself. There was no use in denying injury, to him. He only had one of himself, despite there being hundreds of thousands of himself in the past, technically. He couldn’t get that legendary status as the Boba Fett without learning to be self-sufficient, either. Din was rolled onto his back, eyes still glazed over in pain.

This, Fett knew, could not be fixed by a bacta hypo. His heart lurched when the ship started to move, but remembered it was just Fennec and Cara. “How many systems we putting between here and ourselves?” A voice crackled through the intercom.

“Got a safehouse in the Hosnian system,” Fett said into the receiver.

“For real? You in the Core Worlds?”

“It’s not uncommon. Tell the ship to go to Point 4B.”

“How’s Mando?” Cara’s voice.

“Some burns. Might be a bit. We have what we need.” Din met Fett’s eyes at that. “You two handle yourselves.”

“Always do.” The comm cut off, and Fett locked its volume down. Din watched him with a wary look. He was completely bare while Fett was still mostly covered, but with the bacta in his blood, the boiling sensation receding from his brain, and the heartbreak still clear as day, Din couldn’t care.

Fett still stripped off his armor methodically, and didn’t speak. When he was down to a pair of skin-layers, he came up on the bed with a few more supplies. “You’re a biter,” he said, putting Din’s head in his lap. Din told himself he didn’t deserve to enjoy it, but from the first gentle touch of the damp cloth to the drying blood on his face, he melted.

“I don’t try to be,” Din said. A cut (bite) on his lip got some balm, and the bridge of his nose where it’d jammed against the fizzling beskar helmet.

A hand pet through his hair. He was sure it looked absolutely crazy, what with being electrocuted and the general insanity it already was. Din almost shook it off.

“Almost done, then you can rest.”

“Gotta find the kid,” Din said. “Can’t be caught off-guard like that again.” He tried to sit, but a firm hand at his neck, ready to pinch that bundle of nerves every Mandalorian knew about, made him freeze, and his breath with it.

“You are going to rest.” It was slowly-said and serious, and Din felt heady just from the order.

“But I failed.”

“We all failed. You’re just the one who had to pay for it. Jat’ika,” Fett said, and Din shivered. “Let me take care of you.”

Din turned his face, pressing it into Fett’s thigh again. Would be he able to relax? Allow this distraction? No, what was it Fett had called it?

A solution.

“Just til I’m better?”

“We’ll cross that bridge later.”

It was still a very long time before Din spoke, though Fett knew every moment was spent turning over the thoughts in his head like it was an old stone on a riverbank. Over and over, finding the best angle out of all the others.

“Okay,” Din whispered. “Okay, daddy.” Those fingers surged back into his hair, and may as well have been digging into his heart and soul. Din whimpered, and tried to relax his body some. “What do you want me to do?”

Fett stilled a little, thinking. They couldn’t get up to much physical activity, unfortunately, but Fett knew if he played his cards right, his boy wouldn’t be so wound up by the time he recovered. Maybe he’d be wound up in a different way.

And then they’d have some real fun.

“I don’t want you to leave this room. Better yet, this bed. If you need something you ask. If you want something you ask. Are you cold?” It had been raining on the Lothal moon.

Din almost shook his head no, but reconsidered, focusing on his body instead of his failures and shame. He was cold.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you come up here with me, then. I can warm you up better than a blanket can.” Fett helped him into the position he wanted, curled on his side and facing Fett. He was right, of course. The warmth bled into his bones almost instantly, one of Fett’s hands stroking up and down his back while the other stayed in his hair. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Din breathed. This close, he could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest. “Yes, daddy.”

Fett gave an amused huff and leaned down, pressing a kiss to Din’s forehead. At the sharp inhale he gave, Fett would have assumed he had touched on a wound Din hadn’t disclosed, but the arch in his spine and the rapid pulse against his thumb told Fett all he needed to know.

“You like when daddy gives you kisses?” Fett asked, voice dropping low.

Din’s wide eyes met his from below, full of emotion and curiosity. He gave a small nod.

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

A blush. A shake of the head.

“Do you want to be kissed? You have quite the pretty mouth for it.”

A deeper blush. Din hid in the crook of Fett’s neck for a bit while he continued to stroke his back.

Then, a voice.

“Yes, please.”

Fett wasted no time, moving his head out from his hiding spot and kissing from his forehead to his temples to his cheeks, to the tip of his nose, which made Din actually giggle and grin a bit. It was a beautiful sound, and a beautiful smile, two things Fett didn’t think he could go another second without indulging.

The kiss was soft and not as deep as Fett would have liked, but it made Din whimper into his mouth all the same, soft and hungry for more. Fett kept kissing him, over and over until he got the hang of it. We’re they standing, Din would have swooned, knees buckled like a newborn foal.

“There we are,” Fett said, pulling away with reluctance. Din was kind of wrecked, honestly. Fett’s hands had done a number on his hair, and he must have been extremely thorough in his job, because Din’s lips were swollen into a beautiful pout. “Did you like that, jat’ika?”

Din’s eyes fluttered shut at the name. Fett already knew how much Din liked it, but there was something else to be said about the little thrill he got when Din said, “Yes, daddy, I did.”

No, Din wasn’t going to leave this bed for awhile yet.

Read on AO3. | Part 5

#moon and old stars #my writing #star wars fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #the mandalorian fanfiction

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butterfly-winx · 4 years ago

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Zenith

- Do you know about Zenith? No? I mean you own a computer so you must. I hear the whole planet is covered in one large city.

- Zenith lives up to its name, as it is regarded to be the home to the height technological development in the Magic Universe. It houses the more universities, research institutes and engineering testing fields on its tiny surface than Magics and Earth combined.

- Though it is true that the planetoid is covered with a seemingly uniform cityscape, there are patches of untended ground peeking through, mainly the polar seas. Antitheva and Bitheva may only classify as large lakes elsewhere, but they are perfectly fit for a small planet of Zenith’s size. They even help populations of merfolk at some point in time.

- The overwhelming amount of construction covering the planet’s surface has long become its vice. With no reflective surfaces left and with machinery forced to operate day and night to fuel the latest technological advancements, the whole planet has become a singular heat trap. The seas were boiling and the air was unbreathably hot. What got research going however was the failing performance of their heavy duty machinery, screws sweating and bending out of shape, lasers blinking tired and unfocused. They devised a plan to cool down the surface of the planet by releasing agents to shield them from the thermal effects of solar rays, and achieved the impossible. Zenith’s climate has since then settled on a comfortable average of 250 K.

- The seas froze over and the merpeople disappeared - or maybe they did already during the boiling phase, out of their luck living off already dead fish. Urban development was given final approval and the last patches of earth disappeared from sight, buried under the striving for more.

- Despite its aforementioned properties, Zenith is no monolith and it would be amiss to describe it as such. Zeniths countries and cultures are diverse, only connected by their burning need for advancement and their fight against the cold. They have a spectrum of governance forms in the different countries ranging from democracy, constitutional monarchy to representative republic and in some cases even direct democracy of people.

- As cities cover all of the planet, it is difficult to determine where individual settlements in a country begin and end. Country borders are the only demarcations, each government shielding itself with force fields, trenches or physical walls from imagined spies and malevolence.

- Techna’s home of Haikar is in a country that still tries to honour the memory of the separate settlements that have melded together. So Haikar is not a separate town as much as it is just a borough with its own town governance, and is considered to be the capital of Transjordan.

- Other Zenith country names with capitals where applicable: Tribilisi (Kandu), Gorgan, Nuzul (Xihat), Tbaku, Navyol, Urzghar

- Most of these countries don’t get along with each other too well. As is understandable, seeing as they are very culturally diverse. Each wants to be the best though and their most bitterly fought battles are usually over patent rights and the tenure of well-respected scientists. As banal as these reasons seem, as brutal are their methods of mutual sabotage to keep the leading edge.

- Transjordan unfortunately is quite small and has many neighbours, so their paranoia and battle readiness is markedly large even on planet. Growing up, Techna went through disaster and terror awareness training regularly, to the point where they could probably recite what to do in case you found a car bomb better than they could explain a simple recipe.

- Oh and are recipes important! As clean edged people think the inhabitants of Transjordan are, there is nothing minimalist about their food choices. They love combining spices and textures and always serve feasts with generosity rivalling Eraklyon’s. Deserts usually have some sort of fruits, nuts AND some preserve in them, the combinations endless.

- While it is true that for the most part, cultures on Zenith value a simple approach to things. If it can be done in a few words, why waste a sentence on it? Bureaucracy is usually a two-click-formula affair, their whole lives are condensed on a sigle digital display ID, shopping comes to you at home. Hell even marriages are just an affair of simple form signing.

- But food is where they really go full ham. It is not seen as frivolous to waste 10 eggs on a cake, because what you are doing creating nutrition and enjoyment. It is simply reasonable and efficient to go to the max when you do that and create an absolute delicacy you can gorge yourself on in one slice or less.

- So if they are so into feasting and enjoying things with purpose, what gives Zenithians such a bad name? Well, it is just that. People of Transjordan for example, like to enjoy things with purpose. They don’t really care much for music or theatre, they are just activities to air your brain out. They will import off-world made products, but there isn’t a lot of room for cultural arts on Zenith because they channel their passion elsewhere.

- Yes you heard right, Zenithinas have passion galore. They just, in the Universe's most efficient move, channel that passion into the work they already do. The majority of scientific discoveries have been made because somebody cared enough to look deep into a topic and push further, because previous answers were unsatisfactory. Children are coached to find something that inspires this level of devotion in them and have extensive education and support networks to get them there.

- On the topic of children: most of them aren’t the genetic descendants of their parents, rather a random selection from the common gene pool. The public gene pool is a hotly debated topic, but a long established structure of procreation that only the very wealthy have the option to contest. (There is a way to gain approval to sire an own baby from just the genes of two people, but it is extremely costly.)

In some research some time ago it was determined that for the optimal survival of people on the planet, genetic relation to the parents raising the child was not only suboptimal, but actively detrimental to overall population survival. In this “more civilised” approach, parents apply for a baby who is conceived and birthed in bioreactors. This way no people who can conceive are put through undue stress and the public gene pool babies also carry less hereditary health conditions. It is supposedly a win-win situation, yet it leaves a sour taste in most people’s mouth. No wonder less and less Zenithians plan families if that is the process they have to do it by.

- As straightforward as they are, Zenithians often struggle when communicating with people from other planets and not only because of arising cultural differences. Sure any Zenithian would blush and pale when forced into a situation dealing with overly expressive Solarians, but in any other regular case, the Universal Translation Spell is not on their side either. Jordan is a very logical and to the point language and the floralitiy of other languages is impossible to be transferred to it. The UTS instead produces blocky, difficult to parse translations that often leave Techna confused to the intentions of others.

- It is of course evident that the main industry of the planet is electronics production and R&D. Companies on Zenith produce all manners of gadgets, but they are best in creating refrigeration technology (ironic, right?), astronomic instruments, self-propulsion transportation (vehicles) and medical diagnostic tools and applications. The associated application programming industry is also booming with server houses the size of smaller cities. It is no surprise that Zenith’s electricity consumption is through the roof with such a vital sector to support.

- Before their trade for electricity with Solaria, Zenithian people used static electricity discharges to harvest energy. Their planet being covered with one gigantic city didn’t leave much space for utilising the natural resources of their planet. All the mineral ore having been exhausted, no major flowing waters left and stranded with miserable and cold weather the options for energy sources were limited. What they had however was tall buildings and thunderstorms, so they used lightning harvesters for ages.

- With the storm and snow clouds obscuring the sky most days, Zenith is quite dark. The cities illuminate themselves, kind of like year round festive ornamentation.

- Spirituality is an interesting topic on planet that everyone you ask will have a different answer for. Major parts of Tribilisi and Urzghar for example believe in machine assisted immortality. They see machines as superior to biological matter and work towards the unfallability and omniscience of artificial intelligence in which part of their conscience will be able to rest after death. The predominant belief in Transjordan that Techna grew up with is that after death, there is nothing. Based on the theory of energy conservation, what one doesn’t use and convert into heat will be redistributed into the rest of the world. It is selfish to think one could hold on to any energy after death.

- Most people also don’t care for magic. Sure some magic users crop up among them here and there, but they most likely remain untrained. This is why Techna chose a school off planet to pursue their passion and why they weren’t claimed as a Guardian fairy of Zenith after they graduated. (Since this position doesn’t exist.)

- Almost all things on the planet are solved non-magically accordingly. Their transport systems are unparalleled with some regions using small-distance whole structure replication, aka honest to god matter teleportation. The frozen over seas are also fully utilised with air cushion containerships cruising the flat expanse. Along a certain longitude Zenith also sports a unique feature: the longitudinal crust train. A four meter wide segment of the planet, as if cut out of the surrounding cityscape, moves on straight rails around the whole circumference of the planet. It is the fastest mode of civilian transport available.

- They need all the good transportation and radio transmission they can get - by the way, the Universe Wide Web is also a Zenithian invention, who would have thought - as with their living space limited, Zenithian countries have spilled over onto nearby moons, essentially colonising and terraforming those.

- So, you see, Zenith and either of its countries aren’t by far as boring as one might think on the first glance and most of them certainly don’t shy back from showing emotion.

#winx club #winx club zenith #zenith #just to clarify: zenith is the planet transjordan the country and haikar the city techna is from #repost because tagging didn't work with the last one #the bonus points for finding which town names I derived the Zenithian countries from is still on #butterfly fic #worldbuilding

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cryxmercy · 4 years ago

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Backdraft || Mercy & Arthur

When: A couple of weeks before New Year’s Eve. Immediately following this. Where: Arthur’s office @ the University. Who: Mercy and @arthurjdrake

TW: one mention of preventing potential head trauma, but no actual head trauma; possible memory loss tw (for a few brief moments of confusion)

Sometimes the simplest solution is not the right one.

By the time Mercy had driven the distance from the house to the University, she’d managed to pull her scattered thoughts into some small semblance of order. She could still feel the unsettling pins and needles sensation across the skin of her arm, and her anxiety thrummed like a swarm of angry bees, but the former had at least faded a bit as she’d distanced herself from the cause. For now at least.

She didn’t linger too long in the parking lot, but also tried not to look hurried as she made her way towards Arthur’s office. As always, she entered without knocking, except this time she closed and locked the door before settling heavily into the chair opposite his desk. Mercy sat there, legs crossed, foot shaking up and down as she worried her lip with her teeth.

“How’s marking?” she asked after a bit, indicating the enormous pile of papers on his desk (and promptly avoiding the real reason for her visit). “Want some help?”

Arthur reclined in the aged leather chair a crisp winter breeze stirring some of the coursework papers stacked in piles upon his desk. His eyes tracked back and forth across each line of text as he read, still and quiet save for the lo-fi music drifting out of a bluetooth speaker on the shelf. Occasionally the stillness was broken with a reach for his fourth freshly brewed cup of coffee, a sip before its return to the ornate coffee mat off to one side of the desk.

The process was methodical, reading through the coursework before a second read through was taken with pen to paper marking addendums or eliminations of unnecessary or particularly insightful details. And then the tedious task of checking each citation list for formatting errors - the most boring part of the process admittedly.

It wasn’t surprising for Mercy to arrive unannounced and deposit herself in the chair opposite and Arthur didn’t look up initially though the click of the lock was different. A flicker of his eyes followed, a quick track from the door to Mercy and then back in a fraction of a second until he finished reading and set the paper aside. “Honestly I’m actually almost done with them,” it wasn’t entirely true but it was clear as day she was skirting around something. “I’m surprised you came down. I’m almost done for the day to be honest.”

Mercy wasn’t bothered when Arthur didn’t immediately look up from his marking. It wasn’t as if her presence was anything unusual at this point, even if her behavior was slightly out of the ordinary this time. His decline of her offer to help was acknowledged with a distracted hum instead of Mercy’s usual sarcasm or witty retort, and although the rest of what Arthur said wasn’t phrased as a question, they had known each other long enough to know when one was being asked.

This time it was Mercy’s gaze that flickered towards Arthur before sliding over the papers on his desk, and then to the other neatly stacked piles of letters and correspondence that sat here and there. She even glanced towards the rubbish bin, but there was nothing that caught her eye. Best get on with it then.

“A letter came for me today.” At first, it sounded like nothing unusual. Everyone received letters in the mail on occasion. It was the addendum to that statement that made all the difference.

“A Black Letter.”

Arthur knew it was simply a matter of time, he didn’t need to probe or ask to know that eventually an answer to why she was here would present itself. He waited, giving her time to process and search for the words she wanted to put together, and as expected it came not much later. A letter. Not all that strange but he was sure there would be something that set this mail apart.

The scratch of his fountain pen stilled with the further clarification; a dark blot staining the paper as the ink bled out his hesitation. The stark proof of his conflicted thoughts and feelings towards this revelation laid bare.

Firstly: relief over the simple fact he hadn’t received such a notification himself. Wasn’t apparently still bound to a contract he too had signed and agreed to.

Secondly: ire that Mercy was still beholden to a contract signed such a long period of time ago which was somehow being seen as something she was beholden to act upon. It was nonsensical and illogical and made his blood steam in his veins.

The ink continued to run for several long moments before Arthur finally retracted the pen and set it aside, cracking his knuckles individually as he finally looked at Mercy across the desk. “What do they want?”

A small furrow appeared in Mercy’s brow as she watched the ink blot spread across the paper. Further proof that Arthur hadn’t received a letter of his own. If he had, he would have already been aware of the fact. So she knew he had to be relieved. Why wouldn’t he be? He was a different person now, wasn’t he? The man that had signed that contract so many years ago now had long since died and been reborn. Many times over.

Unlike Mercy. Who was as she’d always been. And always would be.

But even so… surely there was a statute of limitations on such a thing? Surely she wasn’t beholden to a contract signed nearly half a millennium ago. Surely there was some mistake.

The ache in her arm told her otherwise.

So Mercy waited as Arthur absorbed the information. All the while, a voice in her head whispered ‘See? It doesn’t matter what you do… or who you try to be… how you try to live… you will never find peace… you will never be free…’

Fingers pressed against her temple as she forced the voice into silence. As she did, Arthur asked his question, to which Mercy could only shake her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t touch it yet.” Her hand flexed. “I thought you might’ve-” But she stopped short, letting out a sharp huff of air. Mercy set her jaw, her next words coming far steadier than she herself felt. “But I don’t suppose you would’ve. That’s good. That’s-” She nodded once, flexed her hand again. “- good.” And it was. She wouldn’t wish this on Arthur. Not ever.

A bit of silence followed, until finally Mercy seemed to deflate.

“I don’t want to read it. I don’t… want anything to do with it.” She looked up at him finally, her eyes full of shadows. “I’m tired, Ren. I’m just… so fucking tired…”

Absentmindedly Arthur started to lightly pull at the sleeve of his jumper, worrying the fabric in thought now that his pen was out of his hand. It was an old habit, one that seemed to transcend lifetimes. To fiddle with any one of the many little knick knacks scattered across his desk and failing that stretch the sleeves of his jumpers into paws when his brain started to work overtime.

His eyes fixed on the letter, wondering just what the contents might pertain to. What they would want after all this time. Surely their contracts were done. Null and void to the dusts of time. But apparently not. How many more times would this happen across their lives? Something from centuries past cropping up to haunt them with living nightmares. “No it isn’t,” the words came out sharper than intended and a scowl marred his expression “no it isn’t good. This” he punctuated jabbing a finger at the letter “isn’t fair.”

The silence that followed was deafening and Arthur’s scowl only deepened the more he looked at the letter.

“Then we burn it. We get rid of it. No letter no message.” It wasn’t that simple. It never was, but he had to suggest it at least.

Mercy’s eyes drifted to Arthur’s hands, watching the familiar habit with a mixture of fondness and worry. Her thoughts moved in the same vein as his: how many more times would their past come back to haunt them? How many years - how many lifetimes - would they have to live before they were allowed to simply… be? Obviously 400 years didn’t mean that particular quota.

It wasn’t until Arthur spoke that Mercy looked up again. Her frown deepened, and for just a moment she wanted to explain that she’d meant it was good that he hadn’t received a letter as well. But Mercy knew Arthur was perfectly aware of what she’d meant. So his anger wasn’t surprising. Part of Mercy was even glad for it… needed it even. But only because it solidified what she already knew: that they would find a way through this. Together.

“No. It’s not.” Mercy’s scowl grew to nearly match Arthur’s as she watched him stare at the letter.

The suggestion of simply burning the damn thing gave Mercy pause. Had they tried that before? Gods it had been so long ago… But the letter was still sealed. So whatever ‘contract’ lay inside was still inactive. Perhaps with enough of the right sort of fire, they could be shot of it.

“It’s worth a try,” Mercy said. Though it was never that simple, was it? “We should go home. The firepit on the back porch should work fine.” Mercy stood, knowing Arthur would never be able to concentrate on his marking now, and feeling a wash of guilt - and the stirring of old fears - that couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry, Ren, I- I thought this was behind me. Behind us.”

There was something to be said about his tactile nature, a need to always have something on his person to keep his hands occupied and distracted. On the occasions he didn’t have any such object or item to fiddle or fidget, his fingers often sought out other alternatives. Such as his jumper, though it was typically the rotating dial on his iron plated watch. Today in his distraction though the cotton stretched over his fingers as he proceeded to rub his scruff lined chin idly with his thumb. “No,” he agreed, echoing her own words in his contemplation of the scenario, “no it’s not.”

He released the sleeves with a final huff and leaned forwards, snagging the letter and bringing it up to study intensely while Mercy answered. Why couldn’t they burn it? Surely that would be enough. If the letter wasn’t opened. If it simply… ceased to be. Perhaps it would buy them time to figure out what they needed to do in the interim. “Don’t be sorry,” his eyes flickered up from the intense stare he was currently directing towards the letter, the intensity of his expression easing into something softer. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Without another word his attention returned once again to the thick folded parchment, the wax seal pressed in to hold it shut and the intensity of his focus narrowed to a pinpoint. He imagined each particle of the paper vibrating at an infinite frequency beyond what the eye could see, gradually building in frequency. He thought of the countless firesides the two of them had sat beside, sometimes in jovial jest and others in sorrowful grief, the warmth of drink in their cups and laughter in the air. But each fire began with a spark and he willed that spark to ignite here. To burn the very paper in his hands.

What Arthur failed to notice was the creeping drop in temperature, the heat being drawn forth and consumed, much as stars are crushed in the void of space. Infinite and precise, but where typically a flame would spark, curling the edges of the paper into a burning cinder his brow furrowed.

Nothing.

No spark.

Absolutely nothing.

There were few things in the world that could unsettle Mercy quite so abruptly as a Black Letter. Once, it had been a means to an end. A way to serve a purpose. A way to put her unique ‘talents’ to good use. Or so she’d thought. So they’d both thought. Arthur had been there too, right alongside her. Looking for something to help make sense out of so many lifetimes come and gone. And they had done good things back then, thievery and subterfuge aside. They had saved lives in keeping what wasn’t meant for humans out of their hands. But the altruism had eventually turned to something else. Something greedy and wicked that she and Arthur had been bound to regardless of their personal feelings.

But they had fulfilled their contracts centuries ago. The agency was long disbanded, and the other creatures they’d worked with were long dead, barring perhaps a scant few that had been fae or undead. It simply made no sense.

Mercy was silent again as Arthur picked up the letter. She tensed, expecting something to happen, but the letter remained quiet. Only when his gaze softened as he turned it towards her did some of that tension ease. Her expression followed suit, softening the tightness around her eyes, but she remained standing once their decision had been made.

She’d seen Arthur do this thousands of times, and it still never ceased to amaze her. Yet in the countless lifetimes they’d spent together, Mercy had never seen him call forth the flames… and fail. Until today. The thought rested on her tongue that perhaps the letter simply couldn’t be burned. That perhaps whoever was sending it knew Arthur was with her and that he would try to destroy the letter. Perhaps it was simply charmed against phoenix fire.

But Mercy never got the chance.

The air she sucked into her lungs burned. Not with fire, but with ice. Mercy frowned deeply at the sensation, but it was so sudden and so frigid that it set off a violent coughing spell that left Mercy gasping for air - both hands braced against Arthur’s desk - before her healing factor kicked in. “Arthur, what -” She coughed again, and her breath rose in a white cloud as the temperature continued to drop. “- what’s happening?”

It was sudden and without warning that the snap-frost hit; sucking the very essence of warmth from the room and layering the windows in a thin striated pattern of ice crystals. It was a blast of energy, too much for his body to cope with and where typically he might’ve been able to absorb it at present it was too much. The overload caused a wrack of shivers to shudder through his frame where he sat his senses fried from the force of sudden adjustment.

The soft flutter of paper falling through the air broke the silence, brushing the wooden floor and vanishing under the desk forgotten for the moment and rather unimportant by most accounts in the moment. These strange bouts of power fluctuations had been growing increasingly more sporadic, first around the house but now any attempt to summon a flame practically short-circuited him for several hours at a time leaving him weak and so very cold.

He shuddered unable to support himself even sitting as he was and half slipped out of the chair, a rag-doll without a spine. Dark eyes slipped shut, eyelashes fluttering in sync with the chatter of his teeth and the rattle of his fingers “I- I-” but nothing more came, dissolving in a short cloud of cold breath.

The sluggish attempt of his supernatural constitution did little to help while attempting to pull himself back into the chair, trying to kickstart an engine that had presently flooded itself. All Arthur could groan, in a deep, grating rasp is “fuck.”

The black letter was all but forgotten as Mercy watched Arthur start to crumple under the magical blowback of whatever had just gone horribly wrong. Her own breath still rose in a white cloud, but her supernatural healing factor was quickly pushing back at the cold. The same should have happened to Arthur, faster than Mercy honestly, but to her horror, it didn’t.

“Arthur- Woah! Hey…” She bolted around the desk, trying to catch him before he could crack his skull open. He was trembling so badly that for a moment Mercy thought he was having a seizure. “Sshhh, it’s alright… don’t try to talk...” Then his eyes started to close. “No… no, hey. Ren… Hey! Stay awake…” she said, taking his face in her hands. Gods above, but he was so cold. “Just… don’t move, okay? I’ve got you.”

She held him close, trying to warm him as best she could until whatever the hell this was passed. She tucked his arms beneath her jacket and sweater as best as she could manage with Arthur barely able to help. Then she pressed her palms to the sides of Arthur’s neck, over the great arteries that pulsed just beneath his half-frozen skin, in an attempt to keep the blood flowing to his head warm. She was shivering a bit herself, but she was still far warmer than Arthur. Though for how long?

Having spent the majority of her 1200 years with Arthur, Mercy knew how to care for all manner of things that had afflicted him over the years. But this was a first. So Mercy was at a loss. Other than trying to keep him warm. She would have to call for help if this didn’t let up. But the list of people she trusted was short. It contained two, maybe three people. Thank the gods she’d locked the door earlier. The last thing they needed was someone walking in right now. Arthur groaned, and Mercy rubbed a hand down his back.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked gently, hoping to keep him focused on staying awake if nothing else.

As a general rule of thumb, Arthur prided himself on his resilience. The ability to withstand bad things when they happened; riding them out until they reached the other side or at least long enough until a semblance of light shone through. Right now there was naught save the bone-deep chill that had shot through his body in an instant. One moment he could recall being sat at the desk and the next he’d felt so tired and then there was a voice. Familiar yet distant.

The hands felt like searing points of heat against his skin; which itself was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Too hot. It was too hot and frantically he attempted to push her hands away, writhing and fighting between tremors of his muscles.

Arthur could swear the room was closing in on him, the walls growing increasingly confined and constricting. Or maybe that was just his airway, it was hard to tell in the mounting panic that was sinking into his current state of consciousness. The air rushing in and out, faster and faster until his head began to spin, every frantic blink causing the room to shift first to an office, then a library, a bar and eventually a dark cell. The sudden shock to his system had him scrambling, reaching for whatever was nearest (Frey’s arm if he had any recollection or understanding in his panic).

Each breath felt more laboured than the last, struggling to fill his lungs as he clawed and gasped. Please. Please. Oh Gods make it stop.

Mercy didn’t understand. She didn’t understand any of it. Other than it was all wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Only the scar on her hand throbbed and flared as it always did when Arthur was in distress, though the fact brought little comfort.

She didn’t know her touch was hurting him, and could only assume that in his bleariness he was confused and frightened as he seemed to fight against her hold. But then as suddenly as he’d been trying to push her away, something shifted, and he was grasping for purchase instead. His clawing, scrambling hands seeking anything to hold onto, anything that would hold him steady as the world spun out of control and he started to panic. Sucking in lungfuls of air that would never be enough to satiate his shell-shocked body’s desperate need for oxygen.

“Breathe, Aren…” Mercy said, holding onto him as best she could without making anything worse. “Breathe for me…” She clasped his hands and pressed them to her chest as she spoke, hoping the deliberately slow rise and fall of her breathing would help him slow his own. “Breathe in…” Inhale. “Breathe out…” Exhale. Mercy would’ve used her power to try and influence his psychological state, but her Fury magic had never affected him. So she didn’t waste her energy. “Breathe in… breathe out… I’ve got you… you’re safe…” Mercy would repeat the mantra as long as she needed to. As long as it took to bring him back to right.

The panic was instantaneous as shock began to set in, bewilderment at his own sheer inability to control himself. The room dropped several more degrees as Arthur’s body shuddered. He was left gasping to try and draw in much needed air while utterly unable to stabilise its core temperature that was steadily beginning to creep higher and higher steam rising in the cold air of the room before it would plummet just as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “W-What’s g-going on?”

In an instant he was plunged into the memories of a similar time of panic, an alternate dreamscape, a different time - in aid of a friend that had ultimately been for naught. For that friend was long since gone. Yet it was a time that he’d felt water for the very first time without pain, only to realise his inability to swim and almost drowned in the process.

So he clawed and grasped at the only anchor that existed in the moment, the only anchor that had ever existed across all of time until with time his mind began to quieten once more and the white noise began to fade into the rhythmic instructions of a familiar voice.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe.

Several more minutes passed until the room gradually warmed, Arthur’s breathing growing calmer until he could turn his face into her arm. Another full minute came and went before he was wracked with another bout of shivers before weakly attempting to push himself back into a sitting position. “What happened?”

Mercy opened her mouth to tell him… something… anything… that might explain what was happening. But the truth was, Mercy had no idea. As long as they’d known one another, something like this had never happened. Was it the letter? Had trying to burn it caused some… critical disruption of Arthur’s magic? But no… there had been episodes of his powers malfunctioning - for lack of a better term - for a bit now. Whatever it was, it couldn’t continue indefinitely. Mercy’s breath shuddered as the temperature dropped again, but she ignored it. She would be alright, despite the way the cold made the few scars she had ache miserably. As for his question… “We’ll figure it out, I promise… but right now you have to try and breathe, okay?”

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours until Arthur finally seemed to stabilize. When he was breathing normally again - or as close as he was likely to get at the moment - Mercy fell quiet. She stayed by his side, gently stroking his hair and then pressing a hand to his forehead to check his temperature when he shivered. When he tried to sit up, she gave him a bit of space, but kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Again, came his question. This time, Mercy was honest. “I don’t know. You tried to burn the letter, and then...” She frowned, but eventually relayed the short version of what had happened.

“How d’you feel?” she asked, though it was clear he did not feel great. Not one bit. “Does anything hurt?”

Arthur blinked slowly, his head throbbing with each breath he took to fill his lungs and he rolled his tongue across his teeth, the parchment dry space of his mouth an uncomfortable sensation as he listened to Mercy talk. He wanted a drink and yet the very thought of having anything made him feel like his stomach would turn over on itself. There was little else he could do but sit and try to do as instructed.

“No,” he answered the question after a few moments of silence, his voice cracking when he chose to speak and he had to close his eyes for a moment to fight against the wave of sudden nausea that overcame him. “I-” he shivered again pulling his jacket tighter around his body “cold and sick.” Certainly not fit to stay here, eventually he opened his eyes looking tiredly at Freyja. “can we go home, please?”

Mercy frowned, unable to keep the concern from her expression. That nothing pained him was a small blessing at least. But the fact did nothing for the tight knot of fear that twisted in her gut. Or the helplessness she felt as Arthur shivered, his normally heated skin terrifyingly cold and pale. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him sick or hurt, but this was different. “Of course…” She took off her scarf and tucked it gently around his neck. “Of course we can go home.”

As she buttoned his jacket so it wouldn’t slip loose, Mercy refused to think about what might happen if he had another episode like this. Or gods forbid… one that was worse. Instead, she turned all her attention to the here and now. To taking Arthur home and making him better. Everything else - the letter, Arthur’s marking, and the growing ache in Mercy’s arm - could wait.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #p: arthur #p: backdraft

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years ago

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14 | Ritual

Written for Kidgetober 2020. Week 2 Theme: Myths & Magic. Day 14: Ritual.

Summary: Alternate Universe - Magic. All Pidge wanted to know was who her soulmate was. And if all of her attempts at using divination to find out were not going to work for her, then she'd just have to develop her own ritual for it. Nothing could go wrong with that, right?

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune. Titled as “Magic of the Season”.

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14 | Ritual

The Castle of Lions was the premiere magical institute of Altea and notoriously difficult to be accepted into even for the best and brightest. They only accepted a maximum of five students per year and Pidge was blessed to count herself among the four chosen in the first year she applied. It meant there was plenty of individual training and enough room for everyone to have their own space to practice and study their chosen Craft.

Pidge loved her room. It was a circular space located at the top of the western tower and came equipped with a bathroom that she was rapidly coming to appreciate. Three windows allowed light to filter in whenever she pulled back her heavy curtains and there was a door that opened onto a tiny balcony that was perfect for stargazing.

Most important, it was her space and she could do whatever she wished without worrying about being interrupted.

She was especially grateful for that as she prepared for her newest ritual, one designed to allow her to divine the identity of her soulmate. It was a concept that fascinated her from the first time it was mentioned by High Priestess Melenor, but also one that felt completely out of reach for Pidge because of one very big reason.

She was awful at all forms of divination.

And from all of her studies, the tried and true method of ascertaining the identity of one's soulmate was through some form of that magical art. There was simply no other way.

Pidge threw herself into the process, taking the time to break down all of the steps and test out a few different ways. She'd gone through a full month of mediation and attempting Astral travel, but found it nearly impossible to quiet her mind long enough to achieve that goal.

When it became clear that meditating wasn't the right path for her, she moved onto the various forms of scrying, starting with the classic crystal ball. And although she tried it with several different types of crystal, she didn't find one that she “vibed” with enough for it to actually work and gave up on that path after two frustrating weeks. She spent another week with a shallow bowl of water and a quartz crystal cluster. And then a round mirror. And then a piece of hematite lit only by candlelight.

All of that brought her to the decision that the only way she would succeed in her goal would be if she crafted her own ritual. She'd had moderate success with Dream Magic in the past and hoped that it could be useful for what she intended.

Pidge took every step that she could think of the ensure the highest chance of success. Her room was already cleansed after her last ritual, so she began with a relaxing bath with purifying salts and herbs and remained there until her head felt clear and light, her magical energy brimming beneath the surface of her skin in anticipation.

She slipped on a simple cotton dress and clasped a band of hematite around her right ankle to help keep her grounded through the process. Next came a circlet crafted from silver, which had a sun-and-moon centerpiece made of sunstone and moonstone, locked by a small diamond on either side. It centered neatly over her brow.

She was ready.

Pidge gathered up the rest of her tools and began to arrange them in the center of the room, taking care with each item and focusing on her purpose. Using a piece of kunzite, she carved her chosen runes into the proper candles before setting them down around her. A stick of sandalwood incense was lit last and she stood with the kunzite in her hands and watched as the smoke curled up into the air.

She breathed in and then released that breath, feeling her magic rise in answer to her call, before turning to the north to begin the opening of her circle, calling in each elemental force to request their aid in her ritual as she lit each candle.

With energy swirling around her, Pidge slowly sat cross-legged in the center of the circle and closed her eyes. She held on tight to her intent, refusing to stray to any other thought.

She wanted to find her soulmate.

She wanted to know who they were and where she could find them.

The candlelight flared along with her magic as her spell took hold. Pidge could feel the heat of the flames. The thickness in the air. The scent of sandalwood, heavy around her.

It continued to build, higher and higher, until the next thing Pidge knew the soft early morning sun was shining in through the windows and all of her limbs were stiff and sore from apparently passing out on the floor.

Pidge groaned as she sat up, blearily looking around and taking note of the fully-melted candles and the stick of incense that was completely burned out. The kunzite was still in her hands, held onto so tightly that it left behind marks when she finally let it go.

As she examined the indents it left, she noticed something else unusual.

Encircling her right wrist was some kind of band of silver ink that was no more than a centimeter wide, comprised of intricate spirals that formed some sort of pattern, but not one that held any meaning as far as Pidge knew. She studied it for a moment, her tired brain working to try and make sense of it all, but a knock at the door interrupted her and she quickly jumped up.

“Just a minute!” she called out.

Pidge hesitated at the edge of the circle and then stepped back into the center. She took a moment to steady her breathing and then went through the steps to close the circle, taking the time to thank each of the elemental forces for their aid. Only then did she hurry around and prepare for the day.

Cleaning up would have to wait.

Another knock and the sound of her friend, Lance, calling for her had Pidge rolling her eyes at his impatience. She checked her reflection and took an extra minute to remove the circlet and place it back into its box before answering the door.

“You have got to learn some patience,” she said before Lance could open his mouth.

“Hey, I'm not the one running abnormally late,” he responded. “You didn't stay up all night reading again, did you? I don't know how you lose track of time doing that.”

“Some of us came here to actually learn and study.”

“Ouch. I'm wounded. My heart!” Lance placed one hand over his chest and dramatically swooned. “Your cruelty breaks my spirit! And after I brought you breakfast!”

Pidge's stomach growled when she caught side of the cloth-wrapped bundle in Lance's hands. “So should I profess my undying devotion to you now or do you want to wait until there are other people around?”

Lance laughed and handed over the food as they left the tower and headed towards their first lesson of the day with Alchemist Alfor. He chatted about whatever came to his mind while Pidge devoured the sandwich and made reaffirming noises so he knew she was still paying attention. She finished it as they passed under the arch marking the potions and alchemy wing of the castle and, coincidentally, came across the other two students of their year – all-around sweetheart Hunk Garrett and his more hot-tempered friend, Keith Hawkins, who also happened to be embroiled in an intense rivalry with Pidge.

The two pairs came to a dead stop beneath the archway.

Pidge was in no mood to deal with him so early in the morning and especially not after yet another failed attempt at divination spellcrafting, so she pretended as though he didn't exist as Hunk and Lance jumped into a lively conversation to try and lift the atmosphere around them.

“Anyway, there's a note on Alfor's door asking us to meet in the Four Seasons Courtyard for our lesson today. That's why we're on our way back through,” Hunk explained.

“Lucky for us that we ran into you!” Lance laughed as he slung an arm across Hunk's shoulders. “Do you think we're gathering ingredients for something? Or does he have another lecture on how our environment affects alchemic equations?”

Hunk shrugged. “Guess we'll find out once we get there.”

The two walked ahead, leaving Pidge and Keith to silently follow behind them. Pidge used every ounce of her willpower to keep her mouth shut and not look over at her rival, telling herself that it wouldn't be worth getting into an argument right before class.

It was when they arrived in the courtyard that everything went wrong.

Pidge tried to walk towards Lance to sit with him like she always did but was stopped by Keith grabbing her wrist and tugging her back towards him. She whirled on him, a snarl on her lips, only to be interrupted by his own furious remark -

“What the fuck? Let go of me, Holt!”

“I am not holding onto you! Why would I, Hawkins?” she snapped back.

In unison, they glared at their wrists, each seeking to prove that they were right, only to discover that they were both wrong. There was nothing there, though Pidge continued to feel pressure around her wrist as though there was something holding onto her.

“Is there a problem over here?” asked Alchemist Alfor as he approached.

Keith tried to yank his hand away from the invisible force but it only served to make Pidge stumble forward and throw a another glare in his direction.

“Alright, alright. Calm down,” Alfor said before either of them could start speaking again. He, like everyone else in the castle, was well aware of the animosity between the two of them. “I'm sure this is someone's idea of a prank and we can get it sorted out quickly. Lets take a look at what's going on, shall we?” He held his hand out over theirs and murmured a few words. Within seconds, a twisted braid of gold and silver appeared around their wrists, with a short chain connecting them.

Keith frowned. “What is that?”

“Fascinating... I've never seen anything like it,” Alfor admitted. “I would wager that the silver is related to some form of soul magic, but I'm unsure of what the gold represents. Melenor would be the best to ask about this sort of thing, unless either of you has an idea?”

Pidge's blood turned to ice in her veins.

Soul magic.

It couldn't be.

Not him!

“He is not my soulmate,” Pidge refused, unaware that she was speaking aloud.

Keith's eyes flashed with something Pidge couldn't define and he tensed his jaw before responding. “Who would ever want you to be their soulmate, Holt?”

Alfor must have called for backup while Pidge wasn't paying attention, because suddenly Battle Mage Shiro was there and was hurrying them to Melenor's office while Alfor stayed behind to teach Hunk and Lance the lesson he had planned for the day. It was there that Melenor confirmed her husbands thoughts that soul magic was involved, with the silver strand representing femininity while the gold represented masculinity – a perfect balance symbolizing the bond between them.

Pidge had no choice but the tell them about the ritual she performed and how it was designed to reveal her soulmate, and from there Melenor came up with a plan to help them.

“You will live together for one week. If you cannot learn to get along in that time, I will undue the spell tying you together. I want to make it clear that you will give this your best effort. Magic has bonded the two of you together for a reason and I should think that both of you would endeavor to learn why.”

So there they were, in the brand new set of rooms they were being allowed to borrow for one week while they lived together, unable to move more than a few feet apart. Neither of them spoke for the first hour, until Keith finally sat down and refused to budge, his violet eyes hard as he stared up at her.

“I don't understand what your problem with me is,” he said.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“I'm serious. From the very first day we met you've treated me like I'm the scum of the earth. What did I ever do to you?” Keith demanded.

Pidge opened her mouth to respond, but Keith wasn't finished.

“Imagine it's your first day in the most prestigious magical institute in the world and as you're leaving your first class you finally see your soulmate. And at first you think it's just another dream, like all of the others you've had since you were old enough to understand what a soulmate is, but when you try to talk to her it all turns into a nightmare.

“At first I thought you were just stressed, but that wasn't right, was it? Because you get along with everyone else in this school. Just not me. So what is it, Holt? What did I do to you that was so horrible that you need to turn every chance meeting into a confrontation?”

The hot flash of fury that Pidge felt when he first started talking dissipated the moment he spoke of his dreams. A heavy, cold weight settled in the pit of her stomach as her mind worked to comprehend what she was hearing. “You... you knew this whole time? Why didn't you ever say something?”

“What was the point? I knew it would only end in rejection. You proved me right about that earlier,” Keith responded. The heat was gone from his voice, replaced by a deep sorrow.

Pidge sat on the floor next to him and pulled her knees up against her chest, thinking back to her first week at the Castle of Lions. It had been a massive change from the rigorous structure and rules of the Galaxy Garrison where she previously studied and she remembered struggling to adapt to a new environment. It took her a moment to place when her first interaction with Keith, an event she blocked from her mind because it didn't seem worth remembering aside from it being the starting place of their rivalry. A rivalry she was starting to think was almost entirely one-sided.

She had volunteered to try and solve an alchemic equation Alfor presented to them and when she was finished, Keith was the first to speak up and offer a critique on her work. She remembered the flush of anger at being called out for making what, in hindsight, was a stupid mistake that spoiled the rest of her work, and then the embarrassment as two students of another year started sniggering to themselves over it. The fact that Keith completely snubbed her as they all left the classroom served to cement in her mind that he was challenging her intellect and from that day on she refused to show weakness.

She breathed out softly and pressed her forehead to the tops of her knees.

Had she really based their rivalry on a simple misunderstanding?

Had her time at the Galaxy Garrison really impaired her social skills that much? Lance was always joking about it, but maybe there was some truth to that.

The competitive atmosphere. The constant drive to do better and be the best. Maybe she carried that with her to the Castle of Lions and let it influence the way she interacted with her peers. She thought she was getting better at it with help from Lance and speaking with their instructors, but those first few weeks...

That first interaction with Keith, when he corrected her and then didn't say a word to her after that – so different from the Garrison, where rivalries were encouraged as a way to push one another to do better. That lack of acknowledgment for it made her feel as though he was looking down on her. Like she was unworthy of being considered an equal.

“Keith, I... I'm so sorry,” she murmured, unsure how to put all of her thoughts into the right words. “I don't know what else to say. All of this is my fault. Our fighting. This chain tying us together. I've never been great at divination and I've been trying for months to use it to find my soulmate – to find you – and after all of that I ended up making a spell and well... I guess Magic got tired of being ignored, so it found a way to make things more obvious for me. And here you've known all along! I can't imagine how that must have felt.”

She snapped her mouth shut and uttered another quick apology as she realized she had started rambling.

“I didn't mean what I said before,” Keith said after a moment of silence. “About how no one would want to be your soulmate? I didn't mean that.”

Pidge lifted her head from her knees. “I kind of deserved it. I've been awful to you.”

“And I was awful right back,” Keith responded, a sudden spark of passion to his voice as he twisted to look at her. “We've both said and done things that we regret. I'm not going to sit here and go over all of it when it'll only make us feel worse. Look, we're stuck together for at least a week, right?”

Pidge nodded.

“Then let's make the best of that time. By, uh, talking things through, I guess. I don't know how people normally do this sort of thing,” he admitted.

“Neither do I,” Pidge said with a grimace. “But we're smart. We can figure it out.”

Keith made a curious sound, but didn't voice whatever he was thinking. Instead, he stuck out his left hand to her – the one with the gold-and-silver chain clasped around his wrist. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Pidge agreed, grasping his left hand with her right.

The chain loosened ever-so-slightly between them.

#voltron #kidgetober #kidgetober 2020 #fanfiction #day 14: ritual #week 2: myths & magic #this one got a little long on me #testing out some ideas for an original work here

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galcreativgalaxies · 4 years ago

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Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: As of now, SCP-XXXX is in possession of Dr. Lynia "Stellar" ███████.

Description: SCP-XXXX, dubbed "Haunted Gauntlets" (or "Hauntlets" by Dr. Jack Bright), is a pair of pure black gauntlets with digital and mechanical-like patterns across them, stretched out too wide for any normal humanoid. However, when worn by a subject, the anomaly with force itself onto the subject's arms and hands, fitting itself perfectly onto them. After that has been done, it will enter a state of 'powering up' which is composed of unknown violet energy-like matter to flow through the patterns. The substance is to be called item XXXX-B, and the gauntlets themselves as SCP-XXXX-A.

The item was discovered in the early 2000's in an abandoned underground crypt, the structure in a state of collapsing. However, the gauntlets were found securely in a safe made of beryllium bronze.

Its anomalous properties allows whoever wore them to be able to throw some of the strongest punches with the strength of a million raging bulls, and hold up entire buildings with ease. It can stretch itself out to cover its host's entire body, and this was first observed with Test B. It can uncover the forearm parts of itself, revealing the subject's wrists. Under no circumstance has the anomaly been able to break or even acquire a scratch.

One of the item’s more scientific properties is that it takes energy from its host and converts it to an undiscovered plasma-like substance that is revealed to be the violet material that flows through the anomaly. The subject is then allowed to override the gauntlets with the matter (Item XXXX-B), letting them burn anything they touch and free the substance in a liquid-like form. The fuel that is needed to charge the anomaly is any source of caffeine (e.g. coffee, chocolate, tea). SCP-XXXX-B is highly acidic and corrosive (see Test A and Test B). It can melt through titanium in a large quantity, and can deal fourth-degree burns.

However, as useful as it might be, there is a downside: this anomaly will be stuck onto its subject for as long as their mortality. It is currently unknown if the item alters the subject's lifespan, as it was only recently discovered.

Currently, the subject mentioned is Dr. Stellar, and she has been allowed to keep the anomaly until a way to remove them from her is achieved.

Test A - November 15, 20██

> SCP-XXXX and SCP-682

> Procedure: Anomaly was to be tested with the extremities firsthand, as to find out its limits. Said extremities is SCP-682 "Hard to Destroy Reptile". At first, Dr. Stellar refused, yet soon agreed once mentioned that she can have an eight-minute meeting with SCP-053 "The Young Girl". She's hard and easy to please at the same time. -Dr. Bright

Footage shows that Dr. Stellar was capable of pushing SCP-682 back with full-strength, even damaging the mentioned anomaly’s left front limb. 682 grew enraged and tried to crush Dr. Stellar with its other foot, yet the researcher was able to intercept it. She looked visibly distressed, however she continued to push 682 back until it had been knocked to a wall by a strengthened push. The fight turned heated, with Dr. Stellar having many close calls with 682's jaws and feet. She was able to pull the other's right limb off, slamming her overcharged gauntlets onto its fleshy wounds.

> Results: SCP-682 has lost both of its front limbs, and it has had difficulty in regenerating them due to Item XXXX’s energetic properties. The plasma seemed to leak from its wounds, the leftover substance still glowing violet as it burned through its skin and bones. Dr. Stellar was removed from the cell safely as 682 rested. After the incident, Dr. Stellar requested "a whole load of coffee" as she felt "shit tired, I feel like I fought a fucking dinosaur with my bare hands, considering I did just that".

> Analysis: It seems as if SCP-XXXX-A's converted energy, now dubbed Item XXXX-B, has the ability to temporarily pause another anomaly's ability to regenerate. And even with 682's adaptability, it could not recreate the energy or create a countermeasure against it.

Test B - March 26, 20██

> SCP-XXXX and SCP-076-2

> Procedure: 076-2 "Able" had breached containment just as Dr. Stellar was about to leave the site of holding. Seeing as she was about to leave due to a failed experiment, the on-site personnel and site director had decided that this be the perfect opportunity to test Item XXXX-B's pause-regeneration abilities, and see if it has any more anomalous properties.

Everyone in the site was evacuated, save for a few staff who put up cameras and watched safely in the sidelines. SCP-076-2 emerged from SCP-076-1, soon growing confused at the lack of humans in the facility in a few minutes of roaming. Finally, it reached a large metal cell. Dr. Stellar stood at the middle of the room, back facing the anomaly, and 076-2 went into its "rage mode" as usual when perceiving a human being.

Able charged at her, its primary weapon of choice bared in its hand. It swung it at the researcher, aiming directly at her head. At the last second, Dr. Stellar turned around and caught the blade in her hands. This startled the other anomaly, yet it gave a crazed grin.

As the two continued their battle, many other things were observed in Dr. Stellar. She was extremely flexible, able to dodge the other's attacks and swings with ease. (This has been asked, and she has stated that she had taken gymnastics for ten years.) Able soon grew frustrated and tried to stab her in the chest, in which the gauntlets went on auto pilot and stretched themselves out to shield her chest using an unknown method. The black sword met the beryllium bronze metal, and the sound emitted was loud enough to nearly break the lenses of the cameras used to observe the interaction.

Dr. Stellar also grew angered, soon pushing her hands into Able's chest and head. The gauntlets glowed ominously violet and 076-2's aforementioned body parts burned and melted. Able was reported to be able to feel the pain even under its extremely high pain tolerance, as Dr. Stellar has mentioned it had "screamed bloody murder as his brains melted off".

> Results: 076-2 "died" and went back into 076-1, staying dead for approximately one year total. When it came out, it showed a grudging respect and fear for Dr. Stellar. This is the only known case where 076-2 shows any other emotion that isn't anger or vengeance.

> Analysis: Item XXXX-B proved to be useful in stopping SCP-682, and it has been useful in containing SCP-076-2 and making it feel true pain. However, Item XXXX-B cannot be extracted from the gauntlets unless it has been released by an attack. This was confirmed when the medical team tried to collect samples directly from Item XXXX-A. Although, they were able to collect XXXX-B from the battlefield. The matter is confirmed to be a pure type of undiscovered energy. SCP-XXXX-A also has the ability to stretch itself out to protect any vulnerable part of its subject's body.

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darwinforthewin · 4 years ago

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MODERN FIXATION

If you’re reading this, it’s too late. Your device has already taken you. It’s going to be up to you now how easy or hard it will be for you to fight the urge to stay on it. One thing is for sure, technology is inevitable. From the very moment you tried reading this, you were already enjoying the benefits of technology. You used technology to do something that you wanted. Besides, you wouldn’t even be reading this without technology. Everywhere you go, whatever you do, there is technology. Technology has already become an essential part of our everyday lives and whether you like it or not, social media is a huge part of it.

Now, social media is vitally useful in various ways. In fact, this is what helps us survive nowadays. Looking for jobs, finding solutions, deciding on what to eat, searching for a place to live, and most especially, getting connected with the people we know. Social media satisfies the needs of humans of having the desire of being part of something big. As a result of this, social media specifically produces identity that is akin to mob mentality allowing humans to be hyper-connected and unable to spend their time with real family and friends. (Koo, 2015).

For students like me, social media is a must. There is no way you can efficiently accomplish a group task without using social media. Students of today were raised in an increasingly media-rich environment. (Perse & Lambe, 2017). It is inevitable for them to use any form of media for communication, connection, research, and many more. However, this could lead students to the overuse of media for it will inevitably be part of their everyday needs. Social media users specifically Facebook users tend to admit their excessive normal, usual, or planned amounts of time online. (Koo, 2015) Certainly, social media users like me are unable to take control of their online activity; hence, leading them to have negative academic, professional, and social consequences.

Since technology plays an important role to me as a student, and to me as an individual, it is without a doubt that I need it every single day. With this, I can pretty much relate myself to the portrayals of young people using social media in the documentary The Social Dilemma. Even if it is not for the purpose of education, I still spend most of my time on my phone, if not, have my phone by my side, at all times of the day. This is because certain gadgets nowadays are most effectively and conveniently used for entertainment, communication, security, and most especially, for an emergency. Despite this, I grew up and was raised with the discipline to put limitations in everything. It has been part of the house rules that when we eat or when we spend time with family, we do not use our phones unless it is of great urgency and importance.

The documentary The Social Dilemma reveals an essential portion of what you need to know inside the digital space. You may not have known yet but technology is getting way bigger and more advanced than you could have ever imagined. Everything you see on social media, what you’re seeing now, what you’re reading, what you’re looking at – all these are just tiny fragments of what the internet actually is. The Social Dilemma presents you with the adverse effects of technology and how it can actually be used as a system of manipulation that leads people into believing something that is not true. Because of the freedom that we can access in social media, businesses and politicians tend to overexploit the platform which, in effect, they use to create false publicities and deceptive propaganda that results in an overall sense of illusion for the vulnerable users of social media. After all, social media itself is a form of business.

With the power of technology, I believe businessmen and politicians will continue to use it in the same way they are using it now. This is because technology has no limitations. As businesses, social media platforms earn through the running of advertisements. The only way they can grow their business further is to improve their method of revenue which is what they are doing now: use of cookies and personalization of advertisements. Anyhow, businesses need people and people need businesses. What makes the market mutually efficient for both parties is through the use of social media. As was mentioned in the documentary, people are the products of social media and that is how it really works. The time you spend on social media. which is the time you spend for your personal benefit, equates to earnings for the platform. Businesses will continue to advertise, whether it is for manipulation or promotion, because from the very nature of it that is how it works; this is explained by a common economic principle that nothing really is for free.

As for politicians, the spread of fake news and cyber propaganda is prevalent. However, I believe that it will not be as prevalent as what it is now in the future. This is because social media nowadays, especially Facebook, have developed a capability to detect news or articles that portray false news, misinformation, and any suspicious posts and activities. Facebook created Temporal Interaction EmbeddingS research (TIES) as an effort to improve its detection of fake accounts and misinformation and the enforcement regulations. This has enabled the company to eliminate more than 135 million fake accounts in April 2020. This may not have completely removed all existing fake news due to diverse engagement, but this serves as a stepping stone for Facebook and other social media platforms to build a system of rectification on the issue of information fallacies across the internet (Hutchinson, 2020). Therefore, yes, the politicians will still try to take advantage of technology in the future because they have the freedom to do so, but the movement has already begun for it to battle upon in this respect.

In the end, it may be beneficial for us to use technologies in our everyday lives but it is still part of our responsibilities to put certain limitations to it. Additionally, it is part of our due diligence to verify the information we encounter in the digital space. When you buy a certain product in the mall, you check whether it is fake or original before purchasing. This goes the same when you encounter articles, news, or any information on social media. You always have to verify the information before buying into it. This action must always be kept in mind when you browse the internet. Failure to do so can lead to detrimental repercussions that influence you and your decisions on life matters. Businesses and politicians will always try to play tricks on us but the only way we can push back against unethical practices of using social media is through our actions ourselves. Engaging our critical thinking skills and educating people about social media literacy are our best tools to defend ourselves from modern harm.

There are certain lines from the film that give a powerful impact. One of these lines is “If you’re not paying for the product, then you’re the product.” This statement is indeed agreeable. Like I said in the previous paragraphs, nothing is for free. Everything has an opportunity cost and trade-off which is an economic principle. Even when you say you have free lunch available at the canteen, falling in line to get it is the cost of it. This is why if you are not paying for a product, then you should already expect that something from you is taken in exchange. Another line from the film states that “There are only two industries that call their customers 'users': illegal drugs and software." To me, this can be associated with the same effect that comes with both industries: addiction. Both drugs and software impart chemicals that trigger the release of dopamine or our happy hormones from our brain. When we use drugs, our neurotransmitters from our brains detect a sense of pleasurable experience in which it changes the behavior of our brain in a way it increases the odds of us repeating the activity again and again; thus, it goes the same with our usage of the software.

There is another line from the film that I find to be agreeing with. It was the line that says “Social media is a marketplace that trades exclusively in human futures." This is evident from the many circumstances the film presented. The one reason why social media knows exactly how to keep you engaged on the platform is that they analyze your behavior pattern. And when they know the kind of behavior you have; they move on to advance their trading scheme. They sell your personal data and give them to large companies which is why there exist personalized advertisements as you scroll through your media feed. The last line from the film that hooked me is the statement: "The very meaning of culture is manipulation." Since our culture is filled with social media and the internet, it can be deduced that everything can now be tracked and monitored. People can now easily manipulate you into liking something or into having different sets of views, may this be in business or politics. As long as social media exist, so does manipulation. Our culture has become associated with the use of technology. It now depends on how we perceive information online that guides our beliefs and that what makes us who we are.

Personal SWOT Analysis Worksheet

Illustrated above is my personal SWOT Analysis. I would say that the political, economic, and social factors are crucial to my growth. Because of these factors, I can determine steps that I can take to maintain my sanity and to improve on what I am lacking. The technological factors play a significant influence on the political, economic, and social factors found in both of my opportunities and strengths. This is because technology boosts everything around you, most especially in a time of a pandemic. Although I cannot go out because of COVID-19, technology allows me to stay connected with my friends and keep myself updated with the nation’s news. Because of technology, distance learning has been integrated into educational institutions to continue the delivery of education to all students like me. However, technology also contributes to factors under threats. Technological factors reduce personal interaction and increase the odds of people getting influenced by fake news considering that people, nowadays, turn to social media to obtain news.

With all the aforementioned circumstances, I would say that there are similarities and differences between my personal assessment and what the documentary, The Social Dilemma, says about the influence of technology on our lives. In a similar aspect, both my assessment and the documentary have presented significant improvements in daily lives with technology such as communication, research, broadcasting, data exploration, labor, and many more especially in a time of difficulty. On the contrary, both my assessment and the documentary presented adverse effects of technology specifically on our mental health and decision-making. This just goes to prove that technology is not always what it seems.

References:

Hutchinson, A. (2020, August 26). Facebook Outlines New System for Detecting Fake Accounts and Misinformation Based on Interactions. https://www.socialmediatoday.com/news/facebook-outlines-new-system-for-detecting-fake-accounts-and-misinformation/584228/.

Perse, E. M., & Lambe, J. (2017). Media effects and society. London: Routledge.

Koo, G. S. (2015). Lights and Shadows of Digital Technologies. Makati City: Church Strengthening Ministry, Inc.

#TheSocialDilemma #DataRights #OwnYourData

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ambesprk · 4 years ago

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How could I not love you? Bucky Barnes x vampire!reader chapter 1

Steve doesn't like her. The way she moves, balancing between grace and gore. Easily ripping out hearts of oncoming HYDRA Agents and yet gifting him a kind smile when she notices him getting a little scared by her. She is so plain that no one would guess what she is able to do. It’s like a switch being flipped that changes her kind nature into a beast that wants nothing but blood. He knows how valuable she is that without her help the last few missions would have gone wrong in every way possible. She is like the Hulk but faster, more agile and so easily misjudged. And he knows that everyone else on the team sees it too only that he seems to be the only one struggling to understand.

When they found her Tony was incredibly keen on keeping her. Like a puppy one would find in a dumpster. Only that this pup was a wolf. In Sheep's clothing if you will. That made him chuckle. “What’s so funny, Cap?” She looks at him with genuine interest. Her eyes sparkling with kindness and a sense of childlike wonder. THUD. The bloody body of a HYDRA agent drops to her feet. Dead, eyes frozen in fear of the monster that just stole his soul. His torso just as dark and drenched in blood as hers. Only that she is standing there smiling at Steve and waiting for an answer to her question.

"Uh, nothing…” He answers while thinking of a good excuse. She doesn’t look away. Soft eyes focused on him in patience. Even when the next agent runs for her. Knife in hand ready to attack her and take revenge for the death of his fellow soldier.

But she is faster, always is. She grabs the man by the throat not even looking at him and rips his air pipes out as if ripping a piece of paper from a notebook. It terrifies Steve but he still tries to act normal and keep his posture as if he didn’t just see this gruesome act. It’s mostly because his Ma taught him not to stare ‘It’s rude ‘ she taught him. And the way Buck would give him one of those cheeky grins. “ Oh uh. It’s just something Bucky used to say..” That would work, surely. She had been shy about the topic of old friend ever since he first mentioned him. It didn’t make sense to him since she was so eager to have everyone like her. And she did succeed with most of the team. Natasha loves her like a sister. Spending many girl nights together with Wanda ever since she came to join them on missions. “Finally another girl to show you brutes that you don’t need testosterone to fight the bad guys” They cared for each other and it was a special kind of bond.

Sam liked her for her knowledge of basically everything since Queen Mary. The way she could tell stories and sometimes drop in little anecdotes of someone important somewhere at some point in time. And her humor. The way she would always giggle so innocently at any stupid joke he would make. And Steve knew that those smiles weren’t real. Most of them were but sometimes she would pretend only to make him feel good. She needed it, the strong need to fit in and feel normal after a long time of loneliness. An amount of time that he couldn’t imagine even with his 102 years of age.

“Oh yeah? I’m very excited to meet him. He comes over next Thursday, right?” Another two bodies now lay to her feet. It didn’t phase her one bit or if it did she was incredibly good at hiding it. She carefully wiped her mouth on her sleeve. The light gray cotton turned a dark maroon and he followed the spot with his gaze. She must have noticed it and it made her pull on it as if it would pull the dark out of the fabric. Embarrassment.

It was common for her to act like that when he was around. There was always a sort of uncomfortable energy around when they interacted. Like she knew that he was wary of her but wanted to prove to him that she was no threat. Just a young lady trying to have a nice conversation. Forget the blood, gore and long past. But he couldn’t stop it. It felt like a threat whenever she was around. She might act kind and gentle but seeing what she was capable of, the way she could shred him to bits if she wished to left him on edge. Of course, it was unfair but he couldn’t stop it. He started a civil war between his friends to protect an ex-assassin that was more unstable than she ever could be. And yet he couldn’t get himself to relax around her. “Yeah I’ll pick him up on Thursday” He could punch himself. He couldn’t even get a conversation going with her even when it was presented to him on a silver tray. He gave her a tight smile trying to ignore her bloodied clothes and the corpses scattered around her. But she understood, she always did. Steve just didn’t like her it was a fact she had to accept.

She tried to get to know him way too many times. It was starting to seem desperate. Should she try again? Was it just the wrong moment to do some small talk? She was about to start again when he interrupted her to talk to the others over the com. “West wing is clear. How about you guys?” She looked to her feet, fingers starting to fumble on her pants to do anything to get through this awkward silence. Steve kept an unfocused look on something vague behind her. Mostly to not have to interact with her.

“We’re clear too, Steve. Got the drive and destroyed all the data left in the storage.” Sam informed him. Steve sighed, they could go home, he could leave this uncomfortable situation and pretend it didn’t happen.

Of course, she was a good match for a mission and they worked well together but he could only see her for that. Even when she tried to be nice to him and pretend she couldn’t just snap him in half. “ Alright, clear out. We’re going back home.” The others accepted their captain's orders and retreated to the jet. It was pizza night like every Friday and they were all eager to call it a day. She loved pizza night even if for her it was just playing pretend. Stealing a few slices here and there, blending in, laughing.

“C’mon time to think about what toppings to get” He’d often try to joke like that, making up for the subtleties that showed her what he was truly thinking about her. But she took it even though she knew that he couldn’t stand her. With a slight nod and a small smile, she stepped over the dead men like they were nothing but small puddles not worth noting. Just objects, not humans that she sucked dry to steal their life to keep hers.

________________________ “So, tell me, is there anything new?” The evening calls with Buck were a daily thing by now. After his time in Wakanda, he tries to get back in touch with Steve as much as possible. The quick process of removing the Soldier from his brain was almost too easy. Or just an example of Shuri’s genius. Maybe both. He felt normal again as far as that was possible with a metal arm and over 100 years of age. And the contact with Steve became such routine and a reminder of his past self.

After the treatment, Bucky tried to find something to keep him occupied. Goat farming wasn’t the way and although he certainly enjoyed Wakanda with its warm climate, grand nature, and kind people, it wasn’t the place for him. Sometimes it was too much for him. Adjusting to technology was one thing but getting used to the advanced society and science of Wakanda was a different deal. So he decided to go back to America, back to Steve and do what he thinks is what is he is currently best at and that is to fight. He didn’t enjoy it like you would enjoy a job or a hobby but it gave him a sense of control, something to be good at. And the moment he mentioned joining to team Steve was exhilarated, so much so, that he didn’t dare to stop him even when he, later on, wasn’t so sure anymore.

“ Not really. Had a standard mission today, get some HYDRA Data, in and out, you know? Nothing special” Steve leaned back on the couch. Trying to release some tension in his muscles. He knew he’d have the next days off but he just couldn’t get himself to relax. Not with…. “What about the new gal? She doing alright?” Steve told him about the new one. He didn't go into much detail and just told him that she was a new agent for field missions with unconventional methods. But trying to get back into talking with Steve and getting to know him again he, of course, had to ask for more details, much to Steve’s disliking. He then tried to break it to him gently, with metaphors and nice words to tiptoe around the reality of her. But at some point, Bucky had it with his cryptic descriptions forcing him to spill the beans. He told him about her. The powers, speed, healing, everything that Steve could remember. Each Time a dark picture flashing before his eyes. But Bucky took it well, was even curious about her and the fact that the old fairy tales were somewhat true. He asked more questions than Steve could or would like to answer. “She’s doing fine. Did a good job today.” That was it. All that Bucky could get out of him. He knew that something was going on with the new girl and his old friend but he couldn’t guess the nature of it. With a sigh, he accepted Steve’s lack of words. He’d have his chance to meet this creature soon enough. “ Well, I should go. Shuri wanted to clear up some stuff before I leave. I’ll see you soon, Punk.”

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #vampire #vampire!reader #steve rogers #buckyxoc #bucky x female reader

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darkpotatorises · 4 years ago

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So i had my first taste of Red Dead Online yesterday. Coming in knowing the experiences other people had with it and having already experienced GTAV Online, I got in with very low expectations. A watered down, mere shell of Single Player experience, A soulless husk with content hidden behind countless hours of grinding or optional paywall. After roughly 12-15 hours of gameplay with huge reservations towards the game, i have discovered that it actually has a potential greater than GTAV in which i sank hundreds of hours of my life previously, just so i could say that i have self sustaining economy at least in a virtual world and a yacht. Let me start with some pros before dwelling into well known cons. Surprisingly, Western third person open world games are even harder to find than Pirate ones. (I’m looking at you Pirates of the Burning Sea *softly smooches it*) Pirates have been getting some love over the last few years, However Wild west always stayed in the realm of single player games and an occasional First Person Shooter. But we all know FPS’s can’t be immersive or often as vast of content as open world multiplayer games could. (*snickers in ERP tone) Making it a unique game that you can currently grab for aa entry frag of 4.99 euros. The content that it’s providing right now is well worth it, and a good investment considering the price will be rising 5 times. I just hope the content and care for the game rises just as much. On a more subjective note i must say how satisfying killing someone feels... In a game!.. Of course i meant in a game. While the world is devoid of great story and characters, it’s gameplay is still present, making it the only multiplayer shooter i actually enjoy playing with my gamepad. Now i’m gonna make a pretty questionable remark here even to myself as i highly enjoy more linear and story driven single player experience more than Empty huge Open worlds every new yearly Far Cry, Rainbow Six or anything Bethesda’s planning to ruin next, are providing. That being said those same huge storiless open worlds provide you a blank canvass only limited by your own imagination. There are people that you can meet out there in that wide wild west, things that you’re gonna do differently just because someone nudged you to... (*Insert that moment when he cleaned the whole camp full of Lemoyne Raiders only to be noticed by another stranger, who inquisitively and a bit scared asked about what transpired, visibly worried for the departed folk...While explaining him how they were bad men, i noticed they were guarding a lawman tied up and gagged, looking more scared of being noticed than relieved of being saved... I brought his presence to this new passerby, asking him if he might have any idea of what i should do with him? He replied in a manner of telling a short story with a surprising twist... “Well i’d untie him and then i’d blow his brains out”. It was at that moment, the lawman’s fate was sealed. I took my knife out, cut the rope and grabbed the surprised officer in blue that for the first time during the whole ordeal looked relieved for a moment...*The gunshot sound* This wouldn’t be possible in linear handholding experience every mission of single player was. The NPC wouldn’t be programmed to push you and make decision like that on a whim. I noticed lately is that any game can be enjoyed as much as you let it entertain you. So instead of getting polarized right from the start by looking into reviews such as this. In a perfect world one should experience the game first, and be the judge of its shortcomings, if he even notices them in the first place. Now lets get into the really gritty business. You get an abysmally low amount of money and gold pieces. Throwing accent on gold pieces as they are the main form of unlocking majority of the content hidden behind roles of: The Collector, Naturalist, Bounty Hunter, Trader and Moonshiner. You need to pay a hefty amount of hard earned gold to buy any of this roles that you can earn back only by picking Bounty Hunter first as it’s the only role that earns you gold. Picking anything else would set you back to square 0. The system isn’t perfect. Not for the player. There’s a CEO out there laughing every time some poor tortured soul gets bored of grinding and goes for its Debit Card to buy some Gold Bars instead. There’s a positive thing about the value of Gold though, This game has a battle pass that became a staple of every multiplayer game. While it’s usually associated with Free to play games, as one of the sources of the income, It’s getting quite prominent shamelessly in top tier $60 games. Red Dead Online however lets you get the premium content of the Battle Pass for 40 Gold Bars. Now while its very welcome having this option present, It would be even more tolerable with the introduction of more Gold making methods. Which brings me to the state of game it is in now. Anyone who played GTA Online knows how broken the netcode is. RDO is unfortunately the same in that regard. During my 15 hours I have encountered 1 whitescreen glitch, 2 hackers and a lot of empty lobbies for game modes nobody plays. Which is probably because they tried playing it with insufficient amount of people for them to shine through. While some of them could be just pure trash... Like the train chasing, capture the wagon mode that instead working like king of the hill, where everybody is working together to overtake one overpowered player, here while doing that, other players work against each other too... Which makes it god awful considering everybody is spawning on same place near the moving train where it becomes Spawn Kill Simulator. Right now, Read Dead Online is in that stage before even getting its heists. It’s in its infancy. The Dark Age. My hopes are that enough people gets the $6 version of the game (Including those who already bought it once on console and want to secure the future of the game, and any new updates they might be having in store) Cause we all know GTAV is gonna get rere-released for at least 2 more console generations so why not just get it on PC and be done with it. Maybe united under one platform Rockstar finally starts paying attention to it as much as to its older cash cow brother. Recently i had a luck of experiencing tv show called Deadwood. If you’re not particularly into Westerns, but you loved Red Dead Redemption 2, and can’t find anything that fills that void in any other media i highly recommend you trying to get into it as it was the first thing that filled mine. That sounded dirty... Anyhow in that show people aspire to be Prospectors. I think that would be the perfect role for Red Dead Online. You must have encountered a person who struck gold trying to run away from you while hiding his nugget.Just imagine the possibilities....Working your own Mineral Deposit with a chance of Gold. Cause god knows having a working Gold claim would be too good to be true. Mining could either be another thing, we have a shovel, you might as well give us a Pickaxe. It could be either incorporated in the role of Prospector or its own thing... Miner > Prospector, Kinda like how Trader and Moonshiner work now. Another chance of getting gold bars would be by preforming HEISTS. In GTA Online’s Casino Heist, you have a chance of getting more valuable score than cash. Those are Art, Diamonds and GOLD. You take literal gold bars and put ‘em in your bag. Imagine how awesome would that be in RDO. Making robbing banks, freighters even goddamn trains all the more repeatable and invaluable. These are all dreams in best case scenario whatsoever. Now excuse me, I gotta go feed my pets, And i might turn this into a Youtube video.

#Red Dead Redemption 2 #Red Dead Online

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thedeevirus · 6 years ago

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NYGMOBBLEPOT FICLET: ‘Together’

Fix It Fic (Kind of): Ed and Oz in the limo without any bat interruption ;)

As requested by @buntesfuenkchen!

Hope you all enjoy.

***

‘I don’t understand. How did Jeremiah know we were exchanging letters?’ Oswald asked.

He engaged the ‘privacy’ button set into the limo door. A security screen rose between the driver and the back of the limo. Oswald had no doubts about his chauffeur’s loyalty but he still wanted privacy for his and Ed’s conversation. Especially in such intimate environs. As he watched Ed shake his head, Oswald remembered the last time he and Ed had shared a limo after a recent release from Arkham. It was amazing how Ed’s smile at catching sight of him still had the power to make Oswald weak at the knees.

‘He must’ve snooped through the mail’, Ed said, ‘Looking for which buttons to push’.

‘Why pick you?’

‘I might have stabbed him in the leg once’, Ed shrugged.

‘He always was a petty individual’.

‘I can’t believe he manipulated me like that!’ Ed groaned, ‘I was just so…’

He trailed off, glancing out of the window.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I just realised I haven’t asked where we’re going’.

‘To one of my safehouses. If-if that’s okay? Sorry, I should’ve asked if there was anywhere you wanted to go’.

Oswald’s heart sank. It had been foolish to assume they would just pick up where they left off. Ed probably had a dozen other places he wanted to go. There would be time later for them to reminisce.

‘No, no!’ Ed protested, ‘Don’t apologise! There’s nowhere else I’d rather be-that is, rather go!’

They both laughed, each eager to put the other at ease.

‘Besides, knowing you, there’ll be something to drink’, Ed winked, ‘And it won’t have been fermented under a radiator’.

‘That I can guarantee’, Oswald smiled.

As they drove on, their smiles slowly faded.

‘Those letters kept me going, you know that?’ Ed offered after a few moments.

‘You know I do. I’m just sorry the presents I sent got confiscated before they could reach you’.

‘I never found out what they were’.

‘It doesn’t matter’, Oswald said reassuringly, ‘They were only little tokens I picked up around the prison’.

Ed looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

‘Ah, unsolved mystery’, Oswald said abashedly as he realised how the mystery must have been torturing Ed, ‘Um, there was a flower I found in the exercise yard, a small sculpture I made in arts and crafts that I hid a shiv inside, a few drawings, a feather, a breath mint…I can’t remember the others’.

‘That is way more than I thought’, Ed commented, cataloguing the items. Perhaps he would consider potential methods to retrieve them from Arkham later.

‘Plenty of time on my hands. Which reminds me’.

Ed swallowed as the relaxed environment suddenly grew tense.

‘Ed’, Oswald asked in a deliberately emotionless tone, ‘Why did you end up in Arkham in the first place?’

Ed swallowed. He had been anticipating this conversation sooner or later but the undercurrent of hurt in Oswald’s question was far worse than the anger he had expected.

‘The lawyer I got you was supposed to get you sent to Blackgate’, Oswald continued when Ed didn’t answer.

‘He was’, Ed agreed, Oswald’s implied, unspoken words of ‘with me’ echoing in his brain.

‘And he said you didn’t say what you were supposed to at your trial’.

‘No’.

‘Did Gordon do something to stop you?’ Oswald asked quietly, ‘Why wouldn’t you say what we planned?’

‘Because we would’ve both ended up with life sentences. In Arkham’.

Oswald’s eyes widened, causing his monocle to fall out. Ed caught it deftly and began to clean it as Oswald tried to process Ed’s words. At least he was free to process the perfect storm of emotions in the privacy of his own limo rather than suffer the horrific realization in silence in a courtroom. Like a mouse that had just noticed the brass bar of a trap.

‘No. No! No, Dent assured me that-‘

‘He lied Oswald. I figured it out while I was sitting in the court room. The bastard actually winked at Gordon. So, I got up and said I was the ‘brains’ of the whole thing. Wasn’t hard to make them believe it. Took the jury half an hour and that was just because they wanted lunch. Arkham for the crazy, cop killing Haven bomber. Ten years for his best friend trying to protect him from himself’.

Ed handed the monocle back to Oswald who took it with shaking fingers.

‘How long in Arkham?’ Oswald asked.

‘It didn’t matter’.

‘Of course it mattered!’ Oswald barked but then his voice softened as his gaze drifted to the monocle, ‘Wait, did you do it because of this?’

He pointed to his false eye and Ed’s eyes darted away.

‘I told you this wasn’t your fault!’ Oswald cried, voice cracking, ‘You didn’t need to protect me!’

‘It didn’t matter because you were safe!’ Ed snapped, cheeks reddening.

‘It did-does matter! We would have been together!’ Oswald banged a fist on the car seat. ‘We were supposed to be together!’

‘Trapped together inside a madhouse with no hope of release! Just like Gordon wanted. Be angry at me if you want but I couldn’t stand the thought of him playing ‘Happy Families’ while you rotted away behind bars!’

Oswald said nothing. Ed placed a hand on his knee, careful not to aggravate the injury. He was reassured when Oswald made no attempt to remove it.

‘Oswald’, Ed said gently, ‘Why do you think I never tried to escape?’

‘You did try to escape’, Oswald corrected him bitterly, ‘I missed letters from you for a month because a guard dog bit your hand and you couldn’t write, remember?’

Ed clenched and unclenched his fingers as phantom pains stabbed through his hand.

‘Had a moment of weakness’, Ed said, pushing his glasses up as he ignored the sensations.

‘So, the riddle you’re asking me to answer is: why didn’t you try to escape? Why did you sit in Arkham for ten years without trying to save yourself?’

‘Yes’.

Realization flashed across Oswald’s face and the seething, frustrated atmosphere instantly evaporated.

‘If you’d escaped they would have taken extra steps to keep us apart’, Oswald said softly, ‘And you knew I would come for you once I got out’.

‘I hoped’.

‘You were right. I would have. That’s why you didn’t question the letter Jeremiah forged’.

‘When I read that letter it was like a dream coming true’.

‘I’m sure it wasn’t that-‘ Oswald began, adjusting his monocle but Ed interrupted.

‘I always thought about what I’d do if…when we saw each other again’.

‘Me too’, Oswald said, ‘How does some Chinese food to start sound?’

Ed chuckled at Oswald’s innocently eager expression.

‘Well, it sounds great but it’s not quite what I meant’, he said.

Oswald looked at him questioningly and Ed decided to be bold since subtlety wasn’t working. His hand on Oswald’s knee began to slowly slide up Oswald’s leg. Oswald stiffened, mouth agape.

‘Ed?’

He gasped as Ed suddenly straddled him, his head nearly grazing the limo’s roof. Oswald froze as Ed gazed down at him. The passing streetlights danced in the lenses of Ed’s glasses, casting golden flecks into his dark eyes.

‘Tell me this is real’, Ed said, eyes half hooded yet pleading.

Oswald pulled him close instinctively.

‘It’s real’, Oswald said into his shoulder, blinking hard as he inhaled Ed’s achingly familiar, too long absent scent, ‘We’re here. Together’.

Ed shuddered, his warmth breath tickling the shell of Oswald’s ear.

‘Together’, Ed breathed huskily.

There was a clinking sound and Oswald realised Ed was undoing his belt. He took hold of Ed’s arms and halted him. He ran his hands along Ed’s arms as he spoke, focusing on the pattern of Ed’s tie.

‘Ed. I’m not what I was’, Oswald said, ‘And let’s not ignore the fact we’ve both been in prison’.

‘I’m keenly aware’, Ed said with dark humour.

‘Even though the prisoners had limited options they didn’t even want me…that way, in Blackgate’.

Oswald let go of Ed’s arms and gestured to himself. To his ruined eye. His injured leg. His unsightly, comical paunch.

‘You can’t seriously want something like this?’

Oswald’s self deprecation made Ed’s heart ache. He leant back, making a show of surveying Oswald, as if considering his options. When Oswald still didn’t look at him, Ed reached out and raised his chin, forcing Oswald to look at him.

‘Someone’, Ed corrected pointedly, removing Oswald’s hat.

Oswald smiled bashfully but Ed wasn’t finished.

‘I love this’.

Ed stroked the right side of Oswald’s face, fingertips tracing around his monocle. The sacrifice Oswald had made for him without even thinking.

‘And this’.

He touched Oswald’s knee tenderly. The first of so many scars. The sign of a survivor. A warrior. No matter how many times he was knocked off his feet, Oswald got back up.

‘And this’.

He playfully rubbed Oswald’s stomach and was rewarded with a soft chuckle. It was wonderful to see that Oswald had been eating. Too often he had seen Oswald skip meals in the past giving him an underweight borderline starved appearance. The weight suited him. He had felt warm when he had embraced Ed. Ed couldn’t remember when he had felt so safe. Oswald felt solid. Real.

‘I love you Oswald’, Ed declared.

Now Oswald was looking at him. He hadn’t looked at Ed that way in years. Ed recognised the emotions now. Hunger. Longing. Adoration. Love.

‘I’m sorry it took this’, Ed tapped his head, ‘So long to figure it out when this-’

He touched Oswald’s chest. Oswald’s breath hitched. Ed could feel his pounding heart resonating with Oswald’s. Perfectly synchronised.

‘-knew it all along’.

Ed blinked hard as time suddenly made its presence, or more accurately its absence felt. So much time wasted.

‘I was so stupid’, he sighed.

Ed suddenly felt leather glide smoothly over his cheeks and his dark eyes met Oswald’s. One glassy blue, the other a blazing green. Ice and fire.

‘Don’t ever call yourself that’, Oswald commanded and pulled him into a kiss.

Oswald’s gloved fingers tightened on Ed’s face and Ed responded by looping his arms around Oswald’s neck. Ed moaned into Oswald’s mouth as their tongues danced, warmth suffusing his body. Ed’s fingers teased Oswald’s hair, luxuriating in the feathery texture as he wordlessly prompted Oswald to keep going. As the kiss deepened, Ed began to roll his hips. Beneath him, he could feel Oswald’s arousal growing. Ed deliberately positioned his ass above it, teasing his entrance. Oswald growled deep in his throat and nipped at Ed’s lips, his sharp teeth sending tingles along Ed’s spine. Oswald’s monocle fell out again and both men broke the kiss at the sensation of the object bouncing off their cheeks. They both laughed breathlessly, blown pupils in their glittering eyes above red cheeks.

‘Someone’s excited’, Oswald grinned, looking at the conspicuous bulge in Ed’s trousers.

‘I did say I had been thinking about what I’d do when we were together again’, Ed shrugged, unrepentant.

Oswald surged forward and nuzzled into Ed’s neck. He planted breathy kisses along one of the pale blue veins, making Ed squirm on his lap.

‘You have a vivid imagination’, Oswald whispered, ‘Did you imagine it would happen in the back of a limo?’

‘I’m flexible’, Ed said, with a teasing eyebrow.

‘I’m sure you are’, Oswald said, then suddenly winced, teeth gritted.

Ed realised Oswald’s knee was spasming and hastily got up. He carefully extended the leg and began to massage it. Oswald smiled at him gratefully.

‘Sadly, it seems I’m not’, Oswald said, ‘Shall we continue this conversation in a warm bed?’

‘It seems like this conversation could continue all the way until breakfast tomorrow’, Ed smiled.

‘They are best together’, Oswald said.

#nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot fanfic #edward nygma #Oswald Cobblepot #gotham season finale #gotham

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butterfly-winx · 4 years ago

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Zenith

- Do you know about Zenith? No? I mean you own a computer so you must. I hear the whole planet is covered in one large city.

- Other Zenith country names with capitals where applicable: Tribilisi (Kandu), Gorgan, Nuzul (Xihat), Tbaku, Navyol, Urzghar

- With the storm and snow clouds obscuring the sky most days, Zenith is quite dark. The cities illuminate themselves, kind of like year round festive ornamentation.

- So, you see, Zenith and either of its countries aren’t by far as boring as one might think on the first glance and most of them certainly don’t shy back from showing emotion.

#winx club #worldbuilding #winx club zenith #zenith #butterfly fic #winx techna #I held onto this for so long I think this has the longest collection of hcs of all of the planets posts #just to clarify: zenith is the planet transjordan the country and haikar the city techna is from #also bonus points to anyone who can find the cities/places on a map that I derived the Zenithian country names from

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