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rayofsunas · 4 years ago

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otherworldly! s/o

A/n: happy monday! I woke up at 7am and since then I've been grinding out assignments/classes and now this, so I actually feel productive even though I've been staring at my computer for a while. but thank you for requesting anon! I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading it! <33 also to understand this more, I'd like to point out that this connects to the speculation Genshin and Honkai are alternate universes of one another. so for example, Scaramouche is a harbinger from his time, but he may have been a warlord in a different, with a completely different name (keeping his appearance ofc) hope that makes sense. so if you've paid attention to what I've been saying about Scara and his mini-series, etc. you'll understand what I mean in Scara's lol. his reader insert is fem for the same reason as above btw!

Summary: otherworldly! s/o who arrived as a fallen meteor, that can bring back plants to life/heal deep wounds/scars and resurrect people.

Parings: Albedo/Gn! Reader, Xiao/Gn! Reader, Scaramouche/Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, fluff, alternate realities/time traveler au! (reader is not the traveler), death/resurrection

Word count: 1.7k

Albedo

you don't have a vision like some people in Teyvat, because you're not from there; you're from a whole different world itself. instead, you have healing abilities that allow you to any energy you absorb in the form of food/sunlight, and you can use that energy to heal others. though, the healing can only go as far as healing minor injuries such as shallow cuts, scratches, or smoothing out scars. the same can work if you were to heal yourself.

Albedo is so intrigued when he finds you passed out in the pit of a meteor, half of your body hanging out while the other is awkwardly still in it

one, because who is this stranger in a meteor for crying out loud

and two, he notices your wounds on your arms are healing by themselves, slowly though

as someone who studies alchemy, life forms, and such, he's very intrigued that you're able to heal yourself without medicine, and he wonders if you can do the same to others

so he takes you to his lab, and runs a few tests

yes, you're still passed out when this happens, but he's just so curious and couldn't hold back

don't worry though, he's just drawing some blood and testing to see what you can do, because who knows, you may not even speak his language and won't be able to communicate with him (doesn't make a difference Albedo, you need COnSENT-)

so, just for science, he cuts the palm of his hand a little and decides to see if you can heal him

it doesn't take him long to notice the way the tips of your fingers are glowing a light greenish-yellow, so he immediately assumes that's the source of your powers and places a finger on his palm

it takes a second before anything happens, but eventually his cut starts to slowly close

once again he's even more shocked and intrigued

you have the natural ability and he's never come across someone with so much raw strength being able to do that

so you're right up his alley

when you wake up you're confused as hell (obviously) but thankfully, you can speak his language and are able to share your story

Albedo decides to make a deal with you

he'll help you get home if you can educate him more about your ability and your homeland. you agree

it works out perfectly, because you both have something the other needs/can do for the other (you have your power that he's interested in, and he's found a way for you to return home)

it's also easy to work together because of those same common interests, and it helps that he studies alchemy cause he's way more knowledgeable about you and the process can go a tiny bit quicker for you if you wish to return home sooner

at first you're merely friends, co-workers if you wish

but then he starts falling for you and vice versa

you both genuinely enjoy each others company, so you decide to stay in Teyvat a little while longer, even after he finds a way for you to go home

I wouldn't put it past Albedo to want to return to your world if you allow it

he'd be interested in this new or not so new world ;)

Xiao

you're like the traveler in a sense, where as soon as you climbed out of the meteor, you felt this connection to Teyvat and your vision randomly appeared. you have a dendro vision, something you learned was a rarity within liyue and mondstadt. along with that vision, you had the previous ability to grow/heal plants. you can bring back dead plants, though if they've been dead for a very long time, that's beyond your ability. they also can't be brought back if they've been badly burned.

Xiao may not be interested at first about what vision you have or even where you came from + why the hell you climbed out of a meteor

he's more interested in getting you home so you can stop asking questions about his own abilities/vision and odd, unfamiliar, but beautiful world

but boy when he catches you bringing back a wilted Glaze Lily?!? shook

he secretly thinks you're so cool and it piques his interest

he's never seen anyone do this before, and though his eyes were deceiving him when he first saw the lily spring to life again

but then when he catches you healing more plants, on your way to Liyue to hopefully find Zhongli for answers, he's so interested

he doesn't ask a crapload of questions, BUT he's going to ask at least one or two

"how're you doing that?"

"what are you?

the questions are kind of vague and require more in-depth explanations than he'd originally hoped, but he's surprisingly willing to listen to your story on the way to the harbor

after he learns your story and calls for Zhongli, he'll immediately leave and claim he has no further interests in you

but he's obviously lying

he finds as he's sitting on top of one the smaller mountains one night, looking down at the glowing Liyue town, he has more questions

way more questions

surprising Zhongli, Xiao shows appears when he's showing you around and getting you accustomed to the people/culture

he finds himself hoving behind you, shyly almost, never asking questions (at least not in Zhongli's presence

his reason for standing behind you is to protect you from any harm, so that way, when he decides to ask you more questions, you'll be there for him to do so and not dead or lost

when you tell Zhongli you'd wish to stay in Teyvat, specifically Liyue, Xiao is happy ngl

he can ask you questions and now that you're somewhat used to Liyue, having been here for four months already and planning to stay forever, he can catch you alone and ask questions without Zhongli hovering or acting as your tour guide lol

slowly, and I mean sluggishly slow, he's going to ask you more questions and he may, emphasis on may, tell you his own story

Scaramouche

you're from an alternate reality of Teyvat, a former doctor in your world. basically, Teyvat hundreds of years in the future. you've studied the human body to become a doctor obviously and you used to be able to bring back the dead using your bare hands. it didn't matter how far back ago they've died, as long as their full-body was still intact (full skeleton needed). though, the further back they died, the more energy you'd use, and if you run out of energy too soon, you couldn't bring them back. but now in this strange land, you can't. in exchange for your powers being lost, you're given an electro vision.

Scaramouche is tasked with finding out more about these odd meteors that keep appearing in various corners of Teyvat

and one very large one

he doesn't care who you are, what you are, what your excuse for being in Teyvat is, but he's been ordered to explore the fallen meteor and since you happened to be passed out inside it upon further exploration, you're part of the mystery he's been told to check out

and, it doesn't further help your situation that you landed in Snezhnaya, in the weirdest, not-so-warm clothing AND he finds you attractive (yes, you heard it here folks), plus you're going to catch hypothermia out here dressed like that

it would suck for a pretty girl such as yourself to be frozen to death

so Scaramouche decides to take you to the Tsaritsa, who leaves you in Scaramouche's care since he found you

she says he can do whatever he wants you, dispose of you, etc.

when you finally come too in an odd room on a couch in front of a fireplace, you're confused, cold as hell despite the flames, and when you see his face, you're immediately angered, which he finds odd

it's almost as if you recognize him... but he doesn't recognize you so he's confused as well

"what're you doing here?"

bold of you, he thinks. to question him with that tone as if you have authority here, over him

"watch yourself. I was going to ask you the same."

you don't seem too pleased with him though

"we agreed to never speak again, or so I thought..."

"are you stupid or are you just playing the stupid card to be released?" he'd say

though as soon as you burst and yell at him about a situation he's not familiar with, he's starting to understand a bit more

you're not from here, not anywhere in Teyvat at least, and by the way you're talking to him as if you know him, he assumed correctly that you're from an alternate reality, where he's also present

though despite his correct assumption, he demands answers and you cannot be allowed any kind of freedom until he gets them

you tell him your story and how in your world, a version of himself exists and that you were briefly married, though split because he was too much of a control/power freak for you and your daughter

he disagrees with the last part about him being a control/power freak ofc but

he decides he'll keep you around, against your wishes

one, because you can become useful if your resurrection abilities are awoken; you'd be able to save many fallen Fatui soldiers, with more training so you don't run out of energy ofc

and two, he doesn't think his other self would miss you very much if you're both on bad terms, he sure would miss such a pretty face if you were to leave though, that's for sure...

so, he's going to keep you around, so he can help train/get used to your electro vision. it works best that way since he has the same vision and can train you more efficiently (I think Scara has electro powers, just an assumption!)

he will also hopefully be able to awaken your resurrection abilities and if you can't, well then sorry you're disposable

overtime, all the Harbingers tease him about his little crush and he either denies it or strongly provokes it cause his ego is through his fucking hat

exhibit a. literally doesn't care that he's caught by childe staring at you train and will say something like, "and? you're just jealous she's not interested in you like she is me."

exhibit b. will throw a fit if someone accuses him and says he has, "no room for crushes or love." even if he was somewhat capable of it in your world...

3.22.21, rayofsunas

#rayofsunas #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #xiao #xiao x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader

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scotianostra · 3 years ago

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23rd August 1305 saw the trial and execution in London of Sir William Wallace, one time Guardian of Scotland.

I posted yesterday stating the trial happened then, it came u in a source I was reading about Wallace, sometimes the historians can get it wrong, but the post yesterday served as more of prelude and a taster of todays more detailed one. Wallace is said to have accepted his execution without resistance and a brave heart. He even made a final confession to a priest and read from the book of Psalms before his punishment.

Types of execution at The Elms ranged from burning at the stake (for heretics) to the tried and tested hanged-drawn-and-quartered method for those convicted of high treason. For those unfamiliar with this method, it involves being dragged by a horse to the place of execution, hanged until almost dead, then disembowelled whilst still conscious, beheaded, and finally being chopped into four pieces (i.e. ‘quartered) and subsequently having these pieces put on display across the city, or in Sir William Wallace’s case, the country.

I think it only right to give a background post about Sir William Wallace so hang on to your hats, there’ll be no mention of French Princess’s, Blue painted Australians or the like.

Much of what we know about Wallace comes from Blind Harry, also known as Harry, Hary or Henry the Minstrel, is renowned as the author of The Actes and Deidis of the Illustre and Vallyeant Campioun Schir William Wallace, more commonly known as The Wallace. The trouble is how reliable can Blind Harry’s account be, it was written over 150 years after Wallace's grisly demise, the stories about oor erstwhile hero would have been handed down through word of mouth, possibly even in song.

Harty claims that Wallace's father was named Malcolm, and on this basis Wallace has traditionally been identified as Sir Malcolm Wallace, a minor landowner from Renfrewshire. Sir Malcolm was a descendant of Richard Wallace, a native of the lordship of Oswestry on the Welsh border, (Wallace itself meaning Welshman), who first came to Scotland in the twelfth-century in the service of Walter Fitz Alan, first High Steward of Scotland. This Stewart connection has also been used by historians to explain Wallace's place in the 'patriotic' struggle of the 1290s.

But Harry’s story has some flaws, now I’m not decrying the story, just some details like his age.

No reliable evidence exists to gives us an estimate of his age. Harry claims that Wallace was 'forty and five [years] of age' when he was executed, but also states that he was 'bot eighteen yer auld' shortly before the Battle of Stirling Bridge, which would place the year of his birth around 1278/9.

It shows how difficult it is to build a picture of Sir William.

The contemporary English chronicler William Rishanger implies that Wallace was a young man when he emerged as the leader of armed resistance to the English in southern Scotland in 1297, but this does little to narrow things down. According to Hary, Wallace was raised by his two uncles - both clerics - who saw to his education after his father was killed by an English knight named Fenwick

One of his uncles was from Dunipace, a wee town not far from my home in Falkirk, it is through this uncle we get an oft quoted phrase “This is the truth I tell you: of all things freedom’s most fine. Never submit to live, my son, in the bonds of slavery entwined.” The second pic shows part of the quote, it is on a paving stone on Falkirk High Street that I often walk past.

He does seem to have had two brothers, Malcolm - who would provide Wallace with much-needed support in the later part of his career - and John - who would later be executed for supporting Robert Bruce after 1306. His activities before 1297 are also uncertain, but they may have been less than wholesome. Contemporary English accounts describe him as a 'brigand' and a 'thief', suggesting he may have lived outside the law even before the English invaded. Of course, these may simply be attempts by hostile writers to blacken his reputation. However, a legal document of August 1296 mentions 'a thief, one William le Waleys' as an accomplice of a cleric named Matthew of York who had in June of that year been convicted of robbery at Perth. This could well be our William.

Again I am not trying to blacken his character, I am merely pointing out the difficult job that historians have when piecing together his life.

Whatever the details of his early life, following the English invasion of 1296 that Wallace first emerged into the mainstream of Scottish affairs in a big way. The death of King Alexander III in 1286, followed by the death of his granddaughter Margaret of Norway in 1290, had provoked a major succession crisis in Scotland. Efforts to settle the ongoing dispute between the competing Balliol and Bruce factions had led to increasing English interference in the governance of Scotland, culminating in a full-scale invasion of the kingdom in 1296. I’ve covered all this in posts regarding King John Balliol, the sacking of Berwick and the first Battle of Dunbar all in 1296.

One of Wallace’s first encounters with the English is told in typically dramatic form by Blind Harry, the story goes that William was fishing when he is accosted by five soldiers in the service of 'lorde Persye' Henry Percy, 1st Baron Percy who was the warden of Galloway and Ayrshire . The honest, unsuspecting Wallace offers them some of his fish so long as they leave the rest for his uncle - 'ane agyt knycht' - Wallace hopes to feed, but the soldiers demand all of his fish and attack him when he refuses them. Remarkably, Wallace disarms the first attacker using only a 'poutstaff' ('fishing pole'), seizes the discarded sword, kills two of the soldiers, severs the hand of another, and chases the survivors off!

The earliest confirmed encounter between Wallace and the English administration occurred in May 1297, when Wallace and a small band of supporters killed William Heselrig, the English sheriff of Lanark, shortly before an assize was due to be held in the town. According to the indictment against him in 1305, Wallace and his men also dismembered Helelrig's corpse. Famously, Hary claims that Wallace's attack on Heselrig was in retribution for the killing of Wallace's wife - Marion Braidfute, as Harry identifies her.

It is apparent from contemporary English accounts of the incident at Lanark that it proved to be a powerful recruiting tool for Wallace's rebellion. As Walter Guisborough put it, 'the common folk of the land followed him as their leader and ruler; the retainers of the great lords adhered to him; and even though the lords themselves were present with the English king in body, at heart they were on the opposite side'.

What I find remarkable is that the killing of the soldiers and then Heselrig kickstarted, the uprising against Edwards army and around 4 months Wallace and Andrew de Moray had assembled a combined army of over 6 thousand troops that ambushed the English as they crossed the Forth at Stirling.

Before Stirling we also had the capitulation of the Nobility at Irvine, I have also covered this in a previous post.

In the wake of the Scottish victory at Stirling Bridge, the English administration in Scotland all but collapsed. The Scots were once again able to form a government of their own, and at its head - now as Guardians of Scotland - were Wallace and Murray, although Murray's tenure was cut short when he died - probably of wounds sustained at Stirling Bridge - in November.

This was the zenith of Wallace's career. He had emerged from obscurity to the very summit of Scottish society, all in the space of a year. It also meant he had a price on his head and was the most wanted man in Scotland.

Edward I returned from the Continent in March 1298 and set his sights on Scotland, he marched with an army North in late June and quickly discovered that Wallace's response to the threat had been to devastate southern Scotland and withdraw with his army out of reach of the English. A bitter and frustrating campaign followed, with Edward almost abandoning the chase altogether. However, in late July Edward got wind that the Scots had been sighted near Falkirk, and hurriedly moved his army to meet them.

Precisely why the confrontation at Falkirk happened is, as with so much of Wallace's career, uncertain. Until this point in the campaign Wallace had carefully avoided the English army, a prudent strategy that would later pay off for the Scots under Bruce. Guisborough claims that Wallace had learned that Edward planned to withdraw and hoped to attack the English in the rear. This would at least explain why Wallace so suddenly abandoned his previously cautious strategy. However, given the potential challenges he was facing from the nobility of Scotland it may equally have been the case that Wallace felt compelled to face the English in open battle sooner or later and prove that his success at Stirling Bridge - which was after all arguably at least as much Murray's as it was Wallace's - was not just a lucky accident.

Whatever the case, the battle that followed was an utter catastrophe for the guardian. Abandoned by the cavalry, who may have lost their nerve as they had at Irvine or - as claimed by subsequent Scottish chroniclers - betrayed Wallace, Wallace's schiltrons - tightly-packed bodies of infantry armed with long spearmen - repelled the English cavalry but fell prey to English archery, which broke up their formations and left them vulnerable to a renewed assault by the cavalry. Wallace escaped the battle with his life, but his position as guardian had been irrevocably damaged. It is not entirely clear precisely when or where he resigned the guardianship, but by the end of 1298 Robert Bruce, earl of Carrick (the future king), and John Comyn, lord of Badenoch, were jointly exercising the office of guardian.

Wallace's time as guardian may have been decisively ended, but he remained an active opponent of the English in Scotland. The resistance he offered to the English in this period was not always in keeping with the wishes of the guardians. For instance, in August 1299 an altercation took place at a council at Peebles at which Wallace's plan to travel to France was condemned by Sir David Graham as being 'without the leave or approval of the Guardians'. Wallace's plans were defended by his brother Malcolm, who argued that they were at least 'for the good of the kingdom'

Wallace did indeed leave for France in 1299, apparently on a diplomatic mission to seek the support of King Philip IV against Edward I. Wallace's reception in France was initially hostile, since at the time Philip was himself seeking peaceful relations with Edward I, and Wallace was briefly incarcerated by the French king. However, in November 1300 Philip was writing to his envoys to the pope asking them to promote Wallace's case at the papal court. It is possible that Wallace himself visited to Rome assist in making the Scottish case to the pope in person, and the fact that when he was eventually he reportedly had on his person a safe-conduct from King Hakon V of Norway may suggest he also travelled to Norway on diplomatic business (although he may simply have planned to do so at some point). By 1303 - possibly earlier - he was back in Scotland and again involved in armed resistance to the English

By this point the tide in the war was slowly turning against the Scots. The French were once again pursuing a peaceful policy towards the English following their own military reversal at Courtrai in 1302. Scottish nobles were gradually making their peace with the English, and the surrender of Stirling Castle marked the effective end to organised Scottish resistance on a large scale. In light of his increasing success, Edward I was generally willing to be fairly accommodating towards those Scots who were willing to submit to him, but this was not so with Wallace. Indeed, in the general amnesty offered to the Scots by the English, Wallace might at best 'render himself up to the will and mercy of our sovereign lord the king, if it shall seem good to him' - hardly an encouraging prospect. When Wallace's long-standing cohort Simon Fraser submitted to Edward in July 1304, he was welcomed into the king's peace only on the understanding that he would assist in the ever-intensifying hunt for the fugitive Wallace. Nevertheless, Wallace remained at large until 3rd August 1305, when he was seized near Glasgow by men in the service of Sir John Menteith, keeper of Dumbarton Castle on behalf of King Edward. Menteith - identified as Wallace's 'gossop' ('godfather') by Harry.

Having finally captured Wallace, Edward I refused even to see him. Instead, Wallace was taken to London for what for want of a better word might be called a trial.

Sir Peter Malory, one of the king's justices, presided over the proceedings, which were little more than a formality. The charges were considerable. Wallace had, according his accusers, been a traitor to King Edward, perpetrated armed resistance against him and slain the king's officers (William Heselrig was mentioned by name), assumed the authority of 'a superior' of Scotland, submitted 'to the fealty and lordship of the lord king of France and [gave] him help to the destruction of the kingdom of England', made war on the northern counties of England, 'feloniously and seditiously assaulted, burned and devastated religious men and nuns...[and] inflicted [upon] all, old and young, wives and widows, children and babes the worst death which he could devise', and 'harmoniously and eagerly...refused to submit himself to the lord king's peace' even after being defeated at Falkirk. According to the Annals of London, he 'answered that he had never been a traitor to the king of England, but granted the other crimes charged against him'.

In the eyes of the English as an outlaw, Wallace had no recourse to a defence. Instead, he was summarily sentenced to be executed in the manner reserved for traitors. Wallace was thus 'dispolyeid of his weid' as Hary puts it and dragged naked on a hurdle through the streets of London. At Smithfield he was hanged by the neck 'for the robberies, homicides and felonies which he carried out in the kingdom of England and the land of Scotland'

Before he could suffocate he was taken down and emasculated and disembowelled 'for the dreadful wickedness which he did to the church'. His 'heart, liver and lungs and all the bowels...from which such perverse thoughts proceeded' were then burned. Presumably now dead, Wallace was beheaded - the punishment for outlawry - and his body was divided into four parts. His head was to be displayed on London Bridge (where it remained until at least September the following year, when it was joined by that of his former comrade Simon Fraser). The remaining quarters were to be displayed on gibbets at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Berwick-upon-Tweed, Stirling and Perth, 'to put dread in and to warn all by-passers and observers'.

The savagery with which Wallace was dispatched contrasts sharply with Edward I's attitude toward the Scots in general, but let’s not forget it was the usual punishment for any person deemed to be a traitor.

However it appeared that Longshanks earlier experiences with the Scots had convinced the ageing English king that a more conciliatory approach to establishing a lasting English administration in the kingdom. Edward's new plan for the settlement of Scotland envisaged a ruling council composed primarily of Scots - including the likes of Bruce and Comyn - which would advise an English lieutenant who would retain overall authority. Scots law and custom was to be respected, at least in the short term, and it may have seemed to many at the time that the objections that had fuelled Wallace's original rebellion in 1297 had been addressed.

As we know, the matter would be rendered moot less than six months after Wallace's death when Robert Bruce killed Comyn, forcing him to make public his ambition to become King of Scots. In many senses Bruce's struggle was quite unlike Wallace's, being primarily motivated by his own ambitions and perception of his rights. That being said, if Wallace had not maintained the momentum behind Scottish resistance to the English, particularly in the crucial year of 1297, then Bruce may never have had his opportunity to make his successful bid for power.

Pics are statues of Sir William Wallace around Scotland in order, Bemersyde near Dryburgh, Aberdeen, opposite His Majesty's Theatre, Edinburgh Castle, Newmarket Street Ayr, St Nicholas Church, Lanark, Stirling Town Centre, The National Wallace Monument Abbey Craig, Stirling, showing it before and after it’s recent restoration, Scottish National Portrait Gallery, Edinburgh and his memorial at Smithfield, London. There are others around the world that remember the Scots Patriot who so bravely stood up to fight for his country.

#Scotland #scottish #Sir William Wallace #medieval history #judicial murder #execution #history

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royalreef · 1 year ago

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{ spkyscry }

Things should have been fine, it was mid-day and, according to the schedule, Mister Oberlin should have been at the Shelter still. Plenty of time for Vera to slip inside and grab something from her room on the way to their proper destination. A simple in-and-out that would only take a minute or two at most, since Vera was the one that knew this place like the back of her hand.

Nobody would expect even Vera to reside somewhere here. There’s no grand ceiling, no trappings of the wealth that many landfolk would balk at, nor any of the niceties that the gorgon’s sadistic streak would entail. A perfectly uninteresting, quaint abode that was open and able to reach either end of in mere seconds. The only thing that might scream that this is a slightly nicer abode is the fact that Vera has to traverse up stairs to get to her room. The familiar click of her heels amidst all the very unfamiliar sounds heard above being the only support amidst this complete unknown.

Everything seems ‘normal’ for this place until there’s a stir in the door, quickly followed by the clicking of heels upstairs rapidly intensifying in their steps before the door opens. The only thing that could be identified immediately as wrong, those quickened steps, even as it’s much too late to do anything about it.

The man, of course, looks nothing like Vera, but the smell is immediate. It’s one that’s often on Vera, yes, that most wouldn’t pick up on and vice versa. This was clearly a person that lived here, too, even if the striking resemblances to Valerie only make who this person was all the more clear. Maybe if it wasn’t so hectic the way he held himself may help, or the familiarities in the way he moves that can be picked up.

Even while he takes in the clearly misplaced thing in his abode, it’s so startlingly clear who this is, and yet it’s made all the more clear when Vera all but falls down the stairs in her stumbling into the living room. Eyes faintly aglow as if the slight dimness of the room was too dark for her. As if she herself didn’t know this person just as readily as she knew the house she grew up in.

“Pa!” Vera exclaims, sealing who this person must be into being true. “You, ah, I thought you would be at the Shelter right now.”

“Well, that nice young lad, ah.. Scott, wasn’t it?” Mr. Oberlin begins, slowly easing the door the rest of the way shut behind him. “Yeah, that nice werewolf. He came by and seemed to have a handle on the kiddos, 'long with everything else being sorted, that I decided to head out early today..”

A perfect, unpredictable dilemma appearing from nowhere. Vera had oft mentioned her attempts to keep her father satiated without seeing Miranda personally, yet, it was all for naught as he looks between Vera and Miranda as the realization seems to be clicking into place in his head.

She startles the very second the door opens. After all, this place, even with its unfamiliarity, is a place that Miranda has been warned about before. Not in the specifics, of course, her tutors and her sisters have never stepped foot here ( not that she knows ), but she knows that this place does not belong to her. Not just in the deed and who has signed it, but in a more existential sense, a sense that this is not a place she belongs either. That she is mismatched in some fundamental, undeniable way, and for this she sticks out, rose quartz scales against wood grain and gold and silk against wallpaper, and thus this place can be safely categorized as other.

Places other are not where she belongs, as they’re dangerous for her, this misplacement as dangerous for herself as it is the people around her. There is a world outside of her castles and manors, and she is actually quite well-educated on this fact, has been since she was young and first began to understood that things could exist in places where Miranda could not see them.

The issue, then, is one of correction. Because she does not fit here, because she has been misplaced, there lies some deeply held impulse within her that this must be corrected in some manner. She has avoided these places for a reason, after all, her unfamiliarity not just a result of a literal physical separation, and it is dangerous for her to stray far. Danger, in this case, being all the things that the crown told her that it could no longer protect her from.

Life inside the walls of the palace were not easy, but even that was a blessing, a gift!, compared to what waited for her beyond. What hungry mouths wished to consume her, salivated over her and her tender flesh, her brittle bones? What knives were being sharpened in the most hidden corners, what weapons were being forged to drag her away from her bed, from her sweet darkness, what ropes to bind her and what straps to break her? What couldn’t be done with her body, her mind, all the wealth that was given to her for her kingdom, all the honor of her family line? Who wouldn’t love her to dash her to shreds, who wouldn’t want to watch her cry and scream?

It was safer in the Royal Palace. It was safer behind castle walls and behind guards and beyond the watchful eye of the throne. The throne would protect her. Only the throne was right for her, and only the throne could know what was right for her, because it was of her and she was of it.

So, yes. It is not an honorable thing, but Miranda startles the second that the door opens behind her. She can’t help it, already so busy stuck staring at this place and the ways that it is unlike her home, and she knows this song and dance too well.

The first step is always the shrinking of her pupils, reduced down into two panicked little scratches, black wrinkle against a shallow tropical sea. Then she twirls, swings her body around, tail following like a streamer by the time her head has already dropped, heading for the ground and the balance and speed of four limbs instead of two. The tempo is kept by a shrill noise, a fresh screech of nails-across-chalkboard, warbling high and long and stretched out too far and too wide and spiking into the ears like she could defend herself that way — a beat that is only shattered by the sound of Vera’s voice.

Her heart is beating too fast already. It’s speeding far and away from the marker for her normal pulse, lazy and sluggish and waiting half-hearted, now pushed faster, faster, faster by the gulps of air that keep coming and have to be replenished too soon, before Miranda can fully begin to handle herself. Her body is made to wait, made to bide its time and waste no energy doing needless tasks, so that then she can burst into action, to chase or be chased, it didn’t matter, trying to occupy two different metabolic rates at once so that she didn’t have to fear for starvation either way.

She’s still dropped halfway down to the ground. Her head is low, her fins pinned back so that she feels them against the desperate flex of her gills, trying to expel nonexistent water that she never swallowed down. In the low light, Vera and him both can see the fluttering, terrified blue light that pulses over arms and flashes in her tail, in the tall paddle that sits like a flag planted in the middle of the hallway.

It is only at this point that Miranda’s mind registers the word ‘Pa’.

Oh.

Her mind is overclocked already. Thoughts swim in and out of focus like seabirds picking at her corpse, swarming delightfully from one tender morsel to another. The initial panic, the terror of assassins slipping up from behind her to feel over the tender skin between her jaw and her gills before plunging the darting scale of a knife into her pale belly, the denial of the anticipation of hurt and of pain and of sheer terror before darkness takes her — it flips her all too easily into the other extreme, into the one place that she can think to go.

Once, before, when Miranda was much younger, she made the mistake of beginning to wail in front of the King’s Court. She couldn’t remember why — she had been a child, young and inexperienced, and she was sure it was something like it was taking too long, or that she was hungry, or that she missed Bellanda, or she hated the clothes she had to wear, or something similar. It didn’t matter why, really. What she had remembered was the claws latching onto the middle of her tail, the sting of blood and the break of bone, and being forcibly dragged backwards through the water in someone else’s slipstream. Miranda never made that same mistake again, of showing upset in front of the King. Lesson learned.

He saw her panic. He saw her startle, saw the weakness in her like the rot it was, knew that there were places and ways to make Miranda fear, and places where someone else could wriggle in, and that wasn’t right, that wasn’t proper of someone of her title. It wasn’t right, something had gone wrong, Vera had chosen poorly, Miranda was going to introduce weakness into their lineage and that couldn’t be permitted to happen, Miranda could not be permitted to make the same mistake again, Vera could not be permitted to pick someone so ill-suited again, she was going to hurt Vera, Vera was going to be hurt because of her, Vera was going to die, Vera was going to die and it was all Miranda’s fault, all her fault, all her fault, all her fault—

“Greetings,” her mouth spoke for her, her accent bleeding in around the edges heavily, making the word warp into something musical and fluting. The cadence of her voice was off. It was too prim, too unruffled, too controlled. Everything pressed in exactly where it was supposed to go, detached and beautiful, untouched by the world or anything in it, a voice that issued commands into fact, a voice that could not be challenged, a voice that reigned supreme over the heavens and the earth and the endless dark, cold depths of the ocean.

“I believe we have not made acquaintance before.”

Vera had heard this voice before. She could see the change as it happened, Miranda standing up again, balancing back on two legs that did not want to carry her alone. The way her fins moved into a position that was not quite relaxed but not lifted either, held professionally and perfectly at the sides of her face, folded over each other as though an afterthought. Everything about Miranda, every harsh edge and every blinding joy, smoothed back into an image of power so complete and total that it became alien, that Miri was shoved out of the definition and Princess Miranda stepped forward to fill it. Even he would see it, not knowing her, because it was impossible to miss, undeniable.

She was beautiful. She was terrifying. She was professional. She was not Miranda.

#Glory and Gore || IC #spkyscry #Snakes in the grass beneath our feet ; rain in the clouds above || Vera x Miranda ( spkyscry )#abuse #child abuse #physical abuse #disassociation #blood #(( oh we LOVE to see the tws return #(( give it up for the tws everybody!!!! we love my mile long tws!!!!!#(( but HOO BOY #(( yeah miri. miri is in a State.

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btsficsforthehumble · 4 years ago

Text

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

A/N: Thank you to the glorious minjoonalist for this banner! Everyone give her some love <3

Part One

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 2k

It’s your first day.

First day entering the world of higher education, on the path to betterment (or whatever the dean said in his boring introductory presentation). To tell the truth, you were pretty zoned out as various speakers talked to the thousands of students that would now become your peers. Those hard ass plastic seats were NOT conducive for attentive listening.

Regardless, you pushed through, and here you are, Monday morning, at 8:45 sharp, sitting in yet another hard ass plastic seat. This time however, you had a small wooden desk in front of you, in line with about a couple dozen others. This was your first class --- Calculus.

You were always good at math compared to the average student, however, being placed with the super smart kids all the time made you self conscience and at worst, made you feel stupid. You were too good at math for the standard curriculum, but felt too dumb for the advanced one. It’s no surprise that math quickly became your least favorite subject.

That hadn’t changed. You were dreading this class, even though you took calculus already in high school --- theoretically, it shouldn’t be that difficult. You knew however, that you had absolutely no willpower when it came to studying math. And considering the fact that you are now attending a prestigious university, one known for their STEM programs, you felt adequately nervous.

You glanced around the classroom, baron except for the desks and the large whiteboard covering the expanse of the front wall. A few other students showed up early as well, mostly looking either as nervous as you felt, or tired like they had just enjoyed their first weekend at college perhaps a little too much.

You yourself hadn’t gone too crazy, going to a single party on Saturday where you only had one drink --- lame even by your own standards. However, you were just getting to know your roommates, and felt it best to remain sober enough to keep an eye out on them or manage any situation this new environment would throw you.

You weren’t close with any of your peers from your high school that also attended your university, and it seemed your roommates were in the same boat. So, naturally, you all decided to go out together as new friends. They all seemed to be nice, and you got along well with everyone so far. You hoped that wouldn’t change.

You sigh gently to yourself while reflecting upon your less than thrilling weekend. You hope that one day you’d let yourself experience the wild college parties that you've heard about. You want to know what it felt like to get properly drunk and dance with a cute stranger without any worries in the back of your head.

Speaking of cute strangers, you take a glance around the classroom, steadily filling up with students. You might as well see if there were any hotties in the class that you knew you’d rather daydream about than pay attention to exponent integrations.

You spotted a boy sitting a ways away from you that caught your attention. His legs were stretched out in front of his desk, in a way that screamed “I don’t care if you trip over me, in fact, I dare you.”

His attention was glued to his phone, as he appeared to be taking snapchats --- probably for some obnoxiously beautiful girls, you thought to yourself, eyes rolling slightly. You had to admit though, he was quite attractive. He had dark brown hair, covering his forehead and slightly swept to the side. His eyes were a dark brown to match, and were quite cute. He had a nice nose and clear skin. His most striking feature was his lips however. He had lips that were larger than the average guy and they looked very kissable. And his frame was decently large, his shoulders wide and masculine, juxtaposing his cute eyes and lips.

You blushed at your own thoughts about the stranger across the room, knowing you were getting entirely carried away in your state of boredom. You still had five minutes until class was supposed to begin. You put away your own phone, which you were holding in your hands as some sort of social protection, in your backpack. You then pulled out your fresh new binder with graph paper, lined paper, tabs, dividers, the whole nine yards. You may not enjoy math, but organization always brought you some level of mental tranquility.

You pull out a pen just as you glance up to see a boy standing in front of you, with the brightest, thousand watt smile on his face. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, his hand in his jeans pocket. He had on a loose tee-shirt that somehow flattered his slim frame. You could tell that he wasn’t a meek first year still finding his bearings. He must be at least a second year. You feel your face heat up as you make eye contact, seeing that he’s looking directly at you.

“Hi there! Is this seat taken?” His eyes widen almost comically as he points to the seat directly in front of you.

“Ah no, no it’s empty.” You cringe internally as you notice your less than relaxed delivery.

He gives you another dazzling smile as he plops in the seat in front of you, pulling out his own simple notebook and pencil.

You rub your forehead trying to get yourself to calm down. You need to not turn red every time a cute boy talks to you, let alone look in your direction. This is so not like you.

You manage to calm yourself down, ready to begin your first class so your attention is off the boy sitting in front of you.

Your professor must have walked in as you were mentally reprimanding yourself, because you hear an authoritative man's voice come from the front of the room when 9 o’clock hits. You immediately began trying to pay attention, writing down all of the information he put on the board even though it’s stuff already in the syllabus. The truth was that you simply needed to throw yourself into a task to keep your mind from straying back onto the boy in front of you.

About seven minutes later, the door to the classroom swings open and another boy walks through, giving the prof a quick salute and grin in apology. You, as well as the rest of the class, had naturally turned your eyes towards the distraction. As soon as it was found to just be a straggler, everyone’s attention quickly shifted back to the professor in front. Your curiosity was piqued by his confident, goofy nature, however.

You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him a moment longer. He had shaggy dark hair, tanned skin, and a smile that was strikingly unique as it was a little bit of a square shape. He was devastatingly handsome, and you had a feeling he knew it too. Your hypothesis was instantly supported as he made eye contact with you, noticing you looking at him longer than your peers. He flashes a smirk your way that you’re pretty sure could knock anyone’s panties off.

You mentally start screaming and feel yourself turning the color of a freaking fire truck. You quickly jerk your head back down to your notes and refuse to look back up to meet his eyes.

It appears he wasn’t going to give you a break though. You felt the air woosh past you as he walks down your aisle and stops immediately behind you, taking the empty seat.

Great.

Now, you were sandwiched between two guys that you're pretty sure were the most attractive you’d seen in a long while. Not to mention the guy several rows over that you were ogling before they even arrived. You quickly realized that there wasn’t a chance in hell your full attention was going to be on the lecture during this class.

Your entire body sagged with relief when your fifty minute class was up and the professor released everyone. Noticing, the boy behind you leaned forward and huskily whispered, “You’re not a morning person either, huh?”

You froze for half a second at the sound of his voice. It was deep and silky, and my god was it sexy. And he was talking to you.

“You could say that.” You were shocked at his attention but somehow managed to pull out a response that didn’t make you look like an idiot. You didn’t bother turning around to look at him as you answered, deciding not to let him see how pink your cheeks were as you returned your items to your bag.

He let out a little chuckle and stood up.

“I’m Taehyung. And you, my little night owl, are?” He drew out the are waiting for your response.

You too stood up, putting your backpack on.

“I, Taehyung, am off to my next class.” You were annoyed that he seemed to take notice of your attention on him in the beginning of the class and thought that you were a fun little target to flirt with. You knew he wasn’t interested, but merely found it fun to take advantage of his good looks. This allowed you to get over your schoolgirl crush behavior and return to your normal self, which you knew had more of a bite than necessary at times. You had developed a tough edge at a young age and you think that it has protected you a lot already in your short life.

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of sass and gave you another grin. You simply rolled your eyes and turned on your heel to march yourself out of the classroom, joining the other students that were filtering out. By the time you had turned around, the cute guy with the smile that made your heart melt had already left. You were slightly disappointed to your own chagrin. Why on Earth are you paying attention to boys when you knew you had other priorities? It’s not like anything would come of it anyway.

Throughout high school, you steered away from boys in a romantic sense and they more than happily did the same. You knew you were intimidating, as you had a sharp mouth and quick wit. No one messed with you and you liked it that way. You had kept to yourself, and kept your grades high. You just didn’t have any interest in the boys you’ve known since you were a kid.

As you walked to your next class, you silently cursed yourself for not being cool and collected the entire period. Where was that icy exterior that you had curated for years? How did a simple smile from the boy in front of you turn you into a puddle? How did that annoyingly hot guy behind you manage to blindside you at first?

You nearly stopped in your tracks and groaned when you realized that you had that class every. single. day. It was five credits, so that meant Monday through Friday, you’d be there 9 in the morning, attempting to not think about the cute boys around you.

You were giddy deep, deep down that such cute guys were in your class but the more level headed side of you knew it was in vain. It’s not like they’d go for you or anything. And besides, they would only distract you from the class that you already knew was going to be a struggle.

You pinched your eyes shut when you slid into your seat in your next class.

You had a feeling it was going to be a long semester.

#BTS #ot7 #ot7 x reader #poly ot7 #fanfic

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klaus-is-the-real-number-1 · 4 years ago

Text

Everybody wants to rule the world (number 5 x reader)

Ask: the reader somehow survives the apocalypse and gets found by five and they spend a couple of years together, in those years they learn about eachother , unfortunately the reader doesn´t make it through the 45 years and dies somehow. When jumping back in time, five goes to find the reader at Griddy's and goes to check on her often and talk with her over coffee, when the apocalypse comes he brings her along with their siblings and also back in time and tells her he's not loosing her again

A/N: Hope this is what you wanted, they’re both 16 at the start like lets pretend instead of running away at 13 he waited a few more years. when he goes back in time to 2019 theyre both 16 just like idk its easier to write them both being 16+

Words:1917

Worked dragged on cold, quiet nights, sometimes the minimum wage job at the small town diner didn’t quite seem worth it, forcing a smile on your face at every new customer. “Can you go down to the freezer and get some ice please, sweety?” Smiling, you nod at your coworker, starting your descent down the steep steps to the basement. You never understood why it was placed quite so far down under Griddy’s but it was a welcome break, the near freezing air cooled your skin.

Deep into the freezer, you hear the door gently click shut behind you as you try to find any ice left at all. Once you spotted one, high up on the top shelf, you reach up on your tiptoes, your finger just skimming the cold plastic bag before you were thrown to the ground by an astronomical force followed promptly by a loud bang that resonated in your chest.

Before you could even gain a sense of what was happening another bang wracked through your body, followed by another, only for multiple hitting all at once almost like a nuclear strike, hell, it was a nuclear strike, that was the only reasoning you could think of to explain what was happening. Then it went silent, you find the courage to shakily make your way onto your feet, slowly edging towards the door.

Quivering, your fingers skimmed the cold door handle of the freezer, almost opening it before being thrown across the freezer by a shockwave, your back slamming against the floor giving you whiplash. Darkness filled the corners of your eyes as the world above you collapsed, the cold from the freezer almost freezing you in place as slowly, everything went black.

Cold seeped into your core as your eyes regained focus, as memories came flooding back tears came flooding in. Ignoring the pain from your back you throw yourself towards the door, begging for it to swing open to reveal that everything is normal only to be greeted with a door full of rubble. Without a second thought you start trying to dig through the rubble with your bare hands, almost instantly getting cuts and debris on your hands, only for a large rumble to cut through the quiet, you run away from the door as you watch it all fall down into the freezer.

“VANYA?”

Your head turns to the freezer door, seeing a stream of light just shining through the top, the outside world, and someone was there. “HELP!” You shout with every ounce of your body.

“HELP!”

Five couldn’t believe his ears, someone was still alive. He tried to find where the sound was coming from then he heard the call for help again, clear as day. Running in the direction it came from, he desperately searched for the sound of the voice before it was too late.

“Hello? Where are you?”

You see a shadow cross the small gap that separates you from the outside world, you hoped it was someone, anything. “I’m here! I’m right here. Look down.” The shadow moved back across the hole, stopping directly in front of it. Suddenly, he was behind you in a flash of blue, you turn to face him, not even bothering to question how he did that and threw yourself towards him and giving him a tight embrace.

When you release him and look around you’re on the surface, your eyes taking in the wasteland of the world. Your mouth fell open at the sight, turning around to see Griddys crumbled to the floor, buildings on fire and people lying dead.

“What happened?” Locking eyes with the boy, you hoped he had an answer.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. How long were you down there?”

“I think since last night,” Your eyes started to water as you spoke, looking at the smashed up Griddy’s sign lying on the floor. “I went to get some ice from the freezer and next thing I knew there was all these bangs going off, like bombs.” You mimicked an explosion with your hands before continuing. “Just before I could try and open the freezer door, a shockwave from something big hitting, I got thrown back and went unconscious.”

“Shit.”

“I’m y/n, I think we might be sticking around each other for a while.”

“Five.” He stuck out his hand, a sad smile on his face.

It was hard fending for yourselves, you were lucky that Five had some survival skills but even with some skills, it was hard. Two teenagers should never be left to fend for themselves, let alone be left as the last ones alive. You taught each other some vital things however, you teaching Five how to cook with limited food and supplies and other small things you’d picked up in your life and Five taught you how to fight and protect yourself, you were quite the team.

Slowly, you became more than a team, more than just two people trying to survive. As the years went on, you were surviving for each other, Five was trying to get the maths right so you could go back together, stop the apocalypse together and live happily, together. No label could describe your relationship but at the same time there was no need to label the relationship when there was only the two of you in the world, it was something special just for you two, the world was yours.

He knew everything about you, your job, favourite movie and book, how you liked greek mythology and the stars. On a night, you’d lie looking at the stars, running your hand through his hair and telling him about a different Greek God and their relation to the stars.

“And that one-” You stopped dead in your tracks, the moon was full but something wasn’t right with it, a part of it was missing. “Five, a part of the moon is missing.”

“Huh?” He squinted his eyes to look at the moon. “Holy shit.”

Now it was just a game of determining how the moon broke, if it was the moon that truly caused the apocalypse. You had plenty of time to think about it as Five worked on his equation to get you both back home. He’d been working on it for years, you weren’t sure how many years had past but you were both much older now, more mature and smart, even if you did have to educate yourselves using whatever books you could find.

A heat wave wracked through the area, fatiguing you and Five during your travels. You’d walked for miles in the blistering heat, there was a welcoming sight of shade next to an upstanding building which was a rare sight. Gratefully, you move into the shade and rest your back against the tall wall, noticing all the exposed beam poles, dangerously hanging exposed above.

But you’d run out of luck, it was bound to happen eventually, almost as if in slow motion the wall gave out behind you and down came the beams, piercing right through you. Everything was numb yet your eyes were open rivers, the memories of you and Five flashed before your eyes, he was your whole life, the love of your life and you ruined it just as quickly as it started. Five was right next to you, begging you to keep living yet you couldn’t hear him as everything went blurry.

“I’ll wait for you in the past Five, just don’t forget to come get me, okay?” You never heard an answer just the ever deafening ringing that consumed your mind as it went blank, all you could make out was him sat right next to you, saying something but you weren’t sure what. Weakly, you raised your hand to his cheek. “I love you.” You spoke, then everything went black.

Work was always slow on the weekdays, with most people being at work it made for a quiet and relaxing shift. A chime echoed through the diner, signalling a new customer. Smiling, you were met face to face with a boy around your age, almost looking at you in awe.

“Hi, how can I help?” Your pen was poised ready to write down his order.

“Black coffee, please.” He seemed nervous, you just smiled and went to get his coffee, coming back and pouring it in front of him. “I like your bracelet, it’s the constellation for Gaia, right? The Goddess of the earth?”

“Wow, yeah,” You smiled to yourself before locking eyes with him. “You know your stuff.”

“I had a friend, a long time ago,” taking the mug, he held it in both his hands as he talked. “They taught me all about the different constellations and their relation to the Gods.” He took a sip.

“I think I’d get along swell with your friend.” You leant against the counter, you felt a wave of deja vu as you spoke to him, he seemed so familiar but you were certain you hadn’t met him before.

“I haven’t seen them in years, maybe I could be the next best thing. I’m Five.” He held out his hand.

Gently, you took it. “I’m y/n.”

As soon as you released his grip, the bell rang again and in came people in black suits and guns, all pointing at Five. Just before you were going to speak Five cut you off.

“Duck.”

Shots ricocheted around the diner as you dropped to the floor behind the counter, frozen in fear you couldn’t move. You didn’t even want to know what was going on behind you, you just kept your eyes firmly shut, hoping it would all be some big dream that you’ll wake up from. As soon as the shooting had stopped you felt a pair of hands on yours.

“Don’t move.” It was Five, a sudden sickening feeling came over you followed by a wave of disotatation. When you open your eyes you’re in an unfamiliar room with Five, the boy you’d met mere minutes ago. “Please hear me out, I can explain everything.”

So you listened and tried to take everything in, the apocalypse, you surviving, building a life with Five and being essentially the last people on earth, then you died. It was overwhelming, the entire situation but one thing struck you, is there any proof?

“Can you prove it? Prove that any of this happened and that you’re not just crazy.” He sighed.

“Promise you won’t freak out?” Once you nodded, he handed you a picture, a picture of you and him but older. “After about 3 years of walking, we found a polaroid camera that only had one film left so we took a picture together.” It was most definitely the both of you in that photo, smiling behind a wasteland behind you.

“I also have this.” He pulled out a silver chain and handed it to you, it was your bracelet. “It’s one of a kind right? You’re grandad made it for you.” He was right, there was only ever one of these bracelets but he had the exact same one.

“So we were the last ones standing?” He nodded. “Cool.” It was not cool at all, it was terrifying.

“I’m going to stop the apocalypse, y/n, but I can’t do it without you. I can’t lose you again.”

You stare at the items in your hand before locking eyes with him. “Okay, me and you, we’re gonna stop this. I promise.”

#number 5 #number 5 x reader #number 5 imagine #number 5 fluff #number five #number five headcanon #number five fluff #number five imagine #number five x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves fluff

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guiltysecretpasttime · 4 years ago

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Untitled - 3

(Continuation of Untitled Linzin fanfic, pre-canon AU, wip)

It was past sundown when they finally managed to get in front of the reception area of the hotel they were staying at in the Earth Kingdom. It was not one of the five-star Ba Sing Se hotels but it would suit their purpose.

Ikki refused to detach herself from Lin, so the earthbender had to carry the child all the way from the ride from the train station to the hotel. This left Tenzin to commandeer most of their luggage. Jinora dutifully held his hand while dragging her own stroller bag.

As the bellboy unlocked the suite and began to rattle on about the amenities it included, Lin’s sharp eyes took in the rooms.

Tenzin nodded as the man pointed out the living area – a living room, small kitchen, two bedrooms and one bathroom.

The bellboy handed him their keys. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”

The airbender distractedly thanked the man and locked the door behind him.

Lin shifted the weight of Ikki on her arms.

Tenzin winced slightly; his daughter was getting too old and too big soon to be carried.

He cleared his throat. “So, who’s hungry?”

Jinora quietly raised her hand.

Ikki buried her face into Lin's shoulder further, mumbling.

Lin frowned. He did not catch what his daughter was saying, but Lin apparently did. "Kid, the last time you ate was at noon. You might need more food now."

Ikki shook her head. "Bed."

Lin looked like she wanted to disagree and to push the child to eating dinner, but Tenzin beat her to it. "Ok Ikki, bedtime for you it is." He moved forward to take the kid off the earthbender, avoiding Lin’s disapproving expression.

He carried Ikki to one of the bedrooms while Lin went back to the living room, probably to check on their luggage.

When he came back out after settling Ikki (who, for all her claims of being tired, took quite a while to settle down), Jinora was freshly showered and reading on the couch. Lin was nowhere in sight.

Before Tenzin could even ask about his wife’s whereabouts, the door opened.

Lin had opened the door from the outside and a waiter pushed a food cart in.

Once the waiter has left them, Lin once more locked the door and gestured to the trays on the cart. “Here's the food.” She announced unnecessarily.

He eyed her curiously. “You could have called for room service.” It would have been more convenient, he thought as he and Jinora sat down in the makeshift dining area that straddled the kitchenette and the living room.

Lin simply shrugged, removing the food covers off the plates. “Had to make sure our travel arrangements for tomorrow are in place anyway. Figured why not check the food out.”

Tenzin knew better than to take her explanation at face level. The nonchalant tone she used was a guise. It meant she had probably gone to the kitchens to see for herself that their food was not tampered with (Bumi’s warning about poisons and other ingested medicine rang clearly in his head after being briefed about their vacation.) Nonetheless, he was tired and it had been a long few days so he let it rest.

He and Jinora each took a plated dish while Lin reached over to pluck out the wrapped sandwich from the side of the tray. Just as he was about to offer his seat to her, Lin had walked towards the living room and got on the couch.

“Lin, are you alright there? You can always join us for dinner.” Propriety dictated that he invite her over, faux wife or not (a niggling voice at the back of his head that sounded like his mother whispered that it was not faux since they were wed well within he confines of the state’s laws).

“I’m good here, thank you.” Lin did not even face him and he was treated to her back. She unwrapped her sandwich, took a bite and was engrossed on something on her lap.

He managed to peer over her shoulder to see what got her attention. It was the Earth Kingdom’s evening paper.

He cringed slightly as the front page had a short article about his nuptials from the previous day. The sidebar also ran an accompanying story of their history years ago and subsequent reunion. The page flipped before he could even see what salacious rumors were written up.

Jinora asked something about a word she had trouble understanding (sagacious) from the book she was reading; and so Tenzin forced himself to focus on their dinner.

He needed to talk to Lin without the children. He supposed, as he took a bite of his meal, he would have time later before bed.

Tenzin had just finished readying his toiletries and pajamas when Lin poked her head through their bedroom door, hair wrapped up in a towel. “Shower’s all yours. I’ll check on the girls, make sure they’re all good for the night then I’ll go to bed.”

That had to be three-fourths of an hour ago since he got back from his night shower.

Tenzin wondered what could be taking Lin so long, he frowned at the empty space beside him. He hoped Ikki and Jinora were fine, then concluded that Lin would have called for him if there were any problems.

Idly, his thoughts wandered as he cleaned his glasses while in bed.

It was great that that girls now had some female influence around them. Not that he thought the acolytes at Air Temple Island were in any way deficient in educating the girls. It was just that the acolytes were a tad too…

He ran his fingers through his beard, thinking of the appropriate word.

Submissive? Tame?

Meek.

They were also a little bit to eager to please.

He made a face. These were not traits he wanted his daughters to necessarily imbibe.

At least with Lin, a fond smile crept unbidden, she was none of those things. He figured she would be a good strong female role model for the girls.

He placed the glasses back on and tried to concentrate on the book he had had brought on this trip. It is nice to have some quiet time for himself.

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, he heard his daughter crying from the other room. He heard the rush of footsteps as he got up quickly to head to the other bedroom.

Lin was already there, seated at the edge of the bed at Ikki’s side. Jinora was still lying down but rubbing her eyes, blinking at being awoken by her sister beside her.

From what he gathered, between Ikki’s hiccups and words, the child woke up in the unfamiliar room and had cried in panic and fear.

Tenzin observed the earthbender from his perch beside Jinora, who had promptly gone back to sleep upon seeing her father and Lin at their room. She correctly surmised that they will take care of Ikki anyway.

Lin managed to calm the girl down, whispering and combing through her hair until the cries dwindled to whimpers and sniffles.

There was a pang in his chest at the scene before him. He would be lying to himself if he claimed that he had not imagined Lin comforting his (their?) child when they were younger.

Feeling his gaze at them, Lin raised her eyes to meet his. She tilted her head to the side in question. He answered merely with a shake of his head, his throat feeling a little bit thick.

After a few more minutes, Ikki's breathing changed; she fell back to sleep. Lin gently laid Ikki’s head back on her pillow.

Tenzin leaned to place a kiss on the forehead of his daughters. For a moment, Lin looked like she was about to do the same but she straightened up, and moved to leave the room. He caught her by the elbow and together they left.

Once outside the bedroom, Lin pulled away; eyes darting towards the living room. “I’m sorry, I just – I heard Ikki cry and I thought – well, better make sure that she’s alright. I’m sorry for intruding.”

Belatedly, Tenzin realized she was wearing shorts and a tank top, apparently she has been ready for bed. “No, it’s not that – thank you actually, for caring.” He trailed off. “Why don’t you go to bed now?”

Lin nodded curtly and Tenzin felt her distancing herself from him. “Good night.”

“Wait, where are you -?” Tenzin found himself asking when Lin went passed their bedroom door and into the living room. He then saw the rumpled blanket and pillow on the couch.

He paused there, stunned as Lin bent to fluff the pillow. That she had been sleeping earlier on the couch even did not cross his mind as he waited for her in their his bed.

“Need something?” Lin raised an eyebrow wryly at him. “I can assure you that everything in this suite is secure and safe.” She patted the couch. “I can guard you all best from here.”

Of course.

Tenzin swallowed drily. Well, that felt foolish. He felt foolish for assuming – no, even thinking – that Lin would share the bed with him.

For all intents and purposes, that was all that she is now – his family's bodyguard.

---

Note: Let’s toss in the tropes~ forced marriage? Maybe a bodyguard AU? There-was-one-bed? I pretty much have an outline of this short story but if you have thoughts or suggested scenarios/trope, go ahead. Happy to hear them!

#linzin #linzin fanfic #toccatina's fanfics #toccatina wip #toccatina untitled #the legend of korra #Lin Beifong #tenzin

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the-witty-pen-name · 4 years ago

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ok so for the requests, maybe a Loki x teen!reader (platonic) where they're both touchstarved dorks but one day Loki has a horrible nightmare and reader tries their best to comfort him? and their bond grows from then onwards? just a suggestion :))

Thank you so much for the idea! I have never written anything platonic before so I hope I do your idea justice! I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you don’t mind I took a couple of creative liberties writing this! It ended up being a little more serious than I planned when I started writing but it just flowed out! I didn’t have classes so I got to write so I’m posting earlier than I usually plan to which I’m happy about. I really appreciate you reaching out to me with this idea :)

Confidant

Loki x Reader

warnings: none; angst

word count: 1.4k

Loki’s childhood is not entirely something he can look back on fondly. However, like many of us, he is blessed with several good memories that despite everything which has happened in his life, he looks back on fondly. One of these was you, it was always with you. In your youth, you and him were many times inseparable. That was years ago now, and even then, you weren’t in his life until his teen years. His best friend and confidant, forever loyal to him as he was to you.

Before becoming your friend, Loki had no previously been exposed to a relationship like it before. Other than his mother, who he loved dearly, he confided in no one about how he felt about his father, his feeling of inferiority when it came to Thor… It was all very internalized. However, even after making your acquaintance for the first time, it took him a very long time to open himself up to your kindness and your promise of friendship.

You had first met the god of mischief when you were living at the palace for an extended stay. Promising a group of Asgardian teenagers the finest education he could afford, Odin in an act of charity (but also a glorified publicity stunt) invited a handful of gifted students from the local school to learn under the tutelage of the finest minds. In layman’s terms, these students were invited to be taught alongside Thor and Loki during their academic term when it would normally be just the two brothers.

The first several days of lessons, the tutors instructed everyone to work in pairs and of course you were partnered with Loki. The first several days, he wouldn’t speak to you. He would compete the assignments without so much as look at you and then allowed you to take credit for half the work. He’d resist any sort of attempt you would make to make small talk or help with the tasks at hand, but he always refused.

You were very much like Loki as well, and you were oftentimes more alike than you would ever care to admit. You were just as ambitious and proud, and you wouldn’t stand to just sit back while he ignored you. You also didn’t have many friends. You were much more social than Loki, but like him you had no real lasting friendships. Eight of the brightest in your year were selected for this program and being one of them is not something you planned to take lightly.

Eventually, you wore him down. You began to work together to complete assignments and you both were very competitive in getting the correct answer before the other. The back and forth was at first strictly academic, but he was still the closest thing you had to a friend. You enjoyed working with him immensely. You both started to see where the other exceled and you both knew when to let the other take lead. It was an exercise of trust and teamwork, the first positive experience of teamwork you both had.

There was an unspoken change between the two of you that evolved very naturally, even though you still both acted quite distant and closed off. There was mutual understanding of wanting company, but only being willing to extend yourself so far. He would take the spot next to you when dining, and you both would walk to and from lessons together.

Your quarters were down the hall from Thor and Loki. All of the students in the program were staying in the same wing of the house as the two princes. Your room was three down from Loki’s room. Your room and private bathroom were one of the nicest luxuries you were ever exposed to. Falling asleep every night had been so easy for you since staying at the palace, something you were never used to before in your lifetime. However, there was one night where you couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling no matter how much you tossed and turned looking for comfort. Normally, you would sink into the mattress engulfed in the lavish bedding and fall into a dream almost instantaneously. As the nights passed, the appeal of the large room and the oversized palace transformed more into a feeling of emptiness. You were one person and in a large room like that every night where the ceilings were as tall as giants, you felt more and more small.

You noticed when there was a dim light outside your door in the late hours of the night. You didn’t know the source, but you knew they were right outside your door. You closed your eyes, and buried yourself under the covers- not afraid of anything in particular but just the reaction to the fear of the unknown. The door to the room was gently pushed open and Loki revealed himself to you.

He looked small, just like how you felt. His eyes were red and swollen, his pale skin patchy and the lamp he held illuminated the tear stains on his cheeks. You could tell he was trying his best to keep himself together, and you could see the fear in his eyes and in his body language. It was a mix of him allowing himself to be so exposed emotionally, but also a reaction to the night terror he had just woken up from.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, closing the door behind him. He stood sheepishly. He realized his only instinct was to go to you but his plan stopped there. It was an involuntary response he didn’t stop to think about before coming to you to seek comfort. “I’m sorry for waking you. I just… I just had an absolutely terrible dream and I couldn’t bear to be alone.”

You nodded sympathetically and moved from the middle of the bed to one side. You pulled open the comforter so Loki could join you. He placed the lamp on the night table and turning it out, and then he tried his best to settle himself in the unfamiliar bed as he sinks in under the covers. You pull the blankets back up and his arms wrap themselves around your torso pulling you into a tight hug.

He needed someone and he didn’t know where else to go. Perhaps he could’ve sought out his mother, but he knew she might have sent him back to his own room. Which would’ve been fair, because he is no longer a child, even though there are many aspects of his life where he still feels like one. You feel the tenseness in his body ease away as you hug him back. The embrace doing wonders for the anxieties you faced as well. It was a moment you were not going to ruin by talking or asking him about his nightmare. It was a very comfortable silence, and his presence filled the room of the emptiness that was bothering you mere minutes before he arrived at your door.

For the first time in a very long time, Loki slept very easily. Just the touch of someone who seemed to understand and share his own stresses helped him more than he’d ever be able to communicate. Just the simple embrace was enough for now to allow him to rest easy. You rested your head into the crook of his neck and just comforted your friend in the darkness. He was cold, especially his hands. It was comforting combined with the extra warmth provided by the many pillows and layers of bedding. It was a perfect mix. It would be something he would never forget and yet also something he could never bring himself to thank you for.

After that night, the barrier you both had up seemed to gradually fade much faster than the pace it was going. Loki confided in you as a confidant and many times began to open up to you about his troubles. You understood each other and he loved that he never needed to explain himself… you just got each other.

He looks back at that year fondly, and he oftentimes regrets not making the effort to keep up with you over the years. However, whenever he did see you, it was like time and life had never interfered in your friendship. He’d see you at events at the palace, and you’d meet his eyes with the same familiar smile and greet him with a tight embrace that takes him back to all those years ago. You were a constant, never changing, when it came to your friendship to him. He was able to depend on that you were there. He could go a lifetime without seeing you, and yet he’d recognize you anywhere from the sound of your voice, or your laugh alone. It was an unbreakable bond.

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 3 years ago

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“Just as the brutality of the prison system contributed to the formation of a unified political identity, the constant circulation of prisoners through its component parts encouraged inmates to internalize the parameters of a new national space. Lawbreakers were typically held in local jails following arrest, sent to provincial prisons before trial, transferred to a central prison while awaiting appeal, and deported to a remote penitentiary after sentencing. Hard labor convicts and political prisoners were almost always severed from their native places and transported either to the distant southern islands of Poulo Condore, the remote northern provinces of Cao Bang, Lai Chau, Ha Giang, and Son La, or the secluded eastern highland towns of Buon Ma Thuot and Lao Bao. Inmates sentenced to relégation in Cochin China, Cambodia, and Laos were compelled to serve their sentences in the Tonkinese penitentiaries at Cao Bang and Lai Chau, while those from Annam and Tonkin were sent south to Poulo Condore.

Labor shortages in undeveloped provinces also encouraged the mobility of the colonial prison population. Two to three times a year, residents drew up lists of “healthy and robust” prisoners who could be furnished temporarily to provinces in need of manpower. In a letter sent to all residents in 1904, the resident superior of Tonkin announced his “intention to send to the High Region the most prisoners possible, in order to make up for a severe insufficiency of labor.” In 1920, 1,365 Tonkinese inmates were transferred from institutions in the Delta to prisons in the northern provinces for road construction and other “work of general interest.” Prisoners were also moved to relieve overcrowding, to break up clandestine plots and prison gangs, and to evacuate sites infected by epidemic disease.

What was the impact of the constant traffic of inmates through the prison system’s serpentine network of communal wards? In certain respects, the flow of lawbreakers through the colonial prison system generated changes in popular consciousness similar to the changes in elite consciousness triggered by the circulation of students through the Franco-Vietnamese school system. Both systems uprooted individuals from their native places, removed them from their families and shepherded them through a hierarchical network of institutions that blanketed a new administrative landscape. During their journeys, they formed intimate attachments with fellow sojourners who came from faraway regions and spoke in unfamiliar accents. As a result, prisons, like schools, nurtured bondings that supported the development of what Benedict Anderson has described as “imagined communities.”

After release, escape, graduation, or expulsion, many ex-students and ex-prisoners (especially political prisoners) attempted to promote the sensations of connectedness that they had experienced during their journeys as the ideology of modern nationalism. In contrast to schools, however, prisons were neither exclusive nor elitist institutions. Whereas mere thousands completed educational pilgrimages from local primary schools to urban secondary schools and on to higher educational opportunities in Hanoi, Saigon, and Paris, millions undertook the equally extensive but involuntary carceral journey. Hence, large segments of the colonial underclass participated in the formation of a national community through the shared experience of penal imprisonment.

Because the prison system blanketed Cambodia and Laos, in addition to Annam, Tonkin, and Cochin-China, the nationalism it promoted was perhaps more Indochinese than Vietnamese. After all, Vietnam as a modern geopolitical concept did not emerge until the establishment of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam by Ho Chi Minh’s Viet Minh in 1945. Until then, French efforts to integrate the three dominant ethno-linguistic components of Indochina—Cambodia, Laos, and Annam–Tonkin–Cochin China—by creating common bureaucratic and infrastructural frameworks had created an unresolved tension within local nationalist thinking. For many Vietnamese officials assigned to posts in Phnom Penh and Cambodian students attending university in Hanoi, the postcolonial nation-state that they imagined was Indochinese, not Cambodian or Vietnamese. This was only natural given that colonial bureaucracies penetrated all five territories of the Union and functioned to channel elite boys throughout the diverse ethno-linguistic terrain of Indochina. The same was true, of course, for the colonial prison system, which occasionally transferred Lao murderers to Cochin China and Vietnamese recidivists to Cambodia.” - Peter Zinoman, The Colonial Bastille: A History of Imprisonment in Vietnam, 1862–1940. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2001. pp. 65-67.

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intheticklecloset · 5 years ago

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Spill It (Invader Zim)

I was finally in the mood to write a new fic! I personally think this one is super cute. Hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Invader Zim

Shipping: ZADF, slight ZADR

Requests Filled:

Zim’s antennae as tickling tools

Zim teasing Dib in front of his dad

“You’re only teasing me because you like me!”

Dib challenges Zim to keep his arms up for once

“Sure, Dad, spaghetti sounds great,” Dib said to his father through clenched teeth, his whole body tense. He knew he had to be blushing, which only made this situation worse. Once again Zim discreetly poked his side, and Dib had to resist the urge to react in any way. “Uh…about how long do you think until it’s ready?”

“Oh, another fifteen minutes or so,” Professor Membrane replied in his ever dramatic, declarative voice. “You boys should start on your homework in the meantime. Having a good education is very important!”

This time Zim pinched Dib’s side, making the human let out a small “eep!” that he quickly tried to cover up as a good-humored laugh at what his father had said. He took a step away from Zim, making it look like he was getting ready to go upstairs. “You’re right, Dad. We’d better get going, huh, Zim?” He shot the alien a glare while his father wasn’t looking.

“Indeed,” Zim declared, smirking, not even trying to hide how pleased he was with himself. “We must keep our grades up if we are to have a future.” He wiggled his fingers out of Professor Membrane’s eye line, grinning at the darker blush it pulled from Dib.

“You two are acting strange,” Membrane remarked after a moment. “Stranger than usual, which is saying a lot. Are you all right? Is school causing you any stress?”

The only thing that’s causing me stress is this confounded Irken! Dib wanted to scream, but instead he shook his head quickly and grabbed Zim’s wrist, practically hauling him past his father and up the stairs, shouting over his shoulder as he went. “Nope! We’re fine! Everything’s fine. Just let us know when dinner is ready and we’ll be right down!”

As soon as they were at his room, Dib shoved Zim inside, closed and locked the door behind them, then turned and lunged at the alien who – amazingly – actually seemed to be taken by surprise. Dib wasted no time in digging into Zim’s sides and using his tickling powers to force his friend to the ground so he could straddle and pin him there.

“Wait!” Zim cried, laughter already filling up the room. He slapped his hands over his mouth in an effort to rein them in. “I was going to tickle you!”

“Oh, heck no. Not after that stunt you just pulled down there.” Dib half-growled, half-chuckled at his friend, who was very quickly losing his composure. He dug in a little harder. “You were practically begging for this, Zim. Now lay there and take it like a good little alien.”

Zim bit back a squeal, laughing and squirming beneath Dib but – as usual – not protesting in the slightest. After a minute Dib smirked and, still tickling, demanded: “Put your arms up.” When Zim didn’t comply immediately, he said more forcefully, “Arms up, Zim.”

Zim whined a little, but did as he was told and stretched his arms up above him and held them there, giving Dib much easier access to his torso. He focused on Zim’s sides quite a bit, but also deviated to his stomach and ribs when the mood suited him. Another couple of minutes went by before Dib decided to be mean.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” he hummed teasingly, his fingers deep in Zim’s ribs, clawing at them. “Tickle, tickle, tickle the ticklish Irken soldier~”

In an instant Zim’s face was flushed blue and he lost all control of his laughter, shooting his arms back down to cover his mouth again and keep from being heard or discovered by Professor Membrane or Gaz. “No, Dib!” he wheezed, squirming crazily. “Don’t do that!”

“Excuse me? I don’t believe you’re the one in charge here,” Dib mock-snapped, moving back down to squeeze Zim’s sides and thus enhance his friend’s distress. “You want to tease me in front of my dad? Fine. I’ll tease you right back.” He lowered his voice to the register Zim used on him and continued. “Tickle, tickle!”

“Stop!” Zim pleaded, shaking his head. He brought his arms down further to try and pry Dib’s off of him. “Dib!”

“Put your arms up, Zim,” Dib demanded, “before I tie you to the bed and tickle your hips until the whole neighborhood hears you screaming with laughter." To make his point, his hands slid down a little to just barely press into the Irken’s hips.

Zim let out a whine of protest, but his arms shot back up above his head nonetheless.

“Good alien.” Dib had never said that to Zim before, but here in this moment it appeared to really be messing with his friend, so he kept it up. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

Zim clutched his wrists together above him, clearly fighting to remain quiet enough not to draw attention from downstairs. But despite his obvious distress, it was clear he was loving this, too. His huge smile and unstoppable giggles said as much.

“Not as fun when you’re the one trying to keep it together, huh, Zim?” Dib mocked. He poked sporadically in the alien’s underarms, watching with satisfaction as he jumped and squeaked and giggled. “How does it feel to be teased without being able to react the way your body wants to?”

Zim let out a noise then that sounded like a cross between a ticklish laugh and a scoff. “You’re only teasing me because you like me!”

The accusation was so far from what Dib expected to hear in reply that he faltered and came to a complete stop. Zim let slip a few residual giggles and took a couple of breaths before focusing on the human, and immediately he realized he’d said something wrong. Dib climbed off of him, muttering, “Is that a bad thing? You seemed to be enjoying it.”

Zim hurried to recover his mistake. “I was! I didn’t mean I didn’t like it.” His words came out in a rush. “I meant only that you weren’t teasing me for revenge, as you were trying to get me to believe. Maybe that was part of it, but I know you just like to make me helpless to stop you.”

Dib was blushing again now, shifting uncomfortably on the floor. “I…I like teasing you because I know you like it, mostly. But it is cute to watch you react so strongly to what I’m saying, and…” He bit his lip to keep from saying any more. “Never mind. Let’s just…get ready for dinner.”

“And what, Dib?” Zim asked, grabbing onto his friend’s arm when he moved to stand up. “It’s fun for you to watch me react, and what?”

“Nothing, Zim.” Dib tugged gently, hoping it would be enough to free himself from the alien’s grasp, but he should have known better. “Zim.”

Zim tugged as well, strong enough that Dib kind of toppled forward, landing practically in the Irken’s lap. Zim situated himself behind Dib and wrapped his arms around his middle, trapping him. He smirked and tilted his head downward so his antennae were able to easily reach Dib’s neck and ears. “Tell me.”

Dib tensed at the unfamiliar yet still ticklish sensation across his neck, instinctively squirming, but Zim only held him tighter. Before he could stop it, a panicked giggle escaped him. “Zim, stop—”

“You know I will tickle it out of you if I must,” Zim replied coolly, his voice having lowered to that kind of teasing tone that really messed with Dib. “But do you really wish for me to make you laugh so loud your father hears you and comes to check on you?”

Oh, god. Dib could feel the heat of his blush on his ears already, even before Zim’s fingers dug into his sides in tandem with the light brushing of his antennae against his neck. The human sputtered, giggled, tried to fight back. “No, no, no. Please, no. Zim—”

“Very well.” Zim stuck out his tongue and let it glide along the side of Dib’s neck, grinning in triumph at the squeal of laughter it elicited. He let his fingers dig into his friend’s sides deeper. “Then tell me what else you enjoy about teasing me.”

Dib’s heart raced. He’d been tied up and tickled by this alien multiple times, but handcuffs on his wrists hadn’t made him feel nearly as helpless as he did right now. Laughter bubbled up out of him before he could stop it. He fought against Zim’s grip to no avail. He wasn’t going anywhere and he knew it. “Zim, please! No! Please, it tickles!”

He was referring mostly to the Irken’s tongue on his neck and antennae brushing his ears, but coherency had flown out the window the instant Zim had him trapped. The Irken, for his part, merely chuckled darkly. “That’s rather the point, isn’t it?” He let his hands slide up Dib’s sides to his ribs, inching closer to the spot that would force the answer from him. “Tell me.”

Dib couldn’t explain why, but a part of him really loved this. This side of Zim – the darker, more sinister alien he’d known as a kid – along with the teasing and the desperate desire to keep his mouth shut while knowing at the same time that once a certain spot was tickled, the information would come spilling out of him in an unstoppable rush of incoherent babbling and pleading for mercy.

Interrogation? He wondered through his laughter and squirming. Zim’s arms remained locked around his torso firmly, tickling him in three places at once, gradually forcing Dib to grow more and more desperate. Do I like being tickled into spilling information?

“Last chance, Dib,” Zim said suddenly, bringing the human out of his reverie. “Tell me what you like about teasing me or I will tickle your bad spot and force it out of you.”

Those words! Dib shuddered, their meaning settling over him like a layer of dust he couldn’t shake off. Still, a tiny thrill shot through him at the same time, and before he realized it, he found himself playing along despite his flustered state. “Do your worst. I’ll never tell you anything.”

Zim paused for a moment, slightly thrown off by Dib’s sudden display of bravado. Then, with a wicked grin, he wrapped his legs around Dib’s hips, effectively pinning the boy’s arms to his sides while Zim’s fingers plunged into the tiny crevice that gave him access to Dib’s underarms and dug in relentlessly.

Dib regretted everything immediately. He tossed his head back and laughed, struggling and thrashing but getting absolutely nowhere. If that weren’t enough, Zim not only focused on one of his hot spots with merciless precision – his tongue was still gliding over his neck, making everything tickle so much worse!

“Stop, stop!” Dib pleaded, laughter bursting from his lungs without permission or control. “Please! Zim!”

“Aw, where did all your resolve go, human? I thought you said you’d never tell me anything.” Zim chuckled. “That’s fine by me. I’ll just have to settle for making you beg.”

“I’m begging! I’m begging!” Dib screeched, knowing his laughter was growing louder by the second and unable to do anything about it. He laughed and laughed for a good minute, allowing all the tension to leave his body with it before finally caving. “Stop! Please! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!”

“Yes, you will talk.” Zim’s voice was in that low and sinister register that Dib found so effective. “And I will not stop tickling until you do. So spill it, you helpless Earth worm.”

Good lord, who taught Zim how to tease like that?!

“Agh! All right, all right!” Dib cried, still laughing as he sputtered, “I l-like teasing you because I l-like watching you lose control a-and hearing you beg!” He continued to laugh for another few seconds, then implored, “Please, stop! That’s all, I swear!”

“I don’t wish to stop,” Zim replied, his voice lighter now, more playful. “I wish to hear you laugh more.”

“Zim!” Dib pleaded, struggling. “Please! You can tickle me after dinner! All night if you want! Please – my dad will be calling us down any second!”

At that Zim did stop, allowing Dib only a few moments of recovery before humming, “I can tickle you all night, can I?”

Dib groaned. When was he going to learn to keep his mouth shut?! “W-Well…okay, maybe not all night, but I’ll let you tickle me after dinner, I promise!”

“Until you have to say the safe word?”

“Y-Yeah. Sure.”

Finally, Zim released his hold on Dib and scooted so he was sitting next to the human, who quickly tried to re-comb his hair with his fingers and straighten his clothes out like he hadn’t just been tickled into submission by his best friend.

“You like to watch me lose control and hear me beg, then?” Zim asked, his tone curious.

Dib sighed, blushing, unable to make eye contact. “I…yeah. It’s cute to watch you crumble into giggles when I tickle the right spots. And hearing you beg…I don’t know. There’s just something really satisfying about hearing you yell ‘please.’ Since you love being tickled so much it’s hard to get you to actually beg me, but when you do and I can hear how desperate you are, it’s just…” He swallowed, shrugged. “It’s…intoxicating.”

“Perhaps now you see why I enjoy tickling you so much, Dib. Our reasons are not so different. I like when you are at my mercy and both of us know it.”

Dib blushed. “Yeah…I guess you’re right.”

“Boys!” Professor Membrane called from downstairs. “Dinner’s ready! Whatever you find so funny, pull it together and get down here!”

Zim and Dib stared at each other, eyes wide, blushes darkening.

“He…he heard us?” Dib asked.

“He heard you,” Zim replied, getting to his feet. “I was under control.”

“You were able to cover your mouth! I couldn’t do that!”

“No. But it was so delicious to hear you laugh like that. I couldn’t allow you to cover it up.”

Dib grumbled under his breath as he unlocked the door. “So when he asks what we were laughing at, what are we going to tell him?”

Zim shrugged nonchalantly as he breezed past Dib out the door. “I don’t care. As long as I still get to tickle you afterward.”

#tickling #ticklish #tickle #tickle fic #fanfiction #invader zim #spill it #zadf #zadr #interrogation #tickle fight

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depths-of-hope-and-despair · 3 years ago

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Inception

Aditi dragged her feet back to her room, flipping the light switch off and practically collapsing onto her bed. Typically, the dark haired girl would drown herself in alcohol until sleep found her, but after the emotionally exhausted rescue and reunited with those she considered family, she needed no help at all with falling to sleep. She could only hope for pleasant dreams and not one of her dreaded night terrors.

When her eyes opened, Aditi was greeted by an unfamiliar sight. An office room, complete with an expensive wooden desk, dark teal walls, motivational pictures and childish drawings adorning the scene, and a hollow empty window to her left. A therapist’s office, not that she was familiar with that setting whatsoever.

In front of her, with legs propped up on the office desk, was an usual man, staring straight through her. He smirked like a beast eyeing its prey, two fangs poking out from his upper lip. An unnatural luminescent pair of pink eyes met an equal rival in Aditi’s own bright lime green.

“Oh, what a surprise. I didn’t expect a new patient at this time.” He claimed, his voice reassuring while his predatory gaze switched to an apologetic expression instead. “Certainly I can squeeze you in, I’ll take my break a moment or two later is all.” Swiftly, he wrote down a note in a small notepad nearby only to slam it shut eagerly a second later. Leaning forward with interest, his gaze met hers once again. “May I ask who you are, my child?”

Aditi stared back, blinking slowly at the aura of this new character. She rarely saw new faces in her own dreams. This was out of the ordinary to say the least. “... Aditi.” She answered after a brief pause, her eyes scanning the room and moving back to him. “Why am I here?” She asked bluntly, trying to keep her anxiety at bay. The things she didn’t understand immediately were the most unnerving.

The man dotted down the information in his notepad once more, his hand moving at a breakneck pace. “Can you tell me your age and preferred pronouns?” Aditi looked down, noticing he seemed to be drawing a small sketch of her face on the information sheet. Strange.

“Twenty. She/Her.” She informed, her impatience already taking hold and shining through her tone. Her foot tapped on the hard floor, hand gripping the arm of the chair she sat in adjacent to the man. “Are you studying me?”

“Do not be afraid, Aditi.” He glanced up at her, his fangs on plain display while smiling, noticing how tense she had become. “I am under oath. All the information you give to me shall never leave this office.” He assured, tossing the notebook aside after the information was filled in completely. “You must be confused. Usually my patients come here for our patented dream therapy. It’s quite the genius invention. People more than often cannot afford or barely have the time to seek out someone that can help them with their mental health, sometimes they are too young and their parents don’t allow it. This is where I come in.” Though his explanation was vague at best, he flailed his arms in such a flamboyant nature that Aditi would have almost been fooled that she learned something new. Almost.

“So...” Aditi began, folding her arms together, closing herself off with narrowed unimpressed eyes. “You are a dream demon then? One that offers... therapy?”

“You wound me with such a barbaric title like that, Aditi.” The man chuckled at her change in posture, gaze softening to become more sincere and reassuring. “I can assure you, there is no need to fear me. I am an educated professional. I even have a degree.” He nodded towards the wall where, surely enough, a college degree was laminated and hung proudly on the wall.

The ravenette squinted at the paper hung on the wall. Albert, that was his name. “.... That is a degree in marine biology.” She informed him, flatly.

“Unfortunately-“ He continued with an easy smile upon his face, electing to completely ignore her comment. “I did not have time to prepare for your arrival, so we will have to make due with a shorter session today.” Aditi could hear the sound of a drawer roll open, the man in front of her now holding up a deck of cards. “How about we play a little game to break the ice? Draw a card, there are pictures on the cards, and tell me something out of your life that reminds you of the picture. I will even play along with you, so we both learn about one another.”

Aditi steeled herself, frowning. There was no use fighting this, it was a dream. A fantasy. Nothing here could hurt her. It could end quicker and painlessly if she played along. With that in mind, her hand reached out and picked one of the cards from the deck. Looking over the splotches of ink and the shape they made, an answer fell out automatically. “A syringe.”

Aditi pushed the card back towards him delicately, ushering him to take his turn. “The point of this game is to get to know one another? I don’t see how image association will help with that.” She commented cynically.

“Oh contraire. Image association games reveal a lot about one's character and psyche.” He corrected her, tracing the ink on the card with his finger. “One sees a bunny in a blot, another may see a terrible monster. It’s the most basic way to determine thought disorders and reveal the mindset of a person. It has been used since 1921.” He chuckled, putting the card at the bottom of the deck and pulling one himself, looking at the image was the first time he broke eye contact with Aditi, intense gaze now roaming over the ink while talking: “Thoughts. Memories. All of it are pictures projected in the human mind. And the same memory could look very different in another person's head. It’s all just.... a matter of perspective....”

“You talk quite a lot, don’t you?” Aditi remarked, blinking at him, seemingly almost amused by his bountiful amount of information on this topic.

“It is my job to talk a lot, Aditi.” He commented in return, finally giving his answer: “I see hands.”

Aditi hummed, reaching forward and grabbing the next card on her own. Scanning over the ink sketch, only one answer came to mind. The lines of black ink could only register as the cold iron bars. “I see a cage.”

He dotted down another sentence at her words, not commenting in the slightest, instead looking at the ink splotch she saw, a crooked smirk spreading on his face. A lot of the younger patients saw a hashtag in it. He couldn’t say he was tech savvy, he didn’t even have a computer in his office, but the thing he always saw was....

“.....I see a cage too. How fascinating.” His smirk softened, becoming a bit more genuine as he then wondered: “I’m sorry, but can I ask you a...personal question? You are free to stay silent of course, but you don‘t like doctors and hospitals, do you?”

Aditi watched as he sat down the card, noticing the slight softening in expression from him. It didn’t mean much, but it was a start. A small sign, if any at all. When he asked his question, her neutral glance faltered into a harder and closed off expression. “... hatred.” She corrected. “I do not dislike them. I despise them.” She stated matter of factly, with crossed arms, solidifying her mental barrier.

He merely chuckled at her response, putting a simple check mark by his earlier assumption written down. He put the card back on the used pile and drew a card of his own, his expression changing to a manic one as he stared back at the red eyes on the paper, informing her: “I see......dismemberment.....” He slid the card towards her, pressing: “It’s weird that a card like this would be in the deck, isn’t it? Not that there's anything wrong with it, it’s just....unique.”

While the design was unnerving, her eyes only narrowed in confusion. The piercing red eyes struck her, and reminded her of only one person. What did that one person represent to her though? It didn’t take long to give her answer. “Obsession.” She answered, sliding it back to him, and flattening her lip. “Strange? Perhaps for a typical therapist, but you are not that, now are you?” She retorted.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, my child.“ he responded, not deterred or caught off guard in any way at Aditi‘s question, but also not going to answer it. He put the card back in the deck, holding eye contact with Aditi. He had a general idea of what happened to her, but saying it would only agitate her, so he held his tongue. “But you aren’t quite the ordinary girl either, are you?“ he began, gaze sharp.

“I can see it in your eyes. You look like you‘re ready to rip me apart with monstrous extremities should I make one wrong movement.“ he laughed in an amused fashion, unfazed by the idea of potential death. “You are a very fascinating young woman, Aditi.“ The girl across from him fought back the urge to pout at his intrigue and not fear.

He shook his head. “Unfortunately we will have to cut the session short for today, but I promise you that we will meet each other again. My prescription for this time....“ he slowly wrote a note, making sure it was readable, his pen leaving little red ink splotches. “Is to open up to a person you care about. Nothing severe, of course, only with what you are comfortable with. Like admitting you stole a book from their nightstand. Do you think you can do that?“ he offered her the note.

Looking down at the card held out, Aditi huffs. Her hand reached out, accepting the note. “.... Tch. I’ll open up as I please, Doctor.” She hissed back defiantly, not eager to accept his advice right away. See her again? What did that even mean? This was only a dream, and she rarely had recurring dreams. It is only a cryptic message, ignore it.

Despite the dream ending, and continuing with her day in the living, she couldn’t stop going back to the advice. To open up to someone else more. That she would see him again. It drove her nearly mad. But... curiously, she ended up following it. In the process of her late night drinking session before bed, Aditi admitted to Iyabo about how she began drinking by force. Celia fed her alcohol to observe the effects on her body with a lack of the usual organs needed to digest it. To make her dependent on Celia in one more way, as a supply for her alcohol addiction. Of course, Iyabo didn’t know how to respond, and only tried to awkwardly comfort her before scurrying off to her room. Not much progress, but... the first step could be made from this, perhaps?

Not that Aditi remembered that step forward after passing out on the couch anyways..

#💥 live action 💥#🥀 aditi speaks 🎲#(( :3 ))

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ckret2 · 5 years ago

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Home Is Where Your Shackles Are Anchored

Ghidorah, galaxy-trotting interstellar conqueror-explorer that they are, attempts to impress Rodan by telling him all about the diverse wonders of the universe.

He’s kind of only interested in hearing about volcanoes.

Hey check out who’s back. Written to the prompts:

Anonymous said: How about Ghidorah tries (as best as they can) to describe what space is like to Rodan?

Anonymous said: Hey, love the way you characterize the Titans in your fics, if you're accepting prompts atm how abt Rodan/Ghidorah reacting to blue lavs volcanoes ( they're that way due to burning sulfur right?)

... Although the blue lava only gets a short mention lmao.

This is part of an ongoing series of Rodorah one-shots. If you don’t wanna read the others, all you need to know is: Ghidorah’s an empath (telepathically transmits/detects emotions) but it only works with head-to-head contact; Ghidorah doesn’t speak any Earth languages but is slowly learning Rodan’s; Ghidorah was originally mind controlled & weaponized by Xilien aliens; and this one time Rodan made a whole globe out of lava and melted glass and Ghidorah keeps freaking out about how this dude who lives in a volcano and has never been off his own planet knows so much stuff. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

When the red sprite asked them about other worlds, they wanted to impress upon him the vast wonders the universe contained. The ghostly filament-like serpents hundreds of miles long that swam glittering through nebulas. The vast artificial asteroid belts consisting of the armada ships of empires that spanned hundreds of populated planets. The dizzying way starlight bent and stretched when you fell almost too close to a black hole to save yourself. Planets of pure diamond, planets with hurricanes that never ended, planets where multiple suns twirled through the skies.

It turned out what the red sprite was interested in was the real estate.

"That other stuff is cool," he reassured them, flopped on his back in his volcano with his legs in the air. "But a planet's not a proper planet without volcanoes."

"Lots planets do not have volcanoes," they insisted.

Patiently, the red sprite said, "Then those planets aren't proper planets."

Oh, well, okay, if those were the definitions they were going by. "We do not look..." They struggled for a descriptor. "Do not look near at volcanoes before we come here." They quickly corrected their grammar: "Comed here."

"'Came here.'"

Irregular verbs were going to be the death of them. "Came here. We see them but do not live in them, do not have reason to learn of them." They felt like they needed to justify why their knowledge of volcanoes was so far behind the red sprite's. They couldn't let him think they were stupid. Merely uneducated. Educated in different fields due to different priorities.

(Because really, they were painfully aware, they were stupid—made from creatures that were inherently stupid and unable to change that—and they didn't know if anything would entice the red sprite to stay with them once he figured that out.)

"Nobody learns about them," the red sprite lamented, and they were relieved that he saw this ignorance of volcanoes as a global problem rather than a them problem. "But you saw volcanoes, right? You can describe what you remember."

They supposed they could do that. Second clacked his teeth together thoughtfully, mimicking the beak-clicking sound the red sprite sometimes made to fill gaps in the conversation. "We saw volcanoes with blue lava," they said. "Not blue like sky. Blue like... ih... sky near night?"

"Dark blue?"

That was exactly what they meant, but they hadn't been sure whether the words "dark" and "blue" could be combined like that without sounding like nonsense in the red sprite's language. "Yes."

"We have that," the red sprite said. So much for trying to impress him. "It happens when a volcano has a lot of—" He said a word they didn't know.

"What?"

"It's a kind of rock. Smelly. Burns blue."

Burns blue. Copper? Butane? They repeated the word a couple of times and filed it away as word-for-smelly-blue-burning-material-that-turns-lava-blue.

"What about the nearby planets?" the red sprite asked them. He rolled over, sending droplets of lava spraying over the side of his crater as he did. "Did you see any of their volcanoes? How about the moons around—" Another new word.

"What?"

"The big one," the red sprite said. "The one that takes... I forget how long it actually takes." He pointed his beak upward and leaned back and forth as if tracing an invisible path across the sky as he spoke: "But it looks like it goes forward ten months, backwards four months, and forward ten months."

He was describing a planet's apparent retrograde motion. He knew astronomy, too. Who let him get that smart? "We are not here long enough to learn how near planets cross your sky," they said, "but know big planets. Is it planet with long stripes and big storms?"

The red sprite gave them a blank look. "I dunno. I've never seen other planets," he said. "From down here, they look like stars. Except—you know—the way they move."

Ah. Yes, they supposed that was what other worlds looked like from here. They tried to imagine what that was like, looking up at little glowing dots in the sky and knowing they were other planets but simply having to take it on faith. Never having been to them to see. They could look up at the nearest planets in the sky and mentally trace the flight path that would lead them to the surface, remembering what the worlds looked like as they drew closer and closer and this planet receded to a single bright point behind them. What was it like to be trapped on the skin of a single little marble in the sky? They had been like that once, but couldn't remember it.

Did the red sprite feel trapped? Or did a little marble like this feel like the whole universe until you'd been off of it? They couldn't fully conceptualize a planetbound life that didn't feel claustrophobic.

The red sprite didn't deserve to spend its whole life anchored to this little world.

"What number is the planet?" they asked him.

"Number?"

"Number from sun, near to far. One, two, three, four... Earth is three."

"Right. It's either five or six. But the bigger one."

"Long stripes and big storms," they confirmed.

The red sprite accepted this with a chirp. "So," he said. "What are its moons' volcanoes like?"

"Its moons have volcanoes?"

The red sprite squawked. "You know what its weather is like but not the nearby volcanoes. Typical."

They reared their heads up, each of them wearing a different expression of haughty, judgmental condescension. "You do not know what it looks like but know where volcanoes are near. Typical."

They wondered what "typical" meant.

The red sprite climbed fully out of the volcano—they decided one of them should drop their feigned condescension in order to watch how the lava rolled off his wings and appointed Third to the task. Lightly, the red sprite said, "Oh, well. What good's a volcano if nobody's living in it, anyway?"

They thought he was probably more disappointed than he let on. If they had to make a trip off-planet—something inside them quelled at the thought, the parts of them that were growing attached to this world afraid that the parts of them that weren't would cause this planet to lose its emotional hold on them as soon as it lost its gravitational hold on them—but if they had to make a trip off-planet, they made a mental note to swing past the storm world and check its moons for volcanic activity.

"Maybe we take you to storm world soon," they said, leaning in to bop Third's forehead against the red sprite's so he could tell they were joking. "We carry you through the sky to it. You can see the volcanoes yourself."

"Ha! And you've got a way to make sure I can breathe for the whole trip, I'm sure."

"Yes, just make a long breath in and keep it inside you the whole trip. Easy."

"Easy! Oh yeah, sure." The red sprite bopped Third's forehead back, snapped his beak at Second just threateningly enough to make him bare his teeth back, and then hopped down the volcano's side.

They slithered down after him. "Why are you so..." They rummaged through their vocabulary for a word that meant preoccupied in the red sprite's language, and settled for, "So focused in your mind on volcanoes? There is more to other worlds than volcanoes."

"Sure, but volcanoes are where life is. You're not going to find life on a planet without volcanoes! Unless it's alien travelers like you."

They tried to think of an example that contradicted him, but supposed they didn't know of any populated worlds that they could guarantee had no volcanoes and hadn't been colonized by aliens. They didn't talk to the locals before killing them, how did they know the locals weren't interstellar immigrants?

The red sprite went on, "Any place without a volcano is just a—" He said another unfamiliar term.

Oh, now what was that? Something important, it seemed to them. A term that set these spaces bereft of hearth and hospitality apart from a home. Surely it had to mean something like cursed location, or dead place, or barren land—something like that. "What is..." They attempted to repeat the term.

The red sprite pronounced it again for them, and then explained, "Oh, you know, it's the kind of place that looks interesting—fun to visit with friends, see the sights, that sort of thing—but once you've looked around you don't want to live there. Day trip material. Two days at best."

"Aha." He'd just taught them his term for tourist destination.

"Hey, what about you?" the red sprite asked. "You haven't told me about your home planet yet."

They froze halfway down the volcano.

The red sprite had started carefully weeding the plants sprouting up along the path from his volcano to the coast; but at their silence, he looked back at them. "What?"

At the mere thought of a home planet, they felt heavy collars around their necks and chains tangled with their tails, piercings through the membranes of their wings around the bones; saw a colorless kaleidoscope, white dust and black sky; heard irresistible orders telepathically splitting their heads like a migraine. "We do not remember," they said.

The red sprite clacked his beak dubiously.

"We don't," they insisted. "We do not have our most early memories. It is common. Some species do not keep their memories of what comes soon after they hatch."

"Oh, some species here are like that too," the red sprite said. He bent down to pluck a particularly stubborn shrub from the dirt and tossed it off into the forest. "What is the earliest world you remember, then?

White dust and black sky and despair and enough fury to let them incinerate a billion worlds. "Dumb moon," they said dismissively. "Boring."

The red sprite looked like he still wanted to press them for more details; before he could, they hastily added, "No volcanoes."

"Oh! So not a home."

"Not even a good tourist destination," they said. "We leave it as soon as we could." They paused. "Left it?"

"That's right."

They'd get these irregular verbs down yet. "We do not know our home planet. Do not care to."

Both of which were true statements. The planet on which they'd hatched had existed to them only as a round dot on a propaganda poster that had failed to stir up any of the sentimentality or patriotism it was no doubt supposed to. They'd even forgotten what color the dot had been.

Nevertheless, they felt their planet somewhere behind them, like a chill up their back, like a weight on their shoulders. Like a black hole inexorably tugging them in, forcing them to fly and fly and fly forever just to stay outside of its event horizon. Like a thin chain tangled around their necks that stretched through the dark voids between the stars, stretched all the way across the galaxy.

"No wonder you bounce from planet to planet," the red sprite said. "If you don't have anywhere to go home to. Everywhere's a tourist destination."

They supposed so. Stay a day or two, burn down the planet, move on.

He sounded like he pitied them. It was surprising to be pitied for freedom—especially when, just a moment ago, they'd pitied him for being anchored down as he was.

Anchors were usually used to keep spaceships tethered to their stations so they wouldn’t float off into the dark sky and be lost. Maybe being anchored was comforting if you weren't accustomed to chains being used to strangle you.

Having finished his pruning near the base of the volcano, the red sprite turned a thoughtful gaze toward them. After a moment, decisively, he said, "If you don't have a home planet, then this one's it now."

They reared up, startled. "What?"

"This is your home planet now," the red sprite repeated. "Unless you have a better one."

They froze, their heart pounding, waiting for phantom chains to drag down on their wings.

The chains never came. Cautiously, they said, "We don't."

"Fine. So now it's here." He flapped up to land in front of them and whipped his wings dramatically into the air. "Welcome to Earth!"

First headbutted him over.

The red sprite kicked First's face and hopped back to his feet. "What about the second planet?" He said its name, and they copied it. "It has volcanoes, what are they like?"

They perked up. Ah, they'd actually seen some of those—they'd spent some time ravaging the second planet before moving on to the third. "Flat," they said.

The red sprite cocked his head. "Shield volcanoes?"

"No, more flat. And more wide. They look like..." What was the word. "Plateaus?"

The red sprite drew his head back and asked excitedly, "Really? How wide?"

"Like..." Was their grasp of the red sprite's math terms good enough to describe proportionate sizes? Probably not. They raised their heads, looking around the island for objects they could use for size comparisons. First's gaze landed on the globe of Earth the red sprite had made to explain the local geography to them. "We will make them. Follow."

They lifted off the volcano with one beat of their wings and glided down to the beach, the red sprite close behind them.

They spent the peak of the day dredging up as many trivial details about the second planet's volcanoes as they could remember, doing their best to answer the red sprite's excited questions, and sculpting volcanoes out of sand.

###

(Did y’all know that Venus’s volcanoes are totally different from Earth’s? Most of them are extremely wide and extremely flat and they’re called pancake volcanoes. It’s cool. We haven’t confirmed active volcanism in any of Venus’s volcanoes yet but we’ve found over a thousand probably-extinct ones and there are three that we’re pretty sure are currently active, we just haven’t proven it yet.)

(Next fic features Serizawa Who Is Not Dead and how Monarch at large is reacting to Ghidorah hanging around—not the local Isla de Mara outpost that’s been making memes out of Ghidorah, the main Monarch leadership.)

(Replies/reblogs are welcome and greatly appreciated! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of KOTM and Rodorah fics, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links.)

#rodorah #godzilla #kotm #rodan #king ghidorah #ghidorah #fanfic #my writing #(not proofed because instant gratification)#(... but any bad grammar out of Ghidorah is because they're still figuring out how to speak pteranodon)#(also yes 'ghidorah spent some time ravaging venus before heading to earth' is a reference to three headed monster)#(aka the BEST godzilla movie accept no substitutes)

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rocksandrobots · 5 years ago

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Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 5 - The Interview

It was Monday morning and Varian stood outside on the university grounds waiting. Hiro had told him that he was to meet with the school’s headmaster today. He needed to speak to this Professor Granville about obtaining supplies to build a new portal machine to send him home.

Varian had never met a dean of a university before. He wanted to look his best to impress such an important person. He wore the white linen shirt he had bought on Saturday and a pair of the khaki dress pants, both pressed and ironed the night before, along with his Sapporian boots, polished and shined to match the black belt he wore. On his head, he still wore his customary goggles but he made sure to polish them as well.

Wasabi had tried to comb and fix his hair this morning, but it was already back to its usual unkempt state. It hadn’t even stayed in place for twenty minutes before his swept back bangs started falling and the cowlick on top of his head started to spring back up despite the use of styling gel, much to Wasabi’s frustration. However, there was no time to fool with it any more as Wasabi had to leave early to take Ruddiger to the vet.

Varian deeply appreciated the older teen’s assistance. For the duration of his stay, Wasabi had gone out of his way to help Varian and make him feel at home. Not asking for anything in return, nor walking back on any promises (no matter how much the existence of Ruddiger annoyed him), and going above and beyond anything a regular person from Varian’s world would do. He was far different from any other fair-weather ‘friend’ Varian previously had.

They had spent the previous day hanging out together at the dormitory; with Wasabi teaching Varian various things about this new world and helping him and Ruddiger get situated.

They set up the cage for Ruddiger to sleep in. There wasn't much room in the apartment for such a large kennel so they had to tuck it up under the kitchen table. Placing the pet bed and bowls of food and water inside. Ruddiger hated it. He much preferred the fake log that Varian wedged into the corner above the sofa; curling up there whenever possible.

As for said sofa, Wasabi took the new sheets and blankets he’d bought and fixed them up into a proper bed. With the cushions tucked tightly into a fitted sheet and the new pillow fluffed up and placed at one end.

Next to the couch they put up the small chest of drawers and organized Varian's new things. Helping him to set up his own little space inside the small apartment.

He also helped Varian set up his new phone. Teaching him how to make calls, text, and the myriad of secondary functions the device could perform. But the most impressive thing about the new phone was something called the internet. It was a worldwide information and communication exchange system. All of human kind’s accumulated knowledge, history, and personal banalities was a mere click away.

Varian started off reading about the history of quantum physics on an online encyclopedia, which somehow led to him arguing with a person in someplace called Indiana over the exact meaning of the pentagram symbol on something called a public forum, and finally ending up watching a bunch of moving pictures, called video, of seals playing in the Antarctic. All in less than an hour.

One could get lost in the sea of words, images, and sounds that this new invention had to offer. Varian could only marvel at just how smart and well educated the people of this world must be with such wells of information so easily accessible to the public at large. In his world, all they had were books and you could only get those that happened to be shipped to whatever area you lived in. Corona itself only had one bookstore, located on the island capital, if Varian wanted new reading material he either had to make a trip into town or hope that some of the traveling merchants had any on hand they were willing to part with.

Thus the day had passed until Wasabi had to leave to go to work. In his absence, Varian did a bunch of chores. He took Ruddiger for a walk, cleaned up the washroom, and tried to cook dinner.

He had wanted to surprise Wasabi with a good meal as a way of thank you. Unfortunately the little makeshift kitchen wasn't well stocked. Varian had very little to work with and some of the stuff on hand was unfamiliar to him.

Worse, the only thing to cook with was the microwave and toaster. Wasabi had shown him how such appliances worked but he hadn't had much practice with them.

Ultimately he had decided on fixing some oatmeal. That was easy enough and Wasabi had everything to cook it with. He poured the milk and oatmeal into a pot and placed it in the microwave and set the timer for thirty minutes. He then cut up some new tropical yellow fruit called bananas to go in it. Ruddiger loved the rare treat and Varian had to cut him his own banana slices so as to keep the animal from stealing their supper.

Varian also tried out the toaster. The pieces of bread turned out a little darker than he had expected but all in all he was happy with his first attempt. He buttered them up and started on a second batch.

He was just hunting down a sweetener to use in the oatmeal when Wasabi came home.

The tall man nearly cried with joy when he spotted the newly cleaned bathroom.

"You … you cleaned? Like, you scrubbed down the shower and the sink and everything! And I didn't even have to ask you!?"

"Well yeah. If I'm going to be staying here awhile I might as well do my part in maintaining the place" Varian said matter-of-factly, not understanding what the big deal was.

"You don't get it. I've never had a roommate who would help out with chores. Trying to get those guys to even just fold laundry every once in a while was like pulling teeth. And I've gone through a lot of roommates in the past two years." Wasabi said with a weary tone at the end, as if recalling some of those failed partnerships. He then switched back to the present. "Thank you, man." He said with an appreciative smile.

Varian was about to tell him that he was welcome, but then the microwave exploded.

Sparks were flying from the sides and oatmeal came gushing out from the front. The interior light was flickering on and off and smoke poured out the back.

Wasabi gave a little scream and ran past Varian to unplug the device before it caught on fire.

Apparently one wasn't supposed to put metal into a microwave. Which Varian personally considered as a design flaw, but he kept this opinion to himself and instead profusely apologized. He promised to replace the machine but Wasabi only sighed and told him not to worry about it.

All was not lost though as Wasabi ordered Chinese take out for dinner instead. Varian had to admit that the bowls of rice, vegetables, and meats covered in various sauces were far more substantial than the oatmeal he had had originally planned. In particular he enjoyed the pork dumplings. They reminded him of the pierogi he would make back home but with a thinner pasta shell instead of the thicker breading he used.

Varian recalled yesterday's events and had only just resolved to make it up to Wasabi somehow, when he spotted Hiro walking towards him.

He was talking to an older woman with short dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes. She was smartly dressed in a grey business suit and carried with her a folder and pen.

Trailing behind the two of them, Baymax wobbled along. Not being able to keep up with his stubby legs.

"He's really smart; He just doesn't understand our world fully. But, he can learn things real quick." Varian overheard Hiro say. He figured they were talking about him, and that the lady must be Professor Granville, but the older woman said nothing in response nor gave any indication that she was impressed by what Hiro was saying.

"Oh there he is." Hiro pointed out to her. He waved at Varian and excitedly broke into a jog to meet him first.

"Hey! Varian, this is Professor Granville. Professor Granville, this is Varian." Hiro introduced them as the woman came up to meet them.

Professor Granville did not hurry, she remained calm and composed as she walked over to join the two boys. She appeared almost regal like, to Varian; tall, aloof, and fully in charge. However, despite this cold demeanor, her face did break into a warm smile when she met Varian's gaze.

"Ah, the boy who built the portal. Hiro has told me all about you. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Her voice, while not unkind, did hold an air of authority to it. A tone that very much conveyed that this was her domain and that Varian was merely a guest in it. Like a queen meeting one of her newest subjects.

Varian didn't know whether to wave hello, shake hands, or give a bow to the woman. Not that she gave him much choice.

No sooner did he squeak out a faint 'hi' did she sail past him and opened one of the large double doors.

"If you'll kindly follow me, we'll go ahead and begin your interview." She said while holding the door open for him.

"Interview?" Varian echo.

"Yes. All prospective students must complete a college interview if they are to attend SFIT." She said matter-of-factly.

Varian looked at Hiro in confusion. He thought he was here to talk about gaining supplies for his experiments, not to become a student. Hiro however only gave him a shrug in reply. So Varian moved to follow the woman.

"I'll meet you out here when you're done." Hiro said to him as he walked into the darkened hallway and Professor Granville closed the door behind her.

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

"Right this way." Professor Granville led her newest charge into an empty classroom. It was a spacious lecture hall with a desk at one end and upon the blackboard were mathematical equations written up. All of the staff had returned a week early from spring break to prepare for the coming summer semester and Granville had planned on continuing setting up for her next class after she was done admitting the new student.

Hiro had explained the whole situation to her, about the portals and the kid from another world who had built them, and for her part she figured it best to go ahead and enroll him. That way he could have access to any materials he needed to continue with his experiments, a place to stay during that time, and more importantly she could help forge for him any legal documents that he would undoubtedly need to get by. Not to mention that if the boy could indeed deliver on his portals then it would be a great boon for the school and its reputation.

"Have a seat please." She indicated for him to sit down in a chair that she had pulled up to the desk. He did so, and she sat on the other side and opened her folder.

“Now first I’ll need your full name.” She instructed as she clicked her pen and made ready to fill out the application form for him.

“Varian.” The boy replied,“ uh, V-A-R-I-A-N”

She wrote the name he had spelled out down and waited for him to continue, only no other names were forthcoming. She looked up and asked,“And your last name?”

“I haven’t got one.”

“They don’t have last names where you come from?” She asked. The boy was from another world so who knew what other customs they had.

“Oh no, there are people with last names.” He clarified. “It’s just I’m the only Varian in my village so there was never any need for one. If anyone ever referred to me by anything else it was usually either, you know, ‘Here’s Varian the alchemist’ or ‘There goes Quirin’s son.’” He paused briefly before explaining further, “Uh, Quirin’s my dad’s name.”

“And how do you spell that?”

“Q-U-I-R-I-N” He replied while the professor went back to writing. When done she looked back up and continued her line of questioning.

“Very well Mr. Quirinson, now I’ll need a former residency to put on your application. Mr. Hamada has already mentioned that your country of origin does not exist in our world, but I’ll need an equivalency to put on your official documents.” She took a globe that was sitting upon her desk and handed it to Varian. “Why don’t you see if you can find anything familiar and maybe we can glean a substitute from that.”

Varian scanned the globe, gazing over the continent of Europe; his finger following its northern coastline on the map. Everything was jumbled up. Countries were missing, new ones he had never heard of before in their places, what kingdoms he did recognize had different borders to what he had previously known. Even the geography was different, with rivers, lakes, and mountain ranges appearing in different places. Everything was slightly off. As if someone had taken a map from his world and then proceeded to move everything slightly to the left.

Finally, in his confusion, he found something. A small peninsula jutting out into the Baltic Sea, and next to it were the words The Curonian Spit. It didn't look exactly like his Corona and it was spelled differently, but it was a peninsula, it was on the northern sea, and it was in the general vicinity, northeast of France.

"Uh, here." He said while pointing to his find. Professor Granville peered over the desk to see the tiny country his index finger nearly covered.

"Kaliningrad Oblast." She read, curiously, before sitting back down and turning to her computer. She looked up the country in question. "Says here Kaliningrad was a former part of Germany and is now a territory of Russia. I don't suppose you speak either Russian or German do you?"

"I speak both actually." Normally Varian would brag about just how many languages he did know, but for right now he was just confused. He still didn't fully understand why this barrage of questions was important.

"Excellent!" The professor exclaimed. "We'll get a passport and a student visa for you in no time. Now I'll just need your date of birth."

"March the 24th."

"And the year."

"1639."

Professor Granville paused, and slowly looked up from the form she was filling out.

"1639? As in 1639, A.D.?" She asked in disbelief.

Varian nodded his head.

"You are aware that it is currently the year 2015 in this world, right?" She continued.

Varian could only stare blankly back at her and shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe our worlds have different calendars?" He offered up helpfully.

"Must be." Granville agreed quietly. There was no way a child from the mid 1600s could possibly have invented an interdimensional portal, she thought. Out loud though she only asked. "How old are you, Mr. Quirinson?"

"Sixteen."

She wrote 03/24/1999 onto the form. "Now I'll need the name of the last school you attended and we'll be done with the formalities."

"I..I've never been to school before." He stuttered, suddenly self-conscious. This was where he'd be rejected he knew. Poor farm boys didn't get fancy educations. She undoubtedly would decline to admit him and he'll be left scrambling for another means of rebuilding a machine to get home with.

"You've never been to school?" She asked, horrified.

Varian squirmed in his seat. "Well you see," he explained, desperately trying to think of some way to salvage the situation, "there is a small school in the capital, but that's a good day's trip and Dad needed me to help around the far- uh, estate. Besides, I already knew how to read and write by the time I was old enough to go." He gave a half smile at the end, hoping his advanced reading skills would be enough to impress her.

"And how did you manage to learn advanced physics and engineering?" She asked in disbelief.

"Well, I read books, and studied the masters, like Copernicus, and did a lot of experimentation on my own. A lot of trial and error." He said this last bit dryly, personally recalling some of his past failures.

"Sooo you're completely self-taught then?" She asked, still trying to make sense of this strange boy.

Varian nodded his head.

"Well, why don't we just put home-schooled on the application." She suddenly suggested with a wide smile and Varian internally sighed with relief with the knowledge that his past wasn't going to be held against him.

"Now for some personal questions. Here at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology, we pride ourselves on admitting the most dedicated and accomplished of students." Professor Granville proudly proclaimed. "Tell me what are some of your biggest accomplishments in the field of science?"

"Uh…." Varian's brain froze. He had no real accomplishments. Everything he built either blew up, broke down, or worked in a way he hadn't originally intended.

"Come, come, no need to be shy." Granville encouraged.

"Ummm…"

The professor looked at him expectedly and Varian heard his heart pounding in his ears as his mind raced.

"I invented a bath bomb!" He blurted out in haste.

Professor Granville blinked back at him in surprise. "Well that wasn't what I was expecting," she said slowly,"but tell me about this 'bath bomb'."

Varian wanted to sink into the ground. How stupid could he be? This world had everyday technology that was so far more advanced compared to Conora's that of course she wasn't going to be impressed by his makeshift cleaning supplies. But he had already said it out loud, might as well commit.

"It's a small alchemical ball full of soap and hydrogen. So that when you throw it into a tub and ignite a flame underneath, it combines with the surrounding air to create condensation and voilà, instant bath."

"Interesting," the woman said, and she did genuinely appear to be so as she adjusted her stance and leaned in a little with her arms upon the desk and hands clasped together. "And tell me what was the inspiration for this 'immediate bath'."

"Well, umm, there isn't any running water in Corona and sometimes carrying water from the well or the river is a pain." Varian explained, then reflexively, under his breath and through gritted teeth, he added, "Or sometimes you might find yourself in a position where you can't bathe for over a year."

He hadn't meant for this last part to be heard but Granville commented on it anyways.

"You've been without running water for over a year?" She asked, concerned.

"Oh, no. We've never had running water. It doesn't exist in our world." Varian corrected, hoping to distract from his previous comment. This however was not the correct thing to say as Professor Granville only furrowed her brow even further.

For Granville's part, she was just simply bewildered and more than a little worried. When Hiro had first told her of the boy from another world, she had assumed he came from one similar to their own, or perhaps one that was even more advanced. She'd have never in a million years expected that the inventor of a portal device was from a world stuck before the pre-industrial era. Yet it all added up to appear that way; 17th century birthday, no running water, his biggest academic influence was Copernicus for crying out loud. How ever was the boy supposed to keep up with modern college level studies? And yet where else was he to go?

So she pressed forward. Ignoring the growing doubt building in the back of her mind.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?" She asked.

She was met with only a blank stare from the young man sitting across from her.

"For example, do you have any career aspirations or personal goals you would like to achieve?" She clarified.

"Well, I'd like to go home and free my dad." The young boy said slowly. "I haven't given much thought to anything else?"

"Free?" Granville asked, confused.

"I mean, see again, obviously." Varian hastily rectified. But Granville was growing ever more concerned, the boy was hiding something.

"Well I can understand why that would be a pressing matter to you, but surely you've given some thought to the future; some idea of where you might wind up." She encouraged him.

"Jail?" The boy questioningly threw out. He looked wide eyed now, confused and lost as to what she meant and looking for an answer that clearly alluded him.

"And why would you say that, Mr. Quirinson?" She pressed.

"Cause that's where I've been for the past year." The boy admitted. He was growing agitated and impatient. He didn't understand the point behind any of this and was slowly getting fed up with the woman's prying questions. Not the least of which because they made him feel self-conscious.

"I see," the professor said as she began to piece together the clues. Granville had spent several years working in both academics and social services. She knew the signs of a 'problem' child when she saw it. Typically, young kids with unchallenged intellect, accompanied by perhaps a broken home life, would sometimes lash out or make trouble for themselves in an effort to receive attention. The boy's father was missing in some way and he grew up in an unstimulating environment that didn't encourage his creative genius.

"And because of a mistake or two you don't see yourself rising up to doing anything else." she cajoled; sometimes a push could help inspire the aforementioned child to challenge himself.

"No. Because they typically don't let you back out after you've committed high treason." He answered back bitterly. Headmaster or no, who did this woman think she was to make such sweeping judgements? He was properly angry now and no longer cared about making a good impression nor about keeping his past hidden.

He quickly stood up and leaned over the desk to glower at her. "Look, I came here to get help not to be grilled about my past. If you're not interested in giving me the supplies I need then I'll find some other way to get them. But I am not giving up on my father." He angrily pounded his fist on to the desk to emphasize his point.

Then almost immediately his demeanor changed when he looked back up to see the blackboard behind the professor. "Also the answer to that equation should be 2.6 not 4.6. Sorry that's been bugging me for the past ten minutes." He apologetically stammered in exasperation.

Professor Granville turned and looked back at the offending equation in question. Glad for a momentary distraction from the growing tension in the room.

The boy's mood swings were bewilderingly quick and the 'treason' comment had not been something she had been expecting. If he really was from the 17th century then 'treason' could mean anything, to being locked away for scientific study or for simply knowing the wrong people. Given his comments about his father needing 'freeing' she suspected the latter.

The aforementioned equation was a long physics question with an answer provided, in order to serve as an example to the class. It was far too long to solve in one's head so she had to pull out a calculator and resubmit the numbers into the machine to check the boy's calculations. And to her surprise he was right. She had accidentally written the wrong number up on the board.

"That...is correct." She replied, double checking the calculator she held in her hand. "You figured out this whole equation in your head in less than ten minutes?" She asked in disbelief. Granville had worked with many gifted students throughout her career, but scarcely any could perform such advanced mathematical problem solving in such record time without the aid of any tools; not even basic pen and paper. And this was made all the more impressive by the fact the child lacked a high school education or even the passing knowledge of more modern mathematical advancements, like those of Einstein.

"How else would you do it?" Varian replied, not knowing any other way himself.

"A calculator," She responded, holding the device into the air.

"Wait. You have a machine that does math!?" The boy exclaimed in equal parts disbelief and excitement.

She nodded and handed the calculator to him. Which he eagerly snatched up, looked at it longingly, and then cradled the device to his cheek while proclaiming, "It's so beautiful," in the exaggerated manner kids often do. He then began to fiddle with the machine, testing out its various functions like a child that had just received a new video game for Christmas.

"Where has this been all my life?" He excitedly laughed. This device would make checking his calculations ten times easier.

Granville watched on, bewildered. Who was this child? How did someone from such a primitive world manage to invent such a scientific miracle? In all her 40 years she had never come across such a contradiction before. Just imagine what such a child could have achieved had he been born in a time and place that nurtured his natural talents.

Then she shuddered as realization hit her. A short range teleportation device was his original intent, Hiro had told her, and Varian himself had mentioned prison and not being let out. And not just any prison, they weren't talking about juvie here, but a 1650s style dungeon no doubt. History wasn't her expertise, but Granville knew enough about that time period to know that he wouldn't have been fairly treated while within there. No telling what horrors the boy had faced in the past year or more.

Her heart went out to him then and she could have just cried at the thought of this little teenaged boy huddled up in some dark dank stone room. She pushed the image out of her head and regained control of herself. Crying wouldn't help. But giving him the opportunities that had been denied to him thus far would.

"Let's return to the interview shall we?" She said instead, slipping back into the role of professional administrator and taking her seat again.

Varian looked up from the calculator he was playing with in confusion. He had assumed his previous outburst would disqualify him but Professor Granville gave him no time to question.

"Now Hiro has informed me that you are currently staying on campus with Mr. Gari, how is that working out?"

"Mr. Gari?" He echoed blankly.

"I believe you and the rest of his friends refer to him as 'Wasabi'." she clarified.

"Oh, yeah, he's great. Things are going fine." He replied, still confused.

"Wonderful," the professor smiled back. "In that case we'll keep that arrangement for the upcoming semester."

"Whatd'ya mean?"

"I mean, Mr. Quirinson, welcome to SFIT." She said with a warm smile as she handed him a pre-typed acceptance letter that she had tucked inside the folder.

Varian read the letter in bewilderment. He was being accepted into a university? Him? And not just any university, but one specifically for the study of science. He couldn't help but give a breathless laugh. He'd honestly never thought that he'd ever be given such a chance, especially after such a disastrous interview. But no, the woman at the desk seemed genuine in her approval.

"Now if you'll just sign these forms you'll be granted a full four year scholarship, or until you finish, whichever comes first." She said as she slid the folder over to him and handed him her pen.

He signed his name upon the dotted line as his stomach filled with giddy butterflies. It all hardly seemed real. His dad would never believe it. Oh how he wished he could run home, wrap him in a hug, and tell him right now. Surely something like this would make him so proud.

He blinked back tears at that wishful thought and finished signing the other papers the professor handed to him. When done he looked back up at her and she said, "Good. Now because of your... unique, situation; there will be a few extra steps you'll have to complete before classes start next week. Which I'll talk to you about as I give you a tour of the facility."

With that she stood up and walked to the door and held it open, once again indicating for Varian to follow her.

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

Varian stood outside next to the physics building where he had first started the day, waiting for Hiro to join him. He leaned against the wall while sucking on a small lollipop the school’s nurse had given him. Professor Granville had given him a quick tour of the school, a folder full of important papers, and instructions for how to proceed with his education. The final stop was the medical office where she had left him with the nurse in order to attend to other business.

Said nurse had given him the ‘vaccines’ that Wasabi had told him about; the near magical medicine that was supposed to prevent certain illnesses. The shots had stung a bit, but it was all over very quickly and the kind woman who administered the procedure gave him some colorful sticky bandages and let him pick his favorite flavor out of the bowl full of suckers sitting on her desk.

He was just finishing off the last of the butterscotch flavored treat when Hiro finally found him.

“Hey! There you are! How did it go?” He asked.

“Well, she admitted me into the school but she said I had to do some stuff first before she could fully enroll me.” Varian replied.

“Yeah, what kind of stuff?”

“I have to take something called a ‘General Educational Development’ test and a ‘Scholastic Aptitude Test’. She gave me a study guide and was going to give me both tests on Friday.”

“Ah.. yeah, you wouldn’t have an eligible high school diploma here. But it’s fine. I took similar tests in order to graduate early. They’re not that hard, the only thing that should trip you up is the history stuff, but we can all help you study for them.’ The young boy offered.

Varian smiled back at him appreciatively. It was nice to know that he now had people in his life that he could depend upon for help.

“So what else?” Hiro asked.

“She also gave me an extended reading list. I don’t have to read every book on there in a week, thank goodness, but I’m to keep up with it for the rest of the school term so I can catch up on things that the rest of the students will already know. I also need to give her a ‘photograph’ of myself that she can put onto a passport and something called a ‘visa’.” Varian scratched the back of his head in confusion as he said this last bit. Apparently one needed lots of documents and forms in order to maneuver within this country's society. Granville had asked him all of those questions at the beginning of his interview precisely because she was going to help procure those official papers for him, or forge similar facsimiles that could do in a pinch.

Hiro nodded along. “That makes sense. See it’s a good thing you met with her. Granville has connections that can help with things like that. Also she’s the only one who even thought of it to begin with.” He laughed. “Man, that would’ve been bad if someone like Chief Cruz found out you were here illegally. Anyways, you can take the ‘photograph’ using your new phone. I’ll help and show you how to email it to her. Wasabi set you up with an e-mail right?”

Varian nodded yes. That was one of the functions of the internet that Wasabi showed him yesterday.

“Great! I’ll also email you the stuff I found on Project Silent Sparrow. It’s the portal project that Krei Tech was working on.”

So Hiro spent the rest of the day with him, with Baymax also tagging along, and together they helped Varian take his picture and send it to Professor Granville, gather up some of the books on the reading list from the library, and briefly went over the project files behind the portal that sent him here.

After Hiro and Baymax had decided to go home, Varian made his way back to the dormitory. He couldn’t wait to tell Wasabi all that had happened. However, as soon as he opened the door he was met with the sight of Wasabi chasing Ruddiger around the apartment with a broom. Food, slimy shampoo, and various other items were strewn about the place and Wasabi was covered in soap bubbles while Ruddiger himself was sopping wet. Varian sighed and closed the door behind him. Looks like telling about his day would have to wait.

#varian #Hiro Hamada #Wasabi #professor granville #BH6 the series #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #bh6 #tangled #ruddiger #tts #rta #bh6ts

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mythicamagic · 5 years ago

Text

Ulquihime Week: Day 6 (chapter two)

@ulquihimeweek

Pairing: Ulquiorra/Orihime (UlquiHime) fanfic, Chapter One: Here.

Rated M

Summary: Orihime has an imaginary friend, who happens to be a terrifying creature living in the woods behind her summer home.

Due to tumblr restrictions, this might be deleted, so know that you can also read this fic here: on Ao3 or Fanfiction.net

For Ulquihime Week 2019 Day 6: Possession

Eldritch: Chapter Two

Warning: Smut

Living with Orihime felt extremely alien and uncomfortable at first. He wasn't used to the hardwood floors that made the long claw-like nails of his toes scratch and drag on the surface, the plush bedding he sank a good two-feet into, the stifling warmth of a heater. His wings were entirely too large and cumbersome in the small apartment no matter how neatly he folded them.

One morning Orihime gasped and caught a lamp before it hit the ground- knocked over by a long tail. Again. He glanced at her and coiled it closer to himself, awkwardly perched on a barstool at her kitchen counter.

"Look at you. I really gave you random features when I was a kid, huh?" She sighed. "I'm sorry, they must be uncomfortable."

"You asked me to get the features you desired and I obeyed," he muttered, sipping some water. His claws clicked on the glass, dragging and leaving faint scratches as he adjusted his bent knees. "Since I'd received sight and other useful things from you, I had no grievance with changing my appearance. It's inconsequential."

Orihime righted the lamp and bit her lip, wandering closer and brushing a gentle hand over the black feathers on his back. Lean muscle tensed. Every nerve ending pricked and burned, anticipating her touch on his bare skin. It never came.

"Do you dislike it?" Escaped him.

She twined some lengthy wisps of fur that mingled with the softness of the feathers around her fingers, smiling nostalgically. "No, you're still mine, silly. It's kinda like looking at a drawing I made when I was younger."

Bitterness rose in his throat, clogging like mud- even as his body flared alive with her admission of ownership. "Yes," he muttered. I am yours. "You seem unexpectedly fine with talking to a 'childhood drawing.' Most humans don't exhibit this kind of behaviour."

He'd tried and failed to keep the hiss out of his words, the sting of being referred to as a figment of her imagination.

Orihime pried out a few leaves that had tangled in the dark fur, brushing out some dried dirt. "It's just like I told you, I've always been bullied for being a little strange," she giggled. "Daydreaming too much, eating weird things, thinking about stuff differently from other people. They mistook me...and thought I saw myself as better than them for not fitting in. I don't know why," the gentle note to her voice became quieter. "Just shows I haven't changed after all this time if I'm still talking to and seeing you. I mean most people would probably be fine with their brother's death after so many years."

He wasn't entirely sure how grief worked but did not know enough about the subject to object. His body stiffened and sighed as she touched a leathery wing. "Anyway, not to change the subject but I think you need a shower, mister."

Ulquiorra blinked slowly.

----

That was how he found himself being playfully shoved into a shower cubical. Orihime turned on the water, which hit the expanse of his back at full blast. He made a noise of surprise, claws reaching out and dragging over her waist and slicing the material of her nightgown. She merely laughed and tried to bar his escape from the cramped space by blocking the exit, "just calm down~ I promise it won't hurt you!" She giggled, gasping as the water soaked her as well.

He grit his teeth. Realising he was acting childishly to the unfamiliar situation, he held himself rigidly still.

Reaching for the shampoo, Orihime lathered her hands and worked slim fingers through his hair. Ulquiorra stared, watching as the material of her blue clothing became sodden, leaving it fairly see-through. It showed the suggestion of skin laying just beneath, the shape of her full breasts as the material clung to her, rose-pink nipples hardening slightly.

"Close your eyes."

Ulquiorra flicked his curious gaze up, but she was merely smiling, having not noticed. "The shampoo will sting if it gets in them."

And then he realised; she was not looking at him as a man. It made sense, since to Orihime he was not real. If she were attracted to him she'd never be able to bathe him so thoughtlessly. Intense green eyes slid shut, tail sliding to wrap around her leg. A security measure to prevent her escape.

As soft palms slid over his fur, wings and arms, washing the splashes of dirt away, Ulquiorra sensed reluctance the second her hands met his chest. "You didn't have this before," she murmured, voice barely heard over the sound of the spray. His eyes cracked open, breath hissing out of mismatched lips. Her fingers glided around the hollow hole.

Heat hooked low in his stomach. "No, I did not," he thought for a moment. "But it's always been there, beneath the surface."

Orihime's brows drew together, "I really should have given you a heart. This is just cruel."

She continued bathing him, her body occasionally pressing and dragging lightly, torturously against his. Ulquiorra didn't know why his gut kept tightening but something was happening to him. It was like he'd flown for miles in a single few seconds, limbs burning, breath quickening.

"Maybe you could get a heart," she was musing. "Like a pig's one. They're meant to be similar to a humans. Oh! Dummy," she knocked her head with her fist. "You could get a heart from the hospital. There are organ donors, that's a thing."

"You told me never to steal," he pointed out, panting a little. Sweat on his brow mingled with the water running down his chin and brow. It was becoming difficult to think of anything else but pulling her body closer and moving against it. For some reason he wanted to taste her.

Orihime was biting her lip in that maddening way- and he drew closer, leaning down until they were nose to nose. "And I do not want just anyone's heart."

Her cheeks reddened, lush body stiffening against his. Those captivating eyes widened, roving over his face questioningly.

Good, he thought. Look at me.

Orihime broke the moment by giggling a touch nervously, patting his arm. "I-um...better leave you to it. You've got the hang of things now and I need to dry off if I'm going to make it on time for school."

The thin tail shifted and tightened around her leg, holding her in place. Ulquiorra stared, catching the moment she noticed.

"Let go, Ulquiorra." Her voice was soft.

Reluctantly, he obeyed, watching as she eased away and flashed a smile that said she'd already forgiven his slip.

Ulquiorra felt the cold attack his skin much more brutally than any rainstorm or blizzard he'd experienced before. That same hunger returned, causing him to place a hand over the gaping emptiness in his chest.

----

During the hours that she went to school, Ulquiorra couldn't help his curious mind. He opened draws, tested light switches, read the food magazines she'd stored, brushed up on sex education and puberty, learned how some electrical appliances worked, watched documentaries, found her diary and a stash of chocolate hidden under the bed- took a bite- and decided chocolate tasted too sweet.

The evenings were his preferred time of day. He wasn't sure why.

Orihime always came home in the late afternoon and would teach him new things he'd overlooked about the human world. Namely, hobbies. Video games, board games, painting, cooking, sculpting.

Sometimes he could hear her speak with school mates outside the door. When they questioned why she was suddenly being so secretive about her apartment, Orihime would deflect or say renovations were being done.

Ulquiorra's lips twitched at the corners.

One day, his curiosity prompted him to lean down and peer through the blinds of the apartment. The window looked down onto the street, sunset bathing everything in warm colours, including Orihime as she stood talking to her friends.

There was a girl with short dark hair who looked like an athletic type. The other, a young man. He stood tall and slightly lanky, with light orange hair. His expression told Ulquiorra that he was complaining about something. None the less, Orihime laughed, a blush colouring her cheeks.

Something pricked in the depths of his chest. His hollow hole thrummed, the edges biting. He grunted, touching it lightly. It had never done that before.

When Orihime returned and she called out her standard 'I'm home!' Ulquiorra met her eyes. Whatever she saw on his face had her instantly quieting, the happiness fleeing to be replaced with worry.

The creature blinked and wiped his expression clean, ensuring it was blank.

"Welcome back."

----

Ulquiorra learned what the young man was called, and it was the very name that Orihime had filled her diary with.

"...Do you desire Ichigo Kurosaki's heart?" He asked randomly during supper. Her cheeks bloomed with that same colour which churned the blood in his veins. She stuttered and waved her hands, laughing it off.

Ulquiorra glanced away, moodily continuing to eat the pickles in custard she'd prepared.

----

When night fell he would fly out into the world, trying to find answers.

There were sometimes different pressures in the air. Sensations fleeting in the sky like if he just let something click inside him- he'd be able to pierce the veil between the human world and the unknown beyond. Since he was neither human nor animal, he wondered if he were originally from such a place. If, perhaps...he was supposed to belong there.

Ulquiorra didn't understand why he hesitated. It would surely provide answers, possibly about death, resurrection and Orihime's brother.

When the hours crawled towards morning he'd return to her.

Orihime lay on her side in a sprawl of limbs, firey strands of hair dishevelled and splayed around her pillow in loose spirals. Her lips were slightly pursed, a small snore occasionally disturbing the quiet, the covers thrown back from her habit of kicking them off in the night. It left the contours of her figure exposed to his assessing gaze.

Ulquiorra swallowed, wondering why his mouth had filled with saliva.

Tonight she'd worn a loose tank top and shorts, which had ridden up on her thighs, the curve of her ass and exposed stomach causing a similar sensation he'd felt while in the shower. Arousal, most likely, from what that book had described.

Because of what he'd read about human behaviour, Ulquiorra was aware of how inappropriate it was to watch her sleep. Others would find his fascination frightening, creepy. He didn't care. He only desired to know what Orihime's reaction would be, as she was the only human who mattered to him.

The matress quietly groaned under his weight as the creature knelt onto the covers, crawling up the bed. He braced himself over the sleeping woman, staring with unblinking eyes. Despite what he knew about humans, reading about them, about touch, lust, sex...all of it was cold. Facts and figures.

Being so close to Orihime was warm. Images began to invade his thoughts, of his tongue gliding over her skin, nails dragging, cutting that ripe flesh open to lick and suck at her wounds and blood. Maybe bite down with the blunt, adult teeth she'd blessed him with. The fine hairs at the end of his tail glided up her thigh, tracing the shape.

And if...if she touched him in return, it would undo whatever control he had and spout lightning into his nerve endings. Just to see her looking up at him with want and open desire-

Instincts hazed, gut tightening as he heard a soft noise that caused his cock to stir.

Green eyes immediately located the tears sliding down her cheeks. Though she remained asleep beneath him, the woman trembled. Her lips pressed together, wobbling, more sounds escaping.

"S-Sora..." she sobbed, turning her face into the pillow.

Ulquiorra watched silently. He then achingly, carefully drew away from her, grasping the covers and lifting them to settle over her shoulders.

The creature then escaped into the vast reaches of the night, plunging himself through the resistance of the world and falling into an unknown one full of white sands, dead trees, and a crescent moon hanging in the sky.

---

"I found him," he said the next evening.

Orihime looked up from her cup of hot chocolate, eyes refocusing from her clouded thoughts. She did that sometimes, slipped away somewhere he couldn't follow. Slowly, the words registered, and life was breathed into her features once more.

"You have?" She whispered, voice thin.

He glanced away, discontentment churning. "He is not the same person you once knew."

"I don't care," she stood from her chair, gaze bright. "Oh Ulquiorra," she breathed, hurrying to him and taking his hand prisoner within her own. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Green eyes slid back to her as though they loathed to look away too long. "Why is it so important that you see him?"

Orihime bowed her head, glancing at Sora's picture. She'd explained before that the display in her home was a shrine to her brother, one that she prayed to every day.

She then raised her hand and touched the blue hairpin's securely clipped into her locks. "We had an argument the day he died...about these. I keep feeling like he got into the car accident because he was distracted. And no matter how much I pray and try to assure him not to worry about me, I feel guilty. Like I can't move on. Or maybe something won't let me. Hehe, maybe I won't let myself~" she giggled in the light, nervous way she usually did to try and dispell sombre moods.

"And you feel that if you speak with him, you will move on?" He struck into the heart of the matter, undeterred by her attitude.

"I-I don't know," she murmured. "He did so much for me. Raised me as his own since he was 18. I repaid him by being a brat on his last day alive."

Ulquiorra shifted, fingers twitching. Slowly, they curled around her own. "He is called Acidwire now."

"Acid...wire..." the name sounded cold and cruel, completely at odds with the vision of her brother.

"I'm not human, therefore I can't say what is best for you. Your desire to see him is most likely misguided and will shatter the idea that you have of your sibling. Do you still want to go?" He asked, not curbing his acerbic tongue. Ulquiorra theorised that was exactly what would happen, but she raised her head, taking him by surprise.

Her eyes were hard as flint. It was a rare thing to see Orihime glare. "If he's different, then that just means I'll have to adapt and accept it. Nothing changes the fact that it's him. I don't care if he's not human, I'll still love him."

The gears in his mind rusted, stilling. His entire being felt anchored to the blazing passion he gazed into. Ulquiorra inclined his head, grabbing her close.

Orihime squeaked, holding on around his shoulders as black fur glided under her thighs, his arms supporting her. He then walked briskly to the window and squeezed out of it with her- leaping into the air.

A cry sounded out as she gripped him hard, and Ulquiorra felt frustrated with the subsequent leap in his gut. Large wings flapped and took them higher into the sky, the wind lashing at their hair and mixing charcoal black with fiery orange locks.

---

As stated, Sora had changed. However, the full scope of how much he'd changed could have been better detailed.

The...being towered above her in size. Orihime stared up at it with wide eyes, breath catching in her throat. A bone-white mask hid its facial features, dark hair framing the ghoulish face. It's more human-like red arms and torso disappeared into a snake body, supporting itself upright by coiling its tail behind it.

Those red eyes were the most jarring, filled with no light or hope, much like the sands and bleak landscape surrounding them. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to run, to leave the terrible, desolate place that gave an odour of death.

Setting her shoulders, Orihime stepped away from Ulquiorra's side, brows pulling together. "Brother?" She said gently.

Acidwire made a low, guttural noise. Dark locks hung forward as he bent over her, teeth glistening.

"It's me, Orihime. Do you remember?"

Her grey gaze roved over his face as his shadow swallowed her.

"...Ori...hime?"

She felt small before him but took another step. Her childhood ability to look past imperfections and create something friendly reared its head, and Orihime found herself smiling despite the situation, filling up with happiness.

The creature's jaws pried open- lunging down toward her.

Orihime gasped, a loud thudding sound filled her ears, sand kicking up into her face. The sound of bone cracking soon followed. Realising that she was unharmed, she shakily pried her eyes open, coughing, the sand caught in her hair and lashes. A strangled noise chocked her throat the second her mind registered the figures before her.

Ulquiorra stood between them, hands gripping Acidwire's upper and lower jaws as they bore down upon him. Her friend's foot was planted in the ground, no sign of strain on his face as he looked up into the second pair of teeth within the pitch-black mouth.

"...Trash," he muttered lowly.

"Ulquiorra!" She quickly moved out of the way, eyes wide. This wasn't going anything like she'd imagined, and if this was all in her head why was Sora- why had he tried to hurt her?

To her surprise, Ulquiorra grunted, shifting his stance and lifting the snake-like creature's jaws back over his head- before tossing its large body into the air. The creature sailed away, landing a good distance away in the white dunes. A distant thud could be heard, followed by a roar of outrage.

Black wings unfolded, tail swishing with agitation. Orihime grasped his arm suddenly. "Why...did he try to hurt us?" She murmured.

"I told you he was changed," was his dispassionate response, features cold and blank as ever. Except for those eyes. They burned with a colour more vibrant than she could recall seeing before, leaking into something new. "He's...like me now."

Orihime's heart lurched and she gripped tighter. "You're nothing alike!" Her voice became sharp even as she thought of the hollow holes in their chests. She couldn't accept the idea of her friend she'd played with in the woods turning on her in such a way. To try and devour her. "Don't say that."

"Sister!" White sands were spitting up into the air, something beneath them racing towards them at a breakneck speed. "Orihime, come with me. We can be together now! Die. Stay with me!"

She turned to Ulquiorra with wide eyes, "run away! I don't want you getting hurt!"

"The first order is quite impossible, but I'll endeavour to follow the latter," he muttered evenly, just as jaws burst forth from the ground aiming straight for Orihime.

A black wing swung out, slamming into Acidwire's neck and pushing the attack off course. He then leapt into the air after it.

-----

Ulquiorra hit the ground standing, skidding on his heels and looking up at Sora Inoue as he followed, snarling with bloodlust. Sensing energy beneath the sand- Ulquiorra thrust his talons into the mound, gripping bone and yanking it to the surface.

Another creature like them was revealed, shrieking in horror. With a hard twist and yank- Ulquiorra broke off one of its porcelain horns and pressed it to the side of his skull.

Bone weaved and connected itself, it's twin building on the other side of his head until large horns appeared. They struck out towards the heavens- in time for Sora's body to impale itself upon them mid-leap. The horns pierced through tough scales, causing him to cry out loudly.

Ulquiorra's gaze brightened, something collecting into his index finger. Raising it, he needed only to let instinct click into place, before black energy burst forth. It consumed Sora Inoue's form, sending him sailing away and hitting the ground with a heavy slam, arms lulling at his sides.

This time he did not rise.

Orihime trembled from where she stood, slowly padding over the sands and approaching the body.

It trembled and shook a little, coughing. Her hand flew to her mouth, tears collecting in her eyes.

The mask had broken in half, revealing her brother's face beneath it.

"I-I'm sor...ry...sis..." blood curdled, escaping the corner his mouth. He coughed, some drops landing at her feet. A gaping, singed hole from Ulquiorra's power had devastated his chest, leaving his arms and neck barely connected to his torso.

Orihime knelt next to him, leaning down and hugging his lifeless jaws.

When she heard footsteps approaching behind her, the girl turned, cheeks stained with tears. Her eyes were hazy as she looked at the thick black tear marks on his own morbid face. The hollow hole on his chest now gaped wider, what looked like black oil spilt out from it to leak down his chest and abdomen. With the new addition of nightmarishly large horns, Orihime felt drenched in the shadow of a predator once more.

Instead of fearing for her soul, all that wobbled out was: "Why...did I imagine something so terrible?"

Those irises had leaked into blazing gold, scleras dark green. His tail whipped out, sliding around her waist and yanking her to stand, pulling her against him.

"Does it not occur to you, woman, that this may be real?"

Orihime shuddered, pale and cold. His taloned fingers were biting and hard on her waist. It hurt. She wasn't sure what was real or fantasy anymore. The things she'd imagined had always comforted her from the pains of reality, and yet they wounded her now?

Biting back a whimper, she steadied herself against him, palm resting against his abdomen when she suddenly noticed it. Wet, dripping noises coming from his right side. Orihime shifted and gasped, seeing nothing but a stump for a right arm. Black blood trickled from it.

"Ulquiorra! Y-you're hurt," she shakily switched gears.

His steady, penetrative gaze slid down to it. "Yes. Seems I couldn't follow your orders. It doesn't matter, I can-"

"No this is terrible!" She fussed, moving around him, hands fluttering up. "Oh no...this is all my fault," she grit her teeth, shuddering violently.

"The fault lies in my second of hesitance."

It didn't matter what he said, she wasn't listening, his calm voice a dull roar. Light sparked from her fingers, an orange glow hovering over the space his arm used to occupy.

Ulquiorra's eyes widened, attention ensnared. Gradually, bone, skin and fur collected from thin air and reconnected. They solidified into his arm, muscles rejoining. When the light died, he flexed his sharp fingers. Good as new.

"You can regenerate," he quietly mused.

"I-I guess so," she croaked, gaze dulled as she turned to look at the fallen body of her brother. "I just imagined fairies over it and the light followed. This is...so confusing."

His tail tightened around her waist. "You're like me," he said in a soft monotone.

Orihime raised her head to look at him, flesh ghostly pale. She slowly drew in close and slid her arms around his waist, hugging him.

Those deadly hands rested on her lower back, dragging up her spine and causing the girl to shiver. She was aware of him smelling her hair, but felt no disgust from it. "I need to heal him," she murmured, drawing away and gently prying his tail off around her hips.

Kneeling once more, the orange light spread over the gaping hole in her brother's chest. When it faded, his inhuman flesh shivered, a groan sounding out. Orihime gave a tremulous smile, recalling their argument as she touched her hairpins.

"I'm sorry, please be safe, brother," the words she'd wanted to say all those years ago flowed out.

Returning to Ulquiorra's side, she rubbed at her cheeks and took a steadying breath.

"Let's go home."

He considered this for a moment. "...Did you do everything you came here to?"

Hands drew into loose fists at her sides, "no," her voice wobbled. "But I guess this is what happens when you try to live life backwards. Try as I might, and no matter how happy I was..." she glanced at Sora. "I-I can't go back to those days at the summer house anymore."

The dead trees, sand dunes and crescent moon in the sky were the only witnesses to their silent departure. By the time Acidwire had drawn himself up, the mask over his face restored, Orihime and Ulquiorra were gone.

----

Everything lay quiet and undisturbed in the apartment as they entered. Ulquiorra had to break his horns in half, lest they scrape the ceiling. Orihime broke away from him and shakily made her way to the shower in her ensuite, disorientated. After stripping, she sat under the spray for what felt like an hour, legs going numb. Disengaged from her body, Orihime rested her cheek against the glass.

All at once however, she realised Ulquiorra wasn't with her. Panic erupted in her chest, and she stumbled out, grabbing a towel and half-heartedly drying herself. Changed clothes in her bedroom, she hurried out in her nightgown.

She stopped half-way to the couch upon bumping her nose into a pale chest. Glancing up, she found his eyes had yet to return to emerald green hues, remaining watchful, bright, burning gold.

"You're still here," rushed out, a sigh of relief soon following.

"Naturally."

Feeling a little silly now, Orihime brushed damp hair behind her ear. Seeing his steady, expectant look, a lightbulb went off in her head. "Oh...right!" She forced a smile, squeezing his arm. "What was it you wanted in return?"

Dark lashes dropped slightly, stare becoming half-lidded. It took her a moment to realise Ulquiorra was staring at her mouth. That gaze then slid down, fixing on a certain spot that his fingers soon rested against.

Orihime swallowed, feeling talons drag over the material of her night-gown, the pads of his fingers a hard pressure against her chest.

"My heart?"

He stroked the area with an almost reverent, yet firm touch. "I lack one, and yours is elevated above all other humans."

She became quiet, not screaming or running away, though he hadn't expected her to. The woman was strong. Her heartbeat drummed a little faster, but not at break-neck speed like those others he'd harvested limbs or organs from.

Emboldened by her lack of aversion to his touch, his free hand found her cheek. Claws dragged lightly over her chin, cool digits soaking up the warmth beneath them. "You won't resist?"

It pleased him immensely when she leaned into his hand. "You're so silly," came the faint mumble. "Or maybe it's my fault, for not teaching you everything you'd need to know about humans. I was a child though."

Fire spouted into his palm the moment soft lips brushed against it, heat blooming up his wrist. "There's more than one way to hold a person's heart in your hand. Not everything has to be literal."

Ulquiorra backed her up into the wall until her spine protested. His nose brushed against hers as he inhaled her exhale. "You're referring to sentimental emotion, aren't you? But there's no physical proof the metaphorical heart you speak of exists."

"The proof is in what humans feel for each other," she said softly. "What I feel for you."

Slit pupils thinned. His body became rigid.

"...Ichigo Kurosaki," he reminded her stiffly.

Something conflicted entered her gaze, honest as ever. "Ichigo is...like the summer house," she murmured. "I like him. I've always...liked him, but he doesn't see me, and I don't even know what would happen if he suddenly wanted me. The idea of him has always been so comforting. But what I imagine and want, it's just my idea of him. A prince on a white horse instead of his usual stubborn, short-tempered self. I know that. I've always...known that. But he was something nice to imagine, so that I didn't feel so alone."

Ulquiorra's wings unfolded, hands finding her thighs and hooking beneath them, lifting, forcing her legs to wrap around his waist. His breathing hitched, nose and lips finding her neck and gliding without really pressing down. He hovered on the precipice of something that threatened to ruin him.

"How do you know I'm not like the summer house?"

"Because I see you clearly now," she muttered. And it was there. It was there. His reflection glinted in those silver eyes. The first pair he'd ever looked into. "You...your wings, your tail, your tongue...I understand now, I got it when I saw you rip those horns off that creature and put them on yourself. You didn't get those other features from me, but you had to get them from somewhere, just like how you wanted my heart."

The image of him wavered and swam, waterlogged by tears. "I'm sorry I didn't help you live as a human. I could have given you a normal life."

"I'm not human," he uttered. "And any life with you wouldn't be normal. We have curry and wasabi together, topped with strawberries."

Orihime burst into a tearful giggle, smiling at him.

Ulquiorra leaned in, unable to hold back anymore, mouth crashing to hers. It was clumsy and hard, and to his surprise, she yielded after a brief noise. She coaxed his lips to move against hers, something wet and soft hesitantly sliding against his dark upper lip. Slowly, he opened his mouth, tongue meeting and brushing against her own.

Claws nicked at the sensitive skin of her thighs, and Orihime jolted- hips bucking. It caused a groan to hiss out, tail sliding, winding around her chest and squeezing the air from her lungs. Her breath puffed out and he gulped it down, kissing her hungrily.

"Your skin is soft…"

Ulquiorra's hair caressed her collarbone, causing Orihime to shiver in his arms. Her cheeks reddened as an appealing scent floated into the air that he hadn't smelled before. He broke away from the kiss slightly, "tell me what you're feeling."

"N-no!" She gasped, face scarlet. Ulquiorra dragged his lips down her neck, palm sliding to set on her navel and teasing lower. "The scent is coming from down here. Show me.." he breathed, nipping her ear.

When she shook her head again, teeth tugging on her plump bottom lip, he sank to his knees and dragged her down with him. Orihime squeaked as she was turned, falling backwards- landing not on the cool hardwood floor but cushioned by leather. Wings shifted beneath her back as she was laid down, the creature leaning over her and impressive wingspan rising up, containing them in their own personal cacoon that blocked out almost all light.

Clawed hands came up to settle on her hips, before one smoothed under her thigh, lifting her leg up for a better angle as he leaned down. Orihime made a noise of surprise, squeezing startled eyes shut and rolling her hips instinctively despite nothing pressing against her yet.

"You're unexpectedly wanton," his monotone sounded lighter, almost as though amused.

Her nightgown was hitched and yanked up, leaving her bare sex exposed and vulnerable.

He experimentally drew his tongue out and licked the glistening folds, soon sucking on her clit, talons biting into the nightgown. Gasping, Orihime threw her head back, arching into his mouth. Her ankles locked behind his head as frantic hands descend to black locks. Ulquiorra started and paused, unused to such a place being touched. His hair slid like soft feathers through her fingers, and ultimately he continued sucking, grunting quietly and shoving his tongue inside her. The woman in his grasp makes a curious noise, hips bucking up.

He watched her almost obsessively from his position, waiting for the moment she begged him to stop. The scent was impossibly strong, an intoxicating taste coating his tongue.

"Please, more," she whispered, startling him. For once, Ulquiorra disobeyed, leaning back and away from her sex and touch, dark satisfaction curling inside him as she made a weak noise of protest. His tail brushing up against her clit instead, sliding between her legs. Orihime didn't notice, too consumed by the sensations. The firm glide of his tail became a harder pressure against her sex, rubbing.

His hand slid up her torso to cup a full breast, barred from complete touch her clothing. "...It's firmer than I thought," he tilted his head slightly, squeezing with perhaps too much force. Her body sang beautifully with its honest reactions, her groan signalling her enjoyment as she rocked her hips against the pressure of his tail.

"I'm so close..." Orihime whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Grabbing his horns without seeming to think about it, she writhed and squirmed like a woman possessed. It made a low rumble build in the back of his throat.

Careful hands became impatient- tearing the material over her chest. A hungry mouth clamped over her breast, sucking and sinking blunt teeth in, causing her to spout gibberish, words and moans blurring into one another. Fur slid against her hips and navel, parting her legs wider as his tail rubbed quicker, gliding on the outskirts of her folds and flicking against her clit.

Writhing for a few moments longer, a loud cry filled the room, pressure snapping like a string. Her back arched, core quivering. Ulquiorra watched with undisguised fascination, sucking at the wound on her flesh.

The thin tail coiled, pulling away and coated in her wetness. Ulquiorra lifted his head and licked it clean with a swipe of his tongue, witnessing the moment her eyes cracked open and registered what she'd done. Orihime flushed deep red, glaring a little in her embarrassment. His lips twitched, rubbing his knuckles against her sex in reward.

Orihime panted, letting hazy eyes slide shut as she took in a few breaths. He then leaned over her, impossibly close. Those slit pupils pinned her in place the second she met his gaze.

"So this is lust..."

He braced his weight on one hand, the tail suddenly gripping her around the waist lifting, causing her back to arch, head dipping back.

Orihime sat up instead, fighting it- wrapping her arms about his neck. "May I touch you?" She asked quietly.

Vague surprise flit over his face, hand coming up dazedly to rest against her heart. It thrummed strong and sure against his palm. His touch then glided up, lifting claws to her cheek and touching the soft skin there.

Ulquiorra looked at her hands. "I haven't been touched before, not by anyone else except you."

He grasped her under her thighs and lifted her onto his lap as he sat on his heels, feathers and fur caressing her under her thighs.

"Me neither," she whispered like it were a closely guarded secret. She then smiled, causing him to blink. That smile brought him back down to earth. He held Orihime Inoue in his arms, hollow hole pulsing and aching with all that that meant, and for a few blind moments of pleasure, he'd forgotten how much that really meant to him.

Orihime kissed him on the lips, running a hand down his back to stroke the fur. His muscles tensed under her touch but soon relaxed. He dipped his head to her shoulder, just resting his forehead there a second, inhaling. Catharsis washed over him, arms tightening around her.

She felt so good.

Her needy hips squirmed against his, dragging one hand down his chest, the other lacing their fingers together, palms intimately meeting as she kissed down his neck. He inhaled sharply, the power seeming to make her giddy. It was a very nice sensation, having someone respond to your touch. Orihime experimentally sucked on the skin of his collarbone, squeaking when he rut his hips up. Ulquiorra then lifted his head- catching her mouth with his own. Growing more adventurous with his tongue, he moved it against hers and brushed it inside her mouth, running it along her teeth and grunting.

Something hard started to rub in between her legs, now showing from under the furs. A shaky moan escaped her.

"Feeling you respond, I think I quite enjoy it," he said quietly, wings shifting behind her, the thin leathery feel of them slid against flushed skin. Silver eyes glanced down, widening a little at the sight that greeted her. Orihime reached down, grasping his cock, skimming lithe fingers over the skin.

Ulqiorra jolted and hissed, resting his cheek against hers and breathing out.

"Does it feel nice?" Came her innocent question, cupping the tip and smoothing her fingers around the shaft. He rutted up into her hand in response, shoving her down onto her back, wings cushioning her and completely enveloping her with himself.

"More," he breathed. She was happy to oblige, stroking him harder, enjoying his enjoyment of it in that usual selfless way of hers.

Golden eyes practically glow, staring at her. Her hand pumped his base, lips finding his throat and sucking. Ulquiorra shuddered, leaning his forehead down and grunting. His eyes widen at the sensation, hips shifting forward continually. Orihime made a small noise, quickening her strokes. Her thighs rubbed together needily, getting squirmy due to his rapid panting and low noises.

Blunt teeth clench, eyes squeezing shut- before they snapped open and he shifts his hips back to drag his erection out of her grasp. A second later, and her wrists were pinned above her head via his tail, a pale chest braced tightly against hers as his cock rubbed hard against her sex.

"We're starting now," he said in a harsh whisper of sound.

Orihime's mouth opened to encourage him- but twitching hips are already ramming forward, forcing his length inside her. Due to the wetness, he managed to slide in quite far, but soon her tightness had him stopping and panting. One of his hands gripped her under her thighs, the lower length of his tail manoeuvring to spread her leg out wider with her ankle hooked on it.

Their breath mingled, everything seeming to stop.

Orihime's lips were frozen mid-gasp, eyes wide. Nothing to quell the invasive, full sensation. Sweat broke out on her forehead, which he caught on his lips, kissing it away.

The oddly sweet gesture had her smiling weakly. "I thought..." she gently panted, bucking her hips experimentally, "that we were starting."

Ulquiorra snaps his hips forward again the second those words were out, managing to thrust deeper. He liked the sounds of her moans he decided, watching as her eyes flew wide, head tossing back. Her full breasts bounced, damp, auburn hair clinging to her skin.

His tongue brushed along her bottom lip as he thrust, before pressing his mouth hard against hers. She suckled his tongue, arms straining against the tight clasp of his tail wound around her wrists. She moved her hips with him.

"Harder," she pleaded against his mouth, a mindless order. If she weren't drugged on pleasure she'd be blushing like a maiden. Ulquiorra panted, her demand only serving to heighten his lust. Grabbing her hips, he angled them up, ramming his cock inside her so that the full length sheathed inside. Her subsequent loud cries only encouraged his ferocity.

His clawed toes dig harsh rivets into the wood of the floor as he nipped her lips, moaning. Rosy lips press against his again, and Ulquiorra realises that his right hand is still being held captive, had been all that time. Her fingers squeezed over his, watery eyes remaining locked with his.

The creature had to fight the urge to utterly and completely consume her.

His clawed hand cupped her breast, sharp nails digging in slightly to the soft mound as he squeezed, rubbing a thumb against her nipple and leaving red scratches on her flesh. He drank in her moaning and high, keening sounds, their kisses becoming sloppy as he thrust erratically, harsh slapping sounds filling the room. The black fur and feathers of his lower half had become soaked from their combined juices.

Her wanting tongue licked against his, a string of saliva connecting them. "Please, Ulquiorra, more," she whimpered, eyes hazy.

"Your greed will be your undoing, Woman." He let out a groan, eyes darkening. He suddenly grabbed her hair and tugged it back, slamming inside her quicker and quicker. Orihime screamed, feeling his length hit a sweet spot deep inside her.

He has no scruples about slamming harder into her, his hips hitting her own with the ferocity of his thrusts before gnashing his teeth together, making a low noise as he released, shuddering. Orihime soon followed, crying out and trembling against him, legs going slack around his waist.

"You...you came inside," she murmured dazedly.

"If you're r-referring to the orgasm and possible procreation, I think it's unlikely," he muttered, catching his breath, lips brushing her neck. "There is nothing else like me," he thought of Acidwire and those other creatures in the dunes. Maybe there were similar things, but whatever he was, Ulquiorra did not think he was meant to feel this way.

"...You're not alone though. I don't think there's anything else like m-me either. I don't know what I am."

Ulquiorra blinked and shifted back. It felt somewhat like torture to pull away from her, the loss of heat almost unbearable. He hated the sting, that he knew no cave would ever be a comfort from the rain again. His tail released her wrists, leaving purplish, tender rings."I suppose you're right," he said, back to his monotone voice. Black wings slid out from beneath her, folding behind him as the creature lifted her against him and crawled onto the bed, placing her on it. "Or perhaps you're exactly what I thought you were when I first saw you. My creator."

"But you're real."

"It doesn't change your part in my quality of existence," he said, making to go. The bed was her space.

Orihime grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down, cradling him to her. "Don't leave," she mumbled tiredly, eyes already slipping shut. "Whatever we are, I know that you're the only thing left that makes sense to me."

Ulquiorra stiffened, head pillowed to her chest as he glanced up at her. "Never mind your species or powers, I don't understand you," he said slowly but settled against her, body sprawled against the soft curves and dips of the woman's body as she quietly giggled.

For once, Ulquiorra drifted into sleep first, lulled by her fingers stroking through feather-soft hair. Giving an extinguished sigh, the creature surrendered himself to her.

---

When the first rays of the morning sun crept through the bedroom blinds, a thin rectangle of light fell over Orihime's lids, urging them to crack open. Wincing, she raised her arm so that it blocked out the harsh blaze. Glancing down at the weight on her chest and stomach, her eyes briefly widened, before gentling.

Orihime hugged the man closer, smoothing her hand over the filled expanse of flesh where a hollow hole had once been.

End

#ulquihime #ulquiorra x orihime #ulquiorra cifer #uhweek2019 #Bleach #orihime inoue

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fratresdei · 4 years ago

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Spirituality Defined

Where did our working definition of spirituality come from? How has it evolved over centuries of research, ritual and belief? Philosophy grad Brayte Singletary stopped by the blog this week to take us on deep dive into the ever-elusive meaning of spirituality. Enjoy!

What even is spirituality? Rachel asks that very question in one of this blog’s first posts, and gives her answer there too. It’s one of the fundamental questions of spiritual direction. Those seeking or giving spiritual direction are liable to stumble on it sooner or later, through education or reflection. This post is one of those trips—and since it’s a bone we may need help chewing, I attempt to shine some Sirius-light on the best research I could dig up. Hopefully it’s illuminating.

In 2016 some researchers in Germany and the U.S. published the results of a formal investigation into the meaning of spirituality [A]. They based their investigation on a 2011 survey of Germans and Americans that asked, among other questions, “How would you define the term ‘spirituality’?” Approximately eighteen hundred different definitions came back, about forty percent German and sixty percent American. Quantifying these samples, the researchers started running statistical analysis.

First they looked for categories of response, grouping similar categories together and narrowing the list down to just those that make the most sense of overall response patterns [B]. They found that ten basically distinct concept clusters [C] come under the heading of spirituality, almost always in some combination [D]:

A keenly-felt connection to and harmony with nature, humanity, the world, the universe, or the whole of reality.

Dependence on, relationship to, or union with the divine; a part of religion, esp. Christianity.

A search for one’s higher or true inner self, meaning, purpose; knowledge of these things; attainment of peace or enlightenment, esp. in terms of a path or journey [E].

Holding and daily acting according to ethical values, especially in relation to others, one’s community, or humanity; a moral way of life [F].

Faith or belief in transmundane forces, energies, beings, a higher power, gods or God.

A noncommittal, indefinite, but intensely emotional, maybe loving sense that there is some thing(s) or being(s) higher than and beyond this world, this life, or oneself [G].

Experience and contemplation of reality and the truth, meaning, purpose, and wisdom, esp. if considered beyond scientific or rational understanding, inexplicable and indemonstrable.

Awareness of and attunement to another, immaterial or supernatural realm and its denizens (spirits, angels, ghosts, etc.); feeling their presence; using special techniques to perceive and interact with them (tarot, crystals, seances, etc.).

Opposite religion, dogma, rules, traditions; unstructured, irreverent, religious individualism.

Individual or private religious practice; prayer, worship, or meditation; relationship-deepening or connection-fostering personal rituals and devotional acts.

Doing the same grouping and narrowing to unearth anything deeper, they found that all of these ten clusters fall somewhere on three scales, which they call the dimensions of spirituality [H]:

I. Vertical vs. horizontal general terminology for transcendence [I]

II. Theistic vs. non-theistic specific terminology for transcendence

III. Individual vs. institutional mediation of transcendence

Finally they found that this analysis confirms their larger research team’s theoretically-grounded hypothesis that the root definition of spirituality is:

Individually-mediated, experience-directed religion, esp. among religious nones [J]: i.e., religion oriented away from mediation through institutions, dependence on organizational structures and absolute authority claims, toward the immediacy of firsthand experience, emancipatory independence and value relative to the individual [K].

All this verbiage cries out for explanation. But for the moment let’s step back to marvel at our good luck in having research like this. Its conclusions about the meaning of spirituality—at least the ten concept clusters and three scales—came through something nearer experimentation in a laboratory than reflection in an armchair. In philosophical jargon, this argus-eyed approach was a posteriori rather than a priori; in anthropological jargon, emic rather than etic. As a result, we better see wrinkles in the meaning of spirituality, including internal inconsistencies that a cyclopic definitional scheme might smooth over, e.g., as a part of religion (2) and as opposite it (10).

For starters then, we see that this definition of spirituality is tripartite: “individually-mediated”, “experience-directed”, and “religion”. Since spirituality here is a kind of religion, religion is the core concept, so we’ll take it from there. That will lead to the three scales of spirituality, ‘vertical vs. horizontal terminology’ (I), ‘theistic vs. non-theistic terminology’ (II), and ‘individual vs. institutional mediation’ (III). “Individually-mediated” will come along with the third. That leaves only “experience-directed” and closing remarks. Now where did I put my patience for dry exposition…?

If none of it jibes with your own sense of spirituality, all the better! We all have much to learn, and outliers—you whose lives are led under stones yet unturned by science—have much to teach us.

First “religion”: For these researchers religion is any socially constructed system of symbols and rituals that interprets transcendent experience in ultimate terms [L]. This applies even to people who don’t consider themselves religious, including those who would self-describe as “spiritual but not religious”. But precisely what do transcendent experience and ultimate mean here? Transcendent experience—or simply ‘transcendence’—is any experience of “distance and departure from [the] everyday”, above and beyond the boundaries of ordinary experience [M]. More than just extraordinary, it exceeds our expectations of life and the world as we know it, e.g., by excelling in its class or defying classification (almost) altogether: the weirder and more wonderful, the more transcendent. So transcendent experience is often what we would traditionally call ‘religious experience’, but they make the distinction that it only counts as religious if on interpretation it’s cast in ultimate terms. Turning to “ultimate” then, here this is really elliptical for ‘of ultimate concern or importance to a person’. The ultimate is what “gives depth, direction and unity to all other concerns”, as theologian Paul Tillich puts it, from whom they draw the idea—e.g., our answers to basic questions about the world and our place in it [N]. Bringing these ideas together, a merely transcendent experience becomes genuinely religious when we see in it something all-important to us, and it becomes full-fledged religion when we build around it a symbolic-ritualistic framework of beliefs and practices. One’s framework needn’t be grand or widely-shared: it might be a slim private affair, like a single-person tent that’s as easy to pitch as to pack up and carry. Likewise a person can bring to transcendent experience a religious interpretive lens, or craft one afterwards just to come to terms with it. Either priority fits.

Before we move on to the next concept, let’s clear up some potentially misleading language in this definition of religion. To start, “socially constructed” here doesn’t necessarily mean ‘made up’, ‘fake’, or otherwise unreal. It just means that if nobody thought or talked about religion, there wouldn’t be any: its existence depends on its exercise. Likewise the claim that it “interprets” transcendent experience doesn't imply that it therefore misinterprets it. Indeed the opposite may well be true. Even elementary sense perception needs interpretation to become understanding: naked experience unclothed by categories or classifications is at best a muddle—e.g., in rounding an unfamiliar corner in the city or in coming out without warning on an open expanse in the country, when the sudden change of scenery produces a visual experience of undifferentiated shape and color, it’s all just optical nonsense until reason and intellect, as it were, catch up, and organize this sense data into a coherent picture: only then when interpretation goes to work does one finally know what she’s looking at. Although we may at times be apt to make meaning where there is none, often enough we find it right where it belongs. So this definition doesn’t debunk religion; it merely says that, assuming it has this experiential basis, it’s imbued with the meaning we give it, veracious or fallacious.

The terminology of our interpretation, i.e., our way of using terms for and ideas about the ultimate, admits of a couple distinctions. These are also the first and second scales of spirituality above (I-II): vertical-horizontal, and within that, theistic and non-theistic [O]. The former measures the metaphysical distance transcendent experience crosses. The latter measures the unity and personality and sometimes also the clarity of the religious object. Vertical terminology characteristically evokes what we would traditionally call the transcendent, e.g., God and heaven—generally, the otherworldly. It aims at things other than and over this world and oneself in it. Horizontal terminology tends the other way, toward the traditionally immanent, e.g., nature and humanity. Leaning this-worldly, it aims at things in and of the world and the world itself. Notably, whereas the vertical is often explicitly religious, the horizontal’s religiosity can even escape the notice of the person professing it [P]. Within this distinction is that between theistic and non-theistic terminology. The apparent presence of God, gods, and god-like beings or forces maps an important area of vertically transcendent experience, as their apparent absence does an antipodean area of horizontally transcendent experience. But this also sheds light on terminology between vertical and horizontal. This family of views sees the ultimate as in neither our world nor a world beyond, but rather in “a world behind”, i.e., behind and beneath the world’s surface appearances [Q]. Typically this is non-theistic, e.g., about ghosts, spirits, energies, or forces.

A gloss of the third scale (III) now moves into view, and with it “individually-mediated”: Individual-institutional mediation of transcendence measures the directness or indirectness of a person’s access to transcendent experience, i.e., the extent and power of the gatekeepers standing in her way. As these researchers put it, “Institutionalized mediation says that ... there is no other way to transcendence than through the church, sacraments, and priests; that there is no other truth than the sanctioned teachings; and that the ultimate concern is determined by the institution and its tradition” [R]. By contrast, and often in vociferous reply, individual-mediation says, “there is no or very little mediation of transcendence, but rather the experiential immediacy of the individual; there are no claims of absoluteness, but the individualistic evidence of experience; there is no or very little organization or structure" [S]. In this way, against so-called organized religion’s usual mediation by institutions, esp. hierarchical structures operating them, spirituality favors an unpatrolled, gates-wide-open setup. Yet it doesn’t follow from such independence that spirituality is therefore a lonely pursuit—though “flight of the alone to the Alone”, i.e., hermetic mysticism, is surely right at home here too [T]. We’re able to have experiences with others, just not for them, so it can be equally possible to pursue direct experience of transcendence with others as by oneself.

Lastly, “experience-directed”: This means that, whereas transcendent experience might play no ongoing role in a religion’s usual exercise, e.g., as none other than an oft-remembered historical event, in spirituality it takes the lead. Ritual, symbol, etc., become at best aids to pursuit of transcendence, but at worst impediments. Therefore spirituality in its purest, i.e., barest, form may focus on such experience exclusively; and since “directed” here means both ‘directed to’ and ‘directed by’, the religious ideal may resemble an upward spiral of being led from transcendence to transcendence by transcendence. Still this isn’t to say that spirituality takes direction from nothing else, or that by focusing on transcendence even exclusively, the rest of familiar religion vanishes. A spiritual purist may disavow religious side projects in pursuit of her wonted mode of transcendence, or she may simply subordinate them to it as various means to this end. Yet while she might style herself as therefore unencumbered in her pursuit of raw experience, her religious interpretive lens remains ever-present, however unwittingly. It must, or else her chase after the spiritual would be of the wild-goose variety. E.g., someone undergoing a crisis of faith might discover to her horror that she’s no longer able to participate in her favorite religious exercises, since the vinegar of doubt now spoils every well from which she used to draw joy. Since her experiences can’t mean what they used to, they can’t be what they used to either.

Let’s sum up with a little illustration. Consider this spiritual foil: one an atheistic nature lover, the other a Catholic anchoress. The former’s approach is thoroughly horizontal and non-theistic. She takes regular hikes to feast on natural beauty and sublimity, but deems it all mere serendipity in a chaotic cosmos. She’s a proficient adventurer, as comfortable with friends as without. She might not spurn a Beatrice to guide her through some earthly paradise, but her trust would be that when she came face to facelessness with wild abundance, her delight would need no shepherd. The abundance itself would call out of her everything necessary for its appreciation. In this way she mediates her own pursuit of these experiences. Their ultimacy for her comes not only from her denial of the otherworldly, but also from her judgment that nature is intrinsically, i.e., ultimately, good—or at least, that immersion in it stirs and sustains her is. Conversely, the latter’s approach is thoroughly theistic and vertical, and manifestly ultimate. She spends her life in solitary prayer. Sometimes during contemplation of the divine she has ecstatic visions or auditions. But whatever happens, her daily goal is total abandonment to God. Still even with the individuality of her self-mediating lifestyle, it retains considerable institutionality. She holds fast to piety towards the Church, its orthodoxy and orthopraxy. Yet despite this rigid adherence to ecclesiastical authority—or, she would say, because of it—, she lives as a recluse whose sole aim is attaining union with Him Whom she worships as Transcendence Itself. Both in their disparate ways are individually-mediated, experience-directed religion.

Here we are then! We’ve gained at long last the real meaning of spirituality, right? Well, maybe: We have to trust not only that German and American ideas of spirituality are the same as everybody else’s, but also that the notions of these particular people are the same as those of other Germans and Americans [U]. Moreover we must take for granted that what they put in Tweet-sized writing when a survey bluntly asked them their opinion is the same as what they think all the time, even when they’re not thinking about what they think [V]. Still science has yet to master the art of mind-reading. So even if this isn’t the definitive definition of ‘spirituality’, it’s got my money for our best guess yet.

In Rachel’s post, she’s wise to the width of variety, saying, “Spirituality has been defined and redefined throughout human history, and it is now my intention to shout yet another definition to the abyss.” For her, its definition is: “the practice of deriving any amount of meaning from any event, thought, or activity.” Looking back at the ten concept clusters above, this bears striking resemblance to parts of (3) and (7). She’s in good company. Clinicians and care professionals typically promote this conception: e.g., psychological measures of wellbeing that account for spirituality usually cast it in these terms, viz., purpose and meaning. Though some have wondered whether this confuses spirituality with a part of mental health, the findings above resoundingly vindicate it as an important part of the spiritual puzzle [W]. If they also solve that puzzle, hopefully they do so more in the spirit of Ariadne’s clue out of the Labyrinth than Alexander’s sword through the Knot. At the very least, such research is a waypoint on the path to understanding. If none of it jibes with your own sense of spirituality, all the better! We all have much to learn, and outliers—you whose lives are led under stones yet unturned by science—have much to teach us. So it’s still worth asking:

What does spirituality mean to you? Please share your definition in the comments.

Unpack what spirituality uniquely means to you through the ancient practice of spiritual direction. Schedule a free online session through the link in the comments.

Endnotes:

A. Eisenmann, Clemens, et al. “Dimensions of “Spirituality”: The Semantics of Subjective Definitions.” Semantics and Psychology of Spirituality: A Cross-Cultural Analysis, ed. by Heinz Streib & Ralph Wood, Jr., Springer, 2016, p. 125.

B. Op. cit., pp.129-35. Before grouping and narrowing them together and down, these were the forty-four recurring categories they found:

Faith and belief, believing, belief system

Connectedness, relationship, in touch with, harmony

Individual, personal, private, subjective

Everyday, daily life, way of life, to act

Values, (higher) order, morals, karma

God (also the Father, Lord, Creator, the Divine)

Unspecified transcendent: something bigger, beyond, greater; ��may be”

Feeling, emotion, intuition, empathy, heart, love

Within, self, higher Self, inner core, essence

Seeking, path, journey, reaching, to evolve, to achieve

Awareness, consciousness, sense of, feeling a presence, in tune

Supernatural, non-material, cannot see or touch

Transcendental higher power/forces/energy

Thinking about, to understand, to reflect, contemplation

Relation to the world, nature, environment, universe

Cannot be explained or scientifically proven, beyond understanding

Higher/beyond/greater/other than oneself/humans/this life

Relation to others, community, all humanity, humankind

Experience, sensory perception Spirit and mind

Rest (i.e., the remainder of uncategorized responses)

Practices, to practice (one’s faith), music, prayer, worship, meditation

(Inner) peace, enlightenment and other attitudes and states of being

Guided, destined, controlled, saved, healed, dependent

Part of religion, Christian, biblical

All-connectedness, part of something bigger

Meaning and (higher) purpose, questions and answers

Transcendental absolute, “unity of existence,” omnipresent and indiscriminate, the one

Otherworldly, beyond this world, “spiritual” realms Acknowledge, to recognize, to accept, to realize Vague, unclear, unsure; bullshit, fantasy, hocus pocus Without rules, tradition, norms, dogma, structure, directions (21) Something else than religion, without worship

Energies, vital principle, ghosts, angels and demons, spirits

The truth, true nature of existence, wisdom, reality (4) Jesus, Christ, Holy Spirit, the Son Greater being/person, deities, gods Soul

Universal category, basis of mankind Esoteric, occultism, spiritism, mystic, magic (39) Deal with, interest in, engagement, focus

Part and beyond religion Obedience and devotion Life after death.

C. I borrow the notion of concept clusters from passing familiarity with Ludwig Wittgenstein’s philosophy of language.

D. Op. cit., pp. 137-8. Paraphrase.

E. Whereas spirituality conceived of as a part of religion (2) fits nicely with its mostly premodern history as just that, the conception immediately following of it as a journey to one’s true inner self (3) sits well with modern social movements toward individualism and subjectivism: op. cit., p. 146.

F. Spirituality conceived of as living out one’s values may partly underlie the self-identification “spiritual but not religious”. Here ’spirituality’ primarily indicates an ethical concern that being merely ‘religious’ doesn’t—not just talking the talk but walking the walk: ibid. More clearly this identification involves some combination of clusters with (9).

G. The much-maligned vagueness of spirituality’s meaning may come from this conception of it as a sense of something indefinite and beyond: ibid. N.b., philosophers of language usually distinguish vagueness, i.e., unclear meaning due to imprecise extension over borderline cases, from ambiguity, i.e., unclear meaning due to polysemy—having multiple meanings.

H. Op. cit., p. 143. Paraphrase. Their dimensions are: (I) mystical vs. humanistic transcending; (II) theistic vs. non-theistic transcendence; and (III) individual “lived” experience vs. dogmatism.

I. I use “transcendence” and “transcendent experience” interchangeably throughout this post. Though there may be other forms of transcendence than experience, talk of ‘transcendence’ as an event and not, e.g., as a divine attribute, usually means ‘experience of transcendence’, i.e., ‘transcendent experience’.

J. Religious nones get their names from those who answer “none” to demographic polls asking their religious affiliation. In other words, they are the religiously unaffiliated. Cf. unchurched.

K. Op. cit., p. 148. Paraphrase. Their definition is privatized experience-oriented religion, following research by other members of their team: Streib, Heinz, & Wood, Jr., Ralph. “Understanding “Spirituality”—Conceputal Considerations.” Semantics and Psychology of Spirituality: A Cross-Cultural Analysis, ed. by Heinz Streib & Ralph Wood, Jr., Springer, 2016, p. 9. Ensuing fns. refer to that ch.

L. Op. cit., p. 11. Cf. Emile Durkheim’s definition of religion, popular esp. in U.S. religious studies depts.: “a unified system of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things, that is to say, things set apart and forbidden—beliefs and practices which unite into one single moral community called a Church, all those who adhere to them”: The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. trans. Carol Cosman, Oxford Univ. Press, 2001, p. 46.

M. Op. cit., p. 10.

N. Op. cit., p. 11.

O. Strictly speaking, non-theistic terminology could be either vertical or horizontal, while theistic terminology is by definition vertical. As it happens however, or at least according to this research, our thinking about spirituality typically separates out the theistic and vertical from the non-theistic and horizontal.

P. Op. cit., p. 12.

Q. Ibid.

R. Op. cit. p. 14.

S. Ibid. They also mention here sectarian middle mediation “through a prophetic and charismatic person”.

T. Famous last words of the Neoplatonic classic: Plotinus. Enneads. VI.9.11. trans. Andrew Louth, qtd. in The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition: From Plato to Denys, Oxford Univ. Press, 1981, p. 51.

U. Cf. WEIRD bias (Western, educated, industrialized, rich, and democratic), an ongoing problem for representative sampling: Henrich, Joseph, Heine, Steven J., & Norenzayan, Ara. “The weirdest people in the world?” Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 33, 2-3, 2010, 61–83. In fact there were some statistically significant differences between German and American responses: American definitions of spirituality were more Christian or otherwise traditionally religious, mentioning Jesus and the Holy Spirit much more, but God only a little more—presumably because theism goes beyond Christianity. Still when they did mention God it was more often in Christian terms of a personal and sovereign lord. Likewise they mentioned faith and belief much more often, and this was more often faith or belief in something beyond, higher power(s), god(s), or God (5). Their notions of spiritual power were also further outside and over themselves, as in talk of guidance or obedience. By contrast German definitions of spirituality were warier of dogma and authority, whether religious orthodoxy or scientific consensus. They mentioned experience, as opposed to belief, more often, and were generally more esoteric, occult, and magical in their terminology, talking of the otherworldly in more universal but impersonal or abstract, terms. They were also more critical of spirituality, oftener complaining of its vagueness or even dismissing it as bovine fecal material. Still despite all this the researchers noted that American and German definitions were much, much more alike than different. These differences should therefore be understood as in emphasis, not substance. Their considerable overlap, striking in itself, forms the basis of the ten concept clusters and the three scales.

V. We must also assume that the scientific method deserves our confidence, and that the concept of spirituality, if not spirituality itself, is amenable to investigation by it. Other assumptions include those about word meaning, natural kinds, and other hot topics of debate in the philosophy of language and science—all of which would take us far afield of the present discussion. May curious readers experience transcendence of this post!

W. Eisenmann, Clemens, et al., p. 147.

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