#only wildlife he can hunt is anything that makes its way inside and at that point it's lowkey natural selection

[gamemaker-pom]

A BKDK Hunger Games AU ch.1

Birdsongs whisper throughout the trees, wound through the branches by the wind that carries them. Sunlight filters down through the leaves above. Ferns reach up to lick at the dapples of sunlight splayed across them. And bugs munch at the renewed green of their leaves. Rustles of fur and feathers echo in the footprints are left behind in the soft dirt. Soon to be covered up by layers of broken branches and leaves. 

Freedom. 

That’s what this space means to him. 

And yet underneath all of this beauty, the constant, discordant hum of the electric fence can be made out. 

The nature here doesn’t know it’s unnatural anymore. For 75 years, it has never known anything different. Baby birds have been learnt not to perch on it, little foxes have been learnt not to scratch at it and the plants have learnt how to grow around it. 

But, Izuku? He’s learnt how to get through it.

Letting the metal netting slingshot back into its rightful position, Izuku stands up on the other side of the fence and races towards the line of trees in front of him. The sooner he gets out of sight, the better. He heads towards the place he stores his hunting equipment, greeting the forest like an old friend. 

This is where he belongs. 

He’s been coming here since he was a child. As soon as he had learnt to walk, his father was teaching him how to slip through the loose panel at the edge of the meadows and into the thicket of wildlife lining the east length of his district 12. 

Izuku pulls out his bow from underneath the fallen tree he keeps it beneath and traipses over to reach for his arrows inside the hollow tree to the left. He slings the quiver around his body, movements easy with years of practice. Smiling, Izuku runs his fingers over the name ‘Midoriya’ carved into its lean body. 

It was passed down to him by his father.

A rustle comes from up above in the trees.

Izuku flicks an arrow over his shoulder and onto his bow, pulling the string back as his eyes search for the animal that made the noise. The black head of a crow peaks out from in between the trees. He shoots.

It falls. 

Izuku is quick to make his way over to the felled bird before any other predator becomes brave enough to try and steal his game. He pulls his arrow out of the eye it had pierced, wiping it on a cloth quickly and placing it back inside his quiver. He ties the crow to his quiver’s strap by the head, wrapping a noose around its limp head. It won’t get him that much, but it was still a sizable bird. Good enough to trade for a few potatoes at the Hob. 

After his father went, Izuku was the one who had to provide for his family. 

His mother makes a few pennies from making herbal remedies for illnesses and stitching up wounds. But when everyone in the District is as poor as each other, not much can be made off of helping their neighbours. 

Eri, his sister, is still too young to help provide for the family. The most she can do is be a spare pair of hands when his mother is treating someone. She’s training to be a medic under his mother. Izuku admires her for it, his hands have never been gentle or disciplined enough to help his mother. 

His foraging skills are enough to give them what they need. With his bow, Izuku has the power to keep his family well fed and cared for. The peacekeepers loitering around the Hob are always happy to trade a few coins for some proper meat. And if not, Auntie Sosaki is always willing to take any less wanted prey off of his hands for her cats to eat. 

Izuku continues deeper into the forest, eyes constantly seeking movement in the bushes around him. He manages to fell a couple of squirrels before his eyes land on her. 

A doe stands a few metres away from him, a soft brown head peeking out from in between two trees.

Izuku stills, and slowly reaches for his bow. 

One eye focused on the deer, he squints the other one shut as he raises his hand back to touch his cheek. 

He only has one shot for this. 

The doe shuffles to the right slightly, head bowing down to munch on a shrub. Izuku’s eyes follow, carefully shifting until his arrow points straight at her chest. 

Arms wrap around him. 

“BOOM!” 

Izuku shrieks. 

His arrow flies off somewhere towards the doe’s behind and Izuku spins himself around as his nose finally takes in the sickly sweet smell of nitroglycerin. 

“Kacchan!” He smacks his hands on the shoulders of the boy who had snuck up behind him, forcing the arms wrapped around his middle to let go. 

What did Izuku do to deserve this?

“Really Deku?” He raises an eyebrow and smirks, “A deer is more important than me?”

Izuku growls. 

There are never any deer here! 

The money he could have gotten from that kill would have lasted his family about a fortnight! He had one shot and Kacchan blew it for him. 

“You ass!” 

A couple years ago, Izuku would have been too scared to swear at Kacchan. But now all he can see is the glint of amusement in his eyes. “That kill could have lasted us two weeks! And you blew it!” 

Izuku punches his boyfriend in the stomach. 

“Ow!” Kacchan snarls, “What the fuck, Deku? I thought you would be happy to finally see me after--”

Kacchan’s tantrum is cut off when all of the air is punched out of him as Izuku bulldozes into his chest and throws his arms around the boy in front of him. Izuku holds him tight and buries his nose into the familiar smelling fabric of Kacchan’s shirt. 

“You’re such an asshole, Kacchan.”

Kacchan scoffs before wrapping his arms around Izuku and nuzzling into the green hair beneath his nose. “Stupid nerd…”

Lips press into the crown of his head and Izuku grins.

-----

NEXT

[westmoor]

the ocean still roars

↞ ↞  | main post |  ao3

(2.5k // tw: blood and violence)

When Jaskier left him on that mountain, something had shifted.

Geralt had found excuses for it at first. Told himself it was the sound or lack thereof; songs unsung, no lute strings plucked, no stories told or tangents pursued with details growing grander with each telling. That it was just the lingering smell fading over time, the perfumed oils and musk underneath, the trailing scent of herbs or flowers stooped for and picked on their way. Of dandelions in spring and apples in autumn, of wild berries and clovers at the height of summer.

But Jaskier had left before, too. Taken his voice and his scent and his lute with him, and it was not the same. 

Something in the air had changed, its taste or its weight in his lungs. Colours looked strange to his eyes, like someone had changed their hue and no one else could tell. It was as though the world had tilted slightly on its axis, without proof or reason as to why.

Geralt found meaningful excuses for what he could and pinned his heart as the cause of the rest.

He still does.

But too much has happened since, too many solemn notes making his medallion tremble with the beat of the other’s heart to only blame his own. 

There is a memory of lights in the forest and a woman in green, the taste of blood in his mouth and gentle hands turning his face to the sky, slipping from the grasp of his mind like fevered dreams.

At the bottom of his saddlebag, wrapped in cloth, is a broken silver bell.

He had hoped that the flicker of emotion that crossed the other man's face had been a sign that perhaps it could be fixed - that he’d be allowed near enough to start to chip away the wedge he had driven between them. That maybe, just maybe, his friend would walk back into his life and he’d be afforded a chance to make things right.

Most of that hope had gone down the storm drains by the time he made it back to Hagge.

Ever since waking up in his half-made camp beyond the forest's edge, head fuzzy and the taste of foreign magic on his tongue, news of his former travelling companion had dwindled. Jaskier hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been anywhere. No note or song, not even a rumour, not for weeks.

It seems that now, for the first time since the day a fresh-faced youth approached him in a tavern in a valley of flowers, the position in his life occupied by Jaskier the bard is truly vacant. 

And still, he can’t give up. 

He doesn’t know what Jaskier is, exactly, nor where, but he knows now there are places to look. In caverns and hollows where they first crawled into legend, glades and groves where their roots have grown deep with power and patience. Nooks and crannies where, with luck and circumstance, one can slip from this world into the one below. 

He also knows that for whatever purpose, if they wish to find him, they will.

There are questions.

He doesn’t give a damn about the answers.

--

When it comes, it comes in the form of a guardsman with a debt to pay.

Odd things afoot, the man claims. A diseased harvest, unseasonably sour weather. Livestock acting strange and wildlife even stranger. And an overheard conversation in the next town over - word of a band of lawless men having captured the White Wolf’s companion.

If true, Geralt doubts they know what they have captured. In fairness, neither does he, but he knows this: They have his bard.

Geralt takes the bait.

No veiled pretense. No loosened horseshoes or impish little children, no stolen potions or fox tracks in the dirt. 

He rides north toward the town in question, a hamlet nestled at the mouth of a river valley, along a road flanked by firs. The trees near the road are willowy and young, felled in rotation to keep the villages with firewood and kindling. But above, further up the slope of the mountain, they tower tall and dark against the afternoon sky.

His medallion stirs before they even leave the road. 

He brings Roach as far as he deems safe, until the forest grows too dense to pass through with ease. Too far in and she’ll be more a hindrance than a help. He leaves her at the edge of a deertrodden glade, where the canopy opens enough to retain the light for a few more hours. 

It’s a bit of a hike - needles of spruce and dead branches crunching underfoot, nothing to hear but the rustle of wind and birdsong, present but frantic in a way that sets his teeth on edge, as though they too can feel the thrum of foreboding reining him in - but eventually the trunks space out and give way to what seems to once have been a wide trail.

Years must’ve gone by since the last wagon passed this way, overtaken as it is by bushes and undergrowth. Life claws its way out of the grasp of barren darkness, to stretch its shrubs and saplings towards the sun.

There are no tracks but the ones behind him. He didn’t expect there to be.

--

It had been an outpost once, perched at a height to overlook wide open fields to the east and narrow passes to the north, sheltered from the west by the steep rise of the mountain proper.

Now it’s a derelict ruin, crumbling timber roof cast in shadow by the jagged rock face above. What had been a tidied yard for corralled horses and the loading of carts shrivels by the season as the forest eats its way closer, devouring fertile ground and reaching with many-fingered hands to a weathered tower hunched against the rock from which it once was built.

Standing in front of it, Geralt weighs his options. 

It’s too quiet, too still, as though he stands at the shrine of a god he can’t name. Despite the open air and sinking sun, it feels enclosed. Walled in by trees as tall as city gates - their spiny crowns like battlements - the acrid scent of junipers is even thicker than it ought to be; the sound of the woods too uniform and dull.

On one hand, he has no hint, no proof, no true sign at all that the ramshackle structure hides what he seeks. On the other - 

The hinges have rusted nearly solid, the frame warped by age and moisture, and he has to put the full force of his weight on it to shoulder it open.

His body blocks the light and when his eyes adjust, he is faced with a rough wall and a narrow walkway, moss creeping along the cracks between hewn stone. The air inside is as cold and damp as an earth cellar, except for the sour coniferous tinge prickling like needles at the back of his throat and burning his sinuses. 

He rounds a corner and faces another door - this one slightly agape, tilting at a steep angle from its fastenings. Prying it open and sidling through, he scans another, longer hall, this one winding inwards to the mountain. It slams shut behind him and the world plunges into darkness. 

And then it's blinding.

And then the scream.

Guttural and wild like a dying beast. Geralt is knocked back by the force of it, bile rising in his throat.

People never scream like that. In terror or pain, he never heard a human make a sound like that. 

His heart knows the sound when his mind doesn’t.

There is a boy in a tavern and a man on a mountain and a creature in a clearing, and Jaskier was never human. 

It rises and ricochets too loud in too small a space. Notes bend until they break, echoing and doubling back until he fears his skull might split.

Flashes of light and dark beating at his vision like frenzied wings, too quick to catch and too fast to adjust to. His eyes are burning with it and he screws them shut. Ears still ringing and he can’t see, can’t hear. He needs to get out, but he needs to find Jaskier.

Something scrapes against his shoulder like talons or teeth and he spins around, a lunge for his ankle nearly has him off his feet. When the walls prove too close for swords he pulls his hunting knife instead. 

Fighting deaf and blind and hampered by the pounding in his head, there is still a weapon in his hand. He digs his heels in. Roots himself.

He finds his rhythm soon enough. The practiced ease of combat gives respite from his battered senses as he learns the pattern of his adversary. 

There are noises around him, differing like voices, but melding together to a single mass of sound.

A shift in the order and a change of pace, his space is empty and he thinks his opponent has retreated - then a cry like a call of a name, and he adapts without thought. Rushing air and the warmt of a body provides direction; near-hits become deflections. 

With a twist and a turn his blade hits home, sinking into solid flesh and grating against bone.

If life could give me one blessing - 

Blood wells hot between his fingers and the feel of it, smell of it, is so close and so familiar -

Horror turns his gut.

- it would be to take you off my hands. 

He can hardly hear himself shouting. Jaskier slumps against him.

--

Panic consumes the moment and the next, and he is staggering out into the fading light of day. 

Jaskier's knees fold in the grass and Geralt follows him down, grappling at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to keep him righted and assess the damage he has done.

It’s a decent hit. Certain. Deep enough to stay embedded between his ribs. Had it been a contract - 

He knows he’s talking, feels his mouth curl around Jaskier’s name, swearing, curses, promises he can’t keep - and all he can see is red, and tawny brown, and blue.

Jaskier is staring, silenced for once by shock and the fear rolling off him in waves. But when he is stopped from grabbing at the hilt of the knife to pull at it, he grasps for Geralt like a plea. Like he can save him, in spite of it all.

It can’t be real. He should wake in his camp, clouded and drained and relieved.

Pale silk drenches red, slow and steady, like ripples in a pond.

That fire in his eyes, lighting them like moonlight reflecting in a clear tarn, is burning white-hot, burning out. There’s no grounding but the shaking hands fisted in his shirt. He prays for that grip to stay firm.

He doesn’t know how this works, or if it works at all, but there is no choice but to try.

Geralt gathers him up, one arm below his shoulders and the other under his knees, and he runs.

It seems impossibly far. His own tracks through the grass make an even trail to follow. The forest passes in a blur.

At the sight of Roach, he grinds to a halt and lowers Jaskier to the ground as slowly as he can afford, ignoring the whimper in protest when he goes out of reach.

He ignores, too, the uncertain shift of his horse as he rifles through saddlebags without care for their contents, digging blindly under blankets and supplies for what has weighed on his mind for a month. And there, beyond a scrap of cloth wrapped around a warped piece of silver, his fingers find a bundle of twigs.

Rushing back and cradling his bard in his arms with as much gentleness as he can bear, he nearly hesitates, then. Jaskier is already too pale, life ebbing steadily out of him and this - this is a waste of time.

But the hilt of his own blade moves with each laboured breath and he’s not- he can’t- it can’t end like this. He curls his and around the knife, and braces for the strangled scream and struggle that comes.

Presses the handful of now-dried heather against the wound in Jaskier’s chest as he begs for whatever power, whatever luck or chance has followed them this far to take hold. 

The prickly stems soak quickly, white flowers dyed red, then black, in seconds. 

Willing his voice to some semblance of steadiness he taps a pale cheek, trying not to cringe at the cold creeping in.

“Jaskier.” He shakes the arm beneath his back to keep him waking, and is rewarded with a flicker of attention. “I need you to sing for me, lark. Can you do that?”

A grimace, or possibly a smile, sluggish and wan but he tries - the notes sound roughened in his throat, words garbled, more a mumble than a song but he tries.

The silver pendant between them quivers in response to each rising sound and for a moment, he hopes, maybe - but the heart beneath the press of his touch staggers on, rabbit-quick and panicked. Geralt can’t see his own hands for all that red.

There are lessons to this, ones imprinted in him since childhood, the cost of loving what is mortal. Reasons for tempering your heart, for why Witchers do not feel. None of them matter now. 

In their place is a barrage of moments, fleeting glances, the hand at his elbow by instinct when he comes back weary and injured, half-formed melodies by dying fires hummed to no one in particular. The scent of camomile and lavender and ink, ringing laughter, the rustle of silk. The lightness of a pack with provisions just for one, the deafening silence of a thousand lonely mornings, the chill of a bed too narrow for two.

Jaskier’s voice dwindles and fades and he doesn’t know what to do, he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls him so close he fears his bones might break, and he kisses him.

It’s desperate and too forceful and wet with his own tears and Jaskier gasps for air against his lips, and it’s nothing like the stories. 

And nothing happens.

“Please, Jaskier, I can’t -” he chokes out, and it’s all he can muster against the waves that clog and tear at his chest. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Fuck, I wish I hadn’t let you go.”

There is a deep, ragged breath shaking the body in his arms. His medallion stills on its chain.

And then another breath. 

And when Geralt forces his eyes open the ones that meet his gaze are wet and dull with pain, but awake and alive, blinking up at him with confusion and something like disbelief.

“Geralt?” 

Something breaks in him, then. A wall or a barricade, something old and rigid, shatters like glass and he crumbles with it. 

“I’m here,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s brow, and for now his world is only that: Hair tickling his nose. The smell of blood, still, but less bitter; tempered by earthy musk and summer flowers. Grass under his knees. Jaskier in his arms.

Breath against his neck, calmer, pained but not panicked. Stutters a few times, stops and starts before the words form softly to his collarbones. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never.” It’s barely a whisper, but he doubles down, makes it a promise. “Never.”

 And the world tilts slightly on its axis.

--------

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @elliestormfound @love-more-today-than-yesterday @fontegagrilledcheese @geraskier-trashh

[keltonwrites]

I bought a house in the middle of nowhere

“Yeah, I loved it, but she’d never move there.” It was something akin to that, at least. He didn’t mean any mischief, no deceit or planning. It was an honest take on what, at the time, was true. I saw the road into town on Google Maps, noted that it was closed during the winter, acknowledged the reality that a person can own a snowmobile, and I said, “we are not moving there.” But, all good truths are just dares in the making.

And here I am, living in the “there” I said I would not. Two years ago, I left my job at Headspace for a life reset. It was pre-pandemic, and Ben and I were planning a big road trip. Our perfect paradise in Topanga, CA, had crystallized itself as many people’s perfect paradise, and those “many people” all had more money than us. Our options to buy a home were nil, and home-buying was essentially all we wanted. Ben’s a builder and I’m a world builder, and we wanted somewhere to invest that didn’t belong to someone else. We packed the car with the tent and the bikes and the dog and all the things that come with tents and bikes and dogs, and off we went on our own Tour de l’Ouest, looking for a place to call home. We knew what we wanted, knew our odds of finding it, and hit the road anyway. Here was the dream list — concocted by two pie-in-the-sky dummies who married each other:

Not rainy or consistently windy

Notable access to the arts

Remote and challenging to get to/close neighbors

Wild West influenced architecture

Progressive community

Exceptional trail access out the front door

High-speed internet

In our budget

And my personal favorite: had to “feel right” Good luck to us with a list like that, but thus began our hunt. We camped in the snow, tried every dirty chai in the Rockies, and explored every town we could. Whatever a good time it was, it felt useless. Every town Ben was OK with, I hated. Every town I was OK with, Ben despised. And the few places we both loved required money we just didn’t have. We came home with our sails down, limping into the harbor of our rental. But as is the way with romantics, our dreams began to slowly eclipse our reality. Books fell victim to Zillow and Trulia. TV was replaced by the MLS. All writing time was dedicated to Realtor.com. Hours were spent pouring over maps, county records, and updating spreadsheets that tracked price per square foot compared to beds and baths. Over time, all that internetting led to one singular town of 180 people at 10,000 feet in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado with a road that said “Closed Winters” on Google Maps. Look, I don’t know what happened. Ben found this town on a map, I said don’t be ridiculous, and after a year or so of him telling people I'd never move here, here I am, being ridiculous. Was it reverse psychology? Maybe. Was it the charming “town plan” that mandated all houses be rustic cabins and forbade AirBnB? Could be. Was it the fact that when I looked at Strava’s Heatmap, it showed what seemed like thousands of miles of trails just out the front door? I mean, yes. All these things played a part, but all I know for certain is that one day I woke up and said, “we’re going to move there.” Ben doubted this conviction (and the realities behind it) thus cementing it into place in my head. In a town of 180 people there’s only ~60 houses, which means maybe 2 or 3 get listed per year — but my spreadsheet had the proof: we hadn’t missed our chance yet in this tiny town. The data showed a strong likelihood there would be at least two houses listed within the calendar year. This, however, was also our last chance. The spreadsheet also showed that if we didn’t find a house this year, we wouldn’t be able to afford one the next. We called a realtor, made our case, and harangued her until she believed us that we were truly the kind of yahoos who would move to an avalanche field and stay there. And then it happened. A pocket listing. It was a darling home built in 1890. It had the beds, the baths, and the views. We were the first and only to know. We put in an offer, they agreed, and we would come to see the house in a few weeks. But in those few weeks, the circumstances changed. The sellers lost their own sweet deal, and they couldn’t sell yet. Their agent promised we had right of first refusal, it was only a matter of time. Ben lamented, I preached patience, and we went to see the house that was no longer for sale anyway.

It was a quiet winter morning in Covid when we drove across the packed snow to meet our realtor outside the house. The sun was out and the 13 degrees Fahrenheit felt warm. I unzipped my jacket, mask on my face. I took long videos and talked about where I would set up my office and where we’d put the bikes. As we closed up and I settled into a future where this house would eventually be mine, our realtor told us there were comps in the area — other residents quietly interested in potentially closing out. Would we like to see them? Sure, let’s.

One home came with an incredible commercial kitchen. The whole house was a whopping 3500 sq ft if my memory serves me correct, which falls under the category of “houses too big to find your cat in."

Another home had an open-air-to-the-kitchen bathroom.

The third was dark and overpriced with cracked windows and open beer cans scattered about.

And then, plans changed.  “Hey guys, there’s actually one more house we can see.” The last house we saw was a log cabin, nestled in the hillside by itself, with massive A-frame windows looking out onto the peaks beyond. Inside was a labyrinth of a life lived long and large. The cabin was built and loved by a man we’ll call Jack. Jack was 82, and as we walked toward the front door on that sunny winter morning, he exited with two beers in his pockets, headed to the mountain to ski. Jack was an attorney — in his life he’d been both criminal and defender — and from the stories, somewhat interchangeably. There were artifacts from running in the same scenes as Hunter S. Thompson and Willie Nelson; there were stuffed birds, bad books, sheet-covered couches, smoked spliffs, and piles and piles of mouse shit. Every inch of the house was lived in, and not just by people. You think millennials like plants? No. This man likes plants. The biggest monstera deliciosa I’ve ever seen, spanning some 10 feet wide and 15 feet tall. Draping cactuses, spider plants, massive aloes, and an ambitious hoya carnosa clawing its way to the top of the massive fireplace. But there were problems. I’m trying to be diplomatic saying the house was lived in. The wood by the door handles was dyed black from years of hand grease rubbing against it. The carpet in the upstairs was soiled almost everywhere with bat scat. Newspaper was stuffed between the massive logs to keep the wind out. There was cardboard taped over almost every window, blankets nailed over the others. Half the doors wouldn’t open. It was unnerving to touch the crusted light switches. It was early enough in the season of Covid-fear that touching anything felt like gambling. On our way back to our rental in the bigger neighboring town, we shared our awe and our no-ways, lamenting how long we’d have to wait for the little 1890s fixer upper. That night, I sent the video I took of the cabin to my parents. “Can you believe this?” I asked. And do you know what my dad said? “Great log construction.” After that, the cabin was all we could talk about. “Could you believe those plants?” “Did you see how big those logs were?” “I just googled Jack, look at this.” “Do you know what the insulating factor of logs is?” “How much did he say he was asking?” It came down to the plants. Amidst all the chaos in that house, the tender care of those decades-old plants sung the clearest. This wasn’t just a place Jack lived in, it was a place that wanted to be lived in. We made an offer the next day.

Jack had six months to clear out his 30 odd years of collecting, and the town had six months to speculate about the worrisome Californians moving to their high-altitude, high-risk town. The town itself is an old mining town. It rests in a high valley, surrounded by peaks over 13,000ft, and is over six hours from the nearest major airport. Five people died around this town in avalanches this past year. The dirt road into town is littered with avalanche fields, warning visitors to not stop when driving in. The other way out is a pass road, only drivable in the warm months, but you could skin out if it was dire. Most August days, the high is in the mid-60s. The valley is blanketed in wildflowers, and the aspens littering the mountainsides suggest a promising fall display. The town had a heyday, a low day, and now it’s a community of preppers, adventurers, appreciators, and “get all these idiots away from me”ers. We don’t know these people yet, but the ones we’ve met have the same like to live hard attitude we do. Heli-ski guides, ex-CIA agents, woodworkers, bakers, teachers, just a general can-do group of people. The kind of people that see a California license plate and peer with skepticism between the thin gap over their sunglasses and under their caps.

You might say I’m romanticizing the place, but the residents are worse. Like all good old-timers, they’re full of threats: “wait’ll you see the snow drifts,” “let’s see how you do outrunning an avalanche,” “good luck with the winds,” “the last Californians didn’t last a year.” God, what does that remind me of?

“Yeah, I loved it, but she’d never move there.”

With every taunt, my teeth ground more enamel, fingers rolling into a clench. And maybe Jack recognized this intensity, because on the day of closing, he hosted a gathering for us in the town's open space. He had us introduce ourselves to the skeptical locals, and I made my case in court, eyes narrowed and lips curled. “I’m the daughter of a smokejumper and wildlife biologist. I grew up watching the wind and the door. I’ve lived in big cities, small boats, and more than one cabin. I always take the stairs, I never use air-conditioning, and I’m a very good shot.” I’m just a girl, standing in front of a town, asking them to give her a fucking chance. Jack stepped forward to speak. “You know, I had my doubts about a couple Californians coming to look at my house. But these people? These are the nicest people you’re ever gonna meet.” And then I helped Jack set up his cot so he could spend his last night under the stars in the town that kept him young. Cooper ran circles with the other dogs. People brought homemade cocktails and bowls of dip and we felt welcomed. Even the mayor, a fellow writer, came and she struck up a conversation. “I hear you’ve got a little bit of a following on social media!” She teased. “I guess, nothing wild.” “Well I just wanted to let you know if you ever geotag this town, I’ll drag you out of it.” She grinned. This was a special place. And every visitor who couldn’t handle the realities of being here threatened the very wellbeing of the people who lived here. This town survives on a delicate balance. They source their own water, manage their own roads, and fervently protect the land and the people around them. Their stories about racing avalanches, snowmobiling in the dark of night to the doctor’s house, hunkering down in each other’s homes as the storms pass — these stories were bylaws. You can join when you’ve proven you’re ready to join. By their own projection, they are hardy and steadfast people, and when they see a Californian, they see something fleeting. Many years ago, I worked in the British Virgin Islands. The people born and raised there were called Belongers. At the customs office, the placards above the lines literally read, “If you belong, stand here” and “If you do not belong, stand here.” Whether or not we belong isn't up to the town council, and it's not up to these residents. It's up to years spent drifting my old Mustang in the snow on the way to school, up to Ben's months and months spent in the backcountry, up to my years of reading fire reports and assisting with evacuations, up to Ben's ability to read the landscape and the weather, up to my doggedness, his diligence, and our pathological love to do difficult things well. It’s up to us, to these old logs, and to this valley. Doesn't mean we'll belong, but it does mean we'll try. And for the record, the road is open in the winter. But do these sound like the kind of people who’d tell Google that? Next week, a tour of the house that we get to call ours — stuffed with newspaper, run by plants, and filled with mice. P.S. Here's where we get our mail.

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[minerstatus]

Teyvat’s School for the Gifted

Summary: He's cruel, mean, and sadistic. Lumine cannot fathom why he has the followers he does, but she won't fall into his hands like the rest of them.  It was unknown to her at that time how such a stance would cause the biggest uproar the schools ever seen.

This is the silly drama filled high school/college parody AU nobody asked for filled with Lumine not giving a shit and Childe trying to buy his way out of problems.

Ship: Lumine/Childe

Tags: Highschool AU, Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Jealousy, lots of side ships.

Status: 5/? on Ao3

Chapter 1

The school located on an island inside the neutral zones between nations is a blessing for anyone without a swimming pool filled with mora. Without money you have to be gifted a vision to attend. That is why Lumine thought she would never be accepted to such a place. Instead cursed to live her life on a small farm on the outskirts of Mondstadt, killing small monsters for money to aid her ailing mother.

She had become quite the prodigy around the area. Her sword work was nothing to be trifled with. Some would even gush about what it would be like if she did have a vision. Then it happened, a strange string of life changing events.

-

 She enjoyed spending her free time sitting under the statue of the seven in windrise. It gave her a reprieve from her day-to-day life of school, killing, then sleep. She polished her blade most days she sat there, enjoying the sounds of the wilderness around her.

 As she sheathed her blade, wistfully thinking about what it would be like to magically summon and desummon it as a vision user, a light began to shine behind her. There was a flash, she thought maybe a vision might appear in front of her. But this was no test or life changing event. It didn’t make sense.

 Wind surrounded her body, lifting her skit in the breeze. She turned, it followed with her. She lifted her hand as a power surged through her. A burst of wind jetted from her palm and sliced across the water. It trimmed the tops off the over grown grasses lining the ponds edge. The wind died down and left her for elsewhere as the light slowly faded out of existence.

 Befuddled, she stared at the palms of her hands. She felt a power emanating from her core. With a trembling arm she raised her palm again, calling forth on the energy. It darted from her as before. Shocked, she tried it again and again, smiling gleefully with each blast of wind. She twirled around, searching for her vision, but came up empty.

-

That is how the first visionless anemo user was born. At first people didn’t believe her. Delusions were not unknown to the common folk of Teyvat. They were a staple favorite of the mafia families across the regions. But she quickly smashed those theories to pieces. Not only was she a poor farm girl fighting to survive, but where on earth would she have the money to afford such a thing. She allowed an inspection of her things and a pat down to prove it.

After the authorities decided that she did not have a vision she was free to do as she wished. That was until the head master of Teyvat’s school for the gifted showed up on her doorstep. The scholarship she was offered would give more money to her mother per month than she could in six months of hunting. She took it without question.

That’s how she ended up here, gawking at the building in front of her. The school defied the rumors. Statues carved from marble, fountains that defied gravity, even the wood it was built from looked impossibly expensive. Heck, the wildlife looked like they ate from golden platters.

The only thing that held her from running right back to the boat was a woman pinning her down with a chemically assisted cheerful gaze. A shiver ran up her spine as she waved her over. She obliged only because her eyes looked a hair away from snapping into crazy land.

“Welcome to Teyvat’s finest Lumine!” She cheered and began to clap.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, intimidated by her nature. She looked like a robot. Sleek black hair, not a strand out of place. Perfectly pressed blazer and pencil skirt in matching shades. Her glasses glistening in the sunlight, even if they were just plain black frames. She hoped not everyone in this school looked or felt this way.

“Follow me and I'll take you to your dorm. Then it’s a trip around campus!” She quipped then turned on her heel. Even her footsteps were a perfect tempo.

They walked through the faculty building, which thankfully looked normal inside. The site quelled her turning stomach. It was into the garden next that, as expected, looked immaculate. They even had a massive sand garden. Back in Mondstadt something like that would be destroyed in seconds.

Eventually they came upon another wooden building with a large ‘girls’ over it. The woman stopped and spun so fast on her heel Lumine almost let out small scream.

“This is the girl's dorm; your roommates are waiting for you inside with your things. I'll be back in thirty minutes for the rest of the tour,” she said, smile never once faltering as she left Lumine to her own devices.

Her roommates were nice, they greeted her in the common room just as her guide stated. Amber was a bit too enthusiastic for just about anything. Barbara was a very cheerful girl but was more reserved. It was a breath of fresh air to see two friendly faces. They led her to their dorm to get settled.

“So, what do you think?” Amber asked as Lumine began to unpack her luggage. Placing her uniforms carefully into her small closet along with her own casual clothing. Her own things almost felt dirty comparted to the schools uniform she was provided. And the room was much bigger than what she expected from a dormitory.

“It's overwhelming,” She admitted.

“You'll get used to it,” Amber laughed.

“Are you?” Lumine began to ask.

“Scholarship,” Amber answered, holding up her vision, “They keep the poor kids together so we don’t infect the rich kids.” She laughed.

“Hey!” Barbara yelled at her. Lips pointing into a pout.

“Except for Barbara, she requested to room with me. She's the exception.” Amber smiled at her friend.

“So, it's exactly how I thought it would be,” Lumine grumbled. This school was probably dripping with rich kids causing trouble for the normal folk, like she expected.

“Some of the students are alright, indifferent you might say. But there are,” Amber held up her hands as air quotes, “those types.”

“Will you guys be in my classes?” She asked.

“Nope, third years!”

Lumine felt her insides twist. Great, now she would be alone on her first day. At least her dorm would be nice. Amber was warm and friendly and Barbara seemed sweet even if she wasn’t talking as much. The pair would only be a year below her so they were still close in age. Hopefully she wouldn’t be moved to another dorm with the ‘adults’ if she attends the next four years after this one.

“You don’t want to be in our year anyways,” Barbara laughed.

“Whys that?” Lumine felt a small smile form for the first time since she set foot on the island. Barbara wiggled her eyebrows and gleamed over at Amber. She turned red in response and threw a pillow at her.

“Stop! Its not my fault!” She shouted.

“It’s gross the way he drools over his desk for you,” Barbara added.

“Mind filling me in?” Lumine asked.

“No!” Amber shouted.

“She has this wolf boy that follows her around and causes trouble. Its adorable,” Barbara said anyways.

“I didn’t ask for it he just did it!” Amber defended herself.

“It's like a comedy slash horror show every day,” Barbara giggled.

“Stop teasing me,” Amber whined.

“Wolf boy?” Lumine asked. Mondstadt had a steady population of people descendant of shape shifters or animals, but she had never seen a wolf before. Most of them were cats. Granted, she did keep to herself and didn’t really mix with the town folk, even at school.

“Half werewolf, half human, grew up in the wild before coming here earlier in the year,” Amber explained.

“He can smell everything, it's awful,” Barbara moaned, “one time I tried to bring some leftovers from lunch and he almost ripped apart my bag looking for it.”

“Sounds like a nice boyfriend,” Lumine said, hiding her smile as she sorted items into her desk drawers. Amber gasped from behind her. She swallowed a laugh.

“H-he's not my boyfriend!” She yelled. Lumine busted and began to giggled along with Barbara. She was interested in seeing the exchanges between the two now.

“Very funny guys, I'll make sure to make fun of your pain in suffering next time I get the chance.” Amber crossed her arms.

“Alright I'll stop,” Barbara waved her hand at her. A sharp knock on the door quickly soured the cheerful mood. The door swung open and Lumine’s guide walked in.

“Fantastic, I'm so glad you are getting along with your new housemates. We must complete the tour now.” The woman said, still as cheerful as ever. Lumine noticed Barbara and Ambers shoulders fell on her entrance. “I'll be waiting out front,” she chirped and left.

“God, Mrs.Lee always gives me the creeps,” Amber said.

“Glad it's not just me,” Lumine laughed as she stood.

“Good luck! See you at dinner,” Amber waved as Lumine exited the room. She heard faint whispers of gossip as she left but knew it was nothing bad, those girls didn’t have a mean bone in them.

-

They walked around campus and Lumine slowly became accustomed to the wildly expensive taste. She was shown the inside of the year one through four buildings, for the fourteen-to-eighteen-year old's. Then the outside of the adult facilities. Mrs. Lee assured the only real difference between the two was the uniform requirement and some extra freedoms.

After taking the tour she felt less overwhelmed, but it was the final stop that really cemented the reality most of the students lived in. It was the cafeteria of the school, but should have been classified as a food court. There was the line for the scholarship students where they could use one of three free meal tickets per day, or a snack coupon, all loaded onto her school ID. Wich was normal, same thing that she had in Mondstadt, minus the dinner.

What was different was the restaurants lining the walls. Everything you could imagine from each region on tap. And the prices were nothing to scoff at. A Fishermans toast was going for ten thousand mora, she could make that for less than three hundred back home. Lines scaled out to the isles as students waited, eager to be robbed for food.

“Lumine!” A familiar voice shouted. She sighed in relief. A distraction to this insanity was required right about now. She carried her tray adorned with less appetizing food from the school over to the table Amber sat at.

“This place is crazy,” Lumine sighed in exhaustion.

“My first day I ran away,” Amber laughed. She placed a spoon full of mac and cheese into her mouth.

“Those prices are more than I make in three weeks back home,” She said as she began to eat. Pleasantly surprised that even the free food was delectable. The pasta was perfectly cooked, cheese sauce an ideal creamy texture. She moved on to nibble at her cookie, baked expertly with a crispy outside and a gooey center. “God,” she murmured, savoring the taste.

“I told you, you get used to it,” Amber smiled sweetly. A book bag slamming down on the table instantly cleared her face. She looked up to see what she assumed was the wolf boy from earlier discussions. Lumine wondered why Amber felt it was bad to have his attention. He was attractive, silver hair and red eyes, giving him an exotic look. His arms were coated in scars and a massive one gashed his face, not a bad look if your into that type. Some of the girls back home would swoon over the attention.

“Why,” She groaned as he pulled out a seat, pushing it right up against hers as he sat a plate of meat and potatoes down. It must have been one of the free creature meals from the school line. He sat, making sure he was as close as physically possible to her.

Okay, maybe that’s why. Lumine began to understand.

He tilted his head like a new puppy, “Why?” He asked, voice thick with an unknown accent.

“We talked about this,” She shoved his chair away. “This is Razor,” She sighed as he sunk into his chair to pout. Lumine nodded and greeted him with a smile.

“I bought brownies!” Barbara sang as she skipped over to the table, “For our new friend,” She handed out the sweets, “And beef jerky for you,” She said as she handed Razor a slim piece of dried meat. He perked up and took it, chewing on it greedily. After the experience with the cookie Lumine thought the food couldn’t get better. But the brownie was smooth decadent layers of velvet chocolate that melted in her mouth. She had to suppress a groan.

There was a pickup of chatter in the room that pulled her from her chocolate induced fantasy. She looked towards the entrance of the café where a group of boys walked in. They were followed by a gaggle of other students, mostly female, all adorned with an expensive accessory or more.

Lumine was an honest person and she did not deny to herself that these boys looked like royalty. They walked with an air of confidence even through the crowd, knowing that the sea of students would part for them. She counted each of their visions, anemo, geo, cryo and hydro. There was a distinct leader to the group out of the four. A redhead who wore his vision on his belt, showing it off by messily tucking in half of his unkept shirt. Like he wanted people to see it, unlike the rest of them that wore them on chains by their side, as did everyone else in the school.

“Don't stare,” Amber hissed. Lumine snapped her eyes to her friends.

“Who are they?” She asked. Amber eyed her wearily before divulging the information.

“Sons of the school's elite,” She glanced back at the group to ensure they were distracted with food or girls before continuing, “The shorter one with green hair is Xiao, the son of the wangshu inn owner. The geo looking guy is Zhongli from the Wangsheng funeral parlor. Blue hair is Kaeya, one of the sons from the dawn winery.” Amber stopped speaking as she got to the last subject. Lumine quirked a brow as both Barbara and Amber swiveled their heads to check on the group again.

“It's not really them you should be weary of though; besides Xiao they are nice. Xiao has always had a stick up his butt,” Barbara added to the conversation.

“Then what is it, why are we acting like we are defusing a bomb?” Lumine asked.

“It's Childe, the redhead,” Amber whispered.

“Childe? That’s a dumb name,” Lumine thought out loud. The girls hissed at her to keep her voice down.

“He smells mean,” Razor added. Amber pulled on his ear.

“I told you not to talk about him,” She growled at him. He grasped her hand in his, forcing her to release.

“But you are!” he argued.

“Thats because we are warning her!” Amber explained. Razors eyes darted from Ambers to Lumines and he resigned himself back to his half-eaten steak.

Amber rolled her eyes and turned back to Lumine, “It’s not his real name, no one even knows his real name.”

“Childe is an awful nickname,” She whispered back to her friend.

“He’s mean, and evil, once he has you in his sights there's no stopping it.” Amber warned her.

“What about his friends? Don’t they say something?” She asked.

“They are rich, us poor folk don’t matter to them even if they act cordial towards us,” Amber told her as she leaned back, “Besides you don’t have a vision, he will probably just ignore you.”

Lumine widened her eyes, “well...” She felt a tint come to her cheeks, “Actually...”

Amber slammed her fists on the table, “NO WAY! YOUR THAT GIRL!” she screamed. Drawing the attention of half the students.

“Show us!” Barbara insisted.

“Ah, I don’t think now is the best time.” Lumine tried to quell her friend's voices but both girls were oblivious to the attention they were attracting. She glanced over at the red head she was warned about to make sure he was still entranced at whatever activity he had chosen.

“Awh comon I wanna see!” Amber whined.

“First anemo user in history without a vision! Don’t hold out on us!” Barbara added.

“Fine! Just stop yelling at me,” Lumine finally conceded. She put her palm face up on the table and gathered a small amount of wind to it. It tinted green with her power as it swirled into a miniature tornado in her palm.

“This is so cool!” Amber gasped.

“It's the same as anyone else,” Lumine said, closing her hand to cease the wind. She was more than a bit tired of people going ballistic over her powers.

“Let's get back to the dorms,” Amber suggested, “We have much to talk about,” She smiled gleefully. Razor whimpered next to her, “fine you can come too,” She sighed. Razor looked up with a beaming smile.

“Boys are allowed in the girls dorms?” Lumine asked as they gathered their trays and bags.

“Only until eight with a strict open-door policy,” Barbara told her.

She hummed in response as the group made their way over to the trash bins. Eyes were on her now, some searching for a vision trinket she didn’t possess. She was the last one out the door when a chill tingled down her spin. She grabbed the back of her neck and turned, expecting a cryo user to be standing there with a smirk on their face.

Instead, she was greeted with sea blue eyes cutting through the crowd. He smirked when they made eye contact. The chill went down her entire body. She glared as the door to the building swung shut, cutting them off.

Shit.

[awackyphdinadorkable]

Cherik Moodboard - Stranded AU

Geneticist Charles Xavier embarks on a quest to uncover the secrets of origin of mutation. Being a mutant with the ability of telepathy himself, Charles seeks to find truths on a set of faraway islands. He is convinced that Krakoa’s wildlife holds the answers he is so desperate to find. However, finding a pilot to fly him to an island that appears nowhere on a map proves to be about as difficult as convincing fellow scientists of his theory concerning the origin of mutation and a mysterious plant with outstanding healing properties.

At last, Charles finds a daring pilot named Erik Lehnsherr - a mutant with the ability to control metal. Erik travels routes most pilots are afraid of, since his abilities allow him to maneuver even more dangerous terrains and ensure a safe landing no matter the situation. Though Erik is less than impressed with his newest client. Charles talks too much to his liking, is overly enthusiastic, especially when he finds out about Erik’s mutation - and did he mention that he talks too much? Erik sought out a life far away from “human” civilization, finding solace in the desolation of his plane taking him away from people who killed his mother, who proved to him time and time again that while they belong to the species human, most of them are very inhuman.

Nonetheless, Erik agrees to go looking for Krakoa. Because the professor definitely pays well for a flight that may very well bear on no success. They manage to find an archipelago off the usual routes, but they get caught up in a storm. Despite Erik’s efforts to land the plane, they crash on one of the islands, leaving their one matter of transportation and contact to the outside world in ruins. And so, the two men are swept ashore an island they don’t know, with no means to call for help. The machines are dead and since Erik runs his business privately, no one knows to where he and his client were headed.

Not even Charles’s telepathy can reach far enough to contact someone.

In sum, they are screwed.

To say that Erik is none too pleased with the situation is an understatement. The fact that Charles tries to act like they can manage together and how this may prove to be some kind of adventure only enrages Erik further. He spends most of his time trying to fix up the plane, well aware that even with his abilities it is beyond saving, leaving Charles to his foolish explorations and musings about how they may have actually landed on Krakoa after all.

Erik knows how to survive. He learned those lessons the very hard way, but a sheltered scientist like Charles who seems to know real life and its troubles only from his books is in dire danger of winding up dead just because of his damned childish curiosity and foolish hope. Though Erik soon has to think that assessment. While yes, Charles grew up sheltered, he is wickedly intelligent and his knowledge of flora and fauna on the island soon proves vital to their survival.

Confronted with the reality that no search party comes looking for them months into being stuck on the island, the two make do with what they have and build a home of their own.

Erik tries not to get too attached, despite the gravitation Charles has, a sheer force pulling him closer to a man with so much hope that it could suffice for a thousand. Charles encompasses all those things Erik believes he long since lost to the demons of his past. If you get attached, losing someone hurts all the more. And every day may be their last in the wild. So no, he doesn’t want to get attached, doesn’t want that man to matter in his life. He wants to take it all as fleeting, born out of necessity - but no more than that.

Though that attitude proves increasingly difficult to maintain. In the end, playing chess with their makeshift board every night, hunting together, building a house and managing their lives, watching Charles experiment and explore the island and the plant he was so desperate to find, it is means more to him than Erik can take at times.

Charles does not push, though. After all, he knows what is going on inside Erik’s head even when he does not actively look at it. With only one man’s voice other than his own around, Charles can’t help but pick up the signals, however mixed and muddled they are that they even leave the telepath confused as to what those emotions may mean.

Even when they give in to some of their most basic instincts, seeking satisfaction for a now almost unbearable need, Erik tries to make himself believe that it is really just that - satisfying a need, following an instinct.

Because if he thought of it as more, he’d have to admit that Charles is the only thing he has left in life. And if he is the only thing he has left in life, Erik will lose all he has left in life if anything happened to Charles - which may be the very next day. Because every day may be their last.

But day after day comes to pass and the feelings don’t go away. And so, Erik has to come to the realization, however painful, that he can pretend all he want, Charles is all he wants, is all he needs, is all he has. So the only thing he can do is try to keep him. And Charles commits to that same promise. To stay together and let no harm come to the man who grew to be his world, reaching beyond his obsessions with Krakoa and his studies.

The years pass wherein Charles and Erik live a most unexpectedly yet strangely fulfilling life out of sight. Charles makes most astonishing discoveries about Krakoa and the plant he wanted to find when he embarked on that journey, which leave him to believe that even if they had found it without crashing, he would have done better not to reveal the island’s secrets.

While both dare to think of a future whereby they will grow old together on the island, Charles picks up new voices all of a sudden. A ship is within reach all of a sudden. And that leaves Erik and Charles with the difficult decision on whether to return to a normal and safe life and thus reveal the location of Krakoa, or let the chance slip and continue a life that may not have ended them yet but may very well as they grow older…

[dasphinxone]

Book of Nile: Werewolf and Witch AU

Alright, yes, I’m late for Halloween. But that also means I used Halloween to discuss an awesome AU where Booker is secretly an werewolf and Nile, his new neighbor in a rural town on the edge of the woods, is secretly a witch. Shoutout to @lady-writes​ @winterequinoxx​ @nevermindirah​ @highlightcity159​ @druidspell​ @rainofdreams29 @ruby-white-rabbit​ and the BoN chat for this amazing brainstorm.

Nile has just graduated from veterinary school after her time in the marines. She’s moved to a rural area in the northeast that’s in need for a vet since the old one plans to eventually retire. Renting a cute little cottage on the edge of the woods, she settles into a quiet life there. 

Nile does her daily runs on the trails through the idyllic woods in the mornings and sometimes at night. She gets to know the townspeople as well. They include  Andy, who runs a law firm in the town. Along with her wife Quynh, who is an interior decorator. Couple Yusuf and Nicolò run the coffeeshop/bakery across the  street from the veterinary practice where Nile works. They get to know Nile first since she swings by the shop every morning for breakfast. Soon, they start inviting Nile to dinner with them. It then eventually expands to dinner with Andy, Quynh and Booker. It’s the first time Nile meets Booker and he reveals he’s also her next-door neighbor. She’s surprised that she hasn’t met him yet. After all, she moved into the the town weeks ago. 

Booker is apparently the only single person among Andy, Quynh, Yusuf and  Nicolò. So Nile suspects the group is trying to set them up to date since they always seat her next to him. Booker’s nice enough (and pretty damn good looking). But he also seems distant towards her. While she’s fine with his company at dinner, there’s not really a huge connection there for her. However, they settle into a steady friendship, especially as she sees more and more of him as a neighbor. 

One night, Booker’s hanging out on his front porch when he catches Nile coming back from a night run. He’s stunned to see her out so late, especially in the woods. He warns her that there’s a lot of dangerous and aggressive wildlife out there that like nocturnal hunts. She waves him off and expresses that she can take care of herself just fine. Especially since she’s an ex-Marine. Booker tries to warn her again, looking worried. Nile again laughs him off and bids him goodnight. 

That’s because unknown to Booker, Nile is secretly a witch. In fact, her family has practiced magic going back generations and even before they survived the Middle Passage. She uses the excuses of her night runs in the woods to cover up the fact that she’s doing magic rituals there. Mostly because her magic is very nature based. In fact, it’s part of the reason why she became a veterinarian; her nature-based magic gives her a healing hand with animals, including wild ones. Other rituals she does are for self-protection, opening pathways, remaining in balance with nature and warding off evil influences that seek to harm in general. That’s all why she’s not particularly scared of the woods.

In the meantime, Nile runs into Booker on her own at the supermarket while she’s running weekend errands in town. He has a whole hot lumberjack aesthetic going on as per usual, with a plaid jacket over a denim shirt, jeans and hiking boots. Nile jokes that he must be having some sort of party at his place that he didn’t bother to invite her to since he’s buying so much red meat and food for a single person Booker insists he’d never be so rude. He just...eats a lot. 

Without warning, he quickly excuses himself and all but flees from Nile. She finds it odd but continues her shopping. When she gets back to her cottage, she finds Booker reading a book and drinking coffee while sitting on his front porch. While he waves hello, he quickly goes inside. Nile is annoyed; as far as she can tell, she didn’t say anything offensive to him. So why in the hell does it seem like he’s avoiding her?

One night later, there’s a full moon. While Nile is aware that wolves are native to the area, she’s surprised at how loud they are that night. Yet the constant howling doesn’t bother her much. If anything, it soothes her to sleep. However, she wakes up the next morning to find holes dug up throughout her backyard, like some sort of dog or wolf has been messing around back there. There’s no damage or blood, so she just fixes up her yard and moves on. 

Over the next few weeks as the autumn gets colder, Nile realizes she’s going to need to start stockpiling wood for her wood stove that helps warm her cottage. She heads back into town where she runs into Booker at the general store. This time, he’s much more friendly with her. 

When she explains that she’s going to have to spend more money than she thought stockpiling wood, he quickly offers to start chopping it for her. She’s taken aback at how quickly he does so. Yet he’s super friendly about it. At the same time, she doesn’t want to take advantage, so she tries to decline. Booker insists that it’s no big deal. He’ll just add whatever surplus of wood he doesn’t need to her pile at the side of her cottage. She won’t even know he’s there. Nile agrees. 

She starts finding herself running into Booker all over town. She also finds out from Yusuf and Nicky that they’ve known Booker for a long time. It turns out he’s a computer coder/programmer who works remotely from home. They also assure her he’s a good guy. At the same time, he can get a little melancholic sometimes and drinks a bit. Mostly because his wife divorced him after she had a string of tragic miscarriages. His wife also missed their native France. She let him keep the house and moved back to France. Last they heard, his ex is happily married to someone else and has kids.  

Nile starts noticing a pattern; Booker is either super friendly with her or oddly distant. Every few weeks, he’ll just disappear and she’ll see no trace of him at his cottage next door. She chalks it up to his depression over his breakup with his wife. While she’s not a therapist, she leaves him little care packages of her baked goods whenever he disappears. He always returns her Tupperware to her after a few days. Though the first time she includes chocolate treats, he politely tells her he’s allergic to them. From then on, Nile avoids giving him chocolate.

Eventually, Booker and Nile grab dinner together and get a bit tipsy. They end up sleeping together and both have a damn good time. Nile notices that Booker is a bit possessive in bed and seems very much into her, in a good way. He’s also super tactile. And really into how she smells. He also doesn’t seem to mind hanging around the next morning and immediately offers to cook Nile breakfast. Everything goes off without a hitch and Nile and Booker soon start sleeping together regularly.

That’s when Nile starts noticing more of Booker’s slightly odd behavior.

He’s always leaving his sweaters and sweatshirts at her place. When she tries to return them, he refuses and insists that she should wear them to keep warm. Whenever he sees her wearing one of them, he gets super excited. He offers to fix things around her house instead of her wasting money on a plumber. He always makes sure her firewood pile is stocked up. He loves taking walks with her in the woods. He’s always offering to cook for her whenever she likes. Especially because he seems to pretty much inhale a ton of food. However, he always makes sure her fridge stays stocked and she never runs out of anything. He’s protective of her but not in an overwhelming way. Nile’s not sure if they’re exclusively dating…but she wouldn’t mind if they were.

Meanwhile over Thanksgiving, Nile’s mother and brother come to visit her. Nile’s mother is still a practicing witch and her teenage brother is a warlock. As he’s not an adult yet, he hasn’t achieved his full power but he’s still able to cast lighter spells and do rituals.

Nile also has Booker over for Thanksgiving dinner since it'll be nice to introduce him to her family. As soon as Nile introduces Booker, her mother and brother immediately raise their eyebrows. For they both realize that Booker is not the human he appears to be.

Nile’s brother tries to tell her something is up with Booker. But she assures him that Booker has been nothing but sweet to her. He gives her space when she wants it. Yet he’s always willing to help her out whenever she needs it. Almost as though he revels being at her beck and call. Besides, Nile’s a powerful witch in her own right and has enough protection spells wound around her.

Her brother explains that he’s not worried about Booker doing anything to her. He’s far more concerned with the trouble he can bring to her doorstep because he’s not what he appears to be. At the same time, Nile’s brother says that it’s not his right to reveal to Nile what Booker is, as he’ll have to do that himself. 

Nile is confused, but takes her brother’s words to heart. She also appreciates how her brother does a protection ritual for her and her cottage before he and her mom leave. Nile's mom also leaves her a ton of fresh ingredients and blessed items for her spells and rituals.

Two days after Nile’s mom and brother leave, there’s a full moon. Which means the wolves howling in the forest are back. Again, it doesn’t bother Nile and soothes her to sleep. 

That is until she’s woken up by noise coming from her front porch. She peers outside her window to find a VERY large wolf-dog looking animal whining and pawing at her door. It’s massive. Yet when it spots her, it doesn’t attack but rather starts nosing at the window, as though it’s trying to get her outside. Nile cautiously opens the door to find the wolf-dog bleeding from a nasty looking wound on its shoulder. The wolf-dog is nearly passed out and is losing blood fast. So Nile gets her veterinarian’s kit and drags the animal into her house.

It never attacks her. Not even when she sedates it. If anything, it’s exhausted but friendly. Sewing up the wound, Nile also casts some spells of healing for the wolf-dog so that it can heal faster. Not wanting to leave a traumatized animal alone, Nile falls asleep in the living room with its head in her lap. She doesn’t worry about a wild animal attacking her due to her own protection spells for herself.

When Nile wakes up the next morning? She finds Booker asleep and curled up with his head in her lap. Completely naked. And with a healed scar in the same exact place on his shoulder where she stitched up the wolf-dog the night before.

Booker quickly explains to a stunned Nile that he’s a werewolf.

In fact, the first time he met her at the dinner Yusuf and Nicolò had, he immediately picked up on how good she smelled. Just an intoxicating blend of spicy, boozy, vanilla, cinnamon and a hint of flowery deliciousness. It was so overwhelming that he mentally freaked out. And it got worse the next time he ran into her at the supermarket. That was because the closer he is to the full moon, the better and stronger she smells to him. It in turn makes him come off as awkward and weird. Mostly due to his general behavior getting more animalistic the closer he gets to the full moon.

He tells Nile that he’ glad she didn’t seem to notice his weird behavior. At the same time, Booker admits he finds it odd that out of the people he’s had a romantic interest in, Nile’s scent overwhelms him the most. Even more so than his ex-wife. Not wanting to scare her away, Booker initially thought a friendship with Nile would be enough to sustain himself. Well, that was until they slept together.

It also turns out that the reason that Booker is so close with Andy, Quynh, Yusuf and Nicky? Well, Andy and Quynh are a werewolf and witch pair, with Andy a werewolf and Quynh a witch. Joe is a warlock to Nicky’s werewolf, forming their pair as well. 

When Booker was bitten by a werewolf, his wife was initially surprisingly accepting of it. They actually ended up moving to the town soon after his first full moon so that he didn’t have to deal with too many people knowing his secret. However, she came to hate him due to going through the trauma of her miscarriages. She blamed the fact that he was no longer human for not being able to have children. Booker blamed himself as well. After his wife left him, Booker never believed that he’d ever find his mate. Well, that was until Nile moved in next door to him. Her scent set off something primal in him that had him attracted to her nearly at first sight. 

Except werewolves Andy and Nicky never got around to explaining to Booker how their witch mates have an attractive smell to them that only they can pick up on. So Booker was going nuts trying to control himself around Nile. He of course didn’t want to be a creep and be all up in her space, scenting her.

The reason Nile smells so wonderful to Booker? He was picking up on her hereditary witchiness. However, he didn’t realize that she was a witch until she stitched him up in wolf form and cast her spells to speed up his healing. He swears he’ll keep her witchiness a secret. Especially since he trusts her to keep him being a werewolf a secret from everyone else outside of the other four.

Nile is stunned by this information. She’s also concerned about him potentially biting her and turning her into a werewolf. Booker is horrified at the concept. He explains:

1.)    Modern, enlightened werewolves do not turn people without their consent. It’s rude as hell.

2.)    Even if he were to non-lethally bite someone in werewolf form, they have to be genetically predispositioned to turning. So not everyone who’s bitten even turns.

3.)    Nile is full of powerful, generational magic flowing through her veins. Plus, her protection spells (which Booker was also picking up on before he realized she was a witch) protect her from getting turned anyway.

Booker being a werewolf also explains how Nile’s mother and brother realized that he wasn’t quite human. Along with Booker basically courting her protective wolf style while in human form. Leaving his sweaters and sweatshirts around her place means she’s constantly wearing his scent. Constantly cooking for her shows he’s a good mate who provides food for his beloved. Fixing up her place on his own, making sure her fridge stays stocked and getting her firewood also shows he’s a good mate who provides the best shelter.

Basically, modern and enlightened werewolves hunt big game during the full moon. Booker does so with his pack of Nicky and Andy. Witch Quynh and warlock Joe will sometimes accompany them because the nights of the full moon are when magic is the strongest. In fact, Booker is surprised that they’ve never run across Nile in the woods on full moon nights.

She explains that due to the wolf howls she’d hear on those nights, she practices her magic at her cottage. Which also explains why wolf Booker showed up on her doorstep when he got injured; the magic spells protecting Nile and her home ensured that he wasn’t there to harm her but actually needed her help.

Basically, Nile and Booker are both adorable dumbasses who didn’t realize each other’s true natures.

When Nile facetimes her mom and brother to let them know she and Booker are not only together but that he’s also a werewolf, the two of them joke that they’re shocked she didn’t realize something was up with Booker. After all, he was all over her and the house when they visited her for Thanksgiving. And in what were clearly wolfy courting rituals. He also was pretty submissive to Nile’s mom and especially her brother. That was clearly a sign of Booker accepting her family. Also, witch and werewolf pairings occur pretty naturally in the mystical world.

So it was no wonder that Booker was literally sniffing around her for months on end before they slept together. His scenting of her also increased afterward. Didn’t Nile realize how much Booker loved it whenever she wore his clothes? Because it meant Nile was voluntarily wearing his own scent and accepted him into her life .

Nile is aghast. Her mother and brother roll their eyes but are happy for the pair of them.

As Nile and Booker settle into their relationship and Nile’s friendships with the other four deepen, things are going well. That is until Merrick and his assistant in Keane suddenly show up into town.

It turns out they’re trophy monster hunters who have heard rumors of witches and werewolves out in the woods. The townspeople immediately find Merrick extremely irritating and Keane scarily aggressive. With Merrick and Keane sniffing around, Andy, Quynh, Yusuf, Nicolò, Booker and Nile are on high alert.

Will they be able to survive Merrick and Keane’s invasion of their little town? And will Booker and Nile’s courtship be able to weather the coming storm?

[lorei-writes]

Fairy Tales for Bedtime

Two-Faced God

Kennyo x MC ( with a twist at the end) Fantasy AU (Fairy Tale-ish) Choose Your Own Ending*

Content Warnings: animal attack, injury mention (non-descriptive) Respective trigger warning are added before each ending. The story can stand on its own without them, so fear not.

Hello, friends! This time, I come to you with an unexpected story. I know Kennyo... Isn’t exactly popular to say the least. But, if you enjoy fantasy - I urge you to give this story a shot. I believe you may like it regardless.

*- Fluff or Angst

Winter days came, sun hiding behind the horizon seemingly not long after dawn. Yet, there she was – the sole survivor of banishment, even if self-imposed. She tore her way through the wilderness, hungry and dizzy from exhaustion. The snow that year had fallen earlier than usual.

Long, long ago, in a land hidden behind a thick veil of mist, there was a city. It stood proudly in-between rivers, hidden in the cooling shade of nearby mountains, secluded from any and all outsiders. Life there was peaceful, or so would the citizens say – although nobody cared enough to see their faces and understand the emotion behind the sullen eyes they all had.

The city was governed by its own set of rules. Do not question the officials – do not speak ill of them. The prince shall be obeyed, his word being that of god. Be thankful for what you get and, most importantly, never seek a better day, for you’ll be rewarded according to your contribution. Never – never – venture out into the forest, least you wish to get banished – and then, your fate will be decided by the nature itself. Perish, as many would say, the woods being hostile and seemingly stretching up to the very horizon. It was never discussed whether it was good or bad, the very thought of even doing so being an offense of sorts. Fear rules stronger than compassion, as they stated – so fear it was, keeping them from ever aiming up higher, the few ones daring to reach for the sun being burned by the flames, their example serving as grave warning. After all, the familiar sorrow always seems safer than the unknown.

Yet, that isn’t to say that people wishing to disobey the order had ever ceased to exist. The reasons were many – poverty, being unable to meet the impossible expectations, lies stopping to satisfy, just to name a few. She was no different, the threat of impending betrothal stopping her studies  hanging low over her head. She knew better than to rebel, letting the anger simmer inside of her soul – until she couldn’t contain it anymore, her feelings boiling over, choking her like molten tar. Dishonesty could carry her only so far, the disgust with her very own being overwhelming her. To loath yourself is a cruel fate – and so, she decided to stand against it. In secret, she collected her belonging, all fitting nicely in a tight bundle, and  departed, abandoning her home of so many years.

The route outside of city led through shadows – although darkness she did not fear. Step by step, she came closer to the outer gates, cursing people responsible for her fate. Why was she the one running, while it was them, the system, who hurt her? When was she at fault in the dispute? She gritted her teeth, mourning all that she had to leave behind. Her entire old self – her studies, the books she cherished, countless hours of research – was all for nothing, as she was born a woman. The choice was hers only up until a certain point in time, and it appeared she had reached it.

Road stretched outside of the city and she followed it to the woods, never once looking back until stones under her feet turned to grass. She glanced around herself, assessing her surroundings carefully, eyes – or much rather, countless pairs of glowing eyes – staring back at her. She gulped, swallowing her fear. Holding her head up high, she ventured deeper into the forest.

The following days proved milder than she could have ever expected. Although certainly cautious, the wildlife appeared not to be hostile in the slightest, her tracks never once crossing with the predators. Wasn’t there any violence? She couldn’t believe that: cats hunt mice, smaller animals fall prey to the bigger ones. Nature needs carnivores equally to herbivores, all the species balancing each other out. How could a place where that wasn’t the case exist? She was soon to find out.

Winter days came, sun hiding behind the horizon seemingly not long after dawn. Yet, there she was – the sole survivor of banishment, even if self-imposed. She tore her way through the wilderness, hungry and dizzy from exhaustion. The snow that year had fallen earlier than usual, leaving her with little time to prepare for the cold – and so, she suffered the consequences of it. Forward and forward, she dragged her feet through heaps of white, dreaming of warm fire. Her vision reduced to but a narrow tunnel, she noticed a doe. She stopped in her tracks and prepared to shoot an arrow, her breathing slowing down as she focused what was left of her.

Some things she was unable to notice. A roar. She fell, tremendous weight crushing her against the ground as pain set her nerves on fire. Icy snow burning her cheeks, she looked up, thinking it would be the last time she’d do that – and yet, she felt something being lifted off of her. Golden light overwhelmed her, a tall figure stepping in front of her. The last thing she saw were hair black like wings of ravens, warm water pooling around her lulling her to sleep.

***

Who knows how many days had passed before she came to. Her head throbbing, she woke up slowly, too confused to comprehend anything. Instinctively, she tried to get up, pain instantly flooding her senses. “ Please, don’t move. You have to rest,” someone said, a gentle hand pushing her by the shoulder down onto the pillows. She let out a sigh, a sudden sense of peace calming her body. “ Where am I?” she asked in a weak voice, squinting her eyes in an attempt to see anything. Second by second, she forced reality back into focus. “ In my camp. You’re safe here.” “ Who… Are you?” she uttered, but didn’t hear the answer. Having just became clear, the world began to fade out, only a face with a scar letting itself be known to her.

***

Within weeks, she began to walk again, the man having spent all his energy nurturing her. He’d feed her fish and pigeon stew, never letting the fire die out, as to keep the cave warm. He’d redress her wounds with careful – although clumsy and unpractised – care, the ointment making her skin itch, its herbal aroma filling her nostrils whenever the jar was opened.

At first, she lacked balance and strength, dizziness overwhelming her just after few steps. However, she was able to sit up again – she wouldn’t let herself be discouraged by anything. Progress, even if gradual, was still progress… Perhaps she didn’t mind the company as well.

The man, Kennyo, claimed to be a pilgrim from a land far away, traveling in order to reach the state of harmony. Generally reserved and hardly radiant in his ways, he appeared to be grim, the scar splitting his face in halves seemingly supporting the notion. Yet, had somebody cared enough to truly look, they’d see something odd – a dim, almost shy, aura of tenderness surrounding him at all times. She couldn’t understand it at first either, his demeanor causing her to wonder what had happened to shape him like so. Yet, despite sitting with her by the fire each night, he never gave her a clear answer.

No less confused, but certainly stronger, one day she decided to test her limits and go for a walk. Slowly, she dragged herself up to the exit of the cave, holding firmly onto the wall with one hand. She squinted her eyes, outside world being brighter than she remembered – or was it? She blinked away any soreness, surprise taking its place instead.

It appeared spring had come while she was still in recovery, thousands of buds spread over the tree crowns preparing to finally grow and develop fully. She gasped in awe, first fresh flowers emerging from within melting snow. She looked up, but something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the sun that initially blinded her – no, it could hardly compare, its light coming from too far away. Her brows knitted together, she took a step forward, swaying as she tried to uphold her balance. Holding onto side of the mountain, she came closer and closer to the source of brightness.

She stopped, the scene unraveling before her seemingly begging her to just stand and watch in silence. There, a couple meters in front of her, was Kennyo, kneeling on the ground with his back towards her. A broken branch in his arms, he tilted his head back and said his prayers, liquid gold leaking from his scar, falling straight onto the dead plant. Her body froze mid-step – what was happening? She could only see so much. His shoulders moved. Kennyo dug out a hole in the ground with his hands and put the branch inside of it.

A gasp, one she couldn’t hold back. A tree began to grow, the cycle she observed for so many years occurring right there in the matter of minutes. Taller and taller, budding, blossoming, just for the leaves to turn red, whither and fall down, over and over again until it stopped, standing no different from its surroundings. Only then she managed to turn her attention away from it – and to notice him staring at her with regret in his eyes. “ Kennyo, what are you?”

***

If he could have chosen, he’d rather never tell her the truth. To be a pilgrim was easier than to be a god – much more one of two faces, at that.

His face was split in halves – well, at first glance. If somebody looked just a moment more, they’d see that one was bigger than the other, perhaps they’d understand that so was his nature. What they would miss was hidden deeper inside: which one was the dominant, that was his choice, for he, Kennyo, was god of compassion and ruthlessness alike. Yet, the other never perished, which he was gravely aware of.

They sat by the fire, spring winds humming outside their shelter. “ So, you were a god all along?” she sighed, at loss to what else she could say. “ But why are you here? Why do you live in a cave if you’re a god? Why didn’t you heal me and moved on?” “ Restoration steals time, and you humans already have little of it. I have nowhere else to be regardless,” he claimed, shadows playing over his face as he  stared into the flames. “ You could live in one of the cities, right? Even…” she trailed off, averting her gaze from him. “Mine was more comfortable than the wilderness.” “ I can’t.” “ Why is that?” Kennyo inhaled deeply. Storm growing inside of him, his eyes became darker, black like asphalt lakes. “ Cities are created in the image of gods, one for each – but I have two and can enter neither of them,” he stated, covering one of his eyes with his hand. “ At least not anymore.” “ I don’t understand.” “ It’s only an ancient story of a being that is no longer there.” “ If it involves you, I have to know. I want to know.”

Only fire could be heard buzzing, even her breaths being muffled by the heavy atmosphere. “ Gods wage wars and so did I. I was fighting against the Lost God, the devil himself. I lost and he marked me so that I would never forget. The wound never healed and so, I became the Two Faced God. It split my city into two – perfect mirrored reflections of each other, both in values and structure. But I am fully neither of them, so both stay out of my reach,” he sighed, seemingly calming down. “ You should go to the other one once you recover. Many had taken refuge there.” She stood up, just to walk up to him and sit by his side. “ You know… If you don’t mind, I’m fine staying here. It must be lonely.”

Dream:

Content Warnings - Dream ending: implied impending death of partner, from natural causes (old age) - does not happen in the end.

Years passed and she did along with them, maturing and growing – and then, slowly beginning to wither. Her sight began to diminish, her hair turning silver as wrinkles spread over her face. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to leave, not quite yet.  Sometimes, she’d ask him to lay besides her and she’d trace his scar lovingly, her fingers showing her his face. “ Have I told you of what I did back at my city?” she’d say more than anything, already knowing the answer. Yet, she’d wait for it all the same. “ You can remind me,” he’d hum in reply. “ I was a student. At first, I learnt at a school and then moved to a university of sorts… You know, I loved studying – science and culture and everything in-between. Well, maybe I enjoyed learning, not studying itself…” she sighed, but, to his surprise, picked up her tale again.

“ There was one thing I’ve read about and never quite forgot, though. You see, there’s this technique, I’m not so sure how it works anymore… But, the general idea, was to connect broken pieces of porcelain with molten metal, so that it could become whole again. To think, I can’t even recall its name,” she laughed. “ This metal was ornamental.” “ I see. Interesting, indeed.” She seemed tired. Thinking she’d fall asleep soon, he kissed her forehead and was just about to leave when she burst out into laughter again. “ You silly, silly man. I’m not going anywhere, stop acting like it’s my last day.” “ You’re old, ____. Eternity…” “ Eternity can wait,” she cut him off. “ I’m only growing old to stop and grow young again – in this form or in other, I will return and haunt you until you’re sick of me.” “ I think you’d need plenty more lifetimes for that.” “ And I intend to use them all. Trust me, you’ll just blink and I’ll be back again. And again. And again.” “ And if I granted you life that never ends?” he suddenly spoke. “ Then I’ll take it all the same. You’d just have to blink a little less.”

A genuine smile lit up his face, one she so craved to see for so many years. “ Then so be it. Tomorrow,” he said. Kennyo got up and was just about to leave when she stopped him: “ Hey. You know… I think you’re like broken porcelain. One day you’ll be treated… And then, you’ll be even more beautiful. The god of acceptance...”

Wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps, perhaps all along you were just her.

Nightmare:

Content Warnings - Nightmare Ending: lethal injury, death of major character, death of lover, bad ending

She fell, icy snow digging into her cheek as something warm began to pool at her side. She blinked, not quite understanding what had happened to her – who? Hadn’t she experienced it all already? Her fingers curling up into fists, she looked up from her spot. Humans. She screamed.

Her shout tore air apart, causing the hairs on his arms to stand up. Perhaps he knew on his way there, perhaps he knew the moment he had heard it – and yet, he still prayed to whatever deities that were above him to spare her. Indeed, he was the tainted, the broken, god… But he only asked for her to be safe. Could that be too much?

His eyes rested upon her, his mind beginning to wail. Only half-aware of his movements, Kennyo took a step forward, golden aura surrounding him as he crouched beside her. He couldn’t hear the commotion around nor see the terrified figures. The world was red, covered entirely in thick aroma of blood. He took her in his arms, hugging her body to his chest. “ Kennyo,” she uttered. “ Don’t talk. Rest. I will …” he stopped, her hand touching his cheek. “ You’re changing.” A drop. Thick and black, it fell onto her face, just to slowly drip down her jaw. “ You can’t. Please,” she begged. “ Don’t. We need to…” And yet – no answer came, none was ever to come again.

Kennyo rose to his feet, letting her body, just an empty shell, fall to the ground. Substance alike to molten tar oozing out of his scar, he glared at the huntsmen in front of him. He looked, he looked deep into their souls, he searched for reasons, for answers… But whatever he came across, he could not believe. Only hurting himself, he let his tears evaporate before they spilled – and he hardened his heart, swearing he would never let it be torn apart again. Not after that day. “ That woma…” “ ____. You’ve slain ____,” Kenyo said, devoid of any emotion other than rage “ We..!” the voices stuck in their throats.

They couldn’t know and neither could you. However, even if by accident, even if none of that could have been prevented – it happened. Even more broken and with no desire to get better, that was how the god of revenge was born.

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @choi-jiyu, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @plumpblueberry, @i-sleep-like-napoleon, @nimeryaa, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me. If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Travelers in the Dark Chapter 4

Chapter Title: Bunker Underneath the Surface

Summary: If Virgil was told a month ago that events that transpired and led him into meeting Logan and the others, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it. Now it scared how quickly he’d grown to care for these humans. Still he has some fears over staying with them, fears that swirl in his mind when Logan asks for a quick chat between the two.

Pairings: platonic lamp

Chapter Word-Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Vampires, Fear, Panic, Implied Non-Graphic Violence, Blood Mention, Fantasy Racial Discrimination

Previous Chapter | Present | Next Chapter      AO3 LINK

*dusts off this fic* It’s been a while, huh? Massive thanks to @theeternalspace for beta’ing this chapter as always!

I don’t think I mentioned this besides the ao3 tags, but the original plan behind this fic was to include villain!Janus later down the road. It won’t happen until the second half of this fic, and honestly, I’m still deciding if I’m still including that or going a different route, I just wanted to mention that it may be occurring.

 If you don’t want to read content featuring him depicted that way, I understand. With the way the first half of this fic is designed, you can easily read the fic up to the point before villain!Janus might make an appearance and still enjoy it, as there’s basically two different story arcs that occur in this fic :)

-

Over the course of the next week, Virgil’s resolve to leave dissipated. It chipped away with Patton’s humming as he mixed together ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. It splintered as Roman sauntered into the kitchen and swept Patton into an impromptu waltz. It fell apart as Logan tried to maintain a steady gaze on his physics book but the curve of his lips told Virgil he was amused by the others’ antics.

He’d never experienced such a warm, loving environment. He didn’t know they existed outside of fiction. If Virgil was told a month ago of the events that would transpire, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it all. Now it scared how quickly he’d grown to care for these humans.

In the stormy bleak world he’d grown up and lived in, it was every person for themselves. His foster parents took care of him simply for the money involved. His teachers could care less if he, a vampire, passed or failed. The one person he’d considered a friend only used him for their own gain in the end.

It’d been better to cease social interactions altogether. What was the point of subjecting himself to it when it always resulted in a negative outcome? After all, the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.

Virgil was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. Or at least, he was smart enough to recognize it wasn’t worth it. Any other person might’ve gone the other extreme. They might’ve done whatever they pleased, regardless of what everyone else thought. They might’ve become what others expected them to be, because there was no other designated role in society for them.

Virgil refused. The last thing he wanted was to prove that the prejudices against vampires were valid. But again, he wasn’t stupid. He was just one person fighting an ocean of bigotry. Everyone knows you can’t fight the ocean because it does whatever its damn well pleases.

That was why he ran away from his foster family, from everything. He disappeared into the park, taking refuge in the trees. It had been safer to just give up than to play society’s game.  He didn’t even finish high school. Every day became about finding his next meal, his next shelter, his next—well he didn’t need water to survive. One of the perks of being a practically immortal vampire.

When he reached eighteen, he stopped aging. Physically. Which sounded just as fun as it felt; being trapped in a perpetual state of puberty for potentially a hundred years or so. It varied from vampire to vampire, when they’d start showing signs again of physically aging. He was twenty-eight now, and still practically an adolescent by vampiric standards.

In fact, vampires at his age required more frequent feedings to put up with their young body’s fast metabolism. It meant that Virgil was hungry all day every day. It had been hard at the beginning. He’d never had to worry about meals while under the care of the state.

Quickly he understood how hard it was to resist the urges wired into his being. Once, he’d gone three weeks without a meal. Hunting down animals hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought. Even when he managed to capture the odd bird or two—it was enough for him to starve off the urges. But never enough to truly satisfy it.

Virgil blacked out at the end of those three weeks. When he regained consciousness, he stood in an unfamiliar alley over an unfamiliar body. Fresh blood dripped from his lips as he recoiled in terror—did he do this? Did he really kill someone? But then---then! The body’s chest rose, and he knew for certain the person was still alive.

Virgil should’ve called an ambulance, he should’ve turned himself in. He should’ve done something. But he didn’t.

He ran—his mind clouded with panic. He ran and ran until he reached the secluded security of the parks’ groves. There he collapsed, his body wracked with sobs.

The kids at his school had been right; they’ve been right all along, and Virgil had refused to see it. He was a monster. Maybe they were also right that he deserved to die. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Virgil secluded himself further in the park—being more mindful than ever to stay away from human contact. It was safer this way. Both for him and for everyone else. He couldn’t trust himself not to act on his impulses again. He became better at hunting wildlife animals. Too good, in fact.

There had started to be a suspicious shortage of squirrels in the park.

For years, his only focus in life had been on survival.  He’d forgotten almost anything that wasn’t vital to that goal. The days all blurred into each other, a continuous cycle of monotony. He’d liked it—routines were comforting. They were predictable, they were safe.

Despite this, even vampires needed social interaction. There was a reason why vampires preferred to live in covens rather than in isolation. He lived ignorant of that need throughout his time in the park. He didn’t realize it existed until this week spent in the apartment with Logan, Patton and Roman.

There had been a void in his heart and those three humans managed to fill it. For the first time in a long, long while Virgil felt…happy. The sensation was alarming and terrifying but also good.

Did that make him selfish if he didn’t want to give that up?

He tried his best to fight against the growing desire to stay. The last thing he wanted was to endanger the only humans who have shown him kindness. The idea of one day waking up standing over their unmoving bodies tormented him. He grew used to constant hunger, yes, but it was different in the woods. At least there he wasn’t constantly around three viable food sources. Not that he wanted to ever think of the humans in that way. They were so much more than a source of food. Vampiric urges be damned.

Several days after the garlic bread debacle with Roman, Logan sat him down.

“I have a few questions to ask you. But before I ask them, I want to let you know that you are not obligated in any way to answer them. Nor does this inquiry have anything to do with my scientific pursuits or anything of that sort.”

If he was a human, his pulse would’ve quickened from the anxiety swelling up inside of him. His thoughts pinballed into a million different directions as he tried to figure out what could possibly be on Logan’s mind. Externally he leaned back on the couch, arms crossed in a casual manner.

“Shoot.”

“Shoot? Why would I shoot—”

“It’s slang. It means ‘ask away.’” Virgil clarified.

It became apparent quickly that Logan was not adept at slang. It was a sore spot for the veterinarian—he took pride in being right. He told Virgil that he only spoke if he was certain of what he was saying was correct. Still, he found discovering new knowledge invigorating. Rather than denounce slang, he tried his best to understand it. He kept a pack of flashcards with him to help remember the correct usage of them.

“Ah! I’ll have to remember to add that later,” He murmured before clearing his throat, “moving on. My first question would be, how often do you actually need to feed?”

Virgil froze, meeting the knowing gaze of the human. He’d been careful to take the bare minimum blood from both Logan and Roman. He hadn’t fed from Patton, and frankly he was trying to avoid that. The bond between a vampire and a donor was a complex, tricky thing.

The more blood he took, the more he risked strengthening such a connection. But both Logan and Roman were stubborn humans that refused to see their vampire guest starve. He’d managed to convince Logan he survived off less than what he actually needed. It was the truth—as long he conserved his energy and slept for longer periods. But it appeared Logan became suspicious—or maybe, had always been suspicious from the start.

“Did Roman put you up to this?” Virgil demanded, his nails digging into the flesh of his arms.

“While he did mention what happened with the garlic, he did not set me up to this. I’m asking out of my own vocation and…concerns,” Logan frowned, adjusting his glasses, “I’ve refrained from asking you questions about vampires’ physiology because the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable but…I just want to make sure you are getting proper nutrition. Your health is just as important to me as the others.”

Virgil sighed. What did he have to lose? Perhaps upon learning the truth, Logan would realize Virgil wasn’t worth their time and energy. As much as that thought hurt, it was for the best.

“I don’t really know,” Virgil confessed, “I’m always hungry. Squirrels and birds are enough to get by, but they’re…not enough. Maybe once, per day?”

Virgil closed his eyes, unable to force himself to see Logan’s reaction. There a was a few beats of silences before Logan inhaled deeply and said,

“I see. How many liters do you think that is?”

“Liters?” Virgil knitted his eyebrows together as he tried to recall how measurements worked, “I…have no idea.”

“As you know, I do not know much about vampire physiology, but do you think it’s similar to vampire bats?” At Virgil’s vacant stare, he elaborated, “vampire bats consume half their body weight per feeding.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Virgil shook his head, “It’s less, I think? But it depends on the source.”

“What do you mean?” Logan asked, leaning forward in interest.

“Look I don’t know how all the scientific shit works. But like, for some reason human blood is more nutritious? We can sustain on animal blood, but it’s not the same it’s like—it’s like—”

“Eating junk food compared to healthier alternatives?” Logan suggested.

“Yeah, I guess,” Virgil shrugged, slinking further into the couch, “We don’t have to drink as much human blood as we do with animal blood.”

“Fascinating,” Logan muttered, his hands twitching as if he wanted to scribble down these findings in a journal. He instead cusped his face with a hand, frowning. Virgil shifted nervously, waiting to hear the rest of Logan’s thoughts.

“I’m not sure though…if I and the others would be able to donate blood on a daily basis without severe risk to our health.”

“Wh—what?” Virgil said, his eyes widening in surprise. Logan actually sounded regretful of this fact. Whatever Virgil expected to come out of his lips, it wasn’t that.

Logan, however, seemed to take his reaction for something else entirely.

“You see, when humans donate blood for medical purposes, we are only allowed to donate every eight weeks or so to allow time for our red blood cells to replenish. Having a low red blood cell count is dangerous for humans…I am truly sorry about that, Virgil.”

“Wh—you have nothing to apologize for—I mean I wasn’t expecting you guys—” Virgil’s voice cracked, causing him to glance away in embarrassment, “you don’t have to do anything, really.”

“Virgil,” Logan said softly, “do you remember what I said when we began this discussion?”

Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you mean what you said about how you cared for…my health?” He asked hesitantly.

“Precisely,” Logan said, “I was stating the truth when I meant your health is important to me. After all, you are a friend.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course,” Logan nodded, “only serious people wear neckties.”

He gestured to his necktie, and Virgil let out a chuckle.

“Y’know, you and the others are really making it hard for me to leave.” He murmured, “but I can’t stay. I—I just can’t. I can’t stay and possibly become a danger to you.”

 “Virgil, you will not be a burden to us. It might be difficult, but I know the others and I would be willing to help figure out a solution for your dietary needs. Let me repay you—”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Then at least let me do this for you as a friend.”

There was again, the f word. It was really devilish of Logan to use it against Virgil. Especially since all he had ever wanted in life was to be loved and accepted by others. It was oh so tempting to just stay and live in the solace of the apartment. Until the day he outlived the others, by his hands or by natural causes. He didn’t know which one was worse.

Virgil swallowed, throat tightening, “Are you sure of this? Are you sure you want me around? I mean, you barely know me.”

“As certain as I am of the sun rise, yes.”

“Well there is one solution.” Virgil said with a slight groan. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

 Logan perked up, looking at Virgil with childish excitement. “What is it?”

“I’ve never done this and I don’t know like the exact scientific crap behind it. But if a vampire feeds from a, uh, human consistently, um, it’s like we inject something that keeps humans’ blood healthy. So like, I guess it helps reproduce red blood cells faster.”

“Incredible,” Logan murmurs, “I can’t believe—well, unfortunately I can understand why this isn’t common knowledge. But something like this proves vampires and humans as a whole could one day live harmoniously.”

“I mean, I doubt that,” Virgil laughed bitterly, “There is some…side effects. You might become, uh, enthralled for a brief period after a feeding. Like, very agreeable to whatever I suggest. So I get it if that makes any of you uncomfortable.”

He flitted his gaze towards his ratty shoes. A hand rested on his shoulder, soft and tentative. As if fully prepared to draw back if Virgil brushed it off. He looked up at Logan. The human looked back, a determined glint in his eyes.

“Virgil, I trust you. I can’t speak for the others but I’d like to test this arrangement between you and I. If for whatever reason, it does not work—either for you or for myself, then we can always find a different solution. Alright?”

“Okay.” Virgil choked, forcing his vision to remain clear and not blurry with tears.

So, he stayed. Patton’s eyes lit up like a kid receiving a puppy for Christmas. He immediately bombarded Virgil with one of his signature hugs. Roman laughed triumphantly as he clasped Virgil’s shoulder and promised him that he wouldn’t regret this. Logan hung back, but his soft smile told Virgil all he needed to know.

Staying meant that he had to find a job. Virgil had never held a job in his entire life, never mind the fact he didn’t have a high school diploma. Yet Virgil couldn’t live in good conscious as a freeloader in the apartment. He wanted to contribute to the apartment rent. In order to do that, he needed money. He was certain that the two quarters and the one nickel he had floating in his jeans pocket wouldn’t be enough.

He searched for businesses that would hire someone like him. Not only was he dealing with a rather sparse resume, but there was of course prejudice against vampires. The humans flaunted around words like “peace among species” and “equal rights for all” but that rarely was the case. Even with the Helsing Laws in effect. He’d like to say that their prejudice was entirely unwarranted but well…

Most vampires kept to themselves. They either believed staying quiet would bring about peace or they just stewed about it away from human ears. Then there were some vampires that believed they were the superior beings and not the humans. So they really didn’t have qualms about hurting humans to bring about their agenda. Something Virgil knew about too well.

Of course, the businesses couldn’t openly discriminate. The Helsing Laws prevented that. But the laws did nothing to stop the prejudices that still clung heavily to the air.  It took just one smile—one laugh for them to see a flash of pearly white fangs and freeze up. They wouldn’t say it in words. But he could tell by their tone of voice and not so subtle wording that they were afraid.

They were afraid he’d snap and become an endangerment by attacking and drinking the blood of the first human he came into contact with. Honestly, humans were perfectly capable of eating their own kind’s flesh, yet you don’t see them worrying about that possibility.

It made it all the more hard to decipher then, who would hire him and who would cuss out his existence.

“So what makes you interested in working at our establishment?” The lady conducting his seventh interview asked. It was at a local, quirky coffeeshop—the kind that regulars claimed was way better than Starbucks.

Um because I want money? Virgil thought. He didn’t say it out loud, learning from his first interview that was apparently not what they wanted to hear. After that mishap, the others helped coached him through the right things to say. It still didn’t keep his intestines from knotting up out of nervousness.

“It seems like a chill, clean environment.” He shrugged.

“Well, thank you, we like keeping it that way for  our customers,” She laughed, “but we do still expect our employees to work hard and not slack off. We can get busy especially in the weekday mornings and all day on the weekends. Do you think you can handle that?”

No.

“Yes,” Virgil said, lying through his teeth, “I’m pretty good at handling stressful situations.”

“Is there a specific example you can think of?”

Virgil twisted in his seat, doing his best not to fiddle with his fingers.

Here goes.

“Well, as a—a vampire, I’ve had to deal with people who don’t…like that much. So I’m good at making sure I keep my composure. Like if there is an upset customer, I—I think I could be good at staying calm and making sure they walk away happy.”

She pressed her lips together, “I see.” And then, “What would you say are some weaknesses of yours?”

The rest of the interview continued on. She didn’t make any sort of comment about Virgil being a vampire. He didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’ll call you soon on what my decision is.” She told him, although he learned by his second interview not to trust those words.

“How was it?!” Patton asked upon his return back to the apartment. He and Roman were sitting on the couch watching TV. Logan was gone from the apartment, too early for him to be home from work. Virgil said nothing. He took a few steps before crashing into Roman’s side.

“That bad, huh?” Roman chuckled, already drawing his arms around Virgil.

“Tired,” Virgil closed his eyes, “job interviews are fricking exhausting.”

He heard Roman’s voice say something as his senses turned all muddy and muted. Someone laughed. Patton? If he wanted to, he could’ve forced his eyes open to see. He was content, however, to just lie there and steal Roman’s body heat.

It was stupid how easily Virgil taken to be at ease with these humans. Then again, it was also stupid how easily they accepted him. If either party had malicious intent, it would be almost effortless for them. Like taking candy from a baby.

Sleep was a strange thing for vampires. They needed rest, yes, but they never slept as deeply as humans could. Even in his soundest sleep, Virgil had a murky awareness of things. He could feel Roman mess with his hair, carefully untangling it with his fingers. He heard Patton’s and Roman’s heartbeats, steady and strong as ever. There was also a different sound. A buzzing, ringing sound.

“—gil! Hey Virgil! Wake up!”

Virgil jolted, alert and ready. His eyes scanned everywhere but found no threats. He looked at Roman and Patton in confusion, “Huh?”

Patton smiled, holding out his phone, “It’s for you.”

For him? But that could only mean one thing—someone actually called him back after a job interview. With a shaky hand, Virgil took the phone from Patton.

“Hello?”

“Hi Virgil, this is you, right?” The voice on the other line said. It did sound like the lady from the job interview.

“Yes.” Virgil answered, biting his lips and trying not to hiss from the pain that produced.

The voice said more words. Virgil managed to say words back. The conversation lasted scarcely a minute yet seemed like an eternity. He handed the phone back to Patton, eyes glazed over.

“Well?” Patton wiggled his eyebrows, bouncing in his seat like a rambunctious Labrador.

“Well,” Virgil began with a hesitant sliver of a smile, “I got the job.”

[doctorslippery]

1 - A kamakaze ship filled with tnt runs directly into your port

2 - Cargo arrives with undocumented prostitutes hidden as stowaways.

3 - Political exiles arrive as stowaways, asking for asylum. The empire they fled demands their return, threatening to embargo your port.

4 - There are reports of a livestock disease going around overseas. You are asked to shut down imports of foreign livestock.

5 - A noble landowner imports high quality, yet highly explosive fertilizer. However, his plans to transport the fertilizer fell through, and he asks you to hold the fertilizer in your port for a few days in exchange for extra gold.

6 - Cargo filled with highly taxed luxury goods arrive. You are asked to count the cargo as "essential items" to avoid the associated taxes in exchange for gold.

7 - Banned books arrive in your port. Although you are not offered much to look the other way, looking the other way might be the right thing to do.

8 - Refugees seeking asylum arrive in your port.

9 - Weapons for an insurgent group in a neighboring kingdom arrive, you are asked to look the other way.

10 - Unregistered exotic pets arrive in your port. You are offered gold to look the other way.

11 - Diamond jewelry arrives in your port. The importer has exploited a legal loophole to import them tax free, but you may demand otherwise.

12 - A ship captain cant afford the docking fees. They request time to sell their cargo, so they will have the money to pay any taxes or fees.

13 - Brawl on the docks (ship crew, dock workers, city guard, merchant)

14 - Catch someone trying to smuggle items (onto / off of) a ship. d100 Smuggled Items

15 - Ship collides with another ship in your harbor. Now the two crews are involved in a large brawl on the docks.

16 - Ship comes in too fast and collides with the dock. (ship is damaged, dock is damaged, both ship and dock are damaged)

17 - One of the pilings has come loose and the dock is now sagging dangerously, threatening to dump everything and everyone into the water.

18 - All of the pilings have suddenly shifted, leaning the entire dock to one side.

19 - An enormous cast of crabs has climbed up onto the docks and is eating all of the fish they can find.

20 - A single enormous crab has climbed up onto the docks and is eating sailors, fishermen, and even the town guards.

21 - Local birds are crapping on literally everything and everyone.

22- A local magistrate is demanding the docks be closed unless an exorbitant fee is paid to keep them open.

23 - A local noble is blaming everyone in sight for a missing delivery and trying to open every sealed container to find it.

24 - A powerful storm out at sea, not too far away from your port, has ship wrecked many ships. Those who seek any survivors want to use your port as a base of operations, and its up to the Harbormaster to organize them.

25 - Rumors of a haunted ghost ship circulate around the port. Many of the more superstitious sailors take this as a bad omen, and now will not set sail. This is setting the entire port behind schedule, and now you, the harbormaster, have to think of a way to quell their fears.

26 - A special ship, unlike any you've seen before and claiming to be from a far away land, is carrying the most peculiar live cargo you've ever laid your eyes on. A live young dragon (can be any type depending on the alignment of the sailors) rests in the cargo hold, and its starting to cause many problems. From scaring the locals, to now destroying a house, you have to find a way to get the sailors to get a move on (or free the dragon if its good) but the sailors seem to be taking a liking to your port.

27 - The Young Dragon (mentioned above) was not forgotten by his/her kin. A group of dragons comes to rescue them, and they are hellbent on seeking vengeance. You need to find a way to stop the dragons from destroying the port, or convince them to let you go in peace.

28 - A boat owner in the port is operating an unlicensed houseboat AirBnB.

29 - Ship comes to port to resupply. It's clearly carrying slaves as cargo to sell in a different city.

30 - There's been rumors that slaughterships (ships that hunt whales, walruses, etc. Grueling, disgusting, and dangerous work) have been using charm/suggestion/sleep spells to trick people to come on board. The ship sails away before the magic wears off, forcing the person to be crew of they want to get back home.

31 - Ship arrives with a magically living figurehead. (Robin Hobb, Ship of Magic, anyone?)

32 - Gnomes/artificers arrive in a metal clad steam-powered ship. It could explode at anytime. Or they need some rare ingredient to power it they will pay big money for the heros to find.

33 - A very inconspicuous ship arrives towing the Black Skull, a infamous pirate ship. The pirate ship is deserted.

34 - Dragon turtle attacks. It craves treasure.

35 - The port mysteriously runs dry.

36 - An earthquake happens, expect a tsunami!

37 - Bunch of nobles arrive in yachts/pleasure vessels insisting this is the weekend of their regatta and they need the harbor cleared.

38 - Bioluminescent plankton moves into the harbor at night. It's strange and beautiful but otherwise has no significant effect.

39 - The harbor is fed by a river. The town upstream is dumping their trash, causing big problems for the port town.

40 - After an earthquake, the river mysteriously changes color one day. It becomes acidic, eating away at the hulls and injuring people and killing wildlife. It only happens for a short time before washing out to see but earthquakes could happen at anytime...

41 - Every night a strange green fog rolls in. Sailors have been going missing. The fog is a vaporized gelatinous cube that dissolves beings caught at a certain depth within it. (Or replace with a similar threat)

42 - Two very large cargo ships with expensive cargo have crash into one another. Littering the port with the cargo and attracting opportunists.

43 - A local noble is demanding that his yacht be given the most convenient priority docking position by reserve. He is not offering anything extra for it outside what anyone else would pay, maybe even less. His nobility is all he thinks is needed.

44 - A strange quake happened in the night. When you awoke the port was filled with large sharp rocks. A light house will be needed for this to continue to be a port. (The rocks are a family of large earth elementals. If someone climbs on them, the elementals attack.)

45 - A strange mold is rotting holes in the hulls of ships within a couple of days. It is beginning to spread throughout the port.

46 - A bloody and cut up being comes screaming for help from one of the docked ships. Obviously they have been attacked from something or someone inside the ship. Once boarded, the characters find a ship full of demonic paraphernalia, the being was being sacrificed by someone and escaped.

47 - A ship sails into port with no one on board. When boarded to be investigated they catch out of the corner of their eye a figure running down below deck. When further investigated they find no one, but as they turn to go back out they realize that this isn't a normal ship, this ship is alive, and they are in the belly of the beast. If not investigated, after the ship takes port, people start disappearing, and no one ever comes out of the ship which starts to get noticed.

48 - The port must brace for a large storm, expect flooding and wind damage

49 - There are rumors that the port workers are unionizing soon, demanding better pay and better working conditions

50 - An unexpected rogue wave comes out of nowhere, killing and damaging anyone unprepared in your port

51 - Humanitarian aid for a neighboring kingdom facing famine arrives, however they lack the proper import paperwork

52 - After a rough week of piracy near your waters, a larger kingdom's navy arrives to help stop the pirates, asking to use your port as a temporary base

53 - A snake-oil salesman carrying cargo with "alternative herbal remedies" arrive in response to a viral outbreak in a neighboring kingdom. Although they have the correct import paperwork and pay the proper taxes, you know that this cargo will likely cause the deaths of uninformed peasants.

54 - A prophet arrives in your port. Although peaceful, he risks radicalizing your portworkers into religious fanatics.

55 - A ship arrives in your port with cargo that is clearly stolen.

56 - A cruise ship arrives in your port carrying tourists. Tourism is unheard of in your city, and the citizenry is angered by obnoxious tourists wandering the city demanding things.

57 - An ordinary ship carrying barley arrives in your port. The captain made an honest mistake, forgetting to obtain the harbormaster's signature on his paperwork before departing from his home city. He begs you to make an exception to avoid the month long journey back.

58 - A ship of scientists arrives, asking to see your port's climate data and tide tables. They cannot pay you, but promise to return with gifts once their study is complete.

59 - An engineer arrives to your port, offering to expand your port and improve its efficiency in exchange for gold.

60 - A travel agent arrives, offering to make your port a destination city in exchange for gold. He also recommends that you build a tourist trap or make up a myth about the origin of your city or the peculiarity of its people.

61 - Fishermen arrive from a nearby village in your port's bay, complaining that sewer water from your port is destroying their ecosystem

62 - Three separate people happen to drown in one day in three separate incidents in your port. You must contain the rumor that your port is unsafe before your reputation is damaged.

63 - A nearby port is closed temporarily. Your port must deal with almost double the traffic until it is repaired.

64 - A polar vortex comes and goes, freezing over your harbor. All traffic is shut down until the ice is broken or melted.

65 - A traveling circus arrives. Residents complain that the carnies are stealing and pickpocketing, although these reports may or may not be exaggerated.

66 - A ship carrying highly explosive, yet legal, materials, arrive in your harbor, destined to a rebellious region in a neighboring kingdom. You must decide to warn the neighboring kingdom, or stop the import all-together.

67 - A ship carrying strong moonshine arrives. Your portworkers are known to be drunks, so you worry that the moonshine could hurt your port's efficiency for several weeks.

68 - Portworkers make a bad habit of skipping work. Today, over half of your workforce is missing, severely impacting your port's efficiency.

69 - A ship arrives carrying prisoners accused of piracy. You are, by international anti-piracy law, required to execute them.

70 - A disgruntled portworker comes to work with a dagger and starts massacring his peers.

71 - Gambling becomes popular at the port. Today, several portworkers gamble away their paychecks.

72 - Retirees move to the city. They make a habit of spending all day out on the water, getting drunk, and regularly getting in the way of ship traffic. However, these old people are wealthy and pay your city a lot in taxes.

73 - Reports of bombings at nearby harbors coincide with a high traffic day at the port. Increasing security measures may greatly harm your port's efficiency.

74 - A portworker falls in the water and is maimed by a shark. People blame the market salesmen who throw rotten food into the harbor for the increase in shark visits.

75 - A cargo container with dead prostitutes arrives at your port. The captain genuinely has no idea how they got there.

76 - Massive amounts of illegal drugs come to your port. You are given gold to look the other way.

77 - A shipment of grey market methamphetamines arrive. You are offered some to help the importer avoid trouble. They may help the productivity of your portworkers.

78 - You catch a portworker "in the act" with another portworker's wife.

79 - You noticed that your port's scale is broken, and you are slightly ripping off all your incoming ships. You can ignore and pocket the extra cash, but if someone notices it they will probably raise hell.

80 - A crane topples over in your port. D4 determines how many casualties, D2 decides if each lives or dies.

81 - Rumors are going around that portworkers are now trying to hurt themselves on the job in an effort to secure workman's comp.

82 - A portworker who has been on workman's comp all year is rumored to be faking his injury.

83- A group of people (some of whom you recognize) are dumping out all the contents of a shipment into the ocean. It blocks ship passageways but smells pretty good, so the residents gather to see the commotion.

84- Two ultra-rich businessmen arrive and are disgusted upon being received poorly by the busy unionmaster.

85 - A spillage of ultra slick syrup happens on one of your piers.

86 - Cargo filled with exotic spices ordered by a nobleman arrives. The ship lacks the proper import papers, but you are offered gold by the nobleman to look the other way.

100 - A ship loaded with gold arrives at your port. The ship has no captain or passengers. If you want to keep the money, it must be laundered in some way.

[bang-to-the-tan]

Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 2

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischevious Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

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So maybe you should find a map to the hunting goods store. Or else, find someone to ask about it. Getting lost is one thing, but giving up is entirely out of the question. You can’t just leave the local wildlife to chew through your grandmother’s house. There are old signs posted up at every other road or so that indicate the direction of the local library, and it seems as good a place to start as any.

The town around you is so quiet, so peaceful, you find yourself understanding why granny decided to stay here as you walk. The roads aren’t perfect—some of the side walkways are narrow and made of stone—and some of the buildings look fit to fall apart, but there’s a charm in the air. A kind of comfortableness that you could seriously get used to. Clothes strung up to dry, hanging in the spaces between pastel-colored houses. Gardens overflowing with long grass and sweet flowers waving lazily. Windowsills crawling with ivy. The whole town seems to inhale with the breeze, warming itself in the sunlight.

You’re suddenly struck by familiarity at an intersection on your way to the library and you pause to read the sign, noting the street name. Ah. That’s why you recognize this place. Down this path to the right, through the foliage…it’s where your grandmother was married. For a few seconds, you hesitate, but eventually decide to take a short detour. After all, the library isn’t going anywhere.

The road goes from concrete to cobblestone to dirt beneath your feet as you walk forwards, noting the houses becoming fewer and fewer, the trees overhead becoming denser. The light dapples as it dances across your skin, the dead leaves curling over the edges of the path. It smells fresh, sweet, like green vegetation. You turn a corner past a particularly large tree and can just make out the bridge you’d seen in old photographs all your life. But as you get closer, your heart sinks. The weeds by the pond the tree cranes over are overgrown. The path uncared for. Moss devours the railings and eats away at the wood underneath, making it almost impossible to discern what colors it was once painted. You finally come to rest at the mouth of the bridge, looking over the edge, down at the murky water below forlornly. Even your reflection is hard to see. You turn back, straightening, and start faintly when you notice a figure standing there, just out of the reach of the shade from a nearby willow that bends its head to the water, lent a halo from the rays outlining his form. Somehow you must have missed his approach, but looking at him, you’re not sure how.

 He’s incredibly handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged. A draft of wind sifts through the sunny sections of soft mocha hair that caress his face, almond-shaped eyes pensive as he watches the pond like someone in mourning. He’s entirely bewitching, even as he blinks slowly and turns to look at you. His lips are plump, the color of rose petals and just as delicately shaped. When he smiles bitterly, your heart breaks.

“Sad, isn’t it?” He says. He gestures around you with a hand, resuming his position leaning against the rail. His head shakes once, as if in disbelief, and he sighs. “I think so, too.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” You can’t think straight. It’s the first time you’ve ever been struck wordless by someone’s beauty. “I’ve seen old photos of this place. When it was taken care of.”

“There’s no one to take care of it,” he replies quickly. “No one left. It was beautiful once.”

“That’s a shame.”

The man nods.

“Does…” You begin, haltingly. “I mean, there’s gotta be someone who still cares? Back home, we had like a community fund..for…”

He shifts to regard you again, lips curling softly.

“For uh. Community projects.” The words are sticking in your throat, your mind fogging. The intensity of the way he listens to you so closely is unnerving. “Like…revivals and stuff.”

“That would be nice.” He replies. “But nobody comes up here anymore. The locals are afraid of it.”

“Afraid?”

“They think it’s haunted.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s not haunted….is it?”

He stares at you, eyes widening. His lips part, as though to speak, but they smooth into a grin instead, creasing his eyes. Suddenly, he bends and starts to laugh. The sound is infectious, high-pitched and breathless, and you find yourself smiling along.

“Depends on your definition of ‘haunted’, I suppose,” he says finally, giggling. He cocks his head.

“My name is Seokjin.”

“Have you lived here long, Seokjin?”

“Just Jin. Please. I’ve lived here for a long while.” Jin’s gaze goes distant. “A very long while. It hurts my heart to see the place falling apart like this. It’s very important to me.”

 Your teeth worry the inside of your lip in the pause that follows, unsure whether you should say what you’re thinking. You can’t spend too much longer here—you still have to make it to the library and then back home before it gets dark.

“I’m new here, and I’m going someplace at the moment,” you explain, inwardly hoping he’s not secretly a murderer. “But my grandmother got married at this pond. She passed away not too long ago and I’m trying to clean her house out for now. It would mean a lot to me to see the pond clean, too--before I leave. If there was anything I could do to help…” You trail off, embarrassed.

The man watches you carefully, a smile pulling at his lips. As gentle as his voice is, as sweet his eyes, his stature doesn’t escape you. He looks strong.

“I-I, uh,” you begin again, the click in your head nearly audible, “I actually need help with the shed.”

“The shed?” he echoes.

“Yeah, there’s like, heavy stuff in it. I don’t think I can move it on my own. You know, you help me, I help you…? If that’s okay. I understand if not.”

Jin straightens.

“Let’s make a deal,” he says, eyes alight. “I will help you clean your grandmother’s shed if you’ll help me clean the pond. Our deal will be fulfilled when both tasks are done. Sound good?”

“Sounds good…yeah! Sounds good.” You nod.

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

He makes a tsk noise through his teeth, leaning back and curling his hands around the rail in front of him. For a second, you’re afraid you might have bartered with the wrong person, but he looks pleasantly, warmly pleased at your offer.

“Can we start tomorrow?” he asks, voice soft as silk. “Just meet me here?”

“I can do that.” Not like you’ve got somewhere else to go.

“Good. I’m so glad.” The young man in front of you looks like you’ve just added ten years to his lifespan, practically glowing as he grins with perfect teeth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jin,” you reply. You turn away and make your way back to the main road. While you slowly return to civilization, your thoughts steadily turn inwards and you realize what you’ve just done. Who are you, making deals with strangers in strange towns?? The only excuse you can offer yourself is that he was so incredibly beautiful. And so sad. He seemed nice enough, though. Legitimately interested in cleaning the pond, if nothing else. You chastise yourself the whole way down to the library. Day two in this town and you probably just agreed to be murdered out in the middle of nowhere because you saw a pretty man. Shameful.

It’s impossible to deny that you want to see him again, though. And cleaning the place where she got married would have meant a lot to your grandmother, if she was here still. If she was watching. She won’t let you get murdered. You hope.

 As you turn the corner, past the intersection you originally turned down, the library rises from the horizon. It’s more welcoming than threatening even with its grand height, old stonework mixed with newer additions to keep the building stable and crawling with picturesque ivy. Absently, you slide your hand over the chipped mane of the stone lion that protects the entrance as you climb the stairs and step inside. It’s cool here, and designed with a touch that seems to meld modern and antique styles seamlessly. It smells like old books and wood polish—old, but well taken care of. Towards the back, twin staircases spiral, reaching for a circular window that casts an impressive amount of patterned light over the upper level. You have to resist the urge to take photos like some gawking tourist, and instead head for the section marked ‘Local’. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, the tall room silent as the grave. If anything, the quiet only helps you focus on the task at hand, browsing with a gentle hand through tour guides and maps of the surrounding areas.

There’s no staff, no music, nothing but you.

You’re too easily distracted by your thoughts and you end up getting frustrated by the sheer amount of maps. Comparing them against the version you have on your phone, there are always missing streets or roads that lead to nowhere—sections marked on the maps as incredibly important sightseeing destinations that aren’t even on the electronic version. Finally, you peel away from the local section, holding onto the one map you could find that seemed remotely useful, if still missing a few pieces of information. Just to the right of the doors is a wooden desk and ontop of it, a bell. You stride over and strike it, the peal ringing out clearly against the tall ceiling. At this point, you’re just hoping to catch a glimpse of literally any kind of living soul inside this building.

 “You’re back.”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the deep voice that instantly sounds from behind you.

When you turn around, you meet deep brown eyes set into a handsome face whose mild expression is difficult to read. A young man stands only about a foot away from you, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere with the absolute silence of his approach. Did you somehow miss him on your way in…? Hair dyed a lavender color, pushed back from his forehead, thick-framed glasses, comfortable-looking sweater—if there was ever a look that screamed ‘librarian’ any louder, you’d be hard-pressed to find it.

“I’m…what?”

He watches you past his glasses for a moment before his soft lips pull into a wry smile and his shoulders drop. “Sorry. I-I know it’s probably been a while. I…know your, um, your grandmother,” He gestures, awkwardly. “The house on the hill, right?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. That’s her,” you finally manage to reply. Damn it, he’s incredibly handsome, too. Should you hand him your credit card now or should you wait until you lose all of your good sense? “Yeah, um. She…y’know, she passed away, so I’m cleaning her house out.”

He blinks, his face falling.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. That must be…hard for you,” he mumbles, but there’s something new in his expression. Was he close to her…? The ensuing silence between you is mortally uncomfortable.

 “I-I’m looking for a map,” you stammer, holding up your hand. “Y’know, a recent one.”

“…You seem to have found one.” He points out, raising an eyebrow at the paper grasped in your fingers. “Anything more specific?”

“I need hunting goods. My phone says there’s a store just on the other side of the house, but when I tried to cut through the woods, I got lost.”

The man nods, slowly, thoughtfully. He looks to you and there’s a second of silence between you as you subtly try to figure out what exact shade of brown his soft eyes are. Flush travels up your cheeks as you’re struck with the realization that he’s waiting for you to elaborate. Humour suddenly flashes across his face, breaking the quiet, and he laughs sharply, leaning forwards.

“Directions for a hunting store?” he reiterates through a chuckle. “Kind of a weird first request. The map you’ve got there is the most recent we have. Just follow the main road through the forest.” He pauses. “What do you need it for, anyways?”

“There’s something chewing holes in my grandmother’s house.”

“Ah,” his eyebrows slide upwards, legitimately shocked. He waits, seemingly unsure if you’re serious, before continuing. “And you’re thinking…animals…?”

“Yeah. I already tried to set out a trap but it broke. Something put rocks in it.”

He hums. His head cocks to the side and he tsks through his teeth, pursing his lips and studying the ground as he crosses his arms. “An animal didn’t put rocks in it. I’m surprised you don’t know better.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you say ‘chewing holes’,” he asks instead of answering, “What exactly do you mean?”

“There’s a hole in the porch. It was filled with candy when I moved in.”

“And you…?”

You frown. “I…” you repeat slowly. “Took the candy out and filled the hole? I mean, not very well, but—“

“Mm. Yeah, that’ll do it. You need to put the sweets back.”

It’s your turn to wait, for him to admit to joking. He only looks to you and blinks slowly, patiently. There’s another heavy pause. As you stare at him, his shoulders rise in a shrug.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You want me to encourage animals boring into the house my dead grandmother lived in?” Your voice escalates as your brows crease, searching his visage for any sign of giving.

“It’s not an animal.”

“Oh my god.” Despair begins sinking in. Your mind swims with the thought of malicious children. “It’s kids. I can’t set traps. Oh, god, what if I accidentally hurt one?...”

He barks another laugh, his eyes scrunching, shoulders shaking.

“What??”

“It’s not children, either,” he says, still giggling.

Your frown only deepens. Is he making fun of you? “I don’t get it. What exactly are you suggesting?”

 His laughter subsides into a short chuckle. When his eyes meet yours again, there’s a strange light in them. “You don’t remember much, do you?”

You pull back, somewhat offended. “I was like five the last time I was here?”

He chuckles and pushes his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose with a dramatic air of a teacher getting ready for his least favorite class. “Okay. Alright. From the top, then. Have you heard of faeries?”

“Like fairy tales? Of course I’ve heard of them.”

“Almost. Okay, so most old towns have their own superstitions, right? We have our own kind of faerie. They’re called Keprys. And that’s what you’re dealing with.”

You stare at him incredulously, but he doesn’t look like he’s kidding. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can,” he retorts. “I bet there was something in the house that was really well taken-care of when you got here. Floors swept, cabinets dusted, something like that?”

You think of the dust-covered rooms. “No, not really.”

“Look for it. Whatever it is won’t be done now. Put the candy back, it’ll start up again. Your grandmother had an accord with a Kepry—sweets in exchange for some chore she couldn’t do or didn’t want to do.” He leans against the bookshelf and raises an eyebrow at you. “When you took the candy, you disrupted the agreement. When you put out the trap, you insulted him.”

“Him?”

He ignores you.

“If you leave it alone, or worse, get another trap, it’ll only go downhill from there. He’ll trash the house. If he’s in a good mood.”

Your eyes narrow, your lips pursing. “If this is some kind of local hazing, I’m not into it. I’m not convinced I’m staying, anyways; you’re wasting your time trying to spook me.”

“I swear, I’m being totally legitimate.” He raises his hands, palms facing outwards. “Put the candy back.”

You hesitate, watching him doubtfully. “Okay, smart guy. We’re in a library, so…show me a source. Where’s your books on capris?”

“Kepry.” He clarifies with a slow intonation. “K-e-p-r-y. There’s only one source.”

“If you say it’s you—“

“—But it’s already checked out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“To me.”

“To you??”

The man’s eyes flash and his grin returns.

“Tell you what,” He straightens. “I’ll loan you the book. But only if you bring me something of value.”

“I don’t have anything with me.”

He shrugs, pouting mockingly. Without a proper reply, he turns around and starts walking away.

“Why don’t you just give me the book? Isn’t this a library? You’re the librarian—it’s your job, isn’t it??” You call after him, incredulous at his sudden lack of manners.

“I answered your question and gave you free advice.” He spins smartly on his heel to disappear behind a bookcase across the way from you. “You’re in my debt, granddaughter of the lady on the hill.” His voice seems to echo after you from every direction. Strange, you wouldn’t consider the library as that acoustic-capable, at least not from where he was standing.

You huff, and go to follow him. “What do you mean debt—“ You pull up short as you round the corner.

He’s not there. There’s no sign of him behind the books. No sound of him anywhere.

“Hey!” You call out. No answer. The library has returned to its stifling silence. If he thinks you’re gonna waste a second playing hide and seek with him, he’s dead wrong. You stomp your foot and turn on a dime to leave, grumbling about librarians and faeries. ‘Keprys’. He had to have been kidding. Faeries aren’t real. Briefly, you think about the bird from the forest but easily shake it out of your head. You were panicking, lost in a foreign town and scared. Jet-lagged still, probably.

A car passes by the outside of the library as you exit and you’re actually surprised enough by its presence to stop and watch it go. It’s only about the second or third car you’ve seen since coming here. It’s going so slowly—the cobbles must be making the driver unsteady. You move to step behind it, your attention already drifting elsewhere, back to the house and the predicament of animals/not animals boring holes into it. Maybe you have some cash you can give him for the book on faeries anyways. Just for curiosity’s sake.

You’re almost home as you’re lost in thought trying to mentally count up how much money you have to give the librarian for the book. You can see the house now, up on its little hill, with the sparse cottages and small streets that surround it. It’s only just now starting to get late, and the threatening sunset casts a warm blush over everything, turns the shadows into a comfortable purple.

Across the street, not too far from where you are, your attention is claimed by a tiny dog. It’s a fluffy little thing, looking like a ball of soot with legs, black and brown all over. The fading sunlight catches its fur and lights embers in its outline, like a spotlight. You have to stifle a giggle at how business-like it seems, trotting along with such delicate little paws. It turns to survey its surroundings and you could mark the moment when it spots you, pausing with its fluff of a tail pointed skywards midway through a wag. Suddenly, it breaks into a run towards you. Head thrown back in excitement, yipping all the way. You start, but it means you no harm as it runs straight up to your legs and yaps loudly, dancing around your feet so intensely that its whole body actually leaves the ground for seconds at a time.

“Hello, hello!” You greet, delighted if a little surprised. It presses its head against your hand when you lean to pet it, barking and yipping. You oblige, running your fingers through incredibly soft fur, and its whole body stills. Its watery eyes blink slowly, as if savoring the touch. “Who do you belong to?”

It yips and bounces again, spinning in a tight circle, and you can’t help but laugh at the pure joy in the motion. You pet it a few more times, giggling at how eager it seems for affection. “Nobody ever loves you, huh?” You coo. “Poor baby.” After a while, you straighten, and it immediately starts barking again, rising in volume as you move to walk towards the house.

“I have to go home!” You chastise, reaching to stroke it again, but its pitiful noises only get louder. “I’ll see you later, puppy. I promise.”

It follows you up the hill, whimpering pathetically as you unlock the gate and walk inside. You look over your shoulder at it and it cries.

“Go home,” you encourage. “I’ll see you later.”

It sits down in front of the gate, looking at you with such a forlorn expression your heart breaks. You hope its okay, but it seems healthy enough; shiny eyes and coat, well-groomed. Eventually, it’ll go home, surely.

You turn back to the house, the garden catching your eye as you go. Looks like it needs some watering—maybe a little weeding here and there. Why haven’t you noticed since you’ve been here? Oh well. You guess there’s been other things more pressing in your mind. Like getting lost and meeting beautiful men. And the stray cat, can’t forget that. Oh, yeah. The sticks. Your hand flies up to the bag around your neck, rubbing at the remaining stick with a shocked realization. You forgot to look up what kind of wood it was. Maybe you’ll remember tomorrow? You can always ask the mysterious librarian or the man by the pond. He might know a thing or two about local plants. Better ask nice, forthcoming Jin about something like that instead of stingy, disappearing librarian man.

Oh.

You blink.

You never actually caught his name.

Your nose wrinkles as you frown, unlocking the front door and stepping inside. He’d probably charge you for that, too.

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[cocktail-party-in-an-abattoir]

In Memoriam Herschel (2005-2021)

           It was the late summer/early autumn of 2005. I was 16 years old. I went to a friend’s house for a get-together with other friends. She lived in a more rural area, so stray cats were not uncommon. One of these strays had recently birthed a litter of kittens. They were corralled into a blocked-off area in my friend’s den. Naturally, we all gravitated towards the kittens. We spent a good while petting them, playing with them, holding them, and watching them with their mother. A particular kitten was a gray and white tabby. This kitten had made its way towards me and tried to crawl up one of my jean legs. I was wearing bootcut jeans, so it actually managed it. I was immediately drawn to this kitten, the idea of asking my parents if we could keep it already forming.

While my friends and I were playing with them, we decided to give them all smartass, noncommittal names. None of us could sex kittens, so that was reflected in the names we chose. I named the gray and white tabby (of which there were two, but I zeroed in on the jean leg kitten) “Herschel.” Why? Well, when I was eight or nine, I used to play House with friends. I had heard the name “Herschel” on some sitcom, and I liked the sound of it. So, I often named my fake son “Herschel.” This became an inside joke between my best friend and me.

            Back at home, I asked my mom if we could adopt the kitten. She had veto power. She was kind of hesitant at first but eventually relented. A few weeks later my friend and her mom brought the kitten over to my house. By that point I was already seriously referring to it as “Herschel.” We all just kind of assumed it was male. The first thing Herschel did after getting out of the carrying case was hide behind one of our bookcases and stayed there.

            We took Herschel to the vet. Upon examination the vet tech proclaimed he was, in fact, she. Her exact words were “You have a little girl!” For better or for worse, I was committed to “Herschel” (much to my mom’s chagrin), so from then on, I had a girl cat with a boy name. This led to years of various people (mostly veterinary staff) getting her sex wrong. I don’t know that I ever bothered correcting them because, well, they were going to find out the truth soon enough.

            Between 2005 and 2010, Herschel grew from a kitten with what my mom described as “Yoda ears” into a gorgeous young lady. She had the most beautiful green eyes. People always had nice things to say about her looks. She had an adorable bow-legged gait from the beginning. She grew into an affectionate little cuddle-bug once she adjusted to us. She was wary of strangers, which was probably for the best. She did not like to go outside as much as our older cat, Simba (RIP)—especially after being treed once—but she was a very skilled huntress. She even managed to get two hummingbirds. Obviously, I’m not a fan of such “presents,” but I couldn’t help but be impressed by her prowess.

            In 2007, we adopted 2 labs named Olive and Penny (RIP x2). 2010, we adopted two fluffy black kittens from our vet’s office. We named them Buttercup and Licorice (RIP x2). Herschel respected Simba because of his seniority, but she absolutely despised the other pets. She would growl and hiss at them on sight. Because of this, the dogs had to stay downstairs while the cats had free rein upstairs. By 2012, Buttercup had gone missing, and we had adopted two more animals: a cat named Kid Twist (“Twist” for short) and a blue heeler named Bleu. Herschel did not care for them either. That same year my parents moved one state over, and I moved to a nearby city to stay with a family friend. The Menagerie went with my parents.

            One day in 2013 or 2014 my mom commented about how Herschel hid under a guest room bed much of the time. She would only come out to do her business or eat. Since the dogs had free rein over the entire house, this meant there was no real “safe space” for Herschel. Thus, her reclusiveness. Mom was worried about her well-being. I offered to take Herschel under my wing. Mom agreed. Now, my housemate already had a few cats, so it wasn’t perfect, but it was an improvement over a house with dogs. Herschel had been under my care since.

            In 2015 Herschel moved with me into the apartment I currently live in. Despite my apartment’s smallness, she was finally the one cat in a one-cat home. I had stopped letting her out because a) my apartment complex is positively labyrinthine b) the complex is next to a busy highway, and c) I wanted her to live longer and not harm any wildlife (although her hunting days were behind her). She didn’t seem to mind. For the next few years, she was my kitty comrade. Aside from some dental issues and a heart murmur, she always had a clean bill of health. I honestly thought she was going to live as long as Simba had (18, almost 19) because he was also a spry geriatric cat.

            In late 2020, Herschel was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism. She had been growing thinner and vomiting before I found out. I had to start giving her medication twice per day, but there was otherwise no change. She was still the empress I knew and loved, if a little slower. I thought that was going to be it. Then, earlier this year, the vet ran some more tests. While I had managed to lower her thyroid levels, the vet found another problem: chronic kidney disease. My blood ran cold upon hearing this because one of our pet labs, Olive, had died from kidney failure a few years prior. The vet told me while there was no cure, CKD could be managed with diet changes and medication. He was right, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case with Herschel. She quickly went from stage 3 to stage 4 (4 being the end stage). I still kick myself about this because I feel like I could’ve found out sooner. Anyway, the vet suggested I should have Herschel hospitalized for a couple of days with IV fluids. The idea was to basically rehydrate her and then start a regimen of a new diet, supplements, and medication.

            So, I waited outside for three hours until a hospital staff member came to collect Herschel. It would’ve been longer, but my very kind vet called ahead. A couple of days later my mom and I returned to the hospital to wait for Herschel. It was March 25th, my birthday. One of the vets called me and stated despite the diuresis, Herschel’s stats remained the same. She stated I had probably 2 weeks left with her. I knew she was right, but I was still determined to try. I gave her daily cocktails of medication. I learned how to give her subcutaneous injections to hydrate her. I got the prescription wet food. At first, she had more okay days than bad, but it eventually became clear she was circling the drain. Treatment transformed into hospice care. I was going to do everything possible to keep her comfortable. By the end she was incontinent and no longer eating or drinking. Then she stopped being able to walk. I knew I had to make the final appointment. After a long crying session, I did.

            My mom came to help yesterday. Herschel was mostly immobile and out of it. Not even her favorite prosciutto roused her. I swaddled her in a changing pad and a blanket and slept with her next to me for one more night. She was still alive this morning if barely. Before we were set to go to her final appointment, I played her Sugarloaf’s “Green-Eyed Lady” (which will always remind me of her) and Audrey Hepburn’s version of “Moon River.” As my mom and I went to prepare her for the appointment, we realized how still she was. She did not appear to be breathing, and she did not react to anything we did. I took a flashlight to her pupils and… she was gone. She had died peacefully on my couch, which was one of her favorite spots to lounge. Honestly, I was relieved because the thought of taking her to a strange place to be euthanized frankly distressed me. I cuddled her ragdoll body from then until we were sitting in the vet office’s parking lot. Mom got a chance to hold her, too. A vet tech came out, used her stethoscope, and confirmed what we already knew. After a few more minutes with her we said our last goodbyes. I filled out paperwork confirming I wanted her ashes returned to me with a clay pawprint.

            I want Herschel’s ashes buried on my parents’ property with the others. Maybe a little farther away since she did not like most of them. I’m also looking into urn jewelry so I can carry her with me. This cat saw me at some of my lowest points, including when I was furloughed from my job last year. This cat was sweet and affectionate but also a pesky little shit. This cat was the first living being I was fully responsible for. She somehow managed to be regal while shoving her butthole into your face. If she liked you, she came and sat with you. If she didn’t, she hid behind the washing machine. I’m convinced she was part slug because even at her largest she was able to fit into confined spaces. I will miss her trilling meows. She was beautiful to the end, and I will always love her and miss her. I don’t know if there is an afterlife or not, but if there is, I hope she has endless king crab and prosciutto to snack on.

[secret-engima]

Nox keeps giving the media meltdowns. How's that, y'know, working out for him? And what's the general reaction around the Citadel crew to the media circus? Also, how do people feel when they realize exactly how /powerful/ Nox is?

Hmmm for the most part, Nox is ... ambivalent to how many times he sends the media into a tizzy. He’s got memories of 2k worth of royalty and scandals, he remembers the invention of media networks and sometimes dreams of the invention of the flipping printing press. There is literally nothing they can say about him that he doesn’t already have memories of somehow. Honestly, it’s .... alternately tiring and hilarious to him. He kinda wishes people would take a chill pill, but on the other hand, since Regis would never force him to deal with the media circus unless Nox willingly agreed to it, he doesn’t particularly care. At least until he wants to- you know- leave the Citadel and go literally anywhere in Insomnia and Then It Becomes A Problem (Nox misses the days he was just a nobody with earrings and baggy clothes. So much). Though, since he knows that nothing he can do or not do will calm them down, he does occasionally indulge in intentionally poking them with a proverbial stick.

By Citadel crew I’m uncertain to if you mean Regis and Co + Chocobros or the long-suffering Citadel press corps, so I will just do both-

-Regis feels So Very Sorry for his eldest. He knows he couldn’t keep Nox a secret forever, but he honestly had ... hoped it wouldn’t get this bad. He’s afraid for a while that the media things will depress Nox or make him afraid to leave the Citadel/angry at being Regis’s son, but Nox just rolls his eyes at everything and ignores the media hounds with catlike ease (by which I mean he spaces out into the distance with a neutral expression and occasionally does the human version of pushing things off other things to distract them).

-Clarus knew this was coming. He knew it was going to get so much worse when Axis’s existence came out (it did). He ... would feel bad about this but this is just- royal/celebrity life. This is a slightly more hysterical version of normal. Honestly it’s the noble society he’s more worried about (he realizes quickly that his fears are unfounded, for a kid who’s been unknown for years he can verbally tear nobles to shreds with the best of them. Clearly a talent inherited from the Izunia side of his heritage).

-Cor hates the media. Always has, always will. No time for it. Not after all the stuff they threw out about him becoming a Crownsguard and then alter their role in cementing his hated Immortal title. Is fully waiting and ready for Nox to get mad enough at the media to condone Cor going out and doing Something Stupid And Maybe Bloody about it. Unfortunately, Nox never does, so Cor has to just sit and seethe and occasionally laugh evilly over Nox’s latest trolling behavior.

-Noctis doesn’t even know about the media storm for   y e a r s. He’s the bby Crown Prince, you really think anyone is gonna let this kid watch the news channels and the gossip talk shows? No sir. Not on Ignis’s watch. Noctis DOES hear about it at school though, with students bugging him about it and even TEACHERS side-eyeing him like they expect something Dramatic to happen. Noctis eventually gets sick of it and punches another student in the face probably. Ignis is scandalized, Regis tries to gently explain that no, Noctis cannot throw someone in dungeon because they said nasty things about Nox and no he is not explaining what those nasty things mean.

-Ignis is ashamed to look back and realize that he once bought into about 80% of the media meltdown over Nox. Now that he knows Nox better, he knows that none of it is remotely true and the world is not going to turn Game of Thrones on him. Now he’s ... very insulted on Nox’s behalf, but understands that it is not his place to intervene (though he does give patented Frosty Looks at any reporters that come sniffing around the Citadel forever after).

-Gladio does not watch conventional TV. He watches action blockbusters that have explosions, documentaries on wildlife/camping/hunting/sword-making and Iris’s favorite show about magical girls and talking, rainbow colored Chocobo companions when she makes the puppy eyes at him. That’s it. Is ... nominally aware of news and social media having fits over Nox but Does Not Care so long as they don’t bother Nox and nobody actually tries anything against Noctis’s big brother.

-Citadel press corps kinda hates Nox’s guts. On one hand, he is a Model Prince because he doesn’t go out and get drunk, doesn’t have wild parties, doesn’t have any actual scandals that they need to cover up or spin positively. On the other ... refuses to do press conferences. Refuses to do interviews. Refuses to do anything to help them mitigate the media meltdowns that his mere existence causes (and the events of the Music Drabble I have yet to write, OH BOY do they hate him for that). Just- hides in the Citadel and only makes appearances when it’s a mandatory ball/gala/thing or when he’s accidentally unleashing another media Meltdown. Agrees to one (1) private interview when he’s 18 and even then it’s ONLY if he can talk to some random, unknown rookie who runs a gossip column. They, by turns, want to strangle him and praise his existence, but at least he isn’t as bad as Regis and Clarus were in their day.

-It- would take a long time for people to really know how powerful Nox is. Like- out in the wilds of Lucis proper? There ARE people who know he’s way stronger than he lets on (the Hunter Corps and their families that he’s saved a bunch of times, plus everybody in Hammerhead who politely pretended Cid wasn’t housing the Nif Chancellor and his LC nephew for two years). The Hunter Corps, out of everyone, have the best idea of just what Nox is capable of, because they’ve ... put together a few things over the years. Like how Nox usually crops up in the area a day or so before a Niflheim base gets shredded/blown up/otherwise Wrecked™ for seemingly no reason. But his Real Power? That ... I’m honestly not sure how that would come out.

-But hypothetically, sure, let’s say something happened that made Nox go Full Fury on some poor hapless Nif soul (or army, probably an army). I’m gonna picture ... a Incident with a Kingsglaive held area. Nox is out there for like an official inspection or something, one of the Very Few media things he ever agrees to, when there’s a full on attack. While the poor Media People who are live streaming this freak out and the glaive get ready for a slaughter, Nox just- real calmly orders the glaive to Stay In the Base and keep an eye on the media people. Calmly walks out the base gate without so much as a by your leave and starts limp-striding his way toward the Impending Invasion of Death, Axis right at his side, just as calm (Axis knows what’s coming after all). Some glaives try to follow him because Obviously only to smack face first into - a Wall. A genuine magic Wall like the one encircling Insomnia.

-The entire Lucian nation plus whatever non-Lucian channels manage to pick this up get a livestream view of Nox raising a mini Wall around the base to keep everyone safe, then casually strolling out toward the Invasion force and just-

-Decimating it.

-About halfway between the invasion force and the base, Nox stops and raises a hand to the sky, a sword appears in his grip, and everyone present can feel magical pressure suddenly build-build-build until the air turns blue (the Wall keeps everyone inside safe from the intensity of the pressure except Axis, who doesn’t need it, he is Nox’s Shield and Nox will never hurt him). The Nifs release their war Behemoths on the field, gunships are coming in for the kill, and then-

-His sword sweeps down and the world shakes under the force of the pure energy wave that rises from his blade, sweeping across the distance between him and the enemy and either breaking, scattering, or straight up disintegrating anything in its path. An imperial dreadnought splits in half and then breaks into dozens upon dozens of pieces, the war-beasts caught in the path of the wave are just- gone. So are the MT units and gunships.

-Ever seen the upgraded armiger attacks from the Royal Version of FFXV? Yeah, picture those, but cranked up to eleven. Or just picture those and then imagine being an ordinary civilian seeing that for the first time. Ghostly blades whirling around Nox’s form, defending him from bullets and debris only to lash out as literal waves of energy or a death laser.

-Needless to say, Nox destroys that invading force single-handedly in a display not unlike the legends of Ragnarok or Armageddon, all while holding a Wall around the base. He then calmly turns, walks back to the base, asks if everyone is okay, and upon getting the all clear-

-Collapses. Straight up flops over into Axis’s arms while on national live television because someone forgot to eat anything today and spent most of the previous night fretting over nightmares or something (the rest of the world assumes he pushed himself way too far with that display, but really he could have done more if he hadn't already been tired/hungry and Axis knows it).

-For once, the media meltdown isn’t punctuated by frenzy but by a very, very fragile, frightened silence.

-It’s been ... a long time since a Lucis Caelum has Truly unleashed their power on the field and Nox is no ordinary LC.

-Clips of Nox’s stunt circulate for months, are analyzed by historians and doctors and talk show hosts for precedents and health risk and just sheer What levels. Social media ranges from cheering Nox on to snidely wondering why LCs aren’t doing that more often to a huge outpouring of concern for the prince who just fought off a literal army and then collapsed like he’d been decked in the head. The Hunter Corp all pool their resources together to get this idiot kid a care package, Cid probably comes over from Hammerhead to yell at him while Cindy bear hugs and cries all over his clothes.

-In Niflheim ... a lot of people are reevaluating their stance on the war. Because if that is what just one Lucis Caelum can do, then what’s going to happen when there are two of-age princes who are not chained down by the Wall?

-A lot of nobles in Lucis are also reevaluating their stances on the illegitimate prince, because UMMMMMM that’s the kind of thing that only happens in blockbuster dramas, and Nox did it in real life. More than that, he knew he could do it, as evidenced by how calm he was when he gave the order for everyone to stay.

-Lots of internet conspiracy/theory people try to figure out just how powerful Nox is and if he’s an anomaly in the bloodline because seriously can all LCs do that????

-A lot of people, for a lot of different reasons, are very, very scared of Nox now. Either because they still believe that GoT is inbound and that just put the kibosh on a lot of their rebellion daydreams or because Nox is already a wild card and now he’s proven that he’s a supremely dangerous wildcard.

-So basically, still a meltdown, but this one much, much quieter and more reverent.

-Assuming I ever do something like this in Nox versa canon, because I’m not sure I will.

[eastertag]

@fallenfurther gift for @willow-salix

Komorebi Forest

Prompts: 

The boys organise an Easter Egg hunt for the Children’s Hospital

Anything John is ALWAYS welcome (but not Ridley)

******

John looked up from the code projected before him and stretched his neck.  He was floating in Five and somehow, he still managed to get cramp. While turning his head this way and that, John stretched out his weary fingers. He hadn’t spent hours on end coding in months, and although he used his hands while coordinating rescues and maintenance duties, those activities were never quite as intense as a coding session. John let his gaze fall on the holographic globe before him. It reminded him why he was doing this.

“You are due a lunch break in 30 minutes, John. Might I suggest you take it now?”

EOS, his loyal companion, was forever watching over him. John sighed. He knew he’d asked EOS to help him keep track of the necessities, but there were times he could swear she’d spoke with Scott. The fact that the two were amenable at the best of times made him think otherwise, but maybe EOS had been watching the eldest and adopting some of his traits.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer. A break might refresh my brain. I’m struggling with the rendering code.”

John saved the file and minimised it before pushing himself out the observation room towards the station’s kitchen area, EOS following on her rail.

“What would you like in your bagel today, John? Cream cheese and chive, cream cheese and smoked salmon or peanut butter and jelly?”

“I’ll have the salmon one, EOS. Though be gentler with the toasting this time.”

“Do not worry, John, I have adjusted the settings after performing thorough recalculations. The bread should be toasted to your preferred level. I have saved the previous settings for the next time Gordon visits.”

John smiled at the memory. Gordon needed a Zero-G refresher, so had been sent up for a week. A tsunami had, thankfully, shortened his stay, as he was needed Earthside. John enjoyed Gordon best in small doses, especially when he considered fiddling with the bagel settings funny. The charcoaled bagel that had been presented for breakfast had almost been as unpleasant as the squirty cheese Gordon had been spraying everywhere. Some had made it onto his brother’s own bagel, while the rest had floated about sticking to almost every surface. John had not been impressed and Gordon ignored both John’s glare and the mess. Though there had been good moments. Gordon listened in space, giving John the same respect that John had given Gordon when it was time for John’s diving refresher. His younger brother swam through Five and there was a comfort in hearing Gordon’s laugh echo through the ring.

John took a bite of the bagel that EOS presented to him and brought up Gordon’s position with his free hand. The aquanaut was making the most of the compulsory downtime that came after any big rescue to do what he loved most. John watched the little submarine’s grid reference as the numbers fell, indicating it was diving. Thunderbird Four was a few islands away from base. John tapped the little yellow triangle, opening the comm. 

“Hey John!” The cheery voice matched the grin that was on his brother’s face, “You miss me already?”

John smiled as Gordon effortlessly controlled the submarine, the hologram’s arms moving outside the frame.

“Of course. How is the local wildlife? Have you found that shoal of fish that’s been spotted in the area?”

Gordon grinned at him, his eyes sparking.

“Following them as we speak, John. Man, they are beauties! There are thousands of them John, all swimming in a chaotic swarm over the reef. It’s phenomenal. You’re missing out, John. Your stars have nothing on these fish.”

John chuckled.

“I’m happy with my stars. You enjoy your fish.”

“Sure. Catch you later!”

Gordon blinked away and John looked past the Earth to the stars beyond. Gordon never understood John’s fascination with the night sky, preferring to look down into the Earth’s depths, while John looked beyond it. Finishing off the bagel, John grabbed a space thermos of tea and headed back to the observation room. He pulled up the code and dived back in. He knew time was precious and he could be required at a second’s notice. He had a deadline too. His mind slipped easily back into motion, delving deep into the code again. The break has worked wonders on his brain and he quickly overcame the problem and started on the finer adjustments while he waited for EOS to finish her part. They could then do the first test. John jumped slightly when EOS finally spoke.

“I have completed my task, John. Shall I prepare the programme for launch?”

“Yes please, EOS.”

John grabbed the virtual reality headset and slipped it over his eyes, plunging himself into darkness. He slipped the controller out of where he had stored it in his baldric. A loading screen came up and he was presented with a start screen.

“Let the hunt begin” was written across a blurred image of a forest. Below it was a button that said “Enter Komorebi Forest”. John selected it. A loading screen appeared for a short time before a framework structure of a forest appeared around him. Using the controller, he looked around the grey maze, looking out for the small egg shapes that were scattered amongst the half-complete world. It was a surreal place right now, but he planned to make it magical. A forest that would set the children’s imagination wild and help them to forget the hospital beds they were confined to.

“Is the programme functioning as expected, John?” EOS chimed in his ear.

“It’s working as planned. There’s still the texturing and images that need to be added but that’ll be the easy part for you. If our servers can handle the extra load this programme will put on them, I think it’ll perform well.”

John continued to explore the landscape; its bare graphical bones exposed for his scrutiny. His eyes scouted around for any weak points or glitches in the matrix. All the framework was here. Branches with greyscale leaves that he had to duck under, bushes with tunnels inside and even a few huts and chalets to explore. It was all there, ready to be coloured in and finally explored.

“I’ve put a few possible plans together which you can choose from. All of them require borrowing some of the Tracy Industries servers to ensure that the programme does not interfere with the running of International Rescue.”

“Thank you, EOS. I’ll check through those later and run the best one by Scott. I’m sure he can pull the right strings.” John closed the programme and slipped the headset off. “Have you seen the file full of images which I have collated to help with the texturing of the environment?”

“I have. Would you like me to start work on that next?”

“Yes please, EOS.”

At that moment a red triangle appeared on the hologlobe that filled the centre of the room. John floated over and answered the call.

“International Rescue, what’s your situation?”

***

Alan was bored. None of his friends were online. He flicked his controller, only to remember he was meant to be beta testing John’s programme. Alan slipped on the headset. Sure, it was just an Easter Egg Hunt for the sick kids, but this was his brother John. John was meticulous with his coding and Alan was looking forward to seeing what John could do with a game design. Alan had seen some of his brother’s old coursework submissions and they had been some fantastic pieces of work. The start screen popped up and Alan entered Komorebi Forest.

He found himself in a clearing; swaying trees of beech and common lime circled him with fantastic realism. A pair of birds, possibly sparrows, flew across the clearing, their chirps filling the air. The sun was out, and the smattering of wispy clouds floated through the stunningly blue sky. In the corner the instruction ‘A to interact’ appeared. Alan moved forward. John had already shown him the character design program, and Alan had created his own slightly cartoonish version of himself. He had made the character taller than he was, because he could. Alan started to explore, heading down one of the trails. There were small bushes and ferns everywhere. Obvious places for him to look to find eggs! He went up to one and pushed 'A’. Hands appeared and moved the leaves. A rabbit bounced out the hole and between his character’s legs. Alan smiled. The kids would love that! He continued, looking both up and down. He came to an oak tree and looking into its tall branches, Alan spotted a red and gold egg. He ran up to the tree and interacted with it. The joystick then became the controller for his character’s arm. Switching between arms he made the character climb up the tree and grab the egg. As he clung to the tree, his eye on the egg count in the right-hand corner, a squirrel came down from above and studied him. It paused upside down, twisted its head side to side, before scampering along a branch and jumping into another tree. Alan failed at climbing down and ended up falling. He landed on his bottom with a jerk.

“Well done, you found one!”

The familiar voice made Alan jump. He turned and saw a small ginger haired girl standing before him. She had a realistic design, with fine detailing in her plaits. She was wearing a simple navy dress with a white star on it and blue pumps. Her green eyes looked up at him and her smile was pleasant.

“EOS?” Alan questioned.

“Yes Alan.”

“Did John make you an avatar?”

“No. I did this. What do you think? I tried to make it look more realistic. I made John one too.”

John was suddenly standing next to EOS, though the avatar didn’t move. Unlike EOS it didn’t blink. It looked so much like John but it’s blank stare sent shivers down Alan’s spine.

“Wow, EOS. That’s a really good likeness.”

“Thank you. I worked hard on it. I thought it would be appropriate for the children to see him as he is, considering the other children will see you as you are.”

Alan was relieved when the John avatar disappeared, though there was still something in the way EOS spoke that was creepy. She still had a little way to go before she would stop sounding robotic.

“And you also made yourself?”

“Yes. I thought the children would appreciate this kind of avatar over an image of my matrix or a version of my camera module.”

The idea of a floating camera in such a serene place would definitely be unnerving.

“I agree with that EOS. But why did you choose this design?”

The little girl looked quizzically at Alan and he could see the circuits calculating in the avatar’s expression. Alan wondered if this was a form of mimicry. Was EOS copying expressions they, his family, had made? He knew EOS watched the world, and probably them, learning what it means to be human and how she could be of more use to John. But how much had she picked up?

“This is the design that my processors felt would be least threatening to the children.”

Alan had to agree there. He could see the similarities in the avatar to John. Had EOS given her avatar some Tracy traits? Though standing a random girl next to an International Rescue operative and having them look like family would make EOS less threatening. Still, it felt a little odd being able to put a face to EOS. Alan would always see this avatar from now on when he thought or spoke to the AI.

“What do you think of the programme? Is it functioning well?”

“I need a little more time to explore but what I’ve seen so far is incredible.”

Alan and EOS strolled further along the trail. EOS became Alan’s guide, pointing out the bluebells and foxglove she had rendered and even the occasional insect, like the red-legged shieldbug, she’d added on one common lime. Alan was in awe of the detail. He was aware that they were using a mix of International Rescue and Tracey Industries servers to run the programme. Alan couldn’t fault his brother’s design. EOS led Alan off the track and deeper into the forest until they came to a stream with small rocky waterfalls at various points.

“This is the end of the simulation. The tree line on the other side has a barrier to stop anyone going further. Alan placed his foot in the stream. The water rushed around it with the expected fluid mechanics though with none of the cold wetness that normally accompanied a sodden shoe. The soft sounds of the water were soothing. He continued to the weeping willow trees which EOS had pointed too and tested the barrier. There was nothing to indicate it was there, but he couldn’t pass through.

“Maybe you should put something there. Something to indicate that you can’t go any further. The kids might run into it and it would be a shock when they do.”

“I see your point.”

Alan watched the young girl as she closed her eyes in thought. When she opened them again, her emerald eyes fixed on his.

“How about something like this?”

Alan turned around. String now looped between the trees; small bells attached at places which softly chimed when the breeze shook them. The barrier had moved slightly, but when Alan reached out his hand it still worked.

“That’s better.”

“I’ll complete the adjustments after you’ve finished testing.”

Alan continued down the border, testing it as he went. The stream soon disappeared behind a rocky cliff and its rockface became the barrier. Continuing along, with EOS following behind, Alan came across caves and ledges, all with Easter eggs hidden in them. The detail and thought that had gone into this place was beyond what Alan had expected when John had first suggested the idea. How John has found the time to design and code all this was not worth thinking about.

Scott had been sceptical about the idea, preferring to drag John down from Five and have him present for once. But the idea that some children would have to miss out on the International Rescue Easter Egg Hunt through no fault on their own made Scott considered the idea. Scott couldn’t say no after seeing this place. Especially if John used the avatar EOS had made. John was still going to have to come along but at least he would feel a little more comfortable interacting through the programme. They had circled back to the clearing and Alan was sold.

"I have to show this to Scott, EOS. He has to see this place!”

“There are still some final tasks to do before it is finished.”

“That’s doesn’t matter, he still has to see it.”

Alan exited the forest and pulled the headset from his head. Equipment still in hand he raced from his room towards the office where he suspected Scott to be.

***

John stood in the clearing of his forest, listening to the sounds of laughter and screeches of 'I got one!’ Right now, the entire children’s intensive care unit was hunting Easter eggs and it was John’s, with a little help from EOS and some nurses, job to make sure all went smoothly. This was the fourth batch of children to enter and he was starting to get the hang of it.

The last batch had been the cancer patients, some of which had been in isolation. John had waved from the other side of the glass, and one young lad, Bryan, had been super excited. He had never met most of the other kids on the ward, and then to see someone from International Rescue made the boy bounce around his room. Bryan had come straight up to John in the forest and chatted away. Thankfully, one of the other kids he had met dragged him away to hunt Easter eggs. John had watched as Bryan was introduced to the others. John was planning to talk to Scott about handing the programme over to the hospital so kids in isolation could meet each other regularly. There would have to be supervision and other safety measures put in place, but it could really improve the lives of these children. John could think of multiple new environments that could be rendered to keep things fresh, though they might have to outsource the design of them.

John headed down one of the paths, following the sound of laughter. One of the laughs was familiar and John paused in the shadow of a Tilia tree and watched. EOS and three other children were running around a smaller clearing. It appeared they had taught the AI how to play ‘Stuck in the mud’. A check of the time showed there was ten minutes left of the forty-minute hunt session, though after fifteen minutes most the eggs had been found and the children resorted to exploring and having fun. There were a few nurses scattered about, keeping an eye on their charges, and handling any virtual fights that broke out. EOS seemed to be enjoying herself, though John was finding it hard to tell in her new form. She was extremely proud of her craftsmanship and John had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the last time he saw her using this avatar. EOS laughed again as she narrowly missed being tagged. He watched as another child was tagged leaving EOS the only one standing and cornered. The boy dashed to one side only to quickly switch direction and place his hand on her arm.

“I win!” He yelled, throwing his fist in the air.

The others came 'unstuck’ and ran to join him.

“We only have ten minutes left. Let’s go explore some more.” A girl said.

“Okay!” The other two children sang while EOS stayed quiet. The children turned to her.

“Don’t you want to explore?” The girl asked.

“I explored earlier. I’m going to go join John now. Thank you for teaching me the game.”

“Okay. Bye then.”

“Bye EOS.”

The other children disappeared into the trees and John stepped out of the shadows. He smiled at his AI. Who’d have thought she could pass as a child?

“That was an interesting interaction. I don’t get many opportunities to interact with people like this.”

“No, you don’t. It is part of keeping you safe, but we could let you explore more virtual spaces if you want.”

“I will consider it.”

They stood in companionable silence. A red admiral butterfly fluttered by, and a bird sang in a tree to their right. It was peaceful. As he stood John spotted movement around his feet. A ginger and white cat was rubbing itself against his legs. Puzzled, he knelt and stroked the digital feline. It purred and nuzzled its head into his hand. The cat continued to rub itself against his hand, the movement so natural. Its programming was superb. It would take complicated code to produce such realistic and interactive behaviour.

“EOS, you didn’t tell me you put a cat in the forest.”

John sat down and let the cat climb on his lap. Its body rubbed against his and its tail brushing against his face. It was a shame John couldn’t feel its touch. He could imagine how soft its fur was. Though he wasn’t the biggest animal lover, like Gordon, he did appreciate the need for nonhuman companionship.

“I didn’t design the cat, John. I assumed you programmed it.”

John gave EOS a quizzical look. If she didn’t, and he didn’t, where did the cat come from? He turned back to the digital feline.

“Maybe Alan did it?” There was uncertainty in John’s voice, it wasn’t an Alan thing to do.

“Alan only ran the programme, he never edited or added code.”

Worry filled John. Where had this cat come from? Was it a symptom of something more sinister? Was the programme safe? John noticed EOS stand rigid out the corner of his eye. He waited, knowing she was checking the code. Her eyes flickered open.

“I have located the code. It’s not a threat. No viruses detected. Its code came into the programme with one of the children from the last session. It came with his avatar, however the code was added into the programme and stayed active after the host avatar left. Do you want me to delete it?”

John looked at the cat in his lap. The ginger and white pattern was unique and the coding for its fur texture, behaviour and personality would have taken time. He wondered if it was based off someone’s pet. He suspected one of the patients in isolation created it when they were given access the avatar programme yesterday. It was impressive.  

“It definitely contains no malicious code?”

“No, it does not.”

“Then add it to the files with the other creatures. They left it here so others could enjoy it, and anything that will improve the time these children have here is welcome. Can you tell me which child made it? I might go give them a visit later.”

“I’ll send the information to your comm.”

“Thank you, EOS.”

The cat stood up, looked at John and meowed. Its eyes shone as if it was thanking him. EOS bent down and stroked the feline, bring a smile to John’s face. He wondered how his brothers were getting on in the real world, setting up and helping the children who were able to leave their beds. They were only using the hospital roof garden, and the hunts were shorter due to the garden not being large. They were all going to be tired tonight, but it would be a welcome tiredness. John knew Scott had hired a house for them nearby and had gotten John to scout out the local takeout joints. Takeout, popcorn, crisps, fizzy drinks, beer (for those old enough) were all prepared with a good film selection. It was going to be a good way to end the day.

The cat hopped off his lap and sauntered away. The session end screen popped up in front of John, and he disconnected. He was sitting at the nurses’ station on the ward and to his left two nurses also removed their headsets.

“Now that was quite the experience!” One said to the other. “No wonder I struggle to get my son to remove this thing.”

“I don’t think the games he is playing are all quite like that. The hack-and-slash my daughter plays looks very different.”

“Well the kids enjoyed it.”

They disinfected their headsets and placed them in the box at John’s feet. John now had to collect up any borrowed headsets and decontaminate them before moving on to the next set of wards. The nurses had already handed out the chocolate Easter Eggs while the children were in the forest, so they would find them when they removed their headsets. The smiles on their faces warmed John. He’d had received many excited thank yous as he collected headsets and even the odd enthusiastic hug. John stood, put on some disposal gloves and grabbed the box. He headed towards the beds, the chatter of young voices already filling the air.

[dingoat]

A Kiss on the Hand

This is probably going to be the most involved of my OC Kiss Week pieces, hah, and comes from another prompt from @kaosstar (seriously thank you for these!!) - ‘A platonic kiss on the hand or cheek from Zim to Ahuska.’ I mulled for a while over how to let this come about, and once Kaos suggested Zim might want to compliment Ahuska’s singing, everything kind of fell into place.

It also gave me a grand opportunity to very gratuitously surround Ahuska with ALL THE LOVELY BOYS. I’ve borrowed @humanrevolt‘s Crow and @askshivanulegacy‘s Blakk for the occassion as well, I hope I’ve done right by everyone, ahhh, and of course this is only as ‘canon’ as everyone/anyone wants it to be.

If you want to read the tale (rated ‘C’ for ‘cheeky’) then carry on below!

---

Mar’an Crow did not understand his wife’s obsession with Pokemon Go.

“You can go catch real… like, real live, actual animals, any time you want! That’s literally what you do! People pay you real credits to do that!”

“Yeah but that’s not the point…”

“I thought that was one hundred per cent the point of the game?”

“I mean yeah, sorta, except it’s just fun like… it’s silly and nonsense, and doesn’t matter at all, and I kind of like that about it? Plus some of them are just stupidly cute…”

Crow did not understand. But considering their home planet was quite literally off the grid, he was willing to indulge Ahuska with a trip to Alderaan to participate in the upcoming Safari Zone Weekend. He trusted her claims that it was a ‘big deal’, that Alderaan was one of the ‘best planets’ to play on, and he trusted her, even if he didn’t trust that blasted Agent she’d be catching up with for a hot minute.

And so, having spent the previous day indulging in one of his favoured activities (white water hoverboarding over the Glarus rapids), a long sleep in and a gourmet breakfast in bed (they put berries on everything!!!) and a leisurely trip to the Alsakan Highland Wildlife Park in the morning (the vorn tigers had a three month old litter of cubs), Crow found himself giving Ahuska a peck on the cheek and wishing her a safe and fruitful ‘fake animal hunt’.

She laughed, kissed him back, and he barely even heard what she said while he took in the way her eyes almost perfectly matched the clear blue sky. “Mmm- what?”

“I said give my regards to Dahlia, you di’kut! And make sure Pexu gets into whatever mischief she wants. Only fair, since she couldn’t come to the park with us this morning. See you in a few hours.”

“Yeah, see you then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

---

Imperial Cipher Omega Blakk was just Blakk, today, having shed his uniform and his mission objectives to spend some time, in person, with his long term Pokemon Go buddy and fellow Instinct teammate. He still wasn’t quite sure how he managed to let her talk him into it; face to face interaction with somebody on the Empire’s hit list was dicey at the best of times and they were usually far more discrete and brief when chance brought them into the same sector at the same time- usually no more than sharing a quick caf over a trade before being on their separate ways again. He wanted to say she was incessant, that she was insufferable, that she twisted his arm or blackmailed him into it, but the simple truth that he would never admit out loud was that he found her infuriatingly delightful.

She loved to tease him through the game, going out of her way to find Pokestops marked over Anti-Imperial graffiti to send him gifts from, barely restraining her giggles when she showed him one of her pokemon – one that was a literal bag of garbage with a goofy little face – that she’d named ‘The Emperor’. But she also squeaked with delight every single time one of her favourite creatures showed up (a little blue and white animal based off a vulptilla), and actually clapped her hands together with glee when he offered up one of his absurdly exclusive regional legendaries for trade, when she didn’t have anything remotely comparable to offer in return. He couldn’t explain why, exactly, but he was happy to do so.

She actually grabbed his hand at one stage, to haul him onto his feet with a whoop and drag him three blocks over in pursuit of a new rare spawn that showed up on the map. She didn’t hesitate to climb a tree (full of bugs and probably other things) with both of their datapads tucked into her satchel to save them having to enter a gated country club that required guest sign-in for non-members (something neither of them were particularly excited to provide) – to access an uncontested gym. She paused play for twenty minutes to watch an Alderaanian snow squirrel pick its way across a garden lawn. And she teased him relentlessly about the fact that his clothing looked better suited to an evening gala dinner than a day outdoors playing games in the sun.

Maybe it was the fact that she was so bright and free spirited that her constant ribbing didn’t get to him. There was something different about spending time together in person. Or maybe… maybe it was the fact that for once, Blakk had a plan to get her back for months of endless cheek.

---

She wasn’t a Bothawui-born Bothan, that was for certain. It only took a few minutes of watching her for Ziminder to be confident about that.

His line of work brought him into contact with Bothans on a reasonably regular basis, and she had a vibrancy and openness to her that one simply didn’t see amongst those more embedded in the naturally mistrustful, back-stabbing culture of the species, whose economy was based on knowledge, and power was held by those able to seize and protect the most. The young Alderaanian nobleman smiled to himself, as he stood discretely off to one side in the dappled shade of an archway artfully overgrown with flowering vines, slowly nursing a sparkling drink. It had been a surprise, when Blakk had contacted him out of the blue, wondering if he was free to meet up for an afternoon tea with some other new friend of his. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. He had been busy, but he’d never let Blakk know that he’d rearranged his schedule to fit him in. It had been far, far too long, and he had to admit that he was painfully curious to see what sort of friend might actually be capable of dragging the Agent out into the light of day, even for a little while. He had to guess that this Bothan- Ahuska- was a fan of his old acting work, and that Blakk’s invitation toward him was, in part, some sort of surprise favour to her, because he’d been instructed to hang back and wait until Blakk’s cue before meeting them at their table.

He thought that was tremendously cute, and was all too glad to play his part in such a gesture.

And so, he leant back and watched, bringing his tall glass to his lips once more, waiting for Blakk to catch his eye and give him that subtle nod.

---

Ahuska had been having a brilliant day. From the long, lazy morning to an entertaining and fruitful session of monster hunting, everything had just been downright lovely. Crow had treated her like a princess, and even Blakk seemed… somehow brighter than she’d come to expect from him.

She hadn’t really known what to make of his expression when she’d paused at one point to pick some wildflowers, and start weaving the stems of the stunning blue-violet blooms into a crown. Almost like he was jealous, she thought, though he went all odd and stiff when she offered one of the flowers to him. But he had accepted it, and pressed it neatly inside his wallet to stash in his pocket. She finished her crown, but wound up making it long enough to wear around her neck, and she still caught him staring at it a little oddly, from time to time.

She thought Alderaan’s Celebrity Walk was a bit of an unusual choice for them to have their afternoon tea break; granted, the place was littered with cute cafes amid the statues and memorials to famous Alderaanians from all walks of life, from war heroes to nobility to artists and actors and musicians, and she couldn’t deny that the place was an absolute haven for pokestops to keep an eye on while they ate.

It was just one of those spots that felt a little too tourist-catering for her tastes, and she would have assumed Blakk’s as well… until she saw the little commemorative plaque on the pavement beside the table he lead her to, and she had to stifle a giggle.

“Ohhhh, okay, okay, no, this makes sense now. Blakk, honestly, this crush of yours is way too cute.” She had, somewhere down the line, worked out that he was quite familiar with every work featuring the undeniably easy-on-the-eyes Ziminder Antilles, locally born actor who’d covered almost everything from commercials to holoflix series to feature length films. And so the fact that he’d want to sit next to Zim’s plaque was understandable and utterly delightful to her.

It also prompted her to start humming, and eventually singing aloud, the little ditty from one of Zim’s shows that she’d re-worked the lyrics to specifically for Blakk’s benefit (or discomfort, depending on who you were asking). She barely even thought about it as the words tumbled from her lips, while she stared over the menu in the vague hope that this particular café sold fresh donuts. “Toss a coooiiin to Ziminder, you big grumpy agent, you big grumpy agent…”

As she went on, she dared a glance his way, but was disappointed to see he wasn’t quite squirming the way he normally did. As she took a breath, Ahuska decided to up the ante, diving into a brand new verse that pushed just a little further out of the comfort zone than she normally dared to tread.

“At the e-edge of the bed, Face all flushed and red…”

She stood, grinning wickedly, all the better to add a couple of cheeky gestures to go with her words.

“He hammered and he-eld you! Now you’re giving him—" “Ahem,” a polite little cough from behind Ahuska cut her words short, and she froze like a kybuck caught in speeder lights.

Almost comically slow, the Bothan turned with her breath caught in her throat, to see none other than Ziminder gods-damned Antilles himself, standing right there in the flesh. Her song turned into a mortified squeak, and all it took was one horrified glance over to Blakk to catch that proud little cat-smile curling his lips for her to realise just how perfectly she’d been played. The fething Agent had set her up! Her ears hadn’t flushed quite so bright a shade of crimson since the time she’d walked in on  Nines and Lyrisal performing roughly the same act she’d been about to describe in song, and she found herself just as flustered and stuttering as back then.

“I um, ah, oh, uhhhh. Hi I was just um…”

“You must be Blakk’s friend!” The holo-star swept aside her fumbled words and took up one of her trembling hands. He’d heard every word, of course, as Blakk’s timing had been impeccable, and he too recognised the smirk that had graced his old friend’s expression. Quickly re-assessing the situation, Zim had cut in before Ahuska had completely disgraced herself and worked to set her at ease.

Ahuska still felt her ears burning as Zim lifted her hand with practiced grace, landing a delicate kiss on top of it. “I… ahh, yes, uh…”

“Ahuska, is it? He never mentioned what a lovely singing voice you have! It’s my absolute pleasure to meet you. Please, please allow me to buy you a drink…”

---

Crow paused for a moment, looking out across the open air café, bright and bustling in the early afternoon light, watching his wife laugh and tease. That Agent always made him uneasy, despite her constant assurances that he’d never sell them out, despite her unerring trust in him. When they were joined by another fellow, it gave him a bit of a start; wasn’t that that actor? That Antilles lad—wasn’t his House quite firmly allied with the Republic?

He found himself smiling, and more thoughtful than he’d expected to be. There she was, his Ahuska, giggling at a table with an Imperial Agent on one side and a Republic noble on the other. And she, like him, somebody who had rejected both, choosing a life free of the bounds of either of the galaxy’s major governments. And yet… yet… there they were, finding common ground, somewhere, existing together without the bloodshed and the ultimatums that he’d become so accustomed to between the factions. Maybe there was hope for the galaxy yet, even if bonds were built one being at a time.

And then the light caught Ahuska’s ears just so, and Crow realised how flushed she was. He hadn’t seen her turn that shade of red since he’d had a certain (Completely tasteful! Absolutely inoffensive! Very flattering!) painting of himself delivered to her tent at the old Clan headquarters, so many years ago. Whatever had happened just now, she was embarrassed as hell, and Crow took that as his cue to step in and perform his solemn duty of deflecting attention.

“Hey there!” The rough cheeked, scarred Mandalorian swaggered over, one hand forcefully extended in an offer for Zim to shake. “I see you’ve met my wife! Aren’t you the fellow who was in that toilet cleaner commercial when you were twelve…??”

[themagicalreads]

Unexpected Detour (Prompt)

I’M LATE I’M LATE I’M LATE. I KNOW. But here (ps, the italics worked on this one???):

~

“This is an automated distress message from Vault-Tec: Vault 101. Message begins: It feels like you left home a long time ago, but I know you're still out there. I just hope you're still alive to hear this. Things got worse after you left. The new Overseer is insane. If you can hear this, please stop looking for your dad and help save us. I changed the door password to my name. If you're hearing this, and you still care enough to help me, you should remember it. Message repeats.”

Rapunzel listened to the emergency frequency one last time before switching it off. She sat on a boulder just outside Megaton, gazing in the distance to where she knew Vault-101 lay. She couldn’t go back… Not after how she’d left things.

Not after she’d…

Please stop looking for your dad and help us. Merida’s voice replaced the empty sounds of Wasteland wildlife around her. Rapunzel and Merida had been best friends ever since she and her parents arrived at the Vault. Rapunzel hadn’t remembered much of anything from her childhood in the Wasteland. They were the first outsiders to their knowledge knew to enter a sealed Vault, and the only reason they were even let in in the first place was because the Overseer had been so desperate for a doctor, and her dad was the best of the best. She’d learned that no one left or entered any of the Commonwealth Vaults, because the outside world was much too dangerous—and it was, what with the raiders, and the enclave, and the mutations running freely about. But it was far from being uninhabitable as they’d made it seem in class. Megaton itself proved just that.

“Welcome. To. Megaton,” she heard the protectron say over the wind. “Friendliest. Town. Around.”

Rapunzel whipped her head back to see a caravan had approached the entrance. She’d come down from Galaxy News Radio for news, and a quick supply hunt at the Super Duper Mart on the way. She had a mission to do. But what if this was a bigger story than Tenpenny Tower’s failed attempt to detonate Megaton’s notorious bomb? Heck, maybe Tadashi, Vault-101’s scientist, might know how to finally diffuse it, making Three Dog’s original news source essentially worthless compared to this.

But despite all of the rational excuses Rapunzel found to follow Merida’s distress signal, she knew the underlying reason she wanted to go so badly was because she was curious to see how the people she’d grown up with had made out after her departure. She hadn’t even meant to leave that dreary morning. She’d expected to spend her life following Vault-101’s motto, we are born in the vault, we live in the vault, and we die in the vault. If dad hadn’t upped and run away without a word, that might very well have been her life. Though, she supposed the motto and she hadn’t exactly been on the brightest of terms when her mother gave birth to her in the Wasteland.

She’d met Three Dog, the anchor of Galaxy News Radio and one of her dads old friends, about a week after she’d run away from the Vault. He knew a lot about her past, something he let her know quite quickly. He knew she, her parents, and aunt Gothel had been born out here, in the Wasteland themselves. But he also knew it had been in a faraway place called Boston. He also confessed that he’d seen her dad pass by not too long after she showed up. After spending an entire day running around DC as him and his radio’s personal scavenger, he finally told her what mission her dad had been so set on.

And the truth scared Rapunzel to bits.

She shook her head for a few seconds, running a hand through her ponytail while she stared at the Pip-Boy on her other wrist. The caravan rolled past her on the dirt road. Rapunzel gazed at the two-headed brahmin with the heaps of luggage strapped to its back. They were most likely heading toward Springvale, the wreckage of a town just outside the Vault.

Rapunzel stood, shaking the dirt off of her pants. Merida was asking her to help. Her. Thing’s must’ve gotten pretty bad in the Vault after she’d escaped, then, if she was willing to reach out to her so easily. She looked back at Megaton with a sigh. Three Dog would understand that she couldn’t just walk away.

She never could.

***

M-E-R-I-D-A. Access granted, the keypad flashed before a hiss of air sounded and the now-familiar alarm started beeping. Oh so slowly, the gear-shaped door of Vault-101 pulled backwards and rolled itself open. Rapunzel wasted no time running inside before anyone could seal it back up but, to her utter surprise, there was no one in sight when she made it in. She hurried up the metal stairs and closed the door back up herself. She knew keeping it open was smarter in regards to keeping a quick escape route available if she found herself unwelcome, but she refused to risk another radroach infestation like her dad did when he left—or worse.

Rapunzel gripped the pistol at her hip as she slowly walked toward the door she knew would lead to her old home. Something felt off. It was too quiet.

Suddenly, the door slid open before her. Rapunzel gasped, yanking out her pistol for fire.

“Stop right there!” Officer Haddock exclaimed, crumbs still stuck to his chin. “How did you get in—? Wait,” he looked Rapunzel up and down in bewilderment. “It’s you. The Overseer ordered me to bring you to her if you ever came back.”

“Her?” Rapunzel questioned, Merida’s distress signal running through her head. “It’s nice to see you again, Officer Haddock, but could you tell me who, exactly, was chosen as Overseer after Dunbroch…” died. The word hung loosely in the air, too horrible to speak aloud.

Officer Haddock hiccupped a laugh. “Chosen really isn’t the word I’d use here.” He shifted the grip on his gun, glancing behind him. “Listen, Punzel,” he whispered. “I know who you are—sweet as doll, just like your parents were. But I’ll be honest, not a lot of people like you in the Vault no more. I’ll do you the same favour I did your dad—leave the Vault quietly and don’t get trapped inside our mess. No one’s gonna know you stopped by but me.”

It was a good offer, but Rapunzel shook her head. “I heard Merida’s distress signal. She was my best friend, I can’t just ignore her.”

Officer Haddock lowered his head as if this was exactly the answer he’d expected. “Your heart’s too big, kid. But go see her. And please, for the sake of me keeping my limbs—don’t let the Overseer see I let you through without bringing you to her, okay?”

“I won’t let her hurt you,” Rapunzel promised. Even though she and Hiccup Haddock had never been close friends, she could never bear the thought of him losing his father to her, too. Officer Haddock opened the door to the hall for her. The first thing she noticed when she reached the second floor were the barricades. The second, was how incredibly unorganized and unclean the Vault had become.

What in the world had happened here?

“And if it isn’t my little blondie.” A voice suddenly said. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Rapunzel whipped around to see a familiar Tunnel Snake leaning against a makeshift wall behind her. She scowled, despite the heat rushing to her cheeks, and crossed her arms. “I’m not yours, Jack.”

“Never said you were.” Jack lifted a dark brow. “But I gotta say, the Vault hasn’t been the same without you to play with.”

“You’re really calling you and your gang bullying my best friend playing?” Rapunzel exclaimed, an anger she only ever felt around him boiling through her heart. “You’re absolutely ridiculous, Jack DeLoria. You know that, right?”

Jack smirked. “Don’t take it too personally when I say the rest of the Vault doesn’t exactly share your opinion. Well, other than your crazy—”

“That’s because the rest of the Vault is scared of you!” Rapunzel interrupted with a sharp exhale. “I don’t understand why. You’re nothing but a terrified momma’s boy.”

Jack flinched slightly at her words, something she only slightly relished in. Rapunzel had saved her from getting chewed up by radroaches just before her escape. Jack himself had been the one to beg for her help, given his phobia of the giant critters. If she’d have stayed any longer, she might have been able to use it against him the next time he tried harassing she and Merida.

“How is she, by the way?”

“Fine.” Jack quickly shot out.

“Really?” Rapunzel questioned.

Jack suddenly couldn’t meet her eyes, almost making Rapunzel feel bad for pushing. “Let’s just say she decided she liked getting drunk a bit too much. Not someone I like being around.” He brightened, suddenly, as much as the leader of the Tunnel Snakes could. “Besides, I have other things to worry about. A lot of us here wanna get out of this hell hole. So, tell me, blondie, how’d you manage to get past Officer Haddock?”

Rapunzel shook her head, unable to believe how quickly he’d changed the topic. Was he really so detached from his emotions he couldn’t even talk about what happened with his own mom? Last Rapunzel had checked, Mrs. Deloria was the complete opposite of her son—kind, and warm. So what made her shift her dependence from constantly being around people to alcohol?

Suddenly, the rest of what Jack said registered to Rapunzel’s head. “You want to leave? Why?”

It was Jack’s turn now to cross his arms. He took a step closer. “And here I thought you weren’t as brain-dead as the others. We’ve always wanted to leave, the Tunnel Snakes and I. Now that the Vault’s in shambles, it’s our time to shine.”

“If you can get past Officer Haddock.” Rapunzel argued. “I’m guessing he doesn’t want his little boy wandering out into the dangerous Wasteland, huh?”

Jack shifted closer. “Ah, and there’s the smarts I know.”

“Shut it, Deloria.”

“So harsh!” Jack lay his hand flat against his chest. “You break my heart.”

Rapunzel cocked her head. “I wasn’t aware you had one. Good to know.”

A slow smirk found itself to Jack’s lips again, warning he was about to say something particularly irritable. “And why’s that? Punzel’s got the hot’s for Jack-y?”

Rapunzel groaned in annoyance, forcing herself to hold her stance even when she noticed how close Jack had gotten. “Where’s Merida?” She demanded, forcing the conversation back to the point. “I’m sure you’d know, considering you know everything.”

“Right I do.” Jack walked backwards, pulling the tension from Rapunzel’s stomach away with him. He waved her to the side. “Follow me.”

Jack led her inside the classroom, where the rest of the Snakes and Merida stood. “Look who I found wandering around,” Jack announced.

Merida’s piercing blue eyes shot to Rapunzel’s, filled with a thousand knives. Understandably, Rapunzel thought. She hadn’t meant for her father to die. “You got my message,” she said. “Good. About time you showed up, too. Gotta say, I thought you’d be too busy with your freedom to remember us, so believe me when I say I’m glad to see you.”

“I think you have my ego levels mixed up with Jack’s,” Rapunzel commented.

“Yeah?” Merida cocked her head. “Then prove it. Help us take down the Overseer, and leave this damned Vault. I still haven’t forgiven you for murdering my father, but I might consider it if you help us.”

“Mer,” Rapunzel tried. “You know it was an accident, right? Please, you know I would never—"

“Alright,” Jack interrupted. “Enough with the heart to hearts. Let’s go, yeah? Blondie, you come with me.”

“What?” Rapunzel shot. “I’m not going anywhere with you, thank you very much.”

“Oh, but you’re gonna like this,” Jack smiled dangerously, dangling a piece of rope in the air. “You get to tie me up and pull my gorgeous hair.”

Rapunzel scowled, glancing at the others to see if he was joking. “What are you going on about?”

“Your aunt wants the Tunnel Snakes taken down, and she wants you even more,” Merida explained, somewhat impatiently. She put a finger to her bright red hair, which was pulled tightly into a low bun. “You’re going to bring her to him, and put a bullet in her crazed head.”

Rapunzel flinched away from the group, astounded by the absurd demand. “Excuse me?” She said. Aunt Dame would never do such a thing to Vault-101. She’d not once expressed a desire to become the Overseer either—that position was to be Merida’s father’s until his old age.

“I don’t know why she’s so obsessed,” Merida said. “But I’m not leaving the Vault with her in charge.”

“Dame’s been nothing but kind!”

“A nice façade,” Hiccup said from behind Merida. “Fooled all of us.”

Rapunzel couldn’t believe it—wouldn’t until she saw it with her own eyes. So she grabbed the rope out of Jack’s fingers, spun him around, and wrapped his wrists up tight.

“The Wasteland’s done you good,” there was a hint of veiled humour in Jack’s tone as she let him go. He tested the rope’s hold, but it didn’t give. “If I would’ve known you were this feisty—”

Rapunzel grabbed a heap of chocolate brown hair and yanked him out of the room with her.

“You know, blondie,” Jack struggled. “You don’t actually have to pull my hair until we get to the Overseer’s office.”

“I know.”

Jack chuckled. “Can’t wait for you to tell me all about the Wasteland when we get outta here. I bet it’s good stuff.”

Rapunzel froze briefly. Did he honestly think she’d bring him back to Galaxy News Radio? Not a chance. If Jack wanted out so bad, he was going alone, with his precious Tunnel Snakes. “In your dreams.” She said.

“I don’t have dreams. Just reality.”

“Reality has a track record of getting awfully boring,” Rapunzel said. “Maybe that’s why you’re as horrible as you are.”

Suddenly, Rapunzel’s feet were swept right out from under her. She fell back into a room with Jack landing, (somewhat painfully), right on top of her. “You don’t really think that, do you, blondie?” His breath was so warm against her lips it sent shivers down her spine.

“I…” Was all she could manage before he started talking again.

“Because that would break my heart.” Rapunzel just had time to catch something dancing in his crystal blue eyes before his lips were upon hers. It was disgusting and wet the first few seconds, but then she found herself swimming in his kiss. He still couldn’t move his hands, so Rapunzel did it for him. She cupped his jaw, pulling the Snake closer and closer until everything disappeared but him.

She didn’t know why her body felt so compelled to ruin the moment.

“I’m resistant to the radiation!” She blurted out, shoving a hand to her lips. No one but her dad and Three Dog new that about her. It was why her dad had left in the first place—to study her. Though… Rumour had been going around lately about her situation, something that the radio had been trying hard to avoid talking about. The Saint. The ghoul that looks and talks like a human, but can’t possibly be.

Jack frowned, licking his lips. “And?”

“And,” Rapunzel continued, “that means I’m mutated. That I get to live longer than the average human. I’m a monster, even if I don’t look it like the other Ghouls. If the Wasteland knew it was me they’ve been hearing talk about…”

Jack rolled off of her, suddenly, something clicking in his eyes. “Of course!” He said. “That’s why Dame wants you so bad. She wants to know how you did it.”

Rapunzel sat up, sickness roiling through her body. “But she’s never known I was like this.”

Jack was shaking his head even before she started speaking. “Remember when she got put under lockdown? You were four, maybe.” How could she forget? “You visited her every day after class.”

Rapunzel nodded. “You made fun of me for it.”

“Yeah. Well, I read a paper in her files when you asked me to go steal yours. Said she’d gotten her well-deserved time out for sending a signal out to her sister and reading the ones that were coming in from the outside behind The Overseer’s back. She heard all of the stories about you. You and your parents showed up knocking at the door not too long after, and they actually let you in.”

Rapunzel nodded again. It was all she seemed to be able to do now. “You read the files about me.”

Jack shrugged. “Obviously.”

Rapunzel pushed his chest, furious. “I didn’t even read them! Dame just told me it was dangerous information that needed to be burnt away!”

“That didn’t make you wanna read em’ even more?”

“No!” Rapunzel closed her eyes. “I mean, yes, but she said it was safer for me if I didn’t know.”

Jack laughed. “Bull. Complete bull.” With a restrained swing, he pulled himself to standing. Rapunzel was quick to follow suit. Almost immediately, he nudged her shoulder with his own and pushed her against the steel wall, holding her with his hips. His kiss wasn’t nearly long enough. He completely pulled away, suddenly, and tipped his chin down with a smirk.

“Let’s go.”

Rapunzel slowly pushed her fingers through his hair and gripped. It only took a few words from Rapunzel to find out every suspicion Jack and his gang had about her aunt were true. It only took a carefully-placed bullet to the thigh to stop her from attacking her own niece. And it only took an inch of convincing for the dwellers to get the Wasteland freedom they’ve always deserved.

Though their fates were now irreversibly ripped to the open, Rapunzel knew one thing for certain:

Galaxy News Radio was in for one hell of a story.

[sciencespies]

What the Rhythm of a Maned Wolf's Heart Reveals

https://sciencespies.com/nature/what-the-rhythm-of-a-maned-wolfs-heart-reveals/

What the Rhythm of a Maned Wolf's Heart Reveals

Smithsonian Voices National Zoo

What the Rhythm of a Maned Wolf’s Heart Reveals

September 8th, 2020, 10:09AM / BY

Ashley Goetz

(Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute)

Spindly legs and thick, red fur have earned them the nickname “foxes on stilts,” but maned wolves are neither fox nor wolf. These charismatic canids are a unique species (the only members of the genus Chrysocyon) and are found solely in South America’s savannas, where Brazilian researcher Rosana Nogueira de Moraes has studied them for nearly 15 years.

In 2015, Moraes came across a study of wild black bears that used heart sensors to reveal what observation couldn’t — that the bears had a hidden stress response to drones flying overhead. She wondered what the same technology might reveal about maned wolves. Two years later, she helped launch the Rhythm of Life Project, a maned wolf heart rate monitoring study at the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute. Moraes shares the latest on the Rhythm of Life Project and what researchers have learned.

Why is it important to protect maned wolves?

Maned wolves are a “keystone” species because they provide critical ecosystem services. They keep pest populations under control by hunting small rodents, and they help disperse the seeds of native plants. Maned wolf poop can be full of the seeds of a tomato-like wild fruit that they love to eat. The fruit, called the wolf apple, is even named after them. Maned wolves are also great ambassadors for the conservation of the Brazilian Cerrado, one of the most threatened savanna biomes in the world.

What do you hope to learn by monitoring their heart rates?

Maned wolves are very secretive and shy animals, so they are good candidates to help us answer some important questions. How well do animals hide their “emotions?” Is behavior a good indicator of an animal’s internal response? And how does their heart respond to human presence or changes in the environment?

Heart rate is a result of the balance of activity in the autonomic nervous system — the part of the nervous system that automatically controls body functions, like blood flow and digestion. When an animal is excited or stressed, the system increases its heart rate to prepare for a fight-or-flight response. If an animal is calm, its heart beats much slower. So, by tracking heart rate, we can identify if situations have a positive or negative impact.

VIDEO: Maned wolf Hope stops to stretch in her yard, with a relaxed heart rate of 57 beats per minute.

It becomes even more powerful when combined with other tools — like a daily report from animal care staff, a measurement of stress hormones from fecal (poop) samples, or a genetics report on the kind of microorganisms present in a maned wolf’s gut. These tools can inform us about levels of stress, but heart monitors can help us pinpoint the moment when stress occurs and find the cause.

How do you monitor a maned wolf’s heart?

We use heart monitors that were made for humans by Medtronic Inc, who donated the devices used for this project. The monitors weigh only 2.4 grams, and we place them under a maned wolf’s skin, over the heart area. The process is like injecting a dog with a microchip, but because the monitor is larger than a microchip, we need to make a small cut and then close it afterward with stitches. The monitor continuously senses each heartbeat or, more precisely, the electric current that comes from the heart when it beats. It records the average heart rate every 2 minutes and can last up to three years.

The heart rate monitors that we use for our maned wolves are the same monitors used for humans with heart problems. (Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute)

To read the data, we use a special computer and a handheld device that connects with the heart monitor via radio. The monitors are also equipped with a remote transmission system that can send data to a computer whenever a maned wolf rests near one of our “antennas,” which are set up near their dens.

How many maned wolves are you monitoring?

We care for 13 maned wolves at SCBI, and so far, we have monitored six of them — three males and three females. This is the first study of its kind for maned wolves, and we’ve collected more than 2.5 million points of heart rate data! Heart rates increased in response to people, restraint, loud noises (like lawn mowers) and social interactions with other wolves. Often, heart rates spiked in response to a negative experience, like being startled by the presence of a neighboring wolf in the middle of the night. They also increased when an animal was positively excited, like when a couple approached each other during the breeding season.

VIDEO: Maned wolf Caido reacted to a neighboring wolf barking in the middle of the night, and his heart rate spiked to 118 beats per minute.

How can you tell if stress is positive or negative?

A good example in humans would be the body response of two different people riding a roller coaster. While one person could be very excited, the other could be extremely scared, or even sick, during the ride. Both people might have similar spikes in heart rate, but the stress would only be positive for the person with positive emotions. Since maned wolves can’t tell us how they feel, we use their behaviors, hormone measurements, and the magnitude of their heart rate increases to tell us when their stress is positive or negative. Some wolves like the presence of a familiar human and get excited when that person visits. We call that positive stress. Others might show a similar heart rate but a totally different behavior, such as avoiding the visitor, which is negative stress.

Has anything that you have learned so far surprised you?

I was fascinated by the wide range of heart rates, and the extremes that the maned wolf’s heart can reach. The heart rate ranges we found were very different from what was previously known. When maned wolves are asleep or resting, their heart rates can drop below 30 beats per minute. But they can have a 10-fold increase, reaching up to 330 beats per minute, when they are stressed. Those extremes normally last for just a few seconds.

I’m also amazed and genuinely happy to see how technology can help us learn so much about ourselves and about animals. The footage that we capture with our trail cameras at SCBI can be inspiring, enjoyable and even poetic at times. So, it’s fascinating to also capture what is happening inside an animal while they freely move and live their lives.

For example, we have videos of a maned wolf couple fighting across the fence when they were first introduced for the breeding season. In later images, the same pair is very playful and moving around together, as if “in love.” And the best part is that the heart monitors were capturing the changes in heart rate for all those moments!

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VIDEO: Maned wolves Echo and Layla play together in their habitat at SCBI. In this moment, Echo’s heart rate was around 143 beats per minute, and Layla’s was about 136. They were positively excited.

How has heart rate monitoring helped support the care of maned wolves at SCBI?

Maned wolves are solitary animals, so living as a family group (parents and pups) might be stressful depending on the group’s size and how long they are together. Heart rate monitoring helped us identify that one of our male wolves was stressed while living with a female and their four pups — and confirmed that moving him to a new area solved the problem. We can also work with animal care staff to test if maned wolves respond positively to novel forms of enrichment.

VIDEO: Enrichment takes many forms. Sometimes, it’s a simple pile of leaves to pounce in. Maned wolf Fin’s heart rate increased to 158 beats per minute as he played with leaves and a stick in his yard one night.

The core of this project is the heart. As humans, we can understand that heart rate tells us a lot about our emotions and how we feel in each life situation. Since we don’t speak the “language” of animals, we need projects like this to better understand how they perceive their environments, so we can use that information to help them thrive.

How can this data support the conservation of maned wolves in the wild?

Only 3% of the natural habitat available for maned wolves in Brazil is inside protected areas. That means animals are also living in areas where encounters with humans, vehicles and farming machinery are common — and stress levels are higher. When sugar cane fields are harvested, for example, wolves can lose all their vegetation cover and food resources in less than 24 hours.

Having objective measurements of stress levels, and an understanding of where and how wolves move, could help us and land owners think about managing the land in ways that are more beneficial to wildlife. Our main goal is to become experts in the use of this technology, so we can apply it to the conservation of maned wolves and other endangered species in the wild. Studying the animals at SCBI has provided us with the skills we need, as well as the opportunity to overcome any obstacles in a controlled and safe environment.

What’s next for the Rhythm of Life Project?

This project is an excellent example of how much we can accomplish when we work as a team. We are physiologists, ecologists, biologists, veterinarians, animal care staff, students, donors, partners and more, all coming together to make this work possible. After a successful start, we’re expanding our scientific research at SCBI to other species, including eight scimitar-horned oryx. We proved that heart monitors can be safely used in maned wolves, and generated valuable information to compare with wild wolves. In 2021, we plan to start a field study with maned wolves in Brazil.

The Rhythm of Life Project was made possible with generous support from Medtronic.

Ashley Goetz is a web content writer at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute, where she translates animal care research and conservation science into compelling stories. Ashley earned a bachelor’s degree in public communication with a minor in marine biology from American University. When she isn’t at the Zoo, she spends her time traveling, crocheting and watching reruns of “Parks and Recreation” with her two cats.

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