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scotianostra · 6 months ago

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30th May 1889 saw the birth near Kirkliston of Isobel Wylie Hutchison.

This is a great tale of a remarkable strong willed woman bucking the trends and behaviour expected of a lady back in the mud 20th century.

Isobel Wylie Hutchison was an Arctic traveller during the 1920s and 1930s. She was also a botanist, a writer, a poet, an artist and speaker of numerous languages, so a bit of a polymath.

Carlowrie Castle a Scots baronial mansion was the comfortable upper-middle class home into which Isobel Wylie Hutchison was born in 1889. It was there her father, Thomas Hutchison, a successful wine merchant in Edinburgh, looked after his gardens, and passed on to Isobel his fascination for plants and his habit of meticulous note-taking. Although called a castle, Carlowrie was built between 1852 and 1855, so was never a defensive structure, but a luxurious home.

Isobel’s father, Thomas Hutchison, was a successful wine merchant in Edinburgh, he was a keen gardener and passed on to Isobel his fascination for plants and his habit of meticulous note-taking.

From 1917-18, she studied at an agricultural college, after which, she visited a number of countries around the Mediterranean region. But the sudden death or her father was subsequently followed by the loss of both her brothers. Isobel was left in a darkened place with a deeply grieving heart. Walking became her escape.

At a time when women were expected to stay at home, dressed in petticoats and tending to domestic duties, Isobel would often leave home for several days – much to the despair of her mother!

A Gaelic speaker, she had soon covered Scotland, including a trek from Blairgowrie to Fort Augustus, and began to look at bigger challenges. She wanted to spread her wings and fly away, and Iceland seemed like a good place to start.

Iceland, which she visited in 1925, was both a test and a revelation. She was told that she couldn’t walk the 260 miles north from Reykjavik to Akureyri because there were no maps, no guides, and it was far too dangerous. But she proved everyone wrong and then set her sights on another goal: Greenland.

By now, Isobel was making a name as a traveller in the Far North. She had written books about her experiences in both Iceland and Greenland. However, she hadn’t quite finished her Arctic adventures! She made arrangements to travel to Alaska and Northern Canada to explore and again, collect plant specimens. In May 1933, Isobel left Manchester and went by ship, riverboat, train and also plane, to reach Nome in Alaska.

Eventually, she arrived in Barrow, in the north of Alaska, where she transferred to another small vessel before the Arctic Ocean ice began closing in, making it impossible to travel any further. Isobel was forced to stay in a migrant Estonian’s hut for many weeks until the weather situation improved. Although her journey had come to a halt, it was an opportunity for her to visit local Inuit families, walk, travel by dog sled and stay in igloos. Eventually, she continued her Arctic trip with a 120-mile dog sled journey and crossed over into Canada. After many months in the Alaskan and Canadian Arctic she eventually returned to Scotland, having been away for around a year.

Unable to obtain permission from the Soviet authorities to visit Eastern Siberia, Isobel’s next northern journey was in 1936, to the Aleutian Islands, off the coast of Alaska. This thousand-mile long archipelago of both large and small volcanic islands draped like a gigantic necklace between Alaska and the Kamchatka Peninsula in the far east of the USSR. These islands were inhabited by Aleut people on treeless terrain and were exposed to continuous windy, foggy and stormy weather.

The Aleut people of the islands were able to live in such extreme conditions because they managed to catch a range of marine life. Fortunately, she was able to visit many of the inhabited islands by way of US government vessels. Invariably, landing on the islands involved negotiating heavy seas in wild conditions. However, when she did make land, she met with the local inhabitants, generally explored and was able to collect her plants.

The onset of World War Two curtailed any plans for further journeys into the Arctic. After the war, she completed a number of long treks, including walking from her home in Scotland to London, from Innsbruck to Venice, and from Edinburgh to John O’Groats. Isobel Wylie Hutchison passed-away at her home in Carlowrie Castle in 1982, aged 92.

The Arctic journeys of Isobel Wylie Hutchison were extraordinarily daring during a time when such trips were unheard of for a single woman. She developed a real passion for the North as she explored various regions of the Arctic world. Isobel was a true adventure traveller, enjoying the uncertainty of her journey, taking calculated risks, but being utterly intrigued by all she saw in the Far North.

#scotland #scottish #history #explorer #strong woman

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noneedtoamputate · 11 months ago

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Happy holidays, @land-sh. I'm your HBO War Secret Santa, and I hope you like this modern holiday AU featuring Ron and Carwood. I know you don't live in the United States, so I wanted to let you in on a few things in case you didn't know (and my apologies if you already know). The Pentagon, where Ron works, is home to the U.S. Departmen of Defense, and Instacart is an app where you can order groceries and get them delivered to your house. Fair warning for anyone else reading, it's just a tad spicy toward the end. I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful holiday season, no matter how you celebrate!

Ron stared at the calendar hanging in the kitchen. If looks could set paper ablaze, the month of December would have burnt to a crisp thirty seconds ago.

He took another sip of his steaming black coffee, careful not to let any get on his Army dress uniform.

He took the calendar down from its hook and walked over to the kitchen table they purchased three years ago, when Ron accepted a desk job at the Pentagon and Carwood left active service and started teaching history at a local high school.

Car’s messy handwriting filled almost all of the squares. He had Army reserve duty the first weekend of the month, and as assistant coach of the boys’ junior varsity basketball team, there were practices or games almost every weeknight up until holiday break. There was the neighborhood cookie exchange, where he promised to make his famous gingerbread people, and then there was the Santa Paws fundraising event at the humane society. Car volunteered to dress up as Santa.

Ron’s small, neat cursive only filled Mondays for his personal training appointments and on December 22, with one word and arrow ending on December 30.

Home.

No one at work would ever guess that Lt. Col. Ronald Speirs loved Christmas. He loved the lights, the movies, the gifts, and, most importantly, being with the people he loved. He hadn't made it back to his parents in Massachusetts for the holidays since moving to Washington. He finally had enough seniority in his department to take an entire week off in December.

He couldn't wait to taste his mother’s shortbread, to be spoiled by his sisters, to take his nieces and nephews sledding. There really was nothing like Christmastime in New England.

He heard Car come down the stairs of their townhouse. He wore a black turtleneck sweater, fitted tan pants, and loafers. If Ron’s teacher had looked as half as good as Car, Ron would never have passed U.S. History.

Car smiled at him as he walked over to the coffee maker.

“The calendar’s getting pretty full,” Ron said, trying to sound casual.

“December’s always busy,” Car replied as he sat down across from his husband. “But not too busy that we can't find time for each other.”

“Movies?” Ron asked.

“Of course. Die Hard. Love Actually. We’ll watch them all.”

Ron leaned closer.

“And we’ll drive around to look at the lights?” Ron was a sucker for Christmas lights.

Car nodded. “I’ll drive, so you can really look at the displays.”

Ron smiled. “Well, if that isn't love, I don't know what is.” He reached over to kiss Car.

“I gotta run.” Car picked up his travel mug. “Have a good day. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Ron replied.

He finished his coffee and tried to get into work mode, the mode where no one would guess he loved watching Home Alone with his husband and dog and a fire roaring in their living room.

The next week, Ron looked at the calendar again.

He was not happy.

“Why do you have ‘choir concert’ filled in on Wednesday?” Ron asked as Car buttered his toast.

“Yeah, about that …” Car trailed off as he nervously scratched his head. “Mrs. Ramirez needed some help setting up for the holiday show.”

“That was supposed to be movie night.” Ron tried not to sound too upset.

“I know,” Car conceded. “Practice gets out early Friday night. We’ll have movie night then. I’ll even make the popcorn.”

“With extra butter?” Car nodded, Ron’s mouth curled up into what was almost a smile.

“It's a date,” Ron replied, and gave his husband a kiss.

But movie night never happened. A student teacher’s car wouldn't start in the faculty parking lot. Car tried jumping it, and when that didn't work, he waited while they called a tow company and gave them a ride to their apartment.

By the time Car got home, Ron didn't feel like watching anything.

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked Ron. “I couldn't just leave them there.”

“Of course not,” Ron agreed.

But Ron lost his patience the following week when he walked into their home office and saw Car furiously typing away on the computer keyboard.

“Dinner’s ready,” Ron said. He stood behind Car and put his hands on Car’s shoulders, giving them a gentle rub.

Car moved away from Ron’s touch and rubbed his temples.

“What's the matter?” Ron asked.

“Two students asked for recommendation letters at the last minute. I need to finish these tonight.”

Ron narrowed his gaze. “You could have said no.”

Car sighed. “No, I couldn't. They’re great kids. Smart, responsible …”

Ron cut him off. “Asking for a recommendation letter at the last minute isn't responsible.”

The two just stared at each other.

“You need to eat,” Ron finally said.

“I'll grab something when I'm finished.” Car went back to looking at the monitor.

“And I guess this means no looking at lights tonight.” Ron crossed his arms.

Lulu came into the room and nuzzled up to Car, looking for some love.

“Can you take her? I can't focus with her with trying to get attention “

“You don't even have time for the dog?” Ron asked, no longer hiding his anger. He leaned down to pet Lulu. “C’mon, girl, let's go for a walk.”

Ron set off on a good clip toward the park, Lulu happily keeping up the pace.

Why does he do this? Why does he put everyone first?

He felt disloyal asking himself the question, because the way Car looked out for people was one of the reasons Ron loved him so much.

Ron hated admitting that he felt jealous of all the attention Car had shown other people this month while making no time for him, or so it seemed.

And sadness crept over him. They seemed so distant over the last few weeks. No cuddling on the couch, binging the latest series. No long conversations over dinner. No spooning in bed before falling asleep.

And certainly no sex.

The brisk air and exercise cleared his head a bit, but he still paused for a second before opening the front door. The house stood quiet, and the chicken tetrazzini on top of the stove remained untouched.

He threw the baking dish back into the oven to reheat and poured dog food into Lulu’s bowl. He ate dinner alone. He rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. He sorted the mail and cleaned out the fridge. When he ran out things to do, he poured himself two fingers of Scotch and tried to read a book, but he read the same page over and over. It was only 9:30 pm, and he wasn't tired, but he gave up and got ready for bed.

It was just before midnight when Car finally made it upstairs. He didn't say anything as he took off his clothes and slipped into bed, staying far away from Ron’s side.

“You're going to wear yourself out,” Ron said quietly.

“I'll be fine,” Car replied. Soon, his deep breaths signaled that he was asleep.

Ron put his hands behind his head and stayed awake for two more hours.

On the morning they planned to leave for Ron’s parents, Car woke up with the flu: Body aches, chills, and a pounding headache.

He wouldn't admit it. “Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow,” he told Ron.

Ron titled his head to one side and gave Carwood that Ron Speirs look.

“It's possible,” Car said meekly, not really sounding convinced himself.

Ron called his mom and dad and explained the situation. Though disappointed, they completely understood and sent their love to Car.

He put in an Instacart order. There was not a lot of food in the house, as they planned to be gone for a week. Plenty of Gatorade, rice, bananas, bread for toast. All the ingredients for chicken soup, and easy meals for Ron to eat in between caregiving duties.

The next day, he felt even worse. Ron added another bedspread on top of him for warmth and plugged in a heating pad for him to use.

“You don’t need to stay here. Go to your parents. I can take care of …” Before Car get the last word of the sentence out, he started coughing.

Ron rubbed his back.

“I'm sorry,” Car said, once he caught his breath.

“No reason to apologize for coughing,” Ron replied.

“No, not the coughing. For …” He started coughing again.

Ron took a deep breath. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about what he was missing at home. His family, the epic games of Yahtzee, his mom's roast lamb on Christmas Day.

But he knew Car hadn't gotten sick on purpose. If Ron had gotten sick right before they were supposed to go to West Virginia for the holidays, Car would have taken care of him without a second thought.

“It's okay,” Ron said.

Ron couldn't have said that the day before and meant it. But today, he did.

On Christmas Day, Car felt well enough to get into the shower by himself. They exchanged gifts. Ron bought Car a new messenger bag for work, and Car bought Ron the watch he’d had his eye on for a while. Ron made chicken soup for lunch, and they finally watched Home Alone together on the couch. Car felt asleep halfway through, but Ron could tell he was finally on the mend.

The rest of the week was mainly more of the same. Ron would make something for lunch, and they would watch one of the holiday movies they never got around to before Car got sick: Gremlins, Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street, It's a Wonderful Life. Each day, they would sit a little closer on the couch to one another, hold hands, spoon.

New Year’s Eve arrived, and Car felt great. They had an invitation to a party, but they decided it was bit soon to go out.

Ron, being a great cook, made steak and lobster tails for lunch. They splurged on a bottle of good champagne and talked and laughed like they hadn't the entire month of December.

They turned on a football game, and Ron fell asleep before halftime. He woke up to the feeling of Car’s fingers in his hair.

“I didn't mean to take a nap,” he said, reaching for his husband's hand.

“You needed it. You've been taking care of me all week.”

Ron stroked Car’s cheek and reached in for a kiss.

They started slow, almost uncertain, the tension of the last few weeks still present. But then Car traced his tongue along Ron’s earlobe, a surefire way to get Ron hard. Wordlessly, they walked upstairs to the bedroom.

Car started undressing Ron, taking his time. Ron hadn't realized how touch starved he was for Car's hands and lips. He kissed his neck and worked his way down, nuzzling Ron’s chest with his stubble and gently biting Ron’s nipples. Ron couldn't help letting out a moan, and he could feel Car smile against him.

He let out an actual groan when Car grabbed him, stroking him exactly the way he liked. He put the head of Ron’s cock in his mouth and teased him, before taking it all in.

Ron tried to pull away, but Car shook him off. “I want to take care of you,” he said.

Ron realized that for all the things Car did for other people, he would only do this for Ron. This was just for the two of them. He had no reason to be jealous.

Ron realized and ran his fingers through Car’s hair, staying in the moment and taking in every sensation. He knew he wouldn't last long, and that it wouldn't matter.

Ron said his husband’s name as he came, and Car kept him in his mouth and teased the inside of his thighs as he came down. He took Ron in his arms, and Ron lay his head on Car’s chest.

Another thing no one at the Pentagon would guess was how much Ron loved the time after making love, when they would hold each other and talk quietly. He didn't used to, not before he met Car. It was one of the ways he knew Car was the man for him.

They stayed quiet for longer than usual, enjoying the closeness.

“I am sorry you didn't make it home for Christmas,” Car finally said. “You said was okay, but I know how much it meant to you.”

Ron kissed him. “I was home for Christmas.” He looked the man who meant everything to him in the eye.

“You are my home.”

#hbowarsanta23 #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #ronald speirs #carwood lipton #speirton #my first m/m fic

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lieutenanthowell · 9 months ago

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gif credit!

TASK 001. 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚛.

BASICS.

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄

Guin Cadair Howell

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

Balto, Grizzly Adams, etc. Balto came from his knack with sled dogs (and his tendency to do the head tilt thing). Togo led the hardest leg of that serum run, where's his statue? Where's his fucking Disney movie? There is a Togo movie? Okay. Does he want to watch it? Fuck no. Grizzly Adams was inspired by the fact that despite his "freakass feral survivalist" upbringing, he's entirely incapable of growing a wild-man level beard.

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌

Burn Gorman

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒

Scarred up like a fight dog or an old stag - the most immediately noticeable of these are on the left side of his face: a gouge through both lips, another in his eyebrow, and several scattered across his cheek. Callused hands reflecting firearm use, unarmed fighting, and physical labour, with some slight skewing to his little and ring fingers on, again, the left side.

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 / 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

Has three color tattoos, all got during his late-teenage years in the army and at least somewhat damaged by injuries sustained in service of the Foundation: a wolf’s head biting a human hand, on his left bicep, a bear’s head with fireweed on his right bicep, and an owl, wings open, across his chest. He’s also got stick and pokes of, on the inside of his left and right forearms, respectively: the constellation Orion, with special emphasis on Mintaka, the first star in the "belt" to rise and set, on the left, and on the right, Cassiopeia, the Little Dipper, and the Big Dipper, with the North Star emphasized between. Done by his dad when he was a kid to help him remember how to navigate by the stars (all of these constellations being useful landmarks). Pierced right ear. Never wears anything in it on duty.

𝐀𝐆𝐄 / 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁.

45, 06/12/1978

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂

He doesn't know! And doesn't care! I don't know, but I googled! Sagittarius, Earth Horse. Which makes total sense because he can bowhunt AND like a horse he will stomp someone into the earth if he takes the mind to. Am I doing this star thing right -

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍

Doesn't have one. Born somewhere in the Unorganized Borough, Alaska; Galena is listed as place of birth on the paperwork only because that's where his birth certificate was issued.

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

David Howell, father, status unknown; Bronwyn Howell, mother, reported missing in 1987.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒

Cis male / he.

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

Bisexual.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒

Divorced (2014). Single since then. Complicated lately.

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒

Focused, practical, perceptive.

𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒

Blunt, independent, aloof.

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒

Smoking. Scotch, ideally Glenfiddich. Fidgeting with a butterfly knife lifted off a dickhead in Xi-13, carpenter's pencils (he likes the shape better, and does chew the ends), peeling wrappers off things unless the stickiness is the kind that annoys him, swinging keys on lanyards until they wrap around his hand then back the other way, tying knots, and so on. Avoiding eye contact unless absolutely necessary. Stopping at the nearest bathhouse or sauna anywhere in the world there's one available after a shitty day on the job.

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒

Photography. Hiking. Camping. Finding new places to eat and trying every new food he can.

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒 (𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄)

None.

THE FOUNDATION.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄

MTF Operative

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍(𝐒)

MTF Operative, primarily, in several MTFs, most notably Gamma-4, "Green Stags" and Beta-777, "Hecate's Spear"; Tactical Response Officer and Security Officer.

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

MTF Xi-13, "Sequere Nos" - Platoon-strength rapid response unit, tasked with responding quickly to dangerous and/or anomalous situations where the threat has not yet been identified but military-grade force is deemed likely, including but not limited to large scale containment and security breaches.

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒

Marksmanship, combatives including knifework, tracking, and general survivalist skills, including field first aid, hunting, trapping, foraging, rock-climbing, swimming, horseback riding, and dog-mushing.

EXTRAS.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

[Dying Breed] was effectively recruited in the field by MTFC Anatoly Kuryakov, then in command of MTF Delta-14. The Task Force encountered [Dying Breed], then a Private First Class stationed in Fort Wainwright, Alaska, while in pursuit of SCP-121959-1; following an initial interrogation, MTFC Kuryakov employed him as a guide. Impressed by his skills and steadiness, Kuryakov not only neglected to administer any amnestic once SCP-121959-1 was secured, but returned to Site-31 with [Dying Breed] in tow, ready to apply.

Enlisted at only nineteen, [Dying Breed] was cleared for fieldwork by twenty-one after rotations in Security, Parazoology, and Tactical Theology. The record and reputation he has established since is marked by contrasts. He’s exceptionally effective in achieving objectives; like his recruiter, he’s also known to achieve this by bending protocol and sidewinding around orders, and to justify his borderline insubordination without remorse. He has served the Foundation’s purpose to the utmost of his ability and at great personal cost, but actively refuses (and, arguably, sabotages) opportunities for more prestigious promotions. He’s intensely loyal to the few fellow operatives who earn his trust - such as [Elevator Music], with whom he has maintained close contact despite a brief marriage and briefer divorce - but largely keeps to himself, detached and impersonal. It is generally believed that [Dying Breed] is only more disciplined than decorated because of the enemies he’s made throughout his long, tumultuous career. Regular personnel interviews determined that this did not disturb him in the slightest, and that he intended to continue serving until such a point as he was deemed inarguably unfit to do so.

As such, his request for an extended leave of absence was a surprise, even considering the circumstances. The events involved in the Foundation’s encounter with SCP-192001-1, unclear as they remain, are detailed elsewhere. For the purposes of this file, we highlight the following aspects: the alleged violent breakdown of [Live Wire]’s cognitohazard resistance, the alleged friendly-fire wounding of Senior Researcher Tom Dalton, inconsistent eyewitness and medical reports of [Dying Breed]’s own injuries, and [Dying Breed]’s response to descriptions of [Live Wire]’s conduct. [Dying Breed] has never requested extended leave prior to this incident; however, he has also never lost a colleague as close as Senior Researcher Tom Dalton.

(See record of service for assignment history, from 02/12/1999-; see also personnel off-duty surveillance records, from that date. These resources may also be referenced for further information on the relationship, personal and working, of [Dying Breed] and [Elevator Music], who was married to Senior Researcher Dalton at the time of his death.)

Upon emerging from a medically induced coma administered by [Elevator Music], [Dying Breed] completed extended debriefing, a disciplinary hearing re: the unauthorized decommission of SCP-192001-1, and an application for leave, to begin immediately. All three were resolved to the satisfaction of the Foundation. His last known location, prior to his timely return for post-leave assessment, was Fairbanks International Airport, Alaska. Routine attempts to monitor his movements between 18/12/2022 and 24/01/2024 proved largely unsuccessful; his activities during this time remain of special interest, as do any medical reports, interpersonal complaints, and/or other assessments in relation to this operative.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

Old... Friends? Frenemies? Fuck-Yous? Foundation acquaintance. Guin's been on staff at the Foundation since he was nineteen, so, math, that's... twenty-six years. Any characters who've been around the place that long, especially if they were at all involved with MTFs Delta-14, Gamma-4 or Xi-13, could have run into him and that could've gone... however it did! Up for anything, here - positive, negative, long-term or one-time-only. How did they leave whatever it was they had going on, dynamic wise? How's it feel, to be face to face again on a new Mobile Task Force, and such a fraught one, at that? Stop. Stop It. Unlikely friend. Whoever this is, for one reason or another, they've decided they've got a bone to pick with the old dog. What that means is up to you - well-intentioned badgering, mutual friction that just won't quit, some hierarchical crap, anything that strikes your fancy! Whatever their reason or tactics, he'll weather it with that weird motherfucking zen of his, which could easily be mistaken for tolerance, fondness, dismissal, or something else it's probably not. But might be. Who knows? Maybe not even him. Don't ask. Team Spirit. Fellow antisocial bastard OR pain in the ass. Guin is, usually, a functional loner; he works with a team more than within one, and this tends to get stood for by superiors given the nature of his skills and usual role. But MTF Chi-00 isn't likely to leave him the same degree of license. Open to characters who are similarly not into that OR a total keener for the whole team bonding... thing. Hoo Hoo, Motherfucker. A fellow night owl, mutually putting up with something like company. Isn't this nice? Not really talking. In the near-total dark. Several yards apart. Fantastic. It'd be a real shame if somebody ruined this by saying some weird shit about how the last job went. Yeah, better not. The Unkickable Puppy. What am I saying - he'd never kick a dog. But this junior team member has, somehow, wound up in Guin's good books. Maybe he just likes the cut of their jib. Maybe they're actually an absolute goddamn liability in his eyes and he's sick of it, but their wet cat levels are so off the charts that he can't manage to come down too hard on them. Either way, they need a hand with those ropes. Regrettably, he might be that. Don't Feed the - Things. SCP sympathizer. It'd be easy to assume certain things about Guin's perspective on SCPs based on his job description and certain rumours, but - you know what they say about assuming. Nonetheless, he's also lost a hell of a lot to the damage an unsecured, uncontained anomaly can do. The tension here, between a sympathizer's well-meant, humane compassion and his hard-headed, pragmatic drive to protect what he can is going to result in some fantastic fires, no doubt!!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 / 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒

Broken Ace, Brutal Honesty, Combat Pragmatist, Conditioned to Accept Horror, Crazy Survivalist, I Did What I Had To Do, Kick the Son of a Bitch, Loners Are Freaks, No Social Skills, Old Soldier, Pet The Dog, Sergeant Rough, Thousand-Yard Stare, The Unfettered, Unreliable Narrator, What You Are in the Dark, and others REDACTED for spoilers.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

Rust Cohle (True Detective), Amos Burton (The Expanse), Nikolai (Eastern Promises), Dick Proenneke, Wooded Landscape in Snow by Ludvig Munthe, The Wolf by Alfred Wierusz-Kowalski, Man Proposes, God Disposes by Edwin Landseer, New Moon by David Lados, The Ritual, The Blair Witch Project, and others REDACTED for spoilers.

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒

#fhq.prompt #fhq.guin #parental death tw #death tw #just mentions/imagery but!!

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growling · 5 months ago

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There was eleven of us, we lived in the lake... For breakfast, mother cut wind, I didn't know my father, as he perished of liver cancer, when he died in a tragic car accident, after self-immolation at uncle Eugeniusz's name day party. Uncle Eugeniusz was taken by the NKVD in '59. No one complained.

We were all part of hordes and plundered the area. Konin, Szczecin and Oslo were in flames. We also played in construction sites. Sometimes one of us got hit with a reinforced slab, sometimes not. Whenever our foot got impaled with a stray nail, mother cut it off and said with a smile, "you, kurna, got another one, yeah?" She didn't tremble with fear that we're gonna kill each other like that. She knew that we're all going to die eventually. No one complained.

Seasonal diseases were fought by grandma. To combat tuberculosis, scurvy, tumors and polio, we used urine and moss. The doctor visited us, unless at grandma's - for the moss and urine. We went to the woods whenever we wanted. We ate berries, which were previously pissed on by foxes and roe deer. We ate death caps, which were defecated on by rabid bisons and martens. We didn't have hamburgers - we ate wolves. We didn't have chips - we ate ants. There wasn't coca-cola back then, there was bear saliva. There was frog period blood. No one complained.

Whenever our neighbor caught us stealing apples, he punished us himself. Lime pit, knife, hunting rifle - it varied. The neighbor didn't get offended over the stolen apples, and neither did father over replacement in parenting duties. Father and the neighbor drank beer in the evening - as always. Then father came back home, and on his way he took another child. Children then were littered everywhere. On lawns, in drainage ditches, by bus stops, under trees. Just like how today are littered candy bar wrappers. There weren't candy bars back then, but children were laying everywhere. No one complained.

During summer, we climbed on top of the skyscrapers, and weren't monitored by adults. We jumped. Nobody, however, got splattered on the pavement. Everyone could fly and no one needed any special lessons in order to learn this skill. No one also complained.

During winter, some father arranged us a sleigh ride with his old fiat, and always sped up during turns. Sometimes the sleds got caught against the trees or fences. Then we fell. Sometimes that moment a jelcz or star drove by. Then we died. No one complained.

Bruises and scrapes were a normal occurence. Just like knocked out teeth, ripped open stomachs, sudden lack of an eye or amateur amputations. The school pedagogue didn't send us to the family psychologist because of that. Nobody informed us how to dial a number to the police (then MO) to snitch on our parents. The belt was then a teaching aid, and from aid, nobody had yet died from. Aunt Janinka repeated, "better a spanking than breakfast". No one complained.

We made ourselves soups from mazut, asbestos and Ludwik. We also ate crack, fingernails of strangers, animal remains, sandpaper, chemical fertilizers, thistles, aphids, cow fetuses, fish feces, kogel-mogel. When somebody got stung by a bee, they drank 2 glasses of milk and pressed it with a cold frying pan. When somebody choked, they drank 3 glasses of milk and pressed it with a heated frying pan. No one complained.

Nobody went to the dentist every month. Cavities are tasty. Whenever someone swole from an aching tooth, we played catch with their head. We had one dental filling for the eleven of us. Everyone wore it for 2-3 days in a month. No one complained.

We were young and tough. We refused car rides. We just ran after it. Our dog was tied to the trailer hitch with a steel stable and ran next to us. And no one was bothered by it. No one complained.

We were raised by gamekeepers, old witches, escaped prisoners, collegues from juvie, janitors and priests. Our mothers birthed our siblings normally - at work, in reedbeds or at the balcony. Almost all of us survived, only some of us didn't go to prison. No one finished studies, but everyone found work. Some of them started their own families and are raising their children according to psychologists' recommendations. That's sad. Currently, there is more candy bars than children.

We, the children from our lake, love our parents for how they then didn't yet know how to "properly" raise us. It is thanks to them that we spent our childhood without sweets, respect, a warm dinner, sense, and some - limbs.

No one complained.

#this is also how we raised kids in the old kanai ward before the woke detective organization came in and ruined our culture #(my very own translation of a polish copypasta ive been obsessed with lately. are you proud of me father)#mine

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average-transfem-robotgirl · 26 days ago

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I HAVE CATALOGUED EACH OF THE MECHAS ACCORDING TO MY, “VERY OFFICIAL,” ROBOT-FUCKER OPINIONS.

I will now begin an explanation for each. If you believe one of these mechas was rated unfairly and is, in fact, the hottest bucket of bolts this side of the Mississippi, feel free to add in your opinions.

#1: Chicken Tank

What a cutie!! This mech works super hard at it’s job but constantly gets shot to pieces by enemies. Easily replaceable, mass producible, and definitely has some stress it needs to work out. I’d be more than willing to assist in that stress relief. <3<3

#2: Gun-on-Stilts

Oh baby, that’s an alien. Three legs?? In this terran economy?? Definitely outta this world. I would love to treat this cool mech to all the earthly wonders of the world. Just remember to wear a mask around it or else it’s gonna get sick from earthly diseases..

#3: Boüg

Awh yeah, I love Boüg. This thing gets it. Boüg understands your trauma, your emotions, all the troubles in your life. It’s more than willing to sit down and have a lovely chat with you about all those frustrations. Of course, it will have to stop mid-dinner to shoot down an enemy aircraft, but that’s okay.

#4: Forklift Man

ARFARRFAWAWAARF BARK BARK ARFF!!! >//////////<

I mean,, uhm,, h,hot!! Heavy d,duty machinery, designed to really m,man-handle my delicate frame. I’d l,let this hardworking mech and it’s pilot use me!!!

#5: The Bucket

Sinister vibes… I’ve played enough Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe to know that buckets canNOT be trusted… It’d also not pay the bill at dinner and wouldn’t stop talking about it’s time in the military, and not even in a cool way. I don’t care about how many extraterrestrials you’ve killed, Bucket, you’re just making the waiter uncomfortable.

#6: Big Knight

This mech is sooo cool!! Very nice guy, I’d love to just sit around and play some games with this mecha!! It would let me sit in it’s cockpit when it’s raining, warm me up when my chassis can’t handle the chill of winter, and overall just be a great mecha to hang out with.

#7: Man, this is just some dude on a sled.

Won’t stop talking about war, but in a way cooler way than Bucket. I’d hump it’s rough outer exterior, run my hands along it’s chipped paint, masturbate on the worn leather seats of it’s internal cockpit while it watches emotionlessly. Plus, when it takes you back to your house after a wonderful night, it would probably say some shit like “PAYLOAD SUCCESSFULLY DEPLOYED AT DESIGNATED DROP OFF POINT.”

#8: Honse

GIANT ROBOT CENTAUR COCK MNFNGH.

Next slide, please.

#9: furry.

Yeah, this is just a chill dog. It wants you to throw a frisbee, it promises it won’t destroy the neighbors house again.

The pilot of this mech, however, is a mindbroken, kinky, constantly in heat shell of a person. I’d let them fuck me. The mech is just chilling though.

#10: Extra THICC

I think it’d break me, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. For science, of course.. (and for getting my ass fucking PLOWED by industrial machinery that’s meant to pound through steel.)

#11: BOOB

I WANT TO PILOT THIS MECH MNFNFGHH FUCK PLEASE~???<3<3<3

Goddd, sitting in the cockpit, all wired up to the advanced neural interface, receiving a constant dosage of positive coding directly into my mainframe, l,letting the advanced A.I slowly meld my mechanical body to be the perfect l,little mech pilot for i,it~<3<3<3

I c,can imagine feeling the r,rush of power as we s,sync together, one in t,the same~<3<3 ^/////////^

#12: Stick-Figure

Is it possible to fuck a gigantic mech while you yourself are f,fused with a different hot mecha?? I d,don’t know, but I’d l,looovveee to f,find out~!!<3<3

I’d let this thin b,but powerful mech rip t,through the tough plating o,of my combat m,mech, hungry for the weak pilot i,inside~<3<3

#13: “Normal Vehicle” [Has Limbs]

What those arms do??? (They gently slice the synthetic tech suit off of my frame before proceeding to fondle and inspect me, that’s what.)

#14: Rocket Crab

Ehhh, I dunno man. The arms are too clunky, this thing is definitely meant for space travel judging by the fact that it doesn’t have legs but rocket thrusters, and the two titanium cannons are just gonna make it uncomfortable. I can’t fuck someone in space, the radiation would fuck me up but not in a very hot way. I don’t like the vacuum.

#15: scaly.

I know some of you all might be mad at me for this… I don’t like Mecha Godzilla. The face, a bit too off-putting. I just feel like I couldn’t enjoy having sex with Godzilla chrome version.

#16: Kirby?

HELL NO. This clunky american football helmet is NOT gonna be allowed to hit it. It would keep talking about it’s plans for world domination, none of which involve xenodrugs or hot plants. It’d be cartoonishly evil shit like destroying the rain forests, nuking other planets, or melting the ice caps. All of that to have like, an evil empire or some shit. This is not a fuckable mech.

#17: Submarine Man

This mecha has a 9:00 to 5:00, three lovely little calculator babies, and a darling mech pilot that it has been married to for five years. It’s a pretty closed relationship and I’d hate to be a homewrecker. I’d still be good friends with it, but we wouldn’t fuck.

#18: I Know What You Are.

GENDER GOALS MDNNFMFMFNNGHFH!!!!!!!

This is what I w,wanna look like!!!! So b,bad!!! Let me b,be a small robot-girlthing that p,pilots a way bigger, more dangerous mech!! I w,want a strong, cute, curvy chassis!! I w,want the strength and certainty o,of steel, but t,the supple tenderness o,of silicon!!!

#19: World’s Largest RV

I w,wanna fall into t,the super computer of t,this magnificent titan, so d,deep inside of it’s c,core that it can s,stash me away f,forever if it w,wanted to..

I want to b,be within s,something so much g,greater than I e,ever will be. I w,want it to know t,that. I w,want this mecha to toy w,with me, understanding how m,much power it h,has over my insignificant f,frame~<3<3

#20: Tiny dude on a MASSIVE weapon

Though I want to fuck this robot, what if it cums so hard it shoots it’s massive fucking gun and blows a hole through my ceiling?? We’ll just have to settle for Outback Steakhouse instead. We’ll get a bloomin’ onion to share. :))

#21: ???

Ah, man-made horrors beyond my comprehension.. The singularity is now, and oh baby, I’m gonna be the most f,fuckable little machine a,at the AI uprising. This t,thing could probably b,bend reality at it’s will, w,which is probably gonna be s,super hot in the bedroom!!<3<3

#22: . . . How do you even move?

I’m sorry, I couldn’t let the Megazord fuck me. I’d be bouncing and moaning on it, but them five plucky rangers would pop out and talk about the value of teamwork and believing in yourself as I cum. I couldn’t handle it…

We could still be friends though!! I’d relax with the Megazord in between it’s shifts at the alien killing factory.

#23: Just wings n’ shields

Gabriel Ultrakill and V1’s offspring all grown up. 9/10, religious trauma be damned, I’m going to get pounded.

#24: Easy to Cosplay

The booty shorts bring it up a tier. Excellent sense in fashion, very gorgeous, wonderful mecha.

Every* Type of Mecha

*Not Actually Every Type.

Something I spent WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too much time on lol. This is entirely just riffing off of the many 'kinds' or 'tropes' in mecha design I found. Feel free to suggest more of them.

Might make a document providing examples for each one, but idk. I think most of these are pretty self-explanatory.

Tell me your favourites below

[Update: Here's the sequel to this chart, cataloguing Kaiju instead!]

#mecha #mech #robot #robots #robot girl #robotgirl #robotposting #robotfucker #robot fucker #objectum #eroticism of the machine #mechanophilia #technophilia #i spent way too long on this

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animal25 · 2 years ago

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Alaskan Malamute: Dog Breed, Origin, Feeding, Care Full Info

The Alaskan Malamute features an important, sturdy body erected for stamina and strength. It reigns as one of the oldest canine types whose original aesthetics haven’t been significantly altered. This intelligent canine requires a job and harmonious leadership to avoid getting wearied or grueling to handle.

neophyte pet parents, guard. tykes of this strain are sensitive and need a plenitude of fellowship and open space. They aren’t well-suited to apartment life, and they’re clearly high-slipping doggies who need plenitude of fixing to keep their fleeces healthy. Anticipate cleaning up canine hair all time long, especially during the slipping season.

Alaskan Malamutes are high-energy tykes and thus bear vigorous exercise. However, you may see some anxious, destructive geste, If you plan to leave them at home while you’re at work. A canine perambulator or pet babysitter during the day is virtually a must if you can’t be home, yourself.

An Alaskan Malamute will do well with an educated pet parent, lots of open space to bat and burn off energy, and a cooler climate. However, you’ll have an intelligent, largely- trainable, If you can meet this strain’s requirements.

Origin: Alaska (United States)

Height: Dogs-25inches, Bitches- 23inches

Weight: Dogs-38 Kg Bitches-34 kg

LifeSpan: 10-14 years

Size: 4-10 puppies

Color: gray, sable, black, or Red always with

Breed Characteristics Of The Alaskan Malamute

An immensely strong, heavy-duty worker of spitz type, the Alaskan Malamute is a tender, pious, and sportful but staid canine recognizable by his well-furred plumed tail carried over the reverse, erect cognizance, and substantial bone. The Alaskan Malamute stands at 23 to 25 elevation at the shoulder and weighs 75 to 85 pounds.

Everything about Mals suggests their origin as an arctic sled canine The heavy bone, deep casket, important shoulders, and thick, waterproof fleece all laugh,’ I work hard for a living!’ But their almond-shaped brown eyes have a tender sparkle, suggesting Mals enjoy snuggling with their humans when the workday is done. Mals are pack creatures.

History Of Alaskan Malamute

Like utmost of the tykes of the spitz family, the Alaskan Malamute evolved in the Arctic regions, shaped by adverse climatic conditions. The strain’s origin is unknown but was first described as living among the native Inuit people known as the Mahlemuts, who lived along Norton Sound on Alaska’s northwest seacoast.

The word Mahlemut comes from Mahle, an Inuit lineage name, and mut, meaning vill. The tykes served as hunting mates for big game and hauled the heavy loads back home. These tykes were, of necessity, large and strong rather than presto, enabling one canine to do the work of numerous lower tykes.

They were an essential cog in these people’s lives and were treated nearly as one of the family, although they were noway cockered as faves. When the first outside explorers came to the region in the 1700s, they were impressed not only by the hardy canine but also by their possessors ’ egregious attachment to them.

With the discovery of gold in 1896, a flood tide of outlanders came to Alaska; for entertainment, they offered weight-pulling contests and races among their tykes.

More details:https://animalatoz.com/alaskan-malamute/

#https://animalatoz.com/alaskan-malamute/

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animala2z · 2 years ago

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Alaskan Malamute: Dog Breed, Origin, Feeding, Care Full Info

Origin: Alaska (United States)

Height: Dogs-25inches, Bitches- 23inches

Weight: Dogs-38 Kg Bitches-34 kg

LifeSpan: 10-14 years

Size: 4-10 puppies

Color: gray, sable, black, or Red always with

Breed Characteristics Of The Alaskan Malamute

History Of Alaskan Malamute

With the discovery of gold in 1896, a flood tide of outlanders came to Alaska; for entertainment, they offered weight-pulling contests and races among their tykes.

The native types were interbred with each other and those brought by settlers, frequently in an attempt to produce a brisk racer or simply supply the vast figures of tykes demanded to supply the gold rush.

The pure Malamute was in peril of being lost. In the 1920s, a New England canine contending sucker attained some good samples and began to breed the traditional Malamutes.

As the strain’s character grew, some were chosen to help Admiral Byrd in his 1933 journey to the South Pole. During World War II, the Malamute was formerly again called into service, this time to serve as freight vehicles, pack creatures, and search-and-deliverance tykes.

In 1935, the strain entered AKC recognition and began a new phase as an imposing show canine and pious pet.

Appearance

The Alaskan Malamute canine is fluently honored by its thick furry body and the cap on its head. There’s frequently a pronounced size difference between males and ladies. The fleece of the Alaskan Malamute is double carpeted. The hair is slithery and hairy and can be over to two elevations thick.

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darkwood-sleddog · 2 years ago

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Fun ask time. This is Tzapo, my miniature xoloitzcuintli SDiT. Not my first pick in terms of prospect breed but opportunity presented when I got him as a stroke of luck and he had the right temperament. One of the fun and very different behaviors of his compared to my lab and pit mixes of childhood are his incredibly strong drive to den and nest up. This man will nest on a trash bag left empty on the floor or my work papers when I had no choice but to work on the ground because gods forbid his body should ever be without a bed of some sort when he's off duty. I've never seen this ridiculously strong of a denning behavior in a dog before. While obviously very different breeds in nature, have you noticed a similar huge denning drive in your "primitive breed type" dogs? I saw some of it in a Chihuahua we had but nothing still to this extent.

Picture of ridiculous man in question with a nest made out of his bed on top of an air mattress and pile of blankets and pillows because his bed alone isn't cozy enough.

Thank you for the adorable photo and charming story! I love xolos!

I’d say that one would be more likely to see nesting behaviors from short haired or hairless primitives in a pet environment vs the double coated breeds.

Simply speaking, when living in the house, unless our heat goes out in the middle of winter or the dogs are directly under the AC it is too warm for them to want to nest. They enjoy sitting on the couch and our bed, but hate extra blankets and dog beds which wrap around them tightly, again bc they get warm.

Where you do see the most of this for double coated primitives is working outside. Race dogs and recreational sled dogs use the famed “husky” donut in snowbanks and straw nests to keep warm on runs. It should be noted that the fur on northern breeds are so thick and insulating that snow does not melt on them, which is probably why they’re too warm inside to want to do this.

And bonus donut

#dogblr #alaskan malamute #sled dogs #husky #faq #I want to touch a xolo so badly

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troublesometrollhunters · 3 years ago

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If you do headcanons can I request skrael romantic headcanons. If not can I request skrael fluff.

Skrael Romantic Headcannons ❄

My personal headcannon is Skrael goes by he/him and they/them pronouns

Winter is often described as cold and cruel. It's desolant and one wrong move could have you end up dead forever a lost soul wandering in the snow. After centuries of taking this in and listening to mortals call their element evil Skrarl begins to embody what the people describe them as. But the truth is Winter isn't just dangerous it's wonderful.

You see Skrael for who they are and because of this Skrael wants to show you their true world. It's full of blues and whites and grays and seems dull but there's so much more if you take a closer look. There's the delicate frost patterns left on tree trunks and plants. The icicles that drip off of branches and caves in intresting shapes. There's rare flowers that only bloom in the cold and gentle splashes of color as buds peak through the snow. There's the peaceful calm and quiet where there's only you and the whiteness of winter. Or the familar crunch of freshly fallen snow as you step on it. There's so much that people don't see that Skrael wants to show you.

They enjoy showing you the beauty of their element. For so long they've been demonized but you look past what others say and make your own assumptions. Skrael loves that about you and they love sharing Winter secrets with you. If you compliment his work or Skraels talent, Skrael gets very embarassed as their not used to being praised. Skrael is always bringing you little gifts to show his appreciation and makes the winter winds calm around you so you only see the beauty of winter and not the destruction.

Skrael sometimes gets jealous of their siblings. Bellrocs fire is dangerous but loved by the humans. Naris woods can be as perlious as his winter and yet no one seems to care. Skrael knows its not their fault but sometimes Skrael feels like they were given the bad deal out of all of them. Thankfully your reassurances make Skrael feel better and his jealously dies out. After all if you love Winter as much as Skrael does Skrael must be doing something right.

Skrael knows your human and therefore your much more delicate than Skrael will ever be. The ice and snow don't bother Skrael as they are apart of them but to a human the cold can be so deadly. Skrael makes sure you have only the best furrs and is very insistent your properly bundled up before you do anything with them outside the warm ice cave. Humans are so fragile... Skrael doesn't want too loose you before their ready.

Winter is cold and biting something Skrael often embodies and yet around you Skrael is very soft and gentle. Winter is cold but there is so much beauty and color to Winter. Skrael is more than simple assumptions and with you Skrael gets to explore himself more than they ever have.

Skrael likes taking you iceskating or other ice and snow related sports. Thry float next to you, hovering off the ground as they gently guide you over the ice. Some of their favorite times with you have been days where you talk and glide over frozen lakes exploring Skraels winter scape.

Further into the relationship Skrael is excited to give you something. The North wind can take many forms and Skrael has mastered them all. To get around Skrael gifts you nine north wind mush dogs. They are sledding dogs made from ice and snow, their pelts white like ice and their eyes a deep blue similar to frozen lakes. Their a construct and not technically real dogs but they work just as well if not better. Skrael loves racing you and the dogs. Listening to your laughter as they bark and chase Skrael playing their game.

You make beds for them in the ice cave you live in and Skrael is absolutely thrilled you love them so much. When Skrael must leave to attend to certain duties that are unsafe for you Skrael knows the North Winds will watch you until they return.

Surprisingly Skrael almost always knows whats going on in the human world despite not being intresting in it. They control the North winds and the winds whisper secrets others say. So Skrael always has gossip and is more than willing to share some crazy stories the winds tell. Half the things Skrael says they don't understand but they like the way you laugh. You distanced yourself from the world to be with Skrael but to hear these stories makes you feel close to home. They are glad they can give you this gift since you have given them so much.

They find cooking fascinating. Skrael doesn't need to eat but after a long day of being together their more than willing to try something if you make it. The ice cave you live in is full of dried fruits and vegetables along with various meats and spices that hang off the walls. The Northwind dogs also enjoy the food even if they don't have to eat. Skrael perfers your warm stews but they'll eat anything simply to spend time with you.

You must sleep as your a mortal. After a long day Skrael will sit with you by the fire and tuck you in warm furrs as they lay next to you watching you sleep. They'll play with your hair and cast spells for good dreams. If Skrael feels their keeping you awake they'll leave the room and attend to other duties until you wake again.

Skrael does not understand humans but they do not need too. They love you and that will always be true. Skrael has had many partners throughout their lifetime but every partner is special and you... You make Skrael want to live. You make him want to make the world better.

#skrael #skrael x reader #wizards x reader #toa x reader #toa skrael x reader #wizards skrael x reader #skrael of the north wind #toa skrael of the north wind #wizards skrael of the north wind #toa skrael of the north wind x reader #wizards skrael of the north wind x reader #fix it rott fics #fluff fics

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lovesomehate · 2 years ago

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The moment you realize that Travis couldn't be Santa when Laura's in town or being cheeky.

Traditionally the more respected/"higher up" members of the community play Santa and of course one of those people include Travis. He's done it many times before not only as sheriff but even when he was Under Sheriff before Hank retired(AU)/passed away.

While his eyes can be a tad bit off-putting to some, he overall does a good job, identified as the more serious Santa, but who still keeps the spirit. He tends to make the "naughty" kids feel scared about their deeds.

Then Laura enters his life and when she learns that he'll be Santa soon she loves the idea of being able to see him, so we have two scenarios.

Scenario A

She thinks it's so sweet and she wants to join in. She gets given a town elf costume which of course is very sensible and Travis finds it adorable how enthusiastic she is about getting the kids excited to see Santa. She even passes out treats for people's dogs and other pets. It all goes on well. They can enjoy the night and they exchange a chaste kiss under a mistletoe while enjoying the town festivities.

Scenario B

Yeah, Travis has to tap out. He did/said something and now she's on the warpath via seducing him, Santa gig be damned. She's not helping the community. She's off to the side with her own elf costume, with the skirt short just enough and her stomach showing. She's staring at him with that sinful look in her eyes and she's doing the most obscene things with a candy cane and Travis is not going to do this and he's absolutely not going to catch a charge. He's barely in the seat for a minute when he immediately leaves and passes the duty on to the backup Santa. He's still in the suit when he finds Laura. He goes to scold her but his erection is straining. She pushes him down and sits on his lap. "Can I let Santa know what I want for Christmas?" "Naughty girls don't get presents." He growls. "Oh, but I can feel my present right here." She wiggles in his lap. "Maybe Santa can make an exception."

😂😂😂😂 the way I went from “awwww” to “😏😏😏😏 she’s about to ride Santa’s sled” 😂😂😂😂😂😂

Tbh I think they would start with the first scenery and it would escalate as the day went on till they disappear together cause Santa wants to bang his naughty elf that kept giving him bedroom eyes in public 😂😂😂😂😂

#ask #anon #travisxlaura

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thewhitedarknesstv · 3 years ago

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HENRY WORSLEY 1960–2016

Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Worsley was the only person to complete the two classic routes to the South Pole established by his Edwardian predecessors Scott, Amundsen and Shackleton. He was a special forces veteran, and a descendant of Frank Worsley, Sir Ernest Shackleton's skipper on Endurance.

Then, on November 14, 2015, Worsley set off on the most challenging expedition he had ever attempted, hauling a 148-kilogram sledge in a bid to complete the first solo crossing of Antarctica, from Gould Bay to the Ross Ice Shelf via the South Pole, unaided and unassisted even by a dog sled team. Shackleton had failed in the same attempt 100 years earlier when Endurance was crushed by pack ice even before he had set off.

Worsley aimed to complete the 1770-kilometre journey in 75 days, to mark the centenary of Shackleton's expedition and to raise money for the Endeavour Fund, which supports injured servicemen and women.

In his daily audio diaries Worsley spoke of battling ferocious storms, temperatures of minus 40 degrees and bouts of depression, becoming disoriented by white-outs and navigating down an 1800-metre glacier with the constant threat of falling into a crevasse.

He reached the South Pole on January 3, raising more than £100,000 ($204,000) for the Endeavour Fund, and he was just 48 kilometres short of his goal when he collapsed. He was airlifted to hospital in Chile, where he died from bacterial peritonitis.

Alastair Edward Henry Worsley was born into a military family on October 4, 1960 in London. His interest in polar exploration began as a boy when he came across accounts of Shackleton and Scott in his prep school library.

From Stowe, where he excelled in sports, Worsley trained at Sandhurst and was commissioned into 3rd Battalion, the Royal Green Jackets, in 1980. He passed selection for the SAS (in 1988) and, a few years later, for "special duties" in Northern Ireland. He was appointed MBE in 1994.

For two years from January 1996 Worsley commanded 1st Battalion, Royal Green Jackets, on a tour of Bosnia, and he completed four tours with the SAS, including two of Afghanistan.

To calm his nerves during his first time in a war zone, Worsley took up sewing as a hobby. He was delighted in later years to be given a cushion by an inmate at Wandsworth prison, where he had volunteered to teach needlework.

Worsley embarked on his first major Antarctic expedition in 2008-9, hoping to complete Shackleton's Nimrod expedition of 1908-9. In 2011-12, he lead a team of six soldiers in a race along the original 1912 routes charted by Captain Scott and Roald Amundsen to be first to the South Pole. Worsley led the Amundsen route from the Bay of Whales, up the Axel Heiberg Glacier to the South Pole, a 900-mile unsupported journey.

In 1993 Worsley married Joanna Stainton, who survives him with their son and daughter.

Telegraph, London

#Henry Worsley #about the man #the white darkness #tom hiddleston

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scotianostra · 2 years ago

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30th May 1889 saw the birth near Kirkliston of Isobel Wylie Hutchison.

Isobel Wylie Hutchison was an Arctic traveller during the 1920s and 1930s. She was also a botanist, a writer, a poet, an artist and speaker of numerous languages, so a bit of a polymath.

Isobel’s father, Thomas Hutchison, was a successful wine merchant in Edinburgh, he was a keen gardener and passed on to Isobel his fascination for plants and his habit of meticulous note-taking.

At a time when women were expected to stay at home, dressed in petticoats and tending to domestic duties, Isobel would often leave home for several days – much to the despair of her mother!

#Scotland #scottish #explorer #botanist #history #strong woman

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casualmaraudering · 4 years ago

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so i can't get family feels out of my head so have some headcanons feat wolfstar having their first baby

Sirius is immediately so excited at first

and even though it's a nine month long wait (even longer with a procedure of getting a surrogate and all) he's so very happy

he physically cannot go shopping without coming back with at least one bag of baby stuff

the socks are so tiny, he's not strong enough to resist

he clears a room in the house right away. Remus doesn't let him turn it into a nursery that fast, but they designate it as the baby stuff pile and so Sirius puts all the shopping bags there

and really, Remus acts as if he's more calm about the whole ordeal but he also contributes to the baby pile quite fast

Sirius will randomly grin to him and go "we're gonna have a family" and how can you not love this man when he's this happy about it?

around the halfway mark is where things turn different

it's when they start painting the nursery, buying furniture, and slowly coming up with names when Sirius has A Thought

it being: what if i end up like my parents

what if the baby hates me like i hated my dad and mom

what if they won't feel at home here like i did

he panics, and internalises it, and therefore freaks himself out even more

he lets it slip during a dinner with James and Lily. the remainder of the dinner is spent with everyone telling him what a fantastic dad he's going to be and why are his thoughts such bullshit

even Regulus texts him the next day saying the kid will be happy to have such a home

they don't have a baby shower so to say, but there is a gathering of friends and family where everyone gifts them things. and also there's cute cupcakes (gender neutral ones, cause Sirius and Remus 1 don't want to make the gender a weirdly big deal 2 they want to find out at birth so no gender reveals) and James cries a lot about being an uncle

Sirius quits smoking finally

Sirius decides he doesn't need instructions to put furniture together

he is immediately defeated by an ikea wardrobe

Remus puts it together with surprising ease. he uses the instructions though

the nursery is yellow (Remus's favourite colour)

Sirius buys so many glow in the dark stars. so. many

the stars and the moon are a theme, of course. there's a little mobile with some stars and the moon in the centre, the furniture has star shaped handles, there's a little space rug, and there's also wolf and dog plushies - they go all out and yes, it's sappy, but it's their baby okay, they get to be sappy

they spend a lot of nights just cuddled together and talking about the family they'll have

Sirius cries so hard when he sees the baby for the first time

Remus also cries. but Sirius honestly tears up every time he sees the baby for like. the entire day

just imagine those two boys holding hands and having the biggest smiles on their faces looking at their little baby

the few black hairs on his head and the tiny hands and the little feet and small chubby cheeks

they name him Leo

(Regulus has no excuse not to visit now)

they talk to the baby a lot

Remus reads him his favourite books as a way to pass time. Pride and Prejudice, Dorian Gray, LOTR, all that. he also comments quite a lot, pretending as if he's having an actual discussion with a one month old baby

Sirius's favourite past time is just holding his baby, or just literally lying there while Leo sleeps on his chest. it's so simple and yet he's so happy about it

Sirius starts to wear his hair in a very secure bun. having a baby pulling your hair is very much not a fun thing

Remus has a pretty unregulated lifestyle anyway so he's mostly up at night, while Sirius loves to get up in the morning so he's in charge of breakfast and entertaining in the mornings

sometimes if it's particularly early and Remus argues he doesn't want to get out of bed yet, Sirius will just put Leo into bed with Remus and they'll just hang out there, it's extremely adorable

Sirius sings french lullabies, and talks in french quite a lot. basically any time Remus isn't around his brain wires back to french and so the baby will absolutely be bilingual at this rate

Remus goes back to work when Leo is around 6 months old - he's a very work oriented person, he'd honestly go insane if he had to stay at home all the time

Sirius is more than happy to rebrand to a stay at home dad

it only results in a handful of disasters a day at first

Remus doesn't need to know ok

Sirius likes to say he's got his shit together emotionally and then Leo says his first word (which is 'dada') and he cries so hard

Remus will have Leo on his lap when grading homework and will, of course, chat with his dutiful assistant quite a lot

"Can you imagine Maddie wrote this? This is the worst paper of hers I've ever read"

"Bwaba"

"Exactly. I'll have to have a word with her on Monday"

James visits them at least twice a week, he can't just not see his favourite nephew less often ok

Leo's first Halloween, Sirius dresses him up as a little ghost

they don't go trick or treating, but they take a lot of pictures. and then when the baby sleeps the adult eat far too much candy and watch horror movies and snuggle

Sirius has always had a Christmas spirit, but when it's Leo's first Christmas it hits So much harder than usual

he decorates the house on the first of december and nearly falls off the ladder several times

his Google history for the month being: "can a 9 month old drink eggnog" "can a baby eat gingerbread cookies" "can i take a baby sledding" and whatnot

despite that the house has too many decorations, Remus really doesn't mind the holiday spirit cause Sirius is truly in his element every December, and now he seems twice as happy as usual

he, of course, puts mistletoe on the doorframe of the kitchen. cause yes they're married with a baby but that doesn't mean they can't make out in the door like teenagers

James puts a hat with antlers on Leo and proceeds to take so many pictures and send them to literally everyone he knows

Lily and Sirius make and decorate gingerbread cookies and this time there's only a few penis shaped ones. they've all grown up yall

Leo gets the most presents, of course

and by the time he's in bed sleeping, and everyone leaves after Christmas dinner, Sirius and Remus curl up by the fireplace and talk about what a good year they've had

and when New Year's comes along, their only resolutions are to try and make their little boy as happy as possible

#every now and again I get overwhelming feelings about parental wolfstar ok #enjoy #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #wolfstar #my tag #headcanon tag #say hi to my baby Leo i love him and would die for him #I could make several posts about him he's my darling baby #Leo Black

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secret-engima · 4 years ago

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Drabble for Time Travel Twins verse

(because I have no impulse control and SOMEONE *eyes @rayearthdudette* reminded me about Titus and then my muses ran away with me. Enjoy!)

...

-They are 12 when Titus first comes to the Citadel. Romulus is more than ready to stab him, because he remembers Libertus telling him what happened, that the man became a traitor, and any threats to Regis are threats that need to be removed, but Remus is … conflicted. One on hand, yes, Titus is a danger. But when? Surely the man hadn’t always been a traitor. Captain had taught him … so much. Taken care of them before going cold and hard in those final days. Remus is … biased he supposes. Reluctant to arrange an “accident” for the man who meant so much to him at one point, especially when he shows no signs of treason right now.

-So they watch, aloof and quiet (which is not unexpected for them considering their … backstory, so no one really notices), trying to find evidence of treason or loyalty and are both disturbed when they realize that Titus Drautos is … he is loyal. He is angry and hurting, having just lost his home of Cavaugh outside Insomnia and it’s Wall, but he is not angry at Lucis. He is not bitter toward the king, but instead seems to respect Regis in a polite, impersonal sort of way. He treats both twins with respect and manners, not questioning their paranoid looks, the way Romulus keeps picking a fight, or how Remus has nicknamed him Captain with a feral sort of smile even though the man is a Crownsguard rookie with no real rank.

-Sometimes he even steps into situations unprompted on their behalf, and while Romulus is convinced it’s a ploy to gain trust, Remus sees the crease in the man’s forehead when he interjects himself in a situation (a dispute with the other guards, a reckless prank he can see about to go dangerously south rather than just hilariously sideways) and his gut whispers that Titus is sincere. But then, he trusted Captain before and look where that got him.

-They are 16 when Titus Drautos disappears on a mission outside Insomnia. If they hadn’t been keeping a constant eye on him (hadn’t been making up excuses to be around him so as to search for treasonous behavior, hadn’t been getting attached despite the memories screaming that it was a bad idea) then they would never have noticed. Titus was one man amid the entire Crownsguard, and as good at his job as he was, as personal his reason for joining the Guard (saved by Regis when their “father” personally led rescue efforts to Cavaugh in the wake of the destruction), one man is so very easy to miss. Titus was new, he didn’t have that many friends in the guard, and most of them were on other missions and duties themselves. So when Titus was assigned to a milk run outside the Wall with three others and two of them came back with a report of a daemonic ambush, everyone else just shrugged with regret and moved on. Hardly the first time they’d lost a rookie to the Night.

-Except.

-Except Romulus and Remus know that Titus couldn’t be dead. They had not altered the timeline in a way that would have made the man die, surely. If anything, Romulus’s constant sparring challenges would have made the man more capable and besides all that, somewhere deep inside Remus still clings to the image of his Captain before the betrayal. The strong, steady, unbreakable presence that kept so many of them from throwing themselves into fights they couldn’t win because they didn’t want to come back to empty houses and shattered Clans.

-Except Romulus and Remus know that at some point Titus Drautos becomes Glauca, the wielder of an experimental regenerating armor, and Romulus has personal experience with Niflheim and their predilection towards immoral science.

-They are smart enough to leave a note at least. One telling Regis that they’re going looking for Drautos and will be back in a few weeks. Hopefully. Then they run, putting as much distance as they can between themselves and Insomnia before Cor can catch up to them and drag them home.

-It takes them longer than expected. Romulus remembered a lot of things and a lot of missions, but Niflheim holds a lot of territory and they can only hit so many bases before they risk capture and discovery from either side.

-But they do have some ways to narrow it down, and the twins lost their qualms against “aggressive negotiations” to gain information a very long time ago.

….

-Titus doesn’t know how long he’s been there. Only that it’s been too long. Far too long.

-Long enough to know that no one is coming. He is alone. Forgotten. Abandoned.

-Just like his home when Mors pulled back the Wall, not even sparing a thought for the region of small towns and simple villages right on his doorstep that were no match for Niflheim’s military.

-Long enough that he’s stopped trying to fight it when they come into his cell and unshackle him from the wall to drag him off to the lab for another session. Another agony filled day of them pumping black sludge and liquid metal into his veins and watching him writhe on the table as it forces itself into shape around his skin and then slides back underneath when the scientists press certain buttons.

-He hates them. He h a t e s them.

-He’s starting to hate the Lucis Caelums more. For leaving him. Just like they left his family to burn, just like they left all of Lucis to burn.

-(And in the back of his mind he knows that’s not fair, that he should hate the people doing this to him not those who live safe and far away, but he is helpless against these scientists who keep him drugged and shackled, and it is so much easier to hate the things that he doesn’t have to be terrified of, so much easier to keep himself alive when his hate has a target he can imagine lashing out at rather than the ones who have long since gotten wise to his escape attempts and tricks and pin him down body and soul).

-Titus has been here too long and as he is dragged to the table and strapped down for the (tenth-hundreth-thousandth) time he knows that no one is coming.

-He doesn’t realize that the shaking of the world is not just another side effect of his mind struggling to cope with whatever the sludge and metal does to him until the scientists stop in the middle of their work and start looking around.

-One of them looks toward the door and orders an MT to go check what was going on. The unit leaves and the pain resumes.

-Until the intermittent shivering of the world turns into one long, prolonged shake. Like reality is a wet dog and the entire lab is a stubborn drop of water that won’t quite leave the fur coat. Somewhere to his right, the head scientist, a weedy man with black hair and a propensity to laugh in childish delight when Titus gets violent, yells something that sounds like “earthquake? Here? Impossible!”

-Titus loses time easily on the table, and he isn’t terribly surprised when he blinks his eyes open without memory of closing them and instinctively looks around to try to reorient himself in regards to time (to whether the session is almost over or if he still has a long way of torment to go)

-Why is his face wet.

-Why does the wetness taste like copper.

-Is he bleeding again? Did the liquid metal come out of his skin too fast and open large gashes again?

-A blink of lost time, a sluggish glance to the right.

-Had … had the weedy scientist man been pinned to the wall by a sword through his chest for long?

-Why were all the scientists screaming? He was the only one who did screaming during the sessions.

-Another blink and the screaming was quiet but the alarms were like nails in his ears, so loud he almost couldn’t hear the words being said to him by the person yanking the restrains off his arms, “-kay, Captain, we’re gonna get you out of here. Just hang on. You hear me, Captain?”

-…Captain?

-Only one person called him Captain.

-He lifted a hand toward the … person? Hallucination? and brushed his knuckles against a slender cheek, metal skittering in and out of his hand, reaching for the person-vision-thing with something like curiosity, “Re … mus?”

-Blue eyes, darker than their usual ice, as dark as the ocean or the King’s magic, filmed with tears. The hand that took his was scarred in familiar patterns, burns that were done by fire but branched jaggedly like lightning, “I’m here, Captain. I’m getting you out.” A glance to Titus’s other side and a tightening of the jaw, “We’re getting you out. Just hang on, okay?”

-Titus had to be dreaming. Or dying. Finally. The royal princes were very openly not fond of him, for all they had chosen to make him their preferred pestering target and training chew toy for the last 4 years. They were only 16 and this was a Niflheim military laboratory. No one was coming for him, especially not the princes.

-Titus did his best to hang on to Remus’s shoulder anyway as the much smaller teen have carried, half dragged him down torn up, smoking hallways. Ahead of him, silver gleamed, not like the liquid metal the scientists kept pumping in his veins (that he was probably dying of right now) but brighter. Purer.

-Romulus’s armiger had always been a thing of deadly beauty, especially when Titus wasn’t on the receiving end of it. It carved through the MT Units that tried to stop them with barely a thought, the dozens of swords the boy had obsessively collected swapping from the air to his hands and back in the space of blinks, defending or destroying by turns.

-Not a single Unit or bullet got anywhere near Titus and Remus.

-Something coiled around him, warm and painful, but a … good kind of painful. Not like the scientists and their tools. More like the burn of a hot shower against sore muscles.

-Not a bad thing to feel while he dreamed up a rescue scenario as he died.

-A blink that lasted too long, because when he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back, being dragged through the grass on some kind of makeshift shield sled. The sky was above him, so open and vibrant he hadn’t realized he’d started to forget what colors other than black, silver, and white were until just then. He didn’t dare blink away the tears that started, because he didn’t want to miss this. This dream of rescue and freedom in his final moments.

-It was evening. If he craned his head, he could see smoke rising in the distance. The base that had held him nothing more than an empty shell.

-The vision of Remus was still talking from where he and Romulus were dragging Titus’s shield sled, “-a little longer. We’ll patch you up once we get to the Haven, okay? Just a little longer.”

-He blinked. Opened his eyes to pain.

-Pain-pain-pain-painpainPAINMAKEITSTOPPLEASE-

-“What’s wrong with him?”

-“I don’t know! He might- he might be going through withdrawals from whatever drugs the Nifs used?”

-“It’s been hours past that point and it started up just now, withdrawals have more warning than that-!” swearing, loud and by his ear as he writhed in burning white agony, “Is he seizing? Hold him down till I get an elixir!”

-“-not working I don’t know what’s wrong-”

-“-ven! It’s the Haven!”

-“What?”

-“Captain never went on Havens! No one knew why, and he always had a good excuse so no one really questioned it but-.”

-“Daemon blood, it’s got to be, they probably used it as a conduit for the armor. The Haven was trying to purify him-.”

-“He’s off the Haven now, why hasn’t it stopped?”

-“We interrupted the process, the suit isn’t complete and we probably just screwed up whatever counted for stable with it-.”

-PainpainpainpainpleasejustmakeitstopjustenditenditENDIT

-“-dare die, Captain! Don’t you dare die on me!”

-Please.

-Just.

-E n d i t.

-Hand on his chest and on his neck it hurthurthurt-, “You don’t get to leave me behind!”

-Light.

-White hot light, brighter than the sun, brighter and more agonizing than anything in life before or after.

-Kids in front of him. Kids who thought they were adults, thought they were ready for war, thought they were ready for magic to reach inside and change them forever.

-His boys. His girls. His idiots.

-His Glaives.

-Blood and bandages, blades and crisp black uniforms edged in silver. “Appropriate,” laughed the shadow of the jungle and the storm on his heels and where did he know that voice from? Where did he know that shadow?

-Endless battlefields and unchanging training rooms, the flicker of braids in the corner of his eyes, meanings kept secret, meanings absorbed through exposure until the sight of pink made him cringe and the glimpse brown beads made his heart hurt in sympathy. A hundred faces come and gone, a dozen more that stayed-stayed-stayed. Brown eyes green eyes burning burning blue. Lips in a hundred different faces with a hundred different names, all of them looking at him and calling him the same thing in fondness-anger-respect-heartbreak-affection-trust.

-“Captain.”

-“Hey, Captain.”

-“Yo, Cap!”

-“For Hearth and Home, right Captain? As long as there is breath in my body, I follow that order.”

-A name on the tip of his tongue, a knowing that was fond and angry and regretful all at once. The glimpse of beads.

-Lightning branching scars made of purple fire.

-The pain stopped.

-Titus opened his eyes.

-And looked into burning burning blue, set in a face that was partially cracked open in branching lightning scars that bled purple fire, “Hey … Captain.”

-There was a name on Titus’s lips, and it wasn’t “Remus”, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what that name was. At least not before the world went dark and he passed out from the relief of no longer being in pain.

-He woke up to the crackling of a campfire and a sprawling night sky over his head. For a moment he lay there in utter disbelief, not daring to move just in case he woke up back in the lab. Something shifted off to his right and a moment later a small, calloused hand rests on his forehead, “Awake for real this time, Drautos?”

-Titus stares, “…Prince Romulus?” The words cracked in his throat and when his coughing fit died down, the prince who shouldn’t be there handed him a canteen of water. Titus inhaled carefully several times after drinking, then looked up again. The prince was still there, “…How?”

-Prince Romulus sat back on his heels with a carefully blank expression, “You’re a hard man to find, Drautos. And a hard one to keep alive.”

-“I … what?”

-The Prince looked over his shoulder and Titus jerked internally when he spotted Prince Remus curled up asleep on a bedroll, exhaustion in every line of his teenage body, his branching scars far more vivid than usual.

-Purple fire spilling free of skin and blue, blue eyes and memories he can’t see-hear-touch-.

-“You … you came for me.” Titus whispered, unable to believe it, but also unable to disbelieve it. Why?

-Romulus grunted and evaded the implicit question in Titus’s words, “It took us longer than we thought to find you. Didn’t realize the Nifs had so many labs, let alone in Lucis. Then we got you out to a Haven and whatever they pumped in you decided to send you into some kind of violent fit.”

-Titus could remember that, dimly, and it made him feel sick just thinking of the black sludge and the liquid metal squirming under his skin-.

-Except he couldn’t feel it anymore.

-He pressed his hands over his arms, trying to find the feeling of foreign, painful metal inside him and instead felt … something else. Light. Twin suns of light hiding in his core, one that nipped and grumbled at his senses like a winter-chilled river that looked calm on the surface but raged quick and fast underneath, and another that crackled and sparked eagerly down his bones like lightning and the pounding of rain. Magic. Twin cores of magic, humming under his skin in place of the horrible, burning liquid metal the Nifs had constantly forced into his veins.

-…The princes’ magic?

-Romulus saw his look and turned his face away, “Remus burned the Starscourge and that … metal … out of your body with his magic but something needed to replace it. It had … carved you up inside and leaving those channels empty … would have been fatal.” Romulus glared at the night beyond the Haven, “I’m not explaining that well. But that’s what happened. Then he passed out.”

-Titus couldn’t untangle his emotions properly, they were too jumbled and strong do to more than rasp, “And … you?” Because there were two distinct magics inside him now, he could feel them.

-Romulus shook his head, stood up and prowled a few steps away to the campfire before sitting down again and admitting gruffly, “Remus wasn’t enough. After you were purified, you went into shock. I’d brought along ten phoenix downs just in case something happened…” The prince inhaled slowly, whispered more to the flames than Titus, “I ran out. You were still fading. So I dragged you back.”

-“Why?” Titus’s hands were shaking and he couldn’t get them to stop, couldn’t think about what the prince’s words made him feel because if he did he would break before he could get an answer and he needed to know. Needed to know why the two princes that had never acted particularly fond of him would race into the wilds, would risk their lives to free him, and then would … give him their magic.

-It wasn’t Romulus who answered, but a sluggish Remus, who slurred from his bedroll, “Cause you’re our Captain.” Remus blinked sleepily, yawned and finished, “Hearth and Home. ’S what matters most. Hearth is where you stay, Home’s the people in it. That’s you.” Blue eyes fluttered shut again before Titus could think of a response, but when he looked over at Romulus, the eldest prince was watching him solemnly.

-The prince tilted his chin in agreement with his twin, then added very softly, “We were afraid of you because you’re from Cavaugh. Our father already has to deal with enough bitterness and backlash over Mors’ reign, we didn’t know how you would react, being so close to the royal family that failed your town. But then you disappeared and … a prince takes care of his people. We can’t save everyone, we don’t have that kind of power. No one does. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.” Then he shook his head, shifting to sit with his back to the fire and his sword on his shoulder, a soldier keeping watch even though there was no need on a Haven, “Go to sleep. You’ve been through a lot. We’ll call for pickup to Insomnia in the morning.”

-Titus lay back down very slowly, head spinning and limbs shaking, his entire world upended and shaky. Except for one thing. One realization, one burning vow, curling tight in his chest.

-These princes were his. They had come for him. When he’d lost all hope that anyone could come, they had. They had come and carried him to freedom, burned out the poison in his veins and given him each a piece of themselves to keep him alive when they had no obligation to do any such thing. No matter what he thought of Mors, or their father, for that …

-For that he would stand beside the throne without hesitation or doubt.

-He woke up the next afternoon to find that Remus had somehow migrated from his bedroll to Titus’s and was sleeping curled up under one arm, his magic tangling around Titus’s soul and keeping the nightmares at bay while Romulus, who had drifted over sometime in the night, dozed fitfully within arm’s reach away. When Titus stirred, Remus clung tighter to the tattered Crownsguard coat they had dressed him in at some point. Remus called him “Captain” the same way King Regis beckoned his Shield, (the same way a child called out to a trusted adult, and what had he ever done to earn that trust from two boys who were known to have been abused so badly by adults before), and Titus relaxed obediently into the teen’s hold.

-And he knew.

-He was theirs. Whatever they needed of him, whatever they wanted him to be to them, that’s what he would be. For them he would burn down the world if they only asked, and in their defense he would give anything.

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Time Travel Twins verse #titus drautos #HERE BE ANGST #long post

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