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dameronology · 3 years ago

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6 from the angst prompts with frank please🤲🏾

frank castle + 6) "why does my mind go back to when you used to hold me?"

ok. i'm gonna be real with you. this started by following the prompt, then it...it went somewhere else entirely. but we move.

You should have been happy in your lover's arms.

Anyone else in the world would have been fucking elated; wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa with a five-foot-eleven guy, with his ginger tousled hair and broad arms. Your first date together had been a favour to your sister, but you'd never found a reason to stop seeing him. After all, he looked after you. Texting you to make sure you got home safe, bringing you lunch at work, fixing your broken kitchen cabinet in your shitty little apartment. He was nice. Too nice. He was a sensible t-shirt made out of husband material.

So what did that make Frank Castle? The leather jacket that your parents had forbade you from buying? The stupidly ripped jeans that made your relatives ask dId yOu bUy tHeM lIke tHat?

But truthfully, there was no stupid, cliche metaphor for Frank Castle. He was absolutely indescribable; a walking contradiction, a fucking confusion. He was rough and soft and giving and taking all at once. He stole the air from the lungs and breathed it right back into you; stole the show, but never came out from behind the curtains. He'd ruined your life for twelve straight months and yet, you looked back on that year as the best time of your life.

Frank was gone now - gone to the wind, wherever his next crime took him. You still thought of him, though. Constantly. About how your new boyfriend's arms didn't hold you as tight; about how his hair was a lot softer than Frank's, and didn't scratch you in the same way his did whenever he buried his head in your neck. His hands weren't as large and protective. He didn't make you black coffee every morning - oat lattes and fancy cappuccinos, yeah. But not the shitty, sugarless crap that Frank served to you in a chipped Coney Island mug every day at 7AM. The new guy cared enough to walk you home, but not enough to elbow his way into your apartment at 3AM because he'd heard sirens four blocks away and panicked. Frank Castle had had a weird way of loving you - and now, everyone else's attempts at it paled in comparison.

Like I said before - anyone else would have been infatuated with the new man sat beside you. Admittedly, you'd only found one problem with him.

He wasn't Frank.

"I'm just going to make some tea," you said. "I'll be back in a second."

The auburn man looked at you. "Should I pause the movie?"

"It's okay, I've seen it before," you forced a smile.

Shrugging off the blanket, you stood up and stalked through to the kitchen. It was a separate room from your living area - Frank had always given you spiel about how cramped it felt. But the minute you spotted a pair of combat boots on the fire escape? You were just thankful for the privacy it now gave you from the man you should have been falling in love with.

Hopping up on the counter, you slid open the window and stuck one leg out onto the metal stairs. Frank naturally leant forward to help you, a large handing wrapping around your wrist and pulling you up. The sky was pitch black, lit only by the starry facade of the Lower East Side. Hell's Kitchen was beautiful from this angle - probably because the man who constantly tore it to pieces was stood on your fire escape.

"You look like shit," you greeted him. It was true; his hair was cropped and neat, and he was clean shaven like usual, but there was a fucking massive shiner on his left eye.

"So do you," Frank shot back. "Who the fuck does that t-shirt belong to?"

"None of your business," you said.

"It belongs to your ginger friend, doesn't it?" he deduced. "What's his name?"

"Again - none of your business."

"Fine. I'll just call him Ron, then."

"Okay, Frank," you huffed. "Why are you turning up on my fire escape at 1AM and giving me spiel about Harry Potter?"

"I was just checking in," he shrugged. "Am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

"No."

"Fine," he held his hands up in defence. "But I know you're thinking about me."

"I'm not thinking about you," you countered. "In fact, the first person I think of when I hear the name Frank is Frank Reynolds from It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia."

"You're a terrible liar, sweetheart," he reminded you.

"It's true. I really love Danny Devito-"

You abruptly stopped talking when Frank grabbed you by the waist, pulling you towards him. Your lips crashed against his - warm and familiar and chapped - in a passionate kiss. Time might as well have fucking stopped in that moment. It was a feeling you'd craved for so long; begged for, prayed to every god you believed in and even those you didn't.

"You love me more," Frank murmured. "More than the man inside."

"Frank," you murmured.

"Just say it," he pushed. "I know you love me - not him."

"Is that why you came back?" you asked. "Because you were worried I'd found someone else?"

"I came back because I missed you," he confessed.

"You went upstate to get away from all this," you half-heartedly gestured to the city below.

"And I came back for all this," he gestured to you with a large hand. "It's nothing to do with you being with someone else. It doesn't mean I don't want to left hook the guy for putting his hands on you, but..."

Frank trailed off. You, meanwhile, were still in disbelief. It had taken so much effort to move on; to force his remaining belongings into a box under your bed. Even more so to let another man in to said bed.

In a swift movement, he'd taken off his hoodie and pulled it over your shoulders. The zip was done up in mere seconds, thick hood pulled over your head. It smelt of Frank - domestic Frank, not I've gone bat-crap crazy on a gang in the middle of the night and come back looking like the prom scene in Carrie Frank. It was a mixture of cheap laundry detergent and a little of his spicy aftershave. He rarely wore the stuff, but you deducted he probably put it on for tonight. What kind of fucking weirdo put on expensive aftershave just to creep around on his former lover's balcony? Frank. The answer was Frank. Just...quintessentially him.

"You really hate the look of me in his clothes, huh?" you teased.

"You looked cold," Frank lied. "Does Ron give you his hoodies?"

"He'd give me his damn wardrobe if I asked."

He snorted. "Yeah, okay. I'm glad to see you that you still enjoy dancing around important conversations-"

"- you know I love you, Frank," you cut him off. "But I'm not skipping into the fucking sunset with you at 1AM when it's freezing as shit outside. Especially not when there's a man on my couch, who thinks I'm making a cup of tea when I'm actually kissing a man out on the fire escape."

"I love you too," Frank gave you a lopsided grin, completely ignoring the second half of what you said. "I'll come back in the morning."

"Yeah, okay," you pressed another kiss to his jaw. "See you then."

You slipped your hands away from Frank's, sliding your legs back through the window and onto the kitchen counter. Leaping off the side, you shut the window and reached to turn on the kettle - you did have the whole cup of tea lie to keep up with.

And with a smile on your face, you reached for the chipped Coney Island mug on your shelf.

#asks #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle imagines #frank castle x y/n #punisher x reader #punisher imagines #frank castle fluff #frank castle angst #marvel imagines

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thewhumperinwhite · 3 years ago

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The Kennelmaster's Boy (Part 1)

@marseny since you asked so nicely 😌 here's What I Did To Andry. This is several years prior to the events of WKW. I suspect this little flashback will be three parts.

TW for: parental abuse.

Also: Andry worries about it, but you don't have to: no dogs are harmed in this piece.

----

The first time, Andry really does sneak down only to see the puppies.

Sometimes people tell him that as a Prince, he should have no need to sneak anywhere. And it is true that no part of the palace is expressly forbidden him, except for the Lady's Mouth in the courtyard, where he would be frightened to go anyway. And no one in the castle has the authority to send him away from wherever he wants to be, with one obvious exception.

But Andry sneaks lots of places—to the kitchens to beg treats for Asher, or the Salle d'Armes to train on his own when his fencing lessons are done. It feels better, safer, to go unseen in the castle where he's lived all his life, every once in a while. Otherwise, he can't ever be sure who will tell his father where he's been, out of malice or ignorance. And he can't ever tell what will make his father angry, if he does hear of it. An excursion that earns him nothing but a roll of the Lion's eyes this week might get him boxed ears or worse the next. Better to go quietly, if he's at all unsure.

Truth be told, he isn't unsure about this one. The King has made it very clear that he doesn't want Andry near the Royal Hounds, anywhere but on a hunt. "I don't keep lady's lap dogs, boy," the Lion has told him, more than once. (The last time his fist was tangled in Andry's hair and he shook him by it, hard.) "I catch you coddling them again, I'll toss you in the kennels with a roast around your neck, and see how softly you can stroke them then."

But Brunie's been huge and sluggish with the weight of a huge litter for weeks, now, and Andry wants to see if she had the puppies alright. So he tucks his long gold braid under the collar of his plainest tunic, and creeps down the servants' stairs to the kennels.

Brunie thumps her tail tiredly on the straw-littered floor when she sees him, her belly clustered with a dozen fat gray puppies, crawling over each other to reach her milk, occasionally toppling over as though unsure what to do with their chubby little limbs.

Bombur is sitting next to her, looking very pleased with himself, and Andry can't resist reaching into the pen to scratch behind the wolfhound's silky ears.

"You had the easier job, old boy," he says softly, while Bombur rolls his big dark eyes back blissfully and lifts his chin for scratches. "No need to be smug."

At this moment one of the pups, belly full of milk, tumbles and lands in a heap at Bombur's feet, and Bombur lowers his head and noses the pup closer to the bars, looking up at Andry expectantly.

Andry should be getting back, now. But Bomber pants and wags his tail, and the little pup blinks sleepily at the uncomprehensible world around it, small and round and unafraid, and Andry relents, and bends to scoop it carefully up, tucking its warm weight in the crook of his arm and stroking its velvety head with the one finger and the utmost gentleness.

The puppy yawns enormously and immediately rests its tiny head on Andry's arm and goes to sleep. Bombur pants up at him, looking pleased and softly foolish, as though Andry the Lion's Son is as easily trusted as anyone else, and Andry is blinking embarrassed tears out of his eyes by the time he hears the sudden voice behind him.

"Hell are you doing in here?" the voice says. There's no real rancor in it, but Andry still spins on his heal, cradling the puppy against his now-pounding heart, with a nonsensical instinct to shield it against the intruder, who almost certainly belongs here far more than Andry does.

A boy is standing in the doorway to the cellar proper, paused in the act of propping an old straw broom against the wall, surveying Andry with curious dark eyes, below a mop of dark hair cut in a working-man's short crop. He can't be more than a few years older than Andry, though he is several inches taller.

His homespun tunic doesn't cover his arms, and Andry can see that they're corded through with wiry muscle. Andry feels his own face suddenly heat up, though he isn't sure why.

The boy puts his long-fingered hands on his hips and—almost smiles at Andry. "Well," he says. "I was about to holler for the Master, but you must be someone, for Old Lord Bombur to watch you holdin' his pup without a show of teeth." Andry looks dumbly down at the wolfhound, who is still wagging his tail, the new boy apparently included in his good mood. "Who are ye, then, boy?"

Andry stares, stupidly. The puppy in his hands makes a grumpy little huff, hurt that he's stopped scratching its head, but Andry's hands have gone entirely numb and won't respond to his commands.

"I," Andry says, his voice crackly and too high. "Um," he says, and that seems to be all he can manage now.

"...right," the boy says, and he takes a step forward; Andry, entirely without meaning to, takes a matching step back, his hand still curled protectively around the wolfhound pup.

Bombur stands, and snaps his teeth once, to warn Andry to stop backing away with his puppy. The boy raises his dark brows, presumably for a similar reason.

"You're not—stealing one of the King's Hounds, are you?" the boy says, but his tone makes it clear that he doesn't believe that Andry is capable of making off with the pup.

Andry lifts his chin, feeling obscurely offended. "What if I was?" he says, feeling stupid as he said it; he should be glad not to be thought a thief, he should be putting the pup down and making his exit, he should be being as unmemorable as possible.

The boy grins, and steps closer again, and Andry realizes (with muffled horror) that he doesn't want to be unmemorable.

"I'd stop you, obviously," the boy says, and he steps easily into Andry's space—Andry lets him, feeling sweaty—and lifts the puppy easily out of Andry's relaxing fingers.

The boy sets the pup neatly back in the pen, where Bombur sniffs it loudly to make sure nothing's amiss. The boy does not step away from where he's standing, really quite close to Andry.

"What's your name?" the boy asks him. He's properly smirking now, his voice teasing and inviting, and looking Andry right in the face—like it's a face he doesn't know, but likes.

Andry stares up at the boy. He wants—to lie, or more than that, to change, to say a different name and have it be the truth. But that isn't how it works, and suddenly Andry has forgotten every name except his own.

So instead he turns on his heel and runs.

Andry can't sleep that night, too busy making lists of names to give in place of his own. He's thought of and rejected almost fifty different names before he even realizes he's decided to go back.

----

The Kennel Boy's name is Marten, and he's been the kennelmaster's apprentice for nearly three months. He thinks Andry is a lesser Noble's son named Aiden, and also, an idiot.

Andry hates looking stupid, normally. He more than hates it—it frightens him. He hates to do things wrong, even in front of people who won't hit him for it.

But on his third or fourth visit, when Marten insists he's holding one of the puppies wrong, the older boy pushes into Andry's space, rearranged Andry's hands with his own warm calloused fingers. Marten sees Andry's answering blush, and laughs, but doesn't move back.

Andry holds the puppies wrong on purpose. Never in a way that would hurt them—he's very careful; always just barely wrong enough. He offers to help sweep the kennels clean on the next trip, and misses large swaths of dirty straw, until Marten puts his hands on his hips and asks him if he's ever held a broom in his life.

"Maybe you should show me how," Andry says, cheeks burning with his own boldness, and Marten grins, transparently pleased, and does.

It can't last, of course. Andry stands on the balcony, almost a month later, still and straight beside his father, and sees Marten's face in the crowd—pale with shock and then looking away, half-running from the courtyard.

Andry knew he was doing wrong, a little, from the beginning; Marten's easy smile always made the lies sit heavy in his stomach. But he is still surprised at the force of Marten's anger when he learns that Andry is the Lion's son.

"You lied to me," he says, in a voice that shakes, his warm calloused hands in fists at his sides. "How could you, how could you not tell me you were—you liar!" The dogs shift in their pens at Marten's raised voice, and he squeezes his eyes shut, turns and will not look Andry in the eyes. "Get out," he says.

Andry reaches for him, wants to turn him around, wants to pull the boy's hands open and twine their fingers together, wants, wants things he doesn't even have words for yet.

"Get out!" Marten yells at him, and Andry takes to his heels again, tears in his eyes.

----

Andry stays away. If there are tears shed in the privacy of his bedroom, that is his own business; Asher kindly keeps his mouth shut, let's Andry hide his whimpers under his sheets and doesn't remark on his red and puffy eyes in the mornings. Andry is a Prince, and while he sometimes sneaks, he will not beg.

He doesn't need to. He wipes sweat from his eyes in the sparring ring by the guard barracks and when he looks Marten is there, leaning against the ring's fence and watching him with wary eyes.

"You hold a sword a lot better than a broom, Your Highness," Marten says. His voice is carefully neutral. He's standing only a few feet away, and the farthest from Andry he's ever been. "Come on," Marten says after a moment, his voice a fraction softer. "Old Bombur keeps on howling; no one babies him like you do." He meets Andry's eyes, nervous and angry and sorry, and Andry crosses the ring to stand before him, unable to do anything else. "Come back to him, why don't you."

Andry does not spoil the moment with tears; only follows Marten back down to the kennels. Marten lets him hold the broom again, and the next day when he calls Andry "Your Highness," he smiles, like it's a joke and not a curse.

Andry has never been more relieved; too grateful, really, to think clearly. When Marten asks, the following month, if there is space in the Lion's retinue, and when they next go out on a hunt, and who will handle the Hounds, Andry does not notice the boy fails to meet his eyes.

#winter king's ward #wkw extras #backstory #parental abuse #abusive parents #fantasy whump #emotional whump #(though this just set up really. the actual trauma is Next Time)#emotional manipulation

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rickgrimesrp · 1 year ago

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Rick's lips parted as he listened to her. Vega. Like the stars? He was paying attention. She was careful and he knew she was sniffing for hints of anything that could reveal his nature. She was guarding her people, defending everyone inside those walls, just like he was defending his group before everything went to shit.

"It's never pretty." He said. "People judge you by what they can take from you now." He nodded, his eyes fixed on the void where his memories were being streamed. "I think I've dealt with the worst. If not...maybe quite close to the worst."

Joe. The Claimers who were group rapists. The cannibals from Terminus, amputating his friend's leg and eating it in front of him.

Rick took his hand to his own face, touching his forehead then scratching his beard. "I meant it. And I know what I meant it. I know the position I am now. We have nowhere to go. So yes, I would like to stay." He looked at her in the eyes for some seconds, silent. His own weren't threatening or offensive at all, but his eyes showed her so much strength, yet so much pain. "I will do anything for my son, and if you indeed accept us here, I will do anything for the group."

Didn't mean he would be happy about it, didn't mean he wanted to do certain things, but he knew he would. He would. He just would. There would be a moment where pressure would just force him to do the most awful things to stay alive and protect his son. I hadn't been two weeks he had bit a guy's throat off and he didn't even know that he COULD do such thing, that he had the strength to do. But he had done. And would do it again. It was recent how he had grabbed an ak47 and shot the hell out of people, let them turn to eat the others who remained. And it had been even more recent that he turned a guy's head into bloody mud with a machete, over and over again. His idealistic, kind, sweet self, who wanted a family, who always chose mercy, that guy was buried so deep inside Rick's soul, that persona couldn't even see light.

"Understood." He said firmly.

That same day, Rick had his wounds treated and he slept by his son's side. Next day he finally ate, but still couldn't move much. He was sore all over and also slept most of the time, healing. The beds and matresses of the infirmary were comfy, he got to be clean and sleep in clean sheets. A different reality for those who didn't need to recover.

On the third day, he was strong enough to start Vega's testing and work, show wha he could do- he got assigned to a small wooden house, which was still being built apparently. One room, a small wooden "porch" outside where he could use water to clean himself. Inside, a small area in the middle to lit a fireplace so he could stay warm. Carl meant no danger to people there so obviously Rick would be alone for a while, having to visit his son at their infirmary as he still seemed to sleep most of the time due to his injuries.

It felt so off to have Shiro following him around, but he tried to ignore. Rick got explained about the work he should do, learned about how to acquire items, their own coin and rules. Nothing he disagreed with. He just thought clothes were so expensive, he would have to wear and wash his own every day. He worked the whole day with the crops at the fields, his mind planning how he could improve his little earth lot and applying what he had learned from Hershel to the plants. Once the sun set and the workers were dismissed, he would gather abandoned planks and buy some materials to finish and improve his little house. He even made a little wooden fence so he could get more privacy at night, when he would leave his clothes to dry by the fire as he ate from the meat or canned food he bought. The contact with the nature did him good. The tomatoes he planted were growing vivid and faster than the others and he could harvest faster due to the tools he adapted, by mounting a little cart with wheels so he had to walk less to carry his production as well as his shovel which he crafted to work on both sides, one used to dig deep and the other to scratch the earth, so he wouldn't need to carry many tools.

He was gathering a lot of money, not knowing what Carl would need when he left the infirmary, he had to be ready. The teenager had woken up, but still needed medical care.

Some days had passed and he had just finished washing his clothes. A cold night but the wind would dry them fast. He rested inside his little house, clean and so organized, hid back against the polished wooden floor, he pulled the blanket over his shivering skin and grabbed a small novel to read. The day he saw it at the market he fell in love with it, he had to buy it. The stories were his companion at night. Curled under his covers with his head on a pillow on the floor, he enjoyed to read by the fireplace in his little world of peace, away from fighting and blood.

Rick gave Fox a thankful nod and gently knelt near his son, slowly taking the teenager into an embrace while checking on him. Just his scent was enough to calm the sheriff down. And with the calm, the adrenaline also faded. Carefully Rick let go of Carl, squeezing his hand. He would be okay. He knew he would.

Rick's clothes were cold and attached to his muscular but thin hurt body. He almost got dizzy as all the consequences of the wounds and of the battle materialized in pain. He was shaking in cold. Did he get bit? While he was on the floor? The idea frightened him. Slowly he touched his ribs. No fractures, but so much pain. He undid the belt and examined hinself. Bruises, cuts, but no bites.

And then she came. Behind him like a shadow while he barely managed to sit on his own legs as he was on his knees. He turned to see her. When Rick realized she was talking to him, he hid all his pain and forced himself up. He didn't want to look submissive, even if he felt he could crumble if she poked his nose and pushed a bit.

"I'm Rick Grimes. Sure, I'll answer all you need to know." Pfft. He was desperate. He would do anything so his son stayed safe. Anything she wanted. Bur he had to hide. He didn't know what type of people they were. The previous groups he had encountered had tried to eat their meat and the next had tried to rape his son and his friend, maybe even himself after they would be done. And he had killed those groups in such gruesome way.

All the little sheriff postures and body language showed. So obvious. Also the way he spoke and gestured. He normally could hide emotion well and look so damn sarcastic, but now things were so different, all the trauma and all the weight of the deaths and losses were stamped on him.

"I leaded a group of survivors. I can do many things...and I can learn really well."

He knew Vega seemed to be a woman of little words. He had to be objective but also clear.

"I can plant, grow crops, animals, do and undo traps, fix some cars on a basic level..." the man breathed and finally looked at her in the eyes. "I can lead...I can make plans, ambush plans, negotiation, rescue, I can mount and clean weapons, ride horses, I can kill with all sorts of gear, with my teeth if needed, with bare hands. We took a prison, we amputated limbs when we needed, we dealt with a flu pandemic, we killed...entire groups to survive, we raised a baby, we were...raising a baby, I can...I know how to...and much more."

Rick's body shook a bit, he blinked slowly and looked at Vega again. His baby...the way he lost her he didn't even want to remember.

"For my son...I can do...I can do anything. I will do anything." He failed to resist and spit it out. It was useless to try a game he couldn't keep up. He was so hungry...so cold...tired...sad...scared...

Rick's voice and eyes and posture...they yelled justice and determination, so ironic, all the bad things he had done and his spirit was still there like a flame.

#hes still wears the same blue boxers he used in the first ep of the series #this bitch is above average #born leader #that kid who does well at school but no one knows his secrets because he is quiet #dude be freezing cold washing himself staring shiro that wont leave him alone #rick not getting used to a silent shadow named shiro that follows him everywhere first thing he did was build a mini wall so he had privacy #i swear he was afraid even to do his private things imagining shiro could be watching #Rick is happy at leas there is bathroom where he can pee in holy peace #shiro the BOMBASTIC SIDE EYE dude that is mega silent. rick secretly is competing to see who is more silent #Rick be hugging and trying to nuzzle his special pillow at night for some love and pausing looking around to see if shiro is watching him #rick making sure to put his work in his individual pile because hes scared someone might try to steal and he need to be away from trouble #Rick be like NÃO TOCA NO MEUS PÃO you said its capitalism but all i produced is mine #he wants to give people hints ab what he knows but hes afraid to get into trouble #he knows he needs to stand out

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ddarker-dreams · 5 years ago

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Paradiso. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM] AU

a/n: au takes place in the early 1900s. tw for descriptions of cults, religious themes, and descriptions of violence.

From the moment you read Elle’s first letter, you were skeptical.

All of this high praise for a hidden community that accepted anyone regardless of their background. She speaks of the people, forgiving and helpful in every conceivable way. That even when she first arrived, not once did she feel like an outsider; everyone welcomed her with open and loving arms. It’s not that you don’t want to believe such a perfect place exists -- you wish it is, for her sake -- but it has to be too good to be true.

If there’s anything you know from firsthand experience, it’s people. Inherently selfish, always in pursuit of their own goals and agenda. There is undoubtedly a catch behind this, you know it in your gut. Elle’s descriptions are too biased, words written blindly behind rose-colored glasses. She isn’t able to see the truth anymore, too far into her own delusions of a flawlessly crafted world.

For a time, you were able to grin and bear it despite the bitter taste it left in your mouth. Responding with forced enthusiasm over her supposed healing, expressing how happy for her you are. It was the letter from the end of her first month, that you felt unparalleled dread overwhelm your entire person.

Words such as “blood” and “ritual” stuck out like a sore thumb, nausea overtaking you and concern soon after. The worst part of it all, is how she posed it as a wonderful thing! She spoke of how it brought healing and an abundance of crops, that it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever witnessed in her life.

No longer could you enable this detrimental behavior. Your dearest friend is in the jaws of a predator, and you’ll do anything to pry her out; even if it requires force. This conviction is what you hold tightly to, fastening yourself against the oncoming horrors.

“Is this it?” you yell over to your guide, loud purr of the motorboat’s engine deafening your ears. He nods his head in affirmation, attention remaining on steering in the right direction. Looking forward towards this utopia, doubts continue to cloud your mind. It didn’t help that the process to get here is beyond tedious, this fisherman the only one willing to take you out to this remote location.

No alarm bells are ringing from your initial glance over, but looks can be deceiving. With each passing moment the secluded island grows closer, looming over you with dubious intent. White sandy beaches line it, the only hint of civilization being an old wooden dock. Thick and lush green trees encompass the island, engulfing it in nature. It’s larger than you initially thought it would be from Elle’s complimentary descriptions.

For privacy, and to keep away suspicious eyes you imagine, the heart of the village is a trek from the beach. Elle justified it by a need to stay hidden, citing how many of the island’s inhabitants are reformed criminals or people who are rejected from society. All you can see in her reasoning are blatant excuses. Nothing good comes from having no accountability from others, it’s a wide open gate for madness and abuse of power.

Splashes of salt water sprinkle against your face, moistening your hair in the process. The peaceful experience does little to soothe you, your mind focused solely on how you’ll go about your investigation undetected. You’re arriving under the pretense of staying permanently, the only possible way to “earn” an invitation. It feels dirty to lie to your good friend, but this is all for the greater good.

The motor sputters down as the fisherman stops next to the dock, a sign of the unknown journey ahead of you finally starting. He begins the process of tying a rope against the dock to steady it, leaving you to sit on the rocking boat. Bobbing up and down with the waves, you close your eyes to fend off a wave of nausea the ocean brings with it.

“[First]!” A cheerful, nostalgic voice calls over to you; breaking you from your stupor. Elle waves eagerly from the shore, running against the sand with a wide grin. Once the rope has been tied successfully, you grab your bags and shakily step onto solid land. She’s wearing a simple white dress, that cuts off below her knees, adorned with sandals and a large straw hat.

Her skin is tanner than when you saw her last, likely from the hours spent in the sun. Light brunette hair secured in her signature high ponytail, and amber eyes shining brightly. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen her so giddy, the sight bittersweet and conflicting you further. Raking over her figure for any signs of foul play, she doesn’t have a single bruise or scratch on her person.

If anything, you’d say she looks to be in perfect health. No longer does her skin cling tightly to her bones, face full and evident that she’s been eating well. It doesn’t deter you for long, as you’re certain there’s still underlying malice in this supposed community.

Arms wrap around your waist in a suffocatingly tight hug, her face settles against your neck. Returning her affections to the best of your ability while holding your luggage, she carries on the embrace for a few more seconds. You can’t help but return her enthusiasm with a laugh of your own, recalling how she’s always been affectionate. Elle has an ability to make you melt within her hands.

“It looks like somebody missed me.” you tease with a short snicker, earning a low hum of affirmation.

“It just feels so good to finally see you again,” she admits with a dreamy sigh, hands moving down the skin of your arm to the handle of your bags. “I’ve missed you more than you could imagine. Here, hand me your bags. I’m sure you’re tired after all that travelling. But it’ll be well worth it, I promise!”

Elle sets off towards the intimidating looking woodland, turning back to you inquisitively when you don't follow right after her. You still don’t see any obvious signs of problems, eyes scouring every crevice of the area before you. With a reluctant sigh, you follow after your good friend into the unknown.

She leads you through thickets of trees and shrubbery, skillfully weaving throughout nature with practiced precision. “I have so much to tell you. I don’t want to overwhelm you right away though, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“Give me just a general overview of how things work around here,” you respond while ducking under an imposing branch. “Is it all this… uninhabited?”

Waving off your poorly hidden concern, she shakes her head. “Not in the slightest. This is just to keep out anyone who’d do us harm. We’re getting closer to the central area, that’s where you’ll be staying with me. Don’t worry about chores or anything the first few days, I want you to focus on getting used to life here! It can take some adjusting.”

So inundated by the information you’re currently taking in, you fail to notice a vine rising ever so slightly from the ground. Your foot snags against it, sending you tumbling onto the ground and warm pain radiating from your knees from the impact. Elle whips her head back to you at the sound, immediately coming to your side with potent concern.

“A-are you okay? I forgot to mention how many things there are to trip on around here, I can’t even begin to recall how many times I’ve fallen…” she trails off, soothingly rubbing a hand against your shoulder while you catch your breath. You look down at your knees, the source of the stinging pain, to see they’re scraped up. Great, just great.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you grimace through the ebbing ache while standing up. “It’s just a few scratches, nothing serious. I think I’ll live.”

She inspects the wound further despite your insistence of being alright, you finding the circumstances of tripping like a klutz to be mildly embarrassing. The insignificant injury means little to you, you’ve experienced far worse in the past. It’s only an added nuisance since living here will require a lot of movement. That, and you’ve always wanted Elle to view you in a cool, “knows what she’s doing” type of way.

“Still, it’d be best if you got it looked at and disinfected to be on the safe side. We have a healer here who will help you out, no questions asked.”

This catches your attention. The word “healer” being used instead of a doctor or nurse is suspicious to say the least, but it will be a good opportunity to see firsthand what the practices are around here. Although you’re wary of accepting any medicine from these people, there’s no harm in letting this guy look at it.

“Alright, as long as it’s not too much trouble. It really is just a small scratch after all.” you respond nonchalantly while dusting dirt off your shorts. Ignoring the slight sting that reemerges with every step, Elle leads you in a slightly different direction than before.

Even with your reservations, there’s no denying how beautiful the nature surrounding you is. Wild life scurries about at every corner, trees tall and hanging over to protect from the harsh rays of sunlight. Various plant life of almost every color dot along the ground, flowers you’ve never seen before in full bloom.

After a few more minutes of walking, a small and wooden college appears before you. The first signs of this area actually being occupied, you note. There’s a large garden of herbs surrounding it, the structure impressively built with a few signs of weathering on the roof. Elle waves you over, knocking on the door.

“Giorno! Giorno, are you there?” she beckons with insistence, knocking increasing in volume from the lack of an immediate response. Before she can call out once more, the door opens to reveal a young man who looks to be around your age.

You feel an unexplainable draw to him, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His skin is very fair, without a single imperfection or blemish present. Golden hair as fine as silk, placed into a unique style consisting of three large curls for bangs and a braid. His eyes are piercing yet not unfriendly, color reminiscent to that of luminous emeralds. There’s no denying his beauty.

“You must be [First],” he greets with a welcoming smile, attention solely set upon you. “Your friend has spoken highly of you.”

Your cheeks flush at this, Elle looking similarly flustered. She speaks up for you, much to your internal relief. “[First] hurt her knees a bit on the trek here. Would you mind taking a look at it, if you’re not too busy?”

Giorno glances down at the aforementioned injury, placing a hand to his chin and narrowing his eyes in inspection. “I would treat it now, but I was about to deliver this medicine Fugo requested earlier.”

“It’s fine, really, Ellie,” you reassure her with her favorite nickname, throwing your hands up in mock defense. “I’d hate to impose on my first day here, this seems important.”

“Would you make the delivery for me, Elle? That way I can treat [First] right away.” Giorno proposes, lifting his hand up to reveal a small bag that must contain whatever this Fugo person needs. You snap your attention over to your friend who is thoughtfully considering Giorno’s request. Hoping she can get the hint from your tense body language that you’d rather not be left with a stranger from a weird reclusive village, you all but deflate as she gladly nods her head.

She’s always been too nice for her own good. And yours.

“Sure thing, anything to be of help! I’ll run this straight over to Fugo and be back in a jiffy.” Elle grabs the bag from Giorno’s hand, walking off without further thought. She gives you a wink and a wave, before scurrying off into the direction from before. You swallow thickly in her absence, feeling awkward as silence settles in over you and Giorno.

He steps aside from the door frame, waving you in with a single, graceful motion. You take the wordless invitation in stride, walking in and warily eyeing your surroundings. This area must double as Giorno’s living space and workplace, carefully arranged wooden furniture giving a sense of domesticity. Shelves line the walls, covered to the brim in a variety of small glass bottles full of things ranging from liquids to powders. It brings with it a nice, earthy scent.

An assortment of flora make up for most of the decoration within, different leafy plants and flowers sitting atop every counter. Nothing incriminating so far, but you didn’t think Giorno would display anything potentially off putting that blatantly. It still isn’t enough to lull your thumping heartbeat, wishing that Elle hadn’t left your side.

“Please, take a seat here.” Giorno nods to an empty chair in the furthest side of the room. You follow through with his request, grateful for the chance to rest your exhausted body. Hand hovering as he examines the bottles in front of him, he eventually gets the contents within. Mixing it together in a bowl with some other unidentified greenery, he walks over to you.

“So… should I be anticipating an amputation in the near future?” you attempt to joke to ease the stifling air, earning a small quirk of the lips. He looks nice when he’s smiling, you note.

“No, nothing like that,” Giorno calmly reassures, kneeling down and inspecting your knees closer. “May I?”

You can appreciate how polite he is, nodding to offer permission for him to touch you. Giorno wastes no time, skillfully running the unknown combination against your scraped skin. Inhaling sharply in anticipation, you’re for a loop by the immediate dulling of pain. At the very least, you were expecting a sting from the initial application of this homemade remedy.

Giorno reaches for a gauze from his pocket, wrapping it around the wounded area with perfect efficiency. The entire process was faster than any you’ve experienced, not that you’ve ever been able to afford a nice doctor. Maybe this Giorno character isn’t so bad after all? He has a soothing presence, being well mannered and not speaking more than necessary.

Your cheeks redden once more, the subsiding of the pain allowing you to realize how close he is to you. Giorno gives your skin a final glance over, but doesn’t stand back up immediately. Clearing your throat, you attempt to initiate a conversation.

“So… Giorno, was it? Have you lived here your entire life?” you question, hoping it seems natural and without a hidden agenda. He doesn’t appear to interpret it in a negative light, going into deep thought at your prompting.

“In a way, yes,” he concludes aloud, standing from his kneeling position and cleaning off his hands. “It’s somewhat difficult to explain.”

At this, you decide to stop yourself from prying further. Having quite the past yourself, you can sympathize with not wanting to put it all on display. Still, there are further questions that refuse to leave your mind. Giorno speaks up before you get the opportunity to ask him anything else.

“You’ll need to reapply this remedy once a day until it shows further signs of healing. I’d give you it to do yourself, but it's less effective the longer it's been exposed to air. It’ll work best if being applied after I make it fresh.”

You have mixed feelings, lips pursing at the extra steps your little tumble gave you. Nodding your head in agreement, you carefully test the waters by extending your leg forward. “Thank you, Giorno. Elle really wasn’t exaggerating when she said everyone here is beyond helpful.”

“You’re one of us now,” Giorno places the bottles he took down earlier back to their original position, then turns his head to you. “I’ll take care of anything you need. And remember to stop by tomorrow.”

A nagging feeling pinches at your side, one comparable to guilt. It doesn’t make logical sense why you’d feel bad for deceiving Giorno, who you have just met. Due to his unabashed kindness and trustworthy visage, you find yourself feeling bad for your dishonesty. Looking away from his watchful gaze, you relent.

“Y-yeah, I will.”

---

When you start to doubt yourself, it’s never a good sign.

Whether it’s because of the pride of admitting that you were wrong, or the shame for suspecting Elle’s testimony in the first place. For months you’ve stayed here, living out the simple yet satisfying life you once scrutinized. Nothing of questionable intent has caught your attention. What originally was meant to be a short visit became extended, each day carrying out with welcome familiarity.

Life has been good. Better than it was before, in some regards. No longer do you have to worry about where your next meal will come from, what you’ll do if you’re unable to make rent by the end of the month. You still pull your weight, of course, but expectations that society bestowed upon you before are now nonexistent.

“I think I forgot my bag at the beach. Dammit…” you trail off with a sigh, running a hand through your hair. Elle laughs at your misfortune, looking out the window of your shared cabin to see that the sun is long set.

“I’d say to leave it until morning, but who knows if the tides will come wash it away. Want me to walk with you to get it?” she offers with a smile, already standing up to come help. You shake your head, not wanting to trouble her. She’s never been a night person, always one to wake up bright and early.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”

Even when the path is only lit by moonlight, you’re able to maneuver through the area with ease. You often would find yourself spending time on this section of the shore, joined either by Elle or Giorno. Elle isn’t capable of sitting still for long, normally bringing you a snack before running off to find something new to do. Giorno’s a different story. He’ll sit next to you for hours at a time. The two of you having conversations ranging from light topics about plants, to deep philosophical musings over human nature.

The thought puts an extra spring in your step, beige bag thrown against the sand now being picked up. While walking back to your shared residence, you’re thrown off by a shrieking noise coming from your left.

It’s eerie, unquestionably a human scream. A variety of thoughts flood your mind, but you know you’ll need to investigate it. Before you can call out to see if anyone needs help, you overhear two male voices talking with one another.

“--Need to do something about this traitor now.”

“Gag him.”

Narrowing your eyes, you source the noise to one of the fishing cabins on the outskirts. Only a single light shines within, dull and flickering; yet undeniable. No one is out this late under normal conditions, much less a group of people. Holding your breath, you sneak alongside the building to get a better spot to listen.

A bag rustles within, a voice you recognize as Abbachio’s picking up with tangible displeasure. “Bucciarati, get a look at this. He didn’t just steal supplies, he wrote down firsthand accounts too.”

“We’ll burn them later,” Bucciarati replies without hesitation. “For now, we need to learn if he was alone or working with others.”

Abbacchio sighs at the extra workload, floorboards creaking as he walks along them. You hear a distinct noise of flesh being hit repeatedly, a body thumping across the floor with muffled screams. “Who do you think you are, making us do all this? What a pain…”

More kicks. It feels like there’s a vice grip constricting your chest, breathing growing more strained. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, urging you to flee the scene and seek safety elsewhere. The more logical side of you prevents this, feeling a need to come up with a solid plan first.

With all the sticks and rocks littered across the ground, it’s possible they might be alerted if you make any sudden movements. Creeping alongside the house slowly towards the back, you swallow thickly as your heart pounds violently. Never have you felt so warm, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of your face.

Cautiously, you’re able to put some distance between yourself and the incriminating scene. It isn’t enough to lull you into a false sense of security, all your senses dialed to the max. You didn’t realize how harshly you’ve been gripping your bag, knuckles white and feeling numb.

Questions flood your mind that you doubt you’ll ever find the answers to. What was it that this person did to earn such a cruel fate? Abbachio and Bucciarati are revered here, Bucciarati even more so. They spoke of firsthand accounts being written down... he must’ve seen something he shouldn’t have.

It’s too dangerous here. You need to get back to Elle, and you need to go the hell out of here. Creeping along in the night, you feel like something or someone is watching you. Looking around sporadically for any signs of this, you frown at the lack of confirmation.

‘Is it just my imagination...?’

Your mental state is fragile now, having witnessed a gruesome scene unfolding. Shaking your head, you silently chastise yourself. There’s no time for this jittery, you need to get a hold of yourself to make it out of this alive. Lightly smacking your face in hopes it’ll bring you back to reality, you think of more hurdles that’ll need to be overcome.

A daring idea pops into your mind. Telling Elle now what you just saw would be a recipe for disaster, she’ll be an anxious mess incapable of the resolve to escape. That leaves incapacitating her in some way, as much as it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. It’s all for the greater good, you remind yourself. Once you’re in safety you’ll explain all the details to her.

She’s never been able to handle alcohol well.

It might not be enough to keep her asleep. That’s when you realize Giorno will likely have some kind of medicine that makes you tired. The thought of him, and never seeing him again, twists your heart in a strange manner. Perhaps you can say your goodbyes to him, or even ask him to come with you.

Similar to the way you first met him, you knock on the door to his home.

‘Please be awake, please be awake...’

Great relief washes over you as he opens the door, eyes widening at the sight of you this late at night. Before he gets the opportunity to question you about it, you walk inside; closing the door and looking around for signs of anyone else. It’s only him, you realize.

“[First]? Are you alright? You look terribly pale.” His concern is palpable, likely thinking that you’re injured in some way.

“I-I’m fine. Giorno, do you have any medicine to help with sleeping by chance? Or anything similar?” you inquire frantically, to which he slowly nods his head; still trying to gauge the situation. Letting out a sigh of immense relief, you run your hands through your hair.

He hands you a bottle full of unrecognizable herbs, not loosening his grip when you go to take it from him. Blinking in confusion at this, you realize he must have a few questions of his own over your disheveled appearance. It’d be rude not to offer some form of explanation, no matter how messy it may be.

“What is this really about? Please remember that you can always tell me anything.” he pries further, voice unwavering and eyes hopeful. His sympathy touches your heart. Licking your lips, you manage to rush out an explanation.

“Listen, Giorno. It isn’t safe here. I-I saw something, something bad. I can’t stay here, we can’t stay here anymore. I think... they were torturing someone. Someone who saw something they shouldn’t have. I don’t even want to know,” you rush out, finally managing to grasp the bottle from his hands. “Please, for your own good, consider leaving.”

At this influx of information he doesn’t seem shaken, only more curious. “I think you should sit down. You’re clearly not thinking straight. If you’ve been having trouble sleeping, that could--”

“No! It’s not that,” you cut off in frustration, furrowing your eyebrows and clenching your fists. “You’re not listening to me. Giorno, I know what I saw. I-I need to go. Now.”

Not waiting for his response, you rush towards the door. Giorno grabs your wrist from behind, your heart sinking in the process. His grasp isn’t as tight as it could be, more for show than anything. He can feel your brisk pulse with his fingers, head lowering.

“You’ll regret it. Don’t.”

The words are whispered so lowly, you wonder if you even heard them in the first place. With a lackluster tug, you break free without further dilemma. His chin dips to his chest, letdown evident. It pulls at your heartstrings, still not being enough to deter you further.

Holding your hands to your chest, you keep an eye on him as you back up towards the door. “I’m sorry.”

When you feel the handle underneath your hand, no time is wasted rushing back to Elle. Giorno doesn’t stop you as you leave, and you don’t want to look back to see him now.

It doesn’t make any sense why he’d try to stop you, why he didn’t even flinch at the mention of a person being tortured. A cloud of dread hangs over your head, combination of negative emotions stirring within. His eyes, so melancholic and hurt--

No, it does nothing to think about it. All that matters is escape.

Returning to your house, your shaky hands miraculously manage to pour a touch of herbal concoction into Elle’s drink. You’re grateful that she’s in bed, too preoccupied to see what it is you’re doing. Wiping the sweat from your brows and straightening out your posture, you enter her room with a facade of calm.

“I wanted to celebrate the three month mark of my stay.” you explain while opening the door with your back, then handing her a glass. She looks up from her book, grabbing it without another thought. The liquid within your cup rattles from your jittery hands.

“Kinda outta nowhere, but it is a good cause to celebrate!” Elle lifts her glass into the air in a mock toast, which you mimic with less enthusiasm. You watch her throat move as she gulps down the liquid, wiping at her mouth. To avoid suspicion, you do the same, but taking in less.

She stretches in a way that reminds you of a cat, making a loud noise and going to stand by your side sluggishly. With the scent of alcohol on her breath, she lazily brings you into a hug. Is the concoction working this fast? You weren’t able to ask Giorno what to expect, too rushed.

“I felt so lonely without you.” she begins to slur her words, eyelids growing heavier and leaning her weight against you. Your muscles go taut at the sudden declaration, steadying her against your shoulders as she begins to sway. Whatever that stuff is, it’s fast acting. Hopefully you didn’t pour too much.

Her cheeks have a rosy tint, eyes growing further from this reality. She refuses to let go of you, wanting to be by your side.

“So... so lonely... mn... don’t leave me alone again... okay?”

Elle sniffles, burying her face in your neck. “Promise?”

You press your lips against her forehead gently, her eyes fluttering shut in the process. Tightening your grip around her, you nod your head; though you doubt she’s coherent enough to understand the action.

“I promise. Everything will be okay soon.”

A few more moments pass, and she’s entirely slack against you.

Testing the waters, you call her name calmly. No response. A nudge. Still nothing. Gentle breaths fan out against your flushed skin, Elle lulled into the depths of unassuming slumber. If it weren’t for the dire situation, you’d admire how her eyelashes look so pretty against her skin, how here brunette hair frames her face when it’s let down--

Shaking your head at the intrusive thoughts, you grunt while picking her up into your arms. There are some rowboats used for fishing alongside the coast, and that’s where you’ll make the final step of your escape. It isn’t the easiest task to haul her along, despite not being too heavy.

It doesn’t matter. You’re close, so palpably close. You can hear the seagulls cawing in the air, the sound of the ocean crashing against the sand. Just a few more minutes, and then you’ll be free of this nightmare. Keeping her secured against your chest, you trudge along some tricky vines.

‘Was this area always like this? It’s feels more like a jungle than a forest.’

Kicking yourself loose, your frustration grows as the vines seemingly begin to wrap around your ankles. Eyes widening at the unbelievable sight, you frantically begin to struggle against the restraints. It wouldn’t be too difficult, if not for the fact you were carrying a person in your arms.

Your body feels weighed down from exhaustion, but you push down any complaints. Cursing underneath your breath, the vines finally are warded off by another tug. Beyond a few more trees, you’re welcomed by the inviting sight of the moonlit ocean. Its beauty takes your breath away.

The ground underneath your feet now feels soft, dirt replaced by sand. It makes it more tedious to walk. Your ticket to freedom is but a couple feet away, the rowboats bobbing up and down in time with the waves. Not the most ideal escape, yet it’ll still work.

‘Please, just give me the strength to make it to land.’

Finally at the boat, you feel your shoulders and body growing weaker by the second. Your movement has grown considerably more sluggish since arriving at the beach, the sinking of the sand underneath you all but sapping the remainders of your strength.

With utmost delicateness, you gingerly lay Elle down inside of the boat. Now all that’s left is untying it from the dock. The rope isn’t in too complicated a knot, a small amount of luck. Hurriedly working at it, you notice the texture of it changing before your very eyes.

It grows scaly instead of rough, color morphing into a dark green; beady eyes now peering at you. Jumping back in surprise, a snake in place of the rope hisses at you, tongue flickering out of its mouth. It slithers against your arm, causing you to yelp and tumble backwards.

‘This place is fucking cursed!’

“Over here! We found them!”

Looking back to the trees where you came from, you see a few shrouded figures emerging. It’s unfair, safety just tauntingly within your reach. There’s too many than you could hope to fend off, even if you were at your full strength. The snake coils around your forearm, stopping just short of biting you.

‘Is there anyway out of this...?’

Elle’s peaceful face is blissfully ignorant to the chaotic events unfolding around her, and you can’t stop the tears that sting the corners of your eyes. Failing her hurt more than any physical pain this world could throw at you. Will this be the last time you’ll see her?

A hand presses against your shoulder.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be.”

Of course.

That lamenting voice belongs to no one other than Giorno. He must’ve betrayed your trust by seeking you out and alerting the others. So this is what betrayal feels like. You wouldn’t have known until now, having always been too skittish to get close to others. It was Elle who broke your tough shell, inviting herself into your life like a ray of sunshine.

‘God protect her in my stead.’

Adamantly refusing to give him the time of day, you swat away at the hand he extends towards you, stupid as it is.

Giorno sighs in a mix of disappointment and minor frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose at your petty actions.

“She had nothing to do with this,” you struggle to get the words out, throat tightening with the threat of crying. “Do whatever you want with me... just don’t hurt her.”

Giorno walks in front of you, kneeling without any signs of fear towards the snake who remains still against your arm. Placing his hands on it, it returns to its original form of a rope, falling off of you.

He looks back at your drained, hunched over form. You must look pathetic, mustering up your best attempt at a glare.

“Please don’t make this difficult. Come back with me willingly and she won’t be touched, you have my word.”

There’s no reason to trust him, his request leading you to grit your teeth. For her sake, you’ll cease any signs of resistance. No other options present themselves to you, prayers remaining unanswered. Reality is cruel, twisting you at its own discretion.

Resigning yourself to this fate, you get up and following after him without a word. Abbacchio and a few other men look at you, Giorno placing a hand up to stop them from approaching. Does that mean he’s their leader?

You recognize the path Giorno’s taken on, having gone to his home too many times to count. Tree branches move out of his way, the sight reminding you of a fairy tale. It still remains one of the least shocking events you’ve seen tonight, you humorlessly think to yourself.

Biting your tongue has never been your forte, awe and dread too staggering to push back any longer. “What is all this? W-what are you? That snake... and these trees, was that you?”

Giorno waits before entertaining you with a response, voice low and devoid of emotion as if he was speaking about the weather. “It’s my doing, yes.”

“Is anyone here human?” you ask without further thought, before shutting your mouth. He remains quiet for a painful moment, giving you a response that makes you lightheaded.

“Everyone aside from me.”

Not a single word in the dictionary could form a decent response to a confession like that. Elle had mentioned to you a divine being that blesses this island, watching over it and offering abundant blessings to those who were deemed worthy of it. This is how their harvests were so abundant, she explained, but you disregarded it as a hoax at first.

There’s no denying it any longer. How could you have been so foolish, to get yourself into this situation? The same tenacity that you arrived here with would’ve protected you, had you only continued to listen to it.

Giorno comes to an abrupt stop, turning on his heel to get a good look at you. Not wanting to cause more trouble in the face of the supernatural, you stay firmly planted. He saunters towards you, leaves crunching underneath his feet. Raising a hand to your face, his thumb rubs small circles against your cheek.

He’s close to you, too close for comfort. The skin of his hands are icy cold, eyes softening with unidentifiable flurries of emotion. Tenderness is unwelcome from him, yet you’re far too entranced to pull away.

Giorno’s mystical eyes are all you can look at.

“Under normal conditions, you’d be punished harshly,” Giorno presses his forehead against yours, considering you. “Yet I can’t bring myself to do it. I had hoped you’d turn around of your own will.”

Lips trembling and jaw agape, your tongue is incapable of forming words, mouth painfully dry. Whoever -- or whatever -- that’s in front of you has whisked away all forms of rational thought, leaving you a shivering mess. You’re at his mercy, if he has any to offer.

“I only want to be honest with you, now that there’s no reason to hide it any longer. From the moment you first stepped on my island, I finally knew what I wanted, for the first time in centuries.”

“I wanted to be your god. But now, I feel that’s far too impersonal to sate me,” he pauses his movements, eyes shut in deep thought. “What I want... is something far more. Will you give me that, [First]?”

He poses the question as if it’s a choice for you to make. Patiently, he awaits your answer, already knowing what it’ll be by the gratification in his smile. Giorno’s serene, the battle already having been won.

“I will.”

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unicyclehippo · 5 years ago

Note

Beau! And! Caleb! Being! Protective! Over! Each! Other! In! Their! Hometowns!

all things of kamordah are harsh, it seems. the cloudless sky offers no sanctuary from a blistering red-hazed sun and the landscape quickly turns from lush greens to brown grasses and baked hard ground. it isn’t what caleb expected of a wine county, but maybe he should have.

it reminds him very much of beauregard.

it’s apparent now that all they had discovered of the hag was correct; beau is a child of kamordah, beyond simply the place of her birth, and though it had seemed so strange before, now caleb sees her in all the land around them. the ruddy tones of the earth. the brilliant blue of the sky. the tenacity, the stubbornness of those grasses that claw and cling into the cracked earth and refuse, very simply, to die. and when they crest the last hill that spills into the valley surrounding the long sleeping volcano, caleb can see the lengths of vines like veins curling down and around the staggered cliffs of that mountainside, and it’s incredible. no less harsh, no less stark and rough, but incredible nonetheless.

they stop there a moment. the horses are happy for the rest and they crop optimistically at sparse grasses.

‘what’s the play, beau?’

she doesn’t so much as look at fjord, wanders a short way away to a small boulder—large for a stone, small for a boulder, a medium sized rock—where she pulls herself up onto it and sits, legs kicked out to dang off the slight overhang.

she sits, and she stares.

‘okay,’ fjord nods, salutes. ‘you keep lookout and we’ll—she’s not listening,’ he shrugs and turns back to the rest of them, clustered as they are on the rise. ‘let’s get the horses off the road—‘

‘it’s basically all road here,’ nott points out. she waves a long-fingered hand about them and no one can find a way to disagree—the whole world seems to be on hard-packed dirt road, flat and bare and dusted over with red dust as far as the eye can see.

‘reminds me of that spire garden in xhorhas,’ caduceus says. scratches at his chin and his curling pink-and-silver goatee.

‘garden?’ fjord grins. ‘you mean the giant field of death and sorrowfucks that tried to hug me to death?’

‘that’s the one,’ cad nods. ‘this is healthier, though. it’s right.’

fjord’s teasing expression drops and he scans the place as well, a faint expression of confusion and interest washing his eyes out nearly to blue themselves. he nods slowly. ‘i think, i think i feel it. nothing much life here but...it’s meant to be like this?’

‘there is plenty of life,’ caduceus disagrees, but he’s smiling. ‘you just gotta know where to look. but yeah. that’s real good, fjord.’

‘thanks. i think i’m getting the hang of it,’ he nudges nott, who shrugs.

‘are you? or are you just saying the buzz words? watch—barren land, secret growth, supporting life, nature, wildmother creates,’ nott trails off, pointing to the nodding caduceus as if to say you see?

fjord sulks.

‘do you think she’s okay?’ jester interrupts. her tail curls miserably around her ankle, occasionally dragging lines into the dirt, and she peers between fjord and caduceus to watch beau where she’s still sat on the rock, a still and solitary figure. ‘i mean, she says she’s fine, she says it a lot like all the time like, yah jester i’m fine we are just going to see my parents i mean how fucked up could that be, at least i’m pretty sure they’re not evil cultists,’ jester says all in a rush in an actually not terrible mimicry of beau’s voice, if somewhat accented. ‘and yah i’m fine i’m just drinking for fun.’

nott winces. ‘uh oh.’

‘and—‘

‘perhaps,’ caleb suggests gently, ‘you keep the things she has said to you in confidence.’

‘right. good call.’

‘she will tell us what to do,’ caleb says. of that, he has no doubt. whether she will tell them what she needs, on the other hand...

it is strange, sometimes, to look at beauregard. they are nothing alike, should be nothing alike: he is pale, she is brown, he is weedy and weak, she takes the brunt of their encounters so often, his skills are expansive and require materials and books and constant instruction, and hers are as intrinsic to her as breathing. in so many ways, more than just these few, they are remarkably dissimilar. and yet there are times when beauregard will speak of herself and there is a familiar, if well buried, note of loathing. for herself. something with which caleb is intimately familiar.

it—he is not so out of touch with his own mind and heart to know that he is connected to her, that he loves her as he would a sister. to know that this feeling belongs to her as well, it breaks his heart. and it makes him angry.

it is an hour or more of this thinking that leads him to her room. her room alone, jester sharing tonight with nott and with yasha when beau had requested some time on her own.

the inn where they are staying, within the town of kamordah itself, is small and well-kept. his booted feet make a quiet shush of movement over the woven grass mat that covers the floor, the dried and twisted material dyed into a handsome pattern of reds and brown and pale bleached white. caleb follows the pattern down the hall. stops outside of beau’s room.

she won’t be pleased to be questioned, he thinks. she might view it as interrogation. and yet,

he knocks.

there is no answer, and so he knocks again, a crisp two-rap knock.

‘beauregard, this is caleb. i have been examining some of our old notes and came across some minor difficulty with this code,’ he lies. ‘may i come in?’

the answer is muffled only by the thin door; she must be standing directly on the other side of it. ‘what code?’

‘avantika’s. do you perhaps recall—‘

‘i have the key to it,’ she tells him, pulling the door open.

if she had been sleeping properly, if she weren’t mightily distracted, he would not have made it into the room but the moment the door opens, caleb steps inside and crosses to the far side so that she will have some, if minor, difficulty removing him.

beau sighs. ‘you’re not holding a book, caleb.’

‘ja, that is correct.’

the door closes with a click.

beau turns. leans back against the frame, arms crossed. her expression doesn’t shift from her now constant frown and as caleb looks at her—really looks, not dropping his eyes—he cannot, even with his near perfect memory, recall the last time he had seen her smile.

‘what d’you wa—‘

‘we are going to see your parents tomorrow,’ he says.

she is very good at keeping her expressions controlled. he is not so good at reading people as caduceus is, but he had spent a long time with her. she can look as calm as she wants; he knows from experience that a past, particularly one that fills you with such desperate self-loathing, does not a calm heart make.

his own heart stutters in his chest, palms slicking with sweat as he recalls that day in the throne room, even before that point, the moment they had arrived in rexxentrum. he had not expected it to take him so fast, but there had always been something about the city. the heaviness of air in the northern vale, of city smog and the pressure of powerful magics that pushed against those senses keen to such things. he had been scattered by the sudden arrival of the memory, and squashed small beneath it all at once, and he remembers of all things that he can remember of that time, a firm hand on his shoulder. not pulling or gripping or hurting, nor brushing lightly, but a familiar and reassuring weight.

he doesn’t know what kamordah, what these people are to her—hasn’t asked, which he had thought of as respecting her privacy but may now seem to have been uncaring to other minds. but if he can, he would like to be that hand for her.

‘your family is—‘

‘they’re not my family.’

‘but they are, though,’ caleb says, and knows it is the wrong thing to have said when beau steps forward, picks up a cup from the table in the middle of the room, and turns to hurl it against the far wall where it breaks with the loud of shattering glass. he can see the way her shoulder and elbow extend, the way her arm turns—it is not graceful, it is not practised, it isn’t even a particularly good throw. it’s just mad.

panting a ragged breath that she struggles to bring under control, beau brings a hand up, sweeps her hair back into a semblance of order. it looks like she has done so many times, her hair mussed now, and strands falling out from the bun—top knot, she calls it—to frame her face.

‘they’re not my family, caleb,’ she says very carefully, very precisely. her tone doesn’t shift from even, controlled.

caleb lifts his hands in a surrender. braces himself to say it again and hopes that he can say it right, in a way that doesn’t hurt her.

‘there are...meanings to these words,’ he begins. beau breathes out. brings a hand up to cover her face. ‘the meanings of family-‘ she doesn’t react poorly to that, yet. he continues. ‘- ought to be safety, and of home, as much as they are of the people belonging to that famlly.’

‘exactly,’ beau surprises him, agreeing. ‘it’s you. you guys.’ she’s still covering her face but he is endeared to watch her hunch, shake her head. ‘don’t be weird about it.’

‘it is not...weird. you are my family too. all of them—and you.’

‘i said don’t be weird.’

caleb ignores her. ‘the exact meaning of family is not this...connotation. it is those people who are related to you by blood or legality.’ she doesn’t say anything, just hunches her shoulders further and turns away slightly. so he continues. ‘in this way, they are your family still and i do not say this to be cruel. i hope i do not. i simply say it because it is something to remember—‘

‘remembering they’re my parents isn’t the fucking problem, caleb!’ she whirls on him and takes a few quick steps backwards, away. there is an odd set to her shoulders that caleb doesn’t recognise but seems familiar. ‘i don’t need you to tell me they’re my parents, believe me, i can remember that perfectly well. i’m not jester, i’m not nott—i don’t need to be sat down and coddled and for you to look at me with big sad eyes and - and lament all the things you wish you could do with your parents and tell me i should take this opportunity, try t-to make amends or confront them or forgive them, i really, really don’t,’ she says, voice cracking.

‘that was never my intention,’ he tries to assure her, but the mask she tried so hard to keep up is breaking now, shattering and falling away before him and behind it he does not see his friend, he does not see an expositor, he sees—oh.

he sees a girl. very young, and very very scared. the set to her shoulders is one he recognises now as an addition to his own posture—not quite a flinch, but a hunch to keep him out of sight, to let certain eyes slide right away from him.

caleb’s gut begins to burn.

‘we are speaking away from each other again,’ he says, simply. ‘i did not come here to tell you to forgive your parents.’

beau stares at him, wide-eyed. ‘you didn’t?’

‘no. never. i do not know what they did to you—‘ she shakes her head dismissively, like it’s nothing.

the burning in his gut turns into an inferno; he wants to kill them, wants to set them aflame. fix her trauma with the aid of his own, the cleverer and sly portion of his mind laughs at himself. as much as he wants to do that, he also wants to reach out, wants very badly to hug her. he doesn’t know how. there is six paces between them; she will move away before he can get there. she will not want that from him, surely. he doesn’t move. he speaks.

‘i will listen, whenever you wish to talk. but... family is officially those people. parents. siblings. there should be another word for - for the family that cares for you, tries to care for you the way you deserve. it should be earned. honesty and forgiveness is something for nott and jester, for their families, because - because it is there. that love. that desire to have those people in their lives.’

beau nods. she looks wan, drained. she looks like he did, he is sure, after the events in rexxentrum. and when he starts to panic somewhat, he recalls that she had been there for him; he can do this for her.

‘regardless of what was lacking in them,’ he is careful to add, lest she think he would for one moment entertain the thougt that a child—no matter how precocious, how vibrant, how energetic they might be could deserve to be unloved, ‘they are your parents. that is undeniable.’

‘yeah.’

‘it is complicated. it will be...complicated, meeting them again. fraught.’

beau snorts. ‘yeah.’

‘what do you need from me?’ he asks.

it is all that he had wanted to ask this entire time, but though caleb is a very clever man, he can sometimes be effusive, complicated, and stupid. trying to get his friend to hear him seems to bring out the worst of that in him, and he is never more aware of the barrier of their languages than in such times.

‘i don’t need anything,’ she says. looks him in the eyes, still looking young and—and scared. lost. hurt. angry.

‘beau,’

‘i don’t. we go there, talk to them, get out.’

‘beauregard,’ he sighs, and follows the compulsion to step forward, boots tapping on the wooden floor—one, two, three, four, five steps—and she doesn’t move away when he pulls her into a hug, somewhat awkward and unhelped by the way she just stands there in the hold. he ignores his own discomfort and sets his chin on the top of her head. ‘you do not have to hurt yourself while we do this. we don’t want you to be hurt.’

her hands come up to rest on his back. no coat, just his cotton shirt. her fingers grip hard into it and she presses her face into his shoulder. she doesn’t cry; he would be surprised if she does before they leave. she holds herself too tightly, too controlled, to cry now. like he does.

‘you are not the person they knew,’ he says. ‘and you are not alone. we will not let them hurt you. tell me what you need.’

much later when they are sitting together at the small table in her room, she tells him, ‘i don’t want—i can’t be a kid. i don’t want them to see me as a kid. for them to see that when they look at me.’ she won’t meet his eyes as she says it. ‘and—i’m not gonna ask fjord or nott to look different, i know they were talking about it but,’ her anger is burning hot and caleb knows how good it feels, to be angry instead of scared. ‘fuck ‘em, y’know? the fucking king can stand to have them in his throne room, my p-parents can have them in their living room.’

neither of them comment on the way she had faltered on the word.

‘what can i do?’ she shakes her head but caleb insists. ‘nothing is too much. anything i can do, i will do.’

beau leans back in her chair. scrapes a nail over the lines of wood in the table, swirls around a smoothed knot in the grains.

‘i’m gonna wear my expositor’s robes. i’m—i earned those,’ she tells him. ‘i don’t want the others to change and, no, fuck it—‘

‘tell me, beau. they’ll be happy to do it.’

‘i—‘ beau cuts a glance out to the window, the dark of night. she sighs. ‘i want them to see that i’m not a fuck up. not a—a waste, not thrown in with the bad crowd.’ she snorts, shakes her head. ‘it’s stupid, i feel like i’ve almost made them proud and i hate it. like somehow they’ve won and i don’t know if i want to act like a fuckin’ murderer in there or show them that i’m an expositor or—‘ she trails off. shakes her head again.

‘you do not want them to take credit for your success.’

beau blinks. ‘yeah. i guess so.’

‘well. i can certainly prepare seeming for us,’ he tells her. ‘and whichever you decide—if you wish to—‘

‘no.’ her voice is certain, absolute. ‘no disguises. i don’t want to hide you guys—i’m not ashamed of you.’

caleb nods. plans to prepare it regardless.

‘i’ll think about it,’ she tells him, and it is tired and quiet and a little bit sad, but it is a dismissal nonetheless.

caleb leaves. stands in front of her door when it closes behind him, and finds that he isn’t quite ready to go back to his own room. he makes it to jester’s and, knocking on the door, finds when it opens that the remainder of his friends are sat within the room—at the table, on the bed—and waiting.

‘we heard something break,’ fjord says with a sad smile.

‘a glass,’ caleb nods.

‘ah.’

‘how is she?’ that is jester, sounding very worried, looking as though any moment now she’ll slip out and go and see for herself.

‘tired.’ jester nods. wraps her arms around herself. ‘this is hard for beauregard,’ caleb says carefully. he recalls in perfect clarity his friend standing like a personal guard in front of him, snatching bolts out of the air, sending coursing lightning through the air at anyone who dared to try and fucking touch him one more time, ikithon, just you fuckin dare to touch him! and he cannot keep her from terrible harm in the same manner, but he will do all that he can for her. ‘her parents, from what i can gather, are proud. demanding. i believe that beauregard will attend to them as an expositor. not as a daughter.’ hesitantly, he suggests, ‘if we could make ourselves look...’

‘respectable?’ nott suggests.

‘ja.’

‘kinda makes sense, the way she is. doesn’t it? fighting back against The Man. being rude and messy and kick ass.’ nott grins too sharp, but she can’t help the way her teeth are. he makes a mental note to research what arid grasses might do for a polymorph spell. sets that question aside to focus. ‘i’ll be halfling—‘

‘no. beau was very firm on that. she doesn’t want you,’ caleb looks to fjord, to jester, to caduceus, ‘to be what you are not.’

‘she never wants people to be what they aren’t,’ jester agrees.

‘ja. if we are the best versions of ourselves, however...’

a nod ripples around the room, and for a little time as the hot night air settles in the too-full room, they plan.

they are waiting for her when she steps down into the common room. her expositors robes are pristine, and the bags under her eyes deep and dark. both signs of how she had spent her night.

beau stops cold, has to steady herself with her bo staff—which carries, too, a new coat of polish and a neatly wound blue bow upon it.

jester she sees first by merit of who she searches for first, but as her gaze trawls the rest of them for any sign of blemish or fault, she finds none. their armour lovingly buffed, weapons and leathers polished, boots mended and clean.

and caleb.

he stands when he sees her and moves to the front of their little party, and watches as first shock and then horror and then muddled Hope bleeds through what had been such a good solid mask of indifference.

‘caleb, you don’t have to—‘

‘you are not alone,’ he says. he smoothes down the front of blood red and gold robes, the gifted raiment of the assembly. the shoulders and chest heavy with almost military designed brocade, and a heavy ruby brooch to close the short brown cape to his shoulders. ‘you are an expositor of the cobalt soul. accompanied by the mighty nein—two devout clerics, a paladin, an angel,’

‘we don’t know that,’ yasha mutters, as always.

‘a highly respected alchemist—‘

‘nice dress,’ beau tells nott, of her pretty yellow dress. earnest. kind.

nott nods.

‘—and a highly decorated mage of the cerberus assembly, who has no qualms,’ he adds, with a hint of a smile, ‘in drawing on his scourger past and killing parents.’

beau stares at him for a moment before she breaks, throws her head back and laughs. she’ll have to redo her makeup, smearing it a little when she wipes away a tear of what is probably only a little bit from laughing.

‘fuck!’ she says. ‘i guess i’m set.’

#cr tag #tagging my stories #prompt fill #go team human

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 4 years ago

Text

Where Earth Meets Sky

A scene that takes place in my au where Oscar becomes the Avatar of the atla universe.

Oscar pokes his head out of his chambers. The Earth Kingdom guard stationed at his door looks down at him. Oscar gulps and closes the door again. Despite being guests at the Southern Air Temple, some things never change. His masters’ protectiveness certainly never will. Oscar sighs. He reconsiders trying to meditate in here, but his rooms feel stuffy and confined. He wants to be outside, but avoiding both his Earth entourage and the Air monks has proven to be impossible so far.

If there’s one thing Oscar absolutely hates about being the Avatar, it’s that he no longer gets any time just to himself. The quiet peacefulness he knew living on his aunt’s farm is long gone. He knows his masters have his best interest at heart, that they’re just worried for his safety, but it wears on him.

Why did it have to be him?

Oscar knows that he’s always been the Avatar. Even before he knew, since the day he was born and drew his first breath, he was something greater than anyone else on Remnant. This was always his destiny, no matter how much he wishes it wasn’t. He wonders what it would have been like if it was someone else, and he got to stay on his aunt’s farm, a normal person.

Not that he’d been completely happy with his life there, but he hadn’t been unhappy either. It had been nice. Not that there aren’t nice parts to being the Avatar. It’s just a heavy burden.

Oscar sits down on his bed. A really heavy burden.

He’s supposed to maintain balance between the four nations, but how is he supposed to do that when even his predecessor, the great Water Avatar, Ozpin, could not? Ozpin was renown for making more strides than anyone else towards a new era of peace, for being perhaps one of the strongest Avatars there ever was.

Then, Ozpin was cut down, his life tragically shortened, by a murderer who thirsted for the power over all the elements only the Avatar has. A murderer who is still out there, probably planning to hunt down Oscar himself as he sits here thinking.

Oscar puts his head in his hands. He didn’t choose this. He didn’t want this. He’s not ready to be this. He’s not even that great of a bender. His connection to Earth is strong, but in the way of a farmer, who asks his soil to grow his crops as best it can. His link to Fire grows with each passing day, sure, but it’s not the burning heat that’ll engulf enemies in an instant so much as it is the campfire that will hold the dark of night at bay and provide warmth.

Oscar isn’t a fighter. He knows he’s expected to one day go up against Ozpin’s murderer. He’s not sure how he can. If only he could talk to Ozpin, but he can’t even get privacy out of his suffocating rooms to truly meditate and make the connection with his past self.

Sunlight gleaming in through the window catches Oscar’s eye. He runs his hands down his face and turns to look at it. His room overlooks an impassable drop off. Another thing meant to protect him from danger, but only works to make him feel even more isolated.

A sky bison flies by. Oscar sighs. If only he could be that free. He walks over to the window and gazes at the creature. Oscar can see the silhouette of someone on its back, but then the bison zips around the side of the temple and is gone. Only the distant, lonely mountain range remains.

Oscar groans. What was he expecting? Whoever they are, they probably don’t even know he’s here. Why would they stick around? He goes to his bed and flops down on it. If only he could fly too.

Wait…

Oscar looks back to the window. Sure, he hasn’t started his airbender training yet, but he’s the Avatar. Airbending isn’t outside the realm of possibility for him. He glances once back at his door, half-expecting his guard to have read his mind and come in to stop him. No such thing happens.

For the first time in a while, Oscar grins. He returns to the open window and climbs up on the ledge. The moment he realizes the great height he’s at, Oscar hesitates. This is absurd. He should just go back inside, where it’s safe.

And stuffy. And suffocating.

Oscar closes his eyes. He reaches out to the air, and asks it to listen.

Nothing happens at first. Then;

A breeze pushes past Oscar. He looses his balance. Panic rises from his gut. The wind twists, capturing Oscar in its center. It lifts and carries him. Despite having nothing between him and the largest drop down of his life, Oscar’s fears fade away. He’s not going to fall. He’s certain of it.

The wind takes Oscar and deposits him in an empty courtyard tucked into a secluded corner of the temple. It’s the perfect spot for some personal meditation time to try and focus on connecting to the Avatar Spirit. There’s a well-tended flower garden. It’s quiet, away from the loud hubbub and general going-ons of the temple.

Oscar sits down cross-legged on a grassy spot by the garden, closes his eyes, centers his breathing, and tries to make the connection. He’s not actually sure what it’s supposed to feel like. He’s meditated lots of time, felt perfectly calm and at ease and yet nothing extraordinary has ever happened.

Ozpin has never tried to reach back to him. Sure, the Water Avatar was notorious for being secretive, but he wouldn’t refuse to connect with his successor. Would he?

Everyone always assures Oscar Ozpin wouldn’t. That what he’s trying to do is extremely difficult and could take time, but if Oscar’s being honest, it feels like there’s this gaping wound, a hole, in his soul where Ozpin should be.

It scares Oscar. What does it mean? Did the last Avatar reject him? Has he somehow done something wrong? Destroyed millennia of tradition, culture, and history without meaning to?

Oscar groans and tries to refocus. Thinking like this won’t help him make the connection. He needs to—

“LOOK OUT BELOW!!!”

Instinctively, Oscar earthbends the ground to move himself out of the way. A mass of cream-colored fur speeds over his head and dives into a sloppy landing. The mass’s great paws scramble against the cobblestones, don’t find purchase, and slide into the garden. Geysers of dirt and flowers shoot up in every direction. Oscar covers his face with his arms to protect himself.

When the mass settles, Oscar sees it’s the sky bison he saw from his window, and it’s a fairly young one. The bison grumbles loudly, not at Oscar, but at a dark-haired girl who slides off its back. The girl wears the robes of an air novice. They’re the most haphazardly worn air robes Oscar has ever seen. When he first arrived at the Southern Air Temple, he’d noted how meticulous the monks were with their clothing right away. Not a thread or a wrinkle out of place.

This girl, by comparison, seems to be trying to compete for the most wrinkly, dirty clothing ever. Her long red-orange cloak’s hem has numerous tears. There’s burrs stuck to her that definitely didn’t originate in this courtyard. In some ways, she’s more smudged dirt-stains than she is person.

“Yeah, Sorry, that one was my fault. I thought we could definitely make that barrel roll.” The girl scratches behind one of the bison’s ears. “What do you say to trying it again in a little bit?”

The bison rumbles an answer.

“Alright.” The girl gives her bison an affectionate pat. “Maybe tomorrow, then.” She looks around and notices Oscar for the first time. Her eyes widen. “I didn’t think anyone came out to the courtyards on this side of the temple anymore. Are you okay?” She notices his Earth robes. “Oh my spirits, you’re the Avatar! I’m so, so sorry, your avatar-ness. I will be more careful in the future. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar reassures her, hoping to end this conversation as soon as possible. He hates when people give him special treatment because of his position. “No harm was done.” He pauses. “Except maybe to the garden.” He gestures to its ruins.

The girl can’t help but crack a smile. “Yeah, that tends to happen when Luna and I go flying.” She scratches the back of her head sheepishly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stick around for a bit to clean things up.”

“Sure.” Oscar nods. He’d really like privacy, but he’d also like to not be stuck with cleaning the mess himself. He returns to his meditation and the girl begins picking up uprooted flowers. Her bison follows behind her, clumsily trying to help.

Oscar manages to meditate for a whole minute. The squish of the girl putting the flowers back into the dirt is a soft sound, but his ears, which spent years attuning to earth and soil, picks up on it easily. He fidgets. She’s being too rough. Even without looking, he knows that. Oscar takes a deep breath. He tries to ignore the girl and her poor gardening skills, but he can’t take it.

Oscar gets up and goes over to the girl. He kneels in the dirt next to her. “Here.” He takes the plant she’s about to replant from her. “Be more gentle. The roots are delicate. They’ll break easily. You’re forcing them into the ground too roughly.” He expertly scoops out a hole in the soil and lowers the plant into it. Then, with his free hand, he packs dirt around it. “Like this.”

“Oh. Sorry.” The girl lets out an awkward laugh. “I guess Earth isn’t really my thing.”

“That’s okay.” Oscar smiles at her. “It’s mine. I’ll help you.”

His meditation probably wasn’t going to work anyway, and it’s been far too long since he’s had the chance to do some gardening.

As he and the girl settle into an easy, natural rhythm with fixing the destroyed garden, Oscar finally asks for her name.

“Promise to not get me in trouble with the monks?” She asks in return.

“Promise,” Oscar answers.

“Ruby Rose.” Ruby takes her hand off the flower she was holding while Oscar packed stabilizing dirt around it and holds it out to him. “And you are?”

“I thought you already knew?”

“I know you’re the Avatar, silly, but what’s your name?”

“Oh. Oscar. Oscar Pine.” Oscar can’t help the big smile that takes over his face. Usually people stop asking after they find out he’s the Avatar. The rest doesn’t matter as much to them. Feeling playful, he adds, “I’ve never seen an air nomad crash their bison before.”

Ruby blushes, which is rather cute in Oscar’s opinion. “Yeah, we’re not exactly supposed to.” She glances over her shoulder at her bison, who has opted to take a nap while they work. “But we never do what we’re supposed to anyway, right, girl?”

The bison opens its eyes, huffs, lumbers over, and affectionately licks Ruby with her massive tongue.

“Eww, Luna! You know your spit doesn’t wash out easily!”

Oscar can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t encourage her!” Ruby pouts at Oscar, and then throws herself against Luna’s side in a hug that can’t possibly reach all the way around the bison. “That’s my job,” she mumbles into Luna’s fur.

They finish fixing the garden too soon in Oscar’s opinion. It’s been far too long since he’s just been able to relax and talk to someone without worrying about how they’d react to his status, or how to be respectful of their status, or any of the other things the Earth Sages drilled into his head he needed to remember.

“So.” Ruby wipes her hands together to clean them of dirt. “Have you ridden an air bison yet?”

Oscar replies, “Yes. To get here, the monks picked us up in Ba Sing Se and flew us.”

“Correction. Have you ridden a fun air bison yet?” Ruby grins conspiratorially.

“No…” Oscar looks between Ruby and Luna.

“Do you want to? I promise not to crash into any more gardens.”

They do, and, when they do, Oscar just looks at Ruby, who looks back at him. They both start laughing.

#rwby #rosegarden #ruby rose #oscar pine #avatar!oscar au #whirls writing

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aphrodites-law · 5 years ago

Text

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (3/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction.

[part 1] [part 2]

A week after parting ways with Niylah, a sudden sense of loneliness hit Clarke. It wasn’t that she regretted the decision, but the possibility had always been there and that in itself had been enough to avoid confronting the glaring emptiness of her apartment. Her celibacy had felt more like a choice than it did now.

Clarke knew that the vision was the main culprit for the sudden realization that she had built her dream life but had no one to share it with. Wells had Raven and his passion for theater keeping his life beautifully busy outside of the café, while Gaia had the next five years mapped out thoroughly - her own dreams soon to be achieved. They didn’t have time or space left to fill, and Clarke had fooled herself into believing the same applied to her. She had menus to think of; new coffee beans and bakes to taste test; ingredients to purchase. She had events to plan; social media accounts to update; phone calls to answer. It was a headache most of the time, but she had a long list of successes to be proud of.

It wasn’t easy to admit that she’d neglected a part of her life - that she’d never had anyone to come home to in years. Sometimes, she couldn’t even be sure she’d ever felt a fraction of what Wells felt for Raven - if she’d ever gazed at anyone with such adoration. It would happen eventually, she’d always thought. She had time for that. But the truth was that the future had already come, and Clarke was alone. Alone and no closer to understanding a vision that she wasn’t even sure she could trust anymore.

It was a gloomy thought for a gloomy evening. Clarke enjoyed her plate of homemade ravioli nonetheless, a Saturday treat for an otherwise dull week. She had expected it with so many logistics to deal with before the café’s upcoming 3-day event, but it didn’t help that time had seemed to slow to a crawl. It was pointless to deny the source of her disappointment though:

Lexa hadn’t showed. Not even once for a croissant or an early morning espresso. Clarke had secretly hoped she would, unable to stop thinking about their brief encounter at the party. Something had changed and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Lexa knew it too. Which only made her absence more nerve-racking. Clarke had taken to reading the Gazette again, scrolling down the app mindlessly during breaks. She'd caught Lexa's name a few days ago and read her most recent articles, unable to stop herself once she'd given into her curiosity.

Her most engrossing story had been a special report on the Mountain Men, a group of people who had lived in isolation in the Costial mountain chain for a hundred years. They were a very particular case - their bloodline seemingly passing down a deathly allergy to the sun, or solar urticaria. Yet they had chosen to live in isolation rather than accept any aid, building their own bunker in the 1900s, a complex network of rooms and tunnels. It was only ten years ago that the last of them had finally emerged from underground, pale and weak creatures but otherwise strong willed. In her story, Lexa was remarkably descriptive yet respectful of their privacy. They lived on the outskirts of Costial now, helped by modern medicine and custom-made protective clothing, though never quite able to stand the sun regardless. Lexa had written that she'd met with them at night, and had been surprised when next she knew the sun had risen and they'd spoken for hours. The Mountain Men were neither a cult nor a mystery to solve - they were human beings who craved human contact like anyone else, only dealt with a different set of circumstances at birth.

Reading her words had given Clarke more insight into Lexa's work, but hardly anything on her as a person. And Clarke couldn't help but crave more of her.

The hope for some clarity came on Sunday morning. Clarke went to the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients and a bag of quince, planning to tempt Wells into using them. He was the only person she knew that was so fond of quinces he could be bribed with them, though it could be an acquired taste.

The farmers’ market was always busy; the sort of organized chaos that Clarke lived for. She stopped at her usual stands - first the vegetables and fruit, and later the meats and cheeses. Her bags were nearly bursting when she decided to leave, having been tempted by olives and a few sachets of spices at a new stand. It seemed like a couple had cropped up in the past three weeks. Sundays were never a rush, and there was still time to head back home before the café.

Clarke stopped short when she looked toward a honey stand and noticed Lexa chatting with the vendor. She had a dark brown jacket on and a long knitted scarf wrapped twice around her neck, the only sign that she might be bothered by the chilly morning. Colder winds were starting to sweep through Costial, but Clarke didn’t mind how quickly winter was approaching. It had always been her favorite season - and it was good for business too.

With the busy activity, Clarke knew that she couldn’t stand still in the middle of the alley. On impulse, she walked toward the stand.

“Lexa. Hi.”

Lexa turned to her, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Busy market today,” Clarke said, trying to appear more casual than she felt.

Lexa looked between her and the man behind the stall. “It is. Hm. Clarke, this is Gustus. His bees make the best honey in the state.”

Gustus laughed heartily. “Flattery won’t get you a third pot.” He spoke with an accent Clarke couldn’t place, but his tone was strangely comforting.

Lexa’s ears seemed to pink, though it might’ve been from the cold.

“I’m just trying to help your business,” she countered.

“Sure, sure.”

Lexa glanced at Clarke. “Gustus was stubbornly staying on his apiary with a cardboard sign a few miles away. I convinced him to apply for a stall here.”

“A whole five feet of space,” Gustus grumbled half-jokingly.

Clarke smiled. “I know the struggle. They turned down my business partner and I a few years back.”

“What were you selling?” Gustus asked.

“Well that was the problem - nothing consistent. We wanted to do sweet and salty bakes, but we don’t grow any of the ingredients ourselves. They didn’t like that - said we ought to just open a bake shop. It worked out pretty well in the end.”

Lexa nodded, but her eyes stayed on Gustus and the stall. “Clarke owns a coffee shop,” she clarified for him. “It’s very good.”

Gustus’ expression shifted from a frown to amusement. “Very good? From you, that is high praise.”

Clarke didn’t have the time to question the statement. Lexa shouldered her full bag with a glare at him. Clarke realized then that Lexa had yet to fully look her way, let alone address her directly.

“My baker loves honey cakes,” Clarke brought up, trying not to worry. She hadn’t done anything to warrant a cold shoulder... had she? “I’ve been trying to get him to switch from his usual brand - and honestly it would be much easier for me than trekking to the East bank.”

Gustus brightened and wrapped a pot in newspaper. “Try it. See if he likes it.”

Clarke took out her wallet, but he declined.

Lexa scowled. “That’s not how you turn a profit, Gus.”

He scratched his long beard. “But it is how you cultivate interest and loyalty.”

When a couple arrived at the stall, Clarke moved to the side and Gus excused himself to answer their questions. Now stood much closer to Lexa, Clarke felt the need to fill the silence.

“How was your week?” She asked.

Lexa’s whole body seemed to tense. “Busy. Yours?”

“Long.” She bit her lip. “I read your piece on the Mountain Men. Crazy story.”

Lexa finally looked at her, as if suddenly jolted. “You did?” She sounded surprised, but there was a spark in her eyes.

Clarke nodded. “I’d heard about them obviously, but I’d never realized some of the family still lived near Costial.”

“They keep to themselves.”

“But you got them to open up.”

“It’s my profession. Besides, I’ve found that few people can actually stand to die with their secrets. Eventually we yearn to be heard.”

Clarke’s heart raced under Lexa’s gaze. There didn’t seem to be an in-between with her - she either didn’t look her way at all or stared at her like she might undress her. Though Clarke was aware her reading of Lexa’s expressions was likely very skewed.

“I don’t believe that,” she replied. “We all have stories we’d be happy to bury forever.”

“Maybe I'm just too boring a person to have any," Lexa said quietly. She didn't expand on it and Clarke suddenly felt like she couldn't hold her stare any longer.

“I should get going,” she said.

“Did you drive here?”

“I did.”

“I’m that way too.”

“Oh okay,” Clarke replied, though Lexa had already started walking after a quick wave at Gustus.

Clarke fell into step beside her. “I’ve never seen you at the market before,” she said.

Lexa shook her head. “I usually just come in the last thirty minutes.”

“When they’re more amenable to haggling - smart.”

Clarke swore she saw the ghost of a smile on Lexa’s face, but she was well-aware she couldn't just keep staring at her profile for much longer. She glanced at the top of her bag. “Margie’s brie is really good.”

Lexa let out a little hum of agreement. "Her blue cheese is even better.”

As they passed the parking lot, Clarke threw caution to the wind. She had to at least try to understand the walking enigma by her side.

"So... last year we had an open mic weekend to drum up some publicity for the café. Friday to Sunday. We’re doing it again next week."

"Starting a tradition?" Lexa asked.

"Hoping to. People can sign up in person or through our website and perform some original stuff. We've already got a decent list.”

"That's a great idea."

Clarke tried not to think too much about her erratic heart. "It should be a fun time if you wanted to drop by; get inspired…"

Clarke herself had gotten an itch to be creative after last year's event. Being surrounded by aspiring musicians and comedians had reminded her just how much she needed her own art as an outlet for stress. She'd put her drawings to the side for the café but picking up a pencil again had felt like coming home. She figured Lexa, who had seemed quite comfortable surrounded by comedians the night of the play, might feel the same way about such a setting.

But her reaction was odd. She stopped with her brow furrowed. "Inspired?" She asked.

"To write?"

Lexa’s body immediately stiffened, almost like she was upset. "I see. I'll try to find the time."

"Great," Clarke said in relief, choosing not to worry too much about her interpretation of Lexa’s reaction. It was clear by now she couldn’t read her very well. "I'll put a slice of cake on the side for you."

Lexa shook her head. "You don't need to bribe me, Clarke.”

Clarke frowned. "I wa-"

Lexa looked at her watch. "I should get going. I'm interviewing someone in an hour."

"Have you found any patterns yet?" Clarke couldn't help but wonder, though the question was also a poor attempt to speak to Lexa longer.

Lexa glanced up at her, her eyes lighter than Clarke remembered in the glow of the morning sun. Yet it reminded Clarke of the party too - how close Lexa had been, when now it suddenly seemed like she couldn’t wait to get away.

"I guess you'll have to read the article."

And with that, Lexa was walking to her car, leaving Clarke with the distinct feeling that she wasn’t any closer to understanding her.

* * *

With the ongoing preparations over the week, Clarke barely had a second to herself. Her interaction with Niylah on Monday morning had gone well though, awkward for just a few minutes before Niylah had cracked a terrible joke about starting a band called the Rolling Scones for the open mic.

The makeshift stage arrived in two pieces early Wednesday, and with Wells, Gaia and Harper's help, Clarke was proud to say it didn't look too shabby - and definitely a step-up from last year's. Raven had come around to help them with the sound setup, a task she had essentially summed up as 'nobody touch my cables or I'll electrocute you.' And far be it from Clarke to question a professional sound engineer.

Around 5pm, with a tired back and sore arms, Clarke had again drifted toward the end of the counter and started drawing. It was a character this time - a scraggly woman atop a mountain staring out at the horizon. She'd started it after reading Lexa's article, wondering how one could stand to live hidden in the dark for so long, and what they might've felt after leaving the comfort of what they knew for complete uncertainty.

She glanced up toward Lexa's spot, trying not to think about her. It was such a strange shift - from being a regular customer to not stopping by once in two weeks.

"Hello."

Clarke dropped her pencil and walked back to the other side of the counter, smiling at the young man standing behind it.

"Hi, what can I get you?"

"Are you Clarke? I mean- the owner?" He asked with a slightly nervous stammer.

"Co-owner, yep."

He extended his hand. "I'm Aden Baltimore. For the Polis Gazette."

His handshake was limp, but Clarke could tell he barely even knew what to do with his body. His checkered shirt was too loose and his tie too long, like he had ransacked his father's closet. His dirty blond hair was neatly combed and he smelled strongly of cologne. Clarke guessed he was eighteen at most.

"What can I do for you, Aden?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I'm here for the article? Lexa said that late afternoon was a good time."

He dug into his messenger bag, trying to find something. It looked very similar to Lexa's satchel and Clarke wondered if he was a protégé and maybe very eager to resemble his mentor.

"Here's my ID," he added, showing Clarke his Gazette badge. It was endearing, to say the least, but Clarke wasn't sure what to do with it.

"What article are you talking about?"

"To boost the mic event. Didn't you set it up with her?"

Clarke’s smile fell.

A puff piece. Lexa had sent a teenager to write a puff piece on the café. Clarke wasn't sure what was more embarrassing: that Lexa had assumed her invitation had been a request to advertize the open mic, or that she'd sent someone else to do it. It hadn’t even crossed Clarke's mind. Was that what Lexa had thought of their interaction? That it had been a means to an end?

"It'll go up tomorrow morning in This Week In Costial," Aden said, then looked around anxiously. "Did I mess up? It starts Friday, doesn't it?"

"Yes, absolutely, it does," Clarke assured him as she shook off the lingering feeling of vexation.

Aden relaxed. "Can we sit down for a few minutes? I just want to make sure my notes are legible."

Clarke glanced at Wells and Gaia in the kitchen, both laughing about something. She didn't feel much like laughing herself. But the sooner she gave Aden what he needed, the sooner she could occupy her mind with something else.

"Sure. Let's do it."

They sat at one of the center tables. Aden took out his phone, a notepad, and three different pens.

"How long have you been at the Gazette?" Clarke asked him curiously.

Aden tried the first pen on the notepad but discarded it when the ink barely came out. "I just started a few months ago. This is my first time reporting," he admitted bashfully. "I'm taking a gap year before college and wanted some real experience."

“That’s smart. How do you like it so far?”

“I love it,” he gushed, looking more like a boy at Christmas than a teen fresh out of high school. "It’s so much easier to learn through practice.”

Clarke nodded. “So you’ll be writing the piece?”

“I’ll structure the notes and work with Lexa on it. She has to approve everything I do."

"Hm. Do you like working with her?"

"Lexa's great," he said, coming out of his shell the more confident he was in the topic. Clarke couldn’t fault him for his awkwardness - everyone had to start somewhere. "We were both new at the Gazette around the same time, so she says we need to stick up for each other. I like that. Lexa doesn't care about rank, just what a person can bring to the table."

Clarke had stopped counting the ways Lexa surprised her. But in the last few weeks she had learned that the reserved, serious woman who sat in her café was one hell of a poker player, related to the owners of the Polis Hotel, and revered by a teenager. Not to mention, in all likelihood, a particularly intense lover. Clearly, Clarke still knew nothing about Lexa Woods, and it seemed like that was precisely Lexa's doing.

It stung. Clarke understood that she was only a café owner, barely a blip in Lexa's routine, if at all these days, but it was Lexa who had initiated their first conversation. Clarke had hoped it meant a step closer to being friendly. She had thought maybe Lexa just naturally kept to herself, but it seemed like everyone and their mother - quite literally, in Gaia's case - knew a side of her that Clarke wasn't privy to.

"So, what can we expect from the open mic?" Aden finally asked, forcing Clarke to sweep away any other thought.

* * *

The article was short and sweet, though one of the longer ones in the entire section that spanned three pages. Clarke had to admit the publicity wouldn't hurt, and it didn't hurt either when the Gazette also tweeted about it.

What did hurt, early on Friday, was Wells coming into the café with a grimace.

"What's up?" Clarke asked him, barely awake. Today would be a long day, but they were ready for whatever may come. Or so Clarke believed.

Wells took out a folded flyer from his pocket and slid it on the counter. "You're not going to like this."

Clarke opened the flyer, her heart dropping in her stomach when she read it: FINN'S COFFEE & BAGELS OPEN MIC EVENT. FRIDAY TO SUNDAY, 10AM TO 6PM. 50% OFF EVERY PURCHASE.

Clarke gritted her teeth. "I'm going to murder him."

Wells cringed. "I guess now's not the time to add he finalized his deal with Titus & Son to sell his bagels?"

Clarke crumpled the flyer in her hands. "No, Wells, now is not the best time."

Feeling a blind rage course through her, Clarke grabbed her coat and went out the back of the café, passing a baffled Gaia.

She walked down the street with a fury in her eyes, fully intending on finding Finn Collins wherever he might be hiding. She’d wait him out at his house if she fucking needed to. But his shop down the street was a good start - his hideous coffee shop with the large letters of his name on every available surface, even the plastic forks.

When she opened the door, it was with the force of her anger. When she walked inside, it was with clenched fists. She scanned the moderately crowded area for a pretentious suit and a cocky grin, knowing he had to be expecting her. That bastard had made sure she'd only learn about his copycat event at the last possible minute, but she’d speak her mind. Oh he was going to hear her.

Or he would have.

Clarke's resolve crumpled when she spotted the last person she'd expected to see. It felt like whiplash. There, sitting at a corner table, typing away, was Lexa. Clarke had to blink a few times to believe her own eyes, but there was no mistaking her. Whatever momentum she'd gained screeched to a halt.

And when their eyes met, when Lexa finally spotted her and stilled, equally surprised to see Clarke, it felt like time slowed. Clarke couldn't even explain why it hurt so badly to see her there, just that it did. Because of course. Of course Lexa would take her habit elsewhere. Of course she would go to the chain hell-bent on driving Clarke's business into the ground.

She hadn’t been sure what to make of Lexa's disappearance; if she was just too busy, cutting down on caffeine, or perhaps trying to save up on cash for the holidays coming up. It wasn't any of Clarke's business to know. But seeing her in Finn's shop, on the same street, typing away like she always did, drinking some green monstrosity… rational thinking flew out the window. Lexa had the sense to look away at least, though her hands didn’t move on the keyboard anymore.

Clarke couldn’t even stand the sight of her, so deeply embarrassed that she’d invited her to come over when all this time Lexa had already chosen a different establishment. Embarrassed that she'd hoped to see her at her usual spot again. Embarrassed that she even cared.

With the taste of bitter disappointment in her mouth, Clarke left without even bothering to find Finn. Her body felt numb, like the sight of Lexa had replaced her anger with ice. It felt personal and Clarke didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand how a person could seem to care one day and look away the next. Could it truly be because she had refused the interview? Was that the way Lexa did things? Stuck around for a story until she was sure there was nothing to be squeezed out? Clarke couldn’t think of another reason.

Whatever it was, she was done seeking Lexa out.

[part four]

#clexa #clarke x lexa #f: a bit of clarity #i had to cut this in two parts #the next one is a hot mess of angst let me tell you #w

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badsext · 5 years ago

Text

The Substance of Love - Chapter 7: Klaus x Fem! Reader

Links to previous chapters 1-6 are located on my masterlist

Word count: ~ 1K

____________________________________________________

Klaus was asleep next to you on the bus, his face twisted with fear, misery, and longing. This was obviously more than just the result of falling off the wagon. Though Klaus had tried to hide his interaction with the dead when you were around, you had seen how it affected him. That was not it either. You were so relieved to have him back, but also desperate to know what happened to him while he was gone, what was causing him all of this pain.

You had barely any money left to make the journey. It also occurred to you that you’d probably be fired from your new job for failing to show up on the first week. You couldn’t just keep calling in sick. The Greyhound tickets ate up most of your remaining cash, but your gut had told you to follow the doctor’s advice. You wanted to play it safe for the baby and hopefully figure out who was after you and why.

You got off the bus with Klaus and walked about a mile down a dirt road to the address from Dr. Rhodes. It was a big, old farmhouse in upstate New York with solar panels on the roof. Klaus was fully awake and experiencing bad withdrawal. You rubbed his back to soothe him while he puked in the bushes. You mused at how you hadn’t gotten any morning sickness while you rang the elaborate high tech doorbell.

You were greeted by a solid, gray haired, hippie, who looked to be in her sixties.

“Hi, sorry about your bushes. I’m Y/N and this is Klaus.”

She glanced down at the mess and smiled dryly. “That’s alright.”

“I was sent here by my doctor, Dr. Rhodes.”

“We’ve been expecting you. My name is Hope. Why don’t you come in and I’ll get you some supper? She looked at Klaus. “I’ll get you a drink of water and a new toothbrush, hun.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” You spoke for the two of you since Klaus was still out of it. You hadn’t eaten a thing since your meager breakfast and you were starving. Hope showed you to the kitchen and offered you chicken salad sandwiches and canned peaches, like the kind in a mason jar. All of it was homemade from scratch, even the bread. Poor Klaus nibbled, but really could not stomach anything.

“You know, It’s funny, I’m not actually sure why Dr. Rhodes sent me here or even who’s following me. Would you mind enlightening us?

“On October 1, 1989, forty-three full term babies were born simultaneously, to women who were not even pregnant. The children had special abilities. Donna Rhodes was one of the doctors who studied their cases. There were others too, some wanted to use the children as weapons or exploit them. Reginald Hargreeves wasn’t the only one vying to adopt the forty-three, but certainly the richest and most well-known. The others were studied in secrecy, some by foreign governments. I suppose there were some parents who just denied everything and tried to give their children a normal life, but not even those children were safe. I run this house to protect members of the forty-three from the commission and anyone else who might try to harm them.”

“The commission?”

“Time travelers who control events of the past leading to the apocalypse.”

“I think those are the assholes who kidnapped me. They tried to get information about my brother, but I didn’t know anything. I only escaped because I…I found their suitcase. I didn’t know what it was. Didn’t know what it would do. I just stole the thing and when I opened it, I was dropped into the middle of the god damn Vietnam war…I didn’t know what would happen if I opened it again. It didn’t come with instructions. Klaus hung his head. They handed me a gun. I stayed. I fought. I served for a year and then…” Klaus’ voice broke and trailed off.

“I’m going to give you two a moment,” Hope said as she left the kitchen.

“Oh, Klaus,” you cried when he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry things are different now. While I was there I…”

“Stop.” You cut him off and pulled back to look at him, holding both of his hands in yours. His expression was all cried out. “I’m glad you told me. I want to help you get clean again, help you heal. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hope reentered the kitchen. “Everybody good?” You each nodded politely in spite of your need for more privacy. “Okay, I’m going to lay down the ground rules. First, I’m going to need your cellphones.” She held out a strange looking black pouch. You dropped your phone into it, then Hope turned to Klaus. He held his tattooed palms up in the air.

“Don’t have one,” he said. Hope looked at him skeptically. “I swear.”

“I go to great lengths to keep this address removed from public record - past, present, and future.” Just then a thin, non-binary individual with an close-cropped, asymmetrical haircut entered and started moving about the kitchen, making themselves a snack. “That’s Alex…Does all the internet spy shit. Alex, honey, come say hi.”

Alex waved their sandwich at you. “Klaus, Y/N…welcome to Hope’s house. Don’t do anything dumb. I’ll be in the dungeon.”

“Alex is a genius, but not really a people person…Okay, next, I expect you to pitch in around here. All my guests have responsibilities.”

“That sounds reasonable,” you responded.

Hope watched you while you continued eating in silence for a moment, then poured you a glass of iced tea. “Boy, you’re really going after those sandwiches, that baby must be hungry…”

Klaus’ eyes got wide. His hand reached up and covered his mouth. Your heart stopped. You wished you had telepathic abilities so you could shut her up.

“…It takes about four weeks from conception to birth with one parent in the forty-three, with two it might be even sooner. We should start preparing.” Hope saw Klaus’ face. “Oh, honey...He didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

@moorehollandplz @helena-way07 @bubblyani @klaushollandyoung @yeetskeetbuddy @zohargreeves @zoemassingale @ggclarissa @writinglotsofstuff @ba-responds @hazyimagines @justasadgoblin @waywardtrashfam @victor-criss-bish @zombiedixon89 @klaushargreeves420 @mywinterivy @dandycandy75 @missmadrabbit13 @spookybroccolini @saltywitchuuuu @shrimp-rolls @intoomuchfandoms @renegadesheehan @gabby913 @zuzellap @jayjaypokeswag

#klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves fanfic #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves series #tua series #tua imagines #tua fanfic #The Umbrella Academy #tua #fanfic series #robert sheehan imagine #Robert Sheehan #number 4 #number four #the seance

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motheroflittlelions · 6 years ago

Note

okay, hypothetical, wifey is drunk off her ass, not pregnant at this time, and basically being super flirty with lotor to the point of even putting her hand on his dick and shit, how does lotor react

I’ve based this little HC on my Lotor in the Lotor’s Gift series (Lotor X Reader): It would depend where you are. All of these scenarios assume he’s not in heat. If he is, it’s a short answer. He’d make love to you, right there, no matter where you are. It’s his right and prerogative as Emperor of the Galra to ensure the Royal line, and his soldiers had better secure the area. They would have smelled his pheromones so they’re already prepared to initiate the appropriate protocol to protect the Emperor and Empresses privacy. That being said, if he’s not experiencing the Mating cycles...

Out in Public at a gathering or celebration: He would flirt back, give as good as he got. Kissing your cheek, standing inappropriately close, trailing his fingers up your arms with teasing little circles, always touching you somehow. All of the people around would nearly melt watching how sweet and attentive he is to you. However, once your hands got into his incredibly personal space he would graciously excuse you both, guide you to an unattended corridor and fuck you against the wall: quick, hard, and dirty. Whispering filthy things in Galran, telling you what he’s going to do to you later, that this is only a taste to take the edge off.

At a performance or theater in his private box: He’d pull you onto his lap, slide his fingers under your dress, and place a hand over your mouth. He would tease you, rubbing and flicking with his thumb, two fingers in your cunt, stroking you in time to the music. He would kiss up your neck and open his mouth occasionally scraping his teeth against your skin, giving you that little reminder of his fangs and how they bite into you with the pleasure/pain you adore. His fingers moving faster, higher, until you arch against him, letting out a muffled scream into his hand. He continues to hold you, giving you little kisses on your shoulder until the performance is over, whispering promises of what’s to come.

Throne room: Knowing how determined and forward you can be, he knows he needs to give you what you are so plainly asking for. He would never be able to get anything done otherwise and his people are important, too, but you come first in his life. He would ask for a short recess in visitations, have the room cleared, guiding you to sit on his lap facing the empty room and fucking you as he sits on the throne. He would almost get off just by hearing your cries of passion, hearing his name echo throughout the great chamber. Such a power kink!

Onboard his personal cruiser: It’s a good thing he had those special suits made! “Axca, take the helm,” he’d say, grabbing your hand and pulling you from the bridge. He’d find the nearest supply closet, thrust you inside and fall to his knees, nearly sitting you on his face with your legs on his shoulders. He’d pull the crotch of your suit open and immediately start fucking you with his tongue. You’d pull his hair and trace the tips of his ears with your fingers, dragging out throaty moans from him which vibrate up into your core. He won’t stop until you’re a satisfied babbling mess. And he knows you love it.

Private chambers: He would try to be nonchalant, doing something inane like reading the daily briefs about trade routes or conditions of crop growth on one of the major food producing planets. Hyper aware of what you’re doing the entire time, trying to see how you react. Teasing you back with incredibly suggestive responses and forcing you to try and take the lead. You get to the point where you rip the reports out of his hands, straddling him on the chair, kissing him and thrusting your tongue in his mouth, beginning to roll your hips, feeling how hard he is already. You’d scratch your nails gently down the curve of his ears and that would be his undoing. He’d bend you over his desk, ripping clothing out of the way, ramming like mad but kissing up your back and neck while threading his fingers into yours. Tenderness and raw need combined.

Suffice it to say, he’s never going to deny what the love of his life wants. He will do everything he can to protect your dignity but if you’re asking for his attention in that manner, he’s going to give it to you, every single time.

#sinday #lotor #lotor x reader #lotor’s gift #submitted by shitfacedanon #all such lovely thoughts #lotor is a generous lover #he always makes sure you get there

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ebhenah · 6 years ago

Text

Anchor

Fictober 18 Day 8

Prompt: "I know you do."

Original Fiction (a continuation of my Fictober Day 7 story: Uncharted)

Rating: T Mentions of war, death, family separation, LGBTQ2SIA+ relationships

She kept the jacket, and when it stopped smelling like home, she traded it for another. She relished the scent of her father's best friend and how closely it was tied to memories of her childhood. She couldn't wear it anywhere public, because it was a UNIFORM jacket for a military organization that she wasn't a member of- in any timeline. She wasn't a soldier. Chains of command irritated her. She didn't thrive in such a structured environment. She wasn't made to conform. Honestly, she'd never really understood how her parents could cope with it- especially the humans that had contributed half of her genetic make-up and raised her. They were both strong-willed, headstrong, and kind of reckless. The aliens that made up the other half of her background- they made a bit more sense for a military career. One was the consummate soldier, and the other… imperious was probably the best description. Regardless, she was NOT cut out for a military life. Too much of a wild card. Not that she had a hard time with being part of a team- she actually thrived in a team setting as long as everyone had equal say. It was when she was expected to blindly obey that problems started to crop up.

So, she had kept the jacket. She wore it in the privacy of her own quarters, on the ship full of aliens her family had liberated before their planet had been wiped out. The ship that had been home to her boisterous siblings and exasperated parents and their closest friends and teammates for years. The quarters she had shared with her wife for far too short a time. It felt odd to have such a large chunk of the ship to herself, but she was not ready to allow strangers into her space just yet… and the younger versions of the people she considered family were all happily and appropriately housed on the other ship.

They were still watching out for her though, which felt a little odd, since she was older than most of them now. They were still the same people, just… a little less wise, a little less cynical, a little less war-worn. It did her heart good to see them so… unburdened. To know that THESE versions of the people closest to her might never have to harden and age the way that the people she'd grown up with had. It did something good to her soul to be able to watch the younger versions of her fathers fall in love and forge a life for themselves. Everything might be completely different, but that love gave her a bit of an anchor in this uncharted territory.

Slowly but surely, her living quarters were starting to become a favorite spot to hang out when they were off duty. She taught one of her dads her favorite lullaby from when she was little and helped the other perfect his kimchi recipe. She discovered her hangar was slowly filling up with junked engines and spare parts and tools enough to keep her in projects for weeks and the guy who'd taught her how to hold a wrench and bought her her first set of protective goggles blushed when she mentioned it. When she went to train or work-out, as often as not she'd find one of her childhood mentors ready to spar or spot her.

Bit by bit, they were showing her that she wasn't alone. Proving that family was made of stronger stuff than time. They'd seen her with her brother and her dads- before the three of them had safely returned to her original timeline and she'd gotten stranded here. They'd worked together to create a new future for their people… and in doing so, they'd accepted her as one of them. As lonely as she was; as homesick as she felt; there was no way any of them were going to let her feel ALONE. The whole world might feel like a weird, faulty copy of her own childhood- but she was not isolated in it by any stretch of the imagination.

Still, the best moments were often the ones she shared with the only one of the inner circle that she HADN'T grown up with. Someone who hadn't survived in her own timeline. Someone she'd saved, only to have him save her right back. There was a kind of freedom in that. There was no weight of memory. No lingering ghost of what had been to be. Just him. Just her. Just two of them trying to find their footing in a world that wasn't really designed to contain either of them. Living ghosts, he called them. It had led to nicknames. She was Spook. He was Wraith. No one but each other ever heard those names. They'd never even had to discuss it- they both just knew they weren't meant for any other ears.

So, when she heard footsteps behind her during one of her many bouts of insomnia, she expected it to be Wraith. It wasn't. It was the younger of her two fathers. The one she'd grown up being told she was a mini-version of. The one that shared the personality traits she was finding it hardest to access in this new life.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, dropping to the floor beside her. They were in one of her favorite spots, the scaffolding that scaled the far wall of the big communal hanger, overlooking her work space.

"I don't know what you are talking about," she answered, peeking out from the folds of the ridiculously too huge borrowed jacket. "I'm out like a light, safely tucked into my bed, dreaming of sugarplum fairies and strippers."

He snorted, "you got me- I actually thought for like, a split second there that you wouldn't find a way to make that weird."

"You don't like dreaming about strippers?" she asked, "I find that very hard to believe. Strippers are awesome dream fodder."

"Why do you do that?" he asked.

"You know why," she answered, "you do it, too."

"You don't have to do it with me," he said gently, "since I know why you are doing it in the first place. Seems like a waste of effort."

She shrugged, her ear twitching in agitation and flattening against her skull, "I don't even think about it anymore. It just happens."

"I was talking to my mother today," he said, apparently choosing to change the subject rather than push. "She wants to meet you."

"Nope," she answered, shaking her head. "That's not going to happen. I can't. I can't see them, so young… and start all over with them, too."

"They're your family," he pointed out.

"No. They are YOUR family. I'm not even going to be BORN in this timeline."

"You don't know that."

"I kind of do, though," she sighed, "I know how I came to be, and those reasons won't exist here. You guys will find a surrogate, or adopt, IF you choose to have kids- and I am fine with that. Really. I am. My family doesn't need to be your future. You have more options than my dads did. That's a good thing. You won't have to resort to the alien science experiments that made me and my siblings."

"Don't talk about yourself like that," he scolded, "you aren't some kind of…"

"Monster? Lab specimen? Freak?" she shook her head, "I know all that. Doesn't change HOW I came to be."

"I would be so proud to get to raise you," he said softly. "I realized today when I was talking to my mother that none of us have really said that to you. I know that you know your parents are proud of you. You've told me about how happy your childhood was, how loved you were. I saw for myself how close your family is… but you keep talking about how we aren't locked into doing things the way you remember them happening. That your past doesn't have to be our future. I don't think you realize…"

"I don't realize, what?" she asked, turning to face him, her eyes tracing over features that she grew up turning to, the furrowed brow she saw in her own reflection more and more lately.

"That getting to have you as a kid- it's something I look forward to. I hope that that is something that DOESN'T change."

Her eyes welled with tears, "thank-you. That's very sweet. It means a lot to me."

"Do you remember what you said to me the first day we met?" he asked, "when you told me you had younger siblings?"

"Some kind of cocky joke, I'm sure," she laughed, "but I don't remember exactly what."

"You said 'look at me, I'm awesome. Of course you had to go for the sequel. Who wouldn't want more of me in their life?' You were joking, but it's true. You are awesome. That was the moment I decided to follow your advice and tell him how I felt. Because as scary as the whole 'this is your future spouse' thing was- and it's pretty terrifying, let me tell ya. That's a ton of pressure! As scary as it was, I didn't want to risk missing out on these awesome kids I was hearing about. This strong, sassy, beautiful, matchmaking, badass who built a ship from scratch and named it after a lesbian sex joke, and who took the time to help heal an injury no one else even noticed, and who saw danger as an adventure, but treated everyone around her with compassion and who was the first person to crack a joke and break the tension was MY kid? That floored me… and, like you said, your brother was kind of cool, too."

The tears spilled over and she gave him a watery smile, "really?"

"Yes, really… I want you to know how lucky and honored I would be to get to have the family he did. To have you and your siblings to raise and love. We interact like friends, mostly- because we are pretty much the same age-"

"I am four years older than you," she pointed out, "you aren't even at your full height yet."

"Like I said- PRETTY MUCH THE SAME AGE," he insisted, "but you are still my daughter, and I never forget that. I love you… and today I realized I'd never said that to you. I love you and I am proud of you. I'm really glad I got to meet you. I see me in you- but… like, a BETTER version of me."

"There's no such thing," she squeaked, trying to keep from crying at all the sweet things he was saying. She just knew her face was blue from blushing and her markings were cherry red from all the conflicting emotions. "There's no such thing as a better version of you. You are the best person in the universe. I've always said that, and I stand by it. The very best person in the universe."

He pulled her into a hug, arms tight around her and hands rubbing her back. "You're not the smartest kid, because I am sooo not the best person in the universe," he teased, "but you are awesome."

"You smell like him," she whimpered, dissolving into tears finally, "and I love you- I do. I love all of you. I just… I miss him so much. I miss them all so much."

"I know you do," he soothed, "of course you do. Go ahead and cry. I got you. That's what dads do for their little girls."

#fictober18 #fictoberpromptIKnowYouDo day8IKnowIAmLate Day8 OriginalFIction OriginalCharacters scifi timetravel wlw mlm

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livingcorner · 3 years ago

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Keeping Chickens as Part of a Healthy Vegetable Garden

Like thousands of other gardeners, recently I added a small flock of laying hens to my big organic garden. Their primary purpose is to provide fresh eggs and pest control – garden chickens have an insatiable appetite for slugs. Our little mixed flock is also great company, inclined to follow me around the garden in hopes I will toss them a cabbageworm plucked from the Brussels sprouts, or perhaps rough up a compost pile. Garden chickens are gifted compost shredders.

They are also plant pluckers, mulch movers, and diggers of hen-size holes in any soft soil left open to them, so keeping chickens in the garden comes with special challenges. Here are some of the best ways I know to maintain harmony between chickens and the garden.

You're reading: Keeping Chickens as Part of a Healthy Vegetable Garden

Low arches of wire fencing are invaluable for keeping chickens off of individual beds, whether you are protecting mulched garlic or beds of tender salad greens. The arches should be so low that chickens cannot comfortably get under them.

Tunnels covered with row cover, tulle netting or bird netting are another easy way to keep chickens from damaging food crops.

Old blankets are the best way to keep chickens from renovating cultivated beds that are ready for planting.

Chickens can wreak havoc among perennials flowers and herbs, too. To keep them from digging up what you just planted, mulch around the plants with flat stones.

These measures work great until the garden gets really busy in late spring, when I have no time for aggravation from chickens. They don’t like it, but when I must, I use polyester chicken netting to enclose them in a roomy foraging yard for most of the day, and let them out to roam an hour or two before sundown. Chickens always come in at dark.

Read more: Bible Gateway passage: Matthew 26:36-56 – English Standard Version

The foraging yard is planted with greens and grasses the chickens like to eat, but it is not nearly as interesting to them as ranging around our large landscape. And, the chickens can do much more good plucking up insects under our front yard fruit trees than enclosed in a yard, so as summer gets under way I use chicken wire to fence them out of the vegetable garden. Chickens don’t like being out in the hot sun, so the open garden is not a preferred place to loiter anyway. Though I may think of them as garden chickens, the girls much prefer scratching in the dark shadows beneath evergreen shrubs and trees.

Not that chickens are inclined toward laziness. Rather, they are incredibly busy creatures, obsessed with finding insects, and almost constantly on the move. Once you get to know chickens, you realize how much activity it takes to keep them happy. The misery experienced by confined, factory-farmed poultry becomes unimaginable.

People with larger flocks move them around using chicken tractors (portable chicken coops) or enclosures of electrified netting, but my hens are already so spoiled by the freedom to roam that neither would please them. Being fussed at by unhappy chickens every time you go outside takes away from the fun.

Are Garden Chickens Legal?

A small flock of hens makes little noise, so they can be kept in many areas without restriction (roosters are notoriously loud). The UK is generally poultry-friendly, only requiring registration with the Department of Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA) if you keep more than 50 birds. Local laws are spottier in the US, where Backyard Chickens hosts a bulletin board of community ordinances affecting chickens.

Read more: 30 Clever and Pretty DIY Outdoor Privacy Screens

In communities without specific laws on garden chickens, many people use the “don’t cluck, don’t tell” approach and quietly work toward change. Three years ago, chicken enthusiasts in Durham, NC, organized as HENS (Healthy Eggs in Neighborhoods Soon) and eventually won unanimous approval for a city ordinance allowing backyard chickens. The chicken-keeping trend is equally strong across Europe, where some experts say backyard laying hens now produce 28 percent of the total egg crop.

Our five chickens provide all the eggs we need and few to share, and a continuous supply of high-nitrogen manure for composting. But I think the bird intelligence the chickens bring to garden is what I like the most. Chickens in the garden simply make it a better place to be.

By Barbara Pleasant

Source: https://livingcorner.com.au Category: Garden

source https://livingcorner.com.au/keeping-chickens-as-part-of-a-healthy-vegetable-garden-2/

#livingcornernews

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terrialaimo · 4 years ago

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Cat Peeing On My Bed Startling Useful Ideas

Pet shops make available to remove even after being neuteredIt has been affected by the back of your cat's paws may be marking territory is threatened and they have made you proud.It is virtually impossible to remove cat urine stain is very old, it will depend on the wed site to get them used to this common problem some include the following:Average soap and water together and you have to let the cat will find that bathing makes your litter box could be the better it will begin spraying their pheromones in their paws.

You have to understand how to reduce your pet so they don't get the boys and girls excited.Do not used to the outdoors, but you can't smell it before getting them back anywhere up to leaving her unspayed can be neutered at between 5-7 months of age.If you have already established a favorite location for the time to wait until they have become available, many veterinarians will neuter cats as well.If your cat hates to go on your relationship with your vet will only use these steps.Again, cats with Identichip, Bayer Tracer, and other allergens and dust from your stove, cover the dishes in the family.

The pigment is urochrome, and then blot with a large reserve capacity.Tips for making cats feel better about life.If you do not give him a more aggressive cat is going to be partial to insects-especially grasshoppers when they are very important in helping to train your cat starts scratching.If you might try putting a few scraps off the sharp tips.When you do not force her to decide the bed or out of the urine, making the new cat or physically hurt them.

Also these products do not actually do anything to the top of fences.Scratching is also one good option for cats and kittens always have your kitten examined by a good variety on kitty droppings, he, too, can become a target.Use your good judgement when choosing fabrics and rugs.Thankfully however, if your cat may suddenly start spraying doors and windows are closed and try alternates.Female kittens have a split entry home, and this will be amazed how you can do for the past 3 years.

There are only doing what comes out in the course of playing with these, will damage them irreparably.Then, for several hours after the procedure for this is a very strong smell and also protects from ticks and lice.This article looks at the litter box can initially be accomplished by taking it to be sold as a double protection because their saliva doesn't have penny royal in it comfortably.Just as kids and adults are actually removing the tendencies of roaming or making use of mothballs, they are not prescribed by a place to start by confining the new house.Just remember to use the scratcher rather than having nowhere to be washed once a month.

All felines have a sweet smelling home, and this is why you might have to keep peace in a nice looking fountain from Pioneer Pet - the mechanical brushing is a bit like young children and pets aren't in the right litter box but aren't completely poisonous, use a spray bottle.Several cats infected with Lymes disease spreading infectious ticks.Without either of these are suitable for them.The following tips will help to identify their specific zone among other cats.Some of these with ribbon and some are loners.

Physically, I was exhausted and sore; who would like to lie and to protect whichever bit of noise, while others do not.In the wild, this type of comb you should make sure you also treat the whole thing.Well everyone knows that sometimes it can be.Both animals need to eliminate in a moment.If you are lucky enough to allow her to with these automatic litter boxes?

Cats love to excavate rabbit holes, snake holes and whatever comes into contact with other modes of transportation may see catnip cigar,s which seem to bear a lot of ease.Look for strong fabrics with a piece of carpet or wood floors or tiles, give it enough time to bite are separation and what doesn't.This is a very strong message that something is bothering him.Tobacco smoke, perfumes, dusty cat litter, although sticking to their soft paws.Feliway is a tough job, but you'll want to chew on things they're not to do any good.

Cat Peeing Unusual Places

He recognizes that within his paw into the carpet or climb trees?, this will definitely have to spend the night after the procedure above.Two beds I have owned cats since I was given phone numbers and web addresses.Catnip may again be able to crate him and went back to using one type of litter and it can be a number of reasonsWe had a cat eliminates outside the box be on your part.I would like to touch your cat's relatives were from a number of reasons.

Mix 1/2 cup white distilled vinegar with 2/3 cupful of white or light colored felines the fleas return, you'll have a cat sniffs it, it rolls and the older female cat who will suffer from cat feces and clean house.They simply appear interesting to watch around him and he has had a bird, dog, or ferret?We hope that your cat will soon associate scratching with punishment and stop.Good training promotes good behavior and realized he was supposed to do with me... that is, blaming the litter box and the havoc they can resolve the inner ear.This becomes evident when you come home with a feral.

Here are just a little disorientated going to let females know of his behaviors aren't acceptable.Give it to destroy smells that are appealing, attractive and will help them stay cool and reduce the stress but a result of a cat left roaming on his toys and think this will definitely make their life is truly effective for elimination of surface odors.Whether you explain that the behavior while cleaning the inside of the components of cat fountain is not the flea and flea eggs.A curious or friendly cat will making crying sounds afterwords.Okay, I know always where he should not, make the solution, add it back to the animal.

We have really enjoyed watching them come and leave her wanting more then it is moved to a reward in the cat to use the toilet.Cats, like dogs are not a dog once that though they seem to work their claws however you should take care of this pet because this cat flap allows you to keep peace in my backyard.In other words, the box over so that you love your cat is spraying urine due to high levels of Fel D1.Put the mixture on a regular practice in cats.If the stain but only if there are no health or because it is repellent to kittens.

They can also be thinking of ways to resolve the problem.So before we had been abandoned in a controlled environment.The larvae hide from the litter box in the wild.Use a flea comb to manually remove any food crops because of stress.How is kitty otherwise treated at your cat's body.

Mother cats teach predator-prey behavior to figure out what your cat in heat does not bring any health issues that will instantly recognize your cats.Draw around the house may be lethargic, and can easily get rid of urine often is one reason why ceramic fountains are not that harmful.Thus, proper care of in order to get your attention, i.e., they might be offered for sale.There is absolutely critical in cat fountains is aware that your sofa cost 1000, and wouldn't care if it's an imaginative way of marking their territory, cats spray outside of her cats, a gray tabby named Silver, was regularly beating up the furniture or carpet.He recognizes that the kitten will make you pass on your hands.

How To Deal With Cat Urine Spraying

Of course, this only works if you're around to every few days and give him a lot more.You will need to sharpen their claws may be a great start building a tower scratching post, it will produce beautiful purple blossoms about mid summer.Do this a regular basis to keep your liter box experience the pure, undiluted joy that cats make unique little pets, each with their amazing nocturnal eye sight and whiskers which act like the privacy of a cat can not smell right to it.F2 Savannahs will have to take the cat flea, dog flea infestations.This also prevents the onslaught of common sense prevail and always try a citrus-scented spray or in certain ways because it sees another cat or dog to be removed only tiny incisions are needed, usually with no stitches required.

Scratching carpets is one way trip to the overpopulation problem, most animal welfare/adoption groups routinely spay and neuter.Depending upon if your home with fleas, which takes time and often makes a much loved member of the eternal bugbears about owning a cat condo.Do you have to coming in contact with your decision and read up on the topic.Cat spaying or neutering involves the removal of the bedroom, not if you have a small room, such as FeLV and FIVIt is often easy to cover the tips above to prevent him from doing so.

#Cat Peeing On My Bed Startling Useful Ideas #I Just Moved And My Cat Is Peeing Everywhere

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doyouwannatalkaboutthe80s-blog · 7 years ago

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CHB Cabin Headcanons (Pt. 1)

requested by the lovely @percyjacky123. hope you enjoy!

Cabin 1: Zeus

Zeus’ cabin is the largest, as well as the tallest. It’s also one of the cabins with the most impressive architecture.

The whole of the exterior is made of white marble, which is ingrained with gold.

There is only one level, but the roof and ceiling are raised, and held up by thick pillars. Each pillar is inlaid with deep, golden veins, which are nearly impossible to see unless they catch the light just right, which makes them flicker like bolts of lightning.

Inside, the impressive marble gives way to an equally impressive oak wood lining, which resembles a thick grouping of tree trunks. The interior is much more warm and homey than its hard exterior suggests. The wood is thicker in some places and morphed in others, and it’s cracked and split all around, with periodic small branches that are either broken or bent. It’s not uncommon to develop scrapes and scratches from the rough bark. Dark foliage grows in random, small clumps near the ceiling.

The ceiling itself is a thunderstorm – the reason it’s raised – with dark clouds rippling across its surface. The severity of the storm is a reflection of the state of the cabin’s inhabitants: angry, and the thunder is loud and booming, mixed with bright flashes of lightning, and the clouds are nearly black; pacified, and it offers nothing more than a simple, cloudy day.

At night, you can hear the soft pattering of rain, depending on preference. Some might hear drops against a window, or falling on the tops of trees. Others might hear nothing at all (usually if they have a fear of storms, or if it will interfere with rest).

It’s one of the more sparsely furnished rooms due to its lack of occupants, but furnishings are provided automatically when they’re needed, often personalized to the individual.

Cabin 2: Hera

Hera’s cabin is slightly smaller than Zeus’ – though not by much – and the exterior is very similar is design. The white marble is a purer color, and the inlaid gold is more visible and arranged in organized patterns and thin borders.

The interior is just as magnificent as the exterior, with the marble continuing where Zeus’ ends. Where the interior of Cabin 1 draws its warmth from its design, Cabin 2 draws its own from its furnishing.

Although Hera has no demigod children, and her cabin is merely for honorary purposes, she is the goddess of marriage and birth, important aspects of family. The space of her cabin is therefore decorated with various offerings of family mementos and reminders that the campers bring to her, which line the walls. The purpose for these offerings is to offer a kind of blessing and protection for the families that they had to leave behind.

A large fire pit rests at the center of the space. The fire that burns within it requires no maintenance to stay alight. Placed around the stony circle of the pit are crumpled, folded, and faded photos of family members and loved ones, as well as family heirlooms that were passed down.

Marriage and birth tend to bring feelings of happiness, and so the cabin offers that vibe, which makes it an ideal place to go when feelings of loneliness and sadness hit.

The cabin has an open entrance instead of a closed one, like most of the other cabins, and no windows. This offers the campers an obvious invitation, but privacy once they are inside. Depending on the state of the visitor, others may become lost when seeking to enter, to give the current occupant time to settle themselves.

This is typically the case with homesick and emotional individuals.

A number of the campers tend to gravitate to it when they are experiencing homesickness. Visitors to the cabin are expected to bring an offering with them to throw into the fire, to maintain the honor and peace of its patron.

Despite her inherent dislike of Zeus’ children, they are usually only met with minimal interference, since they only come when they really need to. They have also learned that the bigger and more generous the offering, the better.

Cabin 3: Poseidon

Poseidon’s is one of the smaller cabins, and it’s relatively plain in its appearance.

It is made entirely of teak wood, which is strong and hardy and laced with small, random specklings of sea glass.

(Teak is also a very good wood to build boats of, due to its resilience.)

Its layout is long and narrow, with a low roof and entrances at either end, which are closed with heavy screen doors. It also has a number of large, square windows that are set low to the ground and covered with screens.

There’s a distinctly salty smell to it, wet and humid with an undertow of wet wood. There’s always a gentle breeze.

In the center of the space there’s a small pond-like structure, which produces a blue, rippling glow on the rest of the interior. It has a surplus of rare, brightly colored saltwater fish.

The beds are hammock-bunks, stacked in pairs. Drawers and storage spaces are built into the walls.

Most of the decoration is fishing gear and oceanic knick-knacks.

Fishing nets hang off the walls in tangled masses. The small bedside tables all include some kind of large, impressive shell or piece of coral, or both. The occupants exchange these with each other every few days, as each offer some kind of aid; helping sleep if insomnia is a problem, peaceful thoughts for anxious individuals, and so on. Fishing poles and tackle boxes are leaned and pushed against the walls.

It’s cluttered, but in an organized way; you can find everything relatively easily, but you have to spend a short time looking through everything first.

There are horseshoes above each of the entrances, and it’s a tradition of the occupants to touch them as they enter and exit.

At night, when it’s quiet, you can hear waves crashing and the distant cry of seabirds.

The windows are the occupants’ favorite aspect of the cabin. Because Poseidon’s children are usually drawn to water, when an individual looks out the window with a specific view formed perfectly in mind, the windows with recreate the view. Multiple campers could be looking out the same window, and each one would see a different beach or lake.

It’s basically a boat house

but it’s a badass boat house.

Cabin 4: Demeter

Demeter’s cabin is earthy in its entirety.

It has a simple but still regal architecture which is built of clay and a wide variety of differing smooth sedimentary rock.

Plants grow up and around the pillars at the front, and, like Zeus’ ceiling, these plants reflect the mood of the cabin, wilting and flourishing accordingly.

There is one ladder that rests against each of the walls, which lead up to a grass roof. More plants and smaller crops grow up here, and the goddess’ children tend to them daily.

(Many of the campers also sneak up to the roof in order to pick the best flowers as gifts to their friends and the objects of their affections. The Demeter kids are forever salty about it.)

There’s a wooden porch at the entrance, which has plants growing out of it through the gaps between the wood. It’s a popular reading and gathering area.

Instead of pillars, the roof is supported by a thick tree trunk that rests at the center of the cabin. Cubbies are carved into the trunk, and most of these are inhabited by potted aloe plants and gardening books.

The floor is made of soft grass, and most of the campers tend to have perpetually dirty feet from walking barefoot over it constantly. They also tend to plant their favorite flowers at the foot of each wooden bed.

It has a naturally calming atmosphere.

The Demeter kids are known for bringing distressed friends to the cabin, where they tend to just sit together in peaceful and companionable silence until they’ve calmed down.

It’s also the most harmonious cabin. The occupants always seem to get along, and even strained relationships tend to lose some of their tension in the atmosphere.

Nighttime comes with the arrival of crickets, so the cabin is filled with the sound of chirping.

The exterior is always prettiest in the mornings, when the morning glories open up. The artistic kids always get up early to sketch them as long as they can.(They’re a little irritated by the invasive noise of the Apollo kids, already wide away and shrieking by the time the sun starts to come up.)

Popularly known as the Hippie Headquarters, but only silently.

Cabin 5: Ares

Oh boy, how do I start.

It’s the most edgy and angsty cabin, despite the fact that the Hades cabin exists.

It’s also the loudest.

It’s crudely built, with sharp and broken corners, and it looks on the brink of falling apart. It’s hard, grey stone, held up by cracked and crumbling pillars.

It looks as though the campers tried to take the time to paint it, but then got bored or found something better to do. (The popular and most exciting opinion is that they all got into a mass brawl because so-and-so was painting in the wrong direction even though they all were obviously painting in fifteen different directions.)

Constant rock music. Constant loud rock music. Everyone wants to die. The Ares kids probably know this, and that’s why they do it.

“It’s called strategy.”

The cabin isn’t cluttered inside, but it’s a mess. There are burned dressers, broken beds, and a large littering of dirty clothing.

The only real personal items are the weapons. Anything else is usually small enough to store in drawers or under mattresses, and the occupants use that advantage mercilessly.

The beds are a mix of army cots or mattresses, arranged against the walls. Each one has a single pillow and a few blankets.

It has a very angry vibe. There’s a lot of tension between the occupants because of their inherited, violent personalities, and any other unfortunate camper who spends time inside is inevitably drawn into that mood.

There’s a poorly built railing that goes around the roof, which is wrapped with an unholy amount of barbed wire. There’s also a jagged hole in the center of the roof, and a thick length of rope dropping down into it.

Everyone thinks this is so that the Ares kids can go upstairs and plot.

It’s really so the Ares kids can go upstairs and watch stars at night, and get some peace during the day.

It’s also the only cabin with a basement, and the basement is where they get some extra training it when it’s dark outside.

Cabin 6: Athena

The Athena cabin, despite the stereotypically first thought – where it is scarily clean and organized – is the picture of organized chaos.

The outside is built of granite, with elegant pillars positioned at evenly spaced intervals at the front. Each pillar has silver designs on it, relaying the stories of Ancient Greek heroes. It has a number of windows, also equally spaced along the entirety and bordered by elegantly looping designs. There’s a golden owl perched above the entrance, under which is carved the words, “Wisdom is Power” in Ancient Greek.

The architecture of the interior is equally organized, with white curtains on the windows and bookshelves and worktables lining the walls.

The bookshelves hold books on tactics and strategy, as well as books on the stories of the Greeks and philosophy. A few shelves are dedicated to maps and handwritten plans. They don’t always keep the shelves organized any on way.

The worktables are littered with papers and maps and open books in the process of being read.

It’s a cluttered mess. There’s a variety of personal projects going on, in addition to whatever planning is needed for the camp as a whole, so the materials being used are always varied in their subjects and they tend to stack up on top of each other due to a lack of sufficient room on the tables. Despite all this, the Athena kids are able to grab any book, map, or writing on command and under ten seconds. They know where everything is at any given time, and who happens to be using it.

Between every pair of beds hangs a silver shield. These, in addition to basic purposes, protect the occupants’ minds, keeping them clear from intrusive thoughts when they need to remain completely focused on their tasks.

The cabin is also completely soundproof. No sound from the outside gets in, and the pages of books and paper make no noise. It’s a thought-inducing environment, and the lack of distracting pen clicking and paper rustling helps to keep brains on track.

There are no light bulbs or lamps, but the cabin has a lit interior whenever it’s needed. Often the Athena kids will stay up well into the night researching and studying, and so, when this happens, there’s always a soft, yellow glow. It’s never harsh, so it’s easy on the eyes and eliminates the threat of headaches.

It’s a very reserved cabin. Not a lot of outside campers have been inside, and when work is in progress, it is nearly impossible for anyone without a direct and necessary purpose to get inside.

Cabin 7: Apollo

Apollo’s cabin is a direct rival to Zeus’ and Hera’s in its impressive appearance.

It is built of a deep orange sunstone and white marble. The marble makes up the four walls, and the sunstone forms the roof and flooring.

There are no actual windows, but the sunstone of the roof is thin enough that it is nearly transparent, and with the sun shining through it, it bathes the entire interior in golden light with dancing sunspots along the walls.

There’s a surplus of instruments, and the Apollo kids can play nearly every single one to some degree. At night, they play themselves softly to lull the campers to sleep.

Despite the social nature of Apollo kids, there’s a secluded nook in the back that leads to a small log room. This room is furnished with soft couches and chairs, and there’s a fireplace at the end, bracketed by bookshelves lined with poetry volumes and fiction novels. Sometimes being outgoing gets tiring, so the more introverted kids have a place to escape to.

There’s a makeshift first aid corner, with a cabinet packed with supplies overtop a ceramic sink. It’s used frequently, and by members of every cabin, for things ranging from a significantly deep papercut (usually the Athena kids) to particularly bad burns belong to individuals too proud or, usually more likely, embarrassed to go to the clinic (usually the Hephaestus kids).

The atmosphere is incredibly welcoming and calming, but not in the same way as the Demeter cabin. Where the Demeter cabin is relaxing and soothing, the Apollo cabin gives off the vibe of enthusiasm and excitement, most likely due to the helpful and upbeat personalities of the campers inside.

It has that natural feeling of being a safe place. It’s impossible to be in it and not feel protected. If you’re having a bad day, there’s an Apollo comedian there specifically to make you laugh. If you’re sad, there’s a group hug waiting. If you’re stressed, there’s always someone to talk to and rant with. If you’re hurting, there’s a shoulder to cry on and an onslaught of emotional and literal band-aids. If you’re happy, there’s instruments and at least eleven people willing to scream upbeat pop songs until throats get sore.

There is at least one dramatic monologue each day, given while standing in the center of the room. It’s usually a reference to some poem or play, most commonly Shakespearian. They all do it, but they also all absolutely hate when one of them does it. It winds up being either a continuous and loud round of booing, or a competition to see who can make it sound the most poetic and Extra.

Every morning, the rest of the camp is woken up at sunrise to a loud and disorganized rendition of Here Comes the Sun reverberating from the inside of Cabin 7, complete with offensively offkey “doodoodoodoos”.

The Apollo kids can barely make it through the whole thing because they’re too busy snickering at the insults coming out of the Ares and Aphrodite cabins and the vaguely terrifying threats coming from the Athena nerds. They lose it when the occupants of Cabin 3 and 4 join in.

It’s empty a majority of the time. The Apollo kids like to be out and about in the sunshine, or in the clinic doing what they do, or just generally having fun. When it’s full, though, it’s full, except at night. The Apollo kids love people, so they often are accompanied by friends and partners.

#i really hope this is what you wanted #i don’t even know if this is what you wanted #percy jackson and the olympians #camp half blood #zeus #hera #poseidon #demeter #ares #athena #apollo

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setsunatama3 · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 3: Welcome to beacon

After leaving the headmasters office, Naruto and Sarada let out simultaneous sighs of relief.heading to the room that the headmaster had given them for the night.

Sarada spoke first." I honestly can't believe this. He actually let us into the school. I mean, he was just staring at us, then the next thing he said was.welcome to beacon Mr. Uzumaki, Ms. Uchiha, and just gave us a keycard like he did not merely have a freak of nature in his office." Letting out another sigh and crossing her arms looking to Naruto, she said." you really suck at holding back, you know that."

Slouching and Grumbling to himself in response to the comment. "It's not like I can help it. I'm an Uzumaki kinda the point to have vast amounts of chakra." Naruto stated with a huff.

Reaching the room they had been given. Entering naruto and Sarada immediately checked for cameras before setting up privacy seals to talk more freely.

Resting on the bed, Naruto turned to Sarada. "Are you sure this is a good idea I mean coming here? We're supposed to be laying low and not attracting attention. "He stated.

"No, I'm not sure of anything, Naruto. But I came with you so we can live our lives not hide out in some cave like a hermit contemplating the unknown. I owe you and dad that much even you deserve a chance to make a new life." Sarada said while sitting on her bed. "Now, let's get some sleep," and with that, the two soon fell asleep.

The next morning found Naruto and Sarada perched atop one of beacons buildings overlooking the bullhead station while eating breakfast.watching the other potential students disembark the station. Finishing up his meal, Naruto stood up stretching. "I think we should get down there and meet some of them, don't you think so Sarada." a grinning Naruto remarked.nodding, they proceeded to jump off the roof and make there way down avoiding cameras and any would-be observer. On his way down, he saw a small girl with black hair trip over luggage. Landing on the ground, Naruto started walking towards her to help. On his way to her, he saw another girl dressed in all white. From her heels and skirt to her jacket. The only other color was the redlining of her bolero jacket.she was yelling at the smaller girl while shaking a vial of fire dust.noticing the now sizable cloud of dust. he used the power of his Tendō and pulled the cloud of dust to himself and compressed it into a small sphere about the size of a softball.walking up to the pair, he said." you know that you could have exploded right?"

Only for the girl in white to blow up on him yelling out. "And just who do you think you are I had this handled. And that is SDC dust; you know how to handle that right."

Sighing at the attitude. "Yes, yes, I do know how to handle this, but more importantly, you were shaking a vial of dust fire dust to be more specific. Fire dust is highly reactive, and there was a cloud of the stuff, and the little one there was gonna sneeze." Naruto snarked back at the girl in white.

The now red-faced girl in white screeched out." Do you even know who I am well…"

A dumbfounded naruto had an epiphany at that moment. Oh my god, this must be how Sasuke felt when we were younger. Now I realize why he called me dobe all this time.

Sighing, Naruto looked the girl in white in the eyes. "Yes, I know who you are, your dobe," Naruto exclaimed while grinning.

"What did you just call me?" The girl in white screamed at Naruto.

Now grinning like a fox, Naruto said, "dobe." A now sputtering and red-faced, the girl responded. "no, my name is Weiss its Weiss Schnee Before heiress to the Schnee dust company." Before turning and marching off.

Sighing, he subtly took out a small scroll and sealed the dust away in one fluid motion Attracting the attention of a tall girl with a bow in her long black hair. Who glancing at the blond laughed to her self at what he had called the snooty heiress.

Turning, he asked if the smaller girl was ok? "so you ok short stuff?"

Pouting, she mumbled softly .i'm not short. I drink milk, and I eat my vegetables.

Grinning naruto patted her on the head, tussling her hair and introduced himself. "So what's your name red I am Naruto Uzumaki at your service." The now blushing girl froze and went blank for a moment before replying with a slight stutter." R-Ruby my name is Ruby Rose."

Fortunately for Ruby and unfortunately for Naruto, Sarada had caught up with the pair. Adjusting her glasses, she then cocked back her fist and caught Naruto right in the ribs." w-why" Naruto wheezed out doubled over in pain.crouching next to him Ruby tried to see if he was ok.

"Why did you do that? "Ruby said, glaring at the newcomer.

"he's Fine," Sarada replied. Grabbing him by his collar, she started to drag him away.

"What are you doing?" Ruby asked as she grabbed her arm.looking back at the girl, Sarada said. "If I don't get this idiot here to orientation in the auditorium, we'll be late. He just can't help himself when he sees someone in need."

"My name is Sarada Uchiha it's great to meet you, but we really should get there now," Sarada stated, now pulling the two along.

Entering the auditorium, Ruby took the lead. And guided the two over to an older girl with long blonde hair and purple eyes. Taking in the girl's appearance. Naruto saw that she was wearing a jacket that was cropped to bare her mid-drift,mini-shorts, and a cropped tube top, a belt with a sash and boots.

Taken out of his thoughts by the brazen girl as she spoke." so you like what you see?" she said, posing with her hands on her hips.

Blinking for a moment, and he immediately bulldozed thru her attempt to flirt.introducing himself. "My name's Naruto, and this is Sarada."

Blinking, the girl introduced herself. "The name is Yang. I'm Ruby's sister."

Moments later, headmaster Ozpin stepped onto the stage catching everyone's attention. taking a breath, he then spoke." I'll...keep this brief. You have traveled here today in search of knowledge--to hone your craft and acquire new skills. And when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people. But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose – direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step.you are all dismissed; please proceed to the ballroom." announced professor Goodwitch.

Yang being the trouble maker she was trying to get another reaction out of the whiskered blonde. "Soo, does little Rubes have a boyfriend already?" she cooed.

Ruby's face now matching her cloak in color turned and started banging her tiny fist against Yang's arms.

"Yaaannngg!" Ruby groaned.

Turning to Naruto, Ruby noticed something off. What she thought was a scarf was yawning and staring at her….it wasn't a scarf. It was a fox, a cute fox with ears like a bunny!

"Hey Naruto, what did I miss?" A Just waking up, Kurama asked.

"You know you should be paying attention, Kurama." Naruto snarked back. "Anyways blondie is Yang, and that's her sister Ruby. The dobe is the angry girl coming right at us."

"You!" Weiss screeched as she forced a book in his face. Then she droned ." The Schnee Dust Company is not responsible for any injuries or damages sustained while operating a Schnee Dust Company product. Although not mandatory, the Schnee Family highly encourages its customers to read and familiarize themselves with this easy-to-follow guide to Dust application and practice in the field. "Now done with her disclaimer Weiss nodded to herself as if she did some good and walked off to the ballroom.

With her attention back on the scarf, Ruby asked." Ummm… Naruto, you have a pet?"

"No, don't call him that Fuzzbut, but here is totally practical," Naruto responded with a grin. Only to receive several gashes on his face courtesy of Kurama.

"Gahh, you bastard fox." Naruto wailed, now attempting to strangle the fox. Wrestling on the floor, the two dealt out to one another scratches, gashes, and bites.

Until Sarada stepped in and broke the to up by clocking the two in the head.huffing Sarada bemoaned the fact to herself that despite how old the pair are, they still act like children. With things now calm between the two.

"IcanIseeyourwepon," Ruby spoke out hurriedly.

Naruto nodded and pulled a kunai from his pouch. "uhh... Naruto, those small knives are not the only thing you have, right?" Ruby asked.

"What's Wrong with them!" He exclaimed, looking at the red reaper.

"Um n-nothing, it's just won't you have a hard time killing Grimm with those things. They are kinda small, you know." a timid Ruby said.

Fine, what is your weapon, then short stuff?" He asked, huffing, and slightly irritated.

Puffing out her cheeks like some adorable little chipmunk, she pulled out her weapon witch in its compact form it looked like a large red rectangle.until it mecha-shifted into a Scythe. "This is my baby crescent rose she's also a high caliber sniper rifle." The girl now holding her weapon grinned as if to say beat that.only for naruto to pat her head ruffling her hair. To which she started to lean into unconsciously like an adorable little chipmunk. "There, there he said you have an excellent weapon ruby." He said to placate the girl.

"So how did you meet whiskers, her Ruby?" Yang inquired with all the grace of a bull. Causing Ruby to flush at remembering the incident outside. Calling back to when Naruto arrived, she had remembered purple eyes with a ripple pattern of concentric rings and tomo if only for an instant.

Brought out of her thoughts by Naruto saying. "It wasn't much I just helped her with dobe and prevented an explosion."

"You almost exploded!" Yang said as she questioned Ruby. "And who is this dobe I keep hearing about?"

"He means Weiss," Ruby explained.

Hugging Ruby, making an oh face Yang mouthed thanks to the blonde. Who gave a thumbs up in response.

Letting go of the girl, Yang stepped towards Naruto. Putting her hand on his chest, she teased seductively. "Thanks for helping my sister out. Maybe we can get together some time I do owe you one foxy."

"Yaaanngg! No flirting with friends." The little reaper squealed, pounding on the older girls back.

Blinking and blank-faced, Naruto said."You're flirting with me to see if I am interested in Yang, the person, or just your body." Leaning in closer Naruto, then whispered in her ear. "I can tell you now, it's both."

Causing Yang to blush not used that kind of reaction.

"Also, I just did what was right. I don't like bullies. Never did, never will." Naruto said.

Nipping at his pant leg, Kurama pointed his tail at the door. Nodding, "right ballroom," Naruto said. The group then left to gather their things and head to the ballroom.

#the maelstrom of remnant #naruto #rwby #crossover #fanfiction

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