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stickytrigger69 · 1 year ago

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angst fic with tfp megatron x femme con reader? she has feelings and adoring thoughts for the warlord and he’s aware of it although he doesn’t like her back but yet megatron leads her on, making her think there is something special forming between them just so he can break her heart. y’know how megatron told starscream he kept him around because he took a certain delight in his strings of failure but he grew tired of it? well, megatron does the same to reader and finds it amusing how she becomes more flustered around him, flattered by the compliments and sweet-nothings she tells him. megatron knows exactly what to say and do to make her melt, he has her wrapped around his finger.

he knows what she wants as there has been many times their lips were so close to touching yet he never kissed her and always left her on the edge until finally one day, they kiss and reader thinks that her spark might burst from joy as she melts into his embrace but then he pulls away and laughs at her straight to her face and begins to tell reader that she never meant anything to him. </3

omg im sorry for the oddly specific request i really got invested in this scenario xD

TFP Megatron x Femme Cybertronian Reader

ANGST fic

Femme reader

Readers' frame type, paint job, etc, are unspecified

Reader has been with Megatron since the beginning much like Soundwave

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He is magnificent, strong, and beautiful. You swear to yourself that the large mech was forged from raw and unfathomable power. You know deep in your spark that you feel he should have been appointed the next prime instead of the archivist Orion Pax. He is a joke compared to your fearless leader, Megatron. You understand Megatron, you know what he had sought within the power of the primes and were terribly afflicted for him when he was denied his right.

Oh, how you admire him so, wanting only to please him and help him achieve his goals in rebuilding and ruling cybertron the way it should have been eons ago. And yet, no one saw it the way you did, not even Starscream, the wrech. Your merciful leader allowed him to return time and time again, with a stern servo, of course, to try and prove himself. And you were always there, always ready to pick up the pieces of his shattered hopes and relieve him of his disappointment in the seeker.

You give and give and give and never tire of his teasing.

"No one could never dream of ruling cybertron the way you could, my lord." You praise. Megatrons face twists into a grin. You've always been so kind, always admiring him. He noticed from the first time he met you that you were infatuated with him.

"My dearest (Y/N), you hold me in such high regard." He turns to look at you, arms crossed behind him. "Come." He holds a servo out, asking you to take his in your smaller one. Without hesitation, you step forward and put your servo in his, causing his grin to grow. His little pet, always at his beck and call, ready to give only to never receive in turn. The games he's been playing with you to get what he wants grant's him such a high level of satisfaction that he struggles to contain it at times.

"I think you are just the sweetest little femme." He coos, making you chuckle and turn your head away bashfully. "Oh, don't look away, little one. You know how I adore your beautiful face. How lovely you are." He turns your helm back upward to look at him, a shy smile gracing your derma. "My little warrior, I would have been blessed with your presence in the fighting pits all those years ago. My brave one." He caresses your face softly.

You have proved to be better than his so-called "best," rarely making mistakes of your own accord. The giddy feeling in his tanks when you stand tall beside him or try to hide behind him. Or the pride in your optics when you bring him what he wants. But none of that is more delicious than the hope in your optics when he brings your faces close. How ready you are and all the more willing to wait for him to finally give you the affection you so desperately crave.

All the scratches, dents, and dings you acquire from the autobots are reminders of your loyalty to him. The way you have sneered at Optimus to his face. Your naivety when he asks you just how loyal you are to him, making you bow and rest on one knee as you pledge yourself to him in an embarrassing display in the control room. The oblivion that afflicts you is so sweet and infinite that he's sure he could thrive on it alone. He stares into your patient optics, knowing.

Seeing.

"Tell me, my spark," he starts, taking your servo in his, "Do you really believe all that scrap in your little helm?" You look confused, how cute.

"My lord?" There's your hesitance. He chuckles, and his other arm reaches out from behind him to cradle you and lift you up off the ground so you are optic to optic.

"Do you really believe I would be the best ruler for cybertron?" He smirks inwardly, seriousness plastered to his face, and his field is filled with feelings of uncertainty. A soft, reassuring smile graces your derma.

"Of course. You would be perfect for cybertron. Your ideals and forgiving nature -" poor thing, so blind, "you are a true leader who will stop at nothing for peace. You have worked so hard and made so much progress already. I believe you have proven yourself worthy of primehood."

He hums amusedly and just watches your face. Optics darting from one spot to another, occasionally glancing at your derma. It's the same thing he has been doing for the longest time, leading you on, getting closer and closer to what you want. He's been getting more physical with you over the years, pretending to be awkward and easing himself into it. He's had his time, and he's gained experience with many mech and femmes. But you, you sweet, innocent spark, have little to no experience. The most experience you have is whatever he's done with you.

It's all really soft, sweet, enjoyable, and new. He can see how it affects you. You get all cute and flustered and shy, even when it's just the two of you, and especially in front of the crew and the others you are close to like Knockout. Soundwave "happens" to barge in a lot too, well aware of Megatrons plans with you. He also knows that Megatron has, as of late, begun to tire of your affections and longing. Your groveling has started to bore him after all these centuries. It has taken so long for him to finally be done with you, and he still has yet to kiss you.

He often thinks about how he's going to do it and where. Doesn't know if he wants to do it in front of everyone or when you're all alone. He supposes it shouldn't matter, so long as he can watch you die inside when he rejects you. Soundwave comes in, a red ping on his visor. It seems he will get his chance sooner than he hoped. An energon mine, it's losing stability, so he orders you to accompany him to resolve the issue if possible.

You work quickly and efficiently. The mine is no longer collapsing on itself. The blue energon crystals on the walls and ceiling cast a soft glow on your frame. You watch the vehicons get back to their stations to continue their work when Megatron slowly turns you to face him.

"We work well together, don't you think my spark?"He asks softly, and you nod in response. "You would do well as my queen." Your spark swells, you start breathing faster. He leans down to plant his forehead against yours, red optics staring into yours. You search his for sincerity, scanning his face. In seconds, he connects your derma. You feel like your chest is going to explode. It's better than you ever dreamed. Your optics close, and your legs wobble. He pulls away, your optics still closed, blue dusting your face.

When you open your optics and see the way he's looking at you, your tanks turn. He has a wicked grin, but before you can say anything, he laughs. It's a deep, hearty laugh. He pushes you away and continues to laugh, drawing the attention of the vehicons around you.

"You really think I have feelings for you, you? You are beneath me. You will never be my queen. You will never be anything more than just a silly femme. A frame stuck in a land of fantasy. I only played along because it brought the best out in you. You and you alone have helped me get this far. You've given me everything at the cost of nothing. You've been a fool." He states calmly.

"But..."

"But? But what? You thought it meant something? That I actually wanted you? Still so naive (designation), still so oblivious to the truth, or do you just not want to see it? They have seen it." He points to the vehicons, "day in and day out, they see you grovel at my pedes like the good little pet you are." You feel faint, like you could collapse on the ground right now. This can't be true. Coolant gathers in your optics, and he chuckles at the sight.

Before he can continue to humiliate you further, a plasma blast zips past him and hits one of the troops. The autobots. They were the cause of the malfunction. "(Designation), do your duty and stop them." He points in their direction. You don't move. You stand there looking down at your pedes. He growls and grabs you, and you look up at him, coolant falling down your face.

"I would have given you the galaxy." You whimper. A blast hits him right in the chest. He looks up to see Optimus running toward you both. With another growl, he roughly pushes you aside. You lose your balance and stumble backward into a jagged wall in the cave, the sharp rock scraping painfully against your back.

"If you're not going to fight, then get out of my way!" He raises his arm to shoot at Prime. You remain in your place watching the fight unfold. Everything is a blur, blaster fire, and explosions all around you. Soon, the mine becomes unstable again, and a large rock falls on top of you, pinning you there. You struggle a little, trying half-heartedly to push the boulder off of yourself. But you soon give up and sob. The fighting lasts a long while, and then all is silent. You're alone.

When you open your optics, you're not in the mine under a rock but are strapped to a table instead.

"Before you try, I have disabled your weapons." The old medic walks over to you.

"What?" A flash of Megatron.

"You wouldn't be able to do anything anyway. But I've patched up your wounds, per Optimus' request, and begrudgingly wasted our precious supplies on a Con." He complains. He drones on, but you don't listen.

"Megatron?" Your spark aches. He didn't love you. He never loved you. It was all a game to him. But you thought.

"Ahem! I'm giving you a diagnosis, and you're not listening!" He huffs, snapping you back to reality. When you look into his optics, he stops. He sees that familiar look, the one that says that you don't care, the one that says you wouldn't care if you didn't wake up.

"I was going to give him everything."

"Optimus, I don't think we're going to be capable of helping her," Ratchet looks back at you, laying on the table, "she refuses her rations and doesn't sleep. She doesn't even want to talk." Optimus looks up over the helm of his old friend to look at you, laying on the table. You're no longer restrained, but you don't move. There all day and there all night making worry bubble in his chest.

"Get out of my sight!" Megatron cries out, and Starscream sulks away. It's been weeks since he left you in the mine, and he hasn't seen you since. But it doesn't feel as good as he thought it would. For some odd reason, he feels empty. He doesn't know exactly why he feels this way and denies himself that it's because you're not around. Even seeing you after a stray plasma blast struck you in the abdomen, leaving you bleeding he felt no sense of satisfaction.

Sometimes, while he struts down the halls of the Nemesis, he thinks he can hear your smaller pedes trailing behind him, but when he turns, you're not there. And when he's feeling lower or more frustrated than usual, there's no one to tell him how great he is, to grovel and kiss at his pedes, to sharpen his claws and smooth out his dents with soft praise. No one is there for him to entertain himself with. No, he doesn't miss you! You were nothing to him!

"She is nothing." His own voice is heard from across the hall. When he turns around he sees Soundwave approaching him.

"Yes, I know," He turns back to look out the window again, "she had been nothing more than a plaything. The subject of my entertainment." He smirks. "I feel nothing though, I do not feel as relieved as I thought I would, Soundwave."

"My lord?" Your voice is played back to him, and he feels his chest swell, causing him to growl.

"I want her offline. Tell the troops I want proof of such if they can find her. I know the Autobots dug her up. I want you and the others on high alert. If you find her Soundwave, destroy her." His voice rumbles, laced with venom as he stomps into the hallway.

Megatron is too stubborn. He will never acknowledge that he was starting to like you, that he misses your flattery, that he looks for the warm touch of your small servos. He will never say he's sorry. He will never say or do anything. Thus, he believes that he won't rest easy until he has your helm.

"(Designation), what torments you so?" Optimus slowly walks up to you on the table. You don't even look at him but turn around to face the other direction. "Megatron?" That's all he has to say. You let out a shaky sigh, and before you know it, you're crying. He gets closer and puts a servo on your shoulder, and you turn around to face him. Your face has darkened and is streaked with old and new coolant. Your small servo grabs his, and without thinking, Optimus picks you up and hugs you.

He lets you cry for as long as you need, and before long, you're just sniffling.

"I gave him everything, and still, I was going to give him more." Your voice is laced with static and sounds weak, and it breaks Primes spark to hear a bot so broken. "I thought I was someone to him, that I was important." You whimper. "I was a fool."

"You were taken advantage of. He used you." He argues.

"No! I should have known, I should have seen!" You get angry. Years of devotion pass by, and you can see it. He was putting on a show with you. They all just watched and laughed while you were unaware. Knockout knew, and he hadn't told you. He knew and just let you continue to make a fool of yourself. You push yourself away from Optimus and stand on your pedes. Anger and embarrassment flood your fuel pumps. "And you!" You look at Optimus. "You're going to do the same! I know it!"

"No, I would never."

"I can't trust anyone! Everyone knew, and still no one tried to help!" Coolant pours from your optics from how upset you are. Your tanks swirl and feel tight. A sour taste in your mouth. You feel like you're going to explode, like the walls are shrinking around you, and it's getting hard to breathe. Your spark aches, and your chest tightens painfully. Your legs feel wobbly and weak. You hadn't noticed when the other autobots had come over, but now you felt crowded.

Optimus tries to keep them at a distance, noticing your distress. You feel like you're on display. Their faces distort into smiles and smirks. It's so hard to breathe. Why won't they leave? Why can't they just leave you alone? They won't stop staring.

#transformers #tf #transformers prime #macaddam #maccadam #macadam #cybertronian reader #tfp #tfp megatron #megatron #megatron x reader #femme cybertronian reader #angst fic

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northwest-cryptid · 8 months ago

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Buckle up fuckers I had a thought, and you know how that goes around here.

So not too long ago I was scrolling through tumblr and I saw a lot of news popping up, all over the world there are horrible things happening; it seems like literally everyone needs help. As a decent person I want to help but it's exhausting when you don't feel like you can do enough for everyone; and that's when one man came to mind.

Dougdoug.

Yes the funny internet man with the silly youtube videos where he makes his chat try to play games.

But why would he come to mind? I was just thinking about disasters, genocide, and how hard it is to care so much about so many people, places, and things. Now sure Dougdoug's streams can seem a bit like disasters I guess, but in a silly funny kinda way, not a horrible emotionally exhausting kinda way; so what gives?

To put it simply, it was the way he handles the very thing I just mentioned. So let's say you've never heard of this man or seen any of his content; what am I talking about?

Doug runs a script that allows his twitch chat to control video games, this means he has a small team of a couple thousand people trying to achieve a goal. Typically it's beating a level in a platformer or flying a plane for a certain amount of time in something like GTA. How does that go? Well as you can assume, not very well at first.

Yet his videos normally end on high notes of success where the twitch chat comes together to pull off a miracle, so then how? Does Doug secretly pull the strings? Does he give them a handicap? Does he do something or is it just twitch chat?

Well it's a little of both. He doesn't effect the game or give them a handicap, but he does give them direction. This is something I genuinely believe is very important to the success of the chat. See when they first start off his only direction is verbally telling them "we need more people moving us right" or "we need more people jumping and less people moving us around" and this somewhat helps, it tells the chat what they have enough of and what they have too much of.

However that alone doesn't push them to success, so what does? At this point he divides the chat into smaller teams; he'll ask the whole chat about specific things to figure out ratios. So he might ask "who has flown at least 10 times in their life?" If the poll is answered honestly, he learns that about 30% of his audience has flown 10 times in their life. The important information is that 30%, he figures out what that 30% should go to, and begins to divide everyone into two teams. He might say "if you're part of the 30% who flew 10 times you are in charge of moving us to the right, if you're part of the remainder who haven't flown 10 times you're in charge of jumping" which does normally help because now it's not everyone trying to do everything... and that's the key.

"okay yea we get it, don't try to focus on everything alone, we've heard this before." <- If this is you I need you to hang in there for just a second because there's more.

Notice how I said, it helps; not that it fixes everything? This alone isn't enough. He continues to break down the necessary tasks one by one. He continues to ask about various information until he has a sub-section of the chat who are specifically in charge of each major function; from moving to jumping to stopping to running the other way. Everyone is given one singular job, and then he goes back to giving directions again. This actually works because now when he says "we need more people moving us right" he doesn't get 2,000 people suddenly moving right, about 1,500 people are no longer in charge of moving right, they don't care about moving right because they have to be ready to do whatever THEY are in charge of.

Now a failure on the part of everyone responsible for moving right doesn't result in a failure on the behalf of EVERYONE. It's not EVERYONE'S fault, it's not everyone's responsibility. This means when they do fail he can better assess WHY they failed.

Once he can narrow down what's going wrong, and more specifically why they're failing; he can better address that specific aspect of it. Dividing the chat isn't just about reducing the amount of things each chatter needs to focus on; it's also about understanding what part of the whole is falling short of accomplishing their task properly and why it's happening.

Being able to better address each shortcoming of the chat overall allows him to better help them. If he knows the fault lies in the people who need to be jumping he can adjust the values and make it so now if you've flown 10 times you're in charge of jumping and moving right, but if you've flown at least 15 times you're just moving right. He's able to divide the aid according to where it's needed. Not every problem necessarily NEEDS the same amount of people addressing it, and not all of those problems require the same kind of aid. Sometimes a particular group may just need some heads up, sometimes they need more coordination between themselves and other groups in the chat. It can be hard to know when to jump over a gap if you can't reliably count on the people who are suppose to be moving you over that gap when you jump.

It's not without guidance of understanding what someone really needs from you, and an organized front to achieve it, that anything gets done. In a sense when we hear of problems around the world that is our guidance, that's someone asking for us to do something. However we're unorganized, we hear a lot of different people needing a lot of different things and we try to tackle all of it because we care about all of it. We very often do manage to do something about it, but not nearly as much as I believe we could if we had a better organized front when it came to this sort of thing.

Because I think an organized front would fix two big problems, it would help cut down on the emotional exhaustion people feel that causes them strife and kills their motivation to help. While at the same time it would help us focus our efforts on a specific need and better understand our impact.

Anyways it was just a thought I had on the matter.

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thetalentedmrwulf · 1 year ago

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Abstracting Money in PF2E

Percolating something in my brain about Pathfinder 2e to abstract money / treasure. I like big damn hero / big damn villain stories, and if we're going to spend a session shopping, I'd prefer if it was because we had to find merchants that had what we needed and gossip about rumors than balance a ledger.

Prototype in my head is as follows -

Pathfinder 2e attaches Levels to most things - settlements, items, et al. Item levels give DMs a decent idea where in the power scale something is, settlement level indicates power level acquirable in that place, generally speaking. Items tagged Uncommon or Rare are harder yet to find even than that and may even be questing foci.

Further, because the game has proficiency equal your level + a bonus equal to how proficient you are (Trained +2, Expert +4, Master +6, Legendary +8), it also has pretty standardized difficulty rolls. The correct difficulty for a Level 10 problem is easy to chart or calculate, whichever you prefer, with stock modifiers for tweaking up or down if its relatively easy or hard in that instance.

So.... just use Level and a money stat to get what you need. First, we abstract money. Make the stat "Coin" (just because stealing from Blades in the Dark is fun.) Quantity of Coin for a task should map right to the Encounter builder - Trivial gives a Meager Reward, Low gives a Modest Reward, Moderate gives a Major Reward, Severe gives an Excellent Reward, Extreme gives an Epic Reward. This isn't an exact science like the encounter builder is; this should be based on the priority a person requesting a problem be solved views it as. Use the already existing "Make a Request" action to haggle over money or request tangible assistance since it already uses the built-in disposition system. Keep in mind, each party member gets one of these when completed. Then, for social, exploration, or combat encounters as relevant, hand out smaller Rewards from 1-3 as the quest progresses.

Now, when you need to buy an item, use the default level difficulty chart / math for any item you need. If the item is more than 4 levels lower than your level, presume you can purchase as many as are reasonably available. Then, as long as you have any "Reward" in hand, you can roll to buy something, adding the bonus of the Reward your risking. Each level of Reward gives you a +1, +2, +4, +6, or +8 depending on the level. Get a Critical Success, you get the Item for a great deal, you can buy a second Item of equal value and the Reward goes down a level. Get a regular success, and it's the same as a Critical, buy you only successfully purchase one item. Get a failure, and you purchase the item, but your Reward goes down by two. If you can't decrease this Reward by two, you owe the merchant a favor in return. If you Critically Fail, the item is harder to come by than you imagined and you're going to have to pull some strings to get it at all, potentially taking a job or quest. On getting the result, I think the player can always choose to walk away from getting the item if the price is too steep.

If you really want to lean into the idea of Uncommon, Rare, and say, Legendary items of certain levels being tough to acquire, make it so services or items rendered REQUIRE a certain level of Reward to make the roll. The important part of this system is you NEVER fail to acquire the item. It's just more expensive than you intended or more roundabout.

Feats that already modify getting a better price can be retrofit or new ones can be created that let you also add Cha, Int or Wis, or use a Skill in place of the Reward to haggle a better deal. I also think this could tie into Crafting nicely with the system that already exists.

That's all for now!

#pathfinder 2e #pf2e #abstract #money #ttrpg

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fruit-salad-ship · 2 years ago

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I’ve been thinking bout arcane au and the way it’d pan out a bit more so bare with me I’m here for this one, it’s a little special interest area.

So peach was once a topsider like grey, she studied and grew up in Piltover, and became a successful doctor at a young age, destined to do a lot of good for people. She however was lacking is bed side manner, her people skills sucked, and while she could sew you up in a jiffy, and fix ailments with tonics and medicine, her ability to make people feel comfortable and cared for just fell short. To work around the issue she found a partner, someone who was more front of house, trained as a nurse, not a doctor. This friendly face made her small practice reputable, she found great success, built a reputation. Together they were on track to a bigger location, to help more people in need. Unfortunately her staff became complacent, and took a patient in to perform a standard procedure peach was known to successfully complete regularly. This was not her job, and she should have never done the job. The patient died and the blame fell to peach, her employee pinned it to her boss, and dodged taking the fall. Peach had her licence revoked and merits stripped, and her life fell apart, coming to be known as a failure in her field. Her life drifted to the lanes where they did not care about qualifications so much, if you could help people, that’s all that mattered. She was hired by another doctor who trained her in less practical methods, combining traditional practice with more…back alley.

There she stayed, getting caught up in the fear of the location, she didn’t belong, and people saw it. So she turned to shimmer, mild micro-doses, figured if anyone could control the symptoms it was her right? Wrong. She slipped into it, and realised her choices were being altered because of it. Her lack of control angered her, no more would she be the one being pushed around. She gave up the drugs, had the worst cold turkey she’s ever gone through, and probably ever would, and got far fitter to fill her time. The anger never left, and her time was spent fighting under bars for extra cash after her shift. As she grew in size less people messed with her, word spread that she was a doctor, and so she experienced less trouble for that too. The respect of the lanes found her, and her cold and sarcastic bedside manner fit the location perfectly. She still longs for the old days, to be above the smog and dirt, saving every penny she can for a ride out of the area. When hextech developed their speedy transportation gates, it felt even more achievable to leave one day.

Plum learns of peach’s desire to leave and doesn’t wish to lose the doctor in her pocket, mostly because she’s grown fond of her, but also because a medic is a rarity. She sabotages any steps peach makes to leaving by pulling strings and using her power. Eventually peach is in so deep with her evil deeds, getting caught up in bad situations and dodgy deals that she’s not able to leave. Peach is alerted by grey that plums been seen with some dealers, and so peach goes to her boss’ home and questions her. Plums strung out, looks like she’s had a rough night, and it’s unmistakably a come down, peach knows it first hand, and has seen many patients with the same symptoms. Calls plum out instantly, gets in her face and angry. She’s become fond of the lane royal, knows she’s bad news but it’s hard not to find her oddly compelling. Plum argues back, how could peach possibly know what it’s like? To be small, to feel weak? The more she shouts at the doctor, tries to rationalise her decisions to use shimmer, and eventually, after enough hostility, peach snaps, grabs her little companions arm and gets right in her face. Tells her the truth, that she was once smaller, and very hooked on the stuff. Their heart to heart is not believed, plums sceptical, and doesn’t believe it until peach shows her, the whole chunk of her hip and side scared and discoloured thanks to the drug. Proof. Plum shuts up and sits down. Peach ends the confrontation with an offer, come to her practice, get free of the junk. It’s not needed, she’s plenty strong without it.

Plum does, sheepishly turns up after a day, starts the process of pulling shimmers claws out of herself. It’s not fun, a messy, uncomfortable, awful process. But peach is there every step of the way, doesn’t leave her alone, no room to touch it again, not losing her to it.

Peach in this au is about 6 years older than the other two, and for that reason alone both grey and plum take to calling her Dr.Mommy, it started as a way to annoy her, but ended up being weirdly appropriate. Both parties have issues in that area, and look at her like an authority figure of sorts. They’ll get drunk and stand at street level howling up at peach’s apartment until she comes out onto the balcony, a woman who spends her free days in nothing but underwear and an open kimono. They demand drunkenly that she let them in, to which she throws shoes at them to try to get them to leave. As soon as she goes inside plum scales the side of the building, sneaks to let grey in, and they jump into Docs bed without hesitation to bother her.

This care costs extra.

#arcane au #fruit salad #brainrot

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petermorwood · 2 months ago

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I like this a lot, especially the inclusion of Tolkien as translator! :->

However, IMO it shouldn't be set during the Blitz but at the height of the Battle of Britain, and a good day for it might be September 15th 1940.

That was the day when Churchill, visiting a fighter control station during the height of massive raids, was told that every single RAF aircraft from 11 Group (defending London and the south-east) was in action. Churchill asked, "What about reserves?" and got a simple answer:

"We have none..."

*****

The 1969 film "Battle of Britain" did it like this. No CGI here, just practical effects, model aircraft and real ones (enough real ones to be the 35th largest air force in the world...)

youtube

*****

To enlarge a bit, the Blitz - while protracted and unpleasant - wasn't Britain's darkest hour.

That more likely came in 1942 with a string of retreats and defeats, including a couple where superior British forces surrendered to a much smaller enemy and one piece of amazing audacity.

Japanese victories in Asia, including the fall of Singapore;

Axis victories in North Africa, including the fall of Tobruk,

Operation Cerberus, the "Channel Dash", when two German battleships, a heavy cruiser and all their escort vessels sailed from France to Germany in broad daylight through the Straits of Dover.

An extraordinary sequence of misfortunes (bad weather, faulty radar) and cock-ups (over-strict radio silence, wrong ammunition) meant British Channel defences were - in a period phrase - "caught with both pairs of trousers at the cleaners", and caused virtually no damage to the enemy ships despite them being right on Britain's doorstep.

(Both German battleships were damaged by mines before they got home, but that wasn't a result of deliberate attacks. All of those were failures. Lots more information here.)

Cerberus wasn't as strategically damaging as Dunkirk, Singapore, Tobruk and too many others, but the impudence and success of it left a lot of egg on a lot of faces.

I have a very rough idea in my head that I don't think I can clearly articulate beyond "And that concludes tonight's reports on German air forc—WHAT'S THIS? IT'S KING ARTHUR WITH A STEEL CHAIR"

#arms and armour #military history #WWII #Second World War #King Arthur #story seed #Battle of Britain #Operation Cerberus #Youtube

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cabiba · 2 years ago

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How you fail.

If you want to know if an individual is going to be successful, the first trait to pay attention to is the way that they handle failure.

Because the ugly truth that people don’t want to hear (even though the world’s most successful people reiterate this time and time again) is that success requires a long string of failures.

For every successful ad campaign, there were dozens that failed.For every happy successful marriage there were (almost always) a string of failed relationships or, at the very least, countless failed dates.

Behind every successful athlete are more failures, injuries, and fucked up plays than you can count.Whether small or large, everyone fails….all the time.

The difference between macro success and failure (achieving 80% of the things you want to achieve and living a life where you’re happy and fulfilled 80% of the time), is how you react to smaller failures.Here’s what I mean.

1. Successful People Fail MORE Often than Unsuccessful People

One of the hallmark traits of the uber successful is that they fail 10X more frequently than unsuccessful people.

What I mean by this is that, while other people are sitting on the sidelines too scared to take action, successful people are constantly taking risks, trying new things, and starting new projects.

And yes, they often find success in many of these endeavors. But failure is inevitable.

Successful people know that failure is a part of the process of success and they don’t shy away from it. They don’t waste time wondering, “What if this doesn’t work out” or fearing the worst case scenario.

They know that failure will not be fatal and so they take massive rapid action in an attempt to find what works.

Like Thomas Edison said, “I didn’t fail, I simply found 10,000 ways not to make a lightbulb.”

2. Successful People Treat Failure as a Teacher

Another important trait that successful people posess as it pertains to their relationship with failure is that they treat failure as a teacher.

They don’t look at failure as an inherently negative thing. Instead, they see it as a symptom of their systems.

When they fail, they don’t take it personally. They simple say, “Ok so that particular strategy didn’t work, so now it’s time to see what went wrong and try again.”

Unsuccessful people will say things like:

“I tried a new diet and weight training program but didn’t lose any weight...It must be genetic. I guess I’m just ‘fat’ and that’s the way it’s going to stay”

“I started a new business but I haven’t made a sale in three months...I guess I’m not a real entrepreneur.”

“I went on five dates but haven’t gotten a call back. I must be unlovable. No man/woman will ever love me because I suck.”

Successful people, have an entirely different mental script:

“I tried a new diet and weight training program but didn’t lose any weight...Maybe this isn’t the right program for me. I should stick with it for another month and be super consistent then, if the scale still hasn’t gone down, I’ll try something new.”

“I started a new business but haven’t made a sale in three months...

Clearly there’s a problem with my marketing funnel. I need to look at the statistics and see where the issue is so I can fix it.”

“I went one five dates but haven’t gotten a call back...maybe I should brush my teeth before my next date.”

3. Successful People Pivot FAST

Successful people understand that life is ultimately a great experiment.

When you set out to achieve a goal, your objective is to experiment with different strategies and tactics until you find one that works.

When successful people fail, they pivot and change directions quickly. They are quick to identify the flaws in their systems, they change directions immediately. They don’t get attached to their experiments. They are attached only to the end result. And anything that doesn’t deliver that result gets thrown out or changed.

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years ago

Text

The Losing Move

Day two Ectoberhaunt: Scream vs Laugh

AO3

It started with a scream. That’s how Clockwork knew it was finally time.

He hesitated, of course. There was so much to lose, so much still uncertain, paths branching in different directions, moments shrouded imperfectly from his view, strings of fate tangled and misused. But he was the Master of Time. He could hesitate and no one would ever know.

Not even them.

Clockwork made a portal, leaving his Clocktower and walking towards a tall grey rock almost as old as time itself, weathered by age and nothing like the statue it had once been standing proud in a garden of overgrown thorns and long dead leaves. Nocturn appeared next to him, a swirl of inky black void scattered with stars and nebulae.

“Did you hesitate?” he asked.

It was a valid question. An important one too, if they were to succeed. Clockwork’s hesitation could lead to an uncertain future, to a failure in their plot. And then they would be lost, set back hundreds of thousands of years again.

“No.”

Nocturn accepted his answer. Perhaps he knew that Clockwork was lying, perhaps he did not. Either way, they both turned to the stone.

It wasn’t long before the others appeared.

Misery Vex was the first, then Sojourn, on and on until they all stood, surrounding the stone.

Misery turned to Clockwork. “Did it take?” she asked, and he flew forward, taking off one of his gloves to run his hand along the smoothed side of the rock. It hummed, an energy unlike any else, unique to here yet everywhere and nowhere at all. Very chaotic indeed.

“It has.”

She hummed an affirmative, linking her hand in his before reaching out to take Sojourn’s. Clockwork reached for Nocturn and as they all linked together they formed a shield, thick and impenetrable between their varied talents, around the stone.

“How long will this take,” Vortex said, ever the impatient one. He was jittery, yellow cords of lightning constantly jumping all over him in a nervous jumble, branching in and out of each other like writhing snakes.

Clockwork sighed. “Not long.”

“You musn’t get too close,” Misery warned.

“I know.”

“You musn’t go too far,” Nocturn reminded him.

He knew that too.

“You’ve failed before,” Misery said, her voice steady and calm. She was not wrong, nor accusatory. He had faltered, it had led to a less than ideal outcome. He would not admit this.

Clockwork didn’t allow any emotion on his face. “The threat is contained. My faults did not lead to the failure of our mission.”

She scoffed. “No, only to ‘inconvenience’. Right?”

As far as she knew. As far as any of them did. They relied on him, to determine if their future would be a success. He was the only one who could see which path to take, what choices would lead to their victory. He was the only one who knew just how thin the chance was, how precarious the choice. It would not benefit them to know. He did not need their doubt.

“Who was it?” Sojourn asked, referring to the scream that had summoned them here. The scream that had echoed hauntingly throughout the entirety of the Infinite Realms.

Clockwork hadn’t looked. He looked now.

“A boy, fourteen years old, between child and adult, between living and dead, between here and there.”

Nocturn smiled, “How fitting.”

The stone shattered. Power and chaos, magic and will swirled around in a tornado, beating against the solid weight of their shield and making what was once so obviously strong seem weak and pitiful in comparison.

Vortex’s eyes glowed in excitement. It was a sign, they all knew, that things were getting close.

Eventually the storm faded and all that was left was a weathered pile of ash and rubble where there had once been a stone, where there had once been a statue, where there had once been nothing at all.

It would come to nothing once more.

Soon.

The Infinite Realms had been lifeless for so long. Nothing more than ambient ectoplasm and void. A place. Nothing more and nothing less than it had to be. Many of the denizens had never seen them alive, existing as they once had. The panic was only natural. The frenzy, exciting and new. The heart of it all beating again.

There was one ghost in particular, of course, who had only known the realms as they existed now. Sure there might also be others, newly made and newly dead, but this one was the important one. He’d been the one to give his life for the life around them now.

Or at least, he’d given half of it.

The Observants, of course, were furious.

They had attempted to hunt down the Ancients, knowing it was they who had done this, who had planned this and then hidden it from the view of those who watch. Vortex had been taken first, as expected, and Undergrowth had fled to the mortal realm. The others also split, the time for them to come together was over; the time to prepare for the end was nearing.

Clockwork, of course, their ever loyal subservient pet that could not leave his tower without their knowledge, that could not use his power without their permission, he’d never been looked at twice.

“You told us the threat was neutralized.” Nocturn said, sliding up next to one of Clockwork’s monitors. He watched a scene, where Daniel and Pariah fought. It was not a real fight, of course. Pariah had long shed the haze of bloodlust that had driven him mad, and was now attempting to be endearing, to rebuild a trust Clockwork had never actually had in him.

Clockwork took a sip of his tea. It was made from some of Pariah’s newly grown coraleander leaves and made a thick, murky green tea that Clockwork quite enjoyed the taste and texture of. Unfortunately that was exactly why Pariah had grown them, and while Clockwork had snuck them away like a petty thief, he doubted that the missing leaves had gone even a moment unnoticed.

It was infuriating and Clockwork sipped at it slowly, savoring it’s warmth.

“He is no longer the King. In fact, there is no King at all, just as I said it would be.”

Nocturn turned to meet his eyes, tilting his head just slightly in suspicion. “Yes, you did. Though I suppose the others thought you meant he would not escape his sleep. Or at least, that he would not escape his sleep until after .”

Clockwork looked away, towards the monitor. Pariah had soundly defeated Daniel and was laughing. Likely at the way the poor boy looked, his hair a mess and covered in the very coraleander leaves Clockwork was drinking. He’d need to wash them off before he transformed back into a human. While they wouldn’t be immediately deadly to a Half-Ghost, they would form a large, hard to explain, rash.

“That wasn’t what I said though, was it?” Clockwork met Nocturn’s eyes once more.

The other ghost just snorted and shook his head. “No, no I guess it wasn’t. Clockwork, the tightrope you’re walking, that future you see that you haven’t told us about? I really hope you get it. I do. Because the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows and I can’t imagine what would happen if you missed.”

Clockwork’s tea had gone cold. He continued to sip it. He ignored Nocturn’s words and he watched the screen as Pariah helped Daniel stand, only for Daniel to tackle him when he wasn’t expecting it.

“I’ll take that under consideration.”

It was becoming habit, he found, to lie to Nocturn.

Daniel was at the Clocktower, eating a plate of cookies and complaining about some of the varied ghosts he had to deal with and fight on a regular basis in his mortal realm. It was a side effect, of course, of Phantom’s new role as the Heart of The Infinite Realms. The smaller, weaker ghosts, especially younger and newly dead ones, had attempted to flee the Realms when they noticed the sudden changes.

When the Observants had become so busy trying to find the cause of the change, so busy trying to hunt down what was left of Chaos’ children, that they could no longer micro-manage the state of the Realms. Could no longer constantly overstep their authority and keep their tasteless ‘Order’.

The Realms had become more and more lively and Clockwork had found himself in a perpetual good mood. He took a cookie for himself. Nocturn caught him baking the other day; his expression had been dry as he congratulated Clockwork on his adoption. It was a pointed accusation.

He had shoved it to the back of his mind and decided to make some forgoent tea to go with the cookies. He hadn’t offered any to Nocturn.

Daniel paused in his musings for a moment before speaking again, his voice careful. “I’ve been visiting Pariah.”

Clockwork hummed, not looking away from his screens. “I am aware.”

“Of course you are.” Daniel rolled his eyes. Then he sighed like he didn't know how to bring up what he was going to say next. “Did you… Did you know he was going to get free if you sent me after that key?”

Ah, so he’d figured it out then. “It was a possibility. Each and every choice you make creates an entirely new future with entirely new consequences.”

“He doesn’t seem all that bad…” Daniel argued, as if Clockwork was going to disagree with him. Clockwork raised an eyebrow, the one with the scar Pariah had given him, and looked over to him. “I mean, he just. When he first woke up he was really mad right? But like, I’d also be really mad if I finally woke up from a forced coma only to have Vlad there.”

Anyone would really.

“And even though he sucked Amity Park into the Ghost Zone, no one actually ended up getting hurt. At least, no more than usual in a ghost attack. And I’ve been talking with the other ghosts that have been ‘Challenging’ him and they all say he's a pretty cool teacher… Like, he knows how to fight and he’s good at showing them how they can use their unique powers-”

Clockwork didn’t interrupt Daniel as he rambled. It was rare, at least since he’d been deposed, to hear lists of Pariah’s more positive aspects. It wasn’t uncomfortable so much as mildly frustrating. Was this part of Pariah’s ploy? Get Daniel to fall all over himself to recite poetics about Pariah to Clockwork. He should have learned by now that whatever affection he might hold for him, it would not be enough. Not to stop his plans, and certainly not to stop the others.

“So uh, you know, he seems… chiller. Without the crown and ring and stuff.”

“Yes, it was the Ring of Rage Daniel, what did you think it was used for?”

There was a small imperceptible shift in Daniel’s expression, as if he’d realized something and made the choice to file the knowledge away for later. He must have learned that from Pariah as well. “So, if there’s things that can change even powerful ghosts like Pariah, are there things that could change, say… one of the Ancients?”

Was Daniel befriending another Ancient? Clockwork smiled, that was good then. He could hold that against them, the weight of his failure to keep an emotional distance wouldn’t be as stark, if another Ancient or two fell just as easily to Daniel’s pleasant company. He could use that, he simply had to find out which of them it was. Perhaps Sojourn? He was always soft for children, but Clockwork hadn’t been aware of him returning to the Barrens lately, and Daniel rarely went any further than the Time Locked Lands or the Far Frozen.

“It is good to befriend others Daniel,” he says halfheartedly, searching through his mirrors to locate Sojourn, “but remember not to trust too easily. You never know the goals of those around you, if they might be using you towards their own ends.”

“Of course,” Daniel replied, his voice hard.

Clockwork looked over to him, he was staring at the dregs of his tea, expression dark.

“Would you like more tea?” Clockwork offered, wondering what had plummeted the boy’s attitude so suddenly.

Daniel looked up, a small smile on his lips, “Yes Please.”

Clockwork left to make more, his mind still trying to find which Ancient Daniel had befriended.

“The Observants are completely ignorant of your machinations,” Pariah said as Clockwork entered his study. “Of course, they don’t know you as well as they think.”

Clockwork should stop visiting him. Should never have started, a fact that Nocturn was only too happy to remind him of. Sometimes Clockwork wondered if Nocturn got his taste of Chaos from Clockwork's mistakes, he seemed so dedicated to reveling in them.

“I didn’t come here to talk about the Observants. I have my fill without the need to remark upon them when absent from their presence.” Clockwork was scowling. He could hide his irritation, but despite his lies and trickery he was hardly an accomplished actor.

Pariah chuckled, flipping another page in the thick book he’d been reading. The title was faded, but Clockwork recognized it easily enough. It was a detailed history of the Infinite Realms after King Dark had been sealed away. It was a long history, though not as long as the history that came before his reign entirely.

It was also the exact kind of thing Pariah would read cover to cover, like the obsessive monster he was.

“I suppose you came to warn me away from your ward then?” Pariah asked, his voice casual. Clockwork scoffed, allowing a roll of his eyes before floating over to Pariah’s shelves and grabbing one of the books that looked recently used. It was about old soul binding rituals, much like what had happened to Fright Knight. It was amusing, the thought that Pariah’s oldest friend might still be whining about his little curse.

“Hardly,” Clockwork said, idly flipping through the pages, “if I could control Daniel I never would have let him near you to begin with.”

Pariah smiled, placing his own book down. “Yes, I imagine you wouldn’t have. It would be a mistake to let me get close to him and realize he is the reason the Infinite Realms have started to sing.”

He’d figured it out then. Of course that wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. Unlike the Observants, Pariah was wickedly intelligent and fully capable of coming to the appropriate conclusions. “Sing? An interesting way to describe it.”

Arms encircled his waist and Clockwork was pulled back into a warm chest. Pariah’s chin rested on Clockwork’s shoulder as he spoke softly into his ear. “Is it enough? The realms feel alive, weaker ghosts are fleeing or banding together once more. It resembles the time we once had, between Chaos and Order. Will you stop here?”

“There’s nothing more I can do,” he lied.

Pariah hummed an agreement and reached out to flip a few pages through the book Clockwork had been holding. There was a beautifully illustrated drawing of a necklace, bewitched and layered in curses. Pariah must have memorized the pages, of course. “Would you wear jewelry if I made it for you? I would see you decked in gold and finery if I could.”

Clockwork slammed the book closed, just missing Pariah’s fingers. He didn’t think about the earrings Pariah had once gifted him, or how he wore them even now, dangling hidden beneath his hood. “You should know better than to ask that.”

He felt a smile against his neck. “Then I won’t ask.”

He held the Thermos in his hand.

The other Daniel was a menace, truly. But he would not be so desperate to ruin Daniel’s life anymore. It had been long enough for him to realize that his existence was no longer predicated on Daniel’s decisions, or on the loss of his family.

It would change him, of course. The knowledge that he exists in the same time as his once family will either soften his grief, or sharpen its edges. There were so many paths he could take, and Clockwork could not see them all, did not bother to look much further than the distance he needed him for.

There was something more important than his grief that he and Clockwork had in common. Something Daniel and Pariah likely had in common with them as well: the detestation of the Observants.

Clockwork opened the thermos, releasing Daniel’s worst nightmare and not thinking about how the young half-ghost had given it to him so easily, had trusted him so quickly when all Clockwork had done was protect his human family one time.

The other, once possible, Daniel appeared in an explosion of light and matter and immediately attacked, using his claws to scratch at Clockwork’s face. He was prepared for that though, years trapped in a thermos had eroded much of Dan’s more refined aspects. It would work in Clockworks favor of course, he had made sure of that.

For now, Clockwork froze time and moved behind him. That way his wild attack would meet nothing but ambient ectoplasm and Clockwork could speak his piece. Provided his piece took less than a second to speak.

He allowed time to flow and watched as the other Daniel floundered, confused, only to instantly realize just what Clockwork had done and turn around, ready to attack once more. Clockwork smiled as their eyes met and asked, “Would you like to End the Observants and their Order?”

the other Daniel attacked him, but Clockwork could see the consideration in his eyes. The thought had been implanted, now all he had to do was sit back and watch. the other Daniel had always been rather good at ruining things after all.

“CLOCKWORK!” Daniel yelled, flying frantically into the Clocktower. “Clockwork Dan escaped somehow! He attacked Amity Park!”

His desperate flight slowed when he saw Clockwork floating casually at his screens as he always had. He was watching a specific screen now, and pulled the image onto the largest one to share with Daniel. “Yes, I know.”

Daniel looked between him and the screen, his expression growing more and more confused. “But, he was here though. Locked up. How did he escape?”

Clockwork didn’t turn to look at him. “I’m sorry Daniel,” he lied. “Your trust in me was misplaced. He escaped while I was distracted with another matter and I was unable to stop him. It’s my fault.”

Daniel’s eyes widened, searching for something in Clockwork’s expression, and then in Clockwork’s screens. The only thing he saw though, was the other Daniel causing havoc and destruction. After visiting Amity Park and re-traumatising Daniel’s sister, the other Daniel had been driven away by Daniel, whose power had become far superior in the time since they had last met. It was only natural of course, Daniel’s existence was unique and far beyond that of Dan’s mangled pieced together form of conflicting obsessions and damaged cores.

It was possible, Clockwork knew, for the other Daniel to stabilize properly. Perhaps he could become a proper ghost, perhaps he could stop attempting to restrict what humanity he had left. Either way, it did not matter in the end. If anything, his existence was a fun riddle that would play itself out long after Clockwork’s plans came to fruition.

Clockwork looked over at Daniel, his expression hidden behind the shadows of his hood. The boy was staring emptily at the corner of the Clocktower that led to the inner dungeons where the other Daniel had been hidden away. After a moment he turned away, hiding his own expression, and began to walk. As if his legs had become too heavy to fly.

“It’s fine. I’ll get him back. It won’t happen again.” There was a promise in his voice and it softened to be almost inaudible entirely. “I won’t let it.”

After he left, Clockwork turned back to the screen with the other Daniel on it. He was finished terrorizing the ghost from before, and was now floating listlessly in the void of the Infinite Realms. Likely, he was warring with his obsessions- or his emotions- it was hard to tell which. Eventually though, he shook his head, looked up as if to catch Clockwork’s eye, and flew off.

In the direction of the Observants.

It’s eyeball was glaring at him, the normally dull yellow of it’s sclera bright with fury. “You were given responsibility over him! You were entrusted to keep him from destroying the Realms!”

Clockwork’s own eye twitched as he fought back an eyeroll. Those who Watch were as predictable as ever, not showing up at the moment of Dan’s release but instead at the moment he began to take his rage out on the Observants. Their responsibilities had always been superfluous though, a vague excuse to do as they pleased in the name of Order.

“I failed. He escaped. Woe is me.” He floated over to one of his more intricate gadgets and began to tinker with it, pretending to be busy. “Surely an Order such as yours, full of powerful ghosts that command the Realms, did not come to me in fear though? He attacked you directly, does that not make your vow of inaction void?”

“ You-! ”

“Of course, it would be different if you simply couldn’t defeat him. But… he’s only a decade dead. That would be an embarrassment.”

The other Observant that had come to scold (and demand his servitude) floated in front of its companion so as to cut off a likely incensed reaction. “He’s an abomination, and an amalgamation. Surely you can understand why we wanted him dealt with before it came to this.”

Clockwork inclined his head, playing at civility. “Perhaps then, you should seek to work alongside Phantom. I have it on relatively good authority he’s also trying to deal with your resident menace.”

Both of the Observants took his suggestion as an insult, one even growing red with it. “That Abomination? He should be destroyed along with it!”

“Pity,” Clockwork said, turning back to the screens and watching as the other Daniel tore the core out of another Observant’s chest and crushed it in his palm. He wasn’t even absorbing them for their power. It was a waste, but Clockwork was certain it was a waste born of trauma. Dan’s creation had, after all, been due to a botched absorption with a powerful ghost core. “You can leave now.”

“You must deal with this.”

“I will deal with it when the time is right,” he said in lieu of an answer.

The Observants, disgruntled and unwilling to leave, as if hiding in Clockwork’s lair would somehow protect them, made comment after comment demanding his action and threatening punishment should he fail. He replied with sarcasm and an aloof attitude that soon had them leaving out the door if only to try and do what they could to tighten his bonds.

He sighed, there was time still. He should make cookies, that always seemed to calm him, help him to exist in the present and not become impatient for what is yet to be. He headed to the kitchen, only to see an unexpected visitor at his table.

“Nocturn, you’re early.”

The other Ancient nodded. “Yes, your plan seems to have worked flawlessly. The Authority of the Observants has been shaken. Much of the power they had gained through fear and reputation has dwindled, but…”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow as he opened his cabinets. There was egyptian sand flour left over, it would be dryer than using something more modern, but the age would add a good aftertaste. He just needed to add extra Honey-Wasp bits from the outskirts of The Undergrowth and that should balance it. Maybe some purified ectoplasm. Pariah gifted him a jar after he had somehow managed to create a device to filter it from the Infinite Realms.

He had also made an absolutely unsubtle offer to join him in his new ‘sauna’ that Clockwork had pointedly refused.

“But?” he prompted, there was little information he could glean from silence.

Nocturn watched him prepare the batter. He sighed and stood, grabbing a knife and helping to mince the Honey-Wasps before speaking again. “But they still have their numbers, and much of their actual power. And Clockwork, Pariah has made his move.”

“I know,” Clockwork admitted, “but is that not in our favor as well?”

“Not if he takes more power from them, Pariah on his own is not a fight we can accept lightly. Anything more being beholden to him is hardly something I wish to see.”

Clockwork cracked a Kraken’s egg into the mixture and moved the bowl closer to Nocturn so he could scoop the Honey-Wasp bits into it as well, without losing any of the juice. Mixing it would be troublesome, some of the more experimental batters attempted to gain sentience and would try to escape the bowl. “It will work in our favor either way. the other Daniel caused havoc, their power was broken across the realms. Pariah is merely salting the ground we have burned.”

He used a dull knife to cut into the batter and stirred, stopping any attempts at formation. Nocturn grabbed the bowl from him, forcing eye contact. “What if he seeks something else?”

“Haven’t I already escaped the chains he bound me in before?” Clockwork laughed. “Do I not have allies that would find short work of cutting chains that I did not allow to bind me?”

The bowl was set back down and Clockwork and Nocturn both made short work of dividing the dough and setting it into the oven. “We could not break the bindings of the Observants,” Nocturn said as Clockwork closed the oven door.

“That is different, that was part of our plans. They needed to never suspect me, if we were to get this far.” Clockwork waved him off. “Would you like a cookie?”

“We have to wait for them to cook, Clockwork.” Nocturn said, exasperated.

Clockwork simply rolled his eyes and increased the time surrounding the oven. “I don’t wait.”

Daniel hadn’t visited again since Clockwork allowed the other Daniel to escape. It was possible, he admitted in the back of his mind, that Daniel blamed him for what happened. As well he should. Yet, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

He was watching the screens again. Aiming them in every direction he could to see everything as it played out. Most were occupied by the remnants of the Order he had set about decimating. A few were dedicated to their interconnected Lair, the place where they held their play courts and kept their prisoners. It was where they kept Vortex before he was freed. One screen though, was aimed at Pariah’s Keep.

It had been a simple thing that Clockwork had neither encouraged nor discouraged, Daniel’s visits with Pariah. But now that Clockwork’s own visits had come to an end, it had become something distinctly bitter, a feeling that was building in his chest, where his core hummed, that Clockwork was ignoring with all the practice of a man dead set on his goals.

Daniel would visit again, of course. Clockwork could even tell the exact date and time, or at least the most likely ones. He didn’t look at the futures where Daniel never came back, there was no point in uselessly fretting about it. He’d be fine, there were more important things to deal with now.

He could feel the pressure of his binds loosening as more and more of the Observants were hunted down. Not all of them were ended by Dan, of course. They had made many enemies. Both Vortex and Undergrowth had gone out of their way to visit quite a number themselves, along with a few of the other Ancients. Clockwork was certainly tempted to do so, alas, the restrictions upon him prevented it still. And the only way for those restrictions to end was for those wielding the reins to End. And well, then there wouldn’t be anyone left to take his ire out upon would there?

Instead he allowed his own part in their demise to be enough for his bruised ego and the millennia of torment he’d undergone beneath them. Then he ate a cookie and kept watch of his screens.

Pariah was teaching Daniel how to use a sword. Pandora had attempted to teach him swordsmanship but Daniel had been disinclined to it. He wasn’t particularly elegant to be fair, and the finesse and practiced movement of Pandora’s sword was more akin to an art than anything else. Her limbs risked entanglement if she wasn’t careful and had developed a style suited to such.

Daniel was much more inclined to blunt, ferocious movements. He often thought with his fist before anything else, even as a ghost with a multitude of powers to command. He used speed and strength to win and outmaneuver his opponents and despite his lack of polish, he often won due to those two traits alone. Pariah was a talented teacher, in that he was clearly taking what Daniel had already in ample supply, and taught him how to wield it appropriately to its maximum use.

He was still only beginning of course, but Daniel was a fast learner and had grown significantly in a short period of time.

Clockwork had toyed with the idea of taking Daniel on as an official apprentice once or twice before. Teaching him how to exist beyond the means which he had become accustomed to as a human. While he would not have Clockwork’s inclination for time specifically, Daniel’s connection to the Realms would allow him a level of control over his surroundings and the beings that exist in them that simply does not exist in anyone outside of the Ancients. And even then, Clockwork’s Time was different enough from the others’ domains to be unique in and of itself in a similar vein to Daniel’s powers. Even if they’d only just barely begun to show.

But it was a risk to do so before everything else came to fruition. If Daniel realized his plans, it would be troublesome. He likely would not agree to the lengths Clockwork is willing to reach, and more than that, there is no guarantee that his existence as half human would not have him attempting to side with Order over Chaos. No, it was better to wait and see how it all played out first. There wasn’t much left to do before the end.

Yes it would lead to anger. Perhaps even to hatred. It would be fitting for Clockwork. He had never known a love that had yet to turn. That had truly been any kind of unconditional.

But he would be free.

Finally, finally free.

Free from this horrid linear existence, free from his servitude, free from his bonds. The root of him, the core, had been born from Chaos, from the mess of all things and no things, and like any child wishing to cradle in the arms of its mother, Clockwork longed once more for it.

He had been patient, as had the others. There was little left to do.

When Daniel finally visited again Clockwork had made cookies.

They resembled human chocolate chips, if one squinted, and Clockwork had made sure to take them out of the oven just as Daniel arrived so they would be warm.

“There you are Daniel,” he greeted. The cookies were still moving and he had to give the tray he was holding a bit of a shake to get them to stop. He doubted Daniel would eat them if he thought they were alive.

The boy didn’t look well. He had deep bags under his eyes, and a skittish, weary look about him.

Clockwork clicked his tongue. “You need to sleep,” he said, not waiting for Daniel to speak.

“What?” The boy lifted his head, confused.

“I said, you should sleep.” Clockwork grabbed one of the amulets from the wall and placed it around Daniel’s neck. “I’ll stop time for a few hours, you can sleep here if you want.”

Daniel just blinked. “Oh.”

Nodding, Clockwork turned back to his screens so he could keep watch. Nocturn had warned that Pariah was making his move and Clockwork was determined to keep an eye on him now, when the timing was most crucial.

He felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Clockwork…”

He looked down to catch Daniel’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, “thanks.” He grabbed the amulet in one hand, a torn expression on his face. Then he floated off to the room Clockwork had given him to sleep.

Watching as his ward wandered off, Clockwork waited until he was out of sight to grab hold of time and let it rest for a moment. It was the least he could do.

It wasn’t long after their fall that the final thread snapped and Clockwork opened his eyes in triumph. Everything was available to him now. There were no hidden futures, no shrouded pasts. His screens multiplied around him as even his Lair was freed from its limits. Like a beast stretching from a long hibernation, Clockwork lost himself to his Obsession, revelled in the freedom he had long gambled away.

The Infinite Realms felt it as he left the Clocktower for no reason other than because he wanted to and he didn’t have to ask. He didn’t have to come up with some convoluted reason as to why this was perfectly acceptable before his own body allowed him to leave the doors of his own Lair. It felt wonderful, he almost took down his hood to see everything around him with the eyes of a free spirit.

He didn’t though, it would be too much of a hassle to wrangle his hair back and he didn’t really want someone to see him so freely bared. It was enough in every way, that he was finally free.

“I almost forgot how powerful you were, Clockwork.” He turned to see Misery Vex, lounging comfortably just outside his lair. “The Eyes Around Us are gone then?”

Clockwork nodded, looking to the future, looking to the past. She had been waiting here for him, but not for long. And she wouldn’t have waited much longer. “Are you ready for what happens next?” he asked.

“Are you?”

He nodded again. There weren’t any more preparations to make, how could he be anything but ready?

They didn’t meet at the Clocktower this time.

It was no longer necessary after all. This time they met in the night. The soft evening of eternal sleep and dreams, Nocturn’s lair. It was spacious if nothing else, and creative with its decoration. Should one of them wish to sit, they merely needed to chance sitting and see if the space around them would accommodate. It suited him immensely.

“Have you found her yet?” Misery asked.

Sojourn nodded, a small enthusiastic smile hidden under his beard. “Yes, Clockwork and I were able to locate her shattered core amongst Pandora’s boxes.”

“ It will not be easy to receive her, and it will only be more difficult to revive her,” Nocturn warned, “especially if we wish to keep this to ourselves. Rather than risk the entirety of the realms turning on us as they did the Observants.”

Clockwork nodded, “we shouldn’t do much in more than pairs. Sojourn and Misery should seek Pandora. Nocturn and I can set the ritual once the pieces are complete.”

“And the rest of us?” Undergrowth scowled, he hated Nocturn’s lair. It was cold and empty, barren of any more physical matters and there was nowhere for him to take root. Clockwork suspected half of the reason it was that way was intended to irritate Undergrowth specifically.

Sojourn clapped his hands together and smiled, his eagerness truly knew no bounds and his obvious delight was nearly infectious. “You’re our escape plan of course! We’ll need help once we locate the right box, Pandora’s obsession is hardly a good one to be on the wrong side of.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Vortex grinned.

Clockwork couldn’t help but agree, what are they waiting for indeed?

“What is Chaos, Clockwork?” Daniel asked. But Clockwork was distracted.

He hadn’t expected Daniel to show up today, he hadn’t paid attention to it. There was so much to do, so much to get ready for. The time was now after all.

He took care to answer anyways, the changes that were to come would affect the boy. At least a little. He was strong enough that he would thrive in Chaos, and it would help to nurture his Obsession, if the weaker denizens of the Realms needed help. And they would

“Chaos was the first, how it all began. Everything started with Chaos or nothing could have been at all.”

Daniel frowned, a small furrow in his brow. “That… didn’t really-“

Clockwork paused for a moment. “Is something wrong Daniel?”

He sighed. “So if you were made from Chaos, is she like, your mother?”

“No. Chaos is not sentient so much as conceptual.” Clockwork frowned, “though I suppose she predated concepts as well if she was the first. Chaos was neither one thing nor many things. It’s safe to say Chaos was everything and everything came from her. But that did not make her nurturing”

Clockwork looked back at Daniel, letting time flow smoothly once more. It wouldn’t do to delay.

There was a hint of something in Daniel’s eyes, a wariness that Clockwork had never seen before. It must have been due to their conversation, but Clockwork couldn’t place what about it would have Daniel on edge. Chaos would not be any more a threat to him than it would be the other Ancients.

“Clockwork, if Chaos came back…” he paused, as if the words had been stuck in his throat, “what would happen to the humans? The mortals?”

What a strange question. “Life would not exist as it does now, utter chaos would not permit it.”

It had been something of a sport, to watch Sojourn and Misery in their attempts to find and excavate the remnants of the Core of Chaos. Clockwork and Nocturn had watched it from the safety and comfort of Clockwork’s lair, on the largest of his screens.

“They’re having fun aren’t they?” Nocturn mused, taking a sip of his tea. He’d made it himself in Clockwork’s kitchen, had been insistent about it when he’d seen Clockwork start to make his own.

“Pandora is a valiant warrior and a good fighter. Misery has been on the sidelines for some time since the end of Pariah’s court.” Clockwork’s tea was cold. He frowned and set it aside.

“Yes, it’s good to see her stretching her limbs. I hadn’t seen all of them since her last fight.”

Clockwork thought back, the fight Nocturn was referring to played on one of the smaller screens. It was a gladiator based competition, where Pariah had sent her as a member of his court to show his power. She had challenged the Lord of Little Crawlers to a duel and shredded him to pieces before even five minutes had passed. Then she had collected herself, reset her veil, and gone right back to Pariah’s Keep.

Now she was using every extra limb she could against Pandora, swords clashing with long knitting needles and strings of silk. Watching the fight was mesmerizing to be sure, almost akin to a dance, if not for the frustrated vulgarities being thrown around and Sojourn’s overly eager cheering from the back.

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

“Sojourn will remember what they’re supposed to be doing when he almost drops one of the boxes held in his arms. Upon that realization he will sneak away while Pandora is distracted and meet with the others. From there they will come here with their spoils and it will be our turn to prove our worth.” Clockwork answered, easily detailing the future ahead of them.

Nocturn nodded and took a sip of his tea.

It didn’t happen exactly like Clockwork had predicted. But it was close enough. Sojourn had bypassed Vortex and Undergrowth completely and simply flown straight to Clockwork‘s lair on his own. Nocturn spared Clockwork a glance, but he remained unaffected. It was still on track to be an ideal future.

Once Sojourn entered his lair Clockwork grabbed hold of time with his hand and twisted , forcing it to bend and still under his palm. The trip to the Cave was only a step after that and once there, he let loose and released time to settle amicably around them.

“Amazing,” Sonourn said, “I do think I’d like to travel this way more often. It’s quite convenient.”

Nocturn patted him on the shoulder and grabbed one of the delicately detailed boxes he’d been balancing precariously in his arms. “You’d need to be very careful if you did, there’s no telling what might get caught up in all that twisting and turning.”

“It won’t matter much longer after this,” Clockwork said, taking his own box.

The entirety of Chaos was not here, her core long since mostly destroyed, but there was enough to recreate something should they use the ritual they had devised.

It needed to be hidden, so they had found a cave. It was ancient, and once thought to be a reliable doorway into the spiritual and mortal realms, every wall was covered in ancient arts and writings. No rhyme or reason between them, a bit of a mess conceptually, but perfect for their purposes. Once Vortex had destroyed it in the mortal realm, it had been simple enough to recreate, especially using Undergrowth and Misery Vex’s powers.

Most ghosts dared not travel here, where they placed it. It was a deeper part of the Infinite Realms, where the pressures of the ambient ectoplasm was strong enough to kill even some of the more stable spirits, certainly more than any Watcher could have ever handled.

Clockwork gathered the ashes in the center of their chosen chamber. Three rights from the first left. Nocturn moved around the edges, the walls solid and firm under his hands as he tested them. And Sojourn, setting his own box aside, lit the flames.

It began.

They had known the work would be hard, tedious even. Most mortals, when they picture rituals like this, imagine chanting and holding hands, perhaps some use of indomitable will. But this was far more personal, more hands on.

Clockwork took the broken edge of a shattered piece of core, and began to mold it, shaping and soothing it into a puzzle-like shape. He had spent time looking into human carpentry practices, and had come across the traditional Chinese techniques of Lu Ban.

It had taken more than a human lifetime to learn it properly and then suit it to his own needs, but he put it into practice now, shaping the shattered pieces anew and slotting them together so that they might fit and stay snug.

Sojourn had weaved together layer after layer of treated ectoplasm into a fine cloth and was now sewing it into a fitted dress, each stitch small and tidy, seamless against the weave.

The one who stoked the flame, who kept its energy strong and the newly forming core well fed, was Nocturn. He kept a measured gaze upon it, not once turning away or getting distracted.

This continued for an eternity, the creation, or recreation, of something both ancient and now new was exhaustive work. But eventually, Clockwork felt a hum. A small, weak thing that would have left him breathless had he needed to breathe.

Chaos was born again, though faint, though weak. Not anything close to what she once was, but still, she was there, feeding on the flames of her own ashes, pieces of her own core held together and finally finding life.

They needed to keep going. This was delicate work, if they got distracted, if there was even one misstep, it would be over. Chaos would be what she is now, what they made of her, and not what she needed to be.

The fire went out.

“ Damn ,” Nocturn hissed, quickly turning to look around. He did not bother to relight the flame, it was too late. Clockwork felt hollow, had they truly failed? But how?

He acted quickly, bundling the newly formed and still fragile core into Sojourn’s half sewn garment and thrusting it fully into the other Ancient’s hands.

“You are the fastest of us, run, hide her away before we lose her entirely.” Sojourn nodded solemnly, flying quickly through the winding tunnels that led out of the cave.

Nocturn scowled, “whoever is there should be glad I am merciful. Come out now and I shall forgo eternal torment for a quick End.”

There was only silence.

Clockwork was growing irritated himself and looked to the future, only to see Nocturn tackled into a wall by a familiar black and white blur.

“Daniel?!” He said, his thoughts screeching to a halt. But, there was no way. He couldn’t have followed them. He would have had to know about the cave and been lying in wait for the exact moment to-

There was a soft sound, like the clinking of a delicate chain, as Clockwork felt a weight upon his neck. All at once he felt the universe stand still, as if he had been trapped in the moment, the singular moment no longer able to spread himself beyond. It was cloying, claustrophobic. Something he never thought he’d experience again.

And he knew who was behind it.

“You’ve always been impatient my dear.” Pariah spoke softly, his lips far too close.

Clockwork fled, slipping between moments to force space between them almost on instinct alone. Pariah simply let him go, a smug smile on his face. No, he wasn’t supposed to be here. How did he know about this place?

What had he placed on Clockwork’s neck?

He lifted a hand, not taking his eyes off of Pariah in case he decided to get any closer, and felt around his neck. It was a chain, delicate and just long enough to have slid over his head and dangle its pendant at a point on his chest, just above the glass. The shape of it was vaguely familiar, but Clockwork couldn’t place it.

“What have you done to me?” he asked, using anger to hide the tremble in his voice.

Pariah’s expression softened and he took a step forward. “Did I not say I would see you decked in gold?”

No…

The necklace…

It had been a cursed necklace, layered in charms meant for protection that slowly twisted into possession and control. It shouldn’t have been strong enough to cause any trouble at all to Clockwork, if something this simple had worked, Pariah would have used it long ago in the peak of his madness.

Clockwork grabbed the chain, intending to rip it off, but Pariah spoke, startling him. “I wouldn’t, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

“Then why did you put it on me?” he tugged at the chain in emphasis, without his strength. Pariah never warned for no reason.

The bastard smiled, like Clockwork had asked a stupid question, one he should know the answer to. Clockwork scowled, and moved further away from him. His back hit a wall. The cave, while earlier it had been comforting, a sign that eternal chaos was close at hand, that all Clockwork had done was paying off in the end, it was now more reminiscent of a stone cage.

A trap.

He’d walked straight into a trap, one Pariah had been laying since he awoke. And Clockwork had never paid it any heed, had not bothered with his machinations because he assumed Pariah would be too slow, had thought whatever he did would be too weak. He had underestimated him, and now Pariah Dark was walking towards him, a lion stalking its prey.

Clockwork froze time.

He was still moving. Clockwork had frozen time and Pariah was still moving .

It shouldn’t have been possible, there was nothing restricting Clockwork’s power in that way. He felt the threads of all existence tangled around him, grabbed the ones moving forward and tugged, sharp, desperate, to keep them still. He felt them still.

Pariah kept moving though.

“How-?” Everything else had frozen, all around them was silence and the only things that moved were the two of them. It was a strange kind of dance, one stepping closer and the other floating away.

“I made it myself, the charm. It ties you to me, obviously.” Pariah caught him, gently because he didn’t need to use force, didn’t need to use any of the almost limitless strength behind him. “It’s based off the contract you signed with the Observants, I hadn’t honestly expected it to be so blatantly one sided when I read it. Though I suppose it was on purpose, a miscalculation on your part, in the end.”

Clockwork pulled his hand away, but Pariah simply moved with the action and stepped closer, crowding against him. “It doesn’t work like that,” Clockwork said through clenched teeth. A one-sided contract that gave away so much of himself was necessary. It was also only possible because Clockwork had signed it. Pariah couldn’t mimic that without Clockwork’s consent, that wasn’t how it worked. That wasn’t how any of this was supposed to work.

Pariah hummed in agreement. “It wouldn’t be, if that was all I did.” He brushed a lock of hair from Clockwork’s eyes. “The Order of the Observants was in chaos. They were desperate. They wanted someone powerful to protect them. They were willing to give anything for the possibility they might find safety.”

Then he pulled out a medallion of his own, a horribly familiar one.

Oh.

So that was all it took…

Pariah was right, it had been a miscalculation indeed.

“Even if they gave me to you, the contract dissolved with the Order. I felt it break.”

“It did,” Pariah took hold of one of Clockwork’s hands and held it to his lips in a kiss, “But I had you for long enough. Long enough to bind you to myself instead. All it took was some craftswork.”

He let go of Clockwork’s hand to touch the pendant hanging from his neck instead. It was a gentle, reverent touch, as if thanking the damned thing for its work in keeping Clockwork trapped for him. “Luckily I was up to date on all the most prominent binding curses. I have a friend who suffers from such an affliction after all.”

“Fuck you.”

Pariah laughed, a genuine surprised chuckle that truly lit him up from the inside. His eyes were so warm, his hands burned like brands, and Clockwork wanted nothing more than to tear out his other eye with his teeth. “Come Clockwork, you’ve failed. Let’s go home.”

Pariah led him back to the Clocktower, his lair. His home and prison. Clockwork stormed past him once they were inside. “And what is your plan now? I can’t imagine I’d be much use in subjecuting the Realms, as you can see I’m quite traitorous by nature. All of my previous masters can attest.”

“Then it’s good I’m keeping you for your sense of humor,” Pariah said as he closed the door behind him.

It was the first time Pariah Dark had ever been inside Clockwork’s lair. Pariah had always been a cautious ghost, it made sense that he wouldn’t allow himself the vulnerability of being inside another powerful ghost’s lair, a place where they quite literally held all of the power and had all of the control.

The irony of course, was that the moment Pariah had stepped inside, it was Clockwork that felt vulnerable. Exposed like a raw nerve, every part of him standing on end, tightly coiled and ready to flee.

“How is this exactly how I have always envisioned it?” Pariah says dryly, his eyes roaming freely, invasively over every nook and cranny. Every randomly placed cog and haphazard ticking machine. It was a chaotic mess, naturally, it was Clockwork.

Clockwork picked up a twentieth century alarm clock and weighed it in his hands before chucking it as hard as he could towards Pariah. The bastard caught it, of course. And Clockwork scowled.

“Did you often picture yourself waltzing into my Lair?”

Pariah set the clock down carefully, as if it would break. As if it were truly a piece of Clockwork himself. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t have. You were certainly at home in mine.”

“Oh please, half the Realms has access to your Lair. We are not the same.” Clockwork scoffed, crossing his arms and floating awkwardly in the middle of the room. He didn’t want to be any closer to Pariah, but neither did he want to risk being backed into a wall again . It seemed a recurring treat for Pariah, to cage him in that way.

There was a touch of mischief in Pariah’s smile when he replied. “Perhaps we can change that, would you like more visitors?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

Clockwork grabbed another trinket to throw, this one he had pried from the walls. Pariah handled that just as easily, an uncomfortable expression aimed at the destroyed part of Clockwork’s wall. He was truly the most obnoxious perfectionist. If Clockwork’s mangled mess of a lair was going to bother him he shouldn’t have bothered to come inside.

In fact, if he was going to be disappointed so easily he shouldn’t have chained him in the first place. It wasn’t as if the bindings guaranteed something like loyalty. They couldn’t even force him to act should he not wish to. Clockwork wasn’t going to change from how he had been for eons under the damn Eyes.

“Why did you do this?” Clockwork asked, “And don’t dare say it’s only because you said you would. You may be meticulous but you are not beholden to simple words.”

Pariah had fixed his wall. And was now attempting to reinstate the very same decoration Clockwork had used as ammunition. It was strangely domestic to see and Clockwork felt rage simmer and build. Would he simply make himself at home then? Perhaps he would seek to combine their lairs in a twisted amalgamation so that he might seek order where it damn well did not belong.

“You were going to leave.”

What a useless excuse. “Did you lose your ability to reason permanently to that crown?”

This time it was Pariah that rolled his eyes. “Obviously not, if I was able to out-fox Clockwork of all ghosts.”

“You had help.” Clockwork said through grit teeth. He wouldn’t ask who, he didn’t think he could handle having it confirmed.

Pariah’s eyes sparkled. “So you knew?”

“I figured it out.”

“Feeling very betrayed, Clockwork?” This time Pariah’s smile was sharp, a vicious little thing that certainly made him more recognizable as the fallen tyrant he actually was.

Clockwork refused to rise to the bait. He did not regret, it was impossible to feel regret when every single decision he’d ever made had been so thoroughly calculated. “I wasn’t going to leave. Where would I even go, Pariah?”

“You were leaving me.” Pariah walked towards him, quicker than his usual slow prowl. Clockwork had chanced a step back himself but it only served to darken Pariah’s expression further so he stilled instead and allowed himself to be caught and held. Pariah’s hands were heavy, one landing on his hip and the other reaching for his wrist. “You were disappearing to the flows of Time, one minute here and the next somewhere no one could follow you. You speak of chaos and the freedom it would give you, but you lie to yourself when you say that is all that you desire. The freedom you had so desperately sought, how lonely would it have been.”

Pariah had not been able to talk after that, too busy weathering Clockwork’s sudden violent outrage.

Nocturn was the first to visit him, to see Clockwork’s anger, his desperate lashing out. He had the same expression he’d always had when the topic of Pariah or Daniel had come up. The look of undisguised pity, as if he had known from the start that Clockwork would fail, that he would be chained in this way, the moment his freedom was closer than at any other time.

“We do not hate you for your failure, Clockwork,” Nocturn said, and Clockwork bared his teeth. It had been sometime since he’d carved out an eye in petty vengeance but he was not above making it a hobby.

Nocturn simply kept his distance, just one step away with one of those damned medallions around his neck, stopping Clockwork from freezing him in place in his own lair. “You’ve always been easily twisted by affection, too willing to be tied down with familiarity.”

His words hurt, like an arrow piercing through Clockwork’s chest. He hadn’t thought it would be so literal, hadn’t taken Pariah’s threats seriously. Had believed, genuinely, that he would be able to escape whatever bonds Pariah had fashioned for him. Had not thought to protect himself thoroughly enough and now all was for naught. Nocturn said he harbored no ill will, but he should .

And Clockwork was distraught that he did not.

He deflated and Nocturn floated closer, just within range. But Clockwork’s arms hung heavy, and he was exhausted now, the weight of it all too much. “You should. Chaos is lost to us.” he spoke, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Nocturn acquiesced, “but Chaos was lost to us long ago. It was a child’s hope, that we could get it back.”

“You are content then? To rot in containment in an infinite realm of order and stability?”

A laugh escaped Nocturn, perplexing Clockwork and only flaring his temper worse. The other Ancient didn’t even try to hide as he fell into a laughing fit. “I would not be, no. But my oldest friend, I am not the one in containment. I have always known you look too much towards the forest and its tallest trees, very rarely have you ever noticed the grass or the leaves.”

“Speak sense,” Clockwork snapped. It was his job to speak in riddles, he had little patience to hear them now.

Nocturn did not call him on his hypocrisy though, instead he shook his head and floated closer, relaxing next to Clockwork as if they were two friends taking tea. “It was not, as you believed, an all or nothing gamble.”

“Was it not?”

“No, the realms are back to Anarchy as they should be. The Observants were the last hold in their attempts to tame them, and they have been destroyed. There is no King, not even a sleeping one, and Chaos exists.”

Clockwork listened, the cold weight of failure that had settled in his chest chipped and cracked as Nocturn spoke on. “She does not exist as she had.”

“But perhaps this is a better way,” Nocturn pondered, “last time, Chaos reigned so supreme it seemed all were insistent to seek order. Then order reigned supreme and we sought Chaos. Perhaps now, with the Realms alive once more, and order and Chaos in balance, it will last instead.”

Nocturn placed a hand on the top of Clockwork’s head, petting his hair. “The other Ancients and I shall seek our fun, and find ways to exist in this new existence. It is only you, I am afraid, that will remain trapped.”

Clockwork slapped his hand away, “How comforting, Nocturn. Do you also go to the newly dead and tell them not to weep, at least they were the ones that died and not others?”

Nocturn’s hand returned to pull his hood down over his face and Clockwork had to slap it away again. “It is not in my perogative to comfort the newly dead. I thought only to inform my dearest friend that he had not earned my animosity. A fear he might have had, failing the plan we had painstakingly worked towards for eons.”

“I don’t want to be chained any longer.” Clockwork admitted. It had been so long since he’d had any semblance of freedom. Did he even know what it would feel like anymore?

“We know. Though some, like Misery Vex, believe it karmic, that your attachments, which had led so thoroughly to our defeat, came back in the forms of chains for you alone. But know that if one day it comes to pass that I can free you, unlikely as it may be, I shall make the attempt.” Nocturn stood, leaving Clockwork alone in his tower.

“Clockwork?” It was Daniel’s voice. It was the first time his young ward had come to visit since the binding. It was not a comfort to hear his voice, to see that he was okay. It was not .

He didn’t acknowledge Daniel when he entered, wouldn’t have let him in the door if he still had complete control of his Lair… But he’d bargained that away long ago in a gamble that had failed him entirely.

Instead he floated to his screens. Ever since the fall of the Observants, he could see properly at least. Pariah had no interest in obscuring his vision, had even less in controlling what it was he could see. Pariah’s only interest had been binding Clockwork to him so that he might not escape, so that he might not regress, so that he might not lose himself to the chaos of infinity and escape his limited existence.

Clockwork scowled, still ignoring Daniel’s presence, his attempts at conversation. Pariah’s interests should not have mattered. Because Pariah should not have won . Because Pariah had lost before and Clockwork had been so certain that he would again. Because-

Because Clockwork had made a mistake when he sealed him away. Because Clockwork knew he could not bring himself to end him. Because Clockwork had seen an opportunity to see Pariah again and had known it would be a mistake but had wanted so desperately just to see him again. Wanted to see him free of the haze of anger the ring and crown had obscured him in, but a ghost’s natural state was obsessive. And Pariah had never hid his desire to keep Clockwork as he was, Clockwork had simply brushed it off as words of affection. He should have known better really, Pariah was hardly the type to speak lightly, and had never claimed what he did not mean with his entire core.

The screen he was watching was boring, most things were now that he had no reason to keep track of the threads, no overarching plan to work towards. It was so simple. A young ghost was trick-or-treating with a watermelon instead of a pumpkin and was turning into a large candy-based monster whenever someone turned them away.

It was the middle of summer where the ghost was, and Clockwork allowed himself to appreciate the tiny bit of chaos that the ghost was bringing to the small mortal town. Nocturn had told him that not all had been lost, Clockwork may be trapped, but Chaos had been released.

Just enough.

He sighed.

“Why are you here Daniel?” he finally asked.

Daniel straightened up, he’d been rambling, no doubt in an attempt to cajole Clockwork into joining conversation or listening subconsciously. He hadn't been.

He was also carrying a plate of cookies that Clockwork had not seen, because Clockwork had not looked. When would he learn his lesson about that? Why was he always looking too late?

“I wanted to check on you,” Daniel said, setting the plate of cookies down now that he was sure Clockwork had seen them. “Pariah said you were… having a hard time.”

Clockwork scowled, too many things tearing at his chest at once. Damn Pariah, damn him .

“Having a hard time?” he said with a false calm. “The plans that I made eons ago, plans that had been in work before your mortal realm even knew what time was, were ruined by someone I trusted. Someone I did not think would step so easily between me and my goals. Exactly what kind of time should I be having, chained to my own lair without even the authority to deny entrance to whom I wish?”

There had been a small flinch, Clockwork noticed, when he had mentioned betrayal. But if Daniel felt any guilt he didn’t look it. He raised his head, eyes full of determination. The very same expression Clockwork had seen through his screens so many times, in the fights against the other Ancients. The plans they’d made to make him stronger, to keep him stable, so that when the Chaos had been released he and the Realms with him would survive.

He had certainly survived.

“Pariah said this was the only way to save you.” Because of course that was what Pariah had told him. Because Daniel was intelligent, but Daniel was also a child and all too willing to trust any competent adult. A flaw that Clockwork himself had been so quick to take advantage of. A flaw that cursed him now.

“Do you really believe that Pariah Dark has my best interest at heart?” he would have sneered, if it had been anyone else. If it hadn’t been Daniel, who was practically his own child. Instead, he asked softly, his frustration drowned entirely by exhaustion.

Daniel still answered him though. “You were changing Clockwork,” What? “The same way you told me Pariah had once changed.”

He hadn’t, there was no way it had been so obvious. He hadn’t, it wasn’t as if he had lost himself to his obsession, nor had he gained power that grew out of his control, what was he talking about?

“You were distant, as if you were struggling to stay in any given moment. Sometimes you’d forget everything going on around you, and others you seemed to be somewhere or some-when else entirely. I mean,” Daniel took a breath, “you’ve always been a bit cryptic, but you were losing yourself entirely . Halfway through a conversation you would start talking completely randomly, in languages long dead or unrecognizable. Or you’d start talking about things that had never happened or had happened forever ago.”

He was almost shouting now, his eyes shining with more than just energy and Clockwork felt a sting in his core. He had known that Daniel would disapprove, that he would get angry. But it had not occurred to him that his anger would be pointed towards this rather than his blatant manipulation of Daniel and his friends.

“And your actions! They were reckless, Clockwork!! Releasing Dan? What the hell?! ”

It was Clockwork’s turn to flinch. “Your future self’s release had always been part of the plan. It was why I had you leave him with me to start with. I was not losing myself Daniel, I was revealing who I actually am.”

Daniel made a desperately frustrated noise. “Do you think saying something like that is going to convince me we were wrong, Clockwork? I- I trusted you! I care about you! You’re-”

“So you’d cage me and try to force compliance so that the more unsightly aspects of myself can be filed away? So you can teach me to be better, like some kind of petty human criminal, Daniel?” He let his anger take over instead. It was easier, so much easier. It was what he had always done with Pariah.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “How dramatic,” he said dryly, “Didn’t you do the same thing to Pariah, wasn’t what you did like way worse? You’re throwing a fit just like he said you would.”

“If you trust Pariah Dark so much, why are you even here? Have him make cookies for you. I'm sure he’s fully capable.” Clockwork wasn’t throwing a fit, he was angry.

Daniel sighed, grabbing one of the cookies he’d brought. They had long gone cold, but it hardly mattered to Clockwork, he wouldn’t be eating them. “Pariah has a lot of faults, and there’s a bunch of things I don’t really like about him. He’s manipulative, methodical. He never lets me half ass anything and he’s really picky. He doesn’t actually care if a person dies or a ghost gets Ended, and we fight about that kind of stuff a lot. But…” he met Clockwork’s eyes, his expression looked hurt, heartbroken. Clockwork didn’t want to see it. Had never wanted to see Daniel like this.

“He’s never outright lied to me. I’ve been checking, ever since… Well. I don’t just trust anyone at their word anymore. So yeah okay, I know he’s manipulating me just like he was manipulating you, but he never lied to either of us about his intentions. He didn’t do what you did.”

Clockwork couldn’t look at him any more. He’d made so many mistakes. If he was truly destined to fail… He should never have revealed his true nature or intentions to the boy. His disappointment burned almost as much as the chain Pariah had placed around Clockwork’s neck.

It didn’t matter though, that Clockwork could not stand to see him, because Daniel flew towards him and grabbed his face gently, hands on either side of his cheeks.

“I don’t trust you anymore, Clockwork, but I still love you. So does Pariah. We can fix this, okay?” Daniel said and Clockwork’s eyes widened at the threat.

He had truly lost, hadn’t he?

#Danny Phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #Dark ages #Pariah Dark #clockwork dp #Pariah/Clockwork #Bee's writing #fanfiction #Clockwork having not great morals sorry yall but its been a long time coming and I HAVE been hinting at this exact ending :3c

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astralkoo · 4 years ago

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the huntress | jungkook (teaser)

Pairing: jungkook x (f.) reader

Genre: werewolf au, hunter au, action, thriller, angst, fluff, smut

Rating: 18+ (graphic violence / explicit sexual content)

Estimated Final Word Count: 15-20k??? Maybe more bc it’s already at 7.4k and I haven’t even fully hit on the main plot yikes

Teaser Word Count: 1,780

Summary: You are a hunter. You are a protector. And you are a killer. These are simple facts. Facts that have been drilled into your head since you were a child. These facts are all that you know, all that you can rely on when the world around you is constantly changing. But, what can you do when one of the very creatures you’ve been taught to hunt, taught to kill, taught to hate makes you question everything you once believed?

Warnings: explicit language, descriptions of blood, graphic violence, death, killing/murder, jk is kept in a cage, panic attack, betrayal, sad jk, explicit sexual content; sex in a lake, unprotected sex (please be safe!!), sub!jungkook, dom!reader, virgin!jungkook, lots of whining, light dirty talk, hand job, fingering, jk has a kissing kink, oral (f. receiving), biting, reader calls jk puppy (all warnings are subject to change)

Release Date: TBD

A/N ; ah shit here we go. she’s been coming along pretty smoothly, so I thought it was the right time put the teaser out for you guys! I’m really excited to get the full fic posted and hopefully it won’t be too far in the future, but with my track record... I can make no guarantees. thank you for 1.4K followers!! I hope you enjoy!

You felt it building in your chest, swelling into something large and uncontainable. The sensation creeping up your throat, filling the back of your mouth and forcing open your jaws. Tears sprung to the corners of your eyes and your dry lips strained as they stretched open, the monstrous yawn finally breaking free.

Fuck. You are so tired.

It had been an exhausting day to begin with and of course, with your luck, it was your turn to take the night watch.

Around you, the forest was alive: crickets and cicadas singing lazy songs, the warm summer breeze rustling through the leaves, the waning moon casting a cool silver glow over the sleeping earth. Beside you, the dying remains of a bonfire flickers and spits blazing embers, choking and fading with every gust of wind. The darkness is slowly closing in, the eerie shadows of the surrounding trees creeping closer and closer with every passing minute.

Gravity pulled at your eyelids, the sweet lure of sleep all too tempting.

Crack.

You shot upright, eyes wide and alert, ears straining. It was too dark to see past the outer layer of trees, and a heavy silence followed, only remedied by the soft crackling of the singed wood. There’s a familiar prickle under your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. It’s dark, but you don’t need to see to know that there is something out there. Call it a self-made sixth sense if you will, something you’ve developed and trained into perfection over the course of many years.

Instinctively, your fingers reached for your bow. The sleek black metal scraped against the large stone it was propped up on as you swiftly and silently fall into position. Unsheathing an arrow from the leather quiver, you pull it back against the string until you feel that perfect tension. The side of your thumb caresses the cool skin of your cheek, and you close one eye, honing in on the dark tree line.

Come on. Give me a reason.

But you’re only rewarded with silence.

After a few tense moments, you slowly lowered your weapon, brow twitching in irritation.

“Get a grip, y/n.” You grumbled roughly.

You were on edge. It’s understandable; you were in completely unfamiliar territory, with no reliable knowledge of the land or its inhabitants to lean back on. The knowledge which you did have, however (that being the knowledge that the nearby town had been getting ravaged by a bloodthirsty beast under the cover of nightfall), didn’t ease the tension in your shoulders in the slightest.

After all, that was the whole reason for your troop’s relocation.

A little over three weeks ago, the head of your troop received a letter from a desperate mayor, pleading for your help. They had a problem. Almost every night for the past month, towns people that wandered the streets late into the evening when the sun had set behind the hills and the moon had risen past the horizon, whether it be walking home from a long day of work or going for an evening jog when the summer heat wasn’t so unbearable, had been getting killed. No, not killed— slaughtered.

You’d seen the pictures.

No human being was capable of doing what had been done to those people.

Ergo, the exigency for your troop’s presence.

This town didn’t need cops, they didn’t need police or detectives searching for some rampant serial killer. What they needed were hunters. More specifically, werewolf hunters. Which is precisely what you were. ‘Slayers of the Supernatural’, some might say. Your job was simple: find the murderous creature responsible for the bloody deaths of thirty seven innocent civilians, and eliminate the problem, once and for all. Pretty cut and dry when you think about it.

And for a troop as skilled and experienced as yours, finding and ending this bloodthirsty beast should be a cinch.

But, that didn’t make sitting out, so painfully alone in the dark of night with a killer werewolf on the loose any less unnerving.

Now, you weren’t afraid of the monster itself, you’d held your own against its kind and worse plenty of times in the past. No, it was the deafening silence that was most disquieting. The stillness. The lack of happening. It set you on edge, made it feel like you had to hold your breath to get the slightest idea of what was going on around you. The wait had always been your least favorite part of the hunt, despite it being one of the most vital.

You’ll admit, you can be impatient. It was your most notable cause of failure back in your training days and in some of your earlier hunts. But you’ve gotten better, become capable of capping your overzealous antics, improved in terms of self restraint. Though, you’d still much rather be in the heart of the action than sitting on the sidelines and waiting with buzzing anticipation nipping at your heels.

Exhaling heavily, you slumped back onto the ground, exhaustion quickly seeping back into your sore muscles once the brief flush of adrenaline drained from your system.

Then you heard the rustling of leaves. But this— it was different from the sound made when the breeze wisps through them. There was a certain force to it, a heaviness in the way the branches clicked and the leaves crunched. It was the sound of a body moving through the heavy foliage. A large animal? Maybe. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. Not human. Not an animal. But something in between.

Your hand was around the grip of your bow in less than a second, body swiftly falling into a low crouch.

It was dark. But the moon spilled just enough light over the forest for you to catch a glimpse of a silhouette: a tall, dark shape moving slowly through the brush. You had your mark. Now you just needed a reason to loose your arrow.

Never strike without absolute certainty that you have your eye on the right target. That’s what Junmyeon always drilled into your head during training after you attacked too early and without proper understanding of who (the dummy representing an innocent civilian, in such cases) you’d been aiming at. Because if you somehow mistook an innocent for one of the beasts you hunt— it was a thought you didn’t want to so much as consider.

Teeth gritting, you carefully followed the shadowy figure, feet shifting silently across the dirt. Suddenly, your boot clad toe suddenly knocked a pebble, sending it skittering across the ground. You froze, and so did the silhouette. Then its head whipped in your direction, and the very second you saw the flash of two unmistakable red eyes, your fingers released the taut string, sending the arrow whizzing into the tree line.

A shriek of agony ripped through the calm night air. The figure staggered, doubling over, before quickly righting itself and whirling around, taking off into the dense, black forest.

You didn’t let so much as a fraction of a second pass before you launched yourself off the dirt ground and bolted into the woods after the creature, a delicious combination of red hot adrenaline and childlike excitement immediately consuming you. It was this— this feeling, this exhilaration that you lived for. That you hunted for. It drove you in ways nothing else ever had. The combination of blood rushing through your veins and your heart thundering in your ears created an almost euphoric sensation. It was a high, thrilling and electrifying. But perhaps those weren’t quite the right words to describe it.

Maybe it was the fact that for these moments as you were rushing through the brush, low branches slicing at your arms and face, cool wind winding through your hair, you could clear your mind and focus only on this one thing, on putting every ounce of your energy into this one moment to accomplish this one feat. There wasn’t— there couldn’t be a single invading thought, doubt, concern. There was nothing but boiling determination, molten in your bloodstream.

Ahead of you, the creature rushed frantically through the dense forest, weaving and staggering around the bulging trunks of towering trees. It was trying to lose you. But you excelled when it came to the chase. The fact that it was wounded also helped; the dark red blood stained the leaves and mossy earth, leaving a clear path for you to follow.

You were catching up, the distance between you and it growing smaller and smaller with each moment. You could hear the creature's heavy footfalls, the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs. Within a few strides, you were within arms distance. If you were to reach out your hand—

Just as your fingertips grazed its back, you broke through the tree line. The creature, caught off guard, stumbled. A fatal mistake. Before it had a chance to recover, you rammed your shoulder into its back, directly between its shoulder blades, sending it stumbling forward with a stunned yelp. You hadn’t even noticed the massive body of water until he fell into it. Always be aware of your surroundings, you reminded yourself sharply, before honing in on your target. The water, reflecting the night sky like a mirror, rippled and spat around the form of the creature as it attempted to scramble away from you. But you didn’t let it get far.

You thrust yourself on top of him, pinning his kicking legs down with your own and making a grab for his flailing arms. A sharp hiss rushed past your teeth when you felt something slice into your arm, but you paid no heed to the warm, familiar trickle of blood. It only fueled the roaring fire of determination inside of you further. He was bucking up, thrashing wildly, trying to throw you off, but you held fast, angling yourself in such a way that you had the upper hand. Icy water splashed across your face, seeping into your clothes as you used all your strength to keep him down. But it wasn’t easy fighting a werewolf with your bare hands. Not even a wounded one. And you were quickly growing sick of feeling the piercing sting of his claws cutting through your clothes and biting into your skin.

In one swift motion, you unsheathed the silver blade hidden in a pouch sewn into the inside of your boot. Every muscle in his body froze up at the feeling of cold metal pressing threateningly against his vulnerable throat.

Panting through clenched teeth, you pinned him with a chilling glare.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat.”

#bts fanfic #Jungkook fanfic #teaser #the huntress #bts #Jungkook #bts smut #werewolf Jungkook #bts au #fanfic teaser #sub!jungkook #sub!bts #Jungkook smut

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umbralstars · 3 years ago

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The melodic song of the Itha Gryphon and the call of the hunting horn mark the beginning of every dawn, every prayer, every hunt, every battle. As the southern lords submitted to the ever expanding Empire, the Plains of Itha stood stead fast in its desire for independence. Though it too would eventually fold peacefully into the Empire with intervention from the Church of Seiros, that spark, that desire, was never forgotten in the heart of its people.

Centuries passed and the once glittering jewel of the Four Saints was in steep decline. The Emperors, sensing their power waning, took increasingly harsh measures against the oft rebellious provinces of the north. From this era of strife would the roar of a lion horn on gryphon back resound in the heart of Itha. A mere peasant boy of a deposed linage would raise an army against an Empire in these plains and become the King of Lions.

Itha remained part of the nominal Kingdom of Fhirdiad long after power was established further south and has been ruled by younger Blaiddyds since even before the Clan drastically changed its structure post-Crescent Moon War. For centuries, the plains have been enjoyed by nobles and commoners alike for its vast variety of unique flora and fauna. It was but one province among the territories of hundreds of suzerain lords, but all of that would change with the creation of the Grand Duchy under his highness Grand Duke Rufus Cassius Blaiddyd.

Upon King Lambert's ascension to the throne in IY 1157, he gifted his elder brother full dominion over Itha. The new Grand Duke wasted no time finding untapped protentional in the province and, in a few short years, turned Itha into an agricultural and fur powerhouse. The city around Castell Itha has blossomed with the aid of astute urban planners and architects thus would later serve as the blueprint for Fhirdiad's renewal projects. With the steady increase in the Grand Duchy's wealth and power, Rufus began to consolidate the various duchies, counties, and barons in the north under his rule and bring them in-line with his, and his brother's, reforms. The most controversial of the Grand Duke's power grabs was, allegedly, encouraging a revolt in House Galatea's lands after a string of bad harvests. This would come shortly after the Count denied Rufus' betrothal request and instead betrothed his daughter to House Fraldarius' heir, but the rumors of Rufus' involvement has remained unproven.

Many in the nobility question Rufus' intent with forging Itha into a power rivaling that of Archduke Fraldarius, but with Rufus now regent in Fhirdiad, losing control of the royal court and his province, and Itha's heir missing the fall of this Grand Duchy may be just as swift as its rise.

More Notes and Facts

- Itha's main crops are winter wheat (as both a cover crop and food), rye, nordsalat, and other specialty crops grown using the aid of magic especially created for aiding the growing process in such a northern area

* Crops trade follows a strict hierarchy of importance with the majority of the crop going to feed the people of the Grand Duchy, then traded to the rest of Faerghus, and the rest is split between Fodlan and international trade. Rufus' reforms with this hierarchy and improvements to agriculture has made food more widely available and cut down on hunger drastically in Itha

* Rufus has made improvements to census taking for his territory to better assess population needs and keep and eye on the nobles under him

- Gryphon feathers are a popular accessory for clothing, high quality and durable quills, and a potent magical ingredient but due to cultural taboos in Faerghus about gathering and selling them outside of the Kingdom the trade is highly regulated

* Rufus has capitalized this by controlling the creation of potent medicinal potions which require gryphon feathers

* Gryphon feather quills have been a status symbol in the Kingdom for a long time and envied across Fodlan

- The region is especially known for having native animals only seen in this region and thus their fur and meat is highly prized cross continent and even in foreign markets

* Reindeer are a major herd animal along with Ithan Sheep

- The Archdukedom of Fraldarius and the Grand Duchy of Itha tripped backwards into a fight for control of the north. Rufus and Rodrigue have never been particularly antagonistic towards each other (until Rufus' utter failure at being regent but that's a whole other story), but Rufus does consider how many lords fled to Fraldarius to be a thorn in his side and was heavily insulted by the Galatea situation

- Castell Itha is the largest city in the territory and practically the only city in Itha Plains proper

* Outside of the city many people live in semi-sedentary villages with a strong culture of herding and horticulture. These villages were the starting point of the fur trade in the Grand Duchy. Outside of Itha proper there are smaller cities and villages that dot the sparsely populated landscape

* Others live in agricultural villages taking advantage of the new methods spearhead by the Grand Duke and his mages

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe3h worldbuilding #worldbuilding #holy kingdom of faerghus #grand duchy of itha #rufus blaiddyd #fire emblem #long post

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ineffable-snowman · 4 years ago

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And here’s my second Sambucky fic. You can read it here or on AO3.

Pet Psychopath

“Him? Really?”

Sam and Sarah were both glancing towards where Bucky was grinding the boat’s side with sandpaper with the single-minded focus of the Winter Soldier on a mission.

“I know I have a problem,” Sam said before Sarah could start to berate him for falling for yet another sad white soldier.

“You sure do.” Sarah shook her head, still eyeing Bucky warily. “At least Steve was pretty.”

True. Although Steve used to have terrible fashion sense, he was easy on the eyes and Sam suspected that half of the Avengers and at least half of America had had a crush on Cap at one time, so there was no reason to judge him for that. Bucky however, with his scruffy face and that murderous glare, was another matter. Sam judged himself for whatever feelings were creeping up on him.

“You should have seen him before he got a haircut,” he told Sarah.

“I did. Because his mugshot was all over the news. Jesus, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. The fact that Bucky was (or rather had been) a criminal was not what bothered him. After having been imprisoned in the Raft, he did not give a shit about what the government declared legal or illegal. He trusted in his common sense. Right now, his common sense told him that it was a fundamentally bad idea to develop feelings for Bucky Barnes. He had no idea how this catastrophe had happened, could not pinpoint the exact moment when Bucky had turned from a threat into a pity case into a nuisance into a reluctant co-worker and finally into someone Sam brought into his sister’s house and entrusted with his late parents’ boat.

“Right. I don’t know if I should hope for him to return your feelings or pray that he doesn’t.”

Truth be told, Sam hadn’t figured that out yet either. Bucky was thoughtless at best, often outright ignorant, petty and self-centred, not to mention reckless, irresponsible, a bad co-worker, and he did not like Redwing. And there wasn’t exactly a charming personality to make up for all these failures. It did not make sense for Sam to fall for him, and yet it perfectly did. Yes, Sam was fully aware he had a problem, had first come to suspect it when his parents had told him with constipated looks on their faces that, “No, Sam, we can’t bring every injured seagull to the vet.” It had been confirmed over the years when the teachers had asked him to look after the new kid in class or try to include the outsider and he had been unable to say no. Sam knew enough about psychology to know that pity was not a good basis for a relationship. He knew that and it didn’t change anything. Sharon calling Bucky a ‘pet psychopath’ seemed frighteningly accurate. (However, he heavily resented the implication that Zemo somehow shared ownership rights. Because it was Sam who constantly looked after Bucky, not Zemo. It was Sam Bucky followed around, not Zemo).

“Whatever.” Sam took the saw and jumped into the boat. “He’s useful for repair work.” Then he got to work helping his pet psychopath. He sawed planks of wood into smaller pieces to replace the dilapidated pieces on the boat.

After one hour, his shirt was drenched in sweat. Bucky was still grinding with the sandpaper, his movements like a machine. There was only the barest sheen of sweat on his forehead.

After another hour, Sam’s right hand cramped up. He dropped the saw and leaned against the side of the boat.

“How do you feel about a break? That something you do?”

“If you insist.”

Sam snorted. He could not believe he had to put up with this bullshit again. Damn supersoldiers. And yet he tried to engage Bucky in small talk.

“What do you think, how long until we’re finished?” He grabbed a bottle of water and threw Bucky a second one.

“Depends on how many breaks you need.” Bucky opened his bottle and kept staring at Sam while drinking it, never once blinking. Unbelievable.

“You keep this up, I might just throw you overboard.”

Bucky put the bottle down. He was still staring at Sam. “You can try.”

“Oh, so this is what we’re doing?” Sam’s heart was suddenly racing. There was no chance in hell that he could beat Bucky. But backing down from a challenge? Never.

“You talk big, Wilson, but I don’t see you acting on it,” Bucky taunted him.

There was no going back now. Sam was not entirely sure what Bucky was suggesting here but throwing his water bottle away and grabbing Bucky in a headlock seemed the appropriate choice of action.

Not that he succeeded for long. Bucky easily freed himself and proceeded to try to wrestle Sam down. Sam could tell that Bucky was pulling his punches because if he had used his full super strength, Sam would be on the floor by now. On the one hand, he was touched that Bucky was considerate enough at least in this situation and seemed to want to have fun with Sam, on the other, he wouldn’t have minded being on the floor. With Bucky on top of him. God, he was such a mess.

“That all you got?” Bucky said, grinning evilly.

Sam couldn’t help but snort in amusement. He was always glad to see Bucky happy, even though a grin made him look even more like a psychopath.

“You ain’t seen-aaaaaaaaaaaaa-”

It happened too fast to do anything and yet Sam experienced everything in slow-motion. A huge wave rocked the boat to one side. Sam, who was just about to back away from one of Bucky’s attacks, lost his footing and stepped on the water bottle. While falling, he caught sight of the stern of the fast ferry, and his mother’s words echoed in his mind, Always pay attention to the fast ferry. Then he was finally on the floor and shit, that hurt! He exclaimed a string of curses and then he finally saw what had caused the pain: he had landed on the saw which was now stuck in the back of his right thigh. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, ignored Bucky’s “Don’t!” and quickly tore it out with another string of curse words.

Suddenly there was blood. A lot of blood. Blood streaming out of his thigh, drenching his pant leg. Not good. Not good at all. Too much blood. Over the loud rushing and pounding in his ears, he heard Bucky call him an idiot and then he passed out.

When he came back, he felt pleasantly woozy, warm and well-rested. The next thing he noticed was the smell of leather, paint and sweat under his nose. He blinked his eyes open. His head was cushioned on a leather jacket and he was lying on his left, still on the boat, which gently rocked from side to side. Going back to sleep seemed like a good idea.

“Are you back?” came Bucky’s voice from behind him.

“Mm.” Then he noticed that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Huh. “Are you staring at my ass?”

“I’m stitching you back up.”

“You what?” Suddenly the pleasant wooziness was gone.The searing pain came back and so did the awareness of what had just happened – of what was happening right now. He tried to sit up but Bucky’s vibranium arm grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam really hoped he had misheard, but no –

“Stitching you back up,” Bucky repeated stoically, sounding somewhat distracted.

“Why?”

“It’s a big wound. You lost a lot of blood.”

“How -? Stop that!”

“It’s fine, I’ve done this before.”

“What, like in the 40s?!”

“…yes.”

“You know we have surgeons for this, right?”

“I’m faster.”

“I swear to you, if you’ve used dirty needles on me or fishbones or whatever…!”

“Didn’t you get your tetanus shot?”

“Oh my God, you did, didn’t you?”

“No. I found a first aid kit. It looked a bit old but seems to be good.”

“Seems to be?! You should have at least asked me before you decided to operate on me!”

“You were unconscious and bleeding,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “There, done. Not bleeding anymore.” Bucky appeared in his line of vision. There was blood on both hands, his shirt and even his pants. There was also a lot of blood on the floor around Sam.

“I want to go to the hospital and have someone competent check if you’ve butchered my leg.”

“Fine. But let me dress the wound first.”

“Okay.” Sam turned back around and let Bucky do whatever he thought needed to be done. Sam wasn’t usually squeamish, he had been in the army and seen much worse. But waking up to someone stitching you up with probably outdated surgical tools? Not cool.

“When I’m back from the hospital, you and I are going to have a long talk about bodily autonomy.”

“You can schedule it right after the talk about workplace safety. Because letting a saw lie around like that? Just no.”

Sam had to concede that was a fair point, so he kept his mouth shut. When Bucky had finished wrapping a thick bandage around Sam’s thigh, he helped Sam up. He was wobbly on his legs, still feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, and his right leg was doing weird things.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked the most superfluous question ever.

“Take a wild guess.” Sam clung to Bucky and somehow they manoeuvred him out of the boat and he hobbled back to Sarah’s house.

Sarah screamed when she saw them.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said quickly. What it looked like was: Sam in just his boxer shorts with a thick bandage around his right leg, leaning heavily on Bucky, and both of them covered in blood from head to toe. “It was an accident.”

“Don’t let the boys see you like this!” Sarah ushered them into the bathroom. “Get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll bring you new clothes.”

Sam sank down onto the toilet lid. Damn it, even sitting hurt like hell. Changing and cleaning up in the tiny bathroom was awkward. Without asking Sam if he needed the help, Bucky had obviously decided that he did need help and had started wiping the blood from Sam’s arms and legs with a wet cloth. They really needed to have that talk about boundaries. Not that Sam was complaining, though. The problem was, he liked it. (Not in a sexual way, he was not that messed up and in too much pain and in his sister’s bathroom – just no.) For some reason, Bucky taking care of him was what did it for him. And Bucky wasn’t even particularly gentle, just efficient and matter-of-fact about it. But it was apparently enough that there was someone who had decided to take care of Sam a little bit more than was strictly necessary.

“This is not exactly flattering,” Sam said when Bucky had helped him into a pair of too-short sweatpants.

“Pretty sure you’ve seen me in worse states.”

Sam chuckled but then winced in pain when he tried to stand up. He was too exhausted to even pretend to protest when Bucky put an arm around him and supported him into the kitchen where Sarah was making dinner.

“Better?” Sarah asked Sam. “Need anything from the pharmacy? I can send Cass. They’ve already played long enough.”

It didn’t sound much like playing anymore. From the living room, the boys could be heard arguing loudly over the explosions and the music of their video games.

“I need to go to the ER,” Sam said, “and have someone check this.”

Sarah grimaced. “That bad, huh? Okay, let me just finish--” She was interrupted by the telephone ringing. “Sorry, have to get this, it’s probably Regina about that delivery tomorrow…” She hurried off into the living room to get the phone. Then there was a loud smashing sound followed by both boys screaming insults at the top of their lungs. Sam hurried over – as fast as he could with his injured leg – to make sure they didn’t need to bring more people to the hospital.

It did not look like anyone was injured. Just the coffee table had been thrown over, smashing a vase and two glasses. The boys were at each other’s throats, apparently fighting over the controller.

“Stop it!” Sam bellowed. At the same time, Sarah shouted, “No, no, everything’s fine!” into the phone that was squeezed under her chin, while she was trying to separate the boys.

“Do something,” Sam told Bucky. Staring did not seem to help to subdue kids fighting over video games.

Bucky grabbed each boy with one arm and separated them easily.

“Let go of my kids!” Sarah shouted immediately and then, “No, really, it’s fine!” into the phone.

Bucky let go of them as if burned and took a step back.

“I’ll call you back,” Sarah said and then proceeded to give the boys a thorough dressing down that ended in the threat to sell their game console if something like this ever happened again, “and I don’t care who started it!”

In the ringing silence that followed, they finally could hear the bubbling and sizzling from the kitchen. Bucky was the fastest and yanked the saucepan from the burner but the damage had already been done, the tomato sauce had boiled over onto the whole stovetop.

Sarah sank down on a kitchen chair. “Can you drive a car?” she asked Bucky.

“Of course.”

“Do you have a driver’s licence?” Sam asked Bucky once they were in the car on their way to the hospital.

“No.”

“God help me.” Sam tried to find a position that did not put pressure on his injured leg. Hopeless. It hurt any way.

“Couldn’t exactly take driving lessons as the Winter Soldier.”

Sam chuckled despite himself but then he stopped when he remembered the situation in the living room. “Look, Sarah knows you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. But parents are wildly protective of their kids and wouldn’t take any chances.”

“I know, I get it.”

“It’s nothing personal. Maybe, once she knows you better, she’ll trust you with the boys, too.” Implying that Sam would bring Bucky to Sarah’s house more often in the future, often enough that she would come to eventually trust Bucky.

“Sam, it’s fine.” Bucky stretched the fingers of his vibranium arm and examined them with a frown. “I need to get your blood out of my hand. It’s not moving smoothly anymore.”

“Jesus, Buck.” Sam let his head fall back against the seat. “Please don’t make any comments like that in the hospital.”

Sam felt kind of sorry for the other people in the waiting room. They were injured or sick and now, on top of it, had to deal with the ominous presence and murderous glare of the Winter Soldier.

“Look, this is going to take some time,” Sam finally said to him. “Why don’t you go and…get a coffee or something?”

Bucky nodded and left the waiting room. The air eased immediately. Suddenly there was movement again. A mother let her kid down to run around, a young woman stood up to grab a magazine from the table, a man with his arm in a makeshift sling cleared his throat and attempted smalltalk.

“He’s harmless,” Sam tried to assure everyone. “Guy’s just got a staring problem.”

But then said staring problem was already back and stood in the door to the waiting room – with a cup of coffee in his hand. Well, that had not worked according to Sam’s plan.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky said. “I’m James Bucky Barnes.” Then he smiled an awful smile that did nothing to help his case. He sat down next to Sam and handed him the coffee and a chocolate bar. Pet psychopath, Sharon’s words echoed in Sam’s mind.

Sam had very strong opinions about coffee from hospitals’ vending machines but just now realised that he had not eaten for hours and gratefully took both the coffee and the chocolate bar.

They had to wait for over an hour until it was finally Sam’s turn. The doctor was surprisingly okay with Bucky’s stitches, and just cleaned up the wound, gave him another tetanus shot for good measure (because they weren’t exactly sure yet how the Blip had effected vaccinations), dressed the wound, prescribed some strong painkillers and told Sam to keep the leg still for the next few days.

So that was what Sam did. He spent several days just lying on the couch in the living room, getting progressively competitive at video games. In turn, he tried to teach his nephews board games and helped with their homework to unburden Sarah at least a little bit. He also did a number of phone calls to try to get that damn loan (unsuccessfully). How Sarah had not killed anyone yet was a mystery to him.

Bucky spent the days on the boat. Every evening he came to report to Sam about his progress, never failing to mention how he wasn’t slowed down by Sam’s need for breaks anymore.

“I hate him,” Sam told Sarah, who was happily showing him photos of the boat while Bucky was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

Sarah shrugged. “He is kind of useful. If he continues to work on the boat at that tempo, it’ll be ready to sail much earlier and I can minimise my losses.”

“I’m glad at least someone will profit from this mess.”

“He also knows how to gut and fillet fish.”

Sam chuckled. “Gutting fish and repairing boats – do you think those count as good character traits? Enough to justify falling in love with him?”

“I could introduce you to someone, you know. There’s this new guy in town, he’s an art teacher and he seems like a really sweet guy, very cultured of course and elegant – he is an art teacher after all – and he has those beautiful eyes... I’m pretty sure he’s interested in men.”

Sam frowned. There was nothing wrong with Bucky’s eyes. “Doesn’t sound like my type.”

Sarah sighed. “No, he certainly isn’t. You know, Sam, you do deserve a healthy and loving relationship like everyone else. Maybe give this guy a chance instead of always…” She trailed off. She didn’t have to say more.

“I’ll get back to you if I’m ever over the brainwashed serial killer.”

“It’s just that Daniel might already be seeing someone else by then. Like I said, he’s an attractive guy.”

“Wouldn’t be fair to Daniel if I tried to date him while, well.”

“You know what, Sam? What you’re doing is not fair to yourself. Look, I’ll send you his number, you can text him and meet up for a coffee, no commitment. Just give it a chance.” She opened the contacts app on her phone.

“Dinner is ready.”

Both Sam and Sarah whipped around in shock to see Bucky standing stock-still in the door, holding a plate with fish in each hand. Of course the first thought in Sam’s mind was, How much did he hear? Although it was hard to read Bucky, Sam prided himself in being able to interpret some of his stares. This one was somewhere between confused and irritated. Great.

“Great. Let’s hope you removed the bones properly and no one dies tonight.”

A deep crease appeared between Bucky’s eyebrows. Rightfully so, because that had been a stupid comment. But Sam could not think of anything funny or normal to say right now.

“Great,” Sarah said, then helped Sam up. They followed Bucky to the dining table.

Dinner was torture. The fish wasn’t half bad (no bones) but it was almost cold, which could only mean that Bucky had listened to too much of that conversation before he had announced his presence. And now he was staring again. By now, Sam had grown used to it, but this staring was on a whole new level, as if Bucky wanted to burn a hole through Sam’s forehead with his eyes.

“Staring,” he mouthed at Bucky while the boys thankfully babbled on about a football game a friend of Cass was organising.

Bucky jerked slightly but then finally tore his gaze from Sam and proceeded to glare daggers at the fish on his plate instead.

“Well, that was lovely,” Sarah said at last. “Thanks for cooking.” She stood up to do the dishes but Bucky got in her way with his superspeed.

“I’ll do it.”

Sarah shrugged and threw Sam a pitying glance.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced, explaining to his confused nephews, who did not understand why anyone would voluntarily go to bed so early, that he was really tired.

Back in his room, he flopped down on his bed and groaned loudly. How was this his life? Having a crush was one thing, Sam could easily suppress that. But his co-worker knowing about it… From now on everything was going to be so awkward. What had that stare meant? Would Bucky be fine with Sam’s misplaced affections? Should Sam start dating Daniel just to make it less awkward between Bucky and him? He buried his face in his pillow. Yeah, way to make it all worse and pull another, unsuspecting party into this mess.

There was a knock on his door.

He took a deep breath and sat up, dreading the worst. “Come in.”

Bucky came into his room, closed the door behind him and then – did absolutely nothing. He just stood there and looked at Sam.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Sam said after about a minute of ominous silence. “Are you going to say something?”

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it again.

Right, one of them needed to do the talking, and obviously it was up to Sam to be the mature one. Nothing new there. “So I’m assuming you eavesdropped on that conversation between Sarah and me.”

“The door was open.”

Oh, finally he was speaking. That was progress. “Anyway. I get that this may be awkward for you.” Sam’s throat was tightening up at the thought of Bucky not only turning him down but maybe even avoiding him in the future because he was…no. He soldiered on. “Just know that siblings often talk trash.”

“I know. I have a sister.”

“Good.” Sam tried to unclench his hands, which were gripping his thighs too tightly. “Then, what is your problem? Is there a problem?”

Bucky shook his head. He stepped closer and sat down next to Sam on the bed, never once taking his eyes off Sam’s face. Sam had no idea what to do. The words were stuck in his throat but it turned out he didn’t have to do anything because Bucky took his left hand, placed it on his lap and cradled it in both hands. So, this was his answer.

Sam exhaled, slowly, shudderingly. He finally met Bucky’s eyes that were still fixed, unblinking, on Sam’s. He liked it. God help him, he liked being the single focus of that stare, he liked the irritated and confused stares, the hard and sometimes worried ones but most of all the challenging ones. Sam was veering towards a highly dysfunctional and co-dependent relationship (if a relationship was something Bucky wanted – they really needed to talk about this!) and he was not willing to change the course.

They stayed like that for too long, eight minutes and thirty-two seconds too long, as the display on Sam’s alarm clock showed him, and each second that ticked by in silence made it more difficult to just speak up and say something non-monumental.

But Sam finally did it because he knew that someone needed to say something and, well, that someone usually tended to be him. “We should probably talk about this.”

“I can schedule a session with my therapist.”

Sam snorted with laughter. “She’d have a field day.”

But Bucky was not laughing, not even grinning psychopathically. He was still staring at Sam, waiting for an answer.

“Wait. You’re taking this seriously. You really want us to do this?”

Bucky gave a curt nod.

Wow. This was monumental. Not meeting up to get a coffee but couples therapy. “Right.” Sam’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. This was like putting the wings back on after many years and flying again. Frightening, yes, but also exhilarating. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

#sambucky #fanfic #sambucky fic #my writing

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eruanna1875 · 3 years ago

Text

“Hope the stories are cool.”

At the half-murmured words, Ben turned to their source in the passenger seat beside him, brow furrowed. “What was that?”

Riley, staring out the window of Patrick’s weird-smelling car at the night around them, seemed surprised at the question. “Hm?” When he looked at Ben, however, it was clear he hadn't realized he'd said anything aloud until that moment. “Oh! Uh—" He shrugged it off with a nonchalant grin, turning away again. “Uh, nothing. Sorry.”

Oh, you’re not getting off that easy, Ben thought. “What’d you say? What stories?”

Riley rolled his eyes. “Ben—”

“No, no,” he interrupted, before a snide remark could be made, “I heard ‘stories’ and ‘cool’. Now, what cool stories were you talking about?”

Riley gave him perhaps half of a death glare, and for a moment, Ben thought he was going to ignore the question. But then he sulked back against his seat, and seemed to give in. “Well—” He scoffed, eyes on the ceiling. “Ours, I guess. I mean, we just stole the Declaration of Independence, Ben! The Declara—do you have any idea what this means?”

Ben frowned: maybe he was avoiding the question after all. “Yes, I think you've given me several ideas of the things this could possibly mean.” Besides, I thought you’d be worried out at this time of night, he added mentally.

“Yeah, but I'm not talking about going to prison, and Ian shooting us, and Abigail doing a lot more than slapping and shouting if we screw it up. She’ll probably… I dunno, impale us with those pointy heels or something.” He picked up an old neck pillow (he’d knocked it off the seat when he first climbed up front), and put it in his lap. “You know, maybe that’s why the spy chicks in the movies wear them all the time—if you can get used to running around and doing all those acrobatics in them, they can double as a lethal weapon.”

“Well, what are you talking about, then?” Ben pressed before the conversation could get too far off base: Riley could easily and resourcefully use the smallest sidetrack to avoid a topic he didn’t want to talk about. Kid was practically an escape artist.

“I’m talking about America. They're not gonna let us off with a simple little life sentence. They're gonna have us pegged even after we're dead.”

Ben bit back a comment about him watching too many ghost hunter shows, opting for the simpler, “How do you mean?”

Riley turned to fix blue eyes firmly on Ben; eyes that, to his surprise, he now saw were grounded in a gravity greater than worry. “Ben… whether we win or not, we’re gonna be locked up for basically the rest of time. Why?”

He leaned in closer, and spoke with such certainty, Ben had to suppress a shiver.

“Because we’re going to be in all the American history books for basically the rest of time. Do you understand that, Mr. History Buff? Kids are gonna be learning our names in the future. Your name, my name, maybe even her name—and unless something crazy happens, like really crazy, then…” He sighed, and plopped back against the seat. “Then even if we keep the Declaration away from Ian, we're gonna be the ones they remember stealing it.” He looked back up. “You know that, Ben?”

It took a moment for Ben to find the voice to reply. When he did, he let it out with a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, blinking a few times. “Huh, yeah.” He sat back, stunned, as the full weight of it befell him. “Yeah...” he whispered again.

The fact was, he had thought of it. From the moment he determined to undertake the task, he’d been aware of it. But throughout their escapades and machinations, he had kept it as just that—a fact—an awareness at the back of his mind. He hadn’t thought about it. Not until that moment, in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night. Not until Riley decided to be seriously, deeply right.

And… he wanted to tell him that. He wanted to tell Riley just how dead-center his aim had been. He wanted to confess to him the sudden fear it had struck in his heart. But somehow, he couldn’t. What somehow it was, he didn’t know. But it kept his voice from him.

He started to tell himself he just didn’t want to worry him further, especially with the way things were now, but he knew that wasn’t it. Riley was the one who started this particular concern anyway. It wasn’t a matter of trust, either. This was his best friend—Riley knew things about him even his father didn’t know, and Ben would have willingly put his life in his hands. There were times when he’d had to. And there were times that Riley’s life had been in his hands, his alone, and they both knew it. And for all he knew, that could’ve been what stopped him from saying those words.

You’re dead right. We’ll never be forgotten. And it terrifies me.

Ben’s highest hope, even beyond the actual finding of the treasure, had always been to become a part of history. Just like his ancestors. Just like the Founders. Just like the men who had been his heroes since he was a boy. And throughout his adventure, there had been many times when he had thought to himself, you’re continuing that story. This is the same old tale Grandpa told you, but it’s not over. It’s going on, in this exact minute, and you’re the one carrying it now.

The thought had given him purpose, over all those years. But now, he could not help but wonder what his part in that history would be. Would he be a hero, like those men of history, the knights (official or not) that he had always looked up to? Or would he be the one to bring it all down when he failed?

But, whatever the reason, he couldn’t say all that to Riley. He couldn’t say anything at the moment. So the moment was filled with silence instead, a weighty, waiting silence, on the precipice of what tomorrow might bring. The burden of history, both written and as yet unwritten, was for him in that moment almost physical.

“That wasn’t the story I was talking about when you heard me, though.”

The breaking of the silence almost startled him. Ben glanced up at Riley, confused and close to bewildered. For a moment, all he could manage was, “Then… what—what were you…?”

Riley also looked up, and seemed to notice something strange in his hushed tone. “Oh. Sorry.” What was there to apologize for? “It’s just, I accidentally had, like, a lot of thoughts, while you and Abigail were talking. That stuff was part of it, but it wasn’t the main thing.”

He fell silent a moment, but Ben gestured him on, almost insistently. If there was more, even if it was worse, he felt he had to hear it. What could Riley have possibly meant?

Riley hesitated, then looked down and began fidgeting with a loose string on the neck pillow in his lap. “You were telling her the story. About the treasure, and how you got all that history from your grandpa.”

Ben’s ears perked up: anybody talking about his grandfather got his full attention.

“And I got thinking about it, and I just…” He shrugged. “I wondered about, y’know, what if that’s us someday? What if… what if we’re the ones some cool old guy tells his grandkids about? I mean, I know he still might think it’s bad, but at least grandpas and textbooks don’t really tell stories the same way. I assume,” he added, with a glance at Ben for confirmation.

To his own surprise, Ben felt a smile tugging at his lips. Something in that homier view of history—despite the continued possibility of failure—put him more at ease, as if he were still listening to old yarns at his grandfather’s house, slowly losing the fear of the storms outside. The cloud of heaviness that had been on him began to dissipate. Even the night around them seemed less dark.

Ben breathed a chuckle. “No, you’re right. They really don’t.”

“Yeah, so he’d be telling like a grandpa, not like some bored guy in Milwaukee having to crank out school material! Right? And then, like, he says,” and at this, Riley briefly put on the persona of an old man, complete with motions and raspy grandpa voice, “‘Come here, m’boy, let me tell you the story of the Templar Treasure,’ and the kids go huddle up in front of him with those ginormous eyes little kids always have, because apparently the smaller you are the bigger your eyes look, and he tells ‘em the whole thing, right up to where your grandpa told it, and then—and then he tells about us.”

There was a noticeable pause, as if it even took a little of Riley’s breath away. He smiled softly, almost in awe himself. “He tells about us.”

A few seconds passed before he noticed the gap of words, which he immediately jumped over to continue his own tale. “And—and maybe there’ll be this one kid who actually thinks about it and is like, ‘man, this Ben guy was nuts! He just goes, oh let’s steal the Declaration of Independence, and expects everybody to be totally fine with it? How could anybody deal with such a crazy guy?’ And the grandpa would be like, ‘Well, shucks, I always knew you were a smart kid.’”

At this, Ben laughed. Really laughed, clear and from the heart. How in the world could Riley complain and fret about their plans so heavily, and yet paint the future with such lightness that you could laugh at it? All the time he’d known this kid, and he still couldn’t quite understand him. But he didn’t mind. And, for the moment, there seemed nothing to fear. The weight was gone.

But Riley wasn’t finished. “Oh, but you know he'd still get pulled into it, the same way your grandpa pulled you in—the same way you pulled me in—and end up thinking it's the coolest thing ever, of course. I mean, who wouldn't, if they tell it like a Gates tells it? You guys don't skimp on the history stuff, especially family history. That’s what bought my ticket for this whole… train of thought... thing... in the first place, you and Abigail and all your history nerd talk the whole way here.”

Ben reeled back, taking false offense. “Oh, nerd talk, is it?”

“One hundred percent, man, and don’t you forget it. And it’ll still be nerd stuff when you’re the subject boring another average guy like me to sleep in the back of the car.” Riley threw his hands in the air with an air of finality. “And, who knows? Maybe one of those cute little grandkids gets all inspired the same way you did, and wants to go find a treasure and fight bad guys and figure all kind of crazy puzzles, and, heck, probably decides to go be a knight and stuff, just like u—”

He bit his lip, checking himself. But Ben took note of his near-words. Riley quickly continued on a corrected course.

“You. Just like you,” and he shoved his arm with a smirk, “Mister Sir Benjamin Franklin knighted-at-age-eleven Gates. You and all your Templars and Crusaders. ‘Cause I mean, what kid wouldn't think a guy smart enough to steal the Declaration of Independence, and crazy enough or brave enough to try to save it from the bad guys, was totally awesome?”

Ben was unvoiced. All his mouth could manage was a speechless smile, as he looked at his young friend. He felt like he’d just heard a little brother tell him he was his hero. And… maybe, in a way, he had.

But it didn’t take long for Riley to notice the smile. The moment he did, he covered his tracks with a roll of the eyes, hoping to pretend he hadn’t said as much as he had. “Except for the kids who actually have the misfortune to know you, I mean.” And on “know”, he chucked the neck pillow at Ben’s face, nailing him squarely.

“Wha—they have the misfortune?”

“Yeah, you know, studies show, the coolness-craziness ratio really gets skewed over time, especially where little kids are involved.”

Snatching the pillow from where it had fallen, Ben grinned and replied, laughter in his voice. “Well, maybe they should ask you to tell the story, then. You seem to have it pretty well mapped out.”

Riley gave him a look. “If I live to have grandkids, I might. And if that pun was actually intended.”

Noticing suddenly how the thought had come out, Ben considered it. “It is now.”

“Thought so.”

As he studied the young snark, another thought lit up Ben’s mind. One that simply could not be left under a bushel. But he did hide a growing grin behind his hand, as he prepared to speak again.

“But you know,” he mused, acting thoughtful, “I’m a little surprised at you, Riley. I mean, you left out one of the key historical figures involved in the story of the Templar Treasure. And he’s not one I thought you’d forget, either, let me tell you.”

“Oh great, here comes the history lecture.” Riley turned to him, eyes firmly planted on the ceiling just above Ben’s head, looking like a teen braced for a parental scolding. “Fine. Who'd I miss?”

“The other knight.”

At his confused look, Ben leaned back, gesturing with a bit of storytelling flair himself. “Riley Poole: computer genius and sole source of common sense, fellow treasure protector against the forces of evil and Ian Howe.” Then, as Riley gaped, Ben launched into a series of smaller voices (although he barely tried to sound like a child, let alone the three to four he seemed to be acting out). “‘Tell me more about him, Grandpa! Oh, he's such a funny guy, I like his jokes! How ever did he put up with that crazy Ben? That guy couldn’t have got anywhere without Riley!’”

Riley stared at him for a few seconds. But then, to Ben’s surprise, his mouth snapped shut, and the jaw behind it seemed, for a second at least, to clench. “Come on, Ben, not cool,” Riley muttered, jerking his face the other way. “I was serious.”

Ben felt a twinge of guilt at the almost angry reaction: Riley thought he was being mocked. But before he could feel so (mistakenly) betrayed he cut himself off from anything Ben had to say—a situation Ben really, really hated—he settled a hand on Riley’s shoulder. This earned him a rather cross glance. But, seeing past the glare, he looked his young friend dead in the eyes, with a small, sincere smile.

“So was I.”

The glance lengthened into a full-on stare. “Wait, you—”

Ben could see the exact moment that the words fully sank in. The irritation became stunned surprise, and that turned to a swelling, glowing pride. It wasn’t a joke. Ben meant every word. A smile twitched at his lips. Then the swell burst, short and sudden, in a laugh like a firework. “Wow.”

And it pleased Ben mightily to see it. The sight of those blue eyes lighting up with real joy, with no hint of sarcasm, was rare. And he was doubly happy, because he was also telling the truth. Truth in every single word. Including one word in particular. One that required a little testing. Ben paused, taking the moment in a bit longer, then lifted his eyebrows, almost humourously. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to drop the knight part…”

“No!”

Ben nearly laughed again at the eager speed of the answer. But Riley, upon realizing the same, nearly stumbled over himself to cover up with, “Um, no, no, that’s fine. The knight part… the knight part works. D-don’t worry about it.”

“Who’s worrying?” Ben grinned, hopes fulfilled. Ever since he’d told Riley about his boyhood knighthood (and truth be told, he’d never really dropped the title, at least in his own mind), he’d found it easier and easier to think of the two of them as fellow knights. But he never said that. He didn’t want to push a title on someone else if they might think it a little childish. That was why he’d needed a test, which Riley had passed with eagerness.

And yet, pleased as he was by that eagerness, it suddenly hit him how easily it could be snuffed out. The nearer they got to the treasure, the greater the danger would grow. He was sure of that. They’d already been through some real perils, and they’d escaped without injury, but how long would it be before they wound up in front of Ian’s gun again, with ever-dwindling negotiables? The old weight began to creep back over him.

“You are.”

Ben looked back up, confused. “I’m what?”

“Worrying.”

Is it that noticeable? “Oh. Am I?”

At that, something inside Riley seemed to crumble, something he tried very much to hide. “Oh.”

Ben furrowed his brow, definitely worried now. What happened? Did I say something wrong?

He started to open his mouth to ask, but Riley seemed to steel himself, taking a breath and lifting his head. “Yeah, and you know, I totally get it,” he said, quickly and in something of an apologetic tone, “it’s a personal thing from your childhood, it feels weird letting somebody else take over it. I get it. The knight part is your thing. So if you don’t want me tacking it on,” he raised his hands in surrender, “it’s fine, I won’t say anything else about it.”

“What?” This was it? After all the—he still felt out of place in Ben’s life? He still felt like he was being just a burden, a tagalong?

“What?”

Ben sighed and shook his head. “You’re not taking anything over. Knighthood is meant to be passed from one to another. And it’s too important a promise to tack on to just anybody.”

“Tell that to Jagger.”

“Too important for me to just tack on, then.”

Riley seemed reluctant to accept acceptance, no matter how many times he’d received it. “Really?”

“Trust me. You’re good. That wasn’t even close to what I was worrying about.”

He let out a quiet breath of relief. “Okay.” The pause wasn’t long, however, before he glanced back up. “But you were worrying, though. That was definitely the Ben Gates worry face.”

“I have a worry face?”

“Ehh, it’s rare, but I know it when I see it. I mean, it’s you. Worrying.” Ben conceded the point with a shrug. “So why?”

“Why?” Ben hesitated, taking a breath, but his mind made itself up quickly. No more. Riley had opened up to him; it was high time, however his friend reacted, he did the same. He slowly let out his breath. “Because I think we’re gonna need the knight part pretty soon. We’re probably coming up on some… well, some pretty difficult chapters of that story, if you know what I mean. And, if I’m gonna be honest,” and at this, his voice dropped, “I’m a little afraid to know the ending.”

Riley stared at him for a silent moment. Ben wasn’t quite sure what he was hoping for next. Hope I didn’t say too much. But then Riley nodded, slowly at first. “Wow. Yeah, I mean, me too, man.” His nodding sped up. “You know, maybe I will keep the knight part after all.”

Ben smiled, relieved, though he wasn’t sure why. “Sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah.” Riley was quiet only a moment more before he scoffed. “You know, it’s all fine when you’re just hearing about the dangerous stuff the heroes go through. You don’t really think about how threats to your life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness actually feel.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“But hey,” he shrugged, “at least those future-kids are gonna have a heck of a story. I mean, for them, we’re probably coming up on the best parts!” He laughed at his own words, but still grimaced slightly.

Ben smiled. Again, the complainer held the candle in the dark. And in that moment, Ben knew he was glad to have him on this… adventure, or whatever it could be called, no matter what happened. Riley really had been the common sense, the genius, the light (shaded in sarcasm though it was), throughout the whole thing. And Ben was sure he truly couldn’t have gotten this far without him. But he knew they were about to head off into more trouble when they got to Philadelphia tomorrow, very possibly of the life-threatening type. He had to make sure Riley was okay with facing it down.

“Sure you still wanna be a part of it?” he asked, nodding toward him. “It’s a big responsibility.”

Riley tapped the red, metal, tube-like container hanging on Ben’s seat. “I know.”

Ben nodded. “You’re right. There is a very big responsibility to keep the Declaration safe. We have enough danger just from that. But the duty of the Templars, the Freemasons, and the family Gates, now, that's all on me. Not you or Abigail or anybody else. I know I pretty much dragged you into this from the beginning, and if you’d rather stay out of the line of fire, I… wouldn’t mind letting you—”

“Oh no you don’t, Mr. Gates,” Riley interrupted, grinning widely and pointing threateningly, “you made me a treasure protector, same as all your Templars, Freemasons, and family Gates! And I promise you, I’m not about to let you write me out now!”

That’s a good enough promise for me. Then, attitude restored, Ben responded in a tone of dry humour. “Well, then, in that case, I dub thee Sir Riley.” And he smacked him on the shoulder with the neck pillow.

Sir Riley seemed to take offense to the smacking as a personal challenge, and snatched the pillow away. Ben could see a glint of war fire in his eye. However, before battle could be engaged, his eye caught a sight that was becoming pleasantly familiar, to him at least. He laughingly held up a hand.

“Okay, hold up, hold up, Abigail’s coming back.”

“Oh joy,” Riley deadpanned, a little disappointed in the forced ceasefire. Then, with a thought, he smirked at Ben. “You think even she’d be okay in a story? Like as a character?”

“Abigail?” Ben considered her qualifications for such a role. And he found he couldn’t help but smile; smile at her deep passion for history (close akin to his own), her unflagging determination, and of course, her absolute refusal to ever shut up. “Could be.” He chuckled softly. “Could be…”

He looked up to find Riley giving him a very pointed look, so Ben ignored him and glanced out at her instead. As Abigail crossed the parking lot, he pondered her a little longer. “Wonder if she thinks we're the heroes or the villains.”

By the time he noticed Riley’s movement, the window was already halfway rolled down. “Good question.” Riley stuck his head out the window and yelled across the parking lot, “Hey, Abi, do you think we're the heroes or the villains?”

Still halfway across, she stopped to give him a look and shook her head. “It’s Abigail to you, and for the record, I still think you’re lunatics.”

“Well, I knew that!”

“I mean for yelling across the parking lot.”

“Well, if we're stating things for the record, you're yelling too.”

Abigail simply rolled her eyes and resumed her walk. Riley laughed again. “Guess we’re gonna have to call off the Second Revolutionary War, huh, Ben?”

“Oh, you’ll probably break the truce at some point.”

“Keep on your toes, old man.”

Riley smiled, but fell silent as he did so, staring at the dashboard. In the moment before Abigail came up to the car, his voice returned. “So… just to be clear…” He took a breath before he spoke again, and looked up at Ben hopefully when he did. “Knights?”

Ben practically beamed as he nodded: he could finally say it was true. “Knights.”

Riley held up his fist, and they sealed their eternal covenant of knighthood and brotherhood with a knuckle-bump.

A moment later, the passenger door opened. “Also, you took my seat, Bill.”

“Sir Riley, actually. Nice to meet you, milady.”

---

Well, happy Independence Day, folks! Thanks for reading, and doubly so if you've stuck with me all the way through to the end here!

This is my first National Treasure fic, but my second Lord of the Rings fic (the first is ancient and in hiding somewhere). Since NT is so patriotic and honoring of America's history and forefathers, I figured I'd post this today.

The inspiration came from two things: firstly, that fanfiction I posted about a few weeks ago, and secondly, from the story scene in The Two Towers. The kids had the movie on, and I jumped in right around there. And maybe I just had NT on the brain, but that scene just suddenly struck me as very fitting for Ben and Riley. Who are awesome, by the way.

So I wrote up a (much shorter) first draft that day, and edited it over the next several weeks. And now it's done! And I'm rather pleased with it, for my part.

It's also on fanfiction.net and, for the first time for any of my fics, AO3, if you want to check that out too.

Again, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and happy Independence Day!

#my fanfiction #national treasure #ben gates #riley poole #abigail chase #lord of the rings #happy independence day

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berrydoodleoo · 3 years ago

Text

FFXIVWrite 2021: foster

“Well, my dear.” Master Matoya stepped past Y’shtola to look at the new crater in her underground lab. She’d stopped it from filling with water via a handy spell, but repairing the ruined brick and pipes was going to be a more physical sort of challenge. “Regardless of what stories Mr. Kribbet has been telling about my memory, I certainly won’t be forgetting about you anytime soon.” Matoya paused thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever had any student who was such an unmitigated disaster.”

Green eyes hidden by her sodden white bangs, Y’shtola growled under her breath and stomped a foot indignantly. Her wet shoe made a little squish.

Matoya rounded on her, quick as a snake. “And what was that, Y’shtola?”

Her last student, some twenty-odd years past, would have been scrambling at her tone. Y’shtola simply glared out from under her bangs. “Nothing, Master Matoya.”

“What was that? Hm? Can’t hear you when you mumble.” Matoya poked her with her walking stick.

Y’shtola batted it away indignantly. “I didn’t say anything!”

Technically true. Well, her lab might be ruined, but the girl’s spirit was certainly intact. And she had other labs.

“I think I will put you to studying white magic, for a time,” Matoya finally concluded. “At least you’re less likely to blow the roof off the place that way. When you’re grown and safe in your own lab, you can practice more destructive magics at your leisure.”

She turned, and found the girl gaping at her, eyes gone shiny. “What’s this, then?” Matoya demanded, startled.

“Then…” Y’shtola took a deep breath. “Then I can stay? I can -- I can still be your student?”

Matoya regarded her silently. The girl was barely an adolescent, still young and insecure, lost in her herd (or should that be pack?) of older, talented sisters. Perhaps her insecurity, hidden though it was, wasn’t such a surprise. A bit of careful tutelage might help with that, Matoya mused -- tutelage, yes, nothing else, certainly not parenting. Even if her young, overlooked student could benefit from it.

“Provided you do one thing for me.” Matoya stepped forward smoothly. “You almost drowned here, you know. That whirlpool would have sucked you under and held you till you’d stopped kicking if not for my timely arrival.”

Y’shtola withdrew into herself, but only momentarily: “Just tell me what I need to do! I’ll do it!” She stood tall, only her lashing tail betraying her uncertainty. “Is it the spell? Do I need to master the spell? I almost had it--”

“Quiet,” Matoya interrupted. Y’shtola fell silent. “No, it’s not the spell. It’s not my job to teach you forbidden spells, girl, just to fish you out when you go falling in. And if you’re going to keep learning forbidden spells -- and I can see by the light in your eyes that you are -- you need to learn something much, much more valuable than magic.”

Matoya held out her hand. With the other, held behind her back, she summoned the Crystal Eye and drew upon its bottomless strength. Her extended hand shone briefly with silver light, a small shield spell that was powerful enough to make Y’shtola recoil. When the light faded, the girl looked at her questioningly, and then took her aged hand in her small brown one.

“You are going to learn to hold on,” Matoya informed her grimly. “Not just with your hands, but your whole self. All your magic, and all your soul. Beyond all good sense and reason. If you can hold tightly enough to break my shield, I’ll keep you as my student.”

Of course, it was a trick. No amount of effort a child could bring to bear would shatter a shield from the Crystal Eye. But as the girl gripped Matoya’s hand with both of hers, ears flattening and tail puffing as she summoned all of her physical strength and the impressive might of her magic, Matoya figured the trying would teach her a valuable lesson nonetheless.

(When the shield shattered, it left small scratches on the aether in Matoya’s hand, like little bolts of lightning carved into her bones. A careful spell or two, a little mental effort, and they would probably buff right out.

But she kept them anyway. As a reminder.)

Thancred had grown accustomed to rough-and-tumble on the streets of Limsa Lominsa. He’d fought his way to the top of his gang and led an attack on the meanest group of slavers the pirate city had even seen before his sixteenth birthday. He was used to tough going.

This … this was something else.

Louisoix snapped his fingers, and with a musical chime, the winds buffeting Thancred fell away. Thancred himself narrowly avoided landing fast-first in the mud, ending up on one knee instead. Panting, he sank back on his haunches.

“Not bad,” his … friend? Mentor? Teacher? Foster father? said. “You got much closer that time. However, I,” he jingled the bells in his left hand, “appear to be the victor once more.”

Thancred couldn’t help but grin ruefully, staring up at the string of golden bells. “Yes, Master Leveilleur,” he agreed. With a grunt, he pushed himself laboriously to his feet, until he could offer a proper bow to his sparring partner. “Maybe next time.”

The old man’s mouth quirked in a crooked smile. “Hope springeth eternal,” he agreed, sounding rather like Urianger. Both Louisoix and Thancred looked to the edge of the field, where Louisoix’s other student awaited his own duel; even from this distance, Thancred could see him fidgeting nervously.

“Hm, well, what lesson shall I impart today?” Louisoix wondered. Thancred stood at attention, waiting patiently. “I believe you’ve heard them all this point. You certainly don’t need the one about persistence in the face of failure.”

Thancred winced. Louisoix didn’t mean it as a barb, he was certain, but it landed like one nonetheless.

“No, not that one. Nor the one about the tree that bends, or the thrush that survives, or honor like an oasis in the desert.”

Louisoix dipped his chin in a nod. Thancred’s face heated, embarrassed and pleased, and he looked away. Everyone else in Sharlayan might see him a shiftless thief, and those who knew his story saw only an arrogant rogue who’d gotten his gang killed, but Louisoix knew what it had all been for. One day the Upright Thieves would stand tall again.

“No, none of that.” Louisoix pocketed his bells, and came forward to rest his hand on Thancred’s bowed head. “Perhaps I will simply say … never stop. Never hesitate. Never look back.” He thought back to the end of their duel, and imparted a bit of strategic advice: “And always be a moving target.”

E-Sumi-Yan lowered the old book as he reached the end of the passage. His students -- orphans and foundlings whom he’d helped raise since they were smaller than him, all of whom (even Nanayepi!) would now stand taller than if they weren’t kneeling respectfully -- waited in silence.

“For a time,” the head of the Conjurer Guild said, “this chapter of I-Ohok-Pota’s tale was censored from common texts, as it was believed to cast the Padjal in a dishonorable light. With it’s unearthing came much questioning of Stillglade Fane and the nature of the Light that powers our White Magic. Quite recently, there were even fears that the white mages could be corrupted and turned to monsters. It was within my lifetime, certainly.” He paused. “Perhaps not so recently, then.”

A gentle murmur of laughter trickled through the crowd. E-Sumi-Yan turned suddenly, picking someone from the crowd. “K'selh? Your thoughts?”

K'selh jumped at being so suddenly addressed. “I-- I--”

E-Sumi-Yan beckoned encouragingly. “Please be honest, K'selh. This is a safe space.”

“I … it’s only, stories like that.” K'selh paused. “They really make me question if I’m cut out to be a conjurer! I could never make a choice like that! I … I don’t mean to seem ungrateful to the Guild or the Elementals….”

E-Sumi-Yan nodded. “I understand. Of course, none of you are beholden to the Guild. We offer you this training to help you find your place in the world, not to trap you within the walls of the Fane, or the Shroud. If the conjurer’s path does not speak to you, it would be unwise to embark upon it.” He paused.

“I cannot lie,” he said, haltingly, his seemingly-boyish voice slower and darker than usual. “Such choices come often to our ilk. But we must remember that our lives are given in service to the Light and the common good. Sometimes we must let one perish in order to save the rest.” His eyes closed, and he looked very much like a child. “We do what we must, because there is no one else to do it for us.”

The pause stretched. Attempting to shake the darkness away, E-Sumi-Yan looked up, and it was by sheer coincidence that his and Talia’s gazes locked.

Talia blinked, startled, but didn’t flinch away. Unlike some of her other instructors, E-Sumi-Yan didn’t try to force her to speak in class -- he had an uncanny knack for only calling upon those who felt a need to speak and simply needed encouragement. He seemed almost as startled as she, his silvery eyes briefly unfocused, lips parting on some unheard word.

And then he blinked and looked away. The moment, like so many others before it, passed without a word.

“The next passage begins when the last left off,” E-Sumi-Yan said. He lifted the book, and continued reading.

Minfilia says goodbye to the twins and Y’shtola at Mord Souq, before she, Urianger, Thancred, and the Warriors of Darkness go their own way. Alisaie gives her a would-be casual hug, trying to hide her worry; Alphinaud stops frowning thoughtfully at her long enough to force a timid smile and wish her luck.

Y’shtola stands a bit aside, in a little pocket of shadow, blind eyes peering thoughtfully into the endless light. She beckons Minfilia closer, apart from the others.

“And have you made your choice?” Y’shtola asks, without preamble.

Minfilia glances aside, picking at a seam of her gloves. “I -- I … almost.”

Y’shtola’s eyes narrow, her expression fierce as the wind whips her hair too and fro. Minfilia says nothing more. On one hand, the urge to babble is strong -- to let all the uncertainty and agony come pouring out, to desperately hope that someone, anyone, will talk her out of her fate. On the other hand, she can already feel her chin wobbling, and knows if she says anything more she’ll start to cry.

“I see.” Y’shtola straightens. “Minfilia,” she starts, and then hesitates, brow furrowing. “No, that’s not ... I wish we knew your birth name, but I suppose it’s too late for that. And Minfilia is a good name. One you have certainly been worthy of.” She nods, decisive. “Minfilia.”

Minfilia takes a careful breath, only a little sniffle-y, and comes to attention.

“Whatever choice you make, make it with all your heart. Whatever doubts assail you, hold onto your decision with all your strength. I believe there is no end to the things you can do, if only you persist in the doing them.” Blind eyes bore into hers, seeming to peer into her small, unworthy soul. “Do you understand?”

Minfilia blinks back her tears, and tries for a smile. “Yes, Master Matoya.”

Y’shtola flinches and averts her face, suddenly sorrowful. But there’s no time to apologize; Minfilia’s destiny awaits.

“But what about you?” Minfilia cries.

Thancred unhooks his gunblade. “Keep moving,” he orders her. “Keep your eyes on your target, and let nothing stop you. No matter what you hear behind you.” He hesitates, head bowing, and for a moment Minfilia thinks she might see her noble knight weep.

He turns away, voice gone choked. “And don’t look back.”

The air is quiet and hushed, where Minfilia -- the real Minfilia, not a pretender like her -- stopped the Flood and saved them all. “Whatever happens,” Minfilia whispers to Tally and Vahn, “you mustn't interfere.”

Vahn is plainly heartbroken, expression ravaged, but he nods. It’s Tally whose brow crumples in fierce anger, who kneels and pulls her into a hug. Hard enough to hurt. Minfilia’s composure, which has carried her through so much, falters and breaks at last. For just a moment, Minfilia hides her face in Tally’s white robes -- soft white, not cold and bright like the Light that surrounds them, comfortable and worn -- and searches for the determination and cunning Y’shtola and Thancred told her she had.

My friends, comes the Oracle’s voice, the Word of the Mother, like music. Minfilia gasps, struck by the familiar melody, and turns to find Minfilia -- the real Minfilia -- descending from the air to alight on the ground. She is barefoot and smiling, and it hurts to look at her, for all that she is less bright than everything else around her. Her terrible, shining eyes linger on Tally and Vahn for a long, long moment, her lips curving in a sad smile.

“I knew I could count on you,” the Oracle says to them. And then, at last, she directs her attention to her heir. She holds out her hands.

And Minfilia -- Minfilia steps forward, timid at first, and then with greater assurance -- she rushes forward to meet her, laughing in her amazement -- they are so similar! as if Minfilia was her mother in truth, and not just in her imaginings -- and for the first time Minfilia thinks she might be able to be brave, to go out into the world and be unafraid. And she knows she has made her choice at last.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2021 #y'shtola rhul #thancred waters #wol:talia #wol:j'vahn #minfilia #ryne #i have a lot of feelings about master matoya and y'shtola #and louisoix and thancred #and ryne and her family #my fic

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prismatales · 4 years ago

Text

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairings: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Category: Fluff, Comedy.

Warnings: Mentions of dicks in a comical manner.

Beta Readers: @strawberryakaashi @cassroler @dadchis-girl

Summary: There’s always a first time for everything. For you and Ushijima, this was the beginning of your unique holiday traditions.

Here’s my contribution to the Haikyuu Headquarters SFW Secret Santa! This is my gift for the lovely @kandyshoppe. Happy holidays, love! You’re such an amazing friend and a great artist. Every time I see your art on discord my tummy does a flip. Hope you enjoy my little gift for you, baby!

As far as Ushijima can remember, his family wasn’t used to celebrating holidays such as Christmas while most people tend to enjoy said festivities alongside their whole families or closest friends. Growing up, the closest thing Ushijima experienced was a small dinner with his parents, the dinner usually accompanied by a simple gift every now and then.

Ushijima’s family never got the experience of setting up a christmas tree, or decorating their home with things like those red stockings people used to hang over the fireplace. There was no need to prepare a feast for Christmas night since there is no need for letting children to make a mess in the living room as they ripped through layers of brightly colored gift paper to look for the presents Santa got them.

Speaking of the old man in a sleigh, that was a tale nobody could manage to convince a young Ushi to believe in, no matter how many times his teachers and classmates tried so hard to make him believe in. As a result, he made the other children cry more than once when he revealed that Santa didn’t exist…

For him, Christmas was just another day of the year, nothing he had to worry about...That is until you came into his life, and slowly began influencing his perspectives after getting together and eventually moving in together into this small, cozy place of your own.

That summer day when you moved into that small house was one of the happiest moments of your lives. Ushi’s stoic expression hid an excited spark in his eyes at the idea of having a place of his own, accompanied by one of the persons he cherished the most. And despite the many ups and downs that every couple goes through, he’s never come to regret your relationship in the slightest.

Every moment becomes another memory that’s swept away just like the seasons over the passage of time. Before he realized, all the trees had lost their lively appearance and the air became cold and crisp with the arrival of winter.

And when winter finally arrived, so did the same holiday he never bothered paying attention to, that is until you came along.

Ushijima noticed the way your eyes would always fixate their attention on the houses and stores covered in beautiful assortments of lights, spheres and wreaths, admiring their beauty with the same wonder as that of a small child. It was the same way you always paid attention to the surroundings during a trip to the mall, deeply enthralled by the soft tunes of the carols while cradling a warm drink with a smile, enjoying the soothing warmth against your hands with a serene expression.

And yet, despite the utter ADORATION for the holidays, you never suggested decorating the house, no matter how many times you both passed by the rows of lights or the trees they sold at the market.

“You see...my family never bothered celebrating Chritstmas before.” You shrugged casually, stirring the simmering pot of soup over the heat of the stove. “My parents were never that passionate about the holidays, and frankly we barely bothered celebrating birthdays as well.”

With a smaller spoon you took a spoonful of the savory meal, blowing gently on the food before pushing it towards Ushi, who carefully grabbed the spoon from your hands and gave it a taste.

“Is it good?”

“Mhm.”

Satisfied with his reply, you beamed softly at him and turned back towards the pot to turn off the heat so you both could finally enjoy some well-deserved lunch together. Said meals were always accompanied by some light chatter. He always had a new story to share about his teammates, and you always had something to say about work.

“Since this is our first year together...Would you like to celebrate Christmas together?” His question however, made the conversation differ from its typical subject.

“Well….it would be nice, I guess. Where did all this come from?”

“I see the way you look at all the decorations at the mall and how much you enjoy the songs.” He noticed you got awfully quiet, staring at the plate in front of you for a brief moment before turning back to look at him with eyes filled with hope.

“I’d love to do something with you for the holidays, but only if you’re okay with it!”

“Of course.”

Ushi's answer was short, but his tone of voice told you everything you needed to know. Needless to say, lunch was quickly taken care of before you were both out of the house and headed towards the car.

It was quite a sight for many people, watching you two go through the store almost like a pair of children with free reign over a credit card. Some people who recognized Ushi didn’t hesitate to take pictures when you placed an elf’s hat over his head (he had to crouch down so you could reach him.)

A couple hours later, you came out carrying a christmas tree, decorations and even some ingredients for cookies. Ushi had also brought something else but you didn’t get the chance to see it, since he put it along with the groceries.

Almost like a couple of kids, everything was quickly taken inside. And as soon as the groceries had been left back in the kitchen, the next thing on the list was decorating the living room.

Starting with the Christmas tree...

“ I...think we messed up.” You mutter, looking up at the mess before your eyes. Both you and Ushi are just standing there next to each other, witnessing the monstrosity also known as the “Christmas Tree”.

The tree itself has such a beautiful shade of green and looks so beautiful that it can easily be confused for a real one. The decorations however, were on a whole different level…and not in a good way.

“It looks good enough to me.” Ushi’s remark is filled with such confidence that you had the urge to ask if he was faking it. Because the thing in front of you two was anything but “cute”....

It’s covered from head to toe in such differently colored spheres, lights and strings that it hurt to look at it. The lights were also the wrong color, rather than that warm shade of yellow, Ushi accidently grabbed the ones that had multiple colors, which were also accompanied by an array of different colored strings….Needless to say, it was gaudy. The tree looked like it came out of a bad parody of the retro era...

That thing couldn’t be considered a christmas tree, but on the other hand, it’s not that bad for your first time decorating by yourselves...right?

“We’ll...worry about that later.” Your attention diverted from the shining atrocity, and instead it went towards the next thing to do on the Christmas list. Strolling once again into the kitchen with Ushi trailing after you like a lost puppy, you picked up the tablet at the countertop and began looking through some tabs, scanning the screen until you found exactly what you were looking for.

“Let’s try this one out!” The tablet is quickly shoved towards Ushi’s face, who blinked twice before grabbing the tablet away from your smaller hand and looked at the reason behind your excitement.

“Christmas Cookies?” There are different varieties of cookies displayed on the long tray. From Santa Clause's face, little snowmen, gingerbread men, candy canes to even little bells, all of them were decorated in beautiful shades of red and green glaze that looked absolutely delicious. The ingredients and instructions are relatively simple, easy enough for someone who’s never baked cookies in their lives.

The kitchen quickly resembled the white aesthetic landscape outside. There’s layers of flour everywhere you look at, the counter, the sink, your clothes and even your faces. It’s all accompanied with the comforting warmth from the heated oven and the lighthearted atmosphere as you both work in a comfortable silence, kneading the dough and rolling it into a fine layer, just perfect for the cookie cutters to do their one job. As you cut row after row of dough into different shapes, Ushi cut up some squares of parchment paper, laying them over a baking tray and shortly after, the raw pieces of dough were quickly placed down and shoved inside the oven.

With the timer set for thirty minutes, you turned to look at Ushi with excitement. He brushed the flour smeared on your cheek with a thumb, smiling softly before the two of you began cleaning the kitchen together along the rhythm of some christmas classics, waiting patiently for the oven to finish baking the sweet treats…

“....They don’t look like christmas cookies...at all.” The way you looked at these cookies was almost comical. As if life itself had been drained out every time you looked at them. If your cousins happened to look at these treats, they would think they were halloween cookies and your aunts would probably make fun of you for all eternity if they looked at the so called “bells” and “candy canes”...

“They actually taste pretty good.” You can hear Ushi munching on some of the baked goods. There’s a slight change in his tone as he enjoys biting into one of the treats without a care. When you turned to give him an unimpressed look, you had to fight back a snort. Was he really that oblivious about their not so innocent shape?

Watching him eat that baked failure had to be one of the funniest things you’ve ever seen since you began dating, you quickly pulled out your phone to take a couple of pictures as well as a video. Ushi swallowed the mouthful of sugary pastry and turned to look at you in utter confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

“You really don’t see it, babe?”

You tried so hard to fight back tears. And the phone kept shaking uncontrollably between your hands as it recorded a confused Ushi that kept looking directly at the camera. “Look at the candy canes.”

His eyes went back to the tray, raising an eyebrow in confusion at the deformed, yet tasty cookies. With the same expression full of confusion he turned to look at your giggling self “They don’t look like candy canes but that’s it.”

“Turn it upside down.” You’re trying so hard to contain your laughter at this point. It becomes downright painful to hold it in when he takes hold of one of the treats, all of his focus is on the treat’s shapes as he tries to find the reason you’re acting so strange. Until he finally turns the cookie the way you told him to. “....oh.”

You don’t know what’s funnier, the fact he’s holding a cookie shaped like a limp dick...or the fact he just kept staring at it before shrugging, taking a huge bite so nonchalantly, but by this point you’ve already forgotten how to breathe and nearly end up dropping your phone into the bowl of frosting. He may not get the joke concerning the treats, but watching you nearly slip off the counter in a fit of hysterics pulled a soft chuckle from Ushi. A barely audible one that you completely miss while you send Tendou a pic of your boyfriend eating those cursed Christmas treats.

“Alright, alright…” You wipe a small tear that slipped out before grabbing the outstretched hand before you. Taking a deep breath you look back at the baking tray on the counter. “I think we baked too many cookies. But we can still decorate and give some to our friends, it would be a waste to throw them away.”

“We can always make another batch if you feel like it.”

“Nah, doesn’t matter. Let’s just decorate these and take a break.”

After the little baking fiasco and everything was cleaned and put in its proper place, you decided to just lay down on the couch and take a break. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t disappointing that neither the decorations nor the baking turned out well.

At the same time you have to admit that spending time with Ushi like this was better than you could have ever imagined. So what if some of the cookies looked like penises and the christmas tree looked like someone had thrown everything representing the retro era, threw it into a blender and poured it all over a poor tree? You could still see a faint glint of excitement in Ushi’s eyes when the lights were turned on. The same glint that appeared again when he was biting on those delicious treats covered in powdery sugar.

You could say it was like an adrenaline rush that you were now coming down from, because slowly your eyelids began getting heavier with exhaustion. The soft fabric of the couch felt like a warm hug enveloping your body, welcoming it to the land of dreams with each passing second.

When Ushi walked into the living room, he was greeted with the adorable sight of your hands tucked underneath a cushion, holding it closer to your sleeping face while you laid face down on the sofa. The fluffy blanket that was always in the living room during winter covered your body up to the waist, except for the fuzzy socks you would always wear at home.

But the prettiest sight of them all was that smile adorning your face even in the middle of a deep slumber. A smile that he’s always cherished ever since that time he first realized he had a crush on you.

Perhaps you would enjoy waking up to a small surprise. With that in mind he went back into the kitchen and began looking for the stuff he bought along with the groceries, ready to prepare something Tendou had shown him during one of their meetings. Something he enjoyed so much and would love to share with you…

A delicious smell flowed into the living room, slowly stirring you awake from the nap. The mouth watering scent of spices coming from the kitchen was impossible to ignore, its alluring presence pulled you in like a moth enamoured by a flame. As you found the source of the smell, the one thing you didn’t expect was seeing Ushi in front of the stove.

“What are you doing, babe?” Even in a drowsy state, that didn’t stop you from embracing his waist from behind, nuzzling into the welcoming heat radiating from him. “And what are you cooking? It smells incredible.”

“It’s called mulled wine. Tendou showed me how to make it.” You took a peek at the simmering pot, which was filled with a bottle’s worth of red wine and spices such as cinnamon sticks, clove, orange slices and anise. He swiftly removed from the heat before it could start boiling and pulled a pair of cups from the cabinets.

And just like that, you found yourselves enjoying a delicious cup of mulled wine as you sat in front of the fireplace, cuddling together under the same blanket from before. The warm and toasty atmosphere, along with the soft music in the background, was one of the most comfortable moments you’d spent together.

“Did you like the wine?” He kissed the side of your head.

“Mhmm, It’s delicious.” You nuzzled closer to him with a smile, before taking another sip of the mug, sighing in happiness by the comforting flavor of the delicious drink. “I didn’t know you liked this kind of stuff.”

“Tendou taught me how to make it.”

“We should send him something as a thanks….as long as it’s not cookies.”

The room filled with a contagious laughter. You felt Ushi shaking as he chuckled at the reminder of the deformed treats before kissing the side of your face for a second time.

After his laughter died down, Ushi turned to face you. “I’m sorry our first Christmas together wasn’t perfect.”

“...Huh?”

The two mugs, now empty of their contents, were carefully placed to the side as you turned around in his lap to face his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“We were supposed to have the perfect Christmas together, but it feels like everything came out wrong.”

“Toshi, listen carefully…”

Your hands cradled his cheeks tenderly, thumbs skimming over his face and tracing circles across his cheekbones with a delicate sweetness he became addicted to.

“Things may not have turned out perfect but we still had fun, didn’t we? Besides, look at it this way, it could be our own way to spend the holidays! Decorating the ugliest tree ever, making cursed christmas cookies, having some mulled wine near the fireplace. I’m more than happy celebrating like this.”

It felt like a weight had lifted off his shoulders with your answer. His arms made their way around your waist, embracing you tightly as he captured your lips in a brief and delicate kiss.

“You’re all I want for Christmas.”

Taglist: @godtieruwu @hanniejji @savagetrickster @shoobirino @sugacookiies @unbreakableeiji @pixxiesdust @xmyshya @sugassetter @jayeray

#Haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu imagines #ushijima and reader #haikyuu fluff

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vale-studies-ir · 4 years ago

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Hello lovely people!

It seems that life made me take a leave of absence from tumblr. Thanks to all of you who have continued to interact with my page! I'm sorry if I've missed any messages or questions in the time that I've been away. I'm back now and I'll continue to share my journey with you all...

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In order to be able to keep moving forward, I think it's important to accept the past and move on. Accept any of the difficulties that happened, and see them as moments you've gone through that have made you stronger. My way of accepting and turning over a new page will be through this post.

I haven't shared too much information about my studies and how they've been going. My studyblr was very new, and I was using it more as a means for motivation by seeing all the wonderful things people in the community were doing. Little by little, I started to make posts of my own.

So let me formally introduce myself and share my ongoing journey...

My name is Valentina, I go by Vale for short. I jumped from graduating from my BA in International Relations and Political Science in the Spring of 2018 to starting my PhD studies in International Relations the Fall semester of that same year. No break, very smart... I know. That's only just the beginning. I'm not sure how it works abroad, but here doctoral students usually go through most of their studies being funded by a graduate assistantship. This pays tuition and provides a stipend through working as a TA (graduate teaching assistant). Of course they vary across universities and departments. When I was applying to the PhD program, one of my professors advised me not to accept if I was not given funding. There are only a limited number of spots that are given to incoming students each year that will be accepted as a TA.

In March of 2018 I received notification that I was accepted into the PhD program in International Relations at my university, however, the department could not guarantee funding for me. This put me at a loss, and I spend months wondering where this was going and what I would do. Because I'm an immigrant in the US, though I've been living here practically my whole life, I didn't have too many options. My mobility is constrained.. my access to scholarships is constrained (even though I may qualify for them in terms of academics and merit, migration status trumps over all of it). I was lost, to say the least. My family can't afford to have paid for this program or a Master's program out of pocket, and I am not able to take out student loans even if I wanted to.

Regardless of this all, I still attended the incoming graduate student orientation; which surprised the outgoing graduate program director. She did not think I would show up, considering the whole funding predicament. She and the new GPD told me that they would try to find something for me. On the first day of class, I showed up, still not knowing what would become of this situation. Not knowing if I would actually get to start the semester or not. We are usually given a week to pay tuition - because of status, I am considered an international student so my tuition came out to nearly $10,000 for three courses. That day, out of nowhere, I was told that the dean of our school (School of International and Public Affairs) was looking for a graduate assistant for new projects that he wanted to work on. In the span of a few hours, I ended up interviewing with him, being told that they would let me know because there was another student they were considering, and later being called and told that I got the position. I was ecstatic. I called my parents in tears. This was actually happening; I was actually going to be able to start my PhD.

It all happened so fast. It all seemed so exciting. The dean seemed very enthusiastic and pleased that I would be working with him. Things eventually took a turn for the worst...

Transitioning into graduate school itself is extremely difficult. Many graduate students find themselves experiencing heightened stress and strain on their mental health. I did not give myself the space to transition into graduate school without the added stress of being a doctoral student, without the added expectations. On top of that, the dean had not had a graduate assistant before. This was new for him too. The expectations of me were blurred and my contract would only last for a year to be considered for possible renewal (the typical TA contract in my original department lasts 4 years), this led to disaster. I needed this position to continue to fund my studies, so I needed to make sure that I was on top of my work expectations. Because these expectations were unclear, the dean's secretary took advantage. It seems they were short staffed, and I was given administrative tasks that did not belong to me. I was made to come in to the office for strictly 20 hours a week. (Our contract states that we work up to 20 hours a week). If I was ever sick and missed a day, that would be added onto the hours for the next week. So if I missed a day where I was supposed to be in the office for 5 hours, I'd have to be there for 25 hours the following week. A breach in the contract, I know - but who was I, a lowly student, against the dean? This office (a shared space) was not a place where a person could focus on studying. There were students coming in and out, loud conversations occurring, and having to see if the actual student employee in charge of taking phone calls was at their desk - if not, I would have to man the phone. While I was doing administrative tasks for the dean's secretary, the dean was having me create themed presentations and CO-LECTURE with him. Me, a person who had been an undergraduate student only months earlier. I had to create these presentations from scratch and know all of the material. All of my focus had to be on this. My performance in my own classes and mental health declined quickly. I could not focus, I could not get my reading assignments done, I felt unprepared. I felt like a failure.

After a year, I realized that it was not worth to have my tuition paid for if I could not focus on my classes and was set up for failure. It took a lot, but ultimately I turned down the contract renewal. Here comes the fun part. My GPA dropped tremendously. I graduated Magna Cume Laude just a year before. I developed depression and didn't realize it; to the point where a friend practically made me go to counseling. The office manager at my actual department knew what I was going through. I had shared a lot of my experience with her. She advocated for me. Because of this, I was told that there was a student who had been awarded an assistantship for the incoming Fall 2019 semester, but had decided not to take it. The contract was going to be made for me instead, for not 4 but for 5 years since I had only come in with a BA degree. When they ran it through the associate dean's office... it was denied. My GPA was lower than the threshold. A LOT lower. I was told by the GPD - the same woman who had just started her position that said she would help me, the woman that had gone on maternity leave during that whole year after she started meaning she was not aware of the situation - that I should really take my studies more seriously. She received a very long email from me and apologized afterwards, to say the least. Nothing could be done.

I had no funding, only savings and ended up working Full Time in Fall of 2019 in order to try to pay for 1 course, that costed me a little over $3,000. Somehow, even though I strongly considered it, I managed not to drop out. By this time, the majority of the courses I had taken before had INs - incomplete grades. Two of them had automatically turned into Fs. Things were not okay.

I got a bit of a mental break during that Fall semester. I worked in a friendly environment. The office manager pulled some strings and let me work as an office assistant there... so I was still at my department, but working as staff. It was a little awkward. I'm eternally grateful to her, she became a close friend. And because of her, someone at another department got word that there was a graduate student who needed funding.

This office manager was good friends with a recently graduated phd student from our department who is now working for a different center in the university. Because she was part of my department, many of my current colleagues know her, and are good friends with her. We spoke, I rushed to get my GPA up to the 3.0 threshold and with the help of my professor's I was able to be awarded an assistantship with that center. I started in December of 2019.

Again, I was ecstatic. Things were looking up. When I went in for the first time, I immediately felt a huge difference. It was a smaller, more homey place; and a lovely environment to be in. The people there were sweet and caring. I've gotten along with the few professors I've had the chance of meeting and working with.

Where did it start going downhill? The professor that recommended me (graduate from my home department) continuously requested that I work with her. Her reason being that I got along better with her (something that I was not aware of). Because she considered herself as my friend, professional lines were horribly blurred. I found myself doing additional work for her as a "favor for a friend." She then started having us meet multiple times a week for hours - distracting from the time I needed to actually get work done. This center does not cap classes - I've had to grade for up to 400 students in one semester. The meetings she scheduled were incredibly unproductive, and I found myself having to take extra time to get the grading done. Again, my own studies were effected. The past academic year went on like this. I ended up assisting in creating a new course and new assignments from scratch.

Later I noticed that something was wrong. I was doing way more work than stipulated by my contract. She was giving me access to her courses that I was not assigned to grade for. Instead of assisting for one course in the semester (the one with the highest enrollment), I was assisting for three. This was constantly under the guise of 'friendship'. How was I supposed to reject my 'friend'? When I tried to draw professional boundaries, I was met with resistance.

My mental health declined again in the fall and I missed a few of her scheduled meetings (meetings which she said were NOT mandatory). Because of this, she decided to throw me under the bus with the director and making it seem as if I was not actually working - when I was addressing students' needs and getting grades in. This worsened in the Spring. With the help of my counselor I finally got the courage to communicate with her. Albeit through text, because she's the type of person that does not allow you to get a word in during conversation.

"On that note, there’s something I’ve wanted to talk about. I’ve been struggling with concentration and fatigue. This is something that I’ve been working on with my doctor to try to find solutions. I’ve noticed that being in Zoom meetings in general where there’s casual conversation makes it exceptionally difficult for me to focus on what I’m trying to get done. This has been problematic in the work zoom meetings. You probably have noticed I seem really quiet, that is because I’m trying my hardest to focus.

I need to be able to focus during the time I’m assigned to work as a GA. Otherwise, I must take more time to complete tasks that normally wouldn’t take up that long or just wait until the weekends to finish them. That is conflicting as I have set that time to work on class assignments and my own projects. So in the end I end up falling behind and not working well because my productivity levels are being affected."

She seemed to understand me and be supportive. Then I noticed coldness, and condescending passive aggressive texts from her part.

I realized that I could not do this any longer. I could not allow myself to continuously be taken advantage of. Both of the people I've worked for were aware of my vulnerable situation due to migration status. They both knew that it was not easy for me to pay for my studies through any other means. My studies depended on these people, and if they 'liked' me. They abused and absorbed my time to the extent that my studies suffered tremendously.

But I finally stood up for myself. I spoke with the director and she affirmed that my concerns were valid. Time and time again she assured me that my studies should always come first. She supported me. I will no longer be assigned to work with this person.

I finally feel heard.

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It's been 3 years since I started my program. A lot has happened in this time. I have a lot of catching up to do this summer if I want to stay on track and take my comprehensive exams by the end of the year. But someone finally heard me, acknowledged the wrongdoings and helped me.

Don't let people walk over you and take advantage of you. I'm learning this the hard way.

Speak your truth.

#my story #my phd story #experiences #struggles #growth #don't give up #don't silence yourself #share your story #speak your truth #long post #studyblr #phdblr #phd studyblr #phd student #gradblr #grad student #stand up for yourself #keep moving forward

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