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hansols-yoda-boxers · 4 years ago

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In Bloom - Part 3

Plant Monster!Yunho x Female Reader x Water Nymph!Yeosang

Word Count: 4991

Contents: accidentally suggesting a threesome, threesome, vines and vine bondage, aphrodisiac pollen, powers that manipulate sensation what even is this, breast play, hand job, clit stimulation with fingers, oral (male and female giving and receiving), unprotected sex

Notes: @lustjoong ahhhh it’s f i n a l l y done lmao. I hope everyone likes it and I hope you really enjoy the wrap up tho I could write more who knows hehe

Prequel | Introduction | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

What Yunho’s Flowers Look Like

Getting to know Yeosang was a slow process. The rain of the monsoon season gave way to the heat of late summer and then the crisp days of early fall as you spent more and more time with the two. Yeosang spent more and more time with you when you visited, talking to you and telling you small things about himself.

Yunho seemed happy that the two of you got along. More and more you realized he had been nervous, having you around but not knowing about Yeosang. They were close and the fact that the two of you got along as well as you did helped ease his mind.

It did mean, of course, that Yunho and you had a bit less sex. Neither of you wanted to kick Yeosang out, you enjoyed his company. But you also both got a little antsy, particularly when one of you was already needy and Yeosang peeked in on you before anything could actually happen.

And so, maybe it was unsurprising that some days the second you found your way to Yunho’s little home he’d grab you and kiss you hard, leaving no time for talking. Other days as you sat and talked with him and Yeosang, he’d pull you into his lap and start kissing your shoulders or nuzzling against you and wrapping you in vines until Yeosang made some sort of excuse and jumped back into the water, leaving the two of you alone.

Today, you had a feeling, might be one of the latter. As you made it to the pond Yeosang peeked out at you, eyes glinting and voice calling your name softly. You felt bad that it made your heart sink just a little to see him. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, but that you were hoping to make it to Yunho first. You could of course just tell him to leave but you didn’t want to, despite his quiet nature he seemed eager to get to know you and happy to have someone else to talk to and it warmed your heart.

“There are ways for… you, to come underwater?” Yeosang asked as he swam along beside you and you followed the water towards Yunho’s home.

“I mean I could just swim,” you chuckled.

“Ah no. Can you… how do you breathe?”

“Oh,” you hummed. “Yeah no I can’t breath underwater.” You listened to Yeosang’s quiet chuckle. “I mean, if I could get my hands on some scuba gear,” you mused.

You caught Yeosang’s eye. He had a smile on his face and a hopeful expression and you couldn’t help the way it made your heart swell.

“I- I don’t know if I can though,” his smile faltered. “But i-if I figure it out I will. I promise.”

“Ah,” he thought for a moment before speaking again. “I want to show you underwater.”

“You do?” you should have guessed that was what he was getting at, but some part of it still surprised you.

“Yes,” he hummed. “I think you would like it.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you gazed at him, though the foliage grew up around you and grew darker. You knew now that you were close to Yunho’s home as it always got the thickest before where he lived. You wondered how many of the workers had been in this deep.

“What are you thinking?” Yeosang seemed to know you were contemplating something.

“I- do people know about Yunho’s home? Do people know about yours?”

“Not many know me,” he said simply. “I can… hide well. I think… only a few know of here.”

“I’m glad you two have each other,” you said quietly. “Otherwise it would be too lonely.”

Yeosang let out a laugh, though one too sad in tone. “It is still lonely. Less lonely, but it is lonely.” He said. “I miss…”

You glanced at him in the darkness, knowing that soon enough it would lift as you found the clearing, but he seemed almost lost in memory. You bit on your lip, unsure if you should say anything but as the silence stretched out, deciding it would be best to.

“What do you miss?”

Yeosang blinked a few times before gazing up at you, mumbling something too quietly for you to hear before shaking his head as you pushed past the last few large leaves.

“It does not matter,” he smiled at you. “We are here. I will meet you inside?”

“Okay…” your word trailed off as he dove down into the water. You did yearn to know more about him, but now seemed not to be the time. Both Yunho and Yeosang could be quiet and secretive about their pasts and you were sure there would be a lot you didn’t understand. You just worried, sometimes they seemed so somber and you wished you could help somehow.

“Oh thank gosh!” As soon as you pushed through the door Yunho wrapped you in vines and pulled you closer quickly. You didn’t manage to get a word out before he was kissing you and you couldn’t help the smile it brought to your lips. Your fingers found a vine and you dragged your nails over it lightly, drawing a small whine from Yunho’s lips but managing to get his attention.

“Is tha-”

“Yeosang is coming.”

“Agh!” Yunho plopped down into the soft moss, bringing you down into his lap. “Okay but if I just start making out with you-”

“Yunho, he’s always so excited to hang out with us,” you chided.

Yunho buried his face in your neck. “Is it bad that I just really wanna have sex with my girlfriend?”

Even in your surprise you couldn’t help the way you smiled and your cheeks warmed at his somewhat sudden confession.

“Not that- I mean I know it’s not- this isn’t really- I haven’t-”

You quieted his nervous babbles with a kiss. “I know it’s complicated, but I’ve already been thinking of you as my boyfriend anyway.” You hummed.

Yunho kissed you again, pulling you to face him. “Can I kick him out now so we can celebrate?”

“We can celebrate later,” you hummed. “And I know you’ll want to tell him.”

As if on cue Yeosang made his way through the door, wrapped in a large, soft sweater. You always wondered how he dried off so fast but you had yet to question it and you had a feeling it was another answer you might not understand.

“I have a girlfriend!” As you expected, Yunho couldn’t keep the news in as he squeezed you in his arms. Yeosang’s face broke into a smile, though there was something nervous behind it as he sat in the moss with the two of you.

“I am glad you finally asked.” He said.

“How long have you been thinking about that?” you questioned, watching the colour rise in Yunho’s cheeks.

“J-Just a while.”

“Over a month,” Yeosang corrected him. “I just…” he broke off into his own language.

Yunho’s face fell a little as he replied, resting his head on your shoulder as you listened to them, wondering if it was possible for you to learn it. You thought so, since they seemed to both make sounds like humans did. Maybe they would teach you.

“It’ll be fine,” Yunho finally said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“I hope…” Yeosang sounded sincere as he watched Yunho’s actions. “Should I…?”

“You don’t have to leave yet,” you said, though Yunho let out a small whine. “You just got here.”

“I think,” Yeosang looked between the two of you with a bemused smile. “Yunho would like you alone.”

You felt heat rush to your face. You hadn’t thought too much about it and he’d never mentioned anything about it before but it made sense that he knew you had sex. He usually just excused himself and the way he called it out a little more clearly had a flood of embarrassment rushing through you. Still you felt bad about the idea of kicking him out.

“You can stay.” You said. Yeosang chuckled and Yunho let out a muffled sound against your skin as you processed your words fully.

“I- I didn’t mean-” Yunho started to laugh and you smacked his arm as his laughter spread to Yeosang. “Shut up! You know that’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t know you wanted Yeosang to watch, sweetheart,” Yunho teased. Yeosang added something and the two of them cracked up, tears in their eyes as they laughed.

You shoved Yunho despite not being able to move from his lap. “What did he say?”

“Something along the lines of ‘kinky.’” Yunho laughed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You two are so mean,” you grumbled.

“You were the one who said it,” Yeosang teased.

“If that’s what you want you can say it,” Yunho laughed.

“I wouldn’t ask for that!” You cried. “That wouldn’t even be fair anyway, not unless he joined in.”

You should have known you were digging the hole deeper and yet somehow that slipped past you until Yunho cracked up even more and Yeosang looked at you with wide eyes.

“Would you really… suggest that?” he asked slowly.

“Has this been on your mind, sweetheart?” Yunho was still teasing you but you could feel the immense heat on your face as your mind started to wrap around the idea, unwilling to let it go.

“I-I- n-no.”

Surprise finally overtook Yunho’s expression as his giggles subsided. “Wait, are you actually serious?”

You wanted to hide in the wake of their surprised gazes and you curled in on yourself. “That wasn’t- You guys just- I-I mean it would be the only fair option, th-that’s all.”

Yunho was much gentler as he cupped your face and turned you to look at him. “Is that all you’re saying?”

Your head started to spin as you gazed back at Yeosang, taking in his curious stare and the way he leaned towards the two of you. Then back to Yunho, feeling somehow helpless and nervous at the prospect of it and yet, with shivers rushing down your spine from the idea of it.

“I-I- Couldn’t it be fun?” You finally said, feeling small.

Yunho looked up at Yeosang, colour rising in his cheeks as he spoke to him quickly, a nervous grin tugging at his lips. You hid your face in Yunho’s chest as they talked but you heard Yeosang shifting closer and your heart was pounding in your ears as different ideas, different images all started to rush into your mind.

You felt Yunho’s hand slip under your chin, finally lifting your face to look up. You followed their gaze upwards to the flowers along the ceiling. They bloomed slowly and what looked like fine, yellow pollen started to fall from his flowers. Your eyelids fluttered as the scent hit your nose and you breathed it in.

“What is that?” you hummed, relaxing against Yunho.

“It will… help us to not be awkward,” he replied before pressing a kiss to your jaw. Yeosang murmured something as he shifted a little closer, looking between the two of you with more intensity now.

“I’ve found it can,” Yunho’s voice was low as he murmured against your jaw and a rush of arousal ran through you. “Help turn people on.”

You let your hand fall into the moss as you finally met Yunho’s lips. Yeosang’s fingers found yours and you sighed against Yunho’s lips at the calm feeling that washed over you at his touch, a cool, refreshing feeling rolling through your body. Yeosang pressed his lips to the base of your neck, kissing you slowly and drawing his fingers in shapes over your skin that left a cool feeling in their wake.

Yeosang whined against your shoulder, murmuring something to Yunho who broke your kiss to answer. You gazed at Yeosang and a grin tugged at your lips when you saw the way his body was wrapped in Yunho’s vines just as you were, pulling him closer.

Yunho caught your lips again, his tongue pressing past them and the kisses growing deeper and sloppier. You let your free hand slip up and tangle into his hair. Yeosang’s fingers started to trail up your arm as his lips kissed slowly along your collarbone. His fingers moved until they met the strap of your shirt, next to his lips. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before pulling the strap down slowly, pulling your bra strap with it.

Yunho’s lips moved down to kiss along your jaw and you felt him smile as a vine curled around your other shirt strap, pulling it off your shoulder as well. His lips trailed down your neck slowly, stopping to suck at your skin and leave marks in their wake. You let your eyes flutter shut as you breathed deeply, though your heart was starting to race and butterflies tickled your stomach as they kissed lower, closer and closer to revealing your chest.

Not like Yunho hadn’t seen you naked dozens of times. That itself didn’t make you nervous. Maybe Yeosang did a little but if anything, it was suddenly having both of them focusing on you making you shy as they kissed down your body. Your breathing seemed to pick up on it’s own and you gripped Yunho’s hair just a little tighter.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, as if on cue. You peeked down to find him giving you a sweet smile before kissing along the top of your breast gently. You felt Yeosang’s hand slip into yours, fingers entwining and the feeling of calm washed over you again as he murmured “So beautiful” against your skin.

You let out a deep sigh, relaxing more as they pushed the cups of your bra down gently, Yunho letting out a quiet hum while Yeosang let out a low groan. You bit down on your lower lip as Yeosang ran his tongue over your nipple gently. Yunho kissed back up your neck and jaw as a thin vine curled around your body and then around your breast.

A whimper slipped past your lips as the vine wrapped around your nipple and tugged gently. Yunho’s lips found yours and he grinned into the kisses as you let out small whimpers and moans.

You let your hand fall from his hair and slip down his chest as you shifted a little in his lap. You let your hand purposely slow as you moved down his lower stomach, listening to his breath hitch and feeling him shift his hips. Your hand finally made it into his lap and you slowly started to palm him through his pants.

Yeosang let out a small whimper around your nipple and you pulled your hand away from his, feeling along his thighs and feeling the way heat rushed to your face and between your legs as you felt how hard he was. Some amount of confidence started to seep into you as both of them moaned and pressed into your hands.

You dragged Yunho’s bottom lip between yours as you pulled back from the kiss, smirking at the lust filled look in his eyes. You both gazed at Yeosang, his expression hazy and desperate and his lips still wrapped around your nipple. Yunho brought his lips to your neck as you moved your hands to the waist of his pants, moving out of his lap gently and slipping his pants down past his hips. His moans grew whiner as you turned to Yeosang, slipping him out of his pants as well before wrapping a hand around each of their cocks.

Both of them let out beautiful moans as you started to pump them and tease the tips of their cocks, their sounds muffled against your skin. Yunho’s fingers slid along your thighs and you parted them for him, feeling his vine wrap just a little tighter around your nipple as he groaned against your neck, his fingers easily pushing into your pants and between your legs.

You let out a moan as his fingers dragged through your folds, gathering your arousal before teasing your clit slowly. Sparks of pleasure ignited within you and you started to slip into desperation, pumping each of them a little faster and letting your head fall back as you rocked your hips down, following the movements of Yunho’s fingers.

Moans fell from all of your lips as you each moved your hips, desperate for more contact, more sensation. Yunho’s and Yeosang’s moans were muffled against your skin but each of yours had them bucking into your hands and groaning against you. You heard Yeosang’s moans grow whiny as his lips started to move up your chest until he could nip at your ear.

“Please,” he hummed. “More.”

Heat rushed through you and you let out a low moan at his words and all of Yunho’s vines wrapped you both a little tighter as he raised his gaze, heated and lust filled as he regarded Yeosang before pressing a kiss under your ear.

“I agree,” Yunho murmured smoothly. “Let’s move on.”

You bit down on your lip and nodded, feeling his vines shift on you before he was gripping at your shirt to pull it off and Yeosang’s hand was sliding up your back to undo your bra. You sighed at the feeling of their fingertips on your skin, moving lightly but you were already sensitive enough for it to add to your arousal.

Yunho’s hands travelled down to your hips, properly pulling off your pants as Yeosang pressed kisses along your shoulders and his fingertips came up to play with your nipples, sending a cool feeling rushing through you as pleasure sparked within your body. Your heavily lidded gaze slipped down to Yunho, fingers pushing your thighs apart and smirking up at you. You leaned back into Yeosang and spread your legs a little wider for him, letting out small gasps as his tongue licked at your folds and over your clit.

A few whimpers fell from your lips but they were short lived as Yunho pulled away, his gaze meeting Yeosang’s over your shoulder. He spoke quickly to him as you squirmed, feeling impatient for more and he soothed you, rubbing his hand comfortingly over your thigh until he started to chuckle.

You looked back at Yeosang to see him blushing, seeming to stumble a little over his words but a nervous grin tugging at his lips. You looked between the two of them until Yeosang was nodding and moving away from you whined at the loss of contact, a pout jutting out your lower lip. Yeosang and Yunho slipped off their pants fully and Yeosang his sweater as Yunho grinned at you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Yunho hummed. “Lay down for me.”

You laid back in the soft moss and a squeal fell from your lips as Yuhno flipped you onto your side quickly. You caught the smirk on his face as he rolled onto his side and shifted between your legs, wrapping you in vines to keep you steady. Your eyes met Yeosang’s catching the desperate, heated look he wore as he laid down too and you finally caught onto Yunho’s idea.

As Yeosang moved his hips towards you, you reached out and wrapped your hand around his cock, urging him closer to you. He let out a low moan as you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, vines wrapping around him as well and Yunho sucking your clit between his lips to draw a moan from you.

You peeked at Yeosang, savouring his pants and moans as he moved a little closer to Yunho, colour tinting his cheeks and gaze hazy as he took Yunho’s cock into his mouth and Yunho groaned against your core, sending vibrations of pleasure shooting through you.

You moaned and let your eyes fall closed, trying to focus your mind on teasing the underside of Yeosang’s cock with your tongue, the way he rocked his hips into your mouth and moaned around Yunho. Your hand moved slowly on the base of his cock, twisting slightly and finally taking more of him into your mouth.

Yunho’s tongue dragged through your folds, growing more feverish as Yeosang sucked him off. He focused his attention on your sensitive clit, running his tongue over it just the way you liked and gripping your hips tightly as they tried the buck and roll against his face, desire burning bright inside you.

Pleasure sparked through you, the flame burning hotter and hotter by the second. Yunho’s tongue knew you too well by now and he had you coming undone for him far too fast, thighs trembling slightly as your hips moved against his face in a plea for more, moans muffled by the cock between your lips.

You let out soft curses and moans around Yeosang as you took him as deeply as you could into your mouth, sucking him off quickly. His and Yunho’s moans only served to turn you on more, mind spinning and body burning as you started to climb towards your edge, your free hand gripping Yeosang’s hip tightly.

Yunho let his tongue dip into your heat, unable to stop himself from groaning at your taste and hips bucking into Yeosang’s mouth, drawing a whimper from the nymph, his hips bucking gently towards you as you hollowed your cheeks around him.

You heard Yunho curse between your legs before running his tongue over your clit and sucking it between his lips. Each of you bucked and rolled your hips into the others mouths, letting out muffled moans, Yunho’s hands and vines holding your tightly as a nearby flower burst open.

Yunho let out a beautiful moan against you and Yeosang a muffled whine as Yunho released into his mouth, bucking and thrusting as he came. He let out a few pants against you before sucking your clit between his lips harshly.

You cried out around Yeosang’s cock as you came. Your release crashed over you and your thighs squeezed in around his head as you rolled your hips and rode out your high on his tongue. The sensations sucked you under into bliss, panting and whimpering as sensitivity took over your body.

Yunho sat up slowly, pulling you up along with him and kissing you deeply. Arousal rushed through you at your own taste on his lips and as you heard Yeosang’s whine, you reached out behind yourself, finding his hand and pulling him a little closer. He sat up shakily, kissing up your neck and moving up your check until you shifted to kiss him, moaning quietly at the taste of Yunho’s cum on his lips, fingers tugging at Yunho’s hair.

“Yunho, lay down for me,” you hummed, a thought forming in your hazy head. Yunho regarded you curiously before doing what you asked. You pulled Yeosang with you as you moved around until you were between Yunho’s legs. You gave him a smirk as you wrapped your hand around his cock and kissed the tip, then lifted your hips at the air, gazing back over your shoulder at Yeosang and wiggling your hips.

“You haven’t cum get, Yeosang.”

Yeosang said something, and despite you not knowing the word you were sure it was a curse as he moved behind you, groaning as he ground his cock against your ass and his hands found your hips. You pressed back against him as your eyes met Yunho’s and he groaned, taking in the sight and already sensitive as you started to tease his cock with your tongue.

Yeosang guided his cock into you slowly, letting a beautiful deep moan fall from his lips as he sunk his cock into you. You let out a moan and Yunho’s fingers threaded into your hair, vines curled up your arms and small flowers blooming on them as he guided your mouth onto his cock, heat burning in his intense gaze.

Yeosang pulled his hips back before thrusting into you and your thighs trembled as you moaned around Yunho’s cock, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure rushing through your body. Yunho let out a breathy chuckle.

“You look so fucked out already, sweetheart,” he teased. “You need to make sure you moan loud enough to let him know.”

Yunho spoke to Yeosang and the way they spoke, the deep tones of their voices made your head spin and had you clenching around Yeosang as you hollowed your cheeks around Yunho and his hand pushed your head down just a little more on his cock.

Yeosang’s pace picked up, thrusts becoming rougher. The pleasure in your core mixed with a cool, intense feeling rushing through you from his touch. The sensation had you trembling as Yunho started to rock up into your mouth. A sweet smell surrounded you again as more pollen fell around all of you and each of you moaned, arousal rushing through you.

Yeosang began to snap his hips into you, chasing the high that had already been close at hand. His movements pushed you forward onto Yunho’s cock and you relaxed your jaw as much as you could, taking him deeper into your mouth as you did your best to suck him off. You heard Yeosang’s voice, breathy and low as your name fell off his lips over and over like a mantra. Your movements on Yunho’s cock grew more messy but he didn’t seem to mind, guiding your head and letting out groans. Drool started to slip from the corners of your mouth and your body shook.

Pleasure rushed through you and you felt Yunho’s vines curl around you tightly. Each thrust into your heat was like a wave of pleasure taking over you and had you pressing your hips back messily for more. The coil inside you curled tighter and tighter as Yunho bucked up into your mouth. You felt vines curl around your nipples and tug them, far more harshly than earlier and nearly overwhelming you with sensations.

You clenched around Yeosang, shaking and moaning so incredibly close to your edge again. Yeosang’s hips snapped into you roughly, beautiful sounds falling off of his lips and grip on your hips tight. Each deep, quick movement building until your eyes rolled back and fluttered shut from the pleasure as you moaned out around Yunho’s cock.

Yeosang pulled out fully, pumping his cock over your back as he let out gorgeous low moans. His cum landed on your ass, dripping down and slipping down to the small of your back, a calming feeling soaking into you from his release. He collapsed into the soft moss beside you, panting.

Yunho was quick to flip you onto your back, drawing a gasp from your lips as your needy gaze caught his. His lips crashed against yours as he wedged himself between your legs and sunk his cock into your heat, both of you on the edge of cumming again.

His hips snapped against yours as he moaned against your lips, and your fingers dug into the soft moss beneath you as pleasure rushed through you from each of his rough thrusts. The coil in your core curled impossibly tight as you built closer and closer to your peek, thighs shaking and squeezing around Yunho’s waist.

You felt Yeosang’s fingers touch yours. His lips pressed lazily against your shoulder as his panting slowly calmed. He pulled your hand from the moss and laced his fingers with yours again. A small whine left his lips as he sent a rush of sensation through your body, refreshing and cool and at the same time extremely arousing.

Your back arched off the ground below as you cried out. You clenched hard around Yunho as you came. Your eyes squeezed shut and stars burst in your vision and you felt dizzy as you body shook hard. Pleasure crashed over you in a wave as your orgasm reached every inch of your body, sensations rushing through you to your fingertips and toes and the feeling dragging out, your body continuing to cum as Yunho snapped his hips into you and your cries turned to screams.

Yunho let out low moans and his hips grew sloppy as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own thighs trembling from the effort but his hips not letting up as his lips fell against your neck, your name falling off his lips over and over.

As you started to come down your entire body trembled. Yunho’s hips stuttered to a stop as he released inside you and let out a loud moan, holding you as tight as he could. His breaths came out shaky as he ground against you shallowly until he’s finished riding out his high.

Yunho’s body was trembling as he pulled out of you before collapsing into the moss on your other side, panting heavily and reaching out for your hand. You laced your fingers with his and squeezed both of their hands.

“That was so good,” you breathed.

“I see now why you both… often kick me out,” Yeosang hummed. You felt heat rush to your face but Yeosang let out a chuckle and squeezed your hand. “Do not worry, I will not join in every time.”

“I don’t think she’d mind if you did,” Yunho laughed, though it was cut short, morphing into a groan as you kneed him in the thigh.

“I’m not the only one,” you let your head fall to the side and took in the pink on his cheeks and the sheepish grin on his lips. “I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself.”

“Then,” You turned your head and your heart melted a little at the deep blush on his cheeks. “May I join you… sometimes?”

Yunho rolled onto his side, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I think so,” he hummed.

“Absolutely,” you smiled, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

#in bloom #ateez imagines #ateez smut #yunho imagines #yunho smut #jeong yunho imagines #jeong yunho smut #yeosang imagines #yeosang smut #kang yeosang imagines #kang yeosang smut

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anxiouslyfred · 4 years ago

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Moss Graffiti

Summary: Virgil was convinced his soulmate worked in nuclear power from the poem he got describing them. He’s about to learn how wrong that is, and how weirdly some corporations view graffiti.

/\/\

Virgil's soulmate had to do something in nuclear power. He was certain of it. Why else would his poem include the line 'Green pollution close to hand'?

Really he'd taken decades to reach that conclusion, trying to decide what it could mean. Pollution usually wasn't anything green at all, but from those Simpsons opening credits, to the glow shows always used for nuclear radiation, that had to be what was intended. Unless there was something else being done that corporations would try to claim as pollution, but that just opened too many trails for his thoughts to follow.

“Uneven floors present a trip hazard and either need indicating or fixing. That's the most important issue, I've found, shall we continue through the rest?” Virgil shook the momentary thoughts of his soulmate from his head, focusing back on the Health & Safety inspection he was doing.

The offices were just waiting for an accident to happen in a lot of places, and if he had to yell to actually get the manager to come over instead of the receptionist, he would be. There's no point booking him to conduct the inspection if they just wanted to ignore the issues raised in his report.

“Mr Furniss has requested you confirm if the pollution on the outer walls will need a specialist to remove.” The receptionist, Miss Mauby, asked, noting down his comments.

“I haven't noticed any pollution. Do you mind showing me the section he's referring to?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. There had been some graffiti on one of the walls near the entrance, but it hadn't looked like anything he'd need to take note of.

The wall he was led to pretty much guaranteed he would be storming back into the manager's office to give his report. Wasting his time demanding answers that a fool could tell was simply moss was absurd, despite the design and words showing it was all deliberately placed. Virgil already agreed that the company had a lot of issues it needed to be addressing, especially regarding the waste products being incorrectly disposed of at the factory site.

Turning to Miss Mauby he nodded, “I believe it would be best for me to give my initial review to Mr Furniss directly, and I'll send the report over in a matter of days.” He didn't wait for a reply, already returning to the building and the office that was indicated to belong to the site manager.

By the time Virgil was leaving the site, he'd begun to calm down and find it amusing. The manager of the place really did think that graffiti was pollution and not just unauthorised artwork. Perhaps they needed some language lessons to clear up the definition and impact of using the wrong terms. Science classes could help more though.

When he glanced back towards the moss words, he had to call over, “Better get away from there. I think Mr Furniss mentioned getting cameras set up to monitor their walls.”

“I'll find some other wall to protest on then. He can't monitor them all and ignores any emails or government mandates to follow the laws for disposal of contaminated waste.” The person called back, voice shrill and uncaring.

Virgil wandered closer, a little curious to know more. “How did you even manage it anyway? I didn't think you could control where or how moss grows.”

“I made moss paint and spray with water each afternoon. For this lot at least. I've got twenty other sites I do this too and commissions to take for peoples gardens occasionally.” Virgil began to worry he'd asked the wrong thing with the lack of energy compared to the person's original response before they jumped to face him, “I'm making nature fight back for itself when it can't speak. The moss, lichens and plants shall rise to destroy humanity with my aid!”

“Okay, cool, erm good luck with that. I'll leave you to it then.” Virgil backed away at the yell, startled and very concerned that if someone in the office came out to see him talking with the moss graffiti guy he could lose payment for his services.

It was only once he got home that Virgil thought whoever it was looking after that moss seemed to fill 3 of the 4 lines in his soul poem, especially with that companies boss claiming graffiti was pollution.

He checked while swapping his jacket for a hoodie and the idea only grew at the familiar lines:

Uncontrolled by any rule,

Dangerous Attitude, surface cool.

Green pollution close to hand.

Trust fleeting as the sand.

Virgil had gotten the poem as a tattoo as soon as he was old enough to. He didn't want anybody finding out what his poem was and the easiest way to ensure that was to keep the only record of it literally on him.

Perhaps they'd encounter each other again in the city. Virgil did have other gigs coming up for offices of corporations known to be major polluters.

/Over to the Graffiti Artist\

Remus had been curious about the guy who'd come over asking about his graffiti, but he got people running away from him. It happened often enough pretty much anytime he tried to make friends.

He pushed the curiosity out of his mind though, focusing on that morning's project. He was still cultivating the moss on the edge of an animal testing lab for a soaps company and needed to make sure he was using the right mosses so the creature yelling at the company was recognisable.

“Get Away from there! I'll call the police on you for doing-” The angry yelling cut off when the woman got close enough.

Remus smirked, not turning around, but well aware it looked like he was just painting water onto the wall with how diluted he'd made the moss-paint today. He'd expected someone to try and stop him and wasn't going to give away what he was doing, including the fact these were rare mosses that if it got out the company had removed would enrage some environmentalist charities.

“Well isn't this fun. Do you often greet contractors by yelling at someone painting the walls with water, or am I just special?” The curious guy from yesterday was back, and apparently ignoring Remus in favour of greeting the woman. It was an interesting way to try and stick up for him though.

None of the apologies she was now stuttering out got directed to him either, and Remus finally realised this was one of the managers of the building and the guy had to be some sort of contractor. Not that it mattered to him of course, guy got scared off by a tiny bit of excitement.

He was humming while working on an established moss garden that evening when the guy walked passed again, and seriously Remus was beginning to think some cosmic force wanted them to talk.

“How'd you get the different colours?” The guy actually stopped to ask, glancing over the patterns. Dull, boring spirals. Remus had a far more interesting moss garden on the outer walls of his apartment.

“Different mosses.” He replied, turning to get more water for his spray bottle. It wasn't necessary, but he didn't feel like watching someone try to escape him currently.

The guy stayed waiting there, long enough Remus couldn't avoid returning to his work. “I'm Virgil by the way. He/Him. Sorry about that bitch this morning. She really needs to focus more on adequate safety railings and less on how the building looks. Aesthetic is not worth health hazards!” He sort of ranted, definitely trying to make conversation.

“I'm Remus and you're already scared of me, so I don't think you want to hear my actual views. Bugger off to screw in a H&S approved fallout bunker or something.” Remus interrupted before he could say anything else.

“No need to be a jerk, and sorry I'm not interested in losing a paycheck because the boss of a building is an asshole. Yelling and getting attention when I've just finished a place that specifically tried to call your work a biohazard could easily have the company finding some way out of paying for aiding a vandal or whatever.” Virgil snapped back, glaring. “I just wanted to know more because your work looks awesome, but fine, I'll leave asking more for some other day.”

Remus scoffed, throwing his spray bottle to one side and turning, “Yeah, when you decide I'm invisible again because I'm near one of those building's that's contracting you to yell at them. Fantastic chance to ask questions when you won't even glance my way.”

His words must have trigger some confusing thought process for Virgil as his right hand jumped to covering his left forearm, almost brushing over it in an odd pattern. He watched for a moment before turning back to checking the outlines were still clear.

“I can't put my chances of making the rent at stake, but fine, next time I see you I'll find time to stop and at least say hi. I'm going to get to know you, Remus. You can trust me on that, whether you believe it or not.” The words were threatening, and Remus wanted to come up with some actual threats Virgil could have used, but still didn't want to watch him run away.

“Only the naïve trust people instantly. Or the people wanting to use you and twist you into a different shape. I'm neither of those and the only time someone else controls how I twist is when they're bending me over.” He dismissed the promise and started humming again, pretending to focus on his work.

If they spoke for much longer of course he'd say something to have this brittle connection thoroughly sever.

That night Remus was still wondering about Virgil. How concerned he sounded over losing pay, and some vague terrible happening that could follow it.

There was definitely something of his soulmate poem in how the man was speaking and acting, but it just felt like another thing for Remus to hope for and end up destroying.

He had to listen to that old song again, if only to confirm it couldn't be Virgil at all:

Lashing out just to be heard

Worry infusing every word.

Cautious but convinceable,

Dreams their friends invincible.

/Days passing by\

The warning Virgil had given on the first time they encountered each other had been proven right. That company had put up cameras over the footpaths on the buildings, with only a few sections left clear of surveillance.

Remus had refreshed his free-running skills enough to get up onto one of the ledges. He wasn't expecting to get yelled at to get down and that it wasn't safe while checking if there was another layer of moss-paint needed or not.

“Virgil, you're really going to attract attention if you don't quiet down.” Remus sing-songed, leaning to look down from the ledge he was stood on, and grinning at the glare he was being given.

He wasn't expecting Virgil to walk a few steps back before launching himself up the wall. “And you're going to do yourself a freaking injury. Is constantly climbing up here really necessary for you to get the message across?”

“Yes, they're going to keep having the message painted until the listen and actually sort out the waste disposal of the factory.” Remus nodded. Virgil had been speaking to him, and actually seeking out the places Remus would turn up ever since threatening to get to know him. “Besides, a suicide on the property with this message growing afterwards would definitely make the news, get public interest sparked over everything they're doing wrong. Sounds like the perfect storm for them to face.”

“Except the part where you die. Not allowed. You act like you're invincible and I wish to whoever's listening you were.” Virgil snapped, and snatched the brush from Remus's hands for some reason. “Come on, tell me where I'm painting this one, and I'll help. Sooner you get this done, the sooner I can get you safely down from here!”

Remus blinked at the change, wondering whether this was what 'cautious but convinceable' meant before shaking it off. “That's for the darker bits. Currently just look like some discolouring. I'll do the pale bits since the difference for those can't be made out yet. Why would you want me to be invincible anyways? Most people would be glad to see something break me, even if they wouldn't wish me dead. A sever injury, maybe causing paralysis, and they'd all sigh knowing where I am and thinking they could control how much trouble I cause.”

“Sounds like you know a ton of jerks then. You're my Friend Remus. Not many people can say that and I'm not going to let you jeopardise my friend's life all to make a point against horrible business practices.” Virgil lectured, already following the lines, although his shoulders were so tense Remus wondered how his movements with the brush could be so fluid.

In more interesting news that literally sounded like the 2 lines Remus had mentally been insisting couldn't relate to Virgil had fallen into place and suddenly fitted him perfectly. He was singing the soul poem without thinking it, performing a short dance when he realised Virgil was staring.

“So are you writing poems about me now or is that, you know?” Virgil muttered a few moments after he finished singing.

“My soul Poem!” Remus squealed and the only thing that stopped him bouncing was Virgil's eyes quickly falling to his feet. The edge was close behind him and he wasn't going to fall after deciding that Virgil was his soulmate. “Seems to be perfect for you, right?!”

Virgil just nodded, shoving up the sleeve of his jacket and holding the arm out to Remus. “Get away from the edge, read this and have a laugh at what the manager of this place called your art.”

The tattoo was brilliant, with letters that looked like they were bleeding, and thorns twisting together to frame it. Realising the poem actually did describe him only made it better.

“So we are simply meant to be.” Remus grinned.

At least he knew this health and safety inspector wasn't completely against breaking the rules occasionally, at least if it meant they could keep each other safe instead.

#dukexiety #soulmate au #virgil sanders #remus sanders #moss graffiti #graffiti artist remus #H&S inspector virgil

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kumeko · 4 years ago

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A/N: For BNHA Apocalypse zine! I couldn’t resist doing some Big Three after an eco disaster. This was one of my favourite zines to be in, the mods were amazing with editing and helped polish this piece up so much.

…

Hesitantly, Tamaki stepped through the doorway. It was stupid, really, that he couldn’t just walk right in. The house had been abandoned for years. In fact, he could hardly call it a house at this point. Vines creeped up the brick front, tendrils curling into the stone and through it to the house. Above him, the roof was a patchwork of holes and rotten wood. The plaster and insulation were long gone by now, leaving a skeleton of trusses. With the entire right wall collapsed, letting in light and wildlife, Tamaki wasn’t certain of the structural stability of the building. It wouldn’t be long now till it collapsed, like many of the houses in this neighbourhood.

Still, at some point it had been someone’s home. People used to live, laugh, and cry in here. It had been a long time, but Tamaki still remembered what that meant. He might have been a child when the world ended, but his parents had raised him with manners. Even now, he wanted to ask Hello? Anyone home?

That was dangerous, though. A wild animal might hear him and while most were content to leave him alone, you could never be too careful. When the zoo had been forgotten, the animals in it found their chance to escape. Bears, lions, tigers—Japan now had a strange assortment of unnatural animals. Or, at least, Iida had claimed. The younger boy read any books he could get his hands on and his knowledge was second to none.

Forcing down his worries, Tamaki scanned the first room. There was an overturned couch, holes in it from animals trying to find a home. Glass crunched underfoot from a blown-in window. This was a living room, most likely. A stuffed doll lay nearby, button eyes falling out and covered in soot. He wondered if its owner had managed to get away. He wondered if they’d survived.

He tried not to think about it anymore. This room was clear of any food or tools and he moved on toward the kitchen. It was just as much of a mess as the first. Cupboards had been torn off their hinges and there was a gaping hole where their fridge must have been. This place had most likely been picked clean, scavenged entirely at the beginning of this disaster. Moss and dandelions sprouted on the water-logged wood and the floor was a carpet of grass. Half-heartedly, he pulled open a drawer. Inside, he saw several dusty spoons and a battered flat spoon.

Utterly useless. Tamaki closed it before yanking it open again. Staring at the flat spoon, he brushed it gently. This was familiar. His fingers curled around the wooden handle and he’d done that before. Vaguely, he remembered dragging a stool to the kitchen counter, standing on his tippy-toes as he watched his mother spread icing on a cake.

It’s tasty, isn’t it? She’d offered him the flat spoon, white icing covering the edges. Clean the spatula after.

A spatula. He smiled, holding it up. It was a spatula. There was no point to a spatula here, there weren’t bakery shops or cakes anymore. Making a cake was a waste of resources and even if they could scrape one together, icing was next to impossible to make. It was a waste of space to take it.

Yet, despite himself, he took it. As he tucked it into his knapsack, he heard footsteps behind him. He whirled around, unsheathing his dagger from his belt for defense.

“Tamaki!” chirped a familiar voice. “You here?”

It was just Mirio. Relaxing, Tamaki sighed and sheathing his dagger. “Yeah.”

“There you are!” Mirio beamed as he poked his head in the kitchen. “Find anything?”

“No.” Tamaki shook his head sadly. More and more often, that was the case—entire scavenger missions went without gathering a single thing. It was a good thing they’d finally figured out farming, otherwise, he wasn’t sure what they’d do. “You?”

“Nope.” Mirio shrugged, still smiling brightly. “Buuutttt,” he dragged out, a twinkle in his eye, “Nejire found something.”

Tamaki stared at him. Rubbing his forehead, he muttered, “How does she do that?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s part hound,” Mirio whispered conspiratorially. “She also found some mushrooms. Could you check?”

Tamaki grimaced before nodding. Once, he hadn’t inspected Nejire’s finds and everyone had food poisoning for two days. Once, and never again.

-x-

“Mushrooms!” Nejire shouted energetically, waving her hands above her. Her voice echoed between the skyscrapers, drowning out the birds and other wildlife as they travelled through the city.

Tamaki shushed her, glancing around worriedly. While the journey back to their home base was safer than their trek away from it, that didn’t make it absolutely safe. Wild animals could be around any corner, jaws and claws ready to tear them into two. A building might collapse, crushing them. Their path might be blocked, forcing them to take a longer route across rotting roof tiles that were one wrong step away from a bad fall.

Honestly, he didn’t know how Mirio and Nejire did this on a daily basis. Tamaki only joined them once a week. He spent most of his time helping at the base. It would take him days to calm down from each mission. And yet here was Nejire, arms clasped behind her back, softly humming as they walked.

If there was one good thing about scavenging, he had to admit there was something pretty about the city. Pretty and sad. The looming towers around him were filled with broken windows, destroyed by the elements and animals. No matter where he looked, there was a plant. Trees poked their branches through buildings, their growth accelerated by the chemicals that triggered this whole apocalypse. Even though he couldn’t see them, Tamaki could hear animals moving underbrush. While he could barely remember what a city used to look like, he was certain this was the exact opposite of it.

Still, even this sight wasn’t tempting enough for him to do this everyday.

Mirio clapped his back, an easy smile on his face. They were always so easy for him. “It’s fine. We cleared this path days ago, there’s nothing waiting for us here.”

Somehow, that didn’t reassure Tamaki. He nodded anyways. Pushing his hair away from his face, he prayed silently to some distant deity for protection. Then again, if anyone out there listened, they wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.

“Hey, hey.” Nejire poked his shoulder, her voice muted. It still sounded far too loud, but it was something. “I found a lot today, right?” She started to tick them off with her fingers. “Mushrooms, bird eggs, that squirrel—”

“We’ll feast tonight!” Mirio rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “I wonder what Mrs. Midoriya will make with this.”

Tamaki glanced to his left and right, to where Nejire was still itemizing every piece of food she’d gathered and Mirio was daydreaming about delicacies that no longer existed. He smiled. Sometimes, when it was just the three of them, it was hard not to think the future would get better. “Yeah, you did good today, Nejire.”

She beamed at the praise. It was always easy to make her happy. Bouncing forward, she asked, “What about you? Find anything?”

“Uhh…” Tamaki pulled his hoodie up, his shoulders hunched as he shook his head. All those hours of searching and nothing to show for it. It was a waste of energy and supplies to send him out with them. “Nothing.”

Nejire’s expression softened and she bumped shoulders with him. “Next time, then! I guess I win today.”

“It’s not a game—” Her touch jostled his bag and from the corner of his eye, he noticed the spatula fall out.

Before he could pick it up, Mirio grabbed it. “You did find something.”

Nejire peered down at it, cocking her head. “What is it?”

“It’s not…” Nejire looked at him with curious eyes and Tamaki looked down, scuffing his shoe on the ground. Quietly, he mumbled, “It’s a spatula.”

They both had good ears. That, or they were used to him by now. Mirio held it up in the light, grinning brightly. “Ohh, I haven’t seen these in ages.”

Brow knitted, Nejire scratched her cheek. “Hey, hey, what do you do with it?”

“You’ve never seen one?” Mirio shot her a baffled look. “Seriously?”

When Nejire merely pouted in response, puffing her cheeks, Tamaki gingerly plucked the spatula out of Mirio’s hands. Pointing at the wide flat side, he explained, “It’s used to spread things. Like icing on a cake.”

“Ohh, icing.” Nejire snatched the spatula, running her fingers along the edge. Her eyes grew wide as she felt the plastic top. “Not sharp at all.”

“It’s not meant for cutting.” Tamaki rubbed his neck when she turned to him.

“You really do know a lot about food,” she praised, handing back the spatula. “That’s amazing.”

“Not really.” He felt his ears burn from the compliment. It wasn’t something he deserved. “I just helped my mom a lot when I was younger.”

“Lucky.” Nejire clasped her arms behind her back as she took the lead now. There was something wistful in her tone. “It must have been fun.”

At times like this, Tamaki remembered just how little he knew of Nejire. Mirio had been his classmate before this happened. The second Tamaki had stepped into his kindergarten classroom, Mirio had grabbed his hands and declared instant friendship. They’d been together for so many years, they practically knew each other inside and out.

Nejire, on the other hand, suddenly appeared a few years ago and wiggled her way into their company. It was natural now, to eat, sleep, and spend time with her. Her profile as she sat in front of the fire, keeping watch, was something he was aware of intimately. Yet she’d never spoken of her past and he didn’t know what the Nejire of ‘before’ was like, of what changes she’d gone through to reach the cheerful girl she was now. Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot.

Had she cooked with her parents? Or did she wish she had? Tamaki almost asked about her family aloud, and barely reined himself in, snapping his mouth shut.

It didn’t really matter. They were all orphans now.

-x-

“Alright, made it!” Mirio cheered, running the last few steps to what had once been a high school gymnasium. At one point, the walls must have echoed with the sounds of dozens of balls, cheering students, and squeaking sneakers. Now, the place was in shambles like the rest of the world. Even worse, as it was an older school and the building had needed repairs even before all this happened.

Still, it was a large, covered area. Just perfect for the survivors in their area to meet. Some preferred to stay close, sleeping in the nearby school. Others had their own hideouts away from the crowd. All met here once a day, to gather supplies and divvy up meals.

Nejire ran in after Mirio, chirping eagerly, “Guess what I found today!”

Tamaki frowned before following them in. This was his least favourite part of the day; there were so many people in here. Unlike the relative solitude of the city, this gymnasium felt like what the world must have been like before: crowded and noisy. Maybe it was a good thing he never would have to deal with it.

As he stepped through the big, barely-on-their-hinges doors, Tamaki blinked and adjusted to the dim lighting inside. It was gloomy inside, barely lit by a half-dozen. Squinting, he could just make out Mirio and Nejire. Next to them was a plump woman. He didn’t have to hear her voice to recognize Mrs. Midoriya. Her dark green hair had a strange shine to it in the poorly lit room.

“And you’re sure you’re okay?” she asked, wringing her hands she examined Nejire. She paid no attention to the bag of food at her feet. “Nothing too dangerous today?”

“Nope!” Nejire giggled as she twirled around, demonstrating her health. She wiggled her fingers and then her legs, and added, “I’m in one piece.”

Mrs. Midoriya gave her a flat look before sighing. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.” She turned to Mirio. “And you?”

“In perfect health!” Mirio flashed her a thumbs up and grinned charmingly. As usual, it worked and she relaxed slightly. “It was easy.”

“That’s what you always say.” Like clockwork, she turned her focus to Tamaki. As she fussed over him, she grumbled, “All of you don’t take it seriously enough out there. It’s dangerous! And Izuku wants to join you in searching.”

“It’s not that bad,” Mirio consoled, picking up the food bag and carrying it over to the big cooking pots. It was easier if they cooked a big communal meal and it was easiest if it was a stew or soup of some sort. Tamaki could understand—nothing got wasted that way—but he was tired of the taste. “As long as you’re careful.”

Nejire watched him disappear before chiming in. “We’re always careful.”

“Always?” Mrs. Midoryia clicked her tongue disapprovingly, not buying a single word. Finally pulling away from Tamaki, she bit her lip. “I’m trying to keep him away from all of this but…” She gave them a helpless look. “I suppose I don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“We’ll keep him safe,” Nejire promised, grabbing her hands and squeezing them tightly.

Tamaki nodded and smiled awkwardly. “He’ll be fine as long as he learns the ropes.”

“I trust you.” Mrs. Midoriya smiled back sadly. “I…I know this is hard on you all. You’re so young! You should be worried about tests. But…thank you, for everything.” Trembling, she gripped Nejire’s hand back tightly. “I’ll make sure to cook you a tasty dinner, okay? It’s all I can do, I know, but—”

“Hey, hey, I love your cooking!” Nejire exclaimed. “I want it every day.”

“You have it every day,” Mrs. Midoriya laughed weakly.

Nejire smiled. “Then I’m very lucky.”

-x-

Home was a small lab, located two blocks from the school. Tamaki couldn’t remember who’d found it, if Nejire had tumbled into it or Mirio had realized what it was or if Tamaki had just opened it accidentally. They’d lived here almost as long as they’d known Nejire and Tamaki couldn’t breathe easily until they were inside once again.

It was a little bit of a hassle, walking to and from the school. Especially since so many of the classrooms had been converted to individual bedrooms for privacy. Tamaki could probably bear with it, but he liked it better here. It hadn’t weathered all that well, with vines and flowers creeping out of vents and climbing the walls in a desperate attempt to get a little sunlight. There were large glass vats, broken and cracked, their contents long gone. Nejire and Mirio liked to guess what they’d held—giant sewer rats, dinosaurs, and a slime monster were the favourite choices.

There were several side rooms, filled with dusty computers, thin beds, and tables cluttered with moldy books. With no central heating, they’d pushed together several beds and dumped all the blankets in an effort to keep warm during the winter. Even as they ate now, sitting on the floor, Nejire nestled in between Tamaki and Mirio for heat. “This is cuddly,” she declared happily, her bowl teetering precariously on her lap. She always managed to keep it upright but Tamaki worried it’d fall one day.

Mirio hummed his agreement, squeezing a little closer. “I’m in the middle next time.”

“Nope,” Nejire shut him down immediately, taking a spoonful from her stew. “Mmmm, this is great.”

That, Tamaki had to agree. What they lacked in variety, they didn’t lack in taste. And though he was used to his companions’ cooking (judging by the slight kick in it, Momo must have helped), it wasn’t bad to eat in the least.

“That reminds me.” Mirio took a spoonful himself, blowing on it to cool his bite. “They found a girl today.”

“They did?” Tamaki hadn’t thought it was possible to find anyone new at this point.

“Yeah.” Mirio grinned brightly. “Eri’s six and really cute.”

No mention of her parents. Tamaki knew better than to ask. “She’s staying at the school?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Midoriya said she’d take care of her.” Mirio stared thoughtfully at his bowl. “She’s just six.”

Before he could wonder why Mirio was stuck on that, Nejire asked, “Hey, hey, does that mean she doesn’t know what it’s like before?”

Oh. Suddenly, he understood. At six, this must have been the only world she’d ever known. This world of ruin would always be her ‘before’. Tamaki wondered if it was better that way, to not have a point of comparison. It had to be easier to adapt, at the very least.

Sensing the shifting mood, Mirio reached over Nejire and poked Tamaki. “The weather’s getting nice now. Which means it’s your birthday soon!”

“Ehhhh?” Nejire stared at him, her mouth open. “Hey, hey, you didn’t tell me that!”

“I…” Tamaki flushed and looked into his stew. “It isn’t that important.”

“It’s always important, it’s your birthday!” Nejire disagreed, crossing her arms.

“He was born in March, so it’s got to be March soon.” Mirio scratched his cheek, nose scrunching as he thought. “Maybe Iida knows? He’s keeping a calendar, right?”

“When’s yours?” Nejire asked, shooting Mirio a suspicious look.

“July,” Mirio laughed, bumping shoulders with her. “Don’t worry, it hasn’t passed yet.”

“That gives me just enough time to plan,” Nejire murmured and Tamaki wondered if he should find out what that entailed. For safety’s sake, at least.

-x-

Sometimes, when the others were out, Tamaki liked to climb onto one of the platforms in the main lab and think about nothing. There was something beautiful about the room, about the plants forcing their way out of every crevice. A bird flew by overhead, breaking in from one of dozens of gaps in the building. Broken machines and lab equipment surrounded him—scientific scanners and screens that were too cracked to even show his reflection. At one point, it must have been busy here. Probably.

Tamaki couldn’t say he knew enough to even pretend to understand this room. No one he knew understood it, and he wondered if the knowledge was lost for good. He and Mirio had snuck into a museum once, looking at the displays of foreign animals and lost civilizations. This room wouldn’t be out of place there. They wouldn’t be out of place there. Maybe in the future, someone would call them a forgotten people.

A soft glow caught his eye and he looked up as a flock of butterflies soared to the roof, searching for a way out. Tamaki didn’t know science or tech, but he knew nature. He knew the changes that happened to even the most innocuous of creatures. Those butterflies glowed as softly as moonlight, and he wondered if they would have glowed anyways or if the end of the world had changed them irreparably too. There were so many plants and animals that were just different from their usual counterparts. It was the new normal.

Maybe it was a good thing. He didn’t know much of the world ‘before’, there was only so much you could know as a child, but from what Iida and Izuku learned, it was a world teetering on the brink of disaster. One way or another, they would have ended up here anyways. He only wished they could have been more prepared.

Opening his knapsack, he searched for the spatula. It was silly, but he wanted to hold it again. He could almost smell his mother’s baking, even though he couldn’t remember what it was. Digging through the bag, he frowned as he came up empty. Had he dropped it somewhere? It was probably for the best, but he couldn’t stop the disappointment welling up inside.

“Tamaki!”

A hurried shout snapped Tamaki out of his thoughts and he slipped off his perch. Recognizing Mirio’s voice, he jogged to the entrance. “What’s the matter?”

A disheveled, wild-looking Mirio grabbed his hand. “Nejire! She’s in trouble.”

-x-

Tamaki stared at the behemoth grizzly bear. As they had raced to the city’s center, he had expected something dangerous if only because of how hard Mirio’s hand shook as he dragged him along. It wasn’t a surprise that Nejire was in trouble—she got easily distracted, following one thought and then another without any concern for her surroundings. It was the reason she found things no one else could. It was also the reason that this wouldn’t be the first nor last time Mirio had ran to him in a panic.

Still, out of all the reasons Nejire could be in danger, Tamaki had not expected this. Crouching behind a dumpster, Tamaki peeked around the corner at the giant bear as it sniffed around an old telephone pole. The beast looked twice as big as any he’d seen before, its claws glowing unnaturally in the sunlight. Whatever had infected the butterflies hadn’t stopped there and Tamaki momentarily wondered if there was some unnoticed change in people too.

Not that it would help either way. The bear snuffled on the ground, yawning occasionally to reveal a jaw full of sharp fangs. Fortunately, Nejire could climb, and she had hoisted herself high above the bear. This bear was far too big to follow. It also didn’t seem particularly concerned with her. That was good—this must have been an accidental run-in, Nejire crossing paths with a bear barely awake after hibernation. The only problem was that every time its big body bumped into the telephone pole, the thin tower trembled. It wouldn’t be long before it cracked and broke, taking down Nejire with it.

“What do we do?” Tamaki whispered, leaning against the dumpster. Breathing shallowly, he tugged on his collar.

“It doesn’t seem hungry, at least.” Mirio crouched and peeked over the dump. “It might not realize Nejire’s there. Maybe if I can lure it away, you can grab her and run.”

“What?” Tamaki grabbed Mirio’s arm, shaking his head furiously. “That’s too dangerous! You don’t know what it can do.”

“It’s okay.” Mirio smiled reassuringly, resting his hand on top of Tamaki’s. His grip was firm. “I’ll run along the rooftops—it can’t climb, so I’ll be safe up there.”

“But—”

“We can’t leave her,” Mirio pointed out, already moving away. He had always been a hero. Tamaki hoped it wouldn’t kill him this time. “I’ll meet you at the school.”

Tamaki bit his cheek. Nejire could only hold onto that pole for so long. There weren’t any other options. “The school?” he asked, reluctantly getting into position.

“She might be injured.” Mirio called over his shoulder, already sprinting away before Tamaki could so much as tell him to be careful.

Tamaki watched him disappear into a nearby building before turning back to Nejire. His hands were clammy and he wiped the sweat on his pants. This was frightening. After this, they had to keep a leash on Nejire or something. There was no way he could fight a bear on a regular basis.

As promised, after a few minutes the bear looked up and lumbered away. Tamaki faintly heard Mirio yelling—was he just using noise or also food to lure the predator away? Either way, he didn’t have time to think about it. He had to get Nejire. They had to go back. After the bear disappeared, he waited five long seconds before dashing up to the telephone pole.

“Nejire!” Tamaki glanced around nervously. The bear wasn’t in sight anymore. “Come down!”

Nejire peeked down. “Tamaki?”

“You have to hurry!” he urged, scanning around him once more. It was too quiet now. He couldn’t even hear birds chirp. Was there another bear lurking nearby? Or some other, more dangerous creature?

“Where’s the bear?” Nejire looked around, confused. She started to slowly shuffle down when she realized the coast was clear.

“Mirio’s distracting it.” He wished they still had radios, but it was too hard to find working batteries.

Landing on the ground with a thud, Nejire stumbled forward a few steps before regaining her balance. She groaned lightly as she rubbed her arms. “Ouch.”

“Did it hurt you?” Tamaki focused on her, scanning her body for wounds and blood. Aside from a few scrapes on her knees and hands from climbing the pole, she looked fine.

“Nothing broken,” Nejire replied, still wincing as she rolled her shoulders. “Just really, really, really sore.”

“Can you walk?” Tamaki asked. When she nodded, he grabbed her hand and started sprinting back to the school. Mirio would meet them there. He just had to.

-x-

“Mirio!” Tamaki leapt to his feet as Mirio stumbled into the school’s hallway. Dashing to his friend, he checked for any injuries and sighed with relief when the only thing he found was a cut on his thigh. “You okay?”

“Almost perfect!” Mirio grinned weakly and winked. Even if he wasn’t injured, he was clearly very tired, and Tamaki looped an arm around his waist as he guided him to a nearby chair. “That bear can run.”

“It’s a bear.” Tamaki fretted when Mirio groaned. “Did you break anything?”

“No, no, I’m good. Just, you know, really sore.” Mirio leaned back and closed his eyes. “How’s Nejire?”

Tamaki glanced back at the Nurse’s room, where Nejire was getting checked. They might not have a doctor, but they did have bandages and two people who had taken a first aid course. It had to be enough. “Sore. She seemed fine.”

Mirio sighed. Relaxing, he opened his eyes. “Mission success! Thanks, Tamaki.”

“I…I didn’t really do anything.” Tamaki shook his head, uncomfortable with the praise. “You both did the hard work.”

“I could only do that cause I knew you were there.” Mirio winced as he grabbed Tamaki’s hand and squeezed it. “You were great.”

It still wasn’t something he deserved, but he knew from past experience that Mirio and Nejire refused to listen to that. It was better just to accept and end the conversation there. “You should get your leg checked.”

“After.” Mirio stared at the door. “Do you think—”

The door swung open, interrupting him. An exhausted Nejire trudged out, yawning slightly. Noticing them, she perked up and beamed brightly, though her energy was still nothing near her usual levels. “Mirio! You’re back!”

“You’re safe!” he replied cheerfully, rising to his feet.

Nejire wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight. She nestled her head in his chest. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice softened as he hugged her back. “You too?”

“Mmm.” She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Mirio shook his head. “It’s fine. What happened?”

“I was looking for berries and I guess the bear was too.” Nejire fell silent. “I thought it wouldn’t go away.”

That was a fear Tamaki had shared and suddenly, he was overwhelmed with the urge to touch, to confirm that they were both here. Stepping closer, he brushed his fingers against their arms, feeling sparks run up his hand at their heat. Without another word, Mirio pulled him into the hug and Nejire grabbed his shirt with a hand.

For once, he didn’t mind. He could hear them breathing, feel their heart beating. They were still alive. They had made it through another day. They were still together and that was all that mattered.

-x-

In hindsight, Tamaki should have realized something was up the second Nejire insisted they stay at the school for dinner. They never did that. Then again, they also never had run-ins with bears and he was still calming down, so he hadn’t thought too much of it. Mirio and Nejire could have asked him anything and he would have said yes, if only to stay closer to them.

For a while, it had been all three of them sitting in one of the teacher’s lounges, huddled on a ratty couch. A mess of arms and legs, all tangled up as they waited for dinner. At some point, Nejire had pulled away, and Tamaki had slipped into an uneasy sleep.

“Tamaki,” Mirio whispered, poking his shoulder.

Tamaki stirred, still fatigued. His back felt sore from sitting on the couch for so long. Yawning, he covered his mouth. “Is dinner ready?”

“Kinda.” Mirio poked his shoulder again. “Look.”

Opening his eyes, Tamaki slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of the room. While he’d fallen asleep, it had gotten darker. It must be almost night—they’d have to sleep here, it was far too dangerous to go home now. Around him were several candles, giving the room a warm, cozy feeling. And just ahead of him was Nejire, holding a cake. A lit candle sat on it.

Tamaki sat up immediately. “Is that…?” he trailed off, afraid to utter the word. Maybe he was still dreaming.

“A cake,” Mirio finished, getting up and standing next to Nejire. “Well, kinda, we don’t really have that much flour. It’s more fruit than cake. A fruitcake,” he joked, looking ridiculously proud.

Nejire knelt in front of him, holding out the chipped plate. Now that it was closer, Tamaki could make out a jam-like substance spread out all over the cake. “What’s that?”

“Blackberry sauce.” Nejire smiled softly. “Not icing, but your spatula worked just fine with it.”

Oh. So that’s where his spatula had gone. And the berries— “Is that why you were out?”

“Yeah.” Nejire giggled. “Hey, hey, I hope the bear wasn’t making a cake too.”

Mirio knelt beside her and they sang together, “Happy birthday, Tamaki!”

Tamaki swallowed, fighting back tears. This was too much, especially on a day like this. He could barely handle the bear, and now this? Nejire laughed, reaching out to wipe his eye. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course I do!” he replied, grabbing her and Mirio’s hands. In all honesty, Tamaki didn’t know what he’d do without them. He was weak with them and even weaker by himself. “Next time, don’t do anything dangerous. Not for something like this.”

“Something like this is very important,” Nejire retorted, still smiling. “Even I know birthdays are special.”

“And yours is very special to us,” Mirio added, squeezing his hand. “Now blow out the candle.”

Tamaki stared at them, then at the flame. He didn’t know what to wish for, honestly. Everything he could think of was a practical matter—fixing the world, finding enough to eat, staying safe. If he had to wish for something, then…his eyes flickered to Nejire. They still didn’t know too much about her. Hell, he didn’t know her birthday. But he could change that. He would change that. They were in it for the long run and maybe it was time they started opening up to one another.

Leaning forward, he blew out the candle and silently prayed, I wish we could stay together.

#boku no hero academia #nejire hadou #inko midoriya #mirio togata #tamaki amakiji #bnha #fanfic

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tricktster · 5 years ago

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Where am I? The uncanny valley, my friend.

There is a trope in horror that I particularly love, where the protagonist realizes they are Seeing Something That They Were Not Meant To See. Maybe they open the freezer in the basement that their spouse always keeps padlocked and find a collection of severed fingers, or maybe they gaze on the unspeakable tentacled geometries of an eldritch god. No matter what The Thing is, though, the bell can’t be unrung. They can’t go back to living their life the way it was before they saw The Thing, and even in the happiest of scenarios, the ones where they get out alive, their discoveries haunt them in every frozen dinner or plate of calamari.

I am in The Villages, the largest gated over-55 community in the world, and as a non-retiree, I was Not Meant To See This Place.

Figure 1: Honestly some of the better art here.

Here is what happened: My parents, whom I love dearly and respect to my core, announced essentially out of the blue a few years back that they would be purchasing a house in The Villages, Florida, a retirement community that essentially occupies an entire county in central Florida. This was something of a surprise, since my parents, heretofore, had always presented as rational actors. I frankly never imagined they’d live in any gated community, much less The Villages.

I have now visited my parents in The Villages on three occasions, and each time, I have found myself somewhere mid-visit wondering if I actually know these people at all. My parents are both tremendously intelligent professionals who are highly regarded in their northeastern community, where I was born and raised. Growing up, my parents emphasized to me and my brother the importance of education and intellectual curiosity, but also hammered home that we were to be kind, generous, empathetic, environmentally conscious, and aware of the greater world. They (particularly my mom) are crunchy as hell. As kids, my mom used to take us for walks in the nature preserve and help us identify different plants, animals and mushrooms with field guides. When we went on vacations, we went to Yellowstone and hiked, or we camped in the rainforest at eco-tourism sites. My parents were early adopters of hybrid cars. They’re passionate about music and art, architecture and history. They bought a home in the tackiest place on earth.

When I think Central Florida, I think thick forests and swampland. There’s a certain romance associated with half-rotted trees covered in Spanish moss, and pools of still water only occasionally disturbed by primordial carnivores:

Figure 2: You know, this kind of thing.

The Villages, on the other hand, look like this:

Figure 3a: For fuck’s sake.

Figure 3b: Christ.

How bad is the aesthetic in The Villages? Let me put it this way: If Tim Burton decided to make a movie about gated Floridian retirement communities, and they shot it in The Villages, when I got around to watching it, I’d be like, jesus, Tim, going back to the well with this one, huh, we get it, it’s a parody of a soulless, conformist, suburbia. Oh, a “Declaration of Restrictions has been created for each individual neighborhood, which regulates design and operational aspects, such as landscaping, repairs and maintenance, placement of satellite dishes, hedges, etc. An Architectural Review Committee controls the composition and consistency of the exterior of the residential properties within The Villages.*” Fuck you, Tim, try something new, I’d say, very smugly because I am very smug.

Oh, but wait, Tim would say, what if I told you there were forty-eight golf courses within The Villages? What if I told you there were three “town centers,” and one is designed to look like it’s an old town from the American Southwest, and one’s designed to look like a coastal tourist town, and one of them is actually designed to look like the fucking Wild West, is that choice enough for you, huh? What if I told you that every place in The Villages is accessible by golf cart? What if I told you that ridiculous old men would trick out their golf carts to look like they’re sports cars?

Figure 4: WE GET IT, TIM.

In short, The Villages is a ridiculous place. It is a theme park without rides, a clear-cut swath of swampland transformed at great expense into a facsimile of a 1950s suburb where the citizens are permitted to live their lives free of meaningful community responsibilities. It is, at its worst, a dull and soulless celebration of wastefulness and excess, centering around one of the most historically exclusionary, and least environmentally sound, “sports.” It is all camp, and all artifice. You can go to one of three town squares every night and hear one of the rotating live bands perform, generally in front of large crowds of seated people while one or two brave couples sway awkwardly on the dance floor. Sometimes, a handful of line dancers emerge for a song to do an uncomfortable, unsmiling routine that looks more like solemn ritual than joyful performance. You can do this all while housing a three dollar Long Island Iced Tea to the dome.

Needless to say, it’s also super white here and the politics are off-the-charts awful.

Figure 5: A picture I took last night of a store selling honest-to-god oil paintings of a slimmed down Donald Trump enjoying various leisure activities with historical figures.

Oh, and let’s just address the elephant in the room: Rumor has it this place is horny as hell, with a population that’s just riddled with STDs. I can’t find anything to substantiate the popular story that this is a hotbed for swingers, it’s just a rumor everyone I talk to seems to know about. However, given that management in The Villages certainly knows about this rumor, since everyone else in the continental US does, it seems absolutely fucking bananas bonkers that they let the promotional magazine I found in my parents’ living room go out with the following headline:

Figure 6: Are we still doing phrasing?

I just don’t get it, man. I straight up can’t figure out what my parents see in this place, much less why they’d want to own property here. It doesn’t comport with the intelligent and engaged people I know them to be? Sometimes, it just feels almost disappointing, like the way I’m sure they’d feel if I’d chosen to go to a party school for college.

But look, kids, I’m here venting about this insane place to you guys because I’m NOT venting it to my parents, and I’m not telling my parents that this whole gated community can blow me, because this place isn’t for me. As a non-retiree with a decent amount of punk rock sentiment left in me, I Was Not Meant To See This Place, but while I’m horrified (and oh, lord, am I horrified) by a lot of The Villages, I’m choosing kindness towards my parents and leaning into it. For whatever reason, they love it here, and they want their family to love it too, so when they asked hopefully for the hundredth time if me and my brother and sister-in-law would come down to visit, we said yes. When they asked if we’d play golf with them, I swallowed my huge distaste for the Dumbest Game of All Time, and I agreed that the manicured lawns were beautiful in their own way, and the landscaping was impressive, and I spent several hours trying to hit a ball into a hole for some fucking reason.

Here’s a fun fact about The Villages: get up early enough, and you can find alligators ambling across the golf courses, locating the next water trap to spend their day in; the biggest are fifteen feet long. The American alligator has existed in and around Florida for around eight million years, but the family alligatoroidea has existed since the late Cretaceous - 70 million years ago. Alligators have seen the dinosaurs reign and die out, and gone on to survive the rise of birds, mammals, and relatively recently, humans.

When I’m in The Villages, sometime it keeps me sane to think that whenever this garbage place collapses, the gators will swim through the wreckage and hunt in the same place an oil portrait of a slimmed down Donald Trump once hung.

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wingedbeings · 5 years ago

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@no-one-hears-me tagged me to do this!! :D thank u ilu!! ♡♡

1) search your name + core + aesthetic in google and see what images come out.

mosscore aesthetic gave lots of different moss n goblincore n like faecore aesthetics which is v fitting!! :D

2) some questions!

name: moss!! :3c

nickname: aa idk?? i dont think i rlly have any but anyone is welcome to rlly call me anything!! (aa wait there is a rlly specific one but it's like linked to someone so i'm too paranoid to post it here skdjsh)

zodiac: cancer sun, scorpio moon, cancer rising!! :3c

languages: aa i actually speak quite a few languages!! i've hyperfixated on languages since i was rlly young n i grew up multilingual!! i'm a bit paranoid abt sharing all of them but the ones i'm most fluent in are japanese, english, [redacted], german, latin, and french!! (i grew up w the first three since birth) :3c

favorite season: i rlly love autumn and spring!! i used to be more fixated on autumn but i recently started loving spring again!! i rlly like when its not too warm n too sunny n kind of rainy and such!! :3

favorite flower: aa i don't think i rlly have a favourite?? D: the kinds of flowers that r like rlly dark red w black n that r really cool tho!!! i also rlly like plants n when i move (aa thats already in a few weeks thats crazy) i'll be getting a bunch of new plants!! i already have a few succulents and a tiny common ivy :3

favorite scent: oh skdjejd i dont rlly know D: i rlly agree w sera tho abt the smell of like petrichor n that!! generally i rlly like naturey smells!! i also rlly like scents like lavender n rose though!! and i'm not too fond of rlly like sweet smells

favorite color: i rlly like black, warm dark reds, and warm foresty dark greens! oo n i quite like coppery-gold ish colours too :3

favorite animals: aaa i honestly rlly love like all animals!! i can't rlly pick one favourite D: corvids r a hyperfixation of mine tho!!! theyre so cool n clever n intelligent n i lov them!!

favorite fictional characters: aa idrk?? if i could rlly think abt it properly in the moment i'm like focussing on it i'd probably think of a bunch but rn i'm drawing a blank so i'll name my favourites from a current hyperfixation i have!! the hyperfixation is the show legends of tomorrow n my favourites from it are sara lance (aaa real actual sapphic representation??? heLp) n also leonard snart!! :3c

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: i rlly like coffee but its a trigger food bc of my chronic illnesses n makes me rlly sick so i can't rlly have it all that often anymore D: (plus i kinda overdid coffee in like my v early teens so that might have smth to do w it??) but i also rlly love green teas!! though sometimes those r an mcas trigger for me dhdjdhs ): i'm not too fond of hot chocolate bc most hot chocolates tend to be too sweet for me and i can't have regular milk (also a trigger food shdhs) but when i make it myself i rlly like that too!!

dogs or cats: i rlly love both dogs n cats!! i'm most similar to cats though so like i guess i relate to cats more?? but dogs r so precious n sweet ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡ i currently have both a cat and a dog too :3 (though my cat will be staying w my mum for abt a year when i move so then it'll just be my dog and i for a while!)

blankets: aa i rlly love blankets but certain fabrics are mcas triggers for me so i can only do rlly specific ones skdjsjd,, my temperature regulation is rlly bad and i'm nearly always freezing so if theres a blanket available i'll go wild abt it!!

dream trip: i don't think i rlly have a dream trip?? i prefer travelling around times that aren't too like hot temperature wise tho!! n i mostly prefer less warm countries! (high temperatures and sun are both things that trigger different parts of my chronic illnesses) aa and then i mostly prefer like adventure type things in the form of going to nature places n like exploring ruins n that but like in a calm pace?? oh also to preferably stay in like a little cabin type place or a b&b rather than like a big hotel!!

blog established: aa i believe at the end of last september or something??? (september 2019)

followers: I currently have nearly 3k! aa ilu all but i'm rlly sorry so many of u relate to my blog n i rlly wish all the good in the world for all of u guys n that life will treat u all kinder!! ♡

random fact about me: hsjdjs i dont rlly know?? D: every time i'm put on the spot through someone asking me smth (especially less specific stuff) abt myself i just forget all info abt myself n i already dont rlly have any kind of identity to begin with hsjdhsjdb

aa i guess a fun fact cld be that i'm v alternative in style n some weird mix of punk n goth w a little bit of emo?? n that my fav music genres r also alternative!! (mostly rock n punk n metal n that!!) :3c

I’ll tag @sickeda @http-trauma @pozellainsoul @selincr0 @youstillhauuntme and anyone else that wants to do this!! i always feel rlly anxious tagging ppl so yea!! (u r free to say i tagged u bc if u follow me or we're mutuals n u want to do this i'd want to tag u!! i'm just anxious to skdhj) also idk if any of u have already done this n its also of course ok if u don't want to!! ♡

#aa thank u for tagging me sera i rlly love answering these!! (´；ω；`)#aa btw pls check if u follow my dni in my carrd before saying i tagged u!#tagged.txt #i think i'll start using that as a tag for things i'm tagged in and tag games!!#:3 #long post

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wittyy-name · 6 years ago

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Wild Magic - Part V: Flying - Now on Patreon

Keith/Lance, Rated M, Part Five: 27,920 words | Total So Far: 119,000+ violence, magic, vastaya au, strangers to lovers, freedom fighter Keith, entertainer Lance, action, adventure, fantasy, pining

Fic Summary: The Vastaya are an ancient and proud race, born of magic and man, and they are dying. The spread of humans makes the magic of their homelands run thin. What is left is preyed upon and corrupted by the rising galra influence.

After losing their home, what remains of the Marmora tribe scatters, fighting the spread of corruption where they can. For the last century, this is the only life Keith has known. And with Shiro’s disappearance, he’s more alone than ever. But he keeps going, even if it means losing himself. For the fight. For his people. For their future. For his homelands. For magic.

The last thing he expected to find was another feathered Vastaya, one with wings that shone like the sky and moved like waves when he danced. He never asked for company, never wanted it. But as Keith finds himself growing fond of Lance’s flippant attitude and determined blue eyes, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to fight alone anymore.

Part I: Falling – Part II: Rising – Part III: Soaring - Part IV: Gliding

Wild Magic is my upcoming fic collab with @wolfpainters. I’ll be working on this fic between major fic updates, and posting the chapters to my Patreon for all patrons of the $15 tier and up. This fic wont be posted to Ao3 until its completely finished, and Sora is done with all the art. This will be a while in the making, so become a patron for early access!

This is by far my favorite thing I’ve ever written, and it’s by far both of our favorite fic/au that we’ve done. Part V dives deeper into the lore and world building as the gang finds the altean monastery, convinces them to unite against the galra, Keith finds Krolia, and Keith and Lance share more tender moments.

Patreon | Ko-fi | Twitter | Ao3

Excerpt Below

He's no stranger to chasing rumors. He's done so for centuries. Following whispered words and letting gossip guide him.

As such, he's familiar with the frustration that comes when a lead runs dry.

"This sucks," Pidge huffs, voice trailing to a strangled yelp as she once again on the roots and vines that crawl across the pathways. Keith peers down from his perch, watching as she stumbles, pointing angrily at the ground. "Okay, I know they're doing that on purpose! I saw it this time! The vines are moving, I swear."

Lance's chuckle comes lilting on the breeze, voice drifting from within the home Keith perches on top of. "The forest is having fun with you, Pidge."

"I hate forests." She sits on the lip of a cracked stone fountain, crossing her arms and legs, shoulders hunched. "I thought the ones outside Piltover were bad, but at least those ones didn't try to kill me."

"It's not trying to kill you," Shiro says from across what had once been a village square. His hands rest on his hips, tail flicking the air behind him and ears twitching restlessly. He turns slowly, eyes roaming. "It's just... playful."

"You talk like it has a mind of it's own."

"It does!"

Keith looks down to see Lance crawl out of one of the building's windows. He dusts himself off, straightening his clothes and taking gentle care to check Keith's feathers pinned to his cloak. He knows the feathers are far more durable than that, but the fact that he checks them incessantly makes a warmth flicker in Keith's chest.

"All forests do, but here the magic from the spirit realm is so thick that it saturates everything. The forest is actually able to act on its mind instead of standing idle."

"Great," Pidge says dryly. "So it's alive. Wonderful."

"Technically, all forests are alive." Hunk walks out of the building below Keith, using the open doorway. There's a bundle of bound parchment in his arms.

"You know what I mean," Pidge snaps, but Hunk hardly notices.

"Guys, this is so cool. I found some books? But they're like, really, really old books. It's in a language I don't even understand! I found a couple in what I assume was the kitchen, so maybe they're cook books? I found a few others scattered in the house. Do you think the Alteans can help us decipher them?"

"Probably," Matt says, swinging down from atop another building on a loose branch. He lands easily, picking a leaf out of his hair. "If they're really as old as people say they are. I agree with Hunk, though. This is amazing." He throws his arms out, gesturing to the village as he spins. "This is a footprint of ancient Ionian civilization. Back when people used to work with magic and natural to build their homes. I've read about it, but I never thought I'd see it."

"Too bad it's abandoned," Keith mutters.

"Well, yes, there is that."

Keith crosses his arms over his chest, taking a step back to turn and let his eyes scan across the village. It isn't the first they've come across. Since setting foot on this island, they haven't seen a single living person. Aside from the spirits and animals, they had nothing but eerie silence to keep them company. Even the strong melody of magic couldn't detract from the feeling of emptiness that settled across the landscape.

Like all the other villages they'd come across, the buildings of this one were woven from the trees themselves. Not built from the trees, but rather that the trees had grown and shaped to suit the village needs. They'd seen all sorts of natural architecture as they'd ventured deeper into the island. From all sorts of plant life and the earth itself. The buildings they'd come across settled naturally into the landscape rather than stand atop it.

He'd heard of such magic. Nature magic. The ability to communicate with the energies of the earth. To call out to the magic of living things and will them to grow in specific ways. Wood weavers. Earth builders.

Many vastaya villages were made in a similar way, but he'd heard that long ago, humans could use this kind of magic. He never truly believed it, but now the proof was all around him. On an island that had been abandoned and left an empty husk for spirits to roam.

The humans had fallen far if this is where their ancestry lied.

"Pidge, you have a few..." Keith glances down to find Matt sitting on the lip of the fountain next to Pidge, gesturing vaguely around his head.

Pidge sighs, shoulders slumping. There's a faint glowing bobbing around her head. Two of them. "I know. I tried getting rid of them, but they keep coming back." As Keith watches, the glowing seems to solidify. Two spirits, pale in color and bodies fat and round. Looking like palm sized caterpillars with large eyes and markings that pulsed with light. They became more corporeal, nuzzling into Pidge's hair. "Besides," She says, unable to stop her smile. "They're kind of cute, I guess."

"They think your hair is a nest," Matt snickers, and Pidge playfully shoves him.

Shiro sighs, arms crossing over his chest. "I don't think we're going to find much here."

They all glance over, smiles fading, but it's Pidge who speaks up first. "What're we looking for anyway?"

"At this point, I'd say we're looking for any sign of life around here. We know the altean monastery used to be on this island, we just don't know where or how to find it," Matt says, leaning back on his hands, eyes on Shiro.

"You said they've been missing for thousands of years," Pidge says, slight frown as she stares at Shiro's back. Her voice softens. "Are we sure they're even still alive?"

"No," Shiro breathes out a long sigh. "But we have to hope. We have to make sure. The galra are still wary of them, and the galra fear nothing. That's as good of a reason as any to believe they're still alive."

"Maybe they don't want to be found?" Hunk shifts his weight as eyes turn to him. He busies himself with organizing the bound parchment in his hands, shifting them gently into his bag. "I mean, obviously they don't want to be found. That's why they've been missing for like, forever. But maybe they really don't want to be found? What if they don't want anything to do with us or Ionia?"

"We're not going to give them a choice," Keith says, perhaps a hair too sharply.

One of Shiro's ears swivel in his direction, and the look in his eyes is of exasperated fondness. "Everyone has a choice, Keith. We just need them to hear us out."

"What if they don't want to listen?"

"Then we'll just have to be super convincing, won't we?" Lance scrambles up the building, feet and hands finding easy holds in the woven and twisted bark of the tree. He pulls himself up to Keith's perch on a wide, flat expanse that serves as a roof and a ledge before the tree continues to spiral upwards.

He hooks an arm over Keith's shoulders, leaning into him and offering a curl of his lips. He leans in close, breath whispering against the fur of Keith's ears. "I've heard I'm very convincing."

A shiver runs down his spine, and while Keith says nothing, Lance seems pleased with himself nonetheless.

"Do we have any idea where the monastery is?" Pidge asks, looking to Matt who only shakes his head.

"Unfortunately, no. Everything I've read and everyone I've talked to just says that it was located at the heart of the north eastern isle." He purses his lips, looking up at the trees that towered above them. "I was kind of hoping we'd just... wander around and eventually find someone who could point us in the right direction. Ask the locals, you know? Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. Everything I've read about explorers trying to find the monastery says it's impossible. Like the whole place just disappeared without a trace."

"How does a whole monastery and civilization just..." Hunk waves a hand around vaguely. "Disappear?"

Shiro steps closer to where they gather near the fountain. His brows crease as he stares at the moss covered stonework, tail twitching behind him. "The Alteans were known to be masters of magic. From legends, we know that they were apart of an ancient order dedicated to keeping the balance in Ionia. They watched over spiritual gates and the ley lines. It's entirely possible that it's magic that's keeping them hidden."

"Cool, so we just gotta find a magically hidden ancient civilization," Hunk says, nodding as he closes up his bag and swings it over his shoulder once more. "Easy. No problem."

Pidge turns to Matt, and even from here, Keith can see the clockwork turning behind her eyes. "Do you think we could reverse engineer our magic analyzer to seek magic instead? Like read the levels in the air?"

Keith watched that brilliant spark of magic light up Matt's eyes. "Because if they're being hidden by magic, then there's gotta be a huge concentration of it."

"That would at least lead us in the right direction."

They keep going. A back and forth with no end. Finishing each other's thoughts and sentences. That precious madness flaring between them. Then Hunk joins a grounding force that allowed them to grow. Keith doesn't understand most of what they're saying, but he supposes he doesn't need to.

Shiro looks about as lost as he feels, but he's at least making an attempt to understand.

"I think we're going about this the wrong way." Lance's voice is light and thoughtful, soft enough to be kept private. Keith tilts his head, eyeing him sidelong and lifting a brow to show he has his attention. He watches Lance's profile as he frowns, brows furrowing as he tilts his head. He gestures to those below. "We're going about this like humans."

"The Alteans are human."

The pinch between his brows relaxes, and his lips start to ease upwards. "True, but they weren't blind, nor were they deaf." Lance tilts his head, catching Keith's gaze. There's a sharpness there, and a gleam in his smirk. "Shiro said they were masters of magic and keepers of spiritual gates. What are we, Keith?" His voice dips, and a shiver runs through Keith.

He feels his own lips curl in an answering grin.

Lance steps away from him, arm leaving Keith's shoulder but hand running down his arm to clutch at Keith's as he turns to face him. "We're children of the spirit realm. They might be masters of magic, but we're born from it. I think it's time we stop acting like humans and start acting like vastaya."

His fingers curl between Keith's, grin wide and fangs glinting in the light peeking between the trees. Keith smirks, heart beating wildly in his chest. He understands.

He drops to a crouch, pulling Lance with him. Lance drops at his side, allowing the tug to drag him down. Keith presses their joined hands to the bark beneath them, smooth and woven and ancient, but still very much alive.

He closes his eyes.

He breathes out.

He feels his magic swirl in his core. Bright and vibrant. Harsh warm hues. Warming to deeper purples and indigos and violets.

He feels Lance's magic next to him. Nearly as bright as his own. Washing over him. Cool and soothing. Grounding as it is chaotic. Powerful and rolling. Strength hidden in the illusion of calm. Blues of every shade, swirling and igniting together.

He feels the clash where their hands touch. The sparks where their energies connect. Arcing toward each other. Unable to resist. Unable to stop the attraction, even on a molecular level.

Reaching out, he feels the energy humming through the tree. Chases it down to the earth, where the ley lines run thick and uninhibited. They fracture outward. A spiderweb of fissures that run endless through the ground. He feels where the plant life draws from them. He feels the way it radiates from the earth into the air.

He feels the forest.

He feels the animals.

He feels the ley lines.

He feels the minor spirits that drift through the trees and hover just out of reach, drawn and curious by their presence.

He feels... something stronger. A tug. A distant pull. Something calling to him, but not in any manner he's familiar with. Faint and fleeting. A whispered question.

He snaps his eyes open, gaze locking with Lance's. His eyes are bright. Crinkling at the edges. Dancing with the dust motes.

"You felt it." It's not a question.

Lance's smile curls wide. "Yes."

"What is it?"

"Only one way to find out."

They leap from their perch, darting off into the village with hands still joined. He can hear the others' shouts of surprise. He can hear the questions. He ignores their fading voices, focusing on that distant tug.

They weave through the village, darting between trees that shape homes. Abandoned and empty husks within the woven trunks. Though the shadows and the rays of light drifting down from between branches.

Lance slows at his side. "I lost it."

Keith's hand tightens around his. "I didn't."

He still feels it. Getting stronger and stronger. He realizes that he's following the ley lines. That they're all converging on a point ahead. He pushes his pace. Feet barely touching the grass-lined cobblestones. Lance runs at his side until Keith pulls ahead. Until his hand slips from Keith as Keith darts ahead. Faster. Faster. Faster.

He stops when he reaches another clearing. Another square within the village. He stops suddenly, brought up short by a feeling in his gut. His momentum carries his wing forward, feathers rustling as they settle back down his back.

The ley lines pool here, creating a small wellspring that was no doubt once the village's heart. At the center of the village square is a pillar of stone. It rises from the earth, somehow looking natural despite the deliberate craft to it. The smooth spiral and twisting rise of it.

He steps closer, eyes narrowing at the symbols carved around the pillar. He doesn't recognize them, but he feels like he should.

He feels a presence. A sudden power that makes his hair stand on end and his feathers bristle.

He spins into a crouch, wing automatically flaring out and fingers combing through his feathers, plucking three at random. Magic sparks at his fingertips, sharpening and steeling them.

His eyes lock onto a creature that hovers at the edge of the square, tucked into the shadows of two buildings.

A spirit.

A powerful spirit at that.

Keith can feel the energy radiating from them. Cold on his tongue and washing over his skin like water. Strangely soothing, but sharp enough to keep him on edge. The spirit's body, while corporeal, seems to blur at the edges. Wisps of mist curling from it and obscuring its form. Blue of all shades, swirling and shifting and constantly in motion.

The form of... a lion? Certainly a cat of some sort. Body large. Ears pointed and curled at the tips. Tail thin and flickering, a tuft of hair at the end. Features sharp in places that seem odd and rounded at others. A feline, yes, but definitely a spirit creature.

It stares at Keith, and Keith stares black. Unblinking. Wary. It doesn't feel malicious, but he can never be too certain. Spirits rarely mean harm, especially to vastaya, but he fears if he looks away, the magnificent creature will disappear.

It's gaze, however, is fixed to him. Eyes dark and endless as the night sky. Drawing him in. Seeing through him. Taking the weight of his soul and measuring it.

His breath is caught in his lungs.

Then there's a rustle behind him. A familiar press of cool magic. A soft inhale, and a gentle rush of air. "Whoa..."

The spirit's eyes leave Keith's, snapping to Lance instead. Keith finds himself still unable to move. Waiting, though he isn't sure for what.

A flash of blue in the corner of his eye. "Lance," He hisses, but Lance is already moving forward.

His steps aren't wary, but they're slow. Deliberate. He moves forward with the same grace that fills his every movement, swaying up to the spirit with a confidence that lacks cockiness. When he nears, he drops to his knees, holding his hands out.

And Keith watches, amazed and awed, as the spirit moves forward. As it bumps its head into Lance's hands. As Lance laughs, hands running through the mane of mist.

Lance cradles the spirit's feline head in his hands, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.

Keith hears the clatter of footsteps, loud in the silence. The voices of their friends. He hears their heavy breathing and loud arrival. He hears them stop behind him. Their soft gasps.

"What's... what's he doing?" Hunk asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Lance turns then, head whipping around and grin catching the light as his eyes dance. "Guys! I know where we need to go!"

Keith feels a tug at his lips. "He's asking the locals."

#klance #vastaya au #fic: wild magic #fic: wm #wing fic sorta #fantasy au #high fantasy #magic au #adventure #action #wittyywrites #patreon #long post

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duskfloret · 7 years ago

Note

ALL GEMSTONE ASKS FOR FANE

「 ♔ i sometimes question my judgement ❞ @rcmcdium / accepting. 」

abalone: what kind of situations compromise my muse emotionally

If an innocent person were hurt by his actions. All he wants his to help people, so it would devastate him if he hurt people (aside from the ones who deserve it) instead. He’d probably just. Shut down for awhile emotionally. Take awhile to get out of his funk.

aegerine: my muse’s opinion of the supernatural

He’s aware that other psychics (and other being / people related to the supernatural) are very much a thing that exist, but he has no particular interest in meeting them. Sure, it’d be interesting to see what they could do and how their lives turned out, but he’s not compelled to seek any of it out either.

agate: how my muse calms down

He doesn’t get worked up easily, but when he does, listening to music calms him down the fastest, and he’s not sure whether or not that has something to do with his ability (honestly, he doesn’t know too much about his ability in general), but it works.

blue lace agate: my muse’s favorite form of communication (verbal, letters, texting, etc.)

Even though he’s terrible at it, he likes talking to people and having face to face conversations with them. It gives the most information: when he’s texting, he feels like he’s missing out on too many social clues to properly understand what’s happening.

fire agate: if my muse is brave or cowardly

Brave. If he gets hurt, he can always just heal himself as long as he has access to music… which leads to him being a little reckless at times.

moss agate: if my muse has a high or low opinion of themself

Somewhere in the middle. He thinks he’s decent in every regard, nothing outstanding. He’d say that at least he’s a good person, but he, y’know, kills people, and he’s fully aware that that makes him not so great.

amazonite: what kind of situations call for my muse to be dishonest

Anything that has to do with his past or with work. With any other subject, he’s fairly honest and straightforward, doesn’t really care what people think. He values honesty, so he’s honest whenever he can be.

amethyst: what my muse would most like to be able to shape-shift into

At this point, probably a cat. Cats are nice.

ammolite: how lucky or unlucky my use is

He doesn’t believe in luck, but he’d be considered unlucky in terms of being born poor, that whole shebang with his mother getting exploited and dying, and being found by someone who more or less exploited his negative emotions to train him as a killer. What’s a guy gotta do to live a normal life nowadays.

angel aura quartz: my muse’s opinion of LGBT+ issues

Not really something he pays attention to. He just thinks that everyone should get along and treat each other as equals, respect each other as human beings.

apache tears: a sadness headcanon

He’s still often sad about his mother’s death. It’s only natural. He misses her every day and finds himself thinking, “She’d enjoy this,” or, “She would have laughed at this.” It makes him sad that he can’t share anything with her anymore.

Also, when there are good sales at the grocery store but he ends up missing them. That’s always disappointing.

apatite: a headcanon about my muse’s intuition

In his line of work, he needs to have good intuition in order to not get himself killed. It’s not a skill he was born with, really, but he’s figured out how to hone it.

apophyllite: my muse’s religious/spiritual beliefs

Agnostic, more or less. He wouldn’t doubt the existence of gods or god-like beings, but he also has no reason to worship them.

aquamarine: where my muse feels most calm/relaxed

Growing up, it was by his mother’s side. No matter what was happening, he could always find comfort in her. Now, he finds himself most relaxed when he’s around his cat. Basil is a Good Companion™.

biotite: the biggest problems my muse is currently dealing with

His next job and the most efficient way to carry it out.

bloodstone: how my muse sees themself as part of the world at large

Someone unacknowledged, whether he makes an impact on the world or not. Not only are psychics in general widely believed to not exist, but his work requires him staying in the shadows and carrying out business without the world knowing. He doesn’t mind this, though.

calcite: my muse’s social tendencies (introverted vs extroverted, parties vs one-on-one conversations, etc.)

Introverted. He’s not really a people person and often has difficulty maintaining conversations. Not because he dislikes people or anything, he just doesn’t have much social experience… coupled with him being generally withdrawn due to his current occupation.

carnelian: an art-related headcanon

He likes going to art museums when he gets the chance. Though he’s not well-versed on the subject, he still finds it interesting and is impressed by the masterpieces on display there. The gift shops are nice too, if only because it’s fun to see mini versions of what’s in the museum itself, and there are often entertaining items.

celestite: how my muse deals with anxiety

He’s not an anxious person in general, but! When he does get anxious, he just listens to music and pets Basil until he feels better.

chalcedony: the saddest my muse has ever been

Probably the months leading up to his mother’s death. Her health kept getting worse, and he was constantly worried about it, had nightmares, didn’t sleep nearly enough, etc. After her death was terrible too, but the sadness was mixed with anger as well.

chalcopyrite: how my muse deals with ending relationships

It depends on the situation. He’d either do it with a mature discussion or he’d just disappear one day, never to be seen or heard from again. Just depends on why he’s ending the relationship. He’s not feeling the love anymore? First option. Work trouble? Second.

charoite: who my muse looks up to

He looked up to his mother, who tried to do what was best for him no matter what burden she had to suffer as a result. Often, he wishes she’d been more concerned with looking after herself, but he appreciates everything she did for him growing up.

chrysocolla: a money-making headcanon

If he ever “retires” from his current job, he’ll probably just pick up some minimum wage job to help support himself while mostly living off his savings. That’s the idea he has now, at least.

copper: how I think my muse will end up when they’re older

If he doesn’t die first, he’ll probably “retire” at some point. Still stay in the business of doing charity work, but murder isn’t something he wants to do for the rest of his life. Maybe once he saves up enough to live off of for a good while.

coral: how my muse views the natural world

He loves nature! Nature is important to him. He likes walks through the forest, etc. It’s always a pleasant place to be. He finds nature far more appealing than cities (but he still ends up in cities most of the time).

diamond: a sex headcanon

Fun fact: Fane’s a virgin. Not due to lack of interest or opportunity as a whole, but he just doesn’t see the appeal in meaningless sex with people he barely knows, and he has yet to get emotionally close to anyone to the point where he’d be up for it. He’s never even kissed anyone, but he has been hit on plenty of times.

dolomite: a sleep headcanon

Fane sleeps well most nights, but there are times when he can’t fall asleep no matter how hard he tries. On those nights, he just ends up sitting at his kitchen table, drinking tea, and reading a book, often with Basil nearby.

emerald: how my muse tells someone they love them without words

If he falls asleep around a person, that’s a sign of immense trust and should not be taken lightly. And if he trusts someone, he probably loves them (whether it’s platonic or romantic) a good deal. His trust is not easily gained.

fluorite: what my muse’s room looks like

Fairly plain. He puts little to no effort into decorating, so aside from a few plants and lotus candle holders and books, there’s not much of interest.

fossil: what my muse’s dream job is

Something where he can help people and make a difference. He has no specific ideas on the matter, though, and he’s not entirely convinced that what he does now actually helps.

galena: what it’s like to be in a relationship with my muse

There’d be a lot of hesitation and distance on his end, both due to him being emotionally inexperienced and not wanting his partner to get involved with his work, but if someone is willing to put up with that, then cool.

garnet: what my muse’s perfect partner would be

Someone he’s comfortable with and can be himself around! Someone who cares about him as much as he does them! Preferably someone he shares similar interests with, someone who gets him interested in new things, someone who likes hearing about his interests, etc.

gold: my muse’s financial situation

Crime pays well. Even when he gives away half his money, he still lives as well or better than the average person. He also saves well.

hematite: how squeamish my muse is

He couldn’t be squeamish and effective at his job, so…

hiddenite: how much of an “inner child” my muse has

If he has one, it’s buried deep, deep within his heart. He’s never had a chance to be a child, so he wouldn’t know the first thing about expressing his “inner child”.

iolite: my muse’s drinking habits

He doesn’t drink. He’s had alcohol before, but he doesn’t care much for it.

jade: if my muse would ever cheat on a partner

Nope, never. Cheating is gross and horrible and something he’d never do. Besides, with how unlikely he is to enter a relationship in the first place, the chance of him finding a second person to cheat with in the first place is slim to none.

jasper: what my muse would be like as a parent

He’d have no idea what he’s doing, but he’d try his best. He’s never considered the possibility of having kids, though. It doesn’t have much appeal to him.

kyanite: an anger headcanon

As much as he hates the man who ordered his mother killed, he wouldn’t accept a job to take him out if the opportunity came up–not anytime soon, at least. He’s self-aware enough to know that should it come to that, he’d be blinded by his anger towards the man, slip up somehow, and probably get himself killed in the process. Revenge is a dish best served cold, as they say. Losing control of his emotions wouldn’t lead to anything remotely good.

lapis lazuli: where ‘home’ is to my muse

About six feet under the ground somewhere. He thinks. In reality, Autumn, the daughter of the rich man and the girl who encouraged him to flee, arranged to have his mother cremated, and if she ever comes across Fane again, she’ll return the ashes to him. She hopes it would give him some sense of peace or closure.

lodestone: what kind of people gravitate towards my muse

The older ladies that live in his apartment complex adore him. He’ll help them take out their trash and bring in their groceries and watch their pets when they go out of town and stuff like that, and they bake him cookies as a thank you. There’s been the occasional, “If only you were forty years older / I was forty years younger,” comment from a few of the ladies.

malachite: what my muse as a child thought they would be when they grew up

Young Fane lived day-to-day and never had the luxury of thinking that far into the future. Even when his mother was working for the rich man and things were relatively peaceful, he was still too focused on the present. Whenever his mom would bring the subject up, he’d just shrug and say that he’d be fine as long as they were together.

mica: what my muse views as their worst personality trait

Does the fact that he kills people for a living count? Not that he regrets killing the people he does, but the fact that he’s willing to do so is questionable at best.

moonstone: my muse’s opinions on outer space

It’s cool. He doesn’t know much about space or anything like that, but the stars are pretty to look at.

mother of pearl: if my muse tends to lift people up or bring them down

He likes to lift people up most of the time, but there are some people he brings down (by about six feet, to be exact).

nebula stone: how good my muse’s memory is

Better than average, which is convenient considering what his job is. He’s also made an effort to learn memory tricks to improve further.

obsidian: which of the seven deadly sins my muse would be

Wrath, for obvious reasons.

opal: how creative my muse is

Not very. Creativity isn’t his strong point, but it’s something he admires in other people.

pearl: a mental health headcanon

For a guy who watched his mother die and now kills people for a living, he’s pretty stable in the mental department. He’s resilient, and if he’d been found by pretty much anyone else, he’d have just been adopted, sent to therapy, and lived a normal life like a normal person would.

petalite: what my muse would do if they found a wallet on the street

Return it. It’s the right thing to do.

pyrite: a physical health headcanon

Aside from being injured, he’s never had a problem with his physical health. On occasion, he has pains in his chest or stomach, which is a lingering effect from the scars there since the wounds didn’t heal completely from his ability. Scar tissue pain, he believes is the technical term for it. It’s annoying but tolerable.

quartz: how my muse thinks other people see them

That’s not something he really concerns himself with. Yeah, he wants to make a good impression, but he also doesn’t dwell on it. It strikes him as either vain or self-conscious, and he’s neither of those things.

rhodonite: if my muse prefers elegance or convenience

Convenience. He grew up poor, so he’s far more used to convenience over elegance. Elegance makes him feel weird and out of place, and he tends to associate it with greed (though he knows that not all wealthy people are bad) and that’s a lot of negativity right there.

rubellite: if my muse has any ‘triggers’ that inspire painful memories

Beethoven’s Allegro Con Brio is the song that had been playing when he and his mother were shot, so hearing it always reminds him of that night. He wouldn’t call it a trigger in that it gives him anxiety or anything like that, and it’s what he tends to listen to while carrying out jobs. It reminds him why he’s doing it in the first place.

ruby: a happiness headcanon

He wouldn’t call himself unhappy, even with everything that’s happened to him. Overall, things aren’t great, sure, but he gets satisfaction from small things, like watching his flowers bloom or when Basil does something cute (which is often). That said, his life isn’t really as happy as they could be. It is what it is.

sapphire: if everyone my muse knew was hanging off a cliff and they could only choose three to save, the rest certainly dying, who they would choose

Anyone he’d specifically save is already dead, so…? I guess just the first three people he can reach, or if there are any children, he’d save them.

serpentine: how my muse would seduce another [alt: how my muse makes their money]

He wouldn’t. If anything, he’d be the one that gets seduced.

silver: if my muse prefers masculinity or femininity

He doesn’t have a particular preference between the two in general; however, he does prefer when they aren’t taken to extremes. Like, he doesn’t like people who are so feminine that all they ever seem to talk about are clothes and makeup and celebrity gossip, nor does he like super macho tough guys who think being a prick to “impress” their buds is acceptable behaviour. He just doesn’t see the appeal.

tsavorite: if my muse believes in destiny or fate

No. Life is random and unorganised: there’s no grand plan or inevitable events. As far as he believes, at least, but he wouldn’t call himself an expert. It just seems unlikely that there are so many people in the world with their fates already planned out.

ulexite: how empathetic/sympathetic/compassionate my muse is

Very. It’s the core of his being.

unakite: what my muse’s ideal pet would be

Basil is his ideal pet! Without a doubt, she is the absolute love and joy in his life and a much needed companion. He’s been happier since adopting her. As much as he loves his plants, they don’t respond when he talks to them or curl up on his lap or purr in his ear. He never realised how much he wanted a cat until he actually got one.

verdite: my muse’s ethnicity/family history

Almost entirely Romanian. His mother was a first-generation immigrant from Romania, and his father a second generation. There may be something else sprinkled in that he doesn’t know about, but he doesn’t put much thought into it to begin with.

zebra stone: what gets my muse excited

Animals, plants, and music! It’s a gentle excitement, but he certainly brightens up when talking about any of these subjects, and it’s a nice change in pace from him being so stoic all the time.

zoisite: does my muse believe everything’s going to work out for them in the end or not?

No, no he absolutely doesn’t. No matter how terrible his victims, he still makes a living off killing people, and due to that, there’s no way things will work out for him. At the very least, it’s incredibly unlikely.

#rcmcdium #♔「 ooc ; ask 」even the stars are whispering to each other ❞#❋「 fane ; about 」i can be cut deep but i’m not bleeding ❞

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valley-of-dyingstars · 7 years ago

Text

The Whisper

The flute was pure white, not a stain or a crack defacing its surface. There was no telling what it was made of as it was far to smooth to be polished wood and too heavy and sturdy to be plastic. The texture was almost like that of a bone, which disturbed Greg when he thought of it. As he looked over his discovery, his peddling wavered and as a result the boat started to veer off course. It was only when the swan boat jolted and Hanna yelled his name that he noticed the boat was heading down stream. Though the current was weak, Greg could see some rough waves and whitecaps further down the river. They needed to turn the boat before they reached that point.

Greg let out a cry of shock and gripped the flute tightly in his hands before peddling as hard as he could so he could turn the boat around once again. The resistance of the water was enough to tire out his legs, that coupled with the fact that he had been walking for god knows how long previously.

The boat managed to straighten out once again with some extra effort from Greg, though he was nearly knocked out of the boat as it turned back towards the river’s edge.

“What was that about?” Hanna asked as they got closer to the shore.

Greg flushed at her question. It was sound really stupid if he told her he endangered their search for home when he was looking at a mysterious musical instrument. However, it wasn’t as if he could lie to his sister. She had a talent for detecting his honesty.

“I was just-” he paused, unsure how to explain the unexplained flute he had found on the swan boat. “I just randomly found this. I don’t know where it came from.”

As the swan boat coasted halfway up onto the shore, Greg handed the flute over to his sister. Her wise became wide with curiosity and astonishment. A flute was the last thing you would expect to find on a paddle boat. Hanna looked back at Greg, seeking an answer about the object. He could only offer a clueless shrug.

As the siblings climbed out of their seats and onto the rocky shore, Hanna kept the flute tightly locked within her hand. She noticed that the instrument was quite brittle and old, as it nearly cracked due to the sheer force of her grip. When both her feet were solidly planted on the uneven ground she held the instrument more delicately.

The crafting was simple, and it seemed almost archaic in it’s design. The only thing that made the flute seem new was it’s blinding white colour.

“It’s kind of pretty,” Hanna stated as she looked it over. There was no indication of it’s previous owner or even it’s maker. “I wonder if someone forgot it on the boat.”

“Maybe,” Greg said, though for a reason he couldn’t place, he didn’t believe the flute had ever belonged to anyone. However, the origins of the flute were the least of their concerns. The pressing matter was how they were going to get home. “Come on, let’s find the path.”

On the side of the river that they stood on, the trees seemed darker and clustered more closely together. With the small amount of space in between the trees, barely any sunlight managed to make it to the forest floor. Even though the sun had yet to set, inside the woods it looked like night fall.

Brother and sister stuck close together as they left the swan boat behind them. They didn’t wish to take the chance they would be separated while wandering the forest in search of the path that the woodcutter had described. Even though they left the swan on the side of the river, Hanna kept the flute in her hand. It didn’t sit well with her to leave it behind.

Hanna and Greg tried to keep walking straight as they made their journey away from the rivers edge and through the deep woods. After keeping a steady pace for a few minutes, they were quickly able to find what they could only guess was the path.

A trail made of white stones winded through the thick forest. The stones glimmered, even though there was barely any natural light reflecting off of them. It was the only path that was anywhere near the river, so it had to be the one that the woodcutter spoke of.

Greg was unsure which direction they were meant to go, as the woodcutter had failed to give them such details in his curt directions. He looked over at his older sister, who seemed just as conflicted as he was.

“Do you think it matters which way we go?” Greg asked, desperate for his sisters optimism and easing words.

“Probably not,” Hanna said, her tone chipper and reassuring. “Both ends of this path is bound to end up somewhere. Like the road or maybe the highway.”

Greg nodded, agreeing with her reasoning, and decided to walk in the direction that lead to a lighter area of the forest. Hanna followed close behind, idly playing with the flute in her hands.

The relief that filled Greg as they walked along the white stone path was palpable. After all the strange and terrifying encounters they had after getting lost, they were finally on their way home. At least, they were on their way to civilization, where they could call their parents.

Greg nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the blare of what sounded like a broken kazoo. Whipping around to glare at his sister, he found her fiddling with the flute and adjusting her fingers on the holes before trying to play the flute once again. The sound was more high pitched, and Greg winced as it grated on his ears.

“What are you doing?” Greg asked, cringing as Hanna tried the flute once more and created another broken sound.

“Just thought I would make some road trip music,” Hanna replied with a grin, waving the flute with jubilation.

“That was supposed to be music?“ Greg asked. His voice was heavy with exhaustion and sarcasm.

Hanna shot him an offended scowl before holding the instrument out to him. Her gaze was challenging him to one up her musical performance. Which wouldn’t be difficult. “Well, why don’t you try it then?”

“Are you kidding?” Greg scoffed, turning back around so he face the path they were walking down. “I’m not going to use that thing.”

“Why not?” Hanna huffed. “Aren’t you learning to play the flute?”

“I’m learning to play the clarinet, it’s different.” Greg took on a haughty expression as he looked over the flute with a new feeling of distrust. “Besides that thing could be riddled with diseases.”

His sister rolled her eyes before wiping the mouth piece end of the flute with the fabric of her shirt. “There, all clean,” she claimed, a wide grin on her lips. When Greg still looked hesitant to use it, she pursed her lips into a pout. “Come on, at least try it out. I’d love to hear it.”

Greg’s eyes shifted from the flute to Hanna’s wide, pleading eyes. He wasn’t eager to put his mouth on a flute that had been sitting on the rim of a moss covered swan boat, no matter how clean it looked. However, with the extra tension this evening had presented them in the form of stone faced woodcutters and creepy puppets, Greg could understand the need for levity.

It could be fun to see if this flute still actually worked.

“Fine,” he grumbled, swiping the flute from Hanna’s hands. “But if I get sick, I’m telling mom and dad that it was your fault.”

Greg tried to get his fingers into the proper positions, though he knew there was a big difference between this type of flute and his clarinet. Besides, he was only just learning how to properly play his musical instrument. Greg placed his lips over the mouth piece and blew into the flute. The sound the came out of it caused both Hanna and Greg to stop walking.

Greg had been expecting the flute to make a clean whistle or at least the kazoo noise Hanna had made. However, what came from the flute reminded Greg of the strong gusts of wind. Wind that was accompanied by light whispering.

Neither Greg nor Hanna were able to make out the words that were spoken when they first heard the whispering sound. Though, both could tell that words were indeed being said.

Greg exchanged a look of surprise with his sister before attempting to play the flute once again. The whispering was slightly louder as Greg blew into the flute a little bit harder. This time, the siblings were able to make out the words.

“Help me,” the voice from within the flute called. “Help me, children.”

Upon hearing the whisper, Greg immediately pulled the flute away from his lips and held it out at a distance. Hanna looked visibly horrified by what she had just heard and Greg imagined that he shared that expression.

“That’s weird, right?” Greg asked, his fingers trembling as held the flute as far away from himself as possible without dropping it to the ground. “Flute’s don’t speak, right?”

Hanna’s expression of horror melted away to reveal one of excitement. “It’s got to be a magic flute!” she gasped, her hands covering her cheeks.

Greg gave her a deadpan stare. “There’s no such thing as a magic flute,” he groaned. “It was just-” he stopped short, unable to think of a reasonable explanation as to why they both heard the flute speak. Unless they were both having the same hallucination.

“Try playing it louder,” Hanna said, shaking his arm, her eyes lighting up with interest. “See what else it says.”

It could have been that he wanted to prove to himself and Hanna that they were just imagining things. Or it could have been his own desire to discover what else this impossible instrument had to say. Either way, Greg pulled the flute towards himself once again.

This time, Greg didn’t play short bouts of music. His song stretched out for longer so they could listen to the whispering once again. With more playing, the voice shifted from a whisper to a song. Both siblings noticed the melodious and feminine coming from the flute.

“Help me, children,” the women’s voice sung as Greg continued to play louder. “Set me free. My husband waits within the woods for me. I need to return to my lost love. Won’t you help me children, help me fall from above.”

Greg kept playing the flute against his better judgement, even though his heart pounded in fear. As he continued to blow into the flute, the sound of the voice only became more clear and loud.

“Set me free!” the voice sung over and over again, getting louder as it continued. Hanna covered her ears as the voice became painfully loud. Greg dropped the flute in terror and shock as the voice screamed out. “Set me free!”

When the flute fell from his hands directly onto a particularly sharp white rock, it cracked in half. When the two halves of the whole clattered to the ground, a breath of wind blew around them, sounding almost like a slow sigh.

There was a moment of complete stillness as the siblings looked upon the broken flute. The looks of apprehension and shock on their faces mirrored one another. Neither one could believe they really imagined something like that.

“Savana!” a voice called out from within the woods.

Both Hanna and Greg’s heads snapped up and they looked ahead with expressions of alarm. A man was running towards them along the path from the direction they had been walking towards. The man was young, probably in his mid twenties, and he dressed like a typical hiker with a plaid shirt and loose fitting jeans.

Greg shrunk back as the man ran at them at top speed, but he was clearly not focused on the siblings. His head turned from side to side and his eyes darted around the forest.

“Savana!” the man cried out again as he continued to run. He was out of breath as he continued to frantically search for whoever this ‘Savana’ was. “I know I heard her.”

It was only when he was right in front of them that the man even noticed Hanna and Greg. He seemed just as surprised by their presence in the woods as they were with his.

“What are you two doing out here?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse and his chest heaving.

“We were just heading home,” Hanna answered automatically, not even a little weary of the stranger. She motioned to herself and her brother. “I’m Hanna, this is Greg.”

Greg stayed hidden behind his sister’s shoulder, much less eager to speak to people in this forest after the encounter they had with Giuseppe.

The man looked them over for a moment, confused and curious about these two lost children. “I’m Reagan,” he introduced himself with a nod. “Have either of you seen a woman, about my age? She has long dark hair and brown eyes.”

Hanna and Greg shook there heads in denial. Though Greg doubted Reagan could see him while he hid behind Hanna’s taller form.

Reagan seemed heartbroken by their response and his shoulders slumped with disappointment. “I could have sworn I heard her voice,” he whispered, more to himself than to the children. “I would recognize that voice anywhere. It couldn’t have been a mistake.”

When she heard the sorrow in his voice, Hanna’s heart swelled with pity. Even though she had just met this man, she desperately wanted to help him find what he was looking for. Even Greg was finding himself sympathizing with the stranger.

“We can help you find her,” Hanna offered, kindly reaching out to touch the man’s arm. Greg found himself nodding along to her suggestion. Reagan seemed astounded by the action of compassion.

“No need, children!” a voice, eerily familiar to the siblings called out from above them. “You’ve already helped.”

All three of them looked up to find a woman climbing down a particularly tall and thick spruce tree. One hand gripped a thin branch by her head while her feet were firmly planted on thicker and sturdier branches. She was dressed in shorts an a loose blouse. Her hair was a dark chestnut colour, and nearly reached her waist even while in a French braid. Though she was far above him, Greg could still tell she was very pretty.

“Savana!” Reagan yelled to her, his despondent expression was replaced with a joyous grin. Greg could swear there were tears glittering in his eyes. “What are you doing up there?”

“Just scouting ahead, Reagan,” she called back as she continued to climb to the bottom of the tree. “I found out which way we have to go.”

Savana finished her decent in a matter of moments. She seemed to be an expert climber with the way she manoeuvred herself around the tree and it’s branches on the way down.

When Savana reached the floor Reagan wasted no time in enveloping her in an embrace. “I’m so glad I found you,” he whispered into her hair and the siblings could hear her let out a breathy laugh.

“Me too,” she mumbled. Savana pulled away to look down at the two siblings, who stared at the pair in astonishment. The woman gave them a sweet smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. When she spoke, her voice was clear and melodious. “Thank you, Greg,” she said. “Your playing was beautiful.”

Greg floundered for something to say, and was unable to even make a squeak in response to her statement. He had no idea how she was able to learn his name. He didn’t want to think about how her voice was identical to the voice within the flute.

Savana and Reagan linked hands and she pulled him towards the direction Hanna and Greg had been walking away from. Greg had to wonder if that was the correct way to go in order to find the closest road.

As if sensing his thoughts, Savana stopped and turned back towards the siblings. “You’re going the right way,” she called out to them. “Don’t worry. As long as you stay on the path, you’ll be fine.”

With that, she turned away and the couple continued walking down the path of white stones.

Greg was a bit winded and confused by what had just transpired. Hanna, however, was whimsically elated. “I’m glad they’re together,” she beamed as she watched them walk along the path. She slapped her leg in sudden realization. “I think she was the magic flute and that was her husband! You must have set her free when you broke it. Thank god you’re a klutz.”

Greg shot her a look of disbelief, unwilling to believe that she was correct or that anything remotely paranormal had just happened.

“I think you’re nuts,” he replied before turning back towards the way they had been walking, now more ready than ever to go home and forget all of this.

When Greg glanced over his shoulder to look back behind, the couple had disappeared, as had the broken flute. However, as he turned back to face the path they were walking down, determined not to turn back, he was stopped by a faint and fragile sound. The sound of a young child crying.

#hansel and gretel #the swan maiden and the king #the singing bone #these are some obscure fairytales #drama 205

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radishthespringchild · 8 years ago

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Title: Femantasy Summary: Wanna read a fantasy story, but tired of men getting all the glory? Or women being pushed aside and into your boring supportive roles? Well look no further for a fresh spin on the cliche yet popular take on said genre. Genre: Fantasy/Humor/Parody(?) Story One: It's a Date

Story 1: [You are here]

Story 2: http://radishthespringchild.tumblr.com/post/157985800233/femantasy-story-2-ill-be-watching-you-warning

Walls are dusty and dank covered in an array of roots, vines, and moss. Cob webs hang in collective amounts from the equally dirty ceilings, and the floors are littered with vermin and an assortment of skeletal body parts. Except for the flames burning from the top of a torch illuminating a small area around itself, everything else is shrouded in darkness. "I can't believe you talked us into comin' down here!" Bellows a Dwarven female clad in dull armor whose hand is clutching the torch. She swipes it swiftly in front of herself sending rats scurrying away in terror. Eyes simple roll as a scoff echoes off the stone walls around them. "I didn't talk you into anything." A manicured hand flips ruby strands from off a cloaked shoulder. "I simply overheard the townsfolk talking about an underground lair that used to belong to a necromancer that used to cause the town grief. For reasons unknown to them she disappeared years ago, and she has stashed some of her riches she's amassed, from her treachery of course, down there. Some of the townsfolk have tried, resulting in probably their deaths, and failed to acquire this left behind treasure. Since we are a formidable adventuring group I thought we could come down here and take it for ourselves. So that's why I've informed the others and yourself because I figured you'd like a cut of it. " She receives a huff of disagreement. "While that may be true you only wanted us here to do the dirty work so you can get your share for that gaudy dress for your silly date." The Elven woman gasps in astonishment. "Gaudy outfit? Silly date?!" Hands rest on her hips while she lowers her upper body to be on eye level with the shorter one. "Only someone such as yourself wouldn't appreciate a work of art such as that divine gown we spotted in that shop window! And silly date?! That man is a prince! And not just any prince. That is Marcus the fifth of the Winslow family. And there's no way I'm going on that date tomorrow in anything less extravagant!" A much smaller female adorning black pigtails and a leather ensemble steps out of the shadows. There is nothing but a smirk on her lips as she wraps her arms in a sassy fashion. "That's all well and good-n-all, but does he have it where it counts~?" "While intimate and anatomy adequacy is important in a man..." Though there is a haughty expression on her fair face, no one can mistaken the devious gleam in Tiaess' (pronounced: Tee-ah-ess) eyes. "...I don't care what he has downstairs as long as he provides me with the finest riches life has to offer. Not to mention the fact that he's merely a child meaning in a mere fifty, sixty years, maybe longer, he'll have expired making me queen of everything that belongs to him. He'd be a fool not to marry a lady who excels in aptitude and refinement." A laugh erupts from the smaller's lips. "And I thought I was a greedy bitch!" It was time for the Elf to smirk. "Some call it greedy, but I'd say it's more of an investment." "...I'd say it's more of you being a harlot..." Murmurs Marla not so quietly to herself while switching which hand to hold the torch in. "I'd rather be a "harlot" than a shrewd virgin destined to be single for the rest of my life." Fingers motion a little quotation signal in the air. "Maybe if you'd let loose a little you wouldn't have to be so uptight." An "Oooh...!" seethes between a pair of teeth as hazel eyes squint in a painful manner. "Daaamn! You know you've got a stick way deep in your ass when a High Elf is telling you to pull yours out!" Golden spun tresses bristle while crystallized eyes narrow and teeth snarl into a scowl. Clanking fills the desolate vicinity as the paladin steps towards the taller woman, standing erect on her toes as she does so. As she is about to speak upon opening her mouth does a different more mellow voice cut her off. "Um, girls, we have a problem." All eyes immediately shoot over to the fourth party member the moment "problem" leaves her mouth. Despite her mentioning anything being wrong there is nothing but a calm, almost dazed glaze in her verdant irises. With the argument far from her mind now, the mage moves from the paladin over to the ranger. "Oh no, no, no! There shouldn't be a problem, Poppy!" Fingers fan out lowering towards though only hovering in proximity to each other. A faint glow beings emanating at the tips brightening with each incantation chanted from painted lips. Without Marla leading her anymore the red head needs a way to see through the dark pathway ahead. "Show me and my intellectual expertise will fix the problem." Despite urging the human to rush Tiaess (and of course the other traveling companions) to the issue at hand it's as though she's purposefully doing the complete opposite. Her motions are sluggish almost drowsily like she could just pass out asleep. Hands reach upward clapping palms against each other with fingers resting against her lips. They cannot contain the grin widening across her tan cheeks. "I wouldn't say it's much of a problem to me. The roots blocking the door are actually quite exquisite. The way they wrap around and weave into each other is like Mother Nature's own natural version of wicker basket making except it's on a door instead of making an actual basket~..." There is nothing but utter bliss radiating off her face. With one hand allowing the ball of light to levitate in it, the other lies across a forehead and shut eyes. Being an Elf meant Tiaess has an affinity for nature, but what she hears spewing from the other woman is nothing but flowering nonsense! At least she knows now what said problem is. "So why didn't you cut them off the door with your daggers?" She sighs out tiredly. There is a pause as if the messy haired brunette is snapped out of a trance. "...I need to sharpen them." For once there's a seriousness in her stare. "Plus it'd be unsanitary to use them on the roots since I usually use them on the kills I cook our meals with." Fingertips are now rubbing circles along her temples. "Riiight..." Another sigh heaves out of her. "Luckily I've got just the right spell for this~! Just show me where the door is, if you please." The sooner this is all done the safer my sanity will be...! It's a walk down a hallway, down a flight of steps, then around a corner that finally leads to the designated door. Although she is quite irritated by all the delays keeping her from her part of the treasure, Tiaess can't help but crack a smile at the sight before her. The ranger has an animal companion, an adorable otter affectionately referred to as "Nibbles", and somehow he'd manage to squeeze in between the thick vines clawing and biting one of them unable to penetrate through it. "You might want to call Nibbles back unless you want charred otter for dinner." Though she teases Poppy about it she'd never hurt such a cute creature. It's as though she doesn't hear the Elven lady upon calling her pet back. After squirming about he scurries on back to her side. He happily squeaks up at her upon feeling fingers scratching under his chin then a top his head. Frosty eyes melt into a fiery hue churning like a pit of molten lava. Little embers spark off fingertips for a bit before they erupt into small flames. They start off tiny enlarging over a span of only a few seconds coiling around one another forming a swirling into a flaming vortex. Shortly after the flames seep into that singular spiral a blazing cone suddenly flies out in between the mage's hands at the vines. It only takes mere minutes for the entire plant to be engulfed in the fire burning up off the massive stone door. A triumphant smirk widens smugly across her face while she dusts off her hands. "See? Problem fixed." There is nothing but a dejected look on Poppy's own as she seeks a comforting embrace around her loyal companion. "Such a lovely work of art singed in Mother Nature's natural purifier... Both a necessitate for better or worse by her will..." "There, there, lass." A heavy "thunk" echoes in the air from the Dwarven woman patting the ranger's back as comforting as she can in her metal gauntlets. "If that prince is a smart one then we'll be in another nature-y dungeon for ya to admire while we help the skanky mage on another one of her gold diggin' schemes." Eyes narrow sending an icy glare in her direction. "We've been over this, it's an investment! Besides at least I can get a man~ Maybe that's why you're always so upset at my endeavors." Oh, how Marla wants to punch that smug sneer off her face...! But instead of inflicting bodily harm she decides to hurt her party member in a better approach. "Well since it's your "endeavor" than you can lead on without me. Have fun prying that heavy ass door open on your own~!" "Wait, wait, wait!" Though she halts in her retreat it only causes her smirk to show off teeth it's so wide. "If you leave you're not only forcing us to lose our share of the treasure, but yours as well...!" Shit! She was right. As always...! Damn nerdy ass Elf...! However, the desperation in the red head's voice didn't go unnoticed so overall she got the reaction she was looking for~ "All right, all right! I'll stay!" More clinking impregnates the silence from the blonde stomping over to the door. "...you're lucky this benefits me as much as it does you..." She grumbles under her breath. Reaching over her armor clad head she retrieves a shield strapped to her back. "Stand back all a ya unless ya wanna be flattened into a pancake!" After lining up the piece of equipment she steps back a few feet before letting out a loud yell then charging into said door with it. The sudden impact causes the entryway to fall right over with her tumbling over on top of it! "Ah! Can someone help me up?! Kinda stuck down here!" Though no one helps her up upon immediate request, the rest of the party does rush in front of her the moment the door comes crashing down. "Hey, what gives?!" She hollers, not realizing what was in front of her. A left hand reaches over the back of a head pulling a bow out of a quiver with the right retrieving an arrow. The string of the bow makes a stretching noise when the arrow is drawn inside of it. Jades irises narrow over its handle. "We have been greeted with abominations...!" Seethes Poppy aggressively between her teeth. Marla knows exactly now what it is she's referring to when brought to a rare state of anger. The only reason she can't smell the foul creatures is thanks to the scent breakers the ranger offered to them earlier. Their wordless guttural cries given them just as away as their terrible odor would though. Oh, how she can't wait to smite these undead in the name of holy justice! Cool blue eyes peer over a cloaked shoulder followed with a mocking smile. "Don't bother getting up. Just make yourself comfortable while the real adventures take care of the onslaught." That'll teach her to try and run off on me! The elf was more so now grinning to herself than at the other woman on the ground. "Once I get up I'll show you why you can't go anywhere without me escortin' ya 'round!" While the taller woman are arguing Issbrand, with Nibbles following on right behind her, decides to sneak on past the zombie horde. Beyond the undead sat a treasure chest on a stone pedestal at the back of the room. "Stupid zombies...! I can't stab anything if it ain't got a pulse!" She grumbles to herself as she ducks and weaves between the decaying body parts. Any that even come close to threatening does the cute pet merely shove over. Since she isn't as helpful in action she decides to make up for in opening annoying locks... "You girls might not be able to hold your pissing contest since I plan to abolish these from Mother Nature's sight faster than you can get to them." It's as if Poppy's determination to slay the living corpses fueled an entirely new person. Arrows are flying out of her hands much faster than she can keep them in them. With each hit pieces of rotted flesh or organs would go splattering everywhere decorating the walls in a foul display. With her lighting speed and aim she takes out a good chunk of the army on her own. Some now lying on the ground pilfered in the butt end of her ranged weaponry. "Now, now Poppy don't be so greedy." Those cold blue eyes are warming back into that familiar molten hue. "You must learn to share with your fellow party members. As much as I'd love to see these disgusting creatures gone, I'd like to help in their indefinite demise." Though it seems she's only concentrating on speaking to the human Tiaess is allowing the fire spell to build in her grasp before unleashing fiery destruction on a sizeable portion of the horde. An almost blood thirsty smirk stretches across a freckled face upon the warrior rising to her feet. One gauntlet covered hand reaches to her side to retrieve her trusted shield. The other reaches behind her head to pull her beloved sword from its sheath. "There can't be a contest when there's no competition." When the blade of her weapon is completely free from its encasing does a blinding white energy burst from the hilt shrouding the entire weapon. "IN THE NAME OF THE HOLIEST AND RIGHTEOUS OF BEARDS I SMITE YE FOUL BEASTS BACK TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL IN WHICH YE CRAWLED OUT OF!!!" In a speed the naked eye can barely keep up with, Marla closes a great distance across the room. The undead that come into contact with her sword disintegrate! It's as if the holy energy radiating off of it is swiftly eating away at their dead flesh. A leather brown backpack half the size of the Halfling is thrown onto the floor right beside the treasury. "Can't believe I'm missing out on all the action..." She flips the top of the bag open flinging any contents inside till she shouts a triumphant "AH-HAH!" revealing a rolled up piece of brown fabric. Upon unrolling it hanging on the inner side is a collection of lock picking tools. During the time it takes the tiny pigtailed woman to work the giant lock that seems just as large as the chest it's attached to, the rest of the group steps over the rubble created from the decimated corpses gathering around her. The fresh silence is met with a loud chink and Issbrand bellowing out a proud "GOT IT!". Right after those words scream from her mouth does the lock fall off the chest, the top fly open, and glistening off the dull gray walls are an array of golds, platinum, silvers, coppers, and bright colors. Scampering from her knelt position, the rogue jumps up into the mage's arms hugging her vigorously. "WE'RE RICH THANKS TO YOUR GREEDY ASS!!!" She laughs out ecstatically. In spite of having someone, especially a non-Elf, clinging way too closely to herself, Tiaess can't keep the cocky grin from expanding across her face. "What can I say? I try to reward others with my success~" ~~~ From the treasure hunting excursion all the way up to her date night the Elven maiden's smugness stuck around. But who could blame her really? The coins and gems spent towards the outfit is a smart investment. Fabric on the dress fits her like a glove accentuating the right areas of her body. Parts of it show off skin, but in a sensual instead of a trashy way. Decorated along the attire is enough dazzle to draw attention but not to be too flashy. The coloration compliments her skin tone drawing the eye to her features as much to the dress. Tiaess didn't stop at just having a fancy gown, oh no! She went all out~! With whatever leftover funds from the mission she had her crimson mane done up into a braided bun, got her makeup and nails redone, and accessorized any bare skin that could use a touch of jewelry. If not upon first glance than by the end of the night that man would be begging her hand in marriage~ Upon being greeted with a sullen demeanor from the prince's overseer anxiety wells up in the pit of her stomach. "My apologizes in having to see you already in preparations, Milady, but the prince had to leave suddenly on important matters." She has to pick her poor jaw off the ground. "Leave?!? What do you mean?!" There is nothing but perplexity in her tone. Her response isn't surprising to the older gentleman. "Early this morning the young prince received an urgent telegram from the Maxton Kingdom. A viscous dragon came barreling into the castle kidnapping Princess Sophia. Prince Marcus is on his way right now to save her from the beast's captivity as we speak." Oh how she wants to scream...! ...and cry, and drink a few bottles of wine, and buy a few tubs of ice cream, and...! But instead of having her melt down she simply bows respectively. "Well thank you for informing me. It's quite a shame that he wasn't able to see me, but at least it was for a moral and righteous cause." She does her best to wear a polite smile. "Send the prince my regards and good evening." There is a reason she doesn't mention the princess. Stupid weak slut! I hope she dies for ruining my date...! I should be a queen by now...! It was going to be a long night of binge drinking and stress eating, but she was going to look damn good doing it!

#fantasy #women #humor #parody #adventure

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royalalbertamuseumblog · 7 years ago

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The RAM reading list – science literature as recommended by RAM staff

By: RAM Staff

In honour of National Science Reading Day (20 September) and Science Literacy Week (18-24 September), we asked our staff of curators, researchers, science enthusiasts, and history buffs to recommend some of their favourite science-themed reads. We hope this list inspires you to find your next great read - enjoy!

“E=MC2: A Biography of the World’s Most Famous Equation” by David Bodanis

(This book was recommended by two staff members - so you know it’s good!)

“E=MC2: A Biography of the World’s Most Famous Equation” by David Bodanis is a great book for the non-scientists like me. The author takes each part of the equation (including the equal sign) and provides a historical review of the scientist behind the symbol. Very engaging.

- Lucie Heins, Assitant Curator, Western Canadian History

Not really science per se, as much history as science; but the history of the science of the component parts of the famous equation.

Fascinating stuff!

Breaks down the component parts and explains where the ideas behind the theories of the independent parts (e.g.: mass). It is done in such a manner that anyone can understand it, as it is not written by a physicist or scientist, rather a more generalist writer, albeit with a (formal) science and economics background.

- Sean Moir, Collections Manager

Elephant Memories: Thirteen Years in the Life of an Elephant Family by Cynthia Moss

One book that still resonates with me is “Elephant Memories: Thirteen Years in the Life of an Elephant Family” by Cynthia J. Moss. I read this book shortly after I began working as a natural history interpreter at The Mammoth Site of Hot Springs, SD. The book helped me develop a much greater appreciation for the remains of the extinct elephants that I walked past every day. It helped shape my mental image of how mammoths might have lived their lives. It’s not the only reason that elephants and mammoths interest me, but it was definitely an influential piece in shaping my fascination with them.

- Chris Jass, Curator of Quaternary Palaeontology

Honk, Honk, Goose (Canada Geese Start a Family): April Pulley Sayre

This is a fantastic read for children to start learning about birds during breeding season. It presents facts about how Canada Geese find their partner, mate and take care of their goslings. It is a fun interpretation, where children are encouraged to make sounds like a father goose protecting its family would for example. It also provides context for children as to why some birds may make noises or chase you away (e.g., have you ever been dive-bombed by an American Robin?) during breeding season. This can help alleviate your child’s fear of birds, as they come to the understanding that they are protecting their partner and family and to stay clear of their nest.

- Diana Tirlea, Assistant Curator, Quaternary Environments

Next Time You See A Maple Seed: Emily Morgan

This is a fantastic book, which not only teaches you about a maple seed (a samara) but also engages the readers by getting them to ask questions. Questions like, where does this samara come from? What is a samara? What will happen to the samara once it lands on the ground? It has brilliant images of not only seeds and the plants, but also children interacting with the samaras. It also engages children by asking them to try out some activities and to explore their environment (outside) by looking and asking questions about what they see and find; whether it be big or small.

- Diana Tirlea, Assistant Curator, Quaternary Environments

Only the Cat Saw: Ashley Wolff

This book is all about observation, which is one of the key elements to new scientific discoveries, part of the development of questions (hypothesis) and record-keeping during research. This book is geared towards young children. It provides lovely two-page illustrations, without text, to see what “only the cat saw”, as the cat adventures out during the evening while the whole family is getting ready for bed and/or sleeping. Many of the elements which “only the cat saw” are nature-based, such as a thunderstorm or an owl catching a mouse. It is a fantastic book, all about observation and discovering what you can see if you pay attention to details!

- Diana Tirlea, Assistant Curator, Quaternary Environments

The Science of War: Canadian Scientists and Allied Military Technology” by Donald Avery.

While Anthony, our curator of Military and Political History, hasn’t had a chance to read this book yet (it’s on his list), he wanted to, in his words, “put a plugin for the real science… you know… Social Science!”

- Anthony Worman, Curator of Military and Political History

RadioLab (Podcast) by Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich

While not a book, RadioLab is the perfect way to introduce yourself to the latest in scientific advancements and theories, in an engaging and entertaining way, that in no way reminds you of a high school science class. In fact, it took me a couple of episodes to realize that it’s a “science podcast” at all, so enthralled I was in the topics they selected and their narration and storytelling techniques. If you prefer a book, you can find a complete list of science-themed literature that has inspired their episodes here: http://radiolabreads.tumblr.com/

- Nathalie Batres, Marketing Officer

Non-fiction Recommendations by our curator of Quaternary Environments, Dr. Alwynne Beaudoin

Your Inner Fish: A Journey into the 3.5-Billion-Year History of the Human Body. By: Neil Shubin (2008)

Palaeontologist Neil Shubin looks at body structures - hands, arms and legs, teeth, structures for smelling, seeing and hearing - and shows how their development is reflected in the fossil record. Elements of the human body plan are ancient and are recorded in some of the earliest fossils with bodies (as opposed to single-celled or multicelled organisms). He starts with the discovery of the Tiktaalik on Ellesmere Island, a fossil of a creature intermediate between fish and early land-living tetrapods. Shubin shows how palaeontology contributes to our understanding of human growth and development. He finishes his survey by examining how some human frailties (such as hernias and hiccups) may have a link to our genetic past, and thereby makes a good case for the continuing value of palaeontology. Shubin packs a good deal of information into a deceptively simple and readable format.

The Crystal Desert: Summers in Antarctica. Houghton Mifflin Books. By: David G. Campbell (1992)

This is one of my all-time favourite books. It’s a meditation on fieldwork and science. It won several literary awards, an indication of its fine writing. Campbell focuses on his biological fieldwork on King George Island, one of the South Shetland Islands off the Antarctic Peninsula. He spent three austral summers there. Campbell characterizes this as the 'banana belt' of Antarctica, yet it is still a place where life hangs on a knife-edge. He describes the flora and fauna of the island, and discusses the discovery and use of the island by whalers, hunters, explorers, and, more recently, tourists. He examines the human impact on this remote area, and describes the difficulties of fieldwork and study in such an unforgiving landscape. Campbell sets his studies into the broader context of the human and natural history of one of the most remote and yet wildest places on earth.

The Song of the Dodo. Scribners, New York. By: David Quammen (1996)

Quammen is one of the best science writers around. He is a very fine prose stylist and his writing is always a true pleasure to read. In this book, he examines the ideas of island biogeography, starting with the life and career of Alfred Russel Wallace and finishing with modern conservation dilemmas. Along the way, he visits many of the world's major islands, including the Malay Archipelago, the Galapagos, the Hawaiian Islands, Mauritius, Madagascar, and Guam. All of them have vulnerable plants and wildlife. He examines scientific ideas about conservation and the reasons for island endemism. He includes interviews with researchers and accounts by scientists of their findings and presents different sides of the conservation debate.

Jacquard's Web: How a Hand-loom Led to the Birth of the Information Age. By: James Essinger (2004)

Computers and information technology permeate modern life and every aspect of scientific endeavour, so it is interesting to trace their development. Essinger starts with the invention of the punched card by Jacquard to speed up silk-weaving in the early 19th century. He continues by tracing the use of punched cards as controllers by Babbage in his design for his analytical engine, and then by Herman Hollerith in his design for a tabulating machine for the 1890 US census. The account moves into the 20th century and the development of the electronic computer, principally by IBM, during and after WWII. The demise of the punch card occurred by 1984, although Essinger points out that it is still used for a few applications. Indeed, I vividly remember using punch cards as a grad student in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

A Mathematician Reads the Newspaper. By: John Allen Paulos (1995)

In a series of short pithy essays, Paulos examines some of the numerical and statistical absurdities and assumptions bandied about in newspaper articles. Although the idea of reading a newspaper may seem rather quaint today, the idea of reading news stories is not, and much of what Paulos has to say about critical thinking and numeracy is as relevant today as it was in 1995. Fear not, you don’t need math skills to read and enjoy this book, just a willingness to look carefully at what you read in the media. In an age when “fake news” is a thing, Paulos’ call for numerical literacy is even more important. His take-home message is not to become blinded by the apparent authority of numbers and statistics but to examine what assumptions underpin the way in which information is presented. Good advice for everyone!

Fiction Recommendations by Dr. Alwynne Beaudoin

The Martian. By: Andy Weir (2011)

Mark Watney is stranded on Mars after his crewmates leave because of a massive storm and because they think he is dead. Fortunately, he has a sense of humour as well as science smarts, so it’s a pleasure to follow his story through his diary. He has to exert all his science and technical engineering skills to work through many practical challenges, hoping to survive until the next Mars landing four years’ hence. His first problem, extending his food supplies, he tackles by growing potatoes using human waste as a fertilizer. Then he re-establishes communication with Earth by finding Pathfinder (an old Rover module) and getting it working. The NASA scientists, once they realize he's alive, scramble to devise rescue plans and avoid a PR disaster. Here, we see the scientist as hero and contrast lone science (Mark) and team science (NASA). Not only for nerds, this is a terrific read!

We hope you enjoyed the list and be sure to share with us your own favourite science-themed book by tagging us on social media!

#natural history #human history #books #science literacy #Royal Alberta Museum

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aidenweber-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Walden

You’ll never know because it never happened to you. Not like it happened to me. You can’t say what you’d’ve done. But i’ll tell you how it was.

“It’s really hard.”

“I know it is,” I said, feeling the softness of her earlobe between my thumb and forefinger. “We’re both middle children.”

It was one of those white-skied days, cool in the shade and the wind and warm in the thinly veiled sun, and she put her hand in mine when we came over a bridge and looked out on the still brown water in the park. I kissed the crease at the corner of her lips and they curled, her big eyes narrowing but looking straight ahead over the water, which now wrinkled under the weight of a passing wind.

A young man came beneath us in a paddleboat and emerged again, working his legs in circles and gazing around to both sides like he was riding a bicycle. He looked back at her and smiled and didn’t seem to see me at all. I dropped her hand to point out the flamingos and I forgot to pick it up again.

“Look how pink they are.”

“I know.”

“You know why they’re so pink?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I forgot but I know.”

“It’s their shrimp diet.”

“I knew that,” she said. “I hate it when you put me on the spot.”

“It’s just a fun fact.”

“Fun for who?”

We went on to the monkey house and she baby-talked the white-faced capuchins while they swung around and hung by their tails, turned to her and showed their teeth. We came outside to the walks, empty of families, trafficked only by odd couples on the Tuesday afternoon.

“They look like Tim Burton inventions,” I said of a top-hat-clad and cane baring couple and she giggled, pointing to another ragged pair blissing through a free date, save for the clear plastic bottle which lifted it.

“You think it’s water in that bottle?” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “This is the zoo.”

“Look at them.”

“Why should I? I’m still smelling them.”

“I wish fresh air and water still got me high,” she said.

“We shouldn’t be cruel.”

“I know,” she said. “We do the same thing at movies.”

“I never talk in the theatre.”

“I meant about the drinks.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know what I meant,” she said, nudging me to keep the volley. I just squinted at the animals.

And by the giraffes we went on joking in each other’s ears, thinking ourselves a walking photograph from a lifestyle magazine. She wore yoga pants that wrapped her fine legs like a mat-finished paint job on a Porsche, a light traveler jacket and her sandy hair down and resting in a swirl like a napping cat on her shoulder. I had a beard growing in for autumn and she scratched her head on it when she leaned in against me.

I gave her my backpack to wear because it kept her a little warmer and she didn’t mind the weight of all my textbooks, it reminded her I was still finishing school while she’d been out and holding down an accounting job six months. We sat in the weak sun out front of the lion’s display and waited for them to emerge while we ate our thick-layered sandwiches and drank our chocolate milks.

“Look, look!” she tugged at me and pointed, “There’s the father!”

A great big lion with a dark blonde mane emerged from behind a boulder, his lazy hips shifting and his impressive balls bulging between his legs.

“Oh yeah, look at that.”

“And there’s the momma!”

“Yes, there’s the female.”

“Oh, they look so in love!”

“He’s walking away from her,” I said.

“Yes but did you see the way he looked back at her? They seem really in love.”

“She’d move right along if another lion came around and killed him.”

“You’re such a cynic.”

And so we ate our sandwiches without talking and watched the lions. We never saw any cubs but she went on calling them mother and father after we left through the garden and lay in the grass and talked about our mess and scribbled a list of things we had to do to sort it all out. Then she decided she wanted to pick a name.

“Why don’t we name every spark?”

“You say it like there are so many,” she said.

“There are loads of them.”

“Not like this,” she said, her voice becoming wobbly. “Never before like this and never again like this.”

“Okay, alright.”

I put my arms around her and touched our foreheads together so we had a warm little cave between us while we pitched around ideas, shutting out the Clark Street traffic and the pile of bums picnicking around a trash can across the lawn.

And in the end we named our baby that was to be aborted Walden, in association with the book by Henry David Thoreau, a favorite writer of mine, whose portrait hung in my bedroom. We liked the sound of the name and it seemed to fit the embryo’s relatively short existence, secluded and alone in a home of its own, so very near to civilization, churning and chattering and mixing and warring, but far enough off to possess exclusively the experience of reclusion.

We didn’t mean to be funny, or maybe in a small way we did, only for ourselves so it wasn’t all so miserable, but we mostly wanted to name it justly. We weren’t sure about its gender, I’m not sure it had yet taken a gender; it was conceived only a couple weeks prior and I don’t know how that all works, but we both wanted a son, and even though we were taking expensive and careful measures to ensure we had a child of no kind, our natural inclination was to imagine the germinated seed of our creation would, if provided the opportunity, grow to be a strong and beautiful man.

The thing was planted in her body and immediately I could see there was a two-way feed between them. She was the provider, and if nothing else, that demand altered her behavior.

She wanted to fuck every five minutes. She called it “doing lovey”. Once when I came too soon she screamed at me, told me she didn’t really love me but only thought she did. Her appetite swelled along with her breasts. She said she’d never love herself again for doing it and I knew she knew she was lying, but it felt good for her to say. She thought she had to say it, and I do believe a part of her would forever quake at the decision. But like all decisions and places in time, it becomes relatively smaller and smaller as it grows more distant, until perhaps by old age, I thought, it would be only a bloody speck in a far off sunset, a small and sharp and painful feeling, seldom passed over and so seldom felt.

She imagined we’d be haunted, that Walden’s ghost would infect all future inhabitants of her womb with resentment for their mother. She bothered herself with considering Walden’s potential fate.

“What position do you think he’d play?” She asked me while we sat on the couch in my basement apartment one Sunday and watched the Packers play.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’d play soccer.”

“No son of mine will play soccer,” she spat.

I tipped back my beer. “Well mine will. Mine will play every sport.”

“Oh so they’ll play field hockey and miniature golf and curling and polo?”

“Mini golf, certainly. Every kid plays mini golf. At birthday parties, after the pool, before ice cream, after ice cream, on vacation, every kid plays mini golf.”

“Never mind,” she said, “Your son would probably be a punter.”

I chuckled and swallowed down the last of my beer.

“Fuck you,” she said, “You can still drink your beer and sit and watch your stupid games and play stupid like you don’t know what position Walden would be.”

“You can have a beer too, sweets,” I said, “Walden will never be born.”

She rose from the couch and I knew she was going to do something she didn’t want to. Like a little tornado she spun and in a single heavy motion, gathered the flat-screen in her arms and thrust it to the floor on the downbeat.

Then I was sweeping up the broken fragments of the television screen, trying not to crack, trying not to let her get in at me. I heard her crying with her face buried in the blankets on the bed and instinctively I wanted to comfort her, but consciously, I wanted to remain stubborn and make clear I would not tolerate such erratic behavior, regardless of what was growing and dying inside her. “Iiii—haaaaate—yoooouuu,” I heard her hoarsely moan.

And I did not feel nor hear my footsteps as I walked to the bedroom and sat on the bed and rubbed the sweater on her back and then lay down beside her and gathered her in my arms against me and “Shhh,” I said, “Shhhhh. Walden would be a running back. Sometimes they’d put him in motion and run him out of the slot. In high school they’d play him both ways and on defense he’d play corner. But he’d really be a running-back.”

“Do-do-do you think he’d be good?”

“Of course babe, he’d be a pit bull. Just think of our builds and how they’d go together.”

“I don’t like pit bulls,” she said, “They’re horrible animals. My friend Tessa, you remember her?”

“Yes, babe.”

“Well, her little brother-he-he-got mauled by the neighbor’s pit bull when he was just a kid. And he-he-was just a kid,” and then she started crying again and I rubbed her back and told her to breathe.

“Alright, well he’d be a little bulldog.”

“I don’t like dogs, they don’t think for themselves,” she said.

“Well he’d be a bull then, strong in the back and stubborn as hell. Just like his momma.”

Finally she laughed. She pulled me on top of her by my shirt and slid her cold hand down into my pants. I wanted to slip out and off to a bar to finish the game; it was all knotted up in the 4th and we’d have all night and all the nights to follow together but there is no bargaining with a pit bull. I knew the way she wanted it and that’s the way I gave it: soft and tender and nibbling and stroking and then on with it, turning her onto her stomach and giving it hard and harder and harder still until she spilled upon the sheets like a broken egg, her arms and legs spread like a starfish and her open mouth wet upon the pillow.

Thoreau’s huge eyes stared indifferently over us; empty and unassuming like a very old man’s or a very young child’s. A long beard hung from his jaw like Spanish moss. He stared and he never blinked.

“Come on Thoreau, have some decency,” I said. He did not smile; he never smiled. “It’s nature Henry, you of all people should know.”

She laughed a little and her big wet eyes brightened, reminding me she was very young, reminding me we were very young, and I went to the bathroom to piss and when I returned she was crying again.

“I feel so guilty,” she said.

I lay down beside her with my fingers interwoven and looked up at the ceiling fan. I knew she heard my breaths. She slept more quietly than a monarch in a chrysalis when she could sleep, but even then she could always hear me breathing. She said when she dreamed she could feel my breaths like a whispering wind around her.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said, “I’m doing my best.”

I made a conscious and strategic choice to dress my numbed voice in tearful regret, “I really don’t know what to do.” And then I felt the springs of the mattress move and she rolled over onto me, her little fingers like fronds on my shoulder.

“Shhh,” she said, “It’s my fault, not yours.”

I didn’t say anything but went on breathing, trying not to, but breathing still, audible even to myself.

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” I said.

“I mean after it’s all over. Don’t leave me after, please.”

“I won’t,” I said.

“I’m sorry about the television.”

“It was your television.”

“Well I’m sorry for being such a beast.”

“It’s alright, I don’t care,” I said, and I didn’t really. Only a little as I imagined the last of the game playing out on a thousand jagged fragments in the trash. We fell asleep in a tangled knot and somewhere in the night I came loose but by morning she was back around me, melted into me, and I kissed her slacken, finally peaceful sleeping face, her big parted lips wet in the curly corners.

And that was how it was. Walden was the force behind the storm and she was the shrapnel blowing about and thrashing. We went to the women's health clinic and she held my hand and swung her feet below her chair in the waiting room like a child. There was a bowl of free condoms on the counter and she kept skipping up and scooping a few, placing them in her purse and returning beside me. She'd look at me and giggle and I’d pretend to be occupied reading a scientific journal they had out.

"You're being boooring," She said.

"It's a waiting room babe, I’m not gonna entertain you."

She looked around the room and stuck her face back by my ear. "Let's talk about the other people in here," she loudly whispered, "Great people watching, like at Montrose beach but even filthier."

"You're embarrassing me, please," I said with the low-octave strings of my throat so that it did not carry, "Why don't you read like I am?"

She snapped her head away and stood up as if making a toast to the room. A teenage Hispanic girl with big hoop earrings watched. The girl was accompanied by her short plump mother who watched also with sinister eyes.

"Everyone, this is the father of my unborn child. He likes to read about science. Some day, he told me, he's going to cure cancer." She gestured to me like Vanna White displaying a prize and I shook my head. The mother of the teenage girl shook hers. I put down the magazine and stood up. I started walking to the bathroom and she grabbed my arm and tried to anchor me down but I ripped through it. I waited in the bathroom until I heard her name called. I could hear in her gait she was angry and I was glad. I was afraid I’d hear embarrassment or shame in it and now I was ready for the fight. After a couple minutes I followed her in and closed the door behind me.

“You’re out of sorry’s so don’t even bother.”

I wanted to laugh but I only flexed my nostrils and chewed my tongue. I wanted to growl.

“Why don’t you just go?” She was sitting on the tissue paper on the elevated patient’s bench, leaning into her straight arms like columns at her sides with her smooth tan calves coming out from under her medical smock. Her clothes were folded beside her.

“I came here for the same reason as you.”

“You came here to make sure I didn’t change my mind.” Her voice was more patronizing than accusatory.

“I didn’t know you were thinking of changing it.”

“That’s because you’re self-absorbed.”

“Why are you doing this here?”

She sprung down from the bench, teeth leading, “We’re killing Walden because you’ve got plans for yourself!”

“For us.”

“For yourself!”

“Stop calling it Walden.”

“Walden! Walden! Walden!” She held her fists by her side and glared. I waited for her breathing to quiet or her hands to soften but they didn’t.

“You said this was what you wanted.”

Nothing changed, still a hot little engine burning in idle.

“Is it easier if you hate me?”

“I do hate you.”

“You know what you sound like?”

“I don’t care what you think.”

“You sound like someone who shouldn’t be having kids.”

Before my tongue dropped from my teeth to make “-ds” there was spit in my face and the look in her eyes of high flames behind thin ice. And she spat again. And she knew I was gone.

“You’re sick.”

I opened the door and flashed from the room. I could hear her screaming at me through the door and down the hallway while I made for the exit, "Yeah, I'm sick, sick with your fucking DNA in my body! It's in my body, you selfish motherfucker! If you leave I'll keep it I swear! I'll keep this nasty thing!"

I passed through the waiting room and the teenage girl and her mother were both too embarrassed to look up at me. Everyone else stared and I just swept through the door as fast as I could.

She called before I made it home. I let it buzz and she called again. I answered and my hand was frozen holding the phone to my ear and she was crying and sorry, and she loved me more than anything and she left shortly after me and she'd get it taken care of at a different clinic tomorrow. I didn't even have to come and she'd do it, she said I didn't have to pay and she'd do it, as long as she could sleep with me, as long she could still have me. I told her where I was and I waited for her to catch up.

The wind was cruel and she snuggled inside my big pea coat against me.

“Will we really have one some day?”

“There are steps we need to take first.”

“I want to have your son.”

I just smiled down at her, my lips shut together and she started to cry. Her hair smelled like vanilla and her cheeks I kissed were soft and fuzzy like peaches.

A week later she decided to go through with a medical abortion, saying, "The surgical option is too violent and invasive." I didn't argue, there was no use in that, but I couldn't help thinking, what could possibly be more invasive than a drug entering your blood and setting off a chemical firestorm?

She took it in the afternoon in my bedroom in the basement. We set to wait it out, preparing in our minds like our first hurricane was approaching. The grey autumn light of the late afternoon smoked down from the window well and darkness huddled in the far away corners of the room. Her hand sweated in mine and she twisted her little feet around like augers drilling at the air. Her hair was pulled back and in the dank light she looked very young. She wasn’t wearing eye makeup. I always told her she was even prettier without it. That wasn’t one of my “white lies”.

“I’m afraid,” she said, her head on my shoulder, our backs against the wall and our unbent legs across the bed.

“It will be okay,” I said. “I’ll be here with you the whole time.” And like the coming of a colossal storm, the medicine closed in with speed that rendered all preparations futile and forgotten and then it was on us, in her. And there was nothing I could do as I watched her writhing around on my bed like something was trying to eat its way out from inside her. She twitched and dry-heaved, moaned and dug her nose down into the mattress.

I wanted to comfort her, to touch her and take some of the pain upon myself and away from her but that wasn't the way it worked. She tore at her stomach and bit the sheet. Strands of hair now loose from her bun stuck with sweat to her face, a sort of intangible wind whipping her over and over again. She crawled like a chick too-soon-hatched and choking on oxygen to the bathroom and I lifted her onto the toilet. She dry heaved and gagged and I smelled her toxic insides turning out into the toilet bowl.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Sweets. I’m sorry.”

“It hurts.”

“I know, cutie pie, but it’ll soon pass."

"How long?"

"The doctor said four hours and it's been two.”

She groaned and then puked up what bile she could in the trash bin I held out in front of her. "I'm so sorry," she cried.

"Well stop being sorry," I said, "I just wish it was me and not you."

She pulled toilet paper off the roll and stuffed it between her legs. Then she crawled back to the bedroom and retook that awful fetal position, like a tormented bean pumped full of hot poison. I tried to hold her.

“Don’t,” she shot. “Don’t. I’m too hot.”

The long hours passed and I knew Walden was dissolving. The light from the window well turned brassy and lit Thoreau’s face above the bed and now he looked sad, a breath from tears and he looked sorry, and although the night outside settled in smoothly I had the feeling in my quick flinching glances that his face was illuminated only by sudden flashes of lightning.

The darkness came on and I was glad. I changed her bloody paper and brought her some water. I tried to feed her some leftover lamb chops but she couldn't even bare the smell. All through the night she wept and bled and shivered and at last in the frigid moments before the sun rose she slept.

I went outside then to see the early morning before it filled with all the faces I cared nothing about and the light was gentle, breaking the grey cool blue and touching the skin on my face. All the cars were sleeping too along the banks of Augusta Boulevard and although my body was tired I felt my mind was floating in a tank of still water and I wished she were there with me to feel it.

I carried her to the shower when she woke to the brutal mid-morning sun and she stood in it like a wax figure melting. The toilet bowl was a noxious soup of liquid waste and dark clumps of thick blood, the texture of curdled milk. I’d gone to flush it down but she’d grabbed my wrist and said Somewhere in there is Walden.

When she got out of the shower she brushed her teeth and q-tipped her ears and spat in the sink and sat on the toilet and took a piss and flushed it down with everything else.

“He would have been a beauty,” I said and she said nothing.

I changed the sheets on the bed and she took down my picture of Henry David Thoreau.

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