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jaskiersvalley · 4 years ago

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Lockdown Lovers

The pandemic had gone on long enough. By his very nature Jaskier was a social creature and he missed company. Sure, he could hang out online with friends, play games and chatter away but it didn’t scratch the itch that was getting desperate. Stupid lockdown and its apparent determination to deny Jaskier even a simple hug. As much as he loved living on his own and keeping whatever hours he wanted, he still found he very much missed human contact.

In a desperate attempt to connect with a fellow human, Jaskier took to dating apps. Not that he could realistically meet anyone and do anything but part of him hoped there might be a connection. Swiping dejectedly, he ignored yet another promise of knowing a quiet corner of a park or alley where they could get off in a socially distanced manner. It just didn’t hold appeal. Plus, it was cold, Jaskier very much doubted he’d be treated to the sight of the bodies the pictures promised. Most were too far away anyway, Jaskier wasn’t going to walk 8 miles for a mediocre mutual wank behind a dumpster in a dingy alley. Just as he was about to give up, another profile flashed up in his phone.

Looking for a socially distanced park buddy. Must like goats.

The profile photo was of a rather cute goat and, as Jaskier scrolled through the pictures, all he got in terms of glimpses of the owner was a large hand with thick fingers, scarred and definitely most intriguing. What kind of large man had a pet goat who he bought ribbons and outfits for?

I don’t have my own goat to bring to park, would that be an issue?

There was no reply but it wasn’t like Jaskier was really expecting one. Such a profile was probably a joke one set up to stave off lockdown boredom. Whoever had it probably had a great deal of fun finding goat pictures. Mentally, Jaskier wished them well and set his phone aside. There were better things to do than scroll endlessly through profiles and know he didn’t really want anything to do with any of them. Which was why, when he checked the time a few hour later, he was surprised to find a reply.

Not at all. I only have Bleats until the weekend anyway. Can you do 10am in Vizima Park on Thursday?

Eager (not desperate) for the connection, Jaskier jumped at the chance. He had no problems with walking to Vizima, it was only up the road and well within the advised “stay local” rule. There was no doubt he’d be able to recognise his new park buddy, Bleats would be an absolute give away in terms of identity. To make it easier to be recognised, Jaskier pulled his fanciest mask from the hook, the one with wings curving out along his jaw.

In the park Jaskier was glad for his mask because it kept his jaw from dropping to the ground. Bleats was cute for sure but her owner was otherworldly. Large, broad and the warmest, friendliest eyes Jaskier had ever seen. The scar that was peeking out from under the mask and hidden by hair was a whole story that would hopefully come out.

“Bleats and owner?” Jaskier called, waving from a distance.

“You can call me Eskel,” the mountain of a man replied. “And her full name is Little Bleater but she ignored Bleats just the same.”

Delighted, Jaskier wished he could get closer. As it was, they made a slow loop of the park together, Jaskier chattering away while Eskel listened and chipped in. “You said you’ve only got Little Bleater until the weekend?”

“She goes back to my brother’s farm. I only have her when she’s poorly and needs a bit of extra attention. Her arthritis flared up with the cold snap we had so she came to me for cuddles.”

Jaskier knew he fell in love too easily but this was a new record even for him. He looked at Eskel, took in the sight of his red leather jacket, the dragon scale pattern of his mask, the ease with which he kept Little Bleater’s leash from turning into a knot and Jaskier was gone already.

The first walk turned into a second one, that one without a goat and Jaskier found he adored Eskel’s company. Quiet but not silent, respectful and gentle until Jaskier pushed him for stories and he quickly realised that Eskel wasn’t quite the stoic, mild man he seemed to be. Stories about parties, sneaking around late at night, even a hint at what sounded like a joyride in his foster father’s car with his younger brother. They only served to make Jaskier even more intrigued. Which led him down a bit of a rabbit hole into social media. He found Eskel but there wasn’t much up there. The most recent picture was from over a year ago, probably taken on a night out by Lambert (who looked to be his brother), it was blurry, Eskel turning away from the camera but at least Jaskier could see his jaw and lips. It wasn’t the side with the scar but that was okay. What was more interesting was how Eskel looked a little worse for wear, probably drunk though, if Jaskier had to put money on it, he would have maybe said there was more than alcohol blowing Eskel’s pupils wide and giving him a slightly glassy glaze. The only other photo was from probably about 15 years ago, a much younger Eskel grinned at the camera with two other boys. A scan of the comments revealed it was Lambert and Geralt.

On the whole, Jaskier decided that Eskel was an enigma and he wanted to know more. So the walks in the park continued, even became jogs when Eskel admitted he missed going to the gym. While Jaskier knew he wasn’t the embodiment of fitness, he quickly realised he was vastly out of shape in comparison to Eskel. One loop of Vizima wsa more than enough for Jaskier while Eskel did another couple before he even got out of breath. Frankly it was unfair, mostly because Jaskier got to watch him lope around the park and he could only watch from a sensible distance.

“We should have a picnic,” Jaskier declared as the weather turned nicer. “We can figure out a menu together and bring our own portions.”

There was a moment of hesitation in Eskel and Jaskier wondered what he’d said wrong.

“Okay. As long as we don’t have any seafood, it should be fine.”

Their picnic had no seafood in it, Jaskier wasn’t a fan either so it was no great sacrifice to make. They settled 2 meters apart on their own blankets and pulled out their picnics. Despite their months of friendship and messaging back and forth, there was a tension between them that had Jaskier worried. He tried to ignore it and pulled his mask off, sending Eskel was cheeky smile. It was the first time he’d been without a mask around his friend.

Watching as Eskel reached for his own mask, Jaskier could see a soft hesitation, a fortifying breath expanding Eskel chest before the mask was pulled down. It revealed scars that stretched all down his cheek, snagged his lip into a permanent snarl.

“You sure you still want to have a picnic with me?” Eskel asked, head dipped as if that would hide his scars.

Rather than answer directly, Jaskier took a deep breath. “You haven’t formed a support bubble with anyone, have you?”

Confused, Eskel shook his head.

“Neither have I so-” Jaskier stood up and he saw hurt flash through Eskel’s face as he gathered up his picnic and blanket before moving closer. “-bubble with me?”

Eskel stared, wide eyed as Jaskier arranged his picnic blanket next to his and sat down on his right, not trying to avoid sight of his scars. In the silence, Jaskier reached for one of those big, scarred hands he had spotted from the very first photo he saw of Eskel and linked their fingers. He beamed happily when the limp hand curled around his in a gentle hold.

#jaskel #jaskier/eskel #jaskier #eskel #modern au #tldr: eskel likes to hide behind his mask

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nyctolovian · 4 years ago

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Summary: Martin is an incubus and Jon is the drunken human who just accidentally summoned him.

Written for @aspecarchivesweek Day 4 prompt: AU

Warning: nudity, terrible humor and shenanigans

Martin felt a prickle at the back of his neck and hummed. A call. How unusual.

He lifted his head and looked skyward, or as skyward one was allowed to look up from the depths of the underworld. It was unusual, being called in this day and age. Humans, as a society, had long moved on from their initial obsession with witchcraft and demonic rituals so summoning for underworld beings had been and far between.

Usually, the minor demons would be clamouring over one another, in a flurry for a chance to feed upon human soul. However, as the ceiling of the underworld was burned open with a summoning circle and light from the human realm streamed in, the imps and lesser fiends around him cowered. In fact, they actively avoided eye contact with Martin. Intrigued, Martin licked the air and let the scent of blood settle on his senses. When he recognised the taste it left on his tongue, he blinked in surprise.

The call… was for Martin. Specifically.

From the corner of his eye, some of the other demons shifted out of his way politely. Slowly, Martin rose from his spot, stretching his arms and grunting softly as his joints popped at the movement.

“Long time, eh?”

“Sure is. I just hope it’s not another horny teenager,” Martin muttered and glanced at Tim who grinned slyly at him. He was violating several social rules, which usually signalled an invitation to confrontation, but Martin knew Tim well enough to recognise the lack of hostility. Besides, it was absurd to compete for this particular summoning. Every demon was curiously watching with bated breath. Interrupting this would ruin the fun. After all, the art of summoning specific demons was thought to have long been lost.

Especially something as specific as summoning a demon by name.

Martin couldn’t help the shiver of anticipation as he spread his wings. What could be waiting for him beyond the circle? With a deep breath, he launched himself upwards. As he approached the summoning circle, he felt the familiar light tingle of cool air against his skin. As his hands curled around the edges of the circle, it burned into his fingers.

Martin heaved himself up into the human realm and found the summoner, staring up at him with wide dark eyes. This was not an unusual reaction. Martin could be a terrifying sight indeed to a human, with his large ram horns and razor-sharp teeth. But humans were terribly confused creatures who often mistook their rapidly racing hearts for carnal thrill so it had always worked in Martin's favour.

Smoke poured out of the summoning circle and he stepped out into the dark bedroom. “Why, good evening,” he greeted with a smile.

The human was quite the frazzled mess with his unshaved face, and black but greying locks tied up in a high fuzzy bun. He was wearing a purple cotton skirt that fell to his ankles, and the baggiest possible shirt with the words "Trust me, I Majored in Not Giving a Fuck" printed on the front. Clutched in his hands was a thick tattered volume of which he made full use by shielding his eyes with it.

He smelled of alcohol and a dark red coloured his brown cheeks deliciously. Martin's suspicions were confirmed when he stepped another stepped forward and kicked an empty can of beer, sending it rolling across the room and hitting a stack of newspapers on the floor with a dull klunk.

Questionable choices aside, he looked rather adorable and Martin might say this looked to be one of his finer catches. If only said summoner didn’t immediately scrunch his handsome face in disgust and mortification.

“Oh, fuck!” the summoner said. “Wha— I thought…?” He narrowed his eyes at the pages of the book in his hands and let out the most exasperated groan Martin had ever heard. Then, he hurled the book at the wall. "Agh god! This is what I bloody get for sleep deprivation, I suppose. A fucking incubus!"

If Tim were in Martin's situation, he might have slid in a quip like, "Oh, if it pleases you, and I know it will, I can be a fucking incubus." Or a line that sounds much smoother than anything Martin could come up with. But Martin was not Tim so he just flinched awkwardly as the summoner's glare shot upwards and practically bore holes into him.

“Alright, back into the circle,” the human said. “Back! Back!” He walked towards Martin and waved his arms dismissively, wobbling every step in his intoxicated state.

“Are y– Are you seriously shooing me?” he huffed at the audacity. “Like some cat?”

“Do I need to invite you out? Or perhaps I should rescind my invitation as if you’re a vampire. Begone, demon!” he said, flailing his arms ridiculously.

Martin looked incredulously at the small man. “But you summoned me! You can’t just shoo me away!”

“Look, I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake?!” Martin shouted. How could he be summoned by name (by name!!) in a mistake! It was unheard of and he was frankly quite offended. He gesticulated wildly, searching for the words to express how utter bullshit this was. But rage rendered him speechless and he could only sputter broken noises.

“I read the wrong page and did the wrong ritual. I never meant to get… this.” He motioned to all of Martin, as though somehow greatly offended by the demon’s emergence he brought about himself. “What do I have to do to send you back?”

“I have to finish my contract, human! I can’t be sent back any old how.”

He frowned, hilariously befuddled. “Which is?”

“Take a guess,” the incubus deadpanned.

“Ah. That’d be… hm… difficult,” he said. “Ah! I think Sasha next door has been rather pent up lately. If you went out and knocked on the first door to your right, a nice young lady—that’s Sasha—will open the door and you could render your lovely services to her.”

“What? No, you can’t–”

The summoner clearly did not hear him because he nodded to himself sagely, humming in self-approval. He made his way over to the living room, swaying from side to side. "Oh. Wait." He halted just outside the main door. “No, that doesn’t sound like a good idea after all.”

Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course it isn't–”

“It’s better if I came with you to explain things. I don’t think she’d be keen on receiving a random stranger, and especially not someone who’s in this state of…” The summoner pulled a face of disgust. “Of undress.”

“Wh– I’m an incubus for hell’s sake! What other state of dress could I possibly be in? I'm not usually summoned to be taken on a stroll outside!”

"It's just a short walk. I wouldn't constitute that as a stroll," he mumbled. “I’m sure Sasha can appreciate this look better than I ever could. That’s a thing most other people appreciate, right? Must be,” he decided, opening the door.

Immediately, Martin slammed it shut. “Wait! No! That’s not the point! You can’t just cart me off to another human!”

Folding his arms like a petulant child in a supermarket, the human demanded, “Why the hell not?!”

“Because you made the contract! It’s your blood on the sacrificial circle, not this… this Sasha person.”

“Well,” he said, pout upon his lips, “that’s inconvenient.” He sat on the floor and tucked the skirt of his dress inwards.

Then, came the first breathing moment Martin had had since he first emerged from the summoning circle.

Head lolling against the wooden door, the summoner slumped into himself and exhaled loudly. “What now?”

“Well, um,” Martin said, “I usually begin things by finding out what my summoner’s name is.”

The human blinked sleepily, as though not registering for a moment (and perhaps he really didn’t), before saying, “You’re not going to… steal my name or something, right?”

“What? No!” Martin exclaimed.

“Sorry. I was just–”

“You summoned me yourself! You should know damn well I’m not a fae!”

“God, I’m sorry! It’s not every day I summon something."

Martin sighed heavily. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm sorry too. For yelling."

They settled back down into quietness. “It’s Jon. My, uh, my name. And you’re… A long name I can’t remember.” He grunted as he pushed himself up to get the book.

“Actually, just call me Martin. Don’t… Don’t use my full demonic name.”

Jon slid back down lazily. “Alright then, Martin. Is there any way we can, um, complete the contract without doing any of the–” He gestured vaguely– “stuff.”

"There's nothing else, really," Martin said with a wince of sympathy. "I am a sex demon after all so I trade in sex favours."

Deflating like a balloon, Jon let out a puff of frustration. "Oh, bollocks," he muttered. "Just my luck to summon a sex demon. Of all the wrong demons."

"Oh, so it's the sex demon part and not specifically the incubus part?"

"Yes. Don't, um, don't get me wrong I'm not a prude or anything. I'm just, well, terribly asexual," Jon said, fidgeting with the hem of his collar. "Do you… Is that something you're familiar with?"

"Oh, yeah. Humans like that have existed for ages," Martin replied and Jon visibly relaxed. "I've never been summoned by one before though."

Pulling the collar over his mouth, Jon chuckled drunkenly, his nose crinkling delightfully as he did so. "That's fair."

Martin couldn’t help the little upward curl of his own lips. Jon had a nice laugh, one that soothed and gently brushed away the tension in your chest. Martin found his chest warming at it and he sort of wished he could hear the pleasant sound again.

The laugh faded with a soft exhale. "Is there really no other way I can… end the contract?"

Martin gave Jon a pitying look. "Look, I'm… How about kissing? Kissing can be sexual and—"

"Kissing's worse."

Martin blinked. "Really?"

"I'm kiss-averse. Lips on lips is just… All that wet breathy movement. It just…" Jon pulled a face of revolt and exaggerated shudder to demonstrate his point. "You know? I mean, of course you don't. It's just stupid."

"No no no. It's not stupid at all," Martin assured him as he sat down on the floor so Jon didn't have to crane his neck to look at him. "Reasonable, in fact."

"Thank you!" Jon said. "Kissing has zero appeal. What is there to like about it other than the fact that it's supposed to be a show of affection? At least with sex it's not so bad. To me, at least."

"Not so bad how? Um, if, well, if I may ask…"

"I… It's…" Jon was sliding further and further onto the floor until his entire back was against the floor and his head was propped up by the door behind him. He exhaled through the corners of his mouth. "I'm… sort of neutral, I suppose? It's complicated. And quite a lot. I-I… I wouldn't want to go on for too long. I mean, I'd just bore you and—"

"I'd say I'm a pretty good listener. You'd be surprised how much pillow talk I do with the humans who summon me." Martin laughed sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head.

It was clear the moment Jon's restraint snapped because something in his eyes changed. Immediately, Jon was launched into an alcohol-driven spiel. "It's a fluctuating thing, you see? Most of the time, I forget sex is even a thing so when I'm suddenly reminded of its existence, I'm incredibly caught of guard. It's dumb but I feel offended even. That's why this—" he gestured to all of Martin— "is frankly rather off-putting. No offense."

Martin shifted awkwardly.

"But sometimes, you know, it feels… okay? As in I-I want it sometimes. Not often. Maybe once every three months, it sounds like a fascinating idea. But then there's no one in mind to do it with and I don't feel comfortable just… picking someone. And—" He frowned, his brow wrinkling cutely. "God, this is embarrassing to talk about. I didn't even talk about this in as much detail with Georgie. She's my, uh, my ex. It just never seemed like the right time to talk about it and then suddenly we've drifted apart and…” Jon sighed loudly. “I just never could talk to her about things. Even if they bothered me." A look of devastation crossed his features as his arms slackened. "God, this is probably why we broke up," he breathed.

"I'm sorry," Martin said consolingly.

Sliding further onto the floor till he was completely lying on it, Jon held a hand up. "No. No, it's been a long time since then. I'm no longer hung up about it. I just… well, this thing… my relationship with sex as a… thing. It just creeps up on me once in a while. It complicates things. So you can see why this is an odd situation I've accidentally gotten us into?" He turned his body so he lay on his side.

"Yeah."

His eyes were pleading as he pulled his legs up to lie in a foetal position. "I'm really sorry I got us into this mess.”

“Don’t worry,” Martin said. “We’ll figure a way out of this together.”

Hesitantly, Jon nodded.

Martin wracked his brain for any possible solution. He sat there for a good minute before his brain gave out. “No good, I can’t think of any right now.”

Silence.

"Jon?"

The slowness and depth of his breathing made Martin frown in suspicion. He approached Jon tentatively and peered at his face. Sure enough, lying there with his eyes lightly lidded and arms crossed over his chest, the human was sleeping.

“What?!” Martin exclaimed, nudging him with his foot. “Did you seriously pass out in 5 seconds?!”

Thankfully, Jon was not entirely in dreamland yet because he furrowed his brow, refusing to open his eyes, and grumbled, “Wha…?”

In utter dismay, Martin yelled, “Jon, you can’t sleep on the floor like this!”

“You’re not the boss of me,” he slurred out in drunken drowsiness, turning his face towards the floor.

A groan of exasperation left Martin. “You’ll catch a bloody cold!” he scolded. “Your head will be aching and you’ll have a crick in your neck at the very least.” He squatted down and began shaking the human violently.

This time, Jon’s eyes flew open in shock and he immediately squeezed it shut. “Ack! For fuck’s sake! Why is the first thing I see when I open my eyes your big smelly dick?!”

"Wh- It's not smelly!"

Jon rolled out of Martin’s grasp. “I’m up. I’m up.” Sitting up, he began to rub his eyes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “We wouldn’t have to come to this if you didn’t decide to fall asleep on the floor like a caveman. I thought you humans will have a better appreciation of the comforts of a bed.”

“I’m tired, alright? God, you'll be stuck here for a while, won't you?” Jon said.

Martin hummed.

“Let's get you something to wear. I can’t have you going around butt naked in my house.” He stood up and gestured for Martin to come with him. And because he was wobbling dangerously as he walked, Martin followed him to make sure he didn’t trip and die on the way to his bedroom.

After flinging his wardrobe doors open dramatically, Jon scanned its contents with folded contemplative arms. He grabbed a pair of boxers and tossed them into Martin’s arms. “Try it on. These are the biggest I’ve got so if you can’t fit into these, I’ll murder you.”

Brushing the strange threat off as a drunkard’s words, Martin stepped into the boxers. They were a tad bit of a squeeze but he supposed they could be considered a fit. When he looked up, Jon threw a dress over him with the hanger still on, checking the fit with narrowed eyes, before sighing and shoving it back into his wardrobe.

They went through several iterations of this before Jon ran out of clothes. Not that this was unexpected, if you asked Martin. Jon was quite scrawny, standing at about 160cm and completely dwarfed by Martin’s broad-shouldered figure of 192cm. It was already a miracle that Jon had any underwear at all that fit him and Martin expressed as much to Jon.

“Aren’t I dressed enough?” he added.

However, that only earned himself a scathing glare from Jon. “If you think being in a pair of boxers is called ‘dressed enough’ then you’re terribly wrong,” he replied.

Martin decided not to comment that this was the most dressed he has ever been, even more than that time he wore lacy lingerie during a summon.

“Aha!” Jon cried, slapping Martin’s shoulder. “I have just the thing!” He squeezed between Martin and his bed and fetched a plastic chair from the corner of his room.

Clumsily, he clambered onto the chair and if Martin had a heart, it would leap to his throat at the way Jon rocked. Then, he stood on the chair to reach the top shelf of the wardrobe and Martin's hands shot out to steady the incredibly drunk and wobbly human.

And good thing that Martin did because Jon suddenly lurched leftwards. Martin let out a frightful squeak as he caught Jon. "Careful!"

In his arms, Jon was stiff with shock. He pursed his lips nervously.

He really did have a nice face, round and sharp in all the right places. Short but thick lashes that flickered as he blinked. Uneven lips with the left corner curling upwards slightly, as though just to keep things interesting. Thick, strong eyebrows that accentuated his eyes—dark eyes that were so soulfully deep, one could drown in it, and Martin was struggling to breathe a bit actually.

"I… Uh, thanks?" Jon mumbled as his gaze fell. Upon seeing what he had pulled out on the way down however, his face lit up. "There!" he exclaimed, lifting the thing in his hand triumphantly. "A bathrobe!"

Martin sighed in frustration, slowly let the scrawny man down and accepted the proffered bathrobe. Jon was about to step onto the chair again but Martin pulled him off and set him onto the bed behind them, where he could not endanger his own life. “Alright, alright. No more climbing up things tonight. What do you need?” Martin said.

Huffing, Jon flopped backwards onto the bed. “I need to close it.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. He raised his hands and easily shut the upper shelf of the wardrobe. With that settled, he put the bathrobe on, tying it neatly, and turned to Jon. “Alright, what–” He stopped when he saw Jon fast asleep in the most bizarre position, upper body on the bed while his entire lower body dangled off, his skirt fanned out as the human slept with his legs stretched onto the floor.

Martin grimaced openly. This was going to be one long summoning. This Jon person was really quite the hassle. Sure, Martin has met his fair share of human disasters—adulterers, gamblers, sex deviants. But he has never met this particular brand of mess before.

Still, he couldn’t bear to leave Jon in this state. Let it be said that Martin the Incubus was an excellent bed partner. He leaned down and picked Jon up to lay him properly on his bed. While Martin tried to tuck Jon into bed, sleepy arms wound around his neck. It was quite cute actually, so Martin let him.

When he was done, Martin tried to push Jon off, but the stubborn human only clung tighter. He tried to pry Jon’s arms apart. To his horror, that made Jon let out a whine before he threw his leg over Martin’s back and tugged with more force than Martin thought he was capable of in his sleep.

“Oomph!” Martin steadied himself before he fell and crushed the poor human under his weight. “You really are a bloody handful!”

They wrestled for a while longer before Martin let out a groan of sufferance, jostled himself a space on the bed and lay down, all while making sure he didn’t accidentally hurt Jon with his ram horns. As though satisfied, Jon’s stick-thin limbs wound round Martin’s body and he pressed his face against his chest. Jon was all elbows and knees, and all that shifting in his slumber did not help. But, left with not much of a choice, Martin resigned himself to Teddy Bear Duty.

#the magnus archives #tma #magpod #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #asexuality #ace jon #incubus #fanfic #my writing #god im delirious at this point i keep staring at words and not registering what im supposed to be doing #i rly should sleep #but yeh enjoy this weird fic #also for some weird reason i rly like throwing sex demons at ace ppl #*looks at that one kacc/hako fic i wrote a couple years back*

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maskthesimp · 4 years ago

Text

Cold Blooded, Warm Hearted - Malia Tate x Self-Insert

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, general violence and gore, crude language, monsters

If you wish to follow this fanfic more closely (as it will be a full on book hopefully) check my Wattpad in the Pinned post! It just makes everything easier~ XOXO

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Chapter 1: Paths Crossed

"Bring him," a voice rings out, fire crackles as chains gently rattle against parallel stone pillars. Echoes of footsteps ring through the halls, coming to a whisper as they enter an open space, the ground lined with sand, crunching under the small boots of he who entered the ceremony room.

"You, child of Connor, Lord of the West Territories; Here you shall evolve. Shed your skin, accept your heritage and become one of us! Take your first kill, and burn away the weakness that plagues you," the voice continues to boom through the vast space, voices whispering and muttering as the small figure makes it's way closer to the rattling chains, "Are you ready, my child?" The voice booms as a man groans, his chains shake and knock together, the heat of the fire laying ontop of his skin like a blanket waiting leap and turn him to ash, "...I am!".

Two cloaked men, jam their spears to the ground next to the younger figure, and take their place next to the chained man, "It's time for you to evolve," says the left man, "Shed your humanity." Says the man on the right. A chant erupts in the observing crowd, 'kill, shed, evolve...kill, shed, evolve...'

The young, small figure slowly walks towards the rattling chains, and the bare man constricted by them. He looks at his hands as ash red claws crawl their way out of his formerly human finger tips, wine red scales peel back up his arm, waist, chest, neck, and face, amber rings brand his once ivy green orbs. "Kill, shed, evolve," the two men echo, gripping the edges of two stone bowls on either side of the chained man, filled to the brim with molten rock, glowing with the licks of flames. The ash red claws glint in the light of the flames, and swing down, sending flicks of blood to the ground, as they melt into the already red scales of the young figure's hands.

The chant continues, over and over again, 'kill, shed, evolve, kill, shed, evolve..', the first stage having been complete. The child winces in fear and nearly stumbles back, but holds himself steady, as the two men release the heated rocks onto the scaled child. A piercing scream erupts into a roar as flames slither their way across the child's body, when he opens his eyes in agony, the burning Amber rings are replaced by a now cold, blue glow.

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[Beacon Hills High-school, Last Period]

"Hey do you guys wanna study after hours?" Stiles asks, standing up from his seat. "I need to, I have a maths test coming up soon," Malia responds, a slight pout growing on her face as she reminds herself of her least favourite class. "Cool, I'll help you out!" A tall, dark boy stands from his seat aswell, Scott, he follows his girlfriend, Malia, and his best friend, Stiles, out of the classroom. They make their way up the stairs, running into their resident Banshee, and Stiles' girlfriend, Lydia, eventually reaching the doors of the library.

They settle down at one of the central desks, each opening their books and beginning to study for their respective classes. "Ya know, we haven't had anything supernatural happen in the past few months, it gives me bad tingles in my feet, like something is gonna happen soon," Stiles squirms in his seat with his his chin resting in his palm, Lydia agrees with Stiles, "Yeh you're right, it does seem weird doesn't it? Maybe The Beast was the last big bad in Beacon Hills. Seems fitting that our last one would be the first Werewolf killed by an Argent." Scott turns to his friend, somewhat rolling his eyes, "C'mon Stiles, you're being paranoid! Not everything is supernatural in this town, we can go one year without finding a body, or having kidnappings, or giant phantom werewolves tearing people apart!" Stiles looks down at his open book, a concentrated frown on his face, "Yeh I guess you're right.."

The conversation moves on, everyone but Stiles focusing on other things. A few minutes pass, before Stiles pipes up about a new face who's entered the library,with long brown and blonde hair, light denim jeans, and a black jacket. "Who's that? I don't recognise them from the new Freshmen, are they a transfer student?" The person wanders over to the Anthropology section, also known as where the stories on Mythological creatures are, "I think so, I've seen them at the Jujitsu hall, I think they were signing up," Malia answers Stiles' characteristically unrelated and random question. She gazes off at the new figure, watching them wander around, their raw fingertips glazing over the spines of each book they pass, until eventually they stop and open one, setting themselves down at a desk behind theirs. Scott turns to his girlfriend, a confused expression stapled to his face, "Why were you near the jujitsu Hall? None of us have a single class near there." Malia directs her attention back to Scott and her friends, her focus on the new teen broken, "Hm? I find it entertaining, why else?" She says as if it's blatantly obvious, which to her friends; it is, almost confused as to why Scott would even bother asking. "They seem like they're around our age, I'm just surprised anyone is even bothering coming to Beacon Hills High anymore, let alone what appears to be a transfer student." Lydia looks up from her notes, also oddly transfixed by the person, who is now deeply involved in their own selected book, "You sure they're our age, Lydia? They're kinda short, maybe puberty is stuck in traffic for them," a chuckle comes from the group's friends Liam, Corey and Mason as they sit down next to the main four, with Scott's Beta, Liam glancing at them each one at a time as a silent greeting. "No, they likely have some form of Dwarfism, a condition that essentially puts a limiter on how tall someone can grow, although there's hundreds of different types so I can't for sure say which one they may have.." Lydia responds almost distantly, still keeping a keen yet seemingly misty eye on the new kid, everyone taking a glance at her, not at all surprised by her scientific knowledge anymore, before they all go back to silently watching the figure.

After a while Stiles stands up, and begins making his way towards the new kid's desk, but not before Scott questions what he's doing, "I'm gonna go talk to them! Every time a mysterious new student shows up something happens, what if we have another Liam? Another time bomb?" Stiles points out, accidentally taking a small dig at their friend with I.E.D, "Hey! That was Scott's fault, I didn't come here as a wolf!" Liam retorts, glaring at Stiles with a frustrated gesture, "Well technically you got yourself tossed off the side of a building, so it was sorta your fault," Mason pipes up, "That was the wendigo's fault! Not mine!" The Beta reminiscences over the time he got bitten by Scott, when he fell off the hospital roof after he was hunted by a hungry Wendigo. "Alright enough! I'm going to talk to this kid and see what their deal is, okay?" Stiles eventually interrupts the debate, settling to try and conversate with this strange new face, "Who's to say they're anything at all? You don't need to be suspicious of every new person ya know," Malia points out to Stiles, shrugging her shoulders, "listen I always trust my gut, they transferred to Beacon Hills High even after everything that's happened here, and oh look! They're reading a book on supernatural creatures! That's not suspicious at all!" The skeptic says sarcastically, before stumbling over to the desk the young figure is sitting at.

He sets himself down clumsily, glancing between the person and their book, "So..a fantasy lover?" Stiles awkwardly asks the stranger sitting before him, he looks up from his reading in an almost panicked state, suddenly closing his book most of the way, "Oh um--..Hi, yeh, just studying for History," They let out a small, awkward chuckle before introducing themselves, "Cael by the way!" They reach out, shaking Stiles' hand as he too introduces himself, "So, you a fan of Mythology too, huh?" Cael attempts to break the Ice a little, worried that his social anxiety was showing, "Yeh," Stiles stares at the back of Cael's chosen book, somewhat zoning out while reading the title; 'The Extensive History and Physiology of Dragons throughout History'. "So, you're a dragon lover aswell then?" Stiles questions the kid's taste in History so Cael explains their history project, "Pff no, I have quite the distaste for them in fact, the history project is to study a part of any culture that we fear, whether it be real, religious, or historical events that took place in a Country's past," he awkwardly shifts in his seat, explained away by his discomfort with the Winged creatures depicted in his selected book, "So, what makes you dislike them so much, just scary? Or a separate reason..?" Stiles lightly stares at the androgynous figure sitting across from him with suspicion he hopes isn't noticeable, "Because they're the most scientifically realistic, in most cases," he responds with a deadpan and almost cold stare. Stiles' mind starts running wild with theories on every word Cael spoke, the way he said them, and other meanings of what he could've meant, his gut giving him more feeling than ever that Cael wasn't who they said they were.

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[Scott's House]

"Scott I'm telling you! This kid is shifty as hell! I checked with some of the people in his class, and they don't have a history homework even close to what he described!" Stiles points out his evidence for Cael's lying, showing his continued distrust for the young lad, "Maybe he just wanted to learn about Dragons, people have interests, Stiles!" Scott argues with his friend, while he watches him rummage through his desk, clearly searching for something, "Why would he lie about something like that? What's the point of lying about an interest in something such as dragons? Why not tell the truth, unless the truth is something you wish to keep hidden?" Stiles finally appears to find what he's looking for, he holds up a hard drive that Scott recognises, the Bestiary that used to belong to the Argents.

Stiles plugs in the Bestiary to his computer, and loads up the index. He scrolls down to the Dragons section and look through it for a while, reading some useful parts out loud; "Much like other shape shifters, dragons appear as human...Dragons have various species among their communities...they have a similar hierarchy system to ancient Kings and Queens of the English Empire..." Scott looks over Stiles' shoulder, silently reading along with him, "Stiles you should head to bed, it's late and we can talk more tomorrow. Listen if something is up with this kid, then we'll eventually find out, but other than a natural interest in fire breathing lizards, he hasn't acted suspicious in the slightest." Stiles turns his spinning chair around to face Scott, "Scott, he said he hates dragons and has a fear of them," Scott's face sinks with confusion, he asks what the skeptic is talking about and Stiles responds, "Whenever I was talking to him, he said that he had a really bad fear of Dragons, when I asked why all they said was because they're the most likely supernatural creature to be exist, is that not in the least bit suspicious?" The Werewolf stands up properly, thinking in silence for a few seconds, "Scott you didn't trust me with Theo, or when I realised I was the one who wrote Kira's name on the chalk board, I just need you to trust my gut this one time!" Stiles begs his friend to go along with his hunch, but Scott seems to be somewhat distant, until he snaps his head up "He could be a hunter! Maybe he's not a supernatural but a hunter!" Stiles claps his hands and points a praising finger towards his best friend, "Yes! Now you're following along! That explains why he was researching dragons, he wasn't studying them for himself, he was trying to figure out ways to defend himself or--"

"Kill them.." Scott quickly interrupts, his gaze sinking to the floor, "That's it, tomorrow we inform the rest of the Pack, and we find him. We'll question him, if my hunch is right and he's a hunter, then he poses a risk to all of us. Including any humans who are involved with protecting the supernatural, aka me! I only have a metal bat to protect myself so it'd be nice to have a heads up on this guy!" Stiles retorts with a snarky undertone, Scott nods his head, agreeing and saying goodnight to his partner in crime before heading home, the last thing he needs is his girlfriend climbing through the window to find his room Scott-less.

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#scott mccall #lydia martin #derek hale #stiles stilinski #liam dunbar #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #self insert #self ship #malia tate #fanfic #self insert fanfic #canon x self insert

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tenmillionwhumperflies · 5 years ago

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Cloudwalker Series: Part 1

Okay, so let’s get the ball rolling with a part 1. I’ll try and post at least once a week, but if people want to ask me questions then I’ll happily answer asks on that and I might do a BTHB soon as well.

So this involved human-like creatures being badly neglected, including mentioning some of these creatures have been mutilated (wing and horn removal), the selling of said creatures, and a fairly creepy owner. If there is anything else I should mark this as, please let me know.

Master-list Here

Approx WC: 1900

He walked into the square like he owned it, and he could have if he wanted to. Everyone there knew it and they kept out of his path, hiding, bowing, doing what they thought was best to survive. He followed the signs and sounds of cries to the marketplace where the cloudwalkers were kept. The air buzzed with energy and suffering, and the smell was strong and foul. He was ready to take one for his own, but finding one… interesting enough, was the challenge. He had all day to look, and this was not a decision he was willing to rush. He had a feeling he’d know when he saw it.

“You there,” he called out to a handler. The handler’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he recognised him. He was a young man, but strong, gruff, and iron-fisted. The cloudwalkers all flinched and ducked as he passed, and yet he melted in Avizon’s presence. Avizon loved the rush of power it made him feel. He was the strongest one here, and he would get what he wanted.

“Avizon! W.what can I do for you, your greatness?”

Avizon smirked. So his reputation as an ‘evil sorcerer’ had reached this far into the land. “I want a pet, I was wondering if you could guide me in the right direction.” “I will certainly try. I.is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

“There are a few things, yes.”

Avizon gestured for them to begin walking, and he took in the sight of the cloudwalkers in their cages. Cages that were too small, even for the poor creatures who had lost their wings. He saw the wild look of fear in their eyes as he passed, the look of a wild animal. That’s all they really were, animals, creatures beneath humans and certainly beneath him. The majority of these creatures were no good to him. Their wings were missing, or badly damaged. He needed feathers, and a pet that wasn’t so traumatised and flinchy under his touch.

“What is your name?” Avizon asked the handler. “Archer, your greatness.”

“Well, Archer, I want a cloudwalker, something… fresh, one with their wings and horns, preferably male.” “We have several fresh captures, but they are less broken and only half-trained.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Take me to them.”

Archer led the way deeper into the market, past more cages and customers, to a closed-off section. He unlocked it and allowed Avizon to enter first.

“If I had known you were coming, I would have had this area cleaned, it is so rare for customers to enter here.”

Indeed, it did need cleaning, the smell of blood and filth was somewhat overpowering, but he could tolerate it. His own dungeons had a reputation for smelling the same.

“We have three new products this month. That one over there was in a fight before we caught it, so it’s still recovering from the fall. We haven’t really started training it yet if you want to start from fresh. This one is a right weakling. Trained him within two full days of work. He aims to please, that’s for sure. He’s getting moved outside in the morning.”

Avizon took a long look at the ‘weakling’. With white feathers and soft brown hair. He had large innocent eyes, already filled with tears and one horn. He looked perfectly adorable, but for now he kept walking, seeing a cloudwalker chained against the far wall, by a collar and a shackle on either wrist. His black wings, outstretched and held in clamps, were a little more uncommon. Not as rare as speckled wings, but special enough.

“What about that one? I thought you said they had their horns.”

“Oh, they do, your greatness.” Archer walked over to the creature, who snarled behind the muzzle, but Archer grabbed him by the hair. Avizon approached curiously despite the creature snarling and snapping in Archer’s grip. Archer moved some of their thick contrasting white hair, revealing a tiny horn, maybe an inch in length. They had some growing to do if they were to curl around their head like the horns on a ram.

“This one’s a lot younger than the others. The equivalent of our early twenties. It’s got an attitude, but I am confident it is breakable. I was able get a few commands into its thick skull.”

Avizon nodded slowly, and Arched took the creature by the jaw to force them to look up at Avizon so he could examine him. His eyes were wild, but not just with fear. Avizon could sense this one had a real spirit in him, a spark. He did like a challenge, but there was one problem.

“You cut his hair?” Avizon asked, seeing that his usually long hair was cut very short.

“I'm afraid it’s too hard to manage the hair, so we get rid of it and sell it on while it’s fine.”

Avizon wasn’t impressed. cloudwalkers were meant to have hair down to their hips, sometimes down to their feet. It was almost as depressing for them as taking their horns or wings, only less painful. If he was getting a cloudwalker, he wanted him to look like one.

“I want this one.” He said, gesturing to the black-winged one. “What is his name?”

“Its wild name is Ihuka, but of course, you can name it whatever you like.”

“Ihuka...” he sampled the word on his tongue. He liked it. He nodded and passed over a gold piece as motivation. “Prep them for me- they’ll be walking alongside my horse. You can have the rest of the payment later.”

Archer grinned and ruffled the creature’s hair, which only made them angrier, but a stinging yank silenced them. Avizon approached the softer cloudwalker, the scared one and gently stroked his hair to pass the time. He whimpered, but Avizon steered clear of his clearly sore horn, or what was left of it. He saw the stump clearly where it had been sawed off and blood remained where they'd hacked away at it. Avizon suppressed his anger as the creature leaned into the touch with a soft whimper. He was older as his one horn was almost a third of the way grown. Seeing the creature so compliant, trying to lean against his leg, seeing the welts on his skin. It pulled at a heartstring Avizon didn’t know he had.

He wanted a cloudwalker for a steady supply of feathers for his spells and company. He’d only intended to buy one, a challenge to work with, but the idea of having one already manageable was too tempting. He did have two very different needs after all. He had space, and he could easily afford it. Besides, they were social creatures. A little company would do them some good if he was away.

“Change of plan, I’ll have two. I want this one also.”

“Yes, your greatness. Is this one to walk as well?”

Avizon looked down at his legs, the cuts, deeper and more sore looking than Ihuka’s. He'd had two full days of training and the injuries showed. He looked exhausted, but seemed well behaved enough. “No, this one can ride with me. Does he have a wild name?”

“Not that we know of.”

Avizon looked down at him and scratched behind his ear, which made him arch his neck. “I’ll think of something.”

Avizon watched as Archer struggled to force Ihuka’s wings out of the clamps that had held them wide open and into a cramped leather harness to keep them restrained. Ihuka managed to get a wing free, hit Archer hard in the face, and scramble back as far as their collar would allow. “You little-” Archer snarled. The cloudwalker by Avizon whimpered in fear.

“Please, allow me to assist,” Avizon said. He patted the brown-haired cloudwalker on the head and approached Ihuka. Like a wild animal, Ihuka snarled and showed his sharpened fangs, which, behind a muzzle, were useless. Avizon was not afraid. “You said they were partially trained?” “It knows what the words mean, it’s taking a while to make it do as it’s told though. So far, it knows come, stay, kneel and follow.”

Avizon pointed to the ground by his foot. “Ihuka, come!”

Ihuka snarled again and inched back. Avizon smirked and used his powers with a flick of his hand, sending an invisible force to pull him closer when he didn’t do as he was told. It sent Ihuka into a blind panic, confused by what was happening.

“Get the harness,” Avizon said, and Archer obeyed.

It was easy for Avizon to use his magic to force Ihuka to neatly fold their wings, and for Archer to secure them in the leather harness, tying it tight and buckling it up. Ihuka shrieked like something possessed, trying in vain to thrash. Avizon had perfect control over him, and he knew that he’d be able to manage him quite easily.

“I appreciate the help, your greatness,” Archer huffed with relief when he was done securing him. A blindfold and a different type of muzzle with a bit to quieten them finished the process. Ihuka’s hands were tied in front of him and his hands were wrapped in a thick cloth, tucked under the manacles to stop them using their claws.

“This one certainly is wild, I’m impressed.”

Avizon turned back to the brown-haired cloudwalker that whined and lowered themselves down. Seeing Avizon use his powers had clearly scared him. He inched back, trembling.

“You’re not in trouble, little pet.”

Avizon approached, stunned at how docile he was when he took the muzzle off himself. He’d brought his own, a leather one that was far more comfortable than the metal ones. He’d only brought one, but he trusted this cloudwalker would be less trouble. He deserved the nicer muzzle. The cloudwalker backed off as best he could as he approached with the piece, and he dared to hiss, but that was all. Firm, but considerate hands kept him still until it was fastened. It wasn’t practical to punish them yet, not until they were back at the palace if anything. He wanted an easy journey, and he was a considerate man. These creatures didn’t know who they were dealing with yet. So Avizon patted his head as a reward. “Good.”

Avizon noted the areas where this one was missing feathers on his white wings, great bloody chunks. It was no surprise when he thrashed and panicked as Archer released his wings. Avizon used his magic again but stroked his hair as he slowly folded his wings for him and had them restrained properly. It did help to calm him a little but he whimpered and mewled in fear. “Good boy… I think I will call you Dyan.”

“An excellent name,” Archer said. Avizon rolled his eyes. Bootlicker.

Avizon attached a strong leash to Dyan’s collar since their hands were behind his back for the journey. He would fix that later and tie them around his front once they were on the horse so he had to hug him to hold on. Avizon used gentle magic to help Dyan to his feet, and then looked back to Archer who was battling to make Ihuka walk forward, but revealing his curved knife was more than enough incentive. Ihuka followed behind with his head down. He was going to be an interesting one, Avizon could feel it.

“Come. We have a long journey ahead.”

Sorry it’s so long, but I hope you found this interesting.

#whump #whump writing #cloudwalker series #whumper and whumpee #Avizon #Ihuka #Dyan #My OCS #Part 1 #tw: neglect #tw: slavery

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ofgoodmenarchive · 5 years ago

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The first in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian AU.

Priceless Rewards

It was a beautiful day in the south and Dorian was terribly bored.

Alright, so maybe 'beautiful' was a stretch- but there was no rain, which by Ferelden standards counted for beauteous. Still the sky was dreary- even here in the Hinterlands, the so called 'Heart of the South'. Constant damp livened the vegetation- everything was so green- and so in his way! He couldn't walk two steps without having to wrestle nettles or vines from his robes.

Why did I agree to this again?

They needed someone not overtly suspicious, he supposed- at least, not suspicious in a particular manner. Dorian could be suspected of many things; by his appearance alone he could be accused of blood magic and perhaps some dubious forms of necromancy. Why else adorn himself in human bones, how else to explain the flash of amber that sometimes possessed his eyes?

Altogether, Dorian ascertained he had to be wearing a whole person- and that excluded his staff, shaped from a spine and skull.

Not all the same person, mind you. Still not a welcoming sight to most.

Granted none were innocent in his eyes- all had threatened his survival in one way or other.

Besides- as long as no one suspected him of working with the Venatori, it didn't matter how he was judged. His employers knew that- and Dorian knew he needed gold and influence to maintain the lifestyle craved by his inner demon.

So there he was, traipsing through the south with a sack full of magical equipment, questing to study Rifts for a group of mad cultists.

I don't know why they're bothering...

What did exploding an old woman and her Chantry puppets really achieve?

From his viewpoint, it merely added complication- now there was this 'Herald of Andraste' for the fools to contend with.

Why can't people just appreciate life for what it is?

He considered to himself with a laugh, kicking aside more vines.

Then again- if the world lacked such madmen, who would risk contracting Dorian for anything? An open practitioner of blood magic, long-disgraced from his house? Of course whenever someone sought him out, their motivations were not exactly chivalrous.

While pondering this he approached a Rift and began work. Recognising him as one of their own, the demons barely glanced.

Speaking of which- he was really in need of proper sustenance. Food and wine can fulfil Desire for only so long- especially while sleeping out in the cold wild and not luxurious sheets.

Technically his employers were to blame- anyone with sense was hiding and anyone who might be some fun was miserable. Not that he faulted the local populace for cowering from demons, Templars, mages, holes in reality and Maker knows what else.

Well. Us, for one. We're here too.

It was gradually creating an issue. Desire's primary source of nourishment came from the desire of others. For Dorian, this meant fuelling himself through a man's desire towards him. When times were well and the populace cheerful, no matter his place he could easily find a willing participant.

However when times were tougher or in this case, when fear of magic and the unknown ran rampant, meeting someone receptive was trying.

Actually...when you think about it-

this whole thing is Halward's fault.

A phrase Dorian said to himself often, spitting his father's name like a curse.

Just as often, he would sense the demon admonish what it viewed as weakness.

Well am I wrong?

We wouldn't have met if it weren't for him.

Waiting for devices to conclude their measurements, he plopped onto the grass and reminisced.

Dorian had been just a boy, as belligerent a youth as could be. Or that's how his father would excuse it, he was sure.

Perhaps Halward even liked that about his son- sometimes. When he put it to use, when his belligerence somehow went hand-in-hand with achievement.

Not when it caused him to loudly reject their plans, state he'd rather die than live in denial of himself, then run off into the night.

If he hadn't found me...everything might be different.

Unfortunately Halward ferreted him out somehow. What happened next was a tangle of memory and emotion- what he did recall, was standing in a circle of fire while a voice hissed through his mind.

Small. Such a small morsel.

What does the human think I can do with this?

A sensation like needles puncturing his skull. He'd cried out but couldn't move. The creature burrowed into his consciousness, processed and digested in seconds.

Oh...?

So much desire.

Ambition.

Potential.

His heart drummed, limbs shaken- but still he was incapable of movement. All he saw was flame and all he heard was this ravenous intruder.

A small meal...but still a meal.

I could take it all.

That's what he wants me to do, you know.

Whether through his own discernment or whatever link was strung between them, he understood what the creature meant. Panic increasing, Dorian's thoughts raced, floundering to convey them-

So he told you 'oh go eat this desire for me', and you're just going to do it?!

Aren't you a Desire Demon?!

Don't you want to experience life?!

Instead you're just going to- going to-

have a little snack and slink back into the Fade?!

When we can both maximise our potential- together?!

The voice fell silent, pensive. Dorian stammered to solidify his point.

Just- just don't change who I am- that's all I ask.

It had fulfilled that promise- for the most part. When Dorian awoke he'd been in his bed, unchanged in every way that mattered to him.

Turning around, a pair of void-black eyes peered back and he'd screamed.

That was the first encounter with his shadow. It was structured vaguely as he was, had his voice, developed as he did. Yet was just a walking silhouette- that only he could see.

Thankfully his demon's wanderings were on an inconsistent basis.

However it didn't take long for Halward- and everyone else, really- to note Dorian changed in every way they hadn't instructed.

Always a morbid child, fixated on necromancy and the dead. His bond with the demon increased this fixation tenfold. Before then, Dorian sometimes preserved deceased animals and toyed with the idea of reviving them with Fade-Wisps. Now it was an unseemly habit- which his family loathed. Cheerful, bumbling creatures of bone and treated flesh roamed the estate, causing minor chaos and disrupting social events.

Eventually his father screamed at him-

“Dorian Pavus! Clear this undead menagerie or I will take care of them myself!”

“I WILL NOT!” He'd shrieked back, tossing mice-bones across his bedroom.

Halward did take care of them himself- to the boy's heartbreak and despair. By that point he knew there was discussion of somehow altering him again- he ran and this time, was free.

Feeling nostalgic?

Desire lured him to the present moment- sitting cross-legged on a nearby rock-pile, seeming amused in it's posture. His shadow- not nearly as intimidating as it had been to him years ago. Dorian smiled, sighing wistfully.

“Something like that...I think it's more that I'm under-stimulated.”

His companion mirrored this need with a drawn-out exhale.

“Yes, yes, I know...but when we're done with this, we'll be paid, and then we can head somewhere people aren't so actively terrified for their lives.”

It hummed lowly at this but issued no official complaint. Overall the creature was content in deferring to his judgement- Dorian had never steered them wrong. They were usually well fed, occupied by an exciting project and comfortable- this whole apocalypse business was an unplanned circumstance. Even Dorian hadn't known the Venatori's goals- merely sought to benefit.

The creature's focus appeared to divert- features unobscured enough to gather simple expression.

“Hrm? Someone there?” He wondered aloud, glancing. Activity further along- a loose group of people trudging through under-brush, chatting casually though he couldn't hear. Dorian lingered at first but soon recognised the Inquisition symbol- a single, glaring eye.

“Not the people we should try explaining ourselves to, I think.” He decided, chuckling in exasperation. Dorian scooped up his instruments and willed his form to move; vanishing with a flash of embers, he materialised behind some trees and knelt. One advantage to his demonic condition was an ability to veil himself- as long as he didn't do anything too attention-grabbing. Standing around in the open was therefore not viable, so he watched and waited.

Two humans, a dwarf and an elf. A human woman and the elf appeared to lead the pack, both bearing the Inquisition crest. The group ventured for the Rift and Dorian frowned, wondering for their sanity.

A dazzling beam shot outwards, leading his gaze to the elf's hand- connecting him and the Rift. Next there was an explosion and the party launched into combat, too confusing and swift for Dorian to properly assess. By the end all demons and disruptions were extinguished and the elf stood to one side, surveying the area.

Dorian couldn't make out terribly much- obvious details; the radiance emitted by his hand and the weapon used in lieu of a staff, a sword-hilt with light where there would be steel. Dark hair, pale, Dalish- judging by the blue patterns decorating his face. Much taller than elves inclined towards being- he loomed over his party and seemed awkwardly aware of it, stooping whenever one moved to speak with him.

Each person drifted to scout the clearings edge and Dorian sat perfectly still. None wandered his direction and the elf appeared disinterested, loitering where the Rift had been dispelled.

Until he abruptly turned and marched almost straight for Dorian. Stopping just as suddenly, he peered down at scorched earth left by the maleficar's retreat.

Maker's breath!

Don't tell me he's going to notice me because of that?!

He was near enough for Dorian to study closer- light scarring on serious features, frosty eyes that pierced everything they saw.

Intense- but attractive. Perhaps more-so because of that intensity.

For a few heartbeats he was certain he'd been spotted- but the elf swivelled away, muttering.

“Something wrong?” The woman asked, her voice distinctly Nevarran.

“Burnt ground. I thought it odd.” He answered, falling in pace with his fellows.

“Why odd? It would be from a demon, no?”

“I saw none there when we fought.” His speech was a little stilted- possibly more accustomed to his native tongue.

“From the Rift, then. It hardly matters.”

Their discussion was swallowed by forest and Dorian sprang forth, unleashing his shock.

“That's the Herald?!” He exclaimed, laughing in charmed bewilderment.

Feeling eyes upon him, Dorian faced his shadow- standing within the tree-cluster, watching it's host ponderously.

Without speech or much communication at all, he knew they thought as one.

Dorian tossed the bag of instruments to the ground and booted it aside, half-snarling, half-laughing.

“To the void with this dirty work!” Meeting his companion's gaze, he smirked. “I just thought of a reward the Venatori can't possibly hand over to us!”

Vague contours of the creature's mouth parted, displaying pointed teeth in a grin.

The Herald of Andraste.

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istanleyff7 · 5 years ago

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Joanne and Lilisa of the Slums

Final Fantasy VII Remake: The Investigation Unit Within the Painting A Short Story by Kazushige Nojima Translated by Stanley

Chapter 13: Joanne and Lilisa of the Slums

My vacation was over. After finishing my overnight duties, I went against the flow of people and returned home. Joanne Liu was in front of my house, waiting.

“Is there a woman inside? That would be an issue... Please come with me, we’re going to the slums”, she said with a straightforward tone.

“How do you know about this place?”, I questioned as I chased after her.

“I used the same method as you did. I was surprised that our information was being sold”, she reports with a laughing voice.

Looking at her again, she had a different and pleasant expression on her face compared to our first meeting. “Your atmosphere had somehow changed, didn’t it?”

“Maybe so. I thought a lot from that. It’s time to stop thinking that I’m a human who is not allowed to request anything. That’s what I’ve decided and I have been liberated. So, thank you.”

What should I say?

“You were trying to face the past. It was worth learning from that attitude.”

We enter the street, facing the station. Joanne is walking faster than I am. If I do not try catching up, I will be late.

“If I was of any help, then I’m glad. I regretted being rude.”

“You should reflect hard on that. I spoke the truth with my heart, yet you did not answer me. But instead, you ran away. It was rude.”

“I apologise.”

“An apology is unnecessary. Please answer the questions I asked that day.”

Her voice is no longer laughing.

“Where did Geddy get the photograph of Mideel from? Who painted that painting? I won’t do anything even if I knew about it now. Of course, I also will not tell this to others.”

I did not answer and walked on silently. We arrived at the station shortly after. Surprisingly, Lilisa was there. Standing and swaying, she receives the cold glances of the people who come and go.

“I had hidden this from you. Lilisa and I often go to the slums.”

Every time Joan tells me something, I felt that my debt towards her has increased.

Joanne and I sat side-by-side on the train seat. The seats are mostly filled. Lilisa was the only passenger standing along the aisle. People working the same shift as mine are probably going back to the slums. I had been dispatched to slum thrice before to maintain public order. I didn't have a really good impression. I think it is the prejudice of the people born under the plates. We, who were raised above the plates, have lived our lives without falling down the social class and were raised and taught that the bottom was a place where bad people are born.

“Don’t worry”, uttered Joanne. If you’re wearing your uniform, you won’t be attacked. We might get harassed by words, but that’s about it.”

“I hope that’s the case.”

“I think everybody wants to work for Shinra if there’s a chance. Rarely they behave like an anti-Shinra and they would not do anything outrageous. We were the same.”

“We”... Joanne, Lilisa, Glen and Geddy. They probably had a bond that I possibly cannot understand.

“When we went up, I thought we probably wouldn’t return again.”

***

When we got off the train at Sector Seventh Station in the slums, Lilisa walked shakily. Instead of going downtown, she seems to be heading to an abandoned rail-car scrap yard. Joanne said it is called the ‘Train Graveyard’. Lilisa walked on between almost decayed rail cars and sometimes went inside them.

“Where is she going?”

“I don’t know because it differs depending on the day. I’m just following Lilisa. My job is, for example, when she boards the wrong train, or when she’s dealing with some heartless dudes who poke fun at her… I’m her bodyguard.”

“To what degree does Lilisa grasp what she’s doing? She has Mako Poisoning. Its’ effect is considerably severe but...”

“It’s no mistake that she has severe Mako Poisoning. But as far as this “walking” is concerned, there are also people who think it may be due to the medical treatment received from the Science Department. Take Glen's mother for an example, I heard that she found an operation scar on her son's body.”

"Huh?", several questions came to mind.

“Shhhh…”

Joanne stopped in her tracks and pointed forward. There was an open space.

It was not just Lilisa who was there. There are also figures of people wearing similar robes.

Six, no seven? They are not doing anything, but standing there. They are facing in whatever direction they like, and only their faces are looking up. Following what they are looking at, I could only see the steel frame on the back of the plate.

“Glen…. and Geddy”, Joanne uttered as she pointed to the two figures standing apart.

“Huh?”, a silly-sounding sound came out from my mouth. “Around 5 years ago, Glen was found and was taken in by his father while he was loitering around the slums. His mother also believed that her son was alive. No, it seemed that she never once thought her son was dead. Well… parents can be like that sometimes.”

Is that so?

“His mother’s wish came true. I don’t believe such a thing, like mothers’ wishes coming true, but Geddy had also returned. It was 4 years ago. It wasn’t just Glen. You probably don't know about this, but many people are missing in slums. Some of them, 15 years ago and recently about 2 or 3 years ago, who had been missing, had returned. Everyone has a similar condition as Lilisa and has a numbered tattoo somewhere on their body.

“It was the doings of the Science Department, isn’t it? They had the same treatment as an experimental creature. How did the company explain this?”

“They only apologized for the various confusion regarding the whereabouts of military personnel. They also stated that long-term patients who had been hospitalised and treated within the Shinra Company but did not wish to receive further treatment were allowed to be discharged.”

“That’s about them, right?”

I pointed to the black-robed guys that were standing idly.

“You mean… people who didn’t want treatment? I want to know how they validated their will.”

“Sniff...”, Joanne snorted.

“I think it's only reasonable that Professor Hojo and others in the Science Department are punished. But for the parents, it’s different. They think that their son, who was supposed to die because of Mako Poisoning, survived thanks to the treatment. I don’t have the rights to deny it. But of course, neither do you...”

Accept everything. That’s what she meant.

I approached one of the men. Even though his hair and beard were unkempt, I recognise him. It’s someone I hadn’t seen in a long time, Geddy Puck.

“Geddy?”

I tried calling out to him, but there was no response. I lightly gave a tap to his shoulder. He now looked at me slowly.

“It’s been a long time isn’t it?”

But Geddy doesn’t seem to recognise me. It’s not just because of the 15 years time gap.

“Look at you… Poor Geddy...”

But my voice didn’t reach him at all.

I felt someone’s presence behind me, so I looked back. It was from Joanne.

“I’ve always thought that Lilisa poisoned them. She had a reason to stop Glen’s plan and the opportunity to obtain the poison. But I came up with a better conclusion. I wouldn’t have noticed it if you didn’t pay me a visit.”

“Joanne...”

Many thoughts crossed my mind. What do Glen’s and Geddy’s lives mean to me? How should I answer Joanne’s interrogation, which is supposed to happen now? What kind of guilt should I bear for them because of their severe Mako Poisoning? Will I have a chance of forgiveness?

“What should I do?”

“Deal with them one by one. You have plenty of time. They will no longer go anywhere.”

***

The return train was much more empty than when it came. Lilisa is sitting next to Joanne. She is probably tired. She rested her head on Joanne’s shoulder. Joanne supports her head with her hand.

I sat beside Joanne, who was sandwiched in between us. Joanne then pulled her arm around my neck in a rough manner.

“Listen to what my guess is. 15 years ago, it was not Lilisa who added the Mako into the dish, but it was Geddy. Since he often went to the Science Department, it mustn't have been too difficult to obtain those Mako-derived substances. The crime…. I’m intentionally calling it that, but the purpose of the crime was to get on the helicopter. He thought that by riding the helicopter, he would certainly meet the President’s expectation of him. I don't know what future he envisioned after that, but to achieve success, he took advantage of Lilisa’s love and our friendship.”

“Let me go.”

“But what made Geddy go till that far?”

Joanne tightened her arms.

“Why are you obsessed about Geddy?” “You were going to apologize to Geddy, saying that you’re so sorry for what had happened.”

I was silent.

“The photograph that we were given... Were you the one who painted the painting?”

“...Yes. No. I mean…”

“Well, say it”, Joanne took her arm off my neck and requested.

“There was a girl named Aerith…”

I talked about the days I had spent with Aerith, how she started painting and talked about the incident after that.

Aerith's paintings gained fame, and finally, it was to the extent where even President Shinra came to see her personally. He had a particular interest in her landscape paintings and often enquired about their origins.

“I can just instantaneously picture the landscape”, she answered his questions, feeling annoyed.

The President was satisfied with her answer.

“So that started the Special Ground Investigation Unit?”, Joanne said and heaved a sigh.

“Yes. The President believed from the beginning that the mysterious abilities of the Ancients would bring enormous profits. That’s why he finally thought that time had probably come.”

“What did you think? Did you believe that?”

“I noticed that Aerith wasn’t normal, she could see and hear things that I couldn’t. But if I had acknowledged that, I felt like she would become distant from me. Even if she was an Ancient, I wanted her to stay normal like I was.

“Aerith changed since she started painting. She barely ate. She didn’t smile. She didn’t dance. She didn’t read. A week after I drew that coil, I was no longer allowed in the room. My mother was unaffected and still worked, but I remained at home to house-sit. She explained that it was due to the changes in Professor Hojo’s policies and told me to play with a ‘normal kid’. I cried and lived on with a feeling of loneliness.”

“The situation, however, changed again a week later. After the sunset, I was summoned and my mother accompanied me to Shinra Building. I had a very very bad feeling about it and my hunch was right. The Aerith whom I hadn’t met in a long time, was thin and looked like a sick puppy. The long hair she always had tied up, became frayed and her clothes were stained with paint. But there was something that overwhelmed me before even I noticed her. It was a painting of a large number of people, landscapes and even mysterious animals painted on all sides of the walls…”

___

-Next Chapter- Chapter 14: Aerith of the Shinra Building (II)

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#ffvii #ffviir #ffvii remake #ff7 #ff7r

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arkenarttechlab · 6 years ago

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ALL EYES ON YOU

The Roman goddess FAMA has many eyes, ears and tongues: She heedlessly mixes truth and lie. She is a creature of the present moment, a vehicle of contemporary opinion, notorioulsy fickle.

- H.J. Jackson

No one can prepare themselves for suddenly being exposed or the lasting damaging effects of public shaming. Fame is associated with great sacrifice, which, depending on the degree of exposure, can lead to loneliness, psychological problems such as addiction, distrust, isolation and the loss of anonymity. As a anonymous former Danish child star, told me: “it’s like having a social phobia that’s not a phobia; it’s real – people are watching you all the time”. Or as a Hollywood star once told me about the first time he experienced “drawing a crowd”: “imagine having a favourite restaurant where you always go with your friends or family. Suddenly, one day, when I got up from meal at my go-to restaurant, the rest of the restaurant got up, too, and came out after me.”

Professor Donna Rockwell has researched the psychology of fame – what happens in the existential process of going from being an unknown to a known face. Rockwell explained to me in an interview: “one of the things that is vital for us to exist in a group is the ability to form connections, relationships. It is a deeply rooted human need”. We are celebrated now and then, step out of the flock and become the one everyone watches and cheers. For example, for birthdays and other events celebrating the individual. It is quite natural and an important aspect of many cultures, but it would be quite different if we were celebrated and cheered by the community every day. “When an individual becomes famous, when everybody is watching, when the spotlight is aimed at you, it is hugely difficult to maintain the ability to form natural relationships. And it is a human reaction to shut down and pull away so as to protect yourself. As my research indicates, the person ends up – regardless of age – losing confidence in both the world and other people. Why are you my friend? Why do you like me? Why would you like to get to know me? Is it because of who I am or is it because of what I am known for? In the case of the later, the individual often develops agoraphobia: the fear of being in public places, which is experienced as not feeling safe anywhere. As Harrison Ford once said, being famous is like walking around with a skunk on your head. It is very descriptive of how a famous individual experiences fame.

As part of her research, Rockwell studied the behavioural and psychological conditions of a person who had experienced going from being an unknown to a known individual. The known individual, who participated in the study “Being a Celebrity: A Phenomenology of Fame”, describes being famous as “bizarre, surreal, scary, lonely, terrifying, intimidating, embarrassing, confusing and invading. An experience of being deprived of their personal freedoms, one that creates a distance to the world around them, and the consequence is a constant sense of distrust towards other people”. In Rockwell’s words, it is a difficult terrain – and extremely destructive. For example, the famous person is forced to create a kind of split personality: “they are forced to shift back and forth between the two ‘MEs’ in their daily lives, which can be exhausting, because who can ever be prepared for that kind of relational dynamic with other people, or constantly act reserved with people in those groups and context, which you step in and out of all the time?”

One of the superstars who contributed to Rockwell’s research describes celebrity as a large inflatable wall that is always present: “it’s always there, it’s the elephant in the room, the elephant who’s always there when you go to lunch or when you go to the park, it’s always there”. It becomes an addiction for some – their identity becomes entwined with fame and a kind of love-hate dynamic emerges: they want to be famous, but they also hate what that fame has done to them. They hate that it has restricted their quality of life rather than enriched it. Rockwell emphasises the need to inform people before they choose to expose themselves to the limelight. “But there’s no boot camp that explains how difficult it is and how impossible it is for even the most down-to-earth person to avoid the power of fame that can be reminiscent of an accident caused by a car driving too fast – it changes you one way or another”.

A life in the public eye gives power and access to unprecedented groups. It could be VIP fora, A-list events, restaurants, and so on. And this lifestyle leads to an addiction to the kick got from being chosen. One well-known person involved in Rockwell’s research says, “I’ve been addicted to different things, and the most addictive is fame”. Fame is ‘Hollywood Currency’, it allows access to power and influence and, as Rockwell points out, it is, therefore, crucial that this power is used in such a way that makes sense on a human plane. And it can be a long and psychologically challenging road trying to make sense of being famous. For the individual, becoming famous leads to a shift in the balance of power in relationships, personal as well as professional. Over time, fame fundamentally changes relationships with friends, family and business associates. The reason being that the experience of living as a ‘star’ violates the accepted norms for human social behaviour. And this separation and experience of being socially amputated from others creates an emotional distance and a state of isolation.

The psychological process of going from being an unknown face to a known one should, according to Rockwell, not be seen as a process in which adaptation is the solution or the ending: “adaptation is not necessarily positive – it is just one way of living with [the situation]. That does not mean you can live in balance with a limited social life: you still have to live with the fact that there are always a million eyes on you when you go for a walk in the park. Someone once described it to me as “a sea of eyes”. Adaptation is difficult, because it creates a reliance on being recognised – but for something that once was: “hey, were you not once in… is that you?” But the person still exists – and it can be difficult to live with being a ‘has been’ in the eyes of others. They will never again be that person, who ‘was once in’; be that person other people see them as, Rockwell emphasises, continuing: “I have 7850 likes, therefore I am (referencing Descartes’ cogito ergo sum, I think therefore I am). The spotlight shines in our eyes. Western culture praises what is on the outside, not the inner values. It is about how much attention we get, how much attention we can generate, how many likes we get on Facebook, how many retweets on Twitter, how many hearts pop up on our Instagram photos, etc. Everyone assumes it is a confirmation of the surface of our identity and existence. But no one can base their identity and existence on something so superficial – on the contrary, that is something inside. I am afraid that emotional intelligence is being suppressed in today’s children and adolescents, so they fail to see ‘likes’ and lack of ‘likes’ in the right context”.

Extract from PHONO SAPIENS - The Slow Mammal on Speed

GIF: Source www.roleplaygateway.com

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anjodalua · 5 years ago

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How To Pass Time Easily While Lockdown Occurs

Specialists’ tips on surviving – even taking part in – life underneath lockdown

lacking the pub? Invite friends to on-line cocktails. That’s just one tip from our panel of professionals on the way to make the maximum of enforced downtime

henry porter, novelist and conceitedness honest editor one of the nastier elements of the pandemic is that it turns your buddies and all which you do to show them affection – hug and kiss; proportion meals and drinks – right into a lethal threat. And but, on this appalling second, we need our buddies more than ever, and it is probably real that our immune structures do, too. Isolation is terrible for a species addicted to social intercourse. My solution has been to start a cocktail hour on a video conferencing web site, sending one or two friends each day an invitation to drinks in the front of their pc (or cellphone) at a time when we might typically meet in a pub or at every different’s houses. It’s unexpected what a difference it can make to an afternoon of isolation, and in your spirits in fashionable, to look your pals’ faces in the evening and listen them communicate and laugh. Henry porter playing cocktail hour with glass of wine, a pc and some pals. Henry porter enjoying cocktail hour with a few friends. Image: liz elliot the scale of covid-19 and what it’s doing to us is very stressful, but an hour with specific buddies each evening certainly helps lessen anxiety, and of route you could make much more attempt than i do – get dressed up, mild candles, offer nibbles (crisps make an excessive amount of noise). Anything pleasure is launched when you see your pals inside the flesh is likewise found in those video cocktails, and the lovely component is that for a small price the host receives unlimited conference calls (i pay £one hundred ten yearly for bluejeans) and guests pay not anything. Honestly, this will be expanded to speaking to neighbours you could not recognise very well, or humans you accept as true with are actually stricken by enforced isolation and loneliness. It can also be an amazing way of meeting people. Each participant may invite a person nobody else is aware of. It’s truely terrific for brand spanking new moms, e book clubs, soccer supporters – all and sundry who's lacking out on regular touch. Despite the remoteness of the interplay and the occasional annoyances of the generation, i find that humans honestly talk inside the video cocktail hour. Maybe that has some thing to do with the anomaly of the interplay – you are neither by myself nor certainly in organisation. You're half-manner between the two and possibly that makes you extra candid. Sites i have used include zoom, bluejeans and whypay? And my daughter has simply brought me to the houseparty app. Grow herbs alice vincent on her south london balcony. Alice vincent on her south london balcony. Advertisement

alice vincent, city gardening columnist and writer i in reality suppose gardening is what will hold us sane via this. It connects us with the outside and the gentle delight of looking matters develop brings a unique positivity. If you’ve no garden, there are masses of methods to grow indoors. You’ll want a sunny windowsill, inner or out. I always advocate beginners to develop herbs. They’re smooth and delicious – and whilst grocery store components are low they turn out to be more and more worthwhile. The plastic trays that tomatoes and mushrooms come in will do – just make some holes within the bottom for drainage. Fill with, ideally, peat-unfastened multipurpose compost (most nurseries supply and will be thankful for the custom). Parsley and basil rub alongside thankfully subsequent to each other, but mint’s a piece of a thug and better in its personal pot. You could also chuck in some salad leaf seeds: pea shoots, rocket and nasturtiums germinate speedy and are tasty at any point of their growing cycle. Sow in keeping with packet instructions: you’ll need a fragment of what’s in the packet. Preserve the soil moist – an vintage spray bottle is perfect for this – earlier than and after shoots seem. If youharvest no extra than a 3rd of the plant at a time, all should get better.

Exercising

justin jacobs, manager, equinox fitness golf equipment we're creatures of habit in what we consume, whilst we paintings, what tv indicates we watch. Right now, all the ones habits had been shoved out of the window. There’s quite a few confusion, but that is an possibility to create new conduct. So what to try? What’s your new routine? It is able to be fluid and might change, but what do you want to attempt? There’s lots of first-rate on line content available. Equinox’s moreover platform gives an expansion of workouts, however seek the web to discover a trainer or trainer you want and accept as true with. John berardi, a nutritionist i paintings with, is often requested, “what’s the fine vegetable to devour?” his solution is that it’s the vegetable you like and could eat regularly. Workout is the equal. There may be a run on domestic health club device proper now, but dumbbells, ropes and other useful merchandise are nevertheless available online. Choose what’s proper to your area. I’ve just ordered a few opposition kettlebells due to the fact they’re some thing i in reality experience. There’s copious anecdotal and scientific proof displaying how vital fitness is for mental health: so for the duration of this very stressful time, it’s even more crucial. It also boosts the immune device. However workout isn’t just about fitness – it’s frequently a social activity, too. I’m the use of facetime more than ever earlier than due to the fact i’m no longer having normal social touch. Exercise session with a chum on facetime or have a web dance party along with your family. Remaining night i watched a band i like known as sofi tukker dj live on instagram. That become a brand new enjoy. Find some thing like that and dance for 1/2 an hour and your aerobic may be executed. Pickling jack monroe with pie in kitchen. Jack monroe in her kitchen. Image: shutterstock commercial

jack monroe, meals creator and activist in times of meals scarcity and uncertainty, we have to make do with what we've got. I haven’t been so much panic-buying – not having a vehicle limits that – however i've been guiltily hoovering up scraps from the decreased cupboard past due inside the day, to save them being discarded. This week’s haul protected 3 packing containers of chestnut mushrooms, a withered bunch of wild garlic and a pile of french purple garlic, a little battered round the edges. I'm able to dry the mushrooms, peel and pickle the garlic cloves, and knock the wild garlic with a few nuts right into a sauce aillade. This will maintain for a month beyond the sell-by way of date that consigned it to the bargain bin in the first place. Retaining meals isn't going get us too far in an endemic, admittedly, however pickling what we've now's an investment in destiny dinners. I am also pickling a sluggish cooker’s really worth of dried white beans in oil and vinegar, to apply till tinned ones come returned into inventory. Candy-sour cannellini beans makes a huge jar

examine extra

400g dried cannellini beans

½ a small onion

100g frozen peppers

80ml vinegar – purple, white or cider

1 tbsp white sugar

100ml oil (any)

drain and rinse your beans, then pop them in a pan of cold water. Convey to the boil, then lessen to a simmer. Simmer for 15 mins then drain very well then return to the pan. Add the onions and peppers, along with the vinegar, sugar and oil. Thoroughly clean and sterilise a big jar and its lid. Bring the pan to the boil very carefully. Do not take your eyes off it for a second as you are handling hot oil, which poses a fire danger if unattended. As soon as bubbles start to form, do away with it from the heat straight away. Permit to cool for a minute, stirring well, then pour into the sterilised jar, filling it as complete as viable. Flip the jar upside down and permit to chill completely before placing in the refrigerator. Withstand sampling them for at the least seven days, as the flavour will increase in this time. In a easy and sterile jar, these can hold for a few months unopened. Once opened, use inside a week. Jack monroe’s modern-day e-book is tin can cook (bluebird, £6. Ninety nine)

adorning

couple attempting out paint shades

trying out paint colorings. Image: alamy

commercial

laura de barra, ‘she’-i-y expert and author if you need to apply this time it to zhuzh up your property, start with paint. Take into account the distance and consider what mood you want works best. In case you need your kitchen to provide you a touch lift every morning, go for light, bright tones. Keep away from mistakes: that colour that appears terrifi on the tin (or on instagram), can look much less attractive on walls with much less herbal mild or in a different-sized room, so swatching is key. Check a couple of swatches on each wall. Paint dries to a different shade, so don’t be freaked out. Stroll away and are available lower back while it’s fully dry before thinking about how it seems. If you’ll want two coats, do coats while you swatch. Take note of how the colour is affected by mild on the times you operate the room most. With regards to portray a wall, use a broom to “reduce in” first. This indicates portray the corners and edges before something else – it gives a better finish. Rollers are perfect for huge regions and less difficult at the hands. Make sure you have an appropriate curler for the floor – test along with your paint supplier. I favour water-primarily based paint – it doesn’t trap moisture, it’s kinder to the surroundings and the smooth-up is simpler. Also, even as contemporary satin and sheen paint finishes are extremely good, don't forget a matt paint in an older home: it received’t soar light from any dents and imperfections. C’est bon! Laura de barra is creator of gaff goddess

john-paul flintoff, creator and crafter ten years ago, to be kinder to the planet, i took up mending garments. I knee-patched jeans, darned jumpers and, before you can say “treadle-powered singer sewing system”, i had sold one and started out making matters from scratch. I shirted and trousered myself, and with knitting needles i socked and jumpered. I discovered crochet so i ought to make y-fronts the use of nettle fibre. (we’ll all be carrying nettle whilst the cotton stops, so plant it now. And relax: the fibre doesn’t sting.)

did human beings chuckle? Nicely, it became intended to be funny. But now not simplest humorous. Like all activity that involves making use of your thoughts to the bodily universe, sewing is meditative. It puts you in the here and now. Gradually i set apart the angst that had were given me started out and began sewing for delight. Hoping others might observe, i permit my maintenance show themselves off, using thread of contrasting colours to facet holes in a jumper, and to stitch the slogan “sparkling air system” at the back. I published a e-book about all this, first of all as a restrained collection of hand-bound books i sewed collectively, with bits of cereal box and old shirts for the cover. (higher than it sounds.) this, too, was meditative work. In case you need to have a pass, attempt darning something. (observe youtube.) reduce some thing up and use it to patch some thing else. Study specific stitches (for exclusive results), and test by way of combining materials. Using embroidery, write your call in your shirt or provide it a luxury logo logo: it will make you smile, and might provide pleasure to others. John-paul flintoff’s e book is stitch your very own (profile books, available on kindle, £6. 40)

fun with kids younger women with facemasks and cucumber on eyes permit the children play splendor salons - and attempt no longer to get too concerned. Image: rachel warne

after 3 youngsters and eight years of “screen-unfastened own family sundays”, i've masses of ideas for wonderful youngsters at domestic. First, get secure with mess. Children having amusing do no longer preserve matters neat. Manipulate the chaos with a “tidy-up half-hour” for all people earlier than they visit bed. Additionally supply the children some manage – they’re always more inclined to throw themselves into things in the event that they feel it become as a minimum partly their idea. Let them lead: help them collect cloth for junk modelling, a style display or residence construction, however resist getting too concerned. Their imaginations are better than yours. On day one among any lengthy stretch with the youngsters, we make a “boredom buster”. Take a big jar and lots of squares of paper. On each, one, write an interest absolutely everyone can do – play a board sport, make a milkshake. Whenever every body says “i’m bored”, you pick out an pastime from the jar. The only rule is you all must do it earlier than you select every other. To add an element of trepidation, slip a few chores into the jar: easy your room, empty the dishwasher. That manner, the jar won’t be empty with the aid of the cease of day two, and the residence might not appearance as if a bomb has hit it. Anything out of the ordinary is constantly more fun. If it’s mealtime, why no longer have a picnic at the carpet rather than sitting at the table? In the event that they need to run a cafe and serve the family lunch, or installation a library, let them have a pass. Just don’t count on perfection – they’re nonetheless apprentices.

#food #health

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manonmidgen · 6 years ago

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OH HUNTER; IF YOU DIDN’T WANT THE BEAUTIFUL SO BADLY, PERHAPS YOU WOULD’VE FOUND IT IN YOUR SPIRIT SINGING SOFTLY.

❝ she thinks that she’s the worst so she acts like she’s the best. ❞ NANA KOMATSU? No, that’s actually MANDOLYN ‘MANON’ MIDGEN. A SEVENTH YEAR student, this GRYFFINDOR student is sided with MCGONAGALL’S ARMY. SHE identifies as CIS-FEMALE and is a PURE BLOOD who is known to be CONCEITED, FAKE, and FICKLE but also HARD WORKING, ENCHANTING, and MAGNETIC.

tw. bullying.

links. pinterest. spotify.

stats.

MANDOLYN ‘MANON’ MIDGEN ,

7th year gryffindor. Pureblood. Prefect. President of the potions club.

Gemini Sun / Sagitarrius moon / Scorpio rising. / born 20th june 1:12pm

wand: hawthorn / dragon heart string/ 14 1/2″ / brittle

patronus: would produce a swan if produced.

NEWT classes: potions; herbology; charms.

favourite subject: potions. least favourite subject: history of magic.

electives: divination & care of magical creatures.

character inspo: mia thermpoplis ( princess diaries. ) caroline ‘ cool girl’ ( snotgirl. ) lottie person ( snotgirl. ) | albums : melodrama by lorde / lush by mitski

see more here !

bio. ( this got long, but i can offer you this meme in this trying time. )

IT’S TOO UGLY TO BE HUMAN. IT’S TOO UGLY TO BE YOU. CHILDREN ARE SCARED OF THE DARK; THERE IS NOTHING REAL TO BE MADE OF IT.

the midgen family , a lesser thought of pure blood family with nothing else to really say about them ; they say that the families money dates back to them having a stake in the creation of butter beer but there’s little to no historical archives to support this. they, for the most of history, had simply just been; been nothing iconic or memorable but simply just existed in the sidelines. a safe and cautious place to be.

Madolyn Midgen, the youngest of the midgen family tree and only of her generation, the first and only born of Eloise Midgen. Although Eloise did marry, a lovely pureblood named Rupert, the condition came that their child would keep the midgen name. the midgen’s for long had only been blessed with a single heir each generation, almost always a female, so the stipulation had been written into the family.

Most people don’t describe childbirth as the most beautiful things, the babies red, screaming, and unkempt ; but most get over this hurdle in a few days. yet madolyn seemed to stay that way. her limbs not growing as they should, her face unexplainably red, and flaky, the puffs of black hair doing nothing to disguise the ugliness of the baby -- apparently the sight of her face alone was enough to cause the rest of the reception to burst into tears.

I THINK PERFECTION IS UGLY. I WANT TO SEE SCARS, FAILURE, DISORDER, DISTORTION.

minging midgen.

that was the smart name the 5 year old boys made up for her; and like the world on atlas’ back, it was the burden that the ugly duckling carried with her - shackled with - for the rest of her childhood years.

Elementary school was just more of the same; the girl that people would ask out for fun, for laughter, despite any kindness she might have held in her heart, her attitude couldn’t sway people to look past her stout figure and cystic acne. mud would poured in her hair; snails placed in her shoes; people who touched her were said to be cursed with germs -- ; her attempts to make friends went most often in vain and her birthday parties went by every year without a single card or cake.

It caused Mandolyn to develop crippling anxiety; body dysmorphia; the over emphasis of her flaws in her own eyes. she’d pick at her arms and glance at any mirror that she walked by ; any laughter that she heard she’d automatically assume it was about her.

this led to a shy girl ; who constantly burst into tears and without a single back bone in her body-- her spine would bend in on itself as a shield from any jeers, but it also left her extremely comprisable to any suggestions. she would often just go along with anything suggested because of the concept that if she did what they say; maybe they would like her; maybe they would leave her alone.

she became the easy pickings of pranks, jeers, a punching bag with the stability of wheat.

Already at the ripe age of 10 years old mandolyn had been duly crushed by this role that she played in life, despite any encouragement from her mother or father.

They promised her it would get better, and it did. And luckily, after a few more years or two of sucking it up, it finally did.

AND SUDDENLY I AM A PHOENIX FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE EARTH AND IT WOULD ALMOST BE BEAUTIFUL IF THE WORLD WAS NOT ENDING

When she arrived to Hogwarts, she was sorted into Gryffindor which people assumed must have purely been a family heritage decision, as no one would ever think the girl who seemed to hunch in on herself so much she could roll down a hill could ever be a gryffindor.

The first two years of school were almost entirely uneventful, of course, 11 years old love to pick on each other, and the rampant bullying followed her like wild dogs wherever she went, but she was slowly growing out of the childhood pudginess and gaining some length to the otherwise stumpy limbs she’d been born with. Mostly, she continued to fulfil the role she had played in primary school ; though, the presence of a few true friends made it somewhat bearable. they were thick as thieves; completely nonjudgemental of each other, and for a second, it seemed that mandolyn was gaining some sort of confidence, but still, no independence of back bones -- - she simply just continued her childhood pattern of following.

The changing moment ( the birth of the phoenix ; the ugly duckling shedding the grey coat ) was three days after her 14th birthday, her third year, when spectating an impromptu game of quidditch left her in an awful face cast the likes that meant she had to momentarily drop out of hogwarts; a Midgen tradition to do as soon as something went wrong; She had to miss the last month of summer semester — and like the ugly duckling came back like a swan.

The late bloomer blossomed, and the magical cosmetic surgery didn’t hurt much either. But more importantly, the change in look seemed to go hand in hand with a change in confidence (the one bubbling now bloomed). The once shy and inept Mandolyn became well spoken ; charming ; magnetic ; alluring to the point that nobody recognised her at the beginning of the fourth year.

So Mandolyn rebranded herself as Manon, she says it means french for beautiful. Finally, she managed to receive the attention she had been almost dying for since she was a young child, at only the price of 2 months of education and weeks sat in a hospital.

But whilst her face became beautiful, her personality soured slightly, which was noticeable to almost all of her actual friends ( the three of them that existed. )

Her personality became as fake as her face as she lied, cheated, and smiled politely to try and weasel her way into the social scene she had so longed to become apart of. She became liked, and popular, but at what cost ? The price of being able to have genuine human connections with most people.

Whom once was a genuinely nice girl, scared of human confrontation and going with the flow to avoid any problems grew a spine. and also a bite. she became snarky, slightly argumentative at times, and wholly competitive with being pretty and popular as her only real intentions. she began to care a lot less for anything genuine unless that genuine thing would benefit her in some regards. but despite the presence of a slight back bone, it was still as brittle as her wand, she would still do anything for attention, to prove to herself that she was liked and popular. easily manipulated & entirely fake. the not blonde barbie doll with as many clothes and switching professions & friends. ( and ACCORDING TO THE RUMOURS; SHE’S FILLED WITH JUST AS MUCH PLASTIC ! )

in her fifth year; mandolyn is made prefect, she’s told by the head of gryffindor that her change in courage, determination, and ‘standing’ up to her bullies was a comendable feet, and in collaboration with her good grades and her pristine record, she was a great candidate for prefect. mandolyn took the opportunity with open arms for she thought it would only help to bolster her now growing reputation.

YOU ARE STARING OUT AT A WORLD ON FIRE COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW UGLY YOU THINK THE ASHES ARE.

When the deaths hit, and the world suddenly became a lot darker than Manon could ever realise, her well perfected facade started to crumple, and the idea of popularity no longer seemed as ideal as it did in the past.

Perhaps it was longing for the simpler days without death around every corner, but she’s begun to doubt who she really is — and her impromptu decision to change her name is only aiding in adding to her identity confusion.

Part of her decision to aid in Mcgonnogal’s army is down to Manon trying to follow what she believes is the righteous path; fighting against the darkness that is seeping in through the cracks in Hogwarts stone walls. Because in Manon’s mind, she feels that as soon as that problem is resolved, all of the issues that are surfacing in her mind will suddenly disappear — just like what happened when she got her magical face list.

wc.

less wanted, and more connection ideas to start plotting ;

- core long term friendship group, the few friends manon had before she was ever manon-- the non-judgemental, supportive friend group who was always there for mandolyn to cry on // most likely might have felt spurned after manon’s re-invention of herself, or might have been passively against her new personality, or supported her new found confidence [ the current logistics are very easily changeable ~ ! ]

- the new influence of friends, the group of friends, or partying group, that manon wedged herself into after she re-invented herself as cool and ‘beautiful’ ( in her own opinion. ) // probably a friendship group built more on benefit and falseness than any actual emotion. [ again current logistics are very changeable ; it’s just a broad sentiment of ideas. ]

- the bullies, people who teased mandolyn because of her cystic acne, short limbs, uneven bone structure and poor posture -- and may have continued to after she rebranded herself.

- the love interest, manon is more into girls than boys, but is very fluid and casual with her relationships so any long term interest is probably going to have some sort of angst based on that -- alternatively, i’m all for hook ups and one time things in building a web -- as manon most likely wanted to date as many people as she physically could to bolster her new reputation.

- i’m obviously 100% open for more open plotting ;or filling any connection ideas anybody else has, so please feel free to message me surrounding that ! i’m really excited to be here and plot so !! yeah !!!

#iidyintro #kinda rough but i think it gets the point across; really excited 2 be here !!

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tomasorban · 6 years ago

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THE ZODIAC: CAPRICORN THE GOAT

Date of Rulership: 21st December-19th January; Polarity: Negative, female; Quality: Cardinal; Ruling planet: Saturn; Element: Earth; Body part: Knees, Joints, Bones; Colour: Black, dark grey, and brown; Gemstone: Turquoise, Amethyst; Metal: Lead.

Following on from Sagittarius, Capricorn is a sign that is immensely focused on how developments made in various disciplines like science, economy, law, and psychology can be used to improve living standards, raise collective consciousness, and foster a powerful society that runs as quickly and efficiently as a Japanese bullet train or a Swiss Rado watch. The Goat possesses the memory of a Tibetan monk, or rather an Indian elephant and its intuition extends far, far back before the conscious will crawled its way out of the primordial sludge. Interestingly, everything about this primitive state of chaos unsettles and scares the Goat. In fact lack of structure and organization, whether on a personal level or a collective level, induces psychological complexes within the Capricornian psyche that may drive it over the edge. In light of this, one can begin to understand this star sign’s compulsion and obsession with developing systems that tabulate and organise information into coherent hierarchies, raising and enforcing social standards and laws, and encouraging individuals to turn their passions and interests into full-time careers. According to the Goat, compartmentalization is a must; how will contemporary society function effectively, grow, and prosper without specialists to put forth broad-based models and inspired leaders to assess their levels of practicality and decide whether or not they should be implemented. Capricorns are innately good at taking on the comprehensive responsibilities of such collective ventures for they are naturally born leaders and committed ones at that.

People born under the stars of this constellation are usually of an intellectual adroitness beyond their actual years. A personalized form of the Capricornian formative energy might be a three year to four year-old toddler with a very high IQ. Have you ever watched one in action in a kindergarten playground? These little mischievous angels are masters of manipulation. They loiter about sizing other kids up, figuring out what makes them tick, and subsequently flicking on the mental switches that will elicit complete acceptance, veneration, respect, and affinity on their part. Moreover, they also love the power that comes with positions of elevated status and authority and will always pick roles where they are able to order everyone around and be the centre of attention. The wisdom and insight pervading these little beings carry is extraordinary; they learn and identify what behaviours are encouraged and rewarded by parents, teachers, and other adults and will cunningly adopt them for the sake of obtaining what they want. Mature Capricorns very much like mischievous children with very high IQs. They are creatures of atypical restraint and a calculated, cautious temperament that can use their charm, wit and infective cheerfulness to ascend the wrungs of the social ladder and miraculously leave the people they mingled with to get there feeling cherished and esteemed. This talent serves them especially well in professional endeavours whereby expertise, skill level, and personality provide the requisite ammunition in catapulting an employee to the top of the pecking order. The Goat wants to please and to be pleased; a mutually satisfying situation it hopes will assist in its plans to achieve widescale success.

If we were to attach a Jungian archetype to this star sign it would definitely be The Perfectionist. Mediocrity, poor performance, procrastination, and indolence are non-existent in the Capricornian language and dictionary. The Goat expects much of others and even more of itself, a characteristic which sometimes proves beneficial and sometimes detrimental. It gravitates towards and gels well with those who are equally ambitious, driven, conscientious, and tunnel-visioned but can intimidate meeker and more submissive character types that lack focus, aspirations, and long-term goals. Generating a vision that will contribute something valuable to the society in which it lives and slowly lighting the hermetic fires that will bring it to fruition is big on its lifelong list of things-to-do. Lamentably, a motivated Capricorn can become so fixated on achieving success in all areas of his or her life–finance, love, and professional career–that he or she becomes merciless, indifferent, and as unyielding as a piece of sandalwood trapped between two giant boulders. Unlike a great many that capitulate to the ideals of political correctness, Capricorn is not afraid to employ disciplinary action against inferiors that persistently transgress.

Being a cardinal sign Capricorn is no stranger to activity, fast-paced rhythms, and spirited involvement. The Goat prefers to circumnavigate the world over and over and over until its limbs drop off rather than remain motionless and caged up in some suburban neighbourhood. It likes to be in constant motion physically, mentally, and intellectually; it wants to be creative and innovative in adding to its chosen field of inquiry but at the same time it yearns for recognition, honour and vindication as validation of these valuable contributions. Just as the sure-footed mountain goat can persevere in traversing precipitous terrain that other animals wouldn’t go anywhere near for fear of plunging to their deaths, so too does the Capricorn soul exude inner strength and resilience in the face of adversity. Unlike some of the other members of the zodiac which give up prematurely or won’t even try for fear of failure, Capricorn will keep chipping away at a foot of a megalithic problem until so much of it is underrun that it collapses in on itself. Of course there are times when the Goat’s unrelenting efforts don’t pay off and this can create psychological torture that leads to bitterness, depression, neurosis, and even psychosis if the condition remains unaddressed. An afflicted Goat can become so riddled by insecurities, self-doubts, and psychological hindrances that it will invert its own social nature and seek solace in escapist activities like daydreaming, reading romance fiction, playing computer games, and watching movies.

“What doesn’t hurt you will only make you stronger!” the resilient Capricorn shouts. “You must endure pain, suffering, and symbolic death during the course of your life in order to become the person you were meant to be. Life is all about improving the world in which we live and adding to it in a constructive manner. Hence there is no room for laziness, lawlessness, or immoralities. The world is our only home. What good would it be to us if it were an asymmetrical place of anarchy, confusion, and absurdity? Everybody needs to have a meaningful role in society that contributes to the harmonious functioning of the whole. Look at bees, for instance. Their society is a sort of autonomous monarchy comprised of drones, female workers, and the queen herself. All these little beings are intensely aware of their position and function in the hierarchy and adhere to it like the universe adheres to the laws of physics. They are all as assiduous as each other and we would do well to borrow and implement the same approach. Success in life comes through industry, focus, and hard yakka (hard work) folks; nothing more, nothing less.

Some people say that I resemble the winter solstice in that I’m sometimes cold and chilly, reserved, and rather impersonal in my dealings with others. This is not my true self, but rather an iron armour or shell which the contingencies of life have forced upon me. I’m a realist so I’d be the first to admit that the world can be a cruel and nasty place. Even though most wouldn’t admit to such, self-interest happens to be a primary urge amongst human beings and their tireless search for validation usually entails a confrontation with the less flattering attributes of the collective temperament. Hence it’s important to put up psychic defences that will guard your soft, squishy, and sensitive interior at all times. The human soul, my friends, is an abyss of human sentiments, and mine is no different. I will sing, dance, cry, laugh, and share intimate details of my life with individuals who manage to gain my love and complete trust, namely those that are going places and doing exciting things with themselves. As you know, I’m a sucker for security, attention, and status and the best way to get it is to be around those VIPs best able to open doors and facilitate it. I’m not an elitist in any way, but relationships built on synthetically constructed dependencies are an outgrowth of the Western culture in which we are born and raised. We need to work with that rather than against it for the sake of acquiring what we want!”

Capricorn the Goat is connected to two symbols that link the constellation with the reascention of the sun from its seasonal slumber. The first of these is a terrestrial goat or goat-fish crossbreed that has its iconographical origins in the ancient civilization of Mesopotamia. This is depicted morphologically as a sea monster; sometimes as a hybrid goat-fish with the four limbs of a goat and a fish tail and at other times as a sea goat with the posterior of a serpent. Most early cultures perceived that their collective histories were woven into the heavenly constellations and the Sumerians were no different. Foremost of the symbols belonging to the Sumerian god Enki were a goat and a fish, both of which had amalgamated into the astrological totem we recognise today by the second millennium bce. Originally, Capricorn probably descried an early matriarchal situation of the Middle East in which the earliest monolithic structures of Babylon rose vertically out of a semi-arid breadth of shallow lagoons, reed banks, mud flats, and marshes. The horns of the goat were celestial markers for Mesopotamia’s two principle cities, Babylon and Nineveh; the first was built along the river Euphrates and the second along the Tigris, respectively.

Constructed during the Ptolemaic Period (323-30bce) of Egypt’s illustrious history, the circular and rectangular zodiacs in the Temple of Hathor at Denderah bequeath to us the ancient zodiacal pictograms for the twelve signs. A fleeting glace will show that the vast majority of these have remained largely unchanged. With respect to the Capricorn constellation, the zodiacal band on the circular Denderah zodiac shows the figure of a goat with two legs adjoined to the rear end and tail of a fish. Though the signs and figures of the sky represented on these chronometers express a markedly Chaldean and Hellenistic influence, we can be sure that the autochthonous Egyptians explicitly understood the celestial zone and functional image of the sign as a marker of astronomical rebirth and solar reascent because demotic representations show an ankh, the symbol of life, and an aquatic tadpole with its hindquarters on solid ground (the inverse of the sea-goat image). Hence the Egyptians may have been aware of the twelvefold division of the zodiacal band way before Babylonian cosmogony merged with that of their own under a Hellenistic patina.

The Greeks themselves, who borrowed leisurely from Chaldean astrology, forged an association with their god Pan and with Zeus’s foster mother Amalthea. According to a cycle of Hellenistic myths that chronicle the Titanomachy, a ten-year war between the fearsome Titans and the renowned Olympians, the horned goat-god Pan fought the monster Typhon. In order to evade detection and escape unscathed, he dove into the tepid waters of the Nile. The section of the river into which Pan jumped encompassed magical properties and instigated a physiological transformation upon anything it came into contact with. Thus the parts that were submerged in water, namely his lower body and legs, morphed into a fish whilst his head and upper torso remained unchanged. On the other hand Amalthea was the she-goat that suckled the infant Zeus in a grotto of Mount Aigaion on the Mediterranean island of Crete. In order to save him from being cannibalised by his own father Cronus, Amalthea gathered the Kouretes, the armed and crested dancers of the earth, and prompted them to create an aural bedlam as to mask the cries of the infant.

The second symbol, an astrological shorthand used by astrologers in the casting of horoscopes, is a squiggle comprised of curves, a loop, and sometimes a straight line that could be interpreted as the goat’s horns. Looking at the variant forms of the Capricorn sigil, it is easy to see how the zodiacal imagery was appropriated to create a much simpler and rudimentary illustration recalling the Capricorn’s dualistic nature and primary ambition. With half of its being in the watery chaos of other worlds and dimensions and the other half trotting on three-dimensional and material notions of solid ground, Capricorn wishes to find a balance between the ethereal and material and the sigil no doubt demonstrates this. There are many sayings associated with Capricorn, the best known being that time itself would end when its cluster of stars huddled above the horizon. This sentiment probably has its origins in the fact that the sun transits this section of the zodiacal band at a time when the formative forces of Mother Nature are at the weakest, as well as in the perception that Saturn, the deity intimately connected with cosmic law and the mediation of time, was exalted in this sign.

In the northern hemisphere the constellation of Capricorn appears in the night sky at the time when the solar orb has descended to the nethermost regions of its celestial journey, also known as the winter solstice. Many cultures of the world such as those of the Far East have interpreted this time as the astronomical resurrection of the annual cycle, and therefore a marker for the New Year. This was usually a just and prosperous period which might be equated with a Golden Age when the earth gave back to its mortal children abundance by sending down the rains and offering up a good harvest. It’s probably no surprise that the ruler of this sign, Saturn or the Greek Cronus, holds a sheaf of corn in one hand and a sickle in the other. Together these symbols denote an earned condition of fecundity, justice, and strength which so often comes when one is patient, diligent and perseveres in their chosen field of physical or intellectual inquiry. Taking into consideration the time of the year in which the sun traverses its domain, its earthly, cardinal nature along with its planetary ruler, it would not be unjustified to claim that the Capricorn psyche is honourable, self-disciplined, ambitious, and grounded with partial participation in mystical and speculative philosophy. Just as the astrological pictogram suggests, Capricorn is a very versatile sign once it has completely evolved and can switch from a worldly and ambitious extroversion to a spiritual and contemplative introversion in the manner that nymphs, the larvae of dragonflies, will desert their aquatic environment and transition to an avian mode of existence upon reaching adulthood. Consequently Capricorn’s formative energies reconcile the conscious and sure-footed will with its intuitive and psychic origins, the somnolent unconscious.

#astrology #zodiac #psychology #consciousness #mythology

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charbax · 6 years ago

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The Long Hunt Behind

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Paladins: Champions Of The Realm (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ash/Tyra (Paladins) Characters: Ash (Paladins), Tyra (Paladins) Additional Tags: viktor is mentioned lol, dense lesbians: the fic, Mutual Pining, fun fact: the gesture in this fic is the ASL for lesbian lmao, every mission becomes a date when ur with ur date lmao, Hunting, First Kiss, Special interest talking, (the special interest is hunting), pre-game, Pre-War, sentinels era, Awkwardness, Feelings Realization Summary:

Over the past year or so, Tyra's crush on Ash has slowly but surely been building up slowly, accumulating to a Magistrate mission of just the two of them to the edge of civilisation. It would be the perfect oppurtunity to profess her love to Ash...if Ash had been picking up the signs. Sadly, it seems that she's only interested in being friends with Tyra, but at least Tyra can spend some time with her long time crush. Although, those feelings were not as unreturned as she assumed.

(Commission for @lumenizampel!)

Click here for AO3 link

word count: 1793

The thing is, Tyra’s used to being the forward one – there’s a small sense of satisfaction when a girl Tyra’s chatting up shyly brushes some hair behind an ear. Though, she hasn’t been flirting anyone else for the previous year or so, just the one, seemingly oblivious, self-titled ‘War Machine’. It wasn’t for the lack of trying, that’s for sure.

She’s done the song and dance: asking out for drinks, trying to get to know Ash better when they had some time together (whether in the barracks or the mess hall or in the presence of others), and laying on as many moves as she could without coming off as creepy.

(A memorable exchange between her and Viktor as it followed:

“You even tried the-?” Viktor held his right hand in an ‘L’ shape, palm facing his chin.

Tyra nodded destitutely.

“...maybe she was raised away from society? How did she not recognise that?”)

But so far, it was met with nothing but polite confusion. It wasn’t Ash’s sign of outright denial, which Tyra would know by the narrowing of her eyes and her twisted scowl. Rather, it was acknowledged with knitted brow, then the moment would pass like it never happened. And as Tyra had mentioned before, this had been going on for the previous year without very little changing, and she doesn’t think its going to change now, when there’s a mission that sends them to the fringes of civilisation with only the two of them.

Normally it would be the Sentinals sent on missions like this, but this had called for a hunter’s touch, for the creature was skittish and more prone to escape capture if there were more than two people at a time. And Ash proved a fearsome powerhouse in case the creature wasn’t skittish at all. Some of the more popular rumours speculated that Ash was more machine than human. Those rumours were also very fond of painting Ash as driven, bossy, and angry.

Although, she seemed content to follow Tyra’s orders the moment they walked deeper into the forest. Hell, even before that she was was more or less sharing the decision-making with Tyra. Tyra’s worked with the War Machine, and she was indeed a ‘War Machine’ (hah) on the battlefield, so this development was slightly weird, but not altogether unwelcome. Besides, it gave Tyra an excuse to keep glancing at Ash’s profile when she wasn’t looking.

“So uh,” Tyra started, because she has no sense of self social preservation. “Nice day for a day, huh?”

Immediately, Tyra wants to kick herself. A nice day for a day? Who the hell says that? People who like to stick their foot into their mouths apparently, which now includes Tyra. But all Ash does is grunt. “Been nice for the last few days too.”

At least Ash was making conversation now. So Tyra fell back onto one of the things she knew well – hunting. “It’s good. It will be easier to track the creature without the rains or winds blowing away any of their tracks.”

Ash looked around. “Dunno. I see a whole lotta nothing from here.”

“There’s signs all around us, clear as anything.” Tyra pointed at where the bush parted. “Something bigger than your average boar came through here. If it was one, then the tusks would’ve left marks on the lower portion of the tree trunks. But look.” Her finger followed the tree to the upper parts. “Scratches. Broken branches. Around Gorlock height too. Even if they’re nasty when angered, Gorlocks are slow creatures when travelling. This one’s most likely a loner looking for a herd to integrate into.”

“Just the one?”

“If there were more, there wouldn’t be much of a village left.”

Ash shook her head, her words brusque, but her tone genuine. “How do you see all of that in this place?”

Compliment or not, Tyra ducked her head in embarrassment, hoping the flush in her cheeks didn’t show too starkly against her face paint. “I just do. Practice. It’s nothing really. Anyway, we’re on the right track. The Gorlock might’ve been resting for a few days already. The window of opportunity narrows.”

“Lead the way Tyra.”

But instead of continuing following the tracks like she was meant to, Tyra paused. “I want to...clear up something, first.”

Ash frowned at her, leaning on her canon. “Is it about the monster?”

“No?”

“…did I make you upset? Was it something I said?”

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

“Dunno. That’s the only reason I can think of.” Ash said, averting her gaze, uncharacteristically passive. A normal Ash would’ve brushed off the question, or even simply answered it with brute honesty, and Tyra was struck by the sudden realisation that Ash was...nervous. Nervous about what? The hunt? Being alone on a mission with Tyra?

“It’s not that either.” Tyra started. “But I thought we should clear the air before we continue. Dissonance in hunting groups can mean the difference between successfully bagging the creature and not returning at all.”

(Viktor would be so proud of her right now, going on about keeping the peace in the pack. She could see his grin even now, in her mind's eye.)

“Sure.”

Tyra took a deep breath. “What are we?”

“Two soldiers on a mission.” Ash answered bluntly, on par.

“Not only that. What do you see in me?”

Silence filled the forest. Even the birds seemed to have stopped in response, as if holding their breath in anticipation as well. Tyra forced her head higher when Ash gazed at her, expression unreadable. Not angry, not mad, just difficult to parse. Ash bit her lower lip in thought. Tyra couldn’t but be drawn to the flash of white teeth. She forced her gaze back up when Ash finally spoke.

“We’re...I don’t have any quarrels with you. I think we get along well. I think you’re nice to me.”

Tyra heart fell. Maybe she had been mistaken this entire time – it wouldn’t be implausible, no, especially with Tyra’s brash view. Maybe she really had been reading too much every time they hung out.

“No-one’s really that nice to me before. It’s good to have a friend.”

And there it was, the f-word (which was not as fun as her other, more favoured f-word). Friend was fine, however. A little of Ash company in a non-romantic sense was just as good, and it was better than none at all. She’ll cherish whatever time they have together, because it was not just anyone, it was Ash-

“Even if that’s all you want me to be.”

Tyra stared at Ash, blinking. Those were not the words of a friend, and they definitely not the words of a soldier strengthened by the bonds made in war. “...are you saying...you thought I was just friendly this entire time? I was hitting on you!”

Ash glanced sharply at her. “Wait. So all that stuff – talking, getting drinks with me, going on missions together – was because you were interested?”

“Yeah, I even did the thing! Y’know, the...hand sign thing.”

“Does that mean anything?”

Oh. Well, at least that explained why Ash didn’t do anything but smile confusedly at Tyra when she did it.

Tyra continued. “That’s not important. What is important is that yes, I was hitting on you because I wanted to be more than friends, but I thought you weren’t interested.”

Now there was definitely a blush on Ash’s face, rivalling the deep red of her dyed hair. “Not many people want to hang out with me in the first place.”

Some of Tyra’s incredulity eased out of her at that admission. That made sense, she guessed, if she had been trying to make moves on someone who never knew those moves existed in the first place. But talking seemed to work faster than all those months of posturing, so Tyra laid a hand on Ash’s shoulder and said, “Well. I’d like to. Maybe over drinks if this hunt goes well.”

(Nailed it.)

“I’d...like that.” Ash answered stiffly. But she wasn’t shaking off the hand, or even grabbing it and using it as leverage to throw Tyra over her shoulder. Small steps, Trya reminded herself. After all, they went from ‘co-worker who I like and get along with but absolutely would like to get to know better’ to ‘I guess we are dating’.

Then Ash’s face shifted into business again. “But we should probably focus on the mission first.” She moved and Tyra’s hand fell from her shoulder – not unkindly, just out of necessity, which Tyra understood. Right. The whole reason why they were here, in the middle of the forest. Tyra readied her rifle again just as Ash picked up her cannon, and the hunter smiled a wild grin at Ash.

“I also have a bit of a tradition; a kiss from a beautiful maiden before a hunt to bring luck.” She tapped her cheek for emphasis.

Judging by the combined glare and return of Ash’s blush, that line was cheesy enough to work. But all bravado disappeared as Ash moved closer. She hurriedly stammered out, “But that’s just a tradition, you don’t have to...”

Ash’s lips silenced the rest of Tyra’s sentence. It was less of a kiss and more of a gentle mash of Ash’s mouth on her own, but it still sent a thrill straight to her stomach. Surprisingly, it was a lot more...more than any kiss she’s ever had in the past. Even if it’s only their lips touching, which Tyra rectified by guiding Ash’s hand onto her own hip, while laying a hand on Ash’s shoulder. Yeah, much better.

Tyra’s lips were still tingling when they parted. “There. For luck.” Ash said. Or Tyra thought she said. She was too busy admiring the honeyed brown of Ash’s eyes, the immaculate precision of her eyeliner. She never had simply been close enough to Ash’s face to see the details until now.

And then Ash was already moving ahead, head bowed slightly, all shy again. But the difference now was that Ash’s dyed hair could hide the rising blush that had spread to the very tip of her ears.

It struck Tyra then, that she knew the difference between an angry storming off Ash, and one who was simply trying to drive away the last of her embarrassment through sheer will alone. Though to be fair, Tyra reflected as she traced her lips with a finger, Ash wasn’t the only one.

So she laughed and called out, “Do you even know where you’re going?” as she jogged after Ash. “The gorlock is in the other direction!”

She normally didn’t take partners hunting on the first date, but she’ll make an exception.

#ashra #Paladins: Champions of the Realm #pcotr #paladins champions of the realm #lumenizampel #ash ( paladins )#tyra ( paladins )#mentioned:#viktor ( paladins )#charwriting

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hugotontheonbiquiffinarians · 6 years ago

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Melancholy As A Gib Cat

A/N: Stream of consciousness, abstract, allegorical writing; dialogue and narrative never seem to harmonise in my style because they’re still stuck in the honeymoon phase, so if it reads with a surrealist, philosophical tone, it’s probably intentional lol (probably...)

One lone susurration of pending concern braids the air with tension.

“Sir…?”

The hour is a quarter past midnight. Clocks, sedated in circumduction. Stood before a hunched and forlorn figure, the nurse is toilworn. Yet again stricken by travails entailed by working an additional night shift, she sighs interminably, mechanically, at the returning absence of reply.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we need you to vacate the premises. You’ve been lounging here since noon and have yet to provide any reasoning as to why you’re here.”

She’s confused by the jarring decibel of sudden laughter ejected from his throat. An abrupt propulsion of hilarity expectorates from the phlegm-encrusted pharynx, leaving her briefly disoriented. Did he really think this was... funny?

“Orderlies must not be so great at their job if 12 hours have passed and the ‘homeless’ man hasn’t been escorted to that slate of solid air you call an exit.”

Beyond the delicate tenor of his voice, oddly enticing in its fluctuation, the nurse pretends to lend a deaf ear to this retort, turning a blind eye to the lopsided grin that falters upon his painted features. Feigning nescience, her own facade of draconian necessity is adjusted accordingly, despite expressing unspoken agreement to her colleagues’ chronic apathy and incompetence.

Nevertheless, while Mondays had always been particularly hellsent in the realm of corporate captivity, this Stygian Monday seemed to be wrapped especially by the Dark Prince himself. The fact that it was the night of All Hallows’ Eve made her consider this disheveled man’s appearance as no mere coincidence. When he had first arrived on the scene, stumbling through the Exit as Entrance, mildly disoriented, she had failed to recognise precisely what had compelled her brows to arch in amusement. What source of strange attraction had magnetised the warm cocoa of her irises to that broad brush of porcelain white masking his face.

Lest she forget how evocative his complexion illustrated. The outline of his form was unusually thin. Frighteningly so. As obscure compensation, he was dressed to the nines in a trio of lurid colours, both appealing yet tawdry to the mind’s eye. An edible arrangement of all primary colours, somehow satisfied in discordant harmony. A fitting description for her peculiar taste. An ode of testament to the otherwise concrete depiction of malnutrition evincing as aesthetically pleasing.

Initially, she had surmised the cartoonish outfit as being his choice of costume in adherence to that festive day of tricks and treats. Either that, or his profession happened to choreograph the motions of an actual clown. A number of employees had conceded in arriving to work cosplaying as their fulsome, fictional fancies. As such, any flux of odd characters roaming about was to be expected. Anthropomorphic pumpkins, animated skeletons and ragamuffin children included.

In any case, this curious visitor of afternoon and eventide had been given to staking a claim of extended residence to the reception area. When he wasn’t loafing about, casually, if not at self-conscious moments, modestly dancing about the floor, before an Argus-eyed crowd of perplexed patrons, his lissome limbs could be observed sprawled along the expanse of four chairs, lackadaisical and gay in demeanour, the peeling paint of a white ceiling providing him jocose entertainment for the lees of an unproductive evening.

He was a man of average height, to be sure, but his gangling structure gave the illusion of a taller stature. This eccentric coalition of artistic elements: tousled mop of head, saturated by acid green, highlighted punctuation of avian beak, which was further accented by the occasional creeping of a queried smile riddled with snaggleteeth. Summarily, a sort of misshapen handsomeness. She could only wonder if he had silently observed her as she did him with such unprecedented intensity.

“Do you need medication? Any health complications you want to identify?” Insouciant as the gait that waltzed him through in absurd performance, Arthur takes a neutral drag from the burning cylinder of his self-prescribed medicine, effectively substituting any verbalised answer. Perhaps this poor soul was just like the others. Solicitous, only by social mandate. It needn’t be repeated ad nauseam, but, indeed, he thinks. Indeed, humans were vapid, egocentric creatures; born and bred without the guidance of a tender leash. Without the scourge of humility as a redolent scar to sear inveterate marks of mediocrity.

“I’ll be more than happy to help.” Regardless of station or influence, the individual was little more than a fractured reflection, rife with lacerations, knifed and bludgeoned by nameless enemies. Bereaved and forgotten to tuneless threnodies.

“Unfortunately, at this late an hour, we can’t accept regular clients if the situation isn’t exigent. To endure the best possible assessment for your proposed infirmity, I recommend you return first thing tomorrow.”

The nameless anonymity of selfhood guided by severed fibers of the optic nerve. To heedless vision does refractive frame reveal a bruised and battered mosaic.

“What’s your name?” Arthur’s sharp intake of nicotine precedes the inquiry.

“Pardon?”

Arthur flits his weary gaze to the empty patch of fabric where a tag of nomination should be.

“I see you neglected to wear a name tag.” The humour in this sardonic intimation is diluted. Drowned to expiry by the egregore of predetermined comedy. Straightening ever so slightly in his seat, Arthur relaxes against the sterile, leather cushion of the hospital’s waiting room decor. It was unprofessional. “It’s a lovely costume.” Sincerely, it was. That blatant disregard to identity, presumptive though it was, could never have gone unnoticed, if not wholly unappreciated.

Before the innominate nurse can voice a rebuttal, Arthur accentuates his commanding tone by procuring a twin cigarette from the hard pack nestled in his left jacket pocket, swiftly and effortlessly lighting it with the old school dexterity exampled by that of a seasoned smoker, rich with the prescription of addicting tales from a turbulent history. It is this expression of confidence and appealing manner which has the nurse’s bosom palpitating with a sense of unrealised sexual awakening. A sense of sapid scent to the olfaction that was as fleeting in arrival as it was in departure. Yet, clinging in anticipation. Lingering in a recess of orphaned emotions.

“How are the patient and physician expected to establish a relationship built on trust if names aren’t exchanged?”

The nurse couldn’t decide whether or not to be annoyed at his inquiries. He was beginning to give off the vibe of a man victimised by premature senility, lonely and isolated. Struggling to connect with others due to both variables being broiled in longevity. By no means was the presumption intended as derogatory. Harmless scrutiny of the human condition was often easily misconstrued for criticism and pejorative nuance. However, as it stands, the nurse couldn’t eschew assertion in her isle of employment not advertising specialised treatment to the elderly. Moreover, it was plain to see that the man was nowhere near elderly, in spite of gaunt and debilitating appearance. Nor was he gallivanting in a glorified convalescent home.

“Firstly, I’m a nurse.” Securing her hands in her pockets, she can’t help mimicking the man’s neurotic actions, fiddling with the fraying threads of that orangish shade of red. His, admittedly nice, hands, if not fastened to his habit, were havering in exploration, gliding across sparse thighs to grasp and release at various areas, hovering above his face with gentle, reluctant pressure, memorising every pore and facial quirk, patently emotive in expression. If nothing else, his presence was innocuous, at best. Still... one could never be too safe.

“Secondly, you haven’t been registered as a patient.” Fingers start drumming with sentience against a contrast of more replete thighs, concealed from perusal by the deep ivory pockets of her lab coat. “After midnight, we have to start shifting focus to emergencies only.” If she were uncomfortable, it didn’t register in her voice. Unbeknownst to her, the gentleman sat before her possessed quite a flair for spatial awareness. This, alone, registers with dormant reflex. Only her body language conveys an increasing touch of unease to the brand of his indelible presence.

“Seeing as you aren’t in need of intensive care, I won’t be able to assist you properly unless you make a morning appointment.” Even whilst perusing the distance, there was something strangely intimidating about his gaze. Flecks of numbing pain sparkle across his sclera, contrary to the deadly evergreens of his remaining anatomy, pupils fixated on a full lunar radiance knocking at the entry, dilated in aspiration.

The following response of chest pangs are null in sympathy as the nurse suppresses an aberrant impulse to embrace the man who seems to have embodied the spirit of Atlas and Sisyphus in solidarity. Still, her empathy relents to portray as tone deaf.

“My apologies, but I really do have to ask you to lea-“

“Who are you to decide that?” Visible offense erases the scenic tranquility of his physiognomy. He was affected by Weltschmerz. Thoroughly distressed. Nervously anchoring his cancer stick to rouge-stained purse of lips. “That I’m ‘not in need of intensive care’?” Anxious knees begin to bounce of their own volition, gradually elevating intensity with each tapping force of urgency against polished tile. “Are injuries only examined as skin-deep to be considered treatable? What if I were bleeding internally with no apparent symptoms on the surface?”

Arthur frowns in contemplation, appearing struck by a gold mine of memory, extracting a weighted ore of recognition from the farrago of his musings.

“What did you mean by ‘we’?” Cocking his head like that of a cat bedevilled by the spirited tick of inquisitiveness, those piercing, ocean eyes of his flicker and fix in a way that makes the nurse delirious, for a brief spell. “Do you not exist alone?”

There was no ‘best course of action’ in this scenario. The man was clearly a clown. A delusional joker. In every sense of etymology. As those fabricated brows of crimson patiently await a verdict, she peers down at him, an owner, sapped of vim and vigour, siphoning their fuel reserve of energy to an eager pet, imbibed by a perpetual battery of endurance.

Decisive is she in her aim to play along. Any choice of dialogue that ultimately resulted in the man’s resolute departure was in direct correlation with her supporting role as the damsel in distress. There’s only one thing she wants to know before she ushers away this creepy, (cute) clown herself.

The instantaneous display of misplaced intimacy is not telling of an absent mind. Where this surge of impulse to touch strangers derived, she had no desire to ponder. Sans any ounce of shame, she had longed to get a feel for the enchanting canvas of his suit. And here, it is unclear as to whether Arthur or the nurse relaxes beneath this foreign caress. Of trust, a test, to anyone’s guess. An inviting hug of hands in silent greeting. A polarised streak of magnetism, mesmerising her idealistic heart to him. Therein, begs another question to the insatiate bird of passage. Was she merely attracted to the idea of him, as a means to evade capitalist oppression? Or, was it instead an insisting tug of fate? Kismet? Predestination? Searching earnestly, perhaps even desperately, for any signs of transparency shielded beneath that striking hue of sorrowed blue.

“I wonder…”

How she fantasised about running away to the freak show. The one that wasn’t christened ‘society’.

“Who’s the man behind the clown?”

Unconsciously, the filter slips from his ruddy mouth, reduced to embers with the spreading fervor of his crooked smile.

Maybe he could be her one-way ticket to dream town.

#arthur fleck #joker #joker 2019 #w

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readyplayerhobi · 7 years ago

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Part Of Your World | 03

; Merman!Jimin x OC

; Genre: Little Mermaid!AU /Angst / Fluff

; Word Count: 6k

; Warnings: Descriptions of pain

; Synopsis: Jimin has always longed for the wide-open skies of the Above Sea. After saving the life of a beautiful woman, he seeks to find her and live in his dream world. But young mermen should be careful what they wish for.

Previous Chapter ; Next Chapter

Pressing himself into a small natural crevice, Jimin watched the downbeat merfolk who swam past every now and again with wide eyes that were filled with more than a little fear. There had been many times on the relatively short swim over here that he’d almost turned tail and headed back to what he knew and was familiar with.

But every time he’d wavered, he’d thought back to the breakdown he’d had, how it had felt like the walls were falling in on him and he’d resolved himself to moving forwards. This was what he wanted, this what he’d secretly thought of his whole life and now he was determined to do it.

He had no choice really, if he went back now they’d never let him free. Jimin knew he would die in that damn castle, suffocating under the protection of his family.

But still, as prepared as he had been for what he was going to do, he hadn’t been prepared for the neighbourhood he’d had to come to. He was used to the opulence and cleanliness of the main streets and palace of Thalassa, buildings that had been carved and smoothed into perfection from the bedrock by a society that cared about appearances.

Instead, Jimin was pressed against rough stone that scratched with each movement. The merfolk who lived here either did not have enough money to bother with aesthetics, or they simply didn’t care.

The Thalassa Trench was where the lowest and poorest of merfolk came to live; those who wanted to live a life of crime or simply could not afford to live in the Upper Kingdom. Jimin was pretty sure that none in his family had ever even set sight on this dark and grim place, never mind visited it.

The only light in the Trench came from bioluminescent jellyfish that found themselves caged next to doorframes. It meant that many of the crevices between buildings were pitch black, which even Jimin’s eyes could not penetrate.

And it was cold here, so cold that even Jimin found himself shivering. Merfolk were creatures that had been designed to cope with the coldness, yet even they could not live comfortably in the depths of the cold-hearted ocean.

As he watched a particular door, Jimin couldn’t stop his tail from flicking with nerves and worry. His stomach in particular felt like he’d been spun around too many times in a riptide as he contemplated his next course of action.

He’d sold his necklace for information to a rather desperate looking mermaid closer towards the main square that passed as a social area in the Trench. It had taken him an hour of watching from the darkness for someone who looked like they wouldn’t sell him crappy information. He had only one thing to sell so he had to be careful.

The mermaid had looked haggard; her blue and pink scales had probably been striking at one point but had become dull with lack of care in more recent times. She’d had a merbaby with her, wrapped in seaweed against her chest as the little one slept quietly, both of their cheeks gaunt with hunger.

It may seem a strange concept that merfolk were starving when the ocean was literally full of food, however the Trench did not lend itself to food that was easy to catch or even anything that was edible. Jimin had taken one look at some of the fish down here and known immediately that its flesh would be poison to him.

So his soft heart had won out and he’d asked for information from her. She’d given him such a look of mistrust that he’d known immediately that she had likely had her trust abused in the past, but she’d eventually pointed him in the right direction.

It turns out you truly can get anything down here in Trench, he mused to himself as he watched a young merman leave the building in front of him. All it had cost was a necklace of the rarest sea glass and he’d found someone who could hopefully solve all his problems.

The path went silent for a few minutes, with no one swimming past before he finally decided to make his move. Glancing in both directions, he ventured out slowly before knocking on the door with a shaking fist. Jimin wouldn’t lie, he was terrified right now and if he died here, it was likely no one would ever find him.

“Come in.” A feminine voice spoke out. He stayed still for a moment. All he was doing was facing a door, but it felt like he was metaphorically hovering at the edge of a precipice, with the bottom being the darkest depths of the ocean that even merfolk didn’t understand.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open as confidently as he could and swam through the entrance. The area inside the house was lit with hundreds of bioluminescent coral, providing everything with an eerie green and blue glow.

The walls had been carved extensively, providing lots of small shelves that were stocked full of items, many of which Jimin couldn’t even identify. Along the far wall was a small bed; sea moss providing a more comfortable place to sleep while a table and rock chair occupied the centre space.

On the table sat a strange looking bowl. It was made of out something black, the material shining in the dim light and he realised with a start that it was made out of something humans called metal. It wasn’t often that he found someone who used human items and his curiosity immediately sprang to the core.

He was so enamoured with the item, looking inside the hollow vessel to try and figure out its purpose that he didn’t even notice the presence next to him. It was only when a hand suddenly appeared in his vision that he jerked back with a yelp, startled.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pry into your things please don’t turn me into a crab!” He blurted out without even thinking before wincing. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to insult his way to freedom before he’s even had chance to make his case?

It’s only when the mermaid laughs softly, her voice sounding like the soft tinkling of the strange chimes that humans liked to use on land that he actually looked at her. When he’d sought out the services of a sea witch, he’d been expecting something hideous and terrifying to look at.

All good merfolk grew up hearing the stories of the sea witches, fully in the knowledge that they were capable of doing anything while having zero morals. They were considered scourges on mersociety, renegade individuals who cared only about themselves and thought nothing of creating spells or potions that ruined the lives of individuals.

There were plenty of rumours that the more power a sea witch had, the more deformed he or she was. Power was a corrupting influence, which led to the assumption that those who wielded large amounts of magical power lost the innocence and beauty of life.

It was understandable then that Jimin had been expecting to see something horrific, a mermaid so corrupt that she had lost her tail and instead gained octopus tentacles or something as he’d specifically asked the poor mermaid in the square for the most powerful sea witch the Trench had to offer.

He’d even considered the fact that he might be killed on site, that the sea witch would recognise him as royalty and just take him out of this life right then and there. Those who ruled the kingdom of Thalassa were not popular in the Trench and sea witches in particular had more than enough reason to hate those who wielded ultimate power in the kingdom.

Instead he was graced with a vision of pure beauty. His jaw fell open as his eyes scanned her figure, not having the grace to even do it subtly. Even in the dim light that the coral offered, he could see that she was the most stunning mermaid he’d ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on, and given that he lived in the upper echelons he’d seen plenty of beauties to flick his tail at.

There was nothing hideous about her at all; in fact it was the exact opposite. She had been graced with a tail of glittering white scales, iridescent with a pearl that caused them to gleam with neon blues and greens in the coral light. He just knew that if she went to the surface, her scales would be soft with pinks, purples and blues in the natural light that the sun would offer.

The colouring of her tail matched perfectly with her white hair, not the grey of an elderly merperson, but instead stark white. As if all the pigment her hair could have possibly had, had instead bled into her scales. For a moment, he had a realisation that they were almost popular opposites in colouring and if anyone were to swim in now, they would think he was the sea witch with his dark scales.

“You’re the sea witch?” The incredulous tone in his voice was only matched by the way his eyes widened and his jaw gaped at her. There was no way the most powerful sea witch in Thalassa was this vision of beauty in front of him. Weren’t they supposed to sacrifice merbabies for their potions or something? She must surely have sacrificed a baby to look this beautiful.

She rolled her eyes at his exclamation, a surprisingly normal move that caused his face to crease in confusion. He was expecting some imposing being of superior power that didn’t make expressions like what his brothers always did to him.

“Yes, I’m a sea witch. I’m presuming I’m the sea witch that you want; therefore I’m the sea witch. And no, I haven’t sacrificed any merbabies today.” She sighed, turning towards a shelf as she stored away whatever she had in her hand.

Jimin inched away slightly, his tail curling under him as he held a hand out slightly. How had she known what he was thinking?

Catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eyes, she laughed again gently. “I get that question a lot. I was just born like this, which is actually very unfortunate down here in the Trench. Looks like this make you a target, which is why it’s good to be powerful. Isn’t that right my Prince?” She smirked, mocking a bow at him.

His eyes widened comically. Jimin would question how she knew who he was but decided against it. She was a powerful sea witch; of course she would know what the royal family looked like, even down here in the dark depths that never saw the glory or riches of the Upper Kingdom.

“What is it you seek young Prince? For there is always something everyone seeks from a sea witch.” She asked, a bitter smile spreading across her face that turned her features sad for a moment. A gentle flick of her tail sent her into the rock chair in front of the table and she gestured towards a second rock chair.

He did a double take at that, he was positive that it had not been here just minutes ago, he was positive of that. Jimin’s mouth opened to question it but for once he managed to reign in the rabid curiosity that had got him into so much trouble recently. He had to be smart and cautious for once, he couldn’t afford to get this wrong.

“I want something big. Maybe the biggest thing you’ve ever done and ever will do.” He started, struggling to verbalise what he’d desired all his life once he’d discovered the humans. “I..I…” He couldn’t get his wish out and frustration filled him.

“You desire to live on the land. Oh don’t look so surprised Prince Jimin. Your insatiable curiosity with the humans has even reached the deprived Trench. Your escape from the palace has also reached us too. It only makes sense, it’s the only place you can go now where no one will know you.”

Jimin sat there for a moment, stunned into silence. He didn’t think he’d been so transparent, but perhaps his secret desire had not been so secret. It may explain the desperate need his brothers had had to keep him locked in the palace. Not that it excused what they had done to him of course.

“Can you do it?” He whispered, his stomach flipping over itself constantly as his nerves got the better of him. She didn’t even need to see his trembling tail to know that he was close to gnawing off his own hand in anxiety, the tension of finally being on the verge of getting what he’d wanted so strong.

She paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully over towards her shelves before glancing back into his dark eyes, so filled with worry and determination. There was a brief hesitation before she nodded and the breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding whooshed out of him quickly.

“I believe I can. But how will you pay for this? You have nothing on you that could remotely cover the cost of something as expensive and time consuming as this.” She gestured towards his figure, noting that he had nothing on him at all. He paused, desperation filling every cell in his body at the prospect of being so close yet so far.

“I’ll do anything, you can have anything if I can get it! I don’t care what it is, please just take it and let me live on land. Please just let me be part of her world finally.” He begged, reaching forward without thinking and clasping her hand in his.

Her skin was soft and her touch gentle, surprising him once again before she extracted her hand. She pursed her lips slightly, considering her options before nodding.

“Very well. There is one thing that I think the spell would accept from you in lieu of anything material. But you have to understand that this is binding and there will be no turning back once you do it.” She frowned at him sternly. His head was nodding before he even realised, not even caring that he would never come back here.

“What would the spell want from me then?” Jimin was not an idiot, though he was aware he seemed it sometimes. He was willing to sacrifice anything he could but he still wanted to know what he would have to give up. His tail would be disappearing as quickly as sea foam on the shore but he was still curious as to what could be of such value that a spell would accept it.

“Your voice.” Was the sea witch’s simple reply. He paused for a moment in surprise, his hand involuntarily going to his throat as he thought about what his life would be like with no voice. Surely it would not matter? He could use mer-sign well enough that it would be easy to communicate what he wanted, he was sure of this.

Being mute in mersociety did not limit anyone; mer-sign had been created so that merfolk could hunt silently in the ocean and still understand each other across distances. It had evolved rapidly into a full language that all merfolk spoke as a second language, and for some a first.

Yes, he could handle having no voice and he made this known to the alluring sea witch.

“Very well Prince Jimin. This spell will take a day for me to prepare, you are welcome to use the spare room through that archway if you wish. I presume you don’t want to spend anymore time outside than necessary, correct?” She rose from the rock chair, a dainty hand gesturing towards an archway covered in seaweed.

He bowed his head towards her and swam over slowly, stopping before he entered and simply looked at her. “Thank you for this, I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to me.” He ducked inside before she could say anything else, his cheeks heating with embarrassment.

Jimin slept far longer than he expected to, but his dreams were not pleasant thoughts of the excitement that the land was going to offer him. Instead they were dominated with images of Jungkook’s face as he swam away, the panic in his baby brother’s eyes. He dreamt of his brothers finding out what he’d done and the pain he would cause them all.

He dreamt of the castle as he’d grown up, lit at all quarters by the finest and brightest coral in the softest colours. He dreamt of the merfolk who had cared for him as he grew and the teachers who encouraged the rabid curiosity that had resided in Jimin from a young age.

He dreamt of his mother and father, the way they had always made sure to make time for him despite being incredibly busy not only with a kingdom but with six other sons.

He dreamt of the ocean, haunting in it’s emptiness yet overwhelming in its endless nature. The soothing quiet of the Deep Sea and the busyness of the Shallows. His dreams were filled with the gentle sea giants such as the awe inspiring whales and their beautiful songs that made him dance with the dolphins in the waves.

He dreamt of Taehyung, the twin with whom he had shared a womb with and whom he had shared a life with. Taehyung, who would now have to spend the rest of his life alone. Jimin would never know what his beloved brother was doing or if he was even happy or alive; he would never see his nieces or nephews. He would never see Taehyung’s smile or the artwork that allowed everyone to have just a small glimpse into the beautiful soul of his twin.

He dreamt of all this, and instead of dreaming of what he was gaining, he cried for what he was losing.

Jimin was woken up abruptly by a sudden shake, his voice groggy as he groaned out a complaint. He hadn’t had chance to sleep much over the last few days so it took a few moments for him to remember where he was and why.

Sitting up abruptly, he looked up into the gorgeous visage of the sea witch and found himself momentarily befuddled again. Shaking his head, he frowned at her as he followed her back into the main room.

“I thought it would take a day?” He asked, watching as she placed some items into a strap of seaweed that she then slung around her shoulder. Jimin would be the first to admit that he had absolutely no idea what was involved in magic, but he still expected it to be a little more…fantastical and magical.

“It does, it will take us the remainder of the day to swim to the closest shoreline that you want to go to.” Jimin didn’t even bother asking how she knew where he wanted to go, he’d officially decided that there were some mysteries even he didn’t want to unravel.

“Why do we need to go to the shoreline?” She levelled a stare at him that made him feel like he’d just asked a stupid question. It was only when he ran it through his head again that he realised it was a stupid question that was mer-thinking at its finest.

If he wanted to live on land, then he would need to be on land to live there. The sea would become inhospitable to him once the spell took effect, it made sense to do it close to the shore so that he could reach land quickly.

Sucking his lower lip between his teeth, he nodded his head and gestured towards the door, allowing her to exit first. He didn’t see any point in generating even more of her ire by asking more stupid questions, he needed her help to have this happen and Jimin was the type of merman to rub people the wrong way.

For the first part of their journey to the shore, there was silence between the two, neither one having anything to say to the other. A pod of dolphins that often played with Jimin joined them for part of the journey, causing him to giggle as they slapped their tails at him to try and get them to join in with their fun and games.

Normally he’d be more than willing to spend an hour with them, enjoying the company of the social mammals but today he had more important things to do. He sent them off with gentle pats all around, hoping that he might see them again when they breached the surface near the land in the future.

The silence between the two travelling companions was finally broken when the sea witch spoke up suddenly, a question that had obviously been on her mind bursting forth from her lips.

“Who is ‘her’? You said that you wanted to be part of her world yesterday.” She falls silent after this, watching him as they both move forward with powerful thrusts of their tails.

Jimin remained quiet for a moment, the protective feeling he had regarding his human woman raising its head suddenly at this new line of questioning. He eyed the sea witch warily, but she didn’t seem to be paying much attention to him and he decided that it wouldn’t hurt to be honest and open about this.

“She’s a human woman I saved a few months ago. Her ship went down and she was going to drown. I saved her life and brought her back to shore. She’s…one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen and I kept watching for her for weeks hoping to finally find her again. I finally did find her and I feel like…almost like she’s been waiting for me.” A soft smile has settled onto his face at the thought of her, along with excitement at the prospect of meeting her.

Quiet settles again between the two, the sunlight from above the surface filtering down through the water and catching the scales of his companion. Jimin takes a moment to admire her tail once again, a indulgent smile gracing his face when he realises that he was right.

Her tail is as pretty as a pearl in the sunlight, perhaps the most striking tail he’s ever seen on a merperson. He muses to himself that it’s a waste that such a grand tail never gets to see the light of day down in the Trench.

“So…you’re giving up everything the ocean has to offer for a human woman you’ve never talked to?” Her voice is gentle, but he can hear the scepticism loud and clear. He frowns in defence, though he understands here she is coming from if he’s being honest. He’d feel the same way if Taehyung had done this.

“It’s not just her, though I do hope that I can perhaps be with her if possible. It’s also that she represents everything that the land can offer me, everything that the sea just can’t.” He pauses, making sure that he can compose himself to try and get this thoughts across efficiently.

“Beauty of unparalleled levels, knowledge that mersociety cannot even imagine, technology that will make my eyes and my brain hurt. If I could somehow be with her too, then I wouldn’t have need of anything again. All mersociety has done is berate me for my inquisitiveness and try to stifle my need for adventure. Surely you understand? Stuck in the Trench and all?” He asks, positive that she feels the same way.

She looks at him out of the corner of the eye and he could swear that it’s disappointment he sees, which confuses him.

“Oh my prince, if only I could be like you. I wish my problems were simply that I was too nosy for mersociety, and there’s really nothing wrong with that you know. No, I know what merfolk think of sea witches and I’d rather not put myself out there in the Upper Kingdom only to get hurt. No one in the Trench cares because everyone is looking out for himself or herself. I learnt not to aspire to things I can’t have when I was a young merlass.”

Jimin is silent for a moment, cowed into silence by shame. Here he was, complaining of being misunderstood and wanting something greater than he had. Yet he already had the best mersociety had to offer, whereas some were left to suffer at the bottom.

“Sorry.” He murmurs. She waves a hand, letting him know that she’s not bothered by what he’d said. They travel in silence after that until finally the sea floor begins to rise up towards them. The sky above the surface had turned dark, the light of a full moon that had risen as they had continued on their travels giving the sea witch an almost ethereal glow.

It was at this moment that he realised she looked every bit a witch, despite his misgivings yesterday, with power glowing from her as her tail scales illuminated in the bright light. He floats for a moment, unsure of what to do, or even if he is supposed to do something, as she begins to prepare the start of the spell.

She swims around him in strange movements, muttering something soft under her breath as various items are used and then discarded into the sea. She breaks open what appears to be a hollow rock and smears the grey contents across his face, throat and tail, causing him to grimace in disgust.

He’s not sure what he expected, but it probably involved some chanting or something. Maybe some bright lights and something that looks like those things humans call fireworks that explode in the sky every now and again. He has no experience with magic so honestly he’s just guessing.

She pauses finally to look at him, her face serious and a look of complete concentration that suddenly breaks into concern which worries him intensely.

“Are you sure about this Jimin? Think hard and listen to my words closely, you have only one chance to reject this spell before it is complete and nothing can stop it.”

“This spell will allow you to live as a human being. You will breathe like them, eat like them, walk like them and die like them if your time comes too soon. The ocean will no longer welcome you like it does now if you reject it’s embrace.”

“Do you accept this Prince Jimin, fifth son of the Thalassa kingdom?” She finishes, hands clasping gracefully in front of her as she awaits his decision. He pauses for just a moment, knowing that his life will forever change after this before nodding his agreement.

Before he can even finish nodding, his throat burns violently in a flash of pain that causes him to scream. Bending over immediately, his tail beating violently as the pain becomes overwhelming; he tries desperately to press down to relieve some of the feelings.

His screams soon become chokes, his throat convulsing violently as knife like pains stab through it on all sides. It feels like someone is cutting through his throat violently and he feels light headed at the sensations before it suddenly stops.

Jimin’s gasps are loud in the quietness of the sea and he takes a few minutes to recover, the phantom pain causes his limbs to quiver slightly. He opens his eyes finally to see the sea witch looking at him in sorrow, her eyes soft with sympathy and pity.

He goes to speak only to find nothing happens, his voice rendered silent by his acceptance of the spell. Panic runs through his body at the realisation before he stops himself, remembering what he’d agreed to give up to get his wish. He’s surprised however by the keen feeling of loss he experiences, the knowledge that he’ll never hear his own voice or be able to sing again causing his heart to ache.

“Prince Jimin, there is one more thing. I apologise that I could not say this sooner but all spells require a sacrifice, which was your voice, but all spells also have a repercussion. For something as powerful and life changing as this spell, your repercussion also had to be life changing. Please know that I did not choose this for you, the spell spoke it to me once I had prepared it, as all spells do.”

He frowns, opening his mouth to tell her to continue before remembering and gesturing forward instead. Jimin had heard many tales about magic and how it always wanted something in return; in the back of his mind he had known that losing his voice was simply payment for the spell itself.

“You have chosen to given up the bounty that the sea has given you, the life it gave it you. As such, the sea has demanded a powerful price for your spell. You have four months to live as a human as you wish. But the sea is not always demanding, but it is also yielding and benevolent. As such, you are granted one chance to make your choice permanent.”

“A true love’s kiss before the four months have ended will allow you to live. If you are not able to have a true love’s kiss by the time the full moon rises again in a four month’s time, then you will be drawn back into the sea’s embrace involuntarily.”

The sea is yielding and benevolent, but it is also powerful and a force to be reckoned with. The sea will reclaim you; only it will not allow you to retain the form you have been gifted now. Instead it will ravage you like the tidal waves of a storm and take your life. You will vanish into sea foam, never to be seen again.”

She finishes her warning and Jimin stares at her in shock, shaking his head slightly as her words filter through. No, no this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to go live on the land forever, not just four months!

“I’m sorry Jimin, the ocean does not let her creatures go quietly. For what it’s worth, I hope you find your true love and get what you desire finally.” While Jimin is frozen in the water, his mind desperately trying to comprehend what he has now realised is his likely death sentence, she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

The kiss causes him to jerk back and his face contorts into anger, about to scream at her for deceiving him so. But he doesn’t even get chance to silently scream as a shudder suddenly envelops his body. Startled, he looks down and it’s only upon seeing his tail that the pain begins.

Jimin had stupidly thought that losing his voice was the worst pain he’d ever felt, but he soon realised that he was wrong. It feels like his tail is burning from the inside out, like one of those underwater volcano vents that let out bursts of burning water.

Quick stabs of sharp pain begin to spread up his tail, right along the middle and in his head he is screaming so loud. He’s screaming and screaming and he can’t stop as the pain takes over every molecule of his body. But externally there is nothing but the silence of the ocean, the rhythmic thumping of the waves on the shore hundreds of metres away.

He can’t stop the thrashing of his body as he tries to alleviate the pain, but it doesn’t help, if anything it simply increases what he’s feeling. Thousands upon thousands of tiny pinpricks of stinging suddenly sear his tail and he has to watch his beautiful scales fall away to the bottom of the sea floor, leaving his tail naked as the skin slowly bleaches to match his chest.

From his hips, the most excruciating agony begins to erupt as bones begin to form and shape, bones that humans have but he doesn’t. He watches with horror as the bones cause his tail to become horribly misshapen before it finally splits into two, the sheer pain causing him to scream out in agony.

He feels like he is screaming so loudly that his family back in the palace can hear him, and suddenly he wants nothing more to be with his brothers. He wants to have Taehyung hug him so tightly while his brothers help him through the pain.

Jimin is not sure how long has passed by, it feels like it has been hours but he’s positive it has only been minutes. He’s also not sure he can handle any more pain, but when he looks at what used to be his tail he can see that the legs he had wanted so badly are only half formed.

Gasping desperately, he looks at the sea witch with pleading eyes, his entire body wracked with convulsions. She makes no move to help him and the spell continues to ravage his body.

A scorching pain on his neck suddenly adds to his overwhelmed senses and his lungs are suddenly burning for air. The feeling is so foreign to him that he doesn’t understand it at first. His hand presses to his neck as he realises that he no longer has gills and the realisation fills him that he can no longer breathe under water.

The thrashing of his body in his desperation to get to the surface reminds of him of how he had made fun of the humans for their silly swimming. He had never regretted being so cruel.

It’s only when he’s suddenly gasping the cool air of the Surface that he realises the sea witch had wrapped an arm around his waist and brought him up. She holds him steady throughout the convulsions that wrack his body. The pain increases continuously, leading him to wonder if it will ever stop.

He’s momentarily distracted from the pain by the realisation that there is liquid running down his face, and he realises he is crying like humans do. It had used to fascinate him, but all he wants right now is for the pain to stop.

As he slowly begins to lose consciousness, the battle of his body’s nerves finally taking it’s toll on his mind, he stares at the sea witch and has the strangest thought in the midst of passing out.

His vision slowly blackens but not before he realises that in the pale light of the moon that kisses the surface of the sun so softly and sweetly, he’s never seen anything so beautiful as the sea witch in his life.

A/N: Thank you for the reception to this so far :) the love inspired me to write the third chapter so I hope you like it!

#bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin fluff #bts angst #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fluff #bangtan angst #bts fluff #jimin fic #bts fic

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ninabeyou · 7 years ago

Text

Jacksepticeye imagine: a night alone

A/N: This isn't a typical imagine (one-shot) because it's just @therealjacksepticeye/Seán in this one, well and the lovely @wiishu/Signe (mentioned only) and @pixlpit/Robin (more towards the end and if you somehow get to read this: Robin I'm sorry in advance). It's a (kind of) horror story about Jack and primarily Anti. Little disclaimer: The characters are not mine I'm just borrowing them for my story. Now buckle the fuckle up and I hope you enjoy!

Seán/Jack's Point of view:

Today was a day that I didn't really want to do anything I wasn't feeling the energy. Maybe because I kind of missed Signe. She was on a trip with her family. I sat down in my couch scrolling through all my socials. I reblogged some posts, replied to a few things. The instant chill packs were the best thing that happened to me, beside Signe of course. I sent her a goodnight message and read some really nice messages from one member of the community to another. A new message popped up. I read it. I've seen the username before but couldn't recall any posts of them.

'Dear Jack, sometimes saying the things I want is impossible, even writing makes me anxious. I'm scared to be judged and I know you won't but I'm still scared so just a simple thank you will do for now. You are my hero.'

I sat back and my eyes scanned over the message again. I wanted to do something but what could I do? I sighed and ruffled my hair out of my face, stupid hair. A reply was posted. Unfortunately not a nice one.

'Attention seeker you just want Jack to notice you.' It said.

I was getting frustrated. You cannot do that online. I raged down some words but before I could press the post button a really nice and inspiring reply popped up.

'Agree to disagree. You think that's the case but don't judge a book by it's cover, we all fight a battle the outside world doesn't see, so be nice and that's what our community stands for. We stand for kindness and humbleness we take care of each other. No matter how bad it gets.You have the right to have your opinion and I will respect that opinion as long as you don't disrespect another human being's existence. Before you comment think will this do more harm than good? If the answer is yes try to say it in a different way or just ignore it if you can't put it in another way but don't hate, please. You push people with real issues back in a box and hurt people that mistreat the fact that these issues exist. I hope you see where I'm coming from here. Thank you for reading. Poster of this post, I can't solve what you're going through but you're definitely not alone, we won't judge you, you are one of us and we care about you deeply. So please take care of yourself.'

I was blown away by how nice people were, it happened in my community every second but it fascinates me. It was really inspiring. A few reactions oozed in, but that one long reaction made me think. I got up and starting pacing back and forth in the living room. I had to do something with this. I had to show that the people in the community inspired me as well because I always say they do but this is a perfect example. A smile crept up my face as an idea popped in my head.

"Jack you're a genius." I smiled to myself, "And also talking to yourself."

I laughed at my realization and walked into my recording studio. Okay starting of with some tests. The setup was over sooner than I realized. I took a deep breath and warmed up my voice a bit. I was about to record when I heard a noise. I frowned. No one should be in here but me. I felt tempted to shout hello, but no one really replies as a burglar do they? I was debating wether I should leave it or be a detective and investigate. The death silence that filled the house convinced me to just let it pass. Probably nothing. I pressed record.

"And now a special reading your comments. Today I wanted to share something very special with you guys. I was scrolling through the twitts and Tumblr as I do and I came passed a post. It was someone who wrote that they were afraid to say what they wanted to say because they were anxious of being judged, which is a really brave move. Reaching out to me even though you feel anxious. I appreciate it, but then there was a mean comment and I was fuming with hate I really wanted to hate on him for hurting someone so courageous and I almost did. Luckily for me one of you was faster than me and she or he wrote a really nice message and I was really inspired by it. Everything she says in it is true. I don't know if I should read it out because it's very long but you can see it on my Tumblr. I don't really know I want to read it though." I said, "Okay I'm going to do it."

I read out the reply, but halfway through a glitch interrupted me.

"Sorry a glitch interrupted me." I apologized.

The noise was back. I was confused. To be honest I was a little scared I looked behind me just to be sure that no one was there. The noise was ongoing so I was doubting to check it out.

"I'm sorry weird things are happening. I'll be right back." I said and opened the door.

As soon as the door opened the noise was gone again, but this time I was going to investigate. All I needed was something to protect myself with. I closed the door behind me and snook into the hall. The first thing I saw that could be useful was a heavy book. It seemed to be the best option for now. I searched around the house but no one was there. I shrugged and went back to my recording room. The door was slightly ajar. I froze in my spot. I'm a 100 percent sure that I closed it. Someone was in my recording room. I took a deep breath and clenched the book in my hand. I pushed the door open, but I didn't see anyone. This was really weird. I sighed and put the book down.

"I'm going insane." I smiled to the camera "Anyway let's continue and yes I was going to attack the burglar with a book."

My screen glitched, again.

"Cute." I heard. "What is happening?" I asked.

I turned around and the message on the board had changed. It used to say "Butterfly Effect" but that had changed into 'I'm watching you Seán'.

"If this is a prank it's real good thank you, but I had enough." I said.

Red liquid started dripping from behind the whiteboard.

"What the f***?"

I touched it. A weighed fell from my shoulders as I realized it was just paint.

"It's paint now, but it'll be blood soon. Your blood." I heard.

I recognised the voice and was glued in my spot. A hand touched my shoulder and I turned around.

"This isn't possible." I mumbled. "It's pretty possible Seán because I'm here." Anti chuckled.

I stumbled back. My back against the board. Anti laughed and glitched around the room.

"It's in your head Jack." I said and covered my ears. "Kind of." Anti smiled, "Only better, I'm actually real."

Anti ghosted his knife over my body.

"Don't fear human, Jackaboy man is here!" I heard. "Glad you could join the party." Anti chuckled and glitched away from me.

Jackaboy helped me up.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

I nodded. I thanked him. Our friendly conversation got interrupted.

"This is just priceless. Jackaboy man, you impressed me who knew you were a backstabbing hero." "I'm not a backstabber. Neither are you." Jackaboy said. "True I prefer the throat. So I can see life pour out of their eyes. They'll know it's me. It's only fair for a villain like me." Anti smiled.

Jackaboy didn't really know what to say.

"You seem caught of guard 'hero'. Should I recollect your memory? I'm here because you wanted me to. You gave me this brilliant idea." Anti smiled. "No I was messing around it was quiet." Jackaboy said.

I stepped back.

"Jack don't listen to him. It's not true." "Take a seat Seán, this is a fun little story." Anti laughed. "Anti don't!"

Anti glitched and suddenly we were on top of the roof.

I looked down and almost screamed. Anti dragged me away from the edge.

"You're afraid of heights don't stand on the edge, weakling." Anti sighed. "Why are we on the roof?" I asked. "I'm going to tell you a story, have you been paying attention?" Anti asked. "I know that but why on a roof?" "A bedtime story under the skies doesn't that sound amazing? I'm the villain not a monster and after the story then I'll kill you. Perfection takes time weak creature." Anti smirked and let the knife roll between his fingers. "Anti stop!" Jackaboy man shouted. "Stop with what? Telling the truth?" "No ruining our home." "Home? You create chaos in his head just so you can be the hero and fix it. Dr Schneeplestien is not a real doctor and Marvin is fascinated by being a crook. Don't you see we're all villains! I'm not the crazy one!" Anti shouted he glitched towards Jackaboy. "Anti stop!" I tried. "You can't stop me!" He said and looked at me. "Anti please I don't want to hurt you." Jackaboy man sighed. "This was your idea, to be free that's what you wanted. Right?" "It gets bored but come on anti we can fix this! There is always another option." "Probably but this is the most fun one. He's weak! Once we're free I can create chaos and you can safe them. I'm doing you a favor here Jack. We don't need Seán. We would do much better on our own, just you and me. Secret allies. I create chaos and you solve it you'll be a hero. They'll love you like they love Spiderman. Come on Jackaboi man. Join me." Anti smirked. "Jackaboy man a hero." He smirked. "Jackaboy, no, he is fooling you." I shouted. "I'm sorry, Jack." He said and turned to anti. "It's okay I forgive you." I smiled.

Jackaboy turned back to me and saw the genuine smile on my face. He took a moment to think and stepped away from Anti.

"I'm sorry Anti I'm a hero." "No!" Anti shouted and glitched his way to me.

We were in back inside, well inside my old room.

"Anti what are we doing here?" I asked. "Listen." Anti said. "Top of the morning to you laddies, my name is Jacksepticeye and welcome to five nights at Freddy's: sister location." The words echoed through the room. "You're first appearance." I realized. "Here I was created to be a monster I was the scary one, the villain, the troubled outsider." "Anti? What's going on? Why did you bring me here?" I asked calm. "Because I liked it here. All my memories are here." "Anti do you miss it?" "I don't! Feelings are for the weak." He snapped. "Jackaboi man for the savior once more." Jackaboy said. "You, again." "You're predictable Anti." Jackaboi said. "Is that so Jackaboy?" Anti smiled.

Anti flashed his way towards Jackaboy man and pushed his knife into Jackaboy's stomach. I felt the pain myself. This was one of my worst fears. Anti looked in Jackaboy's eyes.

"I'm sorry my friend." Anti said. "Anti Stop!" I shouted.

Jackaboy man fell on the ground. His body turned into neon green lights as the symbol on my arm took them out of the air.

"How could you?" I asked. "Sorry you had to see that Seán." Anti smiled. "You're insane! Why did you do that?" "He was in my way."

A tear slipped down my face.

"I failed you, Jack. I'm sorry." I heard. "It's okay, hero." I whispered.

Anti turned around and his eyes were completely black. It freaked me out.

"Okay Jack, you got this." I mumbled to myself.

I swung my fist at anti but he wasn't even bothered by it. Anti stopped my fist and forced me down on my knees. I had never experienced so much pain. I used my other hand to free myself. Anti stumbled back and I ran as fast as I could.

I got out my phone and called the first person that came to mind. Robin.

"Jack? Why are you calling this late?" "Anti just killed Jackaboy and now he's after me!" "So one mental creation killed another mental creation? Jack are you okay?" "This is serious Robin!" I shouted and hid behind the tree.

Anti was nowhere to be seen. I heard his laugh though.

"You heard that too right?" Robin asked. "Yeah I've told you, it's Anti." "He's a creation Jack." Robin said less confident than usual. "I'm in the middle of nowhere in Ireland. He's real." I said "What the - No! Don't please!" Robin's line got cut off. "Robin?" I asked.

Nothing. I cursed under my breath.

"Peekaboo." Anti smiled. It made me jump. I hated the glitchy jump scares. "What did you do to Robin?" I asked genuinely scared. "Don't worry I haven't killed him. Yet." Anti said. "Leave him alone." "I would but you care about him, so I might as well torture you with it." "Anti stop this." I tried, "You're not as evil as you show yourself to be." "You're right weakling, unfortunately I'm much worse." Anti grinned and glitched us back to my home in Brighton.

Robin was lying on the floor. I went over to him. He had a wound in his leg and on top of head

"Robin?" I asked and shook his shoulder. "Jack?" He asked weak. "I'm here Robin." I said an helped him sit up against the wall. "There you go buddy. I've got you." I smiled. "How adorable." Anti laughed. "Jack, go. Get out. You can run, just go." Robin mumbled. "No time to be a hero Robin. I'm keeping you safe." I said determined. "No Seán, run. Maybe someone else will keep you here, Mark, Bob, PJ, Wade or I could always get her in here as well... you know our lovely Signe?" Anti smirked. "Leave her out of this." I said trying to calm myself down. "Don''t worry. I like her I'll only hurt her if you make it necessary." "You're the worst Anti." I said. "Thank you." He smiled.

Robin mumble something but I couldn't understand.

"What do you want?" I asked and gave into his threats. "I thought it was obvious. I want to be free and Schneeplestien had a plan to help me but then he turned on me so here I am. Trying to figure out what he meant. He was a horrible doctor but he had brains in contrast to you." "What did he say before you killed him?" "He said I'd never be free." Anti said and approached me, "But you know what Seán I rather die then be locked up in there." "My mind isn't a bad place." I defended myself. "No it's a beautiful place full of positivity, kindness, love and toys. I hate it. I'm the wrong one out. I don't belong there everything is so bright I might go blind just being in my home. All the colours make it so lively and it's not me. I don't give life I want to end yours, Seàn." Anti said and held the knife against my throat. "Anti Stop!" I heard Robin groaned.

I looked back and Robin was trying to get up.

"Another wannabe superhero, I see." "Anti leave him alone. Robin is our friend." I tried. "I hate superhero's." Anti said and sliced Robin's throat open. "NO!!!!" I shouted and caught Robin in my arms.

My heart broke into a million pieces.

"Robin was our friend." I cried. "He's just a human, you'll get over it." "No he wasn't just another human! He was my friend." I said and balled my fists. "Seán calm down buddy." Anti said and stepped back.

I looked at myself and I held a knife like anti. My instinct was to kill anti but I thought about how it all started. I tossed the knife to Anti's feet.

"Leave and never come back, please." I said and turned around. "Seán. what are you doing?" Anti asked. "I'm forgiving you. I just can't look at you when I do because you hurt my friends and that's not okay, but hate doesn't thrive out hate. Love does." "You sicken me." Anti said. "And I'm sorry just leave." I cried. "No. You can't win this. I'm the strong one." "Goodbye Anti." I said and took a deep breath.

I closed my eyes and everything went quiet. I opened my eyes and I was in the couch no blood on my hands nothing. Was it all just a dream? It felt so real though. I just had to be sure Robin was okay. I couldn't care less if he was asleep I couldn't lose my friend. I called him voicemail. I tried again and again. Why wasn't he answering.

"Come on Robin." I mumbled, "Just try again Jack he's probably just asleep."

I kept trying and I was getting worried. Tears were welling up in my eyes.

"Mhmm. Who is this?" A grudgy voice asked. "Robin?" I asked. "Jack? Is that you?" The voice on the other side asked. "Yeah." I sniffed, "It's me, are you okay?" "You're the one calling me at 3:30, Crying? And you ask if I'm okay? Jack, is everything okay?" "Yeah just a nightmare probably It's stupid sorry I woke you up." "It's not just a nightmare Jack. You called me like a million times what's going on?" Robin asked. "I was recording a reading your comments video and then anti was like a second me and he killed Jackaboi man and then you were there and he killed you and it all felt so real and I don't know I'm freaking out. I think I am losing my mind." I explain freaking out. "Jack breath, I'm okay and as far as I can tell I'm alive. Do you want to like video chat or something? We could play some games to distract you." "I don't want to keep you awake." "Sleep is for the weak. Isn't that something you used to say?" Robin smiled. "Okay, just let me go upstairs." I smiled.

Robin and I switched to video chat. We played some video games and chatted a bit about my crazy night.

"I sound like a hero." Robin smiled. "You tried real hard to be one. It killed you though.” I smiled. “Well don't get used to it I won't do it in real life." Robin joked. "Let's all hope that never happens again." I laughed "Yeah. Anyway you're okay now right?" "Yeah I'm fine. I'm holding on to the positive mental attitude. A nightmare won't change that. I have friends like you who pick up in the middle of the night because my imagination is absolutely messed up." I smiled. "Yeah don't make it a habit. I do need my sleep." Robin smiled. "Don't worry. I won't." I smiled.

I felt the happiness fill my body again. It was just a nightmare. Anti was still a piece of my imagination and not a real person. There was nothing to worry about.

"Keep thinking that Jack." Anti whispered looking at me through the window.

#jacksepticeye #jse #pma #positive mental attitude #oneshot #imagine #wiishu #pixlpit #antisepticeye #jackaboy man

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