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night-garden-fic · 2 years ago

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Chapter Four: Fire With Fire

(Read on AO3)

"You hardly have to heat them up at all... Here. Hold out your hand."

Chapter Four: Fire With Fire

"Cecilia! I'm coming!"

This time, I really am.

I'm not going to freeze and panic at the mouth of the cave. I'm not going to send someone else to do my work for me. I'll save her myself, even if I have to walk through fire.

(Because that's the promise I made, on that muddy field all those years ago.)

For some reason, it's hard to move. I keep slipping and stumbling; getting my feet stuck in crevices and tripping myself up on loose stones. I'm shaky with exertion, though I've made almost no headway at all. The bright, yawning mouth of the cave still mocks me from behind, shining over my shoulder like some lopsided moon.

"Please, stay where you are!"

There's no answer, but I press on, and soon the entrance is behind me. In fact, I'm not sure how I'm going to find my way back. I struggle for a while in total darkness, until the rusty glow of magma and fire prevails. I feel myself overheating, and it's getting harder and harder to keep my footing, to keep from tipping into the deep, bubbling pools.

"Don't be scared! I'm getting us out of here!"

Almost immediately, I realize I'm not so sure.

I have no idea where I am, or even if my daughter is in this arm of the cave system. The caverns seem unusually convoluted, and every attempt to retrace my steps is met with a misdirection that only sends me deeper into the hot bowels of the Earth.

But still, I have to try.

"Ceci, answer me! I'm not mad, honey! I just want to get you home safe!"

Of course, there's no answer. But maybe I'm still on the right track.

(Maybe I just have to go deeper.)

And it isn't as though I have much of a choice. Every time I try to change directions, columns of flame erupt from cracks in the Earth, violently turning me around. At this point, I'm less afraid of being burned alive than I am of simply getting trapped down here; of starvation, dehydration, madness.

(Of losing her, no matter what I do.)

"I... I know you're scared! I am, too! But I think I can still get us out of here!"

Here, the ceilings are lower, the paths more twisted. But I can still avoid the flames if I'm careful. And as long as I can be careful, I still have hope.

"Just yell if you can hear me!"

The corridors are too small for me to stand, so I begin to crawl. This is the end; a place where no living thing was ever meant to tread.

The flames here burn a nauseous purple-black.

And then I hear an all-too-familiar cry.

(The cry I heard from my grave.)

"Oh, Cecilia, sweetie... I'm here! I found you!"

Beyond the dark flames, I can just barely make out her singed hair and terrified face. But I can't tell if she's hurt, and I can't tell if she can see me, until she finally speaks in a terrified hush.

"...Daddy?"

My tears turn to steam in the oppressive heat of the cavern.

"Yes! I've got you, Ceci! Don't worry!"

Parental instinct, of course, beats common sense every time.

I reach out for my daughter, directly into those malevolent, crackling flames. And then I start screaming.

The Dark energy is tearing my life to pieces, and I watch in helpless agony as my arm comes apart; the skin withering to parchment and ash, and the muscle doing the same, swirling upwards into the flame until there is nothing left but bone, which quickly sifts to dust.

Cecilia, of course, had witnessed the entire awful process.

Her horrified shriek echoes through every winding shaft of the cave.

~*~

Russell was not having an easy time learning to rest.

In truth—owing to his being perpetually unrested—he wasn't having an easy time with much of anything. Including such basic functions as telling day from night, night from day, dreaming from wakefulness, or one day from the next. Everything had coalesced into a dim blur of half-consciousness, thick and slippery as mud.

Russell could feel himself sinking into it, as he seemingly lived the same night over and over again.

From somewhere deep within the haze, he watched himself sitting in his place at the edge of Cecilia's bed; reading a story so-well thumbed that he nearly lulled himself to sleep in the process, reciting the words by rote in a voice that didn't feel like his own. Then it was a kiss on the forehead to send his daughter off into whatever gentle, untroubled dreams awaited her.

He might lie on her bed for a few moments, listening to Cecilia's steady breathing and the icy wind shaking the bare trees. Or he would quietly exit the room as soon as her head hit the pillow, as though his own restlessness might be catching.

Perhaps, he would linger for a few moments before stepping away, just to take in the peaceful scene; his daughter's sleeping face, her colorful space filled with sparkling stones and lopsided artwork, all softly lit by the eerie albedo of the heavy snow clouds.

But, whatever he chose, Russell knew the same fate always awaited him: the lonely darkness that filled his side of their divided room, the futile hope that he could hold onto that drowsy feeling for the time it took him to settle into bed, and the inevitable failure to do so, which stung ever more as the sleepless nights piled up behind him in a great oozing heap.

Naturally, as was his way, Russell sought refuge in books.

Recently, he had been keeping a rather dense mycology text on his headboard shelf, hoping the inherent quietude of the subject and the endless bone-dry paragraphs would soothe his restless mind. Instead, he found himself still lying awake; now consumed with thoughts of what it would be to be utterly mindless, yet capable of supporting everything around you in an intricately woven net as you slept beneath the cool forest floor.

(What it would be to be painlessly broken down and repurposed.)

He tried turning off the lamp, but keeping his glasses in place, and watching the snow, or—on one crystal-clear night—the stars. Then he tried taking his glasses off, the room dissolving into a blue-black blur. Neither seemed to have the intended effect, so he never developed a preference for one over the other.

As he grew ever more exhausted, ever more desperate, Russell began to consider giving in and drinking, but to do so would be an admission to himself that he wasn't quite ready to make.

It's not like you don't drink during the day, so what's the damn difference?

If you don't stop before bed, you don't stop at all. You've been through this.

(Stop bickering with yourself. It just winds you up.)

With liquor off the table—or rather, the headboard—Russell's second-to-last resort was curling up with his back to the room and his forehead touching the wall; an old just-shut-out-everything strategy from the trenches, and one that mostly did the trick.

The trouble was, it made him think of the trenches.

And anyway, it never lasted.

Inevitably, in the wavering dark of his shallow sleep, there was always a flash of something. Clattering swords, rushing magma. An endless muddy wall he couldn't stop himself from sliding down, a spherical violet-tinged void barrelling towards him. A stranger's death rattle. A daughter's terror.

And then, after all that violent sound and vision, there was only Russell; alone in bed, pouring a foul cold sweat, heart racing, throat sharply hoarse.

Did I cry out? Did I wake her?

Finally, the red knife of dawn light on the horizon. Another sunrise to wait through, then onward to the soft, threadbare familiarity of his daylight life.

~*~

And as for those days, they too were much the same, and likewise tended to blur together.

Sometimes, this was a blessing. The familiar routine of his library work a comfort, the daily cataloging of his daughter's small adventures and hoarded stones an anchor.

Other times, however...

...Getting through this book is like pulling teeth.

Russell was, of course, still working on that thick book of military history.

In fact, he was somehow reading at an even more glacial pace than he'd previously thought possible. The logistics of it all were an even greater strain on his faltering, tired mind, and Russell frequently found himself having to backtrack; struggling to commit the dense information to some patchy semblance of memory before he could allow himself to move on.

And, just to make it all that much worse, he kept finding himself flicking back to that now-infamous picture; the former self, crooked-spined and dour, rendered in inky black scratches.

Mind wandering in wobbly circles, Russell held the book open with one hand and kept his uneasy place on the image with the other, flipping back and forth seemingly at random. That bewildered young man. The world that moved on without him. Everything in between stacked up so high that time itself seemed to topple and scatter.

Even by recent standards, this afternoon had been particularly bad.

So far, judging by his occasional glances at the clock, Russell had spent about ten minutes reading, and over two hours staring blankly at the picture. By now, he had his own image memorized, and was free to scrutinize it at leisure while he lay awake in bed, so he'd switched to trying to see who else he recognized.

Whose fate I might remember.

The young man stood beside him, he was pretty sure, was one and the same with a young man who he'd seen take an arrow through the eye. Though certainly grisly, it had been a quick enough death, but one with a protracted, troubling aftermath. Apparently he'd done something wrong, or somehow failed to protect himself, and their superiors had held him up as a bad example for a solid week.

They really drew it out, didn't they? What was the point of all that?

Russell remembered failing to see the difference between him and any other boy who had tripped into a shallow grave, and that he himself had popped up from the trenches in a similar fashion several times.

Yes, you did.

(And you got what you had coming, didn't you?)

His eyes glazed, and he almost felt the purple-black flower of nausea and pain blooming in his chest.

Back to the book.

The man in front of him, he couldn't recall in the slightest, no matter how hard he tried. This made Russell feel a bit guilty, so he preferred not to look at him at all.

The man behind him, he vaguely remembered; if only as someone who always somehow wound up behind him, a boy who shuffled his feet and cleared his throat in particularly obnoxious ways, and had some compulsion to whisper inane comments directly into his comrades' ears. A memory of warm, damp breath, hanging sickly in cold, damp air; his own grunts and hmms in reply, reverberating his skull from the inside and grating his raw throat.

Sometimes, when Russell thought back on things like this, he wondered, even through the horrors of it all, if it hadn't actually been the years on end of waiting in moderate discomfort that eventually made him go crazy.

You're not crazy, you're tired. Just get through the damned book.

Russell flipped back to the current page, then rubbed one of his aching temples with his free hand.

In a fit of desperation, he'd purchased a strange herbal tincture from Melody. It promised to ease stress and tension, but mostly just gave him a slight headache, and—rather ironically—made him feel oddly nervous. His insides quivered, and he felt peculiar and detached from himself; as though he were looking at the world through a thick, dirty, uneven pane of glass.

Russell blinked hard. He wondered, for the thousandth time, just what the hell that pleasant, strange girl put in these things.

"Family herbal recipe?" Does that kid even have a family?

The more he thought about it, the less he understood it. Most of the medicines he got from Edward were derived from one herbal source or another, but they were consistent, and generally did what they claimed to do with an acceptable level of success. On the other hand, his few experiences with Melody's creations had all been underwhelming, unpleasant, or both, and usually made him swear off untested medical concoctions for life.

Or at least until I've exhausted all other options.

Russell groaned, slipped two pieces of battered scratch paper between the pages of the heavy book, and slammed it shut with a dramatic flourish.

He was, he decided, done for the day.

Propping his head on one fist, he looked towards the clock, watching it meter out the fifteen minutes until closing time in agonizing seconds.

Just hurry it up so I can start drinking.

(I don't even care if I stop.)

Russell, with weakening resolve, was still trying to avoid drinking himself to sleep. He didn't want to acknowledge that he'd already reached—or even passed—the point where the whiskey bottle predictably took up permanent residence on his headboard. He had also come to resent all the false promises inherent in the practice. Though he knew he'd eventually pass out in bed, feeling warm and calm at last, he also knew that it usually left him feeling heavy and unrested in the morning, as though he hadn't slept a wink.

But if that's how I'm going to feel either way...

(Then it just doesn't matter.)

...That's when it starts getting bad.

(Starts?)

Growing frustrated with the crawl of the clock, Russell slumped over his desk, head resting on crossed arms. He let his eyes lose focus, watching the weak winter light growing dimmer as it drifted across the scuffed tile floor. He'd let Tori knock off early that day, and given Cecilia permission to sleep over with Nicholas, since she'd been so excited to see him again after his mysterious northern adventure. Why shouldn't he afford himself a similar kindness?

It's not like anyone else is coming in, anyway.

As if to prove some spiteful point about affording oneself kindness, the door creaked open as soon as that thought crossed his mind. Startled, and irritated at himself for slacking off, Russell sat up so quickly he saw stars.

"...Good evening!"

It was Lady Ann, who dusted off her boots and took a seat on his desk, smiling slyly.

"Oh, is it?"

Russell let his posture relax. This obviously wasn't a business matter. He'd cleared another day, and the night was his at last, for whatever comfort that brought.

"Well, it is now."

He hoped his smile seemed merely flirtatious, and tried to hide the overwhelming rush of relief. Her face told him he had succeeded.

"Want it to be better?"

Russell crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair. Something inside him had already loosened. Every joint felt slippery and hot, ready to bend backwards at her command.

"How much better are we talking?"

Another irresistible, slightly sneaky smile.

"Come over to the Innwith me, and I'll show you."

~*~

"I swear, that boy can't do anything right... I had Zavier order some supplies for the Inn, and these are the candles he got... Feel how cheap."

The pair had situated themself in the Inn's large, warm kitchen. Lady Ann stood at the counter, rummaging through a small crate. Russell, as he often did, sat on the floor with a casual ease, the pleasure of her company making the hard stone feel almost plush beneath him.

She tossed him a candle, and he fumbled a bit from his awkward position, but managed to take it in hand. It seemed, at first, to be an ordinary white candle. Upon handling it, however, he saw what she meant. The candle was slick and yielding, his fingers leaving their intricate, whorled prints in the soft greasy wax.

"It's like you don't even have to light them to melt them."

He pressed in a few more absent-minded thumbprints, then passed the candle back to Lady Ann, who ran her own thumb along its fresh corrugations.

"Oh, I know... You hardly have to heat them up at all... Here. Hold out your hand."

Russell wiped off the trace of greasy residue on his trousers, then offered his palm to Lady Ann, who was now holding the wick of the candle to the stove burner.

He knew what was about to happen, but felt surprisingly little apprehension.

As soon as the bright, hectic flame appeared, she knelt before him and held the burning candle over his open, waiting hand. A thin stream of melted wax began to flow, fat drops pooling in the pale hollow of Russell's palm. It was a comforting, liquid warmth; gradually building to a faint, yet deliciously heady crescendo of pain.

Remember how you used to turn the tap all the way up to wash your hands?

(When you first came to Kardia, and felt like you would never be clean again?)

(Was I wrong?)

"Ah... Stings a little."

Lady Ann blew out the candle, and gently set it aside for later.

"But it didn't burn you, did it?"

The wax was already beginning to harden—such as it could—and Russell popped the soft, irregular white shape from his palm. It was embossed with all those skittering life lines and head lines; lines that he knew were supposed to mean something, though he had never bothered to properly read up on them. He examined it for a moment, then examined the palm itself. A pink blotch that had already begun to fade, but no real injury.

"Hmm... Looks like it didn't, no."

Lady Ann's smile had gone toothy and slightly devious. It made Russell's head spin marvelously.

Do anything to me.

"You know what I think?"

Russell couldn't suppress a shy grin of his own.

"What? What do you think?"

Don't keep me waiting.

Lady Ann took up the candle again and firmly pressed it under Russell's chin, gently tilting his face upwards.

"I think these might not be so worthless after all."

~*~

The cheap candles, indeed, proved quite useful that evening.

Lady Ann, perched primly on a kitchen chair, candle in hand. Russell, kneeling at her feet, rope wound around his arms and wrists, hands securely clasped behind his back. They'd made a game of it, agreed not to leave their places until one candle had burned down.

And so, they remained thus for over an hour; kitchen door locked, the outside world all but forgotten. No winter chill here, only the close, sweet heat of bodies and fire.

So lost in her task that she seemed almost hypnotized, Lady Ann watched with intent, glittering eyes as the melted wax slowly traveled down the shallow gutter of Russell's slender back; the slight flinch and tremble of the ribs when molten, liquid heat met soft, cool skin.

Russell, too, was mesmerized. This was not the terrifying fire of his recurring nightmares. Or perhaps it was, and had merely been put in its place; reduced to nothing but a shimmering, unreal dream. The flowing warmth brought to mind icicles glistening in the sun, and he imagined everything that held him frozen simply melting away and pooling on the floor around him.

(Purple-black, slow and sticky.)

Or at least, that was what he thought about in the brief moments when he had enough mind left to bring things into at all. Mostly, his brain felt like it had gone as fluid and hot as the soft wax melting into his skin, lapping comfortingly at the edges of his skull.

Russell always found it a little peculiar, how both lovers he'd taken in this town had a fondness for wrapping him in rope, but otherwise had so little in common. Lady Ann enjoyed making him hurt, but Sabrina—for the most part—only enjoyed making him wait.

He found that they both held their particular, peculiar joys, but as for this new combination of the two...

"...Can't even see straight..."

He could barely speak straight, either, and his breath hitched at yet another wanton spatter of heat. Lady Ann leaned forward in her seat, cupping his face with her free hand.

"Well, then... You won't be needing these, will you?"

Her hand pulled away from his face, bringing his glasses with it and delicately perching them on her own nose in one impossibly smooth motion, like some stage magician's trick.

Raptly, he gazed up at her now-indistinct face, barely making out the shape of the frames. The blurred vision only amplified the melting, aqueous sensation. Russell's body, usually held so tense and coiled, relaxed so far that his head began to nod; breaking the passionate eye contact that, even in his liquified, dreamy state, he'd managed to studiously maintain.

Luckily, Lady Ann was there to set him right.

Each time she caught him drifting, she corrected him harshly by sharply yanking up on his hair so their faces met once more. It was like some primal, sublime dance, and they repeated it several times, until the candle had burned down to a mere stub, which Lady Ann snuffed out unceremoniously with a licked forefinger and thumb.

Then she unbound Russell's arms, and took him—rather roughly—right there on the cold stone of the kitchen floor.

Of course, after all the work they'd already put in, it was brief, and almost anticlimactic. But neither of them seemed to mind; content to lie embracing on the chilly floor, catching their hot breath and trembling their way down, as though descending a steep mountain, hand in hand.

Russell, especially, welcomed the feel of the cool stone under his back, after all that heat.

Melt the ice.

Quench the fire.

(Do anything to me.)

Eventually, as it always did, the chill grew uncomfortable, and his shoulderblades began to feel bruised, so Russell gently suggested that they head up to her bed, where they now lay.

The pair found themselves languid and silent in the flame's calm afterglow, lost in whatever tranquil thoughts were slowly beginning to creep back into their minds. Russell collapsed on his side, slightly curled in; Lady Ann at his back, apparently absorbed in peeling the hardened wax from his skin.

Absorbed, yes, and meticulous as she was in all things, her careful hands picking their way down his tender back. But sometimes, she seemed to lose focus, and then those thorough hands would, almost instinctively, begin doing something else.

Burying themselves in his tousled, slightly damp hair. Gracefully running up and down his sensitively innervated sides, or along the soft concavity of his belly. Lightly brushing the crook of his neck with a finger or two, expertly coaxing a tremble from his breath. Anything that set his hair on end, made him shiver and flush; any lazy touch for the sake of touching.

It reminded him that she didn't just get off on pain, but rather seemed to have a general fixation on contact and response. Which, somehow, felt even stranger.

I guess she's not so dissimilar to Sabrina, at the heart of it all.

Sabrina, too, had been almost perversely touchy, and had her own set of semi-conscious tactile rituals that she'd cycle through as she and Russell idled together in bed. Pressing her whole body against his, sliding a hand below his underthings to rest on the curve of a pelvic bone. Falling asleep with one leg draped across him, hands grasping his shoulders, face buried in the crook of his neck. Absent-mindedly squeezing at the slight dip of his waist.

That last one, she'd actually explained. When they first met, he was about fifteen pounds lighter; body still completely spent from combat, all sharp broken angles and listless, heavy bones. She was just glad there was, finally, anything at all for her to grab on to and hold.

Well, it's probably closer to ten right now.

Russell had noticed that he'd lost a bit of weight recently; nothing dramatic, but enough that Sabrina probably would have commented.

Back when she was in the position to see and comment on such things.

Lady Ann, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice at all, which he knew was less a personal failing, and more a difference in context. They weren't close when he was at his worst, so she didn't have as much reason to worry.

In all honesty, Russell preferred it that way. He figured it made things easier on both of them.

Ease, above all, was what he sought out these days.

Don't you miss it, though?

"...Something wrong?"

Lady Ann's voice broke through the slight melancholy that had momentarily surrounded him.

"...Hmm? No. No, I'm fine. Just tired."

Russell wondered if it would be worth never sleeping again, just to have this guaranteed way to deflect without going to the trouble of actually lying.

"Well, good. I was just going to say... We can't have you lying here licking your wounds. Not with me here, at least."

That said, she ran her tongue along the fading pink river of heated skin on his back; from the crest of his narrow hips and all the way up to the nape of his neck, making him shiver again.

How dare I think of anyone else?

"No... Not with you here..."

I love the way you love winding me up.

(Please don't stop.)

Her tongue traced its way upward again, and then again. Until, as though unable to control herself, she sank her teeth into the stringy meat of his shoulder. A single, astringent, quicksilver word, trapezius, lit up Russell's brain; a dense pink cloud, suddenly rumbling with heat lightning. Already, he was panting.

Their dance had begun again.

#rune factory #rune factory 1 #rf1 russell

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bastardsunlight · 4 years ago

Note

08 & 20 for subscorp if ur still doing the kiss meme?

❛ 08 . a kiss in secret / a forbidden kiss . ❛ 20 . a kiss out of desperation .

I swore an oath to protect him, I think to myself as I slide along the cliff’s edge, hugging it closely, careful not to scrape or to breathe too loudly. Kuai Liang, Bi-Han’s younger brother, has taken up the mantle of Sub-Zero. He is more deserving of it than the former, but I cannot say for certain if his end by mind had was truly justified. I know my mistakes—I am well acquainted with them. Truly, I believe that, should he have risen to Sektor’s position of “Grandmaster”, one the wily bastard has hardly earned, he would be no better, succumbing easily to the temptations of power. Quan-Chi might have orchestrated my family’s end, but the Lin Kuei are also responsible in their compliance and complacence. I will not forgive them. But he—Kuai Liang—has not wronged me. I make amends this way.

Far below, he moves like a shadow with his companion, a man I have heard called Tomas, though I know him better as Smoke. Both are talented, young, and filled with potential. They are also going to their death if they continue on this path, but despite my oath and Kuai Liang’s knowledge of it, I doubt my presence would be appreciated so suddenly. Words will not convince them, so actions must. I clamber higher and make myself invisible, relatively speaking, working my way around for a better vantage point to the ambush.

It is a superbly-laid trap. Some loyal to Sektor—with or without his orders, it matters not—have devised a snare for the offending Lin Kuei. These kryomancers have no morals, no scruples, and do not balk at destroying their own for their ideals of perfection. I spit at these ideals, though I dare not do so now. I am too close, by far. Sometimes, I forget what I am… that they cannot see me if I do not wish to be seen, to a point. I am not invisible, but as a wraith, I can become… other. I sink into the cliff side, disturbing a single stone, but their attention is so drawn that not a single one of the Lin Kuei cowards detects me.

And they won’t, ‘til it is too late.

The trap springs and I am acutely aware of it as I leap forth from a ring of Netherrealm magma, kodachi at the ready. It is as blazing hot as the rest of my body and sears through flesh and bone without effort. I am a monster and in these instances only, I am glad that my wife and son are not here to see what I have become. It serves its purpose, however.

Below, Smoke and Sub-Zero—he has more than earned this; I can feel the chill of his kryomancy even from the perch I have turned into a killing floor—are more than holding their own. Should fortune favor me, I will retreat without detection. I grind another enemy’s head to pulp as a spear-like icicle flies past my shoulder, singeing it with frost. I cannot quite tell if it had been purposefully aimed, or if the fatigue of battle has begun to affect Sub-Zero. It is my cue to go.

“Wait!” And he is scrambling up the cliff side, leaving Smoke below to inspect the fallen and deduce what, precisely, is happening. I could divulge this easily, but I am doubtful whether or not my words, the words of Shirai-Ryu, bitter enemy to the Lin Kuei, would be taken with any veracity. What holds me back defies logic and I find myself irritated and showing my back to Sub-Zero, who could easily put another, better-aimed spear of frost through it.

“Kuai Liang,” I respond, finding no reason to beat around the bush that I know him.

“I will not ask how you know me. You knew Bi-Han.” His arms are still coated in that frost—I can feel the chill—and I can tell that he has a much more stable, controlled, and focused handle upon his ancient, Edenian gift. “I will ask why you helped, Scorpion.”

The name makes me stiffen. It is me. I am Scorpion, but part of me wants to be anyone else. Part of me resents the stinging name, appropriate as it is. The sharper the sting, I have often found, the more accurate the barb. I turn my gaze, but only just enough to see him from one eye.

“A debt.” It is a blood debt, simply put. I may have murdered Bi-Han in bitter error, but I do not regret it—be that as it may, I owe his kin a debt of blood for the misplaced killing. Sometimes, I wonder if I would have done something different, knowing Bi-Han’s hand had not directly brought death to my family and clan. To this day, I am not certain he participated in the massacre and cling ever harder, therefore, to the debt I owe his brother.

“You owe me no debt,” he responds, approaching and laying one bold, chilly hand upon my shoulder, gripping firmly and turning me. What there is to see, I cannot fathom.

“I cannot pay a dead man.”

“You owe Bi-Han no debt, either,” Sub-Zero insists, gripping harder. His other hand moves swiftly. I am a fool, I missed the subtle cues. The free hand is suddenly upon my mask, pushing me back into the stones of the cliff and freezing the metal of it. I must look terribly surprised, because for an instant, a flash of guilt crosses his admittedly handsome, youthful features. “He chose his path. The murder of your clan… He would have done it anyway, Quan-Chi or no, but it … it was he who retrieved the foul sorcerer. Please believe me… Grandmaster Hasashi.”

Why is he speaking so calmly as his fist crushes my mask, breaking it to pieces and tossing it away. I am a wraith, not a man. My face is abhorrent, a skull awash in the flames of my ire. There is nothing about me to see which does not strike terror into gentle hearts, which his must be.

“You do not know me, Sub-Zero,” I insist, hearing the sepulchral tones of my own voice and hating them. How much more grating must they be to the ears of the living?

“But I would know you—a man worthy of the title of Grandmaster at such a young age… A man with honor.” The grip upon the mask, which had crushed it, has changed to a firm hold of icy certainty.

“I have no honor left,” I insist, “only vengeance, and a blood debt.”

“That you keep to this debt shows me you do possess honor… and skill.” There is mischief in his voice, but also sincerity. His smile, I have to admit, is captivating and his eyes are a fathomless, Stygian blue, like the deepest waters of the sea or the dark of a winter night. There is a surprising amount of warmth behind them, despite his physical chill.

He is close, too close, and I am forced to remember the way his brother handled me—the way we handled each other, if truth be told. Our trysts were brief, violent, and voracious, as if we could never get enough of the other, but at some level, that we could not stand our own desires. This is simpler, more straightforward in its admiration, and the control he has over his kryomancy is remarkable. Upon this alone I could admire Kuai Liang. He is a prodigy. But then, so was I, once.

As he leans into me, I realize just how much I crave contact, of just about any kind, but of worthy adversaries most of all. There is no doubt in my mind that defeating him would not be easy and I long to put that theory to the test.

“I do not have long,” he admits, almost sheepishly, “and this may seem sudden, but I had to catch you before you left… I know you have been keeping watch over me, Scorpion, but I did not know how to thank you. Should my clan know of our contact...” He trails off and I know exactly what will happen.

“Do not thank me,” I warn. “Just stay alive.”

“Liang!” Smoke calls from below, evidently approaching the cliff face, meaning to climb, or ambulate however he might do that. Sub-Zero stiffens and, with a single, furtive glance, turns his full attention upon me. Without warning, I feel our lips pressing together, his covering mine hungrily and my own opening helplessly to the odd, invasive sensation of desire… of being wanted. I am to surprised by the gesture to wonder how the flames have been so becalmed. I wrap my fingers in the front of his gi, intent on tossing him back and disappearing in a firestorm when suddenly, he pulls away, looking guilty and shaking his head, turning toward his friend’s voice.

“Six up here,” he calls back, “and scorched with the fires of hell.”

“It’s him again, isn’t it?” Smoke responds, sounding worried. Kuai Liang glances over one shoulder at me. I have yet to recover myself and lean, breathless—as if a wraith could draw breath in the first place—against the rocky wall. I can, at any moment, sink into them and disappear, but my mind is rebelling against any and all action.

I want more.

I need more.

“We have to assume,” says Sub-Zero, eyes fixed upon me. He is buying me time to escape and—perhaps I misread him—promising further contact at a later date. “But whomever continues to guard our flanks, Smoke, is welcome to it.”

He looks me up and down once more before returning to Tomas, far below. My dead heart beats harder and faster inside me and everything in me fights against the urge to allow myself to be overcome with such things. It would be in poor form, would it not, to engage in a tryst with the younger brother of a former lover.

Would it?

KISS MEME

#response #subscorp #thermodynamic equilibrium #aboutscorpionmeta #Anonymous

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oz-corp-uplink-t · 4 years ago

Text

Good evening. I figured it would be a good idea to describe our area in detail, both the one we're in now and the one from whence we came. This will be in chronological order, from first discovered to most recently discovered. I hope you all don't mind the formality. This is simply how I normally converse, and I do not see any reason to be any more or less formal than normal.

--Homeworld: GemsGoldia--

Our Homeworld was a unique one, compared to the more Earthly planets of most other universes. It was an entire planet made of crystals and gems, and the general climate of an area depended on the gemstone that comprised the most of an area. Green Emerald areas were usually perfectly warm, red Ruby areas were much hotter and had a tendency to contain magma geysers, blue Sapphire areas were more or less frozen wastes, and a few other, more unnatural climates, such as constant lighting storms over yellow variants of gemstones, and complete and utter darkness in Obsidian areas.

When I first appeared here, I was the only one. I saw the Creator soon after, and he told me what I should do. The Creator's form in our worlds is quite odd, actually. He's two hands and a head, and he tends to change size often, though he's always bigger than me. His hands have white gloves, and I'm certain I've seen they are connected to his head by fishing line or puppet strings. His head is just a black sphere with extremely triangular teeth and large, red eyes. It's more intimidating than it sounds.

Anyway, the factory/research lab we started with was already built when I showed up, along with quite a few houses, all made of the Emerald the ground was made of, and there were exactly enough for those that would appear soon after. There was an unfathomably gigantic generator in a basement within the factory, which I was told created an artificial atmosphere around the entire planet. Evidently, this was true, as it was destroyed in the destruction of the planet, and we have recorded several corpses of beings that need an atmosphere to survive.

--A strange new land: Mirrold--

I had escaped the destruction of GemsGoldia, and I had to find my way back alone. I went through several places, most of which seemed familiar and sparked... Memories, of past versions of myself. My first iteration looked similar to the creator, but I had a pale skin tone, my eyes were humanoid, my hair was green, and I had some nasty claws. I was a throwaway, used to add plot to a normal 'roleplay' (Which, as he told me, simply describes writing a story with more than one person, which I find to be an interesting concept) between good friends. I was to stop a wedding by killing the bride or groom, the bride being an original creation, from his friend, and the groom being another one of those... Skeleton characters. I think they called them Blueberry. I mortally wounded them, and was destroyed in revenge.

My next iteration was similar to the 000 model. I can't remember what I did as them, but I do remember that the Creator and his friend made fictional children for fictional versions of themselves. Apparently, this was my longest running form.

Then, we're at what I am now. A product of His creativity, depression from a long-passed break-up, of which he has told me was his own doing, and fantasies of escaping His world, and coming to ours. His mental state has left our world in ruin, and it seems like he may want this one to have a similar fate...

...Oh, right. I need to be talking about Mirrold. Forgive me, I tend to get far off-topic if I think about our home...

Mirrold is a mirror world, which I found in an apparently magical mirror in the ruins of GemsGoldia, which acted as a portal to here. This place consists of four islands and a deep pit under them, which we call Lower Mirrold.

--The glass shatters: Shatternia--

Shatternia is the only entrance to Mirrold that we know of. After you enter the mirror, you come out onto a catwalk suspended above Lower Mirrold, which looks like pitch blackness. This catwalk ends at a concrete building, where the Brokem, Ozwald, and Cordial base models reside. This is at the southernmost area of the island. To the west of this, there is a thick forest with various weak monsters within. The foliage on this island is always colored in a mix of reds and blues instead of the normal green you'd expect. To the north of the building, there is a toxic lake, and a bridge leading to a canyon with a large gate at the end, leading to the only town in the area, Shardini. If you go east from the building, there is a tram station, which connects to the next island over, and allows for transport between them. North of this is a mansion under constant snowfall, which is reminiscent of the home the Creator had imagined being in when with their friend. The Creator put a copy of his past self, specifically from the period of major depression over his relationship, in Mirrold, and they occasionally show up at this mansion and cry to themselves. They are hostile to any trespassers, but reminders of this failed relationship will stop them in their tracks.

I do recall, now that I think of it, there was another skeleton who became partially Corrupt, but never fully turned, and who lived with the models in the concrete building. Actually, they may have been an alternate version of Blueberry. I think the models that live there called them "Grape".

--A major downgrade: Junkedville--

It's much larger than Shatternia, but it's mostly empty desert. There is an exception: Salvagius. This is the one town in Junkedville, near the northern edge. Our factory rests at the northernmost point, and the rest of the place is houses and establishments made of sheet metal. The pub here is highly popular, mainly because it's impossible to die from overdrinking, as they add special ingredients that prevent death or impairments from extreme amounts, without lessening the actual enjoyment of it, including the drunkenness. This isn't completely effective, unfortunately, as you can tell from my entire workforce being in alchohol comas.

I did say that Shatternia was the only entrance, but that isn't completely true. In the factory, we are very capable of transporting people using the multiversal portals we have. We also considered opening them up to other creations for this uplink, but we aren't sure if it matters much anyway.

--Eternal war: Magicant--

Magicant is a small place, and there's not much left by now. Mages populated this place quite heavily before the Corruption followed us here. They have allied with us for the destruction of the Corruption, but they have blown half their island out of the sky trying to fight. There isn't much left to speak of...

--Mixed up anomaly: Lower Mirrold--

Lower Mirrold is... Difficult to understand. It's split into five sectors. These five sectors change randomly into portions of different worlds, bringing buildings, landscapes, and people with them into our own. This has caused many visitors to suddenly show up without intending to, and many strange scenarios where multiple characters and worlds combine in strange ways, causing strange situations. One we have documented in particular is still in progress, and the events until now are as follows.

1: Subject A ( Short/overweight/male, generally known as a thief, wears yellow and purple clothes, a cap with his first initial on it, and cyan eyeliner) receives a message from Subject B (Literally a fucking sponge) that proposes an exchange for taking B's job for a day in exchange for a stockpile of treasure. Subject A accepts, drives into ocean and finds Subject B's workplace.

It should be noted these two should not have known each other at all.

2: Subject A falls asleep on the job, establishment burns down. Subject A flees and finds stockpile. Subject B fires a nuclear bomb at his neighbor to threaten the arsonist who burned down the establishment. Subject A is transported to an unknown location for approximately 7 hours, before Lower Mirrold shifts again and any further events cease.

We have reason to believe whatever's been happening here is still happening now, but we have been too occupied with everything else we can't be certain.

--Core of Corruption: Corrupti--

Not much is known of Corrupti, other than Sally currently resides there and controls the Corrupted from it's core. It rose from Lower Mirrold some time after the event above had ceased. We don't know what to do about it, all we know is that it's ruining everything we worked so hard to achieve, and that we must end it... But we do not know how.

------------------------------------------------------------

A few closing statements...

Firstly, I have been informed the Creator has documented the Lower Mirrold events mentioned above. I haven't been told where, though. Just that it's "On my tube", or something. If you happen to figure something out there, that would be helpful.

Second, I'm not completely certain the Creator has fully gotten over what happened with his relationship. I don't know if that's why he seems to be reluctant to help us, but either way I'm sure he'll figure himself out sooner or later. I hope, anyway.

Good night to you all. I hope you haven't forgotten us.

Oh, and to those of you in bad times, (lookingatyourox) just know your pain doesn't last forever, and all wounds can be healed with help and time. Also, do not try to end your pain early. It will only spreas your pain to others, and, if there is a place after life, give you a worse pain in your ghost.

...Sorry, if I'm being a bit too grim here. I'm in quite a grim mood, unfortunately. I think the Creator is, too.

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night-rook · 5 years ago

Text

Sinful Delivery | Feitan Porter x Reader |

Word Count: 2709 Reader Type: Neutral Gender, Media Influencer, Model Story Type: Modern AU setting Beware: Sexual thoughts, BDSM, Curse words Summary: Reader is doing some media distancing due to harmassments. Feitan just happens to be the delivery guy on the day they wanted takeout.

Key terms: (Y/N) = Your name (H/C) = Hair Color (S/C) = Skin color (E/C) = Eye Color (F/F) = Favorite Food (S/F/F) = Second Favorite Food (S/N) = Screen Name (B/T) = Body Type (B/H) = Body Height

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A pair of empty eyes stared at the grimy ceiling. The pools of (E/C) reflected a blank canvas as they laid on the large bed. Their body felt frozen to the touch, almost as cold as a corpse. Taking in small breathes to fill their lungs, they closed their eyes and listened to the white noise of the room.

Their name is (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). Yes, That (Y/F/N). The infamous media influencer who specialized in dark styles of romance. Hacking to the fetishes that everyone is too scared or embarrassed by and bringing it out with their photos. Posing and modeling from all levels. If there was something out there, they were the first to act on it. Taking photos for the eyes of the dark. From innocent acts of bondage in bed to heavy blood draining, (Y/N) had a photo for the media.

Then, why were they laying in bed? Why were they alone?

There were numerous rumors that the model was faking their stats. Editing everything to where it looked realistic. Each photograph was nothing more than a scam of a freak who sought attention. As the rumors spread like wildfire across the internet platform, (Y/N)’s publicist advised them to stay away from the media until everything settled down. Their whole career was on hold because some people thought they were posers.

So, here they are laying in their loft condo and keeping a low profile. The (H/C) would go out for the usual grocery trips and daily exercise. Despite the dark cloud of their career, (Y/N) was a humble person and had a simple lifestyle. They just happened to have an interesting career path that differs from the norms. Boredom had become unavoidable these past few weeks, taking a toll on their adventurous spirit.

“Maybe I should have taken Gon’s than the Troupe Café,” (Y/N) mumbled and slowly sat up. “But, I’m kinda tired of the usual (F/F).”

Finally getting up from the bed, they stretched their limbs out into the air as they let out a huff of breath. Shaking off the sleepy dust from their body while walking down the stairs. (Y/N) looked at the clock that hung by the staircase. Its second hand ticking away while the minute hand was just barely moving.

Knock Knock, knock

Three rapid yet vigorous knocks caught their attention from the time. A smile broke across their (S/C) face as they walked to the door. Turning the knob, (Y/N) was greeted by a rather gloomy looking male. Being (B/H), the model was puzzled by the rather short male. His grey eyes stared at them, waiting for them to make a move. An austere expression was painted on his pale face.

“Are you gonna take it or not, dumbass. I don’t have all day.” the monotone voice seemed to match his demeanor. He held up a black bag that contained (S/F/F).

Shaking their head, the model took the delivery bag and left the door open. They got a whiff of food before setting it down on the living table to get the money. (Y/N) hummed happily at the thought of eating the heavenly meal but also for the change.

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As (Y/N) was gone, the male’s eyes narrowed slightly as something felt odd about the whole situation. The customer looked strangely similar to someone he followed online. He dug his hand into his pocket just as his phone vibrated. Pulling out the device, he internally grunted at the notification from Phinks. He pressed the text chat to read what was sent, probably a stupid excuse for not wanting to work. Reading the text in the grey bubble, the gloomy dressed male blinked before realizing what was said.

Lazy Fucker, 2:55 pm

Dude! Feitan! I remember where I saw that name. Ya know the model whose fan base is rioting? THAT’S THE CUSTOMER WHO ORDERED!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING LUCKY YOU SCORED?!?!

*read

Feitan felt a slight flinch in his gut. The universe had randomly granted him the opportunity to come across his favorite pastime. He knew of (S/N) and the alleged rumors against them. The short man didn’t care for what was said about the photoshopping because he knows real authentic torture when he sees it. Every drop of blood that dripped from their (S/C) (Y/H) body. Each cut that is made on their (B/T). He never doubted the reality that (S/N) performed.

When he heard and read about the accusations made about their work of art, his anger hit sky high. His blood boiled like magma, the more absurd every claim got. The day (S/N) went offline, Feitan’s hunger became unsatisfied. His entire Trevor Brown collection couldn’t fill the craving that rested deep inside his coal heart. There was just something in the model’s performance that made him growl in pleasure. His irritation followed him from home to work every day for the past couple of weeks.

“Here you go! I’m so sorry for making you wait this long. I misplaced my wallet.” they laughed and rubbed the back of their head due to the embarrassment.

He only grunted and took the payment, counting the bills to ensure it was correct. Underneath his bandana, an eerie smile made its way onto his apathetic face. Their voice was just so soothing and light, the perfect pitch to hear moans from in private. The more he stared at them, the stronger his desire grew. Feitan slipped the money into his pocket before deciding to speak.

“You’re (S/N), correct. Why haven’t you said anything about the bullshit,” he asked. Well, honestly, it was more like a demand than asking.

(Y/N) was about to close the door until he spoke up. Blinking at his bold words, they were confused about what told of them. Oh, he’s a fan… they realized. Placing a hand on their hip, the model gave his words some thought. They were surprised the delivery guy knew who they were, giving they weren’t exactly in costume. They were only wearing a plain (F/C) shirt and shorts while their (H/L) (H/C) hair wasn’t styled.

With a smile, (Y/N) answered, “I can’t change anyone’s mind on what they see. Our perspectives are different, so I rather just let them believe what they want to believe.”

Feitan frowned at them. Their answer didn't sound convincing to him. His grey eyes stared at them more, searching for something. “It’s obvious that those scumbags are just picking for a reaction. Probably waiting for a suicide announcement about you.”

This time, his words did make their stomach turn. It was unnoticeable when their account got negative comments or when their inbox was spammed with death threats. (Y/N) did their best to avoid them and ignore the pessimistic thoughts that came with every troll. Yet, the words aimed at them did hate their self-esteem. It was when the rumors started to take effect did they finally get time to feel peace. The media distancing helped the depressing cloud clear up above their head.

“Want to join me for lunch? My legs are standing to ache from just standing and the food is gonna get cold,” (Y/N) smiled while pointing at the couch behind them, “ I can ask all your questions while we eat if that’s okay with you.”

Feitan nodded and walked inside the apartment. He took a few glances around the place and took notice of how moderate it looked. If he could bluntly say it, the place looked like a boring image in a magazine you could find in an office. Taking a seat on the leather armchair, the gloomy male sat and waited for the other to join him.

Getting some plates and drinks from the kitchen, the (Y/H) model went to the living area and served him some (S/F/F). The two ate in silence for a bit and got acquainted with each other’s presence. Feitan observed them some more, his eyes never leaving their body.

"Well, are you going to talk or not." Feitan scowled, glaring menacingly as his patience was going thin.

(Y/N) sweatdrop at his impatience, but took a drink of their soda. Their mind playing back the beginning of the chaos and the events leading to isolation. Recalling the confusion when their publicist instructed them to make the accounts private and go offline. The devastation they felt later followed when they read the article claims against them. The model simply felt their heart crack from the madness.

"I was told to sit and be quiet until things settle. These few weeks haven't been great. The assaults are still going and I can't do anything," (Y/N) sighed and stared at their drink. "I am- sort of- at a breaking point. No matter how strong the bubble I'm in, the insults make me crack and it hurts. I had ideas! I was going for approval but then got told to be quiet so the adults can talk."

Feitan leaned back into his seat and listened to them rant out their pinned up frustrations. From what he saw, it seemed to bother them that they were seen as a fraud. He watched the way their arms moved as they spoke and how their clothes would reveal the hidden story. His grey eyes took in the faint scars and discoloration on their (S/C). Fighting back a growl, the gloomy male set his plate down and got the model's attention.

"Fuck what those bastards say. Do what you want and show them everything." he smiled at the visible shiver they had.

(E/C) eyes glanced up to meet with metal eyes. Despite the coldness in them, the model could see just a small flicker of light. It was a small light, small but it was enough to make something in (Y/N)'s mind snap. The small click of gears before complete clockwork began to shift inside them.

He was right! Why did they have to be put in the corner when all they were doing was their passion?! Why were they being punished?!

(Y/N) looked straight at the short male. Their eyes reflecting the newfound determination and that same emotion cause him to smirk with interest. What he heard did catch him and made his inner desire water with hunger.

"I want a tape of real-time punishment. So, seeing as you are well aware of my work, I take you to know what to do?" they innocently smiled.

The gloomy spider leaned forward from his seat. His eyes darkening with a cloud of cruel lechery with every passing moment he stared at them. His mouth watered at all the methods that came to mind with how he will have them beneath him. To hear their cries, witness their tears, the expressions that cute face can make... Oh, how fate gave him an angel in a devil's clothing. Pulling down his bandana, he smirked at the model.

There it was again!

The cold chill when he smiled at them. (Y/N) might have picked the perfect candidate for a partner. At least for the project... maybe. Getting up from their seat, they grabbed his hand and led him upstairs.

"Let's get started, shall we."

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Upon the release of the video, four months had passed by. The video had gained a couple of million views and thousands of comments. Whether the attention was positive or negative, (Y/N) had no clue but Feitan did. He read through the comment section and was amused by the words.

Feitan was on his break and sitting at a table, a cup of forgotten tea sat in front of him. He scrolled through the section with an entertaining smile on his face. His eyes squinted up as he grinned with each passing comment. The spider worker enjoys the memory of that evening. It was his absolute favorite and it was something he looked back to whenever he watched the video.

He can recall how he felt with each scene as it plays out. The adrenaline that coursed through his veins with burning aspiration. How he wanted to make (Y/N) submit and to feel those agonizing vehemence. He wanted to keep hearing the moans and cries they made with each whip. The lewd face they made when he flogged their bareback. The way their body tense and pull on the restraints when he made a deeper cut.

Phinks and Shalnark were a bit disturbed when the short man came back to their shared apartment into the next morning. He was grinning menacingly while his clothes were covered in blood. Who's blood exactly, that was unclear. Both males watched him enter the apartment before vanishing into his room for the rest of the day. Endless to say, they shrugged it off and believed some poor stranger just wasn't lucky.

"Hey, Feitan! Can you take my shift real quick? I need to use the restroom, please. Please! Please!" The blond whined a bit.

The gloomy male grunted before heading back into the kitchen to tag him out. As he worked, he didn't hear the bell chime of the front entrance. He cooked until a soft voice caught his attention.

"Ello! I'll like small grey ice cream with a dash of sadistic sparkles." they happily chirped. Smiling as brightly as ever from the other side of the bar window.

Feitan looked up from the stove and hummed in acknowledgment. He turned his attention back to the food as (Y/N) took a seat on one of the stools. Their (E/C) eyes shined with the same happiness while watching him cook. The comfortable silence around them was pleasant and neither wanted to break it too. Until Phinks came back and stared at the new face before realizing who they were.

"FEITAN!! It's that model!!" he managed to shout despite the small space.

The short man remained stoic while (Y/N) giggled at the blond's reaction. Feitan grabbed the blond's shirt collar and pulled him into the kitchen to take back his job. Feitan grabbed two drinks and walked out of the kitchen. Handing one drink over to (Y/N), the short man took a seat by them.

"What brings you here." he finally asked after a few sips of beer.

Setting their glass down, (Y/N) turned to face him before tilting their head a bit. They were a bit confused by his questionable demand but then sat up when they remembered the reason for their sudden arrival. Turning to pull out a notebook from their bag, the cheerful model set it on the counter and turned to the desired page.

"I got another idea and wanted to see if you could help. I was thinking of an ice bath this time, but I want your opinion since your nasty little mind was the brilliance behind the video," they showed the page to Feitan and slid the notebook to him. "The agency will cover the cost if you have something else in mind. They even want to ask if you wish to apply. Seeing as you like a natural on camera and how fans reacted."

Feitan looked over the information on the page while listening to the (B/H) model. He could get paid for tormenting them with his dark fantasies. He smiled at them and slid the notebook back to them. Nodding, he finished his drink and looked at them with the same eyes as the day they met.

"Yes! You're the absolute best! I'll text you when the due date is and we can meet up this weekend to see when you got." (Y/N) grinned before jumping off their seat.

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Feitan's smile vanished after they said goodbye. He returned to his expressionless husk and decided to clock back in. When he was about to get back to work, his blond roommate finally spoke up and questioned the gloomy spider on what had just happened.

He simply shrugged and went back to his job. His eyes squinted as a grin hid under his bandana. "Just my pet wanting approval."

The blond nodded but quickly snapped his head to look behind him and stare at the man in shock. Since when did he manage to hook up with someone before Shalnark or himself?! Turning back around, Phinks frowned and grudgingly had to pay Shalnark when they closed the café for losing the bet.

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#feitan #hunter x hunter #feitan portor #reader insert #feitan portor x reader #hxh 2011 #hxh feitan #hxh fanfic #hxh one shot

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dzamie-oc · 5 years ago

Text

Smaugust 06 - Magma

A human wants to accompany his dragon girlfriends on their magma-diving outings, but they don't think he's ready. Yet.

Lily glanced at the clock. "Oh, Verrea," the blue dragoness said, pointing at the hanging timepiece, "it's past two. We'd best get going if we want to return before sundown."

With mumbles of affirmation, her friend in green scales rose and stretched her wings. "C'mon, L, I usually get my trips in three hours."

"I suspect you wouldn't if I stopped letting you eat my rubies." She looked to their other partner, a human named Ben, and gave a sheepish smile full of sharp teeth. "Sorry, forgot to tell you. We should be back for dinner, though."

Ben looked up from his game of virtual alchemy to give the dragons a thumbs-up. "Sure thing, you two. Where are you girls headed?"

"Volcano," Verrea replied casually, "looking for gems. They grow fastest at the bottom."

The blue dragon rolled her golden eyes and huffed, a wisp of smoke trailing from her nostrils. Ben watched it rise and dissipate, hoping that it wouldn't set off the smoke alarm - fortunately, it didn't. "It's not a volcano!" she admonished, "Mount Ternen is a mountain with a volcanic flow inside it."

"Magma stream."

"Lava," Lily corrected.

"It's magma if you go down far enough," Verrea shot back with a grin and a playful flick of her bladed tail. This earned her a forked tongue being poked out at her, to which she retaliated by tapping her muzzle against Lily's.

"Oh, that sounds cool," Ben remarked ("more like hot," said Verrea), "can I come with?"

The dragonesses both shook their heads. "Sorry, Ben, far too dangerous. More a dragon thing, anyway."

"Eh, alright. Have fun you two." He waved at them, letting his gaze linger as the green dragon teased him with a flick of her tail, then tried to get back to his game. But no matter what, he kept thinking about his friends swimming through molten rock. So he gave in and searched for information on Mount Ternan, looking at maps and photos. Sure enough, the maps he found all had a section labeled something along the lines of "closed to tourists," "staff/experienced cave delvers only," or, frankly enough, "lava past here." He printed out one of the more detailed maps of the area and checked for any tours of the caverns... so that, of course, he could avoid them.

Phase one complete.

---

The next day, he was looking at the map over breakfast when Verrea walked up behind him and laid her chin over his shoulder. "Whatcha got there, Ben?" she asked, her breath smelling of bacon and... well, mostly more bacon.

He reached his arm up to pat her head. "Oh, you girls got me thinking about that mountain. I don't think I've been there, and it's only half an hour drive or so, so I figure I would go and walk around. Look at the stalactites, stalagmites, and stuff."

"Hey, that's cool. It's pretty pretty in there, at least for dragons. Dunno what it's like with human vision, of course." The dragoness grinned, Ben catching the glint of her fangs in the corner of his eye, and continued, "hey, if you want something extra to do there, see if you can figure out which stalagmite I use to get off when I visit?"

"Wh-what?"

"She's messing with you," Lily chimed in from across the table. She sent the last of the sausages on her plate to their demise before carefully picking up the plate in her mouth and carrying it to the sink. "And even if she wasn't, she's hopefully not stupid enough to do it anywhere a tour could see her."

Verrea departed from Ben's shoulder to brush her wing against Lily. "So far as you know. The imminent danger of being found out is part of the fun!" she purred, before winking at them, "but no, I didn't. Dirty rocks where who knows how many other dragons and humans could further mess with it? I treat my body well; give me a nice tongue or dick any day of the week. Well, maybe not today, since you're doing stuff. Though, Lily..."

"I JUST ate," the blue dragoness replied. Ben excused himself from the table to get ready and not let on how much Verrea's casual teasing had affected him. A few minutes later, the scaly pair waved goodbye to him as Lily settled down in front of the television, controller in paw, and Verrea sprawled over the couch.

---

"...and as we come down here, you'll see a really cool formation. Us tour guides, we call it the snowman, on account of, well, it looks like a snowman. There it is. See the body, and the head?..." The tour guide's voice faded out as the last of the group walked out of sight around a column. Ben looked around him. Nobody in sight. Moving quickly, he stepped over the chain rope marking the path, and strode swiftly into the dark tunnel beyond. He kept careful track of how many steps he was taking, marking them down on a makeshift map of the... less than publicly available section of the caverns. A wide flashlight beam kept him from stumbling over rough parts of the floor or falling into parts where the floor simply stopped existing as much.

As he pressed on, further into the dark cave, he realized the temperature was rather quickly climbing. What began as rather cool, somewhat stale air had soon become midsummer temperatures, with no sign of stopping. Before long, he was forced to turn back before he dehydrated from sweating. His map proved quite excellent for his purposes, and he was soon able to see the lit part of the caverns. He shut off his flashlight, and waited until he was sure no other tour groups or wayward tourists were around before scurrying back to safety. As he made his way back to the mouth of the tunnel, two conflicting emotions dominated: he could probably do it with some help, and how could he be so dumb as to forget that magma was over 500 degrees Celsius. Well, either way...

Phase two located.

---

Ben lay amidst a tangle of limbs and scales. Lily was purring hardest, Verrea having elected to simply pass out. "Alright, I'll give you that," the blue dragoness said, "that crystal you got is more than a little overkill, but powers excellent heat resistance potions. Good luck convincing Verrea to lay with you without expressing herself in fire again." She nuzzled the human. "Not that I'll be all that much easier, of course."

The human stroked her neck, pressing his fingers in just the right way to get her to coo and nuzzle in against him. "I'm just glad it worked so well. You'd think she'd try the effect out on my hand or something, first, not my dick. And you're not so innocent there, either, miss 'oh good you can handle my deep internal temperature.'"

Lily flopped her head over and gave him the most innocent stare she could muster. "What? You knew I like my throat played with. Just because she's more open about it doesn't mean I can't be a weird dragon with weird dragon kinks."

"Still. My entire arm? I was half-worried you were going to see if you could deepthroat the rest of me, too." He booped her snout; she poked out her forked tongue.

"Aww, you think I'd be able to do that?"

"Yes."

She nuzzled her snout into his neck and flicked her tongue at the sensitive spots. "Good boy~"

They lay in silence for a few minutes before Lily tapped her paw on him. "By the way, magma is roughly twice as dense as honey, and therefore much, much slower to move in than water, so we have to manage our air well when we dive. Or use magic."

Ben felt his heart rate jump. "Uh... why do you mention that, Lily?"

She gently nipped at his neck, teasing him with sharp fangs that never broke skin. "Call it draconic intuition. And, I'm not sure if you picked up on this, but I do like having you alive rather than paying for the mistakes of a lack of research."

"Well... thanks, then. I'll take those into account."

Lily resumed purring, her legs and Verrea's holding him securely between and under them. "Very good boy."

---

A few days later, Ben was watching some speedruns on their TV screen with a blue, scaly pillow and a green, scaly blanket. He could feel Lily's muscles tense under his head as the race they were spectating entered the last level with barely two seconds difference between first and last place. And while he wasn't looking at their girlfriend, he figured she was more watching the two of them rather than the screen.

"Oh, wow, all of them got first try on that wallclip," he remarked. A quick glance to Verrea confirmed that Lily had started tapping her tail rapidly against the green dragon.

"I think upper-right got the best of that speed rule. Gap's closing," Lily said as the goal drew into sight.

Scant seconds later, the results were in. Ben's head sank into Lily's side as she relaxed and exhaled.

"Hey, speaking of time," Verrea spoke up, "isn't two the time you were shooting for, L?" And just like that, a bit of tension was there again. Ben and Verrea got up to let the blue dragoness out, and the green soon joined her.

"Mount Ternen again?" Ben asked, getting nods in response, "Can I come along this time? I finally got all the stuff needed to join you two."

Lily shook her head. "Sorry, Ben. We'd love to take you along, but still not yet."

Ben quirked an eyebrow at her. "Still? What am I missing?"

"It's... hard to say, really," Verrea chipped in, "it's like a thing about dragon stuff. Physical and mental, and you don't have it. But hey, you're doing better. And if nothing else, you got us some fun toys for the bedroom."

A blue muzzle tapped a green one. "I love you, Verrea, but do you ever think about anything else?"

"Of course I do! You think I'm that one-track-mind?" she scoffed, "there's so many other places I can fuck you two. Kitchen, living room, a few thousand feet up..."

"I... may have to take you up on that last one, if we can figure out a harness..." Ben said, successfully distracted.

"Mm. Keep it in mind, cutie! Back for dinner!" Verrea waved goodbye with her tail as the two dragonesses left.

---

"Hey, Verrea. It's been a couple weeks. Wanna head out?"

"Sure, I'm running low on smoky quartzes."

Ben got up and grabbed the magical tools he'd acquired about three weeks prior, before they'd previously refused him. Lily watched him.

"Ben-"

"I'm coming." he stated. The two dragons looked at each other for a second, then smiled.

"You sure are. Riding or driving?" Lily asked, ignoring a "phrasing" from Verrea.

"Driving." Ben looked at them. "Was that really all?"

Verrea grinned. "Dragon thing needs dragon mind. Welcome aboard, honorary dragon."

#dragon #smaugust #smaugust 2020 #writing #writers on tumblr #text

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ckret2 · 5 years ago

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And because I'm also curious, what is the weirdest thing you have had to learn/research for a story - to the point of "Damn, that's weird. Even for me"?

Every single time I’m writing a nonhuman character—like, say, a dragon, or a giant pteranodon made out of rocks, or a robotic spider—and I realize that the character is gonna be banging sometime soon and that means I have to put at least a little thought into the mechanics of how that works for their species, I have to go to google and type in “spider genitalia” and go please show me scientific diagrams and not weird horny things, please show me scientific diagrams and not weird horny things, please show me—

At this point, my weirdometer is broken. In the past year, off the top of my head, I’ve had to look up:

- what color smoke does a fish give off when you toss it in a volcano? (answer: boring gray smoke. I thought it might be black, which is why I checked, but nah.)

- almost a whole day on researching how volcanos melt rocks when magma is actually colder than their component rocks’ melting points (answer: the melting temperature of rocks is lowered when the pressure on them is reduced or when they’re mixed with water, both of which happens when rocks are forced up through the mantle toward a volcano)

- I was only looking up how rocks melt into magma because I was trying to figure out how to build a glass melting kiln and realized lava wasn’t hot enough to melt glass (much less rocks), so how does a fire get hot enough to melt glass? (answer: if you add extra oxygen to a fire it gets hotter, so you’ve gotta have some way to pump extra air over the fire fast enough to increase the heat but not so fast it also blows extra heat away)

- listen. listen I did… a lot of research on lava. (did you know that most volcanoes form on the borders of tectonic plates but a few come from tiny pinprick holes in the middle of tectonic plates instead? These are called “hotspot volcanoes” and Hawaii is one! The reason Hawaii is a long line of islands is because the tectonic plate on top of the hotspot keeps moving and so the volcano keeps punching new holes up through the plate! The biggest island is the newest and the smallest are the oldest & most eroded, and if you look off the southeast coast of Hawaii a new island is currently being formed by a volcano underwater, and if you look northwest off the coast of Hawaii there’s a bunch of eroded-away underwater islands going off in a dotted line! If you keep following it long enough at one point the underwater islands make an abrupt turn in a different direction because millions of years ago that’s when the tectonic plate Hawaii is on hit another plate and started floating in a different direction! Did you know that we didn’t even know tectonic plates existed until like the 60s?!)

- when was vaseline invented (patented in 1872; also it wasn’t “invented” so much as “discovered,” it’s a byproduct of pumping up oil)

- is it safe to put vaseline on snake junk (yes, in fact it’s often used by veterinarians when they have to prod around to figure out what a snake’s sex is)

- Which frequencies do AM and FM radio operate on, no the EXACT frequencies, how different are they from each other (AM is on 535 kHz to 1605 kHz, or 535 thousand Hz to 1,605 thousand Hz. FM is on 88 to 108 MHz or 88 million Hz to 108 million Hz. Humans can hear from 20 Hz to 20,000 Hz. A Hz, or Hertz, is basically “how many times does this thingy vibrate per second.” So the lowest AM frequencies are vibrating about 26 times faster than the highest sound a human can hear, and the lowest FM frequency vibrates about 55 times faster than the highest AM frequency)

- What was gay life in the 1920s in New Orleans like, no not the 1920s in San Francisco or New York I want New Orleans, no not what gay life in New Orleans is like today I want the 1920s, no not gay history in New Orleans back to the 1940s I want the 1920s and only the 1920s and specifically the 1920s, I will take earlier if you have it but don’t you dare try to tell me about the first gay Carnival krewe in 1958 again— (… this one’s a work in progress)

- how to translate “in the grass” from Old English into modern English in a way that lets you make a grass/grace pun in Middle English (as best I can work out, Old English for “in the grass” is “in þæm græse,” and græse evolved like græse > græs > gras > grass, where “gras” in Middle English is a potential spelling for either “grass” or “grace”)

- I mean, we’ve all had to look up “what were historically-used terms for queer people in the 30s/in the 20s/in the 10s/in the 1800s/etc” and then, tiredly, had to look up “were there any historically-used terms for queer people that don’t sound even more queerphobic than they did back then?” (Fun Victorian trivia: “Greek love” was used as code for gay love because Greek mythology was one of the only places where gay romance was readable—if you had a good enough education to learn that—because it’s Greek and therefore it’s Art and that makes it okay. Another late Victorian term, based on a now-outdated presumption of a correlation between gender identity and sexuality: “sexual inversion,” which means that a given person inverts the assumed gender roles for their assigned sex. So someone AMAB who’s called a sexual invert would, under this theory, be expected to act/dress/present as a woman AND want to/try to fulfill a woman’s gender roles AND would, “like a woman,” be sexually & romantically interested in men. Obviously, this is uhhhh, Not Good by modern standards—but it was an idea put forth by some of the first modern European psychologists to be like “the healthiest thing to do for these folks is let them live out the gender they say they are and to let them screw the way they wanna screw!” so it was an actual step in the right direction. AND it was put forth in an era when sexual preference wasn’t seen as something you’re hardwired or born with but as simply an action you can choose to pursue or not pursue, like deciding to participate in or not participate in a sport. As far as I can see this is one of the first European frameworks that presents queerness as something you are rather than something you do, so a step toward our general modern perception. What I don’t know is how widely the term was known/used in queer communities rather than in psychiatric circles.)

- Exactly how deep is Charles River in Boston (sorta 15 to 20 feet deep, it only gets deeper than 30 feet in a few small spots)

- Exactly how tall are the mountains around Death Valley (god I don’t wanna look this up again, thousands of feet, the tallest is like 11k feet)

- If you’re flying from New Zealand to Mexico but like, not in a plane, you’re just out there flying, what islands are in the area that you might pass over (if you don’t hit either French Polynesia or the Pitcairn Islands you’re kinda SOL until you reach the Galapagos. Also, all three of these island chains are over volcanic hotspots!)

- how fast can a bigass US battleship go (the bigassest ship the US Navy has is Nimitz-Class Aircraft Carriers and they can go 30 knots, which is 34 mph, which sucks. screw that, just get in a car and drive across the ocean)

So like. Aside from bracing in terror every time I have to google animal junk because I KNOW what nightmares are out there? It’s kinda hard to sort out what’s weirder than the rest, because like. I’ve gotta look up everything. Nothing’s weird when everything’s on the table.

Speaking of the potential nightmare-inducing potential of researching animal junk: I wasn’t even looking for this information, I was trying to find out what the breeding season for deer is, but this is what I found out: did you know that when male deer are planning to go get laid, they bend their heads down and pee on their own faces?

You, you know exactly what character had me doing deer research in the first place.

If I have to be haunted by this unwanted unasked-for knowledge, so does everyone else.

#about my writing #gothamopossum #ask

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urlneverheardofit · 5 years ago

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Chapter 1: The Black Prince

So I'm working on a rewrite for my project and just put out chapter 1 2.0. Thanks to everyone who made suggestions on it

The last black dragon in all of Azeroth was residing in a faraway land, nestled in a mystical continent was a long mountain range that blocked a third of the land from the rest. In this mountain range was a series of peaks that were shrouded in mists. The peaks were home to a narrow mountain pass which in turn was home to a lone tavern. This tavern was a two-story building, had a balcony overhanging a hot spring and was heavily guarded.

This is where The Black Prince took shelter. Surrounded by trained guards and assassins sworn to protect him, in the middle of nowhere on a continent largely unheard of until recently.

The Black Prince. Such an honorable title for such a hated position.

He was a dragon.

Son of a mad king.

He was the last of his bloodline.

The Black Prince had a lot stacked against him when it came to his reputation, that madness and corruption that ran in his blood didn't help.

Still, The Black Prince, more informally known as Wrathion, did his best to alleviate the concerns of the other dragon orders, and the rest of the world. After all, his father Neltharion was not the only Aspect to go mad.

The Dragon Aspects were leaders of the different orders of dragons, called Dragonflights, and they ruled over their respective colors, while none held more power than any other.

The Red Dragonflight was charged with protecting life of all forms. They were lead by the beautiful Alexstrasza, the Life-Binder.

The Blue Dragonflight protected all the magic of the world, helping the mortal races understand and use magic themselves. They had originally been led by Malygos but after the Nexus wars and Malygos' descent to madness, the young dragon Kalecgos had taken the mantle of Spell-Weaver.

The Bronze Dragonflight were the keepers of time. They were led by Nozdormu, who, in an alternate timeline, went mad and became the Infinite but in the current present, stood proud as the Timeless One.

The Green Dragonflight were the protectors of the Emerald Dream, as well as patrons of nature itself and were lead by Ysera the Dreamer.

Finally, the Black Dragonflight, the once noble protectors of Azeroth had been corrupted, twisted to insanity. Now all the remained of them was a horrible memory of their once leader, who was originally named Neltharion the Earth Warder, but would forever be known as Deathwing. The last living fragment of the once-proud order was Wrathion himself, spared of the corruption thanks to the actions of a red dragon.

The Earth Warder, the Spell Weaver and the Infinite, all lost to madness of one form or another.

He understood, to some extent why others reacted the way they did, but he had not yet proven himself to be following in their footsteps. It was not fair to judge him for the sins of his fallen ancestors.

After Deathwing's defeat, ironically taking place on the day Wrathion hatched, the world had moved on, according to the other flights. Since the mysterious lands of Pandaria had been rediscovered in the southernmost part of the world, Wrathion had been interested in the new land. He refrained from exploring this new land himself until some years after its discovery. Partially because he had been so young and he had needed time to mature and learn what he could from his predecessors, save the insanity, of course.

He had begun his life in the mountain fortress known as Blackrock Mountain. The former lair of Nefarian, more famously known by mortals, who were responsible for his death, as Blackwing. Nefarian's lair had provided a perfect hatching ground for a black dragon whelp. With the lower level of Nefarian's lair being submerged in magma. It was in the accursed lair of his half-brother that Wrathion's studies had begun.

Nefarian, in life, and in undeath as well, had been an avid experimenter, his studies and tests had been long and painful on its draconic victims of all colors. Dragons that had been taken as captives by Blackwing's lackeys and were tormented in unspeakable fashions.

Their slow deaths had not been in vain, however, because Wrathion had been able to glean much of the study's results from Nefarian's meticulous notes. He had learned much of the history of his beloved Azeroth within those tomes.

A dozen years passed in a lair he hated even the thought of. Wrathion had noticed early on he was not growing any larger as a normal dragon would. He had also realized at the end of those years that he would need to introduce himself to mortals at some point or another and thus moved nests, knowing he needed a more suitable location for him to begin to work on transforming himself into a mortal so as to hide the fact he was, in truth, still a whelp.

Thus Wrathion had traveled to from the continent known as the Eastern Kingdoms to the continent on the Western hemisphere known as Kalimdor. Thankfully, he had recruited a blue dragon to help transport him via a portal to his destination. His new den was located in a cave that spiraled down for miles and whose mouth looked like a dragon's toothy maw. This cave had once belonged to his half-sister, known as Onyxia, who, while not the scientist that Nefarian was, and had assisted Deathwing by hatching his army of dragons instead.

He spent another six years of learning to perfect his transformation. His human form was a tall, lean human with caramel-colored skin, blazing red eyes, and long curly black hair. He even had something of a beard starting to grow in.

Despite his human form aging accordingly, for the time being, his dragon form remained a whelp. A small black scaled whelp with big red eyes and absolutely no useful natural weapons yet. Small as the day he had hatched. Still, his humanoid form looked like a grown human. So it would be child's play to fool mortals, simply do not transform into a dragon around them and none would be the wiser.

Only after he had mastered staying in his human form for extended periods of time did he set off to Pandaria. He had inherited his father's hoard and was able to fund himself a number of guards and agents. Again Wrathion enlisted the assistance of a blue dragon to simplify his transport to Pandaria. Securing a place to stay and a group of sailing mages he began to set up his studies once again. Pandaria was interesting to the dragon because after so long of isolation the secrets it may reveal to a young dragon were alluring on its own. Plus it allowed for practice interacting with mortals of all stripes.

Which brought him to the present moment. He sat alone at a sturdy wooden table with similarly crafted benches on the long sides of the furniture. To the north was an open archway to the hot spring Wrathion liked to soak in at sunset. It was as close to familiar as he got out here. In the Northeast corner was a staircase leading up to the guest chambers. East of that was a two-person bar. The tavern was staffed by a mated pair, both of the Pandaren race, who were humanoid bears for lack of a better description. The male ran the bar and the female was the one who served the food and drinks to anyone sitting at the table. Given that Wrathion was the only patron in this quaint tavern the male had busied himself with refurbishing the building to accommodate the tastes of a dragon. In the south of the room was the open doorway out in the mountain pass. He had two bodyguards who stayed at his side at all times. One was an orcish woman called Left. The other was a human woman called Right. Right guarded the door to the hot spring. Left guarded the threshold out to the mountain pass while Wrathion wandered in thought, having taken the day off after a particularly daring delve into ancient ruins.

"You have visitors," Left grunted, and shortly thereafter Wrathion heard them too. Turning and setting his elbows on the table so he could listen and watch. Many hoofbeats thundered down the gravel-road pass and stopped outside the tavern. There was shifting in equipment, the rustling of armor, and hushed voices as the mortals approached the tavern.

Wrathion didn't have to wait much longer before he could see them through the doorway. It was a patrol of about nine soldiers bearing blue and gold coloring on their otherwise undecorated white plate armor.

In the center of the organized square of the soldiers were three individuals that stood out. The first was a wolfman. He stood on two feet like a human but he was covered in shaggy gray-and-white fur from head to toe, had enlarged fangs and claws, and bore no other weapons. He wore thick leather armor, which paired well with his stern blue eyes, and his ears were flattened to his head.

The second was a hulking human man with long brown hair, deep brown eyes, and wearing heavy blue and gold armor adorned with lion head pauldrons. He carried two massive blades that were forged around globes of light, a deep scar over his eyes and nose, and a firm set scowl on his face told Wrathion he meant business.

The last was a short, slim human boy with a shock of blonde hair, eyes as blue as the sea. He wore decorative blue and golden clothing. He walked with a cane and a severe hobble yet he was clearly the youngest of the group, but he kept up well with his faster companions. He looked shy and timid, glancing around as though some unseen predator would leap out of the shadows cast by the mountain range to swallow the boy whole.

Wrathion's attention was yanked from the boy forcibly when the big human male stood in the doorway, blocking out Wrathion's view of the other two.

"Dragon," The man began in a gruff voice, gazing right into the eyes of Wrathion without flinching, "I am King Varian Wrynn of the Alliance. We come to ask for your assistance."

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ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut · 6 years ago

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Fate’s Divergence Chapter 3

@halfelven-maiden

@astraskylark

@terra-mations

@the-bagel-queen

@magykqueste

@i-poseidon95

Hey guys! Thanks so much for everyone who reviewed and subscribed and bookmarked! Everyone’s support of this story makes me so happy!

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragon Prince

--------------------

Callum gazed out the window anxiously, trying to pinpoint his mother and stepfather’s horses on the horizon, but all that greeted him was the dull wintery lands of Katolis. He sighed, nervously fiddling with his hands before going back to his desk where many of his drawings were, along with his sketchbook.

It was the best gift he’s ever gotten. Now he could have something to take with him everywhere and sketch whatever came to mind. He was so grateful to the king for giving it to him, for giving him and his mother a home with him, for giving him a baby brother. Callum was very lucky, he thought.

If only they would return, then he’d be even more lucky.

His tongue poked out of his mouth as he carefully sketched his mother, the king, him, and his baby brother Ezran. Callum was hoping to give it to his mother and the king when they returned, to show how much better he’s gotten at drawing. He was excited to hear his mother’s voice praising him and the king’s gentle laugh.

He missed them greatly.

The sun was well over the horizon by the time he finished, Callum giving a satisfied grin at his work. He was young, but his mother often praised him for having such talent. She joked he could maybe do portraits one day. The king said he might even hire him to do his own portrait.

“Callum!” six-year-old Claudia, Lord Viren’s daughter, burst into his room practically bouncing. “They’re back! Dad and the king and queen are back!” she announced. Callum grinned shyly, hastily getting up from his desk to join her. She grabbed his hand and they ran through the palace, giggling in happiness at the return of their families. By the time they got to the courtyard, eight-year-old Soren was already there, huffing.

“What took you so long?! They’re coming in the gate now!” Soren complained. Claudia dropped Callum’s hand and tackled Soren in a hug, making the boy go “oof!”

“Oh come on, Sor-bear! We didn’t take that long! You’re just impatient!” Claudia playfully critiqued her brother. “A future crownsguard should learn patience from time to time!”

“As a future crownsguard, I’ll outrank you so you should give me respect!” Soren stuck his tongue out at her. Claudia responded by yanking his tongue with her fingers. “Ack! Wold fwingers!” Soren cried.

“Here they are!” Callum interrupted the siblings, seeing the traveling party enter, the titan’s heart in tow. Callum saw both his mother and the king were safe, if a little worse for wear. Nonetheless, seeing them all right made him relieved.

“What’s that?” Soren questioned, and Callum directed his attention to what Soren was pointing at. He was so caught up in seeing his family safe that he didn’t notice the other person on Harrow’s horse, riding with him. His eyes widened.

“It’s an elf!” Claudia said excitedly. “Oh! They must’ve brought her home for Dad’s Dark Magic! Think of all the things he can do with elf ingredients!” Claudia was on Cloud 9 with all the possibilities.

Callum stayed silent, just watching the elf. She looked like his age. He didn’t know elves could be kids too. His green eyes traced her features, lingering on her pointed ears and horns, fascinated.

However, what unnerved him was the desolate look in her violet eyes, as if she was being led to the gallows. Callum felt his heart clench for some reason, wanting more than anything to reach out to her. The king was kind—he was sure he was treating her well, Callum reassured himself.

“Ohhhh I wonder if they really do suck blood! That’d be interesting to study.” Claudia remarked. Soren scoffed.

“God, you’re so weird Clauds. Drinking blood is disgusting!”

“Not for Elves I heard! I mean, what else do they eat?”

“How about actual food? At least… I hope so.” Soren looked like he was going to turn green. Claudia laughed, ruffling his hair.

The party stopped right near them and Claudia and Soren raced to their father. Viren got off his horse to greet his children.

“Dad! Are you going to dissect the elf?” were Claudia’s first words.

“NO!” Queen Sarai finally spoke, looking horrified at the prospect. “No, Claudia. No dissecting will be allowed.” She said a little more gentle to the younger girl, who was shocked the kind queen spoke to her in such a manner.

“She is to be treated with respect, children.” Harrow told them, dismounting his horse, turning to take the little elf in his arms. She numbly accepted his assistance, glancing around in a dull manner. It appeared she was shaking a little. Harrow rubbed her arms to try and soothe her. Callum also wanted to approach and soothe the elf girl. He felt himself take a step forward, his hand twitching, before another voice called him.

“Callum!” his mother was joyful when she saw him. Callum’s heart leapt in happiness, racing towards Sarai as she dismounted. The queen embraced her son tightly. “I’m so glad to see you!”

“Mom…?” Callum voiced, noticing the tired eyes and sad smile. “Are you okay?”

He saw his mother glance at the elf, observing her, before turning her head towards him again.

“Yes. I am fine. Never better.” Sarai promised. He couldn’t help but feel there was something she wasn’t sharing, but he didn’t want to make her sad. He hugged his mother again, trying to convey he was here for her if she needed it.

“Callum!” King Harrow called, walking towards them with the elf still in his arms. Callum saw the elf had a curious glint in her eye, despite her slumped posture. Callum surveyed her curiously as well. His hand twitched again, wanting to touch her. Everything about her was so captivating. Her skin, her hair, her eyes, her markings, her ears, her horns—he wanted nothing more than to portray her on paper. “I hope you and Ezran were good while we were away?” the king teased.

“Yes sir. Ezran missed you.” Callum straightened his posture while addressing the king. The king gave him a tender smile.

“I missed you both as well.” He then knelt down, showing him the elf. “This little one will be living with us from now on. I would like you to think of her as family, okay?”

Callum could see Lord Viren grimace at the statement, eyeing the elf with distaste in the background. As for Soren and Claudia, they were watching the interaction between Harrow and him with interest.

His eyes found the elf’s again, and they stared at each other. He could see under the dullness, she had a hint of apprehension in her eyes, as if expecting he was going to hurt her. He saw her clutching Harrow for dear life, and Callum realized she had four fingers instead of five on each hand.

“Hi…” he said quietly, as if nervous a loud noise was going to scare her. “I’m Callum. What’s your name?”

She simply blinked at him, before shaking her head in dismay.

“Manka ere' amin sinte mani lle naa sayien…” she murmured in a foreign language that Callum’s never heard before. She turned to the king, tired, but firm. “iire amin naa goien gurth-?”

“It’s all right, little one.” Harrow reassured her. “Callum, Sarai, Ezran, and I will make sure you’re happy. I promise you.”

“How long is she going to stay with us?” Callum wondered. He hoped it was for a while. He would love to draw tons of pictures of her!

“This is her home now, sweetie.” Sarai placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling softly. “She’s going to be with us for a long time.”

“Come, let’s go inside and get settled in.” Harrow beckoned everyone. He then turned to Viren. “How soon can you do the spell, my friend?”

“I can do so immediately in the morning. Tonight, I will prepare everything.” Viren replied. Harrow sighed in relief.

“Excellent. Escort the wounded to the infirmary and everyone relax for the night.” Harrow told everyone. Callum saw Aunt Amaya went with the wounded and frowned.

“Is Auntie all right?” he asked Sarai.

“Yes. She just got injured a little, but she’ll be fine.” Sarai reassured her son. “Let’s go inside now and we’ll see Ezran as well.”

Callum grinned.

--------------------

Harrow had placed the elf in a bedroom near Callum’s before they went to dinner, saying she needed rest. Callum was disappointed he wouldn’t see more of the elf, but figured she probably was tired with how exhausted she looked.

He wished he could understand what she was saying. Sarai and Harrow explained she didn’t know Common, and that made him wonder what language she was speaking.

“She was speaking Elvish, sweetie.” Sarai told him smiling. “All elves in Xadia speak Elvish. She knew some Common so it’s possible she was in the process of learning it.”

“We maybe should’ve asked Xadia to give us a translator for her then.” Callum said as he gulped down some food. “Then maybe we could know what she was saying! Maybe you guys should write a letter to Xadia asking to come help her learn Common?”

Sarai and Harrow shared a look. Ezran was giggling, playing with his food as Sarai fed him. Callum caught the look.

“What’s wrong?” Callum was confused. “Can’t Xadia help?”

“…no, sweetie. Xadia can’t help.” Sarai finally said. Callum furrowed his brow.

“Well then Xadia is mean! Did they kick her out? Is that why she’s with us?” Callum continued to ask questions, the mystery surrounding the elf driving him mad.

“She’s with us because she helped us.” Harrow finally said, him and Sarai looking uncomfortable. Callum grinned.

“Oh! She helped get the Magma Titan’s heart! Xadia probably was mad at her then!” Callum concluded. Sarai and Harrow didn’t correct him. He helped himself to some more food. “It’s okay! She’ll be happy with us! We’re going to take care of her, right?”

“Yes.” Sarai told him, smiling gently. “We’ll take care of her no matter what.”

-----------------------

“I should’ve told him…” Sarai whispers when her and Harrow are alone in their room, Ezran sleeping soundly at her chest. “I should’ve told him my mistake.”

“He’s young, Sarai. I don’t think he would understand.” Harrow tried to comfort his wife. Sarai shook her head.

“The little elf understood perfectly what we’ve done!” Sarai protested. “How can we believe she’ll be happy here when she knows in the back of her mind, I was the one who took her from her home?” Tears came to her eyes. Harrow looked at her in sadness.

“Maybe so… perhaps we are foolish in thinking we can make the little one happy…” Harrow said, but then he smiled at her. “But… I will never stop being thankful for her standing up to Thunder to protect you. Perhaps she’ll be angry for a long time, but eventually, hopefully, she’ll come to know how much it means to us she did what she did, even if it didn’t turn out the way she expected.”

“So we ignore her anger?” Sarai was displeased with that option.

“No. We accept it. We take it. And we share in her suffering.” Harrow told her. “We must accept we caused her suffering but show her we hold no ill will towards her, even if she never forgives us.”

----------------------

Rayla stared out at the moon mournfully. Humans confused her. They don’t torture her or chain her up. Instead, they put her in a nice bedroom and fed her good food! She couldn’t help but constantly think she was entering a trap. Maybe they were sadistic and wanted her to be comfortable before they killed her?

Perhaps their sadistic ways are what got them banished from Xadia. They invented Dark Magic after all. It made sense.

Yet, she remembered the human male and his human woman (she figured they must be married with the affection they give each other) speaking to her softly, giving her comfort, despite neither of them understanding what she was saying and she them. She remembered the human woman who made weird gestures with her hands, giving her an easy-going smile.

She wished more than anything she knew more Common. Rayla was just beginning to learn from Runaan and Ethari what Common was. It was so much different than Elvish that’s for sure. She knew several phrases like “Don’t hurt” or “Go away” and words like “Mum” and “Dad” and “No” and “Yes” but that was about it.

She refused to beg though. Moonshadow elves do not beg for mercy. She would not plead or sob to spare her. It would be honorless.

Rayla gazed once more at the moon, brow creasing. She wondered what her parents, Runaan, and Ethari were doing right now. Did they miss her? She certainly missed them.

Tears came to her eyes, but she hurriedly wiped them away, glaring at the tears in her hand. However, her eyes continued to make more. She hiccuped.

It hit her then—how she would never see her parents or Ethari or Runaan ever again. She would never get to learn how to be a Moonshadow elf warrior or grow up with her kind. She would never get to frustrate Runaan again with her stubbornness or hear her mother’s lullabies or have her father braid her hair or have Ethari make her moonberry surprise. She would never see her king or her queen. She would never see any elf ever again.

She would never see Xadia, her home, ever again.

Sobs wracked her body violently as she curled in on herself. Tears rushed down her cheeks, and she hugged herself.

She was going to die here. Alone and away from her home, with no one to say goodbye to or mourn her. She kept telling herself she had to be brave—that she would make Xadia proud in her death.

“Amin naa ba! Amin naa ba! Amin naa ba!” Rayla told herself fiercely as she sobbed.

I am already dead.

Runaan had drilled this into her when she first began her training. Her mother and father lived by it. All Moonshadow elves lived by it. Moonshadow elves do not show fear, no matter what.

And yet, she was terrified.

Someone laid their hand on her shoulder, and Rayla jolted, rising her head up. Concerned green eyes stared back at her.

------

There’s chapter 3! There will be more Callum and Rayla next chapter! Please let me know what you think so far.

Translations:

Manka ere' amin sinte mani lle naa sayien = if only I knew what you were saying

iire amin naa goien gurth- = when am I going to die?

Amin naa ba = I am dead

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forbearnan · 6 years ago

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*me being sleep deprived at five am voice* what if... Arthur had dreams too... like morgana..... but there..... was a god speaking to him..... about merlin........... but he didn't KNOW it was merlin

(here take this concept, not finished + minimal editing but i thought it was interesting)

"I thought I had already taught you this lesson," the being says impatiently, then begins to explain, at a pace just a bit too quick for him to understand all at once. "I sent the griffin to show you, beings of magic can only be slain by magic. Just as beings of blood can only be slain by blood."

"I'm not-- the griffin was killed by Lancelot, he didn’t use magic."

"Wrong. The beast was slain by him and if you hadn't been napping during my lesson you would know what I am talking about."

He had not been napping, he had been promptly knocked out by being thrown into a rock but he doesn't admit that because she always tells him he has is the patron of battle, blood and death and he should better learn to take advantage of that. Whatever that meant.

"Besides," he starts, dialing back to something else she said that made absolutely no sense, "people or 'beings of blood' or whatever, can be killed by magic, I've seen it."

"Wrong again. You've seen force used to kill people. You've seen wind, and fire and rock which all can be manipulated by magic." She sighs, "again, it is similar to how he killed the griffin, but the inverse, where he enchanted the spear to drive the magic into the beasts heart. It wielded with solid force, but the weapon to kill was magic. Just as what you speak of are weapons to the solid being, being aided by magic. It's very simple, really."

He rubs his temples, "Does he also have a god nagging him in his dreams each night or is that just me?" He asks bitterly.

She gives him a reproachful look, "magic, spirit, and life will speak to him a different way. She will talk to him through beings in your plane. And she will attempt to trick him and lead him astray, for that is her way. You should be grateful that I speak with you so directly," she reminds him sharply.

He frowns, "I thought patron gods were meant to guide you, why would she try to trick him?" He asks.

She shakes her head solemnly, "magic is fickle and always comes with a price, spirit is mischievous and whimsical, and life is feeling and unknowing. It is her way." She repeats. "This is why you must guide him as much as he will shield you. If you fail in this, there will be consequences, blood to pay. That is our way too."

He scowls at her, "I don't know how to do that! I don't even know who he is!"

"And yet you must."

He sighs heavily, "can't you just tell me his name?" he asks, not for the first time.

She shakes her head, "that is a lesson you must learn on your own."

"She made me swear not to confuse you," the goddess giggles, "or to try and lead you astray."

"You wanted to speak with me," he wonders warily.

"I was curious about you!" She exclaims, with a gesture that reads to him like a joyful clasping of hands, but not quite.

Of all the gods that he's encountered-- well, just the one, or, two now-- they are always hard to parse, visually. And in most other ways too actually.

Like if blood, battle and death spoke I a certain tone he was influenced with ideas but could no longer understand the words she was speaking, and if she ever touched him, it was rather like he was enveloped and surrounded in something unknowable rather than having a hand on his shoulder, yet he still understood it was a hand on his shoulder.

Visually, of course, was the most obvious of the unknowable qualities they held, seeing was the first way most people met after all and it was constant.

Blood, battle and death was vivid reds with depths of burgundy, earth tones and towering like some great stone pillar. She was wrapped up in shade and yet somehow still glowed steadily like magma or the fire of the hearth. And trying to parse what he was seeing too hard would only make it harder to understand, he learned. Instead he just let his eyes relax and understood the gestures she was making, like he knew some dead language in a past life and was hearing it once more.

Magic, spirit and life was much different, in almost every way. She was teal blues and greens like rivers and streams cutting through trees. She was also golden sunlight streaming through the leaves and the fire that burned it all down. She was snow and rain and the grass and bugs. She was also, smaller somehow. but still so all encompassing and endless. Like a star staring you down in the night sky, relentlessly, radiating light into a void. And she almost seemed to be flitting around him, but everywhere at once too.

"You're interesting,” she tells him. “Blood, battle and death seemed invested in mine as well."

"She was curious?" He asks.

She laughs its a mind-bending sound.

"She does not get curious, silly, she only has what is and what isn't. She's invested in him because he is your flip-side, your half, your partner. You understand."

"You should let her see him.”

"I may," she agrees slyly, "it would be fun to see what comes of it."

He sighs, trying to parse her was giving him a headache, maybe it was just because she wasn't his patron but he found blood, battle and death much simpler, even just to look at, though they were both unknowable.

"Do you do anything solely for his benefit?" He asks bitterly.

She stares at him now, closer than before, he can tell by the buzz on his skin. "I do everything for his benefit, his detriment, his enjoyment, and despair," she tells him, voice suddenly sorrowful.

He stiffens at the proximity, "What's his name?" He asks. She moves away now but he finds he still can't relax.

"You do not know?"

"She won't tell me."

Again a giggle, "its funnier if you don't know," she tells him.

“Pure magic is no simple thing to come by, but then again, neither is pure blood. Most people are made at least a little of both magic and blood. You and he are the exceptions to this rule. He is pure magic and simply cannot be killed by any physical means. You on the other hand are blood and can never be destroyed with pure magic."

He squints up at her, "how does that make sense? So, basically, nothing can kill him and something you said was really hard to come by in the first place is my only strength!?” She gives him a look of exasperation.

"It is not your only strength,” she chides, “you are the patron of battle, in this you are strong, you are of blood, your connections will last, and you are of death, you have no need to fear of endings. And beyond that, he will ward away what would do you harm for as long as he can, and he can never hurt you."

"It sounds like he could.”

"It is not in his nature, but his path is one of choices, deception and shroud. Yours is a simpler one. You will see him like a light in the dark and you will know where you are when the rest seems lost. But do not mistake him for a lantern. He is a star in a northern sky. Lonesome and far and you must reach to him. For otherwise he will always be alone, unknown."

“How?” he demands in desperation. “Where is he?” he pleads with her.

“He is close,” she whispers.

And he lets out a breath because that’s the most he’s gotten but does it mean he’s already here or he’s soon to come? Arthur has never met a sorcerer he could actually trust in his life, yet this one is meant to be different. His other half.

“I am I incomplete then?” he asks, “if he’s not here yet.”

She shakes her head, “you have never been incomplete.” she tells him, “that is as if I said the moon is not whole without the sun. They are something on their own, separate and complete, and yet with the sun, the moon can shine too, it is given new life, new meaning. He will live out a moonless existence for most of his long, long life. Your pull on his tides will be over too quickly for him. You should rejoice that you will have him for a much larger portion of yours.”

He frowns up at her, eyebrows drawing together, “what are you saying? He’s going to live forever?”

“From his perspective, yes. From mine, no, only quite a while.”

He reels at this knowledge, “and me? I’m going to live a human lifespan?”

She gives him a considering look, and tips her head, “no,” she says, “you will die in your prime.”

He expected nothing less. Somehow, it wasn’t a punch to the gut to hear, it did not leave him horrified, wanting for more, to hear anything but that. He did not want for more time for himself. If anything, death was something he’s always embraced, as a warrior and a leader. Who was he to tell a man to go willing to die if he was not willing himself?

But still, he finds himself outraged at the news. But not for himself, not really.

"And how is that fair?!” He demands, "If we're made for each other why would I die young and he have to go on forever!?"

"It is not about fair, you are simply a short beginning and he a long end.”

He seethes at this, “I thought this was supposed to be about balance! That we were two parts of a whole!” he leans forward and he can feel the unending heat radiating from her, but also the way she seemed to draw all of it from him, leaving him freezing, shivering, she was so cold, yet so full of warmth. He clutches at his arms, voice shaking as he asks, “why does he have to go alone?”

She hesitates, and sounds mournful as she says, “your loss will leave him wanting, for all his days...” Then she blinks and seems to recall something, “remember, Arthur. There is ground under your feet. You must remind him of this before you go.

"Be the roots to his tree. For it will be one of life. And I do hope it will flower.”

#long post #wip #merlin posting #merthur #my writing #im actaully very into this concept so i might write more sometime idk

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nitewrighter · 6 years ago

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Gency Week Day 3

Daffodil: Chivalry/New Beginnings

A Continuation of the Star Wars AU-- Genji’s “A More Elegant Weapon” line spoke to me, so here’s more of that. Genji considers a new start!!!

---

“Mmh...” Ashe’s eyes blearily opened. Her head was pounding, “Whuh...” she suddenly snapped to attention and found she was belted into a co-pilot’s seat, “What the--!?” Her eyes flicked to the exterior. Iego’s moons and asteroids were far behind them. Hyperspace strobed in the ship’s viewport.

Ashe looked sharply over at Hanzo, who was sullenly piloting the ship.

“The kyber--” she started.

“Probably exploded, thanks to you,” said Hanzo.

“Thanks to your brother,” said Ashe, furrowing her brow.

Hanzo just grimaced and rolled his grip on the ship’s steering.

“You know I don’t miss. You know that blaster shot was going in one place, but then baby brother has to get his choobies in a bunch over some backwater moony and suddenly you’re out a brother, and we’re all out a hundred thousand cred score.”

She’s not a backwater moony! Hanzo remembered Genji’s voice and his stomach turned. Given how much they bickered, it was statistically likely that any last time they would speak to each other would be an argument, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“If he hadn’t---” Ashe caught herself and then gave him a sidelong glance, “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, pushing her hair back.

“He was my brother,” said Hanzo, “My responsibility. I didn’t think he would...he flirts but I never thought he would get so involved so as to...”

“Well we’re gonna have to find another score... the Dawn had a lot riding on this, you understand,” said Ashe. She leaned back in her seat, “Kriff... Not looking forward to that Holocomm meeting...”

“You were in charge,” said Hanzo.

“And you told me you had your little brother under control,” said Ashe. Hanzo just tensed where he was sitting. Ashe sighed. “Look,” she said, “You and your brother were unique. Most people end up real lonely in our line of work, because when stuff like this happens... it hits harder when you were close to them.”

“You have Bob,” said Hanzo.

“Bob’s a droid, Hanzo,” said Ashe, “Droids can be fixed. Sometimes you can even keep a backup of their personality on a data drive. And with a handful of exceptions, most droids I can trust a helluva lot more than I can trust people.”

“If you hadn’t fired that shot...” Hanzo started and then trailed off.

“If Genji had just acted the way Crimson Dawn are supposed to act and let me shoot that moony, he’d still be here,” said Ashe, folding her arms, “But he didn’t. So he isn’t. That’s how things are with the Crimson Dawn, Hanzo. If you can’t live with it, you die for it. I’m sorry, Hanzo, I am, but that’s our life. That’s how it is.”

---

“Welcome to the Rebel Alliance.”

The woman stood in front of the two of them looking satisfied for several seconds, as if all their problems were solved. Mercy fidgeted with her bandaged hands and Genji looked around. Naturally a medical ship didn’t exactly scream ‘rebel alliance.’ There were maybe two other patients recovering, one simply sleeping and another being looked over by a medical droid with the Rebellion’s emblem on its shoulder. The woman standing in front of them was wearing an X-Wing pilot’s uniform, as well.

“...The rebel alliance?” Genji repeated, his own voice raspy, “What are you doing this far from the core worlds?”

“Relief work,” said the woman, folding her arms, “We’re also assessing the former levels of Empire control out here.”

“The Empire has fallen,” said Genji.

“Palpatine has fallen. The Imperial fleet is scrambling--They still have enough firepower to be a significant threat if and when they regroup. We were heading away from Millius Prime when we got your distress call, we assumed you had been attacked by them or something--the remains of the fleet have just been... falling on and cannibalizing any poor little ship they come across. The tide’s turned and the galaxy’s fighting back, sure, but that doesn’t change the fact that the Empire still has footholds all over it.”

“So you’re still fighting it,” said Mercy.

“Well of course!” said the woman, she extended a hand, “Tracer, Scout Squadron leader.”

“Mercira Zygarel” Mercy hesitantly shook Tracer’s hand with her bandaged one. “Friends call me Mercy. I was a healer in my village but if the rebellion has need of me...”

“...are you volunteering?” Tracer tilted her head.

“I thought I was volunteering before--” Mercy started but then looked at Genji, caught herself and cleared her throat, “They say it was a Jedi who took down the empire. The elders say was Jedi who saved my people back during the Clone Wars. I would like to return the favor, if that’s possible.”

“Could always use more healers,” said Tracer, looking around, “You know your way around Bacta?”

Mercy nodded. “Surgical procedures for a handful of species as well. Humans, Diathim, Toydarian, Twi’lek, Besalisk, Togruta, and Rodian. I--I know I could learn more if I could work with the Rebellion.”

Really not a backwater moony then, thought Genji, And I nearly got her killed trying to steal Kyber for the Crimson Dawn...

“And what about you?” said Tracer, looking at him. Her eyes trailed down to his leg stumps within the bacta suit, “You can stay here as long as you need to recover, but you don’t have to cast your lot in with us. Especially not after what you’ve been through. Do you have somewhere to go back to?”

Genji tensed slightly. “I--My brother...” he looked down at his leg stubs and took a steadying breath, “I need some time to think.”

“I understand,” said Tracer, clapping him on the shoulder. She looked back at Mercy. “You said you were both caught in... some kind of explosion?”

“Volcanic!” Mercy blurted out, before easing up in her seat, “It was... a volcanic explosion... We were doing a--a-umm a geological survey and... some magma must have hit a gas pocket.”

“A surgeon and a geologist?” said Tracer, impressed.

“It’s a hobby,” Mercy and Genji said at the same time.

“Nasty luck, that,” said Tracer. She folded her arms, “Welp, as I’ve said, you can take the time you need to recover here. We’re headed away from Iego, but we have your ship--”

“Ichimonji!?” Genji sat up, feeling the bacta in the suit slosh up against him.

“Well we couldn’t very well leave it floating out there!” said Tracer, “It’s mag-locked to this vessel. But when you’re ready to go, just let us know. I need to get back to commanding the squadron, but we do have more to discuss. You just rest and recover and we’ll have more questions, later.”

“Understood,” said Genji as Tracer walked out. The door whirred shut behind her. Genji looked around.

A long silence passed between him and Mercy.

“You covered for me,” said Genji.

“Well... I don’t know what the Rebellion would do to Crimson Dawn, but from what I’ve seen of how they deal with the empire, they don’t strike me as very fond of bullies and liars.”

‘Bullies and liars,’ thats a nice way of saying ‘murderers and thieves’ thought Genji.

Mercy suddenly tensed up. “Oh no--I--I didn’t mean that. I don’t think you...” she caught herself her lips thinned, she didn’t know what to think of him at this point. He and Hanzo had given her nothing but lies on Thysoi, but now he was like this because he had jumped in to stop Ashe from shooting her. “You’ve been through so much already,” she said softly.

Genji gave a nod towards her own bandages, “You’ve been through a lot too,” he said. He flinched in bed. “Your wings--” he said in alarm.

Mercy spread her wings once iridescent and smooth, now ragged on the edges, with a hole burned through the lower corner of the other. They still had their iridescence but they were stained by fire, no longer moon-white and more warped, with patches of gray and still iridescent burned spots like black opal.

“...I’m so sorry,” said Genji, “About everything--you only wanted to help Jedi and the Rebellion and my brother and I...”

“I should have known better. I was so eager to get away from Iego I was willing to believe you--”

“That’s not your fault,” said Genji.

“And you wouldn’t have even taken me with you even if you were in the rebellion,” Mercy’s shoulders bunched up.

“Mercy, if we weren’t in the Crimson Dawn, I would have taken you anywhere in the galaxy you wanted,” said Genji, leaning forward slightly with the bacta sloshing in his suit.

Mercy’s brow crinkled. “But you were in the Crimson Dawn,” she said, still remembering the sting of the truth back in the caves.

“We were brought into it young,” said Genji, “My brother and I were really only able to survive the lower ranks of it because we had each other.”

“...Are you going to go back to him?” she asked quietly.

“If the Crimson Dawn finds out I’m still alive, they’ll probably kill me for destroying all that Kyber, regardless of how much Hanzo argues for me,” said Genji, “I’ll... I’ll have to find some way of letting him know I’m still alive, but I don’t know how I’m going to do that without alerting all of them. I’m not exactly in any position to fight them.”

“So what now?” said Mercy.

“I don’t know,” said Genji, “Everything I knew how to do before...” he trailed off, “Charming, and good with vibroblades in a tight corner. That’s it. No other redeeming qualities. And I don’t know how good the second one is if...” he trailed off and looked at his leg stumps.

“There are prosthetics available,” said Mercy, “I’m sure the rebellion...” she trailed off.

“Do you think they’d have me?”

“Do you believe in freeing the galaxy?” Mercy tilted her head.

“All my brother and I really believed in was survival,” said Genji with a sigh, “But... if that’s the only thing I believed in and that got me here, maybe it’s time to believe in something more.”

“And why should I trust what you say, now?” said Mercy, glancing off, “Why should they trust you?”

“You can’t. I’ll have to earn it,” said Genji, “You can trust that I want legs, and that the Crimson Dawn will kill me if they find out I’m still alive, though.”

Mercy’s eyes trailed down to his leg stubs. “Why did you step in like that?” she said quietly.

“The way you looked at me when you thought I was a good person... it made me want to be that person. I liked you, I did--I still do. But I understand completely if you never want to see my face again.” He brought up his bacta-suit wrapped hand and brushed the plastex along his lower jawline, feeling the bandages and some plastex, “I probably don’t want to see my own face right now,” he mumbled.

“It’s---It’s not that bad,” said Mercy. She smiled a little and gestured at the bandages lining her own face. “I won’t mind seeing it again. We match, at least.”

“And if you still look amazing--” Genji caught himself and then huffed, “A bit too soon, isn’t it?”

“Definitely too soon,” said Mercy with a bittersweet smile.

Genji let his eyes trail up to the ceiling of the med-bay. “So... Rebel Alliance, huh?”

“I... I think it’ll be good for you,” said Mercy.

“Well I’ve been robbing the galaxy blind for well over the past decade,” he said with a slight smile, “Probably should start paying it back.”

#gency #gency week #gencyweek

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transvavsquad · 7 years ago

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title: infinity times infinity pairing: freewood, jerevin, jeremwood, jerevinwood au: skyfactory warnings: temporary character death summary: The darkness was painful, some had said, and without a torch to guide you and to warm you, then you would surely be torn apart by it. Some thought it was victory‒ the god of Night had won in his battle, and in celebration was wiping out the weak. Others, like Jeremy, thought it was sadness, or anger. The night god had lost his love, and the people had lost their light. The sun was gone. The Solar one had been taken.

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chapter 7: the dawn

It was... really hot, in the afterlife. Uncomfortably hot. The warmth burnt through his skin to his bone, it felt like, scratching at his very core.

Jeremy groaned in discomfort and rolled over onto his side, pulling at the thin fabric that clung to his chest through his sweat, taking deep heaving breaths of hot air that scratched his throat. As he moved a sharpness stung his chest and he scratched at it, annoyed, before he remembered and shot up in sudden shock.

The world around him was mostly dark, a thick fog of smoke and such settling in the near distance‒ around and beneath him were cliffs and ravines of a deep red stone, warm to the touch but crumbling easily under his fingers.

And deep, deep beneath him, around him, flowing from above him and around him, was thick, bright magma, lava, sweltering heat pouring off of them and casting this world into an eerie glow.

He pulled at his shirt in the area that was still stinging, looking around in confusion. Was this... hell?

“What the fuck did I do to deserve to go to hell?” he mumbled, picking himself up and dusting himself off.

“Nothing at all,” someone said behind him, and he felt his breath catch as he turned.

The man wasn’t facing him‒ he was sat in front of a thick pool of lava that was pouring slowly off the edge of their little ‘island,’ his feet dipped in up to the knee as he looked out over the empty world. There were lines of light along his veins, ash coating the roots of his hair and dusted along his neck and back, but little dancing flecks of fire that played around him like they were alive. They might as well have been, as they made their way closer when Jeremy approached, happily playing in the air around him.

Golden eyes, golden hair, golden skin‒ golden scarf, golden chains, golden heart.

“Oh, Gavin,” Jeremy whispered, and the Sun turned to smile at him.

“Hello, Jeremy,” Gavin murmured, and it was like music. “You’ve had quite a trip, my sword.”

Jeremy laughed quietly in disbelief, falling to his knees and feeling tears run down his cheeks. “You were there,” he managed.

“Every step,” Gavin told him, with a smile brighter than anything. “You are amazing, Jeremy, truly.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, sitting carefully next to Gavin. The god touched his arm gently, pulling him close and letting Jeremy rest his head on his shoulder. The warmth suddenly became bearable, from a sweltering flame too close to a dry summer day.

“Why shouldn’t I say something that’s true?” Gavin hummed, dropping his hand from Jeremy’s back. “You’re done something incredible, Jeremy, you raised a god.”

“But... you’re here,” he said in quiet silence.

“Yes, I am,” Gavin laughed. “This isn’t hell, Jeremy, this is a home.”

“Oh,” he realized, in a moment of quiet contemplation. “Oh.”

Gavin was still laughing as he sat back and let it continue to process‒ this was Gavin’s other domain, his true kingdom.

“Why here, though?” he eventually said. “Are you trapped?”

“For a while, yes, I was,” Gavin told him, curling his legs back up into himself, and looking out over the vast expanse of his domain, red and flaming, bright in a way he wasn’t. “But not here. Somewhere between existence and nothingness, between everything and nothing. I don’t know what to call it. I think I saw my twin there.”

“Ah,” Jeremy mumbled. “Your‒ Eternity, right?”

“Yes,” Gavin hummed. “I think it might have been theirs.”

“What was it like, there?”

There’s a long silence. “I don’t know,” Gavin eventually said, and Jeremy turned to see him wide-eyed, confused, vaguely terrified. “I don’t remember.”

He started to shake, despite the heat, so Jeremy took that as a sign to steer the conversation back to what it had to be. “And why are you here now?”

“To heal,” Gavin smiled. “To mend and restore myself again, so that I can go home.”

“Will you be long?”

“I shouldn’t think so. By the time you go home, you should be in daylight again.”

“Good,” Jeremy laughs, and it’s a wonderful thing, to laugh again. “We need our sun god.”

Gavin regarded him kindly, but confused, watching him as he turned to smile back.

“Do you think I am a god of simply sun?”

“No,” Jeremy said, and tilted his head in confusion now as well. “You’re a god of many things, aren’t you?”

“Ah,” Gavin said quietly. “Things, not quite.”

“I...” Jeremy sighed. “I don’t think I understand.”

“It’s easy to lose track,” the god said with a smile. “I’ll explain best I can.”

Gavin reached forward again and let his legs carelessly drop into the bright bubbling magma. Jeremy watched him closely, ready to pull him up‒ keep him safe, if he needed. Because he would.

“There are no gods of objects,” he said, dipping his hand into the thick lava and pulling it between his fingers. “No god of dragons, or livestock, or masks, cats, dreams. To be the god of a singular object implies the singular task of creation of those singular things‒ to watch over them and decide their fates, individually, for the rest of forever.”

There was a moment of quiet between the two of them, the cries of some type of lost soul echoing in the distance, before he smiled. “No, we are all gods of ideas, of ways of life, of intangible things that affect each living thing. We are gods of vitality, and simplicity, of courage and chaos and belief. The first gods were true gods of destruction and creation, of death and of life, of the basics of the world.”

“Of light and darkness?” Jeremy asked.

“More like... of happiness, of joy, of trust and love. And of belonging, discovery, curiosity, and family.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “One for eternity, and... one for rebirth.” He turned to Jeremy with a smile. “For sacrifice.”

Jeremy couldn’t find it in himself to ask what that really meant, but he had the feeling, not unlike when he’d first met Gavin, that he already knew.

“I think it’s past time you go back home,” Gavin said after a bit, pulling away. Jeremy took his hand and Gavin looked down with a smile and squeezed.

“I wish I could stay,” Jeremy mumbled. “I wish I understood.”

Gavin laughed. “I wish you could stay too‒ the understanding part you’ll get to once you leave.”

“Will I, though?”

Gavin’s laughter echoed through the Nether and Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh too, a gentle warmth blossoming in his chest as the sun held his hand. After a while, Gavin sighed the last of his laughs out, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on Jeremy’s cheek, squeezing where their hands were linked again. “If you were so incredible then,” Gavin hummed. “You’re going to be even more so now.”

Jeremy flushed and mumbled, but before he could get any words out, Gavin was closer than ever, brushing their lips together for just a moment and making Jeremy freeze.

“Go on then,” Gavin said against him. “We’ll meet you there soon enough.”

And then he slipped into the pool of lava in front of him, effectively disappearing, and leaving Jeremy alone again.

Jeremy wandered the Nether for a while, the endless maze of near insufferable heat that it was, searching for his way out. It came to him in the form of a dark structure, obsidian built upon stone, and grey rock scattered across the area, around the gateway. His dagger sung in his pocket, across worlds, echoing around in his blood, and he hummed along.

“The last of his flame, then,” he said, and placed Gavin’s gift upon the tiniest hollow at the base of the structure, brilliant gold upon dark glass black.

The second his hand let go, there was a flash of blinding, brilliant fire, and then the darkness of the obsidian was coated in an unnatural purple light‒ violet magic filled the opening and swirled like smoke, calling to him in a way nothing else had.

A last gift. A way home.

He stepped through without caution, feeling the portal magic cling to him and tug at his clothing before letting him slip through‒ like fabric, almost, curtains draping across a window.

Cool air met him as he stepped down on the other side into darkness, and before anything else, collapsed to the ground. He rolled over and watched the dark portal dissolved into nothingness in front of him, fading to dust and disappearing into the night sky through the trees.

The forest was dark around him, the leaves beneath him soft and cushion like, and his body and mind were still drained from events before.

Jeremy slept, comforted by the sound of his own beating heart, and by the warmth that lingered on his lips and across his chest.

“Hey, dipshit.”

Jeremy groaned and rolled over. He rubbed his eyes and held a hand up to block the brightness until a shadow fell over his face and he blinked, struggling to look up at the person above him. Someone laughed quietly off to his right.

“The fuck you doin’ napping in my‒”

“Shh, look closer.”

“...Oh, shit, Jeremy?”

He grunted in a quiet response of an affirmative, not completely awake yet, and the figure crouched lower, becoming more recognizable. A spatter of freckles across a pale face, unruly copper curls that covered his head‒ “Michael?”

“Hey, man,” the botanist said, grinning. “The hell you doin’ in my garden?”

“...wha...”

The second figure‒ Lindsay‒ helped him sit up, a hand resting on his back to keep him upright as he caught his breath. “Where am I?” he mumbled.

Michael shrugged. “Middle of the Draconic Forest. Bottom of the valley you were going to.”

“The... valley? The valley!” Jeremy rubbed at his eyes and looked at Michael in shock. “The hell do you mean, the valley? Jack’s valley?”

“Ah, yeah,” Michael said. “It is kind of Jack’s garden isn’t it?”

Jeremy stared at Michael and saw, in the light streaming through the leaves above him, newer things. Twigs and petals were tucked messily in between curls, dirt marring parts of his skin, grass stains mixing in with the freckles. His ears were pointed, and his eyes were nearly glowing‒ small, pink lights appeared at his back, at random, and Jeremy laughed in disbelief. Michael stared in confusion.

“Well,” Jeremy mumbled, looking at the newest god, “Ryan did say you were on your way to bigger things.”

Michael and Lindsay steadily guided Jeremy on the path towards the opening of the valley, the scattered dragon scales a familiar sight, along with a few new plants blossoming between the cracks of rocks, white petaled daisies glowing in the soft darkness of the overgrown trees and dark belled nightshades hanging low around the archway’s bottom. The veil of magic was a familiar and welcome feeling as they passed into the area and Jeremy sighed in relief.

Jack came up with a smile from his side of the area, holding out a hand that Jeremy took gladly.

“It’s good to see you again,” the bearded man said, and Jeremy smiled.

“It’s good to see you too.”

The draconic god’s smile diminished at the stressed tone of Jeremy’s voice and took him from the couple, gently guiding him over the bridges towards the cabin. “You need rest. This much magic on your body is taking it’s toll.”

“Magic? I’ve never had a problem with magic before...”

“Jeremy,” Jack said with the tone of someone talking to a child. “You revived a god.”

“Ah,” he said quietly. There was a silence before he blinked in realization. “That was real then?”

Jack smiled. “The sunlight isn’t fake this time, Jeremy.”

Jeremy had nothing to say about that.

Jack ushered him into the cabin, settling him down on the bed and pulling his cloak away to hang on the bedpost. “Take a long rest and then we’ll talk about what happened‒ show you where your stuff is.”

“Stuff...?”

“Every ascension is different,” Jack murmured, placing a cold cloth‒ where had he gotten that‒ on Jeremy’s forehead. “You went through a hell of a trial to do it, but.”

Jeremy wanted to ask more but sleep was taking a steady hold on him once again, and he fell asleep looking towards the window, the towering dark structure just in his view.

“Gettin’ real fucking tired of this sleeping thing.”

Jeremy slipped out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath of the valley air before opening his eyes. In front of him was the window, the dark structure standing in his sight, but he got distracted by the dust specks dancing in the sunlight.

The sunlight.

He held his hand out and watched the light coat his skin, the gentle warmth a familiar comfort and bringing him to quiet tears.

“Good,” he whispered. “Good.”

He stood up and grabbed his dagger without a second thought, tucking it into it’s sheath and opening the door to the valley. The air was now permeated with better smells than just chicken shit‒ roses and lavender mixed with the fertilizer and earth, as well as furnaces churning with charcoal and melting ores. The barrier of magic around the garden was clear and glassy, like an open window, and Jeremy smiled wider under the bright blue of the sky.

Off to the side came the sound of heavy beating wings, and Jeremy turned as Jack descended, slipping from his dragon’s back and moving forward to meet him.

“Are you feeling well?”

“Well rested, yes.”

Jack laughed. “It’s good to see you up and alright. Are you done, do you think?”

“With what I started, yes. But for the rest of it, I don’t think I can leave quite yet.”

“No one was asking you to,” Jack said softly. “You’ve got things to figure out first.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Do you... have an idea? Of what you are?”

“More than an idea,” he said, his dagger singing it’s pride. “I have it... from the source, so to say.”

Jack nodded with a knowing smile. “How do you plan to start?”

Jeremy took a deep breath and glanced upwards again. “I’m not sure.”

“That’s alright,” Jack said. “You have time.”

“It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“Not having that constant stress of impending doom.”

Jack laughed loudly, placing a hand onto Jeremy's shoulder to steady himself as he kept laughing. Jeremy couldn't stop smiling, feeling the sun on his skin once again, the familiarity of it somehow much better than he ever remembered it being before. He supposed it had something to do with what he knew now.

Who he knew now.

"Good morning," he said quietly into the open skies. "Welcome home."

And if he listened closely over Jack's laughter, he could hear a pair of voices in the wind, happy as day, echoing the sentiment back.

Rolling his eyes, his smile grew. "Go take a nap, Ryan."

#jerevinwood #jerevin #writing #this one's for sure more jerevin focused hgdhfhd #it's also REAL SHORT #bc i had everything but the last interaction done since june #but the last part KICKED MY ASS #ANYWAYS one more maybe

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glitchinthesystemspiderbyte · 7 years ago

Text

Glitch in the System - Common Ground

Sure thing, @tacticalgrandma!

By K.

A professional agreement happens.

They raced the morning, running side by side through the Rialto to a syncopated rhythm comprised of footsteps and measured breaths.

Akande didn’t ask Widowmaker whether he could join her. He never did, nor did he need to: if not because of his rank, then because running, like reading, was a welcome - albeit unexpected - commonality they shared. Their schedules rarely aligned; when they did, she always found him waiting.

He stood at the outpost gate: a mountain of a man standing stone-still and just as quiet, somehow both among and above the world around him. Widowmaker saw him now the way few ever did: as a man, blinking away sleep as he waited patiently in a threadbare tee and sneakers that looked as tired as he did. To the rest of the world, he was Doomfist, the Successor. To her, he was just Akande. Few lived to see him in quite the same light; she had yet to decide whether she should count herself lucky or, appropriately, doomed.

“This is a surprise,” the sniper remarked, pausing at his side.

She was hardly there a second before he was off, running headlong into the first rays of dawn without so much as a word.

Widowmaker followed.

They chased the sun’s slow ascent, a pastel spate of purples and pinks and oranges and golds staining otherwise clear Ventian waters. She paced herself by his breathing - louder, faster than hers, but every bit as practiced - and let him lead. Akande could trounce her in a sprint, but Widowmaker would always beat him in an endurance run. With no way of knowing how much he had in him, the assassin simply fell in line and waited.

That was the difference between them, she figured. Doomfist wanted to set the world on fire, to raze it in a single, concentrated act of force. For all his planning and careful strategy, there was a definitive end to the Successor’s work, and with it he, too, would burn. Akande harbored no dreams of despotism, only gunpowder: strong, volatile, and beautifully incendiary. By contrast, Widowmaker considered herself a cooler, slower-burning fire; she would persist until her work caught up with her, be it by way of a bullet or international tribunal. She required less oxygen in every sense of the word. When Akande blew up the world as they knew it and himself along with it, she would be left to watch.

Sometimes, she questioned whether that bothered her: that there would be a day when Akande’s flame would flicker while hers burnt strong. His philosophy didn’t matter to her. She lived for the function and form of her job - not the ideals she fulfilled in their execution. Those didn’t matter.

Akande, however, did.

Widowmaker struggled to qualify his exact meaning to her, and hers to him. He was as much her employer as Gabriel or Moira. The two comprised a sort of spectrum: her relationship with Gabriel was begrudgingly familial, while her rapport with Moira was frigid at best. Akande fell somewhere between the two, though he was far closer to Reaper’s extreme than the doctor’s. They engaged in heated discussions about literary romanticism over cracked eggs and fresh oats. They fought the most interesting - and challenging - sparring matches she could imagine, his mobility a hard counter to her flexibility. They ran and talked fashion and shared a deep appreciation for classical art.

They had respect - a thing neither offered another easily.

She wasn’t sure she could ascribe these attributes to friendship, but there was something like it gliding beneath the surface between them. Whatever it was, she didn’t mind it. It was more than she could say for most people.

“Stop.”

His voice rumbled between them, clipped but soft. She obeyed without a moment’s hesitation, watching the Successor’s momentum carry him a few steps further before he stopped in kind.

Akande turned to face her, a pronouncement lodged between his teeth: something he started to say and found suddenly spurious. Widowmaker blinked, brows raised in curiosity. “Ouais?”

“You are due for supplementary neural reconditioning,” he offered flatly.

Widowmaker felt something in her chest tighten as a spectre of dread closed a fist over her heart.

“Ah,” she managed, forcing herself to meet Akande’s eyes. “Well. It has been some time.”

It was true. The space between debilitating batteries of chemical and electroconvulsive treatments spanned the full length of Moira’s years-long absence. Of course, she thought. Of course Moira would return from wherever she was and attempt to wrest control of her life with one spindly claw.

Then again, even Moira operated on a cracked foundation of reason. The process was not simple, nor easy, and its invasiveness as much as its intensity would put her out of commission for weeks. There had to be a reason.

“Is my performance unsatisfactory?” Widowmaker asked, searching.

Akande shook his head.

“Even after Madrid?” she pressed.

“No,” he scoffed. “You obey orders and fulfill objectives. Your judgement in the field sound and you take risks when and where appropriate. You exceed training requirements and require little to no oversight. You are exactly as you were programmed to be.”

She watched Doomfist as he spoke, searching for clues and finding him impenetrable as ever. Sombra she could read; Gabriel, too. Moira less so, but one could generally assume of her logical, if not callous conclusions. Akande was like a fortress, his thoughts and intent obscured by walls and doors and airtight security protocols. His feelings were only ever evident in the moments they appeared - yet another similarity they shared.

“Why, then?” she asked. “Le médecin has been here months now. Shouldn’t she have performed this… maintenance earlier?”

“She didn’t think she needed to,” Akande replied. “She knows, Lacroix. I know.”

Understanding hit her, appropriately, like a meteor: a swift and devastating strike from an unplaceable beyond, unheralded and unstoppable. In its wake was a yawning hollow, a crater to catch the flood of thought wrought by its impact.

“Oh.”

A single sound was all she had; a lonely sound pressed between teeth and lips that refused to articulate the scream welling behind them. She knew it was inevitable, that Moira would notice and read the fine print. She knew, had known, had tried so hard to be careful, to avoid the geneticist’s attention beyond the scope of her duties.

Widowmaker realized with disappointing clarity that it wasn’t her performance that was unsatisfactory; it was her performance.

“Lacroix,” Akande prodded, his voice breaking through the traitorously calm beating of her heart in her ears.

She opened her mouth to reply, to offer a placatory “I understand”, but found the composite syllables coarse and unweidly. She understood, but didn’t want to accept that understanding. Refusal welled like magma, a snarl of heat bubbling beneath the ocean’s current.

“You said my performance is not unsatisfactory.”

Doomfist inclined his chin - a gesture of agreement and appraisal in equal measure. “I did.”

“And is, in fact, quite the opposite.”

“Correct.”

The seconds stretched between them as she sifted through the river of thought for a response. It reminded her of those first, pivotal moments when confronting an enemy hand-to-hand. She realized Akande wasn’t watching; he was analyzing. Evaluating. She didn’t know whether this was intended as a test, but it certainly felt like one: a qualifying exam with no clearly defined parameters for success or failure.

With no litmus test for either, she considered whether she would benefit from acquiescence, and found her conclusions anything but favorable.

Luckily, she was unafraid of taking risks; he’d said it himself.

“This would not be a problem were I not the party in question,” she wagered.

“Perhaps. But your neural conditioning—,”

“—has no observable impact on my work unless there is a universal system failure,” she cut in, recalling that single, fateful dossier given to her almost a year earlier. “It was designed that way. Even if that happened, my emotional reflexes would take years to return to normal. It is a non-issue.”

Akande eyed her with pointed curiosity. “She could make the case you are broken - that affection will lead to remorse will lead to fear. She could claim you are obsolete.”

He was reaching.

Widowmaker found her opening.

“Then I would direct her to my training evaluation and field reports. To the fact you have only a moment ago said that is not the case.”

Doomfist opened his mouth to interject, but she refused him the courtesy. “I am the best. That is what I was made to be - what was chosen for me. Moira likes percentages; mine are in my favor. I have chosen one thing, Akande. Let me have it.”

He bowed his head slightly in thought, tapping a calloused finger to his chin in an idle gesture of consideration. Widowmaker didn’t presume her ability to sway him, nonetheless Moira. At least she could say she tried.

Eventually, he sighed. “I will tell doctor O’deorain to review your records. She will find any further reconditioning unnecessary at this time.”

“Merci,” she exhaled, stifling a tired smile. “It is appreciated.”

“Breakfast?” Akande offered, as if the suggestion succeeded the most casual of conversations.

Widowmaker shook her head. “I am disgusting.”

“Me, too.”

Doomfist nodded his thanks to their server, following the aproned omnic with his eyes as they hovered a line of retreat back to the kitchen. He wore an expression of idle disbelief, brows raised slightly as he nudged one of the two cups of espresso before him toward the sniper.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Widowmaker asked, accepting his offering and plucking the small spoon from its serving dish. “You are concerned? Should I kill them?”

She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but the man across from her smirked regardless.

“What?”

“It is strange,” he mused. “We do not exactly have low profiles, you and I.”

“Mm.”

“They must recognize us. One of us, at least. But, here we are.”

Widowmaker glanced over one shoulder, watching the waitstaff as they moved from counter to table and back again, exchanging pleasantries and orders with the handful of guests seated around the bar. Any one of them could and should recognize Doomfist; in fact, she did not suspect they didn’t.

Returning her gaze to her drink, the assassin shrugged and set to scooping the crema from its surface. “Who here could raise a hand to you?” she asked plainly, as if inquiring about the weather. “It would be stupid. A death sentence.”

“And you?” Akande asked, smiling.

“Please.”

“She treats you well?”

Widowmaker blinked, glancing back to Akande. “Quoi?”

“Does she?”

It was a strange question, coming from him - from anyone in Talon’s employ, really. In fact, it was the most direct inquiry anyone had made into her relationship with Sombra. Even Gabriel, who was notoriously devoid of delicacy and in possession of the very worst sense of timing, avoided anything so pointed. Then again, this was something of the the norm: for all his stoicism at work and in the field, Akande was always strangely forthcoming in the fleeting seconds he made his feelings known. Widowmaker accordingly assumed of his question a modicum of sincere interest, and indulged it carefully.

“Yes,” she murmured, setting her spoon aside. “She understands… me. What I am, where my story will end, why. She understands. And she is warm. Something I am not.”

“Warm,” the man repeated, the word slowed by uncertainty.

Widowmaker lifted the cup to her lips but didn’t drink. There was something behind Akande’s eyes, some new darkness she didn’t recognize. His expression neither changed nor faltered, but something was perceptibly different.

“Oui,” she continued. “It is not something I missed. But it is something I lack, and something I can appreciate.”

He nodded, though his expression remained unplaceable. Doomfist seemed focused, but neither on her nor their conversation; he was honing in on something adjacent it instead. Perhaps he’d found a a finer point between her words, a thought or concept she’d unknowingly brushed against?

“You are confused?” she guessed.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then what?”

Akande watched the idle swirl of dark liquid as he turned his cup in a slow rotation. A moment later, he pushed it aside and leaned forward on his elbows, narrowing the space between them significantly. In anyone else, it would have appeared conspiratorial, maybe even intimidating. For him, it seemed oddly vulnerable. “I have sacrificed many things to get where I am,” he said quietly. “What you are talking about is among them.”

“Do you regret it?” Widowmaker asked.

“Not quite. It is more like positive and negative spaces; something’s absence is not bad, but it is noticeable. Something’s presence is not innately good, but you know it is there.”

A thin, knowing smile slipped across Widowmaker’s lips. She knew the feeling well, but hearing someone else give voice to it was validating in a way she rarely experienced. That that someone was Akande was somehow even more so.

“So, no,” Akande continued, squaring his shoulders. “I do not regret it. I made a choice as to what is important to me, and what I can live without.”

“You can make other choices,” the sniper added. “It is not unlike warfare.”

“You think so?” Something flashed across Akande’s face, even faster than normal. Widowmaker wondered whether it was that same sense of validation, that feeling of one’s isolating circumstances being anything but singular. Yet as soon as it was there, he suppressed it, pushing that hint of curiosity from his face as if it were some terrible secret worth hiding.

She wondered if it was the same sort of hope her programming was supposed to forbid.

“Cross that,” he said, the command buoyed by a note of something she suspected was sadness. “Don’t answer that. This is… inappropriate. I am sorry, Lacroix.”

She watched as he stood, sweeping one broad hand across the table to lift the tiny cup to his lips, drain it, and set it aside. He reached into his pocket and tossed a few credits on the table, then turned his back to her. “I should get back to base.��

“Defeatism is unbecoming of you,” she said over the rim of her own cup. “As is cowardice.”

He hesitated, and Widowmaker could swear she heard him laugh: a small, bitter, self-aware sound. “You wouldn’t know a thing about it,” he sighed. “Take the day off. I’m going to go clear the doctor’s schedule.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

#spiderbyte #sombramaker #widowsombra #sombra x widowmaker #widowmaker x sombra #sombra #Widowmaker #Amélie Lacroix #amelie lacroix #akande #akande ogundimu #doomfist #Overwatch #overwatch fandom #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fic #glitch in the system #glitchfic

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stories-from-my-mind-to-yours · 7 years ago

Text

Humans. Pet, Protégés or Predator? Part V. Ancient truths.

Omega draconis, Omega homeworld. Five days had passed since Cerin's... experience. He had decided to take some time off, due to obvious reasons. The vote concerning the humans had proved useless, since they had opted out of an inauguration, and instead had simply asked to form a coalition of sorts, in all but name exactly the same thing, but in the humans paraphrased words: "but this was our idea."

He couldn't really blame them, young as they were, it's like watching hatchlings try to catch their first rekkh, (a lava-living snake, 2 ft in lengt, often kept as a pet) absolutely convinced no one had ever done it before. Well it had been four million cycles since any egg had actually hatched, but still. The humans were so... for lack of a better word, childish. But at the same time, one of the most tenacious, inventive and dangerous creatures to ever sail the cosmos.

His mind wandered far, as it does when one has nothing to do but wait. He thought of a story his father had told him when he was little. The story of The First Four.

In the beginning there were Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Delta. Alpha and Gamma were female, Beta and Delta were male. Alpha was blue, Beta was red, Gamma was green, and Delta was yellow. The story went on to describe the many great things they did, Alpha had lain thousands of eggs, and she cared for them all, for she was the Brood Queen. Beta was the Father and Teacher, he had shown them how to hunt, and taught them speech and writing. Gamma was the Caregiver, she who gave them heat and comfort. Delta was a trickster, mischievous and inventive, he had found all kinds of new things, like the magma caves they most often slept in.

This is of course considered pure myth by some, and there is no scientific evidence that they had ever existed. But Cerin was a believer, and as such he drew his heritage from Gamma. His thoughts trailed to the fragile creature that slept below his feet.

The female Omega had spoken very little, she answered with yes or no, or a few words together, she had even forgotten to tell him her name, but there would be time for pleasantries later. He had brought her home, not in any way because he felt any obligation for either of them to mate, but simply because it was her home.

He had offered her food several times on the journey home, but she insisted on not feeding until she stood on Omegan soil again. He had obliged her, considering the circumstances, Omegans that hadn’t fed in a prolonged period became irritated and sometimes aggressive, and he didn’t want to provoke her. When they reached his home she had devoured not one, but two whole karrahk! (Imagine a crossbreed between an crocodile and a sabertooth tiger) and for a creature not even five feet tall, that was unbelievably impressive.

After she had fed she needed to digest, so naturally he had offered her one of the volcanic caverns beneath his dwelling, which was for that purpose after all. So she slept, for four days so far, but he had no idea of how long she had hibernated inside the Obelisk. They could hibernate for millions of cycles, but encased in stone? That was new to him. New to anyone. They did need to breathe after all, even though they could ingest oxygen or sulfur through their scales, it was far less effective. But solid rock? As far as he knew, that wasn’t possible. They could swim in lava, but not breathe in it. Should one be trapped in hardening lava or in the vast emptiness of space, you would die.

But that wasn't what occupied his mind at the moment. She would be ready when she was ready, questions could wait until then.

The news of the events that had taken place on Titan had been live broadcasted throughout the universe. Trillions had seen this unassuming little green lizard, barely five feet tall, increase in size tenfold, and turn into a fairytale monster mothers would scare their young with. He had seen the images of it, and it had left him speechless. But reporters didn't worry him the least, since the atmosphere on Omega is toxic to anyone who doesn't breathe or can at least tolerate high levels of sulfur and sulfuric acid rain, and Omegans weren't that interested in him.

But the news of an Omega female had quickly spread far and wide, and most Omegans had returned home to see this legendary being. That was what bothered him the most. They had never been especially numerous, but this, this was truly horrifying. At their peak there had been around 400,000 Omegans. Now, on their entire planet, there were 172 Omega. Even worse, was the fact that of the few who had survived, over a hundred of them were so old they probably didn't have many cycles left in their hearts. He felt sorrow for his many sisters and brothers that lay sleeping in the eternally churning magma below. But there was nothing he could do for now, but wait. He painted. He slept. He hunted and prepared the meat. And then slept again. But eventually he got terribly bored.

He decided it was a good time to see if he could transform again. He tried everything he could think of, even hitting himself to induce pain, but to no avail. For two full days he experimented, before deciding it must be involuntary, and simply gave up. It was almost morning, he had fed a little, and was just about to get some rest when he heard the soft rasp of scaly feet traversing the tunnel from the magma caves.

He had heard the old ones describe young fertile females, the way they had exaggerated their beauty had made him believe their old age had made their minds... slightly less trustworthy, to not speak ill of the dead.

But their words fell oh so short in light of this creature before him. No words could describe her beauty. Cerin had most certainly fallen madly in love with this, for him, unobtainable goddess. The shape of her body enticed him in ways he had never felt before.

He watched as she slowly crawled up out of the tunnel in the floor, not completely awake by the look on her face, but he undoubtedly saw she had shed her skin. Considering how long she had hibernated it was probably long overdue. It explained the excessive feeding as well as the long sleep.

Before, her scales had been a very dull light blue, almost grey. At risk of being insulting, he would have described her as boring. But now... She took his breath away. The now fierce blue tint of her scales revealed she was a direct descendant of Alpha, one of their First Four. He had never seen such strong coloration of scales before. It was a deep, dark midnight blue, and the shimmer on her scales was mesmerizing.

The red jagged lines that before had been barely visible, now had spread across her cheeks, highlighting her feminine snout that now glowed with heat, indicating she must’ve slept very close to the magma.

He remained still, certain she would notice his presence, unwilling to startle someone that had just awoken. She took no notice him, instead she walked into the storage room, where he had hung meat to dry. He felt slightly insulted, but decided to give her some leeway, and sat down at the carved stone bench that was as round as the main dome of his dwelling. The fire pit in the middle had gone out, but the sun would soon heat the surface to a more pleasant temperature. She returned from the storage room with a dried karrahk hind leg, with a large chunk already missing from it. He watched her silently as she made her way around and sat down at the opposing side. She ate in silence, and didn’t even acknowledge he was there. This confused him.

“Ssheeyak sha rasshassh ssherr?” (Did you sleep well?) He asked in their ancient native language. He had missed speaking it, to speak to someone of his own kind.

She had apparently not noticed he was there. She quickly looked up, startled, and swallowed hard, and immediately looked down at the floor.

“Forgive me, I did not see you Guardian, please forgive my faults and be lenient in my punishment.”

“Punishment? Why would I punish you? And why do you call me guardian?”

He couldn’t see her face, but her hands moved nervously, and she stared at the floor. When she spoke, she whispered so low he could barely hear her.

“You... you are of Gamma. You are Guardian. I... forgive me Guardian, I do not understand...” He could hear in her voice that she was close to tears.

He stood up and walked to her, and kneeled at her side. He put his claws under her jaw and lifted it so she would face him, but she shied away and turned her head, as if he would strike her.

“I may be of Gamma, but I will not harm you in any way. I would never do that.”

He paused briefly. He could see that she listened.

“My name is Cerin. The only female I have ever seen died when I was only a few hundred cycles old. She was the last female that lived.” He hesitated, not sure what effect his next words would have.

“No eggs would hatch after that, and most of the remaining males grew old and died. We may have forgotten many things, but I would never punish you for not seeing me, and I have never heard of a Guardian. Now, please, look at me.”

As he begged her to look at him, she slowly turned her head to face him, with disbelief and tears in her eyes. He knew not how old she was, but he knew she must be ancient, to have lived under such a rule.

“Please, speak to me. Why don't you start with your name? And if you can, please explain why you were inside the Obelisk."

She hesitated. She wanted to speak, but couldn’t control her voice just yet.

“Take your time,” he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He heard her breathing and hearts slowly returning to normal.

“My name is Amara of Alpha.” He looked into her deep blue eyes. He was utterly lost. He would give anything at her whim, be it his life if she wanted, he wouldn’t hesitate. As she continued he sensed the pride in her heritage, being Alpha is to be the Mother amongst children. Alpha leads, all others follow.

“I am the oldest hatchling of my den. I was encased in The Obelisk because the stone would protect us when all others died, to preserve us deeper than hibernation. My mother and her sister was among the first to die. After that my father made the obelisks to protect me and my sisters.”

“There are others?” He didn’t dare hope there were more like her.

“There were,” she answered. “I don’t know if they remain. We were nine sisters. My father made nine, pillars of rebirth he called them.”

“Your father, how did he make them?”

“With fire, like yours, when you saved me from the stone. I never thanked you.”

He bowed graciously. He saw a hint of a smile.

“You were calling my name from within the Obelisk, then I transformed into... whatever that was.”

“A primordial.” She answered. “How do you not know this?”

“We forgot so many things... We forgot how to transform.”

“Shapeshift.” She corrected. “You are a shapeshifter.”

"Please tell me, you called me Guardian. What did you mean?"

"You are the Guardian. You are a descendant of Gamma.”

She sat before him, confused. Tears fell from her bright blue eyes and trickled down her thorny cheeks. When she spoke her voice cracked with despair.

"So much knowledge lost... Gamma was the first Guardian. The Protector. The Keeper. She was also the first shapeshifter. She guarded our lands, our people and our knowledge."

She fell silent, tears streaming down her face.

Cerin softly wiped her tears away.

"You speak of her as if you actually knew her."

She shook her head and took his hand in hers, holding it softly.

"No, I never got to know her, but I remember her from when my father took me to see her as she lay down for the longest sleep. She was beautiful. You have her eyes... Cerin of Gamma."

He sat before her with a look of absolute disarray on his face. He struggled to fathom the age of this fragile creature before him. And to have met one of the First Four. He was speechless.

"She really lived? Do you... So long you must've slept... How old were Gamma? How old were you when the Sundering began? I have so many questions."

She put her hand on his studded cheek.

"I will try to answer all your questions, but there is something you must do for me first."

He nodded. "Anything."

“There is something I want to show you, but I don’t remember where it is, I only know there is a colossal door at the foot of one of the biggest volcanoes.”

He frowned his snout in thought. “I don’t know of any doors, but the biggest volcanoes are on the other side of the planet, the sleeping ridge. I don’t have a ship here and It’ll take weeks to get there.”

She smiled very lightly, which is the only was an Omegan can smile, since their taut scales allow very little movement, making them masters of face and body language.

“What?” He looked insulted, he didn’t understand but her face told him he had said something incredibly amusing.

“Cerin, you may be older than I in years lived, and one should always show respect for the Guardian, but in my time you would have been called “sshasscheesh”.

He chuckled to himself. Village idiot, hm?

“Well,” he spoke softly, “had there been anyone as beautiful as you here to teach me, I would’ve known even less, as I would’ve only gazed into your bottomless blue eyes.” Her eyes widened and the red lines on her snout blossomed in color, as she turned her face away and closed her eyes.

He was surprised by her reaction. “Forgive me, did I insult you? I apologize. I meant not to hurt you.”

She gazed upon him under halfclosed eyelids. “You did not insult me, Cerin of Gamma, you made me blush.”

“Ah... well, I do not regret it. You are a very beautiful female, but I have only seen two. But I... I feel different when I’m close to you.”

She smiled again. “I know Cerin, your cheeks are practically glowing.” He quickly felt his cheeks, they were warmer than ever, he quickly walked to the mirrorpond, and gasped at the sight of his face. They were glowing!

“What does this mean? I have never...”

She had without a sound walked up behind him, she put her hand on his shoulder, and turned him around. She stood much to close he thought, so close he couldn’t move.

“Amara, what...” she interrupted him. “Shh... You have never, and neither have I, but my mother told me I would know when I found my mate. You make me happy, you make me feel beautiful, and you have already saved my life. I know I want to be with you. From now on, Cerin of Gamma, you are mine, and I am yours, until the end of time, if you will have me.”

He was absolutely stunned. He couldn’t speak, he tried but couldn’t form a single sound. Her smile made his knees weak, and he felt he could drown in those beautiful eyes.

“Cerin, are you all right?” She asked. He could barely nod.

Something inside him had awakened, something he had never felt in his long life. Lust. Desire. Love. He didn’t know what to call it, but her, confessing her feelings for him had given him all he could ever want. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the magma caves. He carefully placed her on the biggest stone in the cave, her eyes glinted in the glowing light of the bright orange magma. The heat in the cave made him tremble, his hands were shaking. His breath was hot, and his hearts pounded in his chest.

“Easy,” she whispered. “Cherish this moment, it is the last of our lives as children. We will be reborn, as it has always been.” He didn’t understand, and his expression reflected it. “You really have forgotten everything haven’t you?” He thought for a second and nodded.

She sighed. “I will teach you all I know, and we will teach our hatchlings. And they will teach all our people. But for now it is just you and me. Lay with me, my love, and see what happens.”

She pulled him close, and in the bright orange glow of churning magma, they made love for the first time.

Cerin woke slowly, he felt different somehow, but the feeling of Amara’s warm scales pressing against his body made his hearts beat faster. He put his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him.

“Your breath tickles,” she mumbled. He rubbed his chin against hers, feeling the warmth she radiated.

“Feeling you-“ he interrupted himself, shocked to hear his own voice, and sat up quickly. He had not expected to hit his head on the ceiling of the cave that he had walked down into, and he hit it hard.

“What? Why do I sound like this?” His deep growling voice scared even him.

She laughed, and the sound echoed of the walls. She sounded differently too.

“I told you, my love, you would see what happened.” She sat up and turned towards him. She looked very much different, but still the same eyes. He touched her face, and in the orange glow he saw his hand. He could barely recognize it, the scars he had earned was there, but this was not the hand he had been born with. The six fingers were longer and thicker, the claws sharper than karrahk teeth.

“Wait until you see your face my love.” She crawled of the stone, and had to crawl out of the cave. Had the ceiling caved in? He didn’t understand, a feeling he was getting used to. And what was this about his face? He rolled of the stone and crawled towards the entrance to the cave.

Amara had already crawled up, he saw light from above as he started crawling through the tunnel. Halfway up, he got stuck. There was nowhere near enough room for him to get out, he reached out with one arm and could feel the floor of the dwelling above.

He sighed. “Amara, I’m stuck. How can I be stuck? This makes no sense! And why do I sound like a karrahk male in heat!?” She looked down from up above. “It’s fine my love, just dig in your claws and pull yourself up.” He grunted, tried to twist himself around to get a better angle, and pressed his claws down into the massive stone floor, and pulled. He heard and felt the stone around him crumbling, his shoulders and back scraped against the jagged rocks. Finally his other arm came loose, he dug down in the floor and pulled his way up. When he stood up he looked around himself, baffled by how different everything looked. Everything was so small! “It isn’t your dwelling that has changed my love, it is you. And I.”

He turned around, and the sight before him made his cheeks warm. Amara was changed, her tail was longer, her body more curved than before, her legs looked longer, yet she was shorter. She came closer and embraced him, she barely reached to his chest, where she before had been almost the same height as him. She looked up at him. Her cheeks were wider, her snout smaller, and short fur covered her scalp. “Why are you shorter?” He asked. She laughed. “Oh my love, I’m not shorter, it is you who are taller! Look in the mirrorpond if you do not believe me.” He turned around, and the insight hit him like a rock in the head. The mirrorpond that had earlier reached him to the chest, now didn’t even reach his waist. He bent down and gazed upon his face. The pond was too small to let him see his entire face, but what he saw scared him. It was the face of the monster, the Primordial that stared back at him. The elongated snout and jaw, teeth made to kill, the bony ridges around his eyes, oh and the eyes, if those eyes didn’t scream murder he didn’t know what did. He quickly turned to Amara again.

“Please tell me this is a dream. It cannot be real! I am a monster!”

“Oh it is very real. When there is no Queen or Guardian anymore, our bodies sense it, and when two lovers mate, they evolve into what is missing. When the last Queen and Guardian died, our world was made wanting.”

“Now it is our turn, our responsibility to fill that void. And we will fill it, with our hatchlings, and they will fill it with theirs. But we will be Queen and Guardian for the rest of our lives. This is our time, my love. And you are not a monster. What you was before was a child. Now, you are the Father.” She caressed her stomach. “In here lay your children, for now. Come, feel them.” He knelt down before her, and in her abdomen he could sense them, he could see them. Small glowing pods of slumbering fire. “There must be hundreds!” He beamed with pride and joy. He stood and swooped her up into his arms in one sweeping motion, intoxicated by her, by himself, and the things he had learned.

“I love you, my Queen.”

“And I love you, my Guardian. My terrible fire breathing monster.”

#scifi #story time #space orcs #space australia #space exploration #humans are space orcs

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letsgoperuu · 6 years ago

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Galapagos Inseln - Welcome to paradise...

Santa Cruz (1/3)

Mit der Reise auf die Galapagosinseln habe ich mir einen großen Traum erfüllt. Lange habe ich überlegt, ob ich dorthin fliegen soll, da sowohl das Flugticket als auch der Eintritt auf die Inseln nicht ganz billig sind. Aber wann habe ich schon nochmal die Gelegenheit so nahe an den Inseln zu sein. Also buchte ich mir relativ kurzfristig einen Flug, investierte im Voraus viel Zeit in die Planung der Reise und am 3. November ging es los.

Auf Santa Cruz angekommen war der Tag eigentlich auch schon wieder vorbei und ich lief nur etwas durch die sehr touristische Stadt und entdeckte auch schon die ersten Tiere. Mit einem Deutschen, den ich im Flieger kennengelernt habe, verabredete ich mich für den nächsten Tag, um zusammen zur Tortuga Bay zu gehen und dort zum ersten Mal zu schnorcheln. Der Weg zum Strand ist sehr schön angelegt und man läuft durch eine Art Wald. Am Strand angekommen wird man von zahlreichen Iguanas begrüßt. Wirklich beeindruckend, die sind einfach überall und stören sich nicht an den Menschen. Nach einem weiteren kleinen Spaziergang erreichten wir den zweiten Strand, an dem wir dann auch schnorcheln konnten. Dort sahen wir dann sogar zahlreiche Haie, die einfach am Seegrund lagen und sich entspannten. Schon etwas beunruhigend so nah an Tieren zu sein, deren Ruf gefährlich ist. Wir genossen den restlichen Vormittag in der Sonne und nachmittags führte uns der AirBnB Host von Max zum Charles Darwin Interpretationszentrum und gab uns dort eine Führung. In diesem Center werden Galapagosschildkröten beim Fortpflanzungsprozess unterstützt und die Babys werden behütet aufgezogen. Wenn sie alt genug sind, werden sie wieder in die freie Natur entlassen. Am nächsten Vormittag machten wir unsere erste kleine Tour, die sogenannte Bay-Tour. Wir besuchten verschiedene Orte und schnorchelten an zwei Plätzen. Hier sah ich auch meine erste Wasserschildkröte. Am Nachmittag mieteten wir ein Taxi, um zu Los Gemelos, zwei tiefen Gruben zu gelangen, die in Wirklichkeit durch den Kollaps leerer Magmakammern nach einem Vulkanausbruch entstanden sind. Außerdem fuhren wir zu El Chato, einer Riesenschildkrötenfarm. Die Natur bei Los Gemelos erinnerte mich stark an den Regenwald in Peru. Die Schildkrötenfarm gehört definitiv zu einem Highlights meiner Reise. Hier leben Hunderte Schildkröten komplett frei in einem riesigen Areal und man kann sie super aus einer gewissen Entfernung beobachten. Auf dem Heimweg machten wir noch einen Stop bei einem Lavatunnel. Da es sich bei den Galapagosinseln um Vulkaninseln handelt, gibt es auf den Inseln zahlreiche Lavatunnel, die heutzutage frei begehbar sind. Am nächsten Morgen stand die Überfahrt zur zweiten Insel, Isabela, an. Auch diese Fährenfahrten lassen sich die Agenturen gut bezahlen.

With the trip to the Galapagos Islands a great dream of mine came true. For a long time I thought about flying to the Galapagos, because the flight ticket as well as the entrance to the islands are not quite cheap. But when will I again have the opportunity to be so close to the islands? So I booked a flight, invested a lot of time in planning the trip in advance and on November 3rd I started. Arrived on Santa Cruz the day was actually over again and I just walked through the very touristy city and discovered the first animals. With a German, whom I met in the plane, I made an appointment for the next day to go together to the Tortuga Bay and snorkel there for the first time. The way to the beach is very nice and you walk through a kind of forest. Arriving at the beach, one is greeted by numerous Iguanas. Really impressive, they are simply everywhere and don't bother about the people. After another short walk we reached the second beach where we could snorkel. There we even saw numerous sharks, which simply lay at the bottom of the lake and relaxed. It was a bit disturbing to be so close to animals whose reputation is dangerous. We enjoyed the rest of the morning in the sun and in the afternoon Max's AirBnB host took us to the Charles Darwin Interpretation Centre and gave us a guided tour. In this centre Galapagos turtles are supported in the reproductive process and the babies are raised sheltered. When they are old enough, they are released back into the wild. The next morning we did our first little tour, the so-called Bay-Tour. We visited different places and snorkeled in two places. Here I also saw my first water turtle. In the afternoon we rented a taxi to get to Los Gemelos, two deep pits that were actually created by the collapse of empty magma chambers after a volcanic eruption. We also drove to El Chato, a giant turtle farm. The nature near Los Gemelos reminded me of the rainforest in Peru. The turtle farm is definitely one of the highlights of my trip. Here hundreds of turtles live completely free in a huge area and you can observe them super from a certain distance. On the way home we made a stop at a lava tunnel. As the Galapagos Islands are volcanic islands, there are numerous lava tunnels on the islands that are nowadays freely accessible. The next morning, the crossing to the second island, Isabela, was scheduled.

Isabela (2/3)

Auf Isabela wurde ich erstmal von zahlreichen Seelöwen begrüßt, die sich wirklich überall aufhalten, sei es am Hafen oder auch mitten auf der Straße und den Fußwegen. Ich suchte mir auf der Straße erstmal ein Hostel und hatte Glück, da ich für 15$ die Nacht (für Galapagos Verhältnisse günstig, im Vergleich zu Peru ein Wucher) ein eigenes Zimmer mit Bad bekam. Nachmittags lieh ich mir dann wieder Schnorchelequipment und einen Wetsuit aus und machte mich auf den Weg zu Concha Perla, angeblich einem der besten Schnorchelspots der Insel. Leider wurde ich etwas enttäuscht, da es sich um ein sehr kleines Areal handelte und ich außer Fischen und ein paar Seesternen nicht wirklich etwas interessantes fande. Aber so ist das eben in der Natur, die Tiere leben komplett frei und darum hat man nie eine Garantie, was man wirklich sehen wird. Danach machte ich mich auf zu zahlreichen kleinen Lagunen, in denen sich einige Flamingos befinden. Am nächsten Tag machte ich mich vor meiner Tour, die um 11.00 Uhr begann, nochmals auf und gab Concha Perla eine zweite Chance. Und tatsächlich, dieses Mal sah ich zwei Schildkröten und einen kleinen Rochen. Hat sich also gelohnt. Die Tuneles Tour führte uns zu einer Region der Insel, bei der es zahlreiche natürliche Steintunnel, -brücken gab. Dort konnten wir bei unserem Landgang Vögel beobachten und hatten das Glück, den berühmten Blue-Foot-Boobie aus nächster Nähe mit seinen zwei Babys zu sehen. Beim Schnorcheln sahen wir wieder Schildkröten, Rochen, Fische und viele Haie, das ist mittlerweile schon normal geworden. Unser Guide zeigte uns sogar zwei Seepferdchen, die ich nicht entdeckt hätte, da sie wirklich sehr klein sind. Den restlichen Tag ließ ich am Strand, wenn auch bei nicht ganz so gutem Wetter ausklingen. Am letzten Tag auf Isabela stand eine Tour zu dem Vulkan Sierra Negra und – Chico an. Mal etwas ganz anderes im Vergleich zu meinen restlichen Touren. Zur Abwechslung mal ein Tag ohne Schnorcheln. Wir begannen die insgesamt 16km lange Tour und sahen relativ schnell die Grube, die Maße von 9x7km hat, wirklich riesige Dimensionen. Die letzte Eruption fand erst 2018 statt und man konnte an der Farbe des Gesteins deutlich erkennen, wo diese stattfand. Nach einiger Zeit änderte sich die Vegetation komplett und wir betraten unendlich weite Lavafelder. Man fühlt sich dort wirklich wie auf einem anderen Planeten. Meines Erachtens glich es sehr dem Mars. Am Ende erreichten wir eine Anhöhe, auf der man einen super Überblick über die Lavafelder hatte und auch das Meer sehen konnte. Beim Rückweg schlug das Wetter um, sodass wir komplett durchgenässt am Bus ankamen. Am Nachmittag nahm ich dann wieder die Fähre zurück nach Santa Cruz, da es keine Direktverbindung zwischen Isabela und San Cristobal gibt. Das bedeutete konkret für mich, zwei Mal den Fähren Preis zahlen und nochmals eine Nacht auf Santa Cruz verbringen, da immer nur zwei Fähren zu den Inseln fahren, eine am Vormittag und eine am Nachmittag.

On Isabela, I was first greeted by numerous sea lions that are really everywhere, be it at the harbour or also in the middle of the street and the footpaths. I looked for a hostel on the street and was lucky, because I got my own room with bathroom for 15$ a night (for Galapagos conditions favourable, in comparison to Peru a usury). In the afternoon I borrowed snorkelling equipment and a wetsuit again and made my way to Concha Perla, supposedly one of the best snorkelling spots on the island. Unfortunately I was a bit disappointed because it was a very small area and I didn't really find anything interesting except some fishes and a few starfish. But that's the way it is in nature, the animals live completely free and therefore you never have a guarantee what you really will see. Afterwards I went to numerous small lagoons where there are some flamingos. The next day, before my tour, which started at 11.00 a.m., I set off again and gave Concha Perla a second chance. And indeed, this time I saw two turtles and a small ray. So it was worth it. The Tuneles tour led us to a region of the island where there were numerous natural stone tunnels and bridges. There we could observe birds during our shore leave and were lucky to see the famous Blue-Foot-Boobie with its two babies at close range. While snorkelling we saw again turtles, rays, fish and many sharks, that has meanwhile become normal. Our guide even showed us two seahorses, which I wouldn't have discovered because they are really small. The rest of the day I spent on the beach, even if the weather was not so good. On the last day on Isabela there was a tour to the volcano Sierra Negra and - Chico. Something completely different compared to my other tours. For a change a day without snorkeling. We started the 16km long tour and saw relatively fast the pit, which measures 9x7km, really huge dimensions. The last eruption did not take place until 2018 and you could clearly tell by the colour of the rock where it took place. After some time the vegetation changed completely and we entered infinitely wide lava fields. You really feel like you are on another planet. In my opinion it was very similar to Mars. At the end we reached a hill where we had a great view over the lava fields and could also see the sea. On the way back the weather changed, so that we arrived completely wet at the bus. In the afternoon I took the ferry back to Santa Cruz as there is no direct connection between Isabela and San Cristobal. This meant for me to pay the ferry price twice and spend another night on Santa Cruz, as there are only two ferries to the islands, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.

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fateofours-or-wedlocke · 6 years ago

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Part 5: Cuts in Stone. {VS ROXANNE}

It is the next day. I feed everyone, catch them up to date on what is happening, and then head out. We start going through the forest. I begin sneaking with the team, hushing Amarantos and Behruz, telling them they have to be quiet.

At least they seem to understand that they must be quiet while we go through the forest, which was good. No sane human goes through the dangerous forest running blindly and waving their hands wildly around.

They would, of course, be considered insane, if they managed to survive getting attacked by the deadly monsters. They would be taken in by the nearest nurse and put into an insane asylum.

As I walk, I see... A scientist of sorts. He is wearing the classic lab coat, wearing thick-rimmed glasses, and holding a checklist. He seems to be searching for something. I approach. He looks to me, not looking surprised whatsoever. I ask him what he is searching for.

He says he does not mind death, before he tells me he wishes to try and get more information on the dangerous creatures within the forest. I, of course, think he is insane, but he IS being extremely careful.

He asks if I have seen any peeks of the monsters. I shake my head, and apologize. I tell him that my Shroomish might have known, but he is long gone, in a much, much safer location. He tells me it is okay.

A hooded figure approaches the scientist, asking him how the research was going. He looks to the person, telling them that he has not found anything yet. The oddly dressed human patted his shoulder, and tells him to search elsewhere, as they have this sector covered.

The scientist thanks the figure, thanking me as well before leaving. I look to the figure, and he asks me what I am doing. I tell him I am simply heading through. He understands, but he must battle me.

I ask why. He says that if I am heading through a dangerous forest, I should be properly armed. I understand. He sends out his Poochyena. I look to it, seeing its fate... and... I shiver. He asks me what is wrong. I tell him.

He looks surprised, and asks how I see fate. I shrug, saying it is something I always had. He looks to his Poochyena, and I set down Ama. He looks to the tiny Charmander, and let out a soft chuckle.

Ama looks to me. I am confused. So is the other. He asks why my Charmander is not attacking as we watch. I shrug, and I kneel near Amarantos. I gently ask him what is wrong. He giggles at me, and then tilts his head. Is...

Is he expecting me to tell him what to do? This is... weird. Nonetheless, I ask him any moves he may know. He let out more giggles, and burps. A small, purple flame flew out. That looks like...

Dragon Pulse? I look shocked. Perhaps he is part of a breeding attempt to make a more dragon-like Charizard. He may have been traded away because he did not have the right behavior. It is sad, but... That would mean he is likely to also know-

Before I could consider other moves he might know, the Poochyena tackles him let out a loud, terrifying howl. Ama let out a yelp, and curled up near my legs. The other apologizes, saying that his Poochyena gets impatient pretty quickly.

I comfort Amarantos, and tell him to try using Outrage. He tilts his head, and I make a few angry waves at the Poochyena, like I was attacking it. He looks to me, watching me before getting the idea. He jumps around, and runs towards the Poochyena.

His flame at the end of his tail turned a deep purple, and his claws grew as he slashed wildly at it. He jumped back to me, his tail waving around. He did not injure the other Pokemon, as is custom for most battles, but he did knock it around a bit.

The two trade blows. Finally, Amarantos flops onto his bottom, rubbing his head and looking to me. I thank him, telling him he did a wonderful job. I scoop him up gently, and send out Ariel, asking her to finish the battle.

She did just as such, and the Poochyena flops after her blast of water. It did look overheated from the battle! She lands on my shoulder, looking to Amarantos. I tell her that he fought the Poochyena a little, and did a great job. She nods, and smiles happily towards the Chamander.

The hooded figure approaches, reaching out and patting the Charmander. He asks why he listens to me, even though most Pokemon should not. I tell him that I am Ama’s father. I made sure to make a look towards Ama, to tell the other not to say otherwise.

He seems to understand at least. He nods, and supposed that it did make sense that a child would listen to his father. I nod, and smile happily to the little hatchling. He burbles and giggles softly.

Such innocence. I return him carefully, along with the rest of the team. The figure smiles, and tells me to go on through, but to be careful around Roxanne. Something is not right with her. I nod, and thank him for the information.

With that, I leave the forest, gathering information and items as I head to the next town. I... cannot resist the temptation. I send out Ama. I tell him to stay near me as we explore.

We meet up with a strange man. He hands us a powerful move to teach a Pokemon, telling me to be weary around Roxanne. ...Actually, every person we meet up with, they all warn us of Roxanne.

Who, or... now that I think about it, WHAT is Roxanne? I enter the Gym, and cover my eyes. It is bright. Too bright. There are three Trainers looking me dead in the eye, and I avoid contact.

Instead, I look to the man standing near the front. He is grinning, forcefully grinning. He looks to me, and asks if I am aiming to be a champion. I shrug, and say ‘I suppose’. He looks towards the back of the gym. There stands...

Oh.

Oh no. That... thing is not human. It... It is one of the beasts. It is made of stones, ancient bones clinging to its body. It opens its maw in a wicked grin as it stares me down. I feel myself shaking in fear. I do not know which eye to look at.

It lets out a horrifying screech, and I cover my ears. It licks its lip with its magma tongue. If it eats someone... I scoop up Ama, holding him close as I stare at the beast. It lets out a laugh, amused by my attempts to protect him.

I will eat him last, do not worry, little mortal. First, I will eat the bird, then the two pets, then the seed and frog... and then, then I will slowly, slowly eat him, making you watch every single moment. Then... you will be my dessert. Human is quite the delicacy.

Its voice is loud. I cannot cover my ears and protect my little hatchling. He is clinging and sobbing. I growl, and look to him gently, telling him that I will rid of this beast. I shout at it.

Roxanne, Beast of Stone! I will strike you down! I will change the Fate you have set before me! I will not allow any one of my friends be eaten! I will not allow you to harm any more lives!

I grip my hands, and hold Amarantos, promising him that he is fine, and will be fine as long as I am here. I approach Roxanne, staring the beast down. I no longer care if I am considered ‘crazy’, or ‘insane’, or whatever. I am protecting my FAMILY!

As I step towards the beast... I feel more footsteps beside my own. I look beside me. Ariel... Amatarasu, Behruz... Xipilli, Diana... I look to Amarantos, and he nods, determined. They are all by my side.

Behruz steps up first, with Amatarasu next to him. They glare down the beast. The beast laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs...

So! The Froglet and the Seed believe they can defeat a Forest Beast?! The Beast of STONE?! They must be mad.

No, I say to the beast. They are my family. And I know they can defeat you, stop you in your tracks and chase you back into the forest. Amatarasu stood in front of Behruz, curling into herself as much as a seed with feet could. She was using Harden to take any hits she might take.

The beast began wildly trying to attack Behruz and Amatarasu. The Seedot take the hits, taking less and less damage as she makes her already-hard shell even tougher to crack. She swiped at it in the same place, over and over.

Behruz creates heavily-pressured bubbles, shooting them at the scratches. The water within sinks into its body, waterlogging the creature... before ultimately making it fall to pieces.

It’s super effective.

I let out a sigh. Amarantos begins cheering. The two did wonderfully. They helped protect their family. Behruz picked up a small, metallic object. It must have been inside the creature. I pick it up. A Stone Badge, as is customary for a Gym Leader to give.

This beast must have eaten the original Gym Leader, along with their badge. I am... exhausted. It is time to rest. Tomorrow, I will explore further. Tomorrow, I will relax, giving Behruz and Amatarasu the praise they so dearly deserve.

Today, though, we rest... The two of them took down a Forest Creature. They deserve to sleep, and relax, and take a well-deserved rest.

Today, we rise as heroes as we sleep the night away.

#Fate of Ours. [Story]#nuzlocke challenge #death mention #tw: death mention #tw: animal death #tw: pokemon death

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