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#A glorious era whispering in the ear of the next one
ramayantika · 11 months
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Smriti
A story set in the lands of Bharatavarsha, the land named after the glorious king, Bharata. Set in the time when women were encouraged in the pursuit of knowledge to become Brahmavadinis, in an era where science, arts and spirituality went hand in hand to reach one common goal: Knowing the self.
The story belongs to a young girl just like you and just like me but in the days on an era gone by. Filled with dreams, ambitions, friends and love is a journey of this girl to rediscover herself who she is in this grand stage of the world. What role must she play in this play? Is she significant? Should she be significant?
For the land of Bharata from the eons gone by and the days to come will always lead every human to the one big question: Who are you? Are you what you see or are you what you do not see?
Come forth and witness a simple girl's story that now exists in memories. Smriti
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'The crown shall not be too light nor too heavy on your head my child. It has chosen you. Rule the land with grace and righteousness.'
Passing sixteen summer years sits a maiden by the ghats of the divine Mother river, Ganga. The sun shall rise in the skies soon and the moon still hasn't gone to sleep. What thoughts has she lost herself in? Which being occupies her mind?
'I could easily pass off as a king, wouldn't I?'
'Yes, my friend. The king of pigs.'
And for just one fleeting moment when I look at myself there's a small whisper in my ears. It tells me to look deeper within myself. Sometimes I dream about living out a grand destiny. It looks like a dream.
'Dreams do come true, sakhi -- even the most impossible ones.'
Citizens of Avanti, our awaited day has finally arrived. The eldest prince shall be crowned as the Yuvaraja as per the auspicious time calculated by the royal priest.
He kisses my forehead. I close my eyes and etch the softness of his lips to my memory. 'I shall only sit on the throne as the king with you by my side. Go, fulfill your dreams, gather all the knowledge you have always desired to pursue. He holds my hand to his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under my skin. 'I will be here for you. Your home shall await you.'
'Ladoos are sweet, so are you. Here's a secret: I love you.'
"Someone tell me why are all the girls in your group are into hardcore academics while you boys have taken up the arts?"
"Why? Is that a problem?"
One must know to never take even a piece of grain from his food. As sweet and charming he looks from the outside -- take a bite from his plate and watch him turn into a beast. Do.Not.Touch.His.Food.
I always look forward to meeting you all after summer vacations. God, it's lovely to be around you people. I wish we all stay together in the same place as adults too.
"How on earth is this idiot going to become a father in the next seven months?"
"I am going to sob, do not console me. We all grew up but I still feel we are sixteen and in school."
There were days I doubted my worth to have the crown on my head. Some years ago, I was a daughter of a normal banker in Kashi and now the queen of Avanti.
'It's just not my story, princess.'
'You all have to narrate some parts too, okay I am not going to ache my facial muscles. Our story is too long.'
The story starts from summer vacation after Year Eleven in Avanti on the bank of Narmada...
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Hi! Let's call this a book trailer lol because I don't think this would actually be a prologue.
And let me tell you, this story is one my serious writing projects. This story kept me going in 11th and 12th though I barely wrote the chapters, but I had the story in my head.
I had read about those high school fun stories where a group of friends go on adventures, fall in love, etc but I rarely saw any Indian stories about it until one fine night I was thinking what if I were a character in an ancient Indian period. Me and my friends would learn in gurukulas, learn so many things and find friends and walk our destinies. Day by day I added new info and scenarios to this tale.
A smol little secret. Once I complete this book and whenever you all read it, you would know me in every way. This story everything is me opening myself, the good and the bad.
And since the characters and the tale is close to my heart, I am going to be patient and write it in the best way I can.
Oh yes, there are too many dialouges here right? They all belong to different characters and I mentioned the dialouges knowingly just you get a not so fully vague idea about what this story is going to entail.
Would love your reviews and feedbacks for this and the upcoming parts of the story. I will upload the chapters to my wattpad first and then here for those who don't use wattpad. 🌸
Tagging: (also do tell me if you want to be added because I will make a separate Smriti taglist)
@krishna-priyatama @mere-heera @arachneofthoughts @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @bambioleo @voidsteffy @savlon-bhoi @like-a-sentient-dagger @tumhari-bhairavi @zaraaaaaa
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freyalor · 6 years
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There has been a time when history was written in whispered secrets and stolen glances.
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heresathreebee · 3 years
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No Touching
[Ava Starr x Female!Reader]
Summary: Friend dates with Ava always brighten your day (and night). Tonight is more enlightening than brightening, though… 
Previous Masterlist Next
Word count: 1.7 words
Warning(s): 14+ | angst, gay panic, dolls, 1 (one) racist antique, Steven Segal movie, chronic pain, tears.
AN: No actually I didn't bother to edit this, not doing that anymore, I think too much as it is. As always, I write with a black reader in mind but feel free to read even if you aren't. 🖤
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You are eighty percent sure that you and Ava are dating.
85%... 78%... 81.5% sure.
It would probably be best if you cleared that up (but be cool about it though). You've started seeing each other more and more, and on purpose no less. Never a dull conversation, she's reluctant to share some of her life story but she's eager to know everything about you and you're more than happy to indulge. It's not like you know nothing about her; you just don't know the specifics of her past. 
Her parents died when she was young, she's ex-military (you think?), and she just came off of a huge life change and is getting used to what she calls 'real life.' You figure out she's a bit of a shut in and hates crowds, so you go out of your way to show her quiet places and introduce her to things she's never tried before. The bowl by your front door where you put your keys has 20 or 30 marbles from ramune bottles in it. You can't seem to ring her secret out of her, she just gives you this cryptic knowing smile and laughs at your attempts to sweet talk or annoy it out of her. 
You feel so close, growing closer still, she's quickly become the best part of your week, and you catch yourself thinking about her even when she's not with you. But you've never held hands. Hell, you've never even so much as brushed shoulders with her by accident. If you're dating, shouldn't you at least hug her goodbye? Is she even able to be into you like that?? 
You try not to let the panic set in as you stand outside of the antiques mall. You told her you liked old things and promised to show her your favorite pastime. God, how do you go about this? Should you just flirt with her and see how she reacts? Also how does one flirt? What if you’re fucking up and she really just wants to be friends? God knows you could use some friends right now. 
When she does appear, you do nothing. You continue to act relaxed and enjoy her presence, promising yourself you’ll ask about it afterwards. Ava’s wearing that grey jacket again made of a thin sports fabric and you make a mental note it might rain today. 
“Ava,” you stage whisper, waving her out of the jewelry section by the front desk and into the maze of vintage old clothes and furniture. “Back here, to the left.” 
Deep deep deep in a corner of the massive store, Ava stops dead in her tracks (you run into her but back away quickly) and stares. 
“This... is…” Ava covers her mouth with her hands to hold her laughter in, “ghastly.” 
The shelf is wide, with dark wood trimming and protective glass. The lights are almost fluorescent as they illuminate dozens of humanoid dolls. Some are cute, but some are also creepy, unnerving, down right scary. 
You point at the one with the Jonbenet Ramsey likeness and deep cracks in her porcelain face. It was overly large compared to the rest, having to have stuffed legs crossed like a sitting child. "I think I fear that one the most." 
You felt Ava shiver and didn't even realize you were standing that close. Her eyes darted from face to face, taking in every terrible and wonderful detail of them. You smelled coconut in her hair and tried to distance yourself a bit, missing the conversation. "Huh?" 
"I said they're haunted, aren't they?" 
"That one definitely is." You look over the other dolls. "I don't know, I think the rest are kinda cute. 'Cept that one: that one can fuck off straight to hell." 
Down on the second shelf where the light began to struggle in reach belied an offensive porcelain joke. The decoration portrayed an over animated child at play, with oil black skin, fat red lips, and bulbous eyes. This child was dressed in white rags and sucking on a wedge of fruit. Guess which one. Fucking guess, I dare you. 
"It's not even a fucking doll," Ava grumbled. "Why is it here?" 
You leaned in to whisper, "someday, I'm gonna buy that thing just to fucking smash it on the pavement." 
"Oh, what a lovely sound it would make." 
You hum. "I'm not gonna give nobody money for that trash. Can't steal it either, we'd never make it to the door." 
Ava looked over her shoulder with a cheeky smile. "We?" 
You simply tilt your head at her, and she huffs out a laugh. She nodded as if agreeing with you, then drifted away from the case like a wary woman. You toured through the rest of the store like a treasure trove of other people's memories, war memorabilia, ancient brand merchandise (why would anyone want a life size green m&m in their house? Who is this for?), and paintings from the dadeism era by unpopular artists. You ate lunch at the vendor shops in downtown and retired to your place for a movie. 
You must have fallen asleep at the beginning but you came to during some big shootout between Steven Segal and generic Latino drug dealer #7 when you accidentally dropped your hand into Ava's lap. Quickly, Ava withdrawals, thrusting herself to the other side of the couch as if in disgust. Your head jerks up in hurt and confusion, you hadn't even felt anything except a light tingling. You could barely hear the tv audio over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. 
"You can't touch me," Ava spat. "You just can't. Ever. Please…" 
"I'm sorry. Ava, I– I am so, so sorry I didn't mean to–" 
"It's not your fault and you didn't know," she mumbled and faltered, "it's just… you can't." 
You feel tears prick in the corner of your eyes as you try to swallow. "I'm sorry. Really. It won't happen again." 
Ava looked up at you guiltily and sighed. She folded her legs and eased herself off of the couch arm rest, hands tucked into her lap and unable to meet your eyes anymore. 
"It's not what you think it is," she explained. "I… I have a condition of sorts. And it… it hurts.” 
Her words put a hold on the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Like a… skin condition? Or nerves or something?” 
Ava nodded quickly. “Yes. yes, like a nerves thing. My um, my nervous system. It's chronic."
“Oh Ava,” you cover your heart with a breathy sigh, “of course! I wish I’d known I would have never–” 
“It’s not something I like to talk about.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m really glad you understand. Sorry I freaked out, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything.” 
You tried to blow a raspberry. “It’s whatever, didn’t hurt my feelings.” 
Yeah, you could hear the weakness of the lie, too. Still, Ava went and parked herself on the couch exactly where she was before– close but not too close. Warm but not quite touching. You were ready to let it slide and go right back to pretending to watch the movie when– 
“So what’s going on between us exactly? I like girls– I like you– and I don’t mean just in a friend sort of way– is it maybe sorta possible you might feel the same way about me?” 
Who said that? You? Honestly you’re feeling a little dizzy as you try and stare a hole in the tv screen. And Ava? Well at least she didn’t hold you in suspense for too long. She chuckled– and god you had to look. You had to know if she was laughing at you or with you. Your eyes snapped to her completely unmocking face. 
She blinked at you, bit her lip even. “Yes, I am.. Capable of liking girls. Might prefer them actually. And I definitely like you in a more-than-a-friend sort of way.” 
It takes a second to sink in. OK, it takes a hot minute to sink in. Like the movie ended and you walked Ava home and you slept in until 10 am and made omelettes for breakfast at noon and laid down on your floor staring at the ceiling until sundown. Yeah that kind of hot minute. And your lips curled into a soft smile because you had a girlfriend and she liked girls and you could not be happier than you are right now. 
~
Ava asked you to meet her on the corner by the antiques mall that night. You don’t know how but she got her grubby, thieving little mitts on that disgusting tar baby doll from the haunted doll shelf. You made her swear up and down she didn’t pay real money for it, then nearly pulled out your hair when you realized it meant she definitely stole it and– 
"How the ffffUCK do you just DO that?!" 
"Slight of hand," she mused. 
Fuck, and she was a geek. Yeah, you're definitely in love. She pushes the ugly thing into your hands and despite being cold porcelain it feels like it's burning. 
"Do the honors." 
There's no build up. No ceremony. You don't want to drag this out anymore. You take a swinging leap and spike that shit and watch it shatter into a hundred pieces with the most glorious sound you'll ever hear. You land in slow motion, already replaying the image of thick glass pieces cracking on the indigo pavement. You stand over your mess, triumphant. 
The quiet of the night time street drifts back to you, as does Ava. "I'll be honest I expected a big speech." 
You shrug. "I've been waiting too long to do that. Thank you, Ava. I mean it." 
"Oh believe me it was my pleasure." Ava swaggers closer to you and if you didnt know better you'd think she was going in for a kiss. "Tonight, the tar baby. Tomorrow, the world." 
You resist the urge to clap her on her shoulders and throw your hands in the air instead. "Sounds like a date!" 
Next
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Part two of the final day of @tes-summer-fest. This one is far darker compared to the earlier piece. Trigger warnings for mentions of violence and injury along with Molag Bal being present. Also, trigger warning for implications of assault.
 Flames flickered, illuminating the main hall as the Kharabbi tribe began its ceremony. A low humming filled the room, supporting a quiet chant as their leader, Ri'siri stepped forward towards the altar. Upon which sat his daughter, Azirina, covered in silks and jewels and surrounded by offerings.
"Oh great Molag Bal. All nature vibrates with your dark energies. And Nirn is bathed with unlife and pain. Now is the time of forgetting false lords and masters. Now is the time of purification." He began, the humming growing louder as energy crackled in the air.
"Oh great lord; Burn away the unuseful, the weak, the cowards, Everyone will submit to your glorious power. Lord Molag Bal, we offer you this pure soul. This soul that has tread in your realm and survived. May you use her to merge the realms and bring eras of your reign forth. May you bring the cowards and the unworthy to their knees and make them pay for their crimes alongside her. May you both reign over the lesser beings for eternity." Outside, thunder rumbled as storm clouds rolled in, blocking out the moons. Behind the altar, a portal opened whilst the candles glowed blue.
 "Papa?" Azirina began, before crying out as something burned into her shoulder. She looked back to see the mark of their lord branded into her flesh, chains creeping out of the portal to her.
"Accept this pure soul we offer and ensure that your reign shall be forever unmatched and unbroken." Ri'siri chanted, the other voices of the tribe growing louder as the ceremony continued. The chains shot forward, wrapping around her arms and legs. Azirina yelled in surprise, her arms lifting as another chain began to coil around her chest. Once it reached her heart, it sank into her skin, making her gasp as she felt it wind its way around her heart. 
 As they began to drag her back towards the portal, arrows filled the hall, one catching her father in the throat. But it was too late. The chant had been completed, the ceremony nearing its end. The last thing Azirina saw as she was dragged through the portal was her tribe fighting with Thalmor agents.
 Her eyes shot open as the dream ended with her scream. She moved, sitting upright and holding her head. That memory had been six years ago, when she was first brought to ColdHarbour. If she was having it, it meant one thing. Today was her birthday. 
 "Your majesty?" A voice, along with an insistent knocking, sounded from her door. "Are you awake? Master has ordered you to join him. Today is a special day." It added happily. She sighed, flopping back onto her bed as she stared at the ceiling. Today was the next part of her ceremony. One to cement her ties with their lord. And she dreaded what it meant. 
 The door opened as the owner of the voice, a winged twilight matriarch entered with two kynval. The two dremora carried a large box, which made her tilt her head, as the winged twilight spoke. 
 "Master has requested you wear this for the ceremony." She explained before the three of them left, leaving the box behind. She climbed from her bed and walked over to it, opening the lid. A frown took hold as she looked at the contents. 
 "Of course." She murmured.
 Eventually, she made her way to Heart's Grief, where he would be. The white dress, simple and plain, made her stand out amongst the Soul Shriven as she walked. Although, she had a feeling there was a specific reason she had to wear it. 
 Ah, here she is now. The virginal bride. His voice echoed like thunder as she entered Heart's Grief. The first thing that caught her attention was the altar in the centre. That was new. The next thing was the lack of any dremora. Usually, his council would be here. But it was just the two of them. 
 "My lord?" She began, only to gasp as the chain around her heart was pulled, yanking her forward. It was then, she noticed the form he had taken. He chose to be closer to a mortal size. He still stood taller than most, but not his usual gigantic size. 
 Today is a special day. He began as he dragged her closer. My advisors tell me you have reached maturity. That now, we can complete your ceremony. Her ears flicked back in response as she stood in front of him. 
 "This one does not understand, master." She began, only to yell as he picked her up and placed her on the altar. 
 Well, how do they complete a wedding ceremony in Nirn, little kitten? She gulped, staring in horror at the vicious grin on his face. 
 "This one does not know." She whispered softly, fear filling her voice. 
 They consummate it. He chuckled as he reached for her. 
 Throughout the realm, all knew the ceremony was being completed by the screams that came from Heart's Grief. As blood was spilled, staining the white fabric, the chains around her heart tightened, cemented by their creator's blood and ensuring they would remain for eternity. 
 In one ceremony, Azirina was doomed to Hell.
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bone-wolves · 3 years
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The sandy ground beneath Glimmer's paws was cool still, but the horizon was already lightening as the sun rose. Before her, the ground ended abruptly in a sharp drop ending in flat, dusty ground. The drop is high enough that only an adult wolf would be able to leap back up, and the high edge rings around the lowered area, creating an enclosed area about two wolf-lengths wide and three wolf-lengths long. At the center of it is a depression, where once a spring might have bubbled up but which now only holds a few pawfuls of dusty sand a single scrappy stand of desert grass.
In the enclosed area, three pale-blue pups were sitting or standing, their pale eyes looking around themselves with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Glimmer watched them, her body tense. In her eyes, the image of the pups shifted, her memories changing their pale coats to darker grays, marked here and there with splashes of white and black.
She narrowed her eyes, a low growl rumbling in her throat. One of the pups looked up at her, ears perked and eyes bright. He was barely over one moon old - and he might never get any older. By His Glorious Golden One's decree, one-moon old pups were to spend a day in the desert pit, without water or food or any shelter, to prove that they were worthy to be Blessed by the Golden Light.
Few did.
Mother's weren't allowed to watch their pups in the pit. They were forced to wait until the sun set to discover the outcome - some nervously, some quietly angry, the more pious of them peacefully and with a quiet reverence in their eyes as they stared up at the sun.
Glimmer had been one of the pious ones; she'd joined Aurelius's side before the golden wolf had staged his coup and torn apart Rowan's Shade Pack. He'd spoken to that first group of supporters about the treachery of Enit's modifications, the dangers of otherworldly powers. He'd told them that he'd bring a new era, a time where worldly wolves held worldly powers, where their worth and strength wasn't decided by what extreme horrors their bodies were subjected to. He'd told them he'd make them strong across all the lands, if only they spread the Light he gave them and supported him without question.
The gold flecks of Blessed Light still shimmered on Glimmers pelt, but her piety was gone. It had gone a while ago, and the empty spot left behind had been filling with a slow-growing but fiery rage. When she'd given her first pups to the pit, she had waited with a sure heart, the sun's light blinding her, for the day's end, when she could welcome them to the pack as full members - but that moment hadn't come. In the harsh sunlight, with nowhere to hide and nothing to drink, the young pups had succumbed to the heat. None had survived.
Despair had drowned Glimmer; she had blamed herself, told herself that she hadn't believed hard enough, that she hadn't whispered the right words to her pups enough, that she hadn't done enough. It had been her fault. She worked hard to prove herself a worthy member of the Pack of Golden Light. She'd chased interlopers; she'd hunted the strongest and healthiest prey; she'd battled the dune-cats and the cougars and worked herself ragged day and night and she knew that next time, it would be different.
And when her next litter of pups died the same as the first, her faith shattered.
She didn't see the truth immediately, however. It was despair and grief that dimmed the shine Aurelius's words and pulled her away from his obsessive rules, but it wasn't until the pieces of her faith began to fall, one by one, and her eyes began to see clearly past the shine of the Golden Light Aurelius constantly talked about, the she saw.
Aurelius, she realized, was exactly like Enit. No, no - he was worse. Enit had never pretended to be anything but what she was, and her aspects were given as gifts, never meant to harm the wolves she bestowed them on. She was clumsy in the ways of mortals, but as Glimmer looked back on the time she had known the spirit-in-wolf-form, she realized that that was all it was - clumsiness. There were no dark intentions, no attempts to control the wolves of the pack.
Aurelius wanted control. He craved power and control as mortal wolves craved good prey - he stalked it constantly, created rules to enforce his control on others, enacted rituals meant to confuse the pack, keep them isolated from other wolves. And as Glimmer looked at him through newly-unshuttered eyes, she could finally see what he was doing; keeping the wolves of his pack ignorant, believing in some mortally-based supernatural power and feeding them lies, keeping them wary of outside wolves, keeping them happy by letting them harass the Bound wolves of Rowan's Shade Pack so they wouldn't notice just how much he was taking from them.
But Glimmer knew; as she watched the pups below her, she knew. She knew the chances these young pups would survive the heat of midday was slim. She knew that when - not if - they died, Aurelius would use it to push the wolves of his pack into greater fervor. And she knew it was all a lie -
There was no mortal golden light blessing them, the sunlight didn't give them powers - Aurelius wasn't of this world, no matter how cleverly he arranged himself. Behind his charisma, his bright eyes, his shimmering coat, there was the same shimmer of other-worldliness that had surrounded Enit when she lived. Whatever he was, he was no wolf, and the power he said came from the sun came from him, and from someplace beyond this mortal world. And the power - it did nothing that was promised. Glimmer could feel the shine of gold dust in her pelt, but it hadn't given strength to her limbs or sharpness to her teeth. Whatever prey she brought down had been brought down by her own work, not a beam of sunlight. Whatever foes she defeated were defeated with her own strength.
She could see that now, in vivid clarity. And she could see, now, that if Aurelius hadn't come to power, if Enit had been allowed to return, her pups would never had died. She would never have suffered their loss, or seen their worn bodies spread out on the ground of the pit. In Enit's pack, pups had been cared for, and had only died of illness or accident. In The Pack of Golden Light, pups died by design.
Glimmer's throat still rumbled with a growl, and her eyes no longer saw the pups, or the pit, or the other wolves that stood watch along the edges. All she saw was the golden face of the wolf that had destroyed her world.
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caroline18mars · 3 years
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A Man On Fire - Chapter 82
But Jared stayed right where he was, curling and twirling around Chloe on that improvised dancefloor full of tired, drunk friends, she looked at the scene in front of her on her way back to the table, it was actually adorable, somehow it was rare to see Jay this frivolous, rare but heartwarming. “Everything ok?” Cooper sat down again next to her, “sure” she tried not to mumble or look distressed, but she was, “I can see why you and LA don’t mix, this city is full of actors, so you’re definitely out of place here” grinning, he took a swig from his bottle of beer. “Trouble in paradise, I can tell, I’m a good listener you know” he leaned back in his chair, not taking his eyes off her, “I’m sure you are, but I’m not as good a talker..the only thing I can truly confide in is chocolate, I’ve got some dessert left, want one?” she got up again, feeling a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Sure” he shrugged as she instantly headed for the kitchen, just getting my thoughts together, just a minute to myself, she opened the fridge reaching for the chocolate cake, “uhm, while you’re at it, give us another bottle of vodka will ya?” the voice behind her startled her so much she nearly let the plate with the cake slip out of her hands. “Oh..” she spun around to see the spitting image of that other girl who was dancing with Jared outside, “here you go” she took the bottle out of the fridge “you must be..Marie-Lou?” she forced a smile, “yup, and you’ve been hanging around my man all night” the girl snapped at her and then turned with a dramatic flip of her hair rushing out of the kitchen without giving Harper any more attention. Slowly and in a bit of a shock she closed the fridge door, had she been suggesting that she spent too much time tonight with her boyfriend? Please no more misunderstandings, ever since Sean, she was so done with them, wait how did Sean slip back into her mind? Where was he now? And how was he? Why do I even care? She shook her head and carried on filling up two plates with chocolate cake before she walked out into the crisp evening air again. “I..uhm..met Marie-Lou” she put the plate in front of Cooper but found him too wrapped up in an animated conversation with the guy next to him, so she sat down and pushed a spoonful of chocolate cake in her mouth while she looked sighing at the party in full swing in front of her, connection lost again, story of her frikkin life.
”You really love chocolate cake, don't you?” Cooper turned his attention back to Harper who put her fork back on her empty plate, “treading on thin ice here , buddy, I really don't need to hear you say out loud what is bubbling through your mind, yes I actually eat, I'm definitely no LA woman, there I said it out loud, can we move on now?”. Cooper leaned back in his seat with a grin, this is one feisty, little firecracker, I actually like her, she's such a breath of fresh air, “ok, moving on then, don't you get jealous seeing all these women throw themselves at Jared's feet?”. Harper looked at the dancefloor where her man was the centre of attention “Jared will always attract attention, I guess I've learned to live with it, the only ones jealous are those girls out there, they’re jealous because they’re not in a relationship with him and I am and that’s an entirely different ballgame” she sighed as she pushed another piece of cake in her mouth. “I’ve always wondered if Jared is into twins, I mean look at Marie-Lou and Chloe” Cooper didn’t seem the least bit affected by his lover’s and her sister’s grinding against Jared, “you must have one kinky sex life”, his wide grin and his assumption annoyed her. “First, my sex life is nobody’s business, second: why don’t you ask Marie-Lou that question? Sounds like you’re the one fantasizing about Marie-Lou and her sister” she calmly said watching his jaw drop, ha, the shoe was on the other foot now. “Marie-Lou? You obviously don’t know her, Marie-Lou is..well, let’s say she’s not the most passionate woman alive” he sniggered, finding himself extremely funny. “You’re right, I can’t say that I know her, but I’ve met her in the kitchen just now and she’s definitely passionate about you, she said I’ve been hanging around you all night and she didn’t seem to pleased with that” Harper took a few sips looking at Cooper’s reaction, was that a smirk?. “Oh really?” his lip curled into a smile while his eyes drifted over to his lover “never confuse passion with jealousy, I told you, passionate relationships are so early 20th century..I can honestly say I’ve never had one of those, do you?” the way he squinted his eyes and bit his lip made her shiver. Before she could even think of an answer, he did “Maybe we should ask Jared that question, he’s more of an early 20th century guy isn’t he? I mean he’s pushing on 50 so he’s had quite the experience with women”. Harper shifted in her seat, don’t show him you’re getting agitated, too late, “ah there he is, the man of the hour” Cooper looked up at Jared approaching their side of the table.
”I missed you” he pushed a kiss on her lips that tasted of alcohol and his skin smelled of expensive women's perfume, no wonder with how the girls had been rubbing themselves against him under the pretence of dancing. When they came up for air, her eyes connected with those burning ones of Cooper, “I thought you were going to come dance with me” he whispered when he straightened his back, “hey Cooper” he casually said turning his head slightly to greet Cooper, but deep down he felt a twang of jealousy burn, a good looking young guy who was clearly as fascinated by Harper as he was, a man with a brain too, and she was a sucker for those, “hey Jay, you lucky bastard” Cooper greeted him with a little grin. Jared pulled a chair up and strategically sat down in between them, you're not gonna dig your claws into her, back off! “must have been quite the conversation if you can keep my woman away from a dancefloor” in his voice this hint of venom that didn't go unnoticed by any of them. “Funny you ask because we were actually talking about passionate relationships and how they're so 20th century, an era we all know you're very familiar with” Cooper licked his lips before he took a sip from his glass. Don’t do it, just let him stew in all his obvious sarcasm, let it slide..too late “ah, the 20th century, yes I remember it well, see the good thing about being my age is knowing what you want and don’t want, especially in love, it took me until my late forties to find the woman of my dreams but I’m finally 100% sure I found her, unlike you millennials who have to fuck every friend you have, hoping someone will stick because you don’t know how to treat or satisfy someone because you’re all too wrapped up in yourself and the image you want to create, see, there’s no ‘I’ in the word ‘love’, is there? so yeah, I’m happy I’m a hopeless 20th century romantic..” he mockingly raised his eyebrow. Everyone in a one metre radius could feel the tension rise, so Harper quickly intervened “Well, this millennial sure has no complaints about her hopeless 20th century romantic” she quickly crawled on his lap and then whispered in his ear “and can I just say that this millennial can’t wait for this party to be over so I can get a good fucking tonight” before she kissed him. She could feel him relax instantly, a crisis avoided, nice work Harper, but the actual action she wasn’t too sure of yet with all these alcohol drenched kisses but it was a fact that she needed to be shot back to life, some lovin’ would surely get her head out of this mental fog and her creative juices flowing again. “Why wait? Why don’t you go upstairs now and I’ll come fuck your brains out in a few minutes” he whispered back at her with a little lick of her earlobe, “so far for my 20th century god of romance” she giggled, normally she would have just brushed it off because they had a whole lot of company, but not this time, she needed action and she needed it right now. “I’m just going to get some more wine” Harper got up, Jared’s eyes shooting daggers at Cooper who thoroughly checked out her glorious body, “sure yeah” Jared nervously shuffled in his seat and tried to hide his imminent arousal while she walked back to the house, rocking those hips just a little too obvious.
The cold water on her burning cheeks made her hiss, where was he? He said he was going to be up soon..she dried her face sitting down on the edge of the bath and quickly pushed away the blinders, nope, nowhere to be seen, she’d been waiting up here for him for 20 minutes..oh there he was, oh for fuck’s sakes..she watched him being dragged back on the danceflour by those horrible twins. Right, done anticipating,  pfffff, get up, just get up Harper, she pushed herself back up on her feet and walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her, she so didn’t want to go back to that party again..so instead of walking down the stairs, she took a right and wandered through the dark corridor. The moonlight falling on her blank canvases in her studio drew her in, the smell of her oils and solvent wafting up to her, why didn’t anyone make a perfume out of those? She would be the first to buy it. She sat down in the bay window watching her canvases..blank, blankblankblank, blank..would she ever feel inspired again? Not as long as the sweltering heat of LA kept melting her brain, she had told herself over and over again to stop obsessing over how her new home blocked her creative vibe but every time she picked up a brush and lathered it up, nothing but nonsense would appear on the canvas. Try again? Sure, why not? She grabbed a brush and some paint, here goes nothing..nothing at all.. a softly whispered “oh my..” startled her, Jared?? Nope..Cooper..slowly walking into the room, not able to keep his eyes off the mess on the canvas. “I actually get to see the master paint..I can certainly tick that off my bucket list” he softly said with eyes like saucers “that is amazing, Harper..”, Harper leaned back a bit, stared at her painting and then at him “huh? Maybe you should get your eyes checked because this is just..bs” she huffed putting her brush down. Cooper just ignored her and walked to the back of the room where some of her older work rested on the floor “I don’t know what to say..this is mindblowing..seeing it in a catalogue is one thing but seeing it here, touching it is next level..you know, all those art critics were wrong..” he let his finger run over one of the canvases making her cringe, don’t do that, never touch a painting with your probably dirty fingers. “Critics can call you the new rising star in the art world, but you’re a new fuckin’ universe, this is spectacular” he stood up again and stared at her, “oh come on, I meant it when I said you need to get your eyes checked, if you call that art, then why do I feel like a one-trick pony?” she snapped before she stomped over to the bay window again and sat down in the moonlight. “Ok..” he sat down next to her “wanna talk about it?” she was just in time to move away from his hand that hovered over her knee, “not really?” she mumbled staring out the window, she so needed Jared right now instead of this man, but he was still too busy partying down there, at least that’s what she thought because he was nowhere to be seen. “LA, right? I don’t get it, why don’t you try and think of it as NY but with a lot more heat and humidity?” he grinned “if you ask me, I think the problem is not really LA as a city that is blocking your creativity, I think it’s you that is blocking her own creativity because you agreed to leave NY for a guy and that is against every single one of your principles”. What? Why were her cheeks burning all of a sudden? fuck! “oh really? Listen mister, I wouldn’t give up your dayjob just yet in this ridiculous quest of becoming a shrink” she huffed again, “oh come on, why so defensive all of a sudden, could it be because I’m right?” this time he shuffled closer, one hand wrapping around her shoulder and the other hand landing on her knee. Jared rushed up the stairs, where the hell was she? Not in his bedroom, not in the bathroom,  he followed the light that came streaming out of her studio “Babe, I’m so sorry, I..” he barged in but stopped in his tracks when he was greeted by her being glued against Cooper “what the hell..”
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thesunlounge · 3 years
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Reviews 364: X.Y.R.
X.Y.R. is among my absolute favorite purveyors of transportive balearica, soothing synth ambient, and mysterious fourth world, and ahead of writing about his epic, mystical, and deeply zoned out Pilgrimage LP on Not Not Fun, I’d like to take some time to write about the artist’s Tourist, which saw a cassette repress by Ingrown Records a few months ago, after originally being released by the label on vinyl back in 2017. X.Y.R.–real name Vladimir Karpov–has explored a range of fantastical and otherworldly textures across his discography, whether through his increasingly psychedelic collaborations with Not Not Fun, or through releases such Robinson Crusoe (Lost Soundtrack), El Dorado, and Artika, all of which explore sonic narratives both mythical and imagined. But amongst all the shades and styles he has worked with, I am perhaps most fascinated by his journeys into tropical dreamworlds and horizontal paradises, such as those found on the Big Calm cassette. And in many ways, Tourist was a spiritual successor to that album, as both releases perfectly soundtrack lazy days spent at seaside, with music that is seemingly meant to evoke the feeling of swaying in a hammock strung between two palm trees, as warm salt-air, rhythmic waves, and perfumes from exotic flowers lull the mind into a meditative state of bliss. As always, X.Y.R. colors over his beloved Formanta-Mini and Alisa1387 analog synthesizers with pedal fx, an RC-20 loop station, and field recordings, while also giving space to the guitar of Dmitriy Borodin on album opener “Celler Florida Fiesta.” And just as on the vinyl release, Alexandr Dimov’s evocative artwork graces the cover, with his visage of a fisherman gazing at some glorious sunset perfectly encapsulating the album’s paradisiacal evocations of a relaxing island escape.
X.Y.R. - Tourist (Ingrown Records, 2017 / 2020) In opener “Celler Florida Fiesta”, percolating synthesizers shimmer like Carribean crystals, only as if seen through a mirage of seafoam. Vocalized bass textures fade in and mechanical loops click, pulse, and breath while bird whistles flutter at the edge of the mix. Reverb-soaked field recordings move around the periphery as the synths occasionally lock into playful tropicalisms that pull my mind the work of Hosono…these bleary and blurry themes of child-like wonderment and equatorial ecstasy. Everything is held together by hushed rhythms of reverberating click and clack, while fourth world hooks whoosh back and forth between pan-pipes and whistles. And by the end, the abstracted tropical loops and drunken themes of seaside mirth begin to suggest an android’s approximation of an island lullaby. The swirling warmth of “Bon Voyage” follows, with organic bass thumps and hissing cymbals flowing through dub delay chains. New age synthetics smear and smoldering subsonic waves work through melodies of equatorial splendor, with looping phrases bathing the mind in a summer sunshine glow. Reggae-hued textures spread outwards amongst echoing chord bursts, hazy heatwave pads diffuse in from distant horizons, and as the basslines recede, white noise whispers and sighing seed shakers add polyrhythmic movement. Soviet-era synths cycle through mermaid melodies that dance across the stereo field, and bass notes swim dreamily in one ear, only to have starscape leads resume their phrase on the other side of the spectrum. 
Pads hover amidst bubbling liquids at the outset of “Bathyscape Journey,” and dreamspace synth circulations merge with white noise shaker patterns. ASMR clicks and electroacoustic whispers flutter as those hovering pads reach towards an impossibly beautiful horizon, and faded whistles emerge to lead a relaxing island sway. The mix overflows with texture and movement as underwater gemstones generate sparkles that trail off to the far reaches of the stereo field, and lush layers of reverb create an otherworldly effervescence…as if the entire mix is bathed in softened layers of pearlescent fizz. Deep chords evoke a choir of masculine sea sprites, and something in the melodies recalls the folk music of the southeastern Pacific. Tapped cymbals evoke drumsticks splashing into metalloid pools of static and further folksy whistles melt over the mix, which increasingly evokes a psychedelic paradise of tropical wonderment, wherein colorful creatures of the seafloor play strange woodwinds of shell and coral while analog cloudforms swirl all around. Next comes “Mountain Drift” and the sounds of breath, children, and bubbling synth pulsations that increasingly grow in magnitude. Insectoid rattles are heard far away and blurring layers of squarewave synthesizer intermingle, as dazzling phrases and interlocking echo patterns flow in from all directions. Mystical temple melodies evoke an ancient forest shrouded in fog, but the sounds of humanity are never far from reach, as snippets of childlike chatter coalesce with birdsong and industrial factory detritus. I’m reminded at times of the distinctive new age and environmental ambient of Inoyama Land, as well as of minimalism, due to the increasing presence of bouncing curlicues. kinetic echo cycles, and psychoactive sound loops.
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In “Captain’s Pipe,” avian conversations surround soft focus synth melodies that move through longform ascents and descents. Harmonious wavefronts of organ-esque tonality bath the body in ecclesiastical light and sequencers constructed from ocean crystals dazzle the mind, with time signatures not quite aligning, and thus creating a vibe of daydream intoxication. Keys buzz in the left ear and voices speak in the distance, and though I know not the title’s origin, I like to imagine it as the name of some café deep in the jungle…a sort of harmonious glow of life and culture in the heart of a rainforest, with people basking in tropical melodics and conversing about nothing at all while birds paradise flit from tree to tree. Flowing seamlessly into “Euphoria,” heavenly tones quiver like Spacemen 3, only as if heard underwater and surrounded by bubble clouds that erupt from seafloor vents. Space age whistles and meditative pads whisper together until suddenly, the track develops into a fully formed island groove, one that sees equatorial basslines thumping, shakers sketching out rhythms of seaside mesmerism, and synthesizers harmonizing together, with tones ghostly, otherworldly, and again recalling the worlds of City Pop (think Wonder City Orchestra and Jun Fukamachi’s ambient work). Wavering leads dance around the spectrum while being tracked by percussive sparkles and elsewhere, bubbling currents flow upwards before dispersing into shards of light. Eventually, those groovy basslines recede as seasick synth work diffuses into the mix, but it’s a false ending into whirlpool of angelic shimmers and metallic wisps, for soon enough, the thumping bass jam returns, bringing with it atmospheres of a thrilling seaside sashay.
Reverberating voices sit above a drunken bass gallop in “Cocktail Party,” as if meant to suggest a futuristic saloon town by the sea. Thudding percussions underly the bass motions while tropical hazes flutter in and out of focus…all while vibrato atmospheres cycle through strange patterns. Percussive pads mimic steel drums, smears of feedback arc in the distance, and the beats cut momentarily before dropping back in, with the body falling ever further into the loping sway. There’s a touch of Ethiopian music intermingling with spaghetti western soundtrack work, and at times the vibe presages the more blissful and balearic moments from SiP’s Leos Naturals. And later, further melodic layers descend to create harmonizing polyrhythms as the titular cocktail party precedes somewhere deep in the mix. The glimmering synthesizer wavefronts of “Coconut Haze” emerge from crowd chatter, while slow motion loops whirl around bass pulses that are felt more than heard. Strings synths diffuse into clouds of gas and heatwave leads flutter upwards while lullaby arpeggiations sit deep in the background ether…their subdued rhythms eventually enhanced by ceremonial drums and tambourine jangles. Electronics evoke the feeling of being surrounded by a summer storm, with gentle layers of resonance joining together and generating soft spiritual howls. The body sways back and forth on the paradise rhythms, and hissing textures of pink noise and serene static surround the spirit, again evoking a cleansing bath of rainfall. Closer “Vanishing Point” begins with garbled electronics and reversing streaks of angelic radiance–the vibe gentle at first–but growing increasingly strange was the track progresses. Tapped cymbals and tambourines flow in as arps made of glowing glass fire across the spectrum, generating dazzling light patterns that seem to emanate from some unseen center. Berlin school textures are filtered into vaporwave crystals before ascending on currents of rainbow energy, and the melodies are enhanced with a sense of wistful nostalgia akin to 50s pop…like a paradise remembered, or perhaps only dreamed.
(images from my personal copy)
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indomitablemegnolia · 4 years
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Languishing at the bar, ruby lips caressing my glamorously green margarita; the midnight purple dress hugged my body like a sports cars paint, all road signs spoke of warning hazards; my goal, mayhem; I am tired of being this good reliable human; I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond this daily life; I am here at this lovely bar, to test the morality of a priest, I am prowling, wanting, needing desperately to have an itch scratched, and finding; and needless to say, oh Lordy he was no priest. The single flower pinning my hair slipped making the picture perfect, exquisite, glittering in the sunshine of preening laughter showing the dulling edge of my personal lack of compunction and slipping morals. I watched his dark eyes watch me in the mirror, why him, I licked my lips; I am in the mood for some Latin spice; he watched me from a distance just waiting for his opening and here it was, the song changed and my laugh was unstoppable; he pounced presenting sliding next to me; "Dos margaritas por favor" he held up two fingers; he stood there smiling that suave smile at me sliding a second glass to me, “It is too beautiful of a night to be drinking alone.”
I took it, dipping my top lip over the edge I took in a fair sized drink, “So, how is the weather in Albuquerque?”
Oh, the way he just let his full bottom lip, god that lip, so provocative, so titillating, so kissable; it was the perfect mismatch for his shaped cupids bow top lip; God though, the way his sensuous, heavy, pouty bottom lip hanging slightly ajar, showing interest and the evaluation that was being made; so enticing, seductively evocative; when his assessment was finished the muscles tensed in his cheeks pulling that mouth into the most provocative suave smile; given the deep, wildly dark abyss of his eyes that were swimming with approval and temptation; lord with those light crinkle to the corners and that smile sharp teeth and delicious dimples a belying innocence it was a dead certainty that he may well be Lucifer himself; solidifying my assumption as he spoke dropping the delicious sound-sex of his carnal voice down a full octave; letting it rumble through his chest; his simple words not seductive in and of themselves; goddamn, the concerted effort together all served to bring my pulse to life; his chuckle danced on my skin. I watched his satisfied lazy smile draw his lips as the offhand phrase that taunted like a dare. “Perhaps, we are lost in translation.” God that Latin lilt at the end of his words; oxytocin running through my veins thick; "As long as you stay, I hope that we are never found." He clinked the rim of his glass on mine.
My eyes drawn away from those lips; I watched those terrible, sexy fingers rolling deliciously, accentuating the dare; telegraphing a none too subtle promise of delicate fiddling with my vivid, hungry nerves; god, this time of year, this season, there is not much in it to make me smile; it is not yet, not quite yet, the saddest time of the year; yet, there is a haunting sense of the imminent doom, like a bleak abeyance of life; it’s not stark introspective weather, gray and bleak, but none the less the blue skies, fresh green, seemed to be festering, suppurating, killing my soul, I know that time had run out; that horrible clock with the second hand ticking tightening the garrote around my neck painfully, slowly; Jesus what a sick suffocating weight; there are too many things that I wanted to feel, wanted to do and always time… that small hyphen between birth and death the ultimate cause of death… that time. The time to hesitate was through; my hand shook as I watched a delectable twinge running along that lip, like a smile still trying to hide; waiting for the trap to spring when I ask a simple single syllable question, the ubiquitous air of his words raised several; or did I miss part of the conversation? Should I ask... mmm why, or what, but no, I so not want to play his game; I double down and call the bluff, answering with a simple whispered. The trap is sprung, I really have no idea if it is he who is caught or me.
"Yes." My whisper much huskier than I had intended, my margarita wavering in my hand; his delicious thick brow shot up tilting his head slightly to the left, he let out a silent ‘what?’ I watched him in the mirror behind the bar, he hovered those dark delicious eyes staring into mine; I nodded, and again “Yes.” I smiled chewing lightly on my straw; I took joy in his face caught off guard, lazy smile pulled the edge of his lips; again, his lips waved in a silent, 'what?'
"Oh, come on, I answered your real question, the one written in your eyes and on that sensual pouty lip, the answer is yes."
He looked even more confused, "What is the question are you are answering?"
"Well, I have read promises written loosely in your fingertips, I saw previews of plans in your eyes, and lies you will tell to get there, on that lip." I stepped to him, running my thumb along that bottom lip. "Why go with pretense, so simply, I said yes."
Pressing his forehead to the back of my head, his cool fingers sweeping my hair out of the way, he kissed the back of my hair, "Then mi cariño don’t say anything." His eyes so lusciously dark and turbulent never looking away from mine in the mirror; "I want to watch you revel in the feel of my hot breath against your ear. Now I ask you;" he breathed in deeply, the cool air passing my skin into his lungs sent a shiver down my spine; the contrast in temperature mind blowing, my skin prickled into Goosebumps; "do not move." He let his breath excite yet again, the warmth had all those tiny hairs stand to attention, his lips touched feather soft, moist warm breath, my heart kicked a little each pass of his lips, then words. “Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo ni de dónde. Te amo simplemente, sin problemas ni orgullo: te amo de esta manera porque no conozco otra forma de amar sino esta, en la que no hay yo ni tú, tan íntimo que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mi mano. Tan íntimo que cuando me duermo tus ojos se cierran.” I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.
“Coelho?” Arching one eyebrow, I downed my margarita looking somewhat the part of the provocateur
“Si.” He looked cocky, he looked far too self-assured, so much so that I almost forgot my goal.
“Esto no es amor, es lujuria.” this is not love but lust… hmm, lust even the delectable word sounded so much more alluring en espanole.
“En este momento la lujuria functiona para mi.” in this moment lust works for me. Good lord that word in his Spanish just added a delicious wanton edge to the overdose of libidinous delight that he wrought in me, making my head literally spin. His soft cool fingers delectably caressed the other side of my throat, his tongue ran lightly along the rim of my ear; I shivered still our eyes connected in the mirror, I was putty in his hands.
His lips danced along my neck commanding my already tittillated nerves into a frenzy; nuzzling with intent, his cheek pushing my head to a delicious angle, he feasted on the left side; his lips and teeth acting in a beautiful tango so delicious that I leaned back into him reaching behind me for an anchor; he gripped my wrists in one hand, using his other to sweep my hair such as it was to the other side as his libertine lips began to such and feast on the right side, “Ser mío no es fácil. Tengo expectativas Yo hago demandas. Cuando ofrezco mi corazón espero devoción. Insisto en la pasión, cruda y completa, necesitada y fuera de control. Quiero que me duela el corazón cuando estamos separados. Quiero que mis manos sean incapaces de no tocar su piel cuando esté cerca. Quiero que nuestros cuerpos se quemen cada vez que nos besamos. No puedo y nunca aceptaré nada menos. Por eso ser mío no es fácil, pero créeme, vale la pena." Being mine is not easy. I have expectations. I make demands. When I offer my heart I expect devotion. I insist on passion, raw and all encompassing, needy and out of control. I want my heart to ache when we’re apart. I want my hands to be incapable of not touching her skin whenever she’s near. I want our bodies to burn every time we kiss. I can’t and I will never accept anything less. That’s why being mine is not easy, but believe me, it’s absolutely fucking worth it.” Needy and out of control I could do, I was on a mission for exactly that; I let myself ease into the moment, feeling as much as I possibly could devouring it like a man with his last meal enjoying the sweet and the salt and … oh gosh, my eyes flared as he kicked it up a notch his tongue sliding from just behind my ear to the spot where all nerves collide where shoulder and neck meet, my eyes fluttered; apparently to get my attention back his free hand traced across my bare flesh just above my modest neckline, dipping lightly between my breasts.
Jittery my attention came front and center back on his eyes; I raised a single eyebrow; "¿Quién dijo que era tuyo?" Who ever said I was yours? His lips moved along my neck to the place where neck meets shoulder, I became soft in his hands; his free hand caressing up to the edge of my chin, coaxing my head turning it, he kissed along my clavicle; my eyes finally rolled closed as he kissed my lips, he tasted of strong tequila, lime and dreams; I moaned softly.
“Oh, you just did, right there. No translation needed for that... Voy a probar, disfrutar del calor de su sabor embriagador. Quiero respirar tus suspiros; quiero sentirte desde adentro,” I want to breathe in your sighs. I'm going to try, to enjoy the heat of its heady taste; he kissed me deep again, "I am drawn to you, like a moth to fire," he kept his glorious mouth moving, all tongue and teeth and temptation, "I see a frantic almost panic on you;" his hand still holding mine in check, "I have you safe here," his loose hsnd pulling me to him; "I hunger for your touch after get you excited and how easy it is." Neck kissing, is honestly the most sensual, seductive things that I have ever known, but when it is done as well as this gorgeous man is... it is not just a syllogy for sex, I feel his talented tongue slide on my skin, we may as well be going at it right on the bar. "Deliciosa, caliente, con una gota de salsa picante" Delicious, hot, like a drop of hot sauce. He gripped my wrist spun me on the stool; taking off at a run.
@pedeka @writernotwaiting @keeper0fthestars @iamhisgloriouspurpose
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eldonash · 4 years
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New Order for the Brood || Orobas & Carrington
Summary: Orobas and Carrington establish mutual relations and agree to bringing the vampires together in due time. Off camera they shop for a house for the future brood. @carringtonblackwood
Set up
Orobas was a man who listened, and observed. Information was always a vital piece to survival. He had taken great advantage of this new era and online shopping. If they needed any supplies at all, amazon was one click away to putting it on their doorstep the next evening. It was glorious, and dangerous for a man who had a decent amount of money. It was a shame he couldn’t shop locally often. He was walking calmly down a street in downtown, window shopping their wares while their doors were closed late in the evening. Orobas contemplated if he could get one of the owners to stay open late one night, let him shop their store alone. It would be worth their time and money. Pausing his easy strides, he stared into the window of a suit store, admiring their choices when he heard whispers up the road. Faintly, but with a peak of interest that lured his gaze in a different direction. 
Carrington was also a listener and an observer. It was partly how he’d managed to survive for so long. By knowing what was happening in his immediate surroundings. And beyond. Beyond being the community he currently lived in. Whether it was Europe, Japan, Scotland, or here in White Crest, Carrington made it his business to listen to the whispers that drifted through the air. Lost words of conversations carried on the breeze. Rumors that slipped from tongues loosened by alcohol or drugs. Or even by the occasional bit of compulsion. Tonight, Carrington had merely gone for a walk to clear his mind of too many racing thoughts. He had no real destination in mind. No real purpose to his steps other than to let the relative quiet of the evening settle in around him. It wasn’t until the murmur of voices reached his ears that he paused. It was a subtle thing, the way he simply… slowed to a halt. His eyes never the pavement that he’d been frowning at for the duration of his trek. Until he’d pinpointed the source of the sounds. One had grown suddenly frantic… the other sharp and raised, though it still tried to be quiet. Carrington’s eyes slid towards the side-street, and he waited a beat before turning his path towards the growing sounds of conflict. 
Orobas curiously turned down the alleyway near him. It's darkness was almost impenetrable less the other side which faintly glowed with a street lamp in mirrored reflection to his position. There he stood for a few seconds, this silhouetted figure blocking the pathway as he stared down, head cocked slightly as he suddenly smelled blood and the muffled choke of a seized throat. Something delirious spun his mind into visions of war and murder, and an insane, almost amused smile twitched his dead muscles into an eerie expression. He walked into the alleyway, seeing another figure on the far side lured in. The more steps he took, the sounds turned into gasps and shuffling as a punch sounded, and someone started coughing as they caught their stolen breath. When he was about ten steps away, he didn't look at the two humans hurting each other, but on the other. "Hmm, seems the world finds it time we meet,"  
The scent of blood curled through the air, overlying the dirty, damp smell of the dimly lit alley. Carrington knew the sounds of a struggle, and his instinct was - and had always been - to intervene. If it was necessary. Though he had spilled his own share of blood in dark corners all over the world. Some in self-defense, some in anger. Some in the desperate desire to feed on something warm and living as it struggled and cried out against him. The latter was the flash of a past life that Carrington pushed down fiercely and firmly. He was no monster that preyed on the unsuspecting and unconsenting. The blood he took was freely given. Unless it was that of someone that deserved death. Hunters, slayers… those that harmed the weak and the innocent. Their blood had coated Carrington’s blade time and time again. But this was no hunter attack. Nor was it one of his kind feeding on an unwilling victim. This was a mugging of some sort. Another punch and the sound of forcibly exhaled air sounded through the alley. But it wasn’t this that had Carrington’s attention. Let the humans sort it out between themselves. No. His attention was on the figure that stood less than a dozen paces away. A figure he didn’t recognize, but at the same time, he did. Like recognizes like, after all. Carrington tilted his head slightly, studying the other. Finally, he gave the tiniest dip of his head. “So it does. But what would the world have of us, I wonder.”
One of the people pushed the other back down on the ground, wrapping their hands back on their throat and slammed their head to the ground. The crack of bone ignited old memories, ones filled with desires and bloodshed over a battlefield. Their hand reached out for him, and Orobas had a mind to grab it, to pull them up and into his embrace only to see the realization as they met with another monster. One that was hungry-- someone who was far, far worse than the one attempting to kill them now. He placed his hands into his pockets and relaxed his shoulders, further ignoring the humans. "I'm patient-- perpetually, and you know-- the world always delivers me who I require. I anticipate what immortality means and how much of the life we can remember and enjoy every waking moment, but I’m usually wrong." He seemed almost happy, "I have been waiting hundreds of years to meet you, and it is now that we do, it's extraordinary how that happens. Do you wish to chat?" 
The fight between the two humans was becoming a distraction. Carrington wasn’t one to let someone die needlessly, so as the underdog’s skull cracked against the concrete, he frowned. It wouldn’t do to have someone get killed here tonight, especially if someone had seen him enter the alley. Carrington doubted he’d been spotted, but one couldn’t be too careful these days. “I am as well,” Carrington said of patience. “Immortality is both a blessing and a curse. Though the definition of either of those things is all relative. Depending on what the world decides to bring us.” The stranger’s words struck an odd feeling deep in Carrington’s chest. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it also wasn’t a good one. It was more… to be determined. One thing was certain, however: he did wish to chat. “That it is. That we should meet after so many years, at this very moment in time.” So Carrington nodded that he did indeed wish to chat. But he also had a mind to finish the human squabble himself, before it got out of hand. “A moment, if you will.” And that’s all it took. A moment. Before the man with his hands around the other man’s throat was being slammed against the alley wall. A flash of a blade as he tried to stab Carrington. But the vampire had his fist in his hand before the blade made contact. He squeezed just enough to hear bones break. The human assailant cried out, but Carrington covered his mouth. A few whispered words, and a heavy dose of compulsion, and the man slumped. Carrington let him go, and he staggered off into the street, heading to the police department to turn himself in for assault. But having forgotten all about Carrington and the other vampire. The man on the ground groaned, and Carrington hefted him to his feet. The smell of blood was all around him, but he was alive. Another bit of compulsion and Carrington sent him on his way to the hospital to report the attack, and also forget about the other two men. “Shall we?” Carrington asked, giving the other vampire a small tip of his head. 
Orobas would always, and forever, care about his kin to an obsessive, and almost absurd protective point. He was an evil creature to the core, but he had a code he liked to follow, which placed other vampires always by his side first over being enemies. Just like with Harsh, someone he felt deeply with for the longest besides his maker, seeing another vampire who carried the air of age, and wisdom felt like coming home again. He smiled as the fight broke up, the two humans blurry in mind and compulsion as they staggered off. Orobas was intensely curious about what caused it, but other matters now were much more important. He moved away from the dark alleyway, calm, steady, and content in the company. Typically, he'd introduce himself as his new name, but between kin, he didn't mind being honest. Often curious if such a thing was known when legend around it existed. "My name is Orobas Ash," he offered one of the biggest secrets right away to show his trust already. "Are you staying in White Crest for a while? Our kind moves often, don't we? I like it here. This weird little town. It's different than anywhere else in the world." 
Carrington had been born to be a knight. His father before him done so, and Carrington had followed in his footsteps, serving his king and the people until it had cost him his human life. Yet even in this second life, Carrington refused to lose his humanity. His sense of honor and purpose. And while he was always a champion of his own kind over the lives of those that sought to harm them - slayers, hunters, and the like - his loyalty to his species only went so far. As he’d told Matty, the vampire slash addict he’d met in another alley much like this, if he couldn’t hold his tongue and made the mistake of tipping off the hunters in town to any of their kind, or Carrington himself, Carrington would cut off his head. He had no loyalty at all to cowards or traitors. But to those that didn’t deserve to be harmed, Carrington would step in when needed. 
The humans moved away, and Carrington forgot about them as he took up the slow pace of his companion. It was rare he met someone that felt as old as he was. Carrington didn’t know how he knew this. Call it a feeling, perhaps. But he didn’t question it. It wasn’t until the stranger revealed his name that the odd feeling in Carrington’s chest returned. The unnameable one from before. Orobas Ash. If Carrington’s skin was capable of having goosebumps, they would’ve raced across his skin at the very utterance of that name. Because Carrington had heard that story. And in his naivety at the time, thought it merely a legend told among humans and vampires alike.  The flick of Carrington’s eyes to other man’s profile was the only indication of his surprise. Though he was quite aware that the name could be fake. Could be. But Carrington was quite certain it wasn’t. Christ. “I was born Carrington Bishop.” He nodded in agreement of how often those like themselves moved. “It’s Blackwood these days.” He turned back to the road ahead. “I find myself wanting to linger awhile. There are… things keeping me here. By choice this time. Things the world never told me about until I found them.”
"Sounds romantic," he mused gently, curious if that was the real answer or if it was because they were able to call it home. Orobas often wondered what his birthplace looked like now in modern times. He's not been back in South Korea in hundreds of years though, big cities and sprawling neighborhoods would surely devour such a little village. "I had a revelation about a decade ago. A child, school-age, came up to me without an ounce of fear. And you know what they did, Carrington? They placed beautiful flower petals into my hands and lifted them--" he did the motion gently, "right to my face and told me to smell it. Such innocence, this shocked me. It was the first time in my life I wanted to see this little human live their entire life in peace. That is what's here. White Crest is a place of mystery and wonder. I cherish it."
“Perhaps,” Carrington said, his tone giving away nothing. It was the truth, such as it was. There were people here that he cared about, and wanted to be around. Be with. He hadn’t had a place he’d called home for a long time. Not in two hundred years at least. White Crest was slowly starting to feel that way. And that both thrilled and terrified the vampire. As the other man mentioned a revelation, Carrington glanced at him again. His expression was attentive and curious, and as the other revealed the source of this turning point in his immortal life - a human child, of all things - Carrington found his expression softening ever so slightly. He heard truth in the other’s words, and when Orobas was finished with the tale, Carrington gave him a nod of gratitude for sharing it with him. “‘The soul is healed by being with children’,” Carrington mused aloud. “And I couldn’t agree more. There’s something about this place. It…” He paused briefly, searching for the words. “It’s as if, as you said a moment ago, the world finally decided it was time for something. And brought us here.” 
Carrington held the same level of sentiment as he did about children. It was challenging to express his emotions clearly, his face stoic, and still less, he managed to smile, but his words, now they could always get to the point. "I tend to speak candidly when I'm not dreaming about the universe caring about the immortals," Orobas joked lightly, offering a chuckle. "We have been brought here, to this one little spot. Have you ever once in life considered settling down with more of our kind? All our life, my maker and I have been together, running, country to country, war to war, but this isn't what we want anymore." He glanced over, shoulders square, and holding a fondness in his gaze. "We'd like to think we could all be together, keep each other safe."
Carrington laughed slightly, the sound warm and soft in his throat. “I find the universe rarely cares for any of us, no matter what our species. It exists as it always has. And when we are all dust, it shall continue on until the end of time.” Though there was humor in his voice as well, his own emotions were usually a whorl of sensations and thoughts that had to be wrangled and sometimes forcibly tied down before they could be expressed clearly. Especially the ones that gave him pause. The ones that shook themselves to life as their conversation continued were just these sort. Old emotions, dry and cracked and stiff from years of disuse. “My maker and I haven’t seen one another in over a century. He still lives - I can feel that much - but…” He shook his head, slipping his hands idly into his pockets. “... I haven’t heard from him since the turn of the last century.” What it must be like, to always have someone there with you. Someone that understood. That just… knew what it was like. Knew you better than you knew yourself. As for the rest. “I settled once,” Carrington said quietly. “But not with another like myself. He was a witch. I… tried to convince him to let me turn him, both to cure the wasting disease that was killing him and so that we might be together, but he wouldn’t have it.” Carrington swallowed. “I’ve not considered settling again. Until recently.” He glanced over at Orobas, noting the soft expression on the other vampire’s face. Carrington wondered if that’s how he himself looked when he talked about a certain doctor he’d grown quite fond of. The notion of a group of vampires existing together for mutual companionship and protection wasn’t unheard of. But it had been a long time since Carrington had heard someone speak the idea out loud. “I could…” He hesitated briefly, before pulling his thoughts together again. “I could certainly consider it. And I’ve a friend who might feel the same.” 
"Not that it's our business-- but I'd hope you could find out what they are up to. We can help you if you need it. Pull old contacts." Orobas felt very saddened by this news. What would his existence be without his maker? Haxian did so much to encourage him, to be this other conscious in his mind that to even think about not being with him even for a few nights seemed-- impossible. They likely had a codependency problem, not that they were aware or cared. He frowned sadly at Carrington not knowing where his maker was. At least they weren't dead like Harsh's. "That's-- unfortunate," he said about their partner but didn't understand the emotion Carrington felt for this other person. Never sure about love, especially with a human as well as he should. Even though Orobas tried, he never grasped it a way a human could follow. His steps paused, genuine pleasure exposed. "Wonderful. They are welcome; we are working on a location. We have enough money, but precautions are wanted to go into it, which will require a bit of compulsion to keep the humans out of our business. Taking our time will only ensure it will be safe. Do you have a progeny?"
The offer to help locate his sire was a kind one, and Carrington nodded, stating that he would certainly give it some thought. To see the man again after so long would be… Carrington wasn’t quite sure he had the words to express that particular emotion right now. Carrington could almost claim codependency as well. But not with his sire. Though they had been extremely close, that bond was different from the bond he’d felt with his partner. The love was a different sort of love. An all-encompassing one that had left Carrington hollow and near out of his mind with grief when the man he’d loved more than his own life had passed. It had taken two centuries to even start to consider moving on. And as soon as he had, a man came into his life who was… good and kind and pure. Who made Carrington remember what it was like to feel short of breath and flushed, to have your heart race and your palms sweat… who looked at Carrington in a way that would’ve taken his breath. If Carrington had had any to give. 
“Yes, it was,” he answered simply, not wishing to linger over that particular subject. Though his tone conveyed the sadness that still remained, even now. The subject changed, however, and Carrington paused as Orobas did. “One can never be too cautious these days. I came here initially because there was talk of the Hunter population being rather large. They’re out there, as I’m sure you know.” Time was fortunately on the side of the immortals, so even if it took a long time to make a place secure enough for more than a few vampires to meet, it would be well worth it. “How many are you so far? If I might ask?” Carrington knew several others like himself, but had no real numbers as to the actual vampire population in White Crest. “And no. I don’t,” he said of any progeny. 
Orobas spent centuries hunting down innocent people. From slaughtering entire ancient fishing villages in south China, or in New York when the skyscrapers were newly forming and penthouses could be splattered in red. Now, Orobas quelled urges he’s had since the beginning, even-- as a human he was someone who killed without feeling. Though redemption was a fickle thing in him, he knew deep down he needed a focus to keep it up, and being with other vampires, seeing them all thrive together here without hunters picking them off. It could be enough to humor retirement until Elder status. Then-- well. “I know of a few I could humor being around, though, I haven’t quite pitched anything yet. I’m not some revolutionary type, but I have met a werewolf in town who has the fire for it. It’s something else to see.” He chuckled. “We have time, I’m in no rush, never have been with anything. Hunters will always exist, and I have taken pleasure in killing off entire family lines.” His grin sharpened, as if knowing the one before him might know that feeling too. “White Crest will always need hunters to kill the things going after humans, eliminating them here isn’t the point. It’s in making sure we are untouchable, unreachable, and too powerful for them to bother. They can worry about the other monsters of the world, and we-- can just exist in our immortality until it grows boring.”
Carrington had spent centuries hunting down people as well. Except his mission had been the opposite: hunt down those who would persecute and harm the innocent. Be they human, vampire, fae, witch, or otherwise. He’d done his share of merciless killing in what he considered their defense. Though he was old enough to know that along the way some innocents had paid the price for his actions. Or lack thereof. Carrington huffed slightly at the thought of being a revolutionary. “Neither am I. Once, perhaps. But not now.” He made a curious sound at the mention of the werewolf who had such a constitution, and tucked the fact into the back of his mind to explore later. Carrington’s expression turned a bit more serious as they moved briefly to the subject of hunters. He gave a small nod of agreement, even if there had been no pleasure taken from killing others. Not in a long time at least. “I’m not interested in the ones that hunt monsters. Only in the ones that harm the innocent.” The idea of being untouchable was… a tempting thought process to fall into. But no one was untouchable. Everything could die, even immortals. But the idea of being something the hunters didn’t dare bother with was appealing to Carrington. “The idea certainly has merit. But you know there are those foolish enough to see a gathering of our kind as some sort of threat. And take issue with it.”
Orobas agreed. “Probably, likely, either way-- it will be interesting. There are already places we all group up in, locations filled with supernaturals in town and they tend to look the other way or know stepping in would be too dangerous. That, is information I want to take advantage of,” Orobas offered a curious glance over, but it held no malice or evil intent. Simply a gaze, all consuming, like he was still surprised they were on the same page. “Would you like to walk with me some more Carrington? To see the houses I have in mind? Another opinion on the manner would be welcome, and the company.”   
It was true. There were already several bars and establishments meant solely for their kind dotted about town. So it wasn’t as if such a gathering was unheard of. Perhaps it wouldn’t be seen as so unusual. Or as something that would draw unwanted attention. “Of course,” Carrington smiled in agreement. “I’m quite a fan of good real estate. Though the American obsession with the Colonial style will never cease to confuse me.” They walked on into the night, voices quiet as they disappeared into the shadows. What would come of it, only time would tell. But as they both knew, they had that in spades. 
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krahka · 5 years
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The KleskizhAUs and their Poetic Styles
Under read more because lomg
SWTOR Kleskizhae
Ridiculous Sith Juggernaut. Excessively proud of his Sith ancestry but also ridiculously light side and somehow doesn’t see this as a problem. Loves lightsabers, loves the Empire but is a little less clear on whether he likes the Empire as an institution or the Empire as the people, and hint, it’s the people, he’ll pick the people if he had to.
Poetry: ALL CAPS HAIKUS FREE VERSE ASTRONOMY METAPHORS EXTREMELY VIOLENT REFERENCES TO ANCIENT SITH HISTORY BEAUTIFUL WORDS BEATEN STRAIGHT OUT OF HIS HEART OF DARK PASSION
DS!SWTOR Kleskizhae
Ridiculous and awful Sith Juggernaut. Believes himself morally and genetically superior to all others. Delights in toying with his inferiors, especially in breaking their hearts with his charm and facade of kindness. 
Poetry: Flowery and romantic and flattering. More or less copies of ancient Sith poems, but with the words changed a bit. They’re mostly for showing off how cultured he is and how much he loves you babe, so he doesn’t put in much effort. 
ESO Kleskizhae
Altmer Battlemage. A scion of the Direnni but not on great terms with his family due to his allegiance to the Aldmeri Dominion and his marrying a Bosmer because of Spinner shenanigans. Ambassador of the Queen and definitely not one of her Eyes nosir. Got pressganged into the Buoyant Armigers after impressing Vivec by exemplifying all of hir favorite virtues and vices just by accident.
Poetry: Sonnets. Ballads. Sexually explicit but it’s so purple that you can hardly tell just how sexually explicit it really is. Mostly about his own adventures and the people he knows. Melodramatic as fuck. The stuff he wrote when Vivec specifically was taking an interest in him is his best work, since he starts getting more experimental and tones down the silliness without losing that red hot emotional core that really elevates the verse to something that so many people try and fail to replicate in the future that it’s become its own genre. 
DS!ESO Kleskizhae
Altmer Battlemage what dabbles in necromancy. Believes himself the rightful king of all of High Rock with the Bretons as his rebellious subjects. Allied with Mannimarco because he promised him that when Planemeld happened, he could have his ancestral holdings all to himself, with all the people there living only to glorify him. The kinda guy you end up killing in the Daggerfall Covenant quests or in a Balfiera focused dungeon DLC. 
Poetry: Pretty similar to light side ESO!Kleskizhae, but if he thinks you didn’t appreciate his work he’ll torture you until you do. Try and critique it and he’ll just plain murder you and raise your corpse to grovel for his forgiveness and admit that you were wrong. Also his poetry is his annoying boss mechanic somehow. Didn’t read the books in his dungeon? Too bad because that’s how you defeat him. 
GW2 Klejskizae
Norn Herald. Skald, champion of Wolf, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers. A Delight unto all people of Tyria! Your new best friend who is not using your friendship with him to learn your secrets! Come and listen to him channel the spirits and the Legends next Dragon Bash!
Poetry: Actually more into prose. Veddas. Stories about heroes, exaggerated for effect. Tales that he keeps in his mind that he tells differently each time he’s asked to tell it, depending on what he thinks his audience needs to hear. The poetry tends to be more personal, often taking the form of prayers to the Spirits that are between him and them. Also will write songs, also about heroes, with calls to action for the Pact. 
TES!Specifically Klejskizae
Nord Skaald. Traveling yeller. Delighter of audiences all throughout Tamriel. Follower of the Old Ways. Probably also in the Blades. 
Poetry: SCREAMING TAVERN SONGS. Great heroes, sometimes gets kicked out of taverns in Skyrim because he’s performing songs about non-Nord heroes but how can you not be excited by EVERYONE
SWTOR!Specifically Klejskizae
Mandalorian what will scream battle poems in your ear as he faces you in glorious hand to hand combat. Has some very weird ideas of what being Mandalorian is, but they’re closer to reality than his Sith version’s ideas of being Sith. 
Poetry: You thought Sith Kleskizhae’s poetry was gory and violent? You haven’t heard Mando Klejskizae. They are ridiculous. Everything ends with lovers embracing for the last time as they die in battle and their death is described in excruciating detail.
FFXIV Kleskizhae
Ishgardian adventurer. Dragoony Bard. Got kicked out for being way too scandalous for the theocracy and for talking too much about how he thought that maybe we should just smooch the Dragons? 
Poetry: The poetry isn’t why he’s not liked back in Ishgard, though that poetry was a means to transmit his unpopular and scandalous ideas and activities. The poetry specifically is why he’s distrusted in Gridania after he met an elemental and challenged it to a rap battle and it went very poorly. (Kleskizhae won and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise or that that’s not the point and there is no winning because he definitely won)
West Coast Fallout Klaus K. Zheng
Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. Sort of into the whole BoS thing of keeping dangerous tech out of people’s hands but also he’s into protecting people in any way he can, since they must protect those who will inherit the past, yes? That is what we’re doing, right? Right?
Poetry: He found a book of poems about Arthurian legends and they changed his life, as did Grognak the Barbarian which he’s sure is in the same canon. He’s also read a bunch of Shakespeare and only sort of understands it. So yeah, sonnets that are Shakespeare ripoffs. Casting modern topics into medieval terms. Sometimes it’ll get weird and his BoS worldview will come in and make them anachronistic but it’s unintentional because he just wants to write like the knights of yore. 
East Coast Fallout Klaus K. Zheng
Enclave soldier, later deserter once he sees that oh shit killing everyone wasn’t supposed to be what they were going to do! He wasn’t listening to the quiet part! Ends up aiding synths because it pisses off the BoS and also saves lives. Still believes in America but it’s one that maybe never existed. 
Poetry: The Enclave did preserve a lot of good American literature in their databanks, though they’re kinda sketchy about distributing it to their soldiers since even before 2077 they realized that a lot of the American canon contains like, anti-war, anti-corporate ideas and they couldn’t have that in their new society. He read Leaves of Grass once and it blew his mind. He might just surrender to the Brotherhood if they let him have access to their books, because he needs those. But also he might not because they would probably kill him and he’s also spending his post-Raven Rock time helping synths out of the Institute and that’s something they’d kill him for. And probably also kill a lot of other people if they realized that the Railroad had ex-Enclave in there. And the Institute doesn’t care for the humanities, which is why they had to create machines to teach them how to be human and then proceed to do such terrible things to the humans they’ve created; because they are less machine than they are and they resent them for it. 
Modern Vlogger Klaus K. Zheng
Relationship advice vlogger, specifically as a counter-voice to all those shitty misogynist PUAs that are targeting lonely straight men. Also here for the lonely women and the lonely queers since he’s a queer man himself. 
Poetry: He’s got a Master’s in Poetry and he feels it was time well spent, even if he didn’t care as much for academia as he did for the writing and the reading. One of the rewards for donating to his Patreon at a higher tier is a short poem written just for you about whatever subject you wish. (Assuming that it’s not extremely objectionable. He’ll gladly write poems about all sorts of sex acts, but he won’t write one about the virtues of white power.)
HZD Kleskizhae
Carja Warrior. Participated in the Red Raids because that was what the will of the Sun was but he couldn’t take the violence and the genocide and ended up joining with Sun-Prince Avad to overthrow the murderous king literally as soon as he could. Has been on a tour of goodwill ever since. 
Poetry: Overuses the words “glinting”, “scintillating”, “resplendent”, “radiant”, “brilliant” and other words that mean A LOT OF LIGHT because he’s really into writing ridiculous songs about the Sun. A lot more personal and emotional than a lot of Carja poetry, since it’s more about love than about praising the Sun or the King. It’s a new dawn, and what the world needs is love’s shining rays to heal her wounds. With the help of some Oseram who wanted to promote the newly invented phonograph, manages to become the first real pop star after the apocalypse.
DA Kleskizhae
Tevinter Battlemage. Was sent off to the front lines against the Qunari to keep from embarrassing his family and his master. Accidentally ended up embarrassing them anyway. 
Poetry: So he’s really into bringing up the Old Gods in his poems. He doesn’t worship them, he’s a good Andrastian, but you know how in the Renaissance everyone was a huge Greeceaboo? Yeah, it’s like that. 
WtA Klaus K. Zheng
Fianna Galliard. He’s a werewolf poet who sings ballads of his pack’s glorious battles and lifts their spirits in the name of Gaia and Stag!
Poetry: He’s got a soft spot for dirty limericks. All of the Kleskizhaes will make improv poems upon request when they’re drunk enough but Fianna!Klaus is the master of the drunken on-the-spot poem. Like they get way better when he’s drunk and they’re improvised, as opposed to the usual thing where they’re charmingly bad.
VtM Klaus K. Zheng
Toreador. Got the vampire bug some time in the Victorian era, I dunno if he was actually British or what.
Poetry: Lord Byron himself once called his poems “a bit maudlin.” His sire was certainly fond of his work, but if he had more time in his peak living creative years he would have probably been a better known figure in the Romantic movement. As it is he’s fairly irrelevant and forgotten by all but a few intense scholars of the period, and even they consider him a minor figure. 
Shadowrun Klaus K. Zheng
Elven Street Samurai. Just wants to make the world a better place through the power of love and also katanas. Probably unfortunately involved with Aztechnology which is gonna end badly for him probably. 
Poetry: Machines and corporations have not yet conquered the metahuman soul, and that is why he writes. Has been banned from a couple of Runner BBSs for constantly posting about his latest runs in the form of epic poem, and that’s not what these boards are for, @GLORIOUSSAMURAI, please turn off your caps lock
Star Trek Kleskizhae
Romulan Tactical Officer. Fought in the Dominion War, joined the Romulan Republic after Romulus asplode, because they wouldn’t let him quietly desert and because he believes in the true Romulan spirit that can never be repressed!
Poetry: He’s trying to revive ancient pre-Awakening Vulcan poetic traditions whilst failing to recognize that lots of it doesn’t work in the modern Romulan language. He’s always been super into poetry but after the destruction of Romulus, he becomes obsessed with writing the perfect series of poems to describe it for the future, so that people will remember what it’s like long after everyone who remembers it is dead. He hasn’t been successful yet and it’s upsetting him but he can’t just not do it. He owes it to the dead. 
Bionicle Kleskizhae
He's a proud Skakdi warlord of Fire who is trying his best to unite his proud and noble people against the wicked deprivations of the Makuta and might also be in the Order of Mata Nui because sometimes Kleskizhae is a spy? But always he is very loud. 
Poetry: Extremely long and elaborate war chants with 40 verses that he’s trying to get his guys to chant into battle but no one else but him can remember it all and he keeps adding more verses. But also he’s written love poetry that’s gone all the way around Greg and made romance canon again! He’s done it! With the chiseling of the tablets he’s made love real!
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acerosu · 5 years
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Choice Part 2 - An Ice Diamond Fic
Oh here we go again. I can’t keep away from this glorious fusion that @dragonademetal invented. This is a somewhat sequel to my last fic about Ice.
Also very inspired by this piece of art cause DANG 
So yeah here we go. Contains violence and angst.
Yellow Diamond sat in the control chair of her ship as it bent the gravity around it. Stars streaked by as solid beams of light, countless planets and nebula nothing but a blink. The call had come in just minutes before; a frantic plea for help, the Peridot hiding behind data towers in the corner of the room. Amidst the garbled transmission, the Diamond heard all she needed to know. Yellow’s hands gripped the arm rests, eyes focused on the view screen. Five more agonizing minutes until they were in range. Her fingers dug into the chair, cracks running along the surface.
 “My Diamond.” Her pearl looked up, her normal aloof air clouded with worry. “Are you sure this is safe?”
 Yellow didn’t even turn, still staring ahead. “No.”
 A flash as the ship adjusted to light no longer distorting around it. The screen displayed additional readings and data on the planet below with the majority now showing a view of Homeworld. Yellow scanned over the information before she narrowed her gaze on planet closing in. Distress calls rang in on all frequencies, confirming that the lack of visible damage meant very little in terms of the stability of the crisis. Yellow closed her eyes, attempting to focus before the plunge into presumed chaos. Raising a glowing hand, she brought her ship into the atmosphere and began decent at a long arc along the surface.
 The forges and building complexes sat empty, not a trace of smoke or spark rising from their pipes. Yellow flew over palaces and towers, seeing little to no activity. Then she heard it, the clash of metal and rock. Throngs of gems had gathered at the arenas, the crowd swarming between alley ways and gates to bring material inside the towering walls. The entire display screamed chaos as supports were broken down to expand into other structures that were stripped of their previously held purpose. Some sections had been left to rot in a pile of rubble. Yellow hovered the giant hand ship over the disarray, her stare focused as she spotted the figure in the middle of it all. Ice.
 The fusion of White and Blue sat at the center of the main arena, arms draped over the throne constructed for her. The opposite wall and seating had been completely removed leaving a view of the sprawling research district and the surrounding temples. The fusion waved an idle hand at the crowds below, lounging as if this were an old Era 1 ball in honor of her majesty. All had to admire her. The Perfect, Graceful Diamond. It was as if she needed the attention as an organic needed water. Yellow left her ship floating a safe distance away and teleported onto the open palm. A stark wind cut against her face. The weather controls had even been left abandoned for this shameful game.
 “Sunray!” Ice’s voice purred out like silk, a mix of Blue’s sincere mirth and White’s passive aggression.  She held out an arm in greeting. “So nice of you to join me.”
 Yellow stood her ground, glaring out across the demolished arena. “Greetings, Ice.” She knew she had to shout, not just to be heard, but so maybe one of them in there would hear the brass in her tone and see reason. “What are you doing?”
 Ice brought two hands to rest under her chin while around waved out over the destruction. “Oh, just a little redecorating.” She grinned ear to ear. ”We can’t have rule of the galaxy with such tacky, blocked shaped buildings and those horrid vents, spitting smoke.”
 Yellow held out her own hand, guiding her ship closer to Ice’s head, yet still out of reach. She could see a difference in Ice. Something under the surface. The fusion’s limbs hung a little longer, the hair a bit messier, the nails sharper. The smile alone was the same she witnessed when White left her ship, expecting nothing but worship. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.
 “Materials are still scarce, my Diamond.” Yellow bowed her head. “So the pipes and forges are a necessary evil for now.” She could see Ice staring at her, the smile gone. Something was listening. “But once we finish our expansion into the outlying systems, we won’t have need of them anymore.”
 Groups of gems closest to the conversation had stopped their work, looking up at the confrontation. Inky tears began falling down Ice’s cheeks. Her hands balled into fists.
 “Don’t you like the beauty, Sunray?” Ice stood up, moving toward the hovering ship. Yellow knew if she fled, it would break what little stability the situation had left. “I thought you enjoyed the crystal towers, and star lit libraries, the gentle pools of water under the high fountains.”
 Yellow remained on the palm of her ship, trying to hide her shaking as Ice brought her face right next to her. She could feel the rage twisted inside the fusion; Blue’s grief for all that had been lost and White’s pride for needed to keep it going, even when it lay shattered at her feet.
 “Blue.” Yellow whispered. Black tears fell about her, staining her ship. “Please still be in there.” She inhaled, straightened herself up before Ice. “I can’t let you do this. You know it’s hurting our subjects. Hurting Homeworld.”
 Ice twitched, her head level with Yellow’s ship. A row of fangs peeked out from her silvery hair, growing into a sinister grin as the mouth extended further along the forehead where the eyes should have been. It had not been tears, but vile drool that had been falling amid sharp, hungry teeth. Yellow backed up, horrified.
 White had hidden away in her ship, Blue off always grieving at the zoo. Even Yellow herself had avoided White. She only spoke about herself, her accomplishments, her glory. Why even bother listening. And now those eons of praise from her subjects fell on dulled senses. White wanted more. They had all grown so far apart, no longer working together to build each other up. And the fusion standing before Yellow made that perfectly clear; only a gnarled wreck attempting to rake its personal desires from all, no matter the costs.
 “Sunray.” The pet name was snarled out like the howl of some creature lost in the chase. “I only do this for you.” Ice raised her head, volume rising with each word. “For us!”
 A tongue lolled out from between the fangs, pouring out even more drool. Yellow wanted to reach out, to give a gentle touch in offering, just as she had done when Blue bent over crying, just as she had done when White struggled to feel her own worth. But in the end she had to withdraw her gesture, tightening her resolve along with her fists.
 “You have to stop!” Yellow pointed to the gems under them. “Look at what you are doing to them!””
 Ice tilted her head before reaching out to snatch Yellow in her claws. A finger pet along the helpless Diamond’s face and neck. Yellow struggled, seeing the two mouths hovering ever closer. The grip was a mix of tenderness and barely restrained anger. She could feel her armor cracking under the stress and kicked her legs out in desperation.
 “Blue!” Yellow pushed out words, trying to keep her form intact. “White!  Look at me. Look at them. Can’t you see this is wrong?” She felt a claw gently stroke her hair. Were they even paying attention? Her voice grew to a frantic shout. “You are destroying everything we worked so hard to build!”
 Electricity sparked from Yellow’s gem, spreading down her body and over the hand clutching her. The monster screamed, shattering panels along walls and cracking the buildings below. Yellow found herself free, the shock forcing Ice to drop her back down to the palm of her ship. The jolt had not brought Ice back to whatever senses she had left. Instead, she glared around at the gems gathered at the arena to do her sick bidding.
 “Why are you not working!?” Ice shouted at the throngs below. Wisps of frozen breathe rose from her new mouth.  “It’s not perfect enough! It’s not beautiful enough!”
 Yellow jumped just in time as Ice swung an arm, tearing right through the ship. The gems on the arena stands were not so lucky. One of Ice’s clawed hands swiped across, leaving a wake of debris and shattered pieces of gems. Yellow landed amid a crowd fleeing in terror in all direction. She stared up at Ice, barely able to form a clear thought.
 “Everything must be flawless!! Why can’t you see that?!”
 Ice opened her second mouth wide and inhaled. A blinding light shot out from between the teeth, spraying thick plasma that froze everything it touched. Gems and structures alike lay stuck in chunks of ice, the air thick with a chilled fog. Ice stomped forward, crushing the now weakened buildings under her massive feet.
 “We can always rebuild! Always make it perfect! Then they will love me!”
 She lashed out with an arm, shattering more of the frozen landscape to pieces. Shouts rose amid the destruction as the gathered gems scattered.  Another inhale, Ice turning to glare at Yellow and the many gems still scrambling around her.
 “Get down!”
 Yellow shouted, bracing herself for the attack. She had no idea if anything she could muster would be enough. Electricity crackled from her hands as she held her arms up. The blast shot forward and barely managed to deflect the icy beam away from her. The other gems behind were not so lucky; their terrified expression frozen as they tried to run.
 Another roar from the fusion above. Yellow had been knocked down from the shockwave, but quickly regained her footing. Rising haze from the cold assault had hidden her, for now. She dashed away, past Ice’s legs to an overhang behind her in the still standing arena walls. Now berserk, the fusion laid waste to the surface, not caring what was frozen or crushed.
 “Go through the tunnels.” Yellow urged on any gems she came in contact with. “You can hide until this is over.”
 If it can even be stopped. Yellow looked up at Ice, who was now crawling on her arms and legs, blasting another section of Homeworld with her breath. Black drool stained her path of destruction.
 Yellow knew there had to be a solution. She recalled when she and Blue had fused the first time. They had just been in a losing battle, barely scraping through to victory. Blue thought she had died. They ran into each other’s arms, emotions raging. The result was a mix of colors and limbs, their hearts becoming one for a brief moment. Unstable fusions did not last long.
 Yellow followed the ruins Ice had left in her wake, running along as best she could. For a moment, the roaring and crashing stopped. Yellow looked up, no longer seeing Ice towering in the distance. Perhaps they wore themselves out? There’s no way she could have been that lucky. Yellow jerked as the buildings on her side crumbled.
 “Sunraaaay.” Ice’s lack of eyes had been replaced by a grinning set of fangs, now drawn toward Yellow as if they possessed some form of sight. “Why aren’t you happy, Sunray?”
 Yellow leapt to the side as a clawed hand shot out, snatching up the rubble where she had just stood. Ice was pushing herself through the buildings for a better chance of grabbing the Diamond up all for herself. Yellow stood tall, refusing to back away.
 “I will stop you, or get shattered trying!!”
 Yellow focused her power, letting the electricity build in her gem before calling it out with a touch of her hand. Ice had lodged herself between two buildings and could not turn away fast enough. The lightning struck along neck shoulder and neck, crawling along her back. A grotesque roar ripped through the air. Yellow strained, legs weakening as she kept the electricity flowing. The lines of light along Ice’s form flickered, pulling apart at the center. Yellow was about to collapse when she saw Blue’s outline amid White’s head starting to break apart from the mass of screaming limbs and teeth.
 “No!!” Panicked voice yelled out, not Blue’s, not Ice’s. But White’s. “Stay with me! You have to stay with me!” Still an outline of light, White reached out, clawing Blue back to her. “Don’t leave me!”
 Yellow stepped back in shock, pushing herself to remain standing. She could see Blue fighting to get away in desperation, crawling along the ground. But White had the advantage, Soon the monstrous form of Ice rose once more, drool spraying over the debris as the fusion roared in both pain and victory. The snarling mouth turned toward Yellow, now calm, a tongue slithering out to lick along the lips.
 “Poor little Sunray.” Yellow winced at the cruel laugh. “I guess you’ll have to be shattered!”
 The structures behind her collapsed as Yellow turned and fled. Limbs trembling from exertion, it was enough for her to duck for a brief moment under a fallen roof as Ice flailed about the ruins, knocking anything in sight over in search for her quarry. If she had to be shattered, let it be by the hands of her own family; a fellow Diamond worthy of the task. She closed her eyes as the crashing about her grew louder. Then Yellow turned. A leaking forge pipe lay open along the ground, lava sputtering out. Bracing herself for her final plan, Yellow broke cover and dashed along the alley ways. The twisted laughter echoing behind her let her know that Ice had taken the bait.
 Only a small section of the forge district had been damaged. The rest sat ready to be utilized again. Yellow easily outran the animalistic Ice and stood at the center of the main storage chamber. It was all piles of iron and coal mixed with other raw materials ready to be turned into metals. Ice crawled toward her, her mind bent on only one thing. Yellow raised a hand, hoping she had enough power, enough will to release another attack.
 The bolt shot from her fingers, contacting the ground just under Ice. The fusion halted, not wanting to risk another forced separation again. Only one trick left, and it was easy to avoid. Ice sat back on her haunches, smiling until Yellow ran out of energy. The crackling soon faded leaving nothing but charred ground.
 “Little Sunray.” Ice reached out a clawed set of hands. “Do not worry. I will make you perfect next time.”
 Yellow fell to her knees, unable to do anything but watch Ice crawl ever closer. The drooling set of fangs hovered just above now. Then Ice jerked her head back, mouth closing. The ground under her snapped, groaning in protest. Before she could take another step, she fell down into a pool of lava, all let loose from its pipes after Yellow’s attack and Ice’s weight. The fusion roared, in pain but still tried to claw her way to Yellow. Steam rose mixed with burned coal and sulfur, all adding to the heat. The mixture was no longer molten rock but metal. Ice managed to pull herself up halfway out of the flaming pit.
 “I’m sorry.” Yellow shifted to her arms and knees, unable to stand. “I’m so sorry.”
 The fusion glared back at her, form breaking at the outlines. In desperation, Ice spewed out her freezing breath against the engulfing lava. All that resulted was a blinding rise of steam that burned her even more. Half charred, Ice collapsed at the edge of the pit, barely able to hold her shape. Yellow raised her hand and let out the final bolt. It struck the gem in the forehead of the fusion. The scream that followed was clearly that of their leader, their great White Diamond.
 Shapes flickered and broke. Ice’s multiple limbs and hulking body broke into two shapes before the light faded. They fell to the ground, motionless. Yellow ran to grab Blue before she fell into the steaming hole of metal. Exhausted eyes looked back at her.
 “Are you alright?”
 Blue couldn’t answer, only take Yellow’s hand in hers and squeezed lightly. The molten pit sputtered and fell in on its self, now hardening from lack of a heat supply. Yellow held Blue against her, kneeling on the ground. Every inch of her body ached with exhaustion and pain. Yellow couldn’t imagine another fight like this, something so beyond her own mind and body.
 “We can’t stay here. She’ll do it again.” She whispered.
 Blue rested her head against Yellow’s gritty shoulder pad. “My ship. We have to,” she trembled, barely able to speak, “leave now. Before she wakes up.”
 Yellow looked up over the ruined landscape. White lay motionless in the dirt and ash. The shipping docks were still intact in the distance, with a large blue arm sitting at the peak. Hand in hand, the two Diamonds helped each other to their feet and began the long walk to freedom.
 “Please.”
 A single word. Yellow and Blue turned to see White on her hands and knees, limbs trembling. Smoke rose from her weakened form, ash staining her now charred dress and cape. No longer a glowing form of magnificence, only a cruel reflection of the destruction around her. She raised her head to look at them before collapsing back to the ground. Tears stained her eyes.
 Yellow looked at Blue, who closed her eyes, shaking her head. All the pain, the demented plans, the manipulation. Yellow sighed, unable to say it.
 “We have to stay.”
 Yellow’s eyes widened. They were Blue’s words. And she had to admit they held truth. After all they’d been through, each of them breaking down along the line, each of them striving to prove to the others that they were worthy; and in the end that’s all they had. Yellow looked over at White, who was still struggling on the ground. She remembered eons ago when she had fallen in battle only to look up, a glowing hand in offering reaching for her, pride flowing despite the loss of victory.
 “All she has is us.” Yellow had to say it out loud too believe it. She turned to Blue. “Imagine if I didn’t have you.”
 “You’d be a wreck.” Blue managed a smile. “Come on. We have a lot of work to do.”
 The two limped over to White and sat beside her. The almighty Diamond expected the worse and curled up, protecting her gem with her hands. Her entire form trembled amid the ruins of Homeworld. It would take a long time, but they didn’t have to force it. They always had what they needed. Blue reached out first, laying her hand on White’s shoulder, followed by Yellow. White opened her eyes and stopped shaking.
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skyecrandall · 5 years
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CCAs 2018 Afterparty (Choices fanfiction)
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Book: Most 2018 Books
Genre: Comedy
Words: about 2800
Summary: A look to the party held for the winners and others of the CCAs 2018. Read along to follow the adventure of the party hosts, Pax and Eos Elara as they go around interviewing people like the gorgeous Annabelle Parsons or even the grumpy Thomas Hunt. Witness even a dance performance by Kamilah Sayeed.
Note: This story i based on the results of the CCAs 2018. If you haven’t read it yet you may find yourself to be a little confused. So I definitely recommend reading about the results, here first.
"This is Pax and Eos Elara reporting live from the CCAs 2018 after party where our fellow winners and losers alike, " said Pax to the camera.
"We will be your host for next hour or so as we talk to the gathered personality and others. So if you have a question you really want your favourite stars to answer it, twat it to us on Twatter with the hashtag #CCAask, " smiled Eos.
"Can we cut this part please. Ugh why is that social media called Twatter, it feels really gross, " complained Pax.
"We are live right now, we can't edit stuff now. Anyway here is Miss Parsons, the winner of the Best Female LI category. Let's go and hear her mind out, " said Eos as he dragged Pax towards where Annabelle was talking with Hana. 
"Miss Parsons, Miss Lee. Good afternoon. We hope that you are having a good time, " smiled Eos. 
"We are doing good thanks, what are you two doing?" Asked Annabelle.
"We could be doing better since our book didn't get nominated in any category at all, so that’s why we are charged of filming with after party. We are live say hi to your fans!" Said Pax as she waved into the camera.
"So what could the two winners of the same category be talking about like this, " asked Eos.
"I was just complimenting Miss Parsons for her beautiful speech. Sure we, women are currently better treated than during her era, but there is still a lot that is left to be done for men and women to be truly equal, "
explained Hana. "That is very true. It is because of men like Eos right here that our society is still so horrible to women, " agreed Pax.
"Wh-what did I do? I have been respectful to everyone who deserved it, " replied the elder Elara.
"I wouldn't call constant flirting respectable personally, " added Annabelle.
"That's a personality trait!" Complained Eos.
"Sure whatever. Let's go talk to Damien and Hayden now before my brother has an emotional breakdown. Let's head over to the mini-lounge area, " said Pax as she started walking towards where Damien and Hayden were chatting.
"Hey there winners are you enjoying the party?" Asked Pax.
"Parties are not really my thing but hey a party to celebrate my victory is nice, " said Damien.
"Plus free drinks!" Added Hayden.
"Yes and free drinks, " smiled Damien before taking a sip of his drink.
"Anyway where is the rest of your crew? It is a little odd to see just the two of you like this, " asked Eos.
"Sloane was really sad that she could not win her category and so Kai, Nadia and Steve went to console her. Khaan could not come due to Hamza and Alana is busy on a job overseas, " explained Hayden.
"Talking about Kai, here they are, " said Damien.
"I knew Nadia was a little cray but wow she is quite extreme. We could not console Sloane so Nadia just got her so drunk that she passed out. Then because it was make out time, she dragged Steve under a table and god knows what she could be doing right now. Oh hey, Pax and Eos, " said Kai as they settled between Damien and Hayden.
"She sure us a handful, " said Damien when a buzzer could be heard.
"What is that sound, " asked the robot.
"That means that it is time to answer a question from your fans on Twatter. Let's choose a random one that involves either of you three, " said Eos.
"Here's one. By @wescott-imogen . Let's see what it says:
“ Hey Damien I love you. Anyway I would just like to ask you whether you are Bi. I know you are, but some people still believe you are straight so I just want you to say it with your own mouth to confirm it.”
 " read Pax.
"Oh, well I'm most definitely bisexual. I hope this suffice you, " said Damien. 
"Thats not enough. We need confirmation that you truly are bi. You need to kiss a guy right here," added Pax.
"If so, I volunteer," smiled Kai.
"Hold on you can't. Since you are a girl in some playthroughs and for the same reasons i can't too. So that just leaves Eos," explained Hayden.
"Do I really have to?" Asked Damien.
"Well it's just a kiss. It's not a big deal," smiled Eos.
"You better kiss as good as you claim to," said Damien as he reluctantly kissed the elder Elara.
Their kiss seemed rather awkward at first but eventually they both fit together like pieces of a puzzle, much to the disgust of Kai.
"Whoops, we should probably stop the kissing for now. This is supposed to be a family friendly show, " said Pax as she pulled her brother away from Damien.
 "That kiss was actually really good. Like people who boast about this stuff are not really good but you Eos... whoa, " said Damien with a smile.
"I hope you believe me now Pax. My kisses are just the best, " winked Eos. 
"Yeah yeah okay. Anyway we better and go take a look at some other people before we witness a murder live on camera, " said Pax as she pushed her brother away after noticing Kai's murderous gaze towards Eos.
"Anyway time to go and find someone else. We won't find anyone in such a recluse corn-What the hell!" yelled Eos as he turned around and nearly bumped onto Skye Crandall.
"What are you doing here? Where are your friends?" Asked Pax.
"Bailey could not get the permission to come, Rory had to check on their mother, Ajay was bickering with Thomas Hunt the last time I saw him and Bailey's twin came to take Erin for a consolation date, " explained the goth.
"Ah...okay. Still aren't you lonely here? Wouldn't it be better if you stayed at home, no offence ?" asked the younger Elara.
"Anywhere is better than my house, " replied Skye coldly.
"Well anyway we've been wanting to have a talk with you, so will you answer a few questions for us?" Asked Eos.
"If I say yes will you stop bothering me?" Asked the red head.
"Yes? Anyway how are you feeling Miss Skye Crandall? You scored 2 nominations and despite being the underdog in the Best Female LI category you still scored a brilliant 3rd. So what are your thoughts?" Asked Pax.
"Cool... I guess?" Said Skye plainly. "Okay...Do you have anything you'd like to say for your family?" Asked Eos and Skye just gave her middle finger to the camera.
"We will have to censor that in editing, " said Pax.
"Again, this is live. We can't blur this out. Anyway anything to say to your friends that are at home?" Asked Eos.
"You guys are definitely not as uncool as you seem to be, especially you Bailey, " smiled Skye.
"Aww that is so sweet. Looks like our goth baby is actually a goth teddy bear, " smiled the elder Elara earning the two a scowl from the redhead.
"Well we should probably be moving on now. Oh wait look at the time, it's time for the dance performance, " said Pax as the two reporters moved away from Skye.
"Pax is right! Kamilah and her best friends have been willing to celebrate the event by offering us a dance performance. It might seem a little out of season, but that is mostly due to the CCAs being postponed so many times. Let's give our glorious performers a grand applause, " said Eos as the camera panned onto the central stage.
The stage curtain lifted up and Kamilah, Priya and The Baron appeared on stage in their Halloween Santa outfit with a Christmas backdrop.
"Are you sure the dance is worth being performed anymore? It's no longer Christmas, " whispered The Baron to Kamilah.
"We can't let our efforts be wasted. We worked hard on this performance and so everyone will have to watch it, " explained Kamilah.
"Also this is all just for fun and it will be a nice excuse to show off our Halloween outfits again hehe, " smiled Priya.
"Anyway... Nova Elara! Bring on the music! Give us Jingle Bell Rock!" Ordered Kamilah and Nova, the ATV MC! launched the soundtrack.
"Stroke em, Like em, Suck on my -" the soundtrack went on when our duo of reporters noticed the music and rushed on stage.
"Stop the sound!" Ordered Eos and the soundtrack stopped.
"What the fuck where you thinking Nova! This is not Jingle Bell Rock!" Yelled Pax.
"Shut your trap, Pax! This is a fucking family friendly show! You can't curse!" Yelled back Eos.
Realising what they both did, they both fell limp until suddenly Pax's phone started ringing. She glanced to take a look at the name and just accepted the call before shoving it into Eos' hands.
"This is for you, talk!" Ordered Pax who started sweating nervously.
Eos slowly brought the phone to his ears and said a small hello, before an stream of insults flowing from the phone. The person at the other end was so mad that their voice could be heard a few metres away from the twins. After a few minutes of berating the call finally ended.
“So what did Piper say?” said Pax, anxious as she took back her phone.
“She berated me the whole time before saying something like ‘The two of you are never getting hired again’” sighed Eos.
“Hmm, can we continue our performance?” asked Priya.
“No way. Your time slot is over. It’s now Maxwell’s time with his jokes,” replied Pax.
“This is unfair! The two of you crashed our performance!” complained the Baron.
“Listen. I don’t care that you are a super old and powerful vampire. We just got fired and we don’t want to anger that woman again, so please,” said Eos as he walked away, his sister in tow before passing Maxwell the microphone.
“I could use a drink,” said Pax.
“Same...You know what let’s just have fun and keep reporting.  Who knows maybe she will take us back? Anyway dear audience, Eos and Pax Elara are back in business and we are headed towards the buffet table to show you all the delicious snacks on the menu,” smiled Eos.
“Let’s go and see if these food are as wig snatching as people have been claiming all over their Twatter accounts. I mean seriously, our fellow winners have been posting more about the food than themselves,” continued Pax as the two siblings started heading towards the snack table where Elliot Vance and his sibling Harper Vance were having an eating competition.
“Hey there, mind giving us five minutes? We would like to interview you two about your awards,” said Eos.
“We...ant...eed...eaf....fafter” Said Elliot while munching into his food with fervour.
“What did you say? I don’t understand?” said Pax, confused.
“eaf...ing...con...fe...fifon...I...wiff...win,” mumbled Harper in between bites.
“I think they are doing an eating competition. Probably to settle their rivalry with this,” said the elder Elara.
“In that case.... Wooo go Elliot! You were the best!” cheered on Pax.
“Nonsense, Harper had the best performance. If you knew the amount of tissues I cried in watching their acting,” argued Eos as he wiped a tear from his eye.
“Maybe yes, but Eliot’s growth was one of the best part of the book. Uncultured swines like you can’t tell the difference,” voiced out Pax before the siblings started bickering among themselves.
Noticing the fight, Elliot tapped his sibling on their shoulder and said, “We don’t sound like this do we?”
“Nah, our banters are better. Let’s just leave them at it,” said Harper after they finished their food before leaving.
“They should value their kinship more,” mumbled Elliot as he walked away with Harper, however the two Elara could not hear him and just kept fighting among themselves about who had the best performance. It was only when a certain man appeared that they had to stop.
“Can I pass please? You two can bicker elsewhere,” said the man who was none other than Thomas Hunt.
“Ah Mr.Hunt, we are very sorry. Anyway Elliot, Harper can you lend us a word now?” said Pax.
“Welp, they are gone. I guess that means you will have to answer our questions now Mr.Hunt,” said Eos.
“I don’t get a say in this, do I?” asked the director.
“No you don’t. You know we will be annoying until you give us your time,” replied Pax.
“I knew I shouldn’t have come here. First that high school director wanna be and now paparazzi wanna bes. Begin your questions already,” grumbled Hunt.
“Well, as a director, do you agree with the winners of this year’s CCAs?” asked Eos.
“The winners are more or else deserved, although I believe Veil Of Secrets should have won the best atmosphere category though,” said the director when the buzzer suddenly rang.
--BE WARNED: The following section is not safe for work nor suitable for minors, read at your own perils or you can skip it till the next time you see bold text.--
“Looks like its time to search a question for our amazing director to answer, Eos will you do us the honour,” said Pax.
“Of course, here is one by @teamtomsato:
“Hiya Hunty :3333 Have you read my fic yet? Here’s the link! I’m really proud of it! *link to their ao3 fic* *gazillions of heart emojies* “
Aww how sweet. They want to ask you if you read their fanfiction, so have you done so Mr.Thomas,” said Eos
“I do not have time for such nonsense. I’m also having a bad feeling about this,” shuddered the director.
“Come on, it is just a story. What’s so bad about it? I know! How about we read just a page of it right now. Choose a page!” proposed the younger Elara.
“Ugh, let’s see then. Page 84. I don’t think that person’s fanfiction would be that long,” growled Hunt.
“Well you are wrong Hunty. This person’s story is 169 pages long. Here, I already put it on page 84,” said Eos as he handed the grumpy director his phone.
“I guess I should play along just so that this martyr ends quickly,” said Hunt as he started reading off that page.
Additional warning: This is the time that i recommend you to skip to the next bolded sentence once again as the following part is heavily nsfw and definitely not suited for minors.
“Hunt’s rough hands find their landing on Jessica’s shoulders, holding her tightly as his fluid movements against her body cause her to scream out in pleasure.
“Harder Daddy, hARDER!” Jessica’s pants, the grumpy marshmallow picking up his momentum inside of her slick caverns, overflowing with her love juice.
“You like that princess?” Hunt growls into her ear, “You like daddy’s big dick?”
“I love your big dick daddy!” 
“read Thomas, astonished.
“Wh-why...” stammered the director, aghast.
“Oh no, this is bad...We thought we passed through the worst earlier but this is nothing compared to this,” muttered Pax.
“Let’s just walk away like nothing happened,” said Eos but as they tried to go away, the director stopped them.
“Hold on. I’ve got a message for you @teamtomsato . I’ve called the police. They are coming to get you. You going to jail. You hear me. JAIL,” yelled Hunt as he grabbed the camera and focused it onto him.
--You my now continue read. The nsfw part is now over-
“Alright let’s see who we can talk to now...” smiled Pax.
“Hopefully it won’t be someone indecent. Wait, Rye? What are you doing here?” asked Eos after he noticed Rye hanging around.
“What are you doing here, its not your book’s year yet,” said Pax.
“I’m just here to observe. This way It will be perfect when we get win the awards,” smiled Rye.
“Cocky aren’t we?” teased Eos.
“Well I have a reason to be so sure of myself. Our book is doing really good right now and Eris and Tillie have a good shot at winning the best Female LI category. The only real opponent we have are the Desire and Decorum team and also if another It Lives comes out,” explained the conman,
“Interesting. What about your teammates? It is odd to see you all alone, especially without even Eris or Lee,” asked Pax.
“Well they are kinda on a job right now...” smiled Rye and as if on cue, an explosion occurred in the hall they were gathered in.
“The escape route has been formed, let’s go go go!” ordered Eris as members of her crew started running towards the hole she made with jewellery and trophies in hand.
“Well, this is a good bye. See you at the CCAs 2019 and remember to vote us when the time comes,” smiled Rye as he also disappeared through the hole.
“Arggggh I’m not letting them get away! Zekei! Deimos! Parker! Naomi! Let’s catch those thieves!!!” roared Eos as he pulled out his ray gun.
“Well I guess this little report is ending right here. We hope you had a lot of fun and we can’t wait to see you again for the CCAs 2019!!!” smiled Pax before the program ended.
-------------------------
Phew finally finished this fic and with it concludes the 208 round of the CCAs. This fic came in impromptu in my mind so to prevent it from also getting inside the endless cycle of never being written I decided to rush it and I got it right,
IF you enjoyed the fanfiction, please leave a like or a comment/reblog, I like hearing other’s opinions. If you really like my style, please do check my masterpost (in my bio or press the masterpost word) which features all of my written work.
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empressofrizalia · 5 years
Text
Mahou Sensei MSPA-tan! Chapter 1: Welcome to Alterra Academy!
[For you folks out there who are still thirsty for MSPA Reader content after the end of Friendsim. Hope you don’t mind the AU.]
You fuss about with your robes as you stand on your spot in the front row along with probably a hundred other students in the Grand Auditorium of Skaia Universal Institute of Thaumaturgy, or SUIT for short.  Thaumaturgy, in lay man’s terms, is a fancy-schmancy word for the study of ‘majyyk’.  Yup, that’s right.  Majyyk is a thing on Planet Earth, or at least in this iteration of Earth.  They are are not to be confused with ‘magic’, which is completely fake and only good for performing at lame children’s parties.  There are a lot of schools all over that are devoted to imparting the arcane, miraculous, and once forbidden knowledge to children everywhere.  You are one of those children.
The sound of crisp purposeful footsteps on a stone floor catches your and your classmates’ attention.  You look up the stage to see Headmaster Wiseman walking along the stage and onto the podium set at the middle while the school faculty stand on either side of him a few feet away.  Supposedly, it would be proper to describe the appearance of any important character that comes along in a story, though in this case, there is just no point in wasting words and energy.  The geezer was basically Gandalf from Lord of the Rings.  Of course, that is to say, he looked so much like Gandalf that he might as well be Gandalf.  All majyyk school headmasters were Gandalf.
The Hall fall silent in anticipation as Headmaster Gan—er, Wiseman fondly regards everyone.
“Today marks the end of yet another era,” he said in his old wizened voice.  “Congratulations, batch of 2612 graduates! You have all done well these past seven years.”
You smile, feeling proud of yourself.  All those years of hard studying led to this glorious moment.  Soon, you’ll be well on your way to become a Grandmaster Mage, the highest position of honor all wizards/witches/mages/whatever aspire to gain.  Not bad for a kid like you who’s just starting on the chapters of puberty while everyone else around you had already finished.
“However,” the Headmaster continues, “Graduation doesn’t mean an end to learning.”  All the graduates, including yourself, gave him puzzled looks.  What does he mean by that?
“Your real training into becoming civilized members of society, begins now.  Once I call your name, step up and receive your diploma.”  Your batchmates get called one by one.  As your last name is somewhere near the end of the alphabet, it would be a while before you get your turn.  Sooner or later, the sound of names being called turn into a dull monotonous droning in your ears.  Your eyelids begin to feel heavy.
“MSPA Reader…”  Your head lolled to the side as drowsiness slowly takes over you.
“MSPA Reader?” A jab at your side startles you awake.  You look to the side where the jab came from and you made eye contact with a batchmate who tells you to get your ass up on stage already.  Realization hits you like an empty bottle to the head and you hurry up to the front with your face flushed from embarrassment.  The rest of the event goes on without a hitch.
As with nearly everything else in a majyyk school, a graduate’s diploma is more than just a simple fancy roll of paper saying you’ve accomplished some grueling years of hunching down with your nose buried in a dusty old tome or waving a stick around.  In the majyyk world, a graduate’s diploma isn’t only a mark of achievement, but also an aid for deciding the new full fledged mage next step towards their future.  You unroll the parchment to take that first look upon your destiny.  The words appear with a flash the minute it was spread wide open.
"ALIEN TEACHER"
Eh?
EEEEEEEEEEEH?!
This has got to be a mistake! You need to have a word with the Headmaster right away!
“A teacher, eh? For aliens?” said Headmaster Wiseman, taking a sip of his earl gray tea.  “Well, if that’s what it says in your diploma, then that’s the end of the matter.  You must train hard in order to become a great mage.”
There has to be some kind of misunderstanding! Don’t real teachers, majyykal or otherwise, need some kind of license to be able to teach at any respectable educational facility? Plus, you’re only thirteen! And what is this about aliens?!
“Now calm down. There’s no reason for you to fret,” said the Headmaster.  “The principal of the school you’ll be assigned to is a friend of mine.  She’ll get you up to speed in no time.  Just do you best and you’ll be fine.”
Okay…
“Good. Now get out of my office.”
A few days later, you’re dressed up in your best suit with a handful of your belongings stuffed in a single suitcase and on board a plane going from the Big Island of Hawaii to a place called the Alterra Islands.  From what you’ve heard from whispers and read and watched from the internet (mages here aren’t as averse to modern science and technology), Alterra was a chain of man-made islands smack dab in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.  It was made to help foster relations between the humans of planet Earth and the aliens of planet Alternia.  Yes, aliens… You have found that they’re also a thing on Earth… and the universe.  Apparently more than a decade ago, the Alternians—or trolls as they called themselves—first arrived to Earth as refugees fleeing from the civil war raging on their homeworld.  They were sick, hurting, and desperate from their long journey.  Their leader, a male troll named the Signless, was the one to initiate first contact between them and the humans.  He was willing to trade their tech and ships in exchange for food and the care of the well-being of other trolls with him.  With the help of a renowned wealthy polymath, the trolls were slowly acclimating to life on earth, though it wasn’t without its own set of problems.  To make a long story short, people can be dicks.
The flight from Hawaii to Alterra didn’t take long.  After a couple of hours, you disembark the plane and went on to look for your guide who was mentioned to be waiting for you at the airport.  You look around and see an adult male troll with nubby horns and red eyes dressed in a similar respectable fashion as you though the had a gray vest rather than a jacket with a candy red tie and had the sleeves of his dress shirt folded to his elbows.  He carried a sign with your name on it.  That must be him.  You walk over and introduce yourself.
“So you’re the new teacher? I gotta say, I didn’t think you’d be so young,” he said.  He seemed like such an amicable fellow.  You admit that you were scared of him at first since you've never spoken to a troll before.
He gives a friendly chuckle.  “Don’t worry about it.  Once you get settled, you’ll be spending a lot of your time talking to trolls.  You’ll get used to it in no time.  By the way, I’m Kankri Vantas.  I teach Social Studies at the academy.  You may have also heard of me as the Signless around the time of the first contact.”  You nod as you stare at him in awe.  He became quite the celebrity after the first contact, an icon for peaceful relations between human and trollkind.  You have no idea why he was called ‘Signless’, but you decided not to ponder about it too much.  You never thought he’d be the one guiding you of all people.
“Anyway, shall we go? The principal of the school you’ll be teaching in is expecting you.”
The two of you leave the airport with him taking the lead.  Mr. Vantas takes you to a cab that had been standing in wait.  He takes the seat next to the human driver while you get settled on the backseat.  Once you leave the airport grounds, he begins to give you a little basic information.
Alterra is a little chain of four main islands that serve as the home base for the troll residents as well as their embassy on Earth.  The islands each host a division of Alterra Academy.  The middle school division where you’ll be working is built on Isle-2 where you are currently on.  On average, there are about seventy-thousand students earn their education on Alterra, ranging from kindergarten to university levels.  Most of the students are young trolls who hatched on Earth.  There are human students as well who are usually the children of the humans who worked on the Islands.  Each island also has their own facilities for food and utility production, waste management, justice system, and a local economy—pretty much everything that can qualify Alterra as its own little sovereign nation.  Though international trading was limited to a whole line of products that suited the needs of their fellow trolls living on other nations.  The construction of the islands was commissioned solely by a billionaire explorer named Jake Harley, who you remember to also be the main sponsor for SUIT.  Could it be that he’s also a mage like you?
You looked out the window as Mr. Vantas babbled on.  You marveled at the lush greenery that was teeming with strange wildlife.  Some resembled Earth animals, some seemed more like mythical creatures, the rest were downright strange.  Mr. Vantas explains to you that those creatures were the lusii that were smuggled from Alternia.  Your eyes nearly bug out upon hearing that as you spot one of larger creatures snap its jaws on a smaller one and proceed to tear it apart.  These creatures were supposed to care for children?! Was Mr. Vantas raised by one of them?
“Yes, it has been that way since the beginning.  Adult trolls aren’t best suited to care for young… with a few rare exceptions…”  He went on to explain about trolls with jade blood who along with taking care of the Mother Grub who lays the eggs for the troll species, care for newly-hatched trolls or grubs to prepare them for their trials.  And the fact that he was raised by one since grubhood despite the fact that he should have been culled instead due to his mutant blood color.  You turn your attention back up front to see the somber expression in his eyes through the rear-view mirror.  You have learned about the different castes trolls have according to their blood color a few days before your departure via web search.  It was quite strange, but the cruel hierarchy built on it was anything but pleasant.  No wonder Mr. Vantas and his followers went to rebel.
“Oh, sorry. I got a bit carried away. Am I bumming you out?” He asked, snapping from his reverie.  You tell him that it’s fine.  It’s okay to be sad every now and then.
A little while later you spot a bunch of tall fancy buildings coming up in the distance.  Your ride gets closer until it stops by large metal gate bearing a shield emblem bearing a spirograph between a pair of stylized wings with a banner underneath bearing the words: Alterra Academy in Times New Roman capitals.  You get off the taxi and stared at the school in wonder as Mr. Vantas addressed the security guards who opened the gates to let you in.  Is this really a school? The structure of the buildings remind you of a scenic European town, though the roads were void of any vehicle save for a few cable cars.  Teenagers, both troll and human, walked around in gray and black uniforms heading for the same direction up north.  You get a lot of stares while your guide gets a lot of smiles and greetings.  After a moment, Mr. Vantas hails a cable car for the both of you.
“In case you were wondering, this is the student town,” he says after sitting down next to you.  “This is where the student dormitories, shops, and recreational facilities are.  The school building is further forward.”
The ride is peaceful for the most part as the cable car moved at a steady pace, but then a little later, you notice a hoard of students coming in running and rushing.  Some were riding on skates and skateboards, taking the back rail of the cable car to tag along.  Others were driving automobiles despite being definitely underage.  Some were riding on the backs of what you guessed were their lusii.  And there were some who are even flying! Had you been an average Joe, that last part would really surprise you.  It’s a good thing you’re a mage.  Anything is possible with the power of majyyk! You’ve thought of using it to send yourself to the straight to the principal’s office, but alas, teleportation only works if you have a clear picture of your destination, which you don’t.
Your cable car is soon stuffed with more students to near bursting.  What the hell is happening?
Your answer came in the form of a public announcement: “To all students: this is the Guidance Committee,” says a woman’s voice with a New Jersey accent.  “This week is Zero Late Attendances Week, and it’s only ten minutes before the bell.  Let’s hurry it up!” Oh, that’s why.  “Any students late this week will be issued yellow cards! Please try to arrive with plenty of time to spare!”
You could hear Mr. Vantas laughing.  “Haha! I love Zero Late Week.  It gets so lively!”
That’s great and all, but shouldn’t you hurry up too? It wouldn’t look good on you as a teacher to be late to your first class.
“It’s alright, Mx. Reader.  As a teacher, you’re allowed to be late for ten minutes at the very least.  Any later, and not only does your class get canceled, you’ll get a mark on your record.  Do it enough times, and you’ll get slapped on with a hefty fine.  We can't have our educators and role models slacking off and leaving a bad impression on our dear students now, don't we.  But you seem like a punctual sort, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
That’s nice.  Ten minutes was enough time to run and buy a breakfast sandwich or a tall coffee before getting to class when running late for any reason.  Cooking isn’t one of your strong suits.
A minute later, you feel a tickling sensation in your nose.  You try hard to fight the urge to sneeze, for it’s simply impolite to blow your nose around company.
AACHOO!!
You fail miserably.  So miserably that with an uncontrolled burst of majyyk, you somehow manage to create a draft strong enough to not only flip the skirts of the surrounding female students all at once, but also make the cable car jump an inch off the rail it was on.  The girls blab to each other in slight panic while others berate the boy passengers, accusing them of being perverts for peeking at their undergarments.  Mr. Vantas turns to look out the window with a blush on his cheeks.
“Bless you?” he says, sounding quite unsure of what had just transpired.  You thank him and apologize as you pull out a handkerchief to wipe the snot dribbling down your nose.
The Principal’s Office is quite spacious.  The floors and the ornamental window frames where made of polished wood.  The decor approach was rather minimal—just a desk, a chair, a coffee table, a red two-person suede couch, a few paintings depicting famous comedians along the walls, and a couple of bookshelves full of books (mostly about baking, practical japery, and mystery novels) and knick-knacks.  Mr. Vantas had left you alone so he can attend to his other duties.
“Why, if it isn’t our new teacher, hoo hoo!” the principal of Alterra Academy, a jolly elderly woman named Jane Egbert according to the nameplate on her desk.  “Welcome to Alterra.”
You give a polite bow.  It’s nice to meet you.
“Headmaster Wiseman has told me about you.  Graduating at only thirteen? You’re quite the prodigy.”  You blush at her flattery.  Shucks, ma’am.  You don’t have to go through that.
“Hoo hoo! Now there’s no need to be so modest.  Wiseman tells me your diploma told you to be a teacher for aliens for your post-grad training, is it not? Then you’ve been given quite the task.”
You agree.  It was truly odd that a kid like you would be assigned such a grown-up job.  Though everyone in the room understands that there was absolutely nothing that can be done about it.
“I’m not going to lie, Mx. Reader, this job will probably be difficult.”  Principal Egbert’s voice took a slight serious tone.  “If it’s too hard for you, you’ll have to return home.  And there’ll be no second chances.  Are you prepared to accept that?”
This was it.  There’s no turning back. You’ve gone through a lot, and spent a lot just to get the ticket to fly to this place. The kid side of you thinks that it’ll be too much to handle and it's better to just go back home, but the budding adult side of you screams at you to not back down of the first real challenge life has thrown at you.  You want to be the greatest mage in the world, do you? Then you might as well swallow your kiddy pride, stand up straight, clench your asscheeks, and say, “I’ll do it!”
“Bravo! Then it’s settled.”  Principal Egbert clapped her hands, happy at your answer.  “But first and foremost, you must gain some practical experience.  Let’s make it from today to March.”
Of course!
“We’ll begin today. Let me just page the Staff Guidance Officer to get you started.”  She pushes a button on the telephone at a corner of her desk and calls for a Ms. Porrim Maryam to come to the Principal’s Office.  You sat down on the couch as you wait.  A couple of minutes later, the door opens and someone steps in.
It was another troll, a lady troll to be exact.  Her horns are much longer and pointier than Mr. Vantas’ with one of them being hooked.  Her short cropped hair is styled neatly to accentuate her narrow face and perfect cheekbones.  Like him, she’s dressed in a professional yet stylish manner with her white blouse, jade green maxi skirt, and black high heels.
“Are you in need of assistance, principal?” she asks in a soft kind voice and makes note of your presence. “And who might you be? A new student, perhaps?”
“I’m fine, Ms. Maryam,” the principal replies.  “That child, however, is actually a new teacher here at the academy.”
Ms. Maryam covers her mouth with a dainty manicured hand in mild surprise.  “Really? But you’re so young.”  If you had a penny for every time someone commented about your age, you'd have three pennies.  Maybe more in the near future, but for now you have to settle with three.
You explain your situation to Ms. Maryam who relaxes a bit.  “I see.  Can’t say I still approve, but if that’s what has been decided and it can help you in some way, then I won’t object.  Though if there’s something you don’t understand, please feel free to consult me.”  You nod.  You’re going to need all the help you can get.
“Hoo hoo!” Principal Egbert chuckles. “Now that everything’s said and done, you may take this class roster,” she hands over a booklet to you.  “Your assigned homeroom is Class 413.  Ms. Maryam can show you the way.”  Ms. Maryam’s jade eyes seem to widen in astonishment at the mention of Class 413.  The principal just gives her a knowing look in return.  You can’t help but wonder if there was something no one is telling you, or are willing to tell you.  You take a moment to wonder if taking this teaching gig was really a good idea.  You then catch yourself and shake off the terrible quitter thoughts creeping into your mind.  You can do this.  You’ve already agreed you can do this.
Your mind was still preoccupied by the thoughts of Class 413 as you and Ms. Maryam walked within the silent halls of the school, passing classroom after classroom.  Each one of them had glass pane windows so you could see a typical class setting that often consists of mixed troll and human students being taught by either a troll or human teacher.
Ms. Maryam seemed wary the minute Principal Crocker brought them up.  Even as she walked next to you, her posture seemed somewhat rigid and there was a furrow on her brow.
You decided to just get on with it and ask her what Class 413 was like.
“Hm? Oh, I’m sorry.  I suppose you deserve to know at the very least since you’ll be serving as their homeroom teacher.”  She hesitates for a bit.  “Class 413 is… a tad problematic.”
Problematic? That could mean a lot of things, most of which aren’t very good.  Is she saying that you got stuck with a class full of delinquents?
“No, not per se,” Ms. Maryam says.  She then stops walking, so do you. Is there something wrong?
She swivels her head around, possibly looking for other presences in the hall.  Then she turned back to look straight into your eyes.  There was an serious look on them you didn’t think you’d see on someone with a motherly temperament.  “Listen closely,” she says.  “What I’m about to tell you is extremely confidential.  No one else but the founder, the principal and a select few members of the staff and faculty, including myself, know of this.  Not even Earth’s mainstream media knows anything.  I’m going to tell you this since you’re going to be in charge of Class 413 for however long you’re here.  But I ask that you promise to keep a tight lip on this subject.  You do not, under any circumstances, reveal any of this to anyone.  Do you understand?”
You say yes.  Boy, this was intense.  First day on the job and you’re already getting wrapped up in some kind of weird conspiracy.
Ms. Maryam gives you a warm smile.  “I know I could trust you,” she says.  “Alright, here it is.  Around a perigee, or month before your arrival, a second Alternian spaceship crashed on this planet.  Unlike the one our group escaped in, this one was much smaller, possibly a minor cruiser.  It landed into the ocean not far from the islands.  As far as the rest of this world is concerned, it was just a huge meteor.  But for those who remember life on Alternia, we quickly realized what it truly was, and we immediately scrambled to retrieve it before it sank further into the deep depths.  What we found after we forcibly opened it, shocked us.”  She took a deep breath.  She seems shaken about the subject, even a while after the incident.
“Children,” she continued.  “We found children.  They looked to be about to be six sweeps, or thirteen years old at the very least.”
Wow.  That’s just terrible! You’re so shocked by this news that you can’t think of anything to describe what you’re really feeling right now other than shock.  Those kids weren’t any older than you were and they somehow managed to escape their planet and into outer space all alone?
“To think that a group of children would go so far to flee from Alternia by themselves.  It tells me—us—that things at the homeworld aren’t getting any better.  Perhaps it’s getting worse.  I’m not sure,” a somber Ms. Maryam says.  “We took them in and decided that it would be best for them to try and acclimate to life here.  From the way things look, they’re probably going to spend the rest of their lives on this planet.  However, these wrigglers were hatched from Alternia, and they don’t take well to being in close proximity as an adult troll.  Not even my Kankri could win them over.  Frankly, I don’t blame them.  Alternian adult trolls tend to be dangerous toward youngsters.”
You don’t know much about what Alternia was like, but from what you’re hearing in conjunction with what you’ve heard from Mr. Vantas and read from the internet, it sounded like a place that made Hell look like paradise resort in comparison.  No offense.
“None taken. You’re right, actually. It’s why we fled in the first place.”
You suggest that if troll teachers aren't able to help those kids, why not try human teachers?
“We have already tried that as well.  But humans aren’t well versed to Alternian social norms and cues.  All attempts on successful rapport ended in disaster… for the humans.  At this point, we’re at our wit’s end, but our founder constantly reminded us to never lose hope.  He firmly believes that these wrigglers could be rehabilitated.  Personally, I and a few others think so too.”
Ms. Maryam looks at you thoughtfully.  “You know, I’m starting to think that perhaps your assignment as a teacher here may be more than a mere coincidence.  Yes, I see now.  Where the adults have failed, you might succeed.  Given your relatable age, they’d probably be more willing to let their guard down and communicate with you.”  Oh, cool.  This might turn out to be easier than you thought.  “But don’t get too comfortable.  If you’re not careful, they’d walk all over you once given the opportunity.  I suggest that you watch your back around them.”  Welp, there go the last vestige of confidence you have left.
You both resume your walk, your hand tight around the class roster.  You look up to see the numbers on the classrooms gradually climb up.  Class 409… 410… 411… 412…
“Here we are.”  You almost bump into Ms. Maryam when she stops in front of a classroom near the end of the hall.  A sneak peek through the window shows you a room full of troll kids talking to each other, playing around, or just off doing their own thing.  You’re not sure if there are any humans mixed in as you couldn’t see even a hint of peach, brown, or black in the sea of gray skin and candy corn horns.  A troll boy with a pair of horns that oddly resembled flashlights takes notice of you and gives a flirty wink.  You back away and draw closer to Ms. Maryam.
You take a moment to open your class roster and get a glimpse of your prospective students.  You count a total of forty kids.  That’s forty troll kids from the hellplanet Alternia.  Forty troll kids who Ms. Maryam says might hurt either your body and ego (or both) should you allow it in any way.  It must have taken a lot pedial put-downs to get them to sit still for their one-on-one photo-op to make this roster.  Not all of them looked very happy.
But you don’t know, a fair lot of them also seem kind of nice.  Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all.
“Make sure to remember their names and faces quickly, okay?” Ms. Maryam reminds you.  You swallow a lump in your throat as you stood in front of the door, hands shaking.  Can you really do this? Can you really teach so many alien kids like this? You take a deep breath to calm your nerves and reach for the knob of the wooden door.  It’s now or never...
EXTRA
ALTERRA ACADEMY FACULTY & STAFF DOSSIER
Name: MSPA Reader
Age: 13 years
Occupation: Aspiring Grandmaster Mage, Alterra Academy newbie teacher
Notes:
-Shaped like a friend
-Junior majyyk user
-Protect them
~oOo~
Name: Kankri “The Signless” Vantas
Age: 16 solar sweeps/35 years
Blood Color: Candy/Human Red
Occupation: Alternian revolutionary/religious icon, Earth troll representative/ambassador, Alterra Academy Social Studies teacher
Notes:
-Love and equality for all
-Righteous leggings under professional garb
-Shouty when angered
~oOo~
Name: Porrim “Dolorosa” Maryam
Age: 35 solar sweeps/76 years
Blood Color: Jade Green
Sign: Virgo Occupation: Signless’ guardian/mother, Academy Staff Guidance Officer, Student Guidance Councilor
Notes:
-Team Mom
-Rumored to be a Rainbow Drinker/Troll vampire
~oOo~
Name: Jane Egbert, née Crocker
Age: 80 years
Occupation: Alterra Academy Principal
Notes:
-Ex-heiress to a baking empire
-Practical japerist
-Senior Sleuth
12 notes · View notes
allyinthekeyofx · 6 years
Text
Falling back 1/2
Anonymous said :For your prompt: I absolutely love angsty fluff set in the revival era. When it starts by wrenching a knife in your heart because M and S aren’t a family, but then the two of them reconcile over something silly and domestic, and it touches your heart when they finally come together. Bonus points for smut. If you could write something like this it would be amazing!!!
Well anon, here goes nothing! Part 1 is all about the angsty fluff.  Part 2 will be all about the smut.  Tagging @today-in-fic @fictober
 Here be part 1.
I probably should have called before I drove all the way out here but I think if I’d really allowed myself to think about it too much I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to put thought into action and, as I have done so many times over the past year or so,  would have come up with a whole host of perfectly valid reasons as to why this was a bad idea; that we should both just be grateful that out of the ashes of our relationship we had at least found a way to remain friends.
Our partnership had been surprisingly easy to fall back into - so many years of working alongside each other made the re-connect almost seamless and providing we kept things on a professional level we were able to pretty much bury the last couple of years as though they had never happened, but start to stray into the personal, where recrimination, hurt and betrayal still bubbled dangerously close to the surface and the air around us would suddenly become static with highly charged silences that crackled and sparked with all we left unsaid.
But still I ignored the voice of reason inside of me and before I could change my mind I threw a sweater over my shoulders, grabbed my keys and exited my horribly sterile apartment and headed out into the late October sunshine.
I almost turned the car around several times, even pulling over for a few minutes when my anxiety threatened to rear it’s ugly head and whisper in my ear just how foolhardy a plan this was.  Mulder was recovering, I was recovering.  Why risk all that at this stage in the game?
By the time I arrived, I had almost persuaded myself that he wouldn’t be home, that my journey would have been all for nothing or even worse, that he would see my arrival as an inconvenience - an unwelcome interruption in his precious weekend time which I knew he relied heavily upon to rest and regroup, to settle his mind for the week ahead.  Finally finding ways to combat the demons that had grown within him to such an extent he had quite literally fell apart at the seams, retreating far away from himself, from me and from the life we had struggled so hard to build for ourselves when all had seemed hopeless and the only light in the darkness of losing everything had been the fact that we at least still had each other.  Until the day came where it just wasn’t enough anymore and the weight of his guilt, of his obsession and his paranoia finally sent me fleeing from him.  His recovery has been hard fought and right now what we have should be enough.  But it isn’t - maybe it never will be - and I think if I’m honest, that is what has brought me here today.
My fears turned out to be groundless though, because the first thing I see when I reach the end of the long dirt drive that leads to the house is Mulder.  Busily raking leaves into neat piles to bag and burn later, a glorious splash of autumnal colour against the rough grass that despite my every effort, could never quite be described as a lawn and the second he recognised the car, a wide grin appeared and a hand waved a greeting in my direction, his total acceptance of my being there as though he has been expecting me to show up all morning.
He is dressed in an old grey t-shirt, a long rent in one shoulder exposing taught, tanned skin that suggests, judging by the way the front yard looks, that he has spent many hours of the summer just being outside in the sunshine, keeping busy, finding and accepting the man he used to be but who had once, all but disappeared into the swirling vortex of his own troubled mind.  Faded chinos and brown boots that have seen better days complete his outfit and just for a second, he quite literally takes my breath away because somehow he looks younger.  The salt and pepper weekend scruff that darkens his cheeks in no way detracting from the sheer beauty of him and for a moment I am transported back to a time when we had thought we were invincible just so long as we could find a way to be together.
His manner is easy, his eyes sparkling with reflected sunlight enhancing the tiny golden flecks within and, always the gentleman he reaches the car even as I turn off the engine, opening my door and stepping slightly to the side so I might exit.  It’s such a simple gesture but one which, inexplicably makes the back of my throat burn and tighten because this is the Mulder I fell in love with.  This man who, without conscious thought just made me feel worthy of such simple gestures even when deep down I felt undeserving of them.
“Hey Scully”
He smiles again and reaches across me to close the car door.
“What brings you here on this fine fall day?”
And even though I know he is pleased to see me, I can’t help but need affirmation from him that he wants me there.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first, I just....I thought.....”
His hand is immediately against my cheek, the warmth of his palm against my skin like a salve as he strokes gently downwards, following the contours of my jaw, my neck, the slope of my shoulder before squeezing gently and letting his hand fall away.
“This is your house too Scully and you are always welcome here you know that. I’m not questioning your right to be here.  I was just curious as to why today, why now after all this time?”
He scrutinises me in a way that, even though I now spend almost all the working week with him, he hasn’t done in a very long time and it’s almost too painful for me to bear.  This man, who has caused me so much heartbreak but who I love with an intensity that would, if I allowed it too, still blind me to everything else around me and it’s because of this I drop my gaze from his, ducking my head as I attempt to hide the emotions he has evoked within me and which, deep down I know will only lead to more heartbreak.
“Are you okay?”
His hand again, on my arm this time, his fingers just barely tightening against the soft cotton of the plaid shirt I am wearing but it’s enough to ground me, to give me courage just as he always has with a simple caress, a single touch.  And I manage to smile reassuringly at him, covering his hand with my own, revelling in the familiarity of him before me.
“I’m fine.  Really.  I just thought that maybe we could go pick a couple of pumpkins.  I missed it last year and I know it’s stupid and childish but it was something we always did and......”
“Scully....”
I remove my hand and begin to turn away.  He doesn’t want to and he is about to let me down gently and suddenly I just feel like such a fool for even thinking he might want to spend time with me like this.  Not after we have fought so hard to gain back even a little of what we lost. 
 Stupid. 
 I have been so stupid because this isn’t what he needs - it’s all about what I need and I have no right to do this to him.
“I’m sorry Mulder I didn’t mean to... I mean I understand if you don’t...”
“Scully?”
There is just a hint of laughter in the way he says my name and that, more than anything stops me in my tracks as he catches hold of my hand in his and brings it briefly to his lips, kissing my knuckles fleetingly, his manner suddenly more serious.
“Yes?”
And he smiles again.
“There is nothing I can think of in this world right now that I would like more, than to go pick pumpkins with you.”
************************
We arrive back, not just with pumpkins but also a quart of cider complete with cinnamon sticks and a deep dish apple pie which was still warm when Mulder scooped it up from where it sat amongst similar homebaked goodies on the low trestle table covered with a red and white gingham check cloth, an unspoken question thrown in my direction as he cocked his head to one side in that endearing way of his as though asking my permission to do this thing right - to fallback into a tradition we had enjoyed so much in previous years before everything began to slip away from us.
Pumpkins, hot apple cider and fresh-baked pie.  All to be taken home with us and while the pumpkins would be put aside to carve the next day, the autumnal goodies would be delivered by him with a flourish and subsequently enjoyed outside atop his worn navajo blanket that he would spread over crisp autumn leaves to add a layer of softness beneath and to protect us from the dewy dampness of the october ground.
Every year since we bought the house.  Every year bar one.  And I hadn’t realised really, just how important these little rituals had become until I no longer had them.
But now, as I sit opposite him, cross legged on that old blanket, basking in the sunshine that is still warm and golden with barely a hint of the winter that is hovering just around the corner, I can feel something beginning to shift between us; a new understanding that we are changing, re-connecting, finding each other once again.  And it feels so right to be here with him that I refuse to contemplate even for a single moment that it might be wrong - that maybe we are reacting purely to echos of a past that despite everything, kept us together even when everything seemed hopeless but which I suspect, will never allow us to ever completely be apart.
He has a crumb of pastry clinging to the edge of his bottom lip and almost against my will I reach up to brush it away, my fingertips just barely making contact as I allow them to linger for a moment against that plump, soft skin, leaning toward him even as my hand falls away.  Our lips meet sweetly, cinnamon warm and with an easy familiarity that takes my breath away and sends an electric jolt through my body.  A shiver works it’s way down my back as my nerve endings suddenly fizzle into life and I’m unsurprised when he notices and pulls away again, eyes questioning, concerned, attuned to me as always in ways I can barely fathom.
“Is this okay?” 
He is still close enough for his murmured inquiry to gently stir the tendrils of hair that have escaped my ponytail and which now frame my face.  His breath smells of apples.
“I think..”
Shuffling forward a little to gain better access, I cup his face in my hands, peppering him with tiny kisses, needing to taste his skin before I continue.
“....that this is very okay Mulder.”  
Continued in part 2 where we will wander into nsfw territory.  But if it’s not your thing - consider this your fluffy ending. 
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pendragonfics · 7 years
Text
Cowardice & Bad Timing
Paring: Armitage Hux/Reader
Tags: female reader (but can be read as a gender neutral reader), flower shop AU, tattoo parlour AU, modern era, flowers, fluff.
Summary: Reader works at a florists, and one day across the road in the abandoned warehouses, a small tattoo parlour opens, bringing the skilled Armitage Hux into the picture, and the heart of the Reader.
Word Count: 1,501
Posting Date:  2017-01-10
Current Date: 2017-06-01
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Flowers had always been your thing. Your father always brought your mother a bouquet every Monday, their blooms lasting a ripe fortnight. They were never the same arrangement of blossoms; roses and chrysanthemums, small poppies and daisies. Whatever they were for, an apology, an anniversary, they brought a smile to your mother's lips, and, thus, to yours too. When your father passed on, and left his father's florist store, Hosnian Harmony, all to you to inherit, to work in, to practically live your little life out of.
And it was a lovely little life; you met brides-to-be who worked out their arrangements for tables, nosegays for the bridesmaids, you had boyfriends and girlfriends rushing in for apologetic eyes and their regular order for their regular posies, the odd wanderer who bought flowers for their smell, the need for a centrepiece upon their dining tables at home. You met strange people, and never had a customer who was disgruntled; maybe it was because everyone who came in for flowers came out with flowers, and there was nothing bad about gorgeous blooms and better service.
Across the road in recent times, a tattooist had moved into the abandoned warehouse, renovated into apartments upstairs and industrial-like stores below. It was quite a sight to see, but from the front of your store, it was almost an eyesore with all the glaring metal and concrete aesthetic.
In that store, worked the famed artist Armitage Hux, and his hipster associates Phasma (an ex-drummer from a big name punk band), and the black-clad Kylo Ren, who only worked evening shifts to fit with his metal-head convictions. Not that you really paid them any heed - perhaps you knew the three main tattooists because their receptionist, Dopheld often came in for gossip and bunches of flowers for his poorly mother. He came often; you heard much about Kylo's aggressive history, and affinity for being the one to go to for tattoo sleeves, and of Phasma's no-crap attitude, and love for English Mastiffs. He also talked of Hux, never by his given name, but that he was a hard-headed, driven man, came from rich roots, and explored the world for more meaning in life than dosh and girls painted like dolls and sold off to marry.
By the way you heard of Armitage Hux from Mr. Mitaka, you almost felt sorry for him. You couldn't imagine coming from a home where you had every single thing you wanted, except freedom; you always explored as a child, often falling off bicycles and backwards off roller-skates, bruised and loved, covered in floral band-aids since day one.
It was a slow Wednesday afternoon with three hours until closing time when the bell to the door rang. You expected it to be a weepy friend coming for a few flowers for a funeral, or maybe the delivery of cellophane you were waiting on. Not the ginger crop with a shaved underside and a sleeve down his arm to come in. Unlike the other times you had seen Armitage Hux, he wore thick glasses, and smelt faintly of a cigarette he had politely snuffed out before entering, and walked like he owned your property and knew it. But unlike the time his associate Kylo Ren had wandered drunkenly in, you didn't spray him in the face with pepper spray, and you most certainly did not scream blue murder.
You only spoke it.
"I don't care for the trouble you bring over my threshold, Mr. Hux," you warn, arms crossed. It was hard to look as tough as he did in his hot goth clothes when you were practically surrounded in flowers and bright, cutesy colours. "Or...are you here to browse?" You dared to hope. A man who was built on becoming something more than his military father had foisted onto him, buying flowers?
He shook his head. "No, I'm - I'm just looking." He stammered, a gorgeous accent tumbling from his lips. "I was going to ask if you'd mind if I practised drawing flowers for a while, a patron of mine wants a - a - erm, it's a yellow flower..."
"Dandelions? Sunflowers?" You wondered, un-crossing your arms, eyes narrowed, deep in the act of brainstorming, overthinking. "Daffodils?"
He nodded. "Yeah, that one. And I thought you might have one...you know, since you're a flower shop..." he grinned, a lopsided thing which made you wonder if it worked on everyone he met.
You sigh. "You're lucky its in season, Mr. Hux, it's a winter flower." You turn to the isle beside where he stands, and produce the tub which is bursting with the pop of yellow colour. The side of his mouth quirks up, an almost-smile, but instead of it taking over his stern face, he sighs.
"Please call me Armitage," he wipes a hand over his face, glancing up as if to the heavens. "My father was Mr. Hux, and he wasn't a hero for me in the slightest." He corrects you, and motions to the tub. "Would you mind it if I just...sat in to practice? I don't know what I'd do if I had a bunch of flowers."
You bob your head, placing the tub upon the top of a small table by the window, where glorious sunlight filtered through the glass. "No problem, Armitage." you place your hands upon your hips akimbo, head tilted, wistful. "If not knowing what to do with a bunch of flowers is the height of your problems, I'm sure they aren't problems but issues." You give him a bright smile, the Hosnian Harmony special, and leave him to sketch.
---
It's every few days for three months when you hear the bell ringing at three hours to closing, see the bright eyes of Armitage Hux, the tattoo collection upon his bare arms growing with every passing week, new ink to cause your eyes to roam around his lithe form. Perhaps yes, you were the small-town florist who worked their ass off to make every bouquet the best the patron had every laid eyes and fingers upon. Perhaps, yes, he was the son of a big businessman who intended him to be the next Wall Street wolf, but found comfort around the buzzing of tattoo needles, the company of those covered in pictures of their life, their love. But what you felt inside after the months, that wasn't admiration for Armitage from breaking away from the crowd, or the fact that he was a fantastic singer, no. 
You'd fallen for him. 
It was another Wednesday when the visit was unlike the rest of them; his head was lowered, pencil and thick art diary, bursting with designs low at his side. The way he gazed at you wrought your heart, wrenching the strings.  
"My boss, Mr. Snoke noticed I'm taking too much time to draw pretty things on paper than on skin," he starts off, unable to meet your eyes. Your hands grew still over the arrangement you were placing together, slowly falling to the bench to rest. You'd feared for this day; the day that brought tidings darker than a Queen of Night tulip, a deep purple pansy. "I - ________, I can't come here to draw anymore."
You shake your head. "Just because a superior - come after hours!" you burst, the words tumbling from your words like a dam shattering. "I mean - the client of yours, they probably don't want a half-assed flower on their arm, do they?" you amend.
Armitage gives you a weak smile. "I can't believe you thought I had a client who liked flowers," his words are almost a breath, faint, you almost missed them with the noises from the outside world playing atop. "_______, as soon as we came across the street, I fell for you. I know - it's really unprofessional of me, and I've never spent three months chasing romance, but you're unlike anyone I've met before -,"
Your heart felt like it was faster than any time ever in your life, yet still, dormant at once. At once, you throw yourself around the counter, and into the picture-clad arms of Armitage Hux, gripping him closer to you than you'd ever held another living being. 
"Just say you like me," you whisper into his ear, a grin wide upon your lips. 
He laughs, withdrawing from the embrace. His eyes are alive, bright and beautiful, and he is too, and for once, you think of how much cowardice and bad timing it took to get to this point, to be in his arms, to feel his heartbeat under the skin close to your own, and for once, you reconsider if flowers are your thing. Because right now, you have a thing for Armitage; all of Armitage. 
"I like you, ________, of Hosnian Harmony," he beams, laying a kiss upon your lips, nearly sucking the air from your lungs. "Perhaps now I have a better excuse to come over to see you." 
You smirk, kissing back. "Any excuse to see you is perfectly good."
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dheaamitaedi · 5 years
Text
That of A Miracle
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THE UNIVERSE HAS BETRAYED ME long before I knew the words to my favourite song, what my dreams were, knew the location of all the countries in the globe, and long before I had my period and declared to have entered womanhood. The universe has been unfair to me; throwing me obstacles I wouldn’t have had the chance to overcome at such a young age if not for my bottling-up nature, and being able to conceal my true feelings to anyone around me. My mother taught me on how to hide my feelings from the world.
Whenever I would cry, she would flick my ear for me to stop, and I would obey.
Even as I entered adolescence and into adulthood I still cried in silence. I can’t bear to let my mother hear my cry, not because it would pain her, but it would pain me, because she was unable to show her motherly instincts. She doesn’t hug me or comfort me like those mothers on TV whenever they’re child showed pain. I don’t want to further ache myself knowing that my own mother was incapable of those emotions.
I wept alone.
Crying in my room, hiding from the world.
                                                          ❈  ❈  ❈
I WAS BORN 14 YEARS after my parents were pronounced husband and wife. I was considered a baby miracle. No one saw me coming. They tried their hardest to conceive a baby until it felt as though it was all in vain; herbal essences, medicines, exercise. Nothing worked in their presence.
So they’re only option was to wait.
To wait for God’s testament.
My father wanted a girl, because he said that boys were difficult to nurse when they are young. They were reckless, naughty, and they liked to run around everywhere, and god-forbid if he wrecks the entire house if he decides to play basketball indoors and knock all the furniture.
So he prayed for a girl.
SUMMER OF 1997, when my father was in Oslo, Norway, he met an endearing woman named Ms Lien. He had the pleasure to encounter her at an ASEAN community gathering, which was attended by Vietnamese refugees. Ms Lien was among those many refugees who fled from the Vietnam war in 1975 after the Fall of Saigon. She fled to Indonesia by boat to the island of Batam, and she was luckily screened out and transferred to Norway. During that time Indonesia was not a member of the UNHCR, still not a member even until this very day. That prevented them from freely accepting refugees.
Ms Lien was the person who lifted up my father and mother’s spirits from the ashes. She predicted a baby would come out of my mother’s womb.
She was careful with her words.
“Mr Hendrar, your wife will give birth. Next year. She will come to this world safe and sound.”
“She?” My father exclaimed with delight.
“Yes, a baby girl.” Ms Lien answered whilst smiling.
Bursts of joy and electrifying sensations protruded from my father’s widening smile. His prayers and my mother’s has finally been answered.
God really does wonders.
MY FATHER WAS A FIRST-SECRETARIAT AT THE EMBASSY of Indonesia to Norway. He was stationed in Norway in February 1994. A very well-distinguished diplomat to its fellow colleagues. He was a hard worker, a true nationalist, a benevolent diplomat.
Being a diplomat; a representative of your country in a foreign land, is a very noble and renowned occupation. A great deal of diplomacy, communication skills, vast knowledge of world politics is needed. You don’t only need to have pride in your own nation but also respect other country’s culture, and norms and values.
But coming home from work he would be a different person. Angrier, much more impatient and crankier. As if the day's work was just a facade of his true feelings. Home was the only place where he could express his annoyance and exhaustion freely. And my mother was both a witness and victim of this other persona of his. Some days she would just yell out of sheer exasperation at my father's temperament.
She would then complain to the walls of the house as that was her only consolation.
Though now, every day after he got home from the embassy, he would have this joyous smile despite the hours he spent reviewing reports and sitting in front of the monitor, it would all be worth it at the end because this time next year a baby girl would be born. My baby girl. He thought. And he would finally be able to cradle me in his own loving arms. He would whisper the adzanin her ear. Whisper her the glorious name of Allah. Thank Him for this precious miracle He has given him. All the waiting and nervous glances whenever my mother came out of the bathroom with the pregnancy test without the two red-triped lines. Sighing heavily and just losing hope. That will all disappear because finally he will have a child. 14 years of waiting.
                                                            ❈  ❈  ❈
NO ONE KNEW what was going to unravel the following year in May, when spring ended yet the cold still seeped silently through the worn thick blankets and bedsheets of my parents’ bedroom. The New Order era was finally over and the dictator who led Indonesia for 32 years ceased to rule the country. The revolution to topple down Soeharto’s rule began in early 1998. There were communal violence encircling the entire archipelago of Indonesia; Jakarta, Ambon, Medan. Kerusuhan Mei 1998, the May 1998 riots, was a tragedy wherein there were mass demonstrations, civil unrest and these were all triggered by mass unemployment.
During that same year, in February, my parents were transferred back to Jakarta due to the dryness of the state’s budget. The state’s currency declined drastically: from 1 Dollar equivalent to 2,500 Rupiah, it dropped to 16,000 Rupiah. The country did not have money. Null.
When my parents returned, they had nowhere to stay. They were homeless.
So, my grandfather offered to lend them his house in Depok, it was more than enough. My mother was carrying a 3-month old foetus. They needed somewhere to stay.
Big cities such as Bandung, Medan—including the capital city, Jakarta—was filled with political demonstrations.
It was not a full-blown riot yet, but the tension was already deeply felt.
And a baby’s kicking in my mother’s womb was also deeply felt in the month of April, a month before Soeharto was succeeded by President B.J. Habibie, 3 months before I came to the world.
                                                            ❈  ❈  ❈
IN JANUARY 2002, my father was stationed in New Mexico City, his third diplomatic posting; my first. I was 3 years old when we packed our entire house into brown shipping boxes and moved all the way to the west hemisphere.
I was a minority in my school, the only Southeast Asian in my class, the only one whose native language was not Spanish. The only one who had trouble speaking any language at all for that matter. Yet I was considered the smartest. I was thriving in that school. I spoke fluent Spanish in a span of a year. I was able to surpass all of the Spanish native speakers in my class. I received praises from my teachers.
“Bravo Dhea! Tu es muy inteligente!”they exclaimed, heart-warmingly satisfied with me. Well done Dhea! You are very smart!
“Muchas gracias señorita!” I responded.
“I am so proud of you querida”
I was perhaps the happiest girl in the room.
I never received praises from my parents. I don’t remember them ever congratulating me for obtaining a perfect score on my Mexican History test nor when I received a sticker at the corner of the page of my story-telling paper.
It was only then, when my teacher approached me, that I was genuinely praised for something I did. And I was proud of being a minority.
The school I went to was a private school located nearby my apartment in Calle de Emerson. It only took approximately a 10-minute walk, and yet I was always marked tardy. My homeroom teacher would always scould me during morning assemblies.
“Dhea, come antes ocho.”Before eight. The daily language is Spanish and most of the students came from around Mexico or South America. My father enrolled me here due to the close proximity from the apartment.
What one of the things I liked about this school is that we got to go to the outskirts of town for Physical Education class since the school could not fit in every grade in the basketball court they owned. We were escorted by a huge bus. My grade consisted of nearly 35 students. It felt like a herd of cows being placed in a very cramped truck; so noisy with students chanting Spanish songs through the entire trip.
On the way back from the sports arena, my friends and I played a game of truth or dare. I chimed in even though I found the game just a tad stupid. A bunch of people absentmindedly admitting to doing whatever dare they were dared to do. I find it very odd. But it was fun to see the stupid things they would gladly do for fun and laughter.
I VOMITTED ON THE FLOOR OF THE BUS.
No one helped and instead I heard booming laughter.
My friend dared this girl named Carla to stick down her tongue down my throat and that was when I wanted to withdrew from the game because I didn’t want to.
She violently pinned my shoulders to my seat and swiftly and forcefully put her tongue all the way down my trachea and I could feel my feet flailing in the seat. It reminded me of that time my mum had to chase me down with a spoonful of antibiotics on her, and she finally caught up to me and forced it down my mouth. Except this was traumatising. I kept pushing her away from me until she finally removed herself from my mouth. It lasted for nearly 2 minutes.
Seeing this, Leonardo dared me something vicious and terrorizing.
He smirked.
I stayed silent the rest of the way back to school.
                                                                ❈ ❈ ❈
THE THING ABOUT ME IS that I will not open up to anyone even if you’ve gave birth to me, raised me, fed me, piggy-backed me, and swung me in the air. I would still not spill my darkest secrets or my traumas until you dig it out of me, unscrewed the rusted box you’ve found buried deep inside me with a machete, and lifted the long-listed sheet of paper filled with my despair.
But my parents never pried.
Nor did my friends.
They never asked. And I simply stayed silent. That’s how I became a very reserved girl at a very young age. I learnt to bottle-up as a premature habit.
I still remember that day on the bus on our way back from the sports arena somewhere near Polanco, as clearly as the summer skies of Tunis. Two countries later, and the memory still persists. I don’t remember every detail of my childhood in Mexico but it’s funny how the moments you try to forget are sometimes the one that clings in your head. Funny how the things you want to strip off your memory are the ones that cling so desperately and you’re unable to dispatch of it. And the things you want to remember are the ones that gradually fade away with time. Memories work in wondrous ways.
It’s been 9 years and I can still feel it.
His skin was smooth like a baby’s scalp.
I can still hear the unclasping of his belt as he removed his uniform and revealed dangling skin. And as he pulled his trousers down to the floor of the bus, he violently grabbed the back of my head and pushed me down so I would come mouth to mouth with his penis. Yes. That’s the word.
And my eyes would open wide with bewilderment. Tears formed at the edge of my eyes.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
He would rock my head back and forth and a cunning, mischievous smile would form.
I SAW THE WAY MY DAD HELD ME in his arms from the album pictures; the way my blanket was draped around my little body, swaddled with love; the way my little fingers wrapped around my dad’s thumb just eloquently gripping with adoration; the way I buried my head in my dad’s chest smelling his fresh odour. Suddenly all of those things that I don’t remember came rushing in like a tsunami; unexpectedly and harshly. Inexistent memories to me yet existent to the very core to my dad.
Miracle baby.
A girl!
Mine.
Voices resonating my insides, trembling with uninhabited feelings, trying to wrangle me out of my subconscious. I remember the dishevelled hair when he wakes up, the way his footsteps reverberate through the walls of the house, how his bone structure shaped his broad shoulders, his tanned-to-dark skin that was always being shit-talked.
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Nine
White-round-tiny pills. The irony of overdosing on the medication that was prescribed to help you.
Thirty
And all is dark.
And the last thing I remember is my dad yelling my name wrangling me awake, only to find an empty prescription bottle and a a bottle of vodka on the floor.
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