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slashmebois · 4 years

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You make me breathless

“Hello! How are you? I hope you are very well ;) If you don't mind, could you write about Bo's reaction to an asthmatic reader? being fucking soft on him and freaking out when he tries too hard? How to mount your thigh? I suffer from asthma attacks, you know, it's hell when everyone treats me like a baby, but deep down I enjoy it, thanks in advance and see you!”

Thank you so much for your request @ !! I hope this fits what you wanted! I kept this GN up until thigh riding, so if y’all aren’t the owners of a va-gi-na you may wanna stop reading at that point.

I’ve not written NSFW before so sorry if it’s a lil cringe haha.

Disclaimer: My only experience of asthma is a close family member who has pretty severe symptoms. If any of the information I put in is incorrect, please drop me a message and I’ll do my best to educate myself and edit the post! I used information from Asthma UK to inform my writing.

Okay first, some background.

When you first arrived in Ambrose and Bo was chasing you, he thought it was hilarious when your asthma started to act up (he’s an asshole, I’m sorry). But he did feel a little teensy bit guilty about that later…

Leading on from that, if anyone does anything that triggers your asthma, well Bo is gonna be pissed.

Both Lester and Vincent have been kicked in the ass for doing so. Vincent is just so quiet that he scared the heck out of you by accident, and Lester bought that cleaning product that sets you off because he wasn’t listening properly.

Boy really thought you needed CPR the first time you had a big attack (he just wanted an excuse to kiss you okay). He’s since learned to keep an eye on where your inhaler and Volumatic spacer are so he can grab them quick.

If you have a preventer inhaler, he tries to remind you to take it.

He’s also a little overprotective (see bullet point two) and panics a little because he doesn’t really understand that sometimes the cause won’t be obvious. He has literally run around holding up things to you and asking if that is what was causing it.

It can feel like he’s babying you since he drops whatever is happening if you get the slightest bit breathless.

But also he drops whatever he’s doing, which is kind of sweet.

Initially he got pretty proud when your symptoms triggered whilst you were getting it on. Once you’d recovered and explained it to him, he realised that whilst he loved the idea of you finding it hard to breathe around him, that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t actually a good thing.

Tonight, was the night. You were determined. Tonight, was the night you would make Bo realise you are an independent and goddamn sexy adult who can take care of themselves.

He had been babying you all week. The pollen count in Ambrose currently was astronomical and setting off your asthma big time. You had been trying to get down and dirty, but every time you had felt your airways tightening and Bo had scrambled for your inhaler, before holding you and kissing your head. And he always refused sex after. You were pretty sure he thought that’s what was causing it at this point.

You dressed yourself in your tightest, most revealing clothes, adding a garter underneath for good luck. You felt sexy and powerful. You just hoped Vincent wasn’t chilling in the kitchen to see this. It had happened before and yes; it was embarrassing for everyone involved. Striding down the stairs you glance over to the kitchen table. Okay, phew. The coast is clear.

You’re thankful as you step into the street, that the air in Ambrose is always warm- come summer or winter. You hear the music coming from the garage before you see Bo come into view. He’s singing along, focused on the car engine in front of him. You lean against the garage door, watching him with that warm fuzzy feeling of love. You’re so thankful you found him.

He turns and jumps a little, before eyeing you up and down slowly- a devilish grin working its way onto his face.

“Well that is a nice view” he whistles, his eyes locking with yours, “what’s the occasion?”

“No occasion…just wanted to look nice for myself” you spin on the spot, giving him the full view.

“For yourself huh?”, he makes his way over to you, laying his hands on your hips and leaning in close to hum in your ear, “and could little old Bo get any of that, or are we strictly keeping this to ourselves?” he punctuates it, by pulling you close enough to feel his erection against your back.

You gasp audibly, “I guess I could share a little. Sharing is caring and all that”

His laughs rumbles, And he starts walking you towards the basement, gripping and grasping at you as he does.

By the time you reach the basement, you’re already moaning and can feel the growing arousal between your thighs. He manages to jostle the door open and picks you up, wrapping your legs round him to carry you over to the chair.

Bo, leans back and just studies you before going to town on your neck, nipping and sucking and groaning, “how the fuck did I get so lucky baby”.

You’re a mess before he’s even touched you down there, and struggling to form words, “Bo…uhh…oh my-YES”

His hands paw at your chest, kneading the flesh before moving south to cup you.

“Someone’s excited” he grins, but you can hear he’s nearly as breathless as you.

His fingers start to move down there and it’s little bits of electric. You’re panting and grabbing at his back,

“please please please”

He pulls his hand away and you groan in dismay. The sensation is quickly replaced, you squeak as he rips your bottoms off and kneels before you, putting his mouth on you and sucking hard.

You can feel yourself quickly approaching climax, but then it happens. Your throat tightens and you gasp inward, your breath not quite reaching your lungs.

Bo is immediately off you, “where’s your inhaler, where is it baby?”, he looks so worried, fuck. This is so unfair. You point over to your discarded bag and he rustles through it to find your saving grace. He tosses you the inhaler, and picks you up as you use your inhaler, placing you down in his lap.

You take breaths in, letting the medication sooth your airways until you can breathe again. All the time, Bo is muttering reassurances and sweeping you hair back from your face to kiss your eyelids.

“It’s okay baby, you’re all right. Don’t worry. We’ll get you to bed”

You can feel the angry tears threatening to spring from your eyes, “I don’t want to go to bed Bo. I am not a baby! I’m a fully grown adult and I want to fuck. Jesus!”

He stills, a little stunned, “You think I treat you like a baby?”, his tone is dark.

“Well…I…I just feel stupid.”

“Oh no, no, no. That’s fine. I can treat you different if you like”

Before you can respond he has you over his lap and his hand is coming down on your backside. You yelp in surprise, “B…Bo”

---GN ends, reader is person with vagina from here on out---

“Ah-ah, call me daddy babygirl”

You feel a shiver of delight pass through you, “yes daddy”, the groan that emits from Bo is unworldly.

He spanks you again, and you moan, squirming you legs together beneath him, “please daddy”

“Please, what?”

“Uhhhn, please touch me”

“Come sit on daddy’s knee”

You lift yourself, desperate to please him so he’d please you. You start to sit sideways across his knees, but he stops you and pulls you toward him so that you have a leg on either side of one of his knees.

Confused you start to question “what in the heck are you doing?” but before you can finish the sentence, he grinds his knee up into your core and ohhh…oh fuck, that feels good. Your legs clamp tightly around his leg, and you start to press down, “mmm. Please. Please daddy, that feels so good”.

He grinds his knee again and grabs your hips, pulling you down onto his thigh more. You don’t need more encouragement, you start moving your hips with him, mewling out his name and expletives. You leave a trail of your wetness along his leg, and fuck if that isn’t hot.

“Tell daddy how good it feels pet. Mm, you like that don’t you?”

“Daaaddy, it feels-mmmf-it feels so good.”

“Whose doing that to you?”

“Y…you are Bo. Oh my god. Oh my god. pleeeease”

Your face is flushed and your hair sticks to your forehead as you feel the mounting tightness in your stomach pooling down.

“Yeah I am baby. You gonna cum for me? Gonna make you cum just using my thigh huh?”

You try to respond but your orgasm tears through you, and you just wail in a mix of pleasure and slight pain. Your breath is short, but for a different reason this time. You’re still for a spell, trying to catch it again, and trying to decide if you’re still on this plane of existence. You realise that the whole time Bo is just staring at you, a big smile on his face.

“What?” you laugh.

“Nothing, just think I’ll have to stop treating you so precious huh? Kinda liked this side of you”

You pout, “I don’t mind you treating me a little like a baby. But only a little.”

He barks out a laugh, “Alright, alright. We’ll compromise. You can be my spoilt baby during the day”, he leans in close to your ear, his thighs movement against your slit making you jump, “but at night I’m treating you like this. You get an asthma attack, fine we’ll sort it. But I might have to punish you for making me worry”

You bite your lip, feeling a second wave of arousal hit you. Fuck, at this rate you’d be cumming a second time real soon. He catches the look in your eye, “Guess I better get to work on you again”

#how #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair smut #bo sinclair x reader #slashers

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quitethepirategal · 3 years

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An Analysis in Threes

❥ TAGGED BY: @emcads like 30 years ago ❥ TAGGING: @riidcr @starsailingcaptain @covencrown @hookd @all-fleshed-out @evermxre @motherofredemption @bup1957 @conquistadoradelmar @seaprofound @tcthinecwnself @withinycu @windguided @daevilhorns @concordia-cum-sinistro and YOU and I spent like 8 hours on this so pLEASE READ IT PLEASE I AM BEGGING I NEED VALIDATION I’M-

repost don’t reblog. yall dont have to type this much.

MUSE: Captain Red Handed Jessica

Three Strengths:

Her adaptability and resourcefulness. Is she brave, yes. Is she lucky, also yes. But over all, she can roll with the cards she’s been dealt in a way that many would call inhumanly clever. Her intelligence, her perception, and her charisma are all different ingredients of this indomitable characteristic of hers. She can see the value in just about anything and anyone, can pick up on clues and tangents few others can follow, and can remember seemingly endless details, tho unfortunately not on command. But even then, her patchy memory seems to contribute to this adaptability as well, as it usually allows for detachment. If she can find resources everywhere, it means she can survive everywhere. There have been countless times where the wheel of fortune has suddenly turned on her and she’d lost near everything and her response was more or less Damn, ok I need food water and shelter lets go. No food? Grow food. No water? Ask someone if they have water. No shelter? Sleep outside. No money? Steal money. Can’t hear anymore? Cool I can use loud weapons. Crashed on an island? My island now. Shot? Free bullet. She knows when to push, she knows when to quit, and sometimes she knows when to gamble based on her ability ( what a man can do and what he can’t do and all that ). Strong she may be, she knows its foolish to rely on strength. Survival of the fittest actually rarely means survival of the strongest. ( edit; this is the theme for the entirety of her character. I will say it 50,000 times. I am very sorry ). And as a student of philosophy and biology, she understands that phrase better than most. Leading to our next point.

Her understanding. As I stated, her charisma is something unmatched, and is a key element in all three of her strengths. This charisma might not exist as prominently were it not for her ability to understand. She has limited ( I’ll get back to that ) but deep running empathy and while not terribly observant all the time, she is always perceptive. Not only that, but she’s personally known abuse, hardship, and uncertainty, and understands that hate or anger can be rooted in similar pain. She was schooled lightly in both Christian and Buddhist values before diving heavily into democratic philosophy, meaning she believes all being experience suffering and therefore kindness is a powerful sign of strength, but also that suffering while free and equal is better than comfort in oppression. And between her sweet words and beautiful face, she can get most people to open up in ways they themselves my not have expected. Being very good with people means she can learn from them, gain something from them, lead them, and/or use them. But Jessica isn’t a manipulator in truth; her intentions are almost always kind or healthy ones. She absolutely uses people from time to time but not EVER without them consenting to or being made aware of such because again, unlike a manipulative person, she understands that can ruin a relationship and therefore ruin a resource. What it makes for is an excellent leader, a beloved captain, and a trusted ally at most and an excellent conversationalist at the least. But her understanding isn’t just social, oh no. It’s academic as well. Armed only with his little library and the lessons of his own teachers, Jessica’s foster father tirelessly smithed her into a not just a girl who knew a lot of things, but a truly intelligent, thinking mind. He’d die before learning he’d succeeded tenfold. Jessica isn’t one to just except things as they are, facts or otherwise. She usually needs to prove it, experiment, see things from a new angle. Debates with her are fun! She has no issue admitting she’s wrong or confessing she’s never thought of it that way, and is actually wrong a lot of the time. It doesn’t bruise her ego, it excites her. It means there’s more to learn. And her ability to constantly understand new concepts paired with her ability to overwhelmingly understand people combine to make for a very powerful core idea of hers: We are fittest to survive because we all fit together. Our humanity, our empathy, our community are our strengths because they keep us united, which keeps us the fittest. No one is independent, no man is an island. People are power. And thus her final strength is just that.

Her power. While she and I still firmly state that strength isn’t everything don’t be disillusioned; its very goddamn important. And it’s something Jessica has plenty of. She is durable and clever because of her rocky early childhood, she is quick and versatile from her youth in a pirate port, she is physically strong and mighty from her years training in martial arts, and she’s an absolute crackshot after years of diligent practice with her trusty pistols. Her true strength may lie in her brains and in her allies yes, but even without them, Red Jessica is a powerhouse of a warrior. She can end fights extremely quickly or run from them without a prayer of catching her ( no shame in the later, both skills keep you alive ). And it may be in bad taste to say, but ever since loosing most of her hearing, Jess swears up and down it’s made her vision better, her reaction time faster, and her quick thinking even quicker. Yes of course she’s slowed down with age, but a bullet shoots at the same speed no matter how old you are. And you best hope she didn’t bring her firecrackers, because while sudden loud noises will absolutely temporarily discombobulate or debilitate an opponent with healthy hearing, it’ll hardly effect her at all and suddenly, you’re a sitting duck. You see those thighs? You see those calves? She can crush PINEAPPLES with them! People have seen her do it! Do you know how many micro-fractures broke and rebuilt those hands? Thousands! She can crush a trachea like a fucking beer can! She can kick you to death! One ill placed curb stomp and you are DECEASED. Sometimes she’ll just psyche you out because she KNOWS you know she can kill your stupid ass! But while her strength, mental and physical, have always been there, her power is relatively new. As stated before, people are power. Not knowledge, not money, not strength. People. She’s a fearsome warrior but she’d be useless if outnumbered. Shes a very successful pirate, but she’d never make it out of port without a crew on her ship. She found a gorgeous island, but it’d still be wild without those who built it’s piers and buildings. She manages orchards and tends to them and harvests them herself, but she would loose all of her crop without the helping hands of her employed farmers. And like I mentioned, she deeply understands this. Freedom is not independence or vice versa. Did you make the clothes on your back or the fabric that made those clothes? Did you write the books you read to make you smarter or teach you that skill? Did you plant the seed years ago that grew that orange you’re eating? No, of course not. Jessica didn’t either. Another human did. We all need each other to fill the holes in our lives that we can’t fill ourselves. Humans are puzzle pieces in that way, there is no bigger picture or prayer for survival on our own. And because of this, we can do anything we as a community, as a SPECIES work together to achieve. There is no knowledge if there’s no one to learn from, there is no money if a society don’t give it value, your money is worthless if those you’re paying decide to rise against you, your role as leader only exists at the consent of those you lead, and your strength won’t save you from a sinking ship. People are, and always will be, power. And as someone who is exceptionally strong and exceedingly smart, Jessica has slotted herself in the humanity puzzle thusly: The strong exist to protect the weak, the smart exist to educate, and the lucky exist so the unlucky may be given aid. And it is with this fairness and compassion that she has won the trust of so many. She has a great many friends and allies even outside of those in her crew or on her island. And she can make many more with ease. That kind of power is not a power to be trifled with, even if she can kick your ass six ways to Saturday without it.

Three Weaknesses:

She suffers ADHD. Now before ANY OF Y’ALL SAY ANYTHING, I myself also suffer ADHD. And yes I do say suffer because well that’s what it causes for Jessica and I, suffering. Yes, it is ableist language to say ‘suffering from’ rather than ‘has’ or ‘is diagnosed with’ and yes it perpetuates a stigma against us but god DAMN IT in both Jessica’s case and mine, it make life much much harder than it needs to be. At the end of the day, Red Jessica is a fantasy of mine; I pour myself into her whether I mean to or not. She’s the adult I wish I was, the person I might be if I had no anxiety, or brainfog, or lived in a world were I didn’t need a credit score or a degree. And even then, I can’t say I know anyone else’s problems better than my own. So if my character has problems, by sheer osmosis they are going to reflect some of mine. Both of the characters I write have ADHD because I have ADHD and I couldn’t even begin to know how a non-ADHD mind works to write it properly. And no, I’m not being dramatic when I say it causes me suffering. I can’t drive, I can’t hold down a job, I nearly flunked out of school, I still cant read very fast or spell very well, I am constantly overwhelmed by mundane things, I’m a slow learner, I forget very important things or recent things, I forget about things that mean the world to me, I forget about people, I stumble through tasks, I procrastinate hobbies and basic hygiene, and everything I do takes all goddamn day and I can only really do one important thing at a time and in order of importance. If I have a date at 4pm, I’m dressed and ready at 11am because I’ve gotta do the important thing first or else I will forget to do the important thing. I started typing this at a little before 5pm. It’s 7;30. It’ll probably be 10 o’clock at night by the time I fucking finish ( edit: l m a o its 1am bitch you thought ). I’m 26 and am just medicated enough to barely function. So yeah. Suffering is the word. Though for Jessica, perhaps suffering is a tad strong of a word. Her ADHD affects her ability to function in far less debilitating ways ( though whether that’s a result of a less severe diagnosis than me or the result of the society, situations, and responsibilities she functions in and around are far different from mine, who’s to say ). For her, she has very consuming hyperfixations that can last anywhere between weeks to decades, a spotty memory that is detail and memento oriented, she’s scatterbrained more often then not but can focus with amazing clarity on her interests or in high adrenaline situations, is is ABYSMALLY bad at math and EXCRUCIATINGLY bad with numbers ( as opposed to me, who is good at numbers but shit at spelling or reading ), she can forget anything no matter how important it is to her or to anyone, she’s bad with names and dates, is COMPLETELY time-blind, has trouble prioritizing, and of course, wile not actually that materialistic, she absolutely has the ol’ magpie instinct. While her poor memory assists in her adaptability and ability to move on, it also means she forgets things she needed to remember, like when the last time she bathed was and who this person is and what happened between her and someone else or what conversation’s shes had. Unfortunately this means she’s a very good friend and leader... while you’re around and interacting with her on at least a weekly basis. It’s almost a lack of object permanence in both a social and very real sense. If something is not right in front of her, odds are she’s not going to think about it. And while its something she constantly kicks herself for and actively tries to be better about, it applies to people too. Face to face is the best way to interact with her; she won’t think to write you and in her modern verse she won’t think to ever call and she’ll text you back in perhaps a few days. She doesn’t value you any less, I promise. She’s just either distracted or overwhelmed. Also, for someone as understanding as her, she is surprisingly self-centered. Not selfish, self-centered. She’ll talk about herself more than she should, and will assume people understand that she’s doing so as a form of showing empathy rather than bragging when they may not know this at all. Actually she accidentally assumes all the time. It was far worse when her hearing was functional; she’d finish your sentence for you or guess what it was you were going to say ( again, not to talk over, you but to show she understands you and the conversation, tho it usually came of as annoying or patronizing ). Sometimes she mistakenly assumes you believe or know the same things she does without even realizing it. Maybe she perceives the right idea off of someone but isn’t observant enough to notice anything past that. And while she is willing to change her mind about things, she might change her mind a tad too quickly. She’s an over-sharer and is horrible at keeping any kind of secret. Romantic relationships tend to fizzle out. Her impulse control is improving but has a VERY long way to go. She’s always chasing something new. All and all, when you’re a pirate, a librarian, or even a captain, all of these things may be irritating and inconvenient, but are overall manageable in chunks. ...But as a governor to her island, as a leader of an entire population... oof. In the position of leadership that she’s in, she can’t afford to make too many massive mistakes, and she knows this. ‘There is no power quite like the power of being underestimated’ is a phase you’ll hear her say a lot but for her, there is a shift in connotation. If people expect less and you do more that’s a great upper hand in any situation but for her, it was a safety net. Having ADHD sometimes means going months or years being fine and then eventually you fuck up and everyone around you wonders how in the world you managed to do that. She has only barely avoided disaster more times than she’d like to admit. Even with the resourcefulness, the understanding, and the power she wields, she’s finally starting to realize that she’s bit off more than she might be able to chew, with the entire well-beings and livelihoods of others on the line. And she fears that one day she’ll play her cards wrong and everything she’d built, everything she’s done, will all come crashing down in ruin.

She is Hard of Hearing. This one is literally as simple as it sounds: she has moderate and degenerative hearing loss and tinnitus after years of canons, explosions, gunshots, and a definitive, scale tipping attack in her early 30s. Her ears just don’t work at all like they used to. The whole world sounds like it would if everything was underwater: she can’t pin point the location of sounds, how far off or close sounds are, and barely registers changes in volume. And it only gets worse the older she gets; one day she won’t hear anything at all. And while yes, again, it might be very harsh and ableist to say, the truth of the matter that being deaf a “ weakness ” more often than its a strength. That said, it very well can be a strength. I’ve already mentioned that trick with the firecrackers and let me tell you it is a DAMN EFFECTIVE TRICK. Shes around explosions and canons and guns all the time and now she can focus while being around them five times better than she could in the past! But unfortunately it also means she’s very easy to sneak up on, she sometimes isn’t aware of danger until it’s nearly too late, no one can get her attention or warn her across any distance, it’s very easy to escape from her, and it’s easy for her to be just... left out of things. She might hear you talking, but she has little to no idea what you’re saying without sign or lipreading. Some people don’t have the patience or even just the courtesy to speak slower, or clearer, or repeat themselves a lot. Though, those last too thinks aren’t weaknesses of hers so much as they are the weakness of others, but they still negatively affect her self esteem and her effectiveness as a leader. All of this has taught her to pick her battles carefully, and plan around the elements of surprise and discombobulation. And while communication was tricky at first, it only got easier, and now she can talk to you almost like anyone can, so long as she’s looking you in the face.

That damn bleeding heart. We have established a number of things that should easily add up to an overly empathetic, trusting, fight-the-good-fight, martyr-some, idealistic pushover; she believes humanity and kindness are strengths, she has taken on the role of leader and then a provider, she has known suffering and tasked herself with ending the suffering of others to the best of her ability, she lacks the clarity of mind to assume people aren’t just as good or capable as her automatically, she can have poor impulse control at times, she wants to have relationships, and ( while I never stated this outright yet it can be inferred ), she believes that being able to see yourself in others is the foundation of humanity and ( as i did say outright ) humanity is what keeps us unified and unity is what makes us fit and strong. Keeping up? Good. Here’s the curve ball: How can she whole hardheartedly preach and believe all of this, to the point of it being the foundation of her character, WHILE BEING A VIOLENT THIEVING AND BLOODTHIRSTY PIRATE?! HOW, MANGO? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!! Ok, fine, sure, I will. I’m sure about one half of you are looking up from the screen and going “ Oh yeah, wow I totally forgot that bit. “ and the other half got about two and a half paragraphs in before squinting and silently calling bullshit. So let me explain. In short, she’s a detached hypocrite and is well aware and unashamed of her hypocrisy while far less aware of her detachment. I’ll cover both: Western culture as a whole seems to be under the impression that hypocrisy, despite context or importance, is automatically bad. I don’t know where this comes from personally ( my bet is Christianity but I have exactly 0 evidence ) but its a very... flawed idea. Take the freedom of speech vs racism problem; say you owned a bar where all could speak their mind freely over cold drinks. Excellent concept without context, right? Sure. ....Then a die hard racist covered in slurs and symbols walks in and orders- what are you going to do? The correct answer is to throw him out instantly. Not let him sit so long as he doesn’t cause trouble, not just ignore him and hope he doesn’t return, you throw him out. Is it hypocritical? Yep! Sure is! But it is also 100% necessary to protect your other patrons because if you don’t, the racist starts feeling safe and bringing his racist buddies, literally everyone else starts feeling unsafe and starts to hang out elsewhere, and two months later, ta da! You now own a n*zi bar and there is literally nothing you can do about it. Jessica is in a somewhat similar situation. You as a pretend bar owner need to make a decision as who to let into your bar and who to throw out for the good of all of your patrons. Jessica too is faced daily with that decision. If she want’s to help as many people as possible, the only realistic way she can do that are by protecting those under her leadership... only. She is surrounded by hateful, angry, sneaky, traitorous, abusive, or otherwise evil people. Piracy as a profession and poverty in general can do that to a person. Of course there is a clear difference between those down on their luck and desperate, and the truly cruel and twisted, but unfortunately both types of people yield the same wrongdoings. It’s absolutely her nature to extend a hand to anyone and everyone but.... she just can’t anymore. Too many times has her trust been betrayed, too many times has she gotten in peoples business trying to be helpful, only for her to absolutely bite her in the ass. Too many time the extended hand is bitten and once or twice, she’s actually made things worse. Now, she will only help someone she loves, someone under her leadership, or someone who seeks her out. That’s it. And even then, sometime it manages to bite er in the ass. But she had to set that hard limit for herself out of necessity, one she does her absolute best to adhere too and... these days she adheres a little too well. That leads us to our next point; what I was alluding to at the beginning of her Understanding essay when I said she has limited but deep running empathy. That detachment again, courtesy of a very unattached mother and unchecked ADHD. ( It isn’t a strong enough characteristic to even rank as a strength or a weakness but damn if it isn’t an undercurrent to a lot of her motivations and experiences. ) Strangers are fair game that she tries to ignore, but if she even perceives you as a threat, you could be in danger. Like anyone used to violence or perhaps anyone trapped in an us verses them mindset, she can just... flat... turn her empathy off. Not on command, she’s not a socio or psychopath persay. But she has become totally numb to the horror of violence via her warrior upbringing that, in her mind, violence can actually be rather fun. Pair that with the fact that she purposely tailored herself to only be empathetic to her allies and boom. You get a kindhearted killer. Cops and soldiers in our world do it literally every day. Actually anyone can do it really, even you if you tried. You don’t have to be evil or even angry to kill or steal or lie... you just have to believe you’re right.

Three Secrets:

WHAT SECRETS?! LMAO this bitch is the oversharing queen!! I’ve been typing and pondering her character for literal hours ( its currently 11:16, fuck you adderall ), and I still can not think of a single goddamn secret. There is nothing about her that at least five random people don’t fucking know about!! The only secrets she has are secrets she knows about other people and even then she is!! literally the worst!! She spills her guts left and right and yet she wants to be a mysterious bitch SO BAD like BABE I love you, you’re precious, but you are a dumbass attention seeking validation chasing adhd CLOWN girl!! Stop telling random people about your hermaphroditism or your dairy allergy or your dead dad or that time you fell asleep in a barrel like that is literally your uber driver Jessica honey come ooooon. I’m skipping this section mom holy fuck.

Three Fears:

What if she does wrong by everyone who trusts her? As stated at the end of the ADHD essay, she’s terrified of failing those she leads. Where it as simple as personal failure, she’d be fine. Ever if her entire world came crashing down on top of her she’d either die or start back from square one. Death is a fact of life and her adaptability means she can just dust herself off and move on, so neither her death nor her failures really scare her... But it isn’t just her life and happiness at stake, is it? Not anymore, right? What started as a leader of a small gang of rebels became a full crew, then a crew became a slew of allies, then those allies built a town and now... now she’s the governor of the Crimson Isle and there are nearly twenty five HUNDRED lives at her mercy. HER mercy. One really, really bad mistake could ruin their livelihoods or spark disorder and disloyalty. And if she died? Would whoever it is that will take her place be as good to them as she is? Is she good enough to begin with in the first place? Every day the paperwork gets a little bit thicker, every year there’s a new baby or two. And the isle has fertile soil sure but will it last? Are they prepared for a raid or a hurricane? And if Jessica trusts the wrong people, where her people right to trust her? ...can I protect them? Can I protect them?! CAN I PROTECT THEM?!

Who am I if I’m not interesting? This is, literally, an entirely subconscious fear. She’s not at all aware it exists and therefor this entry is short. But between her short time with her very unimpressed mother, her own ADHD, she is constantly hungry for attention without even realizing it. She must be interesting and intriguing and engaging, and I did mention she wants to also be mysterious. She wants not so much your input or even your validation - but rather if shes not perceived then.... is she really there? Remember, she is unaware of any of this. And fortunately she’d never been starved for attention to act out over it in the first place, even when her disinterested mother was alive. Look at her; she’s radiant, she’s beautiful, and she’s 6′4 / 195 cm shredded and covered in cool scars. Without even opening her mouth, without even her colorful clothes, she’s kind of automatically interesting. So she’s never been so desperate for attention that she acts out because she’s never been without it for very long. But it’s there. Hungry, aching, silent. Those years after the M branding were horrible and she could never really explain why. She still throws parties, organizes festivals, and talks to damn near anyone who will listen. Look at my art! Look at my library! Listen to how much I know! Let me tell you how lovely you are! Look at my scares! Look at my hair! Look at me haha, please, please look at me.

GHOSTS. NOPE. No. NO. Fuck ALL of that noise. Stay dead, go to hell, eat a dick. Red Jessica is a scientist and superstitious atheist. As an academic and somewhat bi-cultural woman she simply thinks there are far too many religions with far too much history for any of them to be considered The One True Thing You Must Believe Or ElseTM and she tends to not truly believe anything until she finds some kind of proof. Shes not afraid of the unknown, shes thrilled by it. She’s not afraid of death or the afterlife, that’s beyond her control. She’s only superstitious because she does believe in and value luck, and also its a bit of a cultural habit. BUT IF SOME SHIT STARTS MOVING ON ITS OWN OR IF SHE SEES SOME BULLSHIT IN THE CORNER OF HER EYE THEN SHE IS OUT OF THERE. OUTIE 5000. She has heard the tales of lost souls from purgatory or the eternally ravenous Pret or dangerous Phi Tai Hong or the tragic and startling Banshees or the creepy Santa Compana and she wouldn’t believe a word of it where it not for one thing. SHE FUCKING SAW ONE. She’ll never forget it, it was the first and last time she EVER attempted to plunder a tomb all Skyrim style and at first she thought it was one of the crewmean being creepy as shit until she got a good look and he was SEE THROUGH AS SHIT AND SKINNY AS FCUK AND SHE GOT LITERALLY CHASED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT JOINT. She does not CARE that some ghosts are just apparitions she does not CARE that some are friendly and trying to warn her of something if you are MOVING and DEAD at the SAME time get FUCKED. If any of y’all cringe try-hards bring a Ouija board to the party you are getting SENT HOME and BLOCKED. NO CAP.

Three Goals:

She really only has one left. Listen its... almost 1am and ive been typing since like 5pm i think i covered goals somewhere in here but ive gotta throw in the towel but even then I’m kinda being serious. Her only remaining goal is to find a suitable heir of some kind. She wants what she’s built to fall into worthey hands but she could never seem to find a good parter and even when she did she couldn’t sustain a pregnancy ( you’d think that would be a huge deal but it hardly mattered to her oddly ). So at 50 the option of having kids is out but there’s still plenty of hope for either adoption or a protege. But then again, she’s so busy these days that she hardly prioritizes it like she wants to.

holy shit i need some water...

#i.... i did it.. its done.. its DONE #...this took my entire saterday #i will literally pay yall actuall dollars to read all of this please... it took so long i dont want it to be for nothing qwq #x; EVER PLAYED CRAZY EIGHTS? { dash games }#x; QUITE THE PIRATE GAL { portrait }#x; WHY AREN'T YOU A CLEVER ONE? { meta }

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border-spam · 4 years

Text

Leech Lord - UwU

"Then perish."

Troy

Slaps to the back, hands resting on top of the bracer, jabs to the ribs under its edge, that kind of intimate playfulness from people he trusts initiates immediate heart-boner mode.

If someone he wasn't close to did that shit he'd twist em in half. He’d 180 their torso before they realised what had just happened, and maybe that's why friends doing it wrecks him so hard. They normalise it. They normalise the rig and the spines and the hollow shell of iron, like it's not terrifying ( when he knows it should be ), and it's not disgusting ( when he knows what's under it ), and it's not sacrosanct to touch ( when he knows it absolutely fucking is ).

Ven playfully punching the blunt front of the bracer, a heavy paw from JK on the top of his empty shoulder, Eli asking how his back is and gently pressing fingers into the edge of his spine? Dude gets shivers. 😔

People offering him help is another "If you were anyone else I'd kill you but I actually really love this thank you" contradiction for him, but it has very specific rules.

Troy is shockingly independent, there were no accessibility tools on Nekro and no prosthetics, he's learned how to do almost everything without assistance and uses his mouth, hip bone, thighs, etc to manipulate things in place of his missing arm. He generally doesn't need help, and that's probably why friends offering it is.. nice.

No one ever offered. No one ever offered, his whole life. If someone close to him asks if they can help as he's opening something or pulling on a glove with his teeth? Yeh 😏. Yeh they can, sure. The little touches they might give him as they do are just a bonus.

Don't offer him help if he's struggling. Don't make it clear you've noticed he can't do something. He'll already be on razor edge and ready to tear himself apart over it, so drawing attention to his shame is a recipe for disaster. He'll ask if he needs help. He'll... he'll ask if he needs it.

Seifa

Someone preparing something for her to eat without asking absolutely generates an internal sob. It's the idea that she occupied a part of their brain that made them think of her when grabbing food or a drink, that her comfort actually mattered enough to someone to consider her despite there not being any gain.

Sei remembers every time this happens and has an internal little checklist for making sure she returns the gesture of care, from Eli handing her some fresh bread that he picked up from the kitchens at lunch, to JK insisting she try the concerning coloured fruit juice they had remembered mentioning before and wanted her to taste. She tries to pay em all back, one way or another.

An arm around her shoulders decimates her. She goes full jelly mode, all stupid grin and slight blush, if she's being pressed against a solid side then even better. Couldn't really explain why if she was asked, probably some underhanded combo of feeling protected and like she mattered enough to want to hold close that way. Gets an emotional chub of intense girth.

Hand touches. It's just so.. out of the norm. It's not something that ever happens in her day to day life, you don't make that connection with other people in her position and role. Friend reaching over to turn her wrist and ask if the tremor they spotted is a problem? Oh no. Partner in crime Ven holding it as he leads her through a crowd so they don't get separated? OH NO. Troy's unmistakable change in behavior when she eventually returns to Pandora, glancing touches against the back of her hand when he's always been so weird about that in general. Slowly lacing heavy fingers between hers as she starts to doze off next to him against the couch pillows, like if he's careful enough she won't notice? OH NO.

Tyreen

Troy sometimes shows Ty security recordings, it's a little known fact that the entire Cathedral and most of the Holy City is under surveillance, though maybe it shouldn't be that much of a surprise.. the Father is all seeing, after-all. There's a specific thing he'll clip from edits and show her because he understands how it makes her feel, and it's people praising Tyreen when she's not there to force it.

Not worshiping, praising. Comments on her great performance last week in a conversation between some dust runners guarding their cabal's alley in the Slums. Some kids playing God Queen, one gap toothed little girl with a coat wrapped around her shoulders shouting about how strong and powerful Tyreen is, how SHE'S Tyreen this round! Start running. Little things, real things that show an affection and care towards her from people who aren't being forced. It hits her. It really hits her, and the smile she beams at him in response is real.

Having her hair being pampered absolutely throbs her ickle heart. There isn't really any of Ty that can be touched, but her hair is pretty safe, long as the stylist is wearing gloves. Those little fluttering tickles and glances of human contact near her scalp leave her hot in the cheeks and smirking to herself as she rests back in the padded char of the Makeup team's portable boutique. She can close her eyes and really focus on how that feels, the little connection to someone else.

She remembers how years ago, she'd sit with Troy in their shared cloister between their ship docks and just do fucking nothing most nights - when Sei wasn't around that is. She'd splay back on the sofa and he'd sit on the floor between her legs, snarking bullshit comments about how cringe what she was watching was as he carefully painted her toenails while her feet rested in his lap.

She'd slap his back and tell him to shut the fuck up, that he just had no taste and couldn't tell a good romance if it punched him in the dick. Ty would wait for him to stop laughing before she returned to pressing experienced fingers into the pain points along the ridge of his scarred shoulder, kneading out twinges like she'd done for as long as she can remember.

They don't do that now though... not anymore.

Asks are open!

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #sbsart #seifa #leech lord #my hcs #my writing

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crystalirises · 4 years

Text

Did He Ever Love Me?

Edit: This is a repost since my tumblr is being weird and for some reason my posts are not showing up??? Help ;-; (also repost since I posted it on the day of the wedding and I wanted to scream about that for a while :) )

-----

Hi guys… I know the wedding is gonna drop soon…

Just kidding, I couldn’t write wholesome Fundywastaken or angst wedding times to save my life. I just can’t write wedding angst guys. I can’t ;-;

Anyway, this is just a scenario that occurs within the DadSchlatt AU I’m making, some of the details are in the link below:

And yeah I hope you guys like this! @oakskull and @meismom, I posted it yay!

(Edit: removed Ao3 tag cause maybe that’s causing my post not to show up in tags???)

"Fuuuuuuuundy, there you are! Holy shit, I’ve been looking all over for you." He froze, tucking his diary within his pocket as a practiced grin formed on his face. He turned to see Schlatt, surprisingly sober as he strode towards him. There was a weary look on the ram hybrid's face, one that Fundy wasn't sure he liked compared to the man's usual smirk. "I need to talk to you in my office. Now."

"Mr. President, it's an honor for you to come yourself but you usually send a guard when you... want to summon someone." Did Schlatt know? Did he know that Fundy was a spy...? He sucked in a quivering breathe, hoping that the man doesn't notice his sudden bout of nervousness. He stood up from the fence post he had been sitting on, his shoes thumping loudly against the ground.

A flash of emotion crossed Schlatt's eyes, a flicker in his gaze that Fundy couldn't pinpoint. A hand landed on his shoulder as red piercing eyes stared into his soul. If Schlatt didn't stab him right then and there, he might as well have died from the man’s intense gaze. "Just... Come with me. It was best that I... It's better that I come to get you myself. This won't be pleasant, Fundy."

He could do nothing but follow Schlatt towards his office, scenarios of his terrible demise flashing within his mind. Schlatt... was strange. At times, he could barely predict what the ram was going to do. Fundy tried not to trip on his own two feet as the building to Schlatt's office began to appear within sight. He didn't want to die. He needed to apologize to so many people. To Niki. To Eret. To Tommy. He didn't even get the chance to apologize to his dad about–

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as thoughts of his dad surfaced. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean to disown him. He needed to gain Schlatt's trust… but that didn't matter now, did it? Schlatt was going to corner him into his office, taunt him for thinking he could have escaped Schlatt's suspicions and slit his throat, leaving him to choke on his own blood. He wouldn't get a burial. Would anyone even care if he died? No… They wouldn’t care for a traitor like him…

He shuddered to a stop, willing his tears to dry as Schlatt abruptly paused. A scowl reached his lips as a single tear cascaded down his cheek. With the back of his sleeve, he wiped the traitorous tear away just as Schlatt turned to face him. Fundy blinked, Schlatt looked nervous. The man shuffled continuously on his feet, his lips pressed into a thin line as if contemplating the words he were about to say. “Fundy. I need you to stay calm throughout this, but I won’t blame you if you start to… uh… ya know… fuck.”

"Of course." He didn't know why Schlatt was mocking him with false display of care. Stay calm? Yeah, he'll stay completely calm even as Schlatt decides to stab him. Fundy wrapped his arms around his chest, as if consoling himself as he followed Schlatt into the building. The cold of the chipped marble floor beneath seemed to seep past the soles of his shoes, the pristine white walls a stark reminder of how they reflected a lie. This entire land was covered in blood yet was so perfectly hidden by the falseness of serenity.

George and Punz stood at the office's doorway, swords sheathed at their sides as they gave Schlatt a nod. For a moment, Fundy caught George's eye. The human's usual exhaustion replaced by weariness and pity. Oh, of course George would know he was about to die. Great. Fundy turned his eyes away, choosing to look down at the floor instead as he entered his death room. The oaken door closed with a soft click that resounded in Fundy's nervously twitching ears, it sounded like the toll of a final bell.

"There you are Schlatt, you know it's rude to keep me waiting! You know I-I-I love what you've done with the place, really captures your style and— oh! You brought my traitor son with you!" His head snapped up, nausea climbing its way to his throat as he locked eyes with his da— with Wilbur. No. No. No. No. Why was he here? Why was Wilbur here? He turned to Schlatt, his breath harsher than he wanted it to be. Sensing his panic, Schlatt placed a hand on the top of his head, as if the gesture was meant to calm him down.

“I’m sorry, sir, but w-what is this?” Fundy doesn’t miss the manic gleam in Wilbur’s eyes. The frantic and frenzied movement he made as he stared fiercely at the hand on top of Fundy’s head. Fundy’s ears were pressed close to his head, the rising need to rush out of the room and hide inside his bunker slowly took over his senses. He only snapped out of it as Schlatt’s hand moved to his shoulder, his grip tight enough to keep him in place. He couldn’t even leave. He wanted to leave. “Why is he here?”

“Your president invited me.” Wilbur let out a chuckle, sitting himself on one of the chairs that circled the long presidential table. Fundy couldn’t help but look at his father, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. His brown trenchcoat was draped heavily across his shoulders, the man’s thin limbs sending a pang of guilt to Fundy’s heart. Wilbur looked like an absolute wreck. “So… Schlatt! Did you invite me to flaunt your little victory in my face? I’ve heard the people love your proposal. A festival! How festive of you, hm?”

Schlatt’s usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. He felt Schlatt’s hand drop from his shoulder and Fundy watched as the ram’s scowl deepened with every word that came from Wilbur’s mouth, his fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that Fundy feared they would begin to bleed soon. He began to back away, his hands clawing the door’s wooden surface as Schlatt began to advance towards the table. Schlatt had a temper. He knew that… but he’s never actually seen him furious before.

“WILBUR!” Fundy jumped as Schlatt slammed his fist onto the table, a small crack forming at its surface. Fundy wished he was anywhere else but there. Wilbur looked up, a perplexed look on his face as he forced himself to look at Schlatt. “I have had my suspicions since I first came here, and I want you to clear them up. For your sake and for Fundy’s. Fundy, I know you don’t consider Wilbur your father but Tubbo clearly says otherwise and I doubt he would lie to me. Fundy, what do you remember of your childhood?”

“I— uh… that’s kind of a personal question…” Fundy laughed awkwardly, trying to dispel the tense atmosphere. “Um… I-I can’t say I really recall much, Schlatt… uh, it was kind of a long time ago, you know?”

“What’s your earliest memory?” Schlatt didn’t want to let this go, huh? Fundy shuffled on his feet, uncomfortable to be under Schlatt’s scrutiny. Wilbur looked between the two of them, a blank look on his face as if the confrontation bored him. Fundy averted his gaze from both of them, concentrating on remembering his earliest memory. He remembered the bitter scent of potions, his feet scuffing loudly against the marble floor of the hto dog van. He remembers Wilbur, reaching down to hold him in his arms.

Life was simpler back then, before that bloody war... Before he had been forced into a role he never wanted to play in the first place. Back then, his father didn't dream of independence or glory. No. His father looked at him as if he was all that mattered, as if he was worth more than the entire world itself. Now... He looks up at his father - at Wilbur - and sees a hollow shell of the man he once called his dad. He can't bring himself to look at Schlatt, choosing to disappear into the memory of a better time. To a better life.

"I remember the... camarvan and... I remember Wil." Fundy tries to keep the sweet nostalgia out of his voice, Schlatt could still peg and label him for a traitor if he showed a semblance of regret. "That's it."

"Good. Good." He didn't see how any of that was good. Schlatt laid a hand on the table, his sharp gaze snapping to Wilbur. "Remember those daring adventures we used to have, Wil? All those strange lands we traversed. I have to say, the rising lava one was my favorite. You remember those times, Wil? Just you and me, two idiots thinking they could outrun the world."

"As far as I recall, I remember nearly falling into lava and nearly drowning because you refused to hide your damn horns." Wilbur growled, low and harsh. "Those hunters wouldn't stop chasing us because you— I told you to hide them but you chose to keep them on full display for the world to see and nearly killed me in the process!"

"Yeah... I remember that." A deep chuckle resounded throughout the room as Schlatt walked towards Fundy. "I'm just surprised, you know? When I found out you had a son, I was expecting a human kid but then... Here's Fundy! Glad to see you didn't try to force the kid into wearing a stupid hat... Oh wait! You did! Didn't take your advice either, did he?"

"What is this about, Schlatt? You want me to apologize? Is that it, hm? You want me to say sorry to you for trying to keep you alive?"

"How does a human have a kit for a son?"

The tension in the room grew heavier at the question, almost suffocating as Fundy processed Schlatt's question. Fundy shivered, watching as the manic gleam in Wilbur's eyes turned practically murderous. Fundy didn't understand where Schlatt was going within this. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. His hand gripped at his arms, nearly breaking his skin as he found his voice. "Why are you asking that Schlatt...?"

"Just... I'm really sorry, Fundy. But I think this matter should be settled now." Schlatt didn't even give him the choice, and from what Fundy could tell, Wilbur didn't get a choice either. "Wilbur, we travelled through many lands together and I know you. I know what you're like. When I ask you this, I want to hear the truth. How the fuck did you get a kit for a son? What the fuck did you do Wilbur?"

“What did I… What are you asking me about, Schlatt?” Wilbur stood up, small tremors wracking through his body as he grips the edge of the table. The shine of insanity dancing in his gaze has disappeared, replaced by the look of a man who’s about to lose everything again. “Wha— Don’t you dare—"

“What’s the best way to get people to love you? To show you’re a revolutionary who fights for the freedom of all? I would say having a hybrid for a son would definitely give you some points, huh? Look at General Wilbur. How noble of him to adopt a kit!” Fundy swallowed down the bitter taste of bile climbing up his throat, Schlatt’s words tearing at his heart. “But did you, Wilbur? Did you adopt or did you kill a family and take their child? As far as I’m aware, fox hybrids would fight tooth and nail for their children.”

Fundy took a breath. Schlatt was a liar, Wilbur would never… But then… Schlatt knows Fundy was loyal to him. What did he have to gain by lying? No. No. No. Schlatt was lying, right? He had to be! Wilbur wasn’t—

Wasn’t what, Fundy?

“You’re joking, Schlatt. How dare you—” Fundy’s ears twitched, why was Wilbur glancing off the question? “This is a really funny joke, Schlatt. You're just— you're just twisting this situation into your favor, you-you—”

“Answer the damn question, Wilbur.” Schlatt rolled his eyes, a subtle grin playing on his lips as he leaned closer towards Fundy. “No more running, lover boy. Did you or did you not kidnap a kit from his family?”

“I—”

Fundy fell to his knees, the slight hesitation in Wilbur’s voice the final straw. He curled up into himself, sniffling as he thoughts about the implications. He wanted Wilbur to deny it. He wanted Wilbur to be furious. He… He… He began to wail. Why couldn’t Wilbur just answer the question? Why couldn’t he just say the fucking truth? Fundy’s hands gripped at his ears, tugging them as he tried to abate the horrible thoughts that circled his mind. His heart felt as if it was burning. His whole body felt as if it was on fire.

“No answer. Alright.” Schlatt’s footsteps were muffled under Fundy’s wailing, but he could hear them no matter how much Fundy tried to escape the situation. “You know I was expecting you to defend yourself there, Wilbur. Believe me, I wanted you to defend yourself. Now look what you’ve done. Does this satisfy you, Wilbur? Does seeing your so-called son cry give you joy? ‘Cause I didn’t want this either, Wilbur.”

“If you didn’t want this then you wouldn’t have arranged this meeting. If you didn’t want this you would have left my damn son out of this.” A scathing growl tore itself from Wilbur’s throat, though Fundy barely heard it. Fundy had no choice but to listen to every word that reached his ears, had no choice but to listen as his father’s voice began to rise. “You were my best friend and now you’re accusing me of-of kidnapping?! You think I— Fundy shouldn’t be here. He’s young. You’re filling his head with nonsense—"

“SHUT UP!” Fundy snapped, shutting his eyes to stop his tears. He didn’t want to hear whatever the fuck Wilbur had to say. His avoidance of the question was answer enough. “Just… shut up, Wil. Just shut up.”

“Fundy—”

“Oh! Maybe I have this all wrong.” Fundy wished that Schlatt would just stop, the ram had gotten his point across. He got what he wanted, didn’t he? Fundy looked up at Schlatt, but the man continued, “Maybe you didn’t kidnap a poor kit from his family. No. No. No. How could I forget the second option? Maybe… Maybe you killed his real parents. Maybe you killed them and took Fundy for yourself, huh? Maybe—"

Schlatt placed a hand on Fundy’s head, fondly caressing his hair. Wilbur went livid. He leapt from behind the table, a crash echoing through the room as Wilbur pushed against his chair, knocking it over. Schlatt didn’t get the chance to continue as Wilbur punched him on the cheek, the ram collapsing onto the ground. Wilbur’s back was all Fundy could see, as if Wilbur was putting space between the two of them.

“How dare you.” Wilbur seethed. His hand rising to strike once more. If he had a sword, he would have killed the ram right then and there. Fundy felt fear and so did Schlatt. “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU—"

“GEORGE! PUNZ!” Fundy’s voice echoed through the room and surely out into the hall. Wilbur froze on the spot, turning to Fundy with betrayed shock in his eyes but all he sees in his son’s face is terror. Terror directed at him. At him. Schlatt laughed quietly, picking himself up from the floor just as George and Punz rushed into the room. They took one good look at Schlatt’s bleeding cheek and quickly apprehended Wilbur, the man snarling and cursing as the two finally managed to hold his arms behind his back.

“Fundy… My son…” Wilbur tried to reach out to Fundy, struggling in the two guard’s hold. Fundy looked away, his heart heavy in his chest. He didn’t know what to think, but he knows he didn’t want to see Wilbur. Not now. “I would never… I-I-I love you, Fundy. I would never… I… I… I can prove it. I can prove that you’re my son. Just tell them to let me go.”

“Take him away.” The words taste like poison on Fundy’s tongue.

“That’s right. Get him out of here. Make sure he doesn’t take another step in Manburg ever again.” Schlatt placed himself between Fundy and Wilbur, his lips curled into a sneer. “Mark my words, Wilbur. As long as I live, I will make sure you stay the hell away from Fundy.”

“NO! NO! NO!” Wilbur’s voice began to fade away, Fundy’s ears twitching as he still hears the man screaming his name out in the hallway. “FUNDY! FUNDY! MY SON!”

Fundy breaks down once more, cursing his good hearing as he listen’s to his father’s heartwrenching cries. Maybe the man did care for him… maybe… Fundy didn’t know.

He feels a presence at his side, a hand rubbing up and down his back. Schlatt doesn’t look at him and Fundy doesn’t look at the man either. What could they say?

After a moment of silence.

“Why would you do this, Schlatt?”

“Because I was worried, Fundy.”

“Why?”

“I do care for everyone in the cabinet, Fundy. Believe me.”

“You should have told me what this was about.”

“I know.”

“Was this planned from the beginning?”

“I was planning to confront Wilbur when he first introduced you to me.”

“Do you… do you think he loved me?”

“Maybe he eventually did, Fundy. Maybe he did.”

He feels Schlatt pull him into a warm and comforting embrace.

“It hurts.”

“I’m sorry, Fundy. I’m so so sorry.”

The residents of Manburg watch as a lone fox stands before a roaring bonfire, the smell of burning paper wafting through the air.

With his hat in his hands, he stares into the flames.

He doesn't toss it in.

~~~~~~~

So yeah that’s just a scenario that happens within the AU I’m making. So this is a very ambiguous situation. Is Schlatt being genuine? Is he manipulating Fundy? Is Wilbur the bad guy here? I’d love to hear your interpretations!

So pls do tell me what your interpretations are 👉👈

Anyway, hope you guys liked it!

#fundy #wilbur soot #jschlatt #mcyt #pls appear in tags this is the eleventh time ;-;

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mycelier · 4 years

Text

My name is Simone and I would like to tell you a tale!

I will not have access to my laptop for some days more and because writing on my phone is kind of painful (physically, because I am working on hand mobility now), this may end up in drafts and taking a while to post. I am going to share what has been happening the last 2 months because I feel like everything went from 0 to 100 in the span of a few weeks and its been really, really wild.

So!!! LETTUCE begin!

For roughly 5 years I've been struggling to get a diagnosis on an extremely painful area of my arm. There was literally nothing visible; no lump, discoloration or any other physical abnormality to indicate anything was wrong. I spent thousands on pretty much every kind of imaging you can do, and was told time and time again that there was nothing wrong and, perhaps, it was psychosomatic and I needed therapy or, more often than not, I was given a shrug and a vague "i dunno" response.

This year, something changed. I deal with chronic pain (my spine is congenitally fused in my neck and lower spine and I have baby bone spurs all over), and in the process of trying to work on that I brought up my arm again to a dr I no longer see. He'd told me my arm was SEVERAL things over the years I had been seeing him but this time said it was a fibromyalgia knot, something I had been told by a team of doctors some time before that. I said okay cool and was sent to a physical therapy rehab center where the dr worked with myofascial release and stretches to help with injuries. This amazing man fixed my plantar fasciitis and helped get my chronic headaches under control but NOTHING we did helped my arm pain. Within a month he was worried bc we had started to notice that there was a hardness to the spot that never changed with any exercise or massage.

Worried that there was a nerve being trapped or crushed (another diagnosis I'd gotten over the years), this amazing man sent me to a neurosurgeon who immediately frowned and said he didn't think my neck pain and my arm pain were connected. He ordered an MRI of my arm and despite it not being visible on an MRI 2 years before, he found something PHYSICALLY THERE where I said I had pain. He considered doing the surgery to remove it (despite being a neurosurgeon he was fascinated with this weird horribly painful spot) but eventually sent me a surgeon for an oncology center, assuring me it was because this new surgeon was one of the best in Texas for removing soft tissue tumors, not because there was any thought of cancer.

I met with the surgeon who gave me one more diagnosis of an AVM (arteriovenous malformation), snd said they were benign and not necessary to remove as well as the possibility that if removed it would likely return. Truly, at this point after 5 years of constant nauseating horric pain when someone brushed against me or if I gently brushed against ANYRHING, a pain so bad that it had basically made me stop using my right arm as much as possible (of course I'm right handed lol), I said GET THAT FUCKER OUT OF THERE MAN and my first surgery was scheduled.

Surgery one occurred Nov 5th and was an out patient event. I went home and passed out. At some point my mom said that while I'd been in recovery the dr said the thing in my arm hadn't looked like what he expected so he had sent it to pathology. I went back to work and was hanging out until the Tuesday before Thanksgiving when I went in for a super immediate meeting with a different doctor who told me that what had been in my arm was a synovial sarcoma, aka, cancer! He, this incredibly kind man I did not know, gently discussed chemo and told me I needed to have a CT scan immediately. Based on the CT, i was either in stage one or stage four if it has spread to lungs. The day before Thanksgiving I received the news that it was stage one, it had not spread, and i was so fucking happy.

Then it was time talk about next steps. My surgeon marked out a circle on my arm to indicate how much he was gonna remove in order to guarantee clear margins..but it was not enough of a meeting for me to grasp the surgery I was about to receive.

The day of my second surgery, dec 8th, came quickly and i met with the plastic surgeon, the kindest, most patient man. He moved my arm around and explained how he was going to hijack a vein from my forearm in order to keep the blood flow health to the flap he was gonna take from the donor site: My inner thigh.

It has been 11 days and I am living in an inpatient rehab facility, working on dealing with the nerve damage/pain, the EXTREME pain of my donor site, and the lost mobility that I am working on getting back, both in my leg and my hand. The majorities of my arm is numb...except where the nerve pain burns my wrist and forearm and makes it painful to wear my arm sling (I can't fully extend my arm, nor can I lift, push, pull or use my arm in any way that would stress out my new arm flap). Also may have a brand new urinary tract infection but as I write this I'm chugging water for a urine sample to hopefully get that treated. Below are some pictures I have taken/had taken of my arm! Im not ready to look at my leg outside of the bandages (which, since having the wound vac removed today, hell yeah, will need daily dressing changes).

EDIT: I tried posting pictures of my arm last night and my post disappeared immediately so I will try to make a new post with these photos in case the whole post was erased because of them. I will tag them as post surgery photos. I do not consider them gory or excessive but hey that's just me.

I intend to post more things as I keep healing and as I gain more mobility. I was given "independence" in my room yesterday which means I can officially get up without any assistance needed (using my badass new cane to help me lift my foot in and out of bed)!!!! Which also means I can get up whenever I want without the bed alarm going off. I have a badass cane that has been the best tool in helping me get around (and has inspired my mom and others to suggest and look into getting me a cane sword which makes me laugh REAL hard). See below me using the cane to move my foot in and out of bed!

Part of why I'm posting this is because I really needed to talk about it and while later posts may not be this long or expository but I wanted to have a base post to explain other ones related to this one!!!

I will update with some newer pics tomorrow night when my mom comes by to help me take newer pics. The arm flap looks super healthy (according to the drs), and when they changed my leg dressing they said its looking really good and healthy!

I......also really wanted to post my Amazon wishlist. Due to this stupid wild bad lottery ticket, I've been struggling to pay my bills and rent but!!! I have good insurance, thankfully (since I live in the US and my hospital stay and this rehab stay would have more than bankrupted me), and im hoping my disability checks will get here in time for rent!!! I'm putting up my wishlist bc I can't afford some of the "essentials" on there and, also, because I havent been able to have any kind of comfort during any of this. I never ask for anything for holidays because usually i...dont want to burden people with spending money on me since I know how hard money is, especially right now. And if I don't have enough for rent later I might have to create a go fund me...but right now everything looks good for rent and bills just...not for anything fun.

Thank you so much for your time!!! And happy holidays you wild bastards!!!

https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/36PG6BAYD18U7?ref_=wl_share

#tw for many things!#cancer mention #surgery mention #i tried to add photos of my arm post surgery and my post disappeared so I will try again in a separate post #everything relating to my cancer or recovery i will label as badass battlestar bc it makes me feel cool #badass battlestar

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

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P-please talk about your Rito OC, please... ramble without any context, please... I have one too... please make me feel less alone...

Ok ok let me just *unloads all of Illeka’s super angsty self-indulgent backstory*

I technically have two backstories, one for botw that I’m gonna use for my fic Where Time Takes Us, and another I use for my dnd campaign. My dnd one is more fleshed out (thanks to my amazing GM) so I’ll probably just share that one.

Warning for super duper long post that is barely coherent and I haven’t checked for typos and also rip to ADHD folks because I have no pictures to ease your brain with. Anyhow prepare for like thousands of words worth of rambles this is not edited at all

This is just a copy paste of the random incoherent shit I sent to my poor DM. Anyhow, I technically have 3 ocs here, but Illeka is the one I play

A weird Rito, that one is. I hear they’ve only cried at birth...

- Illeka was born on the Day of Living Fire, its a celebration of the dead essentially, where you mourn and remember your loved ones and ancestors and all that. It’s superstition to be *born* on this day, because your life/creation takes away from the day that’s supposed to honor the dead, and some people on birb island believe these things, that if you let the kid live it’s a curse. But most people are like no wtf you boomers it’s fine there’s no such thing you crazy old people are weird, which to be fair is kinda true.

- When Talako is around 6, his single mom dies. He’s adopted by a new family, Kala (also around 6 years old) and her parents.

- Illeka meets Talako after he kinda follows her around, because he’s an innocent cinnamon bun that admires Illeka’s calm and stoic demeanor after they help him with some bullies. Through this, Talako, Illeka, and Kala all become best friends.

- The events in Illeka’s life aren’t really helping their whole curse case. Every bad event, from their dad getting injured and having the slightest limp, to their brother, Zekk nearly setting himself on fire— it’s all a supposed punishment for not killing them when they were bored. But at this point most people brush it off as coincidence, besides, nothing THAT bad has happened yet.

- the trio of friends grow strong, becoming some of the best in their arts on the island. And their relationship is seemingly adorable. The serious ~~cursed~~ one, the optimistic sunshine one, and the sarcastic firey one. Prides of their village, set to protect their people from harm.

- Illeka is the best in the village when it comes to physical fights. Trusty halberd, and a keen shot with a bow, they’ve never lost a sparring match on that front. Their personality is offputting to some, there’s a rumour that they’ve never cried. The easiest of jokes, and the vilest of insults don’t spark much reaction from them— except in the presence and topic of their family, Kala, and Talako. But otherwise, the story goes that the cursed kid doesn’t have a soul, and hence, no morality or emotions.

- When they train with Talako and Kala, they never back down, if only out of respect, Illeka wouldn’t want to embarrass them with pity. Talako always laughs at his inevitable defeat, though he tries nonetheless. He promises that one day he’ll be strong enough to beat them.

- Talako is a pleasant soul, but has an nack for adventure and a hint of chaos. He prefers to dual wield daggers, and on occasion a short sword or two. He’s great with the blade, loves the thrill of the fight, but is more skilled with cooking and physical healing and remedies. He’s always the one encouraging fun celebratory hang outs at the tavern, with his two closest friends after a day of guarding the village. Kala always sides with him, and Illeka typical gives in after at least putting on a show of reluctance. He humble and happy and loved by most of the village, if only things would last

- Kala is of wit and cunning, she’s typically the first to speak. She’s headstrong and not afraid to insult whoever she displeases, and a bit too arrogant in her abilities. She laughs at all of Talako’s jokes, if perhaps only to spite Illeka’s groans. She’s also the most strategic of her friends, being the “one with a plan” in battle. While she’s a decent wield of two khopesh, Kala’s mostly gifted with magic. She’s got a knack for conjuring, though is well researched in other types as well. Illeka and her are an even match, with decent win ratios on either end. Illeka doesn’t take it that personally, they suck/hate magic after all. Kala’s a bit more competitive tho.. While her power in magic is certainly the best on all of the island, she can’t help but feel salty/jealous for always being overshadowed by Illeka’s feats, since the people prefer/understand the physical over the magic.

- Oh, and she was born on day after the Day of Living Fire, according to her parents. How lucky.

- In a sense, they’re all a bit of an outcast. Kala the fiery independent one, a bit sidecasted for prefering magic over steel. Talako the weird orphan, for being a chirpy, happy boi, which is a bit annoying for some. And Illeka…well lets just say their situation isn’t going to be improving

- One year, Illeka’s family is expecting more kids, twin sisters at that! It’s the most excited anyone’s ever seen Illeka, thought perhaps that’s not the right word… They’ve still got their usual demeanor, but they did spend nearly a week crocheting little baby hats and tunics and scarves. They threatened to kill their brother if they told anyone, although Zekk was allowed to let it slip to Tal and Kala

- [They are absurdly good at crochet btw. They never do it anymore to try and maintain their “reputation,” but their family will never forget the time they crafted matching blankets and hats to win a little competition in their home town.]

- Then the Day of Living Fire arrives for that year. Theres a little celebration for Illeka’s birthday, before moving on to other activities.

- The twins die that night.

- The village was in a bit of shock…and rumours grow considering the timing of it. The mysterious circumstance of it…well it does turn the heads of even some of the less-superstitious. The rumours, the death, the silent thought that perhaps that cursed bird caused some babies’ death, Illeka endured it.

- Years later would it get worse.

- Illeka is still publically respected at this point, weird rumours sure, but try telling that to the edge of her halberd. Their mother had made the twin’s shrine, but they say Illeka didn’t visit that often. Talako was always by their side, trying to help them, which was always appreciated, even when they tried to hide it.

- Kala was busy in the library these days.

- Zekk had started a family by now, a little baby birb named Mili hatched into the world. Illeka would often steal her away for little cuddles when they (thought) no one was looking. Zekk would jest that they had to fight for the right to hold his own kid. Kala would also occasionally tease them about it, though Tal was mostly happy to see them in better spirits

- Then, another Day of Living Fire.

- Talako and Illeka were usually on guard duty together, the northern patrol by the village edge. But tal was still a bit worried about his friend’s state of mind, he’s not sure he’d even seen them mourn. He pushes for Illeka to take the day off, it’s technically their birthday after all, plus they can pay their respected at the shrines and attend the festivities and do the ceremonies and all that. Illeka denies it, brushing it off like they always do.

- Soon, their nightly patrol begins, and Illeka is about to set off to met up with Talako, but Kala intercepts. She has a talk with them, similar to that of Talako’s, but with…more well crafted and laced words. It’s nearly the same message that Talako tried to tell them, “It’ll be healthy for you, visit the shrines, be with your family, maybe brush off some rumours in the process.” Illeka nearly denies again, joking that Talako would get afraid of the dark if they didn’t show up. But Kala interjects, stating that she’s already made plans to take the patrol that nigth with Tal. Trusting their friends to be safe in each others care, Illeka relents and takes the day off.

- …yeah. so

- perhaps you can see where this is going.

- Kala’s jealousy had been growing over the years. Not only was she being shadowed by Illeka and their non magic ways, but it was irritating even more that all the talk about magic in the town was not of her exceptional abilties, but of stupid rumours and non-existent evil curses. If the people wanted show, she’d give them a show

- This mindset made her spars with Illeka a bit more personal as of late, getting it in her head that she needed to get stronger, strong enough to best Illeka with ease. Strong enough so that there would be no question who was the best warrior on the island, magic, bows, halberds, or no.

- The library had many forgotten books that she had been studying. Conjuring, rituals, illusions, necromancy. It was all…beautiful. Kala soaked in every word, sometimes berating the bookkeeper offhandedly for not keeping them in the best condition

- In her research she eventually found a beast. A..thing, a demon? A monster, the specifics weren’t there, but the gist of it was, if you had the courage to summon it, it would grant you the knowledge for attaining anything you desired. All it asked in return was…to eat some people.

- But not just any people mind you! Supposedly the ritual only worked for the people with the greatest of ambitions, willing to sacrifice the lives of people they might care about. The sacrifices had to be of someone with great trust and bond with the person.

- Kala’s parents disappeared that day, a few feathers laid about, but there was no blood.

- Near the northern border, by a open field, a weird circle dripped the grass red

- Talako waited by the village edge, ready to fly off with their patrol partner when they arrived. When Kala greeted him, he was a bit surprised, but happy when she explained that Illeka had gone off back to town.

- Indeed Illeka was with their family now, as the sun started to set. Occasionally, a passerby would give them a weird glance before walking swiftly away.

- Somewhere in the northern border, a warrior is knocked unconcious, and dragged upon a blood red pattern

- Illeka is by her sisters’ shrine. For the sliver of a moment, they contemplate crying.

- Then an explosion is heard off in the distance

- Talako was wide awake at this point, although his wings being pinned to his sides wasn’t that helpful considering there was a giant, *giant* dark monster in front of him.

- Kala lets off a final remark, saying it was for his own good. The death would be swifter if he didn’t squirm.

- He whipped back at her, glaring with a fire she hasn’t seen before. He calls her a coward for tricking Illeka, a coward for kill their parents, a coward for not even giving him the decency to fight for his life.

- She nearly smiles at the last remark. “Fine.” She tosses him his blades. “You were never much of a warrior anyway.”

- Illeka was flying towards the booming sound at full speed, nearly knocking over their family and other mourning, people in the process. A few others had tried to slow them down, claiming they should suit of better first, before confronting whatever had been the source of the explosion. Illeka didn’t listen.

- They barely had time to grab a weapon, before approaching the northern border. After gracing the crests of the hill tops, they finally saw it. A giant demonic beast, snapping it’s jaws against a flying dash of black feathers, Talako.

- Illeka called out to him, nearly dashing off into the air again, but they stopped when they spotted Kala, standing idlely by next to her.

- Before they could even speak, before they could even question why she was acting so nonchalantly while their best friend was fighting for their life against an evil monstrosity, Kala shook her head and spoke. “You always have to ruin my fun, don’t you?” She struck a magic blow and Illeka, square in the chest.

- It knocked them to the ground, but they got up, setting their halberd and pointing it at them.

- Then insert some dramatic scene where Kala is like “you’re so selfish, hogging all the attention, thinking you’re better than me, but today I’m gonna finally best you mwahaha” and Illeka is like “wtf why did you do this? I thought we were friends? I trusted you?? the fuck? also talako is our friend!!?” and then its “yeah thats right I manipulated your stupid feelings to gain the upperhand. you’re super pathetic honestly for falling for it. anyhow yeah talako will probably die, i tried to give him the luxary of a swift death but he wouldn’t listen, so now he’s probably gonna get brutally slayed lol” and illeka is all “I’ll kill you” and kala is “no u. This whole thing is gonna give me so much power no ones gonna question me again” and then they fight each other

- The duel is nearly a draw, Kala’s magical ability is certainly is certainly stronger, but she’s not as all powerful without that knowledge from the demon monster guy that needs to eat his meal. Illeka is fighting with all theyve got, but all they brought was a halberd, but they are very fueled by rage and spite so it’s still an even match. Illeka eventually lands a blow that’s got Kala bleeding severely, but Kala pretty much almost kills them with a direct attack. Kala’s too weak to finish the job, plus those other guards have finally started to fly and approach in the distance, so she flys off. Illeka finally slips into unconsciousness.

- When they wake up, it’s almost sunrise. Their mom is shaking them awake, part of the party that was investigating the explosion that summoned the beast. Illeka bolts up, they’re still in the field were they had fought Kala, but she and the beast are no where to be seen.

- They run off, trying to find Talako, and ho boy do they find him alright. His body is crumpled by some rocks, his wing nearly ripped clean off, theres so much blood, even a warrior like Illeka can hardly bare it. Some small bit of hope in their head thinks that he might still be alive, and they listen to his chest to see if he’s still breathing.

- His eyes flicker once at Illeka, his chest rises, then falls for the last time.

- Illeka cries.

- Then, still pretty wounded and tired, they collapse again

- The days following are living hell. Kala hasn’t been found, and their her parent’s [bodies]. The rumours are creeping as ever, at the coincidence of Illeka and this disaster. They spend nearly a weak in bed at home, recovering physically, thought probably not mentally.

- As soon as they’ve fully recovered, Illeka’s mind is set. They are going to leave, no more warrior/village protection for them. They’re going to travel far off, train and hone their skills in combat, and find and kill Kala.

- Their family is opposed to this at first, but in the end nothing they say changes Illeka’s mind.

- In a sense, there was another, unspoken reason Illeka was leaving the islands. They didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

- Hell, the rhetoric is even stronger down the line, concerning the fate of poor Mili. Illeka has given in and accepted it, they are cursed to cause pain to the people they care about. [It’s basically that trope of the character isn’t actually cursed but they believe they’re cursed] Illeka will stay away, and go it alone for as long as they can. Then once the deed is done, once they draw Kala’s corpse across the mud, they’ll probably fly off somewhere far to die, before anyone else gets hurt. It’s probably best for their family never to see them again.

- - - - - -

Wow you did it, you made it through the super angsty self-indulgent backstory congrats. Illeka is my lil baby and I love them and I’ve gonna send them on a revenge quest and then they were gonna have a cool character arc probably about learning to grieve and have self worth and all that and to actually allow themselves to show emotions for once in their lives. That’s the general plan I had in my head anyhow

But you know what my dm thought?

They were like how about mORE ANGSt

Fucking shit you not, session three of the campaign, I’m heading back to birb island because of circumstances, and I’m getting supplies from my blacksmith dad and showing off this sword that says “fuck” a lot that I got from a dungeon that took a selkie’s soul which they gave up willingly in exchange for fire hair...long story

but THEN I meet up with my bro Zekk and it’s like “wassup bro just passing through” but then I find out that Talako’s shrine thing was DESTORYED by some unknown entity and that’s very not good because spirituality and all that

and also I find Mili and they’re a cute lil toddler birb now aww it’s so great hope nothing happens to them because I sure do have enough emotional traume to burden right now. anyhow due to CIRCUMSTANCES our only lead to the thing that destroyed Talako’s shrine is 1) a delinquent named Chesio [that our party nicknamed cherrio because the GM misspelled it the first time i think] who apparently was Talako’s shitty cousin and his only living relative who could build his shrine and 2) the destruction of the shrine lines up with a period of time where Mili went missing but its ok she came back so her parents were like “chill we gucci”

Our party decides we should go down the Mili lead [because I accidentally knocked Cherrio i mean Chesio to near death with a crit roll with my halberd so they’re in the infirmary now but it’s really not my fault that they triggered my emotional trauma by mentioning how I keep running away from grief and never staying around to confront it it’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiine] so we stop by Zekk’s house and we’re like “hey so remember when you disappeared for like a week where did you go, and then mili was like “oh it’s in this cavern that no one knows about and I can’t really give you the directions but I can lead you there if you take me with you” in which I then glare at the GM for this obvious attempt to force us to take Mili with us to put her in danger and apparently I was the ONLY one who cared about this because everyone else in the party was ready to adopt this birb child, and Zekk was like “sure take the kiddy harness” so here I am, watching my niece run around in a kiddy harness that’s also attached to me, while my Chaotic neutral party someone gets grilled cheese sandwiches in the background

Badabing, badaboom, we come to some crystal caverns. while I, being one of the only members of the party with morals other than one chaotic good dragonborn, am watching the selkie, halfoot, and elf girl steal a bunch of crystals, Mili fucking DISAPPEARS the fucking KIDDY HARNESS fucking NOT GOOD she FCUKING SLIPPED OUT AND SHES GONE AND IM FREAKING OUT

after about an hour or two of searching through the deeper parts of the cavern and tunnel and also fighting a minotaur and discovering an abandoned arena and a cleric, long story. We find Mili fucking laying on A NECROMANCER’S RITUAL CIRCLE WHAT THE FU-

I pull a “I don’t hesitate bitch” on the hooded dude that’s hovering and chanting shit. He’s dead, it’s all swell. Saved the day, the evil’s dead. Mili’s fine she can go back to being a cute lil baby who loves shiny rocks and-

oh wAIT actually Mili is still transformed into a demonic monster and the necromancer dude was actually in the middle of completing a ritual to bring her back to life after he killed her a few times

So turns out, necromancer dead dude was hired by a mysterious someone, to steal something from Talako’s shrine, and to destroy any evidence. Turns out, his methodology for doing so was to kidnap some birb kid who had the misfortune of wander too close, killing them, turning them into some demonic monster that does their bidding, using that monster to steal and ruin some shit, and then when the day’s done he turns them back like nothing happened. Sure do wish he was alive to redo that last part

I’m freaking out, the party’s freaking out, that sword from earlier is cursing to high heaven for no apparent reason. Cleric unhelpfully remarks how it was a bad idea that we impulsively killed the evil dude bro, yes wow thank you for the help

Eventually everything’s fine. After a few round of shouting “NO ONE TOUCH MY FUCKING NIECE OR YOU DIE” after said demonic niece is kinda mindlessly attacking everyone, we eventually do some good ol blunt force trauma and a bit of magic and BOOM. Mili’s back. Although they do have permanent black ritual markings on them but its fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinee (its not)

We find a note on necromancer dude bro that his employer was from another island, so that’s a lead yay Find Out Next SessionTM but at this point I really don’t care as I’ve already started tying Mili to my chest and walking back to the village

I go back to Zekk’s house, hand off Mili, explain everything that happened, give a super heart feel apology about how I pretty much killed Mili (even though I really didn’t but also as we all know Illeka is an angsty birb who’s steadfast in the idea that their existence hurts everyone they love so yay <3) and then I leave as fast as I can before anyone can protest sure was nice visiting my family after i’ve been away for a few months sure am glad that my inner thoughts about staying away weren’t justified whatsoever hmmmmmm

A session or two passes. We try to assassinate and elf’s evil parents and fail, we get into a Fake Dating Being Someone’s Children Au with a dragon. The selkie keeps trying to date everyone, even thought they’re already married to a necromancer princess and a boat (long story) and inbetween we head to that island that note i got was talking about and turns out it was to a place where all your inner demons and anxieties manifest into reality and taunt you, until youre slowly broken down to the point where the evil dictator on the island can “magic” away your problems with puppet strings. fun for the whole family!

Anyways, after our party fights out evil neon-blue clones, I get a lead from dictator dude that the employer I’m looking for is a Rito that’s good with magic, and was last seen headed east, in the same direction we just came from. fun.a

So I’m kinda low on leads, other than the fact that theres a magic school in the east, but in between we have to deal with the fact that husboat (again, the boat that is married to the selkie who is also our entire party’s form of transportation across the ocean. wait a sec did I mention that we weren’t in Hyrule? We’re not in Hyrule, this is a flooded land with a bunch of islands. Think wind waker) was being chased by pirates. also these pirates were the ones that raised the selkie, and also they kinda also slaughtered an entire island of halffoots in their time with the pirates, and also that island was the one that the halffoot in our party grew up in. So basically that’s some cool tension and drama. Anyhow, back to moi

One talk about how “no we cannot kidnap aNOTHER priest” to the selkie and elf later... magic school! Magic school is pretentious and I hate it. Everythings glowy, they don’t allow you to fly over the gates. There’s puffy noble middle aged men and children in bedazzled cloaks. There’s magic in the air and I swear I would choke and die on the glitter and rainbows of it all.

Half the party is off getting into cloak fashion, I head off with my dragonborn friend Ness because highfive! We’re the only one’s with morals in this party! Morality pals! (This is saying something considering I am true neutral and she’s chaotic good but we might as well be clerics in this party...)

My morality pal and I and hanging around, then we catch word that there’s this transfer student that no one has seen in a while and “oh I wonder where she could be” and all that jazz from other students. Mortality pals are like “ok let’s go look for her” so we drag the rest of the party off of their larceny spree and look around.

Eventually, after I spot a tattered cloak roaming the halls that matches the description of the gossip, we find the transfer student.

TURNS OUT (unsurprisingly honestly given the way the dm framed stuff) this transfer student is someone I know. She’s standing there, in the middle of the room, preparing to do some ritual or something. She’s standing there, my life purpose, my one and only goal, literally the only reason I’m still going in life, my arch nemesis, my target, my mortal fucking enemy. It’s Kala.

Ness sees a demon dog in the background and says hi, ruining our element of surprise, but to be fair, she doesn’t know it’s Kala.

Kala whips around from her table thing. We make eye contact. Her face suddenly shift from confusion to surprise to bewilderment to shock to happiness.

Happiness.

“Illeka I thought you were dead!” Kala runs towards me, but I’m too shocked to move.

She’s smiling. It’s not sadistic, it’s not...harmful, it’s just genuine joy. For a moment I thought I saw a tear in her eye.

Kala hugs me for a long moment, before letting go. “So how did you survive?”

...

In my head I’m thinking, “oh you fuck face”

THE. AUDACITY. OF. THIS. BITCH.

“HOWD I SURVIVE” UH NO THANKS TO YOU FOR ALMOST KILLING ME FOR YOUR STUPID RITUAL WHATEVER THAT KILLED TALAKO WTFFF

ARE YOU REALLY TRYING TO PULL THE SAME TRICK AGAIN??? GONNA PRETEND TO BE ALL SENTIMENTAL AND NICE JUST TO TRY AND KILL ME LATER ON? HA OK OK

how about instead, I do the one good thing, the one worthwhile thing I can do in my entire life...just one simple course of action that might hope to make up for the mountain of regret that is my entire existence.

I am finally going to kill you.

Kala’s staring at me, eyes curious, head tilted as if all she ever did was ask what I had for brunch.

I blink once, and my neutral expression, faintly coated with shock morphs into determination.

I roll for initiative.

- - - - - -

It’s 1am.

So have a cliffhanger, kinda.

If anyone bothers to read this far, congrats! Your reward is me being lazy. I’ll tell you what happened sometime tomorrow if anyone really wants to know :P Long story short, it doesn’t end how I, and therefore probably you, would except.

#haha brain go- shamelessly talk about Illeka for 3 thousand words #i actually dont know the word count i didnt check i think it's 4k??#the thing i copy pasted is like 2k and the campaign stuff i added is....idk #not botw kinda #rito oc #kinda #dnd #kip talks for too long #i'd write this better but its 1am #good luck if you can actually read this

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aye-write · 4 years

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Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex!

This was another chonker chapter at 4.5k that I didn’t anticipate being this long at all! The joys of plantsing, eh? I had hoped to reveal the starters this chapter, but that’s being bumped to next update. In the meantime, please enjoy the reveal of Brootser, and the partial reveals of Weldeon, Ampster and Coastrot!

*****

Chapter Three

Despite everything, night rolled over the Whispering Pine Croft.

After hours battling insomnia, Isla stole downstairs not long after the clock in the hallway chimed midnight. Goosepimples erupted on her skin, the air chilling her to the core. Clicking on the floor lamp, she cast her gaze around the living room. A rickety bookshelf took up most of one wall, covered in dust and trinkets. It didn’t take her long to strike gold.

The Etymological Dictionary of Old Kildonian, 1981 Edition.

Sitting at the old coffee table, she spread out her books and copies of the Old Kildonian script until there wasn’t an inch of space left. Then she opened the dictionary and started to read. She read, moving between dictionary and text, until her eyes strained in the dim light of the lamp, and the words on the page turned into incomprehensible squiggles. Just keep going, she told herself, as she marked off another decoded word. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep—

“Isla?”

Isla slammed the book shut. The noise seemed to echo forever in the quiet of the living room. The intruder snapped on the main light and Isla blinked foolishly as everything illuminated around her. It was Blair at the door, swaddled in an enormous red dressing gown and a pinched look on his face.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, pulling his dressing gown tighter. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“I’m… I’m not doing anything,” Isla said, trying to collect the papers together, position her body over them, anything to hide them from sight.

“Really? You look like a student trying to panic revise a whole subject the night before an exam,” he chuckled, plopping himself in the seat opposite. “Come on. What’s up?”

Isla sighed. What was the point in lying? “I’m just trying to make some sense of these texts.”

Blair glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “At half two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This presentation is doing my head in.” When Blair frowned, she added, “My supervisor asked me to update them with all the “progress” I’ve mad so far. Of course, I haven’t made any yet.”

“So, you’re trying to decode all these old books with…. an out-of-date Kildonian dictionary?”

“I found it in the bookcase. I thought it might help.”

“I’m pretty sure that book is older than me. Please don’t tell me you’re taking it word-by-word.”

“More or less.”

“You’ll be there months trying to sort all that lot.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Isla’s voice cracked. “Everyone is hounding me. I can’t let this come undone. They’ll pull approval of my project and fail me if I don’t keep jumping through all their hoops.”

“Why is the legend of the Chessmen so important to you?”

Isla hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but the thought of answering it felt like ripping her chest open and exposing the beating heart underneath. “Well...” she started, cringing at how stupid it all sounded in her head. “When I was little, I was kinda lonely. I didn’t have siblings. Or friends, really,”

Blair made a sympathetic noise.

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t that bothered by it,” Isla lied. “But because I didn’t have many friends, I naturally leant towards books instead. And I loved fiction, like adventure stories and that, but I felt so much more connected to things that were actually real.”

Blair nodded. “Understandable.”

“Anyway, one Christmas, I got this book. I think it was called Myths and Legends of the Pokemon World and it had all the origin stories of all the legendary Pokemon from like… every region in the world. God, I ate up every single story - how Arceus created the world, the theory that all Pokemon came from Mew in some way, how Groudon and Kyogre created the land and sea. I was absolutely hooked. Then, right at the end, there were a couple of small articles devoted to a place called Kildo.”

“Typical,” Blair muttered. “Always playing second fiddle to the big guns.”

“The book explained a little bit about the legend of the Chessmen. I was just… amazed at how these Pokemon brought humans these gifts of technology and arts and whatnot and how advanced the region was for its time. And then when I read what happened next, well… I just wanted to know why. Why did the Chessmen take away what they gave the humans? What happened to them after they became dormant? I was obsessed. When I was younger, I had this stupid dream that I would like… Oh, it sounds so cheesy now, but… like solve the mystery of what happened all those years ago.”

“It’s not cheesy, Isla. Dreams are never cheesy.”

Isla bit the inside of her cheek. “I know that. It’s just… well, this legend has been everything to me for years. I’m not bigheaded enough now to think someone like me could ever solve it. But I’d love to find something. Even if it’s just standing in the same place these Pokemon stood once, all those years ago. But now it feels like it’s slipping away from me. I won’t be able to do anything unless I get these texts translated.”

“They’re well-known texts, right? Haven’t they already been translated?”

“The only translations that exist are locked behind online paywalls,” Isla sighed. “Not exactly within my budget. The originals were family owned. I suppose you can’t blame them for wanting them kept safe.”

“Could the university not pay for you to access them?”

“Not my department. They already think the project isn’t worth the time. They’re usually into social changes, modern day life, that sort of thing. Mythology doesn’t get a look in. Even though I changed my project a bit – focusing more on how the mythology influences modern life, with the Chessmen more of like a case study – the department still don’t want much to do with it.”

“Well, that’s their loss. Your project sounds fascinating just from what I’ve seen of it.”

“This little bit you’ve seen might end up being all it ever amounts to. With Nana Morag in the hospital, my options for translations are limited, and these old texts are all I have to help me piece together where the Chessmen might be.”

Silence unfurled around them. Isla stared down at her lap, her legs shaking and her mouth dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever talked so much about herself and she found that she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Blair in the eye.

“I think I might know someone.”

Isla pricked her head up. “Really?” she said, hope throbbing in her chest.

“I have a friend who lives in Inverbrook. It’s not a huge city, but they do have a subsect of Tideburgh University there. He’s doing a Masters in Language and mentioned being involved with an elective on Old Kildonian. I can contact him for you. He might be able to help.”

Something surged through Isla like she’d just taken a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, Blair, thank you! That’s amazing!”

“No guarantees, of course!” he said, spreading his hands hastily. “He might not know enough of it to be a proper help. But he may be able to put you in touch with some other folks who can help, if that makes sense.”

“It does. A lot of sense. Thank you again.” Isla paused. “Where is Inverbrook?”

“Pretty much directly south of here. About forty odd miles or so. Following routes 29 through 26 pretty much leads you right there. Public transport is crap, though, so you’re better walking most of it. Shouldn’t take much more than a couple of days if you’re…”

He paused. Isla knew what he wanted to say. If you’re fit. Women like her weren’t supposed to be fit. And even though the thought of days of walking filled her with equal parts apprehension and dread, she forced a look of determination onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle it.”

Isla shared the news that she would be leaving in the morning as they sat down at the kitchen table. Kenneth and Skye stayed quiet, barely reacting to the news, but Rhona’s face crumpled.

“Oh, chick, are you sure?”

“I think it’s probably for the best,” Isla said. “I don’t want to be a burden, especially with you guys having your hands full with the croft and Nana Morag being ill. Having a guest is too much on top of everything. I really do appreciate everything you’ve all done, but I think it’s best that I head towards Inverbrook and start my research properly.”

A strange expression passed over Rhona’s face, one that Isla couldn’t make sense of. For several terrifying moments, she thought she’d offended her.

“You wouldn’t be a burden on us, Isla,” Rhona eventually said, her eyes brimming. “We’d happily have you here for as long as you want. It’s been lovely having you.”

Isla felt something in her heart buckle.

“We do understand that your studies have to come first. But… you said you wanted to go to Inverbrook?”

“Yes. Blair is going to put me in touch with a friend of his there that might be able to help me with some translations.”

“It might not be as easy as you think, chick. I’ve just been watching the local news. There was flooding down south. The river that goes through Route 27, which connects Port Glen to Inverbrook, burst its banks. The whole route is submerged. No-one can go through. It’s completely impassable.”

You wouldn’t have said the entire of Port Glen had only just recently been battered by a storm, Isla thought, as she set off down towards the harbour after a filling breakfast. The morning sky pinkened gently, like a mother’s embrace, and golden threads of sun drifted through soft, watercolour clouds. A cool wind kept the worst of the heat at bay as she walked. All in all, it was a fairly pleasant experience. Well, as pleasant an experience as walking would ever be.

It was Rhona that had suggested trying the ferry. She couldn’t be sure what passenger routes they ran from Port Glen, or if they only did international and goods shipments, but it was a better option than waiting the potential weeks for the Inverbrook route to be cleared or taking the (extremely) long way around the whole region.

Breathing heavily and sweating despite the brisk ocean breeze, Isla stopped to catch her breath as she arrived at the harbour. She cast her gaze around hopefully. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not a good sign in the least. Aside from the occasional sailor pacing the docks, and the sharp, cutting cry of seabirds, the place was still and silent.

The thought of asking someone to help sent panic crashing through her like waves in a storm, but there was no other choice. The best option rested with a nearby sailor, busily looping ropes and picking apart complicated knots. A Pokemon stood at his side. Squat, muscular, with short brown fur, flecked with white, and cut into a stout triangle pattern, it was another one that Isla didn’t recognise. Every now and again, the sailor tossed it a particularly difficult-looking knot of rope, which the Pokemon expertly shredded with sharp, curved claws.

“Brootser, the Pelting Pokemon. The evolved form of Brogue. With incredibly sharp claws and powerful jaws, Brootser are highly aggressive and territorial. Even against much stronger foes, it won’t back down easily,” her Pokedex chirruped.

Isla’s hand tightened around Soba’s Pokeball as she read more details. A Fighting type. A second evolution. Being a Furret, Soba wouldn’t stand much chance in a fair fight, much less an unfair one. While she did generally feel more comfortable approaching a fellow Pokemon owner, she probably could have stood to pick one with a less terrifying partner.

All the same, she approached the sailor, keeping herself primed like a coiled spring. “Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

The sailor had a strong, lined face, but he didn’t seem anywhere near as intimidating when he relaxed into a smile. “Sure,” he boomed. “What can I do for you?”

“Are there going to be any sailings from this port in the next few days? Anywhere that lands near Inverbrook?”

The Brootser, distracted from its work with the knots, pressed its wet nose against Isla’s hand. Isla let out an involuntary squeak.

“Brootser, stop that!” the sailor said firmly. “Sorry, miss. He’s obsessed with leather. Have you got leather in your handbag or anything? Your shoes? I swear, he can sniff it out within a mile. I have to keep him distracted at work otherwise he’d never leave people alone. Here, Brootser, go and do this for me.”

The sailor tossed a section of rope a few feet down the docks. The Brootser growled, a deep throaty rumble, before dropping to all fours and pursuing. Within moments, the rope was ripped to little more than fibres.

Isla searched for something to say. She eventually settled on, “He’s cute.”

“He’s a menace is what he is,” the sailor said, wiping his brow. “Anyway, you were asking about the ferries? Unfortunately, the passenger ferry was badly damaged in that storm two nights ago and won’t be running any routes for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Isla asked nervously.

“We’re waiting for some metal workers to come down from Hydrogate. They’re delayed because their Weldeon team were exhausted after a big job in the ironworks. Currently we’re looking at about a week.”

“A week?”

“I’m afraid so. If you go to reception and leave your details, they’ll be able to contact you as soon as we know when the sailings will be going ahead.”

“Aren’t there any other options?”

The sailor considered. “Not here. But if you’re set on sailing and you could get to Dewbrae Town, I think they’re still running sailings.”

“Where’s Dewbrae Town? Is it close?”

“It’s up past Aberdrip City, which is an hour’s drive north of here. Then you have to pass through Aberdrip Forest and that brings you out just at Dewbrae. Maybe a couple of days walking if you keep a steady pace,” he paused, and Isla felt his eyes rake her body. “Maybe a couple more. But, if you’re in a hurry, it’s better than waiting around here. Everything’s very up in the air at the moment.”

Isla thanked the sailor, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that came over her. Why was this so difficult? She’d encountered disaster at every turn so far and, in her darkest moments, she couldn’t deny wondering if it was even worth it to keep going. Nana Morag ill, no passage to Inverbrook through Route 27, no ferry from the Port Glen docks, now she had to go all the way to Dewbrae – wherever that was – on nothing more than a possibility?

But what could she do? What other options did she have?

Rhona would know what to do, Isla decided. She had a way of sorting things out, an uncanny level-headedness her own mother didn’t have. That’s what she’d do. She’d head back to the croft and take stock of the situation. She started walking, thoughts whirling through her head like the flapping of birds’ wings. Maybe there was another way to Inverbrook. They knew the region better than she ever would. Maybe they could—

“WIIIIING!”

Isla gasped and swore as her foot trod on something soft. With a gust of cold air, the offending thing burst upwards and pain erupted at the top of her head. Sharp, pointed talons dug into her scalp and she yelped in pain.

“Gull! Gull!” her assailant screeched; each squawk accompanied by a swift peck to the head.

Isla’s hands closed around her attacker’s soft wriggling body. With all her might, she tore it from her head and tossed it as far as she could manage. But the Pokemon swooped back into the air, seemingly unharmed, fixing Isla with a glare that sent a tremble down her spine.

“Gull! Wingull!” it shrieked.

Recognition dropped into Isla’s belly like a stone. It was a Kildonian Wingull. The same Kildonian Wingull that had attacked Rhona the day Isla got off the ferry. At least, it certainly looked like the same one – she could hardly call herself an expert on them – but it was roughly the same size and had the same high-pitched squawk. And didn’t the Pokedex say that Kildonian Wingull only attacked people who had food? Isla didn’t have a single crumb on her. So what other motive could it possibly have for attacking her?

Isla reached for the Pokeball at her waist, panicked fingers scrabbling for the catch. But the Wingull screeched again, diving into a tackle. The impact came low in her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and leaving her doubled over. The second blow sent her off-balance and stumbling, eventually crashing to the ground where the pain came in sharp spikes. With a fury of feathers, the Pokemon ripped Isla’s bag away from her.

“Hey!” She wheezed. “There’s nothing in there for you!”

Her protests were rewarded with a face full of frigid water.

By the time Isla had sluiced the water from her face, the Wingull had unhooked the bag’s clasp and was digging around in her things. Hairbrush and deodorant were both ignored, the coin purse in the shape of a Quagsire got an inquisitive gnaw but ultimately left in favour of a pen, which lasted a whole thirty seconds until it splintered and was promptly spat back out.

Every inhale felt like she was being stabbed underneath the ribs, but she still forced herself to move. “Leave my things alone! There’s no food in there!”

Wingull had wriggled itself right into the bottom of the bag and had pulled out an old emergency kit that Isla had nearly forgotten about. Most of the items had already been used or dumped over the years she’d had it, leaving only a couple of travel sized Potions, a Repel Kit, and a Poke Doll, wrapped up in a worn-out bag. The Wingull squawked indignantly and decapitated the doll in one fell swoop. Then it turned back on the travel bag, scraping around and tearing at it with its beak.

Something dropped out. Isla’s heart plummeted to somewhere near her feet.

It was a Pokeball. An old Pokeball scratched and grimy with age. A Pokeball that Isla had all but forgotten about ever since she made the decision to train just Soba all those years ago. A Pokeball that was now right in the Kildonian Wingull’s line of sight.

She saw it happening before it actually did. The hungry Wingull viewed the Pokeball as nothing more than a shiny, tasty snack. It darted forward, opened its beak wide, and engulfed the old capsule. Isla prayed that the ten year old ball would turn out to be too old to work anymore, and the worst thing to happen would be the Wingull hacking it back up again. But the Pokeball made a shrill shiiing noise as it made contact with Wingull’s beak, and the Pokemon disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The Pokeball shook. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it was still.

And Isla had caught a Kildonian Wingull.

Isla told the story of her accidental Wingull capture to an appreciative audience when she got back from the docks. And then again over sandwiches at lunchtime. While Soba curled up in the corner next to the radiator, oblivious to this new teammate, Isla released Wingull for the nerve-wracking job of introductions and feeding time. Rhona’s eyebrows rose so high that they practically disappeared into her hairline, but she didn’t protest.

“I can’t believe it’s the same one,” Rhona said, eyeing her half-eaten sandwich she was planning on saving for later. “Most try their luck once and then move on.”

“I think it’s young,” Blair said, lifting its wing to get a better look. “Perhaps separated from its mum too early. Maybe it doesn’t know any better.”

“I didn’t mean to catch it,” Isla sighed. “I’d forgotten all about that old Pokeball. We were always told to carry an extra one or two, even if we never intended to catch Pokemon, like for emergencies and that.”

“It must have been starving if it thought a Pokeball was food. Or maybe just exceptionally stupid.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” Isla said, as the Wingull pecked at a Tauros shaped pepper shaker.

“Kildonian Wingull are incredibly food oriented,” Blair lifted his plate to avoid the Pokemon’s frantically flapping wings. “Most of the bird Pokemon around here are.”

“Why is that?”

“Competition. Because there’s so many, they all compete for the same natural resources. That’s part of why people think Wingull adapted for Kildo the way they did. They couldn’t compete for most of the natural food, so they evolved to take food from humans instead. Problem is, they end up thinking all food is fair game. Hey, watch it! No! That’s mine!”

Isla suppressed a chuckle as Wingull lunged for the crusts on Blair’s sandwiches. In the kerfuffle of squawking and feathers, Isla looked over at Skye, who hadn’t said a word through the entire of lunch. Her face was screwed up.

“Skye? Are you alright?” Isla asked.

Skye made an odd strangling noise, pushed herself back from the chair, and ran for the stairs, each one thudding under her feet. A moment later, a door slammed.

“Did I say something wrong?” Isla said, horrified.

“No, not at all,” Rhona said, rescuing a glass of juice that had been upended when Skye left the table. “She’s just a bit upset. We were supposed to be going up to meet Professor Spruce tomorrow to get her trainer’s license and first Pokemon. But because Nana Morag is in hospital, I have to be here in case something comes up on short notice, and I just can’t spare the time to take Skye up to Aberdrip City. She’ll only be delayed for a few days, but the poor lass was so looking forward to it. Especially when she’s had to wait so much longer than everyone else.”

“Why’s that?”

It was only after she asked the question that she considered it might have been rude. Or none of her business. Too late to save herself now, though. Rhona’s face tightened, her mouth puckering like she was sucking on a sour lemon.

“Sorry,” Isla looked down at the table. “I shouldn’t be nosy.”

The kitchen fell quiet. Rhona let out a deep, juddering exhale and sat back down, folding her hands into her lap, the kitchen suddenly feeling about ten degrees colder. Isla took a sip of water, her mouth and throat turning to chalk.

“Skye had childhood cancer.” The words didn’t even get a chance to settle before they were tumbling out again, like Rhona was trying to get them all out at once. Like they couldn’t hurt her as much that way. “She spent most of her childhood in hospital with leukaemia.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Once again Isla found herself cursing both her mother and herself for not bothering to find any of this information out beforehand.

Rhona shook her head. “It’s alright, chick. We don’t talk about it much. Besides, she’s been in remission for a year now. But she’s missed out on so much school and she gets tired so easily.”

There was nothing Isla could say that would be enough. She had to settle for, “I’m sorry to hear that…” and hope Rhona could somehow understand just how much she meant it.

“There was a time when she was being treated that she became very low and very depressed. It was frightening. I’ve never been so worried in all my life. We were scared she was just… giving up. Then, one day, they had some Pokemon trainers visit the hospital. A lot of children there would never be able to go out training. Some wouldn’t even… you know, live to see their next birthday.”

Rhona’s voice wavered. Blair put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Easy, Mum. Don’t go upsetting yourself now.”

“One of the trainers was assigned to Skye,” Rhona continued. “But she was so quiet and so withdrawn that we didn’t think the trainer could get through to her. The trainer had this Pokemon with her – Ampster, I think it was – and it was like a light turned on behind Skye’s eyes when she saw it. I saw glimpses of my daughter again. This trainer stayed with her for hours. Just talking. She’s wanted to be a Pokemon trainer ever since. And I hate that so many things keep getting in her way.”

Rhona sunk her head into her hands. Her shoulders quivered.

Isla felt terrible. No wonder Skye had been quiet during the whole of lunch. How stupid had she been? Skye was being kept from her dream of being a Pokemon trainer and she’d waltzed into their kitchen showing off a Pokemon she hadn’t even meant to catch? It made Isla’s toes curl just thinking about it.

“Could Skye not make the journey on her own?” she asked.

“No,” Rhona lifted her head again, looking pale even at the thought. “She’s not fit enough. We were going to rent a car and drive her, but…”

“Could I take her?”

The offer slipped past Isla’s lips before she knew what she was doing. Rhona looked at her in mild shock, her mouth slowly gaping open.

“I mean, I’ll be passing through Aberdrip anyway!” Isla continued. “One of the sailors said I could get the ferry from Dewbrae Town which is just past Aberdrip, right?. I could take her along with me.”

“Gosh, that’s very kind of you, chick. And I’m sure Skye would love it,” Rhona said, nervously glancing at the stairs. “But I’m not comfortable with her making the trip back on her own. Or even just the amount of walking she’d have to do.”

“I could go with them,” Blair said.

Rhona looked at her son like she’d only just remembered he existed. “What’s that, honey?”

“I could go with them,” he repeated. “We could put Skye on Coastrot. That’s my partner Pokemon,” he added for Isla’s benefit. “He’s strong enough to carry her and we can keep her nicely bundled up. Then once Isla heads off to Dewbrae, I can take Skye back.”

“I don’t know,” Rhona said. “We need you here too.”

“Mum, it’s a day. Maybe two, tops, if we let Skye rest overnight. You and Dad can manage that long, right? You could ask a couple of the lads from the market to pitch in if you really need to. I’m sure they’d work for a hot pie and some cash in hand. And you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t do anything silly. We’ll just get Skye her Pokemon, check in for the night, see Isla off to Dewbrae the next morning and head back ourselves. Easy-peasy!”

Rhona still didn’t look convinced. “It’s such a long way, though. She’s not been away overnight in such a long time.”

“It’s a few hours of travelling, Mum. You said it yourself, Skye’s already missed out on so much. It might not feel like much for us, but for Skye, it’s her whole life. One delay after the other. And with everything the way it is right now, what if there’s just more delays? More reasons not to take her? You have to let her.”

Rhona went very quiet, her face pale.

“I’ll look after her, Mum,” Blair said. “She needs this.”

“I know you will. And I know she does,” Rhona heaved a sigh. “She’s not my little baby anymore. She’s growing up.”

“I’d like to go.”

Everyone jumped at the voice that came in from the doorway. Rhona wiped her eyes. “Oh, Skye, honey, sorry. I didn’t hear you come down. Are you okay?”

“I think I can do it,” Skye ignored her mother’s question. Her voice was louder this time, but still hesitant, like she was testing out its limits. “I want to go get my Pokemon and I’d like Blair and Coastrot to take me. And Isla,” she added, and Isla felt a smile curve onto her face. “If that’s okay with you?”

Silence widened like a chasm between mother and daughter and for one horrible moment, Isla half-expected Rhona to turn away, to start shouting, to deny her flat out. But then tears spilled out of Rhona’s eyes and her whole face softened.

“Yes, honey,” Rhona said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Yes, that’ll be okay with me.”

As they hugged, Isla felt a stray tear prick at the corner of her eye. The emotion surprised her. Yes, it was touching to see a mother and daughter hug and reconcile, but something told her it went deeper. As she looked out at the dying sky, strewn with deepening orange and slicks of black, something unsettled itself in her heart.

Tomorrow she would be leaving Port Glen. Tomorrow she would leave behind a family unit where she felt accepted. Tomorrow she would start her journey to Inverbrook.

She didn’t know which one felt scarier.

#checkmate #pokemon oc fiction #pokemon fanfiction #fakemon #fakemon fanfiction #long post #fanfiction

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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What Went Wrong With Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze?

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The story of how Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles went from underground comic book to the highest grossing independent film of all time is the stuff of Hollywood legend. But ask producer Tom Gray about the sequel, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze, and you are likely to hear an altogether different tale. One of a frantically rushed production, censorship backlash and a change of director and direction. Actors were replaced, there were clashes with the comic book creators and a series of strange and unusual characters were added to the mix – including Vanilla Ice.

Gray was head of production at Golden Harvest, the Hong Kong studio behind martial arts classics like Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon, when comedian-turned screenwriter Bobby Herbeck first approached him about a live-action film adaptation of Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird’s cult comics.

It’s fair to say he took some convincing.

“I hated the idea. I thought it was stupid,” Gray tells Den of Geek. Undeterred, Herbeck pestered Gray for months until the Golden Harvest chief had a sudden change of heart.

“I had an epiphany and thought we could just put stunt guys in turtle suits and make all our money in Japan. That was why I was interested; making it low budget. It escalated when Steve Barron came onboard.”

Barron had made his name with groundbreaking music videos for Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” and A-Ha’s “Take on Me” and sold Gray and TMNT creators Eastman and Laird on his vision for the movie.

More importantly, he enlisted the late Jim Henson and his legendary Creature Shop to bring the Turtles to life using state-of-the-art animatronics, which came at no small expense.

Even so, Gray found the project was a hard sell when it came to finding a major studio willing to distribute the movie.

“George Lucas’s Howard the Duck had just come out and bombed,” he recalls. “When I went around people would say ‘oh no I’m not going to put my name on the next Howard the Duck. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, how absurd.’ Nobody wanted to step up in the major studios.”

Undaunted by the mass rejection (“Hollywood is always the last to know”) Gray eventually secured a deal with New Line Cinema, then best known for A Nightmare on Elm Street.

The rest, as they say, is history.

That first Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie came from nowhere in the spring of 1990 to make an astonishing $135 million, becoming a cultural phenomenon in the process. A sequel was inevitable but the results were anything but.

“It was rushed,” Gray says when asked for his overriding feelings about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze. “Once the first film opened, we figured we had to get another one out as quickly as possible because this whole thing could fade away very quickly if we didn’t come back.”

Incredibly, a release date for the sequel was set for almost exactly a year on from the original. That seems crazy to think now, in the era where the Marvel Cinematic Universe is carefully plotted out years in advance, but this was 1990 and New Line Cinema. At this point the production company which was working on its sixth Nightmare on Elm Street Movie in the space of just seven years. The quality of those films had varied wildly but one thing had remained consistent: the quick turnaround.

“New Line wanted it out on pretty much the same date, maybe a week earlier in fact. So, we rushed into the production, got a script together. The overarching thing was speed. We had to get it out,” Gray remembers. “I think that’s probably the reason why it doesn’t top many people’s list of the best Turtles movies.”

A Change in Tone

One of the first challenges facing Gray was a tonal one. While the first TMNT film had garnered praise for maintaining the dark and dangerous feel of the original comics, not everyone was happy.

“We started getting some pressure from parental groups. They felt it was a little too dark and a little too frightening for children,” Gray says.

In the US, there were reports of Turtles toys and merchandise being banned in schools over worries they encouraged aggressive behavior in kids. In the UK, the characters were even rebranded the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles amid concern among censors that the word “ninja” promoted violence. Michelangelo’s nunchucks were also banned. It wasn’t just the censors who expressed concern either.

“The toy company was also telling us that maybe we shouldn’t be too dark,” Gray said. “And then, of course, then there was Jim Henson himself, who died while we were making the first film. His whole thing from the beginning was that he didn’t want to make a really dark film. Steve [Barron] was able to convince him it was the way to go even though it was different from the Muppets and everything he had done before. They had a great relationship. Jim trusted Steve.”

The decision was made to approach the material with a lighter tone, with Todd Langen’s original script undergoing a major rewrite to address the change. Despite the change Gray insists an attempt was made to retain some of the darker elements.

“We tried to get somewhere in between but probably didn’t succeed.”

Ultimately, however, the looming deadline left little room for nuance.

“If you sit down and think about this thing too much, you’re never going to get underway,” he reasons.

A New Director

In another notable shift that fans have questioned down the years, Barron did not return for the sequel.

The Irish filmmaker told Flickering Myth that the shift in sensibilities was the deciding factor.

“[It was] lighter, and all the instructions that had gone on from the first film were coming from the producers about keeping the color and lightness and getting away from the dark edge in number two,” he said. “For me it was poppy, and that wasn’t my sensibility.”

Gray tells Den of Geek Barron didn’t come back “for reasons that I won’t go into” but during the interview paints a picture of difficulties during their work together on the first film.

“I fought with the crew every single day but they did a hell of a job. Budgets were not adhered to but I’ve always given them credit because of their vision,” Gray says.

The producer also revealed that the first film was re-edited from Barron’s original version after his bosses were left unhappy with the director’s cut.

“The studio did edit the film in the end to come up with a different version. It was felt it was cut so you didn’t get to see the roundhouse kicks and fighting which was the hallmark of Golden Harvest. When the bosses saw it in Hong Kong, they complained that they couldn’t tell what the turtles were doing. They wanted to see these guys kicking and fighting. Steve’s style was good but we wanted another look.”

Despite Gray’s diplomatic tone, it’s not difficult to imagine such developments might have created tension. In Barron’s place came American filmmaker Michael Pressman, who Gray knew from his days at United Artists.

“What I liked about Michael was that he was a disciplined director. Having gone through the problems with the first picture I wanted someone who shot fast and stayed on budget. That was my main motivation,” the producer says.

A capable director who has gone on to enjoy a long and varied career in television, little of the blame for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2’s failing can fall at Pressman’s feet though it’s undeniable that some of the creative spark of the first film was lost with Barron’s exit.

So was much of the original’s violence, with the Turtles rarely shown using their weapons in the finished film while the action set pieces were also significantly watered down.

Eastman and Laird

Despite the criticism levelled at the sequel for failing to retain the tone of the comics, all of what went into the movie was greenlit by the TMNT creators. Part of the deal inked by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman saw them retain final approval on anything in the film. But that created other issues both at script and production level, as Gray recalls.

“Kevin was certainly more malleable with going along with things because of the budget but Peter was very difficult to get things by because he would say ‘Oh, well Michelangelo would never say that’. So, it was very hard from the point of view of the writer trying to figure it all out.”

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With Barron no longer around to mediate and sell them on the plans and with time ticking on, the pair’s reluctance to sign off on ideas led to increased tensions.

“We argued a little bit,” Gray says. “These things are never sweet or nice. It gets down to what we can do and, in the time provided. It’s about compromise. In the end they approved Langren’s changed script. Maybe it was reluctantly but we weren’t going to meet the demand and get this out if they kept changing things.”

Tokka and Rahzar

One of the most noted criticisms of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2 concerned the decision to introduce two new sidekicks alongside returning villain Shredder, rather than draw on the wild array of mutant animals that had featured in the comics and TV series.

Many fans had expected to see Bebop and Rocksteady, the mutant warthog and rhinoceros supervillains made famous in the cartoon, feature. However, that cartoon outing proved both a blessing and a curse.

“I didn’t want them in any of the movies,” Laird later revealed on his personal blog. “It’s not so much that I disliked the characters so intensely, but more that I found their constant one-note shtick in the first animated series to be extremely annoying and silly to the point of being stupid.”

Gray’s version of events differs slightly.

“We wanted new villains because we would get a piece of the royalty, which we didn’t have with the first movie. We figured if we created something they didn’t come up with we would get a piece of the pie. It was a business decision.”

Together with the creatives at Henson’s Creature Shop, they “threw together” Tokka and Rahzar, a mutant Alligator Snapping Turtle and wolf respectively, based on pretty much whatever was available.

“Those things were basically the Henson Creature Shop’s ideas, because they had to figure out, technically, what they could do, how big they were going to be and how they could move,” Gray says. “They had to design all this stuff, put someone in the suit and then wire them up or get the animatronics going to make it work. So, we just went to them and said we need a couple of villains.”

Indeed, the resulting animatronics proved less complex and less compelling than the heroes in a half shell – and it showed on screen.

“They were just big models,” Gray admits. “We cut corners, there’s no question about it.”

Sweaty and Claustrophobic

Meanwhile, the turtle suits themselves had undergone little in the way of upgrades since the first film, when the actors playing the four leads experienced any number of issues. Not the least of which being the claustrophobia and sweating that comes with wearing up to 70lbs worth of turtle suit.

The animatronics also, despite being state-of-the-art, continued to suffer their fair share of glitches.

“We knew what the difficulties were and they were unbelievable,” Gray says. “There were days when we couldn’t even get these things set up. We were filming right near the Wilmington Airport. We set up a shot and when it came time for action the Turtles would not speak. We realized they were on the same frequency as the airport.”

Gray blames the lack of a major upgrade, in part, on the lack of additional budget.

“The budget didn’t exponentially go through the roof, because of the speed,” he explains. “I have read things saying it was $20 million. It wasn’t, it was $16.5 million.”

A New April O’Neil

Away from the animatronic issues, the human cast of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2 proved a mixed bag. Corey Feldman didn’t return to voice Donatello after pleading no contest to a drug possession charge while, more notably still, Judith Hoag was replaced by Paige Turco as April O’Neil.

Hoag later told Variety she was never approached about the sequel, claiming her omission was a result of the fact she complained about the level of violence in the first movie and the six-days-a-week shooting schedule.

“Everybody was beating everybody up,” Hoag said. “I thought the movie suffered because of that. It was something I spoke to the producers about, I think they thought I was too demanding, and moved on.”

Not that Gray felt the production suffered as a result of either changes.

“No, not at all,” he says. “Certainly not with Corey Feldman because it’s a voice. Remember when you play that movie around the world it will be in 40 or 50 different languages and subtitled anyway. It makes no difference and nobody overseas even knew Corey Feldman was doing a voice…With Judith, we thought it might be of concern but then again it’s all about the Turtles. People aren’t showing up for Judith – though she did a fabulous job – it was really all about the Turtles.”

Elias Koteas also failed to return as the ice hockey stick-wielding vigilante and ally Casey Jones – though that was more down to the film’s shift away from adult themes and one of the more violent human characters.

“Casey was discussed but the reason he dropped out – and I don’t think this was a major issue – was the direction we wanted to take the film,” Gray says. “We wanted to go lighter. That was part of cleaning up the act.”

In his place came Ernie Reyes Jr, a rising martial arts star who had served as a stuntman on the first film and was introduced as Keno, a pizza delivery boy who befriends the turtles. It was a stark departure from Koteas’s character but, once again, it was one Gray says came with the backing of the TMNT hierarchy.

“If Peter and Kevin had wanted Elias back, he would have been back. So, either we were able to convince them that we wanted to go with Ernie and they went along with it.”

Vanilla Ice

Quite how they were convinced to include rapper Vanilla Ice in the proceedings is anyone’s guess, with the rapper turning up in a mid-film nightclub scene to perform new single “Ninja Rap.” His cameo continues to delight and horrify fans to this day. Few will be surprised by the commercially-minded circumstances that led to his appearance.

“SBK the record label producing the soundtrack album said ‘You gotta have Vanilla Ice in this, he’s hot’ so we put him in…We had a good album out of it. Sometimes you don’t make the movie for the reason of art you make it because the thing could go away in a heartbeat. I’ve always been fairly honest and upfront about our motives. It is a business.”

While others might disagree, Gray stands by the inclusion of Vanilla Ice in the film.

“He actually did a very good job. He’s a very cool operative and he loved doing it.”

Shredder or Krang?

Looking back on the sequel, as much as anything, the most disappointing aspect was the decision to resurrect Shredder rather than explore different villains in the way other comic book franchises have.

While Shredder has always been the main antagonist, as with Bebop and Rocksteady, there remained a plethora of colorful villain characters that could have been plucked from the pages of the original comic or the animated series. But the decision to stick with Shredder was not one takem lightly by anyone, and others were discussed.

“We went through the whole catalogue of villains and certainly Krang and all these other characters were in play,” Gray says. “We thought of them but we stayed with what works and that’s what you do in these situations. Don’t try and get too clever.”

As much as anything he blames the Hollywood system and a refusal to take risks. New Line too, would have no doubt been happy to press ahead with a Shredder-oriented sequel, seeing him as the TMNT’s very own Freddy Kreuger of sorts.

“Nobody trusts their instincts,” Gray says. “You go with what worked before and try to modify it a little bit. If it works [and the plethora of Freddy sequels suggests it did] then you are justified in using the same thing over and over again.”

Once again though the decision to stick with Shredder and avoid the kind of time and expense required to create something like Krang, a brain-shaped alien carried around in the waist of a robot man, was influenced by that release date.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze opened in theaters on March 22, 1991, less than a year on from the original. It went on to make over $78 million to become the second most successful independent film of all time.

Despite turning a profit, the film garnered mixed reviews and left Gray and others disappointed.

“It didn’t deliver on what we had hoped because there was this race against time to get it out one year after the first one. When you do that, you really have to compromise.”

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III

After the rush to make a second film, it was decided that they would take more time over the third one.

But anyone hoping for a return to form was left disappointed by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III: Turtles in TIme, which saw the gang head to 17th century Japan.

“With number three, we were aiming something at the Japanese market, which was the number one market for foreign films,” Gray explains. “That’s why we had the time travel storyline with the samurais. That was definitely one of the motivations.”

There was just one problem though.

“We hoped it would get the film released in Japan. To this day, it has not been released in Japan.”

Though Gray returned to produce an animated fourth film in the 2000s box office returns diminished with every film. By the time Michael Bay got involved in the franchise, Gray was long gone. He now considers himself “out of the turtle game” with this being one of the last interviews on the subject. But despite the highs and lows endured on the second film, Gray remains proud of what was achieved.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

“These movies were made by committee. It’s amazing they turned out so well.”

The post What Went Wrong With Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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evilelitest2 · 5 years

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What is going on with Sanders and Cuba?

OH god, this is such a stupid fucking argument. There are some legitimate critiques you can make of Sanders but this is a joke.

Ok so super short version. Cuba, unlike most of Latin America, didn’t manage to win its independence in the Spanish American Revolutions in the early 19th century, and Spain held unto Cuba as a colony until the end of the 19th century, which was a super brutal oppressive racist form of oppression. In the 1890s, a native Cuban resistance started to fight against Spanish oppression and Spain got even more brutal in response. Long story short, the United States fought a war with Spain in 1898 and “liberated” Cuba, the Philippines and Puerto Rico. Technically speaking Cuba was an independent nation, but for all extent and purpose, Cuba was a colony of the United States in all but Name, as we propped up a series of brutal dictators. This got worse with the Cold War and the need to fight against “The communist” which is a libel we used for anybody who thought maybe Cuba shouldn’t just be a puppet of the US.

Prior to the Cuban Revolution, the military tyrant at the moment was Fulgencio Batista, who had overthrown the democratically elected goverment in 1952, where he rejected the Constitution, outlawed the right to strike, basically ban freedom of speech and instituted an oppressive military regime. Batista’s goverment basically made Cuba open to American companies and Cuba effectively becomes an example of modern day serfdom, as the wealth gap grew to obscene levels. To stay in power, he enacted some brutal policies that killed up to 20,000 people.

This as you might imagine was not super popular with the the Cuban people, who overthrew him in a communist revolution in 1959, which allowed Castro to take power.

Now Castro’s regime….was also a brutal dictatorship which oppressed the political rights of its people, was responsible for the deaths of thousands of people (the number is super disputed), and Cuba to this day is an authoritarian dictatorship with a pretty dismal human rights record. However, Castro’s regime did manage to achieve some policies which secured his own popularity. Literacy rates in Cuba are quite impressive, they have a pretty good healthcare system, as well as a far higher standard of living than under Batista’s regime. Which is what Sanders was saying in the 1980s, Cuba’s goverment is still bad but they had some successful social programs. And remember, this is the 1980s, the United States is supported some full out genocidal regimes in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Nicaragua, and El Salvatore, in some of the darkest chapters of Latin American history since independence. So Castro’s regime looks pretty good by comparison, I mean look up what is happening in Haiti in the 80s, which Reagan happily supported.

Now there is a point to be made that a lot of leftists/socialist types tend to down play the atrocities of Catro’s regime in order to praise its good effects,and you can accuse Sanders of doing that a bit, but its pretty hypocritical coming from Folks like Joe Biden and Bloomberg. There is a good faith version of the attack on Sanders one could make, namely that hte American left does have a bad tendency to romanticize and downplay the fact the regime which governs Cuba is a still an oppressive dictatorship with a brutal human rights record, but attacking Cuba for its literacy program is…not the take I would make.

Edit: I will say a more nuanced critique of Sanders could have been made regarding the quality of Castro’s regimes education btu that isn’t what is happening here

#ask EvilElitest #Bernie Sanders #fidel castro #Fulgencio Batista #Latin American history #Cuban History #Communism #Socialism #Joe Biden #Cold War politics #Banana Republic

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

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Prompt: Cry me a river, I cried a river over you.

Part ONE:

The train northbound was packed, not unusual, but it made Claire feel exposed. She’d begun crying the moment she’d received the phone call and hadn’t stopped since. It was the reason she was using public transport in the first place and not driving - the last thing she needed was to be involved in a car accident because of her impaired vision.

Adorned with inappropriately large sunglasses on a dismal day, with her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck to hide as much of her face as possible, she had boarded at Oxford, her chest tight as it suddenly dawned on her that she was trailing all the way up to Glasgow and she wouldn’t be seeing Lamb alive.

“Christ…” she sighed under her breath, her eyes tingling once more as the tears began to build.

Her uncle, Quentin Lambert, had been settled in Scotland for some time - something quite odd for him, he was definitely more of the travelling sort. He’d started on a memoir that he’d meant to publish and had, on several occasions, asked for Claire’s companionship and assistance. Caught up in her own drama, she had declined and the guilt sat low in her belly making it almost impossible to eat or sleep.

A gentle Irish train guard pulled her from her dark thoughts and she quietly pulled her ticket from the small purse that sat open on the food tray in front of her before going back to staring out of the window.

Parents both dead by the tender age of twelve, Claire had been sent to live with Lamb. His life as a traveling archeologist was not suited to raising a child and he had tried to place Claire in a boarding school - though she had other ideas. Smiling, she thought back to the day she’d finally pushed the headmistress of the school too far causing uncle Lamb to have to cut short a sudden trip to India and return to England to fetch her. She remembered fondly throwing the stupid boater she’d been graced with as part of the uniform into a nearby hedge as they’d driven away down the long drive. Her formative years had been spent in the desert - surrounded by her uncles peers, graduates and students, she had learned to fend for herself.

Though she had good memories of her mother and father, it was Lamb who had raised her through her most difficult teenage years and at the end of his life, when he had so desperately wanted to involve her in his hobbies once more, she had forsaken him for silly follies.

Lost to her guilt and self-loathing, she completely lost track of time and it wasn’t until the young woman sat next to her rose from her seat that she realised the train had come to a grinding halt.

The battle through Glasgow Central train station gave her a moment to focus on something else, her heart racing and her hands clammy as she pulled her rather large suitcase through, nudging and shoving tourists and locals alike in order to make it out onto the street.

Her name shone in bright red ink, the sign hiding the face of the man who held it as she shook her head.

“I h-hadn’t called anyone?” She said, shocked that there was anyone here who would know her.

“Aye, ye did. The other day. I thought it would be easier for ye if someone was here to collect you rather than spend more time on yer own.”

“Oh.” She replied. The word stuck in her throat as she recalled the very short phone call she’d made to the funeral director a few mornings prior when she’d booked her train ticket. A simple nod to the man who’d been emailing her and organising as much as he could with her hundreds of miles away. “Are you with the funeral company then?” Claire found it odd that any of them would be worried enough to come out and collect her personally - but was grateful at the same time. Riding in the comfort of a car without having to hunt down a taxi, make inane conversation and then struggle to find her uncles address made the end of the journey just a little easier.

“Ah,” he replied, finally pulling the sign low enough that she could see the bright mop of red hair that sat proudly above a glowing set of blue eyes, “nah, I’m no’ with them. I’m Jamie,” he continued, holding out his free hand for her to shake. “Jamie Fraser. I was working on the book with yer uncle. I work with the publicist he’d hired. Did he tell ye?”

When she didn’t respond, he simply smiled and continued as if the small twitch of her lips was enough. “I’m a ghost writer. He was struggling to write himself, so he hired me to type whilst he spoke, told me all sorts of stories and I, in turn, edited it, re-worded it sometimes or just added it to the appropriate section of the book.”

Guilt reared its ugly head again, making Claire understand more fully why Lamb might have wanted her company so badly and she bit her lip to contain the tears. Repeating herself, she swallowed audibly and nodded, “oh…good.” Making it sound sincere, she smiled as much as she was able before allowing him to place his arm softly around her waist and guide her towards his waiting car.

The ride itself was quiet and uneventful. Claire needed the time to decompress the situation, her brain going from nought to one hundred in the short twenty minute car journey. They approached the quaint brownstone property on the outskirts of the city with little to no issue. It had its own private garage and Jamie flicked a switch on a small remote to open and close the large grey-brown door. Taking the stairs in a small passage way, they made their way up onto the first floor, Jamie opening and closing everything behind her as well as carrying her heavy case.

“So,” she spoke, her voice husky from her constant sobbing, “how long have you known my uncle?” Though she knew it must have been long enough for him to entrust the lad with a key to his home and his car.

“Nearly three years now, going on for four. We were…” stopping, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve clearly choked up by recent events himself, “well, we were so very close to finishing. Part of me thinks it should be me who writes the ending, ye ken, for his memory. But I dinna even know where to start.”

“Shit.” Cursing, she turned her back on Jamie and held her hand over her mouth. She wanted to scream, to cry, to punch something…mostly she wanted to turn back time and relive all of the times she’d said no to coming up here and turn them into a yes. Just once would have been enough, and she knew it. Just one time, she would have arrived and never left… “I should have been here.”

“He spoke of ye often. Yer in the manuscript, if you want to read it?” Avoiding her self flagellation completely, Jamie placed his hand on her shoulder and offered her an olive branch. Though he couldn’t deny her deprecating words, it wasn’t his place to say what she should or should not have done. He could see the guilt drawn plainly on her face, though he couldn’t see her eyes he knew that they’d be red rimmed and she seemed so incredibly tired that he couldn’t bring himself to add any more blame at her door.

“T-thank you, Jamie. For everything. For clearly being here for him when I wasn’t. I’m sure you were a dear friend.”

Knowing her uncles proclivities - even from a young age - she knew his interest in young men rather than ladies and part of her, in her grief, wondered whether he had become more than just a friend to Lamb. But her instincts told her now was not the time to pry.

“I would really love to read it.”

“We have a few days until the funeral, how about I email you the first draft. It’s open ended, mind, so dinna worry about the sudden stop.”

“Thank you.” She said again, taking his hand, bringing it to her mouth and kissing it softly as she turned to find her way upstairs. Halting at the door she assumed to lead her that way, she turned -removing her glasses as she did so. “I’m so rude, sorry, is there a guest bedroom here? Somewhere I’d be alright staying for a few weeks?”

“Of course! And dinna be daft, ye arena rude at all. Ye’ve just lost someone dear to ye. I’m all over the place too, so I canna imagine how you feel.”

Though she got the distinct feeling that he could.

“Can I ask how long ye intend to stay for Claire? If ye dinna mind?”

Having been a trust fund child living off the money gifted to her from her parents’ death, she’d had no worries in the years after her graduation. The estate had been in the family for hundreds of years, friends of the family the same, and she had finished both her BSc and her Masters in History before going on to complete a few of her own independent research papers whilst living off that inheritance. Oxford, although her home for many years, held little to return to and her heart almost stopped at the realisation as the dread crept along her veins.

“A month, maybe. Once the funeral is done I want to stay and finalise his estate. The lawyers have already been in touch but it might take a while to go through everything that was in his name, notify them and so on. Do you live here, Jamie?” She added her question quietly, as if the asking of it might infer something else.

“Ach, no. I moved in for the last few weeks. I think he kent it was nearing the end and wanted the book finished. He insisted that was the best, so that we could work day and night as we needed. But I have my own place across the city.”

‘I should have been here…’ the statement rattled around in her head once more, the ghost of it returning to haunt her. If she had, things might have been different.

“First on the right as you get to the top of the stairs,” he whispered, seeing her pupils dilate and her lips clench as she lost herself in thought. He could see that she desperately needed some time to herself, to cry and to deliberate on all the things left undone and unsaid between her and Lamb, “it’s got a double bed and an en-suite. He meant for ye to have that room and it’s all been made up for ye.”

Nodding, she held her purse tightly and rushed off up and away from him, leaving her suitcase there. Seeing the room, she let herself in, closed the door and flopped against it - her body feeling boneless as she slumped down and curled herself into a ball, crying as the words of the last song she’d heard on the radio, a Michael Bublè classic to add some irony to the situation, in the kitchen swirled around her crowded mind.

#Anonymous #;Mod MBD #Cry Me A River #Jamie X Claire #Outlander Ficlet

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thepilgrimofwar · 4 years

Text

Warplanning 1 - Edited Roll20 Log

[Backdated to after Whiskey & Rye and before Business as Usual & An Offering unto War]

[Event Start]

The day after the funeral had filled itself with both tension and dread. Messages and letters came and went. They were a mix of requests for help, proclamations to the people of the realm, declarations of war and eagerly awaited responses. But the highlight of the day began in earnest after the arrival of soldiers and sell-swords from across the realm, and the War Meeting was delayed as long as it could be in anticipation for the officers, retainers, friends, and ex-colleagues of those from the Sunguard.

Beathyn called together everyone in the manor who had answered the calls for help from himself, Vissehn, Lirelle. “Please gather round, by the dining hall!” He yelled, through the manor. He’d have used a dinner if Solendis had let him. That always seemed to gather people faster than anything official he could say outloud.

Judereth looks out at everyone gathered in the dining hall. Before the Lord of the Emberglades was the map of the provinces. Banners and tokens lay across its surface, moved to represent the forces at play. "Thank you all for coming. I am Judereth Swiftquiver. Banneret of what remains of the soldiers of the Heartland and all of its militia." She nods at Stenden.

Stenden speaks up, briefing the ones round the table. "So, the news is in and the die is cast. House Illithia, whose assassins had graced us with their presence yesterday- Is backed by House Goodember. Opening two fronts- East and West-" He marks it out on the map infront of him.

Stenden:"House Wintergale has refused to answer our pleas for help. Declaring their independence and swearing fealty directly to the crown. We'll... Need to address this eventually. But at least we don't have a third front to worry about in the South."

"So we are alone." He states.

Thanidiel:"Neutrality isn't a bad thing. It fucks the enemy's movements too."

Ethalarian sits with his arms folded across his chest as the situation is laid bare to the group. He drums his fingers on his biceps and gives a slight shake of his head. "So business as usual for us: outnumbered and outflanked with unreliable help."

Lirelle |“The Cloudrend Glades can be dealt with once this war is over. Once we have destroyed the greater threat we can march what forces we have up there to replace him with someone more loyal.” She glances at Zarannis. A suggestion perhaps.

Esheyn rolls her shoulders. "Business as usual, indeed. Nothing we aren't accustomed to."

Ethalarian nods across the table to Esheyn.

Thanidiel:"Last I remember, Sederis never spoke well of this... Goodember, right? Can he be intimidated back into line?"

Stenden he looks to the ones gathered at the table. All of them had answered the call, some of them knowing full well of the consequences. He hears that this seems to be business as usual to those gathered at the table and doesn't know if he should smile or frown. "That's... Good, I suppose. Given current circumstances. If it is in-fact business as usual. But as it stands, it looks like a desperate situation to the militia and citizens of the Heartlands."

Lirelle:“Goodember is fat, weak, and stupid. Use him to set an example, we have already delayed a counterattack for far too long. You need to strike now to send a message, show them what happens to traitors.”

Isilos nodded to Lirelle, he was proud death didn't change her too much.

Oosaarn:"Unless you got friends hiding somewhere, pick the weaker opponents off first. Leave just enough to hold off the other until you can send your full might against them."

Judereth:"I've already have men digging in on both fronts- Repelling what advances have already been made in the past hours. Are you suggesting that we... Attack?"

Oosaarn:"Would you rather sit here and wait to be torn in two?"

Lirelle nods. "As we should have, days ago."

Judereth:"Days ago? With who might I ask? I'm still mobilizing the majority of the militia- And the garrisons are barely enough to hold the line as it is."

Lirelle:"Inaction comes off as weakness. I'm sure you have more than a handful of men who are eager to taste their first battle? The best of those should have been sent out to skirmish once war was declared."

Thanidiel:"Dawnstalker is here, we have Crows and two dozen of my personal followers."

Ethalarian Dawnstalker grunts.

Thanidiel:"Furthermore - we don't even have to field enough to annihilate them. We just need to find the weak aristocracy you're so fond of around here and dangle him and his offspring off the walls until he pledges his swords."

[Dealing with Shalemarch & House Goodember]

Lirelle:"With the Crows I can have Goodember's head for you in two days."

Lirelle points at Aravel. "They know the way into his manor, likely as not."

Thanidiel:"Who are you?"

Aravel smiles. "I'm nobody, at least on paper. Dawnveil will not get involved in this, but well, we're free citizens, and a chance to take that pompous bastard down a peg is always welcomed." She turns to Judereth. "There's twenty more outside, we'll need uniforms. Can't have people seeing us in our armour, even if it is better."

Stenden smiles as Aravel speaks up. "We're glad to have your assistance, as unofficial as it is."

Ethalarian:"Barring that, your people have a thing for honorable oaths and strength of arm don't they?"

Stenden turns towards Ethalarian, "And they do. Oaths are what hold the land together. At least they did before these... Unruly lords broke theirs."

Judereth shook her head. "I'm not sure if you've ever worked with militia before Ms. Dawnbrook. Organizing and gathering strength is not inaction. Perhaps you might have the luxury of professional troops but I do not. But no matter. If you think you can mount a counter offensive, I can provide you with the best and most eager troops available. They'll be glad to be of aid."

Thanidiel:"Oaths are interpretable. Do not rely on them."

Ethalarian shrugs again. "Then call them out. Publically. If you think it worth the effort, single combat is something of a specialty of mine." The knight scratches his chin and blows out a sigh. "I don't know much about these lands, but I could always embarrass these Houses and their Champions for you."

Ethalarian:"If that doesn't work, you can always go with Highdawn dangling their children from battlements. That's something of a specialty of hers."

Oosaarn:I'm neither sooldier nor Sunguard anymore. I fight for whatever cause I choose whenever I damn well please."

Judereth:"That is good to know."

Lirelle nods at Judereth. "Save your men. The less we go in with, the better. The mountains are hard enough to pass with just a handful of people."

Thanidiel:"I do the dirty work," is her plain agreement. She can't deny that even if he is not saying it out of camaraderie.

Ethalarian is definitely not.

Judereth turns towards Lirelle. "You say, you can give me Lord Goodember's head in days." She states skeptically.

Lirelle:"By weeks end."

Judereth:"Behind enemy lines. Which could be thousands- If Goodember has mobilized at the rate we have."

Vissehn yawns and rubs the back of his neck, only just now tuning in. "I mean why can't we assassinate the dude back?"

Vissehn:"Like. Just off him. He doesn't have fuckin' friends like us waiting in the wings."

Vissehn motions down the table to the gathered killers and soliders.

Lirelle simply motions at Aravel.

Ethalarian wonders which of those categories he falls into.

Solendis clears his throat. "As much as I'd like to say that we shouldn't- Due to diplomatic repercussions. Assassination will serve us best in these... Times."

Thanidiel:"What are numbers? He cannot fit his thousands in his castle, 'lest he is tucking them under his gut."

Muroco stretches his limbs with indifference, his plates creaking with the motion.

Vissehn looks to Solendis. "I'm just saying he's a shit grandfather, not like you're gonna be missing Wintersveil gifts or summar."

Thanidiel:"Two men fit in a corridor. And I doubt he will ever be expecting or or have men swift enough to catch up to us when we're in."

Judereth:nods at Thanidiel. "His troops are too busy mounting assaults on the Eastern lines worry about protecting their manor. At most he'll have his houseguard with him. Good men, but few in number. Majority of them paid mercenaries."

Vissehn hooks a thumb at Thanidiel! She's Smart! Smartest tin can!

Aravel points a finger at the map, directly at the mountain range that stretched across the flank of Shalemarch. "We know the ways in and out of here. His estate sits right up against the mountain, in what used to be a quarry before his ancestors plundered it. A quarry which is... fairly well mapped. Like she says, I can guide a portion of her men right up to his door, but the rest is on her."

Ethalarian:"Is he going to be worth a shit if we do?"

Lirelle:"If you strike his forces on the front itself to take attention away, the Crows and I will only need one night."

Stenden frowns. "If we're going to kill Nelio Goodember, we must be prepared for all of Shalemarch to fall into chaos shortly after. They'll be out of the war, but I am not sure if I want to consign the entire province to the whims of mercenaries and sell-swords that no doubt make up the core of their forces."

Esheyn:"He could be used as a bargaining chip."

Esheyn shrugs.

Stenden:"I'd prefer to have him captured." He nods at Esheyn. "And used to bargain if possible."

Thanidiel:"You hold him in a cell with his stupid little noble stamp and you now have full control of Shalemarch."

Lirelle:"Kill him."

Thanidiel:"No disorder, no unexpected variables."

Lirelle:"Kill him and offer his men a pardon if they fight for their true lord."

Vissehn:"Hostages are good leverage."

Thanidiel:"Pardons are only good when you overwhelm them."

Judereth smiles at the turn of events. "Either works for me. My job is to win."

Thanidiel:"Otherwise it's easier to go bandit like the boy said."

Ethalarian shrugs and goes back to leaning in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks very, very tired.

Thanidiel:"Proxy control is simply the most strategic way to keep a people in order."

Lirelle:"Goodember's only worth as a bargaining chip is his men. If they can be acquired in some other fashion, he is much more worth it as a cautionary example. Garris himself would know better, but lesser mercenary companies can always be absorbed under a stronger banner."

Vissehn:"Barring, uh. Present company, its usually harder to un-dead a person than to just keep 'em alive just in case and you can also kill them in the end if it becomes necessary."

Stenden claps his hands. "If what you say is true, and you are absolutely confident in success given your... History. I approve." He looks to Lirelle. "Capture Goodember. Bring him back here and we'll see if we can bring an entire front to a close by the end of the week." He looks to Judereth. "Banneret- Hold the line.Don't cause death if you don't have to. Remember that our enemies will be our citizens once this war is done with."

Esheyn 's stony expression melts just a bit at that, her lips twisting into a smirk.

Vissehn grins at Esheyn! See! He's helping!

Lirelle:"Heads are lighter. Do you know how fat he is?"

Iiloridan coughs from his end of the table, torn between horror and dark amusement.

Stenden frowns even more at Lirelle's comment.

Thanidiel:"I can go with you."

Thanidiel:"What is your noble to a goblin king?"

Lirelle:"Much taller, for one."

Thanidiel:"Like rotted lumber."

Thanidiel does not at all seem serious.

Ethalarian:"You two haven't lost your touch I see."

Vissehn:"It's like old times, could wipe away a tear."

Esheyn:"Some things never change."

Thanidiel just kinda, grunts back to the peanut gallery just like Ethalarian did earlier. "I would recommend the ex-Pathfinders amongst us if anyone were to support Lirelle."

Lirelle looks at Stenden for a few seconds, weighing up whether she should press the point now or in private. At last she ends with "If you insist on him being alive, I will do my best."

Lirelle:"I'll make sure to tell Garris you volunteered him for the heavy lifting Highdawn."

Vissehn lifts his hand.

Lirelle nods at Vissehn. "Come to my rooms later, we can speak about the details."

Judereth smiles. "That's one front I don't have to worry about then. If that is so, I can send the majority of the militia west-wards to the front with Illithia." He looks at Lirelle, then nods at her. "I'll be able to mount a massive counter-offensive." She looks at the others at the table. "The Emberglades rely on militia, Illithia included. They are vast in numbers but are ultimately no more than peasants who drill every couple of years. None are blooded. None have seen combat- All of those that did, perished with Sederis, light rest his soul. That said, I'd like to make use you and yours as shock troops- The tip of the spear that I intend to drive deep into the heart of Illithia."

Thanidiel:"Sometimes the hatchling has to be kicked out of the nest," is her retort to the woman alongside her.

"--I do not think anyone here will turn down a jaunt into frontlines."

Ethalarian had opened his mouth to ask a question, only to have it answered for him. Tired eyes give Judereth a once-over and he purses his lips, rolling the idea around a little.

Judereth:"If there are no objections, I'll have the rest of out who aren't involved in this... Subterfuge, marching with the troops westwards. I'll provide you with the best men I can. Provided that you're up to the challenge of commanding them.”

[Dealing with matters of the frontlines]

Orbaniwix "AHEM." A goblin clears his throat in the corner of the room. "Or- if militia ain't your thing! Me and present company prefer to be paid in coin- rather than debt!"

Thanidiel:"--what is that?"

'Where is that sound coming from?"

Ethalarian:"A buzzing fly."

Thanidiel:"That must be why it came from near Fish."

Beathyn waggles his finger at the goblin and men in the corner. "That is Orbaniwix- Gun maker- Cannon Maker- and over all mercenary agent. I invited him because I thought we might need some extra... fire-power."

Ethalarian:"Ah, yes. Goblin firearms. Well renowned for their reliability, especially if you prefer them blowing up in your face."

Orbaniwix folds his arms in disatisfaction at Thanidiel's mannerisms. Tapping his foot on the crate he stands on. "Well. In either case, if you need men, I've got men, if you need guns, I've got guns. Take it or leave it."

Muroco sighs, the bass of his voice rumbling as he wipes one of his hands down his face.

Vissehn looked at the goblin and nodded. One litle Creachur to another.

Zwiess Mercenary eyes the Goblin, then looks at the others in the room. "We're men of quality. Even if our... Agent doesn't make it seem so."

Thanidiel:"I do not believe much of us have expertise in firearms aside from... Beathyn."

Thanidiel squints at Iilordian. Maybe if his cousin were here...

Beathyn spreads his arms as wide as he can. "Big Guns- Not just Firearms-" he has a grin on his face as he says this.

Winged Hussar:"In either case, our horses are ready. If shock troops are what you need, Baneret. You can make use of us if the others will not."

Vissehn:"Wait like canons."

Beathyn nods excitedly at Vissehn.

Thanidiel:"That is what is implied that a 'Cannon-maker' produces."

Iiloridan casts an faux-innocent look Thanidiel's way. 'Fire the cannons' who?

Vissehn leans forward. He is definitely sipping that starbucks and not paying attention. "I want canons."

Orbaniwix claps his oversized hands together. "Excellent! You'll be able to pick one up for the low-low price of Nine-ninety-nine!"

Thanidiel:"Nine-ninety-nine what?"

"Bushels of wheat?"

Ethalarian quietly wonders how he continually finds himself in the company of such...-colorful- people, for lack of a better term. He should've said no.

Thanidiel:"What does 'one' imply here?"

Orbaniwix throws his hands in the air. "Big ones! Gold! Coin!" Thanidel had successfully exasperated the little green man.

Thanidiel:"Hmm."

[Dealing with House Wintergale & The Cloudrend Glades]

Zarannis waits until the attention returns to the map at hand. "What of Wintergale?" she states, leaving her question hanging in the air.

Thanidiel:"What is your tie to Wintergale?"

Vissehn looks at the familiar tattoo on Zarannis face and his expression immediately sours.

Zarannis:"None, officially. I was disowned two-centuries back."

Vissehn:"Yeah and went slummin."

Muroco:"I'll just wait outside until this is all done."

Zarannis ignores the youth. It wasn't worth fighting over at this time of the afternoon.

Lirelle:"As I said, Wintergale can be dealt with after we get rid of Ilithia."

Thanidiel lofts a single platinum brow across the way to Vissehn. An ear flicks. Confusion is plainly there as her attention dies.

Stenden:"Like Dawnbrook said. We will deal with them at a later date. Their loyalty, officially as recognized under the Crown, lies with Emberheart. So we'll have just cause."

Thanidiel:"If they're independent, they're an obstacle to -everyone-, not just Emberheart. It's a... good thing, and can be afforded to handle on a different day."

Ethalarian casts a quick sidelong glance at Oosaarn. The big Orc was being oddly quiet. Wasn't this one always going on about death and honor and other...Orc things? Odd.

Vissehn cants his head. "I can confirm if they're really as neutral as they're claimin."

Beathyn raises a hand. "Might I interject- Couldn't we... Talk to them? You said it yourself young Lord. Enemies today are our citizens tomorrow. Why not just hasten the process? We might be able to open a second front on Illithia and flip the entire war on its head."

Vissehn:"I got friends in the Hawks still, don't take much to bypass a seal an' read a letter."

Vissehn snorts at Beathyn. "Like they'd tell the honest truth."

Zarannis frowns. "Disowned or not. I'd prefer if we didn't have to kill my countrymen."

Zarannis:"The Wintergales are an honest bunch."

Thanidiel:"No one said anything about killing."

Ethalarian:"Technically anyone we kill are your countrymen."

Thanidiel:"Though I understand the jump."

Zarannis squints at Thanidiel. "When it comes to how the Emberhearts deal with people later. It usually ends in killing."

Vissehn looks to Stenden. "I'm gonna read their mail and see what we got on 'em." It's not phrased as a request.

Lirelle:"Your father made that decision for them already. Unless you care to reverse it?"

Thanidiel:"Then maybe it's up to you to figure out a way to handle it earlier."

Stenden shoots a look at Zarannis. "Enough." They can smell the scent of whiskey off her and took that into account. "Is there anyone else here willing to speak with them at all?"

Zarannis folds her arms. Not liking the implications they were making of what she should do.

Thanidiel:"I do not wish to accompany Lirelle on matters of subterfuge as much as I value our companionship. But I would pledge to the frontlines or... strongarming as desired by the Lordling here."

Ethalarian:"Define 'speak' with them."

Thanidiel:"--I want Dawnstalker with me too in the latter case."

Ethalarian 's ear flicks.

Thanidiel:"Bad Blood Knight... and Bad Blood Knight." She says this so deadpan.

Lirelle:"I agree that your real value lies on the field Highdawn, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Ethalarian SQUINTS.

Thanidiel:"Esheyn can be the Good Blood Knight."

Beathyn waves his arms at Ethalarian. "Actually speak with them."

Esheyn tilts her head, that smirk still on her face. "But of course."

Beathyn:"I'll be willing to go. On your behalf of course." He gestures to the family.

Vissehn shoots Beathyn a LOOK. He won't be one upped! "I can do that too. And read their mail. But also talk."

Thanidiel:"You're already with Lirelle."

Vissehn:"I can go lots of places--"

Thanidiel:'You have to choose your parent."

Esheyn:"Two Winter Veils."

Thanidiel smiles ever-so minutely with Esheyn's backup there.

Vissehn squints.

[Summary]

Judereth continues. "After we break their front-lines and have them on the run. You'll be free to... Do what you've planned."

Judereth leans forward over the warmap. "So. Lirelle and company will take care of Goodember. Freeing up my men for a counter-attack against Illithia." She moves the tokens to illustrate. "We'll hold then in the east."

Ethalarian:"About the only thing I'm good for is swinging a sword." He shrugs again for the fiftieth time tonight because that's apparently his default mode of communication. He's very expressive. Clearly.

Stenden nods. "To speak Wintergale and see what can be done about his loyalty. Preferably without bloodshed."

Ethalarian barks a very, very short laugh. That's optimistic.

Thanidiel:"Maybe the disowned one will be sober by then." Ouch.

Lirelle:"She's smelled like that for days now."

Zarannis tsked. But made no other response. Knowing that she was absolutely right.

Thanidiel:"I'm surprised you smell."

Lirelle:"When she smells that strongly, I can pick up the scent."

Thanidiel:"Consider a spar or 'thistle to burn off your feelings."

Ethalarian:"I could use a warmup. And a drink."

Stenden gives all of them smile. A growing hope began to rise in his chest. If this worked- If all of it played out as he had hoped- Then the war could be won after all.

[Event End]

#Epilogue #Warplanning

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tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

Bound By Pledge

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Seokjin x Reader

✂ Word Count: 3,3k

✂ Trigger Warning: Hints of domestic abuse, obsessive and possessive behaviors, slight angst, yandere theme.

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"Look into my eyes, you know I care. My heart is set. You are the one for me, but I need your loyalty." - Faithful [Ibeyi]

To fall in love is easy.

To stay in love is a challenge.

To let go is the hardest part.

Jin was a perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for. A whole package, you'd say. He was funny, kind, handsome, a pro in the kitchen, romantic, mature, and supportive.

Never once did he try to downgrade your worth, or raise a hand during your increasingly frequent arguments. He was very patient and understanding; listening to everything you wanted to say without any interruption or dismissing them as unimportant. He cheered you up with his corny jokes and bad puns and supported you in every endeavor.

In short, he was the kind of man that accepted his partner as a whole and brought them up. And if it wasn't a dream guy, then you didn't know what to call him.

You wondered if there was ever a time where his patience would reach its end because surely nobody could be that tolerant, right? Everyone had a breaking point, you were sure of it. And with how you usually react, he was bound to reach his very soon.

Well, you were wrong, but you weren’t correct either.

You were the polar opposite of him in terms of personalities. You possessed dry humor, lacked in the cooking department, sometimes childish, stubborn, moody, and plain.

There was absolutely nothing attractive to you. At least that’s what you always told yourself to the point of believing it.

And yet, with a stroke of luck - or was it misfortune? Then again, who cares? - he fell in love with your ordinariness. The freckles that littered your face, the extra fat that you so desperately hid from seeing eyes, the grin that you often concealed because you weren't confident with your teeth. He adored it all.

Every time you stood in front of a mirror, examining every flaw in your body because there was always something that you disliked, Jin would suddenly hug you from behind and proclaim strings of compliments. The way he did them, with that proud yet love-struck smile, as if you were the prettiest being he ever laid his eyes on. Although it boosted your confidence for only a few percents before it would drop again, you still appreciated the efforts.

Not to mention, you'd never dreamed that you would hear such praise from such a handsome man.

Aside from that, he also liked to bring home some gifts that reminded him of you despite your begging to stop. The presents weren’t cheap either, and usually contained things that you could only wish in a passing or sent a longing look towards. Nobody knew how he bought them when some of the items were clearly limited editions, or how he managed to know by any means when you never told him before, but it was the least of your worries.

Stupid you. Always ignoring the red flags.

The only thing you feared was the fact that he could go into a premature bankruptcy with the number of gifts he'd presented to you. He always laughed – that windshield laughter that you used to love yet irked you at the same time because how could he laugh so carelessly when the threat was looming over his head?! – and assured you that he had enough money for his future.

“Our future,” he'd corrected himself.

You remembered the way his eyes lit up like a pair of dazzling jewels; the way his lips stretched wider than you've ever seen before as he began to imagine the actuality of those words.

The words that held the utmost sincerity.

The words that contained hope of a happy ending.

The words that should have brought you joy and relief.

And most of all, the words that established everything.

You should've known that happy endings only exist in fairy tales because not all people would stay with the same person until their deaths. The reasons varied; from cheating, boredom, forced to be separated, etc. And in your case, it would be fall out of love.

Sometimes you questioned yourself how many people have felt the same way as you. How high was the percentage or maybe you were the only who experienced this? But it was impossible, right? Humans are different yet similar to each other. Just like basic feelings such as sadness, happiness, and the like, this sentiment wasn't alien too. You just hadn't found the same victim yet.

However, if there was one thing you didn't know about Jin, it was that he was a true believer of a happy ending.

If love at first sight existed, then surely happy ending exist too, right? At least, he could try to create it. Little by little.

With a bit of hard work, nothing can't be achieved.

Jin was so confident that you would marry him and have a couple of children. That you would get old together and watch your grandchildren running around. That you both would dance around under the moonlight until the chilly breeze was the only thing that remained in your place. That you would die together and end up in the same graves adjacent to each other.

You supposed that you should be flattered that he already thought forward, even though it sounded a bit of a stretch. Unlike some of your exes who were still wishy-washy with their lives. After all, anyone would kill to have such an attractive boyfriend like him, as seen from the countless glances you often caught whenever you two go out on a date.

But you didn’t. Instead, you felt as if you were leading him on.

It wasn’t like you didn’t love him – you did. The love had burned bright like a blaze before it eventually grew dimmer into charcoal and embers.

And just like how the curtains were lifted, the closing was a gradual process too; the once long texts began to shorten and scarce, the calls went missing, the frequent kisses became dull pecks, and the hugs lacked their warmth. You couldn't even remember the last time you've shared an intimate moment together.

You didn't know if he noticed these signs, and frankly it hurt to envision his reaction. Imagine spending years with a lover - laughing and crying and venting as if it was their last day on earth - only to part ways just because one of them has fallen out of love.

But it wasn't your fault, right? Life just didn't want you to be together, is all. Sure, it would leave a scar in your already fragile heart, but you would manage. You would move on like a strong, independent woman you were.

If only it was that easy.

Despite your impatient nature, you couldn’t find it in yourself to break up with him. The opportunity was there - it was always there, tempting you to take it like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden - yet your fear of disappointing him hindered you to do so.

But you needed to do it; for the sake of him and your conscience. You couldn't live with the regret of stringing him along when he could have someone better at his side. Someone that would give him the love and affection he deserved. Someone that he could marry and grow old later. Someone that would bear his children and, eventually, grandchildren.

You might not love him anymore, but you weren’t cruel enough to keep him when you didn’t have the right to.

“Jin,” you whispered once you broke the threshold of the living room. You had rushed home from work after hours of pondering, frustrations, and annoying colleagues that repeatedly asked your condition. You knew they were merely being nice, as you looked like you'd gone through a storm, but you weren't in the mood to speak. Unfortunately, some of them just couldn't take a fucking hint.

Not to mention, there was always an obstacle during your supposedly short trip somehow.

From bumping against a man and being scolded by him, the train took longer than usual, a crowd blocking your way to watch the police apprehended a thief, and nearly crashed into a car. It was as though the world had taken pity on Jin and conspired to prevent you from dropping the bombshell.

Yet, you were determined. More than ever. You just hoped it would be a quick breakup.

Of course, reality rarely aligns with expectations.

Jin snapped his head up and beamed.

“[Name]!” He dropped the magazine on his hands and bounced up to you like an excited puppy. You clenched your hands, forcing a smile. Why did he have to look so happy? It was as if seeing you bring all the joy into his gloomy world.

You clearly didn’t deserve him, did you? Not when he greeted you so cheerfully, unaware of the bad news that you’d brought for him.

Was this the right choice? Was it too late to back out now? Maybe this feeling was temporary. Maybe you still loved him.

... Did you?

When he opened his arms to scoop you into a bear hug like he usually did, tears stung your eyes. He felt... warm. You exhaled shakily, cherishing the heat that radiated from his big body whilst controlling your breath. It was crushing to think that this would be the last embrace you received from him.

The last time that he’d get to hold you like this.

God, why did everything have to feel depressing once you finally reached the end? Why couldn’t you just break things off without these... these unnecessary affections? Why couldn’t you just say goodbye and be done with it?

You reluctantly withdrew, discerning his frown from your peripheral vision.

“Jin, I...” You gaped, struggling to get the words out without stuttering. Blinking the tears away, you cleared your clogged throat. “I don’t think we can continue with this anymore.”

“What do you mean?” The response was spontaneous, and you noted – with a heavy chest – the slight panic on his voice. You silently ground your teeth, prepping yourself up, to tell the truth.

“You know what I mean.”

“Stop beating around the bush, jagi.”

He was right; you should be straightforward if you wanted to end this quickly. What was wrong with you? Since when you've been this cowardly? You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’ve fallen out of love.”

The world froze for a moment. Soft, almost inaudible, breaths cracked the thick silence. Jin opened before closing his mouth again like a fish out of the water. It continued for a minute until he whispered a question.

A question that you wished he hadn't uttered. But who were you to control what he said?

Oh, that's right. An ex.

“You’re lying, right...?”

You shook your head, a few tears flying around. If there was one thing that you hated, it’d be crying in front of him. You wanted him to know that you were strong, but you couldn’t. Your feelings have betrayed you long ago, and now you had to suffer the consequences.

“N-no,” you croaked out. “I really, really have fallen out of love with you.”

“But we can still be together, right?” Jin stepped forward and took your hands gently, eyes glistened with tears.

God, you hated that look. The look that told you that he was hopeful. The look that told you that he wanted to change things to the way they used to. But bringing back a perished feeling was no easy task.

Then again, what he wouldn't do for you?

“I swear, I’ll do anything," he begged, already on the verge of breaking down. His knees trembled underneath his blue jeans, and Jin wasn't sure if he could stand any longer. "I’ll even kill for you.”

You gasped, completely thrown off guard with his statement. How could he say that so readily? So... willing to go through that process for the sake of you. Didn't he know the consequences of killing?

No, he knew. Of course, he knew. Jin wasn't stupid. Yet, it still didn't make it any easier for you to digest.

Breaking up with him was one thing, but to see him behind the bars was another thing. You couldn't, and totally refused, to imagine that. What would you explain to his family should something like that ever happened? It would ruin your relationship with them and your image as well.

“God, no! You can’t. It’s illegal, Jin! You can go to prison!”

“Who cares?!” he exclaimed. This was the first time he ever came close to yelling, and the context wasn't something you had initially planned.

“No, Jin. You can’t just-” you flailed your hands around, unable to put the frustration into words. “You know what? I think it’s best if I go now. You obviously need to calm down and stop talking about killing because it's starting to freak me out.”

You moved to leave, but Jin was quick to seize your wrist.

“Don't go, please.” he pleaded, voice cracking along with your heart. “I swear, I’ll stop talking about killing if you just... stay. With me. I need you so much. I can't live without you.”

It was poetic and had it occur some other time, you'd roll your eyes for its cheesiness.

But now?

Now, you just wanted to curl up and cried until there were no more tears left.

“We’re over now, Jin. I can’t just hang around like we used to. It’ll be awkward for the both of us, knowing that we’re no longer a couple. And yes, you absolutely can live without me. I'm not your lifeline, Jin. You're an adult, so start acting like one.”

It was harsh, and you admitted it wasn't really necessary. But you needed an outlet to release all this stress that built up inside of you because you didn't want to end up yelling at him. You already broke up with him, his girlfriend of five years. He didn't need another scar to decorate his delicate heart.

You snatched your hand from his hold and opened the front door. “Thank you for all the memories we’ve shared together. I hope you find a better girlfriend than me.”

“... What if I say that I only want you?”

Jin was bowing his head when he whispered that, and you - stupid you - chose to stop and strain your ears to hear him a little clearer. “What...?”

Bad mistake.

Without further ado, a metal abruptly struck the back of your head. You collapsed on to the floor, discerning Jin's tall stature looming over you through the blurred gaze. It was a few moments of consciousness that you appreciated because you could see his expression before you fully passed out.

He bore no emotions whatsoever, not even when he approached your limp body and started dragging you to God knows where.

You fluttered your eyes open, staring at the familiar plain ceiling. How could you not recognize it right away, when you've stayed in this room for years? It was arguably one of the most memorable places in Jin's apartment aside from the kitchen.

With a tired yet pained groan, you slowly sat up and froze when you heard something tinkling. Peering down, you noticed a pair of chains bounded your legs around the feet of the bed.

“Those are the only thing I got from him.” A manly voice alerted you with another presence in the room. Your captor.

You never thought you'd live up to the day where you would call him that.

“Jin, you bastard!” you growled, forgetting all about his sensitivity because who the fuck cares? Not you anymore, definitely. “Let me go!”

“Hoseok told me that if your partner refuses to be with you, then the only way is to tie them up.” Jin rambled, straight up ignoring your demand.

Not that you expected him to. No kidnappers would release their victims without any reward or ulterior motives. Yet, it was nice to hope.

“He did that too, you know. With his girlfriend and her older brother. Apparently, he was planning to get her out of the house because he felt that Hoseok was ‘too possessive for her own good’.”

Jin huffed out an incredulous chuckle, combing back the brown bangs with his hand. “I mean, how silly is that? She’s his girlfriend, and yet that jerk had the audacity to separate them. He’s really blind to true love, don’t you think?”

Silly for him, creepy for you. However, stubborn people rarely change their minds. This trait - which had eventually become his downfall - was what connected you two in the first place.

“I don’t give a shit about your crazy friend’s story, Jin. Now let me go!”

Sighing, he got up from the creaky chair that was a bit too small for his broad physique and approached you. You flinched when you saw his hand reach out to stroke your face.

You might have held that hand before, but you'd be damned if you let it touch even a strand of your hair. Everything about him was pure toxic now.

“Jagi, don’t be like that. I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I? Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“Because we fucking broke up, Jin! Get it through that thick skull of yours that we’re over. Over!”

“Just because we're over, doesn't mean I can't touch you." he retorted, tugging a lock of your messy hair. You cried out in pain as you clawed at his hand to ease the grip. "And you’re always like this. Swearing. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t fucking care!” You gritted your teeth, trying to lessen the pain somehow. Although your attempt was futile, just as you predicted. You always knew that Jin had a bigger advantage than you, and yet you never expected him to resort to violence. Did the breakup mess him up that badly?

“Seems that I need to give you a lesson, then.”

Jin opened the drawer in one of the nightstands and pulled out a dark whip. Your eyes immediately widened as you backed away, already dreading the 'lesson' despite not having experienced it yet. Alas, the chains prevented you from avoiding the inevitable.

Well, shit.

“You know, jagi,” he said softly and had it occur on other times, you would’ve mistaken him for comforting you. You couldn't believe this was the same voice that you used to love to listen, especially in the early mornings. “I admit, I wasn’t expecting to use this so soon. I didn’t want to accept this at first, but Hoseok insisted. Saying that you’d surely struggle and I have to be able to discipline you like a good boyfriend I am. So, I hope you forgive me for my cruel method. I hate to do this, but you need to learn your lesson.”

You shook your head frantically when he advanced towards you, caressing the whip. “No, no, no. Please don’t do this, Jin. You’re better than this, I swear.”

“I know.”

“Just let me go and I promise you that I won’t tell anyone. Just- please...”

Lie.

Of course, you'd tell the police. There was no way you'd let this crazy man roam free and take you back to this familiar prison. But telling the truth seemed less than ideal, especially in this kind of predicament. When Jin set his eyes for something, he wouldn't stop going no matter what hardships that were thrown. You hated and admired this side of him.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, jagi.” Jin unceremoniously cracked the whip against your leg, relishing in the agonized cry from your trembling lips. The skin reddened, yet he was far more distracted with the tears that trickled down your face. “I don’t want you to leave. You’re stuck here, with me, just like we always do. Just like what we've promised beforehand.”

He lifted your chin and slowly licked the tears. They tasted salty, but everything from you was sweet anyway.

Even your pain.

“I love you, [Name].”

#yandere bts #yandere bangtan seonyeondan #yandere bts au #yandere au #yandere kpop #yandere jin x reader #yandere kim seokjin x reader #yandere jin #jin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #bts yandere au #bts yandere #kpop yandere #kpop yandere au #yandere kpop au #yandere kpop story #Yandere kpop one-shot #Yandere kpop imagine

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empyreanwritings · 6 years

Text

Never Let Me Go

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mild angst (angst to fluff)

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE! I can’t believe Bucky’s already one hundred and two. They just grow up so fast, don’t they? :’) This one shot it based off of this prompt. I saw it and knew I needed to write something to celebrate this perfect man’s birthday! Also, this was edited by my fiance, so if there are any embarrassing errors, let’s make fun of him together!

Feedback is always welcomed and encouraged (:

Bucky stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. He tried going to bed early - to get a good night's rest for once. What a joke. His mind refused to shut off. One hundred and two. He was officially one hundred and two years old. He figured he should be ecstatic being one of the oldest men on the planet, but he wasn't. There was nothing to celebrate. What had he done during his life that deserved celebrating?

Sure, he helped stopped the end of the world, but so did everyone else. Most of his life was spent causing others misery. He never believed he could redeem himself despite everyone around him telling him otherwise.

You're important, Bucky.

You're a hero, Bucky.

He rubbed his hands over his face. A hero? No, that was Steve. Steve was the real hero. The one that everyone should look up to. He was the one who really saved the world at the end of the day.

He glanced over at the clock sitting on his nightstand. The glowing numbers told him it was three in the morning already. He had gone to bed seven hours ago, and not once did he manage to fall asleep. Not even for a few minutes. It was not the way anyone should kick off their birthday.

Bucky grabbed his phone and dialed the only number he knew by heart: yours. He knew it was late, but you worked night shifts anyways. The odds of you being up at this hour were in his favor.

The voice at the back of his mind warned him this wasn't a good idea. How long had it been since he'd spoken to you? A year? It felt like ten years of silence to him. He hated the way things ended between you, but it was his fault. He pushed you away to keep you safe. He didn't want you to worry about him whenever he went on missions. If he never came home one day, he didn't want you to mourn him. He should have known better. Together or not, you always worried about him. If something ever happened to him, you would have been devastated.

"Hello?" Your strained voice sounded from the other end of the line, bringing Bucky out of his thoughts. "James?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's late."

He thought about hanging up, let you go back to bed, but hearing your voice was intoxicating.

"No, no, it's okay. I just got home from work. They had me do some overtime."

"You sound tired."

You laughed. It was a short, breathless laugh, but it still sounded genuine. "I'm exhausted. I've worked five days in a row, and all of them were overtime shifts. I know I get paid pretty well, but five fifteen hour shifts in a row is hard."

"You never were good at telling them you needed breaks."

"You're not wrong."

A beat of silence passed, and Bucky's heart began to race. He didn't think this phone call through. He wasn't even sure why he was calling you, but he was suddenly glad he did.

"It's my birthday," he finally said after a long moment.

"I know. What are you now? Two hundred?"

Bucky rolled his eyes even though you couldn't see him. "Ha-ha, you're so funny. One hundred and two, thank you very much."

"Eh, I was close enough." During your relationship, you loved to point out the age difference between you two. You'd jokingly ask for the kid's menu when he took you out, or you'd ask when the early bird's special began. People tended to judge because they considered him to be too old for you, but you never minded what they had to say.

"You don't look one hundred, baby! That's what really matters!" You'd always defend.

"I've lived one hundred and two years, and I don't remember most of them. The things I did - the acts Hydra made me commit - they were awful, and I hate myself sometimes even though I know I shouldn't."

"Bucky. . ."

"No, let me finish," he quickly interrupted you. "I've done a lot of evil, and I guess I've also done a lot of good. But do you know what my biggest regret is? Letting you go. I tried to tell myself that you'd be better off without me. To be fair, a year ago I was still a mess, and I do think you deserved someone better, but I never asked you what you wanted. I just told you what I thought you needed, and I know that wasn't right. You should have had more say in what happened to us. And I'm - I'm sorry for that. You fought for me in more ways than one. You fought for our love, and I ignored it because I could only see the truth I wanted to see. That is my biggest regret."

You let out a shaky breath. He understood if you didn't have a response to his confession. He'd understand if you decided to hang up on him right now. It was a lot to process, especially after a year of silence on his end. It was a lot to take in.

"I-" You sighed. "I don't know what you want me to say, James."

"I'm sorry for dumping this on you. I know it's not fair to you." He pinched the bridge of his nose. He was suddenly exhausted. "Stark is throwing me a birthday party here at the compound. I think it's stupid, but he always wants an excuse to throw a party. I'd like you to come. You don't have to, but I hope you'll think about it."

"I'll think 'bout it."

"Okay. Thank you. I'll let you go now. Goodnight, love."

You paused, the use of his old nickname for you catching you off guard. "Goodnight."

---

Bucky swirled his whiskey around in its glass. The party was in full swing by now, and he had to admit that Tony really outdid himself this time. The drinks were flowing; bodies were dancing; and the colors in the room were vibrant. It would have been the perfect way to kick off one hundred and two years if Bucky genuinely wanted to celebrate.

He hated feeling this miserable.

Women tried cheering him up throughout the night, but they gave up when they realized that they weren't going to get anywhere with him. His mood was too sour, and he was completely uninterested. The only woman he wanted making moves on him hadn't showed up. And he really didn’t blame you for not coming. He sprung it on you last minute after a bold confession.

He downed the rest of his drink and waved the bartender over to get another one. He couldn't get drunk, but he sure as hell was going to try. At the very least, he'd try to drown his feelings in every glass.

Never Let Me Go by Florence and the Machine began to play over the speakers, and Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. This was your song. It was the first song you two had ever danced to at one of Tony's parties. He hadn't listened to it since your split.

The universe really thought he was a joke, didn't it?

A finger tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned around slowly, the glass in his hand almost slipping from his hold when his eyes met yours. Your eyes sparkled as you looked up at him, and the smile on your face was absolutely breathtaking. You seemed so calm standing in front of him now, while Bucky was falling apart under your gaze.

He was grateful you didn't have enhanced hearing because he knew you'd be able to hear his heart beating erratically in his chest. Was this real? Were you really here?

"Do you want to dance, James?" You asked and took the drink from his hand, placing it down on the bar beside him. "I mean, I did drive all the way out here. I think I deserve at least one dance."

You didn't wait for him to answer. You took his hand and led him onto the dancefloor. He noticed the way Steve's eyes grew wide when he spotted you two walking together. Bucky almost laughed at the double take he saw him do. He'd have to explain later - once he knew what was happening between you two himself.

You placed his hands on the small of your back before wrapping your arms around his neck. Every nerve in his body was on fire. He noticed every touch you made to his body. From the way your fingers twirled his hair to the way you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck, you ignited a fire deep inside of him, and he could barely concentrate. And it didn't help that you smelled so good. Brown sugar and vanilla. It was your signature scent.

It reminded him of a time where his room would be invaded with your smell and how much comfort it brought him.

He leaned his cheek against the top of your head and smiled. "I'm glad you're here. I didn't think you'd actually come."

"I wasn't sure if I was going to either, if we're being honest. I called Tony and asked for the details on the party, and he ended up deciding for me. He said I needed to be here," you admitted quietly. "I was nervous about coming here."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"I wasn't sure if you actually wanted me here. I know you invited me, but it was three in the morning. I figured you might have changed your mind."

Bucky pulled back slightly, so he could look down at you. He saw the tears forming in his eyes, and he silently he wished he could take everything in the past back. He knew the pain he caused you when he left, despite telling himself it was for the best. And even now, he knew you were hurting because you didn't know what would happen between the two of you. He intended to fix that.

"I don't plan on changing my mind about you," he murmured. "I meant everything that I said this morning. Leaving you was my biggest regret, and I don't plan on letting you go again."

You chewed on your bottom lip thoughtfully. His words were everything that you wanted to hear this past year, but you were terrified of letting him back in. If he decided one day to leave to "keep you safe" again, you wouldn't be able to handle it. You were strong and independent, but you sucked at handling heartbreak. You'd never tell him, but this past year, you had been an absolute mess. You had to try and figure out how to live a brand new life without your soulmate, and it was harder than you imagined it to be.

You didn't want to go through that again.

"Please say something," Bucky begged.

"I love you, James. I think I will always love you, and that may just be my downfall." He wiped at a stray tear that slipped down your face, and you smiled. "I want to be with you, but we need to take it slow. You left me, and I can't trust you not to do it again. But I'm willing to work on us. I'm willing to make it work."

He couldn't contain the large smile that grew on his face. He could work with going slow, especially if it meant having you back in his life.

A hand landed on Bucky's shoulder, and he turned to see Tony standing behind him with a knowing smile on his face.

"Ready to open presents?" Tony asked, gesturing to the large pile of presents that sat at the front of the room.

"I already got the best present in the world," he gushed as he looked down at you. "I'm not sure if anything else will compare to that."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "That was incredibly cheesy."

"And disgusting," Tony piped in.

He shrugged and leaned down to plant an overdue kiss on your lips. Your whole body tingled at the contact, and you knew right away this was the best decision. You were fully capable of living without him - and you had for some time - but this was where you needed to be. You needed to be in his arms, and he felt the exact same way.

Marvel Tag: @killcomet

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ofmurphys · 4 years

Text

✰ –– hero coffee roasters. 2pm, on a tuesday.

this bitch wants a frappu-fuckin’-ccino. murphy blinks and pastes on a smile. jesus. fake-owning this shithole’s getting real old these days. “ oh, hun, of course i can improvise that sugar rush for you. don’t even fret it. we totally keep vats of that fake java just lying around. ” honestly, murph can’t tell what’s worse –– the fact that this cardboard cutout vsco girl even asked, or the fact that she actually believes her.

hero coffee roasters loses a customer that day. as the doorbell jingles shut with the force of the girl’s slam, murphy pops a redhot into her mouth and chews. does nothing to hide her growing smirk. yeah, yeah.

good riddance.

or alternatively : hey demons, it’s me, ya gurl ! back at it again with my very snakey shadow gorl. click that read more to learn about this gorgeous amoral piece of ass. i’m trying out a new intro format, so... bear with me ! i hope y’all enjoy, and pls hmu on discord for plots !

murph is... straight up trouble. so if you want drama ? you want bullshit & compulsive lies ? you want ill-founded rage with no apologies later ? you’ve come to the right place .

this is the story of a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world . . . just kidding. murphy berman doesn’t shed tears for shit.

— && guests may mistake me as ( zoe kravitz ), but really i am ( murphy berman + cisfemale + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 11/7/1994 ). i am a ( “ coffee shop owner ” ) and would like to stay in suite ( 306 ). i won’t be much of a bother because i am ( + cunning & fierce ), but i can also be ( - acetous & cutthroat ) at times. personally, i like to ( code, flick gum wrappers at pigeons, bring my pet turtle to the movies, sit back and watch shit burn ) when i have the time to relax, and my favorite snack is ( those purple doritos, y'know. chili or whatever the fuck ) to have in my suite. thank you for checking in !

i n s p o .

coffee shop –– hero coffee roasters.

pinterest.

soundcloud –– soul sounds.

soul anthem.

b a c k d r o p . ( tw: drug mentions, alcoholic tendencies, alcohol, crime, allusions to domestic violence, violence, murder. )

2am, bar’s closed. but braids still sits, forearms draped atop the counter, shades askew. as you restock new handles, she raises a finger, like she might say something, then pours herself another bourbon. cutting her off is the least of your worries –– it doesn’t take a genius to tell this cookie can handle her own. and the shit she’s spewing ? something tells you this has never been aired before.

“ so picture the fuck outta this, bub. ” a swig. “ you’re born and before you even got the wherewithal to speak, you’re shipped off to some graham cracker family in the ‘ burbs. you start leapfrogging –– my term, tee-em –– ” a tattooed finger traces the symbol into the air accordingly. “ and after a while, it’s a game. hop a house, stay a while, see how much of their shit you can pocket. ” nostalgic sighs accompany a litany of stolen goods : cash. jewelry. first edition tetris game, hand-fuckin’-held. the hoopers’ prized gold kazoo.

don’t believe her ? onto black marble slides proof.

“ then you land. hard. the fuckin’ landry’s. ” a scornful chuckle. “ miss me with that white picket fence ass shit. but they get you your first comp, so... when they ask to adopt you, you’re like. i dunno, man. sure, i guess ? and guess wrong. ” turns out the landry’s aren’t as warm or welcoming as they claim. their youngest kid dies, freak accident. monkey bars. “ family falls apart worse than that time you tried to make a ball from fresh cigarette ash. you were eleven. ” tattooed over the scar.

braids tells you ‘bout the party being over. the bruising. but she laughs through it, rolls her eyes like she’s talking ‘bout silly old friends instead of terrible old people.

her birth mother finds her. they meet up a few times in a local park, whisks her away when she’s twelve. is it kidnapping ? technically, who gives a fuck. they lived low. under the radar. in apartments above dive bars. spent a summer breaking into parked cars. finally landed with j.j., who turned out to just be a glorified drug mule.

“ new york was fine to me. y’know, fucked off in school. kid shit. ” she shrugs. you won’t know it, but she’ll astutely sidestep the fact that she hacked her first global system at 14. she won’t mention she started accepting paypal offers from obscure reddit threads two weeks later. by 17, she was contracting independently –– a business venture, she’d tell her high school counselor, assigned to keep her from winding up on the streets.

matty, her best friend since the move to new york, decided to kiss her silly after trying shrooms. she liked it. told him maybe he could do that more often.

“ he cleaned up, ” braids purses her lips. “ after high school. stopped messing with his crowd. our crowd. ” she grabs two stirrers from a container dangerously close to your hand. taps ‘em on the counter like she’s stomping out mini fires. “ let him put a ring on me. y’know make bey proud. ”

she won’t mention that while matty gets a job as a cook at a bougie french restaurant, she continued to deal with devils. woman in her high castle. under the guise of cpu-based tetris and a whole lot of freelance web design.

but then roosevelt savings bank gets robbed. and they somehow trace the ip back to her.

it’s an easy mishap to shake. showed ‘em the websites. the code. the computer usage logs. the blues believe her, but matty...

“ trust issues. sad, huh ? thought i was fucking around behind his back. ” with criminals.

“ and then shit gets good, homie. we’re tasting stupid fucking cake. red velvet... ” cue a laugh. bitter. the stirrers stop tapping. “ then i meet aamina and everything goes to shit. i brought it up, you know. like. hey, your fiancée might be a little bit into pussy. ”

for the first time all night, her eyes meet yours. and it’s only then you realize... there’s some heavy fuckin’ sadness swimming in those baby browns. worlds pass through them. alternative stories –– where matty wasn’t high. where he didn’t reach for the knife.

“ he lost it. ” silence. she looks away. “ anyway. ” she launches into why chicago –– why she studied pre-law for two years before tossing in the towel. because “ fuck a judge, man. ” and she’s into the finer things in life. ( she struck you as an arts type. what with the glasses. the vintage band tee worn like a dress. maybe you get a glimmer of pride knowing you were right. she won’t mention that the whole thing’s a farce. )

she launches into why a coffee shop. she’ll tell you the beautiful thing about coffee is it takes no shit. she’ll tell you owning a place gets fuckin’ wild, but she’s in it for the free java and coffee-themed booze. a perk all hourly baristas like her enjoy. “ and we made that top list or whatever. of fly places here. an honor. i’d like to thank god, and also jesus. which i hope you know are my boys bazzi and frank ocean. ”

you’ll google hero coffee roasters later. and find its registered owner goes by brian tubolino. but hey, maybe she’s married.

when braids finally decides it’s time to go, sunlight’s nipping at chicago’s heels.

“ you chill if i ... ? ” before you can answer, she’s takin’ a swig straight from the half-finished bottle of bourbon. picks it up and cradles it under one arm, precious cargo.

“ souvenir, man. in remembrance of you. ”

#intro.#✰ –– don't punish the tiger for taking its prey ! inspo.#✰ –– so ugly but you love me ! she speaks.

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