#I hope this is formatted in a way that is easy to read - clarity and concision are not my strongest skills | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsjustanne · 1 year

Text

Caryatids and Repatriation

This is a duplicate post of a blog post I made on my blog (I started a blog! For regular people who don't spend their lives on this hellsite (affectionate)). You can find the post here ! I did my best too translate it from a webpage format to a tumblr format but I'm sure things still got screwed up, so feel free to look at either post!

Preface: I am by no means an expert on either ancient history or issues surrounding repatriation. This is a compilation of research that I've done. I will link sources where necessary in text and provide a list of sources at the end of this entry! I will always note when a conclusion I draw is my own opinion (which will be most of the time), and when my opinion is echoed by, similar too, informed by the opinions of experts.

Welcome to my first "lesson plan"/"lecture" style post. This is a format similar to what I would use as a rough draft for a paper, though there will be editing and consideration made for clarity. I hope that the way I've laid this out is acceptable and makes for easy reading. If you think there is a way to improve future "lecture" posts please don't hesitate to let me know!

For now, enjoy learning about the Caryatids, repatriation, and what it means for museums.

The Caryatids and Issues of Repatriation

I think the best place to start will be to explain, in a very basic sense, what repatriation are. Khan Academy defines repatriation as "the return of stolen or looted artifacts to the countries of origins." To go even further in depth, The Field Museum tells us that, domestically, within the United States, the act of repatriation follows the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) and works to find cultural items and human remains and see them returned to the proper individual descendants and descendant communities. In international terms, the Field Museum states that they [the Field Museum] take full consideration for repatriation requests for the return of funerary items and human remains to "culturally affiliated descendants for whom NAGPRA does not apply." There are further examples of international repatriations, with France, Belgium, and Germany returning artifacts to various countries in Africa. Additionally, and more relevantly to the Caryatids that I'll be discussing soon, Sicily returned the portion of the Parthenon's frieze that was in the custody of the Antionio Salinas Regional Archaeological Museum. Currently this repatriation effort is part of a deal, sending the frieze to Athens and two objects (a headless statues and an amphora) to Sicily; set to expire in 2026 there is opportunity to extend it four another four years, while efforts are being made to make the repatriation of the frieze to Greece permanent.

This deal has also been noted to have cleared the way and provided a blueprint for the British Museum to begin planning to return a group of objects known as the Elgin Marbles.

"The Elgin Marbles" refer to a group of marble works from the Acropolis in Athens, Greece. Included in this group are: 15 metopes (square spaces often decorated with relief sculptures), 17 pedimental figures (a pediment is a triangular space as part of a gabled roof, often found above entry ways), and 75 meters of the frieze from the Parthenon (the frieze was originally 160 meters). One of these marbles that was brought to the British Museum is a tall columnar structure in the shape of a woman.

She is tall, over life size, standing at 2.23 meters/7 feet tall. Her hair is sculpted into a braid down her back and on her head rests a basket made to bear the weight of a building on top. She wears a simple Peplos tunic, belted at the waist, which cascades down her body in beautiful folds. She stands in contrapposto, her let leg holding majority of her weight while her right leg is bent at the knee. She is missing one hand, that may have held a sacrificial vessel at one point in time.

This astoundingly beautiful woman is known as a Caryatid (pronunciation guide: carry-ah-tid-). There are five more just like her at the Acropolis Museum in Athens. These five "sisters" leave a space open for the missing, while the Greek government attempts to reunite the six Caryatids as well as the rest of the marbles.

These artifacts were taken from Greece by a man named Thomas Bruce, aka Lord Elgin, in 1802. During this period in history, Greece was under the rule of the Ottoman Empire and Elgin had documented clearance to start an archaeological dig near on the Acropolis. Despite this, it is debated weather or not he had permission to remove anything from the country.

Part of the British Museums arguments for keeping the collection of marbles comes from the belief that Elgin took these artifacts from the rubble. However, multiple experts have chimed in after examining the objects stating that this is not true. Anthony Snodgrass, a renowned classical archaeologist, has said that after examining the metopes from the Parthenon he can say that they were "violently detached." He has also been quoted saying that "it's incorrect to say that much of what Elgin took was already on the ground."

In 2022 the deputy director of the British Museum was quoted saying "there will never be a magic moment of reunification because half the sculptures from Parthenon are lost forever." Which to me is saying that there's no point in returning the marbles because the Parthenon will never really be whole again. Which is true, there were many statues destroyed and the building is in some state of ruin, however displaying the marbles in their true historical context sounds, to me, to be the best way of displaying them. Boris Johnson was also quoted saying that although he had "reflected deeply" on the marbles he thought that it would be a "grievous and irremediable loss if they left the British Museum."

This statement is, to me, incredibly insensitive. While I understand that individuals form attachments and memories with objects that they interact with, and that these objects may be very beloved within the British Museum, they are much more significant to Greece. Another issue I take is with a statement made on the British Museum website.

The argument we are presented is as follows: the sculptures "convey the influences between Egyptian, Persian, Greek and Roman civilizations and argues that they are best presented in this context." While I assume that these sculptures are being presented to an audience in a setting that shows examples from each of these cultures, I don't think that the argument is as solid as it may first seem. The historical, cultural, and environmental contexts are all still very much present elsewhere in the world. The Acropolis museum is five minutes away from the Acropolis (according to Google Maps). The Erechtheion Temple, where the Caryatids originate, is still extant and you can see faithful and detailed replicas at the original site. While it may be a wonderful opportunity to see artifacts from different cultures displayed near to one another, it is still much more beneficial to see them in their original context. This allows for a greater understanding of the object. Its use, its aesthetic, how it may have gotten to its location, all of these are better understood in its original location. Once removed, an object may lose meaning to some extent because of the lack of context.

It is my opinion that Greece is not being unreasonable in asking for negotiations regarding the repatriation of these artifacts. In the case of Sicily's repatriation negotiations, Greece has exchanged other artifacts for the frieze portion. The Greek Government has also offered an exchange with the British Museum, allowing for artifacts to visit the museum that have never before left the country. As far as I know, nothing has been done with this offer. The British Museum has offered for the Elgin Marbles to go on tour and visit places like the Acropolis Museum, however the Acropolis Museum and Greek government have turned this down in hopes of holding out for a permanent repatriation deal. The British government has tried to surrender the issue to the board of trustees at the British Museum, but UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization) has ruled that due to how much government involvement would be necessary in the process, the British government would have to be involved to some degree.

Greece is still fighting to bring home the sixth "sister" of its Caryatids, as well as the rest of its stolen artifacts, and repatriation efforts by Italy, Germany, France, and Belgium have provided Kytiakos Mitsotakis, the Prime Minister of Greece, with hope. Especially considering that "the majority of Britions," 59%, "appear to support" the efforts to repatriate the artifacts.

The issue of repatriation is one of cultural importance, not only within the United States but also internationally. In cases like the one of the British Museum it feels to me like a left over of colonialism and imperialism, but thats just my thoughts on it. This summer I will be making a trip to the British Museum while I'm in London and it is my goal to see the Caryatid that is in their possession. Later on I definitely want to make an effort to see the other five "sisters" at the Acropolis Museum. It is my genuine hope that I will see the return of the lost "sister" to Athens so that I can see them in their natural home.

At the very bottom of the page will be the places that I found the images used as well as a the links used in this post and extra citations that aren't noted in text. Like I said at the very top of this post, I am no where near an expert on these topics. This is all the research that I have found and interpreted within a fairly short span of time. I want to keep learning about issues of repatriation and it is my goal to help spread information about the topic as well. If there are any mistakes in this post please feel free to reach out and if you have any questions I can do my best to answer them.

Until next time, keep learning and exploring!

-Anne

3 notes · View notes

tgcnews · 7 months

Text

1 Pound Challenge - Finalists Announced!

The finalists have been announced for the 1 Pound Challenge! Here's what the judge, Gabe Barrett, wanted to share with everyone:

"Thank you so much for entering this contest! I really enjoyed learning about each and every game that was entered, and it’s so cool to see so many excellent ideas in the entries. However, I could only select a few to move on to the final round, and those games are:

Finalists:

Sap Run

Lords of Uranus

Harmony Hills

CRYSTALLIZE - Shadows of the Northern Lights

Why the finalists were chosen:

Gameplay - On the most basic level, these are the games that seem the most fun to play. Obviously, that’s completely subjective and based on limited information, but they each appear to be offering enjoyable experiences with themes that integrate well with their mechanisms.

Creativity - Each of these games has an interesting theme and a unique gameplay loop. They also look like fully fleshed out ideas that have been playtested and polished to create an experience that isn’t just a derivative of other games.

Product Viability - I can see all of these games finding a home in the marketplace - not necessarily as blockbuster, evergreen hits - but I think there’s an audience for each game that would really enjoy it (and pay for it).

Rules Clarity - Each game’s rulebook and overall explanation is well written and easy to understand.

Shop Page - The shop pages are clear and aesthetically pleasing while also having all the required and relevant information.

Congratulations to the finalists, and even if your game wasn’t selected, please know how much I appreciate you taking the time and putting forth the effort to submit a game for this contest. It’s no small task to get a game to this point, and I hope you’ll continue to push forward in bringing games to life.

After looking through all the entries, I have a few general pieces of advice:

Be aware of how fiddly your game is. Several games had a lot of moving parts which can become burdensome over the course of a game, especially if it’s not a short game. Having to move a lot of pieces around can also lead to players making mistakes which could lead to a less than enjoyable overall experience. So, if your game has some fiddly parts, see if you can find a way to cut or change things so that players aren’t having to move things around as much.

Clarity is king. If someone has a hard time understanding what your game is about, they’re going to move on to something else. There’s no shortage of ways a person can spend their time, so if they take a minute to learn about your game, make sure you’re as clear as can be about how the game works, how to win, and who the player is in the context of the game. It’s also a good idea to have multiple formats to convey this information. Graphics, overview video, text, GIFs, etc. People prefer to learn about games in different ways, so try to cover multiple bases.

Let your passion show. If your game’s description reads like a book report, you’re going to have a hard time getting a potential player/customer interested in playing/buying. I’m not saying be hyperbolic or outlandish, but let your excitement for the game’s design, theme, mechanisms, experience, etc. shine through. What makes the game special/interesting/unique? Focus on that.

Thanks again for entering this contest, and I wish you the best of luck in your game design journey!"

Gabe Barrett Board Game Design Lab & Best With 1 Games

#contest #contests #Game Design #Board Game Design #Board Game Designer #Tabletop Games #Indie Games #Board Games #Make a board game

1 note · View note

amor-und-psyche · 3 years

Text

How I maintain a 4.0 GPA at university

I am a Psychology MSc student at a Dutch university. I currently have an 8.5 GPA which is roughly equivalent to a 4.0. I've studied in the Netherlands for almost 4 years now and I thought I would put together some tips on how to maintain good grades and stay organized. While I hope this is helpful, please keep in mind that these tips just come from my experience!

Study smart, not hard

There was a time during my studies when I wouldn't take any notes in class and my exam preparation focused on re-reading summaries and lecture notes. While this sounds like a stupid idea, the main reason I did this was that I only had multiple choice exams for most of my bachelor's. Would I have done better if I would have been able to reproduce all materials in my own words? Probably. But for MC exams, the most important skill to develop is being able to recognize concepts not to reproduce them.

Of course, I don't want to encourage you not to take notes or only re-read and highlight during exam preparation. However, before preparing for an exam, you should always ask yourself: What is expected of me? Do you need to recognize buzz words? You might be fine with re-reading. Do you need to explain complicated concepts in your own words? Active recall is your friend. Do you need to write a piece of code on the fly? Do some practice problems.

It's very important to get crystal clear on what is asked of you in an exam and spend time practicing that skill. Else, you risk wasting your time or even worse getting bad grades because you only re-read your notes for a test that requires you to put concepts into your own words.

Fry the big fish first

Before I start a new year, I make an overview of each subject I will be taking. How many credits is each subject worth? What is the breakdown for each subject? How much of your grade comes from the exam? This gives you an indication of what you need to spend the most time on.

For example, I had to do an internship during the first year of my master's. The internship report was worth 21 credits, which is more than a third of the credits for the entire year. Naturally, I spent a lot of time doing this and making sure it was good. I actually managed to pull up my GPA a little bit just because the report was worth that much.

Practice your writing

Now, this might not apply to all courses, but if you study at university, chances are you will have to write a thing or two. Even if you don't like writing, here are a few tips:

Stick to the formatting guidelines. In psychology, we use APA guidelines, which detail the structure of a paper, fonts, title formatting, and much more. It's super tedious but also an easy way to get down-graded if you don't stick to it. Make sure that you know what is expected and follow it. The same goes for word counts.

Know what your professor wants. Sort of contrary to the first point, but some professors have special rules that they want you to stick to. When in doubt, I would always follow what the person grading you tells you to do, even if it goes against some official guideline.

Get feedback on your writing. For example, write a couple of paragraphs using different writing styles (e.g. formal vs. informal) and have your professor check them to see which style they prefer. You might not always get the chance to do this, but if you can definitely get some feedback. You could also use office hours or ask if it is okay to submit a draft to get more feedback.

Learn more about how to write. Believe it or not, I've had several classes on how to write throughout my four years at university. I don't consider myself a good writer at all, but these classes have shown that there are certain tips that anyone can use to become a better writer. The book Style: Lessons in Clarity and Grace offers a good idea of what you could improve if you need to do academic writing.

Use a spell and grammar checker (I use Grammarly).

Proof-read. Always.

Get organized

To be fair, this is probably the one I struggled most with throughout the last years. Again I would like to give a few examples:

Have a calendar. Or two. Have a central place where you keep all of your deadlines. Take some time at the beginning of the semester to create an overview. I personally use Google Calendar, which allows me to import all of my lectures and course deadlines.

Time block. I've only very recently started using this method but it is a real game-changer. Whatever you plan on doing, put it into our agenda with a designated time frame. For example, I planned on learning Python this summer. Now instead of just winging it, I always put it into my Google calendar.

Have a central to-do list. This is such a good tip when you feel overwhelmed, too. Just take an empty sheet of paper and write out EVERYTHING you need to do. Once you have done this you can sort according to urgency and start making a schedule. The crucial point is to not use your brain as a to-do list, but an external system that you can rely on.

Prepare. This ties into some of the previous points. I use the summer holidays to prepare for the next year. I write out requirements for each class, read through the syllabus, and check out if there is some required reading so I can get a head start on. It can make the first few weeks a lot less stressful.

Learn about learning

I'm big on self-help and I watch a ton of studytubers and follow studyblrs and studygrams. Of course, it is entertaining, but it has also inspired me in so many different ways and quite literally changed my life.

In this post, I tried to put together a comprehensive guide with what has worked for me. However, everyone is different and chances are not everything that works for me will work for you. This is why it's so important to gather inspiration from different sources. When you encounter a study tip: Try it out, see if it works for you. If it does, great. You just found yourself a new strategy. If not, just let it go. At least now you know what doesn't work and you have gained some experience.

If you're looking for a place to start, I absolutely adore Ruby Granger and I've learned a lot from Ali Abdaal. I can also recommend @lovelybluepanda, who is one of the main reasons I got into languages.

Thank you for reading through this long post & happy studying!

#study tips #study motivation #studyblr #dark academia #4.0 gpa #straight a student

47 notes · View notes

tealin · 4 years

Text

Cape Crozier: The Spiritual Journey

As usual, please check out http://twirlynoodle.com/blog to see this post and others in their original (functioning) formatting.

Since getting seriously into polar history, I kept hearing the same two things from polar veterans. One was that I could not possibly understand the story properly, or be able to depict it truthfully, unless I visited Antarctica myself. The other was that Antarctica changes people. This was unanimous amongst scientists, historians, and even tourists: one cannot help but be profoundly affected by contact with Antarctica; that is just a fact of the place.

I have certainly been changed by Antarctica indirectly. The inner kernel of “me” is the same in my earliest memories as now, but the Terra Nova men and their experiences have fundamentally shifted how that kernel views and relates to the world and the people around me. I am a vastly better person for their influence, and that is a large part of why I have been so dogged in getting their story to a new audience: the hope that, through my work, even one other person might be changed in the same way.

When I finally got the chance to visit Antarctica in person, I had half an eye out for signs something had happened. Two weeks into my visit, I had learned a lot and had some meaningful experiences, but I couldn't say I had changed at all. Maybe that initial action-at-a-distance was the change I had been promised after all.

Then I went to Cape Crozier.

As we have spread around the planet, humans have noted certain places as being special in some way, places of some sort of power, or where the spirit world is a little more tangible. The Celts called these 'thin places', where the fabric of reality is threadbare, and Something Else comes a little closer. One can have a 'thin' experience anywhere, but certain places seem to encourage them. They may remain completely unmarked, or may become loci for centuries of pilgrimage, or anything in between, but they exist in some form in every culture except, perhaps, the post-Enlightenment intellectual West.

Antarctica, generally, feels like where the edge of a painting dissolves into brushstrokes. There is a certain unreality baked-in: the sun wheels around the sky without setting, one can count on one hand the species of life regularly seen, and everything – the landscape, the weather, the distances – is so vastly out of proportion to puny humanity. One could argue that this 'unfinished' feeling is because so much of it is white, but I have travelled through many snow-covered landscapes, and they feel like landscapes covered in snow, not fundamentally blank places with a few suggestive details dropped in by an artist whose main attention was elsewhere.

Cape Crozier was something else entirely, though. It is, of course, hanging off the edge of Ross Island, but it felt more like it was hanging off the edge of reality itself. It is a thin place par excellence. And I had an experience there which I have been trying to process since landing back at McMurdo. When I tried to discuss it with friends, my ability to speak quite simply stopped. Then the pandemic, and the new house, and pushing through Vol.1, all rose up and drove it to the back of my mind. In February I wasn't ready to talk about it; here in October, I worry it's too late. But I feel compelled to share what happened there, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I ever will.

If this were a novel, at Cape Crozier I would have felt the thinness of time, and a closer connection to the dead men I had followed there – perhaps almost to believe they weren't dead at all! In such a place, that didn't seem impossible. But that is not what happened. Nor did I have some sort of enlightenment beamed into my head from the heavens. Even the word 'happened' is too suggestive of some sort of discrete external event. If you had asked me, there, at the time, I'd have said I was just sitting there thinking. But I sit thinking a lot in life, and this was not the sort of thinking I am used to. It was more like a revelation. Not in the trumpets and angels sense, but in a literal one: layers of clutter and gloss were pulled back to reveal a simple underlying truth. It was, in essence, a dose of perspective, a view from high and far enough away to see the big picture, and not the surface detail. As I sat at the base of a boulder, gazing at the stone igloo and gawking at how completely insane were the men who dragged their sledges to this desolate nowhere to build it, I suddenly saw my life as it appeared in the Author's notes.

Ever since first getting the inkling that this story would make a good graphic novel, it has felt like a calling. I said 'no' to the calling for years – some sort of cosmic wrong number – but when I finally said 'yes' everything started falling into place. That is supposed to be a good sign, for a calling. And I was happy following it, though it wasn't easy or comfortable. As far as I could deduce, under my own power, it seemed like what I ought to be doing. That is not to say there weren't doubts, especially in the grey light of a winter morning when I would lie in my rented bed, looking at my desk and wondering what on earth I was doing with my life. And I was not untroubled by other concerns: Shouldn't I be more helpful to my family? Why have I been persistently unable to find a tribe, or a relationship? Will I be allowed to stay in the UK? Can I do this work and keep myself fed and housed?

Here, on a wind-scoured ridge on the edge of nowhere, reflecting on its history of unbelievable and, it could be argued, pointless hardship, one might expect to realise the folly of one's ways, and to swear off quixotic enterprises in favour of the hitherto unappreciated quotidian stuff that really matters. But that is not what happened. Instead, I got this dose of clarity:

I am here to tell this story. Not here, at Cape Crozier, in this instant (although that too), but here, on this planet, as a human being. This is what I am for.

Whatever I need to make it happen will be provided. No less, and no more.

Everything else? Tangential. Not worth worrying about. What needs to happen, will happen, and if it doesn't happen, it didn't need to. And that's OK.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

When I was young, we had a puzzle of the United States of America. It was made of Masonite, and the pieces were cut out in the shapes of the states, which would be assembled to fill the recessed outline of the country. Because they were geographical shapes and not interlocking jigsaw pieces, they would slide and rattle around until the last one got wedged in and locked everything else in place.

Most of my life, I have felt like that rattly puzzle. I didn't realise it because I had never known there was another way to be. But there under the boulder it felt like that last piece had been dropped in, that secured all the loose ones. It was not that Cape Crozier was my missing piece and now that I had it I was complete – that is far too literal. The missing piece was a something that wasn't even a thing; rather, in that moment of clarity, I felt all the jangling bits come to rest, and a wholly unfamiliar solidity. At last the clay wobbling around the potter's wheel had been centred, and I felt a metaphysical ground beneath my metaphysical feet that I had not known it was possible to feel.

Ironically, the rest of the day I felt like I wasn't touching the actual ground at all, perhaps because what I was anchored to was on another plane entirely. The stumbling shamble through the wind back to the helicopter might as well have been happening to someone else. We took off into the gale, and though the pilot acted as though it was perfectly ordinary, when we were rounding the ridge he said 'wow, that's the rotor all the way to the left' which I didn't understand but didn't sound great. Nevertheless the sense of peace persisted, and I understood how, in his last letter to his wife, which he knew would be his last, Wilson could have kept insisting 'all is well.' (I knew why he wrote that: he had read Julian of Norwich. But now I understood why.)

The journey back was a transcendence all of its own, the beauty of which seemed to be a perfectly natural outward manifestation of that altered state. We touched down in time for me to make it to the Galley just as it opened for dinner, so we couldn't have been gone two whole hours, and that seemed absurd to me – surely I had sat under that boulder for two hours at least? Or had we only been at the igloo ten minutes? It was impossible to tell.

What I wanted more than anything was to go up a mountain and ponder the whole thing, alone, until it sorted itself out and I was ready to come back down again. I could have gone up Observation Hill, but the weather looked liable to turn into a proper blizzard at any moment. So, lacking a better option, I went to go eat, and, after having a chuckle at the Cherry Turnovers, slunk to the back where I could usually count on having a small wallflower table to myself, especially this early. But one of the larger tables was full of young dudes talking about bar fights they'd been involved in, and I just … couldn't. So I wandered into the main area and discovered the One Strange Rock crew having an early dinner as well, begged a spot at their table, and ate swaddled in friendly natter instead of at one with the universe in a blizzard. It amounted to much the same thing.

Eventually one of them said, 'You went to Cape Crozier today, didn't you? How was that?'

I made an exploding gesture around my head and said 'Pkhhhh.'

Cherry wrote that the Winter Journey 'had beggared our language'. I am sure that my inarticulate gesture is not what he meant. But at the same time, in fact at that very dinner, I realised something about his writing. The Winter Journey chapter is unanimously regarded as the finest part of The Worst Journey in the World. Some people question that this otherwise unremarkable country gent, who never produced another book, could have written with such profound and expressive talent, and they posit that his friend and neighbour George Bernard Shaw, who definitely did consult on the book, must have ghostwritten it. I have read enough of Cherry's writing – in his own hand – to know this is bosh; the voice and the style are distinctly his. What's more, I was surprised to discover, when going through his journals, that a large portion of the Winter Journey chapter was not written last, despite it being the last to join the manuscript of Worst Journey, but was in fact written in his bunk at Cape Evans while he was recuperating from the experience. In the published book, he singles out some passages as being from 'my own diary' but great tracts of unattributed narration are more or less verbatim quotations as well. The experience related therein feels so immediate because it was.

The rest of Worst Journey, while perfectly readable, is largely a narrative rewrite of Cherry's and others' diaries. Sometimes he lets others carry the story for pages at a time. His writing is undeniably good, but is often simply mortar, filling gaps and binding sources together to tell a history that no human invention could better. The Winter Journey chapter, on the other hand, reads like a torrent of pure inspiration pouring through him onto the page. That such vivid, timeless prose should have come from an exhausted 25-year-old in his bunk in a wooden hut is no less remarkable than from a jaded 35-year-old in the library of his country house.

Artists of all stripes will often say that their best work is not their own creation, but feels like it already existed and came through them from somewhere else. It's as if there's a great Beyond where things that need to come into the world – stories, images, performances – queue up for passage through artists' minds and bodies. Sometimes one taps into it by luck; usually it's a combination of training and discipline that makes the link traversable, from time to time. Perhaps artists' minds are their own thin places, in a way. Sitting there at dinner with my friends, I felt as though I'd brushed against the fabric between this reality and that Beyond, and, like touching the wall of a tent in a rainstorm, broken the surface tension and allowed something through. I felt like, if I just put pencil to paper, something could flow through me, if only I could narrow down a subject. With the intensity of his experience, Cherry did not so much brush against the wet tent fabric as punch a hole through it; feeling just a small inkling of that myself, it was no wonder that the creative energy poured into his diary with such intuitive eloquence.

Had I sat down to write this that night, perhaps I could have tapped into that flow, but I didn't feel I was ready. I can guarantee you that right now I am not tapped into anything but a vague and dwindling recollection. As vast as the experience was, by putting a box of words around it, I cannot help but reduce it to the confines of the box. But that is the best I can do under my own power.

Compared to the seismic transformation of character brought about by my first vicarious encounter with Antarctica, the insight at Cape Crozier was very small and personal, but once in place, the ramifications have been substantial. When I arrived back home, just before Christmas, the world was still as it ever was, but I was different, and I noticed how differently I related to everything. Things I loved about Cambridge, which previously made me desperate to stay, I appreciated no less, but valued instead as something I had the honour to enjoy for a while, and didn't need to hold on to. A young-adults group which I'd hung around, formerly a precious simulacrum of a social life, now felt hollow, and I abandoned it in favour of time spent one-on-one with the handful of people who I really appreciated. They all said I seemed different; one person said I seemed 'sad', but I think I had just taken the mask off the seriousness which tends to frighten people. I have never been afraid to be myself, but in recent years have tried to mitigate that self in relation to others; there seemed no point to that, now. It was as if my inner gyroscope had finally started spinning, and I had a sense of balance and orientation that I hadn't before.

Holding on to the clarity of that moment, and the centredness it brought me, has not been easy. It didn't keep me from panicking when my housemate excoriated me back in March. It didn't focus my mind on my work as soon as I'd moved into the new place, or save me from getting angry and frustrated when battling my tax returns. Sometimes it's very hard to remember at all. But I know what happened, and I can remember remembering, even if I can't recapture the feeling itself. Sometimes, when it's very windy, I seek out a high open place in the hope of feeling it again, but it hasn't worked. Maybe it doesn't need to. Having it once was all I really needed, and even if I succeeded in flicking those switches again, what good would it do that hasn't already been done?

I could not foresee, on that windswept ridge on the edge of reality, where the world would be in 2020. In wry moments I think I was only a few months ahead of a large portion of humanity, who have been forced to sort things out when the pandemic stripped away their preoccupations and illusions. Maybe you are one of them, and you recognise some of what I've described. Maybe you feel like you've been running away from it. Maybe you have been running towards it but have been unable to find it. All I can tell you is: it's worth the seeking.

I wish everyone in the world could visit Antarctica, even just once, and see how it changes them. The world would be such a better place. I am so profoundly grateful that I had the chance, and am determined to pay it forward by bringing some shred of that experience to as many people as possible. If my communication fails to bridge that gap for you, then take it upon yourself to find your own thin place. They are all around. It only requires that you be receptive, and undertake to look.

#antarctica #travel #spirituality #purpose #mountaintop moment #cape crozier #epiphany

76 notes · View notes

poptod · 4 years

Text

The Ivory Haunting (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His face is engrained into your head but his name is nowhere. Where does he exist? Why are you so obsessed?

Notes: this is strangely creepy and i dont know why. its not what i meant to do but i think its cool anyway. gender neutral as fuckin always WC: 3.1k

There's this carving – more of a bust or sculpture – that has your mind twisted every which way. It's a stupid thing, really, but you can't get his expression out of your head, and thus it haunts your waking and sleeping hours. The style is Egyptian, you think. He's wearing a crown on his head, one that you've seen in a couple museums before, and he has an absent smile on his face. While you scroll through the endless amount of photos of ancient Egyptian statues online, you note that it's an all too common expression.

At this point you can't even recall where you first saw it. Could've been through the endless internet surfing or the many museums you visited in your travels, but at the end of the day you're stumped. What was his name? Where did you meet him?

It's clear as day. His alabaster skin. He looks straight at you with empty eyes, the irises having eroded many years ago in the hot sahara sun. His nose has long fallen off, leaving behind a jagged scar that drags from his brow down to his lips, where that haunting smile sits so easily. They're full, his lips – sweet, and soft, even for stone. At each end are little dips, showcasing the slight smile. His chin is a little big, but it makes way for the sharp contrast of his jawline. He has cheekbones – mostly hidden behind the crown – and his ears are a little large. The trait that draws your attention each time is his eyes. Blank. Like they had truly been staring at the world for thousands of years.

You don't get out much anymore, not since the restrictions were put in place. There are moments, especially in the dead of night, in which you want so desperately to leave your tiny apartment, but the curfew states otherwise. Policemen and government workers roam the streets and you'd rather not get into a tussle over something so small as an urge.

Still, you stare outside your window, wondering why it feels like you're suffocating. This is how you spend a lot of your time nowadays, staring at the streets. There's hardly any cars out, and the sidewalks are barren, a sight you'd seen only once before during the original quarantine. London is not a quiet city. It's quite the opposite, and to see it muted is in the least upsetting.

Your job is... easy. Considering the state of the world, you're incredibly lucky, retaining your job and keeping away from the outside. You also get a lot of free time. Usually you'd spend it in front of a television, or in a good book, but now it's in front of your computer screen. The typing marker flashes in front of you, placing behind it the clear words you've searched at least a hundred times by now.

ANCIENT EGYPTIAN BUSTS

By now you know what the first images are going to be. Nefertiti, mostly – her bust is by far the most famous. Then there's of course Akhenaten with his elongated skull, followed by several advertisements for Kemetic worship.

You don't know much about Egyptian history. Or, at least you didn't use to. Now you recognize the faces, though rarely do you ever remember the names of the many forgotten dead. You're just looking for one – one name, one bust, one dead man.

He's nowhere, not in the books you buy or the articles you read. When you sign up for an online course of ancient Egyptian history, you expect to see his face in a textbook, but he's not there. Sometimes it feels like you're the only one who remembers him, which is funny – you don't even know him. Either way it's a way to occupy the time, since you have so much of it lately.

The British Museum is reopening. There's a whole thing about COVID, of course, and the only way to enter is to get tickets online. Only a handful of people are allowed inside the museum at once, and since you don't hear about it until later, you are set to wait a month and a half before you can visit. Bitterness wells up in the pit of your stomach, but like most things you set it aside. None of it really matters anyway – yes, not knowing his name feels like drowning mid-air, but it won't kill you.

From the moment you reserve a ticket to the moment you can actually use it, you dream of him every night. Sometimes it's actually him, no longer a statue, taking your hands and leading you somewhere you don't belong. His skin is warm, unlike his statue, but just as soft as you imagined. His nails are meticulously cleaned and his eyes are bright, full of a life you're desperate to understand. It doesn't make any sense. You're yearning so deeply for him, for something you've never known before, and every second away feels like pure horror in your veins.

Why do you need him this much?

You look at yourself in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair that falls in front of your eyes. You're dressed well – at least comparatively to your former few weeks of dress – and a quiet excitement thrums in your heart. Today is a day you're going to go out, and to make it better you're going to the museum. They have an Egyptian exhibit. A foolish part of yourself hopes you'll find him there, nestled in the corner of a long and fruitful hallway filled with Egyptian statues.

It's... disappointing, to say the least, to find out there's only one room for Egyptian exhibits and it's occupied by only one thing, besides broken pots and stone dolls. The main exhibit's name is Ahkmenrah, a young Pharaoh older than the Great Pyramids of Giza. All information on him can be fitted onto a four by six stone plate. While standing in his room, surrounded by hieroglyphs you've been studying hard to understand, you look him up on your phone. There's little mention of him, but the one article you do find on him has a 3D recreation of his face. He looks white and you know the article's bullshit.

While absently holding a conversation with one of the curators, you discover there's a store of Egyptian exhibits kept underneath the museum that aren't fit for showcase since the downsizing. Whatever that means, you find a sliver of hope, one that pales quickly at the realization you'll never be able to go down there. They wouldn't let some random visitor (who wasn't even an actual historian) to go see closed off exhibits.

Fischer, the director of the museum, hires you four months after you send your resume in. The second he does you set your plan into motion – there's no time to waste.

The same day he gives you the keys, you're sneaking in under the cover of night. For some reason, the lights are still on in the main museum, but fortunately that's not where you're headed. You unlock the backdoor, sneaking through the night guard's break room until you find the door to the basement. Flipping through the keys on your ring, you quickly find the right one, shoving it into the keyhole and almost wrenching the door open.

You run down the stairs. It's almost sprinting, but you can't be too loud with your shoes. There's nothing in your mind except him, his funny little smile, the somehow soft alabaster of his skin. You need to get to him. Something inside you says he's here – he's here, he's here, and there's nowhere else you can be without your whole body combusting.

You stop dead in your sprint, chest heaving as you're faced with the open boxes filled with Egyptian busts. With frantic eyes you look them over, searching desperately for one familiar face, finding none until the very last open box.

It's here.

He's here.

The broken nose, the formation of the resulting scar, you recognize every. Fucking. Inch.

Each box contains little notes on who the statues are (if known), the material, the time period, and other such relevant information. Your hands shake as you reach forward, slipping the piece of paper out of the paper stuffing.

King Ahkmenrah

Date: ca. 3,100 - 3000 B.C.

Period: Old Kingdom

Place of origin: Egypt, Cairo

Medium: Ivory

Ahkmenrah.

Sudden clarity strikes you as it never has when you recall searching his name online. He's the exhibit. He's the mummy upstairs. He's actually here.

The blood in you freezes for a moment, caught up in shock and relief. Now you know his name. A small part of you is finally able to rest with the answer, but the rest of you knows exactly what to do – go upstairs. Find the exhibit. Lay at his side. After all this time you still don't know why, but the ache of neediness in your heart is enough to leave you weak to your inner desires.

Now that your head is clear, or at least unhindered by your questions, you note a worrying amount of sound coming from upstairs. Footsteps pound on the ceiling as you climb the staircase, leaving you curious and terrified. That many people shouldn't be in one place – it's a death wish for the modern plague. You grit your teeth, fingers curling up in to fists that dig your nails deep into your palm. Is it safe to go upstairs? There's definitely people up there and you have no idea who they are. The museum could be being robbed right now and you wouldn't have a clue. It's a death wish.

Why are you still going up the stairs?

Why are you opening the door?

This shouldn't be happening. There's enough people to fill the whole first floor, ranging from the public entrance of the museum to the African exhibits in the back. Almost all of them are wearing historical outfits, in such a wide array you might've thought they'd stolen them from the exhibits, had they not looked exactly like the wax figures. The marble statue of the Roman on his horse is no longer on its' pedestal. Actually, he's talking to a woman a few feet away from you, though he is still on the horse.

You should be passed out on the stairs going by how fast your heart is beating, but instead you stand in the doorway petrified. Your eyes sit wide, scanning back and forth over the crowd, searching for something you don't know of. With all the stimulus in front of you, you don't even know what to think. The exhibits must be coming alive. Does someone watch over them?

It's then, with little clarity in your head, that your eyes land upon the night guard. She doesn't look in the least bit rattled, so you easily assume she's used to this. Her calm is so alarming to you that you blink yourself back into your body.

These are... people. Just people. They haven't been put under some curse that'll bring chaos to the world. All they're doing is partying, and though the noise level is a tad unpleasant, it's just about as rowdy as some teenagers.

When you realize you aren't in danger, you bolt from your place at the door. Twisting through the gathered crowd, you slowly make your way to the staircase, ascending with quick feet as your eyes lock onto the Egyptian hall. It's a few more feet until you turn sharp, shoes squeaking as you slide into the room. The familiar gold lighting greets you, shining off the open sarcophagus, which you skid to a halt in front of as your lungs desperately try to catch up to your legs.

Of course it's empty. Your Pharaoh – or Ahkmenrah, you suppose you should use his name now that you know it – must be downstairs, where the life of the party is. Why would he stay up in this empty room, all alone? From here you can barely even hear the music that was once pounding into your ears. Still, for a moment you stare at the bottom of the vacant coffin, caught in the awe of such a long-standing history.

"What are you doing here?"

The words catch you by surprise, and in reaction you whip around, eyes wide as the voice continues, "who are you?"

My King. Before you can even process the thought, the words roll onto your tongue, but to your immense relief you catch yourself before actually opening your mouth.

"I..." it barely comes out with how little you've physically spoken recently, "I work here."

As usual, your voice carries that quiet, calm, slightly annoyed tone that makes people wonder why you're being so difficult. It's not really something you can control, but the King doesn't seem to notice. Maybe it's worked to your advantage this time; despite your racing heart and frozen feet, you keep an even tone.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," the King says, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. You try to back up, but you're already pressed against the sarcophagus, and his glare keeps you from running.

"I just started today," you answer honestly.

"Ah," he says, his voice softer the moment he begins to believe you. "This must be rather alarming for you, then."

You're not afraid to admit he's right.

"A tad. How do you speak english?"

"I learned it during my time at Cambridge University," he answers. He's from over 4,000 years ago, so you know he didn't attend as a student.

"You were on display there?"

"Yes," he says with a bright smile, one that catches you entirely off guard.

It practically blows you away – his demeanor changed so quickly, from a stern Pharaoh to a sweet, young man who probably bought his girlfriend flowers every Monday. For a moment you wonder why you were so caught up in him before knowing him; now that you've heard his voice, seen the way he moves, your interest increases tenfold. It's not enough to see him. You need to touch him. You need it more than anything.

"I've been looking for you," you blurt out, but the words come out so slow it sounds like you consciously chose them. You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch his smile falter.

"What do you mean?" He asks. He's standing in front of you now – if you extended your arm and took a small step closer, you'd be touching him.

"There's a sculpture of you," you say softly, swallowing the lump in your throat, "but I didn't know how to find your name."

"How'd you find me, then?" He asks, but he looks less offended. Now there's a keen look in his smile and in his eye, like he's going to enjoy this, like he knows something you don't.

"Sheer luck," you say with a shrug. It's mostly true.

"I think I know you," he says, and his smile quirks further upward.

"What?" You say, trying to back up again as he steps closer. The sarcophagus is, unsurprisingly, still behind you. "How?"

"Back when I was a King, I had a slave my brother killed," he says in the least comforting tone, "but my father had this idea."

Another step closer. You can feel the heat of his naked waist on your shaking hands.

"See, he had a magician in his employ, and he would do anything for me. Especially since I loved that slave so dearly. Truly," he leans forward a little, placing his hand on the gold case behind you and trapping you against him. His chest is practically right against yours, but what you are close enough to feel is his breath, soft on your collarbones. "And so my father retrieved the soul with a special spell and sent it into the future, to possess another at birth, and to lie in wait until I called for it."

You can't feel your – well, anything. There's a pressure on your chest, but you can't tell if that's your wildly beating heart or just his warmth skewing your senses. All you can do is stare up at him wide-eyed. He can't be telling the truth. Magic doesn't work like that, it can't work like that, that's a sick story and he's telling it like it's nothing more than normal. Possessing a newborn child. Sending souls into the future. It can't make sense. You almost feel bad for your past self – under the employ of someone so cruel as to take a soul from the afterlife for his own pleasure.

But he's standing before you. He's 4,000 years old, and he's standing in front of you, pushing you against his own coffin and trapping you there. Do you belong to him, then? Is that why you can't get him out of your head?

"When did your search begin?" He asks softly, a gentle curiosity evident in his brow.

"A – about a year ago," you say, your voice so broken and shaky you're surprised he understands it.

"Last winter?" He asks knowingly, almost sweet, like he's doting on you. Then comes the part that really makes it shine; he reaches up and pets your hair, moving in long, soft strokes.

You nod, unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. How red you must be by now.

"I called on you then. It took you a little while, but I'm glad you made it," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Unfortunately, I suppose you haven't retained any memories, since you didn't know my name."

"I guess not," you agree quietly. "I just have instincts."

"Instincts?"

You're reluctant to share with him the many instincts you'd had even in the short time from meeting him to now. The pure need to touch him. Past You probably had a crush on him, and even though you aren't really that person anymore, there's a need inside you to hide that fact from him.

"I wanted to call you my King when I first saw you," you admit, your voice still quiet in hopes of him not understanding you.

"You won't have to call me that anymore. Maybe a tad around my parents, but when we're alone you may use my name."

"When we're... alone?" You question nervously, heart pounding at the thought of spending more time with him.

"You do work here, don't you?" He says with a sly grin. "I think I'll be seeing you quite a lot."

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh God.

If this is how you react just from spending five minutes with him, you can't imagine spending whole nights at his side. You'd explode. From what you don't know yet, but the pulsing rush in your heart is strong enough to worry you, and very rarely do you ever worry about yourself. The words in your head – your immediate reaction – simply won't pass. You can't bring yourself to say them, so you say what he wants to hear.

"As long as you want to."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

123 notes · View notes

jocia92 · 3 years

Link

(Google translated)

Dan Stevens, who grew up in Wales and south-east England, spent his summer holidays at the National Youth Theater at the age of 15, and he was drawn to the stage while studying English in Cambridge. Since his big breakthrough as Matthew Crawley in the hit series “Downton Abbey”, he has also repeatedly appeared in films such as “Inside Wikileaks - The Fifth Force”, “At Night in the Museum: The Secret Tomb” or “Beauty and the Beast” . Most recently, Stevens played the Russian Schnösel singer Lemtov in the Oscar-nominated comedy “Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga” from Netflix. At the beginning of June, the German film “Ich bin dein Mensch” by Maria Schrader celebrated at the Summer Berlinale Premiere, which starts on 1.7. comes to German cinemas regularly. Stevens plays the role of a love robot in it. Unlike on the screen, however, the 38-year-old prefers to speak English in the zoom-conducted interview. He chose a brick wall with a lion motif as the digital background. No allusion to the song “Lion of Love” from “Eurovision Song Contest”, but a photo of the famous Ishtar Gate in Berlin’s Pergamon Museum, where “I am your human” was filmed last summer.

Mr. Stevens, in your new film “I am your human” you play a humanoid robot that is entirely geared towards fulfilling the romantic needs of a skeptical scientist. You yourself recently described the film as “delightfully German”. How did you mean that?

I wanted to say that here pretty big questions - such as what actually makes a person or how much perfection love can take - are negotiated in a very light-footed, elegant and sometimes humorous way. In my experience that is a very German quality. At least I have often seen with many of my German colleagues and friends that they are very good at not discussing difficult issues exclusively deadly serious and melancholy.

Where does your personal connection to Germany and the German language come from?

My parents had friends who lived in Bielefeld and we used to visit them in North Rhine-Westphalia during the school holidays. Traveled from England by car! That’s how I learned a little German as a child, and later I learned it as a subject at school. I even did a short internship there through our friends in Bielefeld. I really love the language. Funnily enough, I was later able to use my knowledge of German professionally, because my first film was “Hilde”, in which I was next to Heike Makatsch played the British actor and director David Cameron, who was married to Hildegard Knef. After that, I always hoped that there might be another chance to speak German in front of the camera, because playing in a foreign language is an exciting challenge. When the chance arose to shoot “I am your person”, I could hardly believe my luck.

Did you know the director Maria Schrader who gave you this chance?

Funnily enough, when the script for the film landed on my table, I had just watched the Netflix series “Unorthodox”, which she directed. I had also watched a few episodes of “Deutschland 89”. In general, I knew that she was a great German actress, not least because friends who knew their way around the German theater scene often raved about her. Working with her was a joy now. Her understanding of actors is quite instinctive and brilliant. I have seldom seen someone who can help an actor who is having difficulties with a scene with such simple means.

The fact that you had already seen “Unorthodox” shows, of course, how quickly “I am your person” must have been implemented in the past year …

Oh yes, that was really quick. In March I was still in New York and was about to premiere a new play on Broadway. But then the pandemic came, everything was canceled and I flew back to my family in Los Angeles. A few weeks later, Maria and I met each other via Zoom - and shortly afterwards I was sitting outside in a café in the Berlin June sun for the first time in months to discuss the upcoming shoot with her. That was pretty surreal because I hadn’t actually left the house since March.

Is it correct that you oriented yourself to Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart to portray the romantically programmed robot Tom?

In any case, these were role models that Maria and I spoke about. When you think of the game between the two of them, you always see an enormous clarity and directness. Cary Grant, for example, was always quite funny, especially in his romantic roles, but also flawless in an almost artificial way from today’s perspective. I found that very suitable for a robot. Apart from the fact that the ideas that Tom and his algorithm have of romance and love are certainly also shaped by the classic romantic comedies from Hollywood. Oh, the woman is sad, so I’ll bring her flowers! Such automatisms from the stories from back then were very appropriate for Tom now.

Keyword role models: Who shaped you in your career as an actor?

There were of course many. Jimmy Stewart was certainly something of a role model. My mom and I watched a lot of his films when I was little and I was always impressed by the kind of sweet tragedy that went into all of his roles. But maybe Robin Williams’ work influenced me even more. I always found the incredible variety of his films remarkable. He could make his audience laugh hysterically like no other, but also move them to tears in other roles. I always wanted to emulate this range.

In fact, the range of your roles is enormous and ranges from the Disney blockbuster “Beauty and the Beast” to a comic adaptation in series format such as “Legion” to bulky independent films such as “Her Smell” or the horror thriller “The Rental “, Which we just released on DVD. Is there a method behind this diversity?

Not in principle. I like variety, but I’m not just looking for roles that are as different as possible from one another. Rather, there are always similar factors that I use to select my projects. Sometimes there is a certain director that I really want to work with. Or the role itself is irresistible because it presents me with acting challenges. And sometimes a script is just fantastically written and I am interested in the topics it is about. With “I am your person” it was definitely the latter, especially since the timing was just right. In 2020 there were so many societal questions that ultimately touched the core of human existence. Such a script, which deals with something very similar in a light-footed way, was just fitting.

A few years ago you said in a questionnaire from the British Guardians that your greatest weakness was not being able to make up your mind. So every time you are offered a role, do you ponder whether you should accept?

No, no, when a script appeals to me, it actually does it very quickly. It’s such a gut feeling. If I’m unsure and skeptical, that’s a good indicator that this is not the right thing for me. That with the difficulty in making decisions related rather to something else. For example, it takes me forever to order in a restaurant because I can never decide what on the menu appeals to me the most.

You became famous with the role of Matthew Crawley in the series "Downton Abbey”. Did you immediately suspect at the time that something big was going on?

At first we were all pretty clueless. There are really many British history series, and we were one of them. When the first season aired in the US and was a huge success there, it was pretty unexpected. I never expected the impact the series would have on my career.

Barely ten years later, are you still being asked about the role?

Oh yes, regularly. Probably nothing will change about that either. I got out after three seasons!

In the meantime, however, the flamboyant Russian singer Alexander Lemtov from “Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga” should also be a character with whom you will be immediately associated, right?

Right, it has been mentioned more and more recently when people recognize me on the street. This charming, silly film obviously had a nerve with the audience last year in the middle of the corona pandemic. Especially since the real Eurovision Song Contest had been canceled.

The film was the number one topic of conversation on the Internet for a while - and Lemtov GIFs and memes were everywhere. Did you follow that?

It was really hard to avoid it. I wasn’t looking specifically for what people were posting. But of course my friends passed a lot on to me, and there were already some very funny Lemtov things. But he’s also a figure made for GIFs.

Another question every British actor under 40 has to put up with these days: Would you like to become the next James Bond?

Oh, of course, everyone gets to hear this question again and again who meets certain criteria. But it is completely hypothetical. Although a few years ago I read in an audio book by Ian Fleming’s “Casino Royale”.

You mentioned earlier that you and your family have lived in the United States for a long time. How big is your homesickness?

I actually feel very comfortable in Los Angeles. But every now and then I miss the sidewalk culture of European cities. People on foot, street cafes, things like that. Last year the longing for it was particularly great, although it was of course clear to me that there was a state of emergency in Europe too. In any case, I found myself reading books that were set in Europe and made me homesick. Which is why the unexpected trip to Berlin was really a boon.

You are also an avid cricketer. That’s certainly difficult in Los Angeles, isn’t it?

There are quite a few cricket clubs here. The only problem is that the few people who do the sport here are so good at it that I have problems keeping up. That’s why I always lose sight of the matter here a little. Even as a pure TV viewer, it is not easy to stay on the ball, because of course there is no cricket broadcast here at prime time. But as soon as I’m home in England in the summer, I really want to play again!

#ich bin dein mensch #i'm your man #dan stevens #maria schrader #faz.net #interview #long post

12 notes · View notes

cousinwingding97 · 4 years

Text

Silver Memories

Chapter Four: New Plan

Warning: Description of violence.

Realized this did not upload in the format I was hoping for at first. 😭 Sorry about that assault on your eyes. Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Mando stayed with you throughout your entire episode, gently caressing your scars absentmindedly while whispering in another language to you. Your shaking body finally calmed enough for you to breathe normally. The tears dried and you had enough strength to pat Mando’s arm to get him to notice you were ready for him to leave while you freshened up.

He did so immediately, without making you feel like he was trying to peek at anything. Despite his actions and his words about the memory, you were shaken to the core. He still could’ve been lying, but your mind was at war. The feeling of security would not leave; yet, the violence in his voice in your memory sent chills down your spine. He may have done something and now you were temporary allies. Or maybe you were allies because of your lack of memories. You had no idea. Boba had said not to trust anyone without your memories and despite your dislike of the man, you were inclined to agree with him.

You stepped into the shower and let the scalding water burn your skin. The pain helped you focus on the now. I am in a shower and safe. The water feels good to my bones and I am safe. That’s all that matters in this moment.

The steam fogged the fresher, but your mind was clearer now. You would be flying by the seat of your pants from now on. That’s all you could do. One day at a time.

You found no clean clothes, so you grabbed the towel to dry off as best you could and threw on the white ones from Pollis Massa and the cloak. At least your body was a little warmer now.

———————————————————————

You stood in the hold of the ship, waiting for something to click in your mind to tell you what to do now that you were by yourself. You assumed Mando and Boba were up top in the cockpit flying you back to Pollis Massa; truthfully, you did not want to go up there and talk to either of them at the moment, but the thought of being alone with your thoughts was not an attractive option considering how your mind was finally feeling clearer to you. So, up the ladder you went to see if you could at least find some form of human interaction with them.

You should’ve known better. These men were deathly quiet. They didn’t even look at you as you entered the cockpit. You knew they heard you, yet they did not acknowledge your presence. You didn’t bother talking to them, not knowing how they would take it. You wanted to ask questions though. These men knew the past you. They knew and had deemed it necessary not to tell you anything. You fidgeted with nerves, the questions rolling through your mind one after the other. You opened your mouth multiple times to ask something, but promptly shut it not knowing how much information you would get.

��What is it you want to ask?” Mando inquired. He must have sensed the endless questions in your mind. Unknown to you, he had heard your start of questions multiple times with your mouth opening and promptly shutting with a clack of your teeth through the the enhanced hearing of his helmet.

You tried to think of the question you wanted answered the most. There were so many.

“Who am I?” You blurted out finally.

“You’re going to have to narrow that down, little one. He can’t answer your whole backstory without giving you another panic attack. Your head has to sort it out. Too much information and it won’t be able to handle it,” Boba interjected before Mando could say a word.

You stared daggers into the back of his head. Sure, he may have experience with memory loss according to Mando, but did he have any true idea? The humiliation of relying on others when you should be able to piece together everything yourself was beyond irritating.

As if sensing your anger, Boba turned his seat to face you, “You may not like my input, girl, but it is for your own benefit. You think your fit down there was bad? If Mando tells you the wrong thing or too much it could shut your brain down permanently from the trauma. Your brain is trying to heal on its own. Give it time and we’ll see if those at Pollis Massa can help. If not, then it’s up to you and your brain. So, be angry all you want. It won’t help you one way or another.”

“Easy for you to say when you have all your memories and a purpose,” you snarled back.

“You aren’t listening. Mando can’t give them to you. You’ve got to learn and heal. Until then, try to refrain from asking.”

Mando turned towards you now, “Runi, it’s for the best. Boba Fett’s right. I can’t answer everything. It truly is for the best. We’ll figure it out together.”

“You said you can’t answer everything, but can you answer some things?” You couldn’t help the spark of hope that lit your face and ran through your body with a warming glow.

Mando looked to Boba with the silent question and Boba just shrugged in response, “We’ll see. If you want to ask, go for it. I won’t answer you if it seems like a bad idea.”

You nodded your head excitedly since you would take anything at this point. Boba’s advice of not trusting anyone until you got your memories back still echoed in your mind, so you figured clarity would be best to discover if you could trust these two or not.

“Who are you?”

The Mandalorian froze with unnatural stillness. Boba snorted with amusement, but they were silent.

“Oh come on! You can at least start from the beginning. I don’t know you, so pretend it’s the first time meeting me.”

He thought it over and decided to play along, “I’m a Mandalorian.”

You groan in frustration and drop your hands onto your hips to further show you annoyance, “You do realize that means nothing to me and I don’t know what that is, right?”

Mando clears his throat in discomfort, “Sorry, usually people know us by reputation.” He shifts in his seat and fully faces you, “I live by a Creed. The Creed of Mandalorians is a serious one. We live in secret, train from a young age, and defend our people. We are a warrior clan. Our Creed never allows us to reveal our faces in order to maintain the secrecy of our identities to keep us safe. We used to live on Mandalore, a planet in the Outer Rim before it was destroyed by the Empire, so we have adapted. Learned to be bounty hunters, protectors, mercenaries. Whatever it took to survive.”

You have a lot of questions. So many more to add on to what you already have in your head. You blurt out the first one, “So you’ve never taken your helmet off? Is that why both of you keep wearing them all the time?”

“Easy there, princess. I’m not a Mandalorian like him,” Boba interjects, “I’m just a simple man making his way through the universe. Following my father’s footsteps and his ways. He was a Mandalorian and I wear this to honor him.”

“So, why don’t you take your helmet off? Is it against your rules?”

Boba doesn’t hesitate and reaches his fingers under the helmet. It comes off with a hiss and he turns to face you. His face is scarred. He has no hair, he is more tan than you would’ve expected for someone wearing armor all the time, but his face seems set to a permanent scowl. He looks scarier without the helmet. Not because of the scars but because of the eyes. His eyes look dead, emotionless. You can’t stare at them for long. You choose to look anywhere on his face, but his eyes.

“I wear it because people are intimidated by what they can’t read. What they don’t know, they fear. It has nothing to do with a creed. Just plain business tactics.”

These men were truly strange. You had no idea why they needed to be anymore intimidating than they already were. They look like they could break your bones with fairly little effort. They also sounded like they were in a cult, which was definitely disturbing to you.

“Then why can’t you take your helmet off, Mando? Besides secrecy. If you never take it off then don’t you just become just a Mandalorian and never the man underneath? Like how is it a secret if you just become it?”

He cocks his head to the side in thought. He’s silent for awhile trying to come up with an answer when he finally comes up with a simple answer, “This is the way. Spouses of Mandalorians can reveal their faces, but no one else needs to see it.”

You aren’t convinced. This just sounds like an excuse, “So your spouse has seen your face?”

He coughs and sputters out, “Uh no, I’m not... I’m not married.”

“So what if you die without anyone seeing your face? You’ll be unknown? What if someone takes it off forcibly? Are you still a Mandalorian?”

Boba Fett just sighs, “Look, you asking more questions about the Mandalorian isn’t going to help you. I’m tired of hearing your questions. You aren’t getting anything but more questions. I don’t see this getting anywhere except on my nerves. You should just rest.” With that he puts his helmet on and turns away from you.

You want to be angry, but you can’t help but feel like he’s right. The introduction left you more puzzled than you already were about these men. Now there was a whole culture involved on top of the backstories for both them and you. It was a lot to process and your body was weak from your earlier episode. You were cold too still in the wraparound cloak and thin clothes. The thought of relaxing under warm blankets on a soft bed was tantalizingly tempting to your weary body. You left the cockpit without argument in search of comfort in warmth. It did sound like Mando and Boba started speaking to each other quietly behind you as you left, but you didn’t bother trying to pick out any words.

Before you could even explore, there were footsteps behind you. Mando followed you from the cockpit. His cape was in his hands instead of on his back, you noticed. He was wringing it in his hands nervously. He reached you and held it out, offering it to you, “You’re probably freezing.”

As if in response, your body shivered as you brushed his gloved hands to take it. “I am actually. I was thinking of trying to find somewhere to sleep actually. I haven’t properly rested on a real bed for awhile. Well, besides the hospital.” You take his cloak and wrap it around you, easing the chill that you hadn’t realized has set in your bones. Thankfully, the cloak was soft and smelled good. Pine, maybe? It smelled like the silver armor of Mando’s and woods. It was relaxing to your mind. Faintly familiar.

“I’m afraid Boba Fett doesn’t believe in comfort. Even if it is for himself.” He vaguely gestures to the ship and you look around seeing just how sterile everything is. Not a single thing that would reveal anything about the person that owned it. Just metal and cold. Much like the man flying it. “He has a very uncomfortable cot he hardly uses and only lets guests use it if they aren’t bounties. I figured the cloak might help a little too besides...” he waves his hand over your figure, “your thin hospital clothes.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find anything else besides this cloak on Utapau. I appreciate the extra warmth, thank you, Mando.” He nods once in acknowledgement and silence falls on you two. It’s uncomfortable. This man, who is supposed to be a fearsome warrior, bounty hunter is nervous and fidgety around you and it makes you nervous. You try to break the silence with literally anything.

“What’s your full name? Not just the Mando part.”

“Huh?” His attention is now laser focused on you in disbelief, “My name? People call me Mando, but it’s not my name.”

“Oh. I thought since you were Mandalorian, you had a last name to differentiate between all of you. Sorry.”

“No, no you’re fine. I mean, you’re re-learning practically everything. Unfortunately, my name is a secret as well as my face.”

“So, what did I know about you? Anything? You said we were allies, maybe even friends, but it sounds like I know about the same information now as I did then.” The continuous lack of answers is infuriating. Why even bother talking to them if they aren’t going to tell me anything?

Mando matches your frustration with his own, “Why did you leave Pollis Massa if you’re so desperate for information? You were safe there!”

“I thought you guys were the bad guys! All I saw was everyone shooting other people, hanging out with bounty hunters and apparently upsetting the new form of government! I thought about staying, but all I saw was all of you at each other’s throats! What was I supposed to think? All everyone had told me made it sound like Mandalorians are the scariest bunch you don’t want to mess with, so excuse me for being wary!”

“We helped you escape from your cell! You were literally locked up when we found you! And hurt! Does that sound like the hands you want to be in?”

“For all I know, they were trying to help me! You guys didn’t exactly look like the nice rescuing type! All of you looked like emotionless droids armed to the teeth just waiting to kill everything in your path! That doesn’t inspire confidence and from what I saw, you all desperately want to fight all the time!”

Mando doesn’t respond. Without him even saying anything, you know that you messed up somewhere. Just not really sure where or how, but you could swear you feel his anger in your own soul. It overpowers your anger and makes you feel worse for pushing him to this.

He steps closer to you, crowding your space. The armor may be cold, but the heat radiating off of him is scorching you. You take steps back, but there’s only the hull of the ship behind you with its cold biting into your back and now cold armor biting into your front. You can’t look at the black visor staring into the depths of your soul. You don’t know why, your only guess is his reaction, but you feel guilt about something you said. This whole argument feels pointless now.

“Is that all we are? Emotionless because of our helmets? You think we are just murder bots coming to kill and destroy whatever we find? You acted like you knew better when I asked if you remembered me, but if that’s what you truly think, then I won’t hurt your head trying to get you to remember otherwise.” His voice is level the entire time, never shouting, but so cold. When he walks away, you catch your breath you had been holding and somehow, his lack of presence makes his icy words that much worse. You don’t have memories to go to in order to block out the noise of what just happened, so his words are so loud in your head. Berating, cutting, throbbing in your mind.

With tear filled eyes, you eventually find the sleeping quarters and shut the door behind you. Mando wasn’t kidding when he said Boba had lack of comforts. The cot was thin and firm. Like sleeping on a wooden plank. Not that you felt like sleeping.

The argument keeps playing through your head. It’s extremely unfair of him to be mad at me when I don’t even know if I’m insulting someone. I shouldn’t have been so angry, but he could cut me some slack.

You quietly cry in the confines of Boba’s room with Mando’s cloak wrapped tightly around you.

———————————————————————

Sleep was elusive. The anger, pain and sorrow still battered your soul. The ceiling became the most interesting thing to your eyes. You had counted every bolt, seen every shadow and the shapes they made. The grey tones of the ship started blending together with the tears in your eyes to make a stormy scene above you. A part of you could still feel the residual anger from Mando deep in your heart and focusing on that emotion kept you from falling too deep into a depressive state, and the sleep that your body desired.

You couldn’t understand how you could literally feel what he had felt in that moment. Nor the way you could feel the sense of safety that had drudged up from locked memories. It crowded out your own emotions. Your anger had been small compared to the insult he had felt. You were just mad at the lack of answers that they were giving you without even seeming to care that you were drowning in a body that didn’t feel like your own.

The ship lurched slightly with the suddenness of exiting hyperspace. You could feel the thrumming of the engines whine down. Since you had nothing better to do, you sat up and exited the room. Perhaps Pollis Massa will unlock my memories and I can move on with my life.

Slave I landed with a thud and the hatch opened leading to one of the landing platforms you had seen last time you were here. Boba and Mando descended from the ladder and you waited for them to lead the way. Mando took the lead, but Boba stayed on by the exit. You stopped and looked at him wondering why he wasn’t following.

Mando turned when he didn’t hear your footsteps following. When he saw you staring at Boba, he walked back up, “Boba isn’t coming with us. Let’s go,” he reached to grab your hand, but you turned back to Boba Fett, effectively keeping your hand out of his reach.

“Why aren’t you coming with us?”

He leveled his gaze at you, “I have business on Tatooine. A new business deal. I’ve already lost more time than I would like on this adventure. Now go on, you need to get going. You’ll be in my way otherwise.”

This time you felt a hand grab your arm leading you off the ship, a filtered voice sounded right by your ear, “I appreciate the help. Good luck with your venture.” The Mandalorian helmets nodded to each other and both turned away without another word.

You finally wrestled free from Mando’s grip and turned to follow him, “I thought you guys were friends. How are you going to get anywhere without a ship?”

“That’s a thought for a different time,” he answered bluntly. You got the feeling he was still pissed from earlier, so you let the questions die.

———————————————————————

Mando led you to the med bay in silence. The floating droids had led you to the same room you had been in when you woke up. Mando stood to the side of the room, facing towards the entrance as if guarding you. You vaguely remember him saying that he would guard you to that girl Cara. You didn’t know why you would need guarding if this was a safe place, but you figured he wouldn’t answer any questions you had right now even if the silence was heavy as if both of you had storms brewing in your heads, waiting for the other person to speak before lashing out.

You fiddle with the sheets on the bed you had been instructed to sit on while they prepared for all the tests they were going to run. They hadn’t said what that would involve, nor if it would be painless or just scans. Nervousness kept you jumping at any sound you heard from outside the room.

You broke the silence between you and Mando just to hear something besides your racing heart, “Do you think it will hurt?”

He turned his head to you, but not his whole body, “I don’t know,” he turned back to looking out to the hallway.

This is a man sized child. “Not like you would care anyway, I guess,” you whispered to yourself.

Against all odds, he turned to face you fully with a quickness that made your heart sink to your stomach as if he had actually heard your words.

“What?”

Before another argument could break out, the hallway door slid open and one of the floating droids came inside. Mando clenched his fists, but relaxed a little as the droid came over to your side of the bed.

“Hello, Miss. I’ve been assigned to examine your head. You’ve been dealing with memory loss, correct?”

The droid had a tiny mouth that moved with each word. It was smaller. About half your size. The voice was soft, soothing. It calmed your nerves.

“Uh, yeah. I can’t remember anything about my past. My name, family, friends, anything. I heard my mind may have been wiped.”

The droid hummed in response, “Typically, that practice is reserved for droids receiving new owners or prisoners during war. The practice has been outlawed by the New Republic. It could be that, but let’s check your head. It could be injured and a simple injection of bacta directly to your brain may fix the problem.”

“Will any of it hurt?”

“Oh no, Miss. All tests and procedures are painless. Just relax while I do a preliminary scan and we will go from there, alright?”

You breathed deeply and nodded. A hatch by the chest of the droid opened revealing a blue light that started at your face, momentarily blinding you, slowing scanning down to the bottom of your neck all the way back up your head.

“I have my initial scans. I will be back shortly while my colleagues and I gather more information and read over the data. Please, try to relax.” With that, the droid floated away and left you alone again with Mando who was now staring at you.

You wanted to ignore him since his earlier reaction to the argument, which hadn’t eased up the tension from earlier nor his shortness with you.

“I’m sorry for earlier.” You still didn’t look at him as you said it afraid he would see you as weak or just be too angry.

“I was just upset that you guys won’t tell me anything. I get it’s for my own good, but you just keep telling me to trust you; yet so far I’ve been locked up, hurt, shot at, flown to unknown places, hunted, shot into the air, and apparently whipped. You keep telling me that I know you and trusted you at one point. I want to believe you. It’s just feels like you keep hiding the most important things from me. You also got mad at me for something I didn’t even realize was super insulting to you because I don’t know why it would be. I’m sorry for the emotionless comment. I know you feel emotions, obviously. Please, just try to be patient with me. We are starting from scratch, ya know?”

He doesn’t respond and you finally turn your head to try to get a read on him. He’s now right in front of you, which should be impossible since you didn’t hear him with all that armor on. His hands are on the rails of the bed and he’s leaning over you. It should make your heart stop right there staring up at a silver and black helmet that could kill you with a headbutt. Or die by heart palpitations since it’s starting to pound.

He leans further down and gently places his helmet against your forehead. Instinctively, you close your eyes against it. The metal is cool and refreshing.

The absence of sight makes his voice sound less robotic. You can hear the gruff voice underneath the coder.

“I apologize too. You didn’t deserve it, Runi. I’ll try to be more patient. You must understand though, I am used to a different you. Seeing your face, but not the same mind is a new adjustment. I’ll be more patient too, but please extend that same patience with me.”

“I forgive you. You’re right. I didn’t think about how it is for you, but I’m at a disadvantage. You know way more than I do at the moment. Like what does that word mean? The runi?”

His head snaps up from yours in surprise. He fumbles for something to say and acts embarrassed, “It means...”

The hallway door slides open again and the droid floats back into the room. Mando jumps backs away from you before the droid even fully enters the room.

The droid comes to your side again and starts poking you with a needle, drawing blood and more scans. More droids pop into the room with a monitor.

The first one speaks quietly to the others in another language for a bit before finally turning back to you.

“There is good news. Your brain is fully healed. You have no existing physical problems; however, the memory loss is not something we can heal. It is not something physical that can be solved with any of our equipment or techniques.”

“What? You can’t do anything to help?” Mando sounds more upset than you feel at the moment. You hadn’t expected much. You hadn’t had a chance to really think about what would happen if you gained your memories back. Now that you wouldn’t, the sense of hope that had been in your heart, shattered completely. You just assumed you would be yourself again and the old you would be back. There wouldn’t be any reason to be upset or confused anymore. Was there nothing to do now? Were you stuck like this forever now? Learning through painful memories?

You covered your mouth with your hand to hold in the tears as best you could. You felt wet warmth slide down your face regardless. You couldn’t see properly.

“Unfortunately, no. There’s nothing we can do. It does not mean it’s a hopeless cause, however. I am only saying that there’s nothing we can offer you.”

“So, what can you offer us?” Mando grounded out.

“The best we can give you is advice. You need to heal her mind. Taking her to places that mean the most to her might trigger her memories.”

“I was told that would hurt her mind.”

“As long as you don’t push her, it should be fine. Start with important places and take it slow. If that doesn’t work, or if it’s too much of a risk, there are those that claim strong connection to the minds of others. You may try them.”

Mando sighed in frustration, “That’s the best you’ve got? I don’t even have a ship.”

It’s hopeless.

“You can try on of the captains on the landing platforms. They may be willing to give you passage or even sell. This planet is a refugee center now as well. Someone may sell you a ship.”

Mando nodded and the droids left the room. He looked back to you. He crossed the room back to you; once in front of you, he gently grabs your chin to tilt it up to face him.

“I swear, I will fix this. Just stay here and I’ll head down to see what I can find.”

Mando turns to leave, but you shoot out your hand to grab his arm, “Please let me go too. I don’t want to stay here alone with my thoughts.”

He looks back at you and you can tell he’s considering. You’re almost afraid he’ll say no before he finally answers, “Alright. Let’s go.” He reaches for your hand that’s on his arm and puts it in his gloved one, gently pulling you from the bed.

———————————————————————

After hours of talking to pilots, crew, literally anyone Mando and you could find to speak to about passage or buying a ship, both of you found one lonely older, green Twi’lek male unloading everything from an equally older looking ship. The ship had rust along both of its wings that came together in a “V” shape with the cockpit in the middle. It did have weapons and hyperdrive capabilities, much to Mando’s approval. The inside had plenty of room for you and Mando plus any cargo space for supplies. There was a larger refresher than Boba Fett’s. The sleeping nook was larger and more comfortable than Boba’s as well. Overall, the inside was clean and to your liking. Mando just seemed happy about the weapons and hyperdrive with little regard to the rest.

The Twi’lek negotiated with Mando about the price. Mando talked him down for repairs and tuneups that were needed and the Twi’lek accepted. He was anxious to be rid of it in order to retire on Pollis Massa. So, Mando handed over the credits and you both boarded the new ship, The Vanguard.

Neither of you had much in the way of supplies. You literally had the clothes on your back and Mando somehow had more weapons than you could’ve guessed he could hide on his body. The sinking realization that you would have to stop for supplies before you could focus on your memories took hold in your mind. You were tired of stops and delays.

“So, what’s the next step?” You asked Mando from inside the cockpit. He was fiddling with the controls and starting to warm up the engines.

Without turning from what he was doing to respond, “My best idea is to see someone about possible repairs and supplies first. After that, I’m not really sure.”

“But what about-“

“Look, I know you’re anxious for your memories to be returned, but without actual healing, I’m at a loss, okay? If I take you to places that are important to your past, I could ruin your chances and I’m not putting you in that position!”

“Mando, I need my memories. Maybe if we start with my home planet that would be a decent spot to slowly start the process.”

“You never told me where you were from.” He admits quietly.

Again the frustration with your past self rises up, “Why didn’t you ask??”

“I didn’t need to know.”

You groaned out a muffled scream. If you could punch your past self and Mando, you absolutely would.

“So, what do you want to do?”

He’s quiet and turns fully to you. “I do have a friend. She can connect with others on a mental level. Weird magical power stuff. She might be able to help you. We may even find supplies there.”

A friend? He has friends, that are girls? I didn’t think him capable.

You weren’t sure why, but your heart felt like it was corroding with an acidic build up. The thought of the girl made you feel uneasy. You hadn’t even met her, so why did you care? She was a friend and she could help you. You should be grateful.

“Have I met her?”

“Yes.” Of course that would be the only response from him. You rolled your eyes at his lack of explanation.

He caught that look and elaborated, “You liked her. She’s nice.”

It wasn’t much more, but at least you knew she wasn’t mean. It still didn’t shake the feeling that you were anxious about meeting her.

“Where is she?”

“Last I saw, Corvus. Hopefully, she’s still there.” He turns back to the controls and the ship roars to life, “Now sit down. We’re taking off.” You do as your told and watch as the ship leaves the slow, peacefulness of Pollis Massa and fires off into hyperspace.

———————————————————————

Everything within the oxygen filled environment is on fire. Bodies and parts are strewn across the floor. The air smells like blood and burning flesh. Anyone that is still alive, crawling on the floor are wishing they were dead compared to their pain.

There’s one such being in front. A black boot lands on his head, effectively halting his crawl. Leaning down, a man’s voice echoes loudly in the now silent rest area.

“Have you seen a girl around here lately?” A gloved hand fills the vision showing a picture that looks like you to the dying man.

“No, n-no.”

“Pity.” Fear, bone-chilling, unadulterated fear fills your whole body. The voice sounds like Death itself. A red flash and a simple swipe from the gloved hands, decapitates the head from the body and boots move on.

“Lord Laz!” A humanoid black droid comes into focus. “I was able to recover some footage from one of the med bay droids. It shows her with a Mandalorian.”

“Really?” The voice purrs. “Did you find out where she went?”

“Partially. Sounds like they bought a ship and left here not too many cycles ago.”

The asteroid shakes as something explodes nearby. The gloved hands reach up and fire emits from them, burning the surrounding area.

The voice fills the emptiness again, this time with fury, “Find what you can about what ship and then we are destroying this place.” The view changes to show the once beautiful Pollis Massa now turned to ruins.

“Yes, milord.”

The sudden wailing and screams of terror fills the vision. The dreaded voice is gone, but fear and pain are left behind.

——

“Hey, wake up!” You spring out of your seat. A cold sweat chills you further along with the cold of space. Your breaths are labored. You can’t remember where you are until a silver helmet fills your view.

“Relax. It was a just nightmare.”

You shake your head vehemently, “No, I think it was worse than that.”

28 notes · View notes

soybeantree · 4 years

Text

pairing: do kyungsoo x mutant!(reader) genre/warning: it ends in fluff? word count: 4k+ description: sequel to ‘yin and yang’. “does all of this scare you? do I scare you?” just a week long assignment. they told him not to ask questions and to tell no one of what he saw there. honestly, his thoughts hadn’t even drifted to what could possibly be going on inside. for sure he never even considered you. a/n: august installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is gone’

Following Sensei's movements, you track the flow of energy through his body and force yours to mirror his. Even after three years, the task is difficult. With each breath, you release excess energy and bring the remaining under control.

"You're agitated." The words are a vibration on Sensei's lips, but the sound waves find you. Your brain translates them into words. Unfortunately, the reverse is impossible. You meet Sensei's eyes and shrug. The movement earns you a reproving glance and a shift in your internal energy. Breathing out, you refocus.

These sessions are a brief reprieve from the onslaught of testing and training which have defined your life since the success of your experiment. You dread their end, but as the energy of your guards approaches, you finish your movement and come to a stop. Sensei stills beside you. He hums, a soft, simple tune. His farewell. You smile and harmonize with him as the doors open to the meditation room. Your guards wait on either side, two perfect pillars of order. You bow to Sensei and walk through the doors. The guards fall into step behind you, ready to ensure you have no misstep on your way to your training session. As if you have ever deviated from your schedule.

The scientists have boiled down your skills to two categories: energy expulsion and energy absorption. You long ago learned how to light bulbs without popping them and progressed to powering an entire building. However, solving the energy crisis was never the intention of your experimentation. The military personnel want a weapon, and as they have yet to find a way to weaponize energy expulsion, they have switched your training to energy absorption.

Energy absorption is easier than expulsion. Energy seeks you out. Grabbing hold of it and coaxing more out requires little effort. However, releasing the excess energy in non-catastrophic ways proves more difficult which is why your sessions with Sensei continue. Even with Tai Chi though, the training always leaves a prickling of pain across your skin and, depending on the amount of excess, can leave you incapacitated for days.

Incapacitated days are few and far between now which is why your training has progressed from pulling from a continuous source to spontaneous absorption...i.e. grenades. They pull the pin, drop the grenade, and you have to absorb the energy before it creates a hole in the floor. So far, you've had to move to a practice room with a dirt floor because concrete holes are too annoying to fill, and for your safety, they erected a blast wall between you and the detonation zone.

Today's training goes the same as every one for the past month. Your ears ring with the sound of the explosions and fresh holes litter the practice field. Plopping down, you focus on the energy at your back. The scientists stalk about, arms flying as they jabber back and forth. Pulling on the energy of their words, you catch the thread of their conversation.

Grenades are low impact and would be the most common explosive encountered during a tactical mission which was why they had started with them. However, your continued failures are leading them to consider alternate methods of practice. A timed explosion would allow for preparation and as you practice instantaneous energy absorption, it would become easier to apply to the grenade scenario.

Opening your eyes, you let the ringing in your ears deafen you. Your guards approach and escort you back to your room. As you drive through the compound, you pass by the remnants of the building which had housed you during the early years of your experimentation. Failed experiments have led to the building's destruction. As always, the building tugs on the memories of the one who allowed your success.

Three years have failed to erase Kyungsoo. If you allowed yourself, you could bring him to mind in perfect clarity. Your veins hold his energy signature. Dwelling on him has no benefits though. Hopefully, he left the army and returned to his life and family, forgetting about you.

Three years is not enough time to forget about you. As long as he lives, Kyungsoo knows he will never forget about you. His mind continually drifts to you, and the promise he made to himself.

His mind often drifts when he really needs to focus. A fist flies at his face, and he nearly dodges the impact. Chanyeol, his sparring partner, laughs at his bewildered expression and retreats to the back of the practice ring where two water bottles wait. Keeping one for himself, he tosses the other to Kyungsoo. After a quick swig, Kyungsoo tosses the bottle back and resumes his fighting stance. While no longer a soldier in the army, he works hard to maintain the physique and the skills he learned during his time in the military. He will need them both to rescue you.

For the remainder of his service, Kyungsoo had pandered to the higher ups and formed all manner of connections in the hopes that he would hear something about you. His work went unrewarded. Whichever military officers worked in conjunction with your experimenters maintained high levels of secrecy.

Chanyeol stalks forward arms at the ready. Kyungsoo watches his feet, his shoulders. He refuses to be caught unaware again. A shoulder falls. He ducks beneath the coming swing. His fist rises and catches Chanyeol in the ribs. Before the taller man can retaliate, Kyungsoo jumps back. Sweat beads his forehead. He wipes it away before it can blind him.

Becoming a civilian again had come with many challenges. The chief one being that Kyungsoo had forgotten how to be a civilian. He returned to his job and his family, but he felt like a stranger living someone else's life. And always his promise lingered in his mind. The promise pushed him back into action. He began to extend his connections. Several times, he caught a whisper of you, but never anything to lead him back. As days turned to months and months to years, he lost hope that he would ever find you. He cleared his desk, removed the spider web of clues from his wall, and closed the file on you.

The sparing comes to an end when Chanyeol pins him to the ground. With a tap, he accedes victory. Chanyeol is quick to his feet and offers a hand which Kyungsoo gladly takes. His muscles ache and his breath comes in spurts.

"You're getting better."

Kyungsoo accepts the encouragement with a nod. Months of practice often feel wasted, but he refuses to give up hope again. Following Chanyeol, the two head out to the next area of practice, marksmanship.

After closing your file, he returned to the monotony of life. Every day bled into another, until one day. He sat waiting at his bus stop, reading a random book someone had suggested to him. A young woman sat beside him. Kyungsoo had been taking the same bus at the same time since returning to civilian life. He knew every passenger on his route by sight. This woman he had never seen before. Something about her made the hairs on his arm rise.

Putting away his book, he stood and started the walk back to his house. Before he could make it five steps, he found his way blocked. He didn't need to glance behind him, but he did. The woman stood there, her face devoid of all emotion. With a nod of her head, a hood covered his face.

For a day and a night, she and those with her kept him in isolated captivity. They wanted to know about you. The experiments performed on you, the extent of your abilities, where you were. He maintained his silence, his promise to you to protect his safety.

As he resigned himself to his fate, he noticed the woman's scars. She stood and stretched, revealing a glimpse of her midriff. Her scars were not the same as yours, but they reminded him of them. When he met her eyes this time, he found they mirrored yours.

"You were experimented on." The words surprised both of them. The woman nodded, a solemn movement. The discussion which followed led to his release and the formation of an alliance.

The woman belonged to a "band of misfits". They were experiments (and those sympathetic to them) who had been freed from their captors and who sought to free others. Their information network had brought them word of you and eventually him, a civilian with direct contact to you. In exchange for providing them with all the information he had about you and your experimenters, they would allow him to work beside them when it came time to free you. The work would be far from easy, the woman assured him. This fact could hardly discourage him. He had the chance to fulfill his promise and would push forward no matter the difficulty. He joined the band of misfits and made a home for himself with them on Frankenstein's Island.

Absorbing energy from a timed explosion is easier than a grenade. You watch the clock tick down, and as it nears zero, you open yourself up. The energy flows into you at the moment of explosion, leaving the bomb an ineffectual husk.

The success of your practice prompts the experimenters to push you further. The bomb before you could level a building. As such, they have moved their observation area to a building on the opposite side of the compound and have evacuated the entire area surrounding your building. You remain in the practice room with only cameras for company. Their red lights blink at you as you stare through an inconsequential pane of bulletproof glass at the bomb which is ticking to zero.

The numbers are green. The clerks probably gave no thought to the color of the numbers on the clock. When you were in high school, the clock on your nightstand had green numbers. You would lay awake at night watching the numbers and wishing they would blur into oblivion. These numbers could blur into oblivion. During that last night with Kyungsoo, you had told him the reason you had agreed to become an experiment. He had saved you then, but he’s gone now. The numbers are disappearing, offering you a second chance.

Your success bolstered the confidence of the military officers, scientists, and doctors. They renewed the experiments with unbridled fervor. Subjects came in by the bus load. None of them had Kyungsoo. None of them had success. In your rooms on the other side of the compound, you felt their energy lose form. Dying won’t stop the experiments, but it will free you from them.

The seconds dwindle away. 1 stares at you, the moment stretching beyond time. You close the floodgates. 0. The energy slips from its shell painting the world in red and orange. Dirt and dust skip along, carried on the wave. You sit ready for the blast to tear you apart, but the energy swirls around like a dog greedy for his master’s attention. It slams into you, flooding your senses. The defenses you spent years cultivating crumble. The energy burns through your veins, erasing all sense of self. You are energy.

Months of planning come to conclusion in a single moment. The date of extraction had been set. Plans had been made, reviewed, memorized. But in a single moment everything changes. He is in training when the news comes. There was an explosion at the facility, you may be dead, the extraction would happen today. Whether you could be saved or not, they would destroy the facility.

The Rescue Center on Frankenstein’s Island is a flurry of activity. The steel building reverberates with the thud of boots and hum of chatter. The Rescue Party moves through the space in a synchronized dance as each part prepares for the coming mission. Kyungsoo follows Chanyeol to where the Extraction Team waits. The team’s gear sits in five neat piles, ready for them. They dress with swift ease. The plan cycles through Kyungsoo’s mind as they head for the first transport. Twenty-eight minutes by helicopter, thirty-four by truck, fifteen by foot.

They shift from helicopter to truck in practiced movements. The rumble of the truck’s engine, the dips and divots in the road, they take him back. For a moment, he sits three years in the past. He is on his way for another night of guard duty. You’ll be waiting for him at the end of the road, needing his help, wanting his company. Instructions come from the front reminding him that this time when he leaves, you will be with him.

“We follow your lead.” Chanyeol reminds him as the truck creaks to a stop. Chanyeol heads the extraction team, but for this endeavor, he defers the responsibility to Kyungsoo. During the planning stages, Kyungsoo mentioned that after his first encounter with you, he developed a sense of you. Whenever he came to the compound, he knew where you were. A useful skill for

the head of an extraction.

He nods, smothering the fear that time may have robbed him of his sense or that death has robbed him of you.

A dense forest borders the back of the compound. Autumn has carpeted the ground with a thick blanket of leaves, but a recent rain dampens them, silencing footfalls. Kyungsoo breathes deep and reaches for your connection, stretching his senses. Heart hammering in his chest, his hope withers before blooming to life. You’re there in front of him, a small flicker at this distance. He stops and, facing the team, gives the signal that you’re alive and ahead. A ripple of relief travels through the men. They continue forward, their feet flying across the slick forest floor.

The compound’s fence looms ahead of them. They halt within the tree line and wait. An explosion and the ensuing shouts are their signal to enter.

Lost in the haze of energy consuming your body, you reach for anything to center yourself. Sensei stands beside you, his energy signature pounding in your head. He is speaking, but his words are lost on you. Whatever he’s trying to do is worthless. No amount of Tai Chi will balance the energy within you. While you had hoped for a quick death, this death is more fitting. You are as you were that first day, and this time Kyungsoo isn’t here to save you.

An explosion breaks through your haze. You scream at the out pour of energy, but it fades. The explosion is too far away to add to your current torment. You sink back into your internal hell, ready to let it rip you apart, when you feel him. The pain rippling through you threatens to steal your sense of him, but you cling to it, focusing every ounce of your will on it.

“He’s here.” You rasp as you push yourself up. The movement sends the world cartwheeling around you in a swirl of color. A steadying hand on your shoulder keeps you from pitching off the bed. “I have to go.” Each word rises like a stone through your throat. You stand and nearly topple.

“You need to lay down. It’s not safe.” The words still carry no meaning, but the hand on your shoulder hardens, keeping you in place. You shrug it off and meet Sensei’s gaze.

Kyungsoo is here. It’s not safe for him here. You have to get to him. If they find out about him, the buses will forever roll through the gates. The words refuse to rise, but you pray your eyes succeed where your voice fails. His grip loosens as his hand slips to your elbow.

Pain laces every step as you struggle down the hallway. The world continues to spin around you as energy seeks you on all sides. Without Sensei, you would crumble. He continues to support you, careful to keep a layer of clothing between your skin and his. Direct contact acts as a conduit. This he learned the hard way during a session. He had grabbed your hand to steady you when he should have let you fall. The shock he received ensured he would never make the mistake again.

People further complicate your journey. They block your way and attempt to return you to the room. You reach for their skin. While the military personal failed to find a way to weaponize energy expulsion, you had. You reveal your secret. Energy flows from you into your hindrances, setting them ablaze in your vision. They scream or maybe you do. The contact is brief. They drop, tearing themselves from your grip. Sensei releases you after the first victim. The ground comes up to meet you, and several moments pass before you realize you’re no longer moving.

His hand returns to your elbow and brings you to a seated position before slipping his arm around your waist and lifting you to your feet. You continue down the hallway. Any other who blocks your path meets the same fate as the first. Sensei holds tight to you each time.

The grounds are a maze of buildings, and Kyungsoo wishes he had explored them further with you that last night. Aside from that night, his exposure to the compound had been the route from the main entrance to your building. He had never seen the back side through which he now navigates.

Keeping his focus on you, he weaves through the buildings, his team following behind. The area remains clear, the forces being pulled to the attack. The team still moves slowly, remaining cautious of stragglers. They round a corner, and Kyungsoo stops. The building before him is not the one he visited each night for over a week, but it is where you are. The sense of you surges through him. His muscles ache as he forces himself to remain still and wait. He points to the building and signals to the team that you’re inside. They shift into position, pushing him back as Chanyeol takes the lead. Carefully, they move across the open space. Guns at the ready, they sweep the area.

“Fall back!” The shout comes seconds before a spray of bullets fills the air. Feet scuff against dirt as the team retreats back to safety in a building’s shadow. Lungs heave, but they are all whole.

Chanyeol checks over them with a sweep of his gaze before sending Minseok around the back of the building to scout the building on their right. He inches around the corner to view the building opposite. The firing has stopped and everyone’s breathing settles to silence.

Minseok returns to inform them that the building beside them has five guards on the roof.

Chanyeol adds five from the building opposite to the total. The odds are against them. They will get picked off crossing No-Man’s land, and even if some make it across, they’ll never make it back. Even now, the guards will be calling for back-up. Whatever they are going to do, they have to do it soon or abandon the mission.

The cacophony of bullets pulls them from half formed plans. They peer from the shadows towards the doorway opposite. There you stand. Even from this distance, Kyungsoo can see the ripples of red and orange rolling across your face. Your body sways, kept up only by the man at your side. The bullets pock the ground at your feet, a warning. One which you fail to notice, but the man beside you does. You struggle against his grip, but he keeps you firmly beside him.

The team retreats further into the shadows, but Kyungsoo remains his attention transfixed on you. His body burns, the energy within him rising in recognition. You still. You hold your head straight as your eyes meet his. A brief smile tugs at your lips, but before it can bloom, your face falls. Your head lolls forward and your body slumps. His heart quakes.

Energy still courses through your body. As he watches, it increases. You’re pulling it in, absorbing it when you should be expelling it. Your confession floods his memory, and he wants to scream and rush across the distance to take your hand in his.

“The guards.” Chanyeol’s whisper focuses him. The guards are swaying and falling.

“What’s happening?” Baekhyun voices the collective question.

“She’s draining them.” Kyungsoo answers as he steps into No-Man’s land, his gun hanging limp at his side.

The scuff of his footsteps echoes between the buildings, startling the man beside you. He shifts you behind him, and you crumble. Kyungsoo hurtles to your side, and when the man tries to stop him, he shoves him away. Your body convulses with the influx of energy. He can feel your heart racing as it approaches its finish.

“Don’t touch her.” The man warns. “You’ll die.” His hand wraps around Kyungsoo’s wrist.

“No, I won’t.” Kyungsoo pries the man’s fingers away, his gaze continually fixed on you. With his hand free, he reaches for yours. The touch is light, a brushing of finger tips against skin, but energy rips through him, filling every inch of his being. The world burns to life around him.

He can see the energy burning through everything and feel its ebb and flow.

He closes his fist, breaking the contact, and the world shifts back. You lay still. You’re only movement, the rise and fall of your chest. Slipping one arm beneath your head and the other beneath your legs, he stands and faces his companions. They wordlessly follow him as he returns the way they came.

Life passes in a blur around you. Not since the final experiment have you absorbed so much energy. In its absence, you have become an empty shell. Your cells struggle to replenish the vacuum. Waste energy grazes by your skin, but it takes more energy to coax in than it’s worth. The doctors and scientists have abandoned you. It’s for the best though. This is what you wanted all along. If only you could have taken the whole damned place with you, when you went.

Life becomes clearer. Your body begins to work again. The doctors who come to check on you are unfamiliar, and you wonder if you did take down the whole damned place. Your questions lie dormant though, your tongue refusing to form the words. Its unwillingness is due more to the drugs they pump in than your weakness.

As you lie straddling consciousness, memories filter in. The training, the explosion, Sensei, Kyungsoo. That last memory feels like a dream. Kyungsoo had come for you. He was standing there at the corner of the building and staring back at you. But Kyungsoo left years ago.

You wake, fully conscious. Energy swirls about you, and your mind gives it shape: machines, people, a building. As you shift through the shapes, you find one who is out of place. Pushing aside the last remnants of the drugs, you sit up and strain your senses. Your mind remains steadfast though. He’s here. The dream was a reality. They found him. They have him.

Closing your eyes, you grab hold of every stray piece of energy. You rip it from the machines surrounding you. They squeal as they die. The energy races through your veins. The world comes to life behind your lids. Kyungsoo is two floors below you. The building comes to life around him as you focus on the bits of energy which touch its every corner. There. A staircase. Two doors down from you.

Your legs protest as you sprint down the stairs, and you fear how long you have been asleep, how long they have had Kyungsoo, what they have done to him. You push your legs harder and sharpen your focus as you reach Kyungsoo’s floor. Five other people are in the room with him. Direct contact is the best option to disable them, but the meager energy you pulled earlier will only provide a shock, nothing powerful enough to incapacitate. Draining them also requires more energy than you have. Regardless of your current state, you will see Kyungsoo safely from this place.

The door swings open as you reach it. A woman stands wide eyed in the frame, and you reach out grabbing her wrist. She collapses with a howl, and you jump over her. Sweat beads your forehead and you breath in gasps, but you rush towards the next captor.

“OT9, no!”

You freeze hand inches from skin. A chuckle slips out as tears mix with sweat. Turning, you face Kyungsoo. From head to toe, he is whole. No cuts, no bruises, no wires. Jeans and a sweater have replaced his military uniform, but his face is still calm and controlled in the midst of chaos. “What’s going on?” You whisper. “Why are you here?”

“You’re not at the compound. You’re safe.” You collapse, and Kyungsoo is there to catch you. The others leave while Kyungsoo settles you in a chair and begins to explain about trying to find you, how the Misfits found him, Frankenstein’s Island, and the rescue.

“You’re an idiot you know.” You say as his story comes to an end. He blinks at you. “You should have returned to your life and forgotten about me.”

“You’re pretty memorable.”

You calm the fluttering of your heart by reminding yourself that any person who can pull energy and release it like a bomb would be hard to forget. “What’s next then?”

“The island was founded by experiments for experiments. They have a program that you can go through which will help you adjust to life after experimentation. After that you can choose to stay and make a life here or go to the mainland and reinvent yourself.” He states matter-of-factly.

Laughing, you lean back in your chair. “I’ve missed you, Kyungsoo. I was also talking about you, not me. What’s next for you?”

“I’m staying here.” He holds your gaze. “I want to continue working with the misfits and stop people who do what was done to you.”

“So, I’ll get to see more of you while I go through this program that they have?” He blinks, his shoulders sliding back, and nods. You nod, too, grateful to face the ensuing chaos with him by your side.

#hmw #kyungsoo collection #kyungsoo #d.o.#exo #kyungsoo drabble #kyungsoo fanfiction #exo drabble

16 notes · View notes

argent-vulpine · 4 years

Text

The Art of Rising

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Sylvain/F!Byleth

Read it on AO3

He’d told her once, years ago, that he was going to work to become the kind of man she could trust. What he hadn’t said was that he was wanted to be a man she could love, that she could be happy with. Someone she could count on. He didn’t really know when his crush had become something… more.

After she’d fallen, he determined he would keep his promise to her. She was alive; she had to be alive. So he had to keep at it, no matter what.

Even Felix had noticed the difference, though he hadn’t commented beyond a thoughtful hum after seeing Sylvain turn down the offer of a nightcap from a moderately attractive woman.

No one, not even the goddess herself, could have prepared Sylvain for Byleth’s return.

——————

It had been harder than it seemed, getting out of Faerghus so that he could make it to Garreg Mach in time for what should have been the millennium festival, but what would now only be the reunion of the Golden Deer. Hopefully.

Felix came with him, of course, a steadfast friend as always. “Someone’s gotta make sure your dumb self stays alive,” the swordsman had told him.

Neither of them was sure what to expect. They’d heard the rumors of the monastery, that it had fallen to ruin after that devastating first battle, that the Knights of Seiros had scattered when Rhea vanished, most going into hiding from Edelgard’s warpath while the rest tried to find the archbishop.

When they’d managed to get correspondence out, Sylvain had found from Claude that they’d combed the ruins, searching for Byleth. No body was discovered, not a single trace of her had been found anywhere. She’d vanished almost as if she had never even existed, living on in the memory of her students.

Sylvain had taken the news hard, but at the same time… it gave him hope. She hadn’t been found, dead or alive, and she had the power of the goddess. Surely that meant… something?

——————

Their arrival at Garreg Mach went initially unnoticed, despite the early hour, which considering the rumors was a bit of a surprise… until they heard the faint sounds of fighting further into the town. Felix slipped away, drawing his sword; he was of the best use on the ground, where he could use his size and speed to his advantage.

Sylvain, meanwhile, hefted his lance, resettling himself on his horse. It felt so natural now, after years of war and routine practice. Byleth had been right; he was a natural lancer, and he used that gift now, guiding his steed through the town and combining the beating of hooves with the sweeping of his lance, dealing swift justice to the bandits that attacked.

He could hear the distinct timbre of Claude’s voice ringing out from above; looking up, Sylvain caught a glimpse of a wyvern, a flash of golden yellow atop it. An arrow thudded into a bandit that had been turning a corner, dropping him instantly; the Alliance duke gave Sylvain a jaunty salute with an arrow before he was sweeping off to another corner of the town, nocking the deadly projectile as he went.

It was strange how easy it was to fall into a routine with his former comrades. Though their circumstances had changed, and they’d grown into the people he was sure Byleth had known they would be, it shouldn’t have been so easy to rely on Claude – and Leonie, when she appeared – to have his back while he swept through the town. He could even hear Lorenz not far from him, likely doing the same.

He’d fought with these people numerous times, though before it had been largely on foot.

Byleth was right, in the end. This formation, spread out as it currently was, still packed a powerful punch.

He turned a corner, and his heart skipped a beat, breath catching in his throat.

It looked like he would have a chance to tell her exactly that.

——————

Sleeping, she’d said, looking as if she had stepped through time. Or fallen through it, perhaps. Her clothing was as torn and dirty as it had been when they’d last seen her, rushing forward. Nothing about her had changed. He wondered, briefly, if this meant that he was technically older than her now, as frozen in time as she had been.

She’d explained to them what had happened, her memory of the event, when and how and where she’d awoken. They were back at the monastery proper now, in the old Golden Deer classroom.

Byleth walked around the room, seeking out each person individually. Claude had been the one to find her; she’d already caught up with him, the shock of seeing him so grown still there, but duller, replaced by equal shock for everyone else.

He watched her move around the room, speaking quietly to each person. Raphael leaned down enough so that she could ruffle his hair, a soft smile on her lips as she said something to him that made him laugh in that booming voice of his. She exchanged shoulder clasps with Leonie, expressions serious. In this, he could see a glimpse of the mercenary she had once been, and the kind that Leonie had become.

Everyone was different, every greeting tailored to the person. A touch here, soft-spoken words there. Gentle smiles for Ignatz and Marianne; surprise at Lorenz (and perhaps a bit of amusement, too); a startled laugh at something Hilda said, followed by a wry comment that made the pink-haired girl whine; clasping arms with Felix, and a promise to spare later. Sylvain was close enough to hear that exchange, only rolling his eyes a little bit at his friend.

She saved him for last, and he wasn’t sure how he should feel about that.

“Sylvain,” she said, stopping a short distance away and looking up at him. And he realized with sudden clarity that he was taller now, easily a head and a half over her. No wonder she’d needed to stop so far away. If she hadn’t, she surely would have gotten a cramped neck, trying to meet his eyes.

He flushed slightly. “Professor,” he replied, unsure of what to do. Behind Byleth, Felix scoffed silently, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture that Sylvain pointedly ignored.

There was a brief, somewhat awkward silence. “You’re a lot taller,” she said, finally, with a small smile. “I told you the lance would suit you. Have you been practicing your magic?”

He huffed out a little sigh, relaxing the slightest bit. “Yeah, every day. I’m not as good as some, but you were right. It’s a great back-up to have.”

She nodded once, exactly the way he remembered it. “Good.” A pause. “Tea this weekend?” she asked, voice soft.

He almost laughed. Almost. Instead, seeing her expression, he nodded, giving her a soft smile. “I brought some with me.” Just in case, he thought. He imagined she could hear that subtext regardless.

——————

Their ragtag group began immediate work on cleaning up the monastery. Claude wanted to use it as a base of operations, and no one could fault his reasoning on it. It only made sense.

Byleth was there with them, helping to move things. She and Dorothea worked together to make their dorms livable once again, in some cases having to take things from the rooms of nobles they were sure would not be returning. The rug from Hubert’s room went into Dorothea’s; Byleth took the water pitcher from Edelgard’s old space, and spare blankets that had been in the press, largely protected.

The professor had needed to scrounge for a uniform to wear while her own clothes were washed and repaired. Sylvain decidedly did not comment on the way it made her look, though he couldn’t help but appreciate the way it emphasized her curves.

The weekend came around, and things almost felt normal. He willingly took to the stables, finding Marianne already there, and helped her straighten and clean before tending to the few mounts in the stalls. Overhead, he’d caught glimpses of Claude and Leonie leading aerial patrols. Byleth came by with bundles of herbs, harvested from the greenhouse which had been in complete disarray. She’d trimmed back the herbs that had managed to thrive, and was offering small bundles of aromatics to everyone to help freshen up their rooms.

Sylvain took his with a smile of thanks, fingers brushing against Byleth’s and causing a faint flush to stain his cheeks. That night, he tied the herbs to his bed and fell asleep to their pleasant scent.

People had begun trickling back into the monastery, townsfolk returning and setting their homes and shops to rights one by one. It wasn’t as bustling as it had been before, but a slow return to some semblance of normalcy was good.

He caught Byleth in the monastery market the next day, in deep conversation with a merchant. Curious, Sylvain wandered closer; enough to overhear but not so much that he’d interrupt.

“- any news at all?” she was asking, placing things in her basket as they spoke.

“Nothing much. Word’s spread about you all taking back the monastery. There’s a rumor that some of the Knights of Seiros are on their way back to see what’s with the fuss. Us merchants, though, we’re glad to have you back. You need anything special, just ask.”

She nodded, mulling over his words. “Actually… I do have a request.” She leaned forward, beckoning the merchant closer, and began to speak, softly enough even Sylvain couldn’t hear. The merchant looked surprised, but chuckled and nodded.

“Sure enough, I think I can find something along those lines. I’ll send word out right away.”

Byleth gave him a tiny smile and paid for her purchases, turning to face Sylvain, face smoothing back into her typical placid mask. “It’s impolite to eavesdrop, you know,” she said as she approached him.

“It wasn’t really my intent. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I did want to offer to carry your basket for you,” he said, holding a hand out in offering. “You’re much too important to be carting around wares like that.”

There was a moment of hesitation before she sighed, giving in. “Fine, but only because I need to talk to you anyway.”

“Oh? Is our tea canceled?” he asked, frowning. He’d been looking forward to that, as a matter of fact.

She waved a hand in the negative. “Nothing like that. I just… don’t want to talk war during our tea. Starting tomorrow, you and the rest of the Deer will be joining me in the cardinals’ chambers to discuss war strategy and plan our next moves.” She hummed softly, thinking. “One-on-one instruction will resume, too, though it’s as much for your benefit as it is mine. I’d like to see how everyone has improved since… well… since.”

Five years. He had to admit it had been a long time, and he could see she was still struggling with the concept. To her, it had been only a week or so ago. There were going to be lots of changes she would need to grapple with.

“I take it Felix has already gotten you onto the training grounds for a spar?” he asked, laughing at the expression she made. It was subtle, but there, and he was so glad he still knew how to read her.

“He’s still a hot-head, but he has improved a lot. He put up a better fight than before, that’s for certain.” She stopped by another merchant, browsing their wares, and glanced up at him. “I’m expecting your participation in these meetings. Claude has a good mind for strategy but he often gets caught up in his schemes. I need a bit more practicality thrown in.”

She was looking through a stack of games as she spoke, then drew one out and showed it to him. “Are you familiar with this one?”

“Passingly. It’s been a while since I’ve played.”

“Good. So you’ll know the regular rules.” She gave him a brief grin. “There are modified rules I’m almost certain you aren’t aware of, very popular amongst mercenaries.”

From their time spent before the war drinking tea and playing strategy games, he knew that she used them as something of a lesson in tactics, though it was clear they both enjoyed playing in general. That she deemed it important enough to buy for their tea today piqued his interest.

He kept her company as she browsed the merchants’ stalls, carrying her basket the whole while, all the way back to her room at the monastery where she shooed him away so that she could put things away and get things ready for their afternoon meeting.

Sylvain wandered the grounds, unsure of what to do with himself while he waited. He was, perhaps, less surprised than he should have been when Claude popped up from seemingly nowhere, joining him in his stroll around the grounds. They walked in silence for a time, which was the more surprising part, until Claude cleared his throat.

“It’s a little surreal, isn’t it, being back here with Teach, huh?”

“I suppose so. A lot of things are different now, though.” Sylvain glanced sidelong at the duke, who merely grinned.

“And some things haven’t. Teach herself, for example. And… you still like her, huh? After all this time?”

Sylvain shifted away a step or so under the scrutiny. “Who wouldn’t?” he asked. “It’s clear you didn’t think she was dead all this time, either.”

Claude laughed, placing his hands behind his head and giving Sylvain a cheeky wink. “I’m just glad to have my best friend back… and our best hope at winning this. She makes one mighty fine ally.” He paused, his grin turning sly. “Besides, I know when I’m beat. I’ve only ever wanted my friend back, that’s all.”

He caught sight of Hilda and Marianne then, and clapped a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. “If you hurt her, you’ll regret it,” was Claude’s final word, the warning in his voice and eyes clear as day. Gone was the joking demeanor; he was quite serious about this. And then, in a flash, that all vanished, replaced by the happy-go-lucky he presented to the world as he jogged to catch up to the two women.

Sylvain watched them go, a thoughtful frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He’d always thought Claude had a thing for the professor, and maybe he had, but there was no hint of a lie in what he’d said. Not even a tiny bit of jealousy, which Sylvain was sure he would have noticed.

Did that mean… that he really had a chance with her, after all?

——————

She was waiting for him in the gazebo that afternoon, the water already heated and waiting, the board game set up in a configuration he’d never seen before, as he’d expected considering her comment earlier. “I’m not late, am I?” he asked, joining her and taking his seat.

“No, I was just early,” she said with a slight smile. “I wanted to get the game prepared.”

Sylvain stretched his legs out, careful not to knock into the table – or Byleth – as he did, before he leaned forward and added a sachet of bergamot to the teapot to steep.

“Fox and Geese,” she said, straightening up the board. “Tell me what you remember about the basic rules?”

He’d expected this, too, and did as requested. The gist of the game was easy to recall: play as either the singular fox or the flock of geese. To win, the fox had to eat all of the geese, while for the geese to win, they had to corner and surround the fox. The cross-shaped board made both of these things difficult enough to be challenging for even the best players.

She nodded. “Well, this version allows the fox to cut through this circle here,” she said, pointing to a thin line marked by a bit of twine, “if the fox is in pursuit of a goose already and it doesn’t stop in the circle. That circle is like an impenetrable fort otherwise.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, leaning forward to study the addition. “The circle can be anywhere on the board?”

“Anywhere at all,” she agreed. “But no bigger than this. Geese inside are protected, but it also means that they can’t surround the fox.”

He studied the board, considering the new rules, and thought. If a few geese could be protected, untouchable, but also unable to attack… interesting. It was a new layer of challenge to an already complex game.

“So, Sylvain… fox or geese?” Byleth asked, drawing his attention from the board. She checked the tea, seeing it was steeped enough, and poured a cup for each of them, adding cream to hers and stirring carefully.

“Fox to start, I think.”

She nodded, studying the board, and moved the first of her geese.

The game itself occupied much of their time, though they conversed as they played. Every other round, Byleth would change up the rules, dragging from obscurity some variation she’d learned while traveling with her father and his mercenary group.

As they played, she asked him questions about the last five years. It was clear she’d gotten a basic rundown from others and was trying to piece together the larger puzzle, so he told her about the state of things in Faerghus, how he and Felix had slipped across the border in order to make it on time, what he knew of Dimitri’s execution and Dedue’s disappearance.

At no point did she bring up the next steps for the war, only asking about things that had happened while she’d slept. The line of questioning inevitably turned more personal when all other topics had been exhausted.

“How were you doing during all of this?” she asked, now playing the fox and moving her piece to consume a goose. “You’ve told me how Gautier was doing, but not yourself.”

He slid a goose into the protective circle, frowning at the board as a distraction while he figured out what to say to her. “I… I’m not sure,” he sighed, finally. “At first I was just trying to understand what had happened, you know? Edelgard’s attack on the monastery, that dragon that came out of nowhere… what happened to you. So many people were convinced you had died.”

She nodded, having heard as much. Even some of those who’d arrived for the reunion hadn’t harbored much hope that she’d been alive still. Claude had been the most vocal about his certainty she was, evidenced by the meal he’d had waiting when she’d finally arrived so very, very late. “Were you?” she asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

He looked up at her, seeing nothing in her eyes to guide his answer. So… the full truth then? “It was… stages for me. At first, absolutely not. You’d fallen, but no one saw where, or how far. Then as news came in that you hadn’t reappeared, that no one had heard from you… yeah. I thought… I thought perhaps we’d lost you.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, mussing it further than usual. “Then, as time went by and no one found your body, no rumors of your capture, nothing… I started to wonder. Surely Edelgard would have made some big show of it if she’d found you, alive or dead.”

Sylvain gave a forced laugh then, looking away. “After a while, it didn’t matter. You weren’t here. We lost Dimitri, and Faerghus began to crumble soon after. What was the use in wondering or waiting?” He hated that he sounded bitter, but… of course he had been. There had been talk, too, people wondering if Byleth had left them. Given up on them, decided it was too much.

After all, she’d lost so much already. Would he have blamed her, if that was what she’d done? No, he didn’t think he would have, though he would have been… what? Angry? Upset? Sad?

“Your move,” she said softly, drawing his attention back to her. When he looked her way, he saw her watching him, scrutinizing him. She blinked, and the expression vanished. “I still don’t know what happened. One moment I was falling… and then the next, I was waking up on the riverbank. I don’t know where I was, how I didn’t starve to death… nothing. That entire time is empty for me. It was like I blinked and suddenly I was here, now.”

“Professor, I just—” whatever he was about to say was cut off by an alarm cry going up through the monastery.

Byleth surged to her feet, turning and grabbing the Sword of the Creator. He hadn’t even noticed it before, and wondered now if she’d been expecting something. Some attack, perhaps? “Sorry, Sylvain, this will have to wait. Head toward the gates as soon as you can,” she said, and then she was off, her coat fluttering behind her as she ran.

——————

Though it didn’t take him long to retrieve his own weapon from the armory, it was still long enough for things to quieten down. By the time he got to the front gate, the alarm itself was over. He could see the banner of the Knights of Seiros as he approached, and saw Claude and Byleth conversing with… was that Seteth? It looked like it.

He stood a short distance away, Lance of Ruin in hand, and was joined a moment later by Felix.

“You’re late,” said the swordsman, gruff.

“I was having tea with the professor when the alarm went out. Had to divert to the armory.”

“Tch. Excuses.” But Felix didn’t push. He was always armed, but he knew a sword was easier to carry around than a lance.

When Byleth turned to walk back through the gate, he stepped into a position behind and to her left, an honor guard. Felix took the opposite side, flanking Byleth – and Claude – as they made their way to the monastery proper. Byleth glanced at him for a brief moment, but said nothing, resuming her conversation with the duke.

Behind them came Seteth and his honor guard, leading a procession of knights back home.

——————

Sylvain had long ago decided that war was unpleasant. It might have been fascinating to read about, to learn and to study, but actively participating was hard in so many ways. The emotional and physical toil it took from those fighting; the smell of blood, of burning bodies and scorched earth and charred wood; the long, sleepless nights spent planning and organizing and hoping that your strategies worked, and planning your tactics for when you knew they wouldn’t.

It was also, in a sense, very boring. If you weren’t in the upper-most ranks, where all the planning fell, then you had a lot to do during the waiting and the planning.

And in this case, he had a lot of extra nothing to do because he was, of all things, recuperating.

His wound hadn’t been so bad that quick, magical healing was necessary, and normal healing was considered better for the body in the long run, so into the infirmary he went, to be stitched up and bandaged and told – very firmly – not to move and certainly not to get up to any funny business.

Byleth had already come and spoken to him once already, ending in an unexpected heart-to-heart chat he hadn’t really been planning for. He’d thought that would be the end of it, that he would remain in the infirmary until Manuela informed him that he was well enough to leave, and things would resume as usual.

Honestly, he should have known better.

The professor returned that evening, carrying a tray piled with food. It was enough for the both of them, he could tell, and she set the tray down on a small folding table before bringing the entire set-up with her to Sylvain’s bed.

“Manuela informed me that you hadn’t had dinner yet, so I offered to bring it to you,” she said by way of greeting.

“You could have eaten your own first. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I could have, yes,” she agreed, giving a simple nod. “I did not. Eat.”

He frowned at her, but she only returned his gaze with a placid one of her own. They locked gazes for a long moment, until he finally looked away, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. “Thank you,” he said after a beat, pulling the tray closer.

Byleth helped by moving the entire table. When she realized it wouldn’t be as easy to sit in a chair and eat, with how close the food needed to be to Sylvain, she simply changed location, nudging his leg over carefully and taking the now-vacant spot.

Not that he minded. He could feel the warmth coming from her as she settled down, the movement shifting his leg until it was resting against her back. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care, instead focusing on eating her own meal.

It was good, and he was hungrier than he’d thought. Sylvain dug in, a pleased hum in his throat at the first bite. He devoured half his plate before he slowed down, looking up at the professor with a grin. “This is delicious. Thanks for bringing me dinner.”

“You need the energy to heal. I need my best lancer fit and ready, after all,” she replied matter-of-factly, though the soft smile accompanying her words suggested a different reason entirely.

For once in his life, he wisely said nothing, preferring to enjoy her company for as long as she was willing to provide it.

——————

It was impossible to tell, really, who was the most shaken by Gronder: himself or Felix. Or perhaps Ingrid, whom they’d managed to talk down, to bring her back to Garreg Mach with them once she’d been convinced they weren’t trying to kill Dimitri or his soldiers.

She’d known, somehow, that Dimitri was alive; she’d joined with him, convinced she could help him… but she hadn’t told them… and now he was dead for real, run through by Edelgard’s forces.

Byleth had made sure he’d been given as good a burial as they could afford, with a promise to return later, after the war, to have him reinterred properly. She’d always been awkward with grief; Ashe’s loss of Lord Lonato had shown them all that, years ago. And even the loss of her own father had seen her in some strange gray area between grief and impassivity.

Still, she tried. She bade the trio sit, gave them hot tea, had the dining hall send dinner to Sylvain’s room, where the trio had crowded after the news had arrived. She did not try to placate, to soothe. It would have been awkward from her at best. So Byleth did what she knew she was good at; she went back to planning the next stage of the war, and the eventual justice for Dimitri.

——————

The war’s end did not come swiftly. Sylvain thought it would be over with Enbarr, with Edelgard’s capture, surrender… or, as it happened, death. He was there, at the end, watching as Byleth took the final blow, witnessed Edelgard’s sadness and, oddly, her acceptance of the end.

Byleth could not afford compassion, but he knew, having passed by the room she’d claimed that night, that it had been a difficult moment for her. He knew that she had genuinely liked Edelgard and Dimitri both, and that for her, their existence as something like friends was still very fresh in her mind.

She’d done what she had needed to do to end a war, and now it seemed as if that wasn’t the end after all.

Sylvain passed her door again, later in the evening, and saw light seeping through the cracks. “Professor?” he called, knocking on the door. This late at night, she should be sleeping. Then again, he should have been, as well, but everyone seemed to have a lot on their minds.

“Come in,” she said, voice muffled.

He opened the door, taking in the lamplight, the fireplace burning away, and the professor herself, leaning forward in a chair at a desk she’d claimed for herself, fingers pulling through green strands, frustration evident in every line of her body.

She looked up at him, noting his presence, though there was no surprise evident on her features. A half-eaten plate of food sat beside her, gone cold long ago. “Is there something I can help you with, Sylvain?” she asked, weariness heavy in her tone.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing, Professor,” he said, finding another chair and dragging it over to where she sat. “You look like you need some help tiring yourself out.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at him, but his signature smirk was gone. She frowned. “If you’re suggesting…” she began warningly.

“What? Oh! No!” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I mean, if you wanted to… maybe.” At her glare, he raised his hands in front of him. “Kidding! I’m kidding! No, I was meaning more, like… talking it out? Or getting your mind off things somehow. I, uh… I have one of those board games with me, if you’d like to play?” he offered.

Her features softened slightly at that, some look he couldn’t quite place lurking in the depths of her pale green eyes. “I would like that, I think,” she finally said.

“I’ll go get it, then. Won’t be but a minute.”

He slipped out of the room and nearly raced to the one he’d been housed in, digging out the board game and, as an afterthought, a sachet of tea. Neither of them were liable to even want sleep any time soon. Might as well make the most of it.

She made no comment on the addition, instead glancing toward the fireplace. A kettle rested on a table near the hearth, and a pitcher of water. He poured the water and settled the kettle on a hook, swinging it over the fire to let it heat. Magic might have been faster and easier, but they both had exhausted their skills that day, fighting through to Edelgard.

Sylvain busied himself with that while Byleth cleared space for the game, setting up the board and the pieces.

When everything was ready, he joined her, pouring hot water into the kettle and adding the bergamot sachet. He indicated that she should take the first move, and so she did, her tactician’s mask sliding into place as she watched the board.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They were nearly to the end of their first round, half a cup of tea each already downed, before either broke the soft silence that had descended. “I wanted her to surrender,” Byleth said, soft.

He nodded. He’d been close enough by then to see that, but not so close he’d heard what the emperor had said to change Byleth’s mind.

“I wanted to spare her. I think… I think she knew that. And… she knew that I couldn’t.” Byleth swallowed, the words thick on her tongue. “Claude’s future, what he wants… it’s what I want, too. And I believe, I really believe, that Edelgard wanted it, as well. But her methods… how she was getting there… they were all wrong.”

“She was doing what she felt she had to do. I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“But?” prodded the professor, having heard his silent addition.

“But I agree. The reasons may have been sound; her methods were not. I think she trusted that you would carry on where she couldn’t… in a way that she couldn’t.”

Byleth stared at him, searching – for what, he wasn’t sure – before she nodded, the movement slight. “Maybe.” She moved a piece, then looked up at him again. “What is it that you want, Sylvain? Why are you here, fighting, with us?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Professor. You can see right through me, can’t you?”

She smiled then, a tentative thing, while shaking her head. “I can’t, though. Not the way you seem to think.”

“Maybe not. But you’re observant. Surely you’ve figured it out by now?”

“Hm.” The sound was non-committal. Perhaps a little thoughtful.

But for once, he thought he could read her just as easily as she seemed to read him. They said nothing else, returning to the game, until it was finally time to bid each other good night.

——————

“Do you trust me, Teach?” Claude asked, looking at her before turning his attention back to the man standing across the battlefield.

Sylvain shifted behind them, nervous concern radiating from his body. Even Felix was on edge, knuckles white around his sword, though he had not yet drawn it. Nemesis was no joke… but to face the ten Elites, too… ancestors… the ones who’d started this all…

His grip on his lance tightened, resolute.

“I’ve always trusted you, Claude,” remarked Byleth, her tone so calm and even that it eased tensions just by its existence. She turned, sweeping her gaze along her friends, her former students, settling at last on Sylvain with a long look he couldn’t quite decipher. “I trust all of you.” She wrapped her fingers around the Sword of the Creator, raising it up to point at their enemy, and while her eyes hardened for battle, for the first time any of them could recall, she did not look like the Ashen Demon of old. “Let’s win this. For all of us.”

——————

Nemesis fell, once and for all. The Elites were defeated, sent to their final graves by their own descendants. It should have been a night for revelry, for celebration of the end of a long war. Instead, everything was quiet, introspective.

Sylvain found Byleth on the edge of the field, leaning against the trunk of a massive tree, Sword of the Creator at her side., though she made no move to grab it as he approached. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, but still she gave him the ghost of a smile. “Come to check on me, Sylvain?” she asked, cracking one eye when he was only a few steps away.

“Caught me out, huh?” He leaned his lance against the tree before joining her on the ground, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“You have a very distinct footfall,” she murmured with a sigh. “I’ve been able to pick it out of a crowd for a long time now.”

His heard thudded in his chest. “Professor, I…”

“I really need you to stop calling me that.” She opened both eyes properly, tilting her head to look up at him. “You know my name. I’d prefer that you use it.”

“Heh. I guess you’re right. It was just… easier, I guess. We all look up to you, you know.”

“Not from where I’m sitting,” she said, deadpan.

He laughed then, nudging against her shoulder with his. “You know what I meant.”

“Hm.” An agreeing sound. Thoughtful.

The pair sat like that for a long time, looking out over the field, watching the stars come out one by one as the sky darkened. When Byleth leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, Sylvain almost didn’t dare breathe. After a moment he hesitantly moved his arm, resting it around her shoulders and pulling her in close against his side.

She made no comment, no move to get away. It seemed, in fact, that it was what she’d wanted. Perhaps what she’d been waiting for.

He could have stayed in that moment forever, if Hilda hadn’t interrupted, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, to tell them that dinner was ready and they should come eat.

When he helped Byleth to her feet, he thought, briefly, about saying something, until she held up a hand to stop him. “We have a long march ahead of us. Eat and get some rest. Talk to me later, when you’re ready.”

——————

He was so ready that he was early, watching the sky from the window while he waited for Byleth. He didn’t know when, exactly, only that somewhere along the way, his simple attraction had grown to a crush, which had eventually morphed into love. She saw him for who he was, not what he was, and that was something he didn’t think he could ever fully repay. But he’d try. He’d try for the rest of their lives, if that’s what it took. He only hoped that she accepted him in this, too.

Happily ever after had seemed like a pipe dream at the start of the war. Now… now it a possible reality.

The sound of boot-heels on stone drew his attention and he turned, a genuine smile on his face as he waited for that reality.

#long fic #sylveth weekend 2020 #sylveth #sylvain jose gautier #byleth eisner #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #golden deer sylvain #golden deer

27 notes · View notes

aggeog2260 · 3 years

Text

We did it!

We did it! We are at the end of the semester! I’m sure none of us expected our university careers to end up like this, but I’m happy that I had the opportunity to interact with you all virtually. As an International Development Student with an area of emphasis on Environment and Development, I’ve taken my fair share of geography classes. However, these classes do not spend much time truly speaking to the human component of geography. I’ve found it very interesting to learn about the different ways that humans interact with their environment, and the ways in which the environment can impact human cultures, and vice versa.

These three things I know for certain about human geography research…

1. The importance of ethical research. Throughout the course of this semester, I have gained a better understanding of research ethics. I had no idea the extent to which researchers have to go through in order to ensure their work is ethical. However, I am happy to know that things such as the CORE tutorial exist so that ethical research can take place. Any time that researchers are dealing with human subjects or material, whether in the context of geography or not, it is necessary to make sure that the correct ethical procedures are being taken, in order to reduce and minimize the potential for risk (Hooykas, 2021).

2. The role of subjectivity, intersubjectivity and objectivity. While I have come across the concept of ‘invisible backpacks’ before, I appreciated its presence in the course material of this class. I feel as though it is so essential for researchers to understand and acknowledge their own biases and judgements before going ahead with research (Hooykas, 2021).

3. The importance of valid, peer - reviewed sources. The Internet is so full of information that it can often be difficult and complex to find accurate, peer - reviewed sources. It is so easy to Google search something and find a website that tells you everything you need to know about a topic. However, most of these sites are not peer - reviewed, academic sources, and I’ve come to realize the importance of using research that comes from valid, academically sourced sites.

These three things I am still confused by…

1. Coding: I found this unit quite challenging and would say that I still do not fully understand the concept yet. I think that I personally could have spent more time digging into the subject material and developing my understanding of the concept. I feel as though coding is a very important part of human geography and so I hope to continue to develop my understanding of it to avoid confusion in the future.

2. Interviews: I also feel as though I am still a little confused about the differences between structured, semistructured and unstructured interviews (Hooykas, 2021). However, I think that a lot of clarity could come from this should I actively participate in an interview process. I think that the interview process is something that is always a little bit confusing until you actually participate in it.

3. Triangulation: I found this concept a bit difficult to grasp and I think that I still have a lot to learn about it. Moving ahead with my geographic research, I hope to gain a deeper understanding of what exactly triangulation is and how it is used.

These three things I know for certain about me as a human geographic researcher…

1. I much prefer qualitative research to quantitative. I have known since about Grade 10 that I am not a fan of hard sciences. While I appreciate and acknowledge its merit, I personally do not feel as though I am very good at 1) developing quantitative data or 2) understanding it. I much prefer learning about the qualitative stories of a person or situation, rather than analyzing hard data.

2. I’ve also learned about my own biases. Whether these be from my academic or personal background, throughout the course of this semester, I feel as though I have a better understanding of what might be in my ‘invisible backpack.’ This will help me in the future as I continue with any geographic research, as I will have a better understanding of my biases and how they might affect my studies.

3. I’ve also learned more about myself in the context of how well I work with a group, especially a research driven group. I definitely had difficulties navigating this aspect this semester, given the online formatting. Despite this, I feel as though I have a deeper understanding of how I work within a group, in terms of not only how I contribute, but my downfalls as well.

These three areas I need to spend time developing/ learning in order to feel more confident in my skills…

1. Interviews: In a few of my other classes I have had the opportunity to directly participate in research interviews. Through this process as well as through the information I gained about interview processes through Hays’ readings, I feel as though I have a pretty good theoretical understanding of how to properly conduct an interview. However, I feel as though I could stand to benefit from participating in more interviews first hand. A theoretical understanding of the interview process is important and helps in terms of formatting and structuring a conversation, but I think socially, as a researcher, I could stand to gain from more experience (Hays, 2016).

2. Coding: As mentioned earlier, I still have some confusion when it comes to coding. I feel as though I still have not fully grasped the concept and I think that more experience in the field would help me to develop my skills as a researcher. With something technical like coding, I think that it requires practice rather than simply studying a textbook, so I hope that I have an opportunity in the future to work on my coding abilities.

3. One last thing that I hope to work on more in the future is my ability to find valid sources of information. I think that this is a constant challenge for university students, but with the Internet, valid, peer - reviewed sources are more available and accessible than ever! I think that this course helped me to better understand how to properly search for these articles, and my work on the annotated bibliography for my digital storytelling project helped me gain a better understanding of the field.

While I wish I could have spent this semester in person, I appreciated communicating with you all via the blogs, and wish you all the best in your future projects!

Thanks!

April

References:

Hay, I. (2016). Qualitative Research Methods in Human Geography, Toronto. Oxford University Press.

Hooykaas, A. (2021). Lecture Notes from GEOG2260 - Applied Human Geography, Weeks 2, 5, 6 8.

3 notes · View notes

chillax-kass-w · 4 years

Text

After All | M19

[Reiner Braun/Reader]

Happiness seems impossible for Reiner, but he may get there after all.

Read on AO3

[As a note, the format of this story is as follows: chapters actually titled “Chapter _” are current to the Marley Arc, chapters titled “M_” are Reiner’s memories in succession, and chapters titled “RM_” are the Reader’s memories in succession]

Sunlight was filtering through the leaves, and he knew. He knew (f/n) would love these trees. She’d scale them up and down and wonder what their story was. She’d write that story; she’d tell it to him. She’d always been curious like that. He could just imagine her smiling at the adventure ahead of them; he could just see the golden sun in her hair, the life in her eyes.

“Hey, Reiner, got any water?”

His imagination halted at Ymir’s question. “Sorry, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do, even if it is a matter of life and death.” Now that she mentioned it, he was parched. He wondered when they’d get back to the Walls for some much needed rest.

“You’re right about that. This whole thing is bullshit.”

“Speaking of which, we’ve been working our asses off. No food, no sleep, no nothing. Ever since those Titans showed up. That was yesterday, right?” He sighed. “Man, we’re lucky the Wall hasn’t been destroyed. Still,” he held his hand to his head, “you’d think that meant they’d give us a break. And don’t even get me started on promotion…”

“Reiner.” He looked to Bertholdt; his eyes were wide.

“What? Aw, come on, I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Do you?” He chuckled. “No, I think we’ve done enough work to deserve consideration. It’s not easy to act in a situation as messed up as this one. As a soldier, I don’t see what’s wrong with being commended and rewarded for that… It’s just nice to be acknowledged.”

“Mister Reiner, what in the hell are you going on about?” Ymir had an incredulous smile on her face. What was that for?

“What do you mean? I’m not saying that I should be immediately promoted to Captain, you know.”

“Uh… That’s not what I mean.”

“Oh, by the way, where did you guys get that cannon from? I owe you one for saving my bacon.” He sighed. “And (f/n) injured her hand saving me too. Needed stitches. I hope she’s alright. She—”

“Hey!” He jumped as Eren stood with a shout, and that’s when he noticed the steam billowing from Eren’s arms. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Is this some kind of joke?”

“What are you mad about, Eren? Was it something I said?” He held up his hands in surrender. He didn’t understand.

“If you want me to kill you, just keep talking!”

“Wait, Eren,” Ymir held out her arm. Why was she missing limbs? “Whatever he’s saying, it’s not normal. Isn’t that right, Bertholdt? If there’s something you know, then quit being quiet and do something about it.” Reiner didn’t understand what she could be implying. He looked to his friend for some sort of answer.

“Reiner…” Bertholdt couldn’t meet his eyes. “Snap out of it. You’re not a soldier. We’re Warriors.”

Warriors.

1,820 years ago, our ancestor Ymir Fritz made a deal with the Devil.

She gained power.

The power of the Titans.

Eldia’s ethnic cleansing lasted for about 1,700 years.

The Great Nation of Marley incited a civil war and brought seven of the nine Titans to its side.

The Great Nation of Marley won.

The Great Nation of Marley is merciful to the Eldians.

I will become a Warrior and live with my mother and father as an Honorary Marleyan.

I will become a Warrior and eradicate the Devils within the Walls.

I will become a Warrior.

I will become a Hero.

Eyes shut, he realized. Everything had come together. When had it come apart?

“Marcel! No!”

“Take the blame and die!”

“Reiner’s dead. If you need Marcel, I’ll be Marcel.”

“This is the only way we can go home.”

His mother was waiting; he wouldn’t let her wait long.

Complications like her ruined everything.

He’d take her down and show her how cruel the world really was to devils like her.

He couldn’t trample a smile like that, even on a devil’s face.

No one would question the aim of a person who selflessly helped others.

Keep telling yourself that.

She was a good person.

Person?

“You deserve it, Reiner.”

Friend?

He’d become a good liar.

“Well, we’ll go see it then.”

Another lie.

“All thanks to you.”

“Who am I really?”

All you cause is pain.

He couldn’t change her future, as much as he wanted to.

“It’s your choice, Rein’.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

Just do what needs to be done, and keep moving forward.

“Wait, why are you in such a rush?! We haven’t even talked this over!”

“Hey, why is Marco being eaten?”

“It’s not your fault, Reiner. Please, please, don’t blame yourself for things out of your control.”

“Please, Reiner.”

He wanted to forget.

He wanted more.

He understood.

“Look at how beautiful it is, Rein’.”

“They remind me of you… respect, chivalry, clarity of thought…”

He couldn’t afford her.

If only he had the power to douse the flames.

If only…

“I fight for you.”

“I fight for you too.”

“Reiner… I thought I lost you.”

“I thought I lost you, too.”

“Reiner!”

“No!”

No!

Warriors.

We’re Warriors.

“Right… I see…That’s how things are…” He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. All he could do was hold his head in his hands and cry.

It felt as if he’d seen someone else’s memories. He’d always expected to be in this position, but not then, not his own memories. How had he forgotten? Why did he feel so out of control? Had he ever been in control?

“I think I’m starting to see what’s going on here. I thought something was strange. I mean, why would the man who destroyed the Wall risk his life to save Connie? You were taking contradictory actions, but without being aware of it. I don’t know why that happened, but… You were originally a Warrior whose goal was to destroy the Wall, but you pretended to be a soldier for so long, you could no longer tell which was the real you…” Ymir’s words vexed him, or did they pin him? “No, maybe you couldn’t bear the weight of your sins, so, in order to keep your mind in balance, you unconsciously escaped into a fantasy, convincing yourself you were just a soldier who protected the Wall… That caused your mind to split and altered your memories. Judging by Bertholdt’s dumbfounded expression, this isn’t the first time your stories stopped fitting together…” She laughed in the face of his plight. “And not to mention the ultimate irony, you convinced yourself you were worthy of love. Ha! I wonder what (f/n) is thinking right now. She must be—”

“Shut up!” He couldn’t take it, couldn’t face it. “Don’t say her name.” His blood was boiling with regret and determination, duty and the woes of his life.

“My bad, but isn’t it you who shouldn’t be allowed to say her name? Think about it.” She was right, absolutely right. At the thought, he buried his face further into his cold hands. He didn’t want to be seen.

He didn’t want to be there.

“You have to be kidding me. How can you act like a victim?” I don’t know. “What are you even thinking?” I don’t know, Eren. “Why did you even listen to what we had to say that day? Tell me, Bertholdt. Don’t you remember what I said? I was right in front of you two. I told you about the time my mother was eaten by a Titan, didn’t I? About how she couldn’t escape because a piece of the gate you kicked down landed right on my house. You know about that, right?” Yes. “I told you, didn’t I?” Yes. “What did you think? What… were you thinking that day?”

“Back then… I felt sorry for you.” How could Bertholdt answer? Reiner’s entire being was withering away.

“Oh… I see… You two… You’re not soldiers… You’re not Warriors… You’re just murderers. You massacred people who’d done nothing wrong! You’re mass murderers!”

“I know that!” Reiner couldn’t take it. His sins were agonizing upon his back, in his chest, around his neck. “I don’t need you to tell me!”

“Then stop acting like responsible citizens worried about the state of the world! You two aren’t even human anymore! You’re the ones who turned this world into a living hell! Don’t you see that, you murderers?!”

Yes, he could see. He could see very clearly now.

A l l y o u c a u s e i s p a i n.

“So what do you want these murderers to do?! Do you want us to repent?! Do you want us to apologize?! Are you really going to preach to a couple of cold blooded murderers about how killing is wrong?! Will that satisfy you?! The Reiner and Bertholdt you know are gone! And if all you want to do is cry about it, then go ahead! Keep crying!”

He wanted to cry. He wanted to go home.

“You’re right.” Eren’s voice was cold. “Who am I? What do I know? Still, all I can do now… is work. Work hard… to make sure that you two die the most excruciating death possible.”

How could Reiner feel fear when he felt so numb?

“You can’t be for real. Eren, I’m begging you, I can’t put my faith in you if you keep talking like some stupid kid.”

“Like what…?”

“I’m saying there’s no way I’m going along with someone worried about petty little things like that.” She paused. “Hey, Reiner. What was that beast?”

His eyes widened. He didn’t want to talk about that.

He didn’t want to talk about anything.

“Beast? What’re you talking about?”

“Huh, you don’t know? Funny, considering that your eyes were beaming like you were kids when you saw it earlier.”

Eren was confused. “What ‘beast’?”

Ymir shook her head. “Just listen. That Beast Titan is the cause of this recent mess. It was what made Titans appear inside the Walls. Maybe it was testing our strength?” How did she know? “You two are trying to get to it, because, if you do, you’ll be able to go back to your home town, right?”

Before he could even piece together a response, Eren shouted again. “Tell me everything you know!”

“Be patient. I’m caught up in circumstances of my own. But listen, Eren. If you think that everything will be settled if you take care of these two… Then, you’re dead wrong.”

“Then who’s our enemy?!”

If only he knew.

“Our enemy? Well, if I had to say, then it’d be—”

“Ymir!” He couldn’t let her tell Eren. He couldn’t let her go. She was the one who’d ruined their mission to begin with. She had to return home with them. If not... “Do you think this world has a future?” He paused, piecing his argument together. “If you know that much about what’s going on, then think about your plans. Surely you can consider coming over to our side.”

“And trust you? Fat chance! You can’t trust me.”

“No, I can trust you. Your goal is to protect Krista, isn’t it?” Even in his fractured state of mind, he knew how to get to her. That much was obvious, especially with the look in her eyes. “Based on our situation, can you not imagine we can help her in some way? Or… Do you think Eren’s strength is more reliable than ours?”

“What?!”

Despite Eren’s shout, he knew he’d convinced at least some part of Ymir. She was glaring at Eren, presumably sizing him up. “You were thinking of using Eren to escape from here, probably because you thought you had no chance if you let us take you.” She didn’t, but truth was strong in times of negotiation. “To be honest with you, that’s exactly right. And even if you did join us, we wouldn’t be able to guarantee your safety. But, if we’re just talking about Krista… Together, we might be able to make something work. Your tiny little life… or Krista’s future: it’s your choice.”

He was basing this off of his own deduction. Annie had learned much about the aristocratic families, enough to know there was an illegitimate child out in the world. Ymir had told Krista to live for herself, suggesting she had never done so before. And, to top off the theory, Krista had revealed her true name was Historia. That was a noble name if he’d ever heard one.

“Hey, so who’s our real enemy?!”

“Who knows…?” With those words, he knew he’d bought her silence and support.

If only he could buy (f/n)’s safety…

“Reiner,” Bertholdt met him upon his branch, “are we really going to trust Ymir? Her Titan is small, but it was fast. If we don’t restrain her, she could take us out in moments… She… really is the one who ate Marcel, remember?”

How could he forget? That moment was cemented in his mind, his first monumental mistake. He’d let his focus drop for but a moment, and Marcel had saved him. Marcel was devoured by a Titan with long hair and black eyes. There was no second guessing the facts, at least for this memory. There was no disputing the identity of Ymir’s Titan. Her claws and sharp fangs couldn’t belong to any ther than the Jaws.

What if… he’d have been the one devoured that day?

“That’s right. But that’s exactly why her position is clear. She finally became human again. She probably wanted to wander, thinking of only her own survival… That is, until she met Krista. She found someone she valued more than herself, someone so dear that she’d jump into a swarm of Titans for her.”

He’d found that someone too…

“Reiner.” Bertholdt grabbed his shoulder; it brought him back to the moment, but he wouldn’t let it show. “What are you right now?”

No one.

“I’m a Warrior. Don’t worry. I have more reasons for bringing Krista with us than her just being cute. Did you forget? Annie tailed those guys who were loitering around the Training Grounds to see what they were up to. They came to observe Krista from the Church of the Wall, that group that knows what’s inside the Walls. Krista’s an important figure in a Wallist family. In other words, if the Coordinate we’re looking for isn’t Eren, then our mission won’t be over yet. If that happens and we have Krista, it should make the search much easier than it is now.”

“Yeah, let’s put an end to this. Next time we come here, we’ll be able to bring Annie, Krista, and that back to our hometown. And… that will be the last time we ever come here.”

Why did those words hurt so much?

Why couldn’t he use rationale to bring her home?

Why had this happened?

“Yeah, all our duties will be complete.”

His heart wouldn’t be.

But, Bertholdt’s…

He stopped him. “But, Bertholdt, tell Annie how you feel once we get to our hometown.”

If only…

“What?!”

“You stare at her too much! Enough that anyone paying attention would notice.”

“No, I—”

...he could do the same…

“Aw, who cares?” He crossed his arms. “You’re both murderers with little time left, right? Who else but one of us could understand the situation we’re in?”

Could she…?

Then, a sound met his ears. It was so familiar…

He glanced behind him, and there he found something he hadn’t quite factored into their equation.

Green smoke signals…

“Bertholdt.”

“The Survey Corps? Already?”

He readied his triggers. They had to move. “They shouldn’t be able to put together a scouting formation without moving a lot of horses over the Wall. I didn’t think they’d be able to act this quickly… Damn it. Commander Erwin might be with them.” Without a second thought, he shot an anchor above Eren. “We’re up against a tough bunch.”

He should know.

“Huh? What is it, Reiner?! It’s not night yet!”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re heading out now.”

He had to be level-headed. Bertholdt was counting on him. Annie was counting on him. Zeke was counting on him. His mother was counting on him. The entire Nation of Marley was counting on him. What were his emotions in the grand scheme of things? What was he in the grand scheme of things?

A Warrior.

There was a world waiting for his next move. The weight was on his shoulders; he could feel it. And, as he stepped toward Eren, he met his rival head on. “Eren, don’t be stupid and put up a fight.”

Eren laughed; it was forced. “Hey, you don’t need to act so tough. Look at me!” His arms were still healing from being severed, but Reiner knew better than to trust that. “There’s no way I could possibly fight back. Come on...” Reiner knew better.

So why did he let Eren attack him like that?

He was thrown on his back from the force, and Eren was above him, smashing his unformed arms relentlessly into Reiner’s head. He took it for a bit, allowed Eren to tell him to die, even considered it. But then, he found his resolve again. He kicked his former friend to the side, and, when he tried to get back up, he wrapped his forearm around Eren’s throat.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll rip you apart!”

Just one squeeze, and he could kill him.

No, he needed him alive.

As he added pressure to Eren’s throat, he wondered just how it’d come to this. Why did the world have to be so cruel? Why had he been born in this position? Why were the Walls filled with people? Why had she been born inside the Walls?

At this point, he just had to accept it.

So, as Eren’s consciousness faded into nothing, he finally allowed his mind to settle on one thing: getting back home. That’d been his mission all along. That was all he’d ever wanted. Why had he forgotten that? Why hadn’t he stayed the course?

This was all his doing. He had to be the one to fix his mistakes.

As Bertholdt tied Eren to his back, Reiner planned his next course of action. The Survey Corps was too close for comfort, as were the Titans. Bertholdt had to carry Ymir on his back as well, so their mobility was limited. The situation just wasn’t in their favor.

Once Ymir was situated, Reiner and Bertholdt shot into the trees, and the Titans below followed. He gritted his teeth. “For now, we need to head somewhere with no Titans. Stay as far away from them as possible. I still haven’t recovered, and my Titan moves slow, so if we get surrounded, I won’t be able to protect both of us.”

“Then why the hell didn’t we wait ‘til night?!” Ymir shouted over the passing wind. “Oh… Signal flares?! So the Survey Corps came to save us?!”

Looking over his shoulder, he groaned. “Damn it, they’re already close. This is all because Eren got violent.” They had to get to the other side of the Titan Forest, and quickly. They were low on gas as it was, but, if they could just outrun the Titans, he could transform. It was open ground from there. They’d have the advantage.

“Reiner! It’s Krista!”

“What?”

“Krista’s with them! Now’s our chance to grab her!”

That wasn’t part of the plan. “You’re full of it! No way you can see that far!”

“I know she’s with them!” Ymir’s voice was desperate, demanding. “That idiot is too kind-hearted for her own good! She came to rescue me!”

That wasn’t part of the plan.

“Even if that’s true, we can’t go now!” He turned forward again, toward the mission. “We’ll get another chance!”

“What?!”

“We can’t grab her the way things are now! There’s no way to bust up that formation! Wait for our chance!”

“‘Wait for our chance’?! When’s that going to be?! After one of your Warrior pals eats me?! No! I can’t trust you!”

“Trust me! I’m not lying when I say we need Krista too!”

Just trust me!

“Prove it then! Prove it to me, right now! I need it to be now ! I want it to be now… At this rate, I’ll never see her again!”

At that, Reiner fell silent. His mission was in his eyes, but his heart…

I’ll never see her again…

“We can’t.” It was Bertholdt who answered, calm and collected. “Right now, we don’t even know if we can escape safely ourselves.”

He had to assure someone that a life would be saved, even if it wasn’t the one he truly wanted.

“I promise you! We’ll save her, I swear it!”

She was silent for a time. Then, as they continued their flight, she shouted, “I’m the strongest one here in this terrain.”

Reiner turned to find her grabbing at Bertholdt’s face, covering his eyes. “Ymir!”

“Ymir, stop!”

“Shut the hell up and think for a second! I’d be able to dominate this terrain, don’t you think?”

Bertholdt’s next anchor barely hit its mark. “Ymir, stop, we’ll fall!”

“That’s fine with me. My Titan might not be as strong as yours, but I can move quickly through the trees. I could grab Eren and rendezvous with the Scouts before you even knew what hit you. Wouldn’t be that hard.” At her threat, Reiner found his footing on the next tree he anchored to and stopped. They couldn’t risk it. “If you don’t take Krista right now, I’ll make a nuisance of myself here.”

Why couldn’t she just go along with the plan?

“Are you completely insane?! We won’t be able to save her that way! All because of your selfishness! I thought that you genuinely cared!”

“I do, in my way. Even if it means robbing her of her future, I want to survive and see her again. As a person, I’m really lower than shit… But she knows that, and she smiles at me anyway. You two don’t know what that’s like, do you?”

He did…

“Damnit!”

“Don’t be mad. I’ve thought this through. If I fight here, it’ll make it easier for you to escape! Or,” she glared at Bertholdt, fire in her eyes, “we could always tear each other apart instead! You think I’m nuts?! Then try me and find out!”

They couldn’t risk fighting here and now. If they did, the Corps would catch up, and they’d be too exhausted to fight them or even run away at that point. Ymir was right; she had the upper hand in this situation.

Damnit…

“Fine! We’ll keep heading to the edge of the forest! You better follow through, Ymir!”

“I will!”

With that, she let go of Bertholdt, falling behind them into a burst of lightning. The plan seemed to fall with her.

Even so, Reiner had to push forward. They still had Eren. He was more than enough, but the Jaw Titan was a priority too. He had to retrieve it. It was his own idiocy that caused them to lose it. It was all him. If he couldn’t bring it back to Marley, he was an absolute failure.

He already felt like one.

The edge of the forest was soaring into view. Their future was somewhere on the other side. As they switched positions in holding Eren, he all but held his breath. If Ymir didn’t come, what was the course of action? If—

“She’s here, Reiner!”

There she was. If she’d returned to them, that meant she’d succeeded in nabbing Krista. Somehow, the plan was working. Somehow, it didn’t seem all for naught.

“Good.”

So, just as he had so many times before, he held a knife in hand, and he jumped from the trees. It was all muscle memory from there. He eyed his hand as the blood trailed into light, and he wondered what the pain really felt like. He’d never felt it. The wound always closed as soon as he transformed.

(f/n) had felt it...

Lightning.

Ymir and Bertholdt latched onto his shoulders, and he ran. He ran, like he had the day they’d come there. He ran like he had, with Bertholdt and Annie on his shoulders. He ran, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Open sky, open land awaited his feet. He was finally free.

Why did it feel as if that wasn’t the case?

Upon his shoulder, he heard a cough. Krista must have woken up.

“Ymir!”

“Krista… No, Historia.” Ymir must have exited her Titan. “I’m sorry I ate you out of nowhere. You must be mad, right?”

Left, right, left, right…

“What is this? What’s going on? We came to rescue you and Ere—”

“You don’t need to rescue me! Things have changed! I’m with Reiner and Bertholdt now. Like it or not, you’re coming with us! There’s no future inside the Walls! Hear me out for a second, okay? Life outside isn’t as bad as you think. Believe me. There’s no one out here saying the world would be a better place if you’d never been born.”

Think again.

“Yeah?! I don’t think Titans would say much either way! They’d be too busy trying to eat me!”

“We all have our shortcomings, right?! They’re not so bad if you look past that! It’s complicated, alright?!”

“Ymir, I don’t know what’s going on in your mind, but you’re not making any sense! It must be… that Reiner and Bertholdt forced you to do this, right? They threatened you!”

From his other shoulder, he heard Bertholdt voice his own thoughts. “It’s the opposite, actually…”

“I’m right, aren’t I?! Let go! Whatever they’ve got on you, I don’t care! We can fight them! Put the past behind you! What matters is right now! I’m here! I will always be your ally!”

If only…

“Ymir!” Bertholdt. “In case you haven’t noticed, the Scouts are closing in. If we’d left earlier, there might’ve been a decent chance of outrunning them. Going back for Krista was your idea. You forced us. Remember that? Ymir, why? What did we do this for?! Have you changed your mind again? Have you decided to stay inside the Walls with Krista? Don’t be a fool! Think!”

A fool…

“Let go! Don’t listen to him!”

Don’t listen…

“I can’t!” Ymir’s voice was shattering upon the wind. “I wish I could. Historia, I know you think I did this for you. But, at the end of the day, I did it for me. A long time ago, I stole the power of the Titans from one of their comrades. Their power is absolute. Inside or outside the Walls, there’s nowhere for me to run. At this rate, I’m going to be killed… But, they said if I cooperate, hand you over, they’ll speak on my behalf to get my crimes pardoned. It’s because you’re so important to the Wallists, who know the secrets of the Walls… When this world started going to hell… I thought that being with you… would be insurance for the near future… I almost died fighting at the tower… And I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was scared of dying. I wanted someone to save me somehow… I lied, and told you I was doing it all for you, but, really… It was all for my own sake. I’m begging you, Historia! Please, please save me!”

Please…

Please, save me…

“Didn’t I just tell you, Ymir? No matter what happens, I’m on your side!”

He was running toward the sun, running toward the blaze, but it didn’t emanate the brilliance he’d always revered. No, that was behind him. She was behind him. He knew. It was inevitable.

Shadows always sail away from the sun, after all.

Then, another familiar sound…

Was that an anchor in his shoulder?

Was that the whir of the 3dmg?

Were they that close already?

Ymir’s scream told him they were.

“Reiner! Protect us!” Bertholdt jumped under his chin, and to shield him, Reiner brought both his hands up to form a cage against his neck. Just in time, for Mikasa slashed at his hardened knuckles only a second too late.

“Mikasa, no! You’re not going to kill Ymir!”

Mikasa was on his head now. “That all depends on her! What’ll it be?! She can step aside or she can die! Her choice!”

“Reiner.”

That voice…

On his right shoulder, next to his ear...

She shouldn’t be here. She’s injured. She shouldn’t be here.

“Reiner, I know you can hear me.”

I can, (f/n).

“Please, tell me this is some sort of misunderstanding. There’s no way…”

It isn’t.

“Tell me, was any of it real? Did you ever truly care about me? Or was it all part of this lie?”

It was real. I care about you. I care about you.

“How many lies did you tell me?”

Too many to count.

“Why…?”

She was crying. Her fists met his cheek; he barely felt them. He barely felt.

If he had it his way, he’d tell her how real it all was. If he had it his way, he’d take her with him. If he had it his way, he’d stay with her until the end of time, until he’d heard everything she knew and everything she didn’t and every wish and every cry a thousand times over. But, it was never fated to go his way. Fate didn’t favor bloodstained hands. He had to accept that. He had to.

He was up to his shoulders in red.

“Why would you do this to me, Reiner?!”

To save the world.

“Why would you hurt so many people?!”

To save the world.

“You’re terrible!”

I am.

“You’re terrible…”

Her voice fell to a whisper. He couldn’t hear anything else. It was only her.

It was always her.

“I guess it’s always been like this. I’ve never gotten any answers from you. You’ve never listened to me. I should’ve known.”

I’ve always listened. I hear you.

“You’re a monster. I cared about you, and you’re a monster.”

You’re right. You’ve always been right.

“None of that matters. Just focus on taking their heads off,” Mikasa’s words reached him. “If you even hesitate for a moment, we’ll never get Eren back. They’re a threat to Humanity. That’s all.”

Thump, thump, thump.

“Do you think that anyone wants to kill people?!” Bertholdt voiced his own thoughts, broken and all alone. “What kind of person would do this for fun?! Who would want to do this?! With what we did, of course you despise us and want to kill us! We can never take any of it back! But, we couldn’t come to terms with our sins… When we were pretending to be soldiers, it was a little bit easier. It’s not a lie, (f/n)! Connie! Jean! It’s true that we deceived you, but it wasn’t all lies! We really did think of you as friends! We really did care! I know… we don’t have the right to apologize. But, someone… Please, someone… I’m begging you, someone find us…”

“Bertholdt… Give Eren back.”

“I can’t do that. Someone has to do this. Someone…has to get blood on their hands.”

Someone...

“Everyone, jump off right now!”

She left a void on his shoulder. She left a void.

And Death was coming. Titans, a horde of Titans, were approaching them from ahead. The Commander was leading them straight toward Reiner. There was nowhere to go. The weight of the World was on his shoulders; the weight of his friends’ pain was there too. There was no escaping his sins. There was no escaping the path he’d set out on. All he could do was run, run and hope they’d make it out on the other side.

Just do what needs to be done, and keep moving forward.

With hands latched firmly to his neck, Reiner dipped his shoulder and ran. Just as he’d destroyed the gate those many years before, he rammed through the horde in his path. They kept coming. He kept charging. Ymir was screaming. They were around his neck, biting his head, holding him down. He had to move. Quickly, quickly, he had to move.

He had to get home.

Where could he go? He was surrounded. There was no way to fight with his hands around Bertholdt. There was no way to protect Bertholdt as he fought. What could he do? How many were there? Ten? Twenty?

It wouldn’t matter if they died.

Hold on, Bertholdt.

Just a little longer.

We’re almost there.

He let Bertholdt go, and he swung at the Titans closest to him. He swung, and he swung, and he prayed for safety. He prayed for home.

The Scouts…

They were upon him now. They were after Bertholdt. He had to choose the greatest enemy. He had to choose. He brought his hand up and around his friend.

“We’ve made it this far! We’re taking Eren with us and going back home!”

“Bertholdt!” Armin, upon his neck. “Are you two sure about this? You’re going to go home and leave your friend behind?”

Annie…

“You’re leaving Annie behind? Right now… Annie’s deep underground in Utopia District, to the far north… where they’re torturing her…”

No, no that couldn’t be true.

“As soon as they heard her screams, they realized… The wounds on her body might heal, but she can’t make the pain go away. They’re being careful not to kill her, of course, but they won’t let her rest. At this very moment, they’re inflicting pain on her in every way they know how—”

No, Annie…

“Children of the Devil!” Bertholdt… “I’ll kill every last one of you!”

At Bertholdt’s scream, Reiner looked down. At the sight of the Commander, he knew it was all over. Eren was falling; Eren was in Mikasa’s arms. They’d lost. He reached out to the retreating Survey Corps in a last attempt at recovering the Coordinate, but there was no moving with the Titans surrounding him, suppressing him.

It was over. He wouldn’t be able to last against so many Titans on his own. Bertholdt’s Titan was useless in a retreat. They needed Annie. They needed Marcel.

This was all his fault.

In an act of hopelessness and indignation, he picked up one of the smaller Titans and hurled it at their formation. He didn’t care who he killed. He didn’t care. He was on the brink. He was in a corner. So, he hauled another onto his shoulders, and he threw. If Eren was eaten, all the better. Perhaps the one to inherit his Titan would be less of a maniac. Perhaps, they’d be like Marcel. Then, they could go home.

Home…

With that on his mind, he could move. With that on his mind, he could push through hordes of Titans to his goal. In the face of Death, in the face of failure, he could do anything if home was the goal.

Lightning…

No, that wasn’t lightning. What was that?

Was that… the Coordinate?

What was that scream?

All of the Titans upon his back, all of the Titans begging for his nape, left him. They all ran past him, away, to devour another Titan. It was a Pure Titan. There was no reason for them to target it.

Unless…

Eren had the Coordinate. He could use it. The situation couldn’t be worse. Eren, of all people…

We have to get it back.

The last person in this world who should have that power is you, Eren.

“Stay back, you bastards! I’ll kill all of you!”

Eren’s voice reverberated in his very soul. That lightning was behind his eyes again, and he knew it was over. There was no escaping the horde Eren directed their way. There was no escaping his sins. Eren had promised an excruciating death; this was it. He would be devoured if he didn’t run. He would be devoured if he ran.

Bertholdt… I can’t keep him safe!

Bertholdt was screaming. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing.

Nothing…

But then, something so inexplicable happened.

Ymir came back.Ymir saved Bertholdt. Ymir fought the Titans along with him. For some reason, she’d chosen them; for some reason, he’d live another day. So, he ran. He ran until he couldn’t run anymore. He ran until his mind was numb. He ran until Ymir had to take over. And she ran until they were atop Wall Maria, the same Wall they’d destroyed those many years ago.

And, as they caught the breath they hadn’t anticipated in their lungs, he found only one question upon his lips.

“Ymir, why did you come back for us?”

“Well… Must be because I’m an idiot.” They didn’t laugh. “I’m here so you’ll have something to hand over. You guys can’t go home empty handed, right?”

He couldn’t believe it. “Do you understand there’s no hope of you being rescued if we go home from here? If you’re going to run… Now’s the time.”

“What’re you talking about, dumbass? I’m tired out. I’ve just had enough. I’m done.” In that moment, he had to agree. He felt done. Done with the hand he’d been dealt; done with the world; done with life.

“Ymir, why did you rescue me?” It seemed Bertholdt didn’t believe it either.

“Maybe because I heard your voice… If you hadn’t come to destroy this Wall, I would’ve been stuck in an endless nightmare. All I did was repay a debt. I’m the only one who knows about your situation, too… I’m the same way… I was hopeless on my own.” She reached toward the sky. The gesture pained him. He’d seen another hand reach for the stars so many times.

“Thank you, Ymir… I’m sorry.” Bertholdt was crying. If Reiner didn’t feel absolutely void, he would be as well.

“It’s fine… Being a goddess doesn’t feel so bad, either.”

He didn’t know about that.

But, something stuck with him. She’d said she would have been in an endless nightmare if they hadn't come to destroy the Wall. As he watched the stars parade across the sky, he had to agree, at least in some respect. If he’d never come there, he never would have experienced life. He never would have experienced friendship. He never would’ve experienced love. Within the Walls, he’d found a love for the World he’d never known. He’d wished for forever. He’d wished for a future. He’d planned a future. He’d found love.

He’d found (f/n).

She was everything he’d wanted. She was everything he’d known. She was everything he was never meant to know.

But, now, he realized that that destruction was a double edged sword. That destruction had led him to his present moment. That destruction had initiated his own endless nightmare, and there was no deliverance.

You deserve it, Reiner.

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun/reader #aot #snk manga #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #bertholdt hoover #attack on titan ymir #historia reiss

40 notes · View notes

grimmseye · 4 years

Text

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Six

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Existential Topics, Essek getting excited by both Mollymauk and his weird magic, Mention of Torture (in literally like the first sentence)

— — —

The scars littering Mollymauk's body weren't a result of torture, as Essek had first assumed. Blood magic was still fairly taboo, but he knew it had its merits. The life force was a powerful source of magic, and drawing blood was safer than drawing directly from the soul.

Most blood magic came in alteration and control. One could use their own blood to change themself, to augment their power by manipulating the force that defined them. Or, they could take another's essence, claim it and use it to collar its source. Blood made scrying simple and curses into child's play. It was a very useful component, and Essek preferred to stay quiet about his own applications of it.

What Mollymauk did, he theorized, had to do with sacrifice. There was power in that, too. The giving-up, the exchange of something to gain, or to take from another, was a form of magic that dated back to its most ancient roots. Before there was wizardry, druids, artificers, those who learned their craft and honed it through study and training, there were those who made pacts with something else.

The question then became what Mollymauk was sacrificing to. A god, a demon, a devil? Or simply to the Weave itself, using his blood as the guidelines to tangle its threads in new formations.

It was all very exciting.

So was watching Mollymauk, though he was ashamed to admit it. He hadn't asked the tiefling to undress, but Mollymauk had been more than happy to divest himself of his shirt. It left him in loose pants, the material fluttering in the cool wind that blew past. He'd taken up blades in Essek's backyard at Essek's own request. One of his swords was wet with his blood, and illuminated with a radiant glow.

The radiance took a point away from Mollymauk contacting of the negative planes, though Essek knew better than to negate it completely. Tieflings had infernal heritages, it was entirely possible that all the oddities of Mollymauk's body were tied to a single source. It was doubtful, but it was also worth noting.

Essek did just that, writing down his thoughts, knowing he'd be glad to have them later. A stream of consciousness on a page was better than neat and tidy notes that lacked detail and most importantly context. He seethed when thinking of the number of projects he'd had to abandon all because he hadn't marked down a late-night thought.

"You have another of these, you said," Essek prompted. "The other sword does not use radiance?" It was difficult to look at the blade directly with its sunlit glow.

Mollymauk twirled one scimitar with an idle air, catching it in his palm. "Yeah. Ice for that one."

Essek moved forward, wanting a close look. He muttered a word, burning the first-level slot to sharpen his gaze to magic. "Activate it, please."

Without missing a beat, Molly obeyed. It made his insides shiver to see the blade come up, cutting neatly into his skin. It was shallow and precise, drawing a scarlet line along the edge of the blade that beaded and dripped over Mollymauk's collar. Molly held it still against his chest for Essek to watch as the blood crystallized, frost crawling over the surface of the blade. It was evocation that brought the ice to the surface, and that brimmed off the blade's glowing twin.

A hint of necromancy burned in Molly's blood, and suddenly Essek had the thought: what would he find if he drew some from Mollymauk's veins, was the blood under his skin inherently magical was he built from necrotic energy, he'd crawled his way out of a grave so what did that make him. Surely he wasn't undead, or the way magic interacted with him would change, the spells Essek had cast on him wouldn't work, but he couldn't count as mortal, either.

So what on earth was Mollymauk Tealeaf? The question had a giddy sensation roiling up in his stomach.

"What's up with your eyes?" Mollymauk asked, and Essek blinked back to himself.

It took a moment to remember what he meant. The spell gave his eyes a kaleidoscopic appearance, reflecting colors that shifted madly in the presence of magic. "Ah. I cast a spell on myself, it lets me sense magic in the vicinity. Do you know about the different schools of magic?"

Mollymauk closed his eyes, arms swinging at his sides so the sword blades dragged in the dirt. "... No," he concluded, with a definitive nod. "I really don't know shit about magic as a whole. I don't know why or how this happens, but cutting myself makes my swords fancy."

Essek remembered the way blood had burst in a gnoll's eyes, blinding them, making the snap of their jaws only seize the air. "Is there anything else you can do?" He pressed.

Mollymauk gave him a long, withering look, and snorted. "Wizards. They tell you I know a place and then spend the time quizzing you about your blood curses. Yeah, if I cut a bit deeper, I can affect other... things. People, monsters, whatever. It's only temporary, but it can be enough in a pinch. If someone's about to get run through with a sword..."

Mollymauk's gaze went distant. His breath hitched, and he lifted a hand, putting it on the ragged scar on his chest. "It might be enough to throw them off."

Essek let him linger, uncertain what had captured his mind but hoping that maybe this would help unlock the rest of his memories. If he could return Mollymauk to the Nein, safe and happy and just as they'd found him, then maybe he could relieve the weight of his guilt. If bad and good were opposites, then surely if he just did enough good, that would eventually outweigh the bad.

He knew that logic was flawed. If that were the case, then the teleportations would have eased the pressure. But that was small, not necessarily easy for him but simple enough, something he could do for anyone. This was different. This was special. This would mean something, and then he could be forgiven, even if they never knew of his betrayal.

Eventually, clarity returned to Mollymauk's eyes. He shook himself, his expression pensive and tail coiling. Essek prompted him with a quirk of the eyebrow. Each time this happened, there was the hope that maybe he was fixed at last. And as was true each previous time, it didn't seem to be so — Mollymauk only gave a yawn and stretched his arms out, mindless of the blades he held. "So, yeah. Blood curses. Can't exactly demonstrate them without a target, though."

Essek sighed, but let himself be swept into a new focus. In time, he soothed himself. Mollymauk would regain his mind in time. Regardless, letting the memories filter back gradually seemed to treat Mollymauk better than forcing the issue, even if Essek was still looking for a more direct way to unlock those memories.

He tapped his own temple, refocusing. What Mollymauk said was true, there wasn't a target to use for a demonstration. Unless —

"You said the effects were temporary," Essek checked.

Mollymauk gave a shrug. "Far as I've seen."

"No lasting effects?" The question got him a shake of the head, as expected. Magic usually wore off without a trace. To call Mollymauk's abilities a curse was likely a stronger word than was accurate, too small and too brief to qualify. Curses clung and festered, even a blindness spell was likely to have more effect than what Mollymauk could do — except that it wouldn't come through in a split-second of need, by the time Essek was finished pulling his components and conjuring the sigils in his mind, a sword would be through Mollymauk's chest, through Caleb's, through Jester's.

Life for life. Perhaps it was a more equal exchange than he'd believed.

"In that case..." Essek drew the words out, giving himself a moment longer to consider. "Target me."

Mollymauk's face contorted into bewilderment. "Are you sure?" He prompted.

"As long as what you said is true, and the effect is only temporary, then yes." Even if the thought did make his skin prickle, remembering how blood spurted around the eyes. He wondered how badly it would hurt. Essek could fight, but it did not mean he was comfortable with pain. Not like Mollymauk.

The tiefling shrugged, shifting his weight between each hoof. "Ready?" He asked. Then he broke out into a sudden grin, saying, "Honestly this is weird. It's always a split-second thing for me, I've hardly had to think about it."

"Would it help if I attempted to strike you?" Essek pulled a curl of ice between his fingers, crystalizing purple magic that was so dark it bordered on black. Mollymauk watched the movement of his fingers, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he grinned.

"Talented hands," Mollymauk commented, and then cleared his throat. "But uh. You know what? Fuck it, why not. Give me your best shot, Thelyss."

Mollymauk slunk back, and the shift to his posture held Essek's gaze where it didn't belong. Mollymauk typically held himself lofty and large, filling up the space around him. That meant this change made for a captivating view, to watch as he became a serpentine creature, one who curled one way to the other and then lunged in to strike. He wasn't attacking Essek, though, was only on defense, swaying in place with a hypnotic flow.

Essek watched him, biding his time, a stalemate. He counted the seconds, learned the pattern of Mollymauk's weight, found the point when he'd struggle to shift his movement and then —

Crimson splashed in his vision. Essek gasped, a hand flying to his face as the burn began to settle in at the corners of his eyes. Blood trickled from his tear ducts in heavy drops, sticky as they rolled down his cheeks. The sensation was nauseating.

Necromancy, he recalled. That had been the magic that flashed the second before he lost his vision. He cleaned the blood away with a few casts of prestidigitation, blinking his eyes to find Mollymauk standing much closer with streaks of blood on his own cheeks, and not so much as a speck of frost on his skin.

"Handy trick," Mollymauk commented, as the blood wicked off of Essek's skin. "You mind...?"

He swallowed his nausea, saying, "Of course." Essek cupped Mollymauk's jaw, sliding his thumb across his cheek to where the peacock feather was inked to clear the blood away. He only realized a moment later he hadn't actually needed to touch Mollymauk.

"Thank you," Mollymauk all but purred, and Essek would swear the tiefling pressed into his hand before he pulled it away.

He drew in a breath, and as he let it out he forced his muscles to unwind. "Thank you," Essek returned. "I have some interesting points to consider from that."

"Oh, yeah?"

A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. "You wouldn't understand it." It wasn't meant as an insult. Or, perhaps it was a bit of an insult, but mostly just a statement of fact.

"True enough," Mollymauk shrugged, and to Essek's disappointment, he didn't bother prying.

In the distance, the sky began to change. The change in the light was enough to draw both their gazes. The clouds that cast the city in darkness had begun to spiral open, an eye dilating over the Bright Queen's palace to let in a light that made Essek wince even from so far away.

"I suppose we will have to pause this," Essek said, turning away to head into the house. "I prefer not to willingly blind myself."

"Please think about what you just said," Mollymauk drawled as he trotted up beside him, tail flicking against the back of Essek's calf.

He had to snort. "You have something of a point, but that was performed as apart of an experiment. Learning, studying, improving, not just..." He stopped himself and just huffed out a breath.

"Oh?" He could hear the smirk in Mollymauk's voice. "That means something."

Essek considered how honest he wanted to be here. Mollymauk was not a subtle individual — to call him such would likely be considered an insult. In that same vein, Molly had shown little if any regard for social norms and standards, often to a frustrating extent. "I am only frustrated," he said. "What you see there is apart of worship of... something they do not understand, and treat as a deity because of that."

"Lot's of folks don't understand me but I've yet to be treated like a god. Shame," Mollymauk sighed. "So it's some kinda ceremony? They wouldn't be having a festival, would they?" His expression lit up.

Essek actually felt bad dashing his hopes. "No, it is not the kind of ceremony you would want to partake in," he said. "It is... reverent, to an alarming degree."

"Wrong: I'd love partake in that — just as long as I'm the center of attention." Mollymauk's comment dragged another chuckle from Essek's chest. He'd been laughing more in general, since meeting the Nein. It followed that one of their early members would be much the same.

Mollymauk continued, "Really, though, what's going on? You conjured a big spooky cloud to keep the sun out, didn't you?"

"You have not heard of our Beacons yet, have you?" Essek prompted. They stepped across the threshold, Essek drawing the curtains that ideally would have only been for decoration.

"I've heard 'em mentioned?" Mollymauk shrugged. "That's — lemme guess, beacon of light?"

"That is the idea, yes." Essek lowered himself into a chair, while Mollymauk all but threw himself into another. He wrinkled his nose as the furniture creaked under the tiefling's weight. "There are these... dodecahedrons. They were found, and so were some of their properties. They found that when one is consecuted — I would say attuned, but they use consecute — their soul enters this Beacon upon death, to be reincarnated at a later time."

As Essek explained the beacons to Mollymauk, the tiefling's gaze grew distant. Snippets of conversation pulled to mind, pieces falling into place for Essek. He nipped his own criticisms of the practice short, circling around to say, "That is reason why your friends are so revered in the Dynasty. They —"

"We found one," Mollymauk interrupted. His voice was distracted. "No. We met in the sewers — Thuron."

The name pinged in Essek's mind, one of those sent to retrieve a beacon. He hummed, quiet and prompting, not wanting to break Mollymauk's reverie.

"He was killed. The guards took it, but we —" A smile pulled at his lips. "Caleb and Nott, those fucking bastards. Can't trust either of them, clever assholes'll stab you in the back at the first sniff of trouble."

Essek swallowed a protest as Mollymauk trailed into silence. Molly's brow furrowed and he shook his head, a hand coming up to cover one eye. "Gods," Mollymauk groaned. "So we'd been lugging around your god in a lead box."

"Allegedly," Essek couldn't stop himself from breaking in. He bit back any further words, but the moment had passed. Clarity returned to Mollymauk's gaze. He gave it a moment before continuing, "I have my doubts that it is any sort of deity. I think they need to be studied, not worshiped. By I am in the... extreme minority, in that regard. And I would prefer these words not be repeated."

Mollymauk gave him a crooked, tired smile. "What's a little blasphemy between friends, Mister Thelyss? And honestly, I don't blame you. That reincarnation thing, that sounds like a nightmare."

The words were alien enough to shock Essek. He cocked his head, leaning forward. "You wouldn't want to be consecuted, given the chance?"

When Mollymauk only scrunched up his nose he added, "Theoretical immortality. Death is no longer an object of fear, as it becomes a delay, not an end. That doesn't appeal to you?"

By his expression, it definitely did not. Molly's voice was rough when he spoke. "What you said about how the souls... awaken. What about the person they would have been? Is it really even their soul, or are they just suppressing someone else? I wouldn't..." Mollymauk pulled his legs up, tail curling around his shins as he rested his chin on his knees. He looked small, in that moment. His voice shook. His eyes were wide. "I don't want anyone else's memories. I don't want anyone else's thoughts."

Essek stood up. The movement was sudden enough to snap Mollymauk out of it, leaving him blinking at Essek with wide red eyes. He wracked his brain for something to say, a way to interrupt this descent, and landed on Caduceus' voice: "Would you like some tea?"

Mollymauk stared at him. Then he laughed, hoarse, and pushed himself to his hooves. "Sure," he croaked. "But there's not a chance in all the hells that I'm letting you make it."

They were silent as they moved to the kitchen, Essek standing begrudgingly aside to let Mollymauk make a mess of things. He was a good cook, but hardly a considerate one.

And maybe it was poking the sleeping owlbear, but Essek couldn't deny the questions that lingered on his tongue. "It would, theoretically, still be you," he said. "And who is to say that the person you become is not influenced by the person you were."

Mollymauk snapped his head to look over his shoulder, pinning Essek to the spot with a near-snarl. With teeth bared and ears pinned low, he looked a beat away from outright snarling in Essek's face. Then the fight drained from him. He breathed a sigh through the nostrils, drawing himself upright as he poured water into a kettle. "I am the last person to yuck anyone's yum," Mollymauk said. "If someone wants to go body hopping to the end of time, they can be my guest. But I want no part of that. It's just not for me."

Essek hesitated before dipping his head in a nod, even if Mollymauk couldn't see. "That is fair," he murmured. "I do not think it is for me, either."

"You were pretty pushy about it." Molly clicked his fingers at Essek and pointed to the stove. Essek just sighed and touched the runes, igniting a fire for him to set the kettle atop.

"You can do that on your own. Regardless, I was curious," Essek said, leaning back against the counter. "You are so against having another person's memories, but you want your own back. What is the difference there?"

"It just is." Molly started taking out the tea — all of it, in tins and bags and boxes. Most were blends that Caduceus had given him, but some came in his grocery order. Essek hardly understood the difference between them all. As Mollymauk worked, his tail lashed. It would betray his agitation if the tension in his voice hadn't already. "It feels different. Right now I'm missing pieces of myself. Those people, your people, the Nein, they're important. I don't know why, but they just are. But there was something before them."

Mollymauk turned, the anger in his face now resembling fear. Dread, maybe, or horror. It left him pale and clutching the edge of the counter, looking at Essek like he expected him to sprout fangs and lung for him. "There was something else, and I don't want it. This is my body now, my life. He gave it up. He doesn't get to take it back."

Essek remembered the haunted sheen in Molly's eyes when he'd called him by a different name.

Mollymauk.

Lucien.

"If that is true," Essek said, giving up on any further inquisition, "then you have nothing to worry about. He is... whoever he is. And you are you. You cannot become him."

It didn't work that way. He was making a statement with no backing, barely even understood what it was Mollymauk feared so terribly. But whatever he'd said, it seemed to work, with Mollymauk's shoulders going loose and a sigh expelling from his chest. "Yeah," he puffed. "Yeah that makes sense. Good thinking, Mister Thelyss."

"I am... happy to be a help to you."

And though it was said with a dryness in his voice, Essek found the words rang true.

#Mollymauk Tealeaf #Essek Thelyss #shadowmauk #cr #cr fic #my writing #a bird in the hand

10 notes · View notes

edgarbright · 5 years

Text

Life as a Princess: The Once Upon a Time ECB Story

Also known as my favorite story! It’s hilarious, loving, and just all-around wonderful!

Notes: This post is a mixture of direct quotes (not always placed in quotes to identify), my own paraphrasing, and my general tears and exclamations. I’ve fixed in-game typos and included grammatically missing commas for clarity. Screenshots are appropriately capped at 10. Indentations are used for formatting so this is probably best read on desktop.

Enjoy! Please share your reactions with me when you’re done reading~!

Scene 1: The royal bedroom

Alice wakes one morning and it seems like any other ordinary day, except the room is quite fancy. She could have sworn she fell asleep in her own bed last night, but here she is in luxury with with a canopy above the bed and a glittering chandelier on the ceiling. (Nice!) She doesn’t recognize anything, except--

Alice: “Kyle?! What are you doing here?”

Alice: “Where am I? And why are you bringing me tea?”

Kyle, with a serious expression: “What do you mean? I am simply assisting you with your morning tasks, Princess. That’s the duty of a butler.”

Alice: “Princess? Butler? What’s going on?”

Kyle, smiling: “Are you still sleepy, Princess? Or perhaps—”

(Oh--)

Kyle lifted a finger and brushed my bangs to the side and then placed his hand on my forehead.

Kyle, super close and smiling: “You are feeling unwell?”

We should be asking him that question! Kyle, without a morning hangover? Who is this man!?

Alice proceeds to insist she’s fine and Kyle looks at her in suspicion. He gives her the tea like a good butler.

Kyle, smiling his cute smile: “I finished preparing your change of clothes. If you need any assistance, please call for me.”

Maybe it’s just a dream? But ahh, Alice takes a sip of the hot tea and confirms that she was indeed awake and this isn’t a dream...

Scene 2: Outside the bedroom in the hallway

Kyle, frowning and looking distressed: “Ah, that made my neck stiff. I’m definitely not used to acting like that at all.”

In the hallway, Kyle stretched his right arm up to the ceiling to help relieve stress.

Loki’s eyes! They’re red! (And goodness he looks good!)

Kyle: “Yeah, Irene seemed very confused.”

Loki, serious expression: “Do you think Alice believed that this is her castle and she’s a princess? I hope she’ll be happy about it.”

Kyle, side-grin: “Well, why don’t we continue this charade and see how it goes?”

This... charade!? Are you saying Alice isn’t a princess!? The audacity--

Loki, smiling: “Okay! Up next is--”

Scene 3: The royal bedroom again

Alice gets dressed and her stomach rumbles as she smells something delicious. Breakfast is served!

I realized that Blanc must have put it there.

There is no mention of Blanc before she thinks that line, which makes me wonder: Alice, does Blanc normally bring you breakfast? Because that sounds good to me.

Blanc’s sprite appears in order announce he has brought her breakfast. Alice thanks him and wonders if he’s a butler like Kyle. Is this still a dream? But our dear Alice has something more prioritizing than solving this mystery

Alice: “This looks delicious! I’ll start with a bite of omelette--”

Blanc, looking surprised: “Wait.”

Just as I had taken my silverware in hand, Blanc gestured towards me and spoke gently.

Blanc: “When you hold the fork and knife, you must keep your elbows at a 90 degree angle Do you understand? Here let me show you.”

Alice: “What? Oh--”

Blanc stood behind me and place[d] his large hands over mine.

(He’s so close to me!)

It felt as if he was hugging me from behind and I froze.

Blanc: “You need to be aware of how you appear in front of everyone.”

EMBRACED BY THE RABBIT! FINALLY! THANK GOD! But then Alice has the nerve to try to deprive us of this moment by saying this really isn’t needed, but Blanc insists!

A to Z, you say~

Alice is starting to put the pieces together and we get a flashback to Kyle explaining that the King, Alice’s father, wants to see her after breakfast in the royal chamber. Since Kyle is a butler and Blanc is a tutor, Alice wonders if the King is someone she knows...

Having no idea what characters are in this story, I’m wondering too!

Scene 4: The royal chamber

So Alice leaves her room and finds the room labeled royal chamber. She opens the door and--

I ’ M S C R E A M I N G L M F A O

Someone please help me I can’t breathe fffffffffffffff

Alice: “Oliver, is that you?”

Oliver was sitting on the throne with one leg crossed over the other while his foot didn’t touch the ground.

I’m literally crying. This story has already exceeded all expectations and it’s not even close to over yet.

Next to Oliver, Kyle and Blanc stand at attention.

Alice, who maybe needs to go back to bed: “Umm I was called here by the King so is he here somewhere?”

Kyle, surprised: “What are you saying, Princess?”

Blanc, an easy smile: “The King is right here in front of you.”

I’m dead lmao

(Wait, Oliver is King?!)

Oliver, looking serious: “It is I who have summoned you here, Irene. Your fiance is here and you will be married soon.”

Oh God

Alice thinks that hearing Oliver act like he’s her father is really strange, but here I am going wild over that “It is I” style of speech LOL Oliver is just owning it. Actual King Material.

Alice then realizes what he said--

Alice: “Married?! How soon? I can’t do that!”

Oliver, narrowing his eyes: “Do not talk back to me. I am the King and your father so my word is final.”

Oliver stood up and came closer to me.

Oliver: “You will be married soon!”

Alice: “But--”

He took my chin in his hand and looked at me with determination in his eyes.

Keep in mind that kid Oliver is only like 4 foot 8 inches? For me, at least, he’s gonna be reaching well above his head and just soighsosh

Oliver, right in front of her face (!!!): “That’s an order.”

Alice: “Yes, your majesty.”

I was so confused about the whole situation that all I could do in that moment was obey so I nodded.

Oliver, smiling cheekily: “You may enter.”

???: “Yes, your highness.”

Oh God who is it going to be!? The door opened and--

Ray, in his regular attire: “It’s an honor to see you again, Princess.”

Ahh... After Oliver as the spectacular King (I’m still laughing as I write this), Ray as the fiance is a little... underwhelming?

Alice is surprised to see him as the fiance, however!

Just as everyone else had, Ray also referred to me as the princess. He bowed down on one knee and spoke with confidence.

Ray, a little closer and smiling: “Shall we proceed with our wedding ceremony? The townspeople are looking forward to seeing you in a wedding dress, Princess.”

(A-are we to be wed, today?!)

He took my hand in his and kissed it, which made my heart race.

Ray, more seriously: “Will you allow me to escort you?”

Ray stood up and placed an arm around my waist.

(Am I going to marry Ray?!)

I appreciate her not jumping into it lol AND THEN

I looked up at Ray and heard him say under his breath--

Ray, grinning: “That was easier than I’d anticipated.”

Alice: “What do you mean?”

Me: What do you mean???

Ray: “Since I’m marrying the princess, I’ll soon be the leader of this castle.”

That is how it works, ye--- WAIT, RAY IS EVIL!?

(He’s planning to overtake the throne?!)

OMG RAY IS EVIL!

RAY IS A HANS!!! I’M SCREAMING AGAIN!

Alice: “W-wait, King Oliver! My finance’s intentions are not what they seem!”

RAY!! I know I said it was underwhelming with you as the fiance but also HOW DARE YOU BE EVIL LOL

Alice can’t believe it! Ray? A villain? Impossible!

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door.

???: “I object!”

HERO TIME! A familiar voice echoed in the chamber and the door opens to reveal--

Loki, smiling and his eyes still red: “Alice will be my bride.”

THIS GAME! THESE TWO!

Alice: “Are we talking about the Loki I know?”

LMAO ALICE!

I’d say RIP Loki but Loki’s BDE game is strong

Oh, thank you, I accept--

Alice: “But I think I’m betrothed to someone else--”

Oliver: “Just take Loki’s hand or we can’t follow the script.”

Alice: “Wait, a script?! What are you talking about?”

Ray: “Don’t worry about it and come stand by my side.”

Loki, looking angry: “Wait a second Ray, that isn’t what we discussed earlier! This is the part when the princess takes the real prince’s hand and they run away into the sunset together!”

Ray, making that put-out face: “No, I didn’t approve of that. I think Irene should be with me.”

Blanc, closed-eye smile: “If we can ignore the script then I would also like to play the part of the prince.”

Loki: “No way! I am Alice’s one and only prince and no one else can have that role!”

Kyle: “C’mon let’s just keep this show going! If we can’t decide on anything then I’ll be the prince and end this quickly.”

Ray: “While you guys are arguing, I’ll take the princess for myself.”

Oliver: “Someone who’s just in it for themselves can’t play the part of a prince. I won’t allow Irene to be anyone’s bride and then this will all end.”

I’m dying over this tug of war and also you tell them, Oliver! Everyone going off script but Oliver is still just, I AM HER FATHER and she won’t marry any of you losers if you keep this up!

Loki, still looking frustrated: “Then it won’t end in ‘happily ever after’! Come here, Alice.”

Loki pulls Alice close and stares into her eyes.

Loki: “Hey Alice, you’re my one and only princess. Don’t choose anyone other than me--”

His arms around my waist tightened and his eyes started wavering.

(Hold on, Loki’s eyes are glowing crimson--)

Alice: “Wait, Loki. Are you using magic?”

Loki, startled: “What?”

Harr: “You’re correct, Alice.”

H A R R D A R L I N G !! A wild Harr appears literally out of nowhere, not even with a flash of magic, as if he’s been there the whole time! I’m ready for Harr to enter the prince competition!

Harr: “You must end this at once, Loki. You shouldn’t use too much magic. And you shouldn’t cause such a ruckus in someone else’s home.”

Loki, going from a shocked expression to his sad one: “O-okay...”

Loki pouted like a little child for a brief moment and then let go of me.

(Loki always listens to Harr and does what he says.)

Harr looking out for Loki’s well-being like a good guardian T_T Loki loving and respecting Harr enough to do what he says. Love it. Love it so much. This story has me in stitches but now my heart feels super soft lol

Then Harr turned to face me.

Heroic Harr moment~ Alice is enveloped in white light and when it fades, the surroundings change and she’s at--

Scene 5: Blanc’s house

Alice questions what happened to the castle since this is Blanc’s house.

Harr, smiling that soft smile: “That was an illusion created by Loki’s magic. It was a stage intended to be used in a play.”

Alice: “A play? Wow, and here I thought I’d been dreaming this whole time! Why put on a play?”

Loki: “Well, do you remember that you mentioned how much you admire princesses in fairytales?”

She does and she remembers that she had talked to Loki about it.

Loki, looking sad: “I asked everyone to help out so that you’d feel like you were a princess. I thought it would make you happy, Alice. I’m sorry if it startled you.”

(Oh, Loki--)

Oh, Loki ;~; He loves Alice so much and tries to do right by her. He even gathered everyone to help him out (even if they all betrayed him in the end LOL)! My heart!

His sweet words made me blush.

Loki sometimes does very unexpected things but--

I knew that his intentions were always good.

Alice: “I was surprised but it was fun.”

Alice: “But more than that, I’m touched you would all go to such efforts to do something like this for me.”

Loki: “Do you really mean that?”

Alice: “Of course!”

Loki, with that happy closed-eye smile: “I’m so glad! You’re the best, Alice!”

Loki!! Deserves the world, I’m just saying

I let Loki embrace me as I looked around at everyone.

All of them were smiling and their eyes were sparkling.

(Even though I’m not actually a princess in a fairytale--)

(I’m happier than princess could ever be.)

This is so wholesome oh my goodness. I love all the neutral characters together. I think this might only be our second story starring them all like this?

Blanc, smiling: “Since you’re all here, why don’t we have some afternoon tea?”

Kyle, smiling too: “That sounds good. Okay, I’ll have some tea and then head back to Red Army headquarters.”

Ray: “That reminds me, those cookies you made the other day were delicious. Do you happen to have any left?”

Oliver: “We do. I suppose I could give you some.”

Loki, smiling still: “Yay! Harr, you must join us too!”

Harr, looking distressed: “Is that alright? I wouldn’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

Me, clutching my chest as I fall out of my chair: I love the happy fluff. I love it so much. Of course Harr wouldn’t be a burden! Blanc, bless him, I love that white rabbit.

Also I love how Blanc kind of ties it all together. The more the merrier! Loki wanted to make Alice happy but he didn’t think he could do it all by himself, so he recruited a lot of other people who loved her too. So lovely! So loving!

The scene fades to white on this last happy moment

It was as if we’d all awoken from a pleasant dream.

And we all lived happily ever after.

The End!

Did you like it? This is one of if not my favorite stories! Getting this ECB was a bit of a gamble since we were given no information about it, but fairy tales are my favorite! I’m still positively delighted that this turned out to be Loki’s Alice! Leave it to Loki to try to make Alice the happiest girl in the world, no holds barred!

Also Harr was absolutely the heroic prince in this fairy tale even if he didn’t end up with “the princess”. In this house we love and cherish Harr Silver. No one does heroic appearances like Harr though so we shouldn’t even be surprised~ But I was still surprised!

Oliver as the King is the greatest thing we have ever gotten in this game and I crave more!

On that happy note, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Please come yell with me about this story and Ikerev in general anytime~!

#my ikerev #once upon a time story event #tmblr murdered all my quotation marks so RIP me #this could probably use more editing #but i want it posted today so here we go!#loki genetta #kyle ash #blanc lapin #oliver knight #harr silver #ray blackwell #long post

78 notes · View notes

kxowledge · 5 years

Text

ON LEARNING LANGUAGES (with a focus on French)

I wanted to talk a little about how I learned French, in case it could be helpful for someone. It turned out to be a four-pages document. I hope that if you have the patience to read all of this, you get something out of it.

The readability of tumblr posts is rather poor, so you can find here the same thing in a shared doc format.

This post is not a how to. It’s a list of considerations, interwoven with suggestions and the description of my own learning journey. I started studying French about five months ago. French was the first language I studied completely from scratch by myself. I know a couple of other languages, but have always learned them (at least in the beginning) in a structured environment. Yes, knowing other languages – especially English, Italian, Spanish, and Latin – definitely helped. A lot. In particular for a quicker understanding of vocabulary and grammar. Still, I don’t think this fact undermines the underlying principles of my study. Sure, if I wanted to learn, let’s say, Korean, it would take much more time, but I think in its essence, what I’m trying to say here would still apply. On a last note: I talk about various resources; I linked all of them at the end, for clarity’s sake.

Anyway, let’s actually start:

First of all, it was key finding the right balance between pushing myself towards advanced material quickly and avoiding too easy, but also too difficult content. Here’s the thing: the reason why most courses and most people take a long time to learn a language is twofold (1) they don’t put in enough effort, and (2) they spend too much time on relatively easy content. You have to push yourself towards more advanced stuff and do so at a fast rate. However, this can be tricky because too advanced content that is unintelligible is actually detrimental (since you spend a lot of time on it with little results) and discouraging. What didn’t work for me was trying to read advanced material since day one. No matter how much Au Chateau d’Argol appealed to me, I would spend half an hour trying to read a single page. This was not a pleasant task and as a result I avoided doing it, and it wasn’t an efficient way to learn words either since I could do so in a fraction of the time with flashcards. What instead worked for me was skimming through the online course Vivre En France (levels: A1 to B1) and studying flashcards with Lingvist with a higher intensity for the first months in order to cover the basics quickly. During these months, I also watched Dix Pour Cent, a tv show in French. Thus, I was exposing myself to advanced French, but the video format provided a way to easily understand what happened. I first started with English subtitles, and only then moved to French subtitles. It meant pushing myself, but gradually. It wasn’t boring because I was actually interested in the story, which I found well-written, and with each rewatch I discovered jokes I didn’t get the first time around. I had a depressive episode sometime during the first month of learning – and this meant that even lying in bed binge-watching I did something purposeful.

As for (1): effort. I get rather annoyed when people comment on how talented and intelligent I must be since I learned a language so quickly. I simply studied regularly. I had a goal of studying French 6x per week. For three out of the five months I had two part time jobs and a full course load at university. I realized I didn’t have time for this, but I made it. I woke up every day at 5AM to study French for an hour or more. I probably complained for the entirety of the first month (mainly about waking up so early), but then I just loved it. Once the habit is formed, you’ll find it actually pleasant.

I saw my father, a couple of years ago, trying to learn Spanish by going to class once a week and doing the related homework an hour or two before. This approach is not going to work. Not only simply doing some (mostly related to grammar and vocabulary) exercises is not particularly useful, but also the purpose of homework is to help with spaced repetition and to consolidate your knowledge. Let me stress that: spaced repetition is fundamental. Being exposed to the language everyday is key. Or at least a sufficient number of times per week. I’d say at least 3-4. You don’t necessarily have to spend two hours on it. I had a list of tasks I had to do every day – this changed a lot throughout the months as I finished various materials and passed onto others, but it was always a little about everything in order to target all areas (listening, grammar, reading, vocabulary). I think at one point it was 2 units/day of Vivre En France (which included listening and grammar), X grammar topics, read one chapter, 40 new words and revise flashcards. Towards the end instead I used to watch one video of a course in French on a topic I liked, 20 new words/day + revise, read two chapters/until I feel like it, and spend most of the time over past exams and specifically the writing tasks.

But let’s now talk about attending a class: a class provides various things (1) an environment where your target language is the main language spoken where you hence listen and speak and (2) great grammar explanations. There are obliviously other aspects, such as providing you a structure for your studies, but I think it’s self-evident how to recreate them and/or they are not so important. (1) can be broken down into two elements. The first is listening practice. You should always incorporate it in your study routine – what I did was watching a tv show, and then later I followed MOOC in French. This works even better than a classroom because you hear more vast content and more accurate pronunciation. The second is speaking practice, but more on this later.(2) great grammar explanations are difficult to find. As I mentioned, I followed Vivre en France - towards the end I was skimming various exercises because I didn’t care much about those, but the grammar explanations were extremely, extremely clear. I truly think that having someone explain to you the rules makes it much more easy to understand, although a grammar book is always essential. A way to re-create this is to follow this (or others) online courses – though pay attention to only focus on quality material – or pay someone to tutor you.

This is to say that I’m not necessarily against attending a class. However, the problem with a structured course is, mainly, the speed at which the topics are covered. I think that typically the pace is too slow, but truly what matters is that it’s not tailored to you specifically. I think that (for French) the very basics are rather easy to understand and you can and should go over those quickly. But you’ll find topics you might encounter topics you find too difficult and might need to spend more time on those, but a class is a collective environment. The second problem I have with language classes is the type of exercise (both in-class and assigned as homework) that they do – if you ever attended one, you know the drill: fill the blanks, reading/listening comprehension questions, etc. These are not useful, for a couple of different reasons: they are not an efficient use of your time and they inculcate a specific mindset of learning by translating your native language into your target language instead of pushing you to think directly in your target language.

How do I then suggest learning vocabulary and grammar? By reading. Obliviously I have a preference for this method because I like reading in general - if you hate it then you should try other ways. By reading you absorb grammar structures and vocabulary naturally. This ties in with what I was saying about learning directly the language and not by translating. Reading is an organic way of learning.

Specifically:

As I said, I tried reading from day one a too difficult book and that ended up being bad for me. SO, what would I recommend instead? (1) build a strong foundation of basics i.e. most frequent vocab during the first one or two months; (2) (optional) start with easy texts: graded readers if you can find them, French for reading for example, and LingQ is also great if you can afford the premium version (though the free subscription is probably fine for just starting out); (3) as soon as you know 70/80% the most frequent words, start reading actual books, making sure that they are interesting and not overly complicated in terms of language.

As for building vocabulary, to start off……… flashcards. Specifically, what you want to do is build quickly your starting vocabulary and you want these to be frequently appearing words so that you can start reading more advanced stuff. There are many methods – writing word lists (great because they can be thematically grouped) or flashcards for example. The only thing I have against writing by hand is the amount of time it requires. I tried Vocabularie Profressif and for fuck’s sake do not spend your time doing exercises like these to learn vocabulary. The only good thing is that books like these provide you with a list of words for each level. But we live in the great age of the internet, so use the tools available to you. AVOID DUOLINGO because you’ll spend hours to know very few words. Memrise and Quizlet are decent. Especially because you can find pre-made sets. The thing is that also finding words takes time. it’s all not very time efficient. Flashcards are much more efficient.

Let me gush about Lingvist. I love it. I am a long-time user (though before I used it for Spanish and German) and I cannot praise it enough. It’s pure efficiency with a great user interface. Based on a pre-made set of the 5000+ most common words, it helps you build a basic vocabulary gradually. I’ll go as far as to say that it’s so pleasant to type in the answer that it’s almost addictive. Let me quote them because this is such a good application of machine learning: “The course smartly adapts to your mistakes. Following the spaced repetition formula, our app will repeat the words where you make more mistakes more frequently and will go through the words which are easier for you faster. With the improving algorithm, we will be able to map out the words you are likely to know based on your answers and remove them from your words to practice, so you will be getting the most value out of your learning. The app knows when to show you new words and when to repeat previously learned words. We show you no unnecessary repetitions. Don’t worry if you think you haven’t seen a word you learned some time ago in a while. The algorithm knows when it is the optimal time to show it to you.”. It’s pleasant and it’s fucking effective. It’s everything duolingo isn’t. You can learn French, German, Spanish, and Russia from English. And you can learn English from German, Spanish, Estonian, French, Japanese, Portuguese, Russian, Chines. And French from Russian and Estonian. I also want to note that it’s free. However, the premium version offers some great advantages (such as illimited new words per day and 2000 more words). You start with a free premium week (no payment, no card link, that’s just it). THIS is my referral link: if you sign up through this, once you learn 250 new words, you’ll get one month premium (once again, no need to add any card detail or make any payment). For the sake of transparency, I also get a month of premium (…. though I don’t have much use for it now, except for reviewing words).

Anyway, the important thing is this: build quickly a starting vocabulary that will allow you to understand 80%+ of a text, as to be able to start reading more advanced material and learn vocabulary by reading. Once you reach a B1/B2 level, learning by flashcards will only force a mechanical translation mentality where your brain maps one word to its correspondent in your native language and not to the actual thing it represents. Hence, start reading actual books you find interesting.

As for grammar, as I mentioned earlier, a solid reference book is needed. I used Easy French Step by Step simply because it came recommended – I have to say it’s a good book, though it dwells too much on the basics instead of advanced concepts and it doesn’t include anything about syntax. I skipped many exercises (French to English for example, but also the reading ones and probably lots of others – the short readings aren’t bad and starting to read easy texts is a great way to learn! I did some, but once I started reading on my own I stopped). In general, I don’t think that spending too much time on grammar exercises is so important. You need to understand the rules, but I think that by reading and listening to correct usage of your target language, you assimilate the grammar much more easily.

On speaking, which I have to yet address: there are several ways to recreate the speaking practice you would do in a typical language classroom, which often are more efficient since in a class you only get a limited amount of attention and you are likely not to speak so often. The first one is to pay for a private tutor who might help you with grammar explanations when needed and speaking practice – again there are several ways to go about it, you most likely can find someone in your city, but there are also various services online. The obvious con is that this requires money, and often a lot of it. The second option is to join a conversation class. Again this costs money (though probably less), and you don’t get as much attention, but at least it’s focused on speaking practice. The third is to find someone to practice with - this could be a friend, someone who like you wants to learn your target language or a native speaker that wants to learn your native language. You could find them online in various ways (e.g. asks on socials you already use, or go to meetups about language exchanges). Most universities organize ‘language exchanges’ as well, but you could also post a message somewhere, etc. This can be very valuable practice. The only con is that you need to socialize and be willing to speak, which is not always easy as an introvert and in general requires you to push yourself.

Do you want to know what I did? None of these.

I think (in)famous “polyglot” Benny Lewis argues in favour of speaking from day one and that that’s the most important way, etc. Not only I don’t believe you need to speak right from the start, but also I don’t think you need to actually practice speaking in order to get better at it. I’m not saying that all the above are ineffective ways (they are actually good!), but speaking when I know I’m not yet good at it is so out of my comfort zone that I would simply end up not doing it. Again, my alternative is reading – specifically by reading (and to a lesser extent, also speaking to yourself), you start to think directly in your target language. For the pronunciation, I made a point to read out loud and it helped enormously. As a disclaimer, this hasn’t actually prepared me to make small talk in French, but I can discuss at length Aristote’s virtue ethics for example (since I’ve read Éthique à Nicomaque).

As to learning how to write, which I haven’t talked about, the only thing is practice. Find a good topic you have actually something to say about and write. If you have to take an exam comprising also of a written part, force yourself to exercise with previous material. There really isn’t a secret trick, it’s… long, and often boring, practice.

This should underline how important is to tailor your study to your goal. Mine was to pass an exam: I dedicated the first three months to learn the language and the fourth one to prepare specifically for the exam. I took past exams, I sat down and wrote answers to those writing prompts, I created a sample outline for the answer to these, etc. It was incredibly boring, but it was also necessary.

And that’s it. I mean, actually I could go on for hours, but I think this sums up the main points I wanted to make.

RESOURCES I MENTION

Vivre En France: A1; A2; B1

Lingvist (referral link here)

Dix Pour Cent (available on Netflix): wikipedia, trailer

MOOCs in French: FUN, Coursera has a filter for courses in French under each category and you can also look up courses by French universities specifically – the one I followed was Le Bien, le Juste, l'Utile. Introduction aux éthiques philosophiques

French for Reading

LingQ

Easy French Step by Step (link to Goodreads, I can share a pdf copy if you ask)

#french #on language learning #i really suggest you read from the google doc #anyway i might come around and do a video of this but it's incredibly weird recording myself talking #tumblr ate my text and i had to repost?#i don't want to re-format it #seriously read the doc - it's way clearer

190 notes · View notes