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unpredictable-probabilities · 9 months

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Tomorrows Over Centuries || Chapter 1: An Endless Visit

Summary:

Hob gets into a rather painful predicament after a long day of grading papers at The New Inn. But after a visit from his oldest friend, he finds that he doesn't mind so much.

Dream visits Hob Gadling for their long-overdue appointment, and learns that he is more comfortable now in acknowledging and expressing their friendship. However, he learns other things from Hob that catch him off-guard...

Word Count: 4,568

——

The late afternoon air was crisp and cool as Hob stepped out of The New Inn. He walked down the street and stretched his neck from side to side; grading so many papers at once did not do his muscles any favors.

He turned down a side street for a shorter route, already thinking about the cup of tea he would make and the 12-hour nap he wanted to take.

“In a hurry, mate?” asked a slurred voice as a figure walked out from behind the dumpster. “How's about you leave that bag of yours, eh?”

Hob slowed down to a stop at the glint of a switchblade from the man's hand. So far he hadn't been stabbed in this century, and he wasn't keen on breaking that streak.

“And your phone and wallet,” a gruffer voice said from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to see two men with bloodshot eyes, both wielding a similar blade as the one in front of him. All three smelled of alcohol, but unfortunately they still seemed sober enough to cause trouble. And possibly some light stabbing.

“Now, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement,” Hob said evenly as he slowly backed sideways to the wall, keeping all three of them in his line of sight.

“Drop the bag now,” said the slurred voice as all three of them walked closer.

Hob began to unsling the messenger bag from his shoulder. Logically, he knew that the smart choice would be to hand over his things and leave unharmed.

But he also knew that he had just spent hours grading those papers, and he knew that he had a sketchpad in his bag that he very much didn't want to part with.

He wrapped the strap of the bag around his arm and swung hard at the man closest to him, hitting him in the jaw and sending him sprawling onto his behind.

The other two rushed forward, one of them grabbing the bag. Hob placed a well-aimed punch on that man’s eye, then side-stepped and turned to kick the third one.

With his bag yanked free, he turned and prepared to run—

A cold steel blade sank under his ribs. The first thug had gotten up faster than he had expected.

Dammit, Hob instinctively clutched his abdomen as he stumbled back into a crouch. Getting stabbed never got easier, no matter how many times he experienced it.

The thug grabbed his bag, but Hob held firm on the strap.

“Trust me, mate, it’s all boring stuff in there,” Hob managed through his shallow breathing, trying to remain upright on one knee.

He was unceremoniously pushed against the wall, and the thug pulled hard on the bag, ripping the zipper open.

“Eh? It’s just papers.” The man squinted as he rifled through and started taking out the essays that Hob so carefully read and graded, scattering them all over the alley.

“I told you,” Hob said as he tried to stand up, one hand pressed to his wound and the other still grasping the strap of the bag.

The second thug kicked him back against the wall and he fell with a grunt, pain shooting up his torso.

“Must be hidin’ somethin’ expensive in there,” said the gruff voice. “Or he wouldn’t get himself killed for it.”

Hob would have rolled his eyes if pain wasn’t spiking behind them. He’d gotten himself killed for things much less valuable than the contents of his bag.

“Don’t make me cut off yer wrist,” the third thug stepped forward and held his blade threateningly to Hob’s arm.

Hob wanted to point out that cutting off the strap of the bag would be much more efficient, but the blood loss was making him lightheaded, and he was focusing all his energy on staying conscious. It didn’t look like he’d be healing fast enough to get his bag back, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

They got his sketchpad and began rifling through it, grumbling about money hiding between the pages.

“No,” Hob reached for it and was promptly punched in the face for his efforts.

“A’right, what’s really in here?” the first thug put the tip of his knife to Hob’s neck, the sketchpad lying discarded on the asphalt. “Ya wouldn’t fight so much if–”

The thug’s eyes rolled back in his head, the knife fell out of his grip, and all three thugs dropped limply to the ground like puppets with their strings cut off.

Hob blinked repeatedly, wondering if he was hallucinating somehow.

Then another figure began to walk towards him, pale skin and black coat and raven hair.

Hob’s heart skipped a beat before his mind could even fully process who he was seeing. Now he really hoped he wasn’t hallucinating.

“You’re late,” he said to his stranger, a smile forming on his face despite his abdomen still steadily losing blood.

His stranger crouched beside him, eyebrows furrowed at the sight of his wound and the bruise that was starting to form on his cheekbone. “I shall bring you to a hospital.”

Hob shook his head. “No, I heal too quickly and they ask too many questions. S’okay, I’ll be right as rain in an hour or two.” He didn’t dare take his eyes off his stranger, taking in the worried crease on the otherwise smooth forehead, the blue eyes that Hob had learned to read over the course of the centuries, the hard line of his pursed lips.

He’d say that that face makes for a grand last thing to see before his death, except he couldn’t die, and he certainly had plans to keep seeing that face plenty more times.

“Very well. Where do you live?”

“Not far, just on the next block over,” Hob said as he felt the wound start to close up enough to stop the blood flowing out. “Let me see if I can walk—”

Sand swirled around them in a tornado, and Hob instinctively closed his eyes.

——

Dream placed Hob gently to lie on the couch in his living room. With the image of the flat plucked directly from Hob’s mind, it was a simple matter of getting them both here, including all of Hob’s possessions that were scattered in the street.

“Stay still,” Dream said as Hob blinked and looked around in surprise.

Dream sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch and reached into the dream of a doctor sleeping two flats over. He pulled out a bottle of water and a soft washcloth, as well as the knowledge of how to use them in this situation.

“Ah, you don’t have to do that,” Hob said as Dream began to clean the blood off around the injury.

“You cannot die, but an infection would still hurt.” Dream trickled water into the wound and made sure there was no dirt or debris lodged in there. Fortunately, the assailant’s knife hadn’t been rusty.

“Yeah, but you know, I can do that myself.” Hob tried to sit up, but Dream put a firm hand on his chest, keeping him lying down.

“I am aware that you are capable, but friends help each other, do they not?” Dream looked right into Hob’s eyes, all the better to communicate his sincerity.

He noticed the bob in Hob’s throat as he swallowed, then a smile appeared on his friend’s face. An unexpected warmth spread within Dream at the sight, and he found himself returning the smile.

“Oh, we’re friends now, then?” Hob’s eyes twinkled playfully.

“Yes.” Dream went back to his task, washing and drying off Hob’s skin before placing a clean bandage on it. Afterwards, he disposed of all the items in the Dreaming.

Hob raised his eyebrows curiously at the way they vanished into thin air with a wave of Dream’s hand. “So… you can just do that? Summon whatever objects you want and then make them disappear again?”

“I have to find them first before I am able to summon them.” Dream stood up and picked up Hob’s bag from the floor to place it on the coffee table. “What could possibly have been in here that was worth getting stabbed for?” He crouched to take the scattered papers on the floor, and Hob hurriedly got up with a grunt to help him.

“I’d been grading my students’ papers, I can’t exactly replace them if they get stolen.” Hob’s gaze was quickly darting around on the pile.

“Are you searching for something in particular? If you can imagine its appearance vividly enough, I can look for…” Dream’s voice trailed off as his eyes landed on the open sketchpad.

He reached for it, the images pulling him close. Daydreams suffused the papers; Dream could sense them almost like a tangible presence. Each pencil stroke called to him, and he felt certain that every line was created with him in mind. A distant familiarity tugged at his memory, from a time long past when people would pray to him and create shrines to his name.

He barely heard Hob’s voice as it dawned on him just what the images were.

“Um, that’s, I…”

Dream gradually stood up, sketchpad in hand. On the paper before him was a pencil drawing of a man walking away in the rain, his back turned and his black coat billowing behind him. On the page beside that was a man dressed in the fine clothes of the 18th century with his dark hair in a ponytail, seated on a table with a teacup in front of him.

His fingers moved on their own as he turned the pages. There he was, standing by Hob’s table in 1389 with his black robe and the ruby pendant around his neck. Then a side profile of him as he spoke with Will Shaxberd, whose features were drawn in an exaggerated and almost comedic manner somehow. Another drawing was of him with his hair cut short for the 19th century, seated at a table once more with a wine glass in front of him. His eyes, they looked… kind. Did Hob always see him that way? It twisted something in his stomach when he remembered what had happened moments after that, how his eyes had surely blazed with self-righteous anger before he abandoned his friend.

He slowly looked up at Hob, who had been standing quietly beside him.

“You were gone, and…” For reasons Dream couldn’t understand, Hob looked nervous, but his voice remained steady as he spoke. “It helped. Drawing you. I knew I could never forget your face, or any of our meetings, but… it helped.”

Dream closed the sketchpad, grasping for the right words that he could say. Imprisoned in that dark basement, he had not been able to ignore the conflict within him on that day in 1989. It would have been selfish to hope that Hob was waiting for him in the pub, knowing that he would never make it to their meeting. He had known that it would be better if Hob had been angry with him about how they parted last time; he wouldn’t be waiting around for someone who would never arrive. And yet all this time, Hob had been thinking of him. Enough to recreate his image many times over.

What words would be sufficient to encompass all of that?

“I… apologize.” He met Hob’s surprised gaze and held out the sketchpad to him. “I was unkind at our last meeting when you merely spoke the truth. I have treated you poorly, and you did not deserve it.”

Hob gave a small smile, as sincere as every other smile he had ever given Dream. “Well you’re here now. A bit late, but we’ve both got a lot of time, yeah?” He stepped closer and gently took the sketchpad, looking down at it. “And I’m sorry for what I said, back then. I just meant… I understood that you were lonely because I was, too. Sometimes I still am. You’re the only one who really knows me, and I’ve realized that a century has far too many days to wait to see you again…” Hob’s eyes snapped up to Dream, as if he didn’t intend to say that last part aloud. He cleared his throat and smiled, taking a step back. “Anyway, I’ll make us some tea. Let’s take this apology to the table.”

Hob returned the sketchpad carefully into his bag and led the way to the kitchen. Dream followed in silent footsteps, standing behind Hob as he prepared a kettle.

“I would have come to you in 1989, had I been able to.” Dream wanted Hob to know that, if nothing else.

Hob froze for a moment as he brought out two cups. “Oh. Busy day at work, then? With whatever it is you do?”

Dream could feel the curiosity in Hob’s gaze and his questions, but Hob seemed to be holding back from asking him directly.

“No, I was…”

Whenever he was in the Waking, Dream was bound to the reactions of his human form, and as it were, he felt his throat closing up, and his heart raced as flashes of the glass orb flitted across his mind. The birds flying outside the window of Hob’s kitchen made too much noise, causing a memory to surface from a dark place in his mind that he kept hidden, a small raven pecking at his prison, exploding in blood and feathers following a gunshot—

He gritted his teeth and willed the images away as tears threatened to fill his eyes. He was better than this. The King of Dreams should have control over his own mind.

“Hey, hey,” Hob was standing in front of him, a worried expression on his face. “Come on, let’s sit down.” He gently pulled Dream’s arm to guide him to a chair at the small round table, where two tea cups were waiting for them. “You don’t have to talk about it, alright?”

Dream’s breathing was becoming shallow, and he clenched his fists on the table to force his hands to stop shaking.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m here,” Hob reached over and put his hands on one of Dream’s, stroking gentle circles with his thumb.

Dream released a shaky breath and opened his hands, wanting to withdraw them from the table to hide such a display of weakness, but Hob kept holding his right hand in both of his, meeting Dream’s questioning gaze with a soft smile.

“I was imprisoned,” Dream said before he could lose his voice again, the warm feeling of Hob’s hands emboldening him. “By a sorcerer who used my powers to gain wealth and youth.”

Hob’s eyes flashed with horror, anger, worry, and other emotions that went too quick for even Dream to catch. It was anger that stayed on his features as he gripped Dream’s hand more securely. “What did they do to you?” His gaze flitted over Dream as if looking for injuries. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but—”

“They didn’t hurt me,” Dream reassured his friend. He didn’t wish to cause him any more distress. “They took my tools of office and my raven companion…” Dream had to stop speaking again, forcing the images away from his mind’s eye. He took a calming breath. “But no, they did not injure me.”

“If I had known…” Hob shook his head in exasperation. “God, if I had known, I would have gotten you out of there myself. You know I would have.” The intensity in his gaze left no room for doubt in Dream’s mind. And the image of spending all that time with Hob instead of in the glass orb was so strong that Dream found himself returning Hob’s firm grip.

“Well, you’re here now. And we both have a lot of time.” The corner of his mouth lifted as he playfully repeated Hob’s words to him.

Hob seemed caught off-guard and he chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, we do. And nobody’s gonna take you while you’re in my house, alright? I can promise you that.”

Dream stared at Hob, searching his friend’s eyes for any false facades and found none. When was the last time someone had promised him sanctuary? Even in his own realm, he had his subjects to watch over. Safety was expected from him, never promised.

However, here at Hob's home, he did not have to be an infallible lord. Nobody expected him to know all the answers, and no judging eyes pried into him searching for the smallest flaws.

And was that not how it always felt with Hob? Even during the times he would not admit to their friendship, Hob’s presence was never something Dream felt guarded about. With Hob, he could simply… be.

“Morpheus.”

“What?” Hob's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“That is my name. Among many.”

Hob’s mouth dropped open, and the corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned. “Right. Right, then. If I’d known that I had to get stabbed to get your name, I would've let Lady Johanna’s thugs do it.”

“I would not have let that happen.” Dream felt himself smiling as well.

Hob furrowed his eyebrows as he seemed to realize something. “Wait, ‘Morpheus’, like the god of dreams?”

“I am no god. That is simply what the Ancient Greeks preferred to believe.”

“Okay,” Hob nodded slowly. “But you do have powers over dreams?”

“That is my function. My realm provides a safe place for humans to face their fears and wants.”

“And… does that mean you know what all humans dream about?” Hob’s voice was even, but his nervousness had returned.

“If I wanted, I could choose a dream to see into and take anything from it. That is how I summoned the supplies to treat your wound earlier. However, for the most part it is all in the back of my mind. Though some dreams are louder than others and catch my attention.”

Hob’s fingers suddenly felt cold against Dream’s hand. “Have you seen any of my dreams, then?”

Dream shook his head. “I prefer that you tell me yourself about your hopes and dreams, as you have done so in our past meetings. You are quite the engaging storyteller.” The anxious energy began to ebb away from Hob at that, but Dream still didn’t understand why it was there in the first place. “Is something wrong? Are there any nightmares you would like to get rid of? I could see into your dreams the next time you sleep and—”

“No,” Hob quickly cut him off. “No, it’s fine, really. I was just curious, that’s all.”

Hob got up and took the teapot from the counter, and Dream’s hand felt colder with the absence of Hob’s hold on him. He held his own teacup with both hands instead, taking in its warmth.

“I am curious as well, about how you have been faring over the past century.” Dream asked when Hob sat back down after refilling his cup. “You’re a teacher now? No longer interested in soldiering or banditry?”

Hob smiled at his teasing tone. “You know I haven’t been interested in those things in a long time. I figured, since the world’s only getting bigger, I’d like to know more about it as much as I can, and it wouldn’t hurt to try to teach the younger ones a thing or two about what I do already know.”

“Do you teach drawing as well?” Dream asked in genuine curiosity.

Hob’s cheeks turned a shade of red as he laughed. “No. The stuff in my sketchpad, that’s just for me. I don’t really show people anything I draw. Not very good at it, anyway,” he shrugged.

“I disagree. Since the Ancient Greeks, there have not been many temples nor shrines dedicated to me, but in your drawings I felt a similar sense of…” Reverence, he wanted to say, but he had recently learned that he could sound quite arrogant, and he did not want Hob to think of him as such. “Respect. And care. Your artworks are not without heart.”

Hob grinned. “Maybe I can draw your portrait then, while you sit right there.”

Dream tilted his head slightly, considering. “I would not mind.”

Hob’s grin melted off in surprise. “No, come on, I was just joking,” he averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “Anyway, yeah, I didn’t expect myself to be in the academic world either but here I am. Going for brains instead of brawn this century.”

They slipped into the comforting familiarity of Hob telling Dream about what he had been up to in the past decades. At some point, Hob made some ham and cheese sandwiches to go with their tea. Dream did not need food, but he finished his sandwich all the same. It was good, and it only made Hob smile brighter when he told him so. Which made Dream understand a little better why friends have meetings over food.

The sun had set some time ago when Hob’s phone made a noise. He paused in the middle of talking about an upcoming book fair to take it from his pocket.

“Oh, that’s right,” he looked at the screen after silencing the alarm. “Speaking of the book fair, I need to send some emails to confirm which of my colleagues and students would be attending. I gotta prepare what I’d be wearing, too,” his eyebrows furrowed. “The dean insisted on ‘smart casual’ and he takes these events seriously.”

Dream nodded and stood up, Hob followed suit.

A hundred years, then? Dream almost said, instinctively. But it didn’t feel right, not this time. Besides, Hob did say that there were far too many days in a century. And he could certainly agree.

“If you would be interested…” Dream began, gauging Hob’s reaction. “Perhaps I can pay you a visit once more, without waiting a hundred years. If your schedule would permit—”

“Yes,” Hob’s voice was tinged with surprise and gladness. He huffed out a relieved laugh. “Yes, of course, you beautiful bastard!” He took a step forward and seemed to stop himself, averting his eyes for a moment before looking at Dream again with a calmer expression. “It was nice seeing you again. Morpheus.”

Dream felt something warm in his chest from how Hob’s voice curled around his name, as if each syllable were something precious.

“Thanks for the help earlier at the alley,” Hob nodded vaguely in the direction of the outdoors.

“I hope to see you in a much better condition when I next visit,” Dream said sincerely.

Hob chuckled, and he took a few moments before he spoke again. “I’ll be at The New Inn tomorrow morning, since I don’t have any classes until the afternoon. I’ll be there until after lunch time, maybe. So if you wanna swing by…”

Dream had not expected to be invited again so soon, but he had no complaints. He nodded. “Tomorrow morning it is.”

Hob looked like he still wanted to say something, with the way his eyes darted around and how he kept shifting his weight on his feet. There it was again, the nervous energy that Dream couldn’t fathom. Hob had never seemed uncomfortable in his presence since that brief moment in 1489 when Hob had asked if he were the devil. What changed?

With his curiosity growing, Dream hadn’t noticed that the walls he put up to separate himself from Hob’s daydreams had begun to crumble, until a vivid image entered his mind.

“Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong,” Dream had told Hob then, on that night at The White Horse.

Hob had stepped closer to him, and before he could turn away and walk out the door, Hob’s arms were around his shoulders, pulling him close in a silent embrace that said so much more than what words could.

Dream blinked and put the walls back up. He did not wish to intrude upon Hob’s privacy, but he could still feel Hob’s regret in that modified memory. There was a part of Hob that blamed himself for not moving fast enough, for letting Dream go when he needed company the most. Nevermind that it would have been scandalous for two men to embrace in such a way in the 19th century.

“Hob,” Dream began, wanting to tell him that he had no fault at all in what happened back then.

“Yeah?” Hob asked, the nervous expression on his face giving way to curiosity.

Dream didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable with the knowledge that that particular daydream of his had been revealed, and he selfishly did not want Hob to stop meeting him anymore for fear of his mind being read.

So instead Dream stepped forward wordlessly, crossing the gap between them and wrapping his arms around Hob’s waist as he leaned into him.

Hob stiffened in surprise, but then he let out a breath and relaxed in the embrace, putting his arms around Dream’s neck and resting his chin on Dream’s shoulder.

“It took me more than six centuries to admit that we are friends,” Dream said softly. “I thank you for your patience with me, Hob Gadling. I do not know what I have done to deserve it.”

Hob buried his face in Dream’s neck and sighed, causing warmth to prickle on Dream’s skin and pool in his belly. “You deserve so much more, dove,” Hob muttered. “I’m just glad to give what I can.”

Before Dream knew what was happening, another image filled his mind, as bright as a sun’s glare, impossible to ignore even if one shut their eyelids against it.

Hob pulled back from their embrace and reached up to caress Dream’s face, then he leaned closer to press their foreheads together.

“I missed you so much,” Hob sighed, his breath brushing Dream’s mouth. “You can stay longer, yeah?”

The images flashed by quickly. Hob cooking breakfast, the both of them walking around a park, Dream bringing Hob to his flat late in the evening, Hob wrapping his arms around Dream’s neck and reaching up to press their lips together, Dream pulling Hob closer to him as they learned the shape of each other’s mouths—

Dream forced himself out of Hob’s daydreams, willing the walls back up. His face felt suddenly and uncharacteristically warm.

Hob tightened his embrace, and Dream found himself returning the gesture. The realization was surging up within him that not only did he not feel opposed to Hob’s daydreams, but that they were also something he wanted. Dangerously so.

Dream gently pulled away from Hob, fearing that his friend would be able to feel how fast his heart was racing.

He didn’t want to leave so soon when they had not seen each other in more than a hundred years, but what he did want with Hob now was far too important to act recklessly upon, and he was afraid he’d do reckless things indeed if he stayed longer.

“I shall see you tomorrow, Hob Gadling,” he said evenly as he took a step back.

“You better.”

Dream summoned his sand and watched Hob’s smiling face until he was transported to his realm.

He promptly made his way to the library. His knowledge was lacking when it came to courtship among humans; he had a lot of reading to do.

——

Chapter 2 ->

(Masterlist)

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wyvernquill · 2 years

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More Dreamling Anastasia AU

Because I must obviously be stricken down for my hubris if I say I refuse to write something. (Masterpost can be found here!)

This one’s an earlier bit, while they’re still trying to teach “Murphy” how to act like Dream, and first encounter The Corinthian - so please be aware that there will be Corinthian-typical mentions of stabbing and blood in this excerpt!

(Tagging @10moonymhrivertam again, and also open invitation for anyone who wants to be notified of new updates to tell me so, and I’ll tag you when/if I write other scenes!)

---

“Do the list again.”

“Hob…” Murphy sighs, visibly annoyed, hands stuffed in his coat pockets and face ducked into his scarf. There are snowflakes caught in the dark tangle of his hair, and Hob wonders briefly if he would accept Hob’s hat, or look at it with the same disgusted grimace he pulled when he was offered one of Gil’s spare cardigans.

“Come on. Again.” Hob encourages. “You’ll need to know it by heart, it has to be ingrained so deeply into you that I should be able to wake you up at three in the night and have you recite it perfectly.”

“Do not dare to wake me up at three in the night!” Murphy snarls, and they will really have to work on that temper - Gilbert is very insistent that Dream of the Endless’s fury was fierce, yes, but quiet, controlled, and merciless in its silence. These outbursts don’t befit a Dream King, and they’ll have to go.

“I was speaking metaphorically!” Hob laughs and holds up his hands defensively. “I know better than to disturb your sleep, rest assured. Matthew would peck my eyes out, for a start.”

(Judging from the look on Murphy’s face, the man would approve of that course of events, and possibly praise his raven afterwards.)

“But the list. Go on, Lord Morpheus, the list.”

Murphy sighs again, turning his face up to the snow-grey night sky. Hob is suddenly quite glad Gilbert shooed them out for a walk, to clear Murphy’s head after another long day of lessons - more lessons tomorrow, and then they’ll be travelling again over the weekend, always busy or on the move. It’s quite lovely, to have this moment of tranquillity, in the dark and the snow, and to see Murphy… well. Less frustrated and harried than he usually is, solemn and thoughtful and with chapped lips from the frost.

“Destiny, the oldest, in the maze, with the book.” He recites, only slightly sullen. “Death, the second, everywhere and everywhen, but always where she’s needed, with the ankh. Dream, the third-”

“Include the names.”

“Ugh. Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, the Shaper of Form, Kai’ckul-”

“Kai-what?” Hob frowns. He hasn’t heard that one before.

“-Oneiros or the Oneiromancer, and the Lord of Stories.” Murphy continues, undeterred, slogging through the list just to have it be over quicker. “There, the names. Now: Dream, in the Dreaming, with the ruby - and sometimes the helmet and the sand. Always with a raven. Next, Destruction-”

“No, please,” drawls a voice behind them. “Tell us more about Dream.”

They both freeze.

Hob turns slowly, stepping to the side just slightly, just enough so he will be in range to shove Murphy behind himself, should it become necessary.

“I do so love bedtime stories,” the stranger who has approached them is grinning broadly, in a tan suit and coat much too thin for this weather, and dark glasses - sunglasses? At night!? - covering his eyes. “Though I always like ‘em best when they have gory endings. When the stepsisters cut their feet to fit into the glass slipper in the Grimm brothers’ version of Cinderella? Boy, I could listen to that all night.”

The man is holding a long knife in his hand, the sort not made for cutting anything but the flesh of your fellow man, toying with it - and Hob feels a prickle of fear slide down his spine.

“Who are you, to disturb us?” Murphy snaps haughtily, and Hob would be pleased at the excellent noble-arrogant cadence, if he weren’t suddenly fucking terrified of Murphy getting a knife in between the ribs for his cheek.

“Me?” The man laughs, throwing the knife up in the air, glittering, twirling, before catching it again. “You don’t remember little old me?”

The man’s teeth are too white, Hob notes, too bright, and too *many* when he smiles like this.

“I’m your worst nightmare, my Lord,” he says, still smiling - and then lunges forward, knife first.

Hob moves instantly, instinctively, without even a moment’s hesitation.

With his elbow, he shoves Murphy back, out of the way, and then bats the man’s knife arm off-course, coming in swinging with the other fist. It connects with an audible crack, but their assailant only laughs, giddy and breathless, and spits out half a mouthful of blood - is there some dripping from his eyes under the glasses, too - before evading Hob’s grip on his arm and dancing out of the way.

“Murphy, run!” Hob shouts over his shoulder, heart beating in his throat, blood up and boiling. He hasn’t gotten into alleyway fights in a year or two, but it’s familiar, the tang of blood, the rush of adrenaline. He’s always liked the brawls where there wasn’t a sharp object involved better, just two men and their fists - but if this madman wants a fight, he’ll damn well get one. Hob’s put better people than him in hospital.

Hob charges forward, goes for a grab at the knife arm again, and manages a short grapple, a kick at a shin, the tip of the knife wavering as they twist against each other, and slicing a red-hot line of pain along the side of Hob’s jaw - the man’s still grinning, holy shit, that’s unsettling - before the other twists himself free again with almost unnatural strength, and Hob has to jump back before that knife goes somewhere vital.

“Well, aren’t’cha quite the fighter, Hobsie?” The assailant says, with his dozens of bone-white teeth bared. “I’m glad. Makes it more fun to carve into you when you struggle a li’l bit.”

“Would love to see you try,” Hob spits back, wiping his cheek, his blood dripping red onto the snow.

They throw themselves at each other again, and the man is impossibly strong, delivering an almost casual punch against Hob’s sternum that knocks the breath out of him, forcing him back a couple stumbling steps.

And Hob knows he should run, too. The best way to win a streetfight is to not be in one, and he’s not keen on getting stabbed. Would be a waste, to die now, when he’s so close to earning himself immortality…

…but he needs to buy Murphy time.

The thought alone, of seeing Murphy dead in the snow, blood pooling around him in and coat spread out like broken wings - he can’t bear it. He’s got the man into this fucking mess, and he cannot let Murphy die because of his con. This is supposed to be a win-win situation for them all, not a threat to anyone’s life!

And if somebody’s life is threatened, it better be Hob’s own. Only fair - he gets the biggest reward in the end, he should shoulder the brunt of the risk as well.

Hob coughs one last time, eyeing the blood-red tip of the assailant’s knife. He won’t die here, he refuses to, and he’ll fight until the bitter end if-

“Wait,” Murphy says, and Hob’s heart stutters in his chest.

The idiot! The absolute fool! Hob told him to run, why the fuck is he still here!?

Hob gets barely more than a second of panic in before Murphy steps up beside him, glowering darkly at the man with the knife…

And then, in a movement quick as a flash, he throws a handful of salt-grit-sand mix - the sort the city keeps in large containers alongside the streets in wintertime, to make the snow and ice safer to traverse - straight into the man’s face.

The man screeches, voice strangely dissonant, as if it comes from three mouths at once, and jerks back sputtering, dropping his knife and covering his face with his hands.

Hob kicks the knife away, out of reach, on instinct - and then he feels a bony hand curl around his own, dragging him away, and he lets it, running hand in hand with Murphy for dear life.

(There are angry shouts behind them, threats, but Hob never looks back, only squeezing the cold palm against his harder.)

They run, and run, and run, until they finally reach the relative safety and familiarity of the street outside their inn, both gasping for breath as they lean against its walls.

“You… need not… have come…” Murphy wheezes, his thin chest heaving under his thick coat, even as his eyes are burning with indignation, “to my… defence!”

“Clearly!” Hob rasps, sliding to the ground, uncaring for the snowmelt soaking through his trousers. “Still… I didn’t want to be standing in front of the Endless alone, in a few weeks’ time.”

He grins up at Murphy - the wound along his cheek burning as he does it - and the sharp retort about being perfectly capable of handling himself in a fight visibly dies on Murphy’s lips.

He crouches down besides Hob, coat puffing up around him, and brings one hand up to cup Hob’s jaw, to turn it and inspect the line of red their attacker’s knife left there. Thumbs the cut, smearing warm blood along Hob’s cheekbone.

“You were hurt,” he murmurs, dark voice almost wavering with distress.

“Shallow cut.” Hob catches Murphy’s wrist before he can fuss any more with the wound, rubs a thumb soothingly over the thin bones there. “I’ll live.”

“Foolish man,” Murphy grumbles - but he’s very nearly smiling as he says it.

Their eyes meet.

They’re both still breathing hard, and for all his haggard, skeletal build and sunken face lined with long years of hardship, Murphy looks almost lovely like this, lips slightly parted and pale face flushed with exertion, looking up at Hob through his lashes as if…

As if…

Hob leans forward, and Murphy does too, something burning bright and smouldering hot between them, lips getting close enough to brush-

“ROBERT! MURPHY!” Gilbert slams open the door beside them, and they both jerk apart as if burned.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re here!” Gilbert flusters, wringing his hands on the grip of his cane. “I had the most terrible premonition that my two dear friends were in danger, most ghastly, so I rushed- Robert, are you bleeding!?”

“I’m fine, Gil,” Hob tries to wave him off - to little avail.

Hob is ushered up into their room, sat down, and then berated by Gilbert for his recklessness while Murphy is carefully, studiously, dabbing at Hob’s wound with one of Gilbert’s handkerchiefs and pointedly not making any eye contact.

(Though Matthew is more than making up for that, staring Hob down as if he knows exactly what almost transpired outside the inn’s door, and is rather firmly against the idea of letting it happen again…

Which it surely won’t. It was a mad impulse in the spur of the moment - they both know better, now.

Yes.

They both know better.)

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #and feel free to send me asks if you want me to elaborate or something #or what i had in mind for other scenes #i'm always happy to chat!#i just couldn't resist an almost-kiss here #and gratuitous references to the 1789 scene #hob and dream fighting to protect each other my beloved #also the corinthian is LUCKY gilbert got the memo a little late #because yes he DOES have a sword in his cane #and he happily would have used it #maybe he will in a later confrontation #because i suddenly have a mighty need for gilbert vs. corinthian sword-knife fencing #matthew kind of likes hob by the way #but after years of protecting murphy on the streets he's just overall wary of others #even if they seem like good guys who let him sip from their beers

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aralezinspace · 1 year

Note

Hey BB!

Your thoughts on The Endless family. Faves? Least faves? What you like about the family dynamic?

I love the whole family, their whole dynamic, in fact I’m gonna Go Off on an ADHD tangent™ xD

The more I think about it, the more the Endless family seems to be a spectrum of order-chaos. On one end you have Destiny (most order) on the other, Delirium (most chaos) which I find fascinating because who does that place smack dab in the middle? DESTRUCTION. Like what happens when you remove the (theoretical) middle of that spectrum, equal parts order and chaos?

My theory is that bits of his potential power/function got passed on to each of his siblings- destiny, death, dreams, desire, despair, and delirium all have the potential to destroy, now more so than before Destruction left because the void of his function needs to be filled somehow.

Dream and Delirium are probably my faves, with Desire and Death closely tied for second/third. I see so much of how I see the world in Delirium, and Dream gives me similar vibes as the Doctor- ancient and definitely powerful and dangerous but also comforting and empathetic and understanding and soothing. Like major props to the designers who created the Dreaming in the show because it feels like it contains boundless adventure and excitement, but also safe and like you're coming home, the same way the TARDIS and Hobbiton feel safe and like home.

In explaining the faves, I feel like I also gotta go into why Dream is my fave as an actor: Tom Sturridge was an absolute PERFECT casting. Like he's such a compelling physical actor; his smallest movements and changes in expression say SO MUCH, which is something I also aspire to as an actor. Not to mention his vocal tone, how he assumes this gentle air of authority that's not overbearing but constantly present, you have no doubt at any point that you're talking to a true monarch. I firmly believe that the best way to get better at something is to work with people who are better than you at the thing- that being said I want to work with Tom SO FRICKEN BAD, just play off him and act opposite him and pick his brain about how he approaches developing a character, Like save some talent for the rest of us ffs

You also get every single stereotypical Sibling Dynamic with these kids:

Destiny- Oldest Son, the pride and joy that also ends up becoming a parental figure to his siblings because mom and dad aren't really Involved

Death- classic Oldest Daughter syndrome, lessened slightly by not being the first born. Also becomes kind of a parental figure

Dream- your typical emo middle child, proud of his Independence and Doesn't Need Anyone but deep down yearns for affection

Destruction- punk middle child that doesn’t really get noticed or paid any attention until they move out then everyone's like "omg i miss him so much" but the fam has made their bed so he's all "🖕🏼🖕🏼you had your chance now I'm off doing my own thing"

Desire- scab picker that pits their siblings against each other for funsies and their own entertainment. My Mema would call them a bochinchosa (busy body). Everyone knows they're doing it but can't resist following along

Despair- Eeyore of the family- loves her despite of the despair/depression, siblings absolutely will defend her if anyone outside the family tries to bring her down because her function has value too

Delirium- youngest and perfect, gets away with absolutely EVERYTHING

There's my tangent, tagging @neil-gaiman Just In Case Neil if you want any materials re acting/auditioning (assuming you have any say) from me just say the word, I can't even begin to tell you how badly I want to Be A Part of the Sandman world, even a small part

#my stuff #The Sandman #answered #chromehoplite

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angelyuji · 2 years

Text

3:33 AM

dream of the endless x reader

you follow the shadow of a man through the woods. everything seemed unfamiliar and eerie. you can’t remember how you got there. your instincts tell you to run away, back to where you started, but you can’t seem to remember the way out. so instead, you follow the shadow. you walk into a clearing with the man in front of you, facing away towards the darkening sky.

“hello?” you call out. the trees rustle as a strong wind blows through them. the man does not move.

you try again, walking closer, “hello? who are you?”. you reach to touch the man on the shoulder, but stop when he twitches. his body stays in place, but his neck twists his head to face yours. eyes missing, blood spills from the holes. his mouth twisted in a wide grin. his pale skin stretched as he breathes. you scream and stumble back. the trees shake as the winds tear through them, the ground rumbles as you try to run. you sprint towards the entrance of the clearing, but the hedges closed. trapping you with a monster. as the man steps closer, you press yourself into the shrubs, sobbing. you close your eyes and hold on to the branches, fearing the worst.

“do not be afraid, mortal. it is just a nightmare.” you hear a soft, deep voice. you open your eyes, releasing the branches to wipe your eyes. the clearing seemed to have disappeared as a elegant fountain and beautiful cherry blossom trees appear in front of you. you walk forward to the fountain, feeling the water. pleasant silence fills the courtyard.

“what…” you feel a presence behind you. they place a hand on your back. you turn to face them, and their hand moves to your waist. you face a man, dressed from head to toe in black. “who are you?” you whisper, the man cradles your face with his other hand.

“i will always keep you safe.” he whispers, coming closer to you. you stay still as your noses touch. his lips faintly touches yours. “now, wake up.”

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karama9 · 2 years

Text

Conversation with Hylia

This is part of a story I’m working on. If it doesn't get cut, anyway.

Link is praying to Hylia in an effort to either restore the Master Sword or get some divine inspiration on how else to go about it. The map and features of Hyrule in the story are based on Breath of the Wild, and the statue Link is praying to is the one in the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. Link, however, is an OC of mine - this story would be taking place a very, very long time before Breath of the Wild but very, very long after Ocarina of Time.

***

Link stood in front of the giant statue, sword in hand. He was here for a specific reason but the familiar feeling didn’t seem to care – as usual, the mere sight of a statue that was almost certainly not an accurate depiction of the Goddess as she looked when she lived as a Hylian was enough to trigger a strong reaction in the oldest part of his soul.

The feeling wasn’t all that definite. Link wouldn’t have known why the statues consistently made him so sad if not for the memory fragment he’d got from his very first lifetime.

The memory was one of the flashes he’d gotten when he’d gone through the recall ceremony his parents had rightfully forbidden and that he’d done anyway. It hadn’t been much, but having seen it over and over again in his dreams made it quite intelligible to him. He’d seen a young girl with blond hair and blue eyes ageing and drifting away while he remained locked in place. The girl was reaching out for him, he was reaching out for her, but they were both powerless, separated forever.

Officially, Hyrule did not know whether the first hero was the father to the children of the Goddess reborn as the first Zelda. History said the Goddess had chosen a Hero she knew would do anything for her, but what their relationship actually was wasn’t known.

Most people sort of figured they had been a couple and that the bloodline of Zelda was also the bloodline of the first Hero, even though the Hero’s soul did not tend to be reborn within it. But as popular as the theory was, it was still just a guess with next to nothing to back it up.

Link didn’t need to guess and didn't need proofs. He knew for a fact that the Hero had been completely consumed with love for his Zelda, and had still been at the time of his death, and he knew she loved him back. And rather than being able to reunite with her in the afterlife, the hero was trapped in an endless cycle of rebirths, forever separated from her spirit, which had moved on.

Link cleared his throat.

“Hello Hylia,” he said. The feelings that belonged to a man thousands of years dead threatened to flow to the surface. “He yearns for you,” he said. “He misses you so much I can feel his pain.”

The statue made no response, but Link felt a bit lighter. It was usually how it went: acknowledging the feelings, in the third person, eased them back deeper into his own mind, out of the way of his current life.

There was nothing he could do for his past life. Even Hylia was powerless on that score. He needed to focus on the present and the future.

“I need your wisdom,” he told the statue.

Deep within, a small part of him wanted to say he needed her love. He ignored it, because there was simply nothing else he could do.

#legend of zelda #fanfic extract #OC Link

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

The Belle and the Bane - Intro

Summary: How the legend of the Bane began and your simple life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 2,611

Rating: Fantasy!AU, Mentions of death, Illness, Language, Angst, Curses

Inspiration: The beauty and the beast, among other things.

Author’s Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming for brainstorming this with me, hammering out the details! Tell me what you think!

Once upon a time, in an ancient land, there was a small village of three hundred dreary and poor inhabitants. In this small village of Mintwillow, there was a legend of dark and sinful proportions; the legend went like this.

Living in a neglected castle, a handful of leagues from the village, placed perilously on the edge of a cliff, with the roaring and roiling waves of an ocean below, crashing against the rock face and eroding it away, was who the village called, the Bane. He had been the fourth of five children, all brothers, who had all lived happily and harmoniously with their loving and pampering parents. The family was the most prosperous family within nearly sixty leagues of the village, which, at the time, was just as prosperous and bustling, riding the wave of their success.

But, then, disaster struck.

A horrible illness washed over the county, striking the inhabitants of Mintwillow the hardest. The Bane's family, despite their wealth and good standing, also became victims of the disease. Every last one of them became sick with it; bedridden and raving, bodies throbbing, as if all of their bones were shattering, and sweating so profusely from their fevers, that their mattresses were soaked through, and took turns in getting sick. Their servants, also sick themselves, did their best to care for their beloved masters, but it was all for not. First, the mistress of the castle died of the illness, followed by the youngest son and the third oldest. The father and oldest went two days later, but the second oldest and second youngest held out for a fortnight. On the night of the fourteenth day, even after a glitter of hope of becoming well again, the second oldest perished, leaving only the second youngest alive.

Who still fought for his life against the illness.

He had languished between getting better for a day or two, before becoming quite worse and being only moments, if not seconds, from death. But, finally, after nearly another fortnight, the second youngest son roused, his fever breaking and his life safe from the dark tentacles of death that had taken all of his family, all that mattered and he held so dearly to his heart.

It had taken time, and a good many lives, before the plague that washed over Mintwillow to pass away, leaving an ugly scar in the lives and minds of the inhabitants. While a mass grave had to be excavated for the townspeople, the bodies of the dead family were given single graves in their ancestral graveyard, just down the hill from the castle. It was the day of their funeral, even though they had already been in their graves for a month or more, that the second youngest son, now the heir and executor of the family empire, realized the amount of power he suddenly wielded; the mass fortunes of gold he had at his disposal, for every want, whim and fancy he could ever dream of, with no one to tell him no, or hold him in check with the spending.

That was when the Bane came to be.

He threw huge balls for the top families in the land, inviting the prettiest women his staff could find and lived in the county. He spent thousands of pounds on furnishings, decorations and things he had no need for; some he didn't even know how to work and use, but bought, simply because he could. But, within two years of his new found power, the money was starting to dwindle. He was spending more than the family business could support.

So, he taxed the small town of Mintwillow.

Raising the taxes on the goods he supplied them, supplies and goods they needed to live and support themselves, since the next option to do so, was over a hundred leagues away. He taxed them for everything he could, and even thought up new things he could tax them on, because he knew without him, they would all likely starve.

After awhile, spending mountains of gold, throwing lavish parties and having an endless line of women, didn't fill the hole that had been left at the loss of his parents and brothers. Nonetheless, he kept spending the gold and dancing at his parties and bedding every woman he could. It had become a habit now, instead of a pleasure. However, in the third year after the illness, and quite suddenly, he no longer threw lavish parties that lasted for days, he no longer spent vast amounts of gold or entertained a woman. Some in the village speculated that he had packed up and moved out of the county, having slighted some young lady's honor and ran before her father could force him into marrying her. Some said, someone he had overtaxed had become so enraged by it, they murdered him and his body was decaying somewhere in the castle.

But, the impossibly high taxes kept being enforced and collected.

What he had done, was reduced the staff to a single butler, closed up all of the rooms, but his own bedroom, a study and the kitchen; leaving the rest to grow thick layers of dust, cobwebs, moth holes and to fall into disrepair and neglect; leaving the ghosts of his former life to inhabit them.

Shutting the world away and darkening the once bright and full of life castle.

Why would he suddenly close out the world like that? The answer isn't as simple as one might think.

During one of the biggest balls he had ever thrown, the girls were flocking him, as usual, when an exceptionally gorgeous woman approached him, she was so radiant in her gown and her self assurance, that he couldn't help be attracted to her, drawn to her glow, like a moth to the naked flame of a candle. Pushing away all other women, he approached her, turning his handsome charm onto her. She was just as drawn to him as he was to her. They danced and floated around each other, none other existed to them, not the nearly two hundred guests or the jealous women; just him and her.

Before long, the pair were in the privacy of one of the castle's many rooms, sitting close together on a divan, smiling faces so near to each other, they shared the same breath. They shared jokes and quips, flirtations and jests. But, suddenly, her behavior changed and her bright eyes dimmed, like a dangerous storm cloud.

“You like all your fancy things, don't you?” She hissed at him. “Having every woman fling herself upon your feet, like a simpering puppy.”

He blinked at her, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. “What are you talking about?” He demanded, pulling away from her; shock and brewing rage in his blue eyes and handsome face.

“Taxing the lands and lives of all the poor souls in this land, while you sit fit and happy upon your mountains of gold and privilege.” Her own rage grew, out matching his own. “Yet, you are as miserable, if not more so, than they are. But, you still tax them, sucking them dry, until they are so far in debt to you, they fling themselves from the cliffs, to end their suffering.”

“Suffering you cause for nothing.”

“I won't be spoken to like this.” He said in a low growl, his upper lip twitching with a snarl. “Get out and never show your face here again! Or I'll show you what true misery is!” He raved, jumping to his feet and pointing a stiff finger to the door.

She stood with him, quite gracefully for a soul so consumed with rage and distaste. “No, you will know what misery really is!” She barked, before roughly kissing him, her long nails digging into the soft flesh of his neck, leaving thin trails of blood in their stead.

“That will be the last kindness you will have for some time.” She hissed, then swept out of the room.

The room was dark and stifling hot, you could feel beads of sweat rolling down your back, as you leaned over the mortar you were currently grinding up a combination of white willow bark, yarrow and marshmallow root in. Another painful sounding and wet cough filled the single room hut your patient lived in with her husband and six children, all under the age of nine. Getting the herbs fine enough, you turned to the roaring fireplace that dominated a large section of the north wall of the hut. You had told her husband not to put so many logs on the fire, she was already badly hydrated, and the overwhelming heat of the fire, combined with her high fever, were causing her to sweat profusely, making her even more dehydrated.

But, being a man and feeling he knew better than you, he kept feeding more and more logs into the licking flames.

You suppressed an eye roll as he tossed another sizable log into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks into the chimney flue. Using the skirt of your dress, you grabbed a hold of the handle to the roiling kettle and pulled it off the hook that held it over the flames. Taking it back to the makeshift kitchen table, you dumped the ground herbs into the battered and chipped teapot, then poured in the steaming hot water, leaving it to brew the herbal tea that would reduce her fever and help quiet down her cough.

“Have her drink the whole pot.” You told him, holding the teapot, and still using your dress as a barrier, while you gently swirl the liquid inside, the heat radiating through the porcelain felt pleasant. “Even if she doesn't want to. But, don't make her drink it too fast either. Maybe a cup every half hour.” You explained to him, setting it back down on its stone coaster.

“If she gets any worse, come and get me.” You added, gathering your little bag full of herbs and other odds and ends you used as a healer for Mintwillow.

“Thank you.” The husband said gruffly, standing stiffly by his wife's side.

“Of course.” You nodded to him, then gave the youngest child, only fourteen months old, and sitting on the hearth rug, gumming on a biscuit, a smile; recalling you helping birth the babe into the world, before going out into the cold and salty air.

It was so much nicer out there, the winds pushing in pungent ocean air, salty and fresh, with a tang of fish and kelp. It was cool and refreshing, an excellent cure all to the stuffy and hot atmosphere of the hut you just left. You were nearly home, when a familiar silhouette appeared in the early evening mist, bringing a happy smile to your face.

“Hello, papa.” You greeted him as he fully appeared.

“Hello, child.” He smiled back at you, his tired and wrinkled face brightening at the sight of you. “How is she?” He asked, eyes flickering to the hut several yards behind you.

“She should be just fine.” You assured him, confidently. “Just a strong cold. Nothing I can't fight.” You chuckled, but you could see the undeniable fear and anxiety in his deep set brown eyes.

Your father, honestly, loathed that you were a healer, but he honored your choice, like he had always done your entire life. If you set your mind to something and he knew you couldn't be swayed on the subject, he would respectfully disagree, but would support you, through and through. You were his daughter, his first born, his only born, and he would move heaven and earth for your happiness. But, his fear and anxiety over your chosen profession came with good merit and reason. Nearly five years before, a great illness had swept over the village, taking so many lives. But, there was one person there, doing her utmost best to try, and at least, slow its progression.

Your mother.

She had been Mintwillow's healer longer than you had been born, before she and your father had even married. Nothing would stop her from healing her fellow villagers, not even that horrid plague. She had worked tirelessly to try and stop it, though, more often than not, she would lose to it. Your mother didn't let that stop her though, she kept trying and trying, mixing every type of herb she had and could get her hands on, looking for a cure. Your father would have to bodily drag her away from her herbalist table, just so she would take a moment to eat or drink something, to sleep, even if it was just for a moment's nap.

Then, she was right back at it.

In the end though, four dozen Mintwillow villagers died, your dearest mother, being one of them. She had caught it, after being in contact with so many of the infected, and died almost a week later; leaving only you and your father. You had gotten the illness, there was barely a single handful of people who didn't get it, but had survived, with very little after effects. Your father on the other hand, had survived, only to be severely affected by it, he couldn't work the endless hours he once had as the village's blacksmith, finding wielding the heavy tools of his craft almost too much to manage for more than an hour or two.

Which affected the household income, making so many things you both needed scarce, like food and clothing. So, taking what you had learned from your mother, you stepped into her shoes as the village healer, hoping that the occasional gold piece would help ease the burden on your father. It still wasn't enough though, and that became abundantly clear, when stiff and high taxes were pressed on the village and its workers, your father being one of them, needing the supplies for his blacksmithing, causing him to be heavily in debt.

Of all the bones in your body, there was only one of them that was mean, and it loathed the life crippling taxes that squeezed and bled every person in the village, man, woman, child and even infants. You glanced across the foggy village, to the shadowy smudge, almost hidden by the charcoal clouds, that were like puffs of wool, against stark purple sky; the castle. You hated that filthy structure that loomed over the village, like an awful eye, bringing nothing be hardship and doom. You hated the creature that lived inside of it, reaping all the benefit of your father's hard-work, while you both struggled to put half a loaf of bread on the table for one of the two meals you could afford a day; if you were lucky.

Shaking the malice away from your thoughts, you followed your father back to your home. It was a little more than the rest of the homes in Mintwillow, it was a story and a half, the kitchen and living area was all one room, there was a water closet and a back room, that was your father's room. The half story was a loft, that was your own room. You loved your room, going up the half spiral staircase to it, it was closed off, so you had the utmost level of privacy. Half of your room, hanging above a writing desk, was an array of herbs that you used for your healing.

The one thing about your room that you had a qualm with, was the single peaked window; it pointed towards the bleak structure on the stormy cliffs, forever in your sight, whenever you look out your window. You wished it would just fall off the cliff it was butted up against; the gloomy and cursed castle of the Bane.

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schnees-and-schnugs · 4 years

Text

head empty baby schneebling ficlet ??? (just so yall know i had no idea what this was going to be about until i started typing so im gonna be surprised by what i write too). if it seems that winter has chronic ADHD brain in this fic its bc i have chronic ADHD brain and that’s just how i roll.

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

Winter tried to ignore the meowing as long as she could. After all, there was not a single feline creature to be found in the manor, so either she’s dreaming or hallucinating. Or maybe her ears are ringing from her father’s latest tantrum.

Being held hostage at the dinner table and forced to listen to his incessant barking voice ought to have caused me permanent brain damage. She smirked under her covers. Now if I can close my eyes and go back to sleep-

“MEEEEROOOWOOW”

What the fuck is that?

Winter knew she ought to get up but she really did not want to. Her thighs ached from horse riding lessons earlier in the day. Her head ached from her business studies her father forced down her throat. Her soul ached from the pain of existence. She was beginning to think she was being punished for some transgression- if being unbelievably charming and sexy deserved- actually, I don’t think I’m going to finish that train of thought.

Winter could only tolerate her own sense of humor in small doses, but giver her situation- her entire life up to this point- she didn’t think having an unbecoming jocularity was high up on her list of Current Problems and Tragedies. In fact, it’s quite low given that her father makes up the better part of the first half.

She rolled onto her side, one ear muffled by her pillow, and the other under the soft thick layer of her cotton blanket. The noise seemed to have disappeared, and Winter was quite okay with that. She wondered briefly of the possibility of a mountain lion finding its way into the Schnee Estate. She wasn’t even sure if wild animals such as that existed in Solitas, much less bright and pristine Atlas. Winter wasn’t even sure if mountain lions meowed.

If a beast made it’s way into the manor, what would I even do? No doubt she would try to locate the animal, gather Weiss and Whitley in her arms and stow them somewhere safe. Maybe even use a piece of meat to lure the lion into father’s bedroom, she mused. Winter tried lull herself back to sleep with the thought of her father begging her for mercy as she unleashes her new pet-

“MREEEEEEEEEEEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOW”

Her eyes snapped open. Gods-

A soft muffled voice followed the feline yell. A familiar voice. A voice exactly suited for one little boy she new very well.

Winter narrowed her eyes and listening closely. She could tell it was Whitley from the general childish sound of his tone, but due to her very comfortable position in bed, she couldn’t quite her the specifics. Huffing, she sat up and pricked up her ears.

“... quiet....please kitty... you’re going to wake up....”

Winter sputtered. Kitty?

Did Whitley somehow bring a cat into the manor? She didn’t doubt that given the chance he would- he was overly fond of animals in a way that Winter never understood. Not that she hated animals per se, but the idea of the added responsibility of a pet on top of her already ever-growing responsibilities of being heir to the SDC did not sit well with her. Whitley on the other hand, being the third child, and well, and actual child, didn’t really have much to care about beyond his normal tutoring sessions. Which means that, of course he can have a tiny bird feeders outside his window to feed the little birdies and cry at the sight of a roasted chicken because how could they kill and cook and innocent little animal?

Winter didn’t understand how a child under 10 years of age could be taken by vegan persuasions- even Father was shocked to silence at that outburst at the dinner table.

The sound of Whitley’s voice faded out as Winter strained her ears. If he did bring a cat into the manor, she needed to fix that immediately. Father would be furious at not only being woken up in the middle of the night but Whitley breaking the strict rule of no animals whatsoever allowed indoors.

Father is allergic.

(What animal he’s allergic to is unknown, but Winter suspects he’s just afraid of them).

Sliding off the bed, Winter winced at the feeling of cold tile on her bare feet. She simultaneously thought of giving Whitley a good scolding for making her roll off of bed at such an ungodly hour and thanking the Gods that Whitley’s room was right next to hers on the other side of the wall. And the farthest away from Father’s room.

Sliding her feet into a pair of pale blue fluffy slippers, she cautiously stepped out of her room and into the hallway. The moment the clock strikes 12 the hallway lamps usually shut off on their own, leaving at least this portion of the manor pitch black until the sun rises and lights up through the windows. If Father was working late he would manually change the lights to turn off at a later time- only to suite himself, of course. Everyone else who had the misfortune of living in the manor had to finish up and be back in their rooms by midnight or suffer having to find their room in the dark among the endless doors that lined the hallway. Winter had mastered the art of blindly walking down this hall- but not without multiple mishaps and embarrassments at first, unfortunately.

Arms outstretched, Winter felt her way from her doorway to Whitley’s room. She kept close to the wall and tiptoed, feeling for the doorknob before pressing her ear against the room door.

“Are you hungry little kitty?” There was an affirmative purr and Whitley hummed. “I’m going to have to find you some treats...”

Winter could practically hear the cogs turning in his little adolescent mind. She knew for sure that Whitley was formulating a plan to break into the food storage for the animals in Mom’s garden- would they even have any cat food in there? He surely is going to be disappointed.

Winter sighed. She almost wished she had stayed in bed. She turned the knob and nudged open the door, prompting Whitley to softly gasp.

“Winnie!” She heard him quickly shift on his bed. Winter stepped fully into the space before gently closing the door behind her. She turned towards him and assessed the scene before her. Whitley, in his white nightgown, sat in the middle of the bed. He was cradling a suspicious lump wrapped up with his blanket while his round face was contorted by a small frown as he stared back at his oldest sister.

“Father says that we shouldn’t leave out room after midnight”, the lump shifted and Whitley clutched it tighter.

“Father also says we aren’t allowed to bring animals into the manor...” Winter crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s that on your lap?”

“Nothing!”

“Are you sure?” Whatever annoyance Winter felt melted away at the sight of Whitley pouting. She sauntered playfully to the edge of his bed and wiggled and finger in his face. “Are you lying to me? Your older sister Winnie? You’re lying to me?”

Whitley broke eye contact. “Well...” The lump mewed and a furry white paw extended from out of the cover of the blanket. Winter raised a brow.

“That looks suspiciously like a cat.” Winter crawled into his bed and uncovered the little creature. The cat loafed on Whitley’s lap, grooming the pristine white fur on around its pink paw beans. It looked to be a few years old.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Whitley caressed the cat’s back, having already moved on from the earlier argument. Winter tried to pat its head but the little critter swiftly dodged her palm and scampered to the edge of the bed and curled up, seemingly to sleep. Rude.

There’s a more present matter at hand anyways.

“Where did you find it?” Winter turned her attention back to her little brother.

“Her”

“What?”

“It’s a she, Winnie! Look at her butt!” Winter politely declined the suggestion. She had no interest in inspecting the cat’s backside- she didn’t seem to like Winter anyways.

“Well, where did you find her?”

“I didn’t find her! Mr. Hartley gave her to me”

“The grounds keeper?” Winter scoffed. “Why would he give you a cat?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why don’t you don’t believe me?” His eyes started to brim with tears and he grabbed Winters right hand with his own two smaller ones. “Father said we’re not allowed to bring animals in here but I didn’t know what to do! Mr. Hartley said he’s leaving but he can’t take her with him. I said I would keep her. But Father is going to yell at me if he finds out- I’m scared...”

Winter’s chest ached at the desperation in Whitley’s voice. This isn’t normal is it? For a child to be so terrified of their parent like this. When she was his age, she felt the same way- so scared and vulnerable. It was the end of the world to get negative attention from Father, and most of the time it seemed to be the only type of attention he gave. It almost seemed par for the course all those years ago. She didn’t know any better- it was just the norm.

Looking at Whitley, petrified like she was- she could see the abuse from the outside. Almost as if she’s watching her own experiences and she’s chained to a front row seat. Except she didn’t have an older sibling to hold her hand and to share the pain with. To protect her. To defend her. Isn’t that what she always wanted in the worst days of the past? Couldn’t she be that now?

Whitley couldn’t keep the cat. There was no amount of convincing that could make Father give in- it’s always been about his own ego, more than anything. But that doesn’t mean that Father has to know this cat was ever here in the first place. Atlas has plenty of animal shelters, and having a pet cat was in vogue now. She would convince Whitley to let Klein take the cat to the nearest one in the morning. Father would never know if they were discrete.

“Winnie...” Whitley’s bright blue eyes searched her face.

Winter grabbed him under his arms, and with little struggle, sat him between her stretched out legs. She hugged him around the waist from behind and softly told him her plan.

“... do you want to do this with me?”

Whitley sniffed. “I can’t keep her?”

“Father won’t allow you to. We can make sure the kitty is safe and taken care of though... Klein will do this for us, I know it. You won’t get yelled at and you can tell her goodbye in the morning. Father will be none the wiser.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he’ll never know.”

Whitley was quiet for a few seconds before Winter felt him nod softly beneath her chin. “Can I sleep with her tonight?”

Winter blinked. She forgot it was currently hours past Whitley’s bedtime. He must be half asleep.

“Yes. Just make sure to keep her in your room, okay? I’ll leave a message for Klein to see in the morning. Don’t...” She paused. She noticed Whitley breath start to even out as he fell asleep against her.

I suppose I’m going to be sleeping her tonight also. She needed to make sure that this all goes well. However, Winter couldn’t ignore the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. Was she just getting Whitley used to this? Hiding secrets out of fear? Was she allowing Father to have his way in Whitley’s eyes? Getting Whitley accustomed to living under Father’s thumb? She was just trying to protect him. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of selfishness, that she was denying Whitley happiness for the sake of peace with their Father.

Mom always told her to choose her battles carefully.

She couldn’t help but feel that if she chose all the wrong ones, she’ll end up hurting Whitley beyond repair.

#rwby #whitley schnee #winter schnee #fic

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thelostandforgottenangel · 4 years

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Nightmare AU: Part 1 - Escaping the Ward

@under-the-scarlet-reign88 @fyreball66 @betelgeusessonajblog @blossom-skies @narwals14 @bluesakurablossom @kokokatsworld @midnightrebel669 @lonelyheart-clubband @missbeautyandherbeast @midnight-chocolate-turtle @myheyheyheystuff @nikitaboeve @mistyroselove @waterstar2016 @nights-legacy @janna-the-breaker @missmagellanic @darksaphire2002 @aurora-the-kunoichi @moonlightflower21 @queendice98 @infintyfandoms @ravn-87 @bmntgirl @vixie-chan233

I will apologize ahead of time! My dreams are very fucked up sometimes and well - this might be a bit jumpy or unclear but for typing it in the middle of a panic attack after finally waking up from this I am just happy I survived this dream *Sighs* It was a bit traumatic so everyone enjoy

Also sorry it took forever for me to post kinda took forever to locate the folder a moved by accident with trying to keep up with kids

Place: New York City, Sack's Institute, Lab D6

Time: 5 a.m.

The small girl looked out past the corner before slipping out into the empty hallway, trying hard to be quiet so as not to draw attention to her.

A grimy duffle bag was kept tucked under one arm and cradled close to her body while making several soothing sounds under every breath she took to keep her precious cargo quiet as she cried for the loss hanging heavily on her heart

If they wanted to live to see freedom, if she wanted to give the babies a chance to see something besides stone walls and bars the young girl would not be able to break down

She did not have time or the privilege to stop just yet; her mourning had to be pushed to the back burner.

Still, the tears fell in silent streams while sneaking down the destroyed hallways of the only place she had ever known as home.

After what felt like an eternity of tests that had been run on her exhausted body the night before, she realized there was no more time to waste

As night had fallen across the city none of them could sleep knowing something was wrong; the atmosphere in the building was wrong. The screams echoing down the halls had each of them nervous to close their eyes even for a moment.

The younger three finally took comfort she would stay awake curled up on her lap as she bounced the babies waited patiently until all the kids were asleep.

Gradually getting to her feet once she was confident the kids were out cold and safe in their nest, the small female turned to slip out through the wall at the back.

Sneaking around outside wasn't too hard since it seemed quiet tonight, sticking to the dark cast onto the ground of the storm clouded morning until she finally made it to the garage.

There were no guards posted near the yard this early; most were probably at the meeting for the new specimen she had been hearing whispers about for days from the guards meaning she had a lucky break while starting the closest vehicle

It was a slight struggle figuring out how to get it to move but did what she could remember seeing the guards; finally backing one of the trucks just off the edge of the cameras after hitting the building and rolling forward once more, giving only enough room they could get in without being noticed

Now her plot was in motion; she was going to get away from this place if it was the last thing she did.

Having been here for a few years after her family had sold her into the endless lapse of torture and testing they ran daily were more then enough motivation to make anyone want to run, and if she was going; there was no way she was leaving this place empty-handed

The girl was planning on getting out as many subjects as she could; once she was sure it was safe, she had ducked back under the overgrowth, squeezing through the hole that led outside from their cell only to find when she got through the hidden shaft the kids were gone from their nest

They had been there when she left, now she worried they were hurting them and rushed out the now open cells to find the babies, not caring for her own life once she was out the cell door.

Entering the silent intersecting hallway made it very clear this was not a typical day within the prison.

The building she had known as her home was in ruins.

Paper files and the medical carts had been thrown about in whatever had ripped throughs rampage.

Noticing too late red gore pooled around the bodies that were being left in whatever had gotten outs murderous path, almost tripping over one as the lights flickered.

On any other day, there would have been screams of pain from the experiments, the low buzzing of those awful machines; instead, dead silence had thickened the air so much oxygen no longer seemed to exist around her

The closer she got to the labs, the more blood seemed to be smeared over the walls or splattered across the floor from the victims that had tried to run, making it clear whatever had done this found her it had no humanity left and; if located she would be joining the dead at her feet

That only narrowed the list to everything in the building over the age of ten. No big deal!

She finally heard something but not what she wanted; the screech of a terrified woman in front of her made the girl dropped down behind a wall breathing slow as she pressed herself flat just wanting to absorb into the wall as whoever it was bolted past her only seconds later yelling for help, a large black silhouette followed and seemed to be gaining until the screams were cut off

Something akin to fear kept her there until she forced herself to take a breath before pushing her body up - then kept running, praying whatever it was did not hear her leave.

After being sure nothing was there inside the laboratory where she had been tortured since day one stepping forward inspecting the area before getting to the cages.

This was still done in complete silence, hurriedly searching in a panic, pleading to an unearthly entity willing to listen to the discarded pleas that she was not too late before relief hit her

A sweet little face was at the front of one cage almost instantly “Daenery!” the smiling face through the bars was a welcome sight even as the girl rolled her eyes at the nickname the children had given her

Since the subject tags were what they were known as she grew used to it, but in secret, they had given each other names to not become like the forgotten.

It was a way to remember one another if they died-

The thin boy was squinting to see her better as soon as she grabbed his hand that reached between the bars, she knew even though they had messed up his eyes to the point he was close to being completely blind, the boy was still scanning the area watching her back

The mutant held tight to her arm as she jerked the door

breaking the wrecked joints that looked to have barely held up to whatever was trying to get in after him.

He scrambled out the second she had it open, wrapping the little boy in a tight hug; her voice stayed low promising him it was going to be okay when she saw how scared he was.

He was a few years younger then her and still knew not to make any noise when usually, he was a chatterbox if scared or nervous but in the labs; they had never heard him speak once, their captors thinking the child was mute like a few of the other kids

They had two options here, and even at this age they both knew it was either: they got caught and locked back up in the cells or they would be killed

Neither was an option.

His big honey brown eyes had started to look around them when she handed him his broken goggles to better his vision but blocked him from looking with her hands whispering under her breath so softly she was not sure he heard her “Eyes stay here – do not look away from me no matter what understand brainiac?” she waited until he finally nodded holding tight to her baggy shirt with his thin fingers while searching holding him close to keep the boy from seeing what she could

It took some time, but eventually, she found another cage still closed with a small form inside lying in a motionless heap with his back to her as she forced the grate open, snapping the lock then reaching in to flip him over; the girl started patting his sliced cheek even if it did her no good

The second boy was a bit bigger then the child she had just freed but still relatively small and looked to be heavily sedated; indicating when they came to take all of the children, he had put up a hell of a fight “Hey hothead… come on, I got you kiddo” the dulled golden eyes shifted a bit just to looked through her, she gathering him up in her arms whispering he would be okay a third child crawled into her view wondering if he had been on the tables when everything went down; like usual he just seemed way too calm “Fearless… oh thank god” happy to see him alive, both hugged him tight for a long moment; finally feeling him squeezing back when it dawned on the kid who was holding him

The third oldest tried to tell her what had happened, how the guards had come in to find she was gone then attempted to take them before she returned thinking one of the night guards had grabbed her but was silenced as she waved her hand consoling him quietly to sound hopeful that it was almost over

She could hear something outside looking up at the same time as the eldest boy grabbing them and pulling the three to hide until the noises were gone.

Her heart was heavy in only locating three of the seven lives she had been assigned no matter how much the girl searched the destroyed lab; knowing they were the last of fifty kids who had been punished for not raising to the expectation of the bosses at the final evaluation seeing the other cages were empty or had been ripped open violently

The only evidence someone had been in there were a few claw marks and streaks with blood.

They might be all that was left-

The last cage on the wall held a small baby – one of the two she had been searching for was long expired after what they had done while she wasn't there to protect the children, the guilt reduced the young girl into a sobbing mess

Gathering the children in the broken state took a minute while trying to pull herself together, hard as it was; there was nothing she could do for her baby sister except keep her promise; carefully wrapping the tiny body in a cloth forming a sling to tie the bundle to her

With the help of both boy's she got the second child upon her back, he was almost too heavy for her to carry they would never get anywhere dragging him down the halls "Stay close and no sounds" she got two slow nods before heading down the corridor hurrying past the breeding room hearing screams from within as something ripped through the room

Reaching the main floor for the building; they all skid to a stop when the girl held up one hand, at first it was just an uneasy feeling until heavy footsteps could be heard coming from somewhere in front of them, immediately pushing both behind the welcome desk before it saw them

Kneeling to the ground; she somehow managed to keep the two boys focus on her as she waited for it to leave

A deep growl shook the air right behind them almost pulling a whimper from the youngest before her hand was over his mouth, drawing him close as the other kid shifted silently to protect his back, just waiting until it either found them or took off in the direction they had just come from each of them letting out a shaky sigh when it did the latter moments later grabbing both making a run for it before anything else stumbled across the group

They could not stop moving even if when the thinner male started breathing hard, fighting to keep up as his body started to give in to exhaustion.

Realizing he could no longer keep up made the oldest stop checking for danger as he took him on his back then kept running, staying on her heels the best he could.

She swore she smiled upon getting them to the safe room unseen and undetected handing the keycard she stole off so they could all run in without being seen locking the door behind them

As soon as she had covered up the boys with a blanket and placed the baby in a small crate, she pleaded for them to stay on the couch and rest; finding a first aid kit she started cleaning the deep cuts that now marred the second boys face, bandaging it to keep any infections from forming

Waiting would be hard; but once the sky grew dark enough for them to get out unseen she would tell them to run for it, there would be no looking back; they would have to be fast and keep going even if they lost someone

Leaving would mean getting out of the city for good and being they could probably not survive for long without food given they made it out - she had to find sustenance to hold them until they reached a safe place to stop

After dumping out boxes to carry everything in she started to gather supplies to run them; breaking the vending machines open, stuffing any food or drinks in sacks and boxes while feeding the kids at the same time letting them indulge in the sweets they were never allowed to have, placing each container close to the door to be taken out

She felt a slight tug on her gown as she let a few tears fall for her babies looking over to find Leo at her side nuzzling her cheek as she cracked the tiniest bit; that was when the eldest told her the fate of the youngest boy, how they had left his in the far cell as bait after taking the rest of them

They had put one of her babies out there unprotected to draw away the creatures to save their hides even though it looked to have not worked in their favor.

There was no thinking it through, yes it was a stupid move but she just knew he was still alive; leaving him in-charge she made sure they understood that they were not to move from that room before the girl slipped out from the sanctuary of the break room making sure the door latched before taking off towards the cells

That was the only reason she was out there now-

If there was even a small chance he was still alive; she had to save him

Every little sound had her paranoid jumping at anything

Turning one corner only to dropping back instantly, she slipped under a desk as someone came running down the hallway holding her breath when something followed them seconds later, hearing the horrid screams and crunch of braking bones left her trembling and not moving until she was sure it was safe

when she finally crawled back out she had to avoid stepping in the fresh streaks of blood heading back in the direction it had come being so quiet when she noticed it was feeding in the open

They were multiplying in numbers from the looks of things making it harder to not worry she would never make it to the cell or back for the others

She took a slow deep breath waiting until it was distracted before shooting across her steps inaudible as she bolted silently getting down the next hall in no time, her hands shaking when she ducked into the cage just before something passed staying there for what felt like a lifetime hearing it slow then continue on its way, slipping out she went to the furthest enclosure seeing the puddles of blood on the floor

She was near screaming when she saw a something move in one tiny nest; shooting forward she found the small curled up bundle safe and sleeping soundly under several blankets where they must have left him as if nothing was wrong, gathering him close to her chest she started kissing his cheeks whispering so softly as he yawned then dosed right back off ever the heavy sleeper as always “I’m sorry – I am sorry I didn’t find you sooner Sunshine – but it's okay now I- I’m going to get you out of here”

She may have been too late to save her six-month-old baby sister but she had managed to get to him; finding her bag where she left it she noiselessly dumping out the collection of treasures that it held before making a nest with a blanket placing the four-year-old inside with his torn up bear somewhat happy he was so small even for his age zipping it up leaving a tiny opening to let air in and out before heading down the passageways

The darkness could hide anything and everything in that moment her body staying low to the floor as a growling came from the left stopping only long enough to be sure it wasn’t coming in her direction before peeking around the corner seeing the figure was halfway inside the room towards the middle of the offices bolting immediately careful to avoid any small objects that could give away the child’s presence

All the training they put her through; all of them through didn’t seem like much of a burden now, even if the overseers had nearly killed her and the kids each day until they knew each and every torturous lesson by heart

The shadows were her friends, never trust anyone besides the ones in your group, protect the young at all cost, the silence of mouth and body was the key to living, and you screw up once no matter how small; you died-

If only the grown-ups had learned those lessons, they might have survived the attack

Her pale ice blue eyes searching everywhere unsure if anything else had escaped when the cells opened after the alarms started moments after entering her cell; as she made it to the halfway point all the girl was praying for was the slayers were still in the runs out on the yard and not roaming free looking for an easy meal

It was a bit of a journey, but relief flooded her body upon finally making it to the door when she heard a whimpered cry.

Being locked up there; experiments were trained to not have fear raised to not know safety or the luxury of a secure home yet fear still welled up thinking the tiny life she had grabbed from enclosures was waking up immediately she started to make the soothing sounds again as she peaked in only to realize it wasn’t the child she had just saved

He was gone to the world - probably dreaming some kind of sweet innocent imagination with kittens and candy in a field of flowers and stuffed animals

Looking to the left as the sound came again she saw her friend Arya cowering down a hallway waving her to hurry and follow her but the girl wouldn’t move leaned on the wall as if something was keeping her cornered

Arya wasn’t one to cower she wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone; coming from a powerful family who ran part of the city after leaving India at one point, she had been raised to be completely independent, of course, that had been before the chemical attack

She was from money so the woman always dressed nicely; lots of colorful fabrics to her intricate silk dresses, golden chains, and jewelry adorned her hands, her long black hair shined it seemed no matter how little light and her honey tanned skin was something to marvel at coming from somebody who rarely saw the light of day other then through the bars of a small window if she could climb high enough

She had worked there for a little over a year as an apprentice under the superior but was still a kid for being sixteen; sometimes, on her breaks between the experiments, she had come to the containment cells to play with the babies and give food to the caregivers who were never old enough to request simple supplies from the guards but considered mature enough to care for the younger collections

Better than being a breeder, way better than being one of the carriers in any book

She had to be the strongest woman she had ever met yet right then - she looked petrified, her eyes darting from side to side like she didn’t see the small figure, slowly weighing the options and looked behind her being sure nobody had found them the girl slowly left the door her fingers brushing its smooth cold surface scurrying fast towards the woman something in her gut telling her this was wrong but she needed to get to her

She might be the only one who could get her out with the set she had gathered

She called out under her breath continuing to remain hidden until she could tell the coast was clear, slowly inching out into the light calling out again a bit louder gaining the woman’s attention but when she looked at her she saw something wasn’t right in her eyes swallowing hard as dread settle in her gut knowing she had just ignored several of the rules that had been beaten into her system for years

The woman’s body drooped as she stood up when the girl stumbled back before a small smile lifted the pale lips of her friend, the brown eyes shifted to white and her tan skin took on a sickly gray color as she screeched out a horrid wail

She was a carrier- they had gotten her like all the others

Spinning on her heels the child rushed back down the hall as fast as she could; hearing the thing behind her closing in she made the next mistake of looking back and seeing it was getting closer, realizing now she would never make it to that door but knowing the boys were in there waiting for her screamed she had to unless she wanted them to die right here

Reaching for her hip she grabbed the heavy firearm she had stolen from one of the guards bodies when she had entered the building through the vent hatch

Having only wielded one in tactical training she had seen it used on many of the older test subjects that had gotten out of hand if they survived the slayers in the hunting grounds and knew if used right it could hurt anything-

It could kill if needed.

The young girl didn’t even hesitate when she turned to pull the trigger shooting what used to be Arya between the eyes seeing her friend hit the floor motionless

Panting and shaking she only turned as she heard the howling bouncing off the walls getting to the door as the body started after her again having gotten on its feet

The door lock disengaged with the swipe of the keycard slamming the door fast behind her before two heavyweights slammed into it before looking down into her duffle as something squirmed around

The youngest of the boys gave a small cry making her shush him while laughing to herself unable at that moment to believe she had just outrun two creatures while turning to check on the older three before seeing several scientists in the room – and her kids gone

The gun was loaded and aimed before they could move; growling under her breath not letting them close to her “WHERE ARE THEY!?!” one of the males had started towards her before she fired

It was at this moment she found a fun fact and untold part of the humans who kept them as guinea pigs, they didn’t get up when she shot them, an intern that had hurt her several times tried to grab her having been standing behind by the wall but he didn’t count on her strength

The men never did when it came to her small stature but add in her protective mommy gene of the kid's she loved she threw him to the floor showing no mercy in putting him down hence leaving an older woman and two girls who had to be in their early adultage standing closer to the walls, looking around her wild eyes landed on the three trembling boys along with an older male she had never seen in her time there but it was clear he had been made a pet

Only the higher-ups were allowed to have them

The guy defiantly looked older and was quite clearly not entirely human given the larger size, the white hair, coal-black eyes, and the twitch of furry ears also gave her a clue; also meaning he had to be

significant if he had not been killed when he reached of age, like most mutants, once you hit the rebellious stage; you were put down for their entertainment unless you were useful

and usually, that usefulness wasn’t held for long

Being the only one with a gun gave her the upper hand moving forward two of the women in lab coats moved huddling to the side as she checked the kids over; the second oldest was now awake and very much aware of his surroundings growling at the women his nose bleeding from being struck but had stayed protectively in front of the other two boys

Jillian; or rather the blood queen as she had heard the older woman called by the older experiments was somebody the girl knew well and probably the one who had hit the growling boy seeing as his wild eyes hadn’t left her, the wife to one of the higher-ups she had tormented her many times in the darkroom and it was clear by her stance she still thought she had control over the subjects ordering the small girl to give her the weapon

All it got was her holding it higher as the boys pulled the baby from her bag keeping the youngest protectively in the middle of them as the girl drew back the slide; not wavering in her stance to keep her away until she backed down not too happy a freak was defying her orders

She didn’t show it but she was freaking out knowing there was no way to safely get out with the woman and her assistants in the way; going out that door would possibly result in one of them probably shutting her out either without the supplies or the kids, they couldn’t go back the other way without being ripped limb from limb

Slowly reaching down, she set to undoing the collar around the teenager's neck hoping he wasn’t loyal to the woman; letting it drop to the smooth tiles giving him a small reassuring look before she was tending to the kids once more

Her hand was instantly lifting the darkest of the fours little chin looking him over, taking notice he was going to have a black eye; ripping her tattered gown the girl took great care in gently wiping the blood from his cut face, her cold hands cradling his cheek looking up to see the hard gaze he was giving her, it only made a smile break the corner of her lips knowing the look was not for him being angry towards her it was just the only expression he knew at this age

This life hadn’t shown him how to smile but getting out had the hopes of that changing soon

Kissing his head the younger mutant shifted nuzzled into her arms, clinging tightly to the female; something he never did around the others nestling into her soft chest while mumbling roughly under his breath they thought she was dead, his voice was so low she was the only one who heard it making reassurances spew from her lips

She wouldn’t die when they needed her

She had to get them out of there and soon this place wasn’t safe at all looking back seeing one of the women knowing she was much kinder when nobody was around understanding kindness wasn’t accepted in this world but it made them trust her a bit more then they were comfortable with

She had been nuzzling the boys assuring them it was all going to be okay when the male growled threateningly, attempting to push her behind him only to yelp as he was struck with a long stick being rectified for daring to snarl at his master, the girl stiffened pushing the kids back as the elder grabbed her by the hair yanking her away from them trying to grasp for the weapon

The pained cry that left the girl as she tried to escape resulted in the older woman getting her hand cut by the quiet boy looking over finding something she had not seen until now, yet he had to have been holding it the whole time

A scalpel with a towel wrapped around the broken end he was clutching in his grasp; going for the most damage to make the woman drop their guardian

the stick she had been clutching swiped at him catching him across the eye hearing the quiet boy yell out in pain; lowering to the ground holding his face as the teen yanked him back a bit too late

The distraction gave the young girl a chance to move even as she was almost grabbed again, feeling the hand tangling in her hair as she started to fall back made her lift the heavy pistol firing without ever looking up than hearing the pained scream as the boys grabbed onto her

The evil woman went down her leg bleeding from the bullet wound, but before another sound could leave her lips the wolf kid was on her; his now sharpened fangs sunk into her open neck, snarling like a wild animal ripping into pray as she screeched for help making the girl scramble keeping the boys from looking as he tore into his master staying over her until the woman stopped moving permanently

The cold black eyes slowly came up until they were on the silver-haired girl as blood marred his jaws dripping to the floor in thick streams from his now soaked face; none of the children moved as she pushed them behind her when he moved forward, her breath gone from her lungs realizing what she hadn’t before losing her grip on the gun as her hands shook finding a small hand clutching hers the second the metal hit the floor

He was part slayer

The male sat back down where he had been before not even remotely phased by his actions or bothered by her sudden fear of him leaning in he started nudging her shoulder much like a dog wanting pets and licking her cheek but didn’t speak as he leaned on her making her swallow down the terror gently placing her hand on his head rubbing behind his ears before looking back as the baby boy crawled over them to lay in the males lap giggling as he played with the fluffy tail that wrapped around his hip

If the youngest trusted him it was a sign they could relax her little sunshine had a great choice of characters but she was still on edge; having never been this close to one of the executioners and not almost been ripped apart picking up a shredded cloth she had dropped cleaning his face as he laid his head in her hands licking at her fingers

Both of the women still standing there looked pale, the blond must have been new and not used to the carnage or had to be a lab tech in the lower building floors, but the other knew; she had seen it been forced to watch it as the young ones were tortured or killed during experiments moving slowly towards the door looking in the two heavily stocked creates of any food the female child could find her eyes lingering on the tiny bundle before starting towards the kids

The gun barely stop her from approaching as she kneeled carefully pushing it to the side; shushing them as she looked over the six lives knowing what needed to be done before glancing at the other woman making up her mind “We have to go – run as far as we can before that door gives”

“We will never make it out of the city on foot! Beth; that is suicide we’ll be killed-” the other woman tried to speak up but was quickly silenced as her colleague got to her feet

Running over to the cabinets unlocking them with her key and pulling everything out “Chelsea; if we stay here we will die either by whatever they unleashed from the lab in that meeting or the boss when he realizes they escaped – I really don’t want to die..." placing it all on the counters in front of her; tossing the boxes on the floor after accumulating anything of use making smaller care packs that would reduce their load then stuffing it in a backpack after pulling out a change of clothes instructing the girl to put them on "Look we get the kids out, nobody will know it was us Everyone here is dead, we aren’t on the clock… we can finally get away from here and away from him-”

Weighing the options for a second longer realizing her friend was right again; the blond finally nodded moving over towards the huddled up kids giving them the blankets and picking up the duffle before helping the other woman pack up medical supplies, stuffing both of their computers in her side pack grabbing anything worth taking including the deceased woman's bag before sneaking over to the door barely pushing it open to look out noticing the outside was clear and that a vehicle was right there

“We need to get all of this in the truck – Kids go last” the risk of going out now was higher given it was still light out but since she had parked the truck almost against the building it was going to be easy to load the stuff without being seen

“Beth – what if they got outside?”

That had been the whole reason for waiting until nightfall for the girl; in the darkness, she could hide easily but in daylight, she had no chance in hell “We have to take that risk – look just pop one door carefully, it will block you from being seen by the yard the metal door will cover your other side” once the supplies were ready to go the other woman was there helping climbing in the back she pulled it in further as Chelsea placed it in the van peaking around the door whenever she heard a noise being sure nobody had arrived to clear the building before finally placing the last create inside the back “Get the kids I’ll start the engine”

Looking behind her she noticed the kids waiting together; the girl keeping them in front of her after bandaging up the wound over the oldest mutants eye grateful it was just a fleshwound as the teenage boy staying a few feet back watching the metal door tensely; the youngest was clinging onto the eldest boy who scooped him up once she was waving him forward picking both up with ease pointing for him to get in a seat

The girl shooed the other two forward just as something hit the door behind them hard, bending the metal in almost too easily the teen pushing them forward fast to load the kids in quicker

The youngest female crawled forward when she was shoved inside the van roughly, getting the kids strapped in after placing the cardboard casket beside her before hearing a feral snarl near the back looking out the tinted window seeing a huge fur-covered form before panic filled the woman’s face when a large clawed hand grabbed the side of the door trying to force it forward as she held it tight crying out in fear

“Get her in now!” she moved to help just as the teenager went to pull the woman inside only to see her yanked from his grasp and ripped under the side door having to grab him so he wouldn’t be pulled out too.

The agonizing screams as she begged for help echoed around them before hearing the slayer ripping into her, cringing at the gut-twisting sounds the wolf boy slammed the door before whatever was outside could come back just as the metal door in the room came crashing inward

A horrid screech shook the air before something smashed into the back door yelling for the woman Beth to drive before the truck was peeling out of the institution.

None of them dared to look back, keeping their heads down as she crashed through the gates speeding away from their prison into the barren streets rushing to now escape New York.

She looked to the kids who instantly reached for her as sunlight flashed into the cab, her eyes momentarily closing from not being used to the brightness that met them.

When she looked back up the half slayer boy was crawling forward. favoring his right arm that was bleeding from several deep scratch marks

Ultimately he had managed to tear his eyes from the massacre on the streets; it was made clear the creatures had gotten out into the city.

She tried to shift going to assess his wounds yet he just curled into her lap as she sat on the floor between the seats so she could see each of the boys.

The last thing she remembered was warmth surrounding her as she leaned on a seat, instantly too tired to hold her head up any longer, then feeling one of the kids petting her hair as passing out

Let me know what you think and when posted Part two will fill in the blanks and introduce you to the new creepy world!

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #alternate history #Nightmare AU #new character #tmnt bayverse #New Female OC #scary events #tmnt 2014/2016

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theyoungkleinwriter · 4 years

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Mini Myths #1: The Epic of Gilgamesh

Well for the first of my mini myths I think it’s only appropriate to start with what is considered the oldest written story in the entire history of the world. Now the way I’m going to structure these little mythological segments is by first looking at the context of the myth and then go into the actual myth itself before finishing off with a short piece about how they myth has been used and perceived in the modern day.

Context

The Epic of Gilgamesh is considered the old text of literature and is consider the second oldest religious text dating all the way back from the time of ancient Mesopotamia and is dated roughly around 2000 BCE. The epic itself was written on stone tablets with five Sumerian (The people Gilgamesh ruled over) poems being discovered. The Old Babylonian tablets dated around 1,800 BCE are the oldest surviving tablets for a single Epic of Gilgamesh narrative. Other tablet fragments have been dated closer to 200 BCE and 100 BCE suggesting that the epic is a widespread story in Sumerian culture. The most recent version of the story referred to as the Akkadian version and also called the Standard Babylonian version, consists of twelve tablets and was edited by Sîn-lēqi-unninni, who is thought to have lived sometime between 1300 BCE and 1000 BCE. Essentially the story is made up of several tablets that we have collected from different centuries to generally try to piece together a singular narrative. It bears noting the the I will be using the standard Babylonian version which is known for the Twelfth tablet being different from the others and thought to have been written at a later date.

The Epic of Gilgamesh

In a time of the old world when gods still walked the earth there stood a great and noble kingdom in ancient Mesopotamia. This was a rich and fertile land between the twin rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates that provided its people with plenty and bountiful harvests. This rich land was populated by the great kingdom of Uruk, a kingdom ruled over by a man named Gilgamesh. Now Gilgamesh was not just any ordinary man, he was born two thirds a god and one third a mortal man. However this combination of divine birth and mortal fallacy helped to craft Gilgamesh into a cruel tyrant of a king who abused both his menfolk and the women, using them as he pleased with no regard for their lives.

In desperation the people of Uruk called out to the gods for help. And the god hear their pleas. From clay they craft a perfect equal to Gilgamesh, a divine being known as Enkidu. As he arrives in the mortal world he first meets a trapper who asks the gods to stop Enkidu from destroying his traps. The sun god Shamash send a temple prostitute to Enkidu and for nearly a fortnight the two spend time together in the warm embrace of lovers; and she teaches him all she can tell about the world on man, and of the civilisations born on earth.

The prostitute introduces him to a shepherd where he learns the craft of the trade until one day from a passing stranger he hears of the plight of the people of Uruk. Incensed by Gilgamesh’s heartless cruelty he races to the palace and faces down the king of Uruk. In that instant the pair fought with fire and fury and divine wroth as the engaged in a battle so fierce it compelled even the gods themselves to bear witness. Yet after a singular mighty blow Enkidu was brought to his knees and acknowledged the king, Gilgamesh, to be the superior of the two. And as a result the two naturally struck up an intense friendship that even the god themselves could not predict.

The pair shared in each others company and comforts as they travelled on many adventures together. They visited Gilgamesh’s mother the goddess Ninsun who adopted Enkidu as her own son. Later on they travelled to the Cedar forest where they defeat the guardian of the forest Humbaba and take his head as well as several of the strongest trees with the strongest of these to be used by Enkidu to craft into a gate for the temple of Enlil.

Upon their return the goddess Ishtar, queen of all that is fertile and ripe, falls for the king of Uruk and pursues him. However when Gilgamesh rejects her advances she used her immense powers to cause devastation throughout the lands of Uruk, lowering the level of the Euphrates and ultimately summoning Gugalanna, the divine bull of heaven to destroy Gilgamesh and Enkidu. But the king and his companion were too strong and overcame the powers of the bull, slaying it and offering up its heart to Shamash much to the displeasure of Ishtar.

And yet on this occasion the two companions had gone too far in their quest for fame and glory. In their anger at the deaths of Humbaba and Gulalanna the gods curse Enkidu was horrific dreams until, after twelves days of horrid torment Enkidu succumbs to his sickness. In one final moment he reached to the sky and cries out to his friend, who holds him in his arms as he passes into the world of the dead. Yet the king of Uruk had more faith in his friend than that and clung to Enkidu’s body, refusing to believe he was dead until a pale white maggot, dropped from his nose and into the kings lap.

Gilgamesh wailed at the death of his friend, his lament reaching the heavens themselves and bringing even the gods to tears for what they had done. He calls out for the mountains and trees, the rivers and deserts, to all beasts of the land and to all the peoples of the world to mourn for the death of his dearest friend. Gilgamesh provides ample gifts from his endless treasury to help his friend ensure a favourable reception in the world of the dead.

Then the mighty king left Uruk and wandered the wilderness in nought but animal skins, lost in both body and in spirit. Yet it was among the far and wasted lands that the king became fearful for his own mortality and sought to spare his mortal soul the pains of death, seeking out Utnapishtim (The Faraway Lands) and learn the secret of eternal life.

In his quest Gilgamesh faces set back after setback though his own malic and wrought feelings of self-importance. He rejects warning after warning and presses on relentlessly for his ultimate goal. Upon reaching Utnapishtim Gilgamesh tells him his story however the immortal man warns him that fighting the common fate of humans is futile and diminishes life's joys. Utnapishtim was a survivor of a flood that wiped out the last race of humans and as a reward for surviving the god Enlil blessed both him and his wife with eternal life. Utnapishtim points out that his immortality was a unique gift and not something most mortal men were meant to achieve however Gilgamesh reminds him that he is not mere mortal man. To test him Utnapishtim challenges Gilgamesh to stay awake for sic days and seven night but tragically Gilgamesh is still one third mortal and he quickly succumbs to sleep.

Yet Utnapishtim was no cruel or spiteful and he offered Gilgamesh one more chance, he could not grant the king immortality but he told him of a plant at the bottom of the sea he could use to restore his youth. Thanking the immortal man Gilgamesh tied stones to his feet, sucked in a mighty breath and dove to the bottom of the sea. Finally, after many travels the king reached the plant and seized it. Feeling part of his hunger for life sated he made to return to Uruk where he would use the plant to restore his youth. Yet greater than the gods was the cruel hand of fate. As he returned the king made to bathe himself in a small lake. In that moment a slithering serpent darted from the undergrowth and snatched up the plant leaving the king once more with nothing. Broken the king first weeps then is seized by uncontrollable laughter as he realises how foolish it was to chase immortality. He returns to Uruk, where the sight of its massive walls prompts him to praise this enduring work to Urshanabi the man who ferried him to Utnapishtim.

Tablet twelve features a tale after these events where Enkidu is still alive and of a journey he make to the underworld to retrieve some of Gilgamesh’s possessions. It ends with Enkidu recounting the tale of his journey through the underworld with Gilgamesh.

Learning from the past

In the modern day the Epic of Gilgamesh hasn't had as much mainstream focus like the Greek pantheon or Norse mythology. However it has found a home in some popular media with a version of this tale being explored in the anime TV series ‘Fate’. Despite a lack of popular interest in the epic of Gilgamesh in western media however in the archaeological circle it has seen a lot of research and assigned significance. Interestingly in 1998 American Assyriologist Theodore Kwasman discovered a piece believed to have contained the first lines of the epic poem in the storeroom of the British Museum which has been used to determine that Gilgamesh may have been a real Babylonian king. The epic ha been translated and used by different people for different purposes with a definitive version published in 2003 by Andrew George which is considered the most significant work on Gilgamesh in 70 years. Yet on the other hand there is the case in 2004 as Stephen Mitchell supplied a controversial version that took many liberties with the text and included modernized allusions and commentary relating to the Iraq War of 2003. Clearly the Epic of Gilgamesh may still yet be used and have relevance in the modern world, particularly in the world of the Middle-East.

What i find we can learn from the epic is it provides clear context for views on how Sumerian’s valued particular morals and the tale helps to provide insight into Sumerian society and culture. It become key to aiding our understanding of ancient peoples and what they valued, providing points of comparison to the world we live in today with its moral teachings; particularly about the fruitless pursuit of things like immortality.

#writing #myth #mythology #mini myth #gilgamesh

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swtorpadawan · 5 years

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Promises

Author’s Notes: The following obviously applies to my main Jedi Knight OC, Corellan Halcyon, but I feel it could apply to a great many JKs, so i’ve used gender-neutral pronouns where possible. Graphics courtesy of Wookiepedia, since i’m away from my screen captures at the moment. The Sith Lord known as Lord Scourge wants Revenge against Vitiate, the Sith Emperor. He wants revenge for what the ancient Sith Lord did to him three hundred years ago, granting him immortality but taking from him everything that made life worth living. He wants revenge for being forced to serve as his personal executioner for all of that time. It is true that Scourge may have started down this long and arduous path out of a sort of enlightened self-interest. Vitiate, Scourge knows full-well, is a threat to the entire galaxy. He has known that from the moment he met him in person so many years ago. The Emperor is a threat to everyone who has ever lived and to everyone who ever will live. But his anger and rage at his ‘Master’ have only deepened over the centuries. Scourge is incredibly fortunate that he burns cold, one of the side-effects that he suffers as the result of Vitiate’s ritual. Were it otherwise, the Emperor would surely have sensed the profound danger that his Wrath represented, and the unrepentant traitor has no illusions as to how that confrontation would end. After the Dromund Kaas operation, Scourge claims to stay with the Defender’s crew simply to be certain that the Emperor has left them no further surprises. But somewhere deep down, Scourge knows that this isn’t the end of it. Something of the Emperor has survived. But he also knows the Jedi Knight will be there to see the prophecy through no matter what it takes. The Knight’s resolve is the equal of Revan’s, of the Exile’s and of Scourge’s himself. Perhaps even greater. And Scourge will therefore aid the Jedi however he can. Lord Scourge stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise him Revenge.

Fidelitin Rusk has been fighting one battle or another for his entire adult life. He is considered ruthless and sometimes even reckless by his fellow Republic soldiers, and sometimes even by his crewmates. Rusk – the third-oldest member of the crew but perhaps the oldest in practical life experience – accepts these assessments without rebuke or defense; he is what he is. His entire mindset was constructed for battles and wars that had to be won regardless of the costs. Rusk has fought so hard and for so long that there are some days when even he starts to forget why he does what he does. Indeed, there are times when Rusk disapproves of the Knight’s choices, believing that they risk too much for others and that they are far too willing to however briefly put aside the greater mission to save even a single life all while the entire galaxy stands at risk.

But deep down, the lost soldier’s only true purpose has only ever been to defend those who cannot defend themselves. He was born and raised by a colony of pacifists; that didn’t stop the Empire from annihilating his people. When he looks at the Jedi Knight – so selfless and so brave, so willing to put themselves on the line for those who need them, he is reminded of the justness of that cause. And as he wins battle after battle and that cause is served, than perhaps everything that Rusk has done has been worth it.

Sergeant Fideltin Rusk stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise him Victory.

Contrary to popular belief, Doctor Archiban Kimble knows perfectly how the rest of the galaxy, and even his closest allies aboard the Defender, view him. The man who calls himself Doc is seen as an arrogant, misogynistic, self-aggrandizing, fame-seeking, womanizing nerf-herder; a man who has left a seemingly endless line of women high and dry over the years, from Prudy and on down the list. Honestly? Doc wouldn’t have it any other way. Letting people believe that he cares so little about his personal relationships gives him a sort of shield against the things in the universe that he doesn’t want to deal with, all while still allowing him to continue to enjoy the things that keep him going.

But a man who worked his through medical school on his own merits and who has consistently chosen to serve as a combat medic on some of the most dangerous planets in the galaxy doesn’t do so just for fame, fortune and women. He could have had all that and lived in style while conducting research projects for a major pharmaceutical company back on Coruscant. No, once upon a time there was a young Archiban who set upon this path, and who did so for far nobler reasons then Doc would ever admit to anyone. Doc doesn’t know how, but for some reason, he knows that when the Jedi Knight looks at him, they see something beyond the broken healer who has put up a shell around themselves. The Knight then offers the medic an opportunity for a more meaningful existence than he could have ever dreamed of.

Doc stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise to always Help others.

Some days, Kira Carsen feels like she’s spent her entire life just trying to be true to who she is in a galaxy that seems determined to force her to become something else. She was raised on Korriban by some of the most sadistic and fanatical Sith in the galaxy, the Children of the Emperor. Every time she sees one of her ‘siblings’ returning to the dormitories with missing pieces of their memory, she cringes and pulls up her blanket around herself. And when Kira returns one night and realizes she can’t remember what happened to her, she knows that soon, there will be nothing left of her identity, either. The survival rate of acolytes who flee the Korriban academy cannot be higher than two percent. Most flee into the wilderness and, when they aren’t immediately hunted down and killed, become ‘broken’, running around in gangs, often going mad. But ten-year old Kira smuggles herself out on an outgoing cargo ship, and a week later she’s on Nar Shaddaa. She sees the suffering of people, there. Those who are unable or unwilling to kick something up to the Hutts quickly find themselves sent down. The slums where refugees congregate are almost as cruel and unforgiving as Korriban. Life is hard, but here, Kira discovers something about herself. Inexplicably, she actually cares about other people; especially the ones who take her in, and who are too weak to fend for themselves against the predators among them. Then Kira meets Bela Kiwiiks and joins the Jedi Order. Kira is unbelievably grateful to Master Kiwiiks. The Togrutta got her off Nar Shaddaa, gave her a home and a place in the galaxy, and has given her a place in the galaxy and the chance to do some good. Master Kiwiiks is like the mother that she never had. Kiwiiks is gently but firmly trying to teach Kira to be the best Jedi she can be.

But as proud as she is to be a Jedi, Kira Carsen is trying to be the best version of herself.

When she meets the Jedi Knight, everything changes very quickly. Somehow, the Knight trusts Kira against the Black Sun at the spaceport on Coruscant, and then later still when they’re hunting down Tarnis. When Master Satele instructs the Knight to take Kira in as a Padawan, Kira is elated. She follows the Knight’s lead, but she feels more like a partner than their apprentice. The Knight talks with her instead of at her, and they learn a great deal about themselves and the galaxy from each other. When Kira’s past is revealed, the Knight supports her unquestioningly; first against Valis, then against Master Jaric Kaedan and finally against the Emperor himself on Darth Angral’s dreadnaught. When Kira finally purges the Emperor from her mind, she feels the Knight reaching out to her, aiding her the entire time.

(All this comes before that night under the stars on Tython, when Kira finally jumps the Knight and they become far more than partners.)

Kira is still herself, learning and growing at her own pace. There are times she questions the Knight’s choices. She groans when they take in Doc and worries a great deal when they let Scourge join. But through it all, the Knight never asks Kira to compromise herself; they never tell her how she should feel or think about anything. The Knight simply asks Kira to trust them. And she does. The doubting Jedi questions many things; but they never question the Knight, because the Knight has never questioned her.

Kira Carsen stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise to let her be Herself , and because they let her become the best version of Herself she can.

T7-O1 – Teeseven to his friends – has served the Jedi Order for decades, and quite frankly, they would be hard pressed to find anyone who has done so with greater devotion. The astromech droid is more than content to carry messages and conduct reconnaissance for the Jedi as they continue to adjust to their home on Tython.

But for the mechanical servant, the most satisfying period of his existence was during the time he served as a companion to Jedi Master Ven Zallow, one of the greatest heroes of the Galactic Republic during the last galactic war. Zallow was a true champion of the ideals of both the Jedi and the Republic, serving with wisdom and strength. The little droid misses those days, fiercely. He knows the work he does for the Order is important, but nothing was more fulfilling than knowing ones actions have helped right a wrong or saved a life.

After ten years of waiting, Teeseven is finally partnered with another hero. This one is even kinder and more powerful than Ven Zallow; they seem to do nothing but sacrifice for others. In the Jedi Knight, Teeseven has found a champion who can save the entire galaxy. Privately, the little droid does worry. He worries that the cruelties of this galaxy will weigh on the Knight, that they will become bitter with loss, and will eventually fall short of their ideals as so many Jedi have before. But Teeseven will be there for the Knight, no matter what. They will follow the Knight into the darkest places in the galaxy, as they blaze a light. They will be the Knight’s friend, and show the Jedi the way. In return, the Knight will help Teeseven be what the droid always wanted to be.

T7-O1 stays with the Jedi Knight because they promise him that they will always be Heroes.

#swtor #t7-o1 #teeseven #kira carsen #fideltin rusk #sergeant rusk #doc swtor #doc #archiban kimble #archiban frodrick kimble #doctor Archiban Kimble #lord scourge #swtor writing #jedi knight #oc: corellan halcyon #corellan halcyon #hero of tython #playing the light side isn't always sexy but it does help

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yggdrasil-mith0s · 4 years

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I had a dream last night where I played a game I had created a tremendous film concept that really rocked my dream and it wasn't even edited together or created as s film. I worked on it really hard. I did some of the writing and created character meta. I was putting it together and to this day I think it would be a top film if directed right. It was heavily based off of me and my personality, my family and friends, and the young life I have lived. It is also based off of fictional elements and anime features you domt see in the real world. You hardly see the two mixed. along with having a kind soul that wants to help others thrive. Others love.

Others can be more comfortable and follow their own hearts and kindness, while listening to different dialogues and then would intervene and say "No. No. This is Yukosa. He grew up fatherless aftter a certain point and has always cared about others. Especially since his kind mom did a bulk majority of raising him. He absolutely would save those people instead of leaving them behind." These people actually would follow him into being batter to free a young kid trapped by demons trying to take control over him dur to his weak personality. Or something like that. But I wrote down the dream because it is actually brilliant and I plan to get the rights to it because its unique. It deserves more work, though.

Every single action you choose can have completely different consequences and they aren't "gotcha moments." They are merely personality traits/points the main character has. That makes the game really easy or extremy difficult. It all depends how you play it and with the current hellscape of things I am sure it would be mostly really tough for players. But there are some good intentions can turn into a bad thing setting you back for a while another good things can bring you farther to peace than you expected. It depends on who you are and how you play. It would be an absolutely stunning game if people wanted to play. how convincing you are, and where you are coming from with your words and compassion makes a big difference.

Here is some background to the main character, Yukosa. He has two older brothers, the oldest is 9 years older. The next brother is 4 years older. He also has a younger sister that is 5 years younger than Yukosa. This stuff would play at the start, of course. But yeah... Yokosa is the third born out of four. His older brothers got a long well and he was often left behind. In turn he played with his younger sister a bit more, which created a beautiful bond between them two but a bit of disdain for his older brothers.

He often helps people who end up using him, breaking him down, his brothers included. They used him for money because of trust fund money dad left behind to him. They stole thousands and left Yukosa without much as all but he was okay with it. He only needed money once, which they rejected by the way, and accused him of money laundering and other ridiculous schemes. His sister knew the truth, at least, and he still maintained his kind, gentle side. He is still a nice person but now he puts a wall up to guard users from taking advantage.

He uses this wall to be a solo adventurer that takes on quests. It's how he helps people but also maintains it as strictly professional. He doesn't do party quest for he worries about betrayal. Well the game is set around this person who is a solo adventurer. He does his own work, makes his own decisions, and chooses his own quest. Based on his decisions he meets new solo adventurers, new party adventurers, and then also guilds and/or clans of people. He can choose to enter any guild/clan based of the limited morals he learns about those clans/guilds. But if it turns out these guilds/clans go against his morals then he leaves, and in some extreme cases, he destroyed it or disassembles it in some way. You get this main protogabist's morals in the beginning of the game based off questions you answer in early game, the childhood of his you play as and how you react to certain "traumas," as well as how you treat others. Your personality varies based off of interests and mini games you do, which can help with bartering or joining people in adulthood. In late teen years, it's almost the same except you get more freedom. You can choose to do illegal activities nonchalantly and alone or with a small group (buying a blunt or 6 pack for the night and no one drives) or go to wild parties and rebel. All that shapes character personality, charisma, some strentghs, some weaknesses, and helps shape what kind of character you become for the true gameplay. I think this concept would be amazing. Of course I need to be more in depth and go on. I especially rushed the ending but long story short, you can choose to do it solo, reluctantly create a party, let the traumas turn you evil, or save evil before it's too late. The possibilities are endless and all included in the game!!!! There are 30 something endings and all are just as amazing and we never take the lazy way out!

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siarven · 4 years

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hiya! i see that you have three wips that youre working on? if i could get a one/three sentence description of all three thatd be great :D (one or three, your choice. or maybe both! up to you.)

First of all I swear I’m not ignoring you, tumblr keeps forgetting to tell me that I got asks and I also wasn’t online for almost two weeks (except a bit on my phone and I have no idea how to answer asks on there??) but yeah I accidentally looked in here and ?!?!?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’M SO SORRY, AND THANKS FOR ASKING :’D <333

Thank you so much for being interested in my dumb wips ;W; I also just noticed you sent me another asks weeks ago, AHHH I will answer that after this one x’D I am so sorry, thank you for bearing with me skdfjhskdf

ANYWAYS

Yesss, I have 3 wips! :D <333

The first and oldest one is called Dream’s Shadow (it went through a few title changes though) and the current horrible/dumb tagline is “boy’s should’ve-been-fatal-but-somehow-wasn’t accident drags him and his 2 sisters into an ancient conflict that could change the future of everyone forever”.

It’s dark epic fantasy, set in another world, but also hopepunk (so while it gets dark and there’s some (eye) body horror and monsters and stuff the tone isn’t bleak and hopeless and all that...) . It’s set in another world and is the first in a series where the scope escalates with every book (this one has a fairly small scope, “saving Ben” more or less :D)

Basically Ben (16) is in a coma, wakes as a ghost a few days later and needs to find out how to get back, if he even can, or wants to, and nobody knows what happened including him. His little sister Ava (8) has to keep their dysfunctional family together in his absence, she feels like she’s failing, and she can also see gods (well, entities...) in her dreams now, which is never a good sign. Their other sister, Elinor (14) gets involved in all of it, too, but explaining all that is a bit complicated. XD If you’re interested in the worldbuilding and more about that, though, I recently made a comic sans power point! :D

I also finished the 3rd draft a few weeks ago and it’s now going through some editing and then I will probably actually start betaing?? which is insane?????? I’ve been rewriting that thing off and on since NaNo 2014, what the heck, we’re actually getting somewhere now?! (It has basically nothing in common with draft 1 except 2 names and 2 plot points at this point. XD)

✿✿✿

My second WIP is Like Dragons of Old!

A feral, winged orphan girl and a librarian's daughter are raised by an immortal and a phoenix in chicken form among the towering stacks of a sentient, endless library. Shenangians, adventures, and heartbreak ensue.

It’s also set in another world, also dark epic fantasy, and a trilogy (heh, I can’t do short things...) and also hopepunk because that’s very important <3 It takes place over ~10 years (every book will) so the main characters grow up over the course of the story and it ends when they’re in their ~40s :D It’s basically a slow burn with the main problem that over the course of the trilogy Timbre and Selandri end up getting separated and meet again, years later, as leaders on different sides of a pretty huge conflict :’D I love my babies so much ahhh The first one is still very lighthearted though. For the most part. :3

(It also has a comic sans thingy here)

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The third WIP is called Hope Beyond

It’s a bit different from the other two, because it’s a multimedia story and has 3 different POVs in 3 different styles each that will start to overlap as the characters develop and grow closer.

There’s Alia, who’s basically a child (... it’s complicated), who has limited perspective comic panels as her chapters (so it’s very much how she sees the world, with a ton of magical creatures, magical realism style), then there’s Morgan, her older adoptive sister (who planned on being a book-hoarding crazy cat lady and is 30, she has 3rd person novel narration) and Phaedra, a one-legged war veteran who’s their next door neighbour (who keeps a diary for therapy).

Basically the story is the 3 of them working through their various traumas and grief and rage together, helping each other cope, and growing as people. So, very much a found family story :D I don’t even know how to describe the plot because the setup explanation alone always escalated very badly, buuut I have an intro post for it here <3

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Soooo.... thank you so much for asking, I’m sorry this escalated so badly (it always does lmao) and that I only responded now :’D

Thank you so much for your interest <333

#dreamshadow #ldoo #hope beyond #I am so sorry #it got lost #tumblr why are you doing this to me #also I have an abundance of aspec (esp aroace) main and side characters because I can't help projecting but it didn't feel relevant enough #so yee #<333 #aroace-in-your-face

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chilluminati · 4 years

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2020 - What A Great Year!

There's nothing like disease and death on a mass scale to remind us that bar crawls and barbecues aren't everything. Almost, but not quite. I'll miss this year: the grim news reports, the vacant streets, the realization upon waking that Trump really is President ... 😱😥😖😔 ... that urinal smell of fear. It hasn't been boring; I hate boring. Managed to finally finish all five seasons of Chuck. Had a major fight with my brother. Cared for the elderly and the mentally ill (still talking about family). Resolved to spend my last days in an Arizona desert trailer park with my telescope and a satellite wifi connection. Ah, paradise!

We had plans to visit Japan this year, a long-held dream of mine, but the pandemic put the kbosh on that. My increasingly bad knees and feet may put the kbosh on future plans. All this kboshing is getting to me. I need to switch it out with some kvetching or klatching maybe (wait; pandemic; no klatching; damn). In 2019, my in-laws' home city of Hong Kong became engaged in a titanic struggle between youthful residents who fear a creeping authoritarianism and the single party communist government who want to bring the city more in line with its mainland counterparts. We watched in pain and fear for family as well as admiration for the protestors' resolve. In 2020 the pandemic also put the kbosh on mass protests. Smaller, bemasked actions have broken out here and there but not with the same safety in numbers. Kboshing postponed perhaps forever a travel dream of mine. It postponed perhaps forever Hong Kong's dream of a freer future. It brings perspective.

When I hear Americans kvetch about their loss of freedoms due to the pandemic I'm led to wonder: how do citizens of poor nations that face epidemic diseases on a daily basis get their party on? I mean, do they just accept that one third of the guests will die? Or if they're more careful than we are how are they able to meet their needs for Jell-O shots and beer pong? Perhaps we should commission a study. Just a thought.

Complaints about loss of income are, of course, more understandable. Nothing creates more fear and stress than the feeling that your family's well-being is threatened. That's primal. That's hard-wired in. So when self-serving politicians and media providers help to spread conspiracy theories that the pandemic is a hoax perpetrated by the Deep State (a phrase we Progessives used to use) it's no wonder that protests break out and trust in government health authorities sinks even lower than it already was. Why would politicians and media providers do such a thing? Power. Influence. Money. All three or some combination thereof. Some of the oldest motives in human history. Hollywood hasn't helped with its endless string of conspiracy thrillers and persistent view that if the military or CIA is involved it must be for sinister reasons. It couldn't possibly have anything to do with patriotism and service; how silly. Conservative pundits who excoriate liberals as radicals and extremists create absurdly cartoonish pictures in people's minds. Do you know what my fellow progressives do? We teach, we help mentally ill people, we take care of unwanted kids, we deliver water to areas with poisoned water supplies, we take time off to build houses for people. We do all these terrible things and then get insulted for it by obnoxious conservative commentators. Huh, I wonder where all this anger and disgust comes from.

The greatest disease we Americans face is smugness. We are all infected. We all get up in our heads and our emotions. We all pronounce judgment on other Americans like Charlton Heston and his tablets. One of the sure signs that the disease is progressing is when we fail to see it in ourselves but sure as hell see it in others. I know I can be arrogant. So can everyone I've ever met or known of in any way. Except maybe Jesus. When you're God the only direction you can go is humble. Once you cut through all the myths and lies and bullshit stories we tell ourselves we're just kids on a playground fighting to make our place. One of the greatest gifts of the pandemic is getting us to shut the hell up for awhile. It wasn't long - maybe two or three months starting in March - but for a short while we were all watching the numbers tick up and the body count rise. Some of us were infected. Some of us have loved ones who died. Fear has a way of undercutting smugness. Maybe that's what we need more of in 2021: fear. An alien invasion, an asteroid careening towards us, a revival of CATS. Something to make us forget how important and angry we are. It could just save the human race and make 2020 lead into the best year ever!

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ofmenoetius · 4 years

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✖ ▒ OH, WHAT A COINCIDENCE! i was just thinking of [ PATROCLUS SON OF MENOETIUS ]. most swear their resemblance to [ SEAN TEALE ] is unmistakable, but he has / they have been around since the [ BRONZE AGE ]. it is rumoured that the [ DEMIBOY ] was born in [ OPUS ] in the year [ 1205 BC ], even though they don’t look a day over [ THIRTY ]. what a shame, though: they were once famed for being [ HONEST ] and [ PASSIONATE ] ; yet now, they seem more and more [ RESERVED ] and [ MERCURIAL ]. but while [ PATROCLUS ] spends their days working as a [ HARPIST FOR THE LONDINIUM SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA ], they are already notorious around town for [ UNSENT LOVE LETTERS ADDRESSED TO NO ONE ; BANDAGED FINGERS AND CALLOUSED HANDS ; A BEAT UP OLD FLIP PHONE ; THE FAINT SCENT OF COFFEE AND CARDAMOM ]. when you live forever, you might as well make the most of it.

hi, hello –– i’m bella + also the worst !! this is my baby patroclus who’s one part powerpuff girl, two parts physical embodiment of the eyeroll, and generally just has really bad frown lines from being in a Bad Mood for like thousands of years or whatever. ( will not get botox sadly, someone convince him ) anyway –– i am here for every single plot of every single kind !! just like this and / or hmu on discord @ halaldaddy#3725 !!

TASK ONE : THE RUNDOWN

▼ STATISTICS.

full name: patroclus, son of menoetius.

moniker / nickname: officially goes by patrick in 2020, and he has the fake ids to prove it. generally isn’t the biggest fan of nicknames.

titles: tbd.

gender && pronouns: demi-boy && he / him + they / them.

dob && age: april 24th, 1205 BC && really old –– about 3224 years old, give or take, but he’s been thirty for a really long time.

place of birth: opus, greece.

previous residences: opus, athens, larissa, cape town, cardiff, inverness, paris, milan, caracas, && londinium –– in that order.

zodiac sign: taurus.

ethnicity: white && venezuelan.

sexual orientation: demisexual.

romantic orientation: homoromantic.

occupational history: perpetual soldier, squire, orange farmer, lutist, revolutionary, boxer, harpist. among others.

▼ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: sean teale.

height: 185 cm && 6′2.

physical build: mesomorph && visibly muscular && painfully straight back from years of his father’s voice still stuck in his head. ( it’s 2020, maybe he really should go to therapy for his daddy issues, but how do you tell a therapist your dad died before the trojan war ?? asking for a friend. )

eye colour and shape: dark brown && hooded, really long lashes which he does oil at night && also lines his eyes with kohl. it’s habit.

hair colour and style: dark, cropped, usually trimmed neatly.

usual expression: bored, reluctant smile.

accent and speech style: heavily accented english, but it’s impossible to pin down where he might be from. speaks spanish and greek with more ease than he does english.

distinguishing marks / characteristics: both ear lobes pierced, gold studs in both. a shield tattooed on his left flank. plenty of scars –– one across his right eyebrow, scarred && calloused hands, a very large scar that refused to heal right on his left shoulder.

clothing style: anything he can find, really ; athletic for the most part, but smart button-downs ( always button-downs, never button ups ) for work.

jewellery and accessories: a thin, gold chain around his neck ; his an engraved ring hangs from it, tucked away. a deliberate collection of rings on his fingers: a curved edge, yellow gold signet ring from a third-generation foundry in greece ; a classic medusa ring picked up in florence during the renaissance ; a turquoise inlaid silver signet ring ; a silver plated band, worn on his left thumb.

▼ FAMILY.

father: menoetius, deceased ( thank fuck ).

mother: philomela, deceased.

siblings, if any: myrto, his sister.

extended relations: none that he knows.

significant other(s): achilles && only achilles. it could only ever be achilles.

children: none, except his ––

household pet(s): he has two tabby cats named menelaus and ajax ( just a little fun joke for himself, okay –– don’t @ him. )

▼ FAVOURITES.

colour: gold ; every shade.

weather: storms –– it reminds him of mornings spent inside, the air sticky and humid, sweat on his upper lip and a laugh on his tongue.

food item: he’s a vegetarian –– he always has been, especially since he didn’t always have food, especially during the 1100s. so yeah, patroclus isn’t exactly picky –– anything veg and vaguely edible’s fine –– but he does love a vegan burger ( normal cheese, please ). the perks of the 21st century. okay, and he loves green olives.

beverage: he’s a stereotype, he loves red wine. ( fine, he hates wine –– he likes tequila. )

time of day: late at night, late enough that the streets are quiet and the air feels thin and he can breathe deeply.

television genre: not that patroclus has time to watch tv –– plus he’s got one of those old picture tube tvs from the dinosaur era –– but he loves a good underwater documentary. and shark week. and the history channel –– he likes to catch what they got wrong.

favourite era lived: he’d do anything to go back to the day before he died –– anything. to say a proper goodbye, to say all the very many things he’d never said because he thought he had all the time in the world. but also, he really loved the ‘70s in londinium.

▼ PERSONALITY.

hobbies: boxing && reading && falling asleep in the sun.

pet peeves: people talking in circles && liars.

phobias: patroclus doesn’t like drowning. he’s died of drowning once && come back from it, but he absolutely hated it. he’ll take anything over it.

allergies: coffee. which is fine, because patroclus likes green tea anyway. ( well, green tea with like three whole spoonfuls of honey. )

mbti type: isfj – t.

enneagram type:

35% the challenger.

48% the skeptic.

22% the peacemaker.

positive traits: passionate && honest && loyal && dependable.

negative traits: reserved && mercurial && blunt && pessimistic && headstrong && forlorn.

morning routine: goes for a run every morning before dawn, goes to a boxing class, has breakfast at the bookshop on the way home, and gets to work at least an hour early. it’s boring and it’s too familiar and patroclus wouldn’t change it –– he’d rather have predictable than the alternative. he’s tired of losing people and places and old routines, so he’s holding on to this one until he has to move again in another twenty years.

beauty routine: nothing really ; patroclus keeps his beard neat and his hair trimmed. he oils and curls his lashes, oils his beard. he misses baths –– big baths that you could sit in and just stay in until you pruned. but he only has a shower in his apartment now.

sleeping habits: patroclus hasn’t slept through the night since before his first death ; nowadays, it’s a few hours of sleep at a time, and plenty of nightmares to keep him company. the good thing is, he’s very used to waking up early –– rather than tossing and turning or watching his ceiling until dawn, he’s up and out of bed.

oldest belonging: he doesn’t have anything –– nothing. patroclus always leaves things behind, always. it’s easier that way. and sure, he regrets it sometimes. but there’s no use crying over the past, right? not when he has an endless future.

living space && home: it’s small –– it’s really small. but it has bay windows, a shitty little terrace with doors that the wind knocks open, and plants everywhere. there’s a kingsize mattress on the ground, one set of sheets total and they’re made of cotton-silk. orange, of course.

INTRODUCTION : tw death ; tw war .

his childhood wasn’t pretty. patroclus was born too skinny, too weak –– maybe not sickly, but he wasn’t wanted. he wasn’t loved. he was born into a war, and his war was his father. his war was his father’s shame. so when he killed another by accident –– in anger, in frustration, by mistake –– his father was more than happy to ship him off ; and somehow, that was the greatest gift his father could have ever given him. thanks, dad.

it’s been so long, everything feels like a dream. it feels too sunlit and too warm to the touch. it feels too easy. and sure, he can’t remember all that much about it. but he remembers achilles. he remembers being so happy that he felt sick to his stomach. but he doesn’t remember hector’s knife in his stomach or dying that very first time. but he remembers waking up to hades in the underworld, and he remembers the sickening realisation that he could never go back ever again –– he was here, and he was alive, and he still had to leave everything he once knew behind.

patroclus didn’t want money or fame ; he’d only ever wanted a love to call his own and a place to call his home. and since he’d lost both already, he was tired. so he went off to work on an orange farm, right at the edge of the world –– or well, the edge of his world. he was still in greece, news travelling to them every few months or years, and it was alright. he was away from the rest of the world, labouring under the cruel sun and sleeping into the cool night, and waking up to do it all over again. he smiled at the kids on his way into town and gave them an armful of oranges each. and then when people began to wonder whywhywhy he wasn’t aging, patroclus moved on to the next village –– and then the next, and then the next.

it was 1465 + he was in florence when he saw a lute again –– a laugh escaping him before he could start to remember when he last laughed out loud. it reminded him of home, of a long time ago. so he began to play for money and food and a place to stay. and it took him all over the world –– meeting people who’d die before he’d reach his next destination and learning things he’d never be able to forget.

going to war became a habit. the crusades, the gallic wars, the jacobite rising, the war of the roses, the french revolution, the seven weeks war, world war i, the russian revolution, world war ii, and so very many more –– patroclus wasn’t really fighting, but he was trying. he was trying to make sure some good came out of them, that there was some death that he could stop, some blows he could take if it meant another lived. but at some point, he just couldn’t keep doing it anymore. his heart hurt and his nightmares followed him in the daylight.

now, well –– he’s a harpist for the londinium symphony. patroclus has been her for all of about 12 years now ; he doesn’t want to move, not yet. but throughout his many, many lifetimes, he’s perfected and loved the harp –– it’s the only thing he recognises in this brave new world, and he’s going to hang onto it for as long as he can.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

survival of the stubborn: a mentor, someone patroclus met after a long, long time of being immortal, but someone who taught him to stop being completely miserable and enjoy the time they have. if it wasn’t for this person, patroclus probably wouldn’t have lasted all that long.

death becomes you: immortal friends ; the gang, the squad. the ride or dies –– so to speak. they can go decades without talking or meeting, but they get together again every fifty years and know they can rely on each other. plus, they can literally whatsapp each other now –– like, what.

orange you glad to see me: he worked on an orange farm in greece after their first death in about 1200 BC, and met this person there. maybe this person owned the farm, maybe this person was just a guest of the owners, maybe they also worked on the farm, or maybe they just met each other in the village nearby –– but they met again years and years and years later and it was a lowkey lightbulb moment of oh, so i’m not alone out here for patroclus !!

please turn the music off: musician friends + members of the orchestra ( mortal or immortal ) + anyone who’s into music and they might have met each other over the years !! perhaps a mentor or maybe they even totally hate each other, but just about any type of music relation !!

encore, encore: patroclus worked / played in a few different courts over the years –– always the lute or harp –– so this might be someone he might have played for !!

tequila’s my best friend: drinking buddies !! what it says on the tin. patroclus is a miserable drinker, usually ends up spilling all of his secrets, sometimes ends up breaking things.

the war followed me back home: patroclus served in plenty of wars until 1950 –– far too many, with new names and new titles and new ranks every time. to do some good in the world. or maybe they were just chasing their first death at hector’s hands. either way –– this is someone they might have served with !! could be a commanding officer ; a fellow soldier ; or even a doctor / nurse !!

old enemies, new friends: people he just doesn’t get along with. at all. ever. they’re always hated each other, maybe they even killed each other a few times, but just some sort of enemies !!

more to be added !!

#this is so long i hate myself #im so sorry #qismat.intro #qismat.task #qismat.taskone

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