#and how. despite it all. the one born to be a weapon understood the necessity to leave. and the one made into a weapon was fed a desperate

[laplacemail]

“DOLLY” & “FANTASMA”

by azu_u_u__ @ skeb

[froog-water]

howdy y'all, again! 

just quickly before the chapter starts, i wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reads this! i have received a lot of support for this thing (more than i had hoped) and i am beyond grateful for it!

again, if there are any mistakes in this chapter, just hmu and i will fix it. i am just tired rn :)

also, slight warning for the beginning of the chapter, there are vivid descriptions of blood and gore and death. but nothing really troubling past that ;P

be safe out there my friends and thank you again

Upwards Over the Mountain

(Bloodhound x Reader)

previous; Chapter 2

Winter is in full swing and the entire world is covered in a thick blanket of white snow and eternal cold. For the most part, you had forgotten all about Bloodhound and the stranger circumstance of your meeting. Because there was not much for a bunch of fishermen and farmers to do during the stagnant times of chill, your bar had become a most frequented hotspot for these idle workers meaning you had very little time to yourself. Busy hands kept your mind busy too and soon some, if not most, of that night had been pushed back to the recesses of your consciousness.  It also did not help that they never took you up on your offer of returning to the bar. They retreated back into being merely a story to you, a faint memory of a person long moved on. You could hardly even remember if it had even really happened at all. Oh well, you supposed they had better things to do.

Early morning light was barely seeping in through your bedroom window when you managed to open your eyes. Groggily you yawn and stretch and slowly go to open the curtains. Greeting you was the pleasant sight of a land half-asleep, the sky a brilliant warm pink despite the rest being draped in an unimaginable freeze. Your breath collected as fog on the frozen glass and tentatively you reach out to touch it. It was a lovely morning indeed and it would have stayed that way had you not looked up into the sky.

In the distance, large birds circled. Tiredness shifts to dread as you adjust your eyes to try to get a better look. Those were no ordinary birds, you remark taking note of how large their bodies were and of the swooping patterns of their flight. Those were scavenging birds. And there is only one thing to bring scavengers out during Winter.

You dress quickly, putting on your best and thickest jacket and pants, before grabbing your hunter's knife and bow. Andante was a man of many talents, most of which he passed on to you. One of those talents was his hunting skills. The summer before his knees went, was spent mostly out in the heart of the wild woods. It was an interesting experience, to say the least, and though you were nowhere near what could be considered good, you understood the basics of the hunt and of the weapons you wielded and you knew how to read signs. Signs like scavenger birds circling in the sky. Signs like there was something dying.

Into the snow you run without much of a second thought, your head locked upwards as you follow the shapes of the birds eyeing their next meal. What confused you most about this strange encounter was not the presence of the birds themselves, but the proximity that they were to you and the rest of the town. This was wild country, home of beasts and lands untamed and untouched by man’s iron hand. That much you knew, encounters like this were commonplace if you dared to leave the safety of human comforts. But you were not out in the uncomfortable forest which meant that whatever had caught the bird's attention was either very far from home or of a more concerning matter.

You edge into the outskirts of the white forest, the trees around you nothing more than empty sticks bearing only wind and ice. Overhead, the birds caw and swoop and through the boney fingers of branches, you can see that they are getting lower. You had to move quickly before they did. As you go deeper in, approaching what you assumed to be the border of someone's field, you hear something. Faintly, carried on the morning breeze, was the mewling of an animal. Your pace quickens and quietens as you zone in on the source, painfully aware of how loud the snow was underfoot but pushing on regardless. The relief that you had felt at knowing it was not a person in danger eases some of your mounting anxieties and offers you momentary strength to continue on in pursuit. If given the choice, you would have gladly left whatever animal lay in wait to its own devices, you had no business intruding in on their affairs - your presence would only bring them distress no matter your intentions. But something about this situation told you otherwise and guided your feet to where you would most certainly be needed. On the outskirts of a clearing, you spot something and crouch behind a leafless brush.

There before you, not even 20 meters away, was a fallen elk. You swallow down your gasp and try to focus over the noise of your beating heart, which becomes only louder as you start to take in the entire situation. The animal has toppled over a wired fence of some farmer's land, its hind leg still entangled and bleeding from its restraints, held high above the rest of its body at an uncomfortable angle. From its bloody mouth, it screamed weakly, puffs of dying hot breath escaping with the haunting noise. Your first guess was that this misdirected elk had simply gotten itself stuck in the fence, a most unfortunate event but not entirely implausible, but upon closer inspection at the rest of its heaving body, your guess died on your tongue.

Horrible, long gashes run down the length of the animal's side, pooling blood into the snow around it turning white to red. Its powerful neck was sliced deep in odd places and one of its front legs looked twisted or broken. This creature had not done this kind of destruction to itself - it was attacked. By something. You slowly turn your head around to scan the morning shadows of the forest clearing for any glowing eyes of an animal on the hunt. But there was no predator to be found. There would be none of course, because if there was such a predator here, then why would it not have killed its prey by now? Animals do not find enjoyment in torture and no man, you hoped, would ever do such heinous crimes to such innocent life. For now, at least, it was only you and the elk and the circling, hungry birds.

The elk cries again and you notice how its kicks have become lethargic and stifled by freezing joints and waning energy. It was suffering. Without much debate you ready an arrow in your bow, pulling taut the string with trained proficiency. You whisper to yourself a prayer, hoping that it would only take one arrow to kill the poor thing. You line your aim up, try to cease the shaking in your hands and shoulders, breathing deeply. Your arrow flies prematurely and misses its target, rather than piercing its skull you instead strike it in its neck, right behind its ear. The thing wails, although much softer and with more subtle movements - you must have hit its spine. Seizing the opportunity, you rush forward, ignoring the lurching of your stomach and pulling out your knife. Without a moment's hesitation, you drive it deep into the elk’s heart, right to the hilt of the blade. A little excessive, you deride, but a necessity given your previous inability to finish it quickly.

The thing stops moving. The pained cries fade off into the cold wind. You are left alone with your thoughts and the smell of fresh blood. Beneath your hands the elk lay motionless, its beautiful, soft fur a gentle texture against your trembling form. Andante had made sure that you had killed a few animals before he had honored you with a knife of your own. Still, experience did not dull the sharp sting of shock nor quell the rising weight in your chest. It was suffering, you reminded yourself, lightly dragging your fingers down the side of the animal's large and strong back.

These elk were beautiful creatures, graceful and nimble; they pranced through the wilderness in powerful, delicate strides showcasing the ultimate wonder of the natural world. You had encountered a herd of them once, all the while mesmerized as they strode past your hiding spot without a care in the world. It was quite distressing to see one now crumpled and lifeless. Emptiness sits heavy in your chest and though you know you are not going to throw up, the pressure erupts and you fall to your knees. A red hand clasps the arrow lodged deep in the neck of the animal and sharply pulls it out. You blink hard but cannot stop the tears that threaten to burn your eyes.

It was an animal. It was suffering. You did the right thing.

From somewhere behind you, the softest snow crunches, and your pity party abruptly ends as you draw another arrow and spin around. For a few tense seconds, your fingers quiver around the bow’s string, ready to shoot down if you so dared it. You only hesitate when you finally recognize the figure.

Bloodhound quietly raises both their gloved hands, fingers spread apart in an unarmed, peaceful gesture. You remain poised a moment longer until your eyes start to prick with new tears and you are forced to look away. You drop your arrow and turn back around to the elk, furiously trying to wipe your face with the clean sleeve of your jacket. Now, this was a predicament. What god had you spite so hard to deserve this kind of cruelty? True embarrassment blends with your established disgust and you fear now you may really throw up. Here was a true hunter, a beast born in blood and forged to kill. And here also was you, wallowing in pity. If only you could sink into the floor.

You can hear Bloodhound approach and soon feel their impending presence standing right next to you, taking in the sight of the poor thing on the ground. No one spoke, only the wind dared whisper in the dead world around you. The silence was stretching on for far too long and you knew you had to break it before it became too uncomfortable.

“I’m…” You sniffle hard, trying to force strength into your voice knowing full well that you had very little left to offer. You cough and stand up straight. “I’m not going to do you the dishonor and assume this was your kill.” You say, your voice somehow managing to sustain itself despite your state. Bloodhound does not respond right away, instead, they remain motionless, eyes scanning every detail of the elk and committing it to memory. You shake loose the last of your unstable emotions and grab ahold of your knife again. You move to the elk’s tangled leg and set to work cut free the wires.

“You cry for the animal.” Bloodhound finally speaks, sounding more like an observation rather than a question. With your attention focused on your task, you manage to answer in a more steady and calm attitude.

“Yes.” This was your admission of guilt, not just to Bloodhound but to yourself as well. God, how pathetic you were. “Yes, I cried. I know it is natural. That this is how it is meant to be but,” You hesitate, your lapse in concentration misguiding your knife and almost slicing the tip of our index finger. “This is not a hunt nor a kill. This poor creature was driven away from its home and family and pushed to our borders by some deranged and cruel beast. This is not natural. It was not killed to feed mouths. It was tortured. And it died confused and alone.” The leg snaps free from the wired fence and you wipe your blade clean on the snowy floor, ugly red stains being the only reminder of your deed.

“There is no shame in veeping.” Bloodhound murmurs a brash reassurance and kneels down, tracing their fingers from the elk’s wounds. “Vhat did this?”

“My guess is,” You state taking a step back and allowing Bloodhound to proceed with whatever they were wanting to do with the body, “A few years back, an illegal trading ship hit a bit of trouble just beyond our planet's frontier and had to quickly dump its cargo on the East mountains. Some of that cargo was the creatures we call ‘Shrieks’. They are alien to this ecosystem but even though they are terribly small and their numbers were minimal, they dominated the local wildlife - killing not just for food but for fun. The town’s people tried to cull some of their numbers but,” You explanation stutters off and you hastily take in a sharp breath, the icy air burning your nose and lungs. “Well, they could not get them all. It appears now that they are growing in size again. And in courage.”

Bloodhound does not respond, their attention wholly directed at the study of the animal. You wait a moment longer, the adrenaline of the moment finally ebbing off and allowing the freezing cold to seep into your bones. You shiver and wrap your arms around your body. Bloodhound stands, all the while their attention remains downward.

“You can leave it there.” You say, passing one more glance over the body before averting your gaze elsewhere. “If you want nothing from it, leave it for the birds. They could use the meal.” As if aware of their mention, the still-waiting scavengers call loudly from the tree-top. A raven answers with a caw and you look around to find many black birds scattered around the clearing. The birds do seem to follow their raven stranger everywhere they went. The wind howled through the desolate forest and you grimace upon thinking of returning to your empty house with such a shallow heart. The smell of blood lingers cruelly to your clothes, reminding you of what you had just witnessed. You had to think of something to keep your mind off it, thinking of your act for people, play your part until you finally were normal again. But your bar would not be open until at least noon and there was no one else who would be willing to distract you.

“Did you track it all the way here?” Your voice breaks the silence, your mind subconsciously switching to your more charming persona. They do not answer immediately.

“I sensed distress and followed its blood.” They weren’t giving you much to work off of and you shuffle in place.

“Then I suppose you will need a ride back?” This garners their attention and they turn to face you, the nerve of being under their masked gaze still sending jolts up and down your spine.

“I cannot accept your generosity again.” Bloodhound tries to talk you down but you scoff and lift a hand to silence them.

“Please, I won't be needed until lunch and I really don't mind.” Your tone successfully managed to hide that you had a third reason to be so insistent - you just hoped that they could not see the desperation in your face. They could. They take a moment to consider your offer, whatever expression lay under their mask you would never know. The raven to their left caws and they turn to look at it. It takes off after a final noise and Bloodhound lowers their head back to you - some secret understanding passing between bird and hunter.

“Then,” Bloodhound motions for you to lead the way, “By all means.” Though strained and almost painful, your first smile of the day pulls at your lips and you turn around to walk back to your house.

~

Bloodhound, as bizarre and strange as they were, never afforded you the opportunity to truly draw a defined picture of their personality. Wrapped so totally in mystery and gear, your perception of them was created on a flimsy base of shadows - beyond what they portrayed on T.V, you knew nothing of. But in the frozen forest of that Winter’s morning, something changed and you felt your world flip upside down onto its head.

Bloodhound was a lot more talkative on the way to their cabin than they had been the first time. Or any time really that you had interacted with them. It had started with you asking them the simple question of how they managed to track the injured elk and although their initial answer remained vague, a tangent soon manifested and from there the spiral began. To your utter surprise, and mild enjoyment, they proved themselves to be a great storyteller and had many wonderful and whimsical tales about their Gods and hunts that had made the drive over to their place seem almost too short.

“Most people stop me at this point.” Bloodhound commented, drawing a snicker from you as your eyes were glued to the ice-capped road ahead.

“Well, most people are not here. And I am very much enjoying myself. I love stories.” You could not see it, but your response brought a cracked smile to Bloodhound's hidden face.

By the time you had reached their cabin, they had entranced you in a tale about wolves and the true essence of the hunt. Though you thought your morning could not get any more surprising, Bloodhound steps out of your truck and extends an offer to share warm drinks with them inside. In the heart of Winter, you could not resist the temptation.

The interior of their cabin was much as you expected - totally unpredictable. It was like a bear and a machine had a fight, a complete subversion of everything you had come to know as normal. On the floor was a multitude of animal rugs, the couches too were draped with the furs of Bloodhound’s past, presumed, victories. Yet despite the clear aesthetic for ruggedness, a definite sense of modern order was showing through. The fireplace was quaint in its design but unmistakable retro. The furniture too, the chairs and tables, shelves and windows, were all of a very contemporary era. A perfect combination of the comforts of the past and the conveniences of the present. But all and all, the only word that came to your head when you first stepped in through their front door was - cozy.

Bloodhound leads you through their small cabin, past the living room, and into the small kitchen. They motion for you to take a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room and you marvel at the smells and sights around you. Hanging from strings draped across the walls were various herbs and spices and on the counter in bowls were fresh fruit and vegetables. They must have visited the town if this was their food supply and you feel a twinge of apprehension pluck at your light mood. You brush it off as Bloodhound asks if you would prefer tea or coffee.

“I find myself the one in honor of sharing breakfast with you this morning. Fair varning must be made, however,” Bloodhound extends a steaming cup towards you, “I have been told I am not the most accomplished of hosts.” You smile gratefully and take the cup into your shivering hands. The drink was shockingly and terribly bitter and you barely manage to hold back your gag at the first sip. Bloodhound snickers at your reaction and produces a tub of honey for you to add to your drink. “And that my tastes are mostly unagreeable.”

“Oh please,” You wheeze weakly after drowning your taste buds in the soothing honey, “This is nothing. Besides, I assume that, with your choice of isolation, you don’t particularly want to be anyone's host.” Bloodhound hums at your comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it. They pull up to the opposite chair and take a seat and you notice how their drink has a straw in it.

“I am not entirely opposed to indulging certain people. And even fewer dare to give my delights a try. Therefore I rather keep them to myself. I do, however, give special heed to those vho show interest in my stories.” This draws a smirk from your lips as you bring the hot liquid up to your mouth for another sip. Content silence passes through the room and you focus intently on the warmth now spreading through your hands and to the rest of your body. “I did not think that anyone vould be out on such a morning like this.” Bloodhound admits, causing you to slowly look at them and lower your cup.

“Most are too old or too busy to take time out of their day to notice these things, or to even care. And I do not do well in the cold. Today was a special exception.” At the mention of the temperature outside you quickly raise your cup to your mouth and down another gulp. When you open your eyes again, you finally notice the bird in the room who had before blended so seamlessly in with the other oddities of the kitchen. Sat on a perch made of carved wood to the left of Bloodhound was their signature raven. It tilts its head at your attention, letting out a meek calling before eyeing you up and down. Bloodhound must really like their raven friend if they were kind enough to invite them inside. The sight alone was enough to bring a bemused grin to your chapped lips and Bloodhound watched it all happen in mild fascination.

“Do you often listen to birds?” They ask, breaking you out of an almost trance and extending to their raven a piece of freshly sliced apple.

“It is not so strange.” You breathe a laugh, “It was what led me to finding you in the rain that first evening.” Bloodhound turns their disk-like lenses towards your face and wordlessly implores you to continue. Despite the warmth now residing in your bones, you still shiver under their daunting gaze. “Your friend I mean,” You motion to the raven who has also turned to look at you with its beady, brown eyes as if aware that it was the topic of conversation, “Its cries were all I could hear. Which is saying something, considering it was storming pretty hard.”

“I do not think it skrýtinn.” Bloodhound replies without missing a beat, their voice mellow and their words an alluring symphony of strange syllables, a true joy to listen to. “Just an uncommon trait in most people. And his name is Artur.” You pass the bird a look and slightly tip your head in acknowledgment of his name. He squawks and fluffs his chest feathers, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. Bloodhound smiles at the bird. “Ravens are the messengers of the Allfather. They guide and aid me on my hunts. I do not think it skrýtinn to listen to them. Only that someone else does also.”

“You give me too much credit.” You bashfully avert your gaze, dropping your eye level to the rim of your mug no longer steaming. “It has only been a few, very odd occasions. Mere coincidences if nothing else.” Bloodhound shrugs off your deflection, unpersuaded by your argument.

“Even so.” The room falls into a content stillness after their last comment and you are left wondering how you had even ended up here. On T.V, Bloodhound was a truly mysterious character, never talking or partaking in the more rowdy activities as the others did. Sure, you were not an avid watcher, but from what little time you had spent gazing at the screen, you had made Bloodhound out to be a vastly stoic, isolated person. And by all means, they had mostly proven themselves to be exactly that person, what with their initial reluctance to meet your extended friendliness and the way they had so precariously placed themselves on this mountain all alone. However, sitting now with them in their own house, you did not feel intruding or unwelcome. And the way they spoke to you, the ease of words and conversation, came as soft and comfortable as if from someone you had known before. From them, you could feel nothing but gentle amity.

“Do you hunt?” Bloodhound’s voice wafts through the air and to your ears, bringing your head up in a hum. You snicker, a twinge of embarrassment pulling at your chest.

“Not if I can help it. Though Andante did try, I simply cannot,” you inhale deeply through your nose, suddenly aware of the gaze trained attentively on you, “Find the strength to actually kill anything. Much to the dismay of my patrons.” This peaks Bloodhounds attention and they motion for you to explain yourself.

“Every year around the beginning of Summer, before the birth of the first lambs, the town gathers for a sort of Summer festival. With my bar being the sole provider of food and alcohol for such an event, it normally fell upon Andante to supply the people with a freshly killed elk. A make-shift banquet we would all share. Everyone has so much fun.” Your head drops and your shoulders give inwards.

“But with him gone, I doubt I would be able to give the people what they want. Last year I barely managed to scrape by, I had to do a lot of ass-kissing to get the more hardened townsfolk back on my side. But this year,” Your story fades and you sigh miserably, the relief of finally expressing this concern aloud only seeming to momentarily dull the growing sense of shame.

“It is stupid, I know.” You run a hand through your hair, the bubbling self-hatred in your stomach threatening to go overboard. You were oversharing again. A lot. But you could not find a way to stop. “But, what right do I have to take the life of an animal when I already have frozen meat stored in my fridge?” Strength wanes from your knees and you are glad to be sitting down - oh, you were definitely going to kick yourself over this one later. Perhaps staying at home all alone would have been the better option after all.

In the silence that followed your last words, you felt incredible judgment bare down upon your shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to shrink away from it. Under the menace that was your own self-scrutiny, you were unable to recognize that Bloodhound was not, in fact, judging you. From behind their goggles, they watched you closely, noticing the subtle shudder of your shoulders, the downward twinge of your head, and the way your eyes seem to have lost that burning. This was something that troubled you deeply and for a terribly long time as well. So instead of what might be predicted of them to feel or do, mainly berate you for your lack of spine in the face of their profession, Bloodhound only leaned back in their chair and their mind wondering on how best to help you.

“It is not about vhat is right or vhat is not.” Bloodhound finally speaks, their tone mellow and coaxing you to look up at them again. At your acknowledgment, they continue with their explanation. “The hunt is a matter of vill - the vill of the hunter and of their prey. If your vill as a hunter surpasses that of the prey's vill to live, then you have every right to take it.” They ball their hand into a fist in an expression of power, shaking it slightly for emphasis. “You as a hunter must have an unwavering ákveðni, and strong belief in your skills. Trust your veapons and abilities, know that you are verðugt of the hunt.” Their voice lowers and they watch you for any signs of apprehension or disagreement. You only manage to look at them, eyes an unreadable ocean of something at war. They bring their fist to their chest and hammer it hard on the fabric, an attempt to ignite passion from you.

“If the hunter is humble and honors the hunt, then they have every right to taka their prey. Reap their rewards. You must just believe yourself vorthy of it. I have already seen that you have the ability and skill. Your bow, through troubled, aimed sure. And your knife brought a swift death. Now…”

“Just need to practice it.” You finish their statement, your gaze drifting a thousand miles away. Sure their wisdom was easy to take, generous even given the circumstances, but your mind was too frazzled to digest even a single word. Worthy? Not someone who hides in the forest and plays pretend bar-keeper. Bloodhound could see how you hesitated at their words, not necessarily rejecting it but not truly considering them either. They felt the urge to lean in more, to keep talking and chipping away at your pseudo mask until finally, they struck home. What were you thinking right now? Why were you so disgruntled at the thought of being worth something?

“You listen but my vords are not heard. You disagree vith vhat I say?” Bloodhound asks, their arms folding over their torso as they sit themselves upright, alert to your every movement and utterance. At their question you stir, a tired laugh that sounds more like a sigh escaping your nose and your eyes dropping their gaze.

“No, not at all. I am just… surprised.” Your response is framed with quiet complacency, your expression shifting to one of meek placidness. Bloodhound could tell that you were retreating back inside yourself, falling behind curtains of a trained profession such as the first night they met you. No longer were you that desperate person standing in the woods over a kill they mourned, instead you were a fake silhouette of someone who once was. They frown, unsure why they felt so unhappy to watch you shrink away again. Without speaking, Bloodhound asks you to elaborate.

“Forgive my rudeness but,” Your eyes snap up again and Bloodhound sees nothing in them. “I don’t really know you. And what little I do know, well, is that you are a most proficient hunter of both man and beast.” A hand lifts to your chest and you laugh. “You have seen it all and must think I am most annoying. Yet,” You pause, Bloodhound hanging off every one of your words, “You are so kind to my troubles.”

“I do not hunt in the Apex Games to prove anything. I do it for my folk and for the Allfather. I am no better than any other hunter.” Bloodhound speaks plainly, their heart thumping in their chest and their stare never once leaving your face. You smile unknowingly under their attention and they stare at your weak imitation of the real thing. Your true smile was the one they saw whilst sitting on the grass with you or when they told you stories in the car. Right now, you were faking it. Pulling away from them. Returning once more to your charade of sensibility. Whatever genuineness they had somehow managed to draw out of you was waning and they could do nothing but look on as you slipped away from them.

“I didn't mean to offend.” You ease them, your words lacing themselves with accommodation. “Your people must be very proud of all your titles however. No denying that it is impressive regardless of your motive.” You chuckle lightly. Suddenly you frown and you tilt your head at them. “May I ask,” When they did not oppose, you continued, “Why are you here? On this planet I mean. Why are you not with your people?” Bloodhound looks on like a marble statue, hardly even breathing beneath all their armor. You worry you might have overstepped your boundary and you open your mouth to apologize but they quickly cut you off.

“My folk vould not understand my decisions. Nor vould they approve of most that I do.” You can tell that the conversation was over and the warmth your bitter, hot drink had offered you only minutes earlier faded with the atmosphere. You nod in resignation.

“Then,” You say, standing and bowing your head in anticipated gratitude, the raven stranger’s attentive gaze not once shifting off your form, “I look forward to the Winter when I do not hear your Artur's call.”

~

“Oh my sweet, gentle Bar-keep, I am in need of your assistance!” Your eyes snap upwards from their work of stacking away cleaned glasses and you cannot help but grin at the one calling you. Seated at a table in the middle of your bar was a very drunk Thomas waving you over in exaggerated and hurried movements. He rocked backward in his seat and nearly looked as if he would fall over. You sigh and think it better to listen to him, lest your bar never know quiet again for the remainder of the evening. You step out from behind your bar table and carefully stroll over to him, a playfully condescending expression plastered to your face. Thomas beams a lop-sided smile and extends his hand, which you ignore and instead pat him lightly on his shoulder. He hums and overlaps your hand with his own seemingly unperturbed by your refusal.

“Ah my dear,” Thomas hiccups, swaying slightly in place despite being perfectly still, “Do not worry. I have not called you here to cause trouble. I just could not bear to see you stand behind your bar so lonely. I simply had to call you here. So troubled and worried over something.” Thomas squeezes your hand lightly and you roll your eyes at his obnoxious and misplaced concern.

“Though his words are slurred, they come from a genuine place.” From across the table, the farmer Mallory spoke. She offers you a sympathetic smile and silently apologies for her friend’s unruly behavior. Her heavy arms fold defensively over her large chest and she scowls at Thomas who sheepishly chuckles under her glare, retracting his hand and shrinking away slightly. Mallory sighs and looks to you again, the same concern that claimed her companion now sprinkled into her brown eyes. “You look a thousand years away tonight. What has upset you so?”

The two patrons turn their attention onto you and you gently shrug off their worries with a mild hand wave and flash of your smile. “You are looking for smoke signals when there is none, Mallory. And Mr. Thomas, you are concerned over the wrong things. You should be more concerned about returning to your own home before it gets too dark and I have to phone Rohan to come fetch you again.” Though the woman remains unmoved by your deflection, Thomas scoffs and shakes his head.

“Rohan’s bed will stay warm regardless of where I am. And he would excuse whatever lateness I cause if he had also seen how,” he stutters, his fingers flexing as he tried feebly to grasp at words that would not come, “ sad you look tonight.” You let out a tired laugh at the drunk fisherman’s antics and punch lightly at his shoulder.

“I assure you, my ‘sad looks’ are merely just that. Looks.” You gesture to the various empty beer glasses scattered around the table and after a nod from Mallory, you begin to place them on a tray to take back to the kitchen to be washed. “How ever could I be sad when I have your fine company to make my evenings so noisy?” This draws a cackle from the bitter woman, who relishes in your pecking at the man. Thomas gasps and feigns hurt under your judgments, a teasing hand placing pitifully over his broken heart.

It was all a lie, of course. There was some deep sincerity to your sadness that evening and it was not over Thomas’ painful crooning. Try as you might, your mind could not rid itself from the events that had occurred only the day before. What had happened with Bloodhound plagued your every waking moment. During the more lively hours of the day, when your bar was packed with singing, intoxicated patrons, you thankfully had a very loud and engrossing distraction. But now, as the evening winded down and the last table still waited to be cleared, your mind was awash with bitter thoughts.

It was all going so well, they had been so welcoming and friendly and you sat in their home confident and assured. They had shared in you their many stories and experiences, pulling you deeper into a conversation than you had ever been with them. And yet the moment you opened your mouth, allowed it to run unchecked and unguarded, the walls came down and the party ended. You were a fool, you kicked yourself. A damn, stupid fool for allowing yourself to speak so freely. To express to them a most sensitive part of yourself that not even your bathroom mirror had known. It was because of your inability to keep yourself in line that caused the rift to tear and now separate you from the person of your interest. Bloodhound told you such wonderful stories and now you were sure they would never want to speak to you again.

But you put on your brave face and pretend as if nothing is wrong. And that is true, of course. Nothing is wrong. Your life was fine before their intrusion and it shall be fine thereafter. The show must and will go on. Eventually, forced routine will become natural again and you will slip back into ease and complicit quietness. You will learn to move on and most certainly, so will they. If ever, you doubted greatly, you even left that much of an impact on them and all their glory.

“It is because you are so lonely, that's why you are so sad.” Thomas chimes, drawing both yours and Mallory’s attention back on him. He hums with content and leans back in his chair, sure that if he had a beard he would be stroking it thoughtfully. “We must find you someone to work with. Someone you can boss around and pull on their ear.” He winks at you and you smirk back, playing into his needful childishness.

“This is not the dark ages, Mr. Thomas.” You tease, taking your loaded tray to the bar counter and speaking over your shoulder. “We do not arrange marriages anymore.” The fisherman jeers and Mallory kicks him under the table. You return to them quickly, bringing with you a wet cloth and a glass of water requested by the woman. She presses it to Thomas’ face and commands him to sober up.

“Then how else are we supposed to get you hitched?” Thomas continues, paying no heed to the violent death stares of the woman sat across from him. Mallory kicks him again and he nearly spills his drink from the movement. You grin at the two of them, stepping back from the freshly wiped table with your arms folded over your chest.

“People don't need to be with others to be happy. I am perfectly content with myself as company.” You announce with your nose pointed in the air. “And you, as occasional annoyances.” The man chokes on his drink and Mallory snorts at your comment. You decide to continue playing along, matching their extended friendliness with your own enthusiasm.

“Y’know, I always thought it a vile rumor that fishermen were mad people.” You joke, taking the cloth and wringing it out before throwing it over your shoulder. “Nothing to do all day but sit in boats and think. But with every word you speak, my dear Thomas, I begin to believe that the rumor has some truth behind it." This arouses a snicker from the woman farmer and she shakes her head in amusement over you and disappointment for her friend. Thomas whines a noise that does not sound like any language you would know and Mallory leans forward.

"Finish your drink, my friend. I will see you home tonight." She urges the glass of water to his attention. "I cannot bear to watch you be torn apart any longer." Thomas darts his eyes between Mallory and you, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish out of water. You smugly smile at him, charming with all the beauty and grace of a snake. After a moment he relents, slumping down into his seat with a defeated huff, the water glass in hand.

“I swear, that mouth of yours,” Thomas moans into his glass weakly as if greatly wounded on a battlefield, “It is more vicious than any beast I’ve come across. Godspeed to anyone who dares to try to face such a monster.” At his last comment, you exhale loudly through your nose and shake your head dismissively. With one final look from Mallory, you leave the two late-evening patrons to finish their drinks and return to your work behind the bar.

The mood in the bar is somewhat lighter now and your hands worked at an easier pace with your mind quietly wondering over Thomas’ words. This was not the first time you had been scolded over your sharp words and you were sure it would not be your last. Conversation was your master and you were always one quick with your words, whether that be for the better or worse. Over the sound of you wiping down plates and glasses with a cloth, you could hear Thomas and Mallory talking faintly, the wind whispering outside your walls, and the gentle nothing of the world beyond. It was a peaceful evening, much more so now that you had dealt with your rowdy patron and the thoughts that curled like rats in a drowning cage. Though his comments were unnecessary, you thank Thomas for his distraction and for his unwitting lifting of your spirits. At least now you would be able to sleep soundly and with less of a worried mind.

Suddenly, a knock at the front door. Curious, unsure if it had even happened, you cast your attention over to it. It was far too late for anyone wanting to pop in for a drink and even if it was you were sure to turn them away. But still; there was no denying that you had, in fact, heard something. Or someone. Wordlessly, you slip out from your bar and quickly stroll to the door, pulling it swiftly open to reveal a cold night and a strange visitor.

“Oh,” You mumble, blinking numbly like a star-struck owl. You shake your head and revive your best smile to be planted on your lips. “What a lovely surprise.”

Standing before you, Bloodhound tipped their helmet, specks of accumulated snow falling off in the process. “Good evening,” They respond formally.

“And to you.” You nod back, familiar shivers running up and down your spine as you stood under their gaze. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You swoon, curling your words with over-exaggerated sweetness so as to hopefully hide your utter shock at their being here. They always seem to have a knack for popping back into your life when you least expected it. But now of all time, why?! You could hardly even look at them straight after what had happened not even the day before! Fresh embarrassment boiled in our stomach and you wanted nothing more but to go back into your quiet existence. This had to be some cruel dream from a most hateful deity, cursing you out for some horrible act you had unwittingly done. Why could they not just go back to being a figure on the T.V, an unknown? Why did they have to be here, standing before you, talking to you?!

“I vish to speak with you.” Bloodhound says, voice terribly low and near-emotionless. It caught you off guard slightly at how plain and devoid of anything they sounded, nothing at all like the passionate hunter you sat and drank with yesterday.

“My bar will be closed soon.” You explain after a moment of debating on what to say. A strong part of you begged for an excuse to say no, the refusal even gracing the tip of your tongue in eager desperation. But your hospitality overrode your anxiety and you stepped to the side to allow entry into your bar. “If you do not mind waiting a few minutes then you will have my undivided attention.”

Bloodhound considers your words, eyes darting between your face and the warm interior of the business. They too notice how your own words seem guarded this evening, jaded behind bars of entertainment and false care. You smiled, yes, but it was not genuine. Again, you reeked of fakeness and it irked them for some unknown reason. They hum their agreement and stride quickly inside. Upon their entrance, two faces turn to look at them.

You shuffle between Bloodhound and the skeptical table, closing the door and guiding your new patron over to the bar. They follow closely behind you and seat themselves on a red cushion stool. You resume your position as host and perform your duties accordingly, offering them something to drink while they wait. Bloodhound silently refused, only lifting their hand and shaking their head.

“I don’t think I mentioned it before,” You say, works trickling out like a spring in a dessert, soothing all worries with a trained presentation. “A while ago we had a fellow pass through our humble town who had a similar accent to yours. He was a swindler and tried to persuade me to purchase from him strange pickled meats and other strange things.” While you spoke, you resumed your wiping of the glasses and plates, talking over your shoulder as you worked in a most casual manner.

“Though everyone tried to steady my hand, he just was so compelling and I caved. And now I have, stored in the back for the foreseeable future, a bottle of the most potent alcohol anyone has ever seen.” Your face softens into a smile as you recall the memories of that night when a brave soul tried to drink from that poison. “Someone once tried and no one has since. Perhaps it is a drink you know?” You cock your question at Bloodhound, leaning over the bar table and grinning.

“Your intuition values you, but perhaps another night I can provide you an answer.” You take Bloodhound dismissal with grace and nod your head in swift acknowledgment. They were cold tonight, the very definition of stoic. Whatever they wanted to discuss with you, you could only hope would somehow be more lighthearted than this. From behind the hunter, movement erupts as the two patrons stand up.

“We are off, my dear Bar-Keep.” Thomas sings, waving a hand at you in an irritating manner. Mallory follows close as they make their way to the front door, her eyes practically burning holes into the raven stranger’s dead-straight back. She passes you a flash of a concerned look and you calm her down with a cool smile.

“Have a good night and a safe journey home.” You call after them, mildly glad that now your ears would know rest from the fisherman’s chanting. However, as his hands grace the front door’s handle, Thomas quickly spins on his heels and points towards you and your new arrival.

“Don’t you dare try anything with my Bar-keep!” Thomas threatens, standing with his hackles raised like a chihuahua to a bear, “If I hear that you have touched even a single hair, so help me I’ll-”

“Thomas.” Mallory punches the man's shoulder causing him to drop his ill-backed threat and wince in pain. Without a moment more, the farmer shoves the man out the door and the two disappear into the night with the door closely swiftly behind. You stare after them, the atmosphere suddenly seeming to shrink and grow cold as you become painfully aware of your aloneness with the hunter.

“They seem nice.” Bloodhound remarks and you are so stunned by their nonchalant attitude you nearly snort.

“It is a small town. Everyone here is like family.” You explain, turning to face those unreadable, immovable lenses. “Besides, I serve him beer. I get special privileges.” At this Bloodhound seems to stir and you feel slightly more room to breathe. Relax, it was just conversation. Don’t get carried away again and you will be fine.

The conversation halted, however, neither you nor Bloodhound knowing what next to say to break the forming ice that had started growing between you two. Though you wanted to know what exactly had compelled them to travel all the way to visit you on such an odd evening, you could tell that they were not ready to answer so instead you plucked random topics from the top of your head.

“Winter is moving slowly this year,” You begin, regaling the exact dialogue you had shared that afternoon prior with a patron and reusing it word for word, “No big snow storms as of yet. But that just means that towards the end of the season, Mother Nature will rear her true head and drive us all inside our houses.” You sigh and rest your elbow on the tables’ surface, your busy work of drying cutlery all finished and packed away. “Many people tell me, warn me in fact, that the late-season storms are the worst kinds. Impossible snow and hail and everything else to make the shit pie complete. And I thought the cold now is hard to handle. I have no idea how I’ll-”

“Stop that.” Bloodhound interrupts you harshly, their voice an almost growl as they sit behind their undecipherable armor. You are slightly taken aback by their outright force at the command, flashbacks to the first time you met them in all their rage reappearing in your mind. Bloodhound remains still, fists clenched over the table, shaking beneath the heavy red fabric gloves.

Though you cannot see, they squeeze their eyes shut in an effort to understand why, so suddenly, they were getting so worked up. Why were you just talking to them? So nonchalant and practiced - it felt as if talking to them was a chore. Some kind of business transaction or task that was only being done as a means to an end. But that is not what muddled Bloodhound’s mind, not your lack of genuine interaction, your quiet was not what drove them out of their house and to your bar this evening. What made them toil in confused agony, was why they even cared so much for your genuine company?

“What?” You murmur after a minute of stale silence, the wind picking up the rising atmosphere inside the bar and clawing at the windows to join in. The raven stranger does not respond right away, instead they fight with what words would be best used in this kind of delicate situation.

“Stop that.” They repeat their vague statement sternly, staring at you through their goggles with great intent, noticing any slight change in your features or body language. “Stop trying to sell me your company. I do not vant it.” At this you frown and straighten your back, confused beyond anything at what they could mean. You open your mouth to speak but Bloodhound stops you with a raised hand.

“You talk but there is no life. You smile but there is no light behind it. Do you think I am not worthy of your trueness? I have seen your true self but always you hide it. Do you think you are not worthy of enjoying yourself?” Utterly and so completely shocked at what was being said, you stood wordless with your face a mix between anger and bewilderment. Bloodhound watched you, eyes scanning up and down your form for any signs of egregious discontent. Why weren’t you speaking? Why weren’t you reacting in any way? Had their visit and accusations not even struck a nerve with you? You only stood there, placid and unwavering, like ice waiting for the sun to melt it.

“I have talked vith this free person, sat in silence vith them and felt þægilegt , calm. And I came here this evening because…” Bloodhound falters at this, unsure at what best to say when describing the reason they themselves still had no answer to. Why had they come here to bother you? Why had you not left their thoughts since yesterday, or even, since that afternoon on the grass? Why is it that when the world goes quiet and they stand still to listen, it is you who looms in the corner of their vision, beckoning for them to find you? In such a short time of meeting, somehow you had trapped them in some unforeseen and unbreakable cage - an ever-present urge to lean in more, to seek you out. But why, exactly, it was you of all people who had proclaimed that spot of interest, was a mystery that the Allfather cruelly hid from them.

“Vhat is it you vant from me?” Bloodhound lowly asks, their tone hollow and their demeanor stone-cold. Perhaps that was the reason for their spontaneous visit - to search for an answer themselves. To find out if maybe you felt at all the same way they did.

“Nothing.” The words leak from your lips like a whisper yet hold the strength and bite of a scream. Devoid of all anger, hostility, confusion, and regret, you gaze back at the raven stranger, “What ever could I possibly want from you?” And there it was - their answer.

“Now if that is all you came to ask me, then I must now say good night.” You motion with your attention towards the door, still shell-shocked over what had just transpired. Why are they so angry towards you? So taken aback by, what you were sure to be, great and comforting hospitality? This was the reason you had so ardently avoided opening yourself up to people, allowing yourself to talk unchecked often leads to situations where people get angry. And now Bloodhound was angry and you were sure you could never fix it.

The raven stranger slowly rises from their seat, tipping their helmet in a stiff manner before silently making their way over to the front door. This is how it will be, forever. You made a mistake, let your mouth have free rein over your conversations, and brought ruin to a person that made your chest ache. And as you watched them slip away into the snowy night, the only thing you can say was, “Have a safe journey home.”

[bffhreprise]

Entry 257

 As James stepped toward his house, the doors swung open, revealing his employees inside.  My wife and I followed, trying to watch everyone at once for something strange to occur.

 Mila took a step toward us and said, “I took the liberty of informing everyone that they should gather if interested in demonstrating their abilities.”

 My son nodded without missing a step, so we followed him inside.  Before we were all the way in, Brandon stepped forward, seeming to grow with his step.

 “How’s it going?” he asked.

 I stared and stared, trying to make sense of his new height, easily double my own.  The clothing, which had been baggy on him, was now fitting him poorly, taught all over.

 “That’s amazing…” whispered my wife, though she had stepped behind me initially.

 I nodded and reached up a hand, which Brandon accepted, enveloping mine as well as part of my arm.  “Good to see you again.” I stated.

 Stepping around Brandon’s enormous leg, his sister, Brenna, said, “Pick a color.”

 “Pardon?” I asked.

 “Blue.” stated Rachel, still behind me.

 I stepped back, bumping into Rachel, as something happened to Brenna.  She was… blue.  Her hair was a darker shade than her skin, but all of her was blue!

 Grinning, Emma told us “She saves a ton on hair dyes.”

 “No need to be jealous, just because mine’s natural.” taunted Brenna, returning her smile.

 Emma sighed dramatically and said, “You know I am.”

 “And what do you… do?” I questioned, curious what Emma had hidden from us.  I could hardly imagine this playful girl who we had welcomed into our home to be something dangerous.

 She kept smiling as she replied “Best wait on mine till we’re outside again.”

 “Is it dangerous then?” I questioned, feeling worried.

 “Oh no.  It’s fun!” she insisted.

 From next to her, Cosette stated “I’m a vampire.”

 “I… see.” I told her, though I wasn’t certain whether or not she was teasing us.

 “No, really.  Check out these fangs!” she exclaimed.  Her mouth opened abnormally wide as all of her teeth grew outward into points.

 I felt Rachel hugging me from behind, but I couldn’t take my eyes off what I was seeing.

 “I believe you have a few too many.” suggested James, seeming amused.

 Cosette rolled her eyes as her teeth returned to normal, save for her canines.  “Is this better?” she questioned.

 James nodded and said, “Much more traditional.”

 “No, not really.  You know… oh, yes.  Your parents probably don’t yet.  Most vampires only grow fangs like this as a joke.” she stated as her teeth shrunk.  “Some of us are fans of vampire stories and legends.”

 “Ah.  So are you actually supposed to be hundreds of years old?” I asked.

  “No, actually.  I’m sixteen.  I was fifteen when we met.  Sorry for the deception.  My new identity states that I’m twenty.” she replied.

 “New identity?” asked my wife.

 “Why do you need a new identity?” I questioned.

 “My parents died, and I was advised not to keep ties to their last identity.” explained Cosette.

 “I’m sorry for your loss.” I told her.  “Was it the vampire who turned you that killed them?”

 She smiled ruefully and said, “I was born a vampire.”

 “Oh.” I replied at the same time as my wife.

 “Vampires can be made from humans as well.” added James.

  “Do you actually… well… do you drink blood?” questioned Rachel.

 Cosette nodded as she said, “Yes, in a manner of speaking.  Blood is a necessity.”

 “But you don’t kill people?” I verified.

 “No, I do not, nor have I ever.  I’m blessed with knowing someone that has a limitless supply.” she assured us.

 “Portentia.” stated James.

 I nodded, unsurprised by that at least..

 “What an adorable kitten!” exclaimed Rachel after Emma had bent down to pick something up  “Is it yours?”

 Emma was gripping a small cat with light colored hair.  Giggling, she said, “I wish.”

 “That’s one of my employees, mother.” stated James.

 “What?  Son, how can you employ a cat?” I questioned.

 “Remember Raine from Thanksgiving?” he asked.

 “The shy girl?”

 “Oh.” stated Rachel, connecting the two.

 I could see the resemblance between fur and hair color now.

 “Raine’s a therianthrope, similar to a werewolf.” explained James.

 “But sooo much cuter!” exclaimed Emma, hugging the cat who was scooting farther beneath her arm.

 “She usually seems more comfortable around people in her present form.  Of course, she might just be trying to hide.” suggested James with an amused smile.

 “Oh!” gasped Rachel.

 I turned my head and stared in shock.  A radiant fairy barely bigger than our son’s nose was hugging him there.

 “Sorry, master, but she has been searching for you for hours.  I still haven’t perfected a way to tell her you’re out.” stated Mila.

 “Yes, father, I believe in fairies.” claimed my son with a smirk.

 “Me too, dear.” stated Rachel breathily.

 I couldn’t argue, too distracted by visions of a forest flowing through my head.  “What am I seeing, son?” I asked, my voice barely leaving my throat.  There was a jubilance sweeping me away with the images.

 “Her day.  This is how the fey communicate, projecting images, sounds, and even feelings directly into your mind.  The other creatures you don’t recognize are other types of fey.  They all live in my forest.” explained James as if this were an everyday occurrence.

 “James tends to neglect telling anyone that fey can be dangerous.” stated Lady Pendreigh.  “They are, however, the absolute masters of parties.”

 “How could she possibly be dangerous?” questioned Rachel.

 “She can project light with lethal intensity, just like a laser weapon.” replied Lady Pendreigh, sounding perfectly serious.

 Nodding, James said, “She can also bend light around herself, practically becoming invisible.”.

 “She’s also good at stealing food.” stated one of the twins.

 “She loves to take my bacon.” insisted the other.

 “And sausages.” agreed the first.

 “You’d be amazed by how much she can eat.” they concluded in unison.

 “And what do you two do?” I questioned, looking over to them despite still seeing a forest.

 “Let her.” suggested one, motioning to Lady Pendreigh.

 “We don’t want cooked.” agreed the other.

 They grinned and ducked behind Jarod.

 “I believe those three want to announce something.” stated Lady Pendreigh.

 “Yes, actually.” agreed Jarod.  “We’re engaged.”

 Cheers erupted around us, and James stepped over to shake his friends hand, congratulating him.

 “To which one?” asked Rachel.

 “Both.” replied Jarod, looking perfectly serious.

 The twins held out their hands bearing matching engagement rings.

 “But… is that even legal?” I questioned in shock.

 Jarod shrugged as he said, “Generally, no, but we’ve sorted out how we want to proceed already.”.

James placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “Just be happy for them.  I assure you there are good reasons for this.”

 I stared at my son, trying to find answers in his eyes.  There were none, of course, but he seemed confident.  Looking to the engaged trio, I said, “Congratulations to all of you.”

 “When will the wedding be?” questioned Rachel.

 “We need to sort some things out with our family before we make official announcements.” replied the twins.

 Lady Pendreigh seemed slightly annoyed as she said, “Oh joy.  You haven’t informed your mother yet.”

 The twins grinned at her, looking perfectly troublesome.

 Shaking her head, she smiled and told them “You know I will back you.”  Then she turned to Jarod and said, “I would like to discuss some things with you later.”

 He nodded, grinning ear-to-ear.

 “We, by the way…” started one of the twins.

 “Can control water.” finished the other.

 Water coalesced around them into fish, swimming through the air.

 “And I,” stated Jarod, “control them.”  He winced as his brides-to-be punched his sides.

 “I never realized you enjoyed living quite so dangerously.” I teased, knowing Jarod always had a wild streak.

 “My turn!” insisted Emma, literally skipping over to him.

 Jarod stepped back, saying, “Not everyone gets a turn to punch me.”

 “Yeah!” exclaimed a twin.

 “He’s our punching bag.” insisted the other.

 Emma stuck her tongue out at them before turning to my wife and I, saying, “I got a bit excited when I was told you two were coming to see magic, so please indulge me.”

 Rachel smiled and said, “Since you insist.”

 I followed as well, wondering what could be so outlandish that we needed to return to the cold.  The rest of the group was coming as well, so I would have been swept along whether I wanted to be or not.

 “James surely mentioned that I’m his gardener at some point, but I think you’ll enjoy seeing how I garden.” she suggested, glancing back at us.

 “Is that really Raine?” questioned Rachel as she watched the cat’s tail twitching from under Emma’s arm.

 “Sure is!  She’s just the cutest kitten ever.” cooed Emma.

 “Stories of lycanthropes always make them seem strong and dangerous.  I never really considered a similar creature… er… person being so… tiny.” I suggested, wanting more information.

 “Her kind can also assume a hybrid form with cat-like claws and teeth in a more humanoid shape.  You really can’t judge something strictly on appearance.” warned Lady Pendreigh.

 “Is she sleeping?” questioned Rachel as the tail seemed to hug Emma’s side.

 “Probably.” replied Emma.  “Even when she’s a human, she just dozes off wherever she feels warm.  She played Ancient Tribes of Earth with us before we ever met her.  She’s got incredible crafting skills in the game, but randomly stopped responding at times.  I never really understood until she moved here.  She’ll be in the middle of doing something and suddenly be out like a light.”

 “When she disappeared at Thanksgiving, had she turned into a cat?” I questioned.

 Still grinning, Emma said, “Oh, no.  She fell asleep at the table and slid out of her chair.  We just let her sleep when she wants.  She gets… umm… skittish.”

 “Skittish?” I questioned, remembering what my son had said earlier today.  “You can’t mean…”  I turned to look at him for verification.

 James looked uncomfortable, which was all the confirmation I needed.

 “Raine is unique, as far as I know.  She’s quite incredible.” replied Lady Pendreigh.

 I nodded, still trying to imagine this tiny cat being more “powerful” than a nuclear blast.  I couldn’t make sense of it.

 My son’s home was large enough that Emma had plenty of time to explain the numerous types of plants growing throughout the yard here, delving into the science of them with such a natural air that the conversation seemed completely normal.

 I didn’t follow half of what she was talking about when she started to explain the beneficial arrangements she did throughout the yard, but I could understand that each plant was helping another.

 “James, you still have fresh vegetables?  There’s snow on the ground!” exclaimed my wife in surprise as we stepped into a garden.

 “Alma taught me a nice spell to keep the garden warm for Marco.  He has trouble finding things in the snow.” explained Emma.

 “And how do you find things?” I questioned.

 “With bare feet!” she teased with a wink.  She slipped off her shoes and jumped into the snow.  Plants quickly enveloped her leg up to her calf.

 “What is that?” asked Rachel.

 “Just grass.  James will have green grass all year.  If you want a snack before dinner, how about an apple?” questioned Emma as a tree erupted from the ground where she was pointing.  “Maybe an orange?  We’ve got cherries and grapes!  Do you like pears?” she questioned, causing more and more plants to grow out as she named them.  An arched tunnel formed from the countless plants with fruits dangling down in abundance.  “They’re as fresh and ripe as you could hope for!”

 “Emma’s produce always tastes amazing.  Marco loves having her around.” suggested James with a smile.

 “I’m sure.” stated Rachel, greedily looking at the produce.

 “They’re really safe then?” I questioned.

 Lady Pendreigh smiled and said, “Perfectly.  I actually had some concerns myself initially and personally conducted numerous tests.  There are obviously no preservatives or insecticides used here, and each fruit is a perfect specimen.”

 “Try some.” insisted Emma with a wink.  “And then come this way!  I have more ahead.”

 We could see.  My wife braved a grape, so I followed suit, impressed by the flavor as the juice touched my tongue.  Following the tunnel behind Emma, my mind struggled to remember the snow-filled ground that had been here prior to her demonstration.  Flowers were even blooming in Emma’s wake!  We reached a clearing with wooden tables and chairs already set.

 “How did these get here?” questioned Rachel as she examined a table.  “This furniture’s beautiful even unfinished.”

 I had to agree.  Whoever did the engravings was very skilled.

 Emma turned to her and grinned, saying, “I grew them as we walked.  I’ve gotten better with furniture, since I moved here.  I need to come up with some more designs, but you’ll find no seams in the wood.  No nails needed.  Everything’s perfectly solid.”  As I looked for seams, she explained what types of wood she used, blending different types of trees together to provide some of the unique coloring.  “I’m gradually collecting every type of seed in the world, so I’ll be able to grow anything we might want.  Just let me know if you two ever want anything I can provide.  I really don’t mind at all.”

 “Will all of this vegetation remain when we go inside?  I mean, how long does it last?” I questioned.

 “The plants are perfectly real, Mr. Somerset.  I just encourage them to grow.  If I left them be, they’d live their normal lives from their current growth.  This would be a rather awkward spot to leave a grove though, so I’ll clean them up.” explained Emma.

I gasped as the world around us seemed to shrink away to nothing.  Before long, all of the plants and even the furniture were gone, leaving only the verdant ground at our feet.

 “That’s incredible.  You could easily have a business of your own, and your profit margins would be enormous.” I told her.  “I must ask… why are you working for my son?”

 Emma giggled and said, “This is home.  What more could I really want?”

 I slowly nodded.  She obviously couldn’t do this type of stuff just anywhere.  She’d get far too much attention.

[avengers-nextgen]

Redemption VI

If you’ve missed the other parts: I II III IV V

— — —

“You understand that what you’re accusing Thor of is...well it’s something that can go horribly wrong.” James reasoned sitting beside Scout in the meeting room where everyone had gathered.

Thalia kept shooting anxious, and irritated, looks at the young sorcerer. Thor was on his way, pausing his work with Bruce Banner somewhere in Wakanda. The King had requested their services and they were inclined to oblige.

No one spoke except for a few whispers that broke the tension. At last thunder rumbled from above and a flash of lightning blinded the occupants of the room. When the harsh light vanished the cloaked warrior stood at the head of the room. “It’s good to see you, friends.”

“I wish this meeting were called under friendlier circumstances,” Steve spoke carefully, standing and clapping his friend on the shoulder. “But we have some tough business to handle.”

— — —

The holographic screen came to life as Tony dulled the room’s lights from a small screen upon his watch. Clips of different news reels depicted scenes of the battle that had taken place between the young heroes.

Thor’s expression darkened upon his recognition of the witch at work. “Fury said she was in containment.”

“Fury neglected to tell us that she escaped. Not only that, but she’s broken out a knock off brand super soldier like Bucky.” Tony explained, swiveling in his chair. “Why did none of us know about this kid?”

“She wasn’t supposed to be alive.” Thalia murmured.

“What?” Vision arched an eyebrow.

“My cousin...I was told passed away young. It was an unfortunate accident.” A look of mixed emotions flashed across Thalia’s face as she studied her father. “That is not so, is it?”

“I was afraid of the day I had to explain myself.” Thor rubbed a hand against his chin. “It appears that day has finally come.”

— — —

It was a gloomy day where the forecast predicted rain. Something Sage loved more than anything. The dark clouds covering the harsh sun, the dampness of the earth drawing out otherwise hidden creatures, strays given water otherwise deprived of. Gloomy days, though unenjoyable for some, were her happiness.

“Mama! Come on we have to jump in the puddles. You promised, don’t you remember?” Sage turned away from the window where a mist of breath had caused fog to settle upon the glass.

“I know dear.” Her mother’s voice rang from the kitchen. “Come here for a moment. There’s a surprise.”

Sage hopped off of her perch and ran, bare feet smacking against hard wood floors, to the kitchen. A slender pale man, with a charming smirk, dark long hair, and brilliant eyes knelt waiting for her.

“Papa!” The young girl dove into his arms with an eagerness so pure it could belong only to a child.

“Hello Sage.” Came the mischevious chuckle. “How have you been?”

“Wonderful. Have any stories to tell?” The young girl pulled away from her father’s grasp to study his face. She hadn’t seen him for some time. Too long to be exact.

“Perhaps I’ll save them for another time. There is something urgent that must be taken care of.” The god of mischief lost the glint in his eyes. Sage noticed a seriousness that was so rarely there settle upon his face.

“What’s wrong?” Her heart hammered in her chest and small flickers of nervous energy darted across her knuckles in green arches.

“Hush. No need to worry.” There was a warmth in the god’s eyes that not many saw as he took her hands in his own. “But you must pack your things. Only the necessities.”

“Mama?”

“He’s right love. Go on. I’ll be there soon to see how you’ve done.” Her mother, an interesting woman, nudged Sage to the stairs.

Sage’s mother was someone you would not expect to fall for such a confusing individual as Loki. She was tender hearted, free spirited, and gentle. It was this that had so mysteriously drawn Loki towards her. Because, at first, she’d been guarded. Rebellious, sarcastic, cynical at times, and more. But most of that has changed after Sage was born.

At first he’d been hesitant at her affections, thinking she was only interested in romantic play. He soon found out that she was simply kind, hurt, lonely, and in need of someone who understood her. Consequently, he grew fond of her. In fact, Loki hadn’t been so relaxed around another person in ages, but the woman in front of him hadn’t tried to change who he was.

She knew he wasn’t a man of outstanding morale character, knew he’d made foul mistakes, and still she didn’t chastise him. She simply cared and that was all Loki had ever wanted. It was why he was there in the first place.

His brother had discovered his lover, and despite having one of his own, did not trust the offspring Loki had fathered. The god of thunder was weary. Though he loved his brother there was no denying that a child of his blood would cause destruction.

Thor was hot on his heels, in search of the child believing her to be incredibly young. He didn’t know that the girl was aged past five years of age. Thor wanted to spare the child of her fate before she could grow into a tool potentially ruining the world should she be apprenticed to her father.

“Your brother wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“You don’t know my brother Lena.” Loki pleaded, eyes earnest with worry. “You see me as I am, but my deeds follow me. Offspring of mine are dangerous, Thor believes I have sired her to aid my affairs.”

“But that isn’t true!” Lena insisted.

“It doesn’t matter. He is stubborn and he will be here in a moment’s notice. My brother doesn’t think clearly in his rage. You and Sage are in danger.” Loki’s gaze darted over to where his daughter was inevitably packing her things for a trip she did not comprehend. “Should she learn her magic, to be a weapon, it will put a target on her head. If I do not use her-others will. Thor knows this!”

“Where will we go that he will not find us? Surely we have your protection.” The god’s expression was crest fallen.

“I will protect you as well as I can. All that is within my power I will do to protect you.” The promise was spoken with finality. There was no room for failure. “But you must trust me.”

— — —

Loki held his own outside the house for some time but he now lay wounded upon the ground.

“Stay down brother.” Thor breathed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then you won’t do this.” Loki spat.

“I am protecting the people. They do not know what she is. What she will do.” The god of thunder called upon his weapon.

“You have no idea what she will do! You are not gifted with prophecy!” Loki attempted to move, to block his brother’s path, but the wound to his gut was sapping his energy.

— — —

The lightning crashed upon the house in a violent bang. Sage, small and terrified, reacted on instinct. Around her walls exploded, collapsed, debris blew about, but she remained still.

Her guard lowered too soon, the shield she had unknowingly put up faded, and electricity launched through her small frame. The pain was no match for her and the world turned black.

When she woke it was to rubble. Trembling both in pain and confusion the young witch stumbled about in search of her mother. The woman who raised her lay broken and scarred upon the splintered beams of the roof.

The smell was horrible, that of seared flesh, the blistering and twisting of skin from electricity too powerful to handle, the blank stare, it would all haunt the young girl for the rest of her life.

“Mama?” Sage’s small voice was followed by only stillness. She reached hesitantly to shake her mother. There was no response. “Mama?”

Her bottom lip trembled as tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. “Papa! Papa help!”

The realization, the face of death, it was not something for a six year old to witness. The grief overpowered her heart and with a heart wrenching sob a burst of magic too raw for someone her age to produce rolled across the block.

All around building’s toppled, cars went off, stoves burst into flames. It was an uncontrollable chaos. In the settling dust and debris the girl’s tear filled eyes settled upon a man clothed in red and silver.

“Where’s my Papa?” Sage’s voice wavered.

“As I suspected.” The voice rolled like the thunder Sage used to love. “You’re dangerous.”

— — —

“To this day,” Thor spoke with a solemn tone, “it is the moment I regret most in my life.”

Silence remained in the room and the god of thunder was forced to face the reactions of the others. There was Clint, whose gaze settled upon the table. Vision who seemed entranced with thought. Tony whose eyes were closed. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Natasha rested her head on the table and hid behind her arms.

James sat comforting his sister who had silently begun to cry. Piper looked utterly upset. Scout and Wanda both wore expressions of sorrow. But the most heartbreaking was the look of disappointment on Thalia’s face.

“No wonder she hates us,” Steve broke the silence. “This whole time she’s been trying to coax you from hiding. The other’s been trying to gather Bucky’s attention as well.”

“They’re asking for help.” James determined.

“It does not seem to be that way.” Thor shook his head. “They are angry, and that anger will fester, and they will destroy everything around them.”

“Then let them see you. Let them face you.” Natasha sat up again. “Wouldn’t that make sense? Let them retaliate so they don’t evolve into some sort of-of destructive villain.”

“Are you trying to convince people that they can be turned?” Tony raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“No. I’m saying, give them a damn chance.” Alex nodded in agreement with her mother.

“We hardly know them. They’re hurting and they’re angry. What makes them any different from the rest of you?” Scout questioned, looking pointedly at each of the adults.

“He has a point.” Clint sighed. “I say we continue with the plan. Bucky and Alex will attempt to talk to the Soldier girl. In the mean time we need to come up with a way to handle Thalia’s cousin.”

“Her name is Sage.” Thalia noted.

“Sage.” Clint corrected.

“I will go.” Scout offered. “On my own with my mother. We can match her magical prowess and I believe that...well if she can relate to anyone-“

“It would be me.” Wanda finished. “I have been in her shoes.”

“Then I suppose it’s settled.” Tony sighed.

“As for me?” Thor questioned.

“You will stay here.” Steve decided.

“So be it.” Thor nodded his eyes settling upon the floor as the others slowly filed from the meeting room. Even Thalia left, not bothering to stay behind with her father.

[andaneum]

No Longer ALone: A Reylo Fanfic Chapter 2

          The small homestead sat quiet and alone at the bottom of a green and rocky hill. It was a primitive thing, made of the same grey stone that covered the entire area and seeming to almost disappear into the craggy landscape. A thin trail of smoke wound up from its single chimney stack, visible only for a few moments before it merged seamlessly into the grey skies above.

          Looking down at the humble, timeworn house she knew that she had finally found a home for herself, one that meant so much more to her than some old piece of imperial garbage left to rot in the Jakku sun. The three of them hadn’t been there long, not even a year, but to her this place was everything.

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

          Ben was sat on top of the hill, right on the very edge. When they’d first arrived on the planet, a choice that had been made by desperate fugitives whose first child was ready to be born, she had often found him sat just like this. Her heart would always jump in fear seeing him so close to the edge. But as they’d grown closer and the arguments had come less often and less fiercely, she’d learned that this tiny slice of danger was his way of centring himself. He had too much energy to just… sit. He needed something to focus on and it was unfortunate for her that it just happened to be meditating while sitting mere inches from a cliff edge.

          She moved as close to him as she was willing to with her young child in her arms and stood, admiring the view. From this hill she could see for miles around. The ocean stretched away from the bottom of the cliff, it’s waves crashing brutally against the rocks. The sky was grey and filled with clouds, but on good days it was as blue as the sky on Jakku, only without the accompanying deadly heat.

          There were few inhabitants here, mostly other humans who knew to keep their business to themselves, and those who did lived far enough away that it had been months since they’d last seen anyone. This planet may not have been their first choice for a home, but they had become happy here.

          Ben slowly opened his eyes and stood, moving away slightly from the edge. He found it hard enough to concentrate on his meditation as it was, but it always became even more so when his family’s intense force signatures were nearby. Not that he would ever complain, he found more serenity with them than he ever could through meditation.

          It was only when his senses began to prickle, as they’d been doing for several days now, that he found he needed the solace of the cliffside. It usually meant that something was out of balance in his small world.

          He moved to stand in front of her, and she automatically handed the sleepy child over into his arms. The young boy barely stirred, his eyes drifting closed as he snuggled into his father’s strong chest. They knew that despite having only recently woken up, it would still be a while before the child was ready to interact with the world. Rey stroked her hand across her son’s back. He was so like his father, from his looks right down to his personality. It worried Rey at times, when she felt flashes of the darkness hovering at the edges of her family.

          ‘How much easier is this whole parenting thing when he’s sleeping?’ She joked. A small smile spread across Ben’s face, once a rarity but becoming increasingly common as the years went by.

          ‘Maybe he just has too much of his mother in him. I’m sure if he’d been born a full-blooded Solo then he’d cause no trouble at all.’ He replied. He had such a morbid sense of humour, but it still made Rey grin straight back at him.

          ‘And how are you this morning?’ She asked, knowing that something was bothering him if he was meditating here.

          It had always been difficult for him to express his emotions and feelings in words, they were too violent and erratic. Instead, he opened his side of the bond to her, allowing her to feel that sense of unease that had once again been bothering him since he had woken up.

          ‘What do you think it could be?’ she asked quietly, trying not to wake her son.

          ‘I don’t know, hopefully nothing. It doesn’t feel bad exactly, just…’ His voice trailed off as he tried to find the words.

          ‘Wrong?’

          ‘Yes.’ He pulled her closer with one hand on her waist, his lips meeting hers. It was a gentle kiss, with their son caught comfortably between their bodies, as his lips moved languorously over hers. After a moment, their lips parted, their breathing slightly heavier and their foreheads pressed together. He loved this woman. Their relationship had not always been easy, they had fought hard in the beginning and lightsabers had been lit on more than one occasion. But although they did not always agree, or even agree often, he never doubted the depth to which she knew him, understood him. She understood him even when he could barely understand himself.

          ‘We should still be prepared though. Is the ship ready?’ He asked.

          ‘It should be, but we can check on it when we get back.’ They had been either running or hiding for so long now that they had learned to always have an escape route mapped out.

          ‘Good, I won’t let what happened last time happen again, Rey. I swear it.’

          ‘I know, Ben. I…’ Both their gazes suddenly shot skywards. Something was coming close. Both their lightsabers were back at the house, and with a quick glance to one another they bolted down the gravel path that cut up the mountain. Ben was careful not to jostle the boy too much, but he still gave a small whimper as the bumpy ride woke him. 

          They’d almost made it to the house when suddenly Ben stopped, halted by a force he recognised only too well. He knew exactly who it was that was in the ship above them and he wouldn’t need his lightsaber to face them. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back his head and allowing their presence to wash over him. A sharp pain bolted through his chest, they had been found by the one person that he could not fight and who he had hoped never to see again.

          ‘We won’t be needing our sabers.’ He said.

          ‘I know.’ Clearly, she had felt it too. He knew that he shouldn’t be surprised given how close she’d said they had felt in their few moments together at the resistance base. Guilt hovered at the edge of his conscience as he remembered the event that had forever connected the two women in grief, but he pushed it violently away. It would serve no purpose here to allow himself to be weakened by any residual guilt he still felt, especially when he could also feel his anger rising. It was a much more powerful emotion to have in his arsenal.

          He had no weapon in his hand, yet his stance was defensive. He silently handed the boy over to his mother.

          ‘Take him inside, Rey’

          ‘Ben,’

          ‘I won’t argue with you. Inside, now’ She stepped forward, taking his arm and squeezing it gently. A promise that she would listen to him for now, but if she sensed anything happening she would be at his side.

          It took a few moments of tense waiting before the shuttle broke through the thick cloud cover, but when it did they could see that in calling it a ‘shuttle’ they were being charitable. It was an odd blend of parts, taken from whatever ships they could be scavenged from at last minute. He could sense the sole person on board as clearly as if they were stood right in front of him.

          It finally touched down on the surface of the planet, clouds of steam billowing from it. The mighty hull door opened, and the ramp extended, the steam momentarily obscuring the identity of the person within and projecting an eerie silhouette into the air. The figure began walking towards him. It had been more than fifteen years since he’d last seen her and, in his opinion, it was still not long enough to prepare him for seeing her again. Leia.

          She was shorter than he remembered, her stature and walking cane creating a much less imposing figure than she’d been in his youth. Her clothes were still regal, as was her bearing, but it was clear to all that as hard as she may fight it, her age was beginning to catch up with her. But there was a reason that Ben had sensed her arrival for so long and from so far away. Her presence in the force still shined like a beacon of light, almost blinding to someone as inclined to the dark as he was. She stopped just before him.

          ‘General.’ He spoke through gritted teeth.

          ‘Ben.’

          ‘How did you find us?’ She remained silent for a moment, her face stony. This was the only reason he had allowed to land on the planet and speak to him, he needed to know who it was that had given away their location to their enemies. Rey would ask him to show them mercy, but he knew that when he found them he would take his lightsaber and cut them down where they stood. Years away from the dark influence of Snoke had calmed him somewhat, but he would never be a merciful man.

          ‘We need you and Rey…’ She tried to steer the conversation back to where she wanted it to go.

          ‘How?’

          ‘Ben, I need you to listen, please. I wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t urgent’ Ben began pressing his mind against the defences of Leia’s. He knew she could feel him; she may not have trained as a Jedi, but he had never questioned how much raw potential the General held. Rey would no doubt have something to say later about such a casual use of his darker powers, she never had understood the occasional necessity of entering a weaker mind. But this was no weaker mind. The General’s walls held firm against his pushing and Ben quickly realised that he would get no answers this way, at least not without inflicting pain. Rey would see that as unnecessary.

          He straightened as his mind pulled back, ‘You are not welcome here, General. Get back in your ship and leave.’

          ‘The resistance needs you, Ben. I need you’ His anger flew through him and he was powerless to stop it, coursing through every nerve ending in his body. He could feel the fire spreading through his mind, taking over his senses. His mouth twisted into a sneer, his eyebrows moving low over his eyes as they narrowed in her direction. His body crouched almost imperceptibly, a natural defence mechanism. Rey flinched as the wildness of his anger cut through the bond, taking a long breath to calm her own emotions before placing the sleeping child in his crib and running outside to its father.

          ‘You need me?’ He hissed, ‘That’s what you have to say to me? That you need me!’ Leia wouldn’t back down, she had come here barely expecting her son to even allow her to land, so that he would see her and speak to her ignited hope within her chest.

          But his anger would not be stopped, ‘And where were you when I needed you? I spent years with that monster’s voice in my head, twisting my thoughts. From the moment I was born he was there. And you did nothing!’

          Rey had reached his side, grasping tightly on his arm to hold him back as he had inched closer and closer to his mother, ‘Ben, please… stop.’

          Leia had barely moved at the force of his anger, only her face betrayed her emotions as she tried to reason with her son. They needed him and Rey too much for her to leave without even the hope that they would help, ‘We thought we were doing the right thing for you, Ben, I swear. I felt Snoke even before you were born, and I knew he would try to manipulate you, to take you away from us. I thought I could shield you from Snoke’s influence, but I didn’t realise how strong he was.’

          ‘You knew about him?’

          ‘I was trying to keep things from your father, I didn’t think he would understand and he would only have made it harder for you. It was when I realised that I couldn’t protect you myself that I sent you to Luke. It was a last resort, Ben. I never wanted you to leave!’

          He scoffed at her, his face still twisted into a sneer, ‘You’re still lying to yourself. You never sent me away for my own good, you were never trying to protect me. You only wanted to protect Han from me. You sent me away so that he would never have to deal with me or my abilities. You had a choice between him and me, and you chose him’

          ‘No, I… I didn’t.’

          Ben suddenly straightened. Rey could feel his intentions flowing through the bond, as if his actions and his words were becoming her own. She had become adept at locking him out of her mind when she needed to, but when his anger took over like this she was powerless to his strength. His words were aimed to inflict maximum damage on his mother, he wanted her to feel as guilty for her failures as he felt about his own,

          ‘Luke never told you what happened that night, did he? The night I destroyed his temple?’

          ‘What?’

          ‘He feared me, just as you feared me. He didn’t want to protect me either, he wanted to protect his glorious legacy from me. You two were always so similar, always playing the heroes. And then one night I woke up to find him standing over me. His face…’ Ben’s breath caught for a second. The face of his uncle haunted him even now, ‘he had his lightsaber in his hand, ready to kill me as I slept’

          ‘He wouldn’t…’

          ‘He did’ Ben hissed.

          Leia looked to Rey, disbelief painted on her face, ‘Rey?’

          She didn’t want to be the one to say it, but she owed Ben this, ‘I’m sorry Leia, it’s true. Luke told me himself’ Rey knew there was more to the story than either of them were saying, like how badly Luke had come to regret his momentary lapse in judgement. But when it came to this chapter of the Skywalker Saga, Rey was unwilling to be kind to her master’s memory. He had almost killed Ben- his student, his own nephew! He had created Kylo Ren, and Rey would never forgive him that.

          ‘Ben, I… I’m sorry. But it’s different now, we…’

          A strong cry called out from the house behind them. They all turned, and Rey raced toward the noise. Ben heard his mother’s breath catch behind him. She had felt his son, his distress at his father’s uncontrollable anger, then waking to find his parents nowhere in sight echoing through the force. Ben was not surprised. In truth, he was more shocked that she had not noticed him earlier. His force signature was so strong, and he burned so brightly, that Ben was certain that under less stressful circumstances she’d have felt his power before she had even landed.

          ‘Is that…? Is that your son?’

          The moments stretched between them. He had never wanted her to find out about this. Regardless of how this conversation played out now he knew they would need to leave this planet. Rey would be devastated, this had been their son’s first home, but they couldn’t stay if the resistance knew that there was now a third powerful force user here.

          Leia leaned around her son to look behind him. Rey was walking towards them slowly, comforting the child in her arms. He was still sniffling a little, his tiny hand rubbing at his eyes, his hair rumpled from sleep and his head resting against his mother’s shoulder. She stopped beside Ben, a small smile gracing her face. It may not have been under the most ideal of circumstances, but for just a few moments this legendary family that she had both inherited and helped to extend, was together.

          ‘Rey, go back inside.’ But of course, she wouldn’t listen to him.

           Ben could see the tears in Leia’s eyes that were threatening to spill over. She reached a hand out as if to touch the child. He subconsciously moved his body so that he had almost placed himself completely between the General and his family. Her hand stopped mid-air, her fingers closing tightly into her palm. It was a petty use of his powers, but he didn’t want her touching his son. He would not allow her the chance to hurt him too. He let her go and her hand dropped morosely to her side.

           She took a breath, steeling herself before looking up, directly into the onyx eyes of her son, ‘You cannot keep running forever, Ben. The ways of the force may be a mystery to someone untrained like me, but you knew it would never just leave you in peace. You’re both too powerful for that. And now your son…’ her eyes flicked back to her grandson’s dark hair, his dark eyes, so like his father, ‘It was not difficult to find you both, and if I could do it then so could others. I came here for your help. If you do not wish to help for my sake, I understand. But if you will not fight for me then do it for your son. Once they learn of him, they will come for him.’

           Ben leaned forward, directly into the General’s face. His own still painted with his fury and mistrust. She could feel it radiating from in waves, rippling out through the force. For a moment the darkness that surrounded her was almost suffocating.

          ‘You need to leave… now’, he hissed, before turning on his heel and storming back to the house. Trying to manipulate him using his son was exactly the kind of tactic he would expect from the legendary resistance General. She was NOT his mother, and she had no right to demand his help.

           Leia turned instead to the young woman left behind, ‘Rey, please. Speak to him’

           ‘I can try, but you know he holds no love for the resistance.’

           ‘You mean he holds no love for me.’ She countered, her smile forced and pained, ‘You must know how close the war is to your doorstep. This place is isolated, but you cannot have been completely closed off from the rest of the galaxy. I know you’ve been listening to the rumours, you wouldn’t just shut yourself away; it would leave you too vulnerable. You aren’t like that, either of you.’

           ‘What can I say, scavenger instincts’, Rey responded, smiling lightly, ‘I know what’s coming. But I also know that three years ago, Ben chose to leave it all behind, and I know how much re-joining this war could cost him. I can try to convince him to help you, but I will not make this choice for him.’

           ‘Then would you consider re-joining the resistance?’ Maybe if she had been asked that before, even just a year ago, her answer might have been different, but now the resistance, the war, was just a far-off memory for her.

           ‘Not without him. I’m sorry, Leia, but I have others to think of now’

           ‘I understand.’ Leia’s hand reached out once again to her grandson. With no one around this time to stay her hand, she began stroking through his thick, black hair where it curled slightly above his ear. His eyes were trained on her, mistrustful around this stranger yet feeling comforted that her presence in the force felt so similar to that of his father. 

          He looked just like Ben, it was startling to see the resemblance. It made her heart twinge with regret. She had lost her own child, sending him away when she should have kept him close to her. Maybe he had been right, maybe she had done so to make things easier for Han… or maybe she had done so in the vain hope of protecting him... Or maybe her reasoning just no longer mattered. She had lost him and with him she had lost this family he had created for himself, before she could even have the chance to know them.

           ‘You know, he looks just like Ben did at this age. He’s wonderful, Rey, truly. He’ll grow to be a strong one, I can tell.’ Rey knew that the General was being kind, but she still felt a pang of fear at the thought of her strong son one day being forced into their war.

          She could also feel the General’s emotions in the air, mixing with her own; they were filled with pain, and longing, but more than anything else they were filled with hope. Rey had never known Leia to not feel like hope,

          ‘His name’s Anakin.’ Leia’s eyes widened at Rey’s revelation. After so many years fighting and surviving it took a great deal to truly shock her, but hearing that name after so long certainly did. Rey smiled slightly as she remembered having almost the exact same reaction when Ben had originally suggested the name,

          They were sitting in the cockpit of their small craft, the lights of hyperspace painting the edges of their cabin a pale blue. It was the third time in as many months that they had come close to being found and the constant running was beginning to stretch her nerves thin. ‘How about Anakin?’, he said quietly, distracted by the readings on the screen in front of him.

          ‘Anakin? As in Darth Vader, Anakin?’ Her eyes widened, and her eyebrows shot upwards towards her hairline. Had he really just suggested naming their child after a Sith Lord?

          ‘He was considered a Republic hero before he turned, you know. I thought you might like that.’ His sarcastic tone told her exactly what he thought of her belief in democracy and the ideals of the Republic.

          ‘For someone so desperate to forget the past, Ben, you seem strangely determined to remember certain parts of it.’

          She could admit now that that had been a cheap shot, but their earlier relationship had been turbulent even at the best of times. Their morals and ideals were so different and there had certainly been moments when she regretted reaching out to him, rather than leaving him behind in Snoke’s ravaged throne room. But not anymore; her home, her family, her entire existence revolved around him and Anakin.

           ‘An interesting choice. I hope it’s a name he can live up to.’

           ‘So do I’ Rey could see the pain in Leia’s eyes just as clearly as she had felt it. When they were on the resistance base she had been kind to her, even though her husband had just been killed and Rey knew that she was partly to blame. She also knew that it was Leia who had authorised Finn and Han to go to Starkiller to rescue her, despite the obvious risks the mission had entailed. She wouldn’t be able to face herself if she let her leave here with nothing. She gripped the older woman’s hand tightly in her own, ‘I will try Leia.’

          Leia nodded in return, ‘Thank you, for helping him. I know… it couldn’t have been easy to stay with him after everything that happened’

           ‘It wasn’t’, Rey admitted, ‘But I don’t think we could have avoided this destiny, even if we’d wanted to’. Leia nodded solemnly, before throwing her arms around them both. It was not the sort of dignified action that Rey had come to expect from the older woman, but rather the actions of a woman who had spent too long alone and without her family.

          ‘Take care of him for me, Rey’, she whispered, ‘He needs you.’ She let go of Rey slowly, trying to make the embrace last as long as she could. She did not know when she would next get the chance to be with her family or if they would even be safe anymore. She had felt echoes through the force, something dark was coming towards them, and it scared Leia to know that they could all once again be directly in the line of fire.

Chapter 3

[jacksgreysays]

I've been really loving "It's Thunder and It's Lightning" by We Were Promised Jetpacks and "Thunder" by Imagine Dragons lately. I feel like there's a thematic link there (obvious in the song titles), but the songs themselves are quite different. Do you think you can do anything with them (together) as a prompt?

I love both of these songs, lionheadbookends! I never really thought to compare them even though, as you said, their titles are similar. I suppose it’s because of when I encountered the songs (years apart, that is) and again, as you said, the feel of them is quite different; but I’ve given them both another listen with the lyrics in mind and I think I’ve got the link.

Thunder by Imagine Dragons is more easily understood as a song–not that simplicity of meaning makes it less musically entertaining–but as a piece of literature it’s fairly straightforward. An age old story of a kid from a (small) town who doesn’t quite fit, who is going to leave and make it big even though no one really believes in them. It’s almost the same idea behind a hero’s  journey–an internal call to action that differentiates the protagonist from the others in their hometown who are satisfied to stay behind.

In Thunder, it’s the vocalist vs the rest of his town/the world, but in a way it’s also the vocalist vs his own determination–can he keep going and achieve his dreams despite all the negativity trying to bring him down.

It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning by We Were Promised Jetpacks is more difficult to parse. Frankly, I’m still not sure how many people are involved in the story. There’s definitely at least two people: the vocalist and whoever the vocalist is going to guide home. That person is probably also the person whose body was black and blue. But there is probably a third person who is threatening to punch out the vocalists lights.

So as a narrative, this song might be about two teenagers dating and one of them has an abusive parent. Unless it really is just about two people in a rather disastrous relationship. But regardless it’s not really about the story so much as it is about the feeling: there’s chaos and violence and fear and at some point the vocalist decides to leave not out of an actual desire to do so but out of necessity, out of survival and desperation. And on top of that, the vocalist is not entirely sure if outside is more dangerous–it’s night and there’s a storm, no guarantee of safety, but at least it’s not where he is now about to get beaten. Bleak, yes, in comparison to Thunder which is uplifting.

In Thunder, the thunder and lightning is a good thing–a goal to be reached, to become so great that you change the sky, everyone looks up to see you, everyone listens; no one can beat you down. In It’s Thunder and Lightning, the thunder and lightning is neutral–force of nature which the vocalist decides is a better fate than the closer, human violence.

Ultimately what connects these songs, besides their titles, is the theme of leaving a toxic place–maybe to follow one’s dream towards a bright future, or maybe just to escape, braving the unknown to get away from the known danger. Moving on to bigger if not necessarily better things because to stay is to stagnate, be victimized, and die.

But you’re not here for an essay analyzing these two songs, you’re here for what I can make from the analysis as a prompt.

—

Frankly, lionheadbookends, whenever I see lightning (or thunder) my brain immediately goes to Tetsuki because she’s… well, she’s it for me. Maybe also Kiyoshi Utsugi–who has Lightning natured chakra as well–but given her specific circumstances it’s hard to apply prompts as easily to her.

Tetsuki is my go to OC–my everywoman, if you will–and this prompt could not be more suited to her. But it’s a very different side to her than I normally explore because it’s, well, less fun?

For me and for her, I think.

Because except for her “first life” that is, Trailblazers in KHR, Tetsuki doesn’t really have a toxic home life either because a) her families are kind if not loving or b) she has no home/family.

In her first life, Tetsuki’s parents were neglectful if not outrightly emotionally abusive. They might have possibly also been physically abusive earlier on–leading to Ryohei and Tetsuki taking up martial arts–but nothing that continued for long.

Were I to ever write Trailblazers properly, there would be a scene where, for the first time since the mafia madness started, Tetsuki’s parents came home (they travel a lot, mostly, hardly ever in Namimori which is why she can get away with so much but also where the neglect comes from) and suddenly the badass, cool senpai who will throw herself into this world of Flames and danger is just a teenaged girl who trembles whenever her parents raise their voices.

There would then be a point where–primarily the Sasagawas, but also the rest of the Family–remind her that she isn’t what they say she is, that she’s more than just a burden or an incompetent or whatever they say of her. And she leaves, probably to live with the Sasagawas properly (whose parents have always been quietly preparing for this day, pretty much have everything but the paperwork done to make her their third child) or, depending on the timeline, to a full-time member of Vongola.

So while it’s similar to the prompt idea, unfortunately, that’s not quite enough.

For this prompt I would probably go with a Viridescent–though I’m not yet sure what fandom would best house this particular episode–in which Tetsuki has the memories of her previous lives but none of the powers.

Which isn’t a combination I’ve yet done, I think. I’ve done powers and memories (Externality, Multiphenomenal, the Power Rangers Viridescent). I’ve done limited powers and limited memories (Iron Will). I’ve done powers but no memories (Deuteranomaly). But I haven’t done no power with memories.

I think I might have tried something like that previously in Big Hero 6 but I’ve put myself off of that fandom, unfortunately, and it wasn’t very good to begin with…

Because here’s the thing. In a new world where she has the memories but none of the powers, then that really brings the validity of the memories into question. If she could just randomly manifest lightning in her hand, that’s close enough to proof for the rest of the odd things in her life. But if she only has the memories and no way to prove it than what is inside her own mind, then there’s no way to tell if maybe it’s all just a delusion.

… which perhaps means it’s an Inception fic?

Hrm… but unless she encounters the characters, there’s not much point in her being in Inception given that it’s basically “the real world” but with mental espionage. And considering that, the memories themselves would give her powers as related to everyone else because she would have the best security ever if not also thorough forges or intricately physics-breaking architecture.

Ah, shit, that actually sounds pretty cool though.

So perhaps the fill to your prompt would be the “prologue” to this Inception Viridescent: like, Tetsuki is born in a “normal world” to awful parents who are, perhaps, so similar to her original, awful parents that it puts the rest of her memories into doubt. Maybe there never were any reincarnations or any fantastic powers, maybe it was just a desperate, over imaginative dream of a girl in a terrible situation.

Maybe she tries to run, tries to go to Namimori only to find it doesn’t exist. Maybe her grandmother was actually named Hisae Kaiza, but she passed long ago and certainly wasn’t a calligraphy/magic teacher. Gotham may very well exist, but there’s nothing on the level of the superheroes she knows (Nolan'verse Batman might very well be a real thing, given all of it is ~science~ and, possibly, Ra’s al Ghul’s “immortality” is him doing a pre-PASIV mind restructuring such that his consciousness gets passed onto a newer, younger body).

As far as she can find, none of her memories are real, and yet… she’d rather try to scrape out an existence out there, which may never be as good as the lives she remembers, than go back home which she knows for certain is worse.

And then maybe it gets worse. Maybe she is snatched–this is an awful world, but a lone teenage runaway who thinks she’s more powerful than she actually is will not survive long–and gets experimented on (there’s a new technology and different countries/companies are eager to be the first ones to crack it). She’s a fascinating subject, but hard to break, and so  they get her addicted to Somnacin thinking that will let them control her.

Maybe she escapes anyway, learns of extraction (and inception), of weaponizing dreaming and imagination, and turns her weakness into her strength.

I’m not saying she eventually ends up as Saito’s on-call secret keeper (extractors learn to fear the shadow of this mogul, the one whose mind can’t be broken into) but that is one way of getting her to interact with the characters. Maybe instead of him being “the tourist” it’s her.

Or maybe she’s just another professional dreamer in the world of Inception, dreaming of worlds and lives that probably don’t exist.

~

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[thewasteland-rp]

                  ❝ ‘don’t take your own product’ might be the only rule they stand by. self-serving, duplicitous, they can smile like everyone’s best friend but all they want is their money, or a little piece of their customer’s souls. guilt has no place in their heart when they make a living off someone else’s addiction, not when they’ve got their own interests and their own bills to pay. a consummate liar, they know how to slip out of trouble without stains on their hands.❞

░ THE DEALER ░ Milah Chou

age: 26 pronouns: she/her class: human faceclaim: Adrianne Ho  

▻ THEN

                  She was born in the woodland of Bethel, Alaska, far off from most on account of her father’s position and necessities. And if you’d asked her now how she felt about it then, she’d likely say her time there was the only point in her life that she’d truly felt at peace.

Her family moved to Crescent City, California near the Pacific coast when she was seven for job allocation purposes and a perceived higher quality of living, believing in the promises offered by crooked men with deep pockets and a dream to sell. People they once considered friends, even. However, upon arriving, they ran into problem after problem – first when it came to securing their land and property, and later everything else. With hiking rates and troubling surroundings greeting them at every turn, the family found their dream of a better life slipping away, with no helping hand to cling to, no one to save them from spiraling debt and death but the questionable and money-hungry. And her parents’ prospects were well enough – they were damn fine workers and knew their own worth. They just couldn’t really catch a break, could barely afford to keep food on the table. And Milah knew that. Knew the struggles her father endured with being away on fishing trips for months at a time, trying to make things easier for his wife and children. Knew the terror her mother felt when despite all her good will and efforts, her shop could still be ransacked and torn apart at any moment, her register cleared out in the night by cowards who wouldn’t dare show their faces. Understood their pain when her brother Michel was suddenly lost to them all in the blink of an eye, taken on his way back home by thieves who swore to break them.

So Milah would embrace her role in the best way she could – pick up the slack where able. It sometimes meant missing school and going out with her father, learning how to operate the boats and machinery he so often broke his back over. Other times, it meant embracing more of her mother – as a fellow herbalist and a business owner. And perhaps she’d taken to that well enough on account of her natural proclivities, her talent for deconstruction and analysis even in her youth – while initially utilized in her efforts against faulty circuitry and essentially weaponizing house appliances – led her down a fascinating road of cultivation, which she would later willingly exploit for her own gain. She’d come to the decision to protect what was theirs even if it meant doing it all alone – they would survive even if it meant the failing of others. Because surely that was the way it was meant to be. It was all they’d been shown, after all, so why shouldn’t they counter accordingly?

From manipulation of chemical substances to boosting and stripping vehicles to sell and see that they always had food on the table, a car to drive safely to work, genuine peace of mind to contend with – she’d crafted her talents and ability to work the system to cater to their every possible circumstance. Even if it meant trouble for her personally and occasionally it did, hardly a stranger to the law and it’s men. And, for awhile at least, she could almost ignore their forced smiles and pained, pitiful glances. Their obvious disappointment in her and her regular activity. She could pretend that things might actually be okay.

Except, over time, she found she could never seem to fill all the space despite her efforts; could never really be all that they needed her to be. She couldn’t replace their lost child. Couldn’t always keep the loan collectors from their line of view. Couldn’t stop her father’s fears when they were on the brink of losing everything, their home no longer guaranteed to them and their work no longer allowing the freedom it once did. Beyond that, her troubles with the police were steadily growing out of hand, a new arrest on record on a seemingly regular basis. And she would come to learn that nothing, not even family, was sacred, with her parents soon selling her out to the men responsible for their torture for so long. Instead of fighting for her, of keeping their only remaining child safe and minding her sacrifices, they’d forced her into the care of heartless strangers. All to pay off debts due and keep anyone else off their backs.

It didn’t matter if it broke their heart to see her go. She couldn’t even tell you if they shed a single tear, honestly – she’d dare not look back at them. Wouldn’t allow them the satisfaction of a proper goodbye.

They were as dead to her now as anyone else and she wished them a tragic lifetime together.

▻ NOW

                Post-betrayal, her life is essentially the same except now she has a party to truly answer to, to live in fear of. She’s forced on the road with them in their efforts to find new victims, and at some point ends up in the breeding grounds of Jersey, forced to do their bidding. They promise her leave when every cent is answered for, every dollar paid and if she knows they’re merely stringing her along, she still works to the bone to see it done. Sells what she can be it used, stolen parts or other illegal materials to every able-bodied man, woman, and child to see her own safety secured because no life was more important than her own, and her life certainly hung in the balance now more than ever. And of course she takes the risk now and again, going on the run when opportunity arises only to be snatched up weeks later and returned to her rightful owners, punished for her wanting.

So despite the horrors surely to come, the end is a godsend if only because she’d seen them swallowed whole, the men who caused her suffering no longer of this earth. She was finally free, finally able breathe. And settling out into this new world would mean everything, so long as she was able to make the circumstances her own.

▻ CONNECTIONS

the REBEL: they used to be a familiar customer before the world ended, and any familiar face is a welcome one at this point.

the STEADFAST: the man still hates them for every past crime, but it doesn’t make them apologetic, it just makes them tread a little more cautiously around the other.

the BYRONIC: a familiar face from before the world ended and someone they intend to take as much advantage of now as they did then.

[littlebitoffanfic]

In The Hills

Fandom: The Hills Have Eyes Character: Chameleon, others mentioned Relationship: Chameleon/reader Request: chameleon x reader. I don’t have a plot in mind but if you could write something to do with his tongue, that would be awesome Your heart was beating hard against your chest as you ran across the rough terrain. When you finally slowed down, you looked around, trying to train your eyes to find the person you were looking for. Although it wasnt easy. The part you had stopped in was surrounded by large, yellowish rocks on the outside of the mines. Your breathing was harsh and your cheeks flushed red as you turned in a circle, your eyes scanning the rocks. Little did you knew as you overlooked one rock and turned away from it, someone was camouflaged against the surface and as soon as you back was to him, he leaped at you. You gasped as an arm wrapped around your waist and picked you up. “Damn it!” You cried out as you heard your oldest friend Chameleon chuckle as he threw you up so you were perched on his shoulder, his hands holding onto your ankles to make sure you didn’t fall. “How do you do that?” You demanded, crossing your arms. You weren’t talking about the camouflage because you knew that was due to his unique skin. You were meaning how he always managed to be hidden so close to you without you knowing. “Practice.” He said, holding his chin up with pride. Cursing, you knew you had lost the bet which was that you could get to the foot of the hill before Chameleon could catch you. You were part of Jupiter’s clan which you were grateful for because they were a little more family orientated that Hades. You had been adopted as a small baby into Mama care and had always been apart of the family. Part of the reason for them adopting you was because you had two different coloured eyes. They saw that as a mutation and decided they couldn’t kill one of their own. Plus, Mama was pregnant with Ruby at the time and refused to let any baby be harmed. But you never knew anyone outside of your clan till you were 8. --------------flash back ----------------- When you were about 8 years old, you had been playing hid and seek with Lizard and Pluto when you had run into the mines. That was where you met Chameleon. He was only a year older that you and had instantly been drawn to you. He followed you around the mines, even diverting a few of his own clan away from you despite knowing his father would be cross and probably hit him for it. He had seen you playing with the other clan but he had also seen you running from them. He hadn’t known you had been playing a game. You had turned around and seen him switching hiding places, using his skin to blend into the surroundings. But because of your connection with your clan, you weren’t afraid of him much to his surprise. “You’re good at hide and seek.” You giggled, running over to him and bouncing on the ball of your foot. He didn’t speak but simply nodded. “Can you help me? My brothers are trying to find me and I need a good place.” You asked, glancing around as if to draw inspiration. Of course he helped you. In fact, he found a place at the side of the hills and away from the traps which you could hid and even see over into your own area. The two of you stayed hidden for a while. But the time flew. You two talked and giggled, not loud enough to be heard. Until you noticed 2 men, 1 woman and 2 boys walking along. You winced when you saw the two men and woman had guns and you heard Chameleon hiss. As they got closer, you saw it was Papa, Cyst, Pluto and Lizard and they all looked ready for war. You jumped and when to start running down the side of the hill to them, worried you were in trouble but a hand caught you. “They’ll hurt you.” Chameleon hissed, trying to pull you back but you shook your head. “No they wont. That’s my papa and mama and uncle and brothers.” You said, pointing to the group. The two of you had hurried down the side of the mountain. You had thought he wouldn’t come with you but when he saved you from falling more than once, you were grateful. “Hades!” You heard your father screaming, his voice filled with anger as they approached the opening of the mines. As you got closer, you saw a group of new mutants come out from the mines, lead by a large and rather fat man. “Brother.” The fatter one growled, obviously insulted by the weapons in their hands. “You give me back my daughter.” Papa had growled, signalling to the others to stand back as he went up to the man. Just then, you and Chameleon jumped down the final distance and landed no so far from them. Both groups heard you and turned to the source of the noise. “[y/n]!” Mama had called out, running over and wrapping her arms around you. When she pulled back, she had cupped your face in her hands. “Did they hurt you?” She demanded, making you frown, thinking she meant Pluto and Lizard since they could get a little rough. “No, Chameleon helped me hid.” You said, earning a grown from Papa. “Why were you hiding?” He spat, more at the other man than at you. “We were playing hide and seek. And Lizard always says im rubbish at hiding so Chameleon helped me win.” You said, pointing to your brothers who were looking rather sheepish. Mama had took your hand and pulled you over to your brothers as Chameleon went to stand with two other boys around about the same age. Papa had told Mama to take you, Pluto and Lizard home while he stayed and spoke to the man who you later found out was Hades. It was agreed that day that Hades couldn’t lay a finger on you. Later on in life, you found out that Hades keeps females for breeding purposes which kinda made your skin crawl but they never touched you. In fact, you helped them a lot. You would lead people into the mines because they trusted a young girl. You also helped with the care of the new-borns, Unfortunately, very few survived more than a few months due to their mutations and their births. But you did your best to try and find out why that could be. It was through your research and curiosity that lead to a few babies living for a few days which for Hades, was a break through since most died a birth. You had also found out that the clans had been split for a number of years but it seemed your and Chameleons friendship had started a repairing process between them. Hazel, Pluto and Ruby were very good friends due to their softer nature and Lizard had taken a liking to Letch and Stabber because of their shared knack for violence. The older ones still didn’t always get along as well as the younger generation but they put that aside. you were and still are, surprised that Hades had grown to protect you. He was like an uncle to you now and always made sure you were okay. It had surprised Papa as well, considering he sometimes treated you better than his own sons. But you were like Ruby. You could do no wrong in anyone’s eyes, including Hades. You helped everyone in their own way. You read to Grabber because he couldn’t see properly. You helped Hansel organise his collections into piles so his room wasn’t so cluttered. Letch and Stabber used you as practice. They would chase you through the mines to keep them on their toes. This was done by having the word “Victim”. You would call it out at any time you desired when you were in the mines and they had to catch you before you got to the foot of the mines. This game normally ended up with most the clan joining in and you laughing your head off. You took care of their wounds and mutations. You grew to be as part of their family as you were your own. -----------------------------back to present ----------------------- You were finally put down onto a rock by Chameleon near the entrance to the mines. “Papa says I can stay out till the sun sets but then they need my help with a car that’s broken down.” You smiled, looking at your friend. He had grown up to become incredibly handsome to you. You never understood why no one else thought so. He was so unique, so strange and you loved that. He had stopped wearing shirt a while ago and you didn’t mind, especially when he would hug you or even make the slightest bit of physical contact with you. As you looked at him, you noticed slight bruising on the good side of his face. Reaching out, you gently ran your fingers over it, knowing exactly who did this to him. That was one thing you resented about Hades. How he treated Chameleon. “What happened?” You asked, seeing him flinch a little. “Someone got away. My fault.” As he spoke, you kinda understood. It was dangerous to let people escape but you didn’t agree with Hades hitting him. Sure, Lizard got very aggressive, but he never lay a finger on you. He would sometimes punch Pluto but Pluto would get his own back. “I hate seeing you hurt.” You mumbled, moving closer to him. He was so sweet to you, so caring and loving so you didn’t understand how anyone could be mean or violent to him. To be honest, you didn’t know how anyone could mean or violent to any of your family. You only killed out of either necessity or fear. The first time Chameleon had ever killed, it was because you were in danger. A man had been about to shoot you when Chameleon had jumped down from a bolder and started to beat the man with a rock. He had proven since that day he would go to the ends of the earth for you and you for him. You felt an arm wrapping around your waist as Chameleon gave your side a slight squeeze as he looked down at you. You loved looking into those beautiful eyes, seeing the emotions swirling in them. You realised you had started to caress the side of his face with your hand while your free hand was resting on his lap. It felt so nice having these close encounters with each other. It only made your heart long for him more. You wanted to feel his hands on your side, feeling his hot breath on your lips and his skin on yours. You knew about his tongue and just the thought of it made your mind spin with lust. You wished you could lie to yourself and say you had never thought of him as more than a friend. But the truth was, it was something you longed for. You couldn’t even count how many times you had lay in your bed and thought of him while doing other things to yourself. It was this thought that drove you to lean forward and press your lips against his in a surprising kiss. You felt him jump then stiffen. You would have pulled away but you were too engrossed in the kiss, even if it was one sided. His lips were surprisingly soft and welcoming. He had more than enough strength to push you away. In fact, if he wanted to end the kiss, all he had to do was sit up straight and due to his height and your lack of, you wouldn’t be able to continue the kiss. But he didn’t. He just stayed frozen. Due to kiss lack of response, you pulled back, your cheek glowing a dark red. You had expected him to kiss you back after some amount of time but he didn’t. “Chameleon, i-im sorry.” Was all you could mutter as jumped off the rock and started to run. Tears began to pool in your eyes as you tried yourself to run down the side of the hills. You couldn’t believe you had been so stupid. Chameleon had never shown any signs of wanting anything more from you. Apart from the lingering gazes, the soft touches, the warm embraces. You shook your head as you went to run down the side of the hills but tripped and lost your footing. You braced yourself for the inevitable hard ground but it never came. You had been caught in mid air and pull against a hard chest. You blinked rapidly and looked up, seeing Chameleon was staring down at you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking but your stomach was doing back flips as you tried to think of how to explain your actions to him. But then he ducked down and pressed his lips to yours, taking you totally off guard but you quickly responded to the kiss, not wanting him to feel that the first kiss was a mistake. You found your kneeling going weak as he kissed you. Especially when he let out a low groan that you could feel from his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his slip to your lower back and pull you against him. He then moved you so you were pressed between him and rock but you didn’t mind. You felt he was about to deepen the kiss but then stopped. You took his lower lip in between your teeth and playfully bit down, not hard enough to hurt. Chameleon pulled away from the kiss, his eyes seeing the smirk on your lip and he relaxed. You were panting slightly and your eyes were hungry with lust for him. You saw him tilt his head slightly, his eyes now focusing on your lips like he was trying to get the courage to dive back in for another kiss. You noticed a small strand of saliva from the previous kiss was on his lips and trailed down to his chin. Taking the opportunity, you leaned forward and licked from his lips to his lips, latching onto them for a quick kiss before pulling back. You saw Chameleon smile before he opened his mouth. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he stretched his long tongue. Instantly, you took it in your mouth, moaning at the feeling as he began to push it further into your mouth. You moaned, unable to control yourself as his lips finally met yours. “[y/n]!” A voice buzzed from your radio, making you both jump apart, panting. You fumbled with your Radio from your back pocket. “yeah?” You called dover the radio as Lizards voice came back on. “Big brain wants yah back now. Said to go out earlier.” Lizard told you. “Okay, I’ll head back the now.” You confirmed and the radio went dead. You took a deep breath and looked back to Chameleon. You saw there was a sadness in his eyes. “I have to go.” You said, panting slightly still. Chameleon looked up to your eyes and you saw there was a silent question in them. But you couldn’t tell what it was. You sighed and turned to walk down the side of the hill but someone caught your wrist. Turning, you saw Chameleon. “Come back?” He practically begged you and instantly, you knew he didn’t just mean to come back and see him. It was a hidden question of that kiss. “If you want me to.” You smiled, turning and stepping closer to him. Instantly, he let go of your wrist to wrap his arms around your body. You felt at home in his arms. “Always.” He mumbled before ducking down for another quick kiss. You kissed him back but had to pull away before things got too heated again. You didn’t think you could pull yourself away another time. “Meet me here after dark?” You panted, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He nodded, beaming at you before kissing your forehead and stepping back. You started to run down the side of the hills, your heart racing. The rest of the day, you couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could you wait for night to fall. So you could return to the hills.

[kyberled]

🙌

Send  🙌 for an NPC from my muse’s life! || Accepting

Karvan Nel (Car-VAHN) was a non-Force-sensitive human male living in the Outer Rim territories during the Clone Wars era of history. Son of gambler (and later spice-runner) Vannok Nel and the then-student Siobhan Whelan, Karvan was half-brother to the Padawan Learner Braig, though, for the vast majority of their lives, neither was aware that the other existed, and it is as of yet unknown if they ever discovered their shared heritage.

Karvan grew up without ever having known much of his mother, as, at the time, Siobhan didn’t honestly have the time, energy, nor resources to raise a child. She hadn’t even been planning on getting pregnant, but, no birth control is 100%, and so,  Karvan happened.

Now, as I said, Shiv didn’t want to have a child at the time. She was a broke medical student, still living at home with her parents who spent most of their time at work, so, when she wasn’t doing her own job or studying, she was watching and raising her younger siblings - it’s one of the pitfalls of coming from an impoverished family, but, she loves them, all the same. So, she told Vannok as much, that she couldn’t afford a baby, she didn’t have the time for a baby, and, at the time, she did’t want one, either. So, she decided, she wasn’t going to have one. While Vannok said that he understood, he also offered to cover a substantial amount of her school fees if she agreed to have the kid. As I said, Shiv wasn’t exactly well-to-do when she was young, and fully anticipated to be in debt to her school until at least until her 40′s, so the chance to get rid of some of that was a godsend. At the same time, she was concerned as to just why Vannok wanted a child so badly. I’m not sure what reason he gave, but, they ended up reaching an agreement: Vannok would be the one to raise the kiddo, Shiv would get monetary compensation, and, since she still wanted to be in her child’s life, even if she wasn’t going to be their primary guardian, Vannok would stay in visiting distance of Shiv’s house. Karvan was born, and within a little more than half a year, Vannok had packed up and vanished (though, to his credit, he left well over 200k behind for her schooling). While she was initially quite upset, she was able to rationalise it to herself - she wouldn’t be able to raise a child, as she’d said numerous times, and this way, she told herself, she could focus on her education, and hopefully get her family out of the grimy mid-level hovel they were stuck in, at the time. Besides, anywhere had to be better for a child than the mid-levels of Coruscant, with its unfiltered air and unnatural light and crowded streets, so she just told herself that Karvan was going to be fine, and moved on.

While I wouldn’t claim that the Outer Rim was safer or in any way better for a child, Karvan didn’t have the worst upbringing. Vannok, though a bit distant, was by no means a bad father. At the same time, Karvan wasn’t at all surprised when Vannok vanished one day, and he wasn’t particularly surprised, nor cripplingly upset, when he worked out that his father was most likely dead. That sort of thing was run-of-the-mill for the area he’d grown up in.

Karvan was, and always will be, just as much of a mess as his background. He grew up in an area of the galaxy rich in spice dealers and addicts, and Karvan went the way of the latter, being hooked on a number of powders by the time he was seventeen (if not even before that). Again, he saw no problem with this, since it was just how things were. As long as he got his fix, he was happy. Of course, the more he used, the more in debt he became. By the time he was 29-30, Karvan had gotten himself tangled in with the Hutts. He owed them quite a bit, and anyone who knows anything knows that that’s a terrible position to be in. He decided to pay off his debt by helping them with their sentient trafficking business. You read that right - this piece of work would literally help with slave trading to either ease his financial burdens, or to get more powder. 

As long as he got his fix, he was happy. 

He met his half-brother, Braig, when the padawan was on a mission to the Outer Rim to find a criminal who had been smuggling in Separatist propaganda (and, allegedly, weapons and agents, too), siphoning out Republic intel, and even claimed to know a way to infiltrate the Jedi Temple. The trail leading to this troublesome individual split off in two directions, leading Braig one way while Obi-Wan went another in a reluctant split that occurred due to the necessity of time. The path Braig took lead him straight to Karvan, and it was quite literally hate at first sight. Karvan looked at Braig and saw what looked like an arrogant, spoiled Core-worlder who never had to work a day in his life; Braig looked at Karvan and saw what he would later describe as animated refuse. He could feel the depravity rolling off of Karvan in waves, and Karvan thought it’d be funny to see the rich kid in chains (if you’re wondering why Karvan thought Braig was rich, it’s because kiddo was clean, in obviously good health, and walked with confidence. That’s all it took). 

Despite this initial loathing, Braig decided to pretend to fall for Karvan’s schemes and oil-slicked ‘charm’ simply because he was on the trail of a criminal, and, ‘if you want garbage, follow the stench. Fortunately enough for Braig, Karvan’s ‘boss’, if you will, did, in fact, know the person Braig was looking for, who would in turn know how to find the mysterious smuggler. Upon reaching his boss, Karvan decided to reveal his diabolical plans. His boss, being much more well-travelled than Karvan, took one look at Braig’s robes and the deadpan, unimpressed look on the padawan’s face, and figured out exactly what was going on. 

What happened next is dependent on who you ask. Karvan will claim that Braig ‘flipped out’ and broke his arm in four places; What actually happened was that Karvan, upon being informed of how badly he fucked up, decided the best course of action was to pull a knife on the rather irate Jedi in front of him. Braig’s response was to dislocate Karvan’s shoulder and lock him in a broom closet while Braig discussed business with his boss. Braig left Karvan in the closet to face his debtors’ wrath (leaving his fate largely unknown), leaving him with a final farewell:

“Before I met you, Nel, I wasn’t aware that the Force could make mistakes.”

[colewebberblog]

7537 – idea-wealth

We do not live in capitalism; we live in Neo-feudalism, which is more strongly correlated with royalty fascism than the ideal of capitalism.

As envisioned by philosophers, and, as increasingly touted by the new age media in its ensuing application 1800s-present the advantages of capitalism are supposedly to be to enable a higher standard of living to the mass populous and to reward good ideas and good application. These are really the same aim:

Aim One: enable a higher standard of living to the masses — How? That is — how do we enable a higher standard of living to the mass populous, and, in fact further, how do we allow this standard to be ever raised, at, ideally, an accelerating pace? What is standard of living? Taking care of all physical needs — food, water, transportation, sanitation, clothing, shelter — and enabling more self-direction in the realization of higher individualized needs and wants engendered through the meeting of and therefore beyond these physical needs; creativity and further idea-generation once base needs are taken care of. Though applied unequally this has been the resultant of present known ‘capitalism’ — mass food, clothing and the like production, progressing to novelty entertainments. Do we improve standard of living simply by giving more clothing, more food, and the like? From the survival stage, more is better — but only to a point, and, therefore, devoid of engendered-through-time technology: is it better to have enough bread not to starve at a greater tonnage, or to have a lesser tonnage of an equally distributed nutritious diet? The latter. But many, coming out of the survival stage, are too fear-ridden to do anything but take the former. More-ing is the instinctual response to survival, and we have not, as a mass, been conditioned out of it yet. In fact, the opposite: the advertisers have wanted us to continue our more-ing, as, lacking good ideas and good application, more-ing of the same is the only adequate way to rapidly improve the cashflow. Being that the ‘real’ assets — like real estate — have been carved up and monopolized by the few asset-holders, everybody is essentially born into debt; if not outright debt, into an inability to continuously base-line survive forwardly without making money. This has been touted as ‘a reality of life’. It is nothing of the sort, anymore; it may have been for most of human existence, circa 500,000 years ago to present. But, as of most recently — somewhere within only the last 50 years — it has absolutely and as a matter-of-fact ceased having to be you or me. With the money spent on entertainment per year, we could house — in their own house, one per person, not one per family — not even all of the world’s homeless, but all of the world’s inadequately housed. With half the money everyday spent servicing nuclear weapons, we could feed every hungry child on earth. We already produce more than enough food to adequately take care of everyone. In economics, we are supposed to have supply and demand: the demand for such life necessities is fixed and only changes in relation to population; the supply, most recently, has been adequately met. Somewhere specifically between 1970-1980, we met the point at which all basic needs of everyone on Earth (demand) could be taken care of with what was produced in the same time frame (supply). There must be a grave miscommunication — or intentional damming — of the flow to make the two forces suddenly incongruent. It is only the decisions of the leaders of earth — not just the big leaders, but the complicit decisions we all of us make everyday, from the mid-managers to the pay check-takers — that are allowing this situation to persist. How did we realize a full — in fact, a surplus — supply to all of earth’s inhabitants, even as that number crossed what our ‘best minds’ listed as a full carrying capacity of our total systems — many times over — decades ago? How did we succeed? And how, despite the over-adequacy of supply and over-saturation of demand, are we failing to unite the two: to take care of everybody? How are we failing?

Let us return quickly back to the earlier question I raised: how is it possible to raise the standard of living, as a goal of hypothetical capitalism?

Is it only to produce more for each more-producing baby maker aboard the planet? When there are two people to conquer Earth, they can each have half if they agree that all can be taken care of. Now, we each can have only, at maximum, 1 eight billionth, with the number growing lesser. If that was the case, we would be extinct decades ago. People have been seriously — and rightly — foretelling the end of human society by simple atrophy of capacity since the 1920s. We’ve missed it every single time, in fact far exceeding the concerning maximum population point. The doom sellers were right at their time, but wrong when they caught up to their prediction. Why?

We often hear terrified cries about the expansion of material items in today’s world. In reality, we already reached the peak of this trend, and are now on the down-wave. In fact, we reached the peak some time ago. As Buckminster Fuller prophetically noted — and meticulously catalogued — in the 1940s, at that time (and since) the in-circulation amount of every major resource per person has been decreasing. That is, in 1940, there was more iron, coal, steel and the like on the markets per person than there was now. But — do we live better than in the 1940s? Our dietary fulfillment and indoor plumbing would suggest so; all measurable outcomes would.

How would we improve the performance with less input? It is a very simple equation, to which there is only one answer: phrase it however you like. We’ve invented, we’ve innovated, we’ve improved, we’ve gained efficiency. It is all the same: we have done more with less. And indeed, Buckminster Fuller charted that, at the microcosmic and the macrocosmic that was exactly what was happening. Macro: outcomes improved, less circulation of all materials per person. Micro: looking at specific units-based performance, we see the same: more energy is generated with less coal burned, more area enclosed more sturdily with less steel.

Capitalism, if it could only solve problems of standard of living by brute more-ing force, would run for a very short while indeed. Initiated amid the revolutions of the 1700s, it would not even have brought us indoor plumbing — a new invention unsuited to a more-ing now production-only system. The only way it can — and has been able to — meet its own ends is through the figuring out of ways to do more with less. You do not produce more doo-dads per person. Given the critical doo-dads, everyone only needs — or even can really have, so much. We all need a house, and even billionaires can only spend so much on housing. We all need food, and, even as our lifespans increase, the calories a human being can and will consume over a lifetime still hits a fixed maximum amount. If we are not to engage in trickery, and only give to people what they want or ask for, the needs of people for any given doo-dad — be it important, like food or water or shelter, or less important, like a music-making tool — are quite fixed. We do not improve the standard of living by making more doo-dads; we only improve the standard of living by figuring out how to make the desired number of doo-dads with less input at a higher standard. Even in the mass production of early industrialization, this was still the ever-present equation, we have only forgettingly reframed it. Getting mass car ownership was not at its first principle about mass producing them; /it was about designing them to a point that they could be mass produced/.

We see then how both aims are one in the same: to reward and thereby regeneratively incentivize good ideas and good application, and to improve the standard of living of the populous. The only way to accomplish the latter is through the former; the ever better figuring out — which is why we need a system whereby the figuring out is rewarded.

I do not prefer to use the term rewarded, but rather regeneratively accelerated. A reward is past-seeking. A regenerative continuing allowance is future-trending.

Capitalism is completely dependant on ideas for its function. But more broadly — and the reason its even limited application has led to improved outcomes — the whole basis of economic value whatsoever can ever and only be ideas.

Ideas and application. Application itself stems from the ideas — how to make the doo-dad is just as important a step as what the doo-dad is. Product and process are a whole and unit system. You cannot ever have one without the other.

“Real wealth is ideas plus energy.”

Here, I am quite confident he is using the physic-al definition of energy, being both matter and energy as per Einstein. Once again, not only is the Earth a sum-system, but the whole Universe is: matter-energy cannot be created or destroyed. It can only be reconfigured. There is no /making/ in Universe, there is only /recycling/, in accordance with our human engendered design. We can never /lose/ physical materials or capability; we can only /lose/ usefulness of design for a given purpose.

Capitalism is derived from the word capital, meaning, broadly, input to the operation. Conventionally, there were understood to be only a few parts: labour, land, materials. The philosophers got it right in broadly considering the driving force of a system to be a feature which, when tasked with making or directing decisions, would enable positive outcomes. If capital, they said, would direct itself, it will do so, well. Brilliant. But, they got it dead wrong when identifying what exactly this feature was. What is capital?

I have a gold mine. It contains endless tonnes of gold. And yet, I am dirt poor. I have nothing to mobilize, and not even a plan for expansion or development. How is this possible? It is 100,000 years ago; I’ve made my camp above this gold mine, but don’t know what gold is, what it could be used for, or how to get it. And so, it is worthless. (This is why it is so important to be a comprehensivist: to look at the whole and not the parts. Too many people, even economists, are sitting in their own frame of reference, and cannot ponder, even at a subconscious level, a gold mine, or gold, or money, being worthless. The only sensible way to look at anything, at any level that can tell you anything, is 100,000 years out and 100,000 miles away.) Suppose, though, that, miraculously, I invent a process for converting dirt into a pill which would cure any ailment. My ‘dirt farm’ may become quite a ‘gold mine’ after all. Today, we are now awakening to the value of so-called intellectual property: ideas, books, code, plans, strategies, brands, concepts. As of 2002 75% of the sum value of the largest 500 companies in the world was pegged solely on intellectual property — intangible assets. It is also noticed that small businesses nearly almost undervalue their intellectual property, meaning, definitely, even by the sellers of the other systems and the asset-accounted, intellectual property officially became the largest resource on Earth even by their system within the last two decades. But the stark reality is, even in the age of great industrialization, there was never anything but intellectual property. All property, all trade-value, all assets of any kind are created strictly from ideas. A gold mine is only useful if you know the gold is there, how to get it out of the ground, and what to do with it. Coal is just a dead black rock until you know that it can be burned. And it is a much less useful burning fuel until you have not only the stove, but the steam engine.

Quick: Do this exercise, without looking anything up. Can you name who was Pope, anytime from 1400-1500? Or even 1300-1600? They surely would have been “the most powerful person in the world”. Can you name any of the great heads of the great city states, anywhere across Europe, from 1400-1500? Any of the wealthiest merchants? When I speak of this time period — who do you think of? I have given this problem now to many people, and have not had anyone yet name anyone other than DaVinci or Michelangelo. We think of — what do we call them? — the Renaissance men. The literal namesake for an entire era in history. And what did they do that was so monumental? More monumental than being “God’s ordained” world leader, the ruler of a military fleet, or a billionaire? DaVinci was the son of a slave with no formal education, sent to prison and to live in exile, struggling through poverty. But, he also scribbled ferociously in notebooks; he scribbled new ideas — not even published in his lifetime — that turned out to be worth a lot more than anything paid for or shipped by the merchants. The people we always remember history through — without even trying — are the inventors. Because they are the only people that bring value to human lives — they are the only ones capable of seeing and defining value. They are the ones with the ideas.

colewebber.com

[storiesofwildfire]

v; they’re not the predators anymore

tracktag ( CURRENT )

status; OPEN ships; MULTI

My name is Loki and I belong to the very first generation of scouts brave enough to pass beyond the dome.

Before I was born, a massive dome was built over the expanse of our city to protect us from the outside world. Our government claimed that the pollution of the planet had become so great that if we attempted to thrive in it, we would eradicate ourselves. The dome was proposed as a way to combat a potentially toxic atmosphere before it had a chance to fully develop.

They claimed that the air inside the dome would stay pure by setting up filters that would cleanse it before it was ever introduced to the people who lived inside the city. 

As I said, I was born long after all of this happened, but according to all of the stories I’ve heard, people panicked. Everyone was so afraid of what might happen to them and their families if the dome wasn’t constructed in time. There were very few people who were actually skeptical of the lies being force-fed to them and it was a unanimous decision that the dome be erected as quickly as possible. No one wanted to risk their lives or the lives of their loved ones. No one could truly be blamed for that, right? But no one ever stopped to wonder where the sudden worry came from.

Once the dome’s construction was complete--a project that took surprisingly little time despite how massive the structure was and how much of the city’s resources, personal, and technology went into building the damned thing—new laws were set in place. There were protocols about what the citizens needed to do in the event that the dome was punctured or cracked and there were all sorts of areas around the outskirts of the city that suddenly became off limits due to something that was housed there, air purification facilities or what have you. The most important new law to be set in place was probably the simplest and most obvious rule. 

Due to the high probability of encountering toxins in the air outside the dome, no one was permitted to leave.

I’m not sure about all of you, really, but that always sounded a little suspicious to me. Let’s think about this rationally, shall we? This city, a place we call Asgard (and trust me, the irony really hasn’t fallen upon deaf ears) had very few problems before the dome was built. People could come and go as they pleased. We never experienced war or disputes with other colonies. Our air was perfectly breathable and no one suffered any severe ailment from the atmosphere that always existed and probably always would. Sure, pollution was a dangerous thing that plenty of people worried about. Asgard spent decades upon decades before the wall was built creating new technologies to dispose of waste in healthier fashions, keep the air clean by using alternative sources of energy like solar and hydro power, and even enforced strict laws about how the people who lived in the city were allowed to live if it affected the environment. As far as everyone knew, the pollution was declining. 

So why, suddenly, had the dome been a necessity? Why was no one allowed to leave the safety of the dome? Why were the people of Asgard kept captive like rats in a massive cage? Most people didn’t really look at it that way. Asking around, most everyone agreed that the dome was some sort of blessing and even today, it stood as a monument of our success and security.

As I grew older, I asked more and more questions. Most people didn’t take kindly to my inquiries, which usually consisted of “don’t you think it’s strange that no one is allowed to leave?” and “why does no one ever talk about the negative impacts building the dome created?”

To ask these questions was to question the government itself and to question the government... Well, let me put it this way. Asgard is a beautiful city with a lot of technological advancements and friendly, brilliant people. Overall, it’s a wonderful place to live and most people never have an issue, but the highest-ranking officials don’t take kindly to insubordination. We don’t really have prisons here in the city. If someone is caught breaking a law, regardless of how minuscule that law may be, it usually results in the offender being banished to the outside world, beyond the dome. Those people never return. Now, I’ve never gotten into that much trouble before, but I’ve certainly received my fair share of threats from law enforcement and some of my neighbors who don’t care much for my prying eyes and “misguided heart.”

During my childhood and teen years, I never really got any significant answers. No matter who I asked, where I went, or what I tried to search for, there just wasn’t enough of a lead to go on that wouldn’t land me a one-way ticket to exile. Sometimes I thought that might be for the best. Living in the outside world could be great!

At the end of the day, my suspicions were correct. To be blunt, the dome was never erected for the purpose of keeping out poisonous and contaminated air. No, the walls were built to keep something far more horrifying out.

No one actually understood what the dome was capable of until the day that it malfunctioned. Up until that day, everyone believed that the dome was transparent so we could see the world beyond but we couldn’t travel there. The dome, however, was far more advanced than anyone who wasn’t directly tied to its construction could imagine. The interior of the dome created a seamless image that would change as different weather simulations cycled through. This gave us the illusion of being able to see the outside world and to reap the benefits of rain and other various weather conditions, but it was nothing more than one giant simulation.

That reality hit us all hard when part of the dome caved in and cracked away, revealing the real outside world to us. Instead of toxic gas flooding into the city, however, we saw something much more terrifying. Standing as tall as the dome was a humanoid creature, naked, with no genitals. It beat its massive fists the size of houses against the dome over and over again, causing the ground to tremble as entire reflective panels fell from the sky, crashing down to the ground. Homes and businesses were destroyed. People were killed. 

That day stood out as the darkest day in the history of our city. 

The truth behind the creation of the dome came to light. The city fell victim to chaos as people finally turned against those in power who had sworn to protect us. Decades of lies came to the surface and we were defenseless to protect ourselves from these massive creatures. The dome had stood as a barrier to protect our city from these monsters for so long, but one eventually came along that was strong enough to break down our barrier.

None of us knew what to do. We weren’t trained to fight monsters. Hel, none of us even knew such beasts existed until one peaked through a massive hole in the sky to look down at us. Once it tore a hole through the dome large enough to fit an arm through, it reached down inside and started grabbing for people. It managed to take a few and to everyone’s horror, the moment the beast grabbed hold of them, it tossed them into its mouth, swallowing them whole. 

We’re still not sure what scared the creature off, to be honest. Something frightened it or called it away and it left before any more damage could be caused, but people were dead and our way of living crumbled before us. Once the dust settled, the dead were accounted for, and the injured were in hospitals... Well, mutiny, riots, and a lot of violence produced from fear sparked throughout the city. The only way those who were in power could stay in power was if they managed to come up with some sort of solution. 

A team was sent out to repair the damage to the dome. Each person brought in for the job had been part of the initial construction of the dome. At least they knew what they were doing. Volunteers were taken to the city’s border, where people would keep watch at all hours of the day and night in the event that another beast showed up.

As I said earlier, I’m one of the first scouts to step foot outside the dome. I volunteered, but not for guard duty. No, I became part of a special organization, one that wasn’t entirely endorsed by the rest of the city, to go our and hunt down that behemoth and any others like it. We developed special weapons to combat them, though we hardly knew how to fight what we’d never seen before. The first few months outside the dome were dedicated to nothing but searching for more specimens so we could observe them and figure out what sort of weaknesses they had.

Needless to say, we lost a lot of people during this time, but we did eventually find one weakness. The nape of each beast’s neck seemed to be the only spot in which someone could kill it. The nape needed to be completely sliced away and that stopped every single monster in its tracks regardless of how big it was. To accomplish this goal, we devised three distinct weapons. The first was a type of bow and arrow outfitted with a thin, wire-like arrow that if aimed correctly, would slice right through just about anything, including the nape of a Titan, the name we chose for these humanoid giants. The name seemed more than fitting, really. The second weapon was a set of exaggeratedly long swords with blades made of the same wire-thin-yet-extremely durable material the arrows were made out of. Unfortunately, this weapon required a hunter to get extremely close to a Titan in order to bring it down. These were the most dangerous but the most effective means of attack. The final weapon was a whip outfitted with a similar material to the arrows and the blades, though it was more malleable so it could swerve and coil like a whip ought to. The length of these whips varied depending on person and style, but I’ve seen a few that were long enough to wrap around a Titan’s throat completely and decapitate them with ease.

We also developed a small pack that rested in the center of our shoulder blades. When activated, wing-like appendages with small accelerators along the undersides emerged and spread the span of our arm’s reach. These allowed us to temporarily leave the ground and maneuver through the air, much like a bird might. These were necessary to get close to some of the larger Titan’s napes, but the contraptions weren’t exactly the most stable. Each one had to be custom built for a person’s size and weight and if it didn’t match up perfectly, the person wouldn’t get off the ground or they’d plummet back to earth shortly after. In times of great distress, we resort of simpler gadgets that comprise of repelling gear modified to pull someone through the air if need be. 

I can’t tell you a number of times I’ve stuck the end of my grapple into the shoulder of a Titan and climbed it like a tree. Whatever got the job done, right? As hunters, our only mission wasn’t to take down any threats present in the area. No, we also set out to find other settlements and civilizations that might be holding out against what very clearly seemed to be the end of the world.

Truth be told, I haven’t been home since I left. I have no idea what’s happening back in the city, but I have a strong suspicion that anger people still held grudges against those who kept us in the dark for so long. Who knew? Maybe a change of power was happening... I hope so. 

Gods only know what might have been different had we been prepared for these horrors.