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teyums · 2 years

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“I only want you.” | Neteyam Oneshot

wc: 2.3k

pairing: neteyam x fem! na’vi reader

warnings: none, contains fluff

a/n: this is a one shot, meaning there will be no part 2

Summary: You had a painfully long day of helping the elders with their tasks, and all that’s getting you through is remembering you’ll meet Neteyam at your spot later. However, when you get there you find him with another girl and feel a piece of your heart break. He finds you, and reassures you that you’re the only one for him, sealing his promise with the proposal you’ve been waiting for.

Today had been an excruciatingly long day. You spent majority of the sunlight helping with tasks bestowed upon you by the elders.

First, it was picking what seemed like a harvest’s worth of utumauti (canopy fruit) that would be used in a celebration for the war party’s successful raids. You agreed begrudgingly and trekked through the mossy forest, holding three baskets that were stacked into each other.

After spending hours hopping from branch to branch, at times to the highest point of the tree, you had finally gathered a sufficient amount to return to the village. You even surprised yourself with how many you had collected from the canopies, seeing as utumauti isn’t in season this time of year—hence why no one wanted to do the job in the first place and passed it onto you.

You wobbly trudged back into town, balancing one basket atop your head and holding the other two in your hands, they were painfully heavy. Once arriving at the elder’s quarters, you attempted to set them down as gently as possible, letting out a sigh of relief once realizing you could now take it easy.

But alas, you were foolish to think one task wouldn’t lead to another like always. It seemed like today was the day for every na’vi in an authoritative position to drop their responsibilities onto you.

Without even five minutes to take a breather, you were then tasked with repairing the splayed and broken strings upon the bows of the latest warriors who had returned. You stared down at the piles of splinted, battered wood that lay out in front of you, strings tangled into a jumbled mess. You tried your hardest to contain your agitated expression and keep the twitch of your eye at bay to avoid a scolding.

God, this was gonna hurt.

It took you over an hour just to detangle the strings, receiving specific instructions that forbade you from simply cutting them loose and replacing them all anew. Something about ‘respecting the great mother enough to not waste resources’. You spent another hour weaving new string into the bows that needed them. Looping the strings into the bow nocks over and over again proved to be an even more tedious effort than picking fruit.

By the time you finished, your fingers were terribly sore. Your cuticles were reddened and bruised, a few snags and hangnails forming in the delicate skin around them from dealing with rough wood.

You stacked the bows in a neater pile than you had found them, standing up and brushing the sawdust off your legs and loincloth. Finally, after hours of what seemed like endless work, you could now focus on what your day was really supposed to be about.

Him.

There had finally been a commonality in your schedules, so you and Neteyam had dedicated the entirety of today to spend with each other. Neteyam’s training had only picked up in frequency the last couple weeks, leaving less time for the two of you to spend together. This proved to be extremely hard on you guys, but especially you. You had been cursed with the love language of quality time and right now you were terribly missing the nights where the two of you would lay in each other’s arms, stargazing without a care of what tomorrow would bring.

You shooed the thought away, a small smile rendering on your lips as you reminded yourself that the hard work was done, and now the two of you could be together. Though you were bummed that your time would now be cut short, you relished in the fact that you would still be able to spend the evening with him, just like old times.

You skipped along the battered path that housed the ghosts of footsteps from your clan, trying to contain your squeals of excitement as you neared the spot Neteyam said he would be waiting at for you.

A small pond with bountiful vegetation surrounding the perimeter slowly came into view, as well as a head of long, black braids and a pair of strong shoulders that belonged to your lover.

You felt your shoulders relax for the first time today and started towards him. You used your hand to move a large anthurium leaf out of the way, your feet stopping dead in your tracks when you caught sight of someone next to him.

A girl.

Your mouth fell slightly agape at the scene in front of you, your brain rushing to make sense of things. She stood with her back to Neteyam, a bow in her hands and her arms stretched clumsily, feigning inexperience. You watched as he used his hand to tip her elbow upwards, helping her correct her form.

Okay, calm down. He’s just helping her. Right?

Neteyam was always known for being friendly, it being both his most admirable characteristic and biggest flaw. Because of his kindhearted, always eager to help like nature, it was hard for him to realize when someone had an ulterior motive to get close to him.

“Here,” he stepped closely behind her, both their gazes set down at the pond in front of them. “Straighten your back. You need a strong form.” His hand pushed against her mid-lower back to fix her posture, resulting in her arching it and repositioning her arms to shoot the bow the correct way. It was now excruciatingly obvious that she knew how to do this from the beginning. You felt your stomach flip.

There stood Neteyam, with his hands on another girl.

Your Neteyam.

“Like this?” She questioned innocently, in which Neteyam hummed as a response. He probably would’ve noticed how close the two of them were to each other, skin nearly touching; if he hadn’t been so focused on the fish darting around in the water below them

Maybe you were hallucinating, but you vaguely recall your heart plunging out of your chest and flopping around pitifully on the forest floor beneath you. You felt the painfully familiar feeling of your throat constricting, the burn of approaching tears following suit. Your face twisted like you had smelled something rotten and you turned away, not wanting to watch any more of this.

You had already figured he would have been a little bummed when you had to move the time of your date, but had he really been so upset that he couldn’t even wait for you? How long had this been going on before you found them and why the hell was he so close to her?

You backed away silently, wiping the tears you hadn’t noticed had fallen with the back of your hand and storming back to your hut.

Neteyam hadn’t been aware of your arrival, instead, his attention was set on the girl he now noticed had been faking.

“Ah,” He removed his hand as if her body burned and stepped back, putting a disrespectful amount of space between them. “It seems you do not need my help, after all.” He says, the unamused expression on his face matching the tone of his voice.

She smiled shyly and lowered her bow, tucking a braid behind her ear. “Fine, you caught me. I actually just wanted to spend time with you.”

“So we are done here, then. If you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting someone important.” He took a seat on the rock where he had previously been resting before the girl came up to ask him for help, resuming the sharpening of an unfinished project he had brought to keep busy.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Her head tilted curiously, not quite understanding his behavior. “I said I wanted to spend time with you, Neteyam.”

“I am not a fan of liars. Whatever it is you want, I cannot help you with.” He nearly interrupted her while continuing to shave the now forming spearhead. “You may go now.”

She scoffed, more out of embarrassment than annoyance. She stood there for a second more, his eyes snapping up to shoot her a pointing stare that had her turning on her heels and hastily exiting.

He sighed to himself and shook his head, silently cursing himself for even agreeing to assist her. He knew it was hard on you, having to listen to the girls of the clan rant and rave about who was soon to be your mate. He tried his best to avoid them, but there were times like this where they would take his kindness for granted, only to run back to their friends and exaggerate what really happened. He felt terrible now that he knew her main goal was only to have his hands on her for bragging rights.

He tore his attention away from his task, peering up at the sky and using a hand to shield his eyes from the blazing sun. It was almost eclipse, you had told him that you would be done by now. If anything, you should have already met up with him. He gathered his things, wondering if you had made a stop home first and decided he would meet you there instead.

___________

You laid in your hammock silently, back facing the entrance as you picked at a stray hemp string to distract yourself from the immense wave of sadness that refused to stop crashing over you. The wooden steps outside your hut groaned from supporting the weight of footsteps, and an involuntary sigh left your lips when your nostrils filled with the scent of mahogany and petrichor. Neteyam.

“My love?”

The tall na’vi stepped through the flaps of your tent, and you tucked your body into itself further, successfully giving off the impression that you weren’t interested in speaking. You figured if you closed your eyes you could play it off as stirring in your sleep.

It didn’t work.

He immediately became worried when catching site of you, wondering if you had fallen sick and that being the reason you hadn’t come to him. He was across the room and by your side in an instant, taking a seat next to you to see your eyes shut.

Neteyam was observant, more than others at that. He knew how your breathing slowed a few paces when you were truly asleep, how your lips would stay parted just the tiniest bit, or even how your nostrils would flare here and there depending on how deeply you inhaled. Something was wrong.

“My love, what is the matter?” It took everything in you not to lean into his touch when you felt his gentle fingers brush the hair from your face, his digits grazing over your skin before cupping your cheek.

“I do not want to talk about it, Neteyam.” Your eyes stayed closed, an effort to remain withdrawn from the conversation.

The use of his full name instantly ruled out any other option he had been thinking of. You were upset with him.

“No, you know we don’t do that. Come on,” his large hands delicately took hold of your small frame, bringing you into a sitting position. “Open.”

Your eyelids reluctantly peeled apart, amber eyes streaked with red veins and eyelashes dewy from prior tears. His eyebrows furrowed with worry at your puffy appearance, gaze softening once he saw why. You had been crying.

“Princess,” his voice was pained, hands coming up to cup your tear stained cheeks and caress them with his thumbs. “What happened? Why are you crying?”

Your lip quivered and you felt that painfully annoying sensation creeping back in. You opened your mouth to speak but the tightening of your throat stopped you before you could respond.

He continued. “I waited for you, but you did not come. Why?”

“I saw you,” You sniffed, dropping your gaze down at the netting below you instead of his eyes. “With her.”

He appeared confused at first, his mind jumping through hoops to try and figure out what you meant. Then, his head fell to the side a bit and a deep sigh of realization joined afterwards.

“[Y/n], that was nothing. I promise. I was waiting for you, then she found me and asked me to show her how to catch a fish.” He explained, his hands now on your shoulders.

“You think she doesn’t know how to catch a damn fish? She just wanted your attention.” You spat, hating the way your voice was cutting in and out.

“I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking straight, I was so excited to see you that I just helped her so she would leave. But as soon as I saw her true intentions I sent her away. It was nothing more than that, princess, I swear.” He took notice of you turning your head away from him and felt a pang in his chest. He hated seeing you like this, and it hurt even more knowing it was because of him.

“Do you believe me?” His voice was quiet and you finally peered up at him to see he looked just as hurt as you did. You nodded your head slightly, his tensed shoulders relaxing a bit the moment you did.

“Of course I believe you. But it still hurts.” A single tear fell onto your cheek and he was quick to clear it without a word, giving you time to express your feelings to him. “I cannot stand to hear the way they talk about you.”

He noticed your fingers starting to twiddle anxiously, taking both of your hands into his and holding them firmly. “But you know I am yours, only. I only want you. Those girls will never change that.”

“You don’t understand.” You shook your head and went to pull your hands away from him, but he tightened his hold. He was already one step ahead and knew how you preferred to run from conversations like this rather than have them.

“Please, help me understand.” His voice soft, warm yellow eyes pleading and seeing into the part of your soul no one else could.

“They laugh at me, when I tell them you are spoken for. They do not believe me,” You inhaled shakily, biting at the inside of your lip before continuing. “because we are not mated yet.” Your voice merely a whisper, like you were embarrassed to admit what had been ailing you.

“Oh, [Y/n]…” He pulled you into his chest and embraced you in his arms, placing a light kiss to the top of your head. He was so careful with you, it was as if he felt you would crumble to pieces.

You melted into his arms, you couldn’t help it even if you tried. He really was your safe place, and even if he had been the one to upset you, he made it known that you could always come to him no matter what. You felt him lean back and lightly pull you away.

“I had no idea you have been feeling this way. There is nothing I want more than to be with you for life, my love. I just didn’t want to rush you into it, in case you weren’t ready.” He smiled, his excitement written all over his face.

“Really?” Your eyes grew big, pupils leaking adoration and swelling in sync with your heart.

“Really.” He hummed.

The space between the two of you grew smaller as he fell in, your lashes kissing before your lips could. By the time your eyes fluttered to a close his lips were melded against yours, and with every second that passed you felt your doubts withering away— the passion from his embrace and his hands on your waist served as ample reassurance.

You broke for air, eyes dazed, bodies longing for more. “I’m sorry if I ruined our date, Nete…”

“Nonsense, you could never ruin anything.” He chuckled, pecking the tip of your nose. “Forget about that, just come with me.”

Before you could agree you were off the hammock and up on your feet, fingers laced as he led you out of your home.

“Where are we going?” You smiled.

“To tell my parents to begin preparations for our ceremony. I don’t want to spend another moment not mated with you.” He glanced down at you and gave your hand a squeeze, an elated grin overtaking his face to match yours.

Likes + Reblogs are much appreciated, thank you for reading! 💗

#neteyam #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fluff #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam avatar #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #neteyam fic #neteyam sully #avatar fanfiction #neteyam x you #avatar twow

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anemonelovesfiction · 1 year

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Kinktober 9- Accidental Stimulation

Tsireya x Human! Fem reader

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, no smut (sorry), not proof read (also sorry for this)

I whipped out another one with Tsireya for those of you who adore her!

I have been writing some of the previous prompts I haven’t done and will release them whenever they get done, please be patient with me 🥺 I’ve been needing to take a break but I keep pushing through because I love writing and the ideas sometimes come to me.

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Word count: 3k

I could feel my cheeks heating up as her touches continued climbing up my thigh, I had been standing in front of her as she had tended to the cut on the outside of my thigh, making sure the salve had been spread on evenly to help promote healing and help the blood coagulate faster to close off the wound. It needed to be a perfect consistency and mixed fresh, her hands were gentle in touching me as she stated she had to make sure it was thick enough to allow it’s healing properties to work as well as thin enough to allow my wound to breathe some before applying the gauze. But even if she had been kind enough to explain that they do not like to waste any material, whether it be bandages or the medicine itself, I already felt like being a human was grounds for making them waste any of their resources.

I looked down to see her crouched impossibly low to the ground as she focuses on wrapping the gauze tight enough to help stop the bleeding from continuing, but lose enough to not restrict my blood flow, but this had been her third time rewrapping it to assure she had gotten it perfect, her knuckles brushing up against my clothed cunt for the upteenth time and I couldn’t help but let a squeak past my lips, feeling my spine go rigid as I stood taller than I had when she started. I hadn’t come into the healing tent to be fondled by the tsahik’s beautiful daughter, I had to remind myself that she had just been doing her job, there was nothing more to read into about this situation.

“Why do you make that sound?” She asks as my ears tune in to the melodious sound of her voice, although my ears were nowhere near the shape of theirs nor did it have it��s flexibility, I could feel them moving slightly as she had spoken, hoping to hear more of her. Upon further inspection of her facial features she appeared to not have known what she had been doing to me, yet I had to remind myself that her main focus was on her job, her main focus being the cut on my thigh. She had put on a sweet voice but I knew better than to read into that as well, she was kind, but I knew that at some point she would want me to leave, and I refused to overstay my welcome.

“Are you still hurting?” She asks me as I feel her knuckle just barely graze me where I mostly needed her fingers before tying off the gauze on the outside of my thigh where the cut had been, I wanted to hiss in pain as she tied it off but refrained from saying anything as I couldn’t handle anymore of her fingers brushing up against the spot I wanted her to pay the most attention to, but the slight sting hit as a reminder of the injury I had sustained.

I had stupidly believed I could climb the tree and cut the fruit off the top of it like the natives could, I wanted to prove to them that I didn’t need their help, and I swear I had done everything correctly. At some point I had lost my footing on the branch I had placed my foot on and fell to the floor, luckily for me I had actually been fine, I attempted to gather my surroundings to clear my mind of the quick shock that ran through it as I found myself on the floor, but before I could attempt to stand, one of the guys picked me up. Unbeknownst to all of us, I had fallen on top of a shell, potentially breaking it under my weight, but being picked up with quick speed by somebody else must have caused the sharp edges of the shell to cut my outer thigh. I hadn’t noticed it at all until I felt something dripping down my leg and a sudden stinging sensation hitting right after someone had pointed it out.

“N-no, I’m fine.” I stuttered as I attempted to answer her question with as straight a voice as I could, wanting to punch myself in the face for not having the words come out as strong as I wanted them to, knowing that I sounded like a child in her presence.

“I need to check for other injuries.” She stated simply as her hands traveled down from my thigh and down my leg once more, attempting to check between my toes, her fingers slightly too big to fit through them. She moves her hands toward my other thigh to check and my breath hitches as she does this, her eyes quickly moving up to my face, eyebrows twitching as if she was expecting me to tell her where it hurt, but I remained silent.

It doesn’t take long before her knuckles brush against me once more and another squeak leaves my mouth, she stops her movements and gently grabs my chin, moving it slowly from side to side as she inspects my face. She seems to let out a disappointed huff and I’m left wondering what it was that she had to be disappointed about, completely forgetting the fact that she was stuck attempting to cure a human.

“Let me see your hands.” She stated after allowing her finger to trail down my neck and causing goosebumps to appear after the path she had taken with trailing it down my windpipe. Her palms were facing skyward as if to allow myself to place them gently in her hands. I do as she asks without hesitation, placing my hands into hers as her thumbs caress my palms, I swallow thickly at the sensation, snatching them out of her grasp, unsure of what to do now. Since my original injury had already been dealt with, would it be rude for me to up and leave right now to take care of my own little problem at the moment?

“I’m fine, really!” I attempt to state cheerfully but by the look of her face she does not seem too pleased that I had yanked my hands away from hers, way to go, if I wasn’t pissing the natives off by fucking up at the one job I was supposed to be doing well with, how would I not piss off the pretty tsakarem by yanking my hands away from hers all because I was getting hot and bothered by her touches?

“It was just my thigh that was cut and you already fixed it, thank you for doing that, but you didn’t have to.” I stuttered through the rest of my apology but still saw the slight anger in her eyes.

“Give your arm.” She speaks in broken English, she must have picked some up from the Sully’s, Spider, and myself when we speak in the damned language, but the accent she added to it was beautiful, made my ears move slightly- although unnoticed- in an attempt to hear her speak in my native tongue for once. She holds her hands out in the same manner as she had previously, palms facing up, it appears she would not let me leave at this moment to allow me to finish my chores.

“You like when I touch you.” She stated simply and this makes my eyes snap toward hers, already finding her looking directly at me as the wind gets knocked out of my lungs, her stare was intense but it also held me gingerly at the same time. I attempted to deny it but her eyes on mine had somehow kept my brain from relaying the message and my mouth to stay shut. It wasn’t like she had asked a question either she had made an observation, and from that observation she made a statement, I found myself swallowing thickly once more and a small smile appears on her face.

“I can feel your heart racing.” It had taken me a bit to realize her pointer finger had been placed on both pulse points on my wrists, she had taken care of Spider and healed him enough to understand how fast a human heart should beat, as they were bigger beings, theirs beat a little slower. I attempt to tug at my hands to get them from our of her grasp but she holds on tighter, at this point I just had to face the embarrassing accusations and attempt to avoid her.

“I can smell you, too.” She appears to have gotten closer and I couldn’t help but allow my eyes to fall onto her luscious and smoothed lips, looking back at her eyes and licking my own lips in response, I couldn’t handle being this close to her, but in every aspect of it she had been correct, I do like when she touches me.

“Reya~” It was a mixture of something I couldn’t quite place and a moan, feeling my eyes widen at what I had said at the moment, feeling the embarrassment creep up on my face. I had to get out of here.

“Yes?” She coo’s at my reaction and I feel majorly confused, my eyebrows threaten to kiss one another as they come closer, I look down at her lips again, then back up at her as if feeling like she had put me in a trance.

“I need t-to take care of my duties.” I attempted to speak in a calm manner, yet my words were coming out with a trembled voice, I wanted to leave at this moment but felt my feet were frozen on the ground beneath me.

“I think there is something else that needs taken care of beforehand.”

I can agree that had been a poor choice of words from my end and I should have been more careful about how I had said that sentence, but while I was battling the uproar of nerves starting in the pit of my stomach, I had to remind myself that she probably meant she needed to give me instructions on how to care for my wound to insure it healed nicely. There was no way she would have even felt an ounce of trust toward me to actually imply what I secretly wish her words meant, I had already eaten up her time by having her take care of me when she could have spent that time ensuring she had everything she needed to care for the natives who would get injured, or whatever else her duties entailed.

On a technicality my injuries weren’t severe, I had a cut on my thigh that wasn’t even my fault, had I not been dragged into a standing position by one of the natives, I would have been alright and not needed to visit her in the first place. I could feel a twinge of anger rising as I find it in myself to finally pull my hands away from hers, I knew it would be relayed to Jake at some point, and he’d want to have a talk with me about being polite especially to the tsakarem since they didn’t even want me here- not that Jake would say that, but he would imply it.

“Do not worry, I won’t waste your time any longer. I will not get it wet and will not remove the bandages beforehand, you have my word.” I finally stated without a wavering voice but it was more due to the fact that I had been angry at myself for being weak in her presence.

I slip out of the healing tent without even saying my goodbyes and wince slightly, this will be yet another thing that will be brought up in my future conversation with my adoptive father and something Spider and Lo’ak can tease me all about, I even contemplated heading back in to properly thank the woman for her time but refused to do it as I’d already pissed her off by having to waste some time taking care of me.

_________

I had decided on walking back toward the marui since I could always double up on my chores for tomorrow, make myself appear more useful and allow the rest of them to see that I don’t slack off. Neteyam and Tuk were there at the time and seemed to have been making jewelry from the beads and shells they had collected this morning, I couldn’t bring myself to really stay in an upbeat attitude but joined in either way, making Tuk a bracelet I promised making her before being taken by Quaritch. Slowly the rest of the family started trickling in and I could tell Neytiri felt off about something but hadn’t mentioned anything, I figured it had everything to do with myself and Spider being in her presence, but if she was going to be quiet about it, I could only do the same.

“I need to talk to ya’ kid.” Jake had taken to peek his head into the marui, usually he reserved that kind of tone when it came to Spider or myself, very rarely did he ever have to talk to me privately for anything, but I looked up out of habit. His eyes had been staring right into mine and I only nod to tell him I would be out in a minute and his head disappears behind the entrance of the marui.

I sigh before reaching over to take the string of the bracelet and tipping it upside down into the basket of multicolored beads, undoing all of the work I had started when I began making the bracelet, hearing the funny plopping sounds they made as they came into contact with the other beads laying inside the basket. I take the string and lay it inside a smaller basket with some of Tuk’s jewelry and look up to see all of them staring back at me, all of them silently asking me what I had done at that moment and all I could do was answer with a shrug.

Jake and I had taken to walking out quite a ways away from anybody else who could have eavesdropped and even though I had been thankful for that, I had also grown nervous about what it was he wanted to talk to me about, I was expecting him to yell based on how far we had been going. He finally turns and sits down on the ground while taking a big breath as he stares out at the sea water before him, turning to catch my nervous stance and placing a smile on his face, gently patting the sand beside him, silently telling me to join him.

“I don’t bite.” He stated in an even tone and I could only nod before sitting beside him, staring out at the sea water as well, the gentle ocean waves lapping over one another, the light blue of the water calming my senses down but still keeping a close eye on the blue giant beside me, positive that this had everything to do with my behavior with the tsakarem but unsure of his approach to the subject.

“How do I fix it?” I sigh as the words came out, I’d rather not want to beat around the bush with the subject any longer and I didn’t want Jake to know why I decided to leave the way I did, that shit is embarrassing to have witnessed first hand, did I really need to go through that experience again by explaining everything? If I ask him what she said it’ll be a lot easier to dance around the fact that I’d gotten horny over accidental touching that meant nothing in her eyes, but asking how to fix it avoids the entire conversation and gets straight to the point.

“Let me ask you this, where do you think you stand with her?” I had been glancing at him from the corner of my eye but with his attention shifting from the water’s waves over to me I couldn’t continue doing that.

“What do you mean, stand with who?” I asked as my face shifts over to look at him. I could only see his soft smile meeting me.

“Tsireya.” He stated confidently and I feel like I need to run away again, I’d heard how Lo’ak and her had courted for a bit but in the end they figured they were better off as friends, but I didn’t think anybody other than Neteyam knew of my feelings for the teal woman, and I also didn’t choose to like her after Lo’ak had told me the story, I ended up locking eyes with her when Spider and I were dropped off with an injured Neteyam and I found her alluring and incredibly ethereal.

“What?” I asked as my brows furrow, one of them rising as I look at him, unsure of what he meant. “About three feet shorter?” But I could hear his chuckle as he slightly shakes his head.

“That’s not how I meant it. I meant as a relationship.” He clarifies.

“Oh, uh, we don’t have a relationship. She is Na’Vi and I am human, she doesn’t want me here any more than her mother does.”

“I was human once.” He states yet I’m unsure what he’s trying to achieve with this conversation and once again I feel confused, I could feel he was starting to become impatient and I wasn’t very good at reading these situations, especially since I was in need of a great nights rest at this moment, I didn’t even want to eat dinner, just go straight to sleep and figure out how soon this conversation was going to end.

“I’m sorry but I just really don’t know where you’re going with this.” I stated honestly before the grown man beside me sighs and places a hand on my shoulder, the weight of it bringing me out of my trance as I look toward him.

“She wants you but you’re blind as fuck.”

#avatar #avatar the way of water #tsireya #tsireya x y/n #lunaskinktober2023

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anyon-else · 1 year

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They Lose Their Minds For Us (The Red Room pt.11) | Orochimaru had been waiting very patiently to get his hands on you. Now that he has, he sees no reason to delay his plans further than he already has. (Marvel AU) – spotify playlist | read on ao3

Pairings | Kakashi Hatake x Black Widow!Reader + Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Orochimaru, Ino, Kabuto, Might Guy

Warnings | female!reader, ANGST, brainwashing, use of electrical shock (similar to scenes in captain america: the winter soldier), manipulation, violence, dissociation

Word count | 7.3k

(previous chapter) | (next chapter) | (series masterlist)

"I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth."

John Gardner, Grendel

Ino had known for a long time that Orochimaru wasn't the man he believed himself to be. The more she observed him, the more sure she was that his skills as a leader were lacking. To her, using primarily violence and manipulation to keep the Widows in check was a sign of weakness.

However, that didn't mean it had been easy to resist the urge to cower at his feet each time he approached her. At that point, she'd been trained to do so for so many years that it seemed easier to simply go through the motions. But she never followed orders out of fear—only habit and convenience.

When Ino looked at the man who had raised her, all she saw was a coward. A man so afraid to face failure that he refused to see reason.

And when HYDRA told him to stop his experimentation with mind control, his desperation grew into the delusion that eventually became his downfall. He held the belief that he was an irreplaceable asset to HYDRA despite—and maybe even because of—his dangerous ambition.

Ino first learned of Orochimaru's attempts at advanced mind control after his initial warning from HYDRA. At that point, their suggestion had been that he utilize the Winter Soldier program's memory suppression technology to make Widows more susceptible to suggestion and control rather than wasting so much on a string of failed experiments.

"Of course that method works for the brutes that they recruit as soldiers," she remembered him saying, "but your skills would not be served well by something so barbaric. Precision and caution is what will make this successful."

One month later, HYDRA followed through on their threat. The resources that had been given to the Red Room since its inception were no longer at his disposal, and his use of the minimal funds that he did receive were carefully monitored.

It was after that when he continued his experiments anyways that Ino last any semblance of respect that she had left for him. He started sending Widows on con-jobs like they were nothing more than petty thieves—all so he could get more money to fund his delusions. At the time, she would've called it pathetic. Now she knew that it was closer to insanity.

Soon after that, she met Sakura.

When they first met, the girl had been in the Red Room for long enough that she knew how to navigate it and avoid any necessary strain to her body and mind. The reason for that, according to Sakura herself, was because she'd met you. And for all that Ino disliked you, she was impressed when she heard that you'd helped Sakura as much as you did.

During the year that Ino spent with Sakura, she hadn't known about Orochimaru's refusal to inform HYDRA about Sakura's recruitment. He hadn't reported it, and he made it very clear to all of the Widows that she was to be kept a deeply-hidden secret within the circle that made up the Red Room. Her ties to SHIELD were even more carefully protected; Ino only knew about them because she'd heard it from Sakura herself.

Ino assumed that the secrecy was simply a precaution; it would be a disaster if SHIELD found out where Sakura was. It would expose the entirety of the Red Room and dismantle a vital branch of HYDRA. She learned later that Sakura was never supposed to be recruited. Orochimaru had simple been careless.

The day that you and Sakura escaped was the day that everything fell apart. The tightrope that Orochimaru had been walking for five years snapped, and Ino relished in seeing him fall.

Orochimaru had always given her more responsibility than the others. He took a liking to her early in her training for reasons that would probably always be a mystery to her—though, she did have her theories.

She often wondered if it was her refusal to treat him like a God that subconsciously drew him to her. Perhaps it made him believe that she was smarter than the others; that she somehow more advanced because she had seen through his manipulation. The thought almost made her sick.

His trust did, however, come with certain perks.

He had been angrier than she'd ever seen him on the day of your escape. It was unfortunately (and, if Ino had to guess, deliberately) timed. A representative from HYDRA's main branch had not even been in the Red Room for thirty minutes before Orochimaru was informed of your escape.

In the confusion that followed, Sakura's name was tossed around enough that HYDRA discovered the depth of Orochimaru's deception. Further investigation into Sakura's involvement revealed the unsanctioned experimentation that he had been conducting on top of his unauthorized kidnapping of a SHIELD trainee—an act that left HYDRA vulnerable.

Orochimaru was stripped of his title and position. The Red Room no longer belonged to him.

Ino remembered feeling the fruitless, fleeting hope that this failure would be the end of things. That Orochimaru would finally see reason.

But his delusions only became stronger as his anger grew. And now, that anger was directed towards you. You had stolen everything from him. You had created the chaos that led to his exposure, and it showed HYDRA the many flaws in Orochimaru's ability as a leader. Your actions went against everything that the Widows were taught to be. It completely dismantled the idea and purpose of the Red Room. Because of you, Orochimaru lost HYDRA's trust.

Ino knew an opportunity when she saw one. Next to Kabuto, Orochimaru trusted her more than anyone else in the program. But after he was removed, her loyalty was free-floating and subject to change. Orochimaru knew that, and his desperation became her advantage.

She never meant for you to become collateral damage—not that it changed what she knew had to be done.

Three months earlier

"Well?"

"They're sending me to kill her," Ino muttered, shielding the payphone with her body and attempting to look casual to the passers-by, "she finally left the SHIELD compound, so she won't be protected. It's the best opportunity to find her."

"Don't kill her," Orochimaru's crackled voice said through the paint-chipped phone. Ino couldn't help but roll her eyes. To her, you had always been something of a cockroach. Making it through the ranks of the Red Room by the skin of your teeth and surviving by pure coincidence, "I need her alive."

"Then what do you suggest I do instead?"

The silence on the other end of the line was far too telling. For how smart Orochimaru was, his current situation was creating too many intersecting roadblocks. Not even he had the capacity to sort through them all.

"Where is she?"

"The old archive bunker in Germany."

More silence. Ino didn't have time for this.

"If she was at the SHIELD compound, that means she's still with Haruno."

Ino felt anger flare within her at the mention of Sakura.

"She probably won't be alone."

"Just tell me what you want me to do."

Ino could practically hear Orochimaru's thoughts in the tense silence that followed her words. She was prone to challenge him—something that had gotten her into trouble a number of times in the past. But he didn't have that same power over her anymore. She grinned.

"I'll send a vial of saline with a syringe. The saline will contain a micro-chip that can track her location. Figure out some way to get her to inject it."

"Very helpful instructions."

Orochimaru paused. Ino waited patiently.

"Don't forget who you're speaking to."

Ino scowled at the phone and hoped that he could feel her contempt through the line.

"I'm the one who's going to get you back to the Red Room. One word, and I can turn my back on a failure like you."

Now Orochimaru's rage was almost tangible. She fought to hold back a delighted laugh when he heard a small huff come through the line. She knew of Widows who would've killed to have this kind of conversation with their tormentor. Coincidentally, you and Sakura were at the top of that list.

"I can still kill the girl whenever I want."

"And where would that leave you, hm? If you hurt her, you no longer have my loyalty. You already pushed your luck once when you took control of her after she escaped—and all for a failed attempt at petty revenge. Did you really think that killing Y/N would get you anywhere, or are you so susceptible to your impulses that you lack any self control?"

He probably wanted to throttle her. She reveled in the knowledge that he couldn't.

"Do what I'm asking," he finally said, voice tight with the barely controlled urge to tear her apart, "and Haruno lives."

"Good," Ino nodded to herself, already going through the details of the mission she had in front of her—she now had two conflicting goals to complete. Wonderful, "and how do you expect me to explain my failure to kill her to HYDRA?"

This time, the silence that followed felt sinister. A chill went down her spine when Orochimaru's dark chuckle crackled across the line and into her ear. She hated that he had any sort of effect on her, but he was an easy man to fear.

"Be creative."

Sakura had never felt pure rage before.

She thought she had. She'd imagined it like a balloon filling up in her stomach, taking up all the space and not leaving room for any other emotion. She had felt that before. That all encompassing anger that she'd heard people describe. She'd thought she understood.

But the moment she came to in Naruto's arms, she felt something snap. Like the balloon taking up all that space suddenly popped, and her rage was free to be released from within her.

She couldn't explain why. She just knew that her instincts were screaming at her, telling her that everything had gone wrong since that morning.

Kakashi's face when he came back to the car told her all she needed to know.

"What is it?" she asked quickly. Kakashi wasn't looking at her. If she hadn't known better, she'd have assumed that he was lost in thought. But he'd heard her. His faint grimace was proof enough.

"Do you remember anything?"

She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to beat her fists against him until he told her what he knew she wanted him to tell her.

She felt your absence like a vacuum sucking all of the air from her lungs.

"No," she grit out, attempting to keep her voice as even and patient as possible. Judging by Naruto's wince, she hadn't done a very good job.

Kakashi finally looked at her, and she felt something in her deflate at the expression on his face. She had only seen it a few times. It was close to devastation, but not quite there. Like he hadn't finished processing what he had seen, and he was trying to rewind and fix things before they were set in stone.

"Orochimaru came for Y/N," Kakashi told her quietly, voice even and as steady as he could manage, "she went with him."

"No she didn't."

You wouldn't have done that. She knew just as well as you did that if you were recaptured by Orochimaru, death would be a mercy. He would not allow your betrayal to go unpunished, and he would make sure that he kept you alive as a message for the others.

"She's gone, Sakura," Sasuke muttered. She turned her glare to him, gaze hard enough to pin him to his seat and keep him from turning his guilty eyes towards her.

"She's not gone. She's alive, isn't she? So why aren't we going after them?"

"It's not that simple–"

"From what you've told me," Sakura rumbled, standing from where she had been leaning against Naruto and facing her mentor with rage lighting her eyes, "there's nothing complicated about it. A deranged psychopath just took someone we care about. You saw the direction they went, and we have a car. If I'm missing something, now would be a great time to enlighten me.

"We were wrong about his tech," Kakashi said carefully. "If we try to go after her, he'll kill you. Y/N went with him to keep you safe."

Sakura seethed. What right did any of them have to decide that your life meant less than hers. What right did you have to decide that?

"I never asked her to do that. Which way did they go?"

"She wants you to be safe-"

"Get in the car and start driving.

"Sakura, he was killing you-"

"I don't care!"

Naruto and Sasuke flinched, but Sakura couldn't find it in her to feel guilty about her words. Not even when she took in the wounded look on Kakashi's face. He covered it quickly, but she had seen it clear as day.

"You're a coward," she bit out, putting as much venom into the words as possible. Either Kakashi had seen the insult coming, or he had already steeled himself for anything she could throw at him. Either way, his expression didn't change. "I thought you cared about her. I thought you all did."

"Sakura, stop."

"No. You have no idea...none of you have any idea what you've done. You should've just let him kill me. It would've been a mercy compared to what he'll do to her–"

"So she was supposed to go on living knowing that she could've saved you?" Kakashi asked harshly.

He didn't want this.

Of course he didn't want this. But he hadn't seen any other option. Orochimaru had backed you into a corner, and you'd made the choice that you thought was best. "Do you think she would've been able to live with that guilt?"

There were tears streaming down Sakura's cheeks, and Kakashi hoped that his breaking resolve wasn't showing on his face.

"I don't know what to do. Kakashi-sensei, you...you don't understand. Orochimaru is heartless. He's sadistic. He'll do anything to maintain his position, and Y/N took that position away from him. He won't just want revenge. He'll make an example of her in any way he can."

She couldn't take this. She couldn't stomach the idea of you back in your tormentors hands. The idea of you willingly giving yourself up to the person you feared more than anything else in the world so that she would have a chance to live. The thought made her nauseous.

Sakura fell to her knees as broken, choked sobs left her lips. She tried to keep herself from completely falling apart at Kakashi's feet, but the attempts were fruitless. Kakashi watched her fall to her knees and fought the urge to crumple to the ground with her.

"I can't let this happen," she whispered, "I can't. She won't survive. Even if we get her out, we won't get her back. I don't know what he's going to do to her, but she won't be the same."

Kakashi tried to keep himself from imagining what that could mean, but the images flooded his mind anyways. Regret began pushing against the barrier that he was trying to keep up in his mind, but he forced the feeling down. Sakura was finally safe. Your sacrifice hadn't been for nothing.

"We can't move in now. Not until we make sure he can't hurt you."

Sakura scowled, though she didn't begin another argument about the importance of your rescue over her safety. Kakashi was grateful; it was one thing to hear her call him selfish for letting you leave. It was another for her to say that he should've allowed her to die.

"For now, we'll assess and plan our next move."

"He said we'd have to wait six months before interrogating Shizune," Sasuke muttered, glancing up at Kakashi and ignoring Sakura's wide-eyed gaze shifting to him, "is that how long Sakura will have that...thing inside of her?"

"I don't know..." Kakashi sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, "I don't know, but we'll find out one way or another. Even if we can't get answers until six months from now, the important thing is that we know we'll get answers eventually. And from what he said, as long as we stay away, he won't make a move on us."

"So where does that leave Y/N?"

Naruto sounded devastated. Sakura wondered if this was the same conversation they'd had when she was taken. All of them looked completely defeated.

No. This wasn't close to the same. They'd begun looking for her immediately. You weren't going to be afforded that same luxury.

"We'll figure it out," Kakashi muttered. Sakura had been silent, trying to control her anger before she lashed out as someone who didn't deserve it. She knew it wasn't their fault. And the only person who could justifiably take the brunt of her rage was out of her reach.

Kakashi felt helpless. Like he had been thrown into a deep pit and had to watch a rope be lowered at a snail's pace, knowing that it was there but unable to reach it.

Unlike when Sakura was taken, the only thing he could do was find Shizune and hope that she would slip up and give him something before Orochimaru's six month limit had run out. Then they could start their search for you earlier than planned. Maybe they could get you out before any real damage was done.

Even as he thought it, Kakashi knew it was wishful thinking. Orochimaru wasn't the type to waste his time—especially with what seemed to be at stake.

He was desperate. And desperation was dangerous in someone like Orochimaru.

Shizune, as expected, gave away nothing. She repeated the same thing that Orochimaru had told him: she would be perfectly compliant in six months. If any attempt to torture the information out of her was made before then, she had a way of signaling Orochimaru. Sakura would be dead in seconds.

The logic behind the six month mark was lost on Kakashi, but he assumed that Orochimaru would be vulnerable for that time. He must've been confident in his ability to fend off SHIELD after the deadline had run its course.

The thought made Kakashi more nervous than he wanted to admit.

His nightmares returned in full force, and he wasn't surprised to find that you were added to the list of people who frequented his dreams. He usually saw your face, defeated and accepting whatever horrifying fate Orochimaru had in store for you. He saw himself reaching out, and ultimately grasping on to nothing but cold, empty air.

And Sakura, who for the most part had been holed up in the conference room to go over their map of HYDRA's bases, didn't say much more than five words to him each time they talked. It was clear that she was hurting, and he knew that she was trying to protect him from her own impending feelings of wrath and rage. She wanted to save it for the man who truly deserved it, but an effect of that was self-isolation.

But he knew he couldn't criticize her for it. He saw himself doing the same thing.

He was spending more time staring at a computer screen than he was sleeping, and he suddenly understood how you'd felt when you were up for days on end decoding. At that point, there had been little for him to do aside from skim the documents that you'd translated. He was left with plenty of time to sleep, and plenty of time to watch you work yourself to exhaustion.

Now he felt like a hypocrite. He hadn't slept in nearly 36 hours.

"You need sleep."

Kakashi closed his dry eyes, finally giving them some relief after staring at the same screen for hours without rest. Sakura's voice wasn't hostile like it had been the first few days after you'd left, but it wasn't exactly friendly. She sounded too tired to be upset with him.

"I'm the one who's supposed to say that," he said quietly. Sakura didn't respond, and she didn't move for a long moment after he had spoken. He waited silently, holding his head in his hands and hoping that this wouldn't be the end of their conversation. He could wallow in his own depressive thoughts as much as he wanted, but Sakura was suffering as much—if not more—than he was. He hated that she wouldn't talk to him. He hated that he didn't know what she was thinking.

"It's not your fault."

An involuntary shock of anxiety and guilt hit him as soon as he processed her words, and he did his best to keep his reaction from showing on his face.

"Sakura..." he forced a smile as he turned in his chair, meeting her eyes and doing his best to hold her gaze despite how sad she looked, "It's alright, you don't need to be worrying about me. You've got enough to think about–"

Before he could brace himself for the impact, Sakura crashed into him, arms wrapping tight around his neck. She was practically in his lap by the time his shock wore off and he was able to lift his frozen arms and reciprocate the affection.

"It's not," she repeated, holding him tighter as if to force him to accept the words, "and I'm sorry I made you feel like it was. I just...I'm so angry. And I took it out on you."

He listened to his student cry into his shoulder numbly, stroking a hand down her pink hair like it was muscle memory and holding her close on the small chair that he'd been living in for the past week.

"I just want her back," Sakura sobbed, "I...I can't help but think that I could've done something more."

"Sakura," Kakashi shook his head, "I know that it won't mean much to hear it, but nothing that happened was your fault. Both you and Y/N were victims of Orochimaru's torture. You couldn't have done anything against him if you tried—not with the leverage he had."

He could feel his heart cracking each time a broken, choked sob left her lips. Anything more, and he thought it might shatter.

"Haven't we been through enough?" she whispered, calloused fingers gripping the tough fabric of his vest. "What else could he possibly take from her?"

Kakashi could only keep Sakura wrapped tight in his arms where he knew no one could get to her. He knew that seeing his face would only make her uneasy. He felt as if all of the rage that was draining from her as she broke down was soaking into him. He wanted to tear Orochimaru apart. He wanted to rip the Red Room down brick by brick until you were the only thing left standing. Then he could bring you back unharmed and without the Widow's shadow looming over you. Then you could finally heal.

"She wanted to be here," Sakura muttered, calming her breathing enough to speak steadily, "and I wasn't the only reason she decided to stay."

"Dont do this."

"You made her feel safe here. That's why she stayed."

He knew the feeling.

"Take care of them."

Tears burned behind his eyes.

He wanted to hold you again.

Wanting was a new emotion for him. But now, he wanted so much that it made his chest ache.

He wanted you back.

Orochimaru gave his Widows everything. That was a very simple fact of life that he never hesitated to remind them of. He needed to make sure that they knew how much of their lives they owed to him. It was something they would never be able to repay, so they gave their lives back to him as a form of eternal gratitude.

He had never wondered how he would feel if one of his girls threw all of that kindness back at him like an unwanted gift. He had never even thought it was possible for something like that to happen. But you'd proven him wrong. You'd left, taking one of his greatest achievements and most dangerous investments with you.

You, on the other hand, had no value over any other Widow. You were part of a larger purpose, doing your part within the machine that operated so smoothly thanks to Orochimaru's handling.

But you'd disrupted things the moment you left with the girl. You'd betrayed him without a second thought and left him to pay the price of your disloyalty.

His fury knew no bounds. His bloodlust was immeasurable, and many had paid the price for you.

You'd caused their hurt, and now you had them to answer to them as well. He would make sure that everyone knew of your treachery.

And once things stabilized, he'd ensure the stability of his machine. He would never allow another broken Widow like you to appear within his ranks.

The feeling of coming to on the cold, hard metal of a poorly designed observation table was nothing new. In fact, the familiarity of your current situation made you wonder if you'd just woken up from a long, peaceful dream. You wondered for the first time since you escaped with Sakura if Kakashi, Sasuke and Naruto were just hallucinations you'd conjured to help you cope.

You were too out of sorts to really care; most of your mental energy was being directed at staying conscious and somewhat alert.

Your shoulder blades were pressed hard against the metal, and it only took another moment for you to recognize the feeling of leather strapped over your chest, arms, and legs, holding you down and restricting your movements completely.

While waking up groggy and disoriented had become a luxury that Kakashi helped you discover, you knew that what you were feeling now was more dangerous than your usual drowsiness. It felt like weights were pinning your heavy limbs against the cold metal beneath you, and your head was swimming with an uncomfortable mixture of throbbing pain and confusion.

"She's awake," a familiar voice said next to you. Your head was strapped to the inclined half of the metal slab with a strap across your neck and forehead, so all you could do was strain your body to try and get enough of a glance at the speaker to identify them.

"Ino," you muttered. The name sounded broken coming from your cracked lips, but it did the trick. Ino leaned into your field of vision with a grim, calculating look on her face. She was studying you carefully, though the one place she never looked was at your eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, though she sounded too distracted for the words to be genuine. She was watching something out of view now, following its movement cautiously, "if there had been a better option, I would've taken it. But I did this to protect Sakura."

"'S okay," you murmured; as long as this—whatever it was—was helping to keep Sakura safe, it was merely an inconvenience, "I understand."

The tense furrow of Ino's eyebrows deepened at your words, and the unfamiliar expression on her face made a small, almost unidentifiable bubble of fear bloom in your chest.

"I really am sorry," she muttered after a long moment. Before you could say anything else, she was pushed aside and replaced by Kabuto. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, and his gaze was far less forgiving.

Kabuto gripped your chin in one hand and lifted a small flashlight above you. You winced against the bright beam that was shining in each of your eyes, but Kabuto's hand and the straps holding you down kept you completely stationary and at his mercy.

"She's lucid enough," he finally said, moving out of your field of vision and behind you where you heard the distinct sound of pacing, "is everything ready?"

The question wasn't directed at you, but rather behind you where the sound of pacing suddenly stopped. You felt the lump in your throat grow, blocking any air from entering or exiting through your mouth. Your breath hitched, and Kabuto spared an irritated glance in your direction before the third person in the room spoke.

"Yes. Let's get this over with."

Let's get this over with. Start the fight. Keep her still. End it. Hold her down. Don't move. The sooner you listen, the sooner we'll be done.

It was Orochimaru's familiar words that finally washed away the muck of your thoughts and gave you a clear memory of what had happened. Sakura's pain. Orochimaru standing over you once again. Kakashi asking you to stay.

Agreeing to leave anyways.

You opened your mouth, but your need for air overcame your desire to speak, and a flood of oxygen into your mouth interrupted any words from escaping your lips. You let out a weak cough and tried to ignore Kabuto's judgmental glare.

"Aren't you at least going to tell her what you're doing?" Ino asked venomously as Kabuto settled a metal headset on either side of your face. You saw the sharp edges of each side in your peripheral and tried to sink back to keep the dangerous-looking probes on the inside from touching you.

"What's the point?" Kabuto muttered, "it'll just make her panic. And she won't remember anything we say anyways."

"What does that mean?' you mumbled, focusing your tired eyes on Kabuto. He ignored you, though his continuous glances at Ino told you that he wasn't completely unaffected by her intensity. You could practically feel her glare from the opposite side of the room.

"If it's really that important to you, then you tell her."

When Ino reappeared in front of you, you tried not to let the sympathetic expression on her face sway your resolve not to panic. The last thing you needed to do was show Kabuto and Orochimaru the effect that they had on you.

"This is a machine that's been used on HYDRA agents for decades. It hasn't caused any fatalities, so you'll be...you'll survive," Ino grimaced, expression grim. "It's a memory suppressing machine."

You jolted against the restraints, unable to hold back a panicked string of words that sounded more like a pathetic whine. Ino winced, but you didn't have the mental space now to ponder on her uncharacteristic worry over you. Before you could think better of it and stay silent in the face of so much hostility, Kabuto stepped around Ino and stuffed a cloth in your mouth.

"Just try not to resist it, okay? I know it'll be hard, but the sooner they can wipe you, the faster it'll be over," Ino rushed out, "I've seen this before. If you start to remember things, they'll just start over again."

Your desperate "why?" came out muffled and barely audible through the thick cloth, but Ino had likely expected the question. Her answer was immediate.

"HYDRA would've allowed Orochimaru to keep experimenting with mind control if this was the method he'd used. This is how he'll regain his position, and you're the only Widow he had access to. All of the others belong to HYDRA."

"Please," you whispered, pressing your tongue hard against the fabric to try and speak clearer, "don't...I can't lose them..."

"You're fixing a mess that you created," Orochimaru finally spoke again, voice closer than you realized but still out of view. You flinched, eyes moving frantically over the space that you could see until Orochimaru finally stepped into your field of vision. "So, even though this machine will not do your physical talents any favors, I no longer care what happens to broken parts. I'll give you to them as a peace offering. After that, they can throw you away for all I care."

You stared at him, chest rising and falling and pushing painfully into the strap holding you down.

This man raised you. He held you when you were an infant. An attempt at his name was your first word.

"Three."

But he had never shown any real care towards you. He'd raised you with a certain set of expectations. You were obligated to him.

"Two."

This was only one in a long list of his demands for you.

"One."

Real care was different. It was kind. It was what Kakashi gave to his students. It was something you hadn't known existed, but something you now wanted more than anything. To feel cared for. To feel wanted for something more than just your ability to kill and lie and—

—

My ears. My ears hurt.

The screaming was so loud. It was disrupting any thoughts that might have persisted through the pounding of your head. You wanted it to stop. You wanted it all to stop.

Your fingers extended and clenched over and over, grasping for something that wasn't there. For anything that you could hold onto to keep yourself grounded. Something to keep your heart from beating out of your chest and bursting through your ribs.

My head...my throat hurts.

The screaming was close.

The pain was delayed. By the time it hit you, you'd realized that the screams you were hearing were your own.

Am I dying?

You head was splitting in half—it was ripping itself apart and then reforming just to tear in two all over again. Any thoughts you tried to conjure to keep yourself grounded slipped away each time that stabbing pain returned. Trying to hold onto anything real felt like it was just causing more torment.

Maybe letting go would be easier.

When the pain stopped, the roaring in your ears faded into high-pitched ringing. The aftershocks left you helpless and limp on the table, and you barely registered the hands on your face until another light was burning into your eyes. You squinted and flinched away from the fingers that reached towards you and held your eyes open.

"Dilated pupils," you heard a muffled voice say. You felt something touch your hand, then your wrist. After a moment, they located your racing pulse, "some low-intensity tremors."

Someone tapped your cheek, and you opened your eyes to see a blurry Orochimaru hovering above you.

"Do you know my name?"

You didn't even consider fighting against the answer that left your lips automatically. It seemed easier to just comply.

"Y-yes. Orochimaru."

"And your name?"

"Y/N Y/L/N."

"Are you still loyal to the Red Room?"

"I..."

Orochimaru slowly came into view, his eyes boring into yours and drawing a response from you. The pain from before still lingered, and you let the first answer that came to mind slip out without a second thought.

"I don't know..."

"Wrong answer."

—

"Who am I?"

"Orochimaru," you panted.

"That's right. How long have I taken care of you?"

"My whole life."

"Who are you loyal to?"

"I don' know. I'm sorry, I don't–"

—

"Who are you loyal to? Hatake?"

"Please stop..."

—

"It hurts..."

"It won't once you answer me correctly."

"I...I will. I'm loyal to you."

"Hm..." Orochimaru leaned over you, hand on your chin despite the straps already immobilising you, "what a shame. I don't believe you."

—

Hands were on you. It was distinctly different from the sensation you'd been feeling to this point. They were cupping your cheeks, patting them again and again until you forced your eyes open. Blond hair took up most of your vision, but you saw wide eyes and moving lips.

"Just let go," she was saying, head moving back and forth so that her blond hair fell onto your chest and shoulders, "submit to him, and I promise this will be over. It won't hurt anymore."

Her hair...blond hair...pink...

"Sa...kura?"

—

"You're loyal to me, correct?"

"Yes."

"Who else are you loyal to?"

"No one...no one else."

The restraints on your arms were released, but you didn't have the energy to move them now. They felt hundreds of pounds heavier than before.

"Open your eyes."

"Can't..."

—

"Open your eyes."

Your eyelids slowly cracked open, but you closed them against the glaring lights above you immediately. When you opened them again, you saw Orochimaru blocking the light. Blocking the pain.

"Who is that?"

He gripped your chin and turned your head to the side, giving you a clear view of another blurry figure standing in front of you.

The silver hair alone was enough to send a shock through your body. Relief filled you; if anyone's presence meant safety, it was his.

He stepped closer, and you saw the black outline of his mask, but something felt...off. He was colder than you remembered. His presence felt more dangerous.

"...Kakashi?"

—

"This is why the memory suppressing method is flawed. It ruins them. She'll never be on the same level as before. Soldiers can afford to be mindless brutes. Spies need to be able to think on their feet. She's losing that."

"It doesn't matter what you think. The only thing that matters is the result. Besides, didn't you say she's already a lost cause?"

"Of course she is. That doesn't mean I wasn't hoping for better results despite my reservations."

Cold fingers held your cheek, stroking over the skin in a soothing motion. You felt yourself relaxing against the cold metal table at the break from the pain, almost leaning into the cold touch. A touch that wasn't hurting...maybe that meant you were doing what you were supposed to. Maybe you wouldn't hurt anymore so long as that touch kept you grounded.

"It's a shame. So much time and effort spent on something so useless."

No more. Anything else would feel better. No more pain.

"We're done for the day. She's at her limit. We'll start over tomorrow."

The fingers stroking your cheek lifted, replaced with a palm pressed against the same spot.

"It's over. You don't have to do anymore today."

You saw the black hair and pale skin through your cracked eyelids. The face was blurry and barely recognizable, but you always knew when he was near. You didn't need to be looking at him to know when he was with you.

"You can rest tonight."

He stopped the pain. He made it better.

"Thank you."

One year later

“Naruto, do you copy?”

“I copy, sensei! Believe it!”

“Focus, Naruto.”

As far as his intel had told him, the HYDRA base that Kakashi found had been abandoned years ago. There was nothing in his research of the area that set off any red flags, so he decided that this would be a good opportunity for Naruto to practice some work in the field. At the time of Sakura's capture, Naruto had watched as Sasuke improved with alarming speed. Kakashi knew that he had begun to resent the other, but he had been surprised when Naruto swallowed his pride and asked Kakashi to take him on a solo mission. It had been a long time since Kakashi had gone on a training mission without Sasuke, and he almost forgot how energetic Naruto became without his friend to scold him.

“Confirm your position.”

“I’m in the building. It doesn’t really look all that abandoned, sensei.”

“What do you mean?” Kakashi paused, pressing a finger against the comm in his ear.

“Well, don’t abandoned buildings usually have...I don’t know, cobwebs? There are no cobwebs at all.”

Kakashi had sent Naruto to the South side of the building where the archives would be. This was one of the oldest HYDRA compounds that was still standing. From the information that Kakashi was able to find on it, there had been an accident in the lab, and most of the agents had either died or evacuated. It was unlikely that anything important had been left behind, but it was field work all the same.

“Does anything else seem off?”

There was a pause, and then: “I guess not.”

Something edged into the back of his mind. He had a bad feeling about this place.

“I’m coming to you, Naruto,” he spoke sharply in a tone that he rarely used. "Don't move–"

"Sensei, I don't wanna be dramatic or anything, but I don't think your intel was right."

"Naruto, keep your guard up, alright? I'm almost at your location–"

The cut-off scream that came through the comms made Kakashi's blood run cold.

He couldn't lose anyone else. He didn't think his heart would be able to take it.

"Sensei, wait!" he heard Naruto'd desperate voice as he turned into a dark corrider. On the opposite end, he saw the silhouette of his student along with another shadow just behind him, "it's hermmph–"

Automatically, he reached for the gun resting against his thigh and clicked the safety off before he had even analyzed the situation that Naruto was in. He slowed his approach and took in his student's struggling form. The enemy's leg was wrapped around Naruto's waist, keeping him from moving more than was manageable. One of their hands was covering the boy's mouth, and all Kakashi could see was naruto's wide and uncharacteristically terrified eyes. That and the gun pressed hard against the side of his head.

The face of his attacker was covered by a mask not dissimilar from his own, and the eyes above them were cold.

He also saw that they were almost more terrified than Naruto's in an expression that looked eerily familiar.

Naruto was screaming at him, but the enemy behind him was holding something in his mouth. Kakashi couldn't make out anything that his student was saying, but the look in his eyes wasn't just fear.

"If you hurt him, I promise that it will be the last thing you do."

Naruto began shaking his head furiously, but he went silent when his attacker pressed the gun harder against his head in warning. They sent him a glare with a clear message: any move he made would end with both him and Naruto dead.

Kakashi took a tentative step forward, meeting their glare with one equally as threatening, but he was surprised to see that their hand was trembling around the gun.

"Stop. Don't take another step."

Kakashi froze, paralyzed where he stood.

That voice...

Naruto was staring at him with wide eyes, willing him to put the pieces together. Kakashi shook his head despite himself, and Naruto answered his suspicion with a nod. The grip on his mouth tightened, and he stilled.

That was your voice. Those were your eyes. The fear in them looked the same as it did the first time he met you.

"Y/N?"

Your glare hardened, eyes icier than he'd ever seen them. He'd pictured this moment so many times—he'd seen it in dreams and in his nightmares. Images of you coming back unharmed, and terrifying scenes of you dead at Orochimaru's hand.

This was an entirely foreign fear that he had never thought to consider, though he supposed that was rather ignorant of him.

Orochimaru had given Sakura up for reasons that, until now, had been completely lost on Kakashi. He was beginning to understand that you'd simply been a convenient stand in.

I don't want you getting attached to another lost cause.

Something in him had cracked when you gave yourself up for Sakura. For him. To make sure that the family you'd been welcomed into could live peacefully rather than constantly fearing Orochimaru's influence over Sakura's life.

Now, after so long of looking and praying that he'd find you safe, he felt it shatter.

"Let him go," Kakashi muttered, still holding firm to the gun despite the shakiness of his voice, "please."

He couldn't lose Naruto too. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it.

"You're lucky I don't kill you both."

I'll teach you how to be human.

He would save Naruto. At any cost, even if it broke him to do what needed to be done. He knew that you would never forgive yourself if you were of your right mind.

He wondered if the person he remembered was even there at all. Maybe you were hiding away in the broken body that had been used and torn apart far too many times, safe and out of anyone's reach.

Naruto winced, and Kakashi saw the moment that you braced yourself to pull the trigger. He saw the confusion that took over your expression, and he read your thoughts like words on a page.

He wondered if Sakura would forgive him for this. He doubted it—he already hated himself for it.

Take care of them.

He pulled the trigger.

(previous chapter) | (next chapter) | (series masterlist)

Author's note | this chapter gave me trouble like y'all wouldn't believe. it went through a lot of changes, but i'm happy with how it came out. i added a lot in compared to when i initially started this series (i originally planned for nine chapters, but added so much in between the mission and this chapter that it ended up being much longer than anticipated). that being said, this chapter has been planned out since the beginning. the trick was getting it organized and making the exposition interesting.

i hope i did the big twist justice! i know i've hyped it up a lot, and i'm nervous that it didn't live up to expectations, so please let me know what y'all think!

i hope y'all don't mind too much that the chapters are coming out slower. i've been struggling with this part of the series and i really want it to come out well, so it goes through a lot of proofs before i post it.

anyways, thanks for reading this far if you have, and i hope you stay tuned for the next chapter! don't forget to leave some love if you enjoyed; getting comments from y'all is truly so so motivating, and it definitely makes for faster updates if i know that people are enjoying what i write.

title is from "Glory and Gore" by Lorde

#kakashi #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi imagine #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake x y/n #kakashi hatake imagine #naruto #trr

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mantleoflight · 1 year

Text

About: Lyn-5 & Vesper

Golden Age - Europa Complex

A Resource Admin of Braytech, Lyn Walker, later Lyn-5, was one of the exo scientists in the Eventide colony on Europa. Initially in charge DER research and exo therapeutics, Lyn-5 witnessed and participated in numerous unethical programs with the intent of steering the team towards more safe, ethical, and less human-loss-accruing methods. She endlessly badgered the Health and Safety branch of the facilities, using her forceful personality to demand better safeguards for scientists, researchers, and subjects in question.

However, when that met brick walls and her dear friends, the Abrams, were unexpectedly converted to exominds without proper logging or restoring of their memories - namely their ties and connections to each other, she began to contend for more than just her position. Now fellow residents of Eventide were at stake, and she began to contend for control of the colony - if for nothing else than to ensure it had the resources needed to ensure its residents' safety.

Whether out of exhaustion or an attempt to turn her attention off of himself, Clovis Bray granted her demands, making her a resource administrator within the company, giving her both power and responsibilities for Eventide and other more obscure facilities. Such responsibilities kept her busy and out of the Brays' hair while they conducted their experiments. However, things took an interesting turn when Lyn-5 contracted a unique Vex contamination and she endeavored to work with her fellow scientists to contain and extract it.

Multiple methods were used, yet none were fruitful. This led to them trying to force it to integrate with the Alkheist in her body that kept her from “billboarding”, and align the Radiolaria to her parameters. Unfortunately, this did not go as planned and the Radiolaria began to reprocess the Alkheist and some of her internal mechanisms. This led to a final proposal of exposing her to Clarity to see if that would stop the Radiolaria reprocessing and prevent her Vex-ification. To her astonishment, it worked, effectively transforming the infecting Radiolaria into additional Alkheist. What's more, is that it introduced Lyn-5 to the Darkness with the Whispers aligning her more and more towards Clovis's methods than her own moral qualms.

This would lead her to become part of more experiments, especially Stasis and Vex-related ones. Despite this, she still maintained a priority of preventing waste of resources - which included Human life - and providing alternatives to human testing, which she deemed wasteful and risky. Yet it was only later, after her husband and sons' intervention after the Echo project, that she began to return to herself. Seeing the horrors she had been party to, she renewed her efforts in undermining Clovis and trying to rescue the people and exos under his "jurisdiction" while also maintaining her position within Braytech.

However, her efforts were only mildly fruitful as some exominds were able to accompany her back to earth during her inspections of the Subminds on Earth. However, all of it would be in vain thanks to the attack of the Black Fleet and the Collapse bringing the utter destruction of Humanity.

Risen - The Dark Ages

Centuries later, Lyn-5 would be found by a ghost named Vesper, a precise, clinical yet faithful ghost who believed he was led to her to find "good in a dark place." They would work together through the Dark Ages as renegade infiltrators and saboteurs until the rise of the Iron Lords, during which they became part of a community in which they encountered a former colleague, Rachel-7.

Newly risen and eager to help make life better, Rachel-7 and her ghost, Whisper, endeavored to improve the quality of life for the mixed community they were a part of at the time. Having made a treaty with the local warlord for favors and services, Rachel-7 was quick to befriend Lyn-5, though Lyn would have a strong distrust of the local warlord. This distrust turned out to be well-founded when she discovered some unusual clues meant to be followed up after a meeting with the Iron Lords.

However, this meeting is interrupted when Vesper gets a distress signal from Whisper, prompting Lyn and her friends amongst the Iron Lords, to come in and rescue her. However, this proves to be a trap set by the warlord for Lyn, whom he intended to torture information out of since his previous victim, Rachel-7, didn't have what he wanted.

Fortunately, the Warlord is overpowered by her allies and forced to withdraw. However, when Lyn comes to rescue Rachel, she and Vesper find both of them scarred nearly to death with Void Light. Utilizing his honed molecular displacement techniques, Vesper uses his fellow ghosts' light to subdue the afflicting Void Light and heal the damaging burns on Whisper.

With his help and that of the Iron Lords' ghosts, Whisper is mended and healed. Unfortunately, in that time, Rachel-7 experienced a rare kind of brain death thanks to the mind hacking her tormentor had used on her, forcing Lyn to return to the place where she was first rezzed in hopes of finding a way to heal her young friend. This led her to her own audio logs which aided her in finding a way to revive Rachel and restore her exomind OS.

With this new-old knowledge, Lyn-5 set to work reinventing a self-repair algorithm based on her own vex-based algorithm. With some time to fix what the warlord had broken, Lyn hoped it would be enough to make up to Rachel for putting her in a position that cost her both her name and her memories.

Since the fall of the Iron Lords, Lyn-5 and her ghost disappeared, presumably killed amongst them, though no further record of her or her ghost has been found.

#info #about muses #Lyn 5 #long post #cw long post #Vesper

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maandarinee · 3 years

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what are all the podcasts you listen to?

anon I'm so glad you asked

Since it is a pretty long list including synopses (stolen from the podcast feed or website because I'm Bad at summaries and in some cases it's been a while since I listened) I'm going to put it under a cut.

I've separated the list into "Complete" (either finished or cancelled) and "Ongoing" podcasts. Some have additional comments by me. Current favorites are marked orange. My eternal beloved are Our Fair City and Wolf 359.

Complete

ars PARADOXICA: "When an experiment in a time much like our own goes horribly awry, Dr. Sally Grissom finds herself stranded in the past and entrenched in the activities of a clandestine branch of the US government. Grissom and her team quickly learn that there's no safety net when toying with the fundamental logic of the universe."

Blackwood: "Five years ago, Molly Weaver, Bryan Anderson, and Nathan Howell started a podcast focused on the local legend of a monster called The Blackwood Bugman. Quickly, the investigation grew out of their control, as they discovered that, not only are the legends seemingly true, many people in Blackwood have turned up dead or disappeared without a trace." --> [this feels like the Blair With Project, but as a podcast. Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

Dreamboy: "Dane, a spun-out musician spending the winter in Cleveland, Ohio, has two main goals: keeping his job at the Pepper Heights Zoo and trying not to waste all his time on Grindr. What he doesn’t expect is to get swept into a story about dreams, about forevers, about flickering lights, about unexplained deaths, about relentless change, and about the parts of ourselves that we wish other people knew to look for. Oh, and also a murderous zebra." --> [very NSFW; does cool things with music! Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

King Fall AM: "...centers on a lonely little mountain town's late-night AM talk radio show and its paranormal, peculiar happenings and inhabitants." --> [cancelled after 100 episodes, ends on a huge cliffhanger]

Our Fair City: "A campy, post-apocalyptic audio drama." --> [I know the description sounds like nothing but just trust me, I love it so much]

Steal the Stars: "...is a gripping noir science fiction thriller in 14 episodes: Forbidden love, a crashed UFO, an alien body, and an impossible heist unlike any ever attempted."

Stellar Firma: "...a weekly Science Fiction, Comedy podcast following the misadventures of Stellar Firma Ltd.'s highest born but lowest achieving planetary designer Trexel Geistman and his bewildered clone assistant David 7. Join them each episode as they attempt to take listener submissions and craft them into the galaxy's most luxurious, most expensive and most questionably designed bespoke planets. However, with Trexel's corporate shark of a line manager Hartro Piltz breathing down their necks and I.M.O.G.E.N., the station's omnipresent and omniinvasive stationwide A.I. monitoring those necks to within 3 decimal places, they'll be lucky to make it a week before being slurried and recycled into raw human resources." --> [semi-improvised, I thought I'd have a problem with the improv bit because that's not usually my thing, but no, I absolutely devoured this]

TANIS: "...is a serialized docudrama about a fascinating and surprising mystery: the myth of Tanis. Tanis is an exploration of the nature of truth, conspiracy, and information. Tanis is what happens when the lines of science and fiction start to blur." [+ spinoff The Last Movie] --> [I have no clue what the hell is going on here]

The Black Tapes: "...is a serialized docudrama about one journalist's searc for truth, her enigmatic subject's mysterious past, and the literal and figurative ghosts that haunt them both."

The Magnus Archives: "...is a weekly horror fiction anthology podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organisation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird. Join new head archivist Jonathan Sims as he attempts to bring a seemingly neglected collection of supernatural statements up to date, converting them to audio and supplementing them with follow-up work from his small but dedicated team. Individually, they are unsettling. Together they begin to form a picture that is truly horrifying because as they look into the depths of the archives, something starts to look back…"

Time:Bombs: "...a new audio drama podcast about the hilarious world of bomb disposal. Ride along with EOD technician Simon Teller on the busiest night of the year for him and his team - when business is, quite literally, booming."

Wolf 359: "Life's not easy for Doug Eiffel, the communications officer for the U.S.S. Hephaestus Research Station, currently on Day 448 of its orbit around red dwarf star Wolf 359. He's stuck on a scientific survey mission of indeterminate length, 7.8 light years from Earth. His only company on board the station are stern mission chief Minkowski, insane science officer Hilbert, and Hephaestus Station's sentient, often malfunctioning operating system Hera. He doesn't have much to do for his job other than monitoring static and intercepting the occasional decades-old radio broadcast from Earth, so he spends most of his time creating extensive audio logs about the ordinary, day-to-day happenings within the station. But the Hephaestus is an odd place, and life in extremely isolated, zero gravity conditions has a way of doing funny things to people's minds. Even the simplest of tasks can turn into a gargantuan struggle, and the most ordinary-seeming things have a way of turning into anything but that." --> [starts funny, turns very intense]

Ongoing

Alba Salix, Roya Physician (+ The Axe & Crown): "A witch, her apprentice, and her fairy herbalist treat the ills of a fairy-tale kingdom." + "Gubbin the troll tavernkeeper deals with his clueless new landlord, his shady niece, and some new competition."

Archive 81: "A found footage horror podcast about ritual, stories, and sound."

Arden: "A (fictional) true crime podcast about cold cases and the reporter and detective who try to solve them."

Brimstone Valley Mall: "The year is 1999. Lurking somewhere between Hot Topic and the food court, five misfit demons from Hell kill time inciting sin in a suburban shopping mall. When the lead singer of their band goes mysteriously missing, the demons only have two weeks to find him before they play the biggest gig of the millennium - or face the wrath of Satan herself."

CARAVAN: "First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary." --> [also pretty NSFW and horny in general]

Death by Dying: "The Obituary Writer of Crestfall, Idaho finds himself deeply in over his head as he investigates a series of strange and mysterious deaths… when he is supposed to simply be writing obituaries. Along the way he encounters murderous farmers, man-eating cats, haunted bicycles, and a healthy dose of ominous shadows." --> [I had to stop listening to this in public because it kept making me undignified laugh and snort noises]

Desperado: "Blood magic, Voodoo magic, old gods, new gods: We've got it all! Follow the story of misfits from all over the world, as they try to survive and protect their heritage from modern-day crusaders."

EOS 10: "Doctors in space, a deposed alien prince, a super gay space pirate and a fiery nurse who'll help you win your bar fight."

Girl In Space: "Abandoned on a dying ship in the farthest reaches of known space, a young scientist fights for survival (and patience with the on-board A.I.). Who is she? No one knows. But a lot of dangerous entities really want to find out. Listen as the story unfolds for science, guns, trust, anti-matter, truth, beauty, inner turmoil, and delicious cheeses. It’s all here. In space."

Janus Descending: "...follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place. Told from two alternating perspectives, Janus Descending is an experience of crossing timelines, as one character describes the nightmare from end to beginning, and the other, from beginning to the end." --> [absolutely harrowing horror]

Love and Luck: "...is a fictional radio play podcast, told via voicemails and set in present day Melbourne, Australia. A slice of life queer romance story with a touch of magic, it follows the relationship between two men, Jason and Kane, as their love grows both for each other and their community." --> [soft and gay, feels like a warm hug]

Potterless: "Join Mike Schubert, a grown man reading the Harry Potter series for the first time, as he sits down with HP fanatics to poke fun at plot holes, make painfully incorrect predictions, and bask in the sassiness of the characters." --> [the only non-fiction podcast on the list]

Primordial Deep: "When a long extinct sea creature washes up on the shores of Coney Island, marine biologist Dr. Marella Morgan is contacted by a secret organization to investigate the origins of the creature’s sudden and unnatural resurgence. Soon, she and a team of experts find themselves living on the research station The Tiamat, traveling along the abyssal plains as they search for answers far below the waves. But there are dangers in these ancient waters. Reawakened, prehistoric monsters are rising from the deep -- jaws wide and waiting, and in the darkness, something is stirring."

Red Valley: "No one at Overhead Industries wants to talk about defunct research station Red Valley, and account man Warren Godby is out of his depth. When he meets Gordon Porlock, a disgruntled archivist with a bag of tapes from the station’s last known occupant, they will begin a journey to the limits of experimental science, confront horror and trauma from the past, present and future, and try to remember the cheat codes from Sonic the Hedgehog 2."

Rusty Quill Gaming: "An actual play podcast following a mixed ability group of comedians, improvisers, gamers, and writers as they play through the extended, tabletop roleplaying campaign Erasing the Line, an original game world of the GM’s crafting." --> [took me a while to get into because I have trouble focusing on non-scripted things, but eventually I got really hooked on the plot and attached to the characters. This podcast is really fucked up at times if you think about it]

SAYER: "A narrative fiction podcast set on Earth’s man-made second moon, Typhon. The eponymous SAYER is a highly advanced, self-aware AI created to help acclimate new residents to their new lives, and their new employment with Ærolith Dynamics." --> [feels like Welcome to Night Vale but narrated by GLaDOS from Portal]

StarTripper!!: "Join Feston Pyxis on a road-trip through the cosmos, as he leaves behind his old life in search of the best and wildest experiences the galaxy has to offer!"

The Amelia Project: "...is a secret agency that fakes its clients' deaths, then lets them reappear with a brand new identity! A black comedy full of secrets, twists... and cocoa."

The Big Loop: "...a biweekly anthology series. Each episode is a self-contained narrative exploring the strange, the wonderful, the terrifying, and the heartbreaking. Stories of finite beings in an infinite universe." --> [I don't like anthologies, except this one]

The Bright Sessions: "Dr. Bright provides therapy for the strange and unusual; their sessions have been recorded for research purposes." --> [think X-Men, but with therapy instead of a school]

The Deca Tapes: "Recordings have surfaced of ten people that are locked into the same space together. We don’t know where they are, or if they'll get out. But the answers must be somewhere on these tapes."

The Silt Verses: "Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories."

The White Vault: "Follow the collected records of a repair team sent to Outpost Fristed in the vast white wastes of Svalbard and unravel what lies waiting in the ice below."

Tides: "...is the story of Dr. Winifred Eurus, a xenobiologist trapped on an unfamiliar planet with hostile tidal forces. She must use her wits, sarcasm and intellectual curiosity to survive long enough to be rescued. But there might be more to life on this planet than she expected." --> [think The Martian, but on a water planet]

Unwell, a Midwestern Gothic Mystery: "Lillian Harper moves to the small town of Mt. Absalom, Ohio, to care for her estranged mother Dorothy after an injury. Living in the town's boarding house which has been run by her family for generations, she discovers conspiracies, ghosts, and a new family in the house's strange assortment of residents."

VAST Horizon: "Nolira is an agronomist tasked with establishing agriculture in a new solar system, but when she wakes up on a now- empty colony ship, the whole of her plan disappears. The ship has been set adrift, with numerous mission-critical problems requiring immediate attendance outside of her area of expertise. Nolira is aided by the ship’s malfunctioning AI, which acts as her confidant and companion during the fight for survival."

Victoriocity: "Even Greater London, 1887. In this vast metropolis, Inspector Archibald Fleet and journalist Clara Entwhistle investigate a murder, only to find themselves at the centre of a conspiracy of impossible proportions."

We Fix Space Junk: "...follows seasoned smuggler Kilner and reluctant fugitive Samantha as they travel the galaxy, dodging bullets and meeting strange and wonderful beings as they carry out odd jobs on the fringes of the law."

Welcome to Night Vale: "Twice-monthly community updates for the small desert town of Night Vale, where every conspiracy theory is true. Turn on your radio and hide."

Within the Wires: "Stories told through found audio from an alternate universe."

Wooden Overcoats: "Rudyard Funn and his equally miserable sister Antigone run their family's failing funeral parlour, where they get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. But one day they find everyone enjoying themselves at the funerals of a new competitor - the impossibly perfect Eric Chapman! With their dogsbody Georgie, and a mouse called Madeleine, the Funns are taking drastic steps to stay in the business…" --> [one of THE funniest podcasts I have ever listened to]

#ask #anon #please talk to me about podcasts at all times #podcasts #podcast recommendations

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doctorslippery · 4 years

Link

1. Omnichrist Self-Deliverance Activation Front: Born of a therapeutic exercise wherein several people who believed themselves to be Jesus were put in a room together to discuss their mutually exclusive claims to messiahhood. They came out with the conviction that not only were all of them Jesus, but that every other human being on Earth was also Jesus and had yet to realize it. Aggressively missionary and rapidly expanding, its self-actualization rhetoric appealing in particular to younger single mothers. The Activation Front has been accused of kidnapping and cult-style conditioning, however these accusations have been deemed baseless by panels of experts who may themselves be Activation Front members.

2. Dark Marxism: A contrary offshoot of Marxist analysis which holds that Capital is in fact a god incarnating itself through digital technology and totalizing cybernetic systems of control. It further holds that resistance to this god is blasphemous, and that the only place for humanity in the coming order is to usher in and behold its world-devouring glory. Espousing Dark Marxist beliefs is currently trendy among young finance and tech professionals.

3. Wealth-Hack Immortalism: A combined religion and suicide pact that emerged from an anime imageboard. It argues on the basis of many-worlds theory and quantum immortality that if adherents make a sincere attempt at killing themselves because they don't have enough money they will be translated into a universe where they gain enough money that they will no longer intend to kill themselves (leaving a corpse behind in this world in the process). It also has a culture of cryptocurrency investment and pump-and-dump scams. Drops in the price of favoured currencies are blamed on "ascended brothers" trying to convince their remaining peers to follow them to immense wealth, popularity, and romantic success with women. Those who fail to kill themselves are shamed as "will-mogged" and "genetically destined to be wagie" by their peers.

4. Les Fleurons Glorieux: An ultra-nationalist Canadian civic religion founded by a follower of Helena Blavatsky in the late 19th century. They claimed to channel the ghost of Sir John A. Macdonald, as well as the principality of Canada, who told them to gather true patriots to be the heroes of coming centuries. The Fleurons venerate this principality as a necessary national intermediary to God, as well as a pantheon of great Canadian figures. Their lobbying led to Ontario government buildings being required to have a shrine to the principality of Canada maintained somewhere within (often on a top shelf in a less-used closet). Politically the Fleurons lean towards federalism and autarky. Fleuronic rites include poetry readings, parading the flag, wearing turn of the 20th century clothing, reenactments of the defeat of the United States in the War of 1812, and ceremonial fur hunts.

5. Crucifixion Truthism: A branch of American Evangelicalism with even closer than usual political ties with Israel. Its central tenet is that it is not the Jewish people who are to blame for Christ's crucifixion, but rather Palestinians, and so any treatment of them by the Israeli government is justified. Several Truthists have been implicated in "demolition tours", vacations where they rent armoured bulldozers and drive them through the Gaza Strip.

6. Immanentized Virtual Utopianism: A religio-techno-political project kicked off by a collective of "tankie" hackers inspired by Cosmism. Rather than the outer space of Cosmism, they were convinced that human salvation lied within the inner space of virtual reality. They pooled their resources and technical expertise to begin construction of a commune-facility where everyone could be plugged into a majestic simulated reality (as well as feeding and waste disposal tubes) where all their needs and desires could be met without limit. Despite early success with their invention and patenting of the "saccadic mouse" the full dream of the commune has yet to be realized, and is currently realized only in the upper echelon playing solar-powered video games all day while their acolytes roll them to prevent bed sores from forming.

7. Eternally With Herism: A support group-turned-religion that sprung up after the election of Donald Trump. E.W. Herism maintains that Hillary Clinton is both the incarnation of the transcendent maternal principle, as well as the true winner of the 2016 American election. However due to peoples' lack of faith in her we were cursed to perceive an illusory world where she did not. Practices to perceive this true reality include guided meditation, imbibing deliriant-infused wine, and ritualized brunch. Since the election of Joe Biden many adherents of E.W. Herism believe that due to their diligence the illusory world has graduated from hell to a sort of purgatory.

8. Psychophenotypism: Suddenly erupted into existence and popularity on a forum for the involuntarily celibate during an argument over "taking the pink pill" and "transmaxxing". It teaches that what we know about biology is a lie created to hoard "sexual market value", that the shape of the body is determined primarily by one's own mind, and that biofeedback techniques and pseudo-cognitive behavioural therpaeutic exercises could bring about a more complete transition than hormones and surgery. A helpful set of infographics was quickly put together to explain all this.

Several charismatic leaders appeared within the Psychophenotypic movement, who began to feud over the feasibility and desirability of "interracial transitioning", as well as hatred toward illiberal political beliefs for denying "the autonomous individual will". These feuds escalated into identity theft and physical violence, which attracted a subculture of anomie-afflicted street brawlers to bounce between the newly formed Psychophenotypic sects.

9. The Lord's Reclamation Brigade: An Australian heterodox Christian sect and designated terrorist group. They believe that all non-Christian religions (and many Christian sects which do not agree with them) worship the Devil, and that their sacred sites must be destroyed and replaced with churches to reclaim that part of the world from the grasp of evil. The LRB gain international notoriety for an attempt to plant dynamite on Uluru, and "forced baptism" attacks on people of Middle Eastern and Indian descent that have resulted in two drownings to date. Despite police crackdowns the sect has survived due to its decentralized internet presence and recruitment from a wider "kiddie pool" of non-violent fans of the sect's video interpretations of current events as signs of the end times, and public appearances and statements of Australian politicians interpreted as secret signs of either support for the LRB or diabolic influence.

10. Retrotemporal Jǫrðism: A neo-neopagan faith invented whole-cloth by a twitter user with the pseudonym (((Einstein-Rosen)))BridgeGroyper, who claimed to have been sent back in time from a "based ecofash future". Jǫrðism promoted outdoor exercise, an unprocessed diet, avoidance of pornography and masturbation, and belief that white people are the true indigenous population of all continents. Its founder claimed that this all was necessary to bring about their own timeline, wherein humanity lived in harmony with nature in "localist cottagecore hamlets".

The faith suffered a crippling blow after (((Einstein-Rosen)))BridgeGroyper led a wilderness retreat for top Patreon donours to "rediscover [their] primordial whiteness". On the retreat the founder was attacked and eaten by a grizzly bear, which was in turn killed and eaten by some of the donours, who contracted trichinosis. After this event the faith split between true believers who believed the camping guide was an impostor and a "fed", and the Apostles of the Temporal Flesh who believe that currently existing nature to be a collection of Jewish GMOs which must be exterminated and replaced with the true biosphere lying in wait in the hollow Earth.

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silvokrent · 4 years

Text

Slings and Arrows

Some wrongs cannot be righted. It’s a lesson Pietro learns a lifetime too late.

[The rise and fall of Dr. Arthur Watts, M.D., PhD.]

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number—” The rustle of papers was followed by a sigh. “—test number sixty-four. Initiating.”

The monitor on his desk whirred to life. Pietro watched the numbers on the holographic screen climb as the program ran the simulation. Thirty seconds without anomalies. A minute. He knew better than to get his hopes up, but the longer the systems operated without rejection, the harder it was to suppress the mutinous optimism at the back of his head. Maybe, this time, he’d finally found the right—

The monitor let out a dejected-sounding beep, and the screen flashed.

Insufficient variables. Analysis results too unstable for implantation.

Only when he slumped back in his seat did Pietro realize how tightly he’d been gripping the arms of the chair. He tapped at his scroll and activated the audio function.

“Test number sixty-four was unsuccessful. The simulated Aura was deemed too structurally unstable to survive grafting to a biotechnic lattice. Recommend recalibrating the values for ω, λ, and ρ to increase viability. Describe what mistakes were made.” Pietro contemplated the scroll in his hand, before lifting it to his face and smacking it into his forehead. Repeatedly. “My mistake was deciding to pursue a degree in bioengineering, followed by the even bigger mistake of my alma mater handing me a diploma. All other setbacks are incidental. End recording.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Pietro called up the diagram from earlier. The hologram cast his office in various shades of blue light that, while it had a calming effect on him, unveiled the minefield of loose papers, folders, and post-it notes that had become his workspace.

For a moment, he considered setting aside a day in his schedule to reorganize his desk. Only when he couldn’t find his calendar did he remember why it had gotten so bad in the first place.

His calendar was buried somewhere underneath.

Brokenly, Pietro stared at the untamed bed of chaos before him. On one hand, he needed to clean his desk. On the other hand, incineration was faster, and the chemistry lab had a blowtorch.

“You look desperately in need of this,” said a voice from behind.

The unexpected drawl startled Pietro out of his thoughts. He swiveled around in his chair to the sight of Arthur Watts leaning against the doorframe, a steaming mug in each hand. Judging by the amused smirk, he’d been there for some time.

“Arthur!” Pietro minimized the program with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

His friend stepped inside and carefully kicked the door shut with his heel. He strode across the room and reclined into the vacant chair opposite of him, ankle propped on his knee. He held out the second mug. “Kuo Kuana roast. Extra cream, and enough sugar to give you every cardiovascular disease known to man.”

Pietro accepted the offered drink, and for a moment simply held it to his face. The aromatic scent was blue water and white sand, and it never failed to make him nostalgic for the coast. He let out a long, quiet exhale that took some of the tension from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said, “but how did you—?”

“I saw the lights on under the door and took an educated guess,” Watts said. He took a draught from his own mug before continuing: “The janitors left at the end of the day, and no one else is unhinged enough to stay after hours.”

Pietro arched a brow. “Apart from you?”

Watts snorted. “I had a meeting that I couldn’t reschedule.”

“At ten o’clock at night?”

“I made the mistake of postponing one too many times. They couldn’t be dissuaded.”

They lapsed into companionable silence. Pietro indulged in his coffee while Watts picked up a folder and flipped through it at random.

The company was a welcome respite, and not just because it came bearing gifts.

Their office arrangement had started off rather unextraordinarily, all things considered. Handing off paperwork, returning a piece of equipment, passing along department memos—the sort of banal normalcy one would expect between colleagues. Pietro hadn’t begrudged the unexpected interruptions from Watts (quite the opposite, in fact), and Watts never protested when Pietro ventured into his space long enough to drop something off.

Only a few months after becoming acquainted did Pietro notice the shift in their interactions. It had been subtle at first: an animated conversation during a faculty meeting that led to Pietro following Watts back to his office to continue the topic. A request from Watts for a second opinion on a patient chart, which led to Watts loitering in Pietro’s office long after he’d humored him. A day where Watts had cleared his schedule to allow Pietro to vent about his latest experiment following an incident in the labs.

It hadn’t taken long for the intrusions to devolve from legitimate reasons to half-contrived pretenses. The reed that broke the Dromedon’s back had been a memorable afternoon where Pietro’s office door swung open, and Watts—bag strap slung around one arm, a stack of documents tucked under the other—announced that he needed somewhere to hide from his interns, and no one would think to look for him here.

There were, admittedly, more unconventional ways to start a friendship, though Pietro hardly minded. Especially not after Watts had treated him to dinner as an apology for the inconvenience.

It was an aspect of their relationship Pietro was both fond of and deeply appreciated, though he was tactful enough to not comment on it aloud. Watts wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. (Though the steaming mug in his hand begged to differ.)

He watched as the other man returned the folder to its original spot in exchange for a file.

“No luck, I take it?” The question was as much rhetorical as it was a tacit invitation to brainstorm. Pietro gladly accepted.

“I had a thought after yesterday’s meeting: ‘What if it’s quantitative rather than permutational? Maybe we only need to adjust the inputs rather than the sequence.’” He shot a rueful glance at the monitor. “You can imagine how that went. It feels like the answer’s staring right at me and I’m too stupid to see it.”

“If you were stupid”—Watts turned the page, not bothering to look up—“we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.” He took another sip from his mug. “Sleep-deprived, on the other hand…”

“Can you blame me?” Pietro asked.

This time, Watts did look up.

“We’ve been at this for six months and have nothing to show for it. We’re running out of time.”

Watts set the file down. “James never stipulated a deadline,” he murmured.

“No,” Pietro agreed, “but he’s not the only person we have to justify ourselves to.”

“If this is about the lien, I wouldn’t fret. As long as our funding comes from the military, they’re not going to pull the plug.”

Pietro frowned at the drink in his hands, at the contemplative reflection that mirrored his own. “James may have greenlit the project, but that doesn’t change the fact that the military budget comes from tax revenue. The other councilors get a say in how that money is allocated. And if they think our research is a waste of public resources…”

An uneasy quiet fell between them, and it was telling that Watts didn’t immediately refute him or attempt to assuage his concerns.

For lack of anything constructive to say, Pietro sighed. “For thousands of years we consumed willow bark as an analgesic. When people learned that salicin was the culprit, a chemist learned how to make it from scratch. Pharmacies around the world now manufacture and distribute that medication to millions of people.” He leaned back into his seat. “How is it that we figured out how to make an artificial compound, but we can’t figure out how to make an artificial Aura?”

“Well—” Watts motioned with his drink in a vague sort of gesture. “That might have something to do with acetylsalicylic acid being a synthetic chemical, and Aura being the manifestation of the soul. They’re not exactly analogous.” He stroked his chin. “It would also be remiss of me not to point out that up until a few centuries ago, pneumatophysicists were regularly executed for heresy. It’s not as if we have the breakthroughs of our predecessors to build upon.”

A weak, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. Reflexively, Pietro combed through his hair.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” Frustrating might have been putting it charitably. Pietro still had half a mind to fetch that blowtorch.

A knowing look crept across his handsome features, though Watts deigned only to shrug in response. Obstacles and setbacks were held in a similar estimation to success; they seldom bothered him. Nonetheless, he offered, perhaps by way of consolation, “Nothing worth doing is ever easy.”

“I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for possible,” said Pietro, “and right now, we’ve hit a dead end.”

The holographic diagram from earlier rematerialized over his desk—a simulated Aura field superimposed atop the three-dimensional render of an android. He parsed through the accompanying schematics with a wave of his hand, calling forth and highlighting relevant segments of data.

“We know that Aura is related to the sum product of a person’s neurological pathways, because it’s the same system responsible for generating consciousness.” Pietro activated the synaptic filter. A branching web of neurons lit up the hologram in tandem with the Aura field. “Here’s the problem. Functionally and behaviorally they’re similar, so you’d think replicating one system would mean the simultaneous generation of the other, right? But it doesn’t work like that.” His brow furrowed. “Not only is Aura’s reliance on this system facultative, but it verges on metaphysical. It means that we’re missing something. You can break down the physiology of the CNS and PNS into all the various electrochemical signals, but the second you try to do the same thing with Aura—”

He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist, and slumped in his chair.

“I’m starting to think James picked the wrong proposal,” he quietly admitted. “At least yours didn’t hinge on reconciling a decades-long conflict between pneumatophysical models and—”

“Self-pity doesn’t become you.”

The brusque statement startled Pietro out of his rambling. It only took a second of being subjected to Watts’ flat, unimpressed stare before Pietro ducked his head.

Watts snorted under his breath. “For better or worse, the general picked your proposal. You have an obligation to not fail, so I suggest you pull yourself together.”

Embarrassment quickly faded to mild annoyance. “You’re as sobering as a cold shower. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Watts’ expression softened. “Sometimes a little cold helps to clear the head.” There was thoughtful pause before he unhooked his ankle and leaned forward, elbows braced against his legs. “You know,” he began, “success isn’t always contingent on understanding.”

Coming from the man who actively condemned ignorance, that surprised him. Pietro stilled with the mug halfway to his lips. “True,” he conceded, lowering the coffee back to his lap. “But I don’t think we’re in a position to trip over the answer like it’s a sleeping cat.”

Another pause followed, longer than the one that preceded it.

“What if we had a way to circumvent it?”

“What do you mean?”

With a soft thunk Watts set his mug on the desk. “Your proposal requires grafting an Aura onto a mechanical vessel. It never specified where that Aura came from,” he said. “Whether it was artificially created…or acquired from somewhere else.”

He laced his fingers together.

“Someone else, perhaps.”

He’d been told more than once that he had a terrible poker face. Clearly that hadn’t changed, if the way Watts pursed his lips was anything to go by.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not suggesting we go abduct people and harvest their organs in a back alley.” He rolled his eyes. “I would hope you’d have a somewhat higher opinion of me.”

“You have a way with words, Arthur. A questionable and slightly terrifying way with them.” Pietro fidgeted with his tie. “Let’s, for the moment, ignore all of the potential obstacles involved. Like receiving an extension on our funding to cover any unanticipated costs. Or getting approval from the Atlesian Ethics Committee to perform an unregulated and untested surgery on a patient. Or even finding a candidate who would willingly consent to such a procedure. Even if we hypothetically resolved all of those issues, we’d still be left with a problem.”

“Only the one?” asked Watts. He arched a slender brow. “Very well, I’ll bite. Enlighten me.”

Another frown tugged at his lips. “Even if we found a way to perform such a surgery, removing even a fraction could be fatal. You can’t survive without Aura.”

“That’s not, strictly speaking, true.” The mug had made its way back into his hand. Watts idly traced the rim with a finger. “I’ve treated patients with Chronic Aura Degradation before. It’s not uncommon to see cases where up to 45% of the Aura was eroded. And in every one of those cases, the patient survived with weekly EMF-DS therapy.”

Pietro shook his head. “You, better than anyone, know that ‘survived’ isn’t the same thing as ‘cured.’”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Forgive me if I insinuated otherwise. I only meant that regular treatments resulted in a negligible impact on their quality of life.”

“I’m not denying that.” Only when Watts stilled his hand, and began circling the rim in the opposite direction, did Pietro realize he was staring. He snapped his head up and cleared his throat. “But that’s an archotheronotic disease. You’re talking about using Auratic intercision to create a manmade version of CAD. There’s no telling what that would do to the donor, or if the amount of Aura donated would even be enough to sustain an entirely new person.”

Watts conceded with a sigh. “It’s just a thought.”

It wasn’t the most outlandish thing Pietro had heard—the staff breakroom regularly churned out weirder ideas on a weekly basis, and gods knew he’d contributed to quite a few of those himself.

Still…

“I’m not opposed to alternatives,” he replied at last, “but I can’t imagine anyone condoning a surgery that mimics a Grimm-based illness. The controversy alone would be a nightmare.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted.”

Watts made a noncommittal noise as he stood.

“Scientific progress has always been controversial. What matters is how we deal with it.” He lightly clapped a hand on Pietro’s shoulder. The residual warmth from the mug lingered; it was oddly soothing. “Do me a favor, and try to get some rest?” He smirked, and the hand retreated. “Sleep on my suggestion. See if you’re not better disposed to it in the morning.”

Pietro sipped at his coffee, eyes crinkled in amusement. “I’ll pass on the sleep for now.” He motioned with the cup. “Keep these coming though and you might just persuade me.”

Watts let out a low chuckle. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned on his heel for the door, tossing a parting glance over his shoulder. “Good night, Pietro.”

Pietro smiled into his drink. “Good night, Arthur.”

“—has to be something we haven’t thought of yet.”

“We could give the pneumatograph another go. Run the Dust vortex generator with different configurations.”

“And waste more Dust in the process. Repeating the same tests isn’t going to get us any closer to generating an Aura.”

“Okay. Well, what about Grimm exposure trials? We could map out field fluctuations and look for any biopenumatic discrepancies.”

“After what happened last time? We’d be lucky if the Grimmoire loaned us a bloody paperclip, let alone a Boarbatusk. Try again.”

Will pulled a face as he crossed out a line on the clipboard, before tossing the pen back to Watts. He cast the cages lining the wall a glum look. “I guess we could go back to rodent models,” he said.

The mice Pietro was feeding began to squeakily protest. He lapsed into momentary silence before agreeing, though not without some reluctance. “It couldn’t hurt.” Not in the technical sense, anyway. But if the thought of their work regressing back to animal trials didn’t sting a little. Given the dwindling list of alternatives, however, he wasn’t about to object.

One of the mice nosed at his hand, and Pietro obligingly scratched it between the ears. “I’ll fill out the requisition forms. It shouldn’t take more than a day to get the approval.”

“As long as the technicians remember to give us an Aura-active batch,” Will added. “Last time they forgot.”

Their conversation petered out, replaced by the high-pitched din of the mice and the clink of the pellets in their food bowls. Pietro sealed the latch on the enclosure and placed the dispenser on the nearby counter, thinking.

“Even in a worst-case scenario, if the rodent models end up not working out, we could always repurpose our findings for later studies. Once the Penny Project is over”—though whether or not they succeeded, he chose not to theorize on—“if we can get the grant money for it, well, who knows? Apothymetics is relatively uncharted territory, and it’d be a shame to see all those mice go to waste…”

Watts slowly lowered the chart in his hands, and pinned him with the full intensity of his stare. “You want to run tests…on the mice…to see if you can unlock their Semblances,” he said. He broke apart his sentence as if he were running it through a translator.

Pietro shrugged. “It’s theoretically possible. If an animal can unlock an Aura, by extension it should be able to acquire a Semblance. Haven’t you ever wondered what that would look like?”

Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to speculate on the possibilities of the hypothetical. Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to see what sort of face his friend would make. Watts had yet to disappoint.

He watched with delight as Watts squinted his eyes, as if the mere idea were an affront to common decency. “No,” he said, “I haven’t wondered what that would look like. Perhaps my imagination isn’t as vivid as yours, but I’d rather not contemplate the horror of a 700-kilogram polar bear learning how to run at Mach 1, let alone a lab rat.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Arthur,” Will chimed in, in a voice far too casual to be anything but. “Think of all the possibilities. Telekinetic service dogs. Self-cloning chickens.”

“We could solve world hunger,” Pietro said. This time he was unable to suppress a grin.

It took a second for Watts to register the look on his face; his expression evened out, and he let out a loud sigh. “Stop enabling him, Will. He doesn’t need a co-conspirator.”

“I thought you were my co-conspirator,” said Pietro, feigning a look of wounded betrayal.

“No. I’m your impulse control. And I seem to doing a rather poor job as of late.” Watts jotted something on the chart in his hands, his brow momentarily furrowed in concentration. “Those mice are supposed to be euthanized anyway. I doubt they’d let you repurpose them for another project, even if you pitched it as a financial incentive.”

Pietro considered. “I can be persuasive.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

Will set the clipboard next to the dispenser and leaned back, his amusement tempered with intrigue. “I know you were kidding—mostly—but eventually, someone else is going to ask the same question, and they won’t be. Sooner or later, it’s going to be proven or disproven.”

“With any luck, they’ll disprove it,” Watts replied. “It’s already bad enough when people unlock their Semblances.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure Huntsmen need those.”

“Huntsmen, certainly. Their line of work requires it.” Watts glanced up from the chart. “The average person, on the other hand, would frankly be better off without.”

“Come off it, Arthur. I know we’re supposed be scientists and demystifying this stuff, but…” Will shrugged. “You can’t deny that it’s a little exciting for someone to try and imagine what their Semblance might be.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right. It’s very exciting when someone with no training accidentally unlocks their Semblance, only to discover they now wield the power of fire, and proceed to give themselves a second-degree burn.” He clicked the pen, and pocketed it in the folds of his lab coat. “That was last Tuesday, by the way.”

Will crossed his arms. “I take it you wouldn’t want to find out what yours is?”

“If I was going to do something that permanent and that irrationally stupid, I’d get a tattoo on my left—”

A scroll dinged. Will jumped like a tasered cat, and fished through his pockets until he found it. “It’s Meg.” The sudden tension eased from his shoulders as his eyes darted over the screen. “She just wanted to let me know how the appointment went.”

Pietro’s eyes lit up. “How is she?”

“Good. She’s due in another nine weeks.” Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from his scroll. “Since I need to call her, now seems like as good a time as any to take a lunch break.” He started for the door. “I’m heading to the cafeteria. Do either of you want anything?”

“Pastrami on rye. Toasted,” Watts called after him.

“If they have any tuna salad left, I wouldn’t say no,” Pietro added.

Will gave a parting wave as he slipped out the door, the scroll already held to his face.

There was a brief silence, filled by the squeaks of tiny mice.

“So.” Pietro side-eyed the other man. “Where did you say you were putting that tattoo?”

Watts swatted him with the chart.

With nothing else to distract them for the time being, Pietro dug out his scroll and consulted his schedule.

“Busy this afternoon?” Watts prompted.

“Nothing too exciting. The hospital wants me to review some patient files and see if I’d be willing to consult on them. And around three I’ve got an appointment with a new client needing cybernetic optimal implants. The insurance company approved her for a fully-integrated interface, similar to the model James has.”

“Which reminds me…” Watts turned his attention to his own scroll. “I need to notify him about his follow-up. His prostheses are due for inspection.”

“Good luck getting him out of his office.” At his inquiring look, Pietro elaborated: “The Vytal Festival’s next month. He’s been busy overseeing the travel arrangements for his students.”

“Damn it. I forgot that was coming up.” Watts pinched the bridge of his nose, before skimming back over his calendar. “Well, at least I’ll have one appointment today that won’t be akin to pulling teeth.”

“Oh?”

“A new client by the name of Rainart. It seems he needs treatment for acute Dust poisoning.”

“Collier?”

“He didn’t say.”

Pietro tagged a file on his scroll and dismissed it from the queue. “We’ll need to meet with the rest of the team and make sure our schedules are coordinated,” he stated. “I think tomorrow would—”

“Hold on.” He hadn’t realized Watts was reading over his shoulder, and didn’t register the proximity until he felt a puff of air on the side of his neck. The sudden presence startled him. “Go back to the last tab.”

He shot him a puzzled look, but obliged him all the same. “This one?” He tapped the screen and enlarged it.

“Why did you pass on this case?” asked Watts.

Pietro peered at the text. “‘Name: Mia Atelier. Age: 19. Patient is in a hypothermia-induced coma and has been unresponsive to all attempts to resuscitate.’” He frowned. “There’s nothing I can do that the hospital staff haven’t already tried, I’m afraid.”

Watts took a step back, his eyes narrowed. After a moment he returned to his scroll. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number seventy-one. Initiating.”

The monitor gave a powerful thrum as the simulation booted up. Other than the pneumatic hiss of the internal fans, their silence was uninterrupted. A hand reassuringly squeezed his shoulder, though Pietro didn’t bother to find out whose it was. He didn’t dare look away.

As quickly as it began, the program aborted. An all-too familiar error message flashed counterpoint to the readouts on the screen.

The team let out a collective sigh.

Pietro willed himself through the motion of activating the audio function on his scroll.

“Test number seventy-one was unsuccessful. The recalibrations based on the gravid murine analysis didn’t provide the missing variable for the Aura simulation. It’s possible that the in-utero pneumatographic scans failed to identify the unknown factors necessary for generating and implanting an Aura. Recommendations for subsequent tests are…” It dawned on him midway through that he didn’t know where to go next. “…The team will reconvene to discuss further options. End recording,” he finished.

For lack of anything better to do, Pietro buried his face in his hand. Around him the voices of his colleagues stirred, their chatter sounding strangely far away.

“I really thought we had it that time.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. We modeled it after a gestating animal. What the hell could we have possibly missed?”

“Maybe the issue is what we’re modeling. What if we replicated the scans on a more complex organism?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure the guys in obstetrics would love that. ‘Can we borrow one of your patients for nine months? We just want to run some non-invasive tests.’”

“Hey, Will, how do you feel about offering up your firstborn child in the name of science?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?”

“I suggest we go down to the pub on Baker Street and put our funding to good use.”

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to do that after you succeed, not before.”

“What about you, Arthur? You’re being unusually quiet.”

Pietro peered up from between his fingers to where Watts stood, inspecting the hologram of the simulated Aura field. Light from the projection struck the side of his face, carving out the angles in shadows.

“I think,” he said, “we should consider alternatives.”

It wasn’t an opinion shared by the majority of the faculty, but Pietro liked the distance between the buildings.

Admittedly, there were drawbacks to the layout. For example, when back-to-back classes were scheduled on opposite sides of the campus, it was fairly common to see students and professors alike sprinting between lecture halls.

Personally, Pietro enjoyed the sweeping courtyards. The altitude of the city meant a steady supply of brisk air, along with an unobstructed view of the stars that no amount of light pollution could diminish. If nothing else, the long walk between buildings gave him a chance to declutter his thoughts after hours spent cooped up in his office. Given the excuse, he gladly jumped at any opportunity to walk the grounds.

Not that he really needed the excuse, he mused, as he approached Watts’ office.

Pietro went to knock, only to be stilled by a snippet of conversation that filtered through the door.

“—understand your concerns. Rest assured, the surgical theater is still reserved for then. I spoke with the administrator at the medical center this morning, and received confirmation for the private transport. Everything else has been taken care of.”

Pietro was careful not to cause too much of a disturbance as he slipped into the chair across from him. Watts greeted him with a nod, before turning his attention back to the call.

“Certainly. We can discuss your daughter’s treatment plan afterward. I’d rather not burden you with undue stress in the meanwhile. If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

He set aside the scroll on his desk. “You’re here earlier than usual,” he noted. “Either something went extremely well, or horribly wrong. Which was it?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” The joints in his shoulder popped as Pietro stretched. “Remember those parts I ordered? The shipment was delayed another week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I presume there’s a silver lining?”

“Well,” he said, “the original plan was to spend the next three days working on the rotary cannon for the Colossus prototype. But seeing as that’s no longer possible…” He leaned forward, hands clapped on his knees. “I know you’re not usually a fan of ‘that hideous blood sport,’ but the doubles rounds start tonight and the matches have been pretty good so far. Everyone’s getting together later in the staff breakroom to watch. The betting pool this year is pretty sizable, too.” He offered a sheepish grin. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

Watts smirked. “Of course not.”

“But—if you’re still opposed to watching the Tournament—” Pietro shrugged. “My weekend’s free. We could make plans to do something. If you’re interested.”

Watts inclined his head, green eyes half-lidded in thought. After a pause he averted his gaze to his hands, neatly folding them atop one another. “As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, I have a flight this evening. I’ll be out of the capital for a day or two.”

That caught him off-guard. “You didn’t tell me you were heading down to Mantle.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m heading to Argus.”

“You’re leaving the country?”

“Hardly. With how much the city relies on trade with Atlas, it might as well be part of the kingdom.” He dismissively waved his hand. “But, yes. I’m overseeing a procedure there.”

It took Pietro a moment to conceal his disappointment behind a consolatory smile. “Well, what can you do.” He scoured his brain for any recent mention of traveling during the last few conversations, and surprisingly drew a blank. “I’m guessing this was last-second on your part. A new patient, I take it?”

“Something to that effect.”

“Well”—Pietro hopped to his feet—“if you’ve got an airship to catch then I won’t hold you up. I’m sure you want to get out of here and pack.” He quirked a brow. “Just so you know, I’ll be very upset if you don’t bring me back a souvenir.”

Watts rolled his eyes. “I’ll stop at the hospital gift shop on my way out,” he drawled, without a hint of sincerity.

Pietro laughed. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He made it as far as the threshold when a voice called him back: “Pietro.”

Watts was shuffling a stack of papers on his desk—a pointless gesture, with how meticulous his workspace already was. He spoke without meeting his gaze: “When I return, I’d like to discuss some ideas I had for your project. I might have found a solution.”

His pulse quickened. “Are you—are you sure?” Pietro asked.

The rearranged stack was pushed off to the side. “I will be after tomorrow.”

When he got the news a week later, Pietro stared out his office window, and didn’t move for a long time.

“That girl’s blood is on your hands.”

“Don’t you dare say I took a choice away from her.”

Pietro hesitated outside the imposing metal doors. Announcing his presence would have been the right thing to do—something he should have done ten minutes ago—but a sense of dread, morbid curiosity, and some other nameless instinct stayed the impulse. Instead he leaned closer, only just able to discern the pair of muffled voices on the other side.

“She was dying. What was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for the hospital board to convene and debate the ethics? They would have wasted precious seconds wringing their hands and fretting over indemnification, while I had a chance to save her life.”

James’ voice was taut with the tension of a fraying rope. “And you failed.”

“People die from surgical complications every day,” Watts snapped. “We can’t save everyone. But we can try, and I did. She may be dead, but the contributions her death made have advanced our understanding of—”

“‘Contributions’? Do you hear yourself?”

Pietro nearly forgot to breathe in the deafening silence.

“You didn’t do this out of some misguided altruism,” James said. “You did it to satisfy your own curiosity.”

“I did it because she was running out of time and options. A transfer of consciousness by incising her Aura and siphoning it into a receptive vessel was the only way to ensure her survival. What other options were there?”

“Hospice.” The word was ground out through clenched teeth.

“If you’re waiting for me to grovel to you for clemency,” said Watts, “then you’ll be waiting for some time. I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh, really? Is that you why you had your patient shipped to a hospital in another kingdom so you could perform an illegal surgery?”

Pietro flinched.

“As I’ve explained to you numerous times, the procedure is illegal under Atlesian law. Mistral, on the other hand, has no such qualms when it comes to the implementation of pioneering medical research.”

“Hiding behind a loophole doesn’t change the fact that you manipulated her emotionally-compromised parents!” A fist slammed against the desk. “You knew they were desperate, and you knew they would say yes if there was even the slightest chance they could get their daughter back. Their consent was based solely on the premise that your theoretical procedure might work.”

“It’s not theoretical anymore.” The words saturated the air, like the ozone that preceded lightning. “I proved that it can be done. My efforts, while unsuccessful, weren’t a failure. We can take what I learned from her death and repurpose it—”

“That’s enough.”

Pietro recoiled from the shout. Then he realized what he’d done, and quickly repositioned himself next to the door.

“Did you know…” Shoes scuffed over the tiled floor, across the sunken dais. “During the height of the Great War, Mantle oversaw the detainment of captured soldiers. In time, their wardens saw little benefit in expending resources on them if there wasn’t some use for all of those people.” The pacing stopped. “Eventually, Mantle did find a use for them. They were experimented on. When the war came to a close, hundreds of people had perished. The textbooks never fail to recount that.”

Watts took a steadying breath. “What they often conveniently omit is that many of the technologies we have today were born from those experiments. Analgesics, psychotropic drugs, new surgical tools…and neuroprostheses.”

A pause.

“The metal grafted to your body exists because prisoners of war bled for it. You can’t ridicule my work and absolve yourself of hypocrisy.”

When James’ reply came, it was dangerously soft: “For better or worse, we have that technology.”

“For better or worse, we could have had one more,” Watts retorted. “How does condemning my choices justify yours?”

James exhaled through his nose, and his tone evened out into something approximating his regular speech. “Because I don’t condone the loss of lives, or the dehumanization of people. I didn’t participate in the atrocities that brought us those advancements.”

“No. You only benefited from them. Tell me, James. How many more people do you think will suffer needlessly in the future because you stymied my research? Inaction will deprive future generations.”

“Whereas action will slaughter the current one,” James shot back. “The ends don’t justify the means. You know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gambled on asking for forgiveness over permission, had the girl actually lived.”

Neither man spoke into the yawning chasm that filled the space between them.

“…I didn’t want her to die, James.” An unfamiliar emotion crept into his voice.

James sighed. “I didn’t call you here to debate your motives. What’s done is done.”

When Watts spoke again, the question was accompanied by unease: “Then why did you arrange this meeting?”

“To discuss the consequences with you.”

“Am I being arrested?”

“Not presently, no,” James said. “The Council hasn’t formally issued any charges, and they won’t until they meet to discuss the matter in-depth.”

“If I’m not being arrested,” Watts ventured, “then what consequences are you talking about?”

The general’s reply was delayed. “I spoke with the Medical Board. Your license has been suspended.”

Pietro’s blood ran cold.

“On what grounds?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

“Malpractice.”

“You can’t place me on probation for a law I didn’t break—”

“Arthur.”

The interruption killed whatever momentum he’d gathered. When no more protests were forthcoming, James continued: “It wasn’t my call.”

Another gap in the conversation followed, shorter than the ones before it.

“If the Board’s intention was to simply strip me of my license, they could have easily done so without involving you. If the Council plans to do nothing yet, then this meeting is a waste of our time.” His confusion faded, replaced with wariness. “Why am I really here, James?”

“…I want you to understand,” James began, “that I arranged this meeting as a courtesy. I didn’t want you to be in the dark about events going forward—”

“Why am I here?”

Pietro could picture James steepling his hands, tightening his jaw.

“As you’re aware, the Penny Project is a classified military project. Your surgery appropriated that research, and you performed it on a civilian.”

“My research”—Watts bristled—“was based on an archotheronotic disease. Where I drew my inspiration is irrelevant.”

“The other councilors might not have letters after their names, but they’re not idiots. They saw the parallels. It’s not a coincidence that your procedure and the project both focus on Aura.”

“The difference,” Watts spat, “is in the intent. The project’s goal is to create an Aura from scratch. Mine was to separate and transfer an already-existing one. If we can separate a host’s Aura and place it within a new receptacle, then that proves we can also remove a portion of it and do the same.”

“Even if you’re right, that doesn’t change the fact that the girl’s parents went to the media and took their story public,” James said. “Soul-based research is already controversial. How long do you think it will take for people to start asking questions? That’s a scrutiny we can’t afford right now.”

The chair legs scraped over the ground as James stood.

“The reason why I called you here is because the Council believes that your actions jeopardized that secrecy. The unauthorized disclosure of classified military intelligence is a potential security breach. Which is why, until they conclude their investigation, your passport is being revoked and you will be confined to the Kingdom of Atlas.”

James sounded tired.

“The charge they intend to level against you is treason.”

Nervously, Pietro rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame.

“Arthur? May I come in?”

Watts stood with his back to the room, an outstretched hand removing several books from their shelves. At the sound of his name, he stiffened. “If you must,” he answered flatly.

“Thank you.” He was careful to avoid tripping over the boxes stacked by the entryway as he closed the door behind him.

The other man had never been particularly materialistic, but even so, his decorating was far from sparse. Awards and accreditations had hung from the walls, while shelves with medical tomes lined the perimeter of the office. Occasionally, projects from the lab migrated into the room, and had taken up tablespace by the windowsill where a lone bromeliad sat.

It was jarring to see those possessions packed away.

Watts didn’t immediately turn to face him. Instead, his head sunk between his shoulders. “…Are you here to yell at me as well?”

“Yes. No.” He ran a hand through his hair. A thousand different thoughts colored his mind like a fractured kaleidoscope. There were plenty of things he wanted to say, each worse than the last. Pietro ruthlessly shoved those thoughts aside. “Look, I’m upset, but right now you need a friend, not another detractor.”

“How considerate of you.” His words were devoid of inflection.

“I’m not going to pretend I know how you’re feeling right now, but I still think you should—” Pietro glanced at one of the cardboard boxes on his desk, only to do a double-take. “What are you doing?”

“Vacating the premises.” Watts resumed packing. “Seeing as I’m no longer tenured, the institute felt this room could be put to better use.”

“I already know that. That’s not what I meant.” Pietro gestured to the lacy scrawl on the side of the box—Free to whoever wants it. “Why are you getting rid of your things?”

“I have no reason to keep them. It’s not as if I’ll be able to use them again for another employer.”

“You don’t know that—” Pietro began to protest.

“No one in their right mind would hire me. And that’s assuming I won’t be spending the rest of my life behind bars.” He folded the box flaps with slightly more force than necessary. “Seeing as you’re already here, help yourself to whatever you like. I’ll be taking the rest of these downstairs to the breakroom, once I’m done. I know Will was always partial to my microscope.”

“I’m not taking your things!” Pietro let out a long, deep exhale, forcing himself to calm down. “I want to talk to you.”

“Very well.” Watts finally turned to face him, and Pietro was struck by how ill he looked. A gauntness clung to his features, though whether from a lack of food or a lack of sleep, he couldn’t say. Stubble had begun to creep in below his jaw, and his clothes were far more disheveled than he could ever recall them being. “Talk.”

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. “You need to get a lawyer.”

“And what good will that do me?” His eyes were dull. “Even if the odds weren’t overwhelmingly stacked against me, what lawyer would touch my case?”

“I’m sure someone would, if you asked around.” Pietro hated the idea, but he willed himself to say it: “What about Jacques Schnee? You’re acquaintances, right? The SDC settles lawsuits all the time, so they’ve got to have legal experts on retainer. Maybe you could arrange something with him—”

“If you think I’ll let myself be indebted to that myopic narcissist—” As quickly as it flared, the fire in his eyes faded. Watts’ posture folded in on itself as the anger drained from him, leaving only fretful cinders behind. “I’m sorry,” he said, with a hard blink. “I was out of line.”

Pietro worried his lower lip. “What can I do to help?” he asked. “Do you want to go out? Get something to drink?”

“I—” Watts cut himself off with a sigh, and shook his head. “No. Thank you. I have plans to meet with one of my former patients later. He wants to discuss alternatives for his Dust poisoning, seeing as his treatments have been…discontinued.”

Pietro cast his gaze helplessly about the room, trying to think of something. With an unpleasant lurch in his chest, he realized that he couldn’t. “I’ll leave you to it, then?” he said.

“That would be for the best.”

Despite the overwhelming urge to protest, Pietro turned to leave. He stopped with his fingers on the door handle, and glanced back. “You’ll come and get me if you need anything, right?”

Watts opened another box, and began writing on the side. “Of course.”

Save for the occasional fleeting glimpse, Pietro saw little of his friend over the next two weeks.

While his presence on the campus was a necessity, Watts seemed to be doing what he could to minimize it. Only the administrators—who refused to speak about it—and his former clients—who spoke too much about it—spent any length of time with him. His public avoidance did little to deter the gossip, which varied in accuracy and failed to account for all the details, given the clandestine nature of his termination. It didn’t help that Pietro staunchly refused to contribute to it, and told off anyone bold enough to press the subject.

When their paths did cross, Watts didn’t linger long enough to chat. He had a faraway look on his face, and his appearance was unkempt.

It worried Pietro that he no longer seemed to care about himself.

It was early into the evening when Watts visited his office.

“Forgive me for the intrusion.” Pietro glanced up from his paperwork to see Watts hovering in the doorway. Strangely, he was carrying the bromeliad. “Might I steal a moment of your time?”

“Certainly!” Pietro pushed aside the document stack and gestured warmly to the chair. To his dismay, Watts remained standing. “What can I do for you?”

Watts adjusted the potted plant in his arms. “I was wondering,” he began, “if I could ask for a small favor.”

“Go ahead.”

Pietro didn’t know what to make of the unexpectedly calm expression on his face, so at odds with his recent emotional state.

“I need someone to look after this for me.” Watts took a step forward, and set the plant on the edge of the desk. “If it’s left unattended for a day or two it’s not an issue. Any longer, though, and it begins to dry out. The care required for it isn’t overly involved; the soil simply needs to be misted with distilled water every so—”

“Wait a second,” Pietro said. “Why does it sound like you’re going somewhere?”

Watts hesitated. “I’m travelling to Evadne for a few days.”

Pietro started to rise. “Arthur—”

He held up a hand. “I’m forbidden from international flights, not domestic. The southern coast of Solitas is under Atlesian jurisdiction, is it not?”

Slowly, Pietro sank back into his chair. “It is,” he agreed. “But why are you travelling now?”

Watts closed his eyes. “I want to see the coast one last time.”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

His friend didn’t comment. He merely stared at him.

“Fine,” Pietro relented, “I’ll watch it for you. But just so you know, I’ve killed plants before.”

His lips twitched in a faint smile. “That’s quite all right.”

Pietro reached forward to move the pot, only to be taken aback when his hand was intercepted by Watts’. The contact startled him, so much so that he didn’t react when Watts lightly squeezed.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Pietro forced his jaws to move. “For what?”

“For more than I care to admit.”

The hand retreated.

“Enjoy your trip, Arthur.” Pietro tried to sound cheerful. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

Watts opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He dipped his head in a polite nod, before turning on his heel.

He wasn’t sure why he was here.

It was the second day after Watts’ departure for Evadne. The office was unrecognizable without any of its usual décor—walls now stripped bare of his possessions, floorspace empty save for the generic chairs and desk pushed off to the corner. The open space was dissonant with Pietro’s memories of the many times he’d spent in this room, either with other members of the team, or by himself. Almost as soon as the thoughts formed, they were accompanied by a pang of nostalgia. His fingernails dug into his palm.

Adjusting to the new normal was a prospect he dreaded, not just for the uncertainties at play, but simply because he didn’t want things to change. In truth, Pietro didn’t know what the Council’s verdict would be.

And he would have been lying if he said the thought didn’t keep him up at night.

It was as he was looking around the room that he noticed something glint in the waste bin. Intrigued, he bent down and pushed aside the crumpled papers partially obscuring it. When he lifted it from the bin, Pietro was surprised to see his reflection staring back at him from the plaque’s glassy surface.

The Atlesian Institute of Technology is honored to present the Rigel Award to Arthur Watts in recognition of his contributions to the fields of archotherology and pneumatophysics.

“I know things are bad right now, Arthur, but you shouldn’t just throw things like this away…” He’d been at the reception where the award had been presented; it had been a milestone in Watts’ career.

Carefully, Pietro wiped away a smudge with the hem of his shirt. A stubborn resolve seized him.

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have the spare key,” Pietro told himself, as the lock clicked.

The first thing he noticed, as the apartment door shut behind him, was the immediate onset of cold. Ice cold. The sort of chill that settled in a person’s lungs, and caused their breath to fog as they gasped for air.

“Gods above.” Pietro wrapped his arms around himself. “I know you like it cold, but this is ridiculous. What’s the temperature in here?”

Not intending to trip his way through the room, Pietro reached for the light switch.

Nothing.

“The bulb must have blown out.” He resorted to the flashlight on his scroll. Mindful of where he stepped, Pietro moved into the hall where the thermostat was. The last thing his friend needed was to return to a drafty apartment.

Understandably, he was confused when he tapped the screen, only for the thermostat to not respond.

“Surely this isn’t broken too…?”

A nagging suspicion prompted him to reach for the next light switch in his path. The hall remained dark, even after Pietro flipped it several times.

Something wasn’t right.

The next three lights he tried remained unresponsive to his attempts. Pietro stopped in the kitchen, his scroll in one hand, the glass plaque grasped loosely in the other. What else wasn’t working?

His gaze fell to the sink. With a slither of incredulity, Pietro turned the handle on the faucet.

It was cold, granted, but not cold enough to freeze the pipes. And he refused to believe that all of the utilities simultaneously stopped working. Even if they did, Watts would never have knowingly allowed them to remain in disrepair.

His mind discarded one possibility after the next, trying to identify a pattern, an explanation.

Pietro lifted the plaque to eye level.

For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why he’d want to get rid of something so important. It was a question he’d have to ask him when he came back—

His eyes widened.

Glass skated over the tiles as the plaque shattered against the floor. Pietro fumbled with his scroll, cursing, as he bolted back down the hall.

James answered on the second ring. “Pietro? What—”

“Where are you?” he gasped.

“The Academy,” he said. “Is something—”

“Meet me in your office!” The door slammed shut behind him. “We need to stop him!”

“And you’re sure about this?” James gravely looked on as Pietro paced.

“Why else would he have gotten rid of his things?” He gestured wildly. “He already believes his life is over. He had no reason to keep them.”

Those words had taken on an entirely new meaning, one that made Pietro feel sick.

“I understand, given the circumstances, how you would've arrived at that conclusion. But is it possible you’re wrong?” He spoke with the calm, patient authority of his rank, with a pragmatism meant to ease. All it did was agitate Pietro even more. “Arthur is a lot of things, but suicidal? It doesn’t seem—”

“You haven’t seen him the last few weeks!” His voice shot up an octave. “He’s hardly eating, barely sleeping, he isolated himself from nearly everyone. I knew he was depressed, but I didn’t think…” He trailed off, at a loss for words. “James, please. We need to do something.”

James leaned back into his desk, hands braced against the edge. “We should consider every possibility before we act.”

Pietro halted in his tracks. “What other possibilities?”

“Consider what you’ve just told me. He disposed of his personal belongings—things that would have encumbered him. He distanced himself from other people—social contacts that would have tied him to the kingdom. He canceled his utilities—lien he no longer has to waste.”

Pietro turned to face him. “What are you suggesting?”

“Given the pending criminal charges, it’s possible that he’s trying to flee the kingdom.”

Pietro tensed.

“Think carefully about your last conversation.” James watched him closely. “Did he indicate that he planned on coming back?”

Mutely, Pietro shook his head.

“If he wanted to leave without drawing attention to himself, Evadne would be the logical choice,” he said. “It’s a small town on the water frequently used as a stopover between the interior cities and Anima’s northern coast. It has a comparably smaller military presence, and most of its visitors are tourists. He won’t look out of place. And if he’s brought lien with him, it wouldn’t take much persuasion to stow away on an airship or a boat. Dust smugglers regularly make use of those tactics.”

Pietro started to shake.

“Both possibilities are upsetting in their own right, and I’d prefer for neither to be true. But the evidence isn’t something we can just ignore. Right now, the latter seems more likely. I didn’t notice—”

“Of course you didn’t notice!” Pietro shouted. “You were so busy trying to end his career that you didn’t realize you were ending his life!”

His words echoed around the room. In the stunned silence that followed, Pietro continued to yell.

“‘I want to see the coast one last time.’ That’s what he said to me when he left! He didn’t mean before he was arrested; he meant before he died. And why wouldn’t he? What did he have left? Either he was going to waste away in a cell, or he was going to spend the rest of his life unable to rebuild it. No one in the medical community will speak to him, no one on the team will look at him—” He doubled over with a strangled cough. “I know what he did was wrong. I think it’s wrong. But I don’t want him to die because of it! I don’t want to be right, but with everything I’ve seen we can’t wait around to find out if I’m wrong. James, please, we have to—”

A hand fell on his shoulder. Pietro wheezed.

“We’ll find him.” James’ grip tightened. “I can have an airship ready in ten minutes.”

The night was alive with the weaving bands of the auroras.

A distant part of his mind tried to find comfort in the emerald and indigo light, as it rippled through the sky amidst a backdrop of stars.

“We should be there in a few hours.” From the seat across from him, James consulted his scroll. “Our ETA will be about 6:00 AM.”

Pietro turned away from the window. “What are we going to do when we get there?”

“I have a special operative who’s currently stationed in the area. Her name’s Caroline. I radioed her as we were boarding. Her team’s going to meet us when we land and help with the search.”

He nodded.

“Before Arthur left”—James glanced up from the screen—“did he tell you where he was staying?”

“No, I’m sorry,” he replied. “He didn’t.”

“That’s all right.” James returned to his scroll. “If he checked into a hotel, the transaction will be on his bank statement. I should have access to his account history in a minute.”

“James.” Pietro steeled himself. “If I’m right…about…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “How are we going to handle this?”

“It depends on what we find, and what—condition he’s in.” James’ face was pinched. “The plan is to make sure he’s not a danger to himself or anyone else.”

“‘Anyone else’?”

James’ expression darkened. “I’ve seen situations like this before, with soldiers and Huntsmen. Sometimes they lash out.”

Suddenly, Pietro was grateful for his friend’s long military career, and the experience that came with it.

That went doubly so a second later when his scroll chimed, granting him clearance.

James read over the information as it poured in. “Well, this confirms what we already suspected—he canceled his utilities a few days ago.”

“Did you find out where he’s staying?”

“Let me see—got it. I have the name and address. It’s…” He scrolled through something on the screen. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Pietro leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “What is it?”

“Right before he left, he emptied his account.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Hang on. I might be able to trace where it went—” James trailed off.

“What is it?”

“He—” James peered at the records. “A large percentage of it was made out as a check. To the Ateliers.”

Pietro didn’t speak. If he opened his mouth now, he’d vomit.

“The remainder appears to have been withdrawn, though I’m not sure why.”

The cabin was mercifully silent as James immersed himself in parsing through the records. With nothing to do and only his thoughts to preoccupy him, Pietro returned to the window. It was several minutes before James spoke again:

“It’s going to be a while before we land. Try to get some sleep.”

When he trusted himself to not be sick, Pietro answered. “I’m okay, James.”

It was a lie. And judging by James’ expression, he didn’t believe it either.

“General Ironwood.” A woman of remarkably short stature saluted them. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“Likewise, Caroline.”

She fell in step beside him while her two subordinates took up positions at the rear. For every one step James took, Caroline had to take three.

“Anything to report?” he asked.

“We’ve been monitoring the building from afar for the last half hour. We haven’t seen Dr. Watts enter or leave.”

James didn’t comment. Rather, he quickened his pace.

“Do you have any orders for us?”

“The manager will be expecting us, although she wasn’t fully informed as to why. I want you and your team to start in his room, then sweep the premises while we interview the staff.” He stopped with his hand on the glass doors, and gave her a hard stare. “Do not, under any circumstances, harm him. If the situation becomes dangerous, you are to either deescalate it or wait for me to join you. Do I make myself clear?”

She grimaced. “Yes, sir.”

A woman with a sheet of long, violet hair stood waiting for them in the lobby. “Welcome, General Ironwood. Dr. Polendina.” She offered a shallow bow. As she rose, she registered the accompanying operatives, and her eyes flickered with unspoken questions. “How may I assist you?”

“We’d like to speak with you, along with any staff that may have interacted with one of your guests.”

The manager glanced at Caroline. “Are we in danger?”

“No. Not likely,” said James.

The manager didn’t look reassured, but she didn’t protest. “Very well. Please follow me.”

She guided the small group to the front desk where the receptionist sat, their eyes wide in bewilderment. “May I have the guest’s name?” she asked.

“Arthur Watts,” James said.

Without prompting, the receptionist keyed in the name. “Uh. He’s in room 3A.”

James turned to the manager. “May I have your permission to send my team upstairs?”

“Go ahead.”

He nodded. At once Coraline and her subordinates dispersed.

The manager waited until they’d filed into the elevator before she spoke: “You said you had questions for me?”

“Along with any staff that interacted with him,” James clarified.

“I’ve interacted with him.”

The receptionist seemed to regret that decision the moment three pairs of eyes turned on them. Nevertheless, they continued: “The guy with the mustache, right?”

Pietro’s pulse stuttered sharply. “When did you last see him?”

“This morning. He left over an hour ago. Said he was going for a walk.”

It took every shred of willpower Pietro had to not run out those doors.

“Did he leave with any belongings on his person? A bag, perhaps?” James asked.

The receptionist shook their head. “No, sir. Just his wallet and his room key, like he usually does.”

Pietro swapped a look with James, before turning back to the receptionist. “What do you mean by ‘usually’?”

“This is the time when he usually goes out. He stops to talk to the receptionist—well, me, I guess—and then heads out for a few hours. Comes back around noon, grabs lunch in the dining hall, heads back upstairs. Goes out again around five o’clock, and comes back some time after seven.” They gave a helpless shrug. “I—I guess he has a routine.”

Some of the tension left James’ shoulders. “It’s possible Arthur did in fact come here just to destress,” he said.

What should have been a reassuring thought made Pietro want to sink into the ground in mortification. He could only imagine what Watts’ face would look like when he returned to the hotel, to find that Pietro had brought along the entire cavalry. All because he assumed his friend had a death wish.

Pietro was dragged out of his pity party by James’ next question: “Do you remember anything specific about his behavior? Anything that might have looked or sounded strange?”

To his surprise, the receptionist looked guilty. “Well…” They glanced at the manager.

“Whatever it is, you’re not in trouble,” she said.

The receptionist hesitated a second longer, before heaving a reluctant sigh. “You get a lot of guests in a place like this, right? So you don’t always remember all of them. Not unless they stand out in some way. He…” They paused. “He’s been nothing but polite and friendly to all the staff.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly noteworthy,” James observed.

The receptionist fidgeted. “No, it’s not that. It’s not just that. He tipped us well.” They swallowed. “Like, really well.”

The lingering dread from earlier resurfaced. “How much did he tip you?” Pietro asked.

They averted their gaze. “Ten thousand lien. Each.”

The dread beat savage wings against his ribs.

Out of his periphery, James stepped off to the side with a finger pressed to his earpiece. A second later his face went unsettlingly blank. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to speak with my team.”

Pietro dimly registered his departure. He looked between the two hotel staff, his mind frantically scrambling for an explanation other than the one he didn’t want to hear. “Did he say anything?” he asked. Begged. “Anything that you might remember could help."

They considered his words with renewed thoughtfulness. “When he’d come back from his walks, I’d ask him how he was—the regular sort of small talk you’d make with guests. He told me that he went down to the beach. When I asked him, ‘Did you do anything while you were there?’ he said, ‘Not today. Perhaps I will tomorrow.’”

“Pietro.”

James had returned.

Coraline and her team hurried through the lobby; he could just make out “mobilize search-and-rescue” being barked into her earpiece as they rushed past.

He regarded Pietro with pale, haunted eyes, before slowly holding out his hand. “I’m sorry.”

A note hung from his fingertips.

After four days of searching, Arthur Watts was declared dead.

James scrubbed at his face. “I already told you, Camilla,” he sighed, as the doors slid open, “I’ll have it resolved once I—oh, Pietro. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Pietro managed a weak smile. “Disappointed to see me?” he asked, as he strode into the room.

“Relieved, actually.” James set aside some manner of document he’d been working on. “I was half-expecting another lecture.” Pietro accepted the tacit invitation to join him, and eased into the chair. “What can I do for you?”

Pietro tapped his fingers against the armrest. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“Why do I get the impression I won’t like what you’re about to ask me?”

“Because you won’t.”

Predictably, James wasn’t amused, but he didn’t try to bodily throw him out of the room, so that was a good start. “All right,” he said. “I’m listening.”

This conversation had sounded so much easier in his head. Pietro contemplated which option to take, before deciding on the direct approach: “Did you ever look over the report Arthur wrote after the surgery?”

It was brief, but Pietro didn’t miss the flash of regret James very neatly concealed behind unwavering calm. He steepled his hands. “I did,” he answered.

“Did you see the post-op notes?”

“I did.”

“But did you read them?” he pressed.

There was a hint of humor in his reply: “I read them to the extent I could understand them.”

Pietro braced himself. “I took another look at his work on Auratic intercision. He did it, James.”

When the other man said nothing, he hurriedly launched into his speech. “Even though the initial attempt failed, he managed to deduce what went wrong during the procedure. I won’t waste your time with all the technical mumbo jumbo, but I did the math. Split-Aura transfer is possible.”

He held James’ gaze. “We can finally build Penny.”

For a moment that stretched into eternity, James remained silent. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. “You want my permission, to use the same research that nearly got him arrested, to complete your project.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Pietro said.

“I can certainly appreciate the irony, if nothing else.” He narrowed his eyes—thoughtfully, not in anger. “This wasn’t an idea you came up with overnight. It’s been nearly two months. Why did you wait this long to bring it up?”

“It’s as you said: it’s been two months. The last of the journalists have retired the story. People are no longer fixated on the proceedings. No more controversy, no more public backlash. The scandal died with him.” It hurt to say, but Pietro pushed onward: “Synthesizing an Aura has proven impossible, but now, we have a viable alternative. We can’t bring Mia Atelier back. But perhaps we can give someone else a chance at life.”

He waited.

At last, James nodded. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding left him. “You have my permission.”

“Thank you,” Pietro said.

“There’s just one problem.”

James regarded him intently. “The procedure requires a donor, does it not? You need a volunteer.”

Pietro straightened. “You’re looking at him.”

It had been a while since he last had the chance to sit and diagram.

A combination of blueprints, tablets, and holographic projectors were scattered about the desk. Other than the sleepy hum of the generator, and the scratching of pen against paper, his office was silent. The ambiance gave Pietro a pleasant rhythm to work to as he alternated between mediums.

He was in the middle of diagramming the thrusters when a voice spoke up from behind: “Burning the midnight oil?”

Pietro gladly accepted the mug James offered him, as he occupied the empty seat. “Just getting a little more work done before I call it quits.” He grinned. “I just finished the template for her skeleton. It’s on the tablet to your right if you want to see it.”

“This one?” James picked up the tablet in question.

“Swipe left, it’s the first file.”

The device lit up in his hands. James made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat as his eyes darted across the screen.

“What do you think?” Pietro asked.

“I think”—he continued to skim through the files—“I picked the right proposal.”

He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words until he felt a hot, stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes. He tried to discreetly dab it away.

Not discreetly enough, it seemed. James shot him an inquiring look.

“Oh, don’t mind. I’m just a little sensitive right now.” Pietro ducked his head. “It’s not every day you get to become a father.”

James wore a knowing, if somewhat bemused smile, but he was considerate enough to not say anything. He turned his attention back to the files in his hand.

“A lot of those are aesthetic mock-ups. I haven’t finalized anything, so if you want to throw in your two cents on the design input, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Did he know?”

Pietro’s hand stilled over the parchment. When no elaboration was forthcoming, he lifted his head to deduce one for himself.

His pulse beat painfully beneath his skin.

The file on the screen was one of the earliest drafts for Penny’s design. It was also one of the only files to have received a color palette. Red hair hung in thick curls about her pale face. Her cheeks were flecked with freckles that contrasted just enough to be visible, just below her eyes.

Eyes that were a very familiar shade of green.

He didn’t say anything for several moments. He debated saying anything at all.

But there was no judgment on James’ face, no hint of contempt in his voice. Only sympathy.

“No,” Pietro answered. He let out a tired sigh, and set the pen down. “And he never suspected. I made sure of that.”

“You didn’t want to tell him?”

“I wanted to tell him for a long time." He closed his eyes. "I’ve spent the last four months regretting every day that I didn’t. And on every one of those days, I wondered if telling him would have made a difference.”

“It’s not your fault,” said James.

“I know.” Pietro reached for the photo on the edge of his desk, and gently lifted the frame into his hands. It was the last picture the team had taken together. “It doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.”

He lifted his eyes to the file in James’ hands, to the image of the young girl staring back at him.

“But maybe, through someone else—someone new—he can still be here.”

“Dr. Watts?”

Watts lifted his head from the chart he'd been reviewing.

At the entrance of his lab stood Hazel, his expression as impassive as ever.

“We have a meeting to attend.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Watts smoothed down the front of his coat. “Tell Salem I’ll be right there.”

Guess I've got some explaining to do. For anyone curious about my RWBY worldbuilding and headcanons:

Pietro not being disabled prior to the start of the series - We have no confirmation of this in canon, but I think that donating a percentage of his Aura to Penny has slowly chipped away at his health. I based this partly on the fact that in the show, the areas on his body where his Aura has been excised most prominently are over his legs and lower torso. If donating too much of his Aura is fatal, then it stands to reason that there are intermediary complications between points A and D - loss of mobility in his legs, chronic respiratory illness, worsening vision, and so on.

Archotherology (Gr. archo-, ruler, + -thero-, beast, + -logy, study of) - The study of Grimm.

Pneumatophysics (Gr. pneûma, soul, + -physics) - The study of the soul and its physical manifestation, Aura.

Apothymetics (Gr. apo-, derived from, + -thym-, soul, + E. -ics, from [?] Gr. -ikós, pertaining to) - The study of Semblances; a subdiscipline of pneumatophysics.

Auratic disease - An adverse condition that typically affects a person’s Aura, and by extension, their Semblance. Auratic diseases are generated by plague-type Grimm, and then transmitted to people through proximity. Watts' research simulated an Auratic disease, which is why Pietro later acquires a manmade version of CAD. You can click here to read more about them.

Evadne - A coastal city in southern Solitas. Named after the Greek figure Evadne, the wife of King Argus.

17 notes · View notes

kashimalin-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Fenrir Godspeed, King of Spades (Chapter 5: Changing Tides)

Fenrir’s best friend was kidnapped nine years ago. Desperately clinging to the vain hope that Ray is still alive, Fenrir climbs to the top of the Black Army in order to have access to Cradle’s deepest secrets… and to hold the position for the rightful King.

Rating: Mature

Chapter Word Count: 4,807 Words

Warnings: None.

Amon’s father was a foolish man.

His son knew this to be fact as he watched the Magic Tower attempt to move towards a ‘new era.’ Gone were the days of his grandfather’s Directorship; the vision of the future that his father had promised when he first joined in their research was no more.

“We’re so close to a breakthrough on our experiments,” Amon murmured, his feet carrying him through the familiar corridors of the Magic Tower. “So terribly close, and yet…”

He had just received word from the other researchers about his father’s absurd intentions to close his department and stop all of its ongoing experiments. The Department of Magical Research, Development, and Experimentation had been one of the most distinguished branches of the Magic Tower since the organization’s founding. To shut it down now would be an affront to their heritage as researchers.

That, and Amon wouldn’t be able to work on any of their research specimens anymore.

Ostensibly, Amon was being promoted from Department Head to the position of Vice-Director, where he would be working directly under his father. Such a promotion at his age spoke volumes of his capabilities for leading research groups and managing resources for a host of simultaneous experiments, but it had come as a complete surprise.

Tensions between him and his father had been steadily increasing as of late, mostly due to Amon’s ‘research practices’ – practices his father hadn’t been against before. No longer was his promotion due to a father taking his talented son under his wing to guide him into a prosperous future once promised, but an attempt to control his actions and stifle his potential. An attempt to prevent further research into the true nature of magic and all the wondrous secrets that it contained, hidden just out of view so that only those willing to sacrifice and seek out the truth may learn such arcane knowledge.

He had slowly witnessed his father’s attempts to close off access to such information over the years. It started with an increase in the number of forbidden magics and banning research into the development of said spells. At the time, the justifications from his father and those supporting him had made sense.

But the King of Hearts had recently begun inquiries into their research and his father had cowed to the man over such petty things as ethics. As such, several projects had been either cancelled or heavily restricted, withholding the true nature of magic that could have been revealed. Amon believed this offense against discovery and magical understanding to be a sin far too grave to be forgiven.

Certainly, there was some discontent among the researchers over these recent developments and now the closing of the Department, as well. This mostly stemmed from those whose research efforts were wasted on now defunct projects, or those that had lost their opportunities to be the lead researchers on a particular experiment. Unfortunately, there were far too few within the Magic Tower that shared Amon’s particular sentiments with regards to the current direction of their institution.

One of his like-minded colleagues, a senior researcher and rather brilliant man – whose recent project proposal, On the Applied Lethality of Magically Projected Force, Amon would deeply miss being able to see the results of – had posed a most interesting question while the two were conversing.

“Our current Director thinks it’s only right for these experiments to end. What do you intend to do about that, current Vice-Director?”

A most interesting question, indeed.

Amon was painfully aware that all the Tower had worked for – all that it stood for – was about to be destroyed before his very eyes.

And it would not be a quick and sudden vanishing with a puff of smoke, either. It was to be the slow and excruciating decay of a mighty tree whose roots had all perished, allowing the rot to settle and kill it from within. Where the fruits of their labor would shrivel up and not be allowed to flourish under burdensome restrictions. Eventually, the ‘research’ that would be conducted at the Magic Tower would have no true value and the once sturdy tree would simply wither away to nothingness.

He would not allow that to happen. Amon would have to take matters into his own hands and change the course of their future. For now, he could only develop plans and slowly make preparations for this inevitability. Amon would save the Magic Tower, even if he would be saving it from itself.

It will be somewhat difficult with the small number of agreeable researchers I can currently count on. If only there was some method of convincing the other researchers to stop resisting my intentions.

A wicked grin stretched across his face, clashing with his youthful and effeminate features. Amon knew exactly where he could find that information, along with other means of ‘motivating’ others to action. His reflective walk, similar to his thoughts, had finally gained a true destination as he set off for the Grand Atheneum housed within the Magic Tower.

There was no attendant at the desk due to the early hours, so he gave the door its proper passwords and walked inside. With no one present, he was able to pass through the library unseen, his footsteps echoing through the towering shelves.

“The King of Hearts thinks he’s so noble.” Amon spoke aloud to the empty library. “Putting sanctions and protections on children with magic in Red Territory, refusing to bring his son to the Tower, and even going so far as to say our research is inhumane… What a ridiculous farce.”

He went deeper and deeper between the shelves until he came upon a door – one that could only be opened by senior ranking disciples and the Director. The spells to open each of the four crystal locks fell easily from his lips. Tomes and scrolls on forbidden and ancient magics were laid out on the sparse shelves, kept here solely for research.

Or, in Amon’s case, for use.

Settling in with one of the small, leather-bound books, he opened it to study the spells, mouthing their words, imagining their sensations. He had been studying the diagrams for days on end, their intricacies making more sense each time he returned. While they would require significantly more powerful crystals, those would be all too easy to... acquire.

“Perhaps it’s time to put my skills to the test,” he crooned, trailing his fingers down the page. “Just a little one, before I stage my master plan.”

─────────────── ⋆⋅♠⋅⋆ ───────────────

[Spring, 1880]

The shouts of men and women filled the room as they looked on at the devastating scene before them. The shattering of glass cut through the noise as it descended into a moment of tense silence.

The large man who had allowed the now-broken shot glass to slip through his fingers promptly leaned to the side and vomited. A roaring cheer was raised by the small pack of individuals standing at the other end of the table where the two seated figures had been trying to out-drink each other.

The victorious Ace of Spades simply smirked and finished his shot before standing and walking away to a large booth at the other side of the pub. Some of his team remained for a moment, collecting a substantial amount of lin from the large man’s friends and dejected on-lookers alike, before going to sit with their stalwart commander and their squad members.

Another round of drinks was ordered for the entire squadron – using the winnings their commander had valiantly led them in capturing through various drinking matches – before the senior Captain stood on his chair to make a toast.

“As the second-in-command of this squadron, just below our mighty Ace, I must say that I am bloody proud of our victories here today. With some strategic placements, courtesy of our resident expert Riley, and a brilliant ‘Double-or-Nothing’ push by the lovely Ava here, our mission was a rousing success. The enemy crumbled before our assault, and I believe we all have the right to be feeling quite a bit chuffed to bits with ourselves, right now. Here’s to the best squadron in the entire Black Army. Cheers, mates!”

“Cheers!”

Those seated around the table echoed their squad captain’s toast as they clinked their glasses. Their booth had several extra chairs pulled up to it, the table sagging under the weight of food and beer. Nobody was without a smile, merrily celebrating their victory.

“It goes without saying that any truly great group needs not only great members, but a great leader, as well. Our Ace is one of the greatest men I know. He’s a pillar of strength that stands unwavering in the face of adversity.”

“Hear, hear!” The rest of the Ace’s Squadron began to pound their fists on the table as the Squadron Captain stepped onto it, whistling and cheering in response to the speech.

“He is a man who leads by example. We follow his command knowing that he will guide us to victory.” His voice rose, carrying over the crowd. “And we drink in his name!”

The crowd reached its peak, erupting for a few brief seconds before falling quiet in order to drink from their mugs and glasses. Before anyone could start another speech, the Ace leaned forward, rapping his fist on the table.

“Other people would disagree with me if they took one look at you lot – but I’m proud of this squadron.” Smiling proudly, the Ace raised his own mug. “I toast to the squadron I respect and trust. To those willing to fight on the front lines when the need arises, and to those who are the first to respond in a crisis. I see bright futures ahead for all of you, so long as you never stop striving to be the best you can be. Trust me on that. Here’s to you, my squadron.”

His even tone and steady toast had quieted the rambunctious crowd. Glasses clinked and tapped, but before long the night was moving along with several drunken declarations and announcements. Fenrir and Riley held themselves back, wanting to enjoy the night as much as possible by watching their fellow soldiers drink themselves silly – until Riley leaned over, shaking a small bag of lin.

“Five hundred lin that Felix is gonna fall asleep first. You in?”

“I’m in, but I’m putting my money on Ava. She always falls asleep first during the parties at Headquarters.” Fenrir grinned. “And if I find out that you drugged Felix’s beer, I’ll report you to the Ace myself.”

“I would never! I take pride in being a gambler of honor!”

“I��m pretty sure those two terms should cancel each other out.” Fenrir laughed and took another sip, his eyes trailing over the merry crowd. He had come to respect his teammates in the past six months. The ten of them happily followed the Ace into intense battles. They had broken down smuggling routes, squashed gang formations, and dismantled kidnapping rings.

For once, he felt like he was truly a part of something. He belonged in this squadron, in this place with people as battle-hungry and desperate for a good fight as he was; fighters who could respect his skills, yet were willing to push him even further in his quest to reach the top.

They also knew how to party. The celebrations lasted until the midnight bell tolled. Everyone filed out in a drunken stupor, failing to keep their voices to a minimum. Fenrir grumbled, giving Riley his five hundred lin as they left the pub.

“You got no idea how mad I am at you,” he said bitterly. “I can’t believe you won that bet.”

“Ava was eating a lot more food than Felix was tonight. That’s not usually what happens back at Headquarters, so I decided to take a gamble on it.” Riley tucked the money into his pocket as their teammates before them broke out into song.

“Hang on.” Fenrir scanned the group, frowning when he didn’t hear the low bass of their Ace. He looked to Riley, face paling. “Where’s the commander?”

“What?” Riley looked around again, frowning with concern. “Where did he go? Should we check the pub?”

“No, I saw him leave before us, mentioning something about our curfew. But—” Fenrir glanced back. “Let’s go check anyway. Maybe he’s just resting against a wall somewhere.”

Riley and Fenrir headed back the way they came, checking the near-empty pub before looking around the immediate area. They darted down alleyways, pausing when they heard a sudden pained yell – which was then immediately choked off.

“Did you hear that?”

“Follow it! That way!” Fenrir produced two guns, rushing ahead. Riley trailed a step behind, keeping pace as they arrived on the scene. Fenrir aimed his guns, taking only a moment to survey the area.

They had reached a dead end. A man wrapped up in a black cloak was holding five magic crystals, the brilliant light nearly burning the flesh from his hands. Before him was the Ace of Spades, his mouth moving but making no sound. As Fenrir called out to him, he turned. His orders clear in his eyes and on his lips, even without his booming voice:

“Shoot them!”

Fenrir fired the gun in his right hand – the cloaked man’s fingers trembled uncontrollably, causing him to drop the crystals. The blue light faded as they hit the ground, and the Ace’s shouts echoed throughout the alleyways, drawing the attention of passersby.

“Back me up, Fen!” Riley leapt towards the man, kicking away the magic crystals as he took hold of the assailant. Their hood fell back, and while Fenrir did not recognize the man, he was bothered by his eyes – glassy, unfocused. His body spasmed uncontrollably, struggling like a trapped beast until Riley struck him upside the head and knocked him out.

“Sir!” Fenrir ran up to the Ace, tugging him back –

But he did not move. The Ace looked to Fenrir with a somber expression, his eyes the only indication that he was in any pain.

“Fenrir,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “Look down.”

Fenrir did.

From the knee down, the Ace’s legs had been turned to stone.

─────────────── ⋆⋅♠⋅⋆ ───────────────

Sirius summoned the other members Chosen Thirteen to an emergency council the following day. Tensions were high as they gathered in the office, some expressing their outrage to those they were seated next to, others opting to lean against the walls and observe.

One member in particular – the Seven of Spades – was attempting to express his concerns to the others present, growing increasingly enraged as a few of the members continually countered his statements with rationale of their own until he ultimately hit a breaking point.

“Don’t you see? This must be the work of the Red Army!” His booming voice echoed throughout the office, startling all present. “They’re the only ones with enough magic to be capable of an attack like this!”

“Don’t throw around baseless accusations,” the Six of Spades said, sending a sharp glare his way. “We have no evidence that this act was committed by the Red Army.”

“B-But our Ace was attacked! It’s as good as a declaration of war. It demands that we respond in kind before they have a chance to attack us further!”

“The Red Army is not going to attack. And neither will we.” Sirius stressed, a frown and furrowed brow passing over his features. “It’s not like them to attack in this way. That’s not how they operate.”

“As if you would know how they do operate. Maybe they want us to believe that this attack is against their nature?” The Seven of Spades jabbed his finger towards Sirius. “Maybe they’re finally taking advantage of our glaring weakness? We haven’t had a King for years now, and they’re finally seizing the chance. They probably plan to eat away at our members, one by one, using that cursed magic of theirs—”

“Stand down.” Sirius’s order cut through the tirade. “You are speaking out of turn.”

“Our meeting hasn’t even started yet! We shouldn’t be hosting a debrief regarding the attack on the Ace, we should be planning our counter-attack! Figuring out protective measures to stop the rest of us from being slaughtered—”

“Please, stand down—”

“And they wouldn’t feel secure in attacking us if you hadn’t decided to be a prick and become the Queen, instead! The position of King was wide open! We practically begged you to become the King, and then you went and fought our former Queen into retirement, just to sit with your thumb up your arse for the past two years! You are a coward, Sirius Oswald! A coward, I say!”

The room fell silent as the Seven of Spades let that comment hang in the air. Sirius smiled brightly as he stood from his chair, leaning over the desk to look the Seven in the eye.

“Please save your statements regarding your suspicions of the Red Army for after the meeting has begun.” Sirius spoke with a friendly tone, but nobody missed the chill that passed through the room as he continued. “As for your comments towards my status and motivations, I suggest you keep them to yourself until you can report them to me in private and have a more civilized discussion.”

“I have nothing to hide—”

“Let me repeat myself, then. You should take a seat and silently gather your thoughts until you believe you can express them in a more composed fashion. This is not a suggestion.”

The Seven of Spades made an attempt at staring him down – but ultimately deflated, heading to take a spot on the sofa. Sirius let out a sigh of relief as no one else dared to raise any further complaints, sitting back down in his chair as muted conversations slowly picked up again.

“I rarely see you get mad like that,” Luka whispered to Sirius, turning his head slightly. “Even if you weren’t really… mad.”

“I have a lot on my plate, right now,” Sirius muttered back, shuffling the reports around on his desk. “And you know I don’t like to resort to violence. I had to resolve that as quickly and as peacefully as possible."

Luka shrugged, settling back into his chair. “It’s all right. He listened, didn’t he?”

“Mm. I’m just glad I didn’t lose my composure.” With that, he leaned back into his seat and continued to watch the individuals in the room as he waited for their final members to arrive.

The Three of Spades finally entered the office a few minutes later, shortly followed by the Ace of Spades. Everyone’s eyes turned to him and the wheelchair he now sat upon as he was pushed into the room, a blanket thrown over his legs for modesty. Fenrir, who had been pushing his commander’s wheelchair, pulled the Ace back along the wall and turned him towards the center of the room. He then quietly slipped towards the door to head back out into the hallway.

“Fenrir, get back in here! You too, Riley!” he barked. “I don’t need you scattering off like mice just because you brought me somewhere.”

Fenrir and Riley blinked twice before slipping back into the room and flanking him on either side. “Why, Commander? Is there anything that we can do for you?”

“Because I said so, that’s why. Just— stand there and look pretty.”

The two young men locked eyes for barely a fraction of a second before quickly snapping to a parade rest. With backs straight and chins level, the two stood proudly next to their commander, who gave the slightest hint of a smile before nodding to the Queen in gratitude for waiting on his behalf.

Sirius stood, clearing his throat. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Our current circumstances stand as follows: at approximately midnight last night, the Ace of Spades was attacked. A single assailant was apprehended at the scene by Captain Riley Aven and Captain Fenrir Godspeed. The individual was in possession of multiple magic crystals, powerful enough to turn the Ace’s legs to solid stone. They have yet to confess anything regarding their identity, motives, or reason for this attack.”

“Damn things are gonna be amputated tomorrow,” the Ace muttered. “They’re just dead weight as they are now.”

“Riley, Fenrir.” Sirius’s gaze lifted to them. “Do either of you have any further statements?”

Riley shook his head, but Fenrir remained silent for a moment, mulling over the question before speaking.

“There is something I want to add. When Riley and I attacked this guy, he didn’t even flinch. Most people react when a gun is aimed and fired at them. It’s instinct, you know? But his actions just before Riley knocked him out is what bugs me the most. His eyes were totally clouded over and his body was behaving strangely. They weren’t the motions of a trained soldier trying to evade capture.”

“What would you compare it to, then?” Sirius asked.

“Like a beast trying to get out of its cage? If Riley hadn’t knocked him out, I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if the guy chewed his own arm off to get away. He just wasn’t behavin’ human, you know?” Fenrir shrugged. “I don’t think we’re dealing with a soldier, or even an army. This is… something else.”

“Well, if my opinion means a damn in this, I don’t think this is worth going to war over,” the Ace said, eliciting gasps from some present. “It’s clear that we’re dealing with a rogue terrorist, not an organized assault.”

“Put it to vote, then!” the Seven of Spades declared. “Raise your hand if—”

“Raise your hand,” Sirius interjected, “if you think we should not go to war.”

The Ace raised his hand, followed closely by Luka and the Six of Spades. A few others did the same, totaling to nine of those present.

“Then, I suppose the rest of you wish to go to war,” Sirius said, his tone clipped as he eyed the Two, Seven, and Nine of Spades. “Either way, majority rules that we will not go to war. There will, however, be additional investigations and the attacker will be thoroughly interrogated. Any further findings will be released within two days’ time.” The three individuals were slightly appeased by this, and all present either nodded or voiced their approval. “Very well, then. This meeting is adjourned—”

“Now, wait just a moment, Sirius! I need to make an announcement before everyone scatters.” the Ace declared. “You really need someone who can add some life back into this room, don’t you think?”

Sirius sighed, crossing his arms. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you. It should be obvious, but I’m busted out of commission. There’s no way I can return to my regular duties. I suck at desk jobs and wouldn’t be of any help, so I’m officially retiring from the Black Army. Because of that…” The Ace grinned wide, reaching to clap Riley and Fenrir on the back. “I nominate Riley Aven and Fenrir Godspeed for the position of Ace of Spades!”

The two men stared at each other with mirrored expressions of shock as the room around them erupted into cheers and whistles. Murmurs of “It’s been a while since we’ve had a good fight!” and “I’m looking forward to this one!” passed through the crowd, congratulations at their nominations rising up through the din.

Riley stuck out his hand towards Fenrir, his face relaxing into a smile. “May the best man win, then! I’ll beat you to the ground.”

Fenrir blinked twice, his gaze dropping to Riley’s outstretched hand before shaking it. “Yeah, right. Good luck trying to pull that off.”

Despite his seeming confidence, Fenrir felt quite the opposite. He needed to get out of this situation – and fast.

─────────────── ⋆⋅♠⋅⋆ ───────────────

A few hours later, Fenrir was in the office once again. He had dragged a confused Riley in with him, ignoring all his questions as they marched up to where Sirius was seated at his desk.

“So.” The Queen leaned back in his chair, staring them down. “What’s going on? Do either of you have an issue with the fight tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid I can’t accept it.” Fenrir refused to meet his eyes, pointedly staring out the window as he spoke. “I’ll forfeit the match if you force it.”

“Can’t accept?” Sirius crossed his arms, frowning. “You and Riley Aven are currently the only contenders for the position of Ace. Your forfeiture would mean that he is immediately granted the right to promotion by default. Unless another challenger steps forward before the end of this evening, Riley will be the Ace of Spades.”

Fenrir turned his head. The man’s gaze was like iron, Fenrir dropping his gaze in shame after a few seconds. “I understand that.”

“Fen, you don’t have to give up just to make me the Ace! I was just plannin’ on beating you up in order to do that,” Riley said. “Or are you just afraid of losing?”

“It’s not that and you know it,” Fenrir retorted, momentarily regaining some of his confidence -- but looking back at the stern-faced Queen of Spades caused his unease to return just as quickly as it had left. “Look, I can’t be the Ace because I would like to request a match for a different position.”

Sirius sat silent for a moment before gesturing for him to continue. Fenrir took a deep breath.

“The King’s seat is empty too, yeah? What do I have to do to challenge for that spot? I’m sure it’s not as simple as getting the position of Ace would’ve been, but…” He trailed off, his expression pleading.

“With no King present, you’ll have to fight the next strongest individual in the army.” Sirius smiled, resting his chin on his hand. “So you’ll have to fight me, instead.”

“Really?” Fenrir grinned, the thought of what was sure to be a tough fight exciting him. “How about we replace Riley and I’s fight with one between you and me? Sound like a plan?”

Sirius found his lips curving upwards into a small smile despite himself in the face of Fenrir’s radiating eagerness. “Perhaps. But first – Captain Riley, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir!” Riley saluted Sirius before departing, flashing Fenrir an encouraging grin as he did so. “Good luck, mate.”

“Thanks.”

As the door shut, Fenrir let his smile drop slightly. “So, what d'you want? You look like you’ve got something you wanna ask me, Sirius.”

“Well, to be blunt, I’m wondering why you want to be King. And so badly that you would turn down the possibility to be Ace, at that.” Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “I know you have worked with the Black Army ever since joining our pilot program at the Cradle Institute, and have served faithfully, enlisting right after your graduation. Your drive to progress this far in such a short span of time has been truly admirable. Perhaps a bit reckless. So, what I want to know is this, Fenrir: what is it that pushes you forward?”

Fenrir remained silent. When his expression betrayed nothing, Sirius continued.

“Heading the army is an important job. The position of King is not for the faint of heart. The Black Army serves as this territory’s government – we handle trade, build and maintain infrastructure, collect taxes, manage finances, and patrol our borders and ports. As King, you would not only be the face of this army, but a vital part of our day-to-day operations. Several decisions will require your final say or signature. There may be times you are forced to make a choice that you do not agree with, but is best for the future of your country.”

“Well then, I’m glad that you’ll be at my side.” Fenrir grinned wide, reaching behind with one hand to scratch the back of his head. Sirius silently noted how the smile was a tad too wide and his arm had more tension than such a simple gesture would require. “I just want to serve this country and make it a better place for everyone in it. There’s so much that we can do to improve the quality of life and help the people who are in trouble.”

“A noble cause,” Sirius said. “And a proper motivation, if you can hold onto it.”

“I will. That’s why I’m gonna give tomorrow’s fight my all. I’m holdin’ nothing back!”

“Do you really need that time to prepare?”

“Huh?” Fenrir’s eyes widened. “I mean, I guess not. I could even throw down right here, if ya wanted.”

“Alright. Let’s go, then.” Sirius stood up from behind the desk. “Help me gather the other Chosen Thirteen. We’ll have the match today.”

Fenrir stood stunned a moment longer -- before breaking out into a wide smile. “You’re on! Let’s do this!”

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #fenrir godspeed #sirius oswald #fenrir godspeed king of spades #cybird #kos

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repo-net · 4 years

Text

The Month of Nagisa (6/20)

(TW: Mentioned Abuse)

February 22, 2011

Hope’s Peak Academy, School Faculty

“Why won’t you let my subject partake in this project?! It’s an absolute must for my research, and I’ll finally have what I can call an experimental success with that brat!” A man boomed, punching right against the table below him as he demanded answers from the Hope’s Peak Academy’s headmaster.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shingetsu. As talented as your son is because of the resources we have provided you with along with your way of raising him, we simply cannot allow him to participate. The backlash we’d receive from the public when they find out we put a child under such a brutal project is… unimaginable.” The headmaster replied, pausing for a moment before finishing his sentence as he thought about the consequences that they’d have to face if the public found out.

Because of the amount of success his father had with him (setting him at a high school reading level by the time he entered second grade), Hope's Peak Academy's main branch funded a huge amount of the research done enhancing and growing his son’s talents and abilities, seeing as how the blue haired boy was pushed more than lightyears beyond his limits in the expectation that he would be the ideal, the most first class child there is.

The moment the Izuru Kamukura Project was announced, his father was repeatedly denied when he attempted to hand over his son to undergo the mind-altering surgeries. Jin Kirigiri was far too concerned with the controversial backlash of putting a minor through an extensive process, and chose to set his sights on the Reserve Department.

“Bullshit! Who cares about what the public thinks? This is for the sake of science, and there is no greater candidate to take this project than my subject!” The father got angry, his tendency of not even referring to his child as his son, but rather as “his subject”. He no longer saw him as the product of him and his wife’s efforts, but rather, his experiment, one to be controlled and messed with. Did he ever really see him as a son, at all? We may never know.

“I’m sorry, sir. I understand your frustrations, but our reputation is first and foremost. Besides, there’s no real reason to even be arguing any more, we have already chosen a test subject by the name of Hajime Hinata, a reserve course student who was willing to take it.” The headmaster calmly replied, before pointing over to the door, the father of the blue child stammering out some words in angry manner before walking out and shutting the door loudly on his way out.

“Stupid, worthless brat… I wasted so much on him, and this is what I get in return? That he isn’t good enough to be put in that project? I’m so pissed right now, I’m going to make sure with utmost certainty he gets put in his place for being second-class…” The father talked to himself, getting some odd glares from people along the way as he walked back to his car and drove off back to their household.

When he got back home, he was going to turn to abusing and mistreating his ''faulty'', second-rate "experiment" as a ''punishment''. He was going to make sure his son was convinced at that point that he was second-rate and worthless, and he would be better off dead. He deserves to know how much of a failure he was to his parents’ efforts and the field of science.

As soon as the day that the Izuru Kamukura Project would eventually be completed with the successful transformation of Hajime into, well, Izuru, Nagisa's father would no longer see any purpose for his son, because Hajime, a completely normal high school student who wasn’t raised like how the man had raised his son, had become the genius that he had always pushed his son to be, what was the purpose of even having that failure in the household anyways?

Worthless. Trash.

That’s what the failure known as Nagisa Shingetsu was.

#danganronpa #danganronpa ultra despair girls #nagisa shingetsu #warriors of hope #shingetsu nagisa #month of nagisa

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anahitmariam · 4 years

Text

Սիրելի հետևորդներ, տարածեք ինչքան կարող եք, խիստ կարևոր։

Հայերենը ներքևում

🔴 Ecocide Alert in Nagorno–Kharabakh region amidst war between Armenia & Azerbaijan

Dear Partner,

As you may be aware, on September 27th, 2020, full–blown war exploded between Armenia & Azerbaijan over Naghorno-Karabakh (Artsakh) with four ceasefire regimes negotiated under the umbrella of Minsk OSCE Group, violated during October, 2020.

During this large-scale war, the most intensive since the 1994 ceasefire agreement in the Southern Caucasus region, a number of war crimes were mounted & documented, among them beheadings of Armenian soldiers, killing of civilians in a city square wrapped in Armenian flags, deliberate attacks on

civilian infrastructures - residential buildings, churches, food markets, schools and maternity hospitals.

On October 30, 2020, the environmental community of Armenia, including local, regional & international environmental organizations, conservation pioneers, scientists and non-governmental organizations, was shocked to witness another disastrous war crime against natural ecosystems & crucial livelihoods of Artsakh.

As per credible reports & collected data, comprised by Human’s Right Defender of Armenia, Azerbaijani military forces have used white phosphorus munitions containing elements of chemical weapons in the primary forests of Artsakh, which is a gross violation of International Humanitarian Law, principles of Customary Law, Geneva Convention, Chemical Weapons Convention, Convention on the Prohibition of Military or Any Other Hostile Use of Environmental Modification Technique, as well as the provisions of the relevant UN conventions and documents. As video evidence shows, these weapons are being used in an

attempt to burn down forests where-civilians are taking shelter from Azerbaijan’s attacks.

The ongoing large-scale war seriously threatens the biodiversity of the region, which has been recognized

as one of the world's biodiversity hotspots. This region is well-known for its high rate of endemism and for being home to more than 6000 plant species, 153 species of mammals, 400 species of birds and other living organisms. Hundreds of plant and animal species found in Artsakh are listed both in the local Red Book and the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species having a protection status at a global level.

Among them are the critically endangered Persian (Caucasian) Leopard, known to migrate through Mrav ridge of Armenia & Artsakh towards the Iranian border, as well as to Azerbaijan and vice versa, which is a rare species with declining numbers protected at a regional & global level.

Furthermore, Armenia & Artsakh are known for their primary forests, which are amongst the most biodiverse forests in the region. Not only do these forests play a major role in preserving favorable environmental conditions for sustainable development, but local people are heavily dependent on these forests for their livelihoods. Traditional forest-related knowledge accumulated over thousands of years is deeply linked with the cultures of indigenous people living in Artsakh.

The usage of white phosphorus munitions by Azerbaijani forces in those forests will not only destroy valuable ecosystems & habitats and put threatened species at the risk of extinction, but will contaminate rivers & underground waters for years, thus turning into a major threat of regional scale for all the people and wildlife living in the region.

We are therefore calling out to the global conservation community for support to help stop the usage of white phosphorus munitions before they cause an environmental disaster and regional ecocide.

The usage of white phosphorus munitions contradicts to all the provisions of all environmental conventions including the Bern Convention, Nagoya protocol to Helsinki & Rotterdam conventions, verified by the Governments of both Armenia & Azerbaijan.

Although 98% of the global population live under the protection of the Chemical Weapons Convention, this

is, as we understand, unfortunately not applicable towards Armenia & ethnic Armenians living in Artsakh.

Ongoing developments continue to threaten any form of life in the region and thus we’re addressing you, as a leading environmental organization in the field, to:

● Write to appropriate contacts & conservation partners in your network to express your concern of the possible environmental destruction in Artsakh and the region

● Raise awareness within your networks/social channels and:

● Condemn the actions of any military force that uses white phosphorus munitions in forests & habitats destroying crucial ecosystems and therefore forbidden under international law.

● Call for responsibility to protect valuable ecosystems, species populations & genetic resources from ecocide in Artsakh.

● Call for moral responsibility in a time of war and exclude war crimes both against humans and nature.

Please kindly inform us, the undersigned, about actions undertaken by your organization advocating for sustainable development & environmental resilience, and further steps aimed at eliminating the risk of the ecocide in Artsakh region, which is a crucial habitat to threatened species & populations not recognizing political borders and/or regional disputes.

Link to video։ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk4WBNmiygo

Yours sincerely,

1. Foundation for the Preservation of Wildlife & Cultural Assets (FPWC),

2. Armenian Society of Biologists NGO,

3. Eco Waste Environmental NGO,

4. Yerevan Aarhus Center,

5. Armenia Tree Project,

6. Sunchild NGO, [email protected]

7. Strategic Development Agency,

8. Solution Hub NGO,

9. Green Age NGO, [email protected]

10. American University of Armenia/Harutyun Alpetyan, Waste Governance Expert,

11. Environmental Public Society,

12. BlEJAN, environmental, social, business support NGO,

13. Araves Bird conservation NGO,

14. Armenian Environmental Front,

15. BEM Youth progressive Action Center

16. Freedom of Information Center of Armenia,

17. Institute of Botany after A.Takhtajyan NAS RA,

18. World Independent Youth Union,

19. Doctor Cinema Youth NGO,

20. Amities Luxembourg - Armenie a.s.b.l,

21. Formation et Sensibilisation de Luxembourg,

22. Regional Development and Research Center NGO,

23. "Econews.am" environmental informative website,

24. Public Awareness and Monitoring Centre' NGO,

25. Dingo Team NGO,

26. SALU (Sensibilité et Attention Luxembourg),

27. Caucasus Wildlife Tours,

28. Armenian Environmental Network,

29. Lab Inclusion (France)

30. Green Armenia Environmental Education NGO,

31. White Squad Environmental NGO,

32. "Armenian Botanical Society" NGO,

33. SwIdeas AB (Sweden),

34. 500 km in Armenia

35. Sunchild Eco - tours, [email protected]

36. BLESK LLC env. assessment org./Armenian Branch,

37. "Dalma-Sona" Foundation,

38. University of Traditional Medicine, Armenia,

39. Armenian Women for Health & Healthy Environment NGO,

40. One Health Coalition,

41. "EcoLur" informational NGO,

42. Clean Goris NGO,

43. Country Water Partnership NGO,

44. Sustainable Water Environment NGO,

45. "Centre for Community Mobilization and Support" NGO,

46. Green Lane NGO,

47. "Consumers' Consulting Center" NGO,

48. My Forest Armenia NGO,

49. "Support of Botanical Garden" Charity Foundation,

50. Armenian Forests Environmental NGO,

ԷԿՈՑԻԴԻ ՎՏԱՆԳ ԱՐՑԱԽՈՒՄ

Հարգելի՛ գործընկեր,

Համոզված ենք, որ տեղյակ եք սեպտեմբերի 27-ից ցայսօր շարունակվող ՝ Լեռնային Ղարաբաղի՝ Արցախի տարածաշրջանում, Հայաստանի և Ադրբեջանի միջև սանձազերծված պատերազմի մասին, որի, նույնիսկ հումանիտար հրադադարի կնքման մասով, միջազգային հանրության կողմից նախաձեռնած բազմաթիվ ջանքերն ապարդյուն էին:

Հարավային Կովկասում սանձազերծված այս լայնամասշտաբ պատերազմի ընթացքում փաստագրվել են մի շարք պատերազմական հանցագործություններ, որոնց թվում՝ հայ զինվորների գլխատումներ, հայկական դրոշներով փաթաթված քաղ. բնակչության սպանդ, մշակութային – հոգևոր արժեք հանդիսացող եկեղեցու հրթիռակոծում, քաղաքացիական ենթակառուցվածքների միտումնավոր հրետանակոծում, որոնց թվում՝ դպրոցներ, բնակելի շենքեր, քաղաքային շուկա և նույնիսկ ծննդատուն:

Հայաստանի և Արցախի ողջ բնապահպանական հանրույթն ու քաղ.հասարակությունը, որոնց թվում՝ տեղական, տարածաշրջանային կառույցներ և միջազգային բնապահպանական կազմակերպություններ, գիտնականներ և գիտական ինստիտուտներ հերթական անգամ ցնցվեցին հոկտեմբերի 30-ին՝ ականատեսը լինելով Արցախի տարածաշրջանի բնական էկոհամակարգերի և կենսապահպան անտառների նկատմամբ գործած ռազմական հանցագործությունից:

ՀՀ Մարդու Իրավունքների Պաշտպանի կողմից փաստագրված տվյալների համաձայն ադրբեջանական ռազմական ուժերը Արցախի կուսական անտառային էկոհամակարգը թիրախավորել են կիրառելով սպիտակ ֆոսֆորային քիմիական զինամթերք, ինչը միջազգային մարդասիրական իրավունքի, սովորութային իրավունքի նորմերի ու սկզբունքների, Ժնևյան կոնվենցիաների, ինչպես նաև ՄԱԿ-ի համապատասխան կոնվենցիաներով ու փաստաթղթերով նախատեսված դրույթների կոպտագույն խախտում է:

Ցայսօր շարունակվող լայնամասշտաբ պատերազմը տարածաշրջանի բնական էկոհամակարգերի ու կենսաբազմազանության լուրջ սպառնալիքներից է: Հիշեցնենք, որ մեր տարածաշրջանը միջազգային առաջատար բնապահպանական կառույցների կողմից ճանաչվել է որպես աշխարհի կենսաբազմազանության թեժակետերից մեկը, ասել է թե՝ պիտի պահպանվի համաշխարհային մակարդակով:

Մեր տարածքը հայտնի է էնդեմիզմի բարձր մակարդակով՝ բնական կենսամիջավայր ապահովելով ավելի քան 6000 բուսատեսակների, 153 տեսակի կաթնասունների և 400 տեսակի թռչունների համար, ինչը համաշխարհային բնական ժառանգություն է: Արցախում հայտնաբերված բույսերի և կենդանիների հարյուրավոր տեսակներ ներառված են ինչպես տեղական Կարմիր գրքում, այնպես էլ համաշխարհային՝ IUCN/ԲՊՄՄ կարմիր ցուցակում՝ որպես անհետացման եզրին գտնվող, համաշխարհային պաշտպանության տակ գտնվող տեսակներ:

Հայաստանն ու Արցախը հայտնի են իրենց կուսական անտառներով, որոնք տարածաշրջանի ամենաբազմազան անտառային էկոհամակարգերից են և կարևոր դեր են խաղում ամբողջ տարածաշրջանի կայուն զարգացման և էկոլոգիական հավասարակշռություն պահպանելու համար, իսկ տեղաբնիկները մեծապես կախված են անտառների բարիքներից: Հազարամյակների ընթացքում ձևավորված ավանդական գիտելիքները նույնպես խորապես կապված են անտառների հետ և ձևավորել են տեղաբնիկների հարուստ մշակույթն ու կենցաղը:

Արգելված զինամթերքի կիրառումը փաստացի վտանգում է մասնավորապես անհետացման եզրին գտնվող գորշ արջի, ��եզոարյան այծի, հայկական մուֆլոնի, լուսանի, անգղերի և վերջապես՝ տարածաշրջանի հազվագյուտ, անհետացման եզրին գտնվող Պարսկական (Կովկասյան) ընձառյուծի գոյությունն, որ իր միգրացիան է կատարում նաև Մռավի լեռնաշղթայով՝ անցնելով ՀՀ-ի, Արցախի, Իրանի ու Ադրբեջանի տարածքներով:

Վերացնելով կարևոր ապրելավայրեր ու ոչնչացնելով մի ամբողջ էկոհամակարգ՝ սպիտակ ֆոսֆորական զինամթերքը կուտակվում է հողի և գետերի մեջ, տարիներով աղտոտելով ստորգետնյա ջրերը՝ այդպիսով վերածվելով տարածաշրջանային մասշտաբի սպառնալիքի Հարավային Կովկասում ապրող բոլոր ազգերի համար՝ այդ թվում ադրբեջանցիների:

Սպիտակ ֆոսֆորային զինամթերքի օգտագործումն հակասում է բոլոր բնապահպանական միջազգային կոնվենցիաների դրույթներին՝ Բեռնի կոնվենցիայից, Նագոյայի արձանագրությունից մինչև Հելսինկիի և Ռոտերդամի կոնվենցիաներ, որոնք վավերացված են ինչպես Հայաստանի, այնպես էլ Ադրբեջանի կառավարությունների կողմից: Թեպետ քիմիական զենքի մասին միջազգային կոնվենցիան միտված է պաշտպանելու համաշխարհային բնակչության 98%-ին, այն ակնհայտորեն շրջանցում է Հայաստանում և Արցախում բնակվող էթնիկ հայերին, ինչը մենք անընդունելի ենք համարում:

Քիմիական զենքի այս տեսակը միջազգային հանրույթն օբյեկտիվորեն ճանաչում է որպես ռազմական հանցագործություն:

Բնության պահպանությունը քաղաքական և ռազմական սահմաններ չի՛ ճանաչում, քանի որ բոլորս ապրում ենք միևնույն տարածաշրջանում և օգտվում միևնույն կենսական ռեսուրսներից:

Սպիտակ ֆոսֆորային զինատեսակի կիրառումը կենսաբազմազանությամբ հարուստ այսպիսի տարածաշրջանում անխոս կհանգեցնի բնապահպանական աղետի ու աներկբայորեն կվերածվի տարածաշրջանային էկոցիդի:

Ներկա զարգացումները շարունակում են սպառնալ հարավկովկասյան տարածաշրջանին, և այս աղետը կանխարգելելու նպատակով կոչ ենք անում Ձեզ, որպես ոլորտի առաջատար կազմակերպություն՝

- Ձեր գործընկերներային ցանցին տեղեկացնելու Արցախին և տարածաշրջանին սպառնացող լուրջ վտանգի մասին

- Դատապարտելու ռազմական ուժերի կողմից կենսական անտառների, ապրելավայրերի և էկոհամակարգերի փաստացի ոչնչացումը, ինչն արգելված է միջազգային իրավունքի բոլոր նորմերով

- Պատասխանատվության կոչ անել՝ պաշտպանելու համար արցախյան արժեքավոր էկոհամակարգերը, հազվագյուտ տեսակների պոպուլյացիաներն ու առկա գենետիկ ռեսուրսը սպառնացող էկոցիդից

- Հղում կատարել և պահանջել բարոյական պատասխանատվություն դրսևորել պատերազմի ընթացքում ինչպես մարդկանց, այնպես էլ բնության նկատմամբ

Խնդրում ենք նաև մեզ՝ ներքոստորագրյալներիս, տեղեկացնել Ձեր՝ որպես բնության և կենսաբազմազանության պահպանման համար ջանքեր գործադրող, ունիվերսալ հումանիտար արժեքների ջատագով կազամակերպության կողմից նախաձեռնած գործողությունների ու հետագա քայլերի մասին՝ միտված Արցախյան տարածաշրջանում էկոցիդը կանխելուն, որ բազմաթիվ անհետացման եզրին գտնվող տեսակների ապրելավայր է ու չի ճանաչում ռազմաքաղաքական սահմաններ:

Տեսանյութը՝ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk4WBNmiygo

Հարգանոք՝

1. Վայրի բնության և մշակութային արժեքների պահպանման հիմնադրամ

2. Էկո -աղբ բնապահպանական ՀԿ

3. Երևանի Օրհուսի կենտրոն

4. ՀՀ ԳԱԱ Ա․Թախտաջյանի անվան Բուսաբանության ինստիտուտ

5. Արևորդի ՀԿ

6. Գրին Էյջ ՀԿ

7. Հայաստանի Ամերիկյան համալսարան, Հարություն Ալպետյան, թափոնների կառավարման մասնագետ

8. ԲԼԵՅԱՆ բնապ., սոց. և բիզնեսի աջակցման ՀԿ

9. Հայկական Բնապահպանական Ճակատ

10. ԱրԱվես թռչունների պահպանման միություն

11. Ինֆորմացիայի Ազատության կենտրոն

12. Էկոնյուզ բնապահպանական տեղեկատվական կայք

13. Վայրի կենդանիների դիտարկման գործակալություն

14. Կանաչ Հայաստան բնապահպանական կրթական ՀԿ

15. Համաշխարհային անկախ երիտասարդական միավորում

16. Դոկտոր սինեմա երիտասարդական ՀԿ

17. Լյուքսեմբուրգ-Հայաստան բարեկամության ասոցիացիա

18. Ուսուցում և իրազեկում ՀԿ- Լյուքսեմբուրգ

19. Հայկական բուսաբանական ընկերություն ՀԿ

20. Սպիտակ ջոկատ բնապահպանական ՀԿ

21. Ռազմավարական զարգացման գործակալություն ՀԿ

22. Կենսաբանների հայկական միություն ՀԿ

23. Սոլյուշն Հաբ ՀԿ

24. Էկոլոգիական հասարակական միություն

25. ԲԵՄ երիտասարդների առաջադիմական գործունեության կենտրոն

26. ԷկոԼուր տեղեկատվական ՀԿ

27. Տարածքային զարգացման և հետազոտությունների կենտրոն ՀԿ

28. Հանրային իրազեկման և մոնիտորինգի կենտրոն ՀԿ

29. Դինգո Թիմ ՀԿ

30. SALU/ Sensibilité et Attention, Լյուքսեմբուրգ

31. Հայկական Բնապահպանական Ցանց (ԱՄՆ )

32. Lab Inclusion (Ֆրանսիա)

33. Մեկ Առողջություն կոալիցիա

34. Էյ Թի Փի (Armenia Tree Project)

35. Սվիդեա ընկերություն (Sweden)

36. 500 կմ Հայաստանում նախաձեռնություն

37. Բլեսկ ՍՊ բնապ. գնահատման ընկերություն

38. Դալմա – Սոնա հիմնադրամ

39. Ավանդական բժշկության համալսարան

40. Հայ կանայք հանուն առողջության և առողջ շրջակա միջավայրի

41. Սպիտակ ջոկատ բնապահպանական ՀԿ

42. Հայաստանի անտառներ բնապահպանական հկ

43. Աջակցություն բուսաբանական այգուն բարեգործական հիմնադրամ

44. Ազգային ջրային համագործակցություն ՀԿ

45. Կայուն ջրային միջավայր ՀԿ

46. Մայ Ֆորեսթ Արմենիա ՀԿ

47. Սպառողների խորհրդատվության կենտրոն ՀԿ

48. Համայնքային համախմբման և աջակցության կենտրոն ՀԿ

49. Մաքուր Գորիս ՀԿ

50. Կանաչ արահետ ՀԿ

2 notes · View notes

poppibranchlover · 4 years

Text

Nine Lives, One Fight - Part 14

The story: Deep in the forest of Troll Town, there lies a mysterious tiny purple mushroom that has a secret magical ability. King Peppy calls this mushroom forbidden for all Trolls to go near it. One day, while Branch is out in the woods doing his survival research studying, he encounters it and, not knowing it is a regular mushroom, decides to harvest it and bring it home. But in the next morning, its magic effects transform him into a small blue cat! After being sent to the animal pound, his girlfriend, Poppy, finds him and decides to adopt him, although not recognizing it is Branch. Desperate to finish his research project due for a special event invented by Poppy, Branch is forced to learn how to behave like a pet cat and must figure out what caused him to become one.

The wait is OVER!!! You already seen what had happened in Part 13. Now get ready for Part 14!:

Poppy headed for the direction that leads her to Branch’s heavily-fortified underground bunker. When she finally made it, she grinned to herself. Branch’s bunker was the most helpful resource she would always need!

“I bet I can just borrow some materials from Branch,” she said. “Maybe he’s got something to show me for the party!”

She went on to knock on the bunker door again, but forgetting that Branch isn’t responding inside several times, Poppy searched for a way how to get inside. “Is there a secret passage that can help me get in?” she asked herself. “I wonder how Branch can get in?”

From her backpack, Branch the kitten watched her examining his home. With a burst of speed, he jumped out of the bag without her noticing and hugged his beloved little underground territory. He was finally relieved that he was home at last!

“Ha-ha! Yeah!” Branch cheered. “At last! I’m finally back home! I knew Poppy would think of me! My plan is finally working!” Then he placed his paws around his bunker’s rocky surface, looking around for an access to get in. He added “Now all I need to do is unlock the entrance passcode so we can get inside!”

Just then, Wiggles the bunny popped out of the bushes and hopped his way to greet his friend.

“Hey, kid!” he chirped. “So you’re glad with your “going back home” plan, huh?”

“Yep!” Branch told him proudly. “My plan is working, Wiggles! When Poppy goes into my bunker to ask for my help, then that will distract her!” After saying that, he snickered to himself. Wiggles joined in too.

“I knew I would count on you,” said Branch. Then he continued looking for some secret access buttons around the rocky wall. “Come on. See if you can help me find something to get in!”

“Clever kitty,” Wiggles said simply. “Just think about it. Using a metal crowbar can help break into your house.”

“What? No, we can’t just use that!” Branch corrected him. “That’s dark.” All of the sudden, he felt something made of metal and said “Found it!”

What he was touching in a corner was a big red button. Pressing it with his paw, an electronic coding box appeared from the left.

Branch pushed in a few buttons, punching in a secret code that grants access into the bunker. (Branch actually made that code for himself since living in isolation in his beloved home.)

Finally, after he pushed the last dial, the small rectangular green screen has words flaring “Access granted! You can come in, Branch!”

Branch grinned. After all that planning he took, he is finally able to get inside his cozy underground home!

Meanwhile, Poppy is still looking for a way to get in the bunker when suddenly...

SHWOOK!!!

Branch’s brown mat, which said GO AWAY!, quickly opened, allowing trusted access.

Poppy was so startled after the mat disappeared, and after a moment, she said cheerfully “Wow! That’s great! Thank you, Branch!” She called down into the bunker entrance, thinking that Branch had activated the passcode from inside.

Branch and Wiggles scrambled back inside Poppy’s backpack as she made her way into the bunker.

Descending down to Branch’s room via using the elevator, Poppy looked around, trying to find her boyfriend. Once again, she called his name really loudly, but yet again, there wasn’t a response.

“Hmm? It seems like Branch is quite busy all this week throughout town today,” Poppy said with a simple shrug. “Maybe I can find some of his supplies to borrow from his bunker!”

She walked over to Branch’s studying table and placed her backpack down beside it. Then she zipped open her bag to comfort her pet cat, who meowed with concern.

Poppy stroked Branch’s blue hair, smiling and telling him gently “Stay right here, Mr. Tickle. I’m gonna look for Branch so I don’t want any commotion in his place.” Then she kissed his forehead and walked off, leaving Branch love-struck at her.

But instantly, Branch snapped back into reality, realizing what it needs to be done. He got out of the backpack and hopped onto his desk. All of his studying materials required for setting up his Show-and-Tell project were still laid out here.

“She’s distracted!” said Branch. “Now’s my chance to gather all of my stuff!”

Wiggles climbed out of Poppy’s backpack to follow him. “Hold up there, mister!” he protested. “How are you going to do this? You were just not that good when your owner is talking with two twin-haired girls!”

The bunny was referring to the encounter with Satin and Chenille from earlier. Branch shook his head and told him “I’m sorry. It’s just I had to learn how to control my instincts. If she finds out I’m ruining the bunker, she’s gonna send me back to her pod for the rest of my life!”

Branch swore he couldn’t let that happen. As a normal Troll, it was easy to do his task, but now that he was a cat, it is going to be a tough challenge than he used to think about. Besides, now he thinks being distracted by the red dot from the fashion twins’ presentation was a bad idea.

“If you don’t want it happen,” Wiggles instructed. “Please just act like...”

“A normal Troll?” Branch asked, making a face. “Yeah, don’t worry. I got this.”

Branch leaped away from his table, making his way to his closet of survival gear in a corner. He found one of his survival backpacks and dragged it out of his closet with his mouth.

He placed his backpack beside a basket of blueprints and turned to Wiggles, giving out some orders. “Alright. The plan is to pack all of my supplies so I can bring everything I need to complete my Show-and-Tell project!” he said. “I have no time to waste right now.”

“Now that’s more of a good plan!” Wiggles said cheerfully, if a little dopily. “So how can a kitten carry a large bag that big?”

Branch studied the shelves full of supplies and equipment. Gathering materials was just hard work for one tiny little cat. “Just wait and see,” he told Wiggles. “I’m not supposed to sit around and lick my paws all the time only to realize I need to finish my errand. Help me with the top shelves while I gather the bottom ones.”

“Got it, kitty!” Wiggles agreed. Then he and Branch started getting to work, reaching for the shelves, grabbing some supplies and blueprints with their teeth and packing them up into Branch’s bag.

Meanwhile, Poppy entered Branch’s bedroom, hoping to see any sign of him. Looking around, she called “Anyone home? Branch? Are you here? I just want to borrow something from you!”

Once more, no answer. It’s just one deserted bedroom. A random cricket chirped in the background.

“Branch?!” Poppy called for him even louder. But there is still no response. Where is Branch? And why he is not in his bedroom either?

“That’s just so odd,” Poppy muttered to herself. “I bet he must have went out again. But has he been ignoring me?”

Poppy isn’t so sure to believe, thinking maybe her brain was playing tricks on her. But she knew Branch was working super busy right now, so she searched around the room for anything to borrow from him.

She approached to a corner, where she found some shelves stocked with more of Branch’s things. He had stored every single one of them, such as jars, food, rocks and sticks.

Gasping with great awe, she took a jar of pickles from one of the shelves and said “At least I’ll just take some stuff from here. Hopefully Branch will find out when I approach him outside.”

Back in the living room, Branch and Wiggles are almost finished with packing supplies. The cat was holding a blueprint scroll in his mouth as he prepared to put it into his backpack.

Wiggles was concerned about the backpack, which is now growing more larger and larger due to many of Branch’s stuff being stored inside. “You sure you’re gonna carry a lot of that because kittens are so small compared to a Troll!” he told him.

With his mouth full of the blueprint, Branch said “Don’t worry about it. I got this under control.” He opened his mouth to drop the scroll into the bag...until a sweet voice interrupted him “I’m here, Mr. Tickle!”

Branch’s ears twitched to hear who was speaking. Turning around, he gasped when he saw Poppy approaching him, carrying the pickle jar she had collected.

Branch quickly closed his backpack, hoping that Poppy won’t see what he was doing, as all Trolls know that animals don’t act just like them. “Oh no!” he cried. “I hope I have everything I need!”

Wiggles peeked into the bag, checking if they had all the required materials needed. He pointed out to some books and building tools inside and told him quickly “I think that’s everything else! I gotta hide!”

“Okay, get in here! Quick, before she finds out!” Branch whispered sternly, opening his bag for a split second to let Wiggles hop inside as quickly as he can. He closed the bag just in time before Poppy was towering in front of him. She seemed confused on what he was up to right now, so Branch displayed a guilty expression on his face.

“Um...what are you doing with Branch’s backpack?” asked Poppy, putting her hands to her hips. She thought her cat seemed to be acting crazy.

Branch plastered his two front paws on his bag’s lid, attempting to cover it. “Meow! Meeow! Meow, meow!” he meowed nervously with mild embarrassment, trying not to scratch his backpack with his claws.

Poppy raised an eyebrow, suspicious of what is going on. Before she can stop him, Branch rushed to her side and purred against her side. “PUUUUUUURRRRRRRR….. PUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRR….”

That was good enough for Poppy to be more distracted. Losing interest at the brown backpack, she placed her hand on Branch’s soft blue fur to pet him while feeling his body vibrate at her rear side. “Oh…hahaha! Okay, okay!” she laughed while getting snuggled by her cat. “I know what you’re telling me! That’s good! You’re a good kitty!”

Poppy patted Branch on the head and picked him up. Then she puts him back into her backpack, adding “I think we’ve done enough for today. Let’s just go back home!”

She prepared to leave, but then Branch peeked out, grabbed his brown backpack filled with his stuff with his mouth and struggled to fit it inside her bag. Just when Poppy thought she was able to lift her bag with all her strength, she can clearly notice how heavy it is now.

“Whoa! How can my bag get so heavy at the last minute?” she wondered to herself as she struggled to make her way to the elevator. “I hope I can make it home with everything else needed! I just hope it isn’t the pickle jar inside that making it too heavy!”

But thanks to the weight of Branch’s backpack inside her own backpack, Poppy thinks it’s going to take a while to get home. She is starting to get exhausted from all that bag-carrying. From inside Poppy’s bag, Branch smiled cockily to himself and his own bag of survival gear, certain that his plan is going on full motion.

To Be Continued...

Stay tuned for Part 15!

#dreamworks trolls #poppy and branch #poppy #branch #cat #cat branch #branch the cat #wiggles #wiggles the rabbit #gary #gary the remote #cat branch story #nine lives one fight #fanfiction

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taendrils · 5 years

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cloud delivery! — preview

― ❝sometimes other fairies really can’t tell what goes through your head or if anything at all does, but your kind’s wonder reaches its peak as they spot you interacting with min yoongi: the closed-off garden fairy. you choose not to mention how you deliver things to him on the daily and how you may or may not stop at nothing until you get to see him smile.❞

• genre: fluff, comedy, romance, idiots to lovers, disney fairies au • warnings: swearing, mentions of anxiety and perfectionism issues • pairing: garden fairy!yoongi x fast-flying fairy!reader • preview wordcount: 2.8k words

An old knowledge with ties back when humanity couldn't trace says that when a child laughs for the first time, a new fairy is born. Back when the first humans came to be, once their hearts bloomed with genuine joy, fairies followed their path and helped their surroundings grow along with their smiles. Water fairies purified their rivers and those of light have sown the sun into rays falling from the sky to give humans guidance and brighten their circles. Gentle braids of blossom that they called flowers started rising from fertile soil and frost dusted the tops of the mountains where fairies flew to give colour to this world.

As much as humans depended on fairies, the same could be said from the other perspective: with fairies learning new ways to care for the world and building routines often broken by events impossible to imagine for those who kept an axis of seasons and light. Many curiosities have arisen in young minds but humans meeting their helpers was rarer than the eclipses or red auroras that were painted for them. Despite that, sprinkles of magic still caressed heads on pillows and brought consciences along the path of pleasant dreams.

Eras have passed and happiness took different forms, yet no matter the timeline, they all kept the same core belief. Fairies were shaped by the experience of euphoria, and laughter trailed after them in their early stages with the same purity and open heart they were created from.

Yoongi doesn't know what kind of laughter lightning must have struck the child who made you appear, but he's sure that wherever they are, that baby must have had some future sight and is having a field day with watching him interact with the bane of his existence. That's what must have caused the laughter, unforeseen circumstances that no fairy kingdom ruler or human scientist could have explained, because you were too out of this world for him to explain otherwise.

Well, you or your head, that is.

If his house branch sharer Namjoon, fawn fairy extraordinaire also held residence in Yoongi’s head where dramatic monologues were played more ardently than those on a slow roll of a film, he might’ve reprimanded Yoongi, stomped on his dreams and overall existence by telling him you were not so bad. Or worse, tell him that he’s exaggerating and that this grudge he’s holding over you has no place on moral grounds like those where fairies existed in.

Ok, fine. Maybe he was being a little dramatic. Blame it on his nature, on the talent he was born under, or just pin it under the mentorship of Rosetta, head garden fairy and symbol of house behaviour. It is her fault that garden fairies are thought to have a stuck-up reputation, therefore many are surprised when they meet the other fairies with the same talent, like sweet Jimin, who bared resemblance with the snowdrops he carefully bloomed every spring season.

Yoongi doesn’t mind the reputation, might even be true in his case. He’d like not to be approached. It sounded about festive right now.

But eternal life doesn’t go the way we want it to, honeydew, Rosetta’s words ring into his head, pushing aside the unfinished monologue still tapping at the back of his head. There might be some truth to that, as no one would wish to share her experiences of being dragged in the mud and stuck in a carriage hundred times their size in The Mainland. Yoongi shudders, the roses in his hair rattling with the rhythm of his vibration.

Still, he wishes he could sleep in a hollow deep enough for fate to spare him the responsibility just this day. And the following one. And the next season, until autumn comes in and he gets to do what he has been meaning to all this time. See, another reason why he loathes being assigned on spring, besides having no way out of meeting with you. His conscience finds itself pouring magic dust on the monologue which takes the spotlight as it returns, and fine, he is exaggerating. You were not a bad person. Ahem. Fairy.

Not a bad fairy.

In a sense, he knows that he can’t deal with you due to the differences in your kind and how you stood out from his perceptions. By nature you lacked tints of responsibility and regard for every other living creature, not for the fact that you chose not to care but you just forgot. Whatever the consequences were, you had no mind for those either: you were more inclined to brush them off and continue on with your duties, excuses and pretences of living in the present almost synonymous with your name. Yoongi had a word for that: human.

From what he learned about humans and their characteristics, you were eerily similar, it scared him sometimes. Only on the inside, where he liked to keep any thought which could give you an advantage over him. The first ‘oh well, I forgot’ from you in his presence brought a month’s drought on the eastern region and a near heart attack from Yoongi, while your first ‘oops’ stuttered with the most radiant smile followed after gentle, idiotic Namjoon trusted you with leading a lost mandarin duck and ending up on the other side of the world with it.

Although the similarities don’t make him lose his balance and fall face-down on bulbs nowadays, you’re still a constant surprise. Might be due to the fact that you are so far from the usual fairies he interacts with, preferring to stay away from fast-flying fairies and their tempers. Those often found him with his tongue prodding at his cheek, snarky remarks growing in his head like forest fungus but blocked as they glide closer towards his mouth. Might be due to the fact that you’re the fastest fairy he’s ever seen, speed intertwining with such positivity and enthusiasm that Yoongi is sure you could circle the world before it grinned sunset if you wished.

You were so far off what he had expected and all over the place that he used to hear about you only in emergency situations, wandering around with desires of helping and without a department, carrying every task your kind couldn’t. Not even Vidia, made of dark purple, confidence and sarcasm stepped up in times of crisis quite like you did.

Current crisis? Yoongi himself. At least that’s what he thinks, because he couldn’t explain your visits otherwise without shame dusting pretty cheeks pink.

Meeting with other fairies, it often left him on edge, small changes he would make picking apart at his brain and tightening inside his chest, scared of lashing out at others but obviously uncomfortable. Fairies needed routine, moves not missing the smallest element, but mistakes were prone: a package here, a honeysuckle with its vines intertwined there–one second of not paying attention and no one was doing things the way he wanted. And oh, how aware he was of it but how futile were his attempts to control his fixation as it ate away at his will to express it.

More often than not, the means of speaking up forced his heart into erratic pounds, coming down from the interactions drained and exhausting every resource in his body. He wishes for quiet, for slumber into tulip petals, wishes the warm wind breezed through the static air, widening the space between his fingers. Like now. Pixie dust stars fall upon his ground with you getting closer, and your grip on the strap loosens, the leaf cover of the pouch now held gently by your palm. He recognises the sensation without bringing his focus into it, the breeze that changes the direction of the heat and instead of descent, it’s brought into a spiral that surrounds the being.

But then your mouth opens.

“Ten bowls of clay, taken straight from under the sunlight,” you beam as you drop the luggage down, crouching to detangle the cover. Used to hearing the fairy’s instructions, you waste no time to put the items one over the other, bending to in your arms. Yoongi stares at you with his mouth open, and for once the shock in his eyes has a pleasant warmth rising the corners of your smile.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Yoongi says slowly, syllables forming in reluctance as he watches the pile grow until it reaches your chin. It's going to fall.

“Of course, of course, I got it, just give me some space so I can move.”

His heart starts to pick up the pace at your mismatched steps, part of him wondering why didn’t you just fly over? Hello? He’d love to have the time to judge your transportation choices more, but his instincts kick in as his eyes land right on one bowl slipping from under your chin. It will fall.

He moves faster than his thought, diving to catch it, but he is no wind person and ends up hanging in the air, wings pulling his weight with shame as he finds himself face to face with the fallen bowl levitating in front of him.

“You think I’m some sort of fool, Min Yoongi?” you reprimand and the pixie dust you used on the items seems to form its usual sparkle, mocking his attempts. “All you do is nag me about getting flower paint on your precious cutlery. I can’t begin to imagine what would happen if I broke one of these limited edition bowls. What do you do with these anyway.”

He doesn’t even have the brain to be offended, questions about your word choices puzzling him and setting a fog over the remains of his previous scare. “Limited edition?”

What the hell.

“Well, of course,” you say as if Yoongi truly is some fool, and truly doesn’t know anything. “You think Jungkook likes playing with dirt?”

“Isn’t that what he always does?” Jungkook, that talented, curious and awful, awful tinker fairy who lived to torment him as well, Yoongi was sure Jungkook said this to you so you could rub it in his face.

“Yoongi! You know he has more important business, trying to decipher all this lost stuff. Tinkerbell never lets him breathe.”

Ah yes, the lost stuff, Yoongi recalls. The pieces of plastic with strobes of wires and organised circuits. He grimaces thinking of where those could have come from.

“Very fun,” he says despite himself, sarcasm dripping at the end of his mouth. “You were gone for a long time. Did you get to eat?” Yoongi coughs before crossing his arms, studying the cracks between the tree's bark. He didn't care for those in a while.

“Why? You wanted me to pick up something on the way? I could do it next time,” you say, eagerness pouring out of your words before it pauses to a halt, stopped by Yoongi’s blank face. “No? Fine. I ate, thank you for asking.”

And see, his fading conscience makes it hard for Yoongi to hate you when you are like this–and when he met you this often. Because you were not just the bane of his existence–you were his delivery girl too. His forgetful, airheaded delivery girl who treated everyone the same, paying no attention to Yoongi more than you’d do to anyone else, he thinks as you tilt your head to look at him with big, curious eyes. The silence stretches with the time you take to analyse him before you run with it in your chaotic rhythm.

“You should see how it goes when I don’t want to eat,” you continue on, not seeming to notice how you switched the tangent of your conversation. “Him and the other tinker fairies surround me and chant food, food, food, you know what I mean? I can’t believe them. It’s funny, but my mouth hurts from all the chewing.”

You cup your face and squish your cheeks with one hand to make your point, petal mouth open in a pout. Not soon after, way before Yoongi has time to dwell on it, your posture sags, hands flying to grip the ends of your top. The top made from bits and pieces of purple salvia that he took care of and sent for stitching with careful instructions, and here you were–not a care in the world about all that work by the way you were patting your tummy with mock indignation.

“They’re so so stubborn, I thought my stomach was going to pop out of this fucking–”

Rose glass breaking, Yoongi almost swears himself, getting close out of habit before he realises what he’s doing. His feet plant themselves straight onto the ground, feeling too awkward to back out or resume the beginning of his rant. “H...How many times did I tell you?”

“What? What am I doing?” you ask, dopey arches framing a full smile as you dote on the way his lips purse.

“Stop swearing,” he speaks with his voice lowered, reproachful tone curling like tendrils as it gets to you.

“What’s wrong with that?”

While fairies adapted the language of the region they were residing in, swear words were rare and a clear sign of human interaction. A thing you weren’t supposed to do. The hopeful part of his conscience was praying for you to have heard it from Vidia, back from when the group had their own human encounters. But the realistic side of him, the one occupying itself with creating bonds and structures within his space laughed at the thought: your curiosity was too big to be restrained to a life of nature for eternity.

“You can’t do that here. We have manners, unlike you wind people.”

“You’re being mean, you menace in pink,” he hears Namjoon say from a low branch before you get a chance at a reply and Yoongi drifts his eyes to see his preferred acquaintance (not for long) painting over the wings of a ladybug.

The garden fairy squints at his companion, eyebrows furrowing over delicate features. “Talk about me when your rat stops eating away at my seeds.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, taking a second brush to puncture the first dot. “It’s a mouse, not a rat. Where did you even hear that?”

“But? But...They told us rats were an accident.”

“They were,” Namjoon nods, solemn as he continues his work. “Weird how that happened. We should ask Yoongi, he has the experience.”

“For the last time,” Yoongi says in the same fashion, looking ready to puncture Namjoon with those brushes, “My aim was off.”

You cross your arms over your chest as you lean against the stem of a dandelion, a small smile playing over your lips at their bickering.

“So was the smell. And the plant. And the root that kept growing.” Namjoon points matter-of-factly, accentuating every hit with a dot on the ladybug. “Seems like you couldn’t get rid of that green duckfoot.”

Yoongi’s jaw ticks, “Stop making fun of it, no one actually calls it that.”

“That’s true, in cities they call it oregano,” you throw and both men turn towards you with bulging eyes, prompting you to return the stare with even bigger ones, as if saying ‘what?’. Namjoon snickers and Yoongi asks Mother Dove what duty he omitted to deserve this. Was it this cursed ‘oregano’ that made it all like this?

The mint disaster happened more than twenty seasons ago, when he was a mere apprentice fairy. Nothing more than a distracted occurrence, where he did not pay much attention to the fact that bloom happened with intention, his thoughts drifted as his magic poured into the soil. When he snapped back to reality, he was met with a different smell and patterns which made him think he had created another type of grass, but with more of a scent. It was humiliating, and it took a lot for him to wash off the stain over his reputation in the following cycles. The realization sinks in as it dissolves, disbelief replacing his initial panic. Not only did you know about the incident, but also–

“She’s been to the cities.” Yoongi murmurs to himself in despair, lips trembling with his shaky exhale as he watches your blank face, no reaction to your slip.

“Of course she’s been to the cities Yoongi, where have you been?” Namjoon teases. “Who do you think gave them the oregano?”

“You're welcome anytime too, you know,” you say with a smile, treading with care on making a direct invitation to Yoongi and putting him in a position he might not want. High chances are he is never doing that, and by the way your eyes plead with him, he realises you think the same. The garden fairy contemplates changing the subject, but he knows you're trying to help, and again, you do this with everyone, so he does not feel as pressured.

His traitor heart, however, has another agenda: it jumps at seeing you manifest a sense of empathy, a patience that goes against your nature. He assumes you mean to ease him into the thought you, or any delivery person won't be there forever. Still,

“There’s something else I have to do.”

The way he says it makes you sigh.

He is so dreamy when he rejects you.

i’ve Been Workin On THis For 2 MOnfs and still not getting close to the end please motivate me !!!!! Tell Me WHot U think praise makes my red bloodcells multiply!

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