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parcferm3 · 1 year

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Like all the youtubers who aren't using AI to write their scripts and are just pumping out regurgitated articles ganked from google, I've had a few hours to process this morning's news and have allowed it to digest past the 'called it' and 'love to see him back, hate to see how it played out' kneejerk reactions, and to be honest, I'm perhaps a bit less WTF than I was at six this morning when I walked into the kitchen and made my partner spit coffee onto the kitchen blind.

So Daniel Ricciardo.

Ricciardo, Daniel.

DRDRDRDRDRhmmmmmm right then.

That was quick. I was definitely in the camp that it would happen over the summer break for a few reasons, not just because of the extremely unsubtle vibes that the Red Bull camp have been throwing out all over their social media, but also because it made sense.

Do I think it's not great that DR's got a drive in an objectively even worse way than he lost his at McLaren seat? Yes. Do I think the way Nyck de Vries has been spoken about publicly by his own team is pretty damn terrible and probably hasn't helped with his confidence? Of course. It was a clear case of buyer's regret that's made everyone look pretty terrible and has probably left poor Nyck de Vries feeling not unlike DR last year.

Do I think it's a good business decision from two not-quite-separate constructors who both exist only as moving billboards, and know a good marketing dynamic when they see it? Uh. Yuh.

Why not Liam Lawson? Well... apart from not having the immediate hype and recognition of DR, I think he's destined for that seat next year. For once, Red Bull isn't going to do what they did with de Vries and almost everybody else (hopefully) and set the guy up to fail. There's a reason he wasn't in the car at the start of the season, they're biding their time until he's ready. Let him finish out the Super Formula season. It makes sense to give him a full pre-season program before putting him in the car, and they've got nothing to lose and potentially a whole lot to gain, by giving the seat to Ricciardo.

Nothing to lose:

Daniel Ricciardo is, if nothing else, a safe bet, and a benchmark for Yuki Tsunoda and for the car itself. Is there a possibility that he tanks? Sure. Maybe the brakes in the AT are even less suited to his driving style than the Mclaren's and all the lockups, prangs, and off-track shenanigans we've seen this year are down to the car more than they are the drivers, however. Even Daniel on a bad day is probably better than Nyck on a good one, and that's not me slating Nyck, that's just experience.

So Alpha Tauri gets an experienced driver who's already on the payroll to compare Yuki against, who at worst won't score points and crash the car on occasion (which is a nett 0 swap) and at best, will score points, demonstrate what the car is capable of, and potentially get them above Alpha Romeo in the constructor's championship by the time the summer break rolls around. Heck, if he does great, maybe even beyond Haas and Williams. The reality is somewhere in between, but at the moment all it would take is for a 6th and a 10th at the Hungaroring for AT to draw level with Alpha Romeo, should AR have another zero points scoring weekend (which is not outside of the realms of possibility, considering AR has only scored in 4/10 of the grands prix actually run this year), and if it's a 6th and an 8th, that pushes them level with Haas and Williams (again, provided neither score points).

A whole lot to gain? Really?

I'm going to say it. I'm gonna. It's coming. Here it comes oh my god what is it what is it?

Sergio Perez is gonna retire at the end of this year.

It's out there. There it is. I said it. Whew.

Why do I think this? IDK folks, it's just the vibes.

Vibes, along with things like Christian Horner's joke about Perez 'making babies' at Silverstone this past weekend, which definitely pushed this theory along a bit. Not necessarily in a 'he's made rumblings about more kids' kind of way (although like, sure, possibly, whatever), but a 'is this a hint that family is on the guy's mind a lot more' kind of way. And Checo himself has said 'as long as I'm enjoying it' which he just... really doesn't seem like he is at the moment.

And the, y'know. It's a loan. Very specific there on your press release, Red Bull.

But then some part of me thinks this was always sort of at least part of the plan right from when DR was announced as third driver in the first place. Nothing set in stone, but paths being laid out and options being put on the table not just for Red Bull as a whole, but also for Perez.

(Sidenote, I actually don't think de Vries was pushed two races out from the summer break, I think he asked to go so he didn't have to endure any more of toll that the RB meat grinder was taking on him. Please set me free, I'll even leave without you paying me out for the rest of the season I just want to get out of here good lord. But that's a whole 'nother story and again, just vibes.)

Every. Single. Interview. With Daniel Ricciardo, he's made it very clear he intends to be in that Red Bull seat next year. I'm not digging through the bin for all the ticket stubs, you've read them already.

Once DR's got a few races under his belt and has (optomistically) proven that he's capable of getting a few points in what we currently assume is the worst car on the grid, they'll give Checo the green light to chuck it in.

The thing about Ricciardo, is he's a known entity. He's been Max's team mate before and understands the dynamic. He wasn't prepared to be number two last time, but this time rather than a young talented upstart coming in to usurp his position in what's already his team, he's coming in with his eyes wide open, a focus on team results rather than individual. He'll know his job is to be the classic wingman a la Barrichello/Bottas/Webber etc etc because it's obvious and it'd be stupid to think otherwise, because Max really is just that good.

And as much as I root for Yuki, I just don't see him in that second seat right now. They want a solid, steady, reliable presence, who won't collapse under the pressure of being Max Verstappen's teammate, and at the moment, the best person for that job is probably Daniel Ricciardo.

#daniel ricciardo #f1 #formula 1 #f1blr #red bull racing #nyck de vries #yuki tsunoda #sergio perez #max verstappen #red bull drama factory

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deci-doodles · 9 months

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Misc assortment of OC doodles from recently that I had no idea how to post individually so I’ll just compile them :p feat previously shown family members+Tiziri in some outfits besides her Eremite one, and also me attempting to design Itto’s parents coz why not

More info+rambling under the cut

Aight SO,

Tiziri’s the Eremite lady that Tesey’s head over heels for and can’t blame him, she’s very charming, very competent, and won’t hesitate to call him out lol. She’s also the current successor in place for the matriarch (Tizemt) of her adoptive tribe (the Ifri, named after the goddess not the demons lol). They don’t exist in lore since the other two main GoF worshipping tribes don’t really fit the area of influence I wanted to use and Tanit were also a definite no go so instead, the Ifri are a smaller tribe that had branched off from the Tanit but under their current matriarch, have been slowly trying to make themselves more self sufficient and independent, with Tiziri being taken in by them as a child. after they took down the raiding party which had targeted her original tribe and family.

As of current game events, Tesey had been trying to collaborate with the Ifri with textile trading since he believed their work could sell really well in a more international market, so Tiziri’s been assigned to keep an eye on him and also just get a grasp of what kind of a person he is before letting him into their territory and all that (luckily for him he’s long passed the vibe check but after Fontaine’s AQ he had to make an emergency trip back to Morepesok).

Anyways I thought it’d be fun to draw her in a modern Moroccan caftan, but also a Ukrainian folk outfit since she does eventually make a trip over to Morepesok to visit Tesey’s family when they get together. Anyways like Kirena, Tonia and their mother, Oksana (I’ll post their design eventually wsojcndwoc), I’ve based it off outfits from the Luhansk area (go check out these blogposts for references I used for the embroidery it’s such a life saver, but yeah their mum’s side would be from the Donbas irl, dad’s from Zaporizhzhia). Jewellery’s primarily based off Amazigh jewellery from southern Morocco, as well as some Tuareg ones and also a few strings of Ukrainian korali ehe (they’re a gift from Tesey later on as a sign of his intent to take things more seriously and his sincerity). I tried my best with the tattoos since I didn’t want to just trace someone else’s given how personal they are but if anyone has any sources on Moroccan Amazigh tattoos please let me know 🙇🏻‍♀️

Next bit is just me realising that a good chunk of my labelled OCs (most aren’t) happen to be aspec, which I find absolutely hilarious (fyi I’m ace myself so this isn’t malicious I just think it’s funny how it keeps happening). Kageharu and Mingli are probs also some flavour of aro but I haven’t figured it out yet so they just have their ace labels for now

And, finally, Arataki Natsuki (荒瀧凪月) and Arataki Takenosuke (荒瀧岳之輔). Apparently I felt like revisiting old ideas from 2021 again weciswnjdsq, but still was fun to do. I’m aware it’s more likely Itto’s mother was also an oni (judging by his troubles voiceline regarding Granny Oni) but I thought it’d be interesting to explore what it could be like for humans given how prevalent oni discrimination is, both towards them but also towards humans who are close to them (again: see the voiceline on Granny Oni), as well as people learning to look past assumptions and all that fun stuff. They could’ve lived out a nice cottagecore life with their son if it weren’t for those damned robberies they got blamed for smh

Bonus concept portrait of Natsuki while I’m at it. Tbh one of my biggest pet peeves in designing related characters is making any character too similar to whichever canon character they’re related too and I just really wanted to show that yes, Itto does have quite a few of his mother’s features. It’d be more helpful if I actually drew him to compare ofc, but motivation do be funky like that and my brain wants me to draw Oksana next 😔

#deci doodles #genshin impact #genshin oc #genshin ocs #tiziri #tesey neshchadymenko #kirena neshchadymenko #kaedehara kageharu #Kaedehara Suzuka #Cheng Mingli #Arataki Natsuki #Arataki Takenosuke

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callipraxia · 1 year

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The Unexpected Memoirs of Fiddleford H. McGucket: Prologue and Chapter One

I was going through my writing desk and found a notepad I had scrawled about seventy pages, I think, of an attempt at first-person narration on a while back. It was about Fiddleford, attempting to type his way into his own memory in the gap between "Society of the Blind Eye" and his flight from town at the beginning of "Not What He Seems." Figured I might as well type it up in a few installments here if only so I have an excuse to remove the notepad and make some storage space, and to help with wanting to write so bad when I know I have too much work going on to commit to a brand-new project.

For whatever it's worth, Chapter One *probably* isn't as dark as the tags might suggest. It just includes Fiddleford typing up a basic overview of his life before he met Ford, and since that period involved being poor and living in the Deep South in the fifties and sixties...Certain topics are inevitable, at least in passing. Religion gets most of his focus, but there's also brief mentions of racism, classism, homophobia...good ol' days, am I right?!

Prologue

My name is Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and I wish to remember what I have seen.

Or at least, I want to be able to wish to remember what I have seen.

Or at least, I think I do.

Maybe I just know that I have to, now. I don’t know what I helped create, or why, but I know one thing: from what I saw of myself in those tapes in the museum basement, and from what I read in the Journal, I either went crazy a lot earlier than I thought, helped create something that could end the world, or both. If it’s just that first one, well, that's all right - but what if it's one of the other two?

I want to run, but there’s nowhere left to run. I want to hide, but too many folks know where I am, now. I’ve got no choices left, besides sitting here at this typewriter and letting my fingers lead me back thirty years, into a world I gave up everything to forget about. All I’ve got is a story.

My name is Fiddleford McGucket, and I need to remember what I have seen. Whether I want to or not.

Chapter One

I think I might have tried to forget everything, but if I did, I messed up at least twice. There's two things I've never forgot about. I've always known my name, and I've always known that I’ve got a son. It's from the time after my life starts up again that I also know that if I said I was a bad father to him, I’d owe all the bad fathers of the world an apology for comparing them to the likes of me. Even a bad father is one who’s around to be bad, I think, and I wasn’t. I'd forget that, if I could, but somehow, I ended up without the gun....

My son hates me, and I can’t rightly blame him for that. He’s ashamed to be related to me, too, and as much as I’d like to, I can’t blame him for that, either, not with the fool I’ve acted. He was little when I left. I know that in part from such memories as I already had, and for sure because there was a picture in that Journal-book Dipper showed me. For some reason, the Author drew a picture of a picture that used to sit on my desk – copied it just like it must have been in life. He even bothered drawing the way the light reflected off the frame and hid my wife’s face, so I still don’t know what she looked like. I reckon I ought to be annoyed about that – but all I can think is, oh, you. You would do that, wouldn’t you?

Who are you, you faceless son of a cornshuck? Why did you do this to me? Why did I do that to you? What did we do? What’s this? What’s that?

The boy doesn’t know much about it. He was so young, then, and his mama didn’t like to talk about me later. Or so he says, and I guess I got no choice other than to believe him, because who else can I ask? My wife’s dead – I remember when he told me about that, a few years ago – and there’s nobody else in town that knew me before I lost my mind and remembers it, at least as far as I know. Not that that means much, of course.

More to the point, the boy does remember a few things. I was born in Tennessee, where I lived up to the age of seventeen, and where I’d probably be today if not for two things. One of them things is that I can’t think of many things more boring than plants – I liked machinery before I even knew what it was. The other one, probably more important, is that I caught every virus known to Man, probably, or at least Tennessee Man, as a baby, up until I took the rheumatic fever when I was six. If that hadn’t happened, then I probably would have been expected to quit school – assuming I went at all – and help Papa on the farm until I was old enough to get married and start my own, but instead, I got sick.

Mama and Papa, though – they didn’t know what they were supposed to do with me, but they knew I was theirs and they had an obligation, and that it wasn’t my fault I was feeble for a long time and peculiar even after I got my strength back. They lost their tempers with me all the time, sure, because I was so peculiar, but once they were done yelling, they knew I couldn’t help it, being like that. Mama, who was born a Baptist, used to say it was God’s will and proof of His marvelous constancy from generation to generation – Hannah had prayed for her son, and when she got him, it was with conditions, specifically, that she’d have to return him to God. Mama had also prayed for a son, and she’d got...me, who was clearly not going to be of any use to anyone unless I got me some schooling. Well, that was all right; the best preachers didn’t go to school, of course, everybody knew that, but she’d hauled off and married a Catholic, and they expected their folks to have some book learning even though that didn’t make much sense for men of God. Sense or no sense, though - that was how my mama decided I was going to be a priest.

I can’t remember much about how I felt about this, no matter how hard I try. The one thing I remember is that I did have one sister, name of Gladiolus, and that she used to think it was funny. Fatherford, she’d call me, when she thought Mama couldn’t hear her, especially when she thought I was being stupid on the subject of our mutual religion.

I was scared of God – not possessed of a holy and proper fear of God, just plain scared, like you’d be of a monster under the bed. I’d heard since I was a baby that it was only through His mercy that I was living, and I remembered just enough about being sick to know how bad it had usually hurt. I don’t know how, but I took it into my head that this meant I was bad, somehow – worse than everyone else, that was, a sinner among sinners, mainly because sometimes I asked questions that made Mama tell me that I was questioning God Almighty and that she’d have Papa take a belt to me if I done it again. Every time the priest raised the Host and talked about the transubstantiation, I’d imagine God looking out at me from inside the monstrance and whispering: just you watch yourself, Fiddleford McGucket. You better get your crazy ass right with me, or I’ll send it right on to Hell. And I would have - if I'd had any idea how. How many times did I sit there and pray, crying on my knees to stop thinking wrong and wanting wrong and doing wrong? Pulling out my own hair, because that was the only thing that could calm me down on a real bad day? I’d learned by the time I was ten not to ask my family such questions – that me asking Mama how I was supposed to just not think things that went through my head when I knew it upset her so – but I thought surely, surely, if God cared about me at all, despite knowing all my wrong thoughts….

Well – maybe He will have mercy on me for my doubts and questions and pride. Maybe He will take me in even if I keep an inability to see why it’s supposed to be so wrong to marry someone who doesn't look enough like you, or happens to be another man, or whatever else folks down home would say today. Or maybe He won’t. I don’t know. That was one thing I could never take about Mama’s people – this “I know that I know” attitude. Arrogant, ain’t it, assuming you Know anything about what God’s going to do? The predestination people are mighty peculiar, too, but that doesn’t even seem as arrogant as this idea that you can know you’re right with something as alien as God -

Or that’s the theory, anyway. In practice, the predestinationists aren’t any better, as far as I can recall, but even though thoughts like that kept me from ever considering going Evangelical or Holiness or any of that stuff, I still didn’t become a priest. I never even applied to try to be a priest – heavens to Betsy, I didn’t even apply to no Catholic universities! Admittedly, that was in part because of money – Mama went to work after she decided I was gonna live after all, so we could afford enough shoes for me and Gladiolus both to go to school all year in, and the sewing plant was real generous in giving out scholarships to the best-performing employee kids in the high school. I’d have been the biggest ingrate in the state of Tennessee if I’d started quibbling over which college I was going to go to, even considering that I broke every record my high school and that sewing plant had ever seen. And that’s how I ended up at Backupsmore University.

*********

Had to take me a break from typing – got to going too fast and my hands locked up. But the boy says he always heard I went to Backupsmore University, so I reckon I did. Makes as much sense as anywhere else, though from what I came to understand, the degree to which my crazy ass went really wrong, at least by home standards, while I was there could have happened in any reputable college or university in this country just as well.

I try to think back to it, and I have just a – blur. Strings of colored lights, which I’d never seen before. The taste of beer, and later of stronger stuff – took me two months to work up the nerve to try the beer, of course, and then I reckoned it was nasty, but I was so tired of being the oddball hick by then that I figured it was the lesser of two evils, even knowing what my mama would have said about it. Not like she wouldn’t have said worse about other stuff, such as when I went to required classes and didn’t say a word in protest when they taught that the world was millions of years old, or when I was all right with the idea of the rules changing to allow for blue jeans in classes, or when I discovered my roommate didn’t go to Mass and stayed roommates with him anyway, or when I would occasionally kiss girls and a few times boys, or….

Well. Maybe I went a little wild my first year or two, but I know that I know I didn’t ever risk my scholarship. Partially, of course, this was because of how easy everything was to me, but I did my work, no matter how tedious it was. I knew within a week that I didn’t want to go back to where I come from, and I knew that doing real well in college was my best way out. So I did real well in college, though it probably helped that my roommate was so dang uptight that I was partially obliged to drop the wayward habits of my freshman year, because there was no questioning which of us would have won in a fight.

I was taller than him, though. I remember that. Didn’t seem to bother him much. Not much did, I reckon. He was there to work, not to deal with people no more than he could help. I had to drag him out of the room most every time he left it for anything except for class, after we became friends...because we didn’t do for a while after we moved in together, not right away. I remember that first day - how I introduced myself, trying to be friendly and polite, and how he acted like the idea of shaking hands offended him, even if he did finally do it. I remember, too, that I thought he seemed like he got mad about my name for some reason? Though how that makes any sense, I don’t know. I think he might have just been mad at everything, the whole world, even himself, but definitely most everybody else.

I’m starting to type too fast again. Got to put down everything I can remember – it feels like I might forget it again if I don’t get it down fast enough, and like I need to remember this man. Like he’s got something to do with what happened, though it might be just that I can’t remember his face, either -

That does seem strange, and not only because I lived with him for a right long time. There’s also the other things that come back to me, strange little things. He’d done some kind of athletics in high school, for instance – why do I know that, but not what the feller looked like? That makes about as much sense as this band-aid being on my beard!

I remember that, though. And I remember that time when it snowed a foot, real early in the year that year even for that far north, and even though I'm sure that he was funny about his hands for some reason – fancy-pants musician, maybe? But that don’t explain this – how he let me borrow a pair of gloves upon realizing I’d never had any cause to own such an item before – and by ‘borrow’, I mean ‘threw ‘em at me without comment before leaving the room.’ And the first time he unbent enough for us to have a real conversation, and what it felt like, realizing I was really talking to someone who was a little like me – someone else who worked just fine, but his circuits were just arranged different than most folks’. Never thought it could happen, but....

It all blurs, even now. I can’t see his face, however I try to think on it. But I remember another thing, too. I remember one day when I fell down because I was laughing so hard. I was in Gravity Falls already, then, and I started laughing till I ended up on my knees as I thought to myself – there was a time I’d have said that I would follow that man into Hell - but this ain't what this was supposed to be!

*********

In between them memories, I’ve got what the boy told me I did. He doesn’t know why I did it or when, but at some point, I did go back to Tennessee. That’s where I met his mama. She was a schoolteacher, one of the only other folks my age who’d been anywhere near a college, at least that I could find to talk to. So, for lack of anything better to do, I suppose, she became a Catholic and then we got married.

Emma-May Dixon. Couldn’t get a name more like where we come from than that if you tried, but Emmy wasn’t too much like Gladiolus or my girl cousins or most home folks. Well, if she’d been like most folks, she wouldn’t have got lonely enough to marry the likes of me, would she have? Emma-May. Emmy.‘Emmy’ is what I called her sometimes, I think. Just Em when she was annoying me, though, which she did sometimes, as everyone you ever live with or know especially well must. I’ve remembered that for a while, somehow – that, and how she didn’t like being called Em or Emmy very much. After we left Tennessee, she tried going by Emma, out in California. Like Jane Austen. She had a whole set of books by Jane Austen, and every house we ever lived in, she made sure they were as prominent as they could get in the living room.

They weren’t just for looks, though. She had read them. She read them every year over again, in fact. She had the darkest, curliest hair I’ve ever seen – when it came into fashion, she started putting permanents in it the same as everyone else, of course, but she could have saved herself some time and just left it as it was, because she got close to looking like she had one just in her natural state. She wore perfume – Evening in Paris, I think it was – which was the kind of thing that would have gotten a gal talked about back home even if she hadn’t had the audacity to go buy it for herself, long time before she ever met me. I didn’t mind it, though; I liked that she didn’t need me, because I might not have pulled my hair out over my fear of God as much anymore by then, but someone needing me – that I couldn’t stand. Which did make it mighty inconvenient that she got pregnant not too long after we got married, because you ain’t never known how Necessary you can be until you get stuck being responsible for a baby human.

These days, of course, I doubt that would have happened. For one thing, I’d have been on ten different pills time I left Backupsmore, so I probably never would have gone home in the first place. For another – well, back then, it just didn’t occur to us to do much of anything to not have babies, because that was what you did, wasn’t it? You got married, you had a bunch of kids. That was what the Church said was proper, but it wasn’t even just the Church – my mama was a Baptist and had ten brothers and sisters. You had ‘em to keep up the work on the farm with you; that was why everybody felt so sorry for Mama and Papa, only having two young’uns, and one of them being me.

I don’t know what would have happened had we stayed in Tennessee – but thing was, Tater was still a baby when I realized we was not staying in Tennessee. For one thing, Mama and Emma-May couldn’t get along at all after the baby was born, Mama being intense on the subject of her first and only grandbaby – and for another, we just couldn’t stay there. I would have gone crazy a lot sooner than I did if we had. After Tater was born, all I could think was – my God, I can’t have a young’un of mine grow up here. If this place isn’t dead, it’s definitely dying. What if he’s like me, but he doesn’t get sick enough? Of course, this wasn’t rational of me – by that time, going to school was not only mandatory in the law, but it was something that was actually enforced even for backwoods families – but I couldn’t even think about the likes of ration, not then. I scratched up my head so bad trying not to rip out my hair that I ended up getting some kind of skin infection for a while – and then, once I was over that, we got as far from everybody we knew as we possibly could.

*********

California. On a map, it was easy to say what California was; where I come from, it was a whole different question. To some, it meant everything you could ever want, everything that home wasn’t; to others, it was a neat bit of shorthand just for Hell on Earth, for all the sins of the world (I reckon home folks didn’t all know about Las Vegas?). To my mama and papa, and Em’s mama and daddy, it was the second one; to me and her, it was the first one.

I think we were happy there? It’s another blur – but the edges don’t hurt, wherever an object or an image floats to the surface and gets clear enough to see. I remember shoes in the hallway a lot. Some balls and bats, a lot of books. Tater was reading before he was three, and we made sure he had plenty to read, because as I told my wife – it was pretty clear, from early on, that the boy was indeed like me, so he might as well lean into it and get as smart as he could, so he’d have the best chance to find some way, some place in the world where he could be happy.

You say that like you aren’t happy where you're at, Fids, said she – she was the only one who called me that, I’m assuming as retaliation for the Em thing. What am I supposed to do with that?

But I think I was. That we both were, for a while anyway. In a way, I think we both felt about like young’uns ourselves, because of how odd we could be in California without anybody knowing or caring at all. It was 1975, baby! Every woman in America had a right to her own bank account, whether she was married or whether she was not, and Emma-May got one I reckon just for the hell of it. Or because she was the one with more to put into it, though she never once mentioned it, and she was a saint for that. Who ever heard of a woman with a baby going back to teaching school, and letting some fool of a man look after a baby? Nobody, but we weren’t in Tennessee, we were in California, and it was 1976, 1978 – the world was all on its head and it was going to keep spinning like that forever, up and up, freer and freer, no stops!

I know how wrong we was now – but even today, it makes me smile, when I think of this one picture in my head. It was Emmy, just outside the church – since she took it sort of serious, after having gone to all the trouble of converting, we still did go to church. She was standing on the stair, wearing this dark blue dress with little white polky-dots on it, and one of them big, wide lace collars – this thing was up to her throat, and the ends of it were on her two shoulders – and by standards of the time, she was looking sharp! But she had on these sensible shoes, you know, and little white gloves, because she had a habit of that from her mama, who had not been one bit amused by Jack Kennedy taking his presidential oaths with no hat on and thereby giving everyone permission to run around in their bathing suits in broad daylight. Jack Kennedy was dead, though, and Jackie had betrayed all of America, to my folks’ way of thinking, by marrying some foreigner instead of gracefully playing the queen dowager until John, Jr. could take his daddy’s place, and I had two suits, one for every other Sunday, and a pretty wife with more dresses than there were days in the week standing there with her rosary in one hand and Tate by the other one, and I imagine we looked at each other like – you believe all this? You believe we’re here acting like decent people, without a soul in this church knowing you’ve got your own bank and them new pills, or that I get what money I got by some combination of picking a banjo while I run around in floweredy shirts like a hoodlum and spend my days trying to build the machines of the future? This is the craziest thing I've ever heard of!

Of course, I don’t know that this memory is real. Even if I do remember it right, there ain’t no guarantee that Emma-May was thinking anything of the sort, about how we looked like everybody else and were yet living in ways that would have shocked out parents out of this life. I felt like a young’un lifting candy from the store, though, and I recollect I laughed – from her point of view, for no good reason – and gave her a kiss right there on the stair.

What was that for?

You just looked pretty.

You crazy fool.

She’d call me that again another time, and it wouldn’t sound anything like it did then. Another time, she was screaming at me, shaking me, telling me to snap out of it, to quit what I was doing, to look what I was doing to my own son, to quit it right now and be a man, be a father, for the love of God, Fiddleford! But that day, it wasn’t like that, and I never could have guessed how soon it would be.

*********

I don’t remember much about how it started, that day. Right now, I remember everything about that afternoon and evening – the afternoon that marked the beginning of the end of my life – but not so much about the beginning, not even what I was doing right before the phone started to ring. I assume it was all normal, though: that I’d got up like I most always did, got the kid off to school, got the wife some kind of lunch put together before she went off to school, and then it was out to the garage and another day of trying to scrape together a dream. Just like so many days before. There was no way, no way at all, I could have ever known what was going to happen.

It was getting late, I think, when the phone started to ring, but in July it’s hard to be sure. Only the sounds of Emma-May and the boy in the house gave away that we’d passed the hour where most folks called the day finished. Despite that, I wasn’t working on one of my own projects yet – was still working on something for a client, scraping together the money I needed to keep working on my prototypes. Well, to my way of thinking, I was working on a client project, anyway – to most folks’ eyes, it would have looked like I was just picking on my banjo, but that was what I did when I needed to think about a tricky problem with some wiring. I was chewing on some chewbacca, too, as I was accustomed to do, and I recall I gnawed on it some just about the time the ringing started.

Why do I remember that? Nothing that unusual about that moment. Nothing should have made that specific plug of tobacco brand itself into my neurons, but I remember it right now, as clear as I do anything else – I can taste it as if I was chewing on it this moment, practically feel it between my molars again, though unfortunately, just remembering the feel of getting a hit of nicotine doesn’t do much to sharpen me up and calm me down all at once the way an actual portion of the drug would. It was real that day, though, and hit my system as I picked up the phone, and, without a care in the world, said, “Hello! Fiddleford Computermajigs!”

Another man’s voice came through the other line, and for a few seconds, I didn’t even recognize it. It was the kind of landline connection you got back then, I reckon, along with me having not heard this particular man’s voice in...Lord, how long had it been? Going on five years, maybe. Even during those few seconds, though, before my life changed, I felt a sort of – ripple – go through the world, as though I had gotten a shock, as the voice spoke, getting straight to the point without any salutation or introduction of its owner. Guess he was already too close to the edge to care about such things by then – that is, unless he knew that, just from the sheer audacity of the proposition alone, I’d know exactly who it was by the time he got to the end of his sentence.

“What would you say,” he said in a low, almost conspiratorial tone, “if I told you that I’m building a trans-universal polydimensional meta-vortex?”

By the end of the sentence, I knew who I was talking to – but that was bizarre enough even for him that I had to repeat it back to myself to be sure I’d heard it right. “You...say you’re trying to build a trans-universal polydimensional meta-vortex?”

“Yes.”

And then I did it. Without even knowing I was doing it, I said the words that would near enough to damn us both, and my wife and son along with us, and who knows how many others, before it’s done.

“Well,” said I, and the numbers were running through my head – I hadn’t felt them like that since college, that was how quick I started on the problem, even before I had any confirmation that it was any of my business. “that’s...mathematically feasible, I reckon!” I spat to clear my mouth, just in case the next remark he came up with was somehow even more surprising than the one he’d used to barge back into my life without so much as a howdy-do, and then I added, “Stanford? That really you?”

Click here to proceed to chapter two!

#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #fanfiction #new fic #fiddleford mcgucket #first-person narrator #character journal #first draft #set in the early eighties #involves: religion #religious trauma #mental illness #regret #memory loss #did i once read this was a micro blogging site...?

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akwardlyuncool · 10 months

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Spotify Wrapped 2023

So I'm here to talk about my hella basic year in music lol. If you're new here I got 2 Spotifys, which means I compare them every year to see which one I think is more accurate.

Basically I got my daily driver, what I use most often and what’s signed in on my phone and then the Spotify I use for/while I’m working on projects on Akwardly Uncool. Anyway the LEFT side is the Daily Driver and the RIGHT is AkwardlyUncool.

So I'mma Start By Proudly Waving My Basic Card:

I might be wrong, but I feel like everybody who was even slightly in the Pop-Punk, Midwest Emo, Post Emo space had Hot Mulligan in their top 5, either artists or songs for 2023. It was just bound to happen and I ain't mad at it, cause have you listened to them?! Just had to acknowledge that real quick lol.

Minutes and Hours and Just Time:

15,850 minutes. About 264 hours. 11 Days.

Not gonna lie, based on some personal calculations, this was a shorter year for consuming music for me. (If you stick around for ACF 2024 I might divulge some of that reasoning, but for now I'll just say, It is what it is and I know why.) That being said I'll try to beef up my numbers again next year.

Top Artists:

Now don't get me wrong I love The Wonder Years down, however I made a collaborative playlist of The Wonder Years and Hot Mulligan with a friend and basically didn't turn it off lol (it was definitely a shower mix for sure) and that's how they ultimately won the award on my main account.

As for the "side" account, which felt like the main this year, Winnetka Bowling League is just one of those groups that's so good to put on and let run. Now of course I have my repeats, that I've been talking about for the last few years and then I added more and so whether it was going to their page and hitting play or seeking out my repeats, I totally get why they won there. They're coming out with a full album next year, so get used to me talking about them 90% of the time. And if you hop on their train, remember I'm the conductor.

As for the other artists who touched the top 5, I saw 3 of them in concert this year, so naturally their numbers are going to be higher. Also Watsky made it cause Intention is not on CD, hopefully yet.

Genre Sandwiches and Top Tracks:

It's Pop-Punk season mixed with Winnetka Bowling League and Watsky, so both sides reflect that. That being said, the main diver is where I play the majority of the R&B, Neo-Soul and the likes, so they're rarely reflected on my second. But KNOW, I am a mix of Pop-Punk and Neo-Soul, always!

Again it's Pop-Punk season or rather Hot Mulligan season and I spent a lot of time learning every word to those two tracks that won, but are too long for me to desire to type out now. "Draw and quarter a stranger to feel some blood on your fingers. You take away, robbery follow trends as a hobby, find flaws in everything else because you don't like yourself. Woe is me!"

Collector vs Alchemist:

They both say essentially the same thing which is that I make and listen to my own playlists more than anything else, but anyone who works with me could have told you that lol. Geniuses.

Winner? Winner? Chicken Dinner?

Again they basically say the same thing this year, which is that we listened to a lot of Hot Mulligan, Relient K is still my favorite band and if i see you in concert you tend to show up on my Wrapped for the year. I will say though that I'm hella surprised that this is the first year Lyfe Jennings didn't show up on my Wrapped and although that makes way for other folks, it's still a little sad lol.

Hey we made it through Spotify Wrapped Time and now must move on to the more nuanced and obviously better Akward Class Favorites 2023. If you don't know, it where I just go through my year in movies, music, online content consumption and other things of the like, so better lol. Don't have an ETA on when that will go up, but I've taken the notes, so hopefully before the end of December.

#Extra Talk #Spotify Wrapped 2023 #Spotify Wrapped #Hot Mulligan #Winnetka Bowling League

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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but where have we come and where shall we end?

“Welcome students,” Wirt grinned as he dramatically underlined the class name on the chalkboard, “to Introduction to Folklore & Mythology! I will be your teacher, Wirt Palmer but please call me Wirt. Dr. Palmer makes me feel like one of those colorful comic book heroes.”

Scattered, awkward laughter in the crowd but Wirt wouldn’t let the tepid reaction get to him. He only got to teach F&M when there was an open spot both in his busy schedule and the college’s class electives. While he loved teaching his various other classes, this material really was his passion.

It’s a small group this year, only 9 students total. Wirt wasn’t surprised, after teaching for almost a decade he knows that the study of old fables seemed boring compared to the other electives offered. And while most of these students likely only ended up here because Modern Social Lit or Transformative Science Fiction was full, he still planned on making the most of it.

“We’ll go around and introduce ourselves to get started. Please note, this will be primarily a discussion based course so this will get you used to speaking up,” Wirt announced, leaning against the side of his desk. A goth dressed girl with purple streaked hair groaned and leaned over on her desk. “You already know my name. I’ve been teaching for 9 years total and here at the college for about 5. I’m married with two children and a younger brother who sometimes feels like a third kid.” More obligatory, bored smiles but Wirt pressed on.

“I believe I’ve taught most of the poetry and creative writing classes here at some point though I do teach early American history in the spring, the Monday, Wednesday, Friday 5-7pm class if you all aren’t sick to death of me come winter. I also am one of the overseers of marching band, as a few of you probably already know,” he winked at some of the band kids who fondly rolled their eyes. They probably took this class thinking he’d go easy on them but they had no idea.

“I double majored in history and creative writing, you know, back in the dinosaur ages. My historical area of expertise is American History with specialties in, you guessed it,” he tapped at the chalkboard where the class name was still written, “Folklore and mythology.”

“My thesis revolved around death in American and some European folk tales, on how it’s viewed and what it symbolizes. I bet that sounds pretty boring to you all,” he shrugged taking in the 9 vacant faces before him. “So here’s a fun fact to put things into perspective, when I was 14 and my brother 6, we almost died on Halloween night.”

A few students raised their eyebrows, sat a little straighter in their seats. He could almost feel their attention pulling more towards him and he rode it like a river into the night. “Yes, you heard me right. I was a foolish young kid once myself, we hopped over a graveyard wall, nearly missed getting hit by an oncoming train only to roll roughly down a steep hill and hit the nearby lake so hard that we were both unconscious instantly.” Cherie, trombone player, gulped and tugged at her turtleneck sympathetically.

“My brother, Greg, miraculously made it through the whole thing mostly unscathed, just some scratches and bruises. I broke two ribs and got enough water in my lungs to catch a bad case of pneumonia that kept me out of school for almost 3 weeks.” Wirt let his memories pull him back, just for a moment, thinking of the constant dull ache in his side he still felt on chilly days, especially around October. He thought of the choking water, the creeping shadows and death that almost claimed him and Greg both.

“We were under the water for about 10 or so minutes. Now 10 minutes is both an instant and an eternity when your life is hanging in the balance. And when your body is caught in between, both clinging to life and in the process of shutting down, sometimes we see things we can’t explain.”

Wirt turned and drew on the board a bit, he wasn’t half the artist Greg was but he’d been drawing these faces and figures for most of his life that it was almost rote. The pumpkin covered skeletons and their leader, Enoch. A schoolhouse of animals playing music. A sweet, shy girl who became a monster. His fingers trembled as they always did when he drew the Beast’s branching antlers and clawed hand reaching out, as if still hoping to coax Wirt into a hellish deal. He turned back to his students but he wasn’t really seeing them.

“My brother and I had something most people would call a shared hallucination. The details don’t match up entirely, Greg’s version slightly differs from my own but we experienced something under that water that logic and reason has yet to explain.” He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present and out of the dark, dark wood that always lingered on the periphery of his vision.

“Death is the Unknown,” Wirt smiled at his own private joke. “It’s the one thing people of every era and culture have yet to fully understand. But sometimes we get glimpses, little echoes of something bigger than ourselves and when confronted something so incomprehensible, we do what humans have always done: we tell stories. The folktales and myths we will be reading and discussing this semester are our ancestors trying to put into words something that doesn’t fully exist, something that lies over the garden wall and into...” mansions so big they were connected, a cottage in the field lying in wait as a spider’s web, an old abandoned mill where nightmares lived. But those memories were for the past and perhaps the far future, for now he only cared for the present.

“The point of this class will not be memorizing passages or anything like that. It will be about finding the people and their stories behind the tales they left behind for us. What were they trying to say? What were they warning us about? What stories do we have now that wish to use to guide our great-great grandchildren?” His class stared at him with wide eyes, “if that doesn’t suit your tastes I’m pretty sure Ms. Michelson's Romantic Lit still has a few open spots. I’ll fill out the class transfer form myself, so, any takers?” Not one student stood to go, they hardly seemed to move, as if frozen to their seats. But they looked interested, if a bit unnerved. Just how Wirt wanted them.

He clapped his hands and broke the heavy pall that had fallen over the classroom. “Well that’s more than enough about me and my trauma, we’ll go in alphabetical order. Tell me your name, current major, astrology sign, favorite author and what sort of stories you would wish to pass on.”

Wirt listened attentively to the answers as they slowly opened up and soon he wasn’t even commenting much anymore as the students began their own enthusiastic discussion. This was going to be a good class, a good semester. His attention was drawn towards the window where a cold front was blowing in. It was only September but October would be upon them soon enough. And with the changing seasons came old aches, older fears and shadows that seemed to grow larger every year.

He and Greg may have escaped the Unknown but they brought a little bit of it back with them. One day, they would find themselves drowning once more in that inky blackness but with no surface to escape to. Wirt wasn’t afraid, anxious perhaps but not afraid. It would be good to see Beatrice again. But before he went back to that unending forest, hopefully a long, long time from now, he had work to do here on Earth.

He had a wife and two sons to spoil, a younger brother to try and corral and be inspired by. Wirt had his unfinished book about that fateful Halloween night he never could seem to finish and he had students to teach. He couldn’t teach about what it meant to live or die or exist somewhere in between on a paddlewheel boat driven by frogs. But he could teach the stories that touched just a shadow of those impossible concepts and maybe they could learn the things it took death and rebirth for him to understand.

“Rebecca, back up a second, we’re going to cover the origins of many of these tales and we will get into what inspired certain stories. On that note, open up your books to page 12. We’re going to dive right in folks, I sure hope you know how to swim because the water is deeper than it looks.”

#over the garden wall #I feel like I blacked out and came to with this written #idk wirt strikes me as being a good teacher once he gets over his teen angst and gets some confidence #i think he'd be super passionate on the subject but also his usual dramatic self #his students love him but uh kinda weird you brought up your trauma on the first day #they all take his early american history class the next semester #and he stills rambles on about life and death and in between #with a certain dark sheen in his eyes like a lantern on a cold dark night #idk man i got really emo about otgw in the bath #its the sleep deprivation

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attllhak · 3 years

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Warriors Swan Lake AU: Soldiers - Legend

@tortilla-of-courage hey look I’ve got more for the Swan Lake AU. And since this is now apparently a project I’ve got, I suppose if anyone else wants to be on the tag list to let me know.

This story was actually written with both Legend and Twilight, but I figured that it’d make more sense to split it up into two posts. This is basically me trying to figure out backstories for Legend and Twilight for this AU. So here’s where Legend came from and how he ended up where he did, thus resulting in the whole rabbit thing. (Please don’t take his opinion of Warriors to heart. They start getting along later.)

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

Legend had never wanted to be a soldier.

There weren’t really many other job prospects for a noble’s bastard though, so he signed up. Figured he’d do the bare minimum and skate by until he could retire early like his uncle did.

He hadn’t expected everyone else to be bad at their jobs.

It was actually somewhat embarrassing.

Fortunately, the fact he was a better fighter and his noble blood slid him up the ranks to a low, low placement with the royal guard. This was good for Legend, since the royal guard was pretty chill comparative to the rest of the military, and so he wouldn’t have to do much.

Of course that low, low placement had put him with the crown prince, who ground on Legend’s nerves more than anyone else ever had. He was overconfident, cocky, pretentious, materialistic and spent a lot of time in front of a mirror.

There were days Legend wanted to strangle the royal brat.

He didn’t though, because he liked his captain.

Captain Twilight was a good man. Down to earth, simple, easy going. It was a very sharp contrast to the regular folk running through the castle, which was nice. Plus, the captain was the only person in the military beyond Legend who actually seemed decent at his job. It was no wonder the king picked Twilight to keep his son safe.

And Legend was pretty sure trying to strangle Prince Warriors would get Captain Twilight in trouble.

He did know he wasn’t going to risk his life for the brat. For the King or Queen, sure. He liked the ruling couple. But their son wasn’t worth the effort.

Of course, he ended up being wrong about that when push turned into shove.

Legend pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head to scatter raindrops. Stupid ambush, stupid storm, stupid witch.

Well, the witch wasn’t stupid. Attacking during a heavy thunderstorm was a very clever tactic.

He still wanted to call her stupid.

Captain Twilight stood firmly in front of Prince Warriors, who was leaning against the wheel of the broken carriage they’d been travelling in. The prince was still mostly sitting, his fine clothes now smeared with mud and soaked with rainwater. His fancy circlet was a few feet away in the mud.

It was the first time Legend had ever seen the prince out of his element. Usually the young royal was so proud all the time, standing tall and drawing eyes, revelling in the attention he got.

But now, now the prince was not proud. He was curling away from the witch, all sense of pride and confidence gone, like he was trying to disappear into the muck. The missing circlet from his brow suddenly made him seem a bit younger, closer to his actual age, though still a few years older than Legend.

He looked like anyone else in the world, or at least the circles Legend’s family ran in. And he looked terrified.

Eyes wide and unblinking, shaking a bit as he clung to the wheel. Legend wasn’t even sure the poor guy was breathing. This might have been the very first time the prince had ever been in real danger, the first time his life was actually threatened. He looked oddly small with all the mud on his clothes while he curled away in fear.

Captain Twilight remained where he was, standing firmly in defense of the prince.

No one else was around, footprints in the mud saying the other soldiers had run. Cowards.

Part of Legend debated running too. He’d already decided he wasn’t risking his life for the prince. He didn’t care about what happened to the royal brat, he didn’t.

Except he was lying to himself. As annoying as he found the prince, the man had made an effort to at least know who Legend was. And he kept trying even when Legend kept rebuffing him. He had even wished Legend a happy birthday (and how the prince knew when his birthday was still baffled Legend), and had made a point to get him the day off for it. The prince had made a point to know all of the members of his guard this way, and at some point he’d weaseled under Legend’s skin.

Legend did care about the prince, as much as he hated that he did.

And besides, he wasn’t going to leave Captain Twilight to fight this crazy bitch alone.

He made it up to the captain’s side, drawing his own sword and shield.

The witch narrowed her eyes at him, and he could feel the prince’s eyes on his back too. He ignored them both.

He was just doing his job, nothing more.

#linked universe #lu #lu legend #lu twilight #lu warriors #swan lake au #so yeah here's legend's backstory #he's the bastard son of an unimportant noble #and he joined the army with the specific intent of retiring early #and now he's a rabbit #so that didn't work out for him #clearly #and i made twilight a captain #so he basically got warriors' job in canon #which amuses me #and don't worry he and warriors do end up getting along better #they have a lot of time to bond now that they're stuck together as animals at the lake #so by the time wild shows up they are friends #the bickering is affectionate #twilight counts this as a win #he did a lot of refereeing in the first weeks #he's tired #anyways here's how legend ended up with warriors when the whole curse thing happened #oh! and i finally have designs for them!#i don't describe them here since it doesn't fit with the story #and i'm not just shoving in random descriptions #but i do have designs for legend and twilight now!#much thanks to my best friend being good at outfit design!#they managed to make them look like soldiers while still making my original description of them fit #i very much love how they managed it

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dropintomanga · 3 years

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“Look Back” - 140 Pages of Raw Emotion

Koyoharu Gotoge gets all the attention right now, but the real manga superstar of the future (or soon-to-be) is Tatsuki Fujimoto. His previous known works, Fire Punch and Chainsaw Man, have developed passionate followings. But his one-shot about creativity and the bonds that form as a result, Look Back, solidifies Fujimoto as one of the very best in depicting real human emotions during terrible moments.

Look Back focuses on the artistic journey of Ayumu Fujino, a 4th grader who loves to draw manga. She draws comic strips for her school newspaper. However, Fujino sees that a fellow peer of hers, Kyomoto, draws even better than her. Fujino becomes more determined to be better than Kyomoto. However, family and peer pressure causes Fujino to change her priorities during 6th grade. It isn’t until she is asked by school staff to deliver Kyomoto’s elementary school graduation diploma to the latter’s house that she gets back into drawing manga again. Fujino draws something on a blank 4-panel strip she finds at Kyomoto’s place. Kyomoto, who’s a shut-in, sees the strip and tells Fujino that she’s been a fan of her art since 4th grade. Fujino becomes ecstatic in seeing her work recognized after constant criticism from her peers. Fujino and Kyomoto begin to work together on manga since then. Both got recognized by Shueisha multiple times over the years to the point of having one of their works becoming an anime series.

Shortly after the anime announcement of one of their works, a rift between the two starts to happen when Kyomoto tells Fujino that she wants to go to art school to get better at drawing. Fujino argues that Kyomoto’s social aloofness is too much for the rest of the world and that it’s better for Kyomoto to stick by her. Kyotomo still goes to art school regardless. Years after their separation, Fujino watches the news one day and finds out that someone attacked the art school Kyomoto attended with multiple dead victims. Kyomoto was one of them. Fujino begins to criticize herself for Kyomoto’s death, but after visiting Kyomoto’s drawing space and seeing how much Kyomoto loved her, Fujino continues to draw as a way to move forward.

I can’t speak on the creative process of a mangaka and mangaka relationships (though I know several mangaka have commented on Look Back for its honest take of being a creator), but I can definitely comment on Fujino blaming herself for Kyomoto’s death. “Drawing is useless,” she says. Fujino imagines a scenario where she saves Kyomoto from her attacker. Fujino was once told by her older sister to practice karate and she feels that maybe she should’ve taken it more seriously. What if she didn’t draw that strip back in 6th grade? What if Fujino and Kyomoto actually met during the art school incident instead of 6th grade?

Those “What ifs?” get shown in vivid detail. And it’s heart-wrenching. There’s always constant reminders to treasure those around you because you never know what will happen. It’s hard to do that sometimes when certain cultures always avoid issues like death and the inevitability of it all like they’re not worth talking about. Also, I think we’re always told that we can save someone if we tried hard enough. If they never get better, society will say that it’s our fault. No one wants to talk about how random life gets. That’s because no one wants to admit that they can’t control everything.

The most powerful moment was Fujino realizing that drawing isn’t useless. She notices a small strip at Kyomoto’s place while in grief. This panel says it all.

It’s nice to have someone with the same interests as you be your friend. But more importantly, it’s even nicer to have someone who literally gives a shit about you. Someone’s who willing to guide you, take in your pain, and be vulnerable with. Fujino exposed Kyomoto to the outside world during their early mangaka days and Kyomoto expressed her gratitude for that. It’s so hard to find people like that. I mean, if you know you’re about to die, it’s worth knowing that at the very least, you met someone that loved you and got you to feel life was worth it, right? I often hear there are many people who don’t feel they’re truly being heard among their relationship circles. Their connections aren’t as deep as they would like.

What this also says is that if you’re working on something that almost always feels undervalued, there’s always someone out there who will tell you that they are inspired by your work. Maybe I can speak on this a bit. I sometimes feel that blogging is a drag given all the mass attention is going to other outlets. Like why write? Especially on a platform that’s been crapped on the past few years. I realize that this isn’t the case. There’s people who dislike “hot takes/clickbait tiles/news promoting discourse.” I think about what Roland Kelts said about anime discussion in this interview.

“What sucks is that the discourse on social media is so coarse. When you go back and read exchanges between diehard anime fans on Usenet and old chatrooms and forums from the mid-2000s, they read like middlebrow literature compared to what you see on Twitter, Reddit, and Discord. So many social media posts are made just to get hits, not to communicate or share ideas, and the most provocative, cruel, or just plain daft stuff gets liked and retweeted a thousand times.”

I feel that there’s still a place for me and if I can still communicate ideas worth thinking about, I’ll keep going as long as I can. Plus, trying to appeal to everyone feels like a trap because it sometimes requires sacrificing certain core values that you might hold dear. When I look at Fujino and Kyomoto, they held on to their core values and found solace in one another. Just find “good enough” people who are willing to love and respect you. I’m glad Look Back got published because finding bonds with other like-minded folks and developing very close relationships with them is sadly a rarity during these times. You also can’t put monetary worth on creativity that inspires people to do what they want to do and/or find reasons for living. Hobbies and creative ventures aren’t “side hustles/distractions” - they’re part of a universal cry to be human.

I think it’s safe to to say that we will really look back on this one-shot for years to come.

#Look Back #Tatsuki Fujimoto #manga #mental health #friendship #psychology #coming of age #connection

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ever-is-typing · 3 years

Note

Since I saw you do skins hdc can I request own for Desolate sand pleeeaaase 😗

note: yessssssss desolate sand :sobbing: legit so angry at myself for not being into the game when he was available he's so awesome >:(

🪙⏳ Desolate Sand!Andrew (Grave Keeper)⏳🪙 relationship headcanons

• the gold rush inspired many people to travel west-

• and you were certainly no exception.

• be it to chase a dream or to escape the dreariness of everyday life, you made the journey for the opportunity of a lifetime!

• though, your "opportunity" was cut rather short when Marshall- the wealthiest gold digger in the west- was murdered,,,

• and you were considered a suspect in aforementioned murder,,,

• then again, you weren't the only suspect in this ordeal.

• there were a variety of interesting characters involved- a bounty hunter, a western tycoon...

• and a mysterious masked stranger, just to name a few.

• like you, he wasn't from this small western town- no one knew where he was from, really

• either way, though, you were both outsiders. but that was about where the similarities ended

• this stranger was cloaked in secrecy. he covered his face with a dark bandana, but that didn't help to conceal the shocking red tint of his eyes or the stark whiteness of his hair.

• you were taken aback by his features at first, but you didn't find them as strange as the golden shovel he carried on his person at all times

• like what do you need a shovel for in the wild west bro that's kinda ಠ_ಠ ಠ_ಠ ಠ_ಠ

• he didn't have a name- or, rather, he never told it to anyone. so, when they're not calling him a "demon" because of his unusual appearance, the townsfolk took to calling him "Desolate Sand" for his solemn and enigmatic nature

• and, unlike everyone else involved in the crime, he didn't seem to care too much for money, which was practically unthinkable

• so yeah you were definitely intrigued by Desolate Sand from the start

• he, on the other hand, wasn't too keen on making friends. in his eyes, the westerners were all corrupt... putting their faith in gold coins instead of God, so they weren't worth his time

• but, when he sees you from the other side of the bar one day, fiddling with your empty glass, something about you stands out as different

• maybe it's the worry in your expression? the unspoken plea of innocence in your wide eyes? something about it just seemed so human...

• and, being a suspect of murder, he saw it as a breath of fresh air and rationale. you weren't like these other suspects, with their petty obsession for wealth and status.

• you were a person of reason, like him. a humble survivor of life, just trying to deliver God's justice in your own way...

• or, at least, he hoped so when he slid down into the seat next to you.

• "You look like you could use another drink, dollface."

• as he gestures for the bartender to fill your glass with the alcohol of your choice, you couldn't help but feel the corner of your thoughtful frown tug up into a smile

• "Dollface? That's awfully flattering for someone you don't even know." you would snort cheekily, looking him up and down. "Anything complimentary I should be calling you, stranger?"

• "The folks in these parts have taken to calling me Desolate Sand," he would respond, tipping his hat respectfully. "But something tells me you already knew that."

• you would nod, sipping on your drink in silence. at this point in the investigation, there wasn't anyone who didn't know about this mysterious man.

• "Well then, Mr. Desolate Sand, you can call me Y/N. Y/N L/N."

• "Charmed, Y/N L/N."

• "Likewise."

• from then on, you two would keep meeting at that spot in the bar- you spent most of your time together talking about your dreams for the future and your goals by travelling west

• or, at least, you did. Desolate Sand was rather reserved about his past, but he was more than happy to listen to you talk about yours. what a gentleman (¬‿¬)

• and, with every meeting you had, the both of you began to fall in love without even really noticing at first...

• ...which caused more worry to Desolate Sand than it did to you. you were a kind soul, a good person. you didn't deserve to be with a filthy sinner like him.

• besides, he's done some pretty horrible things in his life...

•...like killing Marshall-

• omg plot twist!! (o‿o)

• so, when you finally admitted your feelings to him and he hit you with that information, it was like a punch to the gut.

• up until this point, you had really grown to trust him- but this confession just felt like the grossest betrayal possible. what other horrible secrets was he keeping from you?

• so, not wanting to find out, you ran away.

• of course, Desolate Sand had his reasons for bringing that sickening man Marshall to his end. reasons he would never want to get you involved in.

• his deliverance of justice shouldn't come at the cost of a good heart like yours- so, even if it hurt, scaring you away from him was the safest option

• though, of course, that backfired on him once the infamous bounty hunter Black Rose got her hands on you.

• she was rather livid when she heard that someone else had gotten to Marshall before her-

• he was always at the top of her hit list, and she was expecting to draw a pretty penny out of his death before someone else had stolen the kill.

• turns out pretending to be a bartender is a great way to eavesdrop for information- and, seeing two of her fellow murder suspects chatting so pleasantly at the bar was quite intriguing to her.

• and how convenient that the mysterious stranger confessed to murder within earshot (even though she was already spying on you guys)!!

• "So, tell me, L/N," she cooed, pressing her cold black pistol to the side of your head. "Do you think that killing Mr. Desolate Sand will be enough for me to collect my bounty, or no? Perhaps I should take you out, too, just to compensate for all of the trouble your little lover has caused me-"

• "You get your filthy fuckin' hands off of them right now."

• even though he was far enough away from you that you could only see his silhouette, the rage in his eyes burned brightly enough that he was practically a beacon of raw emotion

• despite his obvious anger, though, Desolate Sand still leveled his revolver at her head with the confidence of someone who's shot it before

• and, though you were relieved to see him come to your aid, that remaining fact still scared you. the man you had grown to love had still killed a man.

• "So, what's it going to be, Desolate Sand?" Black Rose hollered. "You gonna turn yourself over to me so that I can collect my coin, or is pretty little Y/N here gonna have to die first?"

• Desolate Sand inwardly scoffed. it was always about coin in the west...

• the two stood in a silent stalemate for a while. neither moved a single inch out of place...

•...and that was starting to get on your nerves.

• so, you directed all of that pent up frustration into stabbing Black Rose in the gut with your elbow!

• she was actually caught quite off guard, so much so that she stumbled backwards and fumbled with the trigger of her gun-

• and suddenly, BANG.

•...though Desolate Sand's gun was the only one with one less bullet.

• Black Rose howled in pain and clutched her leg, red pooling around the flesh the bullet tore through

• you stumbled back, dazed by the sight, right into Desolate Sand's arms.

• you were at a loss for words- you didn't even know whether to thank him or apologize.

• though the urgency in his eyes told you right away that you had time for neither

• "Y/N, we don't have a lot of time here. The townsfolk will be out here any minute once they hear this broad screaming. She'll say we tried to kill her, so I'm going to get you onto a horse and send you away while I take care of all this-"

• you were very quick to shut him up with a kiss

• he was shocked for a moment, but he found himself slowly melting into it- you tasted absolutely heavenly.

• when you two regretfully pulled away for air, you told him very passionately that you weren't just going to leave him all alone.

• you'd take your hands in his, rubbing your thumbs over his hard leather gloves...

• "Desolate Sand, I... I know you lead a pretty intense life, but... that doesn't mean you have to live it alone. Neither of us do. I love you, and I'm not ready to leave you behind yet."

• he chuckled down at you. "Funny. I was about to say the exact same thing, doll."

• and so, you both made your escape, travelling from town to town in search of a quiet place to settle down

•...though that was quite hard with all of the wanted posters with your faces on them

• yeahhhhhh you're both kind of wanted criminals now I forgot to mention that sorry

• (Well, Desolate Sand more so than you. You're labelled as an "accomplice," and they just never seem to get your nose right on the posters. ;0)

• after everything, Desolate Sand agreed to deliver his justice in a less morbid fashion. despite everything you've faced in the past/will face in the future, you're both just happy to be at each others sides- and no amount of gold could ever compare to the love that you two share. ♡

"Y/N, you've got something these westerners and I lack- a good heart. You constantly prove to be a breath of fresh air in these lawless lands... don't ever change, darling. I'll protect you with my life."

-Desolate Sand!Andrew Kreiss 🕳🕳

#idv #identity v #idv x reader #identity v x reader #idv headcanons #idv scenarios #idv skin headcannons #idv andrew #idv grave keeper

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

I have a request! How about a pre!Caleb x reader with a runechild reader that has been with Caleb and Nott from pre-stream? What would their friendship dynamic be with the two and how does Caleb react to them being hunted for experimentation by various magic users.

I’m so sorry this took so long to write. Double shifts have been killing me but I’m still trying to get these requests out regardless in whatever free time I get. I hope this one’s to your liking. It turned out pretty long 😅 . Enjoy regardless 😘

Prison. How did it come to the point where being stuck in a jail would be both the best and worst place for you to be? At least those after you wouldn’t be able to get you without getting in a lot of trouble or jumping through legal hoops giving you enough time to plan your escape.

When word got out you were a runechild people praised you… and hunted you discovering your worth as a conduit for the natural magics as well as an arcane power source. You learned many before you were hunted and killed, or enslaved for just this fact so when people came knocking you weren’t going to stick around and find out their intentions and plans for you. You value your own life more than that no matter how curious you may be about what it means to be a runechild.

Being on the run has its good sides; new places, new people and new experiences. The down side, no stability, no security and no long term friends, always on the road with barely a moment to breathe but at least you’re alive and not held captive and squeezed for every bit of arcane juju in your body. Though, you have to say you do miss having friends. Luckily you’re not the only one on the run from selfish mages with ulterior motives and as they say, birds of a feather…

You’re sitting in the corner of your cell head leaning back against the wall and one knee propped up. There’s barely any light bleeding through the narrow window up high, the only way you’ve been able differentiate day from night and count how long you’ve been here. Time’s running out. You’ll have to make your escape soon. The guard schedule is the most difficult as you don’t see yourself overpowering all of them. Sure you can charm a few but brute strength isn’t really your thing and you’re kinda squishy compared to the armoured folks trying to keep people from escaping… You weren’t going to take your chances there and draw more attention to yourself.

The barred door opens, the sound pulling you back to reality to see a rather filthy looking man and a child? Halfling? being pushed into your cell. Great. Company. Not like that eliminates what few plans you had… The door is closed behind them by the guard that gives the small person a kick in the back for good measure. You don’t respond as they cry out about to turn back around and attack the guard but are stopped by the man. The duo sees you as the guard leaves and sticks to the opposite side of your humble abode sitting down together and whisper.

This would be the next few days; these new roommates of yours sticking to themselves barely speaking at all when not whispering. Not like you could blame them. You weren’t about to stick your nose in their business just like they hadn’t. Though, what you wouldn’t do for some warmth during the colder times like the small one, a goblin you learned, snuggled up with the raggedy man. When was even the last time you had a hug? It feels like ages. Whatever they had going on, you had to say you were slightly envious. At least they had each other. You were all alone and would remain alone for the foreseeable future. You’d give the world if that meant you could have something like they do.

It’s been a few days since you were given any food. You’re hungry and by the grumbling stomachs of the man and goblin, so are they. Then the guard came by throwing a single slice of bread through the bars. Both you and the goblin scurry forward diving for the slice and you get it.

“This isn’t enough for all of us!” You shout after the guard holding onto the slice.

“It’s all you’re getting. Share or fight for the scraps.” The guard calls nibbling on some piece of fruit or something. The goblin woman curses after the guard who stops in his tracks. You quickly glance between the raggedy man and the goblin as the guard walks over to the bars. Casting the spell with nothing but your mind as the guard’s distracted by the screeching cursing woman, the guard’s form relaxes a little bit and eyes turn to you.

“I’m so sorry about her, my friend. You wouldn’t be able to help us out, would you? It’s been a few days since we’ve eaten and we’re growing hungry. Could you be a dear and fetch us some good and proper food quickly? I’d greatly appreciate it.” You bat your eyelashes and smile innocently. The guard nods happily and hands you a pouch filled with what he was snacking on.

“I’ll be back with more but please take this for now.” The guard says before he’s off to find you more food. You let out a breath of relief that it worked. You open the pouch and see some fresh berries. The goblin stares at you in confusion as the guard went from asshole to friendly in a split second. You hand her the slice of bread.

“Now let’s hope the asshole returns within the hour.” You make your way back to your corner and sit down in your usual spot. While you do nibbling on the berries you feel the man’s eyes burn into you or rather a dimly glowing rune on your lower arm. You quickly shift hiding it, staring him down until he averts his gaze. You see from the corner of your eyes as the woman offers to share the slice of bread with the man with a slight hesitation. That amount of food is going to do next to nothing to sate an empty stomach for one, let alone two people. You look down at the pouch of berries while you pop one in your mouth.

Cursing to yourself you get up, walk over to their side of the cell and sit down a couple feet away from them. You think for a second, pour some of the berries in your hand and hold it stretched out towards the man.

“Look, we’ve seen you charmed the guard with your wiles to give you food but do you have to rub it in our faces too?!” The woman screeches petting the man’s shoulder in comfort.

“I don’t think they’re taunting us. I think they’re offering to share.”

“Take them before I change my mind.” You’re still half deliberating on eating them yourself with how hungry you had grown in the past few days. The goblin calms down demeanour instead turning to confusion trying to find some ulterior motive while the man takes the berries with a brief smile and shares them with the woman.

The room turns silent again for the next thirty minutes or so before the guard returns with some plates of fresh food. Bread, not stale, butter, a couple of cuts of meat and even some steamed vegetables and rice. You rush over to the bars a little quicker than you’d wanted but even the smell’s enough to make your mouth water. You take the plates offering the guard a charming smile.

“Thank you very much, my friend. We won’t forget your generosity. Now why don’t you be back on your way and we’ll keep this our little secret alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me know if you need anything else.” The guard nods before leaving the three of you.

“You lot still hungry because this needs to be gone in the next thirty minutes or so.” The man pats a spot next to him and the goblin and you rush over handing them their own plates the three of you shoving down the food as fast as you can, to the crumbs, licking the plates clean. Not your finest perhaps but it only shows how long it’s been since any of you had a proper meal. After you return to your usual silence but remain seated with them.

The consequences of your spell usage came as you expected and resulted in some bruises for you but they were worth it. Since you shared the food and took full responsibility for your actions the man, Caleb and goblin, Nott had grown a little more open with you and the three of you came to a nonverbal understanding to share what you got and distribute fairly. In the mean time you’d still been plotting your escape but your stunt had put a bit of a dent in that as they changed up the guard schedule too. Time’s running out.

It’s afternoon and you’re laying on the floor curled up shivering from the cold facing away from Caleb and Nott. Your breath is visible in the air, the day unusually cold. A small hand touches your shoulder so you turn to see Nott giving you a pitied look. You sit up a little still shaking breathing into your hands and rubbing them together in the hopes of getting some warmth going. Nott grabs onto your hand and slowly pulls you in the direction of Caleb where she had been sitting before. You don’t resist as she sits you down right next to Caleb. You can’t help but cling onto him a little, responding to the warmth he brings and he does the same. While the difference is minimal, it’s better than none. Nott curls up in between the both of you on your laps using part of your coat to wrap around her, your own little heating pad against your stomachs.

Caleb snaps his fingers and you feel soft fur scratch your neck, weight of a paw shifting to your shoulder and settle down. Looking down you see a bengal cat cuddle up like a scarf between you and Caleb. You make eye contact with the man. While your knowledge of the arcane might be limited you put one and one together and recognise the cat to be a familiar. You scratch the orange fuzz-ball’s head a little making it purr.

“That trick you pulled a few days ago, you think you could do it again?” Caleb asks, voice shaky from the cold. You nod.

“Good. We’re gonna need it if we want to get out of here. Together.”

The next few days are repeated in kind, the cold sticking and freezing to death isn’t on any of your schedules. Caleb showed you a little trick of his to keep you warm when you were sure no guards would be near. The flame in his hands and cuddly cat Frumpkin, offered you some warmth and comfort when you most needed it.

One day you’re in Caleb’s embrace, Nott in yours and you’re huddled together, when you feel some kind of amulet hidden beneath the layers of Caleb’s clothes. Caleb notices you noticed and freezes up.

“Don’t worry I’m not going to steal it. Is it from your home?” You assure and while he grows a tiny bit less rigid he’s not back to his usual self.

“You could say that.” Caleb speaks absentmindedly, sounding a little stuck in his head.

“So not a good memory then. I won’t pry.” This puts him more at ease. He reaches into the neckline of his shirt and pulls out the amulet running his thumb over it. Curious what it looks like you’re slightly taken aback it matches something you’ve managed to keep hidden on your person too.

“Looks like we have more in common than I thought. People with those kind of trinkets usually intend to stay hidden from people with a tendency to stick their arcane noses where they shouldn’t.” You take out the similar amulet from beneath your robes and show it. You’d rather not go into the details of how you procured this object. What matters is you have it and it keeps you safe from more persistent folks.

“It appears so. If you don’t mind me asking, who would you be running from to need such an item?” You notice some wariness behind Caleb’s curiosity. Mistrust perhaps?

“No one in particular that I know of currently. It’s more of a precaution you see. The… origins of my abilities make me very wanted by those of arcane interests. They’d see me caged like some pretty songbird to be shown off to their friends or in chains, to be used as a power source for their spells and rituals without my consent. Certain powerful mages have been made aware of my presence in the Dwendalian Empire and seek to use me for their own plots. I prefer my freedom and staying out of their clutches.” You explain. You have no reason to hide this from Caleb. It just wasn’t relevant before.

“I think I have a feeling I know about these individuals and believe me when I say you’re better off staying far away from them. I intend to do the same.” Caleb puts the amulet back in its place hidden from sight and you do the same.

“A common interest then? Since we’re running from the same thing, perhaps sticking together after our grand escape until our paths diverge works in our benefit?” You deliberate as Nott listens along. You expected her to be asleep but apparently she had been listening too.

“You can protect us and we protect you. You can study and learn together and become more powerful. We’ll protect each other. Caleb?” Nott speaks as she grabs yours and Caleb’s hands in her small ones giving them a light squeeze.

“I don’t see why not.” Caleb mutters seeing the benefit in sticking together for the foreseeable future. He looks at you waiting for your answer.

“I guess. If you’ll have me, I’d very much appreciate the company.”

And so you decided to stick together. Your breakout, not without its hiccups, successful regardless. You did as you agreed and had each other’s backs leaving your prison days far behind. You make a great team swindling people, stealing what you need to get by. Life on the road is hard but much more bearable with these two at your side. Nott has very much taken the mother role when it comes to the two of you, making sure you’ve eaten enough, studied enough and sleep instead of sticking in the books with Caleb. She’ll cuddle up to your side even on the warmer nights wrapping her arms around your arm or sides. Caleb shares his knowledge with you, as much as he can anyway hence the two of you studying together. He’s taken up the role of tutor and friend very well. The three of you while a little rocky at first have a good thing going on. You’re more than just friends. You’re family. You look out of each other no matter what and you stick together until the bitter end through think and thin because at the end of the day; birds of a a feather, stick together.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #critrole x reader #caleb widogast x reader #nott x reader

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peach-the-owl · 3 years

Text

Rescued

Part 2 of Taken

Child of the Nein (Mighty Nein & Child!Reader)

I really hope this turned out as well as I imagined it to

Jester

You were honestly surprised to see your old caretaker again after so long, ever since that scuffle near Nicodranas you never did know what happened to them when they disappeared, forgetting about those worries when you met Jester not too long after. Yet here they were, after accidentally wandering away from Jester they come out of nowhere and whisk you off to who knows where, and they seemed to be in a hurry about it too. Throughout their little road trip you hoped that every turn or small stop would reveal Jester waiting to rescue you along with the rest of the Nein, sadly this wasn’t the case. Had you bothered to pay proper attention you’d know which city you were approaching but being dragged off the cart and through a variety of underground tunnels didn’t really help pinpoint things for you. You finally stop but at this point you'd decided to just keeping your eyes to the ground trying not to let fear take control over you.

"Alright! Here they are, just like I’d promised." Your caretaker, though now you scoff at the idea of this person ever caring for you, roughly pulls you forward into view, you keep your eyes on the ground. "Sooo… everything should be settled now, right? My debts payed and I’m free to go?" There’s a silence that feels like it lasts an eternity before a new voice, one you recognized speaks.

"The 'special cargo' you mentioned was… this child?" You peek up from your position and are shocked to see that the person your caretaker was negotiating with was none other then the Gentleman. He didn’t look surprised to see you but you hoped that was just so he could keep up with his appearance, you look to him with pleading eyes hoping that he could help you and you think you see a slight change in his expression as he leans over to whisper to one of his associates. When he’s done they hurry off somewhere and he turns his attention back to you. "And you speak the truth when you say they don’t have other connections or family?"

"Goodness no, this little thing has never been with anyone else but myself the whole time." They reply with a laugh, making you scowl at them. The Gentleman narrows his eyes and their laughter dies down quickly, getting a more nervous look.

"I don’t take kindly to those who think they can get away with lying to me." He says in a threatening tone, then snaps his fingers and two large henchmen grab the caretaker firmly by both arms.

"No, wait wait! Please! I-I'm not lying, the kid hasn’t been with anyone else but me!" They stammer, trying to sound convincing.

"Then I’m sure you have a reasonable explanation as to how this child in your possession looks exactly like my… one of my subordinates kids, or should I let (y/n) explain themselves." At the mention of your name the caretakers face completely drains of colour as realization creeps in. The Gentleman, completely unfazed waves his hand and his bodyguard, Sorah, walks over and frees you of your bindings while the others who still had the caretaker in their grip drag them off with them kicking and screaming that they were cheated and begging for another chance.

"Thank you." You say in a hushed voice, rubbing at your wrists.

"I’ve got someone to inform Jester of your whereabouts. You’re free to wait here until you’re retrieved, just don’t make a mess." You nod and go sit at one of the tables, pulling out a little notebook Jester gave you and begin writing and drawing in it to help pass time…

"(Y/n)!" You look up from your drawing to see Jester bounding up to you, easily picking you up and twirls you around in a big hug that you are more then happy to return. "I was so worried about you. We tried to follow but you were already so far away I didn’t know if I’d find you again." She wipes a few tears away and places a kiss to your forehead, you just snuggle into her more. "Thank you for helping them dad. See you do care!" She turns her attention to the Gentleman who in return gives an exaggerated sigh and rubs at his temples.

"We’ve been over this already… but you’re welcome." The second part came out more as a mutter. The two of you happily wave, and you quickly pick up your notebook before Jester makes her way out of the bar with you securely in her arms.

Nott

You’re thrown into a pit very much against your will, the pit itself was 40 feet wide with you on one side and on the other side of it a snarling owlbear chained to a wall, though the chains didn't look like they’d hold for much longer. Oh why did you have to let the allure of sparkly things get the better of you?

"Ladies, gentlemen! Place your bets!" One of the hosts called to the crowd. "Our fierce killer Dezmo or the half pint!"

"What kinda dumb name is Dezmo?" You mutter to yourself. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it as a high pitched whistle rings in your ears, irritating them. By the looks of it the sound was irritating the owlbear too, as it thrashes and roars in aggravation, the chains give way and the owlbear instantly starts charging for you. Thinking fast you dart under the beast, which compared to your tiny size towers over you, and start looking for any sort of escape route or places to hide. The beast spins around and swats at you, you managing to just barely duck out of the way and the crowd goes crazy for it.

"Come on folks, if you’re really confident place your final bets now and let’s see if the half pint can keep up." They blow that stupid whistle again, further aggravating the owlbear as it try’s charging you again, the audience hoots and hollers over it. These people were awful cheering for a large monster to attack child, then again they probably saw you as a monster too which disheartened you to know you were nothing but entertainment for them. You’re struck by a heavy blow from the beast, crashing into a wall and left teetering on the verge of losing consciousness, the beast stalks forward, rears up for a final strike but it ends up screeching in pain instead. A familiar goblin mom steps in front of you as a barrier between the monster and yourself, hissing menacingly at the it. The owlbear try's rearing up again, this time more focused on Nott who shoots another bolt from her crossbow nailing the beast in the eye. Your picked up and handed to Jester by Yasha as she and Beau also enter the pit, the audience were surprisingly enthused by this, cheering for a good fight, the only people unamused by this were the hosts to the whole ordeal.

"Oi! What'd ya think you’re doin'! That was our money maker you just shot!" One calls down, they’re answered with a bolt lodging itself into their collarbone and they cry out in pain.

"That’s what you get for using a child to get your sick kicks!" Nott yells ferociously. With Yasha and Beau having made swift work to the owlbear, Nott climbs her way out of the pit, going over to Jester as she finishes using Cure Wounds on you. "Are you alright? Do you need me to carry you?" She asks, already taking you into her arms and placing kisses all over your face. You just wrap your arms around her neck and hide your face in her shoulder, she takes this as her sign to leave and with the others following not far behind walks through the crowd towards the exit.

"Oh yeah, we also called the local guard, they should be here any minute!" You hear Jester shout before you all hurry away.

Caleb

This strange woman had come out of nowhere, took you by the hand and walked off from where Caleb told you to wait without a word, you tried to pull away but her grip was firm as she tugged you along. She lead your unwilling self through alleys, stopping every now and again, waiting for areas to be less populated before heading off again.

"Where are we going? Where'd you even come from?" You been asking these questions several times but the woman would just ignore them.

"Hush now dear, if I let go you’ll try to run from mommy again. If you did that mommy would have a hard time finding you like the first time. Now be a good kid and stay close, we're going home." You knew for a fact this woman wasn’t your mother and this "home" she spoke of was not where you wanted to go. Using your head you tried to think if there was any spell you could use to free yourself of the woman’s iron grip, you try to reach for your little bag but the woman snatches it and slings it over her own shoulder. "No need for that, you can play when we make it to the boat." Wait… boat? Was she trying to get you off Wildemount?

"No I don’t want to leave! You’re not my mom, let me go I don’t want to go with you!" You try shouting to get someone’s attention.

"Oh you and your wild imagination, enough games, let’s go." She had a weirdly sweet voice but it only furthered your unease around her. You try thrashing, pulling and reaching for your bag multiple times but still the woman’s grip held firm as you were dragged to the docks. Fear started creeping in, you couldn’t free yourself from her steely grip and who knows where she’s trying to take you. Worst of all if you couldn’t get away you might never see Caleb or anyone ever again, that thought alone made you start to cry. "Oh, don’t cry dear, see we're almost home free." Up ahead was what you’d have to assume to be the boat she was talking about, you tried one more time to wriggle free of her grasp to no avail.

The woman’s steps come to a halt making you pause and also look up to see a wall of fire blaze across the docks, blocking entry to the boat. Your fears dying down when you see a rather angry Caleb march his way towards you, the rest of the Nein not far behind.

"You," Caleb raises an arm pointing at this woman, his voice coming out almost as a hiss. "Get your filthy hands off of my child."

"They’re not yours they’re mine! I will not let you take them from me!" Those who were on the ship must’ve worked or had some relation to this woman as they join her and get into an offensive stance. Before long a fight breaks out between the Nein and the ships crew and once again the woman tries to drag you along with her. "It’s alright dear, they won’t get you." Her sweet demeanour was breaking, getting more and more crazy every time she talked. You butt you head against her as a response making her loosen her grip, you try to bolt as far away from her as you could, calling out for Caleb as you do. There’s a sudden grip on the collar of your shirt and you're yanked back into the woman’s arms, her face full of fury.

"If I can’t have a child of my own… Then they won’t either!" The woman screeches like a psychopath and throws the both of you into the ocean, you shrieking in fear. There's the hard impact from the surface of the water followed by a feeling of figurative and literal sinking into the dark depths, you try and wriggle yourself free but this crazy woman refused to let go and with smaller lungs you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep this up before running out of air. As a last resort you take your chance and bite the woman’s arm as hard as you can, ending up drawing blood, her screams of pain muffled in the water but you’re able to break free of her grip, manage to grab your bag and kick her down farther as you try to swim for the surface. Flailing your legs and arms to propel yourself forward was harder then you thought, your cloths weighing you down quite a bit, but before you completely lose hope and air there’s a dulled splash and soon something grabs you, hauling you out of the water. You gasp for air again and cough up a bit of sea water noticing you’re soaring high in the sky, looking up over your shoulder at the giant, orange eagle and instantly know who it is, a smile placing itself on your face.

Having safely made it back to land you’re carefully placed down and shiver from the chilly ocean air that blew in, trying your best to squeeze out as much water from your cloths as possible. There’s a ruffling of feathers before you find yourself wrapped up by two large wings, the head of the giant bird nuzzling itself into you and helping warm you up again. You always like when Caleb polymorphed into animals, he was always more willing for cuddles that way, with that said, you wrap your arms around his neck as best you can and nuzzle him back with no arguments.

Caduceus

These people were heartless, taking "exotic specimens" to be sold or traded for their own selfish needs, you used to not be the only one occupying your little cell but the others didn’t stay long and you feared you’d be next. Of course being a druid meant you could use something like Wildshape to escape, and of course you would’ve loved to use it too had it not been for some sort of magic nullifying enchantment on the restraints you were shackled in. With no means of using magic to your disposal and no way to call for help with the gag in your mouth you resorted to try thrashing around, attempting to tug free of the shackles that chained you to a wall. All this lead to was having your wrists rubbed raw, still you fought through the pain praying they’d eventually give, the stinging feeling only getting worse and harder to ignore until you felt something warm and wet running down your arms. You're hesitant to look, but see that your insistent tugging caused the shackles to cut into your wrists making them start bleed, badly. You take in deep and slow breaths through your nose to keep yourself calm, seeing as you had no way to cast any healing spell in your situation you try not to panic and slow the blood flow as best as possible. Tears stream down your face, the pain wasn’t helping with your wrist this sensitive it only amplified the feeling of the shackles digging into them, and you were starting to feel lightheaded.

A commotion and the sounds of people fighting catch your ears whipping your head in the direction it was coming from, then instantly regret that choice at the dizziness it caused. You try to make a sound, only muffled noises getting passed the fabric covering your mouth but you persist hoping someone hears you. The fighting dies down as silence takes over, making you worry whoever was here had lost the battle or left, until the cell door opens and two familiar people step in, hurrying over to you. Caduceus helps to remove the rag over your mouth while Nott makes quick work of the shackles seeing the bloody mess on your wrists. The second your wrists are free you feel a gentle, soothing sensation spread over them looking down to watch the lichen cover up the cuts before crumpling away, leaving behind hairline scars. You gently rub at your wrists to help regain circulation in them before leaning your full weight into Caduceus with a soft sobs.

"Shhh, it’s going to be okay, I’m here." Caduceus hushes you, wrapping his arms around your smaller form in a secure embrace.

"They-they were gonna try and sell me away." You hiccup through your tears.

"It’s alright now, we took care of them, they won’t be taking anyone anymore." He calmly reassures, you give a small nod and cuddle yourself into his chest more. Finally feeling safe and secure you let yourself pass out from the exhaustion you’ve felt.

Fjord

You kicked and flailed in hopes of wiggling free from this thugs grasp on you, all this while screaming at the top of your lungs in the hopes that your cry’s of distress would be loud enough to alert the rest of your sleeping group. Sure your voice would be ruined for a while but that was a small sacrifice you were willing to make if it meant freedom.

"Oh would you shut up! Why haven’t you gagged them yet!?" This groups leader calls over his shoulder getting very agitated with you, good that means your plan was working.

"They won’t stop squirming."

"Then hold them still idiots!" The one that had you thrown over their shoulder try’s using his free hand to hold you down, you swing your head over and bite them without hesitation, they retract their hand and slightly loosen their grip just enough for you to move your arms, perfect. The other two goons come closer to try and restrain you better, you focus and when they’re close enough in range…

"Thunderwave!" You shout, using the newly gained mobility in your arms to flick your hands out and cast the spell. The two goons are knocked back and the one that was holding you is knocked to the ground releasing their grip in the process, a loud thunderous boom shakes through the trees, if that didn’t alert anyone you don’t know what would. Knowing you weren’t a match against 4 men at once you sprint in the direction you came as fast as possible, trying to stay close to the path while using the trees for extra cover. You take a second to catch your breath, all the screaming and shouting did a real number to your throat, it felt dry and it hurt to even attempt making a noise now.

"Keep searching, the brat couldn’t have gotten far!" You could hear the bandits approaching and go to make another run for it, but are caught and thrown harshly to the dirt path. In an attempt to push yourself off the ground you feel a foot press heavily against your back, pushing you into the jagged gravel. "Didn’t ya hear my warning?" They mockingly ask, pressing the cold steel of their blade against your neck. "I’m not against killing you kid." They slowly start to press the blade deeper into your neck, feeling it pierce the skin and draw blood. The feeling of the blade suddenly leaves you, but your left still bleeding and having a hard time controlling your breath from the panic of almost having your throat slit.

A calming sensation eases in and your breathing starts improving again, even the dryness in your throat feels a little better but you’re still not well enough to talk. You look up at Caduceus, being the one who healed you and give him a smile and a thumbs up, he returns the smile and ruffles your hair before helping you back on your feet properly. Fjord soon comes up to you and kneels down to your height, placing his hands on your shoulders, a heavy look of guilt on his face.

"Are you alright?" His voice wavered a little. You rub your neck a little as a ways to show it was sore but give a small nod. "Thank the Wildemother, I was so worried. I’m sorry I let this happen to you, I should’ve…" He trails off a bit, tightening his grip on your shoulders. You just lean forward and give him a hug, locking your arms around his neck as your body shakes a little from the whole encounter, he lets out a breath before returning the hug, securing his arms around you and lifting you up in the process. He then starts making his way back to camp, the rest of Nein in tow.

Beau

These ninjas, if you could even call them that, must’ve really underestimated their opponent, sure they were able to capture you but that was because they had numbers on their side while you were just one kid, that didn’t stop you from breaking free and taking them on. What did they even want with you anyways, you saw one drop a note by accident, did someone hire them? Either way you had to be careful the longer you took them on the more exhausted you were starting to feel. You go to land another hit on one of them when a sound you knew well hits your ears and makes you freeze on the spot, and suddenly feel helpless. That sound was the chime of a silver bell, not bronze or gold no particularly silver, you knew that chime all too well and you hated it and the effects it had on you. How did they even- you cut off your own thoughts at a terrifying realization… did your parents send them? Having lost focus you get socked in the jaw and lay limply on the ground, trying to process what was happening. You then hear pained grunts and look over to see Beau fighting off the enemies with some backup from Caleb and Caduceus. You push yourself off the ground but can’t make yourself do more them that, just watching the fight come to an end.

"No one messes with my kid." Beau growls angrily before making her way over to you. "You doing alright (y/n)? If you need any healing I can get Caduceus to check on you." You shake your head, a few stray tears escaping you which Beau defiantly didn’t miss. "Whoa! Hey, you sure you’re alright?" She asks with more concern now.

"I know who sent them." You speak just above a whisper, voice quivering as you do. An arm wraps around your shoulder as Beau joins in sitting next to you, finding yourself leaning into her side as she rubs your arm in a comforting way.

"Tell me who." She spoke with a serious tone, clearly ready to take down whoever caused you this type of grief.

"My parents." You look away from her and shrink a little into yourself.

"What? How can you tell?" She asks, surprised by this. You point over at the discarded bell left laying on the ground.

"Before they sent me away that was how they 'trained' me, they’d ring a bell whenever I’d misbehave… It was always a silver bell." You shift uncomfortably at the memories and feel Beau tighten her grip on you.

"Well, if they want you back so badly, they’re gonna have to pry you from my cold dead hands themselves." You look up at her in shock, she gives you a side smile. "You’re my student and technically my kid now too. Don’t think I’m gonna let 'The Man' take you that easily without a fight." You smile at this and she ruffles up your hair earning a small laugh from you too.

Yasha

It was terrifying to be without Yasha for this long with these dangerous brutes, what did they even want with you? It’s not like you could offer anything valuable to them or were they just doing this for their own sick kicks. You didn’t want to think too much on it, instead looking for any sort of opening to escape but finding nothing that wouldn’t lead to a confrontation. You could try and test your luck and just snap free of your binding, but it’s never faired well in the past and you didn’t want to end up on the end of a stake, that thought alone makes you shudder.

"Intruders are here!" You hear one shout as the others leave the room, this was your chance, now that they were distracted you easily snap out of the rope they’d tied you in and go to grab your weapon they left discarded on the floor, how rude of them. Being a sneaky as possible your make your way towards the exit and see the brutes fighting against the Mighty Nein. Yasha was facing off with the largest of the brutes well in a rage, screaming at them to tell her where you were. You weren’t sure how battle ready you were at the current time, but you wanted to help so gripping your sword in hand you charge at the brute from behind and take a large swing, slicing into the back of his knee. The brute roars in pain and does a wide sweep with his battle axe, you try to jump back but your earlier forward momentum makes you stagger and get hit by the blade, knocking you backwards by the sheer force.

You skid across the ground gripping tightly to your gut, slowly being surrounded by a puddle of your own blood, it was excruciating as you pitifully try to stop the heavy blood flow by holding your stomach tighter. You try to focus on staying conscious as an angry roar like thunder tears through the cave, you could only guess it to be Yasha having seen what just happened. It feels like an eternity before the pain slowly starts to disappear, the soft light of Jester's healing magic makes you blink open your eyes and look up at her, she gives you a smile and helps you to your feet. You wobble a little but catch yourself and walk back over to the group where you see them finish off the last of the brutes, Yasha taking a big swing bisecting them from the shoulder to their waist. When she looks over and sees you standing there she drops her weapon and runs to you, scooping you into her arms and lets out a few sobs.

"You had me so scared. I thought I lost you too." You grip tightly to her and just share in this sweet reunion.

"I’m sorry I scared you." You apologize, but she shakes her head.

"No, you have nothing to be sorry for, and you’re safe now that’s what matters." She breaths out, with a sigh of relief. She then carries you out of the cave and finally back together again you go to join up with the Mighty Nein.

Molly

Numb, that’s all you could feel right now was just numb, these Iron Shepherds had no mercy no matter the age and it showed from the various scars and bruises you received. You lay in the dingy cell they’d placed you in, if you could you would’ve taken this time to think back on your decisions that lead to this moment but you were just too mentally and physically drained to care anymore. As numb as you were everything still hurt, and you felt so exhausted, you just wanted this to end or for something to happen. So stuck in your own head the rest of the world was drowned out to you making you miss the sounds of footsteps and shouts ring throughout the hideout.

There’s a screeching sound of a cell door being opened, you curl in on yourself in a hopeless attempt to prepare for whatever beating may be coming your way. There’s no pain just a hand placing itself on your shoulder, you instinctually flinch away from the touch, they were playing cruel mind games with you now, they had to be, there was just no other explanation for someone trying to be so careful with you. Whoever it was they were persistent, gently taking you into their arms and lifting you up, feeling a strangely comforting warmth wash over you compared to the cold stone floor you were just laying on. They were whispering something you couldn’t quite catch but you try your best to focus and listen.

"Everything’s gonna be alright now love, I promise. They’re not going to hurt you anymore." There voice came out softly as you’re held in their protective grip. Slowly you regain more and more focus and finally notice the familiar colours of a very elaborate coat, feeling tears well up in your eyes at the relief that this wasn’t some cruel trick by your captors and was in fact reality. With the small amount of strength you still had you carefully raise your arms to return the embrace and start weeping uncontrollably, letting out all the tears you’d been holding back. Molly's grip on you tightens slightly, being careful to not hurt you as though you were fragile and could break at a moments notice. "We had ourselves a long day, haven’t we? Let’s get you out of this hellhole." With that he exits the dingy cell and carries you out of the Sour Nest.

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yamaoni · 4 years

Text

The Second Great War of Remnant has begun. Once more, Vale and Mantle are embroiled in a massive conflict, only this time, they are on the same side against Atlas.

I don't think it was a coincidence that so many people drew parallels with the last episode and WWI. We've never seen people fight that way in RWBY. Grimm don't use projectile weapons the way humans do, so the benefits of the trench are diminished; especially if you compare it to the drawbacks.

Now, I understand not everyone in the Atlas military has their aura unlocked and the squishy soldiers need some cover, but if The Long Memory didn't nuke every grimm on Atlas, the lines would have been overrun and then there would have been nowhere for them to retreat to.

You think the very real hand to hand struggles in the trenches of WWI were bad, imagine being trapped in a narrow trench with a bear. Or having this thing explode out of the ground under you.

I refuse to believe no-one in Atlas ever thought, "if we put the dirt from the trench in a box, no only can we give our soldiers cover, we can also give them an elevated position to fire from."

The top of a wall has been the primary defensive position for the people of Remnant for a long time. You can see them in the establishing shots of most settled places the team has visited. So why are we seeing a trench now?

Simple.

Show, don't tell.

RWBY has done a pretty great job, especially in the last few seasons, of showing the audience what it is trying to convey without explicitly telling them. They especially like drawing from well known folk lore to give insight into the future of the show.

Only difference here, instead of drawing the parallel between characters, they're drawing parallels between worlds.

Remnant's first Great War started with Mantle suppressing freedom of expression, the destruction of Art and Color. Ironwood always has little in the way of color, but in his first broadcast since everything started hitting the fan, he has none.

That broadcast also included evacuation ships being blown up by fighter-bombers, Dunkirk. It threatend to level a city if they didn't surrender, Battle of Brittan. All delivered by a dictator trying to scare his opponents into submission through careful use of film.

Theories

If the rest of the season is WWII, I have several theories on plot direction. Considering how well they did keeping up with both ends of the battlefield it wouldn't surprise me if they followed all of them at the same time.

Operation Dunkirk

Or, the evacuation of Mantle.

Players: Penny, Nora, Ren, Happy Huntresses

The Happy Huntresses involvement is a given. Not only has saving Mantle been their goal the whole time, they're also stuck in the middle of it right now.

Penny is the Protector of Mantle. It would be a shining moment for her character to fully throw off the virus Watts implanted and overcome Ironwood's threats to do so. Just crossing my fingers that it doesn't end like the Iron Giant.

Nora is currently Penny's tether to sanity, so she has to go with, and I doubt they would separate Ren from her for the next arc so he's going too.

Surprise twist for this plot I'm betting will be the Starwars "they aren't warships, just people" scene everyone loves to rag on. After all, the broadcast went out that they needed help and, at least at Dunkirk, it was fishing boats and pleasure crafts that retrieved the 338,000 surrounded on all sides.

Why We Fight

Or, countering Ironwoods propaganda.

Players: Robyn and Qrow

For one, these two are unaccounted for and in the heart of Atlas' military machine. If anyone has means to do so, it's them.

The film, Why We Fight, also countered the dramatic cinematography of Goebbels propaganda by painting it as ridiculous and making a folksy call to action much like Robyn has done in the past.

Operation Fortitude

Or, the deception of Ironwood.

Players: Emerald, Jaune, Oscar

This is the mission to make Ironwood think the team is going after the relic. This theory is why I actually thought of and wrote out this whole thing. Thanks @maxiemumdamage, I had things I was supposed to do tonight.

https://maxiemumdamage.tumblr.com/post/644291955872890880/willing-to-bet-my-own-soul-that-emerald-uses-her

Only difference in my theory and their's, is Jaune is going to be playing the part of Penny.

I say this for two reasons. One, Joan of Arc pretended to be a man. While we've gotten both Jaune pretending to be something he's not and him in a dress, this would pose the first time in the story he could do both. Two, it would put him on a direct collision path with Cinder. It needs to happen at some point to bring his arc to a conclusion, but man I hope we're not about to watch him burn.

With Ozpin active again, Oscar has to go along to direct them to the vault. He's also one of two backing the idea of Emerald joining the team and Jaune wouldn't be willing to work with her without him.

Operation Overlord

Or, busting down the doors of Atlas Acadamy.

Players: Ruby, Blake, Weiss, Yang

Where Operation Fortitude was the faint, Operation Overlord was the real deal. For those that aren't history buffs, this is D-Day.

I think this is the reason we've only seen the main team fighting together once since their split from Beacon. And even then, that fight was at most pairs of fighters and not all four of them supporting one another.

RWBY tricked us into thinking season 4 was the post-timeskip level up we come to expect from anime when really we ended up watching the training flashbacks as they happened instead.

We've seen hints of it with the various team ups and combinations, but are we really ready for how much ass kicking they are about to do?

I'm hoping for a One Piece level of badass entrance that can give me shivers whenever I go to watch it again like the walk to Arlong Park still does to this day.

(Aside: if you try telling me RWBY isn't anime, I'm just going to ignore you. Anime is an art movement. If you don't understand what that means, watch this video. https://youtu.be/uFtfDK39ZhI)

youtube

Now last and certainly not least

Operation Valkyrie

Or, the death of Ironwood.

Players: Winter and Marrow

The long awaited defection. Plenty of speculation has already floated around about if and when these two where going to cave to their morals and jump ship. I don't know how many of us were expecting the straw to break the camel's back to be a nuke held over Mantle, but I certainly wasn't.

What worries me, is Operation Valkyrie failed and all its conspirators were executed. As if there weren't enough death flags for Winter before.

Even if it's not Winter that kills him. I don't see Ironwood surviving this season. Even if it means he goes out like another hated dictator. It's not like it would be the first time RT had a fallen hero chose to use his own sword.

Wildcards

Or, Murphy will have his due.

Players: Cinder, Watts, Neo, Tyrian, Mercury, Clover

These players can go any which way. Three we know for sure are going to be active in the coming episodes and I wouldn't be surprised if the other three play a part as well.

Oscar made a hell of a light show for Tyrian and Mercury to see behind them. Not to mention, Salem will still need a ride home when she pulls herself back together.

Clover keeps getting mentioned even though he's hospitalized. If he was truly out of commission for the rest of the season, they would have made us think he's dead before bringing him back like they did with Penny.

Up to now, what we've seen is a three way conflict. But one of the hallmarks of Remnant's First Great War, was making temporary alliances to fight off grimm.

The grimm might be gone, but the wild cards can't complete their own objectives if they are dead. The question is who's goals better align with their own.

Two surprise twists I can see here. One, Mercury stabbing Tyrian on his way to defection. He was raised by an assassin and has not going to get a better chance than that. Two, Clover joining Operation Valkyrie. He might have accepted that sacrifice is a necessary evil to ensure Atlas' survival, but might go Schindler's List on us and find horror in what Ironwood plans to do.

TLDR

I spent way too long writing this out. All the WWI imagery means we're getting a WWII movie with RWBY characters. Major death flags for Penny, Jaune, and Winter.

Also I finally figured out how to do a readmore. Apparently it's just been a long time since I updated.

Note: kept seeing things talking about clovers death and I kind of went ???? Isn't he barely alive in medical? Went back and watched that scene and though I am 90% sure he is dead still kind of weird that they have him in his own room instead of a morgue and the initial framing made my mind instantly think he was propped up on a hospital bed. I mean, I guess we needed to have all the ACEOPs there for their reaction to Ironwood... but it definitely made me think he was alive. That and they have a bandage on his chest wound... when he's supposedly dead. Also have a phantom memory of Harriet saying something about him being in critical but I think that's my memory playing tricks on me.

Having his face exposed instead of covered by the sheet and seeing him in the same frame as Winter being treated also didn't help my gut reaction of "Oh Shit! He's alive? How?!" If I'd followed up more on the "how" might not have made the blunder of writing his return as the final twist in my theory. Oops

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queen-scribbles · 3 years

Text

The Long-Burning Torch

For the @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer event, the Ryn/Red muses latched onto 20′s Detective AU and would not let go. I’ve gone so deep down this rabbit hole there’s gonna be chapters, but the first piece works as a standalone. (title might change along the way, again bc chapters)

----

There were, in Xaeryn’s experience, two types of people who made use of her services. Both were driven by desperation, both tended to hit her doorstep late in the day. There were the belligerent ones, incensed they had to stoop to hiring her, a Mage, to solve their problem. From them she had to pull the pertinent facts of their case one begrudging sentences at a time. And there were the frantic ones, who had exhausted every other route and she was their last chance. Details poured so freely from them she had to pick through it to find what was actually relevant to the case.

The young man standing before her now, at the start of her day, appeared to fit neither of those groups. He’d knocked and entered without awaiting an invitation, seeming unperturbed by the eyebrow she arched at his arrival.

“May I help you?” Xaeryn asked, leaning forward to rest folded hands on her desk.

He shifted to fold his own hands over the head of a walking stick she’d wager he didn’t actually need and smiled dryly. “If your reputation is anything to go by, Miss Shrike, I certainly expect so.”

She gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. “Let’s find out, Mr...?”

“Riel Syndran,” he said, passing her a business card as he took the offered seat.

The card was hardly necessary, and Xaeryn set it on the desk with only a passing glance. “You run Whitestone Couriers, don’t you?”

There was the faintest twitch on the left side of his jaw. “The company is a guild venture.”

“And I wouldn’t be much of a snooper if I couldn’t figure out who truly ran a company as vital to the city of Haven as Whitestone Couriers, Mr. Syndran.”

He gave her a sharp smile. “Very good. I knew coming to you first was the right call, Miss Shrike.”

“Flattered as I am by your confidence” --and she was; she was typically the last resort, being first was something of a novelty-- “why don’t you tell me what or who you need found, and we can discover if said confidence is warranted.”

“I’m certain it is,” Syndran said, his gaze briefly dropping to the Shrike Investigations placard on the edge of her desk. “But you are correct. To business.”

And business, as he explained it, ran thus: Whitestone Couriers had been contracted to transport a collection of artefacts, originally from all parts of Blest, from their previous temporary home at the Conte-by-the-Sea museum to Haven’s Hall of History and Culture.

”How well-known was your being contracted?” Xaeryn interjected.

“It was something of a secret,” Syndran replied, flicking invisible dust off his sleeve. “Some of the pieces are quite valuable, so it was largely in hopes of avoiding theft.”

Hopes that had proven vain. They’d had an uneventful journey--blessed with good weather, even--made it through city customs upon arriving at Haven (checked everything after making it through and found nothing amiss), and proceeded to the museum. Upon unpacking the artefacts, however, it was discovered one was missing.

(Of course.)

The missing piece--an obsidian and bronze pendent thought to belong to a ruler in the Jalis desert pre-Autarchy--had limited monetary value, especially compared to some of the other items in the collection. (Those, of course, had been more closely watched.) Its worth was largely historical and religious.

“Enchantments?”

“None so far as we know.”

“I’ll look into it for you,” Xaeryn said with a nod. She loved mind-twisters like this. “I’ll need to talk to your people, as well as the museum staff, so it would be helpful if you let them know I’m coming. Otherwise my kind” --a twitch of her fingers set energy dancing above them briefly-- “aren’t usually given the time of day.”

“Of course. I shall do so.” Syndran stood and bowed. “I thank you for taking my case, Miss Shrike, and look forward to your success.”

“Two things, Mr. Syndran,” she spoke up as he turned toward the door. She waited until he paused and looked back to continue. “I will, of course, endeavor to find this relic on my own, but should I require an expert’s... knowledge of its history, say, is outside help acceptable?”

His nose wrinkled briefly. “If you must. But as few others as possible, and only those you trust to keep it in strictest confidence.”

“Understood.”

“And the second thing, Miss Shrike?”

She smiled. “One third estimated payment is due upfront.”

“Oh, obviously.” He returned the smile and pulled out his checkbook.

----

She made some good progress between that afternoon and the next day. Interviews with the caravan guards and those responsible for the artefact collection gave insight to their procedures--which were indeed top-notch; it was impressive someone had managed to find a weakness--and how long the pieces were out of their sight coming through city customs.

“Don’t see why that matters,” the pink-haired courier who’d been in charge of the caravan commented. “We checked them all when we got through; made sure everything was still there. Standard procedure.”

“When you say you checked, is this a thorough examination or just a glance to make sure it’s still there?” Xaeryn asked, glancing at the notepad balanced on her knee.

“There’s no fine-tooth comb involved,” came the somewhat tart and harried reply, “but we do look to confirm it’s there and undamaged so nothing undeserved can later be blamed on us. The company has a sterling reputation for a reason, Miss Shrike, and the guild would very much like to keep it that way.”

“Hence your boss coming to me instead of the police.” Xaeryn tapped her pen against her chin and skimmed over her notes. “I think I have everything I need, Miss Aerin. Thank you for your time.”

Aerin gave a sharp nod. “Of course. Anything to get this cleared up and the artefact found as quickly as possible.” She flicked a worried glance toward the notebook as Xaeryn slipped it in her handbag. “How much did you write down? A lot of our procedures are trade secrets; if someone should see...”

Xaeryn laughed and withdrew the notepad again, flipping it open to show the other woman the symbols that filled the pages. “Never fear, your secrets are safe with me. An added bonus of my own shorthand; no one else can read my notes.”

“Smart.” A brief hesitation. “No one? You’re sure?”

“Well, perhaps the friend who helped develop it initially, but I’ve tweaked it since then.” She flipped the pad closed and stowed it in her bag. “I think it would take a little work even for him. We worked it out to take faster notes in class, but taking faster notes also come in handy in my line of work.”

Aerin relaxed and nodded again. “I’m sure it does. Thank you for the reassurance, Miss Shrike.”

“Of course. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

With the last of the days’ intended interviews behind her, Xaeryn headed back to her office. Now to review what she’d learned from all the sources together. She was confident she had plenty to give herself at least a couple leads worth pursuing, even if there wasn’t enough for a scry.

---

It took a day and a half of running herself off her feet for Xaeryn to burn through the leads she’d found without much to show for it. She’d been unable to track down the specific guard who checked that portion of the shipment, but his supervisor assured her such an important collection would have been treated with utmost care, seeming miffed at the insinuation otherwise. None of the drivers or other courier employees had noticed anything unusual once they passed through customs, no interruptions or suspicious folks in the streets.

Even scrying had fizzled out without so much as a vague semblance of where it might be.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Xaeryn dug her fingers into her short hair and glowered at the photographs of the pendent Mr. Syndran had given her. It was so small. So easily concealed. And so simple it would hardly draw attention unless you knew what it was.

She’d been forced to grudgingly admit her minimal progress to Mr. Syndran when he called for an update and it had her in a foul mood. This sort of baloney was not how she kept the lights on. It was time for a new tack.

If she couldn’t (yet) trace where the pendent vanished from, perhaps it would work better to learn more about it; figure where it might be going and get a solid enough knowledge of it she could successfully scry its location. Who would want it badly enough for the hassle of stealing from Whitestone Couriers to be worth their while? Looking into the pendent’s history and provenance seemed the next logical course. Just because Mr. Syndran had told her it was on loan to the collection from the “proper” owners did not mean said owners had told him everything, or indeed, that they’d told the truth. She needed an expert and knew just where to find one.

It had been long enough since her time at Solhadur Academy Xaeryn actually had to look up the telephone number before calling. As she listened to the line ringing, she wondered absently how much of a gentle scolding Headmaster Tevanti would give her for her first contact in more than a decade being to ask for something rather than merely catching up. She’d always been the type not to bother people unless she had to. That was, after all, what she preferred. And her self-reliance had carried her through quite a bit. But she was aware most people would differ from her on that point; Tevanti especially was fond of jawing, so he would surely have words for her long silence.

She let it go to ten rings before giving up. Revelation came with a glance at the clock; it was late enough there was likely no one around to answer. No matter. She could drive out tomorrow. The Academy was in Capra, that wasn’t terribly far. (Not for business, anyway.) Headmaster Tevanti wouldn’t mind one of his favorite students dropping in for an hour or so to discuss a relic from one of his favorite historical periods. She’d even engage in small talk, if he wanted.

Xaeryn smiled to herself and locked both the photographs and her notepad in one of the desk drawers. If that was her plan for tomorrow, she should turn in early, make sure she was well-rested. Time for a trip down memory lane.

---

The morning was uneventful, aside from the troublesome discovery she’d left her office unlocked all night. She was normally more attentive than that, even being on a higher floor. But nothing was disturbed or missing, so Xaeryn shrugged it off and got on with her day.

If she selected her wardrobe with a more critical eye than usual, well, she wanted to look professional. Headmaster Tevanti had been a wonderful mentor, and she wanted to show how far his encouragements about using her bright mind and sharp eye had carried her.

(She wondered, briefly, as she pulled on the royal blue skirt and its matching blouse, accented in deep golden-yellow, if she would see any other familiar faces. But she shook off the warmth of the thought; they’d all scattered to the winds after graduation. Getting to see Tevanti would be enough.)

Satisfied with her ensemble, and needing to fill some time before she left, Xaeryn sat at her desk with her notepad and transcribed everything she knew about the missing pendent(not much), along with questions to ask. She picked out the best of the photographs from Mr. Syndran, just in case, and sighed as she looked at the clock. She’d still be a tad early for it to be polite, especially just dropping in out of the blue, if she left now.

So I’ll drive at a leisurely pace, she argued to herself. Take my time. Allowing a buffer in case there’s trouble along the way is only wise. God in heaven, she wished she could figure why she had worse jitters about this than some dates she’d gone on. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she muttered to the empty office.

She locked the remaining photographs back in her desk, slipped the chosen one and her notepad in her handbag. After a moment’s internal debate, she slipped one of her stiletto knives down in her boot as well. Solhadur was far from dangerous, but it was prudent to have some measure of protection when traveling alone. She grabbed a hat on her way out the door--which she made certain to lock this time--and had it securely on her head by the time she reached the car.

----

Despite her efforts to make it a leisurely drive out to Capra, and weather that was perfect for that goal, Xaeryn still found herself standing in the entrance hall of Solhadur Academy at an earlier hour than would usually be considered polite for impromptu business meetings. She debated walking the grounds for a while, revisiting some memories from her time here, but decided simply apologizing for her early arrival was the better course of action.

With a final steadying breath and running one hand down her blouse and skirt to chase away wrinkles, Xaeryn headed for the reception desk. She smiled at the young woman behind it. “Good morning.”

The receptionist blinked, seeming mildly taken aback by how far up she had to look to meet her visitor’s eyes. “Morning, miss. Office hours don’t start until ten-”

“Oh, I’m not a student here,” Xaeryn said with a laugh. “At least, not anymore. And I do apologize for the early appearance, the drive out went much faster than anticipated.”

A brow twitched at that. “And what is it that brings you to Solhadur, miss...?”

“I’m doing research on a selection of artefacts and haven’t been able to turn up much on one.” It was barely a lie; she had read a bit on the other exhibition pieces, even if the pendent was the only one she needed to go deeper. “It’s from a period I know is of particular interest to the headmaster, so I was hoping to speak to him for a while, see if he could help.”

The receptionist pursed her lips. “Former student, you say?”

Xaeryn nodded. “If he’s busy first thing, I don’t mind waiting.”

““No, actually, being early is smart,” the receptionist said with a light laugh. “His hours are more full at the later end of things. This would be the best opportunity if you want some of his time.” She glanced over Xaeryn once more, then nodded. “You can go up. Third door--”

“On the left. I remember,” Xaeryn finished. “Thank you.”

“You might actually beat him there,” the receptionist laughed. “He isn’t always punctual.”

“I remember that, too,” Xaeryn returned with a grin. “Like I said, I don’t mind waiting. It’ll be good to see him again, few more minutes won’t hurt.” She toyed with one of her earrings as she headed up the stairs, steps lingering and heavy with nostalgia.

It was almost exactly as she remembered. A few portraits replaced or rearranged, new photographs from after she left. New name placards outside the doors she passed. The headmaster’s office door was closed, and a light inquiring rap of her knuckles brought no response.

Looks like she was right, Xaeryn thought with a smile, leaning against the chair outside the office to wait. Her gaze drifted to the high ceiling, following the details of familiar carvings to the scenes painted on the ceiling itself. Slightly faded from what she remembered, but that was to be expected after a decade--

“Xaeryn?!” The voice, still familiar even after years apart, sounded like he’d seen a ghost.

Her heart lurched in her chest and she’d spun around before the impulse to do so had even fully registered, his name tumbling from her lips unprompted in return. “Red?!”

He crossed the remaining distance between them in just a few strides(God, he’d gotten taller, how was that even possible?), barely remembered to set the books he carried on the chair before wrapping her in a hug.

Xaeryn didn’t even flinch, and only just managed to keep her grip on her handbag as she hugged him back. He still smelled of old books and ink and sunshine and she smiled at the memories it stirred.

Liefred Antiqua, her seatmate in any classes they shared and best friend regardless of how many they didn’t for the entirely of her time at Solhadur. Friendly, charming, and just as fond of books as he was people. (The nights they’d spent pressed shoulder to shoulder reading in the library were still among her favorite memories.) Between his warm nature and classic good looks, he’d had half the student body swooning after him, and yet despite the sharp contrast to Xaeryn’s more reserved and self-reliant bent, they’d still spent most of their time together. Their friendship was the strongest of the few she’d formed at Solhadur, and Xaeryn valued it immensely.

(Too much to risk on anything like admitting when the sight of his smile sent something that was definitely not friendship fluttering in her chest. It was just a crush, it would go away.)

( And then it didn’t.)

They’d both had plans to travel after graduation, and she couldn’t count on all her fingers combined the number of times she’d almost suggested they do it together. But in this one thing, she never could quite summon the nerve. And before she knew it, her departure date had arrived and they were hugging farewell, and come with me wouldn’t unstick from her throat. After a few months’ silence stretched between them--both traveling and unsure where the other might be, obviously--she’d resigned herself to their paths never crossing again, much as the thought hurt.

And yet here he was.

All the memories flew through her mind in the few seconds their hug lasted, and had a lump starting in her throat by the time they parted.

“Wonderful as it is to see you,” Red began as he stepped back to reclaim his books and run a glance over her, “what are you doing here?”

Xaeryn cleared her throat as she returned the apprising glance with one of her own. He still looked practically the same. A few inches taller, shoulders a bit more broad, and an attempt had been made to tame his bright red hair. It had only achieved partial success, and combined with the warm glint in his green eyes, he still was the same Red she knew. (The same Red she’d been more than a little in love with, even if she’d never dared the risk of admitting it.)

“I’m doing research,” she said, reaching up to tug the back brim of her hat as she glanced at the office door. “Into some artefacts. I wanted to ask Headmaster Tevanti about one in particular that’s being difficult.”

Red grimaced and fumbled his books. “Did you not hear, Xaer?” His voice went soft on the nickname, despite them being alone. Voices did carry in these halls, as they very well knew. “Tevanti died.”

She blinked, shock and sorrow curling in her chest. “Wh- How? When?”

“Not long after you left, actually,” he said, raking his free hand through his hair and tousling it out of respectability. “You know he’d been having problems with his heart. It gave out a few months after you left.” His brow furrowed. “I’m surprised you weren’t told when you set an appointment.”

“I didn’t so much set an appointment as show up looking to talk,” Xaeryn admitted with a soft, wry snort. “And I did simply say the headmaster when speaking to the receptionist.” She cocked her head. “Who would that be, now?”

Red smiled sheepishly, half-bit his lower lip. “Me, actually.” He shifted the books to one arm and opened the office door. Slightly nonplussed by two such major revelations in a row, Xaeryn was silent as she followed him in.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” was the first thought to pop in her head and then out her mouth as she looked around the office. It was spacious, lined with jam-packed bookshelves(He must be in heaven), and in a state of... corralled disarray that was so very Red it made her smile despite the news about Tevanti.

“I did,” Red replied, setting the books on his desk. “And I got to, at least a bit.” He tucked a handful of papers inside an open tome occupying one of the chairs, flipped the book closed, and set it on a side table so he could offer her a seat. “I’d already left when he passed, so Professor Rumi and some others kept things going until I got back.” Rather than sit in the chair behind the desk, he shuffled a small stack of books onto the floor and sat in the one next to Xaeryn’s as he continued. “He’d... wanted me as his successor, Xaeryn.”

“That makes sense.” The words were out before she could weigh them, spurred by the disbelief in his hesitation. “You’re brilliant, charming, and have a history with the school.” Her face warmed in the wake of being so candid, and Xaeryn glanced over at the large painting of Tevanti that hung on the wall between two bookshelves. He knew what he was doing. “You’re a logical choice.”

Red laughed warmly. “High praise from the smartest student in our class.”

“But far from the most charming,” she countered with a wry smile.

The warmth of his gaze didn’t abate. “I’ve always appreciated your-”

“Bluntness?”

“Straight-forwardness,” Red substituted, and was smiling when she looked his way. “An ability to cut to the heart of the subject is an invaluable skill.”

Xaeryn gave a faint shake of her head. “As is your kindness. But speaking of the heart of the matter...”

“Ah, right. You came here for a reason.” He pushed his unbuttoned shirtsleeves up toward his elbows. “I can’t promise to know as much as Tevanti would have, but I’ll certainly do my best to help.”

“Actually...” She snapped open her handbag to pull out the photograph and her notepad. “You’ve done a lot of research on pre-Autarchy history, so you might be able to help more than you think.” She set the photograph on the desk and Red cocked his head to look at it.

“Solimer’s torch...” he murmured, turning the photograph for a better look as his gaze gained that focus of a niche interest being whetted. (Which, for Red, meant she was about to hear everything he knew about the pendent’s history in too much detail to called a summary, and Xaeryn found herself leaning forward slightly in anticipation.) He glanced up at her. “Isn’t this one of the pieces in that exhibit about to open in Haven?”

She nodded. “That’s why I’m researching it.” She bit her lip but barely hesitated on the gamble of her next words. ‘Those you trust’, Mr. Syndran had said, and there was no one she trusted more than Liefred Antiqua. “It was stolen, and I was hired to find.”

His head came up, derailed from the growing ramble on the pendent’s history. “Oh?”

“I’m a detective,” Xaeryn said, playing with one of her earrings. She laughed softly. “Scrying does give a considerable leg up to finding things. Or people. But that only works when--”

“You know enough about them,” Red nodded. “So this visit is for business, rather than personal.”

“Mostly, yes,” she conceded, resting one hand on his knee. I didn’t know you’d be here. “But I was more than willing to chat with Tevanti” --there was a pang in her chest--”which most definitely extends to you as well, Headmaster Antiqua.”

His neck and ears went faintly pink as he laughed. “Surely we don’t need to be quite so formal, Detective Shrike?”

“Just ‘Miss’,” she returned with a laugh of her own, withdrawing her hand to instead fiddle with her notepad. “I work for myself, not the cops.” There might’ve been a little pride in her voice at the words, but it was well-earned.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” Red said, turning her own remark back on her.

“And travel I did,” Xaeryn said lightly. “For quite a while, even. But a girl does need a job eventually, and I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

“Or even a bad one,” he teased. “All kidding aside, Miss Shrike, I’m sure you’re a brilliant investigator.”

She smiled, chuckling at the playful glint in his eye even as her ears warmed at the praise. “Thank you. And on that note, what can you tell me about the pendent?”

“Right, right. You’re here on business.” Amusement lingered in Red’s eyes even as he turned back to the photograph. His sleeves started to slide and he shoved them back up again. Xaeryn very deliberately kept her focus on the photograph, not his arms--or hands--as he tapped one finger at the center of the obsidian pendent. “This was a protection... charm, I suppose you’d call it, worn by the head of the Solimer tribe ages ago. Literal ages. Without refreshing my memory, all I can tell you is they were one of the few tribes whose wanderings regularly took them through the heart of the Jalis desert, and yet they always fared better on those journeys than the other tribes, which was credited to this pendent.”

“So it is magical?” Xaeryn leaned closer to look over the piece again, not that a photograph could do it full justice. This was a familiar position; the two of them bent over a shared project, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until that moment.

“Possibly?” Red shifted and his shoulder bumped hers. “ The story goes that on their first attempt to journey through, they saw a light, like a torch, keeping pace with them. It only showed up at night, and seemed far enough away from their caravan the chief felt it was too dangerous to let anyone go after it to see what it was. Their wariness at its presence, however, kept them vigilant enough they were able to see and fend off any wild animals that came after them, and it did nothing except travel their same path, so they let it be.

“A couple weeks into their journey, as their supplies were starting to run low, the chieftain’s wife was out hunting and strayed far enough in search of food that the sun started setting while she was out. As the skies grew dim she could see the Torch, much larger than they usually did from the caravan, though it was floating away. Seized by good old-fashioned curiosity” --he paused to wink at her and Xaeryn bit back a smile-- “she followed the light rather than work her way back to camp. She kept after it long enough night had nearly fallen when it crested a ridge and disappeared. She hastened after it, and when she made it over the ridge, found herself standing by a waterspring the likes of which they’d never seen. When she looked around for the light she’d followed, there was no sign of it, save a black rock that lay at her feet. There were no other rocks anywhere nearby, so she decided this must be what had caused the torch-like light her tribe had seen.

“She carried it with her when she returned to the tribe with news of water, and the Solimer took it as a sign of the gods’ favor. The chieftain had it bound in bronze” --he traced a finger along the lines of the coiled setting-- “to be worn as a way to hold that favor. It was passed from leader to leader and from all accounts they had far better luck surviving the desert than the other tribes for a long time.”

“Was that not likely just them knowing better how to handle themselves? If they traveled those portions of the desert more frequently, of course they were better prepared.”

“Maybe.” Red shrugged. “We have no firsthand written records from any of these tribes, just legends and history relayed orally. And a lot of the second-hand ones were... lost when the Autarchy came to power. From the way the stories run, after generation of favor from the pendent, it was lost when the Solimer were defeated in a skirmish over resources with another tribe. Their next several trips went so poorly it cost over half their number, and they wound up assimilated into other tribes within the next couple decades just to survive.”

“Sad,” Xaeryn murmured, though she wondered if the pendent’s loss had become a self-fulfilling prophecy if they believed in it that strongly. “And what happened to the pendent after that?”

“That’s all I know off the top of my head,” Red said sheepishly as he sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Anything more I’d have to research. To refresh my memory.”

“Oh, that’s all? Tsk, tsk, Liefred, you’re slipping,” she teased, then snorted a wry chuckle. “Of course, it’s more than I had.” She showed him the scant lines on a single page of her small notepad.

Red smiled at the sight of the shorthand and let the playful ribbing slide as he ran a finger over the page. “You tweaked it.”

“A bit, to make it jive better with detective work.” Xaeryn tucked the pad back in her handbag. She’d been so caught up listening to him talk she’d not taken a single note. “I’m certain you could work it out with a little time.”

“Oh, time-” Red’s gaze flew to the clock at the same moment there was a knock and muffled “Headmaster?” at the door. “Damn. Forgot I have a meeting.” He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Tribulations of being in charge. Just a minute!” he called toward the door, then, to Xaeryn, “I can look into this more in my free time, if you’d like.”

What free time? she almost asked, looking at the stacks of books and papers everywhere. But she swallowed that in favor of, “That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“Any specific information you need?” Red asked as they stood.

“Anything you can find is welcome, but specifically.... What happened to the pendent after the Solimer lost it, who would have claim of ownership, if ownership is contested... anything like that. I want to find it, but part of that may very well lie in figuring out who would have most reason to steal it in the first place.” Xaeryn pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “So I don’t wind up nagging you,” she laughed. “You can call when you find something. The telephone’s in my office, but I live adjacent, so I’ll always hear it.”

Red nodded and slipped the card in his pocket. “I’ll try not to take too long.”

“Much appreciated. Also...” She grimaced slightly. “This is something of a secret; the Couriers don’t want it being common knowledge.”

“Understandable,” he said as they started toward the door. “Oh, don’t you need this?” He reached back for the photograph and held it out to her.

“Yes, thanks.” Xaeryn smiled and tried not to let the flutter in her chest when their fingers brushed as she took it gain purchase. She slipped the photograph back in her handbag as Red opened the door. Given the student waiting in the hall, she was the picture of professionalism--aside from the twinkle in her eye--as she nodded farewell. “Thank you for your time, Headmaster.”

Several things flashed through Red’s eyes, the brief desire to strangle her, a loud burst of laughter, an eyeroll, but he settled on a warm smile, wide enough his dimples just started to show. “Happy to help, Miss Shrike.”

She was still fighting a grin as she turned to descend the stairs, heart practically singing with warmth. Of all the lovely surprises... Regardless of whether she succeeded or failed, this case was already among the most worthwhile she’d ever taken, simply for bringing him back into her life.

#queens fic #shoh #shepherds summer 2021 #xaeryn shrike #red antiqua #ryn/red #i really got find them a ship tag #if you think their canon pining is good HOO BOY JUST WAIT #flamingelmo.gif #tlbt

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