#in the end his search for the past made him no longer a mammal himself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delimeful · 4 years

Text

the end of being alone (1)

A WIBAR AU (that’s right, an AU of an AU) where the circumstances of Virgil’s introduction to the group-- or rather, Virgil himself-- are... a little different. A commission for @bumblebeekitten!

warnings: unknowingly referring to a person as ‘it’, panic, fear, child endangerment

---

Patton woke up to the distinctive clamor of his teammates bickering. It was a familiar sound.

“-- has been three days, are you certain we aren’t simply chasing a local legend with no basis in reality?” That would be Logan!

“Look, you two are the ones that decided to come with me, I would have been perfectly fine going alone!” And there was Roman, the swish of his tail betraying his agitation. “Besides, there’s something suspicious going on here, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh? And what evidence do you have to support your assertion?”

“... I’ve just got a feeling.”

Logan made a sound of disgust, and Patton sat up in time to see his friend throw all four hands out in an exasperated gesture. He sleepily rubbed at his eyes, shaking out his mussed-up feathers.

“Are you tired of camping already, Lo?”

The Ulgorian exhaled slowly, his ears twitching irritatedly. “No. I simply am uncertain that this venture will prove beneficial. We don’t have the budget to waste time on a vain attempt to soothe superstitious locals.”

“Don’t be so heartless, Professnore,” Roman snapped, quickly checking his pack for everything he would need while out traversing the woods. “They’re asking for help because they’re worried. Something out there has driven the Humlilts into hiding, for all we know, the livestock could be next!”

“They suspect the local fauna are being threatened, but that’s only one potential explanation--,” Logan started, and Patton swiftly tuned out the argument, remembering suddenly what he’d intended to check on. He hopped to his feet and checked on his ‘Humlilt bait’-- a small dish with sweet sliced fruit he’d set out.

Humlilts’s were relatively small, timid creatures, hoofed quadruped mammals that stood even shorter than Patton. They weren’t fond of being directly approached, and even initiating eye contact could scare them off, but if they took a liking to someone, they tended to be fiercely loyal. The fact that many had strayed from the nearby town was concerning, no matter the reason.

“Yes!” Patton chirped in glee when the plate proved empty, only a few spots of juice left behind. Behind him, the heated discussion faltered.

“Something you’d like to share with the team, Feathers?” Roman asked, one of his ridged eyebrows twitching up curiously. Logan frowned at the dish, and Patton quickly replied before he could be lectured on leaving ‘fauna attractants’ out by mistake.

“I’m one step closer to making a new friend!” he announced gleefully. “Good morning, little critter! Are you still around?”

There was no response from the forest, but he remained cheerful, his antennae barely flickering. “Aw, feeling shy? I’ll befriend you yet, little critter, just you wait…”

“Patton,” Logan started. “Do you mean to imply that last night, you intentionally placed food out to lure local creatures to our camp while we are in the middle of trying to track down an unknown, potentially dangerous beast?”

“Of course not!” Patton responded, picking up the plate to stow it away. Before Logan could relax too much, he continued. “I’ve been leaving snacks out since the first day we made camp!”

He scrunched his eyes closed to show his happiness, and not at all to avoid the incensed look Logan would be giving him right about now.

“Have you any idea how dangerous—“

“Woah, Lo, it’s a-okay!” Patton hurried to reassure him. “I know for sure that it’s a little hummer and not anything else. The last two sunrises, when I woke up and greeted the day, I would hear it call back, just like the noise Logan said they make! The little critter is following us around, and soon we’ll be best buds, I can feel it.”

Logan waved a spare hand dismissively, already well into his datalog, muttering as he scoured the articles he had saved for this journey for any mention of on-planet predator animals using mimicry. Roman shuddered his scales in fond exasperation, his tail thumping against Logan’s ankle.

“Relax, Specs, I’ll be sure to protect us from any malignant beasties.” He paused, and then cast a slightly admonishing glance down at Patton. “That is, so long as there aren’t any more secret surprises you’ve been keeping from us, Pattoncake?”

“No secrets here! The next time I try to adopt a new member into our little family, I’ll make sure to let you kiddos know in advance,” he chirped with his eyes crinkled. The gleeful expression didn’t fade a bit as his words prompted Roman and Logan to burst into brand new diatribes.

“Wait, is ‘lure them with sweet snacks’ your usual go-to? Did that work on me--?”

“Patton, we are not kidnapping local fauna--!”

Yup, familiar sounds indeed.

---

The rest of the morning was spent trekking through the woods and filling the air with companionable bickering, but by midday, Roman had found tracks. And then he found more tracks. And finally, he found The Tracks.

Unlike the first few instances, Logan was unable to confidently match the bipedal mammalian prints to any native creature in the area. After some triumphant crowing about his skills, Roman led the way with significantly less chatter, prompting the other two to follow suit as dusk slowly began to fall.

Patton kept his feathers sleek against him so they wouldn’t brush roughly against the foliage, and made sure his glow was as muted as possible as the sky darkened. He didn’t come on bounty trips often, but every proper Ampen knew how to be stealthy when need be. Some made a whole career out of it!

Between one heavy step and the next, Roman suddenly stilled, holding up a clawed hand to ensure they did the same. His ear cones shifted subtly, searching. The moment stretched, tension so thick it felt stifling, and then--

A slight sound to the left. Movement.

“There!” Roman shouted, and a dark shape flashed past Patton, silhouetted by the moonlight off the pale rock wall behind it. It was big. Definitely not a Humlilt. “Cut it off!”

Logan was already in motion, spines raised as he held out his staff and barred the creature's way. He flicked the glow light at the top of the staff on and illuminated the outline of the being, which seemed almost fibrous in nature. Patton knew of some planets with mostly chlorophyll-based lifeforms, and this almost seemed to match. The creature had a body erupting with brush and plant matter, and a face of flat wood.

“Drive it this way,” Roman called. “I’ve got the unit ready!”

It hissed furiously as Logan swung the light closer, and Patton saw the moment it turned its head slightly and realized it was being corralled. It lunged forward in a feint, and then ducked away from Logan’s swing and grabbed the staff, wrestling viciously with the smaller alien for it. The reflected light seemed to shine eerily in the back of its hole-like eyes.

Patton hurried forwards, but he wasn’t close enough to stop the creature from wrenching the staff out of Logan’s grip, knocking the Ulgorian over in the process. Roman shouted, too far away to intervene. Logan shot a few spines, but they weren’t laced and barely seemed to phase the creature. It screamed gutturally as it lifted the staff up, and Patton forgot every promise he’d made to stay out of the way of any quarry larger than him.

“Stop!” he screeched, throwing his arms out and letting his feathers flare up as bright as they could go.

The distraction worked; the creature twisted away from Logan to focus on the new element, jolting forward a few steps before distinctly pausing, its shining eyes fixated on Patton. It took another smaller step towards him, tilting what Patton assumed was its head.

“Little critter!”

“Wh-- what?” Patton replied, stunned.

“Little critter? ...Good morning, little critter?” the creature chirped again, uncertainly. Every syllable was a perfect imitation of the phrases Patton had called out the three mornings they’d been there, just a little muffled.

The creature dropped to a crouch, and the abruptness of the motion made Patton flinch, startled. As though repentant, it set the staff on the ground slowly, and then made the distinct musical tone of a Humlilt.

Patton gaped, the pieces clicking into place. Not a Humlit. The Humlit. The one he’d been working so hard to befriend, the one following them around, the one that apparently wasn’t a Humlit at all.

In the next moment, Roman’s charging footsteps arrived, and all traces of softness vanished from the creature’s demeanor as it rose to its feet with a snarl, turning to face off against Patton’s crewmate.

This isn’t right, Patton thought, and didn’t wait another moment before inserting himself between the two larger aliens, whistling shrilly. “Wait!”

At his back, Roman skidded to a halt, incredulous half-formed protests spilling from his mouth.

At his front, the creature held its aggressive position for a heartbeat longer, and then lowered its hands slightly, stumbling back a step and looking between Patton and Roman with uncertain antsiness.

“Little critter? Little critter good?” it chirped, and Patton could feel the way Roman and Logan stiffened behind him.

“Hey, little critter,” Patton said, slowly moving to sit down on the dirt. “I think we got off on the wrong claw. You don’t really want to fight, do you?”

The creature shuffled anxiously, and Patton tapped the ground behind him. “Roman, why don’t you join me?”

“Pat, come on,” Roman started, and then grumpily lowered himself to a seated position at Patton’s imploring look.

Across from them, the creature visibly relaxed, head cocking to the side inquisitively. After a moment, it lowered itself into a crouch like before.

Patton’s antennae fluttered, and his happy glow increased slightly. “Good job! We’re already halfway to being friends, huh?”

“Good,” the creature echoed, voice still uncertain and so small. “Hurt no?”

“We won’t hurt you,” Patton replied, and the creature’s head lifted up to look at Roman doubtfully.

After a moment, Patton heard the click of Roman’s scales flattening out in a show of nonaggression, and the Crav’on sighed.

“On my honor, I won’t hurt you if you remain peaceable,” he said, extending a hand palm up to symbolize his oath.

To their surprise, the creature reached out and touched him, grazing the dull talons and poking some of his smaller scales with cautious curiosity. It mumbled something to itself in a language Patton didn’t know, and folded Roman’s fingers into a loose fist before finally releasing him.

“He’s pretty cool, isn’t he?” Patton whispered conspiratorially, and the creature held a hand out to him in a mirroring of Roman’s earlier gesture. He reached out and put his little clawed fingers on their palm, marvelling at the size difference. “You’re no critter, huh?”

He turned to the side, the strange alien following his gaze. “Lo, I can hear you taking notes from here. You wanna come say hi?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Logan replied sourly, clasping his hands behind his back. “I simply didn’t wish to startle-- oh!”

Logan’s eyes went wide as the stranger stalked over, body still low in its crouch. The behavior read as classically predatory, but the curious mumbling of the stranger made it clear that they weren’t acting aggressively. He hesitantly offered one of his own thin-fingered hands, the stranger pressing their palms together as though to compare the shapes.

“Hello there,” he greeted belatedly. “Can you understand me? I am Logan, and those are Roman and Patton.”

“Little critter!” the stranger offered enthusiastically, and then dissolved into another string of that unfamiliar language before bounding off and returning with the glow staff in hand.

Patton could feel the way Roman went tense, but the stranger slowed down as they got closer and then set the staff on the ground a little bit in front of Logan, rolling it a few inches towards him.

Logan made no move to pick the staff, and it was easy to see why. The fluorescent lights installed in the head of the staff lit the stranger up from below, illuminating the details that they’d missed before.

Four thin, pale limbs were smudged with dirt and grit, the edges of tattered old textiles peeking out from under the carpet of greenery that cloaked them. They could now see that the foliage wasn’t part of them, but a dedicated attempt at camouflage, built up for so long that some of the plants were growing around their shoulders or tangling in their dark hair. Most striking of all, the wooden plate that had covered their face had been knocked slightly askew, revealing half of a round face with big eyes and tiny features.

“You’re just a fledgeling,” Patton said, something in his chest tightening at the way the child’s gaze flickered between them, nervous but hopeful. The curiosity, the nervousness, it all made sense knowing that this was a youngling.

“No, that’s not just a child,” Roman spoke up, shaken. “That’s… that’s a Human child.”

Patton and Logan turned to him, shocked, but the child reacted the quickest of all, shooting into a standing position. They clumsily darted back a step as all eyes fell on them, chest rising and falling rapidly. “No! No! No Human, go away!”

“Kiddo,” Patton tried, but before he could do more than reach out, the child turned on their heel and vanished back into the underbrush. The rustling of their movements quickly faded, leaving the three of them sitting in the clearing in silence.

“Are you certain?” Logan finally said, rising to his feet and approaching them. “Roman, you’re absolutely sure about this?”

“I… yeah.” The Crav’on flexed his hand, almost dazed. “I thought they would be more-- I mean, yeah, I’m sure. There’s no mistaking those eyes.”

“Very well,” Logan nodded, hands already dancing delicately around him as he committed the encounter to memory. “In that case, I suppose we’ll be staying on-planet for a little longer.”

“Wait, what?” Roman asked, both of them turning to look at the Ulgorian with surprise.

Logan glanced up at them with a raised brow, knowing and smug. “I don’t believe either of you are the type to leave a semi-feral Deathworlder child alone on a planet where the locals believe them to be a monster. Thus, we are staying to help rectify the situation. Am I incorrect?”

“It’s not that simple,” Roman cautioned, but faltered after a moment. “However… you’re right. We can’t just leave them here. They need help, Human or not.”

“That’s right!” Patton agreed enthusiastically, his feathers ruffling up in excitement. “Looks like we’re getting a new member of the family after all!”

#sanders sides #space au #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan #commissioned works #writing #my writing #wibar #wibar au kid virgil #i hope im not missing any tags i feel like im forgetting som #e #teoba #the end of being alone

857 notes · View notes

kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

Wasteland, Baby!

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Word Count: 3,098

Warnings: post-apocalyptic, depression, themes of death

Summary: A songfic, inspired by the song of the same title by Hozier (I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for months and finally decided to post)

The end of the world was not as terrible as everyone thought it would be.

Or – that is what you have told yourself since, citing the mantra to keep the demons at bay. On the days when it does not work, when you cannot convince yourself of this fact, it is hard – near-impossible – to get out of bed.

Today is a good day. Today, the end of the world is not so terrible.

Yesterday was a bad day.

Yesterday, Yoongi tried for twenty-four minutes to coax you from under the sheets. Eventually, he gave up and left to chop more wood for the fire. Six minutes into his absence, you woke in a sweat-soaked terror, hands scrambling through blankets to seek out his warmth. Visions flashed through your mind, one after the other, like the worst kind of picture show.

Ashen faces, choked breathing, bloody splotches. Deadened gaze.

In the end, the world did not end with bloodlust and rage – but with folly.

It was folly that humans chose to live so close to one another, packed into homes stacked on top of the other. It was humans who were so dependent on technology that they could not survive once it disappeared. Once there were not enough people to run the power plants and take care of the phone grids.

Truly, Yoongi is the only reason you are alive. On most days, you can convince yourself this is a good thing. When the disease first emerged, Yoongi was the one monitoring it all from his phone. In those days, he came home from the lab later than usual, brow permanently furrowed and sandwich crumbs on his sweater.

Those were the days when you were his anchor, when you were the one who coaxed him in and out of bed. Yoongi was your workaholic pathologist boyfriend and you were his rock. Now, the situation is reversed and you find this to be oddly appropriate. Everything should be flipped at the end of the world.

It was when the airports began closing Yoongi demanded you leave.

“Today,” he said, slamming the apartment door as he entered.

You looked up from your workstation, surprised by his appearance. Architecture papers were spread out before you, half-finished buildings drawn in blue and white lines. Typically, Yoongi did not get home until after dinner on weekdays. You were used to the hours spent alone, sketching at your table.

“Today… what?”

Yoongi’s eyes were red-rimmed; evidence of his many late nights. Circling your table, he came to a stop at the wardrobe. “My place outside the city,” Yoongi said, avoiding the question. “We can go there. Wait it out.”

“Wait what out?”

He paused before the drawer, one mustard-colored sock dangling over his hand. Swallowing, Yoongi seemed to wrestle with something. “Maybe nothing,” he said quietly. “Or… maybe something.”

You stared at him for a moment, debating how to respond. Granted, you thought Yoongi had gone insane. Everyone was saying this would blow over, like all the other scares. Avian Flu, Swine Flu and a million other Flus. Yoongi seemed serious though, as though he had not slept in weeks and likely, that was so. Everyone in Yoongi’s lab had been working overtime to search for a cure. Yoongi was one of the first among them to recognize the truth.

As an outsider, you were biased by precedent. As a human, you had always survived. This is another folly of humans – they think themselves invincible. They assume because they have survived thus far, they will continue to do so.

Most of the world’s population assumed this. Then again, most of the world’s population is now dead.

Something in Yoongi’s eyes convinced you. “Okay,” you said, standing up from your stool. It was better to humor him, at least. “What do I do?”

Forty minutes and one hastily packed trunk later, you two sped off down the highway. Few cars were on the road that day – in the early time of the sickness, most people stayed in. They quarantined themselves, only venturing out when absolutely necessary. It was merely a flu at that point – the world did not yet understand.

It was from Yoongi’s cabin you watched the world fall apart. The footage was horrifying – riots, looting when the hospitals became dead zones, and then the airports, and then everywhere. The TV stayed on until the cabin ran out of power, until the people were gone and there was nothing left to be said. You watched as, one by one, newscasters silently replaced one another. No one explained why, but you both knew the truth.

The world’s population was decimated in a matter of days. You and Yoongi watched it all happen, huddled on your couch and immobile with shock.

You two were lucky, you suppose. Yoongi kept his cabin stocked for his work rampages; the times he got a research hunch and would seclude himself for weeks in his reading. The cabin held everything one needed for the end of the world – canned goods, water purifiers, emergency candles and matches. The rations held out remarkably well while you determined a new way to survive.

Now, it has been three months since the lights went out.

For weeks you slept on edge, waking at the slightest brush of wind on the window. Living alone was a new kind of terror. Living in the city, there were dangers, but technology was always present to keep you protected. It warned you of intruders, kept the doors shut and updated you on your surroundings. No longer.

One month after the end, you ventured out in Yoongi’s car. Yoongi decided that, based on his research, most of the virus would be dead by that time. It needed living hosts to survive. Still, it was a risk and he would not let you leave the confines of the vehicle.

The closest town to the cabin was once called Roshone – a small, miniscule lake village of maybe two thousand. You say once because now, just two people remain.

You and Yoongi.

The drive through the streets was silent, chillingly so. Unplowed snow crunched under your tires. Yoongi peered out from the windshield, searching for life but finding nothing to speak of. No footprints in the snow, no flashes of movement from the corner of your eyes.

Many doors were marked with red x’s of paint – a makeshift Passover you quickly averted your gaze from. After about an hour, you returned to the cabin. This was the first of your dark days. For three days following, you did not rouse from your bed.

That was when you believed the world had truly ended; you two were merely ghosts, biding your time until you joined all the rest.

The silence was the worst part.

There were many days you forgot to speak, going from sunup to sundown with nary a word. Philosophy is what separates humanity from animals and so, when humanity is dead, what separates you then? What makes you different from the rest of the mammals when there is no one to talk to? Nothing. And so, you continued your motions of living – but only enough to survive. A gross pantomime of what you were before.

Yoongi clung to his routines.

He woke early each morning, as he did in the city. As long as there were beans, he made coffee over a fire. When the beans ran out, Yoongi heated plain water for tea. When his computer died, he dug out books from his study and poured over those. What he was searching for, you did not ask. It all seemed futile to you.

Yoongi had never been a very positive person and so, in many ways, he was better equipped for the end. Perhaps this is why he adapted better than you. He had a stoic realness about him which suited the end times.

When you needed food, Yoongi learned how to shoot. He researched how to garden and found books to prepare for the springtime. The sight nearly made you laugh, watching him read about plants. Yoongi had always made fun of Namjoon and his bonsai trees. Remembering, you winced, heart tightening at the memory. Namjoon was a cold dose of realism you could not ignore.

All of your neighbors stayed when you two fled from the city. You do not know if they made it out. Somehow, you doubt it.

You often find yourself wondering which was be worse – the disease, or its aftermath. Anything must be better than this. Anything but this silence, this sadness, this agonizing nothingness which tears you apart and –

Banging open the door, Yoongi walks in.

His entrance reminds you of that day so long ago when he convinced you to flee. Remembering, you stare blankly at him from the bed. Yoongi is framed by the door; silvery light filters past and for a moment, he seems like some kind of savior.

Then, he is over the threshold and the door is pulled shut. Dropping a bag to the ground, he shakes dust from his shoulders. The light disappears and he is no longer a savior, merely Yoongi.

Stubborn, brave, wonderfully human Yoongi.

“I found more candles,” he says, removing his jacket. The cabin is small – only three rooms, the front of which contains a bed, kitchen and sofa. Crossing to the bed, he settles beside you. Yoongi’s hand covers yours, his eyes dark and sad. “How are you today?”

Glancing past him, you stare at the bag. “You found candles? Where?”

Yoongi’s lips tighten in a way which lets you know you will not like the answer. “I went into town again.”

Swiftly, your gaze moves to his. “Yoongi! That could be dangerous!”

He exhales, rubbing his thumb against yours. “There’s no one there, babe.”

“… No one?”

“No.”

Quietly, you let this statement sink in. A month prior, his words would have crippled you. Now, it simply seems… usual. This fact should give you alarm. It should not be normal for you to think of an entire town dead and not feel some remorse. It should spark sadness, at least – or maybe some sort of horror, outrage, or despair.

Lowering his head, Yoongi brushes his lips to your hand. “Y/N,” he says, against your skin.

“Yes?”

He slowly looks up. “I feel numb.”

Freezing, you take in his expression. Yoongi stares back at you, helpless and you realize with shock he was counting on this. He was counting on there being someone left but finally, the evidence is too great and he is giving up. Yoongi, your steadfast in this ocean of madness – the one who coaxes you out of bed, who convinces you to make a plan – has given in.

He truly thought you were not alone.

And now, he does.

You can see it in his gaze. There is a haunted fear which can be explained in no other way. It is one thing to treat this as a vacation, a temporary respite before getting back to your life – it is another thing to accept this is reality.

Hesitantly, you push yourself into a seated position. Carding your hands through his hair, you examine his face. Yoongi’s locks are long, shaggy across the front where you cut them poorly with scissors.

“Numb?”

Gently, he closes his eyes. “Maybe you were right.” Lowering himself on his side, Yoongi scoots back to make room. “Maybe there isn’t a point anymore. Maybe we should just… sleep. I don’t know.”

His arm slips over your waist, pulling you into him. His breathing softens, warm on your throat and normally, you would sleep, too – except Yoongi is not supposed to be numb. He is not supposed to be the pointless one, the aimless one. The entire time you have known him, Min Yoongi has been driven by something. Without that…

The world has not yet ended, you realize.

It ends when you both think it has.

His snores rattle your body, letting you know he is sleeping. Once you are certain, you slip from his arms and lower both feet on the floor. The floorboards are cold, making you shiver. Pulling on his jacket, you deeply inhale. It smells like Yoongi, but not city Yoongi.

City Yoongi always wore the same jeans, used the same laundry detergent and slept in the same bed. He smelled of chemicals from the lab, shampoo from CVS and some fancy cologne. This Yoongi smells like woodsmoke; metal and iron and the bitter taste of wind.

It is not a bad smell. Glancing over your shoulder, you find him asleep, like a rock. Yoongi does not move, one arm dangled over the mattress to drag on the floor. Without pausing to think, you grab the keys of his car and walk into the cold.

Seated behind the wheel of Yoongi’s black Ford Taurus, you stifle a shiver. There is a knife on the floor of the passenger’s side. You glance at this quickly before looking away. Hopefully you will not need to use it. As you pull from the driveway, you follow Yoongi’s earlier tracks into town. It has been a long time since you drove. Even longer, since you went out alone.

The engine seems loud – near-deafening, compared to the silence of Main Street. Your gaze flicks uneasily over each storefront; despite Yoongi’s insistence that they are deserted, it is hard not to imagine the worst.

Pulling into a parking space – even at the end of the world, some habits die hard – you turn off the engine and sit for a moment. Your hands are shaking, clutching the wheel and you force yourself to let go.

Outside, the winter air is crisp on your skin. Despite the lack of humanity, the world has not yet noticed the void. Or, if it has, it does not care. The snow crunches beneath your feet as you cross the street, peering into a shop to pause on its curb.

The windows are dusty, untouched for months and the tables inside have not fared much better.

At last, you inhale and push open the door. It is unlocked, as though the former owner left in a rush. You winkle your nose at the staleness of air. Flies buzz past when the door swings shut behind you. Shadows stretch before you, elongating the worst parts of your imagination. Beneath the sweet smell of chocolate and sugar is a damp, rancid stench you know all too well.

You shiver. The virus should be dead but always, there is this fear. What if?

Ignoring this – and the back room from whence the smell stems – you cross the room and duck behind the register. Bags, boxes and canisters line the shelves at eye-level. Grasping the first one you see, you grit your teeth together and bolt towards the door.

Outside, seated in the driver’s seat, you finally exhale. Lowering your head to the steering wheel, you sit still for a second. Vision blurring, you stare at the vinyl wheel of the car. So many people are gone. The sheer magnitude always weighs on you, wondering why you survived when so many did not.

You glance sideways. The bag you took lies on the floor, beside the knife. For some reason, the image strikes you as funny. Your upper lip twitches.

Taking that bag makes you a thief. You have never stolen something before.

Of course, in this hellish landscape where the word means nothing, you find yourself a criminal.

A laugh escapes, too loud in the silence. Clasping trembling fingers over your mouth, you attempt to shove it back in, only to realize – why? No one is here. There is no one around to be quiet for and so, you laugh.

Again.

And again, until tears mix with the madness and slide down your cheeks.

Did Yoongi say he felt numb? Did you ever feel numb? Right now, you are the opposite. You are every emotion ever felt in the universe; a black hole drawing everything in and spitting out nothing. You are bursting, so full of anger you think you might break.

Full of sadness, as well. And hope.

It is a long time before you can see clearly enough to turn on the engine. Stubbornly, the car catches beneath you and in the fading rays of twilight, you drive back to the cabin. As you go, you keep wiping tears with one hand. It is lucky that no one else is on the road, since you are certainly a hazard to the silence’s safety.

As the cabin comes into view, you recognize something is wrong.

The front door is ajar, which is not how you left it. Footsteps are stamped in the snow – fresh ones, frantic ones which are not your own. Throwing the car into park, you stare at the doorway. Reaching out, you grab both bag and knife from the seat. The weapon seems foolish to hold, since you are not a killer, but you do so anyways.

Yoongi barrels around the side of the house.

He comes to a stop at the door, chest heaving. His eyes are wide, gun trained on your head.

Yoongi pauses.

“I,” he exhales, squinting into the cold. “…Y/N?”

“It’s me.” Regaining motion, you push open the door. Hurriedly, you drop the knife to the ground. “Yoongi, it’s me.”

“Y/N.” He repeats your name, slightly lost. “What are you doing?”

Unsure what to say, you walk towards him. Once he is there, your feet falter. “Here,” you say, thrusting the small bag upon him. “I – I went and got you coffee.”

Yoongi does not move. He stares at the package, not understanding. Wind ruffles his hair, exposing pale skin and hesitantly, Yoongi reaches out a hand. “Coffee?” he murmurs. Turning the bag over in his palm, he looks up. “Why?”

Staring at him, you feel oddly exposed. You thought you knew Yoongi, but here in this dead world, everything is new.

“Because,” you whisper, feeling somewhat foolish. “You like coffee. You need it… for, you know.”

To not be numb anymore.

Yoongi does not move for a moment. He stands there, bag of beans in one hand and looks wonderingly at you. Then, he drops the bag to the snow and crushes you hard to his chest.

Yoongi buries his face in your neck, exhaling brokenly. For the second time in the same hour, your vision blurs. Hugging him tightly, you burrow your face in his sweater. His large hand strokes your hair, winding in strands and keeping you firm in his arms.

Yoongi chuckles when he feels you wipe your nose on his front. “You know I’m still here?” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “Right?”

You nod, pulling back to see him. Tears cling to your lashes, and you blink them away. For the first time in months, you feel the breeze on your skin. It does not make you feel numb, but alive. The rustle of the wild is all around you.

The world is not dead – merely holding its breath.

Yoongi stares back.

“I know.” Lifting on tip toe, you brush a kiss to his lips. “I know. I’m here too, okay?”

Swallowing a smile, Yoongi nods. “I know.”

#btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi imagines #bts imagines #yoongi writing #bts writing #yoongi angst #bts angst

741 notes · View notes

alphawave-writes · 5 years

Text

Evil actions and good intentions final chapter: ‘Gravitationally locked’

Synopsis: In the aftermaths of the final battle, Harold reflects on the future of himself, Overwatch, and the world.

Read it here or find it on AO3. You can find me on twitter @alphawave13 or on my Sigrold discord server.

It’s been a wild ride writing this. This story didn’t turn out the way I initially planned, but I think that’s a good thing. Change, I think, is the biggest thing about this story, especially in how Sigma and Harold grow as people. I’m probably gonna stick to one shots from now on while I recover from long fic fatigue.

It really means the world to me that you guys supported me as much as you did throughout this journey. I got fanart, and more fanfics, and a Sigrold week, and a lot more smut than I expected, and I’m so glad I contributed as much as I did. It’s not goodbye, just a farewell for now. So thanks for reading, and thanks for all the space dads. In Harold Winston’s famous words: Never accept the world as it appears to be. Dare to see it for what it could be.

For many different reasons Overwatch doesn’t put Harold on missions. His leg still needs time to heal, that is the most immediate excuse, but in truth the mission to Horizon had made some things complicated. Namely, the fact that Dr. Harold Winston is legally dead for the second time in a row. And honestly, Harold has had his fill of excitement for the time being. Action-packed fighting and running is all well and good, but he’s not built for it. Still, there's no way he can't be involved, so Winston convinces him to becomes a handler during the missions. If he’s honest with himself, he’s good at it. He keeps calm under pressure and he’s able to pick out the little details in the grainy surveillance data. Surveillance work like this isn’t too different from the work he did decades ago in Horizon. The difference is that it'll help the lives of many, rather than a few gorillas and some uptight Horizon scientists.

Siebren insists that being a handler is Harold's true calling, and he wants to agree, but he’s sure sooner or later he’ll feel that itch, that desire to help people more directly, to be there with the other Overwatch members in the thick of it. Until then, he’ll stay here and do what he's good at.

With a few exceptions, Siebren doesn’t go on missions either. He’s continuing his research into gravity and the nature of his powers, which has now expanded to include wormholes. Symmetra is helping him out on that matter in the hopes that perhaps his work could be incorporated into her hard light teleporter. It is a little bit of a shame he doesn’t go on more missions, because Harold always likes the way Siebren looks in his armour, especially the way that harness of his digs perfectly into his thighs. Then again, given the choice, he’d vastly prefer Siebren not wear his sexy armour and stick around the base. Who else is going to push his wheelchair and dote on him?

From the outside, there is the impression that Watchpoint: Gibraltar is having one of its slow days. An insider like Harold, however, knows that it’s never not busy. On his end alone, he’s been reading and re-reading his original research into his nanobots, searching for ways to improve the design. If he’s not doing that, he’s souping up his wheelchair with Torbjörn and Reinhardt to make it fly, and if he’s not doing that, he’s doing physical therapy with Mercy and Genji. And on the few instances he has free time, it’s usually spent with someone else. Often times it’s with Winston or Siebren. Occasionally it’s with Tracer or Mei or Sojourn.

Today, however, he’s expecting someone else. Someone he’s spent a lot of time tracking down and a lot more time convincing to come over.

At the edge of the base, a mech in the shape of a sphere rolls over, moving to a sudden stop in front of Harold. Siebren is holding onto the bars of Harold’s wheelchair, shaking his head incredulously while Winston laughs happily. The top of the mech pops open, revealing a large hamster wearing a small vest. The hamster waves.

“Hammond, it’s good to see you,” Winston says.

Hammond makes a series of squeaks. After seeing the blank stares from Harold and Siebren, he rolls his eyes audibly, and then punches something on the console of his mech. “THE HAMSTER IS HAPPY TO SEE YOU ALL TOO.”

Harold grins proudly. “I’ve heard you’ve been up to some trouble while I was gone.”

Hammond makes some discontent squeaks, eyebrows rising in surprise and shame. He crosses his arms and turns his head to the side with a huff.

“A pity," Harold smirks. "I’ve been looking forward to see what kind of trouble you can make with us. What do you say, little guy?”

Hamond makes a questioning squeak to Winston, who nods his head. His little cheeks bunches up into a wide smirk as he makes a series of confident squeaks. “THIS SMALL MAMMAL WILL SHOW YOU WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE HE CAN GET UP TO.”

Siebren is still shaking his head. "This little rascal is going to be the end of me."

Hammond proves himself to be a rebellious little creature, and has a lot of fun messing with others while he’s not in his mech. Aside from Siebren, Harold, and Winston, no one else seems to have caught on that the pilot of Wrecking Ball is a genetically enhanced hamster. When he’s not working on his mech, he revels in pranking the others. His favourite victim is Torbjörn, moving things around in his workplace and modifying his gadgets so they work differently. No one questions the strange ball mech becoming a new member of the reformed Overwatch, and no one ever asks about Wrecking Ball’s true identity. Soon, Hammond becomes a member of this strange interspecies family, albeit a rebellious one who very much doesn’t like to be showered with affection. In other words, typical behaviour not unlike that of a human teenager.

If Siebren has any opinions about suddenly being a father figure to a hamster and a gorilla, he doesn’t say anything. Privately, Harold thinks Siebren is beginning to like the strange new relationships he’s forming, not that he’d ever say it out loud.

Overwatch expands over time. New operatives from unlikely places arrives to join the fight. Hanzo, Genji’s brother, arrives to quiet fanfare, and keeps mostly to himself, taking his time to warm up to his new comrades and to his new life under Overwatch. Much louder and much more destructively is the arrival of Junkrat and Roadhog, whose explosive entrance made more than a few people question why Winston allowed the criminals to work under their banner, even if they were trying to go "legit". Symmetra and Mei were both especially vocal against Junkrat’s stay in particular, but while Mei continues to remain icy to the Junkers after their first meeting, Symmetra has slowly warmed up to the pair, to the surprise of everyone.

Orisa and her creator, Efi, both don’t show up in person as they are still protecting Numbani, but they are also made Overwatch agents through a long-distance call. Pharah pledges her allegiance and offers her support, but says she has an obligation to lead her own team in Helix first and foremost. Baptiste arrives suddenly one day with Sombra, making snide complaints about the lacking facilities like it’s an average day for them. Their reasons for joining are purposely vague whenever they’re questioned, and Harold suspects they’re ultimately self-serving, but they help with their respective talents and don’t push too many buttons.

One day, when he’s sure she’ll least expect it, Harold hands Sombra a framed photo. Her nose scrunches up.

“What’s this?” She asks.

“You asked me to get you some pictures. Turns out I had some photos in the data I retrieved up there. It’s old, but hey, you wanted a photo from space, right?”

For once, Sombra is silent, cradling the photograph gently like it’s made of the most fragile crystal. She observes the graininess of the photo, the pitch black of Space and the shimmering blue Earth, big and wide and beautiful.

Her lips thin. “I was joking, you know.”

“I know. But I found it, and you asked for it, so I thought, why not?”

Sombra smiles softly, a rare warm look that makes her look more youthful and vibrant. Like the flash of a camera, it's there for only a second before her warm smile turns into a colder smirk. “Things like this,” she waves the photo, “are why men like you get killed.”

Harold shrugs. “I came back from the dead twice now. And that's not counting all the other times I've nearly died in the past few months already. I almost used up all of my nine lives.”

Sombra snorts. “You’re not a cat. And this is a boring photo, you know. I’m not in it.”

“It’s a picture of the Earth. Everybody’s in it. Everyone's together.” He smiles. "That's the best thing about looking at Earth from the moon, I think."

Tracer will later ask Harold why Sombra is acting so nice for the rest of the day. For Sombra’s pride, he fakes ignorance. No one else needs to know.

As the nights grow longer, Harold finds himself retreating to his bedroom more often. Siebren is often there before him, helping Harold into bed before curling up next to him. He remembers those little moments in their past when they used to have playful arguments about who gets to be the little spoon. The good thing about being handicapped is that he gets first preference. Soon, warm, hairy arms surrounds his midsection, a hooked nose presses into his neck. A soft sigh breathes onto the sensitive flesh, making him shiver.

“Heard you had a fun day with Reinhardt,” Harold smirks.

“Don’t remind me,” Siebren groans. “My arm is sore from that arm-wrestling contest. Look at it.” He dangles it in front of Harold’s face. Harold lightly pushes it away.

“It’s your fault for accepting that challenge when Brigitte told you not to. She literally said that Reinhardt's super competitive and he doesn't hold back.”

“You say that after it is easier to look the cow in the ass,” Siebren mutters. “He was bragging to everybody about how he beat me so easily. It’s not my fault I do not regularly participate in such childish competitions of physical strength. If I used my powers, I could’ve won easily.”

“Sore loser.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Showoff.”

Siebren laughs. “Cute.”

“Handsome.” Harold chuckles when he lifts his arm, reaching behind to rub Siebren’s head. Siebren makes a sound in between a purr and a sigh, which makes Harold think of that time he worked with an animal shelter back when he was young and fresh out of university. Bony fingers crawl underneath his shirt, smoothing over his stomach. Harold can’t help but smile a little. “Siebren,” he warns.

“I’m not doing anything. Not tonight. I just want to feel you.”

Harold giggles incredulously. “You do realise what that sounds like in English, right?”

“You know what I mean,” Siebren scoffs. “I just…I need a reminder every now and then. To know you’re here. Even after everything we’ve gone through, you being by my side feels like a dream.”

“And what if it was? How’d you dream I’d end up here?”

“In my dreams, you wouldn’t end up here. We’d be together, have been together for a long time now.” Siebren smiles indulgently as he gazes up at the ceiling. “You wouldn’t have your accident, and neither would I. We’d be healthy and happy and content. We’d still be conducting research, but our progress will slow over time. We’d have a home somewhere far away from the hustle and bustle, with its own workspace for us to do any projects we so choose. Knowing you, you’d have convinced me to let us have a pet or two, or seven, or fifteen. I would not be surprised at all if our home turned into a literal zoo by this time.”

Harold giggles. It does sound like something he’d do.

Siebren continues, “I’d like to think we’d be married by that point. We’d have beautiful wedding rings and a photo album for the entire ceremony. I do not know if we’d have children—you care far too much about Winston and Hammond to not consider them as such—but I don’t think I would have disagreed if you desired to adopt or not. You would have worn me down by that point.”

“Funny how life goes,” Harold whispers. “Is that what you want?”

“Children? At my age? Absolutely not. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think that’s possible anymore if we take our current circumstances into consideration.”

“Not that. I’m talking about marriage.” He takes Siebren’s hand away from his stomach to the bed, entwining their fingers together. It’s impossibly warm and a bit sweaty. His eyes glance down to Siebren’s ring finger. “Given the chance, would you ever marry?”

Siebren gulps, trying to grasp the individual words—or perhaps even sentences—that came out of Harold’s mouth. His throat sounds dry. “I…m-marriage? It...it’s impossible, Harold. You’re legally dead for the second time in a row and I do not dare find out whether I'm officially alive or not. And even if we had rings and a ceremony and guests…” He trails off, no doubt fantasizing about what such a ceremony would be like. Harold tries to do the same, but can only imagine Winston in an ill-fitting tux and Hammond in a strangely fitted three piece suit. Suddenly, Siebren clears his throat loudly. “You and I, it’s…it’s not possible anymore.”

“I never said if it was possible now, or if it was with me. I’m saying, if you had the chance to marry anyone, and I mean anyone, right now, would you?”

Siebren slowly turns Harold to the other side so they’re facing each other. His smile is gentle and soft, in stark contrast to his sharp features. His piercing blue eyes look at Harold like he’s the most fascinating thing to ever exist in the world. Like he’s stardust, and complex mathematical equations, and the complete musical works of Erik Satie, and the secrets to gravity, all wrapped up with a bow on top.

Siebren smirks. “You already know the answer.”

Harold smiles bashfully. “You want to know my answer if you asked me that question?”

“No need,” Siebren chuckles. He presses a soft kiss to Harold’s jaw. “I know the answer to that too, my treasure.”

A nervous chuckle bubbles out of Harold's throat, a crimson blush overtaking his cheeks. His head is swimming and his body feels like Siebren's used his powers on him, making him drift higher and higher in the air. From anyone else it’s just a statement, but from Siebren that’s as good as a confession, a hidden promise of things to come or things he wishes would come. It’s hard trying to imagine how they’d be like if they were married because as beautiful as it might be, it doesn’t seem real. His reality is here with Overwatch, helping them travel across the globe to fight terrorists and save people. A peaceful life with Siebren by his side is out of his reach, not that he cares anymore. Reality is often better than fantasy, after all.

Siebren’s smiling at him. “You’re thinking again.”

Harold puts his hand on Siebren’s cheek. His eyes are focused on the space between their bodies. “Would you change anything about your life? Anything at all?”

Siebren’s lips fall as his gaze goes glassy. He thinks, seriously thinks, for several seconds. “There are things I wish did happen. I wished I didn’t lose my mind in my accident. I wish I didn’t have to hold the fragile pieces together. I wish I didn’t spend years mourning you when I thought you were dead. But I wouldn’t change anything. The law of entropy and the cosmic censorship hypothesis suggests that my current circumstances are the most optimal path my life could take.”

Harold smirks. “Just admit it. You like this, being the hero, saving people and fighting off the bad guys.”

Siebren rolls his eyes. “Perhaps I do.”

“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive.” Harold quotes without thinking. “I wouldn’t change anything at all. If I did, I wouldn’t be alive. Literally and metaphorically.”

Siebren nods. “Dr Harold Winston is dead, just as Dr Siebren de Kuiper is dead. We’re different people, taking on their forms, living on with their faces but not their lives.” He runs his hand over Harold’s cheek, trailing over the catheter. “I’m Sigma, and you’re Charon. Let Dr Winston and Dr de Kuiper be the star-crossed lovers they were meant to be, up in the dark realms of space. Let us dare to see the world for what it could be.”

Harold smirks. “Should I call you Sigma now? Are you going to call me Harold?”

“I don’t care anymore. You should ask yourself those questions.”

“What, should I call myself Charon now?” Harold says incredulously.

“If you want to,” he replies. “You know who you are. And I can assure you, names do have power. Whatever you choose to call yourself, that will affect who you are and what you become.”

It’s easier said than done. It’s harder for him to let go of Harold. It is him, or at least a part of him, and it’s hard to think of himself as a different person or a different entity. He’s changed, he knew from the beginning that he has changed, but it wasn’t enough. That’s what he thought, but then it only takes a few little changes to become a different person. The man in front of him right now is a prime example of it. Is it possible that it applies to him as well? Can he be a different person, even when so much of him still feels like Harold?

Siebren is staring at him. “Well?”

Harold’s eyes lower. “Do you think I’ve changed enough?”

“What do you think?” Siebren asks.

For an instant Harold sees his reflection in Siebren’s glimmering eyes only to find himself staring at someone else. It’s not Harold Winston that Siebren stares so lovingly at. It’s a different person. A better person.

The corner of his lips quirks upwards. “You know what?" He says, "I think I finally have.”

The Orca drops down like butter in front of a desecrated Ayutthaya. The buildings that line the streets are old and crumbling and the streets are wide and filled with people. Stalls in the local market have been abandoned alongside the many vans and pick-up trucks. Many people are hiding in the ruins of the buildings. Others are trying to lead others to safety. In the distance, near the tourist traps and the temples stands a massive omnic, red lights scanning the horizon, hundreds of smaller omnics surrounding it.

The doors to the Orca open and four step out, the Overwatch emblem standing proud on their person. Tracer’s voice leaks through the comms.

“Alright chaps, we’ve got us a big ol’ Omnic. Government wants to preserve the temples so we gotta lead it away to the forest nearby. I’ll try and do it from the ship but you guys gotta be prepared to take this thing down yourselves.”

Sombra’s voice chirps in. “You know I could hack this thing, right?”

“So why aren’t you here?” Tracer grumbles.

“Ay, it's too hot there. You go have fun in Thailand."

Tracer’s eyeroll was practically audible. “You ready, Winston?”

“I’m ready.” He turns his head. “What about you, Hammond?”

“THE HAMSTER WANTS TO GET THE BALL ROLLING ALREADY.”

“Sigma?” Winston asks.

“Sigma present,” he declares.

“Charon?”

He fiddles with the ring on his hand, his eyes glancing at Sigma’s neck, where an identical ring rests on a simple chain necklace. It took a lot of people by surprise that morning, waking up to find the rings on their person, sipping coffee side by side. There was no grand ceremony, no big reveal. One day they were just two people. The next, they have decided to considered themselves married husbands. It's not official, and the rings are cheap and symbolic, but as long as they believe it, that's all he cares about.

It’s still a bit weird to consider Sigma his husband. Until that word doesn't taste so strange from his tongue, he'll say it again and again, and even when it does taste sweet, he'll say it some more. It's weird in so many ways, but it feels so right.

As perfectly right as being in this moment is, with his new found family, despite the danger.

“Charon here, ready and waiting for someone to get themselves injured.” He glances mischievously at Wrecking Ball.

“DIAGNOSIS: I PRESCRIBE YOU WITH WHINY [REDACTED] DISEASE.”

Charon smirks. “And here I thought I brought you up to be a polite little boy.”

“ANALYSIS: YOU MADE THIS SOFTWARE. CONCLUSION: DEAL WITH IT.”

“Settle down, you two,” Winston says. “We have a job to do. The world needs us heroes.”

Sigma scoffs lightly. “Do we count as heroes?”

"What, don't think we're heroes?" Charon asks.

"I'm not saying that at all. I'm just confirming how much collateral damage we obliged to make today," Sigma says.

Charon lets the back of his hand brush over Sigma's hand. This close, Harold can feel the strings of gravity tug at his fingertips, eager to pull him into its orbit. Inside his bloodstream, the nanobots activate, coursing through his body. He closes his eyes, savouring the sticky humid air and the thundering steps of the giant omnic and this feeling of completeness, being so close to his loved ones. He opens his eyes, dark brown irises flickering into gold. The last traces of Harold Winston leaves his body, and in his place Charon emerges.

By his side, everybody readies their weapons. With practiced hands he checks the jet injector and the backpack on his back filled with golden serum. He lets out a quiet gasp when he feels something grab onto his hand. Gloved fingers wrap around his, squeezing tightly before letting go. The man it belongs to nods his head towards the omnics and smiles. Are you ready? Sigma asks.

There's no doubt in his mind. Charon nods, smiling proudly. I'm ready. Silently, the four of them leave the ship and approach the Omnics, ready to fight and save the city.

He's dared to change himself for the better. Now, it's time for him to do the same for the world.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.

Haruki Murakami – ‘Kafka on the Shore’

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de Kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #Oh my god I am so glad this is over #I mean I'm sad but also kinda relieved #This is my baby and now it's gone off for greener pastures #It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders but I miss the weight?#I hope you guys like this story I've crafted. It really has been a journey

10 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

Note

Ryan: P: (3, 6, 14, 24), P/F: (10, 16), L: (4, 5), C: (3), F: (1, 4, 8), P: (6), V: (1, 3), DL: (1, 9)

I had a lot to say here…

Ryan always makes me ramble.

Personality

3-Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

Ryan is extremely optimistic. He’s not naive. He’s seen his fair share of hardship and struggle. But he looks on the bright side of every situation he finds himself in. He knows that life is short- unexpectedly so sometimes- and he knows that it’s better to have a positive outlook than a negative one because it makes that short time more enjoyable. He trusts his gut and usually things work out for him, so he doesn’t see a reason to change to a more negative outlook. He keeps his expectations reasonable and his baggage light, and the majority of the time, Ryan is a truly happy person down to his bones.

6-What bad habits do they have?

Aside from smoking, which he’s told himself that he’d try to quit a few times now, the only other “bad habit” he has is that he can’t take a compliment well. He tries to deflect, claim that its the song that’s great, not his playing, or that the sound is only as good as it is because of who he’s playing with, all the while the skin between his beard and his eyes is blushing a rosy pink hue. It’s not a bad habit in that it hurts anyone, but he has to work on receiving praise, because he absolutely deserves it.

14-What is their greatest fear?

Ryan’s not afraid of much. He doesn’t love heights, but that won’t stop him from climbing a roof that needs patching or looking out over the ledge of a bridge or balcony. He’s not the biggest fan of elevators, but he rarely ever has to use one so that’s not much of an issue, either. But there is one thing that will make his eyes go wide and the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up: Scorpions.

He’d run into them for the first time in Yuma, AZ, camping with Cowboy and Virginia. Sure, there were scorpions in Georgia, but not in the Southeast where he grew up, and certainly not poisonous ones. But a bark scorpion found its way into Ryan’s boot one night, and he almost shoved his foot right on top of it in the morning had Virginia not grabbed his arm and yanked the boot out of his hand. At first he was confused, but his mouth dropped open and an “oh, shit!” slipped out as she upended his shoe and a little yellow armored creature plunked out onto the stony, sandy ground, pincers raised and tail poised to strike.

“Always check your boots, Brenner,” Cowboy slapped him on the back as he came back to the campsite, a smirk on his face as he threw his friend a wink and kissed his girl on the cheek.

From that moment on, Ryan has never once put his shoes on without checking them.

Aside from scorpions he has another fear that really only started developing as he got older and the invincibility of his twenties started to fade, and that fear is of dying alone. His father, Oz, Cowboy… they were all alone in their last moments, and he couldn’t help but wonder: were they cold? In pain? Suffering? How long until someone found them? What was that like, those last few seconds of life with no one there as you entered the abyss? The thought gave him chills so he tried to push it from his mind whenever it cropped up, would call a friend or one of his cousins to distract from the fear. He also knew what the other side of that coin was like; remembered as clearly as if it were yesterday both calls from Robin and Virginia, and the guilt that he felt when he heard the news. He didn’t want Georgie or Louie or anyone else to get that call about him, to feel that guilt of “I shoulda met him in Tupelo or Jacksonville or Cheyenne.” He was careful, always trying his best to stay out of any dangerous situations- something that he knew Oz and Cowboy weren’t keen on, and something that he’d been told his father hadn’t been the best at either. He enjoyed traveling alone for the most part and didn’t let this newfound fear get in his way of that enjoyment, but it was particularly bad in the winter months when rails froze and black ice made for dicey footing when getting on or off of a moving train, when falling asleep when the temperature fell could mean not waking up.

24-What are their idiosyncrasies?

Ryan ties his shoes in a very specific way, double knotting with every pass of the looped lace, and tucking the loose ends into the third crossed lace along the tongue of his boots. If the lace comes loose, he undoes the whole knot and starts over.

He isn’t comfortable if he can’t see the sky. He hates basements and rooms without windows, and he almost never picks a train car that doesn’t have an open top or at least one open side.

He can’t stand still when he brushes his teeth. He paces around, not nervously, just casually, until it’s time to spit and rinse.

Past & Future

10- What smells remind him of his childhood?

Pine from his grandfather’s carving, salt air from time spent at the beach with his cousins, peaches bubbling and caramelizing in the oven from Aunt Holly’s cobbler, wood smoke from the bonfires the Brenner’s were known for, the earthy smell of skunks from that one time he, Jimmy, Patrick and Zach tried to domesticate one of the monochromatic mammals living under Uncle Max’s tool shed and ended up getting sprayed and subsequently laughed at by all the “told ya so” cousin’s watching from the porch.

16- What past act is he most ashamed of?

Once, when Ryan was still new to the road and still learning how to get by on his own (just a few months after his 17th birthday), he found himself with no cash, no food, and no one to lean on for another two days until Cowboy and Virginia got into town. He held out as long as he could, but the fact was that at 17 he wasn’t nearly a good enough musician to make any real money on his own, and it had already been a full day on an empty stomach. So he did what he had to do, and grabbed a wrapped deli sandwich from the refrigerator case, stuffing it in his pocket and leaving the store before he could be seen.

He’s been back through those parts a handful of times, and he always makes it a point to stop in that deli and leave a few extra dollars in the tip jar on the counter.

Love

4- When was the last time he had sex?

Well, it was with Jackie, so roughly a year ago. And before that, even longer. Falling into bed with Jackie as quickly as he did was very out of character for Ryan. Getting attached to people who are attached to where they live isn’t a good habit for someone like him- someone who goes where the roads and rails take him, when they take him, and has no need for a rear view mirror. Did he genuinely want to help Jackie when she got hit by that pickup? Yes, of course. Ryan is nearly incapable of walking away from someone who needs help, because he believes in karma and that when good goes around it comes around. Not that he only helps people if he thinks something good will come for him, he just firmly believes that the world would be a better place if we judged less and helped more. Did he really want much more to do with Jackie after that? Not really, but she offered to repay his kindness with dinner, and Ryan’s not really in a position to turn down a meal or a warm place to eat it. Staying the night? Okay, it was snowing, what did you want him to do? Freeze his poor little face off trying to hitch a ride? Like he said, who’s stopping for a stranger in a snowstorm? No one, so the kindness was extended to a bed for the night. Understandable.

Then the morning comes and he sees the poor condition that the roof is in, and two things happened at once: 1) having done so much repair work, roofing, and odd jobs in the carpentry field, he couldn’t walk away from that leak knowing that in a month or so the whole thing would collapse, and 2) that desire to help someone in need kicked in again. Should he have left it at the roof? Of course he should have, but Jackie just kept needing, and Ryan just kept giving. Support, comfort, help, kindness. And after so long on his own, a few days with someone who seemed to need and appreciate him was a big change…one that proved to be confusing for Ryan; nothing felt wrong, necessarily, it just didn’t feel right, and when Jackie asked if Southbound was “about her” when they were in bed together, that’s when Ryan first thought that he’d made a mistake: how could it be about her? I only just met her.

It was about someone, that’s for sure, but that someone wasn’t Jackie Laurel.

About a year and three or four months before Jackie, Ryan’s last real intimate encounter was with a girl named Chloe. Chloe was a year younger than Ryan, an artist that he met while he was out in Montana at Georgie’s uncle’s buddy’s ranch. They clicked instantly and before that 4 week period was up, Ryan was hypnotized by the girl with the feather earring and Chloe was goo for the boy with the guitar. They never labeled anything because to them, labels felt like limitations- not on what they could do, but on how they chose to be together. Chloe lived in Montana most of the year, but would spend months at a time traveling wherever the wind blew in search of inspiration for her next big project- she’s a sculpture artist specializing in naturally inspired pieces- and the semi-permanent living arrangement was really only so that she had a place to come back to work when she was ready to start slinging clay. But whenever she was “home” she’d let Ryan know, and usually he would make his way to Livingston if it was feasible. They’d even met up on the road a few times, and their relationship was easy and light regardless of whether it had been three months or three weeks since last they saw one another. For the first entire year, all anyone had to do was mention the other’s name and they’d both bloom bright red roses on their cheeks.

Heading into their second year of unlabeled bliss, Chloe started to get real recognition for her work, earning commissions for universities, libraries and other large organizations. Ryan was over the moon thrilled for her, and her excitement was palpable even over the phone. When she called to tell him that she’d be in Livingston, he couldn’t wait to get her in his arms, to kiss the corner of her smile, right where her dimples would form. He split off from Cowboy, Virginia and Georgie and hopped the first train headed west. They spent two whole days holed up in bed, tangled in Chloe’s crisp white sheets with golden summer light streaming in through the sun catcher in the window and painting their entwined bodies with blues and oranges and reds. Ryan realized then that he’d fallen in love with her, and he could tell that she had come to the same realization about him by the way she held him or by how her soft lips lingered against his bristly cheeks, or from the way her dark obsidian eyes would shine when she smiled at him. He realized then, that she was the first woman he’d ever really been in love with, and even though they hadn’t had one another constantly, they’d been constants in one another’s lives and he wanted that to continue. He wanted that to continue forever.

Chloe did, too, but then something happened.

Ryan stayed in Livingston with her for two weeks before circling back up with Georgie (Cowboy and Ginny had gone south to Utah to visit her folks for a while) but about two months later he was back after her tearful phone call letting him know that she was pregnant, but that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep the baby. Ryan couldn’t breathe or think or keep his heartbeat steady, so he told Georgie what was going on and dizzily hopped a train from neighboring South Dakota back to Montana and the forever that had suddenly started slipping through his fingers.

Chloe was a mess when he got there- couldn’t speak for the tears that were pouring from her eyes, couldn’t stop trembling from the fear that she was struck with, even as Ryan’s strong arms circled her small frame. Ryan never saw himself as a father, but he never saw himself falling in love, either, and in that moment he decided that he’d do whatever he had to to be the man that Chloe and their child needed. If that meant that he had to travel less, he was prepared to make that change. He’d always heard people say that love makes you do crazy things, and he finally understood what that meant. But it seemed that Chloe had been doing some crazy things of her own- she hadn’t waited for Ryan to get there after she called him. She’d gone to a clinic and made the decision already. That’s why she was racked with fear, because she’d made their choice without asking him, without considering what he’d want or think, part of her knowing how he’d feel. No, Ryan never saw himself as a dad or as a husband, but he never saw himself having his heart broken by the first woman he fell in love with, either. He tried to forgive her for making the choice without him, even though he was hurting, but she couldn’t forgive herself even though she didn’t regret her choice. Suddenly there was a chasm between them while they were standing in the same room, and the last time Ryan left Livingston was the last time he’d be back.

A few months before meeting Jackie, Ryan was traveling in Macy, Nebraska and he stumbled on one of the works she’d been commissioned to sculpt at a community college. He’d called her, just to congratulate her and to tell her how beautiful it was, and they’d caught up on each other’s lives: Ryan was still jumping trains and making music, she was still sculpting… and she’d met someone… someone who she hadn’t hurt like she’d hurt Ryan, someone who’d asked her to marry him, and someone she’d said yes to. She’d again expressed how completely sorry she was for how things had gone, and she finally accepted his forgiveness. Now, from time to time, Ryan will see one of her sculptures and a sad smile will cross his face for the life he almost had with her, but then the sadness fades and he’s happy for the life she has now, and for the possibilities still out there for himself.

Someone (ahem @its-my-little-dumpster-fire) asked if Ryan ever slept with Robin…and the answer is… yes, but it was a while back, before Chloe, and it was weird for both of them. Yes, there was always chemistry between them, even while Oz was alive (which was tricky but Ryan chalked it up to friendship and kindred spirits and the amount of time spent harmonizing) but they never acted on it. Robin loved Oz and was extremely loyal to him, and Ryan respected that. His death was hard on both of them, and when they saw one another afterwards, it just sort of…happened. But it was a one and done and never again type of thing- neither is embarrassed or has any sort of regret over it, and it didn’t change their friendship which is still very strong. And if you want more details on that… I have them but this is already long enough.

5- What kind of sex does he have?

Hands covering every inch of you, but starting in the least likely of places- your shoulder, the crook of your elbow, or maybe your calf. Lips caressing your skin which is practically vibrating with need, but gently and slowly, deliberately. He brings your hand to his mouth to plant a kiss there, but not to your knuckles; right to the center of your palm where your lifeline stretches from your wrist to your fingers. He’ll leave one on your ankle bone as he helps free you from your jeans. He wants you naked, doesn’t need the theatrics of a strip tease or a high end lace bra. He wants you bare before him so he can appreciate every detail, each freckle, all the veins in your arms, the little scars that tell the story of you, the sum of your “imperfections” that set you aside from the rest of the world. When he looks at you it’s with hunger like you’ve never seen. He starts devouring you with his eyes but he doesn’t stop there, mouth finding every sweet spot on your body, not stopping until you’re nearly incoherent, finally entering you and basking in the feel of you surrounding him, in the look of awe on your face and the strained sighs escaping your lips…

That’s what it’s like to be loved by Ryan Brenner.

Ryan is an intense, sensual partner who thrives on a deep connection with those he chooses to be intimate with- this is why it was out of character for him to end up sleeping with Jackie, because they hadn’t known one another long enough to build the kind of connection that he usually looks for. He’s a little bit old fashioned in the thought that intimacy should go hand in hand with emotion, that it’s a language with which to communicate what can’t be said with words. That’s why his number isn’t very high- only 5- and why he doesn’t have a different girl in every city he’s visited. Ryan is extremely and acutely in tune with his partner, and is able to put the most raw, pure feeling into every touch and movement.

Conflict

3- What is his kryptonite?

It’s always been the people that he cares about. Ryan doesn’t have a lot to his name, so in terms of material things he doesn’t have much to lose and there aren’t a lot of situations that he couldn’t recover from. He’s been robbed twice, went a week without making a buck once, even broke his guitar once on a bumpy dismount, but he bounced back from all of those situations. But the people he cares about- his cousins and Chase, his friends from coast to coast, even the new additions like you, Junebug- they mean more to him than he can put into words, and he’d do anything he could for any of them.

Favorites

1-What is their favourite animal?

Ryan has always liked birds. From small finches and jays to hawks, eagles and cranes, they’ve always fascinated him. To him they represent freedom and independence. They sing songs unique to themselves, they get to look at the world from a different perspective, they get to go wherever they want, whenever they want, and to Ryan it always seems like they’re having fun, swooping and diving, riding the wind, splashing in puddles or sand.

4-What is their favourite song?

You cannot know how long I agonized over this answer.

I finally landed on Into the Mystic by Van Morrison, because it reminds him of happy times with his parents before his father died and his mother remarried. Carolyn and Luke Brenner were very much in love, and there was always music playing in their home whether it was Luke strumming a guitar or banjo, or Carolyn singing along to the small radio on the kitchen counter. Ryan had a lot of memories of his parents singing and dancing, smiles on their faces and laughter in their eyes. He even remembers times when his father was away, and his mother would take his small hands and dance him through the living room with this song playing. When he hears it now (or plays it, which only happens occasionally when he has the right accompaniment- it’s a pretty piano heavy song…maybe Junebug can help him out with this one…) he feels light and happy, and hopeful that someday he might find something like what his parents had.

8- What is his favorite food?

Ryan’s favorite food is shrimp and grits, but not just from anywhere, specifically his Aunt Holly’s version of the dish. When Ryan came to live permanently among the Brenners a few years after His mother married his stepfather, he spent most of his time with his Gram and Granddaddy, and his father’s sister Holly, Jimmy’s mom and his Uncle Alan, though the whole family had a hand in raising him from 12-16. But most of that time was under Holly and Alan’s roof, and Holly was the best damn cook in town. Alan worked on a shrimping boat and was able to come home with freshly caught prawns at a fraction of the price that they’d run in seafood markets. At first, Ryan was skeptical of the shrimp because he’d never eaten something with so many legs or antennas, pushing them aside to devour the delicious, creamy corn grits that they sat atop. But eventually he gave in, seeing how much everyone else liked the funny looking sea creatures, and since that first sweet bite he’s been hooked. Holly always makes them when he’s home. He’s tried them a few times elsewhere, but there’s really no comparison to the family recipe.

Possessions

6- What is in his pockets?

I answered this one separately because it got lengthy:

Turn ‘Em Out

Values

1- What does he think is the worst thing that can happen to someone?

The worst thing in the world as far as Ryan is concerned, is feeling like you’re stuck; like you can’t control the speed or direction of your own life. He’s seen it grind people down until they break, and he’s seen it many times through his life.

He saw it first with his mother, when she married his stepfather. Their relationship was fine, but even Ryan at 10 could tell that they weren’t in love the same way his mom was in love with his dad. While he was mostly apathetic towards Ryan, his mother’s new husband treated her well enough, but Ryan never caught them dancing in the kitchen at 2am when he wandered out for water like he’d caught his father twirling his mother, a small radio playing on the counter. He never saw his mother jump into her new husband’s arms when he got home from work like she used to greet Ryan’s dad when he’d come home from his travels. Miles cared for and respected Ryan’s mother, but he didn’t go out of his way to do so, and Ryan had the sneaking suspicion that she only married him because she’d already had his child (Ryan’s half brother Chase was unexpectedly born 2 years before their wedding, and Ryan was thrilled about being a big brother having seen how much fun Tommy and Zach had growing up together. He didn’t care about the 8 year age gap.) and she felt like her chances of finding a second true love like Ryan’s father (especially with two kids) were running out. Miles was there, and even though things weren’t as great as they might have been with someone else, she wasn’t alone. But she wasn’t happy, either, and Ryan saw her smiles dwindle through the years.

He saw it with Chloe, when she found out that she was pregnant and the fear of being stuck was so great that she threw the choice away before even talking to Ryan about it. He saw the way that decision broke her down until it ruined whatever the two of them could have salvaged from that relationship.

He saw it happen to Cowboy when he and Virginia started on the same page with their son and ended up in separate books. Ginny was smitten with that kid the second he popped out, and Cowboy loved him, too, but staying put proved to be much tougher than he thought it would be. It turned him bitter at times and made him angry, and Ryan answered more than one shaky, tear filled call from Virginia after Cowboy’d taken his “stuck” feelings out on her. He’d tried his best to alleviate some of that burden, dropping by to visit the three of them as often as he could, trying to make it feel like old times, he and Cowboy playing together while Virginia rocked the baby in the corner. But eventually even that wasn’t enough, and Cowboy realized that he couldn’t stick it out, not for as long as Virginia needed him to, so at her urging, he unstuck himself. And then Ryan saw it happen to Ginny after he died- that boy means the world to her, and she doesn’t regret having to give up her lifestyle, she wasn’t so attached to having no attachments as Cowboy was, but Ryan knows that she feels stuck just like his mother did. A single mother with limited avenues for change.

He sees it when you’re sitting in your empty apartment and you tell him straight and honest that you’re stuck without direction.

Ryan doesn’t judge people or pity them when they feel stuck in their lives. He simply hopes that they’ll be able to unstick themselves soon because he knows that life is too short to feel like you have no options, to feel stuck, to not take the wheel for yourself.

3- When did he last lie?

Ryan doesn’t lie often, and when he does it’s usually only to protect someone’s feelings. Like the time he told Taylor that the lemon squares she made were “really good” before turning and spitting the dry, tasteless clump into a napkin, Fitz and Jimmy snorting into their drinks.

But when he told himself that he could have the sort of thing with Jackie that he had with Chloe, that was a lie, and he knew it as soon as his boots were back on her porch and her arms were around his neck. Coming back to Jackie felt like obligation once he was there, something he never felt towards Chloe. Just give it some time… But the more time he gave it, the more clear it became- Jackie could never fully accept his part-time presence, and Ryan wasn’t ready to change his lifestyle for her. Within an hour of his arrival she’d asked him how long he was staying, expecting certain answers and showing real disappointment when he shrugged and answered with “a week, maybe?” She just wants more time… But he realized it would never be enough time unless it was all the time. He realized he’d never find something quite like what he and Chloe had, and that he’d never be able to have anything even close to that with Jackie. He realized that the real lie wasn’t even that he was telling himself that he and Jackie could work; the real lie was that he was lonely but he’d been telling himself that he wasn’t.

Daily Life

1-What are his eating habits?

Ryan is a messy eater and always has been. He doesn’t leave a mess behind, but if there’s sauce in what he’s eating it’s going to end up on his face and all over his hands. If it’s something that can create crumbs, they’re going to get trapped in his beard until he wipes his hand over his face. He has a set of silverware in his pack along with a can opener, half-used sterno, and a camp coffee filter, but he rarely uses the silverware because if he does then he has to find some place to clean them and he doesn’t always have access to water like that. He just digs in with his fingers most of the time, especially when he’s alone. He carries some food items with him- ground coffee, nuts, jerky, and a couple cans of tuna, beans or corn. He also has a jug of water that he can tie onto one of the straps of his pack. Space is limited, but he always makes sure that he has food for a day or two in case something happens and he either can’t afford or can’t get to a deli, convenience store, café or grocery store. Most days he eats two meals- breakfast and a late lunch/ early dinner. Ryan’s really good at only eating when he’s actually hungry, and he’ll eat a third or even fourth meal on days when he burns a lot of energy, like if he gets some side work in construction or agriculture. Along those same lines, he doesn’t overeat, only eating until he’s full. He always has to be ready to move, and quickly, so being weighed down by an overfull stomach isn’t a great idea.

When he’s home though? With all those family recipes and no need to worry about hightailing it to or from anywhere? He goes full on food coma, especially when he stops in to see his Aunt Holly. She’s never not had a peach cobbler cooling on her kitchen table for as long as Ryan can remember, and there’s always at least one pot going on the stove and something else in the oven.

Typical Ryan fare on the day to day is usually something that he can eat quickly, is easy to eat on the move, and has a lot of protein. He’ll stop in to a deli for a sandwich, grab a burrito from a food truck, or hit the “ready to eat” section at a grocery or convenience store.

8-What is their soft drink of choice?

Ryan usually sticks to water, coffee and tea when it comes to non-alcoholic beverages, but every now and then if he sees a root beer- a good one- he caves and goes for it. His favorite happens to be Jones Soda Co. and he first tried that brand out in Oregon with Robin. Aside from the flavor, which is just sassafras-y enough and not too sweet, he was initially drawn to the bottle because the label caught his eye. Each one has a different black and white photo, most of them showcasing little glimpses of Americana. The one that caught his eye at the Sweet Street Deli (he and Robin had gone in to grab lunch and drinks for the group. They’d been playing together around the corner in front of the Tioga building, locals gathering around and dropping change and crumpled bills into the open instrument cases and walking away with smiles that they spread all over town.) had a photo of a rail crossing signal and Ryan laughed to himself as he wrapped his fingers around the cool neck of the bottle. He grabbed an orange soda for Georgie, a classic cola for Cowboy, and for Virginia, who had more of an adventurous palate than her partner, he picked green apple. Whenever Ryan sees Jones root beer, it reminds him of that first trip out to Oregon, of carefree summer days and easy, laughter filled nights.

#ryan brenner #passing through #character asks #thank you SO MUCH for these #so many stories cropped up from these asks #this was FUN #fun times ahead and behind for Ryan

15 notes · View notes

mwolf0epsilon · 5 years

Text

DBH - The Giraffe Story

And here you go! Another OC drabble, this time another human. Asad Siddiq, or Mr. Siddiq if you prefer, is a Pakistani immigrant who became a successful environmental lawyer. His hobbies include taxidermy and rescuing animal androids. He was the one to give Carl his decorative giraffe, and the story behind why is a bittersweet one.

Enjoy

---

It all started with a lonely giraffe in a zoo. Granted you could say it actually started when the news announced said giraffe's mate had died, leaving it as the sole member of its species still walking on the face of the Earth, but frankly that sounded a lot worse than it really needed to be, and Mr. Siddiq wasn't one to add more of a negative tone to an already bleak situation.

So, like any other reasonable gentleman, he liked to think it started with the giraffe, and not with what led him to it.

For all events and purposes of this odd little romantic tale, it all started with that one lonely giraffe and two equally lonely men in their late 50s.

He'd been widowed for at least two months now. Once married to a darling spitfire of a woman with a hardent passion for nature just as strong as his own, and now married to his work in conservation biology and environmental law.

You could call him well adjusted and ready to move on, but Siddiq himself wouldn't call it that. For one, it still felt odd being alone in the house they'd built together.

He felt that it was much too big for one man to live in on his lonesome, with corridors filled with professional photographs of various animals and remote locations, as well as various trinkets acquired on many journeys.

Each trinket, each photo, spoke a tale of its own. A shared story that sadly there was no one else to stand by him and traverse those lovely memories with, nor to look up in awe at the subjects of his and his late missus's interests.

From proud pouncing tigers to the gentlest of monolithic elephants, immortalized in their works. He'd been a photographer once, just as she'd been a painter before she became a cellist.

He seldom received visitors, much less a letter or call from his relatives who elected to remain living in Pakistan despite his offers to accommodate them if ever they needed a change of scenery.

Without Darlene, home just didn't feel complete, which contradicted the mere idea that he was done grieving his loss, much less the loss of opportunity to ever have a substantial family.

A 55 year old was expected to be a grandfather by now, but neither he nor Darlene had ever had much of a chance to spawn and raise a child.

Much like the giraffe he was visiting, Mr. Siddiq was at a loss for how to remedy his mournful moods. And no amount if work, as devout as he was to his cause, could fill the void his own departed mate had left.

Mr. Siddiq had known for a while that the Detroit zoo was having issues maintaining the exhibits. For all that they desperately tried to keep their animals in good health, it was getting harder to tend to the needs of their larger animals who were at risk of going extinct.

Breeding programs were ineffective and far too stressful for the animals, and the lack of even numbers of opposite sexes was slowly becoming a problem.

Without a diverse gene pool, there was a high likelihood of inbreeding occurring, and that was unacceptable.

There was also dietary issues for the herbivores who's main sources of nutrition were slowly disappearing as well, with the extinction of certain species of trees and other plants.

They could introduce substitutes, but a lot of animals were very picky eaters...

It wasn't for a lack of trying that things didn't work out...There was just not much they could do anymore to save certain species, as was the case of the giraffe. This of course, was being used as an excuse for Cyberlife to produce more android animals which, while quite useful for educational purposes, were grossly misused in entertainment more than in the spread of information. Why bother with the real deal when you could use androids for whatever you desired?

A pity, he thought, as he stared up at the large mammal as it seemed to roam aimlessly in its enclosure. It was searching for another that was no longer there, who'd never return.

“Poor thing...It's never known freedom and now it'll die alone...” he spoke to no one in particular as he watched the poor creature continue it's aimless passing. He could empathize with it's struggles.

A hum of agreement made him pause, startled out of his thoughts, before he turned to his left and saw his unexpected sympathizer. A man, possibly in his 50s much like Siddiq himself, stood leaning against the rails while staring up and up just as he had been, at the long necked ungulate. If the giraffe took any notice of the addition to its audience of one, it did not show it whatsoever.

“Indeed. It's quite a pitiful story...To be born to entertain humanity, meet the one other that can understand it, and then be left to rot because it was deemed a lost cause the moment it's significant other passed...” The man smiled bitterly “All it's ever known is a caged life, acting as an object of a crowd's admirations, and now the one speck of happiness it had, it's mate, is no longer there to help it pass on peacefully when it's time does come...”

“Poor Jeoffrey.” Siddiq agreed while turning back to look at the animal. It had paused briefly before turning around and snorting. It had given up looking in that part of the exhibit perimeter.

Brown eyes wandered back to the other man, studying his features carefully.

The man was quite slender, with a posture indicative of a sort of regal yet rebellious nature. The stance of a upperclassmen who'd earned his fortune through hard work and ingenuity.

His hair had begun to grey, although Siddiq could still identify him as a brunet. The blend of chestnut and silvery hues seemed to compliment pensive blue pools that gazed so intently at the giraffe enclosure.

He could almost see gears turning from the intensity of that stare alone.

A studious and clever man, one with a potential eye for detail.

A photographer or an artist.

Most impressive were the tattoos.

Hexagonal patterns that seemed to fill and ripple alluringly on pale flesh, ending only where wrist met callused hand.

Mr. Siddiq stood in the presence of a very handsome man.

“You know, giraffes were always my second favorite animal...They aren't very picky with what company they seek.” he commented as he tried to look away, mind threatening to wander from the topic at hand due to the aesthetic pleasenthoods of his companion.

“Quite the clever and majestic creatures.” The other agreed as he continued to watch the giraffe trot around in its enclosure, now wandering in the opposite direction it had once been exploring.

It ignored the food it had at its disposal. The zookeeper's had expressed their concerns that it no longer ate as it should. “Truly, they are beautiful animals. It will be quite sad to see this poor fellow go...”

“The veterinarian that worked with the giraffes would beg to differ...She was quite frustrated Jeoffrey refused the female from the breeding program before the poor thing passed away of complications. She was adamant there would have been hope for the species, which is doubtful at best…”

“...You're telling me someone had prejudice against a gay giraffe in this day and age?” the amusement was palpable, he quite liked the sound of laughter in this curious stranger's voice.

“Like beating a dead horse, wouldn't you say?” Mr. Siddiq chuckled back. “I must say, the poor thing was much happier when that handsome young bull was around. It will indeed be quite sad when he passes...Although, the owner is a dear friend of mine and he has given me permission to acquire the body later.”

“For what purpose?” he other raised an eyebrow, perhaps unsure of what a person would do with an entire dead giraffe.

“Taxidermy is a hobby of mine...Working on a giraffe...I'd consider it both a challenge and privilege at my age. And then, when I'm done, I will likely donate it to the museum of natural history. Perhaps the Smithsonian if they are interested.”

The man finally turned to look at him, regarding Mr. Siddiq with inquisitive and inviting eyes as blue as gems, before extending a hand and offering a tired yet hopeful smile. The tattoos adorning his arms were indeed very pleasing to the eye.

“Carl Manfred.” he introduced himself, a name that rang familiar.

“Asad Siddiq.” the smile was quickly returned, as was the firm handshake. They'd known right there and then that they'd become good friends, just as Asad knew his greatest work would eventually go to someone other than a museum, although for at least two weeks into that particular project, he hadn't yet known why he'd thought so.

Their brief conversation had led to many more after they'd exchanged contacts. They'd made it a regular thing for the next 7 years, to meet at the enclosure until the day Jeoffrey finally passed.

They felt it only fair that the poor creature would have company in some way, until it's final day arrived.

These encounters eventually evolved into what the Media described as “Carl Manfred's most scandalous affair as of yet”. Complete and utter nonsense, as Carl would need to be married for it to be an affair. Both of them concluded that the Media needed to shove it and allow them peace, as what they did together in the bedroom was no one's business but their own.

No one was too old to date, and neither of them were so close minded that they couldn't appreciate the company of another man. Quite the contrary, as Carl put it to a pesky journalist who'd caught them on a coffee date.

“I was born in 1963, not the dark ages.” Carl had remarked as he'd rolled his eyes, scrolling past the nonsense on his pad and smirking as he found the crosswords section. “If you'd rather I answer questions, then here is an interesting one… What is an eight letter word for someone who interviews people of interest in their personal time off?”

“A...Reporter?” The young man had asked tentatively.

“No. A fuckface.” Carl deadpanned before pointing at the door. “If you want an interesting story to publish go next doors to the bakery, their prices are so outrageous they might as well be the cause for murder.”

Siddiq had burst out in laughter as he watched the young man's face turn to one of shock, before he scrawled and marched off muttering about old people being entitled and rude.

“Reporters these days...Just as invasive as they were when reality shows were the biggest thing…”

“You'll find they still are.” Siddiq replied as he took a bagel from their shared plate, laughing even more at the look of pure horror.

“Good heavens, still?! Have we not grown past watching people make fools of themselves?”

“Never. We are a hopeless kind.”

Then, the day arrived, where Siddiq got a call during one of his and Carl's coffee dates.

It had been a, thankfully, uneventful date this far and they'd been peacefully discussing philosophy, when the zoo owner informed Mr.Siddiq that he could pick up the body that same afternoon.

“I've seen your work.” Carl had commented as he'd arranged for the truck to deliver the animal to his workshop. “A giraffe is much larger than a cat or a moose. Are you sure your old bones can bare stuffing a 800 kg animal?”

“I assure you, if I can tire you after you've had one of your famed “bouts of inspiration” then I'm sure I can manage a giraffe that won't move a single inch.” Siddiq chuckled.

“It's a pity that you'll be working on it...Are you sure you wouldn't want to come with me on vacation?” Carl had leaned against him and rested his chin on Siddiq's shoulder, attempting to sway him with puppy dog eyes.

“I am sure taking me along on a trip with the mother of your son, and the child in question, would be rather awkward…” he'd stated before giving his lover a peck on the nose. “You need to connect with them Carl...I know you aren't a family man, but the boy deserves to get to know his father.”

“I know...But I feel like I can't quite connect with Leo.” Carl confessed. “The boy is 16, and I've just turned 66. Anything I have to say, he'll find rather dull.”

“Carl, if it took 7 years for a very gay and very depressed giraffe to die, I am sure it will take longer for your very bisexual and very stubborn ass to ever grow dull, even to a young boy.” Siddiq reassured. “Get to know him, you'll find you might enjoy having a child.”

Perhaps in the end that had been asking too much. He should have known life wouldn't have made it easy, and that Carl wouldn't come around to the prospect of a large loving family until much later in life, when his mind filled with regrets and what ifs.

Siddiq just never expected to get a call during a conference, detailing the nature of the accident his lover had been in on his journey to return home.

The moment Carl returned, wheelchair bound and perturbed by his predicament, was the day they both knew things would never be the same.

They tried to save their relationship, just as the zoo had tried to save their giraffe population to no avail.

Carl was not in a very good state of mind, had frequent meltdowns, took to using drugs to escape, barely pursued his interests, and refused physical and emotional support.

He had become a recluse in his own home, and Siddiq found himself feeling unwelcome and alone in his workshop for days on end, because his lover no longer desired his company.

He could say he fought to the bitter end to save seven years worth of mutual love and respect, but then he'd be lying.

Fighting a losing battle wouldn't have done either of them any good and, while the breakup was the worst part of the ordeal, Asad Siddiq was not a bitter man and held no grudge.

He knew Carl was not at fault.

The day they finally parted as a couple, was the day he'd completed work on the giraffe.

He had it delivered to Carl's home, and set it as decoration to hide the stairs he could no longer climb on his own. The call he'd walked in on, reassured him his would not be the only gift arriving that same day, as he knew Elijah Kamski to be a young clever man who never announced his presence if not to accompany it with an act of brilliant kindness.

An android might have sufficient patience to set Carl back on track. They were much more resilient than old fragile hearts after all.

“Why are you giving me this?” Carl had asked after the men he'd hired finished setting the taxidermied masterpiece in place. “You worked so hard on it, it'd be a waste to give it to an invalid who's been nothing but unpleasant to you.”

“Because despite what we're about to discuss, I still love you, you old buffoon.” Siddiq replied calmly, before looking up at his work. “Think of it as me leaving my mark in your life dearest friend… As I feel we won't be seeing each other so soon until we've both figured out what we want.”

“Asad…”

“Carl, I don't blame you.” he interrupted before the other could have a say “I understand. It hurts terribly, but I understand why we must say goodbye for now.”

“...I'll miss you.”

“As I'll miss you dearest...”

The apology went unsaid, but it was felt between them both as they shared one last parting kiss.

It was funny.

He'd loved both Darlene and Carl in the same manner: With fervent passion and undying loyalty.

Yet losing Carl had left him feeling hollower than he had felt when he'd lost his wife.

Perhaps because Darlene couldn't control the fact she'd gotten deathly ill and that she had to leave, but Carl had the option of saving their relationship more than once and opted to isolate himself instead because his self-esteem had plummeted with the accident...Either way, he wished him the best, took one last look at the giraffe that had led to their first meeting, and resigned himself to moving on.

And moving on he did.

It was 2038 now. Carl was 75 and Mr.Siddiq was 71. They'd both been very busy since the last time they had formally met.

Siddiq had been right in trusting that Elijah would find a way to help their friend, and Markus was truly proof of his recovery.

Carl had taught the boy well, raising him to be the polite, intelligent and charming young man that he was, and he'd finally made an effort to try mending the gap he'd put between himself and Leo.

Even now, as Siddiq showed his guests around his now extended abode, he couldn't help smile as he watched father and sons interact. It felt even more satisfying having his little Bo's hand in his own, the young girl chattering away to the leader of a revolution that set their kind free.

“Papa's friends have been helping him take away all the animal androids that people were hurting. We have a lot of them living in papa's domes, and they all like it because papa chooses the right sizes and right plants and rocks to make them feel at home!” The YK500 excitedly explained as she looked up at Markus. Boadicea was a treasure and Siddiq had known for a fact Darlene would have loved her.

“You've been busy Asad.” Carl commented.

“Repurposing and remodeling greenhouses into eco domes? I would hardly call that busy. It was quite easy actually…” he dismissed before letting go of Bo's hand and producing a set of keys from his pocket. “Mind the snakes. Ahri is very picky about guests, and Jolene is known for biting tattooed men.”

They passed through a well lit room made to emulate several different biomes. A massive coral snake and an equally tremendous rattlesnake regarded them with inquisitive eyes, before hissing in warning at the three guests. A nasty habit they had to stir up some chaos.

“Charming.” Carl chuckled, giving Markus a reassuring smile as the RK200 seemed to turn a shade lighter at the quantity of reptiles in the room. A phobia perhaps?

The coral snake hissed loudly as if to confirm this, adding an extra spring to Markus walk as he tried to put as much space between himself and the android reptiles.

“Now, what I have to show you Carl, is something I've been very excited about the last few days.” Asad carried on as he led his guests to another door that led outside to the largest greenhouse in his property.

He'd made sure it had been correctly resized to house his newest acquisitions, and his darling Sasha lay outside the entrance awaiting them.

“Is that a tiger?” Leo gulped.

“Don't be scared mister. Sasha is a very good girl! She's the nicest kitty around.” Bo reassured as she ran to meet the big cat. The tiger chuffed at the child in greeting before getting up and walking over to meet with them.

She regarded their guests with mild interest before butting her head against Siddiq's hand. He gave her three nice strokes on her broad back before moving along. “Thank you darling, you may go play with Bo now.”

“Come on Sasha! Papa had Houston's hoof repaired so you can race again!”

“Is Houston a horse?” Markus asked.

“No silly! Houston is a zebra! They're stripe buddies!”

“Oh...Kay…” Leo shrugged at Markus when he seemed mildly puzzled by the idea of a tiger and a zebra being buddies, even if they were androids, before wheeling their father into the greenhouse behind Siddiq. He stopped not five feet in and stared in awe at the inhabitants of the greenhouse.

Markus and Carl shared his look of wonderment, while Asad smiled in satisfaction as he watched his herd of 40 android giraffes walking freely in the massive dome he and his team of WR600s had landscaped into an almost perfect replica of a South African landscape.

“Beautiful isn't it? And to think all of them were rescued from different decrepit zoos...They immediately took to each other.”

“Asad this is…” Carl's eyes were wide and twinkling. Never had he imagined he'd ever see giraffes roaming their natural habitat. Even if this was synthetic in nature, it still felt so incredibly real to them all, and it showed in their reactions.

“I wasn't lying when I said giraffes were my second favorite animal Carl.” He chuckled “I consider them Jeoffrey's legacy... All of these domes are the real animals's legacy in fact. A look into the past.”

“...Isn't Jeoffrey the name you kept calling the stuffed giraffe back at home?” Leo asked, to which Carl couldn't help chuckle.

“Yes, that was the name he was given when he was born at the zoo a few decades ago…” Carl replied “Jeoffrey the giraffe.”

“A rather classic and unimaginative name but it fit him. He certainly looked like a Jeoffrey.” Asad commented “It took me weeks to finish stuffing him, before I gifted him to Carl.”

“A gift I still don't entirely feel like I deserve after treating you so shamefully after the accident…” Carl admired sadly.

“You were hurt, and I lacked patience. I buried myself in work after I realized things weren't going to work out between us.” Asad gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. “We moved on, as did life, and we came out better for it…”

“...Wait wait...So you two were like, a thing?” Leo asked.

Markus also seemed curious on this same matter.

The two merely chuckled and nodded in confirmation.

“How did you meet?” Markus inquired. It must have seemed odd to him, an artist and an environmental lawyer mingling, like the tiger and the zebra. Not many hobbies they shared that could get them in the same room.

“Now that…” Carl started. “Is a funny and rather long story.”

“Well, we don't have to go back home until 18:00, so we have time.” Markus pointed out.

Leo seemed to agree with him, only once looking away to watch the giraffes. Two of them were necking, more so in a show of affection than aggression, while the rest of group carried on walking without them.

“Very well, I don't see why I can't spare an hour or two…” Carl began a tale both he and Siddiq knew by heart. “...You can say it all started with a lonely giraffe in a zoo..."

#eps writes:#fanfic #detroit: become human #detroit become human #OC Stuff #HERE IT IS: TWO OLD MEN KISSING SIME ANGST AND DEAD GAY GIRAFFES WITH UNORIGINAL NAMES

13 notes · View notes

skvaderarts · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth Chapter 27: Extrapolate

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Extrapolate

Note: I was today days old when I finally decided to buy an Xbox one S… I just couldn’t say no to the purple one any longer, even if it is used. I just hope it works when it arrives, or there is going to be hell to pay. That eBay bid was EXPENSIVE.

(-~-)

Beat by vacant beat, the young summoner’s vacant little heart searched for the life providing blood that would sustain it, but failed. He could hear the blood rushing through his veins, ears ringing as he gasped for breath that wasn’t there. Every nerve ending on the lower part of his body was crying out in discomfort, and he had no way of seeing or otherwise dealing with his possible injury. Whatever this patently awful sensation was, he just wanted it to stop. It was a severe detriment to his ability to function properly, and it was highly distracting from the task at hand.

So distracting in fact that he didn’t register for a moment that Sirrus had said anything to him.

“V… Oh, that’s a relief. For a moment, I wasn’t sure that you were still alive.” Sirrus said breathlessly as though he were stifling some sort of wince or another source of discomfort. His eyes were heavy, and his breath came in waves as he seemed to try and breathe deeply, only to fail moments later. It was slightly tricky to figure out what was wrong with him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Of that he was sure. “I’d ask if you were okay, but I know that neither of us is, so we can skip the pleasantries.”

With a vacant glance between the limp hand that clasped his wrist and the rest of the body that it belonged to, the young Descendant of Sparda finally fully registered the fact that Sirrus was there. His entire body had been flooded with enough adrenaline to kill a large mammal the second that he had been touched, assuming immediately that he was under attack and freezing. Everything about this entire trip to the store seemed to be designed to cause him as much distress as possible, his fight or flight instincts running on fumes at this point. He wasn’t sure how much more anxiety he could take.

Looking at his companion carefully, V suddenly registered the state that he was in as he looked him over. There were small lacerations all over him, probably as a direct result of being pulled through a hefty metal door. The fact that an object that was manifested in a place that was basically a figment of another being’s imagination could still physically harm them was admittedly very concerning, and Sirrus’s state wasn’t helping that any. But he would have to worry about that after they figured out where they were, and how they were going to get out of this place. He didn’t intend to stay in this nightmare hellscape any longer than he had to.

“You seem disheveled. I’m assuming that Belial did this to you?” V asked quietly, attempting to stand up and failing miserably at his undertaking. Although the dreaded burning sensation had eased up considerably, that didn’t change the fact that he was still very sore, and he didn’t know where they were. Like it or not, he was still trapped here, but at least he knew where Sirrus was now.

“Clearly. It’s rare that my opponents have the element of surprise. Well played.” Sirrus said breathlessly, forcing himself to sit up all the way. It seemed to cause him a considerable amount of pain to try and stand, and he stopped doing so as a result. “We need to come up with a plan. Did he say anything to you?”

“He had quite a bit to say, actually. But I feel like I might be missing some context in regards to much of it.” V said as he pressed his hand against the bleeding portion of his side. Despite the pain in other parts of his back and side, he couldn’t actually feel anything at the sight of the puncture wound. And while he was still bleeding, he could tell that the flow of blood had slowed down somewhat. His shirt was stuck to the wound, stifling the flow. “He said he would return to me shortly after he finished conducting some sort of business that he had to attend to. I would not like to be here when he does so.”

Forcing himself to his feet with a slight groan, V shuttered slightly. More than ever, he was grateful that he had managed to keep his grip on his cane. Even as he had gone tumbling through the darkness, he had only dropped it upon impact. His encounter with Nightmare a lifetime ago had taught him that it was always an unwise course of action to go into a fight unarmed, and he still wasn’t keen to make his familiars known.

Extending his left hand to Sirrus, V used his cane to help center himself. For a moment, his mind went back to memories that he didn’t like to recall. He remembered being trapped by Malphas, and the sense of helplessness that he had felt when she had stripped him of his familiars and sent him into her shadow dimension. He had barely been able to walk, weak, disoriented, and very much in pain. And although he was leagues better off now than he had been at the time, he couldn’t help feel his blood run cold at the similarities.

He had refused to die there, and he was adamant that he wouldn’t do so here, either. He had not lost that determination. If he could survive the nightmare that was the Redgrave City incident, then he could survive this. Well, at least metaphorically. He had made it to the end of his journey in that respect, but as far as physically making it out of there alive…

It was best that he didn’t let his mind wander there.

“Can you stand?” V asked, turning over his extended hand to help draw Sirrus’s attention to it. Perhaps he just hadn’t noticed it before? The young summoner couldn’t think of a better reason as to why the young man with the fiery hair would reject his assistance. Perhaps in spite of everything, he was misguided enough to think that he didn’t need it?

“Your thinking about something you shouldn’t be. I can tell.” Sirrus said through gritted teeth as he attempted to stand again without V’s assistance, waving him off gently. No such luck. His body continued to betray him when he needed it most, but he didn’t trust himself to not accidentally yank his companion to the ground. “Talk to me. This might be your only chance to do so until we escape.”

For a moment, V considered pointing out the fact that they didn’t really have time for this, but he decided against it. For all he knew, his past experiences with the Qliphoth might actually prove to be helpful in this situation. Sirrus’s question was not entirely unfounded. It probably wouldn’t hurt them if he took a moment to explain. That didn’t mean that the rest of his body didn’t work in the meantime. He could still look around and try to figure out their next course of action.

“Well… unfortunately, it’s a bit of a long story… ” He said quietly, looking around the endless expanse of darkness around them. Was there even a wall in this place, or was it just pure, infinite blackness that stretched on and on forever? He didn’t want to think about that being a possibility, but he knew that it might be the case. Given his past experiences, that didn’t seem entirely unlikely.

“Unfortunately, we have nothing but time,” Sirrus said with a soft, pained laugh. There was a certain wild look in his eyes that V couldn’t pinpoint as if there was a joke there that V wasn’t getting, but he decided to just let it go. Sirrus was strange as a general rule, but that wasn’t something that V could claim to dislike about him with any sort of honesty. Neither of them fit the typical definition of “normal” so it wasn’t fair for him to single out his companion. And at the end of the day, he had come here to help him out, hadn’t he? That was all that really mattered in a situation like this.

Looking out across the endless darkness, V lowered his head for a moment. He studied the ground below him in silence, pondering. He had always considered himself smart, perhaps not a genius, but intelligent either way. There was a lot of grey area between those two extremes. Above-average was perfectly fine with him. But for everything that he did know about the seemingly normal world that he had spent his entire life in before he had met his family, there were a dozen things that he didn’t have the slightest idea about. He supposed that that was just the way that the world worked, but in situations like this, he just wished that there was more that he could do. For him, one of the worst feelings in the world was to feel useless. Helplessness came at a very close second.

“Quite right. But either way, I’ll make it quick. Time is of the essence.” V said as he examined his side again. He wondered how long he could bleed like this before it became a problem. He didn’t feel quite as weak as he had before, more than likely due to his now much calmer state, but his question still remained, nagging him quietly from the darker recesses of his mind. Maybe the persistent lack of natural light was starting to get to him.

“That’s fine by me. Ready when you are.” Sirrus said as he seemed to adjust his back, turning onto his butt fully before attempting to stretch all the way out and stand again. He made it further off of the ground this time but was still clearly struggling as he moved to sit back down. His breath was shaky as though it took an unfathomable amount of energy and effort for him to attempt to do what he had just done.

“During the Redgrave City attack earlier this year, I was captured by a devil named Malphas. I don’t know if you know much about her, but she was involved.” V said, giving Sirrus a look that indicated that he was waiting for a response to his question.

Sirrus nodded vigorously. “Oh, we knew about her. My superiors have been keeping tabs on her for sometime now. She was quite the powerful sorceress, and as you have noted, her powers are not unlike Belial’s. He is considerably more powerful, however. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He paused, groaning slightly. He didn’t like knowing that V had been in contact with her. Nothing good ever came with interacting with that devil sorceress. “She dropped off our watchlist some time ago. We have not been able to confirm or disprove her continued existence, but I personally hope that she is deceased. Illusionary magic is a pain, and no one ever seems to use it for anything good. Belial is a perfect example of that.”

V smirked despite everything. “Well, it seems that I can give you at least one shred of good news today. She is, infact, very dead. You have Nero to thank for that. She managed to pin me down, and he did not take kindly to that.”

The look of satisfaction on Sirrus’s face was all that it took for V to know that he had said the right thing. He looked extraordinarily pleased with that answer. “Good. Finally something positive happens. I will have to thank him once we leave this place. Please continue.”

He took a moment to recall what he had been talking about before Sirrus had spoken, finally remembering what had been said. He was quickly developing a headache from dealing with this situation, and he hoped that that wasn’t a result of something more sinister that he couldn’t place the origin of. The last thing that either of them needed was to have their already dire situation further tampered with. It could only lead to negative things.

“A month after the initial attack, we ventured into the Qliphoth, and she stripped me of my “companions” and took me captive. We had made the mistake of splitting up. My prison was not entirely dissimilar to this place, although it was considerably easier to see things in. I can only assume that Belial is making things this dark as a means to an end.” V was admittedly nonplussed in regards to the pitch black environment that he found himself in. There was nothing likeable about how things were turning out for them thus far. “You could walk to the very edge of the area, and then you simply bounced back to the place where it had all started…”

He paused for a moment, frozen in place and thoroughly confused. Sirrus motioned for him to continue, clearly concerned. The young summoner collected himself and continued. “The first night that I was back… I had a dream. Or, at least I think it was a dream. It looked just like this place. I thought that this place was somehow connected to my… “ he trailed off, gesturing towards his tattoos in lue of stating out loud what he meant. Sirrus took the hint, giving him a concerned look. “For the first two times that I was unconscious after my return, I came to a place like this. Now I can only wonder if this is the same place that I recovered them from. And either way, do you think that the same approach I took towards getting out of Malpahs’s trap would work against Belial’s illusion?”

Sirrus seemed to consider his partner’s words for a few moments, thoroughly racking his brain in an attempt to come up with a satisfactory answer to that question. Failing that, he shrugged nebulously, wishing that he had something more profound to say, but willing to admit that he didn’t have all the answers. As much as he would have liked to not have to tell V that he wasn’t sure, he would be lying if he said he was. “To my understanding, basically every illusion of this sort works like that. Once you reach the edge of the boundary wall, you will always “reset” back at the beginning. In our case, that would be the exit and the entrance, which we could very well be heading towards or away from. Either way, we would end up there eventually. Well, that is if Belial doesn’t crush us both to death first. That’s always a possibility.”

A reedy cough escaped Sirrus’s lungs as he wiped his hand across his before clearing this throat and sighing heavily. Shuddering in obvious discomfort, he looked up at the young man that Belial was after. One could only guess as to his motivations for doing something like that, but far be it that he would ever try and understand the machinations of a devil prince. V got the impression that his companion was probably trying to conceal a more grievous injury than he was letting on. “I get the impression that your worse off than you look.”

Nodding, Sirrus attempted to stand again, this time not ignoring V’s offer to assist him. While he hoped that he would not cause the young white haired summoner to fall over and hurt himself, it was the path of least resistance in regards to standing up before continental drift eventually led to the reformation of Pangea. They didn't have that kind of time. “You would be correct. I’m somewhat sure that I have several broken ribs at this point. It’s unfortunate, but it is far from the first time that I’ve had something like this happen to me. You get used to it.”

While he didn’t doubt that, the youngest descendant of Sparda was admittedly concerned for his health. A wound like that was no laughing matter. If one of his ribs punctured an organ or pierced a lung, he could easily die, and that was the last thing that V wanted right now. To see the look on Magnolia’s face if he had to tell her what had happened to her nephew… he sincerely hoped to never have to experience that. And that was to say nothing of the fact that he simply didn’t wish that kind of pain and suffering on his companion. He had done nothing to him to merit that kind of thing, not that deserving it had much to do with it.

“But regardless, I think that we should go. I would not like to continue being his prisoner.” V said calmly, helping to steady Sirrus as he clambered to his feat. His balance seemed to be slightly unsteady as he adjusted his posture, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to allow it to keep him down. As much as he didn’t like it, there was no time for him to lick his wounds and attempt to better manage his less than stellar condition. He could do that after they were safe, and they were far from it where they were right now.

“Neither would I. Let’s get out of here. I don’t like cat and mouse games at the best of times.” Sirrus sighed, turning in what he assumed to be the direction of the edge of the illusion boundary. Even as powerful as Belial was, he liked to believe that he wasn’t powerful enough to make an illusion that was too much larger than this. If he was, then they stood even less of a chance than he had originally thought. “Catch and release is only alright when I’m the one doing the hunting.”

Everything within their vicinity began to shudder, the atmosphere around them changing as the very air they breathed seemed to press down on them, making them short of breath. A potent sense of undeniable anxiety overtook them as, from the depths of the darkness, a low, maniacal chuckle echoed off of the walls and a set of five familiar but unwelcome eyes opened just a short distance from them. Dread hit them like a brick wall as they realized that they were no longer alone. Belial had returned. They needed to act. Fast.

“Oh nestling… I think it’s a bit too late for that.”

(-~-)

Ok, so this is really funny, but I have fallen asleep at least three times working on this chapter! I started it on monday, then fell asleep. Got about two pages done, then fell asleep again. Tried to get something done yesterday, but I was busy. And guess what: I fell asleep again! IDK what’s wrong with me! Trying to adjust my sleep schedule is strange.

In regards to an update on the books: The final edits are done, and the cover art is in the process of being created! I got to see the first outline yesterday, and so far, it is BEAUTIFUL! I have a feeling that those of you who frequent Tumblr might recognize the artist…

Due to legal reasons (you can’t sell fanfiction, even for charity purposes. Not that I was trying to sell it in the first place since I wasn’t taking payment. But still!) I can’t take direct payment for a fic, so what I’m going to do instead is open my kofi account, and if you’d like to help me cover the cost of shipping and creating the books, you can buy me a ko-fi as a “tip” in support of my overall work. I’ll post a chart with the cost of each book type and the cost to ship to each country to give you something to work off of, but either way, it’s optional!

There will be more details on there as soon as I get them worked out, but even if you don’t donate to my ko-fi, I encourage you to find a charity that you care about, and give them something. At the end of the day, that’s what I wanted to do with this fic donation idea! Once I have the book samples, I’ll get you a link of good charitable causes that you can donate to or just spread the word about! Pay it forward, and all that XD See you next Wednesday!

#V #Vitale #Sirrus #Hiraeth #Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #Post Devil May Cry V #DMC AU #V DMC #My AU #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #OC AU

0 notes

ohthehypocrisy · 7 years

Text

Voe woes of a Vai guy

Suggested by thecooksgirl.

If you want to suggest a writing prompt, go ahead and send me one! It has to be short, and no romance, sorry.

When Link woke up from his hundred year slumber, he knew he would have to endure many trials as he explored the land of Hyrule. He knew he would fight the toughest of monsters, scale the highest of mountains, cross the vastest of plains, and endure the most extreme of conditions. He was prepared to pick up the pieces of a fallen kingdom, and the scattered memories of his mind.

He was not expecting to feel so strongly about not being “pretty” enough for a vai.

Traveling and wandering, Link found himself in the southwestern corner of Hyrule known as Gerudo, characterized by its unforgiving desert. A means to an end, Link had to dress up in vai garb in order to infiltrate Gerudo City. One thing led to another, and Link was preparing to carry out an assault on Vah Naboris and free the Divine Beast from the control of Calamity Ganon.

But before Link could do that, he had to familiarize himself with sand surfing and taming the fickle sand seals. Originally, he had asked for the help of the tamer of these sand seals to get started. They had engaged in idle chit-chat before she spoke of a particular subject.

“By the way, what do you make of that voe incessantly jogging around our town?” she said as she petted the scruffy mammal.

Link knew who she was talking about. He had spoken with him before, before and after acquiring his special outfit, and learned of his extremely petty motive soon enough. He had managed to convince him to loan him some snow boots searching for this mysterious statue under the guise of a woman. Link knew full well what he thought of him, but decided to keep the charade up in order to acquire some rather nifty gear.

“Is that right?” the Gerudo woman replied. After a moment of thought, she asked, “...he does know you’re a voe, right?”

A moment of shock overcame Link as he reeled defensively, but she just laughed.

“Come on, you didn’t think you’d fool anyone with that garb, right?” she asked.

A bashful scratch of his head, and she continued, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna turn you in. Nor that other fellow using the same trick. It’s not my job.”

Link huffed and crossed his arms, as if he had something to be offended about.

“Don’t blame me,” she defended, “You’re too manly to be a girl.”

Link processed that one a little longer than he should have, and responded defensively.

“You think otherwise? You’re covered in scars, your belly’s too lean, your locks of hair are rough and ragged, and don’t get me started on your voice. It reeks of testosterone,” she listed.

Link took an introspective look at himself and could not deny these points. True, he was born a man and knew it, but he thought all this time he made for an attractive girl. After all, the other Gerudo must’ve thought so too, right? That jogging man surely thought so as well, so maybe this Gerudo just doesn’t know what she’s talking about?

“For your information, you’re the only ‘vai’ to have bothered talking to that man over there,” she pointed to him just as he rounded the corner, “Of course he would think you’re pretty. You should know why for just as well as we do.”

And that’s why Link has been in this spot for the past couple of hours, lamenting over his lack of appealing features. Night had fallen long ago and the Gerudo tamer had retired to a bed, but still Link sat there, hunched by the wall, studying himself through his Shiekah Slate.

The undeniable laid themselves before his eyes. His hair was messy and unkempt, ravaged by the intense heat and rushing sands of the desert, not bothering to comb it clean, even if it was suggested to him by the inn staff. His chiseled body illuminated by the moonlight highlighted his manly features such as his abs, chin, and arms. And his eyes, though shimmering with frailty, were honed and hardened to gaze down even Lynels. Every feature of his conflicted with his own perception of femininity, until he could no longer deny that he wasn’t pretty at all.

But why did it bother him so much?

It wouldn’t matter if he was born a girl, a zora, goron, or even a deku scrub. If he was destined to save the world, he could either be the manliest of men or the most beautiful of woman. He would find a way to do it, no matter the obstacles. He had been chosen by the gods, after all, and he was needed by Zelda. That should give him all the courage needed to save this lost world.

Even if he was not a pretty girl.

“What’s the matter, Link?”

The sun had risen. Here, Link stood before Riju, chief of the Gerudo, at the outpost positioned by the raging sandstorm of Vah Naboris. The woes of yesterday had yet to leave him, and his insecurities were clearly written all over him.

For Riju, this was unacceptable. If he was chosen to hold the Shiekah Slate, and to help calm Vah Naboris, she needed him to be in peace of mind before tackling such a grand beast. Again, she pestered him.

“Look at me, Link,” she said as she lifted the slightly oversized Thunder Helm from her head, “I can’t have you in a dangerous mission with something trivial on your mind. We’ll both need to focus, so what ails you?”

Link was still wearing the Gerudo Vai outfit, having reached the outpost in the warming beams of the morning sun. Once they topple Vah Naboris, it’ll be a while before he sees the Gerudo again. He was no stranger to deceit, and yet, he felt he should bare himself before Riju, the last of Urbosa’s lineage.

“...I see, so that’s what you really look like,” Riju said as Link removed the veil from his face, “I figured you weren’t really a vai.”

Link glared at her, but Riju could only chuckle.

“Relax, it was enough for you to present yourself to me, and I bear no grudge for you deceiving me like that,” she smiled, “Such laws are for the protection of our people, I assure you, not because we think ill of voe such as yourself.”

Link brightened up as Yiju continued.

“You are who you are, both how you see yourself and how you feel. No one can truly hide themselves from caring and perceptive eyes,” her gaze turned towards the raging sands ahead, “But do not lose sight of who you really are. Do not forget to love yourself as others love you. Because even if you look horrifying, you will still feel yourself. Even if you feel awful, you will still look like yourself.”

Silence surrounded them, layered between the whistling winds of the desert and the rampaging claps of thunder. Riju turned to him and apologized.

“Sorry, I was reminiscing,” she bowed, “My mother taught me never to pretend to be anything more than myself, as rulers should never allow pride to direct them.”

Link nodded in understanding, and the lament he wallowed in all of yesterday night had vanished completely. He looked at the veil in his hands and put it back on, because he decided for himself if he looked like a vai or not; and also because it was getting warmer in the desert.

“Ready?” Riju asked. With newfound resolve, Link was already fastening a rope with his hand. With a nod, he and Riju took off towards Vah Naboris, somewhere in the scouring sandstorm winds.

#breath of the wild #botw #link #riju #gerudo #fanfic

26 notes · View notes

rememberthe4th · 8 years

Text

Tales of the Hunt- “Vampire-Beast”

The Hunter turned the desiccated pet over, carefully inspecting the small slits cut by needle-like incisors in several places along its neck. Deep cuts along the face and shoulder tell of its predator’s hooked claws which pinned the poor pet to the dirt as the beast fed.

The pet under inspection was called “Scoob,” and before his murder Scoob was a happy and healthy Great-Dane of seven years, beloved by his owner: Bill Tuckett. Bill had been warned of something lurking around the area after his neighbor’s sheep had started disappearing. Bill had seen what happens to livestock when foreign predators migrate through, as he’d lost many a goat to passing mountain-lions or panthers, so he kept his chickens in their coop and the goats sheltered when the sun started hanging low. He was certain Scoob would be able to handle himself and the rest should anything threaten their peaceful little farm.

When Bill found Scoob dead and drained there on his front-porch, he knew this wasn’t any ordinary beast-of-the-wild. As with most of the clients the Woodsmen aid, he made a few right/lucky phone-calls, and soon found the old Hunter waiting at his doorstep. The Clan had been hunting the remnants of a Mayan-era plague, and Bill’s assault perfectly fit the bill.

The why of the beasts’ origin has been lost to the ages, but it was unmistakably unleashed as an act of war. Bearing every sign of Unholy birth, the beasts preyed on the livestock and young of enemy villages, at-first. Like most of the curses and unnatural means the natives used against one-another their influence remained long after the grudge-holders had been put to rest.

It seems the beasts were either unable to reproduce, or choose to remain of a small-pack-size as their presence hadn’t expanded as rapidly as one might expect. The Woodsmen believed this to be a display of intellect: as a smaller pack requires less food; less food less evidence. Members within both ends of the North American continent had encountered one or two of these creatures across the ages, though no encounter had yet to yield any productive-information.

Called the ‘chupacabra’ in the south, and the ‘vampire-beast’ a little further-north; it was a lanky-four-legged creature of mammal-nature, and resembling a canine. The beast was notorious for attacking small animals of any kind, and leaving a blood-drained husk in their wake. This signature-style of feeding is what first drew the masses’ eye towards the beasts, and spurred the Woodsmen to finish their task; regardless of how slippery their prey had been.

So, when a back-country farmer a few miles from the Sovereign State of Texas’ growing borders cried ‘wolf,’ the Woodsmen Clan was ready to see this scourge at last extinct. While operatives combed the surrounding farms and forests, they summoned the Old Hunter himself to answer the call.

Bill watched the strange-man, who had to be at-least in his sixties or seventies by his white-hair and tired-eyes, as he delicately probed Scoob for answers. The heart-broken farmer had to focus on the stranger, with his black-fur poncho that concealed rattling-tools which chimed when he first knelt beside the dog. He knew by this stranger’s very presence that his call had summoned someone several-steps-above the local law-enforcement; and he did his best to let the man do his work; sticking around to answer any questions. The stranger didn’t ask any.

When the Old Hunter was certain, he left Bill and Scoob for only a moment to make the confirmation. After what had to be the shortest business-related call Bill had ever witnessed, the Hunter returned with an apology, and a small black-envelope produced from the dark-abyss under that poncho. He told Bill that the amount inside should be sufficient to cover his losses and ensure any-further cooperation. Bill eagerly opened the envelope; hardly hearing the stranger’s boots leave his porch. When he looked up to search the man for any sign that this wasn’t real, he found himself alone with his dead-dog and one hell-of-a-check. Leaving Scoob to sleep under the warming-Southern-sun, Bill went inside to ponder where he would even cash the damn-thing.

Flattened-grass and a small-trail of blood showed the Hunter where Scoob had been found, his impression-still clear in the unwashed ground. The aging-guard dog had been sleeping on the job when he was ambushed, the weight of the beast pinning where he laid as it went to work. The poor dog’s impressive-jaws and claws couldn’t save him; such little signs of struggle. The beast was tidy to say the least, but there was enough to started. The Hunt was on.

While the other Woodsmen set-up perimeter cameras and ensured Bill’s farm was the only with exposed livestock over those next-few-nights, the Hunter carefully led a few kids out into the pasture. Out of sight and out of scent, he hid among the dense branches of a nearby shade-tree. Bill corralled the rest as the sunset, leaving their trio alone to face the night. The two young-goats cried in the darkness, afraid of anything and everything which they could not see. The Old Hunter was silent.

The rustle of the passing-breeze spooked the twins, and for the first time since the sun had set, their cries were not met with the hungry-howls of the wild. The Old Hunter blinked several-times, hard; as if to wake himself. He slowly leaned off of the tree’s heart, careful not to stress the branches beneath him. The two had huddled close together; facing in either direction, but the soft-green patches of grass around them were still. As he watched, they nervously craned their heads from side-to-side, ears twisting in hopes to catch a sneaking predator’s slip. The night’s breeze rolled through once more, but the wind was all that moved.

A sound, not near the kids or out in the pasture, but closer to the farmhouse. The Old Hunter heard it just as clearly as the twins, but he didn’t share their scream. He shifted onto his legs, poking his head through a different patch of leaves for a better view. The silence was anxious, and fear was rife in the air. He’d prepared to leap down, now-longer cautious to the ruckus he caused. He would accept losing the beast if he could save the farm.

The kids cried again, as they’d long forgot about the Hunter’s whereabouts. He lept at their sound, but another scream was already echoing from across the pastures’ fence. The scream turned to gruff-shouts as dark-shadows started to dance by the barn. The Hunter was about to leap the steel-gate when a blossom of orange-and-red flames sent a bullet whizzing into the night-sky. The whip-crack of the pistol tore through the air, and the instant after the night burst into life: birds took flight from nearby-branches, the barn-animals cried out-in shock, and the rustling of small-paws. The fight had ended.

The Old Hunter ran to the barn’s small awning, and found himself face-to-face with the beast. As tales had told, it stood on long and skinny legs, the front legs buckling mid-way; allowing its slender tongue to feed. It lifted its narrow-head when the Hunter’s shadow fell over it, Bill’s blood still dripping from that freakishly-long tongue. Bill’ head was turned towards the back of the barn, but the deep-grooves those hooked-claws left could still be seen underneath its front-paws. Like a carpenter afraid of having the tape-measure rap his knuckles, the beast slowly retracted it tongue while peeling back its lips to display those razor-like canines. He watched as it started to hunker-down, building-up the strength to pounce.

The Hunter rolled his shoulders back, and even in his shadow that black-poncho distorted his dimensions. He took a sudden and sharp step towards the beast, and it snapped backwards quicker than he’d imagined. Bill lurched as those hooks tore free from his chest and face, but was stayed still after. The beast was not going to give any more ground; its face low and rear-legs poised like pistons to launch those four-pincher-like fangs straight at his neck.

The two stayed frozen like that for almost a minute, the Hunter unblinking and the beast giving a low hiss-like snarl. The collision of fur-covered-ribs and the barn’s inside-wall, some dismayed goat bumping it he assumed; caused the beast to flinch.

Two-bolts, fired in almost-utter-silence, flew out from under the Hunter’s poncho, one pinning the beast’s front-legs to the dirt, and the second sinking deep into its left-shoulder. Felled, but not slain, it cackled as he approached. The sound was sharp with despair, and, if it could feel it, hatred. The beast gnawed at the troublesome steel-rods which protruded from its skin before giving him another warning-bark.

The Hunter took aim once-more. The beast lowered its head in defeat, but he held the killing-blow. He kept his crossbow centered on its cowering-skull, slowly turning his head to the slight-sound of scurrying behind him. The beast cackled again, but the Hunter was quick to make it the last.

When the beast’s mocking-cry died mid-sound, that scurrying turned to a heated-dash. The Hunter was quick to pivot, but the silenced-steps warned him he was already mid-ambush.

The first flew well past the Old Hunter, but, as he watched the blur of deep-brown pass him, the second caught two claw-fulls of poncho. Like being hit by a fifty-pound cannon-ball; the Hunter was hopeless to keep his footing, and the two tumbled backwards into the innocent lawncare-equipment. This clever-beast ended-up on-top, but after the second-volley of steel-bolts pierced its gut, it rolled-off easily enough. As it curled into a whimpering ball, the Hunter rolled to safety; seeking out its partner-in-crime.

The first and third beasts were gone, and Bill offered no insight as to where they’d fled to. The Old Hunter slowly rose to his feet; not from caution, but an inability to achieve any greater-speed. He slit the throat of his whining-captive before stowing it into a plastic-bag.

After retrieving the two young-goats he’d used as bait and returning them to their now homeless-family, the Hunter made a few last phone-calls; each ending without an apology. He took his kill, and left the farm without turning-back. The Old Hunter rarely dwelt on failures those days.

#writing #short story

3 notes · View notes

trashpandaorigins · 6 years

Text

GSRB Scenes from a Life: Prototype

From the team that brought you The Shrapnel in Your Heart, who really should have had their Tumblr messenger apps taken away by now, comes an intimate portrayal of a retired life of leisure, except for when it’s not. Based on the ridiculous head-canon that Groot, Steve, Rocket and Bucky all live together in a New York City apartment after Infinity War. From misadventures, pranks, and drinking shenanigans to harrowing reckonings of their past, Groot, Steve, Rocket and Bucky will eventually carve out an odd little family for themselves. That is, if they don’t kill each other first. A series of incorrect quotes, flash fics and funny scenes/dialogues. Lots of humor and fluff, some angst….okay, moderate amounts of angst.

Read the entire GSRB Scenes from a Life Series on A03

Check out the work of my partner in crime at Skarabrae_stone on A03 and follow them here @captaintoomanybattles

*Warning: This fic contains discussions of torture, animal abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, and ptsd.*

1945

“Move, soldat!”

The man who was no longer Bucky Barnes, not yet the Winter Soldier grunted at the rough shove of the guards. His eyes tried to focus past the fog of pain as he was escorted down the long windowless hall.

“Move!”

The man who had been Bucky looked up as he walked, glaring out from the top of his mask. He knew the routine, better to do as they said then resist and get another beating. His eyes scanned the dull concrete walls; eventually, the one on the right-hand side opened to a window, into another room. He frowned, his mind never having seen this chamber before. Yet again, the tests did odd things to his brain. Cages of animals, the man who had been Bucky recognized them. More scientists and doctors restraining the creatures, taking notes. A fox being tasered, a recently dead rabbit being dissected. A raccoon kit dumped back in its cage, squeaking with the thud.

“Stop,” The guard ordered.

The man who had been Bucky halted, watching the animal lab as two agents and doctor discussed something. Whatever it was, it was not important. Either way, the man who was Bucky would have his agony waiting for him at the end of the hall. A deer limped back and forth in its cage; a gloved hand reached out and injected a coyote with something that made it wobble and collapse. The man who had been Bucky searched with feverish eyes and stopped.

“Move!” The guard ordered. The little raccoon kit, barely a week old, stared at him through the bars of its cage, baring its teeth, the red brown eyes piercing.

“I said move, Soldat!”

Another jabbing pain stung the man’s side and he lumbered forward towards the end of the hall. Towards his unmaking.

75 Years Later

“Are you sure it was him?” Steve murmured, fingers stroking Bucky’s arm as they lay together in bed.

Bucky stared at the glowing city lights through the window, listening to the traffic and shouting from people down below, a lullaby he’d missed so much. Steve’s arms around his waist tightened, head resting against his shoulder from behind.

“I’m sure,” Bucky whispered, knot in his stomach.

“Are you going to tell him?” Steve asked, a soft kiss to his neck. Bucky turned, examining Steve’s face in the nighttime shadows.

“I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”

He watched Steve consider for a moment, carefully calculating every possible outcome with equal thoughtfulness. It made him love him all the more.“I think you should do what you think is right.”

Bucky shook his head, rolling over onto his back and pulling Steve down on top of him. “That’s not very helpful.”

Steve’s musical laughter lifted Bucky’s gloomy heart. “It’s really up to you, Buck. But whatever you decide you know I’ll be with you…”

Bucky kissed him before Steve could finish, tasting that sweetness tinged with its own sorrow. “Til the end of the line.” Bucky broke the kiss for a moment, holding Steve’s face an inch from his own. “I know.”

Steve grinned goofily, kissing him again. “Good. Now, we going to agonize over impossible decisions, or do something else?”

Bucky felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Well, you know how much I love analyzing my traumatic past, but if you insist , I suppose we can...do something else. What did you have in mind?”

Steve reached up, running his fingers through his hair, and kissed his chest. “I’ll show you.”

Despite the pleasure of the nights, the knowledge of his part in Rocket’s creation ate at Bucky throughout the days for every day that week. He could barely look at the raccoonoid even as the two of them moved through the small apartment. Every now and then, Bucky would spare a grunt in response to Rocket’s demands and would turn away, avoiding him whenever possible. Still, the guilt threatened to consume him, and would not be contained. After hours of overthinking, Bucky managed to narrow the consequences of telling Rocket the truth down to two possible outcomes: he’d get shot, or he’d get shot more than once. Neither were ideal, so Bucky settled on dropping the confession unless Rocket himself brought up the subject.

Unfortunately for him, the raccoonoid did just that several days later, after the four of them had been playing cards and drinking beer in the living room. Groot turned in for the night first, growing them each a flower before taking off down the hall to his room.

Steve followed suit. “Good night, guys.” He stood, throwing in his cards.

“You’re leaving?” Bucky accused, fixing him with a look. Sure, he’d decided to let Rocket bring up the subject first, but Steve was not helping by leaving the two of them alone.

“I’m gonna go finish the drawing I was working on.” He kissed Bucky on the head, waved to Rocket and departed with a wink.

When the door shut behind him, Bucky shivered with the chill of the unspoken words lingering in the air of the room. Rocket hissed, finishing his beer, and began to reshuffle the cards.

“You gotta step up your poker game Barnes, you’re losing to a genetically modified….whatever I am. ”

Bucky leaned back against the sofa, taking a swig of his own beer and set it down. There it was, the door was wide open... He took a deep breath. “Prototype.”

A tense silence fell between them, Rocket’s ear twitched slowly. He looked over his shoulder to Bucky, glaring.

“Prototype? What...what are you saying, man?”

Too late to go back now, just tell him. He deserves to know.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands in nervousness. “What I’m saying is….the reason they did those things to you, created you...was because they were perfecting their tests. So they could do them on me.”

He waited for Rocket to turn on him, expected to be staring down the barrel of a gun. But Rocket only fully turned to face him, eyes glaring suspiciously.

“Tsch , ain’t true! Your back from when, caveman times?” His voice rose in anger.

“1940s,” Bucky answered as calmly as he could manage.

Rocket’s clawed hand balled into a fist, his tail lashing. “Whatever! I wasn’t even around then! How could I be…”

With that the walls came down, tears of some ineffable emotion took hold behind Bucky’s eyes, heart hammering. “89P13!” He managed, voice hoarse. “That was your number! I saw it. Burned into your ear. I saw you when they were taking me down for another test. They were...They experimented with cryogenics too. I thought I was the first, but…”

Rocket starred up at him, eyes wide with a fear that was quickly covered by a cutting glare. “What do you mean by that?” he growled.

Bucky lowered his head once more. If he closed his eyes, he could see that laboratory, the cages, the animals...

“The stuff they did to me it ….it….was precise. Invasive…..so many times I thought I was going to die. I ...I...wanted to die, but they made sure I didn’t. I was too valuable. A chief asset….they needed a prototype, Rocket. Something more…” The words died in his mouth; he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Suddenly, the city lights outside seemed to have gone out, replaced only by Rocket’s glowing red gaze.

The raccoonoid looked away, eyes shifting, piecing it together. Bucky glanced up, watching the fur on the creature’s body shaking.

“They needed something expendable. Exploitable. Something cheap that could be replaced with little cost...but close enough to human biology. A mammal, a rodent. One large enough to withstand the tests, docile… like a raccoon.” Rocket spoke the last few words so softly Bucky could hardly hear him.

“I’m so sorry...If I hadn’t…”

“No!” Rocket snapped.

Bucky withdrew his head from his hands to see the raccoonoid’s unreadable face leaning closer to him. “Don’t be sorry! If anyone here’s to blame, it’s me!”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak but Rocket continued, words moving as rapidly as his own thundering heart.

“I should’ve failed the tests, should’ve clawed out my implants…sabotaged the experiments...I….I should’ve died,” he wished for it with such longing Bucky winced.

Rage replaced the sorrow within Bucky, rage for the scientists who’d tortured them both, who robbed them of normal lives.

“Maybe if I’d just dropped dead they would’ve rethought the project, cancelled it.”

“Want to know what would’ve happened if you’d died?” Bucky’s voice mounted despite the hour. “They would’ve ripped out your cybernetics, tossed your pelt in an incinerator and moved on to the next poor animal! It wouldn’t’ve made a damn difference!”

Rocket leapt up at that, fur on edge, his claws tightened on the couch cushion beside Bucky, his teeth bared. Bucky reached out, the impulse to physically comfort strong within him as his hand moved to touch the fur of Rocket’s arm. The raccoonoid shrank back, crouching on all fours, hissing, his teeth bared and ears flat.

“Don’t touch me!” He snarled the warning with the same terror he’d seen in Rocket as a kit when the scientists with the gloved hands approached him.

Bucky dropped his hand, Rocket’s fright searing his heart. A heartbeat passed, another one, then another, the weight of the silence threatening to crush Bucky.

“I don’t want your pity, Barnes,” The raccoonoid said after a second, though with less venom the before. He blinked, stepping closer once more, head lowered as if out of a daze, embarrassed.

“You were a kit, Rocket!” Bucky’s voice broke. “A baby!” The image of the small raccoon burned into his mind, the pathetic squeaking cries for help echoing in his ears. “For God's sakes, you’d barely opened your eyes, you were probably no more than a week old! I let them do that to you, to all the creatures they had in there-- I--” He heaved a breath, trying to calm himself. “All this time, I thought, at least it was just me-- at least, if they were torturing me, if they had me, they weren’t doing it to anyone else. But-- but that’s not true. I was just the-- the end product, the result, and you… you paid the price.” His pulse was no longer racing with anxiety; instead, he felt hollow, worn out and exhausted. “I just wish I’d at least tried to save you,” he said. “Any of you.”

There was a long silence; then a small paw landed gently on his forearm. Bucky raised his head, hardly daring to believe it, and found himself meeting Rocket’s red eyes.

“The only human who ever made me feel less alone in this whole dast galaxy once told me we were alive and they weren’t and that was all that mattered.” Rocket’s voice trailed off and he reached for Groot’s unfinished beer on the table, draining it in a single gulp. “He was right,”

It took Bucky a moment, but he smiled sadly, remembering their first encounter, the first time he’d spoken to anyone other then Steve in any detail about his torture at the hands of Hydra.

“He was, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rocket whispered, “he was.” he looked up at Bucky and managed a bittersweet grin. One paw still rested on Bucky's arm and the two of them watched the reflection of the lights out the window. Outside, traffic still rumbled by, even at this late hour; music filtered up from a nearby apartment, and a siren echoed somewhere in the distance. Bucky and Rocket sat together, just close enough to touch, in companionable silence. Later, there would be other conversations, and the nightmares that inevitably followed this kind of revelation. For now, though, they kept vigil together, drawing comfort in each other’s presence as the night slowly drifted toward dawn.

#gsrb scenes from a life #my writing #rocket raccoon #bucky barnes #steve rogers #captain america #groot #gotg #avengers #origin story #rocket origin story #to be bucky is to feel guilty

0 notes

theglobetrottergp-blog · 7 years

Text

It was hard to imagine there could be more to see having seen so much in our first few days on the southern and eastern islands of The Galapagos, but we were not disappointed with our last few days! Every day I have seen or experienced something new and amazing! Even as I came to the end of my week-long Galapagos adventure, I could easily have stayed longer. Though I have to admit staying on dry land and getting some wi-fi sounds appealing. I’ve missed the blog and can’t wait to publish these Galapagos articles and tell you all about it! I also have many more adventures to come – next stop Peru! Watch this space…

Santa Cruz

Our first island in the central region of The Galapagos was Santa Cruz. Here we dropped off some passengers and acquired some new ones. After brief introductions we walked through the colourful town of Puerto Ayora to reach the Charles Darwin Conservation centre for tortoises. As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, up until the 19th century pirates (mostly from the Uk actually) used the Galapagos islands to hide on after pilfering the gold which the Spanish were taking to Spain from South America. They took tortoises with them when they returned to their ships as a source of meat with a long shelf life, (Tortoises can survive without food or water for 1 year.) But this dramatically depleted the tortoise population in the Galapagos. Add to this, that often the pirates bought with them mammals from mainland including goats which wandered away, bred in large numbers and happily chewed through 50% of the islands vegetation in 100 years, thus reducing the food supply for the tortoises significantly. It was a sad story for tortoises and now the islands inhabitants and naturalists are working hard to re-populate the island with tortoises. They are close to reaching the desired numbers and so actually the programme won’t need to run for much longer.

At The Charles Darwin centre we also heard the sad story of Lonesome George. Lonesome George was a saddle back tortoise from Pinta Island and was the only one of his kind remaining. Efforts to find a female for him to mate with and even attempts made at mating him with another similar type of tortoise, did not prove fruitful. In 2012 he passed away making the Pinta tortoise an extinct species. His body was preserved via taxidermy and is available for tourists to see at the centre. It’s a slightly surreal experience!

In the afternoon we had more tortoise spotting opportunities, this time in the wild. We took a drive into the hinterlands to a farm where the tortoises roam freely. A while back, tortoises were the bane of farmers lives. They ate the sugar canes and fruits they grew but they were unable to protect their goods as tortoises are protected and allowed to roam free as per island laws. This made life in the farming industry financially difficult and frustrating. Eventually the problems were resolved when the government offered farmers the chance to open up their farms as tourist destinations to see wild tortoises as there are so many (due to the supply of sweet goods for them to munch through!) This kept the farmers and the tortoises happy and they co-exist peacefully now. Whilst at the tortoise farm, we also had the opportunity to walk through a lava tunnel (where lava runs away and cools from the outside creating lava rock. It’s not for the claustrophobic but it was very interesting to walk through, if not rather eerie!

Santiago & Bartolome

The following day we headed for Santiago Island. Here we took a walk to Sullivan bay on the lava rock formations formed about 100 years ago. It was really interesting – it almost looked like the surface of the moon, only black! Dotted with the occasional lava cactus , rocky hills in the distance and the occasional lava lizard, it made an interesting place to walk. We were also lucky that a Galapagos Hawk took interest in us and flew over to say hello, pose for a few photos then soar off into the distance! Possibly one of the best photography opportunities offered to me by the Galapagos and there were many!

After our lava walk, we donned our flippers and headed out for a snorkel off the beach. We were all very excited to spot our first Galapagos penguin perched up on the rocks minding his own business. Others were even luckier to see another penguin hunting for fish and also to see a white-tipped reef shark! We were assured we were more likely to see sharks at our next snorkel destination near Pinaccle rock but wildlife can be unpredictable and sadly no sharks were found. I did however get a fleeting view of another penguin zooming past me in the water and another few perched on some rocks. The fish were also fantastic.

The same afternoon we headed for Bartolome island just across from Santiago. We climbed over steep red volcanic rocks to the summit (spotting a little snake along the way) in order to see the stunning view from the top. Sadly the sun was low in the sky creating tricky lighting for photos but trust me, the 360 degree views were just stunning!

Back to Santa Cruz

Our final full day was spent back on Santa Cruz Island this time at Bachas Beach. Here there were small spikes of rusted metal poking out of the sand which we learned were remnants of small boats which tried to get too close to the shore and were wrecked by hard lava rock under the sea. (Hence our boat was far out at sea and our pangas took us to the next beach which we walked from.) Just behind Bachas beach was a salt water lagoon where we were hoping to see flamingos but sadly the lagoon was empty but for a few iguanas and a couple of ducks! However, we walked to another smaller lagoon and were awarded with a sighting of one lone flamingo – albeit a speck in the distance! Hopefully I’ll have more luck seeing flamingoes in Bolivia!

Once again we had 2 snorkels, one from the beach and another off the boat. The beach snorkel was the best this time as I saw a shark swim past! Probably a white-tipped reef shark and about 1 metre in size. It was a fleeting view but I was happy to say I had officially swam with sharks (and survived to tell the tale!) Some of my boat companions were lucky to spot some bigger Galapagos sharks from the boat – at least 3-4 metres in length so I’m kind of glad we didn’t meet these snorkelling! I was oblivious whilst catching some rays on the sun deck watching the frigate birds soaring above us as they often did when the boat was moving! (Yes a few unlucky passengers did get pooped upon…)

Our afternoon got even more exciting! Firstly we went searching for land iguanas at Cerro Dragon. It was a really pretty part of the island with lost of impressive cactuses, a lagoon and a great view of the volcano peak. But best was getting to see the larger much shyer yellow land iguanas. As they are not so chilled as their marine cousins, it felt like more of a reward to see them! Shortly after we spotted a few and got our photos, we heard over the radios that wild orcas had been spotted close to our boat! There are only 12 orcas known to inhabit the Galapagos Islands and it is rare for them to stray from the west islands. So rare that Adriana, one of our guides who has lived on the Galapagos most of her life, had never seen them and was as excited as we were.

We ran back to the boat so quickly, hopped straight in the panga and headed for where we could see lots of frigate birds gathering. Apparently they feed on the remains of what the orcas don’t eat so they were a good indicator where to go! It seemed to take ages to get there especially as the sea was quite rough. We all were tense, keeping our fingers and toes crossed we wouldn’t get there too late! But then we saw the orca breach creating a huge splash! Eventually our pangas caught up with them but then it was a guessing game where they would surface making photographing them pretty tricky! At one point we were all staring off into the distance on the right side of the panga when we heard a loud Pffff – the orca had breached just metres away from us whilst we had our backs turned! However, clearly curious, the orca hung around a while and even swam right under the panga! (That was a slightly tense moment!) It gave us opportunity to appreciate just how HUGE they are! Apparently they can grow up to 8 metres and can hunt great white sharks! (Yet Roberto insists they are safe to swim with and has done so himself – brave man!) We finally got the photos we wanted of the black and white killer whale creating a huge splash right next to us. It really was incredible!

So now after 7 days sailing the Galapagos, we had seen sea lions, sharks, penguins, a porpoise (small dolphin,) sea turtles, giant tortoises, stingrays, marine iguanas, land iguanas, orcas and countless types of bird and fish! We’d even seen a brand new baby sea-lion just born! Surely we had seen all the Galapagos had to offer? So it was a struggle to get out of bed at 5.30 the next morning to take our last panga ride to Black Turtle Cove (especially as I doubted we could see much more from the panga than we’d seen on our walks and snorkels!) But as usual a case of fear-of-missing-out or ‘FOMO’ struck and I certainly was NOT disappointed! We saw LOADS of sharks swimming around the mangroves including baby hammerhead sharks! They were actually pretty cute! We also got to see two sea turtles trying to mate (turns out it’s pretty tricky!) Apparently this is incredibly rare to see and so we felt so lucky as we went back to our boat for a final breakfast and a sad goodbye to our incredible hosts and guides who couldn’t have looked after us better throughout our trip on the Monserrat.

Whilst I was sad my trip to the Galapagos was over, I felt truly lucky to have experienced so much in my 8 days . It was more than I could have imagined and I left knowing that the Galapagos Islands were a very special place indeed! If you ever get the opportunity to go, I would encourage you to grasp the opportunity – you won’t regret it!

As always I love to hear from you! Have you been to The Galapagos? Which was your favourite Island?

If you enjoyed this you may enjoy reading about the other islands here

The Galapagos part 3 - the central islands - killer whales, lava and sharks! It was hard to imagine there could be more to see having seen so much in our first few days on the southern and eastern islands of The Galapagos, but we were not disappointed with our last few days!

0 notes