#it's very sparse still i did clean some stuff out just for my sake | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

epochofbelief · 4 years

Note

Our couple just got together a while ago and they dont know each other habits yet. So when one of them sleeps really late and doesnt answer messages the other is really worried... I hope this is okay 😊 I dont have any preferences for our couple. But I think this would go well with Rowaelin.

i’m so glad I can always count on @queen-of-glass to provide me with a lovely and fun prompt:))))this is highly unedited lol

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The music thumped loudly throughout the house as Aelin and Lysandra pushed their way to the kitchen. She couldn’t remember whose house this was--Fenrys and Connall’s? Gavriels? It was somebody’s from the most popular group of senior boys. It certainly wasn’t Lorcan’s.

Finally, Lysandra left Aelin in the dust and returned moments later with two cups of beer. Aelin seized it, knocked her plastic cup against Lysandra’s, the they chugged in unison. This was their pre-graduation party, after all. No holding back, they had decided before they’d arrived. Aedion was going to be their DD, wherever he was.

They finished their cups in a few moments, squished against the wall near the staircase. Someone passed by with a bottle of vodka, offering it to random partygoers. Lysandra shouted, and the boy--Fenrys, Aelin could now see--let each of the girls take a shot.

“I’m going back for more!” Aelin shouted over the music.

“I’m going to find Aedion!” Lysandra responded, and Aelin rolled her eyes. If only her cousin and her best friend would DATE already. Barely two drinks in and Lysandra had to go find him, leaving her to fend for herself. Typical.

A few months ago, Aelin would have been able to go to Chaol. They’d enjoyed the few high school parties they’d attended for the few months they had dated. But that had been over for nearly two months. Ever since Lys and Aedion started... flirting? Talking? Whatever--ever since then Aelin had felt a little like a third wheel. She wanted them to be happy, of course, but her two closest friends were now so wrapped up in each other that Aelin had started wanting that for herself again.

Two cups of beer and two more shots later, Aelin found herself wandering around, looking for someone to talk to. Fenrys, her usual drinking buddy, was nowhere to be seen. The same could be said for Lysandra and Aedion. Without thinking, Aelin made her way up the staircase to the second floor. Despite the alcohol numbing most of her feelings, she still felt lonely.

She slipped into the first door on the right and found a teenage boy’s room behind it. It was clean, though, and sparsely furnished. The pile of basketball uniforms and gear in the corner was enough to tell her that this was Rowan Whitethorn’s room, and therefore that meant this was Rowan Whitethorn’s house. Shit. Aelin had been crushing on him since her freshman year. He was a basketball star, confident, reserved, a decent guy. She’d always figured she stood no chance with him, seeing as they ran in different circles.

“I’ll be right there!” A voice sounded from beyond the door and Aelin frantically looked for an escape room. There was nowhere to go.

So standing motionless in the center of his bedroom was exactly where Rowan Whitethorn found her, moments later.

“Hi.” He said shortly.

“Hi,” Aelin managed to breathe. Rowan really was quite good looking.

“Can I help you?”

“No...” Aelin was standing very still, trying to conceal how drunk she was. That would only make this more embarrassing.

“Well, is there any reason you’re in my room?”

Aelin couldn’t resist. “You tell me, Whitethorn,” she said in a low voice, fluttering her eyelashes.

Rowan blushed and pleasure coursed through Aelin’s body. Teasing, especially while drunk, was very fun.

“Funny, Aelin. We don’t even know each other.” He seemed fairly sober.

She shrugged. “Please. We’ve gone to high school together for four years. I know you’re good at basketball, you suck at English, and your math scores are off the charts good. You’re withdrawn, and...” Aelin realized she was rambling. It was her turn to blush as Rowan finally realized that she was drunk.

“So you’re saying that, since we know each other so well, you’re up here because you want to... what, Aelin?”

Aelin glanced at the bed. Rowan smirked. “You’re making fun of me.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Obviously, Whitethorn. But that doesn’t mean I’m not at least partially serious.” The alcohol was making her reckless.

He took a few steps forward. Maybe he was drunker than she had originally assumed...

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching me in class the past few weeks. Months. Years.”

He was close enough now that she swatted his arm. “Stop making stuff up.” But he was right. She had always admired him from afar--not in a creepy way.

“You know it’s true.”

Aelin blushed again. This alcohol was destroying her usual confident demeanor! And Rowan Whitethorn’s presence didn’t help that, either. “Well if you’ve noticed me watching you, that means YOU have also been watching ME.”

He stopped in his tracks, now only a hands breadth between them. “Fair enough,” he said simple, and kissed her.

Aelin didn’t question it, only pulled him closer, winding her arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around her waist as their lips met, softly at first and then quickly developing into needy and intense kisses.

After a few moments, they broke apart. “We are too drunk to be doing this now.”

“Who cares?” Aelin said, although she knew he was right.

“I do. I wish our first kiss hadn’t been while we were intoxicated.”

Aelin grinned smugly and placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, so does that mean there will be a second kiss?”

He chuckled. “Maybe so. But not tonight.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Chivalry. And here I was thinking it was dead.”

Rowan slid his hand into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. Aelin just stood there, watching him as he typed his number and texted himself.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” he said, and turned to go.

“Whitethorn.”

He turned, and Aelin crashed into him, her lips finding his. When they separated, Aelin said, “Guess that third kiss will have to be the sober one.”

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The next morning, Rowan woke up with a massive headache and happiness flowing through his veins. Last night, he had finally kissed Aelin Galathynius. Aelin had seemed to always have a boyfriend all throughout their high school career. First Sam, a less-popular guy for their class but one who was well known for his success on the swim team. Then Dorian, the President of Student Council, when they were sophomores. Then Chaol for a couple of years. Rowan had loved her since sophomore year, after he’d seen her stand up for Nehemia, her old best friend, in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of the whole school. Some of their classmates had been making fun of Nehemia’s fashion choices and Aelin had told them all to go to hell, earning a week of detention for shouting that phrase--and several other, dirtier curses--all over the lunchroom. But she had done it for her friend.

Rowan had been gone for her ever since.

He checked his phone. It was 10 am. Surely not too early to text her. Right?

He settled with an ambiguous “Hey.” Then he stumbled downstairs to eat breakfast.

When he checked his phone an hour later, there was no response. No need to panic, right? Perhaps she was still asleep. The party had gone rather late, after all.

But by noon, Aelin still hadn’t said anything. Rowan started getting anxious. Had she been drunker than he’d thought last night? Too drunk to remember the kiss? She had seemed fairly coherent, aware. Certainly sober enough to tease him, for gods’ sake. Rowan went for a run, then did some homework, ate lunch, called Gavriel to confess his anxiety about Aelin, and by 3 pm he had reached nearly catastrophic levels of nerves.

So he did exactly what Gavriel had advised him against. He called her.

After several rings, just when he was about to give up and end the call, she picked up.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded through the phone, harsh with disuse.

“Uh... Aelin?”

“Oh my gods, Whitethorn. Why are you calling me at this ungodly hour?”

Rowan checked his watch. “It’s 3:07, Aelin.”

“Shit! I’d meant to wake up at 2:30!”

“That’s still incredibly late, Galathynius. I didn’t realize you were such a late sleeper.” Rowan felt a little stupid. He’d freaked out for nothing.

“How else do you think I got to look this beautiful, Whitethorn? I need my beauty rest.”

Rowan laughed softly. “I’m sorry... I’ll let you go.”

“No, no, I’m up now. Now it’s your job to talk to me.”

Rowan smiled. “I’d be much obliged.”

They talked for the next two hours.

#throne of glass #tog prompts #tog #throne of glass au #rowaelin au #rowaelin #rowaelin prompt #rowan #aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #sarah j maas

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middleofnowhere92 · 3 years

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@imnotginnyweasly requested Ty Luko for my ATLA Valentine’s Day one shots I got so excited to write my fav OTP my hand slipped and it’s gonna be a two shot. Chapter two will be up soon.

The Worst Morning After (Chapter 1)

Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ty Lee/Zuko (Avatar), Ty Lee & Zuko (Avatar) Additional Tags: Morning After, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Modern Era Summary: Ty Lee and Zuko wake up together. It goes downhill from there.

Read on ao3 or below the cut

Notes: It might seem implied that they had sex, but we'll find out if anything happened in chapter 2.

Ty Lee blinked awake as the sun starting to filter in through the blinds. Well, she tried to blink awake. Her mascara had effectively glued her eye shut. She sniffed the air. This didn't smell like her Bath and Body Works air freshener. This place smelled like mahogany, maybe? She rubbed at her eyes and was finally able to get them open. She glanced around. Yeah, she definitely hadn't made it home last night. The bedroom was sparse. A few traditional Fire Nation art works hung on the walls. At least this guy had a clean room, or was it a girl? Geez, she must have had a few last night. Well, either way, it didn’t really matter. It was time to go. She scanned the bedroom one more time. Her dress was on the floor by the door, but where in the Spirits were her shoes...

The person shifted next to her in bed. Shit! She had missed her window to escape. Ty Lee was pretty good with people, but sometimes she just wanted to hit and run. She wasn’t in the mood to tell her life story. She should just leave now before they fully woke up. The only problem was her dress was all the way over there… She chewed at her lip trying to figure a way out of this.

Suddenly, the other person got up and out of bed. She screwed her eyes shut to feign sleep. She heard their footsteps walk away, followed by a door shutting and the shower turning on. Perfect! This is the opportunity she needed.

She bounced up and out of bed, the cool air making her very awake. She scurried over to her dress. She picked up the pink glittery number and started to wiggle in. She forgot how tight this stupid thing was. She bounced up and down, the floor boards creaking, as she pulled the dress over her thighs. The fabric finally bent to her will and she was able to pull it all the way up. She bit her lip as she twisted her arm in an inhumane way to pull the zipper up.

She pulled and pulled, but the zipper wouldn’t budge. She sucked in as much as she could and it finally pulled up. She spun around looking for her pink glittery heels. They had to be in here somewhere. She glanced to the other person’s side of the bed, but nope. There was just a pair of black jeans crumpled on the floor.

Okay, it was time for her to go further into this person’s living place in her quest. She pressed her ear to the door for any sign of roommates. She heard nothing, so she took a deep breath and opened the door as slowly and quietly as she could. She poked her head out, looking each way before opening the door fully.

She tip toed out into the apartment, scanning for the pink glittery shoes. They were six inch heels for Spirits’ sake. They shouldn’t be that hard to find, especially in this neutral decor situation. This apartment was actually really nice and modern. A little too blah for her taste, but definitely nice. She slunk through the kitchen and hurriedly crossed to the living room, when she spotted them next to the couch. She grinned gleefully as she hopped on one foot as she shoved the other in her heel.

Once both heels were on, she decided this was the perfect opportunity for escape. She stepped on the balls of her feet to avoid her heels hitting the floor. She made a plan to call an Uber as soon as she got in the hallway, except… She huffed her bangs out of her face. Where in the spirits was her phone?

Okay, she just had to be quick. Get it and get out. She hurriedly teetered in her heels across the apartment looking for her phone case covered in pink rhinestones. It had to be around here somewhere. She crammed her small hands in the couch, not feeling anything. She groaned, but scampered through the kitchen, looking over the counter top. She was about to head back to the bedroom, when she turned back to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of fireflakes and then continued with her mission. She could never pass on fireflakes.

She stepped in the bedroom and narrowed her eyes in search of her phone. She shook out the comforter, but no luck. She picked up the pillows, but couldn’t find anything. She looked on the desk, side of the bed, but came up empty. Finally she decided to look under the bed.

She wiggled under the bed. At least it was clean under here too. She saw the glimmer of her bedazzled phone even in the darkness under the bed. She reached her arm out and she hit her phone, sending it sliding across the hardwood floor. She wiggled further under the bed stretching her arm out, if she just had longer fingers. She made grabby hands, but the phone stayed just out of her reach. She was so focused on getting her phone, she was startled when someone cleared their throat and in a raspy voice asked, “Uh, do you need help?” She let out a light scream at the fright, her head bouncing up and hitting the bed frame.

“Oww!” She groaned. This person had the audacity to snort at her predicament. She glowered, “Are you laughing at me?” They answered breathily, “No…” as they failed to keep their laughter out of their voice. She glared up at them through the mattress. They offered, “Uh, do you need me to pull you out?” She rolled her eyes, “Absolutely not! I can-” As she shimmied out from her under the bed, her extremely tight dress chose that exact moment to rip from the bottom to the middle of her back.

As she heard the loud tear of the fabric, she realized what happened and wanted to burst into tears. This by far was the worst, most awkward, humiliating morning after she had ever endured. She let her head thunk against the hardwood floor, wishing it would swallow her up. It’s not like she had any dignity left anyway. She sniffled and Raspy Voice interjected, “Oh, um don’t cry. It’s okay. We’ll get you out.” Couldn’t they just be quiet? She didn’t need to be reminded that there was a witness to the least graceful moment of her life.

She shoved herself out of the bed. When she got out she huffed and sat on the floor, her back against the bed. She glanced around, but the other person wasn’t there. They stepped back into the room and Ty Lee tried her best not to stare. He gave her a small smile and handed her a red towel, “Uh, here you can, uh, shower if you want.” He went to the dresser, “You can wear some of my stuff, it might be a little big, but, um-” “It’ll be better than this right?” She asked as she wrapped the towel around her waist to cover the giant rip in her dress.

He gave her the same tight lipped smile, “Uh, yeah.” He gestured to the door off his bedroom, “Bathroom’s over there.” She thanked him and then slunk into the bathroom to escape the awkwardness. Well, he by far was the prettiest person she had ever gone home with. Sure he had a large scar over the left side of his face, but he was really really good looking. In the brief glimpse that she had gotten, she had noticed how tall and built he was. His wet black hair had been thrown up in a top knot, a few pieces hanging down in his face. He had just been wearing sweats and a v-neck, but you could still see the muscular build underneath and the tattoos that crawled down his arms.

She cleared her head of the thoughts and cranked the shower on, turning the water as hot as possible. She looked in the steamy mirror to see her gray eyes surrounded in smudged glitter and eyeshadow, giving her the appearance of a raccoon in drag. Her braid was frizzy and her baby hairs were a mess. She looked like shit. Guess she wouldn’t be seeing this guy again. She dropped the towel, then her dress and undid her braid.

She stepped in the hot water, letting it scald her. She closed her eyes, feeling the hot water wash away her sins from the night before. She leaned her head back letting her thick hair become absorbed and heavy with water. She turned, scrubbing the mess of makeup off her face. She stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out, attempting to avoid the inevitable.

She reluctantly stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around herself. She put some tooth paste on her finger and got rid of the taste of last night. She poked her head out and found the bedroom empty, but a black pair of boxer briefs, a worn Blink 182 t-shirt, a black Thrasher hoodie and a pair of black sweats were laid out on the bed. At least he was kind of nice, she thought to herself. She dried herself and hung the towel up. She heard voices on the other side of the door, one being the hot guy from earlier and the other sounded like a woman on speaker phone.

The girl asked, “So how’d it go last night Sparky? Finally get some?” The guy snorted, “Can we not talk about this?” His friend brushed it off, “Give me something juicy! It’s literally the only reason I called you.” The guy sounded like he was shuffling around in the kitchen as he responded, “I thought you were gonna let me know whose place we were doing your Anti-Valentine's day at later.” The other person answered, “Well duh, your place obviously.” Raspy Voice answered, “Spirits no! There’s pink glitter all over the place.” The other voice answered, “Glitter! What in the Spirits did you take home with you last night?” The guy awkwardly cleared his throat and said, “The line’s breaking up! I can’t hear you. Gotta go. Bye!”

Ty Lee bit her lip to keep her laugh in. He seemed like a nice enough guy. His words reminded her that right, today was Valentine's Day. The sun had barely risen, but this day was even worse than the Valentine's day that Haru had broken up with her. Last night, she had gone out for a fun night with Aang and Suki to forget that they were single, but it had somehow spiraled into the disaster of a situation she was currently in. She shook her head and put on his borrowed clothes. She finger combed her thick, impossibly long hair, but she didn’t have the energy to attempt to braid it right this minute. She braced herself and opened his bedroom door. His back was turned to her as he opened and closed kitchen cabinets.

Even though she hadn’t made any noise, he seemed to sense her. He called over his shoulder, “I got your phone out from under the bed. It’s on the charger.” He pointed to it with an empty cereal box, that he then tossed in the recycling. She bounced over and saw the many, many missed calls and text messages from Suki and Aang. She groaned thinking about all the questions she would have to deal with the next time she saw them. And she spotted her bag of fireflakes from earlier, perched right next to her phone. She snuck the little bag into the hoodie pocket.

The guy looked over at her and asked, “Wanna come get breakfast with me?” She looked at him wide eyed like a deer startled by a hunter, “Oh, I don’t want to intrude.” She couldn’t possibly go out in public like this . She was already horrified that he had seen her without make up, looking like a half dead zombie. She couldn’t have anyone else witness how utterly disgusting she looked. He just shrugged, “I was gonna go anyway, since I have nothing to eat here.”

Oh. So he didn’t really want her to come. That was fine. She couldn't blame him. She tried to answer in a nonchalant tone, “I ordered my Uber. I should really head home.” He turned to finally look at her. She had never felt so self conscious, his golden eyes seemed to be able to see every flaw in her appearance, as he took in her disheveled form. She became weirdly embarrassed as he glanced down at her pink glitter painted toes. He walked away and answered, “My half sister left some crocs here. They’ll probably fit you.” He came back holding a pair of white crocs that did actually look like they would fit.

She slipped into them and his oversized long sweatpants cascaded over them. She looked up at him sheepishly, feeling a pink blush tint her cheeks, “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She unplugged her phone and scooped up her heels while he grabbed a burgundy hoodie. She followed him out of the apartment and down the stairs. The cold February air gave Ty Lee a chill. She tucked her long damp hair into the hood and pulled it up. He glanced at her, “Oh, fuck. Sorry. I should have given you a hat or something.”

The two stood there in awkward silence. Ty Lee turned staring off into the distance praying this Uber would get here soon. Couldn’t this guy just walk wherever he was going and leave her to sulk in her walk/ride of shame?

Thankfully, the Spirits took pity on her and her ride pulled up. She gave Hot Guy a small nod, not wanting to really acknowledge him and her embarrassment, and then got in. As the driver pulled away, he began chattering about his cabbage farming business. Ty Lee stared out the window, trying to forget this terrible morning. She opened the bag of fireflakes for comfort as they got further and further away from the scene of her horrifying morning.

#poor ty lee #ty luko #ty lee x zuko #mids atla rarepair oneshots

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emybain · 5 years

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“We can’t do this” kisses for nodrian

this! was! so! much! fun! to! write!

okay but like, seriously, this may not be one of my best pieces, but it may compete with one of my favorite’s i’ve written

also, I really need to stop posting after midnight

this is based off of a kiss (kinda) prompt!

Nova wrung out her hands, eyes flying over the tiny studio apartment that was her home. She was almost nineteen years old and had moved into the apartment right after she had turned eighteen, yet she still had unpacked boxes laying around. But, for today, those boxes were shoved into her bathtub and hidden by the curtain, away from view. She had made her bed for once and wiped down the slab of surface that was her kitchen countertop and even vacuumed. Her apartment was sparsely furnished, which made cleaning for an event like this easier, she supposed. It had all the necessities: a bed, a dresser, a fridge, a stove and oven, a dishwasher, a small breakfast table with mismatched chairs, a second hand couch that had belonged to Ruby, and a coffee table she had salvaged from a garage sale. There was a laundry room downstairs for all of her clothes washing necessities. The only nice thing she had on display was the TV Adrian had given her, and even that was used; it was his old one from his room before he had bought himself a new one.

Now, Nova was a relatively tidy person. Not the cleanest person she knew, as she tended to leave her bed unmade for long periods and neglected to put dirty clothes in the hamper until laundry day. But today, she had to be the epitome of cleanliness. She scanned the five hundred square foot space for dirty clothes hiding, or, God forbid, the one piece of lingerie that she had received as a gag gift from Danna last Christmas. She had stuffed it deep within her least visited drawer of her dresser, not caring for the showy red lace. Bleh. She hadn’t seen it since she had buried it, but it would be just her luck for it to show up today, of all days.

She had been living in her apartment for approximately ten months, and Adrian Everhart was just now coming over. Not to see the space. No, they had plans to discuss one of Adrian’s recent projects concerning public schools. After the Final Battle, he had delved into a lot of volunteer work, helping to better the school system and helping the homeless and building shelters for those in need, among dozens of other things. Nova, on the contrary, had been pardoned by the Council for, in simple terms, doing more good than bad, and for helping them beat the Anarchists in the Final Battle. At the time, Nova had still been bitter and angry. She had wanted to yell at them that she wasn’t helping them because she had a change of heart, but she was helping them because her uncle had much more planned for Gatlon than Nova had known, and it would have resulted in thousands upon thousands of innocent lives being lost. But she hadn’t, for one wrong word would’ve sent her to prison, possibly for life. So instead, Nova chose to work with them, and speak out for improving the government and making it a democracy where the citizens could be involved instead of letting the Renegades handle everything. Others joined her cause, even older citizens. While she was still involved with the Renegades creating a plan to change the way their small portion of the world was governed, she had put more time and interest in helping the citizens of Gatlon in self defense and being able to rely on themselves and targeting a large age demographic. The public had been tentative at first, seeing as Nova came from a questionable past, but slowly, her program began to gain popularity. Still, she hadn’t completely earned the public’s trust. She received hate and criticism from strangers, and many still crossed the street when she walked down the sidewalk. But she had gotten used to it.

There was a knock at the front door, jolting Nova out of her thoughts. Her eyes widened, and she scurried across the room to the kitchenette, opening a drawer and digging through it. When she found the lighter, she rushed over to the coffee table where a small candle waited to be lit. It was pumpkin pie scented, which didn’t match the nearing spring season, but it had been the best smelling candle in the clearance section at the store across from her apartment. There was another knock as Nova hurried back to the kitchenette to put away the lighter. She cursed.

“Just a minute!” she called out, heading to the door. She paused in front of the mirror, an unnecessary item in her home that Oscar insisted she needed. There was a small tea stain on the corner of her hoodie, and a rip in the knee of her leggings. The socks on her feet didn’t match. Well, it wasn’t like this was a date. It was a meeting. And her attire would have to do. With a small sigh, she went to the door and swung it open.

“Hey, sorry about that.” Nova smiled brightly up at Adrian. She could’ve sworn he did a once over of her outfit, and the small quirk of his lips only served as evidence. She swallowed and held the door open more. “Ready to get to work?”

“Yeah.” Adrian stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him, hand tightening around the knob as he looked around her apartment with interest.

“It may look small, but it’s more than enough.” Nova bit her lip. Even now, she frantically searched for a bra peeking out from under a piece of furniture. Adrian turned back around, offering a supportive smile, but it did nothing to soothe the hammering in Nova’s heart.

Because Nova had a small problem. Even though they had agreed to break up and be nothing more than allies after the Final Battle, for obvious reasons, Nova was still very much attracted to Adrian Everhart. And as of the past…year or so, very much in love with him.

“It’s nice.” Adrian looked around again. At his old TV, at the few picture frames on her nightstand, at her bed. “Very…minimalistic.”

They broke into an awkward silence, Adrian turning his head to see more of her home and Nova watching his face for any bad reactions. Finally, she let out a shaky breath and forced herself to let go of the doorknob,

“Please, sit.” Nova waved at her couch, only sitting down once Adrian was seated. She made sure they were a good two feet apart. She reached for her notepad, which she had pre-placed on the coffee table for today, and the pen that sat beside it. “So, self defense training lessons in schools? How exactly would that work out?”

Adrian shifted his knees toward her, and she could’ve sworn he inched closer. “Well, like I told you the other day, we could make a pitch to all the schools in Gatlon once we have a program set up. I’m thinking this could be more for middle school and high school kids, but we could also offer easier stuff for elementary schools. Make it more fun for the younger kids, you know? More of an introduction into self defense, and the basics.” He licked his lips, drawing Nova’s eyes to them. They flickered back to his immediately. She ignored how her cheeks heated up, instead choosing to jot down notes.

Nova tapped her pen against her notepad. “I work with kids every day, Adrian. The program is open to all ages. Offering time in multiple locations is hard. We only have so much staff, and being in many locations is hard on them, not to mention the cost for new equipment, renting spaces, paying our staff…you get the point.” She waved a hand and cleared her throat. “We’re still new, Adrian, and we’re very, very poor. And while I hate having to even charge for self defense in the first place, I would have to raise our prices to accommodate to your demands.”

“I mean more like a preview to the program itself.” Adrian shifted closer again. “I’m very aware of the financial side of things, Nova, trust me.” He smiled. Her heart skipped. “But, if we took, say, an hour out of a school day for an assembly once a year, make it a required event, invite parents to observe, etcetera etcetera, and have you, maybe, demonstrate some techniques, talk about the program, whatever, it could help the kids grow up to be more independent, and if parents are interested enough, it could help you as well by bringing in more customers. Not to mention,” he paused, breaking eye contact for a moment, before adding on it a much softer voice “it could help your reputation.”

Nova’s fingers tightened around her pen. She glanced down at her lap. “This has nothing to do with me, Adrian. What people think of me doesn’t bother me. I could care less what they say.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t let him. “And yes, I know what they say. I hear it every time I leave my apartment.”

“I just thought I would bring it up-”

“This is about the kids and the future of Gatlon,” Nova established sternly. “I’m simply here to help plan and execute it.”

They were both silent, neither meeting the other’s eyes. Nova did take notice that Adrian was less than a foot away from her now. That was partly her fault, allowing him to get closer instead of scooting away. The Final Battle for Gatlon was over two years ago, and while they had agreed to be allies for the sake of bettering Gatlon, and hopefully the world, Nova and Adrian had dared not stray into relationships of any kind that were not professional or friendly. Adrian had never truly forgiven her for what she had done, and she had never truly forgiven him for similar, yet different, reasons. At first, their relationship after the battle was rocky and awkward, then soon it developed into a professional one. Then, seeing as they were friends with the same people, they began to slowly become vulnerable around one another again, as hesitant friends. And more recently, Adrian had been showing signs that were not signs meant for Oscar or Danna or Ruby.

But that scared Nova. Their healing relationship was a good sign, yes, but it didn’t help with her very solid and very real feelings for him. And if those feelings were to even be expressed in something as miniscule as a look or accidental brush skin, their relationship could fall apart just as easily and twice as fast as it had reformed. A stitched wound was still an injury. It needed to be cared for and treated delicately so the stitches wouldn’t tear.

Adrian suddenly grabbed her hand that wasn’t gripping the pen, inching closer until there was very little space between them. Nova’s face grew hot, heart speeding up. She looked anywhere but at him.

“Is it so bad for someone to care about you? To want you to be safe?” he murmured, breath fanning her hair.

Nova gulped, lungs not quite functioning properly. “The only person who needs to care about me, is me.” She wanted to tear herself away from him, to rip her hand away from his, which was slowly interlacing their fingers. But she also felt her belly churning, telling her to just stay a moment longer.

He had the nerve to smile. “Then tell me why I do, too.” He leaned in closer, if that were possible, and when she didn’t object, he took the notepad and pen away from her, setting them on the coffee table. Just so he could take her other hand.

“Adrian,” she whispered, feeling dizzy and hot and a million things all at once, crashing into her.

“Nova,” he whispered back, a plea. Their eyes met, and then, by the force of gravity, their lips brushed. For that split second, Nova was on fire.

And then her senses flooded back, filling her body with horror and regret and a self hatred that had been kindling for so long.

She pulled her hands away from him, her dizziness turning to nausea. Her head fell forward, finding the crook in his neck, despite her brain telling her to get as far away from him as possible, that this was impossible, that he could never and would never be hers.

“We can’t do this,” she gasped, desperate for the air that he had taken from her.

Adrian was breathing as heavily as her. His hands found her shoulders. “Why not?”

Nova found the strength to push back, to give her enough space between them so she could collect herself. She could still feel his lips, just barely over hers, just barely kissing her before she had pulled away. “Because of you,” she said bitterly. “And because of me. Who we are, Adrian.”

“Is this about what we agreed on?” Adrian rolled his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. “Nova, that was two years ago. I thought I made it clear long ago that I had forgiven you. I thought you had forgiven me too, but apparently, I was wrong.”

“When did you forgive me,” Nova demanded. Her head was still spinning. She blinked, hoping it would help her.

“When you started showing that you really wanted to bring change.”

“That’s very vague.”

“Oh my-” Adrian groaned, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. “When you agreed to work with the Council on a new system.”

“That was, like, two months after the battle,” Nova deadpanned.

“Exactly.” Adrian nodded, tone matching hers.

Nova opened and closed her mouth, feeling like a fish. “Whatever…no, it has nothing to do with that.” Actually, it had a lot to do with that. Nova ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Adrian, you and I both know that we could never be together.”

“Why is that?” Adrian leaned closer, but this time, Nova leaned away.

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that my uncle was Ace Anarchy. And not only that, but I am the only well known Anarchist to have walked away from that battle alive, so the destruction my uncle caused is immediately my fault. People aren’t exactly fond of me, Adrian.”

“I thought you didn’t care what other people thought of you.”

“I don’t.” Nova groaned, resisting the urge to go bang her head against the wall. “It’s you who would be affected by it.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Adrian said quickly. Nova gave him a look.

“Really? Tell me that again when, in two months, say we’re out in public together and the media writes about it, you start getting death threats in the mail over our relationship. Trust me,” she said dryly, “you’ll care then.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Adrian moved closer again. Nova was out of room to move any further back; her back had hit the couch arm. His voice grew soft as he spoke, “Nova, I will never give a horse’s ass what anyone thinks of us. You have been all I can think about for three years, ever since I had to fix that damned bracelet of yours.”

Nova clenched her fists. There were tears at the back of her eyes. She blinked rapidly, hoping that they would go away. “Why? Why me, Adrian? I’m only going to end up hurting you again.”

He grabbed one of her fists and unravelled it, placing her palm over his chest. She could feel his racing heart beneath his shirt. “Then break my heart, Nova Artino. You have my permission. I am not fragile. I will only heal and come back to you, again and again.”

“Adrian, you don’t-”

“I’m in love with you, Nova.”

And then Nova, incapable of controlling her emotions, unable to think straight, because holy hell, Adrian Everhart said that he loved her, no, said that he was in love with her, pulled him to her. Their lips crashed together in sloppy delirium, but very soon, they found a rhythm. Nova shook as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands went to her hair, and he twisted them around so he could lay her down on the couch. All of her senses were in overload, spilling over the edge with nothing but Adrian, Adrian, Adrian in them. Far away, she heard herself say his name, and him responding with a soft moan. She thought back to their first kiss, a lifetime ago, and how this was so, so much better.

Only when Adrian kissed her tears away, before moving onto her neck, did Nova realize she had been crying.

Nova picked at a snag in Adrian’s long sleeved shirt, head resting in the crook of his arm. Their legs were tangled together. The sun had set not long ago, and they laid together in the dark apartment in silence, just holding one another and listening to the sound of each other’s breathing.

“I’m in love with you too, Adrian.”

#archenemies #archenemies spoilers #nodrian #nova artino #Adrian everhart #supernova #asks #my writing

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wroughtbetwixtfanfic · 5 years

Text

Love, Blood, And Rhetoric, Ch 3.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: Campbell’s just trying to survive in the new world. He knows he can make it– it’s everyone else he’s worried about.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Family Issues, Substance Abuse, Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Mild Sexual Content, assuming Elle and Campbell are both 18 for the sake of things, Underage Drinking, PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, implied eating disorder, Fix-It, Campbell has mild ASPD, and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 4782

Ch 1 || Ch 2 || Ch 4 || Ch 5 || AO3

Campbell woke to the sound of his phone beeping.

It was early. Sunlight filtered through the window, bright and shining as if nothing had happened the night before at all. It would have seemed like any other morning except for the fact that Elle was snuggled under the covers and snoring quietly. He considered waking her up, but she looked so peaceful that Campbell couldn't bring himself to do it. A few extra minutes wouldn't hurt.

He eased out of the bed and tiptoed downstairs, glancing at his phone. Voicemails. Texts. Two missed calls. What the hell had happened now? Campbell opened his phone and read over everything. Cassandra and Harry had texted and called him. Sam had texted. There had been bunch of robberies, and a fight had broken out at some point. Cassandra wanted to know if he and Elle were okay; Sam, to Campbell's surprise, also wanted to know if he was okay. Harry, as per usual, was just freaking out in general.

Yes, Campbell texted back to Sam and Cassandra, I'm fine. Are you?

Harry could wait. Campbell wasn't ready for that mess, not until he'd had some coffee; he turned the ringer on his phone off and let out a breath of relief. Luckily, Grizz had sent out a mass text to everyone saying the power had only been off for a few hours, and that Will said all the food people had stored should be safe to eat. Cool. It meant Campbell could cook breakfast. Fifteen minutes later and he was heading back upstairs with frozen waffles, eggs, bacon, and two cups of coffee. Elle was awake by the time he got back, stretching and yawning just as he came through the door.

"Good morning, sunshine."

Elle rubbed her eyes. "Mm. The power came back on?"

"Just in time to save our bacon, literally. I didn't know what you liked, so I kinda just went with the staples... Unless you're one of those free-range asparagus water types, then I can't help you." When Elle didn't reply, Campbell set the tray down and sat next to her on the bed. "Hey. No judgment, if you want free-range asparagus water, I can get you some."

"No, no. I like all these things. It's just..." Elle shook her head. "School here is almost as bad as ballet. There's so much pressure to be so thin and pretty. And people here just hate me, even when I look like they think I should. If I didn't..."

"If you didn't, you'd still be beautiful."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And you know what else is beautiful? A big stack of waffles with fancy butter and real maple syrup."

"I can't argue with that."

They both ate in silence, knees touching; Campbell tried to think about how to bring up the night before, but Elle seemed content, and he didn't want to act like it was some big deal. After all, they'd just slept. But what if he'd fucked up again? What if she was upset, but just wasn't saying anything?

But then Elle's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and sighed. "Cassandra's holding some sort of no-men-allowed meeting at the church. I should go and see what's going on." Elle inspected Campbell over the top of her phone. "Maybe you could go see Harry in the meantime? He's called twice in five minutes."

She wasn't wrong. More than that, there was another slew of text messages. Campbell sighed, giving Elle a spare toothbrush from the cabinet and walking her to the church once they were both freshened up a little. He waited until she was inside before moving on to Harry's home; he probably should have messaged first, but of course Harry would be home. He didn't really have anywhere else to be. Not anymore.

"Fuck. Where've you been?" Harry slurred, not even bothering to get up. He was sprawled in his bed wearing not much more than a sheet. "I thought you got beat up."

"Your concern is noted."

"You didn't come to my party, Cam."

"No, Elle and I went back to my place."

"Ooh, fun. I had some fun, too. Think I might be in love with Allie, for real. She's like... gorgeous." Harry pushed himself up off the bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. He didn't even try to cover up; he was acting like he was still half drunk, and hell, maybe he was. "Is that weird for you?"

Campbell ignored the comment, kicking some beer cans towards the trash. He very suddenly wanted to be anywhere but in Harry's presence. "You've gotta pull yourself together a little bit. It looks like a dumpster in here."

"Okay, mom."

"Don't be ridiculous. Your mother wasn't much better than this."

When Harry came back out of the bathroom, at least he had on some underwear. "What's gotten into you this morning? Would've thought you'd be in a better mood."

"Since when do you get to make comments about my sex life?" Campbell snapped. "Life isn't about screwing everything with a pulse, you know."

"Don't be mad at me just because you don't get any."

Campbell felt a surge of anger. His fists balled, and oh god he wanted to punch Harry so hard his ancestors would feel it. "Keep your fucking mouth shut, Harry."

Something in Harry's expression shifted, as if he'd become at least somewhat sober the moment he heard Campbell's tone. "I'm just playing around, Campbell. Seriously. What's with you?"

"Maybe I don't want to play."

"Are you... are you jealous?"

What had been rage mere seconds before guttered and went cold, turning into something hollow. Campbell's shoulders dropped. Their eyes met, and Campbell wanted to just say it. But it was too goddamn late. "I gotta go. Elle needs me."

"And I don't?"

"I'm sure Allie's available. Call her."

Harry stared at Campbell like he'd been slapped. Campbell turned on his heels and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. What the fuck had that been? Campbell fumed at himself the entire way to the church; Elle was waiting on the sidewalk, and though she smiled when she saw him, he couldn't bring himself to smile back.

"What's wrong?" Elle asked. "Is Harry okay?"

Campbell kicked a rock into the road. "Yeah, peachy. He's slept with damn near everyone in this town, and finally got around to my cousin."

"Surely you don't mean Cassandra."

"No. Allie. Cassandra, I could understand. Allie? I don't know what the hell she's thinking, getting involved with him."

"I didn't think you and Allie got along."

"We don't, but she's still family, and I'll end up having to hear about it either way. And Harry... he's just confused. Latching onto anyone he can for a distraction. But in the end he'll get left, and I'll have to clean up the mess."

Elle was silent for a couple blocks. "It's gonna get worse, isn't it? All of this. Cassandra said it's only a matter of time before men start attacking women. That's going to be a worse mess, if she's right."

"She isn't wrong. Did she say what she wants to do about it?"

"There's going to be a meeting in a few days. She told us to talk to the rest of you, see if we could get the men in town to agree to some ideas. Not taking anything, a work schedule, that sort of thing."

It wasn't going to go over well, Campbell knew. Even if all the women in town agreed to it-- and they wouldn't all agree, that was clear from the night several were prepared to walk out of the church-- that didn't mean everyone else would. "She'll have to get the Guard on board. A lot of people look up to them. Grizz and Luke probably will be easy to convince. Clark's an asshole, but Helena is tough. She'll crack him."

"And you?"

"I'm always on her side."

Elle stuffed her hands into her pockets. "It just feels so pointless. At some point, we're gonna run out of medicine. Someone will get sick and we won't have doctors. Electronics will wear out. Gas will run out. Power, water. Aren't we just delaying the inevitable?"

"Hey." Campbell stepped in front of her. "Don't talk like that. Yeah, we're stuck right now, but we can survive this. I will dump these fucks off a bridge if they try to hurt you. Okay? We'll be alright."

"You don't know that."

"There are a lot of people here who know what they're doing. Cassandra, Gordie, Bean. They're smart. So's Will, and he knows how to survive. Grizz is like a weird bag of cool special interests, and I can do anything that needs to be done that they won't do. Trust in us a little."

"Trust isn't my strong suit."

"Me, either. But I trust them, even when I don't like them."

Storm clouds were rolling in again. Elle looked up at them and shivered. She didn't say anything, but she stepped around Campbell and kept walking towards her home. By the time they got there, rain was starting to fall. Campbell watched Elle stand in the front entrance; the place was oddly sparse, for having been lived in for years, and Elle looked so small and pale among the stark white walls and hardwood floors. Suddenly, he understood what she'd meant by one person being alone in such a big space. It didn't feel quite right. Not at her home, or his, either. But...

"Can I stay over at your house for a few days?" Elle asked, interrupting his thoughts. "I just really don't like the thought of being alone."

"Yeah, of course. Estás en tu casa."

It didn't take long for Elle to pack some clothes, her make up, and a few other belongings. Campbell left and got the car, coming back to pick her up; there was no point in walking in the rain and having her stuff get damp. He helped her unpack in his parent's bedroom. He wasn't about to ask her to stay in his room. It was a huge assumption, and besides, he knew the value of having one's own space.

Elle was hanging up her clothes when she saw him stop, looking at a framed picture. "That's me, after that first solo I told you about." In the photo, she looked even smaller, with a big toothy grin and flushed cheeks. Her parents were darker blonde. Pretty. "We didn't get ice cream often, but we did that night to celebrate."

"They look like nice people."

"They tried, I think. I'm an only child, so they went all in on me I guess."

"What's that like?"

"Intense." She took the photo from him and set it on the bare nightstand next to the bed. "They gave me a lot of love, but they expected so much from me all the time. I guess it's an immigrant family thing, you know? Parents want a better life for their kids. They gave up everything back home to make sure I'd have a good future. It was hard, but I know they mean well."

Campbell tried to smile, but it didn't really stick. "That sounds nice. It must suck to be here without them."

"I do miss them. What about your parents? Do you really not miss them?"

"No. I know I'm supposed to, but all I feel is relieved."

Elle examined the room, her gaze falling on another picture. It was his parents' wedding picture, sitting on the dresser across from the foot of the bed. "I noticed they have a lot of pictures everywhere, too. It must suck, being in a place surrounded by them."

"I guess so. I try not to think about it."

"Have you ever considered just getting rid of it?"

Eyeing the picture, Campbell stood up and walked to the dresser. He lifted the picture off the wall, took it to the trash basket, and dropped it in. "Yeah, that does feel better."

They went through the house together, with Elle holding a big, black garbage bag. Campbell dumped in all the photos of his parents, and everything else that reminded him of them. He avoided Sam's room, and left the photos that were just him and Sam together. There was no telling what was going to happen between him and Sam, but he didn't want to bother Sam's stuff, in case they smoothed things over eventually.

When he was done, Elle hefted the bag into the middle of the living room floor. "What do you wanna do with it all? Take it to the dump?"

"I'll take it to the basement." Campbell dragged it away. "Thank you for helping me. It's better, not having their blank eyes everywhere."

"Also less weird seeing your parents' underwear in the room where I'm sleeping."

Campbell shuddered, taking the crap downstairs and sticking it in the darkest corner of the basement. Why shouldn't he? Until the adults came back-- if they came back-- it was his house. What did he owe them, really? He hadn't asked to be born. They had only done the bare minimum his whole life. Most of everything he had, he'd worked to get for himself. They weren't around to appreciate the crap, anyways. Campbell shut the door to the basement and put it out of his mind. Time to start looking forward.

They were making dinner when Campbell's phone buzzed. Harry. He hit the decline button, going back to stirring the tomato sauce he had on the stove; he wasn't in the mood for more drama and whining. Elle looked up from the salad she was working on the second time the phone went off. She didn't say anything, but Campbell saw the question in her eyes.

"I need a night to cool off," Campbell muttered. "I know he's probably drunk or high or both, and I just can't deal with him like that."

"Do you get into fights often?"

"Every now and then. We know each other too well."

"You'd think that'd help you fight less."

"Maybe. For us, it just means we know how to hurt each other."

Elle turned her attention back to the salad, but not before he saw the troubled expression on her face. Well, it wasn't any secret that his relationship with Harry wasn't healthy. Still. Harry depended on him, and he knew Harry wouldn't actually leave, no matter how ill-tempered Campbell got. Which was why, after he and Elle had their nice spaghetti dinner and headed to their separate bedrooms, Campbell read the texts Harry had left.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Please call me?

Campbell, I'm sorry. Pick up.

Please, Cam.

I need you.

Ah, and there was the sweet spot. Campbell smiled at those three little words, opening the message and tapping out a reply. Heading to bed. I'll call you in the morning. It was a cruel reply; he knew Harry wouldn't sleep well after that. It'd do the guy some good to think about being an asshole to his few, true friends. Campbell turned off the phone, rolled over, and immediately fell asleep.

The next morning, Campbell woke up to Elle sitting down at the foot of the bed. "Cassandra texted. She wants everyone to meet up at the church." Elle had dark circles under her eyes. "I didn't wanna wake you up, but she said it was urgent."

"It's okay. How long?"

"An hour and a half."

Campbell nodded and stretched, rolling out of bed and into the shower. He was half dressed when he popped downstairs, his shirt slung over one shoulder. "Why don't you go on ahead? I'll have to go drag Harry out of bed and haul him down by the ear, probably."

"Sure. Good luck."

He wasn't sure he needed luck, but by the time he shrugged on the rest of his clothes and got to Harry's house, Campbell had thought too much about the whole situation. This was a new world, one they were going to have to likely fight to survive in. Harry was going to need some tough love, if he was gonna make it. Right? Maybe Allie made him feel good, for a little bit, but Allie was also gaga over Will; in the end, she would leave, and Harry would fall apart again. It wasn't something that Harry could afford. It only made sense for Campbell to be hard on him, didn't it? It was pretty clear Harry's mental health was going down the pipes already. Once the booze and drugs were gone, how was Harry going to survive? Maybe Campbell was being too harsh, trying to put their friendship between Harry and Allie, but it was the only way to toughen Harry up.

The point was proven when Harry answered the door, looking like he'd gotten mowed over by a tractor. When he saw Campbell, his eyes lit up, if only a little. "Hey. I didn't expect to see you."

"Surprise. Jesus christ, have you taken a shower since the party?"

"Uh..."

Campbell stepped inside the house, shoving Harry towards the bathroom. "I'm not talking to you while you smell like a garbage disposal. Go."

Harry sighed, but did as he was told. When he came back out, his hair was combed and still a little wet, and the asshole looked like some sort of model that you'd see posing next to the ocean with some expensive, organic wine or some damn thing. Campbell scowled and threw him an apple and a bottle of water.

"What's this for?" Harry asked.

"Something for you to eat while we head to the church. Cassandra texted, she's calling for a meeting of some kind."

"Is that the only reason you're here?"

"No, but we can talk on the way. Get your shoes on."

They could have taken Harry's car, but Campbell chose to walk. Fresh air would do Harry a little good, and it gave them time to talk about whatever it was Harry thought they needed to talk about. It was quiet for a long while. Harry kept glancing over, but he just rubbed his neck and kept his mouth shut.

"What's going on between us, Cam?"

Campbell paused for a step at the sudden question. Fuck. Fuck, that was not the conversation he was expecting. Time to play ignorant. "What are you talking about? We had a spat. Whatever. There's nothing going on."

"Come on, you know what I mean. You've got to." Harry looked at him again, eyebrows knit together in worry. "First you hated Kelly..."

"Kelly wants me dropped into a volcano because I stole her pizza rolls in the 4th grade."

"...And now you're jealous of Allie."

"Okay, so why would I be jealous of Kelly and Allie?"

"You tell me."

Grabbing Harry's shoulder, Campbell spun Harry around to face him. "What do you want me to say, Harry? Huh?" He stepped closer, until he could feel Harry's breath on his face, and then a little closer still. "That I want you? Is that what you think this is?"

Harry swallowed hard. "Is that what this is?"

"It doesn't matter, either way."

"Cam."

"No, just stop. Even if it were true, you had years to figure this out. Years. But you slept around, and then you settled down with Kelly. Now, you have Allie. I have Elle. Whatever could have happened here, it's not happening now."

"I just..." Harry trailed off. Oh, Campbell had hit a nerve. The hurt in Harry's eyes was almost enough to make Campbell take it back. "I just want us to stay friends, okay? I don't want anything to come between us."

"We're still friends. That's not going to change. Alright?"

"Whatever."

But it wasn't whatever. Campbell could tell that from the way Harry pulled away, moving like he was trying not to jostle some sort of wound. Well, what was Campbell supposed to do? Harry might not have known specifics, but he knew Campbell was a roller-coaster. He knew Campbell had trouble with feelings. If he'd wanted something more out of their relationship, he should have said something sooner. Why sugarcoat the truth?

They had other people, and unless Kelly and Elle were interested in polyamory, nothing was going to happen. It sucked, but it was true. It still forced Campbell to look at those goddamn emotions, and that wasn't something he'd counted on having to do any time soon. Of course Harry was handsome. Most of the male-attracted population of the school agreed, even if they hated him. And of course they knew each other well, to the point that they could look at each other and know what the other was thinking. That wasn't even mentioning all the times they'd flirted under the pretense of a joke, and everything else remotely sexual that had ever happened between them.

But did Campbell want to be with Harry? Hadn't it all just been a little bit of a game? A phase? Some weird hormonal thing? Harry hadn't ever really seemed interested in guys, beyond Campbell. Maybe Harry was just confused. Campbell had already accepted being a little bit bi, even if he'd only ever told Harry. But Harry had never confessed anything like that to Campbell. Not until now, and even then, he hadn't actually admitted anything.

The rest of the trip was just as silent as the first part had been, thank whatever higher powers existed. By the time they got to the church, they were late; the entire church was packed, and Campbell couldn't even really see Elle in the giant flock.

"There's practically no seats left," Harry mumbled. "Damn."

Campbell shrugged, smiling a bit at Cassandra as she stood at the front of the church. She certainly had stepped into the leader role. "She called, and they came."

They found a seat, and Campbell listened as Cassandra began to speak. It was hard to focus, though, what with Harry hunched up and radiating irritation. Christ. He was already on edge, and a quick glance around the room revealed he wasn't the only one. Hopefully Cassandra was going to be careful. She was an expert on the debate team, and knew politics well enough. She was the best leader they could have. But... she wasn't popular, so much as infamous. They both were. He knew better than anyone that she had to be careful.

And at first, she was. Cassandra spoke of making an inventory of resources. A good idea, but then she followed it up with the words food rationing. Logical and another good idea, but Campbell could feel the tension in the room growing. Communal eating earned a few groans, but it was the sharing houses idea that shut the room down. Campbell felt a slight jab of disappointment. He'd told Cassandra it would be a bad idea. Yes, it would save resources if they were limited-- potentially-- but people would grate on each other. Even friends who were stuck together against their will could turn on each other. Strangers? Enemies? It was asking for trouble.

She continued on. Work rotation lists, good. Sharing the work load, good. A committee, excellent. There was a murmur of excitement when Cassandra announced a committee on finding out how to get home. That would be something to help keep people hopeful, for sure. They'd put up with things much better if they thought it was temporary. And, likely, they'd be used to the new way of things by the time the geeks inevitably came to the conclusion that they were trapped.

"I think we should take a vote," Cassandra concluded with a smile. "All in favor, raise your hand."

A large portion of people raised their hands right away. A few more went up, slower. More uncertain. A few women hissed at their partners, and another small group of hands went up. There were still plenty of holdouts. Campbell watched Harry from the corner of his vision, waiting. Harry didn't budge. A lot of people didn't budge.

Cassandra scanned the room. Her smile faded. "I don't think we can do this unless it's unanimous."

A bad move, that. What was the point of putting it to vote, if those who expressed dissent were going to be pressured into agreement? Wasn't a majority of the vote good enough? If she could convince them... but it didn't matter, it seemed, because those begrudging hands went up after a long pause. Cassandra glanced towards Campbell, who in turn looked to Harry. Harry stared back at him. Don't do it, that look said. Campbell smiled and raised his hand. Gritting his teeth, Harry raised his, too.

When the meeting was over, Harry cornered Campbell by the door. "What did you do that for?" he seethed. "Those rules are bullshit."

"They're not bullshit. It's common fucking sense."

"Easy for you to say. No one's gonna want to share houses with you."

"Elle already is."

"Wait, what?"

Campbell almost felt bad at the note of upset in Harry's voice. "I mean, you were in bed with Allie, so maybe you didn't hear. She asked to stay at my place for a few days. But honestly, with these new rules, I don't think she'll be leaving again any time soon. We're both kinda high key social rejects."

"I guess that makes sense, then." Harry studied his hands. "I better get going. Lock up all the valuables before these assholes move in and wreck everything." He stood, heading towards the exit, but then paused. "Would it have made any difference, if I had said something sooner? Would you have felt anything?"

"No."

A lie, but Harry took it at face value. He shook his head and kept walking. Campbell leaned back in the pew and sighed. Whatever was going on in Harry's head, hopefully it would blow over now. Campbell wasn't going to abandon Elle, and Harry needed to see his thing with Allie through. Even if it ended-- and of course it would-- he wasn't going to be the reason for it. Allie already loathed Campbell, and it wouldn't be a good idea to make that whole thing worse.

Footsteps came closer, and there was a whiff of jasmine in the air. "That bad, huh?" Elle asked as she sat down next to him. "I see you managed to get Harry down here."

"For all the good it did. This is all going to explode."

"I don't know. A lot of people seemed open to it."

"They did. And they will be, for a while. But..." Campbell rubbed his face. "Cassandra is a good leader. She's tough and she's fair. The issue is, she's a total goddamn extraterrestrial when it comes to feelings. Give her a puzzle and she can solve it, but this isn't just a puzzle. People are going to get upset, and she isn't going to know how to fix that."

Elle rested her hand on his knee. "Maybe it'll be alright. Sometimes people can surprise you."

Campbell wanted to argue, but he just smiled instead and placed his hand over hers. "Yeah. I'm sure you're right. What are you gonna do about your house, though, now that we're all getting sardined together?"

"Well..." Tucking her hair behind an ear, Elle hesitated. "I've never even really gone out for sleepovers or anything. The idea of living with someone else is kind of terrifying. I thought maybe I could stay with you. I know we're not serious or anything, but..."

"If you want to stay with me, you can. I'd be happy to have you there."

"Yeah?"

He gave her hand a little squeeze. "I seriously like you, regardless of whatever this is or where it's going. And like I said, I think maybe I do need someone there with me. Keep me from staying in my head too much."

Elle smiled, and Campbell felt that little flutter of warmth reserved especially for her. They headed back to her house, and she packed up the rest of her things. The rest of the day was spent moving; it was an interesting feeling, seeing her possessions slowly replace the traces of his parents. For the first time, the house started to lose that cold, hostile chokehold it always had whenever he walked through the door. It was inviting, instead. Comfortable.

They had some cheese pizza rolls and a couple beers, the closest thing they could get to the American moving-in tradition. Elle still slept in the other room, but Campbell didn't care.

Someone else there, someone who seemed to want to be around him. Someone safe to love. That was good enough.

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davidmann95 · 7 years

Note

Have you read The Metropolitan Man? I don't know what's your policy on fanfiction but it's a "realistic" take on Superman arriving in the 30s.

Haven’t read that one - looking over it briefly it seems pretty damn depressing, though I suppose that’s kind of the point. I’ll probably check it out sometime.

I’m definitely down for fanfiction, but there’s precious little with Superman I’m into - when I occasionally think of Superman fanfic I hope “cool, maybe there’s finally some cool cosmic adventure stuff in here given the comics so rarely go there, or some really insightful character observations of the kind writers too sparsely touch on!” and then it ends up being 7000 pages on a powerless high-school aged Clark’s torrid affair with Jason Todd behind Congorilla’s back or something. But keeping my eyes open, there’ve definitely been some over the years that worked for me:

* Superboy: A great little moment of growth for a young Clark Kent in a short animated comic by @jordangibson.

* All In A Day’s Work: Good chance you saw this floating around on Tumblr awhile back, this is another really great little short comic by Tom Gimlin and Marcellis Wentz, on the weight of the job.

* Superman’s Story: Opposite Number: An excellent short piece by @spectralspices based on an idea he was nice enough to bounce off me, as Superman goes up against a pair of challenges unusual even for him - one comedic, one very much not.

* Pop-Drama: Superman: I don’t know how much this really qualifies as fanfic in the traditional sense - it’s a broad story proposal by @andrewhickeywriter on an ‘end point’ for Superman - but it’s damn fun and satisfying. There’s also a follow-up article where he elaborates on a major plot point.

* Superman Lives: Another short comic, this time by Joe Otis Costello and Des Taylor, where the Superman of 1938 is beamed in a fight with Brainiac into the world of 2014, and Lois Lane naturally gets the exclusive interview with the returned hero, the story being presented in magazine format. The characterizations may or may not work for you - parts do for me, others not - but it’s an interesting exercise nonetheless, and Des Taylor’s work is absolutely gorgeous.

* @ck1blogs: Clark Kent’s reasonably infamous Twitter account. He is not good at the internet, or humans.

* @filmcriticsuperman: Less well-known than its cousin ck1, which is a shame; unlike most “Film Critic X” feeds, it’s actually…well, really good, courtesy of @charlotteofoz. It maintains the voice throughout and perfectly, and while half the feed is indeed movie reviews - always through the filter of Superman - the other half is just Superman talking about his day, and while it was coming out it was probably the best ongoing Superman material of the last several years. If starting at the beginning of the feed to get a feel for it seems too ominous, worth it though it may be, a good sample would be the more traditional short story she did connected to it, a Superman Halloween spooktacular by the name of Yellowfire.

* Kosmograd Blues: A short story by The Quantum Thief and Invisible Planets author Hannu Rajaniemi focused on a Russian Superman analog, it’s a beautifully written, somber story of a superman who’s long since lost what made his own life worthwhile, but knows he still has a job to do. This was to be one part of a series of superhero short stories set in a larger world he had built - he wrote a little more about the details of it once - but to my knowledge this was all that ever came out of it.

* Kahlil: An ongoing webcomic by Kumail Rizvi in which the last son of Krypton landed in Karachi; it’s been awhile since I last checked in on it, but I recall it being very good, with some spectacular artwork making the few moments thus far of super-ness really pop.

* Superman vs. The Universe: A spiritual cousin to Joe Keatinge’s Strange Visitor, this is the story of an all-powerful Superman at the end of time looking back on his existence as he prepares for his last duty; the prose is stilted in places, but there are enough great ideas and emotional moments in here to make it more than worth your time.

* Repairing The World: I’ll admit some bias up front since the author’s a friend of mine, but starlightify’s DCU series of fanfics - largely centered around Superman and Batman - are a lot of fun, very funny and heartfelt. Some good samplers with Superman would be Salutation and Canidae.

* Silver Age Superman: I’ve never gotten my hands on this semi-legendary bootleg 1990 comic by Ed Pinsent and Mark Robinson, but the likes of Al Ewing and phenomenal comics critic Colin Smith have both declared this comic - starring by my understanding perhaps the most alienated version of its title character ever - among their absolute favorite Superman stories, and their word is more than good enough for me; if you see it out in the wild, I’d absolutely say pick it up. And grab a copy for me, would ya?

* Luthor’s Gift/Starwinds Howl: Bizarre as it is to list any Superman work of Elliot S! Maggin’s as fanfiction when he’s one of the characters’ most beloved writers, I suppose that is what these two stories count as given that they’ve only ever been published online and maybe in a fanzine or two to my knowledge rather than with DC’s official sanction, and they’re absolutely of a piece with his novels Last Son of Krypton and Miracle Monday. The latter is his take on how Krypto arrived on Earth; the former shows how Superman finally left Earth around the end of the 21st century the way he often hinted at in his other works.

* Tales of Smallville: Near as I can tell, I’m the only person on the face of the Earth - other than maybe Elliot Maggin, who endorsed these stories himself - who’s aware that on the site supermanthrutheages, Samuel Hawkins posted a series of 4 Superboy stories; him revealing himself to the world, his first big adventure with the Legion of Superheroes, a memorable dinner with a guest, and Martha Kent on her deathbed. On these stories, I know two things. 1. Posterity will unquestionably not validate him. It’s a handful of Silver/Bronze-Age Superboy fanfics on an out-of-the-way fansite, no one will remember them. And 2. He is a Morrison/Ennis/Maggin-tier Superman writer. If I have ever written anything in my life on Superman that you’ve agreed on, for the love of god at least read Martha’s Story, it might honestly be my favorite Superman story other than All-Star.

So along with those recommendations, I do have to throw a request on top: I vaguely recall having once read a short story somewhere online years ago about a Superman-type hero found in a field as an infant by farmers - one’s an alcoholic and one sleeps around, but they clean up their acts for the sake of the kid. He grows up to become a superhero and occasionally fights a Lex Luthorish scientist with an appropriately alliterative name who accuses him of impeding societal progress. Eventually, the hero flies off into space once everyone he knows dies, returning occasionally to Earth as he feels drawn back, to defend it, or rule it, or just wander it in obscurity; his longest and last stay is when he falls in love with a woman who he meets at a restaurant, when she’s the first in all those thousands of years to make apple pie as good as his mother’s. Eventually, he lives to the end of the universe, where he finds himself rocketing back through time and de-aging, crash-landing in a field and completing the time-loop. If anyone could point me in a direction towards it, it’d be very much appreciated; I don’t even recall if it’s any good, but I’ve been trying to find it for years and it’s the principle of the thing at this point.

#Superman #fanfic #Opinion

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talesofwight · 7 years

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Evil, Darkness, and the Pursuit of Justice - FFXIV Story

((Oh, hi. I did another big ol’ write up on the abstract adventures of my dear Rufus, once again dispensing some justice in the desert. Under the cut for because I don’t wanna destroy feeds with a 3.5k word thing.))

Despite his numerous and sometimes less-than-reputable deeds within Thanalan’s borders – and those outside it as well – he never expected to be contacted in the way he was. He held the letter up to the light that the nearby lamp offered, scrutinizing the parchment for the third time, as though this was the time that the halfway-elegant handwriting would offer up any deep-seated secret to him. Reading… No. Nothing had changed.

“Dear Master Wightman,” he began, reading the letter for now the fourth time, although out-loud, “I beseech your aid in ridding myself of a group of vicious bandits who seek to plunder my trade caravan. I beg of you, it is the only thing I have left outside of Thal’s realm. The Brass Blades will not offer a simple merchant as I any protection, and thus I must write to you. Know that your assistance will be greatly appreciated and compensated for. You will find me in the town of Vesper Bay until the end of the week if you decide to take me up upon my offer. Regards, Eddard Reede.”

Rufus turned the parchment over, giving the harmless paper one final scrutinizing glance. Satisfied with his thorough inspection, he pulled himself up from the chair he had been sitting on and laid the letter down on the desk before him. He looked around himself, sighing with a sadness. Here he was in his “home away from home” – now his main place of residence for the foreseeable future. A small apartment room in the complex erected within the Goblet. He had purchased this small domicile some time ago as a place to stay when business drew him closer to Ul’dah than anywhere else. It was close enough to home that he could negate the buyer’s remorse with it. And yet, here he was now. The room was sparsely decorated and quite plain. It had the necessities – a wardrobe, a gear locker, a bed, a bath and shower, and two desks, one for working, the other for eating. He stood before the one for working, squinting his eyes as he looked to the daylight streaming through the windows, the shafts of light illuminating a mass of dust motes floating idly in the air, having been kicked up from a lack of cleaning.

Damn it all… I could use the money, he reasoned to himself, wandering over to the far corner of the room where he had dragged him gear locker. An ancient, well-worn Immortal Flames footlocker, property of his late Father. Where he had gotten it, Rufus had no idea. It was enough to store his armour at least, and that’s what mattered. His new, recently-crafted great sword sat but a few fulms away, leaning against the wall in its black leather scabbard. A long, onyx-coloured blade, with a curved cross guard, and more black leather covering the hilt which lead to a wickedly-spiked pommel. It had cost him more than a pretty gil, but by the gods, it was worth it. Begrudgingly, he set about donning his gear for the job to come.

Rufus always liked Vesper Bay. Mostly. The quaint, port-side town was an avenue to adventure. Good fishing could also be had on a lucky day. The nearby tavern – “The Pissed Pieste” at least had friendly staff. There were some scant few improvements to be made, he noted. Chiefly the eyesore that was the gigantic bronze statue of Lord Lolorito. Gods, it was hideous. A close – but still second – issue ever was the proximity to the Garlean base sitting barely a malm out from the town. Why the fortification hadn’t been razed to the ground when the newly-reformed Eorzean Alliance took the Garleans to task was beyond him. It was of little consequence. He had a job and that was his priority. He looked to the spot where he was bid to wait for his client, finding the area empty. He frowned. Things were different now, but an unpleasant itch burned in the back of his head. He remembered how a little over a year passed, he had been ambushed by assassins and forced to commit a slaughter right in the town itself. Not something he liked to reflect upon.

He had found a spot of shade to wait in – the bare rays of the sun were too much for an extended time, dressed as he was in plate armour. It felt like two, perhaps three bells had passed, before finally a figure approached him, fidgeting and cautious. Rufus studied him – a Midlander, like he was. Only shorter, with darker skin and clothes that only a merchant trying to make a good impression would wear. His level of success was easy to gauge, going by the lack of rings adorning his fingers. Ul’dahn merchants seemed to have a fixation with trying to fit a ring on every one of their fat fingers. Rufus lifted a hand in polite greeting as the merchant approached.

“A-ah… a good day to you, Ser. I trust I have not been keeping you overlong?” He looked nervously up at the armoured figure, and the imposing great sword that hung from his back.

Rufus offered an easy smile, at the very least courteously pretending he didn’t mind the wait. “Nah, not at all. I’m just eager to get on with this job. As eager as you are to be out of here, judging by your message.”

The merchant Eddard swallowed quietly, nodding in agreement. “Aye, that I am. Been living in these walls like they was a prison, you see. They’re out there… those damned bandits! Preying on the good and decent folk! Gods bless folks like you! Standing up for us who can’t ourselves!”

“Ah-huh.” Rufus responded curtly, stepping towards the shrinking merchant. He only noticed now, but hints of a tattoo peeked out under the strands of frizzy, dark hair. “I’m not used to signing myself up for this sort of stuff. Usually trouble just has a habit of finding me, and I act. Besides, I have my own reasons, it’s not pure altruism that drives me.”

“Whatever the case may be, Ser, I praise the Twelve for having sent you. If you would wait for a short bit more, I will have my cart prepared for the trip. Thank you again, thank you!” Before Rufus could even respond, Eddard had already cleared some distance off to wherever his cart must’ve been.

A sigh passed Rufus’s lips. Suppose I’ll refill my water skin at the Pieste, he thought.

They had been on the road for a while now – so long that even Rufus had lost track. He who knew the roads of Thanalan like the back of his hand. The trip was proving to be that dull. Little had happened so far. His ears were filled with the monotonous sound of the cart wheels squeaking as they crossed the dry, sunbaked earth, the occasional shrill ‘kewh’ of the chocobo leading the cart, and the ramblings of his travel companion who had insisted on giving him a not-very-detailed explanation of economics. Rufus could almost feel his brain shutting off.

Thwip! A noise rushed past his ears.

What?

It took him a moment to realize that only mere ilms from his head, an arrow had embedded itself into the side of the cart just behind him. He blinked, feeling the rush of adrenaline filling his system. “Attack! Take cover, Eddard!” He didn’t even need to give the order. Moving at blinding speed, Eddard had already barreled into the back of the cart and pressed himself flat against the wood, silently muttering a panicked prayer, his entire body quivering.

With the knowledge that his charge was safe now unburdening him, he felt the familiar excitement wash over him. He reached up to his right shoulder and grasped the hilt of his sword, drawing it out into the air with a metallic hiss. Gods, did it feel good in his hands. He pushed down the admiration of the weapon, setting his sights on the ridge over yonder where the arrow had come from, squinting. He could see nothing. Just rocks, sand, and a cactus. A diversion? He thought, whirling and jogging as quickly as the metallic armour allowed to the other side of the cart, scanning quickly for any signs of attackers. Nothing. Maybe they saw him and ran?

It hit him suddenly – like a wall of invisible force, it collided with him. A spell. Dammit, he should’ve known better. His eyes suddenly felt heavy, his body succumbing to the weight of his armour so easily. A sleep spell… He thought. He tried to fight it, but it was no use. He felt his consciousness gradually slip away until…

Nothing.

His mind swam. He slowly awoke to the sound of a screaming voice – a familiar one, at that. His own, even.

“WAKE UP, DAMN YOU! I WON’T DIE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T OVERPOWER A DAMNED PARLOUR TRICK!”

As charming as ever, his dark side was. But at least he had been brought back to consciousness. And likely sooner than he would have if he didn’t have a separate piece of himself living within his subconscious.

For Halone’s sake – I’m back! Enough of the screaming. He sent the irritated message to the other inside him.

“Finally! You’ve been down for bells! Our eyes have been closed, so even I don’t know where we are. And the spell blocked me from taking over too, so you’d better get us out of this!”

He felt the presence sink back into his mind, to wherever it dwelled when it didn’t have a complaint to air. He focused, bringing himself back into control of his body. His eyelids fluttered open, and he saw gloom ahead and all around him. He wondered at what time it was, but noticed that there was no sky overhead, and the sounds of his struggling echoed around him. He was in a cave. He looked to the right where he noticed the faintest glimmer of light exuding from a crackling campfire. His hands and feet were bound, tied tight and disturbingly professionally. He grunted, struggling again. It appeared his actions had attracted some attention. The shadows played and danced across the cave wall as a figure at the campfire stood up, looked his way, and began to move towards him. It was too dark, and the campfire only made the figure more silhouetted, he couldn’t see—

“Enough of your struggling.” Called a rough, deep voice. “If you sit still, and behave like a good boy, you might see yourself going home with all your limbs intact.” The figure, large and burly, but too short to be a roegadyn – a highlander male, kneeled before him. “See, we only wanted a chat with your new friend. And to make you understand – he’s no good. You’ve been had, friend.”

“…Wha—what…?” Rufus mumbled, blinking and willing his eyes to adjust to the dimness enough to make out a face – something, anything! He heard a knife being drawn, and stopped suddenly as he felt a point digging into his throat.

“I tell you, your new merchant friend, ‘Eddard Reede’ as he goes by, is not who he claims to be. He used to be part of our band, see... Started to have misgivings. Wanted to live a different life. In exchange for immunity, he sold us out. Sent us into hiding. We’ve been tracking him for moons. Nymeia has a real sense of humour to her. He got his immunity, but the Blades wouldn’t lift a finger to help him. Funny how corruption can work in someone’s favour, eh? What’s that look for? Don’t believe me? You see the tattoo on the side of his head? That were our symbol!”

Rufus scowled, deeply. Less so at the man with the knife to his throat, and more at his own idiocy for not realizing something was amiss long before now. He sighed, relaxed against his bindings, and shot an annoyed look up at the man before him. “I did see a tattoo. But I’m not so easily convinced by the words of a lawless bandit.”

“Like you’ve got any right to talk. We know who you are. You’ve got a bit of a reputation around this desert – slayer of corrupt Blades, and ‘hero’ to the abused. You’ve as little respect for the law as the rest of us. Don’t try and be all high and mighty now.”

It stung, but he wasn’t wrong. Indeed, Rufus had done a great many things of questionable moral leaning in his pursuit of his ideal “justice”. He believed they were the right thing to do, however. He was no bandit. “Fine – fine. Let’s say you’ve convinced me. Why keep me here any longer?”

“So you can watch.” The highlander replied grimly, pointing to the opposite wall of the cave where, for the first time, Rufus noticed another figure, bound in the dark as he was.

A disgruntled noise left Rufus’s throat. He watched as the faceless bandit withdrew his knife, stood up, turned around, and walked towards ‘Eddard’, who was lying completely still against the stone. The bandit reached out and forcefully slapped the Midlander across the face, the echo resounding for a good moment after.

“Agh! Ye right bastard! Do that ‘gain an’ I’ll rip yer fuckin’ guts our an’ stake them to the Sultantree an’ have ye start runnin’ laps!” ‘Eddard’ suddenly yelled in a tone completely antithetical to his earlier one. He let out an angry noise and wriggled against his bonds, cursing and spitting all the while.

“As you can see,” began the bandit leader in a tone loud enough to reach Rufus’s ears, “this is the man who hired you for protection against us ‘vicious bandits’. The good Arnis Striker himself!”

“Plough yerself, Turold! Ye big sack o’ fuckin’ chocobo shite!” Arnis roared back.

The highlander, now identified as Turold, turned away with a laugh and walked back over to Rufus, kneeling again. “So you see, mister Wightman, that though we are bandits, we’re not the bad ones here. He probably hoped you’d have slaughtered us all – me and my lads, and when he was done with you, probably would’ve poisoned you and tossed your body into a chasm. We’ve spared you, if anything. So if I cut you free of these bonds, do I have your word that you’ll leave here and never speak a word of it?”

What had he gotten himself into? Here he was, bound and at the mercy of a cutthroat, having been hired by a former cutthroat who was just as disingenuous, if not more so. It annoyed him. So much so that he began to feel the cold, pricking sensation of rage welling up within him.

“Ooh… I know that feeling.” Called a voice from close by, yet impossibly beyond reach.

“Fine. This is none of my business anymore.” Rufus responded in a calm tone. “I want nothing to do with it.” He lied, and he lied well. His expression was unshifting – uncaring. He slowly begun to prime his aether, spreading a cold, dark sensation throughout his entire body.

“Rufus!” Arnis called from the other side of the cave. “Bloody save me! Do what I were payin’ ye to do! We can still have a deal! Ye’ll get paid, we’ll go our own ways, and ye’ll never hear o’ me again!” There was a twinge of desperation in his voice. Fear, even. It only fueled the darkness.

Turold, ignoring Arnis, unsheathed his knife and cut the ropes tying Rufus’s hands and feet. He took several steps back just after, maintaining some wariness of the stranger. It was probably wise. “So… one of my men will hand you your effects on your way out. And that’ll be the end of it. No funny business either. Remember – you’re without any weapons.”

Rufus rose, slowly. His body still felt numb from the effects of the sleep spell that had been cast upon him. He tested his hands, his feet, shaking off the metaphorical rust. He looked at Turold, smiling. It was a nice, simple smile. But… there was something else – something fiendish that was almost imperceptible, but it grew as he spoke. “So, I leave, and it means there is still a gang of bandits hanging around, and doing gods-know-what, or I stay, and complete the job I was hired for, having spared the life of a seemingly unrepentant bandit. One evil, or another.” He felt his aether begin to surge, the darkness within him seething. Inky-black smoke began to roll off his body, a crimson fire suddenly igniting in his pupils. “That’s the thing about evil. If I’m to choose between one or the other…” he trailed off, holding his right hand out to the open air as where there was nothing before, a hilt suddenly materialized in his grasp in a burst of aether. It expanded outwards, forming what ended up being a frightening great sword that seemed to be made a texture like wrought-iron, with glowing lines carved into the length of the blade that pulsed with power.

“I’d rather not choose at all.” He finished.

Turold was in shock – as many who were witnessing this power for the first time were. He fumbled for something at his hip, he knew his dagger would be useless here. He had barely managed to grasp the hilt of the longsword at his side before noticing that most of his forearm of his right hand was suddenly missing, only a blood-spurting stump remaining. He opened his mouth to scream, but simply could not. The shock was preventing it. He barely had time to lift his non-stump hand in a desperate defensive motion, before his last sight was that of the faintly-glowing edge of a monstrous blade coming towards his head.

Arnis watched in open-mouthed silence as the headless, one-handed form of his old friend and colleague Turold dropped to the cave floor with a heavy, wet thud. Even in the dim light, he could see the pool of blood gradually expanding around him. His heart begun to beat faster, picking up to a frantic pace, as he set his eyes on what might as well have been the living embodiment of a demon – a being of smoke and rage. Vivid crimson eyes stared out at him in the blackness, and he was overcome with fear. “LADS, HE’S BLOODY KILLED TUROLD. ‘E IS A FUCKIN’ DEVIL! HELP! HELP M—” His cry was cut short, as the dark-wreathed figure dashed forward and swung his blade at the bound target, the cave wall acting as a vertical chopping block. With a sickening crunch, the great sword embedded itself into the wall behind Arnis, his head sloughing to the ground.

The rest of the gang of bandits had already hopped to their feet in the sudden panic. There were five of them in all. Two miqo’te, an elezen and two hyur. They stared on in abject fear as they watched the figure that seemed to draw all the darkness of the cave towards itself unwrench its blade from solid rock, stood over a freshly-headless corpse in a pile of its own gore. The elezen was the first to react – the spellcaster who was the whole reason Rufus had even ended up in here. He tried to cast the same spell, to put the hyur back down. As he thrust forth his staff, the incantation complete… nothing.

Somewhere, in the back of his rage-addled mind, Rufus felt the twinge of a familiar spell assaulting him. Things were different now. He was angry. His anger flowed through him, strengthened him against the effect of the spell. He let out a mocking cackle as he shrugged it off, gripping the hilt of his blade in both hands. “That won’t work this time!” He yelled in a rough, intimidating tone. He suddenly set forth at a run, closing the distance between he and the group. They fumbled for their weapons, but by then, it was already too late. The sounds of carnage filled the cave.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he eventually calmed down. The battle had long since passed. He stood there amidst a heap of crumpled, dismembered bodies, bathed in blood not his own. This wasn’t unusual. He left out a long, heavy breath and looked to the great sword in his hand. It always did drain his aether quickly. He opened the hand and let the unwieldy weapon fall. Before it could hit the ground, it disappeared in a burst of sparkling energy which soon dissipated into nothing. Silence again took the cave. Not for long, as he set about rummaging through the area to find his discarded belongings. A matter which took little time. He checked the back of the now chocobo-less carriage to find his gear in a neat bundle in the back. Beside the bundle of gear was, evidently, Arnis’s belongings. Or more accurately, his savings. A large sack of gil, at that. Rufus reached out, taking the sack in both hands and inspected the contents. He blinked, shocked by the amount. It would last him a while.

He departed the cave shortly after. Night had indeed set in, but Rufus wasn’t worried. He knew the roads of Thanalan like the back of his hand, after all. And now there was one less gang of bandits stalking the sands. He’d even gotten paid for his troubles. If anyone was to ever come across the cave, how would they possibly know he had done it? They wouldn’t. He didn’t need to concern himself. He thought instead about what he wanted to do.

Maybe it’s time I finally take that trip to the Far East, he thought.

#ffxiv #ic stories #Rufus Wightman #hyur #midlander #balmung #DRK #if you can't tell the two things I am inspired most by are Berserk and the Witcher #I can't help it okay it's not my fault jeez

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adelcrite · 7 years

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Why it didn't work with Tom this time

6-3-17

I hadn’t acted out in any violent way since either the beginning of February or the end of January. Not since Bret and I were trying to give it another chance and we beat the shit out of each other. Of course, the superficial scratches on him will heal, while I doubt the indentation in my head from him bashing it into the car door will ever go away. Anyway, it had been four months since I hurt myself or exhibited any kind of violent behavior. Then I called Tom. We met for food and drinks and there was so much chemistry still between us, it practically felt electric. We got back together, and even though I didn’t get the occasional ‘thinking about you texts’ that I generally wish for when I’m in a relationship, things were mostly okay. I hated the fact that our schedules were so different and that he’d still be in bed when I was on lunch and my day was half over. It’s lonely to be in a relationship where you don’t hear from the other person as much as you’d like. So, that’s where I was at - I was lonely and wanted more acknowledgement from him, but I was coping and trying to be understanding about our different schedules, and then his broken phone. Once he got his old phone up and running, I thought things would improve. I thought there’d be more communication, but he’s very minimalist in his speech and doesn’t communicate well at all. I felt abandoned much of the time. I kept saying that I was more lonely being in this relationship than I had been when I was single, and that was no exaggeration. He wanted to strengthen me into the kind of person who only needs to be told “I love you” once or twice a day instead of 10 times a day, but the thing is, I’m borderline and need constant reassurance. If I need to be told I��m loved 10 times a day, then I need to be with someone who will do that for me, and there’s nothing wrong with that. To try to strengthen me by putting me on an “I love you” diet is one of the cruelest things I’ve ever heard of anyone doing to a borderline. I felt neglected during the times we weren’t together, and although I felt better when we were together, those times were not frequent, nor did they have much longevity. Then I went to Arizona. I knew it would be difficult being away from Tom, but I figured we’d be on the phone a lot, telling each other how much we missed each other, and although that did happen sometimes, it was not nearly enough to sustain me. Sometimes he’d be scheduled to work until a certain time, and I wouldn’t hear from him for two hours after his shift ended. One time, the night I got into Phoenix, actually, he said he’d get right back to me and then sent me a cryptic message that he was dealing with cops. After he was done talking to the cops, did he call me right away? No. I worried myself sick about whatever was going on and didn’t hear from him until over an hour later. It turned out, that instead of feeling it was urgently important to get right back to me (which he said he would do), he decided his priority was to play cards at a friends house, where he then fell asleep before the card game even started. He forgot about me. I was worried out of my mind and he didn’t even think to call me. How do you think that made me feel? He goes to bars and friends’ houses without even bothering to tell me ahead of time and then expects me to just be understanding and go with the flow. He parties while I sit and wait, and sit and wait for him to call. It’s not a pleasant existence, this sitting and waiting crap. It makes me feel like a loser with no life. It makes me feel forgotten about by the one person who is supposed to love me and care about me more than anyone in the world. His excuse? He lost track of time. How do you lose track of time when you’re supposed to call someone ASAP? How does ASAP pass someone by without them even realizing it? It’s a ridiculous notion and made me feel even more disregarded. He swore he didn’t mean to forget, that there was no deliberate cruelty on his part, but that to me makes it even worse because it means that I was so far from his mind that he didn’t even bother to think of me or that I was eagerly awaiting his call. That was just as insulting if not more insulting than if he had deliberately not called. We praddled on for the next day or two, talking when we could, or I should say, when he could, until Thursday night, when I reached the end of my rope with Tom and this whole situation. Things started off fine. He got out of work in a timely manner and actually called me right away. Then he said he was going into Kokopelli’s for something to eat. He said I’d hear from him when he was done eating. Two hours later, I still hadn’t gotten a phone call from him, and I’m thinking to myself, what the fuck? “What happened to calling me after you eat?” I texted. “I’m still trying to drink my beer,” was his excuse. That, and of course, that he had eaten too much and felt lazy and weighed down. An excuse that seems to occur every single time he eats. You’d think eventually the guy would learn portion control and not stuff himself every time he eats, but no. After two hours, plus 20 minutes of reminding him he was supposed to call and practically begging him to, he called. At that point there was 12% left on his battery power, but he swore he was meeting with a friend quickly and then going home to charge his phone. I told him I’d be pissed if I didn’t hear back from within an hour, which he acted like was really generous and fair. 45 minutes later I get a Facebook message saying his friend still hasn’t shown up and that they were planning on having drinks when his friend got there. “So you’re not going to make the hour deadline?” I inquired. He answered by not answering, saying, “I was just letting you know.” Over the next hour I recieved a sparse few amount of texts and Facebook messages. Then he disappeared altogether. I mean, completely disappeared from all forms of communication for three hours. There was no way to get in touch with him since his phone was dead and he obviously did not stay true to his word about going home to charge it. I haven’t been that upset in a long time. When he finally called, he was apologetic, but I didn’t care anymore. No apology can sooth feelings of abandonment in a BPD who you’ve just abandoned. I left the karaoke spot I was at and we argued all the way home. He was embarrassed I was arguing in front of the lyft driver and asked me to stop. “This is my lyft,” I said. “Are you paying for this lyft? Not to mention that he hears this sort of shit all the time since he works at night picking people up at bars.” Asking me to settle down for the lyft driver’s sake was the equivalent of cleaning your place before the maid comes over, and when I said that, the lyft driver gestured to me in agreement. Things got worse from there. We argued and argued to the point where I was worried someone in the hotel would complain that I was being disruptive. I haven’t been that upset in a long time, and the whole thing resulted in my being unable to stop myself from bashing my fists into my skull, causing several painful contusions. Then I took some pills, not enough to quite OD, but definitely a risky level of medication. I did want to die, and although I wanted to stay up and take a pill every ten minutes so that I wouldn’t throw them up and it would actually have the desired effect, I managed to stop myself from taking it that far. I had gone too far though. After months of being on the road of recovery I had regressed into self harm mode, and while in the past, I have brushed off the existence of my bruises and the pain in my head, I knew I couldn’t do that this time. Something was upsetting me and destroying the self esteem and confidence in myself that I had worked so hard to develop. I knew it was my relationship with Tom. I knew that his behavior toward me would never be affectionate or attentive enough to put me at ease. I knew, that as strong as my feelings toward him were, I had to let him go if I wanted to live a life free of self harm and suicidal behavior. I am 38 years old and I may never find that person who is man enough to reassure me whenever I need it, man enough to be accountable to his word, but that’s okay because I’ve learned to love myself and comfort myself. What I haven’t learned is how to keep all of those lessons from becoming undone the second I’m in a relationship with someone. That is an uphill battle that I have yet to conquer. For now, I will pick up where I left off with single life, continue to love myself and place value on myself, and work toward my own betterment. That’s just what I have to do right now. I have no doubt about that. I woke up Friday morning unsure that I was even alive, but I was glad to be alive, and I’d like to keep it that way.

#borderline personality disorder #staying single #surviving self harm

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rumpykamon · 7 years

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Michael Emerson: “I’ve Always Enjoyed Playing Ambiguity”

Emmy winner Michael Emerson loves Captain Beefheart lyrics, hates athletic balladeering, triggers a House of Pain ringtone on his wife’s cell — and recommends Bach if you’re planning an extended stay in the Hatch.

By Mike Errico

“Things that are sparsely played, and have an empty quality to them, I find very appealing,” says Michael Emerson, who exudes a creeptastic stillness of his own as Henry Gale (or…Ben?), leader of the Others on the hit TV show Lost. “I’m gravitating to the simpler and the earlier in music. I like the beginnings of things like jazz, reggae and punk: less production, more mess, more empty spaces.”While the Web buzzes with theories, maps, decoders and webisodes to figure out what’s going on behind his pale, piercing eyes, the Iowa-born actor remains amused. “I’ve played villains on stage — you know, the Iagos and so on — but I think of myself as a funny person. I mostly did comedies before I did TV work.” How, then, to explain his brilliant string of serial killers, Shakespearean antagonists, and…”Others”? “I enjoy the stillness and focus that these characters have. I’ve always liked playing ambiguity, and that seems to be what makes these characters tick.”

After dispensing with musical niceties, we took the nerd gloves off: Was it coincidence or fate that brought everyone to the island? Where did Michael go? What’s with the damn four-toed foot? Patiently, he explains, “Sometimes [the writers] put stuff in, and you don’t know if they’re pulling your chain or if they’re going to capitalize on it. But,” he adds, “they don’t do a whole lot just for the sake of doing it. Still, it may be a long time before they get around to paying you off.” When we suggest he may be planting critical clues within the songs he’s selected here, he offers, simply, “Play them backwards.” Backwards! Of course!

FIRST ALBUM I BOUGHT/STOLE My little sister and I pooled our allowance and bought the Beatles’ RubberSoul. Lest you rush to any high estimate of our taste, though, I think our next purchase was a Herman’s Hermits album. [Laughs]

SONG I TORTURE OTHERS WITH Sometimes when a perverse mood overtakes me I like to treat guests to a taste of Blue Öyster Cult’s “Transmaniacon Mc” or “Cities on Flame With Rock and Roll.” I’m sure my loved ones are tired of hearing me play “Israelites” by Desmond Dekker, too.

SONG THAT TORTURES ME Some radio songs of the ’70s were pure torture — [Carl Douglas’] “Kung Fu Fighting” comes to mind, as does [Elton John’s] “Bennie and the Jets”. And I have an allergy to the current celebration of athletic balladeering that has been enshrined onAmerican Idol.

ALBUM THAT ALWAYS SHOWS ME SOMETHING NEW I suppose it would be, for me, something either simpler or denser than the popular music I hear on an everyday basis. I still get surprised by Radiohead and Dylan, by Louis Armstrong and Bach. Captain Beefheart, as well — I’m not sure he isn’t some kind of genius character. There’s a double-disc overview, “The Dust Blows Forward: An Anthology”, that is amazing. He can go as low as Howlin’ Wolf and as high as…I don’t know who. And some of his dense or obscure poetry begins to take on a surreal charm after a while. It’s not stuff you listen to to clean house.

SONG IN MY CD ALARM CLOCK I don’t wake up to music but my wife has a special ring for me on her cell phone — it’s a sample from “Jump Around” by House of Pain. The song is so…down and sort of madcap and antithetical to who I am. It amuses her that I like it.

ALBUM THAT ROCKS MY FACE OFF My face is invariably rocked off by the Stooges’ Raw Power. That MC5 album with “High School” on it [Back in the USA] is pretty strong, too.

MY KARAOKE SONG OF CHOICE I can’t do karaoke. I hate to do anything that is like “performing” when I’m not working.

ALBUM THAT AN EX RUINED You mean physically or spiritually? I connected certain Tony Bennett ballads with a certain girlfriend once, and now I feel foolish when I hear them.

ALBUM I RECOMMEND IF YOU’RE BEING HELD CAPTIVE IN THE HATCH If you were a hostage, I think you’d want something that was soothing but also an intellectual puzzle that would reward repeated listening. I’m thinking a sparse, clean solo recording of Bach like Glenn Gould’s Goldberg Variations or Gidon Kremer’s Sonatas and Partitas for Violin Solo.

#michael emerson #poi #lost #harold finch #ben linus #henry gale

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rueur · 7 years

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Morning Pages #8 (12.01.2017)

Thursday 12th Jan - 7:43 a.m.

Usually I write a little over three pages, my last sentence or so spilling onto a fourth page. But yesterday, I wrote exactly three, I think because I was so close to not reaching three at all. Hopefully, today will be different. Less stop and start, and more just natural flowing work. That’s what I’m supposed to be aiming for anyway, this is supposed to be stream-of-consciousness, not a diary. I’ve been writing this like a diary and sometimes I feel like I’ve lost the point, but honestly it’s also supposed to be about what’s going through your head and what’s been going through my head recently has been my friends, and my family, my boyfriend, what I’ve been doing to keep myself occupied whilst I’ve been living in this cat-house all by myself. I’m house-sitting right now, living with two old cats and a very old goldfish.

On Saturday, Dan and I were supposed to go to the Laundry Bar but he’s been busy and let me know he couldn’t make it yesterday afternoon after I asked him. But, last night at around half past eleven, I was briefly on the phone to Ikaros and he asked if I wanted to do something with him on Saturday. I said I had plans to go to the Laundry Bar and invited him along, and surprisingly he said yes. He’s usually not one for clubbing, and although technically this isn’t clubbing, the reason I believe he’s not one for clubbing is because of the crowds of sweaty, young people, the throbbing music, and the increased availability of drugs and drug-takers. The Laundry Bar will most likely possess all these club qualities, but hopefully they’ll be playing really fantastic throbbing music and there will be adequate dancing space AND with my boyfriend there, hopefully I won’t end up making out with a twenty-eight year-old and then regretting it immensely and spending the next week trying to find out how I can get out of seeing him again without hurting his feelings.

So those are my Saturday plans, not today’s plans, and today is the day that I have woken up to live out, so I should talk about today. Today, Marcus is coming over here and we are going to be working on my script ‘Rock Pool’ to finetune it together - writer and director - and hopefully turn it into a filmable piece of work. This script has been in development for around one year now, but I only really got it up and running during that last six months of 2016, when I was taking a screenwriting subject for my degree (I’m a creative writing major). The story is very close to my own experiences, so I’m eager to see my message out there. Marcus is also a very old, very close friend of mine and I trust him eternally with anything that I give him. I’m honestly very excited for today. The apartment is a mess, however, so I’ll need to do some vacuuming before he comes over, which I’m a little hesitant about. The last time I used the vacuum, one cat vomited and the other pissed itself and it ended up creating a much larger mess than the one I had cleaned up. That, and the vacuum is apparently full and Emily instructed me on how to empty it over the phone and it all seemed both incredibly complicated and equally messy. She said I would most definitely get dust on me and then apologised for that in advance. But I need to be a good host and I don’t want Marcus thinking I like living in a pigsty, even though this pigsty must be credited to the boys rather than me. Not so much Fish, but Bruno and Romy. What slobs.

Plans to see Lauren and Jacob are also in the mix for Ikaros and I. Wait, I’m sorry. I just heard one of the cats mewling, probably Bruno. I try to wake up early to write these pages before feeding them a little after eight, but I think they’re hungry. And I don’t know how much I’ll be procrastinating today, like I did yesterday. I think I should just feed them now and come back to finishing this morning’s morning pages? I really didn’t want to stop and start today though. I don’t want to make a habit of it. My hands are hurting. I’m lying on my stomach in bed, writing this out on my laptop. I’ve been using one document on Google Drive every morning, filling it up with that morning’s entry and then the next morning, I erase the last morning to start afresh. Thus, the only record I have of my morning pages is on this blog. Which I hope falls into the hands of nobody that I know and most definitely, nobody that I’ve mentioned by name in these pages. I probably should’ve changed the names or something...

Let’s just say I have! Let’s just say I’ve changed my name too. You’re all strangers, you wouldn’t know anyway. I’m absolutely breaking the rules with publicly posting these morning pages, I know. I’m not even concerned with how many notes I get honestly, this is purely a storage solution. I have a shoddy laptop with no space, I’ve filled my Google Drive up uni/work stuff. I don’t even have Microsoft Word, so there’s not even a chance of me storing word documents on a USB or anything. This blog just made the most sense to me; and it was pre-existing too! I started this blog in Year 12, 2014, right before my exams. It was intended back then to be a diary of sorts too, a place where I could vent, let off some steam using the written word. It’s nearly 8:13 a.m.: a train is going to leave from South Morang station carrying maybe thirty or forty people. Just a thought. By the time it reaches Reservoir, that number will be upwards of one hundred, maybe one hundred and fifty. By half past, peak hour will most likely begin to dwindle away and the passengers taking trains leaving the end of the line by 9 are going to feel much less like sardines in a tin. I am kind of missing the early morning commute to make uni lectures. Grumpy and groggy, sometimes sweaty from my bike, working myself to death with a very minimal breakfast trying to make a one-hour class where nothing happens for the sake of being able to call myself a trained writer in a year’s time; that’s all I’ve ever wanted (as a Year 12 student, not just of my life generally). I’m really hungry right now.

I might just go and feed the cats now. It’s nearly twenty past eight and if I’m hungry, I can only imagine how their little bodies must be feeling. They usually snack on their meals though. If I walk outside right now and proceed to feeding them, only to find that their bowls are still rather full, I will be somewhat annoyed and consider it a foreboding omen in regards to my later plans to vacuum. Goodness, please please please do not force me to have to deal with any more cat vomit for the next ten or so days. Please! I refuse to wash that massive, shedding rug again!

The cats had eaten a fair amount of their food during the night, and had used all three litter boxes with great liberty. I cleaned them all up, filled up the gaps with whichever ones needed their gaps filled up, washed the dishes, fed Bruno his wet and dry food, and filled up Romy’s bowl. I replaced Bruno’s glass, and the small bowl of water on the balcony. Now all I have to do for the day, is give Bruno his thyroid cream (which I will do immediately upon finishing these pages), take the rubbish and recycling out. Empty out the vacuum. Vac. Then hopefully, I’ll have time to have a shower and then eat some breakfast. If all goes well. Oh, and I need to go and get some dirt from the front yard to properly repot the plant whose original pot broke on my watch. I mean, I was in the shower so not totally on my watch. But I was here and I am being paid to be here and I am being paid to be responsible. And I failed in this one tiny aspect. I really hope that that pot was of little to no value. Okay, I just gave Bruno his thyroid cream.

I wanted to do a little bit of creative writing in these morning pages from now on. I tried it yesterday and really enjoyed it, and I think it’ll help me more than just writing for the sake of writing everyday. If I get myself thinking creatively everyday, that would be more productive for me, I feel. With this last half-page, I think I’ll just...see where my mind takes me? I’m looking at the tiles in the bathroom.

In tiles arranged with zero pattern, of randomly alternating pink, white, blue and browns, there exists a cityscape. The browns stick out like mud-brick houses in bustling suburbia and the blue, like habitat corridors, are plentiful. Pinks are sparse, or fly under our radars, their delicate hue lost in this speckled sea. They’re probably parking spaces. The whites scream potential, little modes of change within which the city is allowed to alter its face with startling subtlety. The citizens only notice any change decades after that change has happened, because their stress-free lives, the very cause of their happiness, has a side-effect of making these people prone to falling static. It’s not that they can’t change, but that they simply have no need to. In a place where their surroundings change and the people do not, it’s becoming increasingly possible for select citizens to just wake up one morning and realise all these minute changes at once. Such a sudden realisation after a lifetime of blindness certainly drives these people to the brink of insanity because to them, their reality has simply just drastically changed over the course of one night. In order to combat this worsening condition of the people, the local councils have joined forces to create a new elected office whose sole purpose is to investigate these sudden bouts of realisation and paranoia. Very few government employees are yet to fall ill, and so they aren’t at all close to discovering the root of the issue. The most susceptible tend to be small business owners and their employees, postmen, tax consultants, real-estate agents, grocers, and beekeepers and their bees (cases of paranoia in Anthophila have also been on the rise). Least susceptible are classroom teachers, who in their line of work, are pre-accustomed to great change with the comings and goings of their pupils.

#spilled ink #morning pages #stream of consciousness #8 #12.01.2017

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