#or how the trefoils fit in

[spencermyangel]

Spencer still works for the BAU but on another team. Hotch’s team works with them and when it is discovered that Reid’s team bully and mistreat him, offers to transfer him. Spencer agrees as the team treated him a lot better but still a little apprehensive about working with them.

CW - Rape mention in regards to a case, false rape allegation mention in regards to a case

Spencer trailed behind the rest of his team, Unit Chief Eric Velton, and Agents Anna Caldwell, Ray Leland, and Harris Gale. Today they were to be working with another team of profilers, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner’s team. Spencer knew that was the team Gideon was on before he left, leaving Spencer nothing but a letter. Gideon had wanted to get Spencer on his team but the director thought it was better to have Spencer on a team with different agents, not the agent that recruited him. 

“Eric,” Hotch walked up to Agent Velton, shaking his hand, “it’s nice to see you again.”

“You too, Aaron,” Velton said with a smile, “this is my team, Agents Caldwell, Leland, and Gale,” he proudly introduced his team, and Hotch shook all of their hands. “Oh and Reid,” Velton added as an afterthought, giving Spencer a meaningful look, and he knew what that meant. Don’t be a freak, shake his hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” Hotch held out his hand to Spencer, who forced himself to shake his hand. Hotch’s brows furrowed slightly at how nervous the young man seemed. “Well,” Hotch said, “Come meet my team.”

~

Morgan observed the youngest of the team they were working with, he didn’t talk much and when he did it was with a slight stutter. Morgan honestly wondered how he got into the FBI, let alone an elite profiling team. He didn’t look like he could pass the fitness tests and didn’t seem to add enough to get exemptions. 

“How do you suppose they decide who gets to rape the women which time, I mean there is no clear pattern to who does it which time?” Caldwell questioned.

“Maybe they flip a coin,” Morgan shrugged, “50/50 chance they get to do it?” he half jokingly said. 

“That’s no-not exactly true,” Spencer corrected him, “it’s mo-more like 51/49, favouring the side that was facing up when tossed. And with a penny 80% of the time it will land tails up b-because Lincoln's head weighs down the heads side.” Spencer glanced around nervously when he realised he was rambling. His team was scowling and rolling their eyes, while Hotch’s team was looking at him with various looks of shock and amazement. “So-sorry,” he mumbled, shrinking in on himself. 

“It’s fine,” JJ assured him, giving him a kind smile. 

“Okay. Rossi, Reid, and Gale, would you go check out the latest crime scene?” Hotch asked.

“Sure,” Rossi agreed, Gale gave a curt nod before turning to Reid and gesturing for him to follow. Spencer adjusted his glasses and clumsily hurried after the other two agents. 

They arrived at the alleyway the last body had been dumped, there was construction going on and Spencer immediately began flapping his hands to comfort himself but stopped when Gale glared at him. 

“Hey, would you look at this,” Rossi called over. On the wall was a bouquet of flowers that had been taped there. 

“Bird’s-foot trefoil,” Spencer quickly identified the flowers, “they symbolize revenge.” 

“Well, what do they feel these women deserve revenge for?” Gale wondered. Spencer leaned over to get a closer look when a large crash came from the construction site. Spencer’s hands flew to his ears and he let out a whine, he began rocking back and forth. 

Rossi looked over in concern, “is he okay?” 

Gale rolled his eyes, “he’s fine.” he walked over to Spencer and pulled his hands away from his ears, forcefully. Spencer screeched in pain, tears running down his cheeks and tried desperately to pull away. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that,” Rossi suggested hesitantly.

“He can’t behave like this, he has to learn,” Gale scoffed, turning his attention back to Spencer, “Stop being so retarded,” he hissed at him. When Spencer only responded by shaking his head and tugging away again, Gale shoved him causing him to fall down and press himself up against the wall. Gale huffed and stormed away. 

Rossi watched in shock before slowly approaching Spencer and sitting beside him. “Are you okay?” he asked, Spencer shook his head and then began banging it against the wall. 

Rossi’s eyes widened and he placed his hand between Spencer’s head and the brick. He didn’t want to touch Spencer, but also couldn’t just let him hurt himself. Spencer’s head banging slowed and he seemed to relax, but avoided Rossi's eyes, ashamed. 

“Are you feeling better?” 

Spencer nodded, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, a blush on his cheeks.

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize,” Rossi glanced over to the SUV, where Gale was leaning against it, with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, “does he often treat you like this?”

Spencer drew random patterns on his legs, “yes, the whole team does. But I deserve it, I freak out sometimes.”

“Ahhh,” Rossi said, not knowing how to respond. 

*

After the discovery of the flowers it didn’t take long to find the unsubs, two best friends, Marcus Allen and Phillip Lancaster. They had been falsely accused of rape by the first victim, and then went on to kill other women who confessed to making false rape allegations.

Spencer was packing up when Hotch approached him, “Reid, could I talk to you?” Spencer nodded and Hotch continued, “Rossi informed me about what happened, I wanted to tell you, you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I also have an offer for you, Gideon spoke very highly of you, and you did excellent work on this case. I would like to offer you a position on this team.”

Spencer froze, Hotch’s team had been nice to him, but what if it was just an act and they would be awful to him if he joined? 

Hotch noticed his hesitancy, “I promise you will be treated well on my team.” 

Spencer glanced over to where Hotch’s team was laughing and joking. He remembered how Rossi had comforted him and Morgan had congratulated him on the flower discovery. 

“Okay,” he finally responded with a shy smile, “I’d love to join your team.”

Part 2

Send in requests and asks here

Masterlist

[red-eft]

for the ask meme - 1, 7, 10, 12, 24 aand 30 for adonis and ivy !

thank you for the ask! :>

adonis

1. does your oc have any motifs?

yep! his motifs are the night sky (secrecy), gold (royalty; his noble house), gunpowder (his weapon of choice is a pistol), and beetles- specifically dynastinae, because [redacted spoilers] :)

7. what is the thing your oc likes most about themselves?

he doesn’t like it at first, but he gets used to the traits of [redacted creature] that his body gains, he starts to like it. he feels stronger and more "himself." the traits his body gained include scale-like growths along his forearms, claws, a tail, improved sight, and sharper teeth.

he learns how to shapeshift these traits, too. he gets good at making himself stronger or prettier with them however he wants wjldsflk

10. what kind of music do they enjoy?

oh man. i've never thought about what the music in my post-apoc setting is like.. i'm just gonna go with modern music for now. he'd enjoy indie stuff..? maybe?

throwing a few songs out here that i could see him listening to: "the physical attractions" by the symposium, "i think i left the stove on" by hotel ugly, and "drive away" by the brummies/kacey musgraves. he's not used to super loud/energetic music, but he doesn't like music that's purely instrumental/too calm, either. he associates it with bad memories from growing up with that kind of music.

12. how well does your oc do in school?

adonis does okay. he might slack off in class or procrastinate his work, but at the end of the day, he gets it together well enough to pass. he might cheat during a test or two.

24. how does your oc handle the death of someone they know?

poorly. he runs away from it, both physically and metaphorically.

30. does your oc wish to be married someday?

he's not big on marriage. growing up, adonis was always told that he would be married off to someone from another noble house. that never happened, fortunately, but he still dislikes the idea of being tied to another person.

---------- ivy

1. does your oc have any motifs?

oh absolutely. her motifs are bones (death), the trefoil symbol (dark magic/radiation), the color green (associated w/ dark magic in my setting, also nature since she becomes a ranger, too). also mourning doves (associated with resilience in grief. also bc her last name is macroura).

7. what is the thing your oc likes most about themselves?

she loves that she's basically born to use dark magic (elven ability to use it + human resistance that elves lack). most half-elves don't inherit both those traits at once, which makes her very unique.

it really amuses her when she thinks about it. it makes her feel like she's doing "what she was meant for" when she studies dark magic.

10. what kind of music do they enjoy?

again, going to go for a modern music since idk anything about music in my world (rip).. she would definitely listen to mitski and lord huron. yes i am projecting this on her. but it fits her

12. how well does your oc do in school?

very well! if you put her, adonis, lorne, and cordelia in a classroom together, ivy would come out on top (though cordelia would be close). she performs especially well in science and history classes.

24. how does your oc handle the death of someone they know?

depends on the circumstances. if someone was sick for a long time, ivy will be accepting of it when it happens. she'll try to help everyone else feel better.

but if the death is unexpected, violent, or she's right there (or all three), ivy will lose herself in anger. if someone murdered her father in front of her, for example, then she would immediately try to kill the murderer using any means possible (such as acts of dark magic that she would normally be horrified to even consider using. spell of hemorrhage your lungs, etc.)

30. does your oc wish to be married someday?

yeah! she wants to marry cordelia.

[kamara-interiors]

Revivalism: Gothic Revivalist Style

Revivalism affected a lot of art forms, but it influenced architecture the most. It started in the 19th century as a reaction to the environment of the industrial revolution. 

Because of the rapid urbanization (manufacturing and mechanization), many immigrants coming in, and the Civil War, wealthy Americans embraced Romanticism. It was an urge to reexamine the "simple" ways of the past to find happiness in their complicated present. Like the Renaissance and Neo-Classical, it was going back to the classics. Still, instead of just the classics, other periods of styles were included in Revivalism. Greek Revival, Roman Revival, Rococo Revival, Gothic Revival, and so much more. In short, Revivalism in architecture was the use of visual styles that imitated the techniques of the previous architectural era.

What about the furniture and interiors during this period? A lot of them were inspired by the Rococo, Renaissance, and Gothic periods. The Rococo Revival style was thought to be elegantly French and popular for the design of drawing rooms and parlors. The Rococo revivalist furniture usually consists of two sofas, two armchairs, four side chairs, and a center table. Renaissance Revival furniture, they were primarily used in bedrooms and reception rooms.

In Gothic Revival furniture, regardless of the home's exterior, is usually used in dining rooms. A lot of the furniture designs showed straight legs, tracery, and chair splats that form pointed arches. Most pieces were made from walnut wood. Although the style wasn't as popular as the others in America, architects and cabinetmakers used this for the most part.

Furniture created in the United States between 1840 and 1860 was made to fit into Gothic Revival homes of the time. It was ornamented with tracery and other Gothic carvings such as quatrefoils and trefoils. The rose window and pointed arch, for instance, became the inspiration for several chair back designs. And that is what I used for reference in this plate.

For this plate, I chose to do an armchair made back in 1855. The chair is from Belvior, a large Gothic villa in the 1850s, New York, for a tobacco merchant named Christian H. Lilienthal. Existing photographs of the Gothic Revival library show that the chairs and bookcases are related to the works by Gustave Herter, a cabinetmaker. And like with much of the Gothic Revival furniture, it owes more to the architecture vocabulary than traditional furniture making. The furniture is made with walnut wood and has dimensions of 163.8 cm x 64.5 cm x 56.5 cm.

 I chose this piece because it's one of the styles I've enjoyed learning throughout this course. Not only that but seeing elements/motifs of architecture can be implemented into furniture and interiors. What can be seen from the exterior can also be applied in the interiors. I think what I chose is an excellent example of what Revivalist furniture is, combining the concepts and ideas of architecture into interior spaces.

 As aspiring interior designers, choosing and implementing furniture in an interior is essential, especially when designing for ourselves or a client. Knowing the types and kinds of furniture that can strike up conversations and discourse. What I liked doing throughout this course was learning about the interiors of the history of how people live and interact with each other—knowing what worked for them or how they made sense with the spaces they had—seeing the factors that affect man, his environments, and their relationship to one another. And maybe, like Revivalism, we can implement previous periods of styles to today's design.

[mydyspraxiablog]

Having dyspraxia going Newphew comfim but Stafford to Golden Bridge got seat I was happy even didn't have disable railway card but wait then lift said if trying platform one please use stair so use stairs and was platform 2 didn't know how get platform 1 but some kind starager help show where stairs was to platform 1 then 3 trains was cannel saw someone nearly fall out train but his friend pick him up then trying get train but was fall could not get on train but guard whist haven't got on train yet " We got get on Christian go too." It so fall noughting to hold on felt wish wasn't here people push and trying going off both side off carriage end up with panic attacks fit on the train it was scare didn't have mobie phone no sunflower landyard card so if gone on own have panic attacks with no mobie phone no Sunflower landyard card with mum emergency number because of panic attacks have on trains not use train again too full and don't have seat never travel on trains again not going through trains again.

Do feeling let Georgina family down at movements got do some Easter to making up for that but not travel on trains got find away travel from bus Stafford to Harley not easy because Stafford buses only run in morning not on Sunday can't really walk up from Stafford to Harley might have be taxi but not worry.

Now going talk about bus pass at movent OAP and Disabled only can use bus pass only England not Wales, Scotland or North Ireland but for Eddler bus pass travel all round UK incude Wales and Scotland I got family and friends in Scotland and could have holiday in Wales too with bus pass travel on buses Do miss Greenach caravan park eat noughting but junk food then do miss Bedford step in Cornwall Hotel spead many happy time. IT something read on Internet don't know if true or not.

Now soon be Baptist nerves but looking forward too it only few family going but still got church family too and going let Jesus and God in my life. Even noughting do Stafford at movements after Baptist got write Easter Card to my sponsor child paid for Edacation , and health going on Compassionuk project really don't want say in Easter card sponsor child haven't ask it Compassionuk better want send before uk Easter with early this year. I haven't received letter from sponsor child so looking when arrived got log on Compassionuk but do website it bit better but not put all those need sponsor. I try not worry but do want pet hamsters would like cats and dogs again and sponsor child too and have sort out something with Lone Trefoil Guild as new cheques book only arrived today. Stupid Natwest bank there know this family living Victorian times only use cash paid delivery in cash too.

I not worry about further I know God chose me now how get out house going around stafford Town I miss Stone,Longton and Newcastle under Lyme missing going seaside want going holiday but won't be this year think mum might be eye done and time ask for caring look after me and mum as afraid using cooking but OK with microwave but got new Air flyer and yesterday made rock cakes try reduce suger as though YouTube Rock cakes was too much suger but do need turn Rock cakes over start with two each then mum had another one and two left " Want cut in half?"No you have it been gluten free food " so eat Rock cake nice bit need bit raising and bit more suger was nice. Why write this I think something did with Jigsaw badge which hadn't got yet I did cooking Gluten free pizza in oven ( This before oven exposed) Then in microwave did lemoncurd spone lemoncure cake in mug but can't find now because Google deleted those photo mum isn't happy about that.

I feeling sleeping need be up early for church in morning so going say goodnight.

[capbargain]

Snapback Hat Designs That People Just Loved

Snapback hats have cemented their status as timeless and iconic accessories in the world of streetwear fashion. These versatile caps, characterized by their adjustable snap closure and flat brim, have witnessed an evolution of designs that reflect the rich tapestry of urban culture and creativity. It’s amazing to see how blank snapback hats transform into something remarkable, with just a design on the crown. In this article, we'll explore some of the most memorable and iconic snapback hat designs that have left an indelible mark on the streetwear scene.

Sports Team Logos

Perhaps the most ubiquitous snapback hat designs feature the logos of professional sports teams. Whether it's the classic green and yellow of the Boston Celtics, the LA Dodgers' interlocking "LA," or the Chicago Bulls' unmistakable bull insignia, these hats allow fans to proudly represent their favorite teams. The symbiotic relationship between sports and streetwear has made these snapbacks a staple for fans and fashion enthusiasts alike.

Classic Brand Logos

Streetwear enthusiasts are no strangers to the allure of classic brand logos emblazoned on snapback hats. Brands like Nike, Adidas, and New Era have created timeless designs that meld sportswear with street style. The popular  swoosh of Nike, the trefoil of Adidas, and the instantly recognizable New Era flag are just a few examples of snapback hats that bear the mark of these legendary brands.

Hip-Hop Affiliations

Hip-hop culture and streetwear have long been intertwined, and snapback hats have been a canvas for artists to express their affiliations and creativity. Snapbacks adorned with logos like the Wu-Tang Clan's "W," Tupac's "Thug Life," or N.W.A's "Straight Outta Compton" have become iconic symbols of the hip-hop movement. These hats not only pay homage to legendary artists but also embody the rebellious spirit of the genre.

Pop Culture References

Snapback hats have also embraced the influence of pop culture, with designs that nod to movies, TV shows, and iconic characters. From hats featuring the iconic "M" logo from the movie "Scarface" to those adorned with beloved cartoon characters like Bart Simpson or Mickey Mouse, these designs allow wearers to showcase their love for pop culture icons.

Artistic and Graphic Designs

Streetwear has always been a canvas for artists to express themselves, and snapback hats are no exception. Intricate graphic designs, abstract patterns, and bold artwork have graced the crowns of snapbacks, transforming them into wearable pieces of art. Brands like Obey, Stussy, and HUF have produced snapbacks that are as much about the visuals as they are about the fit.

Minimalist Monochrome

In the world of streetwear, less can often mean more. Minimalist snapback hat designs that feature a single-color crown and brim with subtle branding have become immensely popular. These hats effortlessly elevate any outfit and are favored by those who prefer a clean and understated look. This makes it easy for retailers who just have to get two-tone blank hats and brand them just a little.

Whether adorned with sports team logos, classic brand insignias, or artistic designs, snapbacks have played a significant role in shaping the streetwear landscape. These iconic designs serve as a visual history of urban culture and creativity, reflecting the diverse influences and artistic expressions that define the world of streetwear fashion.

[eddystshirts]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Adidas Originals Spellout Trefoil Logo T Shirt Graphic Tee Cotton Short Sleeve.

[americasummer]

FAS3002 – “What is a Brand” Presentation Lecture

During this lecture session, we looked at what is the meaning of a Brand’s Vision & Purpose and the various supporting attributes which are required to create a brand. Below, I will list all the topics that make up the creation of a brand and discuss my findings with the aim of gaining an understanding as this will inform my own branding project.

Vision & Purpose – In this process, I want to dig deep into my imagination and list the ideas of what I want the brand to represent and to stand for. I need to decide if the brand is a novelty item or is it solving problems while adding value to people’s lives. 

Why does my brand exist and who is it for? I need to answer this question before I attempt on create anything or develop a product. The Vision & Purpose will be engrained in the company’s DNA and becomes the company’s way of life.The brand example from the presentation which I thought impressed me the most was that of Patagonia’s. It’s a business started by climbers, who have an affinity with nature and outdoor activities, who also wanted to make clothes that reflects their values – strength, sustainability, simplicity, and utility. The company wants to produce the best product that doesn’t cause any harm to the environment and use some of their profits to protect nature.

Brand Identity – 

It seems important to make you brand recognisable and stand out from the crowd. When I think of brands that I find recognisable either by their logo, clothing, or sound, the first five that comes to mind are:

Netflix – the Ta Dum sonic logo sound and the Netflix “N” logo.

Mercedes Benz – the vehicle manufacturer’s three-pointed-star logo is easily recognisable.

Apple – The ringtones, the apple logo, and their visual aesthetic.

Nike – the swoosh logo

Adidas – the trefoil and the three stripes.

Customer –

Getting to know the people who are going to be investing in my brand is key and asking questions that gives an overview of how they live their lives and how they consume information. This will allow my brand to recognise the demographic to which it is suitable, the challenges it may face in connecting with the people and if the product I offer will add value to their lives. 

Customer surveys are an important factor during the process of brand development. It helps to understand how different time periods and current events have moulded the target audience’s needs and understand where they are now and where they’ll be in the near future to come. 

Some other things to keep in mind are:

Identifying competitors and taking note of the way they do things and determine what different service or product my brand has to offer. Look at areas where they have succeeded and where they have failed as to not repeat mistakes and also be inspired by the things they got right.

The eponymous fashion brand, Molly Goddard is a very good example of taking what already exists, in this case frilly tulle dresses and reincarnate it into ready-t0-wear runway fashion. A lot of the times, dresses are made to fit the female form and emphasise the body’s curves or they are made to be too restrictive or too avant-garde. Molly Goddard rewrote the narrative and made tulles dresses that are voluminous, comfortable and can be worn over your outerwear and still be comfortable as shown in the images below.

In a quote from The Guardian’s “The Observer” fashion page, an article entitled – “Molly Goddard turning up the volume”, (Finnigan, 2021) writes, “Rihanna rocked hers, Villanelle killed in hers… Molly Goddard takes dressing-up to new levels with her dainty-not-dainty dresses.

Price – 

Economic factors affect prices in all different types of business sectors. For example, the current war that is Russia v Ukraine, has a massive impact on food on fuel prices. A lot of the oil the UK uses came from Russia and a lot of the food grains comes from Ukraine. The Politics that surrounds the war has affected the usual movement of goods and services that usually come from that side of the world. This means that anything that needs to be transported from manufacturer to the retailer will cost the customer more money.

The UK is also experiencing a period of high inflation, where interest rates have to rise to fend off a recession. This government rising inflation plan, causes a reaction, which in effect sees the cost of living rising faster than workers wages.  

The price of fashion products from my brand also might be affected by the type of sale – Direct to customer or Wholesale. Selling wholesale will yield a lesser profit margin but it provides a bulk sale of products which is less risky than selling direct to the customer and offers more visibility for the brand on the shelves of big store chains. 

How the customer perceives the brand image and its product also inform the pricing strategy. As in the examples provided in the lecture presentation, items can look similar but the price changes depending on the branding name, the brand’s history and a subtle change in garment quality.

Product – Needs to be relevant and responds to a need or desire.

Place – Where do I want my brand to be seen and where will the products be sold. How will I tailor the customer experience and presentation?

Promotion – How is my new brand going to stand out in the crowded sector?

Packaging – How will I present my product to the customer? 

Unique Selling Point - What is my USP?

[baldwinpappas2]

Historic Replica Jewelry

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[tiaramania]

Clover & Shamrock Tiaras

Marchioness of Dufferin and Ava’s Shamrock Tiara, 1860s

Mary-Louise MacKay’s Trefoil Arabesque Tiara by Boucheron, 1889

Diamond Trefoil Tiara by Boucheron, 1896

Princess Olga of Hanover’s Shamrock Tiara by Johann Wagner, circa 1900

Duchess of Genoa’s Clover Tiara, circa 1900

Prussian Clover Tiara by Koch 1906/1950 (the original was broken up to create this tiara and the one below)

Prussian Aquamarine Clover Tiara by Koch 1906/1950 (the original was broken up to create this tiara and the one above)

Jean Templeton Ward’s Diamond Clover Tiara by Cartier, 1910

Princess Mary, the Princess Royal’s Emerald Trefoil Tiara by Hunt & Roskell, 1922

Tiara Motifs 25 of ∞

[illyaana]

Tags: Angst (like a lot), Fluff (like a lot), Kaminari Denki x Reader (shoulder-length hair pls, tq), Binaural

Synopsis: You and Denki are childhood friends. When you were young, you two found this little meadow filled with wildflowers. Who'd thought your safe haven would bring back such painful feelings?

Word Count: 2812

Dont forget to check out the main masterlist of the event hosted by @kuroos-babygirl over here!

⋯⋯ ⫍ Masterlist ◍ Navigation ⫎ ⋯⋯

The meadow you both crouched on glowed a gold hue as your fingers grazed the soft petals of the tall wildflowers, its stems rubbing against your sides. You eyed how the soft colour dusted itself on the peach skin of the boy before you, his entranced gaze stuck on the yellow and black-coloured butterfly fluttering its wings on the white-coloured flower. You enjoyed the bright smile adorned on the innocent male as he saw the now flying butterfly dance in the pale blue sky.

When’s the last time you both did this? - just walking around this little haven you both found together a year back?

Your six-year-old self reflected on all the memories they made with the seven-year-old in front of them.

It all began here - this little prairie.

Your first friend, your first wound, your first fight, your first day-out; it all took place in this land of vast greenery dusted yellow by blackeyed susans, corn marigold and bird's-foot trefoil.

It is all thanks to the adventurous, little blonde boy in front of you.

“Why are you staring, Y/N?” Denki said, nudging you.

“Just looking at the flowers, that’s all.”

A good lie, Y/N - a skilful lie.

He looked at your finger, eyeing it. Soon your hands were in his, the soft pad of his fingers trailing on the small lines of your hands. Each crevice was examined by that soft gaze of his, playing with your soft skin. His finger stopped at the scar painted on the fleshy part of your palm, a sulk forming on his lips.

“Was this from that time I dared you to jump from that tree?” He asked, guilt laced in his whispers.

It was, but you didn’t want him to know.

“Don’t worry, Denks - it wasn’t from that dare,” you say as you take your hands away from his grip, “I picked up a rock and there was a sharp end and it cut through my skin.”

He pulled your hand back into his, stretching the skin around the scar. He tried looking for clues to make sure you weren’t lying, a stressed look evident on his face.

You chuckled, gripping the side of his cheek and pinching it.

He looked at your radiant smile and all his worries washed away.

He let go of your hand and gripped your cheek in his left hand. His thumb began to rub small circles on your cheek, admiring how you leaned into his touch.

He loved how you were so at peace and calm when you were with him. You had no qualms in wasting hours listening to his dreams and aspirations, intervening once in a while to expand on his little ideas.

But you - right now, like this - is his favourite of it all.

You looked like an angel, the light from the Sun lighting your soft skin. The flowers and the very ends of your hair softly swished against the wind, forming such beautiful scenery as he took in the view unravelling in front of him.

He wondered how those flowers would look against your fingers, your hair, your ears…

He wondered how you’d look dripping in flowers.

“Sit down.”

Denki eyed the ground beneath him, looking for flowers that reminded him of you. The softness you brought, the light mood you formed whenever you were around him, the warmth you radiated whenever you were with him - he kept it all in his head as he saw the flowerbeds filled with flowers of different species.

His eyes stopped at the Black-eyed Susans that swished with the wind.

He instantly grabbed handfuls of the dainty-looking flower, hoping he had enough for the idea he had in his head.

Using his long nails, he cut the stem of the flower right down in the middle. He split one of the sections again, making three strips out of a stem. He then slowly began to braid the stems together, weaving them into a long strip.

“Stick your ring finger out, Y/N.”

You let him wrap that small strap around your finger, a determined gaze focused on the base of it.

He then inserted the end of the weaved strip into a section of the strip, securing its shape.

He took the rest of the flowers he collected and put them in his pocket as he walked behind you.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Let me do this! I have an idea,” he said, happiness lacing his words.

In a huff of annoyance, you agreed.

He began to braid the two front pieces of your hair, slowly adding the flowers he collected. He made sure that the stems were hidden behind your luscious hair. Once he finished braiding them both, he brought them to the back of your head, tying them together with the hair tie on your wrist.

“Are you finally done?” You ask, turning to face him.

You stared at his eyes focused on you, a small blush dusting his cheeks.

Angel.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me do this, Y/N,” he replied, covering his cheeks with his arm.

You looked like an angel to him. The way your eyes twinkled, your soft lips, your cute nose, your soft skin, your gaze - it was all so perfect to him.

“Y/N,” he started, “Promise me when we get older, we’ll marry each other?”

Your eyes widen as you quickly stand up in shock.

“The hell, Denki?!” You felt blood rushing to your cheeks, “You just can’t say that!”

“I think you’re the only one that can handle me - after all, you’re still here,” he says as he rubs his chin.

“Denki, life doesn’t work like that.”

“And you know how my life is going to work? Knowing me, I’d be single until I’m 23-years old if we don’t make this promise. I’d most probably have a sugar baby-”

“Stop,” you say, holding back your laughter, “Is that your plan if you don’t get into a relationship by 23?”

“...maybe.”

You began laughing, clutching onto your stomach as you stared at him.

“Stop laughing, okay!” he says, annoyed.

“Well, at least you have goals-”

“Y/N!” He says, hitting your back.

You take a deep breath as you recollect your thoughts.

Maybe a life with him won’t be so bad.

“If I can prevent you from thinking of being a sugar daddy that early in life, then sure; we can get married.”

He smiled, grabbing your hands.

“Thank you, Y/N!”

You both hold hands as you walk out of the meadow.

“I’m picturing you with a college girl at 65-year-”

“Stop.”

.

.

.

“You’re finally back!” said Denki as he jumped into your arms.

“Yeah, I am.”

You looked at the now pro-hero in your hands. You chuckled when you felt his small grip on the back of your loosely fit university hoodie. He pressed his head against your chest, nuzzling into the soft cotton. A small hum left his lips as you ruffled his blonde hair - signalling how comfortable he felt in your hands.

God, you missed him - it felt so wrong to leave him right after graduating from UA.

However, you have become a skilled inventor - no one could doubt that. Thanks to the guidance of David Shield, you’ve made your name in the inventing world. You came back to Mustafu to build your brand - hopefully alongside your childhood friend.

“So, Chargebolt,” you teased, “Congrats on getting into the top 10 of the Hero chart! I was shocked when I found out that you - of all people - got in.”

“Hey,” He hit the back of your head, “I’m a good hero, okay?”

“I sense favouritism but okay,” you teased again.

“Not very good of you as an up and coming inventor to tease a pro-hero.”

“So the friend label is gone? Understood, sir. Have a great day,” you say as you push him off of you.

“Fine, fine, fine. Come in.”

You walk into Denki’s new apartment and a flush of memories come.

You eyed the small pictures he hung on the wall, the little trinkets he kept on his coffee table and the way he arranged his kitchen. It all reminded you of his former home - the home near that little meadow.

You miss it - you both did.

You took out the little flower ring he made all those years ago and placed it in his hands.

“Remember this?” You ask.

“You kept it?” He said, smiling, “I can’t believe you did!”

“Yeah. I book-pressed it the minute I went back,” you say, chuckling, “Y’know, I still think about that little promise we made in that meadow from now and then.”

“What promise?”

You eyed the metal band around his ring finger.

He remembers - he definitely remembers. After all, he was the one who made you agree to it.

“You didn’t tell me we were having guests, Denki.”

Your eyes fell to Jirou walking out of a room and wrapping her arms around his waist from the back. She pressed her head against his neck, her hair brushing against it. He smiled, leaning into the newfound warmth she gave.

You saw the same metal ring around her left ring finger. The same gem, the same design, the same shape - everything.

“I forgot to tell you, didn’t I? I’m engaged to Jirou! - We’re getting married later this year.”

Of course, he forgot. It was just a simple promise you both made when you were kids. It meant nothing - nothing at all.

“I’m happy for you, Denki - I really am.”

You really were.

You are happy that he finally met someone who loved him despite seeing all his flaws.

You are happy Jirou managed to see what you saw in Denki - a loveable, amazing soul with a heart of gold.

You just wished you didn’t hold onto that promise.

You wish you threw away that rotting ring when you had the chance.

You wish you never went to that meadow.

You wish you never met Denki - not like that.

You wish you never fell in love with him.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Denki said as he hugged you again.

You don’t want him to hug you.

You wanted distance - you wanted to go back to I-Island.

You don’t want to be here.

You tried to pry Denki off of you, but you couldn’t - his grip on you was too strong.

“Denki, you’re choking me,” you say whilst fake-laughing.

You looked at Jirou who smiled at his display of affection towards you.

She trusts you - she knows how much you mean to him.

You don’t deserve it - her trust is wasted on you.

You are in love with her future husband - the very person who is hugging you as tight as they can.

“Denki, they look so uncomfortable - get off,” she said, patting her shoulder.

You want to get out of here.

You need to.

“I think I’ll head to my hotel room, Denks,” you say as you grab your bags.

“But-”

“Denki,” you say as you push him off of you angrily, “I need to go, ok?”

You look at his torn expression and guilt hits you.

But it was his fault - all of this was.

He isn’t meant to cry - you are.

And here he is, tearing just at the sight of your angry expression.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Did something happen? You seemed okay when you came earlier…”

Stop crying, Denki.

“There’s nothing wrong, Kaminari. I just need to check into my hotel room, that’s all.”

Kaminari.

“Do you want me to drive you there? I-”

“It’s okay, Kaminari. I’ll get a cab.”

Kaminari.

“Y/N, we’re good, right?”

“Why would you think we aren’t, Kaminari?”

Kaminari.

You walked out of their apartment, tears trailing down your eyes.

.

.

.

You stood in the meadow you met Kaminari, eyes closed. You took in the fresh air brushing against your skin as the smell of fresh flowers invades your nose. Your now long hair felt weightless as the wind lifted it, giving you wings.

“How do I look, Y/N?”

You stared at Denki in his black tux and smiled.

He looked amazing, as usual.

His skin looked amazing against the obsidian-coloured suit. The sunlight hit his skin so well it looked like it was glowing. His hair was tousled, giving you a full view of his undercut. You chuckled when you saw the black streak of his hair hidden under his natural yellow hair - it looked as if he was trying to hide his foolish mistakes when he was a kid. You looked at his small piercing now adorned with a purple gem, reminding you of his fiance.

He’s finally getting married.

He’s getting married in the meadow where you both spent your younger years.

He’s getting married to someone else in the meadow where you both spent your younger years.

“You look good, Kaminari.”

“Why are you calling me Kaminari? Call me Denki.”

“I can’t, Kaminari.”

It would bring back too many memories.

Painful memories.

“I don’t know why you can’t, though?”

“It doesn’t feel right…”

“You’ve been calling me Denki or Denks ever since we were kids, Y/N! Hearing you call me Kaminari sounds wrong…”

“Leave it, Kaminari,” you say, hiding your feelings behind a laugh.

“No, I won’t. Call me Denks, Y/N.”

Stop.

“Later, Kaminari.”

“Not Kaminari - Denki.”

Stop.

“I promise I’ll call you that later, now go get ready.”

“I am not leaving until you call me Denki.”

Stop.

“Kaminari, just go.”

“I don’t know why you stopped calling me Denki ever since you saw Jirou that day - it doesn’t make sense. You were my first friend that called me Denks, you made that nickname - Why are you calling me by the nickname you made?”

Stop talking about it, please.

“Please, Kaminari - let it go.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards him.

“I won’t until you tell me why. Did I do something wrong? Just tell me, Y/N. You know I won’t hate you no matter what happens.”

“Just drop it, ok?” You say, anger lacing your words.

“Oh my god, Y/N! Just tell me-”

“Fine.”

You forced your wrist out of his grip, making him fall on the couch.

“You wanna know why? It’s because I thought you remembered the promise we made as kids. I hoped you felt the way I did about it; I hoped you knew why I never got into a relationship.”

You gripped your phone tightly, not wanting to lash out at him anymore.

Why did you do that? Why today?

He’s supposed to be happy today.

“What promise, Y/N?”

A dark smile graced your lips.

What were you thinking? Shouting at him won’t make him remember.

Tears began to fall from your eyes as you lifted your face to see his worried face.

“It’s okay, Kaminari - don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not? You’re crying in front of me,” he said, tears forming in his eyes, “You weren’t meant to cry today.”

You weren’t either, Denki.

He got off the couch and began to hug you tightly. He pressed your head against his shoulder as he rubbed your back.

“Please don’t cry, Y/N.”

You gently push Denki and cup his face in your hands. You rub the tears from his eyes as he pressed his cheek onto your left hand.

“You okay, Denks?”

Just for today, you’ll give what he wants.

Just today.

“There it is!” He said, jumping on you, “Don’t you dare call me anything but Denks again.”

“Mhmm.”

You hugged him one last time before heading to your seat, waiting for the ceremony to commence.

.

.

.

You saw how happy he stood at the altar with Kirishima by his side. You chuckled as you looked at the small banter happening between the two of them, pissing off the priest slightly. Bakugo snapped at the two of them very often, telling them to keep quiet.

Still the mother of the group.

Soon after, Jirou walked in.

She wore a white dress that tugged on her amazing figure, surrounded by lace. Dandelions surrounded her, flying in the air, encasing her in pure beauty. They danced around her as her orchestra of young kids sang and played instruments for her.

You saw how tears formed in both of their eyes as they stared at each other.

Tears of joy encapsulating how much they’ve dreamed of this moment.

While yours that showed joy hid everlasting longing.

You feel cheated - not by Denki, but the black-eyed Susans that tickled your feet.

You feel cheated by the black-eyed Susans that cleared a path for Jirou to meet her beloved.

You feel cheated by the black-eyed Susans Denki used when he was young to make you that damn ring.

Your tears watered the devilish flowers painted yellow and black that stood beneath you, taking in your pain as a drug.

[sizeshiftingdeath]

Ends and Starts (MCYT G/T Exchange!)

Hello there sizeshiftingdeath! I received your prompts for the gift exchange, and while I tried to start pretty close to your prompt, my ideas kind of spiraled out of control, I hope you don't mind ^^' I can make something else with another prompt if it doesn't fit what you were hoping for, though! There's also a little bit of extra information down the bottom with some stuff I thought of about the au I accidentally made.

Prompt given: ‘A human caught in the rain finds a giant in the forest’

<please put a read-more here!>

The world is pockmarked with evidence of the tragedies of the past. Of warped land that paints the horrors that befell things that came before. The living reminders of them continue to live on in perpetuity, as immortal creatures that were wreathed in the horrors that life on Earth had endured in the past. 

Bask in their horrible might.

There is the Death from Burning and Fire and Falling from the Sky and Cold Choking Death, the End of the Cretaceous. A massive beast, the bloody end of an era of enormous fauna. A destruction made all the more powerful by how quickly it was achieved. It stalks the land and sea and, where it steps, the plants die of lack of sunlight and the ground turns to tar.

There is the Death from Ever Hunting and Chasing and Too Warm Too Bright - Tech, the man-shaped leviathan, death in the shape of something familiar to mankind, the Killer of the Pleistocene. The death of great megafauna in an icy world from the encroaching warmth of a new era, the sharp point of a spear. It hunts the world with spears and arrows of fire and, in the depths of its nest, all water has turned to vapor and the earth itself has become a wasteland. 

There is the Death of Falling Frozen Seas, of a primordial sea strangled to death under a glacier lock, Her Lady of the primaeval oceans, the Death of the Ordovician. The tail-end of an explosion of life, stretched too far by their own hubris. And yet, despite being a beast with a hundred trilobite and eurypterid faces, one that has a herald in the form of a human by Her side, for reasons that have yet to become known. Maybe, just like every other esoteric thing that such beasts may do, it shall remain a mystery forever.

Look and see. A new immortal is emerging from its eggshell of tragedy. The unstoppable bomb and burning oilfield. The death through hubris and a slow choking unraveling of your very being. The death of man from crackling radiation and tainted iridescent-film water and ash filled smoke. The destruction of the Anthropocene.

Except. This is a creature who was born prematurely. Because man is not dead nor feeling its own final throes. It was not born wreathed in the screams of the damned, only the fears held in the hearts of the still-living. It is naïve and curious and did not yet have the star of a hundred million species’ souls to power it yet. It was stunted.

And that is why the first human the newest apocalypse met was so important.

  …

  The forests are deep and dark. Quiet yet shivering with life. Constantly moving and yet trapped in some space between time. Most of all, they expected nothing more from you than for your own two legs to be able to travel. Ranboo liked that. 

It certainly was nicer than what he had to deal with outside of the forest at least. Here he could continue walking and listening and breathing for as long as he still could move forward. This forest in particular was a favorite, with a constant twilight quality to it that played into its timelessness. 

He stumbled over a log, slipping slightly on the slick moss, and focused as strongly as he could on his surroundings. It was hard when he could so quickly slip into his thoughts. He needed to enjoy his surroundings. He needed to stay in the present and not phase out like fog.

Ironically, it was his attempts to ground himself that prevented him from noticing what was slowly growing more wrong in the forest around him. The scent of ash in the air. The lack of birdsong or rustle of leaves. The trees, growing darker and more burnt-looking, and the dead logs that were bristling with fungi.

But when he stepped out into a clearing with an enormous rock embedded into the middle of it, Ranboo really couldn’t help but realize all of the discrepancies. The illusion of an eternal twilight had been broken with the red light that streamed down. The ground was distressingly clear of ground cover, instead dusted with ash. 

Forest fire? He hadn’t heard of any in the area but… What else would it be?

Ranboo looked up at the sun, which had meandered towards the west since he had entered the forest. There were dark clouds gathering above him in worrying amounts, and the air was a little hard to see through with the particles suspended in it. He frowned at it. 

Something was wrong here, he could sense it in a deeply animalistic kind of way. As if there was something screaming in his hindbrain to run.

He didn’t run. This was the forest that he has walked a hundred times before, when did this happen? Why had this happened? He needed to find out.

Overhead, thunder rumbled. A droplet of curiously dark water fell on his face.

Ranboo stepped towards the other side of the forest clearing that should not have been there.

And that's when a living embodiment of a mass extinction came shambling out of the ashen trees.

  Ranboo didn’t know which detail he noticed first about this rogue apocalypse beast. Was it the limp brown hair that was almost black with iridescent oil slick? Was it the enormous horns that curled jutting from its face and looked more like scrap metal than keratin? Was it the uranium-glass green stripes that criss-crossed like cracks in ceramic along it’s skin? 

Or was it the fact that this one was shaped like a man? 

The apocalypse beasts always most resembled the myriad that had died in their creation. The death of the Ice Age looks vaguely like a man,  if squinted at, mostly because so many cousins to humanity had died in its formation. It was more like an enormous boar-beast on two legs that had the arms of a man, if anything. This one did not look remotely like the death of the Ice Age. 

Ranboo took a flying leap from horror and realization to hysteria. This is the death of humans. The death by nuclear bombs and smoke and oil. The fabled next apocalypse beast, the bringer of the end of the world, was already here.

For a moment of absolute blinding terror he wondered if this meant that all other humans on Earth were dead now. That today was the day the entirety of humanity died, leaving just him wandering the forest endlessly. That nuclear armageddon occurred and he was out there worried about keeping himself grounded enough to admire the birds.

The beast - and he was never in doubt that this was an apocalypse beast, even if he had never seen any of the others in person before something shook like a leaf in his soul simply from being near it - loomed over him. It watched him like a bug under a glass with nuclear hazard yellow-and-black eyes, and the spell of frozen muscles snapped in Ranboo. He bolted towards the boulder in the middle of the clearing and pushed his way into a space between it and a smaller boulder at its base, scrambling to find a smaller crack to squeeze himself into to just get himself out of reach of the beast, of the black water, of everything.

He could hear a rasping, clicking-crackling sound. (A Geiger Counter.) He could see glowing green-striped fingers reach under the edges of the rock he had wedged himself under. Could see, in the sickly chartreuse light they cast, fingernails larger than his head catch the rock. Felt the weight of the boulder lift from his back. 

Ranboo was left crouching and shaking, so scared he couldn't breathe (or maybe it was the ash or the slimy water that couldn’t be rain), as the apocalypse beast crouched down further. It crackled and clicked with a mouth that seemed all too human to be able to make those noises, and then it. Crooned? With a voice that was more like a siren shriek turned down, weirdly echoey as if speaking from far away, it clicked and whined and Ranboo was so confused he didn’t even see the hand reach down and pick him up by the back of his shirt.

He screamed and flailed, imagination jumping into overdrive about what horrifying things the beast could do, and just as quickly, he was dropped with a whoomph to the ground and the death of Mankind jerked back. Ranboo gasped and sputtered as half of face got thoroughly soaked with ash-water mud, and hoisted himself up again to get away from the apocalypse beast.

Who was crouching over him, luminous trefoil eyes barely a foot away from his own, still crooning that awful siren tone. From this close Ranboo could faintly see radiation burns pockmarking its skin, and a horrible scar of curled and ridged skin along its face, as if it was victim to a close-range bomb explosion. 

It tilted its head, leaning a tiny bit closer, and Ranboo threw his arms up to cover his face. God, it itched where the ash water had splashed on him. Why was it itching so much?

The death of Mankind stopped again, looking up into the sky and then down at Ranboo again. It seemed to come to a conclusion, because it then slowly - oh so slowly, why was it being careful? - cupped its hands out in front of it and held them out to him.

It… Wanted him to climb on. Into the grasp of a literal specter of death specifically designed with the destruction of his own species in mind.

Ranboo, in a moment of blind panic and stupidity, climbed on. It looked polite, he reasoned. He was already going to die just from being close to this thing. 

It continued to… yes, it definitely was cooing now, in that horrifying voice, and for a moment Ranboo wondered if maybe he misinterpreted. Maybe this thing wasn’t meant to represent the nuclear apocalypse.

His eye had started to itch where the water touched it. He rocked himself in the grasp of this giant, feeling footholds in the craggy radiation-worn skin, and felt the side of his face. 

The moment e touched it, a white-hot flash of horrible burning pain hit him like a truck, knocking him into a stupor of yelling. It was as if his face was burning, was twisting and gnarling just as much as the apocalypse beast’s horns did. Under his hand, stiff with pain and unable to move away, he could feel skin slough off, could feel the cells themselves die off in droves, in response to whatever radiation or toxin was in the ash-water. 

He couldn’t even register the sensation of fingers larger than his torso curling around him and holding him steady, of him being pressed up against a vast chest that beat unsteadily like a stuck clock, of the vast thumps of footfalls against a diseased forest floor.

All he could feel is pain, burning coiling tunneling pain that tried to tear out his face, his hands, his neck, burning him bright and radiant like a star. 

  …

  The creature was screaming in its hands. It hadn’t stopped screaming for a long time. 

It was small and writhing and melting. Creatures usually didn’t like melting. 

The death of Humanity wasn’t sure how to make it stop. It had dashed out of the black-rain (that seemed to make the melting worse, maybe it’ll stop once it’s out of the rain?) to its home cave, hoping that perhaps it could figure something out in the comfort of its own home. 

The creature’s screams had died down, though whether it was from its pain being alleviated or their voice giving out, the death of Humanity couldn’t tell. All it could tell was that it wasn’t getting up, wasn’t looking at it with those wide curious scared-but-interested eyes. 

Most animals ran from the death of Humanity. Land-creatures would yell in fear and flee, birds would rise up into the sky in huge swarms only to be struck down by the black-rain. Even insects would twitch and die when they got near, which led so many to flee this part of the forest entirely. It was a lonely existence. But this human hadn’t run like the other animals had. It had hid, yes, but it had viewed the death of Humanity in all of its glory and it almost, almost, was ok with it being picked up. 

And then something had happened and now the human was dying just like all of the other animals and the Nuclear Apocalypse didn’t know what to do.

Be well. Be alright. Be just like you were before, it thought, delicately laying the twitching human on the ground out of reach of the dripping black-water puddles, in a nest of dried grasses and leaves that had swept into the cave over the years. It prodded the human with a finger, whining softly when all it did was spasm like a dying insect. It wasn’t dying, right? It was just hurt? It couldn’t be hurt, the death of Humanity wouldn’t allow it. Not when it was so curious and didn’t flee like the others. Not when the death of Humanity had a chance to learn from it. Even now, writhing in its palm, it could feel the frantic beating of life and warmth, things it had so rarely seen before.

You will be well. You must be well. I will make you well.

  ...

  When he came to, it was to complete darkness.

Well, no. Not totally. There was a faint glimmer of far away light somewhere to his left. A shuffling shadow, a faint sickly green glow.

His right was totally dark though, and he couldn’t quite open his eye. He almost brought his hand up to touch it before violently flinching as he remembered what had landed him here in the first place. Would it start burning and melting horribly like it did before? That he was even awake to wonder that is a miracle in of itself... Or the start of the second round of his torture.

Horrible curiosity pushed him to touch, as lightly as possible, the skin on his right cheek. It… He couldn’t feel it. Or rather, he could feel the sandpaper surface of extremely rough skin, but he couldn't feel the pressure, the burning bright pain. The entire area was dead to the touch.

Ranboo threw himself as upright as he could make himself, which ended up only being a half kneel before falling back over into a sit. His breath hitched and he felt his face more firmly, the rough scratchy surface of skin that splattered like paint over the right side of his face, over his eye, down his neck and onto his arm. The muted tingling where it met smoother skin along his shoulder and the bridge of his nose. In an act of desperation he even poked at his eyelid, trying to pry it open to see if he could ever see from that eye again. 

His hand passed in front of his working eye in that moment, and at this point his focus had sharpened enough to make out vague colors in the dim light. His hand… It was a black far darker than any human could naturally produce, with a grey-green cast that made him look sickly. 

I feel sickly, he reasoned to himself. What is going on? He waved his hand a little frantically, as if the new midnight shade was something that was just stuck to his skin. Desperately he held up his other (totally numb to the touch) hand, hoping it hadn’t changed too.

Well, good news - it wasn’t midnight black.

Bad news - it was a shade so pale that it looked totally devoid of blood. And the raspy surface he could feel didn’t look any prettier to the eye. It didn’t have that same grey-green tint to it though, which was nice, because it would’ve shown up really well on this pure white canvas.

Why was he even thinking about looks right now? He was in the den of an Apocalypse Beast Ranboo get your head together! This was absolutely not the right time to space out - he needed to stay in the moment!

His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he tried to get himself upright. He had only just gotten himself steady when he felt the rattle of large footsteps shake through the ground. Before Ranboo could even think to run though, the shadows out of the corner of his eyes resolved into the beast, which made its way all too quickly towards him. 

He couldn’t run if he wanted to. And besides, the damage done to him would probably kill him. He was on borrowed time as is. What did he have left to do but to see what the beast did?

It slowed as it came closer, reaching out a vast clawed hand towards him. Despite his resignation towards his fate, Ranboo flinched back as it came way too close way too fast. A movement that the beast obviously didn't notice or interpret or care about, because he was scooped up into its palm without a moment's hesitation. 

“No!” He yelled, wriggling and pushing away from the cage of fingers around him. The beast paused in bringing him up to its face, and if Ranboo was being generous he could call the look on its face a frown. 

In less than a blink the face of the beast was so close way too close and he almost punched it (for all the help that would do) out of reflex. It blinked at him with those lucent yellow-black eyes, laser sharp in their focus upon him. He felt for all the world like an ant being peered at through a magnifying glass. Maybe he’ll be fried like one too. 

“What do you want with me?” He asked, voice cracking in fear. “What is it you want?” 

It didn’t answer in that siren tone again, but instead shifted its weight to the side and turned its palms so that Ranboo was standing squarely in one of them. The other was drawn up and one sharp-clawed finger was pointed at Ranboo. Or, well. The side of Ranboo’s face that he couldn’t see from just yet. 

He trembled with the anticipation of the jagged nail at the end of the beast’s outstretched finger spearing forward. But all it did was touch, very gently, under the damaged eye. The beast frowned even more. 

Then it jabbed at him, hard enough to bruise but not much else, directly into Ranboo’s damaged eye. He yelped and jumped away, tumbling off his feet in the cup of the beast’s fingers and slapped a numb hand over numb face. Even if he couldn’t feel the area, it still surprised him enough to believe for a moment he could sense it again. Except… was that still his imagination? The eye under his pale skin was starting to itch and water, the first sensation he felt from it since he had woken up, and with a gasp he was able to open his eye. 

Fuzz. That’s all he could see from that eye. The beast leaned forward and poked at his face again, softer this time, and when he opened his eye again the world had snapped into focus, tinged with red around the edges. He blinked a few times, and felt a trail of something wet leak from that eye onto his cheek.

What had happened? “You… You healed me?” He asked up at it. It was still frowning even as he had two working eyes again, and muttered softly in a voice that sounded like something crumbling into splinters. Then it poked him for a third time, this time on the shoulder, and Ranboo held back a yell of pain as the area lit up in a blaze of sensation that felt like liquid fire. As he watched, the black skin around the edges of the wound cracked and veins of bright green glowed beneath.

Just… Like… The beast…

Oh no.

The pain of his nerves coming back to life was nothing when compared to the cold horror that had bubbled into his stomach. There was a single case of a human managing to gain immortality as a result of an apocalypse beast. One of the first beasts, Her Lady of the Primordial Sea, the beast of the Ordivician extinction, had taken pity upon an ancient human who was trapped in the glacial ices that herald her path across the Earth, and had gifted it with immortality and a pair of wings that made him as beastly as the Lady he served.

Nobody knew exactly why the Angel of the Deaths had been spared, and why not a single human had ever had that happen before or since. All that was really known about him was his violence, and that he had an uncanny ability to be where an apocalypse beast would be travelling to next. He was just as inhuman and alien as the beasts themselves, if in a smaller form.

It had only ever happened once. Until now, obviously.

Ranboo stared at his white hand, prickling with waking nerves under the surface and twisting with green strands that trailed under his skin like angry snakes, and knew that he was a monster now. Somehow, it was freeing. Like he finally got an answer to a question he had asked over and over. Why him, why now, why is he still alive, why is he not afraid enough…

He stared back up at the apocalypse beast and it blinked down at him. It was no longer frowning, only looking thoughtfully now. “You’re not going to hurt me.” It wasn’t a question.

It reached a hand back up, maybe to poke him again, but this time rubbed his hair very lightly. He did not flinch this time, steeling up his willpower to allow this touch (It won’t hurt him. He needs to keep repeating it until it is true. It won’t hurt him. He was its now it wouldn’t hurt him).

It made that soft crooning noise again, like it had before lifting the rock he had been hiding under, and despite it being underlaid with sounds specifically designed to inspire fear in humans, he could find himself getting used to it. (Would have to. He’s an abomination now after all. The second angel.)

“You’re not so bad, are you…” He slowly pushed himself to his feet, flexing his newly sensated hand carefully. “I still don’t know what you are or why you are here now but…”

The beast tipped its head curiously and warbled exactly the same words back at Ranboo. He froze, because it was so much like his own voice except under deep layers of static, before shaking his head. Best get introductions out of the way - this creature was obviously smart. It was the death of Humanity after all.

He pointed to his chest. “Ranboo.” He gave it a few pokes for emphasis, and the beast poked him too before mimicking his name. He wasn’t entirely sure it actually got what that meant but, well. Baby steps. 

Then he pointed at it. It blinked a few times (and Ranboo really couldn’t help but anthropomorphize its reactions - this thing was just too uncannily human to not) and chirped out another ‘Ranboo.’ He gestured more firmly, pointing at the beast. 

It continued to look with (probably) bafflement for a few moments, before letting loose a cacophony of sounds that sent Ranboo’s hands slapping over his ears. It was all of the sounds of falling trees, of squawking birds, of the blazing sun and frigid cold and most of all the explosive fire and cold falling ash-water and death from sickness. It was everything and more that wrapped up the death of Humanity in a nutshell. 

Ranboo blinked. That might take a while to learn how to pronounce.

  He decided to call it Tubbo for short. 

<End> There we have it! I hope that you enjoyed this - I hope it didn't betray too much how much stuff like this interests me and that this was potentially also 3000 words of me nerding out about mass extinctions.

Anyways, here's some details I had added but had no way of explaining naturally within the story that i was a little proud of ^^'

The Anthropocene apocalypse beast is also called the unstoppable bomb and burning oilfield. Shortened to TUBBO. Ha.

There’s 7, now 8 apocalypse beasts (Great Oxidation Event, Ordovician, Devonian, Permian, Triassic, Cretaceous, Pleistocene, and now Anthropocene). I originally intended there to just be 5 (for the big five mass extinctions) and then a 6th Anthropocene apocalypse beast, but then I thought I really should add in the great oxidation event that almost caused extinction of all non-oxygen breathing creatures on a very early earth, and the death of most megafauna in the Pleistocene era. 

Society is way different with these living eldritch abominations just shambling across the globe, causing a trail of destruction behind them. A lot less large cities, for one.

The Ordovician apocalypse beast is Kristin, yes. She’s uplifted Phil into something similar to what Ranboo is now. I kinda want to think more about her and her story with Phil.

The Pleistocene apocalypse beast is Techno. Idk why I chose to do that but it seemed to fit. Especially since the leading theory on Pleistocene megafauna death is humans hunting them, which I think fits Techno pretty well

The rain is black rain - rain full of radioactive fallout. Bad Stuff, definitely not what you should seek out if you want to keep your body in working order.

I kept referring to sirens in Tubbo’s speech. Just imagine every emergency warning broadcast sound except even more terrifying 

So Ranboo’s skin is majorly fucked up. For one, he’s suffered major radiation damage to the side that is now white (healed over brand new skin). The black half is much more interesting though. Did you know there are types of fungi that can feed off of nuclear radiation? They protect themselves from the effects by secreting a LOAD of melanin, making them extremely dark. Anything that wasn’t newly healed on Ranboo had now become akin to those fungi now. Feeding rather than harmed by the nuclear radiation Tubbo naturally puts off. Perfect for a newborn Angel of the deaths.

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Thank you so much for this story submission!! I really love this idea and how well you wrote it! this is so amazing! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

[ascalonianpicnic]

Orias Trefoil - “...none of us can escape what’s coming.”

Sylvari Revenant - gender unknown, he/him - nln

Years ago, he doesn’t remember how long back now, Orias and his partner were famed and notorious art thieves. They robbed museums and mansions anywhere they could, filling their small shared apartment with the finest of goods and selling whatever they didn’t like or couldn’t fit to afford food and rent.

Those halcyon days of crime and laughter and what Orias assumed was love didn’t last. During their last big job together, Orias’ partner betrayed him, bringing the Seraph down on him while he was inside the target mansion. Orias managed to escape, just barely, but while injured and fleeing the city, he had the misfortune of stumbling into a bandit scheme. His body was found face down on the bank of the river. His soul was pulled elsewhere by a watching demon.

The demon, Epoch, had seen the betrayal and this misfortune, and saw an opportunity. It needed a physical connection to Tyria to achieve its goal of godhood, and Orias was dying. If he agreed, the two could work together, Orias could return to life and seek revenge, and Epoch could borrow his skill to seek out and steal the remains of Abaddon’s scattered magic in order to replace its murdered god and reach ascension. Orias, left with a choice between working with a demon or remaining trapped in its pocket of the realm of torment, opted to return to life and deal with the consequences later. He now works to gather the scattered magic and artifacts of the dead gods Abaddon and Balthazar, each item adding to Epoch’s power. His body remains buried in a criminal’s grave, and his current form, mist essence made tangible, is tied to a demon. His only hope is to grant Epoch the power it seeks and hope it shows him some sort of favor.

-

Orias moves slowly around the battlefield, stepping almost casually from location to location through mist portals. He hits with earthshaking force and tears holes into the realm of torment, calling minor spirits to his aid. He is always calm and collected, injuries leaking mist essence and sap in equal measure until they stitch themselves back together. When a killing blow is dealt or the form becomes unusable, Epoch tears it apart and rebuilds Orias again over the course of a few days, sending him back to continue his work. He’s a force to be reckoned with, but he prefers to avoid combat when possible, frequently fleeing when spotted. He still likes to steal lovely things, filling his new home with them along side the objects he steals for the demon. Epoch, for its part, enjoys taking Orias’ body out for joyrides, knowing he’ll be the one to deal with the consequences come the morning rather than it.

(end notes: I hate this man so fucking much (affectionate) I never know what to do with him, either in game or just with his plot, but he’s far too old and far too pretty to delete or change. I’m stuck with this fucker. Just like he’s stuck with epoch. please give me an excuse to rp him)

[eddystshirts]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Adidas Originals Spellout Trefoil Logo T Shirt Adult White Graphic Tee Cotton.

[awallofswords]

More on British infantry officer swords from the Georgian era:

Source: http://swordforum.com/articles/ams/1776-1815britishinfantry.php

The British Infantry Officer's Sword · 1776 to 1815 by David Critchley November 5, 2004

This article is an attempt to define the most common types of swords carried by British infantry Officers between the American Revolution and the introduction of the 1822 pattern.

Introduction

The British officer underwent a fundamental review of how he armed himself during both the Seven Years War and the War of Independence. The traditional (and official) arm of the Infantry officer during this period was not the sword but the spontoon, sometimes referred to as the espontoon or half pike and derived from the leading staff carried by (English)Civil War infantry officers. Although a weapon of sorts it was primarily a signalling device acting as a focal point for his troops on a smoke laden battlefield. This worked fine on the structured battlefields of Europe where the aftershocks of the Thirty Years War had given warfare an almost choreographed aspect, colonial conflicts proved to be a different matter all together.

Throughout this early period an officer had almost complete freedom in what sidearm he chose. Regimental colonels would dictate a pattern, but most often this was only expected to be adhered to when in dress or full dress, a sword for the field was very much an officer’s own affair. As a result enormous varieties exist.

1776 to 1786

The half and full basket hilted broadswords and backswords had always been popular with officers of both infantry and cavalry and this continued. So much so that a relatively shorter blade length (around 28” usually) is sometimes the only way of identifying infantry usage. However other hilts proliferated as well. The so called slotted hilt [Fig.1] is perhaps the most commonly found today, often fitted with a short hanger blade. The pairing of this with a fusil or light musket (usually privately produced) rather than his official spontoon brought the officer more in line with the armament of his men.

Figure 1.

Officer’s hanger circa 1775 Slot hilt with side scrolls

However other hilts also develop, the neo-classical so called “spadroon hilt” [Fig.2] emerges (although this is more accurately a blade description), as do hilts most closely resembling the later 1788 light cavalry sword with flat pommel and back strap, [Fig.3] and the heavy smallsword type that had been used by the Prussian infantry since the 1750s and would later be chosen as the 1796 pattern [Fig.4]. With all of these styles there are an infinite number of variants with or without sidebars, languets, grips in a variety of materials, hilts in gilt brass, steel and silver and fitted with both straight and curved hanger blades.

Figure 2.

Officer’s spadroon circa 1785

Figure3.

Officer’s spadroon circa 1780

The 1786 Blade Pattern

In 1786 Horseguards finally gave in and retired the spontoon as the official arm for officers. The 60th Foot or Royal Americans had ignored Horseguards and abandoned the spontoon as early as 1781. The sword description they issued as the regulation pattern to replace the spontoon has caused confusion ever since, for in effect it changed nothing.

The Regulation orders indeed do not describe a sword they describe a blade – a spadroon blade (1) and the choice of hilt was left to the Regiment. To the collector this is something of a nightmare as unless a particular sword has provenance or perhaps a silver hilt with hallmark there is no way of really telling a 1786 bladed sword from an earlier spadroon. In addition it would seem that in certain instances regiments simply ignored the new regulations. What is certain is that the most commonly found infantry hilt for the whole period, the 1796 pattern, was being used long before 1786.

The 1796 pattern - "That Perfect Encumbrance"

The pattern that followed 10 years later in 1796 did much to rectify the situation in terms of uniform but did little to improve the quality of the weapon. The regulations clearly describe the familiar brass, shell hilted sword that survived until 1822. It seems surprising then that a sword with such a long history should have such a poor reputation.

Figure 4.

1796 Pattern Infantry Officer’s sword (1801 to 1816 Royal Arms on the blade)

General Mercer, initially an artillery officer, would have us believe that the 1796 was the "perfect encumbrance" uncomfortable to wear and useless to fight with (2). The first was certainly true, many 1796's have the inner guard hinged (weakening the hilt) in an attempt to make it more comfortable and cause less wear to the uniform.

The blade was certainly less robust than many of the cavalry sabres of the period, but it had been the weapon of choice for a large number of officers for the previous 20 years, and the hilt gave better protection to the hand than many hilts coupled with the same blade in the 1780s. Prussia had used a similar sword from 1750 for its infantry officers, but by the late 1790s the sword was seen as old fashioned and undesirable. In France the straight sword and especially the smallsword was becoming (post revolution) seen as symbolizing the old royalist regime, the martial sword and especially eastern style sabres were en vogue. In a country where French fashion still held sway despite the conflict the 1796 pattern must have seemed very frumpish.

1796 Pattern Variants

The 1796 pattern had a long, if resented life, and despite it being a regulation pattern has a number of variants associated with it. Firstly the guard, designed fixed, was most commonly fashioned to fold down against the blade on the near side, although I have owned examples where the guard folds up against the grip. In most cases this folding section is held with a leaf spring placed next to the tang internal to the guard, but there are examples where the leaf spring is screwed to the upper side of the counter guard. Some have a clip forward of the rear quillon, designed to lock the guard in the up position and hold it rigid. One example I have seen (on a sword with the guard folding towards the grip), had a slide integrated within the ferrule, directly above the grip and below the guard, which served to lock the guard in the up position. These guards are often referred to as battle guards and more often than not are coupled with robust spadroon blades.

Versions are sometimes encountered with copper or brass wire, silver foil, Ivory or ebony grips. Copper or brass wire grips (instead of the official silver wire) are an indication of one of two things. If the blade is plain without engraving and the hilt is plain without the acanthus leaf moulding mainly on the quillon pommel and counter guard, then it is likely that the sword is the version ordered for sergeants and senior NCOs. If there is a decorated blade or a decorated hilt, or the quality of the work suggests private purchase then the sword may well be earlier than the regulations and be representative of that variety of swords used before 1796. Often encountered are grips that instead of silver wire have sheet silver laid over a wooden core and embossed with a bound wire pattern.

By far the rarest are those with ivory or ebony grips. Again these could date from before 1796, but in at least one case this hilt is coupled with a blade with the post 1801 royal arms engraved upon it (3). These could of course represent senior officer’s swords or militia officer’s swords, however the fact that the grips are either black or ivory may mean they are Royal Marine officer’s swords. The naval convention was for junior officers to wear dark hilts to their swords and senior officers to wear ivory, which makes this a credible theory.

With regard to blades, the lighter versions tend to have diamond cross section smallsword blades or on occasion trefoil blades, but more commonly the regulation spadroon type is found. It is worth noting however that the Royal Scots or 1st (Royal) Regiment of Foot Guards adopted a broadsword blade with a 1796 hilt variant that included the badge of the regiment on a fixed guard.

Infantry Dress Swords to 1796

Before 1796, dress swords are usually smallswords indistinguishable from civilian models in most cases, although regimental markings engraved on the hilt are sometimes found. I have seen at east 2 brass gilt hilted smallswords with Foot Guards regimental markings on the shells.

There are pattern 1796 swords with blades so delicate they can be nothing else but dress swords, however about the same time or perhaps a little earlier another sword appears that is obviously an alternative dress sword. Similar to the 1796 it has a flatter shell and forward quillon, usually highly decorated. These invariably have trefoil or slim diamond section smallsword blades. To the best of my knowledge there is no regulation covering this sword, but it seems to have been popular nonetheless, and may have been for use at Court.

The 1798 Highland Infantry Pattern

Unlike the Lowland infantry who traditionally used English patterns of sword, the Highland infantry had always carried basket hilted broadswords, but no particular pattern was specified until two years after the introduction of the 1796. In 1798 the Highland infantry officer was given a regulation basket hilted broadsword with a gilt brass basket. Blades vary but on average blades are 33 inches. Whether the Highland 1798 was widely adopted in practice is debatable, they are not a common sword to find. The Lowland infantry continued to follow the English regiments only adopting Scottish dress in the mid Victorian period.

The Infantry Sabre

As stated previously, for whatever reason the 1796 was never popular. This was particularly so in the grenadier and light infantry companies of regiments who thought of themselves as elites, and in the new “Experimental Rifle Corps”, (later to be the foundation for the Rifle Regiment). As a result a large number of infantry sabres come into existence about this time, many with classical, spadroon style hilts or hilts modeled on The 1796 Light Cavalry sabre, and bearing the flaming grenade device of the grenadiers or the hunting bugle of the light infantry.

As usual the 60th Foot (or Royal American Regiment) had gone their own way, as early as 1798 an inspection reports that the officers were in the habit of wearing brass hilted sabres. It seems the ERC followed suit adopting steel hilted sabres about the same time. It is likely that by 1800 most Light and Grenadier companies had also moved to wearing a sabre in contravention of regulations. Indeed there is evidence that suggests that the sword that was to form the basis for the 1803 pattern came into existence in one of the Foot Guard regiments even earlier as a silver hilted variant exists hallmarked to 1794 (4).

There are a number of unofficial patterns that are used at this time that are unique to single regiments such as those worn by the 23rd, 43rd,51st,52nd and 95th Foot. Details and illustrations of these can be found in “Robson” (5).

Figure 5.

Light Infantry Officer’s sabre circa 1800

From a collecting point of view telling an unmarked infantry sabre from a light cavalry sabre is difficult. However, they usually have lighter, shorter blades (typically 28 inches) and where a scabbard exists it is typically leather rather than steel.

1803 Pattern

In 1803 Horseguards bowed to pressure and issued the regulations that describe what is now known as the 1803 pattern. Opinion is divided as to whether this sword was intended for all infantry officers or not although generally it is thought that it applied only to the Light and Grenadier companies of regiments. An ivory gripped version was ordered for General Officers.

The take up is uncertain however because it seems clear that many regimental officers also wore this pattern unofficially and at least one regiment the 28th Foot (6) took the regulations as an excuse to re arm all their officers in this pattern.

The enthusiasm is perhaps understandable; it is by far the most elegant of all infantry patterns. Based on the slot hilt, it incorporates the crowned GR royal cipher in the knucklebow (8), sometimes surmounted by the bugle or grenade if worn by light or grenadier company officers. A variant one may see from time to time is that used by the 1st (Royal) Regiment of Foot Guards who, as they had with the 1796 pattern, personalized the sabre by additionally building their badge into the hilt.

Figure 6.

1803 Pattern Officer’s sabre with unfullered deeply curved blade

Figure 7.

1803 Officer’s sabre with blade styled on the 1796 Light Cavalry pattern sabre

Many of these swords have blades either modeled on the 1796 sabre blade or a deeply curved blade more reminiscent of the shamshir blades that were becoming so fashionable after Napoleon’s Egyptian campaign.

Figure 8.

Crowned G.R cipher on 1803 pattern hilt

Conclusion

The 1796 and 1803 patterns remained in service until 1822 (when the brass hilted “gothic hilt” replaced them), and were carried through the longest period of warfare in modern times. It is worth noting however that throughout the period (and after), whilst patterns were established, officers were expected to equip themselves for the field at their own expense. Regimental custom, the latitude officers were given, the relatively wide manufacturing tolerances of the age and the propensity to use family blades (if not the whole weapon) mean that there will always be infantry swords that do not fit into any pre defined category.

References

(1) From the 1786 regulations: "...The officers of the Infantry Corps shall be provided with a strong, substantial, Uniform sword, the Blade of which is to be straight and made to cut and thrust;- to be 1 inch at least broad at the shoulder and 32 inches in length”. Public Records Office HO 50/380 and WO 3/26 p166

(2) Swords of the British Army: The Regulation Patterns 1788 to 1914 (Revised Edition) by Brian Robson. Published by The National Army Museum 1996. Pages 153-155.

(3) Sold at Wallis& Wallis. September 1983. Sale no. 287

(4) A.V.B.Norman A sword with a G.R. or “Guards hilt” in “The “Buffs” Regimental Museum Canterbury. Journal of the Arms and Armour Society. September 1998. Pages 3 – 11.

(5) Robson ibid.

(6) Redcoat Officer 1740 to 1815. by Stuart Reid. Published by Osprey 2002. Page 57

Bibliography

Swords of the British Army: The Regulation Patterns 1788 to 1914 (Revised Edition). Brian Robson. The National Army Museum 1996.

Redcoat Officer 1740 to 1815. Stuart Reid. Osprey 2002.

Swords and Blades of the American Revolution. G.C. Neumann. Rebel 1991.

Blades of Glory: Swords of the Scottish Infantry 1756-1900. S Wood. American Society of Arms Collectors Bulletin 72 Spring 1995.

London Silver Hilted Swords. L Southwick. Royal Armouries. 2001

Journal of the Arms and Armour Society 1953 to present.

Lyle Arms and Armour 1976 -1982.

Wallis and Wallis Auctioneers. Lewes. East Sussex. Sale Catalogues