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definitelynotsuzumi · 4 years ago

Text

Zapped to Another World [Chapter 3]

[Masterlist]

Chapter 3 is finally up! T-T I am really sorry for the delays and future delays since I am juggling between school and Genshin.

Despite the roof over your head and the cushy bed beneath you, you could not sleep.

You heaved a sigh as you reached your hand into your chest, detaching your Gnosis. If your knowledge was right, you were basically the 8th Archon. A phantom one, judging by Venti’s reaction.

“Oh good, you have not lost it yet.” A familiar voice echoed. You nearly rolled off the bed in surprise as you turned to face Artem.

“How? But I? Huh? What are you doing here?” You stuttered.

“Oh silly head. Or maybe I am the silly one for not letting you know. A Gnosis is a way that Archons can communicate with the Celestia. In other words, me!” Artem threw you a mischievous smile. He seemed a lot more easy-going. Was it because I agreed to this life? Or is it because his sister isn’t here?

You suspected both as Artem kicked back in the air.

“I am aware of that but…Doesn’t this make me…Irrelevant in this world? Weren’t there supposed to be just 7 Archons?” You knitted your brows as he casually floated around the giant room.

“Well, originally, yes. But things change!”

“So, what exactly am I an Archon of?” You looked back onto your Gnosis. As you had agreed to the “contract” when you fell, the Gnosis had transformed into what looked like a chess piece, with a sphere adorning the top of it.

“This world! Isn’t that exciting?”

Figures. The shape atop your Gnosis was shaped like a planet after all.

“…Honestly, not with the Fatui out to get people like me.” You sighed.

“Oh, if they try anything funny with the Order I have made, rest assured, us gods will deal with it.” Artem’s easy-going aura turned bloodthirsty.

You held your tongue instinctively as Artem laughed humourlessly.

“I am well aware of the Tsaritsa straying from her path and interfering. But I have faith in that Outworlder.” Artem hummed as he messed around in your room. He somehow managed to find lipstick paper in the drawers and had put it on.

“And me. Surely there is more to my existence in this world. Am I right in saying that?” You grasped your Gnosis tightly in your hand.

“Well yes, you are the failsafe I have created. It was pure chance that I lost that game and my temper ehe~” He blew you a kiss with his extremely pigmented lips.

You were tempted to shout. A pure chance that I got killed by that lightning volt, you mean!

“Aren’t you glad that it worked out?,” Artem closed the gap between the two of you, his eyes staring into yours. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, as if he could hear your thoughts.

“I am glad for this second chance in life. But it is honestly concerning for someone like me…” You gulped back your fear of the god.

“Understandable. By the way, try to keep your existence as an Archon as downlow as possible. While the Archons may be aware of another one, they will not be able to pinpoint who it is exactly until they meet you. If they got rid of the failsafe, I will be forced to get someone to step in.”

“…Do you mean the Sustainer of Heavenly Principles?” Artem blinked in surprise.

“Wow, I’m surprised a human from Earth knows about her. Yes, yes you are right. Clever girl.”

You felt the cold claws of dread grip your heart.

“Communication is a 2-way street. If they can observe and interact with the Celestia, they can interfere with it. That means, if they tried hard enough, they can very well overthrow the gods of the Celestia.” Artem turned serious.

“That is why you exist now. The original plan was to summon a hero from Elysium as a failsafe but seeing as to how things turn out, well, here we are.”

“You talk as if it is my fault that we are here now…” You frowned, “You raged during a game of Uno. Uno, of all games! And caused a whole lightning to zap me into the afterlife. Not to mention, the guilt trip that you pulled just to bring me here.”

Artem rolled his eyes, as if you were snapping over a trivial issue.

“Now you just sound like Solaria. Blegh.” Artem faked a retch before returning to his serious expression.

“Sorry if I made it sound bad that you are here. I mean no ill-intentions. You didn’t deserve to die because of my temper.” Artem patted your head, exhaling heavily through his nose.

You heard footsteps come by your door. Artem gave you a wink as he disappeared into a burst of golden sparks. You hurriedly stored your gnosis to your chest again.

“Miss (L/N), I apologize for the disturbance. Master Diluc has instructed me to provide you with clothing.” A maid came by, a set of clothes and shoes in her hands.

“How kind. Leave them by the dresser. And send him my…thanks.” You watched as the maid bowed her head, putting them down on the oak dresser before scurrying out of your room.

Rising and feeling the silken fabric of a simple red frock, black shirt and a matching cape, you exhaled through your nose. You knew that you were caught up in something complicated and the feeling of helplessness came back to you.

Artem’s voice then echoed in your ears.

‘Find the Outworlder and see to it that he saves this world. If not, well…’ A vision of Mondstadt in flames with the familiar black-red cubes flashed in your eyes.

‘Let’s just say, the option of going into Elysium will be open.’

You did not know when you had drifted off to sleep, but you were glad for those few hours of rest. You slipped out of your day-old school uniform and donned the fresh clothes Diluc had given. They felt light and soft, perfect for traveling under the sun. Given how the sun was blazing through the morning dew, you decided against the cape and slipped it into your bag as well.

Preparing your things, you were not a fan of how the bag of mora you had received from Solaria was getting lighter. Maybe I should become an Adventurer as well…

Walking down the wooden stairs of the Winery, you were surprised to see a huge spread of food on the table, with Diluc leisurely eating his way through a pile of steaks, potatoes and cheese.

“Have some, the people of Mondstadt call this Pile Em Up.” Diluc pushed over a steaming plate. You swore you saw it sparkle in the candlelight.

You tentatively sliced a piece. Meat and cheese at this time of the day seemed a little rich, but as the warm ribs melted in your mouth, you could not hold back a satisfied sigh.

“Your maids are excellent cooks.”

“…I cooked it.”

“…Really?”

“Do you not believe that I can cook?”

Diluc gave you a bemused smile. You looked back down onto your steak. You mentally yelled at yourself to quit blushing.

“I-well, you don’t seem the type to cook so…I just thought…”You stumbled over your words. You could feel his eyes on you. You noticed a small, genuine smile forming on his lips. You have landed on one of the topics he admits pride in.

“Well, I do work as a bartender in the tavern at times, naturally I will need to be able to cook.”

A soft warmth formed in your chest as you smiled back. Finishing off the delicious plate of the juicy meat, you blinked in surprise as he offered you a pack of dried sunsettias and apples.

“The journey will be long. Please be safe on your travels.”

Huh. You always had the impression that he was cold and aloof, but Diluc seemed different than what you have seen in the game.

“Uhm, thank you for everything you have done. I will pay it back some day!” You bowed before turning towards the path leading out of Dawn Winery.

“Uh…Uhmm….” You murmured in growing panic. Solaria had forgotten to pack a map! You were incredibly lost. A boy with white hair bolted past as you heard the sound of gibberish following behind him. You had a bad feeling about this.

“…Uh oh.”

You looked back. A group of very angry Hilichurls were running towards you and the boy.

“UH OH!”

You sprinted in the direction of the boy but you soon found yourself face-to-face with a cliff. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

You had to fight.

You turned around, grabbing an arrow that flew past your face. Everything seemed slower than you thought it would be.

Gritting your teeth, you pushed your arms in front of you. Your eyes shut themselves tightly as you willed for the area around you to freeze over. The screams of the Hilichurls stopped as you felt the icy winds against your cheek.

Cautiously, you opened your eyes to see them frozen solid. You walked up, tapping the ice with your knuckles.

It was as if they were made out of ice rather than being flash-frozen.

Whatever had happened, you were certain that you would be safe. Looking around, you noticed a blob of white hair in the bush near you.

“You alright there?” You called out. The boy poked his head out of the bush.

“A…Are they gone -AH!” The boy jumped as he saw the Hilichurls’ angry expressions before realizing that they are frozen solid.

“It should be safe and anyways, what is the use of a sword if you don’t use it to defend yourself?” You sighed, noticing a sword strapped to his side.

“They kind of caught me off-guard…” His expression of guilt made you feel bad as you awkwardly patted his head.

He reminded you of a little brother.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you took in the familiar garb he was wearing.

“I’m Bennett! I had a commission to retrieve treasure from the Hilichurls but…well…”He stole a glance at the Hilichurls, who remained frozen solid in their spots.

“I’m (Y/N) but I got lost…I forgot to pack in a map…” You sighed, scratching the back of your head awkwardly.

“Oh! I can help with that!”

Bennet fished out a crumpled piece of paper. It was a map! You were saved!

But just as you were about to thank Artem for his kindness, an arrow ripped through the middle.

The Hilichurls you froze over must have melted as you heard their angered screaming.

“Oh for f-“

Bennett drew his sword. You were familiar with his skill in the game as you saw him charging energy into his sword. Raising your hand, you willed for your power to protect him as he swung his sword. Flames rose as he struck down the Shield Hilichurl.

“Huh?” Bennett was confused when he realized he was not sent flying.

“Focus, Bennett, focus!” You yelled as you blasted the Hilichurls away from him. As much as you hated how his unluckiness seemed contagious, you did not want him to be hurt.

“Thanks!” Bennett beamed at you as he slashed down the Hilichurls. That seemed to be last of them as you finished off the Shield Hilichurl.

“Wow, thanks for saving me back there. Seriously, I owe you one.” Bennett made his gratitude known, thanking you profusely. You sighed as you sat down on the grass.

Bennett took out the torn map and looked extremely sheepish.

“Don’t suppose you have an extra one?” You sighed again. Bennett shook his head in response.

“Hey, are you two okay? I just saw the bodies of the Hilichurls and I came by to investigate- Oh hey Bennett!” A girl’s voice greeted you both.

“Hey Amber! Yeah, I kinda got into a fight with them but she saved me!” Bennett excitedly introduced you to the Outrider.

“She’s uh…What’s your name again?”

“I’m (Y/N) and I’m trying to get to Liyue but I got lost. Bennett was showing me his map until they ripped it. Don’t suppose you have an extra in your pockets?” You wiped off the sweat as you stood up to greet Amber.

“Oh! I can help with that!” Amber gave you a neatly folded piece of paper.

“Please take care on your travels then. There is a rise in Hilichurl sightings in the area.” Amber saluted.

“Don’t suppose you’d like to join Bennett’s Adventure Team?” Bennett gave you a puppy-eyed dog look.

“Uhm…Well, I really need to make my way to Liyue…Unless you’d want to come with me and abandon everything you have here…”Bennett’s face fell. You instantly felt bad for the poor adventurer. You knew it was a tall order for you to ask him to come along.

“Hey hey…I’ll be back soon. We can do more adventuring once I fulfil my mission, okay?” You smiled at Bennett, who brightened at your promise.

‘If I am still alive, afterwards,’ A dark thought flashed through your head.

Waving good bye to the two, you continued on your path, leaving Mondstadt behind.

Meanwhile

Diluc’s servant gulped as he approached a small cottage in the bamboo forest. Knocking the wooden door, he cleared his throat.

“Diluc sends his regards.” The door immediately opened to reveal a girl with dark brown hair.

“Oho! Finally! He calls! Did he happen to include an engagement ring by any chance?”

“U-Uh no, just this letter-“

“Oh how boring.” The door slammed shut.

“He includes payment with this letter.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” The door swung open again. The girl swiped off the bag of mora the servant had prepared and wax-sealed letter smoothly.

Ripping the letter open, the girl scanned its contents carefully.

“As straightforward as always. Thanks for your hard work, I guess.” Waving off the servant casually, the girl smiled to herself.

“A recon mission for a stranger in red and black, huh? Well, well, well. Time to dust off the old umbrella.”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #diluc x reader #bennett x reader #amber

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jungshookz · 5 years ago

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ahhhHHHHHHHHH ANIMAL WHISPERER!TAE WHERE U HAVE A CAT THAT LIKES TO ESCAPE AND ONE DAY U CATCH TAE JUST CAUSALLY TALKING TO UR CAT AND UR LIKE ??????? BUT HES CUTE SO U LET IT SLIDE

🐱pairing; kim taehyung x reader

🐱genre; animalwhisperer!taehyung, cATS!!!, i don’t really know what genre this falls under but there’s a cute kitty involved sO fluff??

🐱wordcount; 3.7k

🐱what to expect; “you have the highest quality cat food sitting right in front of you and you haven’t even given it a lick.” “mew.”

🐱note; i had to scroll so far down to find this message aLso this is proof that no matter how long ago u sent in a request i a) have it written down because i cheRISH every request sent in and b) will probably get to it someday!! i thought this was a cute idea and i just wanted to write something silly so i hope it is at least somewhat entertaining!! also i’m not too sure what the original source of the gif is but i found it off this page :-)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“meatball! meat-“ you pause immediately when you realise you must look like a crazy person shouting ‘meatball’ up and down the block

you clear your throat when you notice someone a block and a bit ahead turn back to look at you

you turn to look over your shoulder before giving the stranger a shrug and an expression that hopefully translates to ‘i, too, have no idea what’s happening’ and not ‘i was the one screaming meatball because i’m INSANE’

the friendly smile drops from your face when the person turns back and you let out a little huff

where the friG is your cat

here is a quick history of how meatball rolled into your life (heh)

in your first year of university there was this event that took place during finals season

and you usually aren’t an event person just because you hate the idea of having to talk to other people and having to function like a normal human being

but this - well, you had never been to an event like this before

it was basically where little kittens were going to be brought in from adoption shelters and people would be able to play around with them as a form of relaxation and a de-stressor from the chaos of exams

your parents neVer let you keep a pet as a child and now that you were on your own you had to seize the opportunity to finally play with some kitties!!!

“hey hey-“ jungkook (he’s this guy that lives on your floor and he thought youR room was his room but luckily you cleared that up) ((also he won’t leave you alone so you guys are friends now?? apparenTly)) nudges your side and you turn to look at him

there are like six cats on him??????

there’s literally one trying to get on top of his head

“i’m drowning in-“

“if you say what i think you’re about to say, i’m going to kick your aSS-“

jungkook rolls his eyes playfully and you turn back to return your attention to the little kitty you were playing with

this one was the smallest one out of the whole group anD he’s the only brown one!!

and in your opinion he’s the cuTEst one

he’s a british shorthair kitten and he’s basically a tiny ball of FLUFF

if you had to describe the particular shade of brown then you’d have to say he’s kind of like a mix between dark and milk chocolate

anyways you’ve been playing around with him for the past 20 minutes (he likes swatting at your hand and nipping at your fingers) and you never thought you’d say this but you feel like you were meant to find this cat

or maybe it’s the stress from exams that’s making you think you have some kind of spiritual connection with a tiny kitten

either way you.,,. you feel like you.,.,. want to adopt this cat.,,

…and based on the thought that you and this cat were meant to find each other, the next thing you knew you were signing adoption papers and buying waY too many supplies for him

luckiLY pets are allowed in the dorms as long as they’re smol and not stinky and not going to disturb anyone

you got in a teensy (a lot) of trouble with your parents when you called them and told them that ‘yeah exams were fine and also i adopted a little kitten and i made this friend but he’s kind of weird so i’m not sure if i’m going to keep being friends with him-‘

your mom was piSSED but your dad couldn’t have cared less as long as the kitten didn’t disrupt your studies

so yeah

you got to keep the cat!

you also got to keep jungkook because he would come over every day just to play with the kitten

at first you wanted to be funny and give it human name

kevin

steven

maybe even albert

because you thought it’d be hilarious if someone asked you ‘so do you live alone?’ and you’d respond with ‘no i live with kevin’ and theN when they find out that kevin is a cat it’d be a hoOT

but then you thought about it for a little while longer and a little harder and you realised that it wasn’t going to make you seem funny

it was going to make you seem… lame

like veRy lame

so then you switched over to the generic cutesy names that only a 9 year old would be able to come up with

bean

cocoa

mocha

peanut

cinnamon

thinking about it now you were probably super hungry when you were in the midst of coming up with a name

what else did you come up with

buttons

mr. meow

mr. bean

killer

gus!

(gus was definitely at the top of the list because he kind of resembled the tubby little mouse from cinderella)

“are you enjoying dinner…. walnut?” you’ve been testing out names for the past fifteen minutes but so far nothing’s been sticking

“mew.”

“yeah, i don’t like that one either.” you mutter and scratch out the name on your notepad “…kitty?”

oh coMe on

F- for creativity AND F- for effort

no-name blinks up at you and you raise a hand in defense “don’t look at me like that. i’m desperate here!”

also

you’re sitting on the floor eating your dinner because you thought it’d make the kitty more comfortable

he actually hasn’t touched his food at all

he’s kind of just been poking at it with his nose but maybe he’s just not used to this brand of cat food?

you twirl some spaghetti around your fork slowly while keeping an eye on him

…

ok he’s still not making a move to eat anything

“you have the highest quality cat food sitting right in front of you and you haven’t even given it a lick.” your brows furrow in frustration and you drop your fork with a clank

“c’mon, look at that. yummy!” you reach over to push the bowl closer to him

“mew.”

you watch as he hops over his bowl before lifting a front leg and pawing at one of the meatballs on your plate

it rolls towards you and you stop it with your fork

“hey, that’s not for you.” you shake your head and nudge him away gently

luckily he’s pretty small so it doesn’t take you much effort to push him away

you keep holding your hand out as a barrier to keep him from getting to your plate as you use your fork to split up one of your meatballs

“mew.”

and then you notice how intensely he watches you as you bring the chunk of meat up to your mouth

you pause right as it touches your lips and his little tongue pokes out

you swing the fork side to side and watch as his eyes ping-pong back and forth

huh

“you are a very strange kitty.” you mutter under your breath as you watch him practically inhaling his cat food

after a loT of effort (and a lot of hand washing) you managed to shape his wet food into tiny little blobs that somewhat resemble meatballs

and once you presented that to him he immediately started to scarf it down as if he was starving

“little meatballs for a little meatball.” you snort as you pick at your dinner

and then you perk up

heY

how about meatball??

“hey, meatball-“

“mew.” he responds to that name almost immediately and tilts his head before licking his lips

well

there you go!

meatball is kind of a cute name

“…unbelievable that you rejected gus but you like meatball.”

anyways

that was almost three years ago which is crazy to think about

meatball has now grown into a chonky young man (his new year’s resolution is to drop a couple pounds) and he is 100% your bestest friend in the entire world

when he was younger he was a little more playful and a loT more out of control

he would scratch up your curtains and your couch and would hop up onto the kitchen counter while you were cooking which was verY dangerous

he would cry in the middle of the night for hours on end and he wouldn’t stop until you came out into the living room to sleep right next to his cage

when your friends came over he would hiss at them (jungkook still has a little scar on his cheek from that time he tried to kiss meatball and ended up getting swiPed at)

but now he’s a little gentleman!!!

and in some ways he acts like he’s the man of the house and his main purpose is to protect you even though you’ve tried to explain multiple times that the toaster is a friend and not an enemy

when you leave for classes he’ll make himself comfortable on the window sill and just chill there until you come back

when you’re cooking dinner he still hops up onto the counter but instead of coming near the stove he just lays down at the end and watches you

when you’re doing work he likes to sit on your lap and watch your fingers fly across the keyboard

and when you’re lying in bed he curls up on the pillow right next to you even though his perfectly good bed is waiting for him at the other side of the room

when you went through your first breakup you were a mess for the whole week in which you just couldn’t stop crying but the one thing you remember about that was that meatball did not leave your side for one second

he even insisted on chilling in the bathroom while you showered which you thought was kind of weird but he would scratch at the doors if you didn’t let him in lolz

but the one thing he hasn’t outgrown?

the fact that he escapes the apartment at least three times a week

somehow he figured out how to push the latch on the window?? and then he just hops out onto the fire escape?? and he’ll disappear for several hours?? and then he’ll come back and act like everything is fine??

the first time he did that you FREAKED out because you thought he was gone forever

you were in the middle of putting up ‘missing cat’ posters around the neighbourhood when you felt something swat at your ankle

and when you looked down

there he was

“where have you beEN????” you bend down to swOop meatball up and he mews before leaning forward to lick your nose

and after the first time you swore you would never let it happen again

but then it happened again

and again

and here you are

three years later

and it’s happening again

but this time it’s a little different

usually when he disappears he comes back within the same day

but he disappeared last night and now it’s the late afternoon of the neXt day and he still hasn’t come back

you left the window wide open overnight and you placed a dish of his favourite treats on the window sill which honestly was not a great idea because you attracted a lot of creepy crawlies that were certainly noT meatball

when you woke up this morning you saw a RAT poking at the food and you nearly had a heart attack because you thought it was going to jump into the apartment

luckily you spooked it off when you let out an ear-piercing scream that probably woke up the entire building

“do you think i should file a missing person report?” you let out a sigh as you slowly make your way down the block

you have your phone sandwiched in between your ear and your shoulder as you dig through your backpack to pull out meatball’s favourite squeaky mouse toy

“i think the cops would laugh at you if you filed a missing person report for your pet cat.” jungkook snorts in response

“but he’s been gone for like, a whole day!” you give the mouse two squeaks before pausing and taking a look around

nope

no sign of meatball

“i’m sure he’ll show up eventually like he always does. son of a- c’mon, man, we’re on the same team!!!!”

you caught jungkook at a bad time because he’s in the middle of a video game session but he stiLL picked up the phone because he thinks of himself as a good friend

which he is!

in fact you guys have never had any difficulties

…well

except that one time you guys got into a mini argument over something silly which then snowballed into a bigger fight (and to be honest you’re still not entirely sure what he was upset about but you feLt like you had done/said something wrong?? but you never asked him what it was?? because you didn’t want to upset him even further???) which then led to like three months of awkward tension and every time you talked to him it seemed like everything you said would offend him so you eventually just messaged him less and less and you were kind of bummed about it because it felt like he was distancing himself and that he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore and you had no idea how to make things go back to the way they were

but eventually you got over yourselves and made up and everything is FINE now

ahem

…what were you talking about again?

“but what if he doesn’t? …oh, god. what if he’s dead? the coyotes got to him. oh my god.”

“…i’m not even going to try and play along with tha-“

“oh my god, he’s here!” you nearly scream in excitement when you see meatball sitting at the front steps of the apartment building with a stranger “someone found him- i’ll call you back, kook-“

you hang up and shove your phone into your pocket before picking up the pace

“thank god, there you are!” you drop to your knees as soon as you get to the steps and usuaLLy meatball will happily pounce onto your lap but instead he hops up onto the stranger’s lap

okay

FINE

be like dat

>:-(

“thank you so much- “ you look over at the stranger and your eyes widen a little bit

woW

his hair is red

like RED red

but you know what

you are not one to judge

after all, you named your cat meatball

but if you look past the horrifically red hair

…he kinda cute

and then you realise you’ve been staring at his face for a suspiciously long period of time so you quickly snap yourself out of it

“where did you find him??” you reach over to pet the top of meatball’s head while the stranger continues to stroke down his back all the way to his tail

“he was actually on my fire escape. i have a cat too - her name is pearl - and i guess your little friend here has a crush!”

“oh, is that why you’ve been disappearing so much lately?” you coo gently and reach over to boop meatball’s nose

he purrs gently and his ear twitches

“thank you, by the way. for finding him-“

“i couldn’t have done it without him!” the stranger laughs lightly and scratches behind meatball’s ears

your brows knit together in confusion for a split second “what do you mean by that?”

“well, i asked him where he lived and he told me he lived here. he wasn’t sure which floor so i thought it’d be best if we just waited outside for you. i’m taehyung, by the way. you can also call me tae if you’d like. i’m a pet psychic and meatball here is quite the chatterbox!”

…

wha-

what did he just-

what?????

you didn’t catch his name because you’re stiLL processing what he just said to you

he asked meatball, your cat, where he lived.,,. and meatball, your cat, told him that he lived in the building???

and he’s like.,,. an animal whisperer?? or something??

what did he say his name was?

he’s cray?

…he sure is

no sane person would dye their hair elmo red and no sane person would talk about an animal as if they could communicate to humans

after a couple seconds of silence you immediately burst into laughter and you end up startling both meatball and elmo

“good one!” you wheeze and wipe a single tear from your eye “yeah, that was a good one. meatball toLD you that he lived in this building-“ you interrupt yourself when you burst into giggles again but you trail off slowly when you realise that you’re the only one laughing and that meatball and taehyung are both staring at you blankly

taehyung looks down at meatball and meatball looks back up at him before meowing

he immediately stifles a laugh before clearing his throat

wait a minute

what was that interaction

did meatball just talk smACK about you

“what was so funny??” you raise a brow and give meatball a little glare

“meatball apologised to me on your behalf.” taehyung scoops meatball up and hands him over to you

you take him gently and cradle him in your arms before leaning down to give the top of his head a little welcome back kiss

“apologised for wha-“

“for being a moron.”

your mouth immediately drops in offence and taehyung raises his hands in defence “his words, not mine!” he laughs lightly as he gets up from the steps and dusts the back of his jeans off

“how do you expect me to believe you? i could just as easily say i’m some kind of animal whisperer-“

“-pet psychic-“

“-and claim that i have the ability to communicate with meatball, too!” you lift meatball up so that you’re looking at him dead in the eyes “meatball, do you wanna take a nap or do you wanna get a snack?”

“mew.”

“and that means he wants to get a snack.” you huff smartly and neaRly miss the sight of taehyung rolling his eyes

he’s used to this mockery

usually people are meaner about it but uh

you’re just being an idiOT about it

(but like,,.,. in an oddly endearing kind of way.,,.,.)

“actually, he just wants to snuggle right now.” tae shrugs and your heart immediately melts in your chest

“…you do?” you look down at meatball and he leans up to lick your nose

:’)

“by the way, i don’t think i got your name?” taehyung holds the door open for you and you give a little nod to say thanks before stepping in

“oh, sorry about that! completely slipped my mind. i’m y/n.” you smile lightly and stick your hand out a little underneath meatball’s butt to shake taehyung’s hand

the two of you step onto the elevator “tenth floor, please.”

taehyung hits the button for the fifth floor and the tenth floor

wow

meatball really travelled down five fire escapes to get to his lady friend

he refuses to move when he’s lying on top of the remote for the TV but he’ll travel five flights of stairs

“so, y/n, we should probably get together for dinner sometime soon.” taehyung keeps his gaze forward as the elevator doors slide close

your eyes widen in surprise and you feel your cheeks heat up a little “wha- i’m sorry?”

“you know, for the cats.”

oh right

you forgot that taehyung was literally craZY

you snort and let out a little chuckle “for a second i thought you were asking me out to dinner, not my cat-“

“well, why not? we can have dinner in the living room while the cats get to know each other out on the balcony-“

“wait, you’re telling me we’re giving up the balcony to our cats?!” you gasp before shaking your head “aLSO what makes you think i’d wanna have dinner with you anyway??”

“cats have the ability to smell our pheromones, did you know that?” the elevator dings on the fifth floor and the doors slide open

“yeah, sure, but what does that have to do with anything?” you scoff as taehyung steps off

he turns around and you definitely don’t miss the way his eyes scan over you

,.,.ok but like that’s hot

you will nevER admit that watching him do that made your heart skip a beat

“it means that you don’t have to tell me that you want to have dinner with me, because your cat just told me that on your behalf.”

“mew.”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

drabble tag

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eisforeidolon · 6 years ago

Text

Episode: Atomic Monsters

I watched this at least a week ago, but just didn't get around to rewriting my notes into a post 'til now. I did actually find this the best episode so far, but lets be real, that's such a low bar to clear at this point it says basically nothing.

The opening sequence is really fun! I found the whole thing genuinely enjoyable, both the action itself and that it included exactly the kind of return cameo I can actually get behind. No retcons or resurrections that make death somehow even cheaper or ruin the original finish to the character's story! Not even to mention that, instead of existing just for the sheer fanservice of it? A sequence like this is actively improved by giving us a familiar face we have investment in to keep it from being all just random unfamiliar cannon fodder getting offed.

Unfortunately, this isn't the rousing endorsement it could be when we know that both expanding to a big action sequence and bringing Benny back for it were actually Jensen's ideas. Not even to mention that the thing which really works best in the episode? It's the dream sequence that's not actually connected to anything else and doesn't have to worry about continuity to work. This is my surprised face.

I enjoyed the exchange between Sam and Dean in the kitchen. The meat man conversation over the bacon was rather silly, but in a fun way. I've seen some people reading things into it (it's insulting Dean doesn't know the slang, Sam is randomly vegetarian now) that I didn't really see there. I did appreciate how Sam was weirdly jumpy and had trouble meeting Dean's eyes after the creepy alternate world dream. I thought it worked really well for both slice-of-life and Sam’s reaction.

In terms of the Winchester's case, well, for the most part it could have been worse. I don't honestly believe even if I hadn't been spoiled that I wouldn't have immediately suspected the parents from their introductory exchange about how Billy playing in the big game was more important than a cheerleader's death. I think it was supposed to be a retroactive subtle clue, but it was more of a clue-by-four. So the “mystery” of tracking down the monster was pretty lost on me. I did like that the one girl having braces was a clue! But I also thought the scene with her rehearsing her speech on a live mic in an empty auditorium was weird and contrived. I straight out cannot forgive that a girl was literally abducted from the school campus and NOBODY checked the security footage near her car fucking IMMEDIATELY well before Sam & Dean. C'mon. Then, of course, a couple random middle-aged suburbanite humans get the drop on Sam and Dean, because Dabbernatural really just loves to make them incompetent so plots happen.

Then the big reveal and blah blah blah, kid accidentally ate his girlfriend. WHAT WERE WE SUPPOSED TO DO??? Um, maybe try not being scumbags? Idiotic scumbags at that, abducting a second girl from their son's own school instead of somebody that wouldn't be missed or even, hey, maybe encouraging him to try harder not to eat people. Don't try to sell me on this pseudo hallmark 'but they just love him so much' bullshit. At least the kid has more self-awareness and conscience than his fuckwad parents.

Then we get to the infuriating character assassination part of the programme. Having Sam and Dean say that they'd do the same thing as the dad for Jack their “son”? Fuck you very much, show. I could maybe, maybe, see Sam or Dean kidnapping and draining the life out of an innocent to save the other at their most desperate worst. Though I think the only time they even really get close to that kind of an actively, knowingly evil choice is with Doc Benton. Not only do I not buy for a second that they would do that for the totally-really-their-actual-child-for-reasons albatross Dabbernatural has shoehorned into their lives? Struggling to do the right thing even when it hurts used to actually mean something – it was always a very important qualifier that while Sam or Dean might make that choice, the other would not let them. So having them both agree this kind of straight up villainy would be a-okay for oh-so-totally-loveable-no-really-woobie-blob Jack ...

Like carelessly assassinating every human in the BMoL headquarters, it fundamentally fails to understand what it is that keeps Sam and Dean from being the monsters. Hint: it's not just that the show centers around them. “We do the ugly thing so that people can live happy” - these moronic hacks seem to be actually trying to parallel Sam and Dean saving innocent victims and the world to human monsters that were going to selfishly help their son eat his way through the entire goddamn cheerleading squad. Am I getting this wrong somehow? Is there some other, less appalling, reading here that I'm missing? This whole scene honestly made me nauseous.

They talkity-talk on for a while longer, but it's really not much better. Sam declaring that God was totally done with them was the writers putting those words in his mouth based on nothing. At it’s very best, it was Sam’s bad habit of convincing himself conclusions he’s come to are true because he wants them to be. So them both just deciding to believe it's true after Chuck has admitted to orchestrating their entire lives … I'm not sure if we should conclude the Winchesters have brain damage or if that's just the writers. Especially when the underlying reason for it is nothing more compelling than , “Watch the Winchesters see-saw on the angst fulcrum completely at random! Yay!” If this was actually well written, there would be some precipitating reason for Sam to suddenly be the one being all fatalistic while Dean is accepting. Instead, the writers just slap some coin-flipped angst angst angst on the page and meander on in a supposedly forward direction.

So then there's the other half of the episode, the Becky storyline. Am I the only one a little disturbed that Becky's first reaction to seeing Chuck was to look scared and try to run away? Like, they're exes and all, sure, but she doesn't know any of the god stuff yet – I think the only thing she even says about their breakup is that Chuck dumped her. Is that reaction supposed to be yet another bit of “new canon” showing how Chuck was just that terrible all along? But then she does let him in, so maybe we're just supposed to take it as Becky still having a tendency towards dramatics? I honestly don't know, but it was weird to me.

I do genuinely love that they had Becky go to therapy and realize just how absolutely fucked up what she'd done was and ultimately sort herself out to become someone who seems to be a well-balanced adult. A well balanced adult that didn't have to give up being a fan for that! Seriously, kudos to the writers for this, because 7.08 is such a loathsome episode that otherwise ruins Becky as a character. Though I do have to nitpick a bit – while I get that they wanted to put SPN merch in Becky's home as a callout to her still being a superfan? In the show's universe, Chuck's books were never that popular, so I'm having some suspension of disbelief issues that there would be Funkos for them. We could pretend they were customs, but she's got at least one Impala, so even that doesn't quite work. I'm not entirely sure who “people only want them sitting around doing laundry anyway” is a dig at, but I'm giving it the side eye.

I also am not entirely sure what to make of Chuck's whole no one needs me I kinda hate me I'm all lost and don't know what to doooooo shtick. Is this a game he's playing? Is he really that wishy-washy? Did some of Dabb's sad internal monologue as showrunner somehow end up in a script by accident?

He goes on like that and laments he's lost the Winchester's trust and had words with them or whatever, and then he zaps Becky and her family away at the end. Like, if he cared enough about Becky to care about her opinion, why does he turn on her, too, just like that? I guess we're supposed to see it as him having found his mojo in her space and vanishing her because taking over her space that's working for him currently is his latest whim. I suppose they're intending to show Chuck as just being that capricious and flighty, but I don't know that it works for me. The way they've been writing him he's acting so randomly and impulsively that it's kind of unbelievable he can even sit still at a keyboard long enough to write another Sam and Dean installment. Again, I definitely find it unbelievable that the Chuck they're giving us now would be capable of playing the long game that he would have had to for him to be actively behind everything. Until he suddenly got impatient and lazy and popped up in the cemetery at the end of the last finale ... for reasons … and is now just … like that … because.

Not to mention that his powers are, big shock, just as arbitrary as everyone else's in the current show. He can't actually see what is happening to Sam and Dean because of the bullet sapping his power or whatever, but we're supposed to be worried about the ominous ending he's writing for them because … he's got those god powers to make it happen, I guess? Uh...

I will grant that the ominous bobbing of Sam and Dean Funkos' heads to Chuck's furious typing was a wonderfully foreboding shot to end on.

#negativity for ts #long post #anti dabb #anti jack kline #writer incompetence #spn season 15 #spn 15x04

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feargender · 6 years ago

Text

talk to me into the night again

written for @jupeterweek‘s day one prompt: reunion

read here on ao3

The ship that Juno will be living in for the foreseeable future is not especially spacious. A galley and living area sit above the cargo bay, and lining a hallway are several small bedrooms, equipped with a bed, a closet, and a small half-bathroom stall crammed into the corner. The showers are communal, but the water pressure is decent, Buddy assured them as she gestured around at the amenities. One of the storage rooms had been converted into a medbay. Above all of this is the bridge, with an array of buttons and knobs and toggles that Juno is acutely wary of. He keeps his hands deep in his pockets for this portion of the tour. Below everything is an engine room, that they are not allowed into but shown the door all the same.

The ship is not spacious, and two people on it are avoiding him. Rita had been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he didn’t tell her what exactly Agent Rex Glass was doing sitting in the cargo bay of a spaceship full of criminals, and why exactly she was the only one who seemed surprised by this. Which, well. Juno was surprised, but not for the same reasons Rita was. But it wasn’t really the place or time to tell her, “Actually, Rita, Rex Glass is only one in a long list of aliases this man has used in his extensive career as an intergalactic master thief. I have known this since almost the beginning, but didn’t tell you. Also, he may be directly related to the first time I lost my eye. Further, I am in love with him but have almost certainly damaged any chances of a relationship we may have beyond repair.”

He settled with a very tactful, “Not right now, Rita, please.” She took this with some indignation, which is fair, but does mean that his only ally on this ship is now unavailable. After his initial greeting, Nureyev dematerialized, somehow managing to be wherever Juno wasn’t for the entirety of the first day until that evening. This may have been made slightly easier by the fact that after the tour, Juno retired to his room to slurp anxiously from his precious reserve of moonshine and fight down a panic attack for several hours.

That first dinner was tense, even though Rita talked through the entire meal. She made it abundantly clear that she was not talking to Juno. Nureyev- Adrian King, Juno reminds himself firmly- was also quiet, but maybe that’s just a part of his persona. Juno can’t tell, and also can’t read much from Buddy, Vespa, or Jet.

However, when Juno volunteers to do the dishes after their meal, Nureyev makes himself comfortable with what appears to be a novel on the tablet at the table in front of him, and seems content to not move. And also to not acknowledge Juno’s presence at all as he familiarizes himself with the kitchen.

Even sharing his space silently, with both of them occupied, is torturous. Juno washes, dries, and puts away the dishes and makes a point to learn the placement of everything in the cabinets and cupboards, but the entire time he is also acutely aware of Nureyev’s close proximity.

He hasn’t changed his cologne, and it threatens to suffocate Juno.

Once he finishes, Juno stays in the kitchen, staring out the thick porthole window at the black expanse of space. He sees stars, and a few planets in the distance. Nureyev shifts in his seat, getting comfortable. Juno wonders, briefly, if it would be less painful to cast himself out of the ship and into that black nothing, but then shoves that line of thinking away entirely.

In the months since… everything, Juno has firmly clung to his resolve to improve. Sometimes improvement only looks like refusing to wryly consider his own demise as preferable to emotional discomfort, but it's an improvement nonetheless.

Juno tears his gaze away from the porthole and turns to leave, heart pounding against his ribs furiously. He stops in the doorway, but doesn’t turn. “Maybe we could talk, if you ever have a minute,” he says, his voice sounding awkward and stiff to his own ears. Then, he takes very measured steps back to his own bedroom. And if it’s a conscious effort on his part to not run, then no one has to know it but him.

He pauses outside of Rita’s door and hears one of her streams running, but doesn’t go in. He doesn’t know what to say to her, anyway. Instead, he sets about putting his own bedroom to rights, dressing his bed with his own comfortable blanket he brought from Mars instead of the thin, scratchy one that came with the room. Inevitably, his clothes will end up tossed in all corners of the room, but to start with, he organizes them in the small closet and dresser provided.

After a moment of thought, he uses some tape and sticks up a single photograph to the wall above his bed. One of the last pictures taken of him and Benzaiten, after Juno’s induction into the HCPD. They’re both smiling, Juno looking stuffy in his blue dress uniform, Benten looking breezy in a pale yellow shirt. Sarah had been the one to take the photo, and Juno remembers that she was smiling too. It looks a little silly, small and wrinkled on the wall, but this is the best way Juno can think of to share some of his escape with his brother.

Juno is sitting on the edge of his bed, contemplating where he might best find some sticky putty for the few paintings he was able to bring with him, when there’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in,” he calls, voice a little rough.

The door opens wide enough for Nureyev to peer in, and then he steps through fully, looking as stiff and uncomfortable as Juno has ever seen him. Even staring down possible death, he had such a cool energy about him, unruffled and unconcerned. Now, standing in Juno’s doorway, his face is pinched and his hands are fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. At Juno’s glance, they still immediately, going to rest firmly at his sides.

After a moment of silence, Juno scoots over on his bed and pats the space next to him invitingly. There’s no other seating in the room, but Nureyev doesn’t seem particularly disturbed by the suggestion, settling quietly next to Juno. Juno doesn’t think that either of them are ready for him to begin speaking, yet, but is also at a loss of what to do, and so instead just sits.

Nureyev eventually begins to rummage through the small collection of paintings Juno brought with him, lifting them out of Juno’s bag and examining them with quick, keen eyes. If things were different, Juno might have laughed. Nureyev is a thief, before everything, always hunting out potential valuables. In a time of intense discomfort, his answer is to snoop.

After a thorough search through the small collection, Nureyev meets Juno’s eye for the first time. “These are atrocious, Juno,” he says, one side of his mouth pulling up in what may either be a smile or a sneer.

Juno shrugs. “I like bad art. I like wondering if it’s good to someone, or if it’s bad on purpose. Also, bad art is usually cheaper than good art.”

The other side of Nureyev’s mouth pulls up, and it’s definitely a smile. It vanishes quickly, however, as Nureyev grows restless again. He looks for something else to grab his attention, and his eyes land on the picture of Juno and Benzaiten. He blinks. “Your brother,” he murmurs. “You were twins. I didn’t know that.”

Juno squints at him. “I thought you looked into me,” he says doubtfully.

“Not that deeply,” Nureyev replies.

Juno huffs out a breath to fight down a wave of unwelcome emotion. Thinking about Benten is still hard in many ways, and he doesn’t need any added difficult emotions roiling inside of his chest. “I would really rather not talk about Benzaiten right now, if that’s alright,” he says meekly.

Nureyev looks at Juno again, eyes stuck on his face, while Juno stares instead at one of his ugly paintings. It depicts a woman, but it’s like a child did it, and not in a way that adds character or charm. The warbled shapes and blobs of color make her look slightly nightmarish, or in one of the middle stages of decomposition.

“What do you want to talk about then, Juno?” Nureyev asks softly.

Juno replies to the painting, though he can feel Nureyev watching him still. “I don’t really know. Or, I do know. I just don’t know where to start. Can you… give me a minute?” He steals a glance out of the corner of his eye, and catches Nureyev’s careful nod. “I feel like I need to explain, but I also feel like whatever I have to say doesn’t really matter. Like, I want to apologize, but being sorry doesn’t change that I hurt you, on purpose, and that it wasn’t fair. And I want to tell you everything that lead me to make the decision that I did, and everything apart from that. And that I have spent a lot of time thinking it over, and thinking about if there was any way I could have run away with you instead of from you. But I guess even if I told you all of that, it might be meaningless?

“I don’t know if knowing would be better for you or worse, or if you could forgive me or not. And forgiveness isn’t really the point anymore. So, saying all of that, what I really want to tell you is that I remember that thing you said to me, back with Engstrom and the train. You said that it isn’t kind to tell someone that their gift means nothing to you. You were right. You gave me a lot, a whole lot of yourself, and I treated it like it didn’t mean anything. But I, uh, I know it did. And I’m sorry that I betrayed your trust. And also, I never really told you, but I trusted you, too. And I still do. That’s… that’s it, I guess.” Juno clears his throat and ignores the insistent ache behind his eye, tears threatening to spill over.

Nureyev is quiet for a long moment, still watching him. Juno continues to look at the morphed, terrible woman in the painting. He can almost count the brush strokes that gave form to her swollen, puckered mouth.

When Nureyev speaks, Juno almost jumps. “I was angry for a long time, because being angry was much easier than being hurt. And you did hurt me, Juno, very deeply. I have also thought about it a lot over these past years, however. After the anger and the hurt faded, I was able to see it more clearly, and I realize that the mistakes weren’t all yours. We were both in an extremely vulnerable place, that night. Neither of us were capable of reasoning or clear thinking, not really. When I asked you to come away with me, I know now that it must have sounded like an ultimatum, and that both telling me no and actually following through with it would have felt equally impossible.

“I wish we could have talked about it, but I don’t know what would have come of that. I couldn’t stay, you couldn’t go. Truly, we barely knew each other. I’m not saying what you did was right, but what I did wasn’t right either. I forgave you a while ago, Juno. But I am also not entirely sure how to move forward from there. I want… to be honest, I want a lot of things, but most of them are entirely unreasonable to ask for right from the beginning; I am clear headed enough to know that now.”

Juno nods, finally looking up at Nureyev. He’s grown out his hair since last they saw each other, it’s just long enough for the small knot he has it in at the back of his head, though a few black strands slip free and tickle his cheeks. “Would it be too much to ask for us to start over? As, I don’t know, friends? Or something?” Juno asks sheepishly.

“I think that’s very reasonable,” Nureyev smiles then, and Juno would almost call the expression shy. “As your friend, can I hold your hand?”

Juno’s face breaks into a small grin before he can stop it, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up from his chest. He twines his fingers with Nureyev’s own, daring to lean his head against his shoulder. Nureyev allows it and they sit like that for a bit.

“Not to ruin the moment, but I have heard some very alarming things from Siquliak and the news. What the hell happened on Mars?” Nureyev asks after a moment.

Juno laughs again. “That’s a long story.”

Nureyev chuckles back warmly. “We have time.”

#jupeter week #jupeterweek #jupeter #tpp #juno steel #junoverse #fanfic #peter nureyev #mine #kieran reaches out into the void #good to reblog

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minttoy · 6 years ago

Text

all that we lost

CHAPTER THREE

Summary: Five years since the war has passed. Five years since she joined the Dragon Guard. Five years since she saw either of the princes. One of them is a King now. Rayla doesn’t consider herself blessed. How could she lose so much of herself and gain nothing back? The war has come and gone, and still she’s counting her losses. Amidst this fractured peace, she returns to Katolis to make up for lost time.

Pairings: Callum/Rayla

Genre: Romance/Angst

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

For Chapter 1:

Chapter 1 (FF.net)

Chapter 1 (AO3)

A violin plays a joyful and melodious tune in the background.

Streets lined with vendors, music, dancing and games with stuffed prizes. Concession stands catering foods from around the world are found at every corner. Wherever she looks, there’s a joyous atmosphere, reminiscent of the celebrations that took place at war’s end.

They’re standing at the castle entrance. Callum has taken it upon himself to entertain a curious group of kids with an assortment of ‘magic tricks’, the irony being it’s real magic, and they’re not tricks. Rayla watches with wry amusement from the side.

“Again! Again!”

She offers him silent pity as the children start another round pleas to see the trick for the tenth time.

Callum smiles tightly. “Alright, but this is the last time.”

He kneels to the ground, using the bottle of bubbles that has the kids so enthralled to blow another set. Drawing the sky rune in front of him, he whispers the incantation and a small gust of wind sends the droplets gliding and dancing in the air. The kids run in a flurry, trying to pop the most soapy water blobs before they soar too high.

The gust of air magic catches the hem of her pants. For the festival, she’s opted for loose human clothing. If it weren’t for her horns or markings, maybe she could pass off as one of them.

When she looks up again, Callum is doing his best to wave off the kids, promising them another show sometime later. There’s a wave of disappointment, but one kid pulls out a kazoo from his party bag and sputters out noise as he darts off in the street. The others eventually follow and Rayla eyes one girl in particular.

“Hey, little one. Be careful. You might trip and fall with your shoes untied,” Rayla calls out to the small girl that reminds of her of a younger Ellis.

The girl looks down to see that her boot laces have come undone and then she sort of waddles towards the elf. Rayla drops to her knees, levelling herself with the child. “I know you’re eager to join the others, but do you want to know what’s not fun? Getting hurt,” she says, tying her boot laces and then doubling it for extra measure.

Once finished, Rayla notices she’s been glancing between her non-human features, from the top of her head down to her fingers. The small girl soon erupts in a smile, having finally decided. “Miss, I like your hair!”

Rayla smiles the compliment. “Thanks. You can run along now.”

“See you later!” And then she bounces off towards the other kids with energy like the sun, reminding Rayla that kids are freer than anything in the world.

She rises to stand and dusts off her trousers. Behind her, she hears the faint sound of sketching. Charcoal on thick parchment paper. She glances up to catch Callum drafting something in his book. Something he wants to remember. She watches idly from where she is, studying the small ritual and fixed concentration in his eyes as he shades and fills the lines. Callum is so handsome still, and his boyish charm has aged well.

He soon finishes with the drawing, notices her staring and then tilts his head.

She looks away and waves off his silent inquiry. “It’s nothing.”

He arches a brow, but she walks over to him and peers down at his sketch from his side. Back then, he’d always let her appreciate his works, scrutinize them even.

In the book, he’s drawn the busy streets before them, the banners hanging across the rooftops, the food stands, the assortment of flags, a few passerby. She marvels at his talent, even as she’s seen him do it hundreds of times. He could draw in his sleep if he wanted.

“Figured I should remember this day somehow,” he starts.

She nods, because that’s how he remembers. Callum always draws people, places and memories that are important to him. She saw them firsthand, back when those pages were mostly of his mother.

“By any chance, do you still use that…book?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

She’s lost at first, but clues in afterwards. Of course. Her own book, littered with lists it would confuse anybody with no context. He’d given her the first one she ever used.

“I do.”

He doesn’t avert his gaze, instead searches her eyes for understanding. “You…still get nightmares every night?”

She shakes her head. “Not every night. It’s better now.”

They’re silent for a brief moment, but only because it’s a topic to be discussed later. He finally averts his gaze, closing his book and slinging it over his shoulder. He motions her forward, suggesting they go for a walk and the two walk in step.

“You know, I think sky has always been my favourite class of magic,” he strikes up conversation, shifting the tone.

Rayla looks ahead of her, careful to maneuver around passerby. The streets are littered with folks now, but she has no doubt it will be busier later today. “Sky, huh? Why is that?”

He hums noncommittally. “I don’t know exactly. I just find myself using it the most. Maybe I’m biased, since it was the first Arcanum I learned.”

“Well, you’re also good at it,” she says as a matter of fact.

Callum beckons her to cross the street and she keeps close when they pass through a horde of vendors and their moving carts. People stare and steal curious glances. She sticks out in human garbs and it doesn’t help they’re a tall pair walking amongst a crowd. For a second, they glaze over her form or peek at her horns, but sometimes they look over at Callum with a glint of familiarity. He has no crown or regal showing, so maybe he’s not the prince they have in mind.

She almost wants to take his hand.

Make a statement. Somehow show the world that humans and elves can get along. Remove the judgment in their eyes and make peace. She knows he’d go along with it too, even squeeze her hand in steady reassurance, because he believes it too, but instead, she keeps her arms crossed in front of her.

“So is this what humans do when there’s no war?” she pipes up, shifting her thoughts.

He casts a lazy inspection to a particularly loud group across the street selling tickets for a show. “I guess so? I mean, after the treaties were signed, we threw a festival much like this one and the town settled down quietly ever since.”

She tilts her head at him. “And you?”

He looks down to the ground, hands in his pockets. “I sort of became a…diplomat?” He seems to think the title sounds silly out loud, so he quickly waves it off. “It’s fancier than it sounds. Basically, I go back and forth between towns, attend all kinds of meetings, negotiate trade, arrange foreign affairs, deal with disturbances at the breach, make big speeches…it’s not that bad, not so complicated.”

She snorts. “It sounds complicated.”

His lips tug to a small smile. “When I’m here, I like to teach at the school.”

Rayla marvels at the thought. “I had no idea you kept so busy.” She reflects on what she’s done in her last five years. “Is being a diplomat still frustrating as you once said?”

He chuckles. “So you did read my letters.”

“Of course I did,” she says, surprising him with blunt honesty.

They settle for brief silence, letting the sounds of the festival fill the space. When she hears him exhale, she looks up again.

“It’s gotten better, or easier, I should say,” he starts. “It’s a lot of work getting people to agree with each other, but I shouldn’t complain so much. I mean, I get to travel the world and see all kinds of things, right?”

“And attend a lot of festivals?”

He smiles. “Yeah. That too.”

Callum looks at her and there’s a thoughtfulness in his eyes. He’s preoccupied with something beyond this mindless conversation, but she knows him very well and it’s only a matter of time until he comes out with it.

“What’s on your mind?” she presses.

A sighs escapes his lips and he submits to it. “There’s room for one more, you know,” he starts. This time, he doesn’t play it too serious, not like he did five years ago, and she’s thankful for it. “You could still come with me. I’m sure everyone would be interested to hear your side of the story.”

Back then, these had been her choices. Join him or join the Guard, and after three days spent holed up in deep thought and rumination, she left him and chose the latter.

Rayla casts a dubious look. “Everyone? Really?”

“Well, maybe not everyone,” he amends. “Most people. The good ones will listen, at least.”

Her mouth tilts up in a small smile. “I hope you’re not trying to convince me to quit my job.”

Callum shakes his head, laughs it off quietly. “Nah. It’s just something for you to consider. My point is you’re always welcome here. I just wanted you to know that.”

She smiles again, but it fades quick as regret comes back to sting her. A blank expression shapes her features again. “Umm, can I be honest for a second?”

“What is it?”

“It’s about your letters.” Rayla sighs as she runs a hand over her face. “I’m just…sorry I didn’t write back.”

He turns to her, and she finds no resentment or malice there. “It’s okay.”

For a while, they sit at the square, listen to the band play folksy tunes, watch townies perform traditional dances. Rayla taps her foot loosely to the beat, reminded of the ceremonies and traditions held in her hometown.

Afterwards, they join the lineup to enter the town raffle. The prizes sit on the back table, courtesy of King Ezran himself. Baskets of foods, houseware, kitchenware, boxes of wine, stacks of books and smaller gifts stacked neatly. Callum needs neither of these things and Rayla can’t bring back any of the gifts with her on horseback. She think it’s reason enough to opt out of the raffle, but everyone is doing it so they toss their ballots anyway.

They catch the noontime showing for the play re-enacting a dramatized version of the war’s end. She snorts at the interpretation of Azymondias, a name half the performers can barely pronounce. He breathes thunder and has sharp teeth, but years ago he was never as menacing as the play suggests.

Later, Callum somehow convinces her to try her hand in the archery tournament.

She’s not here to gloat, but he pushes for it. Maybe he’s improved over the years and thinks he can best her. Curious, she says nothing of it and motions for him to take his turn.

His first shot misses the bullseye by four markers, the second lands on the outermost ring and his third is the best, just one ring short. He’s not ecstatic with the results, but she gives him some credit. Back then, he could barely figure out the mechanics of the weapon.

“Pretty impressive,” she says as she accepts the bow from him.

Callum smirks. “I’m more curious about you, to be honest.”

He’s not the only one, it seems, as her eyes drift to the crowd. More onlookers have come to watch since they arrived. Families and cliques and tourists watch with wary anticipation. Even the brawny man supervising this tournament ignores the rest of the matchups to eye her with some suspicion. There are no other elves amongst this crowd, let alone this festival. She’s the only one with horns.

The matter is paltry.

Rayla eyes her target, sets her arrow and pulls back the string, releasing it with a deftness taught to her as an assassin, but honed in the Guard. With no moving targets and harsh fogs, she knocks the easy bullseye, and behind her there are gasps of surprise. She wastes no time, lifts the second arrow and launches it with more speed. It lands beside the first, just edged into the middle ring. Her third attempt goes awry, her concentration snapped when the large man in her periphery coughs loud into his mouth and her arrow goes straight into a hay bale behind the target.

She lowers her bow and briefly acknowledges the crowd before spying the burly man a look. Even some of the townsfolk have the decency to quietly applaud.

Raylat tips her head at him. “Is there a problem?”

He ignores the question entirely, getting up from his stool to yank out her arrows. “Sharp shooter, aren’t you?”

She shrugs. “Lots of practice.”

He raises a brow. “Are you trained in combat too? The art of the blades? Magic, even?”

Her expression sours a bit. “Does it matter?”

“You tell me,” he answers vaguely. He follows up with a half-snort, half-chuckle before snorting in ridicule. “Here we are, throwing all kinds of festivals and parties, thinking the war is over. Meanwhile, everyone living across the border act like it’s not.”

She doesn’t twitch. Her face is wooden. She silently hands him back the bow when he comes to get it. At his size, she guesses maybe he’s a retired guard. He speaks like a hard-bitten man, not necessarily contemptuous. Perhaps he served under the liege of King Harrow, now hardened having failed to protect his principal. Maybe he was there that fateful night and he’s seen firsthand what she’s capable of.

She stops herself from overthinking and swallows uncomfortably. “Umm, thanks for letting me play.”

He scoffs. “You can thank the prince.”

Rayla turns around, finding Callum in the corner speaking with a family across the fence. She stays nearby and tries to shake off the slight, but she’ll need something strong to forget that happened. Idly her gaze falls to the other matchups, where archery is done in good fun, but she knows when she returns to her post things will be different.

She hears clapping from her side, flushes with mild embarrassment as Callum walks over.

“Amazing as always,” he says, and her cheeks are noticeably pink now. “To be honest, I kind of underestimated you back there. I thought you were a swords-only type of warrior and maybe I could best you with my mediocrity, but I was wrong. Well, lesson learned.”

She sneaks a glance to the brusque man, unable to help herself. He’s still looking her way, curious of her relations with Callum. “Thanks,” she says absently.

“Is everything okay?”

Her mind reels back to what Callum said before. About how the war should have ended. What could have been done to end the persistent prejudice and bigotry. Suddenly, she stands to block Callum’s view of the archery tournament. “Everything’s fine.”

But she knows that face. Filled with question, concern and disbelief – he sees right through her. After years of separation, maybe he no longer feels obligated to act on it.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he tips his head towards the streets and she sighs in relief.

In truth, she hadn’t anticipated spending the day with him. She’d resolved to watching a few festivities from a rooftop and then spending the rest of the day in the forest. Instead, Callum takes her to the bakery for the afternoon. This place is famed for their jelly tarts, but today they’ve cooked up all kinds of delicacies, treats and pastries she’s never seen. All pretty and glittered with extraneous icing and sugar dust. Ezran would love it.

Rayla looks up from the glass counter and eyes Callum at the register. He’s on friendly terms with the baker behind the counter and they exchange smiles as the older man hands him a box of sweets.

She walks over curious. When she tries to get a peek, he just hands her the box. Inside is a dozen of bare cookies. A concoction of butter, sugar and flour mixed together and baked to golden perfection. Plainer than anything displayed in the counters.

Out of age-old connections, the baker lets them head into the back kitchen. Callum goes straight for the piping bags with a strange child-like eagerness.

“Something you probably don’t know, when Ezran and I were kids, we always snuck in here,” he says, making a frosting bag with a tip for her with leftover icing. She takes it with hesitation, having never done this before.

“You two would sneak in here? What kind of castle lets their princes do that?” she asks idly, trying to figure out the bag.

“Well, the guards were always busy doing something else, or guarding someone else. And the bakers would let us sample the treats so it was well-worth it,” he explains, chuckling at himself. “Back then, the palace was always…tense, and sometimes we needed a break. Things never really settled after my Mom died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He waves a hand. “Don’t feel so bad. That was years ago, and now this place holds good memories. Ezran got his jelly tarts and for me, the bakers were always nice enough to let me try my hand at decorating. I always looked forward to that the most.”

It makes sense, she thinks, because Callum always had a knack for art. She watches his demonstration on how to write with frosting, outlining a neat ‘R’ for Rayla on one of the cookies.

She tries to frost the primal moon next. It comes out as a sloppy oval. She doesn’t even try attempting the smaller details and moves on. She figures she should try something easier, but the next cookie she pipes out too much on the first squeeze and the most she can salvage out of it is a blob. She sprinkles chocolate bits to cover it up before deciding she has no affinity for the art and instead, leans on the counter to watch Callum instead.

She marvels at his concentration and studies the way his brows furrow when he connects his lines. He makes anything from snowflakes, trees and precise swirls that look like roses. On the last cookie, he sneaks a glance at her pair of sprinkled blobs before tracing the moon rune himself with more care and attention than she will ever obtain.

He slides it over to her and she thinks there’s a hint of smugness on his face.

“Well, you win this one,” she says, standing straight and glancing over the array of frosted cookies.

“I had no idea we were competing.” His smirk is still smug. “Does that make us even?”

She snorts. “Well, I’m not sure how much your cookie decoration skills would help you in a fight. I think I could still knock you down.”

He raises a brow. “What if I use magic?”

Rayla tilts her head in interest. “Is that a challenge?”

His smirk disappears and he hesitates, considering it over. “Err, you know what? I take it back. I already underestimated you once today. I’m not looking to embarrass myself again.”

She smiles and before they know it, they run into a silence. Eventually they would run out of things to talk about. She’s not going to recount the days they spent apart or their days spent in war. Unfortunately, there’s hardly anything in between.

The silence is interrupted and she’s glad for it. The baker walks in at the right time, beckoning Callum over. She makes a quick guess, like a small game, and she’s right on track when after their quick exchange, Callum looks over apologetically.

Peering over at the storefront, she catches a couple of guards whispering to each other. They’re looking for him. Her guess is he’s needed elsewhere, maybe due for some big hero speech.

“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you later,” she says for him.

He nods. “There’s going to be a dinner celebration at the castle later,” he brings up. “I’ll see you then?”

She sends him off with a nod. When he’s gone, she packs up their snacks to go, not missing that the baker has chosen to stay nearby. She shoots him a second-glance over her shoulder in acknowledgement.

“You’re a friend of the prince, huh?” the old man pipes up. “What’s your name, lassie?”

She turns around, finds the baker appraising her. “Rayla.”

“You’re in good hands, you know,” he says for some reason.

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugs loosely. “The prince. He doesn’t judge. I mean, I don’t either – you’re welcome anytime here – but it’s different with him.”

Rayla raises a brow, unsure if that made anything clear.

He motions vaguely in her direction. “I’m guessing he met you through work?”

She hums noncommittally. “Not quite.”

“Well, I think he kind of likes you. I’m no expert, but I’ve known the kid his whole life,” he starts. She’s starting to wonder if this is some cautionary warning. “But hey, if you don’t like him back, that’s okay. Just – let him down easy. Rumour has it he had his heart broken by an elf a few years back.”

“Oh,” she says. “How…unfortunate.”

The man is only protecting him, it seems.

“I’m not worried. He’s got plenty of years ahead,” he says before sauntering towards the work table where a lump of dough waits to be kneaded. “It’s nice to meet you, Rayla. I hope to see more of your kind around.”

#rayllum #rayla x callum #tdp rayllum #tdp rayla #tdp callum #angst #romance #dragon prince fanfic #Dragon Prince #Rayla #callum #fanfiction

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themurphyzone · 7 years ago

Text

A Skele-Ton to Learn

Based on a quick gag from Backwards to School Night where they bring a skeleton back to life.

“You wanted to see me?” Melissa asked, closing the door to Principal Milder’s office behind her. She dropped her backpack at her feet, slipping into a chair. There was a boy with messy blond hair by the water cooler, who seemed rather fascinated by the taps. His outfit was more appropriate for a rodeo rather than a public school.

Principal Milder sighed. “Get comfortable, cause this is gonna take a while.”

The boy flopped into the seat next to her. “Hello!” he exclaimed, shaking her hand. She shook it once to be polite. “Wow, you’ve got really strong carpals!”

“Uh, yeah. I drink a lot of milk,” Melissa said, eyeing him cautiously.

The boy nodded eagerly. “So what’s your favorite bone? I like the strength of the femur, oh, but the clavicle has this really pretty shape too, and I could go on forever about the scapula....”

As he rambled on, Melissa decided she didn’t care about a reprimand and gave Principal Milder the universal sign for ‘Who the heck is this and why is he complimenting my bones within five seconds of meeting me?’

“Meet Pat Ella,” Principal Milder said awkwardly. “Or as you and the rest of the school know him, Bony Boy.”

Melissa managed to crack a smile. “That’s hilarious. Everyone knows that Bony Boy is the-”

An alarm went off in her brain.

“-skeleton in Mrs. Murawski’s classroom what’sgoingonhere?” Melissa’s voice rose to a shriek and she climbed out of her seat, holding her backpack in front of her for protection. “You’re supposed to be skin and bones, wait, no, just bones, cause skeletons aren’t supposed to have skin!”

“There was an incident the night of the Parent-Teacher Conference-” Principal Milder continued. Melissa got the impression she was laughing at her. “-in which Pat Ella claims he was hit with a strange beam of light and came back to life. Unfortunately, we can’t verify his claims with the security cameras since they’re always malfunctioning and I still haven’t heard back from the district about getting replacements.”

“Is your name really Pat Ella?” Melissa asked the former Bony Boy, slowly putting as much distance as she could between them.

He grinned. “I think so! I wanted to name myself Jack Skellington, but apparently there’s some copyright laws that prevent it.”

“I can’t disclose his former identity to you, since that would raise numerous ethical and legal implications as to why the school was keeping a student’s skeleton in the closet,” Principal Milder said. “Besides, Mrs. Murawski terrified all the attorneys in the Tri-State Area when they objected to her marrying a teacher’s desk.”

“How fascinating,” Melissa said, her throat growing dry.

“And now I’m tasking you with the job of showing Pat the ropes around Jefferson County Middle School. You’ll be his guide for the rest of today.”

And with that, Principal Milder dismissed them.

“Are you hungry?” Melissa asked.

“Famished!” Pat exclaimed. “Man, I haven’t had a digestive system in a long time. It’s so weird having squishy organs that can spill out if you just cut the skin right.”

While Milo often made some off-hand comments that could be taken as creepy or macabre, he lacked the obsession with human anatomy that Pat proudly possessed. Briefly she wondered if she was acting as a guide for a future serial killer.

“You know, most people tend to respond with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no,” Melissa said hopefully, hoping to instill a basic social skill early. “Now, did you bring your lunch?”

Pat had gone with the simple answer of no, which she was thankful for. She pointed him to the lunch line, which was incredibly long despite only being five minutes into the break.

Now that they were separated, Melissa’s heart was calming down. Milo, Zack, and Mort were already at the table. She sat down and took out her lunch without looking any of them in the eye.

“So why were you called into Principal Milder’s office?” Milo asked.

Somehow the sight of ham was making her queasy, and she gingerly peeled it off the rest of the sandwich. “Anyone want this?” she asked.

There was a bark by her feet, and Melissa looked down to see Diogee drooling at the sight of the ham. She tossed it to him, and he gulped it down in a single bite.

“Diogee, go home!” Milo ordered. Diogee whined and exited the cafeteria, a student opening the side door for him. “Silly pup, he’s not supposed to be in the school cafeteria.”

She took a tiny bite of her cheese and tomato sandwich. “Bony Boy came back to life on Parent-Teacher Night. And now I’m his guide at school for the rest of the day. His name’s Pat Ella now. He has an obsession with anatomy and now I’m afraid he’s gonna dissect me in my sleep and display my vital organs on trophies.”

“Your aura is disturbed,” Mort noted.

How helpful.

“It’s okay, we’ll help out in any way we can,” Milo reassured her.

“How did Bony Boy come back to life?” Zack asked. “That’s what I’m wondering.”

“Something about a strange beam of light....” Melissa murmured. She remembered a beam of light had enveloped their parents and Mrs. Murawski when they were de-aged and later returned to normal by the device Cavendish needed to fix. “Guys, I think the de-aging beam must’ve struck Bony Boy at one point.”

Zack waved his hands frantically. “Slow down! You mean to tell me Cavendish and Dakota just casually had a gadget that can bring people back to life? Does that mean if you reversed the effects-”

“-that you could kill someone quickly and efficiently? Yes, yes it does,” Melissa finished.

“Do you think I should call Cavendish and Dakota?” Milo asked. “I mean, doesn’t this technically fall under time travel?”

“Time travel is messy enough if Dr. Zone is anything to go by,” Zack gulped. “Maybe we shouldn’t involve them unless we absolutely need to.”

“Agreed,” Melissa said.

To her dismay, Pat managed to join them with ten minutes left in the lunch period. “Hey, you must be Melissa’s friends! Milo, it’s nice to meet you! You fighting that sentient blob was super amazing!”

Milo grinned at the compliment, only to be replaced by confusion. “Wait, how did you know about the sentient blob?”

Pat gobbled down half of his spaghetti, dabbing at a glob of marinara at the corner of his mouth. When he set the napkin on his tray, Melissa couldn’t help but think it looked like blood.

“Being dead was kind of an out of body experience,” Pat explained. “I could see what was going on, provided I was facing the class and not the wall. Maybe not really an out of body experience, since it seemed like my soul was trapped inside the skeleton and begging to be set free, maybe an in-body experience would be more correct? All I know is that I couldn’t move at all.”

He really shouldn’t talk about those things so casually, Melissa thought.

“Whoops, I’m sorry for knocking your skull off one time and having to chase it all the way to a baseball stadium where the batter somehow scored a home run with you,” Milo said sheepishly.

“Nah, I should be thanking you for that one,” Pat shrugged. “Gave me a chance to see more than a science classroom. It was totally worth the crack in my mandible!”

“What do you think of Mrs. Murawski?” Mort asked.

“She’s strange but cool, I guess,” Pat replied. “Things get weird after school though. She starts telling her desk things you’d only hear from a lovey-dovey couple on a honeymoon.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Saved by the bell, Melissa thought. She did not want to hear the details.

History class was an absolute trainwreck.

And the train that smashed the wall where Mr. Drako kept a picture of his ex was the least of her concerns. Mr. Drako had finished his lesson early, leaving them with free time for the rest of the school day. Melissa was tempted to go up to his desk and beg to continue the Civil War to avoid her classmates freaking out when Pat inevitably complimented their skeletons.

“Oh, I like psychological horror more!” Pat said to Chad, who was starting to turn green. “Zombies are cool, but I really enjoy villains who twist the knife into the mind and cause the heroes a whole lot of mental anguish. I love it when you don’t know what’s happening, and you’re given the bare bones, if you’ll pardon my pun, and your imagination starts filling in the blanks! That’s what true horror is!”

Chad smiled weakly. “Uh, yeah. Cool.”

To distract herself, Melissa turned to Amanda. “Hey, I haven’t seen Lydia for the past two days,” she began. “Is she sick?”

Amanda didn’t look up from highlighting her planner. “She was doing a rehearsal and tripped on the stairs leading to the stage. Broke her arm.”

“Maybe we should run by the hospital to see her,” Milo suggested. “The gift shop there has some really nice flowers. It’s too bad. She really loves theater arts.”

Amanda nodded. “Yeah, she was more upset at being out of the play than her broken arm.”

“Too bad. Broken bones aren’t fun,” Pat frowned, rubbing his shoulder as if remembering an old injury. “And neither is your entire arm popping off when something crashes into it. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but my left arm just doesn’t quite feel like it’s in the right position.”

“Um, maybe you should get that looked at?” Amanda asked nervously.

Pat shrugged. “Maybe later.”

Pat’s definition of ‘maybe later’ turned out to be never since Milo had invited him over to his house since he didn’t have a computer at home to do research for an essay. Melissa tagged along, since she practically lived at the Murphy home anyway.

It beat being home alone when her dad worked long hours.

Melissa tuned out Pat gushing over the vertebral column, wondering if there were any articles about his death. Or what his previous identity was, parents, date of birth, and public records. She figured it was a mystery that would never be solved.

“Zack, do you think Principal Milder is secretly running a shady business with the school as a cover?” Melissa asked. “Because that has to be the logical explanation behind all this.”

“Probably,” Zack replied. “I’ve never met anyone who was super concerned about their keys before.”

#milo murphy's law #melissa chase #zack underwood

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ours-is-feral-love · 7 years ago

Text

I Heard Your Voice on the Telephone

A/N: And another one. Enjoy! [Spoilers if you’ve not seen the show]

Summary: Alyssa, having returned home after James escaped without her, gets a phone call. [T for language] [Word Count: 1,801]

There is a pen in my hand. I hate pens. They're too permanent. They're liars, really, because nothing in this world is permanent. Trust me.

But here my mum is, pointing to the black ink pen I'm holding and then pointing to the piece of paper on the kitchen counter.

I stare at her blankly, like I have no clue what she wants me to do. It pisses her off when I do this. That makes me want to do it more often, and recently, with all the fucked-up shit that's happened, I've been given plenty of opportunities to act like the moronic git she thinks I am.

"Alyssa," she says in her famous hushed, annoyed tone as she rocks one of the twins. It's nap time, but he doesn't care. He keeps pulling at Mum's earring. "You need to sign it."

Need. What a funny word. What a funny concept. Mum seems to think I need a lot of things I don't. She always has.

I don't need to sign it. I need to eat to survive. I need to sleep.

I need to find him.

"Sign what?" I say, lifting my shoulders in a brief shrug.

She looks as if her head's gonna explode. You'd think she would be more amenable towards me since I got back from being a wanted girl on the run, but we've sort of reverted back to our old ways quicker than I expected.

I think she's trying to forget I was an accessory to murder. To do that, she has to just pretend nothing's changed.

I bet it isn't working.

I tried the same thing right after it happened, and she should take my advice. Pretending doesn't do shit.

She should just accept the fact that I'm a juvenile delinquent now and move on.

Not that I am a juvenile delinquent in the eyes of the law. Or in the eyes of the media. To them, I'm a helpless girl who was cruelly coerced into following a deranged criminal on his quest to destroy the world.

No one believes I went willingly. Mum lies and tells me she doesn't believe me either.

The only person who believes me is Tony, but I don't give a shit what he thinks. I wish it had been him and not that scumbag rapist slash murderer.

"The restraining order, Alyssa," my mum says breathlessly, having lost one of her earrings. "It must be turned in as soon as possible."

I look at the piece of paper and back at Mum. Her other earring is gone.

I won't sign it. I've been saying it for two days.

It's bullshit. What's a restraining order gonna do? I don't even know where he is. And if I did, I would be out there looking for him. And when I found him, I'd join him.

Mum's just scared. This is her way of trying to feel safe. She's surrounding herself with a false air of security. And since I'm seventeen, she gets to choose who is and who isn't allowed within five hundred feet of me, our house, and the twins.

Even if I did sign, how the fuck would he know there was a restraining order against him? He wouldn't, because he's missing. He probably doesn't even know what day it is.

That makes me sad. Really, really sad.

I swallow the golf ball forming in my throat and continue staring at my mum like I have no idea what she's talking about.

She makes a shrill noise and stomps her foot. The baby starts crying.

"You will sign it," she says, walking past me. "You need to."

She takes him upstairs. When I hear the door to the twins' room close, my body instantly reacts. My lips wobble and jerk. My eyes sting with angry, annoyed, miserable tears.

I throw the pen in the sink. As it clatters, banging around, the landline starts ringing. I don't feel like talking to anyone, but the noise will disturb the twins, so I go into the living room and grab the handset. I don't recognise the number, but I live dangerously now.

I click the answer button and bring the phone to my ear. "Hello?" There isn't a response. I strain my ear, listening carefully. "Is anyone there?"

Breathing. I hear it. Soft, almost ragged breaths.

James.

I don't know how I know, but I fucking do.

I whisper his name. "James." It comes out scratchy, and I clear my throat. "James," I say again.

My head is spinning. I look around the room, my heart quickening, punching my ribs, and I find I want to pass out. I move to the plush sofa in front of the telly and collapse, staring up at the white ceiling.

With just his breaths in my head and the twins silent upstairs, I can focus on the rain clinking against the roof.

It's been raining nonstop since I got back.

"Are you alone?"

I could cry. Actually, I am crying. Hot, bubbling tears drip into my hair. I cover my mouth to muffle my wretched-sounding sobs.

Up the stairs, the door to the twins' room opens. I freeze, relaxing only when my mum chooses to go into her bedroom. It's about time for her mid-afternoon nap.

"Yeah," I say, though the sound is disrupted by a hiccup. Again, I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm alone."

Fuck, I miss him. I miss him more than I realised.

Which is saying something because I missed him really bad before.

"I shouldn't be phoning you," he says. "But I needed to hear your voice."

There's that word again. Need.

This time it makes sense.

"Are you okay?" It's a silly question, but I have to know. I think I understand that there was a part of me that thought he was dead.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he says. I will. Until I know he's safe I will worry about him constantly. "How are you? How’s your head?"

He's trying to sound casual, but I hear the feathery tremble in his words.

He's not okay.

More tears escape into my hair. Is salt good for your scalp? I hope so.

"My head’s fine. I'm scared," I tell him. “And I miss you." It's an understatement, but he'll think I'm mad if I tell him that I think I'm dying without him.

He laughs, but the sound is broken. “I miss you too.”

“James,” I say, the ceiling becoming a white blob, “where are you?”

“Alyssa.” I’ve always thought my name was stupid, but when James says it, I don’t mind it so much. “I can’t tell you that.”

I don’t know where he is. That doesn’t stop me from picturing him. I close my eyes, letting loose a few more tears, and I see him leaning his head against the side of a phone booth in the middle of nowhere. I bet he’s got some form of facial hair by now. I bet all those hairs are grey.

I can see that his eyes are closed.

Is he picturing me too?

“I want to be with you.”

“If we were normal,” he says, “and none of this had happened, do you think we would be together?”

“Yes,” I say. My response is immediate. “Of course. We’re written in the stars, James. In all of those alternate universes and galaxies and shit, we’re always together. Even when we’re not.”

James takes a second to find something to say. I bite my lip, praying to whatever thing is hiding above my ceiling, asking for James to stay safe.

“We’re not normal, though, are we?” he says eventually.

“No.” But that’s what I like about us. “My mum wants me to sign a restraining order against you.”

“She does?”

“Yeah, but I’m only seventeen for another five months. After my birthday, it disappears.” Another reason why the restraining order is pointless. “James, I won’t sign it.”

“Do you have a choice?” he says.

I’m a fucking mess. I can hardly get air into my lungs. “No.” I scrunch my face, glad for once that James isn’t here. I would hate for him to see me missing him like this. “Will I ever see you again?”

He’s in my head once more. In my fantasy, or maybe it’s a premonition of sorts (my dad used to tell me my grandma was a witch), he struggles to fight his own bout of tears.

I want him so much.

I need him.

This can’t be healthy.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “If they find me, you probably will. I’m sure it’ll be all over the news.”

“Don’t joke about that,” I warn, though a small, choking laugh escapes without permission. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I never see you again.”

“You’ll forget about me eventually.”

“No, I’d never” I swear. An idea pops into my mind. “If you manage to stay off the map, maybe I’ll be able to join you when I leave school.”

“I like the sound of that,” James says.

“Tell me it’ll work,” I beg, sure I’m wasting all of the fluids in my body on producing tears. “Tell me that when I leave school, we’ll find each other and leave the country for good.”

“We will,” he promises. “We’ll move to America. We’ll get there by boat and live in some midwestern state that nobody cares about.”

“And we’ll change our names and our accents and get jobs working with farm animals.”

“And we’ll live happily ever after,” he says.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Happily ever after.”

We will. I know it.

The door to my mum’s room opens. She probably couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts zooming around in her empty head.

“I have to go,” I say, wishing I could teleport to wherever he is. I can’t be in this house anymore. It’s destroying me. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want you to, either. But you have to,” James says. “Goodbye, Alyssa. I’ll phone again soon.”

“You better,” I say. “Goodbye, James.”

The line goes silent. A gentle buzz rattles my eardrum, and I am suddenly alone.

If I was a spy, I could trace that call. I could get his coordinates and find him like that. But I’m not a spy. I’m nothing of the sort.

But he’ll phone soon. He said so. Despite how dangerous it is, he will call just to hear my voice. And I will pick up, just to hear his. And we’ll pretend we’re sitting in front of each other in our unknown midwestern state, laughing at each other’s attempts to do an American accent.

That sounds like fucking heaven to me.

I just hope we don’t have to die for it to come true.

#the end of the f***ing world #the end of the fucking world #james x alyssa #my writing #fanfiction #alyssa POV #just a quick one shot I wrote this morning #i felt i should try being alyssa

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sharkchunks · 8 years ago

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Design Analysis: The Alien Films

Giger’s original alien design is fairly well recognized as the pinnacle of the art, so sequel decay was inevitable. Once you have something perfect, anything you add to that perfection will alter it and by definition make it imperfect. The further the Alien films diverge from the design above, the worse the designs get, sometimes by fractions, sometimes by great leaps. This is not a comprehensive list of all changes made to the design over the years, but a look at the directions other artists took. Essentially, a brief Fall of the Roman Empire for alien design.

Giger’s only “hands-on” involvement with the series to make the final cut was on the first film. His most impressive creation for that movie is, in my opinion, the Space Jockey, the truest fusion of flesh and machine, literally grown into the ship despite what unbelievably horrible ideas future movies would try to retcon into the series. But the alien itself is the most enduring work. The elongated head, the inner toothed tongue, the mechanical components within the meat of the creature, its ribs, its inexplicable back-pipes, it all manifests as a symphony of disturbing elements that, when combined into a humanoid figure, speak of pain, wounds, death, cruelty and danger. This is widely known.

What fewer people (including future creature designers) realize is that one of the most critical features of the alien is that it is aesthetically displeasing. It is not sleek. It is not cool. It is ugly. It doesn’t fit together right. It is not streamlined not conventional in color or form. Where Giger designed the Space Jockey to be oddly beautiful, he went for something in the alien itself that makes it hard to look at. Some consider this “cheap” or “incomplete.” I’d argue that it was not only intentional but one of the most critical features of the design.

The original alien was never meant to appeal to us. It was made to scare and disgust us. The original film is the only time it did so successfully. Commentaries on the series suggest that the repetition of the design in further movies made it less impressive, that it was done to death. This is not true because the original design only appeared in one film. Though that design too is demystified by now, the films did not need to suffer from any inevitable decrease in horror. That decrease is intentional.

James Cameron didn’t want to make a horror film, he wanted to make an action thriller with some horror elements. His alteration of Giger’s designs helps elucidate this. The design of the aliens from Aliens is close to Giger’s with three critical embellishments: The arms now have bony protrusions at the elbows, the dome has been removed revealing the ridged head, and the design has been normalized and streamlined. The alien is no longer grotesque, it is awesome.

The original alien looks dirty and ragged by comparison. This was not a mistake by any means. Aliens is not about hurting the audience like its predecessor, it’s an action movie and the turn from horror to action was extremely successful.

Cameron then took Giger’s aesthetic, more or less, and designed his own super-alien, the Queen. Little attempt at horror remains, if any. This is an epic beast made to appeal to the eye with smooth curved structures and spines that follow the form naturally and elegantly. It has less of a mechanical influence, and no sign at all of Giger’s ugliness. Its use in the film is similarly unhorrifying, it’s an intense escape followed by one of the greatest fight scenes in movie history. Cameron diverged from Giger and Scott, but what he made was a new expansion of the universe that was all his own, and in typical fashion for the director, it amazed audiences and proved highly influential ever after.

Giger was invited back to design a new iteration of the alien for the third film. He set out to perfect his original design, and did so artistically but not cinematically. His new design introduced an even more horrifying tongue that would enter the victim’s throat, and with shark-tooth-like barbs, come back out bringing their guts with it. It had a visible, moving brain under its dome, and it lost the back tubes in favor of a more animal-like structure. It also had new artsy elements that brought it further into Giger’s developing aesthetic. The filmmakers elected not to use it.

Tom Woodruff Jr. and Alec Gillis took over. Students of Stan Winston who had implemented Cameron’s concepts, they redesigned the alien into a near-fully organic beast. The only remainder of its mechanical elements are the repeated flutes on the side of the head. The rest is all animal, with inhuman legs and feet. Its cheeks are no longer messes of visible mechanisms, but rumpled skin. And it is sleek. It’s streamlined. It is, in essence, what the alien would look like had it been originally designed by someone other than Giger.

Alien 3 attempted to bring the series back to horror. That might have been a mistake but we can give the creators the benefit of the doubt and instead of criticizing the aspects of the film that have already been criticized ad nauseam, focus only on the design. Basically, it’s meatier and meaner and although it has lost Giger’s surface, it does retain his basic concepts and yields an appropriate movie monster for a very dark film. It would be brilliant had it not followed such vastly superior works.

Gillis and Woodruff returned for the fourth film and further organicized the creature. They took the Alien 3 design and regained the tubes, and made the back of the head a little less round. While the alien from 3 was alternately red or black depending on the lighting, the Resurrection beasts were generally greenish-brown or grey depending on whether they were computer generated.

But look at its cheeks and neck. The region on the sides behind its mouth. The clumpy skin of the third alien is now a total ugly mess, and not ugly in Giger’s way. Just a mess of blotchy crud. Its arm has little trace of the underlying tubes and mechanics, it’s just a bumpy human arm. Alien 3 took the creature into animalistic design, but 4 began to turn it into a mess.

The newborn has no mechanical elements whatsoever, or even any trace of them. It bears only the slightest resemblance to Giger’s design and that’s okay. It had a new purpose- To be gross. Not grotesque, necessarily, but icky. There it succeeded. Its face was also more expressive, at times almost human. Its sunken eyes, its bat-nose, the bloated filigree on the sides of its head, all contribute to something appropriate to the film this creature was designed for.

Notably, the creature was designed with genitals, which were censored from the film for being too much, the director said, “even for a Frenchman.” The Newborn represents the end of the series. The alien has gone everywhere it can go, and retains nothing of what made the original what it was. Evolution is inevitable but I can’t help but wonder what might have happened had the ADI team that handled the latter two films honored Giger’s new designs, or kept his originals, or designed new works of their own along his guidelines instead of simply making the aliens closer and closer to blobby animals.

Prometheus provides another succinct view of what happened- Giger’s original derelict ship was a misshapen bony surrealist sculpture. It had no visible means of flight, it had nothing to even compare to any vehicle ever designed. It made no sense. It hurt the brain to think of as a spaceship. Prometheus featured a similar ship- But made it work. It was streamlined and curved naturally instead of bent and ugly, it was a mechanical ship and not something that might have been grown. That’s what happened to the alien over the years. It was cleaned up, made sense of, and turned into something normal. But the final insult was yet to come.

That’s the finale of Prometheus. Look at it.

Now look at the original:

Now back to deacon:

How did anyone, especially Ridley freaking Scott, think this was acceptable? It’s a god damn cartoon. I mean literally! It’s what Gary Larson spoofed the aliens into!

It has no surface detail, just some bumps like what a child might push into a lump of clay. Its pointy head is a joke. And its inner jaw is based on the goblin shark’s:

The goblin shark is notable in two ways- One, its jaws are horrifying. Good. Reason two- It looks like Jerry Lewis.

It’s goofy! It’s silly! The prominent upper maxilla looks absurd and funny despite its sharp spiny teeth. The goblin shark is certainly bizarre and bizarre is often good, but in this case it turned the iconic alien, the greatest design in the history of creature effects, into an absolute total JOKE.

Never mind the squid. Never mind the plain white tentacled blob that replaced the chestburster. Never mind the idea that the brilliant concept of a pilot grown into its ship was made into a white guy in a suit. Never mind the dull serpents or the atrocious uncreative bumpy makeup on Fifield. Ignore all the problems with Prometheus because this is about the design of the adult form alien. Look what they did to it.

Resurrection ended the alien’s tenure as the greatest monster. But it did not make it into a joke. The deacon is a poorly sculpted, plainly painted, uncreatively applied, horribly conceived, silly, pathetic, absolute low point of creature design in cinema. That’s where the alien ended up.

This is one of the greatest plummets in art. From the pinnacle to the nadir. So what comes next? Alien: Covenant, appears from its trailer, to be even more of a remake of the original than Prometheus. The same plot, slightly different specifics. Of its true story and creatures, only time will tell. But I have the lowest expectations. I expect the worst, for the alien to go from joke to insult. Or further insult, all things considered.

The trend in cinema (among other things) right now is to take whatever was good once and ram it into the ground as hard as possible. I don’t know what more they can do to the alien after the pointy headed atrocity above, but I have a feeling we’ll find out.

But I also have hope. Worst expectations but a glimmer of hope that we’ll see the redemption of this creature. Giger is dead, and the world is poorer for it. I hope Scott has found someone new, an unknown artist as Giger was in the 70s to come to fame as the next great surrealist. I hope we’ll see the birth of a new form of horror cinema. I hope a great many things every time an alien movie comes out.

My mother was pregnant with me when she saw Alien. I drew it over and over as a child. I studied it above all other films and designs as an adult. I grew up with the alien on every level. I don’t know what will come next, and I will go in with an open mind.

But I can’t help but feel that the iconic monster has hit rock bottom, and it’s about to crash through the stones down into hell.

#alien #hr giger #giger #prometheus #creature design #long post #spoilers

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littlemissazure · 8 years ago

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Cauldron, coffin, and Potion!

Cauldron: The strangest nightmare that I ever had was a set of recurring nightmares that I had from ages 4-10. It was always set up as a type of confrontation against a four-legged charred-looking hoofed beast… thing that bleats like a goat, trotted like a horse (even on carpet) that typically met me at the small hallway upstairs (which had three doors: my parents’ room on the left, my room ahead, and bathroom on the right.) My objective in the dreams would be to gather enough will to scream at it and scare it off (I recalled yelling “Boo!” at it) but sometimes I’d “lose” in these encounters and I’d have this overwhelming wave of dread wash over me as I lost every modicum of control and power in myself. It terrified the absolute shit out of me; at some points, I thought that I was possessed by a demon since it always showed up in my dreams plaguing me and with my sisters confirming that the house was haunted… it made sense at that time. But the more that I watched ghost shows and gathered the “know-how” of the paranormal and occult, the idea of demonic possession was soon discounted as it only showed up in my dreams. Sometimes there was a change-up in scenery; like the encounter was met in the living room, it was daytime instead of dim black, some other thing (it reminds me one of those tall blob creatures from SBA2) fought me too that felt like ages to win at one point. When I was ten, I was staring at the basement door, opened it, seen the thing’s bloody head in a bag which was still moving (eye movement with a faint gurgle of a bleat) and closed it. I didn’t have another dream like that for years until once that I was 15, and three times in the past two years and by then, things in that scene changed DRASTICALLY (it’s always bright, it takes place upstairs, I actually talk and even swear at it in my dreams and I seemed to have developed this ability to recognize it when it tries to trick me (like it shape shifted into my bird and things didn’t sit right with me instinctually)) which I’m happy to say that I have a lot more confidence and control in my dreams than I ever did when I saw it.

I’m really interested in the concept of dream psychology and manifestations that the subconscious makes up. So I don’t actually believe that thing was a demon or paranormal apparition but it’s a manifestation that my mind made up to help me cope with mental illness and my inability to speak my mind, which I wasn’t aware that I had at the time and thought only craaaaaazy people had it. I didn’t even know what the word “depression” was until I was 15 and I was in cyber school. So that thing may be an antagonistic force which I feel but I honestly think it’s like a teacher that knows that I have to get out of my comfort zone as a necessity for me to function. I christened it “Moron” when I was five because having a silly name seems to undermine the fear factor it brings, plus identifying this fear and giving it a name is one of the first steps in conquering the fear.

Coffin: Have I ever had a paranormal experience? Uh, I would say that there have been some things that I experienced in my old house that needs more explaining but to be honest, I have no idea if whatever I experienced was truly paranormal, induced paranoia caused by the thought of my house being haunted, or both.

My sisters and mother had their share of bizarre experiences that I would say was just as unexplainable and much more terrifying; (e.g. my mom seeing an apparition of a girl that looked similar to me and told her that she was gonna die, my sisters having their own set of recurring nightmares with terrifying figures, the door opened by itself by some invisible force while I was playing piano, a voice sounding like my mother calling out to me clear as day and my mother ended telling me that she didn’t call me at all, I’d hear a raspy whisper of “hi” while I was in the bathroom every so often, that’s as much as I remember) while than what I ever had happen to me.

It happened so long ago and while I can’t discount their experiences as there is not enough evidence to disprove it even if I wanted to, but I believe that the concept of truth is a relative thing when it comes to experiences like this so they’re valid enough alone. And just because I may or may not think that I had a possible paranormal haunting doesn’t mean that ghosts and the likes doesn’t exist. It’s like scientists who believe in dark matter: you can’t see it, you can’t measure it by conventional quantitive units, but you can see the effects it has on the world, and with so many different accounts coming from people from pasts generations, it’s hard for me to NOT be cautiously optimistic about the possibility of the unknown and paranormal. Granted, this thinking also makes me susceptible to the idea pretty easily and I can end up scaring myself over nothing but I still love hearing about stories about all kinds of things. I like to think that stories that are adapted from their original inspirations hold a kernel of truth to them.

Like I said, the truth is relevant and what we believe in can always change over time so while we can accept the “absolute truths” of the world (i.e. scientifically proven), even the norms of science change over time with information that comes to light (e.g. scientists used to believe in geo-centrism but now we believe in helio-centrism.) So it’s healthy to believe in all those things so long as you don’t be consumed by it.

Potion: Hm… that is a tough one. I’ve watched quite a bit of horror movies over the years. I honestly don’t have a favorite! I will give you some suggestions of horror movies that I do like: Get Out, The Silence of the Lambs, Let the Right One In, Audition (Takashi Miike is a great director, I watched some movies of his during my J-Horror phase, it’s gross, disturbing and can make you squeamish in some scenes which is FANTASTIC to me.). I even like the Resident Evil and Silent Hill movies (unpopular opinion, I actually like the first two movies best, the first Silent Hill really captured the ambience of the game even with its “creative direction”. And I like the first three RE movies best, the others sorta turned me off from watching the rest of them. After the 4th one, I was disenfranchised.)

I like all kinds and I’m on good terms with the bloody and disgusting kind of movies. If you got any movies you like, lemme know!

#thanks for the ask!#sorry for the late I was busy with dinner and hosting my dog's birthday #menzurabu #azure answers

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