#this will be easier once i get silas finished up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tumbleassbitch · 2 years

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another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything.

Chapter 8/? | Chapter 7

The drive there is silent.

The gold of the dying sun softens the dark wood, though creeping shadows act as a harbinger of the night to come. Save for the white noise of the road, all is swallowed up by the stark knowledge that one way or another, this is ending tonight.

Travis hasn’t said a word since they left, and Laura hasn’t necessarily felt up for conversation, either. When they reach the sight of the crash, Travis pulls off the road so the cruiser is partially hidden by the dense understory, and he’s outside and opening her door before she finishes unbuckling.

Gone is the man who folds her towels and listens patiently as his niece tries to explain color theory. Here, he’s the Sheriff of North Kill, and he scrutinizes her with an air of absolute authority.

“I can’t guarantee your safety out here," he says brusquely. "If you want to stay behind, no hard feelings.”

She scowls. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“You ever shoot before?”

She nods, and he holds the shotgun out to her. “As a last resort,” he explains after a pause.

The level of trust he's placing in her is profound, and she couldn’t misinterpret this gesture if she tried. He spent last week locking her up, and tonight he’s handing her a gun.

You can end this now.

Except, try as she may, her hands refuse to take it.

"You have to use your hands to shoot it, girl,” he says impatiently. God, he's such an ass.

“I can’t.”

His brows shoot up to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

She musters up a glare, steeling herself against the cold sweat that’s building at the mere thought of holding a shotgun again. “I can’t.”

“You’re gonna have to,” he says bluntly. “Silas may not be a werewolf tonight, but he’s sure as hell managed to live off the grid, undetected, for six years. You really want to go fucking around with someone like that?”

“Give me your Glock.”

Travis considers her with a dark stare, sucking on his teeth. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to shut the door in her face and lock it, but then he breaks the stare.

He meticulously unclips his holster, and hands his gun over.

The handle is still warm. The familiar weight of a gun settles in her palm like an old friend. She feels the weight of his stare, but checking the magazine for live rounds is second nature.

It’s full.

He eyes her warily. “You realize I have to account for each bullet out of my issued firearm?”

She graces him with a twisted smile. “Let’s hope I don’t miss, then.”

Even at dusk, the forest has a cloyingly thick atmosphere.

The fading daylight makes it easier to navigate the rocky ground, and Laura has so far managed to avoid landing on her skull like last time. But each crackling leaf and scratch of dirt against the soles of their shoes, their breathing, all of it is too damn loud .

Travis is in his element. Despite his stature, he manages to creep along with an uncanny grace that makes her sound like a raging bull in comparison. She can practically feel his pointed glare with each snap of a twig.

His shadow looms in front of them, leading the way as much as her own cautious steps forward. Laura would rather be buried alive than ever admit it, but she’s glad he’s covering her back.

It’s far better than being alone. There’s this uncanny feeling of being watched the deeper they go in, and it’s compounded the deeper they go. The alien sensation buried in the back of her conscience comes alive once more.

If you keep going this way, you’re going to end up exactly like dad.

She falters in her stride. Now is not the time to be thinking about her father. And yet, as the last of the daylight bleeds into shadows, her mind won’t stop.

You’ve already got blood on your hands.

This path leads only to death.

You always knew you'd turn out this way, helping someone murder another innocent.

The closer they get, the louder her conscience screams. Sweat is dripping down her back, and her palms get so clammy that she has to keep wiping them down or risk her grip.

Fuck. It’s like her skull is trying to bust in half.

The power is in your hands! End this for once!

"Are you good?" Travis’ voice startles her. Through her bleary eyes, she manages to make out his look of impatient concern.

She scowls back. A sarcastic quip is on the tip of her tongue, but the way his attention drops to her hands makes her pause.

Belatedly, she realizes she’s trembling.

He eyes her shrewdly, but she just tightens her grip on the gun. There's no way she’s going to puss out with Silas so close.

Murderer, murderer, MURDERER—

Travis swivels to the side. “Did you hear that?”

I can't hear anything over my own voices, she thinks, casually hysterical.

“Hear what?”

He assesses the area a moment longer. “Could’ve been an animal,” he says hesitantly. “Keep your head up.”

Her heart jumps a beat, and Laura quickly scans the trees. "Travis. Look."

He follows her gaze with the bladed-focus of a predator, honing in on the worn edges of a Harum Scarum poster posted to a tree. Eliza Vorez’s hooded eyes shine back in the light of his shotgun.

They're close. He takes the lead with new fervor, and the moment they enter the clearing, all goes silent.

Silas' cage towers over the remains of Harum Scarum. Beneath the crown of branches and cloak of thorny vines, there's an almost distinguished air to the warped metal.

They’re in the wolf’s den, and this is his throne.

Travis moves first, bathing the area with the light from his shotgun. No one seems to be home.

“Don’t touch anything if you can help it,” he says after a moment. The whites of his teeth glean. “If he’s not here, we don’t want to leave our scent.”

He closes in on the cage, and Laura studies the trees overhead, half expecting Silas to jump out of the branches. Nothing.

The forest floor is littered with detritus that she hadn’t noticed the first time. Broken glass from shattered lightbulbs, a red and white striped popcorn bucket. The suitcase holding a straight jacket sits right where she last saw it.

It’s still open, too, which makes the pit in her stomach drop even further. If Silas did come back after the last full moon, she doubts he’d leave it like that. Which means…

A twig snaps at the edge of the clearing.

She flinches, gun at the ready. When a crazed albino man doesn’t lunge out from the bushes, Laura slowly creeps over. Beyond the brush is a steep decline, almost a drop-off, and the bottom is shrouded in darkness.

Still, straining past the inky blackness, Laura can barely make out some movement.

“Travis,” she hisses.

She pings him further back, digging through the bushes near the cage. Typical. Of course, the moment she wishes he was breathing down her neck, he’s doing the exact opposite. But the last thing they need is for her to look away and miss the shot at whatever’s down there. A curse bubbles up in her throat and she swallows it, leaning forward to get a better look.

Something plants firmly in the middle of her back and shoves.

Laura chokes out a gasp, spinning back to grab at something, anything. There’s no one there, and she pitches backwards, falling,

falling,

falling—

Her body hits the ground with a sickly crack. All of the air in her lungs is immediately evacuated, and for a brief, horrible moment, she’s convinced that this is it.

“F…uck,” she manages to croak.

Everything’s spinning. A haphazard self-assessment suggests that nothing’s broken, though— she lifts an arm, hissing at the way her skin unpokes itself— she landed in a fucking sticker bush. It probably saved her life.

“Silas.”

She inhales sharply, looking skywards. A familiar gaunt, pale face peers down at her from the ledge. It grins.

“Laura!”

Travis’ alarmed voice shouts from above, and light blinds her. Dimly, she realizes that probably means a shotgun barrel is pointed at her, too. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of her throat.

“Goddammit,” he growls. “Hold on, I’m coming down!”

“Someone’s… up there,” she wheezes out, and Travis jolts back, taking the light with him.

She’s not sure how much time passes, but it isn’t too long before she hears his heavy footsteps come to a stop. Calloused fingers lightly skim across her face, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

“Did’ja find ‘em?” she says with minimal slur.

He answers by mercilessly passing the light between her eyes till she groans, turning away.

Travis clicks his tongue. “You have a concussion.”

“No shit,” she mumbles, blinking away the blotches of light that burned into her vision. Ugh.

“It’s bad, but not that bad. I’m more worried about the rest of you. Tell me if this hurts,” he says, and she’s still processing his words when he presses on her stomach.

Laura flinches, gritting out, “The fuck?”

“Hurts?”

“Yeah it fuckin’ hurts… s' a sticker bush.”

Travis mutters a curse, withdrawing immediately. The warmth of his touch lingers on her skin like wildfire. He turns the light away, and they're shrouded in darkness.

Panic swells on the other side of her mind, the side that isn’t detached, that’s still up on that ledge. Laura tries to focus, searching for that pale face, but it’s like the whole world is too slippery to catch.

“Take a few deep breaths for me,” he says, voice pitched low and soft as if she might spook. “Can you move your fingers and toes?”

Absolutely she can, and she wiggles them fervently. He snakes an arm under her waist and shoulder, and she gasps in reflex.

He freezes. “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

Travis sighs heavily, and his fingers flex into her back. “We need to get you up,” he explains slowly. “Can you put your arm around my neck?”

She unsticks herself with gritted teeth, and he ducks into her reach and lifts without warning. Her stomach tilts with the sudden movement. Thorns pull at her clothes, and there must be dozens still buried in her skin. Despite her best efforts to keep it in, a whimper escapes her lips.

Travis doesn’t set her down; instead, he shifts his grip with a small grunt, and walks. It’s like living in someone else’s body for a brief moment. Mortification doesn’t last for long.

The last time we were this close, I was naked.

Over her head, Travis clears his throat.

She mulls over the quiet observation with distant interest, feeling the edge of that strange fear begin to swell up again. The smell of sweat and laundry detergent is grounding, and she gingerly buries her face into his chest.

“You can’t fall asleep,” he mutters.

“I’m not,” she mumbles. A breath later, she adds, “We’re in the woods.” If only she could sleep right now.

He says something affirmatively, and the timber of his voice rolls through her rib cage. Damn , he makes her feel small.

It shouldn’t feel like a sigh of relief, or the aftermath of a long, drawn-out battle. It shouldn’t sound like the clear, honest confession of, finally. And yet, it does.

Finally, she doesn’t have to be leading the charge. Someone else can take care of it, for once. Take care of her.

The thin wire keeping her lucid snaps.

“Hey.” His voice takes on a stern bite, but it doesn’t really matter—

—and Laura honestly must black out because next thing she knows, her head is painfully clear, and everything fucking hurts .

That, and she’s still in Travis’ arms.

She stretches her toes to the ground and he sets her down wordlessly. The world threatens to go sideways, muscles cramping with the effort to stand straight, and she just about keels over until Travis steadies her with a firm grip.

Another human touch feels good. It feels too good, and she almost regrets waking up, which is why she absolutely cannot . Nope. That is one line she refuses to cross, shattered body be damned.

Laura steps away, and Travis eyes the stiff movement.

The forest around them feels dead; no insects chirping or critters scurrying under the brush. Something deeper than werewolves is happening here. Something far more sinister .

“Let’s talk in the car,” Travis says with finality. The white curve of the cruiser peers out from behind the trees. Damn, she thinks, both impressed and mildly disturbed by his apparent endurance. He carried her this whole way?

“But Silas—”

“—isn’t here,” he says without a hint of mourning. He’s dealing with it nicely, but maybe that’s the result of years of failure.

She isn’t sure what to think right now, except for, “Fuck.” He immediately looks around in alarm. “Your gun.”

The apprehension drains from his face. “I’ve got it.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but he’s stepping into her space again, guiding her over to the cruiser with a grip that, though gentle, borders no room for argument. It’s a testament to how shitty she feels that Laura doesn’t even put up a fight.

“I can come back tomorrow and set up the game cams.” Travis leans over her, buckling her swiftly. “But for now, we need to get you back and cleaned up.”

She slouches back into the headrest. Nausea builds up once more, and she squeezes her eyes shut as the car begins to move.

Travis grips the steering wheel with white knuckles, jaw set. He’s angry. She can’t argue with that.

She feels as if someone beat her with a baseball bat. Her back is the worst part of it. Sitting still allows for each little thorn to painfully make its presence known, but underneath her skin is one solid ache that wraps around to collect in her sternum.

Apparently, it takes a bit for the pain to settle in when you fall a good twelve feet.

She’s picturing herself back at her dorm, warm duvet cocooning her battered bones, when they arrive.

The engine dies, and Travis eyes her down shamelessly. Under his piercing eyes, there’s little to hide.

“You should’ve been more careful,” he says abruptly.

She must’ve bumped her head harder than she thought, because there’s no way she’s getting a personal safety lecture right now. Laura scowls.

“You act as if I went cliff jumping for fun.”

“Well, it sure damn looked like it.”

“I was pushed,” she says defensively.

Travis frowns, and though it’s too dark to make out his exact expression, something in his face shutters closed. “I wasn’t anywhere near you.”

“I know. And I don’t think it was… alive.”

She’d recognize the face of Eliza Vorez anywhere.

The realization should make her feel frightened, and later, it probably will. But right now, it just feels like a huge weight is lifted from her chest. She’s not going crazy.

So I guess that means I’m being haunted, she ponders . It’s fine. She can work with that.

Travis’ mouth is a thin line of steel, and wordlessly, he surveys the empty parking lot. His seatbelt clicks open, and deft fingers release the clip on her own.

“Inside,” he mutters darkly, slipping outside.

She’s not sure it matters, considering Eliza’s been whispering in her head for days now within the cell. But she gets out all the same, shrugging away from his offered hand and reaching the double doors at a snail’s pace.

He hovers behind her. The second time his hands barely graze her shoulders, she snaps. “Could you back off? You’re making me feel like I’m about to keel over.”

Travis raises his hands in mock surrender, but it’s a flimsy victory at best. His breath is still hot on her neck, thick and overbearing as ever.

It's infuriating to admit that maybe she does need help; the longer she's awake and moving, the more her body wants to clam up. By the time they reach the cells, she has to lean most of her body weight on him to keep upright.

He lets her slump bonelessly onto the cot, and she promptly buries her face in the creased linen of the pillow. Sleep is practically knocking on the door.

Unfortunately, Travis is already reappearing with an armful of supplies, tossing a pair of cotton shorts and a thin t-shirt next to her head and handing her a few pills that she happily swallows.

Laura takes a second look from her blanket nest. “You’ve had these the whole time?”

He glances up briefly from unpacking the supplies. "It's not like you were packed for the comfort of a jail cell.”

“Um— I have plenty of things that I could’ve been wearing.”

Travis scoffs. “Oh really? I don’t remember being asked by other prisoners for crop tops and booty shorts.”

Ew. She scrunches her nose. “Please don’t say ‘booty’ ever again.”

“Besides,” he continues with a dignified eye roll, “the last thing I needed was hearing you complain that I ruined your favorite shirt in the washer. Especially with those lacey—”

He clamps his jaw shut, but it’s too late.

“Lacey what?” she asks with a raised brow.

He falters, and the lid to the antiseptic drops on the ground with a soft clink . Travis snatches it back up with a pinched face.

“Could you just get changed so we can get this over with?”

He turns his back, and she makes the grudgingly slow process of rolling over and peeling her pants off, unsticking a thorn every so often before prying them off further.

The damage is revealed in layers, and every so often she has to stop and breathe through the black spots that start blotting out her vision.

Travis clears his throat. “Are you done?”

Her legs are covered in bloody welts, though the worst of the damage is where she can't see. Her back is probably in the same shape, and she reaches the awful conclusion at the same time Travis chances a look over his shoulder.

He immediately turns back. “Sorry. I thought you passed out.”

“I need help,” she blurts. The words almost trigger her gag reflex on the way out.

Travis hesitantly glances over his shoulder as if to confirm she actually spoke, and he fixates on the stiff set of her shoulders. To his credit, Travis doesn’t leer. He looks at the pair of shorts still sitting off to the side.

“Okay,” he says, simple as that.

He sets the pair of tweezers down and picks up where she left off, carefully picking out thorns before continuing to slowly free her legs. It’s perfectly detached and precise. Once her pants are off, he casts them to the side.

It’s easier when he’s looking down, Laura decides, tracking the way his throat bobs as he swallows. Because right now, sitting in her prison-issued panties, this is fucking awkward.

Might as well rip the bandaid off.

“I, uh. Can’t really lift my shoulders.”

Whatever was keeping him cool and collected before momentarily shatters, and it’s almost comforting to see actual fear peer through the cracks.

Good, she thinks vehemently. He’s pristine and thorn-free while she’s a human pincushion. The least he can do is be embarrassed with her.

Travis releases a breath. Mouth thin and taut, he grabs the hem of her shirt.

This close, the pale flush of moonlight softens the lines in his face. Sure, he’s showing his age like any middle-aged man, but it suits a guy like Travis. There’s a patch of stubble on his jaw left over from the last time he shaved.

Coal eyes meet her own, then. She breaks the stare as if scalded.

Gently, he works the fabric up her back, easing it up her stiff body. Despite his clinical precision, his nails lightly graze the skin of her waist, and she inhales through clenched teeth.

Travis pauses in his efforts. “Still good?”

Once again, she’s struck with the absolute insanity that is her life.

“Good enough,” is her clipped answer.

Travis actually huffs a laugh at that, amusement replacing the near-constant glower, and Laura can’t help but return a lopsided grin. His eyes seem to stray on the fervent blush that stains her cheeks.

Despite the layers of grime and blood, and the very likely possibility of a few cracked ribs, Laura can't help but think. It’s utterly ridiculous, and definitely the concussion talking, but…

Underneath the pressed collar and crooked mouth, he’s still a man.

“Could you bend forward?” Despite his lowered tone, the sound shatters the silence between them like a bomb.

She obliges, curving her spine in like a swan’s neck, and he tugs the shirt over her head without a hitch.

Definitely the concussion, she thinks with a blink. It’s like she’s seeing him clearly for the first time, and she’s absolutely not going down that train of thought.

She just barely catches the way he looks her over before turning away, the shells of his ears tinged red.

“Lie down on your stomach and I’ll get you bandaged up,” he says.

She doesn’t have to be told twice. The antiseptic sloshes in the bottle somewhere above her shoulder, and then, shit, that burns. Travis starts dabbing at her back, each scrape screaming just a bit louder beneath the touch.

“I… feel like Silas should’ve been caught by now,” she grits out.

“Yeah, well, let’s not get too cocky, young lady,” he says gruffly, and the tweezers dig into her skin. “You haven’t even gone out on a full moon to try and hunt the bastard.”

“But you have.”

“Exactly—”

“And that’s my point. I mean, it’s not like he has any shortage of enemies. He’s had her help this whole time.”

Another thorn is pulled.

"When Max and I showed up to camp, I could've sworn that I saw someone in the cellar. But when we got down there, it was dead silent…"

Travis stills.

"It was only when we were cornered that… that Silas appeared. I think Eliza lured us down there."

He’s quiet for so long that she cranes her neck over to make sure he didn’t have a stroke or something. A distant, thoughtful look is on his face.

“Are you even listening?”

“...What?"

"She was some kind of witch, right?” she presses. “Maybe she's been trying to keep her baby boy safe and fed, put us in a kill zone that would make an escape almost impossible.”

“Have you heard of the Hag of Hackett’s Quarry?” Travis asks.

“... A hag?”

“It’s what the locals call Eliza Vorez’s ghost.” His fingers glide over her shoulder, pausing to dig another thorn out. This one’s deep, and she clenches her fists to keep from flinching away. When he’s done, his thumb smooths over the bandage.

“I think that’s what you must’ve seen in the woods,” he says.

“It makes sense,” Laura says breathily, looking over to see he’s already gauging her reaction. “What?”

“Well…” he trails off. “You don’t seem to be too concerned.”

That’s not quite accurate, and she mulls over her answer. Fuck it. All the cards are on the table.

“I thought I was losing it,” she confesses. “I’d been… hearing things. I heard her the night we came.”

“Like what?”

“She said ‘Silas,’ I think. Among other things.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly, no.”

A sigh escapes his lips like steam into the night. He pivots on his knees, turning his attention to the cuts on her legs.

She most definitely has thorns halfway up her ass, but that’s definitely not in the itinerary for tonight. Laura buries her face into her pillow. “What now?”

Travis hums. “Now, we wait.”

“Fuck no,” she answers vehemently. “We just hit a breakthrough tonight!”

“An investment, Laura,” he says with emphasis. “And it’s still the summer, meaning he likely hasn’t gone too far. He’ll be back before the season’s end, in all likelihood, and I’ll be able to track when he comes with the cams.”

“But that isn’t good enough,” she says, propping herself up on her forearms. It’s instantly a bad move, and her back twinges loudly enough that she flops back down.

Travis meets her challenge with an unimpressed air. “Really? And what do you plan on doing when you’re like this?”

“If he isn’t here, then he has to be elsewhere,” she says thoughtfully.

“No,” he says.

“You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”

“You don’t need to voice it, because I can already smell the bullshit that’s about to come out of your mouth. I can’t leave town.”

“Aren’t you the sheriff?” she asks wryly. “Don’t you get to make the rules?”

He clicks his tongue in frustration, pasting another bandage on her thigh. “It’s not that easy.”

“And what if it is? What if it’s a matter of driving away for a day or two, checking in on that last town cemetery to see what they were looking for?”

She rolls over, fixing him with a fierce look. Travis cants his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in obvious discontent. But the gears are still turning.

“You’ll slow us down like this.” She opens her mouth to protest and he raises a tired hand. “So, let’s wait a few days, confirm that he really has left the area and give you a chance to fuckin’ heal. Then…”

“Then?” she repeats.

“Then we’ll see if he has other nests. That’s it for tonight.”

He gets up to his feet with a grunt, then hands over a black cloth pad she hadn’t noticed before.

“For your back,” he says. “I use it when mine,” he waves his hand vaguely, “acts up. It’s fully charged.”

He isn’t looking at her.

“Thanks,” she says, sliding it under. The warmth is like a balm against her agitated muscles, and she melts into it, eyes slipping shut.

Without a word, he tosses a blanket over her body and pauses, clearly mulling over his next words. “Do you want a clean bed?”

“Travis, I’d sleep on this floor if I didn’t think I’d get tetanus,” she says tiredly, leaving no room for argument. “I’m going to bed now.”

He nods, but instead of leaving her to pass out in peace, he gives the cell another once over.

She pops an eye open. “Can I… help you with anything?”

His hand flexes at his side. “Let me know if the pain gets worse and I’ll bring you something stronger. I’ll be just down the hall.” With that, he sweeps out of the cell.

Laura dreams of red eyes.

#travishackett #travis hackett #the quarry fanfic #the quarry fanfiction #laura kearneyxtravis hackett #another lost soul #laura kearney #the quarry #hackearny

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

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Strictly Professional Feelings

Ch 2: The Type of Guy this Place Needs

There were several things that Connor hadn’t expected when he and Silas had decided to start Arkait Medical Enterprises. The biggest of course, was becoming comparable to CyberLife within their first five years. He and Silas were fresh out of university; him with his business degree, and Silas with his first of many science and engineering degrees. They hadn’t been ready for the sudden rise to the top since prosthetics was such a closed business, and it had been a struggle to keep the employees they had while filling all of the sudden positions. The turnover had been brutal. As soon as things had settled Ben, one of the heads of the business office decided to quit and now he was having to look for someone to fill the place he had left. He and Markus looked internally first to see if there was someone they could simply move up. They didn’t have any luck with that and had to look at outside applicants. Markus narrowed it down to a few candidates. It took a couple more weeks after that to decide, but they both agreed that Hank Anderson was the one. He had the necessary experience and he was a retired Police Lieutenant so he was capable of handling high stress situations. He was the best fit for an office containing one Gavin Reed.

Markus handled the interviewing process as he always did so Connor didn’t know anything more about Hank than what had been on his application So when he came to work to find Hank’s file on his desk with the note ‘The type of guy this place needs. :)’ on it he smiled. He spent the morning getting Hank’s keys activated and making sure Silas could get his computer set up today. When he called down to the lab Silas tore into him before he could even get a greeting out. Gavin had apparently broken another computer terminal. “I swear to every god Connor. I am so close to just going to Walmart or some shit and getting him a goddamn laptop.” Silas snapped, “This is the third one this quarter. He is averaging almost one a month and my department’s financial report is going to be screwed, which means Richard is going to be pissed at me. Again.” Connor sighed as three firm but polite knocks came from his office door. That had to be Hank, anyone else would have just come in. It was a nice change. he opened the door and beckoned him inside. He was on autopilot and not paying attention as he tried to appease Silas. He did not want to be dealing with this right now, he had an interview to conduct.

“Look. Silas, I will try to talk to Gavin about not drinking coffee so close to his computer; but your issue really lies more with Richard. He’s the one that brings Gavin all that coffee.” He exhaled in an attempt to let out his frustration and switch gears, “Hank is here. If it’s really bothering you this much, you can come up when the meeting is finished and we can try and figure something out.” “I’ll be up when it’s done, and I’m bringing Richard.” Silas said dryly and Connor hung up the hone as his twin muttered something else under his breath. He turned his attention toward Hank and froze. He was going to kill Markus, that note was a bad joke. Hank was exactly his type and Connor had not been prepared for that. Blonde hair that was just starting to gray, he was built like an oak tree, and rough around the edges. Connor cleared his throat and brought himself back to the moment. He was not inclined to follow that train of thought; right now at least. “Sorry about that.” Connor said as he held his hand out toward hank, “My name is Connor, it’s a pleasure to meet you Lieutenant.” “Just Hank is fine.” He responded, and nope, Connor was not ready for this at all. Not the pleasantness of his smile or the rough timbre to his voice, “My Lieutenant days are long behind me now.”

Connor forced himself back into business mode and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. Once they were both seated he dug through the files on his desk until he found Hank’s. He took the keycard and nametag out then handed them over. “Alright, Just Hank.” He groaned internally, apparently he was going to flirt poorly with this probably straight man instead of being a professional. This was fine, definitely not creepy. “These will get you into the building at any tome. They both do the same things so just carry whichever one is easier.” “Thanks.” Hank said as he tucked them away. Connor moved onto the next thing on his mental list with a nod, he was determined not to make this anymore uncomfortable for either of them. “You’re in the business office which is on the eleventh floor. You’ll be in an office rather than the bullpen so hang a left once you leave the elevator. You’ll be the last door on the right.” He looked up from the file he’d been pretending to read and met Hank’s eyes for only a moment. He didn’t want to get distracted and stare. “They should have the nameplate up on your door by tomorrow. Silas should be down to help you with your computer in a half hour at most. Any questions?” Hank was quiet for a long moment and then shook his head, “I’m good, thanks.” “Alright.” Connor said, “I’m just a call, email, or elevator ride away if you need anything.” Hank gave another nod and made his way to the door, “Thanks for your time Connor.”

“No problem Just Hank.” He smiled as Hank left and he organized his desk again while he waited for his brothers. He was daydreaming badly enough that he didn’t even hear them come in. “So that was Hank huh?” Silas remarked with a smile Connor could hear though the sudden voice had made him jump. “I’m surprised you survived.” “Keep this up Six, and I will personally buy Gavin an extra large coffee.” Connor replied as he sat back. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He said and put his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Anyway,” He shot a sharp look at Richard, “Speaking of coffee.” “He likes coffee.” Richard said defensively, “I don’t know what else to do to get him to like me.” “Talk to him.” Connor suggested despite knowing his little brother’s lack of social skills, “Or take him out for coffee on his lunch. Just please keep it away from his computer. I’m pretty sure Silas is ready to kill him.” “Only if he stops stealing my only productive intern.” Richard replied. Connor groaned, “Both of you need to settle this please. Six stop stealing Daniel when he’s on the clock; and Nines stop giving Gavin coffee while he’s working.”

He got a begrudging “Fine.” from the both of them. “Great.” Connor replied with a shooing motion, “Now get out of my office. I need to go murder Markus and figure out how I’m supposed to survive the monthly staff meetings.” His brothers only laughed. “Good luck.” Silas remarked on his way out. Connor groaned and brought his head to his desk with more force than was strictly needed. If he knocked himself out he might be able to convince himself that this was all just a dream. He was not ready to deal with this. Not to mention the luck his brothers had with their attempts at office romance; and whatever Nines was attempting to do to Gavin; didn’t exactly put the odds in his favor. Those staff meetings were going to kill him.

#A Guide to Bad Business Practices AU #AGBBP #Strictly Professional Feelings #SPF #Hankcon #dbh hank #dbh connor #dbh fic #dbh

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workofthediesel · 3 years

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Idk if you're only doing fic requests for the fandom you're in but I remember you wrote septimus heap fic a while back and was wondering if you could maybe write something with marcia and alther?

i'd be glad to!

fic requests are open! send me an ask!

Marcia sat at her kitchen table, stirring another spoonful of sugar into her coffee as she waited for Alther to arrive. He was only five minutes late, so she wasn’t worried, but with each passing second, she was getting slightly more antsy. It wasn’t like him to be late for things, especially a meeting in her rooms.

Of course, Alther was welcome in her rooms any time he chose, but there was something special about their weekly coffee dates, even if Alther couldn’t drink with her. She always gave Septimus those mornings off, so it was just her and Alther in the ExtraOrdinary Wizard’s rooms, like in the days of her Apprenticeship. Those were times she looked back on fondly. Of course, she was more than happy with how her life was now, being the ExtraOrdinary Wizard like she had always wanted, with Septimus as her Apprentice and even the Heaps in the Palace with Jenna preparing to take her rightful place as Queen.

Everything seemed like it was just moving from one major event to another these days. That was well enough—Marcia quicky got bored when life became too predictable—but she had to admit things were a whole lot simpler in those days. Much easier to deal with.

Even so, she wouldn’t trade what she had now for anything. She wasn’t given to talking about her feelings, but she knew it wouldn’t take much pressing for her to admit that she truly cared for Septimus. And Jenna. And even Septimus’s friend Beetle; she could see him becoming Chief Hermetic Scribe one day, and wouldn’t that be something? The Queen, the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, and the Chief Hermetic Scribe, an inseparable trio of best friends.

She’d be leaving the Castle in good hands when she retired.

Of course, that day was a long ways away. Septimus had to finish his Apprenticeship, Jenna had yet to be crowned, and Beetle was just the front office clerk at the Manuscriptorium.

Still, it was fun to anticipate the future.

At fifteen past, Alther finally Passed Through the door. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he floated to his customary spot across from her at the table. “Silas got a hold of me on the way over, and I just couldn’t get away.”

Marcia did her best to stifle her irritation. These coffee dates were for relaxing and catching up with Alther as old friends might, and she didn’t want to waste her time today with her ever-present frustration with Silas Heap. “It’s alright,” she said. Then, to be polite, “I trust everything’s well with him? Septimus would have told me otherwise.”

Alther nodded. “Quite well. Of course, Sarah is worried about those four boys living off in the Forest and whatever’s happened to Simon, but Silas is taking it all in stride. He’s been trying to talk me into a game of Counter Feet with him.”

Marcia rolled her eyes. “Of course, he has.” Leave it to Silas to get himself swept up in such a childish hobby.

“It’s not that bad of a game,” Alther said. “It’s fun, and there is a lot of strategy involved once you get the hang of it.” Marcia shook her head, and Alther’s face took on a teasing grin. “Maybe I should tell him that you’re interested in it. I’m sure he’d love to teach you how to play.”

“Absolutely not!” Marcia said, indignation spiking at the mere thought of it. But then Alther was laughing, and she couldn’t stay mad at him. She took a sip of her coffee to hide her own smile.

Conversation quickly moved on to other topics: how Septimus’s Apprenticeship was going and what her plans were for his next topic, the latest gossip Alther had heard from Sister Bernadette at the Hole in the Wall, whether or not Marcia had been able to talk Terry Tarsal into acquiring another python for her shoes yet.

All too soon, their coffee date drew to an end. Septimus was due back at Marcia’s rooms by midday. Any minute now, he would be walking through the door and he and Marcia would sit down to work on his next lesson.

Alther would stay for a few minutes to speak with Septimus; he always did. And Septimus was always eager to tell Alther what he had been up to since the last time they talked. It filled Marcia with a warm, peaceful feeling to see the two of them getting along so well.

So when she heard the doors to her rooms swing quietly open, she wasn’t as upset about the end of her morning as she could have been. Instead, she called out a quick hello to Septimus before excusing herself to her study to gather the books she would need for his lesson, leaving Septimus and Alther some time to themselves. Mostly. There was no point in her pretending she couldn’t hear every word they shared, and she listened to them talk with a fond smile.

She took her time picking out the books, but there was only so long she could stall for. She carried everything back into the sitting room and set it down on the table.

This was the unofficial signal that it was time for Alther to leave. Marcia felt slightly guilty about it, but thankfully, no one seemed to truly mind. This was their routine.

“Time for you to get back to work, then?” Alther asked Septimus.

Marcia answered for him. “You know how much he still has left to learn.”

“I know,” Alther said, picking himself up off the couch. “Study hard, Septimus.”

“I will.”

Alther floated over to the door but stopped before going through it. “Same time next week, Marcia?”

Marcia nodded with a smile. As if he even needed to ask.

#septimus heap #sh #sh fanfiction #marcia overstrand #alther mella #magyk #anon

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conaionaru · 4 years

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Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Prophecy of fire

Synopsis: Aslaug sees an unsettling vision about Vanya’s and Ivar’s future.

Warning: angst, fluff, Ivar, toxic family, prophecy

Tagged

@shannygoatgruff @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @lol-haha-joke @queenbeeta @didiintheblog

P.S.: Anything in cursive is in Old Norse.

I don't own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it.

Waking up next to Ivar became one of Vanya's favorite things in the morning. The way the light hit his tan skin as his bare chest rose slowly to the singing of the birds in the background. It all seemed like a dream she never knew she needed in her life. She put her pale hand on his chest and felt his heart beating slowly. Her husband looked so serene and innocent sleeping. Nothing like the stories she heard of Vikings. She loved the difference.

"Why are you staring at me?" He asked groggily, making her lock gazes with him. His blue eyes still looked tired, like they needed all the rest they could get before he was ready to leave the bed. Vanya chuckled as she laid her head on his chest and smiled in delight.

"I am admiring true beauty." Vanya teased, quoting his words from the wedding feast. Ivar rolled his eyes at her and threw his arm over her waist, drawing her closer to him. She closed her eyes and let his breathing lull her back to sleep. Unfortunately for both of them, a thrall knocked on their door, informing them that the Queen wants them to meet her in the Great hall.

The couple groaned in annoyance before Vanya rose from the bed and slipped an underdress over her naked body. She heard the thrall leave, as they were advised to do since they once entered to wake the royal duo, only to have a dagger thrown at them, when Ivar was getting dresses. So since then, they dress themselves.

Vanya put on a pale purple dress with roses on it as Ivar tied his legs together. She still hasn't seen his them bare, but she doesn't push. It was better to let him do it at his own pace. The more patient she would be, the better, and she wasn't that curious to see them. Different or not, they were still legs.

"What are you doing today?" Ivar asked, getting down from the bed and crawling to her side as she braided her hair.

Vanya looked down at her husband as she finished her little braid and smiled at him. "Brynja and I are going to the market to buy new fabrics. Do you want me to sew you something? Any special requests?"

Ivar shook his head at her offer and told her he is going hunting with his brothers and won't probably return till tomorrow if they decide to stay at the hunting cabin. Vanya wished him a good hunt and kissed him on the lips before they parted ways.

She was still a little bit shaken up from yesterday's argument. The first night they talked together, he told her she could do whatever she wanted to do. Yet he obviously drew the line at Christianity. She didn't care about the Christian God - he was a useless god in her eyes. His punishments were too severe, and his rules cruel. Silas always mocked her with Queen Judith of Wessex, the woman who got her ear cut off. He threatened he would do the same to her if she continued to test him. She prayed to God for mercy, but it didn't come at all. Yet Silas was a sea away from her, and she worshipped other gods now.

There was no place for God in her heart anymore; perhaps there never was. He was her father, God, and the possibility of him being with her even after death was beautiful. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized there never was an angel or God by her side. Silas was cruel to her, giving her bruises that took weeks to heal. And no matter how much she prayed, God did nothing. If he truly existed, he would have done something. What kind of cruel god is he if he does nothing?

Maybe all gods are just stories told by men to justify their choices. The tales of all-powerful gods looking over them and doing incredible deeds gives them an illusion of order in this world. After all, children sleep easier, thinking someone is protecting them. Is that what her father was? A fool believing in a made-up story?

The two sat down with the other Ragnarssons as Aslaug smiled at them a cup of mead in her hand. "What did you want to talk about, Mother?" Ubbe asked her, not liking the suspense.

Aslaug waved her hand at him in a dismissive way and sipped from her cup. "No worries. It is good news. Some traders offered to help Floki build ships by giving him some material. The only thing they ask is that you mention their generosity to the other people who will sail with you."

Bjorn nodded at that information and thanked her, saying he will inform Floki of it before they leave to hunt. Vanya looked at Bjorn curiously, trying to remember if he mentioned a journey. "Where are you going, Bjorn?"

The tall Viking looked at his sister in law and smiled at her proudly. "I found a map on our raid in Frankia a long time ago. I want to sail there, and Floki is building the ships for the journey." He explained excitedly thinking of the new things he would see when the time came.

Vanya smiled at his excitement and wished him good luck on his journey. Apparently, the other brothers wanted to come too, and we're still pondering who would go and who not. Hvitserk was sure he would go even if he had to sneak on the ship.

They all ate, conversating together about their plans before the boys stood up to leave. Ivar kissed Vanya's temple and crawled away. When Vanya stood up to also go, Aslaug called her name. She mentioned for the redhead to sit next to her, cause she wanted to talk.

Vanya braced herself for the hard conversation before her and sat down on Ubbe's earlier chair. "I am very happy for you and Ivar. And I am sorry for pressuring you. I didn't mean it in a wrong way. I simply want you two to be happy."

Vanya nodded at the Queen's words appreciating the less tense atmosphere between them. "Who taught you to behave like that, Love?"

Aslaug's words were curious yet still made Vanya pause. She didn't know the reason behind her question; after all, why should the Queen care about it? "My father always said that people have greater importance than armies. He believed that being loved had a bigger value than being feared. I think the same. However, it is good to have both. Only love won't win wars if the need arises."

"Wise words. He must have been a smart man to think that. How did he die?" Aslaug questioned again, her eyes sharp as a whip. She was looking for something, that was sure.

Vanya swallowed, thinking of her father's pale face and bony hands as he took his last breath in his chambers. "A sudden illness took him. He suffered for a long time before he passed away." Her tone was sad, and she could feel moisture at the corners of her eyes. Despite being dead for nearly three years, he was still a sore subject to her.

"I am sorry, Love. But you have a new family here now. And who knows, maybe one day you and Ivar will have a family of your own if the gods bless you." And there it was—the point of the whole conversation. Aslaug wanted grandkids. "Do you want children, Vanya?"

Vanya frowned at the question, never really thinking about it. It was expected of her as a woman to bear children. She dreamed of a handsome husband who would give her many pretty children with rosy cheeks. She did want them, but she hated that it was expected of her. Silas and Mother always reminded her that bearing Ivar's sons was a must. But she wondered if it was possible for her to bring his children to the world. What if he couldn't give her a child because of his affliction? What would become of her then?

"I do want children. But I--"

"You worry if you will have any with him, don't you?" Vanya nodded at the Queen's question in sadness. "I pray to the gods every night for you to get pregnant. I had a vision."

The ginger looked at Aslaug in wonder. Curious blue orbs met coal lined ones in a silent order to continue. "I saw a little body with eyes as blue as the sky looking up at ravens flying over its heads. The babe's hands wrapped around a snake's neck in a tight grip—the frozen sea behind the child as it crawled towards a fire to warm itself. I don't think it is a bad dream. The child is in danger, but it is a strong child. Brave and determined to survive."

Vanya frowned at the Queen's prophecy and nodded her head in understanding at it. "You could ask the Seer what the gods have to say about it. He will know what to tell you. But I am sure there is a child in your future."

She hoped it was the truth; she wanted children with Ivar. But what if her child was in immense danger? The prophecy sounded anything but friendly to her, no matter what Aslaug said. A snake and a fire was anything but good in her eyes. It meant obstacles in the life of a child that wasn't even conceived yet, and she already worried about it. What if the child died before it would grow up? Or if it died in her womb? What if the fire that was supposed to warm it would burn it instead?

"You are very silent today, Princess," Brynja commented, worried, looking over the silks the old woman offered to them. "Are you alright?"

Vanya looked up from the steel blue fabric she inspected before and smiled at her servant and friend. "Got a lot on my mind, that's all." Brynja nodded her head, not truly believing the Princess but decided not to press the matter.

After Vanya bought the fabrics, did she ask a thrall to bring them to her chambers. "I wish to talk to you privately." Brynja nodded at the whispered words and led the wife of Ivar the Boneless towards a lake in the woods. The grass looked soft while the water was clear and twinkled in the sun. The day was rather warm today for Kattegat's usual coldness.

The two women sat down on the grass watching the lake, neither saying anything for some time. Vanya cast her gaze down to her lap to look at the half-moon wounds she gave herself yesterday. She trailed her thumb over the tender scars and sighed loudly. "What do you think of Ivar? Be honest."

Brynja's head snapped towards Vanya as she watched the young Princess's blank face. Her usual honest front was replaced with a coldness that gave nothing away. She reminded the servant of Ivar at that moment. A hunter waiting for his prey to make its first move.

"I don't know him that well, Vanya. I only serve you." Vanya hummed at the servant's frantic tone and looked back up at the lake.

"My husband's personality worries me sometimes. I like him, that much I am sure. But his mood swings are frightening sometimes. He caught me praying, I confessed to him I prayed to the Christian god too. He got angry at that. He claims he won't hurt me, but yet he scares me." Vanya explained to the woman she barely knew. It was a foolish move; she could report it back to someone. But her feelings to Ivar were no valuable information to anyone. If she told it to Aslaug, the Queen would only talk to her. Vanya was in no danger telling Brynja about her situation. "When I was sent here, I begged my brother not to do it. I was worried my husband would kill me. So I ask you... Is my life in danger?"

Brynja took in a shake a breath and frowned deeply. "The Prince is mean; he isn't very fond of his brother Sigurd, and the Queen spoils him. But I don't think he would hurt you. Somehow you calm him. He isn't like he used to be before. It's not that obvious, but he is getting better. I think you should give him some time. Maybe talk to him."

Vanya nodded at the servant's advice and looked back at the lake, seeing flowers drifting in the lake. She smiled at the pretty things and stood up, surprising Brynja.

The servant looked up at the Princess, who took off her shoes and lifted her dress. "What is your favorite flower, Brynja?" She tiptoed over to the edge of the lake and dipped her feet in before walking into the water.

"Princess! Get out of there!" Brynja warned fearing for her Lady's health from the cold lake. Yet Vanya ignored the worried shouts and walked to the flowers. When she realized that she couldn't pick the flowers while holding her dress, she dropped the skirt and plucked the pretty flowers.

"Stop worrying, Brynja. Come on! What flowers do you like?" Vanya giggled a few Lily-of-the-valley flowers in her left hand as she walked closer to the coast to pluck more of the pretty flowers.

Brynja smiled, watching the excited Princess enjoy herself; her white skirt floated around her as she walked over the bottom of the lake. She looked so serene and kind at that moment that marrying her to someone like Ivar seemed like a mistake. Yet the girl's good heart and patience were a plus for the youngest Prince. "Forget-me-not's, my Princess. I like purple flowers."

Vanya chuckled at the information and gathered a few of those flowers in her hands, making a bouquet for her red-haired friend and servant. The lake was cold, but she could endure the chilly water until her task was done. She loved picking flowers back in the gardens of Slegia; the flowers were always put into a vase and on her father's table afterward. "Are you not bored with me, Brynja?"

Brynja shook her head at the question and watched the Princess make her way back to the shore. "Of course not, my Lady. I like serving you more than serving in the kitchen with the thralls."

With Brynja's help, Vanya crawled out of the lake and presented the curly-haired girl her findings. Brynja thanked her and put a forget-me-not into her hair, she also put one into Vanya's hair, complimenting the pretty Saxon on the look. The two girls left the lake in a good mood and went towards Vanya's and Ivar's room to change her wet dress.

#Vikings #ivar x oc #original character #original female character #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok

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cuddlyscribe · 4 years

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anon asked: How would tfp bots react to their SO having been experimented on by MECH in the past and now they have telepathy or something? Seeing MECH again left them half vengeful half frightened. Before, they would somehow just know stuff, finish off sentences for the bots or sometimes the bots’ moods would affect them adversely. And now, they just admit the fact quietly.

[recognize these headcanons? this is a repost from my old blog ‘ohscraptfphcs!’ You will see this disclaimer above all of the content i have moved from my previous blogs.]

Optimus: Optimus did sense something was amiss, but he never imagined it had anything to do with MECH or any sort of testing. He’s famously good at keeping his temper under wraps but this time it’s almost impossible. Just the thought of them being just in the presence of Silas and his goons and being subjected to horrible tests makes him extremely angry. But because he thinks before he acts, Optimus knows it’s best to comfort you before taking any sort of action. He knows it must have been such a frightening experience, and so he spends extra time with his s/o, making sure they’re comfortable and happy

Bumblebee: Bumblebee isn’t very subtle, so he starts to buzz and beep when they tell him. But he quickly quiets down when he realizes this isn’t for everyone to know. Bee is quick to let his s/o know that it isn’t their fault and they shouldn’t be ashamed in any way. MECH is the only one to blame here, and he promises he’s going to get payback for them. But in the meantime, our favorite yellow scout tries his best to cheer them up by making jokes and taking them out for rides to distract from the sadness they might be feeling.

Ratchet: He sort of knew right away something was wrong. Ratchet is a doctor after all, and so he notices when someone looks like they’ve just come from surgery. However, he doesn’t want to press much if it’s a sore subject or something. But when his s/o tells him what really happened that night, he can’t help but blame himself for it. If he’d just asked and pried a bit more, maybe he could have done something… But they assure him the damage had already been done and there was nothing he could have done about it at the time. Once they’re both calm, Ratchet spends most of his free time and waking hours to finding a cure to the pain.

Arcee: She’s the one that wants revenge right away. She can’t stand the injustice against someone so close to her, and she wants to get even with MECH. But it isn’t so cut and dry, since the Autobots don’t know the whereabouts of their leader or any of MECH’s members. But her steaming anger doesn’t help in the way of calming her s/o down, so she brings herself down to a light simmer so she can provide some comfort. They cuddle for awhile and Arcee makes sure to pay extra special attention to them until Optimus hears any word on her new arch enemy.

Bulkhead: Also wants revenge right then and there, but he stops himself when he realizes that’s not going to help anything. His best bet now is to solve the ‘now’ problems, like making sure his s/o feels secure and safe with him. His favorite thing to do is just take them out on a ride to get their favorite food. It puts a smile on his face, which gives him the courage to be strong for them. It’s hard to put on a tough exterior when someone close to you is hurting, but he pushes through, knowing he’s making it easier for his s/o to also be strong in the face of a traumatic past.

#transformers prime #tfp optimus prime #tfp ratchet #tfp bumblebee #tfp arcee #tfp bulkhead

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misfittedmishaps · 5 years

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DAY 012: Yeah, write!

So, panibagong araw na naman, at panibagong pang-aatake na naman sa akin ni Dads! Minsan, naiisip ko... Lagi na lang akong bina-bang bang ni Dads sa mga tanong niya. Pakiramdam ko tuloy, bago pa man matapos ang 366 days na ito ay exposed na exposed na ako dito. To use Vice's statement: "Wala talaga tayong itatago... Isisiwalat natin lahat!"

Pero kidding aside, I think maganda rin naman talaga na i-include ang personal life dito sa blog na ito. After all, ito naman talaga ang purpose noon. We want to share to all of you the things that we've learn in life and to do that, we must share our life with you. Kung p'wede nga lang na bawat blog post na gawin namin ay maglalagay kami ng part of our soul (horcrux daw, jk), gagawin namin. Because what better way to teach someone a lesson than to show them someone's experience. And in that case...

I guess it's the right thing to do. To volunteer ourselves as someone who will teach others the lesson that we've learn. We do not know much, pero at least...

Kumbaga sa isang race, nabawasan na ang hurdles na kailangan ninyo maranasan, and we're more than happy for that. We know the feeling of the pain that we've experienced just to get that lesson. At least we are saving you from experiencing that pain. Well, hopefully.

Anyway, Dads' question was about my writing career, and here it is:

Ano ang gusto mong simulan sa iyong writing journey sa taong ito?

I don't know if I mentioned it here yet pero matagal na ako nagsusulat. Nagsusulat na ako since late 2014 or early 2015 (hindi talaga ako sure kasi bata pa ako noon). Anyway, ayon nga. Five years na rin pala, more or less, simula noong nag-start akong magsulat. Still, I still have a lot to improve and still have a lot to prove to myself. To be honest kasi... Minsan, pakiramdam ko, hindi talaga ako worthy na tawaging writer, lalo pa't hindi man lang ako makatapos ng isang istorya, no matter how hard I try, and maybe that's one of my plans... To finish writing a story.

Bukod pa roon, hindi na rin naman sikreto kay Dads ang plano ko gawin. I'm not gonna share my story dahil mabuti na rin ang mag-ingat. However, what I can share to all of you is my vision in this story.

Noon pa man, alam na ni Dads kung anong klaseng writer ako. Kung may nagbabasa man sa mga sinusulat ko, maybe alam din nila. Ako kasi iyong tipo ng tao na masyadong bored sa linear na plot. Simula pa talaga noon, hindi ko na hilig ang pagsusulat ng mga mainstream na plot—mga plot na kadalasan nakikita natin sa iba't ibang libro o hindi naman kaya sa Wattpad (isang community and channel namin for sharing our stories to others). Ewan ko ba! Hilig ko talaga ang paglihis ng landas. In fact, dahil doon, Dads always called me "deviant" when it comes to writing.

So, this year... That's my plan. To continue on becoming deviant when it comes to writing. Sa upcoming story na naiisip ko, sobrang layo niya sa mga generic Wattpad stories. Medyo taboo na rin kasi siya, kahit may iilang mga stories na gaya nito sa Wattpad.

It would be a general fiction disguised as Romantic story. Medyo PG-13 siguro siya, bit not because of sexual scenes (although baka mayroon siya but it would be for a cause). It would tackle different issues na kadalasan, hindi nata-tackle sa Wattpad. My goal for this story is to change the people's perspective regarding these topics. Plano kong sampalin sila ng realidad. I wanted them to become aware of these societal issue.

Although medyo nahihirapan ako sa pag-execute nito, I badly want to write this story, and hopefully... Magawa ko siya.

Well, so far, iyon lang ang plano ko... Hahahaha. I know, wala kayong matututunan rito dahil pure kwento lang siya. Mukha lang siyang isang #ShareKoLang episode ni Maju. Hahaha. However, I don't want you all to leave empty-handed which is why I'm going to tell you these things:

First, don't be afraid to become resilient in the society.

I know that we all live in a world na may isang sinusundan na sistema. We live in a world divided by religion, races, and other beliefs. We live in a world where there are rules that should be followed to become accepted by the norms. However, hindi mo naman kailangan sumunod sa mga norms. NEVER change yourself para lang makibagay sa society because the truth is: The societal norms are created for the people on top to stay on top. They are created para ipakita sa atin that they are superior, and that we should follow them to be accepted.

Nasa sa iyo naman kung ano ang gagawin mo: It's either you conform with the rules as you lose yourself in the process, or you can be deviant and fght for what you believe in.

Disclaimer: I am not saying that you should literally break every rule that you see. I'm only saying that if you think that the rules is impeding your human rights, then you should not follow it.

Second, never lose hope on your dream.

There are times kung saan wala sa side mo ang universe. There are times kung saan parang instead na ilapit ka ng mundo sa iyong pangarap, mas inilalayo ka nito. But that doesn't mean that you should give up on your dreams. That doesn't mean that you should stop fighting!

Ako, why do you think would I still waste my time on writing stories that may or may not be finished? Why am I still writing despite the failures that I've experienced? Simple. It's because of my vision as a writer.

Yes, the universe might be giving me a hard time on achieving my dreams. Yes, it would be easier to just give up and throw that dream into the trash bin. But you know what? I'm not gonna do that. I will never do that.

Yes, time will come kung saan lalamunin ako ng aking failures, until such time na gugustuhin ko na lang muna na magpahinga sa pagsusulat. It happened once, after all, and I know that it will happen again. But just like how I gave up on writing, I know na tulad ng dati... Babalik ako sa pagsusulat. It's because writing is already a part of me, and throwing that part of me meant breaking myself.

So, never give up on your dreams. For there are worse things that could happen to you while reaching your dreams, but giving up would be the worst decision that you'll do in your life. Kung sa bagay, nasa gitna ka na naman. Nahirapan ka na naman. Lahat ba ng paghihirap na iyon, itatapon mo na lang kung saan? Hindi ba sayang?

So, ayon. Share ko lang naman.

Hindi madali ang pagsusulat, just as hindi madali ang pag-abot n iyong pangarap. But always remember that the world may give you a thousand reasons to give up, always remember that you have that one reason to continue. And that one reason is enough for you to take your journey. That one reason is enough for you to reach your destination, and that is the success.

Anyway... Dads, you asked me a question about writing, and it is my great pleasure to ask you about writing as well:

Why did you start writing?

Compared sa mga nauna kong tanong, simple lang iyan, but I want you to show to the readers your reason of writing. The reason why after all these years, hindi ka pa rin sumusuko. Tanong nga ni Pareng Nescafe (beke nemen po, haha), "Para kanino ka bumabangon?", implying that you need to have your reason to live. Kaya ngayon, iyon ang tanong ko sa iyo. Ano ang iyong rason kung bakit ka nagsusulat? Or if you may... Para kanino ka nagsusulat?

O s'ya, laters na lang, at pauwi pa lang kami from Bataan. Ciao ciao, everyone! Love lots~

- Maju

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fumusdamnatorum · 5 years

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No Bark, All Bite: A Headcanon/Meta Post on Silas’ Fighting Style

So, not too long ago, I wrote a piece on Silas’ body language here. I’d figured it’d be a nice transition into what would be his fighting style. I guess you can call this part two? Or part whatever depending on what bright ideas I can keep writing about. The way I’m going to break this down is in three parts: fight mentality, armed fighting style, and unarmed fighting style. The use of his semblance will fall in with his armed fighting style; I’ll explain more when I get to that point in time.

To start this off, I’m gonna talk a bit on his fight mentality. In contrast to how I used to write him and to those that he’s based off of, Silas is rather non-confrontational. I’d argue the reason why he’d get into fights is because he looks like he wants to fight, but in reality he doesn’t. His fight IQ, the ability to not just read opponents but also apply the correct “solutions” in a fight, is above average. Silas isn’t the type to show his hand all that quickly, and while yes he is the gambling type, he doesn’t rely on pure, unadulterated violence to get his point across. Instead, he’s more intuitive, picking at them, seeing what makes them tick and watching for their tells or feints. He moves around a lot, trying to get a feel for not only the timing and distance in a fight, but the environment around them and how it shapes his own priorities. To him, stillness is death, and to get the drop on his opponent, Silas will cut the most unexpected (or most expected) of angles to get the drop on them. Sure there is absolutely times where time is of the essence, but to Silas, there is a way of doing things quickly, and there is a way of doing things right. That’s a major part as to the reason why he keeps his hands folded behind his back during a confrontation. Only when there a moment that needs an immediate response does he reply in kind. In the most worst case/dangerous scenario, Silas will absolutely red-line himself to finish a fight. Aura or no aura, in that moment, the fight stops when either himself or his opponent drop dead.

Alrighty now, armed fighting style. First things first, the biggest reason why I’m also lumping his semblance into armed fighting style is because in order for Silas’ semblance to work, he needs a marker of sorts, and his weapons primarily fulfill that role for him. I would say if you’ve ever seen Nyx Ulric of FFXV: Kingsglaive fight, that’s pretty accurate to how Silas’ semblance works. In the most condensed explanation possible, he zips around, leaving a puff of smoke behind. However, because aura is limited, and by proxy so is his semblance, Silas doesn't do as much zipping around like Nyx. However, like I said earlier, Silas will absolutely use his semblance until he can’t. In regards to his weapons, he uses Dammerung (spear form) in his right hand, and Zahl (knife form) would be in his left to parry attacks. Wielding Kopf and Zahl in their bladed forms are also a popular alternative, as they’re very close to short swords in size than large knives. He’s not that...flashy compared to other hunters/huntresses. At least he’s not the acrobatic type. Will he try his hand at it? Absolutely, when there’s nothing else that works or when the situation calls for it. As a marksman, I think the best way to describe it is that, aside the gunslinger type when wielding Kopf and Zahl, Silas is more of a...prowler? when it comes to hunting with his rifle. Unless the fight is huge or if he’s riding on a horse, Silas finds a place to get comfortable, fires a round, then if possible moves on to a different location without leaving the slightest trace. Mobility is Silas’ best defense. While he is willing to take hits, he doesn’t have a full case of armor surrounding him, aura notwithstanding. However, he doesn’t rely on his semblance to give him that mobility. Instead, his semblance is primarily used to cut those aforementioned angles.

And finally, unarmed fighting style. Assuming Silas can’t use any of his weapons (knives and grappling hook included), and all he has are ol’ faithful hands and feet, this is an extremely underrated ability that he posses. Mainly it’s due to Silas having his foundation of not only physical fighting, but fighting as a whole (mentality included). At its core, Silas’ fighting style falls upon Mistrali Pankration (neo-pankration irl), but what separates him from his peers at the time is he is a ground and pound fighter. He doesn’t mind fighting a stand up game, but Silas will do what he can to make his job once he takes his opponent down to the ground that much easier. Stamina wise, he will go the distance. He’s not a pressure fighter that is relentless and doesn’t give his opponent time to breathe. He’s a pressure fighter in a sense where as the fight goes on, his opponent is feeling themselves withering with each and every breath they take, wondering why the fuck this kid isn’t letting up. Silas will tie up their legs, push them against the cage or the floor, and just pummel them until they would get him off, they yield, or they die. Although, submission grappling isn’t completely off the table for him. When it comes to takedowns, Silas commits to every shot, every single/double leg takedown. He doesn’t feint them to make a hit at risk of leaving himself open. In regards to defense, Silas will move around the cage, bring his opponents into a clinch or some sort of entanglement, and would prefer to slip punches and counter-punch instead of parrying them.

So yeah, thanks for coming to my TEDxTalk

#ooc #whispers (headcanon)

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years

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Sneak Peak!

I have decided to give you all a sneak peak of my longest (time wise) work in progress. This story was intended to be my first novel, some 6 or 7 years ago. Back in January, I decided to go back to it and take another swing. This is nothing like The Miys, and doesn’t even take place in the same universe.

That said, I would be deeply honored if my followers could give me their feedback on this portion of it.

Silas Rask woke to the cold wind whipping across his body, the gray sky backlit by the early morning sun. Briefly, he tried to remember the last time the sky had been clear, giving the train of thought up a heartbeat later as a lost cause. Maybe it had always been covered in a blanket of clouds, and what he thought were memories of clear and bright skies or starry nights were instead memories of pictures in a text. Then again, he was trying to find the memory through what felt like a partial lobotomy done by a rat. It was an all-too-familiar feeling, a constant companion for the past several years.

Groaning, he sat up and inspected himself in an attempt to get his bearings. Coat and clothes were present and accounted for, that was a plus. However, his shoes were gone. Again. Fortunately, his credits and keys were still in his pockets, along with all the miscellaneous junk that had managed to manifest itself in every coat he had ever owned. That would probably be courtesy of the fact he had been lying on top of it; mornings like this were becoming entirely too common if he could remember to lay on top of his stuff to protect it, but could not manage to remember how to get home.

Speaking of home, Rask looked around to figure out where exactly he was and how to get back to said residence, but he saw nothing but open, grassy field. His heart sank as he realized what this could mean – it certainly was not a good sign if he was where he thought he was. Trying to prove himself wrong, he stood to get a wider view, only to see the field stop abruptly in a drop-off about a hundred yards to his left. Other fields floated in the distance on all sides, covering the tops of enormous structures.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, rubbing his face and jaw in disbelief, “I’m on top of a damned Tower.” The incredible structures known only as ‘Towers’ made up the vast majority of the stronghold now known only as the Citadel. They functioned like self-contained cities within their isolated nation, each owned by a different corporation, with the employees both living and working within. Most of the massive buildings had carefully maintained parks that served double duty as recreation areas and filters for the air that was drawn into the building via strategically placed vents beneath the surface.

And somehow, Silas Rask had gotten on top of one of them.

While drunk.

Taking a deep breath, Rask muttered a prayer to any listening deities – plus a few he probably made up on the spot – as he looked around at his surroundings, squinting to make out the nearby structures more clearly. To one side, he saw the sigil of Dapevoro Amusements, and he relaxed slightly when he saw to the opposite side a stylized badger – Letelm. That confirmed that he was, in fact, on top of his home tower, Zilacen Industries. The breath he was holding exploded from his lungs in relief.

“Thank the gods,” he sighed to himself. “I’m home. Kinda.” Which explained how he had gotten to such a high level filter park: he worked with corporate security with Zilacen, so he had access to all public spaces throughout the entire building. His panic calmed somewhat as it occurred to him that it would be both easier and less necessary to come with an excuse as to what he was doing up here than if he had managed to get on top of, say, the Tower where he had started his drinking binge the night before, for example. Waking up in an awkward location was a situation that had happened more often than he cared to admit, and was never one he cared to repeat.

He braced himself as he headed for the edge of the field to begin the journey back to his quarters in the heart of the Tower, and suppressed the trickle of fear that struck his spine as he looked over the edge to locate the staircase. In the twenty years since he had come to the upper tiers, he had never gotten used to the view. Specifically, he had never adjusted to the openness and the fact that he could not even see the mist that always swirled around the lowest tier and the power plant – give him tight, closed spaces any day, thank you. However, there was no other way to get down from the top of the tower. With this in mind, he very carefully found the walkway that wrapped around the outside of the structure, and made his way inside at the first opportunity he could.

The filter park where Rask had woken up was over a hundred levels away from his quarters. It would have been a daunting enough distance if there had been a direct route. Unfortunately, he also had to navigate the distances between public lifts along with the teeming crowds he was forced to wade through to make his way. By the third lift, he started to hunker in on himself, conscious of just how badly he smelled and regretting more and more the loss of his shoes. Apparently, nobody paid attention to whose feet they may be stepping on. Two more lifts, and Silas arrived to the level where his quarters were located, albeit he was on the wrong side. He ignored the glide walk that would have been faster in exchange for the opportunity to stretch his legs as he walked the remaining distance to his quarters. As he cut through the crowds, he took in the boisterous noise and the mingling scents of the population of his tower. He could not deny that on any other day the sheer amount of life around him would have made him smile.

Today, it just gave him a bigger and bigger headache.

Finally, Rask made it inside his quarters and was able to close out the noise and crowds he had just spent nearly two hours enduring. He took a calming breath, removed his coat, and tossed it over the back of his couch. He loosened his tie and shirt from the night before as he walked toward his room, the lights automatically coming up to the dim levels he preferred. Once he reached his bedroom, he tossed the shirt and tie, plus his slacks, into a pile of similarly dirty laundry that had taken over one corner of the room. He finally managed to shuffle into his bathroom, and more importantly his shower, in hope of washing away most of his hangover.

When he felt reasonably human again, Rask dug a not-too-filthy pair of sleep pants from a pile closer to his bed and shuffled back out of his bedroom for a little hair of the dog. The lights in the apartment followed him, dimming in one room as he entered another, shining brightest in the kitchen. Selecting the cleaner glass of the two that he owned, he briefly contemplated a shriveled lime on the counter before deciding to let it die in peace and just drink his whiskey on the rocks. He paused briefly in the door between the kitchen and living room to take a sip of his drink, feeling the last tension leave his body as the warmth of his drink radiated from his stomach.

Looking into his living room, Rask told himself (not for the first time) that he needed to clean. It was not so much that his apartment was dirty - he did not own enough for that, frankly. But every smooth surface was coated in a film of dust and short, dark hairs. Rask assumed the hairs were his, and fortunately the furniture that was bolted in place when he was assigned the space was something between gray and tan and looked cleaner than he knew it was. In fact, all the furniture in the apartment came with it. The only color in the living room was a plant Jynx had given him, “to brighten the place up.” Even it was starting to turn brown to match everything else. He could have sworn it was a bright, vibrant green when it had taken up residency on top of a bookshelf, but it was certainly more brown than green now.

Having finished his first glass of whiskey, Rask poured himself another and then resigned himself to checking the alerts on his console. The indicator had caught his eye as he came through the room the first time, but a shower had been infinitely more important. Unless he wanted to actually clean – like he swore he would at least twice a week – he had run out of excuses to avoid it any longer. As expected, most of the alerts were unimportant, mostly just local news. Since he was in security, he was usually pretty ahead of any alerts sent out to the general populace. One message made him drop his head back and groan loudly at the potted plant: in his absence, Jynx had left him a message. His best friend, drinking companion, and personal pain in the ass loved to nag him when he got lost while on a bender.

“Hey, just checking to see if you’re still alive. Since I’m talking to your console, I’m pretty sure you passed out in an alley somewhere - again. Get in touch with me when you get this, and don’t worry, I promise to send your liver straight home if I run across it wandering around on its own in protest. Later, bitch!” Rask smiled despite himself. It had, in fact, been Jynx’s fault he had gotten so drunk the night before, to begin with. Something about her latest project being done, she needed to celebrate, along those lines if remembered correctly. For her, “celebrate” meant “get Silas Rask just drunk enough that he will drink anything I hand him so long as he doesn’t have to pay for it”, unfortunately. Of course, Jynx also loved to find the most disgusting concoctions she could, just to see if he would drink them anyway.

The last such ‘drink’ – he used the term loosely – he could remember from the night before was a vibrant purple, obscenely named liquid that smelled like used hydraulic fluid and probably tasted worse. He would have to taste used hydraulic fluid to be certain.

Rask took the time to send a response to Jynx, letting her know that he did make it home and had not, in fact, passed out an alley. He left out the part about waking up on top of Zilacen Tower. Then, he resigned himself to getting caught up on his backlog of cases. Most of what he did was low-level grunt work: breaking up fights, chasing petty thieves, and just generally being a visible presence of security within the crowded populace. Sometimes, this led to him stumbling across a small part of a larger problem, and those cases were currently lined up in a rack within arms’ reach of his console. Ordinarily, those cases would have been assigned to a detective and he would never see them again until someone was apprehended. In more recent months, however, Rask had decided to hold on to them and try to find those responsible himself. He did not want to be low man on the totem pole forever, and he considered this an effort to better himself in hopes of moving up the chain of command.

He started with the oldest case from the rack. Someone at work told him when he first started that case files had once been large, sloppy stacks of paper, held together by various means, and prone to losing vital information. However, nearly a century ago, Security Command had started using more secure pencil files to store cases on, and for that Rask was grateful. Otherwise, instead of a rack of long, thin, crystalline rods, he would have shelf upon shelf of flammable, unreliable paper files in his apartment. No, thank you. Instead of digging through a mountain of paper to review the case, he only needed to grab the crystal, and set it point-down into a hole in his console designed to read and display the information. No chance of pieces falling out and getting lost.

This file was one that had been pulling at the back of Rask’s mind for nearly a year, and it was the reason he started paying more attention to these cases, if he was honest with himself. The day of the initial arrest, which had been the beginning of the whole thing, he was patrolling a level in Middle Tier. Rask had walked past a food vendor only for a small child to run into him so hard that it knocked them both to the ground and sent the bag in the child’s hand skidding across the sidewalk. As he had helped the child up, he saw a look of sheer terror on the boy’s face and heard someone shout from inside the store.

“Come back here you little furball! You have to pay for that!”

The boy had tried to run at that point, only for Rask to hold him firmly but gently. A man – who later turned out to be the owner of the food stall – marched up to Rask and shouted that the boy had stolen from him, that it was not even the first time, and that he wanted the little creature arrested immediately along with damages paid for the merchandise he had lost.

Rask gritted his teeth every time the words ‘furball’ and ‘creature’ had come out of the man’s mouth, but put on his most professional demeanor, offered to pay for the food the boy had stolen along with lunch for himself, and promised to talk to the boy. The disgruntled vendor had agreed, but as he handed Rask the lunch he had ordered, the man made it clear that he still wanted to press charges against the child later. Rask had not argued, simply promised to take a statement as soon as he finished eating, and pointed to a table where the vendor could watch and make sure he kept his promise.

Rask had then walked the now-shaking and confused child over to the table, opened his bag of food, and promptly handed half of it to the boy before starting to eat his own share. The boy had eyed him skeptically, but the food had still disappeared long before Rask had finished his own. As he ate, Rask used the opportunity to look at the boy. He had not noticed at first, in the chaos of everything going on, but now saw that the boy did, indeed, have fur. It was not uncommon, as many denizens of the Citadel were not completely human. Further observation showed that the boy was a feline of some sort, with blondish gold fur, ringed spots, and distinctively cat-like ears.

Suddenly Rask was glad he had ordered a tuna sandwich, especially since he had been considering something vegetarian.

“So,” he said to the boy, leaning back and stretching, “Did you actually steal from him?”

The boy looked down and kept silent.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Rask sighed with genuine reluctance.

The boy just mumbled something at his lap.

“Can’t hear you,” Rask leaned forward, straining to hear.

“I was hungry,” the boy replied, so quiet that Rask could still barely hear him.

Rask chuckled, which made the boy snap his face toward Rask and scowl angrily. “It isn’t funny!”

“I’m laughing because I already knew you were hungry. Why do you think I bought you lunch?”

The boy’s face softened slightly and his ears twitched a little. Rask knew that was generally a sign of interest, so he continued. “Whether you bought the food or stole it, no one goes to a food vendor unless they are hungry. And if you stole to food like the man says you did, then you had to be very hungry to do that. So, did you steal it?”

The boy looked down again. “Yeah.”

“If you were hungry, why didn’t you tell your parents?”

“They’re gone,” the boy had whispered.

They’re gone. Those words had convinced Rask that this was not a simple case of sending the kid to juvenile lock-up for theft. As they had continued talking, he found out that the parents were not dead, did not pack up and leave, they had just vanished. The boy, Tyn, had been scared to report it because he had not wanted to become a Ward of the Tower. Rask could not even bring himself to blame the boy: the entire Citadel tended to treat non-humans as something between a child and a pet. It had bothered him his entire life, and it had bothered him when he sat in front of a scared, starving boy who had just been repeatedly called a speciest slur in front of a security officer, because it was considered perfectly normal behavior. While it was bad enough for human children to become wards, Rask could not imagine how much worse it would have been for Tyn.

#the citadel #sneak peak #original fantasy #future fantasy #writing #mine

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autobuttonsanddeceptistitches · 5 years

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Synthetic Life Chapter 44

This has been a story dormant for a year. Its hard to imagine that now, I finally get to upload this new chapter. I’ll be sure to leave a link to the first chapter (HERE) to make it easier to understand what is going on. Thank you, and I wish @lonemaximal the best.

Blue and purple optics opened to the sight of snow. A purple color seemed to blend with the mysterious energy. Arcee sat up, noticing the nearby trees set ablaze with a mysterious color. It seems the two Stunticons left after they assumed the flames got rid of her. Gentle servos brushed the ice crystals off. She got to her pedes and transformed back into a bike and drove past the flames. The femme shifted her wheels to chase after them. How much longer can they fight against these crazed mechs? Where is Knock Out and how can they find him in these terrible weather conditions? Could Megatron or the other Decepticons be up to something? She needs to find what those three are planning and fast.

Blaster fire continued across the winter winds. Drag Strip looked at his brother before grinning) “Have fun with this!” Drag Strip yelled. (His armor began to break open to let six copies escape and enter the fight) “Oh, now you remember that stupid trick!” Wildrider yelled. “Let me concentrate!” Drag Strip barked. (The Autobots remained hidden) “Optimus, I'm seeing that Arcee's signal is parting further away from any of you. Has she contacted you about it?” Ratchet commed. “No, the Stunticons are blocking our way.” Optimus replied.

Wheeljack drove into one of the Drag Strips, getting out his swords and slashing through it. Then he shifted his focus to another) “Come on, I've seen you do much better back on Cybertron!” Wheeljack snarled. “Shut it you old fool! Go work on some scrap duty!” Drag Strip roared. (The Wrecker smirked, moving away as Wildrider's bullet hit a copy) “Bulkhead, better hurry over here before I take all the fun!” Wheeljack called. “Don't worry Optimus, we've got this under control, message us when you catch up to Arcee! It must be important!” Bulkhead said. (He transformed and drove past the energy blasts and joined in the battle. As the rivals fought, the three remaining Autobots drove away. The blue motorcycle's signal is still far, but not unreachable.

A few energy blasts hit the snow, rupturing the once peaceful scenery. Knock Out managed to drive through the deep indents caused by Breakdown. In their mirrors, visions of a giant black truck chased them. Both knew Dead End should be nearby, alongside that spider who started this mess. Breakdown's cannon came out, shooting to any trees and causing them to fall. This should slow down the Stunticons. How strange that they aren't vanishing into puffs of smoke. But, its better for them rather than caught and killed. Once the former Decepticon duo reached a chasm, the two transformed and looked back. Silence, snow continued to fall, blocking the noise) “I know this sounds stupid, but we need to split up. We've got three after us, we'll meet back up once we get out of this forest.” Knock Out said. (He leaped over the ravine before Breakdown could protest. The former Stunticon sighed, turning as his friend entered deeper into the forest. Audio receptors not picking up the sudden noises behind.

Arcee followed the deep tire indents and the broken trees. Seems like a truck rammed into them. It must be Motormaster, yet the blaster marks looked so familiar. No, it must've been the other Stunticon that attacked her. She kept driving, soon reaching the ravine. The Autobot transformed, noticing a few fresh webs stuck to the rocks escaping the snow. Arcee knelt down, feeling the materials which caused anger to rush through. A servo shifted to a blaster, leaping into the depths.

Drag Strip laughed, Energon bleeding down his face as Wheeljack raised a sword to his visor) “Tell us what your up to and I won't have to put you six feet under again.” Wheeljack soothed. “Sorry imbecile, you should've looked closer when you killed us.” Drag Strip laughed. (He vanished, leaving Wildrider to disappear as well. The two Wreckers looked at each other) “We'd better get back to the others, it sounds like Arcee is in trouble.” Bulkhead said. (His friend nodded as they both transformed, driving through the snow)

“Hey Bulkhead, since the Stunticons came calling, I've been thinking about the past. Remember when we used to be friends with Breakdown?” Wheeljack asked. “Yes, wait, Scorpio didn't kill him. He was alive here on Earth until something happened involving MECH.” Bulkhead said. “So, we didn't know why he died. Then why did the Stunticons break that spider out?” Wheeljack asked. (A comm signal came out from the Autobot medic) “I may have the answer to that.” Ratchet interrupted. “Oh, what could it be now?” Wheeljack asked. “Under Arcee's request, I examined Airachnid's memories. Within them, I saw one of her victims; Breakdown.” Ratchet paused. “So why bring back his killer? Unless someone got a good chunk of Dark Energon and...” Bulkhead paused. “Someone's been messing around with science.” Wheeljack chuckled. “Optimus and the others are going after Knock Out. Its best you follow Arcee's signal, I'm loosing her's faster.” Ratchet huffed. “We'll be on it doc!” Bulkhead yelled. (The two floored it, racing past the fallen organic matter and plowed snow.

Trees collapsed as the bark burned. Thunder boomed from the sword he gripped. Motormaster plowed across the snow, almost hitting scarlet red armor) “I know what's on your processor, and I ain't gonna let you have it!” Motormaster yelled. (Knock Out moved away as a tree got sliced and fell, hitting a nearby river. A saw and drill out as he avoided the giant's attacks) “You're dead, move on!” Knock Out retorted. (A powerful kick replied to those words, and he hit the ground. Motormaster jabbed his sword into the polished chest, sending out a powerful current. A grin grew as yellow optics observed the pain in red and black.

A powerful blast crashed into the eldest before he could continue the torture. The black armored mech yanked his sword out and looked, finding three Autobots) “Prime, Bumblebee, and a little pipsqueak. Three more idiots to get rid of.” Motormaster huffed. “I'm no pipsqueak!” Smokescreen yelled. “Motormaster, what is your purpose here?” Optimus asked. “Nothing you need to know, its personal business.” Motormaster snarled. (He stomped onto the medic, now getting out a shotgun and shooting. The three Autobots moved away, bullets almost grazing their armor. Bumblebee's servos shifted to blasters, firing at the big oaf. The King of the Road looked towards the bug and smirked. Pulling the trigger at him right as Smokescreen kicked him, then Optimus tackled the mech to the snow. White armor moved past the others, pulling Knock Out away. Bumblebee looked towards the two) “Get him out of here! We'll meet you once we're done with him!” Bumblebee beeped. (Smokescreen frowned, but nodded. He gripped onto the medic and fled from the battle.

Further back, two vehicles arrived back to the chasm. Wheeljack and Bulkhead transformed, looking down) “So, this is where Arcee's signal was last recorded?” Bulkhead asked. “Yes, be careful, I don't know what lurks down there, but it must be something dangerous.” Ratchet stated. “Nothing we can't handle.” Wheeljack smirked. “We'll be sure to remember that, thanks Ratchet.” Bulkhead replied. (The two leaped down into the depths, entering into the darkness.

Deeper down the tunnel, Arcee moved past the openings that allowed snow to fall. Blue mixed with soft red hues examined the floor. Nothing that can alert the monster to where she is. The Autobot didn't care to know why her rival was set free. Its a new chance to finish what they started with what happened to Tailgate. The name still stung, much like the acid laced on her claws. This deep in the tunnel, the light from above stopped, nothing opened to allow the snow to fall. The trails of webbing continued, meaning she got closer.

After traveling across the widened tunnel, the blue armored femme arrived to a large cave. A large hole up above allowed the snow to fall. Cool, something a few Cybertronians can handle. She knew not to spend too much time in this far out. That's why Knock Out chose it, because everyone knew the dangers. Yet, one thing intrigued her upon arriving to the room. Right below where the light came through, there seemed to be a giant web blob. Why did it look so familiar? Arcee approached it, getting out a blade and beginning to cut away the prison. It took a while to make a full mark, for the thickness of the webs and wanting to avoid tearing into whatever's inside. Her optics widened at what stared back.

A vibrant golden optic, much like Breakdown's own when he was alive) “Silas?” Arcee whispered. (A loud muffled grunt came out of the bulky mech. The femme turned around right as a stump almost hit where she once stood. Blue optics stared upon the figure that hid in the darkness. Her shape obvious, like the poison colored optics staring back) “Surprising, isn't it?” Airachnid asked. “What do you have to do with any of this?” Arcee hissed. “I killed him once, I'll kill him again once I'm done with you.” Airachnid hushed. “Wait, does this mean.” Arcee paused. “He's back from the grave, but not for long!” Airachnid screeched. (She fired webs from her servos as Arcee moved away.

The two continued fighting, with vibrant blue armor shifting across the snow. Airachnid towered over her, the extra legs hit the ground, digging into frozen rock. Arcee kicked away the spider, getting out her blades and cutting at another small leg. The former Decepticon hissed, moving back to clench the bleeding wound. Her rival rushed towards her, optics refusing to show nothing but fury.

Breakdown watched their fighting, at least his one optic still worked. It widened upon seeing a figure coming closer to him. Dead End gripped his gun, pressing it against Breakdown's helm) “Go to sleep brother, it'll all be over.” Dead End whispered. (Right before he could pull the trigger, Airachnid's frame crashed into him. Arcee snarled, shooting at the two. Dead End vanished while Airachnid crawled onto the ceiling, hiding in the shadows. Breakdown muffled a few words, trying to make sense) “If you are the real Breakdown, then you'd better help me out.” Arcee said. (The dark blue mech nodded, closing his optic as the threads got torn off. Breakdown got up, servos shifting to hammers) “Then lets get them out of the way.” Breakdown growled. (The two stood side by side, watching as Airachnid and Dead End emerged from the shadows. Blue, purple, red, and yellow all glared towards each other. Uncertainty cutting through the silence. A fire burning bright within them as they awaited who attacked first.

(The dark blue mech's cannon went off, almost hitting Dead End as Airachnid snaked away from them. Arcee tacked into the spider. The slender racing car moved, trying to avoid more blasts by his younger brother) “Can't you open your optic? You're wasting your afterlife away when we all want to rest in peace!” Dead End screamed. (Breakdown didn't reply, answering by hitting the mech's golden faceplates with his hammer. This caused the snow from above to bury the two femmes as they fought. Breakdown scoffed, returning to dealing more damage on Dead End. The sounds of their screaming and the clanging of hammers echoed across the tunnel. Then, he stopped. Weary red optics opened, Dead End's armor breaking down to reveal the purple flame in his chest. Vision twitched before noticing why his little brother froze)

“Breakdown?” Bulkhead whispered. (The two Wreckers stared as Breakdown stomped on the second eldest. Dead End's frame vanished among the darkness, giving out a loud scream. Wheeljack stepped forward, swords still in his grip) “Been a long time since we saw you.” Wheeljack said. (Before the resurrected mech could speak, the snow broke apart. Airachnid rose up, clawing into Arcee's armor. Breakdown fired a few blasts at the former Decepticon, each hitting her back. The spider's rival broke free from the acid claws, rolling over to the three. Airachnid hissed before drilling into the ground. Breakdown rushed to the hole, firing off as many energy blasts as he could. A loud scream from both him and her echoed.

It took a while before the lasers stopped firing. Breakdown huffed, blining as he saw Energon staining the hole. Arcee came up to the two Wreckers, unsure what to say at this scene. The former Decepticon lifted his helm, glaring at them with one optic. Then Bulkhead's com began) “Bulkhead, we've retrieved Knock Out, have you found Arcee?” Optimus asked. “Yeah, about htat, we found out why he ran. You're not going to believe it. Best we show him to you once we get back at base.” Bulkhead answered. (He turned it off, expecting Breakdown to run. Yet, he remained in place) “I'm coming, I want to make sure he's okay, except, Arcee, what did you mean by that fleshbag?” Breakdown snarled. “Its difficult to explain, so we'll clear it all up back at base. Lets go before those Stunticons cause us more trouble.” Arcee said. (Breakdown gave off a faint nod before turning towards the tunnel leading the way out) “Haven't seen you in a long time, you've changed.” Wheeljack said. “Yeah, after what you did to my brothers.” Breakdown hissed. “Still, quite a reunion with them acting like ghosts. How come you're still physical?” Wheeljack asked. “I am alive, I'm not a spirit haunting you for what happened. I am running from the Decepticons, except, it was Knock Out's choice. I went with it because I knew if I stayed, I'll die again.” Breakdown answered.

The other Autobots and former Decepticon waited back at base. The swirling lights grew as a few figures started to emerge. Knock Out's armor's welded back, yet was under heavy watch from Bumblebee. They noticed Arcee, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack returning. All three looked back, noticing someone following them. Breakdown opened his optic, staring upon everyone. Optimus seemed intrigued, a white armored Autobot he'd never seen before looked uncertain. The humans with their jaws agape, Ratchet glared towards Knock Out. Vibrant greens and blues ceased behind him, leaving the duo among Autobots. The sole golden optic stared at his best friend, seeing one emotion. Regret.

#Synthetic Life #Transformers Prime #TF #Fanfic #Writing #lonemaximal #I'm so happy!

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jacksonxschuester · 5 years

Text

Dear Sir,

So I moved back to Lima... I know, I know. You worked really hard to get us out of here. But the thing is, I need my family right now. It’s been a hard move. I had to sell or donate a lot of your stuff. I’m sorry. I kept the important things though, like your sweater that’s way too big for me, and pictures and stuff. I donated most of your clothes though, and some of your collectibles I sold so I could afford the plane ticket - Sorry.

Now that I’m here, there’s a lot of memories in this place. Our first kiss, first scene... Blanket forts and picnics. We built the majority of our relationship here. I’ve had to tell people about what happened to you. It’s been emotionally draining, but once everyone knows I think it’ll be easier. At least, once everyone important knows. I’m not about to just make an announcement... That’d be in poor taste. You’d hate that.

Nick is still here (he’s claimed now!!), and so is Sam (also now claimed!), Silas, Danny.. and lots of other people are here too. Layla’s here now. You never got to meet her, but she would have loved you. It’s nice to be around my family again.

It’s Pride Week here. No classes, so that gives me a lot of time to get set up. I’m a little sad I won’t get to go into town on Saturday for the parade. Remember last year? We had the best time. I still have the drawing I made for you for our anniversary, of the picture we took at Pride.

Still missing you every day, but I think coming back here was the right choice. I have a better support system here, and I can focus on finishing my education and getting a claim while I’m surrounded by people I love. I hope that’s okay with you.

Anyway, I just figured I’d keep you updated on where I am, in case ghost!you is haunting our old place in Kingston, or something. Haha... Only kidding. I told you not to haunt anything and you better have listened to that. So yeah, that’s that I guess.

Love, JJ

#tw: death #cw: feels #//it's basically a journal he writes to Steven in to help organize his thoughts and stuff #//good for a feels trip if your in the mood #//also has a p cool drawing in here my friend did for stackson back in the day lol #dear sir

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

Strictly Professional Feelings

Ch 3: A Comprehensive Guide to (Not) Surviving Staff Meetings

It didn’t take Hank any more than a week to settle in to his new job. Desk jobs didn’t change much even if the technology had. His office was more comfortable now, he had decorated the room space with a couple of plants and he had pictures of Cole and Sumo on his desk. He had brought in a chair that was kind to his old injuries, and just like he had at the precinct he operated under an open-door policy. Working at AME was definitely an experience. Other than working for someone considerably younger than the average CEO, the whole place seemed to have a relaxed atmosphere. The business office at the very least didn’t seem to have a dress code. It almost reminded him of a college campus. The policy seemed to be that as long as the work got done how it was done didn’t really seem to matter. The bullpen was loosely divided into departments, but even then it wasn’t strict and Hank certainly couldn’t tell when one ended and another began. Every one seemed to work well together which made things easier. His department had a problem child of course, but that came with the territory. His went by the name of Gavin Reed. He was a good worker, but something always seemed to be going wrong when it came to him.

If he wasn’t accidentally breaking another computer, he was getting a visit from the CFO. Gavin dealt with most of the numbers for the business office so seeing Richard wasn’t too much a surprise, but Gavin always looked annoyed afterwards. Hank had offered to help, but Gavin made it clear he could handle it so he backed off. If he wanted to deal with it on his own that was fine. Things went smoothly after that. Hank kept to himself for the most part and helped when it was needed. He had an easy routine that of course involved avoiding Connor at all costs. A routine that was decidedly shattered about a month in. He was aware that there were monthly staff meetings; in the same sense that someone would be aware of a storm building on a distant horizon. It wasn’t an issue. yet. Not until Monday when he was staring down the email reminder for the meeting that Friday. Objectively speaking, it wasn’t that big of a deal; but he tended to lose brain function around Connor and he wasn’t exactly to make a fool of himself in front of his colleagues. So he settled into his desk and got to work with his fingers crossed that something would come up before Friday.

Nothing came up, Hank wasn’t that lucky. So Friday afternoon he made sure he had everything he needed before he headed up. The conference room was the same as any other he had seen. There was a long wood table down the middle of the room with office chairs on either side, glass walls, a projector; all the usual fanfare. Much to his surprise he was the third person there, and Connor wasn’t among the small group. Josh and Silas were seated close to the door. Hank walked by them with a wave and took a seat a little farther from the door. He sat back and leaned his cane against the table where it would be out of the way. Richard came in about ten minutes later with a blonde Hank’s hadn’t met in toe. They took seats on the far side of the table closest to the projector on one side. Markus came in next and took the seat on the other side of the projector. Connor was the last one to show up. He came in just before the meeting was set to start. He had a box in his arms that looked to be completely filled with papers. His first staff meeting, and it was shaping up to be a long one. Connor set the box on the table then rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows and leaned on the table. Hank made a point of staring at the blank projector screen. This was definitely going to be a long meeting.

“Alright.” Connor said as he moved to close the door to the conference room, “Let’s get this started.” He settled back at the head of the table and tapped the box, “These are damage reports that were printed and left outside of my office out of spite.” Hank watched Silas wither a little and grew curious. This had obviously begun well before Hank got hired. Whatever it was couldn’t have been too serious because Richard and Markus were both sharing a look of mild amusement. “I just wanted you to have an idea of how many things my department has had to repair.” Silas replied, in a tone that wasn’t quite casual, “It’s close to the end of the fiscal year and I don’t want to be put on the hook for expenses that aren’t mine. Again.” “They are your responsibility though.” Connor raised a hand when Silas tried to cut in, “I’m aware that most of these aren’t your fault. Between questionable downloading practices and coffee related... mishaps; but your department is in charge of fixing them. I’ve talked to Gavin already, so next year should be easier on you.” He picked up the box and walked to set it on the table beside Silas, “Save a forest next time and send an email.

“There goes the R and D budget.” Silas muttered dryly. “With that done, let’s get on to department reports. Who wants to got first?” It was officially time for the boring stuff to begin. Hank did his best to pay attention after he gave his own report, but he could only listen to figures and statistics for so long before boredom set in. He wasn’t the only one that wasn’t giving this his whole attention. Everyone else also looked like they were only half listening to Richard. Hank would give it to him though, he was definitely thorough. Before the meeting ended Richard spoke up again, “I’ve been running numbers; we could set up a yearly repair budget for each department.” he explained, “IT will cover up to a certain amount each year, not including department wide replacements, and after that it’s up to the department the computer came from.” It was an attempt at keeping the peace. Every conversation Hank had been paying attention to would come back to this eventually. Silas looked to actively consider it. Which was the most ground covered on this the entire course of the meeting. “Sure.” He agreed, “How soon can you have it confidently laid out.”

Richard looked down to the small stack of papers Hank had originally believed to be notes, “The end of next year, assuming things go well.” Silas gave a slow nod, “Does that sound alright to you Connor?” “As long as I don’t wind up with another box full of paper right outside my office door you two can resolve this however you like.” He replied, “Just send it to me once it’s done so I can implement it properly.” With that the meeting finally seemed to be finished and they began to pack up. Hank took his time because he was still trying to process the odd mix of sibling rivalry and business jargon he had spent the last two and a half hours listening to. When he finished he noticed that Connor seemed to be waiting for him. “Do you have a minute to talk Hank?” He asked, “I just want to check in.” “Uh, yeah.” He replied as he made his way to the door, “I’ve adjusted alright. This place is a lot more calm than my old precinct.” Connor laughed, “I would hope so. So nothing is giving you any trouble then?” He walked with Hank toward the elevators, “The first month can be a bit rough.”

Hank shook his head, “Other than Gavin’s shit luck with computers everything has been fine.” “Oh, good then. I’m glad you’re doing well.” He replied as Hank hit the call button, “Hopefully the computer issue will be resolved with this.” “Hopefully.” He agreed. Connor nodded and stepped away as the elevator doors opened, “Alright, see you at the next meeting then.”�� “Yeah.” Hank said after a moment, “See you then I guess.” He stepped into the waiting elevator and let out a breath once the doors had closed. Hank honestly thought he would have out grown his awkward phase by now. The last time he’d had it this bad was with Ezra, and Cole was the only good thing to come out of that. Apparently he wasn’t too old to make the same mistake twice. At the very least he had another four weeks to figure out how he was going to survive the next staff meeting.

#A Guide to Bad Business Practices AU #AGBBP #Strictly Professional Feelings #SPF #Hankcon #Hannor #dbh hank #dbh connor #dbh fic #dbh

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languageofdreams · 6 years

Text

Silas has been in a good mood most of the night. They all had been: their victory against the evil creatures trying to destroy the seals of magic had come swiftly, and needed to be celebrated. And though the battle had left him somewhat worse for the wear, he didn't much mind when the end results were so promising.

But then their celebrations had begun to settle down, and they all started to head off to rest, and as he and Riley got ready for sleep, as Riley hummed a light tune and sent sleepy smiles his way, Silas’ good mood began to fade away.

It had nothing to do with Riley and everything to do with the memory of her past that the temple had shown them. With the other Goliaths looking down on her, being cruel to her, hurting her. With the rage he had felt watching this, hot and seething and making him unable to see straight. He'd wanted to scream, run at them, make them regret treating Riley like that.

But he hadn't. Because he couldn't change her real memory.

And that was the worst part.

He didn't notice how visibly agitated he'd become, how much his brow had furrowed, how jerky his movements were, until Riley softly asked, “Hey, Silas, you okay?”

He looked up, surprised, to find her watching him, and though her face was etched with fatigue, she looked concerned, as well.

Silas found he didn't know how to answer. Riley’s frown only deepened.

“What's wrong?” She asked, taking a step towards him. “Can I-”

“You're better than the lot of them, Riley,” he blurted out. “Every last one of them, I swear.”

Riley frowned again, this time in confusion. “What…?”

Silas gritted his teeth as his anger from earlier began to seep back in.

“Your tribe,” he said. “They...You…you didn't deserve being treated like that. No one does, let alone you! You're…they must have been jealous, or...or stupid, because... because you're incredible, Riley.”

He was far too worked up now, wringing his hands, on the verge of tears. But it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

“None of them deserved you, Riley,” he said. “Not one of them. They didn't…how could they know you and not…”

He trailed off again, looking away briefly.

“It's just,” he said, “It's just so wrong. They were so wrong. You're so much more than they thought you were, and if they couldn't see that, then...then that's their loss, because... you're...you're smart, and you're sweet, and you're brave, and...you're perfect the way you are, Riley, they had no right to try and change you.”

It was only then, once he had it all off his chest, that he was able to pause, to realize all that he'd said, to see the look of quiet amazement on Riley's face.

He felt himself blushing, and he looked down at the ground.

“I'm just,” he finished, much quieter, “I'm glad you got out of there. I'm glad you found us, instead. I hope...I hope we can do better by you than they did.”

It was quiet for a long moment, then Riley laughed softly.

“You’re really wonderful, Silas,” she said.

Surprised, Silas looked up, too shocked to move, trying to process what he was pretty sure he'd heard her say.

Really wonderful.

“Silas?” Riley asked. A bit of concern had worked its way back into her face, and Silas realized he must look as taken aback as he felt.

He tried to pull himself together, with mixed results.

“I'm okay,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

The look on Riley’s face said that was easier said than done. It also looked like she wanted to say something else, and Silas wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever that might be.

“I’m going to go get some water,” he said. “You get some rest, okay? Don’t wait up.”

Riley still looked concerned, but she finally nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “Good night, Silas.”

Silas slipped out of the tent and into the night air, and he barely made it over to the fire before his head was spinning badly enough to force him to sit down.

His heart was beating fast, and his stomach was turning itself over. He ran his hands through his hair, gripping it tight, frustration mixing in with the ache in his chest.

He had to stop this. It wasn’t fair- to Riley or himself.

But, Gods, when she said things like that...how could he even pretend he wasn’t in way too deep?

“What are you doing up?” a voice said, and Silas’ head shot up as Rhogar added, “Shouldn’t you be resting after a fight like that?”

“You’re up, too,” Silas grumbled, then he sighed. He shouldn’t take his frustration at himself out on Rhogar.

“I needed some air,” he said. “You?”

“Not tired yet,” Rhogar said. “Still too pumped from the fight.”

“Well, you did win us that battle,” Silas said. “Pretty much, anyway.”

Rhogar shrugged, but Silas could tell he was trying to hide a grin. “I do what I can.”

He sat down next to Silas in front of the fire, and it was quiet for a moment.

Silas glanced over at Rhogar, his mind wandering to the fiancée he had back home waiting for him.

Presumably, the two had once just been friends. Had Rhogar been the one to confess?

How had he found the nerve?

Before that, how had he standed feeling like...this?

“Rhogar?” Silas said, quietly.

Rhogar looked up at him, “Uh huh?”

Silas opened his mouth to ask what he wanted to, but at the last second he realized he had no idea how to. Where would he begin? How could he phrase it in a way that didn’t invite a thousand follow-up questions?

Besides, who was he fooling? He couldn’t confess. The pain he was already in would be nothing compared to that going wrong.

And it would go wrong. Eventually.

“Just...wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, rather weakly. “We all took some hits in there.”

Rhogar stretched. “Nothing some healing magic and a good night’s rest won’t fix,” he said. “And Mara already took care of the first part.”

Silas nodded. “Right. Good.”

After a few more minutes, Rhogar sighed and stood up.

“Guess I’ll try to sleep,” he said. “You should, too.”

“I will,” Silas said. “Good night.”

When it was just him again, Silas looked back into the fire.

He knew Rhogar was right, and he felt dead on his feet. But he wasn’t sure he’d be getting much sleep that night. His mind was whirling at a million miles a minute.

He glanced back at his tent, where Riley was sleeping.

She deserved the world that she’d once dreamed about. He wanted to give it to her. He wanted to be there with her, every step of the way. He wanted to make her as happy as she possibly could be.

He didn’t want to lose her.

He was so scared of falling for her.

But he already had.

He was so scared.

What was he going to do?

#if i can live through this i can do anything #and as the world comes to an end i'll be here to hold your hand #my writing #MMMMMMMMMM okay

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natteryaktoad · 6 years

Photo

Evangeline: So you’re really shutting up Go Fresh? Why?

Sadie: Because I haven’t had time for it for years, and something’s got to give, and it has to be this place rather than you guys. When I got it, I was young and idealistic, and thought I’d have time for everything, but I don’t. Sel and Si had just started school, and Sal and Sully were in high school, and we didn’t even have you. Things have changed. Priorities have changed.

Evangeline: It’s a shame. I mean, I was never into all this nature sh-... stuff, but I know you like it.

Sadie: I’ve still got my garden. And plenty of hungry mouths to feed.

Evangeline: Yeah, but less soon, once the twins are in college, they’ll be surplus, right? ... I know! Angel Weiss has set up this produce stand, I wonder if she’d buy stuff off you. That way you could still make a little bit of money off something you love, but without the extra work. Shall I talk to her for you?

Sadie: You go ahead, honey.

Evangeline: Why are you laughing?! And my name’s Evangeline, not honey!

Sadie: Sorry, Evangeline. I’m just laughing because your over-exuberance is one of the things I love most about you. Right, I think that’s everything all sorted. Let’s lock up, and then why don’t we go sit on that bench across the street. There’s something I want to talk to you about...

Evangeline: That sounds ominious...

Sadie: Now, then. I want to talk to you about Josh.

Evangeline: What about him?

Sadie: That, right there. Did you see how your attitude changed as soon as I mentioned his name? Do you think you could try and articulate your issues with him?

Evangeline: What issues?

Sadie: Evangeline. Please don’t get defensive with me. I know you and Josh have a rocky relationship, and I want to help you figure it out.

Evangeline: Why? I mean why now?

Sadie: Because in court next week it’s highly likely the judge will rule that he won’t be going back to his parents; he’ll be getting adopted. And if that happens, we’ll be adopting him. We’re not telling him yet because it’s not definite, but we wanted to tell you now because you’re the one - after me and Dad - that this’ll affect the most.

Evangeline: Me? Why?

Sadie: Because with Sel and Si off to college soon, you’re going to be the oldest. And whilst we’ll try not to lumber you with too much responsibility, somethings will naturally fall on your shoulders. One important thing is that your relationship with Josh, and how you are toward him will be Elizabeth’s biggest role model in her relationship with him. What kind of a role model do you feel you are at the moment?

Evangline: ...Not a great one.

Evangeline: He’s just... he’s hard work, Mum!

Sadie: Yeah, he is. But you weren’t exactly easy when we first adopted you.

Evangeline: I wasn’t?

Sadie: No, sweetheart!

Evangeline: That’s not my name!

Sadie: And you’re not always easy now! But you’re part of our family, and we love you. And it was easier for you to settle into the family because it was definite from the start - although it took you a while to realise that. You don’t know how many times I had to tell you I’d be your mummy forever and always!

Evangeline: I remember.

Sadie: But it’s different with Josh, because we’re ‘only’ fostering him. We’ve never been able to give him that security of knowing we’re not going anywhere, because we can’t be sure we’re not. But hopefully soon we can give him that permanancy. But of course it doesn’t help that, unlike when you came - and Elizabeth, for that matter - he isn’t loved and adored by everyone. He and Elizabeth are only just starting to get along; Selma and Silas tolerate him - Si more than Sel, I’d say; and you actively dislike him-

Evangeline: I don’t!

Sadie: Honestly?

Evangeline: I dunno. Like I said, I find him hard work.

Sadie: The point is, most of the reason he’s hard work is because he doesn’t feel safe and secure. And once he’s adopted, we can help him feel that, but we need everyone on board.

Evangeline: I don’t know what you expect me to do.

Sadie: Be the best big sister you can to him. I’m not asking for a huge time commitment - just to pay positive attention to him when you’re around him, not snap at him anymore than you would with Elizabeth when he hasn’t finished eating quick enough for your liking-

Evangeline: You heard that?

Sadie: Uh-huh. It’s what convinced me we needed this chat, Evangeline. I’m not asking much, am I? Just for you to be aware of how you speak to him, and how you’re making him feel - putting him down is going to damage his already fragile self-esteem. And make a bit of an effort to chat with him and do positive things together, rather than every interaction you two have be negative. And I’m not asking you to do this on your own - you’ll have me and Dad to suport you. We just need to all work together to show Josh that he does belong, and we are his family. D’you think you can do that?

Evangeline: Yeah. I can try.

Sadie: Good girl. And you can start by forgiving him for taking your money that one time.

Evangeline: But-

Sadie: Be honest, deep down in your heart, you’ve never forgiven him, have you? Even though he was only little, he was acting on Max’s orders, being emotionally blackmailed by him...

Evangeline: I guess not. I’ll try. But I am not having anything to do with Max. Will Joy and Ivy adopt him?

Sadie: That’s the plan. Thanks for being mature about this, Evangeline.

Evangeline: I am sixteen now. So, about borrowing the car...

#Widespot #Land #Ross #Scot #Sadie #Selma #Silas #Evangeline #Elizabeth #Josh

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