#who just want to sit there in an artists' colony and have all their needs met because they're too lazy to do anything else. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mirkwoodshewolf · 3 months

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No following; Planet of the apes fanfic Chap. 10

*Author's note*

Carver really proves himself to be an ass in this chapter so I apologize in advance if I've made him twice insufferable than he was in the movie. But it'll balance out because now Lin and Caesar will have themselves a private little moment together which I think is bittersweet.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, swearing, Carver being a dumbass, gun violence, wolf attacks.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@psychosupernatural

@queen-paladin

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I led the apes back to where I had left Malcolm and the others and I could hear one of the engines trying to start up but then voices telling the driver to stop. Of course Carver would try to bail out at the sight of all these apes. But as I walked down the hill I had left them at, I came up to Carver’s window and saw to no surprise a pistol in his hand.

“Put the damn gun away Carver, you’re already not popular with them do you want them to have a reason to hate you even more?”

“Shut up you bitch!”

“Wow, what are we in kindergarten now?”

“What did he say Lin?” asked Malcolm from the back seat behind Carver. I turned to him.

“You need to give them your guns. Every single one of them.”

“You can’t be serious.” Carver sneered as he aimed his pistol higher at the apes along the trees close by.

“It’s either that or no deal. You wanna lose the dam or do you want power back on in the city? Cause I would love to tell Dreyfus and the rest of the colony that we had a shot but you chose to fuck it up. Now that’s a bonfire I would love to see.” I quirked my brow at him at my last remark.

“So we give them our guns and he’ll let us work?” asked Malcolm to confirm.

“Yes. But if anyone leaves even one gun hidden, the deal’s off.” Malcolm nodded and got out of the truck, followed by Ellie, Alexander and eventually Carver.

After surrendering all the guns, Malcolm walked over to Caesar and said.

“Thank you. We’ll need a place to set up our camp. Then by morning we’ll get started on our work.” Caesar gave them a nod then said to Malcolm.

“Follow.” He urged his horse upward followed by a few apes trailing behind him while the rest of them headed back home. We grabbed all our camping gear and supplies and followed behind Caesar. After about 10 minutes of walking, we finally arrived at a stable clearing with enough room to set up all our tents.

“This is good, yeah this’ll do. Thank you.” Caesar nodded then as the rest of us began to set up camp, Malcolm introduced himself to Caesar. After he said his name a couple of times, Caesar then gave Malcolm his name and then rode off with the rest of the apes joining him.

We got our tents and equipment all set up by the time darkness settled over the forests. I had just finished my bowl of stew and was sitting right next to Alexander who was currently drawing in his sketchbook. I lightly peered over his shoulder and said to him.

“Propaganda.” He was currently drawing the day Caesar told us to go, but the way he had Caesar drawn was like those old propaganda political war cartoon drawings during WW2. He slightly jumped as he held his sketchbook closer. “If you’re gonna draw a chimpanzee, you gotta get the features correct, their actually not that different than a human’s face. Just slight more muscle and different structures of the face. Otherwise your art is nothing but propaganda, and I know you can draw better than that.”

“Were you an artist before the virus outbreak or something?” he asked me.

“A type of artist. Now I was nowhere near as skilled of an artist as you, but I did draw every now and then. Got really into drawing wild animals as a kid.” We soon heard a wolf’s howl echoing through the woods. “And that’s Toboe.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Kemp.

“He may be young but that pup’s got the lungs of a cheetah. When he howls, it’s like a long siren blaring out. That’s why I named him Toboe. It means ‘Howling’ in Japanese.”

“You also know Japanese?” asked Alexander.

“Had me a bit of an anime phase as a teenager.” I merely shrugged.

“You know the scary thing about them?” Foster soon spoke up. “They don’t need power, lights. Heat, nothing. That’s their advantage, that’s what makes them stronger. Both for your wolves and those apes.”

“Well way to kill the mood there, Foster.” I stated exasperatedly. “And they’re not my wolves, Jesus Christ how many times do I gotta say it?”

“Malcolm, I’m thinking one of us should stand guard tonight.” Suggested Kemp but Foster pointed out.

“With what? They took our guns.”

“Believe me if they wanted us dead, they would’ve done away with us a long time ago.” I told them.

“Maybe they’re just taking their time.” Carver said gravely. I gave an exaggerated eyeroll as I shook my head. “They already killed off half the planet already.”

“Come on.” Ellie spoke up.

“What?” asked Carver.

“You can’t honestly blame the apes.”

“Who the hell else am I going to blame? It was the Simian Flu.”

“It was a virus created by scientists in a lab. The chimps they were testing on didn’t really have a say in the matter.”

“Spare me the hippie-dippie bullshit. You’re telling me you don’t get sick to your stomach at the sight of them? Huh?” God Carver must’ve been a real blast pre-outbreak if this is his way of thinking. Better hope he never had children cause if he did….god he’s no better than Hunsiker was. But what Carver would say next would really cross the line, “Didn’t you have a little girl?”

“Carver that’s enough.” Malcolm warned him.

“How’d she die?”

“That’s enough!” Malcolm yelled.

“Or your wife for that matter?” challenged Carver as he now diverted his attention to Malcolm.

“Carver you better shut up before I kick your ass.” Foster threatened.

“Get in line there Foster.” I backed him up as I glared at Carver across the fire.

“Okay, I’m the asshole.” He said putting his baseball cap on top of his head.

“No, you’re a douchebag.” I said.

“And what of you? You’re just an outsider with no family. What makes you so special to be on your own?”

“You’re gonna have to come up with a better comeback Carver, cause I’ve been asking myself the same damn question for the past ten years.” I sneered before standing up and walked away from the camp.

“Lin!” Malcolm called out to me but I refused to listen. I came to another clearing about 30 paces away from the camp but I could still see the glimmer of the campfire and I looked up at the stars.

Yeah, why was I the only one to survive? Why me? Why just me? Mom and dad, grandpa, Caroline, Will…..why did they all have to leave me? I heard the rustle of bushes once again and I let out a soft gasp.

“Who’s there?” the bushes rustled again and slowly coming out was the large orangutan.

‘Lin?’ he signed to me.

‘Yes. What’s your name?’

‘It has been a long time, nightingale.’ My eyes briefly widened. Only two apes have ever referred to me as Nightingale. Caesar and….

“Maurice?” Maurice gave me a soft nod as he cooed lovingly. “Hehe…it sure has. I haven’t been called nightingale in years.”

‘You no longer play music?’

“Sadly no. I—lost the music in me a long, long, long time ago. Even before the world went to hell.” Maurice gave a solemn tilt of his head as he grumbled softly. “But now’s not the time to reminisce, is there a problem?”

‘No problem. Caesar asked me to bring you to him. Just you.’ I turned back towards the camp and narrowed my eyes. I could do with a break from those guys, especially Carver. I turned back to Maurice and signed.

‘Lead on.’ He then walked ahead and I followed close behind him. I was taken back to the heart of the Ape’s family home and taken up the large structure where I walked up the spiral staircase made of wood until I reached the very top of the structure’s peak. Maurice turned outward and sitting at the edge on top of a large boulder that looked over the entire Ape colony was Caesar.

‘Caesar.’ Maurice grunted out with a sign of his name. Caesar turned and the moment he saw me, he signed his thanks to Maurice and he took his leave, leaving Caesar and I alone.

I stayed in my spot waiting for Caesar to give me permission to come to him. He then gestured to me to come sit beside him and I walked over to him and sat down beside him. Even though it looked like the old days of the two of sitting side by side, it didn’t feel quite the same.

We were both different people than who we were in our youth, he was a strong, confident, and wise leader and I—I’m just a woman with a lot of shit and blood on her hands.

“What did you need to see me for?”

“Talk.” Caesar spoke after a moment of silence.

“Talk?” I parroted. He gave me a nod as he turned to face me. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?” I asked. He reached out and brushed a strand of my hair out of my face.

“New….hair.” I quirked up a smile. I brushed through my undercut bob hairstyle I’ve adapted.

“Yeah. Being in an apocalyptic world where humans are always trying to destroy each other, long hair just don’t cut it these days. No pun intended.” I softly scoffed. “It isn’t too much, is it?”

‘No. It’s fine. Suits you.’ I smiled softly again. ‘Do Will and the others still live?’ he signed. At the mention of them, my heart sunk and my throat went dry.

“They’re…..dead Caesar. All of them.” Caesar’s eyes softly narrowed but I could see the shock that was written on his face as I told him. “Grandpa died weeks after you were taken to the shelter. Alzheimer’s finally taking him away from us. Then after you all escaped deep into the Redwoods, that’s when the epidemic struck. San Fransisco became ground zero to an outbreak that even outrivaled the Black Plaque. Caroline died within a year. It was just Will and I. After her death, we were forced to be separated and monitored incase either one of us contracted the virus. Let’s just say I now understand what you and the other apes felt being caged up. Constantly being monitored, tested and observed 24/7. But you wanna know the worst part of it all, I wasn’t informed straight away of my uncle’s death. My only living relative left and they tell me he died two months after he had passed away from the virus.”

Rage boiled in my body as I clenched my hands into the earth, my arm trembling with anger.

“After a full year of being monitored and being declared ‘genetically immune’, I was tossed out into the streets. Alone. They just….sent me on my way and didn’t care what happened to me afterwards.” I let out a deep and heavy sigh. “I watched—my entire world burn to the ground. I saw—ugly, terrible things Caesar. Things you’d only see in movies or read about in books. I was just—drifting. And there were times when I…..” I sniffled and wiped across my nose and tried to hold back the tears, “I felt like ending it all.”

‘Why?’ Caesar signed urgently with a small grunt.

“I lost everything Caesar. I had no one left, and seeing how humanity was tearing itself apart I just felt like it was only a matter of time. Whether further down the line I would be taken by the virus, or taken out by human hands. It changed me and not for the better. I’m not the same girl I once was before and I hated myself so much for what this world turned me into.”

‘Do you still wish to die?’ he asked me. I looked up at the night sky to see all the stars and the half moon lighting up the sky.

“Sometimes. There are some days where I do still think about taking my own life. But there’s always something that stops me from doing that.” I turned towards him, “The hope that you were somehow alive. There would be some nights when I’d tell myself, ‘Lin. If you go through with this, you better realize that this is a permanent outcome. There’s no going back from suicide. And if you go through with this, you may never get to see Caesar’s face one last time.’”

I went to reach out and touch his face but I relented and set my hand back down into my lap.

“But look at you. I mean seriously look at you and your people Caesar, you’re thriving. In numbers that I had only dreamed of. Did you ever settle down? Start a family of your own?”

‘I have a beautiful wife, and two sons.’ He signed to me, a small but proud smile on his face and a loving look in his eyes.

“I’m happy for you Caesar. Truly I am. That’s all we ever wanted of you. Even uncle Will hoped that you were happy, that you’d might settle down, have a few kids. He’d be proud of you, just like I am.” We looked into each other’s eyes and smiled at each other.

A rumble of thunder soon boomed in the distance. I stood up and said to him.

“I should go before the storm arrives. It was great talking to you again Caesar.” As I went to leave, Caesar then spoke out my name.

“Lin,” I turned back to him. “Never….forgot. About you. Thought of you, some nights. And remembered….your music.” I wiped my nose again and let out a soft sniffle once again.

“Nice to know the feeling was mutual. Goodnight Caesar.” I then left the ape’s nest and Maurice guided me back to camp.

After I bid him a goodnight (and he the same), I walked back to camp to see that most of everyone had gone to bed all except for Malcolm. He was still sitting in the same spot by the fire when I had left, he looked up at me and said.

“Where’d you go?”

“Just for a walk. You know how much Carver pisses me off. You didn’t have to wait up on me.”

“I told you earlier Lin, you’re part of the colony. We look out for one another, and I won’t sleep or start anything until I know everyone on my team is present and accounted for.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d make a damn good Colonel.” I headed back into my tent and got into my sleeping bag before popping in a few more of the sleeping pills I had managed to pack away in my pocket and fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up to the sight of 30 or so apes all waiting outside our campsite. Some standing in front of our tents, other sitting near our dowsed campfire and the rest surrounding the hillside.

Well time to go to work. I got dressed and walked out of my tent and saw Maurice standing outside of Alexander’s tent. I stretched myself out and signed to Maurice.

‘Good morning.’ Maurice gave me a nod before saying.

‘We found the wolves that were with you by our home. Caesar does not want them near the ape home.’ He signed to me. So they were close by, so that’s one good thing to know they’re not causing too much trouble.

‘I understand. They’re still wild animals but I’ll try to make it clear for them to understand to not wonder too close to the ape home.’ Maurice gave me a nod as I walked up towards Alexander’s tent. I entered inside and gently shook the young teen’s shoulder. “Alex? Alex, get up.” he groaned and opened his eyes. “We’ve got a lot to get done today.”

When he took notice of Maurice staring at him from behind me, I saw him slightly tense but I told him.

“Relax, he won’t hurt you. But I think he’s taken an interest in your book.” He looked down at his graphic novel before looking at Maurice who let out a low grunt as his eyes were fixated on the book. “Now come on, get up and ready. I’ll wake the others.” I left his tent and went to wake up the rest of the team.

I saved Carver for last as I took my canteen filled with water and dumped it all over his face. He jumped up from the cold shock of my water and I just left without another word before he could register just who it was that did it.

“Rise and shine ladies! Time to get to work!” I proclaimed as they each crawled out of their tents tiredly.

“How do you have this much energy for so early in the morning?” asked Kemp.

“I don’t. I was trained to wake up this early, and in this world the early bird catches the worm. Or in our case, the early workers get the dam up and running. Now let’s get going they’re not going to wait up on us.” That’s when everyone finally took notice of all the apes surrounding our camp.

Of course Carver jumped out of his skin but a smack from Foster calmed him down.

“Don’t we get to have breakfast first?” asked Kemp.

“We can eat after we’ve worked. Now let’s gather what we need and get to work.” I said as I gathered up all my supplies.

“Who died and made you the leader of this mission?” Carver accused.

“She’s right Carver. We’ve only got three days to get this dam up and running. It’s best we get to work now. We can manage without breakfast for today.” Malcolm backed me up as he and Ellie left to grab their own supplies. Once everyone had something to carry, the apes lead us back towards the dam.

I went with the guys into the dam to set up the explosives to clear off any blockage that would prevent more water from traveling through the dam’s system in order to get us the power we needed.

Carver now took over as leader since he knew all the ins and outs of how the dam worked from within. He led us down a stairway that led to the tunnels of the dam. Foster and I held our flashlights towards a circular door and Carver told Malcolm to turn the handle to the left three times to get it opened.

It took some grunt work since the door hadn’t been handled in over a decade but Malcolm finally got it opened. It was a tight fit but we could all manage to get through one at a time. Carver went first followed by Malcolm, me, Kemp and then Foster. We could all hear the water rushing from above and as we looked up, we saw a bunch of roots blocking the water from truly flowing.

“We gotta clear this blockage, Foster start setting up the explosives, Kemp get the wire train ready to go.” Malcolm said.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on, you’re not actually thinking of setting off the explosives with us inside, are you?” I asked.

“We don’t have much choice Lin. Help Foster set up the explosives along the wall. Carver and I will try to clear a way to get through the rest of the tunnel.”

“C’mon Lin, you’re a better climber than me.” Foster said placing his hand on my shoulder. I walked with him back through the hole and helped him set up the explosives. We both had them up along the walls and roots above us.

Then we turned and helped Kemp connect all the wires to the main trigger while he got the fishing lure and handed it to Malcolm.

“Alright, we got as far down as we can, keep the line as straight as possible.” Malcolm told us we nodded and we then began to move further down the closing tunnel giving the line as much slack while making sure to not let anything happen to the wire.

One wrong move and we either cut the wire from the source, or risk setting the bombs too early and we all go BOOM! Carver army crawled both him and Malcolm (the both of them laying on what looked like an old wheeled square cart), they dragged the line as far as they could go.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s all the wire we got.” Malcolm told Carver as he immediately stopped. “Brace yourselves.” He gave us one final warning, “Three, two, one.” Malcolm then pressed the trigger button and a muffled explosion was heard from behind the door.

But as the tunnel shook and dust sprinkled from above, I looked up and exclaimed.

“INCOMING!!” large pieces of rubble and debris from the dam soon fell on top of us, cutting us off from one another.

I felt myself being pinned by some rubble that was on my back. My face was barely above the water as I spat some of it out. My chest tightened as the panic was starting to set in. No matter what I tried to do, I was forced back into the water by the shifting weight of the debris that was on my back.

Oh god no not this again! This was just like back in the quarantine cell. The walls felt like they were closing in around me, tighter and tighter and it didn’t help that I couldn’t move and all I could see was darkness.

“Hey….HEY! HELP! MALCOLM! ELLIE!”

“LIN!? LIN WHERE ARE YOU!?” I heard Malcolm’s voice cry out.

“I’m pinned! I….I CAN’T MOVE! I’M TRAPPED!!” I cried out in a panic as I continued to spit out the water.

“HANG ON LIN! WE’LL GET YOU OUT! JUST STAY CALM!” Malcolm cried out again.

“Okay, JUST HURRY!! Please…..” I whimpered the last part. I tried to lift my head above the water but it kept flowing higher and higher.

Oh god, oh my god oh my god oh my god! This—this isn’t how I want to die. Weak and afraid, I can’t die like this, not down here! Oh God and Jesus Christ above if you have any ounce of mercy please don’t let me die down here!

I heard rubble being moved around and I saw a small beam of light coming through the cracks of the rubble. As more of the rubble and debris blocking my view was cleared away, I saw through the large hole that was now my sanctuary a few of the apes including Maurice and Caesar.

I wanted to speak but my throat was clenched in pure panic as I looked at the apes wide-eyed pleading for help. I saw through my blurred, panicked vision as Caesar gave the command and I saw as Maurice, Luca and another chimp proceeded to dig me out. I felt Caesar take my hand and with the other, he kept my head above the water and had me focus on him.

Bit by bit I felt the weight of the rubble being lifted off my back. Then once my feet were free, Caesar took my other arm and gently pulled me out of the tunnel. I was then brought onto his back as he carried me out of the dam and the second I felt the fresh air on my face, I let out a loud gasp and rolled off Caesar’s back and onto mine.

Even though I was free, my panic attack was still happening as now all I could hear was the loud ringing and the sounds of the water nearby were nothing but a muffled sound. Caesar’s face hovered over me as he looked at me concerningly, his hand holding the back of my head. Maurice soon came beside me, and I saw him lift my hand.

‘Heart beating too fast Caesar.’ I managed to see him sign out. I continued to breathe faster and faster, the air from my lungs rapidly leaving my body with each breath I took. My heartbeat pounding in my ears along with the high pitched ringing.

That��s when I felt my head being placed over Caesar’s chest. I could feel his chest slowly breathing in then out. I felt him repeat the process a few more times, breathing in nice and slow before exhaling out in the same manner. I felt my right ear being covered up and the ringing soon faded as I heard the sound of another heartbeat, a strong, steady heartbeat.

It was Caesar’s heart. Slowly I began to follow his pace, breathing in deep before exhaling out again. A few of my breaths were a bit sharp and shaky but in the end I was able to get my heart rate down and the world slowly became abrupt with clear sounds.

“Thank you…Caesar.” I breathed out after one last exhale. Slowly I stood up and felt a tense pain in my lower back. Maurice then signed to me.

‘How bad are you hurt?’

“Just some tension and throbbing pain. But I can stand up so that’s a good sign that I didn’t severe my spine down there.” I then steadily walked ahead, the two apes trailing behind me as we rejoined with the others.

Thankfully the guys managed to get out alright (well except for Carver who had a cut leg, oh well).

“Lin!” Malcolm came up as did Ellie.

“I’m fine, I can walk. Ellie, can you just check my back real quick?” I asked her.

“Yeah, yeah come on sit down.” She led me towards one of the logs as Foster handed me some water to not only drink but to clean my face off from the dust. “Where does it hurt?”

“My lower back, right in the middle. I was pinned by a huge mass of debris when the explosion happened. I still have feeling in my legs and didn’t have any problems walking except for some tension pain.”

“That’s good news at least.” Stated Ellie. “Do you mind if I—”

“Do what you need to do.” She then lifted my shirt up so that she could have a better look at my back. But I also knew that she’d be the only person to truly see all the old scars I had gotten from my days in the military. The whip marks and beatings I took when I served there.

“You uhh…definitely have some bruising on your lower back right in your lumbar area, you did get chewed up by the debris. But thankfully nothing too serious, just think of it like a road rash.”

“No wonder why I’m feeling that familiar stinging sensation. I once fell off my bike when I was nine and got road rash on my knee caps. Not a good day.” I then felt the familiar sensation of rubbing alcohol being pressed to my wound as I let out a sharp hiss but soon relaxed.

Ellie then applied some peroxide and then placed a band-aid over it when I soon felt something climbing onto my shoulder. I turned and saw a baby chimpanzee soon staring me straight in the eye.

“Well hello.” I greeted softly. The baby chimp soon climbed over my shoulder and soon fell into my lap. I smiled softly as I reached out my hand and held it out for him. He gave me hand a quick sniff before placing his tiny hand against my palm. It barely reached the ends of the center of my palm and he hooted curiously.

I turned to Caesar who was once again on his horse and signed to him.

‘This your son?’ Caesar gave me a soft look and a small nod. I also took notice of the younger male chimp who was eyeing me wearily. Now without the war paint on his face, I could clearly see the family resemblance between the baby chimp and this one. They both had Caesar’s facial structure. And while they had a more softer appearance than Caesar did at both their ages, I could still see the similarities.

After getting to know Caesar’s youngest son, he soon left my lap and soon took an interest in both Ellie and Alexander. Both of them were enamored of Caesar’s youngest son, and who could blame them? When chimps are little babies, they are about the cutest things on earth. Reminds me so much of Caesar when he was this small.

I also took notice how Foster’s usual stern expression softened as he watched Caesar’s youngest son interact with Ellie and Alexander. Even Kemp was smiling as he tried to take a better look at the baby from afar. As the baby, went from Ellie’s lap to Alexander’s now Ellie let out a laugh and held out her finger for the baby to grab, which he did as he curiously observed it.

The baby then went down and started to play with Alexander’s sneakers. Lifting the tongue up and releasing it to see it flick down. Alexander even began to talk with the baby in a calm, soft voice. But of course Carver had to ruin the moment as he demanded to Ellie.

“What are you doing? Are you finished?” he then turned his attention to Alexander and sneered, “What are you looking at?” God Carver really needs to take a fucking heel and relax. So long as he doesn’t do anything stupid, there’s no need to be paranoid over a baby chimpanzee. But as always with Carver, I spoke to soon.

I watched as the baby went into Carver’s suitcase and curiously begin to look through it. That’s when my eye caught the silver gleam of a shotgun underneath the cloth the baby just pulled back.

My heart raced as rage boiled within me but before I could speak, Carver the dumbass immediately got up and screamed at the baby.

“HEY! HEY! HEY GET OUT OF THERE!” that soon led to Caesar’s eldest son to go in and defend his younger brother. As Carver went for the baby, the young blue eyed chimp knocked Carver down to the ground with one shove. The young male chimp screeched defensively as he began to go after anyone that came near his brother or Carver. Knocking Kemp over then challenging getting into Foster’s face forcing him to back off

Carver then went for his case and cocked his shotgun as he aimed it at the male chimp getting his attention.

“HEY! I’ll kill you!” I immediately raced in as the male chimp gave a threatening hiss, baring his teeth.

“If you want to shoot someone then you shoot me! Look me in the eyes Carver and pull the trigger!” I held my arms out to ensure that not a single shot would harm Caesar’s first born son.

Carver growled then a blast from the gun sounded off. But I didn’t feel any pain nor did I hear anyone, neither ape nor man, scream. All except Carver’s.

I opened my eyes to see that Kiba had Carver’s arm in his teeth, Tsume had him on his back pinned by the shoulders, while Hige and Toboe stood in front of me protectively snarling at Carver, their tails high up and their fur riled up aggressively.

Slowly I walked around Hige and Toboe and stood over Tsume and stared blankly down at Carver. Kiba biting deeper into his arm as Carver continued to scream.

“Call off your damn wolves!” he hissed through his agony.

“I keep telling you they’re not my wolves.” I stated in a calm, cold tone. “They can do whatever they please, why I could just let Tsume finally have his revenge from you shooting out his ear. Or allow Kiba to tear your arm right out of its socket, much less of a hassle then ripping apart an elk’s leg. You broke our agreement Carver, for once in your life why couldn’t you just put your damned ego and paranoia aside and follow orders like a good little soldier!?” I snapped my last command.

I continued to glare down at him with my ice, cold and soulless stare.

“But your life, is not mine to take.” I let out a whistle and Kiba released Carver’s arm while Tsume begrudgingly got off of Carver and followed Kiba to stand with Hige and Toboe. Carver cradled his arm as I walked away allowing Caesar to come forward and just like he did a decade ago with Steven Jacobs, he stood over Carver’s pitiful body, his own weapon now turned against him as it was raised and ready to beat him.

“Don’t! Don’t Caesar no! No!” Malcolm pleaded. Caesar was enraged. And I felt partial blame for this since he trusted me, who knows if what I did to save his son would be enough to spare him from his wrath.

A father’s love is a strong and powerful thing after all.

He looked at the shotgun, observing it with distain and rage as he lowly growled.

“Said…..No. Guns.” He pointed the gun straight at Malcolm. Before quickly directing it at Ellie and Alexander.

“No.” Ellie quietly pleaded as she held her hands out in surrender as Malcolm pleaded with a quiet ‘please’. Caesar then directed his attention to Kemp who went up against one of the logs and held his hands up in surrender, before then pointing the gun at Foster who jumped back.

Caesar was at a standstill. He was smart enough to know how to pull the trigger, hell I even saw him clench it ever so tighter each time he directed it at a new person. But he lowered the gun and once again held it like a club before finally throwing it into the river.

Brief relief came across everyone’s face as the gun was now taken out of the picture, but that still didn’t save them from Caesar’s wrath. He turned back to Malcolm said he to him.

“I didn’t know.” Caesar trudged forward as he youngest son came running up to him. He picked his baby up, holding him protectively as he roared in Malcolm’s face.

“Human. Leave. NOW!!” Caesar then hooted for the apes to move out leaving us at the river’s edge. As they left, I saw Caesar’s eldest son glare at everyone else but when his eyes turned to me he seemed conflicted.

But his confliction soon reverted back to anger as he urged his horse onward and followed behind his father.

“Carver what the fuck is wrong with you man!? Why the hell did you keep a gun with you!?” demanded Foster.

“I’m glad I did! You saw how many there were. They would’ve killed us! You just saw how he almost killed me”

“Because you attacked one of them!” snapped Ellie.

“I can’t believe you all are turning against me for them. They’re responsible for killing half of humanity already! You know it would’ve been a matter of time before they attacked us!”

“If they ever did, hope they get to you first.” I spoke up.

“Of course you’d think that. The way you are with them, the way you defend them. Hell you’ve probably known they were up here and was fucking with their leader!” I turned my head sharply towards him, walked up to him and gave him a falcon punch so hard to the face, I heard his nose break.

“So far these apes have given me more reason to trust them than to trust you. Trust any of you!” I turned my attention to Malcolm and his crew. “I believe I made myself quite clear, No. GUNS! Malcolm, you’re the self-appointed leader here. Why didn’t you check Carver’s case since you knew he’d be the one least trustworthy to surrender his guns willingly!?”

“Lin I—”

“ANSWER THE GODDAMN QUESTION!” he remained silent. “That’s what I thought.” I sneered. My breathing sharpened as I rubbed my face harshly and scratched the saved part of my undercut. “I don’t even know why I took pity on all of you in the first place. From now on, I’m done with all of you. Leave these woods and give Dreyfus this message. Tell him if he dares send any soldiers here, The Hawk’s Eye will be waiting for him.”

I stormed into the woods with the pack trailing behind me.

#planet of the apes #dawn of the planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #planet of the apes fanfic #planet of the apes fanfiction #planet of the apes imagine #planet of the apes imagines #caesar #caesar x oc #caesar x reader #caesar imagine #caesar imagines #caesar fanfic #caesar fanfiction

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pushing500 · 1 year

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I absolutely love your Rimworld saga, I've always wanted to do something like it for one of my colonies but I'm a better writer than I am an artist. Any tips for someone not used to drawing people?

Thank you for the great stories and adorable artwork 💕

Ah, thank you so much!! I'm glad you like the Rimworld stuff, I really love making it, and I'm happy it seems to have found an audience that enjoys it.

As for art tips, here are three things I always try to remember when I'm drawing:

1. It's okay to use references!

I see a lot of people worried about art theft, tracing, and stealing, which are important issues to keep in mind. No artist wants their work stolen, and nobody wants to be accused of tracing or things like that. Certainly valid concerns for all parties.

However, I've noticed that a lot of people avoid using references because of those concerns. It's alright to use references for your artwork! You can and should look for references to practice with. It's not easy to make up every single pose from nothing, but I've seen a lot of artists give up because they can't figure poses out without looking up references, and they feel like that means they're not real artists.

I'm partial to stock photos personally. There are stock photos for every conceivable situation. Behold, one I used just yesterday:

References are good and definitely okay to use. Use them a lot! They're a wonderful way to practice, and it's much easier to make up your own poses and draw people once you're used to drawing the human form from your references.

2. Don't be afraid to be silly!

Not every piece of art needs to be a serious and carefully thought-out commentary on the nature of humanity or society or things like that. Not every piece of art needs to be beautiful, or perfect, or even comprehendible. When I first started drawing art for a Rimworld colony, I was sitting beside my little brother and watching him play. I was doodling pictures of his colonists, and do you know what I ended up with? Nothing deep and meaningful, that's for sure.

I ended up with memes. Memes that are still blu-tacked up where everybody who comes into my house can see them.

I love them. I had so much fun drawing them. That's the important bit! They're ridiculous, silly, stupid memes, and I love them so much because I loved drawing them. Have fun with your art. Don't make it a chore. Be silly. Let yourself enjoy the act of creating, even if you end up with something dumb. That's the best kind of art.

3. Do so much art! So much of it!

The old saying says practice makes perfect, and it's not entirely wrong. I don't think I have ever met someone who has ever created something and decided it was perfect, no matter how much they practised.

However, the more you practice, the better you will be. I would post pictures of my older art to demonstrate the improvement, but I still haven't quite managed to choke back the gag reflex that comes with seeing the old drawings I have tucked away.

Maybe one day, when I'm braver, I'll show you the wonky caricatures of people I used to draw, and you can see for yourself that the more you make, the better you'll get. For now, though, I shall leave you with a tiny sampling of my sketchbook collection and one (1) spooky boi:

I don't know if any of that was helpful. I'm not much of a teacher, I'm afraid, but I do wish you the best with your artistic endeavours! For what it's worth, I'd read a written story about a Rimworld game just as eagerly as I would absorb pictures of it.

Thank you for your lovely compliments, and I wish you the loveliest of days! 💕

#asks #rimworld #gracie plays #art #my art #traditional art #rimworld art #unpolished art #cat #probably unhelpful art advice #I feel like a proper artist now #People asking me for art tips #Must mean I've done something right XD #I love you so much and I hope you can get something out of this nonsense I've written #If not then I hope you like the cat #He's a good boy and is very soft #have the most beautiful day!! xoxo

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rabbivole · 1 year

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mujtama commune, 5504, current population: 18

we need to start growing faster. we've pretty much got all the pieces together- food production is okay, chemfuel drilling is working (but turning it into plasteel is only barely started because we have a terrible steel shortage). our combat capabilities are still not amazing. we're slowly picking up some more people who can shoot worth two shits, but we still only have one psycaster and no really solid melee fighters. i have a new raid trap idea i want to try, but we need an unfathomable amount of power to make it work

(there's something wrong with my trap maze but idk what it is. enemies tend to just sit in it without moving towards all my guys at one end of it. i've never seen this happen before.)

we're also going to need more investment into recreation- from trying this once before, i know that we're going to have a fair amount of idle colonist time. there's just not enough work to do to keep 60+ people occupied all the time, so. this also needs power. and steel, for that matter

quite a few colonists also need prosthetics. i've shored up some of the problems but people just keep losing legs, lungs, eyes, etc. we've got a decent stable of crafters now, but once again: no fuckin steel

i have a plan in mind for the power problem but it's going to involve fixing the steel problem first. in the short term my only ideas for that are unfortunately 'get lucky with the mineral scanner and find a steel deposit i can dig to'.

anyway, various events:

every spring we celebrate having made it through another winter. we only get about 20 days to grow crops a year and it hits -27F in the wintertime. i still have not bothered to mine out the other quarter of the dining room/mosque.

we got visited by a bunch of androids and none of them can fucking shower either so they stood around in the bathroom and then left angry about their terrible stay.

we recruited pyrarock, a dirtmole (she likes being underground and mining. perfect fit) who is also probably going to take over as the social face of the colony. she happened to start dating ambrosiar in that bathroom picture there. she immediately got pregnant. our best artist made a legendary statue out of it.

the baby came through fine but rolled an insane hunger modifier on genes. i know i've commented on it before but i love that babies just dump out on the floor when they're born

both she and tamryn (who also had another equally-hungry baby) are barely doing anything except breastfeeding right now. which is a problem, because they're our only prison wardens. so anybody in prison is just starving to death forever.

not a lot going on here but hopefully things are about to start coming together

#rimvole

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livingobserver · 5 months

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Down the Road a Piece

I've put in a few thousand hours Bartending and Peace keeping (Bouncer). I grew up in the Bar my Grandfather owned and operated. Of course I've heard and seen all sorts of things. Some to the point it got real boring, real fast. From time to time I will relate some of those experiences and how they relate to the Human Condition. Like there was this guy that walked (swaggered) into the Saloon I was ( Bartending/Bouncing) at, in Northern Wyoming near the Bighorn Mountains, a few miles outside Buffalo, Wyoming. Couldn't miss the place, sitting alone along the highway. except for the Artists Colony across the road from it. The Bar was known as the Ewe Turn Inn. It could take up to an hour for the Police to arrive so we took care of things "in house". But it was a real Ranch Saloon, for the local Ranches and the Tourists brave enough to actually slow down and turn inn. It was of course "Open Carry" and the herd dogs were welcome. Complete with a drive-up window. Which I cursed a lot when the bar was packed. Anyway.... First thing he says to me: "This ain't no Gay Bar is it? Cause i ain't no Faggot , I'm straight up Straight and I don't want no Faggots hitt'n on me." (What he actually meant to say , was that he needed to be the one making the moves.) My reply: "Nope it ain't no Gay Bar. It's a Bar for anyone who wants to be here. All money is green no matter who's pocket it comes from, so long as they behave themselves proper like. But since you've made it a point to announce your..., status as straight up Straight, I would direct you down the road a piece to the Bullshit Tavern. You'll like it. It has a No Tell Motel right next to it. No one will even be able to see your car parked there cause it's got this high fence around it. You know, to hide your bullshit." He didn't leave as I suspected he wouldn't. He smiled and took a seat at the bar and was the model patron the rest of the night. There was too much going on that night to concern myself with someone who turned out to be no trouble at all. Point being; I don't think I've ever met a "straight up Straight guy '. Not even with all the Ranching, Farming, Construction and Military experience. What I have experienced is that, sooner or later and perhaps alcohol induced, every guy I met I had to put a small question mark as to their true Nature beyond the over compensating bluster. (Rock Hudson types) Some had some really big question marks applied. Others..., there was no need of a question mark. The first chance they thought they could get away with it, they hit on me, or some other guy(s). You see..., I was cursed, I had the looks of Teen. Good looking enough to draw the stares of both Women AND Men of all ages and Races. In todays terminology, they would have called me a "Twink". I finally just settled on it being perhaps the biggest compliment a guy could get would be to draw the attention of both sexes, if not a bit disturbing at times. If you believe that there isn't a bit of "Bi-Sexuality" to every Man, you're fooling yourself, or they have you fooled. It's just Nature. I don't mean to infer that it is actively engaged upon. Most times I figure it's not. It remains dormant but still apparent if you are really paying attention. I'm really just referring to the curtains. How else do you think we manage to tolerate each other? I believe it is the same with Women. You can't change my mind in this, because I know you and I know myself. If this triggers you in the defensive, as a guy. You might want to try that bar down the road a piece. Lots of Closet space at the Motel. Just say'n.

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nothingofvaluewaslost · 2 years

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STORY: Pink Lipstick

A short, low-key horror story. A date that slowly goes wrong.

Pink Lipstick, by Christina Nordlander

The cup Artur has had brought up for her is minimalist in a greyish-green Chinese glaze that feels almost translucent between the fingers, but there is a lipstick print along the edge. It’s pink, brighter than any other colour against the celadon green, and clearly formed by a mouth: it’s possible to make out the tiny gouges of the lips, a miniature lino-cut where only the high surfaces have retained colour. Perhaps the pigment holds little particles of food and skin to the porcelain. Nadina can’t wipe it without him seeing, and she can’t turn it to get to a clean spot without being obvious. If she shifts it to her other hand, the lipstick will stare him in the face. She has to make do with not drinking at all. In the cup, the coffee is black and glittering, inorganic.

They are sitting in what was the vestibule back when this was an apartment. It’s high in the ceiling, white-washed like a church and without windows. There are two chairs with black and grey wool upholstery, and a coffee-table that is a bit too low to reach comfortably , covered in shiny catalogues. When Artur suggested that they have a cup of coffee in seclusion in his art gallery, it felt like a fantasy of walking between engravings and photographic reproductions, coffee-cups in hand, getting to be a college student again for a few minutes, but here there are only a couple of little artworks in black frames. The angle is too bad to tell what they’re depicting.

The coffee is from the cafeteria in the basement. How has he not been able to see the lipstick? Is this some kind of game, has he brought her here to show what a Casanova he is? Hard to imagine that from a guy over fifteen.

He doesn’t look like someone who would brag like that. Straight, stiff-buzzed hair in a light brown that becomes almost white in direct sunlight, but not here. Glasses, everything about his build spare and spiritualised. He can hardly be older than she, and he rents this flat – this building. He’s wearing a white linen jacket and trousers, not quite formal, a bit like something a colonial would wear in a new land. One white-clad leg is angled over the other. The cup is hooked on his right hand and seems to be in the wrong perspective, smooth of colour and without any highlights to make it three-dimensional.

Now she has to let her gaze slide past the catalogues, up her own body. She’s put one hour altogether into getting herself in order for this date, and most of it was second-guessing: not dress up too much – too desperate –, but not look like she couldn’t be bothered to spend one minute for him. A hair dye called Summer Blonde, because dark brown has started to show along her scalp; a lipstick called Exhilarating. She’s not used to wasting energy on her looks.

And if he gave her the used cup, not to seduce her with his potency, just to break her down for the sake of his own ego? Those are the thoughts that are going to make her curl up around her vulnerable insides and let him see the dark roots. Keep your cool: he has no reason to do anything like that. But in that case, how has he not seen it?

Artur glances at her, and she gets the impression that he’s said something, that she needs to ask. There is no sound in the hallway.

“So you’re the manager,” she says. “That’s... I’ve never met anyone who works in art exhibition. How’d you end up in this line of work?”

She couldn’t have made it sound more stilted. The lipstick feels tacky on her lips. Artur smiles and lets himself sink back into his chair.

“I tried my hand at art when I was a teenager,” he replies. “Early on, I just wanted a gallery to be able to exhibit my own works.” He lets out a brief laugh. “But it turns out I had more of an inclination for running a gallery than for creating. You know how they say that artists never have business sense, but with me it was the opposite.”

“You’d probably have made a good patron, if you’d lived in the fifteenth century.”

Artur smiles as if the sun shines into the hallway.

“I might have. The appreciation of beautiful things isn’t anything passive, Nadina. That too is a skill that can be trained.”

She smiles back.

“But you dabble a bit in art yourself, don’t you?” he says. “Woodcuts?”

Her heart pecks a little higher in her chest.

“Yes... different print methods. I experiment a bit.”

She laughs. It becomes a vapid giggle. Artur leans forward a fraction.

“I should have asked you to bring one or two.”

“They’re quite large,” she says. “I would feel like the village idiot, sitting with them on the bus...”

But she feels a bit more warmth, now that he’s flattering her art. Like pushing a button.

“If I like them, I might hang them,” Artur says.

His foot wiggles, in a shoe that’s just black shine with no depth. The coffee bobs as Nadina straightens up.

“That’s very nice of you...” she says. “But this is a date, isn’t it?”

He smiles.

“Of course it is.”

“Then you can’t show my art,” she says. Her free arm is hanging stiff. “You’d be biased.”

She keeps her eyes on him. Now she’s just waiting for him to say anything despicable and give her an excuse to break this off, but all he does is stretch out his legs, saying:

“Good art is good art. My feelings have no impact on it.”

Nadina takes her cup again and drinks to get rid of the coffee. It’s not hot any more, but the flavour reminds her of when she was thirteen and got to join the adults for afternoon tea. She always asked for coffee, and then ended up sitting trying to finish hers after the others were done.

“Thank you very much for the coffee and the talk,” she says. “We’ll see... we’ll keep in touch.”

It would be better to just say no, he hasn’t deserved for her to lead him on, but is there any way to do it civilly? Maybe this is enough. Maybe he’s as little interested as she.

She drinks the last mouthful and lowers the cup.

“I can bring some of my prints, so you can have a look,” she says, drooping as if she’s the one who’s received a blow. “If you’re still interested.”

“Of course I’m interested,” Artur says.

His voice is shiny, untroubled. Nadina ends up sitting with her hand hovering in front of her. The lipstick on the cup matches hers. The marks are one shapeless drawn-out blotch.

She puts the cup down on a catalogue, in a hurry. A photo shows a white trellis against the sky of a housing project balcony. It’s the same trellis as on her balcony, and the same view. She turns a page as he watches. The next photo is of a kitchen, perhaps hers. The same cupboard doors like an expanse of undifferentiated skin.

She’s not feeling anything: no dizziness, her vision is clear. She can’t feel her forehead without him seeing. Don’t think about mental breakdowns yet. Get back to the bus-stop, hope you won’t have to wait long, get inside the apartment building, call a doctor only if you see something again. You might not see anything again. Right now, concentrate on getting out of here.

“I’m sorry,” she says, getting up. “Thanks for the coffee. I shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

The words come arbitrarily, without force. She doesn’t know whether they reach him. At the edge of her vision she can see the blinding spot of his hair.

“I’m not bothered, Nadina,” Artur says, sounding sincere. “You’ll be here soon again.”

She doesn’t have time to ask what he said. Maybe she misheard and he said completely different words. She’s dizzy when she straightens up, and maybe it’s not just the change of altitude. It feels like the dizziness that comes before nausea. She doesn’t bother saying anything more, she rushes into the cool shadows of the landing without stopping to close the door.

On her way down, other footsteps join hers. The chisel blows of high heels. She’ll be able to outrun them, but she hears other footsteps below. She sees shadows, tall shadows, moving at the bottom of the stairwell, coming in from the corridors.

Artur stays there, listening to the clattering footsteps until they fade. He tops up his coffee while waiting.

THE END

#fiction #horror #date #pink #creepy #uncanny

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azenkii · 4 years

Text

A Long List of Trash Fire Lord Zuko Headcanons

...that i couldn't get out of my head:

(warning: SUPER LONG POST i havent figured out how to trim posts yet)

he's the one who unchains azula despite iroh's protests. she doesn't even try to fight him, just cries into his shoulder and keeps mumbling about how father's going to be so disappointed in her. he takes her to her rooms and has her drink a sleeping draught, then stations the best guards he has left outside her chambers.

his first council meeting takes place literally a day after sozin's comet. he hobbles into the council chamber shirtless with his entire torso covered in bandages and every council member just looks at him like '...what'

he does NOT sleep for like,,a week after sozin's comet and then another two weeks after his coronation. katara, aang and suki try to persuade him to sleep and he doesn't listen. eventually sokka, toph and mai team up to literally drag his ass to bed and tell him he's not allowed to get up until he sleeps (does mai pin him to the bed with her knives? yes. is it kinky or sexual in any way? definitely not.)

he drinks So. Much. Tea. at this point it's practically tasteless to him but he drinks it anyway because he just needs something to do and tea is something familiar. he keeps iroh on his toes because he's constantly asking for new tea blends, uncle, i think i actually tasted the last one,

he flat-out refuses to grow his hair for at least a year after ozai's defeat. the second it starts getting close to his chin he shears it off himself, with his knife, and his stylist has a heart attack every single time

when he's tired he'll occasionally jump up when one of his guards moves. it stops after a bit, but for the first month and a half or so he's really twitchy. when sokka asks, the only explanation he can come up with is that he's not used to having people stand behind him silently and not want to kill him, much less want to protect him (sokka immediately takes him out for a shopping trip and makes a point of walking behind him the entire time, but only on zuko's right side, where he can clearly see it if sokka moves towards him)

when the healer declares azula mentally unstable and in need of an institution, he shuts himself in his office for the rest of the night. no one's allowed in, not even iroh. he finally emerges in the morning, eyes red from crying and sleep deprivation, and tells the librarian that he'd like a list of the best mental institutions in the country, please, the best in the world if you can get them

he loves theatre (is this even a headcanon?). unfortunately it practically died out in the fire nation along with the rest of the creative arts, leaving nothing but small troupes like the ember island players. one of zuko's personal goals (meaning things he wants to accomplish that aren't as important as restoring his country) is to bring back theatre; he finally manages to do it after about eight months or so of being fire lord, along with other arts like dancing, music and sculpture

he establishes a national day of mourning, on the first day of autumn every year, to commemorate the genocide of the air nomads. from 100AG onwards, every calendar printed in the fire nation has it marked. at first it was called the day of repentance, but aang persuaded him to have it changed (by arguing that he didn't want guilt to be a literal staple of fire nation culture)

he introduces literally So Many educational reforms, plus a mandatory class that teaches students about the cultures of the other nations (air nomads included) and how some of their traditions overlap

he turns down the offer of having a statue put up of him in the capital. toph ignores him and does it anyway.

he visits azula regularly, makes sure she's (relatively) comfortable and well-fed, and sometimes just sits down outside her door and tells her about everything that's going on right now ('some of the far colonies have developed their own standardised writing, azula, you wouldn't believe it, and i've asked the fire sages to come visit more often—but you never liked them, did you? oh, well; i'll make sure none of them go into your chambers by mistake')

(he doesn't know it, but when he does this azula sits by the door and listens. she wonders what kind of writing the colonists have developed, and whether or not the fire sages have taken on some new recruits.)

he hates being above anyone else. never sits in the throne if he can help it, nor does he sit on the dais in the council room. when he talks to people shorter than him, he finds himself stooping a little bit to talk to them on their level (the exception to this rule is sokka, who he mocks for being shorter all the way up until sokka grows taller than him, the bastard)

the first time he visits the earth kingdom, the earth king's ministers call a toast. he ends up being the only one who has to sit out, because he's too young to drink by earth kingdom law

once his servants figure out he won't kill them for talking to him, they start becoming a lot more bold, telling him off when he doesn't take care of himself. at one point, they force him to let them take care of him so much that he literally just bolts into the gardens and hides there until the staff rope in mai and ty lee

when he needs to escape, he does one of two things: (a) he dresses up as the blue spirit and does some parkour until he calms down, or (b) he goes to work at the jasmine dragon. (b) happens less often bc the jasmine dragon's in ba sing se, but there's been a few memorable incidents when an earth kingdom diplomat walks in and yells, 'LEE?!' when they see the fire lord

the first court artist who draws him also happens to be the one who drew azulon and ozai. he draws zuko without his scar. zuko takes one look at it and tells him, very calmly, that he'd like him to leave, please.

zuko burns the portrait. he doesn't fire the court artist, but he never calls on him again unless he has to. a second court artist is called, and can't help but be a bit confused when the fire lord tells him to be sure to include the scar

he forgets the crown. a lot. sometimes he walks into council meetings in his sleepwear with his hair tied up in a messy ponytail and a bunch of scrolls tucked under his arm. none of his councilmen have the guts (or the heart) to tell him that this is not, in fact, formal council wear

he goes to feed the turtleducks when he's stressed. he thinks he's being subtle. he's not. the entire palace knows, and they consciously give him space when they see him in the turtleduck garden

most of his staff are older than him, so they look at him and see this teeny tiny fire lord who is So Small and who Must Be Protected. the day after zuko's coronation, the head chef holds a meeting where they commence Operation Do-Not-Let-That-Boy-Turn-Out-Like-His-Father (subsection He's-The-Only-Good-Thing-We-Have)

one night he wakes up to find suki sitting in his room, decked out in full kyoshi warrior garb and makeup, and just about screams blue murder. suki tells him there are suspicions of an assassin in the palace, and would you please stop yelling it's very distracting, we won't be able to hear anyone coming over that racket

zuko gets very, very paranoid of random spirits after that. yeah, suki looks like a possibly malevolent spirit when she's wearing her makeup, what about it? (when he tells sokka he's highkey terrified of spirit shenanigans, sokka just looks at him and says, 'man, the stories i could tell...', and THAT'S when zuko remembers sokka spent like six months more than he did travelling with the avatar)

on his first visit to the southern water tribe, he removes his boots and leg guards, rolls up his pants and kneels barefoot in the snow. even though chief hakoda immediately starts trying to pull him up, he's stubborn as hell and stays kneeling for the entirety of his very long, very sincere apology-on-behalf-of-the-fire-nation speech. he nearly loses his toes to frostbite after that, and both sokka and katara never stop giving him shit for it

the first time he grows a 'beard' is completely accidental. he's stressed over some trade miscommunications with chief hakoda, hasn't slept in a few days...and then when sokka arrives as water tribe ambassador to help smooth things over, he takes one look at zuko and says 'man, facial hair does not suit you'

zuko: facial what now

he checks a mirror to find that he's got stubble covering his chin, dark enough that it almost looks intentional, and holy gods how the fuck did he not notice this before

'UNCLE WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME' 'i assumed you were doing it on purpose' 'WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE ANYTHING ON PURPOSE'

he shaves it all off immediately, of course, which prompts a lot of teasing and rib-poking from sokka until zuko finally snaps that he's scared it'll make him look like his father. sokka stops after that.

(the day after sokka leaves, zuko finds that a mysterious someone has scribbled all over ozai's royal portrait, giving him a frankly ridiculous beard and moustache that literally CANNOT be grown in real life. oddly enough, he can't bring himself to care about the defamation of royal property. he's too busy laughing.)

his paths cross with toph and sokka more than any of the others, because sokka is ambassador and toph is technically still a beifong. most of the time, at formal functions, he ends up sequestered in the corner with toph and a hoard of snacks, and they talk and swear much more than they usually do (zuko's ministers once heard him when he was drunk with toph, and the servants swear the older ministers' ears started bleeding)

he restores fire nation cultural festivals, and in doing so subjects himself to learning a lot of complicated dances

during one memorable week, he wrote so many letters and drafted so much legislation that he ran out of paper. he had to go visit the nearest school and ask for some

he keeps up with his firebending and sword training even though it's hard to fit into his schedule. his ministers refrain from reminding him that he has guards to protect him now; it's still hard for zuko to trust his safety with anyone but himself (team avatar is the exception).

he started sleepwalking about two months into his reign. no one knew why. one time, he nearly sleepwalked right off the edge of a balcony, and one of his guards had to grab him by the back of his robes.

the sleepwalking stopped after around a month and never happened again. at this point it's practically palace legend.

after freeing the war prisoners, he went around collecting every single earthbender-proof wooden cell he could find in the capital and surrounding areas. when he'd gotten most of them, he gathered them into a huge pile in the city square and set fire to them with his own hands.

unfortunately he couldn't do that with the waterbender metal cells but he did get toph to come in and bend them all into pretty shapes (well, toph thought they were pretty shapes. everyone else thinks they're meaningless squiggles)

he learned how to write with both hands at the same time out of sheer necessity (he refused scribes until it became clear that he'd be putting some people out of a job; that was when he started letting scribes write very, very minor things, but all important documents/drafts/letters are still written by him)

he once put the wet end of an ink brush in his mouth instead of the wooden end by mistake. didn't even realise until he bit down to keep it in place and ink went oozing everywhere

when his guards rushed in to find him coughing and spluttering black liquid all over his desk they thought he'd been poisoned but no he's just stupid

on his 17th birthday, his first one after being crowned, he got tackled by team avatar in the middle of the ballroom and ended up at the bottom of a cuddlepile for like ten minutes

this cuddlepile happened at an event that was very much public and very much formal. it was a scandal for weeks

just. fire lord zuko, guys. so much potential

#holy cow this ended up so much longer than i intended #atla #avatar #zuko #firelord zuko #headcanons

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rosiehunterwolf · 3 years

Note

This request is the result of a very awake mind at 2 am. How about a part crack, part tooth-rotting fluff fic about and interview with characters of your choice.

I tried my best with this... it's difficult to do crack in such a short piece (hence this one ended up being a little longer) and although I think writing crack is really fun, I have no experience in the field XD. So... hope this is what you were looking for XD.

The Case of the Forgotten Birthday Gift

Summary: When the ninja are invited to the Ivory City of Shintaro for Princess Vania’s birthday, they find themselves in the most devastating predicament of all- they forgot to bring a birthday gift for Vania. In a panic, Cole offers her a chance to interview them as compensation. Not everyone is thrilled about the idea.

“We thank you for attending Princess Vania’s birthday,” King Vangelis said, hovering before the ninja with two winged guardsmen at his sides. “We ask that you leave any gifts on this table.” He gestured towards a table that was practically groaning under the weight of all the presents atop it.

“Um.” Cole blanched. “Gift?”

“Cole!” Jay whispered harshly in his ear. “Don’t tell me. That you didn’t bring a present for the princess. On her birthday.”

“I didn’t bring one? Last time I checked, we were all invited! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I didn’t, so you better come up with something now or they’ll never invite us back here again!”

“Uh…” Cole’s brain felt like it was whirring a mile a minute, and he reluctantly turned back to the king. “Thank you, your majesty, but our gift to the princess is not something material.”

King Vangelis raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No, it’s a… it’s um… we’re giving you a free interview.”

“What?!” the other ninja all yelped, at the same time that Vania beamed, clapping her hands together.

“I get to interview the ninja? The ninja? Truly, this is the best birthday present ever!”

“Cole,” Kai groaned, putting his head in his hands, “what have you done?”

---

“When I told you to come up with something to give the princess, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Jay grumbled from where he was sitting stiffly in a chair next to Cole. “Did you really have to offer the girl who’s obviously a bit bonkers about us an interview?”

“I didn’t see you coming up with anything better,” Cole snapped. “Besides, she may be a bit obsessed, but she seems nice enough. Just go along with it. She’s like any other fan.”

“Any other fan, you say? I wouldn’t be so sure!”

Cole sighed, glancing back at where Lloyd was standing atop his chair, glaring down at them. “Lloyd, sit down.”

“She’s no normal fan, I’m telling you! I don’t trust her! She was too excited about this interview! She’s out to get us, she just wants to trick us into giving away information so she can exploit our weaknesses!”

Kai glanced back and forth between Lloyd and Cole. “Seriously, does no one else see what an obvious cry for therapy this is?”

“Lloyd!” Cole hissed. “For the last time! Sit. Down.”

“Don’t worry, Lloyd,” Zane said as the teen plopped down grumpily in his seat. “The odds of our team member’s princess girlfriend turning out to be the leader of a criminal gang for the second time in our lives are practically nonexistent! Under seventy percent, at least.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Cole snapped.

Zane blinked. “Well, then whose is she?”

“Not mine,” Jay told them, grabbing Nya’s hand. “I’m already engaged!”

Kai laughed. “No thanks, she’s not my type. Plus, I already have a girlfriend who stabbed me in the back, although luckily for me, mine came around, eventually.”

“For the last time, Vania is not going to betray us!”

“It’s not our fault we have trust issues,” Lloyd sniffed. “You’d think someone would book us therapy, but apparently that’s not a priority.”

“Well, if she herself isn’t evil, maybe she’s related to someone evil!” Kai said. “Skylor’s evil, psychotic father influenced her to turn on me. Do you think Vania has an evil, psychotic father?”

“Definitely,” Lloyd agreed, at the same time Nya said “No way.”

Nya shook her head. “Do you know how ridiculous you guys sound? How many evil, psychotic fathers can there be out there?”

“Um. There’s Chen, Milton Dyer, Skales, my father- need I go on?”

“Don’t forget Nadakhan’s evil djinn father!” Jay chimed. Lloyd blinked at him. “Who?”

“See? That’s barely any!” Nya exclaimed. “Besides, like half of those people are good now, so they don’t count.”

“But they were, which means there’s a high chance of King Vangelis being evil and psychotic-”

“Who’s evil and psychotic?” A cheery voice interrupted them as Princess Vania pushed open the doors.

“Oh, uh… just an old villain we faced,” Cole covered quickly.

“Oh, you must tell me all about them!” Vania smiled, pushing the doors closed behind her and clicking the lock.

Kai blinked. “Did you just lock us in?”

“Of course! I can’t have anyone else breaking in here and trying to eavesdrop on my very special interview!”

“Do people break into your room often?” Nya laughed.

“Not at all! Only a few times a week.”

“Um… you do realize that we’re crime-fighting ninja, right?” Jay told her. “We have lots of enemies. Maybe you should have some people guarding us while we’re here.”

“Oh, don’t worry! If anyone attacks you, Chompy will scare them off!” The ninja looked to where she was pointing to see a tiny dragon snoozing on Vania’s bed.

“Oh, how reassuring,” Kai said dryly. “The overgrown gecko can keep us safe.”

Vania raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky he’s asleep. Mr. Chompy does not play nice when he’s angry.”

“Oh yeah, I’m so scared,” Kai grinned, leaning back.

Vania narrowed her eyes at him. “He killed a dire bat once.”

“Yeah, well, we fought off an entire flock of them from our ship.”

“First of all, it’s called a colony of bats, not a flock. Second, I know that a squadron of our guards had to go save you.”

“We didn’t need saving! They interrupted us just as I was about to use my mighty fire powers to burn them to a crisp!” “Chompy would knock them out of the sky before you could do that.”

“Yeah, well, I could squish Chompy under my foot.”

“Chompy could gouge out your eyes.”

“Oookay, as fun as this is,” Cole interrupted, pushing them apart, “Let’s just get this interview over with. Vania, what questions did you want to ask us?”

“Hold on.” Vania jogged over to the wall and pulled over a small table, setting up a camera on top of it.

Jay stared at it. “What is that.”

“I need to record this, silly!”

“What’s the point of locking us in here and not letting anyone else listen in if you’re just going to broadcast this whole thing to everyone, anyway?” Nya asked.

“Because seeing it live isn’t half as fun as watching a recording!”

“Then why record it at all?”

“How else am I going to rub it in all my friends’ faces that I met the ninja?”

“This is a non-consensual violation of my privacy,” Jay grumbled.

“Oh please, your face is over half the city,” Cole sighed.

“Welcome back to Truthful Tidbits! I’m your host, Vania, and I’m here with an exclusive episode today- with me, I have the famous ninja!” “What,” Lloyd said slowly, “are you doing?”

“It’s for my TV show,” Vania whispered.

“You have a TV show?” Nya spluttered.

“Wait, no one told me this was going to be on TV!” Kai yelped. “The camera’s not getting my good side!”

“Wait, if this is a TV show, shouldn’t we have makeup artists or something?”

“Jay’s right!” Kai agreed. “I can’t go on television without a makeover!”

“My database shows no recollection of the show ‘Truthful Tidbits.’”

“It’s not on mainstream television,” Vania grumbled. “I just show them to my videography class.”

“Oh.” Jay relaxed in his chair. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean, that’s it? People are still going to see me without makeup! Just because it’s a small group doesn’t make this any less of a disaster!”

“I’m hoping to change that,” Vania beamed. “This is the big break I need! An interview with the ninja? Everyone will want to see it!”

“Andddd we’re back to privacy invasion again,” Jay groaned.

“Wanna bounce, Jay?” Lloyd asked.

“Do I ever-”

“Count me in, guys, I’m not doing this without a proper makeup job-”

“If you guys are all leaving, I’m not going to stay!” Nya insisted. “Zane?”

“It seems futile to stay if you all are leaving.” “You can’t leave!” Vania cried. “This is my present! Besides, you’re locked in here!”

Lloyd stared her dead in the eyes. “I will literally jump out the window to get out of this.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ll die!”

“Then tell Chumpy to catch me,” he told her, already climbing into the window.

“It’s Chompy!”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Kai reached out a hand, snatching the back of Lloyd’s gi before he could jump. “I don’t want to spend the rest of our stay in a hospital. What did you think was going to happen, you were going to sprout wings?”

“I’m part dragon,” Lloyd grumbled. “It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility.”

“I have a much less life-threatening way. Stand back.” Kai’s fist lit up in flames.

“I swear, Kai, if you burn down anything, we are never coming back here,” Cole warned.

“A little arson never hurt anyone.” Hurtling a fireball at the door, it burst into flames. Quickly, it burned a human-sized hole in the door, and Kai, Jay, and Lloyd quickly darted through.

“What about my interview?” Vania protested. “You promised!”

“Technically, Cole was the one who promised you the interview,” Zane pointed out. “He never specified which of us you would be interviewing.”

“And since Cole’s staying, we’re technically not breaking that promise!” Nya added.

Cole blinked. “I’m what?”

“Staying. Have fun, you two!” Nya waved, and the two of them shot out the door, spraying ice and water as they passed to extinguish the flames.

“Sorry about that, princess,” Cole said, scratching the back of his neck.

Vania narrowed her eyes. “This better be the best interview ever.”

Cole grinned. “Mark my words, it will be. Fire away.”

“Speaking of fire, you’re paying for my door.”

“... Yeah, I figured.”

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tahwan · 3 years

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didn't wanna bother on that last post but the stuff people call "prehistoric" really is not prehistoric. it's not even a question of being annoying about specific eras or dates it's just that no one knows where the limit is between "history" and "pre-history"... because.... it's a made up limit..... the widespread definition in the historical field is that "pre-history" refers to things that happened before writing was invented, so circa 3500 BC (iirc, too lazy to check the date). which is nice and all. it's nice to think of "history" as "when men started recording things in writing", philosophically speaking. but it doesn't mean anything technically, and it's just one example of how colonialist the entire field of historical research is.

most of the languages in the world are not written. most languages die without ever being written. that doesn't mean the people who speak them are prehistoric, right? that seems obvious to anyone with half a brain.

in that prev post, those are instruments with a very long musical, technical, and artistic history, probably older than 3500 BC, but they are not prehistoric. they were being made by indigenous people when europeans colonized the american continent, they are still being made today... they were musical cultural artistic elements of life at the same time as idk, plato was writing, or alexander the great was warring around, or the first gothic cathedrals were being built. you'd never think of those things as prehistoric, right?

it goes deeper than the seemingly obvious "western man sees traditional/indigenous item, deems it antique/prehistoric/craft rather than modern or artistic" and all. it's like when people joke about how the gauls were shoving big rocks against each other at the same time as egyptian mathematicians and architects were building pyramids.

time is fake but more importantly, history is a tool twisted around by (and for!) colonialism, and time, which is a human invention, is seen differently by different cultures. religions like christianism which see the world with a beginning and an end will figurate it as a chronological straight line... religions based on the belief of reincarnation tend to figurate it as a circle, a loop, a spiral... time is different in different cultures.

even more than the overall colonial arrogance regarding indigenous history, the western understanding of time as a strict, linear sequence of eras, imposes a sort of race between civilizations. who invented the wheel first? who knew how to sail by [given date]? when did the classical period take place for this or that culture?

and thus, those who aren't as far "ahead" in the race can't be called "modern", despite being in the exact same linear era. and indigenous wind instruments crafted and played at the same time french and english cathedrals were built become prehistorical.

it really all seems so obvious anyone reading this is probably like "you took so many words just to say that" yes i did and i have 3 good reasons

1- this stuff is insidious ideologically and needs to be taken into account if you ever want to dip your nose into history, geography, language, religion, politics, and basically any human science ever imagined

2- it's my blog and i can do whatever i want

3- people talking/writing/singing about the beginning, the end, the middle, the endless spiral of time have existed since people started existing, and we're all still sitting here not understanding time at all.

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #30 - The Cybertronian Judicial System is a Friggin’ Joke

Have I mentioned that I’m not a huge fan of court case stories? I think they’re pretty boring, on average, so the last couple of issues have been slightly dragging for me.

Anyway, back to Megatron’s trial.   Our issue opens up with a full back shot of Ultra Magnus.

Artists take note, he really is built like a capital T.

As Magnus reads out Megatron’s statement retracting his “guilty” plea, we get some decent points as to why. See, telling a guy that you’ll stab him in the brain, so his trial can be over as quickly as possible, maybe isn’t such a hot idea. Megatron wasn’t a huge fan of that, or of how those memories they would’ve yanked outta him would have been used to fuel the Autobot propaganda machine. Why, you may ask?

Well, I don’t know if you knew this or not, but Megatron… doesn’t particularly care for the Autobots, nor the rhetoric they uphold.

I know, I was surprised too!

There’s also the fact that Optimus Prime is the judge on this whole thing. You know. Optimus Prime. Off and on leader of the Autobots, whenever it suits him. The guy who fucked off into space for a year after the war. The guy who threw a hissy fit when someone pointed out that he was compromised the last time they did something like this with Megatron. This guy:

Yeah, there might be a slight conflict of interests here. Remind me again why this had to be a military trial?

Anyway, enough of that, it’s time for a fight scene.

A swarm of Decepticons storm the arena, going after Megatron so they can help him escape. Magnus, though acting as Megatron’s defense, cannot abide by this disorder in the court.

Wild to think there’s a tiny little Pringles man with anxiety in there, isn’t it?

Optimus joins the fray, because there really are, just, so many guys to deal with here. A dude goes to collect Megatron, stating that they brought teleport packs for this little shindig. Megatron isn’t super jazzed about that though, not bothering to grab on before the dude gets shot to death. There’s a brief recess, I guess so the janitorial staff can deal with the mess of corpses littering the courtroom.

Meanwhile, in the present day, Rung’s building a model spaceship in Swerve’s, which is a very brave thing to be doing, seeing how sticky and gross bars can be. Brainstorm’s brought a flask to the bar, and proceeds to pour the contents into a funnel sticking out of his arm.

Our bartender for the evening- I’m assuming it’s evening, but I doubt the concept of time has any real weight in space- is Bluestreak. Bluestreak was stationed on Earth for a while, which is some Phase One stuff, and took a liking to human media while he was there. He’s the guy who handles movie night these days, seeing as Rewind’s too busy being dead to do it, and I doubt Chromedome has the emotional bandwidth to take over for his late spouse.

Bluestreak’s favorite movie is Zulu, a film glorifying the colonialism of the English over the native populace of an African kingdom. Make of that what you will.

Whirl wants to watch À Bout de Soufflé, or Breathless, as it was translated for the English-speaking world, which is a French New Wave film about a criminal who shoots a cop, hides from the police in a journalist’s home, who he seduces and likely impregnates. She eventually finds out what he did, reports him to the police, but then has a change of heart and lets him know what she’s done. He runs, but is shot, and dies in the street. The film is notable for its final scene, in which the following dialogue happens, between the dying criminal Michael, his lover Patricia, and an officer.

Of course, any poignancy would almost certainly be lost on the average comic book reader, and is also somewhat nullified by Whirl praising the film with internet lingo.

Then again, I suppose Whirl would be the type to dismantle any deeper reading of his interest in such a film, lest he be subjected to the horrifying ordeal of being known.

Over with Skids and Riptide, it’s revealed that Megatron’s been teaching classes on the Lost Light, specifically on the Knights of Cybertron. Riptide’s getting an education, because he’s been feeling pretty lost since the war ended- we’ll get to the potential whys of that later on. Swerve isn’t a fan of this community college thing that’s going on, stating that Megatron’s using it as a distraction, so he can devise plots most foul.

Back in the past, Autobot high command is having a talk about what Megatron’s demanding, and man is it a doozy— turns out, since the trial’s happening on Luna 2, the trial proceedings are subject to the laws of the moon. One of these moon laws is the right to request being judged by the Knights of Cybertron. Now, this is a problem, seeing as the Knights of Cybertron have been AWOL for the last several million years, but the law is the law, and you can’t just go ignoring it when someone’s pointed it out.

Bro, your SIC just suggested y’all pull the trial so you could slap it on Cybertron, thus negating any need to pay attention to the Knight law. That’s such a gross miscarrying of justice, it’s genuinely baffling. You’ve got bigger issues going on than flouting. My god, Optimus, you were a cop—

Oh wait, that’s right. Carry on, then.

Back on the Lost Light, First Aid’s checking to make sure that the coffin Rodimus they revealed last issue is true and proper dead. Now, this may seem like a given, but you’ve got to remember that Brainstorm was mostly dead for over a year and a half, and nobody fucking noticed, so it’s probably for the best that they’re checking.

First Aid’s been pretty withdrawn since Ambulon died, so this autopsy is really good for him, since it got him out of his room. Pretty fucked up that it would take a dead body to get him out and about. Has Rung checked in on his poor son of a gun, or has he been spending the last six months getting his professional rocks off psychoanalyzing a genocidal warlord?

Our coffin Rodimus died from having parts of his brain removed, and potentially died screaming.

Yes, that is a Furmanism, thank you peanut gallery, moving on—

Ratchet hands the phone over to Ultra Magnus, saying that a call has to be made, and it can’t be by him, because the callee is mighty upset with Ratchet at the moment.

Oh, I guess he’s fine after all. This must be where the sci-fi bullshit really starts kicking in for the series.

Because seeing your own dead body is likely very traumatic and awful, Rodimus is taking a while to string together his thoughts on the matter. Megatron doesn’t particularly care, because he’s not terribly sympathetic to this sort of thing, and the two get into a spat, where it’s revealed that they’re co-captaining the Lost Light.

Because things weren’t chaotic enough on this fucking ship. Need to mix in some peacocking between the McDonalds twunk and the man who killed half of Beijing.

Back in the past, Optimus Prime visited Megatron in prison to have a little chat. It’s not about that little rescue attempt, though the fact that those Decepticons may have been released from the Lost Light’s brig is certainly interesting. No, Optimus is here to sit way too close to his mortal nemesis on the floor of his room and talk about how Megatron is a sneaky bastard.

You remember the Hellraiser puzzle box from a couple issues back? Yeah, that was a communicube, one that was passed to Optimus to suggest that the trial be held on the moon, so the arena there would be able to hold all the people wronged by Megatron. This seems pretty damn convenient in hindsight, but Megatron swears that the legal loophole wasn’t his only intent when he sent the cube.

Because it’s all about you, isn’t it, Megatron? It’s all about how you’re perceived by future generations. Fuck the guys who had to actually deal with what your personal choices caused to happen.

Megatron wants to make amends with all those who were wronged by him. This doesn’t include being acquitted of his crimes, which, y’know, good- at least he’s being slightly realistic about how this is going to turn out for him.

What he wants to do is find Cyberutopia, so the Cybertronians have a replacement planet, since Cybertron kind of sucks now.

Oh, sorry, did I say realistic? I take it back.

In the present, Rodimus is still bummed out about being dead. Still, the day doesn’t stop just because it’s a bad one, and he calls in the experts.

CHROMEDOME YOU PROMISED TO STOP THIS SHIT

Yeah, no, Chromedome’s fallen off the wagon again, and does his thing on the coffin Rodimus. As he does, Megatron suddenly gets squeamish, Brainstorm pulls out his early early-warning device to lean on the fourth wall, and it’s revealed that the coffin that coffin Rodimus was in was built in the fashion of the Spectralist faith.

All Chromedome can suss out of coffin Rodimus’ memories is the really big important stuff, which includes the speech at Rivet’s Field inviting folks to come join the Knight Quest. Aww, that’s sweet.

With the analysis of the innermost energon complete, the results are in— the coffin Rodimus is a Rodimus. A real one, from the near future. Bummer.

I suppose denial is one of the seven stages of grief, isn’t it?

As everyone argues over whether or not Rodimus is going to die, Nightbeat brings up a good point— there aren’t any numbers carved into the coffin Rodimus’ hand. Rodimus is about to reveal some Ratchet-original wisdom, when things start getting really weird; whole sections of the Lost Light are disappearing.

Over at Swerve’s, Tailgate is regaling his peers with the story of his derring-do against Chief Justice Tyrest. Everyone is very impressed, and this includes our good buddy Getaway.

Jeez, think you’ve got enough antagonist shadows on this guy? It’s almost as if the art’s trying to tell us something about him.

Getaway lays it on real thick, saying that Tailgate could totally be the next Prime, with how courageous and awesome he is, all while completely ignoring Tailgate’s personal space and having a weirdly tiny hand. This seems to seriously bother Cyclonus, who is watching this shit go down from the doorway. Our purple space jet leaves once the drinks start being poured and conversation starts happening. God knows he hates talking about his insecurities.

Then the Pipes is Friggin’ Dead alarm goes off. But Pipes has been dead for a while now, so that must mean something else awful is happening.

Back during the trial, I guess because Optimus has a soft spot for Megatron, he allows him to join the Lost Light’s Knight Quest… even as he says that he could keep the guy locked up until Rodimus and pals find the Knights. However, there are rules to this, and one of the rules is that Megatron must publicly denounce the Decepticon cause.

It is a slow and painful experience for everyone involved, as he reads the statement he was given. It’s an immediate call to action- or rather, inaction.

Geez, think they could’ve made it any more obvious that this was being ghostwritten? I can’t wait to see how long it takes for “Megatron was blackmailed into saying this by the Autobots” to be a plotpoint.

Outside the prison, Ratchet and Rodimus are taking in the brand new Rod Pod, which is genuinely ridiculous in how large it is. Rodimus admits to having taken Atomizer’s list, though he knows that trying to use it to keep those who voted him off would be a pretty shitty thing to do.

Also, no one’s told him about Megatron coming along on the trip. As captain.

Or you could, I dunno, lock him up from the start. Or, if you want to give him a chance to prove himself, slap him into a bottom-rung role, like bilge cleaner, or sewage mucker, or whatever the equivalent would be on a spaceship full of giant gay robots. We don’t have to give the guy any power to hold him to scrutiny— any minimum wage worker will tell you that scrutiny comes far harsher for those who actually carry out orders than those who give them.

But what do I know? I’ve never fought in a several million year war, and I don’t plan to.

Getting back to the list, it seems as if Ratchet and Rodimus are on the same wavelength, in that both agree it’s only going to cause trouble and hurt feelings to keep the thing around. Rodimus destroys it with his usual flare, only to be blindsided by the fact that it was fake this entire time. How does Ratchet know this?

Because his name wasn’t on it.

...Man, that’s gotta sting. No wonder Rodimus was upset enough to not take his calls.

In the present, everyone’s in a panic, as they all bolt for the shuttle bay and start pouring into shuttles. The Lost Light is disintegrating around them, which is sort of a problem. Despite this nightmare scenario happening, Rodimus and Megatron still find the time to be assholes to each other. That’s dedication right there.

As the two bicker, multiple shuttles zip away from the rapidly disappearing ship, including the Rod Pod.

Man, now it really is the Lost Light.

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #world shut your mouth #issue 30 #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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aurumartis · 3 years

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𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒.

i've been thinking a lot about jhin's canon storyline & how fast paced it is. as jhin mains know, jhin's all about the marathon & not the sprint.

to aggressively summarize in case you don't wanna read the justifying details; jhin's role in the zed comics is only loosely similar as depicted . . . the timeline involving jhin's story following prison release & him announcing his return is massively extended by four years, where he spends most of those years abroad & incognito. the order of the events taking place in zaun & ionia are switched around for the sake of how i've been developing jhin so far ! for more information: please read on.

ZED. first i need to mention, i will not portrayal jhin as obsessed with zed as shown in canon. at least, not enough to go straight for zed's neck after being released. just like all people he's especially keen on killing, he prefers to take his time to plan their ‘finale’. he's like a painter with a blank canvas — a sculptor who sits & stares at a marble block for hours to days. he's not usually impulsive & when you only have one canvas or one chunk of marble, every stroke of the brush & every chipping of the stone counts.

POST TUULA. so that being said, i'd made some adjustments to his canon to allow him more time to acclimate to life after imprisonment. this also gives him more room to travel around to other regions & basically . . . integrate him to the world after being isolated for so long.

jhin is imprisoned at age 21 & he is ‘freed’ at age 34 instead of 38 & spends four years in hiding to re-craft his . . . work. because news of his ‘disappearance’ from tuula has surely reached the kinkou & shadow orders, jhin flees to valoran for a few years — residing in ╱ visiting locations like the noxian colonies, piltover, zaun, bilgewater, & wherever it makes sense to be. being who he is, he is exceptional at remaining incognito. mass murder & serial killings by his hand do not occur nearly as often or as Loudly, but he does still kill. when necessary. ( sb: how can he possibly stand living without killing the way he used too ?? me: simple. every artist needs a hiatus to revitalize their work & hone new skills. in addition, post-prison jhin probably went through a dangerous depressive period, honestly. let him feel worthless for a while. )

NEW TOYS. he receives his new weaponry & guns sometime during that ‘hiatus’, still funded by the radical side of ionia's government. if anything, it was an invitation to return to his killings. ( maybe, i'm still deciding if i want to keep this or make him 100% independent assassin ╱ self funding ) much of his arsenal is adjusted to fit his particular combat needs by his own self. imbuing his own magic into said weapons takes much work & being unable to use magic for several years during incarceration — he had to re-adapt & refocus ╱ unblock his chi. traveling throughout runeterra has also allowed him to pick up his new tricks that canon is rather ambiguous about.

SONA. only after those years does, he plan to seek zed & return to ionia as the golden demon. a notable stop before ionia is demacia where he meets sona. during his time in other regions, he hears all the buzz about the newest ‘virtuoso’ & of course he is not happy about it. let him stew in his bitterness for a couple years, instead of him immediately wanting to off her once he's released.

ZAUN & ONWARD. this part is very tentative towards roleplay partners with involved muses & subject for re-adjustment. after parting ways with sona, jhin stops at zaun where he decides it would be fun to take out some foreign entities like the terrorist he is. ( also to announce that his bullshit has gone international ) he gets kicked around by camille first before taking a bow & making a scooby doo villain exit through a secret stage trap door. then he is confronted by zed, akali, & shen as shown in canon, since he has pretty much already dropped a google pin of his whereabouts with the mess he made. now regarding jhin's torment of zed in ionia, that happens after the events of zaun. but again, it's much more drawn out & may potentially be written differently.

also for purpose of continuation of his story, he is not caught. he escapes . . . surprise ! like always. but they do rough him up a bit & foil his plans. i will leave the details of this vague as to not disrupt any roleplay partners' canon too much.

the end ! i promise there is a method for this madness i've spun. mostly, i made these changes to allow more plot opportunities for non-ionian muses & extra now-older jhin character development. plus, it just makes more sense to give him time to ‘re-adjust’ to society after being between the same four walls for most of his 20's. yikes.

#𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭. bury it and rise above.#i'm sorry this post is so obnoxious ??#long post

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stonesparrow · 3 years

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For the dr.stone x atla crossover I feel that even if Hyoga is or was a soldier in the fire army he wouldn’t have liked the idea of a nations worth of centuries of knowledge pasted down through generations being wiped of the face of the earth.

I just had a thought Hyoga could be a soldier in the fire army but he could also be a master instructor at his own dojo he inherited from his master kinda like master Piandao. He’s still a fire bender though.

Also I think I would be a cute and funny plot twist if he has a daughter who is still young but old enough to help fight and strong enough to thanks her dad training her. I think he’d be the same tough and cold character he is but he’s surprisingly tender, caring, gental, and kind to her in his own way that would just make the characters in the dr.stone universe jaws hit the floor lol.

Ah, you do have a point with Hyoga likely being disappointed that the knowledge of airbending was lost to genocide - all those ancient techniques would probably be really fascinating to him as a martial artist. Though I can also see him buying into the Fire Nation’s imperialist message of “we are the strongest nation, so we should rule over all the weaker nations.”

I like your idea that Hyoga is a fighting instructor, with his values he’d probably be something like Zuko in skillset - he puts a lot of effort into firebending, but also into spearfighting since he deeply respects the nonbender master who taught it to him. At the same time he has no time for people who either don’t take it seriously or are too weak to make a difference.

(More under the cut because this got long)

Him having a kid is an interesting plot twist and while it’s more twisty than I’d expect, I’m kind of intrigued by the potential it has. Though that also brings up the question of who the kid’s mom is, and when the kid was born (I estimate Hyoga’s age in DCST to be around 20-22). Homura maybe? Like...perhaps Hyoga and Homura were both fairly high class and had an arranged marriage, but while Homura fell in love with him as they grew up together Hyoga only respected her as a friend and fellow fighter.

And then if they had a daughter (maybe pressured by both their parents to produce an heir of some sort) it could make them both more complex characters. If the kid was really strong though I’d lean more towards an Ozai-Azula like dynamic with Hyoga impressing his values of “only the strong and skilled deserve to live,” onto her. Plus if we’re keeping relative canon ages then I’d estimate Homura to be 20, Hyoga to be 22, and their daughter to be 2 by the time Team Avatar shows up in the Fire Nation to do their thing.

However...I can see some potential with the kid turning out physically weak, and that throwing Hyoga’s values into wack.

Let’s say the toddler was born healthy and strong and an assessment by some Fire Sages said that she’d become an extremely powerful bender - this pleases Hyoga, since he can’t imagine having fathered a weak child with him and Homura’s combined firebending ability. And indeed, by the time the kid is two she shows signs of firebending power well beyond her age group, with Hyoga planning to train her into an extraordinarily strong warrior.

Except with such a strong fire at such a young age, the little girl suddenly falls terribly ill, having raging fevers and struggling to breathe. Hyoga’s ideals would tell him that such an ill child will die, and that’s that, the weak and ill perish while the strong survive. But he finds himself insisting that the kid will survive, because she’s strong, she has to survive. She’ll recover and become the strongest firebender this side of the Nation, not die a weakling.

Some time later, the Gaang shows up to Hyoga’s town to resupply. Pre-Zuko joining but maybe somewhere between meeting Piandao and encountering Combustion Man? Aang decides to visit the local firebending dojo (rip Sokka’s nerves) because hey, he wants to see some firebending techniques from actual benders, and he can tooooootally handle staying low key this time, honest! He encounters Hyoga and gets a fair bit intimidated by him, though Hyoga seems to approve of “Kuzon’s” highly adaptive martial arts style.

At some point, a messenger comes and Hyoga slips away. Being nosy, Aang follows them and catches enough of the conversation to determine that there’s a sick kid living in that fancy mansion, and relays his concerns to the Gaang. Katara immediately wants to investigate further - Sokka is again very stressed but understands that he can’t stop his sister once she’s made a decision (plus this is post Painted Lady and Katara is even more determined not to let children suffer if she can do anything about it). But when she tries the front entrance, the guards won’t let her in, even when she says she’s a healer. In fact, they deny that there’s a sick child at all, while Aang insists he didn’t hear wrong.

So Aang and Katara, ever the problem solvers, break into the mansion (airbending is super useful!) and find the kid’s bedroom. Katara assesses the patient - she determines that even with her waterbending, the kid will likely suffer from complications her whole life due to the damage she’s already sustained. Hyoga suddenly appears, asking them how they got into his house (he’s actually very curious, since they seemed to enter silently and without alerting anyone). When Katara excuses herself and says she’s a healer from the colonies (Aang’s explanation for how Katara has “special healing techniques unlike any other”) and just wanted to help, Hyoga says that he doesn’t need a healer, and that the girl will recover soon. Katara starts to argue and Hyoga starts insinuating that he could easily beat her in combat, when Homura shows up, pleading with Katara to save her daughter.

Hyoga and Homura start arguing, with Homura saying this may be their last chance and Hyoga saying that a true daughter of his would be able to fight off the sickness alone. Homura eventually asks if he’d rather have a dead daughter than a weak one, which makes him go quiet (Aang and Katara are standing there awkwardly watching all of this). Hyoga then calmly says that since they seem to be at a standstill, the reasonable course of action is an Agni Kai (Aang goes pale at this, while Katara doesn’t actually know what that is).

In the courtyard the Gaang watches anxiously as Hyoga and Homura begin their duel, which results in quite a few impressive displays of firebending. Homura however seems to be holding back slightly, more on the run than attacking. At one point Homura gets thrown on her back and nearly burnt, but Katara calls out to her, saying she has to win for the kid. She gets back up and starts attacking Hyoga with renewed resolve, and even Hyoga is surprised.

Hyoga realizes that as loyal as Homura is to him, she really is doing her best to win, even coming at him with direct shots of flame now. And since this is still Hyoga, he respects that deeply - she’s doing things “properly,” even though she doesn’t want to. He even respects that Katara was so dedicated to her role as a healer that she broke into his house just on the mere mention that there was a sick child there.

And in the very bottom of his heart, despite all the talk of strength and weakness and who deserves to live, he has a hard time realizing that he doesn’t want his daughter to die, even if it means she’ll be weak and reliant on others her whole life. This might be a little OOC for canon Hyoga, but hey, it’s an au and maybe if canon Hyoga did have something small and weak to protect, he’d be less of an ass to Senku and company.

So at a key moment in the battle, Hyoga pauses for a split second instead of dodging a blast from Homura and allows himself to be grazed on the chin, reminiscent of his revival scars in canon. It’s not a bad burn, and those watching closely realize that he let her win. Hyoga turns to leave, only saying that Katara will be compensated for her healing services and that they truly did things “properly.”

Katara heals the girl, saying that the fever is gone but her lungs are damaged and she’ll have breathing problems from now on. She’s paid a small sack of gold by a servant that she initially refuses, but takes in the end since it’d probably be good to have extra Fire Nation currency on hand. The Gaang leaves the mansion feeling...a little conflicted about the experience, honestly.

Meanwhile as Homura sits by the girl’s bedside Hyoga appears in the doorway, having treated his burn from the duel. An awkwardly long silence passes before Hyoga says he’s been thinking about the skills that "Kuzon” and “Sapphire” displayed, and that he’s considering buying a home in the colonies so he can learn about those types of skills (since Aang claimed they were from the colonies). He turns to leave, but not before offhandedly saying that the seaside air in the colonies he’s looked at might be good for their daughter’s lungs.

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lovenona · 4 years

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omg hi i just binged the artist!jjk universe thing and ... can i say that as an art student with an art history minor... going to a Big Fancy Art School... the vibes are spot on and i just akdkgk all you need is like art professors saying “ok let’s take a 10 min smoke break” and you’ve basically got the entire experience

i am also thinking about talking about late-19th early 20th century european modernism with (non toxic/pre art show fiasco) getou and having him both praise and hate on picasso for inventing cubism but also being an all around dickhead of a guy and also talking about the cultural appropriation and imperialism that influenced primitivism and and and and (sorry anyway) and how artist!sukuna would react and try and keep up or try and monopolize reader’s attention ... many thoughts head full (also sorry for rambling i just.. really like this AU, i may or may not find it a bit too relatable)

(sksjsk god artist! au is based on some of my past college experiences....solidarity in pretentious art school vibes 😔✊)

God Would Geto Be Annoying As Fuck, But We Love It So Much. like, this man would shamelessly mansplain everything about european modernism to you while you’re sitting in a lecture On That Topic. he’s so fucking pretty, though, that you don’t mind if geto repeats what you already know.

and besides, you can’t help but be fascinated by what he has to say: because even if geto is a somewhat condescending, that doesn’t change the fact you’re enraptured by imperialism and art and everything in between. that doesn’t change the fact that you want to know.

(of course, geto, being the “activist” he is, still can’t go a class period without bringing up the serious problems of colonialism just to have a discussion with the professor that none of you are quite able to follow. you think he’s handsome when his eyebrows furrow.)

it’s pretty clear, then, why you would enjoy sitting next to geto during class or in the library. he’s a fountain of knowledge on a period of art history you, a simple baroque and renaissance enthusiast, don’t know much about. geto offers to take you to the art gallery on weekends just so he can show you some of these works in person, so you can really understand the politics behind them. he recommends you books from the library and even lets you borrow his own textbooks, dog-eared and well-worn.

with his smooth words, geto holds the entirety of your attention. he’s a fountain of political excellence who can tell you the history of any early-20th-century painting you see. you think it’s handsome of him, really, to be so politically aware, to be so to kind.

you also like to hold his hand at the museum while he speaks.

and this, of course, is what drives sukuna mad. shouldn’t he be the center of your universe? shouldn’t you be enraptured by his latest paintings, by his tattoo designs? geto makes decorative bowls, sukuna tries to tell you, but i make real art. so why don’t you care? why are you listening to geto talk about picasso and braque instead of watching sukuna’s paintbrush move?

(even worse, sukuna can’t stand cubism. i think braque would make him angry in ways he cannot even articulate. if sukuna saw braque’s work in person, he would tear it off the wall.)

furthermore, it enrages sukuna to think that geto knows things he doesn’t, to think that geto might somehow be better than him. sure, it’s no secret that sukuna doesn’t give a fuck about the majority of art history: why care about the dead when he’s right there, already the greatest artist among them? but perhaps, he realizes in alarm, that’s what he needs for you to listen to him. you don’t care about geto’s bowls; you care about what geto has to say about the isms, cubism and primitivism and futurism.

so that’s what he does. sukuna, reluctantly, in denial, starts to collect knowledge. when he wants your attention, he tells you about tattoo history. he tells you about the history of painting and the how renaissance artists made their colors. he tells you about artists you’ve never heard of to monopolize you, to show you he’s just as interesting and cool.

sukuna doesn’t care if you know his fun facts already: he’s putting his goddamn google searches to use. he researches every artist geto’s ever mentioned just so he can try to talk about it first, so he can become the intelligent one.

it’s actually rather amusing, really, to watch sukuna try so hard while denying his efforts at the same time. and while it might not always work, it’s still worth it, he thinks, when your eyes turn towards him.

(and if mansplaining art history to you doesn't work, well, he can always resort to throwing an arm around your shoulders and ushering you away, smooth and cool to somewhere private.)

#intellectual geto is so hot but SUCH a menace to society #like lord almighty #geto.seguru #ryomen.sukuna #artist!jjk #adele writes #letters to adele

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mysticeyeliner · 3 years

Text

SA Fanfiction! Ilse getting help to heal from her friends! Part 1

Chapters 1-3, 2,921 words

IDK how to name fics lol but this gets it across. I’ve never posted fics before but I wanted to share this

Tw: Rape mentions, Abuse mentions, Alcoholism and drug addiction

Also includes homelessness, running away

"...Ilse?" Ilse glanced up from her spot in the dirt, seeing Anna standing with Moritz. They looked concerned. "Are you alright?" Anna asked. "I'm- I'm fine. Just hanging out before I leave again." "In the dirt?" Moritz asked. She ran her hands through the clover patch on the ground. "Picking flowers,' she said with a smile. "Can...Ilse, can you come with us for a moment? Moritz beckoned to her. She stood, concerned but too curious to say no. She really only paused to think. So maybe it was in a shadowed alley between two houses, but she hadn't been doing anything. Anna took her hand and smiled. She started swinging it like they were still young girls. Hell, Anna still had the same bows in her hair. They stepped up into her house, which always smelled of tea and fresh flowers. Moritz pulled out chairs from the table while Anna closed the door. Ilse suspiciously sat down and averted her eyes to the blue and pink embroidery of the tablecloth. "Can I make us all some tea?' Anna asked, already pulling out a jar of rose petals from a cabinet. That was the fancy stuff her mother always made when she had guests over, sometimes while they all played outside and only half tried to be quiet. Moritz nodded, and Anna began the rose tea. "We wanted to talk to you. About some stuff," he said. "What stuff? Are you planning something?" Ilse asked. "No, it's...you. We're worried about you. You haven't done anything wrong, but you're not Okay. I don't know what exactly you've been through, but the way you act, the things you say and do...it's not like the Ilse we know. We love you. But Priapia, being away from home...you're too lonely and you have trauma and addiction. I just, we want you to talk to us." Anna came around holding three steaming teacups in her fingers and a bowl of sugar. "We don't hate you, please don't think that, we just know somethings wrong. We're your friends. Please." Ilse stirred her fingers around in her pocket, brushing against the clovers she stuffed in it. "I- I don't know what to...to say." "Then drink." Anna passed her a teacup with marigolds painted on the base. Ilse took a sip, letting the warmth flood through her chest. Anna watched her, stirring several teaspoons of sugar into her own drink. "Martha got beaten. A lot." She looked down into her cup. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you thqat, but it's true. She hid it from us. I'll never understand why, but eventually Wendla up and reported her papa. Martha doesn't get hit anymore." Ilse had guessed. She'd seen it, in the long clothing she wore, her demeanor. it was the same as Ilse's own. Thank goodness it was over. "My father isn't a good one either. Nothing compared to what Martha went through, but...still. You're not alone, Ilse. Other people can understand your pain. You have no one to talk to back in that artists' colony, but we're here with you now." Ilse swallowed. She didn't prepare for this. Anna drank some tea, then stood up from her chair and positioned one behind Ilse. "Can you tell us what's happening?" "I- I don't want to burden you- I mean. I don't believe you really want to help me." Ilse's voice cracked. "Oh, we do, trust me," Moritz smiled. "This is all we want to do today. You're not burdening us, I promise we want to be here, listening to and helping you." Anna started gently pulling her fingers through Ilse's hair. About half of them caught on tangles that Ilse rarely bothered to brush out herself. Anna got to work, gently unknotting them. "It's..it's a Lot. I'm used to it by now. The drinking, the smoking..." "Is that all there is?" Anna asked. Ilse brushed her sleeve against her nose. "No." She squeezed her eyes shut. Moritz gently grabbed her hand. "I- I wish I could say I'm used to the violation. The..." She opened her eyes. "But sometimes, all the time, I'm not. Sometimes they start pulling me back to their beds and I'm too drunk to know better, or only enough to know what will happen if I resist. Sometimes they just push me against their walls and there's nothing I can do. Once, the first time, I tried to hit him back, and I ended up with a black eye sleeping out in the freezing cold for two nights. It's a miracle no one killed me then or worse. But every time, I can't stop wondering if I deserve it, thinking maybe it was on purpose. Maybe I wanted it and there's just something sickly wrong with me. Like it's all my fault and I can't blame anyone but myself." A tear fell. "Ilse," Anna said gently. "I know that's not true. I know who you are. You would never. It's those men, they're sick. You're, Lord, you're only fifteen. You were, what, thirteen then?" Ilse nodded. Moritz handed her her teacup. "Wendla was raped. I wish it wasn't true, but it is. She never asked for that. She didn't know what was happening. But I see her ask herself every day if she wanted it. From what I hear, it wasn't clear. But I really don't think she consented to that. No victim deserves to doubt themselves every day, no one deserves to ask if they secrelty desired trauma. But I think, maybe they all do. Look, Wendla is kind and young and caring. She would never ask for that." Anna said, "And you're wild and hopeful and just trying to be free and safe. Please, try and believe us, you didn't deserve that, no matter what you did." Ilse started crying. Moritz reached out and she grabbed him in a hug. He held on tight to her. "You're our friend. We never want you to be hurt again." "That's what they'll do when I go back," she sobbed. "They'll beat me too. They'll get me drunk and make me pose naked and get me high and there's nothing I can do about it." "Stay with us tonight," Anna said, putting a hand on Ilse's knee. "I'll keep you safe in my sister's old bedroom. Or you can come into mine, if you'd like." "They're expecting me back. They won't like it if I'm not." "They won't find you. I promise, Ilse. You never have to go back there," Moritz said. Ilse put her cup down. "I don't deserve your protection." "Yes you do. And it would mean the world to me if you just spent the night here." She looked Anna in the eyes. Ilse couldn't understand every emotion she felt. Still, she told her yes. ====== Ilse stood in Anna's washroom, washing her face off and looking in the mirror. Not the worst she'd seen herself. And at least her hair looked nicer. She felt the heavy prescence in her boot and pulled it out. A flask mostly filled with liquor. She couldn't keep doing this. She always told herself she wasn't a drunk, she couldn't be, but the flask would beg to differ. God, she didn't know if she could get over this. "Ilse?" A call from down the stairs. She set the flask on the counter and went to see Moritz. "I'm gonna go now. I'll be back tomorrow?" She smiled and hugged him. "Of course. And, I'm sorry about your dad. Is there anything I can do?" He grimaced and shook his head no. Then he squeezed her hand and said, "Don't let Anna put bows in your hair. She's tempting, but it isn't worth it." He shuddered. Both girls waved him goodbye. As soon as Moritz closed the door, Ilse said, "He's the next project, right?" "I don't think of you as a project, Ilse. But, I'm not sure there's much I can do to help him. He just failed school, he doesn't have many places to go..." "Christ, I forgot about that. I with I could help him." "He's doing okay. Better than you have been. Now come here." Anna beckoned for her to sit on the rug in the living room with her. She held a notepad and a pencil. "Mama gets home in an hour. We can have supper then. But what do you want to do after that?" "...Do we need to do much?" "Yes! I'm here to make you feel better, so we're gonna talk some, especially with Moritz again tomorrow, maybe Wendla, but for now? It's sleepover time." Ilse groaned that she had been pulled into this. But Anna played the mother half the times they played house as kids, so at least her stay would be comfortable. "Wanna come to my room?" Anna asked. "Sure." Ilse followed her up the stairs to a room with pink curtains and a bed covered in stuffed animals. "Oh, is this Soby?" she asked, picking up an old pink bunny. "I still sleep with him every night," Anna said proudly. She carefully moved every animal off the bed onto her floor. "Do you want to sleep here tonight, with me? I have plenty of blankets." Ilse was hesitant. "I don't want to intrude." "Please! I want to make sure you feel safe." She began smoothing her sheets out. Ilse moved to look out her window for a minute. "They're not going to find you, Ilse. And they won't be mad at you. As long as you never go back, that is." Ilse sighed and pressed her head against the glass. What was she going to do? "They don't deserve you. For anything. No one does, really." Anna came up and put a gentle hand on Ilse's shoulder. "I'm honored to have you as my guest, Miss." She swept into a curtsy. "For now, the best you can do is just stay here for the night. And a good long sleep in my very comfy bed will help you." "Okay," Ilse breathed. She walked over and picked up Soby, staring into her stitched on eyes. "For now, if you're not too tired..." Anna opened the door to her closet. Inside were numerous dresses with ruffles and bows. She grinned evilly at Ilse. "Noooo!" Ilse ran from her as Anna pulled a purple dress from inside and chased after her. --- Ilse was caught and turned into a doll for Anna. She was grumpily adorned in the purple dress, which had flower details on its sleeves, much like everything here. But before Anna could start on the rest of her, Anna's mother got home. "Oh! Mama, Ilse's staying here for the night. We're having a sleepover." Ilse emerged in her pouffy dress with an exaggerated frown. "Be nice to that poor girl." Frau Wheelan shook her head and started cooking supper. "She doesn't need to know why," Anna said softly, taking Ilse's hand. "But in the meantime..." Anna lifted part of Ilse's hair. Ilse dashed away from her saying no with a smile. Frau Wheelan called her daughter down to help with dinner. Ilse looked down at this princess dress again and craved a hit. No. No, she couldn't think like that. She had to stop. Soon enough it was suppertime. "Go clean your hands!" Anna's mother told them both. Ilse helped set the table while Anna went up to the washroom. "Ilse, it's been a while since I've seen you, dear." "Yeah, I haven't been up to much. It's lovely to see you, though." Her mother smiled and went to bring the food out. Anna came out of the washroom looking a little uncomfortable, sad maybe. Ilse was going to ask about it, but Anna saw food and her face lit up. "Let's eat!" Frau Wheelan declared. ===== They had pieces of seasoned chicken to eat. Despite disliking this dress, Ilse was sure to not drop anything on it. "Ilse, where have you been all this time?" Frau Wheelan asked. "Um...I'm living with some artists. Splitting rent." "Oh! Do you paint?" "I do." Ilse blushed. "And how's life treating you?" Ilse turned even redder. "Mama, can we not shower her in questions? Tell me how I should do her hair with this gown." "Please, she looks miserable...but some bows wouldn't hurt..." "Ooh, can we make hot chocolate after dinner? I wanna put on fuzzy socks and tell stories by the fire before bed." "Of course. Just make sure to go to bed at a reasonable hour." When they cleared their plates and Anna and her mother put dishes away (Ilse was quickly dismissed from the task) and Frau Wheelan went to go read, Anna went to the washroom again and came down to talk to Ilse. "Sorry she asked all that. You definitely don't need to give her details. She's just excited to see you." "It's okay. I'd be curious too." Ilse glanced at a clock. "Ilse, be honest with me...is this yours?" Ilse turned and saw Anna pull out the flask. Which she has left in the washroom. "Um..." Her silence said enough. Anna's voice got sad and quiet. "Look, I'm not trying to judge you. i just need to know how often you do this. How often you drink. Is it a serious problem? Do you need it?" "I...I wish I could say that wasn't mine. I don't want to be a drunk. I just, I'm so used to it...to always being a little inebriated...it makes it harder to feel the pain." "Are you wounded? Is that the pain?" "No." Ilse looked down sadly. "Okay. I'm here to help you. With everything. Any problem you have." "I have a lot. I'm not sure you want to get involved." "You're my friend. I'm always gonna be here for you." Anna touched Ilse's face. "If it makes you feel better, you can help me in return by letting me style your hair." --- Two braided pigtails later, Anna and Ilse were sitting around Anna's fireplace drinking hot chocolate. Ilse had socks on her feet for the first time in years, covering the blisters she was always getting. "No one's cared for me so well in a while." "Well, they should. You deserve it. You've always deserved it. Just wait until I make you take a bubble bath." It had been many years since she'd had one of those. "Wendla is hopefully coming tomorrow. Maybe Martha too. We can talk and figure something out for you. You don't need to go back there." "...I left my paint back there." "I'll buy new paints for you. I have some here. They're old, from a phase, but they should work in the meantime." Ilse smiled. "Thank you. It means a lot." "Of course. And might I just say, you look lovely." "Not my style, but thank you." "We'll all get you clothes you like. That show who you are. Until we figure that out, you can use mine. Your green dress needs a lot of cleaning anyway." "It's fine." "You sat in the dirt in it today." Ilse got closer to Anna until they shared a blanket. "We can go to bed whenever you want, okay? I'm pretty blind to other people's fatigue." Ilse nodded and continued watching the fire. ---- Anna offered her a light blue nightgown, this one without any embellishments. Ilse changed in the washroom, watching herself in the mirror. She hadn't seen herself look this nice- this well-treated- in years. Since even before she left for Priapia. Her brushed, styled hair and not-cheap dress just for sleeping in, her stomach filled from eating right... This didn't feel like her anymore. Maybe the old version of her wasn't right, and she was meant to be a dirty teenage artist who spent her nights between the beds of men and women that she would have to treat with respect the next day. "There's a spare toothbrush and paste in the drawer!" Anna called. A commodity she didn't have for the last two years. The paste tasted weird in her mouth, but, knowing she was doing something good for herself, cleaning herself, it meant something. A small change. A good change. She washed her face again and came back to Anna's room. It had electric lights as well as candle jars with flickering painted roses on them. Anna sat on her bed, adorned in a pink nightgown with plenty of bows. "I got you a glass of water," she said with a yawn. "Now come on in here." Anna turned out her lights, leaving the candles glowing. Ilse followed her, sitting on the cushy bed, facing the door. Faint moonlight shone through the window. Anna pulled out a sleep mask and placed it on her own head. "I'll tuck you in." Ilse slid under the soft covers and layed her head back. These pillows were better quality than she was used to. Anna reached over and pulled the covers up to Ilse's shoulders, then tucked herself in right next to her and pulled the mask down. "Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning," Anna yawned again. "See you," Ilse whispered. A glowing bedroom, goodnights, precious quiet. Someone softly falling sleep next to her, who wouldn't do anything to her. She missed it. Still, she needed something else. Ilse sat up and grabbed Soby with her fingertips, pulling her up by the ears. The soft bunny felt nice in her arms. She tucked herself back in and snuggled the bunny until she slept.

#big text tw #rape mention tw #abuse mention tw #alcoholism tw #drug addiction tw #fanfiction #my fics #spring awakening #Ilse neumann #sa #anna wheelan #moritz stiefel #I haven't worked on this in a few days so I hope it's good #also I have designs of the dresses but it includes one from the wip chapter so im not sharing it yet

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moonflowerlesbians · 4 years

Text

count your blessings instead of sheep

Hello, friends! Back in November, I decided to partake in my first fandom Secret Santa exchange. I’m not much of an artist, so I opted for the holiday-themed fic route, and this one-shot was born. So, @satelitesprite I hope you enjoy, and Merry Christmas! Thank you so much to @damiesecretsanta for organizing.

Read this work on AO3.

Title: count your blessings instead of sheep, Rated T, Word Count: 4763

Summary: In which Dani takes Jamie's White Christmas comment a bit too seriously. (But Jamie's absolutely not complaining.)

~~~

One day at a time, they’d said. Jamie had looked at her so earnestly, spoken with such conviction, as if by sheer force of will she would bend the world, stacked so vehemently against them, to her whims. And, Dani supposes, she may as well have succeeded. They’re still here, after all. Still together. Still alive.

Jamie had said something else, too, that same day. A confession she’d admitted almost shamefully. A film about honoring memories and protecting what matters. A sight she’d like to see.

Dani gets to thinking, planning, scheming, if one could call it that. She makes a silent promise, to Jamie and then herself.

If they make it until December, Vermont is as good a place to spend the holidays as anywhere, she thinks.

Dani can’t seem to stop moving. The cuticle on her thumb is raw and bitten; her legs, one crossed over the other, bounce, bumping the tray table in front of her on occasion and nearly sending her drink toppling into her lap. She all but leaps out of her seat when Jamie places a hand on her knee.

“Easy, there,” Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Tremble any more and you’ll disrupt radio frequencies.”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, but Dani appreciates it nonetheless. The little notebook in her breast pocket burns a hole in her blouse, stuffed full of ideas and anticipatory hope.

“Might be able to help if you told me where we’re headed.”

She’s been trying for weeks to nose her way into Dani’s plans, to glean some inkling of direction since Dani first hinted, one quiet evening in early November, that maybe thinking about Christmas isn’t such a bad idea.

“Yeah?” Jamie had said, soft, not quite believing. The future, their future, had been a taboo topic, danced around like an active bomb.

“Yeah,” Dani confirmed, “trust me?”

“‘Course.”

Then it had been library visits and guidebooks and scribbling telephone numbers on lined pages and Jamie-don’t-you-dare-open-that-box.

Dani rocks with the gentle movement of the train beneath her as it rounds a bend in the tracks.

“Whatever happened to the fun of not knowing?” Dani tries for a tease but falls somewhere just short of playground wedding jitters. A little confused and perhaps regretting her choices. She clears her throat. “I just,” she sighs, “I want you to have a good time.”

Jamie scoffs. “Ah, well, you know how difficult I am to please. Such high standards and all.” She gestures to the tray table between them, littered with snack-sized pretzel packets and a can of seltzer to share.

Dani rolls her eyes. “The picture of refinement.” Jamie pops her shirt collar with a huff and a wry smile that earn her a playful kick to the shin, and she pouts. “Still not telling you.”

Jamie retracts her lower lip, her ploy failed. “Should’ve known I wouldn’t get you to crack on the last day. A steel trap, you are.”

Dani snorts at the obvious exaggeration. They both know just a lingering stare from Jamie has her weak at the knees.

She can’t say she’s complaining.

On the subject of their trip, though, she has managed to keep impressively silent, offering only such vague clues as, “Thoughts on the desert?” and “D’you suppose four thousand is too much if it’s a room with a balcony?” At latter of which, Jamie had gone slightly pale, but she had declared, albeit shakily, something along the lines of, “whatever makes you happy,” as she blanched.

And, oh, how Dani had loved her for it.

As the temperate trees outside their window turn to evergreens and the cold trickles in from the mountains, it becomes abundantly clear that Dani has not brought them to the desert. Just one more stop until theirs, and Dani can’t help the flash of worry that streaks through her like lightning.

She’s a perfectionist by nature. Or, at least, she was. Likes her ducks in a row, likes her trains on time and her schedules stuck to. These past months have been agony, each day a guessing game, no way to be sure what will come next. She understands the necessity, has tried to embrace it, even, but when the opportunity presented itself for her to plan something concrete, she leapt at it.

Jamie had stepped back, understanding how badly Dani needed this. A part of her, she told Dani, late in the night, wrapped in blankets and sweet embraces, was simply glad Dani could bear to think of the future, even short term.

When they left Bly, Dani would not allow herself to entertain the thought of next week, much less next year. But, as time slid past with no sign of her co-inhabitant, she relaxed, millimeter by millimeter, drop by drop, the tension slipped from her body. The paranoia, the jolt of terror upon rounding a corner, looking into a mirror, faded gradually each time she saw only herself, one eye brown, one blue.

Each day with Jamie pervaded her idea of “normal” until that is what their life became. Normal. Waking up together, seeking out breakfast, exchanging quips before setting about their adventure of the day felt...normal. A remarkable concept for the woman whose notion of normal shattered with a pair of glasses.

She sits across from the woman she thinks of as her best friend and marvels at how different her life was, even just a year ago, when the sentiment of a Christmas with someone she loves was unfathomable. She can only hope Jamie doesn’t hate it.

Jamie, who is folding the tray up and sweeping crumbs into her palm to dispose of, only to realize she has nowhere to put them. She looks around for a moment, mumbles a shit to herself, and stands to toss them in the bin in the restroom, while Dani watches affectionately.

“What?” Jamie says, when she returns, gathering her things.

“Didn’t think that one all the way through, did you?” Dani says, a little smug. It’s not really a question.

“You said one more stop, yeah? Thought we should be ready.”

“Eager?”

“You’re having a go at me,” she rags, “Been building this up for a month. Can’t blame a woman for being a wee bit curious.”

A conductor wanders past, loudly announcing the next stop.

“Vermont, eh?” Jamie wraps the strap of her bag around her hand once, twice. She’s nervous, too, Dani realizes. The unpredictability has taken a toll on her, as well. Jamie, who woke up at five-thirty like clockwork, who tended to the same plants on the same grounds with the same tools, who saw the same five people each day. She likes routine, just as Dani does.

Perhaps, should they make it to the new year, it’s time to find a place to plant themselves. A place to call their own, if Jamie will have her. Somewhere to land. The thought sends a thrill through her.

Dani nods. “Trust me?”

Jamie studies her. “Always.”

Dani collects her belongings from the overhead as the train slows to a creaking stop at the platform. They appear to be the only two disembarking. Unsurprising, really. From Dani’s research, the town’s population is in the low thousands. The station, a one-story, low building, is rustic, all exposed wood and lantern lighting fixtures.

“Clayton?” An older man calls as they step off the train. He leans against the hood of a town car emblazoned with the logo of his proprietor.

Holiday Inn, Est. 1942

“That’s me,” Dani chirps, meeting him halfway from the tracks, where he takes the bags from her arms with an amiable nod. Jamie follows him to the trunk -- boot, as she insists it’s called -- and drops her rucksack next to Dani’s, while Dani, herself, opens the door with a grand flourish. “M’lady.”

Jamie sends the driver a sidelong glance, but he slides into the front seat without a word. She accepts Dani’s invitation and turns to her once they settle a respectable distance apart on the back bench. The driver, Wallace, as he introduces himself, turns the key in the ignition.

“So, the Holiday Inn?” Jamie prods. “Wasn’t aware the big hotels did shuttle services now.”

“Not a hotel,” Dani corrects.

“No?”

“An inn.”

“Ah, thanks, love, that clears it right up,” Jamie deadpans, but there’s no bite to her words.

“Hold your horses,” Dani placates, “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Can’t feel my bloody hands, been holding these damn horses so long.”

Dani swats her across the stomach. “Quiet, you.”

“Oi, ‘s no way to start a holiday, is it?”

“So, what brings you across the pond?” Wallace cuts in, the car rounding a bend on its climb up the mountain. “We don’t get many Brits around here.”

Jamie looks to Dani, a smirk curling upon her lips. “Not entirely sure, actually. You want to take this one, Poppins?”

“She hasn’t been stateside since we were kids,” Dani supplies. “I thought it might be a nice change of pace to spend the holidays with my cousin since it’s been so long.” Then, muttering to only Jamie, “She’s more sarcastic than I remember.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. You know, I haven’t been overseas since the war. Can’t bring myself to fly these days.” He continues to regale them with stories of his time in France, and they allow his tales to fill the silence for the duration of the ride, Dani offering polite interjections wherever appropriate. This is, in part, a way to keep Jamie from asking questions and spoiling the surprise mere moments from its fulfillment.

They turn onto a narrow road lined with towering fir trees. Undisturbed snow from a recent bout of winter weather bows the branches. Jamie watches out the window, transfixed by the changing landscape. Dani cannot see her face.

“Here we are,” Wallace says, with a note of pride. “She needs a little work, but she’s home.”

A house comes into sight as the car crests a hill, a three-story colonial with a broad front porch and white trim. Rocking chairs perch near the railings, and pale blue shutters frame tall windows. An old barn stands a little ways down, weather-worn, but charming.

Dani hears a quick inhalation from beside her. Jamie’s gaze is fixed straight ahead. Dani’s stomach flips.

Their car pulls up in front of the lodge, and Wallace grabs their bags from the rear.

“We’ll be just a sec,” Dani says.

Jamie’s back is to her as she turns in a slow circle, absorbing the scenery, until her eyes come to rest on Dani, who fidgets with the nail on her index finger.

“So,” she begins, “I, um, I know we said we’d take it slow. But, you said snow could be nice, and you’ve done so much for me, and I just wanted to give you this one thing, but I get it if it’s too much or too cold. I just thought, you know, it might be nice since you said you saw White Christmas as a kid that one time, and I know it was probably a joke, but--”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, with a saccharine laugh and the most gentle smile, “love, not to interrupt what was shaping up to be quite the eloquent speech, but this,” she gestures at the picturesque cabin and the trees and the mountainside, “this, you didn’t have to do all of this.” She looks around hesitantly, then takes one of Dani’s hands in her own. “I almost forgot I mentioned that story, but, apparently, you didn’t.”

Dani grins sheepishly.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jamie assures, “this is stunning. Everything I could’ve imagined. But, and I’m sure I’m starting to sound like a broken record, I would be just as happy spending Christmas in a shack under a bridge, so long as I’m sharing that shack with you.”

“I’d like to think this is at least a few steps up from a shack.”

“Oh, it most certainly is. Can’t say I’m mad about it, either. Quite fond of being warm, you know.”

“Speaking of,” Dani segues, “inside?”

“Please.”

Dani drops her hand and leads Jamie up the porch steps, the old wood groaning underfoot.

“Dani Clayton?” A portly woman steps out from behind a counter.

“Present,” Dani says brightly.

“Anne,” the woman replies merrily, “I believe we spoke on the phone. Welcome, the both of you, to the Holiday Inn. Such a pleasure to host this little family reunion.”

Jamie appears perplexed for only a moment. “Jamie,” she greets, accepting the proffered handshake, “lovely to meet you.”

“Right, well, your room is up the stairs to the right, third door in.” Anne smooths her apron and passes Dani a key. “Wallace, my husband, should’ve dropped off any luggage, and please join us and the other guests for Christmas Eve dinner tonight, won’t you?”

“We’ll be there,” Dani promises.

“So, cousins, then?” Jamie prompts once Dani has inserted the key into their lock.

“I figured it was the easiest way to get around two women sleeping in the same room,” Dani says apologetically. “Family bonding, and all.”

“S’pose sisters wouldn’t have made sense with the accent.”

“We look nothing alike.” Dani shuts the door behind them. “Wouldn’t have been believable.” She flops unceremoniously onto one of the two double beds. The pale pink quilt wrinkles as Jamie sits, leaning back against the oak headboard. The windows are shut, but the off-white, lavender-printed curtains sway in an unfelt breeze, and a small fire crackles in the brick hearth. The sun is just beginning to set over the treetops, casting the room in a golden haze.

“‘S nice here,” Jamie remarks. “Feels familiar.”

“I, um, I may have picked this place because it looks like the one in the movie. Had them fax me images of the rooms to find one--”

“That looks like the one Betty and Judy shared in White Christmas,” Jamie finishes, noting the white doors and gleaming brass knobs.

“And, the inn, too. I tried to find out if we could go to the real one where they filmed, but turns out it was a set on a soundstage in California.”

“You mean to tell me the painted backdrops were just,” she gasps for dramatic effect, causing Dani to laugh, “painted backdrops?”

Dani groans. “In hindsight, it should��ve been more obvious, but at least I tried?”

“And an admirable effort it was,” Jamie chuckles, tugging Dani’s sleeve until she moves up the bed to lay her head on Jamie’s shoulder. “Looks just like the real thing, right down to my very own Judy.” She presses a kiss to the top of Dani’s head.

“Mm, I think you might just have a thing for blondes in turtlenecks.”

“Seven-year-old Jamie might’ve been a wee bit taken with Vera-Ellen,” Jamie shrugs. “Who’s to say?” She continues, “Not a lot of pretty blondes for me to fall for back in those days.”

“Oh, well, as long as she’s pretty,” Dani teases.

“Happen to like my version much better, thank you. Terribly sorry, Vera, may you rest in peace; can’t hold a candle to Dani Clayton.”

“It’s because I made one of your childhood dreams come true, isn’t it.”

“Hm,” Jamie muses, “proud of that one, are you?”

“Just a little.”

“It’s wonderful, love,” Jamie speaks softly, raking easy fingers through Dani’s hair. “Promise.” A pause. Her hand freezes for a moment, then resumes its steady path. “No one…ah, no one’s done anything like this for me before.”

Jamie’s life thus far has been far from perfect, as Dani knows from the pieces Jamie has shared. Bouncing from home to home as a child and landing in with the wrong crowd. A life in which stability and consistency did not exist, in which Jamie came to learn that companionship--love--is conditional and hinges upon her ability to provide. At the first sign that she could not be serviceable, in some way or another, she was cast aside.

She learned to work with her hands. Plants cannot reject you, after all, and there are always cracks to be patched, leaky faucets to be repaired. To some, the work might feel tedious, but to Jamie, the monotony feels safe, providing her a sense of immutability in an otherwise turbulent life.

And, as Jamie tells it, three years into her residence at Bly, a goddamn American started traipsing about the garden, and everything went to shit.

More or less.

Dani thoroughly wraps herself around Jamie’s middle, eliminating any space that existed between them. Words fail her, but she hopes her message resonates all the same.

Things are different, now.

***

When they eventually untangle themselves, it’s in favor of washing away the grime of travel with a hot shower. Dani unpacks as Jamie steps under the spray, rejecting the proposal to join, on account of one of them should make sure they’re on time for dinner.

They’re still almost late, though, neither realizing that the barn they’d seen that afternoon doubled as the formal dining room, and they stumble in just in time to settle at a small table in the back of the packed hall.

“Didn’t realize this was dinner and a show,” Jamie comments, observing the raised platform at the front of the room.

“So, there may have been another reason I picked this place,” Dani explains in a whisper, so as not to irk the other patrons seated nearby. “They have this Christmas Eve tradition I read about in one of the travel books and--”

Music echoes through the space from a small pit orchestra set up to the side, and a spotlight illuminates the stage, where two figures are hidden by pale blue fans.

“They may, or may not,” Dani winces, face screwing up into a weak grimace, “kind of, invite local performance groups to do songs from the movie?” She bites her lip, peering at Jamie through one eye.

Jamie, for her part, appears equal parts enthralled and perturbed. “Gotta hand it to you, Poppins,” she says, mouth slightly agape, “You know how to keep to a theme.”

Dani likes to think she hadn’t been chair of the prom committee in high school for nothing. “I really hope you don’t absolutely hate this movie, or this will be a very awkward dinner.”

“Wasn’t one of my favorites,” Jamie admits, leaning in, “but it certainly is now.” Under the cover of the tablecloth, she grips Dani’s hand and gives a discrete squeeze, Dani relaxing at her touch. “It’s very sweet,” Jamie murmurs, amused. The silver chain resting around her neck reflects the stage light as she turns her head. The number draws to a close, met with enthusiastic whooping from the jovially intoxicated crowd.

A server delivers two plates, starter salads, to their table, jotting down polite requests for main courses and alcoholic beverages.

By the finale number, Dani is warm and a bit wine-drunk. Her chair has migrated, over the course of the evening, to perch mere inches from Jamie’s. The gardener’s fingers move with the melody, eyes closed, an easy smile on her lips. She hums under her breath to match the vocalist crooning into the microphone. Dani commits the sight to memory. Jamie, here, draped in flickering shadows, untroubled by good intentions, chores that ought to be done, single-sided debts to be paid to no one and everyone. She is utterly beautiful. And Dani is utterly smitten.

Perhaps it is the wine. Perhaps it is the security provided conveniently by the position of their tucked-away table. Dani parts the tablecloth and traces down Jamie’s slender wrist, their fingers slotting together like a key in a lock. She presses the briefest of kisses to Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie’s thumb runs over Dani’s knuckle.

The antique oil lamps lining the walls glimmer warmly, and the final verse of the reimagined Irving Berlin classic fades into applause.

It is snowing lightly when they wander back to the main building and into their room, faces flushed from the chill. Dani giggles, squirming away from Jamie pushing a cold nose into her neck. Jamie chases her, pins her to the door with a sound kiss. Dani cups the nape of her neck, holding her close. The flurries melted into her hair are cool against Dani’s palm.

“Good night?” Dani asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“Mm,” Jamie puffs against her lips, nuzzling closer “was perfectly splendid.”

“Was it, now?” Dani ribs coyly.

Jamie pulls back just far enough to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. “Dani,” her voice is insistent, sincere, “thank you.”

Dani feels herself blush under the intensity of Jamie’s stare.

“I mean it.” Jamie’s index finger curls pointedly under Dani’s chin, tilting her head up, and something pulls low in Dani’s gut. “Thank you.”

Her lips are soft, pliant beneath Dani’s, speaking volumes in the silence. The snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the earth in mysticism the way only a new snow can. In here, though, the air burns.

They break apart at their lungs’ insistence, chests heaving in unison, but they do not stray far, choosing instead to stay, wrapped up in each other, neither willing to allow the moment to pass. Jamie smells faintly of smoke and the inn’s shampoo. Her sweater stretches slightly in Dani’s insistent hands.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any mince pie and whiskey stashed away?” Jamie nods to the fireplace, lips kiss-swollen and hair mussed.

Dani pauses, a little taken aback, and feeling a bit like someone’s just doused her in icy water. “Do I have...what?”

“Have you got any mince pie and whiskey?”

A flash of panic shoots through her, and she runs through a mental checklist. Is there something she missed? Something Jamie had said?

“Um, should I?”

“What else are you supposed to leave Father Christmas?”

“Milk and cookies?”

“Milk and cookies,” Jamie scoffs in a poor imitation of Dani’s Midwestern accent, “how’s that going to keep a person going all night? Blimey, man’s got to travel ‘round the world, you know.”

“Blimey, must’ve left them in my other suitcase,” Dani laments, outlining the fair curve of Jamie’s collarbone, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin.

“A real shame.” Jamie’s exhale is a note heavier.

Dani hums, “Bet I can make up for it.”

Jamie’s brows rise. “Oh, can you, now?”

“Mhm,” Dani affirms, with a sigh. Before she can go any further, though, her face splits into a yawn, and any semblance of seduction is instantly dashed.

Jamie laughs, stepping away and checking the grandfather clock that stands in the corner of the room. “Half eleven. Ought to get you to bed.” She leans in, with a wink, “Santa won’t come if you’re not asleep.”

“Oh, come on,” Dani says reproachfully, rolling her eyes in a manner not dissimilar to chiding Owen’s god-awful puns. She tugs Jamie toward the wardrobe.

They slip between the sheets a short while later, lying close in the double bed, a perfect mess of legs and arms and contentment.

“‘S after midnight,” Jamie whispers, long after Dani thought her breathing had evened out. “Happy Christmas, love.”

Dani’s heart swells. “Merry Christmas, Jamie.”

***

Pale sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, coating the wallpaper in a serene glow. It’s rather poetic, Dani thinks, the way the light falls across Jamie’s sleeping face, highlighting the graceful tilt of her cheekbones, the button of her nose. Jamie looks ethereal in the morning, something Dani cannot truthfully claim about herself.

She traces the high arch of Jamie’s brow with her thumb, and the woman’s eyes flutter open. She blinks, adjusting to the feeling of being awake, until her gaze settles upon Dani, propped up on her elbow.

“G’morning, sleepyhead,” Dani coos.

“Been up long?” Jamie asks, voice low and sleep-rough.

“Not long,” Dani replies. “Was getting hungry, though. Thought you might like to see what Santa brought you before breakfast.”

Jamie sits up slowly, a cheeky grin turning up the corners of her lips. “As though waking up next to you isn’t enough?”

“Sweet-talker,” Dani says, nudging her, “It’s small, I promise.” She rolls out of bed, grimacing when her bare feet make contact with chilly wood. She rummages through her backpack, the one Jamie knows not to investigate, and emerges with a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. A red bow is stuck to the top, a little squished, but thankfully still intact. Dani crosses her legs on the bed.

“Now, hold on.” Jamie reaches for her rucksack, pulling out a newspaper-covered object. She sets it on the bed. If Dani didn’t know any better, she would think Jamie seems, almost, embarrassed. “Not much experience by way of gift-giving, I’m afraid.” She wrings her hands in her lap.

“Hey,” Dani soothes, “like you said. I’m happy just being with you, okay?”

Jamie gives her a small smile. She huffs, “Look at me, being all gloomy on Christmas morning. C’mon then, open it up.”

Dani picks at the newsprint, unfolding each section delicately, deliberately. As she peels away the final layer, in her hands, she holds a small camera and a few rolls of film. She looks to Jamie, who studies her carefully, gauging Dani’s reaction.

“Might be silly, but I thought, you know, all this traveling, might be nice to collect a few momentos. Have something to look back on a few years down the line.”

Years. Years. Years. Dani allows herself to imagine them, together, somewhere, anywhere, on a couch, years from now, turning the pages of a photo album.

Yes, she decides, years.

She must have some kind of expression on her face, because Jamie speaks. “Alright, there?” She says it casually, lightly, but underlying the words is a pool of worry. Worry that Jamie has overstepped, that she’s made a mistake, that Dani will cast her aside.

“Years,” Dani says. “Years,” she repeats, high-pitched and carefree. She captures Jamie’s lips in a kiss, a celebration of time gone by, a promise of time yet to come.

“Take it you like it, then?”

Yes, Dani wants to scream, God, yes. You’ve given me the future and there are not enough words in the world to explain how I feel about you.

She settles, instead, for inserting a roll of film and bringing the viewfinder to eye level, the lens pointed at Jamie, who still wears a small smile. She is illuminated by a halo of sunlight, catching wayward hairs in its rays. The shutter clicks, and it’s loud in the stillness of the morning.

At the confused tilt of Jamie’s head, Dani attempts to clarify. “I wanted,” she explains, sounding only a little strangled, “the first memory to be of you, and me, here. In this moment.” She sighs, “Just us.”

Jamie’s face softens as she understands. Her hand snakes around Dani’s head, and she pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright, your turn,” Dani decrees, when they separate, and Jamie accepts the offered gift. “Not as exciting as a camera, but I hope you like it.”

“Poppins,” Jamie breathes, staring at the unwrapped item on the bed as if afraid to touch it, “it’s beautiful.”

Dani had found the journal at a craft fair they visited in Chicago. The man said he’d been working with leather for twenty years. The book is bound in green leather, with shimmering gold trim around its border. On the front cover, a leaf, also covered in thin gold foil, is stamped into the material. Dani had been immediately drawn to it.

“I think we had similar ideas,” Dani jokes. “I thought, since you’re always talking to yourself and coming up with new ideas, you might like a place to put everything in that brilliant brain of yours.”

“Feels like I’m saying this a lot lately,” Jamie chuckles, “but thank you, Dani. I love it.”

As if on cue, Dani’s stomach makes itself known, and she cringes.

“Right, how about breakfast?” Jamie inquires.

“I can wait,” Dani says, “The dining room closes at ten.” She glances at the clock. “We’ve got time.”

“For what?”

Jamie catches the mischievous glint in her eye. ��Pretty sure I still have to atone for my grievous crime of depriving Santa of whiskey and mince pie. Unless, that is, you’ve decided to let me off the hook?” She gingerly places Jamie’s journal on the bedside table next to her camera.

“Oh, you, my dear,” Jamie all but purrs, punctuating each word with a kiss, “are still very much on the hook.”

***

Breakfast has all but ended by the time they make it downstairs.

Dani decides that cold pancakes have never tasted so good.

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