#IT WILL THROW THE EARTH OFF OF ITS AXIS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kisses-from-crows · 8 months

Text

Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain - Ch 2.

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!femReader

Summary: After disappearing inexplicably for over a year, Y/N calls Campbell Bain, her well-documented professional nemesis. Will Campbell take the career opportunity of a lifetime?

Genre: enemies to lovers, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings

Word Count: 1,285

CW: Mentions of Grief, Mentions of Mental Illness

Chapter 2

Prev | Next

-TMZ: This just in, recently single starlet F/N L/N seen cussing out paparazzi and “throwing a tantrum” in the middle of Central Park. Has fame finally gone to Y/N’s head? Click here for the full video!

Posted: 1 year ago -

“Has anyone ever told ye that referring to yerself in the third person is wee bit batty?” Campbell Bain said to the rather ominous voice over the phone. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and groaned a bit with the effort to sit up.

“Do you want the exclusive or not Bain?” Y/N said over the phone sounding more than a little irritated.

“Sorry sensitive subject, eh?” Campbell teased. Right about now that wrinkle would be forming just between her otherwise impeccably groomed eyebrows. He knew that wrinkle well.

"…" Y/N doesn’t respond. The silence over the phone was disconcerting. This was not like her. She was never without a response. That was the one predictable thing about her, she always had a comeback. Mind you some were better than others, but she always got the last word, no matter what.

Campbell found himself sitting up straighter and listening for sounds of distress. Maybe this was a cry for help? Maybe someone had broken in and this was her convert way of contacting the police? Campbell’s brain speed ran a list of everything that could possibly or impossibly go wrong in this moment.

“I don’t have the energy for this, Campbell” Y/N said finally, her voice sounding defeated. He let out the breathe he’d been holding, before sucking it right back in. She used his first name. She never used his first name. It was always ‘Bain’ or ‘Bastard’ or ‘Bain, you bastard’. Something was up. Something was wrong. The world was tilting off its axis and Campbell Bain was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Why are ye giving me the story?” Campbell said suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop from the sky and knock him on his ass. This story could make his career, the exclusive tell-all of a pop-star at the height of her fame disappearing without a trace overnight. Only to pop up out of the blue after no one had seen or heard from her in over a year. A story like this would something of a crowning achievement, and she despised him. So why on god’s green earth would she choose him to tell this story.

“Why not.” Y/N said. As if was as simple as that. As if they hadn’t spent half of the last decade trading schoolyard taunts in a professional setting. Much to the delight of their bosses and the chagrin of anyone who had to bear witness to it in person. “We’ve done plenty of interviews together.”

“Nae, we’ve had plenty of sparring matches disguised as interviews” Campbell said “and ye had to be dragged kicking and screaming into every last one.” Each interview over the years flashed through his mind, one for each album she’d dropped. There had been a total six so far. A frankly ridiculous amount of music to release in such a short period of time. Nearly one album a year. Except for last year, when Y/N had fallen off the face of the earth and not a soul knew why.

If his memory serves him well, which it often didn’t, that last interview had been a particularly nasty one. No matter how many times they did this same old tired routine, bickering back and forth over a difference of opinions and deep seeded resentment, the public ate it up everytime.

“This one’s different” Y/N said quietly. Campbell could barely hear her over the broken speakers of his phone, water damaged from taking it in the shower to listen to music and escape the never silent cacophony in his mind. But her small voice crept through and sunk the tiniest little hook in his heart.

“Different how?” Campbell said slowly, like he was feeling out the words in his mouth. Was she going skewer him like shish kabob this time? Or maybe drop kick him into the sun and use a picture of his glorious death as an album cover. He had so many questions and so little answers.

“It’s just different,” Y/N sighed “I don’t want to talk about this over the phone. Meet me at Maison Marcelle at 9 o’clock tomorrow. I’ll send a driver to pick you up, I don’t want you followed.” With that line went dead.

“Gosh, that was cryptic.” Campbell rubbed a tired hand over his face. The guitar string callouses on his fingers caught on the tiny amount of stubble he managed to accumulate. He would need to shave for his audience with Her Majesty the Queen of Hell tomorrow.

The conversation left Campbell feeling deeply unsettled. Much too restless to go bed, the lanky brunette wandered to the kitchen. He hunted down his two favorite mugs and the good cocoa from his cupboard. If cocoa couldn’t knock him out, nothing would. It was a habit he’d picked up at St. Jude’s. He’d learned to cope better as he got older. Not all the time, but he could take care of himself at least 4 days out of the week, so that was a win. Grief made things difficult but at least some traditions never die.

Campbell boiled milk in a kettle on the stove and pulled out three packets of cocoa mix. With a dutifully practiced hand, he poured milk into each of the mugs. Then emptied a package and a half into each, he’d always liked his cocoa a little sweeter. He stirred the powder in and let it dissolve. Cursing himself for forgetting to buy more mini marshmallows while he was at the store last.

In the peaceful silence of the kitchen, Campbell pushed the other mug of cocoa to the empty chair across from him and let it grow cold. Thoughtlessly sipping from his drink too quickly, he burnt his tongue. He pictured Fergus in the seat across from him, laughing at his impatience and let the bittersweet feeling sit in his chest. What would he think of him now?

Campbell shook his shaggy brown hair like he could shake off the intrusive thought like a wet dog. No such luck. It was a thought he’d had often. Would Fergus be proud of Campbell for finally accomplishing the thing he set out do? What would he think of this abrasive persona he’d adopted to keep viewers interested? What would he think of this long standing beef between him and a woman he hardly knows? A woman who inexplicably wanted to hand him the rights to an interview that could make him millions. None of it made sense.

Lost in his own thoughts, Campbell ended up sipping out of an empty cup, long since drained. He sighed and stood up to put his mug in the sink. He could wash it in morning. Along with the other miscellaneous items he kept intending to “wash in the morning”. It always slipped his mind, there were much more interesting things to focus his energy on.

Campbell turned to look at the quickly cooling mug of cocoa on the table and decided to leave it out for ghost Fergus to enjoy a little bit longer. That’s just how grief was sometimes. Always leaving space for someone who wasn’t coming back. Just in case.

Campbell shuffled down the hall to his room, just about to throw himself into his bed without brushing his teeth. Until he heard Eddie’s voice ringing through his mind saying something about his teeth rotting and falling out his head. So in honor of his old mentor, he gave his teeth a quick scrub and before throwing his tired body haphazardly into bed.

Tomorrow he’d stare down the devil herself and get some answers. But for tonight, he would just hope he didn’t dream.

_________________________________________________

Next Chapter

A/N: i am very proud this chapter and writing this series is the most fun i’ve had in a minute so i’m just gonna writing it.

#david tennant #campbell bain fanfic #campbell bain #campbell bain x reader #taking over the asylum #fanfic writing #fanfic #reader insert #modern au #radio host au #kisses-from-crows #enjoy!#multi part fic #takin’ over the asylum

35 notes · View notes

dorothygale123 · 3 months

Text

I think I've mentioned Nuwa repairing the sky before, but I don't thinks I've ever gone into the myth so we're doing that today.

The story begins with two other gods entirely, as they are the ones who cause the problem in the first place. One of them was Gonggong, a water deity. Sources vary on who he was fighting (some say it was Zhuanxu, the Black Emperor), but he is most commonly said to have fought the fire god Zhurong. No matter who he ends up fighting, Gonggong loses and is a very poor sport about it. He throws a temper tantrum and winds up running headfirst into Mount Buzhou and breaks it.

Unfortunately, that mountain is in charge of holding up the sky and breaking it has dire consequences. The sky starts to tilt and crack while water goes everywhere. Nuwa notices the situation and goes to do something about it. First, she goes and kills a giant turtle (possibly one of the ones carrying the mythological mountains of Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou) and cut off its legs to make new pillars su support the falling sky. However, that still wasn't enough, so she grabbed a passing black dragon an killed it to use as a pillar to hold up the sky in the middle (I like to think she smacked it on the ground like a Looney Toon). Some say that this pillar-dragon would later become the Ruyi Jingu Bang, the legendary weapon of Sun Wukong. Now that the sky was propped up, Nuwa had to deal with all the cracks that had formed. She scoured riverbeds for over 30,000 stones in 5 colors (possibly the colors associated with the 5 elements) and melted them so she could glue the sky back together.

Now, the book doesn't say she went and gave the two knuckleheads that caused this problem an ass-whooping, but I certainly would have. Then again, Gonggong supposedly died when he broke Mount Buzhou with his thick head, so it'd be a whole trip down to the underworld just to give that idiot a piece of her mind....

Anyways, the sky was no longer falling so Chicken Little could presumably find some new to stress over.

However, there was still lasting damage from the incident. First, the sky was tilted. This was the explanation for the Earth's slight tilt on it's axis that causes the seasons in real life. Another unfortunate consequence is that while Nuwa stopped MORE water from coming out, she couldn't exactly do anything about the water that was already there.....

TO BE CONTINUED......

Sh*tpost Masterlist

#mythology sh*tposting #lmk #chinese mythology #sun wukong #journey to the west #mythology #jttw #ruyi jingu bang #nuwa #nuwa repairs the sky #zhuanxu #gonggong #zhurong

9 notes · View notes

themsource · 1 year

Text

Catalyst

Rating: M Word count: 1,480 Pairing: HT Sans/Reader

I read Htsan's It's just a game and Love Grows by lylia9000. Both really good 4th wall romances that I strongly rec. I got inspired to write a short based on the premise.

They say there are 5 elements to a story; Exposition, Raising Action, Climax, Falling Action, and finally the Conclusion.

So let's start with the exposition.

Once upon a time, a human fell into the underground—

But you already knew that, didn't you?

We have to fast forward. Scroll through the endless trials and multiple scenes played out by long familiar characters as they blur and blend into a rainbow painted in greyscale.

That's right.

This story has already ended. The climax is long passed and forgotten.

Or it should've been…at least.

Watch the world around you, witness the way the sky shifts and the earth sinks, stare into the void as reality itself tears apart like paper ripped right down the center.

A fissure now in place of what had once been a happy ending.

And that's where we stop.

In a white roar of noise with nothing but sorrow, and hunger, for company.

Once a story ends it must inevitably bleed into another. There are souls in the world that wouldn't have it any other way.

But the question we should be asking ourselves is: how?

How can something continue past a conclusion, if it's already ended? Then surely, the story never truly concluded in the first place, right?

Wrong.

A world fades and collides when people stop caring for it. A tale falls out of time when there's no minds and hearts to suspend it. A story dies when there's no one left to listen, until there's no one left to tell it.

And that is the conclusion.

So, how?

…simple, by being broken.

By throwing the world off its axis and distorting liner perception of time, by blinking in and out of other's spaces and recognitions, by listening—

To the silence.

And finding sound.

The rain is falling.

It's a cascade of endless drizzle carrying with it the scent of wet cement and mud caked paving stones through a bleak coloration of dreary silver.

A skeleton stands beneath it, unfazed and unimpressed by the downpour as he stares up at the sky and sees only black. The water falling into his sockets is barely a footnote in his attention, as are the countless droplets pouring into the massive crack in his skull. The water gathers and chills him from the inside out but he fails to notice, too used to the lack of any real sensation other than ice against his bones.

The huff he lets out comes out a thick cloud of icy vapor as his gaze slowly drops to the barren road in front of him. He possesses a single eye—the color of fresh blood—in his left socket. It once belonged to another but now it serves him and is kept alive by his magic, and as a consequence lights the darkened space around him with an ominous tinted glow that casts his sharpened features in stark relief.

Terrifying, imposing.

Even as he wears an expression of utter exhaustion and boredom.

"told him it was going to rain." He mutters. "but did he listen? no, of course he didn't. thanks pap, you're the best."

His tone drips sarcasm but it's half hearted at best. He's beyond caring to scathe and scorn others with any real venom as he once did. With a spine chilling creak his arm lifts to scratch at the gap atop his cranium. The ache of his body is made obvious as he lets what had once been blunt tips—but now were deadly macabre claws—scrape down the side of his skull.

The sound of nails on chalkboard screeches around him filling the silence.

It stops once his phalanges find what they seek and latch onto the rim of his dead socket. He pulls—

There's a crack.

He hisses, satisfied.

Sighing he lets go and tucks his wandering hand back into the drenched pocket of his threadbare and torn coat. Its color has faded so drastically from neglect that no one can correctly guess that its shade had once been a soft deep blue, or that the gray fur that adornes it had belonged to a brown pelted wolf before being haphazardly sown in to provide a false warmth to a starving creature when the fleece had long since fallen from inside it.

The skeleton groans.

No one hears him.

No one but the girl whose hair he keeps trapped within the locket he tucks away safely beneath his hole-ridden shirt, pressed flush against his ribs where his soul thrums. There's a pulse and he smirks, but just as quickly as it'd arrived it falls to be replaced with a frown as metal on metal grinds through the air and signals the arrival of a bus.

The doors open as soon as it stops.

He glares impassively at the driver who meets him with a dour expression of his own. The driver is a human—a monster hater that carries no shame for his beliefs. The skeleton hates him but respects the man's honesty in his bigotry.

"took ya long enough." He grumbles. His steps are heavy and cause the bus to dip as he shuffles on and walks past the man, making sure to swipe a bent passcard over the machine in passing with his stare aimed and locked on the seat furthest in the back. His usual spot.

"You're lucky I stopped at all." The driver drones back before slamming the handle down to lock the doors.

The monster laughs, and manages to keep his balance without a single sway as the bus lurches and takes off at a speed meant to topple him. 'nice try', he thinks, before taking his seat.

There’s blood, the clash of water on rock as the tide rolls in and with it a furious burn that stabs and numbs all at once. Betrayal goes down bitter and rises back up a bitter bile spewing hate and agony. Revulsion claws at cloth and splinters bone, spilling marrow and blackened ichor down teeth that can no longer grin with anything but ire and loathing.

The monster stands before a door.

Putrid desire fills his chest cavity like smog from freshly burned smoke stacks. He closes his sockets and wraps a hand around the locket still hidden away beneath his clothing and believes he can feel it scorch the skin he doesn’t have. Sockets narrowed and grin sharp he pushes open the door, and is met with a human female bound in frayed rope and thick iron rusted chains inscribed with the ancient language of his magic.

She looks up through fearful almond colored eyes.

“missed me?” The way in which he asks is teasing, cruel. “sorry, had a bit of a long day. pap decided i needed to walk home. something about needing the exercise, heh, what a riot.”

“I–”

He moves quickly, his speed faster than a jaguar's as he snatches her hair and twists it around his wrist. She lets out a pained cry as he pulls til her neck is a straight line of flesh, her nose pointed directly at the ceiling as she struggles under the bonds that keep her on her knees. He closes in on her, and forces her eyes to stare into the blinding fury of his eye as it roils with latent fury and malicious intent.

His words are a whisper of warning, “i wasn’t talking to you.”

She shuts her eyes as she gives in and goes limp.

Phalanges slip under his shirt and drag over his spinal column and ribs, slowly, savoring their journey, before alighting against the locket that now burns hot enough it’s searing. He relishes the sting as he grips it and tugs it free. The clasp easily comes undone and its chain falls between the creases of his joints, pools and falls to drip down as if liquid gold.

He lets go of the girl’s hair and she whimpers knowing what comes next.

There’s reverence in his gaze as he stares down at the trinket he holds. The locket is nestled safely in his palm–a tiny seed in a devil’s clutch–he doesn’t resist the urge to cup it in both hands as his smile falls into a softened frown. He shuts his sockets and holds it against his chest before opening them again with a manic glee.

The sound of the chain rattling echoes as the locket falls and goes taunt to suspend between his hands. A morbid imitation of a human nailed to a crucifix is depicted as a white light forms over its center and expands into being.

Carefully he brings the chain around the girl’s neck–

The maddening twist of a stomach years long empty, a blinding hysteria of hopelessness and apathy, yearning–unfathomable yearning to fall.

The world is bathed in black.

Light shines in around hazy edges as sensation floods in.

“there you are.” Sans whispers, soft.. “happy to see me, krokette?”

You smile. “Always.”

#undertale au #sans/reader #sans #reader #horrortale #yeah i know i'm on an ht kick #i tried to do meta #emphasis on tried lol #meh my own twist i guess #hope it's a good read anyways #yeah and i have a rope thing sue me--#XD #my writing

39 notes · View notes

honeysmokedham · 9 months

Text

TIMING: July 10th, 2023 PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Nora @honeysmokedham LOCATION: The Mines SUMMARY: Nora is a fresh made crystal monster who had previously been telling everyone she was dying. Emilio is making sure Nora isn't dead. They talk. CONTENT WARNINGS: Parental Death TW (mention) Sibling Death tw (mention) Child Death tw (mention) (the emilio trauma pack tw list)

Concern ebbed in his gut as he made his way towards the mines. He didn’t know what to do here. It was a bad feeling, the helplessness that had been eating away at him ever since Nora told him she was going to die. It kept dragging him back to that familiar living room, with blood on the floor. How many times, he wondered, could you fail to save the people you cared about before failure became the only thing you were good at? How many graves could you dig before the dirt became a permanent fixture beneath your nails?

Nora was alive, but he hadn’t saved her. Nora was alive, but there was still something wrong. Those pictures she’d sent, with the same purple crystals that had been popping up all over town clawing their way from beneath her skin, they set him on edge in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He felt cold and uncertain and everything was wrong. Dread sat heavy in his chest, paranoia worse than its already impressive default state.

He stopped in front of the entrance to the mine, leg aching. He sent a quick message telling her he was there, hoping he wouldn’t have to venture into the mines but prepared to do so if it became necessary. Emilio would crawl into the earth if he had to. If crawling into a grave meant he didn’t have to dig another one, he wouldn’t hesitate.

"I don't understand why he's dancing." It was their second watch-through of Morbius. Apparently one hadn't been enough to get into the spirit of the movie. Whatever spirit that was supposed to be, Nora didn't know. She wasn't sure she'd ever find it. A ding from her phone. Nora fumbled it into a reading position. More often than not she found herself dropping her phone thanks to the crystalline talons that tipped her fingers. "Mimi is here," Nora noted to Cass. "I gotta go talk to him. I told him the banshee screamed for me, I don't think he believes I'm alive." Nora extricated herself from the fort the pair had made. The mines were turning into a comfortable home. "I'll be back," Nora told her friend, throwing in one of Matt Smith's atrocious dance moves as a fair well.

The trip to the entrance of the mines was easy, it was familiar. As familiar as the walk down into her crypt, or the walk into Axis. It was a home. The familiar scent of Irish Spring Soap and cigarettes met her as she neared the entrance. Nora wondered how close he'd gotten, would he enter the mines? That would be nice. Everyone should live in the mines with her. A big family of her favorite people in her favorite place. She was sure that the mines would fix his knee. Just like the mines had saved her life. "'Sup Mimi." Nora made sure her approach was dramatic. Glowing crystals coming out of a darkness that was exaggerated by her illusions. "Welcome to the mines."

Nora stood there for a second. Two seconds. Three. "Death looks good on me, don't you think?" And like that, she was a kid showing off something she was proud of. Nora did a slow turn, arms held wide, making sure he could see her full monstrosity. "Sick right?" The pictures didn't do it justice. The pictures didn't capture the slight glow or the way they made soft chiming noises when Nora moved.

Somehow, some part of him hadn’t believed she was alive until now. Logically, he’d known she was. He’d spoken to her, he’d seen the pictures she sent. He knew she was alive, was well enough to talk and look as happy as he’d ever seen her in the photos she sent. Still, there was a flood of relief as she came to the surface — breathing, moving, and tangible. There was no twist in his gut that meant undead, despite her claims that she’d died and risen up down in the mines, and that was a good thing.

“You’re not dead,” he told her, though he was pretty sure she’d argue. She usually did, when she had her mind set to something. And she seemed to have her mind set pretty firmly to this. Still, saying aloud helped just a little. His heartbeat slowed, his shoulders released some tension. She wasn’t dead.

She also wasn’t normal. He’d half-hoped the pictures she sent him were doctored in some way or another. Emilio might not have known much about photoshop, but he knew that people more talented than him could manage some pretty impressive feats with it. But here Nora stood, in front of him in the flesh, covered in those goddamn crystals. He took a step forward, watching her with a wary eye as she turned. Sick was one word for it, though he figured the way he was thinking meant something a little different than Nora’s use. “What the hell happened to you? Are you —” He choked on his words a little, relief that she was alive and concern that something was wrong fighting it out in his head. “Are you okay, kid?”

“Anymore.” Nora added the correction to the statement, she wasn’t dead anymore. It was an important distinction. Important to her because it had been a life changing event. It had shifted her world, it had shattered her bones, it had remade her in the image of the mines. Death had wrapped its boney fingers around her heart with the intention of crushing her, but she had been pulled back to the mortal coil with a purpose. The purpose of being an acolyte to the mines. Nora didn’t miss the relief that seemed to seep over Emilio’s features. It came in the subtle way his jaw seemed to unclench, his shoulders relaxed, and a new calmness entered him. “I keep telling you. Death couldn’t keep me. I remain ungovernable.”

He hadn’t been listening to her. That was typical Emilio. Nora shook her head in the way of the sitcom actors. The way that said, oh there goes Emilio! Being so silly again! “I told you what happened.” She’d spoken it into her phone until her phone got all the words correct and she could send the message explaining her transformation to him. “I’m,” Nora reached out a hand, staring down at the purple talons that made using her phone so difficult now. She flexed the fingers, straightening them and curling them, eyes fixed as if transfixed by her own movements. “I’m perfect. Look at me. I’m perfect.” Nora knew the words she wanted to use to describe how she felt. She knew how to wrap the sentence that explained this is how she should have always looked. How right it felt, but she didn’t need to say them. It was obvious just looking at her.

“What about you, old man?” Nora allowed a smile to creep over her. “How’ve you been doing? Any new cases? I bet the mines could solve all the cases.” Nora turned and cast a fond gaze at the mines, the mines where all the answers to life remain. She wished Emilio could see that.

“Me and death go way back. I’m usually pretty good at telling when it’s around.” It was dry, the way his jokes always were. She wasn’t undead; he knew that, and she had to know that he knew that. Emilio might be a shit hunter where action was concerned, but he could still sense the things he was supposed to be after. He still knew when something had been wrapped up in that blanket of death and uncovered as something else with the same certainty as he knew his own name. And Nora hadn’t. There was so much relief in knowing that Nora hadn’t. Emilio was trying, he was trying to be the kind of man who could look at something undead and not feel a sense of disgust wash over him. He could hang out with Metzli, could exist near Zane without wanting to kill him on the spot, could talk to an undead stranger in a bar and not pull a blade. He was getting better. But there was still that deep-seated sense of unease that came with it. There were still years and years of conditioning, of being told that it was bad was wrong was not okay. It’d take a long time to get out from under that. And so, the relief. Nora wasn’t undead.

But Nora was stubborn.

He knew that about as well as he knew his own name, too. Knew that she’d argue with him about it until she was blue in the face — or whatever color her purple gem-face would turn when she ran out of breath. She’d decided that things were a certain way, and she’d fight for that. She always did. In all honesty, it was one of the things Emilio had always admired about her. She was a good kid, strong. And she liked this. The gems, the mines, all of it. She liked it. That much was clear.

He was still going to fix it, of course. He didn’t trust anything like this, and he’d get her back to the way she’d been before if it killed him. If she hated him for that after… he’d learn to live with it. He’d learned to live with worse.

“Yeah,” he said, “okay. Perfect. Are you in pain?” Maybe that was the better question. He wanted the answer to be no, even if the answer being yes might make her more likely to be willing to let him change her back. The idea of her being in constant pain, of it hurting all the time made his stomach clench up. Emilio knew what that felt like. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all Nora. “Me? Kid, I didn’t really come here to talk about me. I’m fine. Cases are what they always are. Don’t think the mines will change that.” Though they might solve a few of the missing person files on his desk.

“Old drinking buddies, right?” Nora quipped. Emilio shrouded his past in mystery. It had to do with Mexico. It had to do with a family that was gone, dead or missing was never clear. She knew his mom was dead, she thought he alluded to some siblings had gone that route too, but there had always been a line drawn when Nora asked a question that went too deep. A simple, I don’t want to talk about it. Nora reached out a crystalline hand and gently patted it against his arm. An abbreviated version of her cataloged comforting touch. “I know you don’t believe me, but he’s not coming here. He can’t. The mines will protect us.” Nora turned, giving the mines a longing look.

Even while standing just at the entrance, she felt the pull. It called her back. It asked why she was standing outside its embrace? Why didn’t it want her to be cradled in its being, consumed by its energy, and protected by its walls. The outside world felt wide and empty. Had she always lived in the large open world without caring before? Perhaps it was why she made her home in a crypt, the subconscious realization that the mines were for her. The crypt had also protected her with four walls and a ceiling deep within the ground. What was a crypt of not a mine for human bones?

“Pain?” Nora ran a talon against her jaw. It had been weird, losing all the flesh of her jaw to make way for the crystal. It had hurt in the moment of her death, but now? “I feel heavier, but it doesn’t hurt.” Nora patted one of the shoulder crystals. “Sometimes I run into the walls.” Spatial awareness was something she was working on still, now that she had to be aware of every crystal jutting out of her flesh. Trying to lean back was the hardest, the sharp crystals back there hadn’t done her the deficiency of being the same size, which might have made it easier to lean back against them. “I’m perfect, Mimi. This is everything I’ve always wanted to be. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t bother me. It’s a blessing.”

Then Emilio was deflecting back at her. Nora gave him her most deadpan stare, built with extra intensity. “You should talk about yourself sometime, you know. You’re deserving of space. The mine knows that, the mine wants you here.” She knew she probably sounded like an evangelical preacher, trying to convince the sinner to lay down his sin and accept Jesus into the church, but Nora worried about Emilio. Nora wanted him to find the same happiness she had in the mines. “The mines and I, we’re here to help. We want to help you.”

“Right. Drinking buddies.” The joke wasn’t as funny as it usually was. Not in this moment, not even with Nora standing in front of him in one piece. Death was a familiar thing, but it never seemed to have much interest in Emilio himself. It took the people around him one by one, broke them down bit by bit and ground them into powder. His father died before he could form a solid image of his face in his memory, his oldest brother was gone before he turned thirteen. He was thirty-four years old and an orphan, a widower, a father whose child was already in the ground. Death was an old drinking buddy, sure, but not one who had any interest in taking Emilio home.

So there’d been that fear, when Nora first started telling him that she was dying. There’d been that familiar grip of panic, that old ache that took him back in time to a living room floor and blood on the walls. Emilio and death existed in a quiet cohabitation, but there were so many people he couldn’t stand for it to take. Nora had quickly cemented herself as one of them, as a name right up at the top of the list of people he thought ought to be untouchable. And still, he almost couldn’t let himself believe she was here until her hand found his shoulder, until those rough crystals brushed against his shirt. Nora was here. Nora was alive. And death could fuck off, this time. Death could go right back where it came from.

“Okay,” he said quietly, because there was no arguing with her when she was like this. She said the mines were a death free zone, and he knew they weren’t but he knew his arguments would fall on deaf ears all the same. If he were a little less exhausted, he might try it anyway. He was as stubborn as she was, and he knew he was right about this one. There was no safe place in the world that couldn’t be made unsafe, were no walls death couldn’t walk through. He thought back, as he always did, to that living room in Mexico with the cross on the wall and the iron doorframe. He thought of the nights he’d fallen asleep on the couch with a baby on his chest without fear, without anxiety.

He thought of how the only difference between a safe place and a casket was whether the hearts that sat within it were still beating.

Nora’s was. He could hear it in her chest, a strange echo through the crystals in her skin. Beating oddly, but beating all the same. It could change in an instant, he knew; it only every took a second for one heartbeat to fail to give in to the next, for one breath to become a person’s last. But Nora was alive for now, and maybe that had to be enough.

His shoulders slumped in quiet relief as she said there was no pain, and he let himself believe her even though it seemed impossible. She was able to stand upright, at least, and wasn’t that more than he could do himself most days? Even now, his leg ached on the uneven ground, as if protesting its own existence. (And maybe Emilio could relate to that sentiment, just a little.) “Well, try not to run into walls.” It was supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one, didn’t feel like one. Nothing really did when he felt like this, when the world was heavy. (Everything was always so goddamn heavy.)

He didn’t know what to believe here. Nora swore that she was better than fine, that she was perfect, but his heart still felt like a jackhammer beating down on his ribs, breaking them up into pieces. He was still in that goddamn living room floor, still washing the blood out from under his fingernails. Maybe he always would be. And Nora was talking about him, was saying he deserved space, and he didn’t know how to tell her that she was wrong. He didn’t know how to put to words that the things he deserved probably weren’t the things she wanted him to have, didn’t know how to say that the space he took up would be so much better if it were filled by someone else, someone who’d been gone for years now.

“I’m not the kind of guy you help,” he said, rather than try to find those ever-elusive words. “You can tell the mines that, too.” He was quiet for a moment, unsure how to proceed. “Said you had a friend down there. The two of you managing all right?”

There was concern written all over his face in bold lettering. Its script spiraled around his features with every word he didn't say. Emilio didn't speak much, he never had. But today he didn't need to. Each look he gave to one of her crystals was a sentence she could hear clearly in his soft voice. The voice he only used when he knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to fix it. The voice that told her he was listening, and he heard her, but he couldn't fix it as much as he wanted to. The unspoken sentences were ones of concern and disbelief. But Nora knew the disbelief wasn't for her, per se, but for the crystals. The story. In a town that was full of the strange and unusual, could she blame him for that? Would she think it was hard to believe something good could happen in this town if she was a jaded old man? Who was to say?

"Wrong. I help you. That's literally my job, dumbass." A pause, before adding. "Assistant? There was a word Nora had always wanted to use. It was apprentice. But it felt too big. Too official. It sounded too much like a, I want to be like you. Even if she did. Even if she looked up to a guy who couldn't accept any help. Neither could she, if she was being honest. "The mines are listening. I don't need to tell them anything." They sang in her bones, they whispered to her crystals. It wasn't a literal voice. As much as a mine shaft looked like an open mouth, the mine shaft vocal chords with the cart the box moving up and down to activate the tone. It wasn't true. No, everything Nora knew from the mines she just... What was the best way to explain it? It was in her. It was her. She was the mines and the mines were her. Their ideas were her own, and if she had her own ideas? What did they matter? The mines wanted what was best.

At the entrance, standing near the open sky, Nora wondered if she actually felt that way, or if something was wrong. But a glance down at her crystalline body reminded her of the favor the mines had done for her. It reminded her that she loved the mines with everything she was. "If the mines don't want to help you, they won't. But they want to help everyone. Remember that." He was stubborn. He would stay stubborn. Nora would let him have this for now.

"Cass." Nora supplied the name because Cass deserved to have her name remembered. Nora glanced back into the darkness. "She's down there. We've been watching things together. It's great. we are fine down there." Words that Nora felt like she repeated a thousand times. Every one was so concerned about the people living in the mines when they should be concerned about living outside the mines. They were missing the beauty of the depths within. For someone who had struggled with words her whole life, she felt like she finally might have them. But only the words that would tell people about the mines. If only they would believe her. If only they wouldn't look at her with faces painted in concern.

"If you change your mind, come. Whenever you want." Nora listed the steps. You start at this tunnel, and you head down. You take the fourth right, there is a winding path but don't leave it. Those multiple little ones will take you to other caverns. Then you take a final right, left, right and straight. Then there was a home. Waiting for anyone who would take it. "Oh. I haven't seen Babadook and Munch in a while. They are refusing to come to the mines. Can you keep an eye out for them? Babs can feed himself, but..." Nora shrugged. "He doesn't look like other dogs. If hunters are after me, they are after him too, right?" Because god forbid anything be different in this town. That wasn't true anymore. The mines welcomed everyone who was different.

"I'm going to get back to Cass now." Nora didn't want to admit it, but standing in the open made her uncomfortable. The mines were a soft embrace closing in around her. This? This was an open hell. Anything could go wrong out here without the watchful eye of the mines. "I'm serious, Emilio. Come to the mines sometimes. Just think about it. It'll change your life."

“You get paid for jobs,” he reminded her. Not that he hadn’t offered to pay her a hundred times now, not that he wouldn’t have shoved cash into her bag when she wasn’t looking if he hadn’t known she’d probably respond by hiding it in his fridge or something. Nora deserved a lot more than he could give her, but he still wished she’d let him give her something. He still wished she’d sleep on his couch instead of sleeping in a crypt or in a mine or wherever it was she decided to lay her head that week. But she wanted freedom, and he understood that. She wanted to be able to pick where she slept and what she did, and Emilio would never take that away from her. He’d never dream of it. “Yeah. Assistant. You pick whatever title you want, okay? We’ll get matching business cards.” Another joke, just as flat and empty as all the ones that had come before it. Even on his best days, Emilio’s humor was dry and flat and unfunny to pretty much everyone but him.

Nora seemed to understand it better than most, at least. Seemed to understand him better than most. She didn’t tend to laugh, because she wasn’t really the laughing type, but… She also didn’t give him odd looks or chastise him for his poor timing. It was part of what he liked about her, part of why she was one of the few people he wanted around even when he was in a slump so deep that the idea of interacting with anyone at all was exhausting. He wasn’t sure when that kid who’d tried so hard to scare him in the cemetery all those months ago had become the exception to so many of his rules. He tried not to think too hard on it. Some things were better when you just let them be.

And maybe, in turn, he could understand the… appeal of this idea she’d built for herself. Of this vague concept that told her the mines were a healing place, this notion that they could help anyone. It was a tempting thing to believe, he thought. It reminded him a little of his relationship with religion, of how he used to cling to the idea that there was a God who loved him, a higher power who’d chosen him for something bigger, a big important thing somewhere in the universe that saw him not as an inferior version of the older siblings who’d surpassed him but as something worth loving all its own. That idea seemed just as ridiculous to him as Nora’s new mine obsession now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still understand why it was a tempting thing to cling to. He wished he could still believe in it. He wished he could look at himself and think that something — God, a mine shaft, his mother — could love him just as he was.

“Cass,” he repeated, because that was easier than accepting everything else that she was saying. The mines were a delusion, and it hurt a little, because the idea that Emilio was fixable, the idea that there were things that weren’t irreparably broken and that he could be one of them was a delusion just as grand. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would think possible without some malicious outside force insisting upon it. “I’m glad you’ve got someone.” And he was glad it was someone better than him.

He nodded, pretending there was any chance that his mind would ever change. Unless he got hit with whatever magic made her this way, he didn’t see himself scrambling to join her in the mines any time soon. But the rest of her request… “I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promised. “Go by the crypt and make sure they’re all right, make sure there’s nobody sniffing around that shouldn’t be.” He was good at steering hunters away from things. It was a skill he figured he’d be using a lot more now that Rhett was in town.

Sucking his teeth, he nodded. She was going back to the mines, and he wasn’t. Even if he’d wanted to, just the idea of making that trek made his leg ache. It was a bad pain day. There’d been a lot more of those since Nora retreated to the mines; a side effect of Emilio pushing himself harder than usual. Probably a side effect he deserved, if he was being honest with himself. “I’ll think about it,” he lied. “Until then, you stay safe. Okay?”

Matching business cards sounded nice. Because Nora wanted to be a private investigator. As Nora thought about that want, the first passion she’d discovered out of painting since childhood, the thought struck her. If she lived in the mines, how would she be a P.I. Nora glanced over her shoulder, the entrance was a mouth waiting to consume her. It called to her. A Siren song that made her heart dance with joy. She turned back to Emilio. She could be a private investigator in the mines, she decided. He’d come in there and finish training her. Then she’d be the second best P.I. in the mines, until Emilio got old and retired and stayed at his cavern as a consultant while Nora took on the mantle of best private investigator. Because that was surely the life the mines were offering for her, it was the life she wanted.

“Cass,” Nora agreed. Nora was glad she had someone too. Nora was glad about Cass all the time. The fact that she hadn’t left. The fact that she’d forgiven Nora. The fact that she existed. “It’d be better with two.” Because who was she to give up her last attempt to get someone else in the mines. Later, Emilio would take that seriously and deliver someone else to Nora’s mine, but it wouldn’t be him. It would be another crystal blessed and Nora would be just as pleased, just as thrilled, to have more people in her home to call family.

“Thank you. Oh. Babadook has recently started terrorizing a retirement home. Oaks Lawn. I did one of those read to the elderly programs,” Nora wasn’t sure that was an actual program, she just showed up and started reading. “And told them a story about how a big dog with tentacles appearing meant a mass death event. Then showed them Babadook. I thought it would be funny.” It was. “But Babadook has really enjoyed hanging out there. He’s a bit of a legend now. You’ll probably find him there if he’s not at the crypt.” Babadook was a good dog. She missed him. She hoped one day he would stop by and visit her, but it was hard to convince a dog without a phone, or the ability to speak a similar language.

“Okay.” Nora agreed. She nodded, the tips of her mouth moving up into a smile. It wasn’t her usual rare micro smile, but something close to a real smile. Something foreign to her since her modeling days ended. “I just want you to be happy.” Nora told Emilio, blunt as usual. “And I think you could be happy with us in the mines.” She turned away, eyes focused on the darkness within. “But we’ll be safe. The mines will keep us safe.” And she let the mines swallow her whole once more.

#chatzy #chatzy: emilio #if it pleases the quartz #parent death tw #sibling death tw

8 notes · View notes

werewolffeelings · 4 months

Note

For the WIP game, Wedding AU??? 👀👀👀

Ty kellieeee 🥰🥰💖

So this one is LONG and more involved than I usually write. Its a no magic au where adam and ronan had a falling out before adam went to college but now bluesey are getting married and they’re the best men!! 😱 It’s a 3 parter starting w the engagement party, then the bachelor party, then the wedding. Here’s a snip from part 2!

“Seriously, man, you gotta stop dating chumps. You should’ve let me take you out back then, set the bar a little higher.”

An unhappy smile pulled up the corner of Adam’s mouth. “It’s not fair to make fun of the guy who had a crush on you. I thought you were better than that.”

Ronan said, “I’m not,” and then, “Wait. What did you say?”

Adam said, “What,” around the filter of the joint. The wind picked up, so he had to cup his hand around it and flick the lighter a few times before it caught.

Ronan watched the flame sear the silhouette of his face with bright, burning orange. He breathed in deep through his nose and out through his mouth in time with the billowing cloud of smoke that poured from Adam’s lips. “Bullshit,” Ronan said. “You’re fucking with me.”

Adam used the hand holding the joint to rub at his face, agitated or tired. “I’m not, actually.”

Ronan snatched the joint out of his hand. “You did not have a crush on me, you fucking liar.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Agree to—you’re not serious. You—you had a crush on Sargent.”

“Yeah, for a little while. And that’s not, like, mutually exclusive.”

Ronan craned his head back to look at the sky, unseeing, as the earth shifted off its axis and its foundation crumbled beneath him.

“When?”

“When what?” It must have been a long time that Ronan had sat in silence, or else Adam was too high to follow the thread of the conversation.

“When did you have a crush on me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Senior year of high school. A little before that, maybe.”

Ronan stood up. He had to pace, to throw something, to—to—

He folded his hands over his head and yelled, “Fuck!”

Adam’s voice went cold. “Jesus, I didn’t figure it was a big deal. Forget I brought it up.”

“No, I—that’s not… Shit.”

Ronan threw himself back down on the ledge, took every hard-won ounce of self control and poured it into containing himself, into not saying something stupid enough to ruin this before it even began. He was so sick of lost chances.

The words shot out of Ronan in a single breath. “Me, too.”

#u knew what you were doing with this one lmao smhh…#💖#kelliealtogether #ask game #my writing

4 notes · View notes

shipperssafehaven · 1 year

Text

as life went on

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43109550

LIFE WENT ON. Will Byers was desperately in love with Mike Wheeler, but the earth stayed on its axis and rotated around the blazing sun in blissful ignorance as if he didn’t.

Because in actuality, Will’s love for Mike wouldn’t freeze time and throw the perception of it off course, and it wouldn’t keep the monsters lurking in the shadows at bay, and it wouldn’t stitch up the cracks in the ground and close the wounds in his heart, and it wouldn’t stomp out the fire that lit his being aflame since he was a mere child; having his father hurl glass bottles and slurs at him.

Loving Mike wouldn’t save him.

Loving Mike wouldn’t fix him.

And loving Mike wouldn’t change him.

In fact, it wouldn’t change anything. Because every day Lucas sat by a hospital bed that held a lifeless Max in it and prayed for a miracle. And El– who was overwhelmed with guilt– wouldn’t leave the house, not wanting to be faced with her failures. And Dustin, the one who was good– the one who always had something to say, kept a black and white bandana shoved in his pocket and remained quiet. And Will…. And Will just watched.

The world as they knew it was falling apart at the seams, so in the wake of the aftermath– when the ground opened up and the red hues lit up Hawkins from under, and the flowers died along with a few friends, and Will was sent back to a time where he hid from the unknown and sung a song that he couldn’t listen to anymore without having a panic attack, all he could do was breathe through it. He inhaled a large gulp of air and kept it in his lungs as if it were smoke, only releasing it when it physically hurt to hold. Then he did it again. And again. And again.

He did it until he finally came to the conclusion that loving Mike could truly only be compared to breathing. It was something he did to survive.

In the end, it gave him the courage to pick up his feet and follow life as it continued. Something that most would think to be a solution, wasn’t. Rather, it was a silent and precious thing that Will carried with him as he found the motivation to go on, despite the monsters– and the cracks– and the scars– and the fires lit within– and the unknowing of what was to come. And for him, that was more than enough. After all, Will loved Mike for free. So as life went on, so did he.

#byler #byler brainrot #byler drabble #byler one shot #will byers centric #will byers is my baby and i will protect him #and so would mike #argue with the wall #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #st4 #post stranger things 4 #byler season 4 #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #jane hopper #i'm down bad for them

7 notes · View notes

a-weird-writer · 2 years

Note

What do you think it would happen if Game! Terra meet Gigamix! Terra?

Nothing good.

Terra is a jerk to the point where he barely tolerates himself, I doubt Terra would like it if he ever met a counterpart, no matter which timeline he originates from.

Spoiler Warning (Mega Man Archie Comics; Ra Moon & Stardroid arcs), mentions of gore, war, genocide & homicidal jerk behavior from Terra's end

Game!Terra is a major downgrade from Gigamix, the bars from there are all low to be honest. Don't get me wrong. Terra's entire role in the game-Archie as well-is pretty dark for Capcom's standards in the eyes of the real world. But not as dark as Argia's characterization of him portrayed.

Game!Terra is much more moderate and eased. Not to mention far less apocalyptic and fairly tame.

Gigamix!Terra is another story; in every single way you can think of. Psychopathic; no humanity with violent tendencies and motivations. Genocide isn't even the tip of the iceberg; only one phase of a multi-stepped plan, bringing Earth's inhabitants toward a deserved demise.

It won't stop at that. Oh no, Gigamix!Terra barely just begun; chaos will rain, despair shall infect the Earth at core, and Terra will view it all; the end of humanity, the devastating death of Earth. And he will laugh.

Gigamix!Terra will watch, look upon the insects in evil glee as disorder quakes Earth's balance of nature off the axis. At peace with what he is, and what he is meant to do; destroy. Completely, utterly obsessed over destruction and pure devastation. His infernal hatred of life in general keeps his motivation at peck performance.

While Game!Terra is sociopathic at worst, he held some symbiose of a bond, a fondness for family. His brothers are highly regarded, a respected group of powerful forces not to be reckoned. Fast and strong, too good to be true. Better than tools, more than their bodies give. Cleaner then trash to throw away when Game!Terra finishes.

He is a great team leader, an experienced strategist in extraordinary war planning. Demanding but respectful, strict but mindful of their foes as they jump into battle. Game!Terra knows just what to say to bring his brother's minds together and fight as a single opposing calamity.

Dare say he cares for their safety (I'd say he cares for the Kuiper droids too. A basketball coach would for his team, one he trained til he could no longer sweat, pieced together day and night.)

Yes, Game!Terra is still an asshole; will kill, will destroy. Capable of berating and insulting others who don't deserve it, beneath him in knowledge and force. Given his line of work, that is predictable.

In the end, from how its put, he fulfills his position; a weaker servant to Sunstar. A world-conquering servant, laying patient underneath his great master. A job he is devoted too.

Violence aside, Game!Terra isn't nearly as incredibly extreme compared to his Gigamix version. Game!Terra is still selfish as hell, boundless in his strictness. But at least he contains some glimpses of humane emotions.

Brief as it is, its there.

Despite everything, Game!Terra cares for his brothers, nonetheless. As much so as a true brother would, looking after his family. He values them; hears their opinions, knows their efforts, respects their strength and works together in a common goal. He relates to the burdens, to any pain they may suffer. Training to look beyond weakness, exploit to adapt.

Most importantly, I feel like I should state this as clear as possible:

Game!Terra wants to rule Earth, not erase it.

Meanwhile Gigamix!Terra can't make it more obvious how much he fucking hates Earth and the universe.

Ok, seriously. Back to violence again.

He is out here floating in Earth's orbit, all crazy smiles like a motherfucker. Declaring war not only to robots, not only to humanity. But literally Earth itself.

Look at this bitch. Think he gives any fucks? Any shits?

If you said "yes" you're lying.

This pale ass bitch couldn't give a shit about anything. Especially when it comes down his own brothers, he doesn't even regard them as true siblings in some English translations of the Gigamix manga if we are really stretching the line paper thin.

Do I even need to talk about the stupid eyeball scene?!

Gigamix!Terra is horrible and terrifying. His brothers-oh no sorry, let me correct myself. His brethren are mere subordinates; soldiers meant to die doing as they were made to do. Tools to be used in Gigamix!Terra's plans to destroy the Earth.

It seems not much of a difference but given these are the Stardroids from 2 vastly separate worlds, I deem it very notable.

But back on the topic of your question, I really really can't see them getting along good.

I see Gigamix!Terra being kind of baffled at first, but then grows owl-like curiosity. You'd be pretty interested in meaning another version of yourself if you lived in the same timeline.

But that doesn't make Gigamix!Terra any less fucking creepy. A blank, blinkless stare and a harmless head tilt wearing a sinister smirk that doesn't reach his eyes.

Not surprised that different versions of him exist, existence is filled with different, limitless possibilities. It's a big world, just with small people. Interesting, this quite unexpected union. Fairly intrigued upon seeing an in-game self.

If Game!Terra lives then how many others are out there? None Gigamix!Terra bothers counting.

Their meeting will be less then friendly, however. No pleasantries, just empty stares, empty words. Tension will fill the air between, distrust and a dramatic show of their so similar powers. They are predators, equipped with flawless, apex senses and speed. Daring the other, their strange twin to move first, spark the inevitable battle. An aura of conflict, a heavy weight. Total unrest from Game!Terra's end, refusing to unveil any type of vulnerability. No one knows you better then yourself; thoughts, emotions and innermost turmoil.

It's a living joke, a possibility born from another impossibility. And they await the other to laugh. To call "sike", a signal for the illusion to fall flat. It doesn't happen, much to their displeasure. They view each other as potential threats, and almost groan in annoyance. More enemies to deal with in the future, more stupid problems to sweep under the rug.

Sure, they talk. Nothing wrong with a little chit-chat to learn about the other's intentions, mysterious as these weird circumstances are. Could be worse, they both know better. But the tension only worsens after Gigamix!Terra learns his in-game counterpart deals with planets and the weaklings differently...

a lot differently.

The silence is deafening. But then, it finally breaks. Something happens, slicing the insufferable quiet in half.

Gigamix!Terra laughs, quite literally at himself.

It's hilarious that this...

broken, weaker version of himself actually exists.

...

(I'm sure you can brainstorm some guesses about what happens next.)

#ask #anonymous #anon #megaman #classic megaman #stardroids #terra #tw mentions of genocide #mentions of gore #tw degradation #tw cruelty

9 notes · View notes

downwiththeficness · 1 year

Text

The Guarantor-Chapter 33

Summary: Frankie went to work every day knowing that there would be an end. A deadline. Reconnecting with her adoptive father, Godric, throws that deadline into question. Teaming up with Godric’s child, Eric, obliterates it entirely. With an uncertain future ahead, Frankie has to learn if she can trust the people around her, let alone herself. Eric Northman/Bisexual!Fem!OC

Word Count: ~4,500

Warnings: Blood, sex, nostalgic games

Taglist: @mousee555

A/N: This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

Start from the Beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Read on AO3 Masterlist

Someone nudged her. Frankie groaned and pushed her face into the pillow. Another nudge. She squeezed her eyes shut and made a kind of ‘uh-uh’ sound. The comforter was pulled from her body, followed by a low, masculine laugh.

“Fuck off, Eric,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“Its time to get up, Sleeping Beauty,” he shot back as he gave her ass a playful swat.

“Don’ wanna,” Frankie whined, pulling her limbs protectively into her body.

It was too late, and she knew it. Frankie was awake, and no amount of snuggling into the mattress was going to let her fall back asleep. With a frustrated sigh, she rolled to her back and rubbed her eyes, blinking blearily at the ceiling. The smoothed expanse of white was flecked with glitter, something she’d never find in any of the motels she’d be able to afford.

The room was illuminated by one of the lamps on the side table and the light coming from the bathroom. She sat up and swung her legs off the bed, one hand covering her face. The world tilted wildly on its axis, drawing bile up and into the back of her throat. It burned with thirst, made her teeth ache.

Eric sat beside her, pushing a cup into her hand. He was damp from a shower, his hair slicked back from his face. She could smell the soap he’d used, the floral scent that he always carried underneath. Looking down, she registered the blood in front of her.

“Eat your breakfast,” Eric prompted, “and get dressed. We’re going on a field trip.”

Frankie pulled a face, but did as she was told.

The field trip turned out to be a drive into the woods, the path growing steadily familiar. Frankie stepped out of the car, pausing when she reached the end of the road. It was the same field she’d walked through two days before, and yet it, like herself, was completely changed.

She stared at it, entranced by the way the grass rolled in waves and the trees swayed with the wind. Little creatures skittered in and out of hiding places, looking for food or fleeing from predators. Under the hard packed dirt, insects busied themselves with digging new tunnels. Above, the stars melted against a navy sky.

“Almost makes it worth it,” Eric murmured.

Frankie looked over at him, “Huh?”

He gestured to the scene laid out before them, “Seeing the world like this—it almost makes it worth losing the sun.”

She hadn’t thought of that—it hadn’t even crossed her mind that Frankie would never see the sun again. Her chin lifted as she looked again, weighed and measured the consequences.

“Almost,” she said, eventually.

They stood like that for a while, the earth spinning in its orbit, bringing new stars across the horizon. Frankie could sense Eric beside her, could feel the steel of determination underneath the cool exterior. There was something more, though, something shimmering beneath the surface that intrigued her. She turned her head to look at him, taking in the relaxed pose. His eyes were scanning the field, and she knew if he returned her gaze, she would see the wheels of his mind working.

Frankie wondered what he was planning, what he meant by taking her back to this place. She almost opened her mouth to ask, but she hesitated. He was on the precipice of telling her, would do so in a moment or two. The moment or two passed, with no movement from Eric. She struggled against her natural inclination to do something, and lost.

Inhaling, Frankie stepped out into the field, picking her way through the grass in the direction of the far off rock face. When she was about fifty paces out, a snarl rose behind her. The sound of it should have frightened her, might have frightened someone who wasn’t completely assured of her own safety. Turning, she looked back in Eric’s direction with her brows up in question.

“Run.”

She frowned, “What?”

His chin jutted out, expression fierce, “Run.”

Frankie hesitated only a moment more, then she let out a joyful laugh and did as she was told for the second time that night. Her arms pumped in opposition to legs that had never felt stronger. Unneeded breaths pushing in and out of her lungs, Frankie darted around trees, leaping over fallen branches and roots. She was sure-footed, sounds of happiness coming out of her mouth.

The wind whipped at her, carrying with it all the scents of the world around her, none of which were jasmine. Frankie slowed to a suspicious stop—listening, watching, waiting. All was quiet, even the animals stopped stirring. She turned in a circle, looking for him. If he’d followed her, he was hiding very, very well.

Releasing a breath, Frankie closed her eyes and cast out the net of her senses. She stood still…

A fraction of a second before he attacked, Frankie caught the feeling of mischief that he was emanating. She had just enough time to get her arms up in front of her before Eric’s body barreled into her and took her to the ground.

Crouched over her prone body, grinning, he called out, “Tag!”

And then he was gone.

Frankie sat up with a bewildered smile on her face before scrambling to standing and taking off after him. He was leaving a deliberate trail, snapping the plant life beneath his feet as he went along. Frankie tracked him with care, aware that he might be laying a trap.

She slowed, crouched defensively. Pushing out her senses, she looked for that mischief she’d felt before. Where...where...where…?

Frankie lunged, her fingers barely brushing against the leather of his jacket as he pushed by her. She focused on him, running full tilt. He was fast—much faster than she was, and it put strain on her new body as Frankie attempted to keep pace. They traversed the field, the sheer face of the rock rising up before them.

He let her catch up again, turning with a wide, toothy grin, “Gotta be better than that.”

Frankie rolled her eyes, “I hadn’t planned on reviving any childhood games when I woke up this morning.”

Eric’s smile faltered, “I know.” There was a short silence, then, “You didn’t plan on being turned, either.”

It drew her up short, the way his voice was soft, the way his expression was just this side of neutral. If she looked hard enough, Frankie might see something like a reprimand in his eyes.

“Ah,” Frankie breathed, “that.”

“Yes,” he replied, granite in his tone, “that.”

Her shoulders slumped as she tried to come up with something to say, “I feel like I should apologize, but it really wasn’t my fault.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t,” he pointed a finger at her, “And that is exactly my point.”

She stared at him, “I don’t follow.”

“You did nothing wrong and you still died!”

Frankie’s eyebrows hit her hairline as she took in the anger in his face, the intensity in his voice. He was good and truly angry—worse, he was showing it, which was a hell of a surprise. She approached, reaching out and touching his chest to calm him.

“Its cool,” she said, “It turned out fine.”

“No,” he bit out, “it didn’t. You died. I felt it. Godric felt it.”

She hadn’t considered that, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Another good point,” he said, “You don’t know. You never know.”

Frankie shook her head, “You lost me again.”

Eric gripped both her shoulders, looking at her levelly, “You’re a fledgling, a baby playing in the biggest pond on the planet.”

“I feel like you’re mixing metaphors, but go on.”

He sighed, “Every vampire in the world is older and stronger than you.”

“So?”

“I can’t walk around trying to protect you when things happen to you that aren’t even your fault.”

Frankie blinked, personal offense growing by the second, “I am so fucking tired of everyone in my life underestimating me—Godric included.” She bared her teeth in anger, “I am a capable adult and I’m not gonna let you condescend to me about protection when I have figured out how to get myself out of all kinds of fucked up situations over the last year. I can handle this.”

His expression sobered. Frankie let him stew on it, let him feel whatever he was feeling because she was right and she knew it.

“But, you know what?” she urged with eyes narrowed to slits.

“What?”

“I have the advantage, because you know what happens when people underestimate you?”

He turned his head to the side in question, “What?”

“They never see it coming,” Frankie tapped his arm, “Tag, bitch.”

Frankie took off, hauling ass as she sped away. He caught her, of course, yelling out ‘tag’ and leaving her in his dust. Frankie laughed and followed him at a distance. He led her on a winding chase that ended at the entrance to the cavern.

Eric slowed enough to turn and look over his shoulder at her with a challenge in his expression before he slid into the crevice and disappeared. Frankie stopped before the crack in the stone, her hands tracing either side. Despite the improvement in her vision, the darkness beyond was still pretty fucking dark.

Angling to the side, Frankie carefully shimmied forward. Moving slowly, but surely, Frankie pushed through until she reached the cavern. There was less light, the full moon waning, but she could still make out the drawings on the walls, the closed seal to the pit.

Eric wasn’t standing there, waiting for her.

Frankie looked around, cautious. Everything was still, not even the air moved. She paused. Frankie couldn’t feel the world anymore, the spin and tilt, the radiation of power that fueled the Earth. It had simply ceased to be.

The wonder of it took her off guard, made it easy for Eric to catch her unaware. He dropped from the opening in the ceiling, falling gracefully down to the floor where he knocked her on her ass for a second time.

She went down laughing.

Eric looked down at her with affection, “What am I going to do with you?”

Frankie just smiled, smug.

He continued to look.

She let him for a long time, resting comfortable on the floor of the cavern. And then she had to ask, “Why did you bring me here?”

One side of his mouth kicked up, “Because you’re a walking magnet for trouble.”

Frankie scoffed, “I mean, why did you bring me here? To this specific place.”

“Because,” he announced, as if the answer was obvious, “I figured it out.”

“You figured what out?”

Eric gestured to the side, his fingers flicking at the seal of the pit, “Where you come from.”

Frankie stared at him, “What?”

“You’re a vampire without a Maker, Frankie,” Eric said slowly, as if talking to a child, “That is what made you.”

Scooting out from underneath him, Frankie rolled to her knees and her fingers in the little crevice around the seal. If this long forgotten pit had made her, Frankie was going to get a good look at it.

Eric was suddenly next to her, helping. They lifted the stone together, sliding it up and off to the side. It dropped with a heavy thump, dust billowing up around it.

Frankie peered down, her eyes adjusting quickly. It looked the same as it had before, dark liquid rippling softly. Brows furrowed, Frankie reached down, dragging her fingers through it lazily. There was a strong resistance to the movement, the blood somehow heavier than she expected.

A pressure wrapped around her wrist, pulling hard. With a screech, Frankie tipped over the lip of the pit, falling head first. It was more than gravity that dragged her under. Frankie struggled against it, failed to get her bearings in the complete darkness that surrounded her. Despite the animal fear that choked in her throat, she knew she was moving with purpose.

How did she know that?

Eyes that should have been unseeing opened, caught a pinprick of light that grew steadily larger. Dazed, suffocating, Frankie could only watch as it slowly encompassed everything, until her entire world was bright, white light.

Floating, weightless, she felt her body go limp as she was quickly overwhelmed. Her skin still felt all that syrup as it held her captive. It quaked with something unseen, rumbling inaudibly. Frankie’s brain whispered that it was the center of everything, the beginning of all beginnings, the start and finish. It resonated with such ferocity that she could feel it down to her very bones.

This was the source of all things.

Frankie could barely quell the panic, hanging on to her sense of self by the tips of her fingers. Whatever it was the she was seeing wanted to fill her, nudge out her entire self and replace it. It was huge, inexorable, ancient. If she wasn’t careful, there would be nothing of Frankie left when it was done.

A slow wave rippled above, disrupting the pattern of pressure on her body. Frankie looked up, could barely see a long, lithe form swimming towards her. He was so far away, barely a blip on the horizon, nothing but darkness at his back.

Eric.

She glanced below, knew that he wouldn’t be able to withstand the light. It would swallow him whole, burn him to ash. Frankie gave a hard kick, working the free herself from whatever held her still. To her great surprise, it let her go.

Frankie had never been much of a swimmer, but she used every ounce of muscle in her body to dash upwards, putting distance between herself and the light at the bottom of the pit. As she got closer to Eric, almost called out to him, her mouth opening. Nothing but silent bubbles floated up and away from her face.

Eric, still far above, saw the bubbles and his face hardened. Moving with the speed afforded to him by his greater strength, he began to close the distance. Frankie worked to meet him, noticing when he noticed the odd light.

Scrambling, Frankie finally got a hold of his hands. He stalled a bit, the illumination of the bottom carving out his furrowed brows. It was Frankie that tugged at him, pulled him back to the surface. Eric reluctantly followed, surpassing her quickly, but keeping her hand in his all the way.

The light faded and Frankie was again swimming through thick, inky black. Grounded by Eric’s hand, she kept moving, until she crested the surface, sucking in a huge gulp of air. Her eyes were coated in viscous fluid, blinding her. She reached frantically for the edge, her feet paddling to keep her moving forward.

It wasn’t until her fingers met cool stone that Frankie loosed Eric’s hand and wiped at her face. Even though she didn’t technically need to breath, her lungs pushed air in and out rapidly. If her heart could still beat, it would be hammering away in her chest. Frankie could feel the adrenaline of yet another brush with death whizzing through her system.

She looked over at him, “Are you okay?”

His eyes widened in shock, “Am I okay? Are you okay?”

“I think so,” she replied, “I’m all sticky, though.”

“You just got pulled into a bottomless pit of blood and your complaint is that you’re all sticky?”

There was a kind of incredulous sarcasm in his voice that bordered on anger. Frankie licked her lips, tasting copper. She may not yet be a connoisseur, but it made all the taste buds on her tongue sizzle. Some part of her inherently knew that this was the feeling of power in its raw form.

Eric hoisted himself out of the pool, turning to sit on the edge with his feet dangling in the blood, “What was that, anyway?”

Frankie looked up at him, noted how comfortable he looked while covered in blood, and thought about demurring. Ultimately deciding against it, she said, “I think that was ‘creation’.”

He echoed the word, ‘creation’, in a low voice, his hand passing over his face to wipe away the gore.

She climbed up beside him, mirroring his pose, “Its…where everything comes from, I think. Its...the sun.”

“I cannot,” he said with a disbelieving sigh, “even begin to understand what you’re talking about.”

Frankie snorted, “You. Me. Same boat.”

Just because the words were in her head did not mean that Frankie could actually comprehend what they meant, or what they might mean to her, in particular. She had a descriptor and an innate knowledge that if the wrong person sank down into that light, they would dissolve like sugar in water.

She leaned into his side, “Thanks for coming in after me.”

His hand landed heavily on her thigh, “I’m still on your team, Frankie. Doesn’t matter to me that you were turned.”

Frankie’s face crumpled as tears welled up in her eyes, a kind of choked sob scraping the back of her throat. She wiped at them, her already red-stained hand gathering more red.

Eric’s arm wrapped around her, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Sniffing, Frankie let him help her to swing her legs out of the pit. They knelt together side by side and set the seal back into place. She took a moment to stare at it, wondering how it had lain undisturbed for so long, how many vampires knew about it, how many had forgotten it.

She rubbed her hands together, the sticky mess drying so that it flaked from her skin and drifted towards the floor. Frankie had blood in places where it really shouldn’t be, her clothes soaked with it. They squished as she moved, chafing.

And then, Eric was drawing her upwards and directing her away. She slid through the crevice and out into the real world. As she stepped forward, that feeling of the spinning planet returned, and it felt eerily like being at the bottom of the pit.

Frankie shivered.

Eric slowed to a stop beside her and murmured, “I believe its still your turn.”

She stared after him as he took off again, rushing into the night. Smiling wide, Frankie once again gave chase. She followed him deep into a wooded area, her pace slowing as she lost sight of him.

The sound of running water came to her, and she turned towards it. As she ran, a small creek emerged from the underbrush, water gurgling as it flowed. Frankie stopped on the river bed, dazzled by the way the moonlight reflected off the water, throwing shimmering rainbows everywhere.

A body hit her, throwing her to the ground. Above, Eric was grinning, his eyes bright, “Too easy, Frankie.”

Giggling, Frankie’s voice was a taunt, “I’m supposed to find you, remember?”

“And taking forever to do it.”

“I’m not the one who just lost because they got impatient,” Frankie teased as she turned over to face him.

He dropped his weight into his elbows, kissing her with a light touch that was meant to coax. When she reached for him, he smirked and shied away. Undeterred, she grabbed for his shoulders, pulling him down to her. Deftly, she rolled him over onto his back and braced her weight on either side of his body.

Lifting up, Frankie grinned, saying, “You’re it!”

She was off like a bullet, moving along the bank of the creek as fast as she could go. The air moved around her, yanking at her hair and the stiff fabric of her clothes. Frankie’s grin held, joy rising in tandem with her adrenaline.

Once more, she was knocked to the side, their bodies hurtling through space until they landed near the middle of the creek. A few feet deep, the water surrounded them. It rushed around her, the gurgled of its flow now a wave that exploded outwards.

Frankie sat up, still smiling, and wiped droplets from her face. Eric, likewise, sat up, and they stared at each other for a few seconds before they both broke out into laughter. God, but it felt good to laugh—to laugh with a full belly, to laugh as if there was nothing in the world but the two of them and this creek.

Reaching out, Frankie hooked her fingers into the neckline of his t shirt and pulled him in for an affectionate kiss. He was still smiling when their lips met, the expression fading over the next several seconds as the kiss deepened. Frankie inhaled, scenting fresh grass and jasmine, both touched with blood.

His hands roamed, sliding under her shirt to massage her skin. Frankie hummed, letting him pull the material over her head. He ducked down and sucked a mark onto her neck, teeth scraping gently.

Slowly, with care, their clothes were slung aside, until they were naked in the fading moonlight. Eric reclined beside her in the water, half floating. He traced patterns on her body, swirling here and there until he reached her center. Fingers dragging along her slit, Eric applied gradual pressure, slowly opening her up until he could push one, then two, fingers inside.

Frankie was breathing shallowly, her mouth open and her chin tilted up to the sky. She rolled her hips against his hand, seeking more pressure, friction, feeling. Eric’s nose brushed her cheek, his lips trailing down to the junction between her neck and shoulder. He bit down, his blunt teeth sinking hard into her skin, but stopping just short of splitting the surface apart.

She let out a harsh sound, eyes widening in shock as the orgasm rolled along her nerve endings. She gripped his forearm to steady herself, moaning as Eric prolonged the sensation with a firm, steady stroke.

He kissed her cheek, teasing, “Feel good?”

Frankie nodded, despite the way she wanted to swat at him for the taunt. When the pulse in her core slowed, she pushed his hand away and rose up on her knees, intending to return the favor.

Eric caught her hips and guided her down to her hands and knees, instead. The depth of the water made it impossible to keep her head above the surface. She rested there for a moment as he arranged himself behind her. When he’d eased his cock inside, she rose up and back, sitting down on his thighs.

He wrapped his arms around her middle, dropped a kiss onto her shoulder, then dug his knees into the creek bed so that his hips ground against her ass. Frankie groaned as his cock stirred inside her. It was enough to light up her sensitive folds, but not nearly enough to make her come.

With a patience that could only come from a long life, he continued that firm, steady grind until the water around them rippled to the bank and back, and back to the bank all over again.

She whined, needing more and completely unable to get it. Her hips swiveled, her nails scraped, to no avail. Eric was unrelenting, giving her just a little at a time so that the pleasure built so, so slowly. It was maddening—needing more, needing harder, needing faster.

At her ear, he whispered, “Just take what I give you.”

Frankie hissed, “I can’t get there. I need more, Eric.”

He tsked, “I can’t go any harder than this, or I’ll push water up into your pussy. Believe me, you don’t want to know what that feels like.”

She snarled.

Did he have to sound so reasonable?

With half a laugh, Eric said, “Alright, then.”

To her great disappointment, he pulled out. Frankie was then dragged bodily to the shore where their clothes were strewn about. Once again, she was pushed to her hands and knees—this time, he shoved into her with a harsh, forceful thrust.

She cried out, both inflamed and relieved to finally feel that sizzle of pleasure run down her spine and right into her cunt.

“Feel good?” he asked, almost mocking.

He didn’t wait for an answer. His hands dug into her hips to hold her steady while he fucked the ever living hell out of her. Frankie’s fingers dug into the soft earth, holding for dear life as he drove into her with more strength than he had ever used.

Her new body took it, reveled in it. Sounds that she had never made before rang in her ears along with the slap of skin against skin. Her fangs descended, cutting into her lower lip. The feeling of his cock filling her coupled with the taste of her own blood sent her right over the edge.

He went along with her, growling loudly.

They collapsed into a pile of limbs, lounging tiredly in the dirt. Frankie curled into Eric’s side and they rested in silence.

Too soon, Eric was urging to standing so that they could gather their clothes. Frankie held them in front of her, mouth turned down as she debated whether or not she wanted to put them back on.

“C’mon,” Eric prompted, walking out into the water.

Frankie followed, and they washed their clothes in the water. Putting them back on wasn’t the most comfortable experience, but at least they were no longer stiff. The run back to the car dried them so that she didn’t fear ruining the upholstery of Eric’s car.

In the hotel room, Eric pulled her into the bathroom and started the shower. Naked, they washed the remaining blood and creek water from their skin. Hands caressed newly warmed skin, carded through soapy hair. Frankie leaned into him, her arms wrapped around his waist. Eric leaned his chin on her head, thumb circling at the small of her back.

She looked up at him, “Here we are, in the shower, washing away blood.”

Eric’s laughed softly, mirth dancing in his eyes as he silently agreed with her.

“At least no one died this time.”

He reached over and turned off the water, “You’ve got a point.” Then, “Its almost sun up. We should get some rest.”

A short while later, Eric took a call from Pam and stepped into the hallway while Frankie dug around in her suitcase for something to wear to bed. As she set aside a heavy sweater, Frankie blinked down at a small case that she’d stashed away. Flicking open the lock, she ran her fingers over the pistol from the church, its clip sitting beside it.

She thought about loading it and putting it in her purse, took the clip out to do so. Frankie hesitated, her thumb rolling over the casing of the exposed bullet. A sharp burn exploded along her skin, and she dropped it with a hiss.

Sucking her thumb into her mouth, Frankie eyed the smooth bar of metal, barely resisting the urge to kick the thing across the room. Pulling her thumb from her mouth, she looked down at the slowly healing skin, then at the clip, then at her thumb.

“Well, fuck me,” she breathed.

#The Guarantor #True Blood #Eric Northman #vampires #AU

4 notes · View notes

gnflorida · 2 years

Text

a gnf austinshow irl stream would fulfill the prophecy that has existed since george’s loh and likely throw the earth off of its stable axis but like i’m bored so why not

#and hasan too like.. that’s a fucking insane group #if we could get train there i think there would be a rip in the space time continuum #mp

8 notes · View notes

onlylivinboy · 1 year

Text

There was another box beside it, and Gabriel pushed off the lid, opened it up. Inside his hand found something small, metal and shining.

A chain, a necklace. At the end, a heavier pendant--

No. A locket.

He checked, quickly over his shoulder. As if he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Because somehow in these moments, whenever it felt he was coming close to understanding... something, someone got in the way.

In the strangest of ways.

He flipped open the necklace, and what he saw made round dark eyes widen in shock. That he couldn’t process- the meaning of it. A memory, of someone who was him.

Because there he was in a small picture, laughing back at him. There beside him, a sight that made him lose all his breath in one gust. Him, it was him. Who was he, what was this- why didn’t he know??

Something inside of him is screaming, because he’s never had a name to put to this emptiness but all at once looking at this picture of the two of them, he feels all of it.

He throws his hand out against the wall to steady himself, feeling as if the very earth he stood on had been shifted on its axis, and brought him tumbling down with it.

The locket still gripped tightly in hand, the back of it reads,

du er ikke alene,

-g

#drabble #rxne #;in another life

1 note · View note

dustedmagazine · 2 years

Text

Cass McCombs — Heartmind (Anti-)

Photo by Giovanni Duca

youtube

With each album, Cass McCombs mischievously sidesteps expectations of where his music might head next. Heartmind, his tenth, adds another facet to this cracked songwriting diamond. At times frivolous, at others earnest, the album is persistently difficult to parse, despite its redoubtable qualities. As the title suggests, Heartmind attempts to bring together two poles that notoriously repel each other. With it, McCombs continues to fascinate and frustrate in equal measure, seemingly more interested in asking questions than answering them.

While McCombs sent Wit’s End into an early coma with the music-box lullaby “The Lonely Doll,” and knocked Mangy Love off its axis with the turgid rocker “Rancid Girl,” Heartmind upends expectations straight out of the gate. “Music is Blue” comes off like Jim O’Rourke’s Insignificance, the lyrics delivered in a playful, off-the-cuff fashion as McCombs spins a tale about the devil-at-the-crossroads pact of devoting a life to music. There’s a teenage all-or-nothing intensity to this character, which mellows on side 2’s “A Blue, Blue Band,” where the ups and downs of a life on the road are tempered by the easy-going bonhomie among the players.

“Karaoke” speaks the language of the eternal songbook, making reference to multiple classic songs, but ponders whether singing songs without the underlying emotions renders them meaningless (“Is it just karaoke?”). The irony here is that a song which casts doubt on the authenticity of singing someone else’s tune is probably one of McCombs’ more catchy and accessible tracks to date — prime cover material. On the breezy “New Earth,” McCombs inexplicably name-checks Elon Musk, “stewing in his bouillon like a phony chef,” over a feather-light groove. Side 1 is closed out by the magnificent “Unproud Warrior,” its reflective lyrics unfolding patiently atop a languid, two-drummer shuffle.

McCombs throws another curveball at the start of side 2. “Krakatau” has an authentic Latin shimmy, dense with hand percussion, the confidence of the musical execution contrasting markedly with the laundry list of personal shortcomings he wants to toss into the titular volcano. The closing title track barely hangs together, saxophone and fuzz guitar meandering over a tumble of drums, the key lyric, “Heart starts and stops giving itself away,” perhaps alluding to McCombs’ modus operandi. As ever, he refuses to offer any easy answers, leaving the listener beguiled.

Tim Clarke

#cass mccombs #heartmind #tim clarke #albumreview #dusted magazine #indie #songwriter #jim o'rourke

3 notes · View notes

arkanonymous · 12 days

Text

Predictions for how ice ages happen and the origin of the Noah's ark myth

Brief disclaimer: This may not happen for tens or even hundreds of thousands of years. Reader discretion is advised. I don’t have qualifications in this area . This is just my thoughts. More research is needed by those more qualified than I.

The ancients wrote countless stories regarding flood myths, including Ragnarök (Norse mythology), Aztec flood myth, Eridu Genesis (Sumerian mythology), Deucalion and Pyrrha (Greek mythology) and the Epic of Gilgamesh (Mesopotamian mythology). Although Noah's ark stands out most prominently amongst these writings alongside Ragnarök and I believe there is more fact than myth to be seen. Notably, the Younger Dryas extinction event, which occurred approximately 11,700 years ago, may be the origin that inspired these myths. Some posit the impact hypothesis, although I believe that may not be the only cause.

As the Earth rotates, it may be subject to the Dzhanibekov effect of rotating bodies, as Earth has 3 principle axes of inertia. Under specific conditions, such as a rare occurrence of multiple eccentric orbits in our solar system, Earth may flip on its polar axis. (Eccentricity is one factor contributing to Milankovitch cycles, which are associated with long-term changes in Earth’s climate and the occurrence of ice ages and interglacial periods).

youtube

Notably, the delicate balance of both the Sun and Moon’s gravitational pull is what keeps Earth’s axial tilt stable. Taking into consideration that Jupiter and Saturn are the two largest planets in the solar system and have significant gravitational influence. Their gravitational forces perturb the orbits of other planets, including Earth. Over long periods of time, these gravitational interactions can cause variations in Earth’s orbital parameters, including eccentricity. This may disrupt the delicate balance of Earth’s axial tilt.

youtube

Changes in eccentricity of both the Moons orbit around Earth and the Earths orbit around the Sun may create the conditions for an axial flip in between perihelion (closest approach to the Sun) and aphelion (farthest point from the Sun) also Earths rotational torque may factor in to off setting this delicate balance in conjunction with the gravitational pull of the Moon and the Sun also exerting torque on Earth’s equatorial bulge.

If Earth were to flip on its axis, the results may include: Flooding as global sea levels rise as the poles would be exposed to more sunlight for a period of time, Earthquakes as mass is displaced resulting in tsunamis and volcanic eruptions that may throw Earth into a volcanic winter setting the conditions for the next ice age. After time, as more ice builds up, the more sunlight is reflected back cooling global temperatures. Earth’s eccentric orbit would add further cooling. (Which has some notable similarities with the omens of Ragnarök. Also including “comet sightings and the appearance of ominous stars and constellations”. The prior may suggest a perturbance in Jupiter and Saturn's orbit and subsequently the trajectory of asteroids in the main asteroid belt and the latter may suggest the beginning of an axial flip or a change in procession).

More research is needed. If proven even partially correct, it would be best to invest in infrastructure to prepare humanity and the diverse life on Earth for the next ice age or natural disaster such as earthquake absorbent underground habitats and orbital habitats, research into plant life and food sources that can grow in habitat conditions, life support systems and sustainable ecosystems within these habitats and satellites in orbit filled with supplies and seeds.

In conclusion, if earth’s tilt were to be altered by this effect or any other, it would be best to prepare in advance and put our best minds forward. I believe this event may occur at the start and end of each ice age. It may be best to check sedimentary layers for past instances of the onset and offset of ice ages and axial flips or changes in tilt or procession to better understand and predict the next. Perhaps the resonant orbits of the planets in the outer solar system effect the resonant orbits of Jupiter and Saturn, resulting in multiple eccentric orbits thus causing more eccentric orbits in the inner solar system resulting in the prior mentioned.

Yours sincerely, Ark anonymous.

#ice age #earth #science #history #apocalypse #noahs ark #philosophy #solar system #earthquake #mythology #predictions #space #Youtube

1 note · View note

discgolfaction · 1 year

Text

Why Do Disc Golf Discs Fly Differently?

The disc’s flight behavior is affected by several factors, including the wind’s strength and direction. The wing is carried aloft because air moves from high pressure under the wing to low pressure at the tip. The straight-spinning tendency of a gyroscope is what makes a disc possible.

Even the same person, under different settings, can throw the same disc differently. Here are the most prevalent elements that affect a disc’s flight path is as follows:

What Factors Influence The Flight Of A Disc

Several factors can hinder the effectiveness of a disc’s flight. For a player to master the skills of keeping the disc in the air and throwing it accurately, they must put in many hours of practice.

Disc Flight Speed

A disc’s speed is a major factor in its range and the rate at which it travels. In disc golf, the pace is a major factor in maintaining stability. The disc can over-or under-rotate in one direction depending on the speed at which it is being thrown.

Disc Flight Pitch

The “pitch” of a disc golfer’s throw indicates whether the disc will fly with its leading edge pointing up or down. The pitch impacts both the radical and directional ranges of the disc. The disc could reach great heights if the angle is steep, but then it would most likely lose speed and crash back to earth.

For maximum distance, it’s best to keep the disc as level as possible. If you tilt the disc too far, it will go very far.

Disc Lift

A disc is kept above by an opposing force known as a lift. The disc’s forward speed through the air creates a velocity shift known as lift. The lift is a major factor in the disc’s ability to remain airborne.

Disc Spin

Since spin keeps the disc stable, it will keep going in the same direction. A disc with less spin will flip over or twist about its axis of flight and will not travel as far as one with more spin. A lack of spin is one of the two most common issues when throwing accurately from a respectable distance.

Disc Twisting Force

In disc golf, torque is the force required to spin a disc. The disc spins faster in response to an increase in force. Spin may also affect stability. The amount of torque used to throw, then, can have a profound effect on the accuracy of the throw.

Disc Roll

The bank, or rolling angle, determines the path taken by the disc. Disc roll indicates whether the disc is being held with its outer edge facing up or down. The disc’s flight path is mostly determined by its bank angle, and a blank angle can use this very well to avoid opponents who are in the way of a good throw. Most of the time, the disc will keep going down until it reaches its smallest size.

Disc Angular Rotation

Accuracy and range problems are heavily influenced by the disc’s spin angle concerning the disc’s plane angle. The problem is that the disc often sways when it first takes off. The disc’s rotation must be steady and without pause. If the thrower adds spin parallel to the disc’s flat plane, the disc will wobble and be difficult to control.

Disc Parting Line Height

A disc’s stability can be judged by its parting line, the thin strip of plastic that remains on its outer edge after injection molding. The disc with the higher parting line height is more overstable since it has a higher Net Stability. The lowest PLH disc is the least overstable due to its lower Net Stability.

Disc Aerodynamics

An aerodynamic shape minimizes the resistance caused by airflow past. A thing’s speed and range are both enhanced by its aerodynamics. Hence the distinction between long-range and medium-range discs, as well as putters.

How Do The Structures Of A Disc Influence Its Flight?

Disc golfers know the frustration of finding a suitable replacement for a favorite disc. Multiple explanations could be at play here.

Disc Dome

Flatter discs need more speed to fly efficiently and glide less than dome-shaped ones. Flatter discs also tend to keep their thrown angle for a longer period. A larger degree of turn and fading can be seen from a disc with a greater dome during flight.

Fragility Of A Disc

There is a connection between a disc’s dome and its degree of bluntness. A disc with more dome will have a rounder profile, whereas a disc with less dome will have a more squared-off profile. The more pronounced the Oversatbility of a disc, the more rounded the edge will be.

Disc Plastic Tenacity

A disc’s overstability increases with its durability and quality of plastic material. It’s feasible to get multiple uses out of a single overstable disc by rotating it between different bags. The quality of the plastic material of a disc allows the player to get comfortable with one mold before going on to another.

Disc Wing Shape

The disc’s wing form can significantly impact its stability at greater speeds. As the curve gets steeper, the flight becomes less stable. Discs of the same type with a flatter or even convex rim will only fly as well as those with.

Weight Of The Disc

Changes in disc weight do not automatically impact the disc’s stability. Yet, when the weight of the disc lowers, less force and speed are needed to throw it, allowing for greater effort.

State Of The Disc

The disc’s ability to fly will change as it ages due to these minor changes to its shape. Newly produced discs have the best HST and values. When the disc quality decreases, the HST and LSF values will also decrease, resulting in a more rightward-curving line.

Challenges Of Disc Flight

It’s more complex than one may think to fly a disc. To improve your throws, understand disc flight, and become an expert disc golfer, you must first grasp the relationship between disc flight and how the disc is thrown. Here are several things that will hinder your throwing:

Wind Direction

The direction from which the wind is blowing can have a significant impact on any of the variables selected. Depending on the direction and strength of the wind, a disc may change its flight path, behave erratically, pick up speed, slow down, or even fall to the ground.

Force Of Gravity

Everything in the sky, including discs in flight, is subject to the Earth’s gravitational attraction. The same force that keeps us grounded also causes thrown discs to fall to the floor. Overcoming gravity’s effects is difficult. If the disc starts to fall owing to gravity, it could disrupt what would otherwise be a successful throw.

Density Of The Air

Air resistance, or drag, is the force the wind exerts on a flying object. An object’s speed is reduced by drag, which behaves like wind friction. The disc will lose speed as you toss it due to the effects of gravity and air resistance. Well-designed aerodynamic objects fly more easily and with less drag.

Understanding The Physics Of Disc Flight

Disc golf is a challenging sport to play. Yet you can become a top-tier disc golfer if you can master all the aspects of disc flight and have a firm grasp on how discs travel through the air.

Disc golf requires practice, patience, and hard work. It’s vital to have an in-depth understanding of how these variables influence disc flight.

0 notes

anra-thejourneyman · 1 year

Text

THE DAREDEVIL AERONAUT WHO WOWED SCOTLAND

Shepherds looked to the skies in terror and wonderment, thinking the world might be coming to an end. Folk fainted. Folk wept. Folk condemned it as the work of the devil. Folk thought the aliens were landing. But it was only an Italian sex symbol and his cat, his dog, and a caged pigeon.

Magnificent man and his pets in their flying machine, a hydrogen-powered balloon..

It was the beginning of a type of mass hysteria. BALLOONOMANIA had begun. In 1784, long before the Keystone Cops, Monty Python or Fawlty Towers, Vincenzo Lunardi floated through the air in a psychedelic hot-air balloon. An “aerial car” decked in yellow pink and green silks. A sight to behold.

200,000 people watched him take off from Finsbury, London, accompanied by his aforementioned wildlife. He managed to drift for 24 miles and land safely in Hertfordshire..

Slapstick-style he’d to pause his flight when the cat became ill, and he touched down in a cornfield in North Mymms.

Lunardi recalled: “I then had recourse to the utmost use of my single oar: by hard and persevering labour I brought myself within three hundred yards of the earth; and moving horizontally, spoke through my trumpet to some country people, from whom I heard a confused noise in reply.

“At half after three o’clock, I descended in a corn field, on the common of North Mimms, where I landed the cat. The poor animal had been sensibly affected by the cold, during the greatest part of the voyage.”

The following year Lunardi came to Scotland and became a heart throb. The gentry hanselled him for reflected glory. The ladies loved him. So too did a coterie of well-heeled hooray Henries, from drapers to dukes, who had formed a decadent, quasi-masonic cult in Fife called the The Most Ancient and Most Puissant Order of the Beggar’s Benison and Merryland, Anstruther. It was a secret male-oriented sex club with 500 members (forgive the pun). One of their initiation ceremonies involved mutual masturbation. They made Lunardi an honorary member.

The Italian, who was secretary to the Neapolitan ambassador, dedicated his book, An Account of Five Aerial Voyages in Scotland, to the Duke of Buccleuch. One wonders why.

In Edinburgh, in October 1785, a large crowd assembled to witness the balloonist taking off from George Heriot’s school.

He sailed above the city, out and away, revelling in the superb scenery. He wrote: “At this period I excited some anxiety among the minds of the spectators by lowering my flag, which is forty feet square, and fastened to a string 300 feet long; this they interpreted as a signal of distress. The barometer now stood at 28 and had fallen an inch since my departure.”

He got lost in the beauty of the countryside and the hills. He could see Glasgow and Paisley way out west and before long he was over the Firth of Forth. He was going to land on the island of Inchkeith but thought better of it as he saw three boats way down in the glittering silvery sea.

“ The balloon turned on its axis all the time I descended,” he wrote. "Having lowered to within 500 feet of the water I bid the boats goodbye and told them that it was in vain attempting to keep up with them: throwing out a bag of sand, I immediately ascended; and, after taking some refreshment, flung down a bottle: all this time I observed that the balloon was rising gently with a direction due east.

"I then opened my basket of provisions, but do not mean to tell you how I thanked the LADY to whose politeness. I was so much indebted, suffice it to say, that I made a light but not inelegant repast; and then entered a thin cloud, about half a mile in length.”

His first Scottish: 46 miles: he landed in Fife, where there's a plaque dedicated to him.

The Scots Magazine recorded: "The beauty and grandeur of the spectacle could only be exceeded by the cool, intrepid manner in which the adventurer conducted himself; and indeed he seemed infinitely more at ease than the greater part of his spectators."

Months later he took off from St. Andrew’s in the Square churchyard in Glasgow , heading for Hamilton and Lanark before landing near Hawick just over two hours later, where he was met by two frightened shepherds. The wife of one of them was persuaded to become the first Borderer to fly in a balloon. I have sought her name in vain. The magistrates of Hawick presented Lunardi with the freedom of the town and hosted a grand dinner in his honour.

Adulation isn’t a new phenomenon. If they’d had television back then, he’d have been all over it. He’d have made a fortune in advertising. The punters loved it.

Lunardi was probably Scotland’s first “celeb”. Women had the hots for him, they started wearing skirts with balloon motifs, and milliners made balloon-shaped bonnets... Burns, who was born five years after Lunardi, mentioned such a bonnet in To a Louse.

There are streets in Cupar named after Lunardi. Wouldn't it be great if Burns had penned a poem or two about the daredevil aviator!

The Tuscan's balloon was exhibited, ‘suspended in its floating state’, in the choir of St. Mungo’s Cathedral in Glasgow for the admission charge of a shilling.

Not everybody enthused. The diarist Samuel Johnson snorted: " In amusement, mere amusement, I am afraid it must end, for I do not find that its course can be directed so as that it should serve any purposes of communication; and it can give no new intelligence of the state of the air at different heights, till they have ascended above the height of mountains, which they seem never likely to do."

Lunardi left Blighty under a cloud, again no pun meant. In 1786, after attempting his 12th flight, at Newcastle, he spilled sulphuric acid on the ground, causing the assistants restraining the balloon to flee. One of them, the son of Mr. Heron, under-sheriff of Northumberland, became entangled in the rope and was hoyed up into the sky. Eventually, he fell, and died from internal injuries. The furore brought the balloonist down to earth in the eyes of the public, and he left for the Continent.

The higher you are, the harder you fall.

#history #travel #scotland #aviation #scottish borders #fife #glasgow #edinburgh

1 note · View note