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bigfrozenfan-fanfics · 3 years

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Chapter 08 - The secret

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday on (link)

Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting.

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It was just before dawn when Mattias rode off to meet his companions. There was hardly anyone on the streets and he greeted friendly when he came past someone. After he passed the last house and took the path to the upper rock gate, he saw in the distance a vehicle with a canvas-covered body standing at the side of the road. When his companions noticed him, they waved at him.

When he reached them, he did not dismount but bent down and gave each of them a hand as a greeting. Both wore unobtrusive civil clothing.

“Good morning Trygve, good morning Kristina,” he said, sat up again and put both hands on top of each other on the pommel. “Ready for another trip to the Enchanted Forest?” he asked jokingly.

Trygve pulled a face, “Not really. It cost me almost my whole life.”

Kristina agreed and said, “Yes, I feel the same way. But you know, General Mattias, that we will always stand by your side faithfully. I hope we'll be away from there as soon as possible and I can enjoy my retirement on my little houseboat. The fjord is always better than that dreadful forest.”

Mattias nodded seriously, “I can understand that very well and I'm thankful for your willing to help me on this, hopefully very short mission, to get Elsa back to Arendelle incognito. I also want to return to Arendelle as soon as possible, to my dearest Halima. How have you been doing since you came back? We haven't had much of a chance to talk about it.”

“Well, I am back with my family and we are all doing very well. The financial support from the royal family, respectively from Queen Anna, has helped us all a lot and it makes life more comfortable,” answered Trygve.

Kristina looked far less satisfied and hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Unfortunately I have no one else. My relatives died three and four years ago. I visited their grave only last week. But I have made new friends and we do a lot together. I was also able to buy a houseboat and a small sloop with my severance pay. I sail out with it very often on the fjord.” After a little while, she added, “Over all, I'm doing quite well and I can be happy to spend my retirement in Arendelle this way.”

“I'm happy for you,” said Mattias and smiled, but then, turning to Kristina with a sad expression on his face, he added, “I'm sorry for you, Kristina, that you were not able to see your relatives again. My deepest condolences.”

She nodded sadly, "Thank you."

Trygve had looked at her with concern during her narration and now put a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry for you, Kristina, I didn't know.” They looked at each other. “Let's do something together when we get back ... and hey, if you don't mind I'd like to go for a sail on your sloop with you. I'll bring the food too.”

She laughed and nodded. “I'd love to, Trygve.” But then they both lapsed into thoughtful silence.

“All right, folks, the sun's coming up over the horizon. We should slowly set off,” Mattias interrupted their thoughts and took the reins in his hand.

The two nodded and got on the wagon side by side. Trygve had the draught horse trotted, Mattias rode after them. When they had passed the rock gate, Mattias looked back. The first sunrays had already reached the upper part of the castle and bathed the top in a warm light.

~~~

It was of course Olaf who was the first to notice that something was different than usual. While Kristoff and Anna were still enjoying their togetherness in bed, he had already gone outside in the early morning hours and looked around the camp. Since he had been able to read and write, had read all the books he found in the castle for the last two years, and was now even a regular guest in the Arendelle library, he had developed a new view of the world around him. He was curious and liked to combine contexts that no one else saw as he did. Where others took many things for granted, he questioned everything and was the only one who noticed that the Northuldra camp was unusually empty this morning. Apart from women and children, not a single one of the men was to be seen.

“Tell me, guys, isn't it curious that there are barely any men around the camp today? All I see are some women and their little ones.”

Anna and Kristoff sat together with him still a bit sleepy at the fireplace and looked now first at him, but then also peered around surprised.

“You are right, Olaf,” Anna said and raised her eyebrows. “Where did they all go?”

“Maybe they have heavy work to do and need all the strong men for it?” Kristoff surmised and shrugged his shoulders.

“Or maybe they are doing what they often do in Arendelle Castle in the morning when one of those council meetings is taking place,” Olaf replied. Anna and Kristoff looked at him in amazement.

“Might well be,” Anna pondered and nodded thoughtfully, but what could be so important and why didn't they tell me about it; she asked herself. It certainly has something to do with Elsa, but I am her sister and Queen of Arendelle after all, so I should also be informed about everything that concerns her. She made a thoughtful face.

“Let’s gonna find it out,” Kristoff said and stood up. Then he went straight to the next Northuldra woman who was repairing the tunic of one of her children. “Excuse me, but we were just wondering where all your men went. It's so empty in the camp today.”

“They have important things to do today,” she said with a smile and returned to her work. Kristoff turned to Anna, pursed his lips and, with his shoulders raised, spread his arms wide to communicate the disappointing answer.

Anna frowned and now also stood up to ask the next woman the same question. She headed for a young woman who was cutting vegetables for the morning soup in front of her kota. But Anna did not receive a satisfactory answer either, as her expression indicated, when she turned around again and looked at her companions helplessly.

Shaking her head, she went back. “I guess we won't get an answer from anyone else either, by the looks of it.” They both sat down again and looked at one another questioningly.

What have they got to hide; Anna asked herself, and above all why? She put her head in her hands and pondered.

~~~

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Two Northuldra men waded through a shallow part of a quietly flowing wide creek and started to run faster once they reached the other side. The forest was slowly getting denser and man-sized bushes seemed to block the way. But the men knew exactly where a hidden path led through the undergrowth, and shortly afterwards they were no longer to be seen.

When they came out on the other side they stepped into a wide clearing. In the center was a large, elongated building, the upper part of which consisted of a tower-like construction, with skilfully timbered beams that protruded from the symmetrically built roof and ended at the upper end under a pyramid-shaped, open spire. Inside, a narrow wooden staircase led to the top, ending in a small platform. The lower part of the building had some narrow window openings placed remarkably high below the long roof boards, designed exclusively to let light into the interior.

Besides from the central entrance no windows were visible. Instead, at regular intervals long white birch branches were attached to the house in such a way that it almost looked as if they would support the whole structure. The branches protruded through the overhanging roof and then branched filigree upwards. Around the house, large birch trees grew at regular intervals, which were conspicuously straight and with their foliage formed a natural roof over the entire clearing and the building. This place looked impressive and almost magical.

The men rushed through the open double door and one of them pulled it shut behind him.

“Oh man, there you are at last, you're late! You must have been up against a big fish again, Joná?” joked one of the men standing near the entrance, laughing at the fisherman. It was the same one who had been on the beach the day before with a few others to interrogate Joná. Behind him, the hall was filled with Northuldra men, who seemed to be waiting for something, and some of them were talking animatedly.

Joná pulled a face, “Of course not, Völund, but the catch has to be brought to the camp by somebody, or do you want to have stinking fish on your plate later?” Völund waved off bored and turned around again.

The two fishermen looked at each other for a moment, nodded suspiciously and sneaked to the right side of the hall, where there was a second, smaller entrance. This door was wide open. Joná looked around and had to admit to himself that they had apparently really been the last, all the men from the camp were already present. Then he looked up in amazement. The room was very high with an open beam construction. Daylight flooded through the narrow windows. Torch holders were placed under each opening, and underneath them ran a balustrade around the entire interior. At the front, opposite the double doorway, a narrow staircase wound upwards, part of which led inwards in a semicircle and ended in a small opening at the top leading to the tower they had seen from the outside.

Joná had never been here, but of course he knew about the place and the purpose of it. In earlier days there was always a big kota in their camp, with a second entrance remarkably similar to the one he was standing next to now. This access was usually reserved for the shaman, the Noaidi of their people and this kota was used exclusively for rituals and the Norting, a grand assembly of his people. But this was long before his time and on recent decades, as he knew, there was no need of calling out a Great Ting. The last time was before the dam was built and the diplomatic negotiations with the foreigners from Arendelle were started. On these days, their elder had called for a meeting, but was shortly after murdered by this king behind his back. Today Yelana was their unspoken leader, and now it fell to her to proclaim a Norting if neccessary.

Joná was too young back then to attend such a meeting, but his father had told him all about it. Every man in his tribe ought to attend it as they came of age. At least when the opportunity arose. Today was apparently such a day, and Yelana, although not a Noaidi, just came in through the side door. She glanced around the hall for a moment and nodded at him briefly when she noticed him. Joná raised an eyebrow in surprise. Then she circled the waiting men and stood on one of the lower stairs to be heard well everywhere. It became quiet among those present.

She cleared her throat. “Traditionally, I am obliged to call a Norting when an important decision is about to be made and its consequence affect all of us. There are disturbing news related to recent events.”

In the hall there was a low murmur and many looked at each other with concern.

“However, I must first point out that my conclusions are based on suppositions, some of which have not yet been confirmed. Highly plausible assumptions, however. Our fifth spirit Elsa was probably attacked on purpose and there is possibly a certain person behind all this, someone who might have a good reason for it. That someone is also most likely behind the disappearance of the other four nature spirits.”

The worried murmurings in the hall abruptly increased.

“Hear me. I had a hunch, so I went to see Gyda yesterday.”

From the ranks of those present, someone shouted out loud and clear, “Gyda? What does this old witch have to do with it?”

Yelana's gaze swept around, angrily fixating on the one who presumed to disturb her speech and pointing at him with an admonishing index finger. “Be quiet and don't interrupt me! You have no idea what you are talking about. Gyda is not who many of us think she is. She is a solitary person, I admit, but she has been through a lot in her life, and if you would let me finish, you would understand.”

Yelana took a deep breath and outlined in short, rough words what Gyda had told her and how much it had burdened her. However, she left out the climax for now. Yelana was known for her seriousness, but there was one thing she did not miss out on, and that was to bring certain things to the point at the right time. Some of the younger men opened their eyes in surprise when she ended, but didn't dare say anything. Yelana noticed it, of course.

“Yes, those of you who were born under the mist may not have known it yet, but before Elsa, we had another fifth spirit. The older ones among you, including me, still knew him. He was difficult to deal with him, to say the least.”

Some nodded affirmatively.

“It was Gyda's own decision that she lived in seclusion ever since, and many of us have supported it. We have all, in our gullibility, judged her prematurely.”

One could see how many of the heads were lowered and it became quiet as a mouse.

And then Yelana got to the point, and somehow she enjoyed that moment, “Gyda had a son!”

It was quiet for a second, and everyone remained motionless to process what they had heard, but in the next second a wave of excited, loud word fragments burst onto Yelana, when most people suddenly realized what it meant. Yelana let them go for a few moments, but then struck several times hard with her gnarled birch cane on one of the steps above her. The whole construction vibrated and boomed and it became instantly quiet again in the hall.

“We do not know what he is capable of. But the fact that he apparently has the spirits under control and tried to kill Elsa and almost succeeded tells me that he is not to be underestimated by no means. He is different from his father in one crucial respect. He's out for revenge. Revenge on all those who were partly responsible for his father's death. Revenge on all those who came from Arendelle, home of that murderer Runeard.” She let the words sink in, then continued in a softer, but insistent voice.

“I deliberately did not invite Queen Anna and her companions, for as long as they are among us, we too may be the target of Kolgrimr, the name Gyda gave to him. For the time being, none of them may know our secret of the old fifth spirit and his son, and if they had not already planned to leave tomorrow and take Elsa with them, I would have arranged for it myself. Both Anna and Elsa are half Northuldra and half Arendellian and are descended from one of our oldest families. We owe them both so much when they freed us last year and we have made a new peace between us and Arendelle. But I admonish you all anyway. All this is something that we cannot control and we all have to decide this way, because unfortunately there is still something you do not know.”

Yelana paused in the silence and then looked over to Joná. “Come here, Joná,” she said forcefully and waved him over.

All heads turned and looked into the corner where he was standing. Völund's jaw dropped and Joná didn't know what was happening to him. He hesitated and looked around him nervously.

“You need not be afraid. Come...,” Yelana added reassuringly. Slowly he moved towards her, his head lowered and he wished he could hide now, it was clearly visible on his face. Finally he stood next to her and she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Because we had just talked about the fact that many of us have many prejudices and show a lack of respect for one of our own. Here stands Joná and he has done something that showed a lot of courage and conviction to want to help us all. He dared to approach Ahtohallan with his boat despite the ban, because he wanted to find out what was behind all these events. I don't mean to say that I approve, but he found out something that we otherwise wouldn’t know and which was ultimately decisive in convening this Norting.” She whispered to him that he could go back, and Joná hurried to comply.

“Ahtohallan lies beneath a magical fog wall, identical to the one that trapped most of us here for over 34 years. This is probably also the reason why Ahtohallan no longer has a connection to the nature spirits and can no longer help us. There is only one person who can be responsible for this and I hope you now understand why we are all in great danger if this kind of threat should come upon us.”

The ensuing turmoil was indescribable and Yelana had a hard time bringing everyone back to their senses. In the end, she raised both arms and moved her hands up and down to appease them.

“Please calm down again! I can understand your concern, but we are not his main target, please be aware of that. Kolgrimr survived somewhere under the mist completely alone for over 35 years since he was a seven year old kid and he never turned against us once. I guess none of us can even imagine the hatred and despise he has for Arendelle. That is also the reason why none of them can stay among us here. He has only recently started to put his plans into action and I can only hope that Elsa will very soon remember who she was before and what powers she once had. Keep your eyes and ears open and tell me immediately if you discover anything unusual. But please, stay away from him. He may be Northuldra, but no one can say what has become of him in all this time.”

Yelana took a deep breath and finally dissolved the assembly. “That's all for now. You can go back to camp now.”

As the last of them had streamed out of the hall, she sat down on the stairs, a little exhausted. “I don't want to be in the shoes of the Arendellians and I hope that Elsa still has her magic,” she muttered softly to herself and it sounded almost like a prayer.

~~~

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I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know.

Remarks: Back when I was writing this chapter, I dreamed of this hidden building and always wished that someone might be able to draw it for me or that I would be able to do it myself. It wasn't until recently that I dared to do an edit and took Disney's concept art of the Northuldra-style Arendelle Castle as a basis for my story and modified it accordingly. I wish I had better quality imagery for the two Northuldra fishermen there, it took me quite a bit of effort. Hope you like the result.

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp

#frozen #frozen2 #frozen3 #fanfic #epic novel #the broken bridge #chapter 08 #bigfrozenfan

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probablyevilideasafterdark · 2 years

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An Earth Trans in Urtrament, Chapter 8

In this chapter, we see the main magical university of Urtrament, Pergamano, center (and basically whole) of the Vellum Throne, and Wreaz gets political. Chapter nine is in progress, and I should probably actually start considering wrapping it up to post it soon.

Can you believe that chapter 8 brings me above 40k words? I fucking can't. I've got another 3k words in chapter 9, and... I think I'm actually writing a book here, and can't fucking believe it. I've tried writing books before, but never got far. Sure as hell not this far. It's not like this is anywhere near publication ready, but it's near "novel-length first draft" ready, so...

If you enjoy my story, please, reblog. I'm really proud of this weird escapist fantasy story, how much I've written, and how it's helped me build my setting.

And thank you for reading.

Chapter 8: Demonstrations and Soapboxes

The road to Pergamano is uneventful. I stop and rest after a couple hours. Even with a magic mount, riding is hard on someone who isn’t used to it. And I just need to not be on a moving thing for a bit. Nyx and I both take the opportunity to handle general necessities. She wanders a bit, still close by, while I pull out food and get some sorted for her and myself.

While we eat, I check landlay on my slate. There’s a rest stop a little more down the road, and we’re about halfway to Pergamano. One nice thing about my slate is that it has a clock, so I know it’s about 2pm. The conjured steed isn’t fast, at least for someone who’s frame of reference is a car, and a car moves at the steed’s speed when you’re driving through a parking lot, but it’s faster than a real horse, and, I suppose, could probably run flat out for the rest of the way, if I wanted it to. It’d be about an hour.

I weigh how bored I am against the fact that riding at a gallop means an hour of jostling, even with the smooth gait of my conjured goat-thing. Sure, what the hell. Getting to Pergamano about mid-afternoon means maybe I can get the tour and the talk today. They might have guest quarters, meaning a bed for the night, but if not, camping before I head to the coil wouldn’t be so bad.

I fold up the butcher’s paper Nyx’s and my lunch was in, and stash it in a side pocket of my bag. I also pull out one of the blankets and try to soften the saddle a bit before climbing back up, and letting Nyx get settled between the shoulderblades again while I start some music, and hook the sound to my earrings, a little trick I learned with some reading on the first part of the ride, then spur the goat-thing to a trot.

I’m not sure what I expected Pergamano to be like, but riding up to it at a full gallop, I’m not entirely surprised to see literal ivory towers stretching into the sky. A small town stretches around the massive structure of the university, but there is little in the way of bustle in town, mostly people are going about the individual jobs they hold that serve to support the university, repairing tools, working in the fields just beyond the town, carting supplies, and so on. The mark of mage’s who believe magic is not for such trivial things as basic necessities like food and labor. Better to let the little people handle such things.

Which… isn’t necessarily, inherently bad, but… I definitely want to know more about how the college treats their support staff. Are they serfs? Free tenants? Do they struggle for subsistence while sending their crops and such to the benefit of the mages?

As I’m galloping through the center of the small support town towards the formal gates of the college, I hear a voice in my head- “Your arrival has been noted, please slow your mount to a walk. The gate guards will direct you to a meeting place where our welcome staff will see you.”

The voice is… almost stern. More business-like, but with the edge that says ‘I’m more important than you, I am your better, you will obey my authority,’ and promises that stern is merely the next step up of tone. With no compelling reason to not follow the instructions, I follow them, slowing the goat-thing to a canter, then a walk, and riding through the gate to where the gate guards indicated. Once there, I swung a leg over the goat-thing, but remained seated on its back, just facing perpendicular to its body. I’d prefer to be as close to eye-level as possible for this meeting, at least at first, until it becomes impractical.

Sitting there on my mount was slightly unnerving. The æther construct was unmoving, more like an inanimate object than the animal it resembled, even if that animal was a creation of my own thoughts. Add to this that the welcome staff was taking their sweet time, giving me ample opportunity for my anxiety to bubble up. I’m not worried about anything specific, just generally anxious about meeting new people, and especially people who are almost certainly not going to be my kind of young disaster people. I pull out my slate to do some reading while I wait. Perhaps I can find some way to make my mount more alive.

It’s another sevenish minutes before a man in austere robes approaches. He’s human-looking at first, but as he nears, I see some tells of elven heritage. His ears are slightly pointed, there is no hint of stubble or shaved down follicles on his chin. His skin is a pale brown tone, like the wood of a tree, and his hair is a subdued salt-and-pepper black.

“Greetings,” he says as he draws up to a respectable conversation distance, “I understand you are here to learn about Pergamano University of Magic in consideration of attending our fine institution?”

I nod, smirking. If he’s going to be so austere and stern, I’m gonna have to deflate this stuffy conversation a bit, “yeah. Yeah, I’m looking at both Pergamano and the Oroboric Coil to see which would be a better benefit to me and my studies. I’m Wreaz, but you may be waiting for Cassiel Oredenark.” I show him my coffer mark, “There have been some changes.”

He examines my mark, and produces a thin wand to trace it. It’s similar to a coffer wand, but more ornate, and glows with a faint blue light as it traces. “I’m just verifying your identity,” he explains.

“Verify away.”

He scowls mildly as the wand tip glows a pale green. “If you would indulge me, I would like to use more thorough divination magic, to understand.”

I give a shrugging nod, a sort of ambivalent, ‘whatever floats your boat,’ gesture, and he responds by immediately gesturing and intoning a simple spell, causing his eyes to glow. True Seeing, if I were to guess. After a moment, his eyes widen in startled incomprehension, then sweep over me, my conjured steed, and Nyx. The glow of his eyes fades, and he’s obviously unsteadied.

“I think we should perhaps continue our discussion in my office, Miss Ore- er, Wreaz. And summon Archdoctor of Transmutation Khassaem,” he says. Then stops, “Uh, does your mount require stabling?”

I slip from the goat-thing’s back and land on my feet on the ground, “no, that’s fine,” I let Nyx leap from its shoulders to mine, then gesture to dismiss it. “It’s more like a phantom steed, just with some… tweaks.” I’m rewarded with a vision of mild dread concern creeping over his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, sir?”

He inclines his head, the merest perfunctory bow, and he is suddenly on steadier ground with such mundane courtesies. “I am Doctor Shotior. I primarily handle the matters of student life.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Shotior. Lead the way.”

Shotior leads me into the entrance of Pergamano, and down a grand hall, then a smaller branch, to his office. A large desk dominates the center, with a fine, but utilitarian, chair behind it. Before the desk is a much simpler, still well-made chair that speaks to the mundanity of the person who is to sit in it, compared to the understated majesty of the person who would be seated opposite. He gestures to this simple chair, and I give only the mildest side-eye. Then smirk.

“Actually, I believe I’ll leave this chair for Archdoctor Khassaem. Certainly they will need a place to sit as well,” I say, “don’t worry, I can provide my own chair.” I let the wordless echolalia flow, then mingle it with the incantation for a codified spell I had spent the last hour studying. Either this fizzles, in which case they see an overconfident, but ambitious prospective student, or it works and they see someone with very novel magic.

After a moment, a pale purple and green shape sprouts into existence. It is faintly translucent, and shaped like a wing-backed armchair sans legs, floating in mid-air. The wings of the chair, and its back, give the impression of actual wings and a horned and beaked head mantling around me. The chair dips slightly, allowing me to easily sit down without undignified clambering, then rises to hover slightly higher than the surface of the chair beside it.

Shotior arches an eyebrow, “Elore’s phantom platform?” He gives the chair an appraising eye, “Or something like it. Well done. A novel usage.”

I smirk as he tries to maintain his superiority, “something like it. Perhaps not so impressive at first glance, but it is something a bit more than that spell.”

“Yes, it’s more shaped, and doesn’t have a simple disc foundation. As I said, novel.”

I smirk. Another casting and I’m holding a large crossbow, composed of the same streaked energy as my seat, big enough that it’d be too heavy for me to use–if it had weight.

Shotior is speechless a moment, and switches to magical vision, “Er… may I?” he asks, holding out a hand slightly.

“Of course,” I reply, handing the crossbow over and pointing down.

Shotior looks it over and gives the string an experimental pull, “would it function?”

“It should. I haven’t tried it yet, I just formulated this variation on Elore’s on the ride here.” I wave my hand, dismissing the crossbow, “You should see what else I’ve done in the last couple days.”

Shotior blanches slight, before we hear a knock on the door, and it opens.

“Alright, Shotior? You look unwell,” says the portly man who enters. His race is indiscernible, as he has used extensive transmutation to shape his form to the presumable needs of his profession or whims, but largely, he looks human. His hair is faded more towards grey, but still has a bit of black to it, his face is wrinkled in such a way that I can only assume he vainly shaped the wrinkles “aesthetically” as part of his transmutations. His skin is slightly ruddy, but overall a coppery tone that would normally indicate much time spent in the sun, but on him, is likely just more magic.

“Ah, Archdoctor Khassaem, wonderful. This is the, er, prospective that I messaged you about, er, Wreaz.”

Shotior turns towards me and does a slight doubletake, “U-ah, Wreaz, pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand which I shake, “Shotior didn’t say much in the message, just that my expertise may be useful.” He turns to address the both of us, “shall we begin?” He casts about for only the merest fraction of a second before realizing I’d left him the seat in front of Shotior’s desk. He nods his head with a tight smirk and takes his seat as Shotior walks stiffly behind his desk and does likewise. “Please, tell me what you have told Shotior, catch me up.”

I explain what I told to Shotior, plus a bit more, but holding back exact details until I have to give them. Mostly, I just explain that my spirit was placed into Cassiel Oredenark’s body after some magical phenomena and the extinguishing of her own, and then her body was altered to fit my spirit better.

Khassaem purses his lips as he listens and considers. “Fascinating, may I view you with true seeing?”

“Of course. Doctor Shotior did likewise.”

Khassaem casts his spell and looks me and Nyx over, alarm warring with intrigue over his face. “There is… the mark of rather intense elemental magic on your essence. Transmutation is there, of course, but also I see something like Conjuration and Evocation…”

“Yes, the magical phenomena involved æther,” I explain, “therefore, elemental, transmutative energy.”

“Can you explain more about the phenomena?” Khassaem asked.

“I don’t fully understand it, myself. Just that my spirit was caught up by the energy, and as Cassiel’s body had recently been left without a spirit, it was a handy receptacle for my own. I believe she was forming a pact with something, but what or who I could not say. I’m not bound by that pact.”

“Interesting,” Khassaem muses, “Had you died recently? Is that why your spirit could be ‘caught up’?”

“I believe so, yes,” I explain, guardedly, “I believe I had just been in an accident with a heavy weight, my body crushed. I don’t quite remember a lot about it, to be honest.”

“I do see some strings around your essence,” Khassaem says. “Which would normally indicate some form of pact, but they seem to be pure æther, so I have no idea who you would be bound to.”

“Perhaps just a persistent mark from the phenomenon,” I offer.

“Mm, perhaps. Well, this is fascinating. I’ve certainly never seen anything quite like it,” Khassaem says, sitting back. He turns to Shotior, “Certainly, I appreciate you bringing this case to my attention, and I’d quite like to study it,” he turns suddenly to me, “ah, assuming you would consent, of course.”

“Of course, assuming.” I say.

Khassaem seems to miss my exact meaning, and turns back to Shotior, “honestly, this may be more the baileywick of Amnelore or Elsinore,” he turns back to me, “er, they are the Archdoctors of Necromancy and Conjuration, respectively. It really seems to be rather… multi-disciplinary.”

“She-” Shotior begins

“They,” I cut in, holding his gaze.

“Uh, ah…” Shotior is unsteadied slightly, “They” he corrects himself, “are certainly…” He pauses, searching for a polite word, “interesting. Wreaz has already displayed a couple of novel spell alterations, notably to phantom steed, which they arrived with, and Elore’s phantom platform, which created the chair they are currently using and displayed the ability to create much more varied objects with, ones with moving parts.”

Khassaem nods, “good, good.” He turns to me and extends his hand again, “Well, if you decide to attend our fine institution, I’m sure you would be quite a valuable addition.”

I take his hand, “yes, I’m sure I’d be very valued and added to something you all treasure greatly.” I see Shotior’s cocked eyebrow out of the corner of my eye. At least one of these men is listening to what I say rather than the words I choose.

Khassaem stands, “Well, Shotior, I trust you to know your business with admissions, I’ll leave you to it. Wreaz, if you’d allow, I’d like to discuss your situation with Amnelore and Elsinore. I’m sure they’d be fascinated.”

I incline my head. “If I did not want to be the talk of the school, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Capital!” Khassaem exclaims. “If you do decide to attend, please, do find me.”

“Of course, Archdoctor Khassaem.”

The portly blustery man exits Shotior’s office and closes the door behind him, Shotior chuckling to himself slightly once the archdoctor is outside. “Well, I see that in addition to having your way with magic, you’d also have it with debates and intrigue here.”

“Hm, yes, I do like to have my way with quite a lot,” I muse. “But, to business, as it is supposed to always go before pleasure. I did read the pamphlet about Pergamano, but it was somewhat light on details. To begin with, I’d like to know about the administrative structure, its sovereignty, and how the people in the town outside are handled.”

Shotior gives me an appraising gaze, “you don’t want to know about classes? Our student body? Housing?”

“All in good time. Knowing how the college manages its power will weigh quite a lot on my decision, so I’d like to know those things, first.”

He smiles and nods, “of course. Well, for sovereignty and administration, we will begin with the fact that Pergamano is the site of the Vellum Throne. It is a fully sovereign power, and deals on the world stage with other Thrones. In contrast to those other Thrones, however, The Vellum Throne is an elected constitutional monarchy. The monarch of the Throne is selected from the board of Archdoctors from among their number, and is bound to abide by the constitution. The board acts to consult and advise the monarch, who has the final say on any decisions that need to be made. Provided, of course, that said decision abides by the constitution. There are provisions for challenging such decisions, but that is purely the domain of the Archdoctors.”

“Is that in the constitution?” I interrupt.

“Ah, is what in the constitution?”

“That only Archdoctors can challenge the monarch’s decision.”

“I… hm, I’m actually not sure. In practice, it’s only the Archdoctors, but you would have to look in the constitution to see if that is codified.”

“And is that something I could do? Look at the constitution?”

“Yes… although I should warn you that it is a very dry and legalistic document.”

“If I can take it in chunks, I can manage. I may just need to take a break now and then.”

Shotior spreads his hands slightly and inclines his head, “of course. As for administration of the college, each Archdoctor is head of their particular discipline of magic. For anything concerning Transmutation, for instance, the ultimate authority would be Archdoctor Khassaem. Generally, if students feel that a decision of the monarch needs to be challenged, they would work to convince their discipline Archdoctor to do so.”

“And how would I formally contest the decision of a Doctor or Archdoctor, should I feel that is necessary?”

“Each discipline has a hierarchy of doctors, and so you would speak to their superior if you felt a decision was in error. In the case of Archdoctors, you would have to speak to another Archdoctor. If needed, we do have arbitrators who can work to resolve such conflicts.

“I see. The people in the town outside, are they serfs, free tenants, or something else?”

Shotior’s eyebrows arch in interest, “you are quite prepared for this, aren’t you? There is a mixture of serfs and free tenants. Most of them are tenants, but one official punishment for certain crimes is indenture. These criminals are commonly employed in tasks of physical labor that requires little to no skill, although if the criminal has an applicable skill, they may be employed to that end.”

“I see,” I say coolly. “I’d be interested to know how legal matters are handled in The Vellum Thronelands, but I suppose I can research that on my own time if you’ll indulge me use of the library while I’m here and making my decision.”

Shotior nods, “of course, that can be arranged. Do you have more questions? I’m sure you do,” he smirks.

I return his bemused smirk with glaring one of my own, “certainly. How are classes handled here? Also, I’d like to know about student housing, tuition, and supplies.”

Shotior smiles at this return to his actual area, “Ah, yes. Classes have set schedules, and you would sign up for your next terms classes at the end of the term you are in. There is no, precise, set duration of studies, but in general, a student will be considered an alumni at the end of about five years of study, provided they have not been seriously sanctioned, and may claim the title in their outside dealings. Those who wish to continue to study may of course do so. Were you to join us at this time, you would have to content yourself with the fact that there may not be space in courses you wish to take, or doctors may not wish to have someone coming in the middle of the term.

Shotior continues, “We do have housing on premises, but we do have limited dorms, and I would need to check the records to see if there is currently space. If necessary or desired, you could also seek your own housing outside the premises. As for tuition, it is 100 gold per month. If needed, we do have some ways that we can help you make arrangements to reduce that amount or earn it. Supplies are provided to some extent, paid for out of tuition, but you would also be responsible for purchasing supplies needed beyond what is provided.”

“100 gold per month is quite a lot, especially if it’s expected I will need to also purchase supplies. Arrangements would not be necessary, but it is quite steep. I’m curious, how common are these arrangements?”

“Many students take employment as hired mages or take similar work to manage the expense,” Shotior admits. “We have some independently wealthy students, but they are certainly not the majority.

“I see. From seeing the town of support staff, I take it you don’t use much magic to provide for necessities? The food is grown rather conjured, the housing built?”

“Indeed. While certainly many of us here rely on magic in times of need, a salad that’s been grown in the ground or a house built from mundane stone are perfectly reliable, cannot be dispelled, and there are better uses of time and energy that conjuring every little thing.”

“Such as building a magical item that will do that conjuring for you,” I arch an eyebrow and smirk.

“Yes, yes. A magic item for everything,” Shotior dismisses. “I’ve heard the Coil thinks this way, too. A whole lot of peasant philosophy, to be quite honest.”

“I see. Tell me, if you had to travel to Marsti, would you walk, take a horse or carriage, or would you use a phantom steed or teleport?”

“It would depend on why and how quickly I needed to get there, but, taking your meaning, I would likely use magic, yes.”

“And if you were in the wild, unable to make your way home any time soon for whatever reason, would you set about creating snare traps, or trying to hunt for your dinner, or would you rely on magic to keep you fed? And sheltered and alive, for that matter. Assuming you could, of course.”

Shotior spreads his hands, admittingly, “I would use whatever magic I could manage in the circumstances, whatever those may be.”

“I don’t know if you’re married or have children, but assuming so, if there was some imminent danger to your loved ones, an ogre, say, would you attempt to take it on barehanded, or with a sword, or would you use magic?”

He shakes his head wryly, “yes, I would use magic to defend my beloved wife. What is your point, Mi- Wreaz?”

“Magic is a tool. Much like the carriage, the snare trap and the sword. Magic is the tool we have chosen. Other than the nitty-gritty specifics, what broad difference is there between using a horse and plow and waiting for crops, and conjuring food?”

“Skill, the time taken to learn that skill, the fact that conjured food can be dispelled-”

“Farming takes skill, it takes time to learn it, and your crops can be set to flame while growing.”

“It’s completely different!” Shotior protested.

“It is. Because if I had to colonize new land, I would be better off taking any of those people outside this town with me than I would be taking you. They can farm. You think conjuring our needs is a waste.”

Shotior chuckles and shakes his head, “is that not my point? It’s better to use mundane means for necessities?”

“That is your point, yes. My point is that magic is a tool, one that can, given a will behind it to do so, serve just as well as mundane tools. Let me put it this way, consider for a moment that you, personally, have to produce food for a populace. Let’s assume you have expert farming knowledge, and the means to create a device which will produce sufficient food, every day. You are fully able to farm, or use magic to solve the problem. Which would you choose?”

Shotior sighs, “ok, yes. If I were in such a position, I would probably use magic to do so. Because I can and even the thought of farming tires me.”

“Therefore, would it not be better to relieve the burden of the working class through using magic to benefit all?”

“No, because I can have peasants farm for me.”

“Exactly!” I exclaim. “That is exactly the issue! You see peasants as a tool that can be used to save yourself from the trouble of labor. In reality, they are as much people as you and I, and deserve a life as free from the physical demands of labor as you and I.”

Shotior chuckles, “those peasants might differ on whether you and they are people to the same extent.”

“Perhaps. And I would hate any who thought I was lesser for who I am, but that would not change the fact that, absent institutions that say otherwise, we are equals.”

He shakes his head, “quite the revolutionary. Are you an admirer of Proq Khaasza?”

“Honestly, I don’t know much about them, but I like what I’ve heard.”

He scowls in puzzlement, “indeed? I would think you would know about h- them. Interesting.”

Shit. That’s a thing I should know about. I might have tipped my hand ever so slightly. However, I doubt Shotior can make the leap to conclude I’m from another world.

“I would expect a young goblin who expresses the condition so totally to know about h- Proq. Well, no matter. Have you been examined since your accident? Medically, I mean.”

“I haven’t,” I say, feigning abashedness, “perhaps I should.”

“Perhaps. Well, do you have further questions about Pergamano?”

“None that come to mind currently. I would like to take a look at the library. Is there perhaps guest chambers I could use tonight?”

“We don’t maintain lodging for guests or prospectives, alas. There are a few taverns in the town, however.”

“Thank you, Doctor Shotior,” I allow my chair to sink to the floor and stand as it meets it, then dismiss it.

“Please, allow me to show you to the library.”

#An Earth Trans in Urtrament #Isekai #Portal Fantasy #Fantasy #Dungeons and Dragons #D&D #Dungeons & Dragons #Goblin #Wreaz Caebongai #Fiction

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thestruidora · 4 years

Text

Landslide

The Avengers (MCU) Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Shower Sex, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Fluff, Oral Sex, thigh riding, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Dominance, Submission, Knotting, Scenting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Rutting, Rut Sickness

Category: F/M

Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov

Summary: Steve was never quite sure if he truly was an alpha. Genetically he should be, coming from a long line of alpha males. But due to the several health conditions in his youth, his poorly functioning body never presented. But now, because of the serum reacting to his true designation, a terrible case of rut sickness takes hold of the super soldier, threatening his life. Being a beta, Natasha can’t offer him what he needs, and since omegas are rarer today then ever, she is forced to hire a foreign girl to tend to Steve during these desperate times.

Author’s notes: So the reader is finally introduced in this chapter, and since she is foreign and I’m Brazilian, she’ll be from Brazil as well, as is easier for me to include a language that I already know (Portuguese) and also cultural curiosities. But our similarities stop there, I’m not trying to make the reader into me, that’d totally defeat the point of writing a reader insert story.

Shout outs: @captainchrisstan, @keenkiddeputynickel, @danidv011, @ballyhoobarnes, @pophbfdsxa, @crashbarbie, @readermia, @musicnowandforever661

Thank you so much for you guy’s support!

Chapter Three

For those who missed it >>

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Miscommunication

“This not a good idea.” Bucky spoke, for what it seemed to be the hundredth time.

“So you’ve said, over and over again. I didn’t ask you to come, you know? ” Natasha sighed, focused on steadfastly driving the plane, her hands firmly planted on each side of the control wheel. “He’s in pain, Barnes. And if Bruce’s right about his diagnosis, it’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m the last person in the world who wants to see Steve suffering. He’s my best friend, Romanoff.” The Soldier’s shoulders were tense as he looked straight out of the aircraft's window, seeing the big building in the approaching horizon. “But we have to think about what he would want for a second. I mean, he fights to get these kinds of places shut down.”

“Well, Captain America’s moral code is the least of my worries right now.” The redhead’s voice came out in a harsh bark, jaw clenched as she smoothly landed the machine. Once the engines stopped and they took off their seat-belts, she looked over at Bucky, who’s face was series and unreadable. Before he could get up, she stopped him. “Look, I despise this too. But we’ve looked everywhere, Barnes. This is the only way and I… And we have to save him.”

Bucky shook his head, eyebrows knotted in a frown, but eventually opened his expression to her, knowing she was right.

“When he finds out that we came here…” He murmured, letting out a long breath and getting up from his seat, Natasha hot on his tail as they left the plane.

“He’s not going to find out.” She said, voice low but never faltering. He stopped dead in his track, noticing the obvious threat in the Russian Agent’s voice. She kept walking as if nothing happened, never looking back, her stride straight and calm. “Right?”

He looked up at the imposing structure of the building ahead of them, the entire place looked dark and mono-toned, as if it had come out of a horror picture. It was a skyscraper, tall with many floors and windows. Tons and tons of windows, all square and sealed with fat metal bars. A shiver went up his spine when he thought of what was being kept inside of that prison, and Bucky wondered if Steve not knowing about any of this wasn’t for the best after all.

“Right.” He let out, following her to the entry with reluctant feelings.

They stopped at a massive closed gate, noting the security cameras surrounding the whole area. Natasha approached the scanning mechanism at the superior right corner of the iron door, letting it scan her retina. After a couple of seconds, a loud buzzing ringed through their ears and the gate opened slowly.

Surprisingly, the place looked extremely luxurious, thou clean and minimalist. There was a grand open space, completely grassed and filled with flowers, like a secret private garden. There were a couple of trees with comfortable-looking swings on them, providing a welcoming shadow to cool off in summer days. But at the sides of the garden, they could also see two tall stone towers, where armed man monitored Natasha and Bucky’s every move.

Stunned at the juxtaposition of the whole thing, they kept walking towards a fancier looking door than the ones before, this one made of a glass-like material that led to a reception area, where they could see a blonde woman typing away in her computer. Her posture was straight and her physique was lean. Her hair was pulled back in a slick bun, not a single strand out of place, making her forehead look bigger than probably was in reality.

There were a few leather sofas on the lounge, but not one single person in the waiting room but the receptionist, and with the level of security and organization of the place, both agents were willing to bet that whoever came there, didn’t have to wait around for long.

“Merhaba, size nasıl yardımcı olabilirim?” The receptionist spoke once they approached her, not ever looking up from the keyboard she typed on, her clear polished nails nothing but a blur as her fingers moved at top speed.

“Hum… ” Natasha turned to look at Bucky for a second, checking to see if he knew Turkish, because that was, unfortunately, one of the few languages that she was not fluent on. But the brunet simply shrugged, looking at her with an impassive expression taking over his features . “Hi!” She tried, and the second that that simple English word left her lips, the blonde woman behind the desk quit typing, her hands stopping mid-air as she finally looked up at them, a spooked look in her face, her skin tone getting even paler than before, almost as if she had just seen a ghost. “We’re here to speak with Mr. Bürsin, actually.” Natasha continued, sharing an uncertain look with Bucky due to the woman’s reaction .

“You are Natasha Romanoff? Mr. Bürsin had already let me know you were coming, but I was told that you’re Russian and… Alone.” She had a tick accent a strict-looking face, even though her scared expression, her royal-blue blazer just a little too tight for her chesty frame.

“Well, there was a minor change of plans.” Romanoff’s voice and posture shifted, mimicking the blond’s, an old manipulation tactic that always seemed to work on Alpha females, like this one, her pheromones strongly wafting out, overpowering her overly sweet perfume and making Bucky want to growl, but instead, he simply rolled his eyes, not at all caring about the dissatisfaction that his presence caused . “I’m sure he won’t mind, thou.”

“I’m sure he will.” With a frown she picked up the phone on her desk, dialing only one number and then proceeding to have a long conservation in Turkish, before finally hanging up. “Mr. Bürsin will see you now.” She gave off a tight smile , knuckles turning white while she still held on to the phone, and before they could move, she spoke again. “But only Miss Romanoff, not the Alpha.”

“What?” Natasha and Bucky said at the same time.

“Why?” The redhead crossed her arms under her breasts, trying really hard not to get visually annoyed.

“Ma'am, we have protocols in place, he cannot come in.” The woman’s tone was polite, but still condescending.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Do I look like a ma’am to you?” Her eyebrows shot up, completely giving up on the previous plan by now. “I’m probably younger than you.”

When the receptionist expression didn’t change, Bucky touched the Russian woman in the arm, getting her attention.

“Romanoff, it’s fine.”

“No, you-”

“This is more important than any of that, remember why we’re here.” His voice was but a whisper, so that only she could hear. “Besides, I pity the fool that tries to mess with you. You can handle yourself, with or without me.” She smiled at that, looking at him for a while before nodding.

“Alright, let’s go.” Natasha said, giving the blonde a pointed look as she got up from her seat and away from her desk, starting to walk towards one of the many corridors of the building.

“Follow me, please.” Her accent hanged heavy, her hips swinging while she strode atop of her hills.

In the hall, Natasha saw many doors, all closed and guarded b y strong, armed man. There was an ample opening at the end of the hall, where the receptionist stopped, indicating for her to continue with a nod of the head.

When she walked in, noting as the woman closed the door behind her, she almost blacked out from the sheer smell of the room. The whole place looked sterile, but still reeked of Omega pheromones. Even for Natasha, a Beta, it was dizzying. Now she understood why it was so imperative that Bucky was not allowed to come inside.

The room was packed full of chairs, placed in a big circle that led to a stage. There were only man sitting in those chairs, all extremely well dressed. Some old, some young, but all clearly rich. Not one of them gave her a second glance, all to focused on what was about to happen on that stage. There was a narrow hallway in the center, in between all of the chairs. And right next to the stage, in a front-row seat, she saw the back of his head, and noticed the empty seat next to his.

Making a beeline for it, she sat down, yearning desperately for a take of fresh air right about now that she was so close to the stage, where the Omega smell was the strongest, being slowly mixed with all of those Alpha’s scents.

“Do me a favor and warn me next time you bring a friend, will you?” Emir Bürsin’s voice was low and raspy, the light golden hair in his head tinning out and turning grey with age. But still, he was a very handsome man. Strong and muscular, but not bulky, with long, big arms straining inside of this tailored suit jacket.

“There will be no next time.” Natasha was quick to answer, not at all impressed by his imposing build. He gave her one fast look, a crooked smile plastered on his face as he sat down in his front-row chair like a king, legs crossed in a nonchalant display.

“Oh, I bet. Once you try one of my girls, you’ll never want for seconds.” His smile became even bigger when Natasha couldn’t control the disgusted look in her eyes. “But you’re not shopping for yourself today, are you, Widow?”

She didn’t appreciate the use of the nickname, turning to stare at the stage as the lights of the room stared dimming and a cold-toned spotlight shone brightly at the center of the stage.

“No, definitely not.” He laughed to himself as she continued to ignore his remarks, frowning a bit when slow background music started to play. “You know, in this business people talk. And I happened to hear such an interesting tale.”

“I’m dying to hear it.” She murmured, the sarcasm strongly embedded in her features by then.

“I heard- oh, thank you.” He was cut off as different Beta woman, clearly assistants of the place, began to give out number plates to each and every man sitting in the room, making a point not to give one to Natasha. She frowned again at that, getting more and more confused by the minute. As they continued to work the room, he proceeded . “I heard that one of your brand-new, shiny superhero friends got himself into a pretty sticky situation, if you know what I mean. Apparently — and again, this all word-of-mouth —, he succumbed into such a bad rut, that he may actually die if he doesn’t get his hands on an Omega, can you imagine that ? Dying from horniness?”

His scoff was loud on Natasha’s ears, and she never had to restrain herself from punching someone so bad.

“And after years without speaking, completely out of the blue, you call me up to ask for a favor.” A man appeared on stage and, wearing a suit and tie, he stood behind a podium, turning on the microphone in front of him and shuffling through cards. “And that favor just so happens to be exactly what our favorite Captain needs to survive, isn’t that such a funny coincidence? Don’t you just love when the universe plays this crazy pranks on us? I mean, what are the odds of these two situations not being connected?”

By the time he was done, the man on stage had started to talk in Turkish, and the audience cheered on to whatever he was saying.

“What do you want to keep your mouth shut about this, Emir? More money?” Natasha asked, mouth forming a little circle when an entirely naked woman entered the stage, s topping in the middle of the stoplight. Her hands were mechanically stuck to her sides, her limbs clearly trembling as she just stood there, completely exposed for those man’s eyes.

“Money? Fuck money, I got enough of that. I want security.” Natasha wasn’t fully processing the conversation at that point, looking over at Emir who had picked up his number plate and put it up, waiting for it to get acknowledged by the man behind the podium before putting it down.

“What do you mean?” Her lips were moving, she knew she was forming words, but a big part of her brain wasn’t truly there.

Her eyes scanned throughout the room, seeing as other men were also putting their plates up, and that’s finally when it hit her. Her blood ran cold when she realized what was happening, and her vision got stuck on that poor girl standing there, her body shaven from eyebrows down, beginning to follow the instructions of the spokesman, turning around to show the audience her form from behind, and them proceeding to slightly open her legs to show the inside of…

Natasha closed her eyes, not wanting to see more, turning so that Emir couldn’t see her face. She felt like throwing up, a little lightheaded as well. So this was what he did here, he ran auctions, Omega auctions.

“I want the security of knowing that no matter what happens, neither you or anyone of your super assholes are going to come busting through here and ruin my business, that’s what I want.” She tried swallowing down the knot that had formed in her throat, putting on her best poker face to look back at him, only to find the man smiling over winning the bidding. He turned to her, putting the plate down on his lap as the girl left the stage and another waked in right after. “ Do we have an understanding ?”

“We do.” The steadiness of her voice shocked even Natasha herself, but Emir didn’t seem to notice a thing, looking comfortable and relaxed, not taken aback one bit by the situation that was taken place.

“Lovely.” He quickly got up, leaving the number plate on top of his seat, and closed his jacket, exaggerating the slimness of his waist. “So, now that we got that out of the way, do you want to come and meet the present that I hand-wrapped for Mr. Rogers myself?”

Natasha got up as well, trying to ignore the raging feeling running through her body, forcing herself to think of Steve, to think back to the reason she was there, and nod in response to his question, instead of doing what she really would like to, which would be betting him into a pulp.

“I just hope I got the right size.” He chirped as they star ted walking out of the auction room, out into the corridor and entering one of the many doors, where a small bedroom was home to a frightened-looking young woman.

Everything hurt.

His whole body ached, literally. He could literally feel the muscles underneath his skin contracting and expanding, and the pain was all so bad. He could feel his lungs enlarging as he breathed air in and shrinking as he exhaled it out, and the burn was almost maddening.

This wasn’t what a normal rut was supposed to feel like, of that Steve was sure. No other person should ever have to feel the way he was feeling, ever.

This was hell.

His own bedroom ha d become hell.

His back was pressed to the bed, the sheets were so soaked with sweat that he felt like he could drown. He tried showering, but that had been a bad idea altogether.

He hated the hellfire that his skin had become, that he had passed the point of feverish a long time ago and now whenever the cold water hit his flesh, vapor could be seen wafting through the air.

But that wasn’t even the worst part, it was the smell. The simple smell of soap, from that ‘vintage’ brand that tries to recreate the classic scents from older eras, the one that he used to love. Now, that smell made him want to trow up.

Now, most smells around his house hit him differently, making his stomach turn and nausea overtake him. He definitely hasn’t eaten in a while, he could see it too, in the quick passing glances he gives to the mirror, how skinnier he has gotten.

The bed is the only place where he doesn’t feel like putting his guts out. Because it smells of him. Only him, and nothing else. No one else. Isn’t that sad? That his body so desperately earns for another, but since it can’t have it, it prefers to slowly shut down and die alone.

All of a sudden, the doorbell rang, and Steve berried his face in his pillow, a growling noise involuntarily coming from his chest at the idea of having to come to the door. That was the worst part of his apartment. The one that smelled the least like him and more like others, especially like Alphas. Oh, god, he hates Alphas. And yes, that includes himself.

“Steve?” He could hear a female voice from outside the door, calling out to him, and the Alpha inside got excited for a second, before the scent of Beta hit his nose, making his face contour into a grimace. “It’s Natasha, can I come in?”

He could hear keys jiggling before he could even answer. Hadn’t he made her give him the keys to his apartment last time?

“No!” He screamed at her, his voice hoarse due to the lack of use.

He wanted to die, in private, was that so hard to understand?

“Well, too bad.” He could hear when she closed the door behind her and began walking towards his room.

“Don’t come in.” He barked as her shadow stopped outside of his door, which was almost completely closed, if not by a tiny slit.

“What? Why?”

Because your mere presence makes me want to break every single square inch of this bedroom while I trow up on top of the debris. That’s what he wanted to say, but instead- “I’m naked.”

“I’ve seen you naked already.” She sighed from behind the barrier that separated her from entering his room, invading his space. And he really didn’t want to be rude to her, not again, but Natasha could be really push y , and it’s not like he could control most of the words that come out of his mouth in the state’s his in.

“And I didn’t like it then, nor will I like it now.” He tried to stop the relief that rushed through him when he heard her murmur a small ‘ok’. “What do you want, Nat?”

“Look, we don’t have much time now, and Banner says the only thing that’s keeping you alive after all these days suffering through what your body’s been suffering is also the thing that made you sick in the first place: the serum. He says that the only thing that you’ll get better and survive this, is seeing your rut out with an Omega.”

At the mere mention of the word, his dick twitched, a wave of pleasure-laced pain cutting through his lower body, and Steve had to contain a moan, embarrassment warming his cheeks even more than they already were.

“I already heard all that before, Nat. I know my situation, but it’s too late now.” He gritted his teeth against each other, getting pretty good at coasting through the pain by then. “And I’m fine with that.”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that.” Maybe she could hear his eyes rolling, because before he tried to ask her to leave once more she spoke again. “Listen, Steve, I know you didn’t want anyone to know about what is happening to you, and I wanted to respect that, but I… But none of us could just sit by and watch you die.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry, her vocal cords scraping against each other ruggedly, creating an unpleasant sound and making it clear that she was nervous, but Steve let her continue, his heart beating faster with her every word.

“So Tony put out an ad, letting people know that Captain America was in need of help, and if any Omega out there was willing they could come to the facility and get tested to see if they were compatible with you. A lot of women showed up — shocker —,” She let out a humorless laugh, listening to nothing but silence in return, “but most of them weren’t even Omegas, and the ones that were weren’t compatible with you. But finally, yesterday, this foreign girl showed up, she doesn’t know much English, but she says that you saved her in Sokovia and that she’d like to save you now. So, if you still want me to go and leave you be, I will, but if you’re done with this whole self-loathing and self-harm thing, I could invite her in, and you two could have tons of savage sex and also not die.”

A long time went by after that, a long period of silence, where only Steve’s labored breathing could be heard. He didn’t say anything, but that wasn’t intentional. He was stunned, actually, still trying to digest everything that Natasha had said. Considering every word, processing it slower than he usually would in his natural state.

“Steve?” The redhead’s voice ringed, waking him up from his trance. “Did you even hear what I said?”

“She’s outside?!” Was the first thing that he could think of saying, voice strained, sounding a little scared, even.

“Yeah, me and Bruce brought her over. Like I said, she knows very little English but she was clear on the fact that she wanted to help you.”

“And we’re compatible?”

“Yes!”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, my God. Just put some clothes on and get out here!” She demanded, bossy as always, but his Alpha wouldn’t take that, not right now. A loud growl emerged from him, and Steve had to physically restrain himself from breaking something.

Still, he took a deep breath, his head hurt so bad that he wasn’t sure he was capable of getting up. But he pushed through, having to hold his head with both hands to try and make the room stop spinning. Very slowly he got out of bed, immediately missing the familiarity that it provided him.

He looked over at his closet, seeing all of his clothes laid out neatly, and only the thought of having any of that fabric on top of his skin was painful enough to make him give up on that premise entirely and put on his robe instead. Th e feel of it was still very much wrong, but knowing that he would be able to take it off much quicker than any other piece of clothing was just a little more soothing.

If there was one thing you needed to understand about Steve Rogers, is that he was a planner. He not only loved to plan, he was good at it too. He’d plan his missions, his day s , his meals, everything meticulously. That was when he was at he’s most comfortable, making up a plan and following it through. He wasn’t completely against making things up as he went, but saying that it didn’t make him anxious would be a lie.

He always preferred to know how things were going to play out, and this wasn’t any different. He had already created a route for this whole rut sickness deal: he was slowing going to die alone inside of his room, leave his shield to Sam and his comic book collection to Bucky, maybe his record player and records would go to Tony, and he would leave that pretty brooch he got from his mom to Natasha. That was it. It was a date.

But all of that changed now and he had to reroute his way around this. And that’s precisely what he was doing as he approached the door, already having wrapped himself in his robe.

He was going to go out there, tell this poor girl that she didn’t owe him anything, that he was happy to know that he had saved her life in Sokovia, and that she should go out into the world and find love, not wait around like had. Then he would apologize for his friends bringing her here, tell them all to leave him alone for good, and he’d even keep his posture throughout the whole ordeal.

That was the new plan, and he was happy with it. Yeah, this was good. This could work.

“Finally.” Steve heard Natasha say when he left his bedroom, entering the living room, a weird fuzzy feeling catching a hold of him for some reason. “So, can I tell Banner to let her in?”

He simply nodded, not sure what to do with a different kind of sensation starting in his lower abdomen. It wasn’t necessarily good, but it wasn’t bad either, which was surprising, because all he could feel of lately was bad. An uneasy, unplaceable feeling forming. And it was something completely new. Was it… Excitement?

Natasha opened the entry door of his apartment again, getting out but leaving it open. He could hear her and Bruce talking softly in the hallway, but he didn’t care to try to understand what they were saying, he didn’t care about anything, not anymore.

Because even before they walked back in, with a young woman following close behind them, with her hair pulled back and a makeup clean face, eyes glued to the ground and hands closed together in front of her body, he had already smelled her. He had already taken a big whiff of that intoxicating scent, goosebumps staring at the back of his neck, travelling all the way to his cock and making it leak precum. He had already set his eyes on that Omega.

And by then, he knew.

Fuck the plan.

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cocovikings23 · 3 years

Text

New Start - Chapter 1 (Modern Ivar x Reader)

I start writing a little fiction with a Modern Ivar. Thanks to @youbloodymadgenius for supporting me. Sorry for my bad English, it is not my mother tongue.

Chapter one : Engaged

Summary: The reader goes for a job interview at the Ragnar & Sons Corporation and finds herself face to face with Ivar during the interview. He is a very strict sector manager but facing his potential new recruit, he will behave differently than normal.

As usual, you arrived early for this umpteenth job interview. So there you were, in front of this big building, perhaps the biggest you've ever seen, remembering your previous failures of the last few weeks. It's true that you had had a series of interviews, none of which had resulted in a contract. Since you had left your home country and set off for a completely unknown city, you had a difficult start, you worked in a café as a waitress for the first few months and after you had had enough, you decided to go back to your original line of work: negotiation. There are a lot of companies recruiting at the moment, you thought it was now or never to try your luck. After a dozen or so interviews, some of which you'd like to erase from your memory, like the last one, where the guy openly made you understand that in order to get a job here you have to go through the "I'm lying down to succeed" box; of course you took your legs and left.

You enter this gigantic building through large transparent sliding doors, to reach the main lobby of the Ragnar & Sons Corporation, THE biggest trading company in the area and the name Lothbrok is on everyone's lips in the small town where you landed a few months ago. You easily reach the reception counter where you see the four switchboard operators dressed the same way: a black skirt suit with a white shirt ultra well ironed underneath it. Their hands are manicured, their contouring was so perfect that Kim Kardashian can go get dressed, their eyeliner line in the corner of the eye is also measured to the millimeter. You look at yourself in the long mirror behind the manicured quadruplets, as you so aptly called them, you look dull compared to them : Your hands are far from perfect since you cut your nails that very morning so that you wouldn't have a single inch that could get caught in your stockings, your make-up is very light and your hair, oh gods, you struggled for thirty minutes in the bathroom with your mane and finally opted for a professional style bun despite the fact that some of your hair is receding.

You get out of your mind when the Barbie asks, "Welcome to the Ragnar & Sons Corporation, can I help you? »

"Uh ... yes ... hello, I'm Miss Y/LN Y/N, I have a professional interview ... ",

She types on her computer for a few seconds, takes her phone, dials a number and says " She has arrived ", then hangs up to finally announce " Mr Lothbrok, is waiting for you, he is on the 15th floor, office number 01 ". You thank her with a touch of apprehension, the knot in your belly intensifies when the elevator doors open, you go inside, press the number 15 and you let yourself be carried further up in this big tower. You barely have time to do a mini self-meditation to calm yourself down that you have already arrived at your destination. You get out of the elevator, walk straight ahead, along a large silent corridor and finally arrive in front of a double door on which is written in the top right corner "01". There you are, you know nothing about your recruiter except that it is either Ragnar himself, but this is unlikely because he is very often travelling abroad, or one of his sons.

Like any good candidate you took a keen interest in the company in order to avoid trick questions during the interview, so you know that the boss is Ragnar Lothbrok and that he runs the company with his five sons: Björn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar. You were even more stressed for this interview when you put a face to these names, there are some pictures of the sons on the site: all of them were very attractive. But your attention was caught by Ivar, the youngest of the family, in one photo you noticed that he wears a brace on his right leg and that he holds himself up with a crutch, but what intimidated you the most was the look in his eyes: his eyes are the bluest in the family, an intense, authoritative look... You begged the gods that it be one of his brothers who welcomes you the next day.

You come back to you when you hear the voice of a man behind you asking if everything is all right. You turn back to him, your eyes immediately widen because you know him or at least you know who he is: a tall man, hair in a man's bun, green eyes, he was one of the Lothbrok sons, he is Hvitserk. Having no answer from you, he repeats his question: "Is everything all right, Miss? Has my brother made you miserable or not yet? "he says with an amused look.

You sputter : " yes... well no... well I mean, yes I'm fine and no I haven't seen anyone yet " you come to your senses " I'm Y/N, I'm here for the new job, I have to meet Mr Lothbrok ". Hvitserk continues with the same amused look, "So you have to talk to my little brother Ivar, he's the one who manages recruitment. After his words, it's as if the ground is crumbling under your feet, your greatest fear, since the call to confirm your appointment, will materialize. You haven't had time to understand what's going on, because Hvitserk has already gone into his brother's office to announce your arrival: "I found your new victim at your door little brother, try to be nice this time, don't let her go away crying" he says, laughing. Hvitserk leaves the office and winked at you, he closes the doors, you wonder why the gods punished you in this way, you want to have this interview with Hvitserk after all.

You turn to Ivar, who is sitting behind a large wenge-colored desk, which is arranged in a very orderly, even structured way, each pen is the same size, all stored in a brown leather jar. Ivar, who taps on her Mac, frowns before giving up "You're early, we had an appointment at 9:30, it's 9:15". You swallow and he goes on " But since you're here we'll get rid of that now ". You bend your head and tell yourself that it was a waste of time, another failure, you even think of resuming your job as a waitress to provide for your needs while you find a job worthy of your skills when Ivar resumed the speech "You can settle down" by pointing to the chair in front of you. He didn't even bother to look at you, he's too busy with his screen. You settle down on the chair, which itself is made of brown leather and is quite comfortable, put your little purse on the floor next to you, put your sweaty hands on your knees and clear your throat. You have time to watch the executioner who would torture you for twenty minutes, asking you questions, each one more twisted than the other, for a job that you wouldn't get. He is dressed in a dark blue suit, very well adjusted to his size, gods that he is muscular, you can see his biceps through the jacket that fits perfectly. Under this suit, he wears a bright white shirt, slightly open with three buttons, you do not see his legs, they are hidden by the desk but you notice his crutch on the armrest of his beautiful luxury armchair. Faced with so much charm and charisma, you feel a knot in your chest.

Ivar is typing on his keyboard one last time before closing his computer, he looks up to start the interview when he stops in his tracks as he looks at you. "Then Miss," his eyes become even bluer, he freezes like a statue for a few moments before resuming, "Miss Y/L/N, we are going to start the interview," he has become different than when you entered his office, a kind of vulnerability has taken hold of him. Which doesn't help you any more because you are at the height of your stress. "Tell me a little bit about yourself, why do you want to work here?"

" I've only been in Kattegat for a few months, I worked as a waitress in a café in the center to acclimatize myself and I wanted to go back to my original skills in negotiation, business, " you answered.

"Hmm I see.." Ivar runs her fingers over her lower lip while continuing to stare at you like a hunter watching his prey, you feel your cheeks warm, the atmosphere in the room gets heavier and heavier... A long silence lingers when Ivar's cell phone begins to ring. He takes his eyes off you to look at the caller, makes a gesture with his finger to cut the call. He looks up at you again, to finally resume the conversation. "Well, Y/N, you know that we are the largest trading company in Kattegat and I, unlike my brothers, hate failure. I want to be certain of your skills and now you're not proving anything to me," you swallowed loudly, not knowing what to say.

Ivar continues, "For a person who wants to demonstrate her qualities as a trader you are very quiet..." he says with a sly smile. But what an asshole !, you think.

In order to put an end to this humiliation as soon as possible you start to take your bag on the ground to leave, you dare to speak up. "No disrespect Mr. Lothbrok, I think your behavior is totally inappropriate, I think it is more reasonable to end this interview now, thank you...".

"Please sit down Miss Y/L/N", Ivar cuts you off, you are surprised that your only decision is to obey this tyrant. He remains silent, spinning slightly from left to right in his authoritarian boss chair, smiles "Finally, the little waitress has character...". Ivar gets up, uses his crutch to walk up to you, sits on the edge of his desk right in front of you, his crotch in front of your eyes. Despite the fact that he's a complete asshole, he's still a very handsome and attractive man, the fact that he's getting closer to you doesn't leave you indifferent. He stooped down to your level to look you straight in the eyes, your faces are only a few centimeters away from each other. You can feel his warm breath caressing your cheeks, your mouth opens slightly by itself. You rub your legs together to try to hide the fact that some kind of excitement is building up in your lower abdomen. He bends his eyes to finally break this moment that has become erotically embarrassing. "As I was saying, failure is not a possibility, I may regret it but I will give you your chance, don't disappoint me otherwise... " he leans towards your ear to continue with a broad smile " I should punish you ". He gets up, taking up a neutral expression to get back behind his desk taking up his Mac to finish the emails that were in progress before your arrival.

"You're hired Y/N", he drops this information by waving you off his desk "You'll see Clara at the reception desk for your contract".

You get up, gently says to him " Thank you Iv... Mr Lothbrok, goodbye ". You don't see him because you already have your back to him but at the announcement of his first name, he has sparks in his eyes. You close the door behind you, you think that you had spent an eternity in this office when you were there for only 15 minutes.

Hvitserk walks past his brother's office and asks you about your interview: "I see you are still alive, my brother spared you! "he says jokingly, "and then what was the sentence he gave you?" he asks, taking it a little more seriously,

"Ivar hired me" you say shyly, Hvitserk equal to himself took you in his arms "Congratulations, you are officially our colleague now, so no formalities between us, OK? "He puts an arm around your shoulder to guide you through the corridor. "Come with me, I'll give you a guided tour of the premises and introduce you to my other brothers". As you both walk away from Ivar's office, you look behind you, your body wants to come back to him while your mind is slowly getting used to the idea of this new life that is being offered to you.

@youbloodymadgenius @therealcalicali

#youbloodymadgenius

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linkspooky · 4 years

Note

What do you think about Kaneki x Eto?

It’s my favorite Tokyo Ghoul ship? If you want to know my opinion of it, I did write a whole fanfiction on the ship. However, I can also explain my reasons for liking the ship with some character analysis. Basically, Kaneki and Eto are the same person. Kaneki loving Eto is him learning to reconcile the ugliest parts of himself. Falling in love with someone who’s just basically you in the mirror is a good way to learn some self esteem. Kaneki and Eto are the same because they’ve felt ostractized and unloved their entire lives due to having selfish and manipulative mothers, and uncaring or entirely absent fathers.

Their response to their total sense of isolation and status as outsiders is to write a story. They both have a narrative coping mechanism of the world, that’s why of all the characters they are the most highly associated with reading and books. It’s just they assign themselves different roles in the narrative. Kaneki is the protagonist of the tragedy, and Eto is the author of the tragedy. It doesn’t change the fact they see the whole world as one big tragedy. More under the cut.

1. The Protagonist of the Tragedy

Kaneki’s coping mechanism has always been to imagine himself as the long suffering protagonist of the tragedy. His statement is twofold. “I’m not a protagonist or anything” and then “However if you were to write a story with me in the lead role it would certainly be a tragedy.”

This is paradoxical thinking. What Kaneki is saying essentially is that he is not a protagonist, but he is. The difference between a protagonist of say, a heroic epic, and the protagonist of a tragedy is that a tragic protagonist is ultimately helpless before their flaws.

Kaneki has always been outside of things. He is someone extremely isolated and lonely. He has difficulty connecting even to his lifelong best friend. Hide describes him as thus, he’s always pretending around other people and hiding his true self. Kaneki has this genuine fear of being well... genuine. He avoids emotional intimacy at any cost even though it’s the thing he craves the most.

Which is why it’s easier for him to cope with things through a fictitious lens. He wants to be important to people, but he doesn’t really know how to be loved, so he always, always, always, chooses fighting for their sake instead. He plays pretend hero, pretend vigilante, and even pretend king depending on the circumstances. He is always, playing roles for the sake of others instead of trying to be his own self. He pretends to be a protagonist.

However, because of his abuse from his mother Kaneki is also unnaturally fixated on being a good person. He can’t bear to think he’s unkind, or cruel, or even violent like his mother was to him. He has such a strong, nauseous reaction to violence, he can’t even accept it within himself even when circumstances have dirven him to become violent.

So, rather than the protagonist he also wants to keep playing the victim. The victim is helpless. The victim is sympathetic. The victim isn’t to blame for their actions. Kaneki is afraid of being in control of his own actions, because he finds it hard to face himself and his own flaws and bear that responsibility. Kaneki’s coping mechanism is to feign helpelessness. To never truly make decisions because therefore he’s not responsible when he makes the wrong one.

It’s not just Kaneki who is coping poorly however. Whether or not he intends to his actions will always affect the people around him. Kaneki isn’t a protagonist, he’s merely pretending to be one. The problem with pretending to be a protagonist is that as a result you assign other people as supporting characters in your story, and forget that they have feelings outside of what you perceive their feelings to be.

This is specificallly what Touka calls out in 120. She doesn’t want to be the heroine of his tragedy. She didn’t ask for him to protect her. Kaneki does all of these things without thinking or consulting her about her feelings at all and just assumes he knows best. Pretending you’re the protagonist gives you a self-centered view of the world. Kaneki can’t be with Touka at this point, because he can’t accept Touka’s feelings for him.

The most poweful sign of Eto and Kaneki’s connection ever is the fact that Eto has Kaneki completely read like an open book, without even really meeting him in person. It’s because they are in essence the same person. She understands Kaneki’s total sense of isolation because she’s lived it as well for her entire life.

Kaneki feels unloved and disconnected from others, and everything he does ultimately is in response to the lack of love he was shown as a child. That’s why Takatsuki’s lines, your parents failed in raising you. Echo so strongly for both of them.

Now kiss you two.

2. The Author of the Tragedy

If Kaneki is someone who will feign helplessness, and avoid being in control of his own life then Eto is the opposite. Eto will pretend to be in control of everything because helplessness is what she fears the most. Eto was born outside of any framework or sense of stability for the world she can’t handle any of it. She longs to knock all of the structures down because they will always reject her and never include her, in the same way that Kaneki longs to be accepted by others.

Eto reacts to the whole world like a book too, but she sees herself as the author in control of things. She’s the one writing the scenario. She chooses to bloody her own hands bcause it makes her feel in control of the violence that’s been inflicted upon her, her entire life. The things that Kaneki avoids because he’s afraid of being seen as a monster, Eto embraces willfully and becomes the monster. Eto, just like Kaneki sees everyone else as a fictional character. Whereas, Kaneki assigns them the role of support to his story, Eto sees herself as the author pitting all of the fictional characters against each other.

Kaneki lets himself be manipulated and Eto manipulates. Eto never sees herself as backed into a corner, or desperate. Everything is a planned move on her part. Everything is an intentional sacrifice. If she’s captured, it’s because she willfully walked into their plan and let herself be captured. She’s here because she wants to be. She pretends at all time that everyone is doing what she wants them to.

Even when captured and imprisoned in the cochlea, Eto intentionally walked in as a part of her big plan. The thing about Eto’s plans, and plans, and plans is that she’s bad at admitting when she’s losing or things are out of her control. Aogiri could never win an all out war against the CCG. Which is why Eto was too quick to burn Aogiri in a deliberate sacrifice to try to weaken the CCG as a part of her plan, rather than try to take her hands off and try a different approach.

The same way that Kaneki never wants to take control of his own life, Eto never wants to let go of her sense of control. Which is why she’ll pretend to be control even when she isn’t. Eto is just good enough at reading and manipulating people that she can delude herself into thinking that the situation is always in the palm of her hand when it’s not. Which is why things that are genuinely out of her control and impossible to predict have a tendency to explode in her face.

Even when Eto loses, she always sees it as a controlled lost. She wanted Kaneki to defeat her on the Tsukiyama Tower and devour her Kagune. She gave him that victory. She is still in control. She is always the author writing down the tragedy.

The key difference between both of them is that Eto externalizes, and Kaneki internalizes. Eto is trying to fix the world to make up for the inadequacy she sees inside of herself. Kaneki is trying to fix something in himself so people will find him lovable.

We see in Takatsuki’s flashback chapter that Eto’s resentment of Kuzen and his cowardice, has just as much to do with her desire to destroy V and as her wish for a better world. Kaneki and Eto’s trauma informs their actions just as much as their genuine desire to improve the world. They are wholly created by the traumatic circumstances that have affected them and been poorly coping all of their lives.

The best example to show them poorly coping with trauma is to show how they lash out. Kaneki and Eto are both children raised without any love, and they’ve come to two different conclusions. Kaneki sees himself as unlovable. That nobody is capable of loving him so he sees all relationships as a transaction and services rendered. Eto is the opposite, rather than an internal quality she focuses on an external one. She believes actual love doesn’t exist. That all love is selfish, just like her parents’ love for her ultimately was.

It’s shockingly different the way Eto and Kuzen tell the stories of her birth. Kuzen focuses on the love story aspect, as if Eto was genuinely the product of a love that bridged the gap between two different worlds. Eto believes that her mother was only using Kuzen and sleeping with him to get information, and that she was just an unplanned pregnancy. Eto is incapable of understanding her mother’s love for both her, and her father and chooses to believe no love exists at all. Kaneki on the other hand is incapable of understanding his mother’s contradictory love for him, and chooses to believe himself unlovable.

The person I loved so greatly beat me. I loved my mother, didn’t I?

Kaneki and Eto are hurt not because they don’t love their mothers, but they do. Their mothers are extremely important to both of them. Yet, neither mother seems to love them back. Ukina chose Kuzen over protecting her child. Kaneki’s mother chose her sister, and everyone else in the neighborhood to take care of while neglecting and outright beating her child when he asked for basic care. Eto does everything she does in Ukina’s memory to complete her mission, and Kaneki does everything to try to be the good boy his mother wanted him to be for a good portion of his life but neither of them feel loved by that mother figure. Kaneki and Eto were failed on the most basic level by the parents who were meant to be responsible for them and loved them and as a result they are continually coping with that lack of love.

The difference in their coping can be seen how they both treat Kanae. Kanae has an incredible amount in common for both of them. She lives seeking love, she has been orphaned and unloved and treated like an outsider in the Tsukiyama household her entire life even though they were supposed to take care of her as her direct family. She always had a close relationship with her mother before she died. She lives by pretending to be something she’s not in order to look stronger.

Eto’s response is to insist that Kanae’s love is selfish. That she’s an ugly, monster for trying to force her feelings upon Tsukiyama. Eto goes out of her way to try to prove that love is a lie.

However, Kaneki much more passively also resents the hell out of Kanae. Kaneki’s wish to be loved is the same as Kanae. Kaneki will even become violent for the sake of that wish.

However, this is his response to Kanae at her lowest point.

Kaneki’s choice to internalize all of his trauma inside of himself is one that also results in destruction. Remember that this is after Tsukiyama begged Kaneki for mercy on Kanae.

Kaneki’s habits of pretending to be helpless to avoid conflict, lead him into as much conflict as Eto gets into. The coping mechanism is different. The end result is the same. As Haise he spent the entire arc putting off conflict, but he ends up fighting Tsukiyama anyway, ends up brutalizing Kanae in the worst way possible, and even ignores Yoshimura’s wish to save Eto.

They cope very differently. Kaneki is always trying to change himself to suit the needs of other people. Eto is always trying to change other people to suit her own needs. However, the end result is the same. Kaneki’s seems more selfless. He’s letting himself suffer rather than make others suffer. He’s trying to hold it all in, rather than Eto who pushes all of it out. But, both are unhealthy. Eto wants to destroy the world, Kaneki wants to destroy himself.

The result is still destruction regardless. Which is why the way Kaneki and Eto both treat Kanae is so important, they’ve both projected themselves onto Kanae, and want to destroy her because of it. They’re coping mechanisms which are meant to preserve them are instead self destructive. Which means ultimately they’re both terribly unhealthy people. The question of which one is good or bad doesn’t really have anything to do with it.

Kaneki and Eto’s relationship is so interesting because they’ve both been pushed to the point, where they’ve stopped hoping for things, and just want to destroy everything. It’s just what they choose to destroy is different, Kaneki wants to self destruct, and Eto wants to take the whole world down with her. That’s why I think they should work together to smash everything into tiny little pieces, and maybe kiss a little bit. There’s just something to be said about a relationship that’s built around learning to love the unhealthiest parts of yourself.

#Anonymous #tg meta #metasks #eto yoshimura #kaneki ken #etoken #eto x kaneki

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phcking-detective · 4 years

Text

FOUND

Find Familiar: ch 1

Rating: E

Summary: Nines cast the spell Find Familiar, but instead of an animal, they accidentally summoned a werewolf. Gavin is just happy to have finally found his mate and start pack bonding with the half-elf wizard. His best idea for a fun bonding activity? Touching his dick of course!

***

Gavin wakes up with a warm, breathing body pressed against his own, and it's all he ever wanted.

Then reality seeps in like cold rain and he realizes it's just the one person, not a dog pile, because he doesn't have a pack. Only a wizard who maybe sort of magically owns him now.

So that's a great start to the morning.

He gets a stew started like he promised, once he finds some potatoes and carrots, one lonely haunch of meat in an icebox, and no spices beyond salt. There aren't many places to look, since the whole room is five, maybe six hundred square feet.

Gods. Gavin's a lone wolf living half-feral without a tent or even a fire half the time, and he still thinks this is pathetic.

He knows better than to touch any of the books scattered around—fucking wizards—so he doesn't try to clean anything while he waits for his new … boss? Alpha?? person, to wake up.

(He does risk moving a stack of papers to sit in front of the black leather collar on the desk. Not hidden. Just. Out of sight.)

"No celery?" the wizard asks.

Gavin bites down on a flinch and a few choice swears. Sweet Selûne shift him. Who the fuck goes from asleep to awake completely silent like that?

"No," he growls.

Nines blinks themself more awake. "Is your negative an agreement to my question or simply a negative?"

"Baby, I have no idea what the fuck you mean, but there's not any celery."

"Oh. Thank you."

The conversation ends there when he dishes out a bowl of stew, that Nines eats at their desk, one agonizingly slow bite at a time, almost as an afterthought as they work on creating papers and papers of writing.

Since the wizard is so absorbed in their scribbles they can barely notice food, Gavin strips down and takes a bath. The water runs hot straight out of the faucet, even without any signs of pipes. Sinking into a whole tub of it feels goddamn luxurious.

He's half-shifted before he even realizes, but Nines probably wouldn't notice he got out and swung his dick around like a propeller, so he doesn't force himself back. His hybrid form always feels better anyway, the best of both animals, with human hands and wolf senses, still able to stand and walk upright but with stronger muscles and thicker protective body hair.

He's still sunk down and amusing himself by blowing bubbles in the water with his near-snout when Nines finally surfaces for air on their own side of the tower.

"Gav—oh."

They turn around and blink at him. Gavin hunkers down lower in the water and prepares to force himself back, but even without actively poking the bond, he can tell there isn't any fear or revulsion from the wizard. He still pulls his snout of out the water and scents the air just to check, but … nothing.

"Good. Yes. Feel free to utilize any of the …" Nines pauses, stuck on the words. "Accommodations. Can you read?"

It's probably a fair question—especially since the answer is barely—but Gavin still hauls himself out of the bathtub and onto the sand pit so Nines will have to look at him. All the scars, the body hair almost thick enough to be a pelt, the way his bone structure is clearly halfway between one form and the other right now.

But instead of making the wizard flinch away and stop asking questions, Nines just grabs a different notebook and begins sketching him.

"Why?" Gavin growls out.

He can still speak, but just like his amount of literacy, the amount is barely. With lots of effort.

"Hmm?"

Nines looks up. Sort of. They lift their head at least, but their eyes stay focused down on their notebook, reluctantly dragged up at the very last second.

"Mm? Oh. Yes, here is your contract," they say.

They place the small stack of papers they'd written onto the dining table in the center of the room, then the two of them meet in the middle, each awkwardly taking a seat across from each other at the table, then staring at each other even more awkwardly.

"That is my brother's seat," Nines says.

Gavin raises an eyebrow but doesn't move his ass out of it. At least he put pants on before sitting down.

"I have never had another visitor," the wizard continues. "So. That has always been …"

They trail off, then grab their notebook and begin reading from it.

"My name is Nines. I am a wizard. I am thirty-two year half-elf. I do not have a gender. I use they-them pronouns. Pause for—"

They stop abruptly and look back up at him.

"… Gavin," he says. "I'm a fighter, thirty-six, werewolf. Born, not turned, so we don't really keep track of any races. You're either a wolf or you're not. Probably human though. Uh, he-him."

If they don't bother with human binary genders, maybe they'd understand just … switching genders? He thinks about it while Nines writes down what he'd said, like anything he says is actually important enough to be recorded.

Maybe he should let them get a little more attached to him before he tells them about the other crazy, evil wizard with a claim on him—and all the transformations they'd done on his body.

"Does your entire pack consist of born lycanthropes?" they ask, drawing him back into the conversation.

"Can just say wolves," Gavin grumbles. "And yeah. Haven't taken in a stray for a while."

No one does. That's why he's still—ugh, stop it. Fucking feeling sorry for himself.

"Is there a significant cultural difference between born and turned … wolves?"

Gavin stares at the wizard. Significant cultural difference, Selûne shift and collar him.

"Turned wolves don't have a pack," he finally says. "No one to share the mental load—most of the poor fuckers don't even know what's happening until they're already shifted and scared and starving. They've got just enough instinct to go back home, and then the screaming and running starts …"

He assumes he doesn't have to finish it from there. A hungry wolf sees something run, and they think prey, not child.

"I apologize if I ask simple questions," Nines states while still writing. "But I have never had the opportunity to meet a wolf in person, and so my knowledge is likely biased and incorrect. Is a coastal environment a suitable habitat for you?"

Gavin shrugs. "Sure. You gonna let me run around outside at some point?"

"Yes, of course. You may come and go as you please," Nines says. "How much land will your pack need? I do own the surrounding—"

His pack? Gavin stares at Nines as they ramble on about this land they own and how it's too rocky to support farming but has access to a cove, and the ensuing treaty with the local pod of merfolk, and—

And his pack. He has no idea what game the wizard is playing, but he never imagined it would include letting him "come and go as you please" and providing land for his—

"I don't have a pack," he blurts out.

Nines stops and blinks at him.

"Got kicked out."

He doesn't explain. It's impossible to explain just one thing, because it's all tangled together, in his mind, the words stuck in his throat. Refusing his pack's Alpha, bargaining to have his body changed and transformed, his womb scooped out so he could never be bred, never ever—

And where exactly that got him. They sit together in silence for a long, horrible moment.

"No one has need of a ninth child," Nines finally says.

"You really call yourself that?" Gavin asks in return, for lack of anything less dick-ish to say.

"Yes." Nines looks at him without any self-pity and factually adds, "It states all that most need to know. They do not need me, and I do not need them."

Gavin nods. "Fuck 'em."

"Yes. Well. I—" Nines stops and abruptly pushes the small pile of paperwork closer to his side of the table. "Here is your contract. It details what I … do need. And, expectations. I suppose the fifth clause is no longer necessary, unless you intend to create your own."

"My own … pack?" Gavin asks slowly.

"Yes."

He snorts. "I'm not going to run around and start turning people."

"Yes, that is included in the clause," Nines says. "Subsection A. Not to offend, but I thought it best to lay out a certain number of precautions first. B notes that you will be beholden to all the same laws as any other citizen, and C states you will make adequate arrangements for the full moon with myself or Knight Commander Anderson."

Gavin pulls a face at the rank. That shit's almost definitely a paladin. No sense of humor, holier than thou, and allergic to critical thinking. Just because you pledged allegiance to a deity society deemed "Good" doesn't actually mean literally everything you do is always going to be right or kind or morally just.

"He is also a lycan—" Nines stops and corrects, "A turned wolf, you called it? If expecting the two of you to … have commonalities … is unreasonable, then the subsection can be adjusted accordingly. The point is merely that you arrange for a safe and secure location each month."

"Yeah, we're not going to sniff each other's butts and be best friends," Gavin tells him. "It's probably how you feel about sorcerers and warlocks. Magic just looks like magic to me, but—yeah."

He stops when he sees Nines's face collapse into itself in the purest form of affronted disgust he's ever seen. This time, he can't stop a chuckle before it slips out.

"I can just stay here though?" he asks.

Nines unfurls their face enough to nod. "Yes. My power may be my own, achieved through my own studies, but I was sent to the same monastery as my twin. I acknowledge you have been sent by my patron deity, and I will fulfill my responsibilities to you thusly."

Gavin's eyebrows shoot up. "You're religious?"

"I worship Selûne," Nines answers.

Gavin stares at the wizard.

"Children born under the full moon often have enhanced magical ability," they explain. "She is also the goddess of navigation, quests, and all who work by night. It was the battle with her own twin that caused the formation of Mystral, the goddess of all magic. Many arcane users still worship her as such."

"And werewolves," Gavin says as how this shit all happened clicks into place.

"Your duties outlined in the contract." Nines stops and clears their throat. "Every power has a price, and mine was enacted at my birth. I have always needed certain accommodations. I realize now a mere animal would not be enough to serve as my familiar, yet a person has never been summoned before. A familiar that is both animal and person, however …"

Gavin nods at the stack of papers. "So am I your familiar or your employee?"

"Well, both," Nines answers. "You are magically bound to me, but you obviously are not a simple animal. I have made adjustments due to these extenuating circumstances, but this is a standard contract for all minions, assistants, and others employed by wizards."

He snorts. "Do I have a union?"

"Yes, subsection E, although you will need to opt-in," Nines replies, very sincerely.

Gavin taps the top paper to make a point when he asks his next question, and the paper suddenly yells the word "HEREFORE" at him.

"Oh, my apologies." Nines takes the stack from him and scribbles a few marks in the top corner. "There, the volume should be properly adjusted."

Gavin cautiously slides the papers back over, being careful to only touch the sides of the stack. He takes the first page off the top and pokes his name, one of the few words he recognizes.

"Gavin," the paper announces.

"I have paperwork I must complete to officially register you as both my familiar and my new minion," Nines tells him. "I trust you can be left to your own devices to review our contract?"

"Yeah," Gavin says.

"Very good."

Nines gets up and returns to their desk. Still no collar, only … this contract. Gavin runs his finger along the first line.

"The entity known as Gavin, herefore referred to as THE FAMILIAR, will enter into a magically binding contract with Nines, herefore referred to as THE WIZARD, to serve in the capacities of both a FAMILIAR and a MINION, as outlined by the Wizard Coalition of …"

***

Gavin nuzzles into his bed and groans. Three days of barely stopping to hunt and sleep to get here, and now it's been another three days of slowly figuring each other out.

Which hasn't been bad or anything. He got to run around outside, do a few laps around the borders of Nines's land. Cold, wet, and rocky, but he has to admit, he's kind of digging the melodramatic sea-side vibe. The air smells like salt and storms all the time, crowding out all the memories of soft earth and dense forest.

And he's got a contract. A "boss." That's the word Nines wants to use, so Gavin says that, but they both know he means Alpha.

It's good to have a job, food, and a bed, blah blah blah, he's really grateful and all, it's just—

Maybe not everyone has them or wants to indulge in them, but Gavin does for both.

And it's been nearly a week.

"Nines," he finally says.

He pokes at their bond too for good measure. The wizard won't pay attention to him unless he does. They'll look up and point their face at his face, but somehow their hand will keep writing in the scroll and they won't hear a goddamn word he says.

Even with the mental prodding, Nines barely turns their head. "Hmm?"

"I need to jack off."

Nines keeps writing for half a second before they blink and actually look at him. "… now?"

Gavin half-shrugs, still laying down. "I mean, tonight, yeah."

He's a werewolf using testosterone cream—kept in a jar in his coin purse, which was much more important to enchant to shift with him than shoes—who just formed a mental pack bond again. Full moon already past or no, his hormones are screaming at him that he needs to fuck.

But that's probably not Nines's idea of a fun bonding activity.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks, then continues with narrowed eyes before he can even reply, "Do not use my spell components."

Gavin barks out a laugh. "What—I'm gonna jack it with oblex ooze? That'd melt my fucking dick off!"

"Yes, it would."

He pauses. "Do … you know that for sure?"

Nines sighs. Deeply. "I attended an academy meant to train paladins, clerics, and perhaps the odd druid."

"All the most repressed spellcasters, huh?"

Nines doesn't deny it. Gavin snorts, imagining all the magically-inclined tithe-children being told to keep themselves pure so they can be properly donated to the gods turning into magically-inclined teenagers hit with guilt and libido in equal measure—and all the idiot fuckery they probably got up to without any actual education about their bodies.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks again. "I do not keep supplies for that on hand."

"You don't keep supplies or you don't uh, keep anything on hand?" Gavin wiggles his eyebrows.

Nines flushes and glares like they're still a prefect at that academy. "I—that is not—"

Gavin raises his own hands to prove they're above the sheets. "If that's not any of my business, sure. Figured that, honestly. Which is why I'm telling you that I've got needs, but I can just go downstairs if you want."

"Downstairs?" Nines frowns less furiously.

"That little entranceway at the door is large enou—"

"I'm not going to send you out into the hall," Nines says, like that's what will make them clutch their pearls in shock. "You can stay in your own bed."

"Yeah?" Gavin gives the wizard a once over. "I'm good with that. So good. But what I'm willing to do with pack and what you think is appropriate for a roommate probably isn't the same thing."

Nines's frown turns more calculating, like they're correcting the runes in a spell. "We are discussing you staying in your bed to masturbate while I continue my studies, correct?"

"… yeah?"

"Are you going to call me names, attempt to touch me, or—"

"No, no," Gavin rushes to reassure them. "I can just …"

He moves his hand down and cups himself, just to demonstrate that he's only going to be touching his own body, before he remembers that's not socially acceptable around humans either. Nines only cocks their head to the side though, a mild curiosity leaking through their mental bond.

And fuck, just his hand feels good right now. It's been nearly a goddamn week.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks.

Gavin shivers under the sound of their voice. "Don't need it. Get wet enough myself."

He feels the bond pulse again with that academic sort of curiosity, like Nines is going to start taking notes on him again while he jacks off. He pushes his trousers down, moving slowly enough to give his boss plenty of time to look away. He isn't wearing smalls of course. They'd just be another piece he'd have to pay to get enchanted.

Nines eyes his cock like they might sketch it in exact anatomical detail.

Gavin doesn't mention how he got it—his bargain and the Collar, the collapsed tower, the vows of vengeance—he'll get around to confessing it all eventually. But in the meantime: a fun bonding activity.

Gavin grips his cock and gives it a few strokes. Nines blinks in a way that's more like shutting their eyes repeatedly. He exhales slowly and makes himself stop, although he does still keep his hand held loosely around the base.

"If you don't want echoes, you'll have to wall off your mind on your own end," he advises Nines. "I'm uh … a little too busy here to concentrate."

"Echoes," Nines repeats.

Shit, right. Human. Doesn't seem to specialize in any divination or enchantment magic—so they probably don't have any experience being inside someone else's head.

"Yeah, that's why I offered to," He jerks his chin at the door. "Distance helps, some."

Nines does that tiny little head tilt again. "May I observe?"

Gavin licks his lips. "Yeah."

"May I ignore you?" they ask next.

"Uh, sure?"

He doesn't have any human hangups about nudity, but he's not going to whip his dick out and waggle it at anyone who doesn't want to see it. Jacking off in the same room is probably already pushing it, but then again, the rules seem to be different in boarding schools and barracks and sometimes bars but sometimes not—humans have so many weird fucking rules.

"Then," Nines says. "You do as you please, and I will do the same."

"Works for me."

Gavin gives his cock another squeeze, and Nines turns back to their scroll. Yeah, he's a little disappointed about that, but it's enough just to have his pack in the same room and know he's not alone.

Since the wizard isn't watching anyway, Gavin rolls over and shoves a blanket down around his crotch. He has a whole nest of them, all piled up on top of a mattress Nines insisted he have. They'd tried to bring in an actual bed, but it's just weird, sleeping so high up and away from the ground for no reason.

He gets a soft little mound built up and grips himself again through the blanket. Even if Nines makes him wash it after, this will make his bed smell like him and home and—

Gavin buries his face into his pillow and inhales. It still has Nines's scent on it. All the blankets do too, so now they'll smell like the both of them, like pack.

He feels a fresh jab of interest spike back through their bond and guesses Nines is watching him again. Maybe jacking off right in front of them like that was a little too much, but with everything mostly out of view now, they're back to curious again.

It only takes him a minute to build up a steady rhythm, rutting into the blankets and his own hand. He groans into the pillow and hears Nines breathe in sharply.

Echoes. He grins and keeps going.

He doesn't know what kind of needs Nines has or wants to fulfill, but he likes the thought of making them feel good. Would like it even better if he could crawl over between the wizard's legs and find out what they're working with by licking it.

"Gavin …"

The wolf whines in response to his name in his Alpha's mouth. He squeezes his hand tighter at the base of his cock against the knot trying to plump up there, just in case Nines wants it.

"Yeah, baby?" Gavin manages to growl.

"Oh."

Nines breathes the word, and Gavin can feel a small simmer of arousal bounce back and forth between them—this time from the wizard's end, not his.

"Does it always feel like this?" they ask.

He groans in answer, the only response he has to the soft wonder in their voice. He knows humans' senses are weak and dull, that they don't get hit with lust and frenzy the same way wolves do.

But hearing the awe in his human's voice the first time they feel it too makes him want to show them how good it can really feel.

"Yeah," he bites out. "Better with … you."

His canines get in the way of the words, the partial shift rippling through his body. He's never had particularly good control of it, so there's no stopping the change now when his blood's up.

"Are you wet?"

The question stabs through him. Gavin loses his rhythm with a whimper, nearly overcome with the instinct to crawl over and show his Alpha, present his cock or his mouth or whatever hole they want to use.

And he is wet. He can feel it dripping down the length of his cock, more pooling at the head, smearing into the palm of his hand.

"Uh huh," he pants.

Gavin bites down into the blankets as he ruts harder, but a sharply clicked tongue brings him back to awareness. He turns his head to the side and blearily stares up at Nines as he continues fucking his own hand.

"I would like to hear you," Nines says.

"Baby," Gavin breathes in reply.

Nines closes their eyes and shivers. Well, if they like his voice …

"Wanna lick you," he says. "Suck on you and make you—ahhh, make you feel good."

"I—" Nines stares at him with wide eyes.

"Shh, shhh." Gavin keeps making the noise in a low mumble as he slows down his pace into a dirty grind. "Gotcha baby, get my mouth on your nipples an' your neck, your mouth, make you wet too."

"I don't usually like to be touched," Nines admits.

Gavin's brain snatches onto the word usually, but he doesn't want to push. There's some shit he knows for sure he won't ever do, but then there's a lot more he just doesn't know if he really doesn't want, or maybe only in the right situation, with the right pronouns and body parts, the right person, but then how is he supposed to know if he wants it enough to try it if he won't know if he actually wants it until he's already tried it?

So that's a whole big nest of wyverns, and neither of them need to try to sort it out right this moment.

"Can give you this though, yeah?" Gavin asks.

He twists his wrist on the upstroke against the head, but then stops and holds completely still. Nines tries to strangle a whine in their throat at the lost sensation.

"… yes."

That confession sounds much better. Gavin grins at the wizard and starts thrusting again, still looking at them. Their long eyelashes and shoulder-length hair almost soften their face into pretty, but then thin lips, a straight nose, and strong jaw sharpen the effect back up again. And the ice-blue eyes set against pale skin and black hair just sends it all careening past beautiful or handsome into big words about being scary-haunting-magical that the wolf can't think of right now.

He can feel his orgasm building up, drowning in those eyes staring right back at him, but he squeezes harshly at the base of his cock. The sensation strangles at the root, like the little moans Nines won't let escape their mouth.

He probably shouldn't tempt it, but he sinks into the feeling of tightening and loosening his grip around his knot and the waves of pleasure that sends rolling through them both.

"You," Nines says but can't seem to find anymore words.

"Mmgff." Gavin huffs into the pillow and tries to make his own words work. "Good, feels good. Sorry. Won't knot if—fffuck."

If that scares you. Disgusts you. Bores you, to be stuck listening to him come and come and come while the exasperated wizard is trying to focus on their studies.

He pries his eyes back open when he hears footsteps and stares up at Nines paused in an awkward-half crouch over him, like they're not sure if they're allowed to touch. His tail makes the decision for both of them by immediately wagging in anticipation of pets and attention.

"May I touch you?" Nines still asks.

Gavin nods past a desperate whine. A hand slides up the back of his neck first, while another soothes over his bare flank. Must've kicked off his trousers at some point. All that matters is the hand on the back of his neck, pinning him down, holding him place, exactly where he should be for his Alpha.

His tail wags harder.

"May I see?"

The hands urge him to roll over, and he does, without hesitation, like a dog showing his belly when his master comes home.

Laying on his back like this, he knows the partial shift is even more apparent. Just about everything humans think they know is bullshit, but his hybrid form really does look like those shitty illustrations of big scary wolf men.

And that's without the thick, hairy cock jutting out between his legs.

He's proud of it, wanted it, needed it, but that was for himself. He wasn't trying to impress anyone, and he's not expecting a human to like it.

"Does your phallus typically have this appearance, or is it increasingly engorged due to your partial transformation?" Nines asks.

Gavin stares up at them and tries to impress through their mental bond just how many fucking words that was.

Nines flushes and tries again. "Does it get bigger when you shift?"

"Yeah," he says. "Touch me?"

He holds his cock slightly out toward the wizard in offering. Nines hums in consideration but doesn't make any move toward it. That's fair.

"Do you knot without …" They struggle with the words again. "Sex?"

Gavin strokes himself, tugging upward and pause at the head. It leaves his knot free below, not quite there yet, but noticeably swollen under the attention.

"Can. Sometimes."

"Will you show me?"

Nines stares down at him and meeting their eyes is like looking at the moon. Humans want so badly to sort everything into Good or Bad, even the deities they worship. But some things aren't good or bad, only intense.

Gavin nods, mouth slack and panting. He wraps his left hand around his knot to work it while his right keeps stroking the rest. Nines's eyes sweep up and down him like a search light scanning for a rogue.

"Feel … good?" he asks between pants.

Maybe he's already asked, but it's hard to think right now. He tugs at the bond, trying to pull Nines's mind closer to him, get them to come down out of the sky and feel it with him. The wizard's hands clench into the robes draped over their kneeling legs.

Then they open their eyes again, and Gavin could swear their irises really have turned a silvery-blue.

"Behave."

The order thunders down their bond and into his chest. Gavin groans, the tightness coiled inside him easing another measure. He's not quite ready to unspool, but maybe—maybe just a little?

"I am asking about you."

Nines's voice changes from questioning and a little stilted to informing him of how it is, like casting a spell. Gavin doesn't have any ability himself, but as far as he knows, that's kind of how they do it. Spell casting is just telling reality what to do with enough conviction that reality up and does it.

"Do you want to be mine?"

Gavin thrusts into his hands in answer. It's sloppy and a little pathetic, because there's nothing for him to rut into. But he starts nodding again, just in case that wasn't enough.

"Like this?" Nines touches him for the second time, one hand gently curling around his throat. "To be mine."

He's coming undone. Falling apart. Food and shelter and an Alpha, their own little pack of two, someone touching him and promising to claim him.

"Suh … 'posed to be … yours."

He knows it's true, it's true, true. The call in his mind, their contract, both of them bound by Selûne.

"Yes," Nines confirms. "Show me."

Gavin comes almost before they finish speaking. He tries to hold eye contact as long as he can, but eventually his own squeeze shut as he curls in on himself with a shudder. The first wave passes deceptively quick, with just a few spurts from his cock.

But he's not done.

"Good boy."

Those hands are back again, just like before, this time encouraging him to roll back onto his belly. They stroke through his hair and scritch behind his ears when he obeys, and he thinks life couldn't possibly get any better until there's a warm body sliding onto the mattress behind him.

Then he's being spooned and everything inside him unravels without any warning.

When he's done coming for the second time, he's aware of a few things: the hand wrapped back around his throat, first. That the gangly half-human, half-elf is tall enough to almost envelope him completely. The soft murmur of praise in his ear, shifted halfway up his head now and nearly wolf-like.

Yours.

It's harder to send the thought out when he's only partially shifted. Even with other wolves, they all share best as animals, some basic concepts as hybrids, and only faint echoes when unshifted.

But being the wizard's familiar must be different, since he'd heard the summons in his head from damn near across the country, in all forms, while Nines can't shift at all.

You are mine. I will take care of you, if you allow me to keep you.

Oh yeah, that's definitely different. Wolves share senses and feelings, not full sentences.

Keep me, Gavin manages to think back.

"Yes," Nines murmurs aloud.

The third wave hits him, and he sobs as he comes for his Alpha. His body is just doing the best it can to please, still managing to pump out another two shots of cum. He can finally feel a tinge of mild revulsion from Nines, but it seems to be aimed more at the mess than himself. Bold feelings from a wizard who left a hunk of bread to mold so long they mistook it for a stoneshroom.

"Perhaps I should invest in a toy," they muse. "A sleeve somewhat akin to a bag of holding, so that it can contain all this mess."

Gavin groans in a not-sexy way. "Don't make me fuck a void."

"No, the pocket dimension would only be applied at the tip of the—"

He can't help but start laughing. Pocket dimension applied at the tip—and said completely straight. Goddamn wizards.

Nines expresses their irritation at being laughed at by nipping his ear, and yep, there's wave number four. To their credit, they do continue to hold him until he gets another brief reprieve.

"How many times does this occur?" they ask when he's done.

"Depends," Gavin scrapes together enough brain matter to say. "More with … partner."

"Hmm," Nines says, like the feral scientist they are.

Gavin flips off his pride and goes straight to begging. "Please."

He's not sure what exactly he's begging for though—not to be forced into multiple orgasms while Nines observes or takes notes, or that the wizard will get started on that right away.

"Please, please, baby."

Nines pulls him back to rest half on top of their body, which lets them switch their right hand for their left hand around his throat without him laying on top of their arm. And that in turn frees up their right hand to drop down to his cock.

"Yours, yours," he mumbles. "Alpha."

"What do you need?"

Their hand brushes his own, the one gripping his knot. He lets go for an agonizing second to press their hand against it instead. Nines lets him wrap his hand back around theirs, using both of their hands to squeeze and lightly tug the knot.

"Ah … ahhh …"

"Ask properly," Nines orders.

"Alphaaa!"

He practically wails the word, shaking apart in Nines's arms and beneath their hand, but he can't now, it's not enough on his own anymore, not without permission.

"Hmmm."

Gavin cries freely, but doesn't make Nines grip him tighter or stroke him off. His Alpha will give him what he needs, and he'll take what he's given, like a good boy.

But that doesn't mean he can't ask for more.

"Baby," he groans. "Need it, need it, I—phck, please!"

"Yes."

The final wave sweeps over him so hard he goes blind, or his eyes shut, or he's back on his belly again, face smushed into the pillow, Nines's hand still around him and the blankets beneath his cock to rut into and it's not the last because Nines tells him Again and Again, until he's coming dry, throat hoarse from crying.

And then once more after that.

When he regains consciousness again, his whole body feels sore in the best possible way. There's drool running down his chin, tacky and drying to the pillow. He has his knees tucked up beneath him, but that's OK, because this is how he's supposed to present anyway.

Except the hand reaching between his legs doesn't breach him. Something soft and wet swipes over him instead, and he can't even muster up the mental energy to be scared, to explain why that's still there, that he managed to bargain for a working cock and all his insides scooped out, but that's still—

"Hush." Nines soothes him with another hand rubbing his back. "You did very well. All you must do now is rest."

Gavin sinks back down into the delicious ache and doesn't move while Nines cleans the slick from between his thighs, then further up to his cock. The blankets he'd rutted into have already been removed at some point. He knows from experience not even the best wizard on the material plane could wash his scent out though and takes a moment to feel a little smug about it.

"Yes, you came a truly impressive amount," Nines says. "Excessive, actually."

Gavin smacks his mouth before he can speak. "Your fault."

"Hmmm."

Nines stands when he's done and moves away. Gavin manages to flop onto his side and curl up. His boss did say he could sleep now. He just needs a little nap.

He gets a flask of water shoved in his face instead. The hand petting him goes back awkward again, pat-pat-pat instead of real pets. Nines doesn't seem to know exactly what to do now that they're done, but clean up and water was still really nice of them.

Gavin finishes gulping down the flask and heaves in air.

"I have work I need to finish," Nines informs him. "Have your needs been sufficiently met?"

Sufficiently met? Fuck, he's had orgies that didn't wear him out this good.

"Yeah," Gavin answers. "Need to sleep now."

Nines smiles at him. "Excellent. Good boy."

Gavin grins lazily back at them. "And when I wake up, I'm gonna crawl over between your legs and make you feel good too."

Nines flushes and half opens their mouth to protest.

"When you need a break from your scroll-thingy, and only if you let me," he adds.

Nines closes their mouth. They don't say anything else, but that means they also don't say no. Their blush doesn't go away either. They simply stand back up and sit down at their desk, spending far too much concentration fussing over the exact alignment of all their inks and quills instead of looking at Gavin.

Who keeps grinning, even as he yawns and snuggles down in his bed. He just needs a little nap, and then after that … he has all sorts of ideas for fun bonding activities.

***

This fic was commissioned by one of my followers to continue the first drabble! Subscribers to my Patreon get early access to all my commissioned fics 2 weeks before they’re posted to AO3 and tumblr ^^

#reed900 #gavin reed #dbh #dbh fic #detroit: become human

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tragicallytron · 3 years

Text

So, this Cutler guy... (CHP 2)

WOOOOO CHP 2

“The one thing that sucks about your place is that I can’t walk around with my hood up.” Ant said to Harm as they walked through one of the many thin alleyways.

“Just that?” Harm asked, staring ahead.

“Yeah. This is the only place where programs like to pull on my hair.” Ant pointed to her two long hair… prong… things. They looked so bizarre compared to the rest of her hair, which was thick, gray, and stopped just at her shoulders. The prongs were long, thin, jagged, and stuck up. When she’d put her hood down, they’d stick out a good foot away from her face. They always reminded Harm of antennas. He always suggested she could cut them off, but Ant declared they’re ‘too iconic’ to be removed.

“Buuut you’re here, so that cancels out the negatives.” She flashed her friend a smile.

Harm stared at her before facing the streets again.

“Another left.” He said as they were approaching a fork in the path. Since most of the pathways were surrounded by towering walls, it was easy to get lost, so Harm had his own way of remembering where to turn to reach the center of the city, a place where he and Ant would spend most of their time together.

The heart of the city was a hassle to get to, but it was probably the best part of the inner city. While most people had to enter buildings through windows, vents, or by crossing over sloppily bade bridges because most places were cramped together, and the alleyways were so thin that many doors could hardly open all the way, the heart was a wide open area. The structures surrounding the area created a large square border that could make any program feel boxed in, but you could actually see the sky thanks to how spaced out the buildings were. There wasn’t any scrap metal hanging overhead, no wires, nothing.

Harm looked ahead and spotted a wall covered in neon-colored graffiti, most of the writing and crudely painted characters were unrecognizable. It was one of the landmarks Harm used to guide his way through the area. “Right.”

The two took a sharp turn then continued walking straight. They could hear distant chatter getting louder. A bunch of programs loved to hang out at the heart, who could blame them? Plenty of room, good stores, good food to eat as you watch a great fight happen, and the chances of getting jumped were real slim. Harm personally loved to windowshop. There were always plenty of weapons and gears on programs that’d catch his attention.

The two finally exited the thin alleys and began roaming around the heart. Just as Harm expected, it was crowded. The groups of people scattered throughout the area, all loudly talking to one another as the faint buzzing of broken billboards could be heard, the graffiti on the walls, the flickering lights from both buildings and street lamps, and the odd aroma of burnt rubber fused with a cooked meal were far from charming, but they gave the city life.

Ant suddenly nudged him, “Yo, look over there.”

She pointed to a lady. Her face was narrow, her hair was white and in a sleek, high ponytail. Her circuitry colors were nothing special, white being her main one, and secondary being teal. She was with a group of friends, hands on hips, laughing at whatever was being said. She looked pretentious.

“What about her?” Harm stared at her, unamused.

“No, no, you’re not looking.” Ant guided his head to the lady’s heels.

Harm’s eyes lit up. Attached to the side of the heels was a light gray baton, one that’s able to generate a light cycle, no doubt. She must’ve been from another part of the grid, who else would be stupid enough to have their baton out in the open like this?

Harm clenched his fists. Man, just thinking of all the great parts he’d get from dismantling one of those… It electrifies him. Programs in this part of the city would do anything to get their hands on a light cycle. Nobody cared about the fact that driving through the thin, jagged roads was a death sentence, they just wanted to be fast.

The two watched the lady glance to the side, motion ‘One moment’ to her group, then walked into an alleyway.

“Now’s our chance, whaddaya say? You follow from behind and I go above?” Ang asked, a big, confident grin on her face. That was their usual tactic whenever they saw something they liked.

Harm was about to agree, he was almost ready to start tailing behind the program, but he stopped himself. His shoulders slumped and he let out a groan. “We can’t.”

“What? Why not?”

“There might be guards around.” Harm explained.

“So? That’s never stopped you before.” Ant said.

“Yeah, but before we were only dealing with one or two guards who were stupid enough to wander in. Last cycle, there were about five. The big ones too.” Harm started walking through the crowd, squeezing through clusters of people or shoving aside any program who didn’t pay attention to where they were walking. If he couldn’t snatch goods off of programs, he’ll have to look through the abandoned buildings. It’s not as fast--and it’s certainly not as fun--but he didn’t want to put up with programs making a scene and getting unwanted attention.

Ant’s eyes widened, “Woah, what happened yesterday? Did’ja get ratted out? Did they find you hackin’ off limbs?” She followed behind.

“No. Some random program busted into my place and the guards were tailing behind him. He made me break a window.”

“Someone broke in!? Man, I KNEW I should’ve visited yesterday!” Ant snapped her fingers.

“Yeah, made a dent in my schedule.” Harm grumbled. Harm thought of a small building not even a block away, it has--well, had--a large glass dome as a ceiling, and was one of the best looking places in this city. It wasn’t cramped between other structures, it wasn’t completely trashed with wires and broken metal, the programs who used to live there--scientists, apparently--took good care of their workplace despite living in this trashhole. That changed several cycles ago. Harm remembered waking up to a loud explosion one night, and when he roamed the streets the next cycle, programs were talking about how an ‘accident’ occured, how an experiment had ‘gone wrong’ and derezzed everyone inside.

Harm’s been wanting to rummage through that place ever since. No one’s tried to fix it or demolish it; other programs have probably already searched through it, looking for whatever goods those brainiacs had on them. Hopefully there’s still some decent things left.

“Hey, no rush with my suit, a’ight?” Ant pat him on the shoulder, “I know you got commissions you’re dealing with, and if I gotta use those disgusting chute suits for a few cycles, I don’t mind.”

“Aren’t those the same thing as your wingsuit?” Harm raised a brow. He paid no mind to the other programs giving him glares and spiteful comments as he shoved them aside.

“No, you do not understand how ugly those chutes are. They don’t even FLY, they just glide me down like some stupid paper airplane.” Ant groaned, “And they’re SO fragile. The Renegade could sneeze on them and the wires would snap in two.”

Ant’s mentioned the Renegade before, mostly ranting about how he’s made her work harder, how he keeps destroying their property, and how he’s giving Tesler constant headaches. He doesn’t blame her for going off, he sounds like a pain to deal with.

“Some programs are saying he’s Tron, which I hope isn’t true, cause I never imagined Tron sounding so whiny!” Ant got several strange looks from surrounding programs. There’ve been rumors here about the Renegade--about Tron--recently, and hardly any of them have been good. There were mentions of a potential reward if one were to capture and turn in this Renegade, or anyone working with him.

Harm could see the shattered dome just up ahead. He grabbed Ant’s hand and pulled her along, “Let’s go before these creeps get the wrong idea.”

“Whatever, my boss can kill ‘em!” She waved her hand dismissively.

“Yeah, well your boss isn’t here right now.”

They made it out of the sea of programs and arrived in front of the ruined building. A battered sign was placed on the wall, right beside the hole where the door once was. “Minu… Sinimo… Lab” That’s all Harm could make out.

He welcomed himself inside, Ant coming in as well. They both looked around. This was probably one of the better places they scavenged through. This lab managed to withstand an explosion from the inside and remain in one piece, the only missing chunks of this small, octogonal-shaped structure were the windows, the front door, and the giant glass dome above them. Only a quarter of the glass roof was still standing, it was a dustier, lighter orange compared to the neighboring buildings, which had a much more vibrant version of the same color. The remains of the roof were scattered all over the floor and furniture, glistening from the city lights.

Harm noticed a crooked staircase that led to the second floor--well, it was more like an indoor balcony. It was trapezoid shaped, placed comfortably between the walls, and there was a thin black railing that stretched across the edge. It made the lab feel much less hollow, and Harm was impressed to see the black columns supporting it still standing. He was also surprised the programs here had the blessing of stairs instead of needing to use vents.

Underneath the platform were multiple tables pressed against the wall with an array of items laying on top of them, mostly beakers and test tubes. Come to think of it, there were a lot of tables in this place. Right when they walked through the front door, Harm could see nine tables broken into rows of threes. Maybe if the programs spent more money on better security than tables, they’d still be here.

There were other bits of furniture besides the tables, there were chairs--of course, whiteboards with wheels that had smeared writing, and random chunks of machinery that got crushed by debris.

“Check it!” Ant grabbed onto a short metal pipe sticking out of the rubbage and yanked it out. The pile of trash collapsed and scattered over the floor, the loud tumbling causing Harm to cringe.

She tossed the pipe into the air then caught it again before holding it over her shoulder, “A replacement for my bat!”

“You have a disc.” Harm pointed out as he approached one of the tables, shoving aside the chunks of cement and metal on top. A nice variety of tools were hidden under the garbage.

“Yeah, but…” Ant lowered her head, “Not a fan of it. Bats are cooler.”

“You don’t know how to use it.” Harm said as he picked up a power drill, observing it to make sure it was still usable. He’s never seen Ant use her disc before. Granted, what she was programmed to do didn’t involve any fighting, just keeping her ears open for information and sharing it with her boss.

“I kinda do. Oh, hey!” Ant’s eyes lit up and she scurried over to Harm’s side, “I could totally teach you the few moves I do know!”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that next time I want to derezz myself.” Harm grabbed the rest of the tools on the table and held them firmly. He made his way to the stairs.

“Come on, you won’t even give my idea a go?”

“I don’t know if walking in here made you forget what the rest of this dump looks like, but Argon has much more open space compared to here.” Harm stated, sounding rather aggravated. He stepped over a couple of broken steps and observed the platform. It had far less rubbish on it compared to the first floor, only broken parts of a large pipe and shards of glass laid on the ground. Lab equipment, more machinery, many of the inventions here had already been dismantled, making it nearly impossible to figure out what they once were.

A wide open folder splayed on top of a counter, which laid parallel to the rails, caught Harm’s eye. He wandered over there, looking through the giant hole in the ceiling. The specs of orange light coming from the towering buildings above looked quite nice, honestly. Reminded him of stars.

He set the tools down and grabbed the folder, tons of crumpled papers sat beside it. He started flipping through the contents, a grin began to form on his face.

“Nice…” He said to himself.

“Ooooh, whadja find?” Ant’s footsteps could be heard rushing up the metal steps.

“Blueprints.” He flipped through the pages to show Ant. The tears and incredibly messy handwriting would’ve made it difficult to decipher what the blueprints were going on about, but luckily the refined drawings provided clarity. Ant could spot sketches of disc enhancements, upgrades for tanks, and batons that could summon all sorts of tools.

“The programs here were making weapons. No wonder they were attacked.” Harm said.

Ant stopped and pointed at one of the pages, “Hey, I’ve seen those! Tesler commissioned a whole bunch of ‘em at one point for the guards.”

She held her pipe vertically with both hands, “They, like--I think there’s a button facing them, or they twist the top a certain way, so when they lift it up and hit the ground, it causes these weird quakes? Well, not really ‘quakes’, but it moves the ground a whole bunch. Cool stuff!”

“Mhm.” He didn’t express it, but that did sound cool. He wondered if there was a way he could use that feature in the future. As he closed the folder, he started fantasizing of all the weapons he could make and modify for himself, the upgrades he could give to other programs, the money he’d make. It’ll be great.

“You wanna keep lookin’ around?” Ant asked. “I got all I need.” She spun her pipe around.

“Same here.” Harm walked towards the railings and lept over them, landing on his feet with a loud thud that echoed throughout the lab. Ant landed beside him.

“I got the tools,” Harm continued, “and plenty of work to keep me busy.” He said as he eyed the thick folder, the electrifying feeling running through him again.

#tron #tron uprising #tron oc #tronsona #some homies hanging outtttttt #fun times!

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not-majestic-bluenicorn · 4 years

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DREAMCATCHER’s Dystopia Theory

Hello everyone! I am back once again with a kpop theory. This time I bring to you my early Dreamcatcher Dystopia Theory. I say it’s early because to be fair, I have no idea how many parts this story is gonna have in total so I’m not sure how much they’ll add to it. The Nightmare series (I also had a theory for it but never finished writing it rip) was quite long and complex. I feel like the Dystopia series is a bit more straightforward, but we’ll see how it progresses. Without further ado, let’s dive into the theory.

The Setting and Symbolism

Our story is centered around a mythical tree known as the Tree of Language. I originally thought it was a mix of the Tree of life and the Babel Tower, but while it might have drawn inspiration from them, it actually has nothing to do with those myths. Instead, as explained through the Story Spoiler during D:TTOL (Dystopia: The Tree of Language) era and through several interviews, the tree bears white fruit when people say nice things, and black fruit when people say bad things.

In the Story Spoiler we’re also introduced to a young girl and an older woman. They symbolize the pass of time, and how people may become more negative due to life experiences. The girl symbolizes positive words, while the elder woman represents the negative words. The masks seen throughout the videos represent those who use anonymity to hurt others. So overall, we can see how the theme of this saga is set around negative words, and how they can bring about Dystopia to the victims of them.

The Story

The story itself isn’t quite clear yet, as we don’t have much to draw from. In the Z Interview, the members explained that they themselves are tree spirits in charge of protecting the Tree of Language. As we only have two videos for now, and so far Dreamcatcher is known to distribute the stories through quite a few albums, I will try to lay a basic ground for the plot.

The scenes we see in BOCA, where they are in a white structure with a tree in the middle surrounded by water, happen before D:TTOL. In the Making Film for BOCA it is specified that the Tree of Language shown in the MV is still growing, plus, the land around it still looks healthy and beautiful. Therefore, it seems appropriate to assume that those scenes with the tree in BOCA happen long before Scream. I think it would also be safe to assume that the Tree grows along with civilization, since it represents what people say.

In Scream, we can see that the tree is already pretty big and is bearing a lot of fruits. At the beginning of the video it reads: “One day suddenly the light did not come. People forgot how to say good things.” The girls are taking care of the Tree, but humanity is becoming more negative, to the point where the Tree cannot handle it and its core breaks in front of Gahyeon. The light is gone as well, which also serves to express the negative situation in which the world has settled.

BOCA once again starts with the “explosion” at the Tree of Language, and this time we see the girls moving around a modern-looking city. We also get to see these glitchy figures bearing masks who are chasing the girls. I believe the masks, besides standing for the people who hurt others, also stand for the evil and negativity behind these words. The girls are fighting these negative spirits, trying to restore the balance of the tree. They want to shut them up.

The Meaning

The girls explained through interviews, and I believe also in the Making Films, that they wanted to have a story based on our reality. They want to tackle the issue with negative comments that spread like fire nowadays, and that people say carelessly. They mentioned how they themselves receive a lot of these negative comments through social media (therefore the use of masks as a representation for negativity and anonymity).

They want to fight all of this negativity and provide strength to the people who have to confront these sorts of messages in their daily life. These songs and this saga overall are a call out to people who engage in this sort of behavior and a message of support to those who have to live through it. I feel like, beyond the more fantastical story they’re portraying through the videos, this message is more important, and I hope InSomnias and non-fans or casual fans alike can feel comforted by their music.

Conclusions: What is there to come?

I feel like this saga might be shorter because there isn’t a huge development story-wise. It might end up being a trilogy or a four-parts saga, although I can’t actually confirm that. They might also extend it if they feel like they want to continue talking about the issue.

Story-wise, I think the next step is to fight against the masks and maybe restore the tree, although I think it would be interesting if they “kept the realism” while also showing hope. By this I mean that it is impossible to get rid of all the negativity and stop all of the people who hurt others, but still, things can be done against them.

Overall, I really like the message they’re trying to convey and how they’ve grown in terms of storytelling. I think it’s amazing and I hope they continue to grow like this. I’ll add more onto the theory as the comebacks happen. If you have any comments or questions you can hit me up in my asks, on Twitter (@soft_bluenicorn) or my CuriousCat (@soft_bluenicorn)! I’ll be glad to answer them ^^

References

NoCut Interview

TEN Interview

Z Interview (It wouldn’t let me insert the link, sorry :c): https://7-dreamers.com/19-feb-2020-z-interview①-dreamcatcher-girl-group-but-beastly-well-show-off-a-wild-charm/

#dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher theory #kpop #kpop theory #dreamcatcher dami #dreamcatcher jiu #dreamcatcher yoohyeon #dreamcatcher handong #dreamcatcher sua #dreamcatcher siyeon #dreamcatcher gahyeon #bluenicorn does theories

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thornedcrownsandhollowvirtu-blog · 5 years

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Lirio

The first of my short stories. One that, unlike most of my attempts, actually succeeds at being short. I am posting it now, in part because I've been wanting to post it for some time but simply haven't cared enough to bother, and in part in recognition of Mental Health Awareness Month.

Please keep in mind that it is a story of a young girl's depression, and her struggle to live with it. The story is short, the ending is happy, and her struggles are presented from her close friend's observation of her behavior, but if you are very sensitive to stories regarding this topic, please heed with caution.

Also, please note that this story does not attempt to make light of depression, or present it as something easy to "fix." The point of this story is to communicate how depression may appear and affect those we least expect it to, especially close loved ones, and the importance of having a support network, and the security that comes with it.

Content warning for suicide attempt in the very beginning of the story. It is not explicitly detailed, but the action does occur.

All else aside, please enjoy.

Lirio

The wind is brisk and biting, the sky grim, but Liliana walks on, accompanied by full-body shivers and misted breath, her only witness the scattered stars blinking out of sight in the timeless hours that straddle late night and early morning.

Only once does she pause on her trek: the detour she takes in an impulsive bit of nostalgia. She hesitates before she boards the footbridge that overlooks still water — rather short, only fifteen steps across from end to end — but only for a moment, and, after the first step on the uneven surface, it becomes easier to wade her way to the center.

The iron bar is much colder than her trembling hand, cold enough to seep into her skin, but her shivers still as she folds one arm over the other atop the rail, bends her neck over the edge, and bows her head. And yet — despite the breath she holds captive in her throat, despite the unrestrained hammering in her temples, despite the impending nettle behind her eyes — she cannot bring herself to shed a tear anymore than she could breathe underwater.

She withdraws her head and remains still, stalk-straight for a full minute, five, ten. The only source of light in this sea of darkness, the blazing white glare of the streetlight behind her.

When she glances over her shoulder, she catches the beckoning wink of a neon display nearly as tall as the towering building it supplements: her original destination. She turns away from the light.

The glow of her phone pales in comparison; though tolerable, it is still unfavorable and bright. She squints but doesn't so much as think of dimming it down.

Her pulse is racing by the time she holds the phone up to her ear; her breath catches at the inquisitive slur at the other end of the line.

“... Hello...? Are you there...? Li—?”

“I need you to...” she stops. “You should come to the bridge.”

“... what? It's — almost three in the morning, why—?”

A muffled beep. The connection is dissolved, and she is alone again.

She leaves the phone trapped into a corner of cement at one end of the bridge just as it begins to buzz and tries to skitter away.

The intensity of the streetlight's glare almost seems to have waned; its reach looks dwindled and centered entirely on her.

Her hands grip onto the handrail, a necessary support to brace herself as she eases one foot, then the other, in between the balusters, just above the string.

Her phone buzzes again.

She casts herself over the edge.

. . .

When they were six, Anastasio thought Liliana was more like a bird than any flower he'd ever seen: flowers just stood to the side and looked pretty, and, though pretty she may be…

Liliana never stood still.

She stayed in her seat when she had to, but otherwise she would flutter back and forth to all ends of the classroom, chirping away with the other kids until they managed to shake her off. Liliana always wore bold colors that would always catch everyone's attention before anything else. During recess, she would race from one end of the school yard to the other, running so fast she sometimes looked like she was flying. And, on windy days, she would climb up the big tree that sat furthest from the classrooms, find a comfortable perch on a sturdy branch, and sing until the bell caught her ear and left her to flutter down and race back to class.

The only thing remotely flower-like about Liliana was the little ruffle finish on the hem of her dress when she spun and twirled and danced over the grass — the graceful spread of her skirt as it flared out and rose high enough to see the knee-length shorts she always wore underneath.

One day, he looks up and sees her perched on top of the monkey bars, swinging her legs like she's walking on air and humming quietly. A short breeze catches her hair.

“Why aren't you in the big tree?”

Liliana blinks down at him, and points up to the cover over the playground. “'S too hot.” Then, cocking her head, she says, “you should come up here.”

Anastasio stares; he’s always been bad with heights.

“Come ooonnnnn,” she draws out with the beginning of a pout playing over her lips. Her hands are holding the railing to steady her, but the heavy way she leans over startles him. He stutters out a polite refusal and waits for her to lean back.

She lets go, twists and—

“Are you scared?” she asks, hands gripping her dress over her thighs to keep it from falling over her face as she hangs upside down, with only her legs anchor her.

Anastasio moves his mouth, but all he lets out is a frightened croak.

Liliana folds up and rights herself. “Come on, it's not so bad.”

Anastasio eyes the structure with distrust, but even now he feels a curious gravitation pulling him toward her. Liliana waits.

He almost regrets listening to her by the time he joins her, gripping onto the rail hard enough for his hands to ache, the unwelcome and daunting experience of having his legs and feet suspended in air leave him feeling green in the face. He almost regrets it — really, he thinks he should — but the excitement thrumming through him is almost enough to negate the fear.

Anastasio and Liliana are virtually inseparable from then on.

. . .

“What's your name?” Liliana asks two years later.

Anastasio stares. “You don't know my name?”

“Yes, Ana, I do.” She grins, but he refuses to take the bait, “I meant your last name.”

“Rana.”

Liliana squints at him. Then, after a long pause, “that would explain the croaking.”

“I don’t croak,” he corrects her patiently.

“You do, too. It suits you perfectly.”

“We’re in the same class, and we have name tags. Why did you even ask?”

Lili waves her hand. “Oh, like you know mine.”

“Ortega. Which suits you well, considering how annoying you get.”

Lili scowls, and crosses her arms.

“I suppose I have to be the bigger person and end it here, then, Anastasia.”

Anastasio puffs his cheeks. “That’s not my name! ”

. . .

When they were ten, Liliana told him she was going to move. Her aunt was sick, Liliana said, and they were going to stay and help her until she got better.

“Are you really going to come back?”

“I think so...” Liliana sighs. “But it won't be for years.”

Years... that sounded like forever.

“Your aunt can’t come here?”

“No. I already asked...”

Liliana looks even more upset than he feels; Anastasio, at least, has other friends here, even if Liliana could never be replaced — Liliana won’t have anyone.

Anastasio slides over a scrap of paper and watches her frown. “It’s my address,” he explains, “we can exchange letters until you come back.”

Liliana beams.

. . .

She sends him a letter. He replies. She replies, and then she sends out a second letter, a third, a fourth, and sometimes even a fifth before he can reply.

Her handwriting is large, and, for a while, she attempted the wide and thick style a lot of girls in his class use, until she realized she really couldn’t pull it off. When she started reviewing cursive, she tried using it in her letters for practice, but it often took hours of incomprehensive staring to decipher the erratic squiggles and irregular loops. A lot of her letters break off from a few scant sentences with a drawing all done in crayon: usually an intentionally ugly frog in all sorts of unnatural colors, but occasionally forests or meadows or other animals would feature in.

He keeps them all.

When he gets bored, or lazy, or misses her so much his eyes sting and his chest aches, he picks every letter she ever sent him out of the box he keeps them in, and reads and rereads them until his eyes swim and he thinks he knows her handwriting better than she does.

His mom once asked if he wanted to tack up the pictures to his empty walls. For decoration.

He said no; Lili isn’t a decoration: Lili is a whole girl who lives too far for him to see, so he has to keep as much of her together as he can. His box holds a small part of her that can only contain her lively nature through her wild writing and enthusiastic drawings.

He notices, often, that she talks of her school, her classes, her family, and even the scenery of where she lives now, but she never mentions anyone new, no “I met this kid so-and-so” or “My new friend so-and-so”. As the months drag on, she writes more and more about how much she misses home. Anastasio wonders how lonely she is. He tries to prod her into talking about new friends she should have made, but all he gets are recounts of conversations and interactions that are only notable for filling in the lines to appease him.

Were she not Liliana, he would have thought her shy; but she is Liliana, and Liliana is not shy.

He wonders if something is wrong.

. . .

They exchange phone numbers via letters at thirteen, just before his upcoming birthday; his parents had even presented his phone to him a week early, six months after Liliana received hers.

He thinks he’ll miss their written correspondence, even if it’s less convenient than phone calls and text messages, but he still has the box with all her letters tucked under his bed. Looking back, he’s relieved their penmanship had improved to something legible by the time Liliana moved; had she gone two years earlier, he doesn’t think they’d be able to understand each other's writing at all.

Several months in, though, he began to notice a pattern with Lili. The novelty of instant communication had them plastered to their phones, though the dependence gradually waned. But there would be times when Liliana would text him compulsively for days on end, and others when she didn’t reply for weeks. And questions like “Is something wrong?” only made her more prone to stonewalling than prompts like “Hey. It’s been five weeks.”

He was never quite sure what these episodes meant, and the only conclusion he had was that she may be hanging out more with the friends she made a year into her move, but he was relieved to notice them decreasing over time.

He was even more relieved when she woke him up in the middle of an unassuming night with a call from her another three years later.

“I'm coming home,” she told him before he could say anything, and he didn’t hear the catch in her voice.

. . .

“You look... different.”

Liliana gives him a tired smile and sits down next to him.

It looks fake.

“How long have you been back?”

“Two days.”

Anastasio pauses, waiting to see if she'll elaborate. She doesn't.

“Unpacking?”

“Mhm.”

“How was the trip?”

“Long.”

“Your aunt?”

Another tired smile. “Good.”

“How was it there?”

A stony pause. “Let’s just say I’m glad to be home.”

Well, if that wasn’t ominous. Still, more pressing, at least for the moment…

“You look really tired.” He blurts, but she does, she looks about ready to nod off: dark circles under her eyes, lids drooping, unfocused gaze. “I think you should go home and get some sleep.”

Liliana starts and turns to him with a frown, and looks much more awake now.

“Do you... not want me here?”

“I do, Lili, but you look ready to pass out. You should go home; we can hang out some other time.”

Liliana scowls, but when she pulls out her compact and looks in it, she cringes.

“You may have a point,” she admits, pulls herself up with the help of the bridge's railing. “So I'll... see you later?”

“We have two weeks until the school year starts; I promise you’ll be trying to get rid of me by the end of the first.”

That seems to be enough assurance to make her relax, but with every step she takes farther away from him she seems to shrink into herself.

Anastasio frowns.

. . .

“She’ll be just another minute,” Mrs. Ortega smiles as she descends the stairs.

“No problem,” Anastasio smiles back.

“Have a seat, hijo,” Mr. Ortega prompts, with a pat at the couch cushion beside him.

“Oh, no, if it’s just another minute-”

“Have a seat!” Mrs. Ortega calls on her way to the kitchen, without turning around.

Opposition worn down, Anastasio relents; he sits down beside Mr. Ortega, and smiles when Mrs. Ortega returns from the kitchen with a basket in one hand, and two chilled water bottles in the other.

“So this is her surprise,” Anastasio muses.

“So it is,” Mrs. Ortega grins, “and she even bothered to make most of it, too. You kids going anywhere special?”

“Just the park, I think. Maybe the little bridge on the way.”

“Hmm, just don’t bore her, eh, hijo?” Mr. Ortega winks. “Though I don’t think we have to worry about that with you.”

“Um?”

Mrs. Ortega rolls her eyes. “He’s joking, mijo.”

“Teasing,” Mr. Ortega corrects. “Just make sure she has some fun, is all I’m saying. That she smiles, laughs a little.”

Anastasio blinks.

“She always looks a little better, when she goes to meet up with you, or right after she comes home from spending time with you,” Mr. Ortega explains.

“Oh.” Anastasio blinks, again. Frowns. “She… always looks a little tired.”

Mrs. Ortega hums. “She does. I let her stay up a bit sometimes, to finish school work if she can’t get it done earlier. She gets a little listless in the afternoon sometimes, has some trouble concentrating, so…”

Anastasio’s frown deepens. “The advanced classes she’s taking, then… maybe she should…”

“I suggested that, too,” Mr. Ortega assures, “but she insists she can keep up with the workload. She’s been getting angry when we bring it up.”

“You’re in a lot of those classes, too, aren’t you mijo?” Mrs. Ortega whispers. “Do you mind… at least making sure she’s not falling behind?”

“Yeah…” Anastasio blinks. “I didn’t know she might be— yeah, of course.”

Mrs. Ortega sighs; Mr. Ortega pats his back. “Thank you, hijo.”

“I’m ready,” Liliana calls from the top of her stairs just before she descends, a step at a time and blinking more than usual. There are rings under her eyes today, too.

“Perfect,” Anastasio smiles as he stands. He pretends he doesn’t notice the looks Liliana’s parents give him. “Let’s go.”

. . .

Liliana looks lost.

“Do you like this bridge?” she asks him. He shrugs.lskdf

“It has a nice view,” he admits, “and people don't really come here.”

Liliana nods. And stares up at the sky.

. . .

This time, when Liliana’s ringtone screams in his ear and wakes him up, he immediately feels something is wrong. Even the chirp emitting from his phone sounds wrong: hollow, like Liliana’s smiles.

Perhaps he’s overthinking it.

“... Hello…? Are you there…? Li—?”

She cuts him off. “I need you to…” a long pause, then, “You should come to the bridge.”

“... what?” It’s —” he checks the red glare from his bedside clock, “almost 3 in the morning, why—?”

A muffled beep. The connection is dissolved, and he is alone again.

Even as he slams on the redial button, he’s throwing the first clothes he picks up from the floor, and he runs out the door so fast he swears he’s flying.

. . .

He finds her curled up and shivering against the banister, but only when he throws himself on his knees next to her does he notice how her hair clings to her face and neck, how her clothes mold to her form; the moisture on her skin.

“You’re wet,” he says, struck dumb. “Why are you—”

“I jumped in.” She chatters through her teeth. He almost asks, in where, but when Liliana drops her gaze and turns it to the water that sits under the bridge, his stomach sinks.

“I was going to go to that one hotel, the really tall one,” she nods her head back, where the neon signs winks at her. “I was going to jump off the roof.”

Anastasio stares. He thought she was tired, but had chalked it up to being overworked or insomnia — her parents had seemed to think so as well… But, the idea that she was going to...

“I’m so tired,” she whispers. He removes his jacket and offers it to her; she wraps it over her shoulders.

“Tell me.” Lili turns her eyes to him. “About being tired. Why you get tired. Why you wanted to... jump.” Lili’s eyes blink; a tear rolls out. “Talk to me.”

Lili slumps. And then she talks and talks and cries, and talks some more.

And afterward, she thanks him with a broken smile that looks almost real.

. . .

Anastasio’s not sure if Liliana ever told her parents about her wanting to jump, but he does know she’s getting counseling twice a week, because she talks about it when they go out after every session. Her voice gets a little stronger, and she’s been making an effort to not shrink into herself when she makes eye contact. She looks a little more rested every week, and less tired when they go on walks.

Liliana is nowhere near as energetic as she used to be, but she looks more lively every day, and that is enough.

On his way to meet her, he comes across the flower shop he always passes by, and stops.

. . .

“I thought you were going to be waiting outside the building again?”

“I was, but, this place really does have a nice view.” Liliana answers, head turned up to the sun; she’s still sporting the giddy glow she gets after counseling. She turns and leans against the railing to face him, and frowns. “What’s that?”

“They’re flowers, obviously.” He snarks, anxiety rolling into embarrassment, but when she gives him an unimpressed glare, he offers the bouquet to her; she holds it carefully, like she’s afraid of dropping and ruining it at the same time.

Liliana stares at the flowers like she has no idea what they are; it’s likely, considering she’s never showed an interest in them even as a child. She probably only sees the loose petals with unintelligible patterns of white with red ticks, yellow splotches and pink blushes, by star-shaped flowers with white frames around magenta stains. She wouldn’t understand or appreciate the Peruvians or Stargazers, but that’s fine: because for her, the outward, visible gestures hold more meaning than the covert, underlying symbolism behind the message. And still, in this crowd of Peruvians and Stargazers she would probably never care to understand — still, in the very center, almost hidden, a single water lily floats.

“And this one?” she demands. Anastasio smiles.

“Lirio de agua,” he answers while he tucks it behind her ear. Lili looks up at him, and stares.

“When frogs sit on the lily pads, they keep all the flies and bugs away from the flower, so it won’t get ruined. So…”

Anastasio trails off with a faint croak and swallows heavily.

“If you let me, I’ll help you, through your problems, your depression, anything, everything. I’ll — help you keep away everything you don’t want, and I’ll help you keep away anything that you tell me will tear you down. I won’t let anyone deracinate you. I’ll be there for you. With you. If you let me.”

For a long moment, Lili stares, and doesn’t blink.

And then, she smiles.

#ainsley's short stories #ainsley's lirio #cw: depression #cw: suicide attempt #finally after all these years a short story published #still trying to figure out how to fix this formatting 100% ugh please bear with me

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years

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Scenes from the Bangalore Literature Festival

Jasmina Tesanovic:

I still have Indian dust on my shoes from the city of Bangalore, where I spent almost a week at the international literary festival.

I was mind-boggled at the scale of this national Indian event: literature, politics, activism, feminism. There was music and even street art, but what a crowd. Sixteen thousand highly literate participants, roaming from one outdoor stage to another, and engaged with every atom of their souls.

Literary culture persists in this part of the world, where people still believe that leafing through books is a transformative spiritual experience that can change the world.

Authors of the first world, beset with Internet and economic crisis, often seem like plastic vanity-toys kept past their sell-by date, but maybe what they lack most keenly is a creative readership. As a passionate reader, I often claim it is more difficult to read a book well than it is to to write one. As a less passionate writer, I know that even one ideal reader is enough to motivate a decent book.

The beautiful literary carnival -- held on the broad, leafy grounds of one of Bangalore’s finest hotels, an oasis of glamor and privilege -- contrasted with the crooked streets of Bangalore where the sacred cows, pariah dogs and torrents of honking traffic live with a passion for survival. This was not my first visit to India, so I was ready for the epic scale of grandeur and abject poverty, but it was still a culture shock.

The jet-set’s digitized skyscrapers tower like phantoms over vast bazaars seething with a seize-the-day human vitality. It’s reflected in Indian literature, where the English language, global yet somehow frail, towers over sixteen vernacular publishing scenes. In the Bangalore festival, professional writers traded erudite quips in English because thats how one gets it done, but they were singing in the English-speaking choir, and they knew it. The seething, vibrant life in those modern Indian streets, half chopped coconuts and half cellphone components, is never taught at Oxford.

All over the world we women haunt conflict zones, and India, which is vast, has plenty of them. The gunfire tends to sound the same but the conclusions are different. The national patriot woman works to support her brave men at war; the peace activist withdraws support from men who aren’t brave enough to refuse the uniform and leave the slaughterhouse. There is one common ground, though: whether life is called “peace” or “war,” the women always struggle in a trench.

The ongoing #metoo scandal in India is briskly spreading all over the country through social media. It started with celebrities -- actresses and directors, but spread through media centers, universities, publishing, wherever women get sexually harassed by wealthy and powerful men, which is to say, all over the place. It’s evidence that complaints of Western feminism have a universality, and wherever women don’t speak up about the suffering of women, it’s not because the oppressions aren’t noticed; it’s because the complaints are repressed. It’s taboo to speak up, and even a small distance in cultural mores can make the speakable unspeakable.

Women are keenly attuned to what can be said in what conditions. At the festival, one female mystery writer complained that she simply can’t bear to read a “classic English whodunnit novel” which is set in Scotland. All those careful cultural assumptions about who gets battered to death by the butler with the fire iron, they are fine in a homey English county but just don’t work in distant Glasgow, which seems as incongruous as Bangalore, almost. This may be indeed be a literary problem, but it doesn’t explain why crime and detective fiction thrives inside India for Indians, because it does.

At the festival, a female science fiction writer complained: why must I be targeted as a woman when I write fiction about science? I may be a biological woman, but why should that restrict what I can write? I remembered that as a young writer, and as a young woman, I shared her frustration, but I gave it up as soon as I realized that my writing didn’t emerge from some gender-neutral science laboratory.

When women were not on the page, it was an absence. My favorite writers of novels missed the women's perspective. My own life experience was visibly missing from classical novels. The women characters were lame, my world was not that world of canonic literary classics, I was invisible there, and not withstanding the fact that literature was my safe place, and a source of worldly education, I was miserable. I had no power, I had no words. My experience and wisdom had not been captured in those novels I read. It was in my body, as in every other living woman through history, outside of genre, in a gender gap.

As a woman without a fatherland and without a mother language, my own literature had to be born ante literam. The luxury of writing without a gender also has a gender, it is male “mainstream.” But the stream is not the ocean, and dams can break.

In Bangalore I did a “book signing” without books! My books have never been in print in India, but I do have website with many of my books online, and an old fashioned pen in my hand. A handshake, a signature, and a hug for a book from a website address! It was fair barter.

Bangalore has many temples, small and big, fancy and clean, awkward and trashy. The whole city conveys the impression of a temple on the move. The pavements are broken by banyan roots, the skies are speckled with vultures, the soil is overrun by small but aggressive striped squirrels, so watch your step!

The traffic is Los Angeles times ten, with no lane or crossing discipline. Pedestrians including the numerous cows and dogs simply amble through the noisy torrent of motor-rickshaws, endless scooters, bikes ringing, cars honking, trucks blasting. Traffic policemen occasionally shake-down the worst offenders, who can either appear in court or else cough up half the cash on the spot, for cop’s pocket. Somehow the whizzing vehicles respectfully avoid killing elderly women and small children.

In the old summer palace of the Sultan Tipu, a historic structure which in Italy would be guarded relentlessly with video cams, the local people sat on the gleaming wooden stairs, meditating, solemn. A little girl danced as endlessly as an extra in a Bollywood movie, gently applauded by her neighbors.

It is a densely crowded, communal life in India. Most every task that might be done by one person in the West is parceled out among three or four people, then performed for an audience.

In a coffee shop I simply asked for a cold soda. The waiter conveyed the request to the boss; the owner gave the waiter a key to the refrigerator; another waiter opened the fridge, yet another retrieved the bottle and, finally, my original waiter, with a flourish, brought it to me, opened it and carefully poured it out for me. Then I drank it in a rather showy fashion, because, after all that fuss, I felt obliged.

People want to listen and to serve: in my hotel the Don’t Disturb sign is replaced by the written board: Please let us clean the room soon, our pleasure is to serve you. As a writer, as an activist, I confess I feel much the same.

I feel edified and cleansed after being in Bangalore. In India, people check on your condition all the time, emotionally and materially. Then they certify your stay with a nice red stamp, ink in your passport, or henna on your body.

https://boingboing.net/2018/11/08/scenes-from-the-bangalore-lite.html

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weemsbotts · 2 years

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Destination Scotland: The Lore & Charm of Wemyss Castle

By: Lisa Timmerman, Executive Director

The Weymss Castle defensive structures and property date potentially to the 13th century with towers and other features rebuilt and expanded upon starting in the 15th century. The castle offers a stunning view of the Firth of Forth and remained primarily a defensive structure with the most famous visitor Mary, Queen of Scots, purportedly meeting her second husband Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, at the castle in 1565. By the late 17th century, the Weymss family started incorporating aesthetics with a formal enclosed garden space that can still be visited as the Weymss actively strive to maintain and preserve the private residence and grounds.

(Extract from the writing on the back of the photograph: "The Coat-of-Arms can be seen above the window. Don’t know if Lady Victoria Weems is still living or not, I understand that it was occupied as late as 1982 By Captain Michael Weymss & Lady Victoria his wife.”)

While members and supporters of HDVI traveled to and enjoyed the restored and beautiful grounds of the Castle, they could only speculate upon the interior as they walked the grounds, admiring the coat of arms, hoping to catch a glimpse of its’ occupants. Besides for the incredibly rich and dramatic history of the Castle, including everything from battles to destruction, the property boasts unique Scottish folklore centering around the Glaistig, the Green Lady. Reminiscences from Wilhelmina FitzClarence, Countess of Munster brings this castle to life with delightful folklore unique to Scotland. Her sister, Millicent married Hay Erskine Wemyss and visted the Wemyss Castle at Christmas, presumably in the late 1800s.

“But to relate this, I must state that my sister’s sitting room, in which she always sat and wrote her private letters, donne-ed on the sea, into which you could easily throw a stone from the window. The door of this room was at the end of a long gallery, upon which the doors of several rooms opened. The next room to my sister's sitting-room was her son's sitting-room, in which he transacted all business, and that room led into his bedroom. All the doors of these rooms opened on a gallery, which looked out (or used to do so — for I have not been at Wemyss Castle for many years) on to a court-yard with a plot of grass in the middle…

In about half an hour's time, hearing no more, she put her head into his sitting-room, and walked through into his bedroom, which was lit by gas. Seeing that his wet clothes were all lying on the ground she was satisfied, and made good her way out on to the gallery, when, to her surprise, she saw, about twenty yards off, coming towards her along the gallery, a tall lady in green!...

The lady walked in a slow, dignified fashion, and seemed in no way put out at seeing another person on the gallery. For a moment my sister stared in astonishment, but in a flash she felt who it was!

“It is ‘Green Jean,’” she said to herself, “and I shall wait till she comes up to me, and then I shall walk by her side, and see what she will say.” She waited. “Green Jean” joined her, hut turned her head away! My sister moved on by her side, but, as she afterwards told me, she felt tongue-tied. The figure accompanied her to the end of the gallery, and then — was gone!”

One other small circumstance I recall, also of Castle Wemyss. That, however, happened years before the appearance of the Green Lady.

My sister was going to have a baby. She had been suffering a good deal from many causes, and one was that her husband, Hay Wemyss, was in a very bad state of health…

The moon was shining brightly, and Hay said to his sister that he felt very ill. As they spoke together there was a crash, and part of one of the terraces smashed and fell. He turned to Fanny and said, “I am a dead man 1 for as a warning to the owner of Wemyss Castle of his early approaching death a piece of masonry always falls!” Fanny tried to laugh him out of the idea, but he would say and hear no more. In a few days they went to London, and Hay Wemyss of Wemyss Castle died a fortnight before his youngest son was born!”

There is a lot to unpack about the Green Lady, as the Scottish lore incorporates everything from an ambivalent deceased human woman to a woman-goat hybrid. Ranging from vengeful to benign, the Green Lady indicated in the above story could have walked the castle in sadness as her restless spirit reenacted her daily routines or perhaps peered out the windows to check for sheep.

Our members and staff continued their journey visiting Dumfries and Galloway, sending back brilliant postcards, and collecting information on our Scottish roots. After all, the best vacations blend beautiful destinations, wonderful history, and a bit of magic…even if it might involve some cross-species hauntings.

Note: The Spring History Fair is this Saturday, 04/30, from 11:00am – 4:00pm! Help us celebrate our return to large social gatherings in Merchant Park by visiting local organizations and vendors. Enjoy delicious BBQ, allergy-friendly delicacies, and pastries as you chat with volunteers from the Virginia Bluebird Society, Pohick Church Docent Guild, Prince William Master Gardeners, Prince William County Historic Preservation, Friends of the Dumfries Slave Cemetery, and many more! Check out the Batestown Exhibit in the Gazebo and enjoy a wonderful outside event designed to bring awareness to our local community and businesses! Check out more details here.

(Sources: HDVI Archives & Photographs Collection; Munster, Wilhelmina Fitzclarence, Countess. My Memories and Miscellanies. Robarts – University of Toronto, 1904 via Internet Archive; Wemyss Castle Gardens official website, https://www.wemysscastlegardens.com/; Coventry, Martin. The Castles of Scotland, companion website to book, https://www.thecastlesofscotland.co.uk/)

#folklore #scottish history #localhistory #vacation #folklorethursday #archives #ghoststories #goatstories #hauntedgoats

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kennachanmaiden · 6 years

Text

Memories With You: Bracken x Kendra

Notice: Hello, everyone! Thank you all for reading my story so far. I wanted you all to know that there will be one more chapter in this installment before I lay it to rest. Due to that, please feel free to comment on other one-shots or ideas you might have for my future writings. If you are interested in seeing anything other than Bracken X Kendra check out my fanfic.net bio for the other ships I support. Now enough of me, to the story!

fanfic.net Chapter Five: Baby of Mine

“Bracken, dear, can you hand me the spoon,” Kendra called from her position in the kitchen. The smell of the warm soup was comforting given the slightly cold exteriors of their cabin home. It was late October and Fablehaven’s forests were alight in colors of red and gold. The family had celebrated Kendra’s birthday earlier this month and were now enjoying the comfort and quiet of their home after all the celebrating.

“Sweetheart, you should sit down. You’ve been on your feet all day. I can finish making the soup.” Bracken called, ushering into the room to slide up next to his wife placing a hand lightly on her lower back.

“I’m not glass Bracken just pregnant.” Kendra pouted placing a hand on her hip and moving to grab the spoon resting on the side counter. Though walking was not the right word and she more waddled to retrieve the utensil. She was about 30 weeks and it really showed, her belly had expanded greatly and with her small stature, her natural gait was highly altered.

Over the course of her pregnancy, Kendra had experienced both normal and miraculous symptoms, from morning sickness to burping up glittering sparkles. Thankfully, she had faced it all with her wonderful husband by her side. Bracken was a force to be reckoned with when it came to taking care of Kendra. If she wanted fries with mashed up blueberries as a dipping sauce he was her man, never questioning her wants and needs. Kendra thought it was very cute how dedicated her husband was towards her condition, but with dedication came clinginess. Bracken had the iconic first dad syndrome, constantly worrying over Kendra’s condition, making sure she was eating nutritiously, getting enough exercise, and when he wasn’t worrying over his wife he had his nose deep in a pregnancy book. If Kendra was keeping count, the one situated by his bedside table was his 25th.

“Yes Kendra I know, but you’re almost due and you need to be mindful of how much you’re doing. In one of the books, it says that prolonged strenuous activities could cause complications in pregnancy.” Bracken stated, his brow scrunched in worry before one arched in curiosity, “Did you make sure to drink the veggy pure I made you for lunch?”

Kendra’s immediate reaction was to scrunch her face in disgust as she recalled the slimy texture the first time Bracken had made her the noxious concoction. After repeated experiences, she had grown accustomed to the taste, but it was the texture that through her off every time. Regaining her emotions she looked towards her husband and confidently spoke, “I was able to consume half of that abominable drink.” She smiled in victory as she gazed at her shocked husband. His expression morphed into a light smile as he wrapped his arms around his wife pressing her to his back.

“I’m so proud of you,” He cooed, “I know how much you hate it, but it’s packed with nutrients and it’s good for both of you.” He smiled moving to bend down and place a small kiss against her stomach. Taking the chance he slipped his arms under her knees and shoulders lifting her into a princess carry. Kendra let out a small yelp as her center of balanced tipped causing her to unconsciously latching onto her husband for support. Bracken strode into their living room only stopping to delicately deposit his annoyed wife onto the couch grabbing the nearest blanket and wrapping the princess in its fuzzy warmth.

Kendra looked up at him arms folded, mouth set in a frown, “Happy?” She asked. He cheerfully nodded his head before turning to head back to the kitchen. Slightly exasperated Kendra whined, “Wait!” Bracken halted and turned waiting for her request. She blushed under his adoring gaze quietly saying, “If you’re going to leave me stranded on this couch can you please get me my crochet? I want to try finishing the hat and socks for the baby.” Bracken gave a small nod heading into their bedroom to retrieve the needed materials for her activity.

As Bracken was retrieving the yarn and needles he heard a cry from the living room. Racing back in he saw that his wife was standing, one hand braced against the couch while the other was placed on her stomach. Her face was contorted in pain and looking down he noticed the small puddle of liquid that surrounded her feet. “Bracken, it’s the baby, the baby’s coming!” Kendra cried looking towards her husband. Her cries moved him into action. Immediately, he raced back into their bedroom slinging the satchel he had prepared with all Kendra would need for traveling to have the baby. Rushing back to the living room he paused closing his eyes. “What are you doing?” Kendra cried as another contraction overtook her body.

“Just telling my parents that were coming. Don’t worry sweetheart, everything is going to be fine.” Bracken spoke not only to reassure his wife but also himself. He then bent down lifting his wife into the air securely against his chest making his way towards the closed door. Not wasting a beat Bracken’s foot collided with the door, the action causing the frame to break, but successfully opening the door.

“Bracken you could have put me down to open the door!” Kendra cried as they passed through the threshold and into the chilly expanse of their yard.

“No time Dear. Raxtus should be here any second.” As if called upon by Bracken’s words silver-white scales flashed against the bright full moon. Instantly, the hulking mass of muscle and scales that was Raxtus stood before the two. “Raxtus, thank you so much for getting here so quickly,” Bracken called as he moved towards the dragon.

“Anything for you two. How are you doing Kendra?” Raxtus asked, lowering himself to the dry grass below allowing Bracken to situate Kendra on his back before hoisting himself up.

“I’ll be better when we get to the Fairy Realm,” Kendra spoke leaning back against Bracken’s chest, breath labored with pain. That was all Raxtus needed to hear before he took off towards the shrine.

Even in the middle of autumn, the fae creatures made a priority to keep the shine and the lake flourishing with life. It was a small glimpse of eternal summer which helped to settle Kendra’s stomach slightly. There was no need to wait as the three moved towards the island. The portal was readily open allowing them to pass through with ease. Breaking through the barrier Kendra's senses were engulfed in intense floral aromas. It was nauseating, to say the least, but she had very little time to reflect as another contraction had her clutching her stomach. Bracken’s words of encouragement flooded her mind as did feelings of love, his telepathic powers delicately caressing the chambers of her mind.

The two lurched forward as Raxtus collided against the lush green grass. Bracken then went to work, quickly hopping down from the dragon before reaching up to cradle his wife to his chest once more. Now, all Kendra could feel was the warm rush of wind as her husband raced towards the castle. Even with closed eyes Kendra could envision the colossal structure of glittering white stone constructed and shaped into pillars, rooms, and towers. It was a second home, and at that moment she was very glad to be having her baby here. Thinking of the child made her still with realization. Shifting in Bracken’s arms her eyes wide she asked, “What about my family? Bracken, we need to tell my family!” She cried out.

Bracken smiled down at her explaining, “I sent Raxtus to get them, they should be here soon, but first, we need…” His words were interrupted as they were both overcome with feelings of excitement, love, and a bit of anxiety. It was then that they were graced by the presence of the Fairy Queen. She was radiant as ever covered in gauzy cloth, and a simple but elegant crown. Her husband, the Fairy King, beside her while a few attendees stood some paces away.

The Queen stepped forward making a quick examination of Kendra before gesturing to Bracken to follow her. “A room has been prepared for the birth. The best healers we have are to be present,” She smiled gesturing to the fae behind her, “and I heard from one of the astrids that your parents have arrived. Raxtus will have to make a few trips to allow them to all be here, but I assure you that they will arrive shortly.”

“Thank you.” Kendra smiled relaxing slightly in Bracken’s arms.

The group ventured into one of the many rooms located in the castle, everyone individually different from the one next to it. The room they were currently in was a light powder blue with stone floors and ornate silver furniture. Bracken drifted to the four poster bed laying Kendra in the center. He deposited himself next to his wife taking her hand into his palm. Immediately, it was crushed in a tight grip as Kendra let out her loudest cry since arriving.

Quickly the attendees moved forward pouring water into basins, pulling cloth from baskets and began to fuss around the couple. One of the girls handed Bracken a moist towel instructing him to place it on Kendra’s forehead. The eldest looking of the woman situated herself towards the end of the bed between Kendra’s legs. “Good evening, your Highness. My name is Sanza I will be helping to deliver your baby. I’m going to lift your skirts and remove your underthings so as to see how close your contractions are.”

Kendra gave a shake of her head and the healer began to examine her. “You are about 5 centimeters, your highness. You still have a ways to go, but depending on your contractions the baby might be here sooner rather than later.” Kendra again nodded her head.

Time seemed to pass slowly for both Kendra and Bracken in those moments. For Kendra, it was a continuous battle of wanting to quit altogether and to keep pushing on, literally. For Bracken, it was trying to maintain a calmness for his wife while giving her the needed support and encouragement a husband could offer. Kendra’s labor was now rounding to an hour. Thankfully, Kendra’s family had arrived within that time allowing Kendra to breath easy knowing her family stood waiting just outside the bedroom doors. Currently, Kendra was fully dilated and so all that was left was for her to push.

“One more push, Your Highness!” The midwife called.

Kendra gripped onto Bracken’s hand giving another push, her cries filling the bedchamber. It seemed her efforts were in vain though as the midwife asked her to do it once more. Kendra, exhausted and soaked with sweat fell back onto the pillows turning to give her husband a tired and watery-eyed look, “I can’t do it, Bracken. I’m so tired,” she cried.

Bracken’s heart constricted as he looked down at his wife, but his resolve hardened as he cupped her face. “Kendra, look at me.” He commanded gently earning her attention, “You are one of the strongest people I know. You have conquered and battled adversities most couldn’t even come back from, but you, my dear have. You are brave, and smart, and beautiful, but most of all you are strong and I know you're tired and you’re in pain, but you can do this Kendra. I believe in you, love.” He smiled bending down to place a soothing kiss against her head.

Bracken’s words seemed to calm Kendra as she gave his hand a small squeeze before nodding to the midwife. The midwife, in turn, went back to focus on the baby, again commanding the princess to push. Kendra at that moment pushed with all her might, clamping down on her husband’s offered hand and the bed sheets. She gave another cry, but soon felt a release of weight and right after the room was flooded with the sounds of tiny cries.

The midwife popped up cradling in her arms a white bundle. She smiled walking over to place the bundle into Kendra’s arms the babies cries instantly stopping. “Congratulations, it’s a healthy boy,” the woman smiled as she and the rest of the rooms company made their way out, allowing the family of three some peace and quiet.

Kendra looked down at the bundle, shifting the blanket to reveal her son’s face. Kendra could not stop the tears of happiness that cascaded down her cheeks as she gazed at her child. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered, lightly caressing the babies soft cheeks. “He looks just like you, Bracken.” Kendra laughed gazing up at her adoring husband.

Bracken’s eyes were wide as he took in his son’s face, having to agree with his wife. Indeed the baby had his coloring, as a silvery tuft of hair was plastered to the babies head, his skin a creamy-porcelain color. Bracken only smiled wider as the baby’s lids opened to reveal a pair of ice-green eyes. “Not all of me,” Backen remarked.

Kendra gave a happy smile in recognition before asking, “Do you want to hold him?” Bracken eagerly opened his arms and it gave Kendra comfort that she didn’t have to guide her husband on how to support their son’s neck, as he had thoroughly educated himself on the matter. She watched as her husband began to lightly bounce with the baby, “What should we name him?” Kendra asked.

“Well he needs a strong name, naturally,” Bracken stated, “but I think it should also be original, nothing that aligns with our families.”

Kendra fell silent mulling over possible names. Backen and Kendra had planned to have the gender of the baby kept a secret. Wanting it to be a surprise the two parents had picked out both girl and boy names. “How about, Alaric? We both liked that one and it has a wonderful meaning.”

“Alaric, I love it.” Bracken smiled holding their son close to his chest, “Prince Alaric, a future noble ruler.” Bracken cooed.

“You’re going to be such a great father,” Kendra spoke her words dripped with exhaustion.

Bracken took notice of this, “You should rest sweetheart, I can take Alaric with me if you would like.”

Kendra shook her head, “No, stay.” She smiled patting the vacant side of the bed. Bracken understood her reasoning walking around the bed to deposit himself and the baby next to his wife. Alaric was sound asleep and as Bracken looked up, he too found Kendra to be adrift in sleep, her face a perfect calm.

With his watchful gaze, Bracken whispered, “I love you both so much,” before he too succumbed to the calls of slumber.