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journeysintowebcomics · 5 years

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Homestuck Liveblog #187

UPDATE 187: Love Confession

Last time Dirk took back the narrative, and Jade was knocked out for months. Also, Jane won the election, it’s a victory for the neoliberal austerity measures. Viva la Crocker! So what now? Let’s see.

We make a quick stop back at Rose’s apartment. She understandably wants to pack a few things before we leave this planet forever.

...okay, the update has barely started and there’s already some big news. So Dirk’s leaving the planet with Rose? Why? Is this an important part of his assimilation plan? Or is he doing this just to spite Kanaya, because he clearly has dedicated a lot of effort to making her run in circles? Dirk, explain!

She’ll have to leave her current body soon if she’s going to survive the absolute realization of her Ultimate Self. The new body I’ve made for her won��t have much use for her usual ensembles. That’s all I was saying.

The first thought I had was that she was going to ascend and turn into some kind of metaphysical existence, then I read the part about ‘the new body I’ve made for her’. Could it be a robot? I remember Dirk is superb with robotics. Pretty creepy of him to shove Rose’s consciousness into a robot, really. Kanaya isn’t going to be happy at all with this.

At least there’s still enough Rose in that head she wants to pick up stuff because of the memories. There’s still hope if she’s taken away from Dirk, perhaps? Hard to know. Rose hardly will be safe as long as Dirk has control over the narration, anyway.

Apparently Dirk knows nothing about jewelry, because he calls a necklace a ‘rock rope’. I know it’s unlikely the version of Earth he came from had any use for jewelry given...well...he was one of the two humans that remained alive and also everything was ruinous and gone, but seriously, Dirk, pay attention, haha! Rock rope, seriously...

I expect at least an aggravated retort, but nothing comes.

I glance back and see that her eyes have grown glassy and distant, like two round-cut amethysts. Her smile seems due less to fondness than stupefaction. The circles under her eyes are dark, and her head is cushioned on an arm bent beneath it. Keeping her eyes trained on me seems to be the only energy she’s able to expend anymore. The omniscience sickness is wreaking havoc on her. I should hurry up.

I’m glad I never had to feel whatever she’s going through. Not everyone can be built like me. It just means I carry a greater responsibility to take care of those more fragile. Especially the ones most important to me.

It sounds like Rose would have been going through a lot of trouble even if Dirk hadn’t been messing around with her head, but nothing of what he has done is good for her. Since she’s not in any condition to make sure Dirk picks up the right things, he just shoves everything in a bag or something and calls it a day.

ROSE: Are you sure Kanaya is going to be ok with this?

She’s so far gone she can’t even tell Kanaya of course wouldn’t be okay with this. Damn, Rose, this epilogue hasn’t been kind to you at all. First it makes you omniscient and have killer migraines, now it’s drying your brain like a raisin so maybe you can be shoved into a robot while you’re being taken out of the planet to who knows where. Then again, who has this epilogue been kind to?

Dirk states he’ll make Kanaya understand, by which I imagine he means he’ll make her go around the Earth as if she was playing Where in the World is Rose Lalonde. Given how Kanaya won’t accept anything that isn’t Rose being freed, talking to her won’t be an option.

Speaking of Kanaya, she’s currently rushing towards the apartment, possibly having noticed Rose is there, and stop to take out her phone and plan what she’ll say to Dirk.

Is she sure she’s not misunderstanding something? Could she have misread the signals, or falsely assigned nefarious intent to a perfectly innocent series of events?

Honestly at this point I doubt anything of what Dirk has said to her can be construed as a ‘perfectly innocent series of events’. I mean, almost all of it has been left up to imagination, but Dirk already admitted he’s okay with messing around with Kanaya, so I doubt he has even pretended to make it look like this isn’t a kidnapping.

By now it’s pretty clear where there’s orange text there’ll be gaslighting. He takes advantage of his narrative powers to fill Kanaya with doubts and make her think she’s misinterpreting so many things. He’s even making her doubt of maybe being with her is good for Rose. It gets to the point where she tries to call Rose again and, this time, Dirk lets her answer, most likely because he knows he has managed to get the reactions and feelings he wanted her to feel.

KANAYA: Rose Its Okay

KANAYA: I Know Everything

ROSE: You... you do?

KANAYA: Yes

KANAYA: I Understand Whats Going On Now

KANAYA: I Just Want You To Know

KANAYA: How Happy You Made Me

ROSE: Oh, Kanaya...

KANAYA: I Wont Be Long

KANAYA: I Just Need To Say A Couple Things

KANAYA: While I Can

KANAYA: Before I Get Too Emotional About This

KANAYA: I Finally Get It

KANAYA: I Know You And He Belong Together

KANAYA: I Really Hope You Will Both Be Happy

KANAYA: Wherever Youre Going And Whatever You Decide To Do

KANAYA: I Will Always Be Thinking Of You

KANAYA: And Be Grateful For The Life We Had Together

ROSE: I...

ROSE: I’ll always remember you, Kanaya.

ROSE: Thank you so much for understanding.

And with this the path is clear and Kanaya won’t interfere anymore. Dirk has once again gotten away with whatever he’s trying to do. Congratulations, Dirk. Now what? He takes the phone to speak to her. Now that Kanaya isn’t upset and raring to rescue Rose, they have a short conversation.

DIRK: You’ve probably heard by now that Jade is sick.

DIRK: In a coma or something? She’s in the hospital.

KANAYA: Yes

DIRK: I’ve got an antidote for that. Medicine of sorts.

DIRK: If you give it to her, it should wake her up almost immediately.

DIRK: I left it here on the counter in your apartment.

I sure as hell don’t trust anything Dirk can give them. I’m almost certain that supposed antidote or medicine is none of that, and will make her worse. What’s more, won’t this make them suspicious? This would certainly show Dirk knows more about what happened to Jade than what he has told them. Heck, as I mentioned last update, this isn’t the first time he has used tranquilizers. Someone should have been able to make the connection, no?

Dirk sedates Rose with his trademark horse tranquilizers and takes her away. Also...

It slips my mind to bring along her bag of stuff.

I find that impossible to believe. No way Dirk just forgot, he intentionally left that behind, Mr. Multitasking, the guy Jane said would be unlikely to forget even little details.

Back at Dave and Karkaroni’s home, they still were in denial about their defeat in the political world, and now are watching Jane’s inauguration. This is such a bad spectacle for them Dave immediately proposes to get drunk. He’s down with alcoholism now. Oh boy. He also has been wondering for a while if there was anything they could have done different that could have led to their victory. Hardly, as Jake’s endorsement was going to be the cornerstone of their victory, but he still wonders that.

DAVE: i just keep imagining what wouldve happened if that absurd rube goldberg machine of life ruining humiliation had been stopped at any point

DAVE: maybe just being backstabbed by his endorsement alone was something we couldve recovered from with some rigorous counter campaigning

DAVE: but what if i had been fast enough to cut him off before hed even said anything

DAVE: what if i hadnt accidentally fallen on him on the stage when i was rushing over there to stop him

DAVE: what if he hadnt freaked out like i set off fireworks next to a nam vet and started trying to fucking scrum me

DAVE: what if id just backed away from his punch with my legs like a normal person instead of warping the flow of time to escape causing him to become so startled he shit his pants

DAVE: what if i hadnt gotten so visibly grossed out by the smell that even the people watching it on tv could tell what had happened

DAVE: what if he hadnt started sobbing when the audience in the front rows started throwing up

DAVE: what if wed had better security and stopped that lady from running onstage during the fracas and announcing that jake has been dodging paying child support for their 3 kids

Ah.

...

You know, I’m not really a fan of Jake. He’s okay as a character, but I don’t like him that much. Still, I keep having the impression his entire existence in Homestuck for quite a while is to be the author’s punching bag. The guy can’t have any dignity, can he? That aside, Dirk wasn’t in charge of the narrative back then because he was busy ogling over John and Terezi’s heartfelt conversations, so all that happened without his intervention. Poor Jake...

Also, so many people are very into getting Karkaroni and Dave together. While I like that thought, it feels rather invasive of everyone to be so invested in it. At this rate they’ll make the relationship fail before it has even started.

Karkaroni is a bit relieved he didn’t win, but...after the humiliation of losing to anyone in such a public manner I imagine he’s not going to be thrilled with the attention. Even if he’s loved by the public it still will get some comments and words of support, and he’s not the type to take those things quietly. Good thing he almost doesn’t leave the hive.

If Karkat had anything resembling a spine, he’d turn to Dave with those big, sparkling shoujo eyes and finally open his tsundere heart to consummating their painfully obvious and mutually reciprocated passion

How quaint, my eyes somehow went blind momentarily as soon as the words ‘sparkling shoujo eyes’ were said in reference to Karkaroni. What a curious phenomenon.

Somehow, trying to manipulate Dave into confessing his feelings towards Karkaroni is the line Dirk refuses to cross. Really? That’s your line in the sand? Okay then. So he’s going to let these two handle things their way, although with some prodding via narrative, I suppose. Oh, that’s what this page will be about! I see! Alright, continue.

Karkaroni begins by thanking Dave for everything.

KARKAT: EVEN IF WE DIDN’T WIN, I’M GLAD WE TRIED.

KARKAT: I’M GLAD WE WENT THROUGH THIS TOGETHER.

DAVE: me too

KARKAT: MORE THAN ANYTHING, I... YOU...

KARKAT: YOU BELIEVE IN ME IN A WAY NOBODY EVER HAS BEFORE.

KARKAT: MORE THAN I’VE EVER BEEN ABLE TO BELIEVE IN MYSELF.

Aw, that’s sweet! He really appreciates the support and it’s easy for him to believe Dave means everything he says. When anyone else tells him they like and support him it feels like condescending kindness, but it’s different with Dave. That’s what Karkaroni is saying.

KARKAT: YOU’RE ON MY LEVEL. AND I’M ON YOURS.

KARKAT: I BELIEVE THAT YOU SEE ME IN FRONT OF YOU THE WAY I ACTUALLY AM, FOR BETTER OR WORSE, AND STILL LIKE ME ANYWAY.

KARKAT: SO EVEN THOUGH IT’S STILL HARD FOR ME TO BELIEVE IN MYSELF A LOT OF THE TIME,

KARKAT: I BELIEVE IN YOU, SO I DON’T NEED TO.

DAVE: so what youre saying is you believe in me who believes in you

They’re kindred spirits, pretty much. Even if they don’t get together, they’re likely to be good friends for a very long time, if not forever. That’ll do them both some good, especially in these coming times of bad economy and neoliberal austerity measures. Besides, without Jade messing around with ridiculous threesome thirst, things are bound to be less tense around here. The future is...not looking bright, but at least they’ll have each other as support.

KARKAT: YEAH, KIND OF?

KARKAT: FUCK, MAN. THAT’S KIND OF DEEP.

DAVE: i know

KARKAT: SO, YEAH.

KARKAT: THAT’S WHAT I’VE NEVER REALLY FELT BEFORE.

KARKAT: AND I’M GLAD YOU’RE...

KARKAT: THAT WE’RE...

Come on. You’re so close.

KARKAT: I’M GLAD YOU’RE MY FRIEND, DAVE.

Aw, that’s fantastic! Look at that, Karkaroni said aloud he appreciates Dave this much, and he did it to his face! This kind of thing is real difficult for him, so the fact he felt the spontaneous need to tell this to Dave is pretty nice. They have come quite a long way since their first interactions in like Act 3 or so.

Dave pretty much says ‘oh. Same.’, which is as much emotional reciprocation as Dave can give, I suppose, so I can’t give him much of a hard time. Dirk, on the other hand, is pretty much dying. If Dave and Karkaroni’s conversation is what makes Dirk quit controlling the narrative I’ll be so amused. This is going so well Dirk decides to press things a little, making Dave have some weird mental images and similes, but it does get Dave to continue talking.

Kind of rude to forget what you were talking about Karkaroni’s feelings, pal. Top notch friendship/almost romantic effort. But yeah, it’s now Dave’s turn to talk about his feelings, saying ‘same’ in more words.

DAVE: like maybe we feel the same way about certain things

DAVE: but what were saying and what were feeling

DAVE: maybe those arent exactly the same thing

DAVE: and maybe... we should...

KARKAT: WE SHOULD WHAT?

DAVE: maybe its time to

DAVE: talk

DAVE: about... that

Well, I guess this is progress?

KARKAT: THAT???

DAVE: yeah, like

DAVE: how... when you say were friends

DAVE: what... does that mean

KARKAT: THAT WE’RE FRIENDS?

DAVE: yeah but

DAVE: is that it?

DAVE: just friends

Oho, he’s pushing for it! Maybe Dave really feels something romantic towards Karkaroni. I’m actually a bit surprised he’s acting on that. While I personally did believe he did, I wasn’t really going to take it for granted unless more indication was given in the text and here it is. Alright!

KARKAT: OF COURSE NOT.

KARKAT: YOU’RE MY...........

KARKAT: B......

KARKAT: ......EST FRIEND.

DAVE: oh

DAVE: i see

It’s so unlike Karkaroni to hesitate like that. Does he feel the same too? I feel like, if he had no doubts about it, he’d have outright said ‘best friend’ without any ellipsis. Something in your mind, Karkaroni? Dave accepts it anyway, and that’s that. At least until Dirk keeps pressing things forward again. Geez, give them a break.

Alright, Dirk, can you not. Being too descriptive is a thing, you know.

Dave’s actually leaning forward for a kiss, Dirk making sure every little action Karkaroni does seems like he’s receptive to romantic overtures, until Dave realizes he’s having thoughts he’d never have. Which is true, really. The narration is really invasive.

KARKAT: WHAT’S WRONG?

KARKAT: DID I DO SOMETH—

DAVE: no

DAVE: i just cant

DAVE: shit

DAVE: it just feels like

It feels like nothing, Dave. Don’t worry about it.

DAVE: what the fuck is going on

DAVE: this feels really off

KARKAT: ????

DAVE: idk

DAVE: i just keep having thoughts i know id never think

He’s right. This is precisely why I say forcing things to happen is not a good idea. Look at that, it’s interfering. Way to go, Dirk, now stop metaphorically holding their head together as if they’re dolls you’re making kiss. All you did is make Dave all confused.

I take a deep breath and get myself under control. My light psychological intrusions may have only made things worse. Invested as I am in the outcome of this encounter, I know forcing their hand would be a mistake.

NO KIDDING.

If Dave passes that threshold not of his own will, it’d be a hollow victory anyway. There’s nothing I can do but settle down, step it back, and trust my boy to bring it home.

I think if Dirk forced things to happen this wouldn’t last, unless Dirk keeps his attention on their romantic relationship 24/7, and he obviously wouldn’t want to do that. Things would fall apart irreparably, I’d say, because these two are so emotionally constipated they would refuse to even consider the possibility of trying again. Just let things happen, if they happen.

What follows is several paragraphs of prose so purple I’m surprised the font is orange. Despite that it’s pretty well written, it’s descriptive and paints the scene pretty vividly. This may be the one time I like Dirk’s narration. Also, all that is being funneled into Dave’s head, so it’s like he has a narrator describing everything, which he doesn’t like. Dirk once again ruins everything when Dave had already progressed, and let me tell you, your loved one shouting in your face to some unseen influence is not attractive.

Before Karkaroni can ponder if Dave is losing his mind right in front of him, Dave just goes ahead with the kiss. There they go! What they wanted has happened. Now the thing to wonder is if it’ll last. Good luck to them!

God damn. I’m sorry. I’m blowing the description here, and missing a lot of good shit. It just caught me so off guard.

Honestly it’s better this way. No need for more, that was all that was needed. Brevity is the soul of wit, Dirk. Not that you have ever known the meaning of the word ‘brevity’.

I’m not going to intercede with a single word further, and I won’t let you, either. I won’t cheapen this beautiful moment with my base editorialization just to satisfy your voyeuristic curiousity. Frankly, I’m offended you’d even expect me to.

I expected it because you have as much tact as a baseball bat to the teeth, pal.

What they’re getting up to here is nobody’s business but theirs.

Davekat is canon, and that’s really all there is to say on the matter. Let’s give these crazy lovebirds some privacy and move on.

Thank goodness, make this twice I’m okay with Dirk’s narration. I better check outside and see what color is the moon right now. Oh, look, it’s blue. No wonder he’s being discreet.

So after these parts where Dirk was acceptable as the narrator, naturally he has to go and ruin it by meeting Jake the next page, where he immediately showers himself with rose petals and preens by bragging about any virtues he thinks he has. I’m not looking forward to him talking to Jake, especially not after the way he was talking about Jake back at the stadium for the endorsement speech. At the first sign of ridiculous gaslighting I’m calling this a day.

My guy Squarewave is here too. I need his help today, because there’s a lot of cargo to wrangle. He’s wheeling something around on a hand truck. Something about the height of Rose, roughly Rose-shaped, and wrapped in a cloth. I know she’s gonna love it the first time she sees it. But the only way she’ll be able to do that is when she’s awake and looking in a mirror.

Okay, it definitely will be a robot for Rose. Golly, there’s something really creepy about transferring a friend’s consciousness to a robot, especially when she’s in no condition to do anything about it. Then again, I suppose a robot’s processing power would help to deal with the sensory overload of all the visions and stuff. That must be Dirk’s reasoning, no? I wonder for Rose will react once she’s inside the robot, able to think clearly – if Dirk doesn’t stop her from thinking, of course.

Dirk goes straight to the point, telling he needs a spaceship, although he doesn’t mention it’s to run away from the planet. All he wants is something fast, to run away as quickly as he can to where nobody can bother him while he keeps his iron grip on everything from a distance, I suppose.

Apparently Jake thought he was going to join Dirk, so Dirk sets that straight. Now that this matter is settled, Jake asks a sensible question:

JAKE: So um... how long will you be away? Does kanaya know about all of these shenanigans?

DIRK: Yes.

DIRK: We’ve discussed it. She’s ok with it.

JAKE: Whew good to see theres no trouble in paradise. Theyve always had the most lovely marriage.

Boy that’s going to be awkward to discuss, if they ever do. There’s plenty of trouble in paradise, and all of them are shaped like Dirk.

Jake hasn’t gotten over his failed relationship with Dirk, and he asks him when he’ll be back from this romp in space. The news Dirk is never coming back devastates him. Oh hey, I just realized: is Terezi coming? This is what Dirk meant about letting her come along, right? Is she going to join them, dragging John’s corpse in a wallet? Should I expect a Terezi robot in the future?

Jake can’t come, not only because Dirk doesn’t want him anywhere near him, but also because he��ll have to support Jane in a reign that’s likely to last millions of years. Jake argues he knows nothing about strategy or policy, so I suppose he’ll stay because of his political capital? Whatever political capital he has left after the...shameful spectacle of the endorsement speech.

DIRK: Uh, Jake. Nobody wants you to do any of that.

DIRK: Well, I know Jane sure doesn’t.

JAKE: Then... what...

DIRK: You’ll just be, you know.

DIRK: Her candy boy?

JAKE: CANDY BOY???

DIRK: Yeah. Being on call.

DIRK: Serving a multimillion-year term of giving her the right kind of “presidential action” she needs to keep going. To keep her morale up and such.

DIRK: To provide her with many heirs.

DIRK: Doesn’t that sound cool?

I’m losing my patience with this ass and also with Condesce Jane. Scrolling down. Jake basically confesses he can’t live without Dirk’s presence, and Dirk puts all the blame on Jake. Where’s the arrow for the next page...ah, there it is.

Kanaya is looking for Jade’s hospital room, antidote in hand. She finds it and shows Roxy the antidote, ready to apply it to Jade. She doesn’t even explain what it is, she just injects it right away, and it doesn’t take long at all for Jade to start moving. An effective antidote! And when Jade opens her eyes, they’re green instead of black. She’s not possessed. Ah, so that’s why Dirk was okay with letting Jade wake up, she’s not under Dead Calliope’s control anymore.

Looks like during her trance there was still some sort of consciousness in her. She knows a lot, possibly in the same way Dirk, Rose and Terezi know a lot – by seeing a lot of alternate Jades. She’s taking it all rather well, without headaches or anything debilitating like what Rose had before going to see Dirk. She does have something, though: wrath. And it’s all directed at one person.

JADE: DIRK STRIDER HAS TO BE STOPPED!!!!!!!!!!

Damn right! Buuuut he’s kind of getting on a spaceship, so you’re running out of time for that. Then again, this is Jade, the one with space powers. That has to be some sort of advantage.

The next page is Dirk’s justification for his actions. It’s nothing really worthwhile, mostly that he wanted to be a good person and thought of himself that way, but given what he had to do and what powers he had, it was impossible to come across as anything but the villain, and that he admitted he was the villain now. From all this page there’s only a couple things worth going deeper into, I’d say. Let’s see...

If my agenda was to try as hard as I could to make sure no one thought I sucked, what the fuck would ever get done? How would I go about taming this world, or shaping reality for the better? And if I didn’t bother pursuing those goals, and thereby tacitly accepting the untold suffering that resulted from my inaction, wouldn’t that make me a bad person? If I try and succeed, I’m a hero, right? And if I try and fail, at least I made things interesting on my way to the grave. There would be a tragic nobility in that. And the way I see it, settling for anything less from my arc would be, frankly, pathetic.

Right. Can’t say I understand what Dirk’s plan is, other than it seems like it’s to assimilate everyone under one big god or something – most likely in a metaphorical manner – but other than that there hasn’t really been any kind of information about it. That aside, there’s something else to touch in this part.

Be okay with everyone hating you because you know what you’re doing is for the better? It’s more than fine. Has a lot of potential and grounds for some good personal conflict. It’d indeed be tragically noble. Buuuut none of what I read in this epilogue says it’s a tragically noble. In terms of writing, Dirk seriously is going to succeed on making every character in Homestuck loathe him, judging by the way Jade already woke up and is ready to scream her head off about how Dirk has to be stopped, so he has that much right. All that is more than fine, and it certainly would be a hella interesting story if it wasn’t an epilogue.

The problem is that Dirk controlled the narrative and showed exactly what was going on in his head. The reader could see very clearly what he thought of everyone, the reader saw what kind of choice words he had to say about people like John or Jake or anyone else. The reader saw all the disdain towards pretty much everything and how Dirk kept patting himself on the back. After all that, this entire page of Dirk justifying how it’s okay if he’s the villain comes across as very delusional. It’s pretty hard to think of any of this as ‘tragic nobility’ when the narrative showed very well he’s pretty rotten to the core.

Which would have been excellent if this had been anything other than Homestuck, really. It’d have been such an interesting thing, and so enjoyable. Alas. Still going to talk about that once I’m done with the epilogue.

The other thing I think is worth seeing is this:

That’s why when someone finally comes knocking for the price I owe, I’ll fully welcome it. By then it’ll have been a long time coming, and I’ll probably have done more than my share to make sure, somewhere along the way, it all got put into motion. What good is a villain who doesn’t have a satisfying dramatic comeuppance in store for him? So yeah, the next time I die, let’s pencil it in as a Just Death. And let’s also have it on good authority that the next time Dave cuts off my head, it’ll be for good.

I’ll be looking forward to that day just as much as the next guy.

He already has decided how it’ll be. I don’t doubt he’ll let it happen because, well, he controls the narrative, and my guess is that he wouldn’t let anyone but Dave kill him. Who better than him? And in what other manner but making the meme happen once again? Even during death Dirk Strider has to stick to his memes. Wouldn’t be surprised if when the time comes he intentionally writes things so Dave decapitates him instead of, say, stab him through the gut with the sword.

Aaaalso, is this implying said ‘satisfying dramatic comeuppance’ isn’t coming in this epilogue? Kind of say that coming, really. I heard the Meat epilogue has forty-something pages and this is page 41. There’s not really a lot of space left to do a dramatic confrontation that’s not rushed, unless you forgo everything like setting it up and just teleport everybody to the moment of Dirk’s death. Then again, this is Homestuck. Clean, tidy conclusions aren’t really its thing, haha, so I didn’t really think there’d be any kind of confrontation with Dirk. If Lord English didn’t get one in the story itself, why would Dirk Strider of all people get it?

The next page starts with quite the long conversation. Let’s see...

So, Jade is immediately alarmed while Kanaya is appeasing her, saying everything is okay. Roxy is going to be so confused, being the only one here who hasn’t been involved in Dirk’s antics at all. Now that I think about it, Roxy is the only one who hasn’t been kicked to the curb by this epilogue, I suppose it’s because she’s been pretty much a nonentity during the epilogue except for a conversation or two that didn’t really have anything to do with the other plots. Then again, Calliope had even less and she ended traumatized.

KANAYA: Hes Going To Take Good Care Of Rose

KANAYA: Probably Much Better Than Id Ever Be Able To

KANAYA: Ill Miss Her But Im At Least Thankful For That

JADE: THANKFUL??

JADE: kanaya...

JADE: did

JADE: did dirk KIDNAP ROSE?!

Yes! He very much did! Make sure when you rescue her her mind is in her body instead of inside a robot. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to convince everyone to take an empty husk away, saying she’s in a coma or something.

Things are so bad Roxy sounds indignant. I feel bad for her, it’s going to be tough to hear such things about one of her oldest friends. Jade asks questions to find out if Kanaya being okay with these developments was an attitude she arrived to by her own volition or if Dirk influenced her in some manner. As soon as the answer is said she knows it’s Dirk’s influence.

It’s fine, Kanaya. Why don’t we just say I’m invoking the mercy rule here. Jade is onto me obviously. But I wouldn’t have even let her wake up if there was anything you all could do about it by now. As the cherub resurfaces in her mind, I’ll be fading out of here soon anyway. I don’t see any reason to keep my dear friends in limbo any longer than they need to be.

So he doesn’t mind if Dead Calliope takes over Jade again – and possibly the narrative. Sounds to me like Dirk got away with whatever he was doing, then. If he can let go of the narrative, then he doesn’t need it anymore. Oof, not good. He cares so little he even gives Kanaya her own sane judgment back. How smug of him.

KANAYA: Wait

KANAYA: I Dont...

KANAYA: Im Confused

ROXY: ???

KANAYA: Why Didnt I At Least

KANAYA: Demand To See My Wife Before They Departed While I Had Dirk On The Phone

ROXY: omg u didnt even SEE her before she left??

KANAYA: No

KANAYA: At The Time It Didnt Feel Right To Ask I Guess

KANAYA: I Was So Devastated I Thought

KANAYA: That I Should Just

KANAYA: I Dont Know What I Thought

KANAYA: What

KANAYA: What Was I THINKING?

JADE: :(

She must be furious. It’s not everyday she lets go of her quirk like that. From the position my scrolling bar is at right now, I see more full caps. Kanaya, do you still have chainsaws? I can imagine Kanaya revving up the chainsaw right now. Dirk should consider himself lucky he may be already in outer space.

Seriously, it’s pretty hard to think of Dirk’s actions as ‘tragically noble’ when he’s patting his own back so hard he’s going to sprain his shoulder.

Without even knowing the details Kanaya is already certain Dirk has corrupted her in some manner, because otherwise Rose wouldn’t have acted like she did. She’s not wrong! And then she vows to make him pay, and pay dearly he will. That part I’m afraid won’t happen, as I’m pretty sure Dave will be the one to give the final blow, and chainsaws kind of make deadly injuries so she can’t do anything.

Since Jade’s the one with the answers, Kanaya demands to hear them, impatiently ignoring Jade’s words about anything that doesn’t seem related to Dirk at first. True to dramatic yet cheesy writing, all Jade manages to say is...

JADE: im trying to get to that!

JADE: the thing with dirk is...

JADE: is...

Whooops, here comes Dead Calliope. Hi! And this time Dirk is okay with it because his plans are already underway, so he doesn’t mind giving the dead cherub this advantage. Dead Calliope will give Jade back only when Dirk is so far away he’s not a danger to anyone, and given how he’s already far away and in control...well that’s going to be a long while.

they will know what to do, when they are ready.

Ha ha. Sure. They’ll all just hop in a spaceship and go on a wild goose chase trying to hunt me down. I know that already. It’s really not rocket science. Except for the fact that it literally is.

Can it really be called a wild goose chase when it’s a foregone conclusion they’ll succeed? You know they will, you’re even expecting that with some eagerness. It may take them a looooong time, but they’ll reach Dirk someday. A few of these people have an eternity to do so, after all. I imagine others will come along once they find out what happened, too. I’m pretty confident Jane would be the only one who wouldn’t, and that’s because she’ll be too busy implementing her reign of terror.

kanaya drops to the floor and begins weeping again. she feels the sorrow anew from her wife’s departure, with a sense of rage and pain unshrouded by the veil of the prince. neither she nor her friends will have to worry about him anymore, so long as they remain on this planet and under my protection.

Well! Sorry to disappoint, Dead Calliope, but the odds they’ll remain on this planet and do nothing after two of them stated pretty clearly Dirk has to be stopped and kidnapped someone are...pretty low. I just hope Dead Calliope isn’t going to get in their way when they finally get going.

KANAYA: He Has To Be Stopped...

huddled on the floor, she repeats this pledge to herself. theoretically, he could be stopped before he leaves, if they hurried. they would need to know what to do, where to go, and to have the motivation to do it, but time is short. i could push them to, with a certain degree of intervention, but i will not. my unwillingness to do so is what separates me from him. and what corporeal life needs now is someone presiding over them who is nothing like him at all.

So Dead Calliope would just be an observer narrating everything, I guess. She wouldn’t intervene or push anyone around unless they were insulting the mighty lollipop. That’d be the extent of her actions, hm...having free will sounds really nice, I must say. It wouldn’t be so bad for this to be the status quo.

This is the end of the page. This update is already quite long, so I’ll cut it here. In the next one I’ll finish the meat epilogue.

Next update: next time

#homestuck #homestuck liveblog #webcomics #liveblog #webcomic liveblog

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captaingondor · 5 years

Note

Okay, but if you're still looking for romantic prompts, how about Character A saying I love you to Character B without using the words "I love you." (Through actions, or an "as you wish" situation. That kinda thing.)

Thanks for the prompt!!For this, I wrote about probably my favorite of my OC ships. Tragically I probably won’t be able to show as much of their relationship as I’d like in the work itself, and neither of them is the perspective character. This is fortunate in that I can write whatever I want for self-fanfic without stepping on the main narrative’s toes, and unfortunate as I want to just write their whole relationship basically which made this a little hard to pare down. Hope y’all love them too!If you want some dramatic irony, also read this piece I wrote with Corrianne earlier. And, if you are curious, the correct way to pronounce her name is ‘cor-ee- AHN,’ with a French R sound.

How Empress Corrianne Learned to Speak Her Husband’s Language

When they married, Corrianne could not speak to her new husband.

Like most nobility around the continent, she had never studied Pelasian. Even centuries later, the fears birthed by the Speaker Wars lived on. No mage could twist your mind to his will if you couldn't understand the words he needed to do it. (Of course, now Pelasia had grown to power anyway without the use of mind-altering magic, so maybe it had all been for nothing.) And the Emperor, it seemed, had never bothered to learn any language but his own native tongue.

Corrianne studied and practiced until she was able to carry on something of a conversation with him without going through her ladies-in-waiting or his translator. The Emperor could not even say her name right.

But chipping away at the language barrier was not aiding their communication to the level that she had thought it should. True, she did not mind the extent to which he left her to herself - she had encouraged it. No, the Emperor was simply a hard man to understand. So she told herself, and so she held firmly in believing.

She could not have said when she first started noticing a difference.

***

He knocked at the door between their suites late in the evening, when she had retreated to hers from the court but not yet prepared herself for bed. He always knocked - these rooms remained hers, not his. The first few times he’d done this, she’d sent one of her maids to answer instead and give her regrets. When he proved unfailingly polite to them, and did not push past her excuses, she decided this could be allowed and came to the door herself. He never demanded her presence, or even requested - a request from the Emperor was little less than a demand. He merely gave an offer - he had ended his work for the day and would be in his sitting room, and would welcome her company if she wished to join him.

“I usually take this time for some quiet when I can… read for a bit by the fire, have a glass of wine… but if you would like to talk instead -” His eyes flicked to the maid murmuring all his words in Corrianne’s ear. “Perhaps practice your Pelasian?”

He had not offered to practice his Ruveldin, or even Idan, so that time she had refused. But she didn’t really want to spend the rest of her life married to a man that she would not talk to, so the next time she had accepted.

She’d been worried about his intentions that time, though he’d never touched her without her permission. But he really had just sat by the fire with his book and offered her a glass of wine, and did not press her unduly for conversation when she opened her own book. They made a few simple comments to each other on their day, and what they were reading, and spent the rest of the evening in silence together. She wondered how many times he’d had two glasses brought up, hope. She wondered if he’d left a few dregs in each to keep the servants from talking. She felt a little bad, but only a little.

She’d come over many times since then, and it had almost become a little ritual between them. They did not always spend the time reading silently - she truly did wish to practice her Pelasian, and he proved a patient conversation partner.

This time when he knocked, she answered with a smile and stepped through before he even needed to make his offer. She carried a book with her, but did not open it immediately when she sat down, and so he did not reach to pick up his own. “Thank you for joining me.” Even now that it was a regular occurrence, he thanked her. “I enjoy your company. I have little time to myself, but this has been an improvement on solitude.”

She had not thought the Emperor one to seek out solitude. He demanded the attention of the world. Perhaps she had misunderstood him. She smiled politely and asked him about his day. He was a man of routine; she knew the words he would use to speak about that well enough to follow, better than whatever that declaration had been.

***

They were at dinner, which was rarely a private affair. There were always people at court to entertain. But today was no great feast or party, only a regular meal, and while the Emperor’s attention might as ever be demanded at any time, at present Corriane and her husband were left to converse among themselves as they ate, should they choose to.

They did not always. Corrianne preferred practicing her Pelasian when they were in private, and going through a translator was more clunky than casual dinner conversation with her husband ought to be. And besides, it was dinner, and their main focus was eating.

But today, he chose to strike a conversation up. “Have you heard from your sisters lately?”

She’d received a letter from Everrie just that day. Perhaps he’d had mail come in from Ruveld as well, or seen the messenger bring it in. Or perhaps it was a lucky guess, though that seemed less likely. “I have.”

“And how are they?”

A few times, early on, when the Emperor had asked about her family, she had wondered if he were fishing for information on them, for his schemes or politics. But that had been silly. Surely he had plenty of sources for that without her.

“Both are well. Also my father, and -” She paused. She did not know the proper word for stepmother or half-brother. But he knew that they were her stepmother and half-brother, of course, there was no need to explain it to him. “And his wife, and Alairon.”

“Glad to hear it. Your younger sister’s birthday was coming up, wasn’t it?” He didn’t try to say her name - maybe he’d seen Corrianne wince as he mispronounced hers too many times.

“Yes, they had just celebrated it when Everrie wrote me.”

“She could handle planning for it without you, then?”

Oh. He had remembered, from the last time Everrie wrote. She had told him how Everrie was used to following her lead for social events, how she had been so frantic about taking it on herself, how she had wanted to prove she could step up to the task without leaning too heavily on their stepmother. She hadn’t passed on all of Everrie’s pouring out her heart - she did not think she’d have like the Emperor to hear all of it - but she liked to talk about home, and it was a good subject for her to use in practicing her conversation. And, she realized, her husband had been very attentive in asking her about her sisters. He had been since the first time she brought it up.

“It was as I told her, she -” She hesitated, and finished the sentence in Ruveldin for his interpreter to pass on. “She is more competent than she gives herself credit. She just needed to get her time of worrying out of the way and put her mind to it.”

“Still, they must miss you at home. You light up my court so, I can see it would be hard to lose you.”

She hardly knew how to respond to that, and took a bite so that she would not have to.

***

One of her ladies reported to Corrianne that her husband had had a gift sent to her rooms, so she came to them and found the box set on a table. She opened it to find a delicate golden hair comb, set with many small, deep red gems. Beautiful, and very much to her taste. She wondered if he had picked it out himself.

It was hardly the first gift he had given her. Fine cloth for her dresses, a dark bay riding horse, expensive jewelry, books - ones that he thought she would enjoy, or Pelasian translations of ones she had to help in her study. Some she had written off as no more than what might be expected from the Emperor to his wife. The others had confounded her. What did he mean by them? Was he trying to buy her affections, to keep her and thereby her father’s kingdom sweet? Did he wish to flaunt his wealth and power?

But none of those thoughts came to her now - only a desire to find her husband so she could thank him for it.

She made a few inquiries and was glad to be able to find him alone, going over his correspondence. He looked up, and smiled when he saw her. She’d never noticed before how different that smile looked from the one she saw him wear in public, how his eyes brightened with it. He nodded at the comb she clutched in her hand.

“You like it?”

She nodded. “It is -” It is lovely, she wanted to say, but could not find the right word as she filed through her Pelasian vocabulary. “It is very nice.”

He stood up from his desk and walked over to her. “I thought it would look well with your hair.” His eyes lifted to the honey-gold braids crowning her head as he spoke. He hesitated a moment, and then held out his hand. “May I?”

She passed the comb to him, and he slid it into her hair as though he were one of her maids. Her husband stood back, and looked at her admiringly for the space of several second, before frowning.

“I’m sorry - I don’t have a mirror here for you to look at it -”

She smiled softly. “I am sure you put it in straight. Thank you.”

“I’m happy you like it, Corrianne.” He stumbled over the r, and tried again. “Cor - Corrianne -”

It still was not right, but she smiled anyway. “I understand, Seyetto.” And she set her hands on his shoulders, pushed herself up on her toes, and kissed him.

#my ocs #something i wrote #corrianne #seyetto #throwaninkpot

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squidproquoclarice · 5 years

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Lil’ Arthur and Sadie meeting for the first time and how it went. Always wondered how these 2 would be like as kids.

I didn’t get to do as much with this as you may have liked, but given the timeline, Sadie’s only two years old by the time Arthur’s all the way out in California and Oregon, so she had to be younger than that for them to meet in Tumbleweed. I doubt either of them clearly remember this brief encounter, but she’s a year and a half here, and Arthur is six. So this ended up a bit more Arthur and Beatrice than Arthur and Sadie, but I hope you still enjoy a bit of BB!Sadithur all the same. ;)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~November 1869Tumbleweed, New AustinThey’d run from Rhondda, and now they were running from Armadillo too, one step ahead of the law again. Apparently Lyle’s lofty ambitions had gotten him in the end again–a stagecoach, he said. She wished he would stop with all of that. So now here Beatrice was in Tumbleweed, provisioning for the trip to Oregon or maybe California or whatever point Lyle had decided would be their next stopover, because by this point she found it hard to believe it could be anything but temporary. Her man was in the saloon, and she only hoped he wouldn’t lose too much money while he was there. The cards rarely favored him anyway, and it tended to make him drink more than was good for him. The shopkeeper’s boy helped her bring the supplies out: flour, sugar, oats, bacon, saleratus, so many things. Stepping out on the porch, she saw Arthur where she had left him, though now he’d apparently made some friends, both human and canine. Sitting on the worn boards, petting a black-and-white dog whose tail was wagging with delight, there were two younger children sitting there with him, all three children’s fair hair shining in the strangely bright November desert sun. As if they could all have been hers–though she thought more often than not that given the life she lived, it was better that it was only Arthur for now, and perhaps for always. The boy looked to be about three, the same age she’d lost David, and she still missed him so fiercely. The little girl, maybe a year or so, and she’d always wanted a girl.“Gotta be nice,” Arthur insisted earnestly, watching the other two kids, the boy now happily stroking the dog between the ears. “You pulled her tail, that ain’t nice.” He glanced at the girl. “How about you? You wanna pet him?”She cocked her head, looking at him with a look of intense concentration. “Want dog?” She pointed to the dog, still basking in the attention. “Yeah, you ‘want dog’ or no?”She scooted closer, patted the dog on the side, giggling at the feeling of the plush fur under her fingers, doing it again. “Like dog!”“Me too.” Arthur grinned at that, and it did Beatrice good to see him smiling like this. There were times she thought perhaps it would have been better…no, never mind it. She kept trying to believe Lyle only needed to find a place where things could be better. Somewhere peaceful and with opportunities that could help quiet the anger in his heart. Though in the deepest corners of her own heart, she still thanked God that Arthur seemed to take after his father very little. A sweet child, he was, running to her with a fistful of flowers to try and make her smile, always drawing those little animals on any paper he could get his hands on. Her grocery list today had, as usual, the small sketches of things in her careful hand–a flower for flour, and didn’t the sound of English help with that one, and help her remember the word? She’d drawn bread back in Wales for it. A sweet in its wrapper for sugar, a percolator for coffee, and so on. Her doodles, lacking the ability to simply write the list, obviously been an invitation to Arthur for his own contribution, as it now had what she thought were charmingly lumpy deer and horses at the bottom edge. He was mad for horses, and even back in Rhondda, from the moment he could walk, she’d had to save him from getting himself kicked more than once trying to be friends with horses who were too nervous for it. He kept pleading for a horse.“Henry, Sadie, Pa’s done, let’s go!” Lost in the sight as she’d been, she hadn’t noticed the woman standing near the edge of the porch, keeping an eye on the children. It looked as though her third child was already on the way. She nodded to Beatrice in acknowledgment. “Is that your boy?” She wasn’t from these parts either, as her accent wasn’t this strange New Austin twang either, the way Arthur sounded, and that would serve him better than a Welsh lilt in this country. “Yes, that’s my Arthur.” She couldn’t help a smile of pride coming over her.

She got a smile and a nod of approval in return. “Nice kid. Maybe Henry will stop trying to pull them dogs’ tails now. You from around here?”“No, passing through, I’m afraid.” Too bad, at that. Arthur probably could have used friends. She certainly could. But things would be better in California. They would settle down. She could send Arthur to school, to get that smart mind of his all that it needed. Unlike her and Lyle, because back in the village, the closest school was twenty miles away. Not many educated spinsters were of a mood to come work in Welsh coal valleys. She’d get her citizenship next year, and Arthur with her, and as a true American, an educated man, he’d have any number of roads open to him. He’d be able to read, write, vote–with all of that, and the kind heart she knew he had, he could be far more than his father before him, and wasn’t that the dream of America?The two younger kids pushed up off the boards, heading to their mother. She reached down to grab the hand of the little girl, who already looked prepared to rush off into all sorts of mischief. “Say goodbye now.”Sadie, the little girl, waved enthusiastically at Arthur with her free hand, beaming at him. “Bye-bye!”He waved back with a shy smile, watching her toddle off with her mother. “Yeah, bye.” Once they were gone, headed for a wagon of their own with the husband already waiting, watching him help his wife into the wagon with a wistfulness in her heart, she looked back at the porch. “Come, Arthur, we’d best go find your da and be on our way.”He nodded at that, coming down the steps to her. Hesitated a moment, looking back at the dog still sitting there, looking at him hopefully. “That dog ain’t nobody’s, Momma, can we take her with us?”She sighed, hating to disappoint him. And for just a brief moment that felt like biting into a rotten apple, she had the thought that perhaps it would be better to have a poor beast there when Lyle grew angry–better the dog than her or Arthur. But she dismissed it, ashamed at herself. No, what temper he had, he had his reasons, and it wasn’t fair he should go after a little boy, so she would take that on herself, but his anger with her had its explanations. “We’ve a long journey ahead, love. I don’t think that a dog would take to it so kindly. And your da might not like it.”“Daddy don’t like much,” he said, features drawing into a scowl, kicking at a rock in the street. “Whiskey, maybe.” Yes, he was far too smart for his own good.She sighed, crouching down to meet his eyes, putting a hand on his shoulder. He’d gotten her green-blue eyes, and his hair was too fair to be Lyle’s, though she expected it would darken from that bright gold it was right now, as hers had. “Things have been hard, and that makes him angry. He’s still your da, for all that. But maybe when we get to California we’ll see about a dog for you. Things will be better there, you’ll see.”He smiled at that, eyes lighting up again with happiness. “What’s California gonna be like?”“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never seen it, mind. People say it’s lovely land, though. Gold there, too, so perhaps we’ll become prospectors!” With him by her side, they walked towards the saloon.

#arthur morgan #sadie adler #beatrice morgan #rdr2 #fic from the parking lot #Anonymous

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oblio-k · 5 years

Text

ANYWAYS ive been working on a mila fic whenever im exhausted and here it is. whether it’s love or manipulation is up to the readers

Invitation

As Mila pulls a weed from the little garden she’s started behind her employer's mansion, she finds it hard to keep her mind from wandering. From thinking about how her life is so different now.

She forces herself to use the word different because if she uses another word she fears she may start crying. And if that happens, someone would undoubtedly see her, and her employer would take her aside and ask her if she was alright in a way that would sound kind but could drag any answer out of her that he wanted. She likes working for him and vastly prefers this life, this job to her old one. Crying will just make things difficult.

Master Tain had been cruel and treated her as if she was nothing if he noticed that she existed at all. She’d been on the receiving end of his wrath quite frequently and had been left with bruises more than she cared to admit.

Agent Tain is cruel, but never to her. To her, he’s careful and kind, respectful. He goes out of his way to spend time with her and never raises a hand to her. When he looks at her, he doesn’t look through her, and she’s glad to be acknowledged.

She knows he’s only so kind because she knows who he really is. Who he isn’t, rather. But she likes to think it’s also because they’re friends. Or, at least, are becoming friends.

But when she looks at him when he’s working, she’s reminded of how they met, and she can’t stop her hands from trembling just a bit. Before meeting Agent Tain, she’d only ever seen people die from old age or illness. She’d never seen people be murdered. She’d never seen people be or had been interrogated, never had to learn how to use a weapon-

“Miss Garak.”

When she stands and turns, Enabran is behind her. At first, his ability to sneak up on her, to appear out of nowhere, had scared her. Now, it still frightens her, but she doesn’t worry he will hurt her. He’s had so many opportunities to get rid of her, to eliminate the last person besides his superiors that knew his secret, but he’s never taken them. She is alive and unharmed, save for a scratch on her palm from a tool she’d grabbed the wrong end of while gardening.

Before she can greet him, she sees the wound cutting across his abdomen. It’s as if someone had slashed him with a sharp knife. One hand presses tightly against the large wound, like he’s keeping himself from spilling open, though it does nothing to stop the flow of blood. A smaller puncture wound by his clavicle bleeds profusely. She forces herself to get over her shock after looking at each injury and takes his free arm around her shoulders. He leans against her and she helps him inside.

It’s not the first time he’s come to her with injuries, and she can never tell if he is in pain. Enabran is silent as they walk to the master bedroom, and his breathing is steady. It’s not typical for an Obsidian Order agent to appear immune to any injury, from what she’s overheard and seen.

She’s not entirely sure she knows why that is. Mila suspects he’s not a normal agent, that these assassination and interrogation attempts come so frequently because he is proof of something his superiors would very much like to erase.

He sits on the edge of his bed and she washes the dirt from her hands and retrieves the medical kit he has hidden away. It takes a moment for the wall panel to open when she lets it scan her palm, and when she turns around, Enabran is pulling off his bloodied, torn shirt. There are no wounds on his back, and he lies down as she opens up the kit next to him.

Mila doesn’t understand why he trusts her. Still, she dutifully heals him and when the medical scanner picks up an odd substance in his system, she asks, “Have you been poisoned, sir?”

“It’s a truth serum,” he replies, an odd smile on his face. His voice is completely level, as if he hadn’t almost bled to death. “A very strong one.”

“But it doesn’t work on you.”

“Of course it d-doesn’t.” His voice cracks, and he closes his eyes. But he’s too late to hide it when she’s looking directly at him. His pupils dilate. Bizarrely, he begins to laugh. “Why would it work? I’m Cardassian.”

It means something, that. An inside joke that she’s not privy to the context of. But Enabran glances at her, an invitation for her to investigate. He won’t be upset if she finds out what that means- he wants her to, she’s almost sure. The secret she knows could destroy everything he’s worked for, what’s another?

“Miss Garak, are you finished?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you. Would you get me a cup of tea?” Master Tain had never thanked anyone. Agent Tain never thanked anyone unless he was manipulating them, and even then, only rarely. Enabran always thanks her. She likes to think it’s genuine. He rubs his eyes as she turns, and sits up.

He has a small tea set in his bedroom, a little burner and a few boxes of the different teas he’s collected on his travels. It’s an indulgence of his, and he’ll get a distant look in his eyes for a moment when she hands the cup to him.

She’s thrilled and worried about noticing and knowing these little details about him. It’s an exposure of that part of him from before.

A weakness he would cease if she dared to point it out.

“Make a cup for yourself,” he adds.

“Yes, sir.”

She picks an herbal blend with a pleasant taste she knows will help with his recovery and help relax her nerves. Blood still isn’t something she’s very used to, especially not large quantities of it. Perhaps in a few years, it won’t faze her.

A few years. She’ll be lucky if he lets her live that long, and she’s not sure what she’s feeling when she realizes she only ever thinks about her future being here, serving him.

By the time the tea is done, he’s changed into fresh clothing, a garish orange turtleneck covered by a drab green shirt, with black pants that don’t match the rest of the outfit at all. Fashion is not something he’s good at, but then again, he seems to be good at everything if asked. She’s sure if she requested it, and he was so inclined, he could choose an outfit fitting of his position as heir to the Tain fortune.

As he takes the cup from her and doesn’t even check it for poison, she thinks to herself that he would very likely be inclined to do what she asked. But she won’t. She knows her place.

“Miss Garak, how is your garden?”

“It’s doing quite well. My brother sent me some seeds to try growing, and they’ve finally begun to sprout.”

“Tolan, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” She’d never told him her brother’s name before. “I’m afraid I’ll never quite meet his skill for flowers.”

“I never understood why people enjoy flowers so much.”

“They’re beautiful. People like to look at nice things.” He opens his mouth to say something and hesitates. Perhaps the truth serum is affecting him more than he wants to admit, though she doesn’t know what he could possibly say about flowers that he wouldn’t want anyone to hear. She asks a question that she thinks will be inconsequential, “If there’s anything you would like to see in the garden, I would plant it for you.”

“No. I’m sure whatever you grow will look beautiful.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Though perhaps you should grow more edible plants than flowers. It’s been quite some time since I was last able to eat something that I’d picked myself.” That distant look. Then his pupils grow large and he looks down at his tea as he says, “When I was a boy, my caretakers would take me on walks around the estate grounds after I’d finished my studies for the morning. We’d eat from the garden until lunch was ready. It was nice.” They’re as wide as she’s ever seen on anyone as he finishes.

Before she can offer her own story about her and her brother enjoying fruits and vegetables from their father’s garden, he asks her, “Miss Garak, do you know how to play kotra?”

“I’m familiar with the title, not with the rules,” Mila answers, dropping the sir to see what he hopes to gain by teaching a servant a complicated game.

A smile tugs at his lips, and he gets up and pretends not to have noticed. “It’s a game I quite enjoy. I believe you would be a good player.” He retrieves a board from within his desk and brings back to the bed. “I was taught how to play when I was young.”

She expects to find a knife at her throat in an hour, then. “I don’t expect you to play any way but your best, sir, despite my inexperience.”

“Kotra is a game about bold tactical strategy…”

Sure enough, after having quickly lost two games against him and arguing with him after she realized he was allowing her to win their third match, a disruptor is pressed against her throat, her wrists held tight in his other hand. She hadn’t even seen him grab it.

“I think I need to get back to work, Miss Garak,” he tells her, voice cold.

Enough was enough. He couldn’t risk appearing close to her so soon after an incident. Quietly, she agrees, but he doesn’t let her go.

“You understand, don’t you, Mila?” It was too dangerous for them to be friends. To be whatever they were. Mila wonders which one of them he’s afraid for.

After all, why should he care if something happens to her? Attachment was a weakness. He’d said so himself to another agent, and for once, she was absolutely certain he had been honest. “Yes, sir.”

It’s even more likely that he’s not worried at all, that all this is a game to keep her quiet. Still, she enjoyed their time together and will look forward to the next, if it comes.

Agent Tain releases her, lowering the disruptor.

#uhh warnings for blood and injury and tain being absolutely drugged i guess? though its not like. graphic about those things #ds9 #enabran tain #mila garak #star trek #oblio's fics

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pinesconessecrets · 5 years

Text

Ice to Meet You

Merry Christmas @ladynightmare12 ! I hope you enjoy the fic!! <: I had a lot of fun with the soulmate AU, since it’s something I’ve always enjoyed. I combined it with the first meetings AU too. Have a great Christmas! <3

****

Wirt had given up on trying to find his soulmate when he was thirteen. He still remembered the conversation that came after he mentioned it to his mom. She had choked on her tea, wheezing until she’d managed to regain control of herself again. Then began the spiel about, “Oh, sweetie. You’ll meet her at some point in your life, don’t give up now!” and Wirt just sighed. Internally, of course. He didn’t want to upset his mom any further. A good bit of everyone in his grade had found their soulmate, leaving Wirt feeling terribly alone. Sara tried to comfort him, except she ran into her soulmate a few months later; it was some guy named Brian. That was a fun day.

He was a little more than relieved to graduate high school, which meant moving away to a college in a different state. A college in Oregon had caught his eye and he applied, half expecting to get denied. But lo and behold, the college actually accepted him and even had a full ride scholarship too.

Greg was against Wirt moving across the country when he broke the news. Wirt reassured him that he would call every day and keep in touch. He wouldn’t be left out just because Wirt didn’t live in the same house anymore.

Wirt enjoyed the trip to Oregon. His parents rented a small u-Haul for the stuff Wirt could take to put in his dorm. He was lucky enough to score a single person room, complete with his own bathroom. He didn’t think he could have managed if he had to share a dorm and a bathroom, much less having to suffer from public bathrooms.

They made the drive out to be like a mini vacation, taking their time since they left a few days early. Wirt’s nerves almost got the best of him a few times, the realization of him living somewhere that wasn’t with his mom and stepdad. Thankfully Greg managed to quickly distract him before he grew too anxious, eerily able to quickly figure out when his nerves were beginning to act up.

With the help of everyone, it didn’t take long before Wirt’s room was set up. He still had a few things to tweak here and there, like moving his desk closer to the window and hanging up his poems on the walls. He didn’t have much time to be particularly picky about how his room was set up with his parents and brother around.

They stayed in town for a few days, exploring the place with Wirt in tow. It definitely was a college town considering the absurd amount of fast food restaurants around. Like seriously, who needed this many fast food places? At least there were a few cafes for Wirt to hang out in. Cafes were pretty sweet places to chill at and they had a great effect on Wirt when it came to writing poetry. He was excited about that.

Tears were shed by his mom and Greg on the day they had to leave. Greg made Wirt promise to call him every day, and that was a rock fact. Wirt lingered in the parking lot for a bit longer than he intended, staring off into space before letting out a long sigh. He hoped he would be able to survive the semester before Christmas break. His next adventure in life had begun, only to bring challenges he had no way to prepare for.

Wirt got to studying diligently when the semester began. The majority of his classes were the core classes every freshman were required to take, including math. Thank god that he only needed to take two semesters of it due to his major in English. Math was one of his most detested classes; it was the worst. Maybe he was being overly dramatic, but Wirt would rather prefer to listen to someone scrape their nails on a chalkboard repeatedly for hours than be stuck in math class for even an hour. The entire point was above him, and the fact that other kids were majoring in math just blew his mind. They were to be feared.

The semester started out slow but picked up steam as the weeks went on. Midterms came and went, letting Wirt breathe a sigh of relief when his passing grades were posted.

He video called Greg before he went out trick or treating on Halloween, both happy and mortified that Greg decided to go as a garden gnome. Their trip to the Unknown was still very present in their minds years after it happened. At least now it was easier to deal with, and they didn’t have to worry about being sent into a fit of panic when winter rolled around anymore. Wirt admitted that Greg wore the outfit far better than he did, earning a protest of “No, you wore it better!” from Greg. They bickered back and forth until their mom told them to knock it out or else Greg wouldn’t be getting any candy that year. That shut Greg up and he hastily told Wirt goodbye and that he’d show him how much candy he got before going to bed.

Wirt found himself growing progressively more stressed as the end of the semester rolled around. His professors shoved study guides down their student’s throats and made it very clear that passing their finals would make or break their grades. Wirt found himself spending more and more time at his favorite cafe. He would have been surprised that he hadn’t drunk all of their tea if he wasn’t so stressed about passing his finals.

A week before finals, the unthinkable happened.

Wirt was on his way to the Jasmine Brew Cafe, lost in thought about his upcoming math final. It was the one he dreaded the most, and rightfully so. Other students in his class struggled as much as he did. The professor didn’t know how to break down the lesson so other kids could understand what he was trying to teach. Wirt barely managed to understand what the heck he was talking about most the time, and he hoped it would be enough.

Of course, the dork was so lost in thought that he wasn’t watching where he was walking. His foot made contact with frozen ice on the sidewalk, causing him to slip and fall down to the pavement. Wirt miraculously held onto his notebooks, laying on his back, winded from his fall.

Someone with unruly brown hair peered down at him with a look of mild concern. Wirt wished he could turn invisible because he knew that everyone around him saw what just happened.

“Hi there. It’s ice to meet you finally.” The other boy paused, before continuing. “I hope that’s not weird? I’ve seen you around campus before and I noticed you were always alone and I was going to say hi but I always got distracted and oh my god I’m sorry I’m kinda rambling. I tend to do that a lot and my sister always punches me and yep I’m gonna shut up now.”

Wirt’s wrist burned. That was what his stupid soulmate mark said. ‘Hi there, it’s ice to meet you finally.’

He wanted to say something witty back, but all that could come out of his mouth was, “Was that a motherfucking pun?” He rarely cussed, but dangit he was sleep deprived and angry that he was stupid enough to fall and slip on ice.

The other boy blanched, his extended hand frozen in shock. Wirt shuffled to his feet, clutching his notebooks to his chest. An awkward silence enveloped the two, only to be broken by the other boy.

“Do you want to go somewhere warm? Get some coffee or something?”

Wirt broke free of his surprise. “Uh, um, sure. I was heading to the Jasmine Brew Cafe to get some studying done. It’s right up the street here.”

“Cool. I’ve only been there once or twice, so lead the way.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at Wirt expectantly.

“Right.” Wirt turned on his heels and began walking to the cafe, fidgeting with the spiral of a notebook. He knew that he was probably acting slightly like a jerk. Okay, a lot like a jerk. He had spent the majority of his teenage years resenting the idea of soulmates, knowing he’d never find his and that he’d live the rest of his life alone. But look what happened. He ran into his soulmate.

The rush of warm air made Wirt feel grateful for heating, heading to his usual spot by the wall. He sat with his back to the wall, and a large window to his left. Being able to look out into the street helped declutter his mind.

He almost relaxed, until the other boy - his soulmate - slid into the chair across from him. He looked as nervous as Wirt was.

“I’m Dipper, by the way. I don’t think I introduced myself yet.”

“Wirt. It’s um, nice to meet you, I guess,” he mumbled, his awkwardness hitting him like a fricking train. Now that the fact that yep, him finding his soulmate was a thing, was starting to sink in, a feeling of panic also begun to set in too.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re freaking out there a little. I mean, I’m kinda freaking out too, but that’s because I’m super pumped to have finally run into my soulmate.” Dipper looked giddy almost.

Wirt chewed on a nail. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. It’s just… I gave up on finding my soulmate years ago, so I never thought I would actually run into them. I hope you don’t think I’m a jerk or anything because oh my god I feel so bad for being cold to you.”

When Dipper was silent, Wirt looked up to find him holding back a snicker. With the biggest shit eating grin, Dipper replied, “Was that a motherfucking pun?”

“Oh my god.” Wirt groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Do not use my own words against me.”

“Kinda hard to considering they’re right here.” Dipper rolled his sleeve back, revealing the words scrawled across his arm. God, they were even in Wirt’s own handwriting. How crazy was that?

Wirt reached out to touch the words on Dipper’s arm, stopping short once he realized what he was about to do. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s a lot to take in. But I don’t mind if you wanna take a closer look at them.” His voice was quiet.

Figuring that he may as well roll with the punches, Wirt pulled his own sleeve back, exposing Dipper’s godawful pun written on the inside of his forearm. Dipper didn’t hesitate before running his fingers over Wirt’s pale skin, tracing the scratchy letters of his own handwriting. It looked different from his own, his letters rushed and hurried versus the flowing loops of Wirt’s.

Wirt finally caved and traced the words on Dipper’s arm. The two dorks sat in silence, no words needing to be exchanged as they let the importance of the day truly sink in.

The corners of Dipper’s mouth quirked up in a grin after a while. “So, did you wanna get a coffee and chat? And maybe tell me how you’ve bean all these years.”

Wirt had a feeling the puns weren’t ever going to stop.

#Pinescone #Pinescone Secret Santa #Pinescone Secret Santa 2018 #Wirt #Dipper #OTGW #GF #submission

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idreamofwolves · 5 years

Text

Old Times -Part One

Summary: Negan stumbles upon a familiar face from life before the end of the world.

Pairing: Negan (The Walking Dead) x OC

The dead walk the earth, the living survive on nothing but fuel in the form of safe houses and scraps of food they find or hunt. It wasn’t the way Emily ever thought things would be, or anyone for that matter, but there she was, hiding out in some old, abandoned cottage in the middle of the woods. She thought this would be her safe place, somewhere she could feel comfortable sleeping without the fear of being eaten by walkers in her sleep. She was wrong.

Emily had woken in the middle of the night to the sound of pounding on her front door that she’d hardly reinforced given her false sense of safety. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two came when fear started to override rational thought. Instead of running for weapons when the door cracked open, she attempted to hide herself in a small closet.

As the dead drug their feet in, they became frantic, or as frantic as the dead could be, in search for the living flesh they smelled and craved. Her hands shook and tears ran down her face. “This is it. This is how it’s going to end.” She thought, feeling more hopeless than ever.

Just when she had given up all hope, she heard something that would change the course of her awful night. The croaking sounds of walkers dying tang through the cottage, making her perk up and wonder what on earth was going on out there.

When the sounds of smashing and crushing finally came to a close, foot steps could be heard around the area. It seemed like only one person, but Emily couldn’t imagine a scenario where one person could kill so many walkers. And although it was against her better judgement, she slowly and quietly crawled out of the closet. She gasped as she was quickly met with the rotting face in hers. She threw herself into her back and took in the bloody scene around her.

Just as she started to get overwhelmed, a figure in the doorway took her attention. “Ho-ly shit!” The man exclaimed, oddly amused somehow. A barbed wire covered bat was sling over his shoulder, dripping with blood. He seemed unfazed by this. “We got a live one.”

“You did this?” She asked, not sure what she was more horrified by, the graveyard around her or the man above her that caused it without a flinch.

“Yeah and saved your ass in doing so.” He chuckled as he rest back on his heel. “What’s your name, doll?” The room was dark and she couldn’t see much, but she recognized that voice from somewhere.

“Emily.” She answered without thought, his demeanor and authoritative stance made her feel afraid, but he’d just saved her life. She couldn’t be anything less than grateful. “Thank you, for this.”

“Emily.. Have we met?” She was taken aback by the question, but upon really looking at him, she realized he was right. They’d met before, long before the outbreak.

“Negan?” She answered, trying to hold back a smile. She stood up and brushed herself off quickly before going back to the conversation. “You’re alive? What are you doing here?” She hurried to him and hugged him out of a rush of relief and joy.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He hugged her back, almost dropping his beloved bar in the process. His smile was still there, but it wasn’t the normal, cocky grin he often wore. He was shocked to find someone from his old life, relieved even. It suddenly made him miss the old days.

They’d met long before the outbreak, looking at her was like looking into the past, into a place he dearly missed when he let himself think about it.

He pulled away from him to look him in the eyes. He looked almost just as he did the last time he saw her, except maybe more muscular now. “I haven’t seen you since..” she trailed off, remembering exactly when she saw him last but didn’t want to say.

“Since the bar.” He finished, and in the back of both of their minds they remembered their first and last meetings.

Negan’s wife, Lucille, was harsh and demanding and every part of him felt his marriage had failed. They fought so often that he barely knew what it was like to laugh with a woman anymore, until he met Emily. He’d often go to the bar to get out for a while and let things cool off at home. That’s where he met her.

She was shy and new to bar tending, she wasn’t cut out for it but she was pretty and men tipped well. It wasn’t what she really wanted to do in life, but it paid the bills.

It was a slow night when Emily came into work. It was the last shift, and a short one at that. She was ready to go home as soon as she came, until she noticed the tired looking man at the end of the bar. A few others lingered as they sipped their drinks, but it was him she was interested in. “Hey.” She smiled as she gained his attention. “You okay?”

“Doin’ great doll.” It seemed like he’d actually meant to sound more honest, but it came out sarcastic. “Mind filling this up?” He slid his glass over to her, and motioned toward the nearby bottle of whiskey.

She lowly watched him as she poured the whiskey. She slid his glass back and checked on the other bar dwellers. After a few moments of contemplation, she went back to him. “Want to talk about it?” She pried, making him chuckle.

“That obvious, huh?” He rubbed his eyes with his hand and took a deep breath. “Think I’m here for the same reason most of these lonely, alcoholic bastards are here for. Angry wife.”

“Ooh. That bad, huh?” She rested her elbows on the bar and sipped on her soda. “By the look on your face, I’m guessing it’s one of two things. This is your first big fight with a wife you’re crazy in love with, which I’m going to doubt since I’ve seen you here once or twice, or this is becoming so common that you don’t know what to do anymore. Am I close?” She found it easy to talk with him, despite her normal reserved nature.

“Spot on, sweetheart.” He chuckled and sipped his drink, looking confident but deep down she knew he was feeling down.

“It’s Emily.” She smiled and lightly tapped her name tag. She got a smile out of him, which was really all she wanted.

“Negan.”

From that moment on, they bonded over broken relationships and their off sense of humor. It was an unexpected friendship laced with some kind of flirtatious nature, as time went on.

Negan quickly became attached to Emily, as he was able to use her as therapist and friend. She reminded him how to laugh, and she helped him forget about the rest of the world outside of the bar. And although the friendship was innocent enough, he knew himself enough to know he had feelings for her.

Emily, on the other hand, was incredibly oblivious to Negan’s flirting. She saw it as a joke most of the time, just friends kidding around, even if it did make her heart beat out of her chest. He wasn’t someone she ever imagined she’d want to be with, but she couldn’t help but imagine it at times. She found safety in him, as he was always there to ward off the seemingly sexual predators that frequented the bar now and then who always wanted more than a drink from her. She found solace in him, knowing she could vent if she needed to and ask for his opinion. He was honest and caring, something rare, she thought.

The last time Negan saw Emily, he knew it would be the last. The news of Lucille’s cancer made things hard for him, and he knew he couldn’t keep seeing this girl anymore. As much as it hurt him, he knew he had to let her go.

He walked into the bar, his composure slightly different than normal. His confident stride and cocky smirk had completely vanished. “Hey you.” Emily greeted him as he took his normal seat. He mumbles out some sort of greeting, but it was incomprehensible. “What’s up buttercup? Bad day?” She asked, thinking he and Lucille must have gotten into some kind of major fight.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Definitely a bad day.”

Emily frowned, she hated seeing him upset. “Whiskey kind of day, huh?” She poured him a drink but he put his hand out to stop her.

“Look sweetheart, I’m not staying today. I just wanted to drop in and give ya this.” He dropped a folder note down on the bar for her to read. He didn’t have the courage to tell her what he desperately needed to say, especially knowing it wouldn’t get him anywhere anyway.

Emily picked up the letter and looked him in his sad eyes, somehow knowing she wouldn’t see him again. “What’s this?” She asked, not really wanting to open it.

He sighed and looked away for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “Read it later, okay? Lucille’s got cancer so I won’t be around much anymore. Just thought I’d say ‘bye’ to my favorite bar tender.” He tried to make it light, but this didn’t feel good for him, it felt like a break up.

“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.” She nodded, squeezing the paper in her hand. “Well I hope I see you around some time, Negan.” She forced a smile, even though no part of her felt like smiling.

“Me too, princess.” He walked out, feeling more broken than he ever had. It was hard, knowing she was about to find out what he’d been feeling, and not being able to do anything about it. Not to mention the guilt he started to feel about having feelings for another woman while he was married.

It was tough on the both of them, but they never saw each other again. Not before the outbreak, that is.

“Yeah. The bar.” She said, slowly. She didn’t want to remember that night, but she still had his note. She carried it with her the moment she’d been forced to flee her home, knowing it was all she had left of him and the old life she’d lived.

“I’m real sorry about that Em.” He started, but she didn’t want him to finish.

“How’s Lucille? Is she-“

“Dead.” He said, abruptly. “She died while all the shit started hitting the fan. Turned into one of them.” He shrugged, feeling a little defeated. He hadn’t really talked about it before, but he knew he could trust her.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” She hadn’t expected that answer, somehow.

“Don’t be. I’m glad she didn’t have to deal with this shit show.” He motioned around them, and she knew where he was coming from. Part of her wished she never had to deal with it too, but the other option scared her more.

“Right.” She nodded and looked out the window. She felt nervous, never did she think this opportunity would come. Honestly she figured he was dead. “So what are you doing here? On the run?”

“Never.” He said, confidently. “I run a place called The Sanctuary. It’s an old compound we fenced in. We take in everyone we can, make deals with other communities, you know.”

“Thats sounds amazing. I’ve been on my own since this started. Somehow I’m still not any good at fighting these things.” She laughed, knowing her weaknesses.

“How the hell have you been living in this without fighting?�� He asked, semi amused but mostly worried.

“I just go from house to house. I board everything up and live on the food and stuff there until it runs out, then I venture off to a new home.” She wasn’t proud of the way she’d been living, and honestly she had very little contact with anyone since the beginning. It was amazing to her not only seeing someone, but seeing someone she knew.

“Come on, come to The Sanctuary with me. We got food and hot water, even beer.” The offer was enough without the luxuries he’d mentioned. She realized she still had feelings for him, and she wondered if he still felt the way he said he did in the letter. There was only one way for her to find out.

“I’d love to, thank you.”

#negan #twd #the walking dead #twd negan #negans thirst squad #negan fic #negan x oc #the sanctuary

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zehypocriticaloath · 5 years

Text

Birds of a feather

Flicking his cigarette to the snow covered ground, he watched as the dying embers, glowing weakly at the end of the stick, sizzled against the cold, wet substance.

The snow was coming down heavy today. Reports were saying that it’d develop into a blizzard. There would be no scheduled skirmishes today. There would be no scheduled spars. There would be the guarantee that the machinations and machinery that comprised of the Respawn system would be far too cold and, potentially, be iced over. Engineers would be needed in order to chip away at the frostbitten gears, getting it back to snuff before it could be functional again. Which, in all likelihood, would be the next day.

If the blizzard stopped by then.

Coldfront was known for its snowy days. After all, there wouldn’t be a Coldfront with a bitter, cold front constantly threatening to assault it. But, based on the doctor’s recollection of weather and its patterns, a front was a change of air (in this case, cold), that clashed with air of the opposite temperature. In this case, cold against warm. The front was a rare skip in mother nature’s plans, abruptly changing the weather from one extreme to another, but only for a temporary amount of time.

So why the hell was Coldfront so cold, all the time?

The medical madman sat where he was on a snow dusted, overturned crate. He watched the poetically beautiful black forms, high up in the sky, dart and drift on chilly updrafts. They were dancers, drifting here and there between curtains of thickly falling snow. They were his companions, his friends; the wild, untamed corvids that he had befriended on his many walks and smoke breaks. They were his outside guardians, watching over him whenever he was outside.

He found comfort in those birds. They were cunning and intelligent. They got what they wanted, in any way necessary. They were adaptable. They survived. And while most of society considered them to be of ill omen, he found them to be nothing but good luck. During most of his life he had been drawn to the sleek black birds that society all but shunned. He found them worthy to be in this world. More worthy, perhaps, than some humans that walked the earth, both in past and present tenses.

But that was just his opinion.

As he fished around for another cigarette, he felt a strange heaviness in his lungs. A momentary pause to assess the situation, he just sat there, his chilled breath smothered up partially by the thick, warm scarf he wore. Was he getting sick? Was this just the cold, clear air of the alpines, stinging at his lungs with its purity? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be sure.

In this world, he was hardly sure of anything.

Except... for the unwanted intruders, locked in the prison of his mind.

His mind was rambling today, as it usually did whenever he was waiting for his medication to take effect. The little pink pills that Dr. Hollow (that mouse of a man!) made did the trick to keep some of his symptoms at bay, but it wasn’t a cure. Nothing was a cure. Nothing could ever be a cure for his state of illness. His medication wasn’t a cure. The security of friends wasn’t a cure. The love given to him by others wasn’t a cure. All of these things... they could help in giving him a sense of security, a pillar to cling to, but that’s all it was: a barricade to temporarily hold back his plight and allow him a moment or two to refocus on what was around him.

The medication did wonders in dulling his symptoms. The world wasn’t as loud. The colors didn’t pierce his skull. The world stayed still. He could breathe a little without delving into a fit of panic.

Rubbing his temples in agitation, he waited for the numbing of his mind, the quieting of the cacophonous shrieking and insults. He longed for a day when the world didn’t spin and the walls didn’t creep, like some writhing, loathsome thing living beneath the surface of his room. He desperately wanted the creeping clutches of paranoia to release him for just a moment-- just one moment -- so he could finally lower his guard and allow his battered mind and body to relax. But he was always on edge... and always tense. He was always expecting the worst and seeing the worst in everything around him. He was constantly fighting a war with his own mind, even when he was merely doing his paperwork (begrudgingly so, adding insult to injury).

Lately his mental illness hadn’t bothered him. Not as much as it had in the past, at least. His forced regime of taking his medication was, mostly, to be credited for this. That and the gentle nagging of his brother, Abelärd. The annoying dove was always checking up on him and, while Aldous did not enjoy such visits, he had to outright admit that his brother’s near constant presence in his life helped.

Not that he’d ever admit that to his brother. Over his dead body.

As his mind raced and rambled on, amidst the shuttering whispers and hisses in his head, he noticed that one of the wild corvids had approached him. This one... he had seen it before. Fumbling with something in his pocket, he took out a miniature reference book. Flipping frantically past pages lined with bird drawings and notes (penned in Deutsche), he landed on the well thumbed through corvid page.

“...You are... a ... chough.”

The subspecies of a crow looked up at him with curious, beady eyes. It stood apart from the snow all around it, its sleek, black body brilliant in the weak light of the mid-morning.

“An alpine chough. ...Fascinating.” Fishing around for his pen, he found it and, after scribbling down the date next to the bird, pocketed both items once more. “What it must be like to be a bird. I envy you.”

He spoke in his native tongue, knowing full well the bird more than likely did not understand Deutsche, let alone English. Didn’t matter to him. Company was nice to have. Someone, or something, to talk to. Something to break up the monotony of this world.

The chough hopped a little closer, and the tiny bird peered up inquisitively at the scarred man. It was a brave little cuss. It showed no fear or trepidation in approaching the human.

Aldous dipped his gloved hand into the bag next to him, and he brought out a handful of food. Seeds, dried berries and dried insects; a mix he had come to learn most corvidae enjoyed.

The food was scattered. The chough daintily picked through most, focusing, instead, on the dried berries. Vegetation. It preferred vegetation. Interesting.

More of the corvidae class approached him following the scattering of the food. They were lured in by the offer of lunch. Crows, and rooks; ravens and choughs. They all dined amongst one another, some carrying food over to the more elderly of the group.

Family. Corvidae looked after their own. They took care of their sick, their elderly, and kept a tight knit community. Even those who were a bit more of an outcast than most were welcomed in and accepted.

Aldous knew he was the outcast. He was the odd little crow or raven, old and bedraggled, in the mix of all these flashy, colorful types. His wings were a bit dull, and they weren’t exactly glossy anymore. And his feathers? More than frayed a bit on the edges. He couldn’t fly anymore, and he was scarred. But there were people, like his brother, and his friends... who looked after him.

Just like the ravens who were pushing food towards their elderly parents, the people in his life cared.

So what if he was an ill-omened bird. And so what if he was scary, or had an illness. There were members of his unkindness that helped look after him. They did so out of the goodness of their own hearts. No obligations other than the one formed by a tightly knit bond.

...He admired those people. And he secretly thanked them for caring. Caring enough to reach out to him; to get to know him instead of just believing the rumors, or stopping when he put up his defensive front.

He wondered, one day, if he could properly thank them for their kindness. Until then, he’d continue to watch over them, protecting their backs when they were looking away.

After all, he may be scarred and damaged, but he was still strong. He was a crow, or a raven. He was intelligent. He was cunning. He was adaptable...

And he was surviving.

#writing featuring Aldous #ic

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