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adolanables · 5 years

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The City - Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 10

Never in your life had you considered yourself someone with motherly instincts. Any baby that had ever been placed in your arms was held awkwardly and given back to the source immediately. You were barely even able to take care of a pet for longer than a few weeks without feeling extreme anxiety that you were somehow going to kill it. So when something in the back of your head nagged at you all night to stay up and hold Grayson’s head in your lap to make sure he was still breathing– you were baffled. It was almost 2 AM and you were sure if you rubbed a soothing circle through the thick, dark hair one more time it would fall out.

You’d never seen someone sleep so peacefully. Even with the bruises and swelling, you could tell he was relaxed in a deep sleep. His head rested gently in your lap, his arm twisted gently around your waist. No, you didn’t feel like his mom, but you did feel an overwhelming urge to nurture him. The way he had shown up at your door in this state and not Ethan’s made you feel all the things. You knew this probably had something to do with the business he was in, and that was probably why he wouldn’t have gone to Ethan’s. But, the little part of you that held strong feelings for Grayson told you he came here because he wanted you.

The sun beaming through the blinds next to your bed woke you gently. You weren’t sure what time you had fallen asleep – or what time it was now. Grayson’s head was no longer in your lap and you had found your own pillow eventually. He was still out cold and you weren’t planning on waking him until you had to.

Gently rolling out of bed, you scrambled to find your phone on the nightstand. 10:52 AM. You probably had gotten at least 7 hours of solid sleep, but Grayson had definitely gotten closer to 10. The state he was in – you felt like he may sleep for the next week to recover. Whenever he woke up, you knew he would be in even more pain than he was in last night. As badly as you wanted to ask questions about what happened, it wasn’t the time or place. Maybe he’d tell you eventually, but you weren’t going to push him. You were learning that was not the way to get things out of him – he would pull away. Instead, you had to make him feel like he wanted to tell you. He had to feel like he was the one driving the car.

Stuffing a granola bar down your throat and drinking a quick cup of coffee, you pitter pattered around your small kitchen looking to see what you had to offer Grayson. Pulling out a carton of strawberries and blueberries, almond milk, and a banana – you figured the only thing he would be able to eat anyways was a smoothie. Just as you were about to set everything back in the fridge until he woke up, a loud groan came from the bed.

“Fucking, fuck!” Grayson was propped up on his elbows in your bed, his breathing labored. When you rounded the corner on the other side of your partition, his mouth opened again. “How did I get here?” His eyes were almost completely swollen shut, his face misshapen, but you could still see the confusion laced throughout his face.

“Good question.” You shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he struggled to sit completely upright. “You showed up here a little past midnight and couldn’t form any sentences…”

He tilted his head at you in confusion and glanced towards the ceiling – thinking. Although his face was swollen, surprisingly only one of his eyes had turned black. The other was red and blood shot, but functioning at least somewhat. The scrapes on his jaw had scabbed over slightly, but dark purple bruises lined the side of his swollen face. Probably the worst of it all was his nose and his torso – his nose was crusted over in blood once again, even though you had cleaned it off last night and purpled. His chest was littered with deep bruises and cuts, the bandages still on and you were weary to see what was beneath.

“Did I have my phone…? Wallet…? Anything?” He turned his head back to face you, running a tattered hand through his hair.

“Nope.” You shook your head at him, seeing his face fall as he tried to piece his night together. “Did you hit your head or something? Should I have taken you to the hospital? Oh, no, do you think you may have a concussion?” A million thoughts were racing through your head and spilling out of your mouth at the same speed.

“No, no.” He waved his hand at you in an attempt to calm you down. “My head – aside from my face – feels fine. I don’t remember anything because… I … um” His eyes were glued to his hands as he finished his sentence. “I am assuming I was really high.” His eyes fell to his lap, avoiding any eye contact with you.

It felt like the air had been knocked out of you, but you weren’t sure why. Maybe because this was the first time you had heard him admit to being on drugs while he was around you. You’d seen him drunk – probably high as well – but you’d never known until now. As each day with him passed, the untouchable Dolan you once met was fading quickly. This man was broken, down to his core – it was always shocking to you how he and Ethan could be so different, but now it was even more apparent. “Well, do you think you want to eat?” You were quick to change the subject, unsure of how to address it, but also desperate to stop thinking about it.

“I’m hungry, but I don’t know how well I can chew…” Grayson attempted to open his mouth fully, but the pain in his jaw stopped him quickly.

“Smoothie?” You stood up from the bed, only glancing back to make sure he agreed.

As you chopped up fruit, you couldn’t help but feel the inner struggle happening deep inside you. If there was one thing you were passionate about, it was drug addiction. You agreed that throwing people in jail for having addictions wasn’t how you helped someone, but you also knew it was still illegal. Beyond that, seeing the way it could mess up someone’s life was extremely heartbreaking. It would help you if you knew exactly what Ethan was using, but if it was more than one thing you weren’t sure if you were prepared to handle the answer.

“Here.” You handed Grayson the purple smoothie and sat down next to him again.

“I can’t believe I got my ass handed to me this badly,” Grayson took a sip of your smoothie and scoffed at himself, almost a laugh. You noticed he didn’t thank you for the drink. “Either I opened my mouth to the wrong person, or I’m in deep shit – or maybe I got mugged…” He shrugged, almost calm at the fact he was almost beaten to death.

“How are you just okay with not knowing what happened to you?” You scrunched your face up at him, frustrated. “I literally washed blood out of your butt crack, Grayson.”

He turned his head to you quickly and let out his signature, loud laugh. Wincing at the pain it caused and hissing when his abs flexed. “I should’ve gone to Ethan’s, my bad.”

Perhaps that was the best apology one could ever expect from Grayson Dolan, but you really weren’t looking for one. What you wanted was an explanation. What happened? Why? Why did you show up at my door out of all the doors in Chicago? To be honest, you weren’t sure he knew the answer. If this had something to do with his business, there’s no way he would tell you the details. If it didn’t, and he really had just gotten his ass beat, he wasn’t going to tell you that either – might hurt his ego to map out the details. To be REALLY honest, you weren’t sure you could trust a single word that came out of this man’s mouth. It was like everything he said was a back-track of something else he had told you at another time. A never-ending spider web of lies upon lies.

Shaking the thoughts out of your head, you twisted towards Grayson and patted his knee. “It’s alright, I didn’t mind your butt crack, Dolan.”

#dolan #dolan twins #dolan twins smut #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins imagine #dolan twin smut #grayson dolan x reader #ethan dolan #gray #grayson #graysons lane #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan imagine #adolanables #thecity

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danseinthefallout · 4 years

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the art of danse - two

a paladin danse fanfiction

story warning; this story contains strong language, adult themes (such as violence, smut/NSFW themes, drug use, and other harsh themes) and canon and un canon language and story plots of Fallout 4 and Fallout 3.

summary; yea, the bombs may have fallen, but art and love have not. and of course, people still tell white lies

word count; 3.5k

chapter two; synthetic childhood

Everything went back to normal, as best as things can. It’s been around three days since Stella’s adventures out in the Commonwealth. That wasn’t going to stop her, she was planning on making way back to the police station in a couple of weeks. Luckily, the signal at the police station was now strong enough that Stella’s Pip-Boy cough their signal, so she could communicate with Haylen. She found that out last night while she was working on modding her guns, a strange voice came from it. At first, she was concerned, but when Haylen stated it was her and she realized she left the signal on her Pip-Boy, she was happy to hear from her. Haylen was happy to talk to someone other than people who were apart of the Brotherhood, and Stella was happy she could talk to Haylen, maybe she could get a signal elsewhere.

“What’s the craziest thing you fought?” Haylen asked to throw the speaker as Stella was tinkering with the gun she was making for Danse as a thank you. Stella sat back and thought about her question. Haylen snuck away to talk to her before Ryhs or even Danse would find her. Haylen has so many questions for Stella, about her crazy adventures she had.

“At 16, I fought two Deathclaws in the middle of a Gunner shoot out. For some reason, the Deathclaws didn’t attack me, but they did help me kill the Gunners… then they tried to attack me so I shot one square in the head but it did manage to rip my gun in two before it blood out… so I had to try to kill the other Deathclaw with my combat knife. It took a while before I confused the Deathclaw and I ended up crawling on his back and slitting its throat… I should have just taken one of the Gunner’s gun and shooting them, but that thought didn’t cross my mind,” Stella said through the mic. “I know it sounds so untrue, but I have the scar to prove it,” Stella stated as she felt the scare on her neck and chest. It was nasty and when she got it, she swore she was going to die right then and there and be a Deathclaw’s dinner.

“Jesus…” Haylen sighed, baffled by Stella’s story “I think with that, you have Elder Maxon beat…” Haylen laughed. Stella blushed.

“You think I’d be a good Elder?” Stella laughed. “Ah, just kidding, you shouldn’t answer that,” Stella stated. Stella could hear someone walking in.

“Hey, Haylen, who are you talking too?” A familiar voice was heard. It was Danse

“It’s- It’s Stella, Paladin. The signal was strong enough that I’m able to contact Stella,” Haylen stated. Stella’s cheeks where flushed, thinking about the Paladin.

“Hi, Danse!” Stella cheered.

“Hello, soldier, nice to hear from you again… Haylen, Ryhs needs to talk to you,” Danse spoke with seriousness in his tone.

“Oh… okay. Bye Stella!” Haylen cheered.

“Bye Haylen. Talk to you soon okay?” Stellas asked.

“Of course,” And with that Haylen disconnected from the channel. Stella smiled as she looked at the loose pieces of the rifle she was modding.

Stella got up from her desk as she went to the kitchen in her quarters. She lived with Lucas and Joanna and their quarters were rather large. However, tonight, she was home alone. Lucas and Joanna went to the ‘night club’ for some free drinks, but Stella wanted to stay behind to do some modding and to talk to Haylen of course.

Stella went to the fridge as she grabbed an ice-cold Nuka-Cola. Endcliff was a freak about pre-war foods and actually being edible, so their scientists and chefs would get together to make them. It was nice.

She took a sip, and sat down, unsure of what to do next of her rifle, maybe a suppressor? Ah, who knows. Stella just decided to move her little gun project back in her locker and pull out her typewriter, might as well finish that play she was writing for Cosmos…

The thing with Endcliff, is that they value education and the most important art and anything creative. That’s why it’s such a perfect fit for her. Stella always valued things like crafting, music, writing, painting, and dance. It would help heal wounds that were never physical. She remembered when she ran off to Goodneighbor in hopes of a memory wipe, she would sketch all the emotions she felt in her notebook. Luckily, before anything could happen, Nick Valentine busted in, helping her cope with her emotions, with her friends by her side. She realized that maybe she could learn from this and make art to express the awful feeling that flowed throw her veins. Or where they veins?

Yea, the past 4 years have been difficult after her little disappearing act, but who could blame her? The women just found out she’s a fucking synth prototype and everyone is after her? Was her mother really her mother? Or just a vessel for a synthetic baby? All her childhood felt so real, but was it real to everyone else?

Vault-Tec and the Institue? What a cluster fuck for disaster.

What scared her the most is that the Institue still is after her. Even when she was captured at 19, she managed to wipe her entire file and flee. She was safe for now… but she keeps wounding when her time will run out and there will be a ninth attempt on her life.

She kept that all to herself, the only people who knew her true self where her family and Nicky. She was happy about her new friendship with Valentine. He was fun and treated her with such care. He was like a father figure to her new identity and well, Nick felt comfort when she was around. A prototype. Just like him.

It was cruel what they did, telling her that she’s just a science project to those fuckers at the Institute on her 18th birthday, making her life crumble and saying her time was up. She couldn’t do that. She had to find something or someone else. Leave, forever. She realized she didn’t want that. Fuck the Institue.

The funny thing is, Stella, remembers her childhood like everyone normal child can… or as normal as one can get. Her oldest brother being in a gang and harassing everyone that crossed him and playing with anyone but the kids her age. The vault was never supposed to open. That’s what the Institute wanted. They thought that if they grew up on in a vault, they can easily get information, but now she’s here, in the Commonwealth where their little labs are. I guess she always knew something was off with her. She was anxious all the time and thought nothing she did was normal. She questioned her sexuality and her place in the world. It hit her too that she liked everyone, even ghouls and synths. She just didn’t care. Pre-war days, they would have a name for that.

She was lucky she made way to Little Lamplight after she lefts her life behind. She never really cared for the vault, no one ever cared for her. She did question if anyone ever tried to look for her, but she didn’t look for them, so it was whatever.

Stella never saw the world until she was 12. Broken… lost… She saw pictures of it before the bombs fell and she’d hope something of that life was still there. It was the Mayor of Lamplight that befriended her, they where close. He was the only one she talked to before she up and left again. Robert MacCready. Stella heard a rumor he was running with Gunner’s now and he made way to the Commonwealth too. She’d hope to bump into him at some point, maybe without the bloodshed, of course

Stella traveled everywhere in the Capital Wasteland before she made way to the Galaxy News Radio station. It was a blur at that time of her life. Brotherhood of Steel soldiers were doing their business. They were kind enough to let her stay there. Maybe that’s why she’s so drawn to the Brotherhood, even if they wanted to hunt her down now. Or maybe it was the fact that her first kiss and even doing that for the first time was with a Knight. She was 15, 2 months before she was planning on leaving and she had a crush on a new Knight… Knight Micheal. He was 17. The two hung out a lot and well… one thing leads to another and she was no longer a virgin. But that’s neither here or there.

Stella sat there, staring mindlessly, caught up in her thoughts. For a machine whose every waking moment was supposed to be programmed, she sure did think a lot. Quite honestly, with everything that happened since she got the news about herself, a lot of shit happened and well… she somehow saw the positive in it all. Even when the Institue did capture her only a year later. She learned a lot about herself in that time slot. She saw a lot of things she wishes she could be programmed to forget, but maybe… it was there for a reason. No matter what people say… no matter what the Brotherhood says or those bastards at the Institue, she is human. People forget what human even means in this climate.

Stella’s relationship with herself and other synths are always off and on, but to be fair, no other person outside Endcliff knows, it was the ones who were mindless under orders, jealous, almost towards her. She never understood why. Maybe the fact she remembered her childhood, had a real mother and father… but underneath it all, they were apart of the experiment all the same. She did feel bad for those wishing to have that loving mother or father, but that was never up to her. Nothing was. Besides her escape, of course.

The Institue was stupid enough to have every track record of there captured and escaped synths and there every move. Just on a terminal for anyone that can get their hands on it. They didn’t know she was going to escape with a few others, but she overheard a few idiots talking about it and so she found her file and deleted it so that when she’s back home, they won’t have a clue where she was. LV-32. Gone. It was a stupidly complicated yet simple plan with a lot of waiting. At least someone helped her. The Railroad.

Stella always heard about The Railroad even before she found out about being LV-32. She knew someone in The Institue was dancing with them. She owed a little bit of her freedom because of them.

Stella had no clue who was apart of there secret cool kids club, or anyone from Endcliff. When she got back from here escape, a new resident, Athena, moved in. Stella always thought she was odd, but she respected it. They talked every now and again when she went to Cosom’s. She ended up working costumes and was a fantastic seamstress. She could make anything you ever wanted to wear, amazing for any production Cosmos would put on. Athena would always ask Stella questions, not invasive questions if Stella had any, she was a pretty open person after all (besides her synth nature to outsiders)

Stella and Athena bonded a month after everything. Cosmo wanted to put on a production of a play he worked on called Poison of Creature he wrote with the help of Lucas. Stella played Noble, a woman who was a witch. Athena did all her costumes and hung out a lot backstage with Stella. It was no Lucas or Joanna to the level of trust and closeness, but she was glad she made a new friend.

It wasn’t until closing night she got a chance to meet… Deacon… and Glory and Tinker Tom. Athena invited some “friends” from her old settlement to watch the play and come to the little after party back at Cosmos’ place. Stella hit it off with Athena’s friends and well… months later told her everything or enough that Dez wouldn’t skin any of them alive. Just like the Brotherhood, she didn’t join them, but she did befriend them.

Stella was kicked off out of her through as she heard her radio coming on, someone was trying to contact her. It was probably Haylen again.

“Haylen? Is that you?” She spoke, leaning into the mic.

“No. This is Paladin Danse. Scribe Haylen is on a mission, she’ll be back in a few hours… I… I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to speak to you… if you have time, that is,” Danse voice was husky and Stella couldn’t help but swoon. She was so happy to hear from him again.

“I always have time for you and your team, Paladin,” Stella spoke with professionalism.

“Please, call me Danse… I just wanted to properly thank you for helping us. It has been a stressful time and I would have left for the Prywen by now but I have to stay with my time to make sure they are good. I’m happy Haylen has continued to keep in contact with you,” Danse said, honestly.

“I’m glad to help out… sometimes we forget to help others… speaking of which, I’m making you something as a thank you, will you be at the police station in a week?” Stella asked. Danse chuckled, you could hear him blushing.

“I’m supposed to go back to the Prydwen in a few days, but I can always tell the Elder I need more time… that’s very thoughtful of you, soldier…” He paused as Stella smiled. Oh boy, she could feel that crush feeling crawling in. Not in this climate! “I’m glad you picked up, I wasn’t sure who or what I’d be talking to with Haylen’s radio,” Danse chuckled.

“I’m glad you contacted me. I have a million things I should do, but no inspiration is hitting me at the moment,” Stella admitted as she looked at the empty page of her play and the loose screws of her gun. Ugh, creation block.

“Inspiration for what?” Danse asked.

“I’m writing a play and modding something special… usually, I’ll have the first scene of my play done and the rest just come naturally, but… I think I can’t get my mind off of what happened. I can’t write about our loses or my adventures ether. It’s been the plot of my last 3 plays. Love? Murder? Synthetic lies?! Ah, sorry for rambling…” Stella stumbled over her words as she thought of another generic plot point.

“You’re a writer? We don’t have many of those nowadays. I always wanted to go to a play, but I’m always busy for the Brotherhood. Maybe write something that could have happened before the war… Baseball or country music. Simple. Peaceful…” It was clear that Danse, too was trailing off, but Stella listened to him carefully. She didn’t know a lot about things from before the war. She only knew of this life.

“You’re more than welcome to come to Endcliff, we usually have productions of plays that our friend Cosmos puts on. Sometimes it’s someone else. He’s currently running around like a madman, putting up a rusty set. And yes, I’m more of an artist, you could say. I paint and dance and sometimes I bang on tables! Damnit that sounded… sexual, ah… you know what I mean,” Stella laughed, completely making herself sound like a fool. Danse laughed at her, enjoying the conversation they were having.

“I’ll try to find a way to Endcliff, and I think I have an idea of what you mean. I heard stories of Endcliff, it sounds like such a strange place, the Brotherhood could make use of such a place,” Danse replied.

“I’d hope you’re not planning on raiding us… you’re making me nervous, Paladin,” Stella joked. “And yea, Endcliff is about education and art. A lot of settlers and traders and people of all walks of life come here, some live here. Mayor Kinnojo kept it safe and the same since his father passed away. We don’t keep people out, but you do have to pass security and Benji takes his job seriously… expect for the raider ambush… poor Benji is still trying to hold himself together… Anyways, hows Brotherhood life? And don’t worry I’m not trying to get you to tell me all your secrets,” Stella laughed.

“The Brotherhood is an honor to be in. I’ve works hours with my brother and sisters, saw many good soldiers come and go. My whole life is dedicated to the Brotherhood… but you can say it’s more than that,” Danse let out a comforting sigh. “Have you considered joining the Brotherhood? After taking care of yourself, you seem to be what the Brotherhood is looking for,” Danse asked. Stella thought about it for a moment.

“I ride solo, only really ride with Lucas and Joanna and for the people in Endcliff. It’s funny, back in the Capital Wasteland, I was around with a lot of Brotherhood soldiers but never would want to become one myself. I’d rather just do things my way, help people I want to help. I’m unsure why people always ask me to join their clubs… I mean, it’s nice that people think I’m good enough for them, but… it’s all bullshit,” Stella spoke with honesty. Maybe she should join one of those ‘clubs’. “I traveled with many people before I meet Joanna and Lucas, I was working with a raider gang, fixing their guns at one point. Hated every second of that gig… And of course the kids at Little Lamplight and the soldiers at Galaxy News Radio… but none of it felt like me. Yea, sure it gets lonely as hell when all you do is run with two people or even by yourself, but at those times I remember why I do it. To find clarity,” Stella looked at the blank page in her typewriter. “I suck… sorry for my life story… I really need to take it easy on the Nuka Cola,” Stella awkwardly laughed.

“It’s okay, soldier. I understand. I hope you change your mind and join us down the line,” Danse stated. If only he knew what she was… “I’m sorry to cut it short, but I have to go, Haylen and the team is back. I hope to see you soon,” With that and two goodbyes, the channel on her radio lost signal. She looked at her Pip-Boy. It was now midnight.

Stella got up and put on her coat. She wanted to go to Vista’s for a drink and some fucking food.

Usually, sitting at a bar, by yourself at midnight would be pretty fucking sad, but it’s Vista’s and tonight Kamilia was working. Stella sipped her whiskey as she listened to Liza Bush do her set. For such a popular hot spot for drunken mistakes, it was pretty fucking quiet tonight.

“Come here often?” Stella heard a recognizable voice next to her as she shifted her body. She prayed it wasn’t Danny… she would hate herself if it was… She took a sip as she looked to her left to see Deacon. She smiled and rolled her eyes as Deacon moved to sit next to her.

“Yes, all the time… What brings you back to Endcliff? Forget a disguise of ‘Pretentious Art Snob?’” Stella asked, making Deacon laugh.

“That would be such a good disguise for a place like this… but no… I came here to talk to you,” Deacon had some seriousness in his voice as Stella tilted her head in concern.

“Deacon is everything okay?” Stella asked.

“Yes… and well… no. Remember that man who was with me last time I visited Athena? F8-L9 or Gray we called him?” Deacon asked, catching Stella’s mind up.

“Oh yes! He had a passion for the arts, a perfect fit for Endcliff. Is everything alright with him?” Stella asked.

“He was supposed to be here with me so he could get a residentship here after speaking with Mayor Kinnojo, but Glory said he went all cuckoo and fleed to Goodnaighbor for a memory wipe, I’m afraid the Institute is after him and he just had a memory wipe before his visit,” Deacon explained the situation. Stella took another sip of her drink.

“That sounds like a hard deal… two memory wipes in that short amount of time can be dangerous and afar from the Institue goes, you guys always got that part covered,” Stella stated.

“You’re going to hate me, but we need your help,” Deacon spoke. Stella raised her eyebrows.

“Why me? I’m not even an agent,” Stella reminded Deacon.

“Because what I’ve gathered, Gray really likes you and your art and maybe you could tell him something that could convince him. We don’t have to leave until tomorrow evening… Please, you owe us this much. And besides, don’t you miss traveling with this face?” Deacon asked as he batted his eyelashes, but of course, couldn’t see with him wearing sunglassed in a dim bar.

“Fine, but we’re going to Cambridge Police Station, I have to give a Paladin something for helping me,” Stella explained.

“Okay, deal… Thank you, Stella,” Deacon smiled as he got up and left. What happened with running alone?

Authors Note; This has been really fun writing and I have a whole plot for this story. Don’t worry, I won’t flood your timelines with only this story, I’ll post other junk too. Hope you enjoyed and my asks are open for anything x

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ladyseaheart1668 · 5 years

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Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 38)

Description: Estela and Aleister return to Northbridge to identify their father’s body and make an unsettling discovery.

Content Warning: Talk of suicide this chapter.

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @mysteli @whatmcsaid @feartheendlesssummer @tigerbryn11

Chapter 38: Right Hand

Alodia

I can't believe it.

That seems to be the general sentiment on the morning of my twenty-eighth birthday, as the news filters through our ranks. Everett Rourke is dead. They found him hanging in his room. They're calling it an “apparent suicide,” which I suppose makes sense. Now Estela and Aleister have to return to Northbridge to identify the body within 48 hours.

“...I don't believe it,” Estela growls. I look up from the glass of orange juice I'm nursing. Estela is seated across from me at the kitchen table. Her chair is pushed out a good distance from the table, and her lithe back is flat, even as she rests her chin on her fist on top of the smooth mahogany table. She glares down at the table, eyes narrow as if the fate of the world hinges on her memorizing every detail of the grain.

“I don't either,” Lila murmurs, staring out the window. “It doesn't make sense. Not now. Not now that he had hope. Not now that he believed he had the chance to...reclaim what he'd lost.”

“...Do you think he could really do it?” Quinn asks. “Restart Project Janus?”

“Not if he's dead,” Lila replies flatly. “He can't really do anything if he's dead.”

“There are ways of faking one's death,” Estela says.

“But to fake a suicide by hanging?” Grace ventures gently. “How exactly would he pull that off?”

“I don't know,” Estela admits. “But I can't put anything past him. Lila is right. It doesn't make sense that he would decide to kill himself now. Not when his white whale is back where he could potentially reach her.” She looks at me as she says this, and I snort slightly as I lift my juice off the table.

“You know, in my present condition, I could take that as an insult,” I quip without any genuine mirth.

“Suicide doesn't always make sense,” Aleister murmurs. He sighs heavily. “In any case, I requested an autopsy, so if Father is faking his death somehow, I'm sure they will figure it out soon enough. ...Or they'll kill him in an effort to determine what killed him.”

Over his shoulder, I see Jake appear in the kitchen entryway. He steps inside to lean against the wall, hands in his pockets.

“Bags are all loaded in the car, and there's a plane fueled and ready for us on the tarmac at SNA. Should be about a five-hour flight. Maybe less.”

“You're taking my car and Quinn's?” I ask. The morning has been so confused and harried that I'm not sure I have the plans straight in my head.

“Right. Raj and Lila'll drive Quinn's car back to Northbridge, and Mike and I'll drive yours back here when we get back to California tomorrow morning. ...You'll be okay overnight, right?”

“I'll be fine. Not like I'll be alone.”

“Yeah, I know. But you know I worry.”

“Varyyn and I will look after her,” Diego promises. I roll my eyes.

“Jeez, you'd think I was a baby instead of pregnant with one.”

“Z and I can stick around until you guys get back, too,” Craig offers.

“That really isn't necessary,” I assure him.

“Do you want us to stick around?” Zahra asks pointedly, sipping on her coffee.

“Of course I do.”

“Well then, we're staying. You got sweet digs here, Alodia. Of course we're gonna jump at the chance to hang around here awhile longer.”

“Well, I suppose I can't argue with that logic.”

“We ought to get going, then,” Jake sighs. “California traffic. It's gonna be shit even on New Year's Day. Where are Sean and Michelle?”

“Right here,” Sean says, coming up behind him.

“Oh, you guys are going with them?” I try not to sound too disappointed.

“We had to leave today anyway,” Michelle says apologetically. “I have to get back to work.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sean adds. “As long as the opportunity is here, might as well avoid going through security.”

I sigh, standing up slowly. “Okay, but everyone who's leaving needs to hug me right now, or you're not allowed out the door.”

Goodbyes obviously take awhile. It's lucky the plane won't leave without them. But, eventually, Diego manages to pry me off our friends and guide me back to the kitchen table. I sit down reluctantly. The weight of their absence makes the house feel very suddenly larger and emptier, like mild air that suddenly feels uncomfortably cold when you've been covered by a blanket. I sigh.

“I suppose I should start cleaning up,” I murmur.

“You mean Varyyn and I should start cleaning up,” Diego corrects me. I roll my eyes.

“Goddsake, Diego, I'm pregnant. Not an invalid.”

“Do you honestly feel up to bending down and picking up and carrying dishes and trash back and forth?”

“Well...honestly, no.”

“There you go.” Diego wraps his arms around me from the side and kisses my cheek. “Finish your breakfast, Allie. We'll clean up.”

“Let me help,” Craig says, pushing out his chair and standing up. Without waiting for a reply, he follows Diego and Varryn toward the front room, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Zahra. For a long moment, she sits absolutely still, long enough that I start to feel a little weirded out. But before I can ask her whether everything's okay, she brings her coffee mug to her lips and tips her head back to down the rest in two big gulps before bringing her hand down with a satisfied exhale.

“I needed that,” she grunts under her breath. Abruptly, she looks up and meets my eyes. “Alodia, we should move somewhere private. There's something I have to tell you.”

I immediately feel my stomach knotting with dread. “That...sounds serious.”

“It is serious. I don't know if it's bad, but it is serious. I brought you something.” I am not sure what her words up to this point have led me to expect, but I do know that I never could have predicted the next words out of her mouth. “...It's about your mom.”

* * *

I remember going to the pediatrician as a kid and poking through the plastic milkcrate full of toys in an attempt to distract myself from my anxiety. I have a clear memory of a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle that stayed in that milkcrate until my last pediatric visit. I always tried to put it together before the receptionist called my name. Of course, I never succeeded. There was never enough time, someone had always taken it apart and cleaned it up by the time I left, and I'm pretty sure some of the pieces had gone missing over the years anyway.

I can still picture the beautiful image printed on the box: shimmering zodiac signs, accompanied by exquisitely drawn animals, people, and objects to represent them, all splayed out on a starscape backdrop. I can still remember kneeling on the worn carpet in the waiting room, pawing through the pile of cardboard pieces and slowly watching the image form in front of me as I pressed each piece into place. I remember the frustration and sense of loss as I was guided back into the exam room with the puzzle never more than half-completed, with partially assembled chunks missing connecting pieces.

Sitting in my room, looking at the information Zahra has presented me on my mother, I feel like I am looking at that half-completed puzzle. Except this time, there isn't a box cover with a complete image to guide me. I have to admit, I have no idea what to make of all of this. Everything that Zahra knows—and Grace, Aleister, Estela, and Craig, apparently—about the woman who gave birth to me is laid out in front of me, and I don't know what to make of any of it. Perhaps what baffles me the most is that the digital image of me, supposedly painted while I was in utero, doesn't baffle me more. It's actually less of a concern to me than the rest of it.

“So...she was studying something to do with time travel?”

“That's what it looks like. What exactly she was trying to do, I can't tell yet. But I'll keep looking into it if you want me to.”

“Yeah...I mean...if you have the time, it might be important to know some of this stuff...”

Zahra frowns thoughtfully at me. “...Your aunt didn't talk about your mom much, did she?”

“No,” I admit. “Not really. I mean, she came up ocassionally. So did my father. Or...at least...the man Vaanu was pretending to be came up sometimes. But I really only got either of them in bits and pieces ...I don't know if Aunt Molly ever really dealt with her grief. She would start to tell stories, and sometimes she got a decent ways into them, but at some point, she always just stopped herself and shut down.”

“Did you even know your mom's maiden name? I mean, did it ever occur to you that she had the same maiden name as the Vaanti Bride? Even just as a coincidence?”

“Officially, when we met Flora Sullivan, I had never had a human mother, remember? Technically, that was before I was retconned into existence. And once I was retconned into existence, any knowledge of my mom and aunt's maiden name was filed in the same memory bank as the fact that I wasn't born on U.S. soil. …Reading it right now was the first time I realized that I had known it all along.”

“Goddamn, your existence is crazy sometimes.”

“You're preaching to the choir,” I sigh ruefully. “...Thank you for showing this to me. I think I should try to ask Aunt Molly for more details on my mom. ...I won't show her the picture, though. Not unless I mean to tell her everything.”

Zahra frowns. “...Is she someone you could trust not to have you committed if you tell her you can remember an alternate timeline where you didn't exist?”

“To be perfectly honest...I don't know. Which is why I'm not going to tell her yet. Maybe not ever. ...But I do want to hear what else she has to say about my mom. If anything.”

“I gotta say, you're taking all this in stride.”

I shrug. “Well, some of it does concern me a little. But my mother did marry an alien. An alien who knew he was going to father a child who would grow up to be me. I don't know if he actually loved my mother, or if there was another reason he picked her. But it would kinda surprise me if there wasn't something special about her. Like being a descendant of Flora Sullivan. Or at least a descendant of one of her relatives.” I sigh. “...Honestly...if I could only have one question about my parents answered for me, it would be whether my father actually loved my mother. ...But right now, any answer I got would probably be overshadowed by the fact that I just heard Everett Rourke is dead.”

“Right. That bombshell.”

I look up and meet her eyes. “...Do you believe it? Do you believe he's really gone?”

“No way in hell.” The complete lack of hesitation startles me.

“So you don't believe it?”

“Not for a second. Not until I see the body with my own eyes. And possibly not even then.”

“Why not?”

Zahra leans back on the unmade bed, propping herself up on the pillows and draping her arms over the headboard behind her. She locks eyes with me, her gaze penetrating.

“You remember when I faked my death on the island?”

“And scared the crap out of everyone? I remember.”

“You remember why I said I did it?”

“...Because they couldn't kill you if they thought you were already dead.” An icy knot is settling in the pit of my stomach. River must sense my anxiety, because she's doing somersaults in my womb. Zahra nods grimly.

“It's not that complicated a concept. If Rourke means to try some shit, it'll be a lot easier if he's free. Since he was given a life sentence with no possibility of parole, the only way to escape is to be dead. There won't be a manhunt for a man everyone believes is dead.”

“Maybe, but...even if the concept is simple, the execution wouldn't be. He wasn't blown up or anything. They found him hanging. How could he fake that? Especially alone?”

“I don't trust that he was acting alone.”

“Even so, he couldn't just build a dummy corpse, hang it, and expect it to fool anyone. They'd figure it out well before autopsy.”

Zahra's eyes narrow just slightly. “...Who're you trying to convince here, Alodia? Me or yourself? ...'Cause I don't think you believe it, either.”

“Do I believe my very own Captain Ahab has taken himself out of the picture? Of course not. Sure, my head is telling me there's no way he could fake his own death by hanging. There's no way he could set up a body that would pass inspection, not with autopsies and identification and dental records and DNA tests. ...But my gut is screaming at me that he's not gone. He's not gone, but the world is going to believe he is, and he's going to come for me. He's going to come for me and my baby...”

I'm starting to panic. I know I am. But I can't quite fight it off until Zahra springs off the pillows and alights at my side to put a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, hey. It's okay. No one's gonna let him get anywhere near you. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know. I also know that the twelve of us have faced him and Arachnid before, and we did it when the whole world was dead and we didn't have any backup. But it's really hard not to feel a lot more vulnerable now that I don't have my link to the Endless and the Island's Heart and while I do have a helpless little person inside me. Even just physically, I am way more vulnerable than I was on the Island.”

“Are you though?”

“...What do you mean?”

“The Endless said that the powers passed on by the Prism Crystal are your birthright, too. That you might have powers that haven't manifested yet. Unless you destroyed them, you also have the Andromeda idol, the Endless' spacesuit, and the Andromeda armor.” She pauses, frowning. “You do still have them, right?”

“Yeah. They're in a trunk in the poolhouse.”

“Okay. So the odds seem pretty strong to me that you aren't actually powerless.”

Anything I might have responded with is cut off with a gasp as River gives me a particularly sharp kick.

“God Almighty, this child is fiesty!”

“Takes after her parents,” Zahra quips. “Good.”

“I hope that if I do have some untapped superpowers, they're enough to keep this kid from kicking through my uterus.” I lie down on the bed, stroking my belly. “Come on, sweetheart. Calm down for Ma-mama...” My words abruptly dissolve into a yawn. Now that I'm lying down, the exhausted fog that has hovered over my head since I got up is seeping fully into my brain. I feel like my memory-foam mattress is ready to swallow me whole. I hear Zahra snort.

“Falling asleep on me, Chandler? Not cool.”

“Oh, lay off. I'm too pregnant to function on less than five hours of sleep, and coffee isn't an option.”

“Eugh. Okay, fair enough. I'll let your caffeine-deprived ass rest then. I'll just go see if the guys need any help cleaning up.”

I think I respond appropriately, but sleep is already taking hold, turning my thoughts to mush.

… Vanuu's face hovers above me. He is not quite in human form, but he is also not the faceless apparition that I met on the island. He is frowning.

“Child,” he says, “where is your right hand?”

I am lying on my back, I realize. I strain to lift my head, puzzled by his question. I look down at my body, and find it clad in red. Oh...that explains it. He is asking the Endless. I let my head drop back.

“I lost it.” I roll my head to the right to assess the damage. My right arm ends in a ragged stump below my elbow, but there is no blood. No pain. In fact, I can still feel my severed limb. Only it's...cold. Too cold. And it won't move.

“...How?”

I roll my head back to look up at my father. “I...don't remember...”

He sighs. “You will, my child. In time. Just look for now. Look.”

I do as he tells me, turning my head to the right again, but the effort is starting to hurt. I raise my right hand, now a skeletal metal claw. I bring it in front of my face to examine the new appendage. A small flame flickers to life above my palm. I don't question it when it turns back to flesh and blood right before my eyes. I only start to feel alarmed when the heat of the flame starts to turn the flesh of my palm red. Before I can quite register what is happening, it has already begun to burn a hole through the center of my hand. The pain is unbearable, but I have no voice to scream.

I whip my gaze back to my father, to plead for help, but he's gone. Rourke is in his place, leering down at me. He brings his right hand down to press the palm flat against my swollen belly.

“Strong...” he murmurs gleefully. “She is strong.”

A pair of hands close around mine, and the pain seems to ease. Estela is holding my hand, kneeling beside me with Aleister at her shoulder. She seems to be examining my wound. Her expression is stoically grim, but I can see fear in her eyes.

“Aleister. Look.”

Aleister's eyes widen. He can't hide his fear like she can. “...So it's true.”

Estela nods. “Just as the Endless warned us.”

Through Estela's tender grip, I can see that my hand has begun to bleed. It trickles from the front and the back of my hand like stigmata, pooling between Estela's palms, but she doesn't seem to notice.

“...Estela...” I croak weakly. “Aleister...” Aleister puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Don't worry, Alodia. We will protect you.”

Rourke has a knife in his left hand now. He holds out his right hand in front of him, raises the blade, and takes aim. As he drives the blade through his hand, he doesn't flinch, but I feel the pain as if his hand were mine, and I hear myself scream.

“Alodia!” Jake is beside me now, clutching my hand and desperately stroking my hair. His eyes are wild with fear, shimmering with tears. “Stay with me, Princess. Please...please don't leave me...”

I want to tell him I'm here. I want to tell him I'm all right. But I can't. The searing pain from my hand is spreading up my arm in waves, to my shoulder, flooding into my chest and my midsection. The smell of blood hits my nose in a sickeningly thick cloud. Rourke smiles viciously, raising his right hand to show me the dark hole that goes straight through.

“Do you remember, Andromeda, the truth of the Hydra?” He approaches me, and the pain intestifies. “...You know that we will meet again.”

I hear myself screaming, but the pain is fading. So is my voice. I can't hear Jake's voice anymore, I can't feel the pressure of his hand on mine. Oppressive heat surrounds me as I realize I am back at Hartfeld as it was the day we stepped through the Lernaean Gate.

“Allie!” Diego's voice cracks like a whip through the lava-scorched landscape.

“...Right hand...?” Vaanu's voice comes through crackling static. “...Right hand...”

“Allie! Allie!” …

… “Allie?”

There's a hand on my shoulder. I feel my heart spasm with alarm. My breath catches in my throat, my eyes flying open in a panic before I realize that it's Diego beside me. He pulls his hand back,d showing his palms with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.” His smile slips a little. “Are you okay? I came in to check on you and you were kind of...talking in your sleep.”

“What was I saying?”

“Um...I don't know. Couldn't really make out individual words.”

“I was dreaming...” I trail off as I ease myself upright, frowning. “...I need to talk to Estela and Aleister.”

Aleister

Naturally, Raj made sure we had a packed lunch for our flight back to Northbridge. Nothing fancy, at least not by his standards, just grilled sandwiches and an assortment of hand-made snacks to nibble on. But the effort is always appreciated. About two hours into the flight, after our collective efforts to calm my fussy son have finally born fruit, we lay the tables in the cabin and fetch ourselves drinks from the refridgerator. No one has said much in all this time, beyond what is polite and prefunctory. I think we are all rather in our own heads at the moment. But I have also been watching my sister, and what I see has me a bit concerned. Estela is not a woman prone to tears, or indeed any outward displays of emotion, but on and off, I have noticed her eyes glimmering. She has spent the better portion of these past two hours lying curled up with her head in Quinn's lap, just letting her girlfriend stroke her hair, looking for all the world like a forlorn puppy. Not something I am used to seeing from the San Trobidian rebel. Now that we are sitting at our tables, she is clearly struggling to eat, ocassionally placing a bite or two on her tongue, but very little has actually left the plate in front of her.

“Are you all right, Estela?” I finally can't help but ask.

Estela sighs, picking at a hangnail on her index finger. “Should I be? Considering my father just died?”

“I don't think there is a 'should' in this situation,” Quinn says gently. “You feel how you feel. It's okay.”

“I never cared about knowing who my father was. By the time I learned who he was, I hated him more than anyone else living. ...A part of me thinks I ought to be celebrating...”

Murphy, who had been dozing on the couch, seems to pick up on the general atmosphere. He rises and stretches before padding over to hop up on Estela's lap. She sighs, stroking his fur gently. Beside me, Grace puts a hand on my shoulder.

“How about you, sweetie? How are you holding up?”

“Right now? I am...fine. I do not know if it has entirely sunk in yet. But perhaps it has. Either way, the man is dead. Just a shell. And the world is better for it.”

“I would have expected your feelings to be more mixed than mine,” Estela remarks. I shrug.

“I was raised by the man...if you can call it that. The time was that I craved his affection. One could even say that I loved him, in that dutiful way a child always loves their parents. ...But any lingering love I had for him died back on the island. I won't say I am glad he is dead, but I am not sorry, either.”

“...I'm not sorry, either. Not really. ...But I guess I am...sad. I feel that this whole situation is just sad. New Year's Day, and my half-brother and I are going to identify the body of our father, who died in prison.”

“Yeah,” Sean sighs. “I think 'sad' describes that pretty accurately.”

On the table beside me, my phone trills with an incoming call. I glance at it, frowning when I see the name on the screen.

“It's Alodia.” I am immediately concerned that she may be trying to reach her husband. I look around at my companions and I know that the same thought has occurred to them. I thumb on the call. “Alodia? Are you all right?”

“Oh, Aleister. I wasn't actually expecting you to answer. I didn't think you'd have landed already.”

“We haven't. The ban on mobile phones during air travel has been rapidly dying out in the last few years. ...Are you trying to reach the pilot?”

“No. You're actually the one I wanted to reach. You and Estela. There's something I need you to do for me when you see the body.”

“...Hold on a moment. Let me put you on the speaker.” I tap the speaker and replace the phone on the table. “All right, say that again?”

“I took a little nap just now, and I had a weird dream that I'm not really inclined to ignore. When you see Rourke's body, I need you to check his right hand.”

“...Check it for what?” Estela asks.

“Honestly, I don't know. I'm hoping you will know when you see it.”

We are all silent for a moment. Michelle is the one who finally breaks the silence.

“It will be up to Aleister and Estela to actually check Rourke's right hand and recognize whatever it is they're supposed to be looking for. But if my opinion means anything, I don't think Alodia's instincts should ever be ignored when it comes to anything involving Rourke, La Huerta, the Vaanti, or Prism energy.”

“I would go so far as to say that is an incomplete list,” I agree. “There is nothing to be lost by looking at Father's right hand, and possibly there is something to be gained.”

I don't tell Alodia that her request has left me with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Until now, any doubts I had about my father's demise could have easily been dismissed as the denial stage of grief. Or the mind's unwillingness to let go of wariness after the fight is over. But now my doubts are growing. Now I am starting to wonder if my father is truly dead.

* * *

Grace, Quinn, Estela, and I part ways with Sean, Michelle, Jake, and Mike at the airport. Three Rourke International cars are waiting to take us to our various destinations. Mike and Jake to a hotel to rest up for the flight home in the morning, Sean and Michelle to their apartment, and the rest of us to the morgue. Sean and Michelle agree to watch Reginald for us until we're finished, for which I am grateful. He may be just shy of a year old and unlikely to remember any of this, but it still feels wrong to bring him along to identify the body of his criminal grandfather. Not that I imagine they would allow him in the room with the body anyway, but my point stands.

At the Northbridge city morgue, Grace and Quinn are shown to a plain, but surprisingly pleasant-looking waiting room while the morgue attendant leads me into the back with Estela to the temperature-controlled area where the bodies are kept.

“I am sorry for your loss,” the attendant says solemnly. He is a young man, a little bit awkward-looking, with rather large ears, glasses, a chin shadowed with stubble, and a narrow head capped with sandy-brown fuzz. But his manner is pleasant and professional.

“I imagine you say that a lot,” Estela mutters, echoing my thoughts.

“It comes with the territory,” he concedes ruefully. “But it's always true.”

“We're not exactly...in mourning,” Estela answers flatly.

“We're here out of filial obligation,” I add. “I suspect you know enough of who our father is to guess why we say that.”

“It's not my place to pass judgment on familial relationships. Just to make sure bodies get to the right people. ...Speaking of which, whatever your feelings on your father, it might be shocking to see his body.” His professional composure cracks just a little. “...In fact...we generally only ask family members to look at photographs...I know you have asked to physically see his body, but...” Estela and I exchange a glance, and the attendant trails off.

“It is necessary that we view his remains,” I say simply.

The attendant doesn't question any further. When we reach the coolers, he unlocks the correct cabinet and draws out the shrouded corpse. He warns us about what we will see, what marks his death by strangulation have left on him. When we both nod our understanding, he slowly draws back the sheet.

I must admit, I have to close my eyes, just for a moment. I understand the clinical process by which strangulation kills, and I have some prior understanding of how that process affects the appearance of the victim. But to see my father's face so distorted and discolored... I glance at my sister, who remains as solid and stoic as I have ever seen her.

“I would like to see his hands,” she declares. The attendant raises an eyebrow.

“His hands?”

“Yes. Show me his hands.”

“It is a custom from her homeland,” I explain when the attendant seems to hesitate. “Please be respectful of it.”

Estela shoots me a glare behind the attendant's back. I shrug helplessly and she rolls her eyes, muttering something in Spanish that sounds like an insult. Nevertheless, the attendant allows her to examine our father's hands, on the condition that she wear gloves. Estela doesn't waste time. She pulls on the vinyl exam gloves and removes our father's right hand from under the sheet. I shift awkwardly as she looks it over, wondering if I should help her find whatever it is we're supposed to be looking for. But then her eyes widen, and I realize she's found it. She looks up at the attendant, her dark eyes narrow.

“This is not our father.”

Naturally, the attendant looks shocked by the assertion. I feel rather startled myself. I know it is difficult to believe that our father could actually die, but that Estela should deny what is right in front of her face...

“...Estela...what...?”

My sister pins me with her penetrating gaze. “The last time we saw our father alive, he had a bandage on his right hand. He told us he had been stabbed in the palm with a pencil. Do you remember?”

“Yes. I remember.”

“He told us that the mark left by the graphite would last years. Decades. The rest of his life.”

The truth is creeping over me as I slowly realize what she is getting at. “...It's true. A graphite mark just under the skin can last decades at least.”

She lifts our father's right hand to show me the smooth, unmarked palm. “...Then where is it?”

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minimalexertion · 5 years

Text

Chapter 2

Blending into the New Dimension

After that whole fiasco of waking up, passing out, then waking up once again, only to pass out again, then finally waking up and being able to stay awake, the Hokage (bless his heart) had allowed you to stay with him.

You had a small room to yourself, a couple of belongings that he had given you, such as clothes, a bed and a couple of small bits and pieces, and most importantly of all, your privacy. You lay, slumped on the comfy bed, staring angrily at the small black handbook. Unsurprisingly, step 3 of chapter 1 was 'Finding a Place to Stay.'

Step 3 - Finding a Place to Stay

This will, most likely, be the hardest step to complete. Finding a place to stay is often difficult due to the fact that you are an anomaly. However, the best people to ask for a place to stay are in fact, no offence, old and single people. Especially women.

If you appeal to the motherly or fatherly side of people, you will increase your probability of surviving and therefore the success of your mission to saving valuable lives.

If you are without parental figures, or a guardian, in this new world it is probably best to befriend a few of the popular locals. This is mainly to create a bond between you and the place in which you have been dropped off at. Undoubtedly, you will get attached and most likely refer to them as your parental figures the longer you stay, but it is nicer to come back to a warm bed and friendly faces, than a cold house. Just a tip, by the way.

Handy Tip #4: If possible, try to find a temporary guardian who is not essential to the plot, as you may put them into danger just for harbouring a stranger.

Handy Tip #5: Find a temporary guardian who won't ask too many questions about your past, what you know etc.

You growled angrily, before grabbing your pillow and screaming into it. After letting out your pent up anger at your so called 'guardian angel' you returned to the notebook to quickly read through chapter 2: 'Blending Into your New Dimension'.

Step 4 - Assimilate the Culture

Take some time to learn about the cultural differences between this new world and the one you were previously in. It will take some time but by doing so, you can 'blend' into the crowd and not (as some people say) stick out like a sore thumb. Try to learn the culture from mature people/beings, it will help you understand what is acceptable and what is not, making your reputation credible and as a result, statements you will say in the future will be believable and trusted.

To do this, observe the every day lives of a few locals and try to pick up some slang that is appropriate for your age.

Handy Tip #6: Try to befriend the 'protagonist', i.e. the main character of the dimension you are in. Not only will you learn the culture quickly, but you will also be on good terms with the winning side and therefore have, "plot armour".

Note: Observing does not mean stalking.

Step three sounded easy enough, but step 4 made you want to rip out all the hair on your head, make a wig out of all that hair, then rip it out once again. You, a responsible 18 year old adult, have to be friends with an annoying 12 year old child?!

You glared at your reflection in the mirror, as one thing that Dara [you had revoked your guardian angel's right of formalities and respect] forgot to mention was that you had to live out the rest of the timeline starting from the age of 12. Which just means, that not only would you have to experience the beauty of puberty again, but you would have to deal with a bunch of other kids, who had not experienced puberty, experience puberty for the first time.

The sound of your door bursting open and a small child screaming, "I have you where I want you!" Which was promptly followed by your body being tackled to the floor by an 8 year old boy. You sighed, as Konohamaru began laughing as he stood over your limp body.

You regretted not watching at least 10 episodes of Naruto when your friend had shown you the first episode. Heck, they would be laughing at your predicament right now, probably mocking you by cackling, 'Look at who's laughing now, [f.name]! Look at who's 'meaningless' hobby is suddenly super important!'

On the upside, one could call Konohamaru [the Hokage's grandson] your minion. Strangely, Konohamaru had taken an instant liking to you, following you everywhere (when possible) and trying to teach you the customs of Konoha. In return, you thought of him as a younger brother who you would kill and seriously maim people for.

Konohamaru was quiet, confused at your still body, edging closer bit by bit until he was close enough to poke you in the face with his finger. "Hey, [f.name]?"

As quick as lightening, well as quickly as your 'frail' 12 year old body would allow you, you leapt forth at Konohamaru with a playful growl. Instantly, he let out a loud squeal, giggling as you scooped him up in your arms. "Who has come forth? Who demands to speak to the beast?" You growled out, channelling your best lion-from-the-cave-of-wonders-in-Aladdin impression, squishing Konohamaru's cheeks playfully between your hands, as he laughed and squirmed in your grip.

Wriggling his way out of your hold, Konohamaru sprinted out of your room, laughing the entire time. Chuckling quietly, you shoved the small notebook safely into your pouch and chased after him, making weird dinosaur noises all the while.

"Sir, can we really trust this [l.name] girl?"

The Hokage stared at Iruka blankly before replying, "I don't see why not?"

Iruka looked baffled, his eyes wide, before he managed to stutter a comprehensible answer, "W-well, she could be a spy? Or even worse, a human weapon?!"

The Hokage lay one hand reassuringly onto Iruka's shoulder, "I know about your fears, but I need you to trust me when I say, she poses no harm for Konoha and its people. In fact, I truly believe she will be a formidable Shinobi."

Iruka only gave the Hokage a grim smile. Before jolting quickly as he realised, "Wait, Sir! Shinobi! Are you going to train her to be a Shinobi?! All the teams have already been finalised and they've already gone on their first few mission!"

Chuckling, the Hokage merely nodded his head, "Don't worry, Iruka. I know what I'm doing, she'll be ready to join a team, and I think I know which one I have in mind."

Dear Diary To Bob this weak-ass journal that I've decided to keep so I know that I won't go insane,

A few months have passed since I first came to this dimension. I found out I had a knack for fire-bending, or as good-old Gramps said, "Your chakra nature seems to be fire," whatever that means.

Gramps (something that I referred to the Hokage as since I decided that he would be my adopted guardian in this universe) had an Anbu member train me on simple hand to hand combat, weapon handling, as well as some simple jutsus. Jutsus which I immediately forgot right after the poor Anbu taught me. Sorry, but it's just takes too much time to remember those hand symbols. Also, I couldn't really do those jutsus anyway, so who cares.

And, if I was to be honest with the characters, I spent way too much time trying to be as cool as Azula or Toph from the TV series for someone who was trying to catch up to the other kids.

My fire-bending skills was passable, my earth-bending tolerable, my water-bending skills were kind of there, and my air-bending skills were completely non-existent (which was pretty dumb considering that the main character of the fucking TV show was an air-bender, but whatever). Dara comes to speak with me in my dreams, which is a little weird, at least she's telling me how to control these weird-bending powers, Toph made earth-bending look so easy.

Konohamaru had shown me around the town and introduced me a few nice people in return for the stories I keep telling him. It won't be long before I run out of Disney plots to talk about. Other than that, I kept eating out at this ramen place which will not only put a dent in my wallet but also my health, something I'm not ashamed of, by the way. It's not my fault that their food is so god dang delicious. I also learnt a few customs, like how it's apparently "offensive" to fling oneself out of windows in the hope that I can air-bend.

Anyway, haven't met the main character yet, but I found that the notebook also has pages on the synopsis of this show in the back, so guess who's becoming a fortune teller?

I am, bitch.

Talking about the future, and the main character, the Hokage said he was going to have me skip the "graduation exam" (which sounds very important) and chuck me onto a team already. I'm supposed to meet them later today, so hopefully they all turn out to be, at the very least, tolerable, and considering my situation they'll probably be the main characters too.

Great.

Sighing, I closed the small journal that I was given by the Hokage and promptly hid it in the underwear drawer of my dresser. I cannot deny that I have gotten used to this new life of mine, training and learning new things every day. Amazingly, I haven't gotten anyone killed or seriously injured yet, which is probably a testament of my ability to not give a single fuck, but who knows?

Getting up and stretching my legs slowly, I wondered out of my room and found myself face to face with good-ol' gramps.

"Are you ready to meet them, [f.name]?"

Air-bending skills: 3.4 out of 10

Number of fucks given: At least 1

Probability of survival: 87.63%

#wishful thinking volume i #naruto x reader #naruto various x reader #x reader #reader insert

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rosedalemike · 6 years

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The Mood: Blog #5 "Perception/Loneliness”

written Sunday April 8th at 5:36 am Ever wonder what others think about you? Not that you should care what others think about you, but do you ever sometimes just wonder if maybe you were a dick/bitch to that someone when you didn't mean to be- and then on the other hand- way too nice/generous to someone who probably just talks shit about you? It happens to me a lot. It's probably one of the biggest reasons I'm traveling around by myself.

Not that anything specifically like that came up this week. I've just been thinking about it more as I've finally been poking my head out of my basement to get back out to play shows. Just kinda like 'what does this person actually think of me? Did they actually just enjoy this show? Would they actually listen to my music regularly?' Not that they need to respect me or anything for me to like them. And, needless to say, I'm extremely grateful they came out to support anyway. It just sometimes makes me ponder things like: who is my actual demographic? What makes our distracted generation listen to an artist regularly? How/why can I make a stranger who has no idea what I do be completely invested in my art yet people who have seen me grow this garden for years suddenly have zero interest in Rosedale?

Maybe some of those answers are relatable to reasons why I enjoy being alone. I know that probably sounds really sad to most people but hear me out...

Intro to sidetrack: I got into this topic with a long time fan at tonight's show. She was thanking me for being so nice and always inviting her out to shows. I had to tell her 'if only you knew how many people block me for that same gesture' (see blog #4). She was genuinely pumping my tires pretty good. Don't get it twisted- her boyfriend was right there the whole time and he was also cool A-F, as the kids say...

She went on to say how she used to hang out with Hedley years ago whenever they were in town and they were rude dicks. She couldn't fathom their conversations. As easy as it might have been for me to jump on the freshly-greased "Hate-Hedley" bandwagon (kinda punny if you watch Trailer Park Boys) It got me thinking that maybe, as humans, when we're in our packs we often come across as unwelcoming. Especially bands! The inside jokes, the anything-goes-ness, the gear-geak battles/bro-downs. Looking back, I'm sure Rosedale sure fit that shoe for years! And I'd imagine macho sports teams come off as even more unwelcoming to strangers. (there I go- generalizing again...)

But it's all perception- How do we perceive their inside jokes and harmless offside humour? Maybe Hedley were total dicks a few years ago, maybe they're not anymore. All I know is nothing really surprises me and I think even some of my favourite people get offended out of perceived context- not easily, per say- just out of common, outside perception. I'm sure I could go even more south and throw in some President Trump examples here but that dude gets enough external spotlight. And to clarify (before I get me a page-full of political/social facts that I have 0 any interest in); I'm neither a Trump or a Hedley fan...or Nickleback, for that matter...but I'm also not a total hater. I'm just saying they're prime examples of how perception and context have some serious horsepower especially in our ever changing world of social media/open-broadcasting.

Here's a wider, more harmless example of the two sides of perception that's a little closer to home; my set at Hard Luck in Toronto last Saturday. There was a high energy and big crowd in the room right as I was setting up. I played an ok set, nothing remarkable in my mind. But a very rare thing was happening; Humans were turning into Rosedaliens right before my eyes! They were feeding off of my music in ways only artists on the radio can relate to! They were eating up the positive message and yelling positive messages right back! The vibe was bliss! Nobody cared what anyone in the room might think of them. The phones were only out for "Eldorado's Climax" or to record/snapchat/livestream! After the set people were buying all the merch! I must have taken 15 photos with fans and strangers! Signed a few posters and CDs! Young, hip humans were telling me their stories! My tires were pumped way past any psi they've ever seen! Etcetera!!!

Then I played London Ontario at the legendary Call the Office on the same night of the week, same time... (The only difference with this given Saturday was that there was no Easter/Passover excuses in my inbox.) But there were a total of maybe 15 people there. They were standing 30 feet away of the stage. I played/sang/delivered by far the best Rosedale set so far this tour with a proud smile on my face and, although the other bands and their friends kinda danced and inched closer towards the stage, not a single CD or shirt left the merch bins. Nobody asked to take their photo with me. Come to think of it, I was even getting the whole "This-dude-needs-a-band" vibe.

So why did the mediocre Toronto performance get a way better response than the solid London set? Or even the relatively strong Brampton set that we filmed. It seems like it had nothing at all to do with me. It was entirely based on the crowd's perception! My good friend, Jonny (who is pretty knowledgeable with live music/performance/production), came out to both the Toronto show and the Brampton show. Even his perception was completely altered by these energized, Toronto meat baffles! Jonny thought the Toronto set was better. “You’re ready! Epic, prolific,” were his and his Toronto company’s words. He wished I'd filmed the Toronto show instead of Brampton. Kind of off topic (but, really, why I used the term "meat baffles"); Jonny also said the sound was bad in Brampton (and so did his Brampton company) and much better in Toronto. Where-as Bryan and Danny...and my mom... said that Brampton was the better sounding Rosedale show (and they were all also at the Toronto show!)

So just because I had a generous, high energy crowd in front of the stage in Toronto, I was worth something to everyone in the room. I even sounded better, in Jonny’s opinion. People wanted pictures, autographs, and merch because their perception of Rosedale was a promising one. Yet, I could play the same exact set on the same night, same time, in a more intimate setting with a more solid performance and have my picture, signature, and merch less desired than just a couple more drinks. The other two bands played amazing sets as well. I was actually, genuinely blown away, like, fanboying on Adelaide’s guitarist, getting chills from Mermaids Exist’s harmonies etc. But they too set up their merch table for nothing. It is a very common display of how people's perception is strongly influenced by the context of their surroundings.

The only person, arguably, in the room who felt...in the presence of greats- was myself! I know I played a legendary set and I'm 100% certain that if Adelaide and Mermaids Exist keep slugging away like that- they're gonna come built-in to everyone's iPhone 12s!

This “perception-check” is nothing new to booking agents. They no longer accept buy-ons. (Of course I've tried!) Money can't buy you happiness, or a loyal following. Agents, labels, and managers want their bands playing to full rooms only. Intimate shows (as in half empty capacity shows...yes, I took the pessimist approach) are only creating negative perceptions. If, by some stroke of Modesty-Miracles, some of these rock star agents did stumble into reading this, they were thinking "No shit, Shirlock. Stop playing small shows" 5 paragraphs ago. I'm just letting everyone else know; the artist is about 10% responsible for impressing/entertaining the audience. The other 90% is the context of that room and a good chunk of that context is just simply the amount of people there. (other smaller pieces of the pie; venue decor/layout, sound engineering, staff, house music ...to name a few.) Maybe all of this is very obvious to most people already. I just wish solving all the pieces of that pie were easy or at least in my hands. But the modern ratio still just seems crazy to me, growing up in the punk/emo scene.

I think maybe another reason it seems crazy to me ties back to the fact that I'm alone a lot. When I'm alone I have more of an open mind and agenda. I think this could be the case for most people. There was one guy at the near-empty London show who was jumping up and down during my set. He was alone and so stoked. He didn't care what anyone thought- a proud new fan! I threw a pick perfectly into his hands at the end of my near-perfect set (#pingofftheforehead, Toronto show inside joke). He's been messaging my instagram all day. He didn't buy merch (he might have if there was a big generous crowd there, though) but he signed up and watched all of my youtube videos today.

I think most people actually have a better time traveling/exploring/wondering out by themselves than they realize. I believe you're more accepting of different environments and cultural differences when you're by yourself. You're taking it all in and enjoying it. You're making new friends out of strangers who have no knowledge of your history as you have no knowledge of theirs. You feel like you can open new chapters of your own book and appreciate the fresh pages they're showing you, and consider the context. You might be thinking "so-&-so would love this" but chances are, if "so-&-so" were there, you'd likely be missing this too while off hanging at the bar or whatever.

When you have your crew/family/entourage beside you for every door you open, life can start to pass you by. You might be having a great time with them and jel with them like peas and carrots, but the element of wonder and discovery isn't quite the same. It's sometimes like an invisible stress and I'd even go as far as to say that it is the main reason why bands break up on their first tour. Bands aside though, I've heard first-hand stories of good friends traveling together that went through episodes where they were so pissed off with each other that they wouldn't even talk to one another for hours. Sure, it could be the simple fact that you're now living with this friend/band hour-by-hour on this trip (Egos clash, ideas vary, mistakes affect everyone, true colours flourish etc.) and you're stuck with them for the next however-many-days. But I'm certain that a group-of-friends/family/band living together in their hometown would go over way better than living together in a new city every night. And traveling with a significant other- well that's an entirely different blog for a different day.

I'm not sure if any of this is proven or factual. This is just me rambling at 5:30 am after a show. Another thing I hear a lot is "Mike, you just haven't found the right “one”/bandmates/friends". Fair enough. But maybe I'm just your classic degenerate- I could just be a weird lonely dinosaur that likes to roam alone. #lonewolf. But I think all of that coincides with the original point I made about being a dick to someone you actually really like/love. We've all done it, I'm sure. The nicest human in the world can be passive/harsh without realizing it. But as much as I think butting heads is inevitable when you're living together in uncharted land, there are friends that manage to really understand me and at least aim to dodge my weird pet-peeves (ie. guitar cases on stage). Of course, they can't drop their established lives/commitments to come travel around with me for months. So maybe there are layers to my solo-ness. (...loneliness sounded too sad.)

LYRIC PARTY:

Chasing the sun isn't my kind of fun I'd rather sit and catch snowflakes on my tongue When summers gone I won't be sad As you cling on to all the good times that you've had 'cause being alone isn't really all that bad - The Ataris "If You Really Want To Hear About It"

But really, even when there's no stranger's pages or culture shock to take in, I have some great times by myself that I wouldn't be able to have with most company around. I wouldn't be able to write this blog in my bed at 5:30am. I wouldn't be able to listen to my new demos and imagine them mixed like my latest releases with my Westones on my 2 hour drive home from London. That, in itself, could easily be considered insanely narcissistic. And so could this; I love hanging out with myself! We get along very well. My tastebuds can be pretty inconsiderate to my gut's needs, and my lower brain is not too happy with the way upper brain has been handling brief encounters with the opposite sex, but alas, we're working on it!

Another thing I like about being alone is that I'm pretty sure people like me more. Whenever I have friends around, it's almost like nobody wants to help with anything. And when I'm "working" away on something, a stranger might say something like "where's your friends? Why don't they help you with that?" As if to say "you need better friends, dude." It's really odd but it happens a lot and those little events tend to commit-to-memory for whatever reason. Kinda like that long-red-light that never fails to time out your drive perfectly. (One of the few books I've actually finished reading, "Stumbling On Happiness" (Daniel Gilbert), describes this human condition a bunch... took me three years to finish that damn book.)

LYRIC PARTY: "Hangman, it's not your fault Commit this to memory The bright ideas are wasted and lost along the way" - Motion City Soundtrack "Hangman" (I could've sworn {or swore??} he said "For bright ideas always get lost along the way" then I looked it up... didn't look up sworn/swore though.) Anyway, I guess this late night, scatter brained blog wants you to consider the context and surroundings when formulating an opinion/perception. And look at loneliness in a bright light. There are many positives. Don't ignore all your friends and family by any means, I'm just saying; A lot of people fear loneliness like they're gonna die alone and they need company at all times. "Alone time" is your most productive time. And productivity, as vague a term, is probably the healthiest form of instant gratification. So do something productive towards your goals the next time you're alone. And while you're at it, open up a new chapter to that old friend you later get to hang out with...

Yeah, this one was all over the place. Thanks for reading though. If you made it this far, you're a trooper and I love you.

Shows this week: Wednesday, April 11th - Ottawa, ON @ Mavericks - 10:00 set time, 19+, $8 cover https://www.facebook.com/events/321180534953651/ Thursday, April 12th - Kingston, ON @ Bar 56 - 9:30ish set time, 19+ish, $10 cover https://www.facebook.com/events/368799986934799/ Friday, April 13th - Potsdam, NY @ Hurly's/SUNY Potsdam - 7:30 doors/ 9ish set time - All Ages , FREE https://www.facebook.com/events/363889120774025/ Saturday, April 14th - Rochester, NY @ Firehouse - 8:00 doors/10ish set time - 21 +, $5 cover https://www.facebook.com/events/568521663507443 Sunday, April 15th - Pittsburgh, PA @ The Smiling Moose - 7:00 doors/ 9:00 set time, 21+, $8 tickets**/ $10 doors https://www.facebook.com/events/402443740204364/ Monday, April 16th - Cleveland, OH @ Grog Shop - 6:30 doors, 8:30 set time, ALL AGES, $8 tickets/$10 doors https://www.facebook.com/events/163297504327206/

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teenspeakblogs · 4 years

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Some Mysteries Which Are Unsolved.

Hey there! I hope you are all doing great! There are a few things which don't have an explanation. Neither scientific nor non-scientific. In today's blog I'll be discussing 5 Unsolved Mysteries of all time. Here we go!

1. THE INCIDENT AT DYATLOV PASS

On the first night of February 1959, nine ski-hikers died mysteriously in the mountains of what is now Russia. The night of the incident, the group had set up camp on a slope, enjoyed dinner, and prepared for sleep—but something went catastrophically wrong because the group never returned.

On February 26, searchers found the hikers’ abandoned tent, which had been ripped from the inside. Surrounding the area were footprints left by the group, some wearing socks, some wearing a single shoe, some barefoot, all of which continued to the edge of a nearby wood. That’s where the first two bodies were found, shoeless and wearing only underwear. The scene bore marks of death by hypothermia, but as medical examiners inventoried the bodies, as well as the other seven that were discovered over the months that followed, hypothermia no longer made sense. In fact, the evidence made no sense at all. One body had evidence of a blunt force trauma consistent with a brutal assault; another had third-degree burns; one had been vomiting blood; one was missing a tongue, and some of their clothing was found to be radioactive. I know, this all sounds mysterious and disturbing at the same time. But till today, no one can find the reason behind their deaths.

2. AREA 51

Area 51, in southern Nevada, is a U.S. military base the very existence of which was unconfirmed until 2013, when the CIA was obliged to respond to a Freedom of Information Act request from 2005. Based on historical evidence, it would appear that Area 51 supports the development and testing of experimental aircraft and weapons. Public satellite images, such as those available on Google Maps, don’t provide insight. Even those with security clearance to visit Area 51 are transported there from Las Vegas via an airline called “Janet,” whose planes are unmarked and which shrouds its windows upon descent.

The intense secrecy surrounding Area 51 has sparked rumors that the government uses it to house crashed UFOs and conduct lab tests on aliens. Other theories about what Area 51 is used for include: research on time travel, research on teleportation, meetings with extraterrestrials, development of a means for weather control, and activities related to a shadowy one-world government.

Where these theories come from is as much a mystery as Area 51, itself, but one thing is certain: people love a good conspiracy theory. At one point, conspiracy theorists believed the moon landing in 1969 had been faked.

3.POLLOCK SISTERS REINCARNATION

Today, 24 percent of Americans believe in reincarnation. Although scientists tend to deny the possibility, every once in a while, an unsolved mystery comes around that is so compelling and otherwise unexplainable that it gives even scientists pause. That is what we have in the story of the Pollack sisters.

In 1957, two young English sisters, Joanna Pollock, 11, and Jacqueline Pollock, 6, died in a tragic car accident. One year later, their mother gave birth to twins, Gillian, and Jennifer. When the twins were old enough to talk, they began identifying and requesting toys that had belonged to their dead sisters, pointing out landmarks only their dead sisters would have known (such as a school they’d attended), and sometimes panicking upon seeing cars idling (“That car is coming to get us!” they reportedly shrieked on one occasion).

After the twins turned five, these incidents became less frequent, and the girls went on to lead normal lives. Still, the story of the Pollock Sisters made its way to Dr. Ian Stevenson (1918–2007), a psychologist who studied reincarnation. After studying thousands of supposed cases, Dr. Stevenson wrote a book telling of 14 he believed to have been real, including that of the Pollock Sisters.

4.THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MALAYSIAN AIRLINES FLIGHT 370

This unsolved mystery took place on March 8, 2014, while flying from Malaysia to China, a Boeing 777 carrying 239 passengers and crew members seems to have vanished into thin air. The multinational search effort, the largest in aviation history, has turned up a mere 20 pieces of aircraft debris. The Prime Minister of Malaysia has declined to comment other than to say that the aircraft disappeared over the Indian Ocean. The lack of closure has engendered multiple theories, many of which are considered “conspiracy theories,” which, according to Harvard professor Cass Sunstein, are a natural product of “horrific and disastrous situations, because such events make people angry, fearful, and looking for a target.”

Theories include hijacking, capture by the United States, crew suicide (it was reported that the pilot was having marital problems), a fire aboard the aircraft, vertical entry into the sea, a meteor strike, and even alien abduction.

5.DISAPPEARANCE OF DAVID GUERRERO

13-year old David Guerrero was something of a prodigy. He had a considerable talent for painting and attended an art academy in Spain. He was a shy boy who preferred to hang out with his brother or parents.

David received a wonderful opportunity in 1987 when he was invited to unveil his first artwork in the La Maison art gallery. In addition to his, a local radio host wanted to interview him about it. David and the radio station agreed to meet in La Maison after school and before David had to be at the art academy. David’s father couldn’t drive him to the interview and instead told him to remain in La Maison after the interview if it ran late and he would pick him up afterward. David felt a little under the weather on 6 April 1987, the day of the interview.

He left for the radio station at 18:30. At some point during the 10-minute walk to the bus stop, David disappeared. When his father arrived at the academy at 21:00, he couldn’t find David anywhere. Upon approaching the gallery, he was informed that they hadn’t seen the teenager that day. He drove home to check whether David was there and seeing that he wasn’t, he went to the police station to report his son missing.

The police interviewed many people over the course of their investigation, including all bus drivers that traveled the route David would have taken. Hundreds of anonymous tips were investigated without success. So baffled were the authorities they even followed up on a claim from a psychic that the boy was living in a remote shrine. This too proved to be a dead end. Years passed and the trail, as well as the case, grew cold. To date David Guerrero remains missing.

So, what do you think? What could have been the reasons behind all these mysteries?

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miss-noo-na · 7 years

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The Boy King ( Chapter 1)

Prologue / 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Title: The Boy King

Genre: Royal AU

Rating: PG (for now)

He had little regard for your presence, a brief glance at best, and you hadn’t even the time to bow. He crossed the room to a writing desk and sat down.

“Is there anything you need, your Highness?” You asked as you stood, facing his back. He shook his head and you excused yourself from the room.

This became typical, you working around him and he only in your midst occasionally. You began to wonder what your real purpose here was, and why you had been uprooted from your place in the castle when it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. He had hardly spoken a word to you, and the “confidant” part of the Gentleman’s description of your duty drifted further and further from your mind. Though the Court’s intentions were pure, it seemed that the boy King did not want to be bothered.

As always, talk began to spread amongst the Court about the decisions he was to make, that he would be tightening the security of the kingdom, stationing soldiers at every entryway and port that led there. It had always been an open place, where travelers and newcomers were welcome, but this friendly neighbor approach had no place in the new King’s plan. You’d overheard as much as you swept the hall outside of one of the rooms.

“My father was too lenient with foreigners,” He explained, to mumbled agreements.

“We have always been an important part of the trade routes, your Highness.” One older statesman offered, though he treaded lightly.

“And our own supplies has been depleting a little more every year as a result. We have to protect our resources.”

You may not have known much about economics, but he made a fair point. Still, closing the borders? That sounded extreme.

A man left the room and you quickly resumed your sweeping, bowing your head and looking busy. You moved on, as the rest of the conversation disinterested you.

Over the next few days, the rumors turned into reality, with foot soldiers on patrol of the borders and the south port closing temporarily. Commoners came in droves when he held Court, often to complain about a lack of supplies. Every time, the King encouraged them to refocus their work on what could be created, grown, and maintained within the kingdom. Not many agreed with him, but it was unlikely that he cared. His face was always the same, a pressed mouth and hard eyes, voice firm.

You had come to fully agree with the others, as the border closings came to affect even your work. The thread you used for mending was no longer in supply, and instead you used the brittle pieces produced nearby, that made your work take twice as long since the fibers kept snapping. Your fingers were becoming raw from the constant re-threadings.

“My coat.” His voice carried through the room and sent a hard spike through your stomach.

You glanced up to find him standing over you as if he expected something.

“I’m working on it.” You almost snapped, then added a “your Highness” on the end.

“You’ve been working on it for two days.” He said, annoyed, and he sounded his age. It didn’t come out booming or angry, it was almost a whine.

“Forgive me,” You started, opening the coat to show the unsteady needle-work. “But this thread makes it difficult.”

“Then use a different thread.”

He was starting to sound more and more like a petulant child, and it only served to anger you.

“I had a good thread, before you stopped letting it come into the kingdom.”

You looked up into his face and narrowed your brow, as if for a moment you forgot, or ignored, that he was in fact the King.

Irritation flashed through his dark eyes, but to your surprise he didn’t say anything. He huffed, turning on his heel and left the room. Adrenaline from the interaction rushed through you and your hands began to shake, wondering what had gotten into you. You were lucky this time.

You stayed up late to finish the coat, feeling guilty for treating him so poorly. It couldn’t have been easy to become a King over night like he had, and those around him forgot that he was still very much dealing with the death of his beloved father.

This was apparent to you when you came into the room with the coat, expecting him not to be there since he tended to stay up late. He was staring out the window, and the side view of his face indicated a feeling of loneliness that seemed to emit off of him. He turned quickly away as he heard you enter.

You bowed; face down as you went to lay the coat over a chest.

“Did you just finish?” He asked, and you thought maybe he was angry that you’d taken so long.

“Yes, your Highness. I’ve been working on it since you left. I tried to get it done sooner but-“

He silenced you with a raised hand, picking up the coat and admiring the work. Not your best, but he knew why now.

“It’s fine, go get some rest.”

He turned away again and you blinked at him before bowing once more and backing out of the door.

You were probably just thinking too much of it, but there may have been some tenderness in his voice when he said that. Or maybe you just hoped that’s what it was.

Despite this, he continued making questionable decisions about the kingdom, ones that did not put him in many people’s favor. There was an air of suspicion, paranoia even, in so many things he did, and it baffled you for the most part. It had always been a peaceful place, devoid of major conflict, so why was he so worried about potential hostility?

These are the things that kept you up at night, and distracted you from your work. On occasion, as he sat at his writing desk, you wanted to ask him, but you knew that would be out of line, even if you had been placed here partially to be an outlet for him. It wasn’t unusual for kings to take on confidants, especially women, although usually they became much more than that. When the queen was busy bearing children, or prematurely deceased as in the case of the new King’s mother, these confidants would satisfy other urges, things you had only vague knowledge of. You’d never known another’s flesh intimately, but you were….aware…in some form of what that may entail. You’d talked to other handmaidens, ones more brazen than you who had taken courtly lovers. You had even seen things when you slept in the open barracks with other servants.

The sudden thought of becoming a companion to the king in this way didn’t immediately repulse you. Instead, it titillated your mind in a most unusual way, one that made you feel shameful yet excited.

Still, there were things about his personality you didn’t like. Such a handsome face was often marred by a constant scowl, and you don’t think you’d seen him smile even once. Not that a King should be too soft, but maybe some indication of a beating heart underneath all of that would get him much further with others, including you.

He’d had the chance to prove he wasn’t as cruel as he seemed, when a man had been caught slipping through the ports and into the village. He was brought before the King and you lingered in the back shadows to listen, because it sounded vital.

“Were you not aware of my new policies?” The King asked, even-toned. The man before him was in shambles, tattered and dirtied as if he’d come a long way. He hung his head in shame.

“I was aware, but I presumed-“

“I don’t care what you presumed, you had prior knowledge and you broke the law.”

His voice grew louder and it echoed through the hall deeply, hitting your core.

“Your Highness,” the man’s voice grew more faint. “I have traveled to this kingdom for work every spring since my 13th year. This village knows me, and the previous king knew-“

“The previous king is dead, and I am in charge now. I’m not interested in what was the law in his time, only what it is now. You won’t be punished, but you will be escorted back to where you came from.”

The man seemed to crumble, his face quivering as he wrung his hand through the barley cap he’d taken off his head. It seemed he depended on the work so much that he’d risked breaking the law to get here, and now he was being sent back. Your heart ached for him.

“If I find you here again, my punishment will be swift.”

With those last searing words, the King retired from the room and the man was guided outside by two guards.

That night in the King’s room, he sat at his desk. You mended his pillow case, but you kept snapping threads. This time, it wasn’t the weak material, but the way your blood boiled every time you thought about what he’d done earlier that day.

“Are you upset?” the King asked suddenly, not turning his head or looking your way at all. It startled you.

“Pardon?”

“The way you keep snapping threads and huffing, it seems like something is wrong.”

He said this in a flat, unemotional way.

“Why did you send that man away?” You asked, it tumbled from your lips before you had time to think better of it. You sank your teeth into your tongue once your mouth closed, almost drawing blood.

This propelled him to turn his head, slowly, in your direction.

“You were listening?” He asked, and you could only nod.

“Then you would have heard that he broke the law.” He said as he turned back to his work, thinking the conversation was done. You couldn’t let it go that easily.

“How can you shut out a man who has depended on our village for most of his life? And surely his work has benefited the kingdom at large. Is there no loyalty?”

When he turned back again, his eyes had narrowed into dark creases, visibly heated.

“Loyalty?” He sneered, and when he stood up, causing the wood chair to screech across the stone floor, you jumped a little, swallowing hard.

“Where was the loyalty when they poisoned my father?” He nearly yelled as he took a step forward, which would have scared you further had you not been distracted by the confession. Poisoned? The cause of death given at the time was sickness, natural causes.

“He was poisoned?” You asked in a frail tone, and his face immediately softened into something like sadness.

“I’ve said too much.” He mumbled as he retreated to his desk, but he simply stared down at the parchment and made no move to write anything down. The silence was deafening as you stared at the side of his face, watching him clench and unclench his jaw.

“You can tell me.” You offered weakly. “That’s….that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” You asked, not even sure what exactly your role was anymore.

“I never wanted a confidant.” He spat viciously. “I don’t need a woman’s touch to do my job.”

Any sympathy you felt for him in that moment evaporated, and you weren’t sure if you were mad or hurt. Maybe a little bit of both, with embarrassment mixed in.

You stood and excused yourself, laying the pillow down on the bed before retreating to your private quarters. At first, having your own room was a delight. You didn’t have to share a room with countless other bodies, tossing on scratchy hay beds, snoring, staying up late to talk too loud. Here, you had a real bed on a wood frame with your own window, which you’d spent far too much time looking out of.

Tonight, however, it felt lonely. You missed the other maidens, and knew you would have confided in them if you could have. Would they even have anything to say? None of them had angered a King before.One whom, despite proving himself to be a cruel, uncaring soul, you found yourself wanting desperately to get close to.

#jooheon scenarios #monsta x scenarios #lee jooheon #monsta x #royal au #au scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #fanfiction

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the-tf2-meme-team · 7 years

Note

Some engine x spy? or more medispy? I'd love anything you could think of.

((👀👀👀 LEANS THE FUCK IN ON THAT ENGINEER/SPY.

Sorry for the wait! I had a rough time with the ending and finals at school really aren’t helping me be creative.))

Today had been a slow day for the Engineer. Hardly any shots were fired from his sentry or from his own hand held guns. Hell, hardly anyone was killed. It seemed as if he simply wasted some of his built up scrap metal on his sentry and teleporters.

The Texan glanced at his wrist watch to see how much time he had left before he could take a break from staring mindlessly at the door leading to the Intelligence Room.

4:45 pm.

He only had an hour and fifteen minutes left of this job before he could grab a cold beer, sit back in a chair, and talk about his day to the other mercenaries. Not that he would have much to talk about, though. If anything, he would probably just comment on other events that had occurred today.

“Aye, Engineer!” The hardy voice of Demoman rang in his ears. “Could ya be a kind lad and place a dispenser here?”The Engineer smiled back at the Scotsman. Finally, there was some actual work to do now.Quickly, the Texan ran over to the spot where the dispenser needed to be and placed down a tool box that would soon form into the dispenser that Demoman needed.

As he sped up the building process, the construction PDA he owned began to go off. A Spy must have managed to get into the base. Damn it all. Abandoning his current building, the Engineer made a bee line towards his now sapped sentry. He hoped that it wasn’t too late to take off the-

A loud explosion stopped his thoughts in their tracks. The construction PDA stopped beeping. He was too late. Slowly, the Engineer made his way over to the pile of scrap metal on the ground and began to pick up all the pieces to it.

“That’s odd. Could’ve sworn that there were more pieces than this.” Curious about where most of the pieces had gone, he began to look around the area where his sentry originally was.He found a few more pieces away from the sentry’s original spot, but the one other thing that really caught his eye was a piece of neatly folded paper beside the scrap metal. Upon unfolding the paper, the Engineer saw a note from the Spy who had taken out his sentry.

“Greetings, Engineer.I suspect that you are currently searching frantically about your base for the remaining pieces of your sentry, yes? Well, I would like to inform you that I have the last few pieces to it. They are as safe in my hands as they will ever be.Now, I would give it back to you, but alas, you would simply take it to rebuild your sentry for the purpose of killing my team. That wouldn’t be fair to me now would it?Meet me behind your base tonight at ten o'clock to discuss a fair trade with me. I will be waiting.“

The Engineer frowned at the ending of the note. This certainly sounded like trouble to him, but considering that he practically had to have the stolen pieces to rebuild his sentry, he decided to agree to the enemy Spy’s terms. Now he only had to wait until ten o'clock.

A few minutes before ten, the Engineer made his way out of the Red base to meet the enemy Spy.

Just as promised, the Blu Spy was standing behind the building, a piece of the sentry in his hand and a cigarette in the other.

"I would like to say that I’m surprised at the fact that you made it here on time, Engineer. A wonderful job on your part.” Was that supposed to be an insult to him? The Texan only gave him a slight shrug at the comment.

“Alright. Enough talkin’ from you. What do I have to do to get my parts back in my hands?” He watched the enemy Spy flick a few ashes from his cigarette onto the ground.

“Your part of the trade is simple, mon ami. You simply have to kiss me and I will give back your scrap metal pieces.”

“What?” The Engineer was absolutely baffled by this idea. Why the hell did this Spy want a kiss from him? Not only was that odd in a general sense for him, but the fact that they were on an enemy team seemed to get to him on more than one level.

“You see, I have been taking an interest in you these past few battles. All of the sappers you destroyed? All of those were set by me in an attempt to get some sort of attention from you.” The enemy Spy took a few steps forward, smiling a bit.

“Will you accept my offer?”

The Engineer blinked a few times. This was truly an interesting offer and quite literally nothing like what he expected the offer to be. He took a deep breath once he had finally come to his decision.

“Sure. Just get over here an’ get it over with so I can get my parts an’ go home for the night.” As soon as he finished his sentence, the Spy took a few steps forward and leaned down to give him a light kiss on the side of his cheek. In response to the kiss, the Texan’s face reddened a bit. He didn’t think that the enemy Spy could get a reaction like this out of him, but here he was with red cheeks and a slightly nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Alright, you had your fun, so give me my parts back.”

“Non.”

“Excuse me? We had a deal that you would give me my parts back once you kissed me.”

“Well, I simply forgot to add that you are to kiss me back. A simple kiss is all I ask for.”

The Engineer made a few huffs in protest to this unneeded part of the deal. However, if this was going to be the end of the deal after this kiss, he could just close his eyes and give him one kiss on the lips. Nothing more and nothing less than that.

Without another thought, the Texan pulled the enemy Spy down a bit before pressing his lips against the other’s lips.At first, it was rather odd to be doing this. Hell, the Engineer even felt a bit uncomfortable with it. It really wasn’t the kissing part that was getting to him, though. It was the fact that they could get caught together like this. He would never hear the end about this scene if anyone ever saw it. He held onto the kiss a bit longer before finally pulling away from the Blu Spy.

“You got your damn kiss, now give me my sentry parts before I alert the entire base of your presence.” The Engineer watched the Spy smile before tossing the final piece of scrap metal over to him.

“Well, I will be seeing you tomorrow in battle. With this, I say Au Revoir.” The Texan watched as the Spy cloaked himself and left the scene. He frowned once he felt that he wasn’t being watched.

“I gotta hand it to the sneaky son of a gun. He just seems to have a way with kissin’ people.”

#mod medic's writings and fanfiction #engineerxspy

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nookishposts · 5 years

Text

Ponderables

Heads up. This is not a tale of woe, nor a pity party, but a collective of observations, mulled and spiced recently in the cauldron of my own head. If you care not for navel-gazing, you are welcome to stop reading here, no harm, no foul.

2018 has brought it’s challenges for myself and our household . Nothing horrible, in fact far from it, but if you think of water dripping slowly over time against a surface, it can eventually make itself a space and given enough time, put a hole in solid rock. Watching and/or anticipating each drop can be downright maddening. But in the end, the landscape, internal and external, changes. I have felt unwell in body and spirit for a good part of this year, assuming that stress and misplaced-expectations had a lot to do with that. Turns out there’s more to it, and no I do not have some horrible, terminal illness. Too many of our contemporaries have endured or are enduring way more than I could possibly imagine, but I have only my own stuff as a frame of reference, so that’s is the one thing I can authentically speak to.

My Beloved and I have a dream-in-progress that involves a small home on a bit of land, to live sustainably within simple means. We’ve long been working steadily toward it and believed that 2018 would bring it to fruition, but it looks like we will be waiting a little longer and we’ve recently made the choice to be consciously okay with that. Back in January, we thought we had found our place. I had just been unexpectedly fired through company re-structuring, so moving us forward became my full-time job and a welcome recovery distraction. We readied our house for sale and made plans.I even closed my part-time massage practice after 22 years. At the 11th hour, our buyers backed out, and we lost the northern property we’d been looking at. We took our For Sale sign down, explained to the people who’d already arranged farewell send-offs, and we started looking again. I found some tidy employment that was physical and low-stress and paid decently: until I got injured through no fault of the people I was employed by, but by one of their contractors. I could not continue the job I’d enjoyed. Through the kindness of friends who own a business, I found employment I could learn from and they generously took me on. I am a hard worker and pretty mindful, but my insides began to act up in ways I wasn’t used to and my sick time began to pile up. We’d found another house to purchase and put our own back on the market by this point, but things just weren’t progressing and I also was surprised to find myself in residual chronic pain...a first for me since I have always been strong of body. Discovering the joys of a great osteopath took care of the physical pain beautifully but I still wasn’t feeling quite myself. My own Doc of 30 years was away for a while dealing with cancer of her own, and I didn’t really care to start fresh with someone who didn’t know me, so I plodded along. Once again, we had a buyer who after hard negotiations that saw us drop considerably in asking price, backed out at the very last minute. And a second time, we lost the property we’d pinned our hopes on to someone else. I took it all quite personally even though in the end, it really was just business.

We both had been so ready to move on. We live in a fantastic neighbourhood, but our home is smaller than most, just 2 bedrooms, and even though quite a few buyers returned for second and third viewings, they could not see a way to make it bigger without building an addition. Too small for a student rental or a growing family, and too old for a single professional first-time buyer. Fair enough. The feeling of coming to a complete stall, not once but twice left us rather baffled about what the Universe might have up it’s sleeve, and we still don’t know. We’re trying to be patient, and keep perspective. But it has been a very long and exhausting process. It got to the point where no matter what I did I was not sleeping more than 2 hours a night, and was therefore cranky, impatient, sloppy, and not thinking at all clearly. Missing so much work didn’t help my sense of groundless-ness. I felt lost and completely ineffective. I consciously withdrew from friends and social situations, knowing I was not good company. My Beloved suffered in her own quieter way and we reassured one another, hand in hand, no matter what. But keeping the house tidy and having strangers wandering through several times a week for months on end is daunting on it’s own. Property-hunting at a distance is also tiring and frustrating. We KNOW how incredibly fortunate and privileged we are in the greater scheme of things, but this breath-holding was how we were spending our year, while still trying to be supportive of others in our lives who were hurting in other ways. Sometimes all you can really do is bear witness and stand by in case you are needed. We did our best.

So....finally I got to see my own Doc a week ago ( she is doing extremely well now thank heavens) and we ran the gamut of basic tests. I asked to be referred to a good nutritionist as well. Every time a new set of results came in, Doc would text me the lab page with a comment; “Your Vitamin D is in the toilet, start 2000 I.U. daily. Today!” Then; “ You haven’t been keeping up your iron...get back at it please. Your liver isn’t happy.” Turns out, both iron and Vitamin D are critical for good sleep and lowering stress. Aha! Something I could actually control. I have also used a CPAP for years and it turns out my mask was leaking, so a new mask helped. Three simple fixes. I am up to 4 hours of sleep a night already, expecting to improve.

Then came her latest text: “I’m sorry to tell you, but you are now officially diabetic. Re-jig your diet , look at your exercise,and we will repeat the blood-work in 3 months. Call me if you need to.” I saw on the lab report exactly what she was talking about. I come from two families riddled with diabetics, so it wasn’t a huge shock. But,it also turns out that the biggest contributors to tipping into the diabetic zone are long term insomnia and long term stress. Well, now. I could hear the puzzle pieces landing with a resounding thud. The very good news, is that we caught it early enough that I have an excellent chance to successfully manage and possibly even reverse it if I take action now. Which I am doing. No meds required. My glucometer goes everywhere with me and I am quickly learning a whole new normal, but small things like getting up 45 minutes early to shovel heavy wet snow this morning can skew my numbers and insulin requirements enough to bring me home early from work today feeling like crap. I’m learning some stuff the hard way, but I’m learning.

What’s my point? Well, I guess it’s just this:

Life is so precious and we North-of-55-ers have some reckoning to do if we are to stick around for good long innings. Some smartypants-ers among us saw this coming and got to the gym and cleaned the crap out of their cupboards in preparation. Some of us bolstered our souls with a return to church or have taken up a spiritual practice involving simultaneous honouring of the physical body. But I have discovered that about 40% of my contemporaries have in the last couple of years had to learn to cope with chronic health issues that crept up insidiously while we were all still pretending we were 35 and could get away with stuff. Instead we are discovering that if we aren’t minding the store, age-related illnesses sneak in and swipe the things we have taken for granted, leaving the shelves bare of valuables like energy, concentration, ease of movement, and overall well-being.

It’s been a stressful, draining, somewhat disappointing year. My overly-bountiful body, always strong and ready to dance, has become needy for overdue attention. My brain is tired of running on fumes and both my acuity and my interests have dulled. I kept pushing, emotionally and physically figuring it would all just pass if I tried a little harder...until it became so much harder to try. Cramming fuel-carbs in place of sleep made me sick. The warning lights on my dashboard were blinking and I chose to ignore them until the whole engine seized up. I am very lucky that I get a chance to fix it. But what if it had been something much more serious that I couldn’t fix? Iron, Vitamin D, and an ageing pancreas can bring a list of unwelcome relatives to the door, standing impatiently on the porch waiting for a chance to invade and put down roots. Depression, anxiety, bone, organ, and tissue damage. I will never be immune to cancer or MS or a host of other possibilities, but I can do those things that remain within my control and that I should have been mindful of long before they smacked me right in the limping, insomniac,harder-to -employ-each-year visceral guts. Bi-focals don’t help with hindsight, but should have reminded me to have some extra foresight.

This ain’t no pity-party, table for one. Nor is there any point in self-flagellation. But 40% is significant, and I have slipped so quietly over that line to join the ranks of those with age-related chronic disease.I intend to climb back over the wall, and I will, but I waited too long to ask for help, and explained the warning signs away rather than getting them checked out. We all know better. It’s reminding ourselves to DO better that becomes ever more critical. And it really is never too late to start. I am replacing arrogance with gratitude, and denial needs to become a personal river I can swim or paddle my canoe in for both the exercise and the joy of it. I am not Betty White on a football field and a Snickers bar isn’t going to be my saviour.(It was a Superbowl commercial, you can YouTube it).

Please my friends and fristers and partners in all-sorts: check in with yourself and see if you are a quart low somewhere or need your tires rotated. If you are feeling “off” then there is probably a reason and most likely something you can do about it, particularly if you make it a priority. We aren’t 35 anymore and we don’t have the same amount of bounce-back. Life can wear you down when you push hard without perspective. We aren’t raised to put ourselves first and it isn’t our comfort zone, so we have to make it one. There are bucket-list trips ahead, spontaneous dancing to grocery-store 1970s Musak, milestones to celebrate, and one another to nudge along the next untried section of road. It comes with speed bumps and potholes, but it’s still a journey well worth taking. Remember to pack some healthy snacks and build in time for naps. Drink lots of water, between the hard-earned glasses of good wine. We have at least 40 years left to fill with adventures, and to spout hard-earned wisdom to the upstarts, and to listen to one another’s stories. Some of us will have it harder than others and we need to keep ourselves tuned up for the times we are really needed. I sincerely apologise to those whose phone calls and texts I haven’t returned because I have been quietly avoiding reality and hoping to get my shit together. I will probably never completely group my poop, but I ain’t ready for diapers just yet either. Time goes much faster than we do now. Fitbit and fibre cookies, here I come!

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