#but if you end up caring more about the plaque than the art that defeats the purpose | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fromthehellmouth · 3 years

Text

One for Sorrow, Two for Mirth

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Maledictus! Femme! Gryffindor! oc. Regrettably, there is so much angst... Part One!

Maledictus prompt requested by @hyacinthsandbooks I had so much fun creating this character, thanks for the prompt! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Drawing by me and inspired by scenes from the story. I hope you enjoy!

Overview:

Tom Riddle befriends an unlikely victim of a powerful blood curse

I had increasingly found myself in a perpetual state of insomnia and dread. There was almost nothing I could occupy my mind with that would take it from my lingering anxiety and melancholia surrounding my condition. My nights were long and restless, and I had to become endlessly creative in order to find ways that would keep me out of trouble as well as keeping me occupied during the long dark nights in the Gryffindor common room alone past curfew. Often, it would result in me exploring the castle grounds in my other form, or writing down my thoughts to pass the time. Perhaps it was the concept of literature that I would gravitate to because of its mysterious qualities of immortality. It was chilling but also somewhat comforting to know that my works would remain with me far after I had irreversibly changed. It was not something I liked to dwell on, but it was something that I knew I could not escape from--it was always there, nagging, prodding, looming over my decisions, my psyche--it was a horribly cruel curse.

Over a century ago my family had gotten involved with a group of vengeful wizards who were known for their adaptations of some of the darkest corners of the dark arts. They fled the country but the curse went with them. Once a curse of that strength had penetrated its way into your bloodline, it would permanently dwell there, feeding off you, like a tumor, like a degenerative disease, like a leech, essentially, it declared its power with its name; it was a blood curse. It was only a matter of years before there would be nothing more I could do, and I would have to accept my change and my fate with it. At least there was no need to study for N.E.W.Ts. My parents had begged me for years not to accept such a pessimistic attitude, to care about my studies, my dreams, and my aspirations. Over the past few months, through our owl correspondence, I felt they had lost the motivation to keep pestering me about a life that had been taken from me the moment my grandmother told me what I was: a maledictus.

Fortunately, at this point in my development, my transformations were still voluntary. When I was very young, I remember having frequent visits to the Ministry of Magic with my parents. They would have me seen by famous dark wizard catchers, legendary curse-breakers, healers, and talented seers. From the beginning we knew there was no known cure for this type of blood curse, but I think the little security the aurors offered was necessary for my parents to hold onto. They needed expert opinions, that unfortunately would continue to tell them there was nothing to be done. Of course, my childhood self had virtually no knowledge of the severity of my condition, and thought it was simply enchanting to see mommy and daddy’s workplace.

Since my first year at Hogwarts, I had told no one about my condition except headmaster Dippet, professor Stump—my head of house, and professor Merrythought who was an expert in the dark arts because after all, she was the DADA teacher. I liked professor Merrythought quite a bit. She was an older woman with grey-blonde hair pinned back in a loose braided bun which she always had hairs escaping from. She was one of the few people who did not immediately resort to pity and fear when I told her what my bloodline had been cursed with. She was calm and interested, she told me how special I was and got me involved into studying more about blood disorders involving dark magic. Unfortunately, there had been rumors of her leaving Hogwarts and retiring—yet another thing I would be attempting to repress. My mind had become an expert at most coping mechanisms, my methods of choice being denial, repression, and sublimation--primarily writing.

In a sense, knowing my future was carved into stone was somewhat freeing. It allowed me to live fully and completely in the moment, and not have to plan or study for my future. In another sense, the looming dread was very real, and seemed to be working its way into the grooves of my personality--settling in the fine lines of my psyche. My dull despair had become a part of me. I never doubted my purposelessness until I met Tom Riddle.

***

It was nearly 1:45am when I noticed his figure contrasted against the shamrock-green hills. In a defeated attempt to become more comfortable with my animal form, I had begun to fly over the castle grounds more recently during the night when I felt my insomnia had become too much for me to ignore by lounging in the Gryffindor common room long after the other students had taken leave. I was never in the mind of being rebellious or secretive, and I was almost positive that if I had told professor Merrythought, she would have kept the sensitivity of my travels safe. Spotting a dark-clothed figure, I circled closer, still keeping my distance. Edging in tiny fractions closer to the tops of the forbidden forest’s trees, I made my way closer to the figure. I was presently slightly concerned for encountering the kind of person who would be coming from the forbidden forest at nearly 2 o’clock in the morning, but my growing curiosity controlled me, and I eyed the figure from above, still slowly cruising lower and lower. When I had reached the grass, the figure had entered the covered corridor leading to the clock tower, and I decided to present myself to the figure who couldn’t have been more than 6 feet away from me. It was always fun to play out a little scare. I let out a shrill, stuttering call. The figure froze, spinning swiftly with a hand to his mouth. I could see his shoulders quivering as he stared at me.

“...it’s just a magpie, Tom...” he whispered to himself as if he needed convincing. As he turned to face me, I immediately recognized him as a popular Slytherin boy from... history of magic...? divination...?

“Unless...”

Defense against the dark arts. That was it.

“Are you... an animagus?”

I froze. How could he have known? There was no way he could have known... Silently and immediately I flew back outside the covered corridor back into the open air, and faster than I had ever flew before, I found my way back to the Gryffindor tower, perching on the windowsill I had left open, dropping inside, and in the darkness transforming back into a student and swiftly slipping under the thick covers, I fell asleep suprisingly effortlessly.

***

In the morning I awoke earlier than usual. It was as if my mind knew I had been gifted with a long sleep and didn’t want me to get comfortable. I had become accustomed to falling asleep late and waking up early—both situations leaving me awake while the rest of the castle lay unconscious. I put on my uniform and brushed out my hair. I found that the more I transformed, the silkier my hair had become, it was as if the strands were becoming more feather-like, and tended to reflect the light more. I had gotten nearly a dozen requests for the enchantment I had used, always leaving me with an awkward and less than satisfactory “it must just be oily.” I descended the stairs to the common room where I read the clock.

5:30.

Defeatedly, I gathered all my schoolbooks and began to review the material for my first class of the day. Herbology.

***

I decided to take a walk to the kitchens to pick up a cup of tea before breakfast, which begun at 9am each morning. I still had a few hours before breakfast, so after I made myself a cup I circled back to the clock tower courtyard near where I had departed from the boy I had followed last night. I sat on the ledge of the fountain and began to re-read the textbook required for this upcoming unit in herbology on uses and cautions of aquatic plants. We would be taking a guided field trip to the Black Lake for research, which I was quite excited for. While my eyes danced across the finely-scripted writing in the yellowing book, my mind wandered to last night. I found myself retracing my steps, and visualizing the boy’s face above me, shocked and intrigued. What did he know?

***

After herbology class, which had been held at the Black Lake, I followed the mass of students back to the main castle grounds. My days at school were mostly spent alone either studying or hopelessly wandering in my mind to places where I no longer had to abandon my future. I recognized very few people as friends, and I stood out from my fun-loving, reckless, and colorful housemates. It was as if my natural personality I remembered glimpses of from childhood had been veiled with a layer of plaque, tarnished and dusty. I didn't mind the aloneness. I often felt most secure when I didn’t need to reveal my secret to anyone, and was able to choose my schedule the way I saw fit. Back in the castle, I followed my normal crowd of Gryffindors who I shared my first two classes with. These were the students who I sat with at meals, went to study parties with, sat in the common room after hours with, but never ended up knowing very well. It was a polite relationship. They asked me what I thought about our next class’ lesson.

“Can’t say I’m excited.” I rolled my eyes, my hands rested deep in the pockets of my skirt.

“Don’t want people to know what you’re scared of?”

“Must be it.”

Defense against the dark arts with professor Merrythought was next, and the notorious lesson on boggarts had been expected by most students for months. Undoubtedly there was excitement for exposure to mysterious and dark creatures as well as teasing material for students with childish fears. I couldn’t help think of the boy I had encountered by the clock tower who I would inevitably see again this upcoming class. I hoped my nervous habits would not give me away as suspicious. For some reason, I felt the need to be wary of him.

***

The classroom had been completely rearranged for the upcoming lesson, with the chairs and desks pushed to either side of the long room, and professor Merrythought’s figure standing in the back near a large ornate chest. As the students trickled in, the rumblings of the crowd grew louder as giggles and anticipation filled the cold air. My hands wrapped around my arms as I attempted to retain my warmth.

Am I the only one who notices that draft?

Merrythought calmed us down and begun her lecture on the history of the discovery and initial magical responses to the boggart. It takes the image of what you most fear... Its true form has never been seen... It withers at the sound of laughter... The students got called up one at a time as she showed us the counter-curse Riddikulus! which would obstruct the boggart’s form and intercept its visual manipulation. Riddikulus! the steep chasm of a split cliff lets out a nasty fart and the room explodes in laughter. Riddikulus! a swarm of wasps turn into winged lemons and drop to the floor, rolling around and colliding with each other, and the class cackles.

Godric, would she just close that bloody window?!

“Lucia!” the room’s roaring died down and I felt my face turn red hot. My stomach twisted and contorted within me and my walk was feeble as I approached the large chest.

“And when the boggart is released, remember the incantation!” I swallowed hard and in a second, the lid of the chest flew open and a swirling silvery mass flew toward me and shifted into a bird, its head, beak, and breast were black mimicking a raven, but its belly was white and the under-feathers of the wings and long elegant tail that caught the light shimmered hints of deep phthalo green and royal Prussian blue. The bird began to lunge toward me and in a panic I shouted the incantation much louder than I expected.

“Riddikulus!!” The bird’s feathers erupt in every direction, leaving the creature completely bald and resembling an uncooked chicken, struggling to stay suspended in the air. The class giggled and Merrythought propelled the creature back into the chest and called forward the next student as I slipped back into the crowd.

“Tom!” The boy approached the chest in a single fluid moment. He wore his school robes to every class unlike the majority of students who only wore the required minimum of a blouse, sweater and trousers or skirt. He stood out not only because of his height but because his ebony-black hair glistened under the lantern-lit room. His robes seemed to be an extension of his broad square shoulders, and as he readied his wand I felt the room muffle in an unnatural stillness. The boggart shifted into the body of a young boy, with the same black hair as Tom, the same pale skin and full, pink lips, but the boy’s eyes were closed, his face was hollowed and gaunt, and he was lying on the floor, seemingly lifeless. The class seemed to collectively hold its breath as the dead body of a young boy nearly identical to the older Tom lay before us. Tom lifted his wand and smoothly uttered,

“Riddikulus.” The black robes along with the body of the boy melted into a thick black bubbling slime that seemed to shake and bounce slightly. This time there was no laughter. There was no reaction. Professor Merrythought quickly swooped up the transformed boggart with her wand and tossed it with a graceful flick back into the large chest.

“Well done class! Quite the show. That’s the end of the lesson for today, we’ll continue where we left off tomorrow!” The students murmured with the abrupt dismissal and I couldn’t help myself from straying my gaze to look at Tom. To my instant shock his piercing aquamarine eyes shot right back at me and I almost let out an audible gasp at the sudden intensity of his stare. I felt my heart-rate race and I nearly ran from the classroom.

***

Later that night my mind was racing, I had to know what he knew, why he had stared at me back in class, did he know I was the bird who had followed him last night? I sat by the crackling fireplace of the Gryffindor common room. The clock read “12:10,” and there was only one girl left in my company. She sat at the other corner of the room and I could hear the shuffling of books which meant I would soon be alone and she would be going to sleep. I caught myself staring into the flames, the fire dancing and glittering into smoke and stray glowing embers.

“Goodnight!” the girl called out as she ascended the stairs to the dorms.

“Goodnight.” I replied, my voice was tired but my mind was wide awake. My eyes lazily flew over the spread of books before me.

There was no way I would be able to study with Tom on my mind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his bright eyes flashed in that cold room. It was as if the only thing my head could focus on were those piercing eyes and the image of that magpie lunging right toward me.

If you’d like to read Part Two, click here

Tags: @tmr-simp-pride

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fic #Harry Potter #Harry Potter fic #harry potter imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine

48 notes · View notes

pricemarshfield · 3 years

Text

the killing kind

A post-canon Drarry fic. Read on AO3 here.

Harry would like one day away from the press, from being the Boy who Lived, to just be Harry. Polyjuice would work, but it's disgusting and difficult and also possibly illegal, but wizards are bad at recognizing anything non-magical, so this might work.

At least, that was his reasoning for walking into Diagon Alley with a Muggle stage prosthetic that makes his chin look completely different, a fake mustache, and his hair enchanted to be long enough to finally, finally cover his scar. He's sure that last one will wear off in an hour, but that should be enough to get an ice cream at Fortescue's and sit outside and eat it without being swarmed.

You'd think, years after Tom Riddle's death, that they'd stop caring about him. But no, they need to report every little thing he does. Harry Potter rushed through Auror training. Harry Potter quits Ministry work, possible run for Minister? Professor McGonagall had tried her best to keep his professorship at Hogwarts under lock and key, but after his first day, the papers had a tell-all. He's not sure which student it was, but they're children. He can't blame them.

The first Prophet reporter he sees, a woman with shockingly long hair he recognizes as taking photos outside a restaurant near the Burrow (preceding an article about his break-up with Ginny that made it seem like something tragic and not like school sweethearts amicably parting weeks before the photo was taken), doesn't give him a second glance. He has to force himself to walk normally past her and not rush.

It's the one thing Auror training actually taught him. People won't pay attention to you if you act like everything's fine. One art thief he'd caught in the three weeks he'd actually worked at the Ministry had just walked into places and taken paintings, not bothering to sneak or disguise himself whatsoever. They'd assumed he must have been there. Harry had felt bad taking him in, actually; he was taking better care of the paintings than the rich assholes he was taking them from.

"Was going to take one from the Malfoys next," the guy'd said. "I know apparently the wife and the kid aren't actually, you know, Death Eaters, but they sure don't need all that art, don't they?"

"Don't suppose you'd let me catch you right after you stash that one somewhere," Harry'd joked.

"Nope. Sorry, mate," he'd said, and sounded so much like Ron that Harry made idle conversation about how Animagi tended to find it pretty easy to escape from wizarding jails, and how Azkaban was much more--ethical, now that the Dementors were gone and Hermione had aggressively campaigned for prisoners' rights. (With Harry's quiet support and financial backing, remembering how haunted Sirius had looked.)

Anyway. He's getting lost in his thoughts again. It does mean he doesn't notice if there's any other reporters on the path to Fortescue's. It also means he doesn't process the words on the sign in front of him for long enough that he's getting a couple weird looks.

Aguefort's Chronomantics Romantic Novels

Books to Transport You Through Time, Space, and Dimensions!

Harry blinks at it, looks around. This is the corner where Fortescue's was--and he briefly considers hexing himself when he remembers that Florean was one of the people who disappeared, back in the war, who never came back after. Sure enough, there's a little in memorial metal plaque on the front door of the bookshop.

He swears under his breath. He should have remembered this. But no, he's stuck.

There's probably some other shop he can grab something at, right? Other than what looks like overpriced romances? There's a few sit-down restaurants, but he needs to be in and out in forty minutes, max.

He wanders aimlessly down the streets, hoping to catch a whiff of something. Churros, tacos, some sort of street cart or something. Diagon Alley's not really that type of place, but he hasn't been here in a year and a half, so maybe someone's pushing convention.

There doesn't end up being any cheap little shops on the side of the road, but fifteen minutes later, he does see a place that sells chips and has outdoor seating, and that'll have to do. When he walks in, the place is packed, but the line's moving quickly enough that he should still be fine, if he eats quickly. Worse comes to worse, he can just Apparate away when his hair starts to act up.

He gets through the line, pays, gets his chips, adds some more salt to it, and sits outside in under six minutes. (He counts. Also, he has a watch that he remembers to look at three minutes in.) Outdoor seating's a little cramped, and he can feel himself tense, shoulders higher than they should be. He lets himself sit with his back to the wall, eyes on everyone, ignoring the reminder for CONSTANT VIGILANCE in his head from old Mad-Eye, and begins to eat.

Now that he's got some food in him and he knows...well. He's pretty sure that no one's watching him from behind, he's able to look around and appreciate his surroundings, being in the world without being stared at. It's then that he realizes a few things:

1. Most of the people here have notepads next to them, quills writing notes on their own.

2. The building across the street has a sign in looping, dramatic script that reads Daily Prophet.

3. Draco fucking Malfoy is at the table next to him, and

4. He's looking right at Harry.

Harry tries to express please, for the love of God, don't make a scene with his face. Malfoy doesn't seem to pick up on it from the way he leans forward, drawing the eyes of someone nearby. Harry casts a quick Muffliato around the pair.

"Potter," Malfoy says.

"I'm just trying to grab a bite," Harry pleads.

"What, you think they wouldn't serve you if you showed up?" Malfoy asks, arching a brow at him like he's said something oh-so-intelligent. Harry wonders if cursing him is worth the attention. But Malfoy being annoying isn't enough to get him on the front page of the Prophet, probably, and Harry didn't speak at his trial for nothing.

"No," Harry says. "But sometimes someone might like to eat without everyone staring at them, yeah?"

Malfoy narrows his eyes at him. "I can understand that."

That was more than Harry'd expected. His shoulders drop a little. "Good. I'll be out of here in just a few minutes anyway." He looks back down at his chips.

"Why?" Malfoy asks.

Harry looks up at him. He hadn't exactly anticipated a conversation with Malfoy. With a glance at the Prophet next door, Harry says, "Hungry."

"I didn't mean why here, Potter, have you really not gotten any smarter since we were at school?"

"Have you really not changed since Hogwarts either?" Harry snaps, knows it's a low blow right after it's left his mouth. Malfoy's face blanches, and he turns back to his book with a pinched expression that Harry doesn't feel guilty about. Decidedly not guilty. Not even a little. His hero complex has gotten better, and he can tell Hermione that later.

One minute and fifteen seconds later, Harry caves and hands Malfoy a chip. He has to lean way too far, two of his chair legs leaving the ground, but the scrape of that means at least Malfoy glances up and he doesn't have to say anything to get his attention. Malfoy takes the chip with an expression of distaste. He doesn't seem to have any food.

"Did you come here for food and get turned away?" Harry asks, connecting a couple things in his head like those mystery boards Ron still uses at work.

Malfoy glares at him. "No, I'm sitting here because I'm fond of being by a bunch of reporters."

"You could leave," Harry says. "It doesn't look like you're chained here."

"That would be conceding, Potter," Malfoy says primly. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Alright," Harry says. "Look, I just wanted some food, the charm on my hair's wearing off soon, and I didn't mean to rub it in your face." After an awkward pause, he adds, "Also, wizards don't notice anything with Muggle prosthetics, so. You could try that."

"Is that why your chin looks like that?" Malfoy asks, horrified. "It's horrific, Potter, you're better off just taking off those glasses rather than completely destroy your appearance."

"It's temporary," Harry says, ignoring the little thrill up his spine when Malfoy almost-implies something nice about how he looks. "And I'm trying not to get looked at, git."

Malfoy gives Harry a quick up-and-down look then flicks his wand. Harry braces himself, but instead feels his hair cool a little, like a more pleasant disillusionment charm. When he glances at the shop's window, he can see it's fallen even further flat.

"Thanks," Harry says. Malfoy nods at him. "Sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"That that happened," Harry says. "The shop thing, not the--not the hair thing."

The corner of Malfoy's mouth quirks up. "I'm used to it."

Not for the first time, Harry's struck with a quiet sense of injustice that he doesn't really know what to do with. In school, it was simple: pass his classes, defeat Riddle, and try to win the House Cup. But there's things he can't tackle quite as easily, or at least the path towards them are less clear. The right of blood over anything else in wizarding families, the existence of house elves, the way people are judged years later for what they did as a child in war.

Harry's under no illusions about Malfoy being a good person; he was still a bigoted little git in school. But he also knows he's made an attempt to do better, to be better.

"If you want," Harry says, wincing at how awkward and halting his voice sounds. "Next time the Prophet corners me, I can say something nice about you. Might change things."

"Why?" Malfoy says, brow furrowed, the picture of distrust.

Harry shrugs. "Dunno. Seems unfair."

"You really do have a hero complex," Malfoy says despairingly. "I thought it was just a pathological need for attention, but no, you really do have to step into situations that don't need you if you have even the slightest inkling someone might be a bit upset."

"I don't have to," Harry says, rolling his eyes. "It was an offer. You know, something people do when they're trying to be nice?"

"Gryffindors," Malfoy sighs. "This is why you lot end up being Chosen Ones."

Harry wants to yell at him or just throw a hex, reporters be damned, but Malfoy's smiling slightly, and his tone was almost joking, maybe.

"At least we didn't have to live in a dungeon," Harry says, and meets Malfoy's gaze with a slight smile back.

#okay gonna crosspost a bunch of my stuff from ao3 all at once BUT it's 1am so hopefully no one's up <3 i just need to for my adhd #drarry #harry potter #harry james potter #draco malfoy #my fics

3 notes · View notes

alvres · 5 years

Photo

― task one. counseling session.

cristina settles into the plush leather couch, legs and arms crossed defiantly, eyes moving from painting, to painting, to graduate psychology diplomas. she knows EXACTLY why she’s been called into the counselor’s office and no part of her’s looking forward to the hour-long grief session dr. lewis has planned for her. in fact, at this point, spending an afternoon with the windsors fighting over who cared about dante the most while she has to play referee sounds more relaxing. ‘ you know, my parents pay an expensive family therapist to do this every week. this isn’t really necessary, ’ she mutters, her eyes finally meeting with the counselor’s, as he flips to a new sheet of paper to add to his cristina alvares DOSSIER. ‘ while i’m sure they get paid a lot more than i do, no part of that makes them any more or less qualified to talk this through with you, cristina, ’ he smiles, taking off the cap of an expensive-looking fountain pen, ready to write down any and all of her reactions. not that he’s going to get much out of her. no one ever does. ‘ i have to do this, don’t i ? ’ she surmises, her arms uncrossing slowly as he shakes his head, almost as a sign of defeat. a deep sigh escapes her and she settles more comfortably into the couch.

‘ so, cristina, can you tell me about dante’s death ? what happened that day ? what were you doing ? be as specific as you want. ’

without warning, the words seem to trigger her mind, which — for the first time in weeks — fights against the CHEMICAL HAZE she’s cloaked herself in. she sees it all, suddenly. the senior year celebrations. she and dante agreeing to take different cars to get to the party. meeting with ares in a dark corner of the host’s home, unable to be away from him for too long and unable to keep her hands to herself. drinking more than she should and feeling a certain sense of warmth envelop her. all before it came crashing down. all before someone screamed at their phone, a scream that’s been ECHOING in cristina’s skull ever since. ‘ his car crashed, ’ she replies, after what seems like an eternity, her brain still playing a poorly edited supercut of the evening, ‘ i found out from someone who’d gotten a text from someone else. and then my mom called. and then i left the house i was in. the rest of the evening’s kind of a blur. ’ the answer pours out of her like she’s rehearsed it, emotion lacking completely from her face. like a ROBOT reading a script. any more emotion and she knows she’d break down. something she can’t afford to do in broad daylight at school.

‘ where were you when you found out about his death ? you mentioned a house ? ’

she thinks back to the walls, covered in awards, trophies and medals. cristina had though for so long that her mother was perhaps the craziest in boston, only to realize upon entering dante’s teammate’s home that athlete’s mothers were far WORSE. every inch of their home was decorated like an odd shrine to their son and his lacrosse achievements. it was like the louvre, but for douchebags. all that was missing were little plaques explaining each award, each black and white picture of the PRODIGAL son. ‘ we were all at dean sampson’s house, celebrating the fact that senior year’s coming to a close soon. someone drew devil horns on one of the many black and white portraits dean’s parents have of him in their staircase, ’ she mutters, eyes now focused on the comings and goings outside of dr. lewis’ window. she’s never cared much for the athletes at houghton.

‘ since then, what’s happened ? how have things been with you and family and friends ? ’

she holds back a scoff. EVERYONE knows how it’s been, thanks to every boston tabloid’s round-the-clock coverage of her family’s grief and the outfits they’ve chosen to accessorize their sadness with. she’s pretty sure she remembers reading that someone thought the death of her brother made her skinnier. she definitely remembers thinking that dante would’ve laughed. ‘ we buried dante on that sunday. and then the school held a beautiful memorial for him, ’ she continues, biting back comments about how RIDICULOUS the memorial was, with its gaudy decorations and speeches. it almost seemed like everyone with a pulse suddenly came out openly as dante’s biggest fan, fawning about how much they individually missed him to both his and cristina’s parents ( an act which led monica alvares to drink for the rest of the evening, convinced she hadn’t loved her son enough ). silence lingers for an instant and dr. lewis shifts in his chair, cocking an eyebrow in the hopes of making her realize cristina hasn’t fully answered his questions. ‘ things have been as good as you’d expect, ’ cristina finally states, realizing that there’s no way he’ll cut this session short, ‘ my parents are really doing the most they can to support me right now. we aren’t the BRADY BUNCH of beacon hill at the moment, but we’ll build ourselves back up together. ’ another eye roll is suppressed as cristina thinks back to her mother on the phone with the lifestyle editor of the boston globe, talking about potential times for cristina to be interviewed about her tennis skills. because no part of an alvares twelve-step grief program is complete without tone-deaf image damage control.

‘ have you been through any other difficult times recently prior to or following the loss ? ’

she inhales rapidly, as if to start a sentence, before catching herself — god, he’s GOOD. almost better than the expensive family therapist, who — truth be told — has never gotten this close to making cristina cough out an honest answer. the girl’s years of practice in the art of deception are wasted on her. plus, that doctor’s probably sleeping with her father. at this point, no one would be surprised. ‘ it’s been tough but, as i said, i go to therapy weekly. plus, senior year’s keeping my mind busy. so, don’t you worry. i’m still the SAME OLD cristina, who eats her five fruit and vegetables a day and can put a yearbook spread together better than the entire yearbook staff put together. ’ she ends her sentence with a smile, prompting dr. lewis to take his glasses off and put them to the side. he knows she’s LYING, but he also knows not to push someone in the steps of their grief process. after all, there’s always a stage of denial before acceptance rolls around. so, instead, he just makes a note to see cristina alvares again in a week as she gets up to go back to class, also noting to check if she’s on antidepressants next session. no one’s this cheery after the death of a twin.

the impact of the impromptu grief counseling session doesn’t hit her until she makes her way to one of the more secluded locations at houghton. shaking hands go straight to the lining of her bag as she tries to hold back tears, fingers racking through various objects before coming in contact with a lighter and a pre-rolled joint. she expertly places one end between her lips and sparks up the other with her lighter, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air above her, feeling herself RELAX almost instantly. ‘ thank fucking god, ’ she whispers, exhaling another cloud, not bothered to wonder if the smell would tip someone off. she needed this if she was going to go back to class and face her classmates. because if her facade were to fall for even an instant, all would CRUMBLE.

#❪ ⋅ ◆ ⋆ — ❛ tasks ❜ ❫#ha.task01 #i definitely didn't do this instead of studying for the 2 finals i have tomorrow #someone yell at me !

10 notes · View notes

jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years

Photo

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 04: THE BATTLE OF LUMBRIDGE

QUEST SUMMARY:

Now that the gods can return to Gielinor, Saradomin and Zamorak waste little time and return to war once more. This time, Lumbridge is their battlefield. While the battle wages on, Jahaan tries to find out more about the mysterious Mahjarrat who has taken a particular interest in him…

CHAPTER 3: OVER TO NARDAH

The Kharidian Desert was a vast land found south of the wooded kingdom of Misthalin and Morytania. The desert was the home to some of the oldest civilisations in Gielinor, ranging from the Menaphites that built the cities of Ullek and Uzer, to the bandits that are almost all that remain of the followers of Zaros. As a result, it is amongst the most history-rich and treasure-filled areas in the world. It is this that has attracted so many archaeologists and explorers to the area, but not without consequence. Here the scorching desert winds blasted the sand, turning the dunes into a sea. The blazing sun watched tirelessly from the sky, slowly draining the life of all that walks beneath it. The vultures circled overhead, eating the corpses of those that the desert bested, and packs of starving wolves searched endlessly for prey, their hunger never sated. Many have entered the desert, never to return.

Indeed, the Kharidian Desert has earned its reputation as dangerous, merciless, and unyielding, especially to those who underestimated it.

Because he did not have a deathwish, Jahaan took a magic carpet ride to Nardah, happy to pay the pricey fee over the alternatives, which included, but were not limited to: a camel ride with a rather surly camel, or one that dabbles in bad romantic poetry; riding in the back of a cart, potentially in a barrel (he’d seen a man transporting a woman in a barrel the last time he crossed the desert, but was certain it was a mirage… potentially… it was up for debate); or walking it. That last one… was tricky. He’d traversed the desert on foot before, leaving Menaphos on foot and, over a period of months, with a lot of pit stops at hydrated cities, made it all the way to Al Kharid.

It was not an experience he cared to repeat.

Now that magic carpets were a thing that even he could afford, he hopped on gladly, thankful that the breeze from the motion took over from the chokingly humid desert air that would fill his lungs with sand. He didn’t exactly understand how these carpet rides worked, how they knew where to go without a driver, how they avoided all obstacles in their path, so Jahaan just accepted the answer of ‘because magic’ and left it at that.

It took only a few hours before the carpet landed safely at Nardah. When Jahaan stepped off, his body still felt like it was moving, his head swirling, and it made him feel rather dizzy. This proved most notable when he tried to walk in a straight line and veered distinguishably to the left, much to the amusement of the magic carpet operator.

Now he had the tricky task of remembering which house was the right one.

It had been a couple of years since he’d last been in Nardah, but thankfully the city hadn’t changed all that much in the meantime. Previously, during his first excursion through the town, it was experiencing a severe drought. Many believed this was due to a curse placed upon the city by the goddess, Elidinis, who founded the city in the first place, and felt betrayed when a Saradominist preacher convinced the residents to worship the blue lord over her. Thankfully, this curse had been reversed in the meantime, and Nardah was hydrated and prosperous once more. Nevertheless, the city still appeared dilapidated and old, almost like a ruin, with many of the sandstone buildings crumbling.

Due to their near identical nature, it was hard to remember just exactly where the house he was looking for was located.

On the outskirts, past the fountain, not THAT fountain… I think it was to the west of the library… was this statue here the last time I came through?

The internal mumblings in Jahaan’s mind did not echo confidence, and he grew more and more frustrated as he passed the same smither’s workshop three times.

Eventually, he gave up, feeling like a defeated tourist, and asked for directions from some of the locals. At least then he was going in the right direction.

Finally, he arrived at the quaint little building he sought, a ornamental plaque hung from a nail on the door confirming this.

Jahaan knocked twice on the sturdy door, hearing the deep echo the contact of his knuckles made against the wood and noted it as a sign of good craftsmanship. It was a new addition to his humble abode.

Moments later, the door was prised open, and Ali the Wise greeted Jahaan with a pleasant smile and a humanoid appearance. “Jahaan! I did not know I would be seeing you so soon. Please, come in.”

“Wahisietel,” Jahaan greeted, walking through into his friend’s living room. The place hadn’t changed much since the last time he had passed through, though the book collection had, miraculously, increased tenfold. He’d also splashed out on a new set of bookshelves to match the lovely oak door, and even a new set of pots for the kitchen.

“Sit down, allow me to make you some tea,” Wahisietel offered, motioning to the cushioned chairs. As he busied himself in the kitchen, Jahaan meekly called out, “I know you’re a Mahjarrat, Wahisietel,” he reminded, saying, “you don’t have to stay in the disguise on my account.”

Shaking his head, Wahisietel pointed out, “Mahjarrat are not very welcome in these parts. What if a neighbour happened to nose around my windows, hm? Besides, I’m rather comfortable in my Ali form.”

Soon afterwards, he set down a tray on the table containing two cups of herbal tea and a plate of cream-filled biscuits. Thanking him, Jahaan made for a tasty looking circular one.

“So,” Wahisietel took a sip from the boiling liquid. The word was more of a suggestion for input rather than an intent to begin a discussion of his choosing. Wahisietel knew Jahaan came here for a specific reason to get something off his mind. They didn’t call him ‘Ali the Wise’ for nothing.

Eventually, Jahaan spoke up. “Have you talked to Azzanadra?” he tried not to allow his wince to come through. The fact that Wahisietel hadn’t slammed the door in his face was a promising sign, but he still fretted internally.

Nodding gravely, Wahisietel danced around the matter with delicacy. “I did. He took… a while to calm down.”

“And you’re not mad at me because…?” Jahaan left the hole open for Wahisietel to enlighten him.

With a light chuckle, Wahisietel replied, “I am not as fervent with my beliefs as our beloved Pontifex; he took you disobeying Zaros’ wishes as a personal affront. I, on the other hand, am of sound mind. You’re entitled to whatever path you choose.”

Feeling relief wash over him like a tsunami, Jahaan relaxed back in his chair. “Well, at least that’s one Mahjarrat I haven’t pissed off lately.”

“Speaking of which,” Wahisietel leaned forward in his chair. “Azzanadra told me that Sliske was the one that dealt the killing blow, and that you were there to witness it. He didn’t try to kill you, however?”

“No. He tricked me into leading him straight to Guthix, betrayed me at the last second, then teleported away.”

“That sounds like Sliske.”

Jahaan bit his lip, putting his head in his hands with a frustrated sigh. It would be the perfect time to tell Wahisietel why he was really here, why he’d traveled halfway across the desert to drop in unannounced for more than lovely tea and polite conversation.

It was just… where to start? Without sounding crazy, that was.

“About Sliske…” Jahaan stretched out the creases in his neck, scratching at the back of his head and giving a long, drawn out sigh, delaying the inevitable as he did so. “Back at the Ritual Site, he said he’d been watching me for some time now. The fact that he fooled me by posing as an archeologist to get to Guthix… it got to me. I’ve been feeling rather paranoid ever since. There was… an incident…”

Wahisietel raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but Jahaan did not care to elaborate, instead saying, “I didn’t really take his words seriously before, but after Guthix’s death, and my role in it… I shouldn’t have brushed him off so lightly. I have no idea why he’s following me. I was hoping, as his brother-”

“Half-brother,” Wahisietel was quick to correct.

“Half-brother,” Jahaan emphasised. “I was hoping you’d have some insight as to why.”

Taking a long, thoughtful sip of his tea, Wahisietel decided it needed more sugar, and thus added another cube.

“Hmm,” he said as he enjoyed the sweet liquid, his brow well and truly furrowed. “I fear you may have misunderstood my relationship with my half-brother. Familial bonds have not tied us close. I do not know why he would have such a vested interest in you in particular. Had his speech about ‘watching you’ occurred after you became the World Guardian, then that I could understand - he would be interested in your power, your potential - but as it stands… I’m afraid I’m at a loss.”

Shoulders sagging, Jahaan slumped back in his chair, burying his head in his hands. “Terrific.”

“I’m sorry,” Wahisietel weekly apologised, a light chuckle teasing his lips. “I can tell you’re less than impressed with the wisdom I’ve been unable to impart.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jahaan forced himself to smile. “I just… I feel like he’s all around me, you know? It’s haunting.”

“Well, if he’s any consolation, he’s nowhere near Nardah now.”

Jahaan felt relief wash over him. “Really?”

“Really,” Wahisietel assured. “Enakhra and Akthanakos occasionally come near enough that I can feel their presence, but right now, no Mahjarrat are nearby.”

“Enakhra’s probably off fighting for Zamorak…”

It was an off the cuff remark, but boy, did that require some explaining, and another helping of tea and biscuits. Turns out that, while knowing that Saradomin had returned, and assuming that Zamorak was close behind, he didn’t realise they were engaged in conflict at this very second.

Both Jahaan and the Mahjarrat were thankful they were far, FAR away from Lumbridge right about now.

Once the conversation rounded back on track, Jahaan finally asked another one of the burning questions he’d originally come for, “I know the Mahjarrat can sense each other and all, but is there any way I can tell if Sliske’s around? I need something to help this paranoia.”

The look on Wahisietel’s face was not encouraging. “Not particularly. When shapeshifted into a human disguise, Mahjarrat can do everything you humans can, like eat, drink… everything we need to pass off as one of your kind. To your limited human senses, we radiate no magic, either.”

Just as Jahaan was about to give up hope, Wahisietel piped up, “There is one thing… Jahaan, humour me, and touch the space between your eyes.”

Crinkling his brow, it wasn’t until Wahisietel insisted further that Jahaan did as he was told, feeling silly as he did so.

“What do you notice?” Wahisietel inquired, rhetoricism obvious in his tone.

“Uhh… nothing?”

“Exactly. Now, touch the same spot between my eyes.”

Wahisietel leaned forward, and instinctively, Jahaan leaned backwards. After Wahisietel repeated the request, Jahaan just about forced his hand to cooperate, feeling very awkward as he did so. As soon as he made contact, he pulled his hand back with a gasp.

It was near boiling to the touch. “Whoa.”

Placing two fingers between his eyes, Wahisietel explained, “This is where the Mahjarrat’s crystal is embedded in our foreheads. No matter what disguise we undertake, if the skin at this area is thin enough - which, on a human form, it is - you will be able to feel the heat from the crystal.

Granted, the idea of touching everyone he suspected of being a Mahjarrat on the forehead didn’t exactly feel Jahaan with glee, it was certainly better than nothing. “Thanks, Wahisietel. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Wahisietel quickly shot up from his chair and hurried over to one of his many bookshelves. “After our last meeting, I set something aside for you, something that might give you an unbiased, third party perspective on my half-brother,” after half a minute’s searching, he pulled out a thin blue-spined book. Blowing dust from the cover, he handed it carefully over to Jahaan, who took it very delicately, aware of how torn and damaged both the spine and cover were.

“How old is this book?” Jahaan couldn’t even make out the writing on the front, it was so faded.

“It’s an original, from the Second Age,” Wahisietel replied.

Aware of the fragility and, with this new information, rarity and subsequent value of the book, Jahaan held it like a newborn, very gently opening it up to the first page. When he did, his eyes began to hurt as they tried to register the symbols on the page. Squinting, he began to say, “Um, Wahisietel…”

Smiling softly, Wahisietel replied, “It is written in the ancient Menaphosi script. I did not think you would be versed in such an outdated language, so I translated the relevant sections of the book. Go to the marked page.”

Seeing the tip of a feather jutting from near the middle of the book, Jahaan turned to it, relieved to see pieces of papyrus tucked inside, all written in the Common Tongue. Removing them, he gently handed the book back to Wahisietel and shuffled the pages into order.

Blinking, he read aloud, “The Book of Sliske?”

Nodding with a disappointed grimace, Wahisietel said, “It’s written by a mercenary of Icthlarin’s called Gram Kobold, who later became a prominent commander in his armies. There are many accounts of the Mahjarrat’s arrival on Gielinor, but his focused almost obsessively on my half-brother. I thought it might be of some interest to you.”

Tucking the papyrus away in his pocket, Jahaan replied, “Thanks, Wahisietel. I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing,” Wahisietel assured. “After your assistance in dispatching Lucien, it is the least I could do.”

After leaving Wahisietel’s humble abode, he made for the nearest inn, wanting to take residence there for the night. While he definitely did not want to put Wahisietel out by asking for a lodging, Jahaan was in no hurry to leave Nardah; the presence of Wahisietel provided a sense of comfort that Jahaan had been lacking these last few days. He felt impervious to Sliske’s stalking here, knowing that his half-brother could sense his presence and make it known.

So after getting a hearty dinner out of the innkeeper and finding a decent enough room to slumber in, Jahaan took to said room and settled down for an early night.

But before he allowed the pull of tiredness to drag him into the realm of sleep, Jahaan pulled out the translation Wahisietel had given him, lit a dim candle, and began to read…

The Zarosians spilled over our front lines, mixing dust with blood. Their fervour for battle was insatiable. We were ordered to retreat at first light, but we knew we wouldn't make it to dawn. We needed the Kharidian gods to grace the battlefield now; morale was low and the last embers of their civilisation were flickering out. I weighed my coin-bag and wondered if it was time to abandon the life of a mercenary, to steal a ship and leave.

Then, we were blinded momentarily by a burning light, and the ground began to rumble. A wind came rolling across the plains like a tidal wave, drowning out the cries of war. The light spread like a flame burning through parchment, opening a tear in the very fabric of the world. From that yawning rift a small army marched forth, the ground quaking beneath their feet. A figure held the portal open, the head of a jackal atop its shoulders. Icthlarin had returned, and he had brought reinforcements.

It was a turning point in the Kharidian-Zarosian war. Icthlarin's warriors crashed into the Zarosian forces. Their commanders were terrifying to behold - mighty sorcerers, whose name sounded foreign to our ears. The army gave them a new name: the 'Stern Judges'. They towered over us by some feet, clad in robes, with a ridge on their foreheads. One in particular made an impression on me, his laugh echoing in my ears and his rictus grin etched into my memory. His name was Sliske, and he appeared and disappeared at will. He was feared by the soldiers and distrusted by his own kind. I felt a kinship with him, despite being awed by his power. Far away, I could make out the Kharidian gods thundering through the enemy, with the Stern Judges at their backs. But Sliske had a different goal, and he moved in other directions. He moved silently; I was barely able to keep track of him as he shifted between shadows. I gave chase, plunging my sword into hapless soldiers in my path.

As I struggled to keep pace with Sliske, I became lost in darkness, the only illumination coming from torches. I fought onwards, and Sliske materialised in a group of enemies. He did not seem to favour his blade; instead, he placed a hand on their armour, and both he and the enemy disappeared. Moments later, Sliske would return, but his opponent would be gone.

Suddenly, I was struck and knocked to the ground, and found myself on my back with a blade at my throat, staring into the wild eyes of a Zarosian scout. Fear washed over me as I heard steel slicing through flesh… but I felt nothing, save a warm trickle of blood on my chest. The body was tossed aside like a doll, and his face peered down at me instead. I shall never forget that grin - like a skull, covered in a veneer of ridged, grey flesh. My eyes locked with Sliske's as he put his finger to his lips. He smiled, and was gone.

In the months that followed, Icthlarin led the charge northwards across the River Elid. I watched in awe as the Stern Judges overpowered their foes. Despite my fascination with Sliske, I found him nigh-impossible to track; one minute I would be watching from afar, the next he would vanish. He built an entourage of spectral wights, shimmering with blacks and purples, converting some of the foes he felled into warriors of his own, undead spirits that returned to serve him.

We finally reached the mountains, and the forces of Zaros made their stand in a narrow pass. Despite their tactical advantage, we were victorious that day. The dust settled and the blood on our swords boiled in the sun. With the majority of the Kharidian Lands reclaimed, Icthlarin demanded that Sliske release his wights to him, so he could guide them to the Underworld. When Sliske refused, Icthlarin took them by force. With a swipe of his hand, Icthlarin obliterated their own ranks. Sliske simply narrowed his eyes and smiled. With a gesture he was gone, and the two never counted one another as a friend from that day.

It was the last I saw of Sliske.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

Previous chapter / Next chapter

#runescape #sliske #wahisietel #fiction

1 note · View note

cami-chats · 6 years

Text

Ablate

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Tony Stark/Peter Parker

Warnings: None

Tony stared at- well, nothing but at the place that used to hold the oldest tree on the Mansion's grounds, and he tried desperately not to laugh. Next to him, Peter was wringing his hands, looking between Tony and the newly blank space. "I'm so sorry Tony, I don't know what happened. One minute I was walking along with the artifact like I was supposed to, and then I tripped and it- okay there was a flash of purple light and it hit the tree and it vanished. And- and then I went and got you. It only took five minutes, tops, I swear I didn’t do this earlier and just forgot to get you." "You... tripped," Tony repeated doubtfully. Peter did have a nervous energy about him, but he was always graceful (in body at least). He ran into things sometimes when he and Tony were talking, but it was always preceded by senseless babbling about flowers and food and because he was backing away without looking where he was going. Tony did not believe that Peter just up and tripped while walking all by himself. Peter nodded though, looking painfully earnest like Cap did when he first came out of the ice. "Peter, you don't trip." "I do sometimes!" he said defensively. "When you're talking to someone maybe, not just while you're walking. Peter, it's okay if you messed up, we all fuck up sometimes. You want to tell me what really happened?" "I did! I'm not lying Tony, jesus christ." "Okay, so you were walking and tripped. What did you trip over?" He shifted uncomfortably. "It might have been a rock, but it might also have been my own foot." Tony frowned, concerned. "You've been out of it for a couple weeks, is everything alright?" "Don't you want to ask me more about the missing tree?" Peter asked, turning back to the spot with obviously fake interest. "It's quite the conundrum, all the roots still look like they're in the ground, and the little plaque is still there, but the actual trunk and everything above it is missing. Strange indeed. And I did walk where it used to be to make sure it wasn't invisible or cloaked or something." "Good to know that it's missing and not hiding in plain sight," Tony agreed. "What are you thinking about that's got you like this?" "I'd rather not talk about it," Peter said quietly, not looking at him. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I think you need to talk to someone. It's been weeks, and nothing's changed with you. It hasn't affected your fighting yet, but I don't want to wait for that to happen for you to deal with this-- whatever 'this' might be."

"It's..." Peter ruffled his hair as his cheeks pinked. "I like someone, and they don't feel the same." "You sure about that? Cause no offense Peter, you're nothing to sniff at." "Why would I be offended by that?" Tony shrugged. "I'm older than you, you might think it was weird. My point is, you're not acting like someone who's been turned down, you're acting like someone who's pining and also doesn't know that they're a catch. You're Spiderman! Come on, who wouldn't want to date you?" "I can think of a few people." "Villains don't count." Peter snorted. "Yeah, I wasn't thinking about villains. Quite the opposite." "Have other heroes been talking shit? Tell me who, I'll kick their ass." When Peter started laughing, Tony added, "I'm serious. Give me a list, Peter, I'll track them down. I don't care if it was Captain America himself, I will do it. Not that I think Steve would do that, mind you, but it's the thought that counts. I’ll beat up anyone for you, I will kick my own ass if I need to." That just made Peter laugh harder. "Thanks Tony, but that would be sort of self-defeating." "What?" Tony asked, suddenly confused. He wasn't often confused he felt like, but with Peter it was touch and go. This must be what Pepper was talking about when she said she couldn't follow his train of thought. Peter froze. "Uh, nothing. Nothing at all. I'll just go call Strange. Or maybe Thor, he has Loki with him right now I think, but asking Loki questions tends to end poorly for me so Thor is the safe option to still get information." With that, he took off for the mansion, walking as fast as he could without running. Tony stared after him, bemused. He wanted to chase after him and figure out what was going on, but Peter could avoid like nobody's business when he put his mind to it. Tony sighed and turned to the blank spot. Might as well look into it while he was here. ~~~ The next time Tony saw him, he was stuck to the ceiling looking miserable. Tony whistled sharply to get his attention-- calling out to him had been proven not to work in the past. "Hey." "Uh- hi." "You want to come down here so we can talk?" "Not really." "Will you anyways? Please?" "I don't see why," Peter grumbled. "Because I think you're mad at me and I wanted to ask you why so I can figure out how to make it better." Historically, waiting for things to get better didn’t end well for him. Peter dropped from the ceiling in a well-practiced flip that looked-- and probably was-- effortless. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm not mad at you, jesus Tony. I've been mad at you exactly once, and I said it right to your face." "You did, and I appreciate that because passive aggressive doesn't work for me, but that doesn't change the fact that you're avoiding me." "It hasn't even been a day, I don't think that's enough time to be considered 'avoiding'." "It is for us," Tony argued. "Look Peter, if you don't want me to poke my nose in your love life, I won't, I just need you to say it. Preferably right now so I don't make an ass of myself." "It's not- oh god." Peter covered his face with his hands. "It's not like that Tony. I- I like you, that's why I can't talk to you about it." Tony's mouth worked but no words came out. "Uh Peter? I don't think you like me." Peter peeked through his hands. "I wasn't expecting this reaction, I'm not prepared," he mumbled to himself. He dropped his hands back to his side. "You think I'm- what, lying about liking you?" "Not lying, just confused." "I've liked people before Tony, I think I know how it feels by now." "I'm sure you do, but- Peter you're young." "And...?" "And I'm not. Even if you did like me, I don't think it would go very well, and besides, you just have a mentor crush." "No, I had a mentor crush on you when we first met, and then it went away. I've dated since then, and now here we are." "Are you sure?" "Yeah. Pretty fucking sure. I've been trying to ask you out for like a month, and you didn't even notice. It’s possible you were blowing me off on purpose but I was really hoping that you just didn't know I was asking." "I definitely did not know that you were asking me on dates. Wait, is that why you were asking me about flowers the other day? You know you don't have to bring flowers on a date unless you're corny romantic or old fashioned, right? It might be a good move if you were dating Steve, but me," he shrugged. Peter rolled his eyes. "I wasn't going to bring you flowers, I was trying to ask if you wanted to go that garden with me. It's spring, everything good is blooming. MJ said it's really pretty, so I thought you might want to go because you like pretty things, especially flowers. You try and pretend like you don't, but I've seen your art collection." "Pepper collected all that." "Not your fancy art collection with all the big names, I mean the paintings you have hung up around here. You know, the ones with the flowers." Tony just looked at him blankly. "You know, the one above the fireplace? It's all red and blue flowers. It's a really good painting Tony, and I asked Pepper once, and she said you bought that one yourself. Do you know the one I'm talking about?" "I know which painting you're talking about." "Then why do you look like that?" "I- uh. I need some time to think about this." Peter nodded, a hand going up to ruffle his hair nervously. "Yeah, of course. I'll uh- I'll see you tomorrow?" "Sure. Oh and good work with the tree." Peter frowned in confusion. "I didn't get it back." "No, I meant with vanishing it." He shot Peter a grin. "I always hated that thing. If you can't get it back, that's the opposite of a problem. Just so you know." "I'll keep that in mind," Peter said with a small returning smile before he shuffled away. Tony sighed and went to his room. He didn’t spend much time in there, preferring to stick to common areas or the ‘shop when he wanted to think. Today though, he needed a place to think where he wouldn't be interrupted, and the only place he could think of was his bedroom. Peter liked him? That was... possible, apparently, just highly improbable. Yet here they were. With Peter being so nervous that he tripped while holding an alien artifact. Tony hadn't been lying to him-- he hated that tree. It was the principle of the matter though. It could have had such a worse outcome than a stupid tree that only the city cared about. What if that artifact had been explosive? Peter could have blown himself up, and because he was distracted by Tony of all people. Peter liked him, and he seemed convinced that it was real and not some passing crush. It's not that Tony thought Peter was too young, it's that he thought himself too old. He was forty: a solid fifteen years older than Peter. And... yeah maybe he'd had a few fantasies since Spiderman had become an Avenger, but he was a dirty old man, as long as he kept his hands to himself and felt bad about it, it was fine. Mostly. Sort of. Okay, but the point is that it wasn't fine at all now that there was an actual chance of it happening. Tony's mind was spinning in circles, so he did what he always did in these situations. He called Rhodey. "Hey honey bear." "Hey Tones. What's wrong?" Rhodey asked, voice etched with worry. "What makes you think something's wrong?" There was a pause and the sound of a door closing followed by Rhodey sighing. "Nothing, I just needed to get out of that meeting. Saying that Iron Man is calling me got me part of the way out, I just needed to sound all concerned to make it all the way. What's up?" "You know Peter?" "Your spiderling? Yeah. He alright?" Tony flubbed on trying to say that he was fine and settled with, "Why did you call him my spiderling?" "You hang out all the time, and- I mean, Tony if you were a cartoon you'd have pumping heart eyes every time he walks into the room. Not that that's a bad thing, he's a good guy, and it's nice to see you so in love. Unless he cheated on you or something and that's why you're calling. If that's what happened, I hate him and we’ll go get wasted." "We're not together," Tony said, feeling numb. Rhodey thought they were together? This was the man that knew everything about him, whether Tony liked it or not, and he thought they were together? Maybe there was more merit to the idea than Tony had let himself think. "You're not?" "No." "Oh. Why not? I could've sworn he looked at you the same way." "Yeah," Tony said, rubbing at his forehead, "I don't think you're wrong about that." "Oh?" Rhodey said again, this time alight with good old fashioned nosiness. "He told me that he liked me earlier, and he says it's not a mentor crush." "I don't see where the problem is coming in. This sounds like a perfect little romance." "I'm so much older than him, Rhodey," Tony whined. "You act like a twenty three year old at most." "I have it on good authority that it doesn't matter how old or young you act when it comes to shit like this. He’s fifteen years younger than me." "He's not underage, Tones, he's an adult and a superhero. I have complete faith in Peter's ability to know when what he likes is unacceptable." "You hardly ever see him." "I see him enough to know that he loves you," Rhodey said, drawing out 'loves' like he was a fourteen year old all of a sudden. "You are not helping." "You say that, but I think that I already did. For my act of goodwill to my idiotic best friend, I now get to tease you about this endlessly." "No. No no, you only get to tease me if it all turns out okay." "It'll be fine, go kiss his face off." "Rhodey," he groaned. "It'll be fun! You can peel his mask up just enough to uncover his mouth and have a little superhero make out." "Sounds like you've thought about this an awful lot. I'm kinda worried. What have you been doing while you're giving me hopefully kick ass advice?" "It's entirely possible that I've been drinking during this conversation, but you have no proof." Tony snorted. "Good example Colonel." "I learned from the best. Or you. Whatever you want to label yourself right now because I learned day drinking from you." "I seem to remember a certain someone at MIT taking shots before finals." "Shut up and go kiss Peter. Oh, and thanks for getting me out of that meeting." "No problem Rhodey pie. Thanks for the help." "Mhm." Tony hung up and took several deep, calming breaths. Rhodey didn't tend to be wrong. Tony just needed to find Peter and talk to him before he chickened out. He scrolled through his contacts and stopped at the little hearts after Peter's name. He remembered adding those, but to see it in the context of the recent developments of Peter actually liking him, it was something else. "Tony? Is everything okay? I didn't get an alert, is my badge malfunctioning?" "No, it's nothing like that. I was just wondering if you wanted to get dinner together." "Tonight?" "Yeah, unless you're busy." "Considering that my friends are out of the country and my only job is being an Avenger, it's pretty safe to say that my schedule is wide open." "I was trying to give you an out, but fine, be honest if that's what you want," Tony said drily. Peter chuckled. "Do I want to know why you're asking me to dinner? Should I use my waterproof makeup?" "You've been spending time with Deadpool haven't you." "Maybe. He's entertaining." "Extremely, but as a rule, when you start talking like him, you need some space." "He's in South America right now. I think. Point is, he's not on this continent, so I have space from him whether or not I want it. Which I don't, really. He tends to get in trouble when he spends too long away." "I've noticed that. And it's you specifically, not just superheroes in general." "Yeah, he really likes Spiderman. I don't know why." "Probably because you're incredible." "Yeah I- wait what?" "What what?" "Did you just call me incredible?" "You know I like you, this isn't a surprise." "Well yeah, you like me fine, but complimenting me after I tell you that I like you is... weird." "Weird if I didn't ask you on a date." "Huh?" "What did you think dinner tonight was?" "A nice big public outing where you tell me thanks but no thanks so that I can't get upset." Tony made a face, starting to think that he should have had this conversation face to face. "Peter, who have you been dating? Or trying to date but it turns out that they're assholes." "I'm not saying that that's happened to me, but it is a possibility." "It's not a possibility with me, ever. Especially not with you." "Why Mister Stark that was practically romantic." Tony could picture the way Peter was blushing even as he tried to act coy. "I wouldn't count on it happening again." Peter hummed, clearly not convinced. "You saying that or you being romantic?" "Both." "I don't believe you," Peter said mildly. "So where are we going?" "You like Italian?" "Of course I do, I'm dating you aren't I? And just so you know, eating Italian on a date automatically makes it romantic. Haven't you seen Lady and the Tramp?" Tony just laughed. "I'll see you at seven." ~~~ Tony gasped as his back hit the wall, fisting his hands in Peter's shirt as they kissed. "Not too fast?" Peter asked, even as he licked and kissed his way down to the base of Tony's neck to suck a hickey. Tony usually wasn't into that because his dates were more like hookups and he didn't want any marks from them, but this was Peter. He tilted his neck to the side to give him more room, and Peter took it gratefully, changing the angle and sucking harder to make Tony moan. "According to Rhodey-" Tony gasped "-this is a long time coming." Peter hummed. "Rhodey's a smart man. You gonna let me take you to your room?" "It doesn't seem like you're letting me do anything here." "You complaining?" Tony rolled his hips against Peter's. "Definitely not." "You didn't answer the question." "Peter if you don't take me to bed, I'm going to turn rogue and blame it on Richards." "Why Richards?" "I can't believe I of all people am saying this, but do you ever stop talking?" "Not really." "Can you talk and move?" "Yeah." "Then do that." All of a sudden, Peter picked Tony up and started walking down the hall. "See, this is why we're great together." Peter laughed, pausing to kiss him again. "Glad you're enjoying yourself."

#marvel #fanfic #tony stark #peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #my writing #dictionary prompts

2 notes · View notes

theahsokageneration · 7 years

Text

I Am Not He

After being inspired by @lmhersch‘s fanfic, A Warm Embrace, I wrote my first ficlet in years. It was fun to write. I hope you enjoy it.

Eli had really blown it this time.

As his shuttle docked inside the Chimera, he spent his last seconds alone with his bloodshot and baggy eyes closed, sucking in air and letting it back out as slowly as he could, determinedly stifling yawns. No use in looking like he’d been put in his place before he had.

Air hissed around him in a puff of steam as the door opened, and Eli opened his eyes and walked off the shuttle and through the hanger bay. Would Thrawn send someone for him?

No sooner had Eli wondered than someone approached him. “Commander Vanto, the admiral will see you on the bridge.”

“Thank you,” Eli said as confidently as he could muster. His breath was carefully controlled on his way to the bridge. Thrawn seemed to like him for some reason, but Thrawn was also ruthless. He wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the commander who’d let Nightswan get away clean… again. If Thrawn were Darth Vader, Eli knew he’d already be dead.

Upon his arrival on the bridge, Thrawn approached him immediately. “Commander Vanto,” he said. Cool and confident, as usual. Figures he’d start calm. He pretty much always did. Eli almost wished he’d cut right to the point.

“I see you have returned, and Nightswan has once again eluded us,” Thrawn continued. “What about your position rendered you incapable of successfully apprehending him?”

For all his attempts to look calm, Eli felt his face burn red. “I don’t know, sir.”

Thrawn rose one eyebrow and Eli lowered his eyes to Thrawn’s insignia plaque. Even so, he felt the Chiss’s glowing red eyes staring at him. “Why don’t you think harder,” Thrawn suggested softly. It wasn’t a suggestion.

“Well…” Eli began, his brain frantic. “Um, Nightswan did have a cloaking device on the ship he was using. He’s never used one of those before, and none of us expected it, so he got right by and no one saw until he was out of range of our tractor beam.” The words poured out of him like water and to his horror, he didn’t stop. “We had other ships in position, of course, but by the time word reached them that Nightswan was escaping, it was too late for them to pull him in. And we didn’t want to fire for fear of igniting the gas and blowing everything up, us included.”

“I see,” Thrawn replied. “Thank you, Commander. You may go.”

He… what? Eli left the bridge and, in the absence of any other order, walked back to his cabin in a daze. Sitting down hard onto his bed, Eli stared suspiciously at the wall across from him. Was Thrawn playing games with him?

No yelling. No cursing. Really, he couldn’t imagine Thrawn doing those things, at least, not like most people. Not like his parents. No, Thrawn’s style was more understated. He’d keep his voice level and calm as always and inform Eli he was being demoted, or something. Had let him down, at the very least.

What in blazes had that trademark “I see” meant, anyway? Thrawn saw… what, exactly? Eli grabbed his pillow and threw it across the room. Saw that he wasn’t worth talking to, probably.

He hadn’t slept in over 30 hours, and sleep tugged at his brain despite the current crisis with Thrawn. Eli let himself crash into bed and didn’t bother picking up the pillow before dejectedly falling asleep.

Some hours later, he woke. Thrawn would be off duty. Eli sat back up and stretched his neck. He wasn’t a man to let things go unsaid when it’d be easier for everyone for them to be out in the open. He had to talk to Thrawn.

As he had countless other times for less miserable circumstances, Eli walked the distance from his cabin to Thrawn’s, and knocked softly on the door, hoping the Chiss would be awake.

“You may enter,” came Thrawn’s voice from the other side. Eli pushed the button to open the door and walked inside.

Thrawn was sitting at his desk in light brown pants and a sleeveless top, a hologram of some obscure culture’s art floating in front of him. A mechanical voice speaking SyBisti told a story Eli had never heard, and with one tap on his datapad, Thrawn silenced it. “Commander Vanto. You should be asleep, should you not? Humans require roughly 8 hours of sleep per every 24, and you have only slept 5 in the last 40.”

Eli gulped. “What was that business on the bridge earlier all about?” he forced out as quickly as he could.

If he hadn’t before, he had Thrawn’s full attention now. The Chiss rose his eyebrow again, in what looked to Eli like confusion, though he deemed that impossible. “What business are you referring to? I thought it was obvious why I sent you from the bridge. You required rest.”

“Ok, but how come you don’t seem concerned with how I let Nightswan get out from under us, again?” Eli pressed, fists clenching. He was getting angry now. Angry that Thrawn was going to play this off like nothing. “You trusted me to take him in and I failed you. Don’t act like you don’t care. You don’t want nothing more than you want that Nightswan taken to justice.” Eli winced as his Wild Space drawl intensified with his vehemence.

Thrawn’s expression didn’t change. “I had thought my reasoning obvious. I asked you to explain to me what rendered you incapable of success, and you informed me of the circumstances which lead to your failure. I have taken your explanation into account, and will adjust future attempts accordingly such that the miscalculations will not be repeated.”

“I done made a mess of this whole carefully planned out operation, and you ain’t gonna say nothing on it? Make me wait for it to finally come out some other day? What I said up there on the bridge about how he got away is true but you and I both know you could have got him anyway.”

Thrawn’s eyebrow lowered. Whatever had caused Thrawn’s confusion, he now understood. “You misunderstand, Commander Vanto. Given what you have told me of the situation, in addition to what I know firsthand, I am quite confident that Nightswan could not have been caught under the circumstances we found ourselves in earlier. Not by you, nor by me. Indeed, I chose you to go where I was not because I knew that the only way in which you would fail is if success were impossible.”

“Wh- What?” Eli stammered.

Thrawn nodded as if to affirm his last statement. “Your failure is more a reflection of Nightswan’s strength than of your weakness. I had thought you understood this. As a warrior, one must be prepared to accept both victory and defeat. One will encounter each at various times. Victory is an end unto itself, or can often lead to greater victory later. Defeat is to be learned from. From yours, we have learned more of what Nightswan is capable of, as well as how not to approach him in the future.”

Eli let silence hang while he worked out Thrawn’s meaning. “So you’re not mad?” he asked more bluntly.

“Certainly not. What of my conduct gave you that assumption?” Thrawn asked in return. The question seemed genuine.

Waves of relief coursed through Eli and his fists unclenched. To Thrawn’s question, he shrugged. “Habit, I guess,” he muttered.

“From whom has this habit been learned?” Thrawn pressed. “That individual most likely was not a capable leader if he impressed such a habit upon you.”

Memories flashed through Eli’s head, and the world became blurred. He blinked it back into clarity. “My father,” he muttered again, this time in SyBisti, as he shifted his weight between his legs.

“Ah,” the Chiss acknowledged. “I am not he, Eli,” he continued in SyBisti.

It had been a while since Thrawn had referred to him as “Eli.” If he wasn’t careful, he’d start crying again. Weak as ever. “I know that, Thrawn. I did choose you, after all,” he said.

Thrawn stood, and stepped one foot closer to Eli. Gently, he patted the top of Eli’s head as he hadn’t done since… the Academy, probably. “I am and have been grateful for that choice,” Thrawn whispered.

“It was the right one,” Eli heard himself say.

“You ought to sleep, Eli,” Thrawn said, dropping his hand to Eli’s shoulder.

Before he’d stopped to think, Eli wrapped his arms around Thrawn’s waist for less than a second before releasing him and stepping back. In Basic, he said, “Yes, sir,” and pushed to open the door.

In a motion unusual for him, the corners of Thrawn’s mouth lifted. “Good night, Commander,” he said as the doors closed.

#original post #marie talks #marie writes #marie writes fanfic #thrawn #eli vanto #thranto #star wars #thrawn fanfic #fan fiction #thranto fan fiction #late night writing #hey man tonight was a bad one but i thought of this earlier and got to write it now and i'm feeling better #lmhersch #haha this is shit but i'm posting it anyway #go read hers though it was really good #the abusive parenting thing kinda rang really strong and this ended up happening

20 notes · View notes

apprenticemages · 6 years

Text

Hinamatsuri once again hits one out of the park… I take a look at this week’s carrots… and I try my hand at poetry! All this and more after the jump! The shows that I am watching are in bold, shows my wife and I are watching together are in bold italics. Question marks denote shows not watched yet (during the premiere weeks), and strikethrough marks dropped shows.

3D Kanojo / Real Girl Ep 8

What a mess… Turns out that Iroha isn’t as cool as she thought with Tsutsui being anywhere near Ayado. Even just holding her hand while he’s treating a burn sets her off. And of course, from her point of view, it’s all Tsutsui’s fault… There’s been hints all along, but I think this ep cements my thoughts that she’s got a streak of self centeredness. She keeps expecting him to change – and while he’s trying hard to work things out, he honestly is socially inept. And she just doesn’t get that, she isn’t even trying.

I did enjoy watching Takanashi stomp Ishino’s advances into the mud. She has become something of a friend to Tsutsui & Co., but she’s also shamelessly using them for her own ends. She deserved that.

Anyhow, cliffhanger time… Iroha ran off into the woods after seeing Tsutsui trying to help Ayado, and now she appears to lost.

Comic Girls Ep 7

Poor Kaos-chan. One step forward, one step back… she just can’t catch a break. Every time she makes progress, she discovers another flaw in herself.

Why did it take me so long to figure she’s a HUGE idol otaku? I mean we’ve all seen her figure collection any number of times. And if you look over the left, though you make have to look at full size, that grouping of three looks to me to be a Love Live homage.

Best Girl Tsubasa rocks her glasses… And speaking of her, both she and Ruki outed themselves as otaku this episode. That leaves only Koyume (and I guess Fura-senpai) not outed. I guess I should have expected that.

Crossing Time Ep 7

This week… a girl composes haiku while waiting at the crossing. I spent most of the episode cringing for two reasons… First, what she was composing was much closer to senryu than haiku. Second because they were just so awful. Though it’s hard to tell how much was the intention of the production staff, and how much was an artifact of translation. That is, was it translated literally or poetically? I suspect the former.

Though I did appreciate her frustration with not being able to produce a finished poem in one go. It took me a long time to appreciate just how much work goes into even a simple haiku. Actually, I think any Creator can appreciate that.

If you’re wondering what she was going on about when she was talking about a seasonal word – that’s called a kigo, and is vitally important in classic haiku.

Her final poem… I think there’s something good in there, but after fiddling with it for a couple of days I haven’t been able to find it with certainty. What I ended up with was this:

Snow drifting A crossing gate bars love

It drops the sense of love than cannot be restrained… But maybe brings in a sense of impatient waiting? Or maybe not. And yes, I know the syllable count is off, it’s a work in progress. If anyone cares to take a swing in the comments, feel free! I’d love to see what folks come up with. (More information about haiku from a previous posting.)

Hinamatsuri Ep 7

Hina’s segment was laugh out loud funny… I’m impressed as hell that they can keep returning the same schtick and still make it so engaging. Nitta and Utako’s segment was… I don’t know quite how to put it. Happy and sad, but not bittersweet? Nitta has certainly transitioned from player to seriously looking to build a family, but doesn’t quite grasp that it’s not quite that easy.

And someone on Twitter pointed out… The end title card has changed. On the left, the original – with Utako behind the bar. On the right, she’s absent after this week’s events. What’s going on here? will she still be in OP next week?

But once again… Anzu steal the show. Not a tearjerker like last week’s ep, but no less powerful. OK, OK, when she was bathing the onion ninjas weren’t attacking in force but there were a few scouts sneaking around.

I’ve seen a name plaque on a kid’s door in plenty of anime… But it was a real kick in the feels for Anzu’s to be the one from the shed she lived in at the homeless camp.

Worth reading: Matt & Irina’s joint review of episodes 6 & 7. Be sure and stick with it all the way to the end.

My Hero Academia 3 / Boku no Hero Academia 3 Ep 7 (Ep 45)

It turns out that the League Of Villains has adopted a new strategy. They’re not out to kill heroes (or at least that’s not now the whole of their strategy), they’re out to destroy them. And by handing the pro Heroes a decisive defeat and kidnapping a student, they’ve succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. The public is questioning and criticizing UA. The teachers are UA are questioning and criticizing themselves. Of course, discrediting heroes is an ancient trope in the comic book world, but I find myself curious to see MHA‘s take on it.

The split between the students is interesting… It was pretty predictable that Lida would take the “let’s follow the rules” position, but the others appear to be wavering. Deku of course won’t waver long – he’s never let the rules stand in the way of doing what is right.

And it’s very cool to see Yaoyorozu’s powers be used in interesting new ways.

Worth reading: Luminous Mongoose over at Anime Junk takes a look at the ‘edgy’ characters in MHA, and what makes them so: Revelry in the Dark – The Refined Edginess of My Hero Academia.

Rokuhoudou Yotsuiro Biyori Ep 6

As I said last week, I was about ready to give up… But this week gave us a ton of history and backstory on Rokuhoudou, Kyousi, and Tokitaka. We knew Sui had a business background, but I found it interesting that Tokitaka has been (still is?) an artisan (a potter) rather than a salaryman. I don’t find it all surprising that he became Rokuhoudou’s cook, almost all of the talented artisans I know IRL are also very good cooks. All the talented Makers I know love nothing better than the see stuff meant to be used actually being used…* The fusion of seeing someone enjoy the food you cooked on plates you made? That just has to be powerful as all hell.

A few years back our local SCA culinary group was the pastry/bread team for a feast and we all had to bring our own rolling pins. Of the twelve pins, eleven of them had come from the hand of the same woodturner. He was at the feast, and when I told him about this he had to come to kitchen and see… and was grinning like an idiot the whole time. Pleased as punch to see his stuff getting used.

Sword Art Online Alternative: Gun Gale Online Ep 6

OK, we knew Pito was messed up… But who could imagine that messed up? Though M-san (who we know have a name for – Asougi Goushi ) himself isn’t exactly a shining example of mental health.

Either way, now we know at least the basic plot for the remainder of the season.

Tada-kun wa Koi wo Shinai / Tada Never Falls in Love Ep 7 Tada-kun has reverted to its usual way of doing business… All about the loves and emotions of everyone who isn’t the show’s main couple. This week, a quadruple dose of unrequited love. And while Nyanko Big can’t vocalize his feelings, there’s no damm reason why none of the three humans can’t do so.

Yata at For Great Justice dropped Tada this week, and I’m starting to get mighty tempted myself. I listed it as a keeper mid-season because last week’s ep seemed to show they were going to start making progress, but this week blew it.

However, this is cool:

https://twitter.com/Surwill/status/999725355333226496

Uma Musume: Pretty Derby Ep 9

This week’s carrots… Being bet during a game of Blind Man’s Bluff. And am I the only one who thinks that “This Week’s Carrots” would be a cool name for a band?

Anyhow, this week – another training camp ep. (They’re really pounding the tropes in here, aren’t they?) And finally Trainer-san gets off his dead ass and acts like a trainer with a clue. Seeing that Spe-chan‘s consideration for Silence is holding them both back, he finally confronts them. And they both realize that the other is not only their dearest friend, but their closest rival. Both of them run their little horse girl asses off – and handily beat the others, even with their head start.

It’s kinda annoying sometimes… Uma Musume seems to really badly want to be a proper sports anime, but doesn’t (or won’t) put in the work to sustain the tone.

Also, just now… Arby’s (who has a history of anime references on Twitter) tweets about Uma Musume…

https://twitter.com/Arbys/status/999681432166350848

Wotakoi: Love is Hard for Otaku Ep 6

Honestly, this week’s ep seems to have been mostly forgettable… When it came time to write this review, I pretty much couldn’t remember anything other than the gift scene at the end. Looking around the rest of the web, it becomes clear that I couldn’t remember because pretty much nothing happened.

I should be clear though… In this kind of semi-anthology/slice-of-life romance series, that’s not actually a glaring flaw. It’s pretty much par for the course in that genre.

I do sympathise with Nafuji though. I’m the oldest of five, and there’s seven years between me and my original youngest brother and sixteen years between me and my actual youngest brother. (Which sounds funny… But the explanation is simple, my parents had an unexpected late life (by the standards of the day) child.) I was in fourth or fifth grade when I grasped the truth about Santa – but my parents made it Very Clear that I was to keep my lips zipped for the sake of my younger siblings.

=========

And that’s this week! Remember, between the holiday weekend (which we traditionally spend geocaching) and preps for and recovering from the Kitsap Medieval Faire, there will be no weekly posts on the 30th and the 6th. I may or may not get some editorial content out, that just depends on time and energy.

So, what did you think of this week? Care to take a swing at poetry? Drop a comment and let’s chat!

Spring 2018 – Week 7 Hinamatsuri once again hits one out of the park... I take a look at this week's carrots...

#2018 Spring Season #3D Kanojo #Comic Girls #Crossing Time #Cutie Honey Universe #Hinamatsuri #My Hero Academia #SAOA:GGO #Sword Art Online #Tada-Kun #Uma Musume #Wotakoi #Yotsuiro

0 notes

pettify · 7 years

Text

15 Reasons Why Reptiles Make Great Pets

The animal kingdom is incredibly massive and varied, with thousands, if not more, species of animals throughout the world. However, an animal doesn’t have to be the biggest or the strongest to become one of the greatest living specimens on the planet. No, instead, the reptile has become a dominant force throughout the animal kingdom, both for their unique coloring and for how great of a pet they tend to make. While not all reptiles can be pets, most have a knack for entering our lives and becoming a force of pure brilliance. The following 15 reptiles are all the proof anyone should ever need to own a reptile of any kind.

Take My Hand, Boss

Not all lizards were made to live within captivity. In fact, most probably weren’t, though they adapt incredibly well to living within a home with humans. Lizards are animals, though, and do require a natural habitat where they can explore their surroundings, interact with their own kind, and recreate scenes from famous movies with their pals while resting comfortable on twigs. It happens more often than you may think. Take, for example, the above, where one lizard is hoping to reach out and simply touch his fellow partner in crime, enabling an emotional bond to cultivate between the two before he slips.

To Narnia!

Humans have horses to ride around on, and cars, both of which are far bigger modes of transportation when compared against our tiny human bodies. So, what does a lizard in need of long distance travel have? Easy, a T-Rex, of course. The mighty king of the dinosaurs is a mere child’s toy now, but this lizard decided to make him his own, riding on his back to find the mystical land of Narnia. However, even a lizard could have dreams of grandeur, and the thoughts of world domination have surely crept into the midst of his mind as he eyes his human owner down atop his mighty steed.

15 Reasons Why Reptiles Make Great Pets

Dreams of Flight

We all want to be something when we grow up, whether it’s a writer, a firefighter, or even an astronaut. However, what does a lizard grow up wanting to be? Well, a bigger lizard is the obvious answer. This bearded dragon has thought long and hard of what he wants to do with his life, and with the help of some scientific books and plaques, the ideas of soaring through the air with a wing span to make an eagle jealous have surely come to mind more than once. Its owner should be wary of when it learns to strap leaves to its back and jump off stacks of books, though.

Hearts All Around

Animals can show love in their own way, even to a human owner. So, when you find a lizard creeping up a long bit of flora, splitting it down the center to form a perfectly created green heart, you had better reciprocate the feelings to the little guy. Should you choose not to remind him of how epic he is, you may find yourself awaking to an army of tiny lizards surrounding your bed in the midst of the night. They probably won’t bring heart-shaped plants, though, so be warned. A simple pat on the back should suffice when he shows you some love, though.

15 Reasons Why Reptiles Make Great Pets

Hear Me Roar!

We’ve all seen the new Godzilla film in theaters, and it was pretty awesome for a giant monster movie full of talking. However, when Godzilla finally appeared on-screen in all his massive glory, someone else was watching over your shoulder in the living room. Your pet turtle thought it would be interesting to see what he could grow up to be, so he has begun practicing his mighty roar throughout the entire house. It may not make much, if any, noise yet, but you can bet it will be fearsome in the end. Take a step back and enjoy the roar of the mighty turtle pet.

Healthy Living

Everyone wants to eat as healthy as possible these days, so we’re picking up different types of fruits, vegetables, and things made out of soy (gross). However, you’re not the only person in the house looking to eat a bit better, as that pet turtle you love to hear roar after watching Godzilla tends to love having himself a little bit of strawberry for a snack, or even an entire meal, he’s not that picky. If you’re interested in seeing him chomp down on the glorious red fruit while sitting comfortable on the carpet, make sure to buy the fruit fresh and get it to him quickly to ensure the most amount of happiness.

15 Reasons Why Reptiles Make Great Pets

See What I Can Do?

Lizards are quite weird, we must admit. They tend to have the odd habit of licking their own eyeball when they want to clear it of anything, but it’s still something to behold. So, when you find yourself having a staring contest, and then suddenly your pet decides to creep you out and lick its own eye, you can bet she’s already won the entire match. You may as well concede defeat for any future rematches, too. Watching her lick her own makes us want to try it on ourselves, but it won’t work, we promise you that. Go ahead and try if you don’t believe us.

Is This Seat Taken?

Lizards come in all shapes and sizes, with some being incredibly small, and others being the size of a small dog. However, it’s the small ones that tend to be the cutest, as they find themselves sitting in all types of odd places, like at the tip of your finger while you’re trying to focus on something else. Of course, when you feel something that tiny creeping up your hand, your first instinct may be to shake it off. Please don’t do that, as you will enjoy the surprise peeking over the tip of your pointer finger in the end. Let him ride around, feeling like the king of the land, for as long as possible.

15 Reasons Why Reptiles Make Great Pets

Smiles Are Worth A Thousand Words

Pictures may be worth a thousand words, and there is one right there offering a smiling leopard-spotted gecko, so the smile is worth the thousand words now. It’s a nice feeling knowing that when you look down upon your little pet lizard that she is looking back up in happiness, too. Pets love their owners if treated right, so you know when one is literally smiling at you that you’ve done something right. Continue this behavior, and you may end up with a pet to defend your home in the odd case of invading bugs in the summer months.

Ride Forth!

A plastic T-Rex for a mount may have been fearsome enough, but combine the need for a ride through the swamp with a living, breathing reptile, and you may have found your match. Crawling up the back of its mother, a young reptile may find himself in the position of what could be thought of as a throne to some, and to others it will be a battle horse, decked out in armor and teeth. This one’s Napoleon Complex may come off a little strong, so we suggest avoiding the water for…;ever. You could be brave and try to pet him, but we suggest against it.

15 Reasons Why Reptiles Make Great Pets

Paint Me, Baby!

Yeah, lizards enjoy relaxing in a comfortable hand, have something to say about it? This little guy knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s putting all the moves on that hand, coming off incredibly interesting, and probably has plenty of great topics to bring up later on in the night. Of course, that can all be skipped if you’re into painting and want to make a work of art in the form of a portrait of him. If you ask nicely, this little lizard may even make a sexy pose to ensure you capture him in his best possible form.

The Right One is Special

Finding the right person to spend your life with is a difficult task, but you know almost immediately when you’ve located that special person. Well, it appears the same applies for lizards, as that special significant other is out there, waiting on the end of a blossoming flower for the perfect mate to climb up and share nose with. Chances are this union is going to end well, but they may want to find a different place to spend their time for fear of one of them falling off the flower to the ground below. Someone should probably make spaghetti.

15 Reasons Why Reptiles Make Great Pets

Oh, Yeah, Right There

Having a crocodile for a pet instantly makes the owner a badass. Having a baby crocodile for a pet makes him marriage material. Of course, the owner is nothing without the pet in question, and when you find yourself with a baby crocodile sitting atop your knee, head tilted back in pure ecstasy, as you pet it, then you know you’re doing something right. Ensuring that baby loves you now will be key to keeping it as a pet within the backyard’s underground swimming pool when it grows older, as it will protect you from any intruder foolish enough to break into your backyard for gardening supplies.

Smaller Is Sometimes Better

The problem with having a pet the size of the tip of your finger comes in the form of losing it, as one wrong step could be the last, unfortunately. However, when you have a lizard as small as this one, you’re going to keep a careful eye on it, and, perhaps, even carry it around within the palm of your hand most days. It will look weird, that is for certain, but once other people see the guy carrying a tiny lizard, they’re going to want to know more about this mysterious individual and his fantastic pet. Just wait until it grows up.

Turtles Do Smile

Who would have thought that a turtle could produce such a heart-warming smile as this one. The face alone makes it worth the cost of all the food, the tank, and everything else that went into ensuring this little guy had the perfect home away from home. If you’re lucky enough to capture this smile on camera, you probably want to ensure that memory is kept forever. However, if you’re a good owner to entice a smile like that from your pet, chances are it will happen again in the future. Keep that camera close by the tank for some future snapshots.

Source

http://www.lolwot.com/15-reasons-why-reptiles-make-great-pets/

0 notes