#i think the deep dark should have had an oceanic counterpart

[nexus-nebulae]

ok everyone knows minecraft cave sounds but like i never see anyone talk about the Underwater Noises like those are fuckin terrifying

#echos #like there are no real ocean threats in the game #but sometimes if you're swimming there's just an ominous low droning call #that sounds like it's from a Creature #but like. what could be doing that #there are no whales in the vanilla game. there are no Big Creatures #it couldn't be a Guardian bc those make weird higher pitched chirp/squeak sounds #so like. what could be making that sound. #what's just past the horizon in the deep oceans we've never seen #i think the deep dark should have had an oceanic counterpart #a super deep ocean that has some fucked up ocean creature

[bokettochild]

Request: something with the doppels please?

I headcannon the dopples as being Legend's deviants in a similar way that the Colors are for Four, so that's reflected here.

I came up with this a while ago though, and while I'm not fully satisfied with it, I thought it would be fun to explore how the dopples react to the Four Sword.

Hence, Color and Dopple bonding/meeting!

If the item they grabbed in order to help someone else could not be cursed for once, Legend would be very thankful.

But since when did things ever go his way?

...Their way?

You know what, when did things ever go as planned? There, pronouns don’t matter this way.

Not that the pronouns really change much, they just become... plural...

Four would very much not like to believe their eyes.

No really, please, make this not be real.

There are four Legends; four of him, and the Four Sword has been split.

Sure, the enemies that sprung on the two of them while they were gathering kindling are now dead. Sure, Legend protected them when the attack had caught them both off guard. And yeah, all five of them are now bleeding and injured, but why does it need to be five?

Because Legend’s sword was knocked away. Vio reminds the rest of them. Because our sword was the closest at hand and he needed a weapon.

Picking it up shouldn’t trigger it though, it needs force, it needs power pushing through it to activate. Blue grumbles.

And what do you think Legend does with his sword usually? None of his items are exactly normal if you recall.

Blue huffs at that, but no one says anything else, Red is too busy cheering at having more brothers while Green is currently weighing the pros and cons of Legend knowing the secrets of the Four Sword.

In all honesty though, the vet is taking it rather well.

“Seriously,” The red Legend sighs, looking at his alternate selves and then at the Four. The man doesn’t even ask for an explanation, he’s just burying his head in his hands. “Of course, of course this happens.”

“Aaand that’s why it’s called the Four Sword.” the green Legend sighs, looking at the blade he still holds in his hands with a slight smirk.

“I’d wondered if it was fully capable yet.” Blue Legend hums. “I suppose it only needed some power to unlock it’s abilities.”

The last of the four Legend’s sits frozen, shining gaze locked on Four for a brief moment as they look back at him. It doesn’t last long. They aren’t sure how or why, but this deviant is smaller than Legend, and the second that they make any move towards their split companion, the yellow deviant squeaks and ducks behind the green one, bright eyes shining with absolute horror.

“Hello,” The blue deviant peers around his brother in confusion. “There’s a forth one?”

“Four Sword.” The red deviant grumbles. “It implies that there would be four.”

“There was never four before.” The green one muses, looking behinds himself with a cocked brow. “And none of us was that fearful.”

“You okay?” It’s clear Legend’s blue isn’t the same violently minded variant as Four has, in fact, he seems something more like Vio or Green, calm and observant, but not altogether unattached from the world.

“How-” The golden variant whispers, eyes still not leaving Four as the younger looking Legend stares out from behind his other deviant. “You’re dead!”

They pause, confusion on their face as they take in the uneasy way that Legend’s variants look at each other.

“You’re dead, you’re dead, YOU’RE DEAD!” The deviant shrieks, frenzied and frightened in a way they’ve never seen Legend before, hands gripping tightly to his counterpart as he stares at the Four-Who-Are-One with a manic sort of terror, confusing them and setting his brothers ill at ease.

What does this...child, intend by his words? Is it a threat? Is it a dream, a hallucination? Splitting can mess with the mind, especially for first timers, is this part of Legend just insane somehow?

“I killed you!” There are tears in the golden one’s eyes, and he continues to quake behind his counterpart as the other three exchange looks of recognition.

“Kid, calm down.” Red starts, brash and uncertain.

“That’s Four.” Blue adds.

“He’s our friend.” Green soothes, oozing charm and charisma that reminds them of Warriors.

“They tried to kill us.” Goldie whispers, clutching even tighter at the tunic in front of him.

“Um...no?” Blue is taking the forefront of their own mind, but Red holds him back from being too violent. Even so, their own variants know better than to push at something so fragile. The golden variant of Legend is like the metal he’s colored after, delicate and so easy to break, too harsh a movement or action will snap him in two, and they aren’t ready to deal with that split, not when Legend is already in four pieces!

“Ignore him, please.” The red Legend sighs, rubbing at his face in a tired manner, and when they look closely it’s easy to see that this variant received the burden of Legend’s eyebags- his tunic and cap may be red, but the bruises beneath his eyes are a dark purple that make the vet’s own gaze seem near black in comparison.

“It’s a slight mix up.” The green one adds, kneeling down beside his counterpart with an assuring smile that they have only ever seen directed at the youngest of their number, and even then, most of the time it’s meant for Hyrule.

The Blue, Red and Green deviants all stare at each other, eyes flicking silently and expressions twisting for a moment before there’s sighing from the Blue and Red, and the two of them stand and make their way over to Four.

“Let’s give them some space.” Red sighs, “Kid’ll be freaking out for a hot second yet.”

They can’t help the suspicious raise of their brows. “You do realize he’s part of you, right?”

The two Legends exchange another look before looking back to him.

“Not exactly.”

“He,” Red Legend jabs a thumb over his shoulder, “Is supposed to be dead.”

Four would like a moment to scream please.

“What do you mean?” Red takes control as a panicked glance is shot over to the small-Legend. “He’s part of you!”

“Part of us that died.”

“We’ve been split before.”

“Albeit in a different way.”

“There wasn’t four of us to choose from.”

“Not with our soul already divided.”

“The Four Sword had to dig up something that wasn’t there anymore.”

“It was either us or the blade.”

Four has been split for the last six years and even they don’t do this. “Why are you talking like that?” They hiss, looking between the two forms of their friend. Blue is screaming inside and Red is shivering, Vio is demanding answers and Green is contemplating the possibilities of learning to do this themselves, all of which at once makes for a very busy head and no space to process much of what was just said.

“Practice.” The two Legends echo, nodding en tandem.

“Like we said,” Red sighs again. “This isn’t the first split for us.”

“First time we’ve become four.”

“But not the first split in general.”

Four looks between them, curiosity winning out over shock as Vio takes the lead. “Explain.”

And they do. As it turns out, the fabled sixth adventure of the hero of Legend resulted in his mind being divided amidst three separate bodies, each of which took on a few of his qualities as their main attributes, but, for the most part, remained distinctly Legend.

“It’s not a clear divide.” Blue Legend explains. “We share memories, can speak with each other via a link of our minds, and in general we act like we would when together.”

“Some traits are stronger though.” Red Legend adds on.

The red variant, Crimson, it turns out, is Legend’s exhaustion and irritability. He’s the frustration and stress and takes the brunt of their experiences. The blue variant, Ocean, on the other hand, is the resourceful, experienced part of Legend that can spy opportunity and possibilities in most places. He is, in a way, like Vio, representing the creative and intelligence of Legend. The green variant, Forest, the two inform him, if the valor and strength of Legend. Like their own green, this part of Legend is dedicated to his tasks and to the people around him. Without the exhaustion, bitterness and calculating aspects being as prominent, it allows him to be more open and friendly when separated from his brothers.

“And the golden one?” They ask, eyes trailing back to where the deviants in question are still talking.

Crimson sighs once again, shaking his head. “Call him Lore.”

“He’s us, but much younger.”

“He died when we were young, so his memories, his experiences, that sort of thing, they don’t line up with ours.”

Ocean nods in agreement. “Last he knew, we were visiting our grandparent’s farm after our third adventure. He doesn't know about our experiences since.”

“Much less us.” Crimson adds on. “He’s the only Link as far as he's concerned.”

“But how is he dead?” Four presses, confusion eating at their minds. It wouldn’t make sense for a deviant to be able to die, not without affecting the soul as a whole.

“He’s Legend’s innocence.” Crimson answers, eyes too dark and too sorrowful. “He’s been buried so far and so deep that he’s ceased to be a part of us anymore.”

“And he’s scared of me because...?”

“Because you tried to kill me- I mean... us.”

Three heads turn to where the younger looking Legend stands, hand tightly holding onto the forest deviant’s hand. The youngster looks calmer now, if not considerably confused. “How are you alive? I thought-”

He's cut off by a hand over his mouth as Forest offers a pained smile that looks more like a grimace. “We all thought you came hundreds of years before us.”

“I do. What’s this about killing us?” Vio’s slipping, but none of the Legends seem to notice.

“Nothing.” Three voices chime at once.

“Right.” Ocean looks around them with a frown. “How do we change back? Splitting up always causes problems, and the sooner we reunite and get back to normal, the better.”

“The Four Sword should do the trick, if you can become of one mind.” They provide their brother- brothers? “Just touch the tips together.”

Legend’s deviants all nod, understanding in their gazes that shouldn’t be there.

“Why aren’t you freaking out? Most people would at least be a little shocked by this.” They ask, gaze traveling from one of the split heroes to another.

“We’ve wielded the Four Sword before.” Crimson explains.

“Not wielded, exactly-” Ocean corrects.

“We carried them.” Forest clarifies. “But only until we could put them back.”

Four looks between them, and as once, they answer. “Adventure number one.”

Okay then. “I have so many questions.” They sigh, looking between Legend’s deviants.

“Ask Legend. We’re him after all, so when we reform, we’re still there.” Ocean reassures them.

“Most of us anyway.” Crimson murmurs.

“Am I dying too now?” Lore sighs, looking up at his brothers with eyes so tragically sad that Four almost feels guilty for asking them to reform.

“Not dying.” Forest winces.

“You’re going back to sleep.” Ocean tries.

“Or back to Gramma.” Red adds. “She’s probably worried.”

Lore looks pacified, and it takes only a moment more before Legend is standing, as one, before the Four again, eyes shadowed and hand rubbing down his face as he hands over the sword. “Oy vey.”

“You took that well.” They respond, taking the sword back and not at all wrapping their arms around it protectively.

“Been split before.” Legend groans. “Speak no words, or I tell everyone about you.”

“Me?”

“All of you.” Legend glares, but their mischief in his gaze. “I didn’t study the legends of the Four Sword for nothing, I know.”

And somehow, that doesn’t worry them. Legend knows how they work, knows there are more than one of them, but he’s the same, in a twisted, strange and not Four Sword based way. “We’re talking later, and I want to know more about them if I can.”

“Only if you split too.” Legend challenges.

“We can do that.” Four agrees. “We really should split more anyways.”

“We?” Legend cocks a brow, straightening up from where he stands.

“Us.” Four gestures to themselves. “Four.”

The vet stares for a moment before chuckling softly. “Why didn’t you tell us we had your pronouns wrong? Plural they/them is fine you know, you just had to say something.”

“Would you like the same?”

“Heck no!” Legend winces. “I’m male, singular. The dopples are just parts of me, but that doesn’t make me a plural entity, just someone with a jumbled brain on some days.”

“Dopples?”

Legend rolls his eyes, stooping to collect the wood that he had dropped when they were attacked earlier, disregarding the way blood smears across it from the cut on his arm. “I’ll explain on the way back to camp.”

#dopples #linkeduniverse #linked universe #legend linked universe #four linked universe #four swords

[circa-specturgia]

According to my procrastinating ass, today is in fact Wednesday (not Friday). Which means it World building Friday WEDNESDAY :DD

And those Æris you talked about before were so cool!!! If you could pick one other fantasy creature you're developing and you could ramble about right now, which would you pick? Oh and yes please feel free to tell me all about it 😍

@bloodlessheirbyjacques 🙌🔥

A fantasy creature I’m developing, hmm… Well, to be entirely honest, a lot of the ideas I had with the Æris were ones that were only loose concepts before I fully fleshed them out writing that post, so I guess I’ll do the same here and go with a race I’ve got a good chunk of hazy ideas on!

Thanks for the wonderful ask @bloodlessheirbyjacques!!! ✨

Also you’re right is is Wednesday. This definitely didn’t take me longer than it should have. Not at all. Nope.

Note! Some of what I’ve got below is subject to some change as I’ve just came back to looking over the origins of the world and all and feel like it may be due for a rework of sorts, but this is what I’ve got for the time being! Feel free to reblog with any ideas or things you think would be neat to add, I love that sort of inspiration!

Elves and Alves - The Væla

Technically two races, but with an interconnected culture and history!

As with the Æris, the Elves arose as a result of a global genetic anomaly during an epoch of ice, both coming from a single joint ancestor and splitting off around 1.8M years ago.

Alves, however, split off from the Elves themselves, as a result of divergent evolution, one acclimated more to the frigid ice and far north, one to the tundras and taigas.

Both races are greatly connected to the cold of the north and far south, and formed one of the greater powers of the world, the epoch of ice itself not hindering their civilizations expansion as much as it did the other races, allowing them essentially a head start. The races as a whole are called the Væla (vey-la) or in Proto-Elven, “siblings.”

Biology

I don’t quite have the biology of both nailed down quite as solid as I do for the Æris, but I have some details that I like and this could be a good chance to brainstorm up some more!

Elves

Tall. Really heckin tall. 3 meters or so is the average height. 4 meters isn’t unheard of.

Slim, but strong limbs, characteristically long arms and legs

Pale skin, ranging from pure snow up to pale grey, and lightly blue tinged white

Hair in light shades, ranging across shades of platinum, silver, grey, white and desaturated gold

Eyes most often in a shades of pale blue, up to the deep dark ocean, or brilliant sea turquoise!

High cheekbones, angular facial features, in some described as nearly gaunt, and a sort of exposed fleshy tissue on the sides of the mouth when it is opened (like in some mammals), sharp incisors and canines, as a result of

A primarily carnivorous diet with some supplemented greens and fruits and vegetables. Consists mainly of fish and seafood.

Shorter pointed ears than their than their Alf counterparts, that connect to the back of the jaw lower than in humans

Alves

More similar to humans in height.

Sturdy in build compared to Elves, share many of the same characteristic facial features of the other race, however slightly softened. Sharp teeth though not quite to the degree of Elves, fleshy cheek is a trait that occurs only in some, ears are much larger, extend out further. Three primary positionings exist, genetically: sticking out to the sides, along the sides of the head (think the Hermès wings on the helmet), and drooping or angled downwards.

An omnivorous diet, more heavily standing on a foundation of meat than humans but nonetheless allowing for the consumption of both plants and meat!

Hair ranging from silver to platinum to gold, to dirty blonde, with shades like brown and black being less common

Eyes in deeper shades of blue, from stormy ocean to navy, along with silvers and grays

Fast on their feet, not only compared to the Elves but to most other races as well, being known for being especially fluid in their movements! (Elves are much more connected to strength, as will be explained later).

Common Væla traits

Blood transfusions between the two are entirely possible, though blood types still apply.

Speaking of blood, both races have hemocyanin, as opposed to the human hemoglobin. In other words, their blood is copper based, not iron based, making it more effective at lower temperatures, and clear when deoxygenated, but blue when oxygenated. TL;DR Væla have blue blood!

As a result, crossbreeding between Elves and Alves is possible, however between the two and other races which is hemoglobin, crossbreeding is a more risky thing.

Væla possess extended lifetimes, in the case of Elves being able to live up to 200 with an average of 180 or so, and in Alves up to even 250, averaging 200!

Phenomenal eyesight

Vælan features are most often described as androgynous by outsiders, as while they can tell apart their own gender, and posses several within their circles, it’s more difficult for those not brought up in their society to be able to clearly tell these apart.

Culture and Society

Elves and Alves are most often found very close to each other in cities and settlements, and see one another as siblings, sisters and brothers. Their cultures intertwine and meld together, and so it is not uncommon for the two to live in isolated cities with only these two races.

(Only a few particular groups of puritan Elves see Alves as a lesser offshoot of their own blood which is not the case in the slightest, though sadly this stereotypical view of the relations between the two is one known by many who are not more deeply familiar with the two cultures.)

Elves (and to a lesser degree Alves) have some difficulty in interacting socially with other races like the Humans, Æris, and Jin, due to their own physiology. The gaunt facial features and stiff expressions have had the Elves instead use eyebrows and ears as a measure of expression, making other races with their smiles and frowns a bit difficult, especially to those who live in their closed societies.

As a result, Elves, who celebrate a vibrant but more isolated culture, with a nature being comparable to being introverted, I.e. enjoying the quiet and silence and space, and preferring the company of those close to them, combined with the above mentioned traits, sadly have a social image that makes them out to be hateful of other races, isolationist or cold. Alves are often times more social than Elves, however they do still have parts of their culture and tradition, shared with the Elves, that have them spend time alone, or with their own groups, giving them the stigma of being secretive or plotting, untrustworthy, when this is not the case.

Of the good things, though!

Væla are often associated with water, powerful, unrelenting, yet fluid, timeless. Elves themselves are known as some of the best sailors of the world, with gorgeous vessels that cut through the waves and brave the oceans and Storms with unparalleled grace and fortitude, and loud, powerful music that rolls over the waves and fjords.

In addition to this, they’re regarded as the worlds best archers, firing arrows as big as javelins from bows their own height, able to shoot with nearly frightening accuracy and precision at far away targets. Their skill is in the sheer force, and power, rather than their grace, this trait being exemplified by the Alves instead!

Alves possess, like Elves, amazing balance, however their sturdier and shorter build allow for much greater freedom of movement. The phrase goes “Elves crash like storm waves, Elves sting like frigid streams.”

While the Jin more often celebrate the joy of community and life brought by others around them, people, Elven and Alven culture is more centered in nature, the worship of the waves and tides, the untouched beauty of it, which also ties into their secluded nature!

That’s about all I’ve got currently on them, of the things I’ve worked out! I certainly want to work out certain greetings and smaller customs, as the main cast heads to Cimnalyönde, a Vælan capital sometime in the early part of the story!

That was FUN. It took me a while but hell if it wasn’t worth it! Thanks again so much for the ask @bloodlessheirbyjacques!!!

And, of course, Taglist! ✨ @bloodlessheirbyjacques @athenswrites @magefaery @writingonesdreams Let me know if you want to be added! ✨

#writing inspiration #writing thoughts #writing community #writers on tumblr #writeblr #wip.circa specturgia #circa specturgia #writing #wtw community #wtwcommunity #fantasy race #original fantasy #the vaela one

[stygianflood]

Like the Shoreline and the Sea (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary- Ethan is asked out on a date right after Miami in Book 1. Ethan’s PoV

Genre, rating, words- Angst, teen, 2k

Open Heart fanfic tropes- birthday, office.

March Challenge Day 13 prompt Someday; April Challenge Day 9 prompt Smell of the Rain 

A/N: nor’westers-  violent thunderstorms in northern plains of India, before the onslaught of monsoon.

Title inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.

‘This will improve our understanding of adiposity and sarcopenia in this population, help identify thresholds predictive of metabolic risk, and ultimately prevent or ameliorate… ’

Better prevent than ameliorate.

‘...ameliorate the long-term impacts on health and…’ 

Twenty five years should be long enough.

Hers is a singsong voice, the warm, trilling kind. Mellow sun dances on the frills of her dress. The yellow one. 

The man at her side twirls her on the empty kerb. Dips and kisses her. Her laughter is all that is pure and golden.

A child follows them, embarrassed. She bends down to kiss him, and he is furious. 

The scene shifts.

The child is on the front porch, eyes set somewhere beyond the wild bergamot bushes. 

Tear tracks on pink cheeks mingle and dry with dust from his afternoon’s exploits. Something like a steely resolve troops in his eyes.

Ethan Ramsey has been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now.

Whoever coined the term ‘nostalgia’ from the Homeric nostos and algos was speaking of anguish caused by an inability to return. But they failed to discern the inevitable tethering of reminiscence with habituality.

That is more or less the case with him. Louise Ramsey walked out on her husband, and eleven year old son some twenty five years ago right before his birthday. For a very long time now, home is not about apple crisps or kitchen gardens. 

About this time every year, a crevice in his mind he likes to call the amygdala dwells on the same days. 

Almost as a ritual. 

He is a scientist. A rationalist. And like every year, he reminds himself there is work to do.

Unless there’s a knock at the most unpleasant hour.

He never returns to the article. Never manages a come in. The distraction walks in, messy hair knotted with a pencil. Probably because she has lost another hair tie. 

He mustn’t be that aware. 

But she talks too much. 

‘Dr. Mukherjee.’ He sounds gruff. They’re supposed to be redrawing their boundaries, even if he is the only one making an effort. ‘I thought your shift ended-’

‘Two hours ago.’ Rigours of a sixteen hour shift mark her visage. Her smile is a little too conniving for his comfort. ‘I had work afterwards.’ 

She starts shuffling papers on his desk, permission be damned. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages an exasperated sigh. Since when have interns started walking into his office with… birthday cakes?

‘What do you think you’re- It’s not my-’

‘I heard rumours that Dr. Ramsey had to cancel a date.’ She sounds amused. He does not miss the split second glance she shoots his way before continuing. ‘On his birthday, too. Such a shame.’

He scoffs.

‘No one knows it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh, they do. They’re just too afraid to… ah, invoke the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.’

Of course, she is not one of them. She has absolutely no regard for the immutable drill he has observed for nearly four decades. And why must she, when her sole intent is to swivel the rusty axis of his life.

Ethan has never known the first shower of an Indian monsoon. It is sudden and torrential, just as it is feared and revered. It smells like summer, and mango blossoms. 

Ethan has never known one until this year.

‘I’m thirty seven, Rookie,’ He manages weakly. 

‘And I would’ve bought the candles accordingly if I knew that.’ 

The tealights she arranges look so much better, he thinks. The cake is a simple blue and white affair. Not the ones that have more icing than cake, he notes. Not the ones he disapproves of.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Terminator

‘I could’ve whipped something up without sugar,’ She rambles, suddenly starting to blush. ‘Or ordered one. But I only just came to know it’s your birthday. And there wasn’t a lot of-

‘Thank you, Apu.’ Tresses of warmth curl about his chest and the gravel of his voice.

Ethan has avoided birthday cakes for a decade now. Unless it’s Naveen’s birthday, he thinks with a pang.

In his time with Harper or his brief involvements in med-school, no one has ever convinced him to do birthdays. He checks himself. This is just an intern being kind.

But interns aren't kind to Dr. Ramsey, are they. 

She assures him the photos are not for social media. They settle on the couch, it’s his first birthday cake in over a decade. 

He is glad for an innocuous reason to look at her, laugh at jokes that in any other company would draw his scorn. She is oddly comforting. Unlike most interns who avoid his office at all costs, she moves about it as if she was meant to be here all along. 

He must have stalled birthdays worth twenty years only to spend it on a couch with her. 

The plates are disposable. It is nothing like the restaurants that come with his status, for there is an endearing simplicity about it. 

It almost feels like… home.

He steals occasional glances at her. It has been four agonisingly long days after their return from Miami. And for all his attempts to redraw their boundaries, it has been a non-return of sorts. 

Aparna drives him to distraction, flouts each and every one of his rules. Seeks him out in supply closets and muddled dreams. And every time he breaks her heart a little more, he finds himself floundering in his own squalor.

The German counterpart to the English ‘nostalgia’ is ‘sehnsucht’. Like ‘nostalgia’, it has the charm of what has been. But unlike it, it also has the enigma of what has never been. Miami will remain the swansong to an ideal that slipped through Ethan’s fingers. 

A surge of anguish ripples through him as he realises all of this is his for the asking, and he will have none of it. 

‘It wasn’t a date,’ He blurts out.

He wouldn’t tell her that if he wants her to move on. Not truly.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘She is Declan’s associate in Panacea. She suggested signing the contract with the Diagnostics Team over dinner tonight. So…  just business.’

Claudette Wilson is the most promising young face of Panacea, and Ethan needed less than a minute to know why. 

Sleek, dark hair styled at her nape played up her high cheekbones. The ruby of her pliant lips, almost risqué for a meeting such as this, always lingered a little longer on the rim of her coffee mug. Even the measured spoons of her laughter came with an all too enticing lilt.

Ethan has met the other type. Vacuous and synthetic. But the steely glint in her eyes came with a weighty intelligence. An unfaltering wit. And when a perfectly manicured hand brushed the contours of his cuff, he knew it was never meant to be just business. 

She was irresistible. And so was he.

That afternoon, the bitterness in his mouth had nothing to do with coffee. He learnt he would refuse Claudette even if her pay checks did not come from Panacea.

Aparna falls silent, almost as if discerning in his words everything he left unsaid.

They have run out of jokes and topics for a harmless chat. He is getting terribly comfortable with her again, he realises alarmed. And she is fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

She’s nervous too. He knows. He could define every twitch and turn of those fingers. 

Somewhere in their conversation they have edged so close that her knee juts into his thigh. The couch is surprisingly small for two people. Minutes pass, and despite himself, he does not want her to leave. 

His fingers rest on her flustered hands, it’s a deep-rooted reflex. Looking down, she weaves his hand in both of her own. Even as the adrenaline surging in his blood incites him to flee, the delirious part of him emerges stronger and more naive.

He thinks she is leaning in. Soaking up the mayhem in his eyes. The slight movement causes wisps of errant hair to slip from the messy bun. There’s new growth around her brows, a faded scar on her forehead. But it’s her eyes that still hold sway over him. 

They stroked him with a strange, silent awe on a balcony on the shores of the Atlantic.

She is nothing like interns that hover around him year after year. Sucking up for recommendations. Sometimes more. She can devour him, and just as easily cast him aside without batting an eye. 

And yet she is here. Snuggled in his office while her friends call it a night with cheap beer and rowdy escapades. 

But she is different tonight. The quiver in her eyes tentative, even wary.

His hand rises of its own accord, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Inadvertently, it brushes her face, lingers a little longer against her cheek.

She caressed his face as the ocean crashed around him. It was like falling from the top of a precipice. Tumbling into the amorphous, a terrifying weightlessness. He waited.

‘It’s getting late.’

She smells like the hospital, muted shades of honeysuckle, and like herself. 

The cool breeze hummed a steady rhyme against the tumble of her midnight blue dress. Bits of the moon bounced off the dark curtain of her hair, plunging into her eyes. Ethan had never seen such fathomless eyes.

‘I should go.’ She leans into his palm, eyes fluttering close. 

‘You should.’ 

And then she caught him. It was the hollow of her neck. It was soft. Like the rest of her. 

Neither of them move today, silently imploring the other to charge. Or retreat. The battle drum in his chest is a dull ache. Throbbing and inconsolable.

The ridges of her collarbone bore traces of his ruin. Traces she covered every morning and stripped every night, like the rites of a godless liturgy.

His free hand is still laced in hers, the other drawing her face nearer. 

Her lips are inches from his own as he draws a languid finger across them. Her warm breath spills on his lips, warring and mingling with his own ragged ones. 

Her mouth was stained with wine. Numbing and inciting. He was battered, and bruised. Marooned at her side. And she was warm. So warm.

His hand traced the pummelling of her heart, kneading the softness of her chest. Her tongue jousted with his own as the ocean lapped at its shore. Tireless and persevering.

She was wild. Like her Gangetic nor’westers on a sultry afternoon. He was bewitched. She was doing something good to him.

Suddenly the air around them is ripped by the sound of his phone. 

It’s his father.

The two of them recoil to their own spaces, Ethan horrified that he let himself stray so far yet again. Silencing the still erring device, he faces Aparna bracing for another apology.

‘I know.’ 

Her smile is placid, all traces of vulnerability gone. He is vaguely aware of the gentle pressure on the hand still clasped in her own.

‘Happy Birthday, Ethan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

She is gone before he can marshal his thoughts.

Ethan flops back into the couch, shivering and alone. The incandescent glow from the solitary lamp drenches the office in a soft, ethereal haze. She might not have been here at all but for the little things she scatters around him every time she forays into his life.

Today she leaves with him a caesura. It thwarts the cadence of a life he has been putting together since Miami.

After a minute, or perhaps a staggering nightmare, when he rises to pack the rest of the cake, he sees it. 

She must have forgotten her hair tie was in her pocket after all. 

It stares up at him from the floor, the silken, mute witness of his transgression. He gingerly picks it up, and turns it in his hand as though it houses some ancient sorcery. 

Laying it on his desk, he considers texting her. But scarcely does he scroll down to her name when he stops himself. And pockets it. 

Somewhere in the Atlantic, waves still crash upon the rocks, moistening, but never quite lingering. 

The waves are relentless. Someday, the rocks crumble into fine sand.

Thank you for reading this! Let me know if you’d want to be added or removed.

#open heart #ethan ramsey x mc #choices monthly challenge #fics of the week #choices fic writers creations #openheartfanfics #choicesaprilchallenge2021 #cac2021

[wafflesrock16]

Shakarian Western AU (part 2)

I’ve had a couple requests for a continuation on my previous western drabble, so ta-da! As a fair warning, it gets a bit steamy toward the middle. >=}

It was the dead of night. Brilliant swaths of stars burned overhead and deep blue shadows from the canyon walls stretched and warped in the firelight. Coyotes cried in the distance, the mournful sound echoing through the rocky fortress where Shepard and Garrus had been forced to retreat. 

Normandy snorted and shook his head in response to the coyotes. Widow, Garrus’ lacerta, lay nearby chewing on the bleached femur of a dead deer they’d come across earlier that day. If the howling bothered the giant lizard, Widow hid it well. 

Shepard rested her chin on her knees, eyes focused on the fire; the soft snap of the twigs and glow of embers. There was no shortage of kindling down here, where the Attican River still flowed full and tumultuous through the labyrinth it’d carved over the millennia. 

There were rabbits and deer and dorcas and other game hiding in the canyon brush and meager trees. They’d seen plenty of tracks in the wet mud of the riverbank and Widow always managed to find new and fascinating scat to sniff, much to Garrus’ annoyance. 

We can hole up here for weeks--months if we have to, Shepard mused, eyes still trained on the fire. Omega’s gangs couldn’t hunt them forever. Besides, they’d taken heavy casualties in the shoot out at Kima Corral. Shepard was sure Garm was dead--even a krogan couldn’t survive decapitation. The Blood Pack might have lost interest after their leaders’ death, but that still left the Eclipse and Blue Suns. 

“Hey.” Garrus’ tall figure appeared from the gloom beyond the firelight. “My turn to take watch,” he said, coming to sit next to her. 

Shepard hummed in reply but didn’t move. 

Garrus took a stick and stoked the fire, causing a miniature tornado of embers to whirl in the cool night air before blinking out. From somewhere nearby an owl screeched. Garrus leaned back on his elbows with a sigh, staring off into the darkness. Turians had far superior night vision to humans. Several times during their partnership Shepard had seen his eyes reflect in fire or lamplight, shining an eerie opalescent white. She didn’t find it unnerving like some humans she knew. It was actually something of a comfort to know Garrus was watching out for her. Them. Well, she was included in them she supposed… Shepard shook her head to dislodge the confusing--and increasingly frequent thoughts--about Garrus and his feelings for her. 

She moved to mirror Garrus’ relaxed position, leaning back and tilting her head up to watch the swirling nebula that burned like Saint Elmo’s fire in the heavens. The stars had always been her companions. A Citadel Deputy traveled alone unless the situation called for a partnership. Shepard was used to the solitude, the constellations and Normandy her only counterparts. 

Garrus made a gentle purring noise and Shepard turned to see him regarding her with an expression she couldn’t easily read. His eyes glittered like sunlit oceans and his mandibles were pulled down in a turian smile. He seemed relaxed but she’d known him long enough to read the tension in the taut lines of his body and subtle flexing of his feet. 

“Something on your mind?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Garrus seemed to snap out of a daydream. “Oh, no, I umm.” He cleared his throat, mandibles pinching tightly against his face. “Just…” He glanced up at her before coming to some internal decision. “You look beautiful in the starlight,” he said in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper. 

Shepard’s eyes went wide as she felt her cheeks flush. She absently tucked a strand of her loose hair behind an ear. “Thank you,” she muttered. Should she say something else? Tell him she thought he was ruggedly handsome? That his voice did things to her that’d make a madame blush?

“Well, you should probably try to catch some rest,” Garrus said into the silence that stretched between them like a yawning chasm. He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to make eye contact. “We’ve got a long day of riding ahead of us tomorrow if we wanna make that eastern ridge we talked about. It’s a good vantage point for a sniper, and will allow us a full view for miles.” He coughed awkwardly into a closed hand. “You can use my blanket if you want, it’s kinda cold away from--”

She flung herself at him, seizing his plated face in her hands and pressing a searing kiss to his mouth. Garrus went ridged in shock before wrapping her in his arms and kissing her back as best he could. A low, sultry vocal rippled through him, sending heat to pool in Shepard’s abdomen. 

They toppled backwards, Garrus leaning over her and running his slender blue tongue along her pulse. Shepard gasped, hands flying to his shoulder and behind his head to keep him close. Her fingers inadvertently pressed against a soft patch of hide beneath Garrus’ fringe. The dark, drug out moan that elicited was lust incarnate and had Shepard clenching her thighs together. 

“Spirits, Shepard, I…” Garrus laughed breathlessly as he stared down at her, mandibles flared. “That, this is,” he lowered his head to press his brow to hers with a resonant purr. “Never knew you had a thing for turian bad boys,” he said, quoting her comment from weeks earlier. 

“And I never knew you had a thing for goody goody human deputies with messy hair,” Shepard returned.

Garrus pulled his head back and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The hair comment wasn’t what I really thought, I was just annoyed…” He stopped speaking as Shepard moved to trace his colony markings with her thumb. Garrus relaxed into her touch, eyes closing and the purr from earlier returning louder than ever. 

“I think I love you, Garrus Vakarian,” Shepard heard herself say.

Garrus’ eyes flew open. She expected a witty retort or suave return, but instead all the infamous Archangel could manage was “Wow.” A three-fingered hand moved to brush away a lock of her hair. “What do we do now?” he asked in a hushed tone. 

“You really have to ask?”

“Well.” Garrus dipped his head. “There’s sleeping together, but this is...different. For me.”

She didn’t think she could love him more if she tried. Tenderly she reached for him, pushing aside his jacket. He flung it off, cradling her head as he licked her lips in question. Shepard groaned as their tongues met, her hips canting against him in unspoken demand. 

“Humans call it making love when it’s...different,” she whispered airily. 

“That I can do,” Garrus rumbled.

Overhead the cosmos swirled and the river rushed over stones and boulders. When rose-colored dawn beat back the chill of night, the fire had smoldered out and Shepard and Garrus lay pressed together beneath Garrus’ blanket, plate to skin and limbs entwined. Deep in dreams of star-crushed passion, Shepard registered one thing with the sunrise: She wasn’t alone anymore. There wouldn’t ever be a Shepard without Vakarian.

#Mass Effect #Western AU #shakarian #garrus vakarian #commander shepard #turian cowboys #lemonade is what I'm calling this #not exactly smut but heated #garrus and femshep

[jungledubs-archive]

Sy’s Helsmits Masterpost

Figured it would be handy to have a list of all of my Helsmits, not just for y’all, but for me as well! Feel free to send asks about these guys, and check out this series on Ao3 for fics involving them. Not every Hermit is present yet--this list will be updated when/if new Helsmits are added. Some entries are much less detailed than others and that’s because I got lazy, sorry.

Evil Xisuma // Caesar Tag: #Caesarvoid

Nicknamed as such because he’s the ‘leader’ of Helscraft and everybody hates him (and later because he was banned on the Ides of March). This nickname is barely used--he prefers to be known as Evil Xisuma, though after being stuck in Hermitcraft for a while and going through a bit of a redemption arc (the devil went down to georgia on Ao3, may or may not be continued but the events are canon to the timeline), he does adopt it as his proper name to avoid confusion. Caesar is obsessed with taking over Hermitcraft and getting rid of their Xisuma so that he can be the only one. His base, when he finally arrives in Helscraft Season 7, is in a ravine.

Evil Scar // Harvey, BadTimes Tag: #Harvey BadTimes

Originally nicknamed BadTimesWithScar, ‘Harvey’ was a nickname that sprung out of too many stupid pronunciations of ‘Scar’ (Rye said ‘Scarvey’, Trip suggested ‘Harvey’, and it stuck). He’s an ender dragon hybrid and second of the three Hermitcraft-obsessed Helsmits. He was originally more mild-mannered, but after his first encounter with his Hermitcraft counterpart went sour, he’s sworn to tear up everything Scar holds dear. Harvey has a furious rivalry with Buck, which escalated after Harvey was accidentally responsible for Trip losing an eye (upside-down and backwards on Ao3). His base is a volcano with a fortress on the inside, inspired by the home of Smaug in The Hobbit.

Evil Welsknight // Bruce, Helsknight Tag: #Bruce Helsknight

Technically named after Robert the Bruce, his nickname was chosen for him by the other Helsmits because they thought Helsknight was silly (and also got confusing with them all being from Helscraft). He’s third on the hierarchy of ‘obsessed with Hermitcraft’ after Caesar and Harvey, though is less focused on taking over Hermitcraft and getting rid of his counterpart and more on being as much of an inconvenience to Wels as possible. He mostly keeps to himself in Helscraft, too focused on his work with portals, and he’s a bit of a dork and the epitome of ‘you did the work wrong but somehow got the right answer’. He’s semi-allied with some of the other Helsmits, though mostly just for redstone components. His base is a Nether-themed castle, complete with lava moat and confusing maze-like layout. He is very jealous of anybody who has magic or hybrid powers, as he does not.

Evil Mumbo // Balderdash Tag: #Balderdash

He chose his own nickname and is rather proud of it. Balderdash is very closely allied with Charleston, with whom he owns BD&C LTD. and all the associated businesses, including their anything-for-hire service Boon Boom. He’s proud, smart, and snarky, and often refuses to admit his own faults. He couldn’t care less about going to Hermitcraft, and even when he and Charlie accidentally end up there (an unexpected encounter on Ao3), they have no desire to take over the server or get rid of their counterparts. His base is an underground ‘city of gold’, themed around ancient architecture, with futuristic laboratories hidden inside.

Evil Tango // Charleston Tek, Charlie Tag: #Charleston Tek

His name was given to him by Spector and initially rejected, but after he realized it could be shortened, he adopted it proudly. Charlie is the other half of BD&C LTD. and partner to Balderdash, with whom he causes an immense amount of problems. He’s argumentative, spiteful, and equally as smart as Balderdash, though they both claim to be the more intelligent one. His weapon of choice is a crossbow loaded with fireworks. His right shoulder and part of his neck and cheek is covered with a burn scar, which he acquired after an accident with one of Balderdash’s machines and a fire charge. Charlie’s base is an early 1900s-themed city, with his main home being inside an animation studio inspired by Bendy and the Ink Machine.

Evil Grian // Rye, Ryan Tag: #Rye

His nickname was forced upon him by Reckless, who thought it was hilarious, and it quickly caught on, despite his protests. A couple of the other Helsmits call him Ryan, but it’s always with a nod and a wink. Rye is a phantom hybrid and a prankster, though most of his jokes involve destroying something or being otherwise mean. He enjoys spreading rumours about the other Helsmits and starting conflicts. Rye’s base is a skyscraper made to look deliberately dark and gloomy, and he often jokes that it’s a cliche supervillain office and plays into that by sometimes forcing the other Helsmits to meet him on the top floor where he does his best Godfather impression.

Evil Cub // Buck Tag: #Buckfan135

Named Buck after a term used for deer, he’s an ender dragon hybrid and close ally to Trip. His base is a viking village with dragon motifs in a tundra biome. He absolutely hates Harvey and will do anything to try to prove that Harvey is up to no good. Buck’s fairly reclusive and cold, but he can be helpful when he wants to be.

Evil Bdubs // Trip Tag: #Btripleo100

He’s missing an eye after spending multiple days trapped in a death loop created by Harvey (upside-down and backwards on Ao3), but that hasn’t put a damper on his upbeat, belligerent personality. He hardly ever sleeps, though, as he’s always faced with nightmares of his repeated death. His base is a medieval-style dungeon which is sometimes used as such by allied Helsmits.

Evil Doc // Spector, The Inspector Tag: #Spectorm77

Spector, short for Inspector, is half-enderman half-machine and has a flair for the dramatic. Everything is a game with Spector, as he’s always agreeable but forces the other Helsmits to complete annoying tasks, riddles, and treasure hunts to gain his full cooperation. Nobody’s quite sure what his base actually is, because it’s hidden behind a maze of glass that has yet to be penetrated by wit or TNT.

Evil Iskall // Fiver Tag: #58Iskall

Once a human on the quest for efficiency, Fiver is now more redstone and metal than flesh and blood. He’s always upgrading himself and never has time for any of the other Helsmits, though he’s tentatively allied with Doug and Spector. His base is a giant laboratory filled with deadly traps and surrounded by a minefield, which is slowly being taken over by plants as the building falls into neglect despite Fiver’s near-constant use of it.

Evil Ren // Doug Tag: #Ramdoug

Part-wolf, part-ram, part-human, Doug’s a living contradiction and revels in it. He’s truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing and swings wildly from being friendly and agreeable to infuriating all the other Helsmits with his destructive and murderous antics. He lives in a snowy mountain biome with a base themed around the fictional planet of Hoth, plus a half-destroyed Death Star built into the base of the mountain for good measure.

Evil Impulse // Reckless Tag: #RecklessSV

Sly, cheeky, resourceful, and self-centred, Reckless can never hold an ally for long, because he’s always stabbing them in the back. His base stretches deep below the ocean in an inverted pyramid, accessible through a controlled whirlpool. Reckless is aptly-named, for despite his claims that all of his plans are premeditated and thought-over, he spends less time thinking and more time double- and triple-crossing the other Helsmits.

Evil Zedaph // Damon Tag: #DamonPlays

Damon lives in a cliffside lair filled to the brim with strange machines and contraptions, accessible only through a series of nonsensical puzzles--though these puzzles are often simply destroyed by the other Helsmits should they need to get in. He’s friends with Doug and Trip and certainly one of the more popular Helsmits, despite his affinity for flinging them into walls with slime block launchers.

Evil Cleo // Effie, Nefertiti Tag: #ZombieEffie

ZombieEffie is a bit of a misnomer--she’s not a zombie, she controls the zombies. Effie is a necromancer, complete with sinister skull mask, and lives in a dark and spooky village filled with hybrid cryptid monstrosities that she’s created. She has a strange friendship with Reckless, though the two are not allies--they betray each other too much to actually do business together, but they respect each other enough to be considered friends.

Evil Stress // Penny, Pensive Tag: #Pensivecreature101

Penny is another reclusive Helsmit, spending most of her time in her sprawling End-themed base. Her name is also incorrect, because though she doesn’t interact with the other Helsmits much, when she does, it always deteriorates into an argument very quickly.

Evil False // Claire, True Tag: #ClaireSymmetry

Claire, or True, is an outstanding entrepreneur and successful business owner, spending most of her time negotiating deals with or between the other Helsmits. Her home is an industrial sky base above the ocean, from which she plots her next ventures. She’s had an alliance with almost every Helsmit at some point, most of them presently as well.

Evil Keralis // Idris Tag: #Idris

Idris is a sour-tempered man, always difficult and annoyed by something-or-other. His base is farm-themed and rightfully so, because he has enough farms there to sustain himself and possibly the entire rest of the server if they had to. He gets along with Buck and Fiver.

#clay speaks #helscraft #evil hermits #balderdash #caesarvoid #harvey badtimes #bruce helsknight #charleston tek #rye #buckfan135 #btripleo100 #spectorm77 #58iskall #ramdoug #recklesssv #damonplays #zombieeffie #pensivecreature101 #clairesymmetry #idris #long post

[star-six7]

I’ll Stand Up With You Forever

Andy Biersack x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word Count: 1461

Request: Can you write an Andy Biersack imagine on a honeymoon?

A/N:  This is my longest one yet! I really enjoyed writing this; if you guys have any more requests for any band listed in my bio, please send them in!

Disclaimer: This is entirely a work of fiction. No part of this story is meant to be libel, slander, or in any way derogatory towards any character’s real life counterpart. I’m not delusional; I know that these characters are simply based off of a public persona and may not actually resemble the people behind those personas. Any additional characters that you do not recognize are entirely fictional, unless otherwise stated. And finally, if you got here by Googling yourself, whatever happens next is 100% on you.

You closed your eyes and sighed happily, settling back into your seat. The flight from Cincinnati to Maui was a long one, and you didn’t want to be jet-lagged all week. Today marked your first full day of being married to one Andrew Dennis Biersack, and it was also going to be the first day of your two-week long honeymoon in Hawaii. Needless to say, you were the happiest you had ever been. You replayed the highlights of your wedding (and the night after) as the plane taxied down the runway, smiling. It was an amazing feeling to know that you had the rest of your life to keep making those kinds of memories with Andy, and you couldn’t wait.

Andy couldn’t wait either, but even more so, he couldn’t wait for the plane to take off. Or land. Or both. He kept leaning over you to peer out the window. You wondered if his legs or his back felt cramped, given his height, but when you opened your eyes, he was grinning.

“What’s up?” You smiled back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe we’re finally married! I can’t believe we’re going on our honeymoon. Can you believe it? I can’t.”

You laughed quietly at his enthusiasm, glancing down at your own wedding band. “Are you sure you don’t want the window seat?” You asked him, gesturing at the setting sun.

“Why would I need the window seat when the best view is sitting right next to me?” He smirked.

You blushed, slightly giddy that he still managed to take your breath away after all these years. “Thank you,” you mumbled. “I’m gonna try and sleep now, okay? I wanna be awake for at least some of our honeymoon.”

“So… we’re not joining the Mile High Club?”

You groaned and covered your face with the in-flight magazine.

“Come on babe, don’t you want to get with an extremely handsome rockstar?” He winked exaggeratedly.

“Actually, yes, do you know any?” You lowered the magazine and grinned at him.

“I’m hurt,” he said, feigning disappointment. “But after years of knowing you, I am definitely not shocked.”

“Well,” you said, leaning your head back against the seat, eyes closed. “Go to sleep. We have the rest of our lives to try again.”

---

After twelve hours and some change, the plane touched down. You had managed to get a decent amount of sleep, even with Andy’s fidgeting and restlessness. However, taking off during a sunset and landing half a day later during the same one due to the time zones was enough to throw off anybody’s internal clock, and therefore, make them a bit grumpy.

You frowned as Andy led you to the rental car, luggage in tow. “Can’t we just check in at the hotel and go to bed? My body is telling me it’s six am!”

“Nope!” he said, grinning far too brightly for someone who hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours. “Can’t get off schedule!”

You sighed as he kissed your cheek and started humming lightly as he drove. While you had taken care of most of the smaller details of your actual wedding and reception, Andy had been in charge of the honeymoon. You had both decided on a destination, and you had given your input on some of the activities you were looking forward to (at least, those that took place outside of the bedroom), but Andy did the bulk of the work as far as making reservations and planning an itinerary. And Andy loved planning itineraries. 

Every trip you had gone on as a couple, Andy had meticulously outlined every day of it, almost down to every hour. This could be both a blessing and a curse, because while it was nice to have a plan, Andy was pretty insistent on sticking to it. You had joked before that he should plan the mission timelines for NASA. He just laughed and said that years of being in a far-traveling, highly successful rock band following a strict tour schedule had drilled it into him, and besides you were stuck with him, weren’t you? Yes, you thought now, looking back down at the ring on your finger, you were stuck with him, and you couldn’t be happier.

The jolt of Andy putting the car into park snapped you out of your reminiscing, as you looked around, taking in the restaurant he had pulled up to.

“Come on, I know this will make you feel better! I looked up the menu a few weeks ago, and I think you’ll love it!”

You just smiled, shaking your head. Of course he did. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I do. And you know I love you too.” He put his arm through yours and led you inside.

---

Andy was right, like always. Eating delicious food while looking out over a stunning view of the ocean did wonders to your mood, not to mention simply just talking and laughing with Andy and being with him. Soon, it was time to pick up the check and head back to the hotel.

You had parked in the basement lot of the building, but Andy grabbed your arm when you went to get the suitcases out of the back of the trunk.

“Wait,” he said, a playful look coming across his face. “We should do something first.”

“Huh? What about the schedule?” You edged out of his grasp. “I’m still in my plane clothes. And besides, don’t you wanna do something in our room?” You added a note of flirtation in your voice.

“No, it’s- I mean, yes! Yes, I wanna do bedroom activities, but-” And then he grabbed your hand and started sprinting towards the exit.

“Andy, what-” you tried, stumbling to keep up.

He just laughed and stopped to pick you up and swing you over his shoulder. “You’re too slow, come on!”

By this point, the sun had set over the island, but Andy navigated the dark path through the hotel grounds with ease. He skittered sideways through an open gate and down a sandy concrete walkway towards what you realized was the beach.

“Andrew! You better not be planning on throwing me in the water or I swear-”

“Good idea,” he laughed, “but no. You should take off your shoes.” He set you down on the sand.

You complied, as he did the same, and then you waded out into the surf with him. You watched Andy as he immediately began searching for shells to give you, knowing how much you loved to collect them. All of a sudden, the entirety of the past few days started to catch up with you all at once. While there wasn’t any scientific proof of fate, or soulmates, or anything like that, you couldn’t help but feel like every decision, every event, in both your life and Andy’s had led you to this exact moment. Standing knee deep in water, alone on the beach at night, with the moon shining down on the two of you as you tried not to get soaked by the incoming tide. Every disappointment and roadblock you had experienced snapped into place, and now you could appreciate them for where they had gotten you. You admired the way the moonlight glinted off Andy’s smile, the way his arms had felt around you moments ago, and the way his laugh sounded over the waves. You knew that there would certainly be more challenges in the course of your life, but you knew you could get through them with someone as kind, talented, smart, beautiful, and loving as Andy by your side.

Suddenly, you were pulled back into reality by the shock of ocean water down your front. Whirling to your right, you saw Andy standing next to you with the most see-through attempt of a look of innocence on his face. However, you couldn’t find it in you to pretend to be annoyed.

“Hey, so, if you missed it the first five times, I found you a-”

“Andy.” You cut him off. “Um. I know I only said it a million times yesterday, but… I really love you. And I’m so glad you’re in my life, forever now…”

Unwittingly, you felt yourself starting to tear up.

“Hey,” Andy said, moving closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and shoulders. “I know, I love you too, and you complete me. That’s kinda why we got married, remember?”

You chuckled, smiling up at him. “I’m glad that we’re having this moment and everything, but it’s getting cold…”

“You’re right,” he said, taking your hand in his. He glanced wistfully up at the hotel, a sly smile appearing on his face. “Maybe we should go take advantage of the honeymoon suite.”

A/N: Thank you for reading my work! If you enjoyed it, please comment and let me know what you liked about it or what your favorite part was! Also, feel free to send in requests! :)

#andy biersack imagine #andy biersack x reader #bvb imagine #black veil brides imagine #andy biersack #black veil brides #imagine #reader insert #x reader #bandom imagine #bandom #band imagine

[victorscrown]

V I C T O R ‘ S  C R O W N  ⸻

type: excerpt

word count: 2236

warning(s): mentions of suicide

status: second draft, unedited

For as long as Finnick Odair can remember, the ocean has been his home. He learned to swim almost before he could walk; his mother used to joke that he should have been born with fins and gills instead of arms and legs. His earliest memories are drenched in saltwater and smell like brine and fish. They are sand-bottomed, adorned with seashells and kelp and coral, set to the melody of waves crashing against the shore and seagulls crying from the air. They are wrought from long hours spent aboard District 4’s trawlers, netting seafood bound for the hungry mouths of Capitol citizens. His parents’ house might be where he sleeps, but the ocean is where he belongs.

Despite this, the ever-present threat of the Hunger Games sweeps Finnick out of the water and deposits him in the austere world of Career education almost before he’s old enough to understand what he’s preparing for. The only son of eminent fleet captain Lochlan Odair and his shipwright wife, Finnick is selected for District 4’s prestigious training academy two years earlier than the normal recruiting age. Every minute Finnick is not at sea he is training, learning how to survive, how to fight, how to win.

Being a five-year-old in a class of children two years his senior should have left him at a distinct disadvantage, but Finnick is a natural, both at the physical and mental aspects of Career academia. After his first day at the academy, Finnick marches thorough the door of his home, head held high, and announces, “I’m going to win the Hunger Games one day.”

His parents don’t quite know what to think about this. As one of the few families of Panem with some material wealth to call their own, a sense of responsibility falls on the Odairs, a need to provide for and protect the less fortunate of their district. They donate frequently to the Games fund. They satiate the appetites of greedy Capitol officials with bribes and obsequience. But willingly sending their own child to the Games is a sacrifice above and beyond what they are willing to make. In District 4, it’s considered an honor to be chosen to compete in the Games, but it doesn’t make the possibility of their child dying at the hands of another any more palatable. So Finnick’s parents mask their worry behind sunny smiles and words of congratulation.

We are so proud of you! Their voices warble like the tide. You will make such an excellent angler. All of the fish will just hop right into your net!

Meanwhile, Finnick, young, soft, and new, is dazzled and awed by the bright posters hanging from the academy walls. Show pride in your district! the posters urge. Volunteer to compete and show Panem what District 4 is really made of!

In Finnick’s academy days, volunteerism, while not rampant like it was in Districts 1 and 2, was frequent enough to preserve the district amidst a sea of destitution. To the trained, money is a powerful motivator, and the fact that many victors pour their winnings back into the district makes the Games seem much more appealing. But the Games are only appealing when someone from District 4 wins.

Finnick is seven when he hears about Nereus. News of the victor’s death floods the streets as though carried by a riptide, and soon all of District 4 is talking about it. Poor old Nereus, academy personnel would mutter when they thought the students could not hear. Found his body on the beach. Wanted to see the sun set one more time, the poor fool.

Even then, Finnick is old enough to know of Nereus, victor of the Forty-second Hunger Games. While other victors were deeply involved in the functions and activities of the academy—drafting the school’s curricula, hosting seminars, even teaching classes for potential tributes—Nereus did not step foot once in the academy after his victory. He holed himself up in his luxurious house in the Victor’s Village and did not emerge unless coerced. Except on the night on which he died.

Officially, Nereus died of a heart attack—a tragic accident, the mayor of District 4 claims at his district-wide funeral. But there are rumors floating around District 4, eddying in the dorms of the academy and muddying the waters of the mayor’s claims like silt.

They say Nereus died of a heart attack, but he never goes outside. Why would he go to the beach unless he knew something? Unless he planned something?

One night, Finnick is brave enough to ask his father about it.

“Dad, the mayor says Nereus died of a heart attack. But everyone else is saying he planned it himself. Like he wanted to die.”

Finnick’s parents exchange looks. Finnick just waits. His father will answer eventually; he always does.

“I’m not sure I understand your question, Finnick,” Lochlan says at last.

“Why would Nereus want to die?” Finnick asks. “He won the Hunger Games, right? He lived in a big house and had all the food and money he could ever want.”

Lochlan takes a deep breath, as if about to dive underwater, and fixes Finnick with a serious look. “Nereus’ death was unfortunate, yes. But he was selfish, through and through.”

“Lochlan,” Finnick’s mother starts, reproving, but he carries on.

“You were right, Finnick. Nereus was a victor. And as such, he had a duty to his district. A duty to care for his people, to give them help as they needed it.”

“Like you do,” Finnick says.

Lochlan nods solemnly. “Nereus was so caught up in himself he forgot his obligation. But we will never be so. You, son, are an Odair. And when you grow older, when your mother and I are gone, you will carry the responsibility for our district as well.” His eyes, to which Finnick’s are so often compared, are as dark and fierce as a stormy sea. “As captain, I must direct my crew. I must tell them how to steer the ship, exactly where we are to go, or else we will get lost out on the open sea. Or even worse, crash and sink the bottom of the ocean. District 4 is one giant ship. There must be a strong, steady captain, or the ship will not make it safely back to the harbor. Do you understand?”

Finnick is seven and understands very little of what his father’s metaphor implies. But he nods his head obediently and tucks the conversation away in his heart, where he dwells upon it often in the quiet, solitary moments before dawn.

Later, Finnick realizes District 4 didn’t mourn Nereus’ death as much as they mourned the sudden lack of monetary resources his presence sanctioned. He might have been a recluse, but his winnings still aided the people. With one more victor dead, there was one less salary the district could use as a crutch.

Unfortunately, Nereus’ death seems to be the advent of a streak of bad luck for District 4. In the following months, when the seas are normally teeming with life and District 4 flourishes under its bounty, trawlers begin hauling in seafood black and putrid with disease. A parasite, they soon discover, and quicker than a flash flood it spreads from the sea to the air. Infected birds begin to litter District 4’s pristine shores alongside their infected prey. This won’t last, trawler captains assure their Capitol managers. Give it a season, and the parasite will die out and your quotas will be met.

Another season comes and goes. Fishing is poor and the district poorer.

In response, strict rationing is instituted by the Capitol. The inner sectors of the district, already barely keeping themselves afloat, start to get pulled under by the riptide of starvation. Dissent ripples outward, starting in the inner sectors, where the rationing hits hardest, to the outer fringes of the district, where the Odairs live. The Capitol, fearing outright rebellion, tightens its chokehold on District 4 with an unforgiving fist. Anyone suspected of instigating an uprising are punished severely, or just disappear altogether. A district-wide curfew is enacted, with harsh retribution allotted to any who break it. And the academy is shut down, because every child over the age of seven is forced onto a trawler alongside their older siblings and parents, shuttled inland to work in the processing plants, or consigned to long, back-breaking hours combing beaches for clams and any other edible source of food.

The fleet is out to sea for weeks at a time, venturing out to waters previously considered too dangerous to fish. Finnick is lucky enough to have grown up on his family’s trawler, but other children are not so lucky. Every week, it seems there is a new story about some untrained child being washed overboard by colossal waves, or strangled by the heavy nets, or withered away by dysentery caused by eating rotten seafood. These children are mourned the way children sent to the Games are mourned.

Finnick’s mother and other shipwrights are displaced from their jobs in the shipyards to assist in the process of moving delicate, time-sensitive cargo onto trains and hovercrafts bound for the Capitol. With so much of the seafood being rendered inedible, it is imperative that every iota of good food is transported to the Capitol as quickly as possible to minimize the amount of time trawlers spend in port and reduce the spoiling of perishable goods. Finnick and many other children do not see one or both parents for weeks.

The only time everyone has off is to partake in the 60th Hunger Games. The afternoon before Reaping Day, every vessel in District 4’s fleet returns to shore, but there is no relief in the days to come. For the next three weeks, District 4 witnesses firsthand the consequences of minimal to no Career training. This year’s volunteers—a pair of inner district adolescents desperate to fight their way out of poverty or die trying—have not been properly trained in over a year. They don’t stand a chance against their Career counterparts from One and Two. District 4 watches, deluged in shame and horror, as both of their tributes are killed off in the first week of the Games. The chance of securing relief from the Capitol in the form of food or other supplies dies with them.

Finnick doesn’t quite understand what the Games imply, why they occur or why children must be sent to die. But he recognizes his parents’ grief, the pronounced slump of his father’s shoulders, the sheen of tears in his mother’s red-rimmed eyes. He recognizes the bent heads and dull gazes of other adults, and even some children, who even younger than Finnick are impacted by the despotism of the Capitol.

The night of his ninth birthday, Finnick is rocked to sleep by the roll and pitch of his father’s ship, already redeployed after the Games. He misses his mother desperately, but he most likely won’t get to see her for another fortnight, when the trawler will deliver its bounty into her custody onshore. It can’t go on like this forever, he thinks, though it’s hard to think about much other than the hunger gnawing at his belly. At some point, things will go back to normal.

And gradually, things do. In the following months, the parasite infecting District 4’s waters dies out, and more food becomes available to citizens outside of the Capitol. Children are allowed to go back to school. The academy reopens, and vigorous training resumes. By now, though, District 4 is a good two years behind the other districts in terms of Games readiness. And it shows when Four loses yet another Games—to a girl from Three, of all places.

The humiliation wears at District 4’s normally indefatigable spirit. It’s made indubitably clear that the only way District 4 will begin bringing home victors is if they’re trained first. So District 4 unites the best it can, pouring every possible asset into scholarships and Games-related aid organizations. Every extra cent of the Odairs’ income flows directly into fund dedicated to providing for Four’s tributes in the arena. As for Finnick, there is nothing he can do but train. And train he does, with an unprecedented intensity and focus. His dedication garners the attention of academy faculty, who praise his skill and commitment. Even Capitol officials, stationed at the academy to monitor for suspicious activity, remark at the newfound enthusiasm with which he tackles his education.

Your boy shows such promise! they’d tell Finnick’s father. He’s going to be a volunteer for sure.

By the time Finnick’s thirteenth birthday arrives, he has been living at the academy full-time for three years. Once children achieve Games eligibility at age twelve, the most promising are assigned personal trainers, some of whom are former victors. Batten is a perfect match for Finnick’s relentless ambition. He shapes Finnick into just what he intends to be: A reason for District 4 to maintain its pride, a victor through and through.

#thg fanfic #the hunger games #finnick odair fanfic #hunger games fanfiction #thg #finnick odair #series: victor's crown #fic: victor's crown #ch: finnick odair #victor's crown: excerpt #[ let's play a game called how many tags can emma possibly add to a single post ] #[ you have no idea how long it took me to format this lol ]

[virge-of-breaking]

Petals In The Wind

Trigger Warning: Small argument, slightly unhappy ending

Roman is a petal in the wind. His turns soft, his laugh carrying itself across his and Logan’s home. His feet skim over scratched hardwood floors, his hands twist and turn letting himself truly be free to nature's whim. His dancing was the kind that entrapped anyone who saw it, his light step and slow turns seducing the viewer, letting them sit, and just for a second fall weakly to his very way. To Logan, Roman’s dance was intoxicatingly serene. When he looked at him, He knew. In that one small moment he finally let himself feel. He would dance to his own siren song, each step purposeful, each beat meaningful. They’d spend hours in a poorly lit kitchen, dancing in his self imposed uniform, while the more flamboyant of the two sang for an audience of one. Performing like they were in the Don Quixote. Roman was funny like that, he made any ordinary situation a performance. As he twirled, his lips parted. The wispy voice that haunts Logans nights spoke. They spoke nothing but ten words to each other, but in that blunt conversation the ground he stood on was ripped from under him. Leaving Logan falling, alone, just a forgotten petal in the wind.

Roman had been trying to get Logan to dance with him, properly dance, for weeks. Either by entrapping him in a surprise spin, which would usually end in an awkward stumble for either party involved, or humming a slow tune into his flower’s ear. He even tried to figure out a bullshit way to win a debate about how dancing is good for not only the body, but the mind. And as much as Roman had learned, Logan was having none of it. And slowly Roman gave up. The constant song in the key of Roman had slowed to a stop, the sound of dancing feet just up the stairs had turned into endless pacing. And when Logan walked into a silent kitchen, seeing a silent Roman stirring a mug of tea he finally had enough. Their home was silent, the man, the actor, the character he had fallen in love with grew into a cold stranger, and to Logan he might as well have left.     “Alright Roman, what is wrong?” Eyes the color of a decaying rose lifted from the mug on the cold marble countertop. Eyes that usually held a warmth Logan found to be almost comforting, the shadows reminding him of the darkness between the constellations, the highlights the stars. Eyes that he could have grown lost in now looking at him with what looked to be... pain. 

“Nothing- Nothing is wrong, that is like asking the sky why she is blue. Don’t ask questions just let her be beautiful.” His voice rose and sunk with almost planned perfection, an over exaggerated crease dug into his forehead. Taking a step closer Logan extended a hand to grab Roman’s, but stopped himself. Deciding to try and keep the situation from getting any worse, and ignoring the ever growing urge to reach forward and hold Roman, to shake him and ask why he was so closed off, but instead he stood behind a kitchen island, watching the man in front of him try to perform out of the questioning.

“Firstly the sky is blue because the particles scatter in the earth's atmosphere, and blue particles make up the majority. Giving the impression that the sky is blue. Secondly something is clearly wrong. You have been moping around the house all day, you haven’t sang one song in at least three, which for you is cause to call the authorities, and you have barely look at me when we talk.” As he spoke Logan’s shaky voice rose, almost raising to a shout, before he stopped himself. The rolling eyes of Roman was almost enough to make Logan sick. Anger and snapping had been an issue of his for the year they had been romantically involved, and he tried to work on it. Honest to the catholic god he had, but sometimes his voice was cotton filling his mouth, and the only way to get relief was opening it. With a slow shaky sigh Logan pinched the bridge of his nose shaking his head slightly. “Roman my dear, I’m sorry for raising my voice. I am just… concerned with your recent behaviors. You have been pulling away from me, ignoring your usually constant need, to perform in some sort of way, and it makes me feel like something is up.”

Finishing his sentence with a slow sigh Logan made a small nod toward himself, giving himself his own appreciation. Silently walking through the checklist he and his therapist had worked through. Use I feel statements, Take a deep breath, and let him know you need a break when needed. So far he had been 3/3, and he smiled softly at the small sense of pride welling in his chest. The light diminishing when he saw the growing infuriated expression of his counterpart. Romans hand let go of the tea bag, the contact announced with a single splash. He held onto the side of the counter almost like it was his life raft, and the ocean inside of him was raging.

“Pulling away from you?” Roman echoed his words, his voice a deadly quiet. Barely enough to hear, a hushed and angry whisper. “Who’s the one who shooed me away when I tried to hold you? Who’s the one who hushed me when I ‘performed’? Because it wasn’t me.” “Roman I was busy-” But Roman had just started, and he was far from over. The tsunami that was his words had been building up, and Logan just opened the floodgates.

“What about every other time? You’ve made me feel like a guest in my own home Logan! God when I moved in I thought things were going to be different.” “Are- you’re serious? All this because I wouldn’t dance with you? I want to make sure I’m hearing you right. You’re questioning living together because I won’t dance with you?” The disbelief was thick in his voice. Part of him knew he should have shut up, and when the decaying roses that made up Romans eyes retreated back to the mug, and as a few tears started to fill the spots the wilting rose left behind Logan knew he should’ve said something else. And the growing pit in his stomach told him he needed to say something else. But he didn’t. Silence hung over them, the tension thick enough to cut through. And just when Logan was about to turn away Roman spoke again. His voice quiet, like he was vocalizing a thought he wasn’t sure of yet, and the subtle tremble in his voice sent a cold shiver down Logan’s back. “It’s not… just about the dancing. I was trying to tell you I loved you, and everytime you pushed me away it felt like you were… rejecting me.” Oh. Oh. How could he not see it, Roman was pulling away, the entire time he was pulling away because of him, and he was too blind to see it. Letting out a slow sigh Logan gave into the urge to pull Roman closer. Picking up his hand gently he took note of how warm the others hand was in his, how cold his must have been in comparison. Making sure Roman set the mug down he pulled him a little closer, his other arm slithering around his waist. Doubt started to wash over himself in waves. Actions like this weren’t something Logan was accustomed to. He loved Roman, he truly did. But he always thought it was something that was assumed, something he already knew. Only when Roman’s eyes widened slightly, and the crease in his brow smoothed over just for a bit, and only when the preformed facade Roman had faltered for a second, he realized. Roman had no clue that Logan actually cared about him. And that fact made his heart crack slightly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

“Roman. I could never, would never, and will never reject you. You make… you make things make sense. You make feelings seem natural. I used to be terrified of feeling, of love, of you! But… you made it all seem okay. You made it less scary because while this is all new territory to me, you were right beside me. Your eyes are like the most perfect galaxies, to the point I don’t need to stargaze anymore. Roman god… you’re my stars, my moon, and everything in between. You are perfect to me, and I would be insane to think anything else.”

Roman looked up to him, the tenseness in his back slowly relaxing into Logan's touch. Shaking his head quietly he let out a small sigh, a slight frown tracing pink lips.

“Lo… it is nice of you to say that, but I need to feel that in order to be happy in this relationship. This isn’t love if all I get is a monologue every month. Do you get where I’m coming from?”

“Yes… yes of course. I promise I will be better at that, now. Would you care to dance?” “Nothing would make me happier.” And the two danced, spinning each other around their poorly lit kitchen, and for the first time for a while, Roman felt loved.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #ss fanfiction #ss fandom #ss writing #thomas sanders sanders sides #sanders sides writing #tw arguing

[thewritingstar]

Up in the Clouds

Fandom: The PowerPuff Girls

Pairing: Blossick (Brick and Blossom aka Reds) 

I have been on a hype for the Reds lately and i have almost forgotten how much i love my og otp. This fic is kinda of all over and messy but its cute and i like it. A little out of character but i have a soft spot for the hc that the boys grew up and soon they all became closer, so the most unoriginal idea ever. 

Hope you enjoy! I should prob right for the other pairings too lol. 

------

“For this assignment, you will be given an emotion at random and must write AND present about.” The class groaned as she handed out the papers. “You can look at it however you want. Whether its stating things that occur during emotion or what you personally feel, be creative. You’ll present at the end of the month.” 

Brick took the papers and passed them back to the next student as the teacher came by and dropped a folded piece of paper on his desk. 

“Also there will be no changes. You get what you get.” She stated and he rolled his eyes as he opened the small piece. 

Love. 

His hands crumbled the paper in his fist and he knew it would be pathetic to try and get someone to change. He could do this. All he needed to do was make up some sappy shit and piss on about it. He thought about talking about platonic love or family love. How even though his brothers made him want to smash their faces into walls until their blood flows down his hand, he still cared about them. It felt more like he was obligated too anyways. 

“I got happiness, which is pretty vague. Hey Blossom? Which one did you get?” A fellow student, he thinks is named Alicia asked the pink puff. 

“Oh I got sorrow.” She responded and everyone had gone into discussions about their ideas and assignments. 

A guy turned to Brick to ask about his but he was already out the door as the bell rang. 

The cafe welcomed him as the small bell chimed. His head had been a mess after the assignment was made and although he had seven drafts planned out, none of them seemed to work. He even asked Boomer about it and as he went into detail about a blue eyed, pig tailed super hero, Brick was already regretting asking him. 

He ordered at the counter, just a simple soda and a crepe and turned to find a seat. He saw an empty table pressed against the wall to his left but as he turned to the right he saw another table. Occupied with a pink eyed, bow wearing superhero. 

He was already at the table before he registered what was happening. She seemed to be alone and he took her by surprise as she looked up. 

“Oh, Hi Brick.” She said and he gestured to the seat and she scooted a book out of the way before he plopped down. 

“What are you doing here, its like eight o’clock on a school night.” He noticed that the sun was dying down. 

She shrugged and pointed to her milkshake. “I had a craving, plus I have a late start period for school so I came here to clear my head. Plus Bubbles was being especially loud on the phone.” he already knew that she was referring to her and Boomer. They had been talking nonstop and not even a lamp thrown at his head would shut him up. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked him and he mimicked the shrug and pointed to his crepe. 

“Cravings. And needed some space, this English assignment is kicking my ass.” He didn’t know why he admitted to that and he saw her eyes perk up. 

“The emotion one?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

That took him by surprise. She was the one who was always raving with emotion, this should be a breeze. 

“What did you get?” She asked him. His eyes traveled to his plate were warm chocolate and fresh strawberries collided. 

“Strawberry.”

She let out a small laugh and he furrowed his eyebrows. 

“I meant for the project.” 

oh. 

He felt incredibly dumb at that moment and she bubbled out another laugh. That small sound was actually pleasant to hear and for some reason, he wanted to hear it again and again. 

“Oh. Um I got love.” He didn’t know why he felt slightly embarrassed and he picked up his drink to chugged it down as she held a puzzling expression. 

“Hmm that is a tough one. There’s all types of love.”

“That’s what i was thinking. Well, what about you?”

“Sorrow.”

“Well that’s easy, just pick something sad.” 

She said nothing for a moment and instead went to her milkshake, which he noticed was also strawberry, not that it mattered. 

“I don’t think its thats simple. Jeremy got sad and I got sorrow so i need to make sure it doesn’t sound similar.” 

“But they are similar.” 

“Well yes but-”

“Just talk about a loss you had as a superhero. What it feels like to not be able to save the day or something.” He was met with another round of silence. 

Her eyes traveled outside the window. the sun was now in its sunset glow and the sky had become a mixture of purple and pink as it faded out the blue. From the cafe you could see the lines of the city skyscrapers blending into the sky. It was quiet on this side of town and he wondered what it would be like to float onto those clouds, careless and free. 

--

And so they did. After she finished her milkshake and he his soda, he posed that they traveled to where only they could go. Why? He didn’t know and neither did she. 

Her legs dangled off the cloud that hovered just above the ocean. Some would be afraid that they would fall through but they had used their powers to keep them up. 

The cool air blew against their faces and he felt like he could breath better than on the ground.

“Have you ever been in love?” She asked out of the blue, her eyes were focused on the small waves rolling onto to the shore. 

“No.” A simple answer that he wasn’t to sure of. he should of been certain. he didn’t know what love, a romantic connection felt like. He had dated girls before, all throughout middle and high school but never once did those words cross his mind. 

“Me either.” She responded and he turned towards her. 

It was almost as if he couldn’t breath. A swell inside his chest had taken hold and he wondered why she looked so...beautiful against the light. the soft glow of the sun setting made her hair more vibrant and her baby pink eyes sparkle. He wanted to scream at himself for thinking like that but when she turned and caught his eyes, he watched the blush spread slowly on her fair skin and that protest had been silenced. 

They held each others gaze. He was right, he had never been in love before, but if he had then he would need a new word for what was happening to him now. His memory fled back to every girl he had ever dated and some how, somewhere, she was there in the background. During their fights or even civil conversations, she was the only one to catch his attention.

They had grown up together, viciously of course but after spending his adolescent wanted to rip her head off, he just wanted to pull her close. He never believed in fate or soulmates or what not but sometimes, even as a stupid kid, he wondered if that pink counterpart of a girl was actually made for him. 

“Thats a shame.” He whispered and he leaned closer as she did the same. 

“For the both of us.” But they barely beard her words as their lips connected. 

Her lips were soft as the cloud they were on. The taste of strawberry was on her lips and her hands wrapped around his neck as his got lost in her long ginger locks. They had spent all their time avoiding each other when they both knew that they would always return to each other. 

Every break up was about her. The girl getting mad at how he stared at her or made time to study but not for them. he didn’t realize it until now but that hatred he carried at the start of his creation had melted away slowly like an icicle at the end of winter. 

They pulled away and it felt colder than it was before. Her eyes still locked to his. Pink and Red. Just like the sunset and sky. Just like the glow of a bright raging fire. Just like them. 

it felt like eons had passed before she looked towards the city. That vibrant sunset was long gone as the sky had turned a deep black and was now painted with stars. 

“i should go.” She said but it sounded forced as if she was saying she didn’t want to. 

He nodded and they agreed that it was best to part separate since she lived on the other side. He helped her stand up, their feet sinking into the cloud and she turned to him with a soft smile. “Have a nice night Brick.” And soon the dark sky had a flash of pink that disappeared quickly under the stars. 

--

Bricks mind was lost and he tapped his pencil to his desk quietly. the presentations had started for the week and so far happiness, anger, fear and sorrow were up. His mind finally came back to focus towards the end of Blossoms piece and he had cursed himself for barely hearing the first half. 

“Its empty and cold, like an unforgiving stare. It haunts you in your dreams and leaves you feeling numb. It lingers and when you think that the pain and suffering is done, it washes over you again, taking and taking until the only sensation left is a hollow shell. 

My sisters and I have felt this on multiple occasions. When you can’t save everyone and feel the pity and sadness within the air. But joy and laughter can bring the sadness to a end. The sorrowfulness lasts longer than you think. And it makes you believe that nothing matters anymore.” Blossom finished the last of her piece. Her eyes, along with others in the class had glazed over and she was sure her teacher had been brought to tears at her story and ending. 

The applause from the class surrounded the room and she took a small bow before returning to her seat.

Maybe after class they could talk.

The bell sounded through the class and Blossom made her way out of the class. Another school day over.

“Hey.” She turned to see Brick. The students around them were bush trying to leave and get out quickly before a line at the parking lot formed.

“Hey” She returned softly and it dawned on them that they really didn’t know what was between them. 

That night a few weeks ago had not be forgotten but was placed high up on a shelf, they almost forgot about it, almost. Its not like they were avoiding each other, no, school and work had overcome both of their lives, mostly hers of course. 

“So do you maybe wanna go-” He started but the red pair was interrupted with a flash of blue between them. 

“Hey Blossom! Hi Brick.” Bubbles smiled brightly. “Oh Bloss just to let ya know tonight is Sister Showdown.” Her smile held a evil glare and she turned and exited school. 

“What the hell is Sister Showdown?” He asked and Blossom blew up her bangs. 

“Its a competition thing between Bubbles and Buttercup. Last time one was held, we had to replace our roof so I’d rather not be there.” The hallways were no empty and it was just them. “So what were you saying?” 

--

They ended up at the cafe for the third time that week. Every milkshake and crepe was finished with a trip to the clouds as they watched the sun set. They never spoke about what they were or the emotions, just enjoyed each others company and maybe left the night with a kiss or two. 

They talked about anything and everything, sometimes just sitting quietly and counting the waves. 

Her sisters would asked where shes been and she had the same studying excuse before humming to herself and falling asleep with a smile at her lips. 

His brothers would hound on him, teasing him and slapping him until he would throw them off and the subject would be dropped, but they never missed the fact that he was in a better mood. 

It was their secret. The clouds and them. He found it easier and easier to write his paper after watching endless movies, though in the back of his mind, the two main love interest were always replaced with a pair of redheads. Pink and red. 

--

The end of the presentation days came and of course Brick was the last to go.

“That’s the thing about love. You think you know yourself as the days go by, that you recognize every moment as what they are. Love can’t blind you if you’re always aware. It won’t bother you as you keep it in line, making sure that you don’t slip up as you keep reminding yourself there’s no point.” He looked up and was met with a wide pair of eyes. 

Pink. Bright pink. 

“And then you jolt awake. It hits you faster than the speed of light and soon you are falling. Your lungs squeeze tight as you gasp for air and only when you admit to yourself is when you can breath. Love will force you to look at all the positives. It forces that other person onto a silver platter and a podium that is so small, only they can stand on it. They might not think they are perfect but your mind becomes numb and blind to the heart, its the only explanation. That’s the thing about love, right when you think you’ve fallen, you hit the ground.” 

He hadn’t even looked at his paper as his eyes were still lined with hers. The applause in the room shook him to his core as he broke the gaze held with the fiery redheaded girl. 

“And when you never think love will come towards you, you might find that its been there all along.” 

He couldn’t tell you what the teacher said as he returned to his seat and his mouth was parted open slightly as it dawned on him what he had just done. 

He wrote that for the assignment. Based off of shitty romance novels and movies. But in the end, it had been for her. 

Always her. 

--

She found him high up in the clouds that night. They hadn’t spoken since and every word he said had ran through his mind. 

Their shoulders touched as she sat next to him. Both their eyes focused on the waves below. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it felt natural and good. Although the quiet night was peaceful, he was ridged and frozen in place. 

Even with his blank expression, she could tell his mind was racing. He was choosing his words and mapping out the thoughts and scenarios one by one. And she was doing that too but there were times where planning and perfection weren’t always the best plans. 

He turned towards her, his mouth open as if he were ready to speak but she had already decided that he had said enough. The next thing he knew, her lips were connected with his. 

Its soft and sweet. Delicate but fragile. His eyes had closed and his hand gently rested on her cheek as she leaned into his touch. He could hear her heartbeat thumping at a fast pace and knew his was just the same. A small sound escaped her lips as he tilted his head and soon her arms were around his shoulders as they fell deeper into each other. She could feel the smirk on his lips as they pulled away. 

Both breathing heavily for air as their foreheads rested against one another. 

“Did-did you mean what you said.” She whispered and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Everything you said?”

He rested the urge to not pull her back into another breathtaking kiss but instead raised an eyebrow. “What if it wasn’t about you?” He teased but they both knew the truth. They couldn’t lie anymore, not to each other at least. 

She smirked as she placed down between them before meeting his eyes. That motion alone had him spiraling as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing his. “Then I guess it would be a shame to say that I’ve fallen.” 

“It would be a shame for the both of us.” He kissed her. “But I’ve been on the ground for a long time.” 

“Good.”

---

I hope you liked it!!!

#blossom x brick #blossick #blossick fanfic #powerpuff girls #ppg x rrb #ppg #rrb #ppg fanfic #thewritingstar #reds #blossom ppg #brick rrb

[therealvagabird]

The Days of Clay - Pt. 1: Lands and Oceans

Another setting concept! This one for a paleo/neolithic world. I’ve had the urge to make this kind of thing for a while now, but I finally got done with the editing.

You can read the full setting rundown all at once on my WordPress. But I will also be posting it in separate parts here on Tumblr depending on your viewing preferences.

Feel free to a leave a comment, and share!

The world is vast, yet humanity is small. Wilds stretch all about, dwarfing even the largest stone houses of Man. It is a primordial era, when the thinking folk knew not the strength of metal, nor the heights of civilization. Most are born and die knowing but a fraction of all the world about them, or if not, braving seas and lands filled with ravenous monsters of a forgotten age. These are the first days, the longest days, the eternal waking dream of those who first knew what it was to tell stories.

In the Days of Clay, humanity exists scattered across many continents and isles in a world of vast seas and dangerous wilds. Great beasts of ages past hunt humans like vermin, and the elements are often the most dangerous foe of all. Fine resources which would allow for technological advancement are rare. Copper and tin are like gold and jewels, though in turn tribals may make extensive use of saurian bones, the carapaces of giant insects, and other exotic materials. Most tribes live confined to tiny fractions of their homeland or hop from island to island in endless seas with nothing but the stars as their guide. Yet others may roam far and wide, or travel from land to land should they be so brave. Though advanced metallurgy and the heights of empire are yet unknown, humanity is not always so “primitive”. In many places there can be found great cities of stone, or gathering places of many tribes, leveraging the power of cooperation. Likewise some crafters may do things with rock and wood and leather that would put even iron-based technologies to shame. Magic is absent, but spirituality is everywhere. The Days of Clay are a time of diversity, danger, and possibilities.

The Thirteen Lands and the Seven Seas

Continents:

Ancient Land of Sakha

Within the waters of Asra, the Great Blood Sea, the old continent of Sakha stands as it has since time immemorial. Not the largest landmass, it nonetheless has many arable river-lands hidden deep within its interior clefts, and numerous peninsulas and nearby islets which have made the coasts a boon for seafaring tribes. The Sakhan peoples are among the most diverse of any continent, having mastered mountain-climbing, boat craft, basic riverside agriculture, and even the domestication of certain beasts of burden. It is the claim of the Sakhan shamans that their land is the oldest in the world, and the birthplace of Manu and Manya – the first humans created by the gods.

Sakha’s climate is very hot, with mountain ranges erupting from broad highland deserts. Within the gaps of these mountains, however, can be found riverways which give rise to flourishing green sanctuaries. Out to the ocean, the bounty of the Blood Sea is abundant, and many tribes stake their claims upon nearby islands, pursuing dangerous seacraft to trade goods between the Sakhan mainland and the outer isles – sometimes even to the far neighbors of the Blood Sea.

Native flora of Sakha includes varieties of desert palms, coniferous trees, and hearty broad-leaf shrubs. Low-lying vegetation is common, and hundreds of varieties of grains, fruits, and aromatic herbs either have their origin in Sakha or were brought there through gradual trade across Asra. Fauna includes many mammalian varieties, including large goats, camels, some pygmy horses, and cattle. Big cats and jackals constitute predator species, and although there are not many saurians to be found upon Sakha, there are a great many enormous snakes and arthropods both in the deserts and along the coasts. Ape-Men are also prominent in the south and east, though not all of their tribes are hostile.

The peoples of Sakha tend to be darker-skinned due to the harsh sun of their home, though are sharp of feature and their hair is less kinky than tribes to the south. Sakhan peoples are as a whole regarded to be more “civilized” than most of their neighbors, having pioneered trends of building, copper-craft, boat building, and other technologies throughout their history. There are hundreds of gods in Sakha, though many of the shamans and priests seem to give reverence to the same higher concepts of “light” and “shadow”. Battles between entire tribes over supposed disputes between their gods are not uncommon. The Sakhans are also noted traders and travelers, sometimes being found on entire other continents after long and adventurous sea-voyages most in their right mind would never consider.

Batyr, Land of Wolves

To the northeast of the Blood Sea there juts a prominent chain of mountainous isles, stretching further and further east all the way into the deeps of the frozen north. The coastlines of Batyr are treacherous to sailors who do not know their secrets, but they hide a hidden boon. Just about the tip of the Land of Wolves there can be found its broad steppelands, which though culminating in snowy barrens at their furthest reaches are some of the most bountiful wilds in all the world. Vast forests and open plains filled with game, if one can just brave the harshness of the winters. To the south, the mountain ranges are less prominent, meaning that those who wish to reach Batyr from outside must know their way about the island-jumps, and the coastal tribes of Batyr are themselves more disposed toward heading south into the Ocean of Tiham than the western Blood Sea.

Though temperate for most of the year, the winters of Batyr are biting cold and can freeze unguarded humans where they stand. Most of the flora that isn’t woody steppe-shrubs are tall and mighty growths of oak and pine which have endured countless years beyond the memories of the oldest shamans. Saurians are unheard of, along with most great reptiles, and any cold-blooded beasts must seek refuge deep underground. Batyr’s greatest wealth and greatest danger, therefor, is held within its name. Massive mammals can be found all throughout the far country’s wilds, from towering mammoths, to great god-birds, and the fearsome dire wolves. There is nary a beast of fur and fang anywhere across the thirteen continents that cannot be found in a larger and more terrible form within Batyr.

Batyrian folk tend to be pale of skin and hairy of body, though darker tribes may also be found, either from ancient mixings with wayward natives of other lands across the Blood Sea, or from tribes out in the distant east. Hair colors come in many ranges, and beards are as popular as anywhere to keep back the chilling winds. Furs are worn in absence of less durable fabrics. Though many are happy to trade, Batyrians have a fearsome reputation, as they are also known to be raiders, and many of the wilder tribes maintain gruesome practices stemming from a single-minded desire for survival. The hunting of large game has bred a people who are not to be trifled with, channeling the unstoppable spirit of the mighty wolf.

Darkest Ar-Nung

Far to the south, beyond the furthest expanse of the Ocean of Tiham, there lies a hidden land where few have journeyed. Though in ancient times humanity did in fact reach those far shores, not but a paltry handful have ever come in or out ever again. South of the very tip of the Hinterlands of Siral’ik, Darkest Ar-Nung dwells across the stormy seas. It is a desert land of great peril, where all must struggle to survive. Though known for its searing and mind-baking heat, to the very south the mountains of Ar-Nung connect to the great ice which blocks off the shadowed reaches of the frozen lands. Travel to Ar-Nung in near impossible save for the savviest of seafarers from Siral’ik who know the way to hop across the island chains of Tiham to eventually reach Ar-Nung’s stormy northern shores. Though there are said to be lands in the frozen wastes beyond Ar-Nung’s most southern mountain ranges, those reaches go unnamed save for being considered to be part of Ar-Nung, as no human has ever journeyed so far into that icy hell and lived.

Within Darkest Ar-Nung there are many perils. It is not just the unforgiving climate and ferocious predatory monsters one must be wary of in the broad deserts, but also the numerous subtle ways one might be killed. Tiny arthropods and reptiles hold enough venom to kill even their titanic cousins in a single bite, while flora of the most beautiful hues – some even resembling their useful or edible counterparts – may likewise inflict a horrid and agonizing death on any who even touch them. Places where water might be found are no less dangerous, as great crocodiles and sharks lurk within the rivers and along the coasts, fit to swallow a grown warrior whole. Meanwhile, to the south, the frozen mountains which lead into the uncharted ice-lands hold untold horrors none have ever braved, from fabled frost-wights and storm-dragons to unnamed, hungering things deep within the mountain caves.

Despite this, the peoples of Ar-Nung are regarded to be rather intelligent and unaggressive, having mastered the delicate art of survival in such a country over many generations, and averse to undue risk and conflict when there is already such peril in their home wilds. They are a dark-skinned folk, even so dark as natives to lands like distant Noba Rugna, though their features do not in any way resemble those of their neighbors, possessing weather-worn faces and bristling hair. The Ar-Nung tribes may be found all about their continent, even within the mountains of the south, and those few who have ever managed to journey to Ar-Nung and back have told stories of those strange and silent folk who engage in all manner of bizarre rituals to ward off misfortune and evil. It is the necessity of the Ar-Nung tribes to know the spirit of every plant and animal upon their country, as to harbor uncertainty is to be subject to a sudden death.

Etlen Rugna

The land known as Etlen Rugna is in fact a jagged and mountainous continent divided up into many smaller regions by prominent inland seas along with numerous lakes and rivers. It dominates the western reaches of the Blood Sea, with its north coming close to the outer isles of Fjallgarth, while its south is likewise not too far by island-hopping from Sakha. Numerous tribes have made the diverse climes of Etlen Rugna their home for long ages, warring and trading in equal measure, enjoying the bounty of what some would call the most plentiful of all mankind’s lands. To the west of Etlen Rugna is the Etlen Udra – the Etlen Sea, which few have ever dared to cross. A quite skilled shipmaster might be able to make it to Frozen Nunaat by way of Fjallgarth, though many upon Etlen Rugna’s shores know nothing of the cousin-continent with which their share a name – Guarana Rugna.

The northern reaches of Etlen are vibrant, seasonal, and rich with many landscapes from soaring mountains to gentle prairies. Rivers, lakes, and inland seas are all commonplace, as well as deep and temperate forests. To the south, weather becomes hotter, culminating in biting deserts to the far south, dotted with oases of palms and other tropical flora. Animals upon Etlen are as diverse as the landscapes or the people, though most are not so large or intimidating as those that might be found upon other continents more suited to their climes – smaller breeds of mammoth are relegated to the furthest northern tundra, for instance, whereas saurian are found upon the outer isles and peninsulas of the far south. Within certain reaches, ape-men might even be encountered in not inconsiderable gatherings. Etlen Rugna is a vast land, though crossing its many wilds is no easy task, dwarfing neighbors like Sakha. Even trade within Etlen’s borders is not always so commonplace.

Just as with their homeland, the peoples of Etlen are varied in appearance and practice. To the north, they become more fair of complexion, whereas to the south their skin and hair becomes darker and rougher, as with each river-gap and mountain pass their roaming territories become more like the harsh deserts and jungle isles across the sea. It’s in the south and east that tribes tend more towards basic practices of agriculture and weaving, while in the north their industries are more inclined towards fishing, hunting, and raiding. There are hundreds of gods and spirits worshipped across Etlen Rugna, and in times of scarcity some of the greatest and most unforgiving bloodlettings have occurred, as tribes turn upon any outside of their immediate kin. The diversity of Etlen fosters as much xenophobia and hatred as it does cooperation and understanding, and even travelers from lands as schismatic as Sakha have remarked on the pains every Etleni takes to distinguish their tribal identity from all others, as confusing one Etleni folk with another is often a grave offense.

Far Anpe and the Islands of Fire

Across many of the far seas to the west, across the Etlen Udra, and the K’aino Udra, and the Devil Sea of Xulub, there is a distant country at the furthest reaches of the world’s shores. This is Far Anpe, a hidden range of mountain isles crowned with fire and watered with mystery. Formed of a grand chain of volcanoes, Far Anpe is most treacherous about its northern and southern tips, where the peaks are still young, and new mounts are prime to be born from the boiling waters of Xulub and the polar ice. Separated from the jungles of its sister-continent Guarana Rugna by the K’aino Udra – the K’aino Sea – Far Anpe is composed of tall mountains in its near entirety. Those places not defined by colossal peaks are fertile beyond compare thanks to the rich black soil, and on the sloping foothills leading out to the sea house numerous tribes who have built civilizations to rival the stonework citadels of distant Sakha. Save for trade with Guarana or the south tip of Dziil, the Anpean peoples go unknown to the rest of the world.

It is said in the ancient stories that the first Anpean tribals were among the most adventurous and daring of all folk in the world, until they came to the Islands of Fire from beyond the northern sea. Their heroic chieftains claimed that these peaks were in fact the gates of hell, and that just beyond – should they be so bold – the promised land of paradise awaited them. Finding the mountains and green slopes of Anpe, the tribes settled there at last, content that they had found their promised land. Most of the Anpean tribes control fortified encampments placed within the mountain clefts, which they use as communal shelters when not engaging in nomadic herding and foraging. Dangerous beasts like snow-jaguars and giant snakes might be found in the clefts, but for the most part the deadlier saurian are relegated to neighboring Guarana Rugna. Long-necked camels provide wealth to the herder tribes, whose wool they trade with the fisher-folk and mountain-dwellers. In certain hidden valleys, large mammals such as the lumbering shellbacks and giant sloths may provide adequate challenge for hunters, and to the south, the very earth heaves with fiery hunger. Apeans tend to have dark skin and hair, do not often grow beards, and have sharp features. Though small in stature, the Anpean people are fair of face and enduring of body and soul, descended from great warriors and grown even stronger off the bounty of their sacred homeland.

Fjallgarth

Northernmost of those continents that border Asra, the Great Blood Sea, the very name Fjallgarth inspires fear in the hearts of those folk who set their tents upon Etlen Rugna’s coldest shores. To the more distant Sakhan, should they be versed enough in stories brought from traveling tongues, it is a name that belongs to a strange land, where the people are white as the snow they wade through. The homeland of the fabled giants. Some stories are more fantastical than others, but save for Frozen Nunaat or other climes within the cold wastes of the icy Skathon Sea, no continents are as frigid and brutal as Fjallgarth.

Mountains, icebergs, fjords, and sharp valleys mark most of Fjallgarth’s landscape. Its coasts are near all intractable to outside sailors, no matter how fine-built their canoes or rafts are built. Sea-serpents dwell in the waves, along with kraken, sharks, and whales of colossal size. Yet this does not deter the brave natives from fishing within the rich yet chilling waters. Inland, there are reaches which can be found which are not so rocky and hard, and indeed many wild stretches where the sun is warm in summer and no sight of snow is to be had in the hot months save for crowning the distant peaks. Yet in the distant north, where both Fjallgarth and Batyr meet the icesheets of the Skathon Sea, even the great mammoth and dire bear struggle to stave off the cold. It is told in the fables that hairy men who feast on human flesh, along with giants who can command the powers of blizzards and wildfires can be found in those treacherous wastes beyond where even the most fearless raider chief might travel.

The folk of Fjallgarth are similar to those of northern Etlen, being fair of skin and hair, though yet moreso than their more temperate southern cousins. They grow to prodigious sizes and are fond of wearing enough furs to match their own hirsute appearances, and engaging in a warrior lifestyle which puts most other folk of Asra to shame. Fjallgarthan tribes are also known to be skilled seafarers, having constructed boats capable of reliable island-hopping. While the Fjallgarthan raiders might build no great temples or broad gathering-grounds – at least not as the southeasterners do – the northmen have been spotted in as far-away lands as Sakha and Noba Rugna.

Frozen Nunaat

Few have traveled to Frozen Nunaat since the ancient days of its settling by humankind. Even the ape-tribes have little to do with the vast wasteland, but for those who dare the gnashing ice, it can be a country of great plenty. From the more temperate volcanic isles in the south rich with fir trees and good fishing, to the prime whaling shores of the icy north, there is more to Frozen Nunaat than its name suggests. Laying beyond the reaches of Asra, in the depths of the cold Skathon Sea, Nunaat is said by some to be the home of frost giants or other mythical beasts.

Most of the continent consists of broad tundra, hence its name, though this is not the totality of its landscape. Along the south shores there is some resemblance to Fjallgarth in terms of the wilds consisting of a blend of pine forests, fjords, and warmer volcanic wastelands and outlying isles. It is here that settlers from Fjallgarth wage intermittent battles with the native folk, though trade of furs and other goods is also common. Fish and game birds are in plenty, and in many ways the southern parts of Nunaat are not so lesser in wealth nor hospitality than places like Etlen Rugna. The winters are harsh, indeed, but any who settle there are well accustomed to them save for the worst of years. Northward, where the distinctions between land and sea become blurred by virtue of the all-encompassing ice, things are less endurable. Most of the interior is considered a hellish desert to all but the most determined of overland travelers, devoid of oases and cold the whole year round. Even in the warmer months, when one might not have to contend with blizzards and endless night, that is the time when the wolves and bears begin their migrations, hungry after the dark months. Yet in the north there is still bounty to be found. Great whales, seals, and penguins migrate along the north shores, and the native Nunaatun peoples display a skill for harpooning that outstrips even the barbaric Fjallgarthans.

Nunaatun tribals, separate from the Fjallgarthan outcasts who have since made semi-permanent encampments upon the south shores, tend to be short of stature and thick of bone. They grow abundant hair, though beards are less common, and their skin tends to be dark from the constant sun-glare off the snow. In many ways they resemble the folk of distant Anpe or Siral’ik, though to see any of those human strains in one place would be a rare sight indeed. Though overall a peaceful people more focused on survival than grander designs of migration or war, they are among the few folk who the Fjallgarthans will speak with reverence of, as it is said by them that when the nights grow dark and the winds cold, nothing will stop a Nunaatun from doing what they must to survive.

Guarana Rugna

East of Anpe, surrounded on three sides by the seas of Xulub, K’aino, and Etlen Udra, the jungles of Guarana Rugna are as deep and green as any abyssal waters. From the highest peak to the lowest river-valley – of which there are hundreds upon hundreds – the verdant plant life of Guarana coats the entire breadth of the continent. Hot, humid, and lush with a diverse menagerie of flora and fauna, the many tribes of Guarana have all they need to survive and more – and even more ways to meet an unfortunate end. Survival-craft is a necessity, even by typical human standards, and river-canoeing is a popular method of navigating the otherwise intractable jungles.

Not all of Guarana is composed of forest – there are also wetlands, grassy plains, and a few small deserts, but for the most part, jungled sprawl coats the majority of the land. Were the trees to be stripped away, it would be seen that Guarana Rugna has a landscape as varied in altitude and natural wonder as any, though this can be hard to tell when trekking through boundless jungle reaches, shrouded by trees which look mountainous in their own right. Saurians are plentiful, and larger mammalians are scarce. Humans, apes, and other warm-bloods must be quick and observant to avoid being snatched up by a stalking pterosaur or raptor, and even great carnosaurs may camouflage themselves within the sheer density of the foliage. Great serpent-leeches and rope-spinners can snatch a whole human up from above or below, yet that is not all. Beautiful flowers and insects as small as a fingernail can deliver agonizing death before an unlucky creature has had time to realize what their lack of awareness has brought upon them. Guarana Rugna is a land of a thousand beauties, and a thousand dooms.

Yet the tribes of Guarana love their home and the bounty it brings, having had their senses honed to obsidian sharpness over long generations, learning from their surroundings so that even the mighty devilsaurs may not tear down their tree-houses, and the quetzal-boa would prove no greater threat than a songbird – when met with a dart coated in harvested manchineel poison. Guaranan folk tend to be short of stature and dark of hair, though their skin tones are very diverse, as some may spend most of their lives shrouded by the heavy foliage, and others baked to a deep brown beneath the coastal sun. Dense body and facial hair is uncommon due to the humidity and heat, though the Guaranans are fond of body paint for many purposes – clan identification, imitation of poisonous creatures, religious use, or camouflage. Though quite skilled at the building and utilizing of river-canoes, as well as high-altitude construction, the Guaranans have never been inclined towards trade beyond the waters, save for a few ambitious peoples who ply the island chains between their northern shores and the south coasts of the Leghen Alps, and a few others who dare cross the K’aino sea to trade with the affluent Anpean peoples.

Himaleh Vistra

East of the Ancient Lands of Sankha, north of the Ocean of Tiham, there is a strange and jagged land considered quite intractable despite its location at a crossroads of several continents. Himaleh Vistra is named for its great mountains, larger than any in all the myriad ranges which dot the shattered lands across the seven seas. To the north of the Vistran range lays little but desert and tundra steppe, yet to the south the river-broken coasts are lush with jungles. It is an overall misshapen land, carved up by peaks and ravines, rivers and gulfs, which have made it notorious as a confusing hinterland for any who dare make the journey to its shores. Yet many have made that journey, for not unlike those peoples who huddle around the Blood Sea, Himaleh Vistra’s central location in the world means that its beaches may oft be landed upon by visitors from far Siral’ik, from Sakha, and even Noba Rugna. If one dares make the trip to Himaleh Vistra in search of rarities not to be found on their home continent, they will be rewarded by seeing more diversity and exotic beauties than most humans would ever bear witness to in their simple lives.

The Vistra range is Himaleh Vistra’s namesake and most prominent feature, composed of a meandering chain of colossal mountains which stretch from east to west, between the closest gaps of Siral’ik and Sakha. A diverse country, most of those hills north of the Vistra range are composed of steppe and tundra, much like the nearby reaches of Batyr and Siral’ik. These other northern steppe-lands are separated from Himaleh Vistra by little more than the straits of the Skathon Sea, and during the coldest winters vast stretches of that ocean may freeze over, allowing mammoths and their hunters to cross should they be so ambitious. To the south, Himaleh Vistra is much more hospitable, lush with deep jungles and fertile riverlands where many tribes make their homes. Saurians might be found, along with ape-tribes as can be encountered across the entire breadth of that continent. Giant snakes are also a common threat and are worshipped by some tribal sects as living gods. Himaleh Vistra is noted as having some of the greatest diversity of flora and fauna of any continent the world over.

Those people who call Himaleh Vistra their home appear quite like the denizens of Sakha in many ways, though they tend to be darker of skin overall. Among the peaks and to the northern steppes, these Vistrans can be seen to have lighter skin, and some with features more like their neighbors in Siral’ik. The divide between the different regions of Vistra is quite pronounced, with the dwellers of the coasts and foothills considering the jungle-tribes to be more primitive than them, while both the southern cultures regard those who live north of the Vistran range as being little more than barbarians. Despite this, the Vistrans are noted to be quite accepting of outsiders, as they have gathered much wealth by aiding enterprising seafarers in finding safe harbor on their jagged shores. The Vistrans have the privilege of being some of the few people to realize that the scope of the world far exceeds the borders of their homeland, and in turn their trade of rare goods has let other tribes realize this truth as well. To find an artifact crafted in far Siral’ik while one is bartering in an Etleni encampment can be attributed to a Vistran trader somewhere down the line.

Hinterlands of Siral’ik

To the furthest north and east, across numerous islands and twisted stretches of land between the Ocean of Tiham and the Skathon Sea, there are the Hinterlands of Siral’ik. Though few journey there, the cultures of that distant country rival even great Sakha in what they have accomplished since their first settling. While goods from Himaleh Vistra are valued in their own right, for a western trader to find an item from Siral’ik is the best of luck, so lauded is the craftsmanship of the mysterious peoples of that mysterious land. Jungle, highlands, forest, desert – all climes may be found in Siral’ik, across the Hinterland’s many offshoot peninsulas and winding reaches. The very borders of the country can be hard to define, for in the north the continent merges with the bitter Skathon ice, and to the south a hundred-thousand islands disperse across the Oceans of Tiham and mysterious Kaiwa.

Giant apes, ape-men, saurians, huge snakes, devil-crabs – these are just a small selection of the species that can be found throughout the many disparate climates of Siral’ik. Much like Etlen Rugna, Siral’ik is a jagged continent which contains within itself climates suitable to near any species that might be found upon the world. Travel within Siral’ik comprises an epic journey in and of itself, to say nothing of travel beyond its shores. Though most of the land is within the frozen north, its winding peninsulas and island-chains venture quite far south, meaning that the distinct appearance of Siralese folk can be found throughout a significant range.

Siralese tribals – sometimes referred to as Siral’iki – tend towards shorter statures, paler skin, dark hair, and almond eyes. Beards are less common than in lands like Batyr, though not rare, and within the south stretches or in the high tundra where the snow-glare is bright, dark skin is also quite normal. Though many of the Siralese peoples live simple lives as nomadic hunters or clan-based fishers and farmers, the adventurousness of the Siralese is well known. Not content with spreading out across the entire breadth of their own homeland, the Siralese are some of the best seafarers in the world, having mastered island-hopping to reach lands as far as Batyr and Himaleh Vistra. Though none ever returned, it was also the case that in the distant past Siralese seafarers managed to reach even Darkest Ar-Nung, as well as cross about the curve of the world upon the waves of the Kaiwa Ocean. While none of the numerous islanders who dwell within the mysterious reaches of Kaiwa would consider themselves “Siralese” – if they have even heard such a word – their appearance attests to a shared blood with both those intrepid tribes and their cousins all the way across Kaiwa in reaches like Dziil.

Leghen Alps

Surrounded by the Sea of Gami to its west and the seas of Xulub and Etlen Udra to the east, the Leghen Alps are an isolated land little-explored from the western reaches. Instead, the tribes of Leghen hold more in common with their neighbors in Dziil or even Guarana and Anpe. Defined by its prime mountain range, the Leghen Alps are great peaks which rise above vast forests, swamps, and other green reaches all along the eastern coast. Across their heights, brief prairies give way to the expanse of the Sea of Gami, whose treacherous waters are all that separate the nomadic Legheni peoples of that region from their counterparts in Dziil. Save for a few fearsome creatures like great bears or the rare ape-tribe, the Leghen Alps are noted as a peaceful place, assuming one does not allow themselves to get lost in the deepest of its forested clefts.

Saurians are quite rare in Leghen save for the southernmost swamps bordering Xulub, with most of the wildlife being composed of smaller mammalians, and the flora being quite typical and not often dangerous. Still, while there are many pleasant climes for settlement, the Legheni know not to dally too long when crossing the passes of the Alps. Strange creatures dwell in those shadowy clefts, and in the wrong season it can be the case that entire tribes would meet a terrible end trapped by vicious snows. Still, so long as one stays in the more explored forests, or along the coasts, there is much plenty. Even the dangerous oceans of Gami and Etlen Udra – prolific homes to some of the most horrifying sea-beasts – are not so treacherous so long as one sticks to the ancestral routes.

Legheni are quite similar in stature and appearance to their neighbors in Dziil, being strong of body and face, if not the tallest in all the lands, with sun-toned skin and dark hair, which they are fond of decorating. Form the forests to the prairies, Legheni tribes are quite adept at surviving the perils of their homeland and then some, having made trips to Dziil and Guarana Rugna in the past in the name of trade – something their neighbors would not otherwise be inclined to do. Hunting, fishing, farming, herding – all are known to the Legheni, and where lumber is good and the call of the open sky is not so pressing, they will even build quite impressive villages among the trees. Yet the Legheni are creatures of habit. They will not venture into waters they don’t know, and they will not tarry in the mountains. The ancestors of the Legheni are, after all, just those individuals who were not so foolish as to get lost in those horrible reaches.

Noba Rugna

Below Etlen Rugna, and forming a great chain between the rifts of the Etlen Udra and the Caraka Sea, Noba Rugna is the southernmost of those continents within the “Asra Bounds” – the area by which seafaring tribes from the various lands about the Blood Sea prefer to travel and trade. At its north, Noba Rugna is a hot but fertile land marked by its bountiful coasts, yet to the south it contains as many mysteries as distant countries like Ar-Nung. Across vast mountains, badlands, deserts, the arid reaches at last give way to jungles of primordial age and depth, at last culminating in the far south shores where sweeping grasslands roll out to the temperate Caraka Sea.

At its northernmost extent, Noba Rugna is not too dissimilar from nearby Sakha, being arid but not the most brutal of climes, with its rocky deserts crossed by numerous rivers about which humans and beasts alike are able to seek succor. Seacraft is common there, and the waters are not so treacherous as those to the south. Some saurians prowl the wastes, but for the most part the land is manageable to those acclimated to the heat. South of the very harshest stretches of the desert expanse, however, there can be found some of the deepest and most lush jungles in all the world – and certainly nearest to Asra. Creatures of every type may be found there, from the smallest pygmy ape-man to the largest and most terrifying saurian. South of those forests, temperate grasslands and savannah proceed out to the south ocean, home to most of the larger mammalian species upon Noba Rugna, as the lizards and great arthropods prefer the damp of the northern jungles.

Noba Rugna’s people are hearty and strong, suited to survival in heats even more unforgiving than summer in Sakha. Along the north shores, they tend to resemble the Sakhan folk a great deal, though perhaps with darker tones to their skin. Within the jungles and grasslands where few northerners have dared tread, the tribals can reach hues as black as night, with rough hair and many diverse features and body types adapted to different climes. Those within the jungles tend towards shorter, lither builds, while within the grasslands endurance and strength is favored for long hunting journeys. Though the northern Noba Rugnans sometimes think of their southern counterparts of primitive, any who have made it past the dangers of the southlands and laid eyes upon the great works and daring feats of those folk would know better.

Wide Lands of Dziil

Far, far to the west, past the reaches of the Leghen Alps, and the great Sea of Gami, there is a land of cruel extremes which extends from the furthest north to its southern twin of Anpe. This is Dziil, the highlands. A series of mountains which cleave their way out from between Gami and the great Ocean of Kaiwa, to the west those grand peaks descend into temperate rainforests up to the far ice, while to the east the foothills roll into broad badlands which meet their end in the waters of Gami. Wild and seldom visited by any save for intrepid seafarers from Leghen, there can nonetheless be found some appealing stretches within Dziil’s borders – though those that claim them as their home must be prepared to defend them from the various tribes of the outer wastes.

Dziil is a mountainous country whose namesake range split the length of the continent down the center. To the furthest north the peaks extend all the way into the great ice-sheets, while to the south they taper off into many of the volcanic islands which define the roiling Sea of Xulub. West of the Dziil range the climate is more temperate, so long as one remains in the middle regions, lush with warm tropics and cool rainforests. East of the peaks, things are not quite so lush, defined by broad prairies at best and searing flatland deserts at the worst, though these mercifully abate at the shores of the Sea of Gami, among the reedy wetlands where the fisher-tribes dwell. Ape-men and saurian are both in abundance out in the west, while enormous bison, aurochs, and other large mammals reserve the eastern plains to themselves, being hunted by the nomadic tribes there. Despite its relative shallow depth, the Sea of Gami is also full of life, including opportunistic super-predators who sailors must be wary of if they wish to journey across the full breadth of the ocean.

Tribal folk of Dziil tend towards dark or tanned skin, though with considerable variation, having strong and beautiful features much like their neighbors, though standing the tallest of all the folk in those lands surrounding the seas of Xulub and K’aino. They are survivalists and hunters, managing to stake out prominent territories throughout their rugged homeland, facing any foes with bravery in their hearts. Though fierce, they are not often ones to war with each other, though when they do it is most common among the eastern tribes. Out in the deserts and plains, many of the nomadic folk see an easy opportunity in raiding their neighbors rather than risking their own starvation. Those who have made it so far as Dziil from other lands – a feat in and of itself – have remarked upon the brutality with which the Dzillai greet intruders.

Seas:

Asra, the Great Blood Sea

One of the most important and well-traveled of the Seven Seas, and perhaps the most storied. It is Asra whose waters border the lands of Etlen Rugna, Fjallgarth, and the Ancient Lands of Sakha. These three lands conduct the most frequent wanderings over the Great Blood Sea, but the mingling waters of Asra also reach as far as the western shores of Batyr, and other lands besides. The Sakhan peoples named the great expanse “Asra” after the rich hue of the setting sun over its waves – it was only later that it became known for the numerous battles which took place across its waters. Though dotted with many islands and host to much travel between its three neighboring lands, the human tribes have also shed much blood upon the waves and lost even more to the jaws of hungering leviathans.

Caraka Sea

The Caraka is a jagged ocean which cuts the land of Noba Rugna from its northern sister of Etlen Rugna. Filtering into the southernmost waters of the Etlen Sea, as well as the western stretches of the Ocean of Tiham, it is a little-explored waterway save for a few of the daring coastal tribes of Noba Rugna. Its waters are warm, but its coasts are treacherous, and one may find themselves stranded on any number of islands if they cannot navigate the inlets of Noba Rugna, or worse – be swept out into the daunting expanse of Tiham.

Etlen Udra / Etlen Sea

To the west of Etlen Rugna lies is sister sea, Etlen Udra. Descending from the southern tip of Nunaat, across the fjords of Fjallgarth and down to the nameless ice at the bottom of the world, Etlen Udra is a stormy ocean of mystery and danger. Unknown to all but a few of the most legendary sailors to have ever journeyed out from the west, Etlen Udra is the path to the Leghen Alps, and even perhaps Dziil, Guarana Rugna, and Far Anpe besides. The Etlen Sea forms the great barrier between these lands and the continents about Asra. Yet within the very oldest stories of humankind does some inkling remain of this truth. Within Etlen Rugna, Guarana Rugna, and Noba Rugna are told stories of the Breaking, when once the fields and mountains stretched unbounded before the elder gods cleaved the Etlen Udra into the wilds, shattering the earth in twain. To the shaman-storytellers of Noba Rugna and Etlen Rugna, it is assumed the western lands sunk into the sea, while the peoples of Guarana Rugna likewise consider the east to be a distant myth.

Great Ocean of Kaiwa

The largest ocean in all the world, so massive that no human has ever comprehended its scale. None have ever crossed its breadth through sheer skill alone. The seafaring clans of the great ocean may journey about its many islands, but even they cannot say where all Kaiwa’s bounds lay. Likewise, unknown to even the wisest shamans, in elder times some hunter tribes of Siral’ik even managed to make the trek across the shattered ice to the north peaks of Dziil, but that way has long since been forgotten. Between Ar-Nung, Siral’ik, Dziil, and Anpe, and speckled with as many islands as there are stars in the sky, the mysteries of Kaiwa are as endless as its blue horizons and abyssal depths.

K’aino Udra / K’aino Sea

Descending down from the Sea of Xulub, the K’aino Udra separates Guarana Rugna from Anpe, and Anpe from Dziil. It is a warm ocean, though quite harsh, and brimming with dangerous creatures. Thick with life, it provides an endless bounty to those who fish along its shores, though crossing its expanse is no easy feat. Even if one avoids death by one of thousands of ravenous beasts large and small which prowl its waters, the many islands within the green waves are said to house hostile tribes of humans, lizardmen, and ape-men. Though all types of predators may be encountered amidst the waves of K’aino, the sea-serpents are the most renowned of all.

Ocean of Tiham

The largest of the eastern oceans, rolling over a great expanse between the south shores of Himaleh Vistra and Batyr, and the far and darkened beaches of Ar-Nung, as well as flanking the eastern edge of Noba Rugna. Tiham is host to many islands, most near to the coasts of its bordering continents. It is rather warm, though prone to storms, yet that has not stopped many seafaring tribes from taking advantage of its riches. Great leviathans may be found in its waters, as with many of the seas, though they are more prevalent about its interior where the abyss descends with sudden rapidity away from the shallow waters near to the broken, isle-flecked coasts. The very name of Tiham comes from the mythical ur-dragon said to dwell within its very deepest waters.

Sea of Gami

Splitting the great plains of western Leghen and eastern Dziil clean down the middle, there is the mighty interior seaway known as Gami, stretching from the ice-flats of the north down to drain at last into the Sea of Xulub. Shallow for the most part, it is not free of perils. Within its teeming waters are as many dangers as there are resources. Still, that has not stopped the native tribes upon both sides of the sea of making the most of it, and some peoples spend near their entire lives upon the waters. So long as one is well-versed in the craft of the waves and keeps a sharp eye out for anything bigger than a saltwater alligator or giant gar, it can be an outright pleasant life exploring Gami’s waters and all its tributaries.

Sea of Xulub / Devil Sea

One of the most terrifying yet enticing of all the world’s great waters, the Sea of Xulub, also known as the Devil Sea, lies where the Sea of Gami filters out between the Leghen Alps and Guarana Rugna, forming a hub between the waters of Gami, K’aino, and the Etlen Udra. It is a warm and tempestuous sea, with many reefs about its edges and many islands that dot its waves. Yet the center of Xulub is unfathomably deep, perhaps as deep as such abysses that can be found in Tiham and Kaiwa. Horrifying beasts lurk below the black waves, and none but the most skilled of seafaring tribes may brave its central waters. Still, the reefs and island chains which wreath the Devil Sea are among the most bountiful to be found, more colorful than Gami and fresher than K’aino, rich with valuable coral and mollusks and tropical fish. It is not uncommon for the tribesfolk of that region to make war over the valuable islands, and battles are far more frequent than among the other island-hopping tribes of reaches like Kaiwa.

Skathon Sea

The northern sea, the name given to all those waters beyond the reaches of Nunaat, Batyr, Siral’ik and the like where the great ice-flows crash together and icebergs roam like mammoth god-beasts. It is not the coldest ocean – the waters beneath Ar-Nung and off the southern tip of Anpe have that honor, but unlike those darkened waves, many people have actually explored the reaches of Skathon. Most of all the shipbuilders of Fjallgarth and Nunaat, who whale and raid among the icy flows just as much as traverse them on foot. Cold-blooded leviathans are predictably rare within Skathon, yet the whales and pinnipeds are more than titanic enough in size to still provide dangerous sport. Yet it is always the gnashing ice and frigid waters that make for the greatest danger of any who seek to traverse the Skathon reaches.

#worldbuilding #paleolithic #neolithic #rpg #fantasy

[thorne93]

The Softest Fire (Part 22)

Prompt: Rosaline Vaughan had it all: fame, money, power, glory, a high status job. Until, one day, she woke up, and realized something was missing from her life.

Word Count: 1837

Warnings: none

Notes: First Fantastic Beast fic! I could NOT have done this at all without @arrow-guy. They have created a counterpart to this fic, writing it from Nora Vaughan’s perspective (Rosaline’s cousin/adopted sister). Fic aesthetic done by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​.

That night, we went forward with our dinner date and I was pleased, to say the least. 

“Nora, Nora, what do I wear?” I asked, fretting. “My god, everything I own is practically rags.”

“Everything you own costs way too much money,” she retorted, sitting on the chair in my bedroom. 

“Precisely. Rags.” I glanced to the clock on wall. “I’ve got three hours. I could always run out to the boutique and grab something. Right? Newt likes blue, right?”

Nora stood up and walked towards me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “Rosaline, breathe.” 

At her words, I complied. I took two deep breaths. “There, now may I resume panicking?”

She laughed. “You do realize panicking is silly, right? Newt is head over heels for you.” 

“But this is… it’s almost like an interview, with someone you already know. You still need to dress the part.” 

She peered at me, her hands on her hips. She sighed. “If you’re really hellbent on it, wear the blue one.” She walked over to my closet and pulled it out. “It makes your eyes sparkle.” 

I gazed at her, my sisterly love brimming the surface. “Thank you.” Quickly, I got a bath, dried off, and got dressed. Nora offered to help me with my hair while I worked on my makeup. Just as 8 o’clock rolled around, I was ready. I was nervous, but ready. 

The knock came at the front door. Nora smiled at me, getting up. “I’ll go let him in, so you can make your grand entrance,” she assured with a smile and head bob.

“Thanks!” 

With that, she was out the door. I could hear voices downstairs, but had no idea what they were saying. Finally, I felt like it was time. I didn’t want to delay this any more. I was more than happy to be with Newt. 

He was in a new suit. I knew this because I often helped Newt pack, and this, this was never a suit I’d seen him wear. It was dark blue, almost the color of my dress, and sharp. For a moment, I wondered if he’d sought the advice of Theseus.

I stood at the top of the stairs,admiring him, not even realizing that I wasn’t moving. 

“Rosaline? Are you, uh, ready to go?” he asked somewhat nervously. 

“Oh, yes! Right, coming.” I trotted down the stairs and met him, staring at him for a long time before finally speaking again. “The creatures--”

“Bunty’s got it under control.”

“And I’m about to go help her,” Nora informed with a slight smile. 

“Thank you, again,” Newt said before all of us slipped outside. Nora locked the door and then we went off in different directions. 

“Have a good time, you two,” Nora called to us. I blushed slightly. 

“We will.”

‘I’ll be sure not to wait up,” she teased, my blush deepening from a faint pink to bright red.

I quickly looked to Newt. “She’s joking,” I assured. 

“Right, yes, I know,” he informed, calming my senses. “I thought I would take you to the new Italian place, is that alright?”

“It’s perfectly fine, Newt,” I assured with a gentle smile. The two of us walked in comfortable silence until we reached the restaurant and got seated at a table. The atmosphere was romantic enough. Quiet, dim lighting, a table by the window.

“This place looks very nice, it’s a great choice,” I complimented. 

He bobbed his head. “Yes. Bunty’s been and she recommended it.”

“If the food is as good as the decor is, I’ll be sure to thank her.”

The two of us smiled at each other before checking the menu, then ordering. 

“How have you been?”

“Since you saw me this morning?” I questioned, a sparkle in my eye.

He bobbed his head to the side, realizing his question was a little silly. “I meant, overall, I suppose.” 

“I’m getting better,” I assured. “But let’s not talk the past. Alright? Any news on another book?” 

“Yes actually. The ministry is discussing an option about funding more research on the creatures.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so excited for you. You must tell me about it once you get it up and going.”

“I will. Have you heard the new jazz album that released last week? I heard it playing in a record store and thought of you. I know how much you like to dance. I almost thought of buying it but…” 

I bobbed my head. “I would’ve loved that. I don’t think I’ve heard it. You’ll have to find it and play it for me sometime.” 

“I’d like that, very much.”

“Did you get a chance to read the Great Gatsby?” I wondered.

“I have not. Is it good?”

“I enjoyed it. I borrowed a copy from Nora’s store. Perhaps I can let you borrow it.”

“Yes, that would be great.” 

The two of us sat there, an awkward tension settling over the table. “I’m not sure about you, but I’m incredibly nervous,” I admitted finally, leaning over, speaking lowly.

He seemed to visibly relax. “I’m so glad you said that. I was worried it was just me.” 

I shook my head and laughed. “No, absolutely not. I’m all in knots over here. For whatever for, I’m not sure. I know you. We’ve known each other practically all our lives.” 

He agreed. 

“No sense in being awkward now.”

“None at all.” 

“In that case, let’s start fresh, shall we?”

“Yes, please.”

I cleared my throat. “I read in the paper that the Ministry is thinking of giving a small position to someone who can perform divination. What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s…a complex form of magic that takes a special kind of person to use it.” 

I nodded, smiling. “I think so too. Could you ever do it? At Hogwarts, I mean.” 

“Me? No, not really. I think I did once, but it was faint, vague. You?”

“The teacher said I could, but I’m not sure, at the time it all seemed like poppycock, you know? Just a little too… crystal ball for my taste.”

“So you don’t believe in it?”

“I just think I’m not the right person for the job. And if the Ministry is going to hire someone, they better hope they put the right person in charge.” 

“They will, they put you in charge before,” he said with a head bob.

I nodded and our food arrived. We began to eat, and it was some of the best tasting food I had had in some time. As we were halfway through, slowing down consumption, I began talking again, needing to fill the silence.

“So, Nora and Theseus, hmm?” 

“Yes, it’s quite…” 

“Unexpected?”

“A bit,” he agreed with a smile and laugh. “But it also seems to work, surprisingly.” 

“It really does. I know she’s had a thing for him for a long time. It’s good to see they finally got together.” 

“Mm, yes, I agree. She seems rather happy, so does he.”

“So how has he taken Leta’s death?” I inquired, hoping I wasn’t prying. 

“Hard, at first. He really shut down. I couldn’t get him to open up, to move on, to go back to work. It was Nora that did it.”

I nodded, smiling. “She has a way about her, doesn’t she? She could get a mountain to move out of her way if she were hiking.” 

He peered at me. “You can too, you know.” 

I smiled, slightly blushing, when a thought rushed into my head. “Newt…”

“Hmm?”

“May I ask you something, rather, personal?”

“I don’t see why not.” 

“Why… me? I mean, why me over Tina?”

Newt started at me, blinking. I knew this might not have been something he’s addressed on his own, but it was something I had wondered for quite some time. Ever since he told me at the Ministry that he didn’t move forward with Tina, it had burned in my mind and smoldered there. 

When he didn’t speak at first, I was a bit nervous, wondering if maybe he started to realize he had never asked himself that.

“Because you’re very… You never looked down on me, when many of your peers do. When we were at Hogwarts, you treated me better than most. You never seemed annoyed with me. You took to my creatures like they were your own children. You left a job that you thought might compromise your moral character, even if it meant giving up a great salary, notoriety, and everything you had worked for.” 

At this, I smiled warmly. 

“When you told me how you felt at Flamel’s, I didn’t have a time to process how I felt. I knew I loved you but… to learn you loved me too was a lot to take in. I talked with a friend, and I wanted to see if… well if we worked. Queenie once told me I needed a giver, not a taker. I think Leta was a taker.”

“And Tina?” I pressed, not helping myself. 

“She’s a giver but in a different way. Rosaline, you don’t do anything rash. Every decision is calculated, thought out. I very much admire that about you. You have more courage than anyone I’ve ever seen. But Tina… Well it hurt my feelings to know that she took one look at the newspaper and just assumed I was with Leta. Instead of writing me, she just abandoned our friendship, what we were building. And with you, I know you’d never do that.” 

“I did think it was rather silly to just leave what you two had based on a photograph,” I agreed lightly, trying not to be too hateful about Tina. 

“But most importantly, I chose you because of the way I feel when I’m with you. I feel… confident, proud, smart.” 

“You are all those things,” I encouraged with a small laugh.

“You’ve always been there for me. Even when I was chasing Tina, and I didn’t realize how you felt, you didn’t abandon me. I’m sure it was hard, being around me while I talked about her. I know it was hard while you were with… Well you know, and I wasn’t even around you. I can’t imagine working daily with someone you love who loves someone else. Tina couldn’t even stand it an ocean away and just went looking for someone else. But you held out.” He bit his lip in thought. “I think that’s why I also waited for you. You waited for me, with no guarantee you would ever… be with me. I felt I owed you that as well.”

“Newt, you don’t owe me anything. Love or not. You should follow your heart. Always do what’s best for you,”  I encouraged, reaching across and laying my hand on his. As much as it would kill me to see him choose Tina or anyone else for that matter, his happiness is all I ever want. 

“I am,” he assured with a dazzling smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the softest fire #newt scamander x ofc #newt scamander x oc #newt scamander fic #newt scamander

[emeraldtawny]

Dazai Osamu Character Analysis: How Human Is He?

Before I get into this, allow me to preface this with a disclaimer: I AM NO EXPERT IN ANY OF THE TOPICS I AM ABOUT TO DELVE INTO, THIS IS JUST WHAT I INTERPRET PERSONALLY. This is just a fan of the character rambling about him and his real-life counterpart for the sake of sharing the thoughts rattling around inside my brain. However, I will link all sources that I used at the end of this so you may wish to investigate further if what you read piques your interest.

Okay, so… Dazai Osamu. This man is as much of an enigma as he was in real life (which… makes sense). Whether Cybird did this on purpose for a gradual build-up to his route or because he just wasn’t as popular a character, who knows? (I like to believe the former just for hope’s sake gbsdukgdx). Because we know very little about him in-game, the majority of what I will be mentioning will relate back to IRL Dazai. If you know little or nothing of Dazai Osamu, please proceed with caution if discussions of substance abuse, depression and suicide upset or trigger you. Consider this your disclaimer. Now then, let’s dive in.

History of Dazai Osamu

Born in 1909 into a wealthy family as Tsushima Shūji, that didn’t ease his early life from burdens. His father was a politician and often spent long periods away from home. His mother was often sick so he was mostly cared for by his aunt and the family’s servants. His father died of lung cancer when Dazai was 13, but he seemed mostly unhindered by the death of his father and continued through schooling before being accepted into the literature department of Hirosaki University in 1927.

Things started taking a more outward effect on Dazai around this time, the linchpin likely being the death of his idol - author Ryūnosuke Akutagawa - who committed suicide. He started losing interest in his studies, investing more time into alcohol and prostitutes. He also experimented in Marxism, even joining the Japanese Communist Party. His first suicide attempt was in 1929 - right before his school exams - by an attempted sleeping pill overdose. This wasn’t enough to kill him so he subsequently survived. He graduated from Hirosaki the following year, then moved to Tokyo University in 1930. There, he met a prostitute that he ran away with, prompting him to be disowned by his family. 

His second attempt at suicide came that year - an attempted double suicide with a young woman he barely knew. They threw themselves into the ocean. Sadly, she died, and Dazai was rescued by a passing fishing boat. He was suspected in the woman’s death, but his family’s influence saved him. He then married the prostitute he ran away with.

It was after this that Dazai began networking with established writers and started publishing his own works, his pseudonym of Dazai Osamu being established with his short story ‘Ressha’ in 1933. In 1935, he attempted suicide for the third time by hanging, failing once again. That same year, he suffered from appendicitis and was admitted to hospital where he developed an addiction to a morphine-based painkiller. He was admitted to a mental institution in 1936 and was forced off of his drug addiction. When he was getting treated, his wife had an affair with his best friend. With their marriage deteriorating, both Dazai and his wife attempted a double suicide - Dazai’s fourth attempt. They both consumed sleeping pills in an attempted overdose. Both survived and Dazai divorced his wife after this.

The 1930s and 1940s were Dazai’s golden years literature-wise. He wrote many novels and short stories. When World War II rolled around, he escaped being drafted due to tuberculosis. He continued writing through the war period and met and then married his second wife in 1941. They had three children together.

The last years of Dazai’s life produced his most infamous works - ‘The Setting Sun’ and ‘No Longer Human’ - in 1947 and 1948 respectively. Around this time, Dazai met a woman who he left his wife and children for to take as a mistress. On June 13, 1948, Dazai and his mistress committed suicide by drowning in the Tamagawa Reservoir in Tokyo. In a cruelly ironic twist, their corpses were discovered on what would have been Dazai’s 39th birthday - his fifth attempt was the one that succeeded. An unfinished novelette eerily titled ‘Goodbye’ was left behind, many believing this as his last will.

Dazai’s works became a cult classic after his death, his undertones of nihilism in a postwar society greatly appealing to the masses. ‘No Longer Human’ became his most famous piece, eventually being translated into many languages and is among the most popular books in Japanese literature. He inspired different movies and anime (and otome) with the story of his life and the works he crafted from his experiences.

(All info in this section is derived from Source 1)

No Longer Human’s Effect

When you think Dazai Osamu, it’s not uncommon to immediately think of his novel ‘No Longer Human’. Whether you’ve read the book or not, worry not, as I will not be discussing any plots in the book; I will instead address the overarching themes and (the lack of) conclusion and message the novel leaves you with.

Many consider ‘No Longer Human’ - and many other of Dazai’s works - as semi-autobiographical, as he took many of his story’s ideas from his own personal experiences. This is illustrated through the way in which he wrote his stories; focusing on first-person perspectives to an excruciatingly analytical degree. This was and still is known as the “I-Genre” in Japan and became a staple for Dazai, the viewpoints and mindsets he wrote his characters in portrayed very vividly in a way that made you question how much of it is the character, and how much of what he wrote was the author’s own words and feelings to the world.

‘No Longer Human’ is not a happy story. It follows the story of a man through childhood, university and finally adulthood - the story written in three parts as notebooks to show his progression of age. Without spoiling the contents of the novel in case you wish to read it for yourself, the story focuses on an overarching question: is being a human the solution, or the problem in and of itself? Throughout the novel, it’s clear of how questioning the main character is of this, almost to the point of obsession and compulsion. However, his language always shows how unconvinced he is; a “mundane and dream-like writing, incessantly miming the words “I think … ,” “I am … ,” “I could … ,” “I should … .” Dazai’s characters are never quite convinced.” (Source 2).

The character Dazai portrays is relentless in his self-examination, which leads to his estrangement - not just from those around him, but to the very species he is meant to be a part of. Estrangement is common throughout the story and “It is this fundamentally unhuman feeling that, paradoxically, reveals to Dazai’s characters exactly how human they are.” (Source 2). The inner monologues and conversations can be unsettling if you find yourself relating, alien if you don’t, but ultimately leave you walking away from it questioning even an inkling of what you thought was innate and normal. 

‘No Longer Human’ is not a story designed to tie up all of the loose ends it produces. Dazai leaves it up to you - the reader - to interpret for yourself. The character is infuriatingly, yet ultimately in character, indecisive in how he wishes to perceive the world; “To be a nonentity strangely indifferent to all the accoutrements of human life and society, and yet strangely drawn to the unhuman world of sky, rain, sand, sea, this is where Dazai’s novel ultimately leads, and it’s at this point that it has to end.” (Source 2).

Depression and Nihilism

I mentioned earlier that Dazai was admitted to a mental institution. From the sources I found, I couldn’t find anything concrete about why he was admitted aside from battling his drug addiction. However, mental illness was prevalent in Dazai’s life and it’s widely believed depression was a large part of this. Few recounts of people who talked with Dazai recalled his dark, wry tone in his writings, yet found his humour witty and oftentimes exaggerated (hmmmm…). Since I found nothing credible for this discussion beyond this, I’m going to step away from psychology and instead have a look at philosophy, specifically Dazai’s philosophy on life.

Again, this is just assumptions. However, I find this more comfortable theorising about over sensitive topics like depression and mental health (plus, I find this incredibly interesting, personally). You could argue that Dazai believes in sophistry - the use of clever but false arguments, especially with the intention of deceiving - but I’m inclined to disagree simply because of how deep Dazai digs himself into his own deception; if he himself believes what he tells others, I think it’s a more deep-rooted philosophy than false arguments. I mentioned nihilism earlier and this is what I ultimately believe is the philosophy in how Dazai saw the world. What type of nihilism is the question.

Most people think nihilism and assume the whole “God is dead, I feel nothing” hypothetical; I know I used to always assume so. But, of course, it’s not as cut and dry as that (nothing is simple…). There are different types of nihilism, but I will only talk about the one I think applies to Dazai. Throughout his stories, despite the gloomy atmosphere, there’s usually a(n attempted) glimmer of hope - a snag in the character’s mindset that draws them back into their repeating thoughts of what they should and should not perceive and believe in. Because of this, cosmic nihilism (also called cosmic pessimism) can be eliminated - Dazai’s characters don’t renounce everything they feel and take meaning in as illusions to make existing easier, they’re slightly more lenient in believing what they perceive.

I offer the type of nihilism I believe Dazai’s mindset for writing - and subsequently his actual mindset - falls into: existential nihilism.

Existential nihilism operates on the premise that there is no inherent meaning or purpose; “existence itself–all action, suffering, and feeling–is ultimately senseless and empty.” (Source 3). While not denouncing beliefs like faith and love like cosmic nihilism, existential nihilism relies on values being created and sustained lest they risk falling into the mindset that there is no hope, the world is truly empty and there’s no point in existing in a world that doesn’t even try to give you a reason to hold on. Existential nihilists don’t believe that happiness doesn’t exist; they simply believe that “miseries vastly outnumber pleasures, happiness is impossible” (Source 3) and, therefore, are constantly at odds with themselves over striving for this impossible happiness or simply leaving it behind to find something else to root themselves to reality. Many of Dazai’s character’s internal conversations echo this philosophy; they either despair over being who they are, or they despair because they can’t be who they think they are. In a specific example, they feel estranged and uneasy about how they think - being what they deem “not human” - or they feel trapped and alone in believing that they can’t be who they think they are, so they’re forced to play a character - a facade - for their entire life so as not to be discovered.

Search up ‘Dazai Osamu quotes’ on Google and you’ll find a plethora to read that seem to portray this very idea. Constantly battling within himself over what he should believe, what he should feel and, ultimately, never voicing his pain to the world itself. These two screenshots from the game seem to mirror this sentiment. 

Soo… what does this mean for Ikemen Vampire Dazai?

… Who knows? I don’t work for Cybird so I couldn’t possibly tell you sorry :3. The PV for his route had heavy implications of atonement and death being the only true salvation, so I’m intrigued on what angle they’re going to tackle that from, since Dazai’s reasoning for being revived was “well, death wasn’t what I thought it would be lol”. (Unless it’s a red herring… who knows with this eccentric man gbdukgdfx).

So… yeah. I just wanted to ramble and with his route dropping in Japan before April is done, I thought it was a good time to just ramble into the Tumblr void. Please feel free to broach further conversations about this, correct me if I slipped up anywhere or to just say you’re excited for his route (because I know I am huehuehue). 

Sources can be found here (Source 1 | Source 2 | Source 3)

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevam dazai #dazai character analysis #okay....I think I did okay gbeuidsgknds #I had to stop myself for the sake of my own sanity but wow this stuff is interesting to me #and hopefully it was interesting to you if you decided to read :3 #tawny rambles #tawny is sad over this man's life and needs to go think of happier things now gbudgkndsf

[asynjja]

@khrused​ said:   [ SLOW-BURN ] :   after a long period of mutual pining, your muse makes the first move and kisses my muse.   (Gimme dis👀)   ―     kissing prompts.   not currently accepting!

                    𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑,   like all windows have been opened and the air filling lungs cool and born in the expanse of the OCEAN.   Friendships don’t always last ――   heart always attempting to find one reason or another to leave,   to be safe.   But the walls crumble around her,   Bailey’s laughter imprinting on her,   Hera’s eyes doing the SAME;   there is a spot in her garden that the young child has conquered,   now spotting all kinds of flowers and blackberries,   sweet and sour and vibrant against the grey rush of the city.   Perhaps she’d find a way to ruin this for her,   maybe if she dug deep enough ――   the difference of occupation,   the difference of LIFESTYLE.   But truth is when the agent looks at the cursed mother,   something comes to life that should have DIED lifetimes ago ――   a sense of welcome insecurity,   of grounding.   Like she’s just a neighbour,   and there’s no bigger purpose than breathing   and catching Hera’s SMILE in the corners of her eyes.

Soapy REMNANTS cling to fingertips when she empties the drain,   dishtowel tossed over her shoulder and sleeves rolled up.   Bailey’s been asleep for a good two and a half hours when ears finally hear the door unlock.   It’s not even Moa’s home,   far from it ――   but the warmth of it,   the smell of dinner filling the kitchen hours after she’s prepared it,   it doesn’t have a FOREIGNNESS to it either.     She’s in love.     She has been before,   of course,   as old as she is but…   when Hera reaches the kitchen and greets her with an apologetic smile,   the realisation hits and leaves her DISMAL for a moment.   Life couldn’t be any more ORDINARY than here between clean dishes and a stove.   And that’s what she’s always wanted but didn’t believe she’d DESERVE,   isn’t it ?   Running from one lover to another,   BURYING herself in the nape of foreign necks ――   like it’d be able to replace the emptiness inside a ribcage.

But Hera and Moa are friends.   There’s the coffee breaks on busy playgrounds,   babysitting duty after paperwork,   and conversations over a few glasses of wine when Bailey’s already neatly tugged in.   Sometimes she thinks there’s a semblance of FLIRTATION flickering in Hera’s green eyes ――   but it’s the way she probably looks at customers,   siren-like luring them in.   It works on Moa.   Shouldn’t be interpreted TOO MUCH lest the interpretation leads to a broken heart   and as good as the agent is in keeping herself pokerfaced,   it becomes TIRING to pretend to not care.

Still.   Silence settles in between too silhouettes but far from UNCOMFORTABLE;   palms are placed on the edge of a countertop,   charcoal eyes glued onto her counterpart.   But most importantly,   an UPWARD curvature of lips ――   as if it could have been any other way.   Something about the way that tousled waves fall into a face or how the FATIGUE peaks through concealer.   Hera’s the OPPOSITE of everything that Moa always used to be ――   from the curve of her hips to the bright vibrancy of her smile.   The agent somehow feels incapable next to her,   in the most BEAUTIFUL of ways;   every few centuries exists a woman to humble her,   to remind her that she’s but SOIL,   a rotten corpse,   desperately clinging to love and to FREEDOM.   And it’s not masochism that makes her thrive in that humility.   Humankind has looked up to the stars since its creation,   finding a sense of security and RELIEF in the relative diminutiveness ――   knowing,   surely,   that even the SMALLEST pieces of life harbour great influence.   Looking at Hera feels the same;   like she needs not carry the weight of the world on her own.   She is small,   she can SHARE it with all the other small pieces that add up to a bigger picture.   And most essentially,   she is not alone.

A LAUGH threatens to escape the depths of a throat.     Looking at Hera feels the same ?     She’s had too little hours of sleep,   too many hours at work ――   must be it.   A QUESTION written across green eyes,   looking at her, SCRUTINISING her.   She’s old,   she’s godforsaken old;   someone so ancient shouldn’t lean onto the sink and read between barely LEGIBLE lines.   How long has she known Hera ?   How many times HEARD about her preference in women and men ?   The descriptions never fit her,   she doesn’t strike her as a relationship person ――   Moa isn’t one either.   But she stands there,   still,   and Hera stands leant against the doorframe.   It could’ve been a comedy if it weren’t so CRUSHING.

“ I prepared Bailey lunch for tomorrow, ”   she finally says,   to break the ice.   Dishtowel still on her shoulder and spread FINGERTIPS running through dark strands of hair as figure moves to open the fridge and show just WHERE she’s positioned the lunchbox at ――   she’ll be gone in the morning,   of course.   There’s no reason to stay and she,   TOO,   has work to get back to.   But breaking the ice that comes with heavy silence is a double-edged sword;   there’s a HEARTBEAT,   louder than from the distance,   and the smell of PERFUME.   She thinks she shuts the fridge close,   isn’t too sure;   thinks she wants to say something else about what she’s productively done after tugging Bailey in ――   instead she finds the PROXIMITY of both silhouettes reduced and lungs running out of AIR.   There’s pink confetti near Hera’s ear,   cold fingertips picking it up as if it’s an instinct.   Heartbeat skips a beat as though electrified,   throat painfully TIGHT,   and palm lingering on soft skin for far too long.

                    The moment she kisses Hera,   she feels drunk.   There is no breath,   no weight,   no WORLD beyond the corners of Hera’s mouth ――   and reality crawls back slowly when lips separate,   a CLUMP on the back of a tongue,   eyes erratic.   She wants to apologise but no words come out ――   and then a warm HAND on the side of her waist like a quiet permission.     She kisses her again.   This time,   less frightened.

#khrused #brainfart noises #me ? trying to survive this last week by writing moa kiss hera ? maybe #― sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʟɪᴇs ᴛʜᴇ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴏᴍᴇ . hera & moa . #― ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏ ɢᴏᴅ . ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴏsᴛᴀᴛᴇ . main .

[brookelynnsanders]

The First Fall

A/N so here is a little side rp with @ladyreggiewright - thank you casshew, it was so much fun. again no beta, just me, grammerly and god.

Brooke Lynn's mind has become a hoarding monster over the past weeks. Too much time on her own as she barely passes by someone she knows. Her maids the only steady companions she can rely on, too bad two of them are selectively mute and the other constantly scolds the blonde. 

And just like most times in her life, she decides to run away from her problems on the daily. So it's no surprise to find her running  through the royal garden blasting upbeat music in her headphones. Focusing on her breathing instead of the burning in her thighs. Until she reaches too deep inside, scratching the core of emptiness again. 

Don’t cry, don’t cry. Everything will be alright. The pain in her legs now the only thing keeping her float. So she keeps a steady pace, one step after another. Welcoming the empty paths around her as sweat gathers at the base of her neck. The blonde jogs around a corner Bush, letting her ponytail swing from left to right, while admiring the cherry blossoms adorn the cloud-free sky. 

Until the world suddenly falls down. 

"Fuck," Brooke groans into the grass beneath her face. Inhaling too many bugs and plant particles for her liking. Her headphones now hanging around her neck instead of fulfilling their purpose.

A voice suddenly appears above her. "Are you... alright?" 

Yeah sure, we all know this is a fake garden with a bouncy flooring. 

The blonde hastily gets back up into a sitting position, resting on her soles as she removes the grass pieces from her lips and lashes, before dusting of her pink leggings. 

"Yes, I am. Just wanted to hug the grass. It seemed lonely," the blonde answers coldly. Already annoyed by the world prior to her stumble. 

"I would advise against that for in the future." 

Brooke barely focuses on the female voice next to her, to absorbed by all the misfortunes the universe has thrown at her. 

"My apologies, it was not my intention to make you... hug the grass as you put it." 

With a small sight and a flip of her ponytail, the blonde woman gets up and finally allows herself to take in the owner of the smooth yet slightly confused voice. The girl opposite her has brunette waves covering her shoulders and a stern look on her face. A face that seemed familiar but didn't elicit a certain memory. 

"I accept your apology," Brooke states with a smirk on her lips, "What are you doing out here anyway? I rarely see any other selected when I am out on a run." 

The gardens always seemed to be lonely once Brooke is on a run. Most ladies probably keeping each other company in the women's room or exploring the palace on their own. Or Brooke just went outside at odd times. 

The girl opposite her simply blinks at her, before glancing at her book. Giving Brooke nearly enough time to find constellations in the freckles splattered across her cheeks. "I was reading." Brooke's appearance doesn't go unnoticed either as the girl gives her a brief once-over. "Brooke Lynn Sanders, was it?" A polite smile now gracing her face, lighting up her earlier demeanor. 

"Yes. And you are?" Pursed lips and furrowed brows exposing her obvious confusion. 

"Regina Wright, but Reggie is fine."

Brooke Lynn takes the her outstretched hand, attempting to use the etiquette lessons she had to endure for some good. "Nice to meet you Regina." 

The blue-eyed gaze now resting against the book in Regina's hand, covered in more sticky notes than she could count. "Were you studying or do you passionately cover each book of yours with sticky notes?" She wonders out loud, amused at the sight and clicks her tongue. 

"Studying, in fact,” Reggie counters as she rolls her shoulders back, sitting back on the bench with her legs crossed delicately. The picture of a true lady. Glancing at the book beside her with the notes in it. “Just covering them with notes sounds pointless. How has your stay been so far?” An awkward smile on her lips tells Brooke that she might not really care.

So Brooke furrows her brows and brushes over the question and shots back her own. “Why are you studying? Didn't your university extend your studies because of the selection?” Petty drips from her chin. What a poor soul, if that’s really the case.

“And delay them? I don't see why I simply can't do both.” The scoff before the words pour of her mouth and the sudden ignorant demeanor, nose and chin raised high, only add to the sudden dislike overcoming the blonde. 

Nevermind.

“Two months of a study break won't kill a career that hasn't even started.” A playful tone in her voice an attempt to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she doesn’t allow herself to rest.

Dark orbs stare into her ocean ones as her counterpart presses her lips together, clearly suppressing her thoughts. Or at least rechoosing them. “Well, it's clear we differ in priorities...”

Blonde bushy brows raise high. Ohhh. So she thinks she is better than all of us for actually studying.

“Well one of us can appreciate when the universe throws a break at her so she won't end up with a burn out at 28.” She might sound like an egghead, but she is a proud egghead.

Regina just flips through the pages of her book, lifting a brow shortly as if she hadn’t properly heard Brooke. But if the blonde wasn’t mistaken she could hear a slight whisper of the word “unachieved”. The smile on the brunette’s lips says otherwise. “I doubt any universe would concern itself with someone's need for a so-called break, but I suppose that's a way to... Make use of an opportunity.”

“Well while we are we can work on our selves and take care of our mental health. Do some yoga, meditate, go on a run, find our chi.” Brooke could go on and on about self-care methods and the benefits those have. But she doubts that Regina would appreciate her lecture so she asks her what she studies instead.

“Political Science.” Her gaze barely lifting from her book. Seemingly waiting for the blonde to depart.

“Political Science... In a monarchy.” Brooke Lynn’s double in size at the mention of the woman’s major. With a small cough, she tries to cover up her disdain but still asks: “Interesting choice. What job opportunities does this major offer?”

”You are not aware of how our country works?” Regina shakes her head, probably already judging the blonde, and begins listing: “There's advisors, multiple political functions within each province, not to mention ambassadors- and if none of those interest you somehow, there's lawyer, political journalist, professor- “

The blonde feels her cheeks heat up as she tries to deflect from her knowledge gap. “Well, that sounds like a diverse field. But wouldn't make it more sense for advisors to be experts in their fields and not experts on politics?” 

Yet that only leads to a rub of her counterpart’s forehead and a deep sigh. Yes and no. Yes if you're talking specific advisors, however, they would still need a general knowledge of the procedures and laws. No, if you're talking head advisor of the Monarchy for example, who should have a basic understanding of all things.” Brooke hums, still not completely convinced, but unable to offer better arguments.”I suspect you don't aspire such a career.”

 Brooke bops her head before answering. “You are right, I don't. My place is in the natural sciences.”

“What major specifically?” A pinch of condescension in her voice, while her eyes keep her thoughts tightly hidden away.

“Psychology. Aiming for a Master's degree in Neuropsychology.” The blonde throws her ponytail behind her back, refusing to break eye contact.

“That is... actually interesting.” Gotcha. “Yet, you wanted a break from it?”

“I don't want it, I just know that opportunities to solely focus on yourself with a clean slate and barely any distractions are rare. So I'll take it.” And everyone should, she adds mentally. Deep down being concerned about the seemingly overworked woman with a perfectionist nature. “And I already handed in my Bachelor Thesis, so my work is already done.” Not that she needed to defend her mental health break, but she would have spend the coming weeks looking for Master programs anyways. Maybe had helped out in some more projects.

“Interesting. Better than your running capabilities then,” Regina adds with a heartfelt smirk and regally gets up from the metal bench.

A scoff passes Brooke’s lips before speaking up: “I run perfectly without any death traps!” A giggle escaping her lungs involuntarily.

“Little hyperbolic to call my feet that, but alright. “ Thi is the cue for the brunette to grab her sticky notes covered book, hug it to her chest, before straightening her spine even more. “The library has quite some Poli Sci books, so you can... catch up.” A single nod is her goodbye gesture before turning around. Leaving Brooke a bit dumbfounded on her running path.

The blonde mumbles the words “as if I cared enough for a pseudoscience,” before plugging in her headphones and continuing her run. Attempting to forget about this strange encounter. Hoping it was her last.

#Brooke lynn Sanders #side rp #reggie wright #selection oc #((before first date))

[what-even-is-thiss]

Fic, Off of Land, Out of Water, Part 4, Moving

This is uuhhh... part 4. Sorry it took so long. I was in a couple of intensive summer writing classes and they nearly killed me.

Warnings: There’s like five cuss words and some offscreen death. 2,358 words.

Abstract: Why we’re all here. Where we are. No answer yet about what’s coming next.

First Previous Next

4. Moving

“An entire community was uprooted. You can’t expect us to be perfectly fixed after just one generation.” Logan huffed.

He looked at his reflection in the polished glass and angrily scrubbed at the scales on his face with a dead bit of coral.

“Everyone around here expects the city to be the way it was up north. We’re in tropical waters now.”

Gentle hands came from above him and got him to surrender the coral.

“You’re going to make yourself bleed again if you’re not careful, honey.” His Mom said, turning upside down and pressing her forehead to his.

“Mother…” Logan started.

“None of that. I don’t want you to be thinking about politics this early. You’re too young to be thinking about that.”

Logan sighed. “You make a fair point.”

The mermaid smiled. Her short black hair moved around her like seaweed. The scales cutting through it and going to wrap around her left arm were the color of seaweed. 

“I always make fair points.”

“Mother, everyone is wrong sometimes. So when is father getting back?”

Her happy expression twitched.

“It’ll take a while. Magic takes up a lot of energy and there’s a lot of oil up there. I think it’s time we go to sleep, guppy.”

Logan sighed. “Mother, I’m 17. I could technically live on my own.”

She pulled him close. “Well let’s hope that you don’t have to.”

They locked the door and held each other close, prepared to sleep. 

“Mother?” Logan asked.

“Yes, darling?”

“Should I go help him?”

“Listen to me. Don’t go to the surface. I don’t want to lose you. Now go to sleep.”

“But people younger than me go up all the time. How would you lose me?”

“You’ll know when you’re an adult, Logan. Now go to sleep.”

“Yes, mother.”

……….

Virgil swam downward, pulling the body along with him.

It became darker. The chill became more intense. Creatures swam past him that he didn’t recognize. Most of them weren’t the type of thing he wanted to linger on for too long.

The small sunlight pendant tied around his neck did almost nothing down here. It was getting harder and harder to breathe as the water pressure increased. When he looked behind himself the tip of his tail disappeared into the blackness. 

He was grateful for the darkness. Grateful that he couldn’t see her properly in the darkness. Grateful that he couldn’t see the grey mixing in with the brown of her skin, her wine red scales flaking off, her black eyes rolled back in her head and her long grey hair floating around as if dead now. No live thing making it move in circles and s shapes in the water.

Finally it became deep to the point where he knew if he continued that he would soon die. He stopped swimming and tapped the little light tied to his neck. It went out. 

Now it was just him, the darkness, whatever creatures were swimming in the pitch black of the ocean, and what was left of the sea witch Val, whose mer name translates to “sunlight near the surface”.

The body smelled. He held it close and felt the ceremonial cords that the people in town had tied around her. It was assumed that everyone grew up being told how to perform a mer funeral but Virgil, of course, grew up on land and had no idea. He had to quietly pull the schoolmaster aside and ask.

Of course he was the closest thing to family she had and of course Logan was afraid of the depths and didn’t want to return after his parents’ funerals. So of course Virgil had to face this alone. The Catholic in him wanted to say a prayer. Something. But that’s not how they did things down here.

Instead he detached a sharp stone from the cord around his neck and held the body away from himself by the ropes tied around it.

“You were loved. To the depths you go. For your sake may you never be found.”

He cut the rope and let go of it. He swam upwards and didn’t look back. He didn’t turn his light on. If he did that might distract her soul from finding where it’s supposed to go, or anger the gods that would guide her. Or so the teacher had told him.

When he saw light he didn’t stop swimming. When he got to the town he didn’t stop. As soon as his body adjusted to a new depth he kept going higher. Somewhere in his frantic swimming he dropped the necklace with the bottle of sunlight and sharp rock. He swam further and further, his heart pounding from with the anxiety or exercise, he didn’t know. 

Then he broke the surface and saw that he was alone with nothing on the horizon. 

There was nothing and no one left to blame so he spent some time insulting the moon.

……….

Logan sat on the rock, his bare feet hanging in the water. There was something about the place where two elements met. Something good. That’s something Roman or one of the spiritual leaders down there would tell him though, so he’d never admit that out loud. He had a reputation after all.

He waited there, his feet in the water. Roman had offered to wait for Virgil with him. Logan told him no. No, he didn’t want Roman there for this. Virgil had been underwater for two weeks now, leaving him with his brothers. They saw Logan as their brother too now, but they weren’t Virgil. Besides, there was one talk that Virgil hadn’t finished with him. One he’d wanted since the day he’d broken the surface.

One that he now knew had been waiting for him since he was born.

……..

When something impossible happens, the universe will likely want some payment in return. Existence itself is impossible, so as a consequence of it existing it has to be complicated. If existence was possible, it would be a lot more straightforward.

If intelligent beings were meant to exist they would be a lot kinder and a lot more rational. However, they weren’t meant to exist and so they go around starting wars all the time. 

By the time the universe got around to mermaids it was tired of symbolism. Being intelligent, the species would be suffering enough already, so why put the entire species through the wringer? That had already been done to humans, satyrs, dolphins, crows, octopi, and elves. Why do it to another species?

The thing was though, the land and the sea were mad. They were mad about everything. First the land takes away some sea life with evolution (which shouldn’t have existed) and then that life got intelligent and started cutting things and inventing magic. Then it had the audacity to return to the ocean again. The whales were bad enough, but humans returning? Unacceptable.

The universe decided that in this case it wouldn’t fuck up all humans and merpeople. Both of them had enough problems already. Instead, it would epically fuck up one human and one merperson about every hundred years or so, forcing both of them to move between land and sea. It would be really inconvenient for them and everyone that knew them. That was enough give and take to keep order, it decided.

Exactly six thousand seven hundred years later, Virgil got that scar on his stomach after a long day involving a broken car and a crying three year old screaming about how he didn’t want a little brother and Logan was too small to force his way out of his egg so the nurse had to cut him out of it. Both were born early. The ocean and land are impatient pieces of shit. The universe tried to cut them some slack but even the universe can’t stop intelligent creatures from being intelligent creatures.

Intelligent creatures are too stupid to see what’s right in front of them.

……….

Virgil pushed his bangs out of his eyes and slicked them back with water.

“And that’s the only thing they ever had me memorize.” he said.

Logan squinted at Virgil through his glasses. Ever since he’d gotten the hang of speaking with flat teeth he’d noticed how slurred Virgil’s speech was when he was a merman. The pointed teeth just weren’t designed to make certain noises and the way his vocal box interacted with air made it sound like he was talking with a bunch of cotton stuck in his throat.

“It’s… short. And crass.” Logan said. “Who came up with that?” 

“I think it was translated to English in the 1980s.” Virgil said. “By a British person. It kind of sounds like reading a satire novel, I know. I think the original language is dead. The English was translated from… North Atlantic dialect? I don’t know. I’m not a fucking intellectual and neither was the guy that translated it, probably.”

Virgil dunked his head underwater and took a deep breath before raising up again and spitting the water out.

“Sorry. I can breathe air but it starts to taste nasty after a while.” he said.

Logan folded his legs, a trick he’d learned from volunteering with Patton in a kindergarten class, and thought for a second.

“So what were you doing in your private lessons all that time if you only had to memorize the story of how we got here?” Logan asked.

“Teaching human history and stuff.” Virgil said. “Whenever you get back down here they’ll probably have questions for you. They like to take what I teach them and turn it into poetry so it’s easier to memorize. Sometimes they change details so it sounds better though. I suspect that’s been happening for thousands of years now and so uh…”

“The history I’ve memorized is probably less than accurate.” Logan said.

Virgil let out a whistle of agreement and sympathy, something Logan had figured out by now that was a lot easier to do than speak in a more human way when you had a mer body. Virgil had caused himself a great deal of discomfort teaching Logan English for all those years. For Logan had never found it to be difficult. Virgil said the fact that human speech was easy for Logan clued him in to the fact that Logan was the one he was supposed to be looking for. His counterpart that would hopefully have a full childhood before he was exposed to the air. And he had. Sort of. He’d had to become more independent than most merpeople after his parents had died, but he did live underwater, blissfully unaware of what was coming.

And seeing what had happened to Virgil, that was likely for the best. He was supposed to be introduced to the ocean when he was twenty one, but like a typical teenager, he rebelled. So high school was binged in short homeschool sessions and socializing with other humans was done in small bites. As a result merpeople found him to be too threatening and humans found him to be too blunt. His unusually deep voice and not-quite-ridiculous-but-still-tall height didn’t help him blend in either. So he did what he did best. He avoided everyone except for Logan, his brothers, and his talent agent and made a living off of doing voiceovers and video game sound effects. A job that could be binged and he usually got quite easily with his deep voice. Nobody had to see his face. Except for when somebody dragged him out to do something “fun”.

……...

In the same way Logan was able to speak human languages fairly easily, Virgil was able to whistle and make other sounds like clicking or hissing with his mouth in a much more complex and nuanced way than other humans could. Logan found he lost the ability to fully speak mer language without sounding like a two year old with a mouth full of seaweed when he was human but Virgil’s mer speech on land sounded like it always did. Clear with a slight irregular sound that Logan now knew was a non native speaker accent and not a speech impediment.

This ability made Virgil a very good voice actor and voiceover artist. A voice actor and voiceover artist known for never appearing at conventions or taking interviews, but could occasionally be heard whistling like a bird in a Disney movie at an open mic night at a certain coffee shop that one of his brothers dragged him to. The one that wasn’t a drag queen, his fans would say. Wait, that drag queen is related to Virgil Sanders? The other fan would answer them that it was crazy right? Then they would go back to arguing about animation styles and bad movie trailers.

……..

The toddler sat on the box labeled “board games” and his oldest brother braided his hair.

“Why are you braiding her hair, Roman?” Virgil asked, tugging at his overalls. He hated wearing overalls.

The eight year old huffed. “She needs to look good for the new house, Virgil.” he said.

“That’s stupid.” Virgil said. “Houses can’t see.”

“Are you three arguing again? I’d better not hear you pulling on Trish’s hair!” came a voice from the next room.

“No, mom!” Roman called out.

Their mom left the house and soon enough they heard arguing from outside near the Uhaul. All three of the children were smart enough to try and drown it out. The one who wasn’t called Patton yet started hiding his face in his hands. Roman tied his hair off and gave him a hug. Virgil started whistling. He sounded like a bird from a movie.

“How did you do that?” Roman asked.

Virgil shrugged and just kept whistling. Outside their dad yelled something about missing the ocean and their mom yelled something about safety. Roman pushed a stuffed animal into the toddler’s hands. Virgil stopped whistling and closed the window. He wondered how he’d sleep without hearing the waves outside. He also wondered why he’d never gotten close to them.

#roman wrote a thing #sanders sides #mer au #sanders sides au #analogical #platonic analogical #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #death mention