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lurkingshan · 1 year

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Make it Right 2

I have so many thoughts and feelings about this show that I'm struggling to decide where to start. I guess the best place is my overall impressions, which haven't changed since I finished the first series: I LOVE THIS SHOW AND I WILL DEFEND THESE CHARACTERS TO ANYONE. Fight me!

Now real talk, does this show have high production quality, smart writing and plotting, sharp editing, scene construction, and overall narrative consistency and coherence? No, it does not. It has none of those things, and a lot of them have gotten markedly worse from the first season. But all that barely phased me because the characters just hooked themselves right into my heart and wouldn't let go. This show is very very messy, but in the most lovable way ("LIKE GAY PEOPLE" - @bengiyo).

There were three main storylines that I was invested in for this second season. I will talk about them in order of least to most emotional investment. @waitmyturtles @wen-kexing-apologist @manogirl tagging you to come back to this later after you finish your watches because I want to talk about ALL OF THIS. For anyone reading - major spoilers from here on out!!

Yok & Lukmo

Boy, I did not expect this romance, and I really liked it. Which came as a surprise, because I did not care much about Mo in the first series. I was more invested in Yok, but in season 1 he felt kind of removed from everyone else, which was of course by design. He felt apart from the other boys because he is different. And it was just really really lovely to see a femme gay character get to embrace who he is and be loved for it. I like that he was wary of Mo and tested him for awhile before he let him in, and that Mo did waver a bit when he was first challenged on whether he really was okay being in a gay relationship. That felt authentic to me, and only made it feel more solid when they came back together with Mo more confident in what he wanted. I also liked that in the end Yok's mom stepped up to take her kid's side and express her acceptance of who he is and his relationship - it was very sweet.

I do have to deduct some points here for that very tonally bizarre sex scene that got tacked on to the end of their story. The way that scene was directed, shot, and edited just didn't feel in line with their dynamic at all, and I spent most of it thinking we were in some kind of weird dream sequence. I did find it amusing though that these two were better with physical intimacy in their one scene than the leads ever managed across two full seasons.

Frame & Book

My beloveds!! They were my favorite part of season 1, and I still loved them here, though I think the show faltered a lot on their storyline in season 2. The ideas behind their arc - Book working through some past relationship trauma, dealing with the fallout of Book's public violation, Frame struggling to hang in as Book pushed him away - were all good. But the execution was pretty spotty. The entire arc needed some clearer storyboarding and a pacing and sequencing revamp. The choppy editing this season felt most evident to me in this storyline, where I often felt like scenes came abruptly out of nowhere or felt out of sequence, and emotional swings happened too fast to be believable. And I didn't love where the show ultimately took some of the resolutions with the ex-boyfriend (and the teacher who was apparently inviting his students for group sex parties??) but I can't say they aren't in line with this show's overall forgiving attitude toward whatever these boys get up to.

All that said, at the core of this storyline was Frame and Book struggling to endure a traumatic event together, figuring out how they need to show up for each other in those moments, and learning from their mistakes to become better communicators. All of that worked and fit the characters really well. I believed that Book would totally shut down and push Frame out in the face of public humiliation and deep shame. I believed Frame would try and try and try to get through to him but also experience moments of weakness where he would be tempted to just say fuck it and go back to the easier path of casual hookups. And though a lot of the journey to get there was sloppily executed, I believed that they would ultimately come out of that mess more committed and in love than before (I could have done without all the wedding talk though, they are 16 people!).

Fuse & Tee

And here we come to the arc that frustrated and thrilled me in equal measure. FUSE YOU ABSOLUTE WANKER I WANT TO YEET YOU OFF A CLIFF AND ALSO GIVE YOU A GIANT HUG. I was deep in my feelings about this story all season. Fuse made me so mad, Tee made me so sad, and they both made me so happy in the end when they finally figured out their shit.

As we discussed in the clown server, Fuse's storyline feels very familiar to a lot of early Thai bl. His inability to let go of his shitty girlfriend and his constant wavering between Jean and Tee was reminiscent of Phun in Love Sick (and would also be a dynamic repeated in other shows like Together with Me). The key difference for me, and what made it comparably more upsetting than in Love Sick, is that unlike Noh, Tee did not have his own other relationship to deal with or any ambivalence about whether he wanted to actually be together. Tee only wanted Fuse, and wanted commitment and fidelity from him, and watching Tee get increasingly depressed as he tried to be happy just getting what he could from Fuse, caught in a cycle of getting hope and then being rejected again, was so painful. And while he might not have been fully aware of how selfish and cruel he was being at first, eventually Fuse definitely saw how this was affecting Tee and came to understand he was the cause, and he still didn't stop fucking with him! I was so angry with him around the midpoint of the season, I just wanted Tee to dump him and start dating his little friend.

What made it all so much harder to swallow is that Jean and Fuse's relationship was so mild. THEY DON'T EVEN LIKE EACH OTHER. Fuse does not want to touch or kiss her - that was established way back at the beginning of season 1. They go long stretches where they don't even talk to each other until one of them remembers the other exists. Jean has a whole other boyfriend that she seems to have a much deeper relationship with. And this is where the show kind of pissed me off, because the way they turned Jean into an evil manipulative woman stereotype with her pulling this elaborate scheme to pretend her boyfriend was her brother so she could parade around town with him (and even brazenly bring him in front of Fuse!) just felt so false and over the top to me. Why would she bother to do any of that just for the sake of stringing along this boy who isn't even interested in being her boyfriend in any real way? @bengiyo mentioned that his reading of it was she is insecure in her relationship with the older boy and so wants Fuse as a back up, which I could buy to a certain extent, but they really lost me with the lengths she went to. Jean is a very pretty girl who will no doubt have another boyfriend in a week; all this just to hang on to Fuse? I didn't buy it.

And that's a problem because it made it harder to understand why the hell Fuse was having such a hard time letting go of her, and why he was willing to hurt Tee so much in the process. I think if he genuinely liked Jean and had a deeper relationship with her, that would have worked better for me. As it was, he just seemed like a coward, and the way he kept rejecting Tee and then still trying to have his way with him after was infuriating. When he told Tee he was breaking up with him and staying with Jean, and then still tried to get him to sleep with him after, that's when I was ready to strangle this kid. And some of this I can rationalize as him not being ready to firmly commit to being out in a gay relationship and needing Jean as a kind of shield and safety blanket, but if that was the intent I think the show muddied the message a bit by having literally everyone already know about Tee and Fuse. That horse was long out of the barn before Fuse finally did something about Jean.

To the show's credit, it knows exactly how awful Fuse was throughout this entire debacle, and the last segment of their arc is all about Fuse recognizing it himself and atoning for his behavior with Tee. I love that we saw him apologize to Tee with increasing sincerity. I love that we saw him finally be the one to pursue Tee and make his feelings clear, and that Tee actually made him work for it. I loved that we had multiple episodes of Fuse trying to work up the courage to ask Tee to be his faen, and that Tee knew what was happening and enjoyed watching Fuse flounder. My absolute favorite scene was Fuse finally breaking down and confessing to Tee at the beach (with a little help from best bro Lukmo) - that he knows he was wrong, that he knows he was selfish, that he understands what Tee means to him now, that he loves him and wants to be with him and he's ready to commit to that. And Tee, because he is a kind and generous person who has been patiently waiting for this all along, immediately forgave him and responded in kind. It was so emotionally cathartic and satisfying, and felt very much earned after that loooooong journey through the mess. More than anything else I felt so proud of Fuse, and so happy for Tee, and I believed they would be solid from that point on. I didn't even need the sweet little epilogue to feel that way, but I was delighted to get it (and a direct homage to Love Sick with Fuse putting his hand over the camera lens as he leaned over to kiss his boyfriend).

Final thoughts

As I wrapped up my watch I have been reflecting on why this show is not as beloved in fandom as something like Love Sick. Why does it not seem to have the same nostalgic pull? Why don't people (other than @absolutebl and @bengiyo) talk about it as much as other classic Thai bls? And the only thing I can think of is that it's too raw for most of the bl audience. And I mean raw in every sense - the production, the acting, the emotions, the inexperience and naivete and even the physicality of the characters. Nothing particularly sophisticated is happening here, and nothing is smoothed over. If you want to love these characters, you have to love them through all the bad decisions and fucked up choices and flaws run wild. You have to love them when they're ugly as much as when they're beautiful. And I think that's hard for a lot of the audience that just wants to see sweet love stories. But I am here for it and so glad I finally got to watch this.

#make it right #make it right 2 #thai bl #i wish more people would watch this #hit me up if you need help finding the right links i am here for you #shan shouts into the void

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jerzwriter · 2 years

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Your MC is having a bad dream. What is it about?How does the li react? What do they do?

(Casey, Kaycee, Zoe, or all, it's up to you)

Hey Nonny- thank you so much for this ask.

Everyone has occassional nightmares, and my three ladies all have anxiety to some degree, so they're certainly going to happen.

In my head, Kaycee has the least, Zoe probably has the most, but I imagine she's learned to cope with the majority very well without much fuss out of necessity. Casey has them during periods of her life, then they tend to get better for a while.

Kaycee - her nightmares are about loss. Her mother's illness when she was a child always plagued her thought, and then the attack on her life exacerbated that. Her nightmares could be being lost, unable to find her way out of a maze, looking for someone and being unable to find them, not being able to breathe. When they're bad enough, she'll wake up startled, the worst leave her shaken. If Ethan is there, he's always loving and supportive, not unlike Kaycee is to him when he has bad dreams (I wrote that fic here.)

Casey - her nighmares are worst in the immediately following the attack - she's not with Tobias (in a romantic sense) at that time, but I have an idea for a fic for this anyway. They also tend to be worse during her pregnancies, where she cannot be on her anti-anxiety meds. Ironically, they get better after her third pregnancy, where she almost lost her life. Her nightmares are about death - hers or those she loves. Sometimes she copes fine, at othertimes, they can be crippling. Tobias is very loving and helpful when this happens.

Zoe - Like most in her world, Zoe has endured extreme trauma and loss. She has seen horrors most of us couldn't imagine. Everyone has "walking PTSD." She's strong and a leader, but she's still human, and sometimes the things she appears to cope with so well haunt her at night. Dreams of her childhood - being lost and looking for her fathers - have been a common occurrence through her life. After losing Ana, her sister appears in her dreams frequently, but usually as a calming presence. Though, there are times she relives her death(s) and those are painful. She dreams of losing people she loves - of being unable to save them, and sometimes she dreams of being killed herself as someone she loves looks on - especially Eli. She worries about him and knows how much that would hurt him. She's learned to wake up and talk herself down - it was just a bad dream. But the worst ones will have her wake screaming, trembling, sometimes reaching for her weapon and ready to attack - it can be frightening. Eli is in a similar position, as far as dreams and reactions go. So they truly understand each other. The first thing they do is make sure they're both safe (see that last reaction lol). After that, they are there to console, comfort and reassure.

I loved this question - becasue this is when we're often at our most vulnerable and how other react show us just home much they love us (or don't). Thank you!

#open heart #wake the dead #my mcs #casey mactavish #kaycee macclennan #zoe rivera #asks answered #nightmares #dreams

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jonsa101 · 3 years

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Episode 3x14: A Reflection of How Max Stepped Into Love After A Season of Suffering

Gif credit @supagirl

Hey guys! I can’t believe the season finale has come and gone! I think my mind is just taking time to comprehend everything that has happened! Sharpwin is officially canon! As I’m typing this out, it feels strange writing a meta on the other side of things. Since season one, I’ve been writing metas about how these two belong together and making predictions about the trajectory of their relationship. Now, to be on the other side of things where I know longer have to do that because these two are finally together is kinda crazy. I feel so elated!

Now y’all, I’m not going to lie to you, I had a totally different meta planned out and that meta is still in my drafts. I will probably release it because it was a general review of the episode but I thought it was more important that I put this meta out first. When I was watching the finale live, I didn’t love it. I just didn’t. I loved that Max and Helen finally got together at the end of the episode but I had a major issue with how it unfolded. The issue my friends was this scene right here:

Baby!!! When I tell you this scene TRIGGERED me, it did! Now mind you, I wasn’t upset with Max’s storyline of searching and struggling to take off his wedding ring. It is human nature for Max to still have an emotional attachment to his ring. He’s not still grieving but essentially that ring is the only thing he has left of Georgia and represents a life he once had. Him taking it off was always going to be a monumental moment for Sharpwin and for himself. The issue that I had was Max casually telling Helen that he freaked out about losing his ring!!! To me, after the voicemail he left her, after Helen flew standby and was in a six hour flight to see him, it was an incredibly CALLOUS thing for Max to say. I know Max wasn’t thinking in this moment. I know his intentions were clearly not to hurt her but words matter and him being careless with his was a complete disregard of Helen’s feelings. She was deeply hurt and upset when he said this and rightfully so! I mean just look at her expression here:

Helen’s entire being read like

“I can’t believe you”

And girl same, because neither could I!! He knew he fucked up and he obviously made up for it in the end but y’all when I was watching it live, everything that came after that elevator scene was was tainted for me. I had a hard time believing that Helen would let what he said slide so easily and in the moment, I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of them finally coming together! 😩 In my personal opinion, there were so many other ways that scene could have played out without Max having to literally tell Helen to her face that he was worried about his wedding ring! I know they were trying to build up to the “big moment” where he finally takes his ring off and runs back to Helen’s apartment but man, that moment did not sit right with me in my spirit! It still doesn’t and I don’t think my opinion will ever change on this.

With that said, I’ve now done several rewatches of the finale where I specifically watched the scenes after that awful moment by the elevator. As I’ve had time to reflect, my perspective has changed. I no longer view the moments after the elevator scene as tainted but as something deeply profound and beautiful. Hell, even as I reflect on that scene by the elevator, I still don’t like it, but in a way I understand it in how it relates to Max’s overall journey when it comes to Helen. To me, Max Goodwin is a man who fell deeply in love with Helen in the midst of the most complex situations and a season of him suffering. It’s been deep rooted, complicated and messy from the start and over the past three years we’ve seen Max navigate through the complexities of his feelings for Helen and the circumstances he’s found himself in on our screens. I think when you look at season three finale and specifically the journey of Max finally making a choice to be with Helen, you have to put into context Max’s history and how it influenced what that looked like. So y’all that is exactly what I want to do in this meta so let’s dive in.

One thing I think we need to acknowledge is that, even though as an audience we have loved seeing Max and Helen’s journey unfold, the road has been so TOUGH for them. As Helen said in 3x13, it’s been a fight! Especially for Max. The suffering he has endured over the past three years has been unfathomable and much of his relationship with Helen and his feelings for her have been developed under these traumatic and tragic circumstances.

At the very beginning of the series, when Max and Helen first meet they clash but it doesn’t last for long. It’s his first day at New Amsterdam and as the new Medical Director, he wants her to stay at the hospital and treat patients instead of doing press tours. Helen on the other hand wants to continue doing press and for the most part ignores his demands for her to return to the hospital. When she finally does return, she does so because she learns that Max has cancer. This bonds them at the onset as Helen is the only person in his life that knows about his diagnosis. As an audience, when we first see them interact, we instantly saw the sparks fly between them. Their chemistry and natural witty banter made us immediately take a look at their relationship and what potential they could have in the future. Though we were shocked by his cancer diagnosis, I think the fun and lightheartedness of Sharpwin’s first interactions really masked how traumatic this must have been for Max. On the first day of his dream job, that he sacrificed his marriage for, he learns that he has cancer while having a baby on the way. Those are the awful circumstances that first bring Max and Helen together.

As Helen becomes Max’s doctor and he swears her to secrecy about his diagnosis, their friendship and bond grows deeper. His passion and drive to help his patients, reignites Sharpe’s love for medicine again and inspires her to put her patients first. They become vulnerable with each other more than anyone else in their lives. He confides in her about his broken marriage and she tells him that she wants a baby. When he almost dies, she becomes his deputy medical director so that he can focus on his care. All of these moments are significant to them because somewhere along the way they develop feelings for each other. They didn’t plan for it and it’s something neither of them are consciously aware of but unknowingly, they both start to fill a place in each other’s lives that was clearly more than a doctor and patient relationship or a friendship. This “place” wasn’t called out until episode 1x16 were the clairvoyant called out their feelings for each other. When episode 1x17 comes around, after a night of revelations and a scramble to get the power back on in the hospital, Helen decides to step back as his doctor. If she wasn’t aware of her feelings before, in this moment, she’s fully aware of them now. This is an effort to safeguard her heart and set boundaries because the lines of who they are to each other were already so blurred. When she “triages” their relationship Max’s reacts badly and honestly they’re both devastated and are on the verge of tears:

As viewers, we loved this moment but when you peel back the layers of what’s actually going on in this scene, it’s gut-wrenching. The subtext is so clear here yet their situation is so complex and layered. We know for a fact that Max wasn’t trying to lose her in ANY CAPACITY. We also know that in the way he TRULY wanted her he couldn’t have her and Helen knew that too. Not when he was married, had a baby on the way, and fighting cancer at the same time. Y’all that’s hard and profoundly painful when you think about it and it makes this scene all the more tragic.

When Helen steps back as his doctor, at first Max seems to be handling it well but as his cancer starts to get worse, he completely breaks. Like I said earlier, over the course of his cancer treatment, Helen filled a place in Max’s life that was so much more than just his doctor or his friend. So when he’s dying and no longer has the person he feels deeply for play an active role in his treatment, he lashes out. He’s dealing with a range of emotions he can’t handle or properly process. Things only get worse from there and at the end of season one Georgia and Luna’s life are on the line and Bloom and Helen scramble to save them. When it seems like everyone was able to come out of that traumatic event unscathed, they get into a devastating ambulance crash that changes everything.

Season 2 brings another level of pain and suffering for Max when he loses his wife after the crash and is thrust into single fatherhood. Not only is he grieving but he’s also dealing with guilt of falling in love with Helen while he was married. The complexities of his feelings is something he struggles with throughout this season and it affects his relationship with Helen. At some points he pushes her away and at others he desperately needs her. Once again, Helen and Max’s relationship is caught up in the most complex of circumstances that is riddled with agony and trauma.

By time we head into season 3, Max doesn’t even have time to breathe or think about his relationship with Helen because they’re both thrust to the frontlines of the pandemic.

I bring all of this up again to emphasize that there has never been a time where Max and Helen’s relationship hasn’t been wrapped up in trauma or some sort of suffering. It has always been one thing or another with them. It’s been A LOT and Max has tried to navigate being in love with Helen through his suffering and under these crazy ass circumstances. So after rewatching the finale, the questions that run through my mind are:

How do you step into love when all you’ve known for the past three years has been suffering?

How do you love openly and freely when for so long you’ve emotionally suppressed your feelings for someone because it was “wrong?”

How do you let go, heal, and move on with your life?

To me, answering these questions is what the season finale for Max was all about. When you’ve suffered so much and endured so much it’s not easy to step into a new chapter in your life that’s hopeful and filled with love and possibilities. For Max, I don’t think in his wildest dreams that he ever imagined that he and Helen would be in a place where they could actually be together. Considering everything they’ve gone through, quite frankly it’s a fucking miracle! So when he actually makes it to the other side and not only SURVIVES but has a chance for happiness, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. Pursuing/having feelings for Helen from a place that isn’t wrapped up in trauma and tragedy, where there are seemingly no obstacles in his way, is totally and completely new territory for Max. I think he’s clueless in how to do that in the right way and as he navigates through that, naturally there are hiccups.

That’s evident with what he said by the elevator and also in this moment here:

Max doesn’t have a clue but he wants to make sure that he doesn’t fuck it up because he DESPERATELY wants this! I also think there’s something to be said about how we as human beings can self-sabotage ourselves when we finally have an opportunity to get what we want. Fear, guilt, worthiness usually comes into play with that and I think for Max there was definitely a fear with moving on with his life, guilt of surviving it all and having a chance to be with the woman he’s loved for so long, and a question of if he’s worthy of actually having happiness.

Their walk in my mind perfectly embodies him self sabotaging while also trying to navigate his feelings of desperately wanting to be with her. At the beginning of their walk, you see that at one point he clearly wants to hold Helen’s hand but he doesn’t (I would use a gif here y’all but I literally only have room for 10 😩). I’m focusing my attention on Max here because essentially this whole moment between them is a part of Max’s “mini story” in the episode. The ball has always been in his court and truly what we are witnessing is his journey to step into love because Helen is ready and has been waiting on him.

The most compelling moment in their walk scene for me was this one:

I find it strange for Max to walk so far ahead when he was the one who asked her if he could walk with her. My first thought while watching it live was “what is he doing” and I think Helen’s expression reads the same way. After analyzing this for a bit, I genuinely think that’s the point of this scene. Like I said earlier, Max doesn’t know what he’s doing. To be with Helen like this is, where its romantic, peaceful and drama free is probably blowing his mind and he doesn't know how to navigate this. He doesn’t know how to receive this second chance at happiness.

The internal war of Max stepping into love or allowing fear, guilt, and unworthiness to hold him back becomes all the more evident when they get to Helen’s door:

He knows he wants to come in. Helen know he wants to come in too. This man literally says goodnight twice and when Helen responds with “you said that,” it perfects this scene. She wants him to come in as well but she’s not going to ask him to. In this moment, she sees his internal struggle and she knows that he has to make the choice himself on whether or not he wants to move on with his life with her.

When he walks away, for a moment that was Max choosing to hold onto the pain and trauma of his past. That was him choosing to hold onto the guilt that was keeping him from healing and moving on. With the suffering he’s been through, it makes sense. In many ways he’s been conditioned to fight, to suffer and to endure. It’s what he’s used to. But praise the lord, he thinks of the moments he just shared with Helen.

The joy he has with just being in her presence.

The opportunity he has to freely be with her and have a life with her after loving her for so long.

He is not condemned to a life of suffering. It was only for a season. He’s in love with Helen and wants to be with her. Like hell is he going to let this opportunity at a second chance of love and happiness slip away from him. So guys, he slips off that ring, runs back to Helen’s apartment and makes a choice to step into love. Step into this new, uncharted, chapter of his life with Helen Sharpe.

Anyway guys! I hope y’all enjoyed this! I might be releasing one more meta but we will see how it goes.

As always feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr and on Twitter @oyindaodewale. Love you guys!

#new amsterdam #Sharpwin #Max Goodwin #Helen Sharpe #Max x Helen #sharpwin meta #new amsterdam meta

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ketamineharry · 3 years

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Another Love - Harry Lewis

Requested: Yes, from the prompts. However, I liked this idea so much I tried to turn it into its own imagine.

To say that things had been difficult for you, in the relationships department, would have been an understatement. The most recent ex partner being one of the most toxic people you had ever come across, presenting themselves one way in front of your family and friends whilst being completely different in private. It had made you seem delusional, family and friends had often questioned you, berated you even for trying to fuck up something so perfect.

It went without saying that the relationship had left you with some deeply traumatic experiences, a plummet in your mental health and severe trust issues. How could something so perfect on the outside, be so destructive and toxic from within? You couldn’t even begin to understand and perhaps it was better that way. Empathising with a human like that, wasn’t exactly high on your list of priorities.

Harry had come into your life similar to that of a hurricane, he caused some destruction but left a beautiful mess behind. He intrigued and enticed you in a way that no-one else could. Despite being on the receiving end of negative chaos for the majority of your past relationships, something about Harry was different. He felt safe. He felt like hot cocoa on a winter's evening, as a fire roared and crackled in front of you. He oozed positive energy and movements.

When he had finally plucked up the courage to ask you out for some drinks, you were elated. You had been harbouring feelings for him for quite some time, but the paralysing fear of rejection, mixed with the trauma that you had endured made for a cocktail that you had long since abandoned. He understood that you needed to take things at your own pace, in fact he actively encouraged it.

It was your sixth date when you finally felt comfortable enough to kiss him, even still a sense of vulnerability enveloped you, like a warm hug from a long lost friend. Kissing him, however, melted that feeling right away. His lips moulded with yours so perfectly, everything just felt right. For the first time in a really long time, you considered breaking down some of those walls and barriers for him. Perhaps it would be worth it.

On your tenth date, he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth had overtaken you. It took you by surprise because for once, you weren’t anticipating his next move. You could relax, you didn’t have to work trying to figure out what he would say or do next. Peaceful was the best way to describe it.

As lockdown hit, you expected things to get worse. With Harry moving back and forth from Guernsey to London, and the restrictions preventing you from seeing each other, a breakup was pending. It crushed you. Although you called and FaceTimed for several hours a day, the niggling feeling in the back of your mind just wouldn’t budge.

It was on one of these very FaceTime calls, while Harry was in Guernsey that you were absentmindedly chatting. Just messing around with each other. Harry had encouraged you to do a duet to Breaking Free from High School Musical, when the words escaped his lips.

“God I love you so much,” he mumbled.

“I love you too.” You had responded, without hesitation. Taking not only Harry by surprise, but you too.

“What did you just say?” He asked, his mouth slightly agape.

“What? Is it that hard to believe I love you?” You respond, covering your face with the hood of your hoodie. Trying to hide the furious red blush that had crept over your cheeks.

“Absolutely not… I just didn’t expect you to say it this soon, you are so perfect.”

#harry lewis #sidemen #sidemen x reader #w2s #harry lewis x reader #harry lewis imagine #w2s imagine #w2s x reader #sidemen imagine #wroetoshaw

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shyflameweasel · 3 years

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Calm before the Storm

So I guess having this poor reader endure all this is now gonna be a series I guess.

Something was happening in Nevada and whatever it was was spilling out those Things into the rest of America. At least...that’s what you thought. (A tip from that clown) You had no idea how long you were kept at the hospital, both for care and for the disappearance of seven people. There was no suspect aside from you, so what else were they going to think? (”You have evidence one” cajoling “they have to believe that.” “No they won’t” the other hissing they’ll think you’re ranting and raving, it’ll make you vulnerable. Even if they take the film only six died from the clown, while the last...” They’ve been getting louder since...)

They had you on some medication, some antibiotics for your arm and something to help you sleep at night. When you closed your eyes you could still see bloody sky’s and grey wastes. The screams and laughter bounced around your head accompanied by breaking bones and meaty rips. Iron and sickeningly sweet decay suffocated you. Clawing hands enraged faces-

Maybe it would be good to ask for something for the memories.

You had some internet access during your stay. Nobody from home had come to see you (Did they know about the case? Or did your isolation drive them away?) You had looked to see if a ‘Tricky the clown’ was real. All you got were one or two people (with arms and faces and beating hearts). You looked up ‘grunts’, and that took you nowhere helpful. ‘Gray people’ gave you aliens unsurprisingly, a few creepypastas, local legends (which led nowhere) and it trying to correct the search to ‘gay people’. (The you of before would have chuckled, the you of now can’t bring themselves to try). Anything pertaining to ‘faceless monsters’ just gave you more cryptids and creepypastas.

A part of you knew that you should of stopped. Should have just pushed aside the feelings and focused on getting better. But you couldn’t, not this time. Before no one had been harmed (lies) but now people were dead (your arm branded. You couldn’t bear to look at it) If there was a chance that more were around (they had to be) then something needed to be done.

Just when you were about to end the search for the day...you found something. Apparently, someone had sighted a similar Thing. There was no picture but their description painted the same picture of what you knew. It didn’t stop there, there were a thread of posts with sightings in different areas (towns city states some hours some days away). Some said that they saw them with a mouth, others eyes, a handful said hair, and one with a full face minus a nose. (Ones that pointed with betrayed signs, a face scrapped off to show bloodied bones, one the size of a house with nails through the head).

Some posts took them seriously, others weren’t. (Like it was all some kind of game of pretend and NOT HAVING PEOPLES LIVES ON THE LINE) Hesitantly, you leave post on the thread, ‘Has anyone been attacked or followed by them’. It takes some time but a few replies come in, saying that they’ve personally never gotten close to one but maybe someone else has.

That left a pit in your stomach, either what happened to you was a fluke (was it?) or that more worryingly...you were the only one to survive an encounter.

You kept an eye on the thread for the next couple of days. Call it a gut feeling but...you had a feeling that if you didn’t you would regret it. (”Focus on yourself, all this worrying will just make you sicker.” “Wait and watch, these things take time and tiring yourself out before will only make it worse.”) Whatever you were waiting for came to pass as one night, a post came into the thread. Asking for help. They’d gotten to close to one of them without realizing and now was being chased.

Several more posts followed that one in quick succession. Each near illegible. The poor fool was live posting to what was going on. The results from the others were mixed, but you could tell that a lot of folks were skeptical. Maybe it was the trauma or maybe it was the desire to see that someone survived what your friends didn’t. You quickly wrote that they needed to hide, that if they didn’t have a weapon to find one. If they had any idea of their location to call someone and tell them where they were incase of the worst case scenario.

You hoped that your message didn’t get out too late.

The messages seemed to stop after that...at least from that one user. A majority thought that this was one of those alternate reality horror stories. But the minority were skeptical and worried. You watched the thread like a hawk until exhaustion took you late into the early morning. “You did your best, you got the word out.” “Sleep. if they’re still being chased then going silent draws less attention. All we can do is wait.”

And you did.

The voices offered what comfort they could as days went by. (You were honestly surprised that you hadn’t gone grey over all the stress from the last month.) It was three days after that you received a PM. It was better than you expected. The person from two days ago, beaten and bruised (broken ribs and a busted arm) was alive. The pressure in your chest lightened. They had taken your advice to hide and call for help. They’d been found but the person they called had gotten there (in time).

The words blurred and you realized you were crying. You’d cried a lot since of the beginning of this chaos (fear panic agony mind breaking madness) but this time...it was from happiness. For the first time in what felt like an eternity there was a light in this nightmare. A part of you knew this happiness wouldn’t last for long, that reality would snap back and you’d worry again about the them again.

Something was happening in Nevada but for right now, right now you would take what joy you could get.

#madness combat #irl reader #*me looking at this reader*#whelp guess you were created to suffer endlessly my dude

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metanoiamorii · 3 years

Text

Wip Re-Introduction: A Rope In Hand

❛Horror is like a serpent; always shedding its skin, always changing. And it will always come back. It can’t be hidden away like the guilty secrets we try to keep in our subconscious.❜

♧ Title: A Rope In Hand [ARIH]

♧ Status: First Drafting

♧ Point of View: Third Person, flexible between a few

♧ Genre: Dark Fantasy, Supernatural, LGBTQ+, Action, Drama

♧ Warnings: This story revolves around the occult. There will be talk of witch hunts and trials and cults. There will be torture methods used to gain confessions, and these methods will be justified under religious belief. There will be toxic and abusive relationships, particularly family; finding an escape from them, and healing from the trauma. There will be homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and colonization. There will be major character deaths, but I can spoil after the book ends the main characters do get a happy ending. Each chapter and scene posted will have personalized warnings, but these are the main things to expect.

♧ Featuring: The majority of the characters will be LGBTQ+, from pansexual, homosexual, to asexual; genderfluid, agender/nonbinary, and transgender. Each character is complex and morally grey. Yes, they will do things that are blatantly terrible, or actively good. Overall, they will be morally grey and questionable at best. There will be complex world-building, from both the universe it takes place in, and the religious pantheons brought up. The religions brought up will be polytheistic and animism-themed. The romance between the major characters will be slow-burn enemies to friend to lovers, and them learning to love themselves through one another. There will be an exploration on generational healing, and unlearning toxic, and bias believes.

♧ Setting: The setting is influenced by Victorian London, and Medieval Ireland. There will be mention of other places, primarily western Europe, the Ottoman Empire, Ancient Rome, Eastern Asia, and Napoleonic France.

♧ Synopsis:

In the town of Arkaley, in the northwest of the Duchy of Ruairc, the people have been plagued by bad fortune and crime. Attacks of bandits on the road, raids from pirates on the shores, untimely deaths of children and young women, elected officials coming out corrupt; there is no end in Arkaley of the suffering the locals endure.

Rationally, to explain such a bad string of luck, there is only one possible explanation: Witchcraft.

The Duchy of Ruairc already has a history of witchcraft: the Ó Ruaircs turned out to be witches, the Abondé incident in Salem, the Liathain incident in Trakee; the Ruaircs have their record. Perfectly acceptable for everyone to assume the worse of the Ruairish, as they have proved to be nothing but.

To prove his worth, the young Reverend Prudence Clemency Frye, takes up the task of quelling this coven of witches and heading this witch-hunt. Young and naïve, witch only knowledge from books and little hands-on experience, he’s unprepared for this challenge. When he finally leaves the town, well… everyone would rather put this incident behind them.

♧ Tease:

My darling dear, a knave so clear

You appear, so bravely near;

Do you hear my darling dear, sneers of austere jeers?

Behave, my dear, when I am near;

For peers will lear, in their fear,

Allow me o' dear our persevere

So my fave you appear

And volunteer a slave so dear

in an atmosphere we fear.

my darling dear, wave so clear

Depravely as we leave, and give a souvenir;

My lips to yours, as you crave in these fallin' years.

Be brave darling dear, and give into hearts o' queer.

For mine you be, your darling dear,

To the stars you have swore in love, so crystal clear.

My peers shall sneer, but whore I be, and you I crave

Oh so bare. slurs and glares, just listen to my prayers.

Kiss me love, and leave o'they to a'crave

In this atmosphere that we fear

Their own, o' pure, knave so dear.

♧ Excerpt:

".... This is wrong." Prudence finds the words slipping from his lips, voice a quiet whisper; a breathless tone of voice. He allows his fingertips to falter against scarred skin, watching as Mastema turned his cheek, he pressed himself into the palm of Prudence's hand. Eyes closed, a smile curled on his face. Prudence couldn't help but smile at the scene, but slowly, slowly, slowly, he rescinded his hand; breaking the hold.

"Revered..." Matching his voice, Mastema replied. Maintaining such a soft voice, as he shifted himself forward on the bed. One foot to the ground, the other drawn beneath himself. Over Prudence he leaned, resting one palm to the sheets, the other lifting to seize Prudence's hand before he could recoil back. "You have made me feel something in which I've never felt before..."

From where he laid, Prudence could only form a soft frown. He knew he could draw his hand back, the grip was far from tight. But he didn't. He laid there, allowing Mastema to hold his hand. "... This is wrong, Mastema."

Mastema frowned; he matched the reaction Prudence wore. Through it, he forced a half-smile, tightening his grip on the other's hand, and forward he brought Prudence's hands to kiss the knuckles. "... If this is wrong, I do not wish to be right."

At the response, Prudence shook his head. "It is not for us to be right or wrong, the gods—"

At the angle he sat, Mastema shifted once more. He dropped Prudence's hand, to lean forward; to lean in close. Both of his palms found the other's cheek, as he touched their foreheads to one another. "... Do not force your will onto another." In that soft whisper, he spoke. Eyes closed, breath drawn in. "Is that not a Commandment of our Creator?"

"I..." Prudence faltered. In, he drew his breath, to try to steady himself. "... I did not take you for the religious sorts."

"I'm not." Mastema all too quickly retorted. But as he was, he laid; this proximity. "But you are."

♧ Characters:

The Order of Witchesbane

Prudence Clemency Frye; The Reverend

Half Fae/Half Human • Intersex • Genderfluid • He/They • Homosexual • Homo-demiromantic

The bastard son of Lord Zachariah Frye. Raised by his father, with his mother dying young, he took to following in his footsteps. He became a religious young man and an active witch-hunter. A part of him desires his father’s acceptance, his praises; the other part despises his father and everything the man stands for. In recent years, he has joined the De La Cruz household, becoming an apprentice beneath the famous Witch’s Advocate; upholding the beliefs that not every witch is evil and has foul intentions, and the ones that mean harm are the only ones that should be hunted.

Zachariah Frye; The Bloodhound

Human • Male • He/Him • Bicurious • Aromantic

The oldest living member of the Order. Now he is the man that holds the face of the Order, who you think of when they come to mind. Cold. Vindictive. Despotic. Violent. He is not a good man. He is firm in his beliefs and stubborn to change. Once his mind is made up, he cannot be reasoned with. He is blindly convinced of his beliefs and his cause to eradicate every living witch, unfazed if he has to fill a few innocent thousands in the process.

Calisto Ferzan Hermengildo Melchior Lorencio De La Cruz; The Witch’s Advocate

Half Fae/Half Human • Amab • Nonbinary • Genderfluid • He/They • Asexual • Aromantic

A witch-hunter in title alone, Calisto has been making enemies since he could first talk. He’s always enjoyed being the underdog, going against the expectations of society, being ridiculed by his peers. The sole reason? Proving them wrong. To ridicule his own peers for their outdated beliefs, he’s taken to defending witches, proving them innocent of their ‘crimes’, and going on to help them to set up a life in a country more accepting of witchcraft

The servant of Calisto, never seen far from his side. He is a servant in name alone and is more-or-less an assassin, a hitman for Calisto. Held in contempt by Athylian society for being a foreigner, he often treated by others more as a slave than a servant. To help be unseen, to help the De La Cruz Household, Michelotto endures the treatment and goes as far to be perceived as ignorant, alongside him being born a mute. Keeping his true intents and intelligence duly guarded, only a handful are aware he is also a witch.

Myk'loumihr [Michelotto Dougal] Siavash; The Man-Servant

Witch; Amab • Agender • He/They • Asexual • Aromantic

Austin Duvine; The Lord Without A Ring

Half-Human/Half Fae • Amab • Nonbinary • He/They • Pansexual • Demiromantic

One of the younger members of the order, Austin relies on his father's wealth and name. He doesn't care for responsibilities, he doesn't care for hard work. He's a playboy at heart. He's fit to hold social events, and use his natural talent to gib and fib his way through life. He'll keep his mixed feelings to himself, struggling with doing the right thing or upholding tradition.

Alistair Lavine; The Witchfinder General

Human • Amab • Agender • He/They • Bicurious • Aromantic

The best friend to Zachariah and his right hand. Where Zachariah is business and lacks charms, Alistair can charm a crowd and hold their attention. He knows how to feign being an ideal human, without letting on his own bloodlust; he's a monster in human skin. At the end of the day, unlike Zachariah, Alistair does have morals and standards he will abide by, even if they come back to ruin him.

━━━━━━━━━━

The Vakari Coven

Ausrine Baoghal; The Lady

Witch • Female • She/Her • Bisexual • Aromantic

The woman in charge of the town, widowed and inheriting the right to rule as her husband had no heirs. She is a manipulative and dangerous woman, eager to commit any sin or crime for more power. She, in truth, cares only for herself and would feel no remorse if she had to turn on one of her coven to further her own agenda.

The magistrate and also the chief policeman of the town. He maintains a calm, but manipulative personality. As a front, he presents himself to be fair and just, liked and favored by the people for genuinely caring for them. While in truth he has his own heinous and sinister agenda, aiding Ausrine in her plans.

Leary O'Laoghaire; The Magistrate

Witch • Male • He/Him • Bicurious • Aromantic

The oldest member of the coven, Dairine lives under the guise of an elderly woman, who lives alone with her children and grandchildren already leaving her to live their own lives. She is a kind and understanding woman and cares for the younger witches in the coven. She will not support Baríon with her agenda, nor does she care for the servant girl, she even despises the so-called ally Ausrine claims to have and who they all adhere to.

Dairine Ó Séaghdha; The Crone

Witch • Afab • Agender • She/They • Asexual • Aromantic

The acting servant of Barion, Anisha’s true loyalties lie elsewhere. She stays within the town, serving the coven while acting as the eyes and ears of someone, the person who is truly pulling the strings. She is the one to relay information and letters between the coven and her master. She is a quiet woman, that keeps her head down and her mind to herself. She only shows her true, confident and demanding, nature behind closed doors with the coven when they dare to question her.

Anisha Kaur; The Servant

Witch • Afab • Demigirl • She/They • Asexual • Aromantic

The charming son of Leary. Many whisper that is part fae, due to his charm, if it’s true or not many are unaware. He is a very sophisticated young man, that has managed to wrap the entire town around his finger. While on the surface he is alike his father is a caring, compassionate, charming young man, something sinister brews beneath. He is devious, demanding, domineering.

Nathir O'Laoghaire; The Magistrate’s Son

Half-Witch/Half-Fae • Amab • Agender • He/Him • Bisexual • Aromantic

Being the baker's daughter, Liannah helps around the bakery and family business. Unlike the company she keeps, she is a reserved young woman. She is polite and maintains her manners with whomever she is dealing with. She has the patience of a saint and rarely loses her cool. Liannah is a woman with a calm demeanor about her, being a woman many are comfortable around due to her peaceful and calm aura.

Liannah Ó Buachalla; The Baker’s Daughter

Witch • Afab • Genderfluid • She/They • Asexual • Panromantic

Ausrine's bastard son she had with a spirit she bargained with for more power. Since he was young, he was raised by the servants of the house, and the coven, over his own mother; the two have more of a business relationship over a family one. Since he cares less about what his mother does, he spends his time with Liannah and Reyes, either at the bakery or getting into trouble somewhere. With Reyes as an influence, Mastema is a flirtatious man that enjoys scandals and making the most of life

Mastema Baoghal; The Knave

Half-Witch/Half-Spirit • Amab • Genderfluid • He/They • Pansexual • Demiromantic

Rochan Misra; The Charlatan

Half-Witch/Half-Spirit • Amab • Queer • He/She • Pansexual • Aromantic

A foreigner to the Coven, born and raised in the Duchy of Incali. At a young age, he became a traveling charlatan, recently settling within the coven only as he befriended Liannah and Mastema and enjoyed their company. Now, he is the local bad influence: scamming locals out of their money at the taverns, wooing and seducing young men and ladies alike, always trespassing and vandalizing something. He is trouble but has a heart of gold when it matters.

ARIH: : @hekat-ie, @writings-of-a-narwhal, @silent-creed

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Taglist:

General: @endlesshourglass, @writerray, @poore-choice-of-words, @alexwritesfiction, @primusesgiantmetalballbearings

Both: @cecilsstorycorner, @little-boats-on-a-lake, @hazard-writes, @egg-shark

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timetraveltodystopia · 2 years

Note

The other anon is right heeseung didn’t say the n word it was another member and he took the blame for it.. for a long time he had suicidal thoughts and dark energy around him.. and it was alot of tension between him, the other members (especially the one that said it) and even his best friend Jake..felt as tho he kinda betrayed him in a way (idk what that’s about) but hey

I feel bad because he already had very darkish energy around him because he has a lot of past Trauma (that I was unable to uncover) lol his spirit guides were like hell nah and on top of its he’s very very insecure..

He’s one of those people even when people tell him he did well he will never truly believe them.. he questions his talents and doubts himself ALL THE TIME.. he also compares himself to his members.. it’s like he’s “friends” with them but tbh they all see themselves as competition in a way.. (it’s not unhealthy..well)

BTW—The last time I checked him and that certain member made up but he will never forget all he endured..

I feel as though you guys are kinda wrong about heeseung.. he’s not innocent in the slightest.. but the “dark” energy you guys are getting stems from his past trauma (pre debut), the incident on en- o’clock, and recently this..

Btw.. you don’t have to agree with me in the slightest but this is what I have picked up..Btw I love your page!! Im a huge fan! 🥰

Also I hate when they have Vlives around scandals because I feel as though it makes things worse.. like around every scandal now it’s always been a vlive the NEXT DAY or around that time.. I can’t imagine the pressure..

One recent example is the whole Jay and Yuna thing lol

What you have to be kidding me? I-

Okay, let's recap. I will put the video TW slur and racist word + Allegations

I want to know what do think about this, all the people who see the post.

I didn't do a reading about his past and I'm baby Engene, only 5 months in Enha but the incident exploded. If that was true I can't believe how they make up and forgave each other. I do believe the suicidal thoughts, being an idol can drain you and the staff force you to be someone else, they tailor your personality for marketing things. He has been feeling the odd one out. I wish enha would be closer but I-land is a major factor in the competitiveness and internal struggles.

Yess the Vlives also add Twitter a shithole. And Jay and Yuna had to deny immediately they were dating to not mess up their careers.

Good to know this and thank you for your opinion <3 Glad to know you anon.

#you are so sweet for the compliments #anon rant #anon ask #rant #answered #max ⚖

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Arkag (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Human/Male Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, MLM, Male Reader, Reader Insert, Orc Boyfriend, Adoption Content Warnings: Sex, Gay Sex, Anal Sex, Missing Limb, Flashbacks, Night Terrors, PSTD Words: 4760

The finale to @severedreamerbeard‘s commission! Arkag has trouble accepting the new role in the reader's life, but when a child in the village becomes trapped under a rock fall, he'll have to overcome his own feelings to help her. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

It took four months, but you finally convinced Arkag to move into your much larger shophouse with you. He decided to keep the cabin, though. It was still hard for him to be in the town proper, since he’d lived out in the middle of the forest for years. In addition to his regular woodcutting job, you were slowly reintroducing him to regular society by having him help with the tanning, with which he had a ton of experience. It gave you much more time to finish sewing, and the two of you worked as a team.

Nights together were hot and heavy, and it was better and more satisfying than any of your previous partners. Arkag was not only really good at it, but he loved to talk to you for a long time afterward and cuddle you close to him while he did. He was probably the most talkative when he was in bed than he was anywhere else.

It wasn’t complete bliss, however. The flashbacks took him without warning, usually set off by a sound. The night terrors were worse. He often lashed out in his sleep, inadvertently hurting you once or twice. He was apologetic and guilt ridden whenever this happened, and you had to convince him not to leave and retreat to his cabin. His healing was a process, and there would be bumps, you told him. He always nodded when you said that, but he never seemed convinced.

He was his surliest whenever you came back from hunting. When you returned from your trips out to the woods, whether alone or with a party, he became quiet and distant for a day before returning to his normal self.

One night after coming back, he was standoffish and slept in a spare room. The next morning, you confronted him.

“Why did you sleep in the storage room last night?” You asked him over breakfast. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” He said grumpily. “I just wanted space.”

“Arkag, you’re a creature of habit if ever I knew one,” You said, setting down your spoon. “You only sleep in the storage room when I go hunting. Why? What is it about hunting that pisses you off so much?”

“It’s nothing,” Arkag repeated repressively.

“I don’t believe you,” You said in frustration. “Does me hunting bother you? I’d say that I’d stop hunting, but I can’t. It’s where the majority of our meat and leather comes from. Buying it from a butcher would be too expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing,” Arkag insisted.

You scoffed. “If you have to say ‘it’s nothing,’ that means there is something. Just tell me! I want to help.”

“Just leave me alone!” Arkag said, raising his voice. “I don’t need to share everything with you. Sometimes I just want to be alone! Is that too much to ask!”

“Well, no, of course not!” You assured him. “I just�� I love you, Arkag. I just wanted you to know you could come to me with anything that’s bothering you. You’re my partner.”

Arkag snorted. “I’m your employee.”

He said this in an undertone, perhaps thinking you wouldn’t hear him, but you had gotten used to Arkag’s quiet mumblings to the point that you could understand most of it.

“What did you just say?” You asked, shocked. “What do you mean, you’re my employee? What are you talking about?”

“Face reality,” Arkag snarled, standing up from the table and turning to look out the window, avoiding your eye. “I work in your shop, I live in your house, I eat your food. You cook the meals, you make my clothes, you create the products we sell, you hunt our meat, you earn our living. I do the wood and tanning, but it’s not nearly enough to contribute or provide for the both of us. I could barely support myself. I’m a burden to you.”

“What? No, you’re not! I don’t care if you can provide--”

“I do!” Arkag shouted, throwing a mug against the wall and shattering it. “An orc provides! It’s what we do! If we can’t fight, if we can’t protect, we provide! I have nothing to offer you! I’m worth nothing!”

“Arkag, that’s not true! I don’t need you to provide for me! I can provide for myself! I can provide for both of us, and I’m happy to do it! All I want in return is love!”

“You don’t understand! How could you! You’re…” He stopped, scowling and biting his lip.

“I’m what? I’m what, Arkag?” You asked him. “Human? I can’t understand because I’m human? Is that what you’re going to say?”

“It’s not because you’re human,” He said, his voice shaking. “It’s because you’re whole.”

“You’re not broken, Arkag,” You said, but he interrupted you.

“What do you know!” He pushed past you and shrugged on his coat, stomping outside and toward his cottage.

“Fine!” You called after him. “Come back when your pride stops doing your thinking for you!” And you slammed the door after him.

When you stopped being mad, you felt guilty. He was right; there was no way you could begin to fathom what things he had been through since he lost his arm. You knew he’d been ridiculed to the point of exile from his stronghold, was a transient begging by the road side for a time, and then spent around a decade alone in the woods. The mental and emotional toll from not only the trauma of the injury, but also his treatment by his peers and the rough living he’d endure since, must have been terrible.

You sighed. You were walking a fine edge with Arkag. One the one hand, you desperately wanted to help him and you knew that if you left him to his own devices, it’s likely he’d never let himself heal, but pushing him to deal with his problems made him lash out or retreat. His emotional growth was severely stunted, and you knew that.

On the other hand, he couldn’t use his condition or past as an excuse to push you away or act however he liked. His night terrors and flashbacks were one thing; he couldn’t control them. Being an ass for the sake of being an ass was another. His pride was halting any progress he could have been making.

You just wished you knew what to do to help him, but you weren’t sure what else you could do but accept him and be patient.

However, your patience was wearing thin when he didn’t return in three days, so you went out to the cabin to talk to him. He didn’t answer after the first three knocks, but you knew he was in there because you could hear shuffling and the fire was going.

“Let me in, Arkag!” You shouted through the door. “I know you’re in there! I’m not angry anymore, and you can sleep in the spare room all you like. Can we just talk?”

The door opened slowly and Arkag stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“Are you coming back with me?” You asked him. “Good, I was going to make dinner.”

“No, I’m not,” He said. “You’re right, we should talk.”

That didn’t sound good. “Alright. I wanted--”

“No, please,” He said. “Let me go first, or I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it out.”

The bad feeling was getting worse. “Alright, then.”

“Listen,” He started slowly, not meeting your eye. “I think I should move back out here. I’m not being of much help in the shop.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you are. Besides, you don’t have to work in the shop if you don’t want to,” You told him.

“No, I know that, I just think it’s better if I came back out here. Life in town doesn’t suit me.”

“If that’s what you want, of course,” You said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “If it helps you, I don’t mind coming out every day after work to see you.”

“No…” He said, his voice wavering. “You shouldn’t come out here anymore, either.”

“But,” You said with a small, nervous laugh. “How will we see each other?”

He said your name softly, with grave intent, and you knew.

This was it. It was over.

“I’m sorry,” He said with finality, and went back inside, closing the door gently.

You stood there for a full five minutes, staring at the door, listening to the fire crackling inside. You hadn’t heard his footsteps walk away, so he was likely still just on the other side of the door, either waiting for some kind of reaction or for you to leave. You stood your ground, hoping he might come back out and say he hadn’t meant it, that he was just confused and hurting and that he still loved you. But it didn’t happen. Blinded by tears, you finally turned, stumbled off his porch, and began the lonely walk back to your home.

The next month was rough. You stopped taking orders and it took you double the time to finish the ones you already had. Business was suffering, but you didn’t care. You weren’t eating well, and even though you spent a lot of time in bed, you didn’t sleep much. It didn’t help that he still left you firewood in the middle of the night, only twice as much as usual. It was like he was trying to apologize the only way he knew how, but it was just a reminder that he wasn’t there anymore and seeing it every morning just reopened the wound over and over again.

Sometimes, when you were awake at night, you’d hear him leaving the wood and moving on. You had the idea, more than once, to confront him and force him to talk to you, but you knew that wouldn’t solve anything. He would just resent you for ambushing and pressuring him.

You’d had breakups before. This wasn’t like those. This felt like a fragment of your soul was just… gone. A piece of you was missing, but you felt heavy at the same time. The bed was too big for you now. The house was too quiet. There was too much… empty space. The silence of the home pressed into your ears and was excruciating.

The second month was slightly easier, but you were still miserable. You remembered you had a glove you were working on for him. After you finished it, you considered delivering it yourself, but decided to hire a runner to do it instead. Seeing him would hurt too much.

Another month passed, and you knew his birthday was coming up. You counted down the days, and with each day that passed, you wondered if you should make him something or even acknowledge it in any way. When the day came, you made a small cake, but couldn’t bring yourself to eat it. It sat on the dining table until it began to mold.

Five, six, seven months on, and your thoughts still revolved around him in all things. Everything you saw, heard, smelled, reminded you of him. You worried about his state of mind during thunderstorms. During sleepless evenings, you wondered if his night terrors were getting bad again. You stopped eating radishes, something you previously loved, because you knew he hated them.

Life slowly got back to normal. After taking your time off, you got back to work. Winter was fast approaching and you had a lot of orders for new coats. You missed Arkag’s help, but you had always managed before he came along, and as much as you wished it were different, you would manage again.

There was a commotion on the edge of town one day as you were making a delivery: three children ran out of the woods screaming over each other. You stopped them as they nearly streaked past you.

“What’s going on?”

“My sister!” One of them shouted. “We were playing in a shallow cave nearby and it fell in! She’s trapped inside!”

“You two!” You pointed to the others. “Go find help! You!” You said to the brother. “Show me where!”

The two other children ran in the opposite direction as the brother led you to the collapsed cave. You could hear a child crying inside.

“What’s her name?” You asked the boy.

“Eida!” He said, crying.

“Eida!” You called. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“My arm!” She screamed. “My arm is pinned! Help me!”

“Hold on, honey, help is coming!” You cried, starting to move stones out of the way.

“Please don’t let me die!” She sobbed.

“I won’t, honey. I promise I’m going to help you, alright? Hang in there with me. Stay with me!”

The young boy helped by chucking rocks more his size and digging furiously. Several more people from town, including the girl’s mother and father, arrived and began digging, all while the girl under the rubble wailed in pain. The work was slow, fearing that any wrong step or moving the wrong stone would cause the cavity within where the girl was would fall farther, crushing her altogether.

It seemed like hours, but her head was finally uncovered. She was bloodied, but it didn’t appear as if she had a severe head wound. Her mother held her other hand, the one that wasn’t pinned, and whispered assurances to her that she would be alright. Her father was stroking her hair, sobbing along with her.

A few of the volunteers tried to pull her, but as she shrieked in agony, you screamed, “No! Don’t! She’s pinned!”

“Help me! Help me, please! I’m dying!” She cried.

“You’re not going to die, darling,” You told her. “We’re right here, we’ll get you out, I promise. You’re not going to die.”

Her right side was uncovered, but her left was still trapped. Her arm wasn’t visible under the rocks. As they moved the rocks out of the way, they finally got her free… except for her arm. The largest of the rocks was on her arm, and it wasn’t budging. Moreover, every time they tried to move it, she screamed as if she were being murdered.

“We can’t shift it,” One of the men said frantically. “It’s too heavy. She has to lose her arm.”

The crying became more terrified, and you cuffed the man on the ear.

“Nice job, asshole!” You hissed. You looked around you. “Has anyone seen the physician?”

“He wasn't at home when we went to call on him,” Another man said.

“Check again!” You said, taking off. “I’m going to get help!”

You ran through the woods at a full sprint, ignoring the thin branches whipping your face and cutting your skin, vaulting over roots and logs. Soon, the familiar, sweet sight of Arkag’s cabin came into view. You could smell wood burning and saw smoke in the chimney.

You jumped up the steps and banged on his door.

“Arkag!” You shouted, using both fists to rattle the door on it’s frame. “Arkag! Help!”

The door was yanked open and Arkag stood there. He looked disheveled and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a while; you didn’t care, the sight of him was like a balm for your soul. But you didn’t have time to revel in it.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. “What’s happened?”

“Hurry, we need your help,” You said. “A girl was caught in a rock fall. Her arm has been pinned under a boulder and the other men and I can’t shift it. You’re the strongest man in town. Please come and help her.”

“I…” He gulped and looked away from you. “I don’t think I can.”

You grabbed his collar and forced him to look at you, your face more fierce and angry as it had ever been.

“This is not about you, Arkag,” You told him. “A girl is bleeding to death under a boulder in the woods and we need your help to save her life. Are you going to let her die because you can’t see past your pride?”

He seemed at war with himself, his jaw working, his tusks pressing into his top lip enough to leave an indentation. His face hardened; not in anger but resolve. He shoved his feet into his boots and followed you outside.

“Show me,” He said.

The two of you sprinted back to the rock slide. The people were still there, trying to think up a way to remove the rock, having strung a rope harness across it and trying to find a strong branch to use as a counterpoint. The crying from the girl was getting thinner and more labored.

“Don’t bother with the rope!” Arkag said. “We don’t need to lift it all the way up! We just need to budge it enough to pull her out! The mother, father! When I say, get ready to get her clear!”

The two of them nodded grimly with tears on their faces. The physician had arrived and was assisting the parents in soothing Eida and assessing her other injuries. He waited on his heels, ready to pounce on her arm wound as soon as the rock was off to stem the flow of blood. The likelihood of Eida going into shock was extraordinarily high.

“Everyone get to one side,” Arkag said, bracing his entire left side against the rock and placing his only hand against its surface. “One! Two! Push!”

The people put their full weight into pushing the rock, and, combined with Arkag’s superior orc strength, the boulder moved just enough to snatch the girl out from under it. Her cries rose anew as the jostling and rush of blood back into her arm caused the nerves to reawaken. She was taken away to the physician’s office with a quick step, and the ones who were there who had been helping stood looking at each other, unsure what to do now.

“Drinks?” You offered.

They all nodded both tiredly and enthusiastically and followed you to the pub.

“You too, Arkag,” You said. “You’ve earned a drink.”

He hesitated. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Come on.”

There were about thirty of you that trudged into the pub, making the barkeep look up in surprise.

“A round on me,” You told him, pushing whatever gold you had in your pocket across the bar. “They’ve all earned it.”

His eyes widened and he nodded, starting to pour mugs two at a time and quickly dispersing them. Arkag took his, downed it quickly, looked around uncomfortably, and headed for the exit.

“Hey,” You called after him.

He stopped and turned toward you, his face hard to read.

“Thanks. For coming.”

He nodded, hesitated another minute, and left.

A few days later, Eida’s father, Daniel, walked into your shop.

“Hello, sir!” You said, dropping what you’re doing. “How can I help you? How’s young Eida?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” He said gravely. “I’m afraid she has lost her right arm above the elbow. The physician said there was no saving it.”

“Oh, my god,” You breathed. “I’m so sorry. How is she holding up?”

“Not well, I fear,” He said. “She’s rather despairing at the moment. She keeps saying that she’s useless and that no man will ever love her. She’s naught but thirteen, but she’s at the age where a girl begins to plan for her future, of course. She can’t imagine finding work in her situation.”

“That’s not true at all,” You said. “There’s plenty of one handed jobs out there. A person could even sew one-handed, and I should know.”

“My wife and I keep trying to tell her that, but she won’t listen to us,” He replied. “I was wondering… that orc fellow who helped us. He’s your friend, right?”

You swallowed a little, but nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you think you could convince him to come and talk to her?” Daniel asked. “He’s a capable man, and I think if she sees someone who’s like her and is self-sufficient, she may not be so hard on herself. I’d go and talk to him myself, but he seems a taciturn fellow and I don’t know if he’d appreciate my visit.”

“I… could certainly try,” You said slowly. “He is a man who likes his space and privacy, but I could try.”

“I would greatly appreciate that, sir,” Daniel said. “I’ll leave you to your work. Thank you for your help.”

“Of course,” You said, and bid him a good day as he left.

Putting down your work, you stood but didn’t leave immediately. You had to steel yourself to see him again. Last time was an emergency and you didn’t have time to deal with your feelings on the matter, but this was different. This would be the first time you talked to him, really talked, in months. You didn’t know how well you’d be able to keep your emotions in check.

Once you reached the clearing that housed his cabin, you found him already outside, chopping wood, having not noticed you. You halted in your steps for a moment, watching him work, marveling at his strength. Then, you took a breath and started forward.

“Arkag,” You said. He was just about to raise the axe when he stopped and looked around at you.

“Oh,” He said softly. “I… I wasn’t expecting you.”

“No, I know, I’m sorry,” You replied. “Daniel, Eida’s father, asked me to come and speak to you.”

“Why?” He asked, setting the axe aside.

You sighed. “Eida has lost her arm.”

“...oh,” He replied, his face distant.

“She’s apparently extremely depressed, saying that she’ll never find work or love, that she’s useless. He wants you to tell her that that isn’t true.”

“I don’t know if I’m the best person to do that,” Arkag said, scratching his neck and looking away.

“Why not?” You asked him. “You have work. It’s modest, but it’s a living. You can take care of yourself. You’re not useless. And as far as love... well…” You shrugged, also looking away. “You know you had that.”

He didn’t answer, and you didn’t look up.

“Just talk to her,” You said, backing away. “I don’t know if you’ll be of any help, but you could try. Don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you could take a few minutes and think about someone besides yourself.”

Before he could answer, you turned and jogged back toward the trail leading to your home.

Late that night, after you had gone to bed, you heard a loud knocking at your door. On edge, you got up and opened the door to find Arkag standing there. He was pale and looked like he had been crying.

“Can I come in?” He asked plaintively.

“Yes, of course, come in,” You said. “What’s wrong?”

“I talked to Eida,” He said as he came in and sat down at the dining table. “We talked for hours. I told her about how I lost my arm, about the night terrors and flashbacks. About the struggles I’ve had since. I don’t know why I did that, and I thought she’d have been terrified by it, but she seemed… I don’t know, relieved?”

“She’s relieved because she’s not alone, Arkag,” You said, sitting with him.

He wiped his eyes. “I suppose you’re right. We cried together. She asked if she had a bad dream or a flashback, if she could come and talk to me about it. No one’s ever asked me that before. I don’t know why it made me feel better, but it did.”

“That’s good, Arkag,” You said. “That’s very good. But… if you don’t mind my asking, why did you come here to tell me about it? And in the middle of the night.”

He took a big breath and let it out slowly. “We talked about you, too. She asked if anyone had ever loved me like this,” He shrugged his missing arm. “And I said yes. She asked me why we weren’t still together… and I couldn’t answer her. I wanted to believe it’s because the answer was too complicated to explain… but it wasn’t.” His eyes filled with tears as he looked up at you. “I made a mistake. I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I’m so, so sorry.”

You began to cry, as well. Your heart raced in your chest as you stood up, pulled him from his seat, and kissed him full on the mouth. He reciprocated, putting his hand in your hair and kissing you between sobs.

“I made a cake for your birthday,” You told him. “But I couldn’t eat it.”

He laughed through his tears. “I always left you more firewood than anyone else.I just… wanted to make sure you had enough.”

“I know,” You said, taking him by the hand. “Come on.”

You took him into the bedroom and spent many tender moments undressing him, peppering his skin with kisses. He returned the favor and turned you, kissing the back of your neck and down your spine. He massaged the muscles of your shoulders and buttocks with his hand before going into the night table to grab the bottle of oil that was always there. He uncorked it and drizzled a little in his palm one-handed, reached between your spread legs and stroked it into the skin of your cock, making you grip the sheets.

He teased your pucker with a single finger, rubbing it around and up and down before slowly sinking it inside, and you groaned against the bedding. After a few minutes of playing with you, he slicked himself down and before he entered you, he bent down so that his front was pressed against your back. You turned your head and kissed him as he pushed himself inside.

It had been a while, and you were both pent up. It didn’t take long at all before you were both a mess. He came so hard that he roared, and you painted the floor in your own release. He didn’t stop, though; he slowed for a moment before regaining his pace, and the two of you made love again and again.

Neither of you got much sleep, but it was a deep, sweet exhaustion that overtook you both as dawn crept into the windows.

Later, after a much needed nap, the two of you awoke in each other’s arms. Arkag’s nose was in your hair, breathing steadily, but you could tell he was awake.

“I had an idea,” You said. “What if we apprenticed Eida? You could teach her tanning, and I could teach her the methods and means of being a tailor. There’s much of this job one can do with only one hand, and there’s no reason she couldn’t hire an assistant if she were to branch out on her own. What do you think?”

“I think that’s an amazing idea,” He said. “Gods know what I could have done if I had had that kind of support when I lost my arm. We can do for her what no one did for me.”

The two of you spoke to Eida the next day, and though she was dubious about her ability to learn with her disability, she agreed. It took her a few months to heal, during which time you and Arkag solidified your union by getting married.

After she was mended, she began spending her days in the shop, learning to sew one-handed and assisting Arkag with the tanning. Arkag no longer got jealous or resentful when you went hunting, as he had Eida to occupy his time. Eida began calling the both of you Uncle after some time.

Arkag enjoyed teaching Eida so much that he actually brought up the subject of adopting a child. You were delighted with the idea, and after a trip to Coleville, the two of you came home with a lizardfolk girl named Cinna who had lost both her tail and her parents in a similar accident as Eida, and had severe balance problems. She and Eida got along swimmingly. After a year, you and Arkag adopted another child, a blind gnoll boy called Jotak.

You had a loving husband who was learning to love himself through helping others, a business that was booming, and two beautiful children. You couldn’t imagine life being any more complete than it was right at that moment, and for all the rest of your moments.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

Note

..... This isn't fair like reading the miscarriage warning then reading about how happy everyone is that the reader is pregnant how dare u play with my emotions like this

I’m sorry but like- bruh, it’s about to get worse- major angst coming in this ask, like all the triggers- but also I’m not going to go into a lot of detail because of how heavy these topics are. this is also the end of like- my prewritten content for this. trigger warning: mentions of miscarriage, injury, rape, and depictions of PTSD.

So anyway, after yoongi comes home injured, Jungkook leaves to take his place and control of the armies- he’s the only one who Yoongi trusts in his Infirm state. but the war is almost over and the other army is scattered without their commander. namjoon sends back a few messages that allude to the fact that the expected peace talks to come in the next few weeks. Hoseok too- sends back word that planting should resume once the weather allows. but in the north- as winter resumes it’s trudge. the city seems lighter, almost relaxed.

they shouldn’t have relaxed.

I don’t want to go too gory- but basically one night an elite group of assassins from the other side sneaks in and steals the reader in retaliation for killing their youngest alpha. They don’t get far, and they don’t end up being able to take Seokjin only because he manages to sound the alarm.

they take her on the run and even though they only have her for an evening they do enough damage. they might not have physically taken you but. that night, something is lost.

By the time Yoongi manages to track them down, she’s already been raped and her inner omega is so traumatized by it that she loses the baby. Yoongi goes absolutely feral- not even shifting before he rips out the assassins throats with his teeth and tearing him to shreds. all the while you’re just- staring into space, body small and cold in the snow with not even enough energy to sit up after having fought for so long, and though yoongi carries you back as quickly as his injuries will allow- it’s already too late.

when Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jungkook find out what’s happened, they nearly completely abandon the war effort. Jungkook is emboldened and hardened by the loss, and wipes out their forces with ruthless efficiency, taking back the pack lands within a few days. He doesn't stop killing until namjoon goes onto the battlefield to take him off of it- and tell him they’re going home- where they’re really needed now.

Namjoon has the other alphas from the pack put to death for hurting his family, they ride home and leave the army behind them to catch up, riding as quick as they can. When they finally get into the palace walls Jungkook runs to find you, finally finding you in the garden, crying in relief that you’re not in a bed somewhere dying like the message had made it seem, sitting at one of the tables with untouched tea and lunch in front of you- he shouts your name- breaks out into a sprint, the first smile on his face in weeks- because if you’re alive and healthy he can fix it- he knows he can- he can do anything with you and the pack by his side- and a few strides away from you he’s intercepted by Taehyung who is quick to grab him around the middle.

They argue- Jungkook yells and thrashes, so close but so far from where you sit, but quiets when you turn to look at him. your eyes- you don’t look like you’re really hearing it- really seeing it. really there at all. you only look at him for a moment before you’re closing your eyes and leaning back in the chair again, your body barely anything other than limp where you lean, like you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself up if it weren’t for the chair.

You might have lived through what happened, but you’re a ghost of who you once where. You don’t speak- to anyone really, not anymore- you barely even nod or shake your head on a good day. The first few weeks are tense and sad- with you barely eating and the others scrambling to keep the kingdom afloat while dealing with the loss.

Seokjin is your constant shadow, always making sure that the few chosen omega staff are treating you with the utmost gentleness and keeping the alpha guards away from you, never farther in than the wall that encircles the garden and the palace. it seems to make you shake and hyperventilate to have any alpha but the members of your own pack close- and even that's somewhat of a stretch- you’re still unable to handle most affection from them the majority of the time. The only ones you let even touch you are Seokjin and Taehyung. Namjoon tries once, but you don’t respond, nothing beyond your trembling when he tries to touch your hand.

here are moments when they see whatever blockage stays in your mind to block you from the trauma of that night, moments when you start to shake and it won't stop when your eyes turn lucid and clear and you start to sob, and then the next moment, you’re as placid as a lake and twice as calm. it happens around Jungkook once, and one moment he’s cupping your cheeks in his hands and the next you’re pushing him away so hard, scrambling back to get as far away from him as possible. Taehyung putting himself between the both of you hands out, voice low and soothing, “it’s okay, Jungkook didn’t mean it,”

yoongi- yoongi is a worse story entirely, he’s still healing but it’s going badly. the night he tracked you down he reaggravated his broken leg and did permanent damage too it. he’ll likely never walk without a limp again. You refuse to see yoongi, and will actually stand and walk away if he tries to talk to you- which in the first few days is as dangerous to you as it is for him.

The others try to talk to him about what happened, but beyond the details of the killing, he dosent want to- he dosent want to tell them how the midwife had tried to help you through the night, how much blood there had been in the snow and on yoongi- how much of your blood had been on his hands, how damaged you’d been, how you’d cried and cried into Seokjin’s chest until the doctor had given you a mild sedative so that you’d sleep and stop panicking, the blood vessels in your eyes burst from the strength of your sobs. how after it, you’d woken up and been like this.

Seokjin tells them eventually, standing by the door, putting his body in between them and where you sleep. later, he’ll go to you too and curl up around you and hold you when you jolt awake, keeping you tethered. he needs to be strong for you now- he needs to take care of you as the lead omega, it’s his responsibility- you’d endured the worst pain an omega could endure.

Seokjin thinks it should have been him who was taken, he was the one who’d had the more of a connection to the old royal family- then at least- you wouldn’t have lost the pup.

“What do you want me to tell you!?” Yoongi yells, his handbook slipping off the side of his shoulder, showing the bandages wrapping his chest. he knows he shouldn’t yell- he could end up coughing up blood but he can’t keep it in any longer, can’t be quiet even though you’re asleep in the other room. he’d watched around the corner as Seokjin had helped you, he knows- you’d have stayed up looking at the falling snow in the garden all night if no one had gone to get you if Seokjin hadn’t helped you with a soft hand on your arm, Taehyung not far away, ready to rush forward with your nightclothes when Seokjin finally gets you to accept his help and stop pushing his hands away.

“Do you want me to tell you that I wasn’t fast enough, that I let her be taken- that I let her be hurt while i was here? that I’m a shit alpha and I wish I never was one to begin with- do you want me to tell you it was all my fault? because it was. Hoseok- it’s my fault, it’s all my fucking fault that our baby is dead and she’s” he breaks off, sobbing when he thinks of you, oh you, his sweetest love, sweeter than the cherry blossoms and twice as beautiful, and now- he’d failed, failed to protect you from the world.

“You want someone to scream and yell at and hurt- you should hurt me because I’m the one to blame for all of this” Hoseok pulls yoongi close, leaning in close to scent him, Hoseok’s throat wet with Yoongi’s tears, they hold onto each other sobbing. Hoseok’s hands tightening in Yoongi’s back after a moment, “Hyung, you need to sit, you’ve been standing for too long come here-”

That night, they end up talking it out, they’d have you here for it but mostly- they need to discuss you. They don’t know how to help you so they’ll settle now- for keeping you alive and safe. Seokjin ends up crying into Jungkook’s shoulder, Taehyung rubbing circles onto his back. Namjoon’s had tightens so much around his tea that the cup shatters, his hand turning into the clawed form of his wolf before he reigns in his temper. for there is no one left to kill to sate his anger, no one left to be mad at except himself. and he won’t blame yoongi- no matter what the alpha says. it’s not his fault.

(I wish i was never an alpha to begin with, is what yoongi said that night. and the moon who looks over all of you hears that and remembers it for a later date. in the next life, she’ll be sure to make yoongi more gentle, the life of an alpha might be too much for him, his soul so soft around the edges)

(this is 1.5k so I'm gonna leave this here~)

#bts #packtan au #omegaverse au #bts abo #bts omegaverse #bts angst #bts a/b/o #bts hurt/comfort #Anonymous

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duraxxor · 3 years

Text

Shadowlands: Chapter 1 - Division

Icecrown had often been a referred to as the capital of the Frozen North. Hues of blue decorated by the overcast of frigid snow. Remorseless and more often than naught, it often filled one with a sinking depression. Over the past several years, it had become a monument to undeath. The citadel spires erect in honor of the Lich King. However, much like many areas, the Frozen Throne was once a prison to the first Lich King, Ner'zhul. The Maw itself was originally designed to keep the Jailer imprisoned. But it had long become more a staging ground for something more sinister. Unlike it's mirror opposite, it was completely devoid of any sort of life and beauty. An undying husk plagued by hellish fire and nightmarish shadows that seek only to steal any soul, innocent or sinful of heart. The cycle had been shattered and now their was an rising flux of evil within it's heart...

" Alphus... Daevara... time to awaken... " A hallowed voice called to him, possessing soulless depth that lacked any heart. Deprived and withered of any sort of remorse for this soul. The flow grating across one's mind like nails to a chalkboard, screeching and gnawing away. Dura's eyes slowly came an open, tugging at his arms as he realized he was in a shackles with his back flat against a metallic wall. The first vision of this formless creature before him haunted his mind as he couldn't make out a face or even a pair of eyes to stare into. Jaw falling open as if he had truly seen a ghost of sorts. "... how curious... you do no show fear but... curiosity... do you not fear the immeasurable pain that is to befall you from the unknown, child? " The voice flowed a testament to mock the mortals weakness of being caught in the first place. Wings of black smog finally painting a memorable picture that slowly caught Duraxxor up with where his story left off.

" Fear? " He questioned the very notion of such, his voice also having grown hollow. The fact rung across his eardrums as he cast a glance across the entire landscape. Never in his lives did he believe himself to find such a grotesque landscape that rivaled even the Scourge. "... What is this? Why am I being restrained like some animal? "He tightly tugged at his bonds, feeling as if the metal was barbed and pulling away at his very soul threads. " What is their to fear? I fear no pain of what is to come? This... land.. where am I?"

The specter of death stepped over towards a small table off to the side as the harsh cries of some other individual echoed across the landscape, moaning it's displeasure to held prove a point in the words that were about to be uttered. " You are in the Maw... there is no hope. No escape. And you will yield yourself to his will or be consumed by the endless darkness. " The formless armor stepped forward, bearing a blade in arm that pulsed with tethers of anima, fibers of soul magic that was as common in the Shadowlands as mana was back on Azeroth. Another wailing cry echoed from the opposite direction from the last as the feeling of dread tried to creep along Dura's neck.

Alphus' glare focused on the weapon, noting the magic that imbued the blade before he looked at the specter's helm, treating the eye sockets as a something to stare into. " You seek to torture me for eternity? Then you are sadly mistaken... I will not yield to any pain... there is work to be done and it is your meddling that has delayed the death of one who is worthy... " He hadn't forgotten about Lindeara, a being of chaos that would do whatever it takes to see her plans come to fruition while sabotaging any in her path. He wondered if these creatures had captured her and planned to torment her soul in this land. " Where is she? "

" It matters not where anyone is... you will yield... whether as a whole being... or a broken one... " The being didn't hesitate or show any caution in her movements as she thrust this sword directly into the center of Dura's pectorals, feeling something tear into him like he had never felt before. It was as if his own soul had spontaneously combusted from inside, burning away. His veins began to start flowing with with erratic magics as he reeled back, crying out in something that truly hurt him.

" You... You wretch... ed! Gaaahhh! " He felt his form start to twist and writhe as bat wings tried to sproud out involuntarily while his features began taking on the form of a bat-like creature, shrieking as the pain began to get worse. He flailed and writhed like an animal that had been caught in a trap, helpless and bleeding out from his wounds. " I refuse... to yield! So much... left undone! " Despite his protests, all he gained was the symphony of cries that followed all over the hell bound lands and the growing pain of the blade being removed and reapplied all across his body. The actions felt as seconds had suddenly turned into hours, days, it almost felt like months were falling away, withering him from the inside out as he felt his body start to grow weak and heavy. " I... will not... yield... " Duraxxor continued to weakly protest, angrily staring at his captor despite the amount of puncture wounds that leaked the energies of his very soul, already tinged with a crimson flow.

" This one.. shows great promise.. my master... he has already been touched by the power of anima.. " His captor commented, as if to be speaking with another person who was not currently present. Quietly, silence passed between him and this cold creature wielding a sword as a tool. " Of course, master... It is as you say... as a whole or as a fraction.. " The being pulled the blade out, giving Dura moment to linger on the pains of this torture, the winged creature of a man quivering from the consistent trauma being inflicted upon his bodily soul. The specter watched as he lifted up his head and bore his twisted gaze into their form, rumbling with a growl before it was cut short by a sudden slash of the blade that cut right through him as if he were nothing more than sliced bread. A jagged crack suddenly forming across his entire torso.

" What's... happen.. ing!? " Duraxxor could barely audibly speaking as he writhed agony, feeling the tethers that kept himself slowly spread apart. Like a paper husk, we was being split into pieces straight to the central fibers. Discoloration began to settle on his features as he soon found he was losing himself. The images of his life cycling through at a sporadic rate as the pain ignited wildly. His body slowly began to lose physique and he found that even has face was splitting into three sections as he bellowed out loud enough for the other denizens to feel the amount of agony he was enduring. The overly dramatized No following forth before the Duraxxor we knew finally shattered like glass, leaving the chains connected to three individual massses of energy that retained no shape. These shards of what was once the Myotis now writhed in agony in an attempt to rebuild and take on physical forms. A single fragment taking form in a serpentine-like creature that billowed and snapped it's jaws while lashing it's tail wildly like a whip. The second fragment, flapped two limbs that began to form, sharp teeth now shrieking as it flopped around due to being grounded. A full coat of fur beginning to form on the majority of it's body like a grizzled fruit bat. Then finally, at the epicenter of, the last piece began to take on the form of a humanoid. A younger, frail elf that possessed pale features, two snake bite piercings, and a gaze that bore no fruit and was as clear as glass. This new being was gasping for air and naked, possessing quite the panicked look as he felt his throbbing within his chest much like a living organ. Looking around, the creatures and their captor had finally disappeared, leaving what was left of Daevara alone to their own devices.

" What's going on? Why... who are you? " The elf looked to each of the creatures with unfamiliarity and a shivering fear about what was transpiring.

" Reeeeeeeeeek! What is this?! Why did we fall apart?! " The bat creature screeched and continued to roll around on the ground, making matters worse as the chains started to wrap around his wings.

The serpentine finally managed to coil up defensively and calm himself, peaking from between his his coils as he hissed at the two. " There is no need for panic... it would appear that our soul has been split asssssunder... I do not undersssstand what hasss happened... but now.... we are trapped together... but sssseperate.. "

The bat finally ceased his movements as he tried to straighten himself up as he looked over towards the elf and speak. " Hey, you, you look just like us as a kid... does that mean you're the main part of us? Why are you so weak and frail? "

The elf finally sat up, curling his body to hide his shame before he finally answered his bat companion. " I... I don't know... I just feel this... vulnerability... I don't... feel like.. myself... what is... happening to... Me? Us? You? I don't even know... " Confusion showed about his features as he looked between the two.

" How the hell are we going to get out of here? What if we are stuck like this forever?! " The bat piped up as he wildly flapped his wings around, gusting air before he found himself whiplashed by the serpent's ridiculously long tail. " Ow! "

" Would you calm yourself, you gutter snipe... do you want to catch the attention of more denizens of this place... we have to remain calm until we formulate a plan to rid ourselves of these chains... we are all a part of this until we figure out how to fix it... " The serpent appears to be the voice of logical reasoning out of the entire trio before he coiled himself around the elf protectively. " She will come... someone will come... don't forget this... "

The elf looked towards the crimson serpent as if he was providing some insight and guidance to the situation before he nodded. " Very well... we will hold out as long as we can... until then.. let us... keep one another company, my friends. " He reached over to his left side and actually pet the bat creature along his head before he spoke further on the matter. " I shall call you... Randdu... and Sphula... " He gestured to the serpent with his other hand for the second name before he gestured to his own chest. " For now... I am simply Daev.... and we will figure out how to escape and settle the score... this i swear to you both... "

#shadowlands #Dura #the birth of new #Daev #Randdu #Sphula #someone come rescue them please

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pazvizslaplasmathrower · 3 years

Text

Father of Hopes and Dreams- Chapter 16

Read here or on Ao3

Chapter 16: The Offer

Summary: Your young master is gone, just at the birth of your bond, he has left you for many years, leaving you to survive the galaxy alone. After sustaining an injury from a drunken storm trooper, someone faces the decision to either leave or help you in your moment of need.

Chapter Summary: Paz Vizsla rushes to Telos IV to find you medical help after a rough escape from New Republic officials!

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: asdfgfghjkl;' i'm having fun writing this lmao pls let me know what you think if you can <3 muchas gracias <3

________________________________________

Paz thanked the stars he managed to hastily repair the shields which had malfunctioned when they had needed them most. Given his large hands were not optimal for the intricate process, the work was not shoddy by any means. When that had been finished, something else had broken, that being the oxygen supply, seeing as the child had their hands full, he found it best to simply fix it and not tell them, lest they break into a panic. The ancestors must have blessed him greatly, because had he just been a moment slower, the powerful jolt that sent him flying would have perhaps prevented any dire repairs and depleted the whole ship of oxygen. Relieved for having survived, he picked himself up from the floor and entered the cockpit, prepared to wonder what in Maker’s name had happened. There was an uncomfortable constriction in his chest as each limb started to feel oddly numb and for a moment the Mandalorian forgot how to stand properly, almost falling to his knees. He rationalized first, sure that the youth had decided to take a nap at an inappropriate time; their sanctuary did seem to be in the realm of sleep.

There was no clear movement and the longer he stared, the more he noticed, specifically the blood that had splattered all over the main console. At once Paz rushed forward, but faltered noticing the barely noticeable smoke wafting away from the controls. The child was positioned face first into the console, but flipping them over might cause more damage if not damage to himself as well.

“(Y/N)?” He kept his voice as gentle as possible. “(Y/N), please…”

Paz Vizsla hoped for something, anything. Frustrated, he shed one glove, carefully putting his hand right underneath the young one’s nose, and he could feel the invisible heat of their breath. Unwilling to let this change slip, he slipped the glove on again and gently tapped their shoulder, seeing there was no electric current still coursing through their body. Nothing major appeared to be broken, save their nose which had been clearly smashed, so he took their frame into his arms. Positioning them proved difficult and Vizsla accidentally jostled the pack they were wearing. The child let out a dry groan, their brows furrowed in pain.

“Kark…”

After whispering a few apologies, the Mandalorian carried them to his own quarters, setting them facedown on the bed. Taking his vibro blade from his belt, he begrudgingly sliced through the pack material with ease. Reduced to strips, he pulled the fabric away, coming to a halt once again. They were very much frazzled, feathers in disarray but the bones were in place. His hand immediately went to touch what the child had been hiding, but before he could even move his arm, the foundling shifted in their unconsciousness. There was no time to ponder about the dark wings protruding from the child’s back, he needed to seek out a medic as soon as possible and heading to the intended destination was his best shot. After gingerly draping a blanket over them, Paz made sure to strap them in before heading back to the cockpit.

***___***___***

Opening your eyes, you could feel the crust of your tears give way. You did not dare move. In the time you spent on your own, you found it best to remain still after being knocked unconscious, to move too quickly so suddenly could potentially worsen any injuries. Though this time, you were sure of the physical trauma endured, hell, the last thing you could remember was the searing agony before your face smacked the console. Without even flexing a muscle, you could feel the irritable sensation of pins and needles spreading across your skin, and against your will, muscles started to spasm on their own. Though each time they did so, there was no unbearable agony, not the kind that left you hopeless.

Deciding it was safe enough to move, you forced your arms to push you up from the stiff bed until you were able to shakily lean against the durasteel wall. Finding it too strenuous to go any further, all you could focus on was breathing and sorting through a host of thoughts. How the hell had you gone from the pilot’s seat to a bed? Where was the Mandalorian Paz Vizsla? What of the insidious New Republic officers? Perhaps it would be safest to lock the door to the room and wait until help arrived, but what if Paz was in need of your help? Trying to build the will to walk over to the door, your body feeling exhaustion of nearly being electrocuted to death pulled you back down into a deep sleep.

“Did you bring your weapon, young (Y/N)?”

“Yes, Master.”

They sighed, though kept walking. “You know very well how I feel about you bringing that out of your bag.”

Determined to not be drowned out once again, you kept your voice clear. “I think it would suit me better if I used my own. I know you worry, but-”

Your teacher turned on the heel of their weathered boot, kneeling down and grabbing your shoulder, the sensation nearly throwing you into a panic. Despite wanting to look away, all you could do was remain still in their grip and focus on muting the bond between the two of you.

“You would do well to heed the word of your master, little one.” The heat of their breath made you sick. With a firm hand, they released one shoulder, roughly pulling your lightsaber from your belt. “I would feel better if you would use mine.”

As they let you go, their expectations were clear.

“Yes, Master...I’m sorry, Master.”

Rattled from their steely grasp and furious insistence, you simply trailed behind them, deciding to keep your eyes on the ground as your boots filled in the prints of your Jedi teacher. Kashyyyk in all of its lush greenery should have provided a sense of relief, with no real Imperial threat and the mountainous forests providing plenty of cover, there should have been little to fret over. Yet, anxiety radiated off of your Master, the feeling only serving to leave you on edge. On almost any other trek, even ones that were moderately risky, they would offer up some lessons to keep your mind occupied and continuing to grow. There was none of that now, your Master’s lips were taut, the muscle of their jaw pulsing. With nothing to really do and your body too tense for meditation, thoughts of food began to freely flow through your mind. Saliva started pooling in your mouth, the clenching of your stomach only making it worse. Your teacher had insisted funds were low, therefore reducing meals to two ration bars a day. It felt cruel, unfair, yet this was what surviving required: suffering and following the lead of the experienced.

“Master,” you dared to raise your voice. “I’m tired.”

“It’s not much longer,” they replied, their voice suddenly becoming faintly sweet, “You’re doing well. We are going to rest soon, just keep walking, alright?”

“Yes, Master.”

Being the dutiful young padawan you were, you followed their lead deeper into the woods, letting the light breeze caress your face, within the small gusts you could just barely feel the sensation of a raindrop hitting the tip of your nose. Gradually the few drops increased until a heavy downpour, with a shiver, you pulled the hood of your cloak over your head. The silence remained.

***___***___***

“May I help you in some-”

“I need a medic! Immediately!”

Nearly out of breath, Paz could hardly believe there would be anyone present in the absolutely devastated ruins of Anglebay Station. But indeed there were small pockets of people who had taken residence in what the razing had left behind, and at the center of those residences was the largest structure, stitched together to form a most desperate ward. No one dared to step in the Mandalorian’s way, the townspeople scattering before he could get close, save the young girl who came rushing from the makeshift medical center. Truthfully he felt guilty for being the cause of the young girl’s fright, but the circumstances were dire and he despised being alone from the child while they were in such a state, not to mention the secret they chose to withhold up until a while ago.

“I-I do apologize, but my mentor is resting, so you will have to bear with me.”

“But you still possess the abilities of a healer?” Paz asked, maintaining his unrelenting pace.

“Yes, sir.”

The medic questioned the condition of the patient-to-be, to which Paz Vizsla could only offer minimal information. Entering the ship, there was an agonizing silence as Paz opened the door to his own quarters. He was not entirely surprised, but ever thankful that the foundling had moved and was still breathing, albeit unevenly. The attendant froze in the doorway for a moment, seemingly shocked at the state of the child.

“I-I will do what I can.” The girl said quietly, loosening a pack that had been secured to her belt. “But I think I should call my teacher to-to make sure nothing else is wrong.”

Setting to work, he could just watch from a few feet away as the nurse positioned (Y/N)’s body at an odd angle to keep pressure off of their wings while still allowing access to their very much broken nose. Her hands gently realigned what had been smashed, placed bandages, heavily soaked in bacta, then secured gauze to keep it in place. She did occasionally look back at him from the corner of her eye while treating the burns littered on their arms. After taking a few scans, the girl stood.

“The ribs are slightly fractured, so they will have to be careful. But to make sure they are...set on the right track, I would like to have my mentor come take a look if you don’t mind.”

He sighed, just wanting to definitively know the young one was alright, there was still the lead from the Armorer he had to follow up with on the other side of Telos IV, the sooner this teacher could arrive, the better. The Mandalorian approved, and the girl took off far more hastily than she had come. Once alone, He knelt down next to (Y/N) who was now laid on their stomach (the lesser of two evils) and head turned to the side. All he could bring himself to do was whisper assurances and praise for outrunning the New Republic officers. Paz could have sworn the edges of their mouth perk up into a pained smile. It was already plenty easy to talk to the foundling, though now with their silence (thus lack of any undesired remarks), any leftover reservations had vanished and he found himself talking about anything and everything that came into his mind. Though they were already quite injured it was a relief to know that they were there with him than anywhere else in the galaxy. When a soft silence eventually fell, Paz Vizsla could not help but stare at the onyx feathers that sprouted from their back. They had very carefully cut the fabric of their tunic to make room for said wings, even going so far as to make sure the edges were sewn so no fringes or loose threads remained.

Though they had not known each other for a terribly long time, Paz believed that there was no malice between him and the child. Of course mistrust was to be expected, but to hide something so strange? Thinking about it now, Paz had not noticed then having kriffing wings when they had first met, so this had clearly been a development in their time together. When they woke he wondered how angry they would be now that he had discovered them. The texture of the feathers appeared rather strange, perhaps light but the sheen implied otherwise. Had he been a reckless youth without any restraint he would have given in to the desire to feel the texture of the wings, but best to ask permission when they woke. When the Mandalorian started to hear an alarming rattle in the child’s breathing, he had little time to worry as there was a frantic rapping at the ship’s entrance. After promising to be back in a few moments, Paz made his way to the entrance, ready for the worst, though hoping for the promised help.

“A Mandalorian. A rare sight around these parts.”

“Are you-”

“Yes, I am the girl’s teacher, Gaius.” The Barabel replied quickly. “Where is the patient?”

Something about the nurse’s teacher made Paz Vizsla’s muscles tense, there was an urgent curiosity in the reptilian’s eyes, but he would be by the young one’s side to make sure nothing else happened to them. Reluctantly, he led the medic to his quarters where the child lay, still in a painful slumber. After crossing the threshold, eyes falling upon the foundling, the Barabel’s eyes grew wide.

After cursing in his own language he rushed over far too quickly for the Mandalorian’s liking, claws observing the work of his pupil. The work was rushed, and what had been a straight laced expression the Barabel morphed into a toothy smirk. Upon finishing, he paused.

“Well?” Paz growled. “Are they going to be alright?”

“Do you have any idea of what you have here?” Gaius stood as Paz placed a hand on one of his blasters. “Do you know what this is?”

“Excuse me? What you are referring to is my child. You would do well to refer to them as such.”

“Well, excuse my rude nature, but it is hard to compose myself when looking at what should be an extinct species.”

Gaius chuckled at Paz’s confused silence, glancing back at (Y/N) whose rattled breathing was becoming even more irritated. Though before he could get a threat to cross his lips, Paz could only watch as the damned Barabel took his enormous, scaly, clawed hands and lifted the child up into the air from under their arms, poor (Y/N) unconsciously giving a pained groan. Drawing a blaster, Paz aimed it at the reptile, though he could just use the child as a shield, leaving the Mandalorian at Gaius’ mercy.

“Put. Them. Down.”

“But aren’t you curious?” His grip tightened. “What you have here is a being thought to have died over a millenia ago! Just one of these feathers could buy a whole starship!”

He could feel whis whole body vibrating with a mixture of rage and absolute panic. The Barabel was moving in such a frenzy, a shot would likely hit (Y/N), perhaps killing them in the process. Though it was not truthfully his style, Paz sheathed his blaster and dashed forward, kicking at the Barabel’s legs. Gaius let out a sharp hiss, letting go of (Y/N). The Mandalorian seized the foundling, pulling them to his chest with one arm and turning to point his flamethrower at the bastardous lizard. Sure it might not scorch the scales, but the eyes were much more vulnerable. Both men stood still, while he was putting pressure on the child’s wounds, Paz was not willing to loosen his hold.

“You’re hurting them you know.” The Barabel laughed quietly. “Might not wanna soil those wings more than they already are. Sell em’ and you’d never have to work another day in your life.”

“Shut up!”

“I’m just telling you the truth.” Gaius paused. “Say if I had a working bacta tank, they could be healed in no time. But, I’d like a cut of whatever that little one sells for!”

The Mandalorian made a show of pulling out his heavy blaster, making sure it was set to kill rather than stun. The enemy’s eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet.

“Hey look, a guy has to make his way somehow in this kriffing galaxy and it's not like Anglebay is a sign of living well!”

“You are suggesting I sell my child,” Paz seethed, “You have no right to call yourself a healer! I should kill you where you stand!”

“Then you leave an apprentice without her teacher and your...child without knowing of themself.”

He faltered at that, looking down at (Y/N) for a moment. What Gaius said could of course have been nothing but nonsense, but his unrestrained excitement upon seeing the foundling was too genuine to be a lie. The reptilian man grinned knowing that he had proven himself worthy of being spared.

Paz clenched his fists, hics knuckles cracking in the process. “Speak quickly. You test my patience.”

“And you promise I will get to walk freely? Without any other scratches?”

He tapped the trigger lightly. “Like I said. Speak quickly.”

Gaius licked his lips nervously, eyeing the door like a desperate man and though Paz was shorter, his frame was large enough to block it off.

“What you have there is an ancient, carnivorous species of predator going back millions of years. No one knows what planet they hailed from but the few that knew of them believed them to be indigenous to Alderaan. Unnamed of course. While their extinction may be unfortunate, it’s not surprising. Too many hunters and so little of them.

“Paz wanted to riddle the Barabel full of blaster shots, his voice made his ears almost bleed.

“Nothing in the galaxy gives off a shine quite like the feathers and those along with the teeth are said to not only have medicinal properties, but spiritual as well. Mounting went out of fashion and with years of violence the rich used them to to heal themselves and those in their inner circle.”

Gaius pointed a jagged claw at the child’s pained face.

“I thought all of them died long ago...It is said that one of my kind still possessed a feather from eons ago…”

The child’s guardian gestured to the door with the blaster, “There, you have served your purpose. Now leave before I change our deal.”

Keeping his hands up in defense, Gaius skidded around Paz, giving a very dry laugh, “Come on, Mandalorian. My pupil did heal your child. Just one feather, that is all I ask.” The Mandalorian kept advancing, forcing the reptile out of his ship.

“You get to leave with your life. Be thankful.”

And with the bastard finally out of the craft, Paz Vizsla slammed the button and the hatch closed with a crash. Realizing he was still tightly clinging onto (Y/N), he rushed back to his quarters and gingerly placed them back on the bed how the young nurse had positioned them. A second after they had been laid down, their lids of their eyes started to twitch before opening completely.

“Ugh,” they let out a low groan, attempting to stretch but finding it too painful, “what the hell happened?” Their eyes finally focused on Paz much to his delight. “Hey, big blue.”

Their anguished smile gave him one of his own. For there was much to explain and no real gentle way to do so.

#the mandalorian #the mandolorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian fic #paz #paz vizsla #paz vizsla x reader #mando #fic #fiction #fanfic #sw fic #sw fanfic

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zigtheeortega · 4 years

Text

to hell and back

✿ pairing: logan x mc

✿ word count: 4174

✿ warnings: mentions of violence from book one & angst

✿ tags: @diamondsless ; @agentsewell ; @violinet ; @messofakind ; @hudush ; @roguemal ; @troublemakerinspace ; @choicesarehard ; @litgpop ; @auroraemery

✿ author’s note: i’m incredibly nervous to post this, as this is my first ever logan fic so please be gentle! i got the idea for this fic after watching portrait of a lady on fire, after being reminded of the myth of orpheus and eurydice, which if you haven’t ever heard of it, read up here! the idea of a forbidden love always breaks me but i’m a sucker for punishment, so i thought i’d apply that myth to future logan x mc (my mc’s name is raquel). i hit a follower milestone, too, so i thought i’d celebrate by pushing myself out of my comfort zone! woo![disclaimer: i’d never want to accidentally upset anyone by writing him ooc, so if you have any pointers, please dm me]

•─────────✦✿✦────────•

He was the last person she’d expected to hear from. It’d been years. Her life was finally getting back on track, and she was moving on.

She white-knuckled the steering wheel, her hands slick with sweat, and peeled out of the parking lot of her dorm, leaving her world to enter his again.

Some days, her time with the Mercy Park Crew felt like a distant dream, a day dream she’d conjured while bored at school. Other times, she’d reminisce on his specific features to make sure she’d never forget what he sounded like, how he looked, how he felt.

Some days, she’d zero in on his eyes, the way the brown tones were multidimensional, layered, and how dark and full his lashes were, shading his dilated pupils when he’d stare at her lips before leaning in for a kiss.

Other days, she’d focus specifically on his hair; the strong coconut smell of his deep conditioning mask, which he unabashedly used, a secret she swore to keep, and the silky feeling of his thick waves beneath the pads of her fingers.

She’d spent years mulling over her time with the Mercy Park Crew, spilling tears every time she came across her prom photo with Logan, so often that she had to lock it up in a journal she’d filled long before. She was used to the feeling of a choked sob, the tension in her lungs and the soreness that came after a good cry: a comfort so familiar to her that it was one of the only things that reminded her she was alive – that she was human.

She’d spent so much time grappling with her morality, the guilt of her involvement weighing heavily on her for her entire freshman year. The depression that came with it was unrelenting, the loneliness of moving across state lines settling in almost immediately. The nightmares were worse.

They came as quickly as they went – in short blips, interwoven with her worst memories. It wasn’t unusual for her to wake up in cold sweats, vivid details of bullets ripping through flesh, the metallic smell of blood burned into her memory.

She often woke up trembling, panting, always quick to muffle her cries with her pillow as to not wake her roommate.

She spent the majority of her first year in isolation, a self-inflicted punishment for the people she’d harmed in such a short span of time. Thankfully, her roommate was rarely there.

She was homesick, but not for Los Angeles.

No matter how much she wanted to go back, she wouldn’t allow herself to go. Not for holiday breaks or summer.

For the first year, her chest felt like a gaping wound, and she struggled with aimlessness, the thoughts of her purposelessness a constant mental burden. She toed the ledge, always close to jumping but never committed.

It took intense therapy to get her to a safe distance.

She slammed on the brakes, the red hue of the brake light in front of her the only thing warning her to stop. The burst of adrenaline she got from almost rear-ending another car was the most she’d felt in a long time.

She had chased the high relentlessly, either isolating herself completely during depressive episodes or throwing herself into high risk situations to feel something – anything.

Driving had become a utility to her, transportation and nothing more.

She associated the exhilarating sensation of pressing the gas pedal until her foot was nearly pointed, the smell of burning rubber, her tangled, windswept hair caught in her lip gloss – with Logan. It was wrong to try to recreate it without him.

When she’d left for Langston, she’d never looked back. Partially because she felt like she had nearly nothing anchoring her to L.A., but also because her last semester had a sense of finality to it. The crew vanished without a trace, and her inhibitions returned.

It took her five days of driving and stopping to make it to the campus. Her once intimidating, tightly packed car barely filled her half of the shared dorm room. And once she was on campus, she rarely drove anywhere, unless absolutely necessary.

She clung to the hope that she’d be able to find a crew of her own in undergrad, and that she’d hear his voice again. Envisioning Logan’s lips enunciating her nickname gave her a rush close to adrenaline, but not quite.

The soft pattering of rain on her windshield drew her out of her reminiscent thoughts. She blinked, glancing around the pitch black road, searching for a road marker. She flicked her high beams on, bouncing off of a distance marker. “Greenwood – 13 miles”.

He’d called at nearly midnight, his voice trembling, quiet, the bass of his voice keeping him from a true whisper. “Raquel, I need you.”

His tone was pure fear, the four words dripping with the subtext of a flubbed deal, a job gone wrong.

She kept the same phone number, clinging to the belief that maybe, just maybe, she’d hear her name roll off his tongue one more time.

It took three years for her to hear his voice again. And he was terrified.

She’d spent three long years dealing with the aftermath of the spring of her senior year of high school. A couple months of living in a new world had left a lifetime of damage, and she’d come out of it changed. The damage had festered, so much so that she had to seek help.

She’d promised herself that if she ever saw him again, she’d stand her ground, and try to pull him out of the deep end. She was strong willed, and well intentioned, that much she was sure. She learned so much about herself during that last semester, and she was grateful for it.

And all of that was abandoned the second he spoke her name.

She turned off the highway, and after a long stretch of backroads framed with gravel driveways, the bar came into focus. The open sign flickered, overshadowed by the numerous draft beer logos shining brightly around it.

The parking lot was nearly empty, a couple of reverse-parked pickup trucks scattered across the gravel. The muffled music met her ears, barely audible over the electric bug zapper near the entrance.

She still couldn’t get used to the muggy, swampy weather of the east coast, much less the mosquitoes and the irritating itchiness of a fresh bite.

The chill of the air conditioning hit her before her nerves did. With nothing but a few bills, her driver’s license, phone, and determination, she’d set out to save him. She hadn’t even prepared.

What was she supposed to say to the one person who burrowed his way into her subconscious and never left? The one that she was forced to live without, even though she craved daily him like the sweet bitterness of nicotine, the fleeting high enough to keep her coming back, no matter if it’d eventually kill her.

In the back booth of the dingy bar, she saw him.

She noticed the stubble first, so foreign from the smooth tanned skin she remembered running her fingers across. The dark circles under his eyes aged him, the years of trauma finally catching up to him. It’s like his light was dimmed; she thought he was broken before, but whatever healing journey she’d had, he’d endured the opposite over the years.

His cheeks looked hollow, like he hadn’t eaten in days. From the look of his greasy hair and dirt stained white tee, he’d been on the run nonstop.

“Logan?” She called out, just loud enough for him to hear.

He met her eyes, and for a brief second, they were empty, devoid of emotion, just long enough for her to notice, before they filled with tears. He jumped up from the tattered booth seat: grabbing her in a crushing hug, burying his face in her neck.

He murmured her name into her neck over and over, like he couldn’t believe she was real. She wrapped her arms around him, his familiar warmth bringing her to tears.

And they stayed like that, enveloped in each other, not a single thing around them mattering, except the feeling of being in each others’ arms after years apart.

When she pulled back to look at him, he stared at her lips, and ran his thumb across her chin. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she breathed, her arms snaking around to his front, and she grazed the tight muscles of his torso.

A drunken man shoved past them towards the restrooms, taking her out of the moment.

“Should we sit?”

He nodded, sliding onto his side of the table. “Do you… want a drink, or?” He asked, a bit nervously.

“No, I’m driving.” She fiddled with the braided keychain attached to her car keys, pulling at the frayed edges.

“That’s the responsible Raquel I missed,” he chuckled, breaking the tension a bit. He took a deep gulp from the beer bottle in front of him.

“I missed you so much,” she sighed, watching his face intently, committing every new detail to memory, tucking it away for later.

“I missed you, too.”

It was a hard conversation to initiate, much less navigate. She was still deciding if he was real – she’d dreamt of the moment she’d see him again, and it wasn’t anything close to what was happening.

She’d daydreamed of him pulling up to her dorm, parked out front like he did when they first met, as cliche as it sounded. Donned with the same white tee and jeans, he was leaning against the car (in her dream she pictured a convertible, so she could watch how beautifully the wind’s rough caress styled his hair, able to tousle it in a way a pair of hands never could), a smirk on his face, his arms folded, but his body language was never uninviting. He was relaxed, untroubled, as she kissed him, and they drove off into the sunset. A cliche, but at least they were both happy.

“So…” she started.

“I know you have a lot of questions, but I don’t know if I can answer all of them right now,” he finished, apologetic.

“Why not?”

“Let’s just say that… subter-fudge doesn’t always work to get you out of sticky situations.”

“You mean subterfuge?”

“Okay, truth be told I’ve never used that word in my life, but it was the word of the day on this dictionary app I have. And I was saving it for a good time, but I think I fucked it up,” he smiled, shaking his head.

She reached across the table, covering his hand with her own. “Let me get this straight. You not only learned a new word to use on me, but you have a dictionary app? You know you can just Google words, right?”

He shrugged. “I try to learn a new word as often as I can. It’s not much, but I feel smarter, even if I never use the word.”

“I thought it was cute.”

He chuckled, tracing his thumb across her knuckles. “You’re just trying to flatter me because I messed up.”

“No, I’m flattering you because you tried… and I missed you,” she said, squeezing his hand, the roughness of his skin comforting to her.

“God, I missed you more,” he whispered, eyes roaming over her face. “You really answered after all that time?”

“Yeah, of course. I knew you’d come back for me, eventually,” she smiled, burying the years of grief underneath the momentary gratification.

Her life since meeting and leaving Logan had been a probability. The numbers were infinite, the outcomes varied. She thought her psychology class would’ve been more rough on her mentally, but numbers didn’t lie.

Her calculus and statistics classes had been terrible – not just because she had to work twice as hard for a good grade in math classes, but because the problems so well translated to her life.

There were so many times that she could’ve died – so many times that she could’ve gone to prison for working with “criminals.” So many times that she jeopardized her future. And she was offered a way out, to start fresh.

But as many times as she tried to scare herself into feeling lucky and grateful for being steered back onto her path to success, she felt hollow. She had a one in a million chance of getting out of that life alive, but she had a one in a million chance of meeting Logan, too.

There were millions of people in Los Angeles County – she could’ve gone her whole life without knowing him, blissfully ignorant to the rough underbelly of the city she’d grown up in.

He changed her from the second he met her. Her probability split down the middle, branching into paths and subpaths, and multiple more until each move she made was critical. And the moment he left, she clung to him, despite the probabilities of them ever meeting again slimming more and more with each passing day.

He squirmed a bit, looking uncomfortable. She could tell that he was holding back. “Look, Raquel, I have to be completely honest with you, or it wouldn’t sit right with me. I know you haven’t seen me since you left for college, but… I’ve seen you.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, all of the jobs I’ve taken since leaving L.A. have been on the east coast, so I could stay close to you. To protect you.”

It shouldn’t have been music to her ears, but witnessing those words fall from his lips filled her soul with a sensation she could only describe as tranquility.

Her first year of college was riddled with depressive episodes, but the ensuing paranoia that came after she was reminded of The Brotherhood was even heavy, even more suffocating. She watched her back so much that her body was covered with bruises from the times she’d run into door frames, trash cans, people, sometimes causing her to trip and fall.

She was so unhealthily fixated on all of the possibilities and outcomes that she withdrew, not wanting to be the reason anyone close to her was harmed. She spent so long worrying that it nearly ruined her.

But hearing that he was always there, close enough to keep her safe, alleviated her, renewed her, replenished her. It nearly undid the hurt, minus a critical detail.

“Why didn’t you reach out to me?”

“I couldn’t… hurt you. The crews I ran with… it would’ve –” he cut himself off with a shake of his head, throwing back the bottle to finish it off.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Logan,” she whispered, watching his labored breathing, like he was so close to crumbling before her eyes.

“No, I can handle it. It just might take me a few tries to get it out,” he smiled weakly, gripping her hand, and she held firm, grounding him.

“Truthfully, I wanted to call you. You don’t know how many times I typed your number out and deleted it. I know your number by memory now.

“I was already here by the time you moved in. I’d been recruited by one of Teppei’s old friends, if you could call him that. He seemed like a great guy at first, but…” he trailed off, pained.

“It got really bad. This guy said he never worked with the same crew twice, and I thought since he kept calling me back that I was special.” He laughed curtly, the familiar look of brewing rage bubbling beneath the surface. “It was stupid, but each time he kept pushing me into doing more than I bargained for. I did a lot of things I couldn’t stomach, but by the time I realized what I was doing, I was already getting orders for the next job.”

He watched her hand on his, refusing to meet her eye.

“I always thought I’d dip when things got too rough, but I couldn’t give up being so close to you.”

“You didn’t run?”

“I told you I was tired of running,” he grinned, and it seemed alien on his gaunt face – like it’d been so long since he smiled he’d forgotten how to do it.

“So, what are you doing now, then?”

“Running.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, so deadpan, so pragmatic, that she knew not to pry. He was at rock bottom, and she was his only way out.

“What can I do?” she asked, no hesitation, ready to throw herself in the line of fire for him.

“I just need a ride to the used car lot on the other side of town. I have cash and someone there waiting to sell me one, so all I need is a ride.”

“You could’ve just called a cab or something, though. Why do you need me?” She prodded.

“I don’t know if you’re gonna like what I’m gonna say,” he hesitated, clearly torn.

“I can’t like or dislike it if you don’t tell me.”

He sighed. “Well, this might be the last time I can see you… for a while.”

“Can’t you just hide out and wait out till it’s safe? You can’t leave now, I just… I just got you back,” she choked, panicking and grieving all over again.

“I have to. There’s a pretty hefty warrant out for me. And I’ve got people looking for me. I can’t drag you into that,” he said, solemn.

“No, you can get out, Logan, we just have to plan it out. We can beat this, we just have to try,” she whispered, vision blurring with tears.

“Hey, hey, Raquel, it’s okay, I’ve accepted it,” he soothed her, reaching out to stroke her face, swiping his thumb across the streaks of water the teardrops left behind. “I just wanted to see you before I left.”

“Logan, I can’t say goodbye again. I just got you back,” she repeated, the familiar sense of dread creeping in, her chest tight.

“I can’t. I’m in too deep.” And he left it at that.

He left a tip, and they walked to the car, hands intertwined. She wanted so badly to just talk – to catch up on the years he’d missed, to make him proud, but it wasn’t the time. There’d never be a time. Being together in that moment was precious, every minute counting.

She’d have to memorize every second; they would have to last her a lifetime.

“Do you want to drive?”

He chuckled in response, a spark of his old self coming back. “Nah, I’ll be doing enough of that. I really missed seeing you behind the wheel.”

They slipped onto the warm leather seats – the moist air left over from the rain had seeped into the atmosphere of the car. She cranked up the AC, sweat beading on the back of her neck.

She peeled out onto the gravel backroad, not knowing what to say next. Thankfully, he leaned forward to tap the volume knob, turning on the radio, but the soft hum of the engine drowned it out, white noise in their silence.

He slipped the dog tag from around his neck, ruffling his hair, and placed it on the neck of the rearview mirror. It dangled, catching the occasional light of the passing streetlight.

“Is that a new necklace?” she asked, watching it sway as she turned onto the ramp to merge onto the highway.

“I hope you don’t think it’s weird.”

“I think we’re past that.”

“After I gave you my last necklace, I wanted something of my own to remember you by, so I got this done,” he rotated the piece towards her.

“Troublemaker” and her phone number was carved into the metal, scratched and slightly rusty.

“Oh, Logan,” she breathed, gripping the steering wheel harder. She couldn’t tell him bye. She’d just gotten him back.

“I want you to keep it.”

“No, you need it to remember me by, like you said,” she forced through a sob, the composure she’d thought she’d had a grasp on crumbling with each syllable that fell from his lips.

“I don’t need it, Raquel.”

“If I take it it means that…” she couldn’t say it.

“That it could get ugly. And I might not ever come back for you.”

“I want you to, though, Logan. I’m so close to finishing college, and I’m going to start med school soon, and I’m gonna have a great job, and I can take care of us and I–” she cut herself off, crying, her body heaving.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, and was met with the calloused pads of his fingers on her jaw.

“I can’t do this without you.”

“You can. You’re way stronger than you think. I know you made it through some hard ass classes without anyone’s help,” he joked.

“You are too.”

“This isn’t about me anymore. It was never really about me,” he said, tracing a hand down her shoulder to rub the nape of her neck lovingly. “I know you never moved on. Hell, I didn’t really let you move on since I was secretly playing bodyguard for years. But this time I’m serious. You’ve gotta let me go, Troublemaker.”

“You know I’ll never do that,” she laughed feebly.

“You have to at least try. For me.”

She didn’t answer him. She pulled off of the highway, begging for the car to break down, for some divine intervention to happen to prove that they deserved to be together.

When she parked in the empty lot, the only light coming from her headlights and the flashing streetlight, he turned to her, a softness in his haggard appearance.

They stared at each other, drinking in every inch of their bodies. She wanted to remember him as bright, more vigorous, more alive.

And before she knew it, their lips were on one another’s, fervent and hungry. He smelled exactly the same, and she breathed him in, lacing her fingers in his hair, taking full advantage of their brief moment of solitude.

He parted his mouth, tasting her, groaning. They kissed over and over, reacquainting themselves. It morphed into her breaking down, yet again, kissing and embracing him over and over, trying desperately to reclaim the moment as healing. But she couldn’t see it that way, even as he whispered affirmations in her ear, reminding her of all of the things he loved about her.

The rain picked up again, tapping insistently against the windshield, setting a much more soothing ambiance than the situation called for.

Finally, she leaned back, so unwilling to part from the warmth of his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he breathed, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I need to hit the road so I can make it over the state border by sunrise.”

“Logan…” she whispered, begging. “I know we can make this work.” She sounded like a broken record, proposing empty ideas with no solutions. She knew there wasn’t a solution, but she preferred empty words to the stinging slap of the truth.

“I’m a fugitive. You’re going to be a doctor. I can’t compromise that. It’s selfish.”

“But I want you to be selfish,” she clasped his hands in hers, holding it to her chest. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“That’s the problem, Troublemaker. I can’t let you do that,” he brought her hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles once, twice, before unlocking his door, and stepping out. “You were always too good for me, Raquel.”

He circled to the front of the car and smiled at her one last time, the tears in his eyes glimmering, reflecting the headlights. She watched the rain dot blotches all over his ratty tee, clinging to his form, and it made her wish she’d been able to see all of him.

Then he turned, and walked further and further into the lot of cars, his form becoming hazy before disappearing completely.

And she couldn’t stop him.

Probability always won in the end – the numbers didn’t lie. She could’ve seen it coming from a mile away, but she didn’t want to see it.

She was paralyzed in fear, knowing that there was no way she could save him from the hell that’d engulfed him, but refusing to believe it.

#playchoices #rod logan #choices rod #logan x mc #my fic #jade writes choices fics

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dorizardthewizard · 4 years

Text

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 1

Prologue / Chapter 2

I’m gonna try to keep translating this book, this chapter’s pretty long but has some interesting explanations on life on Akillian during the ice age. Also, the description of Akillian’s glaciation is... pretty rough! Enjoy~

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1. THE RETURN OF AARCH

“It's absolutely phenomenal! With only a minute left to play and the Akillian players are still holding their own against the last winners of the Galactik Football Cup. In all aspects, the two teams are neck and neck. I’ve never seen anything like it! Akillian finally climbing to the level of the best! Aarch and his teammates show an incredible cohesion, which is likely to destroy the endurance of the Shadows. But anything can still happen! Aarch recovers the ball on the left rear wing… Aarch defends his ball well… he passes back to his brother Norata… Norata immediately sets it up to the middle for Artegor Nexus. Artegor wipes out an opponent, completely reverses the game, and passes to Aarch! Aarch dribbles past one, no, two defenders with amazing ease! He approaches the penalty area... he cocks his shot... but - oh no! Foul! Foul from the Shadow defender!”

Indeed, the latter suddenly materialized in front of the goal in a stringy haze of black smog, and threw himself viciously into Aarch's feet, sending him tumbling onto the turf. On the edge of the stadium, the referee-bot came sliding, flashing its red light of disapproval. The exclusion pod descended on the skinny Shadow defender, wrapped him in its net of red light, and hoisted him ten meters above the ground.

The raging public hissed and booed at the defender who was thus immobilized: taken from the game for a minute, such was the sentence. But Aarch, recovering immediately, addressed to the public and to the offender a noble gesture as if to say, “Come on, it doesn’t matter, the match continues”, which immediately increased his fair play rating. The crowd cheered him: Aarch was very popular on Akillian, and his team was playing at home. But he did not let himself be intoxicated by this unexpected chance to finally win a major victory against the current holders of the coveted Galactik Football Cup. With less than a minute to go, the two teams were still tied: 1-1. This moment was crucial.

“Aarch gets a free kick!” exclaimed the commentator, who was covering the event for TTV, the Technoid channel. “An extremely well-placed free kick, ideal for his magic right foot!”

Magic it was indeed, boosted by the Akillian Breath. Aarch carefully placed his ball, focused, and called out the Breath. He was quickly enveloped with its magnificent energy, which pulsed from him in blue waves. Beside him, his brother Norata encouraged him with a glance. In front of him were the other two Shadows defenders and an attacker, who had come in to replace the defender immobilized by the exclusion pod. They also concentrated, emitting black emanations of the Smog. Behind, in the goal, the goalkeeper was dressed in red and oscillated on the spot, seeking to anticipate the trajectory of the ball.

The announcer continued his comment:

“Aarch places his ball... as usual, he only takes a few steps back... the crowd holds its breath... are we going to witness an unprecedented Akillian victory?”

The audience held their breath: the stadium was packed, but not a whisper came from the stands. Eyes blazing, chest swollen, full of Breath to the max, Aarch took off... his right foot struck the ball with phenomenal force, propelling it towards the goal in a stunning elliptical trajectory, rounding the opposing wall of defence. The ball flew like a bullet right at the Shadow goalkeeper, who reached out to stop it...

It exploded in his hand.

Crumbled into shards of ice, which fell down to the pitch. Aarch, Norata, Artegor and the Shadows defenders remained petrified by this miracle: a ball had never behaved like this! The dumbfounded goalkeeper stared at his hand, which was also beginning to freeze.

The ground began to shake, throwing the players off balance. The stadium creaked on all sides, drowning out the howls of the panicked crowd, who jostled each other trying to reach the exits. What was happening? An earthquake?

The sky over the Arena Stadium had turned pitch black. An inconceivable polar cold invaded the stadium, freezing everything. The pod that held the offending defender fell sharply, crushing the Shadow, who also shattered into bloody ice crystals. The sky was now spewing huge hailstones that swirled and shattered everything in their path, tossed around by a howling wind that descended into the stadium. The coaches' pods crashed to the ground, and so did those for the media. Projectors exploded, screens cracked, the synthetic grass turf, stuffed with sensors, immediately froze in myriads of sharp spikes. In the stands, the uproar, at its height the moment before, also froze in a jumble of frozen limbs, frozen bodies, icy breaths. Only the crackles of the Arena, whose equipment and facilities were breaking under this incredible frost, were still audible amid the howls of the wind, the crackles of hail and the rumble of the ground, which still vibrated.

Swift and quick, the Shadows had already fled. The only ones left on the pitch were the Akillian players, who scampered in all directions and desperately searched for a way out, as everything around them collapsed. Like the others, Aarch had started to run, but with every step his feet froze, with every breath the icy air sheared his lungs. He heard his brother scream behind him, wanted to turn around: the unstable ground gave way under him...

***

- Aaaaaah! Nooo!

Aarch suddenly opens his eyes, sits up in his bed with a start, and looks around him in bewilderment.

He is no longer on the frozen pitch of Akillian's stadium, crumbling around him in a hurricane of snow and ice, but in the warm and comfortable cabin of the Tanaga, his personal ship - named after the most beautiful of the two Akillian moons. Through the wide panoramic view from the cockpit, his home planet sparkles like a sapphire, an almost uniform blue since it has been frozen in the ice. The spaceship approaches it slowly... in fact, it sets its course for Obia, the smaller and duller of the two moons, the closest also, where the spaceport is located. From there, a shuttle-taxi will take him down to Akillian...

Or rather, take them down - because Aarch is not alone on the Tanaga.

His faithful friend Professor Clamp is accompanying him. He shows up at the cabin door, an optronic tester in hand.

- Were you having a nightmare, Aarch?

The latter scratches his head, runs his fingers through his prematurely whitened hair. He sighs.

- No, Clamp. Memories... you know, I’ve had worse.

Clamp - small, stocky, with dishevelled gray hair, big bulging eyes behind his archaic tinted glasses, dressed in an age-old short-sleeved shirt and shapeless pants - walks up to him with his waddling gait, and puts an affectionate hand on his massive shoulder.

Although aged before his time by the trauma suffered on Akillian, Aarch remained very imposing, with his powerful musculature, his bull neck supporting a square head, whose chin is softened by a pointed white goatee. White too, his thick eyebrows stretched to the temples, overhanging blue eyes tending to purple, with a sharp gaze. His thick outfit – a three-quarter-length jacket over black, baggy pants – gives off both a war-like and aristocratic impression: the stuff of a lord.

- Everything is going to be fine, Aarch, don't worry! – says Clamp reassuringly. With your ideas and my machines, we're going to do a terrific job. We can't be wrong!

- I hope so, Clamp...

The "scrap" that he was repairing - a robot of his own making, which he intended for an astronavigation role to assist at the controls of the Tanaga - is in total overload: on the operating table, its open stomach is smoking, producing crackling sparks. Suddenly an explosion emanates from it, its two arms detach from the chest and fall to the ground.

Clamp throws himself on it to disconnect it before it catches fire, grabs a cable and moves back quickly, uttering a cry: this damn scrap has burnt his palm!

In the cabin, Aarch suppresses a smile.

“No, we can't be wrong,” he thinks. “W just need to make the right connections...”

However, it is not at all certain to find good connections on this bluish planet, which is growing slowly in the panoramic window, this planet which he left for fifteen years... and which is now foreign to him.

***

Since what has come to be called “the Catastrophe”, life has gradually been restored to Akillian. The few inhabitants who chose to remain in the area founded a new capital, New Arcadia, at the foot of the ruins of the old one. A few villages have survived. They attempt to grow timid greenhouse crops, they adapt to this new life as best they can... and sometimes hope is reborn: sometimes the sun manages to pierce the clouds, sometimes the snow turns into rain, sometimes the temperatures rise above zero... one day, this horrible glaciation will only be a bad memory; the trees will bud again, the flowers will bloom in the open air. One day... but when?

Scientists have attributed this sudden and extreme glaciation to a tilting of the planet's orbital axis, but have failed to determine the cause. They’re still getting lost in guesswork.

Meanwhile, for fifteen years, the Red Tigers, Akillian's new official team, have never participated in the Galactik Football Cup. Because - undoubtedly a side effect of the glaciation - the Breath seems to have totally disappeared…

If some rejoice - the Shadows in particular, who have always kept a grudge against these belligerent Humans - others, such as Aarch, dream only of one thing: to return, to rebuild, to contribute with all their efforts and their means. To revive Akillian in the competition. To be the witnesses, if not the actors, of Akillian's awakening...

***

It's an exceptional day for Arcadia, the ancient capital frozen in ice, a sort of angular iceberg located on the edge of the Windy Plateaus, at the foot of which the terraced constructions of New Arcadia are spread out. The thick blanket of clouds that covers the planet has almost completely been torn into a freezing haze soon to be swept by the wind, giving way to the white rays of Vega, the planet’s sun, and letting through a glimpse of the pale crescent of the moon Tanaga. The snow sparkles on the plateau, blinding, the stalactites dripping on the edges of the frosted ridges of abandoned buildings.

In New Arcadia, sheltered from the prevailing winds, the thermometers have climbed above zero, which could almost pass for a heatwave! The inhabitants have opened doors and windows, lounging on the terraces, watching the ice melt on the dead trees - some even go so far as to inspect their branches in search of hypothetical buds. Could it finally be the Akillian spring, so long-awaited for fifteen years? Or just a temporary upturn?

Ballow, bookmaker by trade, is no exception, sprawled on a sofa under the gazebo attached to his sumptuous villa, overlooking a half-thawed pool. Bald and fat, with bags under his eyes, dressed in a Garo fur coat (one of the rare animals to have adapted to the harsh climate), he displays his wealth with ostentation. Wealth officially acquired through the sale of tickets for Galactik Football matches, illegally secured by rigged bets on said matches... and other more shady and illicit activities.

Standing in front of him, a distinguished guest, recognizable by his sharp, black, claw-like locks, the two long braids that frame his angular face, the anti-UV glasses that permanently hide his eyes, burnt by the cold during the Catastrophe: Artegor Nexus in person.

The former Akillian defender has come a long way in fifteen years: "bought" by the Shadows - along with Aarch - he dabbled with the Smog and found it to his liking, improving and developing his game until he became an essential and brilliant pillar of the Shadows team. But he remained human despite everything: life on the dark and smoky Obscurantis ended up weighing on him... growing in age and eager to return to his home planet, he decided to train the Red Tigers, the official team of Akillian: The League pays him well for this job and offered him a large office in the fancy Federation building. Through a game of influences, he got into the League's Homologation Commission, which selects the teams able to participate in the Galactik Football Cup. Artegor is firmly convinced that he will end up president of the League, because, as he himself says: "The best places go to the best" - and Artegor is the best. In any case, that's what he believes.

Ballow examines an old 2D photo that Artegor has just given him. A small smile stretches his fat lips. The photo is a portrait of Aarch, fifteen years younger.

- Of course I recognize him – he said, leaning back on his sofa. – I saw him play a lot of times when I was young. He was the best attacker we've ever had (he hands the photo back to Nexus)… I had no idea he was back on Akillian. However, when it comes to football, nothing escapes me!

- His return will be very short lived if you do your job properly, retorts Artegor.

- Don't worry, sir. For this kind of job, there’s no one better suited or more efficient than me and my men.

Ballow is interrupted by the appearance of his bodyguards at the edge of the pool, bringing over a smirking kid.

- Boss! This kid wants to see you...

- Let him in.

The kid - rather a teenager in fact, but small for his age - casually crosses the wooden pontoon that runs along the pool and reaches the gazebo. Loose black hair, a large white hooded coat, baggy pants rolled up at the calves, white sneakers on the feet, a necklace of Garo teeth around his neck, a perpetually mocking expression on his thin face, and mischievous gray eyes.

- You should see to improve the reception – he says to Ballow. – A few pretty girls and two or three succulents, that would add more class!

- I don't have the time or the inclination to discuss interior design with you, Micro-Ice – Ballow replies sharply. – I hope you have a good reason to come and disturb me...

Micro-Ice throws a wad of Galactik Football tickets onto the sofa. Ballow stands up, indignant.

- Don't tell me you didn't sell any tickets?!

- It's not my fault that no one wants to buy tickets to go see this hopeless match, even at half price!

Ballow casts a suspicious look, picks up the bundle, and begins to leaf through it.

- I hope you don’t mind me recounting them…

- Oh, you can count? I didn’t know! (Micro-Ice notices Artegor, standing not far from him) Hello, sir!

The coach does not answer, presumably ignoring him. "Hopeless match! The Red Tigers vs. the Rykers! Poor fool!”

The eternal winds of the Windy Plateaus have brought new clouds, which suddenly pour an icy rain: the good weather had been short-lived... Micro-Ice grimaces, lowers his head, curls up in his coat.

- It looks like you don't like the rain, young man – Artegor says haughtily.

- Oh me, you know, I love everything... and everyone! I even love him! – he adds, pointing to Ballow, who gives him a glare. – That just shows how easy-going I am!

- Alright, alright! – growls the big bookmaker, who has finished counting the tickets. – Now shoo!

- O.K., since you asked so nicely... see you guys later!

Micro-Ice sets out again on the pontoon, at the end of which the bodyguards await him. He turns in the middle, giving Ballow a casual wave. Suspicious, he examines the tickets again...

His fingers are full of ink.

The rain that falls on the laminated bundle causes the colors to bleed, diluting the printed patterns.

Fakes, realizes Ballow in shock. Bad photocopies... he immediately calls out to the boy in his booming voice:

- Micro-Ice! What is the meaning of this?! What is this mess?

- Uh..., said the latter, casting a worried glance at the two henchmen planted at the glass door of the villa. You probably won't believe me but... the tickets... uh... someone stole them...

- You're right, I don't believe you at all!

Micro-Ice takes a few steps back, just in front of the thugs who have stepped out onto the pontoon, looking nasty. Quick as lightning, he leaps over the pool, slides on a patch of ice, tumbles down the rocks that border it, and runs down the slope.

- What are you two waiting for? – Ballow yells at his men. – After him!

The two henchmen judge the width of the pool, feel the resistance between their feet and the ice, and finally decide to take the service staircase instead, thus losing precious seconds.

Artegor Nexus turns to the raging bookmaker and smirks at him:

- Tell me, Ballow, are you and your men always this "efficient", or is it just to impress me?

Despite the downpour, the steep streets of New Arcadia are quite busy; the inhabitants of the new capital are used to it, and the rain is a pretty good sign: at least it’s not snow. Among the population that roams the pedestrian streets is a tall, strong figure with white hair, accompanied by a smaller figure with tinted glasses: Aarch and Clamp.

- Aah! – says Aarch, gazing at the houses and the people in delight. – I'm glad to be back, even in this rain!

At the same moment, the downpour stops: the climate always changes very quickly on Akillian, ranging from just cold to freezing or from sun to freezing fog in record time.

- Well, just as you’re talking about it, it’s stopped raining. – Remarks Clamp, extending his hand.

Neither he nor Aarch think of raising their heads - they would have seen a kid leaping above them, jumping from one roof to another. Born in New Arcadia, Micro-Ice knows by heart this town built on the hillside, leaning against the imposing ruins of the old capital. For him, the streets are not always the shortest nor the most practical route: roofs, stairs, terraces, balconies, and rocks often constitute a route that, if not shorter, is at least much more fun.

However, the two thugs chasing him are also locals. He does not manage to lose them – every time he’s about to go down a street, he spots them there. So Micro-Ice takes risks, running on the higher terraces, somersaulting across wider avenues, and gliding over roofs transformed into skating rinks by the sudden return of the frost. During a barely controlled slalom between solar panels planted on a sloping roof (the metal sheets are folded in on themselves, and unfurl when activated by Vega's rays), he suddenly stumbles upon a spacer and loses balance. He crashes into one of the solar panels. Under the sudden weight, the sheet is torn off its base and unfolds under Micro-Ice, thus becoming a sort of improvised sledge. But the metal is very smooth, so the “sledge” has no brakes. Screaming in fear, he picks up speed on the sloping roof, soars through the air... and lands in a snowdrift, raising a cloud of snow, just in front of Aarch and Clamp, who are standing in awe.

They both contemplate this shiny pile of metal for a moment, which begins to move... Micro-Ice's head pops out, half stunned. Aarch suppresses a smile.

- You okay, kid? You’re not hurt, are you?

He holds out his hand to help him up.

- Uh, no, I don't think so... Thank you sir!

Seeing Ballow's men at the end of the street, Micro-Ice sets off again at full speed. In front of Aarch and Clamp, the two henchmen try to act casual, but as soon as they pass them, they start again in pursuit of Micro-lce.

- You didn't tell me that it was raining kids in your home too! – jokes Clamp.

Aarch isn't smiling. Frowning, he watches the two men slip away around the corner.

- Yeah... those guys didn’t look like they wanted to give that kid candy.

- Bah! (Clamp shrugs.) It's none of our business, after all.

- You're right. Let's go see the Arena Stadium… at least what's left of it.

***

Maya lives in a beautiful pink house with large bay windows, leaning against a majestic Cédryan - one of the most imposing trees in Akillian, which can reach a hundred meters in height and whose multi-rooted trunk easily measures ten meters in diameter. Unlike most plants, frozen or in lethargy, Maya's Cédryan has retained its foliage, admittedly scorched by snow and cold, but which awaits to be green again.

Maya claims that it is the tree that gives her her power, but some suspect that at the bottom of the cave where she performs rituals, dug between the roots of the Cédryan, she may have captured a tiny source of the Breath of Akillian... although it never could give the power to predict the future.

Because Maya is clairvoyant.

She interprets the destiny of her clients according to the glares and reflections that emanate from her crystal ball, in combinations known only to her. She is rarely wrong, which has earned her many clients from all over the world. Maya even receives prominent members of the Praesidium, Akillian's government, who come incognito to seek her enlightened opinion on a bill or the results of an electoral campaign... "If the Akillians knew that one or other government decision results from the predictions of a clairvoyant!” Maya sometimes thinks ironically. But, of course, she is kept in the greatest secrecy.

Whoever came to see her today looks austere under his monk's coat and hood, but he is certainly not a member of a religious congregation. Lips pursed, Maya scrutinizes him with her eyes so clear they are almost colorless. A look that is accentuated by her thick red hair tightened under a purple cap, her lean and angular face, and the gold rings that adorn her ears, giving her an aura of mystery and exoticism that increases the confidence of her customers - and the distrust of her critics.

- What exactly do you want to know? - she asks her client, sitting with his head down in front of her, face hidden under the gray hood.

- What will happen to me. – he answers in a voice a little too youthful for his outfit. – The rest... I already know.

- Very well. – says Maia.

Eyelids closed, she concentrates, makes a few passes over her crystal ball, which soon rises in the air, emitting purple gleams. When she opens her eyes, it is not these shards that catch her eye, but that of a bracelet on her client's wrist: a piece of mother-of-pearl set between wooden beads strung on a leather strap. A bracelet that she knows well...

- You want me to tell you what will happen to you? – she resumes sharply. – It's very simple: either take off your hood and apologize, or continue to take me for a fool and I won’t let you in here for at least two weeks!

- W-what? What's the matter with you? – stammers the customer.

- D’jok! ... – sighs Maya, exasperated.

Unmasked, he pulls his hood down, revealing his round cheeks, pointed chin, red hair, green eyes and apologetic expression.

- How did you recognize me?

- I'm a clairvoyant, you seem to forget that. – replied Maya, suppressing a smile in front of the boy's lousy disguise.

- Yeah, yet I'm the only one you don't want to read the future to.

- You're not going to start with that again!

Sulkily, D'jok gets up, goes to stand with his arms crossed in front of the window pierced in the masonry wall, which blocks the entrance to the cave, and which Maya has opened to take advantage of the warmth. He turns around, exclaiming vehemently:

- No, but that's not fair! Already you don't want to tell me anything about my past, you could at least read me my future! I'm sure I have a great destiny, an extraordinary destiny even. I feel it! I'm not your son for nothing!

- Adoptive only, D'jok. You know that.

Yes, D'jok knows that, but it's about the only thing he knows about his origins. Maya took him in as a baby and raised him as her own child - but who exactly is his real mother? And his father? Where are they? Where is he from? Why did Maya never want to tell him? It is to find out - and to know this grandiose destiny to which he feels or believes himself called - that he tries by all means to pull it out of her. He disguises himself in order to pass off as a foreign consultant, he sends his buddies Thran or Micro-Ice; in Maya's absence, he also tries to read the crystal ball, he tries by devious questions to make her confess her secret... it’s a lost cause: Maya is clairvoyant, as she has just reminded him, and she easily thwarts all his tricks.

- Yes, but precisely – he replies. – I would like...

He is suddenly cut off by a mass that has emerged from the window, which falls on him and sends him tumbling to the floor. He utters a cry of fear: a Garo? It seems that these terrible white wolves with saber teeth sometimes venture into town in times of great cold... but today, it is not cold. Well, not too much.

It was only Micro-Ice, who stood up quite out of breath.

- Ahhh! Phew... uh... hello, ma'am! Hi, D'jok...

D’jok gets up, annoyed at having been afraid for nothing.

- Can't you use the doors like everyone else?!

- Oh yeah? Have you seen a door here?

Indeed, the only entrance to Maya’s cave - apart from the window - is a staircase attached to the wall of rock, leading to a large round trap door in the ceiling, which opens to the living room of the house on the ground floor.

Maia scrutinizes Micro-Ice suspiciously, as he positions himself at the corner of the window to look out. He moves back quickly: in the pass below, cut into the hill, the two Ballow thugs come running... They go to the end of the path, which is lost in a maze of rocks, ruins and bushes. No trace of footsteps in the hardened snow… They turn around, observe the houses nearby: this damn kid could have rushed into any one of them, it’s impossible to search.

- Too bad, forget it. – said the youngest of the bodyguards to his colleague. –We’ll get him next time.

- What are we going to tell the boss?

The first shrugs his shoulders.

- I don't know, we... you’ll just have to make up a story.

- Me? Why me? You’re the one who said to let him go!

While arguing, the two minions take a staircase that goes down to the city center. At the window, Micro-Ice watches them walk away with a "phew" of relief.

- Tell me, Micro-Ice, – intervenes Maya. – You didn't get into a mess, I hope?

- Oh no, ma'am! I... we... were just playing hide and seek!

- Hm... I don't need to consult my crystal ball to guess that you’ve done something stupid again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

T/N: Do people ever use dashes for dialogue in the US? I just realised I think I’ve only seen it in European books?

Anyway I always did wonder why Aarch had already gone completely white, even the eyebrows! I thought Artegor’s shades were just a 2000′s design style, but his eyes being damaged from the glaciation is interesting and would explain why he wears them everywhere, even indoors :P

#galactik football #a garo seems really cool #and who knew maya had influence over akillian's politics? :'D #the revival of akillian

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trensu · 4 years

Text

Episode 19: The One with the Return of the Gay Yearning Death Grip, Now with More Sword!

After enduring EXTREME EMOTIONAL TRAUMA for the last THREE (3) EPISODES IN A ROW, we finally finally get an episode that has some wangxiantics again!!

I mean, they’re still gonna gut us emotionally here too but we can pretend it hurts less because of our brief wangxian moments!!!

Because this is the episode with the BURIAL MOUNDS

*cries*

Alright so golden core transfer Happened.

Review: wwx is now weaponless, penniless, golden core-less, and alone

Except jk, he’s actually surrounded by wen flunkies, so not alone! Worse than alone!!

And we all know our beloved wwx has the survival instincts of a lemming so instead of you know, keeping his mouth shut for once in his life, he decides to mock and insult wen chao and his flunkies.

WC decides to take wwx on Evil Field Trip Part 2: Burial Mounds Edition and has wen zhuliu freaking drop-kick wwx into the cursed place

Oh, hello, Bad CGI, nice to see you again!

And here we have the Return of the Screams bc apparently wwx decided to keep the Screaming Sword of Resentment in his magic pouch??

Good thing he did, i guess?? Bc the Screams summon up some resentful energy that helps him survive the fall

We cut away a moment here to see our beloved wen sibs and we are sad bc they are locked up MOVING ON

Wwx is all alone in this awful place covered in dead things and lacking sunlight, THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF OUR PRECIOUS, LIVELY, SUNSHINE BOY

It’s terrible but we’re getting a piece of wangxian pie here (a tiny one)

So the Screams are still happening, and our wwx is collapsed on the ground not responding to any of them.

They’re all shouting “wei wuxian, wei wuxian”

And still our precious sunshine boy lies there limp and exhausted

BUT SUDDENLY

AMIDST ALL THE SHOUTS

We hear a calm,soothing voice call “wei ying”

Wwx finally moves. He sits up and starts looking around for the source of that voice

BECAUSE THAT WAS LAN ZHAN’S VOICE

THAT WAS LAN ZHAN’S VOICE GENTLY CALLING “WEI YING” THREE TIMES

THREE!!! TIMES!!!!

And it’s so sad bc for a moment there wwx hears the voice and must think that lwj is there with him, there to rescue him!!

But he isn’t *cries* he’s not there and wwx just looks so lost and scared here *cries HARDER*

Instead of lwj, wwx finds the Screaming Sword of Resentment that legit says to him, “wwx, do you want revenge? Let’s be together.”

And, idk guys, swords that talk to you about revenge don’t seem like, the kind of swords you wanna be touching.

But wwx decides to become besties with it, i guess, and grabs it.

The look of triumph on his face after he accepts the swords offer is really cool if you ignore how UTTERLY DISTRESSING the whole situation is

AND HERE’S THE SCENE WHERE LWJ MAKES THE MOST BADASS ENTRANCE.

YOU THOUGHT THE THING WITH THE ROOFTOP BACK IN "THE ONE WITH THE ICONIC REUNION” WAS COOL?? THIS ONE TOPS IT.

To set the scene: we’re at Qishan where Evil Summer School took place and a bunch of wen flunkies are getting drunk and bragging about their evil deeds bc why not

And then we get a shot of white shoes (boots?? Idk) slowly walking up the steps of the evil staircase

And then the camera gives us a shot at the top of the staircase and we see LWJ clad in all white in a bitchin’ new robe, slowly appear into view, rising a little more with each step he takes up the stairs and the wind is providing ambiance by swishing elegantly through his hair

As that is happening, we see the blue flash of power that shows up whenever lwj uses his guqin and it knocks the wen flunkies down on their backs BC FUCK YOU WEN FLUNKIES

We go back to lwj, and get a closer look at his face. His face is blank and hard as a stone, and he keeps going at this unhurried, unbothered pace

Bc he knows

HE KNOWS

He’s gonna get what he wants here and now, one way or another. And what he wants is information about wei ying.

CHILLS, GUYS, THIS SCENE GIVES ME CHILLS IN THE BEST WAY

THE MOST BADASS ENTRANCE IN THE SHOW

I LOVE IT SO MUCH

So after he guqin’s the wen flunkies down (and they start cowering) he towers over them all imperiously

Lwj: Kneel

(so commanding, his tone. I know at least some of you guys Felt Things at that)

(guys, I've been on ao3, I'VE SEEN YOUR TAGS, don’t try to deny it, you kinky bastards)

(It's okay, this is a no judgement zone, and lwj is looking hella sharp in his new outfit, I get it)

Lwj: where is wei ying

(so unyielding, so demanding, but not once does he raise his voice, what a BAMF)

The wen flunkie that lwj had been kinda choking with guqin magic raises his hand (lol, this isn’t a classroom pal)

Lwj: Speak.

And the wen flunkie informs him (and JC, who showed up at some point but whatev) that they dumped WWX in the Burial Mounds

Lwj, our precious darling lwj, we know he doesn’t have the most expressive of faces, right? But the way his face tilts ever so slightly downwards at the news, you can tell, you can tell, that he was hit with that sick, cold, sinking feeling in the stomach

Kneel. Where is Wei Ying. Speak. THAT'S ALL HE SAID IN THE WHOLE SCENE AND YET HE HAD EVERYONE CAPTIVATED (and Thirsty, in some cases, it's all good, it's all good)

After all that awesome, we are forced to watch wc and jj have a domestic spat of some sort AS IF WE’RE SUPPOSED TO CARE. WE’RE GONNA IGNORE IT BC FUCK THOSE GUYS

We’re back at Evil Summer School in Qishan, and we’ve got JC and LWJ doing that thing where they stare manfully at the mid-distance and talk about vaguely Feelings-related Stuff

WuJi starts playing in the background as JC tells LWJ about how WWX was supposed to meet up with him at Yiling and never showed up; i thought he went after you, he says, but maybe the wens really did dump him in the burial mounds

And the music freaking crescendos here bc some lan disciples show up with everyone’s swords but most importantly THEY HAVE SUIBIAN which they bring to lwj directly

Makes you wonder, huh. Why did they bring suibian to lwj when jc, wwx’s brother, was right there??

PROBS BC THE LAN DISCIPLES HAVE BEEN WITH LWJ AND JC THE WHOLE TIME AND REALIZED THAT LWJ IS IN LOVE WITH WWX BC WHY ELSE WOULD HE BE SEARCHING SO OBSESSIVELY

LWJ’s eyes widen just a fraction the minute he sees suibian

HIS SOULMATE’S SWORD

IT’S ALL HE HAS LEFT OF WEI YING RIGHT NOW

JUST LIKE BEFORE WHEN ALL HE HAD LEFT OF HIS HOME WAS BICHEN

STOP LEAVING LWJ WITH JUST SWORDS, LET HIM HAVE HIS LOVED ONES!!!

And god the way he GRIPS it with YEARNING.

All of his motions are still very sedate, but just the microexpressions we’re getting from him change the tone of the movements

Wang yibo - guys, idk much about any of the actors but this guy does a great job. Like, how does he make such emotional expressions when his actual face hardly moves??? WITCHCRAFT, I TELL YOU, WITCHCRAFT

Lwj tries to unsheathe the sword but here we find the Suibian has sealed itself (bc he’s a loyal sword; he aint cheating on his master with no one!)

Lwj: wei ying, where are you

Such quality Lwj Yearning™

And then we get interrupted by Plot Things again, ugh

Blah blah we’re at qinghe blah blah we meet jzx's asshole cousin and hate him blah blah

Lwj and JC show up at qinghe and interrupt jzx’s Disaster Het shenanigans (thank god)

Jiang sibs have a reunion while jzx and lwj stand awkwardly at the side

Lwj sees that display of Emotion and is like, nope, that is Too Much, i’m gonna distract myself by staring at this disembodied head hanging at the entrance

(he’s already in emotional turmoil bc his soulmate is missing, he cannot handle anything more than that!!)

Idk why by jzx decides to join him

Jzx: hey, that’s wwx’s sword! Did you…

Lwj: *Death Grips bichen AND suibian with Extra Yearning™*

Lwj: evil summer school has been burned

SUBTLE CHANGE OF TOPIC THERE, LWJ

Also, c’mon jzx, LWJ IS NOT HERE TO TALK ABOUT OR ACKNOWLEDGE ANY MORE FEELINGS RIGHT NOW OKAY

Jzx goes off to talk about something unimportant and lwj is like phew, dodged a bullet there

Except, JUST KIDDING

Jzx: soooo, where’s wwx? I need to return his sister to him

Lwj: *stoically silent*

Lwj: *refuses to look at jzx*

Lwj: *gives off major I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT vibes*

Jzx: *doesn’t take a hint*

Jzx: yeah, so where is he??

READ THE ROOM, JZX

Idiots, we’re surrounded by emotionally incompetent idiots

Lwj doesn’t react until he hears jyl softly gasp when jc updates her and even then, it’s only to just briefly glance in her general direction

OUR BOY IS HURTING, POOR LWJ

And now we’re back to Plot Things

Blah blah battle strategy blah blah nmj looks imposing blah blah baxia does a thing blah blah

Jzx: yeah, so we’re doing great, we just gotta take back gusu and yiling now

Lwj: I volunteer AS TRIBUTE for the mission in Yiling

Jc: dude, SAME, plz red blade master, let us go there

Nmj: uh, idk guys, that’s right next to the wen’s stronghold…

Lwj; red blade master…

Nmj: yeah, okay, fine

Wow, capitulated pretty easily there, pal. Thought you were supposed to be a tough guy, nmj…

We get a jiang sib moment

With soup, ofc

Ooooh, now we get to watch jj have a mental break AND IT’S GLORIOUS

Disembodied eyeballs!! How fun!

And that’s the end of that episode!!

Oh god, i’m so glad we finally got some wangxiantics. Like, not a lot of them, and they didn’t share screentime BUT THEY WERE STILL VERY EMOTIONAL WANGXIANTICS

THEY MISS EACH OTHER SO MUCH *SOBS*

Return to Masterpost

#WangXiantics #wangxian #the untamed #cql

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cllynchauthor · 5 years

Text

On Aspie Supremacy and the Aspergian

CW: bullying, suicide, aspie supremacy

I feel the need to talk to you guys about what has been happening on autistic twitter lately surrounding the autistic website The Aspergian. I write for The Aspergian. Here are some of my articles:

https://theaspergian.com/2019/05/04/its-a-spectrum-doesnt-mean-what-you-think/

https://theaspergian.com/2019/04/19/person-first/

https://theaspergian.com/2019/04/05/7-cool-aspects-of-autistic-culture/

While I am white, cishet, and speaking, I am in the minority at The Aspergian.

The majority of contributors are mostly either LGBTQIA+, BIPOC, or high support needs.

Here are some of their contributions:

https://theaspergian.com/2019/10/10/stopping-the-stigma-against-people-with-disabilities-interview-with-sbsk/

https://theaspergian.com/2019/09/09/10-signs-i-was-transgender-but-didnt-know-it/

https://theaspergian.com/2019/08/08/the-cage/

Despite this, the name The Aspergian makes many autistic people uncomfortable. Several ASAN members have spoken out condemning the name.

In these days of #AltAutism, the autistic dark web and other aspie supremacists have turned the word Aspergers into a borderline slur.

Aspergers and “Aspergian” are becoming dog whistles for function labels, white supremacy and incels.

The founder of The Aspergian knows that. That’s why she named it The Aspergian.

With every pro-RPM, pro-Neurodiversity, feminist, intersectional article The Aspergian publishes, it gets left wing values all over Aspergers. If you google Aspergian now, all you will find are social justice articles.

And the AltAutism folks HATE IT.

But so do a lot of autistic advocates, for whom “Aspergers” conjures up a lot of trauma.

The founder has trauma from it too, though.

https://twitter.com/theaspergiancom/status/1185068296636375040?s=21

Image Description: screencap of a tweet from @TheAspergianCom reading

When I first told my closest living friend about being autistic, it was the first person I'd told other than my husband. This was her response:

Below is a screencap of a text conversation. The friend is talking about her autistic son saying “at this point I’ll be fucking happy if he ever calls me mom and stops trying to attack me.” Then she says “I think your autism is fucking bullshit.”

Image description: screencaps of more tweets reading:

Though she knew I was going to be tested, she'd continued to use the word Asperger's. I'd been helping her through the process of understanding her son and autism. I loved her deeply. I still do. But she blocked me on social media and told everyone before I was ready to come out.

So instantly all my social media was flooded with all these speculative and veiled comments I could only see portions of, and I was humiliated. I was a new mother struggling and lost my support system. She thought it was sinister I used the same label as her son. Minimizing.

Autism was my diagnosis. She didn't know that I was made to believe I was possessed by demons in my youth or all the hell I'd endured and all the struggles I had like being the last person in my school who learned to read six years late. She knew an articulate adult.

Image description: the next person I told, things went even worse. She outed me in local Facebook groups where I was the admin and parent groups. I had postpartum anxiety and severe breastfeeding aversion but my child wouldn't eat food. So it was BF constantly or a feeding tube. And no meds for me.

So I thought maybe the problem was me saying autism instead of Asperger's. My husband was aspie and always identified that way. I'd been a teacher with largely autistic classes for years. Those with that diagnosis were often intellectually disabled.

Image description: My best friend and one of my oldest and closest friends, both autistic, had committed suicide, and the two living best friends I had blew up my whole social circle. I was afraid to seek help, afraid to go in public, and brutally reframing my whole life and reliving traumas.

I needed help. I joined about 20-30 autistic groups and made the mistake of saying that I was aspie. I didn't want to be insulting and have another incident like what happened the first time I told someone. It didn't go well. I had no idea of the stigma at the time.

And I had no idea why I was being called a supremacist, shiny, a Nazi, ableist, etc. I argued against those claims because I'm definitely not those things. I thought I'd entered a den of extremists. I got booted. Then another group I entered started with, "Oh, there's the Nazi."

In that tweet thread, Terra goes on to say that it occurred to her that her best friend who had recently committed suicide might have sought out the autistic community before he died. And she went to look and found that he had posted and been dogpiled in the same manner. The day before he died.

Terra Vance is desperately anti supremacy. But she is also desperately anti bullying. And she felt that if people couldn’t say “I’m autistic” without losing loved ones and “I’m aspie” without being called a supremacist, then autistic people were being put in a very tight corner.

Especially since Aspergers is still an extant diagnosis pretty much everywhere but North America so people are getting shunned from the autistic community because of their DIAGNOSIS.

That’s why she named it The Aspergian.

And you know what?

The aspie supremacists HATE IT.

They hate that their dog whistle is now a popular and booming hub of Neurodiversity, anti-ABA, and intersectionality.

They hate that The Aspergian is republishing deleted Wikipedia articles of autistic nonspeakers, which the autistic dark web worked hard to get removed.

They hate that we promote FC and RPM and other AAC. They hate that we keep claiming that autism and Aspergers are the same thing.

They don’t want to share space with nonspeakers and black women. They’re a bunch of altright white incels and The Aspergian is getting autism and neurodiversity over their shiny high functioning boots.

Worst of all, we’re reaching PARENTS.

Our most popular articles are not aimed at fellow autistic people. They are aimed at NTs, parents, laymen, trying to educate them about autism.

My article on ABA went viral and made so many ABA therapists angry. It was beautiful.

Imagine description:

“And by some strange magic, we took off suddenly, going from like 100 views per month to over 100k, then 200k, then more and more. We heard a lot of stories that were not being heard. There are parents who read our site to learn about their children posthumously after suicide.

One mother told me that if she had found our site earlier, she would have known that her son's "aspie" diagnosis meant that he was fully autistic. She is filled with regrets. We hear from lots of people who had no idea that they were supposed to have these autistic struggles.

We hear from people in lots of non-white majority countries where autism acceptance and awareness is years/decades behind what a difference our site has made because they had no idea. They weren't reading other blogs and now they are. Now they are understanding autism.”

Understanding autism from a neurodivergent, autism-acceptance, Autism-Speaks-Is-Bad, anti-ABA, pro-AAC website.

The ADW HATE that.

So what do they do?

They stir up shit about the name. The autistic dark web have a bunch of sock accounts which they use to deliberately stir up shit among the #ActuallyAutistic tag on twitter so they can screenshot stuff and repost it out of context to further discredit autistic people.

So they know the ND crowd resent Aspergers. So they deliberately stir up crap about The Aspergian’s name and everybody eats it up.

They also spread lies like that we are racist and don’t have any contributors of colour (they block the BIPOC contributors who argue against this lie).

Image Descriotion:

Tweet from Riah Person (a black autistic advocate) saying

“The .@theAspergianCom has writers

• with I/DD

• that are nonspeaking

• with research background

• that are deaf

• that are blind

• with physically limiting disabilities

• that are autistic BIPOC

• that are autistic LGBTQ+

• with no formal writing skills

The list goes on”

They claim that we plagiarize. But in fact each contributor owns their own content and is free to publish in other places and often they do.

But mostly they bitch about the name.

And I get it. I do. Aspergers brings up a lot of bad feelings and associations, especially since the anti-ND movement started pushing the “Asperger was a Nazi” stuff in order to discredit Steve Silberman’s book Neurotribes.

But we can’t make Asperger’s a slur. It’s still an existing diagnosis all around the world. Happily it IS being removed from the ICD 11 in 2022 but it’s going to take decades to change the assumptions around that word.

Terra wants “Aspergers” to become synonymous with autism. No difference. No barriers. No judgements. Not because she loves or even identifies with Aspergers. Her diagnosis is autistic and she calls herself autistic. But she doesn’t think autistic people should be bullied over a label. It smacks of exclusionism.

The founder of The Aspergian feels that no autistic person should be bullied to the point of death or near-death because of their diagnosis, or because they have been trained to say they have Aspergers so NTs won’t pull the whole “you don’t look autistic” crap.

The autistic community, of ALL communities, should be the most understanding of misunderstanding. We should be the most able to understand that people don’t always mean what it sounds like they mean.

“Aspergers” is not a slur. It is not a supremacist term. At worst it is an outdated functioning label. At best it is a synonym for autism.

And it won’t become a dog whistle. Because The Aspergian won’t allow it.

#actuallyautistic #autism #suicide #bullying #advocacy #aspie #aspergers

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