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christinesficrecs · 3 years

Text

A very long list of updated snowed in fic recs for @starsandmoony 💜

On my Way by Gia279 | 17.9K

Huge black paws smacked the window, followed by a fuzzy face smooshing up against it.

He scrambled over the gear shift, tipping into the passenger seat. Bear, he thought hysterically. It had to be a bear, a freaking bear.

A big pink tongue rolled out, lips pulling back as the creature panted.

I’ve got chills... They’re multiplying! by DropsOfAddiction | 12.3K | Explicit

Derek is literally wrapped around him, one heavy leg and one heavy arm pinning him tight to Derek‘s front.

Warm and steady breaths tickle the back of Stiles’ neck. He tries not to freak out and he wonders how he’s going to extract himself without waking Derek. He totally isn’t ready to face into this conversation.

Stiles stretches gently and Derek grumbles clutching him tighter in his sleep. Stiles tries not to yelp when Derek buries his face in the back of his neck.

Well fuck.

One Star Awake by zjofierose | 9.5K

When Stiles gets stranded in the snow one dark and snowy night, he's in real danger. Fortunately, he gets rescued by a man on a horse.

Emergency Contact by bewarethesmirk | 1.2K

“Derek here hasn’t left your side,” the nurse coos, and Derek glares at her back. “You’re so lucky to have such an adoring husband.”

snow day by kellifer_fic | 8.3K

“It’s not a big deal. It just happens when I’m… cold,” Stiles offers, scratching gingerly at his head with a claw and then grimacing at it like it’s betraying him.

“Are you serious?”

“Hey, who are you to judge, wolfman?”

Your love warms me up by Smowkie | 1.2K

“At least it’s slowing down,” Stiles said, his lips slightly blue tinted and his teeth clacking.

“Yeah,” Derek said. Stiles had his arm hooked with Derek’s, and he was stumbling a little as they walked. “Come on, keep walking, keep warm.”

“Yeah, keep walking,” Stiles agreed.

Derek didn’t like how weak he sounded.

In the Dark Midwinter, Light by rhysiana | 3.7K | Mature

Really, Derek and Stiles being sent to an empty druid's cabin to fetch a book for Deaton and then getting snowed in could have gone so, so much worse.

it doesn't have to be a snowman by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren) | 4.9K

The Beacon Beans coffee shop is what Stiles would refer to as a lifesaver. They supply his dose of sugar whenever he needs it, they don't ask questions, and their hot chocolate is delicious.

And now they're running a snowman building competition where the grand prize would get him an entire year's worth of drinks. Really, all he needs is a partner to team up with. Only everyone else from the pack already seems to have paired up.

three words have never come easy by the_problem_with_stardust | 1.5K | Mature

If someone had told Derek five years ago that Stiles Stilinski would be the one living in a secluded cabin in the woods, Derek never would have believed them. Even now, he had a hard time reconciling his memories of Stiles as a high schooler with the young man who preferred the quiet found amongst the trees.

Whenever he’d inquired, Stiles had just smiled that enigmatic smile, so like Deaton or Morrell, and said something about being unable to think around the bustle of town.

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!” by jadore_hale | 2.3K

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sighed heavily, coming back down to earth, “But when you woke me up this morning and said that we needed to go out into the woods and find the evil Snow Witch that brought this shit here, I thought that was your emotionally stunted way of saying come build a snowman with me.”

In The Arms of A Werewolf by literaryoblivion | 9.2K

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Stiles is flabbergasted. How is this even possible? Werewolves he can take. Poisonous lizard creatures, sure. Once dead, now living creepy werewolf uncles, bit of a stretch but he can roll with it. Sacrificing ancient druids that masquerade as teachers, okay fine. But this?

An honest to god abominable snowman? In Beacon Hills, California no less?

Nope.

Winter Storm Stiles by 42hrb | 2K

Stiles isn’t looking forward to weathering his first snow storm on his own, then he meets a handsome stranger at the grocery store who might be able to help.

Find Me Sitting Fireside by kaistrex (weishen) | 13.2K

With the news that an Alpha wants Beacon Hills for their own, Derek and Stiles are forced to attend a couples retreat at a ski resort to learn their enemy’s identity. However, the threat is the least of Derek’s problems when he’s expected to fake a relationship, share a bed and suffer through candlelit dinners with the man he’s secretly been in love with for the past four years.

Waiting for Winter by Twice_Shy (notboldly) | 3.2K

Everyone had a soulmark, a special shape on their body that formed during childhood and was meant to lead each person to their soulmate.

Unfortunately, Derek’s soulmark is shaped like a snowflake, and that fact has been actively ruining his life since he was six years old.

world tilts by wearing_tearing | 1.5K

The guy is gorgeous as hell, and Stiles kind of wishes he could stare at him forever.

He figures he deserves a treat after almost slipping to his death.

Wait, What? by wangler | 5.3K

When a significant portion of the Beacon Hills Preserve ends up coated in three entire inches of snow, the pack looks into it. If by looking into it one means packing a bunch of garbage bags and huge Tupperware lids into the back of Stiles’ Jeep to go look for a decent sledding hill. Things go sideways, because of course they do.

A Very Sterek Christmas by TobyRosetta | 13.5K

It’s actually snowing in Beacon Hills, and it’s got everyone out of whack. Out of the kindness of his own heart, Stiles decides to take some things up to the the old Hale Mansion for old Sourwolf himself. But when the storm kicks up and snows them both in, the night takes an interesting turn.

Blanketed by got_the_bite | 3.3K

“Stiles, where are you?” Derek demands again. His voice is higher than usual Stiles notes.

“You would be such a nice tenor if you joined a choir,” Stiles thinks aloud.

But In Case I Stand One Little Chance by mikkimouse | 8.6K

Stiles’s Jeep breaks down in the middle of the snowstorm. He’s rescued by his high school crush, and as the cherry on top, is trapped in a cabin with said crush until the roads clear.

Fuck his life.

Snow Flirting by thepsychicclam | 11,396

As Beacon Hills get pounded with foot after foot of snow, single dad Stiles can't quite keep up with his four year old, his job, and shoveling his driveway. Derek makes his teenage son shovel Stiles' walk, and that just leads to Derek helping Stiles out with a whole bunch of other tasks. That's okay with Derek, though, cause any chance to be with Stiles is okay with him.

Baby, It's Cold Outside by Jebiwonkenobi | 2,791

Beacon Hills has a snow storm. Totally-not-cuddling happens.

Come Fly With Me (Or Don't) by stilinskisparkles | 15,325

Stiles is overworked and stressed out when his flight home gets delayed due to copious amounts of snow. He finds entertainment with one Derek Hale, whom he hasn't seen since high school but really doesn't mind getting reacquainted with.

Especially when it turns out Derek is surprisingly hilarious and will reluctantly play snap with him. And can walk on his hands.

The Man in the Snow by mikkimouse | 15,894

Derek finds a young man injured in a ravine on the border of his ranch. That's strange enough, but the mystery only deepens when the young man wakes up without any memory of what he was doing out there.

Blizzard Boyfriend by literaryoblivion | 1,897

With a record-breaking snowstorm on the horizon, threatening a city shutdown for a few days, Stiles gets the bright idea to put an ad up on craigslist for someone to spend his snow days with that would be filled with cuddling, movies, alcohol, and potential makeouts or more.

It's a joke until someone responds.

and home before dark by verity | 3,175

The mystery of the absent Hale brother was hardly a mystery at all until he appeared at last, set on taking up residence out in the woods.

(In which Derek is a hedgewitch. With a cat.)

Let it snow! Let it snow! (but please let it stop eventually) by relenafanel | 19,123

Stiles grew up with his bedroom window overlooking Derek's bedroom, so when he returns home for the holidays he's surprised to find a stranger in his nerdy neighbour's bedroom.

Only, he's not much of a stranger.

It is Derek Hale, the guy who is going to be his new step brother, if the rumours are true.

Red Against the Snow by Ember | 34,219

Stiles is trapped for the holidays in the cabin of a strange man/hermit named Derek. A strangely friendly wolf befriends Stiles during his stay. It's up to the teenager to find out why Derek has secluded himself from society, what the feelings he's beginning to have means, and what the connection between the mysterious man and the mysterious black wolf is.

an exaltation of larks by llassah | 25,370

All Derek wants is to get through the lambing season with his body and spirit intact. He had thought that the blizzards would be the main danger, not a highborn omega with beautiful eyes and a stubborn streak.

The flamingo in the yard by Vendelin | 6,107

It isn't fair that Stiles needs to work Christmas, when his dad is on the other side of the country. Or that his really hot, next door neighbour is around for the holidays as well. Or that there's a power outage that makes things even worse. Or better.

(Fake) Winter Weather Brings Us Together by tylerfucklin (zimothy) | 10,535

So naked cuddling with Derek while suffering from hypothermia wasn't really on Stiles' to-do list for the week, but neither was that kiss--so who was Stiles to complain?

It's a Wild Pitch (But He's a Contact Hitter) by jettiebettie | 11,828

They're combating supernatural forces with blunt instruments now. Seems legit. As long as Stiles doesn't end up getting frostbite, he's willing to roll with it. Not that his friends have to worry about that. Fucking werewolves.

Abominable by Revenant | 20,277

Where Derek buys a secluded cabin halfway up a mountain, meets a yeti and falls in love with Stiles, but not necessarily in that order.

stilinski v. a. snowman | tumblr ficlet

This fic was inspired by this prompt: ‘we’re stuck in a log cabin overnight during a snowstorm bc of some stupid school team building exercise and it’s freEzing and I can’t sleep and you can hear me shivering in the next bed so you pick me up and dump in your bed and good grief you are hot in every sense of the word’ au

#sterek fics #ficrecs #snowed in #winter #winter fics #snowstorms #this is so long #🤦🏻‍♀️#starsandmoony

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noirbriar · 2 years

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FFXV AU: Controlled Chaos

Regis Lucis Caelum was able to change the legacy of his rule by winning a War with Niflheim and the Astrals. However he still has a country to rebuild and a government to rein in. Also, let it be known he is only human and is not immune to being petty either.

Cor is struggling NOT to string people up, Nyx is suffering, Noctis has the urge to throw hands and Clarus just wants to go home. Ardyn? He’s just tickled by all the chaos that aren’t even his own doing. And it seems that regardless of which timelines, everyone seems hellbent on doing one (1) damn wedding at least regardless whose it is.

A short for The Lion, the Coeurl and the Cub AU. This one takes place during To Heal The Sun while Prompto is away from Insomnia, recovering.

——

Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII huffs and tosses another folder aside, wondering why is it that a battle of life and death has wiped out essentially everything but folders and paperwork? The King knows he is procrastinating and it shows. But hey, who is going to call him out for it? There is nobody else here aside from a Guard and Glaive on duty, a young cadet, the ever familiar Libertus and the ancient royal ancestor also in his room for whatever reason.

The Shield, Marshal and Captain are all tending to the reshuffling of the military, now that the War has ended and magic is lost. His retainers and Glaive have all left him to his own devices without supervision so, too bad.

Its quiet.

The afternoon sun brings a lull with the humid Lucian air. Apart from the occasional chewing of apples from his couch, the new Grand Duke of Lucis comfortably lounging like an abhorred palace cat who found his place to terrorise for now while reading an old book of the Lucian Court records. Ardyn Lucis Caelum doesn’t have anything to do really, just do what he wants and stay out of trouble, Regis is absolutely fine with that. All in all, a dull boring day with a mountain of problems higher than the Rock of Ravatogh.

The lost of daemons and the disappearance of the Crystal, Astrals and magic have also garnered some concern from the masses. Princess Lunafreya have effectively quelled those before the Battle when they sent out a call for aid. Yet it didn’t stop some who were simply too zealous in their worship of the Six.

Then there is the issue with Niflheim. Insomnia wanted peace and instead they found themselves saddled with a broken country on top of rebuilding their own. Crown citizens displaced from the Fall are also slowly being allowed back into the city along with immigrants and those seeking asylum, though they are prioritising essential workers first. Many Lucians have also voiced their concern for the royal family, namely, Noctis’ ‘prospects’ and the future of the Lucis Caelums after the near collapse of the monarchy.

On the other hand, was also a smaller problem of complaints from disgruntled nobles regarding his Marshal and Captain having a ‘conflict of interest’…

The King then idly ponders over the issue of territories, until he decided that he needed a break from all this with a low sigh. He rubs the furrows between his eyes until suddenly, he remembered.

“Ostium.”

“Yes, your Majesty?” Libertus steps forward.

“Oh, be at ease, I just want to chat for awhile.” Silence. That peaked the curiosity of the ancient relative in the room. If one thing remains a constant, is that gossip does not divide between generations.

“Galahd has always thrived in natural resources, textile, fishery and have been generally self-sufficient enough. Would your people be keen if theres an increase in say, tourism to aid in your region’s economy?”

“Anything that helps would be welcome, my King. I used to run bar with Nyx once we turned of age while running a resistance. But shortly, Galahd fell and we came to Insomnia. More business is always a boon, as long as we preserve the nature. Nature is of utmost importance to us. I’m not very sure about anything else I’m afraid. You may need to ask Nyx, I mean, the Captain, he knows these things.”

“Oh, would he now?”

“Um, like I said, Nyx is, was? Part of Old Blood, Old Ruling Clans. Like long, lines of leading hunters of the community. He knows better about looking after the Tribe and economy kinda things. He may not be active since Galahd is mainly a matrilineal and matrilocal society and he is last of his clan while there are other clans looking after Galahd. Nyx still learned that sorta stuff anyway.”

“So. Like. Similar to Lucis’ nobility?”

“Um, probably yeah? But Ulrics are far older than most clans, from days before our ancestors have settled in Galahd’s Isles. So they will always be an important figure among Galahdians regardless.”Libertus continues without a thought.

“I can attest to that fact. I have long heard of the Ulrics in my days, old nomads once upon a time. Now that I think about it, it makes sense that they were probably the ones that preserved Etro’s name.” Ardyn thumbs a page idly.

Silence.

“Ardyn.”

“Yes?”

“…From one King to another, how much problems will I cause if I were to make unannounced policies?” Regis asks Ardyn wryly.

“Oh plenty I dare say.” Ardyn looks up from the Court Records.”But may I take this time to remind you, oh dear nephew of mine, of the old solheim saying.’Its the farmer who herds the Anaks, not the Anaks who herd the farmer ’. You are the monarchy. Not your council. Do act like it.”

“Ah, wise words indeed.” Regis muses, who would have thought his old worry of how his legacy would be remembered in future be null and void with the War won, and the age old burden and curse on his family broken.

“Besides, can’t be worse than all of your ancestors and look! They still turned out pleasantly dandy if I were to say so myself.” Ardyn tuts delopringly.

Regis barks a laugh.

Dull days like these once was once a luxury, one that he now intends to indulge himself in fully.

——

Everyone from the guards to the workers have been busy restoring the Crown City. Either with the repairs and supplying basic needs, or even helping displaced Lucians get settled somewhere. However, entry into the kingdom is still limited with tight restrictions, mostly for those who are directly helping with the rebuild.

Noctis has been in a mood since Lunafreya had left Insomnia with Ravus. After absconding with his best friend that is. But other priorities require his attentions now. Prompto is strong and he’ll be alright. Deep down he knows his friend needs the time and space away to get better. For now, they will focus on getting their home and city back together again before he returns. Prompto made his sacrifices, this is what he needs to do, at the very least for his precious friend and his people that are still waiting to return home.

The entire operation seems fine, slow but steady.Till Ignis’ uncle, Senior Advisor Augustus Scientia, hurries into the King’s study, his face grim. Regis puts down his trade documents to the side.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid something is wrong.” Augustus starts after a bow.

“Well everything seems wrong these days, Augustus.” Regis huffs, gesturing to the array of paper scattered around him.”Alright, tell me.”

“The council, they are here and, pardon me, ‘demanding’ an audience when you have the time to spare.” This got the prince’s attention from his short King’s Knight break.

“Aren’t they told to go back and stay put in Lestallum to look after the citizens awaiting re-retry? What about our guards at the border? Why did they let them through?” Noctis asks, his eyebrow furrowed in annoyance.

“Your Highness, they were being a nuisance-”

“Aren’t they always?”

“Noctis.”

“-Yes well. They were putting out so much demands and creating unnecessary obstructions to our men it left us no choice but to at least lead them into the Citadel. Ignis is attending to them at the moment. ”Augustus explains, before taking a glance to assess his King. Regis is silent, as he leans back into his creaky armchair, thinking for a long while that even Noctis is starting to fidget uneasily.

“Humph. Well then. Let them wait.” Regis finally replies.” These reports are not going to sign themselves.” And back to trade negotiations he goes.

Augustus bows and was about to excuse himself when. Regis stops him again.

“Actually, Augustus, do get Ignis to focus on the refurbishing of the north wing, I want to sleep in proper quarters sometime this season. I also would like to believe our Grand Duke will be more than pleased to tend to our honoured Lords and Ladies in your nephew’s place.”

With that order, the Senior Advisor smiles pleasantly, bows and takes his leave.

Noctis turns to his father in horror,” Dad. Do you actually WANT a national incident? After we somehow bullshit our way to show that Ardyn Izunia, Niflheim Chancellor and Ardyn Lucis Caelum, the Founder King’s brother , are two different people by some divine whatnot?”

“Don’t be rude, Noctis. Your many times royal great grand uncle is as harmless as a Tonberry could be.”

“…” Noctis flops back down the couch, mentally calculating the casualties and how many people they need to fill the empty seats of the Lucian Government, which they had just found replacements for after the Fall.

——

The council did not return until the Crown City is restored and ready to welcome the people back once more.

——

When the Lucian Council officially gathered in the newly rebuilt Citadel at long last, its been nearly a year since Prompto had left for Tenebrae. Prompto often sending pictures of the Tenebraen countryside, the gardens and little things he sees in Luna’s kingdom. That includes the wefies of them both, snapshots of afternoon tea with Iris and Talcott, and strangely enough, a Niflheimian little girl. Who has taken to following Prompto around while staying in Tenebrae as negotiations were underway in Fenestala Manor between the two regions.

Noctis, unfortunately, is less lucky.

The tired Crown Prince pointedly ignores The Look from Ignis and tries to focus on the boring formalities and greetings of the pompous, arrogant, upper class nobility going around that is their Lucian Court. It’s not even 5 minutes and he wishes for something to happen.Anything. At least, to excuse himself out of this.

With the Shields beside their charges, Ignis takes his place on the other side of Noctis as usual, since he is part of the Prince’s inner court. Cor and Nyx further down beside Clarus, as heads of their respective divisions. Which was unusual in itself as they are usually standing by the King’s side as honoured guards for short briefings or simply not present at all for the long ones. Whereas Augustus Scientia sits further below with the rest of the council, suffering. Ardyn is unsurprisingly, absent.

They cover everything, from taxes and economy to the most boring laws and agreements as well as the issue of Niflheim now that Lucis is in control of Gralea until treaty terms are re-negotiated. When one tried to even suggest a marriage with the young princess of Niflheim, it was shut down as soon as it started by Regis and multiple others. One marriage went to hell with the Astrals, and now you want him to marry a kid? Is he a damn joke to his own people? Noctis shuddered. The girl is 8 or 9 for crying out loud.

Which also led to discussions of Lucis’ territories. Where Regis finally decreed that Galahd is declared an autonomous state of Lucis, all hell finally broke lose.

“Of course, they will still be Lucians and this won’t be an immediate, but a gradual process. I have spoken and agreed with the clan heads during my time in Galahd before the Battle. Lucis will allow the Galahd Isles to acquire the status of autonomy once trade terms and agreements are set and connectivity with the Isles are restored and further negotiated. ”

There are gasps from some of the glaives in the room. Noctis glances over at the Captain of the Kingsglaive, the joy evident and clear on his face as he looks towards Cor, unbelieving.

“This is unheard of your Majesty! Galahd has always been Lucian territory why the sudden decree of autonomy?”

“A heavy carriage, no matter how useful, means nothing if it breaks.If the load is shared while achieving a common goal of peace and stability, would it not benefit Lucians all the more?” Regis answers calmly. “ Besides, Galahd has aided us greatly, especially during our call to arms for the Battle against the Gods. They were promised nothing and even when we had failed them, they came, along with the rest of Lucis, to our aid. I remember very clearly that Accordo works under a similar system during the rule of the Imperials, and they thrived nonetheless. I see your objections unjustified Councilman Vox.”

“That may be but, but who represents them and under what council? There is no system in place-“

“Ah but thats what meetings are for! A sharing of ideas and cooperation of efforts. I already have one in mind and he is also considered a noble amongst his own and is already familiar with our council. Come, Representative Ulric, say hello!”

Time stops.

Nyx chokes on air, slowly turning towards the King looking as if the man is Bahamut himself. Cor stares at Regis like he is nothing but a daemon while Clarus still remains unmoving. The rest of the Prince’s retinue still reeling in from the shock.

Silence.

“He’s a Kingsglaive!”

“Ah but cultural context states that he and his clan has the authority to stand for his people and the Galahd Community! He is also familiar with the system of a proper working society for his homeland. Just ask the galahdian glaives around this room, Councilman! In any case this is a promising start, isn’t it? Communication is very important, I must stress-“

“Wait. Who told you all this?” Nyx finally gathers his wits together and asks incredulously. Etiquette be damned.

“Why! Glaive Ostium of course!” Somewhere from the far corners of the council room was a cough and Nyx immediately turns to glare at the traitor he knows is stationed in this very room.

“Is my dad for real?” Noctis whispers. “Shh!” Ignis shoots him a look before going back to the discussion before them.

“This is absurd, we have not done things like this before-“

“We all need to try new things in life Councilman, no use for limiting beliefs!”

“We are certain Ardyn can’t do glamours anymore right? That’s-that’s not him as my dad trolling us right?”

“I assure you dear Nephew, I’m right here.”Ardyn quips from behind the alcove munching on a blueberry tart. The Prince and his retinue turns away from the old king quietly.

“We can always secure the deal with an arranged marriage! I mean that seems to be all everyone can come up with these days. And would you look at that! My Marshal is already married to Ulric! We just need to make it official and on proper Lucian documents in front of family and friends in broad daylight. Simple! Perfect.”

“I think my dad woke up and chose bloody violence today.” Noctis mutters as he watches the disaster unfold. Gladio finally lost it and snickers under his breath. Ignis is too intrigued to even stop the wayward prince and shield.

Clarus simply looks up at the restored ceiling, as if he is half expecting Griever to crash into the room and end all of them there and then. It would be certainly be a lot easier.

“Your Majesty! There’s no relevance in any of this!” Cor at last can no longer rein himself in any longer and hisses at Regis.The King smiles innocently like the benevolent monarch he is but the display does not fool Cor in the slightest.

“Oh, just renew your vows my dear brother! What harm would there be?”

“What the fuck is happening?” Nyx looks around in a daze, the poor soldier in him not equipped to deal with this. The Marshal looks as if he will cut someone fairly soon.

“Speaking of the Lord Marshal,” a councilwoman begins.”His adopted son is said to be a Farseer of this ancient ‘Goddess’. If I may be bold, I am sure some of us are wondering if its a simply a matter of offence to the Astrals hence their abandonment of humanity?”

“Are YOU serious-“Noctis feels his temper rising as he attempts to stand, before Ignis shoots him a sharp look, cutting his tirade off before someone else beaten him to it-

“Did you all honestly not see damn Ifrit burning the whole of Eos or Bahamut tearing the mountains down like fucking paper? Or were you too blind in the darkness to see the destruction they wrought on the people?!” Nyx finally snaps, not standing for the ridiculousness of this and shoots back at the offending councilwoman.”Prompto did not have to deal with any of this bullshit for you ungrateful bunch to turn around and question what Etro had him do to save all of our asses!”

“Ulric is right, Princess Lunafreya herself has made the situation clear repeatedly and unless several hundreds of men were fighting a different Battle, you tell me what was all that then? We all heard the accursed Draconian loud and clear, he wanted all of Eos erased for his own wishes. Oh wait. I remember now. You little coward, were too busy hiding in your room in Lestallum!”

“Take back your accusations Councilman Reed!”

“Surely you lot who remained in the safety of civilisation saw the light of the Gods depart from Eos like the rest of us that day? Yet this world remains with or without any divinity so why is this a concern at this point?”

“Are-are we forgetting that it was Lord Leonis who took out the Emperor for us during Operation Niflheim?Or not?”

“The Gods have come and gone! Young Lord Leonis has done us a service in bringing Etro to aid us in thwarting wayward astrals plotting our demise. I was there with the King during Operation Niflheim when the Goddess had appeared before us with the truth of the prophecy bestowed upon us. Also for goodness sake, use his title of Lord as is the respected address you uncivilised knaves.” Clarus pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly.

“He’s a commoner!”

SLAMS.

The table falls silent as Cor stands up and looks down at the council who have fallen silent.

“He’s. MY. Son. Councilman Varis.” Cor growls. “And I, myself, was a commoner first before I had entered the service of the late King Mors and his Majesty’s. You will do well to remember THIS.”

“Lord Leonis is part of his Royal Highness’ inner court. That entitles him to the title of Lord automatically by tradition until he is prematurely unable to serve any longer as his highness’ direct retainer before the end of his service.” Augustus interrupts warily.

“Unbelievable-“

“Who cares if the glaives and crownsguard are having relations. I still think we should focus on Niflheim, surely-“

“Are you daft! The Niflheim princess is a child, you beast!”

“Why not Princess Lunafreya? Surely a joyous marriage isn’t too bad to celebrate peace-”

“Tenebrae has already stated that they will not entertain any proposals and will focus on their own nation for an unprecedented period of time.”

“Why do you people keep trying to marry me off?! Does this kingdom hate me?” Noctis finally looses whatever rein he has on his temper while his advisor is still trying to process the chaos.”The Rogue Queen had no consorts and even beheaded her betrothed at the altar yet she did just bloody fine!”

“We must preserve the purity and sanctity of the royal family-“

“Why don’t we ever talk about how much inbreeding this country has seen?” Gladio mutters dryly.

”Certainly not as if we need a protect the ‘purity’ of the bloodline with the Wall and Crystal gone either.” Ignis adds dryly with a thought.

“With all due respect Lord Marshal, I still can’t believe you, as some one of pure Lucian standing and as member of his majesty’s inner court be fooling around with a Galahdian Glaive, this is simply not done-”

“Hah! As If that matters when you went behind your husband’s back with that housekeeper from Duscae! The entire court saw you leaving with him during the Fall!”

“At least Captain Ulric is more loyal to the Crown than you lot combined!”

“Wait, if Captain Ulric resigns and becomes Representative, who will be taking over his post?”

“By Titian’s ass, I don’t even know why I’m here.”Nyx mutters into his palm in frustration.

“What happened to fraternisation laws?!”

“WE HAVE NONE! If you imbeciles actually know better about our military’s code then I want to see you try me. And you fools will also leave my family out of your. Filthy. Fucking. Mouths.” Cor leans forward slowly and growled at the council, glaring across the table.

The Marshal’s katanas are gleaming by his side, and looking very much like a lion who has their bleeding prey on sight. ”A dozen able bodied men and women seated at this table! Yet none who called themselves a patriot amongst the army who had marched into the darkness. Here they are now thinking they are holier than thou. Pathetic.”

The words echo in the hollow council room effortlessly and for a minute nobody breathes.

“I think, I finally get why we never see Cor actually sitting in one of these council meetings.” Gladio mumbles softly, unable to mask his glee. “Don’t suppose we can convince them to continue letting him in more of these sessions?”

It was not long before another councilman started throwing shade at another, leading to another round of verbal conflict about a whole other subject. Which led to another before it became a stand off between disgruntled nobles.

The kingsglaives and crownsguard for once are baffled, looking at one another for support. Do they stop the raging council from tearing each other apart or do they just try to attempt at stopping them and simply let them at it? Without any orders, they are looking extremely lost amongst the chaos.

“Etro have mercy on us all.” Clarus tiredly gazes up at their new ceiling again and mumbles loud enough for Noctis and his retinue to hear.

Regis meanwhile, picks up the offered blueberry tart from Ardyn and resumes waiting and spectating.

Nyx just looks like he wants to stab everyone then himself with his kukris and die by the Goddess’ door. Cor is no doubt, plotting regicide, after he is done with gutting half of the council that is.

In the end, it took 3 days, dozen of guards, destroyed property, plenty of tears, threats, screaming, until everyone was too tired to protest anything did King Regis finally lay down the new policies and laws he wanted. Not without reminding them that this entire council, if proven to be as lacking as this session has proven, is replaceable and that the King’s word is still final. He will not jeopardise this rebuilding nation for the whims of men who think they are above the people of Lucis. Thus, regaining some semblance of control of his court and closing the session before taking his leave, excusing himself from the room full of exhausted nobles, looking like he had won the world.

The Grand Duke cackles in mirth, throughly and completely entertained.

——

“So let me get this straight. That entire stunt you pulled was so you can get your policies through with minimal resistance, find out who is displeased with whom amongst the court, resolve our issues and establish a system with Galahd and indirectly show our territories we care, get his Highness out of any arranged marriage plans, weed out those idiots possibly plotting against Prompto and-“ Clarus takes a deep breath and steadies himself,” get our youngest a damn wedding?!”

“Genius, if I were to say so myself! With Prompto’s status as the last Farseer of Etro and his good foreign relations, especially with our refugees, his safety is paramount. Ulric will also have the chance to prove himself worthy as a suitable partner for our Marshal. Oh! We can have the ceremony in both Lucian and Galahdian for symbolism and goodwill too.” Regis sips his tea and looks absolutely proud of himself.

“The brat eloped but nonetheless he still married! WITH witnesses! You know Cor values his privacy above all else!”

“Its just Glaive Altius, Glaive Khara and Major Elshett.” Regis casually shrugs.” Honestly, simply reciting Galahdian vows of commitment in a middle of all places, a skirmish?! Really, Clar? Really? The little brother we had raised certainly deserves better than that.”

Clarus pauses in his pacing across his private living quarters to roll his eyes. The old shield then digs out his phone from under his heavy council robes.

“Whatever are you doing, Clarus?”

“Calling Cid for backup.” Clarus growls, waiting for the line to connect,”I refuse to be alone fending off an irate brat from the meddlesome man-child I have sworn to protect! Though I certainly will only do the bare minimal to protect your stupid ass when Cor finally gets up here.”

“You will not!” Regis gasps dramatically,”And you know Sophiar will do nothing but sit and laugh at my suffering.”

“Thats all on you, old friend. You have no one to blame but your own stupidity.” Clarus winces as the line finally connects and he hears Cid’s rough greeting, just as the sound of an enraged lion approaching like a storm echoes in from beyond the thick layered double doors.

The old Shield is not sober enough to deal with this. He lost a whole damn arm in the Fall, he certainly doesn’t need to add ‘death by protecting a foolish charge’ to his column in the History of Lucis.

——

“Hey guys, I’m not sure if its just me, I think its me but, why is like everyone in the Citadel calling me ‘Lord’…?” The fact finally sinks in a few days after Prompto’s return to Insomnia. Where they are holed up in the Prince’s private quarters for a sleepover, putting on shitty films after calling in pizzas and piling up snacks. Just like the back in high school. Apart from the extra bottle of Duscaen whiskey they had nicked from Clarus’ office gifted to him by some council member. ”I am kinda, sorta, creeped out?”

“Has the Marshal or Captain mentioned anything to you of late? Did no one even bother to explain to you upon signing into the service of the Prince’s Retinue as direct retainer? Or even when you were younger, have lessons on Lucian nobility and its delicate customs?” Ignis starts carefully, eying the blond laying on his lap.

“Um no? 100% pure pleb here!”Prompto chirps, a relief considering how troubled and melancholic he was after the Battle.”Why? Is there something I should know?” Ever the practical realist, the young advisor however for once, prays to Etro for her strength to preserve him.

“Sorry to break it to you sunshine, definitely not ‘pleb’,” Gladio laughs, poking Prompto’s cartoon chocobo covered butt with his toe, eager to see how Ignis tries to lay it out for their clueless gunslinger as he steals Prompto’s last pizza (“HEY!”).

“I still have war flashbacks of that council meeting.” Noctis mutters into his soda.

Prompto just looks even more confused as he nibbles on a cheese stick while watching Ignis pull out his tablet and begin educating him the ways of Lucian Court once and for all.

——

No one:

Absolutely no one:

Regis: So, does that mean I would require to give Galahd a dowry on behalf of my brother? Or is it the other way around? I am not sure.

Noctis:…

Nyx: *incoherent dying Bismarck noises*

Cor: I think his royal highness is more than capable of taking over the throne now. *withdraws his swords*

Clarus: *tired sighs*

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dilfbane · 3 years

Text

Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)

Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard

Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic.

Word Count: 7.8k.

A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy!

“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.”

“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D.

You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties.

Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town.

And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed.

“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air.

“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening.

“You don’t see that problem with that?!”

“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor.

If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now.

And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.”

Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed.

“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “

“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?”

He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you.

“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end.

“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.”

“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.”

He smirks at you, then. He knows.

“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?”

“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks.

Tonight?

One bed?

You are screwed.

***

When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers.

In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay.

The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy:

You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it.

The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful.

The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one.

You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you.

There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG?

What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all.

He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting.

Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse.

Actually, though? Not really.

Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’.

“What the fuck does that even mean?!”

“Sorry?”

You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow.

“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.”

“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.”

“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but -

“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.”

“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch.

“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.”

But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him.

“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.”

“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.”

“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things.

“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”

Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.”

“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.”

“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers.

“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.”

“Why?” He asks you.

“You - really?”

“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.”

“Yeah,” You tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.”

It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say.

“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.”

“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.”

In reality, it’s several someones.

***

“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?”

If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring.

“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment.

“I’m working on it,” He says.

“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’”

“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.”

“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.”

Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts.

The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like.

You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes.

“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.”

“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply.

“Did Tony not -“

“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.”

“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t.

“That isn’t the point,” Loki says.

“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret -

That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time.

You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you.

What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and -

“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.”

Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?”

He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet -

And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles -

“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said.

That you will survive this.

That -

“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue.

“So what do we do?” You ask him.

“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin.

“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.

“Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze.

And then the Pink Cobra walks in.

***

This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with -

It might be easier not to -

Fuck.

The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on.

Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by -

Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong.

You’ll never trust him again.

You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell.

You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out.

What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger.

He’d looked as scared as you feel.

And you have no idea why.

It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce.

You can’t do anything, much.

Except, apparently, die.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can’t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles.

“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.”

“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look.

“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear.

Next, he addresses Loki.

“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?”

You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose.

And you know that you can’t let him choose it.

“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?”

“The thing could be managed.”

No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life.

“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?”

“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess.

“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down.

“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.”

“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?”

He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth.

“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says.

And then your body knows pain.

***

“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head, drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still.

Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm.

You breathe, and your body knows pain.

You look at Loki, and your body knows pain.

He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged.

You blink, and your body feels pain.

“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.”

You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again.

Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this.

Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on.

“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.”

And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?!

“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“

“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.”

If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch.

You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content.

“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin.

“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body.

“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.”

There might not be any later, you think. Not like this.

***

In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it.

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him.

“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm.

“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly.

“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking.

“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.”

“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word.

“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.”

“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.”

That’s… different.

“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.”

“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“

“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.”

You nod.

“Best get it over with, then.”

“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says.

“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore.

“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted.

“How bad it could it be?” You ask back.

The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all.

“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“

“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”

Loki sighs. Long and low and sad.

“Will I have to - “

“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.”

It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate, quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern.

“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.”

“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.”

“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.”

“And you wanted to -“

“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it.

You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t.

“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety.

You’d failed him.

“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.”

You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware.

“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.”

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.”

Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you.

“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.”

“Enlightening.”

“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.”

He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale.

“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.”

“I don’t -“

He holds a hand up. You still.

“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.”

“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort.

“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing?

He could not - he can’t - feel the same.

“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.”

“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.”

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.”

But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous.

“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip.

“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.”

Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice.

But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow.

You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that?

You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you.

Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart.

“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?”

Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr.

“Go to sleep.”

#picture1000wordswc #pic 4 #loki/reader #female reader #crack #so much crack #just a lot of references to bad memes and cringe movies that turns into all the angst #because for some reason i’m like this #guess which character from another popular franchise i based my crack villain off #soundtrack to this was 800 percent mouth moods #in all seriousness though huge congrats to @startrekkingaroundasgard #you deserve all the love #unfortunately i showed my love by writing insane crack fic but HEY #loki is in it so hopefully that makes up for the c r i n g e

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theshatteredrose · 4 years

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Turquoise Lotus Father (Treasure Seekers Saga 2) - Chapter 13 - Etrian Odyssey 5 Fanfiction

AN: Hope everyone is staying safe and at home, and I hope this chapter will prove to be a distraction during these crazy and fearful times. Enjoy reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | FFNet

Chapter 13:

“Are you sure you’re up for this? You still look pale.”

Drayce paused at the steps that led into the Council Building and turned to give Blayke his attention. Ever the worry-wort, Blayke looked at him with a frown on his lips and a concern furrowed of his brow.

In all honesty, Drayce didn’t feel the greatest. He slept surprisingly well, hadn’t awoken once. It was likely due to the fact that Zohar had kept watch over him, which wasn’t as awkward as it probably should have been. But he still felt a little bit nauseous and had a headache from hell. Both side-effects of that sleeping tonic or whatever that was used on him last night.

But he needed to tell Ramus what had happened to the token and how they were robbed. And if Drayce himself didn’t go to inform him, then the little prince would just worry needlessly.

“I’m all right,” Drayce managed a reassuring smile. “Just a little tired due to…whatever they used on me last night. It’s quite potent. As if they have a botanist on their side as well.”

If it was at all possible, the frown on Blayke’s lips deepened. “I see…”

“I’m just glad they didn’t go after Faelen or Caelem again,” Drayce continued as he turned and moved toward the stairs. He, however, shot a grin over his shoulder at Blayke. “Besides, you pulled an all-nighter, too.”

Blayke snorted lightly. “I still don’t look like shit like you do.”

“Rude.”

Mid way up the stairs, Drayce paused again and turned to Blayke with a request in mind. “Hey, Blayke, don’t mention to Ramus what happened to me in the library last night. I don’t want to worry him.”

Blayke took a moment to consider that and finally uttered a sigh. “Fine.”

‘But if it happened again’ was left unsaid. But Drayce definitely heard it in his head, in Blayke’s voice and all. And Drayce hoped that it indeed didn’t happen again. But…if it had to, for whatever reason, he hoped that it happened to him, and no one else of his guild.

They fell into silence as they made their way up the grand stairs of the Council Hall and entered the foyer. Once more, there were a throng of explorers lining up to speak with Ramus, the prince dutiful as ever.

Remembering Ramus’ request to not bother to waste time in lining up, and ignoring the side-eyes of annoyance from explorers in said queue, the two of them skipped to the front. And immediately gained the young prince’s attention.

“Ah, you’re back,” Ramus greeted them with a smile, somewhat surprised to see them again so quickly. But he seemed pleased to see them nonetheless. Yet, his smile dimmed significantly as a flicker of concern appeared in his eyes. “…Is there something wrong?”

“Oh, just a long night,” Drayce instinctively responded as managed a smile in an attempt to ease the prince’s concerns. “Nothing to worry about. “

Blayke side-eyed him before he turned his full attention toward Ramus. “We need to have another little…chat. If you’re not busy.”

“Of course not,” Ramus immediately replied as he motioned toward the hall leading to his office. “Come.”

The path to Ramus’ office was taken in silence once more. And the scene of them as they shuffle in, taking seats before the large oak desk, and Ramus shutting the door quietly was becoming increasingly familiar, too.

“I assume that something…untoward happened?” Ramus asked as he took a seat at his desk, much like he had done yesterday.

Blayke roughly folded his arms across his chest as he decided to take the lead for this conversation. “I’ll explain it as frankly as possible.”

He then promptly launched into a short, precise near rant about what had occurred in the library last night. He kept his word, thankfully, about not telling Ramus about how Drayce was also…attacked (for a lack of a better word). Or how he was still feeling the effects of the sleep tonic or poison that they used on him.

As Blayke finished his explanation, Ramus nodded his head quietly. And the expression of worry on his face was quite obvious.

“That’s…unsettling,” he murmured.

Blayke managed to stifle the desire to snort, and instead nodded his head as he leaned back into his chair. “No kidding.”

Ramus’ gaze trailed down to stare at the top of his desk as he folded his hands idly in front of him. “These bandits are proving to be quite dangerous,” he said after a moment of silence. “I will ask the guards to keep a look out for them.”

“That may cause them to take even more drastic actions,” Blayke was quick to point out.

The frown on Ramus’ lips deepened and he nodded his head slowly. “That’s true…though, we simply cannot let them run amok within the city’s limits so freely. Though…they do have free range, as they say, within the labyrinths.”

That was true. The guards of the city couldn’t patrol every nook or corner of the labyrinths. And the official way to the third floor hadn’t even been discovered yet. Intrepid and inquisitive explorers would know more about the halls of the labyrinths than the guards who are confined to rules and regulations.

And it was difficult to prove events or even crimes that occurred with no willing witnesses.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Ramus shook his head as if to clear it. And lifted his gaze from his desk to turn toward Drayce. “Do you mind if I ask how your research of this Turquoise Lotus Father is going?”

Well, that was his cue to get involved in the conversation!

“Ah, we’ve found a few pieces of information. And there’s a few individuals involved.”

Drayce took a second or two to practically gather his wits despite the thumping headache and actually remember all the pieces of information that both Shashi and Caelem had reiterated to him. And then he had to think of the best method to explain all of that to Ramus.

“Turquoise Lotus Father created the weapon known as Shining Lotus in order to enter the Legendary War because his brother, known as Blood Lotus Brother, had been possessed by a dangerous blade known simply as Cursed Blade. We don’t know who created this Cursed Blade or why it forced him to fight alongside The Despot. But from what we can deduce, Turquoise Lotus Father achieved his goal of freeing his brother, but the Cursed Blade still existed. The Blade Brothers and their close friend, a therian known as Sorataki, helped them to hide the blade to prevent another from being possessed by it. However, there is a fourth party involved. Another who was jealous of the Shining Lotus and wants to gain control over the Cursed Blade. From what we understanding, they also hid the Shining Lotus and left clues behind for future generations to uncover should the Cursed Blade ever awaken again.”

Ah…Yeah, he was pretty sure that was everything!

Wow, talk about a word vomit, huh?

Ramus fell silent as he tried to take all the information in. It took him a few moments as, really, there was a lot to digest. And with four individual parties potentially involved (perhaps even more), there were a lot of factors to take into consideration, too.

“And those bandits are after the Cursed Blade?” Ramus finally asked cautiously with a slight frown. “So why are they collecting the tokens?”

Drayce shook his head. That was a very good question. And the fact that they were involved made the entire thing far more complicated and confusing.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he replied. “I’m fairly confident that the clues we’ve discovered are meant to lead us to the Shining Lotus. And yet, they also seem to be indicating the Cursed Blade.”

Ramus gave a slow nod of his head before a curious expression flickered across his face. “Perhaps it depends on the intention of those who discover the clues?”

“That’s…possible,” Drayce murmured.

Like with how the Moon Legacy was created with good intentions only for those good intentions to become lost to time. Perhaps the brothers and their friend believed that the treasure chest with the map would remain in the hands of dedicated ancestors, only for the true reason to be forgotten. Or even stolen.

He hadn’t considered that possibility. He would need to speak with Shashi about it when he returned to the Crescentia.

“I’m afraid I am unable to offer you much assistance this time round,” Ramus went on to say with genuine regret in his voice. “The records of the Legendary war are quite ancient and I’m ashamed to admit, that even we are missing many a piece. I scarcely found any information on my ancestor’s trusted generals.” He shook his head, truly disappointed as his gaze downcast toward his desk once more. “It’s shameful.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Drayce immediately said in an attempt to reassure the prince. “It’s been a thousand years. And well we’re here now. We might be able to fill in the missing pieces.”

Ramus lifted his gaze and looked toward Drayce. A small smile made its way to him lips as he nodded. “Hmm. It seems that your library has far greater resources than the one we have here at the council.”

Drayce returned the smile with a playful one of his own. “Honestly, I have no idea what we actually have in that library of mine.”

Ramus continued to look at Drayce for a while, his gaze studying him. A very light furrow appeared upon his brow. But that was soon lifted and an expression of regal politeness made its way on his features once again.

However, there was a sense…of worry in his gaze.

“…You’ve been working hard,” he said, his gaze trained completely upon Drayce. “I understand your determination to put an end to this, but…take care of yourself.”

Drayce felt a sense of guilt appear in the centre of his chest. But he quickly squashed as he focused on smiling reassuringly at Ramus once again. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Ramus’ face was passive, but his gaze remained the same. And he didn’t appear entirely convinced. Drayce must look as washed-out as he felt. He…would have to try harder next time. If there was a next time, of course.

“We should get going,” Blayke was the one to state, prompting putting an end to both the conversation and Ramus’ inspecting, worried gaze toward Drayce.

“Yes, I imagine you have some…planning to do,” Ramus agreed as he pushed back his chair and took to his feet to do his duty of holding the door for them.

Drayce took to his feet, too. Purposely moving at his usual pace and ignored the way his head spun ever so slightly from the sudden movement. “We’ll be sure to inform you immediately should anything else happen,” he promised before he and Blayke bid their farewells and left the office.

As they headed down the stairs and past the still rather impressive queue of explorers and locals alike, Blayke suddenly grasped Drayce by the shoulder. Drayce had thought it was because he wanted his attention. But it was likely because he also missed a step on the stairs, his head still annoyingly spinning.

“He’s observant,” he said.

“Yeah,” Drayce murmured around a sigh as he touched his forehead tiredly. “So much for not worrying him.”

As they walked toward the carriage boarding area located outside the Council Hall, Drayce suddenly remembered something he deemed important. And since they were out and about, they might as well add a little errand to their schedule.

“Wait,” Drayce said as he and Blayke headed toward an empty carriage. “We need to head to the market place and get some more Ariadne Threads. For just in case something like yesterday happens again.”

Blayke looked mildly annoyed, obviously feeling fussy and just wanted to get Drayce somewhere he deemed safe. Yet, he also saw merit in the minor detour. “Fine. I’ll go in,” he said as he pushed Drayce to the carriage door. “You stay here with the carriage. You’re still too pale looking.”

“Ah, I’m fine,” Drayce instinctively replied as he took his seat on one side of the carriage. “I’m feeling better than I did this morning, I promise.”

Blayke didn’t verbally reply to that, however the look he gave him spoke volumes. It was a look that Drayce had seen multiple times in his life. A look that stated that while he didn’t feel like arguing, he believed that he was right. And would argue if he had to.

And, honestly, Drayce didn’t feel like getting into a sparring match with the other. Besides, Blayke would feel better if he could just be all protective and such.

“Alright, you worry-wart, I’ll stay put,” Drayce relented as he settled into his seat.

Blayke soon directed the driver toward the market area of the city before he climbed in himself. He promptly sat on the other side of the carriage. The carriage soon moved into motion and as they rumbled along the stone-cobbled streets, Drayce reached into the pocket of his trousers to pull out some money.

He thankfully had the habit of keeping a few en in his pockets for such occasions. In addition to the money for the carriage ride, of course.

The carriage soon pulled up toward the entrance of the market place. And Blayke once again gave him a stern look.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Drayce stifled a chuckle. If he didn’t know his best friend as well as he did, that could have been taken as a threat. “And I’ll be right here,” he promised as he handed him the money necessary.

As Blayke slipped out of the carriage, pausing only a moment to tell the driver to wait for him, Drayce leaned his head back against the head support of his seat. He heard the door of the carriage close and the sound of footsteps outside.

After that, he began to idly listen to the incoherent murmurings of voices of others going about their business outside. The noise was comforting in a way, and yet it also agitated his headache.

Man…whatever that harbinger used on him last night was potent. He also couldn’t help but feel that he had done something similar to that a few times before. The chloroform or whatever it was he used was far too potent to have been done once or twice. It was crafted to perfection. Not only did it render a person unconscious almost immediately, it reduced them to near-complete helplessness for hours afterwards.

Seriously, he had to make sure no one else came into contact with that…toxin.

Drayce was confused when he heard the door swing open and felt the weight of the carriage shift not long after Blayke had left. He was even more confused when the weight seemed to be leaning toward the other door.

He lifted his head up and opened his eyes. “Hm? You’re back early-”

However, instead of appearance of Blayke greeting him, there was another. Someone he could have done without seeing ever again. Long brown hair, an eye-patched, dressed in the garbs of a dragoon.

“Well, if it isn’t the Pretty Boy Treasure Hunter.”

Drayce reacted by slamming his back against his seat in an attempt to get away from the other man. “You…”

“It must be my lucky day,” Keane grinned as he lounged all-too comfortably in the carriage seat across from him.

“Pity I can’t say the same,” Drayce bit out before he had a chance to consider his actions.

“Now, that’s just mean, don’t you think?” Keane all but cooed at him.

“You would know a lot about that, am I right?” Drayce returned swiftly. “Like those two bandits of yours that followed me in the labyrinth the other day. And broke into my guildhouse.”

Keane gave a short, sharp laugh. “My, are you bitter about that?”

“Exceptionally so.” Drayce mustered up a glare, though he wasn’t entirely sure how…effective it was with him still combating the side-effects of whatever it was that was used against him last night. “There was no need to take a guildmate hostage.”

“The method is inconsequential when the end result is the desired one,” Keane responded and literally waved his hand dismissively. He soon dropped his hand to his knee casually as he leaned forward slightly, only to stare straight into Drayce’s eyes. “Besides, that's what you get for trying to deceive me.”

Drayce gritted his teeth. So, what happened last night was in response to the switching of the tokens. “…What do you want?”

Keane tapped his cheek in a mocking attempt to appear contemplative. “Oh, where should I start? Maybe I should start with you.”

He then suddenly reached forward to snared a hold of Drayce’s chin. But his grip was cold, harsh, and the first thing that raced through Drayce’s mind that it was nothing like the tender touch of Zohar’s hand.

So, he reacted by immediately slapping the hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Far from angry or even agitated, Keane actually looked sadistically delighted by his reaction. “A feisty one, hmm~”

Feisty? Probably not. Disgusted? Definitely.

“Why are you after the lotuses?” he demanded.

Keane tilted his head to the side. “Hmm? Well now, I don’t give information away for free. You need to pay the fee first.”

Yeah, he had figured as much. Bandits wouldn’t do anything without a price. “Then forget it. I’ll find out on my own.”

“Oh, so cruel,” Keane mockingly purred. “I would have told you for a kiss.”

Drayce instantly felt queasy at the prospect. The clenching of the stomach type of nausea. It was…something he had never really experienced before. It was unsettling. “I’m even more determined to do it on my own now,” he managed to bite out.

Keane laughed. Not a joyful laugh by any stretch of the imagination. It was mocking, almost spiteful. A twisted grin appeared on his lips as he rested an arm on his knee and leaned forward. “But you’re not on your own, are you?”

Drayce didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Even as Keane stood up to lean over him, planting a hand against the wall of the carriage behind him, causing Drayce subconsciously sunk into his seat in a futile attempt to put some distance between them.

“You have others to worry about,” Keane continued. “Weaknesses.”

Drayce gritted his teeth. “Get out.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Keane smirked, knowing full well that he hit a nerve. “Before that, listen carefully;”

Keane unexpectedly lashed out and pressed his hand against Drayce’s throat. His fingers wrapped around his neck as he pushed him back harshly into the seat behind him. Drayce’s hands immediately flew up to grasp at Keane’s wrists and he clenched his jaw painfully as he peered at him through one eye. That nausea returned when Keane moved his face toward his, that obnoxious and yet still menacing smirk on his lips.

“If you don’t want others to get hurt, you’ll hand over the map.”

Drayce squeezed his eyes shut when he realised that he couldn’t breathe properly. Mercifully, Keane released his grip on his throat and Drayce began to cough harshly as he held his neck with his hands.

The carriage shifted to the side as Keane thankfully stepped out into the street.

“I’ll be seeing you later then,” he said, that arrogant smirk of his in place before he slammed the carriage door shut.

Drayce starred through the small glass window as Keane walked away, toward some back alley located near the markets. His back was straight, his posture relaxed and somehow incredibly smug. He definitely looked pleased with him.

The door located on the other side of the carriage opened and as the weight shifted to indicated that someone else had entered, Drayce snapped his head around. Half expecting to see another bandit.

Thankfully, it was Blayke. And Drayce uttered a sigh of relief as he continued to rub his neck.

As Blayke took a seat, he turned to face him. His mouth was open, no doubt ready to tell Drayce that he had gotten the Ariadne Threads. But he stilled, and his brow soon furrowed deeply. “What? What happened?” he practically demanded.

“Let’s…just head to the Crescentia,” Drayce managed to utter, though his voice was surprisingly hoarse.

Blayke was having none of his dismissiveness, however. “What happened?” he actually demanded.

Drayce sighed as he rubbed his forehead. He was already anticipating yet more fussing when he returned to the Crescentia. “Keane just paid me a visit.”

“What?!”

The volume of Blayke’s voice did little to help with Drayce’s headache.

“He didn’t do anything,” Drayce replied, though that was a bold-face lie. And Blayke probably knew it from the paleness of his face in contrast to his throat. There was likely to be a handprint there, too. “But he’s after the lotuses all right. Why, I don’t know. Let’s…just go home.”

Blayke, of course, wanted to know more. Every little detail. But Drayce found himself becoming lost to his own thoughts. Especially in regards to that not-so subtle threat of Keane’s. He wanted the map. And he expected Drayce to just hand it over. Yet, that threat…he was going to force him into giving up the map, wasn’t he?

He didn’t know why Keane was after the tokens, or the lotuses, but he couldn’t allow that lowly bandit to get his hands on such treasures. But he…also couldn’t allow Keane to hurt anyone. Especially not someone from his guild.

A material treasure wasn’t worth that of a living being. His grandfather would always say that. But that Dark Blade. Someone like Keane shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near it.

…What should he do?

#Etrian Odyssey #etrian odyssey 5 #fanfiction #turquoise lotus father #the treasure seeker #ramus #Angelward Guild

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calvarycommunitychurch-blog · 4 years

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7 things to look for when reading through the Bible - Focus on the Family

This is a great article from Focus on the Family Canada. Credit for the content goes to Written by Subby Szterszky and the original article can be found here.

This is it – the year you finally read through the entire Bible. Sure, you’ve tried before and gotten bogged down by the spring thaw or the law codes in Leviticus. But this time, you’ve found the ideal Bible reading plan: well-balanced, realistic and tailored to your reading habits. You’ve prayed about it and enlisted an accountability partner to keep you on track.

All of which is fantastic. But in order to see it through to the end – and more important, to benefit from the experience – you need to read with anticipation, with your eyes, your heart and your mind attuned to what the Spirit of God is saying through his Word.

To aid in that process, here are seven things to look for as you embark (or continue) on your scriptural odyssey. There are more than seven, of course, but seven is a nice biblical number and these are a good place to start. They’ll help keep your reading plan from becoming a drudgery and ensure it remains a joyful path of discovery throughout the year.

God

It may appear self-evident that readers of God’s Word should first seek him within its pages. And yet, people typically approach the Bible by asking, “What does this passage say about me, and how does it apply to my life?” Those are valid questions, up to a point, but they’re not the most important ones. In fact, they can be used to distort the meaning of a passage by reading one’s own experiences into it.

That’s because from start to finish, the Bible isn’t primarily about us, but about God. To be sure, Scripture has much to say about human nature and culture and history. But it addresses all those subjects solely with respect to God.

Through human language and the written word, the Creator of the universe has chosen to reveal himself – his character, power and purposes – to his human creatures. He has told us who we are, why we’re here, and how we can be what he created us to be, in a loving relationship with him.

And so, the first questions to ask when reading anything in the Bible are: “What does this say about God? What does it reveal about who he is, what he’s done and continues to do? How does it help me know him and trust him and love him more?”

Grace

There’s a common misconception, even among professing Bible believers, that the Old Testament is all about law, whereas the New Testament is all about grace. In fact, an early heretic named Marcion went so far as to claim that the two Testaments portrayed two different gods: an inferior god of judgment in the Old and a superior god of love in the New.

The Scriptures themselves will have none of that, of course. The Old Testament echoes with a repeated description of God as “compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Jesus himself, although full of grace and truth, also spoke at length about judgment and raised the bar of righteousness to include motives of the heart as well as outward actions.

Both Testaments portray God as eternal and unchanging, his law and grace forever intertwined, his love and judgment meeting at the Cross of Christ. To read the Bible is to discover and trace that braid of divine justice and kindness through all its turns, finally displayed perfectly in the person of Jesus.

Challenge

The essence of idolatry is the desire to domesticate God, to make the Creator more like his creation, easier to comprehend and to control. But the God of the universe will not fit into our boxes, whether personal, cultural or theological. In fact, he declares that his ways and his thoughts are as far above ours as the heavens are above the earth.

It’s not surprising, then, that his Word should contain things not only difficult but at times downright disturbing. Such things will vary depending on the assumptions of each culture, but they’ll always be present. For people in the 21st century, the Bible’s sexual ethos, its tolerance of slavery in the ancient world, and its portrayal of genocidal warfare are especially difficult to square with the idea of a just and loving God.

In the eyes of the wider culture, such passages may be deal breakers, but for followers of Jesus, they’re challenges. Strange customs, lengthy genealogies, and even the conquest of Canaan invite readers to think deeply, pray earnestly, embrace mystery and recognize that God is bigger than us. As Tim Keller observes, “If your god never disagrees with you, you might just be worshipping an idealized version of yourself.”

Beauty

God is beautiful, and he has designed his cosmos to reflect his beauty. It only follows that his written Word should do likewise. Its accounts brim with grandeur and glory along with moments of quiet intimacy to melt the heart and comfort the soul. It paints word pictures of a world that’s fallen and yet enjoying the kindness and care of its Sovereign Lord.

But beyond their divinely inspired content, the Scriptures are beautiful in themselves as literature, their varied styles equally inspired by God. Contrary to common belief, the Bible isn’t a textbook on science or history or even theology. Nor is it an instruction manual on morals and ethics and successful living. To be sure, it touches on all those subjects and many more besides. But it does so in the form of artful writing.

It’s no accident that God chose to record a significant chunk of his Word as historical narrative and poetry, rather than as didactic instruction. He designed it to appeal to the whole person, the heart and the imagination as well as the mind. To read it any other way is to miss at least part of its message.

Diversity

In the natural world, beauty expresses itself through diversity, and once again it’s the same with Scripture. The Bible is a library of 66 documents, written on three continents over some 1,500 years. Its human authors represent a wide range of temperaments and social classes, each writing to address the issues of their day.

Inspired by the Holy Spirit, these authors wrote in an eclectic variety of genres: war stories, pastoral romances, songs of love, songs of lament, prayers, letters, biographies, travelogues, memoirs and apocalyptic visions, among others.

Such a diverse array of genres cannot be read with a one-size-fits-all approach, and it’s hard to imagine why anyone would want to do so. Like the many flavours at a fine feast, they’re meant to be savoured, both for their own qualities and for how they blend with one another. Each one speaks with its own voice, and yet contributes its own unique facet to the overall message of Scripture. Discovering that unity, expressed through diversity, is one of the genuine pleasures of reading through the Bible.

Unity

Every great story worth following has a central plot line, a unifying narrative that frames it and gives it structure. There may be subplots and asides, but that main storyline winds throughout, by turns hidden and exposed, and it pulls the reader toward its conclusion.

The central narrative of the Bible can be summarized as a drama in four acts: Creation, Fall, Redemption and Restoration. From a human perspective, it began in the Garden, reached its climax at the Cross, and will conclude in the New Jerusalem, in the New Heaven and New Earth. From a divine perspective, it was written in the mind of God before he made the cosmos, and will resonate into eternity, to his glory.

Because of the wonderful diversity in Scripture, it’s tempting to think of its many parts as vignettes in an anthology, at best only loosely related to each other. But in truth, they combine to form a unified mosaic from their various literary shades and colours. The main storyline winds through them all, at times clear and at other times subtle, but always there. And thus, when reading the Bible, it’s always crucial to ask, “What does this passage bring to the central narrative of Creation, Fall, Redemption and Restoration?”

Gospel

It’s fitting to conclude this list where it began, by looking for God in the Scriptures. And that means looking for Christ and the Gospel. Such a search is by no means limited to the New Testament, nor is it an exercise in speculative interpretation.

There are, of course, the overt Messianic prophecies that are quoted as such in the New Testament. But it goes deeper than that. After Jesus rose from the dead, he began to teach his disciples everything that was written about him in the Law, the Prophets and the Psalms. For 1st-century Jews, this threefold description was shorthand for the entire scope of the Old Testament. In other words, Jesus was claiming that all of Scripture was about him, in one sense or another.

We need to be careful here. Jesus was not inviting his followers to dig for Gospel metaphors behind every horse and sword and city wall and loaf of bread in the Old Testament. But he was directing them to recognize that all the Scriptures – every narrative account, genealogy and poetic image – in some way points to him and anticipates his coming.

It could hardly be otherwise, given that Jesus is the protagonist as well as the fulfillment of the grand narrative of Creation, Fall, Redemption and Restoration.

Depending on our tastes, temperament and cultural background, different parts of the Bible will strike us in different ways. Some passages will captivate and inspire, while others will perplex and challenge. But viewed through the lens of the Gospel, all of it will open new vistas on the goodness, wisdom and beauty of God. And therein lies the point – as well as the pleasure – of reading through the Bible.

Sources and further reading

Haven’t yet found that perfect Bible reading plan? Here are links to a few reading plans, devotionals and other resources to help you on your journey through the Scriptures.

Bible Gateway

Bible Project

Biblica: The International Bible Society

English Standard Version (ESV)

Focus on the Family Canada

Read Scripture App

She Reads Truth

YouVersion Bible App

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professor-stomachache · 6 years

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The Good School, ch. 1

Title: The Good School // AKA the Good Place High School AU no one asked for Chapter: 1 Summary: Eleanor Shellstrop has been plucked from her ordinary life in Phoenix, Arizona, to attend prestigious boarding school, Iverson Academy for the Gifted, thanks to her intelligence, social activism, and passion for the performing arts. Except for one thing: they’ve got the wrong forking girl. Pairings: Chidi x Eleanor

There were only three things on Eleanor’s mind: her headband was itchy, it dug into her scalp, and it was the actual worst. It was a required part of her new school uniform, since the dress code explicitly stated that all hair must be held firmly in place. What kind of rule was that? Hair must be held firmly in place? Please. The racial undertones were not lost on her.

The secretary, whose name Eleanor hadn’t bothered to remember, called from her desk with a sticky-sweet smile, “Miss Shellstrop? The headmaster will see you now.”

As she stood from the ancient chair she’d gotten comfortable in, a tall, white-haired man popped his head out of his office and smiled. Everyone loves smiling here. “Eleanor Shellstrop? It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

“Yes,” she said, shaking his hand, “it’s great to meet you too, Mr—“

“All students are welcome to call me Michael.”

“That’s…progressive of you,” she replied.

He ushered her inside his office and handed her a small water bottle and an individually-packaged sugar cookie covered in blue and gold icing — the school’s colors. “I like to encourage an open and transparent environment here amongst student and faculty. I’m sure you and your parents read through the brochure before your arrival, and I must say, I’m surprised and disappointed they weren’t able to come see you off.”

“That makes one of us,” she mumbled.

If he heard her, Michael made no comment and continued on with his spiel. “All of the main housing and academic policies will be gone over at orientation in just a few minutes, I’ll even walk you there myself. But I just wanted to review your file with you, especially because it’s so rare that we even accept students so close to the start of the school year.”

“Thank you for allowing an exception,” she interjected.

“Nonsense, Miss Shellstrop,” Michael said as he opened a folder marked with her name. “You are an exceptional student and it would have been my biggest failure had I not successfully championed your application with the rest of the school board. You had a 3.9 unweighted GPA transferring in, volunteered with your local city government, and your passion for the performing arts made you an incredible candidate and a shoo-in for our program here at Iverson Academy for the Gifted.”

“Iverson Academy for the Gifted,” she repeated, “Cool.”

“Enough about your accomplishments, I’m sure you’ve heard praise all your life, so why don’t I walk us over to the first day orientation and I can start selling Iverson to you?”

They stood together and Eleanor tugged on her sky blue plaid skirt, just one more thing about the whole situation that made her deeply uncomfortable. Michael guided her down the hallways, which were decorated with various portraits of presumably past headmasters and founding figureheads. She mused, “A lot of old white men roamed these halls.”

“Iverson Academy was once an exclusive boarding school for privileged sons of wealthy families,” Michael replied, “it’s a bit of a sore spot, understandably, but in 1975, we opened our doors to everyone.”

To everyone who could afford it. He continued, “Of course, the price tag is still hefty, but several of our alumni are kind and generous enough to help fund scholarships for those who wouldn’t get the chance to be here because of a silly thing like that. Like you.”

They arrived at a pair of huge wooden doors that looked important to Eleanor. “One question: how did you find me in my little podunk part of Phoenix?”

“Paradise Valley is only thirty minutes away,,” Michael reminded her, chuckling at her description. “At the end of every year, the school board will appoint a search committee tasked with finding students that exceed the expectations of their surroundings. Normally, I wouldn’t boast, but I was the one who found your records at Thunderbird High School.”

She didn’t know what to say. “T-thank you.”

“Nonsense, Miss Shellstrop. It is my pleasure to provide you with the opportunities you deserve. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to find you until your senior, but you’re here now.” Michael pushed the door open to reveal a grand hall, filled with students in matching uniforms, all buzzing with excitement for the new school year. “It’s time for orientation.”

It took all her strength and willpower not to roll her eyes or comment about how ridiculous it was for students in uniforms to be as cheery as they seemed to be. Michael vanished from beside her, suddenly appearing near the steps of the stage. She was on her own now, but Eleanor was used to that.

She walked towards the back of the hall, hoping to avoid the peppiest of her new pep-filled classmates. There was an empty seat next to a boy who’d already thrown his jacket off, onto the back of his chair, slouching over in a light slumber. Anyone who couldn’t even fake caring about the rules was the type of person she wanted to be a little associated with.

“Is this seat taken?”

The boy, who looked somewhere between Chinese and Filipino, opened his eyes and nodded, going back to sleep once more.

“Cool.” Eleanor sat back into her new seat, eyeing her new peers. She smoothed her skirt over her knees, noticing that all the other girls’ skirts were pressed and wrinkle-free. Is this really my new normal?

“Good morning, everyone. I hope you are all as thrilled as I am to be here today!” Michael cheered, kicking his leg up from his excitement. “As most of you recall, I was a teacher last year, but am pleased to announced that I am now Headmaster here at Iverson Academy for the Gifted.”

The hall burst into applause, most students whooping and hollering. “Thank you, thank you. To all the returning students, welcome back! I am certainly looking forward to what the new school year will teach you. This morning you have the choice to head over to your homeroom or stay here to help your new classmates acquainted to Iverson after their own orientation.”

Majority of the room stood and started to walk out, their mindless chatter acting as white noise for Eleanor as she felt herself drawn to sleep. Michael added, “Oh, there’s tea and breakfast pastries in the cafeteria as well! Help yourselves.”

A few of the teachers ushered the remaining students to move closer to the front. Eleanor wanted to push back, but decided it was in her best interest to make a decent first impression. The sleeping boy followed her with his jacket crumpled in his hands.

“You’re awake.”

He nodded.

“You don’t talk,” she stated.

“Not much,” he replied. The boy didn’t bother to continue or go back to sleep, instead sitting straight up, ready to listen to Michael’s welcome spiel.

She whispered, “I’m Eleanor Shellstrop, senior.”

“Jason Mendoza, junior.”

Eleanor tugged on her blonde hair, scratching her neck in the process, and sighed. She knew she needed to make allies soon, people to study with to help keep her grades up. The fact the walls were probably made of really expensive wood, like mahogany, was proof enough this school meant business.

“Only the brightest and most diligent,” Michael was saying, “are granted an invitation to come here. You are all here because you are the best, the true cream of the crop. So welcome to the most challenging and rewarding experience you could ever dream of. We are not just the ‘Good School’ as our neighborhood reputation claims, we are the best. Welcome to Iverson Academy.”

“Is there anyone that I would have heard of that graduated from here?” Eleanor asked as she followed Michael to her new dorm room. She quickly added, “I’ve known about Iverson’s spectacular status by just being in Phoenix, but I’ll admit, I’m not well-versed in its alumni.”

“Of course, Miss Shellstrop. As you saw in our Hall of Headmasters, this school was originally dedicated to the education of privileged, but incredibly intelligent sons. Mostly the sons of politicians and foreign diplomats. And in all honesty, that’s still true for today. Majority of our students, boys and girls, come from political backgrounds all over the world.”

“Wow,” she replied, doing her best to sound impressed. She doubted it really was the best and brightest here -- just the ones who came from the brightest families who could afford it.

“Ah yes, this is your dorm.” He handed her a small envelope, heavy in her palm, and she slipped a bronze key from it. “Yours is a single, as you were a last minute addition to the roster, and this is a co-ed floor. I hope you don’t mind that.”

She exhaled, and her shoulders relaxed. I don’t know how I would’ve made it living with a bunch of girly girls. “That’s perfectly fine.”

“Wonderful, Miss Shellstrop!”

“Why do you call students by their last names but encourage us to call you Michael?”

“I’m from a very traditional family, it’s quite the habit to break,” he replied, ushering her into her room. He hovered at the doorway and explained, “Faculty are not allowed to step into a student’s room in any circumstance except for emergencies.”

“Faculty...of the opposite gender?” The walls were a faint blue-grey with a floral pattern, and more wood paneling that matched the rest of the school. There was a large window with an exquisite view of a well-kept courtyard with a working fountain.

“Of any gender. It’s a relatively new policy.”

Eleanor dropped her two duffle bags on the floor next to her full-sized bed. They really don’t cheap out here. “That the traditionally conservative school board approved?”

“We haven’t experienced any dangerous situations without the policy; however, we felt it was better to ensure our students’ safety with a preventative policy instead of waiting for an issue to occur.”

“Excellent.”

“As this is an old building, its original use was not to house students for extended periods of time. So there are no closets or attached bathrooms. All rooms do come with wardrobes, a chest of drawers, and a bookcase for your things. As you can see, there is a desk already stocked with notebooks, binders, and every other office supply you can think of.”

“That’s impressive and generous, thank you. I didn’t bring any other than the school uniforms.” Since that was all I could afford.

“You are welcome, Miss Shellstrop.” Michael looked at his wristwatch. “Your floor advisor should be coming to greet you and take you to your first class. Here is your schedule.”

She walked over to him, uneasy about allowing him full entry to her room, and took the slip of paper to read through. Modern American Literature, British Literature, Advanced Calculus, Advanced Government, Economics 1, BioChemistry, The Philosophy of Ethics, and Woodworking. “Woodworking?”

“It was the last elective with open seats, my apologies.”

“It’s fine,” she waved him off.

“Do you find the rest of the schedule suitable? We didn’t want to overload your first semester with us.”

“This is just for one semester?” Eleanor snapped her jaw shut.

“Yes, you will be able to pick your own classes for the spring semester.”

Eleanor groaned internally, but stuck a smile on her face, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice the dead look in her eyes.

“Hello, Michael, and you must be Eleanor. I’m Tahani Al-Jamil. Oh, look at you, you are so sweet and teensy,” a leggy brunette with caramel-colored skin said, gliding into her room. The girl poked Eleanor’s nose and smiled. “Boop.”

“Oh, you booped me.” Eleanor kept the scowl off her face.

Tahani gave a clipped laugh. “Yes, I did.”

“That’s fun.”

“You two look like you are going to get along swimmingly. Any questions you have, Miss Shellstrop, should be directed to Miss Al-Jamil here. She’ll be happy to entertain you, isn’t that right?”

She reached up to clutch her necklace and gave a long sigh, like she was wishing for something else. “I simply adore entertaining.”

Michael said his goodbyes and strutted away, Eleanor listening to his footsteps grow faint. “Can I ask where that accent is from?”

“High society London. Go on and grab your things, I ought to take you for your first class.”

“Why would you leave London for bumfu-fork Arizona?” Eleanor picked up her backpack, emptying its contents, which were mostly snacks she had doubted would be available here. In this prison. She grabbed a notebook and a couple pencils from the desk - her desk - before stuffing them into her bag.

“Well, I was born in Pakistan,” Tahani replied, flipping her hair gently over her shoulder, “had some schooling in London and then Paris, before my father decided it was time to do business in the States and brought me along, leaving my mother and sister Kamilah in Paris.”

The pair of girls walked down the halls, with Eleanor struggling to keep up with Tahani’s long stride. “I noticed Eleanor that you almost swore when describing Arizona. While the description was rather precise, I do have to warn you that the teachers here do observe a more conservative outlook on language.”

“You don’t say,” she said, rolling her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself this time. Of course, she could tell that swearing wasn’t exactly welcome here, it’s why she said bumfork. Bumfork. Who was this girl?

“Now, you’ll attend 4 classes per day, excluding homeroom, and the schedule alternates. Somehow by the end of the term, it’ll all even out so you needn’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t, but thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Tahani said, placing her hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, and ignored the blonde’s obvious recoil. “Due to orientation this morning, we’ll be skipping homeroom and here’s your first class at Iverson Academy. The Philosophy of Ethics.”

Eleanor hovered at the door, hesitant to enter, until the small Asian woman sitting at her desk looked up and called her in. The teacher had short black hair, and thin, wire-framed glasses, and smiled, “You must be Miss Eleanor Shellstrop. I’m your Ethics teacher, Jessica Yeh.”

“Ethics,” she repeated, breaking the word up into long syllables.

“It’s a senior requirement,” Jessica replied, before turning to the rest of the class. “This is one of the new transfer students, Eleanor Shellstrop. Where are you from?”

“Just down the street in Phoenix.”

“Nevertheless, welcome to Iverson. Please have a seat next to Chidi.”

A lean, athletic boy raised his hand and she did as she was instructed, dropping into the seat next to him. He had deep brown eyes, with light flecks of gold she noticed when the streaming light from the windows hit him just right, black framed glasses, and dark skin that looked soft and inviting. Eleanor shook her head and introduced herself, “Hi Cheeto, you can call me Eleanor.”

“I-it’s Chidi,” he corrected her. “Chidi Anagonye. Nice to meet you. Do you like clowns?”

She had pulled out her notebook and placed it on the desk, not even noticing the giant clown on its cover. “Oh my fu-forking god. Is everyone’s notebooks like this?”

“No, our school supplies are actually customized by the school,” he whispered. “Mine has Plato and Socrates making the Spy Vs. Spy pose. I love it.”

“Right, nerd,” she said under her breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything. What’s the rest of your schedule look like?”

He rattled off his list of classes, his excitement growing with each one, before ending with, “I have BioChemistry today too.”

“Perfect!” She exclaimed just a touch too loudly, drawing the attention of her peers once again. Ignoring Chidi’s side-ey, Eleanor quickly lied, “Iverson is perfect! The revelation is just happening right now. Sorry, Miss-- Jessica.”

“That’s fine, Miss Shellstrop. Please continue to focus though.” Their teacher smiled and continued going over the semester syllabus and what she expected each of them to learn by the time finals rolled around.

In a hushed voice, Eleanor asked, “Can we meet after this class? I want to make sure I’m all caught up in Biology and Chemistry. Because that’s what BioChemistry is, right?”

“Y-yes. BioChemistry is the study of chemistry within living biological organisms.”

“Right, exactly, so what do you say? Partner up?”

“Sure? Sure, I guess.”

Eleanor beamed at him and turned her attention back to Jessica,who was now giving a brief rundown on the most famous philosophers.

Five minutes into their short break between classes, Eleanor had finally stopped dragging Chidi and freed his hand from her deathgrip. He cupped his own hand, massaging lightly, and flinched at the pain. “Eleanor, what’s wrong? Is everything okay? Also, you’re really strong.”

She noticed he spoke with a faint accent. “Where are you from, Chidi?”

“I was born in Nigeria, completely accidental, apparently I couldn’t wait to get out of my mom before she got home from her business trip. So I grew up in Senegal,” he explained, sitting down on the window bench in the empty hallway. “But my dad was an esteemed ethics professor, and was asked to do speaking engagements all the time, so he took me along. I spent some time in Hong Kong and Paris, picking up a little bit of both languages, before he died.”

She sat beside him and reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“It happened when I was 12, and since then, my mom and I have lived in the States. She helped out on the Obama campaign, but not publicly. Wouldn’t have helped the American part of his angle.” Their hands were still intertwined and he immediately pulled away. “How about you?”

“From Phoenix, Arizona. Dad died when I was 15, but I hadn’t seen him in 3 years since he left my mom and me. Then I got emancipated from my mom because she was an alcoholic who forgot she had a daughter still.”

“And despite all that, you got into Iverson Academy on an academic scholarship. Is it true that you worked on the Paradise Valley’s mayor’s office?”

She didn’t say anything, instead letting an awkward smile rest on her lips. Chidi smiled back and admitted, “I don’t make friends every easily, Eleanor, but I feel like I can trust you. Is that stupid?”

“No, that’s great!” She took her headband off and ran her fingers through her hair, feeling weightless. “In fact, I need you to promise me that you would never betray me. Like a friendship vow.”

“I promise you that I will never say or do anything to cause you harm.”

“Good, because I’m not whoever Michael thinks I am. I didn’t have a 3.9 unweighted GPA, I barely had a GPA. I didn’t volunteer in the mayor’s office and I’m afraid of clowns. Like I don’t even eat those delicious Mexican clown candies you see on the street for 50 cents.” She finished with jazz hands. “There’s been a big mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Paleta Payaso,” he replied, before whipping his gaze back up to her. “Wait, what?”

#the good place #the good place au #tgp fic #chidi x eleanor #cheleanor #the good place fic

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didanawisgi · 6 years

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ARGONAUTICA AND AFRICA

by Jason Colavito

http://www.argonauts-book.com/argonautica-and-africa.html

Egypt

“Legends connecting the Argonauts to Africa are ancient. The first of them derives from the myth itself, when Jason and his crew carry the Argo over Libya (North Africa) and cross the mythical Lake Tritonis. Apollonius, in fact, wrote his Argonautica in the context of Ptolemaic Egypt, and Pindar composed the Fourth Pythian Ode in honor of a North African ruler. In another context, Hecataeus of Heraclea would suggest the Argonauts sailed up the Nile to return to Greece. In the words of Kathryn J. Gutzwiller in A Guide to Hellenistic Literature (Blackwell, 2007), by Hellenistic times, the story of the Argonauts had become a "foundation story" and "mythical precedent" for Greek colonization of Egypt and North Africa (p. 77).

However, there were not the only connections. In The Histories, Herodotus explained that the people of Colchis were in fact Egyptians, remnants of an invading force led by the (mythical) pharaoh Sesostris:

There can be no doubt that the Colchians are an Egyptian race. Before I heard any mention of the fact from others, I had remarked it myself. After the thought had struck me, I made inquiries on the subject both in Colchis and in Egypt, and I found that the Colchians had a more distinct recollection of the Egyptians, than the Egyptians had of them. Still the Egyptians said that they believed the Colchians to be descended from the army of Sesostris. My own conjectures were founded, first, on the fact that they are black-skinned and have woolly hair, which certainly amounts to but little, since several other nations are so too; but further and more especially, on the circumstance that the Colchians, the Egyptians, and the Ethiopians, are the only nations who have practised circumcision from the earliest times

Source: Herodotus, The Histories 2.104 (trans. George Rawlinson)

These ancient connections would lead to innumerable latter-day speculations about African influence on the Argonautica. In his early translation of the Argonautica of Apollonius, Edward Burnaby-Greene (1780) wrote extensive notes detailing his belief that Colchis was an Egyptian colony, with Aeetes "no more than viceroy under the sovereign of Egypt" (p. 120). Among the earliest scholarly speculations seized on the coincidence of language between Jason's Argo and Egyptian and Biblical arks to propose that Jason's mission was modeled on the Egyptian, and therefore that of Noah:

In respect to the Argo, it was the same as the ship of Noah, of which the Baris of Egypt was a representation. It is called by Plutarch the ship of Osiris, who as I have mentioned, was exposed in an ark to avoid the fury of Typhon: “Having therefore privately taken the measure of Osiris’s body, and framed a curious ark, very finely beautified and just of the size of his body, he brought it to a certain banquet.” The vessel in the celestial sphere, which the Grecians call the Argo, is a representation of the ship of Osiris, which out of reverence has been placed in the heavens. The original therefore of it must be looked for in Egypt.

Source: Jacob Bryant, A New System: Or, an Analysis of Ancient Mythology, 3rd ed., vol. 3 (London: 1807).

Now the luniform ark of Osiris, in which he floated on the surface of the waters, was certainly the sacred ship of Osiris; that ship, in which the Egyptians placed the Sun, and in which they depicted their eight great gods sailing together over the ocean. But the ship of Osiris, as we are plainly taught by Plutarch, was that very ship, which the Greeks called Argo, and which they feigned to be the vehicle of Jason and his adventurous companions to Colchis: for he tells us, that the Argo was placed among the constellations in honour of the ship of Osiris. Hence it will follow, that the Argo must be the Ark, and that the whole fable of the Argonautic expedition must be a mere romance founded on the mystic voyage of Osiris, that is to say, on the real voyage of Noah.

Source: George Stanley Faber, The Origin of Pagan Idolatry Ascertained from Historical Testimony and Circumstantial Evidence, vol. 2 (London: F. and C. Rivingtons, 1816), 244.

Later, Afrocentric authors would instead argue that the influence originated in Egypt, the homeland of a black African people, whose superior achievements the Greeks jealously coveted and attempted to steal for themselves. R. A. Jariazbhoy argued that, based solely on the testimony of Herodotus, Jason's quest was to learn from the wisdom of the Egyptians in Colchis, the Golden Fleece being a Greek misinterpretation of the Egyptians' superior sea-going vessels:

The fleece is described as being "watched over by a serpent." Such a golden ram's head overlooked by a serpent occurs nowhere else than on the prow of a ship of Ramses III (and one of his predecessors). The ship was named Userhet, it was 130 cubits long (about 200 feet), and had golden rams on both prow and stern, each with a uraeus serpent overtopping it surmounted with the sun's disk. Below is a grand collar, which could have been mistaken for its fleece.

Source: R. A. Jairazbhoy, “Egyptian Civilization in Colchis on the Black Sea,” in African Presence in Early Asia, eds. Runoko Rashidi and Ivan Van Sertima (New Brunswick: Transaction, 1988), 61.

In Black Athena (1987-1996), a controversial three-volume Afrocentric tome by scholar Martin Bernal, assumed in vol. 2 (1991) that Apollonius' Hellenistic poem accurately reflected Mycenaean geographical knowledge to suggest, after (and mostly because of) Herodotus, that the Greeks followed in the wake of Egyptian ventures to and from Colchis. In the wake of Black Athena, other Afrocentric scholars would cite Hecataeus' claim that the Argonauts sailed up the Nile as proof of the Argonauts' Egyptian influence and return time and again to the alleged racial link (unrecognized by anthropology) between Geogrians and Egyptians. Down to this day, despite repeated debunking, Afrocentrist scholars claim that an indigenous population of black Africans, the remains of Sesostris' army, live in Georgia.

Ethiopia

Earlier still, a previous generation of Afrocentric writers preferred to extol the glories of the undoubtedly black African civilization of Ethiopia, with its myriad wonders and astonishing architecture, over that of the Egypt, which was traditionally viewed as more closely related to the civilization of the Mediterranean than that of sub-Saharan Africa. Drusilla Dunjee Houston, in one of the earliest Afrocentric tomes, suggested that the Argonauts (and much of Greek myth) owed its origins to Ethiopia:

[We will discuss the] "Wonderful Ethiopians," who produced fadeless colors that have held their hues for thousands of years, who drilled through solid rock and were masters of many other lost arts and who many scientists believe must have understood electricity, who made metal figures that could move and speak and may have invented flying machines, for the "flying horse Pegasus" and the "ram of the golden fleece" may not have been mere fairy tales. [...] We seek for the place and the race that could have given the world the art of welding iron. The trail reveals that the land of the "Golden Fleece" and the garden of the "Golden Apples of Hesperides" were but centers of the ancient race, that as Cushite Ethiopians had extended themselves over the world.

Source: Drusilla Dunjee Houston, Wonderful Ethiopians of the Cushite Empire (Oklahoma City: Universal Publishing, 1926), 4-6.

West Africa

A theory even less connected to observable fact sprang from the pen of Robert Temple, an independent scholar, who became convinced that extraterrestrials had visited earth in ancient times and were responsible for imparting the arts of civilization to humanity. In his Sirius Mystery (1976, revised 1998), Temple explains that Jason and the Argonauts are Greek code for an esoteric secret first recorded in the Epic of Gilgamesh wherein amphibious frogs from a planet orbiting Sirius encoded in myth astronomical secrets about the fifty earth years it takes the two stars of the Sirius system (Sirius A and B) to complete an orbital cycle. Thus the fifty oars of the Argo represent the fifty years of Sirius B's orbit. Why space frogs should count time in earth years is not explained. (Read more about Temple's misuse of the Argonaut myth in my free eBook, Golden Fleeced.)

He then goes on to suggest that the Argonauts were real people who, in the course of their portage of the Argo across North Africa, gave rise to the Dogon tribe of West Africa by, essentially, fathering lots of children wheresoever they passed. The Dogon, he believed, were descendants of the Greek descendants of the Argonauts, driven south into the heart of West Africa over the course of centuries of invasions from the north. His evidence for this was that Robert Graves, the poet, had suggested in his faulty Greek Myths (1955) that the Dogon's neighbors were related to the pre-Greek population of Greece once upon a time. Specifically, this is what Graves wrote:

The Akan people result from an ancient southward emigration of Uyo-Berbers—cousins to the pre-Hellenic population of Greece—from the Sahara desert oases and their intermarriage at Timbuctoo with Niger River negroes. In the eleventh century A.D. they moved still farther south to what is now Ghana.

Source: Robert Graves, The Greek Myths (New York: Penguin, 1955), 22.

This does not seem the same as saying that the Dogon claimed to be the children of the Argonauts, but rather that they were neighbors to people related to the people the Greeks pushed out ages ago (which isn't true anyway, according to more recent research).

Temple then ties all this together by agreeing with generations of earlier speculators that the Argo was synonymous with Noah's Ark and that both derived from an Egyptian original (uniquely, he believes this to a linguistic pun referring to the "end of things," the end of Sirius B's fifty-year orbit). He also believes Colchis was an Egyptian colony, and that the Argonaut saga therefore had close ties to Egypt. And, of course, that all of it was the result of information imparted by flying space frogs.”

#ancient greece #ancient egypt #jason and the argonauts #golden fleece #mythology #Greek Mythology #egyptian mythology #ethiopia #egyptology #osiris #typhon #sumerian mythology #egyptian #Greek #Ramses III #Dogon

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anpacgang · 6 years

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The City of One Thousand Eyes

In the recently refurbished city of New York, where each person is guaranteed a minimum quality of life simply for living, where the ancient smog of the fine precursors lazily licks the window panes, and where images of two eyes, simply watching you without judgment, adorn the landscape as frequently as street numbers, lives a man named Harold.

Harold had nothing to do with the decision to adorn the city with eyes, and in fact, no individual can be held responsible. It was a public effort; Harold had no objection to the installation of the eyes, because the eyes do not record anything, nor are they there to intimidate anyone, nor are they to remind you that the government is “always watching.”

No, scientists simply discovered people are significantly less likely to commit crimes when they feel someone watching them, and merely the presence of two eyes gives them that feeling. Once this very cheap way to prevent crime was discovered, the city government wasted no time in implementing it, and it was expected that nearly every population center on the planet would soon follow suit.

Harold understood this, for rationality is sovereign of all the mental faculties, and Harold took great pride in being a citizen among his peers.

Imagine, for a moment, that you are Harold. You’ve known no life outside of New York, nor outside of the vaunted democratic virtues of the United World Government. Like most people, you actively sought out employment; but unlike most people, you found opportunity. It’s important to Harold that no one misunderstands, he was never afraid of being unemployed, for the government readily provides for the unemployed to have all the necessities plus a little extra spending money. Harold works not out of fear of poverty, but out of his internal need to produce wealth for his society.

So when I say Harold puts on his government issued pollution filtering mask, opens the door, and leaves his apartment building to walk through the numbered and categorized streets of New York to work every morning, I mean he does so of his own volition.

You navigate the city streets– hardly paying attention to the great hydroponic processor facilities looming in the distance, for they have become part of the landscape– thinking of work, thinking of home, thinking of family. You have a pretty good life.

Then one day, imagine your life begins to change.

Harold’s arc begins with a simple realization. He doesn’t love his wife anymore. He does the appropriate thing. He waits for the kids to be preoccupied, shut the door to the kitchen, and quietly converses with his wife about their feelings, as adults do. They work through their feelings, and it turns out she doesn’t love him anymore either. They’re not sure how they arrived at this point, but they mutually decide that it would be best to proceed with an amicable divorce.

An epiphany grows slowly over time, of course. He did not suddenly wake up without loving his wife one day. Rather, the feelings, the passion, the fire, which had once possessed them to wed and to enter this very apartment as groom and bride, all smiles, all giggles, all secretive whispers and intimate kisses, was gone now. No one’s fault, really. The human heart is a fickle thing; its wishes and whims wax and wane with the tides. The way of the world dictates that all fires eventually burn out, just as it dictates all young romance eventually gives way to the drudgery of routine, of taking turns driving the kids to school, of once a week designated date night at the Olive Garden.

Still, memories of other people carve homes out of your heart, and Harold had no interest in reliving painful memories, and he agreed his children deserved the stability of remaining in their childhood home, and so he moved out into an apartment as the divorce continued.

I can not stress enough, this divorce is as amicable as such affairs get. There’s a little cold draft between them, but no more than in their loveless marriage, and he keeps the children at his new apartment during his 3 day weekend. He agrees to pay for any child rearing related expenses the mother has, and the mother never lowers herself to spending any of this money on personal pleasures. She, like most people, lives on Universal Basic Income, which provides enough to care for children and for herself, and to have a little bit of spending money left over, but Harold– having a job– makes quite a bit more than that, and extends to his family an appropriately enjoyable lifestyle. Additionally, he has to work the other four days at his job, and so he cares for the children the three days he has off, and cherishes them greatly.

Still, on the days he does work, he comes home to the vacant echoes of a room empty of life. He comes home to darkness, without the soft glow of screens illuminating the soft faces of his children. Without even the cordiality of his wife, cold as it may have been during the later years of his marriage. He comes home, eats a lukewarm meal he picked up on the way, and falls asleep by himself.

This amicable arrangement continues in an easy equilibrium for a little over a year. After the courts have finally completed all the necessary paperwork, he stands outside the court staring at the little paper in his hand telling him his marriage is over. He stares at it for a long time, and suddenly feels a strange anger well up inside him. He wants to kick over a trash can and yell, but when he looks up and sees those two eyes staring back at him, he feels guilty, tucks the document into his jacket, and walks out of the building.

Harold has neither time for himself– nor romance– since on the days he does not work he cares for his children. Granted, the world is not experiencing a shortage of single parents, but putting in the effort to meet people, deal with children that aren’t even his, and participate in a game he’s well over a decade out of practice in, is just too much for him to really contemplate.

Then, one morning, another realization comes upon him. He’s bored by his job. It makes sense he’d be bored, he does the same thing every day and the nebulous hope of a promotion on the horizon through excelling at that seems to have evaporated into fantasy. You most likely know what it is to be bored by a job, or by school. It’s different from being bored by a relationship, a job isn’t just something you can just walk away from one day. Harold could, theoretically, just quit and live on UBI, but doing so comes with a significant salary decrease, and his children would experience a decreased lifestyle quality. He takes pride in how spoiled his children are, he secretly delights in the envious looks from others, and how the other children flock to his to see all of their neat toys. No, he can’t walk away any more than you, or anyone else, can.

So of course he comes to a wholly natural conclusion; if his job bores him, tough shit.

He gets up every morning, same as usual, same as you, and drags himself to work. It’s different now, for he must drag himself, because regardless of how tough your shit is you can’t reconnect what has been severed. Every morning, he walks to work, his head hanging a little lower, his walk a little slower going, a little faster coming home. He starts looking at anything to distract him, the clouds, the smog, anything but the vast carbon dioxide scrubbing structure looming in the background, where he worked. Just like with his marriage, when he started there his mind was on the bigger picture, a part of a grand purpose far bigger than himself. What purpose could be more noble than reversing centuries of damage to the environment?

No higher calling than the return of Terra, the Earth itself, to its once glorious status as a garden, the gem of the solar system, could exist.

In fact, when he started, his job was not only a duty, but a part of his identity. He enjoyed wearing his uniform to work, and sometimes he’d even wear it other places even though he’d had plenty of time to change. People would pay him a modicum of respect, maybe even starting a conversation about it and expressing admiration for the project in depth.

Still, reminders of that fact merely compound his feelings of guilt. He comes to hate being there, hate the files, the desks, his co-workers, and even how looming and monolithic the structure itself was. It just sits there, larger than the largest skyscrapers. You could see it from anywhere in the city. As you get closer, the air gets cleaner, and you can even take off your mask. He began to hate that too. He started wanting to keep his face covered, so no one could look at him and he could sneak in and out as quick as he could. Then, as he’s entering the building, he notices another poster; two eyes, looking directly at him. He banishes his selfish thoughts, takes his mask off, and offers the lady at the front desk another customary smile.

Now, again, picture that you have been single for three years. You’ve come to terms with your divorce by now, but you haven’t really gotten over it, and sometimes you still spend your alone time thinking about what went wrong. This is where you are when your boss walks into your office, starting what would seem a typical conversation.

But it isn’t. He’s there to fire you. You ask him why, you think perhaps your performance has been slacking off due to your steady slide into ennui. Maybe the divorce hit you a bit harder than you thought, and you don’t even really know what you’ve been doing at work. No, he assures you, your performance is fine, they’ve just been steadily automating more and more, and human labor has become significantly less necessary. He’s telling the truth, by the way. He likes his employees, considers them friends despite the awkwardness their hierarchical inequality brings into any social interactions between them.

Harold exits the building at an even more hurried pace than usual. His mind swims like swarming eels, electric with spurts of rage and grief. You should be happy. You hated working there, so why aren’t you happy? He passes through the streets and the eyes following him. He passes through the city, taking advantage of New York’s excellent public transportation, through the clean streets where homelessness has been eradicated. He returns to his house, situated comfortably in that utopia, and grits his teeth in the dark heartbeat.

He grabs the lip of his table. He feels a scream welling up in his throat. He feels the need to flip it, to smash it, to destroy his house, to smash the windows, to burn it all down. He feels like he’s being watched.

He looks around. No one’s there, no one but a single poster of two realistic eyes looking through them, directly at him. Did someone put it there recently? Did they put it there when they knew he’d be fired to watch him, to watch his life crack at its weakest points and collapse into dust, and to remind him that decency and duty demanded he bear his fall from grace with pride?

No, it was always there, even before he moved in. You just get used to them; you stop seeing them. They proliferate, until they’re just as much on the walls of your own skull as on the walls of the city.

You call your wife– ex wife– with shaking hands, you tell her about how you lost your job. Your tears leak through your teeth no matter how hard you try to hold them back. They drip onto the phone, they seep into its cracks, but your ex wife doesn’t acknowledge the taste of salt. She acknowledges the lifestyle changes the news brings, but your inner pain is her business no longer. She tells you to take care, leaving you the last drop of human concern anyone has for you, and you cling to it even as you hang up. Then you put your phone on the table.

You take deep breaths, but even the air inside your house tastes like smog. You throw open your door, and you start tearing the posters down. You rip your hands through the eyes and throw their viscera onto the streets. Passerby become concerned. You ascend beyond noticing as you cover your fingers with the blood and guts of your life’s great lie. You tear until the police finally arrive, and as their batons bruise your body and their boots on your chest make it difficult to breathe, you look up at them through the stains of your own blood, and your darkening vision, and you thank them, because someone is finally being honest with you.

#short story #science fiction #social democracy

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wootensmith · 6 years

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Hall of Fools

He felt the buzz of her magic unravel as she dropped the wards, watched the swift, panicked movements as she replaced them, still fearing the anchor would seize her while she was unprotected. And then the drained sag of her shoulders as she finished, the bitter draught of lyrium, the soft clink of the bottle rolling against others in her pack. The frantic way she tried to check her skin for evidence that the mark was growing still more. This was not what he wished for her. “I will not let it consume you unexpectedly,” he said. “That much, at least, I can do. I will keep watch. Rest. If all I can offer you are a few days of peace, I would make them as easy as possible.” She nodded and replaced her shirt, but he could see the muscle in her jaw pulse, still worrying over it. He needed to give her something else to think on. Something to wonder at. “I know the day has been long, but I would show you something— give you a good dream of our home if I can. Will you join me in a walk, Vhenan?” She smiled. “Of course.” She held out her hand to him.

Arlathan was no longer the quiet, moveless hulk of rubble it had been when he arrived. Temples had been fortified and transformed to new purpose. Muddy paths cut through the silver snow and hearth fires shone through the cracked walls and arched windows. Everywhere the sound of voices rising and falling. But he led her further, past where the footprints dwindled and the only light came from the moons and the green fire of the mark. The thick silence of empty snow pressed against them and she whispered, “Where are we going, Solas?” “To see the secret dreams of the People,” he said, smiling. She faltered. “Secret? But that’s— not for me.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t meant to be secret from all, especially not from you. Only from the Evanuris. Only from those who wished them harm. They were left for you, for those who came after. To show what they were. How they loved, how they celebrated and grieved. Just as your record in the Veilfire room.” “You knew?” Her face brightened. “It was you. You left me that memory— why didn’t you return to me?” He kissed her hand. “I wished to. You were not at Skyhold. And I knew I would find you soon after, the anchor was becoming unmanageable.”

Her face shifted, the light shimmering as her expression crumbled. “How much time have I wasted?” she muttered. “None, Vhenan,” he said quickly, pressing his forehead to hers. “None. It could have happened no other way but this. Do not regret your decisions. They were wise ones, though I wanted only to choose foolishly. We did what we must. Put the idea aside. Be with me now.” Their breath was a thin, warm mist between them. He watched it, fearing hers would stutter, that she’d succumb to sadness, when what he wished for most was to draw her away from sorrow. But she only tipped her face up to him, kissed him with cool lips. “It’s cold, emma lath,” she reminded him gently, “and I cannot warm us now.” “We are not far— I do not dare warm us with a spell, but there is a hearth where we are headed, and I left kindling when I last was there.” He slipped his hand into hers, chafing it gently to heat her skin and led her further into the forest.

The temple’s metal roof shimmered even in the low light, peeling back in jagged opening petals where the enormous Sonallium had first crumbled and then imploded just above it. “What happened to this place?” asked the Inquisitor as they picked their way over the worked stone of June’s collapsed colonnade. “The Veil happened,” he said, helping her climb up the shattered steps into the temple. “Much of Arlathan depended on the Fade. It was part of Elvhenan’s bones. When I shut it away, the city collapsed. Every part. It was chaos. But the destruction is not what is surprising. What’s remarkable is that anything remains.” He picked up the lantern he’d left in corner of the doorframe and lit it. “I should not have left them. Of all the charges that have been laid at my feet— that one, abandoning them— you, I regret most. And it is perhaps, the one I am most guilty of.” Her hand pressed his cheek and he tried to shake himself of the melancholy that threatened to overtake them both. He smiled, held up the lantern. “But that is not why I brought you here. I brought you here for a good dream that I have long owed you. Many.” He pulled her into the temple, flicking a spell toward the old crystal lanterns that still hung upon the walls. They sparked and blazed brightly, one after another revealing the vibrant portraits of the Evanuris stretching over the walls. The Inquisitor drew closer to the painted scenes, staring intently. He watched the naked wonder in her expression. It was not his original reason for bringing her, but he was unwilling to break her fascination.

“What is this place? Did you paint them?” she asked. He laughed. “No, Vhenan. Though I am flattered by you mistaking them for mine. This is June’s temple. His people made these, and the others I wish to show you. He was their chronicler. It was June that made them gods, if any can truly claim that. He guarded their images, their stories. Made certain that they would be elevated and worshiped. And—” He turned to point at the opposite wall, where a range of flawed and hideous creatures gamboled in bright colors. “And also ensured any rivals would be seen as threats to be shunned, pushed out, unaided. This place was one of his trophy halls. It was not he who painted them, though.” He brushed some dust from Elgar’nan’s golden knee. “It was hundreds of his slaves. Weaving veilfire into the very plaster. So the memory would endure as long as the temple, for those with the power to see.”

She looked forlornly at her hand. “I do not have enough magic left even to summon veilfire,” she said. He put the lantern down and caught her fingers with his own. “Ir abelas. I know how painful it is to find yourself weaker than you expected to be.” He twisted the casting ring gently. “It will return. Very soon, it will all return to you. Until then—” He held out his other hand, a ball of veilfire filling his palm, “let me care for you, in the ways that I may. I cannot remove the anchor or strengthen your wards without harming you, but this small thing—” he smiled. “Let me be the lamplighter for you, Vhenan.” He held up his hand to show her the first panel, Elgar’nan’s ancient war to drive the dwarves from Elvhenan. He watched her fall into the memory. It was not a lovely one. None of these were. Brutal victories in war, each of them, meant to honor great generals. He had not brought her here for more suffering. “Does the Shaperate— you should tell them,” she gasped as it left her. “They should know how they came to be in Orzammar— how strong they are, to fight an Evanuris.” “I expect it would produce similar results to telling the Dalish their own history. Denial, hostility— exclusion.” He sighed. “But they will see it soon enough. The memory will shine constantly in the presence of the Fade. Whether the Legion of the Dead chooses to tell the king or not— this is not what I wished to show you. This is—” he waved vaguely, “fairy stories, I think you said once. I have something better.”

He pulled her gently away from the grand hall, though she cast a regretful glance back at the murals. There was little that had survived the centuries, unprotected by both spell and shelter. The scrolls were long dust, the fine tapestries millennia unraveled. The temple was empty and sprawling except for the intricate metalwork that glinted in the light of his lamp. He bypassed the long galleries of mosaic sagas and the empty stone chambers that had held the work of countless scribes, choosing, instead, a low stone doorway at the end of a wide corridor. He stooped to enter it and turned back to warn her of the uneven threshold. “We are behind the trophy hall,” he said. He held up the lantern to show her more paintings, these far cruder, rushed and furtive as they must have been. “The slaves called this the hall of fools,” he said with a slow chuckle. “An act of rebellion. It is not what I want you to see, but—” he pulled forth another ball of veilfire. “Sera must have had an influence upon me.” He held up the veilfire, again to Elgar’nan. A memory of Elgar’nan captured by Geldauran, tricked by his own rage into Geldauran’s trap. The mighty Evanuris chained and humiliated before the eyes of a soldier, one that had been sent to rescue him. He’d been freed after lengthy negotiations with Mythal and a vow never to pursue Geldauran again. The soldier had kept this memory, had held it in him until the painting, had slapped it into the rough lines of the image where it stood for centuries, a testimony to the fallibility of the Evanuris. It was hope where only those who needed it would see. The Inquisitor touched the glimmering fingerprints of veilfire the soldier had left, as if she could reach the hand that left it, as if she could tell him she saw, she understood what he had seen.

“This must have been perilous,” she said, pulling his hand to the next. Falon’din. “It was,” he said. “If any of them had been caught, it would have meant immediate execution. Of the painter. Of the memory maker. And all of their kin. But they knew their masters well. No Evanuris ever entered here. The only betrayal would come from among their fellow slaves.” “Did it?” she asked. “On occasion,” he said, “but not often.” She turned back to the painting, watching Falon’din growl with rage in one of his infamous rages. A warning, as well as a mockery. The man who craved adoration was hideous in his anger and deadly when humiliated. Solas had seen the memory maker’s fate. He hadn’t been caught, not for this painting, but had been slaughtered nonetheless. The Inquisitor shuddered as the memory faded. He stroked her hair. “We don’t need to linger here,” he said, “I wanted to show you something beautiful—”

She turned to follow him, but the veilfire caught on Andruil’s scarlet armor and she stood, arrested by the memory. One of the guards who kept her a year in quarantine with Solas. She’d remembered the way Andruil had raged at them all. The way the blight diminished her. Angry and slow and stumbling— perhaps all that had saved Solas and the guards from death. The Inquisitor turned toward him. Kissed him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was long, long ago. And she was— not herself.” “She seemed as rational as you did, when I saw you in Redcliffe— when you were infected. But you were not cruel. Not like that.” “Perhaps I was not as ill.” The Inquisitor watched him. “Was she kind, before the blight?” “No,” he admitted. “That is a relief.” The statement startled him. “Why a relief, Vhenan?” She stood on her toes, kissed each of his eyelids carefully. “Because in a fortnight, you will also have the blight. Darkspawn— I can understand them. Pity them. Mindless and hungry to the point of madness. But this— what happened to her— that was not mindlessness. That was— brutality. I am not certain I could forgive that, Solas.” “I cannot know how the blight will alter me. But I hope we will not have the time to find out.” He stared at the flat image. “It is always there. That knowledge that I could be like them. That there is so little separating what they have done from the choices I made. That it is too late, and I have already surpassed their indifference and cruelty.”

She shook her head. “If that were true, I would not be here. Neither of us would have allowed it.” “You did not know me before. I let Corypheus find the orb. I didn’t plan to help you. Not then. I would have torn down the Veil and taken only those who survived with me—” “But you didn’t. You had the opportunity, and you chose another path.” “It was you that persuaded me.” She smiled. “It wasn’t. You might have joined Corypheus in that other Redcliffe. You might have become close enough to take the orb. I know you were capable of persuading him. Just revealing your identity would have secured your place. But you refused. Accepted your fate rather than give him more power. Died to undo it. You did not love me there. And I was dead, as far as you knew. You chose for yourself. From the beginning. From this day—” she pointed to the painting. “When you shielded those weaker than you from Andruil’s wrath. Probably earlier. Every day, you’ve chosen over and over to remain something better. You are not like them— at least, not like the memories I’ve seen.” She laughed softly. “You can dismiss me. I’ll freely admit that I’m infatuated with you, I am hardly a dependable judge. But the people who are here— thousands of elves, Solas. More than the Inquisition ever was. All these people are not your slaves. They don’t stay because you compel them. They are with you on the very brink of the Void because they trust you. Depend upon their judgment. You are not Andruil.” She ran her fingers over the rough plaster. “And I do not see you on this wall, no matter how your story has changed in the years since. These people did not think you a fool.” She put her hand into his, pressing out the veilfire, leaving only the lamp and her own emerald glow. “Enough of the Evanuris. You promised me a good dream.” He smiled. “Indeed. And a fire to warm you. Come with me, Vhenan.”

#Solas #Lavellan #solas and lavellan #dragon age inquisition

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raendown · 7 years

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Pairing: KakashiSakura Soulmate au: The one where you have a journal where you record your love story each time you reincarnate

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

She doesn’t so much find it as she does go looking for it. The memory of where it sits is crystal clear in her mind when she wakes that morning even though she has never set eyes on it before. Or, she hasn’t in this life. Sakura has lived so many lives before and the knowledge of that comes seeping in one morning. She remembers her lives but she doesn’t remember living them.

And that is why she keeps it, why she adds to it, why she hides it. Sakura will always know but never remember and it’s important to her that she never forgets.

The hole it is buried in is made of rock and stone, carved out of a hillside which used to be a mountain. The world has shifted and cracked and grown back together countless times since she made this hole but each time she buries it and comes back to it again the world keeps it safe like for her like a priceless secret.

The journal is thick and bound with leathers so fine they would fetch a fortune on today’s market. Nowadays there are no materials that are not synthetic and fully recyclable and she wonders that her fellow man seems to have forgotten that leather was once made from the skin of an animal. The part of her that doesn’t remember feels her own skin crawling for having to touch the bindings. The part of her that knows presses forward, digs in gentle fingers and opens the cover to the very first page.

In every life she has had wonderfully neat hand writing and for this she is thankful as she sits by the stream that gurgles nearby and begins to read her own story. The story of Sakura and Kakashi.

They were going to take him away from me. That is what I want myself to remember. They were going to take him away from me and I could not let that happen. Kakashi is everything to me. He is my entire existence and if there were no more him in this world then surely there would be no more of me. Bring me witches and wars and angry queens, I couldn’t care less for their false might. Nothing will tear us apart.

We did it in the night, took ourselves away when the moon was hidden and found the old crone whom folks say can speak to the old magics. I told her I would pay any price to be forever bound to my love and she listened – oh did she listen. I felt it the moment she reached in to my soul and I could see in her eyes that she knew the truth of my words. There has never been a love like my love for Kakashi. There never will be again.

When she tied a knot between my soul and his she declared us bonded and she told me my price: we were doomed to live again and again and always forget but always remember. It sounded a boon to me, not a price. I will never forget her words. I record them now so that I may always remember:

“I gave you a doom child and that was your price. A doom is but a destiny and I see not why such a pure love should ever see anything but a happy destiny.”

I found him on the battlefields. He offered me water and when I took his hand I felt as though I had known him all my life. For days we could not take our eyes from each other and when his company left I abandoned mine to travel with him. We have been inseparable ever since.

Our wedding was a month ago and only two days later I awoke and remembered. I looked for the woman and I found the remains of her cottage, crumbled by the passing decades. I sent prayers for her soul and left flowers on her doorstep in thanks. I have found my Kakashi and we are together as we should be. I owe her my love and my life and my soul. I shall not forget.

He’s been right here in front of me for years and now that I remember I feel so stupid! A little angry too. He says he remembered years ago but he was born so much older than me in this life that it sealed his lips. My poor Kakashi, so silent and patient. I will make the rest of his years worth the wait.

He began as my sensei, my very first mentor in the art of killing. He was a very poor sensei but he remains a very good man, the exact same soul that he always has been. I regret all the years I spent chasing and reaching for the wrong one. That other (I will not sully this book with his name) did not deserve me. He was not perfect for me. Not like my Kakashi.

I found him and I lost him! How cruel can the world be? To give me the memories of what should have been mine – what will always be mine – but to keep him from my sight, it’s the worst punishment I could imagine.

I remember his eyes from across the room. A poor man travelling in search of work admiring the fine clothes of me and my friends. I could read his jealousy and his hunger, how his belly must have ached for food and his spirit for peace, but still he bowed his head and looked away when I said that his stares displeased me. A perfect gentleman.

I woke the next morning with the memories in my mind and I knew that I had to find him – but he was nowhere to be found. I searched as far as the surrounding cities in vain. He was already gone and I’m so afraid that I will never find him again.

Kakashi, my love, the very reason that my soul still beats and shines on this earth, I will find you. I swear. These feet will never rest until they stand in front of you. This heart will not love again until you hold me in your arms. I will find you.

Well, I found him. A lifetime later. Turns out we’re a pair of overdramatic idiots who wandered in circles around each other until we both died. This time is simpler. I want myself to read this and remember that sometimes it is simple and easy. We were born on the same day, almost as though our souls could not bear to be separated any longer than they had been. He lived down the street from me, went to the same school with me. My perfect Kakashi. We’ve never been apart a whole day in our lives and I don’t think I could ever stand to be.

He is reading over my shoulder and laughing. You’ll excuse me. I want to go listen to that sound.

I want to reach in to my past life and throttle myself. Sometimes it’s easy? Well sometimes it’s a bloody mess! Sometimes you have to fight for every memory: to get it and to keep it!

There is war again. It seems these lands will always be at war no matter how many times we make the weapons bigger. I didn’t meet him until he was bleeding under my hands but the moment I saw him I knew who he was. My soulmate. My true love. I gave half of my soul to this man so that we would never be separated and now I have to remind him who I am every time we sit in the same room.

It was the impact against his skull, they tell me. It affected his long term and short term memory. He remembers if I tell him but as soon as I slip out of the room the memories fade away again. Some days are good. Some days he greets me by name and he cries when he sees me. Others it is as though I am a stranger to him and I sit for hours telling him our story over and over again.

May the gods have mercy. Either help him to remember or let me forget.

The world is changing all around me, technology advancing faster than humanity could have ever dreamed, but one thing remains the same as it always has: I still love Kakashi. I would march straight back to the Dark Ages when humans still crawled across the earth in those strange metal “automobile” contraptions just for one more day in his arms.

It was him that found me this time; that’s never happened before. He tells me he searched through seven different colonies before he found me. In the past we would have called them countries and it’s strange to know that but not remember why. The search, he says, took him four years. But it was worth it in the end. The moment I met his eyes across the room I knew him. I could feel my soul calling out to him and I leapt in to his arms before I even remembered his name.

I can’t believe I forgot how it felt to be so complete. Being with Kakashi is all I need and I have no idea how I made it through so many years of such a paltry existence. Every time I touch his skin it feels like he can still wield the lightning that he used to; I can feel it sparking under my fingertips. Every time we kiss my entire being sings with it. We belong together. We always have and we always will. I have never regretted for a single moment binding myself to this man. May our love last for eternity.

There are other entries of course. She had skipped quite a few of them. Thousands of years have passed since the first incarnation of her poor tired soul had sought the power of a witch to save her from being separated from her one true love. Each and every life has brought her here to this place to dig this ancient book from its rest and add a new story to its pages.

Sakura smiles and she runs her fingers over the yellowed, aging fibers. Paper was made of trees, if she remembers her history lessons correctly, and it baffles her mind how it was possible to take something so grand and solid as wood and reduce it to something so thin and soft. Truly the barbaric ages of the past were also full of incredible inventions. She is eternally grateful to her past life for leaving behind the writing utensil she holds in her hand now. She’s never written with anything not digital before but the letters come out the same, bolstered as they are by the memories welling up inside of her.

It doesn’t take long to leave behind her message and when she is finished she seals the book back within its cradle inside the rock, ancient seals still thrumming with a power the world has long forgotten. This rock had once been part of a mountain. When one of her lives had lived in the militant village nearby it had been a steep cliff carved with many stern effigies. None of that exists now. Sakura smiles with sweet nostalgia that does not belong to this life as she looks around and notes all the ways that the landscape had changed.

“Sakura?” a voice calls from a short way away. “Are you finished?”

“Yes! I’m coming!”

Picking her way across the rocks, Sakura hurries over to where the other half of her soul is waiting. Kakashi holds out his hand with a smile and she can feel her heart thrum. It is the same smile that she fell in love with all those centuries ago, the same hidden mischief and warm caring heart. Due to a machinery accident when he was young he even bears a similar scar across his left eye as one of his previous incarnations did.

He has never regretted their bonding, of that she is sure. It is worth it each and every time to live again just to find each other’s arms once more. Sakura returns Kakashi’s smile as she falls in to step beside him, returning to the hov-bot they had used to glide here from the colony they grew up in, miles away.

Behind her she leaves her final words, never to be seen by another person’s eyes but always to remain in her heart.

This may very well be the last time I write in this journal.

Humanity has grown so much and we have finally found that which we always sought: the secret to immortality. Kakashi and I will live forever, hand in hand, hearts beating as one. We will watch the ages pass the way all our previous lives have always dreamed of: together.

I am happy. I wish I could reach back in time and whisper in my own ear; I am happy. This is how we were always meant to be. This is what we dreamed of when we first found that old woman. I owe her so very much.

The world is different. I can hardly believe some of the things that I see in my memories. Me destroying the earth with a single blow of my fist? Such things should be fairytales but I did it. Kakashi wielding the earth’s weather with his fingers? It should be mere fantasy but he did that too.

The only question that humanity has never found an answer for: what happens to us when we die? Do our souls go to some higher plane? I would not know, despite the many times I have died. My soul has always been tied to Kakashi’s and so it has never had an opportunity to pass on. And I do not care. I could not have taken the chance that there would be no afterlife in which to hold him. Forever would be empty without him.

I look forward to the endless days ahead. We will never age. Nor will our children, should we ever be chosen to add to the population. We shall never tire of life so long as we have one another, no matter what comes in the future. I will likely never have a need to add more between these pages but I know that I will come back sometimes between the decades to look over our past and remember how long we waited for these moments never-ending.

Farewell to waiting. I go now to endless happiness.

#are you ready for LAYERS OF CHEESE #soulmate collection #rae writes #kakasaku #kakashi #sakura #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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machiyuu-wishes · 5 years

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The 10 best things you can do in Paphos

Aphrodite's Rock

The facts? Also called the Rock and roll of the Roman, this considerable sea rock and roll is one of the very most visited sights in Paphos.

Why Go? The story plot of how Aphrodite had become here is quite definitely an integral part of the city's allure. You will want to head to the precise place that, in historic times, people thought she surfaced from? You will discover Aphrodite's Rock and roll in a stunning landscape that's appropriate for a goddess's labor and birth. The huge geological creation of rocks sticks out on the pristine coastline. It's forbidden to climb through to the rock and roll - and the ocean is usually hard enough to avoid most from hoping - but from the perfect location to visit over a scenic walk. Better to admire (and Instagram) everything at sunset.

Paphos Old Town

The facts? The ancient city center of Paphos is one of the very most wonderful places to have a stroll to explore.

Why Go? In 2017, the Old Town received financing to revive its historic structures and public areas, meaning it presently looks suggestion top. Dine out-of-doors, watch the sunset and shop at Kennedy Square and Makariou Avenue. The latter's known because of its boutiques and farmer's market.

Paphos Mosaics

The facts? The Romans built beautiful villas around Cyprus in the next century, and these mosaics are among the better remaining types of their kind.

Why go? This mosaics collection is one of the shows when going to Unesco World History Site Kato Paphos Archaeology Recreation area. The intricate assortment of colored tiled floor surfaces was after the proud works adorning four Roman villas here. THE HOME of Dionysus, focused on the god of wine, has a few of the most colorful views depicting the get-together life and merriment of old times.

You may also interesting in Villas for rent in Cyprus (Ayia Napa and Protaras) have just been inspected by our professional team at http://www.rentvillacyprus.net and are expecting you and your family to join in the fun! 360 days a year of Cyprus sunshine!!

Acropolis and Odeon

The facts? This second-century theater and music location still is important in local arts today.

Why go? If you value music shows, the time you happen to experience one in Paphos at the historical Odeon. A large number of years since it was built, this 12-row sandstone theater continues to web host summer music situations and theater under the personalities. The encompassing area is also amazing to explore - here you will discover ruins, including early city wall space and a Roman Agora industry. You will also find the ruins for a Roman temple focused on the god of drugs, Asklepion.

Tomb of Kings

The facts? Within Kato Paphos Archaeological Recreation area, you can wander into an underground maze of tomb chambers that time frame back again to the fourth century BC.

Why go? Despite its name, no kings were buried here. However, the impressive point out this necropolis is making it well worth a glance. The grand burying spots are placed within some caves and sandstone tombs. If you're limited promptly - and can only just visit one room - check out tomb number 3 that includes prosperity of Doric columns still standing up and design motivated from historic Egyptian culture. Need even more of a brief history fix? Do not forget to pop into the Archaeological Museum of Paphos too.

Chrysorrogiatissa Monastery

The facts? This twelfth-century monastery, in the Cypriot mountains just outside Paphos, was built in one of the very most tranquil mountainous places in the Paphos region.

Why go? The monastery was built-in beautiful natural forested environment near a quaint town called Panagia. Today, the monastery produces classic wine which will probably be worth a taste once you admire frescoes which were painted more than 300 years back. An ideal relaxing afternoon.

Saint Paul's Pillar

The facts? When Saint Paul went to Cyprus, this pillar was where he endured lashings for preaching his controversial teachings.

Why Go? Saint Paul has been to Pafos in 45 Advertisement, a period when Paphos was a crossroads of trade and culture. He previously an objective to convert islanders to Christianity. Relating to the tale, he was attached and whipped for doing this - anguish 39 lashes upon this simple lump of rock which became known as Saint Paul's Pillar. You will discover the pillar next to the thirteenth-century Agia Kyriaki Chrysopolitissa, an extraordinary church which includes a more elaborate mosaic tiled floor.

Paphos Castle

The facts? Among the visible landmarks of Paphos is a decades' old castle still employed by local people as a happening gathering place.

Why go? For somewhat of a history, checking out Paphos Castle brings you behind the surfaces of the still-standing Byzantine fort once created to protect the harbour from invaders. Through the entire centuries, it got on other jobs, including as a location of storage area, a refuge and since a prison. In the event that you are actually around for the Paphos Aphrodite Celebration - which occurs every Sept - the castle is designed into the backdrop of the shows. Need to get a great snap of the harbour? Climb onto the castle ramparts here.

Adonis Baths

The facts? A peaceful two-level waterfall with going swimming areas, mud remedy, and statues of the Greek god Adonis and goddess Aphrodite.

Why Go? For all those buying a relaxing location beyond a beach, the Adonis Baths are a vacation spot to check out in Kili. Relating to Greek mythology, Adonis and Aphrodite possessed many children here and the folks of Paphos are reported to be descendants of the two famous mythical fans. Plus, spa day, woo!

Coral Bay

The facts? This long stretch out of beach known because of its soft, white fine sand and crystal waters are available at Peyia.

Why Go? If you are discovering Cyprus, a beach day - or a few - should participate in the plan, and Coral Bay is one of the very most stunning beach places in the united states. The region is dotted by sea caves created by way of a U-shaped cove flanked by the steep cliff. The idyllic, Blue Flag position beach is popular for Insta-worthy photographs. For the beach record buff, a thirteenth-century BC arrangement known as Maa-Paleokastro can be explored in the northern end of the bay.

#things to do #coral bay #adonis baths #tomb of kings #aphrodite's rock #travel #tourism #villas #paphos

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worldnewspalace · 5 years

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Know About The History And Culture Of Ouray

Most of the adventure lovers may additionally have heard of Ouray city in Colorado. The Switzerland of America have some unique sports activities like Grand Canyon, and great hot spring, however, did you already know that the place is also regarded for its rich culture and history. If not, well its time you plan a trip for it.

There are a variety of sites in Ouray which show the unique history of the place that you could go to. Some locations present the lifestyles of miners and other the development in pharmacy and agriculture of the area.

You could choose a few old brewers, bakeries, however, the excellent part of histories lies in Ouray’s museum and here is the list of museums which you must consider.

Ouray Alchemist

If you ever visit Ouray this place is a must. It was started in 2010 by Curtis and Nancy with their pharmacy and scientific collection. It holds an extensive collection of pharmacy and medical displays that dates back to 350 BC.

They have a fascinating range of patent medicines with original artworks and photographs of that ancient era. The gift shop of Ouray Alchemist capabilities, fine arts, antiques, jewelry, Navaho rugs, self-made quilts, local photograph cards and old-fashioned candies which might be unique, and found nowhere else.

The family also provides nonprescription items and useful advice from the pharmacist, however, the primary attraction is their guided tours. They will walk you through each factor that has changed on this field for years, however, the area is limited, and you have to call ahead for a booking.

The Ouray Alchemist Museum also provides rental suits all over the year if you want to spend a few nights at the location, however you can always book other Ouray hotels according to your plan.

Ouray County Museum

The Ouray country museum at 420 sixth avenue is the home for the history of mountain communities of the region. The place became once a hospital known by the name St Joseph’s Miners’ hospital which got converted into a museum after Ouray united states historical Society bought it.

The museum displays a wide variety of ancient stuff like mineral collections, Ute Indian show, mine famous, railroad and ranching exhibits along with hospital rooms from 1890 and Forties. The place additionally has some rare pics, books and other remains of Ouray residence, who served in world wars.

This place has to include a site for any Colorado tour so plan accurately and spend some time in the surprising legacy of the city. You can go to this museum any time between 10 am to 4:30 pm between April and November however the working days vary and you should touch them before you visit.

Ridgway Railroad Museum

The junction of U.S.highway550 and Colorado state highway 62 in Ridgway, is domestic of the rich railroad records of Ouray city. The Ridgway Railroad Museum preserves the railroad equipment, artifacts, historical data, books and photographs of Ouray and San Juan mountain range.

The base of this museum was set by Bob Richardson in 1950s while he stored numerous boxes of material from being dumped and then handed them to Ridgway resident, Smile C. Dunn for preservation. Bob became very confident about the critical role these materials will play in the establishment of a museum, which finally happened in 1998.

The place is a nonprofit, member-supported organization with the sole purpose to explain the significance of railroads in the history of that region. It is open from 9 to 5 in normal summer days and 10 to 5 in mild winters however it remains entirely shut during the winter. It will be wise that you contact them before you are making any reservation at Ouray hotels.

Ouray County Ranch History Museum

The economic records of Ouray depended on two aspects, and even as mining is widely known, the other part, Ranching, is not that famous, and this museum stands for it.

The site started with rooms at the north aspect of old Colona school, constructed in 1915. The place later shifted to its present location where it received the space and facility it needed.

The location shows a wide style of large farm system and wagons from old movies. The brand new location comprises of 11 rooms with modern plumbing, electricity, heating, plumbing and restroom facilities which enable the owner to welcome guest at any time of the year.

End Word

These are only some of Ouray historic sites, there are numerous more like the old mining trail, ghost towns, opera house that you can add on the list. You can visit these interesting sites, and at the end of the day get a warm spring bath at nearby hot spring. So, plan and explore the unique parts of Ouray, and feel the love of this lovely place.

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kmalexander · 4 years

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The 2019 Cosmic Horror Holiday Gift Guide

It’s Black Friday in the United States, the crawling chaos of American holidays, and the List of Lists is back for its sixth year! Once again, I’ve assembled a highly curated collection of Lovecraft-related items for your holiday season. Here you can find a plethora of paraphernalia for the weird-fiction fanatic, cosmic-horror connoisseur, or mythos maniac in your life. (And maybe a little something for yourself. You need gifts too.) As with previous years, I’ve worked to assemble a list of exceptional items for all ages and budgets.

The list is organized into six categories and ordered by price, making it easy to browse. Have a favorite new-weird, cosmic horror, or mythos-themed item I left off? Leave a comment at the bottom and let everyone know! Appreciate the work I put into this list? Share it with your friends! Happy shopping!

QUICK LINKS

• Books • Music • Apparel • Games • • Housewares • Miskatonic •

BOOKS

Mapping the Interior by Stephen Graham Jones $7.98 + Free Shipping (Paperback) $2.99 (eBook) Told from 12-year old Junior’s perspective, the story is one part family-struggle and one part ghost-story all woven with a heartfelt earnestness that’s easy to believe and hard to shake. It’s a book about childhood, about family, about heritage, about legacy, and the cost and ramification of all four.

The Dream-Quest of Vellitt Boe by Kij Johnson $10.30 + Free Shipping (Paperback) $2.99 (eBook) Professor Vellitt Boe of at the prestigious Ulthar Women’s College and her adopted cat, embark on an expansive journey across the Dreamland on the trail of a student who has gone missing after disappearing into the waking world with a lover. Along the way, she’ll encounter old friends as new troubles rumble from the Plateau of Leng.

Agents of Dreamland by Caitlin R. Kiernan $10.60 + Free Shipping (Paperback) $2.99 (eBook) The mysterious agent known only as the Signalman gets off a train on a stunningly hot morning in Winslow, Arizona. There he meets an unusual contact to exchange information about a bizarre event that happened a week earlier. An event for which neither has an explanation and its ramifications could have far-reaching consequences.

The Stars Were Right by K. M. Alexander $14.00 + Free Shipping (Paperback) $2.99 (eBook) With Book Four closing in, now is the perfect time to start reading my Bell Forging Cycle. Follow Waldo Bell as he is sent careening through the multi-level megalopolis of Lovat fighting to clear his name as a bloodthirsty killer stalks him. It’s mystery and monsters, chases and cults, and an ancient evil in a world that is similar but not quite like our own.

A Lush and Seething Hell by John Hornor Jacobs $17.99 + Free Shipping (Hardcover) $12.99 (eBook) Two masterful novellas of cosmic horror in a single volume. Beautiful and haunting, lyrical and evocative, raw and emotional, Jacobs takes cosmic horror to new places exposing our oldest fear while remaining starkly human in the process. One of the best cosmic-horror books in recent memory and one that will haunt you well after you’ve put it aside.

The Grand Dark by Richard Kadrey $19.50 + Free Shipping (Hardcover) $12.99 (eBook) This standalone weird fiction novel takes us into the industrial post-war world of Lower Proszawa and its drug-filled and soot-drenched streets teeming with all manner of strange inhabitants. Here we meet a bike messenger named Largo who discovers that peace runs along a knife-edge and a new war always looms on the horizon.

The House on the Borderland by William Hope Hodgson $400 + Free Shipping (Hardcover, 1946 First Edition) “The true note of cosmic horror.” A treasure for any collector. A rare first edition published by Arkham House in 1946. Details from the seller: Black cloth lettered in gilt, fine with age-toned pages in head-chipped dust jacket, else Very Good with crease along top of front panel, dulled spine panel, toned and lightly soiled back panel.

Not finding a book you like? Check out the books featured on one of the previous guides. • 2014’s Books • 2015’s Books • 2016’s Books • 2017’s Books • 2018’s Books •

MUSIC & AUDIO

Black Stage of Night by Atrium Carceri & Cities Last Broadcast $7.00 (Digital Download) $19.00 (Compact Disc) I’ve been enjoying the direction in these collaborative albums from some of the industry’s best ambient artists. Black Stage of Night might be the best. It’s firmly dark ambient, and the classic sounds are there, but in this record, the collaborators weave a cinematic layer throughout. It’s an enthralling listen. Lately, it’s become my go-to music when I write.

Eldritch by Markus Junnikkala €7.00 ($7.71 USD) (Digital Download) Often Lovecraftian music is associated with metal, and while that’s not a bad thing, I found it refreshing to hear this dark orchestral approach from Finnish composer Markus Junnikkala. Ethereal and haunting, I found myself drawn to this album again and again.

Cosmicism by The Great Old Ones $9.99 (Digital Download) €25.00 + Shipping ($27.50) (2x LP Green) This French atmospheric black metal band uses the works of cosmic horror authors like Robert Chambers and H.P. Lovecraft as the basis for their lyrics and album themes. Not my style, but their skills are clearly impressive, the music engaging, and they get suggested yearly. If you’re a metal-head or shopping for one this holiday season, do yourself a favor and check ’em out.

An Abhorrent and Ancient Solstice by HPLHS $12.00 (Digital Download) I’ve featured the Arkham Carolers before, but this year they’ve put together a collection of 24 of their very best cosmic horror Christmas carols. I’ve always enjoyed a well-done parody, and the HPLS goes all out with this collection. Plus, it includes one of my favorites of theirs: A Brumalian Wish. Festive! Creepy! (Crestive?)

Dreams in the Witch House: A Lovecraftian Rock Opera $18.92 + Shipping (CD) $35.00 + Shipping (Vinyl) Who doesn’t love rock operas? Everyone loves them! (Fact.) Thanks to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, the holidays are the perfect time to give rock operas to friends and family or pick one up for yourself. Why not give one built around the Lovecraftian story The Dream in the Witch House. It’s marvelous for a holiday jam out session or a multidimensional trip with Auntie Mason.

H. P. Lovecraft’s The Colour Out of Space 2x LP Set $42.00 + Shipping (Vinyl) Cadabra Records makes some of the finest vinyl recordings on the market today, and this 2x LP set featuring one of Lovecraft’s most beloved stories is read by the talented Andrew Leman, with a score by Chris Bozzone is no exception. Well worth a place in any vinyl-loving cosmic-horror fan’s collection. (Note: these are preorders, and the final pressing will ship in 4-6 weeks.)

Not finding any music or audio that interests you? Check out one of the previous guides. • 2014’s Music • 2015’s Music • 2016’s Music • 2017’s Music • 2018’s Music •

APPAREL

Cthulhu Mask Papercraft Template PDF $4.00 (Digital Download) I’ve always appreciated the simple geometrics of papercraft masks—reminds me of brutalist architecture. Plus with a little effort, you can make yourself a fun costume for next to nothing. This instant download PDF template will provide you the instructions to become the dreamer beneath the waves.

Bell Caravans Patch $5.00 + Shipping (Order by Dec. 10th for Christmas Delivery.) This beautiful 3″ patch, designed by illustrator Sean Cumiskey, is the perfect way of declaring your loyalty to your beloved caravan master. Put it on your backpack, a tote, or display it on the sleeve of your jacket, make sure the world knows who you roll with. [From the pages of the Bell Forging Cycle.]

The King in Yellow Pin $15.00 + Shipping Stranger: I wear no pin. Camilla: [terrified, aside to Cassilda] No pin? No pin! Based on a woodcut by the incredibly talented Liv Rainey-Smith, this pin of the King in Yellow is rendered in bronze and stands at 1.5 inches. If you dig this, I highly recommend checking out Rainey-Smith’s woodcuts as well.

The Crate of Cthulhu Cult Ring $26.66 + Shipping The Mysterious Package Company makes incredible products, and this ring from their Crate of Cthulhu experience (which would also make a great gift) is a fabulous piece. A strange ring bearing an equally strange symbol. It is believed that the followers of Cthulhu used this ring as a weapon to inject poison into those who come too close to the truth.

Cthulhu Short Sleeve Button-up Shirt $55.00 + Shipping When it’s time to put away the graphic tees and slip into something more fashionable, consider this 100% cotton shirt from Middle of Beyond. Covered in an all-over print featuring the ol’ dreamer popping up from the ocean to yell at a boat, this shirt makes the bold statement of a graphic-tee but with a touch of collared class.

Bell Caravans Hoodie $55.00 + Shipping Join the caravan with this classic zip hoodie with a warm fleece lining. The full Bell Caravans logo designed by Sean Cumiskey is on the back, while the small wheel-and-bell symbol resides on the front. Stay warm, look good, fight the Firsts. [From the pages of the Bell Forging Cycle.]

Ascension Island Aloha Shirt $315.00 + Shipping Here it is, folks. The Cthulhu rayon shirt you always wanted. Nine Lives Brand is producing an extremely limited run, and each shirt is made to order. So if you need an Aloha shirt to go with that Cthulhu tiki mug you bought last year, look no further. Also available in a long-sleeved version. Like this print? It’s also available as the lining of this $1250 Sashiko bomber coat.

Not finding any apparel you like? Check out apparel on one of the previous guides. • 2014’s Apparel • 2015’s Apparel • 2016’s Apparel • 2017’s Apparel • 2018’s Apparel •

GAMES

A Place for the Unwilling $14.99 (Digital Download) Time is running out. Shadows linger in the streets. The city will die in 21 days in this open-world branching narrative game from ALpixel Games. A fascinating game with a unique art style, intriguing premise, and enjoyable gameplay. A bit of Sunless Sea, Majora’s Mask, and a dash of Lovecraft. Time is ticking, how will you spend your final days in the city?

Gibbous: A Cthulhu Adventure $19.99 (Digital Download) Crazy cultists. Cthulhu. A talking cat. Gibbous takes you on an expansive, traditionally animated, hand-painted adventure. Play as three protagonists and explore a lushly rendered Lovecraft-inspired world, unraveling ancient conspiracies. A comedy cosmic horror adventure made in Transylvania! (I backed this on Kickstarted, and I can confirm it’s a lot of fun.)

Call of Cthulhu: The Official Video Game $24.50 + Free Shipping Focus Interactive did a decent job with this charming retelling of classic Lovecraftian fiction. It’s an investigative game, with a few action elements that blend several of the mythos’ more popular stories to create a game that weaves a fascinating tale about cults and murder, art and madness, and serves up a few unnerving scenes in the process.

Call of Cthulhu: Tabletop RPG Starter Set $24.99 + Shipping It’s the beloved cosmic-horror tabletop role-playing experience in a handy starter set. Using the new 7th Edition rules, you can lead you investigators on their next case as they seek to solve the unthinkable and face the mysteries from beyond. Inside you’ll find everything you need to start playing the granddaddy of tabletop horror.

Lovecraft Letter $29.99 + Shipping Set in the chaos following World War 1, this 20-minute card game built on the Love Letter system sends 2-6 players on the hunt for a missing family member who has discovered something ominous beneath the sands of Egypt. Will you help solve the mystery or aid in ushering the chaos that looms?

Black Walnut Cthulhu Valhalla Screen $486.00 + Shipping These custom Dungeon Master screens are lovingly detailed and perfect for your next Call of Cthulhu session. An easy magnetic design, embedded magnets, plexiglass panels. Combine it with handy accessories, and you’ll be game masterin’ in style. Feeling over Cthulhu’d—I understand—while sold out, they do take custom The Masks of Nyarlathotep orders.

Not finding a game you’d enjoy? Check out the games on one of the previous guides. • 2014’s Games • 2015’s Games • 2016’s Games • 2017’s Games • 2018’s Games •

HOUSEWARES

Cthulhu Xmas Gift Wrap Pack $15.00 + Shipping Why not deviate from the norm for your gifts this year. Wrap your presents in 18″x 24″ sheets of Lovecraftian wrapping paper designed by Daniel Gelon featuring the fantastic art of Heather Hudson. Want something a little more unusual than the standard Cthulhu flair? Hudson also sells Dreamland-themed Christmas cards, and delightful Krampus-themed holiday goodies.

Cthulhu Ornament $20.00 + Shipping I’m always wary of sharing Etsy products, not because the work isn’t incredible, but because during the Holiday pieces may disappear quickly. But if this wonderful Cthulhu ornament vanishes before you can nab it, there’s plenty of other beautiful works at Dellamorteco & Co.’s shop. It’s all fantastic work and worth checking it all out.

Cedric’s Eatery 11oz. Mug $16.00 + Shipping (Order by Dec. 10th for Christmas Delivery.) It’s cold out, and you need a new mug. Why not pick one up from Lovat’s own Cedric’s Eatery located in the entresol between Levels Three and Four. An in-between place for in-between folks. Waldo Bell’s latest hangout. Fill your mug with 11 oz. of bad coffee, your favorite tea, or something stronger. [From the pages of the Bell Forging Cycle.]

Cthulhu Coin Set $28.50 + Shipping Props are a fun way to enliven any tabletop session or the holidays, so this set of 24 coins (ten copper pieces, eight silver pieces, and six gold pieces) is perfect for your next game or family get together. Bargain for souls or leftover turkey with your Aunt, or buy your nephew’s gift from him with handcrafted coinage. Capitalism doesn’t cease under the reign of the ancient ones.

H. P. Lovecraft Limited Edition Bobblehead $34.95 + Shipping It’s a well-known fact that everyone loves bobbleheads, even the deep ones! Limited to only 1500 units, this figuring from Rue Morgue Magazine of the father of cosmic horror in all his New England awkwardness stands at 7″ tall, is ready to wobble and bobble on your bookshelf, as he questions humanity’s place in the cosmos.

Calamityware: Tentacles $42.00 + Shipping Something has awoken. Commemorate its reign with these porcelain plates patterned after the elaborate chinoiserie pattern Willow. But, instead of featuring idyllic scenes these highlight various disasters from invasions of Lovecraftian-esque tentacles (featured) to historical sea monsters, vortexes, or zombie poodles. Not what you’re looking for? There’s more coming.

Chandelier I $3500.00 + Shipping Philadelphia artist Adam Wallacavage creates stunning tentacle-covered chandeliers and lamps in clay and resin. If you’re looking for a nontraditional piece for your home that’ll keep guests talking for generations, you can’t really find anything better. If this beautiful chandelier is a bit out of your budget, Wallacavage also creates unusual candlestick holders.

Not finding a houseware item you like? Check out the housewares from one of the previous guides. • 2016’s Housewares • 2017’s Housewares • 2018’s Housewares •

MISKATONIC UNIVERSITY

Miskatonic University Silver Key Society pin $17.99 + Shipping Formed by Henry Armitage in 1929 after the events in rural Dunwich, this pin marks the membership into Miskatonic’s oldest invite-only society. Will you join and learn the mysteries of the order, including the meaning of “751”? Pin measures 1″ across and is dual-plated in silver and gold.

Miskatonic University Pennant $25.00 + Free Shipping What’s the collegiate experience without some collegiate gear? Here we have a classic 9″ x 27″ university pennant to either hang on your wall displaying your boundless love for your alma mater’s sporting teams or to wave at all the intermural sporting events as you sing the fight song and cheer on varsity. Go Miska!

Miskatonic University Cufflinks $99.00 + Shipping 2019 marks the ninetieth class reunion for the class of ’29! So you’ll want to be sure to look your best so you can impress your fellow centenarian schoolmates. These cufflinks will be perfect. The cufflinks are sterling silver with an antiqued finish and measure 18.2 mm in diameter and 1.5 mm thick.

The Miskatonic Papers $535.00 + Shipping This limited-edition experimental art book/prop set from Angel Bomb studios is something to behold. Composed of 50 printed pieces, including letters, telegrams, drawings, newspaper clippings, a broadside, burned tatters of found stationery, and a journal that was written by hand and printed by letterpress. An incredible gift for the mythos fan in your life.

Not finding any Miskatonic stuff you like? Check out the Miskatonic University items from one of the previous guides. • 2014’s Miskatonic U. • 2015’s Miskatonic U. • 2016’s Miskatonic U. • • 2017’s Miskatonic U. • 2018’s Miskatonic U. •

Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!

So that wraps up the Sixth Annual List of Lists. Big thank you to the wonderful folks who read this blog, and the gibbering weirdos over at r/Lovecraft, r/Cthulhu, and r/WeirdLit who helped me pad out this list. Y’all rule. If I didn’t get to your submission, fret not, there are many more holidays ahead. I appreciate the help.

Do you have a book, game, album, or other weird fiction-related items I should feature in 2020’s Cosmic Horror Holiday Gift Guide? Leave a comment below with links to your favorite goodies for others to see or send me an email as a submission for next year!

Want to stay in touch with me? Sign up for Dead Drop, my rare and elusive newsletter. Subscribers get news, previews, and notices on my books before anyone else delivered directly to their inbox. I work hard to make sure it’s not spammy and full of interesting and relevant information. SIGN UP TODAY →

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ideahat-universe · 5 years

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Old ideas.

Here’s a list of old stories I planned on creating. Kitsune Chronicles was always and is “In progress” the other was latchkey club which I wrote a few issues for before I gave up on it. It’s for the best to be honest. It was a slice of life story taking place in my hometown and surprise surprise.

Almost every millennial writes a story about their fucking misfit friends and fictional characters bumping around in their home town.

It had everything. Real life locations, awkward female lead, none of the males have an Type A personality, There was a character who would just play music and sing as her main gimmick, I think one character was Bi, single mothers raising children, antagonists who are just comic relief losers.

If any of this sounds familiar congratulations. You have also watched one too many Cal Arts cartoons!

Wouldn't that be something? I could have been a writer for a cal arts cartoon if I lived in California. Would have liked that money right about now but I honestly dodged a bullet. I hate how those people run their businesses and their cartoons.

I don’t have any interest in bringing some of these stories to life either. They were scrapped and recycled into other things that made for better reads.

Stories

Desert Dreams

In a world where the land is an endless ever-spanning sea of sand, two countries fight for control of the ever-dwindling oasis that sustains them. However there endless war blinds them from a terrible threat awakening from it slumber. Now the fate of the land rest in the hands of a thief and his bond with a powerful weapon from beyond.

Ficus Foliage

Ficus’ world is not that different from our own. There are humans. There are animals. In addition, robots are just above the horizon. However, there are two differences. Some animals have evolved to the extent of humans both in features and in intelligence. And Ficus himself. Why is he different? One must only see where and how he was born. A living creature born from a plant from a seed of unknown origin. He contains powers that are extraordinary. His heart is pure and filled with kindness. It’s a good thing too one can only guess what could happen if someone as powerful as him went bad.

Hack and Slash

The internet has evolved to the point to where one can view it as a virtual world. Websites are cities. Surfing the internet is exactly as it sounds. However, the corporate world also sees the internet prime for the exploiting. As more and more corporations put price tags on the internet. Hackers and trolls come out of the woodwork and defend the freedom of internet browsing. As chaos begins to take hold. One boy stands in-between. He must make a choice. Help the trolls of the internet destroy the suits to retain the chaos and freedom they hold dear. Or help the corporations control the internet and thereby ridding the world of trolls at the expense of freedom. If only, there was a third choice.

Lili’s Grand Journey

Lili the light kitsune and her friendly kitsune friends lived in harmony with her human friends in dragon springs. A little village lives in a time far away from the troubles of the real world. Peace and happiness is the only currency there. However, faraway in the land filled with trouble. Humans unknowingly unlocked an ancient evil. This monster rose from the land filled with darkness with a thirst for world domination. His first act is to freeze the current rulers; the humans. With a flick of the wrist, he turned every human on earth into stone. This included the humans of dragon spring. Now Lili’s must go on a journey to free her friends of this evil enchantment. She and her kitsune friends must travel to the far off lands visiting homes of the humans and there troubled world. But they must be careful for they are not the only magical creature taking advantage of this turn of events. And many of these creatures would prefer humans stayed as stone.

The Locket the Lovers and the Legendary Heroes

Jacob has always wanted to go on an adventure. Everyday he thinks about all the cool things his father gets to do and find when he goes on archeological digs. His father brings all sorts of weird and interesting relics. Though most digs are normal, none tops the mysterious temple close to there very own home. It has been his father’s life’s work to figure out the origins of that temple. “There are things in there that take no place in our world. No man has ever made record of the things that have been displayed there.” He would say. One day his father decided to let Jacob visit these mysterious ruins. And by pure chance. They unlock the secret of the temple. What is the secret? Well some say it is from another world.

The Kitsune Chronicles (in progress)

The kitsune stone. It tells a sad story of when the motherly love of the goddess Sakura was betrayed by her creations that squandered her blessings and used it as an excuse to harm each other. A terrible evil came into this world and used the evil of the people to power him. With Sakura being a creature too sad to fight back. She died. Her protectors the kitsune felt it only right to blame themselves for what happened. As a desperate measure, they sealed away the evil creature in a realm from whence he came. However, they too decided to seal themselves in a stone. For many years, they stayed inside that stone waiting for the reincarnation of the goddess to forgive them. Now the evil that threatened peace is once again making his way to the realm of mortals. It is said that six people from different walks of life were critical in helping the kitsune return to the world and save it from disaster. Are they heroes? Perhaps. Are they villains? It is possible. The way you may view them is your choice.

The Wandering Ladon

For every century for every decade and every moment in life itself, someone shall put it in danger. The only defense against a true world threatening danger is a guardian a hero sent by the gods to babysit the world. The weapons used by these guardians often become enchanted and have a trace amounts of there powers. However, one cannot use the weapon without permission. Doing would lead to a terrible fate to the user and those around him. As the world slowly learns of the power of the guardians weapons, it gets closer too once again being in danger. Just like before there is yet another guardian to guard the world. The question is can he save the world. Better yet. Will he want too?

Elemental Hearts

A long time ago, when Otaru was young he would play with his best friend Kira. They were the best of friends. When she moved, they promised to never forget each other. Years later Otaru still has not. However, his life begins to take strange turns. Other girls enter his life. All of them different. They all seem to become good friends with Otaru. This sudden popularity would be fine if not for the fact that the women and the odd things seen in his dreams seem to be related. His life begins to change rapidly. Will he still remember his promise to Kira? Or has his heart moved on?

#short story #devblog

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bat-differentcollectordefen-blog · 6 years

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Ethiopia Tour company companies - Zagwe Ethiopia tours and travel Tour in Ethiopia

The country's rich tapestry of history is woven with fascinating facts and legends: the often told tale of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba; the journey of the Ark of the Covenant; the growth of the ancient Axumite Kingdom; the birth of Christianity; the later rise of Islam; the story of King Lalibela; and the castes of Gondar. Recorded history goes back over 4000 years and ancient contact with Greece, Persia and Egypt nurtured and strengthened the culture of northern Ethiopia creating the Axumite kingdom that dominated the vital crossroads of Africa and Asia for almost a thousand years. From the 13th to the 16th centuries, intellectual culture continued to flourish with the establishment of monasteries, with the writing of successive royal chronicles and with the translation of the texts into Ge'ez. Imperial splendour grew in tandem with these developments and eventually gravitated to the beautiful fortress city of Gondar. At the same time Ethiopia's mercantile Islamic culture rose up side by side with that of the Christians. The town of Harar is a fine example of this alternative strand of Ethiopia's broad and diverse heritage and occupies a proud place of its own along the historic route. ethiopia tour operators list

And so these were some of the places Explore would take us on our 14 day tour of the Blue Nile and Lalibela. From my notes......

"It is Africa and I am glad to be back on this rich soil. the muezzin woke us up about 6:30 this morning with his call to prayer you are not in Kansas anymore! We got a taxi to take us to the Mercato - the market. Billed as the largest in East Africa - certainly bigger than anything I have seen in East Africa. We knew it would be best to get a guide so our driver came along with us and a chap in red volunteered to take us around. We had to direct him a bit as we wanted to go to the food areas - spices galore and what aromas. All women in this section with lots of giggles erupting with me encouraging them to smile and not be afraid of my camera. Had my shoes washed - I thought they would be polished - but the guy used hand soap and a sponge. One of the things I love about Africa - expect the unexpected. It is a wild place and we walked around for about 2 hours. Lots of interesting things for sale: baskets, sponge mattresses, shawls, metal piping, bolts of beautifully colored material, and truly more shoes than one nation needs. Ann said there must be a lot of places to go here because there are more shoes for sale than she had even seen. Loved just wandering around and sharing smiles.. people are very friendly and eager to say hello. Tribal Tour Ethiopia

Dinner time came around and off we went to a very traditional restaurant. It was built as a traditional hut with a centre pole and struts coming up from the walls to the centre.

Beautiful paintings on the panels (between the struts) of Ethiopian people doing traditional chores. And they had some paintings on smaller pieces of that Egyptian papyrus paper to cover the lamps. The tables (large hollow woven baskets) are covered with a lid and a cloth. They take the cloth away and put down your drinks. Then a guy comes around with warm water, soap and a tin bowl. You are to wash your hands! They move the drinks to a small side table when the food comes. It was a large tin platter about 2 feet across. They put down a piece of "injera" (their word for their local bread) and then spoon out the dishes you order onto the "bread". The food ( or "wat") was chicken ( a bit spicy ) and lamb ( a bit spicy) and some veggie goop that I liked. You then take rolled up pieces of the "injera" and scoop up some of the filliings or "wat", lob it towards your mouth hoping you miss your shirt on the way to your mouth. And when you get to the end bits you eat the bottom layer of injera as well as the food that has soaked into it! When you are done, they come back with the water, soap and bowl so you can wash again! With 2 Sprites, cost was $7. And when we were finished somehow the taxis knew as they appeared back at the door to return us to the hotel. Quite the first day. ethiopia tour operators list

My head is spinning. And now as I type this I am listening to the local version of Stand by Me, Green Green Grass of Home and If Loving You is Wrong coming from the live lobby bar band. Saturday night in Addis. Does not get much better than this.

At Bahir Dar we went for a walk to see the Blue Nile and Tississat Falls. The falls are not nearly what they once were as the government built a dam about 6 years ago. The neighbouring town not only lost their tourist attraction and their water supply, the town does not even get electricity! Shameful. Afternoon boat ride on Lake Tana to see a 13th century church built on one of the islands. Delightful. Next town was Gondar which does not mean much to you all but it was the main stop for many of us as that is where we were going to experience Timkat, the celebration of the epiphany of Christ. Every church has a replica of the Ark of the Covenant and these replicas are all brought together by the main priests of each church. A parade heads down to the main "bath" of the town and the "tabots" are housed in tents; the priests and huge crowds spend the night nearby praying and celebrating .The next day starting at 4 am the water in the bath is consecrated and then there is a church service and communion. The" tabots" are then paraded back through town to each church but everyone at the pools jumps in to swim; there is singing and dancing; some people will take a bottle of the holy water home with them in case they get sick later in the year- this holy water will help them get better. The left over bread from communion is burnt and the ashes are kept to bestow upon people a teaspoonful at a time next year quite exciting to be a part of it. Tribal Tour Ethiopia

A fabulous drive through the Rift Valley to the next town ( Debark) where we were to stay 2 nights. Good restaurant here - 2 of the best meals on the trip. The day between the 2 nights in this paradise was spent in the Simien Mountains. As we drove through the area it looked like pictures I have seen of the Grand Canyon. Quite beautiful. For the trekkers there was a day of walking and for the rest of us we had lunch in a meadow with 1 horse, 2 dozen goats and 6 little boys avidly watching us and trying to sell us their woolen hats! I think we had the better time reading and writing postcards. Oh yes, we also saw a herd of about 100 baboons digging for roots.

A very long drive the next day to the town of Axum - home of the Queen of Sheba. Lots of stories about her and her romance with King Solomon and the son she produced Menelik. Did she exist? Well the theorists and archaeologists are well into their investigations and the feeling is that she did and her kingdom ranged form Yemen to Ethiopia to southern Egypt. Axum is considered the birthplace of Christianity and herein lies the Ark of the Covenant closely guarded by a hermit. The eyes of only the highest priests have seen the actual Ark as it stays guarded and wrapped and locked in a building in the grounds of the St Mary of Zion Church. Danakil depression Tour

Lalibela has next and was wonderful. Just to think that the people carved 11 of these churches out of the stone hillside. You can spend 2-3 days wandering around town visiting the churches... The church of St George (the one they went to on the Amazing Race for those TV reality show fans) was amazing. The reason why that church in particular was built was that King Lalibela had built about 22 other churches in the area to honour all sorts of the saints. Then St George (the patron saint of Ethiopia) came down to visit on his horse and he was very sad. He asked King Lalibela why no church had been built to honour himself St George. The king quickly realized his error and had this most majestic one built. The Biet Giorgis Church is carved in the form of a Greek cross and approached through a passageway that was also cut out of the rock. Another church you can visit - by mule - is the Ashatan Maryam Church where you are rewarded with stunning views over the highlands. All sorts of fables like this one told here were recounted to us by our guides in each town about the paintings etc that are inside the churches as well. Quite good fun.

Our last stop with Explore was Harar and it is truly an "old" town. Probably one of my favourite so far as it is so alive. Like stepping back into time.... before just about everything we know!!! We took a walking tour this morning and everything is considered useful here... everything is recycled - just one example is car tires that become rubber sandals. The ladies were all smiles in the market and the kids ran after us constantly calling us "ferengi" foreigner. In the markets here you can buy filigree jewellery, shawls and mats as well as many foodstuffs like spices and grains. This old walled city with 87 mosques and 300 shrines has 5 gates only and the explorer Richard Burton snuck into forbidden Muslim stronghold in 1854 by dressing as an Arab merchant. It is considered by many to be the 4th holiest city in the Islamic World. The mosques are filled with the whispers of prayer and the click of the rosary beads.

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