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pickingupmymercedes · 2 months

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Under an Ipê tree - Lewis Hamilton

The three times your annual visit to Senna’s tomb brought something different

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Senna! Reader

warnings: mentions of death, mourning, AD 21', Lewis at Ferrari (rubbing salt into every open wound apparently)

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Not gonna lie, started this one with something in mind and it took a life of its own. I know Senna! Reader isn't everyone's cup of tea, so please, proceed with caution, because there is mention to real events and real emotions envolved with mourning. Also, AD 21', I'm sure as hell not over that, so here's another trigger warning.

a/n. 2: Those trees are how pink Ipês look in blossom, I know Brasil is not known for its colder months but those beauties come alive after the few cold weeks.

_______________________________________

Like most traditions it started without any intent on actually becoming a thing. You and Lewis would take a couple hours off on Wednesdays before the Brazilian GP every year, the destination a known one to everyone in the paddock. It was a journey you used to do by yourself until Lewis had been the brave, and first one, to ask you if he could tag along. He’d been to Senna’s tomb before, you knew that much, but the respect and adoration he held for your late father had you deciding he should be good company.

_______________________________________

“I swear I had never seen my mom angrier. Can you imagine her with the speaker at Interlagos shouting to everyone with an ear that I shouldn’t be racing and if anything happened Ayrton was to blame cause I wasn’t even old enough to be there” You told a laughing Lewis while remembering when your father faked an ID so he could sneak you to the track and teach you how to race in your brand new - Mclaren themed – kart. A Christmas gift he went out of his way to get to the famous Brazilian track circuit in time to open day.

“You know, my favorites snippets of his life are the ones you talk about, Sundays at the pool, ice cream dates, kart running without your mom knowing. Whenever someone talks about him it’s always about his wins, his hardships, his cars and battles … it’s almost as if he didn’t exist beyond formula 1, like we froze just a fraction of him and forgot all about the rest.”

You smiled at him, you liked how Lewis never questioned your feelings towards f1’s out of this world idolatry on your father, mainly because at the end of the day, to your 8 year old past self, Ayrton was first and foremost “pai”, the dude that thought you not to be afraid by throwing you into the ocean when no one was looking, the one that cooked instant noodles for dinner in spite of your mom’s pleads, the one that constantly tried to show you that love is a feeling we should act upon in the present and never wait for a so promised tomorrow.

“He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure. But as a person, he would have probably seen you as one of the good ones, pointing out bullshit, fighting fia every chance you get, protecting the guys back at the garage, focusing on racing and not talking, looking out for everyone.” You answered truthly, as he respectfully held his hands behind his back looking at the tomb stone, while you casually sat in the edge of the stone, almost too comfortable around the place from all the visits you’ve done over the years.

“I think you should meet Galisteu someday, she’ll have way more interesting stories about him to tell you than I do.” You absentmindedly noted, remembering all she’s told you about your father, this other side to him you never got the time to see.

“Nah… we’re our truest around kids, his best version was the one you got to see. Now, what was that time he sneaked a stray dog onto your apartment?” he asked while reaching for your shoulder so you both could walk along the path back to the car awaiting to take you both back.

_______________________________________

“I don’t think I really remember the sound of his voice” you sighed looking up at the Ipê tree just beside the tomb. You had shown Lewis a photo of what it looked like once in full blossom before, in the Brazilian winter, and he promised you he would eventually find the time to come see it in its full glory in late June.

The walk in the cemetery, the light hearted banter, him opening his heart on dreams and the future and the confessions you would eventually make to Lewis about Ayrton were part of the annual occurrence you had both unspokenly agreed on, but that one line seemed to have hit him hard enough he just motioned you to go on, no answers or remarks.

“I mean, I know what his voice sounds like because there’s a thousand and one interviews with him, but I don’t think I can truly remember what he sounded like in real life … how he talked to me.” You explained it further, now looking at the Briton.

He engulfed you in a hug, the kind only he knew how, your tears leaving marks on his shoulders. You would rarely cry over anything related to your father, at least not in front of people anyway, but Lewis was… well, Lewis. You and Niki were the one who pushed, like hell, to sign him to Mercedes back in 2014 against everyone’s better judgment, and while you knew he would be every bit the driver and phenomenon he was, neither of you anticipated the friendship that came out of seeing him almost every GP you attended. A relationship that had crept its own way into your hearts, slowly allowing to see each other as something more than just good friends.

“He’s proud of you, wherever he is. I know that much” He whispered, leaving a soft kiss to your temple and bringing you even closer to his body.

_______________________________________

“He would’ve crashed into Verstappen back in 2021, wouldn’t he?” He prompted out of nowhere, gazing seriously at the tomb as you observed him pondering over the possible outcomes of a race that, like a ghost, had been following him nonstop, specially with the São Paulo GP fast approaching and with it his chances of securing his 8th title, two races before the end of the season.

“Start another Senna vs. Prost ?! ” You thought out loud, trying to read into his expressions and mannerisms, a talent of his you weren’t quite as good.

“Maybe I should’ve done it”

“You’re not like that Lew. You’re you and no one, not a single person, wants someone else” Your exasperation clear in your voice, hands reaching for his chin as his eyes locked into yours and he nodded, an unspoken agreement between the two of you, one you had to hammer into his head from time to time, that he may have Ayrton as his idol but he was just as much of an icon to the sport, and to a million of kids out there.

“On Sunday you’re going to reach that top step in your red suit, fulfill Ayrton’s dream and claim a championship for Ferrari. You. Not him, nor anyone else” and come the end of the race, he did just that. Smiling down at the sea of people in a mix of old Mercedes merchs and new Ferrari ones, dedicating his trophy to all the other people who believed in the impossible with him.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #ayrton senna #Senna!reader

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itsclydebitches · 2 months

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Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Summary: Wyll, Karlach, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Tav enjoy a well deserved night off with plenty of drink.

Pairing: None

Word Count: 1,760

She looks like she could throw me over her shoulder and carry me to safety, should the need arise. - Shadowheart

-----

“So it’s true what they say about Selunites and liquor.”

“What’s that?”

Wyll blinked, seeming to have lost the thread between his comment and Tav’s question. Beside him Karlach snickered loudly into her mug.

“I don’t know,” he finally slurred, morose. “Should I?”

“You brought it up, bud.”

“I did?” Wyll reached one hand up into his hair, gripping, only to be met with a horn instead. Tav saw the exact moment his sloshed mind registered the new-ish appendage without recalling why he had it. They flicked an emergency look at Karlach. She slung an arm around Wyll’s shoulders.

“They say,” she whispered, knocking her head companionably against his, “that they’re lightweights. Eh? Eh?”

Wyll’s mouth made a perfect ‘o,’ then split as he dissolved into giggles. Astarion let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Honestly. Now we know why the Duke never let his offspring drink at social events, don’t we? And Karlach, did you just make that up?”

She toasted Astarion from across the table.

“That’s...” he seemed to chew on his words for a moment. “Not half bad. Lay down your ax and you could have a career in comedy, darling.”

“Ha! You’re the hilarious one.”

Wyll’s laugh was infectious and Astarion was saying something fascinating about the stand-up of two hundred years past, but Tav ignored both as they spotted a familiar figure in their periphery. They subtly raised a hand towards the Elfsong’s bartender and got an equally subtle nod in return. More drinks would appear on their table in due haste—without the requisite coin. Word of their reported heroism had spread across the city, their names exalted even by those who normally distrusted the Baldur’s Mouth, and Tav’s little party had found themselves on the receiving end of numerous offers lately. They’d rejected most out of hand—too easy a method of subterfuge—but free drinks for the night? After the hell that was the foundry? They needed this.

Besides, they were unlikely to find another safe place to indulge anytime soon... and that was assuming they’d all make it out of this war with the Absolute intact. Tav shook the bleak thought away, nodding in thanks as another mug appeared at their elbow. Gale had joined them for the first hour before taking his leave, saying that anything more than a glass of wine was a bit beyond him these days and really, it would be a crime to leave Josen’s The Illustrated Guide to Magically Infused Flora unfinished for the night. Blurg had proven to be quite the recommender of books. Jahira had volunteered as an all-night look out—someone needed to let the kids have their fun—and Lae’zel, to everyone’s surprise, had decided to spend the evening with Halsin. Last Tav had seen he was teaching her the basics of wood carving, a hobby they never would have attributed to the githyanki, though the appeal made a bit more sense once they heard her aspirations to carve the greatest dragon their pathetic world had ever seen.

In short, this was the most peace they’d seen in months and Tav had every intention of hoarding it.

“What do you think?” Astarion said. He was speaking to Karlach but facing Wyll, one hand making a coin disappear and reappear with a finesse that left the drunk warlock enthralled. “What would it take to get Withers to join our little party?”

Karlach hooted, slamming one hand down hard on the table. “Oh, I’d pay to see it! The other patrons’ faces as well. How many undead resurrection peddlers do you think this inn has seen?”

“About as many good cleanings.” Astarion sneered at the grime on their table. He made the coin disappear a final time, leaned over, and wiped his hand on the front of Wyll’s shirt. Wyll just smiled.

“That feels nice," he murmured.

“I’m sure it does, you beautiful man.”

Tav choked on their drink, firmly telling their own muddled mind to remember this image in the morning: Astarion dragging one hand sensually down Wyll’s chest while Wyll beamed the smile of the wasted, perpetually listing to one side so that Karlach was holding him up.

“Does Withers even drink?” they asked, then winced. That image wasn’t nearly as cute. “I offered him food a couple of times and he always gave me this look. You know,” Tav tried to replicate the stoic, yet somehow condescending expression that the skeleton loved to employ. “He doesn’t need to eat, obviously, but does he want to? I think he should. It’s only right, you know? Everyone in the party eats. Withers is a part of the party, so—” They swung the mug to emphasize the importance of this, splashing the table in the process. “Oops.”

“Frankly, I couldn’t care less what that bag of bones does or does not consume, but do you know who is in need of a hearty meal?”

It took Tav a long time—too long—to realize what Astarion’s batting eyes and winning smile were asking for.

“Ohhhh,” they said. “Uh, it’s gonna be strong. I think.”

“Excellent.”

So Tav expertly drained the mug in their hand, palmed a blade, and drew it decisively across the back of their arm, refilling the mug with blood. They gratefully took the rag Karlach handed them as Astarion drank deeply around a sigh.

“Pace yourself,” Tav reminded him.

“Chug it!” Karlach countered.

It didn’t take a seer to figure out who Astarion was going to listen to.

The lull gave Tav a moment to take stock of their own state and they winced at the haziness that had permeated the inn. Karlach had the constitution of an owlbear and it would take at least a few minutes before Tav’s blood had any effect on Astarion, but Wyll now had his forehead pressed to the table, muttering something incomprehensible against the wood. While Shadowheart...

Oh dear.

Tav wasn’t sure when ‘So drunk she couldn’t remember Shar’s name’ had become ‘Full on passed out with a string of drool inching down her chin,’ but Shadowheart had definitely passed into the latter territory. Hesitantly, Tav reached out to give her a poke. Their finger missed her shoulder by an inch. Blinking, shaking their head, they gave it another go and landed somewhere in the vicinity of her collarbone. Shadowheart didn’t move, but the string of drool dropped down to mar her shirt.

“We killed Shadowheart,” Tav whispered.

Astarion leaned into their side, a heavy weight. “Eh?”

“We killed Shadowheart.”

Karlach was across the table in a heartbeat, shoving poor Wyll aside to get an ear near Shadowheart’s chest. A moment later she spluttered out a relieved laugh as her head gently rose and fell with Shadowheart’s breathing.

“Fucking hells, soldier, way to give me a scare! She’s fine, she’s fine. Well, probably not going to be feeling so great come tomorrow, but provided we don’t let her drown in her own vomit she’ll be kicking ass again soon enough.”

“That’s optimistic,” Astarion said, eyeing the puddle of drool Shadowheart was now leaving on the table. “Also: ew. Also, if you—” he pointed a stern finger at Tav, “—ever scare me like that again I will give your favorite shirt to Tara for shredding purposes. My heart just skipped a beat and it hasn't moved in a century! I—wait.” His eyes narrowed. “Gods. Does drinking normally make me admit that all aloud? I can’t remember. Did it used to make me this talkative? Oh fuck, I need more, lest I remember this come morning...”

Tav was shooing their clingy vampire back while Karlach laughed. Shaking her head she stood, tested her own balance against the table, and with a satisfied “Whoop!” bent to pick up Wyll with a single arm. He went willingly—if limply— enough. Tav caught a soft murmur somewhere around Karlach’s waist and then what might have been a sad echo of her ‘Whoop.’ A weak hand lifted to cheer, then fell, scraping the inn floor.

“Alright, you too,” Karlach said and snagged Shadowheart by the back of her shirt—like a mother cat collecting her kitten. Their healer went over her shoulder with all the grace of a potato sack but Tav nodded, feeling very happy with the image.

“Do I need to grow another arm?” Karlach asked, eyeing the two of them skeptically. “Or I can come back down...?”

“We’re perfect, darling, absolutely perfect. Don’t give it a second thought. Though you would look stunning with multiple arms, I'm sure.” Astarion slung his around Tav’s shoulders in a move that let him pull their neck awfully close. Tav planted a sticky hand over his face and ignored the squawk.

“We’re good,” Tav confirmed, then blinked when what came out was a garbled string of consonants and vowels. They glared down at the mug in their hand. When had it turned their lips numb? Stupid mug.

Karlach sighed. “Yeah, I’ll be back in ten. Starting to wonder if those squid bastards specifically went after lightweights...”

She disappeared up the steps to their room, inspiring curious looks and more then one whistle in her wake. Tav felt a giddy emotion bubbling up at the image—which was immediately interrupted by Astarion remembering that he probably shouldn’t drink directly from their neck in a public place, so he poked them—sharply—with the knife instead. Poke poke.

Poke poke poke poke pokepokepokepokepokepoke—

With a growl Tav finally re-filled Astarion's glass, then smacked their lips until they decided to work again.

“We are going to have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow,” they sighed.

It was worth it though, right? Tav forced their meandering mind to focus on the consequences: Gale’s disapproving looks, the mood Shadowheart would not doubt be in the next morning, the fact that there was always the risk that they’d come under attack during the next few hours and Gods, would Tav be useless if it came to a fight. Really, they should do the responsible thing and throw themselves into the nearby fountain, try to sober up abit—

"Yes we are!" Astarion cheered, blood splashing across his shirt, and he smiled. Not a smirk, not a flirty grin, just... a smile. Genuine and bared with the assurance of safety, not false confidence. Tav stared at it for a moment, stunned, before their own smile emerged in response.

One more round. Karlach had said ten minutes, which really meant five—three, probably, considering she was worried about them.

So they'd have to chug it.

Challenge accepted.

#BG3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #Astarion #Karlach #Tav #Wyll #Shadowheart #BG3 fic

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roo-bastmoon · 1 year

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"I can't stand your kumbaya OT7 fake cheeriness. Be ffr."

First and foremost, I will always advocate that you police your own experience. PLEASE mute / block / unfollow me if my posts (and just my personality in general) are causing you distress. I never wish to be the source of problems in the world. So go with my blessing.

But second...

I hope you know there are some really good REASONS why I'm so "kumbaya" right now.

In my 44 years living on this space rock, I have:

--had a vicious abusive alcoholic parent who broke my nose when I was a kid

--been through my parents' nasty divorce that left us so poor we lived out of a car and ate one meal a day so our cats could have cat food

--developed disordered binge eating because I believed it was necessary during my semi-pro ballet days

--was sexually assaulted by a partner who professed to love me

--had not one but TWO diagnosed narcissistic bosses who made my beloved workplaces hell for years

--survived (so far) uterine cancer which took away my ability to ever be a bio-mom, something I'd always wanted for myself

I look at this laundry list of trauma (for which I am seeing a WONDERFUL therapist) and think to myself:

"Even so, I've lived such a cushy, privileged, safe and happy life. I've got four higher degrees; I've traveled the US and through Europe; I've worked on creative and charitable projects that I'm proud of; I've got a small band of wonderful real-life friends who stuck by me for the past 30+ years. It's been a good and meaningful life."

But I am TIRED of drama and I've had a lifetime supply of harsh words and meanspirited discourse. I'm just so fed up with it. I'm allergic to it now.

I'm not saying we should allow hate and harmful behavior to slide. But here on the internet, we have the power to block and remove anything we don't want to see or be a part of. I WISH we could do that in real life, where the stakes are so much higher.

So for my part, after being in all kinds of internet fandoms since 1999, I've come to the conclusion that I will not hang with mean girls, I will not feed trolls, I will not fight with antis, and I will TRY not to pop off on people who upset me (sometimes menopause gets the better of me, I admit it). Rather, I will just redirect my focus to what brings me joy, I will follow my bliss, I will take revenge by living happily.

And keep in mind... People are human. Fans and members alike are going to have bad takes, bad attitudes, bad days, bad habits. The question is: are they willfully causing harm? If yes, intervention is necessary. If no, then a little grace might be more useful.

I come from three generations of teachers and one of the most important things they've said to me is: Shame is not a teaching tool. It might temporarily change someone's behavior, but more often than not they double down in order to counteract embarrassment. If you want good results, thank a person for trying their best, acknowledge they are likely struggling, and invite them to be the better version of themselves you absolutely know they can be. Sometimes that works.

With ruiners, it doesn't. They just want to ruin things. Ruining things makes them feel powerful, because they cannot create; they can only destroy. It is their only talent. Ruiners invade a space and absolutely delight in ruining it for everyone else. It's a disease and I don't know the cure. The only way I know to counteract a ruiner is to stay in your space and LOUDLY be joyful, be cheerful, focus on what you love, and drown out their vitriol and hate with compassion and love.

So THAT is why I'm so "kumbaya cheerful OT7." Even on days when I would love nothing more than to thrash and whine, I'm trying my best to be a good little oyster and filter out the toxins, so this place remains focused on what matters: supporting BTS and enjoying ARMY.

If after knowing all that, I'm still not your cup of tea? I totally understand and I really don't mind if you need to mute me. This blog is just a hobby, just a place I come to escape the stress of work deadlines and house renovations and sick kitties and my own health issues and real life problems. Probably that's why you're here too. It's meant to be fun and enjoyable. I'm sorry if you don't like me, but... I'll never change all my colors for you.

So go follow your joy and find like-minded blogs. You have my blessing. And maybe we'll meet each other again on down the road, and we'll both be in better places, and we can walk together by then. Either way, you deserve to be happy.

Love, Roo

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houseofbrat · 25 days

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Oh, look, a medical doctor in the US questioning the party line regarding KP’s timeline regarding Kate's health updates!

And the Daily Mail oh so conveniently lobbed his comments in with Christopher Bouzy of all people.

Jonathan Reiner, a medical doctor with internal medicine and cardiology certifications, who teaches at George Washington University is no slouch and no dummy. He also has no skin in the game regarding the British royal family and any of their fandoms!

And what was it that Rebecca quoted him as saying?

He was among conspiracy theorists who spread a CNN clip, which has now been viewed millions of times, in which a doctor claimed that Kate's statement did not make 'medical sense'. Asked how cancer could be found after surgery, Jonathan Reiner said: 'With all respect to the Royal Family, that kind of press release doesn't make a lot of medical sense.' The professor of medicine at George Washington University said such operations are preceded by extensive CAT scans and MRIs, adding it was 'very likely' the surgical team knew of the cancer prior to operating.

Ah, yes, only "conspiracy theorists" would listen to a doctor saying that Kensington Palace's timeline makes no sense. Because apparently in the world according to KP, Kate had "planned abdominal surgery" on 16 January 2024, but the doctors would not know about non-cancerous fistulas or bowel obstructions before they cut her open? Kate had "planned abdominal surgery" and all the normal planning such as CT scan or MRIs were never completed in the planning stages??

According to Rebecca's article, we should ALL dismiss the critiques of KP/Kate's timeline because there is no way they would have suspected cancer until weeks later.

That's what Kensington Palace apparently wants everyone to think.

Did you miss CNN's segment with Jonathan Reiner, MD? Do you want to see it yourself? Well you can, courtesy of the TV archive.

Part A

Part B

Part C

Part D ~ this is the part that gets quoted in Rebecca's piece

Part E

Part F

Part G

This is the part of Kate's statement that Dr. Reiner is critiquing:

In January, I underwent major abdominal surgery in London and at the time, it was thought that my condition was non-cancerous. The surgery was successful. However, tests after the operation found cancer had been present. My medical team therefore advised that I should undergo a course of preventative chemotherapy and I am now in the early stages of that treatment. “This of course came as a huge shock, and William and I have been doing everything we can to process and manage this privately for the sake of our young family.

Doctors would have briefed Kate about the possibility of any cancer prior to any "planned abdominal surgery." Saying it was "a huge shock" to a cardiologist--who says that "doesn't make a lot of medical sense"--as Kate's statement reads to other medical doctors as if proper planning wasn't done. Kate's medical team would have informed her about the possibility of finding cancer not just before anything was sent to the pathology lab but before the surgery even took place. So...is it really that Kate was not informed by her medical team about this possibility or was Kate's surgery not planned?

KP keeps being real cagey about that surgery, and it doesn't make them look good. It's already known amongst the media that Kate has known about this cancer diagnosis since January, even though they didn't tell the public about it. Kate is using the excuse that she could only tell the public now due to the alleged possibility of mean kids at Lambrook, which I sincerely doubt because the world heard about their grandfather having cancer just a few weeks ago and I have yet to see a story with accusations about mean kids at Lambrook bullying George, Charlotte, and Louis over this.

Someone ain't being truthful about this situation, and I don't think it's Jonathan Reiner.

#twitter #fleet street #Daily Mail #Rebecca English #medicine #critique #kensington palace #lies lies lies #pr games #strategery #my gif #kate middleton #Catherine The Princess of Wales #William The Prince of OWN GOALS #William The Weak #William The Terrible #prince william #William The Prince of Wales

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dearheartofmars · 1 year

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Anything but Ale

“Teaching is really fascinating.”

Hob gestured at the papers on the small table in front of them. “It helps me remember my past and try to help the world not repeat the worst of its own.” His face dropped for a second, guilt flashing in his eyes, before he looked at Dream, smiling again. “Young people are the future, my future if I think about it too much. They are good kids, smarter than I’ll ever be.”

Dream could not help the smile that formed on his face; seeing Hob, his friend, after so long brought forth a surge of emotion. Dream could easily imagine Hob in front of a classroom, hands waving animatedly as he discussed historical lessons, inspiring young minds. He really had changed for the better, and yet he was still the same man Dream had met six centuries ago.

“That Shakespeare! The poet,” Hob’s eyes met Dream’s own for just a second, sharp and intense before softening again, “you remember. We have to talk about him every new term. Five centuries and not forgotten; it’s quite amazing.”

Dream only nodded, guilt of his past weighing heavy. He had left Hob for Shakespeare, much like he left Hob at every one of their meetings. Hob’s smile fell as his eyes looked down; he leaned back in his seat, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“Anyway, I actually wanted to apologize.”

“You need not—” Dream began.

“No, I do need to.” He hesitated before taking a deep breath and continuing. ”Our last meeting I— I made assumptions about you, about your feelings instead of asking you. I didn’t need to be so presumptuous, you deserve better than that.” Hob's eyes settled on the table in front of him. As if he was worried that Dream would be gone when he looked up again.

“I accept your apology, my friend, but I too should apologize for that night,” Dream spoke sincerely, leaning towards Hob. “You were correct, and while I was caught unawares by your words, I should not have left in such a way. You too deserve better.”

Hob smiled gently, meeting Dream’s eyes before resting his hands on the table. Dream took a moment to take in Hob’s appearance. He looked comfortable, younger somehow than he had before; this century suited him. The silence continued and Dream realized he was staring, snapping his eyes back to Hob’s own. When their eyes met, Hob had a soft, puzzled look on his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, instead let his chin fall, frowning at his hands.

“May I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Hob’s worry was tangible and Dream desperately wanted to reassure him, to show that he would not run away. He reached over and placed his hand on Hob’s own. Hob’s deep brown eyes snapped back to Dream’s .

“Please, ask.”

“Could you tell me your name?” Hob’s worried expression melted and a hopeful glow replaced it.

“Dream.” He paused, feeling another twinge of guilt for making Hob wait so long for one word. “I have many names, but those closest to me know me as Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob whispered, wonder in his voice, beaming at him. ”Thank you, I will be glad not to have to call you ‘My Stranger’ anymore.” A blush formed on the tips of his ears.

“Your Stranger?” Dream teased, though he was pleased with the title. Hob’s Stranger.

“Well, you have been the only constant in my very long life, and in that time I have never met another being like you. I treasure our meetings.” He was looking down at the table again, blush now creeping up his neck; a strand of hair had fallen forward, hiding Hob’s face. Dream felt a sharp pang of affection, reaching up and tucking the hair behind Hob’s ear. His fingers [passed] idly down to his friend's chin, raising Hob’s face so their eyes met again. Dream let his hand fall back onto the table, his eyes following, surprised by his forward behavior.

“I too treasure our meetings, Hob, more than you know.”

“May I ask you one more question?” Hob asked breathlessly, “Again, you don't have to answer.” Dream looked up at Hob through his lashes.

“You may ask more if it pleases you.” Hob’s eyes brightened.

“May we meet more often than once a century? It doesn’t have to be very often, but I would like to know you better, my friend.”

“Aye, we may.” They shared a smile, Hob reaching to place his hand on Dream’s hand, squeezing gently.

“You said I could ask a few more questions?” It was more of a statement than a question. Dream only nodded, not sure what to expect. “May I get you a drink?”

If he could blush, Dream would be tomato red. He was reminded of their meeting in 1789; he had wanted to accept Hob’s invitation, but his pride had not allowed him. He would not make that mistake again.

“Yes.” He winced slightly, remembering the last human drink he had at the White Horse Inn. “Anything but ale.”

Looking a little confused, Hob nodded then raised his hand to the bartender. Dream watched him fondly, settling into his chair. He would stay as long as Hob wanted.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dreamoftheendless #morpheus #the sandman netflix #dream x hob #post episode 6 #pre relationship #theyaredating #my own writing #drabble

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derwahnsinn · 7 months

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31 Days Idol Challenge - Oliver Riedel

Day 29: At Award Ceremony

One thing I really like about photos of Rammstein from award ceremonies, is how they dress. I love how they just seem to all put on whatever they feel like, so that the more or less always have at least one 'odd man out'.

My photo of choice is this group shot from 1998 Echo Awards, because I really like how Oliver went with a choker. Photo by Axel Kirschof.

I feel like it's appropriate to add a passage from Flake's book Heute hat die Welt Geburtstag (It's the World's Birthday Today), where he wrote about when the band got nominated for their first Echo Award. It is such a good example of "six inexperienced East Germans entering the celebrity circus":

Beforehand we had long conversations about what we should wear. We definitely wanted to all wear the same thing so that people would see we were a single entity. Since this was the first time we'd been invited, we got there on time. On time meant two hours too early. When we walked down the red carpet, there was of course not the slightest reaction from the audience, which wasn't bad, however. The only person who recognized us was the security guard for Die Toten Hosen, who were also nominated and of course actually received an award. We attached ourselves to Nena's manager, whom we knew from the industry tour. We stood around in the lobby with him for hours and were horribly thirsty. Then the ceremony finally started and we thought it was all very exciting. Otto Waalkes was sitting in front of us. I stared at the back of his head the whole time. I thought back to how, when I was a kid, I would go over to our neighbor's place just to watch the Otto Show. Every single gag got rehashed all over school the next day, and I didn't want to be left out. And now I could practically touch him. I was so excited my palms were sweating. All the nominees were introduced with a short film. When they finally showed our film, there was absolutely no applause since of course no one knew who we were. There was only bored silence. I think Aerosmith got the prize. We realized that we'd gotten all dressed up for nothing and felt appropriately foolish. Thankfully though, there was a giant afterparty. We hadn't known about that either. There we could eat and drink as much as we wanted and didn't have to pay. We weren't the only ones who got exorbitantly drunk; those who were still there at four stayed till six. Moses Pelham broke Stefan Raab's nose. The next day, a bunch of zombies stood freezing on the train platform, waiting for the train with their Echos in their hands. Or not, in our case. Then two years later, we got the award. We stood there on stage like six bumps on a log and didn't know what to say. Under no circumstances did we want to toss out an embarrassing litany of thank yous. When it was my turn at the mic, I just talked about my vacation in Sri Lanka - I'd just gotten back two days earlier and was still overflowing with impressions. Plus, while the boring ceremony was going on, Ben Becker had been teaching us that drinking vodka mixed with tonic water was very refreshing. The trophy they handed us was I guess supposed to represent a sound wave - I mean, I don't know what an echo looks like, technically speaking - and it was pretty heavy. It was an unwieldy thing to have to hold onto at the party afterward, so I just left it sitting around somewhere.

Bonus material: 1) 1997, Rammstein getting gold for Herzeleid and Engel. Unknown photographer. Some of the band members, including Oliver, had interesting choices of shoes. 2) 1998 MTV Europe Music Awards. Another interesting choice of clothing for Oliver. 3) 2001 MTV Europe Music Awards. Can't go wrong when you're all wearing stage costumes! Photo by Anthony Harvey. 4) 2001 Mexico City. Very questionable positioning of Paul in this photo by Guillermo Ogam. 5) 2005 Echo Awards. I really love how they showed up and performed in fat suits. Photo by Sean Gallup. 6) 2005 Rammstein Music Awards, I love Oliver's outfit here, too. Unknown photographer. 7) 2009 Echo Awards. Oliver went fully casual, and Schneider showed his total lack of taste in shoes. Unknown photographer.

Others doing this challenge:

Till: @endlich-allein Flake: @anwiel13 Paul: @instillennachten

#Rammstein 31 Days Idol Challenge #Oliver Riedel #Rammstein #Oliver at Award Ceremony #Rammstein 31 Days Idol Challenge - Oliver

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tobiasdrake · 3 months

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Deeper into Mesa Island, we go.

Uhhh.... Can we help you?

Should we be stopping this? I feel like we should be stopping this.

And they're gone.

Great. They expect me to do all the work of springing the deadly trap on myself. Typical.

This is the Elder Mist all over again. Fucking lazy-ass ambushers.

Fine, I did your yardwork and raised your lunar sigil. Let's go, up and at 'em. Come bite my face off. I don't have all night.

There we go, that's more like it. Consider this hedge pruned! See, the problem with making me set up my own ambush is that it gives me time to prepare for it.

In any case, that happened. Remind me next time we see Dickface Minstrel that I owe them a flute shoved down their throat.

And I pay my debts. Just ask the Numerology Cult.

Oh, I guess it's flashback time. Sure, why not. It's a bit of a hike to Peach's Castle, so now's as good a time as any to reminisce.

Oh, shit. Is this....

It is. This is the Strife cleansing. This is when Momo died. Along with many of her colleagues.

Oh, that confidence. >.< Oh, Moraine. Time will not be kind to you.

Another reminder that Erlina is stronger than Brugaves. She took to the magic more naturally than he did.

No, you don't. Not this battle, you don't.

People keep mentioning the twins. I don't think they're anyone we know. Probably died in the Strife battle.

They have to be important, though. The way they keep coming up implies that the plot wants us to be aware of them.

The sole survivor. I think this is where everything fell apart for our timeline. If Solstice Warriors are Resh'an's pieces and Dwellers are Aeophorul's pieces, then the near-total annihilation of all Solstice Warriors in exchange for a single Dweller, no matter how strong, was a cataclysmic loss for our team.

All that was left of the entire order was one traumatized Lunar warrior and two kids who didn't even really want to be here. This was where the ball began to roll downhill.

The friction was there from the beginning. Erlina never liked Moraine. I can't blame her. I hated his guts too. Sole survivor with PTSD Moraine is not well-suited to teaching the new generations, but he's literally the only option there is.

We didn't survive the Strife battle. We only thought we did. But the Dweller had mortally wounded the order. A wound whose lethality would only become clear twenty years later.

Shades of our own childhood plan to go sail the world with Garl instead. Every kid can feel how suffocating Mooncradle truly is.

I said before that Moraine is not very good at indoctrinating children into the order's belief system. Erlina and Bugraves turned full-on traitor, while Zale and I were out of Moraine's sight for five seconds before we recruited our non-Solstice bro that he explicitly forbid us from recruiting. Nobody cares about what Moraine thinks.

I stand by that remark now, but it's accented with a heavy dose of tragedy. He was never qualified to be a teacher. But who else was there?

Unfortunately, Evermist Island is a fucking prison colony of a place, so it's not exactly easy to escape from. These two had to become Solstice Warriors because there were no other options available. In Mooncradle, you're either born to become a Solstice Warrior or born to serve Solstice Warriors.

That's it. Solstice kids and non-Solstice kids alike, your path is set in stone from birth. Because this isn't a village; It's a factory for mass-producing Resh'an's chess pieces as efficiently as possible.

...oh, the vials that created Mooncradle were TIA's potions. I just got that. Yeah, he probably is the Great Eagle. Or controls it. Or something.

Aww, it's me! I'm so precious. I am the cutest baby that's ever been dropped off by the Great Eagle, and I will bite the shins of anyone who disagrees.

Confirmation that I am, in fact, the older sibling. Chew on that, little brother.

#sea of stars #drake plays sea of stars

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mbti-notes · 10 months

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Anon wrote: Hello, Thank you for all the insightful posts . I am an INTP and the Issue I am having now Is I am born in a third world country in a small town not economically thriving . A non democratic country that doesn't teach you anything of substance , the elite kids go to the west and we the poor people have to study in rote memorization and passing the exam and before we know it the aha moment of how weak we are hit harder .

I dropped out from university in order to medicate myself from tuberculosis , and then I get cured , and the corona virus lock-down happened and then my father died and my aunt died . All have effected me deeply . The money I have saved for future interviews was wasted . And Now I am definitely in a Si loop , stuck and sometimes my mind and daydreaming sends me to dark places , wishing death upon myself , wanting to just end it , imagining myself being angry and hitting someone and hitting his face with my feet . I truly have become unhealthy and destructive . Feeling guilty , imagining how I could have done it better .

I constantly feel worthless and think how useless I am and how I wish I was never born because I am not going to be amounted to anything ever . The home situation is unhealthy , I have always been belittled , made feel worthless , insinuated to feel bad about myself . I remember since I was a kid , never felt loved or cared for , just been reminded how odd , slow , in my head , and not going to be as much as good as whom ever they compare me with .

I have an unhealthy ESFJ mother who can't be reasoned with . Explosive , hot temper , not logical or cares about clear communication . Her and my sister are truly insecure . I will Explain a scenario , we are in a bad economical situations , my brother triggered her , she started lashing out on everyone , cursing and insulting how useless we are without hearing or having a communication . I left to my room till they stop , because I can't handle this anger and drama where we can fix them if we think through things but she doesn't want to think or communicate . She confuses communication with complaining because for her communication is only a vehicle to use to release her hostile feelings and passive aggressiveness .

When I come back , she said why did I run to my room . I said I can't handle screams and this chaotic production of words . She said , you should and they started her and my sister : ISFJ , speaking at the same time , like literally at the same time . I asked them one by one , she said No why not listen to us both at the same time . Like what a hell is this . Here you notice and many patterns I have that they don't care about fixing the problem , they don't care about reasonably indulging members of the family to a conclusion , they want to release the tension . My mother specifically wants to release her hostile emotions , she wants us to feel belittled , useless , tell us how she is the only one who thinks about this issue and how useless we are and she thinks this is parenting , she thinks this is leadership.

Now I know since my father died who was an ISFJ , He was our only economical support and he was dutiful and doing his best to get me into a position where I can take the family but even he had issues with her , she swallowed him through her drama , passive aggressiveness , and her hostile attitude , belittling him too and comparing his lack of privilege to others who had far more advantage as if he had a choice in the cards he was given . Since this economical shortage only enraged her and made something to complain about and our household was not of kindness and mercy , I subtracted my needs since way back but my brother still takes from her money and she gives him and she comes back to complain and ruins the household .

The reason I brought my father is I feel bad for not doing anything for him and what a shame that he had no one to help him . He really deserved better and needed more care and love and I always felt unable to do anything when he had cancer . He apologized for me as if he felt bad for not doing enough for me . My friend . I really think and have evidence that my mother and family are unhealthy . I live in illiterate religious area , how do you think Fe and Si expression would be ? -- They don't care about reason , just any high status man who has money or is religious or looks religious matter and his opinion is far better and I , could speak for years and no one would care .

I think she is unsafe and unhappy and her hypergamic instinct produces this passive aggressive tests because she thinks by belittling us , we are going to somehow be motivated to provide and replace my father . She doesn't understand how the Ukraine|Russian war affected us , how our government changed policies to hire more females , she doesn't understand that I can't just get a job , it's all difficult in this competitive environment and I just have lost 3 years where tuberculosis , Corona virus lock-down , death of my father and the shock and depression this made me feel and let alone her training me to feel worthless isn't going to make me more optimistic individual because I can't even film myself speaking in a content creation out of fear and being self conscious of my voice nor dreaming of being able to be loved and desired by any female in romantic relationships to get out of this toxic voice in my head that hammers me and find some refuge in lovely partner .

I know I am unhealthy too - -- I read your study guides and my functions are all unhealthy and I could release the anger and hit someone or could not be able to contain myself and verbally defend myself if I get triggered . I am still studying to find a way to improve and optimally express all my functions but please with the contexts I have provided . How can you help me find answers to this following questions :

How can I remove this worthlessness and feeling I am useless from my mind and how I perceive myself ?

How can I trust that I would be able to get a job in this country and town ? I have limited skills like English and my native language because of time that was wasted ? [ I am planning to use the 4 Hour work week principle that prioritizes Te and Ni for effectiveness , working on skills to learn , 20/80 Analysis , low information diet , delegation and automation , and creating a product to sell to liberate myself from traditional 9 to 5 ] - I don't work in 9 to 5 Jobs . I Don't have any job now .

How can I deal with this toxic mother and her hostile attitude and her inability to be satisfied ? .

How I can heal the wounds that this mother infected me with since I speak to myself a lot and I get lost in my thoughts and she notices and doesn't try to understand , she tries to insult and belittles and laughs at me as if i am some crazy dude . It's the only place I feel safe and I have no friends and my mother doesn't talk to me except to release her tension , so I opt to my head and this had negative affects because my thoughts swallow me and I become self absorbed and any one notices I am speaking to myself and lost it . I do that because I am unhealthy , broke , unemployed , no job , and no healthy environment to drive me and give me help .

Do You think since I am unhealthy , I would waste time reading and consuming information about the study guide as some unhealthy coping mechanism and I should better opt to just exercise a few Ne Activities to drive myself out of my self and subjective narrative and my family and explore few experiments rather than read every detail and wait till I finish to exercise my functions ? Like see how Ne world is good and come back to reflect .

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1. "Feelings" of worthlessness or uselessness are simply judgments (about yourself). In order for judgments to be sound, one must arrive at the conclusions properly, through logic and reason. This is the basis of having good critical thinking skills.

For instance, you say you "fell behind" in career goals due to physical illness. Was the illness intentionally caused by you or was it under your control? If not, should you hold yourself responsible for the consequences of being ill? Are you going to call every physically ill person in the world worthless/useless because, through no fault of their own, they have diminished capacity to achieve their goals? If so, I see no difference between you and your mother when it comes to the way you harshly and unfairly judge people.

Are you exercising good critical thinking when you make a judgment or draw a conclusion? If not, you need to improve upon it, in order for Ti to regain control over your cognition. You must have a reliable process of scrutinizing and validating your belief system, otherwise, on what basis are you going to make good decisions for yourself? When Ti is absent, Fe grip will keep haunting you.

2. Trusting the world comes with Ne development. It means venturing out into the world. It means trying and experimenting and seeing what happens. It means going to wherever the opportunities are. It means thinking of ways to make the best use of what you have. It means turning the negative into a net positive.

In other words, Ne is an extraverted function that requires initiative, ingenuity, and action. Ne is not about your predictions of the future; it's about making things happen. You can always find something good to express gratitude for. You can always find a silver lining in a negative situation. You can always visualize potential for change and improvement. But the key is to have an attitude of openness that keeps your eyes and ears attuned to opportunity. Are you nurturing Ne openness in yourself, or are you quick to reject ideas because they are "imperfect"? Whether things are perfect or imperfect is missing the point. The point is that things can be changed as long as you're willing to put in the work to change them.

3. The answer is boundaries. I've already written about the difficulty of drawing healthy boundaries in family relationships, especially parent-child relationships, consult past posts. Because there is so much history and, in some cases, so much bad blood between family members, it's easy to get stuck in negative patterns of behavior, and very difficult to change them even when you want to. Old habits are hard to break.

I always say that an essential aspect of growing up is learning how to view your parents as human beings rather than treating them as mere symbols of your personal ego drama. Was your father a "saint"? Is your mother a "villain"? These are symbols that reveal the flaws and biases of your perception. In the end, your parents are simply people. Every person is multifaceted. If you only ever see one aspect of someone, your eyes need adjustment.

Put yourself in your mother's shoes. Your mother also lives in the bleak sociopolitical environment you live in, with few economic opportunities. She has also experienced disappointments and heartbreaks. She has also had her hopes and dreams dashed. You share a lot more in common with her than you believe. To be clear, this is not meant to be an excuse for her negative behavior but, rather, a call for you to exercise empathy.

When you get a deeper understanding of why people behave as they do, you will be less inclined to blame and more inclined to maintain healthy relationship boundaries. The key to dealing with toxic people is to maintain proper emotional distance from them, rather than getting entangled with them and constantly embroiled in their dramas. To have healthy relationships in general, you must i) know the difference between "my business" and "not my business", and ii) stop involving yourself in things that aren't your business.

Her issues and problems are hers, so don't take them on as yours. It's not your responsibility to satisfy her demands. It's not your responsibility to live up to her expectations of you. Your only responsibility, in moral terms, is simply to be a good person. This raises an important question of whether you understand what it means to be "good". Do you have your own ideas about it or do you default to what your family taught you, since your judgments about yourself closely echo your mother's judgments about you?

Do you know what intergenerational trauma is? It's when families transmit the negative effects of unresolved hurt, pain, suffering, abuse, and trauma from one generation to the next. You are now consumed by pain and anger, not unlike your mom, so are you going to unwittingly transmit it to everyone you come into contact with? Or are you going to be the one to stop the cycle of trauma by taking responsibility for your pain and suffering? By seeking help, you're proving that you care enough to change the situation. I understand that your options are limited for healing your pain and trauma, so I will focus mainly on what you can do on your own.

4. With regard to Anger: If you don't want to end up like your mother, hurting everyone around her, then you have to confront the pain, you have to soothe the anger properly, and you have to challenge yourself to do things differently. This is achieved through Ne. Envision your better self and be it. Envision a better life and live it. Envision more possibilities and bring good ideas to life. By training your mind to be focused on always building something better, there is little space remaining for things like anger and blame.

I completely agree that your family environment is incredibly toxic. However, I cannot agree with blame. Blame is a mental trap. It is an immature and illusory way to feel strong and powerful. It only leaves you worse off physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. For all the sound and fury that blame entails, at the end of the day, you remain in pain because you've trapped yourself in perpetual victimhood. Without adequate health and well-being, will you have the mental energy you require for improving yourself and your life?

You can't have it both ways; you can't feed the negative aspects of your psyche and still hope to get back in touch with the positive aspects of yourself. Is the anger worth sacrificing your health and well-being for? Are you attached to the anger because you like the self-righteousness or because you want revenge? If so, you are choosing the negative over the positive, and you must take full responsibility for that choice. If you don't like it, choose differently.

With regard to Despair: When you feel angry, it means that something is broken and requires fixing. In this case, the relationship is broken and your boundaries have been violated. Like any reasonable person, you hope it can be fixed and the love salvaged. However, when confronted with the impossibility of fixing the relationship, despair follows.

Many people get held back and held down by despair because it can feel like a safer emotion than hope. Why? Despair is predictable in that you can maintain the status quo of known pain, whereas hope opens you up to new and accumulative hurt and disappointment through trying and failing again and again. As soon as sinking into despair seems like the better option to you, you are stuck deep in Si loop.

A person with good emotional intelligence doesn't succumb to emotions, rather, they take time to understand them and use them wisely. By putting despair in the right perspective, it can become an incredibly powerful emotion. Despair indicates you've suffered great loss and feel hopeless. However, in order to feel the loss, you must've placed great value on something to begin with. From this perspective, despair can open your eyes to what is most precious and valuable in your life. For example, despair over family conflict reveals how much you value your family, and despair about your career reveals how much you value your future self. When you know what you value most, it's easier to make good decisions for your well-being.

Despair is meant to teach you how to let go of the things you've lost. Oftentimes, people suffer because they are too attached to the things that bring them pain. Being unable to give up the attachment, they must bear the pain as a consequence. Logically, if you don't want the pain of despair, you must let go of the attachments that bring you despair.

Some people might misinterpret "letting go" as license to "detach" from the world and live on a metaphorical island, abandoning all the things they don't like. Quite the contrary. These people have failed the first test of emotional intelligence because they believe that their emotions are caused by external factors, so they try to cut out those factors.

The fact is that your feelings and emotions belong to you. They are generated by you, therefore, it is up to you to either answer them or change them. Your feelings are closely tied to your beliefs about the world, the way you think about things, and the way you judge things. When I say that you need to "let go", it means you have to change the way you think, give up old ideas, so that your beliefs better line up with your new reality. When you let go of mental attachments that distort your view of reality, you become much more capable of participating in reality. You will no longer feel bound and trapped by your own imagined expectations of how the world "should" be.

Career Example: Have you heard the saying "The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry"? No matter how well you plan things, unexpected accidents or misfortunes still happen. While it's good to have plans and look forward to achieving goals, it's not good to be so single-minded that you are incapable of adapting to change. When plans go awry, you are encountering a crossroads and have to make a decision about which way to go. Do you try to keep going with the same plan? Do you tweak and adjust the plan to better suit the change of circumstances? Do you abandon the old plan and come up with a new one? These are all possible strategies.

Family example: Do you understand that a toxic relationship dynamic requires two people to keep it going? Both you and your mother are attached to ideal images of how the other "should" be. By imposing these images upon each other, you are both failing to respect each other, you are both violating the boundary that should exist between you as separate and independent individuals, and you are both hurting each other with harsh judgments and criticisms. While you might keep your judgments and criticisms to yourself more than she does, their very existence represents something negative within you that wants to lash out and be violent. She most likely inherited that violence from her family growing up and she has now transmitted it to you, which means it is now yours to deal with. All of us have inherited some negative things from family. It's part of your personal journey of growth to become aware of them and change them.

To a certain extent, you "allow" your mother to hurt you because you love her. If she were anyone else, you probably would've abandoned them long ago for such nasty behavior, or you wouldn't even be bothered by their criticism. Your mother's behavior brings you pain because you want her approval and love. However, if you were to drop your attachment to what you believe she "should" be (e.g. a loving, nurturing, motherly saint), you may suddenly find yourself capable of seeing the reality of what she is. When you take time to see and understand people more objectively (i.e. practice empathy), you won't take their behavior so personally. The reality is that her behavior isn't directed at you. Her behavior is an expression of her own pain and suffering, directed at her own failures and dashed hopes. But you take it personally because she's failing to meet your expectations of her, and then you fashion her into a villain. Think more reasonably: If you believe you ought to have the freedom to be you, you also have to grant others the freedom to be who they are.

The takeaway point is that the way through despair is to let go of the attachments that bring you pain. It could be attachment to an idealized image of how people/you "should" be, an ideal concept of "meaning", or an ideal path that you have set for your life. Ideals are mere mental constructs, so they can be changed at will. You defined them, so you can "undefine" them and redefine them. Attachments that lead you to deny reality are like a black hole in your mind, sucking up all your mental energy. By letting them go, your mind becomes truly free for something new. But you have to be brave enough to leave the known behind and venture into the unknown with fresh eyes, open mind, and different choices -> Ne.

5. I don't consider it my place to tell people how to live their life. You need to learn how to exercise your best judgment, which means ensuring that your process of making decisions is fair, impartial, objective and well-informed. In terms of your mental health, it's a good idea for you to get out of the home as much as possible, away from your mother's abuse. Try to find safer spaces to explore your ideas and possibilities. Try to engage in activities, interests, or hobbies that bring you some relief, even joy. Try to make friends with people who can bring you comfort or help you out of your situation.

#intp #auxiliary ne #si loop #fe grip #parent child relationship #family #boundaries #blame #anger #despair #adaptability #hope #emotional intelligence #ask

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wxiao0 · 9 months

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Summary: I have plot that stuck in my head and It’s never let go. Something like assassin’s creed crossover with avatar(2009) and avatar2 which have oc or reader insert.

Avatar 2009 : *reader don’t has a her own Avatar cause in their Brotherhood they want to be friend with Navi not to be one with them (you know what I want to communicate right? /nervous chuckle )

Start with f!reader (or Aleria) are scientist aka Assassin (of course she is spy 👀✨) who work with Grace before Norm and Jake come to Pandora. She is responsible for teaching human’s culture to Navi children. The kid really like her and and often liked her singing or teaching about human musical instruments.

Then one day the RDA soldier come to school house reader but were their in the right place and right time! Sooo it’s show time! She kick their ass out, can save the massacre also Sylwanin too but in exchange for being grounded and controlled behavior until new group arrive. That mean one of the RDA will be around her for 2 years. It almost drives her crazy to be with Primate that use muscle more than brain. Well, they always argue each other like

“Scientist like your are so weak can’t do anything except being in the lap”

“Oh, should I remind you who kick your ass?”

And yeah Avatar(2009) circumstances: When Jake fall into Omatikaya clan of course she was with him too. They’re welcomed her mostly but there are still some are wary to her. She’s not blame to them after that situation

And after war she insist to go back the earth, back to the Brotherhood because during Avatar(2009) circumstances she learned that something happen in the Brotherhood.

In Avatar2 : I want some angst (bc I like angst woohoo) this time the protagonist will be male!reader(or Carlos). He used to be Jake's adopted son, but he isn't anymore.

He was adopted when Jake Sully returned from the war. His father died for protecting Jake, and his mother died of murder.

Irony it happened when he was only fucking 8 years old. The memories when his mother was murdered are still engraved, not faded. Then when Jake hears the news. So he came and took care of him.

Because of guilt.

The time when be Jake’s adopting son was colorful, that made him move on from sorrow little by little. We fulfilled each other. Jake— no dad, need someone to be his side when he had a nightmare and remind him if he forgets to take his medication.

So him too, dad would often take him to the aquarium or the park on weekend. And take him to an amusement park to celebrate something. So that he doesn't have to sit with blue in the house like that.

But happy moments don't last forever.

When dad has to visit with his military friends and decided to leave him with Uncle Tom he was the late twin brother of dad. We are very close and like to tittle-tattle about Jake.

An unexpected event happened. Uncle Tom was robbed and killed by a thief. And once he was at the event AGAIN.

His body was freeze when that thief turn to him, fortunately good citizens came to the rescue in time.

He survived, but Uncle Tom didn't.

He is in a coma, half life and dead.

When dad heard the its. He gone mad, drinking more alcohol and start to smoking. Reject to met his eyes, or when our eyes are met each other he can see the flame of anger and the blue of sorrow in them. After that dad will turn his face away.

When he was 13 years old. It’s the time, when two of us pushed to the edge.

It’s just one night that he begging dad not to go to the pub like the night before, and failed again. He can’t follow Jake because the night in this crumbling world It’s not suitable for children like him.

So the only thing he could do was lie down on the sofa, to wait for Jake's return. When he heard the sound of door opening, he get up immediately saw his father return with scars on his body and face.

“Dad, You’re hurt”

He got up from the sofa quickly. Run to gets first aid, but before he could get them, but the loud ‘thud!’ sound behind make him turn back. He found his dad falling to the ground, his wheelchair toppled causing him to be dismayed.

He run quickly to bring his dad to lay on the sofa properly.

“Such a miserable thing and brought misfortune to me”

“What?” He asked in confusion.

Raised his head to meet those blue eyes that were now full of hatred. He gulped eyes begin to heat up, tears ready begin to fall. He knew he shouldn't hold back against drunk people. But he couldn't resist.

“You are taking pity on me, aren't you?”

“What? No! I’ve never!”

“Yes! You’re!” His dad yelled at him. It stunned him.

And the next sentence It came from a man who was his whole world after he lost his family. The man who has been together for 5 years.

“You know what, I shouldn't have adopted you.”

After that sentence his throat was clogged. The tears that he had been holding back began to flow. His brain was completely numb, like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. He couldn't even remember when he had returned to his room.

That night, he couldn't remember whether he had cried all night or had just passed out.

When the morning begins. He came down to prepare breakfast for the two of them. But then be puzzled when a stranger is in the living room.

“Come here, kid”

It was dad who called him over. So he went and sat across from his dad because he was already sitting next to the stranger. Soon the stranger cleared his throat and introduced himself.

“My name is William Gilliate representative from the orphanage, nice to meet you.”

He inhaled sharply, looking towards his dad, he was reading and signing something. Unconvinced, William turns to Jake.

“Are you sure Mr.Sully?”

Dad looked up from the paper, met Mr. William's eyes before turning to him.

“Can you give me some time to talk to my son?”

“Yeah, sure call me when you're done”

Mr. William nodded in understanding before walking outside to wait. Our eyes never break away until he asked.

“Are you going to leave me?”

It was dad who took his eyes off first.

“No”

Liar

“Then way?” Why are you leave me.

“Look kid, Someone offered me a job and has high compensation”

“That’s great isn’t it? But why do you have to do this?”

“Listen to what I have to say first. My job had to travel as far as the planet Pandora.”

“Oh”

The Pandora

It's hope for humanity. Because it was full of resources that could sustain humans for many years. But one obstacle was that the gas in the air was filled with poisonous gases that could kill humans in just a few seconds.

“But I promise I'll come back to pick you up.”

Yes, Another lie again. But he was still young and naive back then. Completely believed that promise and completely forgot what the man in front of him had said to him that night.

“I will wait for you”

After that everything happened very quickly. Dad signed all the paper and packed up and left, leaving him with Mr. William. There weren't even goodbyes or hugs.

“Come on, it's sure to be as warm as your home.”

He nodded and followed Mrs. William to the orphanage. To wait for the one who promised to return.

But the person he waited for never came back.

For many years he stopped waiting.

Look up upon the sky.

He thought.

As you fly up into the sky among the stars I'm drowning in a dark, devoid of light.

But in the darkness he met the shadow.

The shadow known as the Assassin.

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mariana-oconnor · 9 months

Text

The Three Students pt 2

We are in (probably) Oxbridge and have a potential cheating scandal (quelle horreur!), three suspects and a "forgetful" servant who left the room to the papers unlocked.

Our suspects are: the hardworking 'manly' scholarship student (who needs the money), the Indian student (who knew the papers were there and may need the grade, but didn't get a lot of description so I think we're mostly supposed to suspect him because racism and opportunity??) and the rich lazy kid (who needs the grade because he hasn't done the work).

Place your bets, please.

“I should like to have a peep at each of them,” said Holmes. “Is it possible?” “No difficulty in the world,” Soames answered. “This set of rooms is quite the oldest in the college, and it is not unusual for visitors to go over them. Come along, and I will personally conduct you.”

You just let random strangers into your students' rooms?

There were some really curious pieces of mediaeval domestic architecture within. Holmes was so charmed with one of them that he insisted on drawing it on his note-book, broke his pencil, had to borrow one from our host, and finally borrowed a knife to sharpen his own.

I love how even in his later accounts, Watson pretends not to know that Holmes is putting on an act. Yes, he was taken with the architecture, this had no ulterior motive and absolutely wasn't to scope out the pencils and knife of the student. It was purely architecture-based enthusiasm that led to this.

The same curious accident happened to him in the rooms of the Indian...

Really? The same thing happened in that room!?

Also, I'm not going to bother comparing the descriptions of the two students because that way lies racism and I think we can all see it.

Only at the third did our visit prove abortive. The outer door would not open to our knock, and nothing more substantial than a torrent of bad language came from behind it. “I don't care who you are. You can go to blazes!” roared the angry voice. “To-morrow's the exam, and I won't be drawn by anyone.”

Honestly, good for you. They've got no business coming into your room anyway. And also, good for you for studying (if you're telling the truth) I don't remember your name random rich student, but so far as actually meeting you goes, I fully support you. Keep that door closed. Fuck the lot of them.

“A rude fellow,” said our guide, flushing with anger as we withdrew down the stair. “Of course, he did not realize that it was I who was knocking, but none the less his conduct was very uncourteous, and, indeed, under the circumstances rather suspicious.”

Or... not suspicious because he's the only one actually studying when there's an exam tomorrow that seems to be vitally important. (Sure, he might not be studying, maybe he has someone in there with him... in which case, also good for him, I guess).

“Can you tell me his exact height?” he asked. “Really, Mr. Holmes, I cannot undertake to say. He is taller than the Indian, not so tall as Gilchrist. I suppose five foot six would be about it.”

You what now?

He has a name! I don't remember it right now because you haven't mentioned it yet this section (I also don't remember the rich kid's name), but he has a name. You literally teach him. You know his name! Seriously? Seriously?

(His name is Daulat Ras, I checked the first part of the story. If it turns out to be him (which it won't because it's Gilchrist who doesn't appear to be studying even though he clearly has the most riding on this exam) then I am hereby pre-emptively pardoning him on grounds of his teacher being shit because he cannot be bothered to remember his name.)

Our guide cried aloud in his astonishment and dismay. “Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, you are surely not going to leave me in this abrupt fashion! You don't seem to realize the position. To-morrow is the examination. I must take some definite action to-night. I cannot allow the examination to be held if one of the papers has been tampered with. The situation must be faced.”

Calm down, my dude. It's really not the end of the world. Have a sit down, get a glass of brandy. Keep the brain fever at bay.

“The foul-mouthed fellow at the top. He is the one with the worst record. And yet that Indian was a sly fellow also. Why should he be pacing his room all the time?”

Thank you, Watson, for validating my suspicions by disagreeing with them. I always feel better about my ideas when they don't match yours. No thanks for the racism, but at least you didn't just choose Ras, and you're also giving a secondary reason for suspecting him.

“He looked at us in a queer way.”

... ahem.

“So would you if a flock of strangers came in on you when you were preparing for an examination next day, and every moment was of value."

Also that.

“Why, Bannister, the servant. What's his game in the matter?”

IKR, Holmes, you get me. You understand. Clearly the guy is overly worried and who walks all the way across the room to sit down when they're feeling faint.

But Bannister would have to be working with someone. Either one of the three, or a hypothetical fourth student he is related to. He could be related to Gilchrist, I guess. (What is rich boy's name? I still can't remember, luckily I am not his tutor, so I don't have to feel bad about it.)

“He impressed me as being a perfectly honest man.”

Watson, my sweet summer child. Apart from all your many faults, biases and prejudices, you are so naive and trusting.

All were agreed that one could be ordered, but that it was not a usual size of pencil and that it was seldom kept in stock.

Does Bannister have, like, some illness that means he can't hold standard-sized pencils? Arthritis of some kind? But everyone seems pretty sure that he's not directly lying about anything. Unless he is cunning and running a whole business of copying translations then selling them to students.

"By Jove! my dear fellow, it is nearly nine, and the landlady babbled of green peas at seven-thirty. What with your eternal tobacco, Watson, and your irregularity at meals, I expect that you will get notice to quit and that I shall share your downfall"

Yeah, Watson. This is clearly your fault. How dare you! The poor landlady making you peas when you're dragging Holmes out to stationers at all hours. You should be ashamed of yourself.

At eight in the morning he came into my room just as I finished my toilet.

Yet again, I know toilet had a different meaning, but picturing Holmes walking into the bathroom while Watson's literally sitting on the toilet and the two of them carrying out a perfectly normal conversation is hilarious to me.

"I have put in two hours' hard work and covered at least five miles, with something to show for it. Look at that!” He held out his hand. On the palm were three little pyramids of black, doughy clay.

Ah yes, the random clay, which all I can think of is putty eraser or some sort of carbon copy thing.

“You will kindly close the door,” said Holmes. “Now, Bannister, will you please tell us the truth about yesterday's incident?”

Yeah, Bannister. Are you secretly the head of a cheating ring?

“Well, then, I must make some suggestions to you. When you sat down on that chair yesterday, did you do so in order to conceal some object which would have shown who had been in the room?”

Ah, yeah, that makes sense. Whoever did do it was kind of rubbish at covering their tracks clearly this is not something they do often.

“There was no man, sir.”

So it's either a girl, or Odysseus...?

He was a fine figure of a man, tall, lithe, and agile, with a springy step and a pleasant, open face.

Seriously, Watson, we get it, you think he's hot. You've been very lonely since your wife died. You don't need to describe how hot he is every time we see him.

Wait, it was the tutor who had that weird use of 'manly' the first time around, wasn't it?

If Gilchrist turns out to be a girl in disguise that line is going to be so funny.

"We want to know, Mr. Gilchrist, how you, an honourable man, ever came to commit such an action as that of yesterday?” The unfortunate young man staggered back and cast a look full of horror and reproach at Bannister. “No, no, Mr. Gilchrist, sir; I never said a word—never one word!” cried the servant.

Well now you have. People really need to get better at committing crimes. After it's happened, you know nothing about anything. No matter how much people ask or how much they claim to know, you know nothing. You are blissfully ignorant of the whole affair. What affair? Oh, someone's cheating? How terrible!

“No, but you have now,” said Holmes.

Is this the first documented use of this trope? Because it can't have happened much before now.

The Indian I also thought nothing of.

His name.

Is.

DAULAT RAS!

"Such an idea was absurd. I was measuring how tall a man would need to be in order to see as he passed what papers were on the central table. I am six feet high, and I could do it with an effort."

So all Watson's descriptions were just to point out how tall Gilchrist is? That's all?

"He put his shoes on the table. What was it you put on that chair near the window?” “Gloves,” said the young man.

Dude. My dude. You wear the gloves. I know this story was published a year before the first use of fingerprints in a criminal case in England, but my dude. You do not leave your gloves on a chair.

“Yes, sir, I have, but the shock of this disgraceful exposure has bewildered me. I have a letter here, Mr. Soames, which I wrote to you early this morning in the middle of a restless night. It was before I knew that my sin had found me out. Here it is, sir. You will see that I have said, ‘I have determined not to go in for the examination. I have been offered a commission in the Rhodesian Police, and I am going out to South Africa at once.’”

...well that's a twist.

You're seriously going to leave the country and go be a colonialist police officer in Africa. Because... you cheated on a test. Leaving the country seems a bit extreme.

"Time was, sir, when I was butler to old Sir Jabez Gilchrist, this young gentleman's father. When he was ruined I came to the college as servant, but I never forgot my old employer because he was down in the world. I watched his son all I could for the sake of the old days."

So not related to him, but associated with him. Yeah, that tracks. Servants are so loyal in these stories (apart from when they aren't, I suppose).

Another person called Jabez.

"As to you, sir, I trust that a bright future awaits you in Rhodesia. For once you have fallen low. Let us see in the future how high you can rise.”

I mean... I'm not entirely comfortable with this turn of events. I feel like 'police officer in the colonial British Empire' is pretty low, in the grand scheme of things.

And I never was reminded what the rich kid's name was, and I think I'm going to leave it that way. ACD needs to stop forgetting character's names, it makes it far too easy to guess who the culprit is. Also, it makes all your characters more racist.

Is it that guy, that guy, or Mr Diddit?

Next time, The Solitary Cyclist, which is one of my favourites, so I probably won't be speculating as I've read it a lot.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Three Students #long post

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therewasatale · 7 months

Text

numbers

On Ao3.

Note: Based on prompt.

Numbers, numbers, numbers.

For the last few years people just would not stop talking about numbers.

Oh, he knew that some numbers were very important; statistics, the number of views, and most importantly the numbers that ended up before the $. But he still knew they shouldn't be more important than the soul, should they?

There were always ups and downs, right? A lot of people still enjoyed the show, kids still learned how to be a friendly neighbour.

Then why won't people stop nagging him about deficits?

Like the man who was standing at the other side of his desk just. He came about 30 minutes ago, rambled on about a lot of numbers, trying to sound very professional.

Al Gerzwald never liked people who tried to act professional. When forced professionalism have become an ugly mask; it makes a peoples think they were better than others. Sure, a little bit of composure wasn’t bad, that was the way to improv, to get better, but people who wanted to act professional mostly cared about numbers, and forgot about everything else.

Thomas Blackgrave was an all-right college, not really an overly friendly one, he mostly avoided the puppets. On the other hand, he seemed to love to worry about the view numbers, and the show's budget. So far, Al let him work in his own place and peace, and listened to his worried, fretting reports.

But this time, it was different. Even the channel started to bother him about the neighbourhood and those damned numbers. Now they wanted to tell him what should he do with his own show.

Blackgrave cleared his throat, it seemed like he was finally able to compose his thoughts. "I think it would be in your best interest to give in and listen to me, sir. The numbers are telling the truth, the publics interests in the show are decreasing. Maybe if the episodes gets a bit more serious, just to make sure the older generations likes it as well. Maybe put some jokes in for the adults at first, the kids won’t understand."

"I'd rather eat a lemon."

There was a very confused pause between the two of them.

"I-, what?"

"You heard me." Al raised one of his thin eyebrows.

"But, Mr. Gerzwald-"

"You did good, Thomas, but enough with the numbers, I feel like I'm back at school, learning math again." Gerzwald stood up and with three steps walked towards to the still confused man.

"The channel-"

"The channel can wait a bit, I'm sure the new season coming out soon people will flock back to watch our friendly puppets again." He patted Blackgrave on the shoulder and gently but firmly he started to walk the man out from his office. "Ups and downs, Thomas. Even in business you have to deal with the downs but it's not the end of the world."

"I-, I'm not sure, we may have to cut a few corners."

"Do it then, I don't mind if my pay check is a little thinner," Al waved it off and opened the door. "We will talk about this later, I have a lot to do, count my favourite numbers. Have a good night, Thomas." And with that he closed the door at the man.

He waited until he heard the steps getting further away, and finally let out a tired sigh.

"The channel leadership can wait, it has to wait." He slowly drummed a tiny rhythm on the door. A persistent habit he probably got from his father, and had no way of getting rid of. "The Hell with all those numbers!" He mumbled under his nose as he got back to his desk.

He knew damn well how badly their last two season performed, how the critics didn't like the last movie they made. And sometimes even Al felt like they were telling the same stories.

Maybe they should change and make their episodes more mature, but that also meant to teach about the worlds to the puppets. How could he do that to them? How could Goblette, or Junebug, or Martin understand what war means? Or what is like to slowly losing your inner happiness over the years because of economical reasons? Who could teach them about death or sickness? Where to start and when to stop?

There were questions that even Al couldn't answer.

He thought about those questions, and the consequents of those questions every night, but he could never answer them.

It was too high price to pay to break those innocent puppets, they didn't deserve to be poisoned by the world. They had to stay the friendly neighbourhood for the children's and for the city's sake.

Slowly, he sank back down to his chair, and somehow felt exhausted, this wasn't new however. For months now he was losing sleep, as stress started bury itself deep into his chest.

With his right hand he opened one of the drawers of the desk and then swept aside the papers in it.

It was late, and Blackgrave was the last to have an appointment with him, which meant he was finally free for the night.

"Where on Earth-" he shuffled the papers left, then right, then he meticulously looked trough it, but he still couldn't find the key. "I know, I put it here, somewhere."

Finally, he heard a small noise that came from a pipe secured on a wall not too far away. They snaked through the entire building sometimes tying into knots deep in the floor. And one end led to his office, right on the edge of one of the sofas.

"I know you're in there. Come out, Ricky."

There was a sigh and slowly the sock-puppet slid out. "You got me, Al."

"It wasn't so hard when you were noisy." Gerzwald smiled.

"I'm not noisy, and I was just looking around the buildings, making sure that everyone is fine."

"How much have you heard?" Gerzwald tried to ignore the tightening inside his chest.

"Some stuff about numbers, that Thomas guy can be soooo boring, I almost fell asleep, actually." Ricky glanced around the room and slowly shook his head.

"So, everything then." The human stood up and walked towards the puppet. "But why the eavesdropping?"

"I didn't want bother?" Ricky glanced up, he realised his lies wouldn't work on Al. "All right, because I know something is up, all right? The humans are more jittery, smile less, there are times when I see them whispering but as soon as they see me, they make this, fake-smile. I don't like fake-smiles."

"I know, Ricky."

"So, this is why, I saw Thomas taking the elevator up here and followed him." The sock-puppet looked right into the human's eyes. "What's wrong, Al?"

The question was enough to make his stomach sank. Because there were so many things wrong in this world, but he couldn't tell him, nor to the other puppets. Where he could even start to explain? How could be sure that they won’t change forever? What could they do with a mental ill puppet?

He didn't even realise that he had to swallow.

"Numbers, Ricky," Gerzwald waved it off, "the channel worried about their money, and Thomas worries about other numbers, but nothing too serious." He glanced at his desk to avoid Ricky's eyes. "My turn to ask, do you happen to know where did the key vanished from my desk?"

"Maybe?" Ricky let out a fake-cough.

"Ricky?"

The sock-puppet also glanced away from the human.

"Come on, Ricky. Where is the key?"

"You shouldn't drink that thing."

"What? How do you even know what do I have in my desk?"

"Oh, please, Al," Ricky gave him a meaningful look, "I have access to most of the place and I know you're poisoning yourself when you're alone."

"Poising?" The human scoffed. "Where did you hear that?"

"Jackie told me, from maintenance."

"So, she was the chatterbox," Gerzwald rolled his eyes. "Where is the key, Ricky?"

The sock-puppet stared at him and tried to slide back to his pipe, but he wasn't fast enough.

"Oh no, no, no, don't even think that you can run away now, Ricky!" Al moved fast and were able to catch him at the last second. He tried to pull the puppet out from his pipe. "Give me the key!"

"I can't let you poison yourself, Al!" The sock-puppet did everything to prevent him to get out up to and including taking deep breaths to be bigger and get more stuck in.

"It’s whisky! Not poison!"

"Brain poison!"

"Ricky!"

With one final big pull he was able to get the sock-puppet out and both of them fell on the couch next to the pipe.

"That was mean!" Ricky gave him a serious look.

"Stealing my desk's key was mean." Al answered and look him in the puppet's unsymmetrical eyes. He couldn't help but chuckle. "All right. I can’t be mad at you, just give me the key."

"But-," Ricky let out a sigh and nodded. "You really shouldn't drink something like that." And without waiting for an answer, he coughed once and twice, then a small key felt out from his mouth, right into Gerzwald's hand.

"Thank you, and I know, but sometimes humans do things that are bad for their health." He let the puppet crawl up on his arm to his shoulder.

"Liking drinking poison."

"Yes-yes," Al walled back to his desk and crouching down opened the bottom drawer.

"And not sleeping enough." Ricky mumbled his eyes fixed on the human with an almost serious expression.

"I should close up that pipe," Al scoffed and took out a bottle of whisky and a glass. "But I know you would find other ways into my office anyways." He poured out a glass of alcohol.

"How does it taste?"

"Bad," he chuckled and drunk down the whisky with one gulp, letting it to burn his throat and fill his belly with fire. The warmth almost immediately started to spread inside him.

"I will never understand humans," Ricky shook his head with a weary sigh.

"Me neither, believe me," Al gently patted the puppet's head. He poured another glass and this time sipped from the whisky.

"Al?"

He felt the sock-puppet's eyes on him. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?"

He hummed and drummed a short rhythm on the glass. Any other time, for any other human he would have shaken off the question easily. This time, the words didn't want to come out. He didn't want to lie to Ricky. But of course, he couldn't tell the whole truth either.

"I'm just tired, the last couple of weeks took out from me a bit too much. I'm not a young lad anymore even if I seem to forget that sometimes." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I think, I should get some sleep."

"That would be the best," Ricky nodded so deeply he almost fell off his shoulder. "Get something to eat too, you've became thinner over the last months, Al."

"I have, haven't I?" He put down the glass. "Maybe you're right. All right, let's get you back to your place and I'm pulling down the curtains for tonight."

"Good idea, but, what if we walk down to the entrance? Just to make sure you actually go home. You know instead of checking the buildings again just to make sure that everything is fine and then you end up here, on the couch."

Al gently scoffed, but almost immediately went silent as Ricky leaned against his head.

"Sure thing, Ricky, let's do that then." He put back the cap on the bottle, and sank the key inside his pocket. "Just to making sure that it won't disappear again." A tiny smile played on his lips as he began walking out from his office. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

"Al?"

"Yes?"

"Everything will be all right, right?"

The answer came after a short pause. "Of course, Ricky. I promise you that everything will be all right." Instead of the tiny pang of guilt he tried to focus on the sock-puppet, who leaned closer to his head.

He needed to make sure that all of them would be all right.

#my friendly neighborhood #ricky #ricky my friendly neighborhood #Al Gerzwald #copper

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lightphieric · 8 months

Text

Virtue's Last Record: Truancy

Would Quark have been happier living in the past? Title from the Evergate OST CWs: None AO3

Grandpa showed Quark how to read and write. Starting when he was six, with a little bit of practice every week, it took almost four years for Quark to be any good at it. And that was mostly because Grandpa got frustrated.

“That’s a B, not a D!”

“What are you saying? Have you ever heard someone make that sound while speaking English?”

“God, why are you so –”

He would stop himself and go mutter in his chair for a long time, a balled fist pressed against his forehead. Then, he would grab a bottle of alcohol from the shelf. When Quark went over to apologize for being so stupid, Grandpa would shake his head.

“I should be the one saying sorry, buddy,” he said once. “I don’t know how to do this. I never studied how to work with kids.”

“That’s something you have to study for?” Quark said, tilting his head in confusion.

Grandpa nodded. “Back in my day, there were experts in this kind of thing. Teachers. It was their entire job to just sit with kids in a room all day and show them how to do things, because they knew how kids worked better than anybody.”

Quark’s eyes widened. “And that’s what the kids would do? Sit in a room and learn how to read and write?”

“Not just that,” said Grandpa. “They’d learn about science, history, math – you know how to add and subtract, but there’s so much more to it that I can’t even remember. We’d get time to run around in PE, and in some grades we even learned how to take care of animals.” Grandpa’s look turned wistful. Quark knew that meant he was thinking about Miss Akane. “School was where we socialized. It was where we met most of our friends.”

“And that’s why I don’t have any!”

Grandpa snapped back to attention in shock. “No, Quark, that’s not…” He stumbled over his words as he tried to reassure him, like he thought Quark was upset.

He wasn’t, though. He’d just come up with an amazing idea. Since they didn’t have these “teachers,” he was probably the only kid in the neighborhood who actually knew how to read and write at all. He could show off to the others and they’d be so impressed that they’d have to be his friend.

The next day, he scribbled out a note to Alton. The other boy received it and turned up his nose.

“I can read this, you know. My mother taught me. Your handwriting is terrible.” He laughed in Quark’s face and bounded off to play with his other cronies.

Slightly bruised but used to it, Quark came home frowning. That worried Grandpa more than it usually did, and when Quark explained what happened, he got angry. Before, Quark might have retreated and cried and started apologizing. But recently, he’d figured out that Grandpa had two kinds of anger. When he was mad at Quark, he would never clench his fists or storm off to get a drink. Those things meant that Grandpa was mad at himself.

What Quark hadn’t figured out was what he was supposed to do in these moments. Now, he just sat there at the table, smoothing out and recrumpling the note that Alton had thrown back in his face. He waited, until Grandpa marched back over to him.

“School was awful, Quark,” he said determinedly. “There were friends there, but there were just as many bullies like Alton. Maybe more. The days were long and boring, and most of what they taught us ended up being useless. And I thought it was bad in Japan. If you were born here, in America… Quark, you can’t even imagine the bullet you dodged.”

Quark frowned and knit his eyebrows. “Was it really that bad for you, Grandpa?”

“I shouldn’t have told you all that stuff in the first place,” Grandpa muttered. Quark wasn’t sure if he even wanted him to hear. “I don’t want you to feel like you missed out on life before. You might start to think that this world isn’t worth living in, and…” He collapsed into the chair next to Quark, a fist to his forehead. Quark wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but he hesitated.

“Are you going to stop teaching me, then?” he said instead. He tried to hide his disappointment, but from the concern on Grandpa’s face, it didn’t seem like he did a good job.

“You don’t really want me to…?”

“Grandpa, you know so much stuff that I don’t know,” said Quark shyly. “I know you didn’t study to teach kids, but I really liked that you were sharing that stuff with me.” He worried that maybe he was saying this selfishly. Maybe all he really wanted was to keep up with Alton and his mother so he wouldn’t feel stupid in front of them again. He reassured himself that he was telling the truth.

Grandpa laughed. It was a sad sort of laugh. “Dammit,” he said. “I can’t help it if you’re so curious.”

Quark worried again that he had done something wrong, but then Grandpa put an affectionate hand on the top of his head. It felt like a promise.

#zero escape #quark tenmyouji #quark vlr #junpei tenmyouji #fanfiction #my writing #virtue's last reward

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travlersjoy444 · 1 year

Text

The Aftermath (And Normal Blueprint-maker Math)

ROTTMNT Donatello x Yokai!reader

A loose part three to The Junkyard at the End of the World and Midnight Comics.

Part four is here, and part five is here.

This takes place in the bad timeline, a bit after the Krang invasion.

A lot of stuff happens in this chapter, although I imagine you can probably read it out of order? There is a loose plot to this 'series', but it's mostly just apocalypse shenanigans, light angst, and found family stuff. Reader is forced to play DnD, and Raph gets a cat.

4.1k words

***

I swallowed as I read April’s mission report from last night. She had led a party of four and come back with just two, herself included.

There were two casualties, that being Dale and Jamie. April had gone to high school with them just months ago.

Which wasn’t a lot, technically, but it certainly felt like it…I’d seen them off, too, and now they were gone.

“Hey (Y/N).” Said April from somewhere behind me. I looked up from my phone and nodded at her, and she pulled up a chair next to mine.

“Sup.” I smiled lamely. “Do you uh…want some…uh…well, I was gonna make grilled cheese, but I got distracted before leaving the kitchen, so I apparently only made toast?” I frowned, staring at my plate. “So uh…help yourself to some toast?”

She shook her head. “I’m good.”

“That’s fair. I really don’t want any either.” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“(Y/N), I…look, I just wanted to thank you for helping out last night.” April said, giving me a forced smile. “You…you did good.”

I forced a smile in return, feelings about last night still painfully raw. “Yeah…yeah. Um. Of course. I’m…sorry about how your mission went.” I finally managed to say.

April sighed, slouching a bit more. “I just wish I had been….like, I don't know, better. Um. Y’know. Obviously!”

I patted her shoulder. “Hey. April, it’s…well, it’s basically a war, innit? And we’re way way way outnumbered. So honestly…I’m just surprised we’ve lasted this long without any casualties.” I paused to breathe. “Um. That came out way more pessimistic than I meant it to, but the point is, you survived, and Cass survived, and the mission was a success. Our team members weren’t lost in vain.” I finished.

April shook her head and made an expression that almost looked like a smile.

“Oh, are we gathering for lunch dudes?” Said a weirdly…surfer sounding voice?

I looked up to see a turtle-shaped drone hovering a few feet above us.

“Actually I was just about to go check on Cass. See you guys in a bit, ‘kay?” Said April, hopping out of her chair.

“Ohmigod, are you SHELLDON?” I grinned, remembering Donnie’s mention of a robot.

“Oh-ho-ho, I see Don’s already told you about me?” Said the drone, seeming to smile.

“Yeah!” I nodded. “Well, he’s mentioned you.” I added as an afterthought.

“He’s mentioned you too!” Grinned the drone. “You’re the dragon who can build stuff!”

I blushed. “Well, I mean, kinda. I’m no engineer though, just a kid who can draw.”

“Donnie can probably teach you if you want.” Said SHELLDON matter of factly.

“Nah, I’m sure he’s busy. I wouldn’t want to get in his way unless he’s finally ready to fangirl over Atomic Lass.” I shrugged.

“SHELLDON!” Snapped Donnie as he dove out of the hallway. “What did I say about staying in the lab?!” He hissed.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” I commented.

“Why should I? I met your lab partner!”

“Because I said so-No.” Donnie corrected himself, shaking his head. “Listen, SHELLDON. When you ignore my very clear instructions, I feel angry.”

SHELLDON ducked behind me. “I wanted to meet the dragon, Donnie! And it’s boring there!”

Donnie took a deep breath, clearly trying to stifle his frustration. “Nonetheless, your wiring is still pretty raw. Forgive me, but I’d prefer not to rebuild you for a third time. And you don’t need to meet (Y/N). You probably would have today anyways.”

“Oh what? We would?” I asked.

“Yeah, you’re coming to work, right?” Donnie frowned.

I honestly hadn’t planned on it, assuming that Donnie was busy with the safe.

“Uh…I mean, I can? Can I? Because I’d like to, I just wouldn’t want to be a disturbance.” I stuttered.

Donnie shrugged. “If I didn’t want you there, I’d have stolen your keys to the engineering building.”

“Oh. Cool.” I said, unsure if he was joking or not. “Um. Also…Sorry about last night. For being all…short with you and all.”

He shook his head. “It’s…fine. Obnoxious, yes, but…admittedly understandable. Last night was….”

“Well, it was…last night.” I finished, smiling weakly, because what else could be said? Harrowing? Painful? Scary? I couldn’t say any of those without sounding like a complete wuss.

He nodded, giving a weak smile.

“Oh, speaking of which, I believe I owe you this.” He said, tossing me a bottle of iced tea.

“Oh, thanks ‘Tello!” I grinned. “You really didn’t have to-”

“Well, I wanted to. I’d prefer not to be the only one in the lab suffering from caffeine addiction.” He shrugged.

“Oh, so there’s an ulterior motive. Well played.” I said, as slyly as I could muster.

“Nah, he just wanted to give you tea.” Said SHELLDON.

“SHELLDON…” Donnie seethed, grabbing the drone. “Go back to the lab.”

“Make me.” Sassed the drone, and I was pretty sure Donnie was about to punch something if the expression on his face was any indicator.

“Hey SHELLDON, I’ll tell you what:” I began, standing up. “If you head back to the lab, Donnie and I will go with you. And once we’re done working for the day, we can all watch something or have a crazy drone race or something in the engineering building….Do we have a deal?” I smiled, holding out my clawed hand cheerily.

To my surprise and relief, SHELLDON smiled and knocked into my hand with his propeller. “Sounds like a deal, bro!”

“Rad.” I smiled, looking over to Donnie. He was staring at me with his eyes wide, and when SHELLDON turned towards the hall, he leaned towards me.

“How the heck did you do that?!” He whisper-shouted, seemingly in shock.

I shrugged. “Growing up I was always told ‘something-something-cooperation-something’, which I think just means to negotiate and or manipulate your way towards making people like you?”

Donnie shook his head. “Oh, wow. I…I am going to retain that information.”

I grinned impishly, nudging him. “Yeah, it worked on you too, actually.”

“No it didn’t. I already respected and liked you, I just also thought you were annoying.” He said, frowning as though he was surprised that I didn’t know that.

I smiled, a warm feeling rising in my chest. “Oh, that’s…that’s sweet, ‘Tello.”

“It’s just the truth?” He said, raising an eyebrow.

I shook my head, still smiling. “I’m glad we’re friends now.”

“Me too?” He said, still looking slightly confused.

***

“Alright, order in the court, Mad Dogs! Meeting time, commence!” Said Leon, clapping loudly.

I sighed, shuffling into the office and plopping down on the chair between Raph and Donnie.

Donnie waved. “Hey (Y/N). Meet me in the lab later- I made some new LEDs, they’re sound activated. They’ll work for your project, unless you find you require something else.”

“That sounds great, Dee-”

Leo clapped again, glaring at us. “Order in the court, Donnie and (Y/N). That means zip it while your handsome-gorgeous-and-clever leader talks, yeah?”

I gave him a salute. “Okay, okay, ‘Captain’.”

“Ooh. I like that. Captain Leo- no, wait, Commander Leo!” He grinned, and April flicked him.

He coughed. “Right, okay. So you’re probably wondering why I’m calling this meeting at three in the morning, right?”

He was met by a unanimous chorus of groans.

“Okay, okay, jeez. Tough crowd, huh! Well perhaps you’ll understand why I called this meeting when I call up our good old friend- Hueso, you have the floor, sir.” Leo said smugly, and out from the shadows stepped…the owner of Run of the Mill Pizza? I hadn’t even noticed he was there. Huh.

“Thank you, Leonardo.” Began Hueso, his voice grave. “I am here because our base at Run of the Mill has been taken by these aliens.”

Leo nodded. “So obviously, I invited him and the other survivors to join us. But unfortunately…we’ve run into a problem. There just isn’t enough space to house everyone- the dorms are all full. If we plan on saving more people and keeping humanity and Yokai alive….well, space is gonna be an issue.” He concluded.

I frowned, leaning back in my chair.

“Well…the whole campus is protected, so we should be able to build pretty much anything so long as it’s within the boundaries. That said…” I sighed, picking at my scales. “We don’t really have any means of making some big new structure, far as I know.”

Donnie nodded, tapping on the table. “Obviously my usual brilliance would usually pull us through right about now, but our main means of construction is just whatever they sell at hardware stores. And a big dorm made of Home Depot sheds just isn’t structurally sound.”

Home Depot sheds…I used to beg mom to let get one to turn into a tiny home. Ha.

Oh!

I jumped up, slamming my hands onto the table. “Guys! Home Depot sheds!” I grinned, flipping my sketchbook open to a design I had made back in the Before Times. “Have you guys ever heard of Tiny Homes?” I said, holding up the illustration of a compact house design. “We can make small structures, so more people can have private space!”

Mikey snatched the sketchbook, staring at the design. “Ooh, I love this! Look at the colors!”

Donnie frowned. “It’s a graphite sketch, Micheal. There are no colors. That is an inacurate statement, and give me that-”

Angelo shook his head, holding the sketchbook over his head. “Just because you can’t see the amazing potential color stories for this doesn’t mean that I can’t.”

Leo nodded thoughtfully, looking over towards Donnie. “Is this…uh 'mathematically feasible’ or whatever you nerds call it?”

Donnie nodded, finally having got his hands on the design. “There’s a few obvious pros and cons, but I think it seems…doable! Plus that way we could cut some of the kitchen space and commons, since each of these would theoretically have individual kitchens and small living areas, correct, (Y/N)?”

I nodded, grinning.

“So…yes, it is actually mathematically feasible. Boom.” He concluded, giving me a fist-bump with his metal hand which I accepted with vigor.

“So Hueso, whaddaya say? Tiny living?” I said, holding out my hand.

He glanced at the designs. “It does look more…dignified than your dormitories.” He said, and shook my hand.

“Aaaand (Y/N) saves the day! Yuuuss! I’m the champion of everything forever, you’re welcome universe.” I beamed, pumping my fist.

April flicked my shoulder. “You’re startin’ to sound like Leon!”

I flicked her back. “Your catchphrase is your own name, April O’Neil. We’re both a bit Leo-adjacent.”

“Touche.” She surrendered with a slight smile.

Leo scoffed.

***

I sighed as I rifled through the mostly empty shelves of what had once been Home Depot. April and Raph stood a few feet away, messing with the stacks of plexiglass, and Donnie hovered above us to grab things from the highest shelves.

We were on another supply run.

Now one might wonder why we would do this. After all, it had only been a week and a half since the supply run that led to two deaths and the injury of Cassandra Jones….And the answer was that, well, we needed supplies.

Donnie and I had taken on the massive project of building all the new tiny homes, and our current line of thought was that the sheds from hardware stores around NYC could work as easy to build bases. This would not only cut down our workload by knocking off the blueprint and design phases, but it was also accessible to anyone who knew how to hold a power drill.

Which meant we could force everyone to help us, naturally.

Anyways, it would be okay this time, I reassured myself, because we were armed with new weapons.

I squeezed the handle of my new chemical crossbow nervously at the thought, though.

(I was honestly very proud of the crossbow. I had DIYed it, using my old pencil-made crossbows from childhood as a jumping off point.)

(Obviously Donnie had fixed up the design, which he did obnoxiously rub in my face, but it was probably all in good fun.)

(Theoretically.)

“Hey Donnie, maybe you should scan for Krang zombies again?” Said Raph, sounding as on edge as I felt.

“No, I did that already. There’s about a 98.5% chance that we’re completely safe, and that is accounting for any possible genetic mutations or evolutions of the alien matter.” He answered absentmindedly, flicking through the DIY shed kits. “Plus, I’ve got my eyes on my totally existent hack-into-every-camera-in New York-app.” He added sarcastically.

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.

“And that’s not sarcasm. I actually do have it pulled up.”

I closed my mouth. I apparently stand corrected.

“M’kay…” Said Raph, still sounding unsure. Which was fair. I trusted Donnie’s tech, but being out here was….well, scary. Every time I heard a creak or unrecognized sound, an image of Cass flew into my head, bedridden and covered in stitches.

Or even worse, a vision of humans with Krang infections as they slowly melted and mutated into shambling piles of flesh and ooze and organic matter and oh I was gagging-

Why couldn’t we just have a normal apocalypse with normal zombies, darn it! This was all too…Lovecraftian for my taste!

“Uh (Y/N), you good?” Said April.

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, yup.”

“Uh…’cause you’re making like weird noises-”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just….” I frowned, and decided to steer away from heavy conversation. “It’s just…don’t tendons freak you out? Look!” I said, pointing at my wrist manically. “It’s like…you can feel it, and it can tear. I don’t like having it attached to me, so every time I remember that it’s there, I feel like throwing up.”

April frowned. “Uh…no.”

“Yes! Finally someone understands!” Donnie exclaimed with a shockingly theatrical tone to his voice. He landed on the ground next to us. “They’re just…..ew.” He said with a shudder.

I nodded, holding out my fist. “Nice. Another member of the hating-unusual-sensory-things-club.”

He knocked his fist into mine, nodding hard. “Obviously.”

Raph snorted, and April shook her head.

“Whatever happened to you guys like…hatin’ each other or something?” She chuckled.

“We never hated each other, what are you talking about?” Donnie said nonchalantly.

“Uh…yeah you did? Were you even there at those meetings?!” April scoffed.

“Hm. No, not ringing any bells. Must’ve been….a different brilliant genius and creative person.” Donnie shrugged.

I snorted, before faking seriousness. “Ooh yeah, April, you good? Did you hit your head or something? ‘Cause that doesn’t sound like us at all-”

“Uh…Donnie, your wrist thing isn’t meant to be glowing red, right?!” Raph exclaimed, cutting me off.

Donnie froze and slowly looked at the flashing red.

“No…not unless the cameras are down…” He swallowed. “Which would be bad…considering that would mean we have no way of knowing what is going on outside…if I didn’t plan for this and send SHELLDON on patrol!” He grinned. “Cue the maniacal laughter, if you will, Raphael?”

“Uh…Donnie?” Said SHELLDON over the comm link. “Bad news, bro…I’ve spotted Krang zombies movin’ towards you. They’re kinda far right now, but-” His voice cut off.

“SHELLDON? SHELLDON, come in! SHELLDON!” Donnie panicked, yelling into the comm link.

April Raph and I made uneasy eye contact, and I squeezed my crossbow a bit tighter.

“Well…That can’t be good…” I whispered.

Donnie scowled and put his goggles on. “Okay, it’s gonna be fine, I’m using the thermal setting to scan for organic life…”

“Smart.” I nodded, looking around fearfully.

“Okay.” Raph said weakly. “Cool. Cool, this is great. Just…scannin’ for life….fine! BUT WHAT DO WE DO IF THERE IS LIFE?”

“Uh…we barricade the entrances? Er…or we could all fly with Donnie’s jet-pack thing…” I offered.

Donnie shook his head. “There isn’t enough battery for all four of us! You’re magic, do you know any spells?”

“No! I’m not a good magic person.” I sighed, scratching my arms nervously.

Magic was about commanding feelings to your will…and I was absolute rubbish at that. Controlling the chemical reactions that caused emotion was not something that came naturally to me, and I typically logic-ed my way out of despair and insecurity rather than using self-confidence or hope or anything…So magic was, long story short, hard. I had the capability to do it, but…it always went horribly wrong.

“Barricading the entrances it is.” April said, grabbing a hammer from the rack and a few boards.

“No, no, no no no. Use screws you cretin.” Donnie ordered, knocking the hammer down.

She rolled her eyes, but complied.

I frowned, grabbing a drill hesitantly.

“So here’s a plan, I guess…” I began, heading towards a door. “We’ll hide out in one of the back rooms, so that we can barricade less and work less. And then we’ll come out once the zombies move on. That way we’ll avoid provoking them, right?” I suggested.

“Good plan.” Said April, following me in.

Donnie grabbed a few other drills and a pack of screws, while Raph grabbed the planks of wood.

“Cool.”

***

I sat on the spinny chair in the center of the office, going through the stuff in the drawers.

“Anyone need a six-month-old granola bar? It doesn’t expire till next year,” I said, glancing at the unimpressive lineup of things I’d found.

Raph grunted and held out his hand. “I’ll take it.”

I nodded and tossed it to him, spinning around in the chair and playing with some water I’d summoned.

April and Donnie were pawing through some drawers on the far end of the room, their occasional commentary keeping things vaguely interesting.

“Ooh, whoever worked here had an impressive collection of parking tickets.” Donnie whistled, holding up a handful of paper.

“Hm, maybe it was you, Don-Tron.” April teased, and he shoved her.

“Scoff. I’m an excellent driver, sister of mine.”

“Hm, I don’t know, the NYPD would probably beg to differ-” Said Raph, smiling a little.

“Ignore my family of little faith.” He said, slinking towards me with his head held high. “They are jelly that I am yet to receive a single parking ticket.”

“Boo! That’s because you burn them and then hack into the records. …We’re onto you.” Said Raph.

Donnie blushed. “No…I do….n’t?”

I snorted, shaking my head. “Sure, sure. Very believable, Donald.”

“Ooh! Ooh, lookit!” April exclaimed, pulling a box out of the drawer. “They have Dungeons and Dragons!”

“Oh, cool.” I smiled, rolling over on my chair. “We should definitely keep that and play it sometime.”

“Sometime? (Y/N), we are trapped in a tiny room while avoiding horrifying remains of our fellow humans- erm, well, our fellow people. The perfect time for DnD is now.” She declared. “I’ll even DM, I have a few stories we could use.”

Raph Donnie and I shrugged.

“Okay?” Said Raph, opening the box. “I guess I’m down.”

Donnie frowned, raising his hand. “Question: Can we do a sci-fi campaign? And -follow up- can it be set in the Jupiter Jim universe?”

“Ooh, yes April, please?!” I begged. “I wanna hang out with Atomic Lass!”

Raph nodded. “And I want my character to help Jupiter Jim himself!”

“Yeah!” The three of us chorused, high-fiving each other and grinning.

April sighed, shaking her head. “You guys are crazy, you know that, right? You’re lucky that I…also wanna do a Jupiter Jim campaign! Woo!” She grinned, pumping her fist. “Alright, roll up your characters!”

I beamed, grabbing my sketchbook to take notes.

M’kay. I shall play a…hm. A…sorcerer? Hm. No, it’s sci-fi. Uh…maybe a ranger? From like…a made-up planet…Oh no. I smirked. I should be a bard.

Donnie sat on the ground, chewing on a pen. “I’ll play a…rogue…scientist.”

“Shocker.” Coughed April.

“Hm? No, it’s actually kind of predictable. I always play a rogue.” Donnie said, missing the sarcasm. “You should get more observant.”

April shook her head, but smiled. “Right, I’ll work on that.

Raph nodded. “I’ll be a fighter-”

“-Shocker-” April coughed again, smiling.

“...Oh. I see. You were using verbal irony.” Donnie realized, frowning. “I retract my previous statement.”

“And I’ll be a bard.” I said, smiling.

“Oh no.” Raph muttered.

“Also -as a part of my backstory, of course- can I be friends with Atomic Lass?” I smiled innocently.

“Why…?” April said suspiciously.

“Uh- non-specific excuse.” I said, crossing my arms.

“Eh, I’ll allow it.” She shrugged.

“What?! But April- you never let me do that!” Donnie protested.

April shrugged again. “I’m in a good mood?”

“Scoff. Then -as part of my backstory- can my character date Atomic Lass?” He said, smirking.

“No!” I exclaimed. “Ahem, I mean- that’d be pretty weird, Atomic Lass isn’t the type to date a rogue, she’s too lawful-ish.” I said with a cough.

“...Touche.” Donnie said, narrowing his eyes. “Well just you wait, I’ll- ahem I mean my chracter Othello Von Ryan, the brilliant rogue scientist- shall win her over. You’’ll see.”

“Hm, unless my character -uh…what’s a good sci-fi name- unless my character, Yue Lunarshard, best storyteller and singer in five worlds, beats you -I mean Othello Von Ryan- to her affections.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hm, I ‘unno, did I stutter, Othello?”

Raph coughed. “Guys, we’ve been playing for five minutes now.”

“Oh. Yes, of course, sorry. Proceed.” I smiled lamely, hopping off my chair and onto the ground next to them.

“Alright. So as I was saying, your characters were recently saved from the prison cells of Jupiter’s moon Callisto by Atomic Lad and his crew.”

“Boo.” Donnie groaned.

“Ew, Atomic Lad.” I scoffed. “Best Girl deserves so much better.”

“Definitely.” He nodded in agreement.

“Uh…April, can I roll to ‘accidentally’ shove Atomic Lad out of the airlock?” I asked, raising my hand.

“No, you cannot.” Said April.

“Darn.” Said Donnie. “Can I roll to ‘accidentally’ hit him with my tech bo? Er- Othello’s tech bo?”

“Not this time, Donnie.” Said April.

“What. A. Shame.” He said through his teeth.

“So. Your party is on the ship, and-”

Squelch.

There was a weird and almost wet sound from outside the barricade.

I swallowed and April closed her mouth slowly.

Raph winced as the sounds of grossly squishy footsteps sounded from outside, and Donnie flicked his goggles back on.

“Shit.” He whispered.

“Language, Donatello?” Raph hissed, nudging him. Donnie sighed.

“Shh.” He pointed at my sketchbook, and I shrugged and handed it to him.

He jotted down something on the page, holding it up.

According to the thermal optics, they’re out there and we need to zip it if we want to not get forcefully turned into ghosts today.

I nodded, saluting, while April gave a thumbs up.

The sounds outside grew louder, as though the gross messes of organic matter that had once been human were moving towards us. I swallowed and stood up, my limbs trembling with the effort of trying not to make any noise. I slunk across the room to grab our weapons, just in case.

Creeaaak.

I froze at the noise.

It was coming from inside the room.

I stepped back, not taking my eyes off the dark corner, and I saw the rest of the group flank me in my peripherals. I glanced over to Donnie, who raised his staff and gave me a nervous shrug.

Do you see anything there? I mouthed, hoping he caught the meaning.

He glanced back at the corner, then back at me again, and nodded.

I swallowed, aiming my crossbow, when-

“Mrrow.” Said the thing in the corner, stepping into the light.

Its ears were triangular, its body a weird off-white color, and its nose ears, paws, and tail were all grey. Its body was long and wiry, and covered in mangy fur.

My shoulders sank in relief. A cat. A Siamese cat.

The cat had its teeth bared and its claws unsheathed, but as it looked around the room it began to relax.

Raph hesitantly held out his hand to the cat, kneeling down so he was closer to its level.

And to my surprise, the cat bumped its nose against his hand and started to purr.

I guess it was probably a domestic cat before all…this, I concluded, and I petted the cat. It was dusty, and yet, it clearly took care of itself as evidenced by how soft its fur still felt.

“Hey Dee! The zombies have moved past ya, bro!” Blared SHELLDON over Donnie’s tech-y bracelet, and we all took a collective sigh of relief.

“Oh thank god.” April sighed, and I got to work un-drilling the screws in the barricade.

“Raph, what are you doing?” Sighed Donnie, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Raph trying to put the cat into April’s backpack.

“Givin’ uh…Cat here a nice safe spot to rest while we take her home.” Raph answered.

“Ooh, we need to work on your ability to name things, brother.” Donnie snorted.

***

#rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #donatello hamato #rottmnt donnie #rise of the tmnt #rise of the tmnt x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo hamato #donatello #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt #the junkyard at the end of the world

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phantomtgm · 1 year

Text

Phantom - Chapter Fourteen

Maverick’s P.O.V

Trying to teach a class of aviators for a very specific mission whilst starting something with Kazansky wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

The worry about Rooster and now my budding relationship with Ava was not easy especially when a cocky fuck named Hangman just had to make a comment about my entrance to class this morning.

I couldn’t help saying what I said to him this morning although it wasn’t a smart thing to do. If that kid was smart, he’d report me for threatening him but I knew deep down he wouldn’t. He was just trying to get beneath mine and Ava’s skin, and boy did he do that.

Today we were stimulating the canyon and that steep climb out. That wasn’t going to be a lot of fun but we had to practice for it because the mission was coming up sooner than originally thought.

I was above Phantom and her wingman as they started the simulation. Everything was smooth so far.

As she flew forward, going below the hard deck, Omaha came over through comms. “Phantom, we’ve got a bogie on our tail. Should we disengage?”

I flew lower, putting pressure on both of them. “Phantom! He’s getting closer! Disenga-”

“Negative, we are almost at the target. Starting the ascent.” She took off like a bat out of hell and I couldn’t help myself but to smile. I could tell that this first climb wasn’t too hard for her, it was the getting out that concerned me, not just for her but for everyone else.

“Alright Omaha, where’s my laser?” Ava’s voice came through clearly as I pushed myself closer to them.

“Almost…ready…and now!” Omaha yelled as Ava dropped a missile, hitting the target dead on.

“Time to get out of here!” Now here is the hard part.

Her jet pulled up steeply towards the sun and I could hear the both of them gasping for air as they continued.

“You got this…” I voiced, then finally her jet leveled out and multiple cheers rang through my headset. Pulling up next to her, I said “Good job. See you back at base.”

Being professional at work wasn’t the problem, it was keeping my feelings in check.

When I watched Ava climb out of her jet, all I wanted to do was go up to her and hug her but for whatever reason when I went to approach her, she had this odd look on her face when she looked at me.

I walked back to my office, waiting for the pilots to change out of their flight gear. I needed to talk to Ava to see what was going on. Ten minutes had passed before she walked in, followed by the others.

I opened and closed my mouth, debating on this mission. Talking to Ava would have to wait a few more minutes.

“Today was a perfect example of how to run the mission….however when the time comes, it won’t be that easy considering you will have bandits coming after you and those lethal SAMS that we talked about so…tomorrow…I won’t take it easy on you guys so…see you tomorrow.” Before turning around, Hangman was smirking and I had to clench my jaw to prevent myself from saying something again.

I wouldn’t get away with a snarky comment again so I zipped it.

I watched as everyone piled out with the exception of Ava.

I slowly walked over to the door, shutting it then went back to my desk and leaned against it. Watching Ava’s face was enough to bring me down to my knees because I knew there was something bothering her.

I slowly approached her, very carefully moving the piece of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. The nervousness instantly melted from her face, causing my heart to beat faster than what should be normal.

“You know…you aren’t really that good at hiding your emotions Ava….” She looked up at me with a smirk.

“Maybe not with you but with Hangman…” I chuckled and said “Well Hangman doesn’t really know that much about the female species nor has he known you for the amount of time I have.” I took a step forward, about to place a kiss on her forehead when I felt her hand on my chest.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

A moment of silence passed. I didn’t want to pressure her.

Finally she opened her mouth and said “Maybe Hangman did have a point earlier…” Her voice was small and I tilted her face towards mine.

“What do you mean?” Her hand wrapped around mine and she closed her eyes.

“I mean…do you really think it’s a good idea for….us to be together considering you are my instructor?”

Not expecting her to say that, I stepped back, thinking.

Finally, I said “Sure he has a point…but what they don’t know won’t kill them.” The struggle on her face almost made me want to laugh but I knew this was something that was seriously bothering her so I walked back to her and laid my forehead on hers.

“If you don’t want to continue, then it’s okay. I’ll understand.” I wrapped my hands around hers and I could feel her breathing become erratic. She whispered “I do want to continue…it’s just..”

“If it’s because of Hangman, I’ll take care of it.” She smiled then shook her head. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

I furrowed my brows and squeezed her hand. “Trust me, what I’m going to do won’t get him in trouble.”

A concerned look grew on her face and she let go of my hand. “Maverick….”

I winked then placed a kiss on her check which I knew drove her crazy considering the red blush that popped up on her face.

“I can’t stand you!” She exclaimed, laughing.

“Oh you love me!”

Walking out of the classroom, I gave her one last wink, earning me a light smack on my shoulder.

This girl had my entire heart and it hadn’t even been a month.

Typical Maverick.

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun 1986 #maverick fanfic #maverick x reader #maverick imagine #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x you #pete mitchell #pete mitchell fanfiction #pete mitchell x y/n #pete mitchell x reader

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