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merchantofwhispers · 11 months

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Can we have more in depth headcanons on how mina met cinead. And how her brother got involved? What about her family?

[ Sure, I can do that! It would make more sense if I just tell you the whole story though, so do come sit for a spell. ] (TW Parental death, abuse, implied physical abuse, sexism, suicidal thoughts, chronic illness, terminal illness) (Disclaimer: This is written in one shot over the course of an hour and I did not proof read it. This is very long. I left out major detail, but I'll go into those individually in other posts. )

1798. The United States was still in its infancy but was experiencing a grand entry into the world economy. Philadelphia, the birthplace of the new nation, was a modern city for its era. It was here that Gemina would be raised alongside her brothers Nikolai and Marcus. She was the second oldest child, but only by a few hours with Nikolai being born technically the day prior. Marcus was younger by around two years or so, but it was a large enough gap for the older children to feel they were decades ahead. They lived in wealth; their father owned and operated a merchant company that ran several ships down the coast. This allowed all three children a life of comfortable privilege, shielded from the usual hardships the era had to offer.

Gemina and Nikolai were -- by all accounts -- near inseparable. Even as they were raised in two separate roles it was clear that by evening they'd be back at each other's side again. It would be arguable whether or not this was a choice or a survival tactic. You see, what one lacked the other often had. Nikolai was a social, healthy young man, but often had his head in the clouds and failed drastically in his studies. Gemina, on the other hand, was of terribly ill health. She was hard of hearing and suffered terrible bouts of exhaustion, but was incredibly intelligent and diligent. Nikolai was often tasked to be her chaperone to help keep her safe and communicate between she and others if need be, but there was always an underlying hope that she might stir some discipline in him.

It had become something of a joke over the years as the children grew that Nikolai was far more befitting the role of a social wife while Gemina was a stern husband.

Somewhere in the spring of their 17th year, a terrible tragedy befell the family. Gemina was woken in her bed to the smell of smoke, but minutes later her bedroom door was flung open by her father. Wild-eyed and gasping, he said nothing as he threw the young woman over his shoulders and stumbled through the house. She was laid to rest outside where a small crowd was gathering, buckets of water being tossed helplessly against the house. Marcus was already outside, Nikolai had come stumbling after. The final words she heard her father say were "I'll be right back" as he bolted back into the house alongside two other men. All three children looked around in horror, huddled together in their night clothes as neighbors surrounded them, realizing their mother was nowhere to be seen.

The fire burned longer than it had any right. It was a mockery of their memories, destroying all they had ever known as the flames finally died some hours later. By then the children had been whisked away into a neighbor's home, dressed into ill-fitting clothes, and wrapped in blankets as they sat in utter shock.

Life was different then. Their parents were gone, buried without a viewing after a hugely attended wake. Their home was left as burnt husk, their belongings nothing but ashes. A saving grace, however, was that Nikolai had inherited their father's company. Due to his inexperience though he needed assistance and that came in the form of their Uncle; a man who by common opinion seemed to feed on the misery of those around him. He had begrudgingly taken the children in, allowing them room and board so long as he was given a decent cut of the business's profits. This was all well and good for the sons of the now-deceased Torvygg, but Gemina suffered greatly.

Their uncle was a man of his time, staunch in the belief of a social hierarchy between man and woman. He had been thoroughly against Gemina's education and made his displeasure in her very existence known. She was too loud, too emotional, and too opinionated. She was barely able to speak in his presence without beratement. Her brothers did their best to defend her but in such a precarious position they dared not ruffle their Uncle's feathers too much, fearing their own abuse.

Nikolai eventually got the hang of the family business and bought a home, but the troubles did not end there for them. Their Uncle continued to be a thorn in their sides, even as they sought some form of independence and healing. Gemina was an issue, it seemed, as their Uncle had inherited her legal right upon the death of her father. There were no other paternal figures aside from her brother, who was underage at the time.

She maintained as much of a distance from him as she could, constantly fielding his criticisms and demands. The beratement only became worse when she took on a bookkeeping job at the port. This job only lasted a year or so, even with Nikolai's support, as she could barely spend a day at the docks without their Uncle coming to remind her of her "sins". Instead, she began working for herself as a seamstress and took advantage of being able to work out of their home. This job flourished for her, giving her access and introduction to some of the city's wealthiest. Gemina adored the attention and praise she got for her work, but it was never enough. In fact, nothing was good enough so long as she was a "working woman" in the eyes of their Uncle.

His demands and beratement weighed heavily on her, but it all reached a breaking point when she was informed of her engagement. A strange man who had only recently arrived in the country. French, she was told, and wealthy. The selling point her Uncle stressed, however, was that he didn't mind that Gemina was educated or that her body was broken. Only that she was pretty and that he was assured she could give him at least a few children. "The wedding is next month", she was informed ever so gleefully, "get ready."

The idea churned in her gut like acid, making her feel ill every time she thought about it. Meeting her to-be husband did nothing to comfort her. She would spend the next week contemplating suicide, unable to bear how happy everyone around her seemed as her whole world seemed to end. Marriage was supposed to be happy for her too, wasn't it? Gemina spent more and more time by the docks, drawing further and further away from her siblings both physically and emotionally. She would stare at the waves, imagining them swallowing her whole and slipping into inky darkness. It was comforting in comparison to what she thought laid ahead for her.

It was during one of those evenings, barely two weeks before her wedding, that she was standing along the pier when rain suddenly came roaring down. Much to her surprise she'd lost track of time, finding herself staring out into a black sea of rain that blanketed the city streets -- the sun already dipping well below the horizon. She tried and failed to make her way home, eventually dipping into a pub to catch her breath and dry off.

It was there as she sat at a table in the corner patting her hair dry with her hands that she met Cinead. A sailor sitting at the table nearby with a few other men. He'd watched her, recognizing her immediately as someone incredibly out of place, and once she rose again to try and leave he followed. "Better me than someone else." He'd said in reference to walking her home. "You don't know what strange men could follow you." A friendship was struck that night, especially as she'd pushed her cane up against his ribs and said, "you. You're the strange man."

The following day they saw each other again and then again on the next. Those days felt like years had passed in minutes, like two old friends catching up rather than strangers that had only just met. Eventually, a deal was struck. Cinead would ferry Gemina out of Philadelphia and over to London where she'd start entirely new. She'd rushed home to gather the money promised to him and to confide her plan on Nikolai, who after hours of trying to convince her it was a horrible idea finally conceded. "Send a letter when you arrive. I'll follow after." He promised her. "Be safe, Minny."

It was the day before her wedding when she suddenly vanished. A trunk of her things was missing and the entire city was turned over in an attempt to find her, but she was already on board a ship that had sailed long out of sight. When she arrived in London she'd be using a new name and starting her new life, free of the bindings of all she'd left behind. Yet Gemina never arrived in London and her letter never reached her brother.

She made it to London in about a months time, but she never got off the ship. Gemina had grown rather fond of the captain, a strapping man with a rough laugh that had so many stories to tell and he'd come to adore her company. He'd even confided in her about his vampirism, something that startled her at first but quickly became a fascination. The unfortunate part of it all was the ocean air was rough on her lungs, or at least that's what she blamed her incessant coughing on. As the months moved on Gemina fell sicker than ever before, rapidly dropping weight as her skin flushed to a pale, deadly white. Consumption, they called it. A beautifully painful death had come to give her the freedom she'd always dreamed of.

Cinead, however, couldn't stomach it. He doted on her as best he could with what limited resources he had on board, singing old songs to her in languages that had been dead for centuries. "We'll find a Doctor. You'll be fine." He'd promised at her bedside between begging her to eat and drink. Eventually, she stopped waking up, sleeping soundly in his arms as they rested in his cabin. Cinead watched as her breathing slowed, as her eyelids fluttered partially open, and heard the death rattle forming in her lungs.

A decision was made at that moment to steal her away from what had come for her.

Days later Gemina awoke in the captain's cabin, tucked beneath several blankets in a bed as the ship swayed. Her body ached like never before, but the world was strangely loud. Clear as day she could hear the roaring of the sea around her, but most shocking was the soft singing coming from across the room. "Cinead?" She'd questioned, her voice raw and broken. The next several hours were spent in confused, frightened tears curled against his chest as she tried to make sense of everything going on, but that only lasted until morning. By the time the sun had risen back above the waves, she was eagerly pacing around the cabin, excited to enter the world anew.

She remained on that ship for years, exploring every port they arrived in and relishing in her dangerous new life. Gemina never forgot about her promise to Nikolai, however, and eventually, they made their way back to Philadelphia.

Presumed dead, her arrival back in town caused quite a stir, but she had little intention of staying in town long enough for them to become an issue. She reunited with her brothers briefly in the day, but it was nightfall when decisions had to be made. Gemina confided in her siblings about what she'd become, the life she'd led since leaving. They didn't believe her at first, but once she showed her true skin beneath her facade they had no choice. Horror, obviously, was the initial reaction, but this was their sister. Same as ever.

The same smile, the same eager whispers, and the same gentle touch against their shoulders as they all stood huddled in the center of the sitting room. Marcus rejected her offer with a kiss to her cheek and a tight hug. "I've got a wife now, Minny. A child on the way. I think you should meet her." Gemina had given him a bittersweet smile, but understood. Promising to meet them, excited to be an aunt. Nikolai, however, barely considered it before agreeing. He pulled his shirt collar down and with a heavy sigh, he leaned in. "I am my sister's keeper," he joked, "forever and always."

Nikolai leave the company to his brother a month later, leaving out on the same ship that his sister had arrived on. The two were rarely seen after that, usually only sending letters back home to their baby brother.

They did make one last appearance, some fifty years later if stories are to be believed. Of two twins standing side by side at the grave of the last surviving child of Torvygg Volarious -- tears in their eyes.

#Anonymous #;History #;Mina HC #;Niki HC #;Cin HC

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tyrias-library · 5 years

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Thought I'd try a different type of alternate universe

The Twitch Streamer AU

Subtitle: One small change can make a huge difference

I’m Kazukoh, and I guess you can say I’m a leynet celebrity. Despite being born with a metabolism-afflicting chronic illness, I’ve managed to blossom in my own right.

I guess you can say much like another prodigy born a season or so after me.

Though outside of my diagnosis, my life was fairly average. My Grandma Miimii was horribly injured during a lab accident, and we thought she wouldn’t make it, but she pulled through. If anything, I owe my success to her for being there for me when Mom and Dad can’t.

Went to college, Dynamics, specifically, did an internship with Terranexic after my graduation, as my revolutionary power source that was my final project had all of the Golemancy Krewe’s eyes on me. I remained with Terranexic after my internship as a lab assistant until a position in a relatively small Krewe opened up.

The Krewe I joined was one that made custom Golems for people who were less versed in Golemancy-or were physically unable to put them together. We occasionally also got bulk orders of standard issue Golems, since we could put together simple ones in a relatively quick manner.

It was on one of those bulk-order days that Golemancer Klikk asked the Krewe Chief if we could use the projection-screen terminal to play some videos in the background, since today’s bulk order was extremely simple. Our Krewe Chief, being the generous leader she is, approved. Klikk navigated to a leynet site called “Stream.Ear”, and put on a Calamity tournament, between a handful of Statics-backed teams. Given that I enjoyed playing videogames in my spare time, I thought perhaps I could do such a thing.

~~~

Headset, check. Terminal, check. Motobox and capture card, check. Layout. Check. Leycam, check. Going live now.

“GOOOOD EVENING, GENIUSI AND GENIUSETTES! Golemella here, coming at you live with Super Adventure Box! Yes, folks, the home edition of Super Adventure Box, with 8 completed worlds-but only normal difficulty! I’m not just going to beat it, I’m going to attempt to beat it as fast as possible!

And beat the game, I did, since I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember. While it wasn’t even close to a top 100 on leynet records, it was a fairly decent time.

“And that’s that! Sorry it’s so short, I’m just here to test the waters, but I’ll be back tomorrow night! May all your games be winners, and may all your theories be sound!”

~~~

I’ve gotten quite into the groove regarding content releasing, especially now that I have affiliate status and can get money from this. While my job with this Krewe has good pay and decent benefits, I often allot most of my paycheck to an emergency funds account, given my medical issues, so there isn’t much left for leisure. I do have time for leisure, my Krewe is off 3 days a week, but which days vary depending on scheduling and tasks, but I stream all 7 days a week because I find it fun. I even have a schedule-at least for 6 days. Fun Fridays are party games with my viewers, Speedrun Saturdays are speedrunning games I grew up with, or have played a ton of-not trying for Tyrian records, but just for personal bests, Storytime Sundays are for visual novels, Mondays…I’m not sure yet, so I mainly just play what I feel like that day, Teamwork Tuesday is cooperative Leynet games, Wildcard Wednesdays I pick 3 random games and let my viewers vote on them, then play that for an hour before the process starts again, and finally, ‘Thunder’ Thursday, which is competitive leynet games.

What I’m about to dictate happens on one of those Thursdays.

A viewer of mine gifted me “Tyrian All-Star Battle”, a PVP game where you play as major figures in Tyria’s history, heroic or villainous…well most figures. One great hero has not enough records of their battle style, and the Pact Commander declined their role. Destiny’s Edge and Dragon’s Watch are in, however, as are many high level Pact members from recent history. I tend to alternate between Taimi, Snaff, and Dragon’s Watch!Rytlock, depending on if we need a support, DPS, or tank, respectively. You play in teams of 6, you have a main and secondary of each role (I often play secondary since my mains can take other roles if needed), and winning depends on different win conditions-either most points after a set time limit, or last team standing after a limited set of lives.

I chose Taimi for this set of matches, since I was playing with a team I signed on with, called Damsels in Dynamics, which is all female Asura streamers whom graduated from Dynamics, and we commonly play a team of all Asura heroes-and we already had a Snaff. My other teammates were Zojja, Warmaster Efut, Agent Zrii, and Steward Gixx. Our first matchup was against Team IGD-Inquest Gaming Division, a meta-team for the meta-krewe, though thankfully this was just six of them. They were playing Kudu, Kuda, Teyo, Tazza, Vebis, and Frizz. Kudu’s player was also a streamer, known as “TheBloodyDirector”, and was pretty much the ‘face’ of IGD. We were completely destroyed. TBD took out all of the Snaff and Zojja players’ lives alone, thanks to Teyo’s player taking out Gixx’s player early on. I was pretty much the only one healing, and since Taimi is not a high tier support, led to Zrii’s player getting wiped fast as well. It was down to me, and Efut’s player. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my chat was blowing up to the point that my own fans could barely even speak. While I was trying to figure out the chaos, my last life was taken. Efut’s player struggled to hold on while I sourced this bomb. It was not a raid at all-TBD’s fans decided to swarm my chat. And he did nothing. This. Means. War.

Every day I would check his channel, and it seems he streams on Mondays and Thursdays, but only plays competitive games on Thursdays (Mondays seem to be clearing single player feats in said games). Every Thursday, I’d rally viewers to help defeat him as one of the matches/games of the night. And every time, I would fail. The closest I got was 4 members defeated before I, as the last one standing, was wiped out, and yes, this was in Tyrian All-Star Battle. That seems to be the game we usually battle in, though we’ve occasionally duked it out in others.

~~~

Another Thursday, another battle. I checked TheBloodyDirector’s stream…and turns out, he’s not streaming today. Instead, he’s hosting another Inquest member. I didn’t catch her name, but she’s advertising doing something called a ‘mukbang’…but she’s just slowly eating a single cup of instant noodles while doing paperwork. I then looked up what a mukbang really was….and immediately hit paydirt. People watch others eat monstrous amounts of food? Sign me up! Now I know what to do on Mondays!-well that, and social eating, depending on my funds during the week. But for now, I’ll just play some casual competitive matches with my viewers.

~~~

Monday came, and I had some extra money stored up, so I ordered 25 family sized buckets of Metrica Fried Moa, sides included, some curtains to obscure the hospital related things in my room, and a fancy leycamera. Hung up the curtains, my multipurpose Golem (A project from my spare time that transforms into various mounts, a hoverchair, or a Scruffy-like Golem) carrying the food, and I installed the leycam, running a quick test with it. The test was perfect, let’s go.

“GOOOOD EVENING, GENIUSI AND GENIUSETTES! Golemella here, and now I know what I’m doing on Mondays. Every Monday is food related! Normally this’ll be social eating, but today I’m doing something special. Some days, like today, will be mukbangs.” I then pulled each and every one of the buckets and sides closer. “I’ve got 25 buckets of Metrica Fried Moa here, and I’m going to eat ALL OF IT. RIGHT HERE. ON STREAM.”

I was shocked. People were HYPED in chat. Some people were worried that I’d fall ill, some others were concerned about my appearance, but nobody was mean. Most people were hyped up to see me eat all this food, and I sure gave them such. I ate ALL of the food on stream, engaging with viewers all the way. However, if anyone asked how I could do this, I kept it a well-guarded secret.

~~~

TBD wasn’t streaming this week, so I organized a spontaneous tournament between myself and a handful of my viewers in Tyrian All-Star Battle. Rest of the week was uneventful, as was Sunday. Monday on the other hand, was my first normal social eating stream. I sent my Golem out to bring back takeout-this time from the Canthan place near Mom’s lab-I moved out and into an apartment owned by the hospital out in Soren Draa, but visit often-and then started up the stream.

“GOOOOD EVENING, GENIUSI AND GENIUSETTES! Golemella here, we’re doing social eating tonight! I won’t be eating as much as I did last Monday, but it’ll still be a sizable amount, since there’s more focus on you, the viewers, my intellectual fans.” I smiled, waving at the camera. I began to interact with everyone, and things were going well. At least, they started out well. The food hadn’t come yet, and I was starting to grow hungry. I kept speaking with fans, answering questions, engaging in conversation, but it was not to last. My stomach growled. Loudly. And the mic picked it up. My face went dark purple and I was completely silent…but the chat. Alchemy’s Catalyst, the chat! Someone made a BETSEAR emote and uploaded it, and the entire chat was spamming it. That did get a slight chuckle out of me. The Golem soon arrived, with food, and I dug in, profusely apologizing as I did. But they didn’t seem to mind, thankfully.

~~~

I started feeling horrific after work one day, but I felt I was still up to streaming. Thought I’d do a Just Chatting stream since I didn’t think I could play a game, either competitive or otherwise-thankfully it wasn’t a Thursday.

“Hey, everyone. Sorry for no game today. I haven’t been feeling the greatest today, so I’m just going to take it easy. But enough about me, how was your day?” I asked, my voice still on the weak side. Questions and answers didn’t go super fast, unfortunately, as my vision started blurring a bit, and I was growing more and more confused.

The next thing I noticed was I was in my bed, hooked up to IVs, and there was a bowl of soup being placed in front of me, atop a tray. I glanced over to the terminal as I ate, and the stream feed was off, but the chat, there were people constantly asking if I was alright. I didn’t get a chance to even let them know what happened until a few days later, since I was resting, not working or streaming, and was under care of a new doctor-one whom watched my streams.

~~~

Even despite everything, I still practiced and practiced, getting better and better at Tyrian All-Star Battle. I was determined to beat TheBloodyDirector at his own game. Loss after loss, some completely wipeouts, others just close. Until that fateful day, where I decided to try Zojja out. I’ve found another hero I love to play. I got into a 1x1 match…against TheBloodyDirector, as, you guessed it, Kudu. And yes, he was streaming this day. Someone suggested in my chat that we hook up, and I was shocked. I heard him splutter over voice comms as well, so I suspect he got the same suggestion. No, random viewer, not happening. But despite this, the match was HEATED. And it was CLOSE. We were neck and neck, if he killed me, I’d kill him shortly after. And given that this was a time match and not a stock one, it was tense. But finally, the timer was up…and I had won. By one kill. Finally…sweet victory against TheBloodyDirector.

(A/N: You thought I was some random writer, but it was me, Kazukoh, this entire time!

Also I'd like to thank ProtonJon, StephenPlays, and Wahnthac for (unintentionally) showing me how Twitch works, and @lewn-acies for the idea for this AU!)

#asura anon #gw2 fanfiction #week five #au / free #asura #gamer au #long fic #...i want to play dragon’s watch! Rytlock #submission

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lululawlawlu-writes · 5 years

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The Hardest Part of Living

notes:This fic is for the LawLu Bang 2018-2019 sponsored by @lawlu-events @mushroom-san created this super cute & sweet art work for part 1.

tags: post-apocalyptic au, mentions of suicidal thoughts, terminal illness, attempts at levity

summary: Law is a descendant of humans who were able to survive nuclear annihilation, but radiation, in addition to other man-made pollutants had been seeping into their underground bunker, slowly poisoning them. Now Law’s the only one left alive. Although he'd made a promise to his departed sister that he would find a cure and live a full life for the both of them, his future seems bleak.

The day he meets Luffy could turn his life around. Luffy has a secret that could be the key to saving him, but neither he nor Luffy knows it yet.

___________________

Part 1: It’s hard to depart from this life when there’s no exit.

Law wrenches open one side the rusty metal medicine cabinet, grainy orange rust particles powdering his fingers. His eyes skim over the contents—old medicine bottles, a safety razor, and a lighter.

His eyes study his face in the rust-mottled mirror on the closed side of the cabinet. He runs a hand over his stubbly, two-toned face, contemplating a shave. Well, he doesn’t have anyone to impress. There isn’t too much chance that he’ll run into anyone worthwhile in the near future either, but what’s the point in being a survivor in a post apocalyptic wasteland if he can’t go about taking as he pleases and looking damn good while doing it. At the very least, making an effort to look decent helps him feel a little less like he’s falling apart from the inside out.

His aching fingers absentmindedly wander to his cheek to scratch at the itching patch of white that’s blossomed there, flaking off the irritating blanched skin, leaving a burning sensation beneath his fingertips. Attempting a shave is likely a bad idea—he’d probably just end up peeling off half of his face in the process. This dying slowly shit is so goddamn annoying.

He pockets the lighter anyway. It could be useful. He takes up one of the long cylindrical medicine bottles—prescription pain medication, opioids long past their expiration date. He should probably keep those too because why the hell not. If they’re still potent, they might help his chronic aches and addictive though they may be, he isn’t planning on living long enough for that to take effect. At twenty-six he’s already well outlived nearly everyone he’s ever known.

Struggling with terminal illness isn't exactly Law's ideal way to live. It’s excruciatingly painful, sure but more than anything, it’s annoying as fuck. What good is being stuck in some cruel joke of a life which keeps him half-alive, while he can practically feel himself rotting away like a goddamn zombie.

Law knows he’s been cursed from the start—born with half a lifespan and not much reason to value it. Thanks to the valiant efforts of his ancestors, humans have survived nuclear holocaust—humans, not necessarily humanity. He tries twice to get the lid off of the pills before he realizes he’s meant to push down as he turns the lid. He’s already scraped his fingers along the ridges of the cap, lost his skin in the process. The pad of his thumb aches; the soft skin on the side of his forefinger gone hot like it’s on fire, protesting the strain of everyday activity. He places the bottle on the cracked marble countertop next to the sink, leaning into it. A grunt of frustration, a little extra leverage, and losing another layer of skin seems to be just what it takes to finally pop the top—nothing like a little extra pain to help him remember just how much he could use some relief before he meets his inevitable death. He wouldn’t put it past his dick-bag ancestors to have set him up to die like this. They'd probably consider his poor life tragic and beautiful. They were the same people who made death so romanticized in their movies. If those ancient movies are any indication of how people actually thought back then, with their tragedy and self-sacrifice worship, it's no wonder the world has turned out to be a hollow, burned-out shell of what it once was. Hell, he's sure revering such shallow ideals is what got his community in the bunker wiped off the face of the Earth.

Law shakes the bottle lightly, assessing its contents—a handful of chalky little pills. He tips two of them out into his hand where they camouflage themselves against the splotch of white on his palm, similar even in texture. Both look so pale and lifeless. He contemplates dumping the rest into his mouth. There’s a temptation just to hurry things along and end it all before he ends up bedridden, crippled with pain, wasting away because he hasn’t got the strength even to feed himself. But he’s promised he wouldn’t.

Law is sure he isn't going to have a beautiful or meaningful Hollywood-esque death that would serve to inspire anyone. He sure as hell isn't going to come up with some ‘touching’ last words. He imagines his last words will be something like "Aw, fuck," although even a line like that might be too contrived. At least he has plenty of time to think of something better. On second thought, maybe he would actually try giving that flowery last-words bullshit a shot after all, just for the sake of irony. Dying a slow, painful death might not be without it's merits after all.

It’s not that Law actually wants to languish in pain, waiting for death to come around. He would much rather get it over and done with. He would've even tried to put a bullet in his own brain by now, but lack of ammunition and a naïve promise that he’ll find a cure are the only things holding him back. Poisoning so bad it’s seeped into the core of his DNA structure doesn’t really seem like something he can cure, but in retrospect, how could he have refused his little sister’s dying wish for him to keep going. At least she’ll never know he can’t make it a reality.

“Hey, you in the bathroom, You want something to eat?” calls a voice from the other side of the wall, muffled by layers of cracked plaster and rotting drywall.

Law nearly jumps out of his skin—practically tosses the painkillers across the room. He thought he was alone in this abandoned house, if that’s what you’d call it because a half-torched, roofless structure with two of its external walls missing doesn’t really seem like one anymore. He’d checked for any signs of a possible resident when he came in. He’s usually extremely cautious about such things. It wouldn’t take much more than a five-year-old with a stick to take down his weak ass, and he knows that out here in this wasteland there’s likely to be much worse. Still, he’d checked every room top-to-bottom when he’d arrived and hadn’t heard anyone else come in, so who the hell- “I’m Luffy, by the way.” Ok, so Luffy, apparently. “Who are you?” Luffy speaks again, closer this time, as if a breath’s width away from the door.

Law has no time at all to think before the door is shoved aside and he finds a small, opened tin of ham thrust into his hand. The scrawny guy who’s given it to him casually kicks down the toilet lid, taking a seat backward over the toilet. He releases an armful of provisions, presumably for himself, onto the tank of the toilet like it’s perfectly normal to use a toilet as a makeshift table and chair.

“Cheers!” he cries, clinking a tin of ham against Law’s own. He shoots Law a wide, toothy grin and tosses his head back, shaking the tin over his mouth until the ham slides out with a sick, sucking sound. Pale pink jelly-like substance drips from the can onto his face. It runs down his cheek mimicking the line of a thin scar etched under his left eye.

Law eyes the tin of meat in his own hand. This could be some sort of trap. This person could be an organ trafficker or something. Well, it’s not like Law has a lot to live for anyway, although being murdered by a stranger isn’t really how he wants to go. For a guy who wants to get it over with, he sure is being picky about death.

The mass of ham he’s been given does look a thousand times more interesting than the dried-out, flavourless rations he’s recently had the pleasure of surviving on. Its pinkish hue and marbling is indicative of actual meat, if ancient movies are to be believed. He wouldn’t know from personal experience, but the smell of it—that can’t be normal. It smells awful, pungent, somewhat sulfuric—like farts. And if humans of the past voluntarily ate things that stank like intestinal expulsions, they were a lot more messed up than Law gave them credit for. “Good shit, yeah?” Luffy says, eyebrows raised, beaming up at him from his spot on the toilet lid. Maybe this guy is more messed up than Law gives him credit for. He doesn’t even seem to care about the look of the tinned meat or its flatulent odors. Law watches him toss back a third can. The scent alone is starting to make Law’s stomach turn. He cautiously leans in to place his can of ham on the back of the toilet.

“You never told me your name,” Luffy notes, reaching for the new addition to his personal buffet. He passes Law a long, vacuum-sealed packet of crackers instead. Now this is food he can eat. “I’m Law Trafalgar,” he says. The plastic along the perforated line twists around Law’s fingers but doesn’t tear open.

“You from the underground? Your name sounds weird like underground people.” Luffy muses. “I’m from a PPU if that’s what you mean.” Law turns the packet over, attempting to rip it open from the other side. “What’s a PPU?” Luffy asks around a mouthful of ham. He takes the packet from Law, breaking off the corner of the crackers as he rips it open. “Population Preservation Unit.” Law specifies, taking back the opened packet offered to him. “That’s underground, isn’t it?” Luffy hums in thought, licks the canned ham lid. “It’s getting dark,” he tells him. “So let me stay at your cool underground base tonight.”

Law hadn’t been offering and he doesn’t want to think of the dangers that letting outsiders in can cause. This time he can’t make an attempt to assuage his fears with the notion that he’s near-death and has nothing to lose. The PPU is almost more of an embodiment of himself than he is at this point. It holds all that he ever was—his culture, his memories, his last connections to his people and their legacy of death and decay. In a way it’s as precious to him as it is painful. He’d rather keep those hallowed metal halls to himself, though he isn’t sure how to refuse Luffy. The guy has just shared a vital resource with him. “Alright, let’s go,” Luffy tells him, jumping up from his spot. It’s not a question. “Show me your home!” Though Luffy’s tone doesn’t sound threatening, Law knows that the matter is not up for debate.

By the time the bunker comes into view, the sun is dipping low on the horizon, spilling crimson hues into the sky as if it’s impaling itself onto the hills in a last-ditch effort to get free of the world. Law feels like he can relate on some level. He wouldn’t mind being free of it all but being impaled is a pretty slow way to go. Slower than a sunset for sure—look who’s being picky about his death again.

The sun may be fading into the distance but a suffocatingly hot humidity still hangs in the air, heavy, blanketing everything. It never really goes away. Law had given up feeling uncomfortable in the heat a long time ago but it still weighs on him. When he’s walking out here alone in the wasteland his brain sometimes likes to fantasize about the inevitability that he could either drown in his sweat or lose all moisture and shrivel up to nothing, become mummified.

He doesn’t get to indulge in such thoughts today. Today he’s with Luffy, and the inane chit-chat he’s offering is enough pull Law’s attention away from his morbid daydreams.

“You got anything to eat at home?” Luffy asks.

“You just ate,” Law points out.

“It’s weird, but I’m so hungry all the time since the thing happened. You think it’s possible to miss someone so bad it makes you hungry all the time?”

Law wants to ask him what the hell he’s talking about, but his head is reeling and his mind feels blurry, out of focus. It’s physically hard for him to walk distances. There’s a dull aching behind Law’s knees that makes them feel like they’re ready to give out at any second. He can’t help stumbling.

“Traffy, hey, you okay?” Luffy’s saying, “Let’s get you back to your secret underground base quick.”

Law feels his wrists being grabbed and pulled over Luffy’s shoulders but doesn’t have the strength to protest being picked up. Luffy lifts him up around the hips to carry him piggyback. Although it’s cheesy and embarrassing, and he’d rather die than admit it, it’s kind of nice to ride piggyback like people did in those ancient movies he watched as a kid. Here he is, just like Vanessa being carried by Wade in the classic 2023 film, Deadpool 4.

It’s really, really nice, actually. Law feels more at ease than he’s felt in years. It’s not just a matter of giving up, saying that he’s close to death anyway. It’s almost startling for him to realize he actually feels safe. There’s something about Luffy—something genuine in his actions, something disarming in his smile, that makes Law want to trust him. Law sighs, closing his eyes, resting his head on Luffy’s shoulder. Right about now is when the leading role, Wade, would tell his love, Vanessa, something sweet.

“You smell nice,” Luffy tells him softly, and Law feels his heartbeat pick up, tightness building in his chest that he wishes he could blame on his illness, but then “-like food.” And the feeling is gone. Law still thinks he appreciates the sentiment though Luffy’s words are nowhere near as romantic as the line in the movie. It’d almost be weird if it was romantic. After all, he’s only just met this guy.

Law swears he only closes his eyes for a second, but when he blinks them open, he’s already in the entryway to the bunker and Luffy’s dropping him from his shoulders.

“How’d you know the code for the door lock?” Law asks. He presses the palms of his hands over his aching eyes. “You didn’t break it did you?”

“What do you mean?” Luffy blinks at him. “It was already open.”

Already open?! That shouldn’t be. Law’s blood turns cold in his veins. His every nerve prickles with the chilling realization that he and Luffy are not alone here.

Sure the bunker is visible from the outside, if you’re really looking for it. But it isn’t easy to get past the security codes or penetrate the layers of protective steel by other means. Besides, as far as Law is aware, most salvagers don’t find it worth the trouble to use their resources for breaking into bunkers. He’s been told the kind of outdated, dysfunctional tech they’d find in a bunker just isn’t that valuable.

Law is almost certain it has to be someone who knows him personally, which just puts him at further unease. He doesn’t have friends.

#lawlu #lawlubb 2018 2019 #lawlu big bang #It's also on ao3 if you want to support me there <3 #lawlu fanfic #my fic

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nookishposts · 5 years

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Ponderables

Heads up. This is not a tale of woe, nor a pity party, but a collective of observations, mulled and spiced recently in the cauldron of my own head. If you care not for navel-gazing, you are welcome to stop reading here, no harm, no foul.

2018 has brought it’s challenges for myself and our household . Nothing horrible, in fact far from it, but if you think of water dripping slowly over time against a surface, it can eventually make itself a space and given enough time, put a hole in solid rock. Watching and/or anticipating each drop can be downright maddening. But in the end, the landscape, internal and external, changes. I have felt unwell in body and spirit for a good part of this year, assuming that stress and misplaced-expectations had a lot to do with that. Turns out there’s more to it, and no I do not have some horrible, terminal illness. Too many of our contemporaries have endured or are enduring way more than I could possibly imagine, but I have only my own stuff as a frame of reference, so that’s is the one thing I can authentically speak to.

My Beloved and I have a dream-in-progress that involves a small home on a bit of land, to live sustainably within simple means. We’ve long been working steadily toward it and believed that 2018 would bring it to fruition, but it looks like we will be waiting a little longer and we’ve recently made the choice to be consciously okay with that. Back in January, we thought we had found our place. I had just been unexpectedly fired through company re-structuring, so moving us forward became my full-time job and a welcome recovery distraction. We readied our house for sale and made plans.I even closed my part-time massage practice after 22 years. At the 11th hour, our buyers backed out, and we lost the northern property we’d been looking at. We took our For Sale sign down, explained to the people who’d already arranged farewell send-offs, and we started looking again. I found some tidy employment that was physical and low-stress and paid decently: until I got injured through no fault of the people I was employed by, but by one of their contractors. I could not continue the job I’d enjoyed. Through the kindness of friends who own a business, I found employment I could learn from and they generously took me on. I am a hard worker and pretty mindful, but my insides began to act up in ways I wasn’t used to and my sick time began to pile up. We’d found another house to purchase and put our own back on the market by this point, but things just weren’t progressing and I also was surprised to find myself in residual chronic pain...a first for me since I have always been strong of body. Discovering the joys of a great osteopath took care of the physical pain beautifully but I still wasn’t feeling quite myself. My own Doc of 30 years was away for a while dealing with cancer of her own, and I didn’t really care to start fresh with someone who didn’t know me, so I plodded along. Once again, we had a buyer who after hard negotiations that saw us drop considerably in asking price, backed out at the very last minute. And a second time, we lost the property we’d pinned our hopes on to someone else. I took it all quite personally even though in the end, it really was just business.

We both had been so ready to move on. We live in a fantastic neighbourhood, but our home is smaller than most, just 2 bedrooms, and even though quite a few buyers returned for second and third viewings, they could not see a way to make it bigger without building an addition. Too small for a student rental or a growing family, and too old for a single professional first-time buyer. Fair enough. The feeling of coming to a complete stall, not once but twice left us rather baffled about what the Universe might have up it’s sleeve, and we still don’t know. We’re trying to be patient, and keep perspective. But it has been a very long and exhausting process. It got to the point where no matter what I did I was not sleeping more than 2 hours a night, and was therefore cranky, impatient, sloppy, and not thinking at all clearly. Missing so much work didn’t help my sense of groundless-ness. I felt lost and completely ineffective. I consciously withdrew from friends and social situations, knowing I was not good company. My Beloved suffered in her own quieter way and we reassured one another, hand in hand, no matter what. But keeping the house tidy and having strangers wandering through several times a week for months on end is daunting on it’s own. Property-hunting at a distance is also tiring and frustrating. We KNOW how incredibly fortunate and privileged we are in the greater scheme of things, but this breath-holding was how we were spending our year, while still trying to be supportive of others in our lives who were hurting in other ways. Sometimes all you can really do is bear witness and stand by in case you are needed. We did our best.

So....finally I got to see my own Doc a week ago ( she is doing extremely well now thank heavens) and we ran the gamut of basic tests. I asked to be referred to a good nutritionist as well. Every time a new set of results came in, Doc would text me the lab page with a comment; “Your Vitamin D is in the toilet, start 2000 I.U. daily. Today!” Then; “ You haven’t been keeping up your iron...get back at it please. Your liver isn’t happy.” Turns out, both iron and Vitamin D are critical for good sleep and lowering stress. Aha! Something I could actually control. I have also used a CPAP for years and it turns out my mask was leaking, so a new mask helped. Three simple fixes. I am up to 4 hours of sleep a night already, expecting to improve.

Then came her latest text: “I’m sorry to tell you, but you are now officially diabetic. Re-jig your diet , look at your exercise,and we will repeat the blood-work in 3 months. Call me if you need to.” I saw on the lab report exactly what she was talking about. I come from two families riddled with diabetics, so it wasn’t a huge shock. But,it also turns out that the biggest contributors to tipping into the diabetic zone are long term insomnia and long term stress. Well, now. I could hear the puzzle pieces landing with a resounding thud. The very good news, is that we caught it early enough that I have an excellent chance to successfully manage and possibly even reverse it if I take action now. Which I am doing. No meds required. My glucometer goes everywhere with me and I am quickly learning a whole new normal, but small things like getting up 45 minutes early to shovel heavy wet snow this morning can skew my numbers and insulin requirements enough to bring me home early from work today feeling like crap. I’m learning some stuff the hard way, but I’m learning.

What’s my point? Well, I guess it’s just this:

Life is so precious and we North-of-55-ers have some reckoning to do if we are to stick around for good long innings. Some smartypants-ers among us saw this coming and got to the gym and cleaned the crap out of their cupboards in preparation. Some of us bolstered our souls with a return to church or have taken up a spiritual practice involving simultaneous honouring of the physical body. But I have discovered that about 40% of my contemporaries have in the last couple of years had to learn to cope with chronic health issues that crept up insidiously while we were all still pretending we were 35 and could get away with stuff. Instead we are discovering that if we aren’t minding the store, age-related illnesses sneak in and swipe the things we have taken for granted, leaving the shelves bare of valuables like energy, concentration, ease of movement, and overall well-being.

It’s been a stressful, draining, somewhat disappointing year. My overly-bountiful body, always strong and ready to dance, has become needy for overdue attention. My brain is tired of running on fumes and both my acuity and my interests have dulled. I kept pushing, emotionally and physically figuring it would all just pass if I tried a little harder...until it became so much harder to try. Cramming fuel-carbs in place of sleep made me sick. The warning lights on my dashboard were blinking and I chose to ignore them until the whole engine seized up. I am very lucky that I get a chance to fix it. But what if it had been something much more serious that I couldn’t fix? Iron, Vitamin D, and an ageing pancreas can bring a list of unwelcome relatives to the door, standing impatiently on the porch waiting for a chance to invade and put down roots. Depression, anxiety, bone, organ, and tissue damage. I will never be immune to cancer or MS or a host of other possibilities, but I can do those things that remain within my control and that I should have been mindful of long before they smacked me right in the limping, insomniac,harder-to -employ-each-year visceral guts. Bi-focals don’t help with hindsight, but should have reminded me to have some extra foresight.

This ain’t no pity-party, table for one. Nor is there any point in self-flagellation. But 40% is significant, and I have slipped so quietly over that line to join the ranks of those with age-related chronic disease.I intend to climb back over the wall, and I will, but I waited too long to ask for help, and explained the warning signs away rather than getting them checked out. We all know better. It’s reminding ourselves to DO better that becomes ever more critical. And it really is never too late to start. I am replacing arrogance with gratitude, and denial needs to become a personal river I can swim or paddle my canoe in for both the exercise and the joy of it. I am not Betty White on a football field and a Snickers bar isn’t going to be my saviour.(It was a Superbowl commercial, you can YouTube it).

Please my friends and fristers and partners in all-sorts: check in with yourself and see if you are a quart low somewhere or need your tires rotated. If you are feeling “off” then there is probably a reason and most likely something you can do about it, particularly if you make it a priority. We aren’t 35 anymore and we don’t have the same amount of bounce-back. Life can wear you down when you push hard without perspective. We aren’t raised to put ourselves first and it isn’t our comfort zone, so we have to make it one. There are bucket-list trips ahead, spontaneous dancing to grocery-store 1970s Musak, milestones to celebrate, and one another to nudge along the next untried section of road. It comes with speed bumps and potholes, but it’s still a journey well worth taking. Remember to pack some healthy snacks and build in time for naps. Drink lots of water, between the hard-earned glasses of good wine. We have at least 40 years left to fill with adventures, and to spout hard-earned wisdom to the upstarts, and to listen to one another’s stories. Some of us will have it harder than others and we need to keep ourselves tuned up for the times we are really needed. I sincerely apologise to those whose phone calls and texts I haven’t returned because I have been quietly avoiding reality and hoping to get my shit together. I will probably never completely group my poop, but I ain’t ready for diapers just yet either. Time goes much faster than we do now. Fitbit and fibre cookies, here I come!

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monde-world · 6 years

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