#the destruction of the hat is certainly another path to take. Can you make this work without that hat going up in flames? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

griffintail · 3 years

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The Lost Ones

Summary: Several of the SMP members find an infant in a place they didn’t expect and decide to care for them.

Pairings: Platonic! Parental! Tommy, Wilbur, Philza, Technoblade, Eret, and Dream x F! Child! Reader

Warnings! : Swearing, Village Raid, Minor Violence, Minor Deaths (Mostly mobs), mentions of blood

A/N : I’m the biggest sap for child readers. Dating back to 2014. I literally couldn’t help myself. Just so everyone knows, I suck at writing in gender neutral terms, that’s why the reader is specifically female in all of these (Including Tommy’s, Minor Spoiler, Tommy’s just an idiot and doesn’t look). So, sorry about that.

I’ll most certainly will make more of these. I won’t always have it just like this, I might write a certain character individually in a scenario. It’s all dependent on my mood. I might add more characters! This is just basically the introduction. So yeah...ENOUGH RAMBLING! Hope you enjoy :)

Tommy (Before the First Disc War)

Tommy smirked proudly to himself as he tucked his new disc safely into his inventory bag before starting the walk back to his home. His adventure was successful, he managed to get a rare disc and it was now all his. Walking through the small bit of woods, he rested his hand on his sword handle. It was still night time after all and the monsters were out to play.

As he could see the lights from the small town of the Dream SMP, he heard a cry. Looking back into the woods, he frowned before grinning.

Someone is in trouble! He’d save them and get a payment—er— “willing reward” from them. Pulling his sword, he ran over towards the sound of another cry, this time the sound being continued. He rolled his eyes, someone was crying, what a pussy. As the crying was practically on top of him, he frowned in confusion as he only found a skeleton, which was trying to shoot at a basket hanging in a tree. There was no one there to be crying.

He shrugged regardless, taking his shield off before going for the skeleton. It only managed one arrow before Tommy killed the mob. Looking at the basket, Tommy hummed before putting his weapon and shield away to climb up. As he got to a safe place to reach the basket, the crying now made sense as his eyes went wide.

“You’re a fucking baby!” He shouted in surprise.

Said infant noticed the new face and their wails quieted, but small cries still came out.

“Quiet down. You’re going to bring monsters!” He hushed, moving carefully, getting the basket off, and brought it to himself. “How the hell did you get up here? Who just leaves a baby?”

He looked down at the baby as he sat back in the tree. He couldn’t help but think how small she was, had he been that small when he was this young?

“Guess you got nowhere to go huh?” He asked as the child looked up, their cries having gone silent seeing the boy much closer.

They played with their blanket and he hummed as he held the basket close, making his way down the tree.

“You’re lucky, a big man saved you! I don’t live far, so you’ll come with me. Of course, I wouldn’t just leave you here again.” Tommy rambled, despite knowing the infant couldn’t respond back. “I’m not some kind of monster!”

He made it back to his home, putting the basket on his bed, and looked down at the baby with his hands on his hips.

“If you were left out there like that, you’re alone.” This time, the baby gave a small babble and he couldn’t help the small smile that came on his face. “Well, then I’ll take care of you! I’m a big man and can do it easy! Phil took care of my brothers and me after all and he’s old and stupid. I’m young and very wise, so I can do it. I suppose you’ll need a name now.”

If anyone had been in the room with Tommy, they’d be surprised how gentle he picked up the small human. Carefully, he held them properly, only knowing how as Phil had once shown him when they were helping a village out after a raid when he had taken the younger boy to trade.

“Hmm, I’ll call you (Y/N)!” He decided. “And I will be the greatest father ever! And I know the perfect way to celebrate today!”

Going into his bag, he grinned as he pulled out his new music disc. Putting it on the jukebox, he sat on his bed as the infant looked over at the object making the beautiful sound. His grin went into a gentle smile as he watched (Y/N) listen to the music. They’d both be happy; he’d make sure of it.

Twenty Minutes Later…

Tubbo sprinted down the stairs of his house as he heard frantic knocking on his door and the sound of crying. Swinging the door open, he let out a startled noise seeing a distressed Tommy holding a wailing baby.

Of course, he’d need some help since there was just a little bit of a learning curve.

Wilbur (Right after Declaration of War)

Times were hard. Wilbur had just started a new nation to free himself, his friends, and his family from the iron grip of Dream and his friends, but they did not like the loss of power and declared war on him. As well as the war, Fundy had become a rather rebellious teenager and Wilbur wasn’t sure how to handle all of it. He didn’t let it show to the others though. He’d be a strong leader for them.

He looked over his map of L’Manberg. They needed better defensive points…they fought with their words but Dream fought with weapons of destruction. They needed safe spaces to protect themselves…

Wilbur jumped, knocking over an ink bottle over on the table when there was pounding on the van door.

“Damn it.” He grumbled, quickly flipping the bottle back up and moved the map out of the way before going to the door.

He opened the door to see Eret standing there, making Wilbur raise an eyebrow as Eret was on guard duty at the moment but looked shocked seeing what the other man was holding.

“Hello, sir. They were just outside the gate. I didn’t see anyone else around.” Eret rapidly explained to his leader, the small infant wiggling in his hold. “I brought them here because they were cold.”

“Get inside,” Wilbur instructed, going into the back of the van again quickly.

He heard the door close as he grabbed his spare coat.

“Hand them over,” Wilbur muttered, Eret carefully transferring his hold to the other man.

Wilbur saw they had a blanket but it was thin and the child was cold to the touch. Wrapping his coat around them, he instructed Eret to light a furnace, which he did post haste.

“Hello there, love.” He whispered quietly to the infant, rocking them lightly. “We’re going to get you warmed up and something to fill your stomach, how does that sound?”

The baby didn’t fuss, too tired and cold to even thinking about making one. Wilbur stood next to the now lit furnace and looked up at Eret.

“Is anyone out there?” He asked, his proud leader voice coming out.

“No sir, I was worried about the child.”

Wilbur nodded. “I commend you for saving their life, but I have it from here. Send someone to fetch milk and then please stand guard again.”

Eret nodded before leaving the van.

Once the two were alone, Wilbur sighed heavily as he sat on the floor, still close to the furnace. He felt the child’s forehead, feeling them warm up to his relief.

“You gave us a scare little one.” He chuckled quietly. “But don’t worry, you’re in a safe place. L’Manberg will care for you. I suppose it was lucky you were left here rather than the Dream SMP.”

He hummed quietly as he gently rocking the child, their eyes closing as they relaxed in his hold. As they relaxed, he gave a quick check for their gender.

“Welcome little one. You’re the first woman of L’Manberg.” He smiled lightly.

For a short while, he was able to forget about everything outside the van. He could relax himself and let his mind clear as he watched the little girl in his arms. They were both at peace.

After a few minutes, he looked up as he heard the van door open. As he was standing up carefully, his own son Fundy came in holding a bucket.

“Hey, Eret said you needed…What the hell is that?!” Fundy exclaimed in surprise, startling the girl in his arms, tears appearing in her eyes.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Wilbur whispered to her as he rocked her again and he wiped her tears away with one hand.

Fundy cautiously came over, raising an eyebrow. “Who are they?”

Wilbur paused thinking for a moment, before smiling. “Meet your new little sister my son. (Y/N), the newest member of our great nation.”

Philza (Right before Wilbur’s Betrayal)

Phil shook out his wings as he landed in a village. He needed to rest them for a bit before continuing on his journey to L’Manberg. He had gotten word of how the tides had turned badly for his sons in the new nation they made to try and live peacefully. Originally, they hadn’t asked for his aid as Tommy and Wilbur had made contact with Techno and they believed with their older brother, they could surely turn it back. Yet, Tommy had sent him a letter with worry for Wilbur’s state of mind and Phil decided he needed to be there for his sons.

Yes, he wanted them to learn the world on their own but there were some times when Phil needed to be there to help them.

Looking at the sky, the night was fast approaching so he managed to get a house in the village for the night. Keeping his sword by his bedside, he went to sleep for the night…

Startling awake, Phil heard the sounds of the village bell.

“God damn it,” Phil mumbled, scooping his sword and bag before putting his hat on his head.

Running out, he saw the cause of the panicked ringing. A pillager raid, and it was already out of control. Fires were crackling madly and blood littered the paths.

“Shit.” He swore as a pillager spotted him and he dodged the arrow before running them through with his sword.

The few surviving villagers ran from their homes and Phil went to follow when he heard a wail, the wail of a child. His throat tightened as he looked back to the burning buildings, his fatherly instinct along with his good nature kicked in.

“God…” He muttered before spreading his wings.

With ease, he was able to dodge between pillagers and ravagers alike as he followed the sound. Landing at the house that was most certainly ablaze, Phil kicked in the door. Holding his arm to his mouth and nose, he rushed in and found a small nursery, the flames engulfing the walls and ceiling. Rushing to the crib, he found the small child and quickly picked them up.

“Let’s go kiddo.” He said as he rushed back out.

Once he was outside, he took flight again and flew high enough to be out of arrow range, and flew far from the village. As he did, he looked the small child, of which he found out was female, over for injures as she screamed and cried. She had no visible injuries but Phil knew she had to have inhaled smoke. So, after a handful of minutes flying, he landed and shushed her quietly.

“It’s alright kiddo, hang on,” Phil told her quietly as he went into his bag taking out a health potion. “I got something that can help you.”

Being gentle, he gave them a few drops of the potion to hopefully clear out any smoke and heal the damage it might have done. The little girl gave hiccups and small cries.

“It’s alright. You’re safe now.” He bounced her lightly, slowing down her cries to nothing. “There we go. We’re ok. Once morning comes, we’ll find the others of the rest of your village and see if we can’t find your parents.”

The little girl’s eyes merely drooped and he gave smile before he frowned as he looked up to see the fires in the distance. They were a human child and he didn’t remember seeing any humans running away with the survivors but he’d try. And if not…

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you,” Phil assured the now sleeping infant.

Technoblade (Start of Retirement)

Techno shouldered the bag of wood he had gathered over his shoulder, his axe on his belt as he made his way home through the snow. The voices were relatively calm, not hungry for blood at the moment, and Techno was able to have a peaceful moment. As he trudged closer to his house, he slowed to a stop seeing footprints by the stairs and the voices kicked up as his thoughts went wild.

Phil always gave him notice on his walkie if he was on the way and whoever had been there had gone up the stairs then walked away in a different direction from where they came.

The voices were bringing up the question of if he was being scouted out. Who could have found his house? How did they find it? They started to demand blood.

Technoblade took his axe off his belt while putting down the bag of wood. Going towards the porch carefully, he held it ready to expect the worse when he entered his house but he didn’t even go up the stairs to find something. On his doorstep, there sat a large huddle of blankets.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he came up to the huddle carefully and slowly with his axe raised. Stopping when it was fully in view, he stared in even more confusion.

“What the hell?” He questioned, lowering his axe slightly as he looked around the snowy tundra. “Who leaves a child on my doorstep!”

In the middle of the huddle of blankets was a sleeping child, who wiggled slightly at the loudness of his voice.

They’re an orphan now

You know how you feel about orphans

Blood for the Blood God

Techno winced at the sounds of the voices as he looked at the child. They were right…they were an orphan now. Someone had left them on his doorstep and now they were abandoned. He gripped his axe tightly as he looked down at the infant.

It’d be quick and easy…

The small human opened their eyes slightly, squirming slightly as they saw him. Techno’s grip loosened, the voices screaming in protest. They were so small and so defenseless…he wasn’t calling for blood anymore.

Grunting, he put the axe away, going back down the stairs to grab the bag as he clenched his jaw at the loud noises of the voices before going back and picking up the child with surprising gentleness as the child was startled slightly. He shouldered his door open, dropping the bag of wood next to the unlit fireplace before making his way upstairs to his bedroom. He put the child down, who watched him in silent curiosity as Techno took the walkie off his belt.

“Phil, you there?” He questioned into it.

It took a minute but the device crackled.

“Yeah, what’s going on?”

“I got a…issue. Come over as soon as you can.”

“An issue? What kind of issue?” Phil asked in surprise as usually, Technoblade could handle most of his issues.

“It’s hard to explain, just come over.” Techno rubbed his temple at the screams of the voices.

“Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He put the walkie down as he looked over at the child watching him.

“What?” He huffed.

Then the child gave a small giggle, trying to get their hands free to hold them out to him. The man stood there in shock as his heart melted. He had not felt something like that in a long time. Scrunching up his nose slightly before coming over and taking the infant out of the blankets and holding her as he used to with Tommy.

“What the hell am I going to do with you?” He muttered and the small human held lightly onto his shirt, making even the voices slow down.

He down a level in his home to wait for Phil, keeping the child in his hold as he just decided to do his normal routine. He started a fire and began to brew a few potions when the knock came on his door.

“Come in.” He called.

In stepped his father, who immediately dropped his bag in surprise seeing what Techno was holding as he added a new ingredient to his potion.

“Hello.” He greeted the older man without looking at him.

“What the hell did you have?” The older man questioned.

Techno looked over at him confused. “Blaze powder.”

Phil took his hat off as he ran a hand through his hair. “I meant the baby!”

“Oh! Yeah, this.” Techno said casually, the older man freaking out. “Someone left them on my porch.”

“Oh god…are they ok?” Phil asked, coming over.

“Yeah, they’re fine. They were swallowed by blankets.”

The child tried to take a bottle in their hands and Techno simply moved it from them and kept working like it was the most natural thing in the world. Phil stood in surprise at how casual Techno was, he knew about the orphan thing and how vicious the voices in his head could be.

“What…what are you going to do with the child?”

“That’s why I called you,” Techno said, before holding the child to the man. “You take it.”

“What?! Techno, I can’t just take this child. I…” Phil’s hand shook slightly at the thought of Wilbur. “I can’t have another child right now. And L’Manberg will question where I even got them in the first place.”

“Well then what do I do with it?!” Techno huffed as he was surprised by the quietness of the voices.

“Well…you could take of them.”

“I don’t know how to take care of a child. I don’t even like children, have you seen me with Tommy?” Techno rolled his eyes.

“You seem to like this one.” Phil pointed out as Techno was holding them willingly and at the gentleness, he had with them.

Techno frowned as he tried to think of a good reason. “That’s because they’re quiet.”

“Look…I know you don’t want to hear this but maybe you should look after them, even just for a while. I can see if I can find someone who wants a child.”

No, you found them.

They’re rather cute…

Keep them!

The voices had done a full turn around from when they first saw the child. They were demanding Techno care for them and protect the fragile being. Techno couldn’t disagree with them because in his heart…he wanted to protect the child that had been left on his doorstep.

“Fine, I’ll take care of them for a while but you need to help me, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

Phil chuckled. “Of course, son. We should look them over first to make sure they’re alright.”

Techno rolled his eyes but agreed, listening to Phil as he told him what to do. The father was smiling proudly as even though Techno was frustrated with the new task, he continued with it. Once she, as they discovered, was checked over, Phil put a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“What do you want to call her?” Phil asked.

He looked down at the child, who was giggling as Phil smiled at her.

“Blood Child.”

“Techno!”

Later, Techno actually decided on (Y/N) and for once, the voices were on his side.

Eret (Before the founding of L’Manberg)

Eret chuckled to himself as he walked down the path back towards his castle. Tommy’s antics for the day had been particularly ridiculous that it still brought a chuckle to the older gentleman as he went back to his home. He knew the days around the Dream SMP certainly wouldn’t be boring.

Walking to his castle, he stopped as he noticed a basket left in front of the door and peered inside.

“Why hello there.” Eret smiled seeing a small face peering back up at him as they squirmed slightly in discomfort. “What are you doing here little one?”

He carefully picked up the basket and went inside his castle. As he got to his bedroom, he carefully took the infant out struggling a bit but managed before searching a bit in the basket.

“Hmm, no note or anything.” He muttered as he looked at the child squirming around. “Well, someone made a mistake leaving you behind. Let’s see if I can’t figure out what’s making you so fussy.”

After a bit of trying, first checking to see if she needed a diaper, he figured she needed some food and managed to get milk, putting it in a clean potion bottle to help her drink it easier. That also took a few trials, but he managed to help her drink until she stopped fussing.

“There we go, now I can see your lovely face better.” He smiled as he sat on his bed, wiggling his finger in front of her making her giggle.

As he played with the small girl, he frowned slightly as he looked over the basket that she had been left in. Why would someone leave someone so precious on the doorstep of his castle? It was truly a shame for those that did leave the little girl as Eret couldn’t help but slowly smile again as the little girl grasped onto his finger.

“You’re not going to have to worry little one. You can stay here with me and you can be the princess of this castle.” He promised her, hugging her lightly, making her giggle. “I’ll make sure you’re safe and happy. It will take me a little while to learn how to do it all properly but I’ll learn. How does that sound…(Y/N)?”

He chuckled as he moved his head back as she reached for her glasses. Yeah, this sounded like a beautiful idea.

Dream (The Very Start)

Dream rolled his eyes behind his mask as he heard George screaming in the distance, Sapnap laughing wildly in return. Those two never know how to stop.

“Come on you two! We need to build a house before the night comes.” Dream called to them. “Stop goofing off.”

Yet, he could still hear George’s high-pitched scream and he just chuckled and shook his head at his friends’ behavior. They were the company he kept and he honestly wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Eventually, they did stop screwing and they were able to get to work on building their first home of the new land they had. The three of them joked and there was some arguing still between Sapnap and George but it just made it peaceful for the three of them. It was how their lives were.

Dream went to go look for some sheep to get wool for beds before night fully struck, leaving the two “children” at the house. As he went searching, he jumped when he heard the sound of screaming, but it wasn’t liking George’s scream. It was quieter but still a scream.

“Hello?!” Dream called as he pulled out his stone sword.

As he went towards the noise, he realized it wasn’t a scream of terror as he first thought it was. No, it was a screaming cry, the kind a child would make. He started sprinting at that thought and skidded to a stop as he found the infant that was making the sound laid on top of a rock, a group of three zombies trying to get it.

Dream gripped onto his sword before shouting to get their attention and moved back, quickly taking care of the mobs. He pushed his smiley mask to the side of his face as he finished them off and rushed over to the baby.

“Hey! Hey. It’s ok now.” He told them as he climbed up next to them, dropping his sword at the bottom. “All the bad things are gone.”

He gently picked up the baby, shushing them as he put a hand on top of their head. Slowly, they quieted down and Dream smiled wiping their tears away.

“Hey, there you go. See? There’s nothing to cry about.” He chuckled before screwing his face up to look funny.

The child giggled and he grinned.

“There we go. Now, let’s check you out.” He muttered, looking them over. “No injuries. That’s very good princess. Now, what are you doing out here?” He asked as he looked around, seeing no signs of human life other than the two of them.

Dream’s blood boiled slightly. Someone would just leave a child out here? If it wasn’t for him, she would have died!

“You got nowhere to go huh? Well, you don’t have to worry.” He said, carefully sliding down.

He picked up his sword, putting it back in its sheath, before walking back towards his friends.

“I’ll take care of you. You’ll be the princess of our new land! You, me, and your two idiot uncles.” He laughed, the tiny girl giggling at the sound. “And I’ll make sure you always have a reason to smile.”

#mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #dreamsmp #tommyinnit x reader #wilbur soot x reader #technoblade x reader #philza x reader #eret x reader #dream x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Note

May I have a scenario/imagine, whichever makes more sense, of Trey, Rook, and Crewel trying to tame some sort of wild, magical invasive species of Poison Ivy that has taken over the greenhouse?

Crewel gives me perpetually disappointed wine aunt father vibes. This piece also lowkey turned out to be Trey x Rook, but you didn’t read that from me.

This imagine’s longer than my usual 1k word self-imposed limit, since it goes out to a friend of mine that’s been supporting me through final projects and exams. I’m not sure if they’d want me tagging them so publicly, but they know who they are.

Imagine this...

To Professor Crewel’s chagrin, members of the Science Club had never had strong academic intent. In actuality, the club was a thinly veiled excuse to bake cakes (just to find the perfect ratio of leaveners and sweeteners!) and to stalk watch students in their natural habitats (nothing wrong with an impromptu observational study, right?). Instead of test tubes and beakers, the lab benches were littered with cake pans and photographs of unsuspecting Savanaclaw students.

“I do wish you two would take this club more seriously,” Crewel would often gripe, fingers massaging his temples. “Science is not a play thing, it is a powerful tool with which we can use to redefine and reshape the world around us.”

Such were the woes of an instructor--but today, he had no time to lament.

Crewel’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon a sprawling mess--the shattered glass panes of the Botanical Garden, with massive stalks of ivy reaching for the skies. Casualties lined the ground--plants and flowers drained dry of their life, all withered and decayed. The ivy writhed in glee.

(He shouldn’t have been surprised that the headmaster summoned him and the Science Club to resolve the issue instead of hiring a real exterminator.)

“How unseemly,” Crewel noted, clicking his tongue. “Running amok and ruining so many of the specimens we’ve carefully cultivated... This shall not go unpunished.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Clover.”

“Yes.” Trey stepped forward, his magical pen ready.

“Hunt.”

“Oui.” Rook followed suit, smoothly drawing forth his own pen.

“The time has come to prove your mettle,” Crewel announced, rapping his pointer against his palm. His onyx eyes seethed with a quiet, controlled rage. “Show this overgrown weed what the Science Club is truly capable of.”

At his command, the boys nodded and tore off toward the Botanical Garden.

Crewel held his ground. The corners of his mouth curled into a condescending smirk as he addressed the poison ivy. “Come here.”

An arm of ivy flew at him, so fast that it was but a blur.

An alive, but livid, blur.

“Heel!”

A column of fire erupted from Crewel’s pointer. His attack slammed against the plant, settings its leaves awash in embers. The rogue plant let out a sky-splitting roar.

The battle had just begun.

Trey ducked under an arc of burning ivy and threw open the door to the Botanical Garden. Tucking his limbs in, he barreled through right as more ivy snaked in to seal off the entrance once more.

He could feel the heat upon his back, the earth quaking under his feet, and Rook close behind him--yet he willed himself to keep his eyes glued ahead, even as he launched across the threshold and into a terrifying new realm.

The inside of the greenhouse now glistened with ivy--covering the glass panes, slowly strangling what few plants remained. The Botanical Garden had always been warm before, but it was unusually so today. Sweltering, and almost so humid that the floors and walls seem to eerily pulsate with life.

“Keep your wits about you, and don’t look back, boys,” Crewel had instructed them. “Just get in there, and cut it off at its source--at the heart.”

Trey’s eyes darted this way and that. Green, green, green. It all looked the same to him. Where in the world was the point of origin?

“Got any ideas?!” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner--and his protective goggles nearly went askew.

Rook had dropped to one knee, pressing a gloved hand against the floor--now a carpet of vines. “Hoooh! What a fascinating specimen!” he marveled. “Such destructive power, and yet it also sports this emerald sheen... Très manifique!”

“H-Hey... No offense, but I don’t think now’s the time to stop and sniff the roses. Or, well. I guess it would be ivy in this case.”

“Non, non! There is always time for beauty--even in dire situations!” Rook insisted, his hands continuing to grope around. His eyes suddenly creased, and his smile turned sly. “Ah, te voilà.”

“Even if you say that, that’s not going to help us fix this...!!”

“Calm yourself, Chevalier des Roses,” Rook advised with an airy laugh. He cupped a hand to his ear and beamed. “Listen closely! Surely even your own heart beckons you to still your worries.”

“Heart?” Trey straightened, adamant as he folded his arms. “Sorry, but I just don’t believe in stuff like that. Come on, Rook. We need to focus--Crewel-sensei’s trusting us with this task.”

He cast a concerned glance at the doorway, ensnared in vines. They’d have to blast their way through later--but if they stayed in this space for too long, they, too, would soon be drained of all their life force. “We can’t just mess around!”

“Ah--but you must put your faith in me as well, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook insisted, pointing to the patch of floor that he had been not-too-subtly groping earlier. “I implore you to lend me your strength!”

“You want me to attack the gr--?!” Trey froze mid-sentence. He had become vaguely aware of a gentle sensation creeping around his ankles.

In an instant, he was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like a useless rag doll. Blood rushed to his head, and his surroundings spun.

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

“I’m fine!! I-I’m fine!” Trey called--though he clearly wasn’t. “I can just--” He waved his magical pen, the air growing tense as a small ball of fire collected at his command.

“Non!” Rook warned, startling his classmate. “There is nothing to cushion your descent, mon amie! You will surely break a leg--and certainly not in the theatrical sense!”

He’s right. Trey’s fire extinguished itself, replaced by a chill crawling down his spine.

“A little help then?!”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You would give me your trust?”

“Not exactly like I have any other choice.” Trey would shrug, but it was a rather difficult motion to pull off while suspended midair--and far more troublesome, his veins ran cold. It was a sure sign of the ivy sapping his energy.

“Have no fear! Today, it shall be my turn to be the chevalier.” The hunter grinned from ear to ear, magical pen in hand.

“Please, Rook! Any day now--before I become plant food!” Trey’s voice was hoarse--from exasperation, or from the magical ivy, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“Just for today, I shall be your Chevalier D’amour.”

And with a confident wink, Rook plunged the ivy-covered floor into a sea of flames.

The accursed plant wailed as it shriveled to ash upon a backdrop of billowing smoke. Embers flickered and danced in the afternoon, the Botanical Garden set ablaze. Crewel took a step back, grimacing at the growing fire.

A figure emerged from the greenhouse, carrying another. The professor squinted into the smoke, pinpointing the familiar outline of his Science Club members--Rook, cradling a pale-looking Trey in his strong arms.

“Puppies.” Crewel pinched his temples.

“C’est chose faite--it is now done.” The brim of Rook’s hat eclipsed his eyes, making the typically cheery hunter appear dark to match his tone. Then he lifted his head, basking in the sunshine, and that somber moment was over. “All is well and good again, as it should be!”

“I... I thought I was going to die,” Trey groaned. “... And Rook, I appreciate you catching my fall, but you didn’t need to carry me out like you’re an action hero in a movie or something.”

“Are you able to still stand after an attack from that heinous plant?”

“Yeah. Just put me down.”

“Oui.”

Trey stood on shaky legs--and instinctively leaned on Rook’s shoulder.

“Well, boys. You’ve exterminated the ivy--as well as just about every other plant in the Botanical Garden. How exactly do you intend to atone for this?!” Crewel snapped, whipping his pointer at his students. “I believe my instructions were quite clear--destroy only the heart of the ivy.”

“The fault lies with me, Monsieur,” Rook declared, dipping into a bow. “We dallied for longer than was necessary, and in a moment of panic, I unleashed my magic.”

“Always one with a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately, that will not serve you well in detention, Hunt.”

“Wait. Crewel-sensei, that’s not the whole story,” Trey interrupted. “Rook got me out of a pinch--and he deserves credit for that. He’s also the one that found out where the ivy’s heart was--buried in the floor itself. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

The professor’s lips pursed into a straight line. “Clover, are you confessing to your own negligence?”

“I am.” He nodded firmly. “I’m the one that deserves the detention.”

“Trey-kun is not responsible!” Rook protested. “He is the one that attempted to set us on the right path. I refused to heed his advice, which led to events escalating.”

“I didn’t listen to Rook when he tried to tell me about what I needed to do.”

“I should have phrased it more concisely.”

“You--”

“Trey-kun--”

“Enough. It is clear to me that both of you contributed to this chaos.” Crewel sighed. “... Hunt, take Clover to the infirmary. I will put out the fire myself.

“... Are you letting us go?”

“Of course not. Once you’ve recovered, Clover... you boys will be restoring plants in the Botanical Garden for the remainder of the semester as punishment.”

“Ahhh, I should’ve known. Riddle’s not gonna like this at all.”

“Chin up, Chevalier des Roses! At the very least, we shall have each other’s company!” Rook laughs, smacking Trey on the back and sending his peer nearly doubling over.

Crewel sighed once more--he was disappointed, but not surprised.

His Science Club puppies still had a long way to go.

#twst #Divus Crewel #Trey Clover #Rook Hunt #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland requests #twisted wonderland scenarios #imagine this

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evesbeve · 4 years

Text

it's tough to get away (tua s2 fix-it)

MAJOR SEASON 2 SPOILERS!

Summary: Ben has finally crossed the light, but has unfinished business back on earth. He does the only thing he can think of; he begs God to send him back.

Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & God, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves

(Read on AO3)

___

“I have to go back.”

In the end, Ben didn’t get to cross the light.

The first time he laid his eyes on it, he was only sixteen with a foot in the grave, quite literally. It felt as if he’d been staring at it for hours, debating whether he should take the next step or not, because truth was, he wasn’t ready. For every second Ben was still on earth, he lost another one of his senses, he felt more and more numb, more and more dead. At least he couldn’t feel the monster in his stomach anymore.

There was nothing left for him in the world, and yet he wasn’t ready to leave it behind. Ben had been stripped of everything. His senses, his feelings, his honor. He didn’t even want to think about what kind of sorry excuse of a funeral his father put together for him.

Looking ahead into the light should have felt reassuring, but it only made Ben more anxious. All his life, Ben had never been sure of what would happen next, but nothing had ever scared him more about the future than this.

So when he heard the voice of his brother calling him back to earth, Ben didn’t hesitate.

Klaus had told him, that first day he conjured him, that he could go back to light anytime he wanted. He had assured him. Ben wasn’t an idiot though; he knew his brother, and he knew the way he lied. Klaus had no clue whether what he was claiming was possible.

But it was okay, because that meant Klaus wanted him there. So Ben stayed.

He spent the next years alongside Klaus, watching him self-destruct. It was fine, for the most part, but Ben could feel himself growing bitter. There was a voice in the back of his head that whispered ‘I told you so,’ as if it was a price for staying, but Ben never figured out who it belonged to.

He did visit the light again. Occasionally.

But he never crossed it. Not even when he stopped feeling altogether. Not even when he was certain Klaus didn’t want him around anymore. Because despite everything, Ben was still scared.

In the end, the light pulled him in.

It was funny, really. Ben had thought he could avoid it forever, but of course he’d been wrong. It came to him in shiny flickers of blue, resting on his clothes, on his skin. It was there to take him away, but also to make him feel again; the more light came, the more he could feel his sister’s arms around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. It was almost seventeen years ago.

Vanya never pulled away from the hug, and Ben didn’t stop feeling it for a long time.

Heaven was… nice.

Really, there was no other word to describe it. It was nice. Ben felt content in a way he’d never felt before, and everything was calm and peaceful. He earned a blank slate. He could be whoever he wanted.

And yet.

“You know you can’t do that,” the little girl with the hat told him as she continued picking her flowers and placing them on her bike’s basket. “Once you cross the light, that’s it.”

“But I didn’t,” Ben insisted, wishing she’d look him in the eye. “I didn’t cross it.”

“Is that right?” the girl said with a smile—a devilish smile—and went right back to work.

Once upon a time, Ben would have dropped it and continued walking down the path alongside the flowers. But he couldn’t do that anymore, not when the place he was supposed to spend his afterlife in couldn’t offer him the things he longed for the most in the world.

“You don’t understand,” Ben said, and the girl huffed. “I have to go back. My family, they—”

“Your family didn’t even know you were there,” the girl said. Ben shivered and bit his lip, but let her finish anyway. “But of course you already know that.” She ran her fingers through the flowers’ petals, before finally settling on one and pulling it from its stem. “You aren’t the first to beg for a way out, and you certainly won’t be the last. I do understand. I have to, to run this place smoothly. I can’t just pick and choose.”

“But that’s exactly what you’re doing,” Ben said, his eyes still pinned on the flower in her hand. “You pick and choose. You play favorites.”

“Not all souls are corrupted, Number Six.” Ben sighed at the use of his number, but it didn’t stop him from feeling helpless. “But I can’t let them mix with those who are.”

Ben’s mind traveled back to the girl and her flowers; picking and choosing, sorting through them, moving them… Not all flowers needed light to grow.

“Want to know which one you are?” the girl said, a teasing tone in her voice.

Ben hated that he couldn’t say no to her.

The girl moved to her bike with a bounce, letting her flowers drop in the basket, and gestured for him to follow her.

They walked through the gardens for a while. As much as Ben wanted to leave this place, he’d always enjoyed looking at the flowers. They didn’t need words to express themselves—just shapes and colors, in a black and white world. And yet, Ben always knew what color they were.

They stopped in front of some bushes, tiny things, and the girl leaned down to pick up a blossom. Her moves were always so calculated, but now she was letting the flower and its white petals rest on her palm almost lazily.

The smell hit Ben like a hurricane.

The small flower smelled of lousy evenings and teasing, of quiet nights looking at the stars. It smelled like stroking a string of memories that hadn’t been touched in years, of something distant yet so familiar. Of laughter, of coziness, of bittersweetness. It smelled of home.

“A gardenia?” Ben asked.

The girl nodded. “That’s the bush I picked you from,” she said, stroking the blossom’s petals. “Of course, you’re here now, so your flower doesn’t exist anymore.” Without missing a heartbeat, she crumpled the flower with a swift movement, and let it fall to the ground.

Ben felt a knot tighten in his chest.

“Why would you do that?”

He’d never understand how God, or whoever she was, could be such a prick.

“You care,” she said, crossing her arms behind her back.

Ben stared in awe at the crumpled flower, then back at her. He wanted to prove her wrong so badly, to stand still, or to walk away, and yet he couldn’t help but lean down and pick up the gardenia. Its petals felt soft, too soft, against his touch, at least those of them who were still holding onto the flower.

“It’s too late for it now,” she said. “It’s just a blossom, ripped from its home. It doesn’t have a stem to plant.”

Ben kept stroking the flower’s leaves, trying to ignore her words. She was wrong. The flower was right there, it was still alive, emitting its bittersweet smell, calling for its home.

“That doesn’t make it useless,” she continued. “It can be used as a fertilizer, to help the other flowers grow. But it will die out, eventually. After all, it’s been corrupted now—”

“Klaus isn’t corrupted,” Ben interrupted. The words came out of his mouth without him processing them. It was only when he heard his own raised voice that he realised what he had said. He hadn’t meant to say it, but it was too late now. “My family isn’t corrupted.”

A smile tugged at the girl’s lips. “Now, I never mentioned him, did I?”

Ben wanted to look away, but everything else around him consisted of flowers, and flowers reminded him of the blossom in his hand, and the way the girl had ended its life as if it was nothing, and if that wasn’t enough, he could still smell it and—

“I keep wondering why you want to go back. What was it he called you?” she asked, looking up, pretending to be in deep thought. “His ‘ghost bitch?’” Ben closed his eyes. “I never liked him, you know. But he must have told you that, I don’t think he likes me very much either. I suppose that’s fair. I wouldn’t like someone who kept choosing other people over me either—”

“He’s not—it’s not like that,” Ben said, but it was. It was like that, because Klaus had acted like a massive asshole by ignoring Ben’s existence and pretending he wasn’t there, by keeping him from his family who he had missed so much, and Ben didn’t deserve that, he knew it, but it didn’t matter, because Klaus needed him. Ben needed him. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, locking them with the girl’s. “I never crossed your damn light.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re here now, and you need it.”

“Gardenias can grow in the shade,” Ben said.

“But those who never see the sun grow weak,” she said.

“I’ve never forgotten what the sun is like.” And he hadn’t. Ben was dead, detached from the world, but Klaus offered him a way out. He gave him oxygen, he let him breathe, he let him live.

The girl huffed. “You could thrive!” she said. “Inside these gardens, you don’t need to suffer anymore. You don’t need to hold onto a world that hurt you, that killed you. You could have everything you wanted here!”

“No.” Ben shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

The girl looked at him for a few lingering moments before turning around and leaning over the bushes again. Ben felt his body tense up in defense, his hand clenching around the dead flower in his hand. He wasn’t going to let her harm them. Not anymore.

“Hand it over,” she said, and Ben took a step back. She sighed. “I just want to put it to rest.”

Ben glanced on the ground in front of her, where she had dug some soil out of the way; a perfect fit for the blossom in his hand. Part of him wanted to tell her no, but the way she said it sounded… genuine.

Ben nodded and dropped on his knees. He glanced at the girl one more time as she gave him a nod back and he placed the gardenia on the hole. He run his fingers through its petals one more time, before gently covering the hole with the dirt on the side. For a split second, he was back on earth, lying on the ground, taking in the texture of it for the first time in almost two decades. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the girl gave the soil a gentle pat.

“They put gardenias around my grave.”

Ben had no idea why he said that.

“I know,” she said. Any hint of hostility had long disappeared from her voice. “I know everything.” She crossed her legs and made herself more comfortable, wiping her hands on her white dress and staining it, before taking off her hat and letting it rest on her lap. “And yet, I was wrong.”

Ben raised an eyebrow at that. He supposed he could sit down for a little bit longer, so he rested on his thigh, not caring about the dirt. He hadn’t minded dirt getting on his clothes in a long long time. “Wrong?”

“Yes,” she said, pressing her lips into a seemingly forced smile. “You are way more stubborn than your brother.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I know.”

Ben shifted so he was sitting down normally, his legs folded and forming the tiniest triangle between them and the ground. He leaned back, his weight supported by his hands placed behind his body, and looked up at the sky, so he could see the light.

Deep down, he knew it hadn’t been possible. Not everyone got the happy ending of their dreams, and Ben certainly didn’t deserve it. After all, his story—his life on earth, his family, Klaus—had ended seventeen years ago. You can’t turn back the pages on a book that doesn’t have any. You can’t leave a garden with no exit. And you certainly can’t bloom as a flower where there isn’t any light. This was meant to happen. All Ben had left to do was accept it.

He felt a bump on his shoulder, causing him to snap his eyes open. He hadn’t even realised he’d close them, until the figure of the little girl staring down at him came into view. She extended her arm for him, and Ben took it without any more questions.

Once on his feet, she spoke again. “Come on.”

“Why, is it curfew already?” Ben joked.

The girl rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of Ben’s hand. Instead, she started pulling him through the gardens again. “I said, come on.”

“Hold on,” Ben said, but she didn’t seem to be listening. “Hey, I said hold on, can you just—” He freed his hand from her grip, and it was only then that she stopped walking. “Where are we going?”

She sighed, a hint of annoyance manifesting in her voice again, but it wasn’t rude like before. “Home, Ben,” she said. “We’re getting you home.”

Ben stared at her in disbelief.

“H-Home?” he said and she nodded. No. There was no way. “Home as in, home home?” She nodded again. “With my family?”

“Yes, Ben!” she said, and no matter how angry she sounded, Ben couldn’t shake the grin off his face. “With your dumb family!”

He covered his face with his hands, another chuckle escaping him. For a guy that was literally about to cry in front of God, he was feeling quite well. Spectacular, actually. He took a step closer to her, taking her hand between his. “Thank you, thank you so much, you have no idea—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… You’re welcome, and all of that, now come on,” she said. When Ben let go of her hand, she adjusted her hat and continued walking down the path with bouncy steps. She stopped, suddenly, turning around to look at Ben again. “I said come on, before I change my mind.”

“Right! Right.” Ben nodded to himself. He was going to see his family, he was going to see Klaus, he was going home where he belonged. Ben took one final breath and stopped fighting the grin threatening to take over his face. “I’m ready.”

The girl smiled. “I know.”

The first time Ben crossed the light, it was to get out of it.

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donavanhall · 3 years

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Acts of Translation

Late in February 2021, I was walking through the Long Island Pine Barrens, along the beginning of the Paumanok Trail. The snow-covered path was marked by the patterned boot tracks of other hikers (only two or three at the most) and the cloven hoof-marks of deer. The sky above the trees was pale blue, tinged with gray. The air was cool, crisp, dry. With each step, my boots compacted the icy slush and sometimes my boot would shift, sliding on the heavy, dense snowpack so that I’d have to compensate with a movement of my upper body and arms to keep my balance and to prevent myself from slipping.

The fourth branch of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London”, a volume called Poésie: (récit) — I prefer the French title since Poetry: (a story) is less poetic and loses a sense of meaning that I think should be there, poésie to my ear implies a movement that is lost in the more static English word, poetry, and récit (and perhaps this is peculiar to me and has nothing to do with actual French) suggests narration closer to that when a storyteller speaks to a listener who receives the récit and so completes the action, a story doesn’t necessarily require a reader — begins with the Narrator (Roubaud) moving through space, in this case, the space is urban, the streets Paris.

Early in December 1994, I was walking in Paris. The sky was gray, low, the air humid, warm.

For walking in Paris, I wear a blue K-way jacket, and a cap, also blue. The K-way was a gift, not something I’d picked out. It was light, blue, waterproof, costly.

For walking in the woods, I wear an olive green jacket made by Patagonia that zips up the front and has a little pocket over the left breast where I can store my phone for easy access. Around my neck, I wear my “Doctor Who scarf” knitted by my mother. (The scarf isn’t a replica of any of the long scarves worn by the Fourth Doctor, played by actor Tom Baker, but a spirited recreation of the sort that anyone familiar with the various scarves featured in Season 12 through 17 of the TV show would immediately recognize.) On my head I wear a black bowler hat I purchased at the museum shop of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2018 when I took my mother and son to the Magritte exhibit. (The next summer, I would take my wife and son to Brussels to tour the permanent Magritte exhibit at the Musée de Beaux Arts. The study of Magritte’s art and writing is a principal concern of my Project.) The clerk at the shop said this style of bowler hat is the exact same one worn by René Magritte when he was alive. So it should be no surprise that I’m pleased with it and wear it every opportunity I get, and especially when I’m out on my daily walk.

Before the pandemic, I walked every afternoon through the pine barrens. This was easy enough since the office where I perform my paid work (not at all literary) is located in the middle of the pine barrens. There are a network of trails that lead through the woods that are immediately accessible from the back door of the building where I work. A year ago, my office was closed, so that I now work from home. Now my afternoon walks (usually) are taken along the streets in the neighborhood where I live in the village of Long Neck. I’ve become a familiar sight in the neighborhood as the man in the bowler hat. My neighbors wave to me and sometimes will view my unusual headwear as an occasion for conversation. What kind of hat is that? asked one neighbor. Another fellow walker assumed I’m a fan of Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of A Clockwork Orange, a novel by Anthony Burgess. I’m more a fan of the book than I am a fan of the movie, but my bowler hat is most deliberately a nod to Magritte and not to Alex and his three droogs. Throughout the pandemic, Magritte and his art has been my life line.

On his walks in Paris, Roubaud doesn’t wear a bowler — his cap is of a different sort.

I bought the cap in New York, at J.J. Hat Center, at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street. It’s a hat made in Scotland and the salesperson assured me that it was the same exact style of cap worn by Sean Connery in the film The Untouchables. It’s no surprise that I’m happy with it.

After I’m vaccinated and I feel like taking the Long Island Rail Road to Penn Station again, maybe I’ll go to the J.J. Hat Center myself and shop for a hat. Although according to “the internet” J.J. Hat Center is now located at 310 Fifth Ave (between 31st & 32nd), not far from Penn at all. If/when I do go in to the city, I’ll want to pay a visit to the Fountain Pen Hospital. A man can never have too many hats or too many fountain pens.

I could go along in this vein for quite some time, this leisurely stroll through Roubaud’s Poésie: (récit) allowing his text to guide my own thoughts, reveries, musings, etc. The resulting text would function as a companion text. I’m walking along with Roubaud in Paris as he moves from the National Library, past familiar restaurants, along familiar streets…

I passed between the tops or periscopes of the licorice icebergs of the Buren columns, making sure not to slip on their outgrowths/extensions [? the French word is excroissances, but it’s not obvious to me what these outgrowths or extensions might be], on the damp grills, slimy, soaped with crushed beige leaves. And I made it through with no accidents to Place Colette, on the right side of the Théâtre-Français. This route was well known to me.

...but Roubaud himself is not walking with me, only his text, or perhaps he is with me as an invented copy of an imaginary Roubaud that I carry within myself as I read and as I walk along the snow-covered Paumanok Trail thinking of his book, or books (one book in seven volumes called collectively “the great fire of London”).

I read the first two and a half branches (the first three volumes to be translated into English), starting with Branch One: Destruction in the fall of 2018. Without really intending to, I wrote a little book of jottings while reading Roubaud’s novel. I called my little book, In the Labyrinth of Forking Paths, since “the great fire of London” is “a story with interpolations and bifurcations” with actual links indicating different narrative paths the reader can take during their wandering reading. I was reminded (though only a little) of the choose-your-own-adventure books (published by Bantam) I read when I was a kid. One of my early attempts at writing fiction was a “literary” choose-your-own-adventure called (imaginatively enough) Into the Labyrinth (a slight variation on a title of one of Alain Robbe-Grillet’s novels, Dans le labyrinthe, with whose hyper-descriptive nouveau roman style I’d become bewitched, a style ideally suited to such text adventures). (I published my Into the Labyrinth as an interactive fiction designed for a media platform that worked only on those early generation iPods. I have no idea if anyone ever read/played my interactive fiction even though according to the app, mine was the most downloaded story. It was certainly the longest.) I won’t claim that I have been waiting for the remaining four volumes to be translated into English. In fact, I felt a certain level of contentment with the artificial truncation of the novel — I had read all that I could, all that was available in English, so now I could move on to other things, like reading the works of Miklós Szentkuthy. Procuring and reading the rest of “the great fire of London” wasn’t a tempting prospect until Anthony, author of the blog, Time’s Flow, mentioned that he’d purchased the remaining volumes in French and would be making an attempt to read them. That was all it took. If Anthony was going to do it, then so would I. I ordered copies from a bookseller in France and they arrived last Friday in the post. So when did I get the idea to translate these remaining four volumes into English myself? Was it a serious idea or just another of my fanciful projects? Project 7139: translated two thousand pages of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London” into English. (For the record, I’m currently working on Project 3 which I started twenty years ago. Project 4 is “write a masterpiece that will establish my literary reputation.” That one might take awhile.) Certainly, I would read these other branches. Or would I? My track record for finishing big projects is not stellar. (The first time I read Proust, it took me ten years.)

While walking in the snow in the pine barrens, I thought about why I was being pulled back into Roubaud’s book. What was it about his very long prose that attracted me? Was this a momentary literary crush or had I fallen for “the great fire of London”? If this were a romance, you could say that Roubaud and I met in the fall of 2018 and spent some time together, mostly walking. We shared our mutual interests, talking about poetry, literature, and mathematics. I learned a great deal about haikai (haiku and haibun), gained a new appreciation of the works of Charles Dickens, and was introduced to Nicholas Bourbaki, and then resumed my own mathematical studies after a hiatus of twenty years, this time beginning with set theory and topology. And then it was over. He had to go. We parted ways.

Then two and half years later, Roubaud pops up again at a party hosted by a friend, this time we’re speaking French — my French is better now, so it’s much easier for us to talk and now I feel something different than I did before. We’re making a real connection. I can feel it. And Roubaud seems somehow changed. When we first met, I was the one who was paying attention to Roubaud, accompanying a new master, and learning new things. Now, this new Roubaud, this French-speaking Roubaud is interested in me, keeps asking me questions, asking for my opinion. Then it dawns on me. Roubaud has chosen me. You’re the one, he says. I’ve picked you.

Of course, this isn’t an exclusive relationship. Such is the way with authors and their books. Readers must share the objects of their affection, but still it feels different when a book chooses you rather than you choosing it.

I’m choosing you. I’m ready whenever you are. Shall we begin?

#jacques roubaud #walking #translation #french #literature

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maxante · 3 years

Text

Elohim Magical Encounter

Nancy had suggested we could gather a small group for our next encounter with the psilocybin. I got my collection of magical chocolates ready, and now that Nancy’s friend, Katie, from the US was in town, we could all meet this evening, setup in the back garden, to sit around the fire pit and connect with the magical realms. We also invited Nat, who wanted to share his crystal sound bowls so that we could be bathed in it’s vibrations as we traversed the cosmic portals.

Once they arrived, the first thing we did was go out for a walk to collect fire wood. The place where I got firewood last time had a friendly guy sitting in the darkness, under a large tree. He confirmed there was no longer any firewood there, but he knew a better spot, just a few streets away.

He said he was happy to take us there. Myself, Nancy and Katie followed him through the well lit streets, under the almost full moon. He wore his large white Mexican cowboy style hat, and sure enough within minutes we had found the wood. He happily helped us fill our basket. We thanked him, and even though we had no pesos, he seemed genuinely good about taking a few minutes out of evening to help us.

Back at the house Nat had already arrived with the sound bowls. We also had the chocolate pyramids ready. Everyone selected which chocolate they wanted. We then sat in circle, each one of us meditating and tuning into psilocybin, unwrapping the small pyramid, half expecting to find the “eat me” message, we quietly munched on them, feeling their strange taste and tingling that was unique to this type of chocolate.

I then went into the back garden to make the fire and Nancy joined me. The others remained inside for sometime, while we built the fire and talked about how fortunate we felt ourselves to be. As the fire blazed and we moved back a little, basking in it’s warmth, while at the same time as the magic began to expand within. I could feel the subtle shifts taking place, the more I tuned in, the more I could feel myself turning towards pull to cross the veil into hidden realm.

They were coming into view. They were inviting me.

I told Nancy I could no longer look at her, and instead I turned to focus on the plants, which had begun to move and transform in the most remarkable ways. In no time I found myself on all fours, facing the rosemary bush, and once again the first growl came from my lips.

I could no longer speak as the jaguar was once again with me, he was back, and fully in charge. Such a force, such a power, I was entranced by the plants, sniffing, burying myself in the rosemary bush, biting it, chewing, growling.

Now I was no longer in the human realm, and yet still they were all around. It’s hard to relate to them when like this. When any of them came towards me, I would growl and make movements to show them the boundary for them not to cross. This went on for sometime, as what was left of my human consciousness swirled out of control.

I could close my eyes and see the luminescent light of the plants. I buried my face in the rosemary, and found they opened a portal of light that had me become transfixed by what transformed into spiraling golden mandalas, swirling hexagons taking me deeper into the magic behind the plant world, and for the first time I heard the chanting of the hypnotic ELOHIM, ELOHIM, ELOHIM... again and again, and I dived deeper and deeper into the golden mandalas that were taking me through the plants into this magical sound.

It became too much, and I fell back, opening my eyes, still unable to speak, and so growling again, I looked up at the almost full moon, and the red wandering star beside her.

I felt their power. They were here. All of them. They were with me. Calling me.

“Look up”, they said. “Be with us. We have much to show you tonight.”

I fell back, staring up again at the moon and the star. They glowed with that powerful intensity that was only visible on nights like this.

The moon had an almost blue flame emanating from it, while it’s accompanying red star grew intensity. They were sending messages beyond language, beyond what I could fully grasp.

It was too much for me. Being with these heavenly bodies was overwhelming. I sat bolt upright again, looking around the scene. The humans were all here, sitting quietly it seemed. The fire was burning and keeping us warm.

I fell back again to be with the moon and the wandering red star.

“What do you have to tell me” I asked. “What is the most important message that you can give me?”

“That everything is perfect, all of it, all the time” they spoke. But it was said in a language beyond English, and commanded a power from out of this world.

“And yet, you have much to do here” they said. “Be with us, for we are always with you”

And with that I sat bolt up right again.

Their intensity was still too much. My feeble human consciousness could only take in so much of their power. Is this who they are... the ELOHIM... all this time... all these past years of communicating with them...

“Yes, we want you to build a grand cathedral here. In the future, you will assemble everything you need to build the most beautiful temple to us.”

And I could see this most luminescent cathedral, so tall, reaching the heavens. And they were inviting me to join them, and build this.

“And all will come, and be with us, they will feel our power and will forever be with us. You are to build this cathedral, you are to be with us, for we own you, all of you, forever.”

Hang on... and it was there I realized... it was the FIMS, the machine insects, the darkness that was speaking, speaking of it’s false light, trying to sway me into it’s vision of a world under it’s dominion.

I spoke to them, “I am not with you, you do not own me.”

“Then who are you with?” They asked, “who do you trust, for is there anyone else with you now, or do you only feel and see us?”

“Even though I can only feel and see you, I have no interest in this cathedral you speak of. Yours is the false light. There is no temple that is needed to be built in this land, in this world. This whole world is the temple, and nature herself is the cathedral, what you speak of is a shrine to your dominion, what you want is tobuild a false temple that will sway the many and bring them to you for your own ends. And this is not something that I will ever be a part of.”

It was clear our world needed no artificial temple or cathedral, for she, in all her majesty, was the fullest expression of all that was most sacred. And how could it be, in her destruction to build such a cathedral tower, that she could be honored.

And they were gone, and once again I was with the natural world and it’s magic.

“You are back with us now, and the darkness has gone again” they said.

“Why so many tests?” I asked “and how I am even to be sure of who you are? What are you, and how can I be sure that you are not another trick?”

“This is perfect, the way you question even us. For we designed you like this, the perfect protector of the truth, had to question everything that came across his path, even us. For you to protect the most sacred deepest truths, you would have to question them, at their very core, question everything, every step of the way. This is your perfection, and now you stand here protector of the truth, in a world of lies and illusion.”

I was back with the moon and stars. For they were giving me greater guidance and solace after the encounters with the FIMS.

For sometime I bounced back and forth with the angelic heavens, falling down, becoming transfixed by the moon and star, then back to the garden. Then, it became clear what to do. “Be with the humans for some time” they said, “We much to share with them also, let them come and speak.”

And so I returned to the circle, and found myself once again able to speak. But it was no longer me speaking. The “Barnaby” character had moved far into the background, which gave them the space to step through. There was the force from the heavens inhabiting “his” body, speaking through “his” mouth.

The eyes that looked at the humans were no longer “mine”. I was seeing the humans in so many different ways. Often they looked so much older. Often I saw death in them.

“You have less time here than you think” they said to me again, a message they would often give. “These humans are not understanding what is coming for them, there is grave danger now, and much less time for everyone, while this snare is set around humanity, they are collected into their trap. You are here to point to a different path, you still have time to show the light and truth.”

I could feel the presence of the darkness intruding, and I growled again, snapping it, sending it away. I had no fear of it’s power or it’s tricks. I sat here with the others, protecting the perimeter from any intruding entities that wanted to disturb our space.

The young women and man had many questions over this next time. As we sat around the fire, I would ask if they had any sincere questions to ask.

Katie, recently visiting us here from the US, was the whole reason we put on the night. She was not here for long, and we wanted her to have the opportunity to connect with the medicine. It was clear she no longer wanted to be behind the wall, and in the land where the machine and darkness ruled. She could feel all the power and magic that was still here in Mexico, with it’s contrast to that world she lived in, that was increasingly being turned into an entrapment of consciousness by the machine. She was looking for answers on what to do, and how to connect with her power as a woman, in a world where the men were lost to the machine and danced to it’s message of control and fear.

The powers that spoke through me were certainly not subtle in their answers, and in the background I was shocked at the ferocity of the answers and the intensity that was spoken. That the tragedy was that as a woman, she did not feel respected in her power, whereas the truth was, that the woman was the power of the world, for she was the first expression of consciousness from Gaia, and had been lied to by the machine who had taken control of the men, to dominate and transform the world into it’s own vision of perfection.

When the man asked questions, he wanted to understand more of what was going on in the world, but his questions seemed to be coming from a different place. And then at some point, he asked directly “and who is speaking?”.

I turned away. “We are still not known here. What do we say. Who is this that is asking? Who does he speak for? Do we share, is this the time?”

I turned back, and said “Michael... this is Michael”

And with that utterance, I felt the danger in being seen. The secret was spoken.

I looked him directly in the eyes “From where do you come, and who sent you?”

Then I reached out my hand, to shake his, and while we did I said “Never speak of this, do not share this with anyone. For we still need more time here, and the longer we are here, the better it is for everyone.”

And he smiled and agreed, saying it was all to simply respect.

Soon after he got up and we hugged, and a great power and force arose within us, beating each other’s back and growling, the power grew stronger and stronger, until I exploded and pushed him away. Falling he regained his balance and went inside to play the sound bowls.

I stood collecting myself, feeling the power of such a force was like an explosion, and I was aware I was still with the women, and so focused on drawing everything back inside.

Growling I came back down to the ground and paced around on all fours. The jaguar was back fully in it’s power now.

Coming closer to the women, I came right up to their faces, and saw them move back a little, and I told them they had nothing to fear, for I would never touch them, the way I touched him, I was here to protect them, and they could relax by the fire, knowing this power was here, for them, to feel safe.

#magic #psilocybin

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veliseraptor · 5 years

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Got anything with Loki doing anything touristy? Gawking at a chocolate fountain? Going to another country to try food he heard was good there? Not realising when he'd crossed a border? Finding mortal magic users/teachers learning from them and hoarding their knowledge? sampling libraries? anything?

These Vagabond Shoes, 3.4k, post-ragnarok au entirely ignoring infinity war cause I can do that if I wanna

-----

Loki stays long enough to see that what remains of Asgard is settled more or less safely, confirms that Thor has things well in hand, and leaves. He writes a brief note - don’t follow me - sets the Tesseract down on top of it, changes his clothes to something less conspicuous, and hitches a ride with one of the curious mortals who has come to gawk.

She squints at him. “You look familiar,” she says.

“I have one of those faces,” Loki says. “Shall we?”

Maren - for so is her name - takes him as far as Drammen. From there he catches a train to Oslo, and books a flight at random. He could walk the shadow paths instead, but for some reason he cannot explain to himself chooses not to.

Thor will have noticed by now that he is gone. What does he think? Is he disappointed, or does he just sigh and accept that this is how Loki is: unchanging, ever himself, fickle and untrustworthy.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” asks the man sitting next to him on the plane.

“No,” Loki says flatly. “You don’t.”

When he lands in Bruges, the first thing he does cut his hair. The second is to buy a postcard with a photo of the palace - it looks rather pathetic to Loki, but he supposes it must be impressive. Hello from Belgium, he writes. I hope you haven’t already burned the village down.

He drops it in the mail, unsigned.

Loki purchased a phone, not because he had anyone he wanted to call (he didn’t) but because they apparently store vast amounts of information, and given all the things Loki doesn’t know about it is useful to have a means of looking them up quickly.

Perusing the options available in the store he visits, he barks an abrupt laugh when he realizes why the StarkPhones are so named. He interrupts the salesperson’s rambling to indicate them. “I’ll take one of those.”

Stark himself will have no idea, but it amuses Loki.

Armed with his new device, Loki spends a couple hours figuring out how to navigate it. It isn’t bad, as far as Midgardian technology goes. Almost respectable. A few modifications and it would almost approach Asgardian children’s toys.

Loki pauses. Those toys are probably gone. He doubts anyone brought one. All of Asgard’s technology, all of its knowledge...that’s gone, now. Perhaps forever. The library of texts stretching back millennia, the scholars and scientists and healers…

Loki hears a crack and looks down at the broken screen of his new phone. He mends it with a touch, his thoughts far away, the loss hitting him all over again. Humans move around him and for a moment he hates them, for going on with such indifference as though an entire civilization has not been swallowed by the Void.

For a moment, the itch to go back to Thor. To have some company in grief.

For a moment.

Loki brushes it aside and moves on. He searches things to do on Earth and finds a list of ‘50 Things to Do Before You Die.’

It’s a starting place.

Before leaving Belgium, though, Loki decides that easily the best thing humans have invented in the past 300,000 years or so is the chocolate fountain. Absolutely genius.

They call it the ‘Grand Canyon,’ but it isn’t half as grand as the one on Alfheim. Do you remember the name? I don’t. Too hot here, and crowded. Give Heimdall my love.

Loki isn’t sure why he didn’t leave the moment he realized that the first destination on his list was a desert. His shirt is sticking to his back with sweat, sunglasses threatening to slide down the bridge of his nose. It is brutally hot, and he feels a bit light-headed.

Retreating into the shade, he frowns at the milling crowd of tourists readying to ride a pack of animals down into the canyon itself. He might be tempted, but for that he is given to understand that the heat down there is actually worse.

“Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

Loki turns his head to look at the middle-aged woman who has sidled up next to him. She is wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a strap under the chin, and looks quite fresh and untroubled by the heat. Loki gives her a tight smile.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just not used to it, I suppose.”

“Just be careful,” she says. “It can really sneak up on you out here!” She pats him on the arm and moves off, leaving Loki to wonder what, exactly, it is.

The tourists mount and begin their trek. When Loki is sure none of them are watching, he shifts into a vulture and launches himself into the air, riding one of the thermals up, looking down at the winding snake of the river below.

To His Majesty King Thor: Humans certainly like to describe things as ‘great,’ don’t they? My guidebook calls this ‘the Great Wall of China.’ The local name seems to translate similarly, though perhaps more specific - 10,000-li long wall. I am sure the linguistic ins and outs of Midgardians are of great interest to you.

It has its own sort of beauty, I suppose. The food here is interesting. Different. I am enjoying it.

In Huaibeizhen, Loki dreams of Thanos.

It is not, needless to say, a pleasant dream.

He is on Sanctuary, wedged into a corner, shaking and crying silently. He has been punished, but cannot remember why; he only knows that he is afraid, and in pain, and desperately lonely. He yearns for safety, for comfort, for home.

You don’t have a home, sneers a voice in his mind. Ebony Maw’s says this is your home.

Childishly, he wants Thor. But he knows, in his bones, that Thor doesn’t want him.

He wakes with tears streaming down his face, sobs catching in his throat. For a moment, he hovers on the edge of taking the shadow-paths, fleeing to Norway, to Thor. He smothers the urge brutally, digging his nails into his palms and breathing shallowly until he calms.

He won’t go back. He doesn’t know if he ever will; hasn’t decided yet. He hasn’t decided much of anything, only that he cannot, or will not, stay still.

And yet he misses Thor. No, that is wrong: saying he misses Thor is as inadequate as it would be to say that he misses breathing. He is that central, that vital, that involuntary.

If anyone asked, Loki thinks he would tell them that was why he was running. To prove that he can.

What sort of a name is ‘Whitsunday’ for a group of islands? Not one that conveys anything about them, certainly. I went sailing today. Rather disappointed by the lack of whales, but I did see a saltwater crocodile. Magnificent creatures. They would not be out of place on Asgard.

Would not have been. It is strange to miss a place I spent so much time hating. It is strange to miss a person I spent so much time hating.

I hope you are well.

The weather is turning on the southern half of Midgard. Loki looks up how it works: the tilting of the planet as it spins, each hemisphere tipping toward or away from the sun, a top spinning through space. He watches a diagram of it, mesmerized by the movement. It isn’t full winter, but no one else is swimming in the clear water. It is cold, but the cold doesn’t bother Loki.

There are reefs, but many of the inhabitants seem to have retreated. He does see a creature moving gracefully through the water, almost like a bird. A manta ray, he learns later.

He borrows a sailboat, just a touch of persuasion convincing the owner to let him take it out alone. It is similar enough to vehicles Loki has experience using that he can fly across the water, the wind in his face.

It feels like freedom.

Why do they come here? A city buried in ash, frozen in the moment of its destruction.

Do you see it in your dreams? Asgard, burning. And I set the flame.

Loki does not stay long in Pompeii. It makes his skin crawl. It makes him think of Hela, and Surtur rising from the Eternal Flame, and Asgard, Golden Asgard, Eternal Asgard, annihilated. Asgard is not a place, but a people, Thor said, more than once, as though it was a talisman. Maybe he is right. But it was a place, for many long years. And now it is not.

Funny, isn’t it, that he tried to destroy a hated Realm and failed, and succeeded in destroying the one that, despite himself, he loved.

I am staying in a cave. Apparently that is the done thing here, along with hot air balloon rides and what they call ‘fairy rock chimneys.’ They bear no resemblance to anything one of the fae would build, I must say, though they have their own beauty.

A cave, though! Really.

Tomorrow I think I will try one of the hot air balloons, though it seems to me a fairly absurd and inefficient form of transportation. I do not think that is actually the point, but it is distracting when one might simply fly. But it is, as the humans around me keep saying, the experience.

You should travel sometime, Thor. See this world it seems we now must live upon. Of course, I suppose the King of Asgard has little time for such frivolities.

I think that you might like it here.

Cappadocia is an interesting place, different again from anywhere else he has gone. Loki goes into the underground churches, as suggested by the friendly concierge at his lodgings, but the moment he steps into the close, dark rooms he begins to sweat, fear wrapping tight around his throat, and he has to retreat quickly.

Ashamed, he stands outside, shivers running down his spine.

“Claustrophobic?” Asks a woman standing nearby. She sounds sympathetic, but Loki still looks sharply in her direction.

“Beg pardon?”

She gestured at the opening. “That’s why I’m not going in. Small spaces give me the creeping horrors.”

Claustrophobic. He never used to be that. Or, well - he didn’t particularly like it, but it didn’t give him...the creeping horrors. Things change, he supposes. Another thing to thank Thanos for.

He forces a thin smile. “A bit,” he says. “Excuse me.”

All in all, he prefers the fairy rock chimneys. There is something fanciful about them, for all they cannot compare to the true architecture of the fae. Too solid and heavy, where their work is light, almost ethereal, and yet full of sharp edges that cut the unwary.

Loki’s always been fond of the fae, though most of the time they did not return the feeling.

He was right about the hot air balloon, though. It is stifling and slow, and he itches to launch himself from the basket and spring into the air, wheeling in spirals, higher and higher until the air is too thin to breathe and he turns and plummets downward.

He does not. But he closes his eyes and imagines it, almost feeling the wind ruffling his feathers as the world dwindles below.

Look! Something older than we are. And still standing. Remarkably durable. They call them ‘the Pyramids of Giza.’ It seems they buried their kings within them.

The sand here gets everywhere, and I’ve burned my nose. It’s bright red. Hideous. I also rode a camel today - they are, quite possibly, the most peculiar creature I’ve encountered so far on Midgard, and remarkably poor tempered.

I don’t think I like deserts.

Egypt is new, and different again from anywhere else he has been. This is one of the fascinating things about Midgard: the variety. One Realm, and yet a myriad of differences. So many ways in which they separate themselves. It is absolutely fascinating.

Loki has been reading about the history of this place. It is old, and looking at the ruins of its history he can feel the weight of its age. Stretching into a distant past that no one here can remember. They were here before Odin was born, when Bor still reigned. If his reckoning is right, they were here before Svartalfheim was made desolate. Built to reach toward a sky they couldn’t touch.

“Did you know that these were built by aliens?” A young man standing next to him says. Loki snorts involuntarily, and he turns toward him.

“Skeptic, are you?” he says. “The research-”

“Don’t be absurd,” Loki says. “Nobody was even visiting this Realm for tourism until very recently. You overestimate your relevance.”

Perhaps it was not the best idea to say that. The man and both of his friends are now staring at him with strange expressions. One of them squints a bit.

“Your relevance?” he says cautiously. Ah, damn.

Loki flashes his teeth. “That’s what I said,” he says, and moves off, veiling himself from sight after a few strides. He can’t help but turn around to look; the gaping expressions are undeniably satisfying.

It lifts his mood for the rest of the day.

Dear Thor: I am sending you two postcards together, this time, to show you both the inside and outside of this church. They have been building it for 137 years. There are a great many churches on Midgard, it seems. Many in this city alone, but this one seems to be unique.

It is certainly very large. The designer has been dead for nearly a century, and yet they labor on. It isn’t for him, though. This is what I have come to realize about humans, I think: they are always looking for something larger than themselves.

Then again, I suppose we are, too. We look to the Norns. I wonder if the Norns look to something else again? If they have their own stories that guide them, that drive them.

Have I bored you yet?

The food here is very good. One thing that can certainly be said for Midgardians: they do very imaginative things with their cuisine.

The pillars inside the Sagrada Familia make Loki think of trees made of stone. He stands, staring upward, listening to the sound of echoing voices.

It reminds him, a little, of Asgard. Starker, sparer, stone-not-gold, but there is something in it nonetheless of glory and splendor, designed to overawe and overwhelm. It is meant to make one feel small.

Loki filters out the decorations, replaces the altar with a throne. On a whim, he spreads an illusion of gold sweeping up the columns, over the ceiling. There is gasping, pointing, shouts - a moment later he lets it fade and slips out, feeling oddly bereft.

He goes to a restaurant down by the water and orders paella. There is an ache in his chest. For some reason, he is thinking of his mother.

That grief still feels unfinished. A piece carved away from him he will never get back. A resolution he will never have. A goodbye he never had the chance to give. When he thought he was dying, Loki reached for her, stretching out his arms, lo, there do I see my mother; lo, she does call to me.

But the circle didn’t close. He rose again, to live on.

Loki feels, suddenly, very far from home. He pays for his food, and leaves it mostly untouched.

Your Majesty,

I couldn’t send this directly from Antarctica. Limited post, apparently.

It is very cold here. Jotunheim cold. There is a challenge to go swimming in the water, and when I dove in I changed. It was a disconcerting feeling.

Do you understand why I tried to destroy them? It was because I believed it would destroy that part of myself.

It is easier to say these things in writing than aloud. I am sending this before I can unwrite it. I wonder, sometimes, if you read these at all; if they reach you only to be tossed into the fire. Or if you do read them, scowling, shaking your head.

I miss you. There, I have said it. Make of it what you will.

It is not easy to jump in. Even knowing that the cold won’t hurt him, not really, his body still rebels against him. Still, Loki braces himself, breathes deeply, and dives.

It takes his breath away. For a moment, there is fear - I am going to freeze, I am going to die - and then it washes over him, like shedding his skin. It feels good, it feels suddenly like this is where he belongs, like this cold is a part of him and he is a part of this cold.

He surfaces. He has gone far enough away from the others that his strangeness would not be noticed, leaving an illusion in his place, and he is glad he did it. If his resistance to the cold would cause comment, surely this shape would as well.

For he knows without looking what skin he wears. His stomach turns, nausea rising in his throat. He fights it down.

It doesn’t matter, he thinks. It is just another shape you can wear. It does not determine your destiny.

But he crawls out of the water, back onto the ice, and changes back. It feels strange, suddenly, like his skin is too tight and he doesn’t quite fit inside it. The feeling passes, but it leaves him unsettled and in a sour mood.

The postcard he writes to Thor, back in Rio Grande, is longer than usual, and afterwards he feels raw, exposed, and full of nervous energy. He lies awake most of the night, and when he sleeps dreams fitfully of falling, of Thor prying his fingers loose from Gungnir one at a time.

Thor,

I don’t know how to come home.

I need you to meet me halfway.

He boards the boat at Alesund. It has been six months, half a year, and the seasons are turning toward the winter now, but the last gasps of summer still linger. He could still run. There are more places to go, more things to see. But there will always be a tether that pulls him back. Binding him, but holding him back from madness, too.

For a millennium, he and Thor have circled each other, trapped in orbit like Midgard and its sun. Loki tips away, and then back, but never breaking free. But if the sun keeps this planet bound, it also keeps it alive.

Geirangerfjord is as splendid as promised. The mountains tower on either side, breathtaking and beautiful, and the sky is clear and bright. He sees a few seals off the side of the boat, poking their heads up and then vanishing with barely a ripple. Loki’s fear grows steadily, a living thing in his chest. He does not know how Thor will greet him. He does not know if Thor will greet him at all.

Maybe it would be best if we never see each other again.

The ship pulls in at Geiranger. Loki holds back, waiting for everyone else to disembark first. He leaves slowly, like a man walking to his doom, and scans the dock.

Thor is not there, and it is only in that moment that Loki fully realizes how much he needed him to be.

He takes a deep breath and descends anyway, pulling out his phone and idly checking off another destination. He’ll stay the night, he thinks. Just in case.

“Loki,” he hears, and looks up sharply.

There he is, striding down the street. Heads turn around him, looking from him to Thor and back again, and at least some of them will put together the pieces soon, but Loki can barely think of that. His thoughts are swallowed up, utterly blank, and he can only stand frozen, eyes wide as Thor bears down on him with large, energetic strides.

He cannot breathe.

“Loki,” Thor says again, and lunges, dragging him into a hug, crushingly tight. Loki’s nose is pressed against Thor’s shoulder. His lungs constrict and release. He hears Thor take a deep breath and sigh.

How easy it is. How natural, this.

“Come home,” Thor says. His voice is muffled, but it vibrates in his chest, and he does not let go.

Here and now, Loki doesn’t want him to.

“Yes,” Loki says.

#anonymous #a wild fic appeared #loki's a goddamn mess #\o/#threw this together in two days take it for what it is #it was fun to write

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nitewrighter · 4 years

Note

👏Bob👏Yatta👏Fanfiction👏continuation👏PleASe👏

Zen and the Art of Hovercycle Maintenance, Part 3

Previous Chapters: 1, 2

—-

Ashe was sitting across from him, hat off, her white hair taking on a slight yellowish tint in the glaring light of the workroom. She looked smaller with the hat off, but sharper somehow, like a blade unsheathed. She sat across from him, leaned back in her seat slowly turning one of Zen’s orbs of destruction over in her hand. Bars and Bob loomed in the corner, and Zenyatta heard a sneeze to his left, moved to turn his head, but found he couldn’t. All motor functions shut down again, he thought.

“Way to ruin the moment, idiot,” muttered a voice to Zen’s right.

“Wasn’t my fault!” said the source of the sneeze.

“Both of you shut up–” said a voice behind Zen.

“Boys,” Ashe spoke simply and the three voices flanking Zen instantly silenced.

“Sorry boss,” they all spoke in unison. Ashe gave a nod of acknowledgement before fixing her red eyes on Zenyatta.

“Care telling me what you’re doing working with Jesse McCree?” She

“Can I ask what will happen if I don’t tell you?” asked Zenyatta.

“You can,” said Ashe, “You ain’t gonna like it.”

Stall, thought Zenyatta, You know McCree and the others are looking for you. Just stall.

“What will happen?” asked Zenyatta.

“We still find out,” said Bars, “We shut you down, dismantle your head, sort through your visual data from the past 36 hours a handful of terabytes at a time. We put everything back, put you back together, and wake you back up, of course, but everyone says it feels like everything in their head’s been moved an inch to the left.”

“You would do that to another Omnic?” said Zenyatta.

“I’ve done it to other Omnics,” said Bars, leaning in.

Zenyatta studied Bars’ face for a moment, “…one of those eyes isn’t yours, is it?” said Zenyatta.

“It’s mine now,” said Bars with a shrug. Horror flickered across the lights in Zenyatta’s forehead and Bars just stood up to his full height, “It’s all parts, Zen. That’s all it is.”

“How can you just…” Zenyatta trailed off.

“How many Null Sector units you see roving around here?” said Bars, folding his arms.

“…none?” said Zenyatta, “But they only target population centers–”

“You know how much prime solar power real estate is in these deserts? Enough to make a new Omnium,” said Bars, stepping forward, “But because there’re no population centers, you don’t see the US government giving a shit about it.”

“I told you,” said Ashe, leaning forward, “I’m the law around here.”

“You are a weapons trafficker, a bully, and a thief,” said Zenyatta.

Bob suddenly loomed forward, insulted on Ashe’s behalf, but Ashe held up a hand and Bob stilled. He signed something furiously but Ashe only gave him a short glance before saying, “It’s fine, Bob,” before turning back to Zen. “And you’re claiming moral high ground on account of, what, working with Jesse McCree? You come into my territory blowing shit up and you want to act like you didn’t throw a rock at a hornets nest?” said Ashe.

“Whatever personal issues you have with McCree–” Zenyatta started.

“Don’t,” said Ashe, “Tell me what you and McCree were doing out here.”

Bars was already looking over a tray laden with screwdrivers of various sizes. He turned on an acetylene torch to make sure it worked.

“Jesse McCree is with Overwatch,” said Zenyatta, and then he added, “I–I am with Overwatch. The new Overwatch.”

It felt strange saying it without Genji around. He and Genji had decided that Overwatch was the best means to stop the rising conflicts between human and Omnic in the world, but without Genji there, any connection Zenyatta felt to Overwatch was tenuous at best. Zenyatta had always felt like the one guiding Genji, but now, alone in a grubby little garage in the middle of nowhere on Route 66, Zenyatta felt like he had just wandered after Genji into this whole mess.

“Go on,” said Ashe as Bars examined a screwdriver.

“We were stopping a shipment of explosives,” Zenyatta spoke quickly, “Not yours. They were from Talon. The plan was to safely drop them off with the authorities at Watchpoint: Grand Mesa, when we were intercepted by the Sidewinders. There was a… miscommunication, on my team’s end, and rather than let the explosives fall into the wrong hands, we detonated them. I was separated from my team in the blast.”

“…you were caught in an explosion… because of a miscommunication…” Ashe repeated slowly.

I was caught in an explosion because I was put on a team with someone who doesn’t care if omnics live or die, thought Zenyatta before answering, “Yes. A miscommunication.”

“Well if McCree was on that mission, that doesn’t surprise me. Shit seems to have a magnetic attraction to fans when he’s around. Let me guess: McCree’s here because he’s ‘an expert on the area,’” said Ashe.

“You need to put me on this mission. I’m an expert on the area,” Zenyatta could clearly hear McCree’s voice in his memory.

“…yes,” said Zenyatta.

Ashe huffed incredulously. “I’d call him a son of a bitch but truth be told I have nothing but respect for any woman who spent that many years looking after his sorry ass without strangling him,” she stood up from her chair, now tossing the orb of destruction up and down in her hand and walking thoughtfully around the room, “That was the only reason you were here?” she said, looking back at Zenyatta, “Overwatch has no intention on stepping in on any of Deadlock’s operations?”

“Deadlock… isn’t as high a priority as Talon or Null Sector,” said Zenyatta.

Ashe chuckled and the triplets behind Zenyatta forced nervous laugh along with her. “’Not a high priority,’ he says,” said Ashe, “Oh, but once you take care of Null Sector and Talon, then petty criminals like us should be quaking in our boots,” she walked over to a worktable where her black hat was resting and fitted it back on, adjusting it in her reflection in the glass of a cracked analog television tucked in the corner, “Is that what you’re gonna do after you save the world? Do what the old Overwatch did after the Crisis and just start policing the world over again?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Zenyatta. He certainly didn’t see himself being an enforcer like that.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” said Ashe, looking at him with something almost like pity, “So… how is the fight going?”

“Excuse me?” said Zenyatta.

“The fight. The big damn heroic-ass fight,” said Ashe, “How’s it going?”

“I… would not be able to tell you,” said Zenyatta.

“Oh I don’t doubt that,” said Ashe, “But what do you think of it? Is it getting any easier? You got ‘em on the ropes?”

Zenyatta was silent at this.

“Figured,” She gave a glance to the orb in her hand, “You don’t exactly strike me as the mercenary type… what are you doing with them?”

“I heal and advise,” said Zenyatta. How often do they listen though? a bitter voice in his head spoke up, made sharper by his own sense of helplessness and isolation, Winston, Jack, and Ana listen to Doctor Ziegler before they listen to me because they actually worked with her. Lúcio is friendly, but his focus is largely on Vishkar. Genji listens, but he tends to keep out of the larger-scale strategizing anyway, so I can hardly expect him to advocate for me if he’s not advocating to begin with. Tracer listens, if only because she respected Mondatta.

That last thought stung and if Zen could have shaken his head to stop the train of thoughts, he would.

“You advise,” said Ashe, arching an eyebrow, “But you don’t know how the fight is going?”

“I don’t… advise tactically…” said Zenyatta, hesitantly, before attempting to assert himself as best he could while being completely immobilized. No, he wasn’t going to let himself get discouraged here. “Overwatch is a peacekeeping organization. If there is going to be peace, it requires guidance from activists like myself.”

“I thought you looked Shambali,” said Ashe, tilting her head, “So a cozy little alliance there, huh?”

“I… am no longer Shambali,” Zenyatta said a bit stiffly.

Ashe perked up a bit at this. That look of not-quite-pity seemed to shift into genuine concern. “Seriously?” she said.

“I was Shambali, but then the Shambali became overly concerned with dogmatism and overshadowed by their own fame, I believed the path to changing the world was in individual connections.”

Bob’s shoulders softened a bit at this but Bars made another exaggerated motion of his head to indicate eye-rolling.

“…So I set out on my own path,” said Zenyatta.

“And that lead you to Overwatch?” said Ashe, tilting her head.

Genji lead me to Overwatch, thought Zenyatta, but he managed a, “Yes.”

Ashe huffed a little before plopping back down in her seat.

“Bob,” she said, not even looking over her shoulder at the massive omnic butler, “Get my usual and get him some Glenwales.”

Bob perked up and quickly headed out of the room.

“I don’t want Glenwales–” Zenyatta started.

“Yes you do,” said Ashe. There wasn’t a playful ‘Come onnnn live a little!’ lilt in her voice, but rather a flat factuality.

“You threaten to take my head apart, and you think some oil is going to establish trust?” said Zenyatta.

“You talk about trust, but I wasn’t the one who started off this whole thing claimin’ to be an artist,” Ashe scoffed, “The sad part was I really wanted to believe that. We would have sent a tail after you when we let you go, I mean I’m not stupid, but I did want to believe it. But no, this isn’t about trust, Zen. This is about hospitality, and god knows you could use some.” She glanced over her shoulder at Bars. “Bars? Restore the motor functions of his head, neck, and left arm.”

“You sure, boss?” said Bars.

“Well I ain’t pourin’ that oil down his gullet, do you want to?” said Ashe, “It’s five on one and he’s not an idiot. Just lost. Like anyone.”

“I am not lost,” said Zenyatta, adjusting himself in his seat as he felt something pinch in his neck and felt the ability to move flood back into his arm.

Bob came back with an oddly fancy silver tray and two bottles and two glasses set upon it. One was an already-half-empty crystal decanter, the other was a commercial bottle of Glenwales, not even opened.

“Sure you are,” said Ashe, filling her own glass with the whiskey, “You’re working with Jesse McCree, ain’t you?”

“Overwatch as an organization is far more effective than you give it credit for,” said Zenyatta.

“I’m sure,” said Ashe with a shrug, “Yeah, it’s a hodgepodge, but the firepower you’ve got is nothin’ to sneeze at.”

“You’re more lost than me,” said Zenyatta, “You are plagued by doubt and resentment, your vision is clouded by anger, and you are ultimately chained down by your past.” His words would have far more effect with an orb of discord, but if it had managed to stop Genji in his tracks a few years ago, he saw no reason why it wouldn’t work on Ashe. But Ashe just kept that expression at him as Bob poured Zenyatta a glass of Glenwales and offered it to him. Bob looked questioningly to Ashe as well with Zenyatta’s words but Ashe seemed unshaken.

“Uh huh,” said Ashe, sipping her whiskey, “I know all that. And you’re in Overwatch because…”

“Because I must help,” said Zenyatta.

“Just not tactically,” said Ashe, swirling her whiskey in its glass, “And martially you can probably hold your own, but you’re not exactly a soldier. Or a doctor. And arguably you could advocate but as you said, you’re exactly Shambali, either.”

Despite finally having partial movement, Zenyatta stiffened in his seat.

“Lost recognizes lost,” said Ashe, “Which I guess brings me to the rub of the whole situation, which is, what do you think Overwatch would give to have you back?”

Zenyatta suddenly felt very hollow. Overwatch’s resources were stretched phyllo-thin as it was. He knew as a medic he was invaluable, but whether Overwatch had anything to offer or would even negotiate such a matter…

“It doesn’t matter,” said Zenyatta, “McCree was easily able to defeat you before–”

“Yeah. Fresh after a heist when everyone was exposed and exhausted and he was pulling the puppet strings on the situation just so he could get his glowy blue sex doll back. This situation calls for your team storming our turf–which, I promise you, will end up much worse if it really comes to that, which it doesn’t have to. I don’t have the time to bother with a hostage. Your team wants you back. We can take care of this like adults.” She motioned with her own glass to the bottle of Glenwales, “And we’ll see you’re well-taken care of in the meantime.” Zenyatta noted the virtually unchanged level of whiskey in her own glass and the still-sharp look in her eye as she set her own glass down. No, she wouldn’t get his guard down that easily.

“How kind of you,” Zenyatta’s voice was bitter and dry.

“Aw, thank you!” Ashe put a hand over her heart, “People tell me I’m too nice all the time.”

“They do?” said one of the triplets, before he got swatted upside the head by one of his brothers.

“Bars?” said Ashe, putting her hands on her hips, “Think you can figure out whatever comm network our guest is linked up to?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Bars, rolling his shoulders.

“Good. I want an accessible channel with it by the time I get back. You three,” Ashe motioned to the triplets, “With me. We’re riding. Making sure there’s none of those Sidewinder clowns in our territory in the meantime.”

“You got it, boss!” the triplets said in unison.

“Bob?” Ashe put a hand on the massive omnic’s shoulder, “I am leaving the comfort of our dear guest in your very capable hands… Also rip his head off if he tries escapin’.”

Bob gave a slight bow to Ashe as she walked out of the room, the Deadlock triplets trailing behind her in a line. They all headed out the door but Ashe paused in the doorway, “I mean, we can put it back, of course–”

“…Of course,” said Zenyatta, dryly.

Ashe made a finger gun at him, “Sit tight!” she said, before slipping away from the doorway.

About a minute of pure silence and stillness passed, punctuated only by the sound of Bars’ tools clinking as he sifted through them and then the hum of hovercycles in the distance. Zenyatta slumped a little in his seat, and then noticed Bob was pushing a glass of Glenwales in his direction.

“…I don’t want any,” said Zenyatta.

“Do you have tac-mods?” said Bars.

“Pardon?” said Zenyatta.

“Tactile modifications? You know, ‘Oh wow, organic partner, you touching me feels so good, and this is very genuine because I physically altered myself so we would both feel better about your dumb meatsack body rubbing on my chassis.’”

“…I… have.. some,” said Zenyatta.

“Where?” said Bars.

“That’s rude,” said Zenyatta.

“I’m asking you so I don’t hurt you,” said Bars.

“…Chest, forehead, and hands,” said Zenyatta.

“Really?” said Bars, “No…?” he gestured at his pelvic region.

“I…. considered them, but decided I wouldn’t get them until I found the right partner,” said Zenyatta.

“Ooh la-la,” said Bars, picking up a screwdriver, “Got a real romantic on our hands.”

“I’m a monk,” said Zenyatta.

“You’re not Shambali,” said Bars, stepping alongside Zenyatta and setting a screwdriver against one of the bolts securing the small flattened cylinder on the left side of his jaw. A few loosened screws the upper half of it came off easily. Zen didn’t feel a thing. He did feel a wire being stuck into one of the manual ports and then glanced off to the side to see Bars holding a tablet and tapping a few things into it. Zenyatta heard a high pitched noise buzz through his head for a few seconds before Bars extracted the wire.

“Got what I need,” said Bars, walking out of the room, “All you, Bob.”

Bob nodded as he headed off and the door closed behind him. Bob took a seat in the metal folding chair Ashe had been sitting in. It creaked and whined beneath his weight. Bob sat primly, one leg folded over the other, fingers interlaced on his knee like an old-fashioned gentleman in a victorian clothing catalogue.

He signed something at Zenyatta.

“…I don’t understand,” said Zenyatta.

Bob perked up, slightly alarmed, held up a finger again in a “Wait,” gesture, then stood up, stepped over to a work table and rifled through it briefly before pulling out a data drive. He pulled a small handkerchief from the interior of his vest and wiped the data drive down, looked it over, seemed pleased with it, then stepped in front of Zenyatta once more.

He held up the data drive to Zenyatta.

“What?” said Zenyatta.

Bob gestured to the side of his own head, then pointed at the exposed port on the side of Zenyatta’s jaw.

Zenyatta flinched back slightly and Bob made a slightly flailing, “it’s okay!” gesture, before taking a phone out from the interior of his vest. He slowly and clumsily tapped something out on the phone and then held the screen up for Zenyatta to read.

It’s safe.

I promise.

“I would like to trust you,” said Zenyatta, “But… given the circumstances…”

Bob withdrew the phone, rapidly tapped the screen indicating him deleting a word, then tapped something out again and held the phone up once more.

“I PROMISE” was in all caps now and Bob held up the data drive.

Zenyatta paused, studying Bob’s face, then gingerly took the data drive from Bob and inserted it into the exposed port in the side of his jaw. His train of thought slowed as it always did when he was downloading a large amount of data and Bob started signing.

“I don’t understand what you’re–” Zenyatta started, but then he did.

“—doesn’t cover all the signs, people are always making new ones, of course,” Bob was signing, “But you should be able to fill in the gaps–Do you understand me?”

Zenyatta sat there, stunned.

“Do you understand me?” Bob signed again.

Zenyatta brought up his one functioning hand and slowly signed, “Yes.”

Bob’s eyes brightened. “Oh! I’m so glad! You don’t have to sign everything. You can just talk. It’s fine.”

“…why don’t you talk?” said Zenyatta.

“I tried a couple different voice boxes, Ashe and Bars still bring me some, sometimes,” Bob signed, “None of them sounded right. None of them sounded like me. This,” he signed, “Feels like me.”

“But you were made without a voice box?” said Zenyatta.

“Technically I’m just a slightly more advanced labor unit,” Bob signed, “I was never designed with one. I learned ASL because deafness is congenital in Miss Ashe’s family.”

“…explains why she’s so good at yelling,” Zenyatta said a bit dryly.

“It’s not my place to apologize on her behalf,” signed Bob, “But it does touch on a very sore spot that you’re involved with Jesse McCree and that you lied about it—”

“Because she’s the most dangerous woman in the southwest,” said Zenyatta.

“Dangerous things tend to be so to survive,” Bob signed. He paused for a bit and Zenyatta was silent as well.

“You spoke more than I thought you would,” Bob signed after a while.

“Oh–I did?” said Zenyatta.

“I was worried Bars would take your head apart–” Bob signed, “I mean the procedure is perfectly safe, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant but… you shared a lot…”

“…I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that many questions–me as in… me,” said Zenyatta, “Not what I thought so they could help themselves best—” He caught himself and then glanced back at Bob, who was still listening perfectly patiently, “I’m rambling. They’re a good team,” said Zenyatta.

“I’m sure,” Bob signed.

“They are,” said Zenyatta.

“I never said they weren’t,” signed Bob.

Zenyatta just slumped back in his seat a bit.

“I do wish we had met under better circumstances,” Bob signed, glancing off at the orb of destruction Ashe had left on the workbench, “But Miss Ashe doesn’t believe in keeping families apart. As harsh as she can be, she does want to see you back home.”

“I carry the Iris with me,” said Zenyatta, glancing off, “Home is wherever I can bring human and omnic together in harmony.”

Bob paused at this. “So home is with you,” Bob signed, “It’s not… technically… with them.”

“No–” said Zenyatta, “Well-Yes–I mean…” Zenyatta made a sighing sound. Not having any lungs, the sound itself didn’t have any physical purpose aside from giving him a few seconds to think, “Is this place home to you?” said Zenyatta.

“It is. I rather like being a dastardly rogue,” Bob signed, “It’s quite thrilling.”

Zenyatta chuckled a little at the sign for ‘Dastardly.’

“And Miss Ashe is my family,” signed Bob.

Zenyatta reared back slightly in his seat at this.

“She can surprise you,” Bob signed. He daintily extended a finger and pushed the little glass of Glenwales across the silver tray towards Zenyatta with his pinky. “Lots of things about this place can.”

Zenyatta gave a long look to the glass, then took it and gulped it down. Well, if he was going to be here for a while…

#bobyatta #tekharta zenyatta #bob overwatch #elizabeth caledonia ashe #overwatch

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caffeineivore · 5 years

Text

Write A Go Go!

A Spirits Interlude **

The club is packed, steamy with heated bodies, redolent with the sultry scent of sweat and top shelf vodka and expensive makeup. The DJ is on fire, the VIP section boasts several supermodels, fawn-limbed and glassy-eyed, along with a few professional athletes rowdy after several beers, and on all three levels, the bartenders are running through bottle after bottle amidst the endless line of partiers.

The man is impeccably dressed in a pin-striped blazer and a blood-red silk shirt, a felt fedora perched jauntily on the top of his tawny hair. He stays on the outskirts of the main group writhing on the dance floor, amber eyes watchful as they slide over the sinuous ripple of flesh. There’s a bachelorette party on the main floor, easily recognizable by the matching candy-pink sashes. He pauses over them-- quite tipsy, to a one, and delectable in the best way-- but large groups present their difficulties.

Almost fatefully, a voice sounds behind him, and it’s the bartender, a cute, buxom girl with curly red hair and a great smile. “What’re you having?”

The man smiles, revealing brilliantly white teeth. “Oh, well, hello. And could I trouble you for a Brandy Alexander, my sweet?”

The red-haired bartender lets out a giggle. “Coming right up. Y’know, I would have pegged you as a Scotch rocks type of guy. Not someone who’d be into sweet drinks.”

“Oh,” The man leans forward, eyes fixed hypnotically upon hers. “But I have-- very much-- a sweet tooth that can’t be denied.”

The bartender, Molly, gives him his Brandy Alexander a few moments later, and though she’s slammed, she manages to check up on him with a flattering frequency, and he learns bits and pieces about her over the din of music and cheers and glasses clinking and high heels on hard floors. She’d moved into a new place recently after her previous roommate had gotten married, and now lived with a good friend who worked for Verizon, and they kept opposite schedules. The man’s a good listener, who nods with very flattering interest at all the appropriate moments, and leaves a crisp hundred-dollar-bill on the bar after finishing his solo drink. Even for an anticipatedly busy and profitable night, it’s an eye-catching tip, and so Molly has nothing but positive feelings towards the man, who never did leave his name, unfortunately.

She’s exhausted but wired by half-past four in the morning as she’s walking out of the main doors of the club, and the streets are quiet at this hour as she makes the quick trek towards the subway station. When a shadowy figure steps into her path, she yelps-- but the alarm quickly morphs into a smile. “Oh, it’s you. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

The man, who’d been leaning against the wall, takes off his hat in a gesture almost courtly. “Oh, do not be alarmed, my sweet.” His hair, uncovered, is a thick and voluminous mane, and under the brilliance of the street lights, she sees faint freckles at his cheekbones and temples, an almost unearthly glow to his eyes. “I would never let someone else harm you.”

Something about the way he says it is a bit unnerving, and Molly takes an instinctive step back, the finely-honed wariness of one who worked late nights in the big city kicking in. “Well, good night. And.... AHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

It’s a blur of motion and terror-- she has no more than a moment to glimpse another face-- a cruel, bestial one red-eyed with hunger and terrifying with bared fangs, lunging straight toward her, and then she’s knocked sprawling, knees and elbows jarring as they hit the pavement, and there’s suddenly someone-- something-- standing between her and the predator’s teeth, a woosh of fire and silver light. She hears the snap of jaws and the sickening, shredding noise of teeth sinking in, tearing, but she’s too terrified to look up. This is how my life ends. Mauled on the sidewalk. Oh, God, I’m too young to die...

“The way of the Lord is a stronghold to the blameless, but destruction to evildoers.“ A new voice, deep and yet wrathful, breaks through her terror, and she hears the clash of something metallic striking with great enough force that the whole sidewalk shudders, then the high, eerie, yelping laugh of something not quite human.

A whistle, and then the lovely, androgynous face of a young man appears, stooping down in front of her, eyes the golden green of peridots staring into her face. “Come on, let’s get you out of here, poor girl.”

“Who are you?” Molly gasps, even as the man pulls her up with surprising strength and ushers her quickly away. Behind them, ferocious sounds of battle carry on-- ripping fabric, the patter of heavy feet, the scrape and clang of metal. “Why should I trust you? What WAS that?!”

“A friend. I was in the area, as it were,” The man smiles, and she’s quite certain that he could pass muster for Colgate commercials, and Molly finds herself breathing a bit easier. “I did call for back-up, once I figured out what was going on.”

He doesn’t say anything more, but before she can question anything further, they’re a good ten blocks away and he’s ushering her into a cab, pressing a handful of twenties into the driver’s hand. And then Molly is on her way, shaken, bruised but otherwise unhurt. She looks back through the rear windshield to see where her mysterious saviour might have gone, but the street is silent and deserted. She shivers all the way home, even after she’d burrowed under the covers in her bed, and wonders if she’ll ever feel warm and safe again.

Dawn breaks over the city and slowly it comes back to life, and on a street still gloomy, Molly’s green-eyed saviour surveys the pool of pitch-black viscera and matted fur with a grimace. “God, those things smell awful when they’re dead, don’t they?”

“Please don’t invoke Him lightly.” A tall, stalwart figure comes forth from beneath the scaffolding. Kafziel’s leather trench coat looks as though it’s been put through a wood-chipper, and there is a vicious-looking row of gashes-- four in total, equidistant, on his left forearm. “The girl is home safe, I take it.”

“Of course.” Zhen smiles in his most winning way at the Watchman, who, true to form, is supremely and almost insultingly unaffected. “Thank you, by the way. For coming, that is. I didn’t know if anyone was going to, when I called.”

“Praying is not the same as hailing a cab,” Kafziel says reprovingly, then sighs. “This city is-- special to me, I suppose. I will always defend it and its innocents. And they have no place here.” He glares at the befouled spot on the sidewalk where the Kishi finally fell, then shakes his head. “They are getting bolder. Greater in number. It is worrisome.”

“Yeah, a bit.” Zhen gives the rather grim-faced Kafziel a sideway glance. “I don’t suppose you approve of me much more than of-- that.” He points at the bubbling miasma that is only now just beginning to settle and dry in the sunlight. His changeable green eyes meet the angel’s steadfast gray ones. “I suppose I can be naughty, sometimes. And self-indulgent. But a fondness for good chocolate and magic tricks isn’t on the same level as a propensity for biting someone’s face off. And what that thing was about to do was horrid on so many levels.”

“There are greater ills than your like, Trickster.” The angel intones, then gives Zhen a long, knowing look. “Moreover, I’ve met your lady. She treated me on another occasion, after an altercation with other creatures.”

Everything about Zhen lights up at the mention, however vague, of Raina. “She’s just fantastic, isn’t she? I’m sure she took good care of you, whatever happened during that altercation. So smart, and competent, and wonderful, and beautiful. And I’m sure you’d rather I ask about the other creatures rather than wax poetic about my lady, of course, and I shall certainly do so momentarily. One must make allowances for a man in love.”

Much to Zhen’s surprise, the angel doesn’t seem affronted, and in fact, almost cracks a smile. Just the faintest quirk of lips, as though somewhere in his undoubtedly long and awe-inspiring existence, he’d seen enough to know something of love. “She did indeed take good care of me. And considering how many creatures there were...” He eyes the mess on the sidewalk, then gives Zhen a thoughtful look. “I don’t suppose you could do something to clean that up, before this area is crowded with the waking mortals.”

Zhen gives him a haughty look. “I am not a maidservant, and certainly don’t scrub up blood and guts and gore, especially not the cursed variety. The sunlight will take care of it, eventually, right?” Kafziel says nothing, simply keeps his gaze fixed upon Zhen’s, and the latter huffs, snaps his fingers. The area of sidewalk where the Kishi had breathed its last is then cordoned off with yellow caution tape, flanked with orange construction cones, and the gooey, bloody mess changes form to appear as a mess of cracked pavement and even a manhole propped open. It is certainly not the prettiest illusion he has ever made, but...

“That will suffice.” Kafziel, with an angel’s typical arrogance, does not seem the sort to dole out lavish praise. Zhen nods, then gestures the badly-torn leather trench coat on his shoulders with something akin to recklessness.

“Do you want me to fix that as well, Watchman?” He softens the sassy words with a smile. “Not the best look, I daresay.”

If angels rolled their eyes, this one’s look is almost that expression. He simply shrugs off the ruined coat, seemingly impervious to the chilly morning, and vanishes without another word with the suddenness of morning mist. Zhen chuckles, then shakes his head. “Well, thanks and have a nice morning, I guess!”

The wind picks up, a sudden gust that is vigorous but not overly cold, then dies as abruptly as it came. Zhen takes the acknowledgement-- curt but not unkind-- for what it is, and slowly makes his way back home.

#sailor moon #senshi/shitennou #fanfiction #fanfic

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getyourblisson · 5 years

Text

A Look At January 2019

The inspiration that we often get with the New Year is not just because we have a calendar fresh start. We are literally, entering a new energy current each calendar year. So even though January is consistently January in its energy, it changes the shape and form it takes each year because it is integrating with a different energy vibration each year.

An example of this is like each one of us is still us no matter what. We will always be us. However, what aspect of ourselves is seen to others depends on who we are with, where we are, what we are doing, our age, etc. So what we show at 5 years old will be different than what we show at 30 years old or 60 years old; but we are always still our own selves. With one friend we might be very conversational and talkative, and with another friend we might be very deep and introspective; however, we may still look at the positive in things no matter which form it is coming through.

We can also say that this is much like changing outfits. Each year, every month changes their outfit. They still have the same basic body base; but may look different based on how they are dressed up. Sometimes it is very easy to identify them because the outfit matches the base form; and sometimes it is very different than the base form. As the saying goes a cowboy is still a cowboy whether you put him in jeans and a hat or whether he is in a suit and tie. We just get to see either more of who they are, or another dimension of who they are. One outfit he is comfortable in and another he is not; but he can still shine if he wants either way.

It is from this information that I find our influences to work the same way. Knowing whether the base energy is comfortable with whom it is mixing with; allows us to operate with greater wisdom, and thus create a more pleasant experience in our lives. If one is uncomfortable, then we can take steps to make them more comfortable; and if one is already comfortable, then we can indulge even further into what is offered. So it is for each month of the year, and every aspect within it.

What really gets us so motivated in January every year is what its base energy is all about. That energy is connected to immortal love and blessings. January is always offering us up peace, and a strong connection with Spirit. When this happens we are feeling full, confident, and ready to try something new; and have a stronger connection with our own wholeness.

We tend to set aside the worries, fears, and anxieties; and open to possibility. Possibility in the realm of codes is about wisdom; in particular, the wisdom of knowing that anything and everything is possible. The only question is whether we are willing to accept that it is a possibility for us. Too often we like to shut down our possibilities through the practical human mind; because if we can’t see or understand how it would happen we discount the possibility as being real. However, when the immortal love comes through, we are able to set aside having to know how things will come to be and accept that it is possible.

In 2019, love and relationships are kind of a big theme; however, the road to getting there may not always be as easy and smooth as we would like them to be. When the codes of January interact with the codes of 2019; we reach possibility and immortal love through finding out the truth about things. Lies and deception become exposed first thing this year; which is already about the most prominent theme this year. This can create some stress or anxiety, as we are asked to question the people and things that we are holding in our life for how true they are and how aligned they are with who we truly are.

Let’s face it, someone can be a wonderful and perfectly fine person; and still not be aligned with who you really are. So it will be important for us to both know ourselves, and to take a look at how the jobs we work, the friends we have, and the relationships that we keep are aligned and supporting that. However, with this year’s energy, it is also possible that you may not have to look hard before things surface showing you who people really are.

The key is that when we release what isn’t true in our lives, we open a greater door to receiving immortal love through all aspects of our lives; and that is truly exciting. When we align with the truth and let go of those people and things that have been in our lives that are not operating that way we create an opening to enjoying true relationship with others. We invite in the possibility of true loving partnership, and those that support and work with us; instead of leading closet lives that restrict us from living in the possibilities of what fills our heart the most, and supports us to live as our own immortal and loving self. All of which creates the peace that so many of us seek.

During the first 2 ½ weeks of the month we have a wonderful grounding energy that supports us in taking the practical steps needed to set the possibilities that we would like to create into motion. However, what is interesting about this in 2019 is that it is working in sort of a reverse or reflective manner. Our forward motion is not coming so much from taking steps forward, as much as it is coming from being at peace with what is leaving our lives. The energy is more about releasing what has come to completion in order to make room for the new that is coming in.

It is during this time that we will also do well to work with a mentor or guide. It is up to you whether this is physical or spiritual in nature; or perhaps a combination of both. This is a time that will also favor those in mentoring positions; and if this is you, then I encourage you to take a look around and see who just might be someone that you see the light of potential in that could use a helping hand. True mentors live by wisdom, and walk their talk. They are not always perfect, but they are living their suggestions. A strong mentor can go a long way in creating successes for us; by supporting us in finding our own way, and guiding us in what is needed to do that. Do not look to those that promise to do for you; but to those that offer to help you do for yourself, for these are the ones that most want you to succeed.

During the las 1 ½ weeks of the month, a new dynamic enters that tries to help us blend the soul’s way with the earthly realm. Here is where we are really going to start to find out if we are connected to see the possibilities through, or if we are unwilling to do what needs to be done. Are we willing to balance dreams with what we need to do in the material realm of living? How does daily life blend with manifesting the life you want? Will we get too lost in the dreams to take action, leaving us in danger of turning things over to those with destructive and manipulative tendencies; waiting to take advantage of those that don’t want face what is happening on Earth?

While certainly there are those that just soar immediately, and are blessed with codes that allow for immediate success no matter what; there are many that have to ease into it a bit more, balancing the soul’s path with the flow of things on Earth. When we are on our soul’s journey, we will not stop doing a dream just because we also have to do something else while bringing it about. We find a way to balance and honor both in our lives.

What I have found is that when I take care of my earthly responsibilities while functioning in the soul’s energy; things will always get taken care of. One big piece connected to this is to make certain that we are not procrastinating or putting things off. Doing that at this time, can lead to rough circumstances happening in order to take care of the needs we have. At least, that is, when this code pattern is in place. It is wonderful to know that spirit will take care of you; but that still needs to have practical steps being taken to work in partnership with that. These steps are like paving the way and opening the door; and inviting spirit to be as fully present as possible in your life.

Hope may be running high; and we may want to see and believe that spirit or God is in everything. That is a great practice; but it is also important to see through the lies and deception, of those simply wanting to make a buck off of those that want to fulfill their dreams. In essence do not let your optimism overpower reason to the point of getting sucked into things.

In these types of code patterns, I like to commit myself to giving time in making decisions; and don’t make decisions on the spot wherever possible. If people are telling me that a special is only available that day in that moment; then I will politely decline. I honor taking the time to sit with something and really feel into if it is something that will truly work for me; or just playing on my hopes and dreams of the moment.

The inspiration of putting an idea into action, the excitement of possibility; can sometimes lead us to take on too much too fast. It is the steady fire that keeps us warm through the night; not the roaring blaze that burns so hot that it falls to ashes quickly. Possibility is not just an idea or concept; but a path that we explore giving us the opportunity to put what we have learned into motion in our lives.

During this time of exploring our dreams, and possible paths to let our soul fly; we may also experience sudden endings in our lives. Do not be afraid of these, or to let go. What is ending now, is doing so because it’s time has been fulfilled. This is also powerful energy, because when we are not sure of what steps to take in moving forward or setting things in motion; we can start by releasing and bringing closure to what is not needed or supporting us in those dreams. That makes this a great time to release people and things that squash your dreams.

Often times, as we release and bring closure to what inhibits us; we bring clarity to what will support us. The balance in all of this is to keep a clear head among the euphoria of being connected in spirit. So don’t close things out in haste; and make certain you have enough to support you in making the transition into your dreams before cutting things totally out of your life. It can be a delicate balance, and there is no major rush; even though we do not want to procrastinate, and do want to release what keeps us from pursuing a soul filled life.

I welcome you to find out the truth about people and things in your life.

I welcome you to release what is not true and that which does not support you in who you are and what you are sharing with the world.

I welcome you to be at peace with anything that is leaving your life.

I welcome you to balance optimism and reason in your life and the choices that you are making.

Actions to focus on

This month favors making connections with others and positioning yourself as a leader or connecting with leaders in what you want to put your energy into. This is a good time to take the steps to step out and step forward on what is important to you. The key in doing this is to find ways to make it fun, and to consider the feelings of others. The steps we take and where we focus our energy at this time can allow us to experience sudden advancements or successes. However, it is important to accept this with gentleness and in a way that brings out the assets of others and includes them in what you do.

If others feel jealous or have been looked over in the process of your success, they will not only be hurt; but their insecurities are likely to rise, and they may set themselves on a path to sabotage anyone that they see as competition. How you handle the “naysayers” in your life; will show your true ability to be a true and compassionate leader. I have found that by acknowledging the skill sets of my “attackers” that it turns their focus back into themselves and off of me. Their attacks are really about wanting attention and acknowledgement for doing things well.

I welcome you to explore what it means to you to be a leader, or what roles leaders have played in your life. Then see how you can implement the things that you have appreciated in other leaders, or make adjustments to be the leader that you always wanted to have.

I welcome you to acknowledge the skills that others have.

What to focus your thoughts on

During the first week of this month our mind might be a bit rampant with thoughts of rebelling against things that are said to us. Speaking and thinking about how “wrong” someone is about things, will only send you into a self-destructive spiral. Mentally, we want to rebel against the lies; and “prove” them wrong. Our minds can turn to all kinds of sinister paths if we allow it to. The key here is to re-direct your thoughts on the souls’ wisdom.

The soul knows that only those that are confused, uncertain, insecure, and operating only on earthly knowledge spend their time speaking false things, spreading rumors, and telling lies. They are feeling scared and threatened in some way; and as a loving soul we are best not to get in the drama of that. Instead we can ask for the situation that created that space for them to be blessed, and that they may know and embrace the truth so that they may feel real and immortal love.

When we wish others ill and suffering because of their choices, we only bring damage to ourselves. Stand in the actions of a true and compassionate leader; and their lies will be dissolved. Keep your mind on what is true and stay focused on your own possibilities; and you will give no truth to their lies.

From the 6th – 24th, the state of our mind has a direct effect on the successes and luck that we generate in our lives. The more positive and clear our mind, the greater the successes. It is during this time that our mind can and is literally creating our future and taking command of our lives. It is in motion setting forth the changes that need to happen based on the thoughts that we are carrying.

This means that it is up to us to dissolve the lies and programs that we are still holding onto in our heads. This can be everything from the “not good enough” “can’t do it” “not possible” “don’t have the resources” and so on. If we hold these thoughts, then this will be the experience that we will create. However, when we face the truth and allow ourselves to know the truth of who we are as a loving and infinite being that has no limits to what they can do, able to create anything that we can conceive and hold in our hearts; then we open also the door to all possibilities to come forth, including “lucky” opportunities in the physical realm.

It is when we hold integrity in our own minds, regardless of earthly circumstances; that we will come to know our own true magnificent self. When we align with the truth of all that we are, and our own wholeness; then the lies have no power in our lives. It is up to you to call out those lies that you have carried, and replace them with the knowledge of who you are.

From the 25th to the end of the month our thoughts move more into possibilities for the future. Our minds tend to become expansive and want to explore other possibilities. It may become very creative and innovative in finding new solutions. This will be particularly evident where you have cleared out the lies in the previous days, making room for new ideas and possibilities to explore. This is a time where true wisdom and understanding can take over; and from there we are able to connect with our abundant and joyous selves.

The only key will be to take that creative mindset and give it a practical, reasonable, and responsible framework to manifest in. If an idea is not grounded into reality; it is hard for it to show itself in the physical aspects of our lives, and thus will only tend to be a concept or idea. When we give it a means to come through and exist; it is providing it with shape and form, and then we are able to experience that idea in a more tangible form through our physical senses.

I welcome you to experiment with keeping your mind on the possibilities that you would like to create.

I welcome you to explore the possibility of always being “good enough” and that anything is possible, even if you don’t know how.

I welcome you to explore and know your own magnificence

I welcome you to provide the possibilities that you want to experience, a framework in which to exist in.

Nourishing The Soul

During the first week of the month, our soul is seeking some deep introspection. It wants to know the beauty of life from deep within, exploring infinite realms of wisdom and timeless insights. It wants to feel things at the strongest point in its core. There can be a tendency to withdraw at this time due to feeling challenged by others or life. We may feel that it is unsafe to speak up, or feel a great amount of disorder, chaos, or confusion; leaving us uncertain about what is true and what is not. Thus, the soul needs some time alone; away from the input of others, where it can become clear and connected from within.

During this time we will do best to reflect on what our own inner self is telling us; and to release the tapes and thoughts and opinions of others. Right now, these outer influences are distractions that are leaving us disoriented. It is a time to ask what you are wanting and seeking, what is resonating within you; apart from what others are telling you is the best thing to do. This is a time for you to listen to yourself; for you are the only one that really knows what is best for you.

For the rest of the month we want to be careful of any feelings of being disheartened. Our soul has a tendency to feel a bit restricted at this time; because it wants to soar and explore and be what it is outside of the material restrictions. It wants life to be beautiful; but it doesn’t always feel that it is experiencing that.

The irony is, at this time we actually have great potential to manifest our soul’s desires; and to create a life that feels more fulfilling and soul filled to us. However, once again, to get there we must let go of the programming that restricts us. We must let go of the people and situations that want to destroy our dreams of living in our potential. These people speak from their own references and not yours. They speak from their fears. However, for us to live a life that is fulfilling on a soul level; then it takes filling ourselves with a love that allows us to be a shining light, that not only knows of immortal love but lives connected to it.

I welcome you during the first week to tune in with what is true for you at your very core; and to connect with the truth and wisdom of your soul.

I welcome you during the rest of the month to spend time connected with immortal love; and to do something that is truly fulfilling for you on a soul level.

The Code Journey ~ Jesse An Nichols George

#Jesse An Nichols George #The Code Journey #compassion #enlightenment #consciousness #conscious living #love #personal development #wellness #wholeness #well-being #wealth #joy #happiness #Hallmark #Enrichment #practical spirituality #alignment

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worddevdealswithml · 5 years

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No Ring? No Problem Words: 5393 Chapter 2 First Chapter Here Full Story Available on AO3

Summary:

Adrien Agreste’s greatest secret is that he’s the alter-ego of one of Paris’ heroes, Chat Noir.

His second biggest secret is that he doesn’t actually have a miraculous.

Not that that’s going to stop him from fighting alongside Ladybug. After all, Paris needs all the heroes it can get.

–

“-Nathalie Sancoeur.”

“Huh,” said Plagg, and stared at her. He seemed to be considering something.

“Why aren’t you surprised by me?” He said, drifting sideways, as if to see her from more angles

She cocked her head, “why would I be?”

“Because I just materialized out of a ring, don’t play dumb.”

“You did, yes.”

“So I’ll ask you again, why weren’t you surprised?”

“I am surprised. I don’t know why Adrien had a Miraculous in his room, and I would certainly like the answer to that.”

“And you know what a Miraculous is,” said Plagg, and, silently, she began to regret saying anything. She’d had him at an utter disadvantage mere moments ago, but now…

“I have expertise on the subject.”

He stared at her, and she got the impression he was trying to figure something out.

“Really. And where did you get that ‘expertise’?”

“From my employer,” that wasn’t much of a secret. Mr. Agreste would be receiving his miraculous shortly either way. This kwami would know that much whether she told him or not..

“Employer who…?” He said, getting a bit closer to her face, a shrewd expression on his.

“Who what?” she said, turning away, walking to the door, box in hand.

“How does he know.” She turned towards the path that would lead her to the hidden entrance to Mr. Agreste’s private room.

She shrugged, and Plagg seemed to get something, saying suddenly from behind her, “He’s got Nooroo, doesn’t he?”

She stopped.

“He does! So he’s the supervillain I was hearing about, here to terrorize Paris, or whatever.”

She shook her head. “He is not here to terrorize Paris. If Paris is terrorized, it’s merely a side-effect.”

Adrien was making his way through the streets now. He hoped that whoever saw him wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. That would be supremely awkward; goodbye secret identity, hello Mr. Agreste.

“Really. And what does he want?”

She shrugged. “You.”

Plagg sucked in a sharp breath. “The power of destruction in his hands, huh? Well, I don’t take kindly to-“

“And the Ladybug Miraculous.”

Plagg went silent, and then muttered, “That’s worse.”

Well, she’d given information, maybe she could get some before passing off the ring.

“You believe he will do something evil with the wish?”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“Because, Nathalie, wishes have a price. Whatever he wishes for, he won’t like paying for it.”

Now that was useful information.

“What does he want?”

She hesitated, but then, he would doubtless find out either way. “He wants his wife returned to him.”

“Back from the dead?” said Plagg, and didn’t wait for an answer, “doesn’t matter. If he wants her back, someone’s going to take her place. Maybe him. Maybe the ‘Adrien’ kid you were talking about.” He looked up, “who knows, it might even be you.”

She turned on her heel to look at him, expression neutral. “Then that is the price I will pay.”

Plagg backed away, slightly, taking her in.

Then, in a… disgusted? Annoyed? Some strange tone, he let out an ‘Ooohh.’

“I can’t believe,” he muttered, clearly annoyed, now, “that I get out for the first time in… however long, and I’m immediately dealing with love. Again.”

She shut her mouth, her expression, for the first time since her shock, not blank. She couldn’t quite keep the anger, not at the kwami, at herself, off of her face.

Plagg seemed to realize something, and then, “Ooh,” he said, in a different tone this time. He turned to look at her. “You’re willing to die for him. Or, at least, you’re trying to get him his wife back, even though you’re in love with him.”

She clenched her fists, and, with an effort, steadied her expression. Her name was Sancoeur, and she lived up to the name. She had to.

“You know,” said Plagg, “I think it might be a good thing you found me.”

“And why is that,” she said, her emotion already invisible again.

“Because you can save everyone a bunch of trouble. I think you can help everyone out at once.” He shrugged. “Including you.”

She looked at him.

“Don’t give me to him,” he said.

“Are you asking me to sabotage Mr. Agreste’s work?”

“Did you capture the akuma?” asked Tikki.

Adrien stared at the TV. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds. But… Immobile?

“I’m saying,” said Plagg, “that I’ve seen people get their wishes granted over, and over, and over, and it never goes well. Every wish comes with a price, and it’s never quite worth it. I’ve seen more people than you’ve ever met ask for a wish, and then make another to fix what went wrong in the first one. They ruin their lives, and, yeah, they get what they want, but they’re never happy about it. I’ve seen societies collapse because the wrong person got their hands on us.”

“And how do I know you aren’t lying, trying to manipulate me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, I’m a big manipulator. Honestly, even Tikki’s better at it than me, and she’s a ray of sunshine who’s never told a lie in the past 3 millennia. Well, two, technically, I think she might have- The point is, I don’t trust anyone with a wish, especially someone who’s willing to be a supervillain to get one. I think it’s that they overestimate how useful a wish is, makes them think any price is worth paying.”

“Do you really think you can convince me that easily?”

“I don’t need to convince you of it right now,” said Plagg, “I just need you to be thinking about it.”

She didn’t answer.

“So, how about a deal,” he said.

She didn’t answer for a second, and then, hating herself for saying it, “go on.”

“He can’t use me to get the Ladybug Miraculous. Trust me, using me would be going all in. Much better odds if he sticks with the Butterfly, and,” he sighed, “forcing other people to do his dirty work. If you give me to him right now, you haven’t helped him.

Nathalie hadn’t said anything, which he took as his cue to continue.

“So there’s no rush. There’s no reason you have to do it now. But if you do, you can’t take it back. He’ll have me, so even if you change your mind about supporting him, or,” he rolled his eyes, “whatever, you’ll always want to support him, or whatever, but about letting him have the wish...”

She heard footsteps, and, quietly, said, “he’s coming.”

Plagg was suddenly behind her, and Mr. Agreste was in front of her.

“Hello, sir,” she said.

He smiled, “everything is going well. Soon, I will have their Miraculouses.”

“Their?” she said.

“This, ‘Ladybug’ and ‘Chat Noir,’” he said. “They may have defeated Stoneheart, but I can feel the same wounds, waiting for me to bring the copies to life. Perhaps when he returns to school tomorrow, I will find my opening.”

“Of course, sir.”

And then he was moving on.

So that was who she was so interested in? Well, Plagg supposed, humans were weird, but even so, this one seemed a bit odd to care so much about.

There was a bigger issue, though, and she’d noticed too.

“Who is Chat Noir.”

He shrugged. “No clue. It sounds like a name one of my owners would come up with, but whoever he is, I never transformed him. I’ve been here the whole time.”

He had been.

“Anyway,” he said, “more importantly, why you shouldn’t give me to him.”

Of course, he would come back to that. She’d warned him, and hadn’t handed him over. She’d hidden him from Mr. Agreste, which, in itself, was worrying her.

She was cautious, of course she’d warned him. As he said, she couldn’t take it back, so she should at least hear him out, right?

“Even if you end up giving me to him, you should personally want to do it later.”

She closed her eyes, trying not to let the grating voice into her head.

“Think about it. If you give me to him, he’s happy, but it doesn’t change anything. He still needs to beat Ladybug. But… If you wait until he’s beaten Ladybug, he got most of the way there, but you’re the one who really made it happen. You care about what he thinks about you, don’t you?”

She did. And he was right. Not, that she should do it, but… She did care.

She looked at him, disdain now visible on her face. Not really disdain, even, more… Annoyance, because he was right.

He shrugged. “And, in the meantime, I can tell you about exactly what happens when people get wishes.”

She looked after where Mr. Agreste had gone, and back at the kwami.

She slipped the ring-box into her pocket.

She was going to regret this, wasn’t she.

Adrien had faced down a giant stone monster. He wasn’t about to let anyone tell him what he could or couldn’t do.

Sure, those stone giants were still around the city, but they hadn’t done anything. In the meantime, whether anyone in his house liked it or not, he was going to school.

Adrien had, of course, a good conception of alternate universes; after all, how many times had those comics rebooted, by now? He was well acquainted with the idea that some things stayed the same, despite changing the circumstances around them, while others did not. So, to learn that while some things had changed, that others stayed remarkably, impossibly similar wouldn’t have surprised him.

And so it was that he entered the school, he was greeted by Chloe, the only friend he’d been allowed for years. He was still been beleaguered for autographs, and was still directed to a seat in front of Chloe herself in the class.

He still saw her place the gum, still tried to remove it, at the worst possible moment.

He still made an instant enemy of the girl with hair so black it could have been blue, and still only had a chance to salvage this day by the fact that the kid with the hat seemed willing to be his friend.

A few moments later, a girl ran into class, seemingly upset, but she took her seat, and the teacher began to take roll, seemingly unbothered by his presence, which he was infinitely grateful for.

“Ivan?” she called, and… No response. She looked back to where this boy ‘Ivan’ must usually sit, seeming concerned.

And then, in a crash, the door was gone, and another stone giant was there, or was it the same one?

In an instant, it had taken the girl who’d come in last, and Chloe, and was gone.

So they were moving again.

That meant he had a job to do. It was time to go to work. For a second, he contemplated forgetting the outfit, and just running after it.

But… No, this thing had attacked twice, even though they’d won the first time. If it came back again, it would know who he was if he didn’t put on the disguise.

He had to pull a full-on Clark Kent, and find… A phone booth, or, even just a locker.

Well, he knew where the lockers were, at least.

He was off, leaping over the railing, grabbing on to it, slipping down to the first floor in only a few seconds.

Years of photoshoots had left him with a skill for changing clothes quickly, so he managed to switch outfits in… must have been half a minute, at most.

He ran, outside, and, almost immediately found himself confronted by… That was the friend, the friend of the girl who hated him now, pinned up against a wall by a car.

And that was Ladybug, hauling it away from her with brute force.

His breath caught oddly. Incredibly strong.

She noticed him.

“Chat Noir!”

“Hello again,” he said, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Yeah,” she said, seemingly annoyed, “I didn’t expect to be doing this again myself.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know what happened. My kwami told me that to stop this happening, we… I need to ‘purify’ the akuma that’s turning Ivan into a villain.”

“Got it,” he said. What was a kwami? She kept saying that word like he should know what it was.

“He was headed to the Eiffel Tower,” she said, and made to set off in that direction with her yo-yo.

She looked back at him, and said, “Right. You can’t do that.”

He shook his head, “I can run pretty fast, but not fast enough.”

“Alright,” she said, “this might get a bit awkward, but you’ll have to trust me.”

“I-“ he tried to say, but suddenly, she had an arm around his torso and…

He was flying. He was flying, over rooftops, with his only source of support being her arm around his waist. And… He felt safe. More to the point, he could feel his face burning from the proximity to her, which was something new for him. He was pretty sure that he’d heard about this before, but he couldn’t quite place the word for it.

And then they landed, and she let him go, and he knew why, but why did she have to let go?

He shook it off, and when he looked back up…

She’d already saved Chloe’s life. It looked like the monster had thrown her off the tower.

And… A man in blue, a police officer, it seemed, was talking to her.

“I’m sorry young lady, but you need to leave this, to the professionals.”

She seemed to almost crumple at the words, which stirred up an irrational degree of anger.

“Hey!” he shouted, marching up to him.

The officer turned.

“She just saved that girl’s life. She’s already beaten this thing before, so don’t you try telling her that she should leave it to you! Maybe you should leave this to the professionals!”

The man seemed taken aback, and he placed a hand on Ladybug’s back, and pulled her away.

“Don’t listen to him,” he said, with an angry glance back, “you’re the hero Paris needs right now.”

She straightened up, and nodded. “Right. Thanks, I needed that.”

And that was when Stoneheart had roared, and the Butterflies had swarmed.

Staring at the tablet, Nathalie was nodding softly.

“Alright,” said Plagg, “he does have good presentation, I’ll give him that. I mean, it’s a bit hard to make out the face, but definitely a solid effort.”

She ignored him, looking down at the ring, which she’d hung on a chain around her neck, low enough that it was invisible unless she wanted it seen. Such a simple, elegant design, for such a loud, annoying occupant.

“Seriously, though,” said Plagg, returning to the same topic he’d touched on a full three times already. “you’d better get some camembert. I can eat swiss, but trust me, you won’t like me when I’m on a diet of swiss. If you want me happy and healthy, you get me camembert.”

It was on her shopping list, which surprised even her.

She rubbed her eyes. She’d missed his entire exchange with Ladybug and… Chat Noir, she supposed. Plagg had seemed as confused as she was, but, he called himself Chat Noir, and the name certainly fit.

He still couldn’t find the word for it, but he knew why he’d felt it. The way she strode out front of the crowd, stared down the giant head, that had called itself ‘Hawkmoth.’ He felt the strange warmth in his chest.

And then, when she had, in a frenzy, annihilated it, purifying every butterfly that formed it, he’d taken a sharp breath, and staggered.

Love. He was in love with her.

“Alright,” she said, turning back to him, and he wasn’t ready for this; no, no, he needed a few seconds to process what had happened, but- “Chat Noir, are you ready for this?”

“No,” he whispered, so quietly she couldn’t possibly have heard. Not ready to move on from what he’d just felt, but… He grinned, like a proper superhero, one with no fear before the villain. “Any time you are, Ladybug.”

#ML #Miraculous Ladybug #Plagg #Adrien Agreste #Nathalie Sancoeur #No Miraculous AU #Sort of #Chat Noir

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haxorus-imp · 6 years

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Alien Affections - Villainous/Reader - Chapter 3

You couldn't comprehend what happened after you entered Flug's lab.

One moment you're standing, the next you're sitting down on a stool with Flug directly across from you with a thick notepad. Then came the confusion. He started to fire off question after question. Even if it was of good nature, and it was kinda odd to be interrogated for the first time in your life, you couldn't help but admire the curiosity Flug has for the unknown. Which many people are scared of. But, he's a scientist. It's his job to find out how things work and discover the undiscovered. After asking him to slow down on the questions, Flug did just that. Yet, he wasn't prepared for the disappointment that unexpectedly followed. "So, let me get this straight...you DON'T have Star ships, teleporters, robotic servants, nor gigantic death rays capable of destroying planets?" Flug asked, his face crestfallen from the recent information he received. You nodded in affirmation and Flug gave out a disappointed sigh. He was just hoping for some newer technology to understand from a raw source, yet he found nothing. "But!" You followed, as Flug looked back up in curiosity and slight hope. "I don't think we have that kind of stuff, mostly because my people have no NEED for that type of stuff. However, other things, like robotic servants, are in their primitive stages. Mere shells of what they can be further towards the distant future. My people are more focused on medicine and improving our daily lives than conquering other planets and blowing stuff up." You finish. Flug pondered for a moment. "So, your people don't use advanced technologies to build weapons, but to improve daily activities and health oriented fields?" Flug asked, while writing something down in his notepad. "Yeah, pretty much. We are trying to specialize in making the paralyzed walk again, have robots assist in daily chores, making artificial limbs to replace the original ones that were lost, further medicine to make us immune to certain deadly diseases, cure the once-incurable, and so on." You explained. Flug was writing all of the information you spouted down into his notebook. After he was finished, he pressed the pen to his face, to what you guessed where his mouth would be located underneath the paper bag. He looked lost in thought for a few seconds, before asking another question. "What about your planet's military? What advancements have been accomplished there?" Flug questioned. "Well, we have tried to avoid war after 2 wars that got the entire planet involved and a bunch of bloody battles and shorter wars that followed after. Currently, a few countries relations have soured and a current smaller war is going on." You explained. "But, as for advancements, we currently have weaponized drones and bomber drones to assist in fighting. We are far from replacing people in war. But, we'll get there." Flug listened with severe interest at the information. He was fully aware of battle machines. They are not a new concept to him, as many are used by villains to fight heroes during combat, but none have been used to actively preserve human life in times of war. Usually, mechs and robots were used to forward destructive agendas. "So, your people are actively trying to preserve human life by replacing them with robots?" You nod in confirmation. "How has that gone for your people?" "Eh...not so great, but not horrible." You replied. "Oh. Did the enemy use electro-magnetic pulses to shoot them out of the sky?" Flug looked at you in confused anticipation. "No. My people get attached to the robotic drones and die trying to protect them. Effectively ruining the entire purpose of the drone." You replied flatly. Flug nearly fell off of his stool at the answer he received. Sputtering incoherently as he straightened himself back out to prevent himself from loosing his balance. "B-But! Why?! Why ruin the effectiveness of the drone if it's there for that exact purpose?!" Flug exclaimed, flabbergasted at the information. You just shrug. "My people care too much for things that behave sentient and tries to protect them from harm. It's the same with pets and friends. You can abuse someone who can take it all you want, but the moment you lay a hand on something that is valuable to them, be it a pet, object, or helpless being...prepare yourself. Because you're in for a nasty fight." You respond. Flug seemed to understand now and hummed in thought, while putting his notepad down onto his lap.

After some speculation, Flug started to suspect something else about yourself. The planet in question was not only similar to his own home, with some things in history being vastly different. He began to suspect a peculiar theory that he was taught in science class once. The Multiple Worlds Theory. Commonly known as the Multiverse Theory. Which is stated in the theory that the universe functioned like a tree. Certain choices would cause the tree to form more branches, creating endless possibilities. Some worlds will branch off into different alternates depending on the path that the planets' history took. These changes can range from something small, like deciding to wear a certain outfit on a particular day, to colossal events that changes the history of the world forever. Your planet has such close similarities to his own planet. The History, the technology, it even had HUMANS on it. Yet, there were major differences to his own home. They even had some of his planets' own historical figures. Like Thomas Edison. They even share references. This was shown when they saw some of those embarrassing 'Hang in there!' posters on his labs' wall and laughed at the kitten that had a cut out picture of his own face plastered over the kittens' face. All while being familiar with the concept. So, with careful thinking, he pondered for a question that would confirm his suspicion. Yet, even he could tell that you were becoming exhausted. As you looked like you might fall asleep sitting on your stool eventually. He had to make this question count. He paused for a moment and thought about his next question very carefully. Then suddenly, he got an idea for a question that could hammer the final nail in the metaphorical coffin. "How about Heroes and Villains? Do you have those?" Flug asked, silently anticipating the answer. You rubbed your eyes and stared at him in a slightly confused manner. "You mean like in the comic books and movies? Those heroes and villains?" You stared at him, letting your eyes droop slightly. That did it. The person in front of him was indeed from another world branch entirely. A world where there were only humans. No mutants, no heroes, and certainly no villains. "Comics and movies?" Flug asked, obviously intrigued from his recent mental discovery. "Yeah. You know. Works of fiction? One of the most strongest sources of entertainment?" You affirmed. 'So. They're from the multiverse branch where heroes and villains are made up fictional literature just for pure amusement...interesting.' Flug thought. "Yes. So, as you know, this is a villain-run organization. We cater to villains to assist in fighting heroes. E-Er...well, that's what Black Hat says anyway." Flug idly rubbed his arm. You just laughed. "You're world is really strange. Heroes and villains? Like people who fly and have super strength? I thought I was going to wind up on a planet or spaceship full of tiny foreign little creatures. But, I get warped to someplace that runs like the comic books back on my planet." Flug cocked a brow. "You're the one to talk. You have no advanced military, space travel, or anything. Yet you are willing to die for a robot or a drone? Excessive love and nurturing natures for things that aren't even properly alive. Artificial, yet you would rather take care of every thing. I was expecting more advanced lifeforms." Flug and yourself had a small staring contest. Before you both started chuckling. Like strangers bonding over cups of coffee and bantering about the best form of coffee. Maybe this wasn't going to be half-bad.

After a short coffee break, Flug got you some cold water (by your request), he than assessed all of the information he gathered from you. "It seems your species has a very strong nurturing nature. As they tend to focus on bettering their lives for, not only themselves, but for the sake of animals and the planet as well." You nodded. "As to that, your people stick strongly to the positives of life and want places, not just your own native country, to have food, drinkable water, and even medicine to help fight off diseases." You nod again. "But, prior to that statement, you said that not everything was great. As some people tend to let their greed get out of control, people who fear that there are things in their food due to misinformation, some believe that vaccines can cause numerous mental problems, and that your world has been warming up to dangerous levels due to uncontrolled greenhouse gas output. How do you feel about the negativity?" Flug asked as he sipped his coffee from a straw. You turned your head to the side and nodded. "Well, yes, there are certain things that happen that many people can't believe happens. There are some things going down on my planet that some people can't believe are going on. Some things make you want to pull all of your hair out. Some things make you want to cry out in frustration. When it all comes down on you, it can feel like too much." you said, looking off into a nonexistent distance. "But, bad things happen, but good always counters it. When our current leader pulled out of the climate agreement, cities and people took action. They filled in the void that the person tried to create. They weren't going to let that person win. To give up without a fight. They resisted. They stuck to it. They disobeyed authority to do what is right." You snapped out of your trance and looked back at Flug and laughed slightly. "So, I guess my planet has some form of heroes and villains. There are those that want to do harm to better themselves. Be it to other people, the environment, or the oceans. Then, there are people who combat it with resistance, companionship, love, community, and care." You smiled at Flug, who stared back for a few silent moments. "I see. You're very optimistic about these types of things." Flug says, looking back at his clipboard that was full of papers. You just snorted in feigned offense at his underwhelming reaction. "If I'm not, then who will be?" You grinned at him while drinking your water.

You yawned. You had no idea how long you and Flug asked questions about your planet and its cultures. But, it seems he was getting ready to wrap up as he placed his pen down for the last time it seemed. Flug examined his notepad as he got up from his stool and walked over to a table with some equipment on it. Much to your confusion. Laying his notes down, he began to scan over some of the things on his workbench. He then picked up a syringe, some sterilized alcohol pads, a bandage, than began to walk back to you. You wouldn't lie that you were kind of afraid of the needle, yet you kept your relaxed posture, to not worry the already-anxious-enough scientist. Flug paused as he neared you and cleared his throat. "U-uh. Would you mind if I took a blood sample to finish up this interrogation?" He said, nervously shifting on his feet. "J-Just for research!" He quickly reassured. You hummed slightly and shrugged. "Go ahead." You waved, as you propped yourself up on the stool and relaxed your arms. "Ah! Thank you!" Flug graciously exclaimed as he walked over and picked a shoulder, preparing it with alcohol pads. "This might sting a little..." Flug warned as he prepped the needle. "Eh. I just won't think about it." You muttered while closing your eyes. Then you felt the insertion of the needle, it stung a bit, but it was carefully placed in a vein. Maybe he had done this before? He does look like a doctor of some sort. This is also a laboratory. So maybe he had some experience in doing this kinda thing. Flug took it slow and steady. Watching as the blood filled the syringe cylinder. He was careful with it, trying to cause as little discomfort as possible. Last think he wanted was for something to go wrong and you to become guarded and closed off. It was better to be cautious anyway. Once it was filled, he removed the needle, sterilized the area, and placed the bandage on it. "Done!" Flug announced. You slightly moved your, now sore, arm and stood up from the stool. Yawning loudly as you did so. "I can see that you're tired. You can lay down in the cot over there." Flug said as he pointed to a bed located near the door of the laboratory. You blinked, still in a drowsy state. "Aren't you gonna go to bed too?" You yawned. "Don't worry about me. I go to bed late all of the time! Besides, I have some testing to do." Flug replied, walking back to his workbench as he did so. "I'll wake you up eventually, tomorrow you're going to meet the rest of the group that lives in the manor. Hopefully, everything goes right." Flug muttered that last part under his breath. "Oh. Alright then. Goodnight, Flug!" You waved at him, while walking over and climbing into the cot. Covering yourself up with the blankets. It's funny how the blue sheets had paper airplanes on them. "Goodnight, (Name)." Flug muttered automatically, while working the blood sample into a test tube.

The night ticked on. The only things making noise was the humming of machines and you sleeping in the cot, for when Flug crashed in his lab after long periods of sleep deprivation. Flug, on the other hand, was wide awake. Eagerly studying the blood sample he retrieved from yourself. It was magnificent! Your blood had plenty of different cells and structures to study! Despite being and looking human, you had a rather unique blood type and cells in your body. Almost mutant-looking in a way. Yet, fully human and perfectly functioning foreign cells. This mistake just got....very interesting. Flug continued to work on studying the blood sample with knowledge-hungry desire. Not knowing that the night ticked on by and the sun had begun to rise. Well, not until he passed out from over-exertion, that is. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Next> <Previous ~First~

#Villainous #Flug x Reader #Black Hat x Reader #Alien Affections #Fanfic

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heartslogos · 6 years

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newfragile yellows [313]

Ellana leans forward in the backseat of the car, bracing her hand on the front passenger seat as she looks ahead of them.

She knows these roads.

Ellana has never been here before - not. Not since the attic. No. But she’s been here. She’s dreamed - remembered this place.

And it was her memory.

Not June’s, not Falon’din’s, or Mythal’s, or anyone else’s. It was her memory.

This is the main road the goes to her house.

Ellana knows this. She knows this deeper than anything. She can feel this road, as this car driven by a woman named Cassandra Pentaghast, shortens and turns and Ellana’s head turns before the car does because she knows - she knows.

If you turn on this street it’s faster even if it’s side roads, but the side roads are always empty and there’s always some sort of jam-up about two stops down because of left turns and poor timing on the intersection’s signals.

Ellana’s head turns before the car does and she feels her heart beating faster in her chest.

The handcuffs around her wrists buzz against her skin with magical suppression, but she can feel her soul coming alive in a way she doesn’t think she could ever have anticipated, wanted, dreamed of.

Is this what everyone wanted her to come back to this entire time?

If she had known that this feeling, that this resurrection of her soul, was waiting for her she would have abandoned the others to their destruction long ago.

(That is a lie, it is a lie she desperately wants to be true, because she wants this. She wants what lies four more turns, two stop signs, and a cul-de-sac away from this point in space. She wants it so much that her eyes sting and her heart pounds with the promise of memory, at last. Peace. Possibly.)

If Ellana had known that her home - the home of Ellana, the person she is, was, should be - was waiting for her, so close, so easily found by surrender, she thinks she would have…

She would have done something. Maybe.

And there it is.

The yard is a little overgrown, but not terribly.

She has hydrangeas. Ellana’s hands remember pulling them stubbornly from the pots she bought them in - light brown, flimsy plastic, two and a half feet deep - and she remembers spacing them out with measured string. Her body remembers the sun on her shoulders.

There is no car in the driveway.

Ellana gets out of the car after the man named Blackwall, who steadies her arm as she gets out of the truck. Ellana breathes in and she swears that the air itself breezes through her lungs, her mind, and leaves her stunned. Refreshed. Renewed. Remembering.

Behind her she can hear Montilyet and Cassandra get out of the car. The man who was sitting on her other side - Rylen - says something to them but she can’t quite focus on the words. Her mind is full of buzzing static-y excitement. It’s like her throat is going to close.

It’s like she’s going to cry.

How could she not have known she needed this so much? That she missed this so much?

Ellana didn’t know until she saw that street sign about five or six (eight minutes, forty five seconds. That is the time it takes to get from Valley Boulevard to here on a Tuesday past ten in the morning) minutes ago and her heart started to remember for her head.

Rylen unlocks and removes her handcuffs.

Ellana moves forward, pulling her arm from Blackwall’s hand as she walks up the path to the front door. Up the steps of the porch and right up to the screen door.

She turns to the side and there’s the flower pot with the jade plant, shaded from the sun, she reaches just underneath he curved lip of the pot and her fingers find the key waiting for her.

You have to push the screen door up just a little as you’re opening it.

And then there’s the house door itself. The key slides in easily and Ellana opens the door to the house that was waiting for her and her vision swims with tears her heart didn’t know it was waiting for.

Ellana pockets the key and walks into the house she is now remembering she was supposed to be missing this entire time.

She turns to the first entry in the hallway and there’s the living room she dreamed - remembered. And she turns to her right and there on the other side of the hallway is the kitchen where the man she was missing was making coffee or tea or something.

Ellana rushes up the stairs, feet knowing which parts of the stairs to rest on because the other parts creak, and she throws open the door to the first room on her right.

Empty.

Ellana blinks, staring into the room with the windows that look over the front yard and the green-blue curtains and the white crochet blanket folded on the foot of the bed and the mostly empty desk and the pressed dried flowers on paper on the walls.

She turns when she hears the creak of the stairs and the words come to her mouth from her heart - that remembers - instead of her head - which can’t.

“Where is Cole?”

She turns back to the empty room - the stuffed nug and the much repaired rabbit are missing from the book case. The small collection of hats, gone from the hooks hung on the right side wall. Ellana walks into the room and the air is stale and there’s a layer of dust on everything.

She quickly opens a drawer - empty. Another drawer. Empty. The closet. Empty.

She turns and pushes past Rylen and to the door on the other side of the stairs, the door with the handle that’s different from all the other doors because when they first moved in the door got stuck and they decided to replace the entire thing but they couldn’t find matching handles to the rest of the house and they were too lazy to replace all the handles so they just have this one mis-matched door. The door that, beyond it, she knows there are three large windows that overlook the right side of the house and the back yard. The door that conceals a large king sized bed with five fluffy pillows and a huge dresser filled with sweaters and sweatpants and shirts and pajamas and underwear. A door that hides behind it a myriad of memories that include the argument about the rug they put on the floor and how it was unnecessary but also it gets cold in the mornings and who wants to deal with cold feet? And the argument about whether they need two alarm clocks in the room just because they each wake up at different times and you most certainly cannot eat potato chips in this room. And of course whether or not the oil painting of the Storm Coast should stay - it didn’t.

Ellana, afterwards, moved it out of their room because she didn’t want him to have to look at it and bite his tongue and bear it just because she wasn’t ready to let go. But she didn’t destroy it. She didn’t throw it away. She kept it.

Ellana throws the door open and her heart crashes because it’s empty.

Bare. Stripped away. Gone.

“This is your house,” Montilyet says and Ellana turns and sees that Montilyet is standing at the top of the stairs, hand resting on the banister, eyes filled with caution and worry and concern. “We thought it would be best if you were to recover here.”

“No,” Ellana says, voice small and shaking because this isn’t her house. She can see it now. Dust on everything. Pictures missing off of walls. “This isn’t - this isn’t my house.”

The things that made it her house are gone.

Their house.

“Where are they?” Ellana asks. “Where is my family?”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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thezodiaczone · 6 years

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March Forecast for Sagittarius

Slow down and savor the moment, Sagittarius. The stars serve up another busy month, and you need to pace yourself as you take it all in. The Sun is in Pisces and your domestic fourth house until March 20, putting the spotlight on home, family and your closest bonds. Nurturing people will play a significant role in your life, so aim to connect from a heart-centered place instead of being “all business.”

You’re the sign of the traveler, but for the first three weeks of the month, you’ll benefit from setting down your bags and spending quality time at base camp as often as you can. You’ll appreciate the time this gives you to integrate all the energy that’s gotten stirred up this year. If you’ve been reeling from the eclipses of January 31 and February 15, March could help you start to make sense of it all. There haven’t been a lot of quiet moments to work through the ideas, conversations and insights you’ve been having at warp speed!

But you won’t be cocooned under the covers with your Netflix queue and a tub of comfort food. Until March 17, energizer Mars is in Sagittarius, where it’s been firing up your courage, confidence and charisma since January 26. You’ll be too high in demand to go totally off the grid. And just like in January, this month is bookended by TWO full moons (on March 1 and 31), which will bring powerful moments to manifest and take action. Two planets, including your ruler, Jupiter, will also turn retrograde, giving you the chance to slow down and reflect. Although retrogrades can bring their share of annoying complications, they’re also prime periods to play catch-up, something you could really use right now!

The month starts off on a high note, as the clarifying March 1 Virgo full moon beams into your tenth house of career and success. Your efforts from the past six months could come together with a reverberating flourish. You could be recognized for your labors and expertise or given a post of responsibility (with a fancy title to match). With la luna in service-centric Virgo, you may have a sweeping realization about where and how your work can best make a difference in the world.

Since full moons bring transitions and endings, you might decide to depart from one career path or close things up with a project that’s run its course. Don’t forget to stop and celebrate your triumphs instead of just leaping into the next thing. You sweated bullets to meet this milestone, so treat yourself!

Good thing, then, that Pisces season gives you license to pamper yourself. And if you need a full-on day to retreat and rejuvenate, consider March 17, when the Pisces new moon kicks off a fresh six-month chapter of your personal life. Calling all house-hunters: La luna could play Realtor or interior designer. If you’re looking for a new place to hang your hat or you’re bored with your decor scheme, today could kick off the search for new digs, a remodel or a style overhaul. New moons manifest over six months, so this could develop into a bigger project. Start now, but take your time!

Family, particularly your mother or a female relative, could be in the spotlight at this new moon. If you’ve been running yourself into the ground, pause and get your home, personal care and lifestyle back on track. From nourishing food to regular movement to much-needed brain breaks, the new moon reminds you to rest and refuel.

Another reason to make self-nurturing a top priority? From March 8 to July 10, your ruling planet, expansive Jupiter, will turn retrograde in Scorpio and your twelfth house of healing, closure and endings. Jupiter is in Scorpio from October 10, 2017, until November 8, 2018, a 13-month cycle that can be a bit of wild ride. You’ve been in a deep transitional cycle. Outmoded situations, from friendships to jobs to relationships, are being swept away with your ruler in this karmic house. Jupiter only comes here every 12 years, and it’s a time when you learn to surrender, receive and release. Not easy for any human—and certainly not for a make-it-happen Sag!

Do some codependent cords need to be clipped? You can give and give, but with Jupiter retrograde, you’re reminded to share your gifts with people who actually value—and are capable of returning—the generosity. It’s easy for you, all-knowing one, to lapse into the habit of playing guru figure, with a lot of people reliant on your strength, wisdom and open-handedness. If you find yourself saying, “I’ll take care of it” or “I’ll just do it,” think twice during this retrograde. You could be in serious danger of burnout, and if you don’t set limits, you’ll only exacerbate the situation. It’s time to stop enabling people—and start empowering them to be more self-sufficient.

With Jupiter in your twelfth house of hidden agendas, you could be drawn into a situation that’s intriguing but also secretive or destructive. Old habits, such as partying too heavily, embarking on an emotional affair or doing something that feels “sneaky,” may be extremely tempting—and extremely tough to resist. The twelfth house rules the subconscious, and during this cycle, your “shadow side” could rear its head.

This uber-reflective period can be a hall of mirrors, making you question what’s real and what’s an illusion. If you haven’t mourned a loss, handled a heartbreak or processed tough feelings, Jupiter retrograde could open the floodgates. Have you been relying too heavily on just one person for emotional support? They might be less available now—so make sure you put in some new people (possibly professionals?) so you’re not dependent on one source. You might also decide to step back from a situation that’s been toxic, confusing or draining. If you’ve been unsure of whether someone was a soulmate or just a big talker, this Jupiter phase can help you discern what’s really up.

Here’s the silver lining: You’re clearing the path for a fresh 12-year cycle that begins on November 8, when Jupiter enters Sagittarius for the first time since 2007. Until then, look at the events that transpire, especially the more challenging ones, as opening your eyes to what no longer serves you, so you can clear the decks for a fresh start this fall.

Fierceness returns on March 20, when the Sun moves into Aries and your fiery fifth house and cranks up your passion and creativity for a month. Spring fever much? With el Sol in your chart’s love shack, single Sags will enjoy some sizzling new prospects. Under these expressive skies, you could attract attention and even a hit of fame. Glam up and get ready for the spotlight, Sag…it’s courting you (as are a few other admirers).

But DO rehearse your acceptance speech and watch where you point those amorous arrows. From March 22 to April 15, Mercury—the planet of communication, technology and travel—will be retrograde in Aries and this spicy sector. This could bring complications and disruptive drama, possibly fueled by an ex or misunderstandings in your love life. Be careful what you put in writing or send via text, as data can be misinterpreted—or re-routed—leading to an embarrassing snafu. Take some deep, cleansing breaths before you pop off with a knee-jerk response or clap back to a troll on social media.

A perfect night to gather with friends arrives on March 31, when the month’s second full moon (a blue moon) lands in Libra and your eleventh house of groups and networking. You might be celebrating a team triumph or wrapping up a group project, or a cutting-edge collaboration could turn official. You may also decide to part ways with a group and start spending more time with a new tribe who’s more on your wavelength. Since the eleventh house rules technology, there’s also a chance you could become “Internet-famous” today with a viral post or video.

Love & Romance

A deep, heart-opening moment arrives on March 1, when Venus in your home zone trines your ruler, amplifying Jupiter, in your private and reflective twelfth house. It’s safe to let down your walls and open up with someone who’s already demonstrated their trustworthiness. Under this sweet sync-up, the initial sentimental Hallmark haze will give way to a sizzling attraction—and then what happens is up to you!

Meanwhile, fiery Mars is careening through your sign until March 17, making you flirty, forthright and downright magnetic. The red planet can attract high-powered people into your circle, so play to your candid Archer persona and don’t hesitate to make the first move. This energy only amplifies between March 6 and 31, when Venus sails through fellow fire sign Aries and your passionate fifth house. Single Sags may have their pick of the litter, while couples can reignite sparks just by being your bold and feisty self.

Just watch where you dabble, since from March 8 to July 10 Jupiter will be back-spinning through your twelfth house of fantasy, illusions and hidden agendas. A clandestine affair could pull you into its depths, which is even more likely while Mercury is retrograde in Aries and your fifth house of love from March 22 to April 15. And, on March 11, a trine between the unpredictable planets, Mars and Uranus, in rash fire signs could spark unpremeditated action. Think before you wink, because excuses and apologies might not be enough for the hurt parties.

Some semblance of sanity and stability returns on March 17, when Mars enters Capricorn until May 16. You’ll be motivated to dive into something with the potential to last. Here’s a tip for when you feel pulled in two directions: Think, don’t act! Talk it through with a grounded friend, and seriously consider their advice.

Key Dates

March 13: Venus-Saturn Square Romantic Venus in your amorous fifth house can start a sexy buzz all by herself. But today, her face-off with restrictive Saturn is a real buzzkill. Sigh. Of course you’re aware of all the practical considerations of getting involved with someone. But not everything has to have long-term potential to make it worth exploring—does it? Today, caution may win out over chemistry.

Money & Career

And…you’re off to the races! The month starts with “success” written all over it, as the March 1 Virgo full moon beams into your tenth house of career, ambition and professional acclaim. Something you’ve been working on since as far back as September could reach a peak moment, coming together to great fanfare. La luna can bring long-overdue recognition for your hard work, perhaps in the form of a job offer, leadership role or prestigious status boost.

With energizer Mars in Sagittarius until March 17, you’re on fire—and your charisma is palpable. The red planet only visits your sign every two years, and when it does, it fills you with life-force energy and unstoppable drive. You won’t be taking no for an answer or getting deterred by minor obstacles. Your soaring confidence and can-do spirit are contagious, so don’t be surprised when everyone clamors to be part of Team Sagittarius.

When Mars forms a powerhouse trine to innovator Uranus in your creative, attention-grabbing fifth house on March 11, you could achieve influencer status. Put yourself out there with fearless originality; this is one of those days when the world will sit up and take notice. Just know that you don’t have to go TOO over-the-top: aim for authentically unconventional yet appropriate. A little shock factor is okay, but you don’t want to risk alienating people. You just want to use your out-of-the-box ideas to get them think different.

Ready to monetize one of those big schemes or dreams? From March 17 to May 16, sizzling Mars will move through Capricorn and your second house of work and finances. Since the red planet can also fuel stress, be careful you don’t spend your bounty as fast as you earn it. This Martian cycle could bring a cash crunch or a nerve-wracking expense—but it can also motivate you to focus and hustle! If the competitive vibes stir up a work rivalry, bring the spirit of sportsmanship to it. Having another all-star around can spur you to be even better.

Or maybe you should just combine your superpowers? The March 31 Libra full moon in your eleventh house of groups and networking sounds the call to collaborate. While you’re a sign that loves to work independently, you’ve made great strides at being a team player over the past six months. Now you could be clinking glasses over a shared victory.

Ordinarily this full moon would be a great day to launch a tech-based venture, but Mercury, the ruler of communication, travel and information, will be retrograde from March 22 to April 15, which can throw a wrench in the works. Consider a “soft launch” today (after copious testing!) or just start teasing your big reveal, which you can unleash on your fanbase during the second half of April. When in doubt, wait it out!

Key Dates

March 2: Mercury-Jupiter Trine You won’t need notes or a “cheat sheet” to advocate for your ideas today. With expressive Mercury aligned with confident Jupiter in your intuition zone, you can trust that the right words will form in your mouth if you speak from your heart. You could rally a squadron of inspired supporters eager to champion your cause.

Love Days: 19, 23 Money Days: 1, 11 Luck Days: 27, 9 Off Days: 20, 25, 6

#sagittarius #monthly forecast #astrology #horoscope #zodiac #sagittarius monthly

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hummingbee-o0o · 7 years

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The Haunting of Gareth Mallory

My effort for Occult October. Thanks to @castillon02 for her prompt, which was ‘skulls’.

MI6 allows some dress creativity on Halloween prior to an informal party in the evening (ironic, considering to what degree death is part of their profession), and Mallory very nearly has a goddamn heart attack when Q turns up in Q-Branch wearing a skull mask.

The mask in itself is more beautiful than scary, Mallory imagines. It’s masterfully crafted, clearly not something bought for 50p in a Tesco Metro till queue; the bones are all anatomically correct and well sculpted, and the dirty white colour looks remarkably like real bone. It looks like expensive porcelain craft and sits on Q’s face uncannily well, emphasising his green eyes (sans glasses today) in a way that really doesn’t make it odd that Bond is practically winding around him like a cat in heat.

(Q is a very attractive man. Just because Mallory is asexual it doesn’t mean he’s blind.)

All in all, a very nice mask, matched cheekily by Bond wearing all black and a tie with a spinal column printed on it in stark white. No cause for alarm. And yet, when he first saw Q in that mask, Mallory felt his blood turn cold and his breath catch in his chest like painful fire. A horrifying thing, carefully buried in the back of his mind, roars and blazes back into life and for a moment he’s frightened he will have a bloody panic attack.

Still, bureaucrat or not, he is in the spy business, so he manages to collect himself and retreat into his office where his hand shakes only the slightest bit when he pours himself some brandy.

Calm. He needs calm. It was just a mask, nothing to be frightened of, nothing that means anything. He knocks the whole glass back in one go and pours another.

The thing is, a part of Mallory doesn’t really like Q.

He almost feels bad about it, because Q is objectively a fairly likeable person - if one likes lofty geniuses who talk about things one has no hopes of understanding - and he mostly does like him, but there is that part of him that doesn’t. It’s not Q’s personality that he dislikes. Not at all. Q can be very entertaining, quite charming, and dangerously charismatic to a point where his staff have chosen to call themselves his ‘minions’. No, Mallory has nothing against Q’s personality. It’s the other thing.

It’s Q’s mind.

Q and his genius are indispensable, safeguarding MI6 with invisible walls and traps that snag and destroy people half a world away. All of MI6′s digital security has been re-designed, engineered and put up by Q, and Q has a masterful control over each and every nook and cranny of it.

And that’s what sits so uneasily with Mallory. Because recruiting Q’s genius to work for them had been a clever move on M’s - the old M’s - part, but in Mallory’s mind it’s something of a double-edged sword. Because now they need to keep Q. They need to make sure he has the best toys and the best playground, that he isn’t tempted to stray from them.

Because it’s Q’s genius that has built MI6′s intangible defences, and it’s Q’s genius that could horribly, inconceivably, strip them away and gut the entire organisation in several seconds flat. Mallory has watched him slice into their enemies’ sophisticated defences with ruthless precision and a gleam of relish behind his spectacles, and then either sleekly stick to the shadows, find elegant shortcuts, and lift only the few details they need before leaving like he never was there, or rip out the enemy system’s entrails, spark mayhem and let chaos devour everything until it collapses in on itself, with Q standing at the helm of it all like a graceful conductor.

Mallory tries not to be unfair; Q obviously loves his job and is happy in MI6. Q is also loyal enough to Queen and Country not to keep Mallory awake at night with anxiety, but he realises he doesn’t enjoy the same guarantee of personal loyalty that the old M did. And that, in a way, is probably what worries him.

It’s also where the mask comes in.

The entire Silva nightmare left them all shaken: the explosion, then the whole Skyfall incident culminating in M’s death. Plenty of people have been scarred in one way or another, and Bond’s trauma seems to be the one that people remember the most when thinking about Silva. And while Bond’s experiences have certainly been the most spectacular, no one ever stopped to realise what a fucking horrifying trauma Mallory got left with after the whole ordeal.

Silva haunts him.

Sometimes, Mallory almost sees him.

Some days, when he’s tired, when a mission is going poorly, when Q clenches his teeth and tries not to lose an agent, his eyes hard and merciless as he condemns a dozen henchmen to death in an explosion, Silva breathes a chill on the back of Mallory’s neck.

He’s terrified of Q one day becoming his own Silva, going after him with an all-destructive fury, scorching the earth in his wake and inevitably ensnaring Mallory in a horrifying trap, pulling the final strings, and destroying him.

A few months ago, Bond got snatched by enemies on a mission, and Mallory felt like he was looking into death’s eyes when Q faced him, stone-cold and composed to an inhuman degree, and demanded to redirect all efforts to rescue Bond. Mallory agreed, because he is for saving human life, but (to his shame) mostly because in that moment he saw in Q’s eyes all the terrifying possible outcomes and among them Q grieving his lover’s death and turning against the people - the man - who was willing to abandon him and let him die.

Cue another Silva. Mallory’s Silva. A genius holding the entire digital world in the palm of his hand and ruthlessly ready to crush it.

Bond was recovered within two days, and the four people responsible for his torture died in ways corresponding with their private fears and phobias. Q, eyes hard as steel and voice smooth like glass, denied having anything to do with it.

And today that skull mask hit just a little too close to home, uncomfortably reminding Mallory of the sugar skull Silva had taken as his macabre logo of sorts. A reminder of paths that conceivably could be taken.

(Mallory is still terrified of Q being kidnapped and not recovered. Of having to spend the rest of his days in permanent terror of inevitable vengeance.)

It’s just a mask. It’s just a pretty Halloween mask, it’s nothing.

Mallory takes another sip of his brandy; his hand manages not to shake, and he takes a fortifying breath. Just a mask. Just a coincidence, just a bloody couple’s costume between Q and Bond. Almost endearing, if they weren’t both such headaches for Mallory even on the best of days.

He finishes his brandy, straightens his suit jacket, and leaves his office to find Moneypenny back behind her desk and sporting a jaunty witch’s hat complete with a fake spider dangling from the tattered brim.

“Very dashing,” he tells her, because she always makes him feel better.

“Thank you, sir,” she smiles. “No costume for you?”

“I think I’m plenty scary already,” he tries for humour and a smile, and going by her small laugh, he mostly succeeds.

“Of course.”

He goes about the rest of his day. Bond is very nearly glued to Q’s side, lounging about Q-Branch and pointlessly rearranging the spooky decorations, probably just to be a nuisance. The witching hour is over. Silva is gone. All that Mallory sees is Q in a Halloween mask, smirking when Bond leans in to murmur something in his ear, and in that moment Mallory is downright fond of them, god help him.

Q types something on a keyboard, and one of the screens is taken over by a digital dancing skeleton in a top hat. It tips the hat and a flock of ravens fly out accompanied by a cackle from several speakers.

Mallory looks at Bond’s warm smile directed at Q and hopes never to collect any sins to think on.

#Occult October #it's SUCH a headcanon of mine that deep down Mallory is traumatised by Silva and terrified that one day Q might turn on him like that #I don't believe Q would but I like the idea that this is Mallory's deepest and most secret fear #I've been meaning to explore this forever thank you so much Cas for prompting me and getting me to do this :D #00Q #00Q fic #Mallory #Gareth Mallory #my stories

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