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ice-cap-k · 7 months

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Heads Will Roll

Stick around for future installments of this one in the form of *chapters*!

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Heads Will Roll

You can read CH 2 here

You can read CH 3 here

You can read CH 4 here

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King Ren knew that the people’s court was necessary. It was a time-honored tradition, a communion between him and those he served. Ultimately, it was necessary to keep lines of communication open between the governed and the government. He needed to maintain an up-to-date understanding of the world. The people came to him with their problems, and he reacted accordingly. If a natural disaster hit, he needed to spur emergency efforts into action where they would be needed the most. If misfortune fell on even a few of his people, he had to know about it.

One needed to know there was a problem in the first place if they were to assess and get to its root. And if it was something that had a long term impact, then political changes were necessary. Laws were constantly in need of writing and revision, given nuance and clarity as different interpretations were made. It was simple to make a law banning theft, but what fully constituted theft? Just because someone may have taken something without paying for it doesn’t necessarily qualify the action as theft. Lines had to be drawn between theft and gift, abandoned property, and ‘finder’s keepers’ sentimentality. And not just theft. Every moral held in high regard couldn’t be looked at in black and white. There were always grey areas. Hearing public sentiment helped clarify the foggy grey.

Deep down, Ren loved his people. He wanted the world for them. He had no personal issue with opening the royal vaults to help families who had the misfortune of losing a year’s crop in a flood, or to the local blacksmith whose shop had gone up in a blaze of smoke. He could send men and money for aid in those circumstances, but sending soldiers and opening coffers only helped so much. Far more issues persisted that wouldn’t truly be solved by such action. Sometimes it even exacerbated existing issues.

However, the importance of the people’s court did not necessarily mean that he always found it exciting. Frankly, it was usually boring and maddeningly tedious. Twice a week he almost always saw the same faces walking confidently into his throne room, and it was almost always to complain about some small issue. A tiff between neighbors who never got along about how one neighbor’s dog had dug a hole under the other’s chicken fence. A nest of groundhogs accidentally dug up in the eastern fields. Concerns over the last shipment of grain coming in a day early, of all things.

Occasionally the monotony of it all was broken up by more pressing concerns. A church collapse near the center of town. A new pest making itself known as crops started to wither in the fields. A bout of coughs sweeping through the city that required swift treatment before the weather turned. But these were few and far between. And deep down he was glad they were rare concerns, but he was having a hard time suppressing a yawn as the old carpenter told him for the second time this week about how he suspected someone had swiped another of his hammers.

“My men have already been informed of the issue since your last visit,” Ren said, straightening in his throne when the man finished his tirade. His back click clacked as bones popped back into place. He had been slumping back into the seat and hadn’t even realized it. Hopefully, the carpenter hadn’t noticed. “There’s already a patrol that passes by your shop each day. Until we find the culprit, though, I suggest keeping a close eye on your tools. Have you tried locking them away when they are not in use?”

The man snorted. “I suppose that’s an option. Not sure what it’ll do against the fae.”

A little smile pulled at the corners of Ren’s lips. “So now you suspect a fairy caused all this?”

The man had no reservations rolling his eyes at the King. It would have made Ren laugh, but responsibility dictated otherwise. “At this point, sure. Why not? The supernatural leaves nothing but devastation in its path. With all the rumors and mishaps spreading like wildfire, it has to be something. If not the fae, then a beast. The ungodly kind.” He paused. The carpenter took a moment, thinking to himself as his head bobbed, reassured by silent thoughts only he could hear. Ren left him a moment to collect his thoughts, and eventually, the carpenter added, “You’ve probably heard all about the dairy farm on the north stretch, haven’t you.”

The king’s fingers wrapped around the edge of his throne’s armrest, squeezing the hand-carved oak gently. He had. “And the outlook station on the edge of the woods,” Ren added, agreeing without necessarily saying so. Now those had been more interesting incidents. It would take a stretch of the imagination to connect a few missing tools to slaughtered cattle and a collapsed tower. But fae were known to pull mischief of all sorts. A stretch was not necessarily an impossibility.

The old man’s eyes glittered. “Looks like I’m not the only one who mentioned it today.” He was not. And Ren would be just as dismissive of this man’s attempt to spread gossip and sow concern as he was of the last citizen who came in claiming the fae had knocked a flower pot off their balcony.

“You are not, but you have nothing to worry about,” Ren said coolly. “I already have my most trusted men looking into the incidents. They will get to the bottom of it, and if it is fae, you have my word we will not hesitate to act.”

The old man gave a half bow in the direction of Ren’s throne. “Hope so,” he huffed. He started backing away, looking somewhat annoyed as he inched toward the door. “Damn monsters. Far as I’m concerned, all they’re good for is target practice.”

Ren’s grip loosened against the armrest. He waited until the door thudded shut behind the carpenter before allowing himself to slump back into his seat. And this time, he did so consciously.

Armor clanked beside him as one of his royal guards leaned a little closer. “Well, that went from boring to concerning real fast.”

The king allowed himself to laugh. It echoed off the stone walls, a pleasant mix-match of mirth as the guard joined in. “You thought so too, my dude?” Ren managed to say as he reigned himself into something more like a chuckle. “That’s, what, the third time today someone went from such a simple little problem to doom and gloom?”

“At least,” she said with a grin. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was more, though. If I didn't know better, I would think they’re doing it just to keep us from falling asleep. Making sure we’re paying attention.”

“Nah.” Ren let out a deep sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, letting the fingers card through his bangs and brush back over his scalp all the way to the nape of his neck. “They’re just spooked. A few good years of calm won’t chase away generations of paranoia, superstition, and bad experiences.”

“You don’t seem spooked,” she pointed out. He shot her a look out the corner of his eye. She met his gaze head-on, her own eyes set in an odd mix of curiosity and seriousness. “If anyone has any right to be concerned, it would probably be you. All this talk of monsters has got to be rough. How are you holding up?”

“Fine, actually.” And he was fine, as long as you didn’t count the scars below his left set of ribs that were starting to itch the longer she looked at him like that.

Really though, Ren was fine. The rumors could just be rumors. Or they might not be. A fairy might have set up residence nearby and was amusing itself with the local human population. Or the recent spike in bad luck could have been caused by any number of unrelated reasons. Whether it was true or not, Ren was still worried about the kingdom’s well-being and was ready to tackle the cause head-on.

She still looked skeptical but didn’t argue. Only shrugged her shoulders. “Well, let me know when it starts feeling anything less than ‘fine.’ You’ve been at this for over an hour. It wouldn’t hurt to close the doors to the public a little early.”

“Nonsense.” He waved off her good-natured concern, reaching over to the little side table that sat hidden in the shadow of his throne. A still-chilled glass of water sat at its center. He found the base of the glass with the tips of his fingers and slid it closer to the edge where it would be easier to grasp. “I can keep going.”

“Even if they’re only here to talk about monster attacks?” she asked pointedly.

Despite himself, Ren winced. The waterline in the glass wobbled as he raised the edge to his lips. The king’s throat was parched from speaking repeatedly and projecting his voice to be heard clearly across the room. The chill of the beverage was just enough to shake off some of the lingering heaviness of drowsy boredom. It soothed his throat and gave him time to think up a response.

After draining half the glass, he reached to put it back in its place on the table. “We could always start screening people at the door,” he offered, feeling a little sheepish. She blinked, breaking down into giggles that fought to be heard over the clatter of her armor. Ren raised his arms, palms facing outward in a show of defense as if that would keep his embarrassment at bay. “At least until this whole fae rumer gets solved. I’d hate to turn people away who need to voice their issues. If it’s anything like the undead issue years ago, it shouldn’t take too long to blow over.”

Her smile tightened to an uncomfortable grimace. “That’s different. There were mobs of those, and there’s no possible way those could come back anytime soon. We spent days blessing everything within a thousand blocks of the edge of town. Not to mention all the infrastructure we had to lay out to keep the roads safely lit at night.”

This time it was Ren’s turn to shrug. “And once it was over it took a little over a month for everyone to let their guard down. Not that long when you consider how we had skeletons and zombies snapping at our ankles for more than a year.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Trust me,” Ren says, waving her off. “All we need is a little bit of time and we’ll figure it all out. I have my best men on the case. Before you know it, everything will go back to normal.”

______________

There was nothing normal about this situation.

Martyn scratched at the back of his neck as he struggled to make sense of what he was looking at. “And you’re sure those aren’t from animal teeth,” he asked.

Beside him, Skizzleman Scoffed. “Well, they sure aren’t human.”

The veterinarian stood up straight, shaking his head. His bloody gloves each came off with a snap, flipping them inside out to keep the red smears tucked out of sight. It did nothing to hide the blood that had seeped into the knees of his pants from where he had knelt down in the puddle that refused to fully seep into the soil. “Those bite marks are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The imprint is much rounder than a wolf’s and neater than a lynx’s.” There’s a sly curve to his brow as he shoots Skizz a knowing look. “You say they aren’t human, but it almost looks like they’d better match a human’s jaw.“

Martyn didn’t know much about animal bites. He had treated animal bites before. Well… that is to say he had treated one bite mark before. It had been a messy affair, and he had been a little too panicked to do much more than keep pressure on the wound until an actual medical professional could push him out of the way and take over. But that's beside the point. The point was that what happened back then was nothing like what he was looking at right now.

And what was he looking at? Cows. Three mutilated cows lying in puddles of their own blood. Large chunks of their flesh were missing. Their sides were ripped into. Bright red streaks broke up the brown and white fur. And there were teeth marks. So, so many puncture wounds. Yeah, sure, something might have eaten part of each cow, but there were way too many teeth marks around the neck where almost none of the meat had been stripped away.

“But that’s just silly,” Skizzleman continued, sounding just as lost as Martyn felt. He bent over the side of the carcass, tracing lines of cuts over the body with his fingers. The large man kept his hand from it so that his fingers hovered a few inches away as he moved. “What about all those claw marks?”

“Take a closer look at those gouges,’ the vet said firmly. “What’s the first thing you notice about them?”

Skizz’s mouth snapped shut. He looked over the messy scratches and hanging viscera. His head tilted as he thought over the question. “They’re deep,” he said with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

The vet nodded but didn’t look satisfied. “And,” he asked, motioning once more to the body.

It dawns on Martynn that some of the wounds are too neat to be from a wild beast. “They're clean,” he finds himself saying as soon as the thought pops into his head

While he might not be of any use when it comes to bite marks, Martyn knows a thing or two about sword wounds. He's fought in enough battles to know the kind of marks a knife edge left. A weapon cut cleanly where claws would rip and gouge, and a sword left one slash for every swing. Not three or four like a set of claws would leave.

. Sure, there are a few uneven scratches snaking through the fur in sets of four messy lines, but scattered among the claw marks are long, thin cuts made from a blade. Singular slashes scoured the side of the body, leaving muscle and bone exposed for the flies to feast on.

Whatever had killed this cow had been using a weapon. Martyn knew that much.

“Indeed,” the veterinarian says with a smirk. “It is in my professional opinion that these cows died of blood loss as a result of multiple lacerations, especially those around the base of the neck. The bite marks came later.”

Martyn nodded to himself and smiled. He was unabashedly proud that he had been right.

Beside him, Skizz was blinking in realization. “Oh, ok. So someone must have cut it with a knife or a sword. Hm. Human-like bites, claw marks, and some sort of bladed weapon… You don’t suppose a zombie managed to find its way in here somehow?”

“The rancher did say that the cows were found in the morning…” Martyn started to pace back and forth, ignoring the unpleasant squish of mud saturated with blood beneath his boots. He spared one disgusted look at the ground below where his boots were sunk halfway to the laces in the muck and wilted clover. Gross. “He also said that the herd was put to pasture before sunset yesterday evening. They would have been killed at some point before sunrise when the bodies were found. That leaves plenty of nighttime hours for the undead to roam.” He stops, feeling his boot heels sink into the muck. “But that doesn’t make sense either. We haven’t seen the undead around these parts in ages. Everything should be lit up or blessed. How would one get in here?”

Skizz crosses his arms. “I know what you mean.” Martyn can see him shifting from foot to foot. He looks restless as well. “But a zombie is going to go after whatever it can. They usually reanimate carrying swords and axes too.”

It was a good explanation. It was a reasonable explanation. It made a lot of sense. This was why he asked Skizz to come with him. Skizz was good with people, and quick to talk through his thoughts. He had a nice long conversation with the ranchers in charge of these cattle. Made them feel at ease as they talked about their disturbing findings. Etho and BigB were much more suited to tackle the abandoned tower that had collapsed on the other side of town. They were both more men of action, and observant in their own right.

But even though Skizz’s suggested explanation made a LOT of sense, Martyn couldn’t help the seed of doubt that was stubbornly taking root at the back of his mind. “I’ll talk to M’lord,” he said, hoping Skizz couldn’t hear any doubt in his voice. “It would do this place good to look back over the defensive measures we have in place. It is possible one of the shielded lamps burnt out or broke. What about you, Doc? Have any second opinions,” he asked, turning to the vet.

“I think a zombie is a good first guess,” he agreed with a scowl. “And if not a zombie, then we’ve got a monster of some sort on our hands. A hominid by the looks of it.”

“Noted.”

“Then my work here is done.” He reaches out and Martyn meets him halfway. He takes the vet’s hand in his own and shakes. “Now about my pay…”

Martyn smirks. Fair enough. “Yes. Of course. We appreciate you coming out here on such short notice. I’ll speak to my liege directly. You’ll receive fair compensation from the crown. Tell them Martyn sent you. They’ll set things straight.” He lets go of the other man’s hand and winks. The veterinarian doesn’t look impressed. “Let’s go Skizz,” he says, stepping away from the cow. “We’ve still gotta meet up with Etho and BigB.”

“Right!” Skizzleman makes a wide berth around the carcass, much more careful not to step through the blood-soaked patches of sod. “It was nice meeting you,” he says with a wave to the veterinarian. He sounds much more chipper now. Perfectly pleasant and genial to his fellow man. “Hope you have a great day. Buh-bye.”

“Bye Doc,” Martyn calls a second later when Skizz joins him at his side.

“Be careful you two!” he calls after them.

Martyn considers looking back and cracking a joke but decides against it. He has to keep up his public image as the King’s right hand after all. But once they’ve left the ranch’s property lines and it’s just him and Skizz walking down the dirt road, Martyn lets himself relax a little. “I don’t know about you,” he starts, unable to keep the smile from stretching across his face. “But I think that vet might have been a little unrelia-bull…”

The joke seems to catch Skizz off-guard. The tall man at his side looked down at him with wide, confused eyes for a moment. Wait for it… “Oh,” his friend says with a snort, which quickly turns into a bout of giggles. “Good one. I thought you were being serious there for a second.”

“Are you kidding,” Martyn says, waggling his eyebrows. He makes no attempt to hide his grin. In fact, it just keeps getting bigger. “Of course I’m being serious. There’s a lot at steak here.”

“STOP!” Skizz shouts. “You’re awful. That one wasn’t even that good.” Despite what he says, though, the pun still manages to get another round of laughter out of Skizz.

“You’re right.” Martyn stuffs his hands into his pockets. He shifts a few steps to the side as they walk, putting a little more space between himself and his comrade. “My puns are terrible. I really need to beef up my game.”

He’s ready for Skizz when his friend makes a swipe at him. There’s already some distance between the two of them. All he has to do is sidestep to avoid the hand that goes to playfully smack him in the shoulder. Skizzleman’s fingers just barely brush the fabric of his jacket before Martyn is bouncing away. All the while, Skizz’s bubbling laughter is like music to his ears.

Skizzleman doesn’t try to catch up to him. He lets the laughter die down gradually. Martyn gives him this chance to compose himself. Eventually, when they lapse back into silence, Skizz shakes his head. “This is what we’re doing, huh? Are you going to be like this the whole walk?”

“As long as I can milk it,” Martyn agrees without regrets.

And for a while, the walk continued just like that. Martyn cracked jokes, and Skizz broke down and shot back a few of his own. It was a nice relief from the tension of the day. Martyn saw it as a good thing that they could have a laugh about it. It’s good to keep morale up among friends, and he was coming up with some great material on the spot. He couldn’t wait to run his puns by Ren and see which ones would make the king smile. That was probably the part of his job that Martyn was most proud of, watching out for Ren. Sometimes that meant having his back in the line of battle, and sometimes that meant being there as a friend. Lately, it seems like the king could use plenty of the latter.

As the King’s Hand, Martyn knows Ren better than anyone. Ren is a strong guy who has saved the people of Dogwarts time and time again, who has shed his own blood for their sake in battle with the desert dwellers years ago and continues to walk among his own streets despite his guards’ concerns over his safety. He also knows that Ren can be an absolute drama queen outside of the public’s eye, panicking over every small misstep and conundrum. Especially when it came to monsters.

Martyn couldn’t blame the King for that one. Rather, he blamed himself. Everyone had called it a freak accident. Horrible luck. Luck had nothing to do with it. Martyn should have been there when Ren was attacked. He should have been at his side instead of stumbling upon his King, his friend lying unconscious and bloody in the forest, just off the path. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been such a useless lump unable to do more than keep pressure on the wound.

Ever since then, the King had developed a bit of a… Well, obsession wasn’t the right word. Ren wasn’t obsessed. Perhaps hyper-awareness? That seemed a bit more of an appropriate description to Martyn. Whenever the supernatural came into conversation, Ren noticeably paid closer attention. He hid it well, especially in front of the people. Always the pillar of strength and compassion, but his closest friends could tell the difference. Martyn knew his little tells. The tightening of shoulders, the twitch of his fingers, the way he shifted on his toes. There was fear there if you looked hard enough.

So when rumors started flying about fae in the kingdom, he wasn’t surprised when Ren started coming to him to vent about the situation. The poor guy couldn’t help but take every allegation seriously. That’s why he’s here now, on the road this brisk spring morning, trying to track down the cause for this latest set of freak accidents with Skizz. And Etho. And BigB. The whole crew, really. They were all his most trusted friends, after all. Ren wouldn’t have put the four of them in charge of this if he wasn’t taking the allegations seriously.

After some time had passed, Martyn noticed two familiar silhouettes coming up the road leading to the forest-lined border. He stopped as soon as he realized they were coming this way. It took Skizz a few more steps to realize before he slowed to a halt as well. “Let’s wait for them here,” Martyn says, elbowing his comrade in the side before pulling himself up to a seat on the top rung of the fence lining the path.

“Sure thing, dude. Hup-hup.” He pulls himself up onto the fence beside Martyn. “It looks like they’ve got someone else with them.”

“Yeah. Wonder who that is,” he mused idly, kicking his legs back and forth lazily through the open space beneath him.

“No clue. I don’t recognize him. They were supposed to be looking into that tower that fell to pieces last night. Must have something to do with that.”

“Probably.” Martyn let his gaze drop down to his legs swinging below. The brown leather boots were still smeared in red. He wasn’t exactly presentable right now. Etho and BigB wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t so sure about how squeamish the third person with them might be. So he slumped off the fence just enough to reach a snow pile that hadn’t fully melted yet.

Bright red streaks and brown clumps came away from his boots with every step, leaving rather ugly stains amidst the lingering white. He also noticed something green fall away from the back of his heel. The unusual pop of color caught his attention immediately.

There in the snow, he saw a four-leaf clover. It was a little wilted, a little bloodstained, but all four heart-shaped leaves were intact and distinct against the red smears.

Martyn wasn’t generally one to believe in luck, but he did find it novel that he had stumbled upon such a rare find. It wasn’t often you found a four-leaf clover. And people were so wound up with superstitious worry, that he could probably sell it for a decent price. So he picked it up by the stem and gently dropped it into his jacket pocket for now.

“So, how was life on the farm?” Etho’s voice startled him from behind. He whirled around to see his friend coming to a stop next to Skizzleman. There was a friendly lilt in his voice, a bored slump in his shoulders, and an amused glint in his one good eye. All standard Etho body language that told Martyn nothing about how their own investigation went.

"Not so lively," Martyn said with a shrug. "I'd make a cow joke, but you've probably herd them all."

"Oh my gosh." BigB snorted beside Etho before faltering into giggles. "That’s so bad."

BigB was a bit easier to read than Etho. He was the perfect picture of contentedness, even before the pun. Martyn took that as a good sign.

Etho hadn’t laughed and Martyn couldn’t make out a smile behind the mask covering the lower half of his friend’s face, but he had caught the amused crinkle at the corner of his intact eye. Martyn considered that a win in his book.

“He’s been like that the whole trip over,” Skizz said with a roll of his eyes. “But what about you guys? Lay it on us. What did you find?”

“That guy,” BigB says, motioning to the third person behind them.

The stranger behind their two friends stepped a little closer, and Martyn nearly took a step back. The man was built, and clearly wasn’t afraid to show it. Despite the cool spring air, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. It left his toned arms and pecs exposed to the cold, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His pale skin almost looked like it could blend in with the backdrop of snow if it weren’t for all the scars. They snaked across what was visible of his body. Discolored flesh winding up his chest and arms where they crossed his face and tapered off.

This man’s scars overshadowed even Etho’s, though he at least still seemed to have use of both eyes.“Why hello there,” the stranger said in a smooth, deep voice that sounded out of place.

“Martyn, Skizz, this is Scar,” BigB introduces them. “Scar, this is Martyn, the King’s Hand, and Skizzleman, another of the King’s Counsel.

“The nickname’s a little on the nose there, don’t you think,” Martyn said in exasperation.

“Martyn, don’t be rude,” Skizz scolded. “Sorry.” He turns apologetically to Scar, who still has a friendly smile plastered across his face. The stranger doesn’t look fazed in the slightest.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Scar says in that silky smooth voice of his. “No big deal. It is a tad ironic, after all. And it’s hard not to stare at guns like mine.”

Martyn watches the newcomer shift from one foot to the other, and he swears he sees Scar flex. He’s not sure what to make of this odd fellow. “So…” He starts, not wanting to linger too long on whatever that was. “What brings you here, Scar?”

“We caught him picking around the wreckage of that tower,” Etho says plainly, leaning up against the fence.

BigB nods in agreement. “He was there last night. He saw the whole thing come down and the beast that did it.”

Martyn raised an eyebrow. “Beast?”

Scar pressed his hand against his heart. “Oh, it was awful! An absolute monster if I ever did see one. It was like something out of a nightmare with those teeth. And claws! Don’t forget the claws! It toppled that building like it was nothing. I’m lucky to have escaped with my very life.” His words came quick and easy, his voice tightened by panic that almost sounded genuine if he hadn’t been so clearly trying to exaggerate. Skizz and BigB looked enraptured as he spoke, though. “It came out of the trees in the night, and with one mighty swipe, it knocked a cornerstone loose. The whole thing came crashing down. I swear, some of those rocks fell right on top of it and it just shook them off as if it was nothing. I was lucky I wasn’t crushed. If I had the chance, I would have taught that thing a lesson.”

“Whoah!” Skizz’s eyes were wide and shining as he took in every word. “That’s crazy. We were actually thinking there might be a monster around too.” He turned to BigB and Etho so he could explain. “The veterinarian classified some bite marks on the cows as near-human, and there were signs that a weapon was used to kill them. The one you saw last night, Scar, it wouldn’t have happened to look or smell like a zombie, would it?”

“Er, it could have been,” Scar says, his voice faltering. He looks a little embarrassed, scratching absently behind one of his ears. “It was pretty dark, and I didn’t get very close.”

Seemed to Martyn like it would be a tall order for a zombie to knock over an entire tower on its own. “I don’t know Skizz. I’ve never seen undead do things like that… Did you guys find anything else that we can tell M’lord about?”

Scar’s eyes flicked to Martyn immediately but didn’t say anything as BigB spoke up. “Well, we did see large scratches in some of the stones. And Scar was already in the process of trying to rebuild when we got there. Nothing had been left standing. I thought maybe we could bring Scar back to the castle as a witness and then we could all come up with a plan.”

More scratches. This was looking more and more like there was a monster in the vicinity. Maybe two, even. Martyn turned to the man who had remained silent throughout the conversation. “What do you think, Etho?”

Etho blinked in surprise at being pulled into the discussion, but the surprise quickly melted away. “We didn’t find anything solid on our own. I was hoping if we pooled our findings, we might have a clearer picture of what happened.”

“And Scar?”

Etho shrugged. His gaze drifted ever so slightly away from Martyn. He was looking off in the distance, just behind Martyn and Skizz where the rest of the kingdom of Dogwarts sprawled out behind them and where the castle stood proudly above it all. The castle where Ren awaited their return. “It’s up to you,” he finally said, his own eye meeting Martyn’s.

“I guess that means they found me,” Scar added with a lopsided smile. “I’m the evidence.” He rolled his shoulders, placing his hands on his hips.

At that moment, Martyn found his thoughts going fuzzy. He blinked at the sudden headache, but that didn't help. So he halfheartedly shook his head as if that could clear some of the fog. That didn’t make things better either. Odd.

“We should bring him back with us.” Skizz’s words sound distant to Martyn’s ears. But when he looked, Skizz was still standing at his side.

“Yeah,” he finds himself agreeing with a nod. It’s hard to think right now, but that’s probably the best plan they have right now. In fact, it sounds like a great idea. They SHOULD take Scar back to the castle. In fact, they’re lucky that BigB and Etho found a witness. Scar could tell Ren all about the monster.

Wait, should they… Ren… Ren doesn’t like monsters… They should handle this on their own…

No. No. The king should hear about this. The king should meet Scar.

“If we leave now, we might even get back before the People’s Court has ended. You alright coming with us to give a testimony, Scar?”

“Absolutely,” the newcomer says in that honey-sweet voice of his. And through the muddled thoughts in his head, Martyn is vaguely aware of the other man’s half-smile lined with oddly sharp teeth.

__________________________________

“My King, I have word that your Hand and Counsel have returned.”

“They’re back?” Ren whirled around, nearly dropping the sweep of red fabric and furs that made up his royal cape. What great timing! The People’s Court had just ended. He didn’t have to assume the image of the mighty king right now, all decked out in the imposing clothes and finery that was meant to make quite an impression. That was to say, he could let his hair down and take off that sweaty old robe while he hung out with his friends. They should have plenty to talk about after the missions he sent them on.

“They have. They’re approaching the throne room as we speak.”

“Fantastic. Let them in. I’ll meet them there.”

“Yes, my King.”

Ren waited for them to back out of the room before returning his attention to the hook on the wall.

He was currently in his throneroom’s side chamber. It wasn’t much more than a large dressing room and served a similar purpose. Ren’s advisors were always chiding him about needing to put on a strong front to keep the respect of his people and strike awe into the hearts of potential rivals. And he could understand that. A part of Ren relished in playing the part of the intimidating king. He supposed that he actually was one. Technically. It was a part he took seriously but like an actor to a role. This was the room where he put himself into the mindset of the man he needed to be, and at the end of the day it was where the role fell away and he returned to being who he really was: just another man with a lot on his plate.

He missed the first attempt to hang the robe and nearly dropped it when the heavy fabric came tumbling back down. What a pain. He got it on the second attempt, though. Then took off his crown and ran his fingers through his hair. It took a few passes to combat the static before he could put the crown back in its rightful place.

The touch of the precious metals against his skin made his side itch uncomfortably. He winced, one hand going absently to the scars there. He really should have had a new crown made, but that would stir up too many questions. Especially when he considered that this one had been worn by countless generations of monarchs.

He was debating leaving the crown off completely, or at least finding a pair of gloves in case he had to adjust it again when he heard the doors to the throne room creak open. The others were already there. Oh well. His hair would be a good enough buffer between the crown and his skin, and he wasn’t going to make his comrades wait. At least he wasn’t wearing any jewelry anymore.

“How did it go,” he called out as he pulled the door open.

He stepped out behind the throne itself, giving him a view of the entire room as he emerged. It was mostly empty, save for the usual set of guards posted at the corners and five people standing at its very center. “Huh.” He pauses, staring at the group as his brain catches up to what he’s seeing. One, two, three, four… yup. There’s a fifth person he doesn’t recognize.

Ren can feel the tips of his ears heating up in embarrassment as he realizes he might have changed a little prematurely. So he takes a deep breath and straightens, mustering up all of his dignity and grace.

“M’lord.” Martyn steps forward, climbing the stairs leading up the throne’s dais.

“Me Hand,” Ren says cheerily. He waited until Martyn approached, then clasped his friend’s shoulder warmly. He saw Martyn’s arm move, raising as if to embrace his King back, but caught himself halfway through the motion and swung his fist to his heart in a salute. Ren appreciated the adherence to formality in the presence of a stranger, not that he would have been upset if Martyn had gone ahead and pulled him into a hug. “And my most trusted Counsel. Tell me, what news do you bring? And who is this?”

“This,” Martyn said, turning to motion back to the pale, shirtless man below. “This is Scar.”

The name seemed accurate enough. “Scar…?” He muttered the name in near misbelief, only to mentally scold himself. Now was not the time to be rude.

There was something off-putting about the stranger. He was odd, and not just because he wasn’t wearing a shirt, although that didn’t exactly help his case. No. There was something about the way this Scar held himself. Something about the look in his eyes. The way he was staring at Ren so intently. It sent a shiver down Ren’s back. If looks could kill, then Scar’s would have at the very least pinned Ren down where he stood.

BigB took a step forward, pulling the king’s attention away from the disconcerting gaze. He looked up from the bottom of the dias with a fist to his heart. “We found him at the base of that collapsed outlook station,” he said, shooting a sidelong glance at Etho. “He saw what happened last night.” Then BigB held his hand out, splaying his fingers first out towards Skizz and Etho, then Martyn at the top of the steps. “If I may, all four of us suspect the events are a result of a monster attack.”

BigB’s words made a hollow chasm open up in Ren’s belly where his stomach should be. He had to consciously fight back against the involuntary instinct to stiffen the muscles in his shoulders and fold into himself. Instead, his head shot to Martyn.

Martyn didn’t miss a beat. He responded immediately to the question Ren hadn’t even voiced. “Me and Skizz checked in on the cattle slaughtered at the ranch. We don’t have anything concrete, but we suspect a zombie might have somehow found its way in.” There was comfort and understanding in his tone.

And it worked. Martyn knew him too well. Knew just the right way to phrase things. The chasm inside started to recede at the mention of a zombie. A specific monster. One that was generally considered a low threat. “Ah, well, we’ve handled plenty of zombies before,” Ren said smoothly “We can handle one more. We’ll just have to be careful and make sure it’s only one and not a whole mob. And once that’s taken care of, I’ll have the clerics and the engineers go over the safety system for any gaps.”

Martyn nodded. “It sounds like there wasn’t much physical evidence at the tower outside of a few scratches, but as BigB said, we did bring a witness. Scar,” Martyn called to the stranger. His voice reverberated slightly off the smooth walls and floors in the large room. Scar didn’t give any indication he had heard Martyn. He was still too busy staring at Ren.

“Go ahead and tell the King what you saw, Scar. Try not to leave out anything. No detail is too small.”

“That’s easy,” Scar says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly. “It was him.”

Ren furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry… I don’t understand. Who is ‘him?’”

For a moment, Ren thinks he might be imagining the wild grin flashing across the other man’s face, but it’s gone so fast he can’t be sure. Instead, Scar’s expression is grim. “You,” he says, pointing up at Ren. The others blink in confusion, looking back and forth in disbelief between their friend the King, and the newcomer Scar. But Scar jabs his finger at Ren again, taking a step up the dais. “You were the one I saw last night at the tower. You were the one who knocked it down.”

“Wh-what?” Ren took a step back. All sense of what a ‘strong imposing king’ should do was promptly forgotten. He blinked at the man, his accuser, too stunned to even think. He could only watch as Scar took another step up.

“You were the monster with the claws.”

Martyn was the first to recover from the shock of the sheer absurdness. Because that’s what this was. Absurdity. “You better watch your tongue, Scar. Don’t you know who you’re speaking to? That’s the King. Not some beast.”

“Is this some kind of joke,” Skizz huffed, sounding as confused as Ren felt. “Cause if it is, it’s not funny. I’m not laughing.”

BigB shook his head. “Maybe you’re confused, Scar. Are you saying you saw something that looked like the king?”

“No. What I saw was him,” Scar insists. Another step up.

“It most certainly was not,” Ren growls. “I first learned of what befell the tower this morning. If I had been there, I would have already known.”

“Then you’re lying,” Scar says, and he sounds perfectly calm. His voice is smooth and even, and has all the confidence in the world when he adds, “Just like you’re lying about being a monster too.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Scar takes the last step up the dias and he is standing face to face with Ren. There’s such a knowing look in those narrowed brown eyes. Ren finds himself reaching out to grasp the nearest thing he can find. His hand finds the armrest of his throne, and he is surprised to realize he’s shaking as his fingers wrap around the carved wood.

Ren’s friends were having none of it. His guards left their posts at the corners, moving in towards the throne. Etho was already leaping up the steps with his palm resting on the knife handle sticking out of his belt. Skizz and BigB were scrambling after him, but Martyn got there first. He grabbed Scar by the shoulder and roughly yanked him back. The Hand slipped between the stranger and the King with a snarl. “Alright. I’ve had enough of this charade. If you don’t stop this right now, I’ll throw you into the dungeons myself.”

Scar raised his hand placatingly, but he did roll his shoulders to pull out of Martyn’s grip. “Just hear me out. I can prove it.”

“Prove it? There’s nothing to prove,” Ren snaps, finally finding his voice. “It sounds like all you have is unfounded, baseless accusations and no sense of self-preservation. Guards, get this man out of here before me Hand can make good on his promise.”

His voice rings out, but the guards don’t move. They’ve stopped halfway to the dias with an odd look in their eyes. “Guards…?” He says again, more confused than angry that they stopped. Then he looked to his friends, and his confusion deepened.

All of them stood around Scar. Their bodies were stiff and eyes unfocused, as if looking for something in the distance. Etho’s hand slips off the handle of his knife. When Ren shifts to one side, he can see Martyn is no longer trying to keep Scar away. His Hand has the same vacant look in his eyes as the others. “Martyn…? Guys?”

What’s going on? He’s never seen any of them act like this before. They looked so… distant? Empty? He didn’t know enough about what was going on to even describe it.

He waves a hand in front of Martyn’s bright blue eyes. They blink at the sudden motion, but they aren’t following the movement. They aren’t looking at him, or anything Ren can make out at all.

Martyn speaks up, but when he does, he addresses Scar. “How are you going to prove it?”

Scar laughs, and it makes Ren’s blood run cold. “That’s silver mixed in with the gold of his crown, isn’t it?” He takes a step towards Ren. Nobody else moves as he closes the distance between the two of them. Ren’s guardsmen, his friends, even Martyn, they all watch apathetically as Scar reaches for the crown.

This is too close for Ren’s comfort, and he doesn’t feel like playing along with whatever little game this was supposed to be. He may not know what is going on, but he wasn’t just about to let it happen. The moment Scar came within reach, Ren let go of the throne and slammed his knuckles into Scar’s cheek with a wicked right hook. The other man let out a surprised oomph at the moment of impact but remained standing. So Ren took another swing.

Unfortunately, Scar now knew Ren was ready to fight back. With lightning-fast reflexes, he caught the king’s fist in his hand and held tight. His grip was like a vise. The more Ren pulled away, the tighter Scar latched on. So Ren risked another punch with his free hand. This time, his fist bounced harmlessly off Scar’s forearm, brought up in the nick of time to block the hit. How could the others just sit and watch this?!?

With his free hand, Scar snatched the crown off Ren’s head and twisted, pressing the metal against his neck. Ren almost snorted as the cold bite of silver and gold dug into his flesh. Whatever this man was trying to accomplish wouldn’t amount to anything. As if that would do anything other than make his side itch.

But when the silver hit his skin, something strange happened. It… it stung. Just a little, but still... How could that be? That… that was impossible. And Scar! Scar wasn’t just pale anymore. He almost looked blue. And were those wings hanging from his back?

“A monster with wards,” Scar whispered into Ren’s ear with a chuckle. “Why, I’m impressed. But illusions won’t work on my kind.”

Ren hissed as the stinging in his neck grew to a burn. “Fae…” he managed to sputter as everything finally clicked into place. All the rumors of a fairy in the vicinity were true, and he had let it waltz right into his castle and cast a spell on his dear friends.

He tried to say something else, to tell his friends to run, or call for some guards with iron weapons at hand, but when he tried to say something the words came out as incoherent growls. Scar took the hand still gripping Ren’s fist and shoved him away. The world went crooked as Ren stumbled backward, tripping over himself and rolling painfully down the steps.

At that point, the others’ eyes were blinking back into focus. “M’lord,” Martyn cried as he realized Ren had fallen. He rushed to go after him when Scar, wingless and pale-skinned once more, threw an arm out in front of the Hand to stop him.

“Trust me, you don’t want to get close. Look.”

Ren groaned at the incoming wave of pain from countless new bruises. With one arm he propped himself back up and opened his eyes. Everyone was looking at him with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Everyone except Scar, who looked smug. Ren opened his mouth to tell them it was Scar they needed to stay away from, but when he tried to speak all that came out was a gravelly growl. Skizz, Etho, BigB, and Martyn flinched at the noise. They looked back and forth between themselves and him, sheer horror evident in their faces. He tried to say something again, but once more there were only growls. By now, the guards had raised their weapons and they were all pointed at him. What on earth…? He held up his hand, hoping maybe he could gesture to explain himself, but when he did he noticed that it was covered with fur. Hooked black claws protruded from the tips of his fingers.

That can’t be possible. Ren can feel the panic rising up as he desperately inspects himself. Fur. There’s fur on his face, his hands, his shoulders. The claws catch at it and snag his skin as he feels alongside his head where two ears stick out much farther than they should be. It’s real. But it’s not real. It can’t be real. What glamor had this fairy used that could be so life-like? “But it’s not a full moon,” he says and is surprised to hear actual words instead of growls.

“See. Poor thing knows he’s been found out. It even admits it,” Scar says.

“You really are a monster…” Martyn mumbles, but his words are as loud as a gunshot to Ren. The looks on his friends' faces made his heart want to break as he realized that it was him they were horrified by. He recognizes the fear in Skizz and BigB’s eyes. The hint of rage in what little of Etho’s face he can make out past the mask. The utter betrayal in Martyn’s expression. He can’t help but let out a little whimper.

“He’s a beast! Seize him before he attacks,” one of his guards shouts. He recognizes her as the one who laughed with him during breaks in the People’s Court today. His chest already feels tight, but he doesn’t think it could hurt any worse as they charge at him. The whimper dies in his throat, only to be replaced with a long, mournful howl.

Ren is too heartbroken to fight back. Not when Martyn and the others are looking down at him with such disgust. The guards rush at him with weapons at the ready. They lash out at his head with their shields while the others simply watch. One guard manages to catch the top of his skull with the butt of her sword. The instance of pain is short-lived as the hit mercifully knocks him unconscious.

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danniswrites · 15 hours

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I finally got my 2024 Apr Camp NaNoWriMo Official Winner Certificate!

Did Tech Support finally answer my frantic plea? Well, no. But I had read something about recreating the record to get the record connected with the offical NaNo project. So, I searched in Support and found this.

I followed these directions to create an identical project. I copied every day's entered word count and put it in again.

NOTE: You must go to the Stats menu option

Go to your account's page

My plea for help that went unanswered. This post was actually deleted!

So I created an unofficial certificate on Canva.com and put it on social media. I was very upset.

Here was my official project, and I hit my goal and had badges...but no winner graffiti. It wasn't linked as an official project. I'd seen a banner telling me to link it, but when I tried, every project I ever did was listed...except this one, that I just won with.

I looked up on the forums what someone else tried, and they accidentally deleted their project! I posted on the forums about my problem. The other post had been from November. But both that one and mine got deleted! I figured no help was coming, so I made my Unofficial NaNoWriMo Winner Certificate and posted it to Twitter, with a link to the doc for others to create their own if they liked.

But, I'm not one to just give up. So, I tried creating a new project. First, i went to my account main page.

Under My NaNoWriMo on the bar, I chose Projects to get to this one, then Stats to get my word counts per day.

If you left click and drag your mouse so your daily counts are highlighted, you can Ctrl-C [or Control-C] on a Mac to copy this to the clipboard. Open a Notepad file and Ctrl-V to paste. Use this later.

Go back to your Projects page and create a new project. Note that, you must do this before Apr 30 or you can't choose Camp NaNo for your Goal.

I then went in Stats on the NEW project I just created and did Add New Update. Only on the Stats page can you add words for a different day than today!

Now my project says Winner [the top one of the two Galactic Ministers' Staff Projects, on the right side of the bar]

And, I was able to click on it and download my official certificate! Yes, it's a .pdf, but I opened it and did a screenshot with the Game Bar, that's Windows-G if your keyboard has the Windows button on it. It brings up choices for screenshot or movie, and is handy. Find the screenshot in Video->Captures and double click. Use the cropping tool in Photos and save a copy. Now you can post your Winner Certificate to your social media!

That's how I fixed my project so it now says Winner. Good luck to all of you!

Yes, I am upset at what happened on the youth forums. This happens on a lot of forums, and I think the answer is for someone brilliant to write an AI that can detect these vile people! It is bad that it happened, but I still participated, not in support of perverts who took advantage of innocent youth just trying to enjoy writing. I still think the spirit of NaNo is good, and I will continue to set my goal and write 3 times a year.

But now I am adding the also 3 times a year Royal Road Writeathon to my yearly bucket. If you wanna read my latest project, it is

Ella's Saga

Ella stays busy to cope with her chaotic life, but she meets Farley, who gives her a new kind of pocket computer, and she realizes he's connected to SETI's discovery today. Farley also has some unusual knowlege of Ella's future, which makes her realize she needs to rethink her priorities. There is much more to life than good grades and pursuit of her programming career. Her skills are badly needed in Farley's home.

I had 988 views yesterday, so if it sounds interesting, please go read for free! I plan to add chapters daily 'til it's finished, then delete it from Royal Road and put it on Amazon Kindle. Comments and rating greatly appreciated! I love the Royal Road folks and I'm glad to be a member of the Penguins Group [LOL that's the default group for members of Royal Road and there's a forum post explaining it].

#april 2024 #nanowrimo #camp nano april 2024 #camp nanowrimo #nanowrimo scandal #frustration #solution #problem fixed

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josesalguero · 6 months

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Preserving the Flow: A Water Conservation Crusade

Definitions:

Story: A story is a connected series of events told through words, or any other form of communication. You can tell a story about anything, and the events described can be real or imaginary; covering both fiction and nonfiction (Admin, 2018).

Tale: A narrative that relates the details of some real or imaginary event, incident, or case (“Tale Definition & Meaning | Dictionary.com,” 2021).

Science Fiction: Science fiction is a genre of speculative fiction that contains imagined elements that don’t exist in the real world. Science fiction spans a wide range of themes that often explore time travel, space travel, are set in the future, and deal with the consequences of technological and scientific advances (MasterClass, 2021).

Story:

As I stepped into the shimmering portal, the familiar disorienting sensation of time travel washed over me. My mission was clear. I need to knock off the water crisis that threatens our future. I found myself in the year 2052, a world wrestling with the consequences of water waste.

I met Kira, a brilliant scientist, she explained to me that in the future, the planet's water sources will be reduced to dangerous levels. Then, I realized the enormity of our task. "We need visionary solutions, and we need them now". Kira said.

Firstly, we embarked on our journey, our first stop was a massive metropolis with towering skyscrapers. Water flowed everywhere, but it was treated like a limitless resource. "Water recycling," Kira exclaimed, "is a must." We introduced advanced technologies that purified and reused water, and the residents began to see the benefits. As a result, the new strategies speed up a positive change to prevent water scarcity.

Our next destination was an agricultural region, devastated by drought. However, with Kira's guidance, we set up irrigation systems and genetically modified crops that required less water. Farmers embraced these changes, realizing that their livelihoods relied on sustainable practices.

In a remote desert community, we met up with a family battling to survive. They had no access to clean water. “We must install atmospheric water generators”, I proposed. By extracting moisture from the air, we provided them with a sustainable source of clean water.

Our journey took us to a corporate main office, where a profit-driven mindset had kept up water waste. We both engaged in a heated debate with the CEO since he wasn’t open to our proposal. "We need your support for a new era of corporate responsibility," I spoke up. With the promise of long-term profit from sustainable practices, the CEO ended up agreeing to change the company's approach.

We moved forward in time, witnessing the positive effects of our interventions. People have started to embrace water-saving habits and appreciate the value of this precious resource. Kira and I were met with gratitude and admiration from the people whose lives we had saved.

As we prepared to return to our own time, I looked at Kira, my partner in this journey. She smiled and said, "We've given them the knowledge and tools to prevent the water crisis. Now, it's up to them to make the right choices."

With a final glance at the future we had helped shape, we stepped back into the time portal, filled with hope and determination. The transition from that future to our present was abrupt, whereas the lessons we had learned were imprinted in our hearts.

The experience had left me with a sense of responsibility. While standing in the present, I knew that it was up to us to ensure that the future Kira and I had witnessed would never become a reality. In short, water waste and scarcity could be prevented with the right actions, and I was ready to be a part of the solution.

References:

Admin. (2018, November 3). Story: Definition and Examples | Literary Terms. Literary Terms. https://literaryterms.net/story/

MasterClass. (2021, September 1). What is science fiction Writing? Definition and Characteristics of Science Fiction Literature - 2023 - MasterClass. https://www.masterclass.com/articles/what-is-science-fiction-writing-definition-and-characteristics-of-science-fiction-literature

Tale Definition & Meaning | Dictionary.com. (2021). In Dictionary.com. https://www.dictionary.com/browse/tale

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hexad-infosoft · 11 months

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Data Augmentation-The Cutting-edge Capabilities of Deep Learning

If you are new to deep learning, you may have heard of the term “data augmentation.” It is a technique that is used to artificially increase the size of a training dataset. This can be done by applying various transformations to the existing data, such as flipping, rotating, and cropping the images.

Data augmentation is an important technique in deep learning because it can help prevent overfitting. Overfitting occurs when a model learns the training data too well and is unable to generalize to new data. By artificially increasing the size of the training dataset, data augmentation can help prevent overfitting and improve the performance of the model on new data.

As the name implies, "data augmentation involves increasing the amount of data. In this context, data refers to ‌ information used for deep learning purposes.” It’s a straightforward concept that focuses on expanding the dataset. As simple as it gets…

Crucial Note: The codes and additional tutorials can be readily found on the internet with just a simple Google search. I am here to provide an explanation regarding the significance of data augmentation applications during the training of our deep learning model.

Imagine you’re studying a numerical text and solving some questions. Later, I come to you after a few hours and ask you some questions based on the same text. Merely reading the text once wouldn’t make you a genius who can comprehend every possible type of question that may arise in exams.

Realizing this, you decide to approach the text differently the second time around. This time, you begin by exploring new questions before revisiting the text to find the answers to those unfamiliar questions. By doing so, your mind becomes more adaptable and versatile when it comes to the data you’re attempting to grasp.

You also make a conscious effort to answer more and more questions, each presenting a new challenge or technique to apply. Quality over quantity becomes your motto for exam preparation.

As a result, your performance improves significantly, and you should definitely reward yourself for the progress you’ve made!

Celebrate this achievement!

Data augmentation involves the artificial generation of new training data from existing data by applying specialized techniques specific to the domain. These techniques produce unique and distinct training examples, expanding the dataset.

As a powerful tool in deep learning, data augmentation enables models to learn from diverse and augmented data, leading to improved performance, generalization, and robustness. Reasons behind applying data augmentation:

Better Feature Extraction

Mitigated Bias

Reduced Overfitting

Improved Model Robustness

To increase the dataset size

Increased Training Data

Here is an example of image augmentation: increasing the number of images. Candid!

As per our research and experience, a single image can also be a part of data augmentation. At Hexad, we have experimented. Let’s say, eight distinct versions of one image; with a dataset of 1000 images; we can create a staggering 8000 images in total.

It’s truly a remarkable transformation!

Now let’s elaborate on some of the remarkable benefits with which we have experimented with our augmentation team.

To increase the dataset size

In the realm of deep learning, there exists a notable principle: the more data available, the higher the potential for improved performance.

However, at Hexad, our software development team has verified that it’s important to exercise caution, as this principle can lead to the risks associated with overfitting.

For example, imagine you possess a limited image dataset, which may not be substantial enough to yield satisfactory results. In such a scenario, how can you enhance the performance of your deep learning model with this limited amount of data?

Our team of data augmentation specialists stated about the savior, “Image Augmentation.” This technique comes to the rescue, enabling you to augment your small dataset and transform it into a more substantial and valuable resource.

Make our model more robust

There is a popular saying that having a generalized model is superior to one that is either overfitted or underfitted.

Our team has finalized that one effective way to achieve model generalization is through image augmentation.

Data augmentation, specifically image augmentation, is just one of the many aspects that contribute to making our deep learning model more generalized.

I trust that this friendly introduction to the concept of data augmentation has provided you with a concise overview, enabling you to continue learning without any hesitations. If you need any further assistance on the topic, please visit our website: Hexad-Data Augmentation-The Cutting-edge Capabilities of Deep Learning.

Thank you for taking the initiative to seek assistance!

#hexad #hexad_infosoft #softwaredevelopmentcompany #softwaredevelopmentservices #software development #softwarecompanyinindia #custom software development #softwaredevelopment #cloud solutions #software development company

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donveinot · 1 year

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very-clever-name · 3 years

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🐄

Insta convo about....honestly I don’t even remember how this started but it sure is something

(from this post)

#I thought for a sec it showed my irl name and I was sad cause I wanted to show this to you guys #then I realized the crop tool exists #you’re welcome

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hottpinkpenguin · 2 years

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Could I request a one shot for Druig from Eternals?

The reader like Druig secretly, but Druig gets annoyed with the reader constantly because of how kind and sweet she is with the humans and the other Eternals. He gets in a fight with the reader after she almost dies in a Deviant fight. Druig breaks her heart with his harsh words against her, having the reader leave the Eternals because of it. When they meet up 500 years later for the Emergence, Druig sees how calloused the reader became and he tries to win her back. Maybe a hint of smut, who knows! Thanks! :) Your writing is amazing!

Always

A/N: THANK YOUUUUU for being so patient!!! this was a lot of fun to write, and I have broken it into 2 parts bc i am straight addicted to high words counts. Here is part 1!!! hope you love it Summary: Druig can't stand the risks that his fellow Eternal Damra's powers put him and the others into. One night after a Deviant attacks the city of Babylon, he tells her exactly how he feels, only to realize that maybe he feels more than he originally thought... Warnings: None Characters: Druig x Fem!Eternals!OC (Name is Damra, has powers over nature)

Babylon - 525 BC

Druig. Stop it, Makkari signed at Druig, interrupting his reverie.

Stop what, he retorted.

You’re glaring again, Makkari replied, rolling her eyes at him. Druig hadn’t noticed, but that had been happening a lot lately. He couldn’t help it – she was just so damn irritating.

Druig watched as Damra let a few human children lead her by the hand through the streets of Babylon, a human baby clutched in her other hand. She smiled down beatifically at the baby, and Druig couldn’t help but let a groan of annoyance slip past his lips. There she goes again, playing goddess to the masses, he thought sourly, shading his eyes against the midday sun.

Druig never understood Damra’s fascination with humans. They were a perpetually power-hungry race of beings, and Druig wearied of their tiresome thoughts always pounding on the edges of his mind. But not to Damra. Her affinity for the people of Earth had gotten the Eternals wrapped up in too many human conflicts already. She was always convincing the others to save these children or protect this village. Her constant meddling had almost cost Druig, Makkari, and the others their lives more times than he cared to count, and Druig was rapidly losing patience for it.

You’re hopeless, Makkari informed him, throwing up her hands in defeat and walking away with a final sigh of exasperation, leaving Druig to his brooding thoughts.

Druig watched as Damra’s silhouette faded from sight, swallowed up by the crowds of humans who’d gathered around to watch her force the withered crops into bloom and fill the dry wells with clean water. As an Eternal, Damra controlled nature, able to make a tropical oasis out of sand in an instant, control the minds and actions of a flock of birds or a swarm of bees, or change the tides of the ocean. Druig had seen her do all these things; her power was impressive, truly, and it was always spellbinding to humans, who sought futilely to exert the same influence over the natural world through their crude tools.

As Damra’s auburn hair disappeared from view, Druig thought about using his own powers to seize the minds of the villagers to ignore Damra’s self-indulgent show of force. He loathed that she flaunted her powers in front of the humans, even more so that she had used her powers to literally create Babylon from nothingness. Even Ajack had been against Damra creating such a sanctuary at first. But, just like all the others – human and Eternal alike – she’d been seduced by the tranquility of Babylon. Although he would never admit it out loud, Druig knew that Babylon was the first time since arriving on Earth that the Eternals had co-existed peacefully and openly with humans. A fact that Damra’s constant showmanship never ceased to remind him of.

His mood darkening by the moment, Druig turned on his heel, leaving Damra to the adoring throngs of villagers who had poured out into the city center, chanting her name.

*****

It was evening before Damra came back to the Domo. Her face was glowing and flushed, proof of just how long she had been using her powers.

As usual, all of the Eternals had gathered in the central chamber of the Domo to discuss the day’s events, hear any new directives from Arishem through Ajack, and bid each other goodnight. Makkari, still annoyed by Druig’s brooding, was resting comfortably on the bench across the chamber from him, chatting with Sersi and Sprite. Phastos, as usual, was working on one of his inventions that he planned to share with the humans (another pandering gesture Druig resented). Kingo and Ikaris were engaged in a sparring match while Thena watched appreciatively, calling out suggestions and coaching each from the sides. Gilgamesh sat quietly near Druig, lost in his own thoughts, and Ajack hadn’t arrived yet.

As soon as Damra strode in, Druig felt his jaw tense. Her neck was adorned with flower necklaces – favors the villagers bestowed upon her as a sign of their love for her and her powers. The soft pinks and blues of the blossoms made her look radiant and ethereal, and Druig hated her for it. Before he could stop himself, he was on his feet, glowering at her.

“Just how long are we going to keep this charade up, Damra?” His voice dripped with ire, and immediately the sounds of relaxed chatter in the chamber died out. All eyes turned to him, including Damra’s, the color of emeralds.

“I don’t understand, Druig,” she replied softly, the gentle smile she’d worn upon entering the chamber melting from her face as she saw his anger. He practically shook with the effort of controlling it.

“How long do you intend to keep this place and those people-” Druig gestured vaguely towards the city outside “- reliant on your powers for? How long do you intend to play God?” Out of the corner of his eye, Druig saw Makkari stand up and leave, clearly not interested in having any part in what he knew she felt was a ridiculous, misdirected, and bitter vendetta.

Damra turned to face Druig, her face placid but her body tense. He wasn’t surprised; Damra was genteel and soft around the humans, but she had a fierce spark in her soul. Secretly, he was glad she wouldn’t back down. He was itching for a fight.

“As long as Ajack allows,” she replied, jutting her chin out at him in an act of defiance.

Unsurprisingly, it was Phastos who came to Damra’s aid first. “What we’re doing here is advancing humanity by thousands of years in the span of a generation,” he pointed out. Druig shot him a dark glare out of the corner of his eye. Although Phastos had always defended Damra’s sanctuary city, Druig wasn’t interested in arguing with the inventor. Damra was his target, and he wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted.

“No, what we’re doing here is laying out a banquet for Deviants,” Druig spat back.

Damra’s nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. She knew Druig’s position on this; they’d had this argument countless times, although never in such a public forum.

“It’s a risk worth taking,” she growled, her voice low and menacing.

Druig opened his mouth to reply, but it was Ajack’s voice that cut through the building tension in the chamber.

“Enough, Druig.” Her voice was commanding with an edge of harshness. She strode in to the chamber, coming to stand next to Damra and Druig, who were now mere inches apart, tensing for blows. “This is not how we resolve our differences,” Ajack scolded.

Ever the obsequious and dutiful Eternal, Damra backed down, stepping away from Druig and slowly making her way to the bench on the edge of the chamber to sit. Druig, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. Sensing his mounting outburst, Ajack placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Not here, not now.” Ajack lowered her eyes and forced Druig to return her gaze. Despite her at times motherly countenance, Ajack was their natural leader and Druig had immense respect for her, even if he disagreed with her tactics.

Frustrated at being stymied, Druig chewed his tongue, debating whether to obey Ajack in the truce or unleash the string of harsh words ready to pounce from his lips. After a few agitated moments of deliberation, Druig thought better of it than to go against Ajack’s wishes. With a snort of derision, he left the chamber, retreating to his own quarters to spend the rest of the night in an indignant temper.

*****

Damra considered confronting Druig in his quarters to finish what he had started that evening, but thought better of it. Ajack’s instructions had been clear when they had spoken after the others had left the chamber: Druig’s points were valid, even if his delivery was lacking. Deviants were drawn to the Eternals’ powers, and the intensity with which Damra used hers to sustain the sanctuary of Babylon put all of them – not to mention the humans who flocked to the city by the hundreds each day – in constant danger.

Knowing she would not find rest quickly, Damra opted to leave the Domo. The moon was out and it illuminated the ground around her in a ghostly, chilled light. The city below was beginning to quiet for the evening, and a soft breeze blew off the river to the south.

Damra had long felt unsettled by her fellow Eternals’ growing mistrust in her venture. She had felt so certain when she had first had the idea to create Babylon that it was what humanity needed. She and several of the others – Phastos in particular – had grown restless watching the agonizingly slow advancement of civilization. A few generations of prosperity, innovation, and abundance would launch the human race forward thousands of years, and ultimately it would shorten the time that the Eternals had to spend away from their own, Olympia. Most of the Eternals had been supportive of Babylon, at first, but not Druig. Never Druig.

Damra knew he disliked her, and she wished it were not so. For so long, she had thought of nothing else but to earn his love. When it had become clear to her that that would never happen, she had lowered her sights and aimed for his admiration, and then his respect once admiration became too tall an order. But it seemed that the more she was herself – the more she used her powers, the more she loved the people of Earth – the more he resented her. It was a deep, biting wound that she was slowly masking in anger, an ugly part of herself that she wished she could cut away entirely, like a cancerous growth. But no number of Babylonian paradises could ever fill the longing she felt for him. She felt weak and pitiful for loving someone who so clearly wished her gone. She knew that, despite Druig’s moodiness, he would never actively wish harm on any of his fellow Eternals, but she couldn’t deny the obvious: he wished she hadn’t been sent to Earth with the others, with him.

Damra was perched on an outcropping of rock, biting back hot tears of rejection, when she saw it. A shadowy outline, moving fast across the valley, golden eyes and a mouth full of fangs. Damra’s stomach clenched into a knot of fear. A Deviant.

Damra knew there wasn’t time to go back to the Domo to fetch the others, not without allowing the beast to reach the city walls and take countless lives. Her body alight with adrenaline, Damra called upon her powers to summon the nearest creature she could find. A small pheasant that had been resting in its burrow quickly approached her, summoned by her powers. With a surge of purpose, Damra sent the pheasant off in the direction of the Domo to alert the others; although she couldn’t force the bird to speak on her behalf, she knew that the others would recognize her powers at work.

Once the pheasant was off on its messenger duty, Damra placed her hands – arms alight with golden shimmering rings, a sign of her Eternals power – on the rocky ground. Focusing on the shadowy figure of the Deviant as it raced across the rocky plain, Damra forced her powers to radiate outwards in the direction of the monster. Within a few moments, the roots of all the shrubs, trees, and grasses closest to the monster erupted from the ground and began wrapping themselves around the Deviant’s clawed feet like snares. It slowed the monster, causing it to stumble and lurch sideways.

Damra saw a flash of golden light zip across the terrain towards the downed beast. Makkari dropped Thena and Gilgamesh on opposite sides of the Deviant’s head, and they began the attack. Damra could hear Thena’s battle cries from her. A second flash of gold burst into the sky - Ikaris, rising high into the night, beams of destructive energy burst out of his eyes. The Deviant let out a roar as it broke free of its bonds, slashing outwards. Damra began running towards the scene of the fight, joined by Kingo, who shot a burst of energy at the Deviant.

Damra - like Druig, Sprite, Phastos, Sersi, and Ajack - was typically instructed to hang back in fights as her powers were not always well-suited for battle the way that Ikaris, Kingo, Thena’s, and Gilgamesh’s were. But tonight, Damra found herself ignoring the yelled pleas of her friends to stay back. Staying shoulder to shoulder with Thena, Damra felt a combination of leftover anger from her fight with Druig and guilt over the knowledge that she was likely the reason the Deviant was here at all. It blinded her to the danger, and she felt drunk on the adrenaline.

Using her powers once again, Damra called to the rocks nearby, sending them hurtling through the air, aimed at the Deviant. Several struck their target, sending the creature stumbling and roaring in confusion as it suffered another strike from Ikaris’ eyes. Taking advantage of its distraction, Thena plunged her blade deep into the Deviant’s shoulder. The creature responded viciously, striking out with its powerful tail in a large defensive swipe, lifting Thena and Gilgamesh off the ground and sending them hurtling backwards. Damra knew the blow wouldn’t seriously hurt either of them, but they were thrown far enough away as to be temporarily out of the fight.

Turning her attention back to the Deviant, Damra dodged the beast’s jaws as they attempted to close around her. Vaguely, Damra registered the sounds of yelling voices screaming her name. She saw Ikaris circling above, trying to get an open angle to the creature’s throat to land a death blow.

“Damra, get out of here!” Kingo yelled, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her backwards as he shot another ball of flaming energy at the Deviant. It glanced off the creature’s tough flesh, setting a few bushes nearby ablaze. The monster looked even more sinister in the dancing shadows. Its ghostly eyes were drawn to the sound of Kingo’s voice, and once it had the two Eternals in its sights, Damra knew the creature was going for a kill stroke. Striking out first with its taloned claw, Damra heard Kingo emit a surprised grunt as one of its pointed, curved claws sank into his thigh.

He sank to the ground, clasping his thigh, the flesh there torn and ragged from the claw. Without thinking, Damra threw herself forward, coming between Kingo and the Deviant, which was pulling its head back for a death blow. Damra felt her powers radiating around her palms, and she felt a coil of fear wind its way around her heart as she remembered why she was never at the forefront of an attack.

Plunging her hands downward onto the ground beneath her, focusing on forcing her powers down into the rock below, Damra saw shards of shale shoot up around her and Kingo, forming a cage-like structure of rock splinters. The Deviant, momentarily confused, reassessed its angle of attack. As Damra watched the creature circle her and Kingo, groaning in pain behind her, trying to find a weakness in the makeshift shelter she’d been able to erect, Damra heard her name called out from the direction of the Domo. Risking a backwards glance, she turned over her shoulder. Between the pieces of rock, she made out Druig running towards her, her name fresh on his lips, and an expression in his eyes that she couldn’t name. As she watched Druig sprint towards her, the strange expression dancing across his face, she felt her heart pirouette inside her chest against herself.

The Deviant’s roar penetrated her momentary reverie, pulling her head back around to face the monster recoiling for its attack on the rock cage. Sending up a silent prayer to Arishem that her powers had been strong enough to save her and Kingo, she closed her eyes and tried to steady herself.

The force with which the Deviant threw itself against the rock caused the earth underneath her to quake. Several of the defensive splinters sheared off under the weight of the ravenous monster, now clawing desperately at the rock trying to gain enough of an entry to stick its deadly jaws through. Panic-stricken, Damra realized that the creature was going to be able to break through. Instinctively, she reached her hand back to connect with Kingo’s, wanting to have some connection with someone - anyone - in her final moment. The hot, rancid breath of the Deviant poured over her as it continued to tear ruthlessly at the rock. Flecks of its green-blue blood mixed with spittle splashed across Damra’s face, its snapping jaws now just inches from Damra’s face.

Suddenly, just as the beast was about to bear down on Damra for a killing bite, Damra saw a flare of light from outside the rock cage. The Deviant let out a strangled cry, its frantic movements coming to a halt, until it fell forward, its head impaling on a particularly sharp piece of rock. Damra turned back to look at Kingo in confusion, who looked pale from pain with a sheen of sweat on his forehead but thankfully still alive. “Ikaris,” he gasped out, as if understanding her unspoken question.

With a flash, Damra realized that Ikaris must have been able to get to the Deviant’s neck with the beast distracted by its cornered prey. Damra let out an exhalation, the adrenaline of the battle slowly leaving her body. She let her powers relax, the rock splinters crumbling around them, opening their vision back up to the landscape. The Deviant lay lifeless and still, a smoldering hole visible in its neck where Ikaris had landed the killing blast.

Ajack, Sersi, Sprite, Druig, and Phastos rushed into the scene of the battle. Ajack kneeled next to Kingo, quickly setting to work on his wound, his flesh seeming to stitch itself back together under her powers. Damra stood up unsteadily, her muscles sore from exertion and her mind still foggy with fear. She didn’t have a chance to recuperate, though, before Druig squared up in front of her, close enough for her to make out his individual lashes even in the dark.

“Do you see now?” he screamed, his accent thickening with rage. Damra took a step back as if smacked by the force of his words. She wasn’t surprised he was angry - he almost always was angry with her these days - but the intensity of his rage was beyond anything Damra had seen from him before.

“Druig, I-” Damra began feebly, unsure of what exactly she planned to say. Druig didn’t let her finish anyways.

“You brought that Deviant here, your powers brought it here, and it almost killed us!” Druig stepped forward, closing the space Damra had opened between them, an accusatory finger raised at her chest. The others watched, similarly stunned by the sheer magnitude of Druig’s rage.

“Please, Druig, I didn’t me-”

“Oh you didn’t mean to? You didn’t mean to almost get Kingo killed! You didn’t mean for the Deviant to attack a city full of vulnerable humans! Oh good, I’m glad that’s all cleared up!” His anger was turning sarcastic, his hands trembling with the effort to restrain himself from hitting her. Druig felt his mind go black with fury as all the animosity he’d bit back for months flew out of his lips. He saw Damra retreating from him, tears welling in her green eyes, her lip trembling, and he pressed his advantage.

“Shame the damn beast didn’t finish the job and rid me of you once and for all!”

Damra’s already tenuous composure fractured at his words, her knees buckling under her as she collapsed to all fours. Her chest heaved with silent sobs, and she couldn’t raise her eyes to look at him. Druig felt a pang of pity for his fellow Eternal, regret beginning to take root in his mind as he contemplated the words he’d just let fly. He disliked Damra for what she was hellbent on doing with her powers and for the risks it posed for all of them, but he didn’t actually wish her dead.

Unable to think of what to say or do next, Druig stood there, the burn of fury beginning to die down in his veins as Damra’s crying became audible. He looked around at the others, all frozen in place and staring at him with varying expressions of shock, bitterness, and repulsion. When his eyes finally met Makkari’s, she instantly turned away from him, leaving a golden trail of light behind her as she retreated back to the Domo.

As his desperation to undo the last few moments increased, Druig slowly sank to his knees in front of Damra, hoping she would look up at him. She didn’t, instead recoiling away from him as if he were going to hit her. The sight of her - someone he’d always considered a fair sparring partner and equally passionate rival - so utterly broken ripped something loose inside him.

“Damra, please, I didn’t mean-” The words died on his lips as the irony of the moment stripped his apology of any meaning it could have had.

Damra finally steadied herself enough to make eye contact with him. Roughly swiping away the tears from her cheeks, she held his gaze for a few moments. Damra felt an overwhelming urge to reach out for his hand, to throw her arms around him, to beg him to take back what he’d said; anything to get him to say that he wasn’t serious. She thought she saw a flicker of regret in his face, which was softened considerably from the mask of rage he’d worn only seconds before. The acidic sting of rejection and bitterly hot tears reminded her of how she’d gotten there. With a resolute inhale, she stood up, waiting for him to rise to his feet as well.

“Goodbye, Druig,” she whispered, her voice hitching with a faint sob. Before she had a chance to reconsider, she turned on her heels and started walking. She silenced a protest from Sersi with a sad shake of her head, her mind resolved. She knew there was no way she could stay there after what Druig had said. It would be too painful. Not only had his rebuke lodged in her heart like a blade, but the fact that he was right made it hurt all the more. The Deviant had been drawn there because of her powers, and she had almost gotten them killed, Kingo most closely.

Druig took a few steps after her, his hand raised in a reconciliatory gesture, but found the words tangling in his throat. He opened and closed his mouth futilely a few times, unable to put his emotions into sound.

She had no destination in mind, nor the gift of speed that Makkari had, so she let her feet carry her aimlessly into the darkness…

read part 2 here!

#druig imagine #druig angst #druig fluff #marvel eternals #druig #druig x reader #druig x oc #eternals imagine #eternals angst #eternals fluff #eternals fanfiction #druig fanfiction

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goosedawn · 3 years

Note

//Oh gods, welp, here I go [cracks knuckles]

//Tiny farmer Techno Au,,,, prepare for some future lore cjkhcxk

Timestamps from: "I Became the Mayor of Skyblock" by Technoblade

(5:39) "I decided to call in an old rival..." - Technoblade

Techno continues on with his life for days on, but finally, he somehow finds his way to society again, seeing that the entire town has been taken over by a tyrant of a mayor. The townspeople called for aid, and from the depths of his cold heart, he decided to help (....what do you mean he only did it so people would buy his potatoes-).

For a bit, he did his work by himself, only getting help from some other living scarecrows (listen, I really like the idea of some scarecrows coming alive [cough] PHIL [cough]), TimeDeo and Jyn (...? Is that how you spell their name?). (Dunno what the process for taking over the mayor would be exactly but,,, chchskdlcx,,,)

But you can only do so much work with... living scarecrows. With a bit of reluctance, he calls for help from SquidKid. And then together they defeat Dante :]

(Also, it's funny to think that the town has a mayor that they've never seen. All they know is that the previous mayor is gone, and the new one is pretty chill. /Lh)

(6:31) "Is there any way to do the teleport room without just like.. guessing?" - SquidKid

(6:36) "You are like... little baby, watch this." - Technoblade

Being tiny has its perks.

"Wait, what do you mean you can solve this maze in an hour or less?"

Techno turned towards the bigger hybrid, crossing his arms as he nonchalantly stared up at them. SquidKid only gives him a baffled look back, their tentacle-like hair slightly sprung up to further show their confusion.

He knows this only because he's known the man for far longer than they've known him.

He knows more personal information than should be shared, somehow finding the other farmer's parent's numbers along with a few other things. He had jokingly pocketed away the parent's number in the back of his mind, although, he had no real plans of ever using it. Well, maybe he had played with the idea of calling SquidKid's parents to dunk on the fact that a wild borrower had been winning their competition, but he ultimately decided not to for obvious reasons.

He knows the hybrid's schedule like the back of his hand, having to work around it for the better part of an entire year. Using that knowledge, he had sabotaged countless of SquidKid's tools, poking small, unnoticeable holes into their hoses and irrigation systems.

And he knows SquidKid's behavior from how they speak to how they express any sort of emotion. Lies were easily debunked from the small twitch of the corner of their mouth as they suppressed a smile, and anger was easily shown from how their strange hair pieces would spike up.

Yet, he can't help but feel slightly at unease in front of them. He supposes it's only natural, seeing that there's a huge height difference between them. Plus, this was practically the first time they've been closer than two fields of length in between them. Well, disregarding the times he's gone snooping around the bigger farmer's place, but that's neither here nor there.

"Squid, look at me," he raises his hand, gesturing towards himself, "I'm tiny, yes?" the squid hybrid nodded slowly, and he pointed at the stalks of tall fern and crop, "to you, this would basically be a wall you can't get through. For me, though...."

He jumped off his perch, tightly holding his trusty bag and sliding towards the flora before easily disappearing behind the thicket and appearing moments later at eye level, holding the stalk of the crops easily,

"It's easy to go through."

SquidKid makes a quiet 'oh' sound with another nod of their head, looking slightly in awe. The amazed look turns to one of confusion again, though, and he awaited their next question with a raised eyebrow, "but... the maze is big, how are you going to get through it all without tiring?"

Techno grinned, lifting a hand to his mouth and loudly whistling. He doesn't hesitate to slide back to the floor as a blur of white fur bounds towards him.

"Carl!" he exclaims, wrapping his hands around the rabbit's fluffy neck and combing through the fur with his fingers. He backs away to pull out a broken-off piece of a carrot, feeding it to the eager bunny before turning towards the astonished squid hybrid with a grin, "my noble steed," he waves a hand towards the still feeding rabbit.

"You tamed a rabbit," they dumbly point out, having to metaphorically pick up their jaw off of the floor.

"Yup, I did. you can stop gawking now," he huffed, "you're going to catch a bug with your mouth if you keep your mouth wide open."

"...And you named it Carl?"

"What kind of question is that?" he snorts, shaking his head, "yes, I named him Carl, and yes he's going to be the one helping me through the maze. Any other silly questions?"

The man stumbles over their words for a second, and he amusedly watches from below, "I- yeah, yeah, you bozo," they finally settle on saying.

"Alright, cool, I'm going to go find the exit now," he turns away from the hybrid, climbing on the back of the rabbit's back, "see you there."

He doesn't give SquidKid the chance to respond, already setting off through the thicket. And he sure doesn't suppress the grin that crawls up his face as Carl bounds past stalks and stalks of crops.

Having distracted SquidKid enough to get away, the bigger farmer had barely thought to ask how they themselves would traverse the maze.

They must have realized soon enough, though, since not seconds later, he hears a strangled yell of his name along with a loud groan.

Pain, it's been too long since I've written something /Lh

"(Also, it's funny to think that the town has a mayor that they've never seen. All they know is that the previous mayor is gone, and the new one is pretty chill. /Lh)"

When the townspeople come to greet the new mayor, they come thinking that it's SquidKid who's done everything since it's always been SquidKid going into town and doing the talking- the scarecrows being unable to do so for obvious reasons, and Techno unable to do so without revealing his entire existence.

So when the sheepish farmer calmly explains that he's just a helper of the mayor, they're... rightfully confused. At first, they want to know the real identity of the mayor, but SquidKid wearily tries explaining that said mayor really doesn't want to be revealed. They only conceded when he shakily points to the unknown farmer's territory, most of them getting the message.

Techno is very thankful that SquidKid doesn't take his title and also doesn't reveal his existence.

"It would have been so easy for the squid hybrid to just pluck his tiny form from their back pocket and shove the wrathful spotlight onto him.

He wasn't even able to even escape now as he found himself stuck in the hybrid's pocket. The crowd had come quickly after SquidKid had removed the other mayor for him, and he remembered feeling panicked as he stared at the other hybrid. The next thing he knew, he was shoved into their pocket.

He couldn't get out without tumbling to the ground with a splat, and, even worse, the possibility of one of the townspeople pointing him out with gossip-drinking eyes was incredibly high too.

He shakily gulped, greedily taking the air around him as he tried to stay calm. He never liked being near anyone- not even the scarecrows - so the second-hand contact with his past rival was not the finest experience.

"I- uhm," the squid hybrid stumbled over their words, "t-the mayor really would rather not... have the entire town to greet them.."

The crowd hushedly mumbled to each other, and one straggler called out, "well, tell them to come out anyway!"

By the Blood God, he hated this. He shrunk to the bottom of the pocket. This was one of the worst worries for a borrower; he had already been pushing his limit with the scarecrows and SquidKid, but this was another level for him.

"...Uh, well, in that case," he felt SquidKid shift, and a hand brushed over his pocket. He tenses, waiting for the fingers to tug him out and waiting for SquidKid to finally prove that they're not as kind as they look, for them to finally get some semblance of petty revenge.

"You can find them over there." He pauses, confused to as why there's no hand reaching down for him. The words finally dawn on him, and he's both relieved and perplexed to what SquidKid could have meant by that.

But hatever they've done has made the crowd fall unnaturally silent, and so he's at least a little relieved for that too.

The same voice that was brave enough to speak before pipes up, "you mean the ghost farmer?"

....He didn't know that the townspeople had come up with a name for him, but he's suddenly thankful that he's gained enough popularity that people stop and gawk.

"Y...Yes," SquidKid slowly acknowledges the villager, "they were the one orchestrating all of this. I was just helping with the... talking parts," the hybrid is silent for a moment before they burst into a stammering mess,

"And- uh, I-I should take my leave now, b-because I should really h-head back and ch-check up on them," he feels the bigger farmer start to take a few steps back, supposedly away from the crowd, "I'll answer any questions later!"

He has to push against the fabric to keep himself from bouncing around in the pocket as SquidKid starts running. He faintly hears the townspeople shout for the male, but it's muffled through the fabric.

As it starts to seem as if the squid hybrid would never stop running, they finally start to slow down, their breaths coming out labored and airy.

He doesn't speak up for a moment, letting the other regain themselves first. When they finally seem well enough, he speaks up,

"That's the best you can come up with?"

chKFCHKDSJFSDF oh my Primes, this is so LONG,,,, I have no idea how to write SquidKid,,,, plus, I had no idea how to like,,, oOGHgds,f,, pain.

Anyways, hope you had fun reading ALL of this cchjxcvxkdsf,,,

AAUBHJDUHFJHBFNDKUFHN WENDYYY /POS

i dont have anything to add this is just fantastic,,,,, DEO AND JIYN AS SCARECROWS AS WELL,,, FBJHDKUHSJHHDV,,,,,, i love that techno gets to have Carl still 🥺🥺🥺 and him leaving squidkid on the other side of the maze??? FHJBDJNJKBF

ALSO 🥺 squid protecting techno and not telling people abt him,,,,, aaajfhkdojfh good,, i also appreciate that everyone in the village just has to be like. "the ghost farmer is mayor????... well this isnt the weirdest thing thats happened to me"

SQUIDKID RUNNING AWAY,,,, "ill answer any questions later" djhshhjhjhbhbfhdjhbe

*holds this gently* aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa i adore

#hey farmer anon i hope u get to see this #this is very cool whuejhfhjfbhhsjf #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #t!technoblade #tiny!technoblade #t!techno #tiny!techno #g!squidkid #giant!squidkid #not me realising i have to tag this </3 #others writing #i absolutely adore this sm #dibiundnjnfjkdjnfhjfjj #what do u mean i got distracted by watching the video on this again instead of posting what nooo #OH ITS SO LONG #tiny farmer au #long post

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ppersonna · 4 years

Text

the landlord - myg | m

↳ summary- your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave. good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 4.3k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- smut, light crack, PWP

↳ warnings- basically the plot of a porn, theres no plot, the plot doesn’t make sense, seduction, oral sex (m/f receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk, fun laughing giggly time during sex, honestly yoongi is great and i love him, maybe exhibitionism if u squint ???, cum sharing, finger sucking, motorboating

↳ a/n- did i just write basically the plotline of a bad porno? yes. did i love it? also yes. this was lowkey inspired by my own landlord coming over to my place (that i DIDNT SLEEP WITH) and i answered the door in a state of undress :/ i hate myself lol. anywwayyss! enjoy yoongi the landlord! pls feel free to interact with me because i need constant attention uwu

The inside of your apartment feels hotter than the blazing sun outside. Your air conditioner chose the worst week to fritz on you. A record-breaking heat wave.

Nothing helps. You open windows, blow fans, sit in front of your fridge, take cold showers. All just momentary bliss that ends too soon.

It finally breaks you and you muster up the courage to text your landlord, Yoongi.

You inhale a deep breath as you click on the name. Min Yoongi, landlord. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment without realizing.

Your landlord who lives in the same building as you is likely the hottest and most attractive man you’ve ever met. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a crush on the man. Every month, paying rent was torture. You wanted to fling your legs open to him and request he takes his payment another way.

But you never did. He always remained cool and expressionless and it was hard to get a read on the man, let alone see if he’s interested.

Your fingers slide across the keys, nibbling at your lip as you decide what to say.

[to: yoongi] hi! sorry to bother you but my ac appears to have died and im afraid ill be next at the rate of his heat wave 😩 no rush but id appreciate help!

Perfect. Simple, slightly cutesy. Emoji to express how chill you are.

Your phone vibrates almost instantly and a smile curves on your face.

[to: me] oh no, we can’t have that. haunted apartments are hard to rent out 😉 im out until late tonight but i can stop by first thing in the morning if that’s cool?

A flirty line? Is this… working?

[to: yoongi] tomorrow is great! and don’t worry, if i die i won’t haunt this apartment, i’ll haunt yours 😌

[to: me] see you tomorrow, poltergeist 👻

You’re leaping through the air at the idea of the hot landlord semi-flirting with you over text when you notice your apartment. It’s disgusting. Your face burns red and you instantly work on the space before Yoongi comes over. He can't see you like this.

Sleep is out of the question. After your ravage cleaning and polishing and organizing, you’ve worked up more than a sweat. A cold shower helps for a moment but you end up lying in bed feeling slightly wet and very, very hot. The humidity is draining.

You change into an outfit of a crop top and g-string panties. You aim the 3 fans in your room to point around your bed for direct wind contact. It helps, somewhat.

Sleep finally comes as dawn breaks. It’s cooled off enough that the ambient air around you is finally tolerable. Exhaustion overwhelms you, and you pass out, hard. Finally.

You’re broken from your exquisite dream of being nailed by your landlord when a loud knock wakes you up. It’s disorienting. You’re so tired you’re not even sure where you are at the moment, let alone who is at the door. The knock sounds again and you scurry to turn off the loud fans and book it to the door.

The door swings open and reveals your landlord, Yoongi.

“Oh, hi!” You’re excited to see him, for reasons beyond fixing your air conditioning.

Yoongi steps in and looks like he’s about to speak but opens his mouth and remains silent. His cheeks tingle a light shade of pink and he’s staring at your body. Did you drool all over yourself all night or something? What was he staring—

Oh god.

You glance down at your body. The crop top you hastily changed into in the middle of the night hits you a little lower than where your breasts end. The G string is non-existent. It covers almost nothing, which is why you opted for it last night in your desire to get cooled off.

You take a step back from the sexy landlord still gaping at you and shyly cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sorry, I—it was hot,” you mutter. “I’ll go change.”

Yoongi licks his lips, then snaps his eyes up to you and finds his voice. “It’s fine. It’s your home,” he swallows. “It’s hot in here, so stay comfortable. Don’t want to overheat you.”

His eyes stare down yours intensely. It feels like your veins sizzle, and it’s not related to the scorching temperature of your studio apartment.

He breaks the contact first and heads towards the panel in the wall where the inner workings of the air conditioner hide.

You wait in your kitchen, enjoying the natural shadow and shade from no windows and a spot to hide from Yoongi.

What if he thought badly about you? What if he doesn’t find you attractive and thinks of this as a ploy to get him to lower your rent or something? How could you recover from this? Would it ever go back to being the same?

You’re anxiously tapping your fingers on the kitchen countertop, listening intently as the landlord fiddles with pipes and belts and mutters under his breath every so often. Eventually, you hear a soft ‘aha’ and your air con kicks right on. You think it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Instantly you feel the machine push out air. It’s lukewarm now from disuse, but soon it will be frigid cold. You stand in front of the breeze and bask, arms open to let the wind blow through you.

Yoongi clears his throat, and it startles you, making you realize you’re standing in your house nearly naked, ass cheeks out on display, under-boob surely peeking out to say hi. Your face burns and it makes him chuckle as you jump and attempt to cover yourself somehow.

“How long was I standing there?” You ask quietly.

Yoongi can’t wipe the amused smirk on his face. “A few minutes,” he shrugs. “Glad it’s working now for you.”

The air rapidly cools as the machine continuously pumps out colder and colder air.

“Thank god. I owe you,” you sigh.

“Nah, that’s what rent pays for,” he smiles.

He makes his move to leave you alone, and you recognize this is it. This is your chance. You can ask him to fuck the shit out of you now. If he declines, well, the first of the month would start being more awkward. But if he accepts… it’s too blissful to imagine.

You grab at his arm as he walks past you. He stops in his tracks, and his eyes travel to where your hands meet his skin.

“I’m serious,” you attempt to sound as confident as you can. “I owe you.”

He arches a brow at you and turns completely to face you. Your hands hover at the hem of your tiny shirt, lifting a sliver to give him a glance of the bottom of a rounded globe.

“Let me repay you somehow?” you ask.

A smirk lifts at one side of his lips. “You think that will cover the cost?”

Your cheeks heat and you pull the shirt up higher, determined to get him in your bed or die trying.

“I’m hoping.”

Yoongi’s eyes zero in on your tits. Rounded and full, nipples prickling in the fresh and rapidly cooling air. He contemplates for a moment as he lets his eyes get their nice, long drink of you.

“Yeah, now that I think of it, that should be exact change.” He drops his bag of tools and approaches you quickly, hands cupping your head as he kisses you intensely.

He kisses you with all the fire of the heatwave outside, melting you from the inside out. You’re sure to be sweaty and clammy after you’re finished with him. He swipes his tongue over your lips, and there’s no hesitation to let him in. Your hands grip at his sides, pulling his shirt up as much as you can while trying to focus on making out with the hottest guy you’ve ever met.

He chuckles against your lips at your weak attempt to disrobe him and he reluctantly pulls a step away from you to take the shirt off. He stands there and allows you a quick look before he’s back on to you. His skin presses against your chilled nipples and the fire and ice sensation makes you shiver.

Yoongi kisses you passionately, you notice. Like a lover. It’s laced with deeper intention and you hope you’re not overthinking it. You will your brain to just shut up and enjoy. Emotions can come later.

Now, you’re the one to remove your lips from his and he pouts slightly at the loss. You smile and slide down to your knees, hands undoing the button of his tight jeans and tugging them down.

“Shit, babe, I think you may be overpaying me,” he admits. “Wasn’t that hard to fix.”

As a finger pulls down the front of his boxers to let his cock spring free, you flick a smirk up to his face.

“Then consider this my repayment for being late on rent all those months,” you state before shifting your gaze back to his hardened cock. It’s gathered pre-cum at the head and you wonder if he’s been hard and wanting since he got here and first saw you. The thought is intoxicating and spurs you on.

Your tongue licks up the slick at the tip that threatens to drip off, before it swirls around the bulbous head. Yoongi isn’t afraid to be loud, it seems. You supposed you wouldn’t be afraid if you owned the building too. Who will complain? And to who?

“Hoooooly fuck,” he gasps. “Sh—shit I might let you pay rent like this for the rest of your lease.”

You pop your mouth off and lick your lips, allowing your hand to grip his shaft and begin stroking him.

“I don’t want to pay rent this way. How about we consider it a perk?” You smile, pressing forward to kiss his tip teasingly.

“God, a girl who doesn’t want to fuck me just to take advantage of me? And she’s hot as fuck and wants to blow me for fun?” he quirks his head. “Shit, be careful or I’ll end up falling in love.”

It makes your head spin a little and you suckle at the tip a little longer, making him keen, before you pull away again.

“Maybe that was the plan all along,” you simper, then take him in fully, letting his tip glide down your mouth to the back of your throat. He groans loudly, and it’s the most satisfying sound. It makes you want to do this more. Every day if you could.

You get to work, sucking him in, allowing him passage to your throat, vacuuming your cheeks to add additional pressure, gliding your hands up and down the slick shaft to assist you in touching every single bit. Yoongi is thriving. He can’t believe his luck. The hottest girl in the complex, the girl he’s secretly pined over, is sucking his cock as if her life depends on it.

You’re salivating at the act now, saliva spilling out your mouth as you continue to envelop his cock quickly. You slip it out of your mouth to lean down and lick and suck at his balls, which makes him hum in absolute pleasure. You don’t remain long—his cock is nearly pulsating with desire. Your mouth returns to its rightful place and as you’re licking and sucking and pumping and stroking him, you maintain even and sensual eye contact with him.

You want him to know this isn’t a chore, a means to an end. You want him to know you’ve dreamt of him fucking your throat raw every night since you moved in.

Yoongi got the picture pretty quickly. His mouth drops open as he openly gapes at your work, giving him probably the best and hottest blowjob of his life.

Your tongue swirls at the ridge of his head and Yoongi feels it snap—the tightness that holds everything back. He fucks desperately into your throat, relishing in the feel of your gagging and moaning. It didn’t take long until he was seeing it through to the end, pumping hot white ropes down your throat while he moaned out your name with a string of expletives.

The immoral pop noise your mouth made as you pull off his cock makes the blue-haired landlord standing above you moan.

“Fucking hell—where the fuck have you been all my life?” he sighs as he cups his hand under your chin. He beckons you back up, desperate to kiss you. You oblige and return to standing, pressing against his body to pull him in to a dirty kiss.

“Upstairs, apparently,” you murmur.

He swipes his tongue on yours, tastes himself there, and decides he wants to taste himself on you all the time. His hands slide down to your ass, the g string still curving down the line. He snaps at the straps as you kiss, making you puff a laugh against his lips before pulling away.

“I’d be willing to fix your leaky faucet in the bathroom if you let me eat you out,” he offers.

You’re tugging him towards your bed, knocking over multiple fans in the process, and flopping onto the mattress, landing on your back.

“Throw in fixing the squeaky wheel on my closet, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” you joke, spreading your legs to give him the tiniest clue of what lays between.

He sighs dramatically with a smile, “Needy tenant,” before he slips down to hover over you. He intends to kiss and lick every part of your body, starting with the tits that hypnotized him.

“Can’t believe you opened the door like that,” he chuckled as he plucked a nipple between his fingers and lightly rolled it. “I thought I was dreaming.”

The feeling is instant, electricity sparking at the tips of your nipples and warming its way around your body, directly to your cunt. You’re absolutely certain that by the time Min Yoongi reaches his mouth to your core, he’ll drown in it.

He moves forward and wraps his lips around the bud, allowing his hands to travel to the neglected one and to squeeze and pinch and prod. He’s rewarded with your beautiful sighs and gasps—it’s sweeter than any song he’s ever heard.

He presses your tits together and rubs his face in the cleavage there, making you gasp and laugh at the same time. He gazes up at you and flashes his gummy smile.

“I’ve really wanted to do that,” he admits, which makes you giggle again.

“Be my guest,” you approve. He takes your reply and does it again for just a moment, before he’s kissing and sucking at the flesh of your breasts. He wants to mark you, leave a piece of him for you to remember every time you see yourself. You moan in appreciation and rub your thighs together, desperate at the ache that grows with every nip and nibble of Yoongi’s lips and teeth.

He seems to understand and trails down, kissing and sucking at your long torso, abdomen, hips. He leaves little bruises everywhere and you want them to last forever. You want him to mark you and claim you as his own.

His fingers slip around the thin straps of your underwear, and he tugs them right off. He’s unable to stop the loud moan when he notices the slick that strings between them and your folds. You’re drenched, and he marveled at how excited you were about him.

“Fuck, babe—” he sighs as he lowers his chest down to lie in front of your spread thighs. Your center is weeping, slicked with your arousal and he can tell you’re desperate for friction, for anything. “Look at this perfect fucking pussy.”

You whimper as you can feel his breath so close to where you need him.

“Yoongi, please,” you whine. “I’m so fucking horny.”

“I can tell,” he hums. “Keep moaning my name like that and I’ll make sure you’re always horny and ready for me.”

He lowers his lips, hovering millimeters from your slit. He holds it there as he watches your anguished face nearly burst at how close and yet how far he is, before he obliges you and presses into you.

You gasp at the first swipe of his tongue on your clit. He maintains a soft up and down motion on the nub and you’re already seeing stars. He steadily increases the pressure and the speed, then spices it up by swirling his tongue around in different shapes, spelling out his name on your cunt with his tongue to remind you just who got you this fucking soaked.

Your legs falter and quiver as he slips his tongue deeper inside you, licking into your hole and nearly drinking you up. He pulls back and devotes his attention to your clit and your moans turn from soft gasps and pleas to loud whines as he slips his fingers into your cunt and slowly fucks you, spreading you out. He’s not small by any means, he feels he can get you ready to go.

“I want you to cum for me on my tongue,” he states, matter-of-factly. “I want to feel you on my fingers.”

You nod, plucking at your own nipples with one hand as the other seeks purchase in his hair.

“Can you do that for me, babe? Can you cum for me and get my hand nice and drenched? I want to lick it off my fingers.”

His fingers get frantic and he splits his time between suckling and laving at your clit and encouraging you with illicit requests and praises.

Yoongi continues, never letting up or even giving an inkling of a hint he’s tiring. His hand works like a machine and he slips yet another finger inside your heat, making you arch off the bed. He licks at your clit with just the right pressure, and he picks up the speed and it sends you tumbling towards your orgasm. You feel the breath leave your lungs as it hits you, core and channel muscles squeezing him tight and legs shaking around his body. Your moans echo off the small apartment walls, only drowned out by the sound of the fresh air-con still running.

“Oh, my god Yoongi—” you pant. “I’ve never cum so hard from oral in my life.”

He pulls his fingers from inside you as you come back down from your high and chuckles at your words. True to his promise, he lets the slick glisten on his finger and marvels at it, before he’s popping the fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean.

“You taste so fucking good,” he compliments, and it makes your chest tighten and tips of your ears turn red. “Fuck, I could eat you every fucking day.”

You smirk, still sensitive but feeling the desperate ache inside you needy for him and his thick cock. Your legs spread open as he lays between them and you’re wiggling your hips to get his attention.

“I’m sure we could arrange something in my lease for that,” you tease. “I could suck your cock hourly, honestly.”

He groans as he sits up between your legs, cock resting heavily on top of your mound. It’s so close, so close to where you need it to be. You appreciate the thick member as it rests and as Yoongi catches his breath. It’s thick and long, on top of your mound the tip reaches to the tiny swell of your stomach. You know you will not be able to walk tomorrow, that’s for sure.

“You’re telling me I could have been going down on you and been getting my dick sucked by the hottest girl on the planet this whole time and all I’ve done is give you shit about rent?”

You stifle a laugh and spread your legs open wider. “Looks like it. We better make up for all that lost time, don’t you think?”

His cock is rigid, almost stone, and he agrees heartily.

“Fuck yeah, we should. I’ve been dreaming about being inside you.”

He sounds so dirty, looks so sinful—it’s all so much and you’re almost begging for him to take you.

He reaches down to the pants on the floor that dropped and shimmies a condom out of his wallet. You send him a look that he silences with a roll of his eyes.

“Every dude has one, chill,” he mumbles. “I haven’t gotten laid in like a year and a half.” He pales as he realizes what he just said. “Not that it matters. Or that I care. Or that you care—christ can we fuck now please?” He asks as he rolls the rubber onto his stiff cock.

You’re laughing a bit, not at him but with him, and you lean up on your elbows to kiss his lips. “If it makes it better, I haven’t gotten laid in 3 years so I’m the loser by comparison,” you assure.

He wants to ask you how the fuck you haven’t gotten laid in that long because you’re the hottest god damn person he thinks he’s ever seen, but he realizes he doesn’t care and that it works out in his favor because Yoongi doesn’t like competition.

“Looks like the landlord needs to fix yet another problem of yours,” he winks as he lines himself up. You lean back onto the pillows and sigh as you feel the touch of his head right at the opening of your slit.

In one slow motion, he slides himself to the hilt. It’s tight, so fucking tight even after one orgasm, and Yoongi nearly hollers at the feel. He’s sure his eyes are rolling back in his head. It’s warm and tight and wet and even through a condom he’s in absolute bliss. He’s hoping one day he can try it without—fuck you raw and stuff you full of his cum.

He’s still inside you, and after a moment to breathe and adjust to the thick girth of him, you’re whining. “Yoongi, fuck me, I need you so fucking bad.”

A feral groan leaves his lips, and he’s off, beginning a pace that has him hoarse from moaning in no time. He’s never felt so good inside a cunt before, never understood how some men could do crazy shit for ‘magic pussy’, but now he gets it—he realizes he’d probably do some dumb things for a chance to be inside you again.

“Oh, yeah—” you whine. “S-shit, you’re so fucking big, Yoongi. Fuck me nice and deep.”

“Mmm, yeah? You want me to bruise your cervix? Want me to make this cunt remember my fucking cock?” He thrusts harder, pushing into you with diligent speed and intensity. “Gonna make sure you can never cum from another cock again, only mine.”

You’re losing your breath with how hard he’s fucking into you, both your moans and pants coming out in quick little bursts between his thrusts.

“Y-y-yes! Yo-o-ongi! Right there!” He hits a spot that feels so good, and you feel the pull towards orgasm tighten.

“God—you feel so. fucking. good.” he emphasizes with a thrust. “Need to feed your tiny pussy my dick every day, hm? Needy little cunt needs my thick cock.”

Tears form in your eyes. The depths he reaches inside you nearly scrambles your brains—you forget everything that isn’t Yoongi and his perfect thickness spearing inside you.

“Yoongi! Gonna c-cum!”

He goes harder, becomes rabid for your second orgasm and wants to feel the way you squeezed his fingers on his cock, knowing the channel will feel even impossibly tighter.

“That’s right, good girl,” he praises while he maintains a punishing pace. “Let me see you cum on this cock, baby, wanna see that pretty little pussy all creamy for me.”

His thumb rubs at your clit, moving it in circular motions, and diverts his eyesight between watching your full tits bounce and your lips open and close in pure bliss. You’re the definition of fucked out and Yoongi feels a surge of testosterone at the sight—knowing he was responsible.

“O-oh! Th-there!” You’re frantic and he can tell you’re right on the edge. He goes even faster, deeper and harder, and it’s the final straw. You’re catapulted off the edge and thrown headfirst into your orgasm. As he suspected, your perfect cunt pulsates around him like a fist and he’s groaning and stuttering as it triggers his own release.

It takes a few moments for both of you to come down, before he pulls his softening cock from within you and disposes of the condom. You’re breathing hard, and he’s smiling at the sheen of sweat on your body.

“Good thing I got that AC fixed today, hm?” He asks as he leans over to kiss at your lips.

You grin and pull him down to lay next to you, snuggling into his body. He holds onto you and kisses your head. He feels a level of contentment he’s never felt before.

You break the silence. “Now, as the landlord’s girlfriend, do I get any special perks? Like you’ll throw the utilities into my rent? Free cable?”

He chuckles against your forehead. “Not a fucking chance, babe.”

#bts #bts imagine #hyungsmutsociety #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #bts smut #bts yoongi #bts suga #yoongi smut

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batmansymbol · 3 years

Note

hi riley! read this recently and would love to get ur perspective on this as a YA author https://tinyletter.com/misshelved/letters/did-twitter-break-ya-misshelved-6

hi anon! yeah, i read this the day it was posted. thoughts/supplementary essay below.

firstly, i'd put a big "I AGREE" stamp across this essay. i think it's well-cited and thoughtful, and i agree with pretty much everything in it. i especially appreciate it for introducing me to the terms "context collapse" and "morally motivated networked harassment" - seeing internet sociology studied and labeled is ... odd, but useful.

i left twitter in 2017, but i keep an eye on things, which seem similar now to the way they were four years ago. the essay describes the never-ending scrutiny, the need to seem perfect, and the pressure on writers to out themselves. all of that is spot-on. twitter is an outing machine. there is so much harassment and anger on the platform that in serious conversations, good-faith engagement becomes something that must be earned, rather than something that's expected. and in order to earn good faith, strangers expect you to offer up an all-access pass to who you are. otherwise, things might take a swift left turn into verbal abuse.

obviously twitter is a cesspit of harassment from racist, homophobic, and transphobic people, but i think the most painful harassment comes from within the community. i, and most people i know, wouldn't give a single minuscule little fuck if ben shapiro's entire army of ghouls came after us and told us we were destroying the sacred values of Old America or whatever. but the community at large does care about issues of racial justice and queer liberation and economic justice. which is why it's painful to see this supposed "community" eating its own over and over again.

how cruel can we be to people and pretend that we are their friends? that's the emotional crux of the essay to me. what we're doing to ourselves - people who do share our values and want to achieve the same goals - because this one platform is built on rewarding the quickest, most brutal, and most public response.

god forbid you don't have your identity figured out. god forbid you have an invisible disability, or are writing a story about something sensitive you've personally experienced but had an off-consensus reaction to. on twitter, if you are not a paragon of absolute and immediate clarity, you may as well be lower than dirt morally, because you're unable to do what the platform requires of you: air every private corner of your identity, up to and including your trauma, to justify not only your everyday actions and opinions but also your art.

(this is all honestly incompatible with interesting art, but i'll get to that in a bit.)

it doesn't take a genius to see how troubling this environment is when combined with twitter as a marketing tool. i remember that around the time of my debut, i'd tweet out threads of private, painful, personal stuff, which felt terrible to recount, but i'd watch the like count increase with this sense of catholic, confessional satisfaction. all of this was tied to the idea of my potential salability as a writer.

i was around 21 at the time. i felt a lot of pressure as a debut. i wanted people to like me and think i was exceptionally mature and confident. i wanted to do my job and build buzz for my book. i saw that all these publishing professionals and authors spent day in, day out angry and exhausted on twitter. every few days, a new person fifteen years older than me would say, "i can't take this anymore, i'm so fucking tired of this, i'm logging off for a while." i thought, well, this must be how online activism feels: like running on a sprained ankle.

i can still remember book after book after book that inspired blow-ups, big explanations, and simmering resentment: carve the mark (whose author was forced to admit that she suffered chronic pain after relentless criticism of that element), the black witch (a book explicitly about unlearning racism that was criticized for depicting ... racism), ramona blue (a book about a bi girl who thinks she's a lesbian but winds up in an m/f relationship, because she's still discovering her identity) ... etc

each book, each incident, followed the same pattern. firestorms of anger, a decision of where to place blame, the desperate need for a single consensus opinion in the community. i think a lot of people on book twitter see these as bugs inherent to the platform, but really, in twitter's eyes, they're features. the angrier and more upset twitter's userbase is, the more reliant they are on the platform.

i wound up leaving around the time i realized that not only was twitter making me anxious - NOT being on twitter was beginning to make me anxious, because of vaguely dread-infused tweets all around like "i'm seeing an awful lot of people who are staying silent about X. ... why are so many people who are so loud about X so silent about Y?" etc.

that shit is beyond poisonous. people will not always be logged on. the absence of someone's agreement does not mean disagreement. actually, someone's absence is not inherently meaningful, because it is the internet and silence is everyone's default position; internet silence in all likelihood means that that person is out in the universe doing other things.

this is already a ridiculously long response, so i'll try to wrap up. firstly, i think that progressive writers and readers have GOT to stop thinking that a correct consensus opinion can exist on every piece of fiction, and on every issue in general, and that if someone diverges from that consensus, they're incorrectly progressive.

secondly, i think that progressive writers and readers have got to uncouple the idea of a "book with good politics" from a good book, because 1) there are books about morally grimy, despicable subjects that help us process the landscape of human behavior, and

2) if, in your fiction, there is only one set of allowed responses for your protagonist, you will write the same person over and over and over again. you see this a lot in religious fiction. the person is not a human being but an expression of the creator's moral alignment. (not entirely surprising that this similarity to religious correctness might crop up with the current state of the movement. i read this piece around the time i left twitter and it shook me really, really deeply.)

i understand that in YA, there's a sensation of immense pressure because people want to model good politics and correct behavior for kids. this is a noble idea - and maybe twitter is great for people who want to be role models. but i've become more and more staunchly against the idea of artist as role model. the role of the writer is not to be emulated but to write fiction. and the role of fiction is not to read like something delivered from a soapbox, or to display some scrubbed-clean universe where each wrong is immediately identified as a wrong, and where total morality is always glowing in the backdrop. it's to put something human on paper, and as human beings, we might aspire to total morality, but we fall short again and again. honestly, that's what being on twitter showed me more clearly than anything.

#reply #ya lit #personal #the discourse tm #essay

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little-mad · 3 years

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 6

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Gavin was tired of being scolded and threatened. He’d been able to brush it off at first, but in the end it hadn’t taken all that long for him to lose the willpower to be insubordinate.

It wasn’t as if he was...broken or whatever. He wouldn’t describe himself as too afraid to speak altogether. He just...well he just needed a break. Trying to outmatch a giant was exhausting. Plus, Gavin was beginning to wonder whether it was really worth it. Sure it gave him some kind of sense of personal pride and satisfaction, but surely it wasn’t worth getting himself nearly pulverized by an enormous hand.

“This is such a shit storm,” Gavin moaned internally. Leave it to him to make his absolute mess of a situation somehow even worse.

As tempted as he was to glance up at Rael to try and get a read on his current mood, Gavin resisted. If he was going to be quiet, he was going to do it in the most pouty way possible. He’d act almost as if the alteon didn’t exist--which was pretty difficult considering he was literally attached to the guy, but whatever.

For about fifteen minutes the two of them went on in complete silence. Gavin’s urge to run his mouth was growing more and more intense, but he forced himself to hold his tongue. Just when he thought for sure he’d blurt something out, Rael’s walking suddenly took a sudden turn.

Gavin lifted his gaze to peer out through iron bars. He was met with the sight of what to Rael was probably no more than a stream, but to Gavin looked like a terrifying torrent of fast running water. He had never been particularly afraid of water, his parents had forced him to take swim lessons when he was eight after all. However, literal giant sized bodies of water were quite different from the chlorine filled pool at the local YMCA.

Before Gavin could argue with himself about whether or not he should ask Rael what he was doing, a pair of giant hands swooped into view. In a matter of moments, the cage was once again unhooked from Rael’s belt. “What’s happening?” The words flew out of Gavin’s mouth before he could stop them. So much for the silent treatment.

“I figured you wouldn’t like to dangle over the water while I’m getting a drink,” Rael responded. Gavin tightened his grip on the bars of his cage as his captor moved to set the thing down on a nearby rock.

Of course Gavin wasn’t going to say so to Rael, but he was grateful to not have to go anywhere near that stream. Plus, he was happy for any chance to be on solid ground and not hanging from a giant's belt.

“That can’t be all that sanitary,” Gavin thought to himself as he observed Rael sipping the stream water from a cupped hand. Although the water was probably moving fast enough for it to be considered safe, Gavin still didn’t trust water that fish could pee in.

It was at that moment that a deep rumbling caused Gavin’s cage to shudder slightly. The quakes were repetitive and had a rhythm similar to Rael’s footsteps. However, the tremors couldn’t have been caused by Rael, because he was still leaning over the creek.

A feeling of dread began to rise up in Gavin, but before he could call out to Rael, his cage was snatched up into the air. He was thrown around harshly from the movements that were somehow even sharper and more violent than Rael’s. When the tumultuous experience came to an abrupt halt, Gavin looked up to see the face of a giant stranger staring in at him.

While the weather was fairly pleasant, without any uncomfortable humidity, Rael had found himself feeling quite parched. Perhaps he’d dried out his throat from shouting at the human. He supposed it would serve him right for losing his temper. Either way, Rael decided a quick stop at a nearby stream to get a drink wouldn’t hurt. Gavin was still being quiet and well behaved, which continued to unsettle Rael, but at least it meant he wouldn’t kick up any kind of fuss if they stopped for a moment.

After setting the cage and its occupant aside, Rael went to scoop up some handfuls of water. The cool, clear water was quick to soothe Rael’s throat. He was in the middle of taking a nice long sip when he heard a sudden commotion coming from behind him.

He whipped around to see two alteons, a man and a woman. The woman’s skin was a touch lighter than Rael’s own. Her curly auburn hair was cut short above her shoulders, and she was dressed in makeshift armor, with a sword hanging from a sheath at her hip. The man’s skin was tan, but the lack of melanin suggested he hailed from a different region from that which they resided in. His dark brown hair was closely cropped, and he had a distinct scar underneath his right eye. However, what stood out most to Rael about the man was the fact that he was currently holding Gavin’s cage in his hand.

Rael had failed to bring a sword with him on this assignment, primarily because he hadn’t expected to need it when dealing with humans. Aside from that, the woods surrounding Ostrad were considered to be quite safe due to the relentless patrols the Emperor sent out. It was for this reason that Rael had felt fairly confident he wouldn’t have to worry about encountering any kind of brigands or ruffians. “This really isn’t my day,” he sighed internally.

Catching sight of Gavin cowering inside his cage, faced with a giant stranger whose intentions were unknown to him, Rael felt an unexpected wave of sympathy. Those tiny hazel eyes stared back at Rael in desperation, as if silently begging him to come to his aid.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the dark haired man asked in amusement as he observed the human in his grasp. “Don’t tell me this is a real life human?”

While the man seemed unfazed by Rael’s presence, his companion didn’t appear to feel the same way. She stood a ways back, eyeing Rael nervously. Chances were, she suspected he had some kind of affiliation with the palace despite the fact that he wasn’t wearing the official Imperial emblem or colors.

“Damn, when people said they were tiny, I didn’t think they meant this tiny,” the thug mused, now holding Gavin’s cage at eye level so he could get a closer look. “I’ve seen rats bigger than this!”

While Rael didn’t have a real weapon on him, he did have a small dagger strapped to the back of his belt. Though he was itching to make a grab for it, he held back. There was a chance he could handle the situation without threat of violence. Already, the woman clearly didn’t seem eager for a fight with him.

“Excuse me, but that human is under the protection of his majesty the Emperor,” Rael stated coldly, taking a few slow steps closer to the man. He was pleased to see the smirk the brigand was wearing waver slightly as he realized exactly what he was interfering with.

“You’re a member of the Imperial Guard,” the woman surmised, speaking up for the first time.

The man glanced back at his partner briefly before returning his gaze to Rael. He had a smile on his face, but it was stiff and almost forced. He no doubt was aware that he was in a precarious situation, dealing with the Imperial Guard, but was attempting to put on a confident facade. “Ah, I guess it makes sense to only send one guard if all you’re guarding is this little thing,” he remarked.

Rael narrowed his eyes. It was obvious the man was fishing for information, trying to determine whether or not there were other soldiers lurking around. If he thought he and his partner could take Rael, then he would likely try to make off with Gavin. A human would sell for a hefty sum on the black market. Aletons would probably even pay just to catch a glimpse of a real life human.

“If you’re intending on attempting to take that human, I would suggest you rethink,” Rael said darkly. “Even if you manage to overcome me, you will soon have the entirety of the Emperor’s army pursuing you.” He wouldn’t pretend to have backup hidden somewhere in the trees, that was a bluff that could easily fall short. Instead, he would once again make fear his tool. “Once you’re caught, your punishment will undoubtedly be death.”

There was no need for Rael to lie. Within recent years, death had become less and less prevalent as a punishment with the Emperor. However, it was still utilized in extreme cases, such as treason. Knowing how cautious the Emperor was with human-alteon relations, Rael could only assume he would consider kidnapping a human to be treasonous.

Fear instantly flashed across the curly-haired woman’s face. She took a small step back, as if to distance herself from the entire situation. Meanwhile, her companion appeared to have become provoked by Rael’s words. An angry scowl replaced the sly one he had been wearing, and he was clutching Gavin’s cage in what seemed to be a possessive manner. “As if you have any right to be possessive over him,” Rael growled mentally.

“If we kill you, no one will have any idea who nabbed the little rat,” the man hissed, shaking the cage in a way that made Rael strangely furious.

Gavin had thought the way Rael handled him was about as bad as it could get. It really sucked being proven wrong. He didn’t know who the hell this random alteon that had grabbed him was, but he was somehow worse than Rael, which was quite the feat.

Ever since being snatched up, Gavin had no doubt developed a countless number of bruises as a result of this man’s rough treatment. It was like he didn’t even take into account that there was a living, breathing person inside. “There’s not going to be a living, breathing person inside for much longer if this doesn’t let up,” Gavin thought as he was again thrown against the bars by a violent shake from his new captor.

Rael seemed to be attempting to talk the man down, though of course he could only assume as much considering they were speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. Whatever it was was taking much too long for Gavin’s liking. He couldn’t believe he actually wanted to be back in Rael’s hands. But at this point, anything seemed better than being jerked around like some kind of toy. The lesser of two evils and all that.

As much as Gavin wanted to shout out obscenities at the alteon, he managed to bite his tongue. Rael seemed like he knew what he was doing, and Gavin didn’t want to screw it up by saying something stupid. His willpower really was being severely tested today.

Gavin heard someone shout something. The voice sounded feminine, and though he couldn’t see nor understand the alteon woman, he could hear the urgency in her voice.

Gavin’s captor, whom he had gathered was named “Kaydin”, jostled the cage. Most of what the man was saying went right over Gavin’s head, but he did catch him rubbing his fingers together in a money gesture. It was then that Gavin realized what exactly these people wanted him for. He had taken a lot of hits to his ego in the last couple hours, but being treated as merchandise to sell was really doing a number.

Why exactly alteons would spend money buying a human was beyond him. All the possibilities that flashed through his mind made him feel even more sick to his stomach than he already did thanks to Kaydin’s manhandling.

The woman shot back an angry retort, which was quickly followed by the sound of retreating footsteps that announced her departure. This left only Kaydin to face off against Rael.

Kaydin spat out more vicious words. Gavin glanced up to see sweat droplets beginning to form on the giant’s forehead. The guy knew he was in trouble.

Rael spoke up in his own language. It was still strange for Gavin to hear. Rael’s English was so good, he sometimes forgot it wasn’t his native tongue.

Gavin stared up at Kaydin’s face, trying to determine what his next move would be based on his facial expressions. He didn’t know what Rael had said, but he could only hope it had been convincing.

If it came down to it, he felt fairly confident that a trained soldier like Rael would win in a fight against this man who seemed to be the alteon equivalent of a mugger. The only problem was, Gavin wasn’t sure he’d survive being caught in the middle of a clash of giants.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael #my writing

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