#this counts as cryptozoology right? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

clotpolesonly · 3 months

Text

Live A Little (Love A Lot)

Blue wasn’t quite sure how she ended up alone at Monmouth Manufacturing with Ronan. Gansey was at a family function—a political function, rather, that happened to involve his family, and thus required his presence to complete the pretty picture—and Adam wouldn’t be back from his factory shift for another twenty minutes or so. She had a feeling that Noah might have been here at some point, but after his sacrifice and Cabeswater’s reconstitution of Gansey, their ability to keep track of him in their minds and their memories was a little hit or miss.

However it had started, now it was just Blue cross-legged on Gansey’s bed, being nosy and going through all the books he had stacked up on the floor beside it in a tower tall enough to act as a nightstand for yet more books, and Ronan, sprawled out on the main strip of miniature Henrietta and tossing bits of potato chip into the air for Chainsaw to swoop for. Half the time, she was too late to catch them and the bits fell back down to hit him in the face. He didn’t seem to mind much.

It was a drowsy, boring, waiting type of afternoon, but it was kind of nice too. Out of all her boys, Ronan was the one she’d spent the least amount of time with, and she wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever spent more than a few minutes with only him. Being trapped in a frightening mystical underground cavern in the dark together and tormented by images of their dead and potentially soon-to-be-dead loved ones, she thought, didn’t count.

She put down Rhiannon: An Inquiry into the Origins of the First and Third Branches of the Mabinogi and picked up Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology next. It had a candy bar wrapper stuffed in it as a bookmark, about thirty pages from the end. There had been ten books stacked on top of it. Blue wondered if Gansey remembered or had even noticed that he hadn’t gotten around to those last thirty pages. Probably not.

“Hey, maggot.”

A few months ago, this might have ruined her good mood. Now she just turned to the entry on Sasquatch—Gansey had doodled several footprints of varying sizes in the margins here—and said, “I’m not dignifying that by answering to it.”

“You just did, moron. Hey, would you date me?”

Blue put the book down. “Come again?”

Ronan had not unsprawled from downtown, one foot planted on Magnolia Drive so that his crooked knee towered over the drug store with the old-timey striped awning, the other elbow jutting out between the public library and the less respectable of Henrietta’s two Denny’s. Chainsaw seemed to have realized where all the chip bits were coming from. She’d stolen the bag right out of Ronan’s hand and was pecking covetously through its contents a few crossroads away. Ronan had to crane his head back, pale throat bared, to look at Blue upside down.

“Noah said you said you’d go out with him—” Well, that at least confirmed her suspicion about how they’d ended up in this position, though it smarted that Ronan seemed to remember something that she didn’t. “—you know, if he was alive and shit. What about me?”

“You are alive. And shit.”

“No duh, dumbass. I meant, would you go out with me? If I asked?”

Blue blinked at him. “Ronan, you don’t want to go out with me.”

Ronan’s eye roll was impressive in its thoroughness. “Yeah, yeah, but, you know. If I did.”

For a moment, Blue was stymied, both by the question itself and by the fact that Ronan had asked it. It struck her as nonsensical in a way that none of their wild, mind-bending, magical shenanigans ever had. Then she looked at Ronan again—at the sharp and graceful hooks of his elaborate tattoo, at the artfully distressed jeans that she knew he bought that way on purpose rather than letting them get ripped up organically, at the way he lounged like he was just waiting for somebody to paint him like one of their french girls. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is this a pride thing?”

Ronan grinned, sharp and unrepentant; she had him pegged and he seemed to like that. “Gotta make sure the chicks dig me.”

“Even if you don’t dig ‘em back?”

“Especially when I don’t dig ‘em back.”

Blue huffed. A piece of unruly hair, escaped from its clip, bounced haphazardly in front of her face. She ignored it in favor of grabbing another one of Gansey’s books without looking at its title. “Well, I am not a chick—” Her tone made very clear how unfeminist she considered the term to be. “—and I’m not dignifying that question with a response either.”

“Oh, come on.”

Ronan dragged out the last syllable for a day and a half. Maybe two days. There was a whole Daylight Saving’s Time trapped inside that syllable. He finally rolled himself out of the road to sit up, startling Chainsaw into flight and nearly knocking the painstakingly crafted popsicle stick awning off the drug store, just so he could make an entreating face at her. She ignored that too.

“You said you’d date Noah!” he whined. “You dated Parrish! You’re all up on Gansey’s d—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Ronan Lynch.”

“And now Cheng too!” Ronan scoffed spectacularly. “Not to be confused with Cheng Two, though at the rate you’re going—”

Blue snapped her book closed and said, “Quit being a shitbag, Lynch. I don’t date shitbags regardless of their sexuality.”

Ronan made a very put-upon noise, like she was being unreasonable about the whole thing and horribly unfair to boot. “If I was attracted to women, and neither of us was dating anybody else who would object, and I asked you out. Would you say yes? That’s all I’m asking!”

“You really want to know?”

Ronan frowned stubbornly at her in response. It wasn’t an angry kind of frown, though. She was very used to Ronan’s angry frowns, and his angry glares, and his angry smiles, and pretty much every other kind of angry expression, seeing as anger was his default emotion. This one looked more petulant than anything. Grumpy in a challenging kind of way, like a goat getting ready to butt heads, or like one of the toddlers that frequented 300 Fox Way when they wanted to stay up past bedtime and had a whole argument ready to present in favor of the idea and were just begging for somebody to try and tell them they shouldn’t.

This wasn’t an angry or upset Ronan, Blue realized. This was Ronan in a good mood. He was having fun arguing with her like this.

She bit down on a smile. “You really want to know?” She dragged out the word for a whole ‘nothing Daylight Saving’s Time.

Ronan picked up a stray chip and threw it in her direction. It bounced off her knee and fell down behind Gansey’s pillow. “Why would I ask a question if I didn’t want to know the answer, huh? Stupid.”

Blue put the book she’d been pretending to read back on its precarious tower—several books shorter now than it had been before she’d gotten nosy—and stood, hands on her hips. “Come on, then,” she said brusquely. “Get up.”

Ronan blinked up at her, taken aback. “What for?”

“I like to make informed decisions. Up! Let me get a look at you.”

For a second, she thought he might object to the idea of being examined and evaluated like livestock, but then another grin bloomed on his face, every bit as sharp and unrepentant as the last. He stood with the coiled grace of a pit viper ready to strike. His arms, bared by his black tank top, were impressively muscled, and his tattoo flirted over the edge of his solid shoulders. His thumbs found his belt loops, jeans low slung and hips jutting forward. His eyes really were some of the bluest Blue had ever seen, rivaled only by his own brothers. He was all sharp angles and contrast, danger and insouciance, like a cat on a tightrope casually licking its claws.

In short, he looked good, and it was obvious he knew it. Nobody adored a Lynch like a Lynch.

Blue kept her face impassive, lips pursed. She took her time circling him. He didn’t turn his head to watch her, content, apparently, to let her survey him from every angle. There was a smirk on his lips by the time she came back around to stand in front of him.

“So?” he asked, a laugh in his tone. Like he knew what her answer would be. Like he’d already won. “What’s the verdict?”

Blue hummed thoughtfully. “No.”

Ronan lost his smirk. “What?” His voice had jumped up at least half an octave, like he’d been shocked into forgetting it was supposed to be low and gruff and sexy.

“No,” Blue said again, breezily. “I wouldn’t date you. Sorry.”

There was a moment of silence while Ronan recalibrated. She’d never seen him speechless before, but she had really and truly caught him off guard. As his mouth opened and closed without any words coming out, Blue thought he might actually be a little hurt.

Finally, he said, “Why the fuck not? You’d date everybody else!”

Blue crossed her arms over her chest, hoping her cheeks weren’t pink, and shrugged. “Don’t feel bad about it. It’s nothing personal,” she said honestly. “It’s not because I don’t see the appeal or anything. It’s just… Well, frankly, you’re too tall for my tastes.”

Ronan scoffed at once. “Seriously?”

Blue raised an eyebrow at him. Then she dragged her eyes down to what was actually on her level, which were his pectorals, if she was standing up real straight. She didn’t even reach his clavicle. He was, quite literally, head and shoulders taller than her.

“Gansey and Henry are already bad enough,” she said. “And Adam was on thin ice back when we were together. I would break my damn neck trying to kiss you! No offense.”

“How is that not offensive? Not my fault you’re a midget.”

“Not my fault you’re the human equivalent of a telephone pole.”

“You should kiss me anyway.”

“What?” It was Blue’s turn to get squeaky with surprise.

Ronan had his smirk back, though. “I said you should kiss me anyway! You already kissed everybody else.”

Blue’s cheeks were definitely pink now, both at the reminder of the time she and Adam had ill-advisedly—AKA drunkenly—decided to finally have the kiss that had broken them up several months before, just for the sake of saying they’d done it, and at the realization that Ronan was right. What kind of cliche was she, the only girl in a group of boys, getting kissed by every one of them?

Well, almost every one.

“Ronan Lynch,” she said, indignant enough that nothing else needed to be said to make it known.

He was not shamed. “Come on, why not? I’m feeling very left out! One kiss. What, are you afraid you’ll fall desperately in love with me?”

Blue’s snort of laughter was so immediate and so strong that Ronan honestly should’ve been offended by it. He only grinned, though, and reached out to tug at the stray piece of hair in front of her face.

“Come on,” he said again. “Just one kiss. As a friend thing.”

Blue was pretty sure that wasn’t something normal friends did with each other. But, then, she was also aware that theirs was hardly a normal group of friends. She slapped his hand away and said, “A friend thing, really?”

“It’s only weird if we make it weird.”

“I think kissing my ex-boyfriend’s gay current boyfriend is weird by definition, no matter why I do it.”

Ronan’s grin widened. “Live a little, Sargent.”

There was a dare in that smile. It was the kind of smile Ronan gave to Adam that convinced Adam to tie himself to the back of the Pig and see if he could skateboard behind it like he was waterskiing because if he didn’t do it then it meant he was scared, and, if you asked Ronan, there was nothing worse than being scared. It was the kind of smile you rose to the challenge of or you risked losing Ronan Lynch’s respect, and, if you asked Blue, there was nothing worse than losing Ronan Lynch’s respect.

Blue kicked Ronan in the shin. Hard.

He yelped, as much out of surprise as from pain, and pitched forward to protect the area under attack. Blue only had to give him a little push to get him down on one knee.

“Fuckshit, maggot, what was that f—”

Blue caught his face in her hands and cut off his question with a kiss. It was a proper one, too, not one of those chaste little grandma-pecks. If Ronan Lynch wanted a kiss, then she was damn well going to give him one. There was only a split second of bafflement before he was giving back as good as he got, never one to lose or be outdone. Blue had to acknowledge, at least to herself and never ever out loud where anyone else could hear, that Adam was a lucky man.

When she was certain that the challenge had been met to everybody’s satisfaction, she pulled back to pat Ronan on the cheek. Stunned, Ronan let her get away with it.

In answer to his interrupted question, she said, “I told you you’re too tall. As nice a kiss as that was, I wasn’t about to break my neck for it. And anyway, I think I like you better like this.”

The sharklike look on his face was all the warning she had. In a split second, Ronan was on his feet again, one arm wrapped around her to keep her in place, ruffling her hair so aggressively that it sent clips ricocheting around the room. Chainsaw immediately started snatching them up and spiriting them away.

“Lynch, you asshole!”

Ronan released her with a peal of laughter. He dodged her attempt to grab him back and made good use of his significantly longer legs to book it to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. She could still hear him laughing in there.

“Yeah, yuck it up, chucklefuck,” she yelled. “See if I ever kiss you again!”

“What’s going on here?”

Blue spun around to see Adam, bleary-eyed and grimy, paused in the entrance. She hadn’t heard the heavy door open over all the commotion. Straightening out the rumpled mess of her outfit and also, hopefully, her dignity, she said, “Your boyfriend’s cheating on you with me.”

There were several seconds where Adam tried to make sense of those words. Eventually, it seemed, he gave up. “Okay. I need a shower.”

He disappeared into the godforsaken bathroom-laundry-kitchen monstrosity. Blue huffed and threw herself back down onto Gansey’s bed. The chip Ronan had thrown at her earlier bounced out with the motion to nudge at her hand. She snatched it up, ate it, and only then remembered that it had been on the floor before it had become a projectile. Oh well. It was probably more sanitary than anything that had been prepared in that bathroom anyway.

“You lied.”

Blue spun around again, only this time it was Noah, smudgy and pale and half-there, that she found this time. He was lying on his stomach down the main strip of miniature Henrietta, poking at the drug store awning like it fascinated him. It felt, in that moment, like he’d been there the whole time.

“What d’you mean?” Blue asked him. “About what?”

“When you said you wouldn’t date Ronan if he asked. You totally would. No matter how tall he is.” He said it like a statement of fact. Like there was no doubt in his mind.

Blue stuck out her chin in defiance. “Oh yeah? Why are you so sure about that?”

Noah shrugged. “He’s one of your boys.”

Blue deflated. She made a very put-upon noise, but she could hardly argue. Not against Noah. “I guess. Don’t tell him, though. It would go straight to his head, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Noah mimed zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key. Chainsaw, returned from hiding Blue’s hairclips where no one would ever find them again, chased the motion like she thought he’d really thrown something and made a distinctly plaintive noise when she realized he hadn’t. He offered her a stray piece of cardboard in apology.

Blue settled back down into Gansey’s bed. She picked up The Welsh Kings: Warriors, Warlords And Princes and flipped to where a gas station receipt marked the day Gansey had forgotten he was reading it. The noise of the shower running was soft and soothing. Noah was humming something she was almost certain he’d learned from Ronan. Everything smelled like mint and dust and old paper.

Soon enough, she thought, Ronan would probably judge the coast clear. He’d emerge carefully, watching her for any sign that she was mad and preparing to launch another sneak attack on him. She was willing to bet he would be sharp-eyed and thrilled the entire time, delighted by the game. A sudden fondness filled her up so much she thought she might burst with it.

Noah was right. No matter how obnoxiously tall he was, no matter what a shithead he could be, no matter the nature of the relationship—Blue still loved Ronan more than words could say. How could she not? He was one of her boys.

#Bronan #Blue Sargent #Ronan Lynch #TRC #fics by me #i just love them so much ok they're adorable #a whiny Ronan is a happy Ronan actually in case you didn't know #he's is like a puppy he just wants to bite things but like affectionately all the time #he wants to PLAY

13 notes · View notes

thessalian · 1 year

Note

Please say more things about the dragon design if you have thoughts because I have been WAITING for someone else to geek out over them with

Please remember that you asked for this. And there will probably be more later - for space reasons, if nothing else. Please keep in mind that I was the one who spent most of the Game of Thrones series ranting that Daenerys was the mother of wyverns rather than the mother of dragons because two legs plus wings is WYVERN, godsdamnit. Let’s just say I have a Biology A-level and a healthy interest in cryptozoology.

Okay. So. Body habitus, colouration, horn shape / placement, wing shape etc on the Chroma Conclave, and why it all works, in my opinion,

Vorgual - did you notice that the tips of his wings were more sharply pointed than the others' wings? I looked up arctic birds, just out of curiosity, and a lot of arctic birds have similarly sharp angles to their wings. It honestly makes sense when you're living in someplace with occasionally very sharp and harsh winds; you want enough wingspan not only to catch the wind when you want it, but to not have to tilt the wing too far in order to avoid windshear dragging at your speed or worse, damaging your feathers (or wing membranes, in this case). Not to mention that more points of attachment to the body means there's less effort expended to keep the wings close to the body in windy conditions. I bet Vorugal could do one hell of a death-from-above swallow-dive, and the expanded length of wings means that he could make like someone wearing a wingsuit - shut the wings entirely and do a controlled plummet, then open everything up and slow or stop the fall exactly where he wants. The other reason it’s good to have a wingsuit-like wing build in the kinds of arctic climes a white dragon would generally pick is because their lairs are generally going to be in caves carved in icy cliffside. You’re going to want something that lets you glide as much as possible in an ice canyon, to take advantage of the updrafts that ensue in that kind of terrain and to fold in close to the body while going through a particularly narrow area, counting on momentum to get you through it with as little potential tearing of the wing membrane as possible. In fact, Vorugal’s wings were the most intact of the bunch - no edge-tears, no little holes, nothing. There were marks on the wings that looked like holes, but no; in fact, they were less light-permeable than the wing membranes themselves. Given the care they took with the designs, I don’t think they’d make a mistake like that, so those dark patches would be part of camouflage markings. Because according to the Monster Manual, ancient whites latch onto walls and ceilings (also like a bat, which makes the wing shape make even more sense), so blunt horns that look like craggy bits of ice and wings that give the appearance of rocks scattered on a whitish surface (suggesting ice or snow) makes even more sense. Imagine Vorugal wrapped up in his wings like a bat, clinging to the ceiling of his lair. He’d look like a very large icicle in anything but very direct light - which you’re not going to get when lair actions include dense fog. So Vorugal’s design is basically perfect.

Raishan - snake parallels aside, consider the membranous crests that aren’t just at the head and down the neck, but also along the tail near where it meets the body. Greens traditionally hide their lairs in vegetation, or in or around water - behind waterfalls, caverns you can only get to by diving in a stream, something like that. That makes the additional cresting on Raishan’s body serve as either additional camouflage (with the right vegetation, green semi-opaque membranous tissue looks like just more leaf) or an aid to swimming (like fins). She clearly has control over their movement, so either works. It’s a far cry from the Monster Manual talking about that single crest on the neck up to the head, but it works a lot better because it’s got some evolutionary benefits. Honestly, so does the narrower body; after all, if you live in an area with a lot of trees, having a narrower body makes it easier to move around in. I mean, consider Umbrasyl (who I’ll talk about in a minute); similar narrow build, and greens and blacks often compete for territory in marshy woodland areas. As for the head shape ... everything from eye position to the rounded snout says ‘pit viper’, which immediately makes a person think ‘poison’. Which is what you want to be thinking when looking at a green dragon. (Well, that and ‘RUN’.)

Umbrasyl - like I said, talking about him in a minute, and he’s also perfectly designed for the swamplands he would generally call home. The crest of spikes on his head that looks like it’s got thick cobweb or vegetative growth stretched between each spike, the various hooked spines along his body from nose to tail that could look like half-rotted limbs and branches, the extra bits of spine at the junction between tail and body up at the top that looks like it could theoretically open into some kind of fin ... Umbrasyl’s entire body was clearly designed to blend into a swamp setting. Also, unless I’m mistaken, the spots where wings meet body are narrower than the others; it looks like there’s more room for movement in the front legs without wings being in the way, which would make sense given that blacks get more use out of a dragon’s amphibious nature than any other colour. The wings would be too big to really help in a swimming situation that involved the equivalent of a bayou or billabong, but imagine Umbrasyl swimming like a crocodile - wings close to his body so that only the hooked bits at various wing joints and tips show, that spiked tail and body making him look like a few water-swollen fallen trees ... the fact that their regional effects include making the plantlife in the area particularly thick and twisty, which would block more light and make him fit in better with the local vegetation really works. Also, just from the standpoint of aesthetics, his acid gland is very prominently on his short-by-comparison-to-others neck in a way that suggests a bullfrog puffing its chest out, thus drawing us back to the swamp comparison.

Thordak - Thordak’s our grey area, but honestly, when you’ve got a heart crystal jammed into you, all bets are off, probably. His wings and body habitus are closer to the ‘average’ dragon than the others, but then again, when you’re bright red and live in volcanos for preference, you’re probably not going to bother with camouflage that much. Still, it’s obvious that Thordak isn’t what the design team would have designed for the ‘average’ dragon. Some parts are - the bits that didn’t need to change, like wide broad wings designed to catch thermal updrafts, a certain amount of ‘heat vent’ (which we know is the average because Vorugal has a similar ‘power vent’ for his ice breath and he doesn’t have a heart crystal stuck in him), and a tail that’s weighted like a mace. However, I think the most telling thing about Thordak, apart from the horns that do look like a crown or a ceremonial headdress of some kind, is the range of movement in his limbs. Specifically - to date, he’s the only one of the Chroma Conclave that’s gone bipedal without shapeshifting into something naturally bipedal. He’s got one forelimb braced on a section of slightly crumbly wall, but if he put his full weight on that, it’d just collapse. That and the position of the other limbs leads me to believe that it’s something he could do. Not for long, and not without the help of the horns and tail and wings all acting as counterbalance for each other, but he doesn’t just rear up on hind legs - his shoulders (for lack of a better term) go back, and while the hip alignment wouldn’t do well with walking any distance that way, it allows him to stand almost unaided. That’s a power play, and the exact kind of power play a red would make. So I’m not sure whether that’s something red dragons as designed by this animation team can all do or if it’s something the heart crystal gave Thordak (because that requires some serious skeletal realignment, honestly, or being double-jointed to ludicrous degrees), but either way, it shows the kind of individual Thordak is - he is going to lord it over everyone, even (hell, especially) his ‘fellows’ in the Conclave.

Summary: the design team thought hard about this. And they did magnificent work.

Yeah, there will probably be more, but you wanted thoughts on the dragon design and so now you have them. Thank you for encouraging me; I have the imposter syndrome where I worry everyone wants me to shut up, and I just love poking the Jenga Tower of Logic about stuff like this.

#tlovm season 2 #tlovm s2 #tlovm spoilers

35 notes · View notes

david-watts · 1 month

Note

5,7,11,12 for Rory

5. will he give a speech and if so, what is it about? rory is the type of person to only give slightly drunk best man's speeches at weddings, but if it counts he Will talk your head off about cryptozoology/mythical creatures/that sort of thing

7. describe him in three words, now let him describe himself in three words; me: happy-go-lucky (that's one word fight me), reasonable, thoughtful rory: down to earth

11. what age do they most want to be right now? alright this is complex for me to answer because in that story it takes place over literal decades. he was born in 1948 and enters the story in I think 1972? so he'd be seventy-six roughly today. I'd say he probably wishes most to be fifty-four (c. 2002), because that's the year he spent searching for cryptids around the usa. trust me he thinks about other things than cryptids lmao

12. does he like romance in the books he reads? he doesn't really think about it!! he mostly reads nonfiction, although I can see him enjoying some trashy bodice-rippers now and then

thanks for asking!!

2 notes · View notes

lovevalley45 · 7 months

Text

#fictober23 day eighteen

"This better be good"

original fiction

word count: 529

Rhiannon’s palms were sweating as she sat in her grad advisor’s office. She clutched the folder in her hands - full of photographic evidence, transcriptions of her tests with Josie, various conclusions she’d drawn from them.

It was a wild plan - trying to convince her advisor werewolves were real. Dr. Druthers was a practical woman, respected in her field before she went to teach at their university. She was honored to work with someone so renowned. If only she wasn’t about to tank that all because she’d gotten too distracted with her passion project to work on her thesis.

Dr. Druthers opened the door and sat at her desk, sinking down into her office chair slowly. “This better be good, Ms. McGee. You of all people should know that I rarely spare time for anyone outside of pressing matters.”

“This is pressing,” Rhiannon said. “I have proof, definitive proof, that lycanthropy is real.”

The professor was silent, blinking slowly behind her own glasses. “Ms. McGee, I know that graduate school is a very stressful endeavor, but-”

Rhiannon slid her folder across the table. “I have carefully documented evidence that my roommate Josie Penn was attacked and transformed into a lycanthrope. Or werewolf, whatever your preference.”

“Is this the same roommate that made you drive her to a Mothman convention in West Virginia that caused you to sleep through one of my lectures?” Dr. Druthers asked.

“Well, yes.” She tapped on the folder. “I mean, I always dismissed cryptids because I had no proof - and apart from lycanthropy, I’m still hesitant to admit any other supernatural beings could possibly exist. But now I have proof.”

“I see.” Dr. Druthers adjusted her glasses. “You’ve consulted the wrong professor about this.”

“The wrong professor-” Rhiannon blinked. “I-”

She started to write something down on a pad of paper. “You need to talk to Dr. Volkov in the philosophy department. He’s an oddball, but if there’s anyone who will believe you and take your story seriously, it’s him.”

“But my scientific evidence-”

“Don’t underestimate him,” Dr. Druthers said. “The only reason he’s stuck in philosophy is because the biology department doesn’t need a cryptozoologist and he has a PhD in both.”

“How the fuck do you get a PhD in cryptozoology?” Rhiannon asked. “Pardon my cussing.”

“Rhiannon, you’ve been in my classes for over half a decade. I can excuse you dropping the F-bomb once or twice.” She straightened up, sniffed. “And fuck me if I know. The dean simply assumed he acquired it online, but he’s far too educated in both for that to be the case.”

“Wow.”

Dr. Druthers passed the note over. “I’ll warn you, Dr. Volkov is… technologically inept. If he doesn’t email you back right away, that doesn’t mean he isn’t interested. He just… might have forgotten he has a faculty email.”

Rhiannon took the note. Her advisor had provided her his email, phone number, and where his office was, in a building she was sure she’d only stepped foot in twice during the years she’d been a student here.

“And Ms. McGee? This side project is not an excuse to procrastinate on your thesis.”

She huffed. “I know.”

#alli writes shit #fictober23 #josie & rhiannon

3 notes · View notes

whaleofatjme1920 · 2 years

Note

Hello Fishie, I bring my entry for you event. Mixing it up here as you see. I look forward to this. Also I'm chill with anyone in aspect. --- Shay, She/They, Assassin’s Creed, Romantic or Platonic [Whatever you feel fits]

Dear Yue Lao, I bring this letter to you with an attempt at mooncakes as well. It feels fitting to bring an offering to a god for the work you have been doing.

I do not know where to start off with this but I guess about myself to find the right pair. A lot of the time I describe myself as an intimidating and spooky person but I don’t think that’s entirely true. Yeah just because I’m tall and look tired all the time, doesn’t mean that. I think the term gentle giant is a good term for me. I'm an introverted person and don’t like to talk too much, I prefer to listen more than anything but can provide a good partner for one on one chats. I do love to talk about my interests or the thoughts that swirl up in my head as well to those who will listen. I’d like to think I’m a very loyal person and that I strive to find a connection with people to be close with. Friends say that the whole found family trope is my thing and they aren’t wrong. I can be a bit stubborn though and sometimes I don’t always admit I’m wrong, I stick to my guns but if I do find out I’m wrong I will admit it graciously. I think I struggle a bit with trying to find my place among people, sometimes I feel like a ghost and well it has its perks of being able to watch how people mingle and the world moves, it’s lonely and comes with a hollow feeling. I’d like to live a little, see places that I have always dreamed of and be human. I just want to see a thing or two before it’s too late ya know. I guess with that I would be adventurous, always willing to tackle something new and see new things. I can be a bit judgemental towards people as well, I’ve been told to trust my intuition and I let that carry me on my judgements of people or situations as well. I think some part of me is a protector, I tend to be towards my younger siblings the most and those close to me. I also want to help people, I’m always trying to help others even if it comes at the cost of losing myself in the process. I can’t help it because it feels so deeply ingrained in myself as well. I’m in the process of trying to get better as a person and it’s a journey I realized I will always be doing. I have trauma that I’m in the slow and steady process of healing from or moving on from.

I think that’s enough about me personality wise,, some of my hobbies are writing, worldbuilding, playing the occasional video game or watching stuff. I really like watching video analysis on topics that I like or occasional game plays. I really like macabre related things. I think horror counts on this but I don’t make it my whole personality. I find stuff like the history of how cultures deal with death and other stuff like that super fascinating. I can’t get enough of it. I also like history, that includes everything it comes down to because you have to be able to understand history even to its most horrible parts and not overlook it. I really do enjoy things with deep lore and worldbuilding to them, things I can get lost in with all that I can know. I realized I have a thirst for knowledge. I also love cryptozoology and parapsychology as well, I kind of like the things of the unknown or strange creatures. I like collecting plants or like little trinkets, that kind of stuff. I have a couple comic books to my name, some funko pops I blew major money on but they are my little things. I think out of all of them is the coyote skull that I have and a heirloom porcelain doll that I named Rosemary. My favorite colors are earth tones but think of the southwest desert. I love the orange reds, greens but I also like the soft browns like latte or soft teddy bear. I drink a lot of caffeine and do better on my water intake. I drink a good bit of coffee but I mostly drink monster. I think it’s also fair to say I’m addicted to music, I listen to way too much of it but I don’t think I will stop, it makes me happy. One of my favorite bands is The Crane Wives, but I also like The Oh Hellos, Set it Off, Glass Animals, Hozier, Starset, Florence + The Machine and IDKHOW. I have interests in playing the bass guitar and maybe the drums. Believe it or not, I like going out into nature so like camping or hiking, it’s one of my favorite things to do. I also like going places I inherently shouldn't, so going to explore abandoned places reclaimed by the earth and taking pictures of places I go as well. My favorite animal is the mountain lion/puma. They are just something else and so pretty. I would love to give one a hug but I would cease to exist. I’m also a witch, while I don’t have constant practice I have something. It’s why I label myself a chaos witch because my craft is chaotic. I have a couple of gods I worship, two are Danu and Arwarn of the celtic pantheon and I’m looking into Odin as well.

I realized what I have put down is quite a bit and I hope it’s not overdoing anything. Thank you again Yue Lao for the chance to send this out to see what it brings me back. I’m curious who it will bring me in turn. I have left some personal offerings to manifest to someone, but the mooncakes are exclusive for you.

~ 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓎

[The handwritten letter on lined paper is neatly placed on top of the container of mooncakes tied by a red string. Underneath the container is a slightly larger box that contains offers. Inside the box are personal things. There is a broken silver stop watch with the engravings of a duck flying over a marsh, a broken off antler from a mule deer, a handful of colorful polished rocks (they range in deep blues with browns, a couple of crystals are among them like tiger’s eye, labradorite and opal.), the tarot card of the lovers, a handful of incense that smell like rain and dragon’s blood, a couple of assorted feathers and a handful of caramel candies.]

[Disclaimer: The Red String of Fate event is a special event I'm running from August 12th, to whenever I feel it necessary to end - right now, I'm giving it to the first week of September! Check out rules HERE]

[AN: must've stared at my screen for a straight hour trying to figure out who to put you with. VERY OOC bc i,,,, this is way more than I expected lmfao]

In the sweet smelling flower garden under the light of the moon sits the God of marriage and love, listening to the sound of the stream as it trickles through his patch of land. He's more than pleased at the not too sweet taste of the mooncakes, and the way the silver stop watch reflects the light of the moon. He ends up attaching the thing to Bao's collar, letting her be adorned with something pretty. He's sure he'll find it in her little 'temple' sooner rather than later. The stars twinkle in the sky on this blessed night. Surely, Dou Mu Niang Niang and her many children are happy this evening if they are shining this brightly. Yue Lao feels as if he can hear their laughter because he can see their smiles all those many miles away in the upper heavens glowing as they ought to.

The antler and the lovely stones alongside crystals all find their way to his koi pond, or around it to give the colorful, large fish some company. He believes that their enrichment has been well satisfied for the day, but allowed them to take pieces of mooncake that are not harmful to their health despite them being immortal fish. He hums softly, fingers delicately tracing the feathers wondering what to do with them. He decides to keep them in his pocket, perhaps a tool for later use. The tarot card does not originate from his culture, but he smiles regardless. He takes note of the style of art, recognizing it as western, modern, he'd expect to see it on Procreate, not from the scrolls one of his many equals would use to create the universe itself. You're a hopeless romantic, aren't you? He sighs dreamily, remembering the feeling of sweet, innocent love whenever he sees soulmates meet for the first time. Whether they be platonic or romantic, he adores the feeling all the same.

The God lights the incense to join him in the garden as he reads over his book of names, which ones are connected by threads, which ones were destined to be without, and which ones have multiple. He rests his head in his hand as his eyes search before some feeling deep within tells him to look back further. Further? How could that be? He thinks as he thumbs the pages to decades ago, further and further back. These people are all long gone, and the person whose name he is consistently drawn to does not even belong to his afterlife. Different culture have different belief systems, and those people go with the Gods most relevant in their waking lives. The man who he knows was always meant to be yours... He takes in a sharp breath and feels the feathers in his pocket.

What an odd, odd predicament the God has found himself in. Would he really ask such a question like this? Could it be done? He clicked his tongue a few times, asking for Bao to come over from her small temple in the gardens and join him. He writes a letter to the Jade Emperor, speaking of his slight predicament. The soulmate of someone who prayed to him, asked for his guidance, is from another time period. And while he will not ask that man's deities to rouse him from his eternal rest, he will ask for his permission to appeal to the 60 Tai Sui, or gods of time, to ask for such a risky favor. Bao takes the letter into her mouth, and Yue Lao sends her up to the upper heavens, watching as she disappears through Zhinu's expertly woven clouds that reflect the most brilliant of jade to rest on the steps of the Jade Palace itself.

Bao is greeted sweetly by the Jade Emperor's court ladies and gentlemen, many of them reaching down to pet the soft creature. They compliment her on the silver stop watch that hangs from her neck and guide her to the Jade Emperor's throne where he sits in conversation with his elder daughters. She knows she must act quickly, for a day in the upper heavens is a year on earth. She pushes past the way the Jade Emperor's daughters lovingly call for her remembering she's here on her God's official business and sits politely at the foot of his throne as he smiles at her. The Jade Emperor invites her up to his lap, chuckling as she remains her formal posture. His jeweled hand gently pets the top of her head, fingers brushing through her soft fur as she purrs before his attention shifts to the letter in her mouth.

The Jade Emperor gently asks for his daughters to give them space for a clearly private matter, and after they give their love to Bao once more, they depart from their father's presence. The Jade Emperor's dark eyes scan over the contents before a caramel candy drops out onto his lap. Bao nudges it with her little pink nose for him to enjoy before he pops it into his mouth. As he reads, he wonders if such a thing has ever been done before. Dealing with other pantheons can be a little difficult, not because there is any animosity, but out of respect for everyone's vastly different beliefs and understanding that Gods in the presence of Gods is well, difficult for bureaucracy. He thinks the notion over a few times. He knows that love understands no boundaries, and that Yue Lao is meant to keep up with his heavenly duty of making matches. How odd that this one spans eras in history. The Jade Emperor writes back a note to Yue Lao and sends allows Bao to take the letter back to him while he works on speaking to the Tai Sui to see if such a thing can be done. He watches as Bao floats down from the upper heavens back to Yue Lao. What an interesting business it must be to preside over marriage and love.

Yue Lao, once receiving approval from all 60 of the Tai Sui, finds himself pleased that he's able to do perhaps the easiest part of his job. He's spoken about it to the deities of fate, you leaving this era will not be detrimental, but it still needs to be agreed upon by all parties. So, how is this done? Through dreams. It was an almost awkward conversation with the Chuangshen, a married deity couple, but they understood. He would connect your strings with the blessing of the Tai Sui, and finally reveal your soulmate status to one another. The red string he was using for the two of you is ancient, hardly used anymore due to the power it holds. It looks classic, and there appears nothing outwardly special about it from a quick glance. But it's woven in a braid, something unbreakable and can withstand the distances between the edges of the universe. It's the same string he's placed on Chang'e and Hou Yi, the same string he's used on the cowherd and weaver girl.

One end is attached to you, where you sit in your room watching the rain and listen to music wondering if he's heard your prayer. It's been a few months, and there was no response for the first few days. You wonder if he cares, or if he's forgotten, but the heavens move so much slower than life on earth. A minute is a month, and so on. The other end bypasses the laws of the universe itself, connecting to a man in colonial America by the born name of Ratonhnhaké:ton, given name Connor, who's been well established as an Assassin in the brotherhood. He's never really thought of love, not like this at least. Women, men, they've never really appealed to him. He's always just assumed he's been waiting for the right person.

When the string materializes on his pinky, he's more than confused. He mistakes it for something evil, but the pull that seems to lead to somewhere out of this world - he knows it's not malicious. He plays with the thing, tugging at it, wondering just where on earth it's leading to as it drips down from the heavens to his hand. It's a beautiful braid, a bright shade of red, but the only heartbeat attached to it seems to be his. You don't exist yet, you're still up there in the heavens, dreaming, but he doesn't know that. He's brought it up to quite a few people on the homestead and no one can really answer it. They think he's seeing things, but he knows otherwise. Whatever's attached here, it's something good, something he's been waiting for his entire life and he just can't have it yet.

It's rare that the two of you even sleep at the same time. With his work as an Assassin, and you finding waking refuge in the night, the Chuangshen are not able to work their magic. Not yet. But when they do, oh it's marvelous. They open a gateway somewhere in the astral that surpasses time itself with your red string acting as a bridge. You're no stranger to the astral and follow the thing like it's nothing. When you saw your string lead upwards towards the heavens, you'd assumed that Yue Lao played a cruel trick on you, but the sight of a cat with a silver stop watch gracing her neck tells you otherwise. He wouldn't hurt you.

Your red string begins to pull a bit as you move through the cloudy, jade colored place. The Chuangshen clearly have their favorite type of setting, don't they? But after they see the slight anxiety roll off both your forms, the place begins to shift. Pines begin to spring up from the stone floor, dirt, streams, the slowly rising sun on an early autumn morning while hills roll out in the distance followed by the sounds of birds native to the east coast of America sing to fill the air. This is all a dream, but you can tell the god and goddess are attempting to make the place more favorable for who you know is your soulmate and you. It's almost like they've given you a hiking path for the two of you to get acquainted. You find yourself naturally drawn to a large overlook where a waterfall cascades partway down. It looks like there's gold in the water as the rising sun hits it ever so perfectly. There's salmon trying to swim upstream, fighting strongly against the current. The haunting calls of elk bellow out in the distance followed by the soft foot falls of much smaller creatures scurrying along the earth in the deep foliage.

You rest at the overlook, sit down and take in the view. It's a little chilly, but nothing you can't handle. Your red string is shining brighter than the early morning sun that just barely peeks over the mountainous horizon. They're close. You can feel them. You don't turn your head over your shoulder when another figure comes behind you, but you don't feel threatened by them. They feel warm, a tad confused, but they understand you're the reason they're here in their dreams.

"May I join you?" A soft voice asks not making a move until you give your approval.

You nod. "Of course." You feel the presence of a much larger man sitting down beside you, his knee just barely rubbing against yours. Your red string is fluttering along with your heart. Slowly, you turn your gaze to look at him.

He's beautiful, he really is. Dark brown eyes, a strong build, a soft smile that seems almost shy to be in your presence. His face doesn't look relaxed, not one bit. He seems to be scanning the situation, mind always on the run even though he's physically at rest. The things he wearing tell you he's not from your time period, and nor are you from his. That's why the string lead upwards. He finally smiles at you once he catches your almost lost gaze and holds his hand out to you, the loop that Yue Lao has gifted him left in the shape of half a heart. You smile back and rest your hand atop his and take in a deep breath.

"Are you cold?" He asks as he squeezes your much smaller hand in his.

You shake your head but lean into his side regardless. "No," you murmur, "but this is nice and I'm not sure how long we'll be here for."

Ratonhnhaké:ton chuckles despite him not being used to such physical affection. He feels at ease with you. "Let's enjoy it while it lasts."

#red string of fate the event #connor kenway x reader #assassin's creed x reader

6 notes · View notes