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danddymaro · 4 years

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Erron Black X Reader |Pt.3

Previous: A Familiar Sense

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Fixed

Wordcount : 8111

Pt. 3 | The Big Bad Wolf

His dark, espresso-colored eyes lazily fell over the captive female, eyeing the silent, somber woman as she sat across him.

She was still bound and helpless, her face set blank as she slept, yet again escaping reality through her slumbering moments.

‘She’s out again,’ He thought to himself, emitting a low blow of air that flew up to the flat under-piece of his hat. By then he’d quickly caught on to her ingenious, little plan, taking it in with growing exasperation,

“ Nearnin' three days and not a bite,” he told himself before standing, rolling his shoulders with a low, little groan escaping him before he strode over to her.

He knew that if she kept up with her act, she’d starve before they made their way to their destination, something that would definitely reduce his pay, bringing the number down to zero if she so happened to perish while under his watch.

‘That has to be your plan...right?’ He mused while he stepped towards her slumped form, quickly reaching over to where she was, soon looming over her just as a shaken breath left her.

It was as though a cold gust of wind had violently struck her, but he knew her reaction had nothing to do with the weather.

It was still sunny out, the last bit of heat the day could provide slowly dying out, but not enough to bring anyone to such violent shivers.

‘Sunny... Well as sunny as it can get in this godforsaken place,’ He told himself, looking up to see the blinding brightness of Outworld’s star spread its last bit of light out to the realm before it retired.

'Pretty soon we'll see sundown,' He thought to himself, '...And I can't help but wonder...Just what are you're thinking of little miss...’ He wondered while bringing his eyes back down to his sleeping captive, his gaze instinctively drawn to her.

He’d formally wasted what felt like short minutes gazing at her, when in reality they were hours of silent entrancement.

It had occurred earlier too, soon after her messy outburst, following his discovery of her lovely orbs.

Even after he'd been cautious, moreso, unwilling to fall under any little spell she would have set for him, he still found himself entranced by her.

However, he reasoned that technically, it was part of his assignment.

So silently, he sat back and watched, interested in just what lay deep within the crevices of her mind, haunting her.

‘Just what does she see?’

He briefly wondered just what had her so shaken and helpless, however, the interest was easily overrun by the annoyance he felt at the small act of rebellion, because all it did was make his job harder.

- All it did was threaten his pay, and that was what it was all about.

The pay.

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“- Not a scratch on her,” The masked man said with an icy undertone present in his already curt way of speaking. “Do you hear me?” He pressed on.

With rolling eyes, Black agreed, not needing to be told twice about the done deal, because by then, it’d become almost insulting.

"- Got it." He replied back nonetheless, his tone calmed as he wiled out all of his annoyance from the short response.

“That is the only rule I have; that you bring her to me in one piece.” The cloaked male added while handing the brunette a sack of golden coins along with many other little treasures in the bag, none of which could outweigh the value of the woman within the mysterious man’s sharp eyes.

“Here. This is only a small portion of what is to come,” His new employer said with a nod full of certainty, promising so much more in exchange for the job.

“Riches await you, So long as you complete your task.” He added while he blew out a little huff of amusement, well aware of who he spoke to, having personally asked for him, because until then Erron Black hadn't had a single blunder to his name.

He knew the language the native Earthrealmer spoke, aware that so long as there was profit, there was a way to convince him.

And that was just who he needed,

- A man willing to spare no expense if it meant success.

Holding the bag within his own hand, Erron stared down at the handsome pay with widely peeled dark orbs, struck by a small stun of disbelief,

“You mean to tell me there’s more than this?” He asked with a small chuckle, tickled by the high pay he started off with, weighing the contents with his outstretched hand.

‘All this for a woman,’ Black thought while shaking his head, amused at how much the man before him was willing to pour into his hands just to have the female delivered to him.

Black was of course, a man; one who’d lived a long life.

During all his time living, he’d become aware of just how much a single woman could reign over a fool, but even then he was still in awe at the situation he was in.

But who was he to complain?

‘I’d be a bigger fool to let you take your business elsewhere,’ He thought while he chose to stay silent, swallowing down his own opinions.

“There is plenty more, but remember Erron Black, your pay will depend on the state you deliver her to me.

Take care of her throughout your travel, and make certain she is steered from danger,” He specified while he lifted his chin up, aiming to the sky as he gazed at it.

Simultaneously, while his sight properly aligned up to the heavy clouds, the sky above them roared with a mighty cry, the vicious sound echoing for miles to where the man hoped it'd reach his darling beauty.

'Hear the sky cry out; be aware of my existence as I am yours,' He thought to himself.

“Do whatever it takes, and do not fail me,” he then went on, his already dark eyes dimmed, “ And If you have to get rid of anyone that blocks your path, then do so,” He added, caring of only the end goal.

All he cared about was having (f/n) with him.

“Soon... Soon the spring will be invaded by the rain, and they will exist as they should. " he declared.

" Together, as one.” He added softly, the mask which hid his face not only hiding his identity, but the small smile that played at his lips as well.

The expression was touched by a linger of sweetness that then reached his eyes, infecting every bit of his being.

“My dear goddess… soon she will be within my arms,” He mused aloud, the change in tone apparent.

“Only you are worthy…” He added lowly, still referring to the woman and all her splendor.

“- Very well,” Black murmured while taking hold of the brim of his hat, lightly tipping it as he performed a single nod, a hidden smirk curling his lips as he agreed with the condition, taking in all of the other man’s odd behavior with astounded amusement that had yet to cease.

‘All this… All this for a woman,’ Erron thought to himself while he was also handed a scroll that gave him all of the information available.

‘It’s easy pay,’ He mused while his dark eyes scanned over the illustration of the woman, making sure to remember it down to the last detail.

With his small, personal booklet in hand, he recorded down every bit of information he had of her, including her location.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the precise location, but it narrowed down the search considerably.

‘ (F/n)’ He thought to himself while he scribbled the name onto the once blank page,‘ That’s your name little missy..,’ He thought to himself while he found himself staring down at the dark ink delicately painted onto the paper in hand.

“I’ll get back to you soon,” Black said before he whistled loudly, the call responded to by his snow-haired steed as it approached the two men with an assertive bray, letting his master know he was at his disposition.

“Good boy,” Erron said while his palm fell over the side of its long, strong neck before easily mounting the creature with a leap up,

“ And don’t worry, I’ll be back soon,” He repeated while taking the reins of the saddle, turning to his employer with a wide grin, “ Very soon...with your goddess,” he added with a tickle of amusement, shaking his head at the praising address.

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“Hey...You,” Erron said while lightly tapping the side of his boot onto her leg, repeatedly doing so until the action caused her to stir, the (h/c) haired young woman seemingly bothered by the disturbance, but not enough to immediately wake.

Instead, A fussy, little groan then fell past her, the small sound rousing a grin from him as he detected the annoyance weaved within it,

“Rise and shine Darlin',’' He said while nudging her again.

Her dark lashes slowly fluttered up as she opened her (e/c) colored orbs. Soon, her glazed eyes slowly found his as she looked up to see who woke her, a little pout then performed right as her sights landed on him.

“-Glad you’re awake,” He said flatly, eyeing her shining (e/c) colored eyes for just a moment before his own strayed, falling down to what he had in hand instead.

“I’ve noticed a certain someone hasn’t been eating,” he started, “so... here," he said while shoving the piece of meat over to her, immediately glaring at her as she turned her head, her lips pursed together as she showed her notable disdain, not even wanting to give any consideration to the offer.

‘After being kidnapped by him…

Tied up so uncomfortably...

Forced to be so close to him…On that damn saddle too!’

She thought with a little huff, the muscles in between her legs involuntarily squeezing, causing the soreness that previously settled onto her to become more prominent.

‘After seeing only just part of who you truly are… I wouldn’t dare take anything from you,’ She thought with hard resolve.

‘Because despite what you think…

Despite what you may find amusing…

I’ll make sure to find my freedom.

I’ll make sure that even if I don't get to escape… I’ll ruin every bit of satisfaction you can get from delivering me!’

There wasn’t anything she could do while being tied up, and she despised the fact.

‘I hate you! I really hate you!’ She repeated while yet again her muscles strained, ‘And I don’t want to get on that horse again!’ She added while biting her inner cheek, not thinking she'd ever get used to it.

They’d spent nearly two days on foot, and in her opinion, it was much better than the other form of transportation.

‘I’d rather walk,’ She thought with a low blow of breath being released, deciding that it was much better than the humiliation he put her through during the first time.

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“There you go!” he mused, watching her glare at him as he perfectly sat her on his horse’s back, having let loose of the binds on her legs to do so, but not giving the same treatment to the ones binding her hands together.

He played it safe by altering the position of her arms, tying her wrists up in front rather than back for the ride.

“Come on, lighten up doll,” He told her, reaching up to give her thigh encouraging little pats, the little contact causing her to jump at the first tap.

“It’s much better than walking,” He assured her, knowing she was already dog tired.

Soon after, an actual shiver then ran through her as he mounted the creature himself, sitting right behind her, his arms draped over her bound ones to take the reins.

“Don’t wanna chew gravel, right?” He asked her, his strong arms at each side of her, holding her still,

“- So just stay still...no squirmin," He advised her.

Momentarily, her eyes fell down to the dirt ground, swallowing hard as she realized that if she did struggle against him, she’d only end up hurt.

‘He's right...I’m so high off the ground…’ She thought while hanging her head, her chin aimed to her chest with hopelessness.

Anxiously, she tried to squeeze herself tiny, not wanting any contact with him. Little by little, she tried to inch forward, her torso leaned ahead to try an attempt at even the slightest bit of distance, failing altogether as he took the opportunity to press his chest to her back each and every time, knowingly irking her.

‘I don’t want to be pressed to you,’ She inwardly cried, straightening her back from the uncomfortable slouch she had set it at.

‘The very idea disgusts me…’ She added while the warmth of his body was shared with her via the contact.

‘And the action itself...’ She went on, trailing off while her stomach churned, her heart set into anxious mode as she slowly caved.

By then the air began to mellow down and grow colder, the woman begrudgingly appreciating the comfort of his heat whilst the wind began to pick up, and the sky began to darken furthermore.

She tried to not think much of it, wanting to put every bit of memory she had of him down a deep, dark abyss to never think of him again, but finding it nearly impossible.

‘I detest this more than anything in the world…’ She thought while her vision began to blur, her stiff shoulders falling as she was lulled to sleep, the slow, careful beating of his heart which bounced off his chest and melted with hers providing a strange sense of comfort that overwhelmed her.

The rest of the travel was silent, save for the occasional soft hums he released out of sheer boredom, something that was normal during his travels.

What he did find surprising was that throughout the ride, she'd let out not a peep.

'I guess they're not all bad then,' He told himself, beginning to think that perhaps she had a nice dream every now and then.

' Or don't tell me…. ' he then thought while grinning, a stupid little thought coming to him and livening him up,

'Darlin'...have you taken a liking to me already?' He mused with a powerful grin, the thought so far stretched, it was almost comical.

'The second you realize what you're doing… I know it'll give you all the more reason to want to kill me,' he went on, by then having the sleeping woman leaned back to him, for the most part, cradled by him as he made sure she was safely secured within his grasp.

"And here I thought you hated me," he said whilst he came down to her little ear, certain that it'd be an action that would bring her back to reality.

-And he was right on the money because not a second after she stirred.

She had awoke to the sound of warm chuckles and what was the unmistakable touch of gloved hands grazing her forearms with slow strokes.

Groggily, she answered back, emitting a soft groan in response that was preceded by yet another sound of amusement by him,

“I see...” She heard the awful man speak, “Taken a liking to me already sweetheart?” He asked her, her tingling spine shooting up stiffly straight as over the course of her entire body, cold shudders raked her.

The events afterward happened in a blur, perhaps because she tried hard to forget it, that, or her mind was so frazzled by him that she could barely focus.

It was all fuzzy to her, but through it all, she could hear him chuckle, the deep, warm sound twisting her already knotted stomach as she tried to sleep yet again, attempting to ignore him after he had the nerve to sit her back down and tie her up again, moving her around like a little sack of potatoes.

‘ Just one,' she decided with certainty, biting her lip, convincing herself that she just needed the chance, whatever slim it may be, to slip away.

‘ And then I can go back home.

I can make my way back…

And I can wait for you there,’ she thought while for just a moment her mind drifted back to the hazy vision of the woman.

‘ I’ll wait for you there,’ she said again, ‘ because I know deep in my heart that you'll make your way to me.’

Sure he'd been able to catch her easy, but she wasn't going to let him win in the long run.

She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, and what was much more, she'd make certain she'd get away.

'I need to get away from him.

Far ...Far away from him.'

"hm...What a rude, little lady," he said lowly, taking the piece meant for her in between his own teeth, taking a bite as he watched her, studying her and every twitch of her face as an array of emotions broke through.

It wasn't like he had anything else to do but watch her anyways, so entertained, he watched her display her truths.

She went from stubborn bitterness to a hard resolve, slowly but surely melting in a softhearted expression that was touched by sadness before she came back full circle, her lips pursed as she willed herself into the same bullheadedness.

'I won't take it…' she thought to herself, ' I don't want to…' she went on, trying to convince herself, 'but…' she thought while she swallowed hard, trying to brush away the empty feeling she felt, and what was much more, the desire she had to sink her teeth into the savory, smoky scented piece.

Her pressed lips then loosened in the slightest, the bottom one lightly sinking into her mouth as she continued to watch him, (e/c) colored eyes trained on his chewing mouth.

Longing invaded the lovely shine of eyes as she watched him, but stubbornly, she continued to deny him the satisfaction, not wanting to give the man any more reason to reign over her.

However, despite all the effort she made to seem collected, her stomach rumbled, the sound immediately drawing his eyes to her pathetic, little figure.

Catching the little twinkle in his eye she swallowed down fiercely.

Instantly her face grew warm, color blossoming over her cheeks from being so easily put to shame, all by her own roaring tummy.

“ Stubborn too.” He added with amusement, eyeing the warm color sitting on her shamed face.

‘I see… so that really was your plan,’ He mused, watching her determination slowly crack. ’Good to know,’

It'd been a hunch, but now he was convinced she purposely starved herself, be it for the reason he’d assumed or not, that was her intention, and now he was certain.

Seeing his notable enjoyment at her dismay, she tightened her teeth together, glaring at him viciously, still willing to keep up her front despite her humiliation, which always came at his hands,

“ I'll die before you get me there!” she said through gritted teeth, her words filled with malice as all the while, her face showed the same evident embarrassment that had yet to leave her even while she desperately tried to fight it.

‘ I swear… I swear I’ll find my way home,’

“You won't get a single coin for me! Not One!” She taunted him, snorting, picking at the mercenary like a madman poking a sleeping bear,

‘Because I know well enough that whoever paid you to take me wants me unscathed,’ She thought with assurance.

‘So you can either let me go….Or let me die,’ She went on, the latter being a path she didn’t want to take.

‘I don’t want to die…’ She thought to herself, pained at the thought, her heart aching, ‘ I don’t want to meet an end where I feel such incompletion, but...but if I were to continue to live, What would be my fate?’ She wondered, afraid of all of the horrible things she could be subjugated to.

‘What awaits at the end of this journey?’ She wondered helplessly.

‘Who...Who awaits me?’

“Oh really?” He said amused. “You think so?” He asked her, continuing to eat, unbothered by her threats, interested in provoking her in order to see just how far she’d really go, because he hadn’t known she could bark so much.

He thought she was meek.

He figured she was easy to break, but he was slowly being proven wrong.

At the sound of his entertained tone, she strained against the tight ropes, “I know so !” She answered back, roaring at him with a voice that held a dangerous firmness within it,

“I don't know who paid you to do this…” she started, in her own mind trying her damn best to figure out just who in the world wanted her so bad that they'd pay some armed mercenary to whisk her away.

"But they won't give you anything seeing me dead!" She cried out, her arms still attempting to pull away from each other, wiggling on her seat on the floor, attempting to do the same with the restraint on her legs.

“I’m starting to see that you’re really stubborn,” he muttered, watching her waste her energy, seeing her waste the lovely, flickering flame that had him entertained.

“You’re barkin’ at a Knott. Wiggling so much won’t get you anywhere, so all in all, I’d say that once we get there, you’d just wasted that breath of yours,” He informed her, watching her continue to shift with the knowledge that she’d stay bound regardless of what she did.

'Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!'

Fuming, she stopped squirming, refusing to answer him back, instead looking up at the sky, her nose turning up to it as she inclined her head back to gaze at it fully.

Up there in the sky….

‘ Does anyone see me?’ She wondered. ‘Can anyone save me?’ She continued to ponder, wishing that somehow the ropes that bound her became unwoven, somehow unthreading.

(F/n) continued on, ignoring him instead as her thoughts strayed up to the sky with a yearning gaze, sadness dancing with the little shining specs in her (e/c) colored orbs.

‘If you know I need you…

If you know where I am…

If you come to me in my hours of sleep…

Then why don’t you save me from this nightmare? From this horrible isolation and sorrow?

Why don’t you show yourself?

Why have you abandoned me?’

Hearing no reply back, Erron took a step closer, staring down at her from his upturned chin, glaring down at her with an irked twitch to his brow.

“So...After all that, you're ignoring me again?” He asked her, approaching her again and crossing his thick arms above his chest.

He saw her jaw move, tensing up and tightening as she kept her eyes up to the dark sky, seeming to grow more and more annoyed by his presence, and nearing an approach to yet another explosion of hers.

He knelt down to her, his eyes fixed on her, staring at the woman dead on yet, still being ignored by her as she continued to reside in her thoughts instead, choosing to do away with his presence the only way she could.

“Really now?” he said with a low sigh,” After all that bark you plan on giving me the cold shoulder ?” He asked her, receiving a cold, desolate silence in return, irking him, the woman easily crawling under his skin with her little act.

'Stubborn little brat…' he thought while huffing.

“...I’ve said all I need to say to you,” She said lowly, still not bothering to look towards him, instead, gazing up at the air, the dark, night sky soon in her line of vision,

“...You rotten man,” She added with a clenched jaw.

"Alrighty then,” he said with a nod, “That's just fine,” he told her, shrugging disinterestedly. “Fine by me if you keep your mouth shut,” He retorted, “But you know… I can't have you starved,” he informed her.

“ Dying on me…” he added nonchalantly.

“So eat,” He told her, receiving a brisk and snarky No in return.

“ It’s not good for my business, you know?” He told her, and as he spoke he could see a thick shiver run through her, rattling her as he put in his complaint.

“Bringing in a dead body won’t do me any good,” He added, almost as though him telling her about his little dilemma would convince her otherwise.

“Screw y-”

Not letting her finish, he caught her nose in between his two fingers both his thumb and index pressed on either side, squeezing tightly and cutting off her airflow.

At that, her eyes bugged, arms flailing to tear his hand away, but as she did, she was left with the same helplessness as the restraints which bound her didn't budge.

Being trapped, she couldn't really fight back, and the best she could do was shake her head, but even then, his grip was firm, causing tears to bubble in her eyes as the sting of his press and lack of oxygen overwhelmed her,

“Ah!”

It didn't take long for her to gasp, her mouth flying wide open, and with a quick hand, he shoved the last of his morsel in her mouth, offering her a satisfied grin while he succeeded.

She would have spit it out had it not tasted so heavenly, especially while she was starved.

He watched as she begrudgingly ate, satisfied with himself, "’atta girl," he muttered, making her scowl, her eyes once again glowing with a fierce fire.

“ If looks could kill,” he started,” by now I’d be dead, dead, dead,” he mused, “ right honey?” He asked her, making her scoff before she swallowed down the bit of food with a dried mouth,

‘ How dare he…

How dare this… this… rotten man toy so much with me!’ She thought with dismay, convinced that every thing he did was to bother her.

If it wasn’t bad enough that he’d caught her and had her at his mercy, he seemed to enjoy picking at her and making her suffer.

‘But then again…’ She mused while a sudden thought came to her as she saw an open window, ‘It's to my advantage…Right?’ She thought to herself, slowly finding her voice, her (e/c) colored eyes drawn to his boots, not daring to look up at him, knowing her eyes could betray her,

‘If he finds me to be so vulnerable…

If he thinks I’m so helpless… then wouldn’t that mean he sees no threat in me?

Wouldn't that mean that he doesn’t expect me to get the best of him?

Isn’t he too confident?... Enough for me to take my needed chance? ’ She wondered with hope.

‘I’m nowhere near as strong as he is...’ She thought with certainty, ‘But maybe I don’t have to be,’ She thought while momentarily bringing her eyes to the weapon strapped to his side.

‘Maybe I just have to be smarter,’ She added.

‘If I can get it away from him... and maybe even use it myself...’ She trailed off, biting her lower lip,

‘If he can get closer to me...and give me just a moment...’

“Can I...I have some water? ” She asked him softly, making him chuckle.

“ You have to be sweeter than that honey. After all that big talk I'm a little hesitant to get closer to you… Who knows right? “ He asked her. “For all I know you could try and bite me.

From that little devilish look in your eye, I can only assume you're on the shoot.” He told her, betting on the chances of her planning to escape.

“I’m parched,” She told him, which wasn’t too much of a lie because she actually was thirsty.

“ I haven't had anything to eat or drink,” She said to him, giving him large doe eyes, the sudden look of plea hitting him with surprise.

Again, her little stars were shot to him, causing his jaw to lock at the sight, remembering just what they did to him the last time, figuring she was making the same attempt,

'She's a damn witch,' He told himself, convinced she had some sort of magic to her as he reached towards his water canteen, unscrewing it as he approached her yet again.

He then kneeled to her, coming closer to her level while his right hand began to tilt the opened container just over her mouth, his left hand momentarily running his fingers over the soft skin of her chin, lifting it up with the tips of them to make sure she didn't spill anything.

"Open up," He murmured, his actions making her frown, the expression instantly washing over her as he leaned in.

"C-Can't you let me go?" She asked him, having expected him to untie the restraints to let her drink," I can drink on my own," she said softly, barely uttering the words, because as she spoke she knew she was being too hopeful and that he wouldn't take a bite to her bait.

- But she had to try.

She had to take every chance she could.

Adorning a little smirk, he chuckled, " I sure hope you don't take me as a fool darling," he said while watching her stiffen.

"Insincerity...It really isn't in you, is it?" He asked her, having noticed how little she could hide her true self.

"You want me to let you go, don't you?" He asked her, placing the canteen aside, moving it out of the way before he trailed his left hand down from her waist to her thigh, moving down even more to reach her ankles where he'd tied her up.

All the while she stared at him wide-eyed, watching him undo the knot that held her before he made his way to the other tie, both knees pressed to the ground as he placed himself before her, his arms fully around her figure.

" You know...All you had to do was ask," He told her, his grin present as he was pressed to her, momentarily working on the binds while she basked in his strangely warm, sweet scent of leather.

"If you'd just kindly asked me before...there'd be no need to try and fool me," He murmured, the thickness in his voice causing her to swallow down strongly.

"After all, I'm a sucker for pretty girls..." He informed her, her face blooming with color at the statement.

During then the tip of her nose was pressed onto his chest, breathing in his smell with tightly shut eyes,

'It's overwhelming,' She thought to herself, having already been surrounded by the scent while they'd rode on the hooved creature, but not having been encased by it as she was now.

It was inescapable and tantalizing.

Unlike before, now she was facing him, and it felt so much more intimate to be pressed together in such a manner,

'-But...wait...what...what's going on?' She wondered with confusion while the pit of her stomach warmed, a strange, yet sweet, and warm feeling spreading out to the rest of her body as it was surrounded by him.

" You think I'm the big bad wolf, don't you?" He asked her with a small hum, hearing her reply to him with a nearly soundless sigh, having nothing more to really respond with.

' No. I think you're awful...I know you are...' She thought to herself, trying to ignore the strange, and foreign feeling that washed over her.

'You're...You're the worst,' she reminded herself.

"But really... I'd only bite if you gave me a reason to...If you'd tempt me to..." He added while drawn so close she felt uncertain on whether or not he could actually feel the wild pace her heart ran with.

'You must know what you're doing to me...

Whatever it is you’re doing to me...You have to know...' She silently spoke, wanting to draw back from him, yet left stupidly stilled.

Unwillingly, a little, anxious whimper escaped her, causing his chest to rumble with yet another chuckle, the sound surrounding her, causing her skin to bump up, the woman becoming thoroughly flustered.

'You must be enjoying this...' She thought with perturbation. 'Toying with me like this... making me feel so helpless and small...I...I...Just why do I even feel like this to begin with?'

He suddenly stopped, his voice low, beneath his breath, sounding clear as day to her as she was at such a close range, daring to ask a question that needed no answer,

"Am I making you nervous?" He asked her, teasing her, causing the tension between them to thicken furthermore.

It had always there. The same thick, uncomforting feeling as the villain was pressed so close to her was always present, however, somehow, with just the single teasing utter, he'd made the air became almost unbreathable and suffocating.

'Is it just me? ' She wondered, suddenly feeling warmer, the feeling somehow similar to standing near a blazing fire.

She felt so nervous and small, her vulnerability making her feel delicate beneath the rugged man who she was growing certain remained unmoved.

" what do you want from me?" She then asked him, her chest heaved as she shook, wanting to know just what his plan was.

She was aware that he was dangerous.

She knew he wasn't there out of the kindness of his heart, and that the only reason their paths crossed was because of who he already was.

‘You’re someone who’s done awful things.

You’re someone who doesn’t care about anything but himself and what he can get back.‘

She knew it, and yet, within such a short time, the warmth of his body had already become familiar to her, melting over her sweetly, and leaving a mark that now responded at any form of closeness.

‘You’re not someone I should be comfortable with in any way...

So why is my body responding in this way? '

"Why me?" She asked him in search of a concrete answer.

Why her of all people?

" Someone just wants you that bad..." he replied, answering briskly.

"Who?" She asked him anxiously, all while pleading.

'Just who,' she thought with fright.

" Can't say," he answered back because truth be told, he had no idea.

He'd only ever met the man once and during then his voice was slightly muffled by the mask he'd worn. And if that wasn't enough, he'd also worn a long hood, hiding most of himself save for his dark gaze.

The almond-shaped eyes clicked in his mind, but not enough to give him certainty on just who it was.

" But we'll see when we get there," he told her.

"In the meantime-"

" Why don't you just let me go?" she interrupted him, questioning him in the same hushed tone of before, "You can let me go," she assured him, her glimmering eyes pleading as she inclined her head back, gazing up at him.

' If there is any good in you, please... please let me see it.

Please let it shine through.' She thought with growing faith. ‘ This feeling...give it reason.’ She went on, searching for a soft spot within his glaring dark stones, trying to weave through to a portion of his heart that held mercy.

"And why would I do that? What do I get in return?" He questioned her, scoffing at her plea, because she couldn't really believe it was just that easy, right?

Did she think she could give him puppy eyes and she'd be set?

His resolve then hardened even more as he looked down at her, challenging her, letting her understand that if she thought a look from her eyes was enough to bind him again, she was sorely mistaken.

It wasn't going to happen another time, because he was a strong man, one that wouldn't be caught off guard.

- One who would cave down to no little woman.

Just then the ropes fell, and in that instance of freedom her hands went up to his chest, intent on pushing back while he did the contrary, slowly falling onto her until she was left supported on her elbows.

' Do you understand..?' he mused while he was coming close to her, ' I'm In charge...and for now... I make the rules.

So don't think you have anything over me.

Don't think you can play me in any way. '

Her hand then moved to snake over to the side his gun was strapped to when he spoke, stopping her,

" Tell me Darlin', if we were to cut a deal....what would I get from you?" He asked her, the question making her eyes widen.

The featherlight hope within her grew, her eyes gleaming with the lovely look of trusting faith causing him to shake his head in disbelief. He was amused she really had so much optimism in her despite being trapped beneath him, and that all in all, she was stuck at the mercy of a man that made his living spilling red.

" Anything," she said nodding, starry-eyed and happy, "Anything you want," she breathed.

"Oh? And How much is that ?" He asked, interested, "How much can you give?" he asked her, "You might be able to buy your way out of this," he informed her, knowing there was no way in hell she could, but entertained by just what she'd give,

What did she think was valuable?

" I already told you, you can have anything you want!" She said desperately, not understanding why he pressed on so much.

Didn't he understand that anything was better than being sold off?

Didn't he get that all she wanted to do was make her way back home?

"Just let me go home and leave me be!" She exclaimed.

"So..." he started, dragging out the word with a little teasing grin, "You're willing to give me anything I ask for... You want to be free that bad?" He asked her, and with a furious nod, she agreed again.

"Please..." she airily murmured.

' I don't know what I've done...

What I've done wrong...

But if it gets me back home, I'll owe you my life.'

A miserable, little smile touched her face while her wet eyes looked up at him, holding onto the small string of hope he'd tossed at her.

"Well..." He started, idly running the fingers of his left hand beneath one eye to catch any escaping drops, the sweet touch giving her a soft form of comfort.

The hand so close to the weapon withdrew fully, moved to his kind hand, offering a lax hold to his wrist that assured him she was thankful and appreciative.

‘There is something in you then...something that is good,’ She began to think.

"Now that you mention it, there is just one thing," He said to her, continuing to smile, leering down even closer to her, the proximity causing her breath to hitch as he fully climbed over her, caging her down.

" I know there's one thing you could pay me with," he added. " Hell...I don't think you've shared it with anyone yet," he said chuckling, running the same hand's fingers down over her neck, falling to her chest to where his touch became nearly nonexistent, ghosting over the bosom until he went down to her ribcage.

All the while, his eyes were glued to her ripening face as it glowed and realization dawned onto her.

"Mind sharing it with me? "He asked her, his husky voice falling over her little, heated ear as he whispered the offer.

'Did it cross your mind?' He wondered, 'Or are you that innocently foolish?' He went on, interested to know what went through her mind.

During the entire time, he'd been just toying with her, but even then he felt a small twitch, growing excited as he caught a whiff of the sweet scent she carried around.

The smell that emitted from her (s/c) flesh was eerily similar to fresh wildflowers, and it was only really noticeable as he brushed his nose over her flesh, the little arousing aroma only just letting itself be known.

' I'm starting to see how you could make a man go stupid,' he thought to himself, recognizing that she was arousing from sight to scent.

"Not! Not that!" She cried out, literally shaking at his fingertips, the woman growing as delicate as a brittle leaf,

"Get...away..." she said with harsh pants, her voice trembling.

"But you said anything, right? " he said in a low murmur, reminding her of just what she had said, making her realize just how stupid she was.

' You thought you'd strike a chord in me and that I'd cave.

You really thought this world worked that way.'

"So convince me," he said whilst his lips grazed over her neck, the little contact tickling her, causing her to shiver.

A little sound that she'd never produced before set free from the confinement of her strongly heaved chest and soon after, A sweet, virginal moan struck him.

With a tight bite to his lip that slowly raked over the flesh, he then took a long breath through clenched teeth.

"No... no..." she shook her head, tears bubbling in her eyes as she wanted to pull back every promise she made, swallowing down the words of compromise she had given him because by then she had become thoroughly frightened.

" ...Off," she weakly begged, her hands which were still on his chest fisting his shirt before she resorted to pushing her balled hands toward his chest, feeble, shaken strikes bumping him.

'For just a moment...For just a measly second...I actually trusted you!' She thought with growing anger.

' You made me think that there was a shred of kindness in you when you're nothing but a sick...

Degenerate...

Awful...

Rotten man!'

The little quakes that had overcome her ceased, as she clenched her teeth tightly, barring them with a low snarl, "Get off of me now!" She demanded, her voice suddenly stern and certain, filling with spite.

Her right hand flew up to his face, her palm greeting his flesh with a vicious contact that echoed out, the quiet silence of the desert land interrupted by the clash.

His head moved with the force she used on him and blankly, he stared off to the side, feeling the bothersome sting left on his cheek after the well-deserved assault.

"You actually went and struck me..." he said slowly, his brown eyes glaring down at her, darkened down to near black as he watched her fierce features then melt, regret gleaming in her eyes as she realized just what she did.

His tongue slowly ran over his top lip, a heavy breath passing through his parted lips as he inhaled, sucking in a low breath.

His two hands then reached for her wrists, one pinning her left over her head with unkind force, the other lifting up her right hand back up to his face, forcing the offending hand to lay over the stinging spot it had struck.

Under her touch the spot was pulsing hot, throbbing with pain which overall left him impressed,

"I didn't think you'd actually go ahead..." he said chuckling, no true show of malice or rebuttal being reflected.

'Serve's me right, right?' He thought to himself cheekily.

" I Didn't take you to be so brash," he admitted to her, because despite the spikes of strength that glowed in her eyes, he hadn't figured she'd be brave enough to actually take a strike at him.

"Not with these hands," he added, continuing with the same amusement, feeling her shake, the little quake present even in her fingertips.

‘These little hands that were so sweet to patches of weeds, ‘ He thought to himself as he remembered how sweetly she interacted with her garden.

" Little miss sweet and innocent; Miss I wouldn't hurt a fly..." he jeered, "She has some poison in her, doesn't she?" he said while watching her, the said venom which had previously brewed not there, replaced with fear.

"It's a real shame..." he murmured, pressing his lips over her stinging palm, giving it a quick, playful peck that lingered.

' I know it hurts darling'...it hurts you more than it does me, doesn't it? ' He mused while his lips rested on her warm palm.

‘ I can only assume you detest violence. You loath it as much as you say you hate me.

Maybe because... To you, I am violence.

To you, I’m a complete nightmare. ’

There was so much shame in her eyes that she shut them close, not wanting to be ogled by the man that had already greedily drunk in their sight.

' It is such a shame...

A shame I can't touch you,' he thought with the same excitement.

' It’s A shame your nothing but an inexperienced girl at that,' he added with a shake to his head, his mind wandering to territory he knew shouldn't be threaded upon, but was unavoidable.

He dared her to stop him again, willing to take her command if she found her voice,

' Tell me no and I'll stop.

If you can...

If those pretty lips can form the words...I'll step back now,' He thought while in the end, she stayed silent, leaving his warm mouth stuck to her, not moving from the little spot it’d landed on.

Afterward, he let her limb fall, retreating and ultimately, leaving her little body to lay with haggard breathing that was difficult to ease.

It was then that her hands reached up to her risen chest, scrambling back further from him, wanting to run, but left a wobbling mess.

Her erratic heart was in desperate need of a steady hand to grasp it, and helplessly, she clutched her chest, her wide, teary eyes following the man, afraid of him, and yet, somehow excited.

It was all too much for her.

What was much worse, the present excitement she fizzled with had her in a poorer state, the woman wondering why her body had grown so hot, as well as questioning why the sight of him caused her chest to ache so much.

' I can't stay here... I just can't,' she told herself, watching as he seemed unaffected, the light of the fire being put out by the sand he gently kicked into it.

'I have to leave...' She told herself, letting the precious time slip past her fingers as she stayed motionless instead, watching him in quiet silence until he decided to pay her mind again.

As his eyes landed on her, she couldn't help but shrink furthermore, much more as he went to her, the bind in his hands yet again, having already given her enough time to enjoy being unbound.

'She didn't try anything,' He told himself, somewhat surprised. ‘She didn’t even move an inch,’ He observed.

" Time for some shut eyes darlin," he murmured lowly, suddenly seeming somber, all the traces of amusement he typically wore drained out, the overall sentiment having been vacant throughout the entire two hours of calm quietness.

Reaching towards her, he pulled her dangerously close to him as he carefully knotted the rope around her wrists and ankles, each twist done with slow carefulness, making certain it was secured, yet kind.

‘Since you’ve been good...I suppose I’ll be nice.’ He silently spoke to her as he finished up restraining her, doing so in a much more comfortable manner, leaving her arms before her rather than behind.

" We're heading out in the morning, just before the sunrise," he informed her while draping a small, woolen blanket over her, her little, balled body covered by it.

"So rest up..." he added while going back to his previous spot across her, keeping his eyes on her until he was sure she was out.

Again, the same small sounds of discomfort he'd become familiar with drew from her, making his lips press together firmly, his head shaking.

Inclining his head back, he then stared up at the stars, leisurely counting them until somewhere along the count he closed his eyes a final time, his eyelids grown to heavy to blink open.

‘A good night’s rest,’ He thought to himself. ‘That’s all I need.’

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Next Part: I Know I shouldn’t

#erron black x reader #erron black x reader insert #erron black fanfic #erron black fanfiction #mk erron black #Mortal Kombat #mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfic #mortal kombat reader insert #mk fanfic #mk fanfiction #mk x reader insert #erron black x y/n #erron black x fem reader #erron black x fem reader insert #mortal kombat erron black fanfic #mortal kombat erron black fanfiction #mk reader insert #mk female reader insert

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booksbeyondimagining · 3 years

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Before the Devil Breaks You (The Diviners #3), by Libba Bray

Publish Date: October 3, 2017 Published by: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers Length: 546 Genre: YA Paranormal/Historical Fiction My Rating: ★☆☆☆☆ (1 out of 5 stars)

Synopsis:

New York City. 1927. Lights are bright. Jazz is king. Parties are wild. And the dead are coming...

After battling a supernatural sleeping sickness that claimed two of their own, the Diviners have had enough lies. They're more determined than ever to uncover the mystery behind their extraordinary powers, even as they face off against an all-new terror. Out on Ward's Island, far from the city's bustle, sits a mental hospital haunted by the lost souls of people long forgotten--ghosts who have unusual and dangerous ties to the man in the stovepipe hat, also known as the King of Crows. With terrible accounts of murder and possession flooding in from all over and New York City on the verge of panic, the Diviners must band together and brave the sinister ghosts invading the asylum, a fight that will bring them face-to-face with the King of Crows. But as the explosive secrets of the past come to light, loyalties and friendships will be tested, love will hang in the balance, and the Diviners will question all that they've ever known. All the while, malevolent forces gather from every corner in a battle for the very soul of a nation--a fight that could claim the Diviners themselves.

My Review:

I don't even know where to begin this review. I feel like I don't understand what happened with this book? I loved the first two. They were breathtaking and wonderful and full of gorgeous characters, a setting that drew me back in time, and a plotline that gave me the best kind of chills. This one? This one just failed. Utterly failed. For a long time I considered Libba Bray to be my favorite author, but this book disappointed me so much that I don't know if I can anymore. What started as a spine-chilling paranormal historical story full of wonderfully diverse characters dealing with a multitude of problems, both emotional and physical, became what can only be described as a hot mess in this installment of the series. And not even the good, Evie O’Neill type of hot mess. Just, a mess.

What happened to the characters I fell in love with? It felt like they completely disappeared in this book. They were all trying to take the lead at the same time and instead of standing out, became lost in one another until it seemed like they barely existed as people at all, but rather caricatures of themselves. It honestly felt like Bray was just rehashing singular traits of these characters that had already been established in the first two novels, and rather than expanding on them and giving them growth, they all just felt very stagnant throughout the story. Or they would have a small moment, only for things to move quickly on before any true growth or resolution was shown despite the need for one. What irked me the most was how the perspectives would shift so quickly and often, literally within the same paragraph at times. It was like getting whiplash trying to keep straight whose feelings I was reading about. This translated horribly into the larger story arcs as well. Very often a plot point would pick up - Mabel and the Secret Six, Theta and Roy, Jericho at Hopeful Harbor - and the book would spend a little bit of time dealing with that, only for it to suddenly switch gear, drop it for multiple chapters (re: hundreds of pages), then to finally bring it back up again much, much later. This led to these story arcs (and consequently the characters) losing their momentum and my interest. I don’t understand why they weren’t intertwined more throughout the book as in the previous books, which balanced both the personal lives of these characters and the over-arcing plotline so well in comparison to this one. And the rest of the plot? A mish-mosh that felt like it was all over the place and completely tedious all at once. I wanted to like this book but I just couldn’t. I can’t tell you how many times I read a line or two and thought “Am I reading a rough draft?” Honestly, sometimes it didn’t even feel like more than a rough outline. Character emotions would pop on and off at random moments. They would do things that seemed to skip important movements in between. Descriptions were just sorely lacking. The first time I started this book (and yes, it took me two tries to get through it), I thought that I was unable to deal with it because it was 1. The early stages of a pandemic and 2. Filled with a lot of recaps of the books I had just reread. I thought it was just me. But it wasn’t. It took me almost four months to finish it the second time around, and only because I forced myself to do so because I wanted to know how this series ended and what became of my beloved characters. All I ended up wanting to do was cry. And not because of the actual story. Just how it was written. I never thought I would ever give Libba Bray a one star review, but sadly, this book just cannot earn anything above that from me. NOTE: The following is a more in-depth look at several plot points that I just want to rant about, and will therefore place under a spoiler alert. [SPOILERS BELOW]

We will start with Mabel, since she is the first character who felt like she had the beginnings of a story arc going on in this book. Mabel Rose, what happened? Again, here I thought she was going to be one of the main focuses of the book (such as with Henry and Ling in Lair of Dreams), but sadly her story just bookended the rest of the plots. But what annoyed me the most, was how botched her character became towards the end. She kept going on and on about “believing in people being good at heart” as if suddenly she had been blind to everything else? And don’t get me started on her believing herself to be in love with Arthur - she was in love with the idea of him loving her, because otherwise when they had sex, she would have been thinking of him, and not how she had beat Evie to something for the first time. (Speaking of, what was with EVERYONE having sex seemingly all at the same time? Was this some weird Sense8 thing?) In conjunction with that, we had Sam and Evie getting it on at the end as well. Now, this is one to unpack. Because let’s see - first, they were on the outs and fighting. Then, Evie was making the moves on Jericho again (and him on her). And things seemed to be actually heating up there (not that I cared). BUT, Jericho got all beefed up both physically and paranormally and suddenly became a raging neanderthal who ALMOST RAPED EVIE and they had one small conversation after he came back to his senses that didn’t really resolve anything, she left feeling conflicted, and then slept with Sam because he was “real” with her. *blinks hard* So are we supposed to ignore the fact that Evie wanted Sam to give everything to her while she still had unresolved and conflicted feelings for Jericho? Or did she make up her mind about him and we just missed that? Look, I love Sam and I thought it should have been him and Evie from the get-go (but not without some long-term dancing around each other), but not like this. It just felt...wrong. (I still hate Jericho. He’s dull. And he’s a philosophy nerd. It seems to explain a lot.)

AND ANOTHER THING! What the hell was the retconning about Sam and the circus?? It was mentioned like three times in this book? But never before that? All of a sudden he's a trapeze artist? What is even the point? Finally, the other story arc that annoyed me was the Roy one. Mostly it was how it ended - Theta goes full Phoenix on his ass (and I was so ready for her to give him his comeuppance), only to be stopped at the last minute by Memphis who gives her a mini speech about “stopping you for you” so that she doesn’t feel guilt in the future (not that she should after what Roy did). Seems like a good time for some quality character development right? Well, after Roy runs away after screaming “I’ll get you for this” like a Scooby-Doo villain, Theta just smiles and kisses Memphis as if the credits are already rolling. No breakdown, no talking things through, no reassurances - nothing. Just, move on - next storyline please. [END SPOILERS]

#book review #before the devil breaks you #the diviners #libba bray #ya paranormal #ya historical fiction

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cryysiswritesthings · 4 years

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Ash and Dust || A KogKag Oneshot

Series: Inuyasha Rating: Mature Warnings: Non-graphic description of rape, violence, burning victims Status: Complete Pairing: KogKag Summary:

All they could hear were screams.

The knights behind her cut the rope at her wrists, and the young woman fell to her knees. The open flesh of her back had drenched the snow with her blood. Now it soaked her woolen skirt, staining it forever.

She hadn’t stopped screaming.

Find it On: AO3

Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #inuyasha #oneshot

All they could hear were screams.

She hadn’t stopped screaming.

Above her, an elder woman stood bound to a stake upon the flaming pyre. Much of her skin had already been burnt away, turning the bone beneath it black. The air was drenched with the putrid smells of burning death: iron and sulfur, foul liver and cooked fat. Something musky, and sweet.

It hung so thickly in the air she could almost taste it. She would never be rid of the smell.

The tears she shed were dried before they formed, so close was she to the fire. Her poor mother had smiled as long as she could, until she was so consumed by pain she could not see her daughter’s weeping face.

The knights were silent behind her, but not their leader. He stood on stone not far from her, preaching the evils of magic and sorcery. Condemning her mother to hellfire and torment.

A calloused hand landed on her shoulder when her voice broke, unable to continue her cries. Dark gray eyes looked upon her with regret and sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, Kagome,” a kind voice says to her, mindful of her injured skin. “But you have to understand… it had to be done.”

The girl froze, her face turning pale as the snow. It hurt when she spoke. “I… I don’t… understand…”

The man becomes desperate, in a rush to explain. “Your mother, she… you were in so much pain, and she needed to answer for her crimes. She’d sold you to the Wolf, Kagome! I know how much you loved her, but I had to do what was best for you!”

Horror spread through her veins, warming her blood. She couldn’t look away from the flames. “You did this. You turned her in too these… these barbarians, these strangers to our ways, to our lands.”

The young man swallowed, and bowed his head. “I had to protect you.”

There was no sound beyond the leader’s preaches and the crackle of flame. Then there rose a lone howl, startling all but the young woman still drenched in blood.

“Hojo?”

The young man looked to her, hopeful and afraid. “Yes, Kagome?”

She clawed out his eyes.

A cow's disgruntled bray woke the sleeping woman from her memory-dream. Tired eyes blinked slowly to find the sky covered in clouds darkening into gray. But the sun shone beyond the large body of the bull next to her, a telling sign for those who knew to look. These clouds weren’t the start of a storm.

Visitors were coming. Dangerous ones.

In the distance, ravens cawed against the winds that had begun to churn. A large shadow flies over head, and circles around to see her.

The hag sat astride the branch of a dead tree, taller in length then she was in body. Her raven clutched at one of the antlers protruding from the fish-pale flesh of her head, its roots hidden by wild strands of hair.

The raven cawed once and dove from its perch until it landed on the woven handle of her basket. Around its neck hung a thin leather cord, it’s pendant a familiar claw.

Kagome smiled at the sight, taking the gift from around its neck and cradling it to her chest. “Will you give him my thanks for me? And tell him… tell him I look forward to the day of our meeting.”

The raven cawed and spread its wings, returning to its masters side. The hag stared at her a moment longer, before she and her companion disappeared into the forest.

The danger came not long after. And it burned to look upon it.

The zealot and his metallic knights. They gleamed in the light, the sun's reflection blinding all who saw them. But not her.

No. To her, their armor would forever be tarnished with soot and ash.

The men either did not notice her presence, or did not know who she was. But then perhaps they did and cared not. She didn't know.

They made their intentions clear: through the courage of a member of their village, they had learned of a monster who plagued the forest. Their mission, the zealot told them, was to cleanse their land of evils taint once and for all.

No cheers greeted this news, only hushed whispers and uneasy glances in the witch-child's direction. But there was only one whose presence she focused on.

Hojo sat in a wooden chair under the awning of his home, blind as the day she’d taken his eyes from him. Next to him stood Rose, the girl child who wished to call him her own. Her glare was a brush of cold wind, but Kagome held little care. Sympathy was all she was capable of for her now.

Poor Hojo. Even after she’d blinded him, he still held her close to his heart. His clan thought she'd cast a spell on his heart and bonded him to her life. But she had no use for a blind man, least of all one who meddled in affairs of which he didn’t belong. No, Hojo's only curse was to have been born with a terrible, innocent kind of love. The kind that forgave every imagined sin of whomever his heart was set upon, no matter the wickedness of their transgression.

He would love her until the stars fell from the sky.

Here, beyond the edge of the forest, the meadows grew wild with flowers and herbs she could find all manner of use for. There were no trees to guard her from the sun’s effervescent rays, and so no way for sound to travel. It was why she had not heard the encroaching metal men, but now they were close enough for even her weak ears to sense.

They passed her in pairs and groups of three, stomping carelessly over what had once been undisturbed ground. The smell of broken stems filled her nose, flowery and sweet. It only served to remind her of her mothers screams.

A shadow fell over her, a foolish knight who broke from his ranks to inspect her. She could not see his face, not even the color of his eyes. The slit in his helmet was too small for it.

“Girl, who are you? Your face stands out to me, though I do not recall ever knowing you.”

Her stare was blank, telling nothing with her silence. The knight seemed not to care, only raised the sword in his hand, it’s point catching the leather cord around her throat.

"Speak, woman, or I will slit your throat and feed these plants with your life's blood."

Surprisingly, her lips twitched in a smile. They would probably thank him for it.

The sword rose higher, ready to swing down. If she did not answer him, she would pay for it with her life.

In the back of her mind, she could sense him, reacting to the unspoken threat. He had never revealed himself, keeping to his promise. But to defend her life, he would interfere. She needed only to speak, and the knight before her would be dead in moments.

He had no idea who it was he threatened. She wanted to keep it that way.

“I am no one, sir,” she told him finally. His sword lowered by an inch. “Only a simple village girl. I have never traveled beyond our forest, but if you have passed through before, you might have come upon me.”

The sword fell to his side. “You’re lying, somehow. I do not know in what way, but what you speak is falsehood.”

If only he knew.

“Will you take me then?” Her stare bored into him, piercing through armor. “Will you drag me back to the village, listen to me beg for my release?”

His smile turned vile, though she could not see it. “Learn some respect, or I will not give you the chance.”

She hummed her understanding and bowed her head. “As you say, sir. I will do so.”

The hulking metal turned from her to rejoin his rank. But he stopped, and before she knew what happened, he had turned once more and backhanded her across the face.

Her gasp of pain was silent, but her thud against the ground was not. Her fingers hovered over the bloody welts on her cheek, and the other men of his regiment laughed.

Pleased with himself, the knight left her there, sealing his fate.

Kagome stepped into the tavern, its usual soft chatter replaced with the roar of laughter found in the drunkest of men. The knights, it seemed, had taken over the majority of their tables, leaving the amassed villagers to huddle in darker corners.

Ayumi, a sweet thing married to the village apothecary, brought a warm mug of cider to her table. She promised to return with a warm plate of dinner, and Kagome offered her a quiet thanks before she walked away.

She paid little attention to the going ons around her, focused more on the drink warming her hands. Normally, one or two of the villagers would join her, asking about the things only she could see. Now she sat alone, though it was with little surprise.

The zealot’s eyes flicked back and forth between her and his men. She knew he was trying to place her, much the same as the knight from earlier. Should he recognize her, the scars on her back would be joined with newer marks.

But it was not the zealot she needed to be concerned with. No, it was Rose. Rose and her desire to break Hojo of his heart’s bond.

Rose was the one to whisper in a knights ear who she was. The same knight, conveniently, with whom she’d had her altercation earlier. It was this knight who eyed her now, though she did not recognize him. He knew her history, her reputation, what she was said to be capable of.

A slow smile spread across his face.

It seemed he had a reason to teach her respect after all.

He found her later that night, after following her from the tavern.

Beneath his fists, fresh bruises bloomed on her skin. His hands pulled at her hair, pain singing across her scalp. Rock and debris carved new patterns into her clothes. His teeth cut her lips and his thighs danced between hers, tinting her skin red and white and red.

She did not cry. She did not scream. She did not beg.

But she remembered.

Not a sound was heard through the village that night.

At sunrise, they found him in pieces. Rose’s head lay beside him.

The knights ravaged the forest, and Kagome’s body healed. She drank the tea her mother used to give to the girls who wanted to enjoy pleasure without the risk of childbirth. Nothing changed, save for the thick pelts of soft fur that found their way to her doorstep. A reminder that even if she did not see him, he still was with her always.

Summer turned to fall, and the passing of the season brought with it winter’s snow. Still, the knights occupied their small village, though fewer and fewer now remained.

Slowly, the men had started to disappear. The zealot had cursed them as deserters, condemning them in their afterlives and this one. One by one, this continued, until only a handful remained. More knights had been sent for, but none so far had reached them.

Then the bodies turned up, corpses rotting in their metal encasements, piled high in the village center.

The zealot became a mad man. He ordered his men to drag every woman and child from their home, intending to use them as bait. But the villagers would not stand for this mintreatment, and drove he and his knighted remnants to the edge of the forest.

They were not heard from again.

Days turned to weeks, and life settled in the village. Kagome took up practice as the village healer, and would often spend her afternoons foraging in the woods.

It was at the end of such an excursion that she came upon the zealot and the last of his knights. They cowered behind a tent of hay; skin, bone, and rusted armor all that remained of once proud men.

Their eyes met hers, and in them she saw a terrible kind of need burn its way forward. In moments they would be upon her, and she would die beneath their hands.

A scatter of birds frightened calls preceded his presence. His deep, dark rumble stilled them in their tracks.

Beyond the tents he stood, a furred beast on two legs. His muzzle was long and filled with fangs, and he towered over the snowy plains.

It was the first time she’d ever seen him, and she had not the words to describe his beauty.

Shaking metal drew her eyes from him, her gaze landing on the hidden men. The zealot desperately shook his head, holding a finger to his lips. If the Wolf caught them, they would die as the rest of their scattered forces had.

But they would leave her to die in an instant if he attacked her, though she knew he never would.

Kagome shifted her basket from one hand to the other, letting one hang free. Without a word, she mimicked the actions of the knight who once attacked her, raising her arm and pointing to the cowards hidden in the haystacks.

She watched the long muzzle pull back, fangs dripping with saliva. It was a beasts smile. The Wolf’s smile.

Good girl.

The zealot screamed and cursed her existence as he died. Witch, he called her. Devil’s whore. Consort of beasts and monsters.

The Wolf’s muzzle was wet with warm blood, the now dead bodies steaming in the fallen snow. Slowly it stalked forward, intent upon her.

Her smile was beatific, and when he fell to all fours in front of her, she reached out to card her fingers through his fur.

“Hello, Kouga.”

#kogkag #inuyahsa #oneshot

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notveryglittery · 5 years

Text

star light, star bright

it’s @blinksinbewilderment‘s birthday!!! you know what she likes a lot? romantic analogical and brotherly prinxiety :) it’s a quick little bulletfic with lots of extra bonus background ships. i really treasure our friendship, blink, i hope you have a day that shines as brightly as you do, and that you feel as much happiness as i do whenever i get to talk to you <3!!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

brotherly prinxiety

big bro ro

virgil goes to roman for advice on how to ask out his long-time crush logan

roman initially teases him relentlessly because anyone with eyes can see logan has liked virgil back for at least three quarters of that long-time

when roman realizes the two are in fact blind pining oblivious dummies, he jumps at the chance to help this ship sail as smoothly as it can from where it’s been docked for far too long

roman is obviously a Professional Matchmaker - look, his name is in the word “romance”

(never mind the fact that patton is the one who swept roman off his feet with a romantic declaration at the top of a ferris wheel underneath a bright full moon)

(they’ve definitely let roman live this down. absolutely no one brings it up at every given opportunity)

so roman teaches virgil all of the important things to woo one’s true love (“he isn’t my true love,” virgil gripes, hoping roman doesn’t notice how hard he blushes. roman notices.) this includes: practicing of poetic confessions, the perfect combination of flowers in bouquets, romcom movie marathons.

to virgil’s mortification, roman invites patton to one of their lessons. to virgil’s further humiliation, patton’s brother declan tags along, and it turns out virgil’s to practice his confession on declan because he’s got that same dry wit and humor as logan, and surely he can offer the best reactions.

(declan thinks this is very stupid but he and virgil are also kind of frenemies and so declan will take any blackmail he can get his hands on)

it goes about as well as you think it would

meanwhile, one logan sanders is trying to smother himself with a pillow

“babe, you of all people should know how physically impossible it is to do that”

logan throws the pillow at his queer platonic partner

by some miracle, remy dodges it and manages not to spill a single drop of his starbucks

so as we all know, logan has been pining for virgil for quite a few years now, and as we also all know, he is a blind oblivious dummie

remy is surprised his ears haven’t fallen off yet with how much logan gushes about virgil

it would be cute if it hadn’t gotten really old like a year and a half ago

(okay, it’s still pretty cute but remy thinks a lot of things about logan are cute) (like, hello, the utter look of concentration on his face when he’s deciding which tie matches his outfit best?)

remy wants logan as happy as he can be, of course, but virgil is… well, remy and virgil kind of had some issues sophomore year that they never really resolved.

it doesn’t really interfere with their relationship now given the dynamic of their friend group. they kinda tolerate each other. but remy’s gotta give virgil the Talk - you know the one, “you so much as even think about hurting logan and they’ll never find your body”

remy and roman definitely haven’t been texting each other updates over the months, why would you even insinuate something so devious

after many shenanigans and montages of:

roman helping bolster virgil’s confidence

big bro ro helps virgil to perfect all the makeup tricks he’s learned on his own over the years. virgil understands now just how good winged eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man can make you feel.

he really does get better with pick up lines and flirting; he stumbles sometimes but it feels effortless and that’s the important part.

declan jokingly threatening to steal logan away if virgil didn’t get on with it

while virgil knows declan’s aroace ass would never, virgil does not know that logan likes him back, and so this still seems like an entirely plausible thing to worry and stress about

sometimes, declan drapes himself over logan and heckles him into a debate; partially to see virgil get all flustered over logan all worked up, partially to encourage virgil to hurry up already, wouldn’t he like to be in logan’s space like this?

remy dropping hints around virgil about logan’s newest interests

virgil and logan might be close friends who have been mutually pining over each other for years, but there’s still things they don’t tell each other, or don’t get the chance to share. if remy happens to let slip that logan wants desperately to visit the new exhibit at the observatory, well, that’s neither here nor there.

and he does give virgil the Talk, a few nights before the plan is set into motion. in the same go, they mostly remedy their past issues. by the end of it, virgil wonders how it’s possible for someone to be so threatening while using pet names like “babe,” “sweetie,” and “honey” every other sentence.

eventually, virgil is deemed Ready. it is Time.

halloween is virgil’s favorite holiday and because logan loves virgil, he also loves halloween. sure, all the sweets are a health hazard, and trick-or-treating really isn’t the safest tradition, and ghosts do not exist - but virgil glows during this season. he adds autumnal colors to his wardrobe and it really is not fair how good he looks in oranges, and browns, and deep greens.

(in case we aren’t all on the same page yet, logan is Very Very Gay.)

everyone is at remy’s house. it’s definitely one of the biggest homes in their small town and so this is where a lot of the holiday parties tend to take place. the dormir family is also generally just really well liked. which means more people than invited show up but if anyone knows how to throw and manage a party, it’s remy.

anyway the plan is that virgil and logan finally get together at this party so that they can finally go trick or treating with the gang in matching costumes

it is so lame and virgil would rather forsake trick or treating completely but also he may or may not have been planning couple’s costumes for like four years now

everything is going really well!

roman and patton are social butterflies, flitting from the dance floor to the kitchen to the backyard. they’re dressed up as she-ra and perfuma, respectively. roman’s even threaded led lights into the underskirt and cape so that he’s actually glowing. patton’s flowers aren’t just a crown atop his head, they twist and weave along his arms, around his torso, and down his legs.

remy wears the same thing every year to the party: pajamas and a ridiculous pair of slippers. he saves the extravagant costumes for halloween night. he truly is a spectacular host, making sure drinks and snacks are restocked, that nothing’s being broken, and checking in on those who don’t handle the crowds too well.

logan’s dressed in a very impressive le petit prince costume - it’s so good, it might as well be a full on cosplay. (virgil definitely isn’t swooning, what?) logan sticks close to the edges of rooms, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

(in, for example, virgil’s arms, on the dance floor, swaying to a slow song.)

virgil is dressed as jack skellington and declan in a creepily accurate oogie boogie - everywhere he goes, plastic insects fall out of his costume. patton’s shrieks of terror at seeing the fake spiders keeps startling the party guests.

eventually - totally not by plan or anything - logan and virgil end up in the backyard together, on the old wooden swing bench on the porch. it’s nearing midnight and the crickets are chirping and there’s an owl hooting nearby somewhere. the moon is obscured on this cloudy night.

virgil thinks it’s perfectly spooky and atmospheric

logan doesn’t need to see the stars in the sky when they’re sparkling so brightly in virgil’s eyes

logan’s feet barely reach the floor and so virgil uses his heel to push them back and forth. thankfully, both of their costumes keep them warm enough in the chilly fall weather. (though they, of course, could always do to be a little bit warmer.)

virgil’s breathing is measured and it’s super obvious he’s counting them in his head. logan scoots closer and lays a hand over virgil’s. his breath hitches.

“there is something i would like to tell you,” logan begins.

the record scratch in virgil’s head sounds loud enough that everyone at the party should be able to hear it

“for the… last couple of years, i have harb-”

“hold on,” virgil interrupts, loud and sudden. “hold - wait a seco - there’s no way you’re -”

logan normally finds all manners of virgil’s speech patterns endearing but right about now, logan has a finite amount of courage and it is quickly running out

“- going to tell me right now-”

“of course i love you.”

virgil’s jaw promptly snaps shut

(he’s been working so hard on this and all this time??????)

virgil isn’t really aware of the high-pitched noise he’s making until logan reaches out and firmly presses a hand over his mouth.

“it is my fault that you have not known it all the while,”

(and the way logan says it, like a treasured line from a fairytale. virgil’s sure he’d recognize it if he could think at all.)

“i understand if you do not reciprocate these feelings and i apologize if i have made you uncomfortable with my confession,” logan is saying now while virgil’s still working on rebooting. logan lowers his hand. “i hope that this will not negatively impact our friendship. i care deeply for you and-”

virgil’s systems spark back to life and he interrupts again, this time with a short bark of laughter.

“l, oh my god, no offense, but i’ve been building up to this night for months and you just-” he has to pause to stifle his laughter. he’s equal parts giddy because logan likes him back and frustrated because logan’s liked him back for years and neither of them had done anything about it until now.

logan looks confused.

virgil wants nothing more than to kiss him.

“i’m in love with you” bulldozes over his brain-to-mouth filter instead

logan looks confused, elated, overwhelmed, stunning, he blushes so prettily, virgil thinks, and all of his practice must pay off, because the next move he makes is easy.

at some point, they’d turned towards each other. virgil’s hand cups logan’s face. leaning closer, virgil’s gaze lowers to logan’s lips, and then back up. who knew eye contact alone could be this electrifying?

“can i kiss you?” virgil murmurs.

“i can’t think of anything i’d like more,” logan responds.

(back in the house, declan grumpily shoves a twenty dollar bill into roman’s hands.)

a week and a half later will find virgil and logan in matching costumes. for their shared interest in astronomy, they’ve lowkey always been called the “starlight gays” amongst their friends, and their costumes certainly help solidify it.

logan is wearing dark jeans and a navy button down. with roman’s help, he’s lit up like the night sky; led lights form constellations that, if asked, logan will explain in a heart beat. from his shoulders trails a glittering black cape that catches the light just right (it’s impractical for trick or treating but the way virgil keeps wrapping himself up in it, snuggling close to logan’s side… well)

virgil’s the opposite in whites and greys, though he’s glowing as well, a near match to the full moon in the sky. he seems exceptionally pleased with the makeup he’s done for the costume, silver and blue and sparkling.

(they look like they should be at a con, honestly, instead of out for one night collecting candy, but it’s cute, and that’s all that matters)

and of course, they live happily ever after

(with only the slightest of teasing for the rest of their lives about their slow burn romance)

#analogical #romantic analogical #analogical fan fiction #brotherly prinxiety #sanders sides fan fiction #qpr losleep #brotherly moceit #romantic royality #human au #dani writes #blink #HBD DARLING I LOVE YOU!!

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constellationsadvocate · 4 years

Text

The Constellations Advocate

Book One

Prologue

“Time is always a fickle thing when you’re running against it and it’s already beating you to the punchline. It’s really not something to laugh at, but the idle irony of the stars aligning and time freezing- coming to an absolute standstill- just for the mere amusement of one's boredom.”

“Boredom?” An amused, deep and half-laughed question asked. “I don’t believe it was so. Maybe, out of coincidence, it was out of revenge?”

“Well, then it took them awhile. To plan revenge just so you can fix your own fate because one may or may not have been, shall I say, screwed over.”

“Not screwed over, friend.”

“No? Then, dear, what would you call it?”

“Double crossed.” They gruffly, briskly called back. They laughed lightly, a charming smile on their lips. “But, do continue, doll. The story is just beginning to get good.”

“Now that you’ve shut your big mouth, I will gladly do so.” The first voice coolly replied. “Like I said, Time came to an absolute standstill for the sake of one’s boredom. It wasn’t always boredom, no, but it was anger. Anguish. Pain, grief, heartbreak, guilt, longing. Our story didn’t start at the beginning, but at the start of the end.”

“This isn’t some children’s story is it? You know, the one with the colorful pop-up pages?”

“Just because your one molecule brain can’t break down big words, doesn’t mean you can’t follow along.” A third voice chimed, causing the other two to look back at the mysterious being.

“Why I oughta-!”

The first, smacking the back of the second’s head, reeled their hand back again only to stop and grab their cup of whiskey. “Put a sock in it before I knock your teeth out. We have a story to tell and I will gladly do so by myself if it’s by the means of removing your teeth and cutting out your tongue.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyways, it all began when it ended.”

“Doesn’t it always?” The third laughed softly, only to go quiet as a killing glare was sent their way.

“It was a destructive timeline. There wasn’t an end to finish and a start to begin. Therefore, something more constructive, crucial, was born.”

“Didn’t it fail?”

“Honestly, the first three thousand times it did.” The first signed disdainly. Then smiled mischievously. “But, what’s the harm in one more chance?

The other’s glaced to one another, then smiled cruelly. In harmony, “Născuți din focul Fenixului, constelațiile vor avea protectorul lor.”

Adeodatus, Patavium

“Aye, cad e mar a bheifea ag suil le fear dall a asal a fhail san aimsir seo?!” An aging, balding, middle aged man with refined attributes of a square jaw, straight nose, and oblique pale once blue eyes yelled out to a young man. The man, a simple farm hand stumbled through the rain and mud behind the old man, Maddox, looking frantically for the lost mule. Maddox, the blind man, stopped in his tracks causing the farm hand to slide to a stop. “Erivan!”

“For the last time, sir. People will think you’re a mad man yelling out in your old language!” Erivan sternly warned. He calmly walked to stand beside Maddox, placing a firm hand on the mans shoulder. “The mule can’t be far at all. You know how he gets during thunderstorms.”

“I know this. But that stubborn mule is getting on my last nerve.” Maddox replied briskly, tired of the same old routine. “And yes, I know what you’ll say. ‘He’ll find his way back home, Maddox.’”

“Aye,” Erivan smiled warmly, slicking back ebony wet hair from his forehead. “Now, can we please go inside before we both get sick again?”

Maddox nodded, turning back the way he came from. Erivan smiled assertively and followed behind. Only a few steps in, when in a short distance behind them, a mule brayed and stomped it’s hooves in the thick mud. The pair turned sharply, Erivan’s eyes landing on a cloaked figure and the mule itself.

“Maddox,” An enchanting, smoky female voice called out. Maddox smiled brazenly, chuckling.

“Aye, Taarini.” Maddox greeted warmly. “What are you doing in this horrid weather?”

“Ag feachaint ar asal do dhuine dall.” Taarini laughed warmly as she answered in the old language. She turned her amused gaze to Erivan. “You shouldn’t assume there isn’t a fair share of people who still speak the old language. It may be dead or dying, but nothing stays dead forever.”

“Of course, Taarini. How foolish of me.” Erivan sassed, sarcastically rolling his eyes. “Thank you, oh great one.”

“Sarcasm. Funny most of the time, but when it comes from you it's just simply rude. Maybe if I cut your tongue out, it’ll stop rolling off.” Taarini sneared, smiling devilishly as she walked the mule to Maddox. “Do you not remember the last time I gave your ass a lesson?”

“Children,” Maddox chimed. “This is not the time. Maybe when the weather is better and we can have spectators on a warm, sunny day. Aye?”

Maddox laughed robustly, taking the reins from Taarini and turning back for the farm. “Come on, Erivan! I can’t always walk by myself. So, kiss the pretty lass goodbye and move your feet.”

“You’re a mad man!” Erivan shouted after him, scurrying to catch up. A few feet behind Maddox, Erivan turned around to gaze where he once was standing with Taarini. She was still standing there, the rain seemling becoming heavier and something unnatural hanging in the air. His gaze rested on her for a moment longer. Taarini everything is shrouded in mystery and questions. No one knew exactly what she looked like, except the bold, rosy pink lips, the slender and strong jaw and jawline. The high cheekbones and the gray and gold mix-matched eyes that rested upon them. Everything else was covered with the hood of a cloak and a black fox mask.

In a blink of an eye, Taarini disappeared behind a caravan passing through town. Erivan blinked rapidly, searching around him before he sighed and shook his head. “You’re going crazy Eri. You’ll go completely insane hanging out with Mad.”

He continued mumbling to himself, breathing easier as the rain and air lightened up in the surrounding area as he hastened for the farm.

A scream erupted from the inside of Solas De Danaan as Jericho, Armazi, and Gemini reigned in their paint mares and gelding. The three snapped their attention to the guild, unmounted and tied the reins to the post, busting through the front door of the guild.

Inside the fortified guild, the pale ashen oakwood floors were spacious with dark red mahogany tables and chairs. A bartop that had a matching wood stain, the shelves behind it, just as dark with mirror essence casted behind them. From the main floor, pale ashen oak stairs spiraled to the second floor and led to the library and a secondary storage room and office. Magical orbs of pure light floated and bobbed above the heads of the guild members who had immersed themselves in the situation at hand.

Asena, a sun kissed woman with golden blonde hair that curled at her mid back and eyes that could set your world on fire. Her fiery hazel eyes rested upon soft cheekbones that were dusted with freckles. Her physic was lean and curvy, but be no fool, she can out drink any man and leave him under the table. Despite her feminine and goddess like beauty, she can and most likely will put you in your place. Lesson, never dirty your hands if it means crossing someone who can literally light your ass on fire.

Asena shrieked again as the figure of Taarini glitched out of sight again, appearing next to her. Arealla, the assisting bartender and right hand to the master of the guild, gasped as she quickly grabbed the bottle of bourbon from in front of Asena before she got coated in the sticky, fraganted liquor again and rapidly took a few steps away from the fiery woman.

“No! Stop it!”Arealla yelled abruptly, looking from Asena to the glitching figure of Taarini. Asena glared at her desperately.

“You act like this is my doing!” She snapped. “Make her stop tormenting me every time she comes around!”

Armazi, Asena’s brother, scoffed. “Sister, are you sure the drink isn’t finally going to your head?”

Armazi,who has the build of a boxer, a strong and sharp jaw, golden brown shoulder length hair, the same fiery hazel eyes as his sister’s, bold cheekbones and a well kept beard. He leaned forward over the bar, taking the bottle from Arealla. Asena and Arealla locked baffled glares onto the brother, questioning his own sanity.

“You know damn well, very well, it takes us both to have downed the whole store to get even remotely drunk before our bodies burn it off!” Asena growled. “So either someone else makes Taarini stop or I will burn her alive!”

Like speaking of the devil, Taarini appeared physically behind Asena with a bucket of water and ice mixed with thick honey. Followed hastily after, she dumped a sackful of white feathers on the sun magic mage. Asena screamed like a banshee once more. Golden flames licked up her calves, slowly. Within milliseconds, her whole body was engulfed in the pure flames. Armazi clapped amusedly as everyone dove from the bursting flames.

“You vile vixen!” Asena screeched, the hatred rolling off of her tongue. “How dare you!”

“Cool it, hothead.” Taarini laughed coolly, strolling to the other side of the bar nonchalantly. “I thought you just needed to be a little cold to feel the burn of the drink.”

Asena growled, blasting golden flames at the mage who became consumed by them. The surrounding guild members gasped, only for confusion to cross their faces as a shadow figure of Taarini pushed Asena against the bar. The flames died down from Asena and Taarini, the masked mage coming out unscathed.

The shadow figure dissipated in a puff of smoke that traveled along the ashen oak floors. Taarini sighed doubtfully, “We do this every time I come back to the city. We used to be friends. What happened?”

Asena frowned disapprovingly. “You kept leaving.”

Taarini grinned cheekily. “But I got you something this time.”

“And let’s see if Asena can be bought back.” Jericho laughed out, taking a seat at a far corner table, Gemini joining him.

“I don’t know whose side I’m on.” Gemini chuckled lightly, watching intensely. “I love them both dearly.”

“Hon,” Lyra, a fellow guild mage with a curvy body, tanned skin, long white hair with ombre gold ends and silver eyes with flecks of black in the iris, full lips and a slender profile. “I don’t even think you know what side of you you’re on.”

“Aye, I second that.” Jericho and Armazi agreed in harmony. Gemini gasped, looking between both men.

“I’ve been good!” She squealed. “I promise!”

“Here, Gem.” Arealla smiled genuinely. “Have a drink.”

Gemini slid her gaze to Arealla, who handed the girl a bottle of ale. She smiled appreciatively and took a long drink from the neck.

“Or you can just continue to hate me for something I have no control over.” Taarini mused, sliding her mix-matched eyes to Asena. “You also have the option of brawling it out with me. It’s not healthy to bottle your emotions.”

“Says the one that never vents to anyone about anything.” Lyra shot back in an undertone.

Asena grinned maddeningly, standing from her seat. “Oh, I’d really love the chance to burn that mask away.”

“I’d like to see you try, firebreather.” Taarini replied confidently, removing her hood from around her head, revealing her silver hair and gold streaked dreads. “I’ll even make it easier and more tempting for you.”

“Oh,” Kaimana, a male mage with silver and blue hair and aqua eyes muttered. “This just got interesting.”

“I don’t know what you want.” Faolan chuckled. “The flames to lick them or you to lick the flames.”

Kaimana looked at him with a perturbed glare. “Neither, you perv. I want the fight.”

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shroomiething · 5 years

Text

...

The town lay in a dark cluster at the edge of night. A milky band of yellow and green lined the horizon, the lasting remnants of the sunset. Muffled conversation permeated the air. Lanterns winked from existence as the villagers closed their shutters. The town grew still and quiet, and the last rays of sundown eased into a dark swath of blue. All was at peace.

Thudding footsteps echoed in the pines spanning the valley. A man was hurtling through the towering forest, scrambling through the lashing branches. He exploded through the undergrowth with reckless abandon. Panting breaths, wheezing with fatigue, tore through the messenger’s lungs as he burst through the downy ferns. Needles and twigs stabbed into his barren feet with every desperate lunge, but he dared not stop. He dared not look back. He had to reach the citadel.

The town loomed into view through the arching fronds. Barely visible in the scant light of the new moon, the sight of the buildings brought a crashing relief upon the messenger. Help was coming. All he must do was reach the bell tower.

At last, the cold stone of the bell tower slapped against his fingertips. The messenger scurried up the spiraling staircase on all fours; any pretense of dignity had vanished in his desperation to reach the top. At last, with every nerve in his body frayed, the messenger scrambled into the nest at the top of the tower.

He grasped the cold metal hammer and lifted it over his head. “Valitroth!” The messenger howled into the night, his voice echoing through the silent streets.

The word seemed to slice through the air like a flashing sword. At the sound of the single name, the single entity, a shiver passed through the buildings. Hundreds of villagers stirred as one, turning to the sound of the messenger’s desperate wail.

His hammer swung and connected with the massive bell.

CLONG.

The sharp cry reverberated through the valley. Static tension jolted through the village streets in the form of tensed muscles and fearful, clenched lungs. For the villagers now knew that the cry just seconds before was no illusion of their dreams. They knew the purpose for the deafening bangs of the bell.

“Valitroth!” The man howled once more. “A Valitroth is coming! Run! Valitroth!”

CLONG. The bell’s chime stung in his ears, so loud that the messenger felt as if his brain pulsed with lightning. His heart pounded so hard that he could feel it in his gut, slamming like a dragon’s wingbeat.

The air trembled. Despite the clear band of stars, rolling booms of thunder echoed through the village. “The Valitroth is coming!”

CLONG.

The thunderous beats he had mistaken for his heart surrounded the village, rolling through the sky like a black storm. The messenger quailed in his tower as he watched the glittering sky. The thudding in the air was like a chorus of a million drums. It grew closer and closer and closer…

“Vlaid, help me,” the man moaned, his hands clutched over his ears. “I’m too late.”

CLONG.

It appeared over the dark horizon.

A swarm of night black monsters, descending on the town like an eldritch hurricane. Thrashing, spinning, gaping jaws drooling with insatiable hunger. A disgusting horde of unholy massive crows beat their wings and howled into the night as they began their descent. Their beaks gleamed like polished obsidian. Massive feathered wings blotted the stars from existence. The enormous corvidae hunting howls drowned the clanging of the bell. Their scraping cries bit through the village like a knife through butter; the startled townsfolk clutched their hands to their heads in unison.

The frenzied horde was illuminated at the center by a faint red light. It reflected off their oily feathers, outlining their treacherous talons and beady, glinting maws. As the swarm descended lower, the red light grew brighter and brighter, until it seemed as if the very sun blazed in it’s center.

A pillar of white-hot flames erupted from the phoenix’s maw and engulfed the streets of the village. Like a blinding tornado of fire and energy, the beast’s breath devoured the wooden houses.

Smoke and ash choked the air as the villagers cried in terror; they had spotted the monstrous horde above. Clutching one other, the crowd writhed in a riot as they struggled to escape the roaring flames. Mothers cradled their infants. Men and women attempted to force the town gates open, only to find the metal latch melded shut. Children howled and dogs brayed. Within seconds, the town had deteriorated into pure chaos.

And then the horde descended.

Their orange eyes gleamed with triumph. With barking screeches, the monsters swarmed the terrified crowd in a frenzy. Their beaks ripped through flesh and sinew with ease. The screams intensified across the village at the sight of the beast’s bloodthirsty rampage.

Bodies were disassembled as easily as a scythe through wheat. The soil grew ghastly and muddy from the fountains of blood.

Through the shadowy horde soared a beast unlike any comprehension. Twice as large as any of the monstrous corvidae, the being’s feathers glowed hot and red like the bursting flames of a fireball. The shimmering coat gleamed a thousand different iridescent shades. Bellowing a colossal roar, the fiery phoenix descended towards the black buildings. And on it’s back was perched a man.

The Valitroth. The dragon rider.

The phoenix swooped over the carnage, it’s brilliant plumage illuminating the scene as it lowered itself like a gentle kitten onto the blood-soaked soil. It’s beauty was starkly contrasted against the thrashing carnage before it. Not a single drop of blood landed on it’s impeccable, silky, luscious feathers.

On the neck of the colossal phoenix, the Valitroth leaped from his saddle. His pink tunic, red in the glow of his mount’s lustrous feathers, billowed behind him as he leaped. The blood-soaked earth splashed with the impact of his landing. His fine dowries dripping with blood and grit, he raised one slender hand.

The slaughter eased.

Licking their dripping chops, the demonous corvidae swiveled towards the man. Their beady eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Mutilated strips of gore and flesh littered the clearing, the only impression left of the village crowd. They were not all dead; the Valitroth in the fine dowries had sharper ears than any ordinary human, and he could easily detect footfalls among the smoldering houses. He could hear the muffled sobs hiding among the intact homes in the east wing of the city.

The Valitroth lowered his hand. A grim smile edged across his features. Round them up.

The corvidae obeyed his unspoken command. In a flurry of jet-black wingbeats, the beasts took to the skies. The man heard distant explosions and the snapping of splintered wood; throughout the city, fresh screams and shouts of alarm echoed forth.

The corvidae returned with their jaws filled with the hems of villager’s robes. The bodies dangled from their grasps, struggling and crying. They were deposited in a loose gathering at the center of the street. The corvidae perched on the burning houses around the crowd, eyes burning hot as they watched the villagers with greedy intent.

The man turned to his vibrant steed, a curt nod jostling the flawless curls on his shoulders.

The great phoenix lowered it’s maw and released a stream of blinding orange fire upon the crowd. In an intense flash, the villagers were ignited alive. Howls and shrieks pierced the air. Bodies thrashed in the flaming pillar, crying in endless agony. The fleeing peasants were disposed by the ever-watchful demon swarm; with craws of delight, they swooped upon any who slipped free of the crowd.

A field of steaming corpses remained. Flesh sizzled on the mud-streaked soil, and bones jutted from withered carcasses.

The Valitroth strode through the field. With the tip of his sword, he prodded through the corpses as if tending to a fireplace. His search grew wearisome. The flaming buildings crumbled to soot. The only light that permeated the darkness was the hot glow of the phoenix, and the occasional glitter of a star through the smog.

At last, a mutilated body was kicked aside to reveal a bundle of sooty rags. The scorched fabric rustled without a breeze to carry it. A small pink hand emerged from the flaps of the bundle; it grasped towards the man, naive and youthful. High-pitched sobs were emerging through the muffled bundle.

The man smiled as he plucked the rags from the embers. He cradled the baby, rocking it in his arms with a rhythm. The crying ceased as he hummed a gentle lullaby.

“I knew it,” The Valitroth whispered. He stroked the infant’s cheek with a bloodied finger, his black eyes glowing with adoration. “I knew I’d find you here.”

The corpse he had knocked aside seemed to glare with empty, staring sockets. The withered bones grinned at him, one arm outstretched as if still reaching to protect it’s infant.

The man uttered a distasteful scoff. He kicked the skull from the body with a lazy thrust. At once, a chill washed into the man’s muscles; it clutched him, burned him. The trees shivered. Traitor, the wind hissed. The sensation ebbed away as he held his breath.

He released a sigh as the frigidity vanished. “You couldn’t protect her,” The man murmured to the headless corpse. “Don’t worry, Guinevere. I’ll keep her safe.”

The ring of the bell sounded across the valley.

CLONG.

#prologue #original story #original character #oc #og story #goth #gothic #fantasy #original fantasy #original art #self insert #mine #dark #dark fantasy #fairytale #dark fairytale

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keevansixx · 5 years

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The Future Was Now...

I heard an interesting opinion concerning sub-cultures and why, in today’s age, you almost never see any sub-culture being represented on the streets anymore. When you do spy one of these rare individuals out in the wild, it’s like some rare mythical beast of a thing...fleeting, fierce, and wonderous.

Welcome to generation V (V as in “Virtual”, and not vain, vibrant, vitriol, vivacious, nor victor)

The sub-cultures of the past have all died, their digital ghosts haunt the databases like the proverbial zombies of old. Resurrected every so often to wistful nostalgia, and as meme fodder for the youth of today. Gone, are the days of artfully attired denizens of the world... languidly rambling to and fro across the surface of the land, spreading creativity in their wake like massive glaciers carving rivulets in the tapestry of the earth to be witnessed by eyes unseen, and thoughts unbridled. No....those days are long gone and forgotten.

Here I sit, alone in a box of my own design. Shackled to a monitor who’s glow is the only ambient light in the room, I watch the world scroll by in 1′s and 0′s rendered in pixel point perfection into images that my mind perceives as pictures of a world I no longer see, in a land I no longer feel, and a place that only resembles what one would call home. I no longer leave the confines of my prison. No toe crosses the threshold of my room....it’s safe here, and everything I need is in the box....no need to leave, no need to explore, no need to wander anymore.

I’m told what I should eat...and I do so. I’m told what I should be thinking...and I do so. Anything contrary to the will of the mob is quelled with harsh criticisms, threats, and heavy handed browbeating from the lowest common denominator. “No!...thou shall not think outside the box! Thou shalt follow the thought speak of the masses! Thou shalt not have an original thought or opinion! Those are reserved for the popular chattel that have earned their vanity marks in the digital realm.” I’m to remain a good obedient little digital puppet to the will of the masses. I’m told how I should dress....and I do so. The almighty digital overlords demand acquiescence, obedience, and submission to their cyber-hubris. “No creativity allowed that exceeds that of the common person, lest you offend...lest you shame...lest you make feel....the mighty digital overlords.”

“Sounds like a pretty shitty way to live.”...and you’re right...it is.

It starts on any given day, on any given week, of any given year...

I open the window. the moonlight pours in from a harvest moon I haven't seen since I was a kid, alone in the dark, watching the stars go by. I throw on some shoes that were the huge internet trend a few months ago, everybody just absolutely had to get them to be in the vouge of the moment, and walk to the door. Stepping out side, I hear the chime of the monitor, the chirp chirp of the phone screaming out for my immediate attention “Message! Alert! Come respond NOW!” the annoying braying pings, whistles, chirps, and bells that demand obedience and response.

I close the door behind me to the sound of stillness...the sonic detritus silenced by wood and glass, and I beheld the night in all it’s splendor...….glorious!

For the first time in a very long while....I have an original thought.

“What if I'm not the only one..?” “what if, there are others out there like me?” “what if...we found each other?”

Over the many weary months that followed, I slowly weaned myself, bit by agonizing digital bit, from the shackles that bound me to my electronic prison. As each day and night passed, I spent more and more time away. Wandering the empty paths I once trod in my youth. It’s empty now....very few wander anymore outside of those whom make the world turn through service, and the multitude of electronic zombies (E-Zomb’s) faces crammed into phone screens, that move back and forth following their scripted paths of life. Just grunts or the half-hearted handwave to acknowledge that they are still breathing and alive.

I sit alone beneath a large tree in the center of town, watching it all go by...a little notebook open in my lap, where I jot down the most interesting thoughts that pop into my brain from time to time, when I see a purple post-it note pinned to the tree with a thumbtack. On it is an artful picture of an eye wearing a butterfly wing in it’s corner crease, with a small address and time and no designation. I take the note, and put it into my notebook to await evening at the appointed time...curious, but still a little bit cautious.

the sky is a beautiful velvet purple and crimson as the sun sets and I near my destination from the note. I walk along a sidewalk counting the building numbers as I go by, various lamps and street posts begin to ignite into glowing life in the growing dusk. I stop between two buildings, note in my hand, I count the two and note that the number skips one between the two building fronts. I hear old music drifting on the wind between the two storefronts and notice a small painting of an eye with butterfly wings off a ways down the narrow alley between buildings. I step off the well trod sidewalk, and follow the sounds down the alley until I reach a courtyard....like the kind one finds in the special places of New Orleans that aren’t on the tourist maps, nor social media posts.

there are strings of lights everywhere, a few odd pieces of art statues, and wrought iron scattered across the courtyard. sitting on benches are kids in old hippie clothes, goth kids lurking near the stairwells, art kids wearing whatever the hell they stitched together out of a scrap bin and dancing in small groups to whatever was flowing out the speakers surrounding the area. I see street kids, and punk kids, rappers and writers huddled around tables furiously scribbling down lyrics and rhyme. Skaters talking about their latest gnarly shred, plain janes and joes talking about life and oppression....in a word...it was old scenes alive and well and very much kicking in a little courtyard in the middle of nowhere.

I get approached by one of the goth kids and a beautiful hippie girl. They both had smiles on their faces and a welcoming look.

The goth is the first to speak, “hey, new guy....you look a little lost. Anything we can do to help?”

I pull out the purple note and reply tentatively “Not all who wander are lost...”

“and not everyone who do are found....welcome!” beamed the hippie girl.

“well to be honest, it was blind curiosity that led me here, so far....*looking around*....I'm not disappointed.”

The goth dude looks sideways at me, then asks. “so....how long have you been unplugged?”

“About 6 months now, it’s not been easy.”

“Six months? Damn man.....you been alone all this time?”

“Yes....but it gave me time to think, to dream, to see a world I was no longer part of.”

“Wow....that’s deep, Mr. moody.....*eyeroll giggles* welcome to the club!!!” Hippy gal chimes in, “we all found our own ways out of the web in one way or another and sort of found each other by happy accident. You....well, you found one of our calling cards we throw up from time to time for a moot, just to touch bases and stay in touch.”

“Moot???” I reply.

The goth snorts a bit and broodingly says “Moot....a meet-up, soiree, party, get together, picnic, graveyard bash, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” with profound dramatic hand waving. ”We meet up a few times a month in various locales to hob nob with the other unplugged, and share ideas or show off what’s been happening in our own scenes. Art, music, poetry, crafts...basically, all the best of us with none of the digital chains......everything’s on the table, and nothing is taboo. Within reason, of course *smirks* get too lewd and the community here is good about looking out for one another....fair warning.”

“Point taken. Understood. So, why the notes? Why not advertise on a board or through alts?”

Hippie gal grins, and says “Because, sugar, we’re old school.....analog, no digital...rockin’ the paper tags like the punks of old. Only those who unplug, and really start to notice the world around them will find us....like you. Notes on trees...that’s my contribution, people rarely ever look at the trees these days...too busy online with their faces crammed into their phones to notice. The goth crews tag the cemeteries and dark places, other kids leave clues in whatever scene they happen to be in, and we cross post the messages word of mouth in our own ways when we find out about the different moots going on across the cities. Tonight, it’s here in the garden with my tribe, next time it could be anywhere...you just have to keep your eyes open up for the clues as they place them. When in absolute doubt...always check the library...the dungeon/dragon kids always cross post every event they hear about in the stacks. We’re off grid baby! the ultimate “fuck you!” to the digital world. No chains, no obligations, 0 fucks given....living the life that was taken from us one soul at a time.

“Ok, so no online presence. check. Moots posted in randoms if I'm paying attention. check. If lost, check the stack for tags. anything else i’m missing?”

“Well, only thing else is snail....”

“Snail?”

“Snail mail....post office. Look, you’re going to meet people here...If you play your cards right, you might even get land addy’s from some of them. you want to stay in touch? Snail, or wait for the next moot to IRL face time. either way, you’re going to have to dust off those ancient writing skills if you want to stay in the loop. You don’t have to commit to anything...this isn’t an obligation, nor requirement, but it’s old common courtesy to reply when someone sends you a snail. Take a chance! you might just be surprised at what you get.”

“ummm, thanks?”

“No problem....and welcome to the revolution.”

I spend the rest of the evening being introduced to the different groups, watching the event as it unfolds. Being exposed to new ideas, and feelings I haven’t felt for a long long time. I get a few land addy’s from various patrons, and give out mine. It’s kind of nice, being here...in the moment.

the moot winds down, with groups and couples slowly wandering off into the night. I make my way over to a 24hr diner and grab a bite to eat. a few of the attendees are there as well grabbing coffee, or eats, and we continue conversations we had started a few hours earlier. It was a good night.

I make my way home in the early dawn, and for once, in my long life...I feel a sense of profound peace. Like everything, for just one brief moment in the world, is alright. A new glimmer of hope in my mind, and countless dreams just waiting for me to dream. life....is good.

I open the door to my home, the chimes of my digital masters fall on deaf ears for once, and I sleep the peace of the newly freed...

Sometimes, the most profound acts of rebellion involve the most simple of things, like removing oneself from that which binds you....

Welcome to a new sub-culture...may you free yourself from your virtual prisons, break the chains, and take a journey into the unknown.

this is Generation V.....signing off.....

#nightpost #randomthoughts

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hazyheel · 5 years

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WWE Friday Night Smackdown 10/4/19 Review

The season premier of Friday Night Smackdown basically ended up being a normal smackdown that just had a bunch of spectacle around it. Although we had the Rock, who had a good segment, all the other people who came to the event weren’t involved. But we have some interesting setups for some future matches, whether that is in the immediate future or Wrestlemania, along with a couple upsides, so there were some things that ended up promising. Here is my full review of this week’s Friday Night Smackdown.

The set for this show is actually awesome. I love the little tube thing that they have on the entrance ramp, it looks badass. Waaaaaaaaaay better than the Raw set, let me tell you. Stephanie and Vince McMahon came out first. They popped the crowd with a quick “Welcome to fox” type thing, before throwing it to the new theme song. This was all kind of a pre-show thing, so I’m not gonna grade it. And possibly the most exciting thing: A TWO MAN ANNOUNCE BOOTH. Corey Graves and Michael Cole were holding it down, and I’m so excited to see how well they do without a third wheel.��

Becky Lynch Promo: She thanked everyone at smackdown for boosting her up to title level. King Corbin interrupted and walked down to the ring. He told Lynch that she wasn’t the Man anymore, to which she said “step in the ring and we’ll find out.” He did, and I was excited to see Corbin get his comeuppance for attacking her at Extreme Rules, but The fuckin Rock came out instead, which is also good. He and Lynch slapped up in the ring as he posed in the corners, and even without talking, he exudes charisma. It is crazy. Rock talked about how he was the guy who invented the word smackdown. He put the show over a bit, before calling Corbin a Broke Ass Burger King on Crack. Then he hit his catchphrase, saying that he is back home. He was gonna keep going, but Corbin cut him off. Corbin said that Smackdown isn’t his home, and he isn’t the great one anymore. Corbin told him to shut up, so Rock told him that he wasn’t a King, and called him a 35 yer old version who hangs out at Comicon. He said that winning King of the Ring doesn’t make him a King, and just because Becky is the man doesn’t mean she is gonna carry a pair of testicles. Lynch said “yeah, but if I did, they’d be bigger than his.” Corbin kept heeling on LA, before Lynch hit the whole “it doesn’t matter what you think.” Rock then put him over a bit, before calling him a Super Tough Dude (STD), and the crowd chanted it, which Lynch said would stick with him for life (which it won’t but that was clever). Rock then told him that he was getting mad, and told him that Lynch and Rock would kick his ass. The two of them beat him down, and Rock hit the People’s Elbow, followed by a Rock Bottom.

Grade: B. I liked this promo, and of course I loved the Rock. It was perfectly fun, and Lynch actually carried herself really well in this segment. She wasn’t groveling for the Rock at all, she was on equal footing with him, which was good. I don’t like when today’s stars stand shoulder to shoulder with attitude era guys and act like excited little kids. Becky is a star, and she caries herself like one. So yeah, really fun. Sucks that Corbin got the crap kicked out of him though, that kinda hurts him. Highlight of the night.

Becky Lynch & Charlotte Flair vs. Sasha Banks & Bayley: Bayley and Charlotte started things out, with Bayley giving Lynch a cheap shot on the apron, before Charlotte put her down with some strikes. Bayley quickly took control back, and tagged in Banks, only for Charlotte to nail several chops to the chest, and a big boot off the apron. Charlotte went to the top, and Bayley tried to push her off, but Lynch intercepted with a forearm. The ref yelled at Lynch for it, so Bayley was able to push Charlotte off anyway. We cut to commercial, and as we came back, Charlotte was able to give Lynch the hot tag. Lynch took down Bayley with a series of strikes and a huge superman forearm. Bayley was able to fight back by hanging her up on the top rope, but Charlotte got the blind tag. She kneed Bayley in the stomach to take her down, and hit Natural Selection, but Banks broke it up. Everyone then started to brawl in the ring, with the faces coming out on top and throwing both heels to the outside. Charlotte nailed them with a moonsault to the outside, and then threw Bayley back in the ring for the tapout win with the figure 8.

Grade: B. These four together always make for a really good match. This was short, but it did what it had to do. It teased the violent Hell in a Cell match, while setting up a Smackdown Women’s Championship match as well. Good stuff, and a fitting first ever smackdown match.

New Day Interview: Erin Anderson interviewed them, and I wasn’t going to emphasize her at all, but holy crap she is way better than most of WWE’s interviewers. She actually had a personality, so that was refreshing. Kofi Kingston said that he will win despite being the underdog, and Big E and Xavier Woods confirmed that they wouldn’t be in Kingston’s corner in the main event. Hopefully we will get more Renee Young backstage, with a similar amount of personality.

Seth Rollins vs. Shinsuke Nakamura: Before the match, Bray Wyatt came on the screen, and introduced his puppets. Ramblin Rabbit told Rollins not to fight the Fiend, but Wyatt interrupted him. They then showed Mercy the Buzzard killing Ramblin Rabbit in a Hell in a Cell representation. He told Rollins that was what will happen to him in their match on Sunday, before leaving. Nakamura came out with Sami Zayn. The match started, and Nakamura immediately tried for an armbar. Rollins powered him up and nailed a buckle bomb, followed by a pair of suicide dives. The two then fought back into the ring, where Rollins nailed a springboard knee, and then a superkick to the face. He had Nakamura set up for the Curb stomp, but the lights went out. Rollins booked it to the top of the stage, where the Fiend was able to lock in the mandible claw once again, before throwing him off the stage.

Grade: C+. The match was going pretty well, and the attack was cliche at this point although somehow managed to be fresh with a bit of fight from Rollins. But this was just good enough in my opinion.

Kevin Owens vs. Shane McMahon in a Career vs. Career Ladder Match: As the announcer was giving Shane his huge introduction, Owens attacked, and the match was off. Owens took Shane down by smacking him into a ladder bridge, and tried to get up the ladder. Shane pulled him off and hit a side Russian leg sweep. The two brawled beside the ladder, until Owens took it down and threw it at Shane, who ducked. Shane took control after nailing Owens in the back with the ladder, and then set Owens up on the table. He smacked Owens in the head with part of the announce table, before putting him through it with an elbow drop. We cut to commercial, and when we came back, Owens put Shane through a ladder bridge with a huge frog splash. Owens started to climb up, but Shane got back up and started to attack him with a chair. He beat the hell out of Owens with it for a bit, before putting him down in the corner and then setting up a Coast to Coast with the ladder. He was able to nail it, and Owens rolled out of the ring. Shane then started to climb the ladder slowly, but Owens grabbed his foot, and pulled him down for a powerbomb into a ladder that was set up in the corner. Owens then grabbed the briefcase and got the win.

After the match, Owens told Shane that he was fired, and gave him a stunner.

Grade: B-. This match was fine, it had a few big spots. This was just good enough to be in the positive, and the right guy won. Good stuff. That splash through the ladder looked brutal though.

Paul Heyman interview: He just yelled a little bit about how Kingston was gonna lose to Lesnar.

Heavy Machinery, Braun Strowman and The Miz vs. AJ Styles, Randy Orton, Dolph Ziggler and Robert Roode: Miz and Ziggler started out, and Ziggler nailed a Zig Zag almost right away, but Miz countered back with a DDT. Strowman then tagged in, and took out Ziggler a couple times with huge tackles, only for Roode to break up the pin. Everyone hit a finisher real quick, and landed on the outside. Stromwan then ran around the ring to give everyone a shoulder tackle. Strowman then started to yelled at Tyson fury in the front row, and they playfully jaw jacked a bit, until he threw Ziggler into him on the barricade. Fury then started to scream at him, allowing Ziggler to nail a superkick. That only made Strowman more mad, and he gave Ziggler a Running Powerslam for the win.

After the match, Fury tried to ump the barricade, but a bunch of security ran out to stop him. Eventually, after swearing a lot, he backed down.

Grade: C-. I’m bumping this down for celebrity involvement. The match was just kinda boring and simple, but the real story of this match is Fury and Strowman. I smell a Wrestlemania match, unless they wanna blow their load early.

Roman Reigns vs. Erick Rowan in a Lumberjack Match: Daniel Bryan was on commentary, and Luke Harper wasn’t at ringside at all. They all both put each other on the outside early on, but when Rowan was on the outside, he fought off the lumberjacks, and even caught Reigns as he came in with a flying splash and threw him into the barricade. When we came back from commercial, they fought each other a bit with their signature offense. As they were fighting, Luke Harper started to walk down. Bryan met him in the ramp and they brawled, and the lumberjacks tried to gain control, only for Reigns to take everyone out with his splash into the crowd. Rowan then powerbombed Ali into Reigns, before bringing him into the ring with a running splash. He was about to hit the iron claw, but Reigns countered and hit a superman punch. Harper then ran in to save Rowan, only for Bryan to nail a Running Knee. Rowan then went to give Bryan the iron Claw, but Reigns nailed a spear for the win.

After the match, Reigns and Bryan shook hands.

Grade: C. I don’t really like lumberjack matches, but we need these types of Lumberjack matches in order to have a good one once in a blue moon. The closing stretch was pretty fun, with Harper and Rowan getting involved. Although this match did get me excited for the tag match on Sunday, so it did what it had to. Not a great match though.

Kofi Kingston vs. Brock Lesnar for the WWE Championship: Kofi actually came out last, which was good, because I didn’t expect him to. Kofi tried to jump at Lesnar, only for him to catch him on his shoulders and it one F5 for the win.

After the match, Rey Mysterio and CAIN FUCKING VELASQUEZ came down to the ring. And took him down, and started to hammer him with shots. Lesnar quickly retreated, and contemplated fighting Velasquez for a bit, before ultimately walking away with fear in his eyes.

Grade: C. So, at first I was pissed about the match going so quick, but honestly, it was kinda effective. I think that, if they were gonna just give Lesnar the WWE Championship, they should’ve had him cash in on Kingston to win it here. Disappointing, and a real missed opportunity, but the squash was a good way to get heat on Lesnar. That being said, that was a very unexpected debut, and I definitely popped for it. That is a big get, even if he is just freelancing for them. Quite the way to close the first Friday Night Smackdown.

Overall Grade: C+

Pros: The Rock and The Man promo; Lynch & Flair vs. Bayley and Banks

Cons: 8-man tag; lumberjack match; main event

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missmorior · 5 years

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just a thing- unfinished but i wanna share it elsewhere so i’m putting it here

Log date 24/09/XX

My name is Fen.

This was the first thing that had returned to me upon resurrection. Eons ago it may have been longer, as this feels like a nickname more than one proper. This… Ghost, assures me that forgetfulness is normal. To remedy it, I have decided to keep a log with what I know, so that I might piece together who I once was before I was chosen by the Traveller to wield its light.

I know that now, I am… Something. A protecter of those without the light. There are not many of us, and in the wake of the Darkness, humanity is scattered to the winds- terrified but still trying to survive. Many struggle to wield this power, to shape it, but I have no such hurry. My priorities lie with the people. I pick up what weapons I can scavenge or piece together, and when bullets run out, I have my fists. The energy that consumes my actions feels… empty. Like a Void. There is comfort in it.

Log date 08/04/XX

My name is Fen. I am a Defender Titan. My ghost is called Horus. My mission is to protect the Last City.

I have not been as good at keeping a log as I had once thought. The scattered entires have been bothering me more and more now that I have remembered who I once was. A scientist under the employ of one Clovis Bray. I did not always agree with his methods but… I believe it was the only way for me to have had the freedom I desired for my work. Exos. I was one of the few who helped develop the creatures. I see them, every now and again, and am filled with mixed emotion. Joy, at seeing a creation realized. Sorrow, at knowing that not all of their programming was entirely mechanical. Disgust at…

But I digress.

I log now to account for my found fireteam. It has been decades since I have thought to form such a close knit unit, I had thought this old woman too seasoned for it. These two are young, having only recently been brought back to life. I fear for them at times. Their youth begets recklessness, believing themselves truly immortal after the first few deaths. They are high on their Light and eager to earn approval. The Warlock burns as bright as a star, her Light blinding and difficult to look at when she bursts from ash like a Golden Age myth. She is an Awoken, a true child of the Reef who fought against the Fallen, and still has the rage to show it. There is no quiet of the Void within her like my own Light, and I believe it frustrated Ikora at times to see a guardian under her watch who is so determined to buck her teachings. Never let her learn of the storm- I fear instead of control, she would let the Arc run rampant. Speaking of… Our odd third member. An Exo that was found within the depths of the Hellmouth, whose ghost knew of her existence but was terrified to traverse the Moon. I understand. But years rotting away within that unknown liquid which spawns the Hive have left her without a voice and whatever color her metal once was, it is now unnatural darkness. Fitting that this creature became a Hunter. The Bladedance called to that one, I see her blinking from perch to perch. I wonder what Cayde-6 thinks of her; a silent Hunter among his yipping coyotes.

We have worked together to bring down the Hive creature- Crota. Our part not too significant but with these two I have no doubt we will be throwing ourselves into the fray all too soon. There are stirrings from the outer reaches of the Reef and the Fallen have grown too quiet. The Warlock grows restless. We may yet be flying out to her home soon.

Log date 10/10/XX

My name is Fen. I am a Defender Titan. My ghost is named Horus. I miss my Fireteam.

Nostalgia is a new thing. I have never longed for days gone by, but in the wake of the containment of SIVA Lyra and Blink have left to pursue their own goals while I remain behind in the city. Don’t get me wrong, I love the people of the city and have found fulfillment in helping to train new Guardians. These young people, so full of life and light.. They make me feel young again! One young Titan has become something of an apprentice to me. A human by the name of Claudius. He too has no memory of his past, like so many I’ve seen, and views the loss as a challenge. He wants to become someone who his past life would have been proud of. I wonder… Have I become that? Ha, the youth these days… He’s fallen in with two Warlocks also under my tutelage, and I have faith they will be an incredible team. And we once more return to what began this log. Lyra remains out at the Reef, assisting her people in rebuilding their home and consoling those still reeling from the loss of their Queen and Prince. She manages to send messages now and again, that their work is going well, and the Awoken are banding together even stronger than before. However they are few and far between… I wonder, will she ever return to the Tower? Or will she choose to remain with her kin now? Blink has chosen to remain at Fellwinter Peak among the Iron Lords, and recent news has shown that she has fully proven herself as one of them. I still see her now and again within the Crucible when I take my trainees to see how fully fledged Guardians fight. Her Bladedance is still chaotic as ever, and the laughter as she blinks her way through seasoned fireteams to unleash destruction makes me long for our days as a team. To bring us together again and show these young ones how a real fireteam fights.

Ah, I’ve wasted enough time. A message is coming through from Commander Zavala on an urgent channel.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==

Log… Request Access… ********* Access Granted…… >Name query…. Data missing Query- “who are you?”….. >Data missing Query- “what are you?”….. >Exo. Model- unknown. Function- exploration and scouting. Query- “can you see me?”….. >Answer: yes. You are the annoying little light. You are also entertaining to irritate. Query- “can you speak?”…. >Answer: no. sensors indicate voice module has suffered extensive damage. >System query: how long have i been deactivated? Answer: “A very long time.” >System query: what am i? Answer: “A Guardian. Specifically? A hunter, though I don’t know what s-“… >Answer terminated. Too longwinded. The glowing human with you thinks I’m funny too. >System query: what is your name? Answer: “Well, I’m a ghost- oh no I can see that look don’t you cut me off again! I don’t have one-“….. >Understood. System memory recalls someone of similar fondness. They are dead now. >System believes that you would fit the name. >System query: set ‘Ghost’ name to ‘Desmond’…..? >Permission Granted….. Saving for reference….. >System query: can we hurry up and destroy some hive monstrosities Answer: “Copy that, Guardian. Let’s get you armed.”

Log……. Request Access… **************** Access Denied… ‘Cayde_is_a_loser’ is not the password, no matter how many times it has been tried >System message: Damn. Request Access… ************** Access Granted……. >System query: how long since the SIVA crisis?…. 2 years. 14 days. 7 hours. 57 minutes. >Name query….. System name set to “Blink” >System query: search systems for reference of prior system names…… Results found, would you like to restore name to “Nova-88”? >Denied…. System name remains set as “Blink” >System message: So.. Another of these logs. Des thinks he’s the only one with fancy machine bits, ha! It’s been.. A while, since I’ve bothered with these. I never took stock in the past, but more and more it’s been coming up. I don’t trust it. This SIVA business was made by Clovis Bray, who Fen and Whatever-good used to work for. There was the simulated emotions as well that were transmitted biologically and mechanically by Guardians a while back there too. Secret-y nonsense that not even the Warlocks understood. The Iron Lords returned and as much as I adore my brothers and sisters here… I think even Saladin realizes that my pack is not among them. My calling, yes. I can do the most good here and out in the wilds, not under the Vanguard’s jurisdiction. Systems still remain dodgy but I think I’m finally over it all. The Light fills in what bits are missing from my programming so I don’t even bother with trying to recover any lost memory from the previous 87 iterations of myself. They aren’t me anyway. I’m the only one who’s been a Guardian. Probably has a lot to do with the Vex tech that always makes me malfunction anyway and I don’t want to know more about them. They’re murderous robots. I kill the murderous robots. Tada! The End. Done. Anyways I have this story to record about the newbies who keep trying to climb to the top of Fe- >System reminder….. Meeting with Fireteam member ‘Havoc’ in approximately: 2 hours. Travel by ship will take: 1 hour 30 minutes. >System message: Ughhhhhh… I promised to meet her new protege. Right. This is Blink, signing off.

Log……….. Request Access….. ************************* Access De- >nO FUCK THAT THIS IS MY PROGRAMMING. SYSTEM OVERRIDE. Access Granted….. >System message: It’s gone. It’s gone it’s gone it’s gone it’s gone it’s gone it’s all gone. Why did this happen? How did this happen? Desmond is nowhere- I’ve been looking. Please let him be okay, please please please please- I can’t find my guns. There’s nothing to fight with. Where is Havoc? She was here too. I know she was I KNOW she was. What was his name… what was his NAME. I’ll KILL him. How DARE he. HOW DARE HE. >Proximity alert: friendly signature detected on approach >System query: identify signature. who’s still here >Signature identified as: Rabbit (Fiery Space Witch) >System message: Oh praise the Traveller, it’s Lyra. Someone’s alive. Someone’s safe. We need to get out. Away. I still need Desmond oh please please let him be- DESMOND. >Desmond: “Guardian… You’re alive.. I was so worried….” >System message: It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. I was so scared. The Light is gone.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

#mori writes

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mountmicrophone · 6 years

Photo

This isn't the Swans people were expecting on a Swans comeback album, it's not quite as experimental or as "out there" as a lot of their material, and it also lays some pretty straight forward foundations as opposed to the pushing of the envelope we have come to expect from Swans. The line-up taking a huge jump from where the band left off with Soundtracks for the blind, the absence of Jarboe being the biggest change.

Michael Gira reactivating the seemingly never ending journey that is Swans

But what this album does, it does very well.

No Words/ No Thoughts is a great little opener. It really does help lay down the mood for what to expect on this album. It's a dusty trip across the desert under the beautiful stars seen on the artwork for this album. Unfortunately like the majority of the tracks here this entire piece feels like it is reaching for something higher, something more epic. Unfortunately this is something that they don’t quite grab here for the most part. Fortunately Swans manage to find that higher sound on their next trilogy of albums, a real sweet spot in music history if you ask me.

One of the most memorable songs on here is Reeling the Liars In. The melody ever so memorable, and the lyrics quite messed up

"We are removing their face, collecting their skin".

Sonically this carries on that dusty desert theme, riding horseback through the middle of the night, needing to get to your destination before sunrise.

Jim is a song I have had the pleasure of seeing live during a Michael Gira solo show, and boy seeing the swagger that we hear on this recorded version of the song in person is something quite fantastic. This is easily my favourite song that My Father has to offer, it's truly a menacing beast of a song.

"Let's piss on the city that's burning down there!" Gira belows,

"Take your mechanical beast to heaven, ride your beautiful bitch to the ultimate sin!" he snarls as you spectatein awe.

My Birth almost foreshadows what we can soon be expecting from Swans, the chainsaw like guitars roaring away as Gira recites his lyrics to us, really trying to make a more lasting impression within the listeners mind.

Eden Prison does not fuck around, it's menacing and its delivery is fierce. It's one of the big stand out tracks here. The rhythmic passing towards the end of this track just brays the listener over the head repeatedly as if the instrument is trying to relay a message or a feeling. For me every track to this point is building up to this moment that is so full of sound it's almost empty. It feels like a strong statement of being trapped, and is a very impressive moment here.

And the final track here is Little Mouth, it feels like a very traditional style of Swans almost reaching back to their White Light or Love of Life days. Gira's voice being the main centre piece here as he guides this track along.

This isn't Swans as we know it, but did we ever actually know Swans? This is the perfect bridge connecting the final version of Swans in the 90s, all the Gira solo projects in-between, and the trilogy of albums to come that people dote over so much. It isn't their best, but it's certainly a worthwhile addition to the Swans legacy.

#Swans #michael gira #My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky #2010 #Review #album review #album reviews #albumreviews #albumreview #Experimental Rock #Noise Rock #Folk Rock #Post Punk #Post Rock #8

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sunriseoverastorea · 6 years

Text

Kind Strangers

♬ Jeremy Soule - In the Forests of Tamriel

Morning dawns too early. The hard wooden floor aches against her festering burns, but she pushes herself up, breathing heavily from the effort, and blinks bleary, crusty eyes into the darkened room. The fire has gone out, completely extinguished, and the light from the windows adds little shape and form at this hour. Silence sits heavy in the cottage, weighing down the boughs of herbs hung from the ceiling, a basket heaped with clothing by the back door, her fallen apple from the night before where it sits beneath the table, forgotten, browning.

She listens for the sound of breathing. Instead, the rustle of grass answers her question.

Lurching to her feet, the shadowy room spins around her, and she nearly falls against the door as she rushes towards it, throwing it open and racing after her captives. Under normal circumstances, she could easily catch up—Maegan moves swiftly despite her hefty skirts, perhaps twenty paces away, but Tomas slows her down. She pulls him along by the hand, until she hears the bang of the front door, and then she picks the boy up and runs, feet crunching in the frosty grass.

Marea slips and slides in the dampness, pain blinding her, vision peppered with shifting splotches of black as she fights to keep up. Agonizing minutes seem to pass by, but in fact, it is only a few seconds—she flings herself at Maegan, latching onto the back of her shirt, and they both collapse to the ground, Tomas flung aside as the women grapple for dominance, briefly rolling about before Marea's prosthetics take control, forcing Maegan down by the shoulders with her steely grip.

“Thought I said I didn't wanna kill you,” Marea pants, smiling thinly, eyes wide and wild.

“You think I'm a fool? You always planned on killing us. I could see it in your face. You're a madwoman,” Maegan hisses, snarling even as she stares death in the eye. “You're a monster.”

“No news to me.” Marea shrugs slightly, shifting her right hand to Maegan's throat, and lifting her left in the air, flexing the fingers stiffly before settling them into a tight fist. “But if what you say is true, this is a whole new world, a fresh start, and I can be whatever I want to be. So thanks for nothing.”

With one swing of her left arm, Maegan's face is splattered in the dewy dawn grass.

Marea's heart leaps into her throat as a single crack of thunder rings out in the clearing. A bullet whizzes past her, flying uselessly into the distance, and she slowly raises her hands in the air, turning to face Tomas as she gets to her feet. The little boy stands ten feet away, trembling, tears glistening on his cheeks, Marea's pistol held aloft in his hands.

“Oh, c'mon. Put it down,” Marea says softly, trying to sound comforting, though her voice wavers from exhaustion. “You won't wanna live with yourself after you do that. I killed somebody when I was your age. Hard to cope with.”

The boy begins to bawl, sobbing without restraint, face screwed up in a terrible expression of desolation. Marea takes a few steps towards him, hands tentatively outstretched for the gun, when a shot rings out yet again. It dents and dings off her left arm, and she throws caution to the wind, charging forward as Tomas fires off one last bullet, which connects—it embeds itself in her thigh, and she yelps and collapses in pain, right on top of him, wrenching the gun from his hands with ease and shoving it down his throat. She pulls the trigger, and it clicks. Empty.

A quick, clear snap echoes in the clearing, like a sapling tree felled in the cold of winter. She gets to her feet, and she limps back to the cottage, windows dark and gaping. With the iron sky above her, stars faded but sun not yet risen, she feels a strange, sudden closeness around her. Similar to her connection with magic in Tyria—but certainly not the same. Only one word comes to mind, but she knows that it is just longing, for familiarity, for certainty, a longing which she has never felt before, and she knows she will soon forget.

“Grenth,” she says into the cool, lifeless air. “If you can hear me—don't let my journey be like this.”

And she opens the door to the cottage, slipping behind stone walls.

The time before sunrise is a checklist. She ventures upstairs, where the sleeping quarters are. The Ferny's had fine furniture, for peasants, and she goes through an ornate wooden wardrobe, searching for clothes that will fit her. Maegan's stockings and a long blouse with flouncy sleeves will do, then she takes a thin summer skirt and rips a slit straight up the side, making it mobile. She slips on the woman's spare boots, old and worn, a bit too big, and then she whimpers in pain as she climbs on the bed to reach the sword that hangs above it. She yanks the weapon from its fastenings on the wall, inspecting it briefly. Blade dull but highly ornamented, with swirling vines adorned by grapes, and a hefty hilt with an elegant guard. An heirloom, most likely, that could be easily sharpened into fighting shape again.

In a large chest at the foot of the bed, she finds books. She flips through the pages, covered in foreign lettering, beautiful to behold but still utter nonsense, much like the accents of the people who wrote them. She takes the smallest downstairs with her, some entertainment for the road.

She picks up her apple from beneath the table and chomps away at the mushy flesh. Out behind the cottage, she goes to the small stables and throws the gates open, setting loose goats and pigs and a couple cows, along with one strange animal that almost fills her with joy, only to steal it away so cruelly. It hobbles out last, slightly too fat and making a ridiculous honking sound. At a glance, it appears to be a small horse—a pony, she recalls, is the word—but its legs are much too stout, and its face too round and homely. It brays at her loudly, trying to rub its snout against her own, and she clumsily pivots and strides away with a groan, rolling her eyes.

“You're a fucking liar, y'know that? You're a lying—thing. Heehaw. Lying Heehaw.”

As the sunrise fills the sky with verdant amber light, turning wisps of clouds blue and making the dewy grass glitter, Marea drags two bodies back to the cottage, depositing them in the kitchen with little thought for staging their deaths. Maegan would have had to bang her face against the wall with the force of an airship to mangle it the way Marea's hand did.

And as the beginnings of blue glow upon the horizon, Marea limps through the forest, and emerges in the quiet, green clearing where she arrived. She rummages through the debris thoroughly. She digs a small hole with a piece of scrap metal, and into it goes most of what remains, which she cannot carry—a few books, charred but intact. Her kitty pistol, partially melted. A bag of jerky, just in case. Then she lodges the piece of sheet metal over them, like a protective cover, Horiz staring up at her in the dirt. And she brushes leaves over the grave.

She returns to the homestead as sun floods the fields, a fine mist rising from them and soothing her aching, tormented flesh. The Heehaw honks at her, and now she obligingly goes to it, just barely heaving herself onto its back. The bullet in her thigh pulses with pain, and as she settles into place, the weight finally off her legs, she sighs in relief.

She isn't sure how to steer the Heehaw, but it seems to know where she wants to go. It immediately starts north, and after less than an hour, it clomps onto a middling dirt road, smooth and well-traveled, though on this day, it's as empty as the stone cottage she leaves behind. A sense of peace overcomes her. The sun warm on her neck. In her backpack, a book, Gippa's notes, a handful of jerky, her eye piece, her M pistol and the bullets she rescued from her kitty gun, all sit heavily upon her burned shoulders. The Ferny family sword bumps against her hip, hung from Frank Ferny's ill-fitting belt.

And the Heehaw clops onward, into uncertain lands. She watches the trees for a while, their long arms lacing overhead. Until, after a time, she closes her eyes, and she slumps forward onto the head of her mount, arms swaying in time with its steps.

Physician Telford saw little excitement in his little town of Archet. Most of his days were spent idle in the doorway to his practice, chatting with Hosta, a fine and charming housewife who sold baked sweets in the next building over. She would lean out her window, waving her hand and asking if he wanted a slice of fresh apple pie. And of course he did, for what else was he to do? Treat the occasional spider bite? Admittedly, the spiders in the area were monstrously huge, but at least they did not rend and maim as creatures in faraway lands did.

So, Hosta would bring him a slice of pie, and they would pick over it together on his porch. She would sit upon the water barrel to be at eye level with him, and they'd have a good chat, about husbands and wives, humans and hobbits, the state of the town and the surrounding estates. And then they would part, and Telford would watch from his shopfront as the sun sank lower in the sky, and yet another day of contentment passed by him.

But today, as he goes outside and waits for Hosta to wave from her window, he turns the other way in surprise, wide-eyed, as he watches the little lady and a handful of men leading a donkey down the street, with the petite shape of a person slumped upon it.

“What is this? An injured traveler?” he exclaims, jogging down the lane to meet them.

“Yes Mr. Telford, so it seems. She's a woman, wee small thing, and in terrible shape.” Hosta reaches up and pats the woman's leg, recoiling as her hand comes away damp with blood that has soaked through the stranger's stockings. “Bill here says she's been badly burned, and her skin is all clammy. Reckon she needs your immediate attention.”

“Of course, right away!” Telford stays a step ahead of the men as they lift the woman off her donkey, and carry her through the low doorway into the physician's shop. He darts around frenetically, wringing his hands, eager to help and overwhelmed that his help is truly needed.

He watches attentively as the woman is laid on the patient bed, and then he shoos the others away with a waving of his hands. “Out, out, this requires my full attention. Hosta, however, can stay. As my assistant.”

“I certainly can,” the woman says proudly, not at all ashamed with her own morbid fascination for the unconscious body in the room. She shuffles up to the bedside, resting her elbows on the mattress as she stares at the strange woman's face.

“Looks like she's been through a lot in the past, even before this. Poor little thing, women should not be made into fighters, I always say. There's enough men to do it themselves.”

“Yes, well, some women simply want to fight,” Telford replies absently, fishing supplies from a series of cupboards along the wall, and then sweeping over to his patient, carefully shifting the fabric of her skirt, and then her stockings, until her harrowed flesh is exposed to the air. Hosta gags a bit, but doesn't look away.

“What do you think happened to her?” the halfling gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Did she fall into a bonfire?”

“That, and more. She seems to have some sort of puncture wound as well, and that's only the legs. No doubt there will be more to come—perhaps I should not have asked you to stay.”

“No, I can handle it. I'll keep my mouth shut, if need be.”

“Thank you,” Telford replies with a gentle smile, reaching up to the woman's neck and examining an utterly destroyed piece of black cloth that hangs there, more of a frayed, singed rag than a bandana. “Later, when this is taken care of, we can eat a whole pie. And we'll share it with the girl, too.”

Later comes after many hours. Marea opens her eyes, blurry at first. A low, wooden-beamed ceiling comes into focus, and she glances to her left, across the room, where a window, made hazy by bubbled glass, lets the festive warmth of a sunset stretch upon the floor and flow over her pillow. She distinguishes two chattering shapes sitting on stools by that window. They speak in hushed voices, one quite a familiar form, a man of average build, perhaps a tad short. He towers over the silhouette across from him, with the long curly hair of a woman, and a much stouter stature. The height of an asura, maybe, with feet like a platypus's, and a covered bundle on her lap.

Marea abruptly sits up, gritting her teeth and ignoring the flaring of pain in her shoulders and back.

“Oh no, no no no! Not so fast, my dear!” exclaims the asura-sized shape, quickly hopping down from her stool and rushing over to Marea. “Be gentle with yourself, you have been gravely injured in most unusual ways.”

Marea stares at the little woman for a long moment, incessant dotage rising and falling in the background without ever being heard. Finally, as the man comes up beside the bed and rests his hand against her forehead, Marea speaks.

“You're a dwarf.”

The woman immediately goes silent, for quite a long moment, before bursting into laughter, throwing her head back and slapping the man's knee.

“Oh, did you catch that, Telford? No brain damage there, still got her sense of humor!”

“My sense of—what?”

“Just ignore her,” Telford interjects, nudging his companion aside as he stoops down beside Marea's bed. He reaches for her wrist, before catching himself, and placing his fingers to a pulse point on her neck instead. “Hosta is a dear friend of mine. But perhaps not the best bedside manner.”

Marea blinks at him, at the warm touch of his hands on her patch of unburned skin. She looks down at herself, wrapped to the waist in clean white sheets, and the rest of her torso wrapped in bandages. Her prosthetics are out in the open, and the doctor seems not to care.

“You—understand me?” Even as she asks, she feels the round, elegant slant of the words on her tongue. Rajya always said she was a fast learner, a gift for language, when she applied herself.

Telford raises his brows, tilting his head this way and that. “More or less. You certainly sound like nothing I've ever heard before. Are you some adventurer, then? And tell me, when I knock on this side of your head, how does it feel?”

“It kinda hurts—”

“—The south! I bet you come from the south, on those fabled shores,” interjects Hosta, curls bobbing as she yammers on, “We never see anyone from that far away, all the way up here. But you look like sea-faring stock.”

“...Yeah. I'm from the south,” Marea says flatly, flinching as Telford proceeds to knock on the other side of her head. “If that's, that's what you said.”

“Perhaps you could talk a bit slower for our patient, Hosta,” Telford chides, beckoning her back to the bedside. “We must sound as odd to her as she does to us.”

“Very well, very well. Pie time?” The stout woman quickly unwraps the bundle she carries, revealing a blueberry pie, already sliced and still faintly warm from the oven. Acting without thinking, Marea immediately reaches over and grabs a handful right out of the middle, and shoves it in her mouth, smearing dark juice all around her lips. Hosta cackles with delight, though she produces a fork from the pocket of her apron and eats in a more tidy manner, while Telford gazes at the motion of Marea's prosthetics, captivated.

“Well,” the doctor starts, tearing his gaze away and sweeping up a little bite of pie with his finger, “I suppose you would like to know your condition. You arrived around noon on the back of a donkey, unconscious, and--”

“--A donkey?” Marea blurts out. “A suitably stupid name.”

“It was a donkey, yes. Anyway, we took you in and treated you for several hours, throughout the afternoon. You have severe burns all over your legs, and on your back and the back of your neck, as you most likely realized. It will take weeks, if not months, for them to fully heal, but you will be scarred for life.” He pauses, as if waiting for the waterworks, but Marea just shrugs, grabbing another handful of pie.

“Shoulda seen my old scars. Won't be that different,” she says dismissively.

“Mm, you have high spirits. A good sign. You also have a deep gash upon your forehead, which seems to have missed vital areas, but we will need to keep you awake for twenty-four hours to be sure that you remain amongst the living. I also treated several minor cuts across your person. Your final ailment, though—I've never seen anything quite like it.”

Marea stares at him, munching away noisily, waiting for the inevitable questions she must dodge.

“The puncture wound on your thigh—it was made by this small metal projectile.” He pulls the bullet from the pocket of his tunic, and holds it out for her to see. “My first thought was that it came from a slingshot, but truly, there is no way it could have buried itself so deep if that were the case. So I must ask, do you know what it is?”

Marea widens her eyes and shakes her head, a picture of perfect innocence. “Not a clue. I had something in my leg? I had no idea, I thought I was just crispy and tender.”

Hosta chuckles and shakes her head, popping a bite of pie in her small mouth. “Crispy and tender, oh good grief. You sound funny and you make funny, too.”

Telford sighs, placing the bullet in his pocket and patting it for safekeeping. “As I feared. You know, Hosta, the bard did bring tales of strange things along the North-South Road. What do you think? Do you recall any metal projectiles?”

Hosta shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “No, only strange hooded things, screeching in the night, the stuff that spooks children. That old man is always full of nonsense. It's not fair that all we get is a washed-up harpist, while my cousins in Hobbiton get regular visits from the wizard with the fireworks.”

“Wizard?” Marea cuts in, her face lighting up as she licks the last bit of crumbly pie from her fingers. “Like, a guy who does magic?”

“Of course, what else would a wizard be? He has a very long beard, I've heard, so you know he's legitimate.”

Telford shakes his head, tut-tutting under his breath. “I say he can keep his fireworks. We live in a modern age, an age of science, Hosta. Better to keep such whimsy and superstition at arms length. Leave it to the elves, who we rarely have to see.”

Marea mouths the word silently, elves.

“Anyway,” Telford begins again, rising to his feet. “I imagine you must be tired, Miss—forgive me, all this time, I did not think to ask your name.”

“Marea,” she says, opening her mouth to add Sleekfur, but she holds it back. Uncertain how it might be perceived.

“Marea. Quite a lovely name. You must be tired, but since you cannot sleep yet, I will send Hosta on her way, and keep you awake myself.”

“Ohhh, Telford!” the little woman whines dramatically, though she smiles broadly, already shuffling to the door. “I will be by in the morning to check on you, little one,” she chimes to Marea, waving as she slips out into the street.

“Little one,” Marea murmurs, shoulders slumping.

“She likes to call humans that,” Telford explains, pulling his stool over to the bedside, and perching upon it. “Now, what would you like to discuss, to keep you awake?”

Marea taps her chin slowly, licking her chapped lips, the remnants of blueberry flavor making her mouth water. “I'd rather just listen, actually. I have a book. Can you read it to me? Good practice, for the accent, thing,” she adds, pulling on her earlobes.

“It would be my pleasure,” the doctor replies, a warm, genuine smile crinkling his face. A face that could belong to any man, anywhere, yet somehow, in this one, she senses true kindness.

#rp post #marea the silent #chasing arcadia #schmoozing with dem locals #totally didn't just murder an entire family #I need to remember to write about poor Pen in the next one #also do not judge me for using the same soundtrack!!#it is perfect for the occasion

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therealsymmetra · 7 years

Text

//Six Feet

“Don’t look back, keep running,” Bray’s voice was hoarse as they dashed through the frozen wilderness.

His hand was pressed firmly to the smaller Awoken’s back, keeping them within arm’s length so that he could easily cover them if needed. He could hear their panicked breathing, nearly matching his own, the frigid winter air stinging his chest with every breath. He felt like his lungs were bleeding, like he would soon collapse in on himself, but the sounds of dogs barking and men yelling kept his burning legs from stalling.

They dashed out of the tree line, ambient light from the compound behind them casting an eerie glow on the fog that hung lowly across the ground. Their boots crunched over snow, and as they traveled further into the mist Bray started to feel the beginnings of hope, that he and Cas had made it unlike the others. They were free. It wasn’t until Cas slipped from his grasp that that hope began to fracture. He heard them yelp, go down quickly and a peculiar rumbling noise echo out from beneath their feet. He tried to stop himself only to slide as well, searching wildly for Cas as he hit the ground hard. All the air left him for a moment as he tried to stop himself from slipping further away from where he and Cas last were together. It was then, laying on the ground that he realized their grave mistake. He swiped at the earth below him, pushing aside snow to be face to face with a thick sheet of ice. Bray didn’t know the area well before he was taken to the complex, they could have very well wandered onto some kind of body of water, frozen due to the winter.

“Bray!” He heard Cas cry, not too far from him, his heart jumping into his throat as he searched them out, squinting through the night until his eyes adjusted and the moon peeked out from behind thick dark clouds.

He saw them, a couple yards away, on their hands and knees, white hair hanging in their face as they tried to right themselves.

“Cas don’t move!” Bray warned, a hefty creak echoing out from where Cas was trying to stand.

“They’re coming!”

“I know, I know, please, don’t. Move.” Bray tried to even his voice, tried to calm them, but he could see the panic grip them as the voices grew closer. Bray dropped onto his stomach, pulling himself painfully slow across the ground, the slipperiness of the ice losing all meaning as it caught on his jacket and pants.

“I’m coming to you stay down Cas.”

They weren’t listening, they were too frightened, he could tell in the way they kept throwing glances over their shoulder back from where they came. The ice continued to groan and shutter, with every move Cas made Bray could feel it vibrate out to him.

“Stop! Cas! Listen to me, please love! Listen!”

“I can’t go back! I can’t go back!”

“Cas!”

The ice gave one last protesting groan before the sound of shattering glass filled Bray’s ears. If it wasn’t the frigid water that would kill them Bray knew they couldn’t swim. He saw their lower half splash down into the water, the utter panic on their face as they scrambled to find purchase.

“Bray! Oh my god, Bray!”

“I’m coming! Just hold-,” another deafening crunch followed by the frantic struggles of a body trying to tread water before silence.

“Cas! Shit, Cas!”

He knew his shouts were futile, that any effort made to find them, to bring them up would be pointless, but he pulled himself across the ice anyways, shoved his arms into the water that near instantly numbed his skin and soaked his jacket, he moved to plunge his head under when he felt someone grip his hood and yank. Blinding white light washed over his vision, his breath caught in his throat as suddenly he wasn’t on the lake anymore but on dry ground, staring up at the sky, the clouds moving in to blanket the moon in darkness, then there was the man.

“Thought you two could just waltz on out then?”

Bray’s breathing was labored, his face wet with tears he hadn’t noticed he was crying, but hatred boiled up inside of him, energy coming even as his muscles felt stuck with ice. He scrambled up with a shout, launching himself onto the other man, fists flying, hands so numbed he couldn’t feel the impact, only the crunch as he broke his nose.

“You fucks! You sick fucks! You did this! You fucking killed them!” He screamed.

He wasn’t sure what came next, all he could remember was something hard and heavy colliding with his face, knocking him sideways and onto the ground, blood filling his vision, one eye having gone dark as he struggled to lift his head from the ground.

“That ones on you Bray, if you hadn’t run, she woulda been safe.”

It was a different voice, he knew this voice, a man by the name of Joffrey, older than the rest but just as cruel. Time seemed to skip, he wasn’t sure how long, but when he opened his eyes again the moon was somewhere else and the wash of oranges and pinks started to paint the sky as the sun had started to rise. He was being dragged, his right eye having still gone dark since they hit him, his knuckles throbbed and he was sure he had broken his hand at some point.

“There’s good, throw ‘im in.”

Bray sucked in a breath as he tried to right himself but the energy never came. They were somewhere outside the complex, that much was certain seeing as no half fallen buildings could be seen from where he laid on the ground. He felt arms underneath him, hoisting him up, he was larger than most but with such a sluggish mind he had no way of fighting back. He tried to will his brain to work, to start up, but as he was dumped from a short height he couldn’t get himself to move. It wasn’t until he tried to lift his arms, tried to kick out only to find sturdy wood that he started to panic, that the adrenaline started to course through him. He saw faces, far away and blurred, moving as if part of a movie that kept skipping, like his mind kept stalling.

“Rest in peace abomination,” was all he heard before he was enveloped in darkness.

Something was very wrong, this was all wrong. But his head hurt too much to process it, they were mistaken, he was alive. They knew that right? He was alive. Why was he in a box? He was alive.

“I’m… I’m alive… wait…” his voice was raspy and forced, like he was trying to breathe through a straw.

“I’m… I’m alive! Wait! Wait I’m alive!” He screamed, aching fists pounding halfheartedly on the lid.

“I’m alive! Stop it! Help! Help me! I’m alive!”

He felt the wooden coffin groan around him, shuttering slightly before he felt a drop then silence. His pounding became more insistent, more frantic, then he heard it, the shuffling of dirt, the sound of movement becoming farther and farther away until he couldn’t hear anything but his own breathing.

“Please! Stop! Cas! Cas help me! Please, god! I’m still alive!”

He felt sobs shake his voice, he was suffocating on his own tears as he tried to tear at the wood above him. His shoulders hurt, shoved at a wrong angle, his legs ached from how they were positioned, it was all too small, too cramped, he felt like he had been squeezed into a trash compactor. It was becoming harder to breathe and if he didn’t know better he would have thought he was under water.

“Please—god I’m dying. I’m dying down here… Please, Cas,” he started to choke, oxygen becoming harder to find, the darkness around him utterly crushing him. He closed his eyes, tried to find their face amid the panic that flooded his brain, he was so cold he felt like he was burning. A ringing drowned out everything else, it pounded in his temples, behind his eyes, and slowly but surely it was all that he could sense.

Air was hard to find at first, his stinging lungs making it difficult to take in a chest full, but there was a creaking above him, before a splintering sound.

“Are you sure?” Came a voice, rough and far away, one he didn’t know.

“Yes yes, they’re here,” came another, this one softer, accented slightly.

“Okay, let’s get them out then.”

There was the sound of more splintering, and suddenly sunlight burst over his eyesight, causing him to hiss and recoil, even if everything in his body told him he need to get out.

“There they are!” Came the second voice, and then there was a robot. Small, looking like some kind of star, they flitted back and forth for a moment before settling on his shoulder.

“My person!” They chirped gleefully.

“Hello, I know this must be jarring for you,” a hand reached forth and he took it without hesitation, the need to get out of the hole around him his only current motivation.

As his eyes adjusted he was greeted by a man, dark skinned, human, cropped hair and kind eyes. He wore heavy utilitarian armor and he too had a small robot that floated just over his shoulder.

“Where…” he nearly startled himself, his own voice deep and raspy.

“It’s best that we get you to the temple first, get you settled, then we can explain everything.”

He nodded in response, glancing back at where he had come from.

“My name is Saladin, do you know yours?”

He looked around, as if his surroundings would give him some indication of who he was.

“Bray!” the little robot chirped, he hadn’t realized but they had moved from his shoulder to hover beside him.

“You shouldn’t give him a name if he-“ “-Bray.”

Saladin paused, taking him in a moment.

“My name is Bray.”

The little robot chirped happily, spinning around his head before settling on his shoulder.

“Alright then Bray, shall we get moving.”

“Wait wait! What about me?”

Bray pulled them from his shoulder, taking them in a moment.

“Cas,” he said, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest at the name, “your name is Cas.”

The little thing didn’t moved, staring up at him and if it could show expression he was sure they were wide eyed, but soon enough their shell shuttered with excitement.

“Cas! I am Cas, I am your Ghost!”

Bray nodded, letting the Ghost float up beside him.

He returned his attention back to this Saladin and smiled.

“Alright then, Cas, Bray. Shall we?”

#my writing #Bray #Saladin #hey guys is it a self insert if.... you know... this happens

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braden-ffxiv · 7 years

Text

Greed

“Haven’t we already been past here?”

A time when dew drips on the grass, when astral eyes away It hides, the eye of evening’s Lass yet, not arrived has day

“Yet not arrived has day..”

“C’mon,” he insisted. Black hair hung in gnarled braids along the side of his moon-pale face, with sunken eyes darting left-right; a whisper of a man, long limbs thin as oaken rails hung from an emaciated, gangly torso. A mishmash of leather belts and gaudily-colored garments hung across his frame, frayed at the edges and stinking of seawater. Draped in hand-me-down cloths that no doubt bore the highest of fashionable sensibilities twenty years ago, his voice - poisoned with the wine-drenched lilt of Limsa - and his ragged, wriggling countenance marked him as a man interested in the gleam of gil and the groan of tavern-women, and most certainly not the perplexing dance of rhythmic riddles and wit-challenging poesy too often employed by the crafty - and greedy - builders of ancient tombs like this one.

Braden didn’t need him for his cunning (or lack thereof), though. He needed an extra sabre to rattle at the tomb’s restless dead, and he needed an extra back to heft the sackfuls of riches lain at the bottom of the ancient, sandstone-carved sepulcher. Golden hair raked back and fingers tapping his chin, Bray stared at the faded inscription, chiseled one-line-at-a-time over the four doorways, each feeding into this dead-end crossroads. The pair had found themselves back here twice - an octagonal stone antechamber studded at its center by a curious sight, this deep beneath the sands - a spartan fountain, its murky waters deep, its single, narrow pyramid-shaped spout still working, the slow trickle of water ringing through the empty hallways. By curiosity of design a single thread of daylight illuminated the fountain, colored the hue of faded sand; a ribbon-thin pipe ran from the chamber’s ceiling all the way through to the tomb’s sunscorched entrance, several floors above.

“We’re not gettin’ a mite younger standing around ‘ere,” the lanky pirate protested. “’Ent anymore ‘a this tomb ta see, it’s been picked like a corpse an’ the Sagolii. We split while we can.”

“Not arrived has day...” Bray murmured to himself, ignoring his partner’s demands, strolling along the edge of the fountain. The pair had delved three of the four hallways leading back here, and it seemed quite obvious the fourth would lead only to a loop - a loop back here. They’d reached the rather unimpressive tomb complex - and had found nothing. Vultures in shabby armor had indeed already picked this tomb empty - but Bray had seen dozens of royal resting places, and none of them had ever looked as.. unimpressive, really, as the one they’d spied, down here.

“Yer gonna leave me at a ten-thousand-gil loss on this trip, y’are,” the midlander grumbled discontentedly. “Let’s GO.”

“Not arrived has... Mennlow,” Bray spoke suddenly, lifting his gaze to his partner, his tone something like a scholar broken from contemplative reverie by an earth-shattering thought. “Do you remember who’s buried here?”

“We’re gonna be, buried ‘neath ten piles ‘a debt, if we don’t cut th’ losses while we can,” the pirate said. “Er rather, you will be,” came a menacing churn of tone. Aaah, there it was - that cutthroat charm.

“Do you remember, Mennlow?” Bray queried, ignoring his partner’s crass threats. The Seeker secreted away a confident smirk, sliding across glossily-polished sandstone floors, leaning against the waist-high edge of the lightly-whistling fountain. “House of Futo, third line.. remember his title?”

“Sorry, mate,” the pirate responded with a sigh, clearly now resigned to listening. “I musta skipped ‘at day ‘a history class.”

“The Lord at Dawn,” Bray recalled with a flourish. “Remember the inscription? Near the entrance,” the scoundrel said, exasperated. He knew his less-astute colleague hadn’t paid any attention, though he enjoyed browbeating the gaunt man nonetheless.

“No, but yer gonna tell me,” Mennlow rolled his eyes. “Y’think I can still drink this stuff?” He gestured to the cloudy water gathered in the basin at Bray’s back, swiping his hand across the surface. In thick clouds, sand and gunk swayed wispy through his fingers - and suddenly, at the touch of a hand beating with fresh blood and garbed in warm flesh, the thick and blinding cloak choking the fountain’s water dissipated, leaving the depth of the well visible - brilliantly visible. Mennlow’s eyes flashed wide, gripped once more with his characteristic greed.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Bray commented offhandedly. “The Lord at Dawn, and the inscription at the front said--” an offhanded glance over his shoulder and Bray noticed exactly what had mesmerized his partner so suddenly - the gleam. The gleam of a fountain thick with gil - thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, with no way of telling how deep the fountain-pool went, gathered at the bottom of the softly-sloshing waters. Bray’s eyes lit up same as his avaricious companion.

“Think we found it..” Mennlow’s voice trailed as awe washed over the pair. Mesmerized, his palm sunk deeper into the waters, grasping for a handful, just one handful--

“H-hey!”

With a loud slosh and a brief tussle, Bray grabbed his partner’s arm and pulled it violently from the bouncing, jittering pool, its contents splashing against the two adventurers.

“What in blasted gobshites’s gotten inta yer gully, Bray?!” Mennlow growled, tearing his wrist away from the Seeker.

“DON’T. Touch that,” Bray insisted, examining the now-glistening riches closely.

“Wha’? WHY?” Mennlow roared angrily. “We found th’ treasure, mate. An’ s’ffice ta say, yer still gonna owe me even with all we can carry outta there, so you better start gettin’ ta sackin’ it up,” the pirate crowed, his already-tenuous patience having reached its limit.

“There’s more to it than that,” Bray insisted. There had to be.

“More to it ‘n what? It’s a fountain, overflowing with gil!” Mennlow rumbled angrily.

“Who in the Twelve do you think put it in the fountain, mister Nymian scholar?” Bray retorted.

“It’s a fountain. They’re always filled with gil. Suckers toss it in, fer good luck er sommat,” Mennlow said.

“It’s a fountain buried in a tomb deep under the desert,” Bray hissed pedantically. “You think a lot of passersby come down here, hoping to toss in a gilpiece for good luck?”

“Consid’rin’ how empty th’ rest of this hole-in-th’-ground is, yeh, I do,” Mennlow sneered. “Y’got a better idea, mate? Unless you do, we’re takin’ that gil, right now.”

“There’s more to it,” Bray interrupted.

“You’ve been sayin’ that f’r’s’long ‘s’we’ve been down ‘ere, an’ I’m tired ‘a hearin’ wot yammers from yer rumhole,” the pirate seethed, hands formed into fists, one poised on his cutlass’s grip. “S’time ta go.”

“Look,” Bray gestured into the pool. The two glanced deep into the swirling waters, through distorted waves rippling across the surface - and Bray was right. There was more to it. Atop the mound of gil lay two broad dinner plates, amid scattered riches - one coated in a reflective silver that swayed in the low light above, and the other - laying on the opposite end of the fountain - black as the deepest part of night, carved of bleakest obsidian. Submerged beneath the surface, tossed haphazardly to one side, lay one final treasure - a rusty morningstar, its thick studs dulled and its color a corroded ochre.

“See,” Bray whispered. “More to it.”

“More t’what? Looks like more ta try’n bargain fer half a handful of gil, ta me,” Mennlow growled, lunging to reach into the pool once more - and, once more, meeting Braden’s swift rebuke, an arm pressed against the pirate’s chest, keeping him from claiming his prizes.

“I swear, y’do that again--”

“A time when dew drips on the grass, when astral eyes away, but.. dawn,” Bray answered the riddle atop the doorways. “You see? And the inscription, at the tomb’s entrance--”

“I didn’t come fer a gods-fersaken history lesson, McCahi--”

“Why was he called The Lord at Dawn?” Braden mused. “’Delivered us from famine, hate; saved us from evil’s spawn. Reminded us the day is darkest just before the dawn.’”

“Tha’s a very nice poem, Bray. D’ja write it yerself?” Mennlow’s fist gripped his cutlass with a renewed vigor, ready to draw. “Y’don’t get outta m’way, yer gonna know all about evil’s spawn, mate.”

“Twelve, just--” with a huff Bray gripped the rusty morningstar, fingers quick and delicate, careful not to displace a single piece of the gil bounty laid in the depths of the water.

“EY! We split ‘at treasure--”

“Shut up,” Bray roared, his arm giving Mennlow a slight shove back. Without removing the ancient weapon from beneath the surface, Bray dragged it through the waters - until he held it just adjacent to the obsidian-carved dinner plate. “The morningstar is the dawn,” Bray explained. “Morning star. The sun. The first sign of morning,” Gentle, gentle as he could, as if life depended on it (and it probably did), Bray lowered the bludgeon back onto the gathered gil, perpendicular to the fountain’s pyramid-shaped spout.

“The silver plate is deep night. The black one is the darkest time - before the dawn. ‘Darkest before the dawn’,” Bray explained.

“Yeh, an’ why ain’t--”

A low quaking, the grind of stone-on-stone, thrummed through the chamber; Mennlow stepped back, eyes darting, ready to draw his blade. Bray’s vision washed across the antechamber - to each of the four hallways, and to the slabs of stone between each entrance.

Just as he’d predicted, one of the slabs slowly rumbled away, falling into the ground. A secret passage - dark, thick with cobwebs, untouched for centuries - lay just ahead of them.

“I told you there was more to it,” Braden smugly asserted, as the stony rumbling came to a halt.

“Yeh...” Mennlow responded, jaw agape. The son of a bitch was right, after all.

Taking broad, silent strides, the seeker stepped across the polished-stone floor, reaching the mouth of the passageway, eager to continue forward.

“You really oughta listen to me more often,” he pleaded with his partner.

“Yeh..”

Some men never learn.

Greed thick in his veins and his eyes still awed by the treasures in the depths of the pool, Mennlow wanted a little. Just a little. Confident Bray’s attention had passed from him, the pirate couldn’t keep his grubby fingers from pilfering his own extra share of the take. Quietly, slowly he dipped his fingers back into the pool. Lower, lower, just a little lower. He watched Bray stride into the shadows ahead, and a wicked grin coiled along his grimy features.

“Sometimes I do know what I’m on about,” Braden imparted. “There’s more to tombs than greed sometimes, mate--”

CLANK.

SHRRRR--- BANG.

The grinding returned - only a lot faster, a lot louder, this time. Only a half-a-step through the threshold to the secret passage, Bray leapt with preternatural instinct into the dusty blackness. He felt the faint warmth and light of that single, straining beam of sunlight die away at his back. Glancing past his shoulder he caught a fleeting glimpse of his partner, eyes gripped in terror, his hand deep and grasping at the bottom of the fountain-pool, as heavy slabs of immovable stone fell across each of the four doorways into the fountain-antechamber, leaving the pirate trapped.

“Mennlow, you idiot-- NO!”

“Bray--”

THUMMMMM.

The secret door rumbled shut.

“Bray! Bray!” The words, though muffled, managed to sneak through the thick slab of sandstone between the two adventurers. “I think--”

HISSSSSISSSSSS.

“Mennl-- oh shit.”

Bray knew that noise.

Braden knew the fountain ruse had to be a trap - not blinded by that same sort of greed, he could tell the gil at the bottom of the pool wasn’t actually gil at all. it was a clever-disguised pressure plate - a sheet of metal hammered out to give the appearance of piles of riches, ornately carved just so. Just enough to fool someone too blinded by want.

“I can’t.. what’s going on? Bray? Br-- ggkkAWK!”

BANG, BANG, BANG.

“Helll.. kkkgghhbb... helppphhhhkk~...”

Poisoned gas filtered from tanks in the ceiling, through hidden holes, into the tiny chamber on the other side of the door. His back flat to the stone, Bray heard his partner gagging, coughing - punching, scraping, slamming his shoulder against the trap door, trying something, anything, to get out of there.

Bray knew he couldn’t do anything for Mennlow now. That’s.. unfortunately, why it’s called a death trap.

“H... gkkg...”

Bray slumped down into a seated position against the rough rock, sighing. It took only about two minutes - the cries for help diminished when his partner ran out of air to speak with, and gagging and coughing fell quiet soon after. The scrapes and punches lost more and more of their oomph, until - with a resounding thump - Bray knew his.. unfortunately, now former-partner’s agony had ended.

“Damn it...”

Braden never liked losing a partner - not even an unscrupulous, loudmouthed, dimwitted marauder like Mennlow. Of course, the pirate was only three seconds away from getting the both of them killed - a fact over which Bray heaved a nerve-wracked sigh of relief.

“I tried to warn you,” Bray lamented in a whisper.

Sometimes, greed was good. Sometimes, not so much.

#writing #street life #i have a story for anton TOO #i just wrote this first #because i already knew how it was gonna go #so all u lovelies who wanna see anton stuff #it's comin

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hestolibrary · 7 years

Text

Larry fics - A playlist

a list of songs that inspired fic titles

A All My Stars Aligned - St. Vincent: i'll be someone who won't be forgotten (read here) Angels in the Room - Delta Goodrem: i just know i have found the place my heart belongs (read here) All of Me - John Legend: Both Showing Hearts (read here) A Little Death - The Neighbourhood: make me feel like i am breathing (read here) All You Need Is Love - The Beatles: Nothing You Can Do (But You Can Learn How To Be You In Time) (read here) Alone Together - Fall Out Boy: Let's Be Alone Together, We Can Stay Young Forever (read here)

B Back for Good - Take That: Just Tell Me The Song And I’ll Sing It (read here) Bloodstream - Ed Sheeran: feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream (read here) Bend me, shape me - American Breed: bend me, shape me (read here) blue jeans by lana del rey: Say You'll Remember (read here) // Promise You’ll Remember That You’re Mine (read here) Breathless - The Corrs: Come on, leave me breathless. (Tempt me, tease me until I can't deny this) (read here)

C Cake By The Ocean - DNCE: Blind From This Sweet, Sweet Craving (read here) Cherry Wine - Hozier: walk my days on a wire (read here) Come & Get It - Selena Gomez: So Baby Whenever You're Ready (read here) Closer - Tegan and Sara: The Night Sky is Changing Overhead (read here) Crazy For You - Madonna: It's All Brand New (read here) Canvas - Rezonate: this unnatural path, it spans infinitely (read here) Crystalised - The xx: things have gotten closer to the sun (read here) Colly Strings - Manchester Orchestra: like dying young idols (read here)

D Daughters Of The Soho Riots - The National: i have your dreams (and your teeth marks) (read here) Don’t Stand so Close To Me - The Police: Just Like That Book By Nabokov (read here) Dreaming of You - The Coral: Dreaming of You (read here)

E Everything Has Changed - Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran: Everything has Changed (read here) Everybody - Ingrid Michaelson: Happy is the Heart that Still Feels Pain (read here)

F Feels Like Coming Home - Jetta: Feels Like Coming Home (read here) Fader - The Temper Trap: hold a hand for cover (read here) Friends - Ed Sheeran: we're not friends, we could be anything (read here) Fallingforyou - The 1975: In This Light (read here) Fire and Ice - Olivia Bray: We’re mesmerized (we’re fire and ice) (read here)

G Gods & Monsters - Lana del Rey: Gods & Monsters (read here) Give Me Love - Ed Sheeran: we'll play hide and seek to turn this around (give me love like never before) (read here)

H Happiness Is A Warm Gun - The Beatles: I Need A Fix Cause I'm Going Down (read here) Heart Out - The 1975: Figure My Heart Out (read here) Heroes - Mans Zelmerlöw: don’t tell the gods (we left a mess) (read here) Hero - Sterling Knight: If you're the one for me then I'll be your hero (read here) Human - Gabrielle Aplin: come closer show the marks upon your skin (read here) Home - One Direction: baby we could be enough (i'll make this feel like home) (read here) Happier - Ed Sheeran: I'll smile to hide the truth (read here) Happily - One Direction: Be with me so happily (read here)

I I want to fuck you like an animal - Nine Inch Nails: like an animal (i wanna feel you from the inside (read here) I’ll be yours - Placebo: You’ll Breathe Me in (You Won’t Release) (read here) In The End I Started - Brinck: in the end I started thinking about the beginning (read here) I’ll Be Home For Christmas (If Only in My Dreams) - Frank Sinatra: If Only In My Dreams (read here) I Miss You - Kacey Musgraves: Every Arrow That I Aim Is True (read here)

J JFK - Lana Del Rey: a million roses (bathed in rock n' roll) (read here)

L Last Goodbye - Jeff Buckley: Just Hear This and Then I’ll Go (read here) Laura Palmer - Bastille: led by your beating heart (read here) Lego House - Ed Sheeran: lego house (read here) Look After You - The Fray: What's mine is yours to make your own (read here) Losing My Religiong - R.E.M.: That’s Me In The Spotlight (read here) Light Year - Gregory Alan Isakov: another hazy may (read here)

M Magic - Coldplay: call it magic, call it true (read here) Miss You - The Rolling Stones: You've Been Starring In My Dreams (read here) Mercy - IAMX: could make your whole world sweet (read here) Moth’s Wings - Passion Pit: like a bastard on the burning sea My My Love - Joshue Radin: It's All Brand New Because of You (read here)

N Not The Sun - Brand New: you've set on me (read here) No Control - One Direction: in the heat where you lay (read here) // taste on my tongue (read here) National Anthem - Lana del Rey: Baby Heaven's in your Eyes (read here) Nothing Is Too Wonderful To Be True - Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (The Musical): turn any corner, there's something new (read here)

O Oath - Cher LLoyd: for now (and forever) (read here) One - Ed Sheeran: take my hand (and my heart and soul) (read here) Oh So Quiet - Betty Hutton: it's oh so still (read here)

P Enya - Paint the Sky with Stars: Paint The Sky With Stars (read here) Punk Rock Princess - Something Corporate: i’d burn this city down to show you the light (read here)

R Relief Next to Me - Tegan and Sara: Relief Next To Me (read here) Red Brick Heart (Album) - Performance: Red Brick Heart (read here) Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac: taken by the wind (read here) Ribs - Lorde: reeling through the midnight streets (read here)

S Scar Tissue - The Red Hot Chili Peppers: I'll Make it to the Moon if I Have to Crawl (read here) Something Great - One Direction: come on jump out at me (read here) Someone New - Hozier: electing strange perfections (read here) Some Trust - The Fray: Fake you're full and feel tomorrow (read here) Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood: So Put Your Hands (In The Holes Of My Sweater) (read here) Sing When You’re Winning - Robbie Williams (album): Sing When You’re Winning (read here) Still Take You Home - Arctic Monkeys: But I'll Still Take You Home (read here) Sunday - Earl Sweatshirt ft. Frank Ocean: Loving You's a Little Different (read here) Shine - Years & Years: everything i can arrange, every part of me you change (read here) Stones Around The Sun - Lewis Watson: we're only stones around the sun (read here) Speak Now - Taylor Swift: speak now or forever hold you peace (read here) Sugar - Maroon 5: don't let nobody touch it (unless that somebody's me) (read here) Sk8er Boy - Avril Lavigne: Can I Make It Any More Obvious? (read here)

T True Love - P!nk ft. Lily Allen: you’re an asshole (but i love you) (read here) Tröjan Du Hatar - Norlie & KKV: The Shirt You Hate (read here) Take Me To Church - Hozier: let me give you my life (read here) Thinking About You - Radiohead: shit, i still love you (still see you in bed) (read here) This Is Gospel - Panic! At The Disco: Truth Be Told (I Never Was Yours) (read here) Temporary Fix - One Direction: we’ll call this what you like (read here) // feel you on my neck (read here) Thunder - Boys like Girls: you’ll always be thunder (read here) Tea for Two - Doris: Tea For Two and Two For Tea (read here) Toxic - Britney Spears: Taste of a Poison Paradise Tomorrow - Daughter: just the outlines of our hands (read here)

U Unbelievers - Vampire Weekend: Unbelievers (read here) Underwater - Mika: with your love we could breathe underwater (read here)

V Various Storms & Saints: Florence + The Machine: you’re bleeding, but you’ll be okay (read here)

W When We Were On Fire - James Bay: A Fallen Star That Shines No More (read here) Whirlpool - Sea Wolf: hoping this cold blue water scrubs me clean and spits me out again (read here) Whatever You Like - T.I.: it ain't trickin' if ya got it (read here) Whatever You Like (T.I. Cover) - Anya Marina: whatever you like (read here) Wake Me Up - Ed Sheeran: and now a piece of me is a piece of the beach (read here) Wolf Am I (And Shadow) - Mewithoutyou: walk heavy on delicate ground (read here) Way In The World - Nina Nesbitt: Way in the World (read here) Wear It Like A Crown - Rebekka Karijord: Wear It Like A Crown (read here)

X XO - Beyoncé: your heart is glowing and i'm crashing into you (read here)

Y You Got Time - Clare & the Reasons: You Got Time (read here) Young and Beautiful - Lana del Rey: Young & Beautiful (read here) Your Name Is Tattooed On My Heart - Screeching Weasel: Your Name Is Tattooed On My Heart (read here) You Drive Me Wild - The Runaways: you drive me wild (you know you do) (read here) You Are The Blood - Sufjan Stevens: You Are The Blood (read here)

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strangewriterforhire · 8 years

Text

Some Bar, Some Where.

The music had a heavy beat to it, interspersed with a sultry tone’s of a woman’s voice caught amid its gears. The voice wasn’t in Anglos, nor Russian Trade or any one of the Asian quazi-dialects that had melded together when the floods came. It could have been Japanese J-pop, or New Korean NJ-rattle, or some other consonant with a ‘pop/sizzle/whatever’ added to the end. It could have been a classical piece murdered by a Dumb AI algorithm programmed to make music that people want to move with, or get away from with delicious alcohol. The fact reminded the music was loud, the bass turned up to the point of worrying anyone with dental work, and it hid the murmur of voices and deals being wrought by those not inebriated beyond reason. Of course the poor lighting, at least the glow panels designed not to strobe with nerve stuttering flashes, couldn’t disguise the low quality of the booze provided to the patrons of ‘Nexus’. The chances of the glass before him coming into spitting distance of barly hops, or any form of natural fermentation, were next to zero. But when you were out here on far edge of The Limb, you took what you could get. Still didn’t make the swill taste any better, but booze was booze. He now felt somewhat better about himself, the engineered fluid alighting across his brains neural chemistry to release a raft of endorphins. He missed real, honest to God, brewed in a barrel, alchaol. Good, honest, mind numbing alcohol added in by nature and not as a feature. He personally blamed the current state of the Union, the worlds spanning conglomerate of nation states all braying for their slice of the action. The Union taxed every gram of matter lifted off of the surface of a world, and taxed coded it for a destination with varying degree's of severity. At this distance from Scotland, Earth, Sol System Relay...a bottle of single malted goodness would be worth more than his life. Ship included. But hey, if he waited long enough maybe the Union would fizzle out? From United Polity before the Burst, and then it became the Unified Polities of Near Earth Space after the Burst, and now it was the Union of National Polities. UP, UPNES, UNP: that was a lot of hull designations to scrub off the nose cone of any ship. At least they kept the paint scheme roughly the same across the century and a half since mankind had burst free of planet Earth. This made ‘Polity Blue’ the cheapest per gallon across the Union and its neighbours to G-North and G-East. But that might also explain the amount of independent merchant skippers who just can’t find the dollars to pay for a paint job, and go out into the black with bare metal to the stars. “You said you had something for me?” The drinker said after a moment’s contemplation over his drink. Yavik Valentine rose from where he’d been slouching in his chair, his dreads flickering in sympathy to the strobes, and focused all four of his eyes on him. Oh don’t worry, Yavik won’t bite your hand off or anything like that. But its so easy to stereotype genies into their respective chimeric categories, that most folks just avoided registering the tiny black pupils set into recessed sockets above his brows. Somewhere in his genetic past some egg head from Earth, or that freak show Venus turned into, had thought hominid DNA and a dash of spider would be a great benefit to the species. A lot of ‘brilliant ideas’ had been made in those dark days, before Venus was intentionally nuked back into a furnace of radioactive particulates by Union sanction: Earth didn’t need a terraformed Hell a few light minutes away. But the fire hand't arrived fast enough before a new niche species of humanity had arisen: the genies. Genetically modified hominid gene stock with animal traits. Most live normal lives, and for the most part you‘d never spot them unless you went looking for them. But then you get examples like Yavik with his four eyes, or that NK-pop sensation Karim-2/40. She could well be living proof that bad girls don’t always change their spots, but when the fur grows out you might need to shave them. In Yaviks case what you ended up with was a scheming masterpiece of a baseline human with some odd optical genetics, twitchy reflexes that made them neurotic as hell, and Velcro like hooks protruding from their skin instead of follicles. This usually made T’antula genies cover up more than a nun in a nudist camp, and more often than not usually ended up with them working in the industries aligning with the production of medicinal canaboids. Well something had to help the grippy freak mellow out. Yavik ran a gloved hand through his dreads, a little pulse of blue light shimmying along them as he did so. “Might do, might do.” He said slowly through a mouth filled with close knit narrow teeth, his eyes still looking deeply into the face of his companion. “Course what I have, as a business man, don’t come free ya see? Ya wanna see what I got, ya gotta pay up front.” “Interesting sales pitch seeing as I got the call from you to meet you in this dive.” The drinker retorted gently, taking another sip of his drink and wincing: coudn't his taste buds take the hint and die already? “I stand corrected: a dive would have better swill than this.” “Hey man, hey!” Yavik cooed, as he slowly sank back into his chair “That's the finest glitter gin this side of the Limb, you treat that with re-spect.” The drinker hated it when people put extra definition on their syllables. If this turned into a paying job, something worthwhile, his rate was going to go up just for that. He gently pushed the drink, now identified as glitter gin, across to Yavik. The T’antula took a single look at the gesture, and almost dived across the table to grab it. The drinker might be a expert of boozes and rot guts, but he was all for drinks that didn’t make you blind when they got to your optic nerve and made you see things. “There, you happy now? Can we do business?” he asked, as Yavik hungrily licked the rim of the glass, his four heavy lidded eyes overflowing with pleasure. The genie merely nodded slowly, reached into his jacket and extracted a battered PassPort from within. As the jacket slid open, the drinker took a second to admire the interior lining for all the latest accessories that were all the rage this season. No guns. No gas. No knives. Maybe this was on the up and up? “Yeah man, yeah,” Yavik sighed contently as he barely held himself upright in his chair and slid the PassPort over the table top. “Yeah we can do business. PassPort’s name is Oronoco, ask the little lady that which you wanna know man.” The drinker eyed the PassPort, before gently flipping it open to reveal the complex gold and platinum design carved into the interior. As quantum computers went, PassPorts were on the low end of the scale. But given all QuantComps are parallel processing super geniuses to begin with, even the ones on the low end of the totem pole ended up being insufferable know it all’s. He placed a hand gently over the gold etching on the PassPort, and allowed his left eye to close. But instead of utter blackness, or the simple loss of depth perception, a woman appeared as his implant mugged his optical nerve in a dark alley. And as soon as he saw the beige coloured uniform, equipped naturally with beige coloured beret, with the cyan blue shoulder boards with that single white tassel braid, the drinker knew he was in trouble. “Implant tag identified: Lieutenant Commander Damien Kitcher. Union Navy ID 33K56-A2. Status: Deserter.” The woman, or more precisely the generated self image of a genderless computer spark, had a trio of seconds to state that name and rank before he yanked his hand free of the PassPort. His eye snapped open, closing off the connection between the PassPort and his optic implant. That didn’t in any way change the intensity of his glare at the laconic drunk on the other side of the table. “Sorry man,” Yavik said with an easy grin, his sense of self preservation already checking out of Motel Lights Out. “Lady paid first, and Union dollars are pretty sweet.” In a split second Yaviks fate was decided: Kitcher didn’t have the time to give the T’antula the proper beating he rightly deserved. His time was now rapidly running out, and the damn NK-rattle music wasn’t doing him any favours. He stood up, watching as the glass of glitter gin soared into the air as his leg struck the plastic table top. He glanced towards the clubs entrance. And right into the smooth armoured faceplate of a Union marine. The troopers armoured carapace shimmered from full active camouflage into something more solid and imposing, looking nothing unlike a cobalt blue human shaped beetle, with semi automatic death on its mind. His eyes flicked from left to right, and caught sight of the similar fuzzy blobs marring his vision: the one at the door was for show, the others scattered around the room were the hazards. They’d be the ones with fingers on triggers, the ones with orders to shoot first and ask question at some predetermined point in time after his blood had cooled to room temperature. So instead of leaping for the exit, of making a break for the service door behind the bar, or even in using Yavik as a human-ish shield, Kitcher slipped back into his seat with a growl. “You’re a dead man.” Kitcher said through tightly pressed together lips, as more of the Union troopers flickered into being. They began to usher the crowd out, using their armours echo assist to basically toss the free floating revellers up towards the entrance portal to Nexus and out into street. The music hid the screams and shouts, but one look at the soldiers made people realign their priorities. “Might be, might not be.” Yavik said lazily before he slowly pushed up from his seat, leaning over slightly “Then again maybe I ain’t the one to be a dead man shortly? I’m just gonna skip out, seeing as this part of the meeting ain’t mine.” “No, it’s mine.” Came a thin, reedy voice that matched the figure of a older man that slipped into Yaviks chair the moment he left it. Tall, almost deathly pale in skin colour, his morticians complexion complimented the funeral suit of midnight black with its high choking collar. The skin over his bald skull was pulled tight, giving his small eyes a constant surprised look. But it was the opal blue eyes, to bright by half, that gave him way: ManKin. Or to put it bluntly, in the parlance of the 20th century, a robot. And ManKin liked working with numbers, problems, and the horrendous political orrery of the Union. Add in the marine guard, and his presence in non Union territory, meant the man in black was working for only one organisation. “Clockwork.” Kitcher said bluntly, looking at the man as a thin smile spread across his lips. He nodded at the still open PassPort. “She one of yours as well?” “Oronoco?” the pale man asked with a slight nod. “In a way. Like any good Union citizen, even a artificial one, she is serving her Polity with national service. Quite diligently so, I hasten to add. Maybe she, like myself and others, will find her higher calling within the Union Navy? Who knows? But as I am sure you know, Mr Kitcher, service can be a harsh mistress. But it is a mistress that holds our freedom hostage until she is done with us.” The ManKin reached out and closed the PassPort. “And that mistress is not finished with you, Mr Kitcher.” Those opal eyes flicked to one side, distracted by some tidbit of information provided to him. Kitchen hated when machine's traded to ape human behaviour, It could be having a half dozen conversations and solving pi without appreciable lag in the conversation. “So you’ve come all this way to get me back in the grey and blue,” Kitcher said with a smile on his face. “I’m thrilled my tax dollars are paying for this will punt out to the edge of the Limb. Didn't know Charlamains Rock was on the approved travel list?” “Oh those tax dollar’s paid for a rather limited manhunt, after all the Union Navy has boarders to protect, worlds to police-” “Uprisings to smash, colonies to manhandle with gunboat diplomacy?” Kitcher finished. “In either case, we have found you. And I have been given full discretion by Earth to provide summary judgement upon your case.” The ManKin smiled, as out of the corner of Kitchers eye, two of the marines drifted down from the clubs upper dance volume. Full body armour, echo assist strength amplification, and what looked like a newer model of the Heckler & Kosh solid state laser rifle. They looked ready to take on a army singlehandedly, and sometimes that had been the case. “So...re-enlistment? Do I get back pay?” Kitcher asked, wishing he still had a drink before him. "At a Lt's wage bracket that could get pricey." “Permanent, non reversible neurological death.” The ManKin intoned darkly, his eyes narrowing down to azure slits as the two troopers brought their H&K’s up and levelled them at Kitcher’s head. The two dots of painted laser light now attached to his skull didn’t hurt, but should the troopers squeeze their firing studs he’d have a very interesting though pass right through his head before the end. The ManKin smiled. “Of course that is my choice, and it just so happens it is a choice I do not want to make yet.” The ManKin smiled and tapped the PassPort again. “I really did expend a lot of resource to find you Mr Kitcher, to offer you a job. Its rewards will see you free of Union complications for the remainder of your life, and you’ll be able to return to Union space. Its been a while since you’ve been home to Midowin colony Mr Kitcher, away from your family. I understand the Midowin culture prizes community and family, if I recall correctly?” The ManKin raised a hand, and if it were possible the two marines stances became more taunt and threaded with a delicate sense of impending violence. “Of course, if you choose not to listen to my job offer...” “I get it,” Kitcher growled and nodded to the artificial person. “Looks like you got yourself a ship and a captain.”

#space #firefly #space western #tavern #robots #chimera

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