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mylovelies-docx · 2 years

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Power Over Me - Chapter 4

You’re taking cover from the hailstorm of bullets coming from the other side of the room. Nat is crouched next to you with a tablet in hand, hacking into the security system through the panel on the wall.

“How much longer, Nat?” you question and spin out on one knee from behind the wall to take pot shots at the HYDRA agents across the way. You crash back into your hiding spot to avoid injury.

“Less than a minute,” Natasha responds, tapping away at the screen.

You buzz into Sam. “Sammy, can you and Clint keep the others busy for a little bit longer?”

“Of course. You don’t even gotta ask,” Sam responds easily.

“What’s up, Y/N?” Clint chimes in from his vantage point outside. Sam and Clint are keeping the reinforcements from entering the building, while you and Natasha clear the inside and recover some documents hidden somewhere deep within the facility.

“There are more hostiles than we expected, so Nat and I can’t split up like planned. It’ll take us longer to search the building.” You unhook your last stun grenade and chuck it at the gathered forces. They scatter like ants when they see it land, but they’re too slow to avoid it.

Nat unplugs from the wall. “All the doors are open now, Y/N – let’s go,” she says as she slides the tech back into her suit and draws her pistols.

“Perfect timing, I just cleared the path.”

You and Natasha run through the facility, searching every room for computers or filing cabinets with the pertinent information Tony assures is here. It takes longer than you would have liked, but after another twenty hostiles and too many rooms to count, you locate the files and extract them from a dusty computer that has seen better days.

“We’re ready to roll, fellas,” Nat breathes into the mic as you’re both running towards the exit. You shoot behind you where you hear footsteps, knocking down two more HYDRA agents.

“Never gets old,” you muse to Nat with a smile. She looks at you with a crooked smile and agrees.

“Then let’s go,” Clint replies to Nat. “I’m starting up the quinjet now.”

You and Nat break out into the early winter sunshine to see Sam buzzing around the sky with a man dangling from his arms.

“Nice to see you again, ladies!” he calls down to you, dropping the man.

“That’s not nice, Sam,” you chide. “He could have been scared of heights.”

“Not any more, he’s not,” Natasha laughs next to you.

“Anything we can help you with?” you ask Sam as he lands a few yards in front of you.

Sam’s wings fold up and he jogs to reach you both. “Nope. Got it covered – I think that was the last of them. We can head out to Clint now.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” you laugh and begin running to the hidden quinjet. You three make it a race to see who reaches Clint first, the winner getting to choose take-out on the way back. Sam cheats and flies his way into the open bay door with Nat making it barely a second before you do.

“Damn you, Sam. You always do that.” You slam into a seat and pretend to pout as you catch your breath.

“Hey now, you never said I couldn’t fly,” he fights back. He’s quietly laughing at how flushed your face is, so you raise both middle fingers and flip him off.

“It’s kind of implied,” Nat retorts with a flick of her fingers in his face as she passes him. Sam rears back to avoid her red nails leaving any marks on his nose. Now it’s your turn to laugh at his face.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam slouches in the seat across from you and takes up the whole aisle with his legs. You kick at his feet until you’re both pinwheeling your feet in the air to kick each other. The quinjet is at cruising altitude and well on the way back to the compound when you finally call a truce.

You right yourself and make your way up to Nat and Clint in the pilot's chairs.

“Any updates from Steve and Bucky, yet?” you ask as you crouch down between them. You grab a drink from the cooler situated under the console and take a big gulp, the cool temperature and electrolytes helping to rebalance your body.

“Already back at the compound,” Clint tells you. “Apparently a short and sweet little mission.”

“Good,” you say, and walk back to Sam.

“Where’s mine?” he asks. You just shrug your shoulders and sit down next to him.

“You’re just as capable of walking up there as I was.”

“You would have grabbed Buck one,” he sulks at you.

“Of course I would; Bucky’s actually nice to me.”

“And you love him.”

“And I–” you stop abruptly and glare at him. “Shut up, Sam.”

He just grins and grabs the bottle from your hands, chugging the whole thing. Sam tries to toss the bottle back at you, but you dodge quickly.

You stick your tongue out at him and rifle under the seat, trying to locate a book you’d left there a while ago. You let out a little ‘aha!’ when your fingers grasp the well-loved novel, bringing it out and holding it in the air in victory.

Now you have something to do that isn’t listening to Sam tease you.

***

Since most of the team had gone out on missions, you all decide to celebrate your success with a group movie night in the theater room. The plush red sofas, dim lighting, and built in popcorn machine make it the ideal movie-watching spot.

It’s finally your turn to pick the movie, and since you’re still mad at Sam for his comment earlier, you pick his least favorite series just to mess with him. It’s also a long one, since you haven’t all gotten to hang out together in a while and no one gave you a time limit on tonight’s festivities.

You grab your favorite fuzzy blanket and park your ass in the two-seat sofa right smack in the middle of the room – the best spot for viewing. You’re scrolling through your phone to kill time and let everyone wander in when you feel the cushion sink next to you and a warm arm throws itself on the back of the couch behind your head. You look over and answer Bucky’s smile with one of your own. Your pulse buzzes in your ears as you lean into him and let him watch the funny videos that pop up on your FYP.

Your phone is put away and popcorn placed in your lap when the movie finally starts. Tony apologizes for being late, ‘but he’s a very busy man in high demand’ according to him. You snort and nudge Bucky to point out Tony’s red eyes and slouched posture.

“High, indeed,” you giggle to Bucky.

Everyone is sprawled across couches and chairs, while Clint makes himself a nest of blankets on the floor – Nat eventually joins him. Everyone enjoys the movie except for Sam who sighs heavily during any quiet moments, hoping to catch your attention. You ignore him easily and stay cuddled under Bucky’s arm the whole night.

After that night, you stopped holding yourself back. You’re just as affectionate with Bucky inside the compound as he is with you out in public. You’re constantly walking by and squeezing his arm or pushing the hair out of his face when you’re standing together. You catch the looks everyone throws at you both, but Bucky’s smile keeps you from feeling self-conscious.

You and Bucky have been ‘dating’ for a couple of months now, and you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to tell you he met someone and wants to pursue something with them. Your heart breaks at the thought, but you’ll let him go when the time comes.

You’ve never been in a relationship – you’re still not in a relationship – but being with Bucky like this is so easy. You don’t know how you’re going to go back to being regular friends when he finally decides he wants to go out on dates and be with someone he actually likes in that way.

Steve sat you down one day last week for a ‘very serious talk’. You usually roll your eyes at him or try to be snarky whenever he wants to have a little heart-to-heart, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it this time.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he demands softly. You have to look away from his intense gaze, like he’s searching your soul. Steve grabs your shoulders and turns you back to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stevie.” You cross your arms in front of your chest to protect yourself from the hurt this conversation will inevitably deal to your heart.

“What’s going on with you and Buck?” he clarifies.

“Nothing. We’re ‘dating’,” you use your fingers to show heavy air quotes around the word. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“I’m being serious, Y/N. Have you talked to him about this? About what you both want out of it?” Steve is so concerned for you and it’s sweet, it really is, but you can’t handle someone pointing a magnifying glass at the situation you’ve put yourself in.

“Yeah, of course I have Steve,” you reply. “When that article was first published. He said it was an easy way to keep random strangers from asking him out on the street. That’s what he’s getting out of this.”

“And what about you?”

He’s watching your face for any hint as to what you’re thinking. You can’t come up with an answer to give him without revealing the extent of your feelings for his best friend, so you just shrug half-heartedly and burrow down into yourself.

“Y/N,” Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers before looking back at you. “Talk to him and see what he says about it now.”

You shake your head softly, “I assume it’ll be the same as when this started.” Steve furrows his brow in agitation at your avoidance. “Don’t worry, Stevie,” you say as you pat his thigh and stand up from the chair he cornered you in, “I can handle this thing with Bucky. I’m a big girl, you know?”

“Just – just talk to him. Please.” Steve begs you. “I think there’s something you’re both missing.”

You throw a smile over your shoulder as you walk out.

Chapter 5

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #Power Over Me (Bucky Barnes FanFic)#bucky fanfic

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hlootooart · 2 years

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My Encanto Headcanons Pt.2

Dolores

I know Jared Bush said it’s not as voluntary as she’d like, but she HAS to have some control over her power. Otherwise she’d be insane by now. That or dead.

Think. Dolores’ hearing is so good, she can hear movements that are normally silent to other people like Luisa’s eye twitching). What about other sounds little sounds that the rest of the human can make? What about things underground? How much white noise is in a “silent” room? The sound of dust falling? The house settling? The bugs crawling in the walls? With out some kind of filtering, she should be beyond insane!

In The Family Madrigal, we an see her about a mile away from the village, apparently still able to hear something. I’m gonna say she has a limit of about 3 miles in a sphere shape, but her ability to hear “finer” things (like twitching) has a smaller radius (about a couple yards maybe). The further she is, the more she has to actually strain herself to hear something-- which very rarely happens.

Over time, she’s learned how to filter out most sounds as background noise, and hone in on others. The problem is, her gift kicks in whenever she hears something that catch’s her attention. She could be minding her own business, then she’d hear, “Hey have you heard about...?” and now she knows all about Señor Paolo’s hemorrhoids...whether she wants to or not.

She has pillows in her room that are very fluffy and noise cancelling. So when she lays down on them, she can have a restful night’s sleep.

In her room, sound as a whole is turned down. So things that would normally be loud outside it, would be quieter inside it.

Pepa

These are the weather phenomenon that Pepa’s emotions make

When she’s scared, it snows

When she’s anxious there’s overcast clouds

When’s said or over emotional it rains

Anger there’s thunderstorms. Even angrier there’s lightning

Happiness = sunshine (the happier she is, the brighter

Joy there’s a rainbow

When she’s feeling lost or uncertain a whole lot she makes fog

When she’s overcome by worry she causes hurricanes

A light breeze can signal her being really relaxed

Violent rage can be unpredictable. Ranging from a hailstorm to a firestorm (thankfully this is very, very, very rare. Like it only happened twice her whole life)

On some rare occasions, her emotions can overlap and create some pretty odd phenomenon. For example, if she’s both really scared and really angry, she can make thunderstorms with snow. Maybe even a full on lightning blizzard.

Pepa’s room is divided into areas devoted to certain emotion and built for them. That way she can let loose without causing unnecessary damage. She needs a good cry? To the ever soggy crying corner! Really needs to let loose some rage? Strike some dummies in the anger corner with lightning! Wanna just relax? Chill out in breezy corner with some nice music.

In her breezy corner she has little pinwheels and sailboats or whatever she can watch spin as she winds down (no pun intended)

Even though she can be very stressed out, she has a great relationship with her kids and nieces. She loves children and knows how to work with them.

She was very sorry for Mirabel when she didn’t get a gift, so she made a point to be supportive for her when she was growing up.

Things got a little complicated as she got older though. She still loves her deeply.

She’s great at sewing like her father was and passed it on to Dolores and Mirabel.

She helped Mirabel make Antonio’s stuffed jaguar

She has embroidered shirts for Félix which he wears on only the best occasions.

She’s worried about Dolores’ well-being because of her gift, so she makes sure to have time set aside for her to check up on her.

Since she and Félix had Antonio so late in life, she’s extra concerned over him that he’s raised well.

She really wish Camilo would stay in his true form more. She keeps his baby pictures so she doesn’t forget it herself.

Luisa

She’s much smarter than she may seem.

When the cousin gang starts their shenanigans, she’s usually the voice of reason. Pre-movie Isabela would be though she’d secretly be on board with it. Post-movie-- Luisa was pretty much on her own lol

She’s in touch with her “girly” side. She loves stuffed toys, cute baby animals, and even making flower crowns.

However, she’s not quite into dressing in frilly clothing like her sisters and other relatives. She prefers simpler clothing even for formal events.

She still has an "fun” section like the concept art had, but it can only be accessed by pulling the weights and pulleys in her room in a certain order

Alternatively, she turns the equipment in her room into a makeshift playground/obstacle curse

Sometimes her younger cousins come in and hang out there for fun

Antonio’s jaguar Parce likes it especially

She and Pepa can relate to being emotional so they talk about it together sometimes

Luisa has always been a very responsible sibling to Mirabel, even when they were younger. She was always holding her hand and leading her away from what she thought was too dangerous

Even when Mirabel got older, she still gets a teeny bit protective over her. Especially when she’s doing something incredibly risky *cough*goingintoBruno’sroom*cough*

She’s the chillest person next to Félix and her mom so she doesn’t have many outbursts.

She likes to pet Parce as if he was a normal housecat. He likes it in return

She also used to be close with Isabela when they were younger, but grew apart when Luisa worked in the town more

Antonio

He’s so gonna be like the Casual Geographic guy when he gets older.

He’s careful to keep the jaguar Mirabel made him away from the real animals. He’s put a serious ban on anyone but him from playing with.

Those don’t listen get punished. Nothing serious, just a “harsh” scolding

Really it’s just him saying “Bad _, BAD.”

He rides the river dolphin in his room as well.

Sometimes he makes little shows with his animal friends to entertain his family

Mirabel is without a doubt his most favorite cousin ever and gets jealous of the time she spends with Camilo

He insists on tagging along when he feels he hasn’t spent enough time with Mirabel

She has special access to his room at most times and all animals must be on best behavior. Not gonna lie, she feels like a certain kind of princess when she’s in there.

He and Camilo like to roughhouse on occasion. Pepa doesn’t like it much but Félix is like “they’re just boys querida”

He’s very respectable to Bruno because of how much he loves and cares for the rats in Casita. So he has some special place in his room too, just not like Mirabel

He takes suggestions the rats have for new stories and passes them on to Bruno. Whether they’re improvements or not is left up for debate.

He’s guilty of having his animals sneak some food out of the kitchen at night. He also uses them as spies around Encanto. Hey, when you have an legion of animals at your side might as well make them useful.

Speaking of useful, he naturally found a place as town animal whisperer, which makes him really useful with farmhands and other people who greatly depend on animals. Julieta comes with if it’s something medical.

With their powers combined, they become the town’s vet

Unfortunately they do come across those who don’t care for their animals much, then wonder why they’re sick. He keeps these people on a list

You don’t want to be on the list

He takes really misused/sick/abandoned animals back to his room for special care, and releases them if they want to leave. But few do.

He still eats meat and isn’t bothered by animals being eaten because HELLO. NATURE DUDE. IT’S ALREADY CRAZY.

He just has issues of animals not being cared for before they’re slaughtered, or if they are killed inhumanely and suffer. That sort of thing.

Like Dolores, he can sometimes hear...unsavory things.

His parents were mortified when he learned how reproduction worked on his own. Pepa dang near had him permanent ear muffs.

Not all animals get along with Antonio per se. They don’t hate him necessarily, they just don’t all follow along with him

He tried asking the bees in Encanto to leave his uncle Agustín alone, but they denied him. It’s proven to be a lengthy exercise in diplomacy and patience.

#encanto #encanto headcanons #familia madrigal #family madrigal

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eloquent-vowel · 3 years

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Part 5 "Comfortable" Bucky X OFC (#043)

Description: A series of attacks on Russian diplomats lead to Fury dispatching some members of the avengers to defend them. There they meet a very new threat- one they have never seen before.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, very much a slow burn. Bucky Barnes x OFC, Winter Soldier X OFC

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Thank you all for reading this far! Here is a little time skip for you and the first time some of the Avengers meet Eris. Time is probably going to be very disjointed after this part! <3

Part 4

Bruce stared out of the Avenger's tower window, New York looked so small from up here. Looking down everyone seemed so unimportant, there were hundreds of people walking to the same place they always did, dressed in the same clothes they always wore. Were they happy with their lives? Were they living their dreams? What did they regret?

"See anything interesting Doc?" Tony's voice broke Bruce's trance. "Seen any muggings? Street fights? You know, I once saw a pigeon fly down and steal someone's sandwich right from their hand, the whole thing." Tony came into view, two cups of coffee in his hands. His eyes sparkled with the usual joy but under it all there was the slightest hint of concern.

Bruce took the offered coffee cup. "Buff pigeon."

"Perhaps it was a tiny pigeon hulk."

Bruce huffed a laugh before sipping is coffee. "The Incredible Squawk?" Despite Bruce's attempt at humour his voice came out as bitter as his coffee. Bruce watched the steam slowly rise before letting out a broken sigh. "She would have been 24 today."

Tony placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder, there was silence for a while. He had to think about what to say next, "We'll find her, Bruce. We won't stop looking I can pro-"

"Tony." Bruce turned to face Tony, the bags under his eyes were deeper than usual. "Thank you for trying to cheer me up but, let's be realistic, its been 20 years. The truth is either she doesn't want to be found or never will be."

"You are aloud to be realistic, Bruce, but don't lose hope."

The two shared an understanding stare, Bruce looked like he was going to say something but was interrupted by Natasha entering the room.

"We have a problem."

"When do we not?"

"Funny, Tony." Nat approached the two of them, she was staring down at the tablet in her hand very intently, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "A Russian diplomat was murdered at his safe house last week."

"And this concerns us how." Tony's tone was flippant.

"Because he as an informant for Shield but before he could talk he was beaten so badly they had to use dental records to confirm his identity."

Nat handed over the tablet to Tony who flicked through the photos of the crime scene. It was brutal. The guards that were put in to defend the diplomat were beaten to death, violently. It was obvious, even to his untrained eye, that whoever did this used their fists and no other weapon. Most of the guards had dents in their temples and some had broken knees. The path of the killer was followed by a nice trail of beaten corpses. Until they lead to the bedroom of the diplomat. Just like the other corpses, his body was beaten with blunt objects but unlike the others the killer really wanted to make sure he was dead. There was practically no skull that remains intact and there was blood everywhere. Tony blanched a bit and returned the tablet to Nat.

"What exactly do you want us to do? Bring a guy back from the dead?"

"No." Nat sounded tired, stressed, Tony kicked himself slightly for not being able to be serious. "We are being tasked for protecting someone we strongly suspect to being a second target." She turned the tablet around to show another angry looking man.

"Who pissed in his cornflakes?"

Nat ignored Tony. "This is Panin Rostislavovich, Russian ambassador here in America and more importantly mole for Shield. We think there is a large possibility he will be attacked at some point this week. Fury has asked that we personally see to guarding him. Something about improving relations with Russia."

"So, we sit in a room with someone and get paid for it?"

Nat just raised her eyebrow.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Getting comfortable there, Mr. Rostislavovich?"

Tony quipped to the stern man who was currently pacing violently up and down the length of the room. Normally he wouldn't have commented on it but his footfalls were terribly annoying and Tony was nursing one hell of a hangover.

"Would you be comfortable in this situation? Would you Mr. Stark." Tony fought the urge to roll his eyes. "When your colleague has been beaten to death in his apparently 100% secure and safe house!"

"Panin, buddy, listen- we are just here on a hunch no one said for certain that they were after you."

Tony made eye contact with Natasha and Steve who were standing guard by the door. They both shook their heads, no signs of intrusion at the moment. They were in direct contact with the guards outside the house and inside of the house, if Tony said so himself, this place seemed pretty impenetrable.

"Team Delta. Team Delta, report."

Him and his big mouth,

Nat's voice was panicked as she began to check in with all the teams around the perimeter of the house. She got more and more intense with each team name.

"No one on the perimeter is responding. Tony get him to the safe room, be ready to take the back exit."

"You don't have to tell me twice, come on buddy, let's not get you killed."

With that the escorted Panin to the solid metal safe room leaving Steve and Nat to do what they did best, beat people up.

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Natasha turned to Steve, he looked calm but the tight grip he had on his shield gave him away. The sound of fighting and violence started to be heard through the door.

"Hide and we get the jump on them." Nat whispered as she ducked behind one of the large sofas, Steve look up place adjacent to her. She began to count her bullets, double checking that she had enough ammunition.

There was silence for a moment.

Then a massive crash as the door flew off its hinges and into the wall behind Steve. She couldn't help the slight gasp that she let out as Steve slowly moved away from the rubble.

"I can hear you." A female voice, gravelly and harsh spoke in perfect Russian. It sent shivers down Nat's spine, Steve looked at her questionably. She just gritted her teeth and shot at the doorframe. She watched as Steve leapt out once she ran out of bullets. She reloaded as quickly as possible to cover Steve, as soon as she aimed her pistol over the couch she was stunned into inaction.

She could hardly keep track of who was hitting who as Steve fought the intruder. It was evident that this person was the same as Steve, they were a super soldier. Nat tried to find a pattern in their movements, an opening to fire a shot but every move they made was unexpected and chaotic. They were covered almost head to toe in black tactical gear, the only exception being their legs that reflected in the low lights of the room, metal legs? Whatever they were made of their legs were definitely strong as one well placed kick threw Steve back against the wall to joint the door.

Nat didn't hesitate to engage. Vaulting over the couch and throwing her gun by the window, she went immediately for a choke hold, swinging her legs over the other woman's neck. Nat felt some sort of pride as she succeeded to bring the intruder down to the floor, she squeezed tightly in an effort to choke them. Until the glint of metal over the intruder's fists slammed right into the back of Nat's knee, it didn't quite dislocate as intended but the force was enough to let the intruder get free.

The two women stood up once more and took a moment to size each other up. Nat realised that this woman was as tall as Steve and looked as strong. The bottom half of her face was covered in a protective mask and her hair was wild, perhaps from a previous scuffle? Now that Natasha had a good look she realised that both of the woman's legs were made of a shining metal, they whirred and clicked as she stood up. She glanced at Steve who was just beginning to stand up, clutching his ribs- the two exchanged a quick nod and together began to try and take down this new threat.

Unfortunately it was not as easy as either of them thought. Their opponent was brutal, unpredictable and yet seemed to predict every move they made. Steve would attack from behind and she was sidestep, only to throw a devastating punch at her. It was down right terrifying that one woman was able to take on both Steve and herself at once. Even worse was that this woman didn't seem to tire, while Steve and the woman were able to breathe normally Nat was beginning to falter. The intruder saw this and with one well timed switch kick Nat saw stars as a metallic leg collided with her temple.

Steve watched in horror as Nat fell, his opponent showed no sense of regret and did not hesitate to begin her brutal assault on him once more. Thrown by Natasha bleeding from the head it didn't take long for the woman to have her arms around his neck in a less than friendly way. Black spots danced in his vision, he thought this was it. He began to run through ways to get out of this but every time he struggled the edge of the brass knuckles dug deeper into his throat.

He thought he was gone until he felt her shift slightly and then let go of him altogether. He fell on the floor gasping and turned to see where the woman had gone. He saw her pick up Natasha's pistol and making a running leap out of the window. Shattering the glass into a hailstorm of chaos.

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Tony had little warning other than the sound of glass shattering and the violent bang of a gunshot. The man who he had previously been talking to about his plans for the future fell to the ground, a bullet hole directly through the centre of his brain.

Tony turned around violently to just catch the sight of some meta glinting under streetlights and a figure darting off into the dark.

Fury was going to be so mad at him.

Part 6

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

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The Red Well (Part 3) Hearts and Minds

This is it folks! The MC is EMPOWERED! @rurifangirl

The smoke of liquid nitrogen was gone and people finally saw the true appearance of the holy skeleton. It looked like a crippled embryo. Its swollen head had a large single eye. What looked like a tail was actually a flesh-wrapped spine. Its ribs protrude outside the flesh layer, so it must have used these sharp ribs to insert into the host's spine and manipulate the body when it was parasitic. The holy skeleton did not die under the blade of Gathering Clouds. It twisted and made a "hissing" sound. The golden eyes flash at you, but in the glass capture chamber it could not touch any host that could be parasitized. Without the power of a body it was so weak it couldn’t escape through glass.

King General used a strong flashlight and peered through the outer layer of flesh of the skeleton. Inside the half-developed organs were faintly visible.

You could still feel yourself shaking, not only in fear of this thing and its hunger for you, but in fear of Ruri Kazama who was even stronger. Now you finally understood why Ruri Kazama offered to take you here, rob Herzog of the fetal blood and give it to you. It wasn’t just about saving your life. When you stared into his swirling pupils of red and gold, you finally grasped that this was about more than just survival. He wouldn’t stop at Herzog and Chisei.

World Domination.

With you.

You have a nightmare vision of this unstoppable hybrid, killing everyone you know, piling them up like hay. Z understood his true nature. He warned you several times and each time you felt you had a reason to ignore him. His last words were “This one’s on you.”

You thought you were smart, strong, and quick enough to change and control your situation. But you were nothing compared to Ruri Kazama. Nothing!

There was only one way to free yourself...

"Look at it, how beautiful it is! What a perfect way to evolve! Before it was executed by the Black King, it actively evolved to live in parasitic form! It perpetuated its existence in this way!" The king pressed his hands on the capture pod and glorified the ugly parasite.

"Ah Excuse me!.” A voice from somewhere in this massive cave spoke up. “..if the god is a parasite ...... then how does it help us evolve?''

"It's not enough to find a parasite, you also have to find a host and food for it." The King smiled, "Only a very few hosts in this world can be parasitized by the god, such as Izanagi and Susanoo, but unfortunately the ancient descendants did not understand the great meaning of this parasitism and killed the god before it completely evolved into the new white king. It is not the god in this form that can give us the path of evolution, but the White King after the evolution is complete! We will see the new king ascend the throne and open a new chapter in the world!''

Pillars of light descended from the sky, enveloping you, the King General and Ruri Kazama in them. The helicopter's rotor blades cut through the rain curtain, a loud roar echoing through the well. It was a black helicopter with the cabin door open, and Gen Chisei sitting in the cabin, his long black trench coat whipping and flying.

At the last moment, Hydra arrived on the scene.

Ruri Kazama, who had been silent, seemed to wake up from a deep sleep. His eyes lit up, and golden mandala-like patterns seemed to turn under them. He slowly lifted his head and looked up at the black shadow that had fallen from the sky, the gale blowing away the fringes of his Kimono to reveal his ribbed chest.

"Brother! Brother! You've come to see me? Are you here for my graduation?" He laughed wildly in the wind.

"Or have you come for my enthronement ceremony?" His smile tightened into a malicious grimace, leaving only biting ferocity, "With your blood to stain my vestments with your sacrificial red?"

Just like that, Ruri seemed to have forgotten about you. But he already told you what to do.

Hide.

The ancient and stern language descended from the sky, just like the language of God echoing in the sky. The field of “Majesty" enveloped the Red Well, and tens of thousands of stainless steel wall panels fell off the well walls, pressing the king's wrath on everyone's head. The rules of gravity were forcibly changed. Everyone felt ten times their weight on their bones.

You flee. You flee like you fled the soldiers in Black Swan Bay. The huge metal plates smashed down on the helpless Devil Clan elites. But you were not affected and you had the Sword of the Gathering Clouds to aid you. The super sharp master blade cut through the thick steal plates like paper as you headed for the safety cabins. You didn’t understand why you were spared Majesty’s influence. Was this payback for rescuing Sakura on the Tokyo Tower? Or did Chisei understand that you weren't exactly a willing participant in all this?

All around you the moans of the members of the Devil Clan were echoing. They were like souls trapped in hell. You pause in your flight.

A young man had managed to grab your heel. His tears were pooling under his eyes. They were tears mixed with blood. His jaw looked distorted and broken. His chest was whistling with blood. He couldn’t have been older than you were, but he struggled. “Help… me…”

Before you could answer a massive shadow loomed over you and a steel plate came down and smashed through his neck like a guillotine, sending his head flying clear off the platform into the well below.

This wasn’t fair. These were people. They didn’t know Herzog was bad any more than you did as a Black Swan Bay orphan. Again, your mind superimposes Black Swan Bay onto the Red Well. If Herzog had taken you to the capitol as promised, wouldn’t he still be your beloved father? Would he not have infected you with his distorted visions of evolution? These people were just trying to survive! They were all that was left of the Devil Clan. Everyone else was in prison!

What was the difference between them and you? They were just like you! They were being slaughtered like animals and they were just like you!

The Red Well suddenly echoed with a mighty roar that came from your wide open throat. It was plaintive and piercing like the cry of a lonely wolf or a mourning mother over her fallen child. It was full of sorrow but also fierce frustration that this shit keeps happening and you want it to fucking stop! Your throat stretched and rattled painfully. If you could stop the world with your voice, you would roar until your voice gave out!

Your eyes explode into a kaleidoscope pattern of black red and gold as the blood in your body finally takes full hold. Ruri’s blood has replaced your own. That blood was yours now and all the power that came with it!

Ruri was laughing wildly from somewhere in the cave. “Do you hear that brother! It’s just as it’s written! A rib was taken from a man and from it was formed into a woman! See! I can quote fairy tales too!”

Your hands seize a firm hold of Gathering Clouds and you spin and a dazzling horizontal arc! The secret of this mighty sword is that it could control the wind. One of the first emperor hybrids wielded it to push a wildfire set by his enemies back into them, burning them to ash. In this case, the sword produced a wind so powerful it knocked back all the massive steel plates. Even though they were heavy in normal gravity and ten times heavier under the influence of Majesty, this dragon-tail sword blew those plates away like they weighed no more than feathers! They scattered like dandelion tufts blown by a child!

There was nothing in your mind other than stopping this mindless slaughter. You didn’t care about the Devil Clan versus Hydra. In this matter, you had to agree with Ruri Kazama. There were no good guys versus bad guys. There were good guys in Hydra like Sakura Yabuki and there were good people in the Devil Clan, like Chime and Chance. The only evil that led both astray were Herzog and Bondarev. They should be turning those weapons on them!

Chisei did not come alone. The heavily armed Hydra members followed Gen Chisei out of the cabin of the helicopters. They fired at the shaft wall with grapple guns and hung high from them, but Chisei Gen fell straight down. Kazama Ruri stretched the fuchsia-red sword in the air, Chisei’s twin blades made a dazzling ray of more than ten meters long, and the three blades fought against each other. The violent sparks illuminate the faces of the estranged brothers. Chisei’s face is indifferent like a stone carving, but Kazama Ruri’s is like a bloodthirsty evil spirit.

Around them, gunfire and explosions continued. The Hydra Elites hung in the air by their grapple guns and pulled the trigger before they had even completed their fall. A hailstorm of bullets fell from the sky. The moment Chisei jumped out of the cabin, “Majesty” was lifted, but the engineering team and gunmen of the Devil Clan were cut down and suppressed by gunfire before they could get up and dodge. The Hydra elites were not going to spare anyone in the well. They were thugs among thugs, and now, even though they dangled from ropes, they hold their weapons as still and stable as professional assassins.

A hurricane of violence had erupted in the Well of Bones. Ruri and Chisei’s blades were like lightning, the gun battles were like thunder, and you were howling like the wind.

You ran straight towards the wall, and then straight up the wall. Your face is like the mask of Medusa and your hair quivered like black snakes. You didn’t care how fast you were running, it wasn’t fast enough! People were still dying! If this were just up to you and just about you, you probably could have killed everyone in this well much more easily. That was how you were taught in Black Swan Bay. But now you’d been infected with a new philosophy.

The righteous philosophy of Caesar Gattuso! What was right mattered more than what was efficient. Human lives were worth more than the blood of gods! Your whole body felt like it was on fire as you cut through all the weapons of the Hydra members hanging on the walls. You were just as fast as Ruri was. Hydra leaders took aim at the Devil clan only for the muzzles of their guns to fall off and a strong breeze to shake them from the wall. You were able to easily outrun the bullets that strafed after you as you cut heavy weapons to pieces and cut them from their wires so that they would fall to the maintenance platform.

The surviving Devil clan members cheered as they crawled out from cover and picked up weapons to counterattack, and they aimed at the vital parts of the Hydra assassins, giving them fatal injuries while they were hanging in the air. But then those cheers changed to fearful confusion as this whirlwind of a woman descended on them and their weapons split in half even though they never saw you cut them.. “Stop fighting! Don’t you realize who the real enemy is?!” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It sounds like a mix of Ruri Kazama’s voice and yours, speaking double toned, like someone possessed.

“Traitor! She’s a traitor!” Someone yelled among the Devil Clan ranks

“Kill that Devil woman!” Came shouts from the Hydra elites on the wall.

Yelling erupted from every side of the well from both the Devil Clan and the Hydra elites. You’re suddenly enveloped by a hail of bullets from both sides who now viewed you as a dangerous enemy and united to fight against you. A rueful bitter voice echoed in your head. “Well, at least they answered your question. Their real enemy is you… apparently.” A strong wind burst out and the bullets of the Hydra and the Devil Clan shot back into their faces. Dozens of men on both sides on the conflict fell dead or seriously wounded in an instant.

You put one hand over your eyes. You cackled at your own despair. You couldn’t stop yourself laughing uproariously. Your laugh rose to an insane screaming pitch as you rose above the floor of the maintenance platform on a gale of wind like some sort of evil witch. “Fine… Fine! Have it your way. Tear each other’s throats and die here with no one to mourn you!” While you felt the evil of Herzog and the justice of Gattuso, you still had little patience for idiots.

“Leave her to me! I’ll take care of the rest!” A man darted forward. You could tell by his speed and the ferociousness in his eyes that this one was different. The sword he carried glow brilliantly as though it had been superheated. But to you he was just running like a child with a toy light saber. What mattered more was that he was a leader. He had influence.

You met him, but not blade for blade so as not to smash his weapon by accident. Instead you dodged while he struck at you again and again but you were like a ghost in the air. “Tell your men to stop fighting!” You say.

“I will not let you resurrect the god!” His blade suddenly burst into flames, extending its reach and sending a wave of fire at you. The fire ignites your dress, turning the white fabric to soot and exposing your midriff. Delicate white scales sparkled on your abdomen in the rain as though you were made of diamond. The man’s eyes widened in horror as you just absorbed what should have been a devastating blow.

“The god is already resurrected.” You tell him, your voice is shaking, pleading. The rain drops run down your face in a torrent. “You don’t understand its nature. I don’t think you can control it. If you don’t work together with the Devil Clan, you’ll never-”

Now it was the senior member’s turn to laugh. “Ha! Work together? Work with the greedy people who got us into this mess in the first place?!” He pointed the sword at you. His eyes blazing gold. “You’re just a child. We’ve been fighting this war for all our lives. Our sides were determined on the day we were born and I have sworn to follow my righteous path until I die!”

“These people are your family!” You scream desperately. “Chance’s real name was Ichirou Inuyama! He was Inuyama!”

You suddenly see his whole body glow like fire and his clothes burned away. Under his combat suit he was strapped head to toe in layers of plastic explosive! He’d prepared to meet a super-Devil like you or Ruri.

He howled against the wind. “DIE! DEVIL SCUM!”

Time seemed to slow as the raging ball of flame burned his body to ash and came towards you, and the roaring gale of Gathering Clouds bubbled outward to meet it. The force of the suicide vest was so powerful, the flames licked around your body, surrounding you in fire. But eventually, just as in the legend, the wind won out. The full force of the suicide blast flew away from you. Not only that, the blast was fed and accelerated by your ferocious wind until that fire expanded into a fireball a hundred meters wide and heated up to nearly 2,000 degrees. It engulfed men and women who had thrown away their broken guns and pulled out knives and swords. If they didn’t have knives and swords, they fought with fists, feet, and bits of debris. They didn’t even look up when the ball of fire took them over and snuffed out their lives. The massive fireball left corpses and flames and devastation in its wake.

But you didn’t mean it. You were just defending yourself.

A loud crash interrupted you before you could panic. You jerked your head around and saw Chisei Gen standing under a shower of burning wreckage from a helicopter that was rolling down the wall. Gen Chisei did not dodge and it was too late to warn him.

You run forward a few steps but the whirling blade that had broken off from the wreckage already chopped into Chisei’s shoulder, crushing the man flat to the ground as the rest of the blades cut in turn. Immediately afterwards, the crumpled black fuselage hit him and slid across the ground before finally crashing into the tall steel liquid nitrogen tank. Huge amounts of liquid nitrogen poured over the wreckage of the helicopter, frost spreading along the surface of the wreckage and rising up as a thick mist.

The fuel tanks ruptured and the fallen wreckage was ignited. Electric sparks flashed and buzzed as if a thousand suns were burning at the bottom of the well, a wave of gas forcing everyone still alive apart. Columns of light swept across the bottom of the storage well with columns of dust, fiery air currents and flying debris blew across the area.

The Hydra and engineering teams of the Devil Clan were still fighting. They didn't even realize that the leader of the Hydra group had been killed in action. All of them were immersed in a great sense of mission and anger. No matter what the outcome of this fight was, no one could stop anymore. Even though you had the blood, the power, and the faith in justice, you felt lost and without any hope of victory.

You’re not even sure you wanted Chime to come back any more. Maybe this is for the best that he sleeps forever with his brother.

This was not Black Swan Bay. These weren’t little children running from explosions or cold-blooded men. These were adults. These people were choosing to kill each other. Even if they were deceived, they truly believed the deception. Even if you took all their weapons and tied them all up, they would still move and crawl on the ground in an attempt to tear at each other with their teeth.

The trap that Herzog had set was not this well. The burning man was right. The trap had been set and carefully laid in their minds and cultivated from the day of their birth. Just like the trap of the suicide pills. These people had to, not only choose to live and not seek death, but also choose to let others live and not seek the death of other people.

"So sad the end, ah... the family line that stretched for thousands of years, the guardian of Japan, just ended its mission.'' Herzog stands by the burning wreckage and laments in a poetic voice, "From now on in the world, there will no longer be any such thing as Emperor.”

"But no matter," he smiled faintly again, "Emperors were outdated anyway."

Ruri was strangely silent. With his brother gone, shouldn’t he be attacking Herzog?

Herzog hoisted the carrying case in his hand, the glass capture capsule is contained in that case. He has got what he dreamed of all his life. It is time to leave this well. You huff. What a magnificent bastard. He didn’t have to do anything to kill anyone here. Everyone was happy to do it for him, yourself included.

You stare at the sword in your hand. What a poisoned pill that sword turned out to be!

At that moment, a loud heartbeat came from behind him, like a sudden booming death knell, like something returning from hell! Hands covered in white scales pierced the metal skin of the wreckage of the helicopter, and crystal clear claws snapped around the head of the King General!

The flames in the wreckage sucked in and out, getting more and more fiery, as though something huge was breathing in the cockpit. Each time it inhaled a huge amount of air from within the wreck, it exhaled a gushing fire from it.

The suitcase fell to the ground. The King kicked and struggled. Not only is the pressure on that sharp claw increasing, but the sound of breathing was taking on a threatening aura. Kazama Ruri didn't move. Those dull, soulless eyes lit up again, and he watched with interest as the claw slowly tightened. The king's mask was crumbling, blood dripping down from the cracks.

The wreckage suddenly burst apart! The few people who approached the wreckage were immediately killed by the flying flames and debris.

Out of the firelight came the dazzling white shadow, someone who could no longer be called human. He was such a beautiful and hideous creature. He possessed gnarled muscles and rippling sinews that proclaimed what power was in this incredible body. The surface of the scales of his skin were like golden-red brocade in the firelight. The skin on his back split open. Slender bones opened up. Bloody wings stretched themselves out for the first time He was drenched in blood from this wing beat but the wounds on his back healed at a speed visible to the naked eye, after which the fierce and savage back muscles bulged.

The exoskeleton-encircled face could no longer smile or frown, and the newborn Chisei breathed up into the sky with a windy roar in his throat.

He was something between an angel and a devil, a mistake that should not have been made in this world.

"Dragon's blood! You ...... you used dragon's blood?!" The General exclaimed.

Chisei’s voice was deep and echoing. "Yes, as an emperor, I can't kill you, but as a ghost, I can surpass the limits of an emperor." He said softly, "I've been a ghost slayer all my life, yet I didn't understand until this moment why those ghosts crave for power.''

He looked up at the dark night sky, rain pattering on that hard face: "When there is already boundless darkness where you are, how can you not fly to the flame?"

You gasp. Those words. Not those words! Those are Herzog’s words! Why was Chisei quoting the words of the dying Devil Clan? You reach out your hand. And then stop. With a slight popping sound, the skull of Herzog broke like a water pipe. He threw the King's body on the ground and lowered his emperor-like golden eyes to observe. The corpse never moved a single bit.

The King surprisingly just died. And suddenly everything made sense. You were too occupied to think about it before. Didn’t Chisei fall helplessly before Ruri Kazama just hours ago? Didn’t Chisei always save Majesty to the end of the battle as an escape plan because it rendered him as helpless as a newborn kitten? In this instance, he’d thrown it out at the beginning! But he suffered no side effects. He wanted to kill Ruri Kazama so badly that he went against his own morals and principles.

Morals and principals were so troublesome. You think to yourself bitterly. They get in the way of efficiency.

After what you’d seen of Ruri Kazama and after what you’d seen of the god. You didn’t believe you could survive here much longer and you didn’t think Chisei would win. It was best to escape while these two musclebound idiots solved their differences. Knowing them… they’d kill each other and you never got in the way of that before, and bitterly decide not to get in the way of that again.

Since Chisei didn’t suffer any from using his Soul Skill you decide to use your own Soul Skill. You press your foot to the ground and let the spiritual roots take hold without reservation. Mental filaments spread like vines and touch every part of the Red Well until you feel like you wear it as a second skin. You needed a way out. Then you could bury this place in magma. The magma wasn’t far from here. After all, it fed the god that caused all this. You would simply return it to its place.

A strange signature, like three footsteps, catches your attention. Someone had walked up near the rim of the well close to the machinery lift platform. You can’t see anyone, but they’re there. Who could be up there?

Your heart suddenly leaps into your throat and your memory throws up the scene on Tokyo Tower of Ruri beheading and then severing the body of the King in two only for it to pop up again in a second place! The person standing up on the platform was likely the real King! This body is a fake!

“Ha!” You snarl and take the Heavenly Cloud blade and strike the ground. It summons a huge tornado that lifts you off like a rocket. You really did have wings and you were going to pounce on this King creature like and eagle and kill him for real.

But this man was always prepared. What would he have for you? Bombs? Hah. Deadpool? Hah! There was nothing that could save him!

When you approach the rim of the well, it’s too late that you see the fine nano-fiber mesh that surrounds it. It wraps around you like a spiderweb, and clings tight as you collide with it and push with forward momentum. The Sword of Gathering Clouds slips from your grasp and goes falling back towards the well. Immediately your upward momentum comes crashing down onto the flat land that surrounds the Red Well and you roll several feet before coming to a stop next to an armored boot. Your hands are bound, your legs are bound. The nanofibers are crushing into your skin.

You stare up into the sky and a pistol is pointed right at your forehead. Herzog’s masked face comes into view. He waggles his fingers in greeting. “Hello.”

#Dragon Raja

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deathleadsarc · 2 years

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@of-elitiism sent a letter:

[ Marcus ] It's usually, the small things that catch his eye, such as this ridge board that had fallen off from the edge of her roof. Well, perhaps 'fallen off' was too great of a term, but Marcus knew a loose board when he saw it and judging by where and how it stood, it ought to completely fall apart during the next hailstorm. So he'd taken it upon himself to climb up there on his next visit, and hammer a new plank down in the ridge.

It was supposed to be at most an hour long task. However, he'd miscalculated the weather and packed one too many layers of clothing for what turned out to be an unusually torrid day, considering the season outside. Not a single breeze of air, not a single cloud in the sky. Marcus found himself peeling off the thick woolen shirt he had on, unbuttoning his cotton shirt halfway down and rolling up his sleeves as high as possible. Thick hair is pulled into a messy tail at the base of his neck and suddenly he can work more efficiently.

It isn't long before he's sighing with relief at the end of his task, pulling at the boards to make sure they're nice and sturdy. A short moment is spent just looking up into the sky, taking in the view and nodding in satisfaction at a job well done. That's about when he notices that he's probably been stared at for a short while; his sophisticated witchy neighbor had most likely been supervising him way before he'd noticed her, which makes him tug at his shirt a little, suddenly preoccupied to fix disheveled appearance. But he also gives a small smile and a wave of his hand, to signal that he's done what he got up there for. She didn't ask him to, but he did it anyway. Because, again, it's the little things. Always the little things...

// Unprompted Asks

- 🜛 - When had kindness come to know her last? Be it through the river that washed to the edge of dirt and mud a bountiful scallop, or the trinket of modern man bestowed from mischievous beak that twinkles 'pon a sleekly carved table in the kitchen. The forest's breeze that kisses weary skin perhaps? Even the heat that rises the soufflé within the sweltering oven - when had a K I N D N E S S from the hands of man known her last? Sunk beside the coziest chair adorned with woven blankets and downy pillows, bursts of mingled curiosity that pair with that contradicting confusion had now come ashore by the tide of sanguine eyes.

Peered out the glass of the cottage as debris made its way from the edges of the roof, she strains hearing in hopes to spy on what he'd been doing to her home. Slight P A N I C birthed of her paranoia and mistrust of man rises alarmingly, but just as quickly dissipates when his visage is brought clearly into view. A man indeed, but one worn and labored. The man who seemed so utterly disheveled and poorly dressed ( by the centuries old standard carved brutally within her brain ) seemed to now captivate her attention wholly. He looked upon his good work and smiled. There is only a single conclusion to be formed of this ; and it was simply that he wished to do so, for her sake.

One does not simply climb atop a rotting roof to leisurely restore it. No love for construction alone would persuade such a laborious trek atop the cottage to B A K E in the sunlight speckling through a leafy crown. Marcus had done so for her sake. Beneath the same veil of repairing what has been broken, he has spent his afternoon gifting her something she could not have done suitably herself.

A properly given show of gratitude could not reach her at that moment, so overcome with the kindness of another human is the W I T C H left dazed into muteness. Not until the man catches her staring within that torrent of disbelief is there response - and a single readjustment of her shawl against the cold. Lips pursed while flurries of positive affirmation mix about at the tip of her tongue, feeling her cheeks deepening scarlet.

“ Come inside, Marcus. I’ll have to make you something rather G R A N D for such a deed, won’t I? ” She cast her gaze downward and stepped briskly back through the threshold of the cottage, Poe squawking after her.

#answered #ofelitiism #🜃 | Clawing out through the dirt ; A Belladonna Blooming | MAIN

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charlthotte · 3 years

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Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 6

By the end of practice after school had ended, I started to understand the basics of volleyball. The premise was rather simple, however the strategy required a state of mind only pure geniuses possessed. Just from observing, you could understand how you need to have all of the cogs in your brain churning - but you couldn't understand just how much of the game was impacted by it. Sure, some aspects relied on just instinct, but the winner would always be the one to strategise. The practice was intense, not even our own team could get past the iron wall half of the time. 'Iron wall' seemed like such an intimidating name, blocking everything in its path and crushing down all who tried to get past - when it was truly just a measure of protection for our field of grass behind it. The wall was a sneering enemy to our opposition but a great protector to us.

As I was packing up the chairs, Futakuchi sneaked around behind me, "Your highness..." He whispered into the air.

"What is it this time, Futakuchi?" I didn't turn around - trying my best to ignore him and his antics.

"What's the deal with you and Aone?" He snickered.

"Nothing."

"Your highness... I don't really believe that. Why are you always with each other? Could it be something interesting?" He leered over my shoulder, though I couldn't see his face - I could still see his grimace.

"We just catch the same train. Nothing more." I replied curtly, quickly scurrying away from him.

His pace matched mine, trailing behind me at the same rhythm, "I don't think that's very believable. Aone's not that kind of person, you know."

"How am I meant to know that, I only met all of you yesterday." I finally turned around to face him; my arms folded in a very annoyed manner.

"The thing is your highness, Aone is the type of person to shy away from everyone, like he's somehow scared of what people will think." Futakuchi sneered, moving to match his height to mine.

I understood that feeling all to well, and I understood why Aone felt that way too. One person could tell you that your true nature was too much to handle, you were told that people would think badly of you if you didn't mask yourself. So you began to act how you presumed people wanted you to act, never raise a hand in objection, never praise yourself - for people will think of you as narcissistic. Along with many other things. Those teachings were partly to blame as to why crowds were such a problem to me, there would always be someone looking at me, and judging me... And I wouldn't even know. Maybe somehow, Aone thought that very way too, but only sometimes of course.

I cockily raised my eyebrow, "Maybe he's just like that with you, I doubt anyone would feel comfortable with you around." That didn't make sense at all. I had no clue why I just said that.

"Good point there, your highness. I bid you farewell." He bowed elegantly, one arm flourished to the side. When he rose, he looked behind me and nodded as the smirk on his face rose again. Once he had became a comfortable distance away from me, I swivelled around to meet the sight behind me - Aone. Who knew how long he had been standing there and how much of our conversation he had listened to.

"Hey, Aone..." My voice slightly cracking as I said that, "Have you been standing there for long, sorry if I didn't notice you." In return - he shook his head. It was relieving to say that he didn't listen in on that rather out of the blue conversation, even if it carried little meaning to him. Would I have felt differently if he did hear it? Was there really any difference at all, nothing had been revealed during our conversation.

After that, I headed to the club room, the only place where I knew nobody would disturb me - I took my time to get changed, hoping everyone would have cleared out before I left. In a swift click, the key turned in the lock, closing the club room for the day. Descending the stairs, I didn't look up from my feet - I habit I had learned years ago in order to draw attention away from me. The last step was then behind me, and something else stood in front of me. Aone. As silent as ever. No other team member was here, so he had no purpose in staying at practice a second longer - even for me. "Aone..." I calmly spoke, in a tone close to a whisper, "You didn't have to wait for me, you know."

Once again, he shook his head and we set off in the direction of the train station. Side by side in silence. Compared to yesterday, the scenery still struck me with a beautiful sight, somehow better than the day before. Nothing there was new, but to me - it was still as new as it had been. Weirdly, the streets were devoid of human presence, we didn't see a single person the entire team. It probably should have struck me as weird. Instead, the atmosphere was much more peaceful and rather comforting. Titling my head up to the sky, clouds the pallor of monotonicity shrouded the heavens - at that very moment, they began releasing their wrath onto the world, pelting icy pellets onto the ground. This slightly explaining why no one was outside. Had they all been warned about the weather? And how come I hadn't noticed the sky until now? Its appearance was blatantly obvious.

My hands quickly shot upwards to protect my head from the hail, the only viable protection I had at the time. Down the road, there was a black pine tree - a sanctuary for the time being. Upon seeing it, I started pelting towards the tree, Aone next to me the whole time having no problem at all with keeping my pace. Even though the tree wasn't kilometres away, we were still thoroughly drenched by the time we found our shelter. The tree didn't completely cover us, but little drops of ice were much more tolerable than the merciless storm not so far away. It definitely wouldn't be clever to leave our shelter before the storm had subsided, drenched school clothes and supplies wouldn't put us in the best situation either.

I rifled through my bag to find my volleyball jersey, and covered my head with it. It wasn't completely waterproof but the dire situation called for those very measures. There was nothing else we could do, I didn't dare read my book for the fact that I'd ruin the pages beyond recognition. All we could do was just sit there, nothing to do and nothing to say.

A few minutes passed before one of us tried to spark up a conversation, "Hey Aone, are you okay?" I attempted to turn my head towards him just to see him sat there, his knees up to his chest with his head resting upon them - he had nothing over his head to protect it. The only thing on his face besides the melted ice was a worried expression and a pallor, ghostlier than it normally was. My question didn't really need a verbal answer. Tenderly, I placed my hand upon his shoulder, to comfort him - just like he had done for me. He too, jumped at the touch, his body was so tense, it was almost statuesque. A drop of melted ice drip down onto his nose - causing him to scrunch it up like a cute little animal. Feeling almost sorry for him - I transferred my jacket over onto his head, he was the one who really needed it. As soon as I did that, he placed the jacket back onto my head - and I wasn't having any of that and plonked it straight back onto him. Trying to be chivalrous; he once again let the jacket fall onto my head, but I wasn't going to settle for that. I shifted my body just inches closer to his and draped the jacket over the both of us, and when I did that, he let his tense stature fall into one that was slightly more relaxed.

Who knew how long we sat there under my jacket, but the colour of the sky did seem to darken. However, the hailstorm never faltered for a second - there wasn't a moment where it had calmed down. As the time flew by, my body began to grow more and more numb from the weather, there wasn't anything I could do to ameliorate that. For all I knew we would be sat there for hours longer.

Abruptly, a car horn honked, sending its soundwaves scattering through the air. The car was all to familiar to me, my dad's. Finally feeling some sort of relief; I dashed towards it, leaving Aone behind. "Aone! Come here!" I shouted towards the tree, and he simply shook his head. He wasn't going to move. So, I had no choice but to run back to him, grab him by the arm and lead him towards my father's car, I couldn't let him wait outside for what seemed to be forever. "Get in, we'll drive you home." I stated in a very stern tone - he was going to get in that car. He seemingly gave in to me and slumped in the back seat of the car, his expression however, turning back into what could be mistaken for a glare. Hopping in beside him, I noticed how absolutely waterlogged we were. After all, the tree did very little to shelter us. I slammed the door shut, finally away from the hail storm.

My father did not seem surprised by the extra passenger in his car, even though he had never met them previously. He was even quick to start conversation by creating small talk, and I tried to answer every question for him as he wouldn't do it himself. There was one question that I couldn't answer. His address. What Aone answered with was quite the interesting piece of information, he lived at a house barely 5 minutes away from mine, just one train stop away.

After turning the radio on, I rested my head on the side of the car, just craving the warm embrace of my bed. When Aone walked up to his front door, a lively beagle jumped up at his legs - Aone's face morphed into a large smile, however, the smile wasn't large per say, but for him - it was the biggest smile I had seen on him. Smiling and waving as we drove away, my dad cheerily started chatting again. "You seem to get along with him well don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so." I said, my eyes wandering around the world outside.

"Does he not speak much normally?" He inquired.

"Not really," I replied, "I guess we can talk in different ways though."

"That's interesting, other than that he seems quite nice."

"Yeah." My mind drifted from the present, focusing on nothing - I was just... There.

After we had arrived home, I jumped straight into the shower - wanting to wash the scent of the outside off of me. Warm water was such a pleasant feeling against my skin, I would have stayed in there all night if it wasn't for the water going cold and I wasn't feeling very welcoming towards the cold at that very moment in time. I took my time drying myself and my hair, before just rolling myself up in my covers, feeling secure, feeling safe. I fell asleep in that very same position, dreaming about nothing, nothing but a bridge overlooking a lily-endowed river.

#aone #aone takanobu #aone x gn!reader #aone x reader #aone takanobu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x reader

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nissakii · 3 years

Text

Scent. a Haikyu!! Fanfiction pt.32

[want to read all chapters right now? Our fanfictions get updated every monday on our blog, click here to continue reading!]

The sheer impact of our arrival at the sparrows stadium was mind numbing. It was what he had imagined for his debut, a roaring crowd screaming his name as he pushed in point after point as he won the game for the team.

His ma on the TV, Samu in the stands, although he would prefer him next to him.

It would all be perfect.

Tee day had already tipped as they started to drive across town in the team bus when the coach came up to him.

“Right so the hand thing? Well, we will need more time for that Miya. To be honest I don’t quiet get it yet but I respect you so of course we’ll get there, but you can do it without right?”

“Ya underestimate me coach!”

He had replied as cold sweat formed on his back.

Contrary to popular belief, and the valid perception that Atsumu was a narcissistic asshole, the hand indicator for the crowd to be quiet for his serve was more than just a fun thing to do.

Atsumus’ head needed a clear slate whenever he served. A calm moment to collect before he could deliver.

But hey, he works just as focused within the game when it was loud so it probably wasn’t much of an issue.

So it wouldn’t be perfect, whatever.

The second indicator fell wenn they walked out of the locker rooms and he could already hear the roaring of the crowds outside which riled him up, but as he stood on the court to warm up and find his brother.

Well, he didn’t.

On each side of the court, the watchers slammed their hands on the plastic banners around the court and stomped their legs on the floor.

His heart was thumping. Probably out of excitement.

He warned up like usual, recapped his game moves like usual, focused on himself for a second like usual.

Then the home team walked out onto the court, and his chest tightened.

“LETS GO!!”, a small familiar figure jumped onto their side of the net.

Hinata Shoyo.

Right behind him, Kageyama Tobio.

Finally, some good food.

As a couple of moments later, the ball sat in his hand for the first serve, he imagined his highschool team behind him.

The roaring of the crowd didn’t stop, and the words of the coach only built the pressure in his mind.

He looked to the bench to find three people looking at him directly, their eyes full of hunger.

Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Sakusa.

His eyes trailed back to the front.

A whistle was to be heard.

The first service ace felt terrifyingly good.

The weight on his palm as he smacked down the ball and left it flying to the ground, it restored his faith for a moment.

I got this.

From then on, the game went rather smoothly. Some small hiccups, especially with that freak duo and that disgustingly well playing Libero.

What was his name? Morisuke?

Atsumu was sure this would be a long game, but a sure attainable win when like a hailstorm with no warning, the third impediment came in.

“Tsummuuuuuu”

A few hard to knock cross shots, and there it was.

He knew it would come. It happened in practice, but this time it was real and dangerous.

“Okay Bo, listen”, he put his arm around the spiker to calm him but it was pushed away by him, ‘Come on! Ya wanna win dontcha?”

“You don’t get it! I just can’t remember how to do the cross shot right!”

Something tore in Miya Atsumu.

Was it his patience? His compassion? Was it his will? Whatever it was, it broke and a damn of emotions came rolling with it.

He kept tossing to Bokuto.

He was the secret weapon, but point after point was lost as he ignored his dip in emotion.

Did he actually forget how to play volleyball?

The sweat on Atsumus forehead started to feel sticky, and he stuck out his tongue and tasted salt as before wiping his face quickly with his shirt.

This is not good.

It was his time again to serve, a moment for him to change the tide of the game. His moment to save something where he didn’t need a spiker or a good pass from the back.

A good service ace.

He made his steps, he threw the ball up and watched it with his keen eyes. As if it moved in slow motion, the crowd was still screaming as he lost focus for a moment until his palm hit the texture of the ball and with a grunt he barreled it towards the enemy field.

A whistle cracked through the air, the counter pointed the red flag towards the sky, the referee whistled again to signal a point for the sparrows.

He looked at the scoreboard, match point.

Not for their team.

Another whistle sound made its way through the air to his ears, everything felt like it moved too slowly and as he looked at his coach, a number was raised to the air by him.

Oikawa Tooru held up his own jersey number, with a stoic expression that showed absolutely nothing.

But Atsumu felt a lot.

His shoes squeaked as he wobbled towards the plate with the number on it as he took it, looking at the disappointment in the coach’s face as he sat down on the bench.

Someone put a cool towel over his shoulders, and the cool sensation cleared his thoughts for a moment.

The whistle cracked again, his eyes fixated on the court as he watched the B-team setter walk up to Bokuto and pat his back.

After five minutes they got a match point.

After 15 minutes Bokuto was back to throwing in cross shots.

After 30 minutes they had won the second set, and in less than an hour Atsumu engrained every single movement of the brunette setter in his mind.

He glanced at the smile that plastered the entire team’s face, as they all cracked jokes while Bokuto almost slipped from the excess sweat and was caught by the other setter as they all celebrated the win.

“Miya, we will look at the footage of this game tomorrow at practice”.

The coach stood next to him, but Atsumu couldn’t even look at him.

“Yes sir”.

He was the first to walk into the showers after they shook hands with the team, and he was the first to walk into the team bus and flop down on one of the seats.

He quickly took his cellphone and turned it on to check for messages.

From Ma: [You were just fine dear! Proud of you]

From Samu: [soz can’t make it, tell me all about it later]

He turned his phone off again before he could even dare to check the varsity group chat.

The bus started to fill with clamoring teammates as he just kept on staring at the orange tinted sky.

What the hell happened today?

His head reiterated the last three hours again and again, just to keep a tally of all the things that went wrong. Surely there would be something that could’ve been changed. He was in peak physical condition, his serves were fine, he was fine.

He was fine.

They had won the game.

“Shit”, he cursed under his breath as his mind came to the same conclusions again and again. No matter how many times he would think of it, how many times he would change the perspective of the facts, it was a dead end all around.

It was him.

How did this happen?

With a faint rumble, the engine of the bus started which snapped him back into the here and now by force. Blinking and tipping his head back, he racked his brain on how his after-game routine would change today.

He would definitely practice serves today.

Lots of em.

Lanterns rushed by as he took in the scenery, the sky slowly turning more into a peach and then lilac colour as it transitioned into a blue that signalled the arrival of the night. There wouldn’t be much time before the gym would close, maybe he would have to do his exercises outside or bribe someone to get the keys.

Who needs sleep anyway?

And maybe then Osamu would have some-

His thoughts jumped to a halt as he remembered the empty seat on the stands.

Nevermind.

Sighing, he closed his eyes hoping for a calm ride until he had to unpack the rest of his thoughts.

The frustration bubbled away in the back of his mind, sure to erupt sometime soon.

His mind could only focus on the sound of the engine vibrating under him and the steady movement of the passing lights on his face.

Until he heard a creaking sound and he felt the seat next to him dip.

He stopped, opened his eyes and looked to the side quickly just to find that the other setter had made himself comfortable in the seat.

Atsumu huffed in disbelief.

Of course.

“Came ta gloat?”

Oikawa shuffled a little in his seat, the dark blue jersey jacket zipped up completely as he threw a half-smile, “Do you really think I would do that? Beat down a dead man?”

Somehow the jab was better than pity, but Atsumu still kissed his teeth in annoyance.

“Dead man ay? Where’s that award winnin’ smile ya paraded earlier hm? Not so friendly when no cameras are there yea?”, Atsumu felt his finger twitch but kept smiling at the brunette who only returned the gesture.

“Well we won the game so”,his smile did not falter but his eyes roamed across Atsumu before they trailed away again, “your serves were adequate I guess”.

Atsumu punched out a sound out of his chest. It could’ve been a disbelieving huff or laugh, but it couldn’t deter Oikawa.

“And you got picked for the A-team so your skills well, I can’t complain”, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The blonde took a moment and actually looked at Oikawa now, who pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. “It’s always guys like you who get picked so”, and they both looked at each other, “what happened out there?”

And maybe because Oikawa didn’t pity him, or dump snide backhanded comments at him he felt a brief moment in which he almost unloaded the entirety of his mind onto him, but he knew that would haunt him for the rest of his pro-career, so he opted for clasping his lips together for another second.

He hadn’t felt comfort like that in a while, and somehow even though it was absolutely infuriating, Oikawa had an atmosphere to him that almost made him want to open up.

No.

“Nothin’ happened, that Bokuto guy was a hassle. That’s all there’s to it”

It wasn’t a lie. It was just not the entire truth either.

Atsumu was good at that.

Playing around with words, confusing people, toying with what was real and what wasn’t. He was in fact so good at it, he didn’t even know what was the entire truth if he thought about it.

“I see”, the brunette replied, his gaze piercing through Atsumu as the latter tried to hold his composure with another self-serving smile.

“Yup! Would’ve all been different then”, he pushed again, not expecting his peers’ next words.

“I really don’t know you that well, and I don’t want to assume anything or meddle in your privacy”, he held eye contact with Atsumu as he spoke, “but that kind of conflict already arose in practice from what I’ve heard, and you could’ve prepared for it. There’s no doubt on your skills, I hate to even admit that but”, he waited a moment as Atsumu could only sit there with his smile slowly falling, “there is either more to it, or you really need to work on evening out the playing field”.

There was some silence, as Atsumu pressed his fists together a little too much.

It was solid advice.

If it had been Atsumu, he would have said it in a much ruder way. Maybe even yelled it at the person or just commented on it behind their backs.

What did he know, huh?!

Acting all high and mighty just because he saved that game?

He stilled for a moment.

That wouldn’t work.

He knew Oikawa was right. Which made it even worse.

Still, he didn’t know what it’s like for Atsumu.

He had no idea.

He had his team, a smiling coach, Bokuto in his grasp. Iwaizumi at his side.

Atsumu had…

He looked at the dark screen of his phone that started to slip out of his jersey shorts.

No one.

Nothing new if he was being honest.

“Riiight! Thank ya so much for yer concern Oikawa”, he grinned widely and his whole demeanor changed as he squinted his eyes a little, “If you’ll excuse me I’m gonna to talk to the coach now alright?”, he grabbed his bag and shuffled over until the brunette had no choice but to leave the seat.

As he slowly walked in between the rows of seats, he took a quick look backwards to find Oikawa still staring at him intently, no emotions on display.

He quickly turned around again to find another empty seat and plopped down onto it. Grabbing his phone and turning it on, he quickly turned down the notifications for the group chat and his brother’s chat, only to find a new message he didn’t expect.

[from jittery beta: Have you thought about the exposure therapy?]

He groaned and rested his head in his hands.

Why is it all coming together?

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huihuiheart · 4 years

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Goretober D23: Eclipse - Wonwoo

A town is enveloped in unexplained darkness for weeks. - Wonwoo

Wonwoo + Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Unexplained phenomenon, doomsday themes?, themes of kidnapping.

Word Count: 679

You watched the flame of the candle dance to life for a moment before blowing out the match between your fingers, lifting to turn and go back to things now that you’d slightly resolved the issue of light. Only you practically run into Wonwoo as you do, causing you to jump and nearly stumble back onto the newly lit candles, if he hadn’t caught you. Hands letting go as soon as he was sure you were steady on your own again.

“When did you get back?” You question not having heard him as you watch him place the bag of groceries onto the counter, before you help him start to put things away. Not that there was much.

“Just like ten minutes ago.........things are getting worse out there.” Wonwoo sighs, shoulders slumping as if he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Oh? What exactly is happening?” You put the can in your hands down and look to him waiting for an answer, and when he just shakes his head you gently place a hand on his arm for a minute, “Fine, I’ll start.....the eclipse is still occurring ... that makes it 2 months and 4 days at this point.”

Wonwoo knows you won’t drop the topic, even if he’s simply trying to protect you from the way things are outside. Also knowing there was a chance you’d go out to determine what was happening yourself if he didn’t share things with you, which was the last thing he wanted after what he saw today.

“The power stations are still glitching out and having all sorts of surge. What they thought would help only seems to be making things worse. Hailstorms are spreading too, from the north down. While fires are spreading from the south. Though they don’t know if the fires are natural or from people panicking and causing problems.........I’m really starting to think we should collect stock up here some and try not to go out. With the way people are being it’s absolute chaos right now.” Wonwoo finally shares the information, but there was a piece missing.

You didn’t often get information from sources other than Wonwoo, much less information that you trusted. In this case though whether you trusted it or not you needed to know. You needed to be prepared for whatever needed to be done.

“What about those officials? The ones dressed in white and making people disappear?....any word about them?” Your voice is small as you ask, and it was a good idea to tread lightly noting the way Wonwoo pales at your question.

“Y-You know about that?” Wonwoo finally collects himself enough to find his voice and you only meekly nod in answer, “I guess I should tell you something about it then.... they’re taking people and no one knows why, but those people are never seen again. Nothing good will come from it. If you see them coming, only grab whatever you can and run, hide, anything....just get away from them okay?”

Your brows furrow, “Where will we go though?”

“It doesn’t matter, anywhere is better as long as they don’t get you.” Wonwoo insists before walking off as a way of ending the conversation, not wanting to discuss it anymore.

Which is why a week later it’s still ringing fresh in your head when you hear cries and screams from down the street, the roaring of large engines, and Wonwoo sneaking in through the back with a harsh call of your name. Before you can even question what is going on Wonwoo tosses you an emergency pack and gesturing for you to slip out the way he slipped in as a pounding sounds against the door.

“Government authorities open up!” A voice booms before you hear a muttering about someone sneaking around back to block an exit.

Wonwoo slipping your hand into his before bolting, trying to weave between the homes without being spotted, before you both hear the pounding of boots chasing behind. Wonwoo moving you in front of him, as if to shield you from them.

“RUN!”

#goretober #seventeen #seventeen oneshot #wonwoo #wonwoo oneshot

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vajranam · 3 years

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Milarepa

The story of how Jetsun Milarepa followed Marpa of Lhodrak.

In the region of Ngari Gungthang, there lived a rich man by the name of Mila Sherab Gyaltsen. This man had a son and a daughter, and it was the son, whose name was Mila Thopa-ga, "Mila Joy to Hear," who was to become Jetsun Milarepa. When the two children were still small, their father died. Their uncle, whose name was Yungdrung Gyaltsen, appropriated all their wealth and possessions. The two children and their mother, left with neither food nor money, were forced to undergo many hardships. Mila learned the arts of casting spells and making hailstorms from the magicians Yungton Throgyal of Tsang and Lharje Nupchung, and brought about the death of his uncle's son and daughter-in-law together with thirty-three other people by making the house collapse. When all the local people turned angrily against him, he caused such a hailstorm that the hail lay on, the ground as deep as three courses of a clay wall (about 3 meters).

Afterwards, repenting his misdeeds, he decided to practise Dharma. Taking the advice of Lama Yungton, he went to see an adept of the Great Perfection by the name of Rongton Lhaga, and asked him for instruction.

"The Dharma I teach," the Lama replied, "is the Great Perfection. Its root is the conquest of the beginning, its summit the conquest of attainment and its fruit; the conquest of yoga. If one meditates on it during the day, one can become Buddha that same day; if one meditates on it during the night, one can become Buddha that very night. Fortunate beings whose past actions have created suitable conditions do not even need to meditate; they will be liberated simply by hearing it. Since it is a Dharma for those of eminently superior faculties, I will teach it to you.”

After receiving the empowerments and instructions, Mila thought to himself, "It took me two weeks to obtain the main signs of success at casting spells. Seven days were enough for making hail. Now here is teaching even easier than spells and hail-if you meditate by day you become a Buddha that day; if you meditate by night you become a Buddha that night-and if your past actions have created suitable conditions, you don't even need to meditate at all! Seeing how I met this teaching, I obviously must be one of the ones with good past actions."

So he stayed in bed without meditating, and thus the practitioner and the teaching parted company.

“It is true what you told me," the lama said to him after a few days. “You really are a great sinner, and I have praised my teaching a little too highly. So now I will not guide you. You should go to the hermitage of Trowolung in Lhodrak, where there is a direct disciple of the Indian siddha Naropa himself. He is that most excellent of teachers, the king of translators, Marpa. He is a siddha of the New Mantra Tradition, and is without rival throughout the three worlds. Since you and he have a link stemming from actions in former lives, go and see him!"

The sound of Marpa the Translator's name alone was enough to suffuse Mila's mind with inexpressible joy. He was charged with such bliss that every pore on his body tingled, and immense devotion swept over him, filling his eyes with tears. He set off, wondering when he would meet his teacher face to face. Now, Marpa and his wife had both had many extraordinary dreams, and Marpa knew that Jetsun Mila was on his way.

He went down the valley to await his arrival, pretending to be just ploughing a field. Mila first met Marpa's son, Tarma Dode, who was tending the cattle. Continuing a little further, he saw Marpa, who was ploughing. The moment Mila caught sight of him, he experienced tremendous, inexpressible joy and bliss; for an instant, all his ordinary thoughts stopped. Nonetheless, he did not realize that this was the lama in person, and explained to him that he had come to meet Marpa.

“I’ll introduce you to him myself," Marpa answered him. "Plough this field for me." Leaving him a jug of beer, he went off. Mita, draining the jug to the last drop, set to work. When he had finished, the lama's son came to call him and they set off together.

When Mila was brought into the lama's presence, he placed the soles of Marpa's feet upon the crown of his head and cried out, "Oh, Master! I am a great sinner from the west! I offer you my body, speech and mind. Please feed and clothe me and teach me the Dharma. Give me the way to become Buddha in this life!"

"It's not my fault that you reckon you're such a bad man," Marpa replied."I didn't ask you to pile up evil deeds on my account! What is all this wrong you have done?" Mila told him the whole story in detail.

"Very well," Marpa acquiesced, "in any case, to offer your body, speech and mind is a good thing. As to food, clothing and Dharma, however, you cannot have all three. Either I give you food and clothing and you look for Dharma elsewhere, or you get your Dharma from me and look for the rest somewhere else. Make up your mind. And if it's the Dharma you choose, whether or not you attain Buddhahood in this lifetime will depend on your own perseverance.”

"If that is the case," said Mila, "since I came for the Dharma, I will look for provisions and clothing elsewhere.”

He stayed a few days and went out begging through the whole of upper and lower Lhodrak, which brought him twenty-one measures of barley. He used fourteen of them to buy a four-handled copper pot. Placing six measures in a sack, he went back to offer that and the pot to Marpa. When he set the barley down, it made the room shake. Marpa got up.

"You're a strong little monk, aren't you?" he said."Are you trying to kill us all by making the house fall down with your bare hands? Get that sack of barley out of here!" He gave the sack a kick, and Mila had to take it outside. Later on he gave Marpa the empty pot.

One day Marpa said to him: "The men of Yamdrok Taklung and Lingpa are attacking many of my faithful disciples who come to visit me from U and Tsang, and stealing their provisions and offerings. Bring hailstorms down on them! Since that is a kind of Dharma too, I will give you the instructions afterwards."

Mila caused devastating hailstorms to fall on both these regions and then went to ask for the teachings.

“You think I'm going to give you the teachings I brought back from India at such great cost in exchange for three or four hailstones? If you really want the Dharma, cast a spell on the hill-folk of Lhodrak. They attack my disciples from Nyaloro and are always treating me with downright contempt. When there is a sign that your spell has worked, I shall give you Naropa's oral instructions, which lead to Buddhahood in a single lifetime and body."

When the signs of the success of the evil spell appeared, Mila asked for the Dharma.

"Huh! Is it perhaps to pay honour to your accumulation of evil deeds that you are claiming to want these oral instructions that I had to search for, never considering the risk to my own body and life-these instructions still warm with the breath of the dakinis? I suppose you must be joking, but I find this a bit too much. Anyone else but me would kill you! Now, bring those hill people back to life and return to the people of Yamdrok their harvest. You'll get the teachings if you do-otherwise, don't hang around me anymore!"

Mila, utterly shattered by these reprimands, sat and wept bitter tears. The next morning, Marpa came to see him. "I was a bit rough with you last night," he said."Don't be sad. I will' give you the instructions little by little. Just be patient! Since you're a good worker, I'd like you to build me a house to give to Tarma Dode. When you've finished, I'll give you the instructions, and provide you with food and clothing as well.”

"But what will I do if I die in the meantime, without the Dharma?” Mila asked. “I’ll take the responsibility of making sure that doesn't happen," Marpa said. "My teachings are not just idle boasting, and since you obviously have extraordinary perseverance, when you put my instructions into practice we will see if you can attain Buddhahood in a single lifetime." After further encouragement in the same vein, he had Mila build three houses one after the other: a circular one at the foot of the eastern hill, a semicircular one in the west and a triangular one in the north. But each time, as soon as the house was half finished, Marpa would berate Mila furiously, and make him demolish whatever he had built and take all the earth and stones he had used back to where he had found them. An open sore appeared on Mila's back, but he thought, "If I show it to the Master, he will only scold me again. I could show it to his wife but that would just be making a fuss." So, weeping, but not showing his wounds, he implored Marpa's wife to help him request the teachings.

She asked Marpa to teach him, and Marpa replied, "Give him a good meal and bring him here!" He gave Mila the transmission and vows of refuge.

"All this," he said, "is what is called the basic Dharma. If you want the extraordinary instructions of the Secret Mantrayana, the sort of thing you'll to have to go through is this... "and he recounted a brief version of the life and trials of Naropa. "It'll be difficult for you to do the same," he concluded.

At these words Mila felt such intense devotion that his tears flowed freely, and with fierce determination he vowed to do whatever his teacher asked of him. A few days later, Marpa went for a walk and took Mila with him as his attendant. He went south-east and, coming to a favorably situated piece of ground, he said, "Make me a grey, square tower here, nine storeys’ high. With a pinnacle on top, making ten. You won't have to take this building down, and when you've finished I'll give you the instructions. I'll also give you provisions when you go into retreat to practise.”

Mila had already dug the foundations and started building when three of his teacher's more advanced pupils came by. For fun, they rolled up a huge stone for him and Mila incorporated it in the foundations. When he had finished the first• two storeys, Marpa came to see him and asked him where the stone in question had come from. Mila told him what had happened. "My disciples practising the yoga of the two phases shouldn't be your servants!" Marpa yelled. "Get that stone out of there and put it back where it came from!"

Mila demolished the whole tower, starting from the top. He pulled out the big foundation stone and took it back to where it had come from. Then Marpa told him, "Now bring it here again and put it back in. " So Mila hauled it back to the site and put it in just as before. He went on building until he had finished the seventh storey, by which time he had an open sore on his hip.

"Now leave off building that tower," Marpa said, "and instead build me a temple, with a twelve-pillared hall and a raised sanctuary.”

So Mila built the temple, and by the time he had finished, a sore had broken out on his lower back.

At that time, Meton Tsonpo of Tsangrong asked Marpa for the empowerment of Samvara, and Tsurton Wange of Dol asked for the empowerment of Guhyasamaja. On both occasions, Mila, hoping that his building work had earned him the right to empowerment, took his place in the assembly, but all he received from Marpa were blows and rebukes and he was thrown out both times. His back was now one huge sore with blood and pus running from three places. Nevertheless, he continued working, carrying the baskets of earth in front of him instead.

When Ngokton Chodor of Shung came to ask for the Hevajra empowerment, Marpa's wife gave Mila a large turquoise from her own personal inheritance. Using it as his offering for the empowerment, Mila placed himself among row of candidates but, as before, the teacher scolded him and gave him a thrashing, and he did not receive the empowerment. This time he felt that there was no further doubt: he would never receive any teachings. He wandered off in no particular direction.

A family in Lhodrak Khok hired him to read the Transcendent Wisdom in Eight Thousand Verses. He came to the story of Sadaprarudita, and that made him think. He realized that, for the sake of the Dharma, he must accept all hardships and please his teacher by doing whatever he ordered.

So he returned, but again Marpa only welcomed him with abuse and blows. Mila was so desperate that Marpa's wife sent him to Lama Ngokpa, who gave him some instructions. But when he meditated nothing came of it, since he had not received his teacher's consent. Marpa ordered him to go back with Lama Ngokpa, and then to return. One day, during a feast offering, Marpa severely reprimanded Lama Ngokpa and some other disciples and was about to start beating them. Mila thought to himself, "With my evil karma, not only do l myself suffer because of my heavy faults and dense obscurations, but now I am also bringing difficulties on Lama Ngokpa and my Guru's consort. Since I am just piling up more and more harmful actions without receiving any teaching, it would be best if I did away with myself."

He prepared to commit suicide. Lama Ngokpa was trying to stop him when Marpa calmed down and summoned them both. He accepted Mila as a disciple, gave him much good advice and named him Mila Dorje Gyaltsen, "Mila Adamantine Victory Banner."As he gave him the empowerment of Samvara; he made the mandala of its sixty-two deities clearly appear. Mila then received the secret name of Shepa Dorje, "Adamantine Laughter," and Marpa conferred all the empowerments and instructions on him just like the contents of one pot being poured into another. Afterwards, Mila practised in the hardest of conditions, and attained all the common and supreme accomplishments.

The trials that Milarepa had to undergo before receiving the teachings from Marpa, as well as being a purification of past Karma, an accumulation of merit and a psychological preparation, also had a bearing on the future of his lineage, each detail having a symbolic significance which, by the principle of interdependence would affect Milarepa’s own future and that of his disciples.

~H.H. Patrul Rinpoche from the text Words of My Perfect Teacher.

#wisdom #spirituality #mindfulness #meditation #religion #buddhism #zen #self care #visualization #tibet

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elgringo300 · 3 years

Text

Mad Jack Churchill

Dirt crunches under our feet as we march away from the boat that had brought us here. In the distance, German Christmas carols can be heard. I feel bad ambushing them on such an important holiday. Still, I grip my rifle reassuringly, knowing that this will be the battle of my life.

Then, from right beside me, comes a noise that fills my heart with dread.

Bagpipes.

“Jack, put that down!” I hiss, turning to the legend that stood beside me. “Do you want them to find us?”

Mad Jack Churchill removes his lips from the instrument to reply “Yes,” then continues playing.

I guess I should expect as much from a guy who’s wearing a bow and arrow on his back, and a broadsword at his hip.

As the rest of the soldiers begin to sing along to “the March of the Cameron Men,” I notice with a mix of satisfaction and foreboding, that the German Christmas carols had stopped.

* * *

“See that, Peter?” Mad Jack whispers in my ear, as we gaze upon the Nazi stronghold. “That’s a victory waiting to happen.”

Waist-high walls surround the complex, which are regularly patrolled by Nazi soldiers. Inside, barracks and dining halls outnumber the officer’s quarters, with a large building that appears to be a strategy room. In the middle of the Nazi base, a large structure literally towers above the rest, with two German soldiers inside scouring the horizon. The whole place is crawling with Nazis..

Also, my name’s Ben.

“Sir,” I murmur reluctantly, “I hate to be that guy, but-”

“Then don’t be,” Jack chuckles.

“But there are 53 men in our commando unit. There are at least 200 Nazis down there.”

“I know right? You almost gotta feel sorry for them.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Just stick to the plan, Pete.” Jack begins to crawl away. “Remember, on my signal.” He quickly vanished into the undergrowth.

I point my gun back at the stronghold, lying on my stomach. “If he pulls this off, I’ll kiss him myself.”

“Ha!” my comrade, James Buchanan Barnes, laughs. “Twenty bucks say you won’t.”

“Shucks,” I mutter to myself.

Hours pass, as I aim at one nazi after another, my finger floating over the trigger. My stomach grows numb as I wait for Mad Jack’s signal.

Suddenly, atop the watchtower, one of the lookouts begins to stumble around as if drunk. By the light of the moon, I can barely see a fletched arrow sticking out of his neck, right before he topples to the ground.

Then a guttural roar sounds from within the woods. “COMMANDOOO!!” And all hell breaks loose.

I immediately squeeze my trigger, spewing death into the enemy camp and dropping 3 guards who were immediately in front of me. Jumping up from my hiding spot, I charge recklessly into the complex, adding my own yell to the cacophony. “COMMANDO!”

From all around the stronghold, the call sounds, as commandos jump from their positions and descend into the battle. Bullets fly as I follow suit, screaming our team name and shooting at no one in particular.

There were squads of five positioned at strategic points around the camp. Out of each group, four would remain outside the stronghold in order to give the illusion of greater numbers, while one was chosen to enter and wreak havoc personally.

As I charge the wall, I spot a Nazi raise his gun. I quickly throw myself to the ground, just in time to hear the whoosh of two bullets above my head. Then the nazi dropped as James’ bullet impacts his face. From this distance, only Bucky could make the shot.

Scrambling to my feet, I vault the wall and scream again. “COMMANDO! You, surrender!” I point my gun at a couple of Nazi’s who were cowering behind the wall. One of them throws their gun to the ground. The other aims at me, but before he shoots they both eat my bullets. “Dammit!” I mutter. In the rush, I instinctively shot them both.

I turn around again, back towards the objective. “COMmand…”

In front of me stands a German soldier, his pistol raised. My gun begins to move from my hip towards his head, but I know that he’ll shoot first. My heart begins to pound. It was pounding before, but now I can hear every beat.

Bum, bum.

My gun passes my belly-button. Time seems to slow down.

Bum, bum.

“Brenn in der Hölle,” my adversary growls.

Bum, bum.

The nazi’s finger begins to squeeze. Somehow I can see it from here.

Bum, bum.

An arrow sprouts from the enemy’s leg, he stumbles. Bang!

Bum, bum.

The bullet grazes my ear, and I feel a drop of blood trace its way down my neck.

Time speeds up again.

“Get inside! COMMANDO!!” yells Mad Jack, shooting my almost-murderer through the heart. He picks up the Nazi’s gun and throws it through a nearby window, shattering the glass. “In here!” He vaults through, into the building. I quickly follow, just in time too. A hailstorm of bullets flies over my head, as I fall on my butt inside.

“What are you doing, Pete! You can’t just stand there when an enemy points a gun at ya!” He yells in my ear, as the sounds of war continue outside.

“It's Ben! What happened to your neck!” I reply, reloading as quickly as I can. I’m aware of probably being low on bullets right now, and I want to take advantage of the brief cover.

Also, his neck was caked with blood.

“Machine gun,” he grunts. “And my name’s Jack, dammit!”

A nazi suddenly appears over the window, pointing his pistol at Jack. “Sterbe-ahhh!” Before he can finish speaking, Jack draws his sword and drives it through the man’s arm. Grabbing his shirt, Jack flips the poor Nazi through the window, and stabs the man through the chest.

“Where’s your sword, Pete?” Jack yells, sheathing his own.

“Ben!” I reply. “And most normal soldiers don’t use swords!”

“For the last time, call me Jack! Any officer who goes into action without his sword is improperly dressed!”

He rolls to the door, which is conveniently unlocked. Through the window, I can still hear the cries of Commando, but curiously, the gunshots have stopped. A smile lights up his bloodstained face, and he holds up a finger in expectation. “Wait for it…” he mutters.

Then a very German voice yells, “Wir geben auf! Wir geben auf!” The only words anybody here had bothered to learn. The cry of surrender.

“And that!” laughed Mad Jack Churchill, hauling me to my feet, “is the power of COMMANDOS!”

Five minutes later, I was standing in the middle of camp, keeping watch over our new German captives when my friend James approached me.

“So,” he mutters casually. “How was your affair?”

In response, I slap twenty pounds into his hand.

#Historical Fiction #Mad Jack Churchill #TalesFromGringolandia

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inviouswriting · 4 years

Text

The World in eyes I wish to see

Wedding story redone. After spending some time messing with some things in game. I found I really like the Ala Mihgan gowns.

This will be in Trust. (whenever I update it)

Mentions of specific characters

@windup-dragoon - Kirishima, @whitherliliesbloom - Illya, @meepsthemiqo - Meeps, @candideangel - Angelique, @maiden-born-in-snow - Shuri~

Aymeric x Kiya

no smut all clean but long.

Aymeric is the type to wake up even when the sky is still dark out, habits he has formed from being Lord Commander. He often is greeted to the sight next to him, his beloved curled against him still asleep and probably worn out from their night together.

He has a sense of pride when he wears her out, often he gets to see her as she wakes up. He guesses not too long from then, the way she seeks his affection or warmth. Slowly Kiya’s eyes open and the first thing she sees is him looming over her.

Kiya registers his expression is soft and at ease. She felt sore in the right spots, and returns the kiss pressed onto her lips. Aymeric feels good about the day, and with it so early he wonders if something can be done. It was a few days after the liberation of the city. Everyone was in high spirits, specially while planning all the rebuilding and what to do.

Aymeric takes Kiya’s hands in his and tugs her up to sit with him. He winds his arms around her while lifting the blanket up to cover them. He had thought long and hard about his options, and breathes them out under his breath.

“Let’s get married today.” Aymeric feels Kiya’s head whip up, and grimaces when her head hits his chin, and Kiya winces but eyes him wide while rubbing her head.

“What did you say?” She questions him, wondering if she heard right. They had been trying to plan for an Ishgardian style wedding for months. To hear him deviate and want to get married then and break traditions again. Aymeric meets her stare after rubbing his face from where her head bumped his and a stern and serious look to his eyes to let her know he isn’t joking about it.

“Let’s get married. Today.” Kiya’s eyes are wider, he can almost see the way her lenses expand in excitement.

“I thought you wanted an Ishgardian wedding?” She counters.

“We can still have one, for the people there who won’t be able to visit and attend on the sudden. I have put thought into it, and I rather not wait any longer. If you will. Please?” His eyes soften at his plea for her to say yes to this opportunity.

“Of course! I’m just a little surprised that you want to. Are you really sure to me? Eep!” Kiya is tugged down and faces Aymeric over her with his hands on either side of her head.

“You know the answer to that already my love. I did ask you many moons ago. My feelings have not changed, and I want to be able to marry you while everyone is around us. Friends and such. The alliance leaders are all here to officiate and bear witness. The friends you fought with, and their loved ones. Why not?” He tilts his head to the side, and Kiya finds herself unable to turn him down with how he makes her feel so well loved.

“Okay! Let’s do it then!” She earns one of his brightest smiles he can muster and him leaning down to give her a full kiss. He peppers her in many kisses, till he is certain her mind is spinning with emotions.

“What do we even wear?” Kiya murmurs getting his attention again.

“We’ll ask some people. I’m sure General Raubahn, Mistress Lyse, or M’naago know something. Shall we dress for the day and get started then? Hopefully by sundown you and I can be sealed together.” Aymeric presses his forehead to hers, and cradles her head with his hands behind her head holding her still as he lingers kisses.

“Aye!” Kiya smiles at him, and gets another kiss before he gets off of her and starts to look for his clothes that were tossed around in their hurry to feel each other the previous night.

Kiya lazily dresses in her hailstorm outfit preferring it for the desert climate, and for what it meant to her as a parting gift from Shiva and Ysayle. She eyes Aymeric’s back how well toned he is her eyes lingering over skin till he turns his head to catch her stare with a smirk.

“Hmm... if you keep staring we might not make it out of this tent.” He chides her teasing. Aymeric would love to indulge, but if they were to have a ceremony by the end of the day, then they need to get to work in talking to people.

Kiya sticks her tongue out at him for the amused chiding, and wiggles her tail extra knowing he’s watching her back. They spend the rest of the morning discussing ideas, Kiya would check with a few friends of hers who know how to score fashion and wears.

Aymeric gives her a long kiss before he goes about his own side to prepare. The first person she encounters in the morning is Lyse, just the person she needed to find, she was from the area originally and would know traditions.

“Lyse!” Kiya calls to her, and the blonde beams a smile to her.

“Hey, Kiya. What are you doing up so early? Thought you were with Aymeric.” A little bit of a tease in her voice enough to make the miqo blush and cough.

“I was this morning. He proposed something today.” Kiya fidgets with her hands, something she does when she is trying to find her words. Lyse knows it is a little more serious and changes her tone a bit.

“Hmm? What did he propose?”

“To get married today! He figured it would be the right time with everyone in such high spirits.. but..” Kiya trails off and tugs at her clothes.

“All I have is black wears.” The plight of her black mage side, she always dressed the part.

“Oh? Oh! You need something to wear! Say no more! I have something for you then. Give me a bit to go find it!” Lyse was already darting off to go back to her place, to find what she wants in order to help her out.

Kiya talks to several others of the alliance, the women more than happy to officiate. To seal the two. She had met up with Aymeric and shared news of her findings while he told her of good news himself in able to have more unexpected friends in Estinien at behest of Shuri’s persuading.

Aymeric gives her a lingering hug, lifting her just enough off the ground a few feet. They part ways again, Kiya being whisked off to be slightly glamored up. Every girl she had fought to liberate the place with was in a special room just before the Royal Meganerie. Kiya sits in the middle of her friends as they figure out how to help her hair with the aid of Jandelaine.

“Should it be down? or up?” Shuri settles on helping figure this out, with Kirishimi off to the side. Illya and Meeps rummaging through Kiya’s clothes to find something. Not black. The cotton tights she normally wears was snagged and dyed white. Lyse enters with a specific box in tow with Tataru presenting it to Kiya.

“This was my mothers. It would have went to Yda, then to myself. But I don’t see myself marrying anyone anytime soon. And you have done more for us than we could even dream. I hope this works for you, all I ask is you keep it white. Aymeric has the match to this from my father. Surprisingly it fits him.” Lyse lets Kiya open the box to an Ala Mhigan gown, Kiya’s eyes widen knowing it means a lot to the woman.

“Are you sure?!? It means so much to you.”

“And I know marrying Aymeric means a lot to you. The first wedding should always be special, and well.. I think this is special enough.” Lyse smiles when Kiya accepts it.

“Ohhh, now we know what to do with your hair.” Shuri and Kiri both grin at this present and tug Kiya back with Jandelaine’s help to put the miqo’s hair into a neat ponytail. She looked clean yet elegant to be marrying someone. Keeping the blue on her lips, and painted heart.

When Kiya wears the gown, it was a bit bigger on her, but fitting. She felt comfortable and hugged herself knowing it means a lot to Lyse giving it to her. The girls clamor to dress themselves up with the ceremony only hours away.

Kiya finds herself outside the room, wandering the edges of the garden. Feeling butterflies in her stomach, and nerves starting to settle in. She stares in front of her and spies Aymeric just on the edge of the pool to the water. He turns his head feeling eyes on him, and smiles at Kiya. He looked fitting in the identical gown and with black pants and boots while she donned eastern shoes and tights to fit.

“Aymeric, shouldn’t you be getting ready?” She teases him, and meets him in the center. Their hands finding each others.

“I am ready, what about you? I thought it is bad luck for a groom to see a bride before the ceremony.” He brings her hands up to place a kiss on her fingers.

“Then you best close your eyes.” Kiya reaches her hands up and covers his face after he placed his kisses.

“We’re really about to do this?” She questions as she fits into his arms, finding comfort in them as she has for many moons now.

“Aye. Excited?” He takes her hands and leads her around the garden, overseeing the decorations, though the garden hardly needed adding onto with how beautiful it was. Kiya was descending a set of stairs following Aymeric.

“I am excited, but a little scared too.” She stumbles and is caught in his hands. Aymeric leans forward enough and prods at her nose smirking at the expression she makes before she laughs.

“My love. Are you feeling pressured?” He questions. Wondering if it is too much on her shoulders with the idea of being married so fast in a day versus the months of planning for Ishgard.

“No, no. Not scared like that. Scared in... uncertainty. We’ve talked for months about this and now..”

“We’re doing it sporadically.” He finishes her sentence understanding where she is coming from now. He also smiles understanding her feelings in the moment. They both bask in the quiet together him tugging her into his arms again and lifting her till her feet dangle.

“Would it be too forward if I asked for a pre-wedding kiss? Our last one as just fiancées?” Aymeric sets her down and tilts her head up towards his.

“No, it wouldn’t be too forward. I’d love it in fact. Just don’t smear anything. The girls would be cross.” Aymeric smiles against her lips as he presses a chaste kiss.

“Then they should be glad to not witness what will transpire tonight then.” He gets a little nip from her. Aymeric presses his palm to her cheek, and Kiya does the same little moments of intimacy between them.

“There you are! Hey! Save the affections for the ceremony!” Kiya snickers at the slight indignation in Tataru’s voice catching the two lovers. Kiya gives an apologetic peck to Aymeric’s cheek before she slinks off to mingle with some people before they meet again. Aymeric finds Estinien overlooking a side of the garden.

“Who would have thought you’d continue to break traditions Aymeric?” The elezen men exchange glances mutual grins.

“I seem to be doing that quite a bit.” Aymeric adjusts the gown on himself finding it a little loose, surprised that it fits so well.

“Seems to fit you well, now the hard part is maintaining that marriage.” Estinien spies his own beloved across the yard. He almost misses the shocked expression on Aymeric’s face, but is met with a slightly stern look.

“Make time for her, and remember why you married. I know you tend to get busy with your duties, lest you forget why there are many men who are unmarried or have been left.” It was a warning to keep her happy. Aymeric knows better than to ever see Kiya’s face stricken with tears beyond happiness.

“Aye.” They exchange grins knowing the other was speaking from the heart. As the ceremony was about to take place, Kiya stands in the center of the garden with Aymeric across from her. They take the others hands and lock their fingers together then kneel down together. Aymeric holds her close to himself and Kiya clings as if her life depended on it. Their friends gathering around from Angelique playing soft melodies for the atmosphere with Raha next to her. Shuri leaning against Estinien, and Kirishimi leaning into Hien.

Nanamo stands next to Kiya and Aymeric on one side, Merylweb on another, and Kan-E-Senna opposite of Nanamo, Lucia on the ending point. They too follow Kiya and Aymeric’s lead and kneel down with everyone taking a hint at the gesture. This was to be on the same ground as all and everyone.

They stay in silence in a moment of mourn for those that can’t be there with them. Those they lost, that set them on this journey and path. Senna breaks the silence her voice being the right one for the tone of events.

“How far we have come, from memorials of the fallen, to celebrating love. We have gained so much since Ifrit. We have also lost a lot since the Calamity. From banquets, to wars, to tyranny being uprooted. Kiya and her friends saving our lives from old and old habits. Till she was presented in front of one that changed her very being. At the time a freshly appointed Lord Commander Aymeric.” Aymeric’s face tints a little at that memory, he was new to it all. He keeps his face pressed to Kiya’s forehead, and she can feel him smiling while Senna addresses them both.

“I feel I have said enough, if you two have vows you wish to seal here.” Kiya nods and smiles up at Aymeric when he pulls his head back to look at her as she speaks up.

“Aymeric, you’re so much more to me than just a person to love. You were there when I had no one, lost everyone I knew and loved.. After that day, when my name was scorched from accusations. You... believed me... you and Haurchefant…” Aymeric tugs her closer into his arms seeing tears dot her eyes at the memory that still haunts her.

“You gave me a home when mine scorns me, when mine treats me as though I am dead, even after all the victories. Most of all, you became a rock for me after The Vault... after we lost so many we couldn’t save.. who saved me, saved us.” Estinien’s eyes downcast to Shuri at those memories before he was taken over from Nidhogg rubbing her back idly.

“Aye, a lot has happened since our impromptu meeting in the Intercessory. Who knew I would have found my love for life there. From living a life of old constantly fighting dravanians, to suddenly not having a war, to rebuilding my homeland to finding you. I remember full the day you sought my comfort. Distraught to lose a brother to both of us.” Aymeric pets the side of Kiya’s face loving as he speaks to her.

“A steady relationship bloomed from that, till we sought the other out for more comforts, and little chess matches to get to know each other better.” Aymeric glances over to Alphinaud who sits well with Illya hugged in his arms. His gaze also drifts to Kirishima who gives a fleeting smile while half using Hien as an armrest next to her before side hugging with him.

“You changed my life entirely. I don’t think we’d be here if it weren’t for everyone around us. Most of all, your trust in me. I am honored now to be able to from this day forward have you sealed to my side.” Kiya smiles at his words, and feels the sincerity in his eyes.

“I could say so much more, but I want to spare some endearments for the Ishgardian wedding we will be having too.” Aymeric nuzzles her face with his assuring her this isn’t everything he wants to say. Nanamo sees that this is where they’re going to leave their vows together.

“Then it would be my delight and honor to seal you two together for eternity and may you both walk in the light of the crystal together. You may seal your bond with a kiss.” Aymeric smiles and leans into give Kiya a modest kiss for the public till Estinien pipes up.

“Come on, I’ve seen you kiss her better.” He gets a jab in his sides by Shuri and Meeps. Aymeric laughs earning Kiya to snicker till he really kisses her and pushes her down to the ground. This earning cheers, Kiya remembers not to tarnish the gowns given to her and Aymeric. They come up, and he lifts her up into his arms as he stands prompting everyone to follow suit.

Kiya is set down onto her feet, and led by Aymeric over to the pool of water they were gazing at earlier. They’re followed to the outer edges while the two of them wade up to their shins and take a first dance with each other in a light waltz. Angelique taking a cue to play a song for the two. Those that had someone to dance with danced lightly making the place filled with love while the newlywed couple get lost in their world together forgetting the cold at their feet.

Aymeric lifts Kiya up into his arms when the song comes to a close and claims a kiss. He lets her feet dangle again, enjoying being able to lift her with such ease. He sets her down parting from the kiss but feels a tug on his arm and with his strength he raises Kiya as she holds onto one arm. She gives him such an endearing look, while he gives a proud smirk at her amazement in his strength.

She knows his strength and has felt it. When he waves his hand in front of her, she playfully bites his hand earning a raised eyebrow. She knows he’ll retaliate later.

As quick as everyone was there, they disperse leaving the two to themselves. To go enjoy a reception and festivities. They would join soon, needing quiet with each other before resuming more with friends.

“I can’t believe you bit me.” Aymeric eyes her, and Kiya smirks wild at him.

“Like you haven’t bitten me.” She feints a pout only to have Aymeric catch her face in both of his hands to pinch her cheeks light.

“In my defense, my biting you was in the heat of passion. Yours?”

“Curiosity!”

“Curious for what?”

“See what you’d do.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Aymeric snags her and lifts her to give her another kiss. The sun was starting to set casting a golden hue over them. Kiya returns the kiss, and holds tight to him.

“Aymeric… I love you.” It is her first time saying it from being married. It softens his heart more, and Aymeric tugs her closer to him.

“I love you too, Kiya.”

“We’re finally married..” Kiya breathes out under her breath.

“Aye, not so scary is it?” Aymeric earns a nod out of her. He tugs her hand with his.

“Come now, let us join the others. Then so I can thoroughly take care of you later. I owe you for biting me.” Kiya’s eyes widen a bit and she looks away sheepish again. She takes his hand and lets him lead her. To start their lives together. Based on Trust and love.

#aymeric #ser aymeric #ffxiv aymeric #aymeric de borel #kiya shinikami #aymeric x kiya #I forget to post the thing

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red-will · 3 years

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I don't know what to do with good white people.

I've been surrounded by good white people my whole life. Good white people living in my neighborhood, who returned our dog when he got loose; good white teachers in elementary school who pushed books into my hands; good white professors at Stanford, a Bay Area bastion of goodwhiteness, who recommended me M.F.A. programs where I met good white writers, liberal enough for a Portlandia sketch.

I should be grateful for this. Who, in generations of my family, has ever been surrounded by so many good white people? My mother was born to sharecroppers in Louisiana; she used to measure her feet with a piece of string because they could not try on shoes in the store. She tells me of a white policeman who humiliated her mother by forcing her to empty her purse on the store counter just so he could watch her few coins spiral out.

Two summers ago, my mother showed me the welfare reports written about her family. The welfare officer, a white woman, observed my family with a careful, anthropological eye. She described the children, including my mother, as "nice and clean." She asked personal questions (did my grandmother have a boyfriend?) and wrote her findings in a detached tone. She wondered why my grandmother, an illiterate Black mother of nine living in the Jim Crow South, struggled to find a steady job. Maybe, she wrote in her loopy scrawl, my grandmother wasn't searching hard enough.

This faded report is the type of official document a historian might consult if he were re-constructing the story of my family. The author, this white welfare officer, writes as if she is an objective observer, but she tells a well-worn story of Black women who refuse to work and instead depend on welfare. Occasionally, her clinical tone breaks down. Once, she notes that my mother is pretty. She probably considered herself a good white person.

In the wake of the Darren Wilson non-indictment, I've only deleted one racist Facebook friend. This friend, as barely a friend as a high school classmate can be, re-posted a rant calling rioters niggers. (She was not a good white person.) Most of my white friends have responded to recent events with empathy or outrage. Some have joined protests. Others have posted Criming While White stories, a hashtag that has been criticized for detracting from Black voices. Look at me, the hashtag screams, I know that I am privileged. I am a good white person. Join me and remind others that you are a good white person too.

Over the past two weeks, I've seen good white people congratulate themselves for deleting racist friends or debating family members or performing small acts of kindness to Black people. Sometimes I think I'd prefer racist trolling to this grade of self-aggrandizement. A racist troll is easy to dismiss. He does not think decency is enough. Sometimes I think good white people expect to be rewarded for their decency. We are not like those other white people. See how enlightened and aware we are? See how we are good?

Over the past two weeks, I have fluctuated between anger and grief. I feel surrounded by Black death. What a privilege, to concern yourself with seeming good while the rest of us want to seem worthy of life.

When my father was a young man, he was arrested at gunpoint. He was a Deputy District Attorney at the time, driving home one night from bible study when LAPD pulled him over. A traffic violation, he'd thought, until officers swarmed his car with shotguns aimed at his head. The cops refused to look in his wallet at his badge. They cuffed him and threw him on the curb.

My father is mostly thankful that he'd stayed calm. In his shock, he had done nothing. That's what he believes saved his life.

I think about this while I watch Eric Garner die. For months, I avoided the video, until we arrived at another officer non-indictment. Now I've seen the video of Garner's death, as well as a second video I find even more disturbing. This second video, taken immediately after Garner has been killed by a banned chokehold, shows officers attempting to speak to him, asking him to respond to EMTs. They do not yet know that he is dead, and there's something about this moment, officers shuffling around as an EMT seeks a pulse, that is so bafflingly and frustratingly human, so different from the five officers lunging and wrangling Garner to the ground.

In the wake of this non-indictment, a surprising coalition of detractors has emerged. Not just black and brown students hitting the streets in protest but conservative stalwarts, like Bill O'Reilly or John Boehner, criticizing the lack of justice. Even George W. Bush weighed in, calling the grand jury's decision "sad." But even though many find Garner's death wrong, others refuse to believe that race played a role. His death was the result of overzealous policing, a series of bad individual choices. It would have happened to a white guy. The same way in Cleveland, a 12-year-old Black boy named Tamir Rice was killed by officers for playing with a toy gun. An unfortunate tragedy, but not racial. Any white kid playing with a realistic-looking toy gun would have been killed too.

Darren Wilson has been unrepentant about taking Mike Brown's life. He insists he could not have done anything differently. Daniel Pantaleo has offered condolences to the Garner family, admitting that he "feels very bad" about Garner's death.

"It is never my intention to harm anyone," he said.

I don't know which is worse, the unrepentant killer or the man who insists to the end that he meant well.

A year ago, outside the Orange County airport, a white woman cut in front of me at the luggage check. She had been standing next to me, and soon as the luggage handlers called next, she swooped up her things and went to the counter. She'd cut me because I was black. Or maybe because I was young. Maybe she was running late for her flight or maybe she was just rude. She would've cut me if I had been a white woman like her. She would've cut me if I had been anyone.

Of course, the woman ended up on my flight, and of course, she was seated right next to me. Before the flight took off, she turned to me and said, "I'm sorry if I cut you earlier. I didn't see you standing there."

I often hear good white people ask why people of color must make everything about race, as if we enjoy considering racism as a motivation. I wish I never had to cycle through these small interactions and wonder: Am I overthinking? Am I just being paranoid? It's exhausting.

"It was a lot simpler in the rural South," my mother tells me. "White people let you know right away where you stood."

The problem is that you can never know someone else's intentions. And sometimes I feel like I live in a world where I'm forced to parse through the intentions of people who have no interest in knowing mine. A grand jury believed that Darren Wilson was a good officer doing his job. This same grand jury believed than an eighteen-year-old kid in a monstrous rage charged into a hailstorm of bullets toward a cop's gun.

Wilson described Michael Brown as a black brute, a demon. No one questioned Michael Brown's intentions. A stereotype does not have complex, individual motivations. A stereotype, treated as such, can be forced into whatever action we expect.

I spent a four hour flight trying not to wonder about the white woman's intentions. But why would she think about mine? She didn't even see me.

In elementary school, my older sister came home one day crying. She had learned about the Ku Klux Klan in class that day and she was afraid that men in white hoods would attack us. My father told her there was nothing to worry about.

"If a Klansman sat at this table right now," he said, "I'd laugh right in his face."

My mother tells stories of Klansmen riding at night, of how her grandmother worried when the doctor's son—a white boy—visited her youngest sister because she feared the Klan would burn down their home. When I was a child, I only saw the Klan in made-for-TV civil rights movies or on theatrical episodes of Jerry Springer. My parents knew what we would later learn, that in the nineties, in our California home, surrounded by good white people, we had more to fear than racism that announces itself.

We all want to believe in progress, in history that marches forward in a neat line, in transcended differences and growing acceptance, in how good the good white people have become. So we expect racism to appear, cartoonishly evil like a Disney villain. As if a racist cop is one who wakes in the morning, twirling his mustache and rubbing his hands together as he plots how to destroy black lives.

I don't think Darren Wilson or Daniel Pantaleo set out to kill Black men. I'm sure the cops who arrested my father meant well. But what good are your good intentions if they kill us?

When my friends and I discuss people we dislike, we often end our conversations with, "But he means well."

We always land here, because we want to affirm ourselves as fair, non-judgmental people who examine a person not only by what he does but also by what he intends to. After all, aren't all of us standing in the gap between who we are and who we try to be? Isn't it human to allow those we dislike—even those who harm us—a residence in this space as well?

"You know what? He means well," we say. We lean on this, and the phrase is so condescending, so cloyingly sweet, so hollow, that I'd almost rather anyone say anything else about me than how awful I am despite how good I intend to be.

I think about this during a car ride last weekend with my dad, where he tells me what happened once the cops finally realized they had arrested the wrong man. They picked him up from the curb, brushed him off.

"Sorry, buddy," an officer said, unlocking his handcuffs.

They'd made an honest mistake. He'd fit the description. Well, of course he did. The description is always the same. The police escorted my father onto the road. My father, not yet my father, drove all the way home without remembering to turn his headlights on.

Brit Bennett recently earned her M.F.A. in creative writing at the the Helen Zell Writers' Program at the University of Michigan. She is currently a Zell Postgraduate Fellow, where she is working on her first novel.

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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How Psych Evolved Through the Character of Carlton Lassiter

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Early on in the Psych pilot, Shawn Spencer’s (James Roday Rodriguez) ludicrous plot to impersonate a psychic in order to solve crime suddenly takes on grave stakes: Chief Vick (Kirsten Nelson) informs him that if he’s lying, he’ll be prosecuted for hindering a police investigation. Just like that, he’s locked into his lie, and has no choice but to let it snowball—into a private eye business with his best friend Burton Guster (Dulé Hill), but also into a lucrative consultancy gig for the Santa Barbara Police Department that, psychic antics be damned, legitimately saves lives.

But while it’s the Chief who put the fear of God into Shawn, the true threat to his secret was always one Carlton Jebediah Lassiter (Timothy Omundson). In the early seasons, Lassiter was the perfect foil: a by-the-book detective obsessed with proper procedure and with hypermasculinity, who had patience for neither Gus’ high-pitched squeals nor Shawn’s supernatural “hunches.” The fake psychic’s obnoxious theatrics were nothing without an exasperated reaction from Carlton… especially as those hunches kept paying off and making this old dog all the more self-conscious about his own inability to learn new tricks.

Even moreso than their eventual tango duet in Psych: The Musical, Shawn and Lassie’s song has always been the Psych theme:

I know, you know, that I’m not telling the truth

I know, you know, they just don’t have any proof

Embrace the deception, learn how to bend

Your worst inhibitions tend to psych you out in the end

Yet even as Lassiter delighted in watching Shawn get shown up by other fake psychics and even threatened to be the one to someday catch him in the act, over the course of the series this seeming antagonist shifted into a comic relief role and eventually a truly sympathetic figure. As Carlton became Lassie, so too did Psych grow beyond its cheeky premise, from a potentially one-note episodic show to a serialized dramedy about a found family solving crimes in all manner of unconventional ways—a connection that was cemented in Psych: The Movie and now in Psych 2: Lassie Come Home.

It started with Shawn noticing that Lassie needed help, even if he would never say so outright—when he encountered the detective, drunk and loose-lipped and off his game, in “From the Earth to Starbucks.” Not only was he confounded by Shawn’s skills, Lassiter confessed, but it made him feel worse about the fact that he couldn’t solve what he believed was the murder of a local astronomer who seemingly died of natural causes. Shawn, Gus, and Juliet (Maggie Lawson) spent the rest of that episode surreptitiously helping Lassiter solve what was indeed a murder, all while throwing him clues without him realizing. There was a noticeable absence of Shawn’s psychic shtick in that season 1 episode, since the point was to give Lassiter all the credit, which meant making it look like Lassiter’s way of working. Shawn didn’t have to perform, aside from moments of conspiring with Jules, because it was very much a case of What Would Lassie Do?

Movies

Psych 2: Lassie Come Home Easter Egg and Reference Guide

By Natalie Zutter

Movies

Psych 2: Lassie Come Home Review

By Natalie Zutter

By the time “Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing” in season 3 and was the prime suspect in a criminal’s death, he knew he had no choice but to bring Psych in where the SBPD wouldn’t investigate. And in the case of “Last Night Gus” in season 6—well, it was in everyone’s best interests to solve the mystery of that Hangover-esque night. Over the years, viewers discovered along with Shawn, Gus, and Jules various Lassie quirks: He works out his daddy issues by dressing up as his Civil War ancestor and an archetypal cowboy. He enjoys tap dancing with Gus because it helps him sort through his thoughts. He falls in love with Marlowe (Kristy Swanson) despite her criminal record. He shares more and more of himself with these colleagues who become friends and then family. In turn, he comes to, if not actually believe in, then at least accept the idiosyncrasies of Psych—because like it or not, it makes his professional and personal lives better. At the same time, Shawn’s lie quietly explodes his relationship with Juliet, as it makes her doubt that he was telling her the truth about anything. Even after they reconcile, the ramifications of almost losing her cause Shawn to pull back from automatically playing the psychic card.

And then Lassiter winds up shot and recovering in a hospital bed, helpless in the most Hitchcockian fashion at the start of Psych 2, and there’s no question about who he’ll call.

Clearly creator Steve Franks and the other writers made the decision that if they were to have Lassiter as a presence in Psych’s present, they had no choice but to draw from Omundson’s personal experience recovering from a debilitating stroke. Yet it’s eerie how well this dramatic arc fits Lassiter’s character—Lassie, who may have become a big teddy bear by the end of the series, but who is still obsessed with (heterosexual, able-bodied) notions of supposed manliness. Carlton “Danger” Lassiter, who once said he would go out “in a hailstorm of bullets” if it meant catching a criminal. Now he has to face the knowledge that he may never walk again.

Interestingly, Juliet is not the one whose help Lassiter specifically requests, despite their history as partners. In fact, it’s likely their shared experience that makes him reluctant to put her in that position; if there’s someone that Carlton would be afraid to be exposed in front of, it’s his former mentee. How can he reconcile asking the one-time junior detective whom he showed the ropes to adapt to a situation where he’s still getting his bearings? To wit, he puts her off with a to-do list of errands—a throwback to their early days together, when he frequently invited her to “shut it” or otherwise stay in her lane.

Thankfully, one of the many lessons Juliet took from their time together in the field was to not obey orders when she knows she’s on to something. And so she returns to the scene of the crime where Lassiter was shot, follows up on ballistics, and locates the missing puzzle piece of the second bullet. Shawn and Gus get the ghosts, but Jules gets the shooter. Between being confined to his hospital room, and in the face of Jules’ own stubborn tenacity, Lassiter couldn’t have stopped her if he tried. In many ways, accepting help not asked for demands even more vulnerability from him.

What’s most fascinating about Shawn and Gus’ investigation in Lassie Come Home is that not for a moment do they bullshit Lassiter. This isn’t a case for Psych, it’s an act of love from two close friends—absolutely no psychic spectacle necessary. Now, one could argue that Shawn wouldn’t have even thought to make up a vision because, as far as he knows, Lassiter watched his goodbye video (in the series finale) all the way to the end, where he confessed the truth behind how he manages to solve so many crimes.

Instead, right before Shawn could give Lassiter the answer he’d dreamed of hearing for eight seasons, the detective popped out the DVD and broke it in half. At the time, this moment in the Psych canon, arguably more than his relationship with Marlowe or his identity as a father, was when Lassiter experienced his greatest character growth: He would rather pause time, to focus on all the good that Shawn had accomplished through his lie, than be right.

But time can’t stay paused forever; and if Lassiter is being clear-eyed about how Shawn solves his baffling hospital sightings in Lassie Come Home, then he also has no illusions about his inability to solve his own mystery alone. He can contribute his observations—credible and not—and draw his own conclusions, but he has to trust Shawn, Gus, and Juliet to be his eyes, ears, and legs outside of the prison of his room. He also has to accept that he’s not always present in the crime-solving; there’s a recurring theme in which Lassiter, drifting on his meds, opens his eyes to Shawn and Gus, or Juliet, waiting expectantly for him to wake up and catch up. In one scene where Shawn goes to ask his advice about fatherhood, Lassie is completely asleep, an incredible display of vulnerability from both Lassiter and Omundson.

Yet as we learn in his final showdown with the murderous nurse Dolores (Sarah Chalke), just because Lassiter closes his eyes doesn’t mean he’s out for the count. The way he outwits her is Lassiter to a tee: Even while slipping away from the fatal morphine drip, he has enough wherewithal to grab one of three (three!) guns he had stashed in his hospital room—just like in “Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing.”

But this time, instead of being all cool and flipping the bullet into his hand, this Lassiter is babbling to the morphine-induced hallucination of his dead father (Joel McHale) about how much it hurt to lose him, about how he’s afraid he’ll leave his daughter to grow up without a father just like he did.

The moment is played for laughs, with Dolores’ face screwing up into incredulity—this guy has a gun pulled on her, and he’s still mumbling closure to his ghost dad? But for fans, it’s tantamount to the DVD moment: Lassiter has finally found the way to be unguarded, to embrace the ridiculousness of the present moment without self-consciousness, without losing sight of the perp. Even though he has the upper hand, he’s still scared about what he’s going to do when he gets out of this room. He can put away a killer, but he can’t predict his own future beyond the hospital.

Which makes his reunion with Marlowe—witnessed only by Jules and Henry (Corbin Bernsen)—all the more moving. Another character in another narrative wouldn’t have cared if he returned to his wife in a wheelchair, wouldn’t have agonized over mustering enough strength to stand face-to-face with her. But it’s Lassiter, with specific ideas about what it means to be a man, and for him that means looking Marlowe in the eye so they can press their hands together—this time not glass between them, nor either of their pasts, but this new challenge—in solidarity.

Lassiter’s not perfect: He has a lot of toxic masculinity left to unlearn, and he owns an appalling number of guns. He’s still more conservative than not. Because he’s a cop who becomes more sympathetic, his narrative contributes to the larger cultural trend of “copaganda” on television. It’s the same problematic issue that faces the characters on Brooklyn Nine-Nine: Even if he’s lovable, and especially because of this fact, his identity as a police officer complicates the conversation around his character growth.

But within the world of Psych, he’s a character with a worthwhile arc. Like Lassiter, the series started out following a strict formula, and only after it had relaxed into something stronger than its premise—its talented ensemble, ‘80s riffs, and library of delightful in-jokes and callbacks—could it grow beyond its initial form.

Speaking of in-jokes… For the 100-plus teases, hints, and outright cameos the series gave us of its signature symbol, we all failed to spot Psych’s most important pineapple appearance. Lassiter is the pineapple! Prickly on the outside, sweet (but still tart) on the inside. Often difficult to spot, but so rewarding to find. Case closed.

The post How Psych Evolved Through the Character of Carlton Lassiter appeared first on Den of Geek.

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im-a-special-bebe · 4 years

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Beautiful Liar

Warnings: Violence, language, Drug Lord AU

(Reposted from my AFF account)

Molly’s his adopted sister, Mary Jane’s his best friend, and HeroinE’s the pseudonym his favorite author goes by – at least that’s what he tells the outsiders. Drug Lord Chae Hyungwon has the right friends in the right places, because the ones in the wrong place at the wrong time don’t make it out. He’s got the keys to the castle and his eyes on the gold coffers. He just doesn’t expect to find a different kind of treasure.

When Hyungwon walked into his biggest rival’s grandest casino, he didn’t expect the night to include broken bottles and scraped knuckles – and he hadn’t even been kicked out yet.

When Yoon Mi Cha decided to head to her father’s main business for a drink after a rough day, she didn’t expect a hailstorm of bullets.

But as they were both about to find out, C’est La Vie.

Part 1 | Part 2 (Coming soon)

Chapter – 1: Fake People Showing Fake Love to Me

‘Another water for you, Sir?’ the smartly-dressed bartender asked politely as he wiped a glass down, though Hyungwon could feel the judgement in the man’s stare.

‘Yes. Don’t like to start the party too early.’ Or at all in this case, he thought as he managed a wry smile that turned out to be more of a grimace.

How the kingpin of an entire country’s illegal drug business had been the one to end up on a recon mission to scope out an enemy was anyone’s guess (especially since he had no clue what to look for in the first place), but Hyungwon grudgingly put that thought away for now.

He looked around the large room, a slightly disdainful expression taking over his handsome features. Yoon Moon Jae, esteemed owner of this establishment – and his primary business rival – had taken being part of the underground much too literally. Not only was the huge casino three floors below the first level, but the cavernous space was exactly that – a man-made cave, complete with exposed fake, jagged rock walls. The heavily mountainous appearance was lit up by scones of actual fire that cast flickering shadows around the hundred odd playing tables and seating areas and created an ominous aura along with contrasting chrome pendant lights. The overall effect was like stepping into a sci-fi movie.

Nonetheless, the actual centerpiece was what Hyungwon was seated beneath. A large amount of funds – gained by encroaching on his territory, no doubt – had gone to the massive chandelier that hung above. The behemoth glass giant was made up of a beehive of thousands of little shelves that contained countless colorful bottles of liquor, and it was these shelves that were lined with LED-lights, hideously incongruous to the nature of a chandelier itself. The glass converged to a steep point that coincided with the center of the bar he was at.

Lovely, let’s just wait for that to fall on our heads.

As a rule, the young, twenty-six-year-old drug lord (and prominent mafia affiliate) absolutely detested bar stools. Per the usual pattern, his tall stature ensured that he was hunched over the tiny seat, his head resting in one of his long-fingered hands, and he was sorely tempted to just slump down on the bar instead. His body started to settle into an uncaring slouch, and he winced as he heard the distinct crack of his phone hitting the floor after falling out of his pocket as a result.

‘Goddammit.’ He cursed, impatiently brushing his ash blond hair out of his eyes as he bent to pick up the broken device. Through the corner of his beautifully-shaped and well-trained eye, he noted that someone had taken up the seat beside him.

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

‘Oh Gosh, you scared me!’ Mi Cha exclaimed as the man next to her straightened up.

For a moment she forgot how to speak.

Her first thought was that it was unfair for a man to have lips like that – puffy, plump, a delicate natural shade of petal pink that women would kill for. Mi Cha couldn’t help but stare at how beautifully his perfect cupid’s bow aligned with his long, straight nose. She’d seen her share of pretty faces – she was a model after all, and about fifty fashion shoots later, all the features seemed to blend together, each prettier than the next, and yet none compared to his ethereal exquisiteness. Her curious eyes wandered over his high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and his hooded eyes, colored a deep aquamarine by obvious lenses, but so eerily electric all the same.

A flat eyebrow, dark against his flawless skin arched at her questioningly, and Mi Cha realized that maybe her perusal had become a little too obvious.

‘Didn’t see you there.’ He said at length, his voice a lazy, gravelly drawl as she cleared her throat.

‘Yeah, me neither.’ She replied as the bartender turned away, having noted her order of a Tequila Sunrise. She was starting off strong with the purpose of being drunk enough to forget her own name. One cranky director, two rather handsy co-models, and three different bouts of not-her-fault dressing downs later, she figured she had enough justification.

Too bad all she got was half a sip.

When the first bottle shattered, Mi Cha assumed that someone had probably just been clumsy. When the second one broke, she thought that maybe an argument had broken out. It wasn’t until the third one burst right in front of her that she heard the distinct pew, pew, pew, and falling bodies.

That’s when the screams began.

In the resulting mayhem that caused a maelstrom of people moving in all directions, there was nowhere to run. The chrome lights overhead exploded as they were struck by stray (or purposeful, there was no way to tell) bullets, further reducing the visibility until only the haunting illumination from the wall scones remained. Her blood froze in her veins as she uncomprehendingly lowered herself to the floor, crouching under the bar for shelter, her father’s gruff voice ringing in her ears.

‘You here that sound, my girl?’

Seven-year-old Mi Cha had nodded hesitantly as they stood in the vast garden which could be considered the backyard of her house, both unsure of everything and a little scared of why the man she trusted most suddenly had a weird gun in his hand.

‘Daddy, what is that?’ she’d asked, pointing to the strange attachment.

‘A silencer,’ he’d replied as he’d shot a tree again, ‘If you ever hear this, you run as far as you can, understood? Promise me.’

Her tiny pinky finger had quietly wrapped around his.

The forgotten memories swirled in her head, everything too fast for coherent thought, and as she snapped her head around, searching for a way out of this hellhole, for the second time that night, her eyes met startlingly bright sea-green.

The stranger from before blinked slowly. Before her overwhelmed mind could register that although he shared her uncertain position, his gaze exposed an unnerving calmness, unyielding hands gripped her in a punishing grasp and she was roughly dragged to her feet.

She stumbled on her tall heels, cursing the fact that she chose to come here straight after the shoot ended, and right after she was jerked upright, a harsh blow struck the side of her face.

And that was the first time she’d known what that felt like.

Tears reflexively streamed down her cheeks as she tried to get past the pounding in her brain. She fell into someone, and a now-familiar voice said to her lowly, ‘Hey, snap out of it.’

She looked up to see ash blond hair and full lips pressed together in a disapproving grimace.

‘So nice to finally meet you, Yoon Mi Cha.’

The woman turned and met the shallow, bloodshot eyes of a man she didn’t know.

‘What do you want from me?’

‘Why don’t you ask your father?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She said truthfully.

‘All in good time.’ was the chilling reply.

Who’s this?’ his sleazy voice crowed as he gave the blond man behind her a once-over. Mi Cha felt a shiver run through her as she saw that they’d been surrounded by at least ten men, all clad in disheveled black suits in varying stages of disrepair, and each man a worrying degree of being more brutal-looking and ham-handed than the last.

‘N-No one.’ She managed shakily, and the middle-aged thug in front of her grinned, his beady black eyes flicking from her to their other captive.

The handsome stranger who now had a gun painfully shoved to his temple. Although he somehow looked more annoyed than appalled at the situation.

‘Nobodies don’t make the guest list~’ the thug said, his sing-song voice rousing laughter from his accomplices.

Mi Cha met the man’s eyes, his gaze steely and boring into her, and she knew that she couldn’t just let him die.

‘Boyfriend.’ She choked out, ‘he’s my boyfriend.’

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

Not that Hyungwon fancied death-by-degenerate all that much, but he couldn’t help but feel a little miffed at being dragged into a mess that he hadn’t help create in the first place.

‘Let me do you guys a favor and make sure you stay together until death do you part.’ The apparent leader of this sorry band of miscreants cackled.

The only indication that he’d winced was given by the slight pursing of his lips as the man backhanded the young woman. This time, the force of it brought her to the glass-littered floor. This time, she didn’t get up.

He watched as a lackey carelessly gathered her slim body. With a thin strap of her deep-cut floor-length red dress slipping down one shoulder and one long, pale leg exposed by the slit that ran up to a few inches below her hip, she seemed rather fragile.

‘Let’s take a hike, pretty boy.’ The man holding him jeered, distracting him from his observation.

Dear God, they need more work on their dialogues.

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

Hyungwon had ended up in the empty back of a nondescript black van with his wrists cuffed to a handhold above his head. Apparently, his sardonic look hadn’t gone over well with the brutes for hire. His lovely companion had ended up tossed onto the dirty, thinly-carpeted floor of the vehicle, her hands restrained behind her back and pulling her body in what was sure to be a very uncomfortable position. However, she was still out cold, which was good, because she hadn’t been mentally present to experience the gangsters disgustingly grope her legs to remove her phone from her thigh holster strap. Unlike the rather daunting name and purpose, the thin material had only contained an ID, a credit card, a couple 50,000 won notes, and her flashy new iPhone. All the men had cared about was her communication device, and after apprehensively witnessing what had happened to her, he had wisely tossed his own cracked phone over.

He watched the lights zoom past outside the darkly tinted windows, and as they became scarcer, he noted that they were moving into the shadier parts of town. Where people like him roamed carelessly. A line from the conversation earlier kept spinning through his mind.

‘Why don’t you ask your father?’

She’d looked like she genuinely hadn’t known what was going on, or why she was being practically hunted.

A glance at the fallen ID by his Italian leather-clad left foot gave away the barest of details – Yoon Mi Cha, 25 years old, Resident of Seoul.

Still, a name was a start.

In the rush to get the victims away, their driver had ignored too many speed bumps to count, and as the car jumped from the impact from another one, the woman on the floor was jerked back into consciousness.

She struggled like a frenzied animal, trying to get free of her bindings, and panicked dry sobs fell from her mouth as she took in her surroundings. Her terrified dark eyes wandered rapidly before they settled on him as heaving breaths fell from her mouth in stuttered gasps.

‘Where are we?’

‘On the highway to hell, if you will.’

Despite her alarm, she scowled at him in irritation.

‘We have to get out of here.’ She said.

‘My necklace. There’s a bobby pin.’

The traffic lights they swept past painted her pale face with soft red and green through the dirty dimmed windows as multiple queries warred in her stunned gaze.

The clear winner was of course, “Who the hell are you?”, but she didn’t ask.

‘You’re not law enforcement.’ She said. It wasn’t a question.

‘Never said I was.’

With an almost bursting silence, she shuffled onto her knees and drew near before pausing apprehensively between his long, outstretched legs.

She had obviously come to the realization that since she was still hindered by her bound hands, there was only one way to get to the tiny object they needed – and she didn’t like it.

‘Yes, this was all my master plan to get you to breathe on me.’ Hyungwon deadpanned, impatient at her hesitation.

Her timidity gave way to a firm resolve as she moved closer.

And yet, for all his earlier speech, it was him who held unnaturally still when he felt her shallow exhales brush against his collarbone, her eyes never wavering from his.

The feared drug lord not-so-discreetly swallowed as her soft lips traced the impossibly thin polished platinum chain. Her teeth delicately scraped the skin between the toned planes of his chest to take the pin into her mouth and he finally let go of the air that had frozen in his lungs.

Hyungwon was utterly glad that their activities were hidden from the goons by a partition, even though something like that was of course most useful to keep away unnecessary distractions like noises – not to mention that it was the best way to contain blood splatter. He tried not to dwell on that for now since they’d been left alone, which was a great chance to escape.

Absolute amateurs. He’d never make the rookie mistake of letting captives be by themselves – much less do this kind of grunt work himself – but then again, this whole thing was not his style to begin with.

Silky strands of the woman’s long, dark hair tickled his cheek, drawing back his attention as she stretched to her limit, trying to somehow get the bobby pin into his hands. The awkward position also put her perky breasts, tantalizingly exposed by the low bodice of her gown right in his face, and for a second all he could think about was how perfectly they’d fit in the palm of his hand.

Not good.

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

His aquamarine eyes had settled on her and every moment had felt like years as she’d burned with the icy fire of his steady gaze. Mi Cha had given out a shaky sigh of relief when his heavy lids had finally shut, allowing his lashes to brush the tops of his high cheekbones.

She pushed the pin from between her lips and into his hands.

Then his long fingers fumbled, and the blasted object would have been lost on the disgusting shag beneath them had it not been for her quick mouth catching it and settling it back into his grip again.

His startling irises sported a trace of sheepishness before he looked up to silently focus on tinkering with the cuffs.

‘Who are you, anyway?’ he asked her conversationally, as if they weren’t in the back of a dingy van speeding off to God knows where. As if she wasn’t the one who should have been questioning him instead.

‘You first.’

‘Hyungwon.’

She waited – with all of two syllables, that was barely an answer, let alone an introduction – but all he gave her was a sidelong glance and a raised eyebrow until she dropped it.

‘Mi Cha.’ She replied stubbornly.

‘Any idea why our lovely tour guides would come after you, Mi Cha?’ Hyungwon drawled.

Her temper flared, but was tamped down by the thought of the very real danger they were in.

‘I don’t know. I’m a model,’ – he briefly paused at that – ‘but I don’t have any connections that would get me in trouble like this.’

‘Well, it has to be something. They mentioned your father earlier.’

‘He doesn’t have anything to do with this either, he’s just a casino owner.’

‘The one we were at?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one. Someone must have pissed off someone else and now they’re after my father. Great.’

Mi Cha sighed in frustration, every passing minute making her more antsy as she rested her head on the partition that separated the back of the van from the driver’s area. If she’d been paying attention, she’d have noticed the way his hands stilled infinitesimally, right before the cuff’s hinge gave way with a too-easy click under his practiced fingers.

But as it was, the large vehicle chose that moment to swerve, threateningly close to tipping over, and she’d have flown into the back hatch door had it not been for the strong arms that pulled her to safety. The van righted itself as she was yanked back, and as a result, Mi Cha found herself pressed face-first into Hyungwon’s collarbone, the light magnolia and mint scent of his expensive cologne filling her nostrils.

She tried to disentangle herself, but he held her there – kneeling between his legs and pressed to his chest – with a slightly hoarse ‘Stay still, the lighting’s better this way.’

Mi Cha could barely breathe as his delicate touch brushed over her wrists and he released her raw and aching hands.

‘Now what?’

‘How good is your speed on the treadmill?’

She pulled off her heels as the lanky man moved towards one of the side doors.

It seemed that they had reached the intended destination, since the van started to slow down from its breakneck pace, but Hyungwon didn’t wait for a stopping point as he yanked the handle back and pulled the door open.

The cold night air was a blast of harsh trepidation in her face. They were surrounded by narrow, dingy streets, littered with broken trash and filth, and towering, empty warehouses and shuttered stores. Busted streetlights flickered eerily. The hushed whispers from the polished company she kept had been little more than cheap gossip in describing how daunting the shady part of town was in person.

‘Jump.’ He commanded, and Mi Cha didn’t have to be told twice as she launched herself out of the damned vehicle, staggering heavily as she regained her footing.

Her companion was much more agile, and she didn’t even have a second to think of anything before his long fingers were wrapping around hers as he promptly broke into a run, dragging her along with him down a dark alley.

Loud, aggravated shouts broke out behind them, and she tried to ignore everything, which was hard to do when the number of footsteps giving chase increased. No doubt, backup had arrived.

The blood rushing to her brain dulled the pain from the debris on the ground slicing into her bare feet. The only thing in her vision was the back of Hyungwon’s ash blond head and his leather-jacket clad back as he led her through one grimy path after another, the buildings so close together that a bike would have had a hard time passing through. The yells and curses behind them grew louder and closer, and chills shot down her spine.

A striking crack sounded as Hyunwon kicked open a thin door, and then pushed her through into an unlit warehouse. Rows after rows of two-story high columns of crates and boxes made the place a maze. They hurried through the gaps and the she was being pushed to the floor behind a large container.

‘Stay here.’

‘Wh-where are you going?’ she managed, her voice shaking.

‘To find a way out.’

‘I’ll come with – ‘

‘No. I’ll come find you. Stay here.’

There was no room for argument with the finality in his low voice, and he gave her what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring nod before he left.

Mi Cha crouched on the dust-covered linoleum, her senses on high alert. A rather ironic Son and Sons stamp stared at her as she stared at its imprint on the crate in front of her.

Then came the echoing voices and footfalls.

Worn out shoes squeaked against the floor as their presence came nearer.

‘Find them! I’m not losing my balls for a high society bitch and her boy toy.’

‘They can’t have gone far, boss.’

‘You can give me that bullshit after you fucking find them, Jang.’

They were closer now, and fear had her mind whirring and her heart racing.

Stay or run?

Run or fight?

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew that there was no way she could take on two of them and make it out alive.

Terror fused ice in her veins, and she was about to gather the remnants of her courage and make a run for it when the dull thud of something accidentally falling over had a sudden silence covering the area.

‘That way.’ One of the men decided, and she heard them move away in the direction of the sound.

Mi Cha barely had a moment to let out a small sigh of relief before a smooth palm clamped over her mouth and an arm locked around her, pinning her hands to her sides.

And then she was fighting, twisting, turning, struggling to free herself from the constricted, ungiving grasp.

‘Shh. It’s me.’

Hyungwon.

Her breaths slowly calmed from fraught pants to deeper exhales as he released her.

‘This way.’ He said, and she mindlessly followed him, eager to be out of there.

Once he was sure they weren’t being followed, the tall man quickly moved through tight passageways to get them both outside, but he didn’t stop there. They walked past one dilapidated building after another, until one street was finally lit up by the dim light of a tiny convenience store. With old, blurry glass windows and peeling paint, it looked like you were likely to leave with much less money than planned based on the appearance of the current patrons of the shop.

Mi Cha watched as Hyungwon told her to wait, and nonchalantly strolled up to a man in his early thirties with a receding hairline and a loose black hoodie and jeans that probably needed a good wash. The man looked up from his motorcycle as Hyungwon spoke.

‘Here. I need your bike.’

She hadn’t even noticed him pull out the thin wad of 50,000 won notes.

‘No way dude. This is – ‘

The man stopped, his eyes widening to impossible limits as Hyungwon ever-so-casually adjusted his jacket, giving the man a subtle glimpse of the small revolver tucked into the inside pocket of the soft material.

Well, she definitely hadn’t noticed that either. And if she hadn’t been apprehensive before, she was now.

Just who the hell is he?

The other man practically ran for his life – but only after he’d snatched the money from her companion’s hand.

As the blond man turned towards her, she reflexively took a step back, and a stray sharp shard of glass cut into her foot.

‘Ow.’

Hearing her own voice broke the dam to let loose the flood that she had been holding at bay. In that moment of pause, the adrenaline that had been driving her drained away. Everything stormed into her brain at once – the flying bullets, the way she’d been hit, kidnapped, hurt, the men after her for no reason at all – and all of it hit her hard.

And then she was trembling, her thin arms wrapping around herself and her fingernails digging into her skin.

Her terrified eyes met his aquamarine irises, and something swirled and changed in their depths because then he was moving towards her, enveloping her into his arms. He ignored her initial squeak and as he rubbed a hand on her back, her composure returned bit by bit.

‘Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.’

His throaty voice reverberated through her, and his magnolia and mint scent was calming as she nodded into his chest.

At length, he pulled away, and for a moment, all he did was look into her dark eyes, an undecipherable expression on his face, like he was scrutinizing some idea in his head. She blinked, and the moment broke.

‘You’re good to go.’ He said.

Where would I go? Where do I go? I’m so lost.

‘They might come after me again.’ Mi Cha whispered.

‘They might.’

I’m scared, I’m so scared. I don’t want to die.

‘The street down there leads to the main road. I can give you enough for a taxi.’

Alone? At this hour? I don’t want to. I don’t want to be by myself. My God, I don’t even know this man, but he just saved my life. I … trust him.

‘Can I come with you?’

- - - _ _ _- - - _ _ _ - - -

Guilt wasn’t an emotion that Hyungwon was unfamiliar with, but he was able to brush it aside pretty easily for the most part. It was just a little harder that day, when he had this woman who was relieved to see him, who accepted being in his arms as a source of comfort after a harrowing experience, who trusted him.

She did, he could see it in those beautiful, dark eyes of hers.

And yet, he couldn’t just give up on Yoon Moon Jae’s only daughter when she was right in front of him, practically handed to him on a silver platter, all innocence and naivete because she sure as hell had no clue what her father actually did to make his money. The very daughter that Moon Jae had spent years’ worth of time and energy concealing so that no one knew her face and no one had ever heard her name. She was perfect in every way. A perfect beauty, she had an amazing resilience under trying circumstances – and she was the perfect weakness for his enemy.

He almost felt bad. Almost.

‘You’re good to go.’ He said.

Never. It’s too late for you.

‘They might come after me again.’

‘They might.’

They will. You’re a dead woman walking.

‘The street down there leads to the main road. I can give you enough for a taxi.’ Hyungwon forced himself to say.

I’ll never let you go. Just a little more, darling.

‘Can I come with you?’

Perfect.

(To be continued … )

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