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lookatyoustrawberrynerd · 3 years

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Forgiven - Gajeel X Levy

WARNINGS: Light swearing

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

GENRE: fluff, slight angst

FANDOM: Fairy Tail

PAIRING: Gajeel x Levy

The guild hall was loud and rowdy as ever as Gajeel sat alone at the bar, drinking whatever the hell Mira had put in his mug. It didn't matter to him as long as it got him drunk.

"Getting a head start today are we?" Gajeel turned around and saw the small master of Fairy Tail climbing into the stool next to him.

Gajeel chuckled as he took another swig, "It's gonna take a lot more than this to get me drunk, old man."

"Oh I don't doubt it," Makarov replied. He signaled for Mira to pour him a drink, then promptly chugged it down as if it were nothing but water. "Your tolerance must be impeccable if this is what you're putting away this early in the morning."

Gajeel smirked, "years of practice."

The two men chuckled as they drank together, falling into a comfortable silence as the guild hall roared behind them.

A small pair of arms wrapped themselves around Gajeels shoulders as a kiss was planted on his cheek. Gajeel turned his head to face his bright eyed girlfriend Levy.

Gajeel couldn't help the smile that came to his face every time he saw her. "Hey short stack," He said as he gave her a quick peck on the lips.

Levy ignored the nickname, "Me and the guys are heading out on a job for a few days."

Gajeel grunted, "is anyone else going?"

Levy shook her head, "No, but the job isn't that dangerous. Just a simple escort mission for a Lord and his daughter."

"Still, I'd feel better if you took Lily with you," Levy puffed our her cheeks.

"I can h-"

"Trust me Lev, I know you're capable of kicking so serious ass, it's the other two I don't trust." Gajeel looked behind Levy at Jet and Droy stuffing their faces.

Levy sighed, "fine, you big baby."

"That's my girl." Gajeel leaned in to whisper in Levy's ear, "I'll make it up to you when you get back."

He couldn't help but laugh as his girlfriend turned bright red in front of him. "I-I gotta go now!" Levy gave Gajeel a chaste kiss on the lips. He watched her as she met the black exceed by the door.

"Hey," Gajeel called out to Jet and Droy before they could join them. They walked over to Gajeel who then grabbed them both by the wrist and pulled them in close. "If she comes back with a single scratch," he hissed, "I will put you two in a fucking coffin."

Jet and Droy both shivered as they nodded frantically. Gajeel let go of them and they practically ran out of the guild hall. Sighing, Gajeel turned back around to take a drink, already missing his girlfriend.

"I must say Gajeel," The master started, "when I first took you in, I never would have imagined you would have fallen for my little Levy."

A faint blush dusted over his cheeks, "Well," He didn't like thinking about his time before Fairy Tail, the person he was, but he couldn't help it as the memories came back, "I was a real piece of shit back then."

He didn't realize how hard he was gripping the handle of his mug until he let go of it, revealing dents in the shape of his fingers.

"Shit," he muttered as Mira came up to grab the mug from him, "I'll buy you a new one."

Mira just laughed it off, "No need Gajeel. If we had to replace every dented mug in this place, we'd go bankrupt!"

"Mira, could you give us a minute?" Makarov asked. Nodding, Mira walked into the back room, leaving the two men alone at the bar.

"I was wondering when you were gonna cut to the chase," Gajeel said.

"Yes, but I believe it is you with something to say, my boy." The two men sat there in silence for a few seconds before the master asked, "Can I see it?"

The box in Gajeels pocket suddenly felt like a weight dragging him down. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the box and slid it to the old man next to him, careful to not let anyone see it.

Makarov pulled back the lid to reveal a small iron ring. Intricate designs of swirls carved to look like vines and flowers decorated its sides, meeting in the middle to hold a heart shaped diamond.

"How did you know?" Gajeel asked.

"I know a lot of things, Gajeel. I just happened to catch you staring at it when you think no one is watching." Makarov said as he twisted the box around to look at the ring from all angles.

Gajeel nearly choked on his drink, "fuck," he muttered. The master chuckled and clapped Gajeel on the back.

"It's a beautiful ring Gajeel," he said, sliding the ring back to him. "You must love her a great deal."

Gajeel smiled softly, "Yeah," he looked at the ring and closed the lid with a sigh. "I don't deserve her."

"How so?"

"Are you serious?" Gajeel asked, but Makarov stayed silent. Softly, Gajeel said, "I hurt her."

Makaraov hummed in acknowledgement, "So that's it huh?" Memories flooded into Gajeels mind. Him attacking her that night, the way she screamed, her nearly lifeless body hanging from that god damned tree. Gajeel swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

"I hurt her, Master. I hurt her and her friends and laughed about it, bragged about it. But the moment I joined the guild, she treated me like nothing had ever happened. I wasn't 'Black Steel Gajeel', I was just Gajeel Redfox. If I'm being honest, it kinda pissed me off."

The master hummed, "Really?"

"Yeah," he replied, "it pissed me off because I had no idea why she would even bother being nice to me. I wouldn't have been. But of course, she's just that wildly forgiving of other people. I didn't deserve her forgiveness, and that's why it pissed me off."

"You have long since been forgiven for your sins of the past, Gajeel" The master said. Gajeel whipped his head to face him.

"What?"

"Do you know why I chose to recruit you instead of the other members of Phantom Lord?" Makarov asked and Gajeel shook his head. There was no hint of sarcasm or condescension in his voice, just plain sincerity. "I picked you because not just because I wanted to help you find the right path, but because I knew that it was possible. I saw a light in you that had been clouded by Jose and his teachings. The things you did were deplorable, and you know that more than anyone, but answer me this. Would you have done the things you did that night if Jose hadn't ordered you to?"

No. He wouldn't have. He didn't even go as far as he was supposed to that night. Jose had ordered him to kill Levy, Jet, and Droy, but he refused.

Makarov continued on, "Ever since I took you in, you have done nothing but prove me right. You have shown that you are willing to fight for your family and that you're proud to be a fairy, and we're proud to have you."

Gajeel looked around the guild hall as he processed the masters words. He looked at the people he had met over the past several years, and he realized he was proud. He had made legitimate friends in a guild he once tried to destroy and fell in love with a girl he had almost killed.

All those nice thoughts however couldn't stop the doubt from creeping into his mind. "Even still, I can't provide for her. It took me months to work enough jobs to even buy the materials for that ring, and it's not like those jobs were easy."

"You and I both know she doesn't care about that."

"But I do master!" Gajeel slammed his fist on the bar a little louder than he wanted to. Some people looked their way for a moment but quickly resumed doing whatever it was they were doing. "She deserves the world, but I simply can't give it to her."

Makarov took another swig of his drink, "You're right. She does deserve the world. But she wants you," He stood up on the bar stool and made eye contact with the man across from him. "We all have our demons, Gajeel. We all have scars that will never fade, those voices in our heads that tell us to just give up and that we'll never be good enough. But you are lucky enough to have a family that will support you in every choice you make, and a woman who loves you with her entire heart.

"You will have to live with the things you have done for the rest of your life. You cannot go back and undo it no matter how much you wish you could. What you can do is live every day showing how much you've grown. You have atoned for your sins. Levy, Jet, and Droy have forgiven you. I have forgiven you. Now you must work to forgive yourself. And if you never do, that's okay. Just don't let it stop you from living your new life.

"Never forget Gajeel that you deserve happiness just as much as everyone else under this roof. If that means a future with Levy, then I will spend every remaining second I have left ensuring that future comes to pass, and every second after that protecting it. On my honor as the master of the Fairy Tail guild."

Gajeel didn't know at what point he had started crying. No one had ever told him that he deserved to be happy, but here was someone saying it as if it were the most obvious thing it the world.

"Master I-"

"Do you love her, Gajeel?" Makarov asked.

In that moment, Gajeel saw Levys face. Her bright smile, her eyes that always sparkled, her blue hair that reminded him of the sky, the way she puffed her cheeks whenever he teased her.

He remembered all their missions together, their time in the military, all the times they had nearly died; Tenrou Island, Tartaros, Alvarez, he had never felt fear the way he did when he was confessing to Levy as he was slowly dying, and the pure elation he felt when he finally saw her again.

He thought about what he wanted in the future, and in his mind he saw Levy in a white dress walking down the aisle. He saw with a hand on her rounded stomach. He saw her reading to their children and him singing to them. He saw them growing old and gray together. His heart swelled with emotions he had never felt before as he looked into the future.

Every day he wakes up to Levy lying next to him, and he always thinks that he'll never be able to fall for her more than he already has, and every day he is proven wrong.

Gajeel smiled as he wiped away a tear from his face, "more than anything."

Makarov returned his smile, "Then marry her Gajeel. You have my blessing. Make a family with her. Make a life that both of you can be proud of living. Make her as happy as she makes you." Makarov held out his hand and Gajeel took it in his.

"I promise I will," Another tear fell down his face, "Thank you master."

"You're welcome, my son."

#Gajeel #gajeel x levy #Fairy tail #Gajeel redfox #levy mcgarden #fanfiction #writing #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #fluff and romance #romance #marriage #oneshot #fairy tail one shot #gajevy one shot

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srose-foxfire · 3 years

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Damirae Week 2021 - Day 5

“The Enchanted Rose” Day 5: Nightmares

Crimson red was all Raven could see. She turned and turned hoping to see anything that wasn’t covered in red.How could this had happened? She had felt so happy just moments ago she had been dancing the night away with Damian feeling so at peace and alive. He twirled her around that huge ballroom floor, he spun her so many times but not once did Raven ever get dizzy. She kept her gaze on Damian, for he was her center.

Once her feet were beginning to feel sore, Damian like the gentleman he was, escorted her back to her bedroom. After bidding her a goodnight Damian turned to leave but then stopped him as Raven lifted herself on his tiptoes to give him a small peck on his cheeks. Raven caught a small blush coat his cheeks as he bowed and then left her in her room. The last thing she saw was his tail wagging. She closed her door and went off to bed, falling deep into a sleep with a huge grin on her face.

Or that was she imagined her night to end like. Instead she was here, in her father’s lands, who she sworn she would never return to. This was the life she was born into and one she never wanted to accept as hers. Raven hugged herself tightly, wanting to escape whatever hell she had just entered. She looked down at her bare feet as a strange shadow started creeping itself towards her, turning her into the demon she feared she would become. Frightened, Raven cried out and held her head tightly in her hands.

“You have to stop letting these fears hold you down.”

Raven open her eyes and gaze towards who had spoken to. There in front of her stood a woman, wrapped in a white hooded cloak. She had her face hidden by the hood, all Raven could make out was her light pink lips and the ends of her black hair just barely peeking out from her shoulders.

“Who are you?” Raven asked.

The woman only smiled beneath her hood, “someone who wants to see you happy. Raven, you don’t need to fear him anymore…” then her smiled slowly turn into a frown, “but you are in danger.”

“Danger? Tell me-”

“I’m running out of time, listen to me carefully. Your friends will need you, when that time comes, call for our Great Mother and she will bestow upon you her blessing.”

Then a gust a wind started to pick up around Raven, her vision started to blur as the woman in front of her started to disappear. “Wait! Is this the Wayne’s, are they in danger because of me? Who are you?!”

“Raven, you hold a light so strong, a light of healing. You will light the darkness surrounding those now dear to you.”

With that Raven woke from her sleep, she clutched her chest as her whole body shivered. Raven scanned her room; nothing was out the norm, through her large bedroom window a full moon shined brilliantly casting away any shadows in her room. Next to her bed was the wooden perch, Sombra slept on. It had only been a dream, she thought to herself. She laid there, fully wide awake, reflecting what her dream could had meant and who could that womanbeen? She seems to know Raven well, but the young girl could never recollect, where she might have ever seen her.

Needing some time to calm herself, Raven stepped out of her bedroom put on her night gown and a silk cover up. She went downstairs to the castle’s kitchen and make herself a cup of tea. She assumed it was a little midnight as the full moon looked to have travel half the night sky. Though now the castle was always illuminated by candlelight. Raven arrived and busy herself to start the fire going underneath the stove top and placed a filled kettle over the flame. Once the water started to boil, she grabbed a tea pot, poured some loose dried lemon grass and hot water. As she waited while her tea seeped, Raven went on a hunt to find a teacup. As she hunted for a cup, Raven hadn’t noticed she wasn’t alone in the kitchen.

“What are you doing up?”

Startled Raven jumped and bumped her head under a cupboard. She hissed at the sudden pain and turn her face to snare at Damian as he stood by the doorway with his arms crossed. “Oh, it rude to sneak up on people!” She turned around and continue to look for the damn cup. “I couldn’t sleep… what are you doing up?”

“I’m always up at this hour.”

“Doing what?”

“Reminiscing” Damian came up from behind her and opened up a cabinet, just to her right; revealing three small shelves filled with assorted and expensive china teacups. “and looking over… somethingthat was left to me.”

“Oh…” Raven said nonchalantly as she grabbed one blue cup and then gestured toward him, “would you like me to pour you a cup?”

Damian gave her a small shrug, she walked around him and poured him some tea. She placed it the kitchen’s island counter, taking a seat and sipping her tea. She felt the drink warm and sooth her soul, making her forget the nightmare she had that had cause her to be awoken. Damian went ahead and sat across from her. He took the china cup and held it by the tips of his claws, careful not to break it. After taking a sip, he sighed, “you’re not going to ask what it is?”

Damian actually looked smug, like he wanted to rub whatever he had in her face. Raven placed her cup down as gently as she could, clasping her hand together, “I cannot believe you perceive me as some nosy girl-”

“You wandered the castle when I told you not to, you wentoutsidedespite me telling you not to go out-”

“You orderedme,” Raven pointed a finger at him, “I don’t do good being ordered around.”

“Touché… something seems to be bothering you. I want you to know you can speak to me.”

Should she tell him? Raven hadn’t had time to reflect on her dream, everything was coming back to her in vague pieces. Danger. That was what she had dreamt, she had felt she was in trouble and somehow her dream made the illusion of someone warning her to keep her eyes open. “I had this dream… well a nightmare of my old home.” That was the half-truth.

Damian clasped his hand together and leaned in closer, “you never once spoke about your home, or where you were headed when you… came to the castle. Did something happen to your homeland?”

“I was exiled.”

~~~~

Damian sat there as Raven told him her story.

“I am the daughter of a demon who governs lands cast in shadows and bloody rivers. Lord Trigon, who stands above all demons and dark magic wielders in all the realms. I was to be his successor, but I wasn’t what he hoped for. The part of me that doesn’t wished to harm others, cause destruction or how my father put it ‘kindhearted’, impeded me to ever fall to my demon side. My father believed my mother’s good nature was the caused for this. He had no use for me, proclaimed one of my lesser but more demon-like siblings would take his reign. So, without as much a goodbye he made me leave his lands. Good riddance, I never once turned back, the minute I stepped out of his forsaken lands, I felt free and alive.”

“Where were you planning to head off to?”

“My mother’s homeland. I never got to meet her; my father killed her when I was very young so I have no memory of her. I found an old journal she kept and there she described her home to be filled with light, a place where anyone could be accepted no matter who they are. My only problem is, she never once wrote the name of her home, so I was traveling blindly. I ask any village I passed through… and after receiving directions from this old woman… I ended up here.”

Damian felt a sharp pain in his chest as he continued to listen to her tale. Raven was heading towards a place she could be accepted and loved. She was heading where she could find a place to call home. Her home. Damian fought tears wanting to escape, he turned his head and looked away as he could feel his heart want to shatter, realizing he could never bring any good. He was a cursed beast, and the curse was designed to darken any light around him.

Here he had this brilliant and kind woman, who could had turned against him at any moment. Instead she brought him warmth and happiness he never believed he needed. What did he do in return? Take away her freedom, rob her of making her own choices. Why did he believe he could give her all the luxuries left in his castle to make her want to stay?

Damian needed to do something right for her, he needed to amend his wrongs and let her know she could maybe find peace here, with him.Just then an idea popped in his head. Damian allowed a small smile to grace his lips.

“Come. I would like to show you something.”

Damian extended his arm out for Raven to take. She timidly reaches for his paw, once she held him, very effortlessly he lifted her and guided the girl outside the kitchen. Keeping silent, Damian lead Raven through corridors, until they reach an open door near the entrance to one of his private and personal chambers. The opening lead to a spiral of stair wells that lead to a tower, Damian would spend much of time. Once the reach the top, it led into a grand torn down room. It was dusty, the walls were covered in spiderwebs, and in the far side of the space was an opening to a balcony.

They walked silently into the room and Damian nodded to Raven, signaling he was allowing her to inspect the room. “This was my own private study; I would come here to train or be away from my family.” He continues to watch her wonder around the large room and stopped as she gazes towards up a shredded portrait, one he destroyed of himself. “It’s the one place in the castle my siblings aren’t allowed to come. Excuse me for the mess, I find solace here since the curse was place. I wanted to show you this.”

Damian points towards a small round table near the exit to the balcony. There in the center of the table, a centerpiece was covered by a thin gray rag. Damian pulled it away, revealing a green rose, though it color was unusually dark. Raven gasp as she noticed the rose was covered by a glass covering and floated above the table’s surface, keeping perfectly still. Though instead of keeping upright, its rosebud was tilted to the side, almost as if it was wilting.

“It’s floating?” She asked.

“There was a rose garden my father had planted, a token for my mother it was his way he proposed to her. Green for her eyes. When she passed away, I took over the care for the roses, my way of keeping her memory alive and one of my closest treasures. When the witch cast the curse and she transformed me, she said she would take everything I held dear would be gone. My mother’s rose garden was burned to the ground, all the beautiful, fully bloomed rosebuds were destroyed. All but one.” Damian gestured towards the single last rose from his garden.

“It’s enchanted?” Raven continue to ponder as she viewed the mysterious flower from all angles.

“That is what I believe as well, it once shined and sparkled. Over the years it’s light simply started to dim, which is why it looks dead. Perhaps it’s was the witch’s way of saying that this curse will never be lifted, but I personally wish to see that some good could come out this.”

“I happen to imagine you view the world differently, correct? Trust me, coming from a line of demons give you that insight… may I?” Raven gestured towards the rose and Damian simply gave her a soft nod. He watched as she carefully removed the glass covering and placed it next to the rose. Raven slowly kept her placed her hands over it, not daring to touch it. She continues to move her hands all around almost as if she could really touch it and then the most marvelous thing happen.

Light. The green rose suddenly emitted a bright glow and burst with life again. The wilting rosebud soon rose itself upright, blooming and slowly spinning in Raven’s hands. Small specks to what appeared to be the rose’s pollen, erupted resulting it looking like the rose was emitting green sparkles.

Damian took a few steps back as he watched his room be filled with this mysterious light and gazed upon the girl holding it. She has a light to share, Damian thought as the rose continued to shine and spun. Damian frowned and lowered his gaze as he knew what he had to do, even if he didn’t want it to happen.

Raven gasped softly and smiled, “Damian, do you see this? It’s beautiful, how do you think this happened-”

“Go.” Damian said rather harshly as he came between Raven and the rose, moving her hands away and covering the enchanted rose once again.

Raven turned to face him with her brows knitted together, she was about to speak when Damian interrupted her, “You are no longer my prisoner, you can go and find your mother’s land.”

“But I-”

Damian then turned his back towards her, his whole form was able to shield the rose’s glow, dimming the room back to the darkness he had become use to. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say, he fears if he did than he would never let her leave. Very hard he held back the tears and kept his voice stern, not letting himself brake before her. “Didn’t you hear me? I said go!” No, I want you to stay. “Go!” Please stay with me. “I don’t want you here! Get out of my sight!

Damian slightly glanced from the side; Raven was still there awestruck by the sudden change of his behavior no doubt. He growled, then turned his whole body, looming over the poor girl. Damian then let out a great and terrifying roared as the castle tremble beneath him. “GET OUT!” He slashed at an old chair next to him, making Raven back away towards a wall.

“Damian, what’s happening?” Raven said in a mere frightened whisper, her voice wanting to crack.

“Get out, I say! You have no business here; I don’t want you in my castle anymore!”

“Please stop.” Raven painfully begged, which only aggravated Damian even more.

Damian snarled, he could feel his eyes swell up with tears wanting to cascade, with a painful heart he cried out another terrifying roar, “GET OUT!”

With that Raven ran towards the door, her steps fading as she sprinted the stairs. In the distance he could hear her pet raven, Sombra squawked, the main castle’s doors opening and banging at their sudden opening. Damian walked to the tower’s balcony seeing Raven wrapped in an old worn out cloak, with Sombra flying at her side, fleeing from his castle never looking back and disappearing in the forest. Not being able to contain the pain in his chest, Damian slump down and let all the sorrows lodged in his heart out.

“Damian.”The young cursed prince looked up and saw his older brother Dick floating towards him. “What happened? Why did she leave? What did you do?”

“I let her go,” Damian said meekly as he stared down to the ground.

Flabbergasted, Dick raised his hands towards his younger brother.“Why?”

Taking one final look at the illuminated green enchanted rose, Damian gave a wearily stare towards his half-brother, who knew more about love than him. “Because I love her.”

#damirae week 2021 #day 5 #nightmares #damirae #damirae week #damiraefic #Damian Wayne #raven roth #raven and damian #damian and raven #Beauty and the Beast AU

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oh-boy-me · 4 years

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Casual Outfits Discussed

@themarchinghare Ok >:3c

These hot takes analyses and opinions are based entirely on the concept art of the demon brothers’ casual outfits. So any in-game features not present in the concept art aren’t discussed. We’re looking at the outfit as a whole, but occasionally we do talk about individual features.

Also please don’t take this seriously, we just had a lot of fun shitting on the Seven Power Avatars of Sin, Rulers of Hell Itself™’s questionable fashion sense. I would still die for these boys, terrible taste in shoes or not.

Participants in the discussion were

Jo ( @jodaneko ), my roommate and an art major with storyboarding and character design experience

Justin ( @justinlester0629 ), my go-to fashion expert for at least a decade and very possibly a future male model

Noodle (Me), untrained eye and resident fashion decade disregarder

With the exception of a few choice quotes, our thoughts and conclusions are all mixed in with each other. Quotes are mildly paraphrased.

Lucifer:

The colors are good; the blacks and grays are all in the blue-gray family, and there’s a pop of color with the gold belt and red vest.

But he paired a black suit with brown shoes???? SIN

“You should always match your belt with your shoes and those shoes are not gold.” —Justin

Justin on the coat: “I love it, the pattern of the inner lining is throwing me off but it’s not bad, and the fur is perfect because it’s associated with power.”

Me on the coat: “I don’t know about you but I bet that coat looks dumb as shit if you put your sleeves through it.”

WITHOUT the coat though his cuffs scream “I am dealing for blackjack and rolling craps.” Lucifer looks like he could walk into and out of a casino whenever he pleases and everyone would assume he works there.

“Dress shirts don’t work like that. He got a size too big.” —Jo

The belt isn’t doing anything functionally, but it’s very important because it balances things out from being too top-heavy.

Out of the belt, shirt cuffs, and coat cuffs, two of them should have matched.

We’re nitpicking because in general it’s a good design. Lucifer has no taste in shoes but that aside is capable of dressing himself.

Mammon:

“That’s western Danny Phantom if I’ve ever seen it.” —Justin

Very nice coat 10/10 would wear.

The colors are odd, he mixes black and brown too, but the other colors mixed in makes it work in a cute way.

“The only things that clash are the shirt and jeans, he could replace the gray shirt with either a black one or a lighter one to match the boots.” —Justin

He’s got a cat toy on his belt. I admire his preparedness for feline encounters.

The cat toy also balances out his rings nicely, since the toy is on his left hip and the rings are on his right hand.

The yellows in the shades, belt, and cat toy are placed very nicely and are the best part of the outfit.

Honestly except for the shirt color and the fact that fur-lined boots are out of style we don’t have much bad to say about his design. Mammon’s casual outfit lives up to his model career.

Leviathan:

“Ugh, god.” —Justin

The headphones don’t match with anything, and ever color he’s wearing is so bright they REALLY don’t match.

Headphones aside he chose ok colors to supersaturate, but also like, supersaturation is very very loud.

It kind of looks like he bought two different tracksuits and forgot they were two different outfits.

The pants don’t match themselves.

“He color coordinated his pant cuffs and his shirt and thinks it makes it ok.” —Jo

The jacket itself is nice, the pins are really good and I appreciate that they’re opposite the stripes in his shirt.

Justin hates the gray stripe though because it looks like either part of the jacket or a girl scout sash.

“That shirt should not be collared.” —Jo

“The shoes look like what Kanye West would design but if they were sold on Wish.” —Justin

It’s kind of just… he took the RGB color wheel and went with it. It’s just loud. If he just changed some colors he’d be fine. Leviathan please I have hope for you.

Satan:

“He looks like a gay prep school person.” —Justin

Satan wore 100 shades of green and said “yes this is peak fashion.” And you know what, it objectively sucks but I’m kind of living for it?

Rip off jeans that can’t actually be ripped off because of the VERY stylish belt? Iconic.

Green deep v-neck sweater over a gradient t-shirt and a jacket with the sleeves too short, this man only shops at Goodwill.

The one-shoulder jacket look gives the outfit some personality and I’m really glad he isn’t wearing it properly because looking at it alone I wouldn’t be caught dead in that jacket.

“While good for the design, it’s a mix between business and athletic and I’m not sure how I feel about that.” —Jo

(Jo also said some jackets are designed with sleeves like that but with the color choices it’s just… not good. Justin pointed out that the sweater and jacket do match though.)

The chocolate loafer-style shoes take away from the rest of the outfit.

“Any other shade of green besides Crayola green would have been better for his nails.” —Justin

Listen it’s so bad it’s good, Satan’s fashion sense is “blue-green.” We basically ripped into it the whole time but I’m pretty sure it was the universal favorite.

Asmodeus:

“Just from the back he looks like a cool dude and then the front of him screams douche.” —Jo

Asmo’s outfit is actually ok, but he has one fatal flaw: If he takes off his jacket it’s way too plain, but with the jacket it’s kind of too much.

It’s also kind of confusing, because it looks both casual and formal from different angles. “I’m not sure I like the cut in the front with the t-shirt showing underneath.” —Justin

The shirt is nice but a color that contrasted his skin more would have been nice.

The pants are killer, and the white stitching matches the jacket really well.

The gold accents on the jacket are also good and would match the belt really nicely if the belt wasn’t some ugly mustard color.

This boy is wearing mustard belt and ketchup pants.

Inoffensive shoes which is really the best I can ask for with these boys.

“The scarf. I like it, but I’m not sure how I feel about it because there’s just so much going on with both it and the jacket.” —Justin

“That’s not a scarf, it’s too long. It’s like. A really long strip of cloth.” —Jo

Anyway all in all there’s a little much going on in the front but it’s one of the better looks, good job Asmo.

Beelzebub:

Justin looked at the picture and immediately put his phone down.

“First impression is he looks like Naruto if he got his head lodged in Doritos.” —Justin

“He looks like he’s the carpet of the arcade portion of a skating rink.” —Jo

“He shouldn’t be wearing orange tones.” —Justin

Legitimately we were at a loss for words for a considerable time. We just kept staring at it.

To start he’s got a lot going on but it feels like he looked in the mirror before leaving his room. Not saying he did the best job but at least he looked at himself.

The jacket alone is great, but why is it fur-lined? It throws off the urban design.

But finally some good fucking shirt. We have mixed opinions on the triangles (I like them, Justin doesn’t but appreciates that the pattern continues on the back) but all like the cut.

Living for the necklace-bracelet combo.

Jo says the biggest problem is that there’s color-matching but in weird places and not enough of it.

Jo hates the pink belt and Justin hates the green suspenders; we concluded that one of them should have been excluded.

His choice in sneakers is not as bad as Levi’s but still not very good. The laces shouldn’t be green.

This sounds like a lot of complaining but if he cleaned up the belts and ditched the fur it’d be a fine look.

Belphegor:

“Oh shit oh god.” —Justin

“The top half is for sleeping and the bottom half is for riding.” —Jo

Absolutely disgusting, mustard yellow pants tucked into brown lace-up combat boots? Disgusting.

The shoes alone are nice but the mustard pants don’t work at all. There’s no cutoff between blue and mustard.

Also he has really broad shoulders, just noticed that looking at this. That has nothing to do with this but it does affect how his cardigan sits on him.

I personally would wear that cardigan, a hooded cardigan? Everything I’ve ever wanted.

Justin pointed out that the button lining is weird, and the inside is a weird contrast with the pocket. He’s right, but I think it’s an endearing mess.

Why do I look at him and feel like he needs to do laundry? I think it’s the t-shirt. It would have been better as a collared shirt, taking the hood off the cardigan in return.

You can’t convince me the avatar of sloth laces those boots every day, he sleeps with his shoes on and that’s a worse sin than sloth.

“The pillow’s not part of the outfit? Oh thank god.” —Justin

Jo said we were being too mean and that it’s not the worst outfit out there, and from the waist up they’re right.

But damn Belphegor the condiment war called and they want the bottom half of their uniform back.

#obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me!#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me outfit analysis #image

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pl-panda · 4 years

Text

Damienette Arranged Marriage: part 2

Part 1

This

Okay. Here comes another part. I apologize if I missed someone for the Tag list, but in two days this got more responses than my other fics get in a week.

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from and me for the plot.

Damienette Arranged Marriage: part 2

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"I am so sorry they dragged you into this!" She started to apologize to him and trying to hug him. His instincts told him to push her away, but he was too stunned to follow on it. This girl was actually apologizing him for her life being ruined? Just where did his mother find her?

Marinette began to cry her heart out. She felt lost. The boy awkwardly reciprocated her hug, patting her back. His armor was not the most comfortable, but she didn’t care. The girl was always good at reading people. She could easily see that he was just as confused by this situation, only chose not show it.

Damian gave her one more look. The girl felt so fragile right now. When she first apologized to him something inside broke. She was kind, caring and selfless. His first thought was what was he pulled into. She apologized him for something she had no control over. Back home there were plenty of girl that once they found themselves in such situation would blame him, or even worse, try to abuse the situation. She chose to instead try and conform him. Tried being key word, because she quickly became a crying mess.

“I am sorry. I usually don’t break that easily…” She said between sobs. That was too much for Damian. He separated from her and cupped her hands with his. He noted that she was speaking french, but it wasn’t a problem for him. He was fluent in it. Learned it even before English actually.

“There is nothing you should apologize for. If anyone is to blame, it’s my mother and the old man who assisted her. You have no fault in this. I hold nothing against you” He did his best to comfort her. Even after spending five years with Bruce and the rest of ‘Batfam’ (He still didn’t like the name), Damian learned a bit about human interactions, but he was still far from any good at it. The bigger was his surprise that the girl actually calmed down a bit. She was no longer sobbing, but her eyes were still red and puffy. She nodded slowly.

“Thank you. I… I don’t usually shatter like that. I live… I lived in Paris.” She stated as if it would explain everything. Damian frowned at the past tense.

“Don’t worry. You will return there. Mother will not hold us captive for too long. Father will come for me soon.” He assured her.

“I… I…” She was at the loss of words. Before she gathered her thoughts and managed to say something, a new voice joined the conversation.

“Mistress Talia want to see you both. Please follow me.” Three assassins stood in front of them. Marinette quickly grabbed the cage with Tikki still inside and pulled her closer. She had no idea how to open this thing and Kwami was unhelpful in that matter. She looked at the boy. Only now she realized they never exchanged names. He nodded to her and stood up. She did too and stood next to him. Her ladybug instincts were telling her to try and find a way out, but common sense demanded she hide behind the boy.

She took a closer look at him. He was quite handsome. With green eyes deeper than even the ones of Adrien and fair skin. He had completely black hair that was combed back into spikes. His armor was decorated with some intricate design that any other day she would copy right away because it looked so amazing, but she was still feeling too down. It was dark gray with gold trimming. The red cape was held in place under his pauldrons and lower part formed into sort of skirt to protect his tights. He had the sword at his belt.

Damian snarled at the three assassins. “Lead the way. Be quick.” He acted as cold as he could, trying to act like he used to before his father showed him different path. To his amusement, the mooks stiffened and nodded quickly, leading them to his mother. Cowards. He scowled. It didn’t escape his attention that the girl held herself quite confident now, especially since she was a mess just a moment before. There was something strange about her. The creature she was carrying in the cage was constantly speaking to her in french and supporting her. Maybe she was not just some princess stolen from her life after all. At the same time, she was still a bit clumsy and easily scared. It made for… endearing combination. Just what the heck is going on with me!

They were led to a large, comfortable chamber witch held a single king-sized bed, a clean desk and a coffee table surrounded with three armchairs. All was mostly green, with addition of red. He knew this place. It was his mother’s private chamber.

“Hello Damian.” Speaking of the Devil, Talia walked from a doors in the far corner of the room. He didn’t notice them at first, but they were there. She was still dressed in her normal attire. The woman sat on one of the armchairs and pointed Marinette and Damian to do the same. He reluctantly did, and only then his ‘wife’ followed. “Tea?” Talia spoke in French, fully aware that her son would understand her, but unsure about the girl. She pointed to a fancy chinese Teapot and three cups on the table. Marinette did try to reach it, but Damian grabbed her by wrist and shook his head, earning a chuckle from his mother. “Oh please. Damian, poisoning you now would be counterproductive. I wouldn’t want to loose my new allies.”

“What is your game, Mother?” Damian hissed (also in French), but he let go of Marinette. She shakingly reached for the set. Talia smiled at the girl and helped her.

“Oh. Quite simple. Instead of removing a threat, I got us an ally.”

“Got you an ally. I already said I don’t want to have any part in this.” Damian said in cold fury. Marinette just sipped her tea, watching the two and slowly calming. She registered everything going on between them and her worries weren’t calmed in even smallest way.

“You will thank me one day son.” She stated. “But that’s not why I invited you two.” She pulled a small key and tossed it to Marinette, who instinctively catched it. As clumsy as she might be, she did have a good reflex. “There is no longer a point in holding the Kwami in cage.”

Instantly, the girl opened the cage and Tikki flew out, cuddling into Marinette. There were no spoken words between them, but the fact that they were both here was enough.

“What is this mother?”

“This, Damian, is a Kwami. A small god if you wish. But I am sure your wife will tell you more about it later. Now there is more pressing question: what’s next?”

“What do you mean?” Both the boy and girl asked confused.

“You are married now. But what do you plan on doing with it?” She smiled at the befuddled expression on their faces.

“First, I want to state that I despise you right now Mother. Forcing an innocent, powerless girl into this was crossing a line.”

“Excuse me?!” Tikki shouted, surprising Damian. “Marinette is anything but powerless! She is the bravest, kindest, most selfless and caring person that I know. She is strongest Ladybug yet so be careful how you speak about her, Heir of Demon!” The small Kwami shouted at the even more befuddled Damian. Talia was smirking until Tikki turned at her. The expression of cold fury didn’t work well on something so cute and with her pichy voice her anger was more endearing than scary. “And don’t get me started on you, daughter of Demon! You dare forcing my Chosen into this disgusting plots of yours. You are lucky she is too important to me to endanger her because otherwise I would get Plagg to wipe out this whole mountain range just to get you!”

Back in her armchair, Marinette tried to meld with the furniture. She wanted to disappear, become invisible. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but be thankful to Tikki. She was defending her and Marinette was happy to know that she is cared about. The girl looked at the two other humans in the room to see the boy… her husband… unnerved by the Kwami and the woman… her mother-in-law… looking amused. “Tikki! I think that’s enough. I just want to go home, to my parents…” Ladybug tried to calm her friend.

“I believe we were not yet properly introduced.” The woman stated. “I am Talia Al Ghul and this is my son…”

“Damian Wayne.” The boy interrupted, sending a deathly glare at his mother.

Marinette stared at him with an open mouth like he just declared to be a werewolf. She never saw any pictures of Wayne kids before, but something was telling him this was true. He didn’t need to lie to her in any way. They were already married. On that thought she had to keep tear from forming in her eye. She then realized that he was waiting for her.

“Oh! Right! Sorry! My name is Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Or now it will be Marinette Wayne? Or Marinette Dupain-Cheng Wayne? Do you use your mother’s name as well? Because then it would be Marinette Dupain-Cheng Al Ghul Wayne… Oh Kwami! How am I supposed to fit it under ‘name’ label in documents!” She started babbling completely random things until Damian placed a hand on her.

“Calm down. Breath. Don’t worry about it. I will take care of this.” His voice was perfectly calm, without any emotions. His face also took a bit more genial appearance, but he was still scowling in his mother’s direcion. Marinette slowly returned to senses.

“I am so sorry. I usually don’t panic. You know. Living in paris with all the Akumas.” She actually smiled. Never before Damian saw such prominent smile.

“What is Akuma?” He asked.

“Wait, you never heard about Hawkmoth?” She asked surprised. “I thought the news reached to America… Maybe that’s because Justice League ignored…” She stopped for a moment, remembering that her identity was supposed to be a secret, but then again, with Tikki floating around there was no real point in trying to cover it. “ignored my call for help back when I first became Ladybug. It’s been almost two years now that he is terrorizing Paris though.” She remembered when she became Ladybug, after particularly close Akuma attack she decided to call in help. She used her yo-yo to contact the League, but Green Lantern laughed in her face, calling it prank and threatening to sue her.

“And Justice League didn’t do anything? You look my age!”

“I am fifteen thank you very much.” She huffed.

“Exactly! So you’ve been doing it since you were twelve? Did you at least have some help?”

“Well, there was my partner, Chat Noir. And later on Master Fu trained me to be the next guardian.” She saddened on the thought of her former teacher.

“So two barely-teenagers were the only people protecting city from a terrorist attacks?” Damian was suddenly fuming. He had no idea why, but he felt protective over this ray of sunshine. She did not deserve this. “And the Justice League didn’t help?” She shook her head in response. Damian felt his hand instinctively go to his sword.

“But that’s a good thing. I don’t think I would be able to deal with akumatized Superman. Or even Flash. Or any other hero.”

“Don’t worry. I will have a talk with them about that.”

“You know them?!” Marinette screamed. Well, he was Wayne, but she didn’t think even the richest family in America had this kind of connections.

Talia watched this exchange with amusement. Maybe this girl wouldn’t be so bad for her son. She was reluctant to agree to this, but ultimately it was necessary. And now that she saw them interact they seemed like perfect couple. She brought light into the darkness that dwelled in her son while he gave her stability.

“Guess since you revealed your secret to me, it would be only fair for me to reciprocate.” He stated, sighting. “I am Robin.” He dropped the bomb as casually as he could. She looked at him with open eyes.

Before either could say anything more, there was a commotion outside. Talia instantly jumped from her chair and pulled her gun. Damian drew the sword and held it close. For a brief moment a memory of the attack Deathstroke led at the temple five years ago returned to his mind. Marinette looked at Tikki. The Kwami nodded, instantly understanding what was that about. “Tikki! Spots on!” She shouted and pink light enveloped her. When it died, Marinette was now dressed in red skintight bodysuit covered in black spots and with a black turtleneck. On her face was a red mask with five black spots that were in a symmetrical design. The bands holding her hair back became red ribbons, resembling a ladybug's antenas.

Damian wanted to stare at the girl, but the commotion got closer and closer to the doors. He took stance, ready to attack. Next to him, Ladybug started to spin her yo-yo in front, forming a pink shield.

The doors finally bursted open, revealing a towering man in suit that resembled bat in some way. “Demon Spawn!” Behind him came another voice, calling to the boy. Former assassin only groaned.

“Shut up Todd!” He scowled and sheathed his sword. “Looks like cavalry is finally here. Took you long enough.” Damian turned to Marinette. “Meet my father and a bunch of idiots that he adopted. I am still the only blood son mind you.” He announced that last one with pride.

“Whatever keeps you running demon spawn.”

“Stay silent Drake or I will make you!”

Bruce watched stunned. “Damian! No names in the field.” Batman gave another murderous glare at the girl. Everything about her practically screamed hero, but Bruce was a tidy bit overprotective about his family. To his surprise, the girl didn’t even flinch at his best patented bat-stare ®. She just smiled, but Damian spoke faster.

“I already told her about us. She knows who I am and even a complete idiot would figure the rest from there. And mother knew all along, so I still don’t see a problem here.”

“And why would you tell her everything?!” Jason screamed, still hidden behind Batman’s towering posture.

“Because she is my wife Todd!” Damian screamed. The silence in the room was thick enough that if the assassin swinged his sword, he would be able to cut it in half. Finally, Bruce was the one to break it.

“Fuck.”

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Taglist (sorry if I missed you)

@pheonixashtree @sassakitty @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @maggiecc12 @actualdisasterwoman

#fanfic #fanfiction #crossover #marinette x damian #guardian!marinette #maribat au #maribat #damienette #arranged marriage au #maridami #order of the guardians #league of assassins #batman

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years

Text

Wanna make a Deal?

Inspired by MrMautz’s “Wanna make a deal” animation and “Alastor’s Game” by the Living Tombstone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1BFaW4h-l8

A silhouette of a tall man with furry deer ears and antlers hummed happily as he walked down the cobblestone path to the Hazbin Hotel. There was a sway in his steps, like he was walking and dancing at the same time. The entrance awning was covered with a tattered pink circus tent, decorated with yellow eyes along the border. The ground was solid dark gray asphalt and dead gnarled trees stretched up toward the crimson sky. The building was pink, gold and reddish in color. A Titanic looking ship and a carousel were attached to the structure. The sign on the roof changed from Happy Hotel to Hazbin Hotel.

The stained glass windows in the double doors and off to the sides consisted of apples and circus tent designs. The doors burst open and the silhouette walked in from the burst of light. Large red eyes and a big yellow smile appeared on his face.

It was Alastor, the Radio Demon.

“I’ve got a game I want to show you.”

He spoke the words in a radio sing song voice, wearing his tattered red dress coat with a big black bow tie, his hair red and black. His under shirt was light red with a black upside down cross on it. He wore wine colored pants and black tap dancing shoes with red deer tracks on the soles. A monocle was under his right eye. He walked over toward Charlie and Vaggie in the lobby. Gray-skinned Vaggie wore her usual gray tank top and stripped leggings, plus her pink bow tie in her hair white. Charlie had her fluffy blonde hair and a pale face with blushes on her cheeks. She had her salmon pink suit on with a bow tie, a white undershirt, dark pants and shoes. Angel Dust, the white spider, was sitting on the couch in his pink and white striped suit and high heeled pink boots.

Charlie was disheartened. After having several new clients at the hotel including Angel Dust, Mimzy, Crymini, Baxter, Cherri Bomb, Arackniss, and Molly…Angel Dust was the first one to break his bad habits and almost achieve redemption. But the elite angels in Heaven weren’t accepting of sinners without them going through harsh punishment to prove themselves. Indeed, going to Heaven was near impossible.

And with Vox, Valentino, Velvet and the other Overlords up to no good, things weren’t looking very bright.

“If I give you advice, you’ll have to play, too.”

Charlie nodded, eager for advice on how to continue with her project. Vaggie held her wrist and shook her head, warning her not to accept anything from the Overlord. But the desperate princess looked at Alastor, wanting answers.

“I’ve been here for years bidding my time, waiting and primed, until I could find you.”

His partially shadowed face briefly moved closer to theirs, causing the young women to flinch. He smiled and held up a scroll of paper that read “contact,” on it. A small red and black feather pen appeared next to it. With magic, the paper was pushed toward Charlie. At the bottom of the page were several lines for other people to sign.

“Just sign on the line and we can be friends. I’ll be here for you until your world ends.”

Suspicious as Charlie was, his words also tugged at her heartstrings. Alastor had done a lot to help promote the hotel in the past several weeks on his radio show. Plus he was quick to defend Charlie, her friends and the hotel, against outsider intruders like Sir Pentious, Seviathan, and the snobby Helsa.

Charlie saw a vision in front of her from Alastor’s hand, showing her and Alastor dancing while demons lined up to the hotel, each one developing better habits. Vaggie was staring at Charlie with pride in her eyes. Both her parents hugged her and apologized for not believing in her idea to redeem sinners. The vision faded away, Charlie wondering why it had gone. Taking a deep breath Charlie took the pen and signed the contract, Vaggie staring in disbelief. Charlie looked slightly downcast, believing it was the only other option.

Alastor walked over to Angel Dust, the spider demon happy to see the attractive deer demon near him. From Alastor’s hand, light shone from it, creating another vision for Angel. In this one, Alastor was hugging Angel after the spider demon had been freed from Valentino’s clutches. Angel was now free to do what he wanted with Cherri Bomb and his friends. Angel even saw himself reuniting with his brother Arackniss, his sister Molly, his father Henroin and his mother Aranea. Alastor handed him a bag of money and wished him luck before blowing a kiss and giving him his number.

Angel’s eyes dilated as he, too, scribbled his name on the contact. With a smug look on his face, Alastor walked over to Vaggie, holding the paper in front of her. Vaggie growled and shook her head. Alastor shrugged, almost looking like he was about to walk away. But then he presented a vision to her before she could close her visible eye: Vaggie and Charlie sitting together on the roof of the hotel, smiling under a starry sky. Alastor and Angel were nowhere to be seen. Best of all, her father Valentino was in prison where he belonged. No more catering to men and being a prostitute like she did in her human life. The message in Alastor’s eyes was clear: sign this and I’ll leave you be.

With a reluctant sigh of defeat, Vaggie pressed the pen down and wrote her name. The contract vanished and Alastor stood in front of the girls with a look of triumph, the microphone staff in his right hand. He twirled it.

“Enjoy all your toys I will supply. You only live once…or twice.”

He then spoke in a low voice that no one else could hear: “And you’ll be mine.”

Alastor grinned and clenched his fist, as astrological symbols appeared in the swirling fiery light.

“The day you die, I’ll have my payment. Your eternal soul’s enslavement. Did you divine our dark arrangement?”

The light vanished and he turned back to his friends. “You were lovely entertainment.”

He pulled Charlie and Vaggie close to him, both of them with stunned looks on their faces.

“The dark desires you’ve been serving.”

He briefly hung upside down, pointing at them…

“You can bet that you’re deserving.”

He stood back up in front of them.

“No regret for who you’re hurting. Why it’s almost like you’re flirting.”

Alastor stood straight with a smirk on his face as he looked down at them. He was now wearing a matching red top hat. Everyone stared at him with suspicion and concern in their looks.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to alarm you,” he said. “If you ask me to stay, I would be charmed to.”

Charlie and Angel nodded their heads, while Vaggie crossed her arms. Charlie wanted him to stay at the hotel longer. She needed all the help she could get. She needed to convince her stern but protective father that her plan could still work. Lucifer had refused Charlie and her friends from going up to Heaven for good reason.

Alastor picked up a picture and looked at it. It was an old one of Charlie and Vaggie in the 666 News Room studio. It was back when Charlie was about to make her speech about the Happy Hotel. Vaggie had told her not to sing, but she did anyway. Charlie playfully poked Vaggie’s nose in the picture, while an On Air sign was in the background.

“You all have such cozy little lives. How do you survive like that?”

Alastor, being a being of chaos and having experienced past trauma, was not one to know what a normal life was…especially in Hell.

“I wish I knew,” Alastor said sarcastically as he tossed the picture behind him, hitting the moth demon in the head. Vaggie rubbed her head in frustration and pain. Charlie stared down at the lopsided picture, the cracked frame and the broken glass.

Angel came over and stared down at the mess as well. Alastor turned around to the three of them. “But you got a lovely little secret. You’re tired of feeling awful small. So you…”

Alastor roared, sending a scrambling Angel toward the couch. Angel sat on the couch where an old black rotary phone sat on a nearby table.

“…gave Mister Alastor a call, to make a deal. Because you’re hungry, for all the sights. You want to see them.”

The contract floated in front of Angel as a reminder. Alastor’s microphone staff glowed and an angry red eye appeared.

Appearing from Alastor’s hat was a floating dollar sign and a heart. Angel stood up from the couch and stared at both.

“Earthly delights, you feel you need them.”

Alastor appeared in front of Charlie and Vaggie.

“Your appetites, I’ll help you feed them.”

A large bag of money appeared, Alastor laying down on a couch in front of it, cupping his face.

“I’ll be your sweet Radio Demon.”

For a brief second, Alastor’s eyes turned into red radio dials, the surrounding areas black. Sitting on top of the couch was a little Alastor plush doll, the eyes black with red circles, wearing the same outfit. Angel gleefully picked up a pile of dollar bills from the bag and stuffed it in his shirt. Vaggie narrowed her eyes. Hell used souls, not dollars.

Charlie’s cheeks blushed at the sight of Alastor and the plushie. How cute would it be to have little Alastor in her arms. Charlie reached out for the figure, but Vaggie held her arm down with a glare.

“And once your hunger has abated, don’t forget your friend who waited. Watched as you indulged your thirst and…”

Alastor walked over in front of the trio. He then spoke in a bone-chilling whisper holding up a long finger, “Did I mention that you’re cursed?”

Realization hit Charlie like a ton of bricks, just as a horde of shadow demons and tentacles burst into the room. The floorboards broke and collapsed as a hole formed in the middle of the lobby, tentacles bursting forth like upright serpents. Angel Dust took out his guns and fired several rounds, but they were immediately knocked away by the shrieking spirits. The money in Angel’s shirt and the bag disappeared, replaced by a large dark portal with long tendrils emerging from it.

Charlie remembered how she had ordered Alastor to help her out with the hotel for as long as he desired. Alastor’s look told her he had done just that like he promised.

But now, he didn’t have that desire anymore.

Tears welled up in Charlie’s eyes at how foolish she had been. Fire raged in her eyes at his betrayal. A thick tentacle wrapped around her waist and started to pull her toward the portal. Charlie yelled out, her horns sprouting from the skin of her head. Angel latched onto the floorboards with all six arms, more tentacles gripping onto his many wrists and limbs. Angel strained as he tried to hold himself against the forceful tentacles. His mouth was full of sharp teeth, his arms trying to snatch at Alastor’s legs. The smiling Radio Demon merely shook his head and stepped out of his reach. Angel’s pink webs from his fingers flew against the wall as Alastor avoided them.

Vaggie grew moth wings with many eyes and sprouted out several more limbs that held weapons. With a roaring screech and a flap of her wings, Vaggie threw a horde of daggers and spears at him. Alastor’s shadow quickly flew in front of Alastor, taking the blows and protecting his master. Alastor snapped his fingers and more shadow monsters came to his aid. Alastor grew in size, dark antlers branching out from his head, his eyes becoming red radio dials. A prominent red x was on his forehead. All the demons were now in their full forms. Charlie blasted away several shadows with her flames, but more kept coming.

In one last effort, Vaggie aimed her spear at Alastor’s forehead, her wings briefly pushing back the shadow spirits. She used all her strength to move her arm among the tendrils, desperate to hit that mark. Angel also helped briefly held them back with more gunshots from summoned weapons. Alastor moved his microphone off to the side, but he wasn’t pointing it at Vaggie or Angel.

Vaggie, spear in hand, glanced out of the corner of her eye…and saw an unnerving sight. Charlie’s eyes were red radio dials, her smile unnaturally wide. She had been staring right at the microphone and listening to the soft jazz music that played from the speaker. She stared up at Alastor with utmost adoration. Vaggie felt sick to her stomach, her heart and gut crushed with anger and hopelessness. Alastor winked at Charlie and kissed her on top of her head. Charlie let go of the floor, letting herself be dragged backwards. Her eyes and form soon returned to normal, however. Realizing what she had done, she screamed in fear as the tentacles carried the princess into the gaping hole.

Vaggie screamed her girlfriend’s name as her spear was promptly knocked out of her hands by Alastor’s shadow. The microphone was then positioned in front of Vaggie and Angel. An ear-piercing shriek came from the staff, causing screams and convulsions from Vaggie and Angel. Vaggie squeezed her eyes shut and frantically covered her ears in desperation. Both Vaggie and Angel returned to their normal forms. The spirits and tentacles grabbed hold of Vaggie and Angel, pulling them helplessly toward the portal. The radio waves from the staff helped push them further back. Vaggie and Angel held hands for comfort and yelled out as they both fell through the dark hole, which soon closed.

The three fell separately through the darkness. The world soon filled with fire, symbols and static. Hell was already burning and swarming with Alastor’s minions who looted stores and feasted on the carcasses of demons and deer. The world spun around before two swirling portals appeared, one red, one dark pink. Alastor towered over the trio in his demon form, his antlers almost touching their faces. More astrological and voodoo symbols floated and moved around Alastor. His eyes were pure black with small red irises, the monocle by his right eye. His microphone staff was in his left hand, the staff appearing taller and more dimensional.

The world spun again. Charlie and Vaggie found themselves standing on the balcony of the hotel. Both of them trembled in fear. They glanced at the city below, getting a clear view of the cloudless blood red sky. Hovering in the sky was Hell’s moon, a dark sphere with a glowing red pentagram engraved on it.

Just then, the pentagram on the moon’s surface moved away, and was replaced with Alastor’s eyes and wide yellow smile. His monocle was red. The moon appeared to be inching closer towards them.

Charlie closed her eyes, calling upon four ancient beings to come forth. She opened her eyes, which briefly glowed in flames before returning to their normal yellow. The ground shook as footsteps approached. The stomping giant figures arrived from different directions, raising their claws in the air.

They were the four demonic Horsemen, each of them having the heads of horses with fangs and tall humanoid bodies. War had a red coat and flaming hair. Conquest was strong and had white fur and hair. Famine had a black horse head and a mane of wild black hair. The final Horseman, Plague was skeletal in appearance. All four giant Horsemen wore leather jackets and ripped jeans, their eyes glowing red. All four of them held the moon in place with their claws, but it wasn’t going to last long.

Charlie shot Vaggie a look, telling her to go and find a safe spot. But Vaggie stayed with her, refusing to leave her side. What Alastor said next after a few minutes paralyzed Charlie and Vaggie in fear.

“I shall consume…consume everything…”

More powerful radio waves spread through the air. They were so powerful that they knocked all four Horsemen backwards to the ground with violent crashes. The men vanished back to the ether before the shadows could finish them off.

A long black limb extended from the Alastor moon, picking up Charlie and Vaggie. The two females were lifted from the balcony in his palm. The two of them were soon moved right in front of his mouth. Given his cannibalistic nature, he knew they were going to taste delicious.

Alastor’s teeth chomped down hard into both of their heads and necks. All Charlie and Vaggie could feel was searing pain and an unpleasant crushing sensation. They let out sounds between screams and gags, the coughed up blood adding to the gushing red life force flowing from their craniums. Vaggie had gotten the brunt of the damage, her skin already pale and cold. More yellow teeth impaled her in the stomach, chest and upper thighs, whimpers and strained gasps of breath coming from her mouth. Her gray head severed from her neck and fell into the mouth opening, her body soon following. Charlie weakly tried to hold onto her friend’s hand, before she, too fell limp. Charlie weakly croaked out for her parents, her brain and thoughts going fuzzy. The last thing she saw before she was pushed in was Alastor’s dark maw and the outline of a long lavender tongue.

Charlie woke a few hours later on the ground, her body intact the way it was before. Vaggie and Angel helped her up, both of them unscathed. The three of them watched as Alastor danced by a telephone booth, the background flames illuminating the outlines of dead trees. He held a telephone in one hand then reappeared higher in the sky. In his left hand was his microphone staff, a light shining from the single eye. From his right hand, green fire sparked to life along with a green pentagram. He threw cards into the air as outlined eyes and grins of Exterminators leered in every direction. No doubt he was broadcasting his carnage and showing off.

Charlie almost wished that the Exterminators had invaded instead.

Alastor effortlessly slid down a randomly appearing flight of stairs in the sky. After going down some more, Alastor jumped from the stairs and onto the pentagram moon. His body lowered and morphed into a black spring as he shoved the moon toward the ground…

…Right where the trio were standing. In a panic, Vaggie pulled Charlie out of the way just as the moon crashed into the ground next to them.

The Radio Demon was going to destroy all of Hell!

Alastor’s body returned to normal and he glanced delightfully at the trio’s stunned frightened faces. Alastor laughed and held out one of his bloodstained business cards. It showed his smiling face in the lower right hand corner.

It read:

“Alastor, a.k.a. your sweet radio demon. :3

Wanna make a deal? Call me: 069 666 42.

After all the world is a stage and the stage is a world of entertainment. So just sell your soul to me and I provide all you need to fulfill your desires. You wonder why I make you this special offer?

Why does anyone do anything?

Sheer absolute boredom!

(Eternal suffering and punishment in hell guaranteed!)”

Alastor danced as giant cards appeared in the background, the flames adding to the chaotic dystopian Inferno. He snapped his fingers and the trio were transported into a neon colored bar. “Alastor’s Game” was displayed in purple and light blue neon letters attached to a brick wall. Angel Dust, Vaggie, and Charlie sat at a wooden table, Alastor arriving at the head of the table to throw chips on the table to start. A gamble of life and death.

After half an hour, the table was filled with piles of playing cards, chips with bold numbers on them and a stack of dollar bills toward the left. A few of the chips had the character’s icons on it. Off to the right were beer bottles.

As they gambled, two other figures walked into the room. One of them was the gambling cat Husk and the other was a small cleaning cyclops demon named Niffty. Husk crossed his arms with a scowl, already mad that he wasn’t included in the game. Alastor suddenly grinned and held up four aces in his hand, no doubt he had cheated. Husk was furious but found himself unable to move and pounce at the man. Niffty just stood and watched eagerly on a step stool. Husk was able to grab a nearby bottle of booze and drink several gulps before putting it down. Husk and Niffty’s eyes turned into red radio dials, rooting them in place. They had already given their souls to Alastor.

Husk stared at the winning deck in Alastor’s hand and suddenly shook with fear. He remembered Alastor saying to oblivious souls in the past, “You laid your chips on the table now. When you gamble souls, the house will always win. I’m double dealing in betrayal and I’m here to cash my payout.”

Indeed, Alastor was saying the same thing now, lounging in a tall spinning chair shaped like a throne.

Husk tried to yell in warning, but no sound came out. Images of the contracts that the trio had signed appeared in front of them. Charlie, Angel and Vaggie found themselves unable to move. Neon Exterminator grins hovered in the background. Charlie and Vaggie stood by the table on Alastor’s right side, Angel on the left side.

Alastor raised his hands and two glowing pentagrams rotated behind him. He appeared to be chanting some ancient spell. Husk’s eyes grew wide as an instant feeling of dread shook him to his core. The cat demon saw flashes of metal flying from all directions in the dark. Alastor lowered his arms, his hands crossed over each other, his fingers pointing downwards. Husk was able to move and cry out just as he heard a series of sickening squelching thuds. More unsettling was the girlish giggles from Niffty beside him as the two of them witnessed the horrific result.

Charlie, Vaggie and Angel Dust were slumped motionless onto the table, knives embedded in their backs and heads. Angel’s white furry head had been chopped clean off, the blank faced head now on the floor surrounded by blood. Several knives were lodged into Vaggie’s back, staining her clothes deep red. One knife had gotten Charlie in a fatal part of her head. Their glazed eyes and expressions were frozen in terror.

“I hope it was worth the life of sin,” Alastor finished with a dark chuckle.

Husk swore several times with audible gasps, holding in a gag reflex. Alastor moved his hands behind him and strolled along toward the exit, mentioning for Niffty and Husk to follow, no doubt going back in later to feast. Niffty eagerly scurried after him in love struck admiration for everything he did. As Husk passed by and examined the bloodstained knives, his heart stopped for a second time since he died as a human decades ago.

The knives were fatal angelic blades.

Alastor later posed and danced in front of a large wrought iron gate made of bones by the Goon Salon. He turned his head all the way around as he turned to face a crowd of terrified demons.

“You’re in my world now. Take a look around. Inside your nightmare beyond the mortal veil.”

Several horned shadow spirits with different colored triangular eyes peered at the demons before mercilessly attacking them. Alastor snapped his fingers and the “Welcome to Pentagram City” sign changed into one that read “Welcome to New Horror-leans!” Vox, Lucifer, Lilith and several Overlords were dragged into separate portals to be consumed by powerful spirits. Alastor made sure to smash and burn Vox’s TV head before sending him away. The Magne apple themed mansion quickly became a deer-themed headquarters for Alastor and those under his control.

Alastor stood by a brick wall, flames harmlessly surrounding him. His shadow turned into its beast-like wendigo form, a monstrous skeletal deer of shadow. The shadow had gigantic antlers on its head and fiery colored eyes that matched Alastor’s. The wendigo shadow raced and rampaged through town after town. Shadows stalked and spied on hiding demons, crawling through small spaces to hunt them down. The choice was simple: surrender or die. It was easy for Alastor to play music from his microphone, possessing any denizen who stared and listened too intently. The ones who were killed and tortured immediately where the primarily powerful snotty males.

No one was spared from the radio waves. Not even the imps and hellhounds could escape the Al-pocalypse.

Alastor posed back and forth at a sign that read Heaven on one side and Hell on the other. Papa Legba’s veves were drawn nearby. “You made a wrong turn at the crossroads.”

An old fashioned boxy TV showed Alastor’s neon face in orange, teal, white and black.

“Now you’re at the final episode. Eternity with me in Hell!”

Through a pentagram portal, humans from a city on Earth watched as a towering figure stomped through, carrying fire, demons and chaos with him. Alastor was in full demon form, with sharp teeth, claws, and a full head of branching antlers. He held his staff in his right hand. Voodoo imps and shadows rode on bony horses and creatures, one creature being a dragon. They carried skulls and heads on pikes. The red eyed denizen demons carried red and black banners with Alastor’s symbol: a microphone with a dialed eye in between clawed hands. Deer antlers branched out toward the bottom in an upward curve. Kalfu’s diamond-like symbols were in the design as well. The humans ran and screamed for their lives as the glowing white eyed demon roared, showing a mouth of sharp teeth. Buildings caught on fire and chaos spread everywhere.

With enough human and demon souls on his side, Alastor could go for Heaven next.

Later on, Alastor sat comfortably in a red velvet chair in a room of the Hazbin Hotel. The wallpaper was red and had the apple family crests on it. Alastor’s eyes were red radio dials. Alastor sipped coffee from an orange plaid tea cup and set it down on the table in front of him. Off to the side was a bookshelf lined with old leather bound books, vases, a white plate and a globe. On the small round table was a brown old fashioned radio, a white jug, a few white candles and a skull. A deer skull hung from the wall nearby. A picture on the wall showed a figure of Angel Dust in indigo, with the words “Addict VIP” on it. Another picture showed a furry female from Valentino’s group of clients. There was also a grandfather clock against the wall. To the right of the clock was a black grand piano.

“Pleasure to play, how I enjoyed you. Suffice to say when I play I don’t lose.”

Alastor appeared to be talking to someone nearby.

“Collecting on the debts that you accrued. It was such a gas. I really am amused.”

Just then, a black cat with large orange eyes jumped up on the table beside Alastor. Alastor leaned his face close to the feline familiar.

“Have a dark thought, I’m right beside you. A casual whisper just to guide you.”

The cat revealed a strange toothy grin. Alastor moved away. “Look over your shoulder and I gone.” The cat looked around then played with the empty tea cup, looking inside. Indeed, the animals in Hell had been spared, save for Fat Nuggets whom Alastor had for breakfast many days before.

“Remember this song…”

Alastor then stood up and waved goodbye to his audience he was talking to: floating heads in separate jars suspended in liquid on a large shelf.

They were the heads of Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Katie Killjoy, Sir Pentious, Baxter and countless others.

“And I bid you adieu!”

#alastors game #wanna make a deal #alastor #hazbin hotel

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sometimesrosy · 4 years

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(1) Hello, Meta Anon (thank you, Jeanie205) here. Just dropping in to say I agree with your assessment of Wells. If there’s one The 100 character who best embodies the quote, “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” it’s Wells. The last act of his life is to impart onto Clarke the importance of forgiveness and then he dies at a juncture when the show’s horrors were relatively, considerably tame. He didn’t even make it to the culling. Given all we’ve seen,

(2) the cinnamon roll perception has never tracked for me. Every character is broken by traumas, tragedies and impossible choices, every one. It’s presumptuous to think Wells would remain the one person unsullied by darkness had he lived. Presumptuous doesn’t even seem like the right word. More so, unrealistic. Maybe because he died early, he’s malleable enough to be whatever fandom wants him to be and romanticizes the thought of a character representing a steadfast beacon of light? In fairness,

(3) I’ve only seen this argument aggressively utilized by an antiClarke, claiming the show would have been “so much better” had Clarke died instead of Wells. By better, I’m assuming they meant having a lead character who isn’t morally bankrupt, or some such nonsense. I guess we’ll never know where the story would’ve taken him. I could just as easily see him akin to Monty - someone not immune to the narrative’s evils but never so impacted that he went off the rails, opting for a peaceful end.

+++

Interesting. Because Wells was a “good” character who was generally unformed by hardship, he can serve as a kind of cipher for the fans to give him whatever purpose they want him to have. He stands in for everything good, for the idealistic vision of what could have been.

I never really jibe with the people who say a character ‘deserves’ better when they don’t get the storyline the fans want. I don’t think that’s what deserving means. And I don’t think that “deserving” is a function in many stories.

In a more simplistic story... or maybe they are more traditional stories... we have the good heroes and the bad villains and those characters who do good things are rewarded and those who do bad things are punished.

This story does not really work that way, at least for the good people. They often fail in their goals and are not rewarded. If a character is “good” they “deserve” a happy ending or victory or reward. If a character is “bad” they “deserve” to suffer, lose and die. The witch is chased off the cliff, the brute is vanquished, the demon is exorcised. The hero and heroine get together. The knight wins the battle. The loyal best friend is rewarded. Not in The 100. The hero and heroine are separated. The knight is sentenced to hell and must reign there, and the loyal best friend is killed for something he didn’t do.

HOWEVER, there is a hope for this story, for while our heroes have not been rewarded yet, and we have lost MANY of the deeply good and moral characters, our dark side knight has come back to the light and the TRULY evil characters have indeed gotten their just reward, often in VERY fitting manners.

Tsing was irradiated to death after her torture experiments.

Cage was killed by his own drug, administered by one of his victims.

McCreary’s coercion and torture was turned around on him and he was curb stomped to death.

Josephine was erased from existence at the hand of the victim she thought was vanquished and her own true love soulmate who couldn’t bear her evil any longer.

Simone lost her daughter and friends and was kicked out of the ship by the person she murdered to get her way.

??? So it’s not QUITE that the characters don’t get what they deserve. Some do. And maybe by the end of the show, the heroes will get what they deserve, too, and it won’t be death? Maybe? We can hope.

Maybe it’s about learning to be a good person. And Clarke and Wells at the beginning of the show could be the good people because they’d never ever been faced with horror and oppression until Jake was floated. That’s why Clarke fell from grace and her place as golden girl. She had to confront the horrors of this world and these systems that were in place and figure out how to be a good person WITHIN this world.

WOULD Wells have done better at it than Clarke?

I tell you, I have never seen the argument that Wells should have lived and Clarke should have died. I HAVE seen the argument that he should have taken FINN’S place, but that’s probably because I avoid clarke-antis like the plague. Because they are a plague. I get not loving a character, but how do you actively campaign against the hero of the story. That’s who the story is about, and wishing it was a different story about someone else isn’t going to do a damn thing except make you bitter and disappointed, and spread your bile to other fans, ruining their enjoyment. (I understand that this is what some people feed on. Hate, anger and spreading their negativity.)

To say Clarke shouldn’t have been the hero, Wells should have, smacks of misogyny. How HARD do they have to fight against having a complex, conflicted, morally gray female hero who struggles incredibly with what it means to be good. How often do they watch a male hero (his name is Bellamy) have almost the same struggles and be fine with it? To say that Wells would be better as a hero than Clarke says what? Do they think Wells wouldn’t have struggled with being morally gray?

How would that be possible? That’s what this show is about. It wouldn’t have turned into a disney cartoon simply by virtue of a different hero.

Wells was a sensible character with a firm sense of right and wrong and he did things based on logic, and the desire for peace. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a character like that. But, is he the hero that this story needed?

I don’t think so. First of all, he doesn’t rock the boat. Don’t tell people about the oxygen failing. Don’t start fights. Don’t waste resources. He didn’t have a problem with the plans his father had. He didn’t have a problem with the inequities and oppression of the lower classes, or if he did, he didn’t do anything about it. He was about stability and building up.

If he’d found himself in Mount Weather, would he have fought them? Knowing that they were in a culture that worked, that was successful and safe and even thriving. Would he have resisted upon finding out about the grounders? Would he even have looked beyond the polite society to DISCOVER the evil?

I don’t think so. He was a sensible character. Good character. Brave character. Wasn’t particularly bold or passionate and his vision of the world was to make do with what they had and follow the rules, while Clarke dreamed of something bigger.

When those rules fell apart on Wells, what would he have done? THAT’S what we can’t know. What would have been his part in this story? Fearful? Resentful? Peacemaker? Collaborator? Defender? Administrator? Supporter? Warrior?

There’s a lot of options, but in this story? I don’t think he would have been “hero.”

Well no. He definitely wouldn’t have been the hero, because CLARKE is the hero. The story is about HER. A story with Wells at the center would have been a very different story.

I think this is one of the problem we get into when we don’t pay attention to point of view or who the hero is. Even though we have narrative arcs for all the important and secondary characters, the main story does NOT focus around them. And they are not shaping the main story.

Clarke Griffin was designed by JR to tell THIS story. Everything relates back to her and/or Bellamy (secondary protagonist.) A story with Wells as the primary and Bellamy as the secondary wouldn’t have been the same, because Wells was not proactive character like Clarke, but a reactive one, so Bellamy would have taken over. A story with Clarke as the primary and Wells as the secondary could have been similar to this story but it would have left out the class story. It would have been two upper class people swooping in to save the world. It also would have lacked the yin/yang of opposites. If they had written Wells with Clarke’s story, made him the rebel who wanted to tell the people what was happening against his fathers will, well, that could have worked, but he would have been Clarke in a man’s body. In which case it would have been the same story. In which case either we’d see the same hate for him as we have for Clarke, or we’d see the same clarke-antis loving WELLS, because he’s a man and it’s okay for a male hero to be complex, conflicted, morally gray person who struggles with what it means to be good, and that, my friends, is misogyny.

#the 100 #clarke griffin #is the hero #misogyny #wells lives #or they'd hate him for being black too but either way misogyny and/or racism would be at play

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

Text

Edge of Forever [BTS Space!AU}

BTS Space!AU [ ♧ ✪ ✿ ☆ ❂ ☾✘ ] “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.” The stage is set and the stars are the guide for the lost souls that have congregated to one point. A fixed constant in the universe for others to discover and fulfill their wishes but will it come to ruin for others?

Pairings: BTS X OC (s) Genre: BTS Space!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language

AO3

AN: I’m so glad you all like this series! Graphics and all! There’s more to come so please be patient! Please give all of the works here love and feel free to message us!

Chapter 17- The Ghost Woman and the Hunter

Calling on your sins You're here in my dreams A desert place I'm not alone

Jin was on his last nerve. His absolute last one and it was all because they just had to go back towards the creepy caves where ancient people used to live and possibly use sticks as their form of technology. The doctor’s house was out in the middle of nowhere and quite near the ruins of a former city that the locals quite literally called Hell. He would rather deal with the pirates and the dangerous vacuum of space than have the possibility of demons or some sort of apparition possess him out under a rock.

However, they had no choice in the matter since Nyala was getting patched up by him. Yoongi had a few slashes, being treated for exhaustion and other things while Namjoon was helping Jimin with his parts. It surprised him greatly when he saw the scene upon their arrival to help, trying to figure out which was more shocking: the fact that Yoongi had 9 guys incapacitated or that Jimin had tore through the rest of them. He supposed that after being alone like that for so long, in their line of business--one had to adapt or die.

The same could be said of the rest of them.

He was no warrior himself but he did have a few tricks up his sleeve, as did Yoongi and Jimin. Though, the same tricks didn’t work out quite as well for Nyala. He looked down at her form, still not assured that she was fine. The doctor, who’s name was Hoseok, had gone over and over again with him that she truly was fine now. He’d believe it when she opened her eyes and walked around a few paces. The doctor was quite a quirky one, almost like Jimin--except louder.

But at least he appreciated the kind way he moved around the others. Jin noticed things that the others couldn’t quite see, mainly the little things like he would always stand to Vairuit’s left because he had a louder voice than the others because she tended to swing with her right hand when startled. Jimin would stare off into space when he was tired or hungry, blinking several times in a row when thinking about it. Now he noticed that the doctor always gestured wide and sidestepped everyone as he let them into his space.

Big gestures, keeping everything open while he talked. That was something that he noticed but the main thing he noticed was that he and Namjoon were alike. When they were focused on something, their entire attention was on it but outside of that--they were bumbling fools.

Already they’d had to banish Namjoon from the house to keep him from destroying everything. He’d dropped things on everyone’s feet and nearly stabbed himself with something of the doctor’s. Jin was just used to looking after Jungkook and his curious hands, now inherited a whole bundle of others in the process. To him, however, it seemed right that he did. Still, regardless of who he inherited--, there was one thing that needed to be done and it couldn’t be done without the man of the other hour. Some of them soon migrated outside to join the Engineer, finding him over towards the edge of the land as he stared at the ruins.

“You think that we were drawn here for a reason? Back to these ruins since we just came from this way?”

The question was posed by Namjoon when he turned to meet the ones that came out from the house. He was barely a philosopher but the thought struck him when he was stuck outside, to admire the beautiful--if not creepy-- view of the area. There was a pregnant pause, one that seemed to stretch out as Yoongi, Jin and Jungkook all took a good look at what he was talking about. The edges of the ruin poked out from the caves, almost inviting them in but Jin was more concerned about other things than the caves of death.

“Yeah, we came to get a doctor. Which... Jimin, Vairuit and Jungkook are going to stay here with Nyala while we go up to the ship to get our girl up and running.”

Namjoon took one last look towards the ruins and shrugged, giving into Jin’s words as he now had something to do besides ponder on what lay ahead of him.

“This is a pretty nice piece of technology. The way that they integrated the biological aspects into this android is almost...unnerving.” Hoseok commented as he reviewed the data with Namjoon. “I can see why you would need me, she needs just as much care as a doctor as she does mechanically. We are going to have to resuscitate her first before you put in the other components, to make sure her body can handle it in the first place.”

Jin and Yoongi watched the pair work, the countdown for resuscitation finally starting. The four of them grew increasingly nervous as the seconds passed, Yoongi having to put a hand on Jin’s shoulder to keep him from pacing. The lights on the now extended cylinders were flashing at an even slower speed as the robotic voice counted down the seconds. Once they reached the 20-second mark, they dulled until it hit zero. They all stepped back and watched as a flash of light came from them, sending a shock to the body that was curled up there. It shocked several times and each time, the body twitched as the nerves came alive. They could see it on the hologram of her anatomy, things lighting up where they were previously gray. The last shock lasted longer than the others as it forced the programming to react, slowly standing her up.

Her eyes weren’t fully open and alive yet but she was up, her muscles getting used to the gravity.

Path Project Command Input: What seest thou else in the dark backward and abyss of time?

Her head shot up, registering the words that were said and her eyes opened wider as they showed the dull green that still didn’t look alive to the others. She took a breath, shaky but deep as she moved her mouth like she was speaking another language silently. The robotic voice paused before continuing.

State your designation and operate.

“I am LRL0723. Designation: Lirael. Operation in progress.”

With that, the android’s eyes finally shone with the correct light as she registered everything and everyone there. Before she could speak another word, she wobbled on her feet as everything started to sink in for her. Jin reached over and grabbed a blanket to wrap her up in as Yoongi stared, open-mouthed at what happened. Namjoon just barely caught her while it took a moment for Hoseok to come to his senses. Jin wrapped her up as best as he could before he noticed that there was something wrong with her. Tears leaked out of her eyes as the pain caught up to her in that form, no longer in a state of limbo. It was difficult for her to walk due to the damage to her legs and parts of her chest, her whimpers piercing the silence that had settled in the room.

“Why does it hurt?”

She cried that sentence over and over again as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Hoseok finally had to sedate her to keep her from the pain, hoping that it would help long enough for them to fix her. Her crying settled down as she relaxed, the drug reaching into all of her systems. Namjoon picked her up and placed her on one of the hospital beds in the infirmary, a place they had temporarily set up in when they activated her. All of them looked at each other before getting back to work, all of them having to act fast before the sedative wore off.

The path before you is one walked before.

The path before you is one betrayed for.

The path before you is one of good intentions.

The path before you is Heaven and Hell.

A golden path, one her feet joyously walked. There were others that were on the same path but they all came from different directions. All of them merged ahead of them and spiraled up, up into the abyss. There were different points along that path that glowed like stars, each of them having their own energy and called out to them with different voices. Yet, somehow the voices all sounded familiar--as if they were all different tones of the same one. There was one voice, so close yet just out of reach.

It was as if the answer was right there in front of everyone but nobody could speak it yet. She opened her mouth to answer the question posed to her but the feeling of cold water seemed to splash across her body. Waves against her feet, she turned around and saw her home planet with the others waving at her. Nyala thought to go back to them but the voice repeated its question.

“What doest thou seek?”

Nyala woke up from the dream with a gasp, the voice still ringing in her mind. It was like someone had spoken the question right in her ear, someone that just woke up and reached out to her. Jimin sprang up from his perch and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back down onto the mattress. His warm eyes bored into hers, reassuring her that she was safe and sound as the memories came back to her. The attack, why she had originally left in the first place and why they were even there.

She opened her mouth to ask the questions but he silenced her with a finger, a slight smile curling on his lips. Vairuit was snoring in the corner, nothing even bothering her as Jungkook looked on. He kept a tight watch on his surroundings but if the Mao wasn’t bothered, then there wasn’t anything to be worried about.

“Nyala, everything is fine. We found a doctor and they’re up in the ship now to do what it was they were going to do. I need you to rest, which is also the doctor's orders.” He touched her face again but this time he used his abilities to tranquilize her again. If she could, she would have smacked him for doing such a thing again but as the room got hazy--she felt a set of lips on her knuckles, warmth spreading from the area and into her hand. It was a nice feeling and one that she held onto dearly as she fell into a grateful and peaceful sleep.

#btswriterscorner #btswriterscollective #hyunglinenetwork #ficswithluv #btsbookclub #bts #bts space au #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #thebiasrekkers presents #edge of forever #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #park jimin #jeon jungkook

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sweetgirl90-mily · 6 years

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All the fan-children that have your shipps already have designs? Could we see them? If you do not complicate them, of course. Sorry to bother with that.

Of course I will show you. They are only sketches because I have not yet been able to finish their references.

My second fanchild after Okashi: Pinku (Pink in Japanise) (or how they nickname him, Kairu) is the son of Glasses and Kiku. He is a boy, but he likes to dress as a girl because he feels more comfortable and because … Because … There should not be a reason why. He just likes it and makes it happy. This is the little one who has a crush towards Okashi and vice versa. He is shy, somewhat silent and very sweet like his mother.

He is Nameless … No, he has a name, and that name is “Nameless”. His parents are Siralos and Elux (Elux chose the name of the poor child). Nameless is the fourth hybrid divine being to be seen after the three biological daughters of Licorice and Ivlis and the same Licorice (Okashi, Hikari and Kuroi are hybrid devils while Nameless is a hybrid god). Despite the attitudes of his parents, he turned out to be a well-educated, charismatic, curious child with a rather peculiar taste in the kitchen (He likes to prepare strange things, especially those that come from insects).And as they say “the third one is defeated” because Siralos is being a good father with him, although no matter that Ivlis and Igls intend to protect the child at all costs, because they still fear that Siralos will harm him.He currently has a romantic and unusual relationship with Venus.

She is Venus (Name of a planet and Aphodite), the daughter of Rane and Sol. To this day no one knows how she was born, but I will tell you, she was born from an egg. Since she was a young girl with feminine tastes, she has the beauty of an angel and the elegance of a spider. Unfortunately for everyone who has managed to see the beautiful Venus, she did not turn out to be the person they expected. She’s a little vain, so she wants to be treated like a queen.And not only that, she becomes … Very scary if you want.

Venus has a habit of frightening people by using their appeal as bait. It seeks nothing more than pleasure in terrifying. She approaches her victim head on, revealing her angel wings and her most innocent expression so that she falls into her charms. But once it is close, it folds its wings, spreads its spider legs and shows its most disturbing expression. That is enough to make them cry with fear.He tried to use that trick with Nameless, but he did not get scared. From there his strange affair began.

Daiya (Diamond in japanise) is the son of Mors and Revlis / Silhouette. He is a child who always tries to see the positive side of things and is dedicated to trying to be a prince of fairy tales that makes his parents feel proud and wins the heart of Blackberry. He is quite naive and innocent like his mother, so it is not strange that when things go very badly he will cry in his arms.It is somewhat overprotected, especially by Mors and Etihw. He is Nameless’s best friend, the only one who could listen to his delusions without exhausting himself.

Blackberry is the daughter of Raspbel and Lzet. It is a girl full of energy, lover of sweet and energy drinks, and addicted to activities. He is always doing something different at different times, no matter what. She wants to experience all the things she can in the shortest time possible, she does not like the monotony so she always tries something new. For her misfortune, it is that joy that always carries what prevents her from experiencing sadness (She really expects someone to provoke that feeling).Reject Daiya constantly and without wanting to, because although Daiya is extremely direct and does not hesitate to tell him that he loves her, she does not listen because she is busy.

Desiderio (Desire in Italian) is the son of Emalf and Poemi. I know, I already know “How is it that your son is an angel if they are demons?” the answer is simple, he is adopted. Poemi saw him in the gray garden hospital when he took his nieces to a shift with the doctor. The biological mother of Desideio died in childbirth and the father was missing, for Poemi it was impossible not to give in to the poor orphan baby. Well, for reasons unknown, she and Emalf have not managed to have children of their own, so she did the most sensible thing she could … She stole the baby.He named him “Desiderio” because he as a son was one of his wishes in life.Emalf and she adore him and take care of him with all his love.Desiderio was born with a defective wing, which gave birth to an insatiable curiosity about biology and body manipulation. Thanks to the influence of his mother ended up becoming a curiosity somewhat sadistic and dangerous, but to this day has not committed any madness or harm to anyone, since he is beginning his self-taught studies with replacements for body parts. He has come to try to fix his wing on his own, and has proposed to Ivlis to make him new wings, but he has refused.Poemi is very proud of her little son~

There’s more information about them, but… Is a lot for this post. Feel free for ask me about them.

I have not been able to make the designs of Tiarnad and Mabe (Rieta and Igls children) for lack of time, but I promise that when I have the opportunity I will do them and I will publish them complete with the others.

I hope you like it!~

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hrrystys · 6 years

Text

Selfish | Chapter 4

Summary: everyone has demons, even harry styles, but what happens when it gets in between him and the person he loves most?

Word Count: 1,483

selfish masterlist

updated every friday

Grayson was alone in her bed, tossing and turning, thinking about the events of the night. Harry showing up unannounced at her apartment after three long years of separation. Her best friend and her boyfriend walking into an innocent embrace that probably didn’t look so innocent at first glance

“Gray, you know I will always love you.” Harry’s words were comforting, his embrace warm and familiar.

“Grayson?” Reece’s voice sounded confused and sad and disappointed all rolled into one wonderful tone. The blonde girl turned her head to look at the door, Amelia and Reece standing there looking dumbfounded at the scene in front of them. Harry’s hands were holding onto her lower back, her body was nestled into his leaving absolutely no space between them.

“Reece.” Her voice was breathy as she looked between her boyfriend and the boy she once loved so much. “This is-” she wasn’t able to finish it. What was he? Certainly not her best friend anymore. Not an ex, or a flame. He was just Harry. “Who is this?” he asked, his brows furrowed, his plump lips turned down into a frown.

“I’m Harry.” He smiled at Reece and extended his hand to shake it. Reece’s dark eyes looked to Harry’s hand but he never moved. He was just analyzing Harry, who had retracted his hand and rocked back on his heel. “Yeah Harry. Where do you get off telling my girlfriend you love her?”

“No, Reece stop.” The blonde girl moved towards her boyfriend and best friend who were staring back and forth at her and at Harry. “Where do you get off jumping to conclusions.” Harry seemed unbothered, but his eyes did narrow as he sized up Reece.

“What do you expect? You told me you were spending the night alone and here I am walking in on you with some guy who’s telling you he loves you. When we walked in you looked like a deer caught in headlights.” “I should go.” Harry’s words were soft and his smile was completely gone, his expression blank. “Remember what I said Gray. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” The blonde just stared, not a word came out of her mouth as she watched Harry walk past Reece and Amelia. The green eyed boy slammed the door behind him and Grayson was left in a room with two people who had never looked so angry.

Sleep found Grayson in the late hours of the night, and she slept a lot later than she had intended, again. Thoughts of Reece, and Harry, and Amelia were plaguing her mind the entire night until she found a dreamless sleep. The blonde pulled herself out of bed and made her way down the hallway and into the kitchen of the apartment. Amelia didn’t greet her with her usual cheery smile and she actually completely ignored Grayson’s presence. She had understood, sort of, why Reece was mad but not Amelia.

Reece made his way into the apartment and to the kitchen, more frustrated than the blonde had ever seen him. She looked to Amelia who still looked dumbfounded at the events of the last ten minutes. The brunette followed Reece in the direction to the kitchen with Grayson on her heels.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Reece repeated, looking into Grayson’s eyes. “What’s wrong? Who the fuck was that Grayson.”

“Reece calm down. It was Harry.”

“Yeah I got that much. Who was that to you?” Grayson bit her lip, she didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t told anyone but her mother what had happened between her and her best friend all those years ago. “Who the fuck was it Grayson?”

“Harry. He’s an old friend, that’s all.” Amelia snorted and both the blonde and her boyfriend looked over to her.

“An old friend? You told me you didn’t know him. You said that to me today. Why are you lying like this?” the girl’s dark brown eyes were staring at Grayson, it was like she wasn’t even blinking; Like she was a statue determined to make the blonde restless.

“He’s just an old friend. That’s all. We lost touch. He showed up here. That’s all.” She looked back at Reece and his lips were pursed. “We grew up together. That’s all. We never dated, we never did anything. You have to believe me.” The blonde was looking at Reece, she hoped he could read the honesty in her eyes. She wanted him to know it was the truth. There was absolutely nothing between her and Harry.

“Fine.” Was all he said before getting himself a glass of water and rejoining Amelia and Grayson who were just staring at each other.

“Amelia, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. There’s just a lot you don’t know about Harry.”

“How long have you guys known each other.” Grayson was silent and Amelia just raised her brows.

“Since before I could talk. We’re neighbors.” Her voice was quiet.

“God, why would you lie about something stupid like that? What else are you capable of lying about then?”

“Nothing! I’m sorry if I knew it would be a big deal-…”

“No, it’s fine. I’m tired, I’ll see you in the morning.” The brunette turned on her heel and walked past Reece before turning to face him. “By the way, where did you get those roses? They were beautiful I’ll be ordering from there for now on.”

“What roses?” Grayson’s stomach dropped, she had forgotten about the stupid flowers.

“The ones you sent Grayson. They’re beautiful.” She pointed to the massive crystal vase that housed 100 perfectly positioned roses.

“I didn’t-…” Reece looked back to Grayson. “Harry?” he asked and the blonde looked to the floor. “What the fuck? He sends you, what is that? A hundred roses? Jesus, Gray.”

“Don’t call me that.” Was all she managed to get out of her mouth.

“I need to get the hell out of here.”

“Reece please don’t go!” she called after him.

“I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt after you explained yourself but now? He’s telling you he loves you, sending you flowers, and he calls you Gray with no protest. I thought you hated it.”

“I do-…”

“Except for when it’s coming out of Harry’s mouth.” She was silent. “That’s what I thought. I need some time to cool down, I’ll talk to you later.”

Grayson was left standing alone in her apartment, wishing Harry had never walked back into her life.

“Amelia?” her voice was quiet, but the brunette never looked up from her bowl of cereal.

“What?”

“Can you just let me explain? Please?” She didn’t answer so Grayson saw it as an open invitation. “I lied because Harry and I had a falling out. We lost touch for a long time, three years; Right before we started here actually. It hurt a lot to talk about, he was my best friend for twenty years it’s just not something you can forget. I’m sorry I lied to you, can you ever forgive me?” Amelia looked up at Grayson and nodded.

“I just can’t believe you would hide something like that, and straight out lie to me when I asked you about it. It just hurts to think you feel like you can’t trust me with something like this.” “No, it’s not you. I just…It was a falling out that hurt both of us and I don’t exactly like to go around advertising it. It just hurts too much.”

“Okay.” The brunette shrugged and patted the bar stool next to her.

“I’m sorry. I just hope Reece see’s it the way you do. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, it’s just Harry ya know?”

“Just Harry.” Amelia snorted finishing off the Frosted Flakes from her bowl. “Harry Styles you know. Girls would kill to be you.” Grayson shrugged. He was always just Harry. He was that goofy, awkward boy who had a crooked smile and a terrible sense of humor.

“I know, but I don’t think I’ll ever look at it that way.”

“Okay, but I swear if he ever comes here again I’m getting fair warning. He looked incredible.” The blonde laughed at her friend and thought back to how Harry looked. Yeah, he looked wonderful, but she knew him when he didn’t have perpetual dark circles under his eyes, and when he was wearing clothes that weren’t designer brand. She knew him when they stayed up late at night laughing at corny jokes in their pajamas. To her he looked tired, he looked like he desperately needed a break.

“Okay, deal.” She hopped out of her seat and gave her friend a huge hug. “I have to get ready to take my exam. I’ll see you tonight.” And with that Grayson walked down the hall and into the bathroom, a small weight lifted off her shoulders.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic #one direction imagine #harry styles imagine

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Just Strangers, Prologue (Sashea) -Panic

Summary: Shea Coulee is supposed to be a fashion designer, NOT an assistant campaign manager, but when she finds herself out of school with no job, she’s forced to take a position working for Trinity Taylor– just in time for the election, with a cute boss, a lot of events to go to, and a secretary that won’t stop calling everybody “sis,” Shea realizes that maybe, just maybe, she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be. Warnings: (past) abusive relationship), homophobia in future chapters.

A/N: Alright, here we go! I’m back at it again with a new chaptered fic, and I’m super duper excited! In this, Sasha is a campaign manager for Trinity Taylor, who’s running for New York governor, Shea ends up being her assistant, and madness ensues.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to get out an update every week, but I wouldn’t swear to it.

Also, I am writing Sasha’s perspective of “To Be Alive” but it’s being very difficult, so that could still be awhile.

*This is also published on ao3 under the name “itwilleatyourbabies"

Without further ado, Enjoy!

-Panic

“The world works in mysterious ways, Shea-baby.” Shea’s mom would whisper to her at night, right before she went to bed, snuggled away in her pink sheets, the sounds of Chicago echoing outside her bedroom as her mom placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Even then, Shea had never believed her, she didn’t believe the world worked in a specific way, it just did, it just was. To Shea, the world didn’t exist for any single person, or idea, or event, the world just existed because it could.

But Shea still nodded along when her mother spoke. Wishing desperately that the world would just know what she needed, what she wanted, and would plop those things down right in front of her… fate. Sure, there were times when Shea thought that fate might be real. When she received her letter from the New School for Design in New York City, Shea’s heart felt like it was going to burst, her dream of designing clothes was inches away from her face and it felt right, it felt like this was where Shea was meant to be her whole life; it felt like… fate.

That is until it wasn’t anymore. It felt like fate until Shea was twenty-three and out of college, struggling to keep her Lower East Side apartment while she job hunted in the fashion industry. It felt like fate until she was buying value brand items at grocery stores and seldom touching her laundry because she couldn’t afford to do it. It felt like fate until the dream of New York City had turned into a nightmare.

She thought about going back to Chicago, spending more time at home, and planning her next move from there. Shea tried to convince herself that “her next move” was designing gowns until the right person picked her up, but she was quickly realizing that “her next move” was more along the lines of, what the fuck does one do with a fashion degree?

But Shea was fierce, Shea was strong, and Shea was not going to admit defeat to this magical city just because she hadn’t found her footing in fashion. So here she was, on a crowded subway at 8:30 am, on her way to Civic Center, to interview for an assistant campaign manager position for Trinity Taylor– a Democrat running for New York governor.

Although a job in politics was never Shea’s plan, she had considered herself quite an activist for many minority groups in her high school and college years, and after the election of The Orange Demon, in 2016, Shea concluded the politics were her only chance at making money from resistance. So she searched, she searched for any political job she could get her hands on, and for awhile, it seemed like nothing was there. Until she sat down and emailed Mrs. Taylor herself.

To Whom it may concern,

My name is Shea Coulee, and I am a twenty-three-year-old female who is looking for a job in the political field. I recently graduated from college and was wondering if you had positions that were available. I have attached my Cover Letter below if you are interested.

Thank you for your time.

Shea Coulee.

…

If she was honest, Shea didn’t expect anything from it.

…

Two days later, nothing

…

One week later, nothing.

…

“Even just an email saying ‘no’ would have been better” Shea muttered.

…

Almost two weeks had passed, and Shea was starting to give up when an email came in. She checked it, almost with her eyes closed.

Ms. Coulee-

Mrs. Taylor would love if we could schedule an interview with you. We’re desperate for the help and have a few paying positions available. How does this coming Monday at 9:00 am work?

- Aja Storms, secretary to Mrs. Trinity Taylor

Shea was giddy! An interview had to be better than nothing, right?

And so she was here, walking up to an oddly shaped building, sort of like an L, there’s a small picnic area out front, and the gate was propped open by a rock, pushing into the gate, Shea approached a locked door. praying that she would be able to land any sort of job. Straightening her dress she rang the bell and admired her appearance in the glass. Her shiny black hair was slicked straight back, and she had gone with a simple pink, off the shoulder sweater dress that reached about mid thigh. She paired it with a chunky belt and strappy gold heels. At first, she considered it being “too much” but upon looking through her closet, she realized it was decked out for a fashion designer– not a politician, and this was the best she was able to do.

A nasal cough shook Shea out of her thoughts. She glanced around to find out where the sound was coming from before realizing that a cough had come from a small box placed slightly above the door bell.

“State your name and business.” The box spoke again.

“Shea Coulee. I’m here for an interview?” Her voice was shaking, why was she nervous? She would kill this interview, she knew that much for sure.

The box never replied Shea’s only response was the clicking of a door. Grabbing the door, Shea pulled and entered and was immediately faced with a desk. The woman sitting at it was paying very little attention to Shea, which gave her a moment to check out her appearance. Her hair was a light lavender color and was curled in gentle waves around her face, it landed right on her shoulders and her pastel blue blazer that she wore, barely covering the gages that sat in her ears. Upon noticing Shea, she flipped her chair around to face her.

“You must be Shea, right?” She started. Shea noticed immediately that she had to be from Brooklyn, the accent gave it away, it was clear as day. Shea nodded.

“Alright sis, I’m Aja, we’ve emailed, I’m just going to walk you to Mrs. Taylor’s assistant and she’ll go ahead interview you, kay?” Once again, Shea nodded. Aja stood up, and Shea immediately noticed her impossibly high heels. Aja leads her into a large, exposed brick room filled to the brim with mismatched couches and chairs of yellow, gray, orange, and black. A few tables cluttered with empty doughnut boxes and messy paperwork. The room was unnecessarily warm and filled with people, laptops propped on laps, somewhere laughing, some were chewing. And some were dead silent. Aja zig-zagged Shea through the maze of the chairs and papers. Finally taking her by a desk, where a small blonde woman was squealing over her ridiculous piles of paper, muttering to herself. “Why did we spend this much on shirts? Why in the fuck did we spend this much on shirts?” Turning into a separate hallway, Shea noticed four doors, two on the left, one door closed, the other propped slightly open. On the left, another door was closed, but a large window showed that the room inside was a conference room. A final door was at the end of the hallway, a sparkling nameplate read “Trinity Taylor” right on the front. Aja lead Shea to the propped open door on the left, even though it was open, Aja still left a few short knocks before pushing her head in. “Hey, Pep? I have that girl you’re interviewing.” Aja whispered across the door.

“Bring her in.” replied a voice on the other side of the door. Aja moved aside so Shea could enter.

“Sorry Mrs. Taylor couldn’t interview you– she’s busy, but her assistant will know what she looking for, so… uh… break a leg, sis.” Shea nodded, pushing her way into the office.

It was light. A big window was opposite Shea and the multiple lamps around the desk and floor lightened up the room. On one side of the room, another door (this one, Shea noted, was closed and appeared to be locked) next to it was a shelf full of banker boxes, all tagged with things like “social media management- 2012, 2013,2014,2015” “Pride documents.” “Juneteenth documents.” Right in front of the window was a desk chair and desk, situated so that the woman working was facing the door. Upon noticing Shea’s entrance, the woman stood to shake Shea’s hand. Her black hair fell in large curls to her shoulders, brushing against her clean white blazer. Shea grabbed her hand and was shocked by the large diamonds that decorated her fingers and wrist.

“Hello,” her voice was light, soft, almost… motherly? Shea thought to herself as she shook the woman’s hand, “I’m peppermint, the assistant to Mrs. Trinity Taylor, and you are…?” She sat down, and Shea did so as well, finding herself in a very uncomfortable plastic chair, white– like her surroundings.

“I’m Shea, uhm, Shea Coulee, and I’m, int-interested in a job here?” Shea cursed herself for sounding so uncertain. Peppermint laughed.

“No need to sound nervous, doll– I’ll be honest with you, we’re so desperate for help around here, this interview is almost entirely for formality sake, it’ll be fine.” Her words reassured Shea, whether it was her actual speech or her calming voice Shea didn’t know, probably some combination thereof, before she could speak, Peppermint continued, “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your background in?”

“Fashion design. I just finished school this last May.” Peppermint smiled and clicked her pen a few times before writing Shea’s words down a notepad.

“Alright, Ms. Coulee, what started your interest in politics?” Shea held back rueful laughter.

“I was always interested in the social change aspect of politics throughout high school and college, but if I’m completely honest- I’m in desperate need of a job and this seemed like a good option.” Peppermint nodded.

“I don’t think many people choose to go into politics, politics really chooses the people who are going to to be in it.” If Shea was honestly, she had little to no clue what Peppermint meant, but she nodded along anyway, partially to be polite, and partially because she really needed this fucking job.

The interview continued like many do, Peppermint questioned her past work experience (she didn’t have much). Her five-year plan (she didn’t have one). How she would describe herself (strong, passionate, determined… she ignored the voice in her brain whispering “lonely” and “desperate”). Peppermint asked her weaknesses (sometimes she speaks without thinking, she’s quick to love or hate, she’s terrified of rats). Her strengths (She’s resilient, brave, and loyal).

“Okay, okay, the last question,” Peppermint smiled, flashing rows of bright white teeth at Shea, “When can you start?”

Shea let out a breath that she didn’t know she had been holding.

“As soon as I can.” Peppermint nodded, and ripped a sticky note off of a pile, jotting down a couple of things.

“Alright, we’re in desperate need of an assistant campaign manager– ours does so much I’m constantly worried she’ll implode from stress, and I’m sure an assistant would really help her out.” Once again, Shea nodded, not entirely sure what a campaign manager did… or even what a campaign manager was.

“You can start tomorrow, you’ll spend your first week following her around, learning the ropes of what the job entails, and then you can get to work. The work day starts at around eight am, and ends at about five pm, in theory, it’s only Monday through Friday but we often spend weekends and nights doing events, parades, and things of that sort. Sound good?”

“Sounds like information overload.” Shea let out a nervous laugh and Peppermint joined her, her laughter booming across the office. She smiled, at Shea and took her hand.

“It’s not easy, but it’s rewarding. I have a feeling that you’re going to do great. And don’t worry, your boss is the best,” Peppermint walked to the door, and held it open so Shea could exit, “actually… do you want to go ahead a meet her before you go?” Shea nodded. She didn’t know what to expect, but to have even an inkling of an idea of the people around her would be nice.

Peppermint scooted past Shea and walked into the hallway before motioning for Shea to join her. Together, they walked to the closed door next to Pepper’s. Peppermint raised her fist to the door to knock before stopping not even an inch from the dark wood of the surface.

“Just a warning,” Peppermint whispered, lowering her hand, “She really is great, but it’s pride season and Juneteenth season and if I’m honest… she’s super stressed out right now so please, just be kind.”

“Of course!” Shea whispered back, smiling at Peppermint, who seemed relieved at her words. Peppermint, like Aja, only knocked on the door a few times, and the opened it without a response.

“Sasha?” Pepper spoke slow, like she was trying not to startle a young child, “We just hired your assistant, and I’m assuming you’d like to meet?” She heard another girl respond; and, the scuffling of papers, but from her place behind Peppermint, Shea couldn’t quite make out the words. Peppermint nodded and stepped slightly inside the office, leaving room for Shea to enter as well.

This office was the exact opposite of Peppermint’s. The walls had been painted a pastel yellow color, filled with art prints that Shea had never seen before, as well as large pieces of poster paper that were filled with names and dates. A calendar hung loosely on the wall next to the desk, at least eight different colors decorated the days with writing. Succulents sat on a dust coated window sill, a small, but empty picture frame in the middle of it all. The right wall was entirely made up of bookcases, they held large, heavy looking textbooks, dark black bindings with multiple editions that looked straight-up terrifying. Binders sat on another shelf and Shea could make out the neat cursive tags that read “finances” “Juneteenth” “Pride” “Support Cards” “Support Info” “Possible Debate Topics” “Maps” “Supported Areas” “Data Entry.”

In the middle of the room sat a large, L-shaped desk, the side that sat up against the wall was covered in neatly organized piles, binder clipped together, with similar tags as sat on the binders on the opposite wall. The shelves above had boxes of granola bars and nut packets, as well as a few coffee cups and water bottles. The desk that was facing Shea, however, was a little more hectic. A few roughly organized piles of paper sat scattered around, a half empty coffee cup sitting on top of one of them. A laptop sat on another pile, and a couple of gray T-shirts were folded next to a pile of cards that said “I Trust Trinity Taylor” on the back. At the center of all this madness, sat a woman at a desktop computer, typing frantically until she had heard Shea enter the room.

She looked up from her work and stood up from her desk chair as she reached out the shake Shea’s outstretched hand.

“Sasha Velour.” She introduced herself, she sounded out of breath.

“Shea Coulee,” Shea responded taking in the sights of her new boss. She stood, probably just a few inches shorter than Shea. Her hair was a bright blonde color cut like a bob, and ended at her chin. She greeted Shea with large blue eyes, rimmed with thick, round, cherry red glasses, as she motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs that faced the desk. As Sasha worked her way around to sit next to her, Shea was able to get a better look at her appearance, she wore a knee-length black pencil skirt and red pumps with a stark black turtleneck. She flashed a bright smile at Shea through her ruby red lips, and in the moment, Shea swore she could feel her heartbeat in her throat. Entranced by her soon to be boss’s lips, she didn’t even notice as Peppermint quietly excuse herself from the room.

“I know you probably just went through a crazy interrogation with Pepper, but I’ve got to ask– what inspired you to go into politics?” Her voice was deep, inviting, almost… comforting?

“I’ve always been really interested in social change, I guess, and my planned career path wasn’t working out so here I am.” Sasha laughed and nodded.

“Understandable. I came here to become an artist,” Sasha gestured vaguely to the art around the walls as she spoke, “but, making a career in the art world didn’t seem too likely after a while. Thank god I got my degree in political science.” Now it was Shea’s turn to laugh and nod.

“Wish I had been that smart, my degree is in fashion design, I have no idea what to do with that.” Sasha gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Well, working for Trinity is honestly amazing, and I’m super excited for your help! June is such a stressful month.”

“Totally! If I’m honest, I have no idea what campaign managers do, but I’m excited to find out.” Shea chuckled.

“There are days where I have no idea what campaign managers do, but mostly I work on data entry, making sure we know who’s donating, keeping track of volunteers, planning events, making sure Trinity knows when she goes to events and handling social media and press. Some parts are more fun the others.” Shea nodded, at a loss for any sort of words.

“That’s… a lot.” She finally said. Sasha laughed as she stood up.

“Yeah, well, it’s basically whatever needs to be done in order to be prepared,” She offered her hand to Shea, “but anyways, I’ll walk you out? It’ll be a busy day tomorrow.” Shea nodded gratefully and took Sasha’s outstretched hand.

They made a little more small talk as they exited the building, only stopping so Sasha could say a few words to Aja.

Sasha, Shea concluded, was definitely going to be an interesting boss. She wasn’t much older the Shea, only twenty-five, and up until recently, she had been living with her (now ex) fiance. Shea told her a few things about herself too, about how she was from Chicago but didn’t really want to move back home. Sasha understood that and told her how she was originally from Urbana. Once they had made it outside, Sasha shook Shea’s hand again and reminded her that work started around eight am, but if she was later, nobody would really be angry (“we all know the traffic fucking sucks, here.” She had told Shea with a laugh). As Shea departed, she knew one thing was for sure:

She had no idea what the hell she had gotten herself into.

#rpdr fanfiction #sasha velour #shea coulee #trinity taylor #peppermint #eureka o'hara #aja #farrah moan #kimora blac #valentina #panic #just strangers #lesbian au #tw cursing #tw past abusive relationship #tw mild homophobia

41 notes · View notes

the-plxce-to-be-archived-blog · 7 years

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Jaymes Young Feel Something Sentence Starters under the cut

Tied Down

“These days the lovers trade their places, dancing all around each other’s chairs.”

“I can see the numbness on their faces.”

“Jealousy fills up their hearts in pairs.”

“So please, could I be selfish with your body? ‘Cause I don’t think I could share you with nobody.”

“Oh, when I have you I’m gonna brand you with my lips and all of the world will know that you’re mine now.”

“My love has the power to keep you tied down.”

“Late at night, you’ll hear the screaming echo, but we all pretend we never heard the cries in the daytime.”

“Don’t you worry, my touch won’t leave you hollow.”

“I’m never gonna let you change your mind.”

“Don’t be afraid to leave your mark.”

“Give me the scars to remind me just how good you are.”

“If your faith turns into doubt, pull me closer. I know that it’s enough to keep you tied down.”

Stoned On You

“We’re making this part of us together.”

“You’re taking my mind off of the pressure.”

“I’m gone with the wind, high like a feather.”

“Your love is like codeine.”

“I get stoned on you.”

“Nothing else burns like you.”

“There’s something about the way you shiver, even in the morning.”

“I’ll take a bullet for you right now just to keep you in my lungs.”

“My fingertips on your lips. Racing hands down your hips.”

Don’t You Know

“I’ve been walking in the moonlight looking for you. I got nobody but my shadow to get me through so put your lips on my scars and teach me to love, give my slow heart the rhythm of a blood drum.”

“I don’t want you to go, I need more of you in my life. Nobody should be alone, please let me take you home tonight.”

“Don’t you know I want you so bad and every night I call for you?”

“I’ll do anything to touch you.”

“Don’t you know that I’m going mad and in the moment I would fall for you?”

“I’ll do anything to love you.”

“Take a look at these mountains I’m moving for you.”

“I’m gonna light the dynamite, I’m gonna break through.”

“I know all the ways to appreciate your design.”

“I’m a damn good lover, shivers up your spine.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Nobody should be alone.”

“Please, let me take you home tonight.”

“Every night I call for you.”

“I’m going mad.”

“Don’t make me beg you, please.”

“I know you were meant for me.”

Stone

“Your father/mother came and went like the ocean’s tide, and the day he/she left, he/she never said goodbye.”

“Your mother/father started drinking like the whole world died.”

“You’ve been waiting for a miracle all your life.”

“If the fires don’t burn it down, the rains will wash it away.”

“If you’re looking for solid ground, a stone will never break.”

“Give me all your pain, and love will set you free.”

“Give me all your shame, put all your weight on me and I’ll be the stone that you need me to be.”

“You spend your nights looking at the stars, thinking your life would be better on mars.”

“Checking your pulse just to feel it beat, looking for a stone to keep the peace.”

“Put all your weight on me and I’ll be the stone that you need me to be.”

“A stone will never break.”

“I’ll be the stone that you need me to be.”

Sugar Burn

“You call me out of my slumber like a ghost laying down in my bed.”

“Fill my room with lightning and thunder, make your veins run hard on my chest.”

“In the morning when the sun hits my eyes, the memories of you will disappear into the night.”

“When you rolled, your heart is hardly beating.”

“It’s hard to know when you’re young.”

“I’ll never forget loving you sweetly.”

“Your sugar still burns on my tongue.”

“Your love still hurts.”

“I tried so hard to escape you, but I found out there’s nowhere to run.”

“It’s too easy to love and to hate you.”

“My healing has only begun.”

“Every night, you trick me into your arms, but you never stay when I awake.”

“Every time I feel your thoughts alone, it’s such a shame you were gone so long.”

Feel Something

“I don’t care if it hurts.”

“I’ll pay my weight in blood to feel my nerves wake up.”

“Love me now or let me go.”

“Let me feel these highs and lows before the doors to my heart close.”

“Touch me, someone. I’m too young to feel so numb.”

“You could be the one to make me feel something.”

“Show me that you’re human.”

“Make me feel something.”

“I never thought I’d miss the bittersweet.”

“I gave those years away and lost my sense of taste.”

“All of your loves eventually fade and leave you alone in the bed you made.”

“All of the colors that bleed to gray leave nothing.”

“I’m too young to feel so numb...”

“So give me just enough to make me feel something.”

“If you’re gonna stay, then stay.”

“If you’re gonna go, make sure that you hurt me just enough to make me feel something.”

Black Magic

“I let you in my brain.”

“I used to doubt, now I believe.”

“I let you ease my pain.”

“Using your black magic on me.”

“I don’t know how you do what you do.”

“You do it so good to me.”

“My favorite pill when I’m getting so blue.”

“Your taste is all I need.”

“Baby, you’re my cocaine, I can’t stop sniffing.”

“You move so good.”

“The moment I get you in my veins, I’m taking over the world.”

“You make it so damn good to be bad.”

“You’re the best I ever had.”

“You’re cold-blooded and I love it, yeah.”

“Baby, you’re my ocean. I can’t stop swimming.”

“The salt of your waves, and I can’t stop sipping.”

“The moment I get you all alone...”

“When I was young, my father/mother warned me about boys/girls like you.”

“When my heart is numb and I’m feeling lonely, I let you through.”

“You fixed my blues up.”

We Won’t

“Don’t go to war for me.”

“I’m not the one that you want me to be.”

“Don’t call me up at two AM tonight.”

“It feels so damn good, and I wish you would...”

“Are we just gonna stay like this forever? Floating?”

“I’m serious. My heart is furious.”

“I’m so confused when we’re together.”

“Feels like I’m choking these emotions.”

“I know I’m gonna let you down...”

“I know I’m gonna let you down, so don’t hold your breath now.”

“Bittersweet in your mouth.”

“Can you stomach the doubt?”

“I wish I could say what I’m feeling.”

“I’m scared to let these words out.”

“Don’t cry no more for me.”

“Don’t waste your time convincing me that maybe someday we’ll get it right.”

“We never could. I wish that we would.”

“We never could; I wish we would, but we won’t, so just don’t.”

“We won’t, so just don’t.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“I can’t trust you, baby, cause I don’t want to.”

“This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Never hurt like this before.”

“Broken dishes on the floor...”

“Hearts exploding.”

“Tell me why I’m still holding onto the love that we’ve been breaking?”

“Damn, I thought we’d make it.”

“No other way to say it.”

“Don’t.”

“We burn faster than a cigarette in my mouth.”

“I know it hurts, but baby, we can’t stop now.”

“We can’t stop now.”

Naked

“You’re the only one who knows my demons.”

“Only your eyes have seen my skeletons.”

“Wearing all my scars for you to feel now.”

“Smoothing them over with your loving hands.”

“There are no secrets that I keep from you.”

“There are no lies upon my tongue.”

“For you, I am naked. There’s nothing to hide inside the dark.”

“My ego is wasted, as I let you open up my heart.”

“Now’s the only time to let my dark side show.”

“You understand that I’m only flesh and bones.”

“You help me forget the shape like my favorite chemicals, straight through my body and let you see my soul.”

“I forget my pride, don’t care about my place when we’re alone.”

“Oh, conscience, this time don’t get in my way.”

“There’s nothing to hide inside the dark.”

“Open up my heart.”

Two People

“I never want to be second best.”

“If there’s more to your story, then maybe I don’t want to know the rest.”

“Just keep me in the dark.”

“Let’s see how long I can hold my breath before I turn blue.”

“How am I supposed to touch you?”

“How am I supposed to touch you when somebody touching you is playing in my head.”

“I don’t ever want to think again if it feels like this.”

“Could you love two people at the same time?”

“Could you live with yourself telling two lies?”

“Out of my sight, out of my mind.”

“I don’t wanna know about it this time.”

“I gotta be the only one.”

“You put God in a choke-hold.”

“baby, when you think you’re having fun...”

“It’s not so easy taking back those things you done.”

“Somebody touching you is playing in my head...”

“Too many lovers in this world.”

“You’re gonna lose both.”

“Too many boys and girls.”

“You know you’re gonna lose both.”

I’ll Be Good

“I thought I saw the devil this morning.”

“Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue.”

“With the warning to help me see myself clearer.”

“I never meant to start a fire.”

“I never meant to make you bleed.”

“I’ll be a better man/woman/person today.”

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good.”

“I’ll love the world like I should.”

“Yeah, I’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good for all of the times that I never could.”

“My past has tasted bitter for years now.”

“I wield an iron fist, grace is just weakness or so I’ve been told.”

“I’ve been cold, I’ve been merciless.”

“The blood on my hands scares me to death.”

“Maybe I’m waking up today.”

“For all of the light that I shut out, for all of the innocent things that I’ve doubt.”

“For all the bruises I’ve caused, and the tears. For all of the things that I’ve done all these years...”

“For all of the sparks that I’ve stomped out.”

“For all of the perfect things that I doubt.”

“For all the times I never could...”

Infinity

“Baby, this love, I’ll never let it die.”

“Can’t be touched by no one. I’d like to see him/her try.”

“I’d like to see him/her try.”

“I’m a mad man/woman for your touch.”

“Boy/Girl, I’ve lost control.”

“I’m gonna make this last forever.”

“Don’t tell me it’s impossible.”

“I love you for infinity.”

“Oh darling, my soul. You know it aches for yours.”

“You’ve been filling this hole since you were born.”

“You’re the reason I believe in fate.”

“You’re my paradise.”

“I’ll do anything to be your love, or be your sacrifice.”

“Meet me at the bottom of the ocean where the time is frozen.”

“Love isn’t random, we are chosen.”

“We could wear the same crown.”

“Keep slowing your heart down.”

“We are the gods now.”

#Memes #Jaymes Young #y e s

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xenoshadel · 7 years

Text

Simple Pleasures

A/N: It was the lovely @sleepy-lucina ’s birthday a while ago but I still had to do a little something-something featuring her OCs. <3 hope you’ll enjoy this, and happy late birthday!!

Summary: Demons never escape those with a dark past, and yet, maybe there are ways to remind Aster that there’s still enough good in him to feel the sunlight. If he can’t see his potential, there are those who can and point it out to him, however grand or small it may be.

Gentle fingers, soft touches. Give those hands tainted claws and all will scurry away to avoid its touch, though however quickly they run, those claws never seem to shy away. They may hide, waiting in the darkest corners to unravel themselves, and pounce given the first sight of a crack to widen.

In a realm beyond consciousness, Aster ran from those claws. Covering his ears to muffle the cackles around him and leaping over curled hands. Yet however fast he ran, demons never tire from their run. He stumbled over an outstretched hand and all around him was a wave of black swarming him like bats in a cave. They held him in their grasp, giggling all around as Aster tried to break their hold. A glint caught his attention and ceased his movements, the laughter around him growing insane and yet not registering into him when the shape stretched out to him.

A crooked claw, reaching closer and closer to touch his right eye…

No!

A loud gasp and Aster thrashed in his bed, pushing the blankets wrapped around him. Breathing shakily, still he saw the glimpse of those claws slithering to and fro around him, and Aster held his head, shaking as though the motion would break those claws into pieces. While they broke into fragments, they curled playfully before retreating into the corners of his mind.

He sighed heavily, rolling the blanket away from him and caught a splash of white peeking from the layers. His eyepatch must have loosened itself when he tossed and turned throughout the night, and he held it with careful fingers.

Far from fragile yet it covered what was once delicate. Although clean, if he blinked enough times, he could see the stains of pain and rage, darkened colors from the night he awoke and saw nothing but blood and—

Aster shook the thought away, quickly slipping the eyepatch on before straightening himself in front of the mirror. Staring back at him was a reflection of a boy that never wanted to see the world with its shadows and anguish, and no matter how many times he forced a smile out, it never seemed to travel to his eye.

Ah, but no matter of it, not when he hid himself from the world.

Tightening his cloak around his shoulders, Aster walked down the stairs, hoping for his movements to be quiet enough to avoid—

“Heyya! Morning, Aster!”

Well, there goes his stealth. Aster cracked a smile when he turned around. “Good morning, Ophelia. I was hoping to take over the kitchen instead, but I guess you beat me to it.”

Ophelia grinned. “I don’t doubt your cooking skills but really you got here in the nick of time. I was thinking about something new to try out!”

A soft plop of a tattered book on the table and she flipped towards a page, pointing happily at the wall of scribbled ink. Aster peered at the page, raising an eyebrow.

“...Muffins?”

“And not just any, cinnamon swirl muffins!” She crossed her arms when he stared blankly at her. “You had that look on your face that tells me you had another nightmare, and I know it’s been a few days since the last one but…”

“You know that you don’t have to do anything to cheer me up.”

Ophelia winced, but still that gentle smile remained. “I know that, and I also know that things are starting to get better for you. You didn’t look as gloomy as before, as hard as that may be to believe. That and I think your dark circles are starting to clear up!”

A roll of his eye. “Like that’ll ever happen.”

“One can hope in miracles! But all the better reason to do something like this,” Ophelia said, tearing the page out of the cookbook. “We don’t have all of the ingredients so I’ll need you to fetch them for me, if you don’t mind.”

Aster gave her a puzzled look. “Why me?”

“To get your bum out of the house,” she snickered at his playful scowl. “Seriously though, when was the last time you felt the sunshine for more than a few minutes?”

“Do you really want an answer to that?”

“Because I already know the answer,” Ophelia laughed. “But even then, I still trust you. Plus if you don’t get out there soon, the markets will get busier and all the goodies will be out before you know it. If we don’t have everything then maybe we’ll try your cooking.”

“Hm, funny,” Aster quietly chuckled. “Alright, I’ll be back shortly then, or however quickly I can get through the morning crowd.”

“Careful not to trip over a chicken like last time!”

Another roll of his eye and Aster rustled through the gold coins in his pockets, furrowing his brows at the list of ingredients. While the sun had already touched all that it could reach, he still remained in the shadows of the buildings to avoids its hands. A gentler touch than the claws he was familiar with, but still a foreign feeling to the lad. The buzz of the markets scurried those claws further away, and he caught sight of the lines behind the stalls he needed to visit.

Thankfully they weren’t too long, and he gathered up the first of the ingredients in his basket as fast as he could exchange the gold coins. Milk and butter, and stepping over a stray chicken in the middle of the road, he collected eggs for the recipe as well. Sugar and flour, along with a pinch of his cheek from an elderly woman when he tied the bags together in his basket, Aster narrowed his eye at the list.

All was missing was the main spice: cinnamon.

Tuning out the squawks and laughter from all around him, Aster looked around for the right stall. He peered over counters of jewelry and trinkets, politely excusing himself from those he bumped into, and traveled further down the road to find that troublesome spice. A spice to his day, he would have laughed, if he hadn’t taken a double take at an obscure pattern of one of the stalls he did find.

Colors weaved together into a cheeky design, matching the design of the merchant’s pointed hat and scarf. Red wrapped around yellow and light green, flares of blue and violet encircling the colors and creating a foreign symbol that left Aster in a stump over its meaning. The merchant caught his stare at the pattern draped over her little stand and tilted her head at him, revealing the gleam of her eyes from under her hat.

“Happen to recognize it, boy?” she asked, her voice soft and raspy.

Aster chewed on his lower lip. “Part of me wants to say no, and the other part will drive me insane if I try to figure it out. If it wasn’t for the symbol, I wouldn’t have recognized this as an advertisement for foreign items.”

“A young eye is still a sharp one! You got the basic idea but that’s good enough for me,” she laughed. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ll take a bottle of cinnamon, please,” Aster said.

Inspecting the hat he tried to hide under and the cool gray of his cloak, the woman’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Cinnamon, hm? Keep your gold, boy. You’ll have to do something else for your cinnamon!”

Aster scrunched his face in confusion. “Cinnamon isn’t as common here, and yet, you don’t want gold for them?”

“Oh no, no! For what other uses will I have with gold other than to trade in more cinnamon and spice?” the woman chortled. “Rather, what is it that you can do to compensate?”

His mind blanked at that. He wasn’t a performer or a soldier to show off feats of strength, nor could he think quickly enough to do more anything more than pushing all the coins in her hands if that meant getting the cinnamon and escaping her mischievous smile. His fingers twitched slightly, though he scolded himself at the thought of using his cunning for ill will, even if it was as small as a simple snatch.

Yet the woman caught the twitch and both eyebrows raised as she exclaimed, “My, could you also be a mage?”

A young girl glanced curiously at him and Aster pursed his lips. “One of the sorts, but not of anything worth seeing.”

“Oh come now! I have always yearned of crafting more with my hands than the culinary arts, and magic is a selective art amongst people. Surely now, perhaps you could fulfill this old lady’s wish of seeing a show of magic by your hands?”

Hazel eyes nearly pleaded at him, though not enough to cover the sly look when she brought her hands together. The young girl remained, and even a couple caught the last of her words and waited for Aster’s response. If he had the magic of disappearing on the spot, he would learn the trick in a heartbeat if that meant freeing himself from all the eyes on him.

“...If I must, then very well,” he softly said.

In his pouch, Aster hesitated when he reached for the orbs he had already crafted. They were meant for extreme measures if he wanted to defend himself, though in a way, he tried to protect himself from bringing in more unnecessary attention.

Perhaps he could use them for good, just for this moment.

He held the orbs with cupped hands to show them to the woman, and with a green eye narrowed, he willed them to float. Keeping a steady hand, they spun and glimmered in soft colors of green and blue. The woman widened her eyes when they sparked with a red light, and with a twist of his wrist, the orbs spread apart to fly around her.

Spinning and floating, circling those who watched and straying close enough to kiss their hair. A simple movement with Aster’s hands brought forward a few new orbs, smaller than the rest but glowing ever so brightly. Those that had circled around the crowd and gathered around Aster flickered until the orbs shrank, swirling quickly before dispersing into shattered sparks of colors. Upon the rainbow of colors around Aster, he stiffened when the audience clapped and cheered for him, murmuring softly at his talent.

Hazel eyes softened at the end of his performance, and the woman held the bottle and beckoned for his hands to take it. She clasped them with her own when she closed the bottle between his hands. “Thank you for that and for putting up with this old fool.”

He looked at her hands, gnarled from an unspoken history yet gentle to his touch. Aster only nodded, his words remaining quiet. “You only wanted what you wished for, and thank you for the cinnamon.”

As tempting as it was to break free from the crowd in a dash, he kept his pace steady when he pulled on his hat to cover his face. The performance, although heartwarming, somehow left a pang at his heart. Magic was meant to defend the user’s life, not to entertain others with a flurry of colors that danced to the movement of a hand. Colors that broke apart either by dispersion or when it struck a target, and sometimes darkened colors seeped through the cracks of the user’s mind.

The sight of crystals, warm food, simple pleasures and necessities distracted him after he shook the thought away, and he strained his eye away from them until he reached the end of the market road and quickened his walk. Slipping around the buildings, keeping the basket close by until he found the familiar road, he kept his movements quiet throughout his little run.

He hoped for his stealth to remain true when he caught sight of the house and heard the clatter of pots and pans. As quiet as his boots were, thank the gods for the craft of soft leather, Ophelia still greeted him with a cheery voice with her back facing him. Perhaps his own presence was louder than he realized, and Ophelia glanced curiously at him when she reached for a large pot in the top cupboard of the kitchen.

“Huh, that took longer than I thought it would. Ran into some trouble?”

Laying out the ingredients on the table and rolling the bottle of cinnamon in his hands, Aster bit his lower lip in thought. “It wasn’t that bad of a run, just had a little trouble with the cinnamon.”

Ophelia noticed the faraway look in his eye. “But?”

A soft sigh and a tap of the bottle. “Minus my eyepatch, you know why I don’t go out often, even if things are a bit better than before.”

She gave him a knowing look, redirecting his attention when she gestured to the table. “I see all the ingredients I asked you to get and nothing more. Habits are hard to break, especially stealing, but it’s all a process.” She smiled at him. “People notice that too, when you choose to do the right thing even when it’s easy not to, and I’m proud of you for that.”

Aster stared at her. Never before had he heard those words, save for the few times he was with his father before all fell to chaos. To be proud, not from a skilled hand at magic or carrying out a deed for others, but for being a good person.

Words he wouldn’t think to describe himself, not with all that had happened.

Still the claws of the nightmare threatened to touch him, to remind him of all that was black and to whisper tales of his past, and Aster pushed them away to the corners of his mind. Demons never go away, but they can hide for the time being. Or at least, long enough for him to share a small smile with her. The people who gathered around him must have noticed something within him too, as little as that potential may be in his eye.

“...Thanks. That means a lot, Ophelia.”

She beamed. “Of course! We’re all in this together, and you know that I’m here for you.”

There to remind him that perhaps, if he wanted to entertain the thought, he is a good person at heart. However way his pulse runs, quick and frantic from the demons within him or steady to match who he truly is, it still ran its course.

After all the times he thought he wouldn’t wake up to see another day, maybe her words ran true.

He focused his attention back on the ingredients, following Ophelia’s instructions. Many people had cracks in their minds, whether he knew them well or not. Innocent children or cursed warriors with selfless companions, ordinary people or those with a skilled hand, all held delicate hearts. Hearts that ran, leaped above the clouds, flew over the abyss or fell into a world of black.

While he steered close to the edge of the abyss, for now, he can fill those cracks with simple pleasures. The smell of cinnamon and sugar, the eager wait for the taste of the first batch in the oven. Check check on his list for taste and smell when a muffin was placed in Aster’s hands, and as for sight?

He stepped outside to sit on the wooden bench near the tree that overshadowed the house. Still he pulled himself into the shade but sat at the edge closest to sunlight. He stretched out a hand to feel the warmth on his skin and, while hesitant, twisted his wrist for an orb to spark to life. Although following the command of its master, it held a curious shine when it floated before him. There it split into twos and threes, moving to and about around Aster as he conducted his own performance. He didn’t notice Ophelia joining him on the bench with muffins in each of her hands, and she widened her eyes at the orbs surrounding them.

“Oh hey, those are really pretty!”

Aster smiled, waving for them to spin around and around. Much like the old woman’s smile and the crowd’s astonishment over his hand, magic itself was a glowing sliver of a simple pleasure: a treat for the eye and content rhythm for the heart to run to, all wrapped up in one moment to fill in those cracks.

“Yeah… they sure are.”

#xeno writes #sleepy-lucina #original #Aster is a good boy and deserves a lot of blankets and warm goodies #it was nice to try him out c:#aster #ophelia

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angelavengedinspo-blog · 6 years

Text

“It’s late,” Isabelle said, fretfully twitching the lace curtain across the high living room window back into place. “He ought to be back by now.” “Be reasonable, Isabelle,” Alec pointed out, in that superior big-brother tone that seemed to imply that while she, Isabelle, might be prone to hysteria, he, Alec, was always perfectly calm. Even his posture—he was lounging in one of the overstuffed armchairs next to the Penhallows’ fireplace as if he didn’t have a care in the world—seemed designed to show off how unworried he was. “Jace does this when he’s upset, goes off and wanders around. He said he was going for a walk. He’ll be back.” Isabelle sighed. She almost wished her parents were there, but they were still up at the Gard. Whatever the Clave was discussing, the Council meeting was dragging on brutally late. “But he knows New York. He doesn’t know Alicante—” “He probably knows it better than you do.” Aline was sitting on the couch reading a book, its pages bound in dark red leather. Her black hair was pulled behind her head in a French braid, her eyes fastened on the volume spread across her lap. Isabelle, who had never been much of a reader, always envied other people their ability to get lost in a book. There were a lot of things she once would have envied Aline for—being small and delicately pretty, for one thing, not Amazonian and so tall in heels she towered over almost every boy she met. But then again, it was only recently that Isabelle had realized other girls weren’t just for envying, avoiding, or disliking. “He lived here until he was ten. You guys have only visited a few times.” Isabelle raised her hand to her throat with a frown. The ruby pendant slung on the chain around her neck had given a sudden, sharp pulse—but it normally only pulsed in the presence of demons, and they were in Alicante. There was no way there were demons nearby. Maybe the pendant was malfunctioning. “I don’t think he’s wandering around, anyway. I think it’s pretty obvious where he went,” Isabelle responded. Alec raised his eyes. “You think he went to see Clary?” “Is she still here? I thought she was supposed to be going back to New York.” Aline let her book fall closed. “Where is Jace’s sister staying, anyway?” Isabelle shrugged. “Ask him,” she said, cutting her eyes toward Sebastian. Sebastian was sprawled on the couch opposite Aline’s. He had a book in his hand too, and his dark head was bent over it. He raised his eyes as if he could feel Isabelle’s gaze on him. “Were you talking about me?” he asked mildly. Everything about Sebastian was mild, Isabelle thought with a twinge of annoyance. She’d been impressed by his looks at first—those sharply planed cheekbones and those black, fathomless eyes—but his affable, sympathetic personality grated on her now. She didn’t like boys who looked as if they never got mad about anything. In Isabelle’s world, rage equaled passion equaled a good time. “What are you reading?” she asked, more sharply than she’d meant to. “Is that one of Max’s comic books?” “Yep.” Sebastian looked down at the copy of Angel Sanctuary balanced on the sofa’s arm. “I like the pictures.” Isabelle blew out an exasperated breath. Shooting her a look, Alec said, “Sebastian, earlier today . . . Does Jace know where you went?” “You mean that I was out with Clary?” Sebastian looked amused. “Look, it’s not a secret. I would have told Jace if I’d seen him since.” “I don’t see why he would care.” Aline put her book aside, an edge to her voice. “It’s not like Sebastian did anything wrong. So what if he wants to show Clarissa some of Idris before she goes home? Jace ought to be pleased his sister isn’t sitting around bored and annoyed.” “He can be very . . . protective,” Alec said after a slight hesitation. Aline frowned. “He should back off. It can’t be good for her, being so overprotected. The look on her face when she walked in on us, it was like she’d never seen anyone kissing before. I mean, who knows, maybe she hasn’t.” “She has,” Isabelle said, thinking of the way Jace had kissed Clary in the Seelie Court. It wasn’t something she liked to think about—Isabelle didn’t enjoy wallowing in her own sorrows, much less other people’s. “It’s not that.” “Then what is it?” Sebastian straightened up, pushing a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. Isabelle caught a flash of something—a red line across his palm, like a scar. “Is it just that he hates me personally? Because I don’t know what it is I ever—” “That’s my book.” A small voice interrupted Sebastian’s speech. It was Max, standing in the living room doorway. He was wearing gray pajamas and his brown hair was disarrayed as if he’d just woken up. He was glaring at the manga novel sitting next to Sebastian. “What, this?” Sebastian held out the copy of Angel Sanctuary. “Here you go, kid.” Max stalked across the room and snatched the book back. He scowled at Sebastian. “Don’t call me kid.” Sebastian laughed and stood up. “I’m getting some coffee,” he said, and headed for the kitchen. He paused and turned in the doorway. “Does anyone want anything?” There was a chorus of refusals. With a shrug Sebastian disappeared into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Max,” Isabelle said sharply. “Don’t be rude.” “I don’t like it when people take my stuff.” Max hugged the comic book to his chest. “Grow up, Max. He was just borrowing it.” Isabelle’s voice came out more irritably than she’d intended; she was still worried about Jace, she knew, and was taking it out on her little brother. “You should be in bed anyway. It’s late.” “There were noises up on the hill. They woke me up.” Max blinked; without his glasses, everything was pretty much a blur to him. “Isabelle . . .” The questioning note in his voice got her attention. Isabelle turned away from the window. “What?” “Do people ever climb the demon towers? Like, for any reason?” Aline looked up. “Climb the demon towers?” She laughed. “No, no one ever does that. It’s totally illegal, for one thing, and besides, why would you want to?” Aline, Isabelle thought, did not have much imagination. She herself could think of lots of reasons why someone might want to climb the demon towers, if only to spit gum down on passersby below. Max was frowning. “But someone did. I know I saw—” “Whatever you think you saw, you probably dreamed it,” Isabelle told him. “Max’s face creased. Sensing a potential meltdown, Alec stood up and held out a hand. “Come on, Max,” he said, not without affection. “Let’s get you back to bed.” “We should all get to bed,” Aline said, standing up. She came over to the window beside Isabelle and drew the curtains firmly shut. “It’s already almost midnight; who knows when they’ll get back from the Council? There no point staying—” The pendant at Isabelle’s throat pulsed again, sharply—and then the window Aline was standing in front of shattered inward. Aline screamed as hands reached through the gaping hole—not hands, really, Isabelle saw with the clarity of shock, but huge, scaled claws, streaked with blood and blackish fluid. They seized Aline and yanked her through the smashed window before she could utter a second scream. Isabelle’s whip was lying on the table by the fireplace. She dashed for it now, ducking around Sebastian, who had come racing out of the kitchen. “Get weapons,” she snapped as he stared around the room in astonishment. “Go!” she shrieked, and ran for the window. By the fireplace Alec was holding Max as the younger boy squirmed and yelled, trying to wriggle out of his brother’s grip. Alec dragged him toward the door. Good, Isabelle thought. Get Max out of here. Cold air blew through the shattered window. Isabelle pulled her skirt up and kicked out the rest of the broken glass, thankful for the thick soles of her boots. When the glass was gone, she ducked her head and jumped out through the gaping hole in the frame, landing with a jolt on the stone walkway below. At first glance the walkway looked empty. There were no streetlights along the canal; the main illumination here came from the windows of nearby houses. Isabelle moved forward cautiously, her electrum whip coiled at her side. She had owned the whip for so long—it had been a twelfth birthday present from her father—that it felt like part of her now, like a fluid extension of her right arm. The shadows thickened as she moved away from the house and toward Oldcastle Bridge, which arched over the Prince -water canal at an odd angle to the walkway. The shadows at its base were clustered as thickly as black flies—and then, as Isabelle stared, something moved within the shadow, something white and darting. Isabelle ran, crashing through a low border of hedges at the end of someone’s garden and hopping down onto the narrow brick causeway that ran below the bridge. Her whip had begun to glow with a harsh silvery light, and in its faint illumination she could see Aline lying limply at the edge of the canal. A massive scaled demon was sprawled on top of her, pressing her down with the weight of its thick lizardlike body, its face buried in her neck— But it couldn’t be a demon. There had never been demons in Alicante. Never. As Isabelle stared in shock, the thing raised its head and sniffed the air, as if sensing her there. It was blind, she saw, a thick line of serrated teeth running like a zipper across its forehead where eyes should be. It had another mouth on the lower half of its face as well, fanged with dripping tusks. The sides of its narrow tail glittered as it whipped back and forth, and Isabelle saw, drawing closer, that the tail was edged with razor-sharp lines of bone. Aline twitched and made a noise, a gasping whimper. Relief spilled over Isabelle—she’d been half-sure Aline was dead—but it was short-lived. As Aline moved, Isabelle saw that her blouse had been sliced open down the front. There were claw marks on her chest, and the thing had another claw hooked into the waistband of her jeans. A wave of nausea rolled over Isabelle. The demon wasn’t trying to kill Aline—not yet. Isabelle’s whip came alive in her hand like the flaming sword of an avenging angel; she launched herself forward, her whip slashing down across the demon’s back. The demon screeched and rolled off Aline. It advanced on Isabelle, its two mouths gaping, talons slashing toward her face. Dancing backward, she threw the whip forward again; it slashed across the demon’s face, its chest, its legs. A myriad of crisscrossing lash marks sprang up across the demon’s scaled skin, dripping blood and ichor. A long forked tongue shot from its upper mouth, probing for Isabelle’s face. There was a bulb on the end of it, she saw, a sort of stinger, like a scorpion’s. She flicked her wrist to the side and the whip curled around the demon’s tongue, roping it with bands of flexible electrum. The demon screamed and screamed as she pulled the knot tight and jerked. The demon’s tongue fell with a wet, sickening thump to the bricks of the causeway. Isabelle jerked the whip back. The demon turned and fled, moving with quick, darting motions like a snake. Isabelle darted after it. The demon was halfway to the path that led up from the causeway when a dark shape rose up in front of it. Something flashed in the darkness, and the demon fell twitching to the ground. Isabelle came to an abrupt stop. Aline stood over the fallen demon, a slender dagger in her hand—she must have been wearing it on her belt. The runes on the blade shone like flashing lightning as she drove the dagger down, plunging it over and over into the demon’s twitching body until the thing stopped moving entirely and vanished. Aline looked up. Her face was blank. She made no move to hold her blouse closed, despite its torn buttons. Blood oozed from the deep scratch marks on her chest. Isabelle let out a low whistle. “Aline—are you all right?” Aline let the dagger fall to the ground with a clatter. Without another word she turned and ran, disappearing into the darkness under the bridge. Caught by surprise, Isabelle swore and dashed after Aline. She wished she’d worn something more practical than a velvet dress tonight, although at least she’d put her boots on. She doubted she could have caught up to Aline wearing heels. There were metal stairs on the other side of the causeway, leading back up to Princewater Street. Aline was a blur at the top of the stairway. Hiking up the heavy hem of her dress, Isabelle followed, her boots clattering on the steps. When she reached the top, she looked around for Aline. And stared. She was standing at the foot of the broad road on which the Penhallows’ house fronted. She could no longer see Aline—the other girl had disappeared into the churning throng of people crowding the street. And not just people, either. There were things in the street—demons—dozens of them, maybe more, like the taloned lizard-creature Aline had dispatched under the bridge. Two or three bodies lay in the street already, one only a few feet from Isabelle—a man, half his rib cage torn away. Isabelle could see from his gray hair that he’d been elderly. But of course he was, she thought, her brain ticking over slowly, the speed of her thoughts dulled by panic. All the adults were in the Gard. Down in the city were only children, the old, and the sick. . . . The red-tinged air was full of the smell of burning, the night split by shrieks and screams. Doors were open all up and down the rows of houses—people were darting out of them, then stopping dead as they saw the street filled with monsters. It was impossible, unimaginable. Never in history had a single demon crossed the wards of the demon towers. And now there were dozens. Hundreds. Maybe more, flooding the streets like a poisonous tide. Isabelle felt as if she were trapped behind a glass wall, able to see everything but unable to move—watching, frozen, as a demon seized a fleeing boy and lifted him bodily off the ground, sinking its serrated teeth into his shoulder. The boy screamed, but his screams were lost in the clamor that was tearing the night apart. The sound rose and rose in volume: the howling of demons, people calling one another’s names, the sounds of running feet and shattering glass. Someone down the street was shouting words she could barely understand—something about the demon towers. Isabelle looked up. The tall spires stood sentry over the city as they always had, but instead of reflecting the silver light of the stars, or even the red light of the burning city, they were as dead white as the skin of a corpse. Their luminescence had vanished. A chill ran through her. No wonder the streets were full of monsters—somehow, impossibly, the demon towers had lost their magic. The wards that had protected Alicante for a thousand years were gone.

#important*.#quotes by isabelle.#re: jace.#re: girls.#re: aline.#re: alec.#re: alicante.

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world-of-asteria · 7 years

Text

Asteria: The First Chronicle

Ch-3: Fort Paxborne

Great stone walls loomed around the entire town, garrisoned by a number of armed and armored guards, ready for anything. Swordsmen marched along the walls, maintaining their patrol routes, while soldiers wielding long spears stood at the gates, prepared to repel any and all invaders. Behind the guards were the homes and stores of those who lived around Fort Paxborne, its own walls towering over the outer walls.

Alysia's eyes were drawn to everything that they passed by. She had to stop herself from wandering off more than once. Darian only chuckled to himself whenever she oohed or aahed at something.

The streets were alive with activity, people rushing about and stopping at one place or another before making their way to another part of the town. It was far cry from the quiet of Redleaf, where the most exciting thing to happen was the occasional traveler coming into town for some supplies and a place at the inn. This was by far the greatest gathering of people Alysia had ever bore witness to. Dozens crowded her vision at all times, with only brief moments of a clear path. In truth, it was almost suffocating, and almost unbearably claustrophobic. The big city was certainly more exciting, but now that she was here, Alysia couldn't see herself living here. The noise alone was practically waging war against her eardrums.

"We'll drop Eona off at a stable," Darian said, "then we'll stop by a restaurant for something to eat before heading into Fort Paxborne proper." He gave her a grin. "I think we've earned a decent meal after our journey here."

Alysia simply nodded and followed. The food was every bit as different from what she was used to as everything else. So many different flavors packed into one dish was absolutely astonishing, and only served to reinforce just how far from home she was. The beef here was of a completely different quality from the beef back home.

'Living in a big city is suddenly very tempting,' she thought as they continued along their way.

Pushing past the hundreds of locals, they eventually stopped in front of a towering statue that stood before the fort's gates. Carved from purest marble, the statue depicted a man standing to his full height, using a sheathed sword as an impromptu cane in his right hand while his left hand pointed forward and toward the sky. A plaque at the base of the statue read:

Stand strong in hardship.

Stay courageous against terror.

Be a shield to those without.

Alysia stared at the plaque for a moment before looking back up at the statue, awed by its size the odd sense of peace it seemed to radiate.

Darian must have noticed how the sculpture drew her in, as he explained, "Arthur Paxborne, the First Paladin. Centuries ago, he formed the Paladins from a ragtag group of warriors from all the races of Asteria and vanquished a great many evils, from felldrakes to mad sorcerers. His words serve as the creed of all Paladins."

"Hold on," Alysia interjected, looking a mix of skeptical and awestruck. "Felldrakes? As in dragons? Aren't those a myth?"

The Paladin held back a laugh. "I assure you, dragons are quite real. They're simply not very common. As for felldrakes… they're a particularly nasty sort of dragon. They are dragons who have succumbed to powerful dark magic, usually through becoming possessed by a greater demon." He took in a deep breath before patting Alysia on the back. "Well, we'd best head on in. We'll want to get you accustomed to being here."

Nodding, Alysia followed Darian past the statue of Arthur Paxborne, which she offered one last look to before turning her attention forward again. The daunting doors to the fort opened, pulled by a pair of guards standing on either side of the gate, and the pair entered.

Beyond the gate, an expansive courtyard stretched out, filled with countless training stations and Paladin-hopefuls. Alysia's eyes widened at the sight of a handful of towering lizardmen and men and women with feathery wings on their arms. She even spotted a few gray, impish creatures lifting blocks of stone that were easily ten times their size and more than likely weighed several times more.

"What are…?" She stopped herself from continuing the question, not wanting to risk offending any of the beings who looked like they could snap her like a twig.

Darian gave her a smile. "It's all right. Everyone tends to be a little overwhelmed by so sudden an introduction. Allow me." He pointed to one of the giant reptiles. "Belds. Tribal lizardmen who dwell in the eastern desert at the foot of the mountain range known as the Earthen Wall. Very proud warriors."

He pointed to the feathered people next.

"Az'kan, the bird-folk who live on the peaks of the Earthen Wall and other mountains around Asteria. A religious bunch, typically quite friendly as long as you don't mock their faith. Most of their fighters are warrior monks."

The last he pointed out were the imp-like creatures.

"Finally, the Dyl. As you've seen, they're far stronger than their size would lead one to believe. The vast majority of them live in underground caverns, where they run mines and practice the trade of smithing without peer. You won't see very many on the surface, seeing as how they're predominantly a reclusive race."

Alysia's eyes darted across these strange beings as Darian described them, amazed by what she saw. She'd heard about other races in Asteria, but she'd never seen any before. Was Redleaf so far out of the way that only humans ever bothered to visit it?

"So…" she said curiously, "Paladins aren't exclusively human?"

Darian shook his head with another chuckle. "Of course not. Like I said, Arthur formed the Paladins from the finest warriors of all the races of this land. He wanted to create a force that displayed unity above all else. In my opinion, I'd say he succeeded." He motioned at Alysia to follow, and they made their way through the courtyard and into Fort Paxborne proper.

The fort was every bit as awe-inspiring on the inside as it was on the outside. Gold-trimmed tapestries hung along the walls, each bearing a different symbol, all of which varied from one another, some slightly, some quite drastically. Upon the floor rested a carefully tended, royal blue carpet that extended from one end of the entry hall to the other. The ceiling loomed further overhead that the outside would've implied, with sconces hanging from it, lighting the great corridor as Darian led Alysia through.

He made a point to instruct her as to what each symbol on the tapestry meant. The entry hall also served as a sort of hall of fame, honoring the greatest Paladins in history by bearing their marks for all who enter to see. There was Gloria the Rose, a human whose skills in stealth and espionage halted an attempt on the current King of Lyonesse's life. Mez'ka the Drake, a Beld who single-handedly fought off a horde of invaders from the south long enough for his fellow Paladins to join him. Pey the Fleet-Footed, a Dyl whose speed was great enough to outrun a felldrake in flight to warn the Royal Legion of Lyonesse of the beast's approach. All of these people were legends in their own right.

"And here," Darian said, stopping at the end of the hall, just before the door, "is one you might want to know the most about."

Alysia looked up at the tapestry, wondering what it could be. It bore a crimson hue, the gold trim blending nicely with the color. The symbol upon it was a blue diamond, the shade bright in brilliant contrast to the rest of the tapestry. She couldn't help but to feel a sense of familiarity as she looked upon the design.

"This is the tapestry representing Alya the Bold," Darian explained. "Your mother."

A gasp escaped the girl at that revelation. Slowly, she pulled the diamond her uncle had given her from her pocket. It gleamed as brilliantly as when she'd first held it, like a cool star in her hand. She held her mother's very symbol in her palm.

"She earned her title through her daring and sheer stubbornness. She would take on tasks that even more experienced Paladins were reluctant to embark upon." He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Come. The Imperator will have to speak with you if you wish to be a Paladin."

Alysia followed as Darian made to leave the entry hall. "Who's the Imperator?"

"The leader of the Paladins," Darian explained. "It's customary for any potential recruits to be reviewed by him. Just be calm and answer his questions honestly. He'll appreciate that. Trust me."

Alysia took a deep breath. If Darian said to be calm, then surely meeting the man wouldn't be too terrible.

-o-

It was worse than she could have imagined. Alysia craned her neck up, fear crawling up her spine as she laid eyes on the behemoth of a man for the first time. His gaze fell upon her, betraying no emotion, which only helped to unnerve her even more. To make things almost worse, he wore only straps across his chest, leather pauldrons, and padded leggings, all of which showed off rippling muscle that seemed like his skin was straining to keep inside. Hanging from the man's belt were a pair of axes and a helmet. By all this, he had to have been one of the northern barbarians she'd once heard about (it still amazed her that she'd heard about other groups of humans, but never of the non-human races). He studied her with steel gray eyes, stroking his dark brown beard, which had the smallest hints of gray in it.

"So," he said finally, "you're the daughter of Gerald and Alya, hmm?"

Realizing almost too late that he was waiting for an answer, Alysia replied, "Y-yes, sir!"

A silence passed over them before the Imperator turned to Darian. "And you vouch for her?"

"She has yet to begin any sort of training," Darian confessed, "but she has her mother's fire. I've seen it in her eyes."

The Imperator hummed in thought at that as he returned his stony gaze to Alysia, who suddenly found herself standing straighter than she'd ever stood before. Tense seconds passed as their eyes locked, Alysia feeling as though she was being appraised, like a piece of meat by a butcher. She even winced when he raised his hand toward her before he even touched her, and when he did…

His hand fell on her shoulder like he was greeting an old friend, a wide, jovial grin breaking across his face. Before long, a boisterous laugh escaped him as he lightly smacked Alysia on the back. "Calm yourself, lass!" he bellowed heartily. "You look ready to collapse! You've got nothing to fear here."

"Um…" Alysia replied eloquently.

Smiling, Darian motioned to the Imperator. "Alysia, this is Imperator Brynjar. He's a warrior from the northern kingdom of Birginhild. That harsh land shapes both men and women into formidable fighters, with or without formal training. Natural warriors, all of them, and Brynjar is one of their finest."

Brynjar chuckled deeply. "You give me too much credit, lad. Now, as for you." He turned to Alysia again. "If you're truly serious about this, we might be able to make a proper Paladin out of you." He folded his arms over his chest, his expression becoming serious once more. "Darian can guide you to the trainee barracks. You'll be met by Instructor Strong Wind first thing in the morning. She'll whip you into shape in no time."

"Er, r-right," came Alysia's second genius reply, for which she mentally chastised herself. Here she was, taking the first steps to becoming a Paladin like her parents before her, and she can't even bring herself to answer with more than two words. It was shameful.

The Imperator's barking laugh filled the room again. "There you go again, lass! Better than other recruits! Many can't even get a word out when they meet me for the first time. Can't imagine why."

"There may be a few reasons," Darian laughed with a smirk before ushering Alysia out of Brynjar's cluttered office. "Come along. We'll find you a good place to lay your head for the night." Without question, and eager to escape the Imperator's looming presence, Alysia happily acquiesced. As they walked through the halls again, Darian said, "You handled yourself rather well, all things considered."

Alysia groaned. "How? I barely spoke to him at all."

"Most go through the same problem," he explained. "A man of his stature and rank scares even the most determined recruits." The Paladin chortled lightly. "You're lucky he's more concerned with what he sees in your eyes than whether your legs are knocking together."

"My legs were—"

Darian interrupted her with a lift of his hand. "I'm only kidding. You'll be fine." He went silent as they continued walking. "Just… do whatever Instructor Strong Wind says tomorrow. She can be rather… irritable… when people don't listen to her."

Alysia gulped down nervously, not totally eager to see what sort of person this Instructor Strong Wind was like. Her mind kept going into worse and worse ideas as they walked, soon leaving the realm of what made sense far behind and straight into what was admittedly borderline nonsense. Surely Strong Wind couldn't be that bad.

Darian stopped at a stairway and led her up a floor and into a room full of beds, which lined the walls along with small chests. A handful of other people, only some of whom were human, sat around on some of the beds near the end of the of the room, looking to be playing cards. "Here," Darian said, "is where you'll be staying until you pass the recruitment tests that Strong Wind will be putting you through."

One of the group, a black-scaled Beld with a number of horns, took notice of the pair and waved them over. The others only glanced over their shoulders at them before returning to their game.

"Seems at least one of the other hopefuls is eager to meet you." Darian patted her on the shoulder. "Go on. Make some friends. I'll be staying in the fort if you need me." With one last reassuring smile, he took his leave, while Alysia gulped down some of the anxiety in her throat.

With some degree of reluctance, she joined the group of fellow trainees, the Beld who'd beckoned her giving a grin that showed off his rows of razor-like teeth. He easily towered over her, even sitting down, a long tail swaying idly behind him, his beady, orange eyes resembling campfires in a strange way. Around his eyes was red war paint, which reached to the bases of his two largest horns.

"New here, too, eh?" he asked, his voice oddly high in pitch for someone his size, sounding reminiscent to some of the young men back in Redleaf. "How's about you take a seat, and we'll deal you into the game? Ever played ra'me?"

Alysia shook her head as she sat down on the floor with the others. "I've never heard of it."

The Beld just laughed. "Oh, then you're in for a treat. It's an Az'kan game. We can teach you as we play."

"Oh, no, lizard!" said one of the recruits, an Az'kan man. "I'm not playing with you again! I barely have any nari left!"

"Come on, Veln," the Beld uttered in an attempt to assuage the feathered man. "Look, why don't you deal this time?" With a frown, the Az'kan took the deck of cards and started shuffling it, the Beld turning to Alysia. "The name's Zo'gra, by the way. Pleasure to meet you."

"Alysia." She watched as Veln the Az'kan dealt out five cards to each player, herself included, and noticed that most of the other recruits seemed to abstain from playing. "Er, should I be scared of this game at all?"

One of the recruits scoffed. "Only if you value your coin. Zo'gra's unbeatable."

Zo'gra snorted at that. "No, I'm not. You guys just aren't trying hard enough."

A light chuckle made its way out of Alysia. Surely, Zo'gra couldn't be that good at cards. How hard could the game possibly be?

Within the next hour, she would've lost half the money she'd had on her if the Beld hadn't given it back, claiming it wouldn't be fair to a rookie player.

-o-

Alysia already missed the farm. At least there, Uncle Ezekiel allowed her to sleep in until a fairly reasonable time. At Fort Paxborne, however, she was awake before the sun was, startled from her sleep when one of the imp people - a Dyl, if she remembered right - walked into the trainee barracks banging a drum twice Alysia's size.

"Up, up!" the Dyl hollered in a tone that was growling and aggressive, but still distinctly feminine. "Time to up! You go training yard, now! Go!"

She didn't even give them a chance to eat breakfast, rushing them out into the training yard, just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. It wasn't long before all the trainees, Alysia included, were lined up as the tiny woman glowered at them while calling out a roll call, checking off names on a list. In spite of her diminutive size, Alysia found herself somewhat frightened by her. Her glare wasn't unlike that of a hungry wolf's, like she was getting ready to pounce on them all at once.

"I Instructor Strong Wind," the Dyl said, standing at her full three feet of height. "I train you. Make Paladins from dung piles. I talk, you listen, you do what told."

At the end of the line, a scoff was heard. "You can't be serious," said an Az'kan that Alysia recognized as Veln. "This is a joke, isn't it?"

"I'd watch my mouth," hummed Zo'gra, who loomed over most of the other recruits.

"Lizard dung right," Strong Wind replied in a warning tone. "Mock Strong Wind, get punished."

Veln snorted, holding his nose up at that. "What are you going to do? Bite my ankles?"

Virtually the instant the question left his mouth, his gut was greeted with a punch from Strong Wind. As Darian had said about the race, the Dyl was deceptively strong for her stature. Strong enough that Veln was sent flying for a good twenty feet before he finally hit solid ground again. Even then, he continued rolling until he hit a wall, which actually cracked slightly from the impact.

"Complaints?" Strong Wind questioned. Not a single trainee spoke up, while Zo'gra clearly held back a laugh. "Good. We start now. Twenty laps around yard. Full sprint, no jogging."

Alysia paled at that. "F-full sprint…?"

"GO!" Strong Wind roared, startling the recruits into their sprint around the yard.

Within five minutes, Alysia had cleared two laps, and her legs were already screaming at her to stop. She had to force herself to press on as her heart pounded in her chest faster than ever. Her whole body was beginning to feel like jelly. By the end of the third lap, she simply couldn't do it anymore, and collapsed, panting heavily. Nearby, Strong Wind shook her head and wrote something down on her list.

Everything was agony as Alysia staggered back to her feet. Any attempt to continue her sprint was shortly met with her collapsing again, until she simply couldn't muster up the strength to get back up again. All she could was manage to crawl into a sitting position and struggle to catch her breath.

A minute later, Zo'gra collapsed not too far from her, groaning as he literally dragged himself out of the way of the two sprinters still left. Everyone else had long since fallen like she had, rendered hopelessly exhausted from the run.

"Please kill me…" Zo'gra murmured pathetically, to which no one had any reply.

Before long, the last of the recruits fell as well, not a single person having done more than four laps, by Alysia's count. Every single person was in abject misery, moaning and groaning about their excruciating exercise.

Strong Wind just scowled at everyone. "Fine. Eat breakfast, dung piles. Come back when done." Alysia could swear the Dyl had a smirk on her face as they all crawled to the mess hall. Some more literally than others.

Their day wasn't improved by their first meal. As they entered the mess hall, they were given bowls of some sort of unidentifiable stew. It smelled vaguely of chicken, but that was about the only familiar scent Alysia could detect. The gruel even looked like the slop she and her uncle would feed to the pigs back home. Still, after that muscle-breaking sprint, just about anything seemed appetizing.

The gruel tasted almost as bad as it looked, but the cooks weren't offering anything else, and they explicitly said that there would be no second servings, ever. Not that she'd want more of this sludge. It was like… old meat that hadn't quite gone bad yet, but had long since lost its flavor. She had to fight back the urge to spit the stuff back out, knowing that she'll probably have to get used to it sooner or later.

As she ate, a huge form sat down across from her. Zo'gra grinned at her. "You don't mind if I sit here, do you? No one else will have me, and I hate eating by myself."

"Um… sure," came her reply. As if she was going to deny the walking tower in front of her. The man could probably snap her like a twig, big as he is.

"Appreciate it." The Beld then greedily gulped down his own gruel, and set the bowl back down on the table. It was already half-empty. "Not as good as back home, but I've had worse. And speaking of home, where might yours be?"

Alysia blinked at the question before she brought herself to answer it. "Er, it's Redleaf. A village not far from the south-southeastern border. It's really small, so you probably won't find it on any maps." She hesitated for a second. "I've… never met anyone who wasn't… well, human. I didn't even know there was anything but humans until just the other day."

Zo'gra gave a whistle. "Really? Gotta admit, that's actually impressive in a way." He quickly finished his meal, smiling with those razor teeth of his. "I came all the way from Dro'fenai, the desert to the east of Lyonesse. Born and raised in our capital city of Ma'zinata."

"What's it like there?"

"Very hot and very sandy," the Beld quipped with a chuckle. "My people are used to that, though. It's a nice enough place, I guess, but I wanted to do something more than just become a city guard like my old man wanted me to. I figured being a Paladin would be my best bet." He leaned forward. "What about you, Red? What brings a tiny thing like you here?"

"Tiny?" Alysia mumbled as she self-consciously ran a hand through her red hair. She didn't comment on it any further. Zo'gra was a massive pile of scaly muscle, so of course she was tiny compared to him, and her hair did stand out quite a bit. 'Red' was far from the worst nickname he could've given her.

To answer Zo'gra's question, she began, "W-well, I recently—"

"Wait, wait, don't tell me!" He hummed in thought as he eyed her intensely, scratching his chin as he stared. "One or both of your parents are - or tragically were - Paladins, and you're here to follow in their footsteps, for better or worse. That about right?"

Alysia could only stare in bafflement for the first minute. "How did you—"

"It's a gift," the Beld interjected. "I've always had a knack for reading people. Your body language since I first saw you has been screaming 'I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm gonna try anyway.'" He chuckled. "It's honestly kinda endearing."

"Um… thanks?"

Zo'gra gave her a nod. "You know what? I like you, so I'll tell you what; you need anything, you just come to me. I'd be happy to help." His smirk spread again, looking as natural to him as breathing. "I think you might be my ticket to some crazy stuff. Call it a gut feeling."

The only response Alysia could give to that was, "Er, okay. Thank you… I guess."

-o-

"Alysia's first day of training seems to be going smoothly," said Darian to Brynjar, the warrior sitting at a desk as he flipped through paperwork, which Darian knew to be the bane of the Birginhilder's existence. Darian had been keeping an eye on Alysia's training through the day, and while the girl seemed on the brink of exhaustion more than once, she seemed equally determined to keep going. 'She really is just like her mother,' he mused.

"Strong Wind knows how to whip people into shape," came Brynjar's response. "Even among her own people, she can be quite the taskmaster." Heaving out a sigh, he pushed his paperwork aside and leaned back in his seat. "But the girl's training isn't the only thing you feel like talking about, is it?"

Darian's laugh was hollow. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not particularly." Brynjar shrugged. "But you Lyonesians all have a habit of beating around the bush before getting to the point." A serious glare betrayed what he was going to say to Darian before he even said it. "It's about the Lady of Silver's prophecy, isn't it?"

A single moment of reluctance spoke a thousand words. "Yes. I was told that Alysia would determine the fate of Asteria, for better or worse."

Brynjar sighed through his nose. "Let me guess; you're afraid she'll make the wrong choice in the end, or get herself hurt or worse?"

"She wants to follow in her parents' footsteps. I just pray to all the Seven that she doesn't follow too closely."

"Have you even bothered to tell her about the Lady of Silver at all?"

"No," said Darian. "She's not ready. Not yet."

"For faen, Darian," Brynjar cursed. "If she's going to be a Paladin, she should know what she's getting herself into."

The Lyonesian shook his head adamantly. "No, old friend. I've a plan for this. When she completes her training, and only then, I will tell her the truth."

Brynjar gave Darian a steady stare before rubbing his temple. "Flammen's beard, you Lyonesians and your plans."

Darian smiled. "Plans aren't that bad. You Birginhilders should give them a try sometime."

"Og så kanskje du lærer vårt språk," Brynjar retorted, earning a light glare from Darian, who hadn't the faintest clue what the man had said. The bulky northman just heaved out a hearty laugh at the look.

#asteria #asteria: the first chronicle #chapter 3 #original story

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