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torahoes · 3 months

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(IDOLiSH7) Torao Mido - Drama Collection 2 Summer Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator. If you come across any mistakes, feel free to let me know and I will make the necessary corrections.

Torao Mido: Good work today. I watched the Kokona movie you mentioned the other day

Nagi Rokuya: I have been eagerly awaiting your message, Mido-shi.

Nagi Rokuya: Now, let's hear your 5★ review that will impress even professional film critics. How was "Magical Girl Magical★Kokona ~A Great Operation in the Galaxy of Love~"? X-D))))))

Torao Mido: First, let me apologize. I was misled by the character design

Torao Mido: This was totally a profound and intense human drama.

Nagi Rokuya: OH… I am deeply moved right now.

Nagi Rokuya: I heard the sound of you falling into the Kokona swamp.

Torao Mido: What kind of sound would that be?

Nagi Rokuya: Plop…

Torao Mido: That's a rather soft sound lol

Torao Mido: Firstly, the character setup was straightforward, so I could enjoy it even as a first-time viewer. You have the space queen aiming to conquer Earth and Kokona who bravely stands up to her.

Nagi Rokuya: YES! It's made so that even those who haven't seen the anime can enjoy it! The attention to detail is superb. The staff are brilliant too.

Torao Mido: Also, I felt I absolutely had to talk about this

Nagi Rokuya:

Torao Mido: The scene where Kokona, despite being battered from repeated attacks, mustered her last bit of strength to cast a spell was incredibly intense

Torao Mido: I never expected such a heartfelt scream from a character that looks like that…

Nagi Rokuya: "As long as there's love, magical girls are eternal!"

Nagi Rokuya: And then the godly OP starts playing. You can't watch it without bursting into tears.

Torao Mido: I get it. That direction is just unfair

Nagi Rokuya: I'm shaking your hand passionately in my mind right now, Mido-shi.

Torao Mido: You're not going to do it in person?

Nagi Rokuya: Hm, I'm not opposed to that.

Nagi Rokuya: Anything else? 🥹

Torao Mido: Let's see… Kokona always loved people. No matter how much she suffered, she never hesitated to reach out a helping hand. She never forgot to have a sympathetic heart

Torao Mido: Kokona — she's a great woman.

Nagi Rokuya: OMG

Nagi Rokuya: Just how much potential do you possess, Mido-shi? Please come to my castle, the IDOLiSH7 dorm, immediately!!

Torao Mido: Can't it be tomorrow? We'll be together for the interview anyway

Nagi Rokuya:

Nagi Rokuya: Oh, right! I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts in person tomorrow X-D))))))

Torao Mido:

Torao Mido: Changing the topic, there's something I wanted to ask you as well

Torao Mido: Remember we talked about preparing a return gift for the bouquet of origami flowers we received from the child actors? What are you planning to give them? I'd like to avoid giving the same thing

Nagi Rokuya: It was a lovely gift to commemorate our acquaintance, wasn't it? I’m preparing handkerchiefs with embroidered parasols, inspired by the drama 🏖️

Torao Mido: I see. I’ll steer clear of handkerchiefs then, thanks

Nagi Rokuya: So even a playboy like you struggles with gift-giving, huh?

Torao Mido: Haruka said, "They used gold and silver origami, so you need to think really carefully about your return gift," which instantly raised the difficulty….

Nagi Rokuya: OH… just as Isumi-shi said, gold and silver origami are very rare and precious because there are so few sheets ;-(

Torao Mido: Yeah, seems so…

Torao Mido: I know we shouldn't just gift something expensive without much thought. I’ll think about it a bit more

Nagi Rokuya:

Nagi Rokuya: Talking with you like this, Mido-shi, I feel that the contrast between you and your character isn't that stark.

Torao Mido: Really? I'm not that laid-back though, right? I played a photographer, so there were a lot of instances where I just wandered off with my camera

Nagi Rokuya: I thought you were similar to your character in how thoughtful you are. In the vacation scenes, your character was the one who was the most attentive to the kids, showing them around various places, after all

Torao Mido: Thanks. Doesn't feel bad to hear that

Torao Mido: Thinking about it, I might have been the most sensible one in that chaotic group of four. Striving to capture memories, saying, "I want to capture everyone's laughter and the scent of the sea breeze in this one photo."

Nagi Rokuya: I agree. It really pained my heart to have to say, "Look, I've graciously decided to carry you. You should consider it a great honor," to the tired kids in such a haughty manner in that one scene ;-((((

Torao Mido: That was a funny scene. Your face was covered in sand, yet you still managed to maintain that posed look

Nagi Rokuya: I've had my fill of sand for a lifetime. I'm done with the sea now ✋

Torao Mido: Oh, right, you don’t handle hot places well. You're quite the opposite of your character, huh

Nagi Rokuya: I didn’t have the power to change the drama's setting from a tropical beach to a frigid land, so I just resigned myself and gave my all for the role ; -P

Torao Mido: I'm glad you didn’t have the power

Nagi Rokuya: Do you dislike winter?

Torao Mido: I don't dislike it. I've come to appreciate the warmth of a kotatsu. But if I had to choose, I prefer hot weather over cold.

Nagi Rokuya: I see, now that I know you're a haughty man who likes summer, it might not be an exaggeration to say I played you, Mido-shi 😂

Torao Mido: You playing the role of me, huh. Not bad.

Nagi Rokuya: OH! That was an unexpected reaction. Well then, in order to play me, you will need to study Kokona more

Torao Mido: Was that the deal!?

Nagi Rokuya: I've graciously decided to lend you my entire DVD collection. Be grateful.

Torao Mido: Yeah, I'm not really into that idea

Nagi Rokuya: Same here 😂

Nagi Rokuya: Anyway, I'm eagerly anticipating tomorrow. Let's discuss with the fervor that rivals the tropical sun X-)))))

Torao Mido: Yeah. I've encountered a great piece of work. Looking forward to it

The End.

#idolish7 translation #zool #idolish7 #ainana #i7 #id7 #rabbitchat #rabbit chat #torao mido #mido torao #torao midou #midou torao #nagi rokuya #rokuya nagi #drama collection #i7 translation

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mimiwrites2000 · 3 years

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Fire and Rain

First Aruani Snippet! thank you all for submitting prompts!

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie

Words count: 2212

Summary:

Fire

Igniting from within herself

Rain

Pouring, cold on her skin

And just like any other human, she has a limit as well.

She cries, on their bed, alone.

Until the door creaks open, and he walks in.

Annie is facing a new feeling that she never experienced before, jealousy, and her insecurities only fuel it.

However, Armin knows exactly how to blow these insecurities away.

And so he does.

Unfamiliar.

Foreign.

The shiny-new novelty of it is shocking, unexpected.

And yet there she is. No denying can change it, no distractions can tame it.

The fire inside her unbearably massive, flames dancing to the drums in her chest, beating with every breath she takes, pouring more fuel on it, breathing rage into it.

She doesn’t want it to extinguish.

The fire seethes and scathes, boiling inside of her, threatening to spill out of her, burning down their bed, their room, their whole house, out the door and all around the neighborhood.

She wants the whole world to hear her screaming pain, she wants it to burn and crumble and shred into pieces.

Just like her.

Her insides screamed until their throats bleed. When no sounds came out, their fury trekked to their hands, legs, fuming and thrashing everything into dust, destroying everything with their wild rage.

And the fire burgeons, devouring her whole, until she is swallowed in red, an angry orange, and straying, out-of-their-place golden sparks.

Those golden sparks that glimmer in shades of red.

Matching the red spark in her eyes.

The pouring, salty rain, spilling out her eyes, unhurriedly putting the fire down. Cold tears that went down her cheeks, onto their pillow, left nothing but a confined fire underneath a wet, burnt land. The smell of rain drops with the char pungent to her nose, unbearably painful to breathe, impossible to breathe.

Her jaw clenches, teeth rubbing against each other, turning into soft heaps of bones in her mouth.

Her chest heaves as more tears squeeze their way out her eyes, down her face, glistening under the moonlight that filters through their window. Blue waterfalls, grey ribbons of silk. The moon comforts her, draining all colors from the world, layering it in a blanket of greys, making every living creature scurry into their caverns, hiding spots, ceasing life for a few hours. Falling into a mourning, silent choir.

She squeezes her eyes shut, she can’t bear it, she can’t, she can’t she can’t.

But she did.

For a few, agonizingly long months, she did.

She kept it all inside, decaying under its pressure, but here she is, in their bed, alone.

I’ll stay late,

He said,

you’re tired, go rest.

He said,

I'll follow once I'm done.

He concluded, before going into a dim lit office, closing the door behind. She only had a glimpse of who waited for him in that room.

She waited, in their bed.

The trance of getting home, undressing, showring, eating, all but a forgotten blur.

Cold, their home was cold, the warmth sucked out of it, while outside, the heat of summer frayed the grass into long, feeble golden sticks.

She’s too pretty, Annie thought, I can’t compare to her.

Long, dark hair, black obsidian eyes, tall, her skirt tight, highlighting the curve of her wide hips, curvy body. Intelligent, her smartness over throwing Annie's with no doubt. Her speeches, words, resonated in the halls of the conferences, long after she said them, their effect lingering in everyone’s mind.

She is everything Annie isn’t.

Annie buries herself deeper into the blankets, worrying that she might've lost him, that she stole him from her.

Then the door creaks open, a second of silence, apprehension, before it closes with a soft click. Another second of silence, then the sound of boots thudding on the carpeted floor, ruffles of clothes being taken off.

The sheets lift up, a warm body slides next to her. She brings the blankets closer to her face, squeezing her eyelids shut.

Then, slowly, warm hands wrap around her, his face at the back of her neck.

“I know you are awake,” he whispers, in her ear.

She doesn’t shift.

The fire in her battles with the rain, conquering each other, until they swayed, in harmony. Flames that danced to the rhythm of the rain drops. Tik tik tik, and the water does what it’s not supposed to do. Broadening the fire, encouraging it into a massive figure of infernal beauty.

His hands soft on her body, goes up, to her shoulders, wrapping around them, before reaching her cheeks, caressing them-

He halts, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, his voice panicked, worried, he leans backwards, inspecting her from behind the blanket, “are you hurt? Is something hurting you?”

She doesn’t reply, her throat too tight to speak.

He calls her name, once, twice, when she doesn’t respond, he gets out of bed, walks to her side, and sits on the floor, his sight on level with her closed eyes.

He calls her name.

Her eyes flutter open.

Red.

A blue orb in a middle of a light red. He opens his mouth to ask about how long she has been crying, but nothing comes out.

He rests his hand on her shoulder, squeezing a bit.

Tell me

His eyes say

You can tell me

So she sniffs, tries to clear her throat, lifting her chin up.

She speaks, but he shakes his head; her voice slurry, alphabets sprawled all over the place.

He motions with his fingers; wait, gets up, goes out, a minute passes, and he’s back with a glass of water.

Cold, she thought, as she straightens in their bed, pulling the sheets closer to her chest. She takes the glass from him, nodding, not meeting his eyes.

He sits on the edge of the bed, silently watching her, as she takes tiny sips of the water, bit by bit, making it last for as long as she can, stretching a mere glass of water onto an excruciatingly slow seconds of a dreadful wait.

He’s patient, he has always been patient with her, giving her the time she needs.

When the water is drained to its last droplets, and there’s no escape, she speaks.

"How was your meeting?" She asks, she hates the hoarseness in her voice, she tries to clear her throat, but it only itches more.

Armin raises an eyebrow.

"How was it?" She asks again.

He sighs, finding no other solution but to answer her: "It went ok, too many paper work, which I despise."

"I could've stayed late and helped you, you know," her hand goes up to rub her arm.

"You were so exhausted, you've already done extra work today, besides, the new assistant was there and she was a great help, so it was ok."

Annie tenses, of course she was a great help.

"I never thought you would ever need an assistant," she says, and she tries so hard to not spit out the words.

"Neither did I," he amuses, "but, well, she showed up and honestly, she does know what she's doing, so I said, why not?"

"Because I could've stayed late with you instead of her," she lets out in one go, her words overlapping each other.

Armin furrows his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling.

When he doesn't reply, she repeats: "I could've stayed with you, I can be your assistant, I don't care if it's extra work. I could've stayed late with you."

She's looking around the room, watching everything except his eyes.

The dots connect in his mind.

A new assistant, staying late at work…

"Annie..." He calls out, the wrinkles in his forehead curving upwards as his eyebrows rise.

You're jealous, he thinks, but doesn't say out loud.

He sighs, crawls onto bed. Annie curls on herself, turning her head away from him.

He sits in front of her, thinking from where to start. He would've never thought, in a million years, that Annie would be jealous.

It’s ridiculous… how could she ever think about…

He scrutinizes her. Vulnerable, insecure, hugging herself, avoiding his eyes.

If anything, he knows that Annie isn’t a woman of word.

With that in mind, he starts by kissing her knee, despite the blanket covering it. She swivels her head to him, confused.

His kisses go up, kissing her thighs. He murmurs against the fabric: "Annie..."

Her name on his tongue, low and careful, each syllable pronounced with fragile-cautiousness, a desperate need to call her out, feel her name tingling on his tongue.

"You're the only one who would ever have my nights," he says.

He kisses her stomach, "to have my mornings," another kiss, "my afternoons, my evenings."

She's silent, watching him.

He goes up, kissing her clothed chest, "You're the only one I want to wake up by her side," he kisses her collarbone, his voice dropping a few notches.

He feels Annie swallowing.

He shuffles closer to her, kissing her neck, he whispers: "you're the only one who will ever touch me," one of his hands resting on her waist, while the other propped him up.

He kisses the spot underneath her chin, the skin soft on his lips, he says: "You're the only one I want to laugh with," another kiss, "cry with," a third kiss, "smile with."

He closes his eyes, his raw, genuine feelings pouring with every word, every touch.

"You're the only one I want to be with,"

He's kissing her face, her eyebrows, her cheekbones, the corner of her lips, her forehead, tasting salt from her tears. He doesn't know when she started crying, but he knows that she's hurt, vulnerable, and that is all he needs to know.

He wraps his arms around her, bringing her closer to him.

Hugging her tighter, never letting go.

Until he feels her arms wrapping around him, hugging him back, that's when he pushes his weight onto her, toppling her balance, landing on top of her.

She gasps, and he swallows the sound as he kisses her, lips on lips, tasting more salt, pressing his lips harder onto her. He kisses her with incomparable delicacy, touches soft on her body. Her lips warm, her cheeks cold.

He cups her face, wiping the tears, her skin glimmers where tears once were, leaving two silvery traces, meandering down her cheeks. He kisses them, slow, one by one, drawing it with his lips, until she relaxes against him.

Then hands happen, and they're on each other, skin on skin, in the quiet of the night.

He breathes her name out through it all, engraving it on the folds of her mind, for it to stay there for as long as she lived.

He wants her to hear his heart beating to the rhythm of her name on his tongue, each time he says it, his heart pulsating life through him, into his veins, into his hands that caress all over her body, memorizing every dip of her skin, every ridge of a bone. Her chest heaving under him, erratic breathing, and yet, she doesn't utter a word.

She lets him show her his words, blowing life into them, show her that he is only for her.

He gladly does.

He tells her that she's the only one who makes him feel this way, as he kisses down her neck, he tells her that she's the only one to touch him like she does. He whispers that he can't imagine anyone else doing what she does to him, that no one can make him feel the way that she does.

Then the first word slips out of her mouth, mixed with a sob.

It's his name.

Armin Armin Armin

She repeats his name, over and over, other words getting lost in moans and cries, and he savors it all.

After he made sweet love to her, once, twice. Gentle and soft. He kisses her neck, but she stops him, and he takes it as a sign.

He engulfs her in his arms, carrying her to the bathroom, where he runs the bath. Steam emits from the bath as she slowly tip toes into the warm water, he follows suit, sitting behind her, her back pressed onto his chest.

He washes her hair, her body, compliments falling off his tongue, gorgeous, pretty, an angel. She turns her head, rose dusting her cheeks.

When she wants to return the favor, he only pushes her hands, telling her that he got himself covered, so she sits on the stool by the bathtub, watching him rinse himself under the spray of the shower, his hair slick and wet, his shoulders broad, arms sculpted with muscle.

He acts like he doesn’t notice her stare.

He steps out the shower, then wraps her in a towel, before wrapping himself.

Not long after, he covers her in their blanket, tucking himself beside her, hugging her bare frame to his chest.

He kisses her forehead, tells her that he loves her, and he did for so long, and will never cease to a stop.

Because she is the spring in these emotions, and the thought of her on his mind had kept him going for years, and to have her in his arms… would be enough to live the rest of his life with his eyes on no one but her.

She smiles, planting a kiss on his bare chest, tangling their legs together.

He chuckles, and her heart flutters at the sound.

He rests his chin on her head, pulling her even closer to him, and like a mantra on his tongue, he whispers her name until sleep takes over him.

#Aruani Snippets #aruani #armin x annie #armin arlert #annie leonhart #aot #snk #writing #fanfiction #snk fanfiction

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nightwingvixen23 · 5 years

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short little JayDick Fic I wrote in the car bored as fuck 🤷

****Dick’s point of view*****

His lips are liquor, and I’m drunk on them. His words are honey, which I gorge on selfishly, swallowing them up with a sweet tooth; like a hummingbird feeding on the nectarous juices of a forbidden flower hidden within Eden’s great Lost garden of Eve.

Ten fingers char bruises into my flesh, except he knows that I can fucking take it; And so makes me fucking take it. Branding me as His with these angelic ribbons of deep purple with hands just as dipped in blood as my very own from things that nobody knows about, That we do not speak of, only together, in hushed tones with heads resting upon a private pillow within a shared bed breathing in the adrenaline of “being caught.” And that’s always seemed to be the damned crux of our screwing around, you know, the deadly fuel of being caught. Of Bruce policing into one of our bedrooms (or whatever room we choose in staining dahlia with our guilty union) only to witness a taboo beyond the waterfront of his judgment. And what would his blue eyes be of ? Scorn ? Disturbance ? That ghostly overcast shade of “You have caused me grave disappointment ” that stands as so domestic to us all ? Nothing in me has decided when it comes to this hypothetical yet very real outcome..

All that’s currently existing to me is a world drowning between bed sheets while held prisoner between two thick thighs stronger then Titanium, and at the feel of those muscles I grip them hard, clear-cut and sexy beneath tan skin decorated in the scarring of his unforgiving past; a silent testimonial to every bastards whom tried to conquer him yet failed. Jason purrs in answer to my handling of him before flipping us over in a fiercely manipulated Judo execution that I remember from training, one that turns me thirsty at the total brazen flaunt of royal strength; knowing that with a simple flexing he could crack my ribs.

My mind reels, I need this. His breath hot and damp against my neck. My body whimpers, I need this. His fingernails scraping against my back in blind rhythm. My sensibility thunders, This is rotten.

“Fuck me,“ but I’m laughing as I say it. deranged. Moonstruck. Insane. High on the narcotic fumes of our twisted appetite for one another. Laughing in such a way in fact that Jason smiles wickedly down at me, licking the blood he had drawn from around his lips. Handsome and wild above me, he’s a windblown god, tossing his black shirt off and into the darkness of my 3 am bedroom. Three fingers in my throat taste of copper and sweat but all I know to do is shamelessly suck on them as if they were made of the finest sugar, his taste flooding my mouth, like teeth biting into cherries that’s juices purely burst upon the tongue coming alive in the senses. I’m lewd and wanting when in the eyes of dangerous desire. However Isn’t it the same for every man and woman ? Or am I just that one fucking bad apple high up in the tree, the one everyone cautioned not to pick, until along came a young man with an empty stomach and nerve well enough to climb.....you know, I do remember hearing once that ‘ What is always out of reach seems to appear the most sweet.’

The persuasive wave of Jason’s hips into mine is soul crushing, but I inhale the water pouring from the great ocean of his every act. I simply let myself plunge deeper because, let’s be honest, I was never really going to ever escape these tides was I ? He directs them with such a power that I can only bask in their melody and let myself fucking drown, and though I should feel the shiver of this great sea, I don’t, by virtue of his Siren’s song being far too beautiful.

In the end, if it is that I’m that aforementioned bad apple, then he’s the Siren that chose to eat me. In other words : We’ve infected each other. And with no intentions to stop. Which is okay with me, seeing as it’s always been the chaos that’s made this so pleasing. This beautiful chaos. Fuck, it’s just all a mess, a big fucking mess, perfectly ruined, splendidly destroyed.

And when all grows eventually quiet. When the bedroom is too sultry to stand, and we still lay with one another for having no stunning disturbance during our coupling, I’ll ask him, “What would you do if Bruce really found us though? Would you lie or some shit ? Throw me under the bus, say it was my fault?”

And Jason would laugh without humor, tug at my hair and make me look at him, “Fuck no. Who the hell do you think I am ? I don’t give a fuck what he thinks, or what he see’s. Let him find out. Let him know. And if he thinks it’s wrong, then fuck it. I would rather be known as an honest sinner then a lying hypocrite.”

He’s my intoxication. My preferred drug. And it’s because of of this (our nightly escapades being built upon the debauched foundation of physical attraction and nothing else) that I know Jason will one day go from being my drug

to the reason that I need them.

#Jaydick short story fics #random stuff #JayDick #lil angsty jeez Vee #lol #relationship of carnal yearning and wanting to get caught...unhealthy mix lol #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Dick Grayson #Nightwing

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supercilium-sulcos · 5 years

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Fragile Peace

[ Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. ] Chapter 1/5 Words: 1204 Rating: T (for canon-typical action and violence in later chapters, romance) Warnings: spoilers for the entirety of BotW. Link/Zelda eventually. >> AO3 << Summary At last, the storm has passed. The time has come to rebuild what was lost. Zelda takes the future of her kingdom into her own hands, but there are some who still linger who wish to see her mission fail. The princess and her knight find that, even with Ganon gone, evil still lurks in Hyrule. [ Post-BotW ] Chapter 1: Stability Darkness. Putrid and chaotic, it swirls around her. She fights against it with all she has but it seeps into her pores. Corruption. It’s spreading – it always is, but it’s spreading to her now, too. She bats it away like it’s a leech. It burrows deeper. Darkness is not the absence of light, her mother’s journal had said. It is a testament to the existence of light. Know this, and you can conquer any shadow. Never had the light felt so far away. How is she supposed to believe in what she cannot see? How can she fight the embodiment of evil when it exists in everything around her? It is not water. It is not tangible. But the darkness rises to her chin, and she knows it will drown her. She takes in a deep breath, just barely remembering to close her eyes, the darkness rises – rises -- Zelda snaps upright.

Chest heaving, cold sweat soaking her clothes and sheets. Numb hands feel her arms and face for any signs of corruption. All she feels is her own clammy skin. Where am I? she nearly asks aloud. It’s dark, but not the kind from her nightmares. Starlight and torches illuminate a bit of the large, circular tent. Zelda shakes when she holds her breath again. Anxious eyes comb through the entirety of the tent. It seems there are no other occupants but for one Hylian – the stable master, who has fallen asleep in his chair at the desk. From the open tent flaps comes a faint orange glow. Zelda fumbles with the covers and follows the light. He sits with his back to a woodpile in front of a fire, twiddling a charred stick in the flames. Just seeing him there, relaxed as he is, keeps her panic from building. If Link senses no danger, then she is safe. Perhaps someday her subconscious will understand that. “You can’t sleep?” she wonders. Link lifts his head to see her. He shakes his head. “Neither can I,” Zelda says unnecessarily. She finds a patch of grass to settle down on beside him, cradling herself in her own arms. Eyes close. She is exhausted. It’s been weeks now and she has yet to sleep through the night. At first, it was from the relief. She was alive, Link was alive, Ganon was gone forever. Order had been restored. She had so much to see, so much to learn from her century-long absence. But relief flickered away into nothingness. Ganon’s destruction had not rid Hyrule of its scars, it had not brought back her loved ones, it had not cleansed her of her hundred-year fight. Zelda left the ruins of her home believing that it was all over and she could rest at last. But night after night, she finds herself back in the bowels of the castle, fighting. And failing. A whoosh hits her ears and a warm fabric sweeps around her shoulders. At first, she thinks it’s a blanket. She peeks out, touches the cloth, and she realizes it’s Link’s travelling cloak. It’s worn and frayed at the edges, but the material is thick. It smells like Epona. It probably smells a bit like sweat and dirt too, but it’s been a while she since had a proper bath herself; she’s acclimated to it. Zelda huddles up and tugs it around her for warmth. Only once it envelops her does she realize how much she’d been shivering. She shuts her eyes again, hoping she might feel rested without giving herself to slumber. “Aren’t you cold now?” she murmurs. Link reaches for her hand beneath the cloak. His thumb swipes the back of her hand, parallel to her knuckles. It’s one of his tracing signs that he taught her so very long ago. A horizontal line for no. A cross for yes. She’s not sure if he plans to pull his hand away; Zelda squeezes it between both of her own, and he lets her. Somewhere out in the plains, crickets hum and the grasses sway. Fire crackles, logs splitting and charring to keep the night at bay. A restless horse snorts in its stall. Zelda rests her head on his shoulder. He breathes, his heart beats. The wind blows his hair against her cheek. All these things, she thought she appreciated. Zelda knows better now. Because now she knows how easily this serene night could be shattered. Once, this could have lulled her to sleep. Now she is afraid that she may wake to find it’s slipped through her fingers again. “Is Kakariko far from here?” No, he swipes again. “Let’s go, then,” she says. “We’re awake. The weather’s fair. Why not ride?” A swipe back and forth – a very firm no. Zelda lifts her head, hoping she is not too delirious to be indignant. Link frees his hand from hers to speak freely. You need rest. Epona, too, he signs. “I’m fine, I’m…” She rubs at her eyes. Bites back the yawn building in her throat. Warmth has stolen her sense and made her drowsy. If she had the energy left, she would fight it. “I’ll rest once we reach Kakariko.” Link only looks at her. He is not one for smiles, and he has none for her tonight. He nudges her drooping head with the corner of one knuckle. She makes a tiny noise of discontent… and realizes how much she sounds like a child. When he throws a bucket of water over the fire, she does not protest. She does not complain when he picks her up, or lies her atop the sheets of her cot, or tucks her under the covers. For a moment, only a moment, she thinks his fingertips might linger on her hair. She hears a footstep, and knows he’s turning away. Leaving her. She grabs his sleeve. The sound that leaves her is… anguished. Zelda wishes it were not so – it ill befits a princess to show so much weakness. She has lived through worse than this. Yet the thought of him leaving now, just when she is about to be consumed by her night terrors in Ganon’s maw once more… her courage fails her. “Please,” she begs weakly, “don’t go.” Link carefully pries her hand from his arm and sets it down on the bed. He walks away. Tears well up in her eyes. She is so exhausted, her strength is sapped, and all she has left is this weakness and terror. Zelda has never felt so alone in her life. From the corner, she hears… rummaging? The waking world is fast fading, but Zelda opens her eyes to peer out at the tent. Link has closed the flaps and secured them. He walks towards her with a wooden chair under one arm. The chair falls to her bedside, and Link sits down. His hand closes around her wrist. The touch is gentle, but it calms her. He gazes into her eyes, and she needs no words – verbal or not – to know what he’s thinking. I’m here. You can rest now. And it brings her some comfort to know – even if she’s plagued with another night of twisted dreams, she will wake with Link by her side.

#legend of zelda #loz #breath of the wild #botw #link/zelda #link #zelda #fanfic #loz fanfic #botw fanfic #my writing #fragile peace #5 chapters is a guesstimate #i had a random craving to write last night which resulted in this #plus some plot outlining for other chapters #assuming i decide to write them lol #anyway i won't hate this if it ends up being a stand alone chapter #for context this picks up like right after the ending of botw

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artnerd1123 · 5 years

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Nettles’ Character Sheet

it’s been 500 years since i did one of these, but! undercut it goes~

Character Chart Character’s full name: Nettles Nimue Willoweep Reason or meaning of name: Nettles comes from the plant! Since nettles sting, I was originally planning on having her be a lot more prickly. She still is kinda pokey now, tbh. “Willoweep” is just “weeping willow” but smashed together. It’s for the Aesthetic™. Nimue refers to the “lady of the lake” in the legend of king arthur, and because I thought it sounded cool. important to note is that she made up her current name herself, for story reasons Character’s nickname: none (aiden calls her various pet names later), though some people might attempt to call her captain willow. it doesn’t end well. Reason for nickname: she just doesn’t care for nicknames much, (Aiden’s the exception because they’re overly sappy/joke around a lot with each other later) and she used to be a pirate captain- but isn’t anymore Birth date: March 28th Sexuality: queer Gender/pronouns: genderfluid, she/her (occasionally they/them)

Physical appearance Age: 37 How old do they appear: probably around that. Maybe a smidge older. Weight: still have no clue how weight works! She’s got plenty of muscle mass tho :V Height: 5’11” Body build: thinner frame but with plenty of muscle. She’s strong as frick, and more like a steel rod than a stick. plenty buff :3 Shape of face: i still don’t know how to answer this question lsdkjfs, but she’s got a longer face w/ a sharpish chin Eye color: pale green! Glasses or contacts: neither Skin tone: light brown (african american?) + seafarer’s tan on top of it Distinguishing marks: she’s got so many scars. So many. The most notable ones being “ligature” marks on her right wrist, and a burn on her neck/left shoulder. Predominant features: her hair is p eyecatching for sure Hair color: emerald/leafy green Type of hair: curly coils Hairstyle: currently has it in dreadlocks (they look a lil vinelike!), parted to the right Voice: Jess Glynne - Thursday (but can also sound piratey) Overall attractiveness: strong ex-pirate plant lady,,, pretty in a rugged kind of way,,, ough,,, Physical disabilities: none Usual fashion of dress: pirate, but make it shades of brown/green and a bit less flashy Favorite outfit: dark brown “vest” (actually a dress top she tore the skirt off of) with green accent around front laces, cream off-the-shoulder shirt w/ green accent trim and flowy sleeves, dark brown pants, tan boots w/ straps and gold buckles, large belt w/ gold buckle Jewelry or accessories: black hoop earrings, an emerald leaf shaped cloak clasp, and a staff made of woven grass (which can turn into a sword)

Personality Good personality traits: generally levelheaded, unafraid to tell people things when needed, determined, patient, ‘do no harm but take no shiz’ mentality, not usually quick to judge, generally easygoing, v dedicated to those she considers family, thinks well under pressure, gives good advice (most of the time), can be p charismatic Bad personality traits: tends not to have much foresight, can come across as aloof, really bad about opening up, keeps too much to herself despite tryna get better abt it, can sometimes overlook traits in favor of just being allies/friends, a lil too willing to get into a fight sometimes, can be too headstrong, lies easily to get out of things Mood character is most often in: contemplative Sense of humor: very dark, likes to playfully tease those she cares about, loves really long jokes, can get a bit crass on occasion Character’s greatest joy in life: currently her forest (teaching journal comes close second some days) Character’s greatest fear: her past coming back to bite her Why? She’s not so much scared of people finding out who she used to be, more uneasy about people using it against her. She doesn’t want people to walk out of her life, but like, if they do, she wouldn’t blame em. She just doesn’t wanna get thrown under the bus for what she did back during pirate days, and accused of being something she isn’t (at least, not anymore.) What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? Losing journal, tbh. She already lost everything- including family- once. She’s not willing to walk down that road again. Character is most at ease when: out among her plants, or chillin in a tavern Most ill at ease when: near the ocean in any capacity Enraged when: people threaten her loved ones/home/etc, people hurt others due to prejudice, people cause destruction in her forest Depressed or sad when: thinking of her old crew, ruminating in her memories for too long, near the ocean, an old tree dies Priorities: keeping the forest safe, producing enough lucrative plants/herbs so she has on hand pocket money, making sure journal’s alright/settling in/has the help he needs if she’s not around to give it Life philosophy: everyone gets their comeuppance eventually, but that doesn’t mean you sit back and wait. Go knock some sense into em if they need it. Take care of people worse off than you, too. A bit of help gets people a long way. If granted one wish, it would be: to have turned back in that storm instead of charging on. Why? Half her crew wouldn’t be dead. She could’ve actually retired instead of stepping down due to catastrophic failure. Her familiar would be alive. Y’know, normal reasons. Character’s soft spot: plants, gold, shiny things, kids Is this soft spot obvious to others? Plants, definitely. The other things you’ll notice if you’re around her long enough Greatest strength: making a decision and seeing it through Greatest vulnerability or weakness: absolutely hates/has a really hard time opening up to other people Biggest regret: rushing headlong into a storm she had no hope of conquering Minor regret: not travelling inland more when she was a pirate (not a huge deal to her, but it woulda been nice) Biggest accomplishment: either successfully maintaining a ship/captain’s title for ten years, or nurturing her forest from a wildfire charred landscape into a thriving woodsy landscape. Minor accomplishment: finding out how to return gold (if she stole it on accident) without being too weird about it Past failures they would be embarrassed to have people know about: she likely has a ton from her early pirating days. Learning to be a pirate wasn’t super easy all the time Why? She likes to think she’s a competent pirate now, don’t bring that stuff up, thank u v much Character’s darkest secret: dark magic has tempted her many, many times. It still does sometimes. And she almost gave in on a few of those occasions. Does anyone else know? No. they won’t, if she has anything to say about it.

Goals Drives and motivations: moving on aka shoving her past in a closet, being able to keep her forest/new loved ones safe, gold Immediate goals: keep up with her trade partners and her “cash gardens,” check the forest for abnormalities, make sure journ doesn’t need anything that day (and help if he do) Long term goals: keep the forest healthy, keep journal on the right track, continue expanding her budding network of plant trading, hopefully make some more actual progress with her issues How the character plans to accomplish these goals: keep up the “forest guardian” role, send letters to journ/visit him, meet more people, and learn to properly open up. And. y’know. Maybe steal some gold here n there as needed. How other characters will be affected: positively for her loved ones/partners! And maybe possibly probably negatively for those she doesn’t like. Perhaps.

Past Hometown: didn’t have a “town.” lived on ships/ports for her whole life till pirating Type of childhood: unstable, tbh. She was the kid of some merchant questors. Thus, she was always travelling around. Not much time to make/maintain friendships, bond with her parents, or do much besides help out. Any goofing off probably got her yelled at. Her headstrong nature meant she didn’t take kindly to that, so she ran away at 15. Pets: none First memory: the sound of waves. It’s something she’ll never forget, no matter what. Most important childhood memory: seeing pirates in the distance during a trade route! Scary, but she was also in awe of em Why: those pirates inspired her runaway swashbuckling plans when she was a teen! They also showed her an alternative to the dull merchant’s way of fulfilling questor urges. Childhood hero: probably some super well known pirate from a legend a book she smuggled onboard Dream job: anything that wasn’t being a merchant (turned into pirate tho) Education: really good at math, reading, keeping records, and reading the ocean. All thanks to her parents/seabound life! She taught herself plant magic rlly early on, and also learned a lot more things pirating (swordfighting, how to manage a crew, which quests are the most profitable, etc) Religion: Finances: parents took care of childhood finances. She was treasure/stolen loot funded until pirating crashed and burned in her late teen/early adult years~

Present Current location: forest outside Journal’s town. It spans many miles. Currently living with: herself :V Pets: none Religion: Occupation: forest guardian, plant merchant, magic mentor Finances: merchant life pays well enough when she needs it. And, like, she still goes and loots places from time to time. Just keep it quiet, m’kay?

Family Mother: Danielle Chamelea Teritip Relationship with her: though she was v busy, her mother always did her best to keep her daugher on track. She’s the one who pushed nettles really hard to learn, and to focus on becoming a better merchant than entertaining other fantasies. Their relationship wasn’t terrible, but nettles never felt her mom’s approval of her personal goals- just the future her mom wanted. Father: Albus Troise Teritip Relationship with him: he was also very busy, but always took the time to teach her little tricks and tips of the trade. He was also sorta pushy about her becoming a merchant. He never even seemed to notice her pulling away to other fantasies. Why would she? After all, your kid’s gotta carry on the family business. What else would she be doing? Siblings: Relationship with them: Spouse: Relationship with them: Children: Relationship with them: Other important family members: if found family counts, which it does, that’ll be journal! Later in the plot, it expands to fit aiden/roo/seraph/ruffy. In her past, her crew would all have been here

Favorites Color: green. Any shade. Surprising, i know Least favorite color: beige. Boring color, no thank u >:V Music: sea shanties!!! Also likes metal, some pop, and has a fondness for violin/flute music Food: a p p l e s. Also fond of any produce she can eat raw. And crabs. Lov the cronch. Literature: prefers oral stories to reading. But like, history is super interesting to her. Form of entertainment: oral storytelling, showing off (or watching someone show off) magic, stupid tavern karaoke Expressions: loves that devilish smirk of “oh no, they’re up to something bad, hold onto your valuables.” also enjoyable is that eyebrow raise of “did you really just do that? Really? That?” with a deadpan face. Peak expressions. Mode of transportation: swinging/parkouring around through the trees via plant magic and vines, like tarzan, except the vines yeet him instead of swinging sometimes Most prized possession: her staff. She’s had it for years, through good and bad, and it’s not going anywhere. May or may not also have a feather in her cloak clasp for… reasons.

Habits Hobbies: gardening, swordfighting, people and/or birdwatching, storytelling, being extra as all frick every so often so people don’t forget u can and will take them the frick out, applepicking Plays a musical instrument? nope! Plays a sport? Does swordfighting count? How they would spend a rainy day: either inside a town building, tavern, or little canopy of leaves in the forest. Depending on the setting, she’ll just have casual conversations or peoplewatch. Or, if she’s in the forest, she’ll entertain herself with vivid storytelling. Sometimes she’ll jus watch whatever crawled into her dry canopy with her. Or bug journal with excessive letters. Anything chill slkdfjs Spending habits: if she can grow/make/wash it herself, she’s not buying. Spends more gold on trips to town restaurants/taverns than anything else, but it’s chill. ‘S not like she has rent to pay :V Smokes: nope Drinks: rum, of course. What kinda pirate do u take her for??? Also wouldn’t mind whiskey. Drinks a lot less now than she used to. Other drugs: nope What do they do too much of? Being a local cryptid What do they do too little of? Opening up to other human beings instead of plants Extremely skilled at: reading a room, cutting to the chase, sword-and-regular-fighting, plant magic, teaching, stealing/pickpocketing, thinking on her feet Extremely unskilled at: planning ahead, knowing when she should really let things be instead of starting smth, letting her loved ones fight their own fights (she’ll try and step in at least once) Nervous tics: going silent, putting a hand over her mouth, staring really hard at nothing, holding her staff close, squeezing anything in hand (usually her staff end) Usual body posture: holds herself loosely but confidently. Has the air of someone who knows what’s going on, and is at ease wherever. Mannerisms: usually blunt, teases those she cares about (unless told not to), makes hand motions when explaining things, speaks in a more “normal” voice most of the time but can occasionally slip into a piratey accent when angry/upset, tends to unconsciously mimic the accents of those around her if she’s in a new setting, likes to sit back and watch until she judges herself to be “familiar” enough with what’s up Peculiarities: the smell of a lotta salt can sometimes upset her, she’s an extrovert but spends most of her time in the woods/outskirts of towns, she’s still very superstitious from her pirate days

Traits Optimist or pessimist? Tends to err on the side of pessimism nowadays Introvert or extrovert? Big extrovert! She’ll spend time just hanging around places people are if she feels too drained, and really loves spending time with those she cares about Daredevil or cautious? Daredevil with an air of caution about her Logical or emotional? Likes to think she’s more logic based, and acts it, but she’s very emotional driven when it comes down to it Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Very neat, actually! You wouldn’t know it unless u got her to live inside tho ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Prefers working or relaxing? Mix of both. Enough work so she’s not bored, but enough relaxing so she’s not stressed :V Confident or unsure of themself? Confident for the vast majority of the time. Animal lover? She’s definitely fond of em!!! :D

Self-perception How they feel about themself: eh, she’s alright. It fluctuates some days, but tends to rest firmly in the “I’m fine, and if I’m not, I’ll fix it for tomorrow” realm. If it does fluctuate, she either feels like a traitor/liar, or a cunning bada$$ One word the character would use to describe self: survivor One paragraph description of how the character would describe self: “I’m Nettles, Nettles Willoweep. I’m a thirty seven year old sorceress who likes plants more than people. Well, that’s a lie. But it is easier to deal with foliage sometimes. I used to be a pirate a long time ago. Not so much nowadays, but that’s not to say I won’t bend a few rules in a pinch. I do what I need. After all, who’s gonna miss a few coins here and there? Certainly not the other families I slip em to. But uh, hey, don’t go spreading that around. I’ve got a reputation to upkeep.” “I guess I’m a bit of a benevolent local cryptid? Whatever that means. Journal tells me it’s a good thing, and I’ll believe him for now. I’m certainly doing what I can to take care of people who need it, and I’d give my right arm to help those I’m close to. Yeah, my blood runs a little hot sometimes, but that hasn’t changed my whole life. I just wanna see my plants and people prosper, and maybe get some gold on the side.” “... ah, right, hobbies. Gardening, forest guarding, fighting with swords, birdwatching… lots of stuff. As long as I’m not spending all my time slogging through old wounds, i’ll call it a good day.” What does the character consider their best personality trait? Her dedication What does the character consider their worst personality trait? How easily she brushes off concern What does the character consider their best physical characteristic? Not sure! She likes her body, and has no complaints abt it. Maybe her hair or how limber she still is :V What does the character consider their worst physical characteristic? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ How does the character think others perceive them: she thinks the general public perceives her as shady but mostly benevolent. She thinks her loved ones perceive her as blunt, but caring. Both of these are fair analyses, by her thought. What would the character most like to change about themself: make it so she could forgive herself easier, and admit to others that she needs a hand

Relationships with others Opinion of other people in general: people are easily tricked and dumb. Individuals can be p nice tho. Does the character hide their true opinions and emotions from others? She’s one of those people where, in certain situations, you’re never gonna be sure if she’s being sarcastic/truthful or not. She does it more regularly than she would like, but less so with close friends Person character most hates: i could put some old rival of hers here. Unfortunately, ‘herself’ works better :( Best friend(s): she’s very good friends with several bartenders, but especially the one in journ’s town. She’s hit it off quite nicely with a nomad who passes through every couple weeks or so, too. Journal is also a “best friend,” but like, in a mentee/kid kind of way Love interest(s): aiden, later ;3 Person character goes to for advice: bartender bffs Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: journal journal journal journal jo- Person character feels shy or awkward around: nobody :V Person character openly admires: *insert several pirates/legendary sorcerers/questors/casual hard workers in towns here* Person character secretly admires: eh. Probably aiden for a bit. Wink wonk lskjdfs Most important person in character’s life before story starts: technically journ counts here? But if not, just herself. After story starts: journal for sure

#nettles willoweep #afw #a familiar world #pirate nettles #character description sheet #this took me all evening; but!!!#worth it :D #and now i've got all this in one spot~#easier to keep track of characterization this way lsdkjfs #anyways; she's a fun gal; even if she's sad sometimes...#nettles i love uuuuuuu #arty writes

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blogofthegloriousmongoose · 5 years

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Children of Seth: Vengeful Dead

(So this is the first chapter of a story I’m writing for one of the homebrew space marine chapters I’ve made, please let me know what you think, any criticisms are appreciated as I was hoping to submit this to GW. Also annoyingly Tumblr hates my formatting)

“Fear not what we must do, for you are the glory of the Imperium and you shall rise again to fulfil mankind’s manifest destiny of ruling this galaxy. There are great deeds that remain undone, enemies yet to conquer and raptures yet to rejoice in. So, as it is written, so shall it be done. The Imperishable, has proclaimed it - let none dare oppose his will!” - Children of Seth rite of initiation

Chapter 1

Lucky

Skin Breakers

The Angel calls

The Angel calls. That simple phrase, had echoed through the dreams of the scions of Sanguinius for months, bringing with it feelings of pain, of temptation and finally of the Great Angel himself, his noble, statuesque features contorted in unimaginable pain and regret, bloody tears pouring from his eyes as he lay on a desolate field of bones. The Angel calls. It had been this maddening cry that had brought the offspring of the Lord of the IX legion to their ancestral homeworld, blanketing the skies of Baal with a vast kaleidoscopic menagerie of ships; battle-barges and strike cruisers, all cast of the colours of Blood Angel's successors.

It was into this vast assembly that the battle-barge Setehk; flagship of the Children of Seth slipped from the warp, great purple coils of empyric energy sloughing away from the form of the vast obsidian and crimson plated battleship. Bristling with lances, macrocannons and innumerable torpedo bays which, when combined with the great rents and scorch marks from the recent Nehkar campaign, gave the battle-barge an aura of predatory savagery as it gently drifting through the cold void towards Baal.

The observatory of the Setehk was silent, save the soft droning hum of the gellar field, as it slowly receded with the transition into real-space, the tense static charge that filled the battle-barge during the in-warp transit gently died away. Rahma Anubian, Chapter Master of the Children of Seth and Herald of the Storm stood in the centre of room, his jackal-faced helmet was mag-locked to the side of his power armour; allowing him to inhale the dry, calming smell of the ceremonial incense that poured from openings in the hieroglyph-emblazoned sandstone chamber. His eyes, ambered by the blight that cursed all scions of Angel stared intently at desolate, sandy form of Baal Primus. Though it had been a century since the world had been scoured clean and left as a barren featureless husk Rahma could still feel the burning skull-forged mark of Ka'bandha, as if the daemon's infernal sigil still loomed large on the world's greatest plateau. The memories of Baal's devastation still haunted him, the almost infectious fury of the Knights of Blood, the ravenous mass of xenos descending on the surviving astartes.

The great chittering horde of tyranids seemed to be everywhere, bladed chitinous limbs lashed out from every direction, each scythe-limb attempted to carve through Rahma's relic armour. With each swing of his ancient lightning claw and khopesh the chapter master ripped through innumerable screeching monsters, each bloody tear sending a thrill of furious joy through the Herald of the Storm, the desire to gorge on the flesh and blood of the xenos singing through his mind, the red thirst's savage bloodlust burning through his will, he felt his voice rising; a mad, hungry roar began tearing its way from his throat. One hormagaunt, its repulsive, needle-fanged maw dripping with toxin filled drool lunged out from the great mass, its bladed limb slicing into Rahma's left pauldron, carving into the ceramite with high-pitched shriek, whirling around, the hateful snarl his face was set into was hidden by the cold glare of the jackal-helmet Anubian gave a maddening howl; bringing down his lightning claw, shredding the alien's skull and charring it into a wad of stinking meat. As the delirium of the red thirst overwhelmed him he became aware of a voice, ragged and straining; it was Ahmes, chief librarian of the Children of Seth carving his way through the chattering horde towards Rahma, his scar riddled face contorted with hatred as he waded towards his chapter master, the blade of his sickle-headed staff was ablaze, searing through the ravenous tyranids. As he reached Rahma he impaled a hormagaunt before vomiting forth a great kaleidoscopic inferno into the onrushing horde. With this infinitesimal moment of calm Ahmes turned to his chapter master, he desperately howled at him 'MY LORD! WE HAVE TO FALL BA-' The mind-shattering cacophony of the desperate battle was suddenly torn asunder by a vast bellow of hatred, fed by a hunger for bloody revenge cultivated over the millennia. A huge, muscle-bound form, covered in crimson blood-toned skin rose above the disgusting, insectile xenos, immense bat-like wings spreading as it stood, the ground around it burning with unholy fire. Clad in infernal brass armour, blackened by uncountable wars and wielding a terrible barbed whip and an immense double-headed axe that, even whilst bafflingly clean seemed to gush blood from its twin-blades the abomination rose; it was Ka'Bandha, eternal nemesis of the scions of Sanguinius. As he gazed at his gene-line's greatest, most murderously persistent foe Rahma felt the blood-crazed rage of the red thirst begin to finally overwhelm his mind, felt his head pound, his brain throb agonisingly as through his skull was too small, it blinded him with frenzied madness, each murderous pulse of his synapses flooding him with the urge wallow in the steaming gore of the freshly killed. With a strained, pain-filled twitch Rahma began lurching towards the crimson-skinned daemon, a murderous bellow of rage rising again in his throat. As he began hacking his way towards Ka'bandha and the bloodletters that were ripping their way into reality around him, as he slowly staggered towards the greater daemon his consciousness faded into a bloody-haze.

'You were lucky Ahmes was able to save you my lord.’ The voice jolted Rahma from his reverie, internally cursing himself he turned to see Chike approaching. Even though he was fully clad in his ancient, hieroglyph-covered ceremonial armour the commander of the Ushabti was practically silent, each step soundless as the crocodile-faced helmet seemed to grin darkly as he stared at him. His face set into a cold stare Rahma cocked an eyebrow attempting to exude an aura of polite disinterest as the captain of his guard drew up beside him. ‘Oh, what pray tell did I need saving from?’ Mentally Rahma flinched, even to himself he sounded angry and childishly petulant. Even though he was helmeted Rahma could feel the gentle sadness radiating from Chike. When he finally spoke the captain of the Ushabti’s voice was laced with dejection ‘Rahma, the Thirst nearly took you-’ he gestured to his chapter master's once brown, now stark amber eyes 'If it wasn't for Ahmes-' ‘I was in control.’ Rahma’s cold monotone cut through Chike's admonishment, though his face was blank the barely concealed anger in his voice was obvious, eyes burning with frustration. With a guttural snarl from this back of his throat the captain of the Ushabti removed the sneering helmet, the scars on his face contorted into an irritated grimace, Chike’s voice was brimming with exasperation ‘That shit might satisfy the others Rahma but I know you. You can’t even look at the Flensing Storm. Every time you’re near that damn thing you shrink away!’ Rahma winced. The moment Chike had mentioned the Flensing Storm the Lord of Atum could feel the ancient khopesh’s presence, it seemed to burn into the back of his head, somehow he felt it watching him, as though the chapter masters of old; Djoser, Khufu...even the First One each one watched and judged him for his weakness. Reflexively, as though to turn their gaze away Rahma gripped the scarab marked pommel of the axe at his side, his mouth twisting in a slight snarl, the strain in his voice was as thick as a sheet of ice ‘Were it anyone else: Imhotep, Aharon, were it any of them that talked to me like that they would be returning to Ahm Shere-‘ he paused for a moment, a frigid smile spreading across his face ‘-and not necessarily alive.’ For a moment the commander of the Ushabti smirked before glancing at the stand that the Flensing Storm rested on, his eyes fixed on the ancient relic ‘Your terrible jokes aren’t going to distract from what happened Rahma-.’ a great shadow passed over the observatory, the two astartes glanced up. An immense battle-barge, it’s colours the inverse of the Setehk, it’s symbol a brutal serrated saw blade centred with a crimson blood drop: it was the Victus, the flagship of the Flesh Tearers; their brutal progenitors. Chike, his voice soft with awe was barely a murmur ‘-but...that might.’

The Angel calls. The Angel calls. The Angel calls.

Despite the buzz of activity on the bridge of the Victus those were the only words Gabriel Seth could hear, shipmaster Berkan was speaking at him, his mouth was moving and presumably words were coming out, but Seth couldn’t hear them. All he could hear was that damned cry. The Angel calls. He ran a plated hand over his bald scalp, scratching the freshest scar; a trio of great clawed rips, running from temple to cheek. The tyranid beast that given him those scars didn’t last long after it brought itself to his attention. The Guardian of Rage smirked at the memory. The insectile beast had screeched out a challenge to him, it’s eyes shined hungrily, murderously. He’d torn off its jaw and beaten its skull in- The Angel calls.

The Lord of Cretacia ground his teeth angrily, the cry intruded on everything nowadays, it set him edge, inflamed the thirst, stoked the rage. A voice pierced the irritable malaise settling over Gabriel, wrenching him back to reality; it was Raik, one of Guilliman's monsters, though he wore the colours of Nassir Amit and bore the gene-seed of Sanguinius, to the chapter master of the Flesh Tearers he was an abomination, simply seeing him set Seth's blood boiling '-Ante is convening the council at Angel's Fall. What is your command?' Snapping back to attention Seth's face twisted slightly into a bizarre snarl-smile 'What do you want Raik?' the primaris looked confused for a moment, though obviously disconcerted the lieutenant's voice remained clipped and professional 'We have been hailed my liege, Lord Commander Dante wishes us to convene at Angel's Fall, before the council. We are to meet him and Lord Rahma Anubian of the Children of Seth.' At the mention of the Atumians Gabriel Seth groaned, he knew the reason why Dante had requested this meeting; he knew their name and the planet's veneration of him embarrassed him, he'd been actively avoiding serving alongside them of late and Dante knew it. 'Lord Seth?' Raik's voice again snapped him back to his surroundings 'Fine. Hail the Setehk, let them know.' whirling around, the Guardian of Rage strode from the bridge of the Victus, the conflicting mixture of irritation and amusement obvious on his face at the thought of dealing with the chapter that venerated him so. As he stalked down the corridor several Flesh Tearers, real Flesh Tearers Seth bitterly thought to himself, greeted him, each one nodding with a short grunt, their voices harsh and stunted with the accent grown from the proto-language developing on Cretacia. The Angel calls. The Angel calls. The Angel calls. The cry was back, Seth needed a distraction.

The training hall was a cacophony of bellows and metallic clangs, oil, blood and the occasional scrap of torn replicae-flesh where a battle-brother had been too overzealous against their training servitor. Gazing at the sparring cages vaguely Seth gestured over a pair of pale, emaciated serfs, holding his armoured gauntlet out to them. As with all menials of the Flesh Tearers these two moved in a nervous, flightly manner, seemingly trying to take up as little room as possible, learned over many years of witnessing the results of the volatile blood-fury that every Son of Cretatia wrestled with, as they shakily began to slowly remove his armour Seth turned for a moment and gazed at the shivering bondsman, as the emaciated man clutched his gauntlet he remembered the first time he had seen a serf, that swift pang of pity and confusion he had felt, even as the conditioning did it’s sacred work on his mind he had wondered; how could a man become so wretched? Carnarvon had answered that question, seeing the sympathetic look that had briefly flashed across his future Chapter Master’s face. ‘Boy, what is the first edict of Cretacia?’ His voice had been gravelly and brutal; like a molten avalanche. Sympathy breeds weakness, weakness breeds death.

‘Back again Gabriel? What is it this time? The Angel or the Skin Breakers?’ Snapping out of his reverie Seth saw a serf bowed in-front of him, holding out a practice axe and sword, his fellows shuffled about behind him each man assembled the power armour onto the holding wrack, turning to the source of the voice he saw Captain Thear, fresh from the training cages, the mass of scar-tissue that was his body slick with sweat and blood, behind him limped the Chief Librarian Shei, his face set grin and his hands apparently a few fingers lighter, with a smirk at the use of the taunting moniker Thear himself had first given to the primaris on Baal, Seth snatched the weapons offered by the bowing serfs and strode over to the two, idly spinning the axe in one hand, when he spoke his voice was dripping with a caustic dryness, his eyes alight with amusement ‘I would’ve thought that you’d address your Lord with more respect Thear, after all was it not me who dropped you on your arse five days ago?’ there was a short clashing of steel as axe-head and sword blade knocked together in greeting, the two astartes nodded and smiled before Seth turned to the still panting, slightly hunched Shei ‘You appear to be missing a few fingers there Librarian, are the cages of the Victus too much for you now? Too much time with the Sun Serpents?’. With a breathy snort Shei straightened up, his chest still rapidly rising and falling ‘Just felt like letting this soft one think he’s an actual warrior for once. Anyway, you avoided the question, Skin Breakers-‘ some of the mirth leaked from his voice ‘-or the Angel?’ Seth’s smile slipped slightly ‘Both, and Lord Dante...he wishes us to arrive ahead of the rest-‘ Thear raised an eyebrow and again his crudely harsh voice was thick with sarcasm ‘Oh, such horror!’ With a slight raising of his eyebrow’s Seth continued ‘-along with the Atumians.’ Thear and Shei smirked even more; they had been on Atum when it had first rebelled, when the Children of Seth were first conceived of, when the name had been chosen for them, Shei’s voice, still thick with exhaustion was dripping with faux-confusion ‘I thought you wanted us remembered Gabriel? For the Flesh Tearers to be bound into history? What better way to be remembered than having an entire chapter named in your honour?’ there was a brief grimace from Seth at this ‘Because they treat me like I’m a Primarch.’ That set Thear off into a gutturally brutal fit of howling laughter, Shei simply shook his head and grinned, as with every Flesh Tearer it was a predatory thing and promised violence ‘You’re far too hard on the young ones. They have the fire of Cretacia and Amit in their hearts.’ The image of a howling Rahma Anubian flashed through Seth’s mind, his jackal-headed helmet discarded, his face pulled into a vicious rictus-snarl of hatred, his ambered eyes swimming with mindless blood-hunger ‘Sometimes I wonder; do they have too much of the fire?’

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nightwingvixen22 · 5 years

Text

The Art Of Getting Caught

Summary : Dick and Jason have built a relationship on a rocky foundation of attraction, lust, and a mutual voyeuristic end game

My mind reels, I need this. His breath hot and damp against my neck. My body whimpers, I need this. His fingernails scraping against my back in blind rhythm. My sensibility thunders, This is rotten.

“Fuck me,“ but I’m laughing as I say it. deranged. Moonstruck. Insane. High on the narcotic fumes of our twisted appetite for one another. Laughing in such a way in fact that Jason smiles wickedly down at me, licking the blood he had drawn from around his lips. Handsome and wild above me, he’s a windblown god, tossing his black shirt off and into the darkness of my 3 am bedroom. Three fingers in my throat taste of copper and sweat but all I know to do is shamelessly suck on them as if they were made of the finest sugar, his taste flooding my mouth, like teeth biting into cherries that’s juices purely burst upon the tongue coming alive in the senses. I’m lewd and wanting when in the eyes of dangerous desire. However Isn’t it the same for every man and woman ? Or am I just that one fucking bad apple high up in the tree, the one everyone cautioned not to pick, until along came a young man with an empty stomach and nerve well enough to climb…..you know, I do remember hearing once that ‘ What is always out of reach seems to appear the most sweet.’

to the reason that I need them.

#The Art Of Getting Caught #JayDick #short story fanfic #Jason Todd #red hood #Dick Grayson #nightwing #Bruce Wayne #batman

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donewithjeon · 6 years

Text

Downfall [21]

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 4,373

Genre: Assassin AU

Note: This is a re-upload due to the original chapter being taken down by Tumblr. Sorry for the inconvenience!

They found you.

Somehow, the enemy was able to find the location of the Yongsan division office. They must have followed your van here after the incident at City Hall or used some other undetectable means to trace you. Perhaps that was their plan all along, to discreetly tail your vehicle during the hectic escape to safety. Whatever the answer is, it no longer matters how they managed to discover your haven.

They’re here—and you’re under attack.

The fire alarm is shrill and seemingly perpetual in its shrieking pattern as it drills into your head with each blaring reiteration. The halls and rooms are echoing with the sound to alert the inhabitants of what they already know—the structure is starting to go up in flames with the source of the disaster well below the level you are currently on but advancing its spread with persisting speed.

You’re running down the stairwell of the building, moving as quick as you can to see if there is still a chance to escape. Even if there isn’t, there’s no way you’re going to stay in your room and accept the charred fate that awaits you. Ignoring the restriction of movement in your arm and the searing pain that overwhelms your back from the brash stress you’re putting on it, you keep a steady and brisk pace down the seemingly unending steps.

Until, you can’t go any further.

You freeze at the top of another flight of stairs as you were just about to get ready to conquer it. At the bottom, the fire is now clearly visible, and the heat emanating from it is so blisteringly strong, it feels as if your skin will start boiling if you go any closer. The embers lick dangerously under your feet, and the smoke not only proliferates from the lower floors to obscure the rest of the path you were planning to take, but the suffocating fog ascends in billows to scorch your lungs, eyes, and everything in between.

If the conditions are this bad when you’ve barely made it to the fourth floor, then it’s a guarantee that your exit route must be overtaken with flames, seeing how the building is burning from the bottom up. The threat is drawing nearer with each passing second, which effectively wipes any idea you had in your mind that this could be a viable path to take.

Turning back around, you begin a sprint up the same stairs you rushed down on, hoping that your legs won’t give out on you in this more difficult trek to your new destination. Since you can’t even dream of going to the ground floor, the only place you can go now is up. There’s no need to stop and take a peek over your shoulder to check the status below, because you’re fairly sure that the fire and smoke are rapidly advancing.

You can feel it.

Once you reach the top of the very last set of stairs, you’re met with an exit that is labeled “roof access” in bold, red letters. You throw yourself onto the metal bar and shove the door open, not stopping your winding feet until you reach another roadblock: the edge.

Above your head, the sky is nothing but a murky shroud, but below, you are able to see the hellish illumination of the fire that has already devoured half of the structure. You strain your eyes to look beyond the smog and sparks, and when you focus on the ground near the sidewalk, you detect numerous dim figures you can only assume are onlookers of the spectacle. It definitely looks to be a long way down with nothing to break the fall but the unforgiving pavement.

Remarkably, that doesn’t stop the people trapped inside the building.

Movement coming from the upper levels catches your attention, and when you try to discern what it is, your vision follows the descending shadows as they fall out of the windows and make their way towards the cement. Judging by the rate at which they are dropping, you can easily distinguish that those forms aren’t just papers or objects from the offices floating through the wind. Bodies are flying out of even the tenth floor windows, plummeting down with increasing velocity until they crash onto the unrelenting surface with sickening splits and splatters. Everyone is desperate to escape this burgeoning inferno, and you can’t say that you’re too far behind the tipping point yourself.

Actually, you’re about a step away from it.

Staring down at the scene below, you can determine that while the threat is coming ever closer, there are no other escape routes available for you to choose from. There are only two options: you can either stay here until the building burns up or collapses beneath you, which could be any minute now, or you can jump off and join the rest of the agents who took the leap of faith. Maybe you’ll be able to get away with your life in exchange for broken legs if you position your landing correctly, as slim of a chance it may be.

You take a deep breath, immediately regretting it as you inhale a lungful of the all-too-familiar fumes of ash and carbon. Your time is running out, and you know that there’s only one thing left to do.

Wake up.

You jolt awake with a start, your eyes shooting open to meet the same insipid ceiling from your previous awakening, except this time, it’s eclipsed by a looming shadow above you. Your first reaction is to lunge up from your bed, reach out for a nearby item to protect yourself with, do something so you can ensure your safety and stability, but you can’t move.

That’s when you realize that someone is hovering over you, clamping your wrists and shoulders down in an attempt to hold you down. Since flight is not an option, you start to kick into fight mode, but when your frantic eyes land on the face of your supposed assailant, the tension relaxes from your body in a wave of relief.

“Sorry,” Namjoon says, slowly releasing his grip and straightening himself up from the leaning position. “I thought it would be best to wake you.”

Your heart is still racing from the residual adrenaline pumping through your veins from the unpleasant awakening and even more unpleasant dream, but you start to steady your breathing after grasping an understanding of the circumstances. At least he took caution to restrain you before attempting to wake you. It seems as though he has learned from the mistake he made last time—of course, the nasty bruise and near concussion probably served as a lesson he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

“Why are you here?” you question, subtly trying to move past the embarrassment of having to be woken up like a child who was acting out because of a nightmare.

“To tell you that you’ve been discharged,” he states as he watches you prop yourself upright on the bed. “You can leave whenever you’d like as long as you stay on the other side of the Han. I was just about to head back to HQ, so I wanted to stop by and see if you were up yet.”

“I’m up now,” you begrudgingly declare. You rub your eyes of whatever remnants of sleep are still leftover and push the sheets off of you. “I’ll be out in 10.”

“Take your time.”

Namjoon leaves with a click of the door, leaving you to your own devices. You take this time to release a well-needed sigh in appreciation for your body and mind finally calming down. It’s much too early to be in inner turmoil right now, but apparently your brain thought otherwise and felt the need to grace you with the highly unnecessary and unwelcomed dream.

You couldn’t fall asleep for the longest time last night, and it was only when you could almost perceive the first rays of the morning sun brightening the dark blue sky that you managed to slip into a slumber.

Evidently, that didn’t last long.

Even though the couple winks you were able to squeeze in leaves you feeling wearier than ever, you still can’t relinquish the chance to get up and leave this stuffy room, even if it’s just to return to the comfort of your own bed. You keep that thought in mind as you go to change out of your hospital garments, but you having a strong feeling that it’s going to be a long while until you have the pleasure of getting some real rest.

As you pull out of the parking garage, you brace yourself to face something similar to a warzone, but much to your surprise, things are completely and utterly normal. With the flow of the traffic and the stream of pedestrians filling the streets, everything is business as usual, almost as if a violent crime didn’t just take place in the heart of Seoul yesterday. It could be because you’re heading back to Gangnam, which is on the opposite side of the Yongsan office from the crime scene, but nevertheless, is seems as though the city is an unstoppable, well-oiled machine.

That is, until you step foot into Kim Daily.

On most days, it’s the upper levels of the 54-story structure, the quarters where the assassins spend the majority of their time, that are bustling with activity, but today, the lower precincts where the news company works its journalism magic are just as busy, if not more so, as the rest of the building’s denizens.

You have grown to admire their hard work and their ability to stay on top of things, because among the many powerful resources Mr. Shin possesses, this news company is one that proves to be most reliable time and time again.

It has not even been a full 24 hours since the incident occurred, yet it seems like the situation is well on its way towards being resolved. The whole of yesterday was dedicated to revising the print for this morning’s paper and filling the online news platform with all the necessary information that needed to be distributed to the general public.

The big headline doesn’t include the gritty details of the violent turn of events that you would usually find on cover stories such as these. There’s nothing specific about the one dead and nine injured, numbers that are blown up with prominence on other news outlets, nor are there profiles of the shooter and his associates, a decision no doubt to keep your identities safe.

Instead, the main emphasis is on reform—how we will recover from this tragic event and the steps we need to take in order to prevent it from happening again in the future. It’s an extremely well-written, convincing, and thrilling exposé on the nation’s gun control regulations that most definitely will leave readers nodding their heads in agreement or at least scratching their chins in contemplation.

On top of that, quite literally, is Mayor Moon’s face plastered on every front page. The photo is not taken from the press conference that transpired yesterday, despite it being fitting for the article, but instead, it’s one of his more professional shots that you would spot on posters for his campaign tour. The Mayor of Seoul looks like a jolly man with thin-rimmed oval glasses, neatly-combed black hair, and a smile that ironically brings out the prominent frown lines on his forehead.

Within the exposé, quotes from the press conference concerning the attack at Seoul Plaza have been included. Mayor Moon responded to the early criticisms and vowed to do everything in his power to make the city safe again. To win over the public even more, he also discussed his proposition of restricting firearms to a greater extent by requiring GPS tracking of all guns that are in circulation from now on.

Between this incident and what happened in Sejong earlier this year, you have a good hunch that the new regulations will be put into full effect soon enough.

It’s all good in theory, but you know that there’s no way that a law like that will reign legitimately, at least not for you guys. If anything, it’ll just become that much easier to monitor the authorities and any other low-class criminals who are unlucky and ignorant enough to carry around bugged weapons.

Come what may, Mr. Shin is managing to make the best out of a situation that could have gone terribly wrong and should have had no upsides whatsoever. You thought it would certainly take more of a strenuous effort to bury things and cut all loose ends; shootings in Seoul are exceptionally rare, and even for a man of his capabilities, you were sure it was going to be difficult to sweep under the rug and cover up. Not only is he doing exactly that though, but he is also helping to paint Mayor Moon in a better light, fruitfully furthering the solidity of both of their positions.

A true win-win scenario.

By the end of the scramble, you stand corrected, having taken your boss’s professional prowess too lightly. Mr. Shin has been running the game for decades now, so you doubt that this is the worst thing that he has witnessed during his lifetime. It was foolish of you to think that any other undesirable outcome would have spawned from this situation.

In the following days, it seems as though the shooting and the subsequent proceedings that occurred afterwards are all that is being broadcasted and covered by news companies and major media sites alike. It’s all that comes up on the TV at the apartment when you have time to turn it on, which you do have plenty of recently as the assassins have been told to put down their guns and knives and lay low until things get concluded with ink strokes and keyboard clicks.

It’s times like these where the pen is, in fact, mightier than the sword.

“I am here to confirm that we have successfully captured the offender and have taken him into custody.”

An astute voice leaks through the speakers as you watch the announcement on screen. Cameras are flashing and shuttering at amazing rates, but that doesn’t seem to faze the Police Chief, Cho Ryeowoon. This uniformed man of experience has a rigid stance and hardened facial expression that makes him appear almost immune to the commotion around him. He’s standing behind the podium to carry out a simple task, one that will hopefully be the bow that wraps up this entire case.

“Everyone can rest assured that the streets are safe. With the recent mandates that have been passed, there is no need to worry about something like this happening again.” Sure enough, it only took a span of a few days for the gun control regulations to be imposed. Chief Cho’s guarantees sound so matter-of-factly, and you’re impressed by his ability to turn such a dubious subject into a highly persuasive speech. “As for the culprit, I think I speak on behalf of everyone when I say that it is only right that he be brought to justice—and you have my word that he will.”

After a few seconds, a picture of the alleged criminal is pulled up onto the screen by the broadcasting station. The man in the photo is not Jungkook in any way shape or form, but since the CCTV footage of the actual wrongdoer was never released to the public, the viewing citizens will be none the wiser. Even those who were physically present won’t be able to say a word otherwise, because with a beanie and a mask, any male with the same build and basic traits can probably pass as Jungkook.

You can’t help but wonder who the poor sap going under the guillotine is, but you guess it doesn’t hold significance. If it did matter, he wouldn’t be where he is right now, taking the blame for your teammate’s actions for the sake of your organization and its allies. Besides, if you know anything about the organization, it’s almost guaranteed that the man did something foul for him to be placed on the hot seat like that—this is just a slightly less practical way of getting him where he needs to be.

Truthfully, you’re pleased that this is being covered up so competently. None of you need the stress of the aftermath weighing down on you, especially not on top of all the other baggage you have to carry. It’s a bit selfish to say the least, but being in the position that you guys are in, it can’t be helped.

It’s merely self-preservation.

Since the effort to recover from the close call went better than you could have hoped for, especially after the “culprit” was captured, the status of the organization returned back to normal in record time. Following suit, your stitches were taken out after about a week of having received them, and by now, the wound is no longer hindering your movement and performance.

The situation seems to have blown over in the blink of an eye, but on the contrary, those few days of unemployment were arduous for the business. While you were all preoccupied with the large-scale affair, it was not quite as impacting to the rest of the city’s population who weren’t directly affected by it. Even in the madness of everything that happened regarding the wanted man, clients were not holding off on placing orders and requests, so to act in accordance, the organization accepted them like they always did.

This is a business, after all, and these are your jobs—your livings. Everything else was continuing on with its fixed pace after acknowledging what has passed, and you guys couldn’t afford to be bumming around for any longer when there were contracts to be signed and orders to be fulfilled. Especially after the news broke that the organization had quite possibly been infiltrated by a mole, not another minute can go to waste.

Just like that, life goes on.

Jungkook was transported back to headquarters shortly after you returned, and yet, even as the days go on, you don’t catch so much as a glimpse of him.

It’s rather strange if you think about it. There are many times when both you and Jungkook are busy with your own assignments, and during those periods, days or even weeks can go by until you two see each other again. Currently, it has only been a little over a week, but these are not the same circumstances. It’s a completely different story because you know that he is in the same building as you, conversing with the same people as you, probably even eating the same food as you, but he himself is choosing to keep you distant and away.

You hate this feeling that is planted within you, growing each day that it’s left neglected like intrusive vines that spread through every fiber of your being. You wish that you could at least apologize in person or even see with your own two eyes that he’s really okay, but so far, you haven’t been given a chance to clear up the mess.

Some of the others are doing their best to keep you in the know, so when they relay to you that his condition is progressing well, you have no choice but to take their word for it. He’s apparently healing up quite speedily—to your liberation, there are no persisting damages from the bullet wound—but you didn’t expect any less from Jungkook. Sometimes, you seriously believe he’s just built in a different way from most people in this world.

From what Jin has graciously taken the time to tell you, Jungkook has been put under special care until he is completely healed. You’re grateful for your supervisor, because even scraps of information such as this is not necessarily mandatory to divulge to the rest of the team. Perhaps he’s so attentive at informing you because he feels guilty about the whole exchange at the Yongsan corridor. Even if that’s not the case, Jin does tend to have a bit of soft spot for you—Lord knows you’ve been softening him up by poking and prodding him for details since the dawn of time. It’s not that you take advantage of this fact at all, but more often than not, you are able to coax something useful out of him.

This is one of those times.

It became clear to you that this “special care” wasn’t just to track the superficial injuries Jungkook sustained once Jin uttered that single word, one that you realized was the true reason for the elongated recovery time and temporary removal from the team.

Therapy.

Yes, assassin therapy is not only a thing, but a quintessential aspect of the system. Just as important as physical health, if not more, mental health is dealt with the utmost care, precision, and promptitude.

The organization holds monthly evaluations for all members working within it, and among the several tests is a mental state check, one of the practices in which everyone’s psyche is measured and monitored. These examinations are tedious at times, but they are essential not only for curing anomalies but for preventing those imbalances from happening in the first place, and the consequences of deciding to omit this facet of the assessment are far too high. The officials and even other members need to know that the inner workings of an operative are not abnormal or unstable in any way before setting them out into the field with the potential to inflict adverse harm and wreak havoc.

Furthermore, this arrangement proves to be amply effective.

There have been a few instances where you have heard of assassins being pulled from their roles on the team, almost always at the end of the month and with minimal repercussions. There was only one deviant from this otherwise efficacious procedure you remember hearing whispers about that concerned a particular agent whose primary job was interrogation—just like Jimin. His personal methods, however, became too eccentric, even for the organization’s tastes.

To put it bluntly, he was discovered to have been cutting off and eating the hostage’s fingers in order to force them to comply.

Admittedly, it was an effective torture technique—there’s really nothing like watching someone eat your own body parts in front of you—but unsurprisingly, it didn’t go over well with the higher-ups, or anyone else for that matter. Shortly after he was caught—it didn’t take long after the initial episode—the agent was removed from his post before he could go off the deep end, as if that line hadn’t already been crossed.

This entire screening process is in no way a perfect one, but without its implementation, the organization could very well have seen greater calamity or even collapse by now.

Jungkook’s behavior certainly raised some red flags with the company officers, and while you can argue that it’s not nearly as bad as Mr. Finger Fetish, you have to agree with the call for rehabilitation that they made. It still gives you shudders when your mind travels back to ponder what kind of mentality Jungkook held in that moment that drove him to go through with his erratic actions. It makes you wonder if you should have paid more attention to the signs that led up to that point.

No, you were well aware of them—you just didn’t act upon them.

You figure that it’s no use in making yourself feel worse than you already have been feeling all week. Now that the problem has been uncovered, the focus now is to make sure that it’s extinguished and won’t be rekindled again. You’re relieved that he’s undergoing the proper treatment he needs, and thankfully, everyone’s extremities are still intact.

Plus, you know Jungkook will make it through to the other side better than ever.

All of you are a little broken in your own way, whether you’ve been bent and twisted or torn and frayed. There is not one person among you who doesn’t struggle with your own self, because regardless of if you like it or not, residing inside every single one of you is the good, the bad, and the ugly. Not only do you learn to live with this reality early on, but you are taught to overcome it and manipulate it to your advantage.

Human emotions are such frail constructs to begin with, but even with what could easily be considered weaknesses, you’re trained to hone them—control, not erase. You are to amplify them when the situation calls for it and to suppress them when they run the risk of getting in the way, but you are never to dispose of them.

In spite of everything, you are human, and they are what make you so.

You can only attempt to hold something in for so long until you explode; it might not always be the cannibalism route, but an eruption is imminent. There have been plenty of instances of this happening—examples, if you will—with the orphans and assassins before you, displayed in the various ways they fought with themselves, whether they couldn’t pull the trigger or they pointed the gun at themselves.

The organization allocated the time and effort to refine their training and selection program so that the possibility of those outcomes has been reduced to the lowest prospect, but even so, they did not resort to producing mindless drones. You are all still your own individual person with innate strengths and weaknesses, the former being polished and the latter being purged.

In Jungkook’s case, he is currently in the process of having his faults expelled, and in harmony with that, you need to make sure that your strengths have been toughened after the experiences you overcame. You can look at it like he is working on his own mission at the moment, so the only thing left for the rest of you to do is continue on your own missions as always.

Without him.

#reupload!#downfall #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic

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klanceficatalogue · 6 years

Note

reincarnation aus?

i think i just did an ask like this?? but its been in drafts for a while sorry anon! (obvious major char death) -alex

reincarnation tag

Fall With Me by callmesinpai (Aieem_Artemis) (1/? | 10,688 | Explicit)

They loved each other so much not even death could keep them apart. They would search for each other through many life times, never quite knowing or understanding what pulled them together. But they would always come together.

“I know, but I’m more comfortable knowing you’re here and that you have my back.” The softness of Lance’s expression is enough to make Keith feel warm. “I trust you to make sure nothing will happen to me, that’s why I chose you to be my personal knight.” He shifts and presses a kiss to Keith’s gloved palm.

They’ve had this conversation before, “But how did you know?” Lance has never told him. “I didn’t even like you then.” Keith typically loves his gloves, a gift from Shiro, but right now he’s cursing them as Lance continues to press kisses against his palm.

Lance stops and turns to look at him again. “I can’t tell you. It’ll ruin the surprise.” He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Keith’s lips.

// non graphic violence

Roses and Music Sheets by Weirdodobird_Raven18 (10/? | 21,062 | Teen And Up)

Many years ago...

Two lovers took their lives in an act of unadulterated love for each other.Word of what happened spread, and a story was made to honor those lovers. But what many didn't know, was what happened after the events of the story.

The families of the two lovers agreed, that in honor of the star crossed lovers, they would marry their children to each other. But fate was cruel and Venus was angered. She cursed the family, that no matter how many times they try to marry off their children, they will suffer the same fate as the lovers. The curse will only be lifted, when the reincarnation of the two lovers have been united.

Many years later...

Lance hated Keith, and Keith isn't fond of Lance. The last thing they expected their parents to do was to marry them off to each other, and you can guess what happened next...

Romeo and Juliet AU

// graphic depictions of violence // major character death

(allura / shiro , hunk / shay)

Firebird by BlueStarPaladin, MsBluebell (4/? | 73,182 | Not Rated)

Lance McClain, the captain of the Blue Lion and the conquerer of the seas. He fights for the poor and steals from the rich, sailing the seas in search of love. He'd had his heart broken many times to the point that he came to the conclusion that he must be cursed.

However, upon hearing rumours about a cursed island in the middle of the sea, Lance decided to venture there in search of love. What he found instead was something he never expected.

#au #reincarnation #asks #anon #klance #voltron #klance fics #voltron fics #vld #vld fics

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thorne93 · 7 years

Text

Deadly Mistake

Prompt: Hey, ❤ i'm love with your blog, especially your Gambit stories. Can you do a oneshot (when your Requests are open), where the reader (maybe she can control the darkness/daughter to Mystique and Magneto?) and Gambit are dating and one night, she can't control her powers and nearly killed him. She runs away to the Xavier Mansion but Remy is looking for her and they meet again. I hope it's not problem 😊

Warnings: near death experience?? maybe language? Running away...angst...?

Word Count: 2896

Notes: Thank you for this request! As soon as I got it, I started brainstorming. Gambit is like my closet love, idk why. Like, I’m not ashamed of him. I adore him. I just don’t talk about it much...Lol...Anyway, Of course it’s not a problem darling! So sorry this took so long to get back to you! I really hope this lives up to your expectations.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, no please don’t…” you moaned in your sleep, clearly distressed. Remy was alerted to your tossing and turning, and now your verbal fight against the thing in your nightmare.

“Mon Cherie?” Remy asked, sitting up, attempting to wake you, but he just gripped your sweat soaked body, his attempt to wake you futile.

“Let me go. Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed repeatedly. Images of men grabbing you, taking you away to hurt you, to experiment on you…

“Darlin’. It’s me, Remy, wake up,” he urged again, trying to jostle you. Finally, you jolted upright, but not thanks to your boyfriend. The nightmare had reached its peak and you woke up screaming, clenching the sheets, your heart hammering in your chest as the world around you enveloped in black, your panic attack releasing your power. Your pulse was racing, your head spinning. The nightmare had terrified you, it felt so real, you could feel pain and fear. The more you recalled the dream, the stronger your powers became, the air around you growing blacker and blacker.

On the outside of your cloud, sat Remy, trying to find you. Your cloud was darkening your bedroom that was saturated with moonlight only moments ago, but now...now your bedroom was as black as squid ink.

“Y/N, sweetheart?” he tried to get out as his arms flailed around wildly, trying to find you, but his senses were cut off. The darkness behaving like smoke, making it difficult for him to breathe or find his bearings. He reached where you should’ve been, but he felt a wall.

“Must be the headboard,” he thought to himself as his hands tried to find their way in the dark, but with every passing second, his oxygen was depleting. “Y/N, please! Where are you?!” he rasped out, terrified you were scared, or hurt somehow.

But you couldn’t hear him, the darkness was closing in all around you, shielding you from any outside danger, but not being able to see, hear, or feel Remy made you panic further. Your alarm revitalized the adrenaline and the vicious cycle continued, worried that you were hurting Remy, your powers doubled, making the air outside thicker and unable to breathed in.

Remy clawed at the darkness, the smoke-like substance that you could always create (but had very little control over) trying to get it away from him, away from his lungs...but it was futile. Your powers were erratic and strong as your hysteria continued, too much for him to conquer. A few more moments of the strangling concoction and he was forced to succumb to its power.

After a few more minutes of you finally trying to calm yourself down and succeeding a bit, the blackness receded, the moonlight’s silvery haze illuminating your shared master bedroom. You turned to tell Remy that you were okay now, but as you turned, you saw his form lying beside you, motionless.

“Remy?” you asked quietly, hoping he was just sleeping, that your assessment was wrong. “Rem?” you tried again, shaking him. “Remy?!” you called with more fright than before, shaking him harder. The worst thoughts started to circulate in your head. Had you killed him?

You grabbed your compact mirror from your nightstand and held it to his nose, relieved beyond any measure when it fogged up. “Oh thank god,” you breathed. Now that you knew he was just passed out, you tried slapping his face some more, to get him to wake up...to no avail.

All too soon, your relief was shattered and replaced with guilt.

You’d done this.

This was your fault.

He more than likely had passed out due to smoke inhalation, and had you not calmed yourself in time, you could’ve killed him. Your powers usually had a mind of their own, sure, but...you’d never hurt Remy. Strangers that scared you, sure. Brutes in the dark alleys of New Orleans, yes. But never your loving, devoted boyfriend Remy. He always knew your powers weren’t exactly stable and he stood beside you for a long time. The two of you had been through a lot in just a little over a year and now...your mind could hurt him. Just because you didn’t know you were hurting him didn’t make it okay. It didn’t excuse the fact that you’d hurt him, the last person on earth you’d ever want to hurt...and tonight you nearly killed him.

Now you knew what you had to do. For Remy’s sake, you needed to leave. You couldn’t chance these damned powers of yours coming to life when they felt like it, just to strangle the life out of the person you loved most. Hurting like hell, your chest constricting at the very thought of leaving the love of your life, you knew this was for the best. He didn’t deserve this. Deserve to be with someone who could hurt him without even realizing it...He deserved a good woman. Tears pricked at your eyes but you swallowed them down and set to work.

Swiftly, you jumped up, grabbed your suitcases, threw essentials and a few outfits in the bag. When you were ready to go, you stared at Remy, beautiful Remy. The most charming, sweet, protective man you’d ever met. Granting yourself one final kiss, you leaned down slowly, touched your lips to his, the sensation sending a surge of heartbreak through you, causing hot tears to break through finally, unable to bear the thought of leaving him, and it being nearly physically impossible for you to move your legs to get away from him.

With a rock in your throat, a knot in your stomach and chest, and hot tears streaking rapidly down your face, you tossed your things in the car and started to drive. Calling 911 to tell them about Remy and that he’d had smoke inhalation on your way from your shared home. It would be hard to believe when they got there because there was nothing on fire, nothing charred...but they’d have to believe you. They just had to.

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

Minutes turned into hours and you seemed to be driving for who knows how long. All you knew was the sun had broken over the horizon and you needed something to keep you going so you pulled over at a diner and got coffee, orange juice, and a small bit of food. Before you just burned through gas and continued to travel the country in your pajamas, you needed a game plan. Where were you going to go? Where could you go? You could just throw a dart on a map...that seemed viable at this point. But you weren’t that type of person, you liked roots, a home. If you were going to spend a lifetime somewhere, it needed to be somewhere nice, homey, inviting. Someplace you looked forward to having a future at...even if it would be a lonely one...a future without Remy.

Fresh tears welled in your eyes before you wiped them away. The waitress refilled your coffee for the third time as you contemplated a place to go.

You considered calling your mom, Mystique, to see where she was, what she was up to. Probably doing something with Dad. Probably causing problems for the humans. Maybe you could call your Dad. He would never leave a mutant, let alone his own daughter out on the streets. But your dad would also probably try to recruit you, yet again, to join is militia and you just didn’t want that life. Not when you were so young and had so much ahead of you. Maybe if you were older, and didn’t have anything to look forward to, you’d risk it all, but not today.

That’s when it hit you. Dad. He had told you about Charles, the man who ran a school for mutants. You were certainly out of any sort of school age, but maybe he could help you nonetheless. To your knowledge, Xavier had never turned a soul away. How could he turn you away? Daughter of his oldest friends. It was worth a shot at the very least.

You paid the bill you’d racked up and set out, still in pajamas, towards New York.

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

It took a long time, but you finally got to the home for gifted youngsters. You parked in the circular driveway, jumped out, ran up to the door, and knocked, only slightly embarrassed to be in your nightwear.

A blue man with glasses opened the door.

“Hello. Can I help you?” he asked politely.

“I’m Y/N. I’m Myst--Raven and Erik’s daughter,” you informed, hoping that meant something to this man.

The man’s eyes drifted down your form, as if he was trying to figure out whether or not he believed you.

“Yes, I’ve heard of you. Are you alright? Does he need our help?” he inquired.

“Uh, it’s not them that needs your help. It’s me.”

He nodded knowingly and stepped aside to let you in.

“I’m Hank McCoy. I’m one of the teachers here,” he greeted as he held out his hand. Which you took. “You look a little old to be here for classes. Do you know Charles?”

“I know of him, through my father. I know I’m not exactly the right age to be enrolling in classes but...I’m having trouble with my powers...I was wondering if you all could help. I don’t really have anywhere else to turn and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Hank nodded. “Of course. Come with me.”

You followed the big, furry, blue man through the huge mansion, to a study, where a man in a wheelchair sat. That must be the man Dad spoke so highly of.

“Charles,” Hank’s rough voice called.

The man whipped his head up. “And who do we have here?” he asked.

“This is Erik and Raven’s daughter,” Hank introduced. “Y/N.”

“Ah...Y/N. Your father has told me wonderful things about you. I hear you got a peculiar power, mmm?”

You nodded. “That’s actually why I’m here, sir. I...I need help controlling them.”

Charles nodded slowly, his eyebrows slowly rising as he dismissed Hank.

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

The two of you talked for a couple of hours. Charles wanted to know all about your upbringing, when your powers first started, if they ever changed over the years, everything there was to know about them. Finally, you were brought all the way up to last night, explaining how you had never hurt him, but then they were uncontrollable. He mentioned that he had met Remy a couple of times and even helped him with his powers.

Charles was patient and kind, everything your dad had ever boasted about. He offered you a room, a hot meal, and a good night’s sleep. You gathered your things from the car, changed into different sleepwear, and got into bed after a shower. As soon as your head hit the pillow, your tears flowed. All of your energy and attention had been diverted to get here, to get to a safe place. Now that you were here, and alone without Remy, it hurt you like never before. He’d probably never want to see you, not after what you’d done to him, and with that thought, you sobbed loudly into your pillow, trying to drown out the choking pain in your chest.

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

For two days you worked with Charles and the other teachers after their teaching hours. Unbeknownst to you, while you were training with Jean Grey, Charles was at cerebro, looking for new recruits, but your name was being shouted, and he was drawn to the sound. He traced the source of the sound to Remy - he was searching for you. Charles’s heart broke for the two of you. You had confided that you didn’t want to be near Remy again, too scared and worried that you’d hurt him or worse. But here, Charles was seeing the man that loved you, willing to search the ends of the earth to find you.

He was torn. He could very well reach out to Gambit and tell him. To inform him of where you were, how upset you were. But you had asked him to not tell Remy, should he ask about you.

Hank was there, about to ask if Charles had found anything, when he saw the look on his dear friend’s face.

“Charles? What is it?”

“It’s Remy Lebeau. He’s looking for Y/N,” he informed, still in thought.

Hank nodded, listening. “Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t see how I could. She’s so upset over hurting him, adding that burden to her would just impede her progress with her powers and cause unnecessary pain.”

“What about Gambit? Will you tell him where she is?” he wondered.

“What good would that do? He would show up and know that I betrayed her trust. No. She specifically asked me to not tell him. I’ll respect her wishes,” he stated as the two of them worked their way down the brightly lit corridor.

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

Only two more days later, you were wrapping up your training that was going well with Storm. She was patient and kind, just like Charles. You could see why the kids loved her. Your powers were slowly starting to listen to you and now you weren’t as afraid of them, but being with Remy...seeing him again, that still wasn’t in the cards.

Cards….You sighed at the thought of your beloved’s favorite throwing object.

Grabbing your notebook, you wished Storm a good evening, and left her classroom. Headed to the kitchen to grab a snack, you passed by the huge front door, where Hank was talking to someone.

“I told you, she’s not here,” Hank insisted.

“Now, Beast, don’t lie to me,” Remy’s distinct voice and accent warned, piercing right through you. You froze in your spot. “If I know her, and I like to think I do, she’s woulda come here, now be a gentleman and point me in the right direction.”

“Remy--” Hank started but he had moved an inch to the left, exposing your form.

“Y/N?” he breathed, looking at you as if he were looking at a ghost.

You couldn’t think of anything to say, hell, you could hardly register to move.

He pushed past Hank gently to run to you, his hands finding your face as he touched all over you, as if making sure you were real, and okay.

“Remy?” you questioned, looking up at the dashing Cajun.

“Yeah, mon cher, it’s me. What on earth happened to you? You had that awful nightmare and I---I guess I musta passed out. I wake up and I’m in the hospital and you--you’re just...gone,” he said in a flurry, his hands gently gripping your upper arms. “Lawd, I missed you,” he breathed as he gripped you in a tight hug suddenly. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were goin’?”

“Remy...I...I left. I hurt you,” you managed to get out.

“Darlin’ that wasn’t your fault,” he promised, sincerity so strong in his voice it nearly killed you.

“It was my fault though. I’m the one who nearly caused you to die. It was my power that sucked the oxygen out of you…”

He soothed your hair before kissing your forehead, lingering there a moment. “Mon cherie, when are you gonna learn that ain’t nothin’ gonna keep me away from you? Not your crazy powers or your worry for me or nothin’. You got that?”

“But Remy…” you started, not sure how to continue. How to tell him that you loved him too much to be with him, to put him back in that danger.

“You’re scareda hurtin’ me, that it?” he inquired, his eyes intense on yours, so much love in them.

All you could do was meekly nod.

“Well you’re at the best place to keep you from doin’ that. The Professor and his team, they’re a wonderful group of people, they’ll help you through it, and if you’ll let me, I’ll help ya too. I love you, and I want to help you. I would rather get hurt by you with your powers than be away from you. So if that means we gotta stay at this mansion for the rest of our lives to make sure you’re comfortable then I’m okay with that.”

You pursed your lips. He shouldn’t have to give up his life for you, to be endangered by you.

“Are you--are you sure?” you asked softly. You wanted him, more than anything in the world, but you wouldn’t be so selfish as to make him stay with you.

“As sure as there will be beads at Mardi Gras,” he stated confidently with a sideways grin. “I love you, Y/N. Let me help you. Let me be with you. I promise we’ll get through this together, alright?”

You nodded, a tear escaping, signifying your worry and heartbreak.

He hugged you quickly, soothing your hair, before kissing your head. “Oh, mon amour,” he breathed in that accent you loved so dearly. “Don’t you ever leave me again. I love you too damned much.”

“I love you, too,” you admitted, hugging him tightly back, thanking your lucky stars that you had such a wonderful, perfect man to share your life with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @marvel-imagines-yes-please @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaeling

#deadly mistakes #gambit #gambit fic #gambit x reader #Remy LeBeau #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau fic

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rawcatlawnchair · 7 years

Text

Chapter 7 - Octavia

After a filling breakfast, the party set out, gear in their bags, ready to take on the world. They took the eastern road out of the city, a winding wooded path through the Walled Forest. The nearest town was a two day hike away, so their first night out of Shuxin would be spent in the wilderness. As Jirei led the party out the gates, Octavia finally got a glimpse at the country beyond the city walls. Travellers streamed in and out, guards checking their goods and belongings, men and women from all over not just the Alliance, but all over the continent.

Life in the Elven Alliance outside the cities was simple and peaceful. Ever since the Alliance Pact had been signed nearly five hundred years ago, not once had the southern nation gone to war, beyond dealing with small-time criminals and roaming bandit parties. A council made up of leaders from every region of the alliance ruled from the capital in Shurei, guiding it into a prosperous period.

Octavia, however, noticed a subtle omission. As they wandered beyond the crowds at the gates, she whispered to Jirei. “Have you noticed the lack of goblins around here?”

She nodded back. “I haven't seen one since we passed the border line.”

“Any idea why?”

“I’ve got one,” chirped Trixi. “Most goblins with any kind of ties to their homeland have headed back into the Aurum Basin. See, they're hunting for the goblin mandate.”

“Mandate?”

Trixi nodded. “The goblins declared that any man or woman who wielded the mandate would rule all goblins.” He pulled out a notebook, revealing a hastily scribbled sceptre. It was long and spiny, a large chunk of rock embedded in its tip. It looked unwieldy and awkward to use, and seemed pointless beyond a ceremonial function.

“So why didn't the old king just give it to his most worthy successor?”

“Because he had none. Half his children had effectively been exiled by the time he died, sent to rule useless pockets of land across his empire after failing their father. Instead of just handing it to some fool who would burn his empire down, his reckless, chaotic side kicked in, and he personally hid the sceptre somewhere, before taking the location to his grave.”

“A foolish move,” said Ruzuli.

“No, a risky one. Goblins are inherently chaotic and ambitious, willing to push the boundaries to achieve greatness. In his death he declared the throne open to anyone, not just his own kin, spurring a race for the sceptre. Plenty of factions have popped up, and many have crushed each other in the search of power.”

Octavia slowed down her pace, frowning. “Survival of the fittest? I wonder who will come out on top. Might even strengthen them.”

“No, it won’t,” Ruzuli shot back, pulling them into an uneasy silence, pace grinding to a halt. Octavia immediately regretted her words, recalling her knowledge of the shattered Fang Plateau. Her homeland too had been pulled into a bloody, drawn-out civil war that had spanned three generations and led to the once-united dragonflights separating for good. “They’ll tear each other apart for just a shred of power. I’ve seen what it can do to a people.” The words were almost spat out, spitefully and forcefully.

Octavia stared back at Ruzuli, not sure what to say. Did she apologise? Thankfully, Jirei saved her, speaking up and pulling them out of their stupor.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get a move on while we can.”

Jirei resumed taking the vanguard position, with Octavia near behind, and Trixi alongside Ruzuli covering the rear. As they had travelled, their stamina had slowly increased, Octavia noted. In the first week of their travels, her inexperience with hiking compounded with her injuries, leading to them having to rest frequently, and even stopping walking for the day after a mere handful of hours. Now, with some help from her own essence, she could walk for a good seven hours a day, through the morning and the afternoon with only a short break for a midday meal, without feeling too tired or worn out. Her companions had also improved, with Trixi’s complaints of exhaustion slowly decreasing and the more physically fit Ruzuli marching on strong and steady.

The group made a good pace, making it well past the halfway point to their destination by nightfall. Beside the road, a small trail led to a clearing, a perfect spot to camp overnight, with a small creek winding through it. Jirei led the way, and as they reached the mouth of the clearing, she made a sudden gasp and stopped. Octavia looked around and saw naught but her teammates, all with awestruck faces. That was when Trixi pointed a finger upwards, and so up she looked.

What filled her vision was not darkness and a moonless night sky, but rather countless fireflies, dancing and flittering about, illuminating the clearing. They moved effortlessly, rising one moment and falling the next, like miniature shooting stars that never had the patience to stay in place. Her mouth fell open but no words could come out, struck by the natural beauty of the woods.

For a minute, they stood and watched, enraptured by the grand display before them. Eventually, Octavia broke the trance they were all in, loudly thumping her bedroll on the ground. The rest quickly followed suit, setting up a fire, as well as their bedrolls. Trixi jutted a small block of earth upwards, giving him a stool to sit on as he kept watch over them. Octavia remained unconvinced of his combat prowess, but would have to trust that he could keep them safe overnight.

Lowering herself down onto the makeshift bed, Octavia yawned, tired from a long day of traveling. Almost instinctively, her eyelids began to shut, and she would not fight herself to stay awake. She would need rest to continue fighting the next day. Soon, a dreamless slumber would find her.

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

The next day, progress went well. They continued a good pace, watching the unending sea of trees pass them by. From her position in the back, Octavia noticed some changes. She noticed Jirei's newfound jitters, turning behind every so often, before hurriedly turning back forward. Since they had gotten back onto the road, not a single word had been uttered by the elf.

Trixi, on the other hand, had not stopped talking since they set off. He spoke so quick that she struggled to catch every word that flew from his mouth, excitedly yammering about the ruins they would be visiting soon. Ruzuli was unfortunately trapped into a conversation with him, as they had discovered she was the only one who could tolerate his lengthy rambles.

As the gnome finally paused to take a breath, Ruzuli pinched her nose and responded. “So these ruins are within Elven territory, but the elves didn't make them?”

Trixi nodded, motioning with his hands, painting a picture in the air. “They’re goblin ruins, from the era of the Silverwing Wars.”

“This far west?”

“The goblin empire once spanned a third of the continent, you know.” Trixi flipped his notebook to show an image of a forge. “When they discovered how to make steel, they smashed apart other civilisations who had merely began to dabble in copper and bronze. They conquered as far north as the Valley of Gears, and as far west as current Shurei.”

“Then the Silverwing Wars started, am I right?” In the distance, they saw a tall wooden tower, two or three storeys high, a telltale sign of civilization.

“The bloodiest conflict in written history, and indirectly led to the downfall of both the dragons and the goblin empire.” Trixi grimly nodded as he slid his notebook back into his pack, pulling out a map in its place. “And this town is...”

“Kaijian.” Jirei spoke for the first time that morning, slowing down to keep pace with their navigator. “Kai is the Elven word for small town, with Shu being the word for city. You'll see most places have either word in their names.” Trixi rubbed his chin, absorbing this newfound information.

After another half hour of walking, they finally reached the village gates. Unlike the guards of Shuxin, no one came up to meet them at the entrance, just a pair of simple bamboo gates and it's accompanying bamboo fence. Jirei rapped her knuckles against it, making a sharp sound. After a few moments, a villager ran up to open the gates, an elf dressed in light cloth armour.

“Hello! Travellers from Shuxin?”

Jirei bowed and replied, “Yes, headed for Shuyong.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Why are the gates barred? And since when was there this fence here?”

The villager sighed and waved them over, allowing them passage into the town. As they walked, he spoke. “Security reasons, ever since those damned goblins began roaming into the countryside. We made them as a last resort to keep them from raiding villages. Thankfully, they haven't been so brazen yet, but-” He stopped to cough, before pointing at a dilapidated caravan, with arrows sticking out of it and a charred wheel. “It’s only a matter of time before they strike at us. Now if you'll excuse me, the paperworks need my help.”

As he walked away, Jirei could only sigh. “I remember when these lands used to be safe,” she said as she gestured around her. “When the biggest worry was a bad harvest or a wild bear breaking into the town silo.” Near them, a large yard full of fibrous sheets sat in the sun, a crucial part of papermaking. A small river ran through the town, powering a water wheel, usually used to mill various plants such as sugar or beets. The town was quiet, with its people hard at work, but their presence had already earned suspicious stares from the locals. They whispered to each other, pointing fingers and gossiping. The goblin threat had gone a number on the people, not just physically, but mentally too. Here in the rural areas the paranoia was palpable, and Octavia could feel it in every villager looking at her, wondering if she was the newest threat to their livelihood.

Octavia slid next to Jirei and whispered, “I don't think they quite like us.” The dirty stares were a new experience for her, as humans were a common sight no matter where they went, and rarely felt out of place. Trixi seemed to agree with her, looking around nervously, not even bothering to take down any notes. He managed to get a few words out, saying, “I think we should get out of this place.”

Octavia was inclined to agree. They quickly moved through the small town, heading to the trading post to grab more supplies. The owner offered them to stay the night in the local tavern, but Octavia hastily declined. After quickly packing their bags, they set off, not stopping for more than a minute that they had to. As they pushed open the gates on the opposite side of town, she could feel a hundred pairs of eyes staring into the back of her skull, watching her leave. She did not dare to turn back.

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Summer was the season of hot afternoons and sweltering nights, the season of bright yellow flowers and energy, the season of the spirit of adventure. Many a poem had been written, speaking of the beauty and passion of the season, inspiring the people of the land.

Right now, summer was none of those things, with a sudden evening shower drenching the party, soaking them through their clothes. Stray sunbeams from the setting sun shone through the stormclouds above, giving Octavia a strand of false hope, tempting her with a glimpse of what could have been. Ahead of her, her teammates were faring no better, with Trixi hastily attempting to stuff his map back into his bag, sheltering their one means of navigation from the pouring rain.

Finally, they found a shady tree to hide beneath, safe from the rain. Over the relentless downpour, their voices were drowned out by the wailing of the sky. Octavia could barely hear herself think, let alone hear her companions speak. She saw the mouths move but could not make out the syllables. Eventually, she caught some stray words from Trixi’s shouting, like ‘ruin’, ‘shelter’ and ‘run’. The rest seemed to have caught the gist of his message, and buckled down for a march in the rain. Evidently they would be staying there tonight.

Serving as the rear guard once more, she took the time to reflect as they settled into a steady pace. Over the two weeks, they had grown closer as a team, yes, but Octavia still felt distant. Like an outsider. Like something that didn’t quite belong, a thorn in their side. They weren’t four adventurers, traversing the Elven countryside. They were three and she was one, they just happened to be headed in the same direction. And she didn’t know what to quite think of that.

In the White Tower, being alone was the norm. Monks and priests alike were encouraged to reflect inwards rather than outwards, relying on self and self alone. Meditation. Prayers. A thousand ways to disconnect from the outside world, to create a monolith in living form, a physical dedication to the greater good. Duty wasn't just another word, to them it represented their destiny. And before fulfilling their destiny, they first had to cut ties to everyone and everything. They came to this world with nothing, and would leave behind nothing but a legacy when they left.

That part of the philosophy had always troubled Octavia. ‘Wouldn’t we fight harder and stronger if we had something or someone to fight for?’ She had asked that many a times to her teachers, but her words had only earned scoldings for not understanding their purpose in the world. Eventually she conceded. She would stand alone, fight alone, and one day die alone, hopefully performing enough heroics to make it into a book or two.

Except she had never stopped hoping. She still yearned to have a team behind her, that sorely missed human connection. Someone to share her joys and pains with, to have her back when it was just them against the world. That could be Trixi and his boundless desire for knowledge, could be Ruzuli and her dauntless heart, could be Jirei and her worldly wisdom. She wanted this badly, maybe even more than anyone had ever wanted anything. It mattered not to her. No one could always have what they wanted.

Up ahead, a sharp yelp pricked her ears, and she snapped out of her internal monologue, ready to spring into action. In the vanguard, both Trixi and Ruzuli’s natural superior vision in the dark had served useful, and they had evidently spotted the ruins they were to reside in tonight, even amidst the low visibility of rainfall.

The ruins were in pristine condition, well, as pristine as ruins got. It looked like no one had lived here for the better part of a millennium, and nature itself had taken back part of the settlement, with trees growing through buildings and creepers slithering up the walls like snakes ascending to the sky. She struggled to see anything beyond a metre or two, but still she managed to follow her leaders into a collapsed building, getting some well earned reprieve from the rain. Almost immediately, the sound of rain became muted, muffled percussive hits on the brick roof above her. She ran a hand through her hair, squeezing whatever out whatever water she could. It flowed out onto her already-soaked clothes, not bothering her in the slightest. Around her, the rest did the same, recovering from the rain and preparing to make camp. Ruzuli had laid out some firewood and tried shooting sparks into it, but to no avail. The damp wood refused to light, and she cursed at the inanimate object in her native tongue. It must have been something particularly graphic, for Trixi’s eyebrows raised as far as they could go, being the only other one who was remotely familiar with her language. Octavia decided she would help with the light, lightly holding her fingers together and closing her eyes.

Slowly, a dirty light emanated from her body, not seeming to begin or end at any one point. She let the light warm herself first, ignoring the awestruck looks of the others. And then she thrust her hands upwards, firing the essence orb into the air. But unlike the others she had fired in the past, this one was not destructive, but rather constructive. The orb reached the ceiling, staying there, now shining a soft, but still dirty light around the room. Octavia looked upwards, rather proud of her handiwork. A surprising amount of finesse had been required to make that little trick possible, the products of weeks upon weeks of practice. It lacked the warmth of a fireplace, but the light would be sufficient for them.

“It’s no swarm of fireflies, but it’ll do.” Ruzuli gave her a wry smile. “We should get some rest, the rain did a good number on us.” “First watch?”

“I’ll take it.” Thankfully, the dragonling seemed to still be full of energy. She watched as Ruzuli pulled out a dried piece of pork and heated it above her hand. In a corner, Trixi was already asleep, weary from the long hike, slumped against a cracked pillar. Jirei was still up, having stripped down to the cloth clothes she wore underneath her now-soaked robe, dark green above and brown below. Just like a tree, Octavia mused to herself. Already feeling the lethargy hit her, she let out a loud yawn and lay down, laying beneath her essence orb, listening to the sound of falling rain and a dragonling loudly devouring her meal. It was soothing, calming, a rarity out on the road. She let her eyelids shut slowly, drifting into the abyss of her own mind.

Her rest was rudely interrupted by a huge shockwave.

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Her eyes flashed open and she looked around. She felt another wave, and another, shaking her to her core. No physical damage, no one around her even seemed to notice. Immediately, she shut her eyes once more, not to rest, but to focus. She shook off the annoying need to sleep and tried to pinpoint the source of the shockwave. Reckless essence usage, she thought, someone’s trying to find something, and I hope it’s not us. She felt two strong sources, stationary, pulsing their essence all over the place with reckless abandon. It has to be the Order of Lua’s agents. No self-respecting essence mage joined their ranks, with their brutish measures and reckless use of essence, not to mention the cult-like . She could feel one of them coming from a mile away on a good day, but perhaps she had been so absorbed in her own thoughts that she had missed their telltale signals.

Nevertheless, they had maybe minutes before they were descended upon by them. She already sensed the two sources moving towards them, and at a pace that exceeded any living being, likely on horseback. The essence orb she had made had consumed a fair amount of her own essence, and would raise suspicions, no matter how incompetent the essence mages were. She hastily informed Ruzuli, much to her surprise. But within a moment they got back to the plan. They had always known the day might come where they would be pursued. Granted, their party was not the most subtle, with the large height disparity between the elf and the gnome, not to mention Ruzuli’s eye-catching blue skin. Hence, the plan was to run like hell with their faces covered up. In the dark, their pursuers would hopefully be unable to identify them properly. She swiftly woke up both their sleeping teammates, Trixi still moving groggily, while Jirei didn’t hesitate in gearing up, throwing her robe on in a matter of seconds. When she heard that someone was coming for them, she somehow remained unfazed, merely steeling herself for whatever came for them, her face not displaying a single ounce of hesitation or surprise, as if she had expected it. From Ruzuli’s pack each of them grabbed a black cloth, wrapping it around their faces, obscuring their mouths. Octavia reached up above and swiftly pulled her hand downwards, pulling the orb back into her and plunging them back into darkness. From there, they split up, Ruzuli with Jirei and Trixi with Octavia, each pair having at least one with natural night vision. Whoever was chasing them would have to take them out separately.

Trixi and Octavia had hunkered down behind a cracked wall next to the main road of the ruins, while across the road Ruzuli and Jirei hid on a roof that was barely structurally sound. Octavia crouched and waited. In the darkness, the ones who struck first won, and she had no intention of giving up that tactical advantage.

In the distance, the thundering of hooves swept into the ruins, bouncing off every broken wall and splintered ceiling. The rain was forgotten as she zeroed in on the faint silhouettes approaching the ruins. The time for running was over. Now was the time to fight.

Next Chapter ｜Start from the beginning

Authors note: As of this chapter being published, the intro, as well as Chapters 1, 5 and 6 received updates. Story details may have changed, and hence rereading them is recommended.

#authors on tumblr #original story #my story #original content #the compass of faith #chapter 7

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versatilepoetry · 5 years

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Sadly Punctured

As I alighted my scooter in the morning; it felt as soft as the fluffy feather of the flamingo; speeded at lightening speeds towards the Sun; with a mere caress to the accelerator, While at present the same felt like a thousand bags inundated with sharp stones; simply refraining to budge a single inch from its original position; however onerously I tried to push it. As I alighted my scooter in the morning; it felt like the gentle stream of placid water; mesmerizing all scattered in vicinity with its stupendous charisma and flamboyant grace, While at present the same thrusted me violently on thefloor; slithered like an untamed freezing lizard; crying incessantly to move a centimeter forward. As I alighted my scooter in the morning; it voluptuously kissed me as I sat down on the seat; whizzed me past the enamoring sights of the city like a molten volcano fulminating from the trajectory of moist earth, While at present the same emanated a horrendously charred stench of burnt rubber; choked; coughed and stuttered infinite number of times as I switched on the ignition. As I alighted my scooter in the morning; it felt like the satiny cocoon of clouds having just descended from the sky; pacifying my insurmountably frazzled senses; with the rhythmic music of its synchronized stirring, While at present the same seemed as cumbersome to handle as the incredulously slippery granules of desert sand; with the exhaust pipe barking hostile plumes of black smoke directly into my eyes. As I alighted my scooter in the morning; it felt like an exhilarating aircraft whirring up; ready to transport me across distant corners of the Globe within flash seconds of time, While at present the same crawled slower than the fattest tortoise; nudging just a single inch; in a single hour. As I alighted my scooter in the morning; it felt like a pen embossing words at electric velocities; conquering every territory; flooding every sheet with a billion lines of enchanting poetry, While at present the same seemed to be perspiring like the mammoth bull; digging its curled horns incorrigibly into the stony ground. As I alighted my scooter in the morning; it felt like the vivacious rainbow in the sky; with its scintillating jugglery of mirror explicitly portraying my handsome reflection, While at present the same seemed to be like the hoarsely begging eunuch; with its voice stuck stronger than the most tenacious of glue; petrifying my blissful ears with its prominently discordant tunes. As I alighted my scooter in the morning; it felt like a cleanly floating whistle; permeating the gloomy ambience with its astoundingly fast pulse and robust pace, While at present it tripped embarrassingly on the ground to taste dust even before I sat; thunderously yawning every second like a lame soldier; when infact I wanted to reach the hospital to meet my wife in an absolute jiffy, And as I alighted my scooter in the morning; it felt like the bouncing kangaroo brimming with poignant euphoria and rubicund strength; able to appease the most minuscule of my demand; transporting me with supreme comfort and nonchalant ease to the destination of my choice; the very place I wanted to be, While at present it lay pathetically morose; trembling like a deserted orphan on the street; as its twin tyre tubes which were once bulging with astronomical amounts of fresh air; had now been brutally assaulted by a battalion of savage nails; Lay barbarically ripped apart; utterly deflated and sadly punctured.

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thenullstreet-blog · 7 years

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Ahead of the stream lay a narrow stony path which had steps which went downwards. The sides were replete with bushes and flowers of all kinds. At the end of the stony trail came a bridge whose floor was made of rusted tin sheets. Finally , up we went , wore our shoes and took leave of the caves. This time, we took an AC shuttle bus back to the shuttle bus bridge. As we walked again through the festooned stalls , shops and parasoled little bazaar , the prices of the very things we had bought on our way in had plummeted mysteriously , even as low as rupees ten ( around seven times cheaper , at the same shops) .

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Within minutes , we were headed to the Ellora caves. Nimbus clouds gathered from all sides over our heads like pieces of charred cinder and began a downpour. The falling rain drops crawled upwards on the windshield ( on account of the acceleration of the car and slope of windshield and low coefficient of friction) and left snail-trails in their wake , until wiped away by the wiper. All of us had become sleepy by now and our eyelids began to droop. I pulled my feet up on the upholstered seat and one by one all of us fell into the arms of Morpheus , the least white one being the last , and the wisest being the second last.

It was another hundred kilometres till Ellora and took us a little less than two hours. Once outside Ellora , we straightaway made a beeline for the …. Bhutta stalls ( grilled corn seasoned with lemon , the acidic fluid inside it , that is to say, and topped with black salt.) We loooovvve to bargain !

There were monkeys and baboons all around waiting for careless decoys. They stared at us which led us to rethink our route to the entrance. A packet of jamun ( blackberries) was purchased followed by another packet of the same. After having offered the used up corn carcass to the monkeys , we made our way to the ticket counter , preceded by a group of lassies the same age as ours , a sight which got the hopes high for a majority of our group.

Now we were confronted by the same dilemma as Robert Frost was once. Two roads , and we took the right one which said ‘ caves no. 1-15’. Unfortunately , the lasses took the road not taken and once again we had been bamboozled , majority of us.

Cave no. 1 – while we sucked on the berries , Theslut shot off to the top of the steps ( no less than fifty of them) , within seconds .

Beyond the steps , a cave system was cut out of a gargantuan piece of rock and stood on a huge rock itself. There were three cave chambers , two of them facing each other and a third one aside. The largest one was double storeyed. The lower storey was just pillars all around . The top storey housed idols from Hindu mythology carved out along the periphery of the large chamber . There was a mesh of pillars throughout the chamber like the ground floor . At the centre of the chamber sat a life sized statue of Nandi – the bull , who serves as the chauffeur ( by carrying on the back) to Shiva , the great hermit , the world renouncing form of god who serves as the destroyer.

The walls of the chamber were lined with broken and grotesque life sized idols – Shiva performing Tandava , the cataclysmic prance , which heralds apocalypse much the same as the horn of Israpheel ( Raphael ) in Abrahamic mythology. Quite a large number of them were damaged and broken . Ganesh missing both tusks instead of just missing one , gods with hands hacked off , and Lakshmi with breasts hacked off. Clearly , the caves had been vandalized by invaders.

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Further we moved and found caves with similar idols but different designs. One of striking ones was a mammoth cave with three storeys . One by one we explored all three and sat one the balcony of the top one. Staircases led us between storeys.

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Between all of this , we witnessed a bizarre spectacle. Two old ladies clad on white garments walked across the open balcony . One of them was a hunchback , and their attire gave them the air of ‘Valak’ from the movie Conjuring 2. This slightly freaked us out. The ladies walked before Bro and Antiblack , sitting on the balcony and they didn’t seem to notice them .

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We followed the ladies and found them climbing the stone staircase without uttering a syllable . At last we found them paying obeisance on a cuboidal block of rock , perhaps a revered sepulchre ( but how??).

The top floor had a corridor at the far end of which was the idol of Lord Buddha. Along the floor of the corridor ran a long and narrow and wavy shallow conduit .

Further we went and came across cave 15 . this one didn’t have many idols but had a spring falling down the roof into the greenery below. We ate the last of the berries ( I blew a seed and kicked it right into the face of the slut , accuracy) and proceeded back to cave 16 which was before cave 1. On the way back we encountered the lasses perched on cave 1.

Cave 16 was the best among all the caves. It was large , spacious and unlike the others , it was open air. At the centre stood a tower. There was a giant block of rock at the centre carved out of which were two chambers one over the other. Along the side walls there were a plethora of idols incomprehensible to us . Along the sides of the massive block were battered idols of animals – trunkless elephants and tuskless boars . One one side there was a carved out ancient style storyboard depicting the epic Ramayana war at Lanka between the monkey-bear army of King Rama and the awe inspiring forces of the demon King Ravana.

Under pain of missing out on our itinerary which included two more places , we hurried out of the caves , leaving caves 17 – 30 , assuming they were just the same a caves 1-15 and not much interesting on account of the token numbers turning out from that side.

We set off again amid a drizzle which rose and ebbed with musical cadence. A fort was to conquer , a bat-cave encounter awaited. more next time.

Into Elloran Enchantments Ahead of the stream lay a narrow stony path which had steps which went downwards. The sides were replete with bushes and flowers of all kinds.

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