#and have the freedom to do the things i want to do unhindered and without that weight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starberrywander · 1 year

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I wish I had the programming skills or technical know-how to make a website or open source program for creative works. Like, I would love to make something that allows creators to publish their work and get support without all the capitalist bs. Book authors could publish completely free. They could choose to publish at whatever price they want, or for free. No minimum requirements by the site. They could connect with freelance editors, cover artists, beta readers etc. to help with their book. If readers really liked the author and wanted to support them, there would be a way for them to donate directly to the author. Again, no website fee. Plus, there would be no higher ups to punish authors for their books being pirated (a practice whose existence caused the spite that fuels this post) and any earnings would go directly to the author. Like if the author charged $20 + tax for their book, they would get $20 for every book they sell. Simple as. Filmmakers would be in a similar situation; their works could be published completely free and they decide the prices charged. Screenwriters could use the platform to connect with actors, editors, animators, etc. to build a team and produce their project. Viewers could support projects with donations directly to the creative team or even just individual members of the team to show appreciation for their work. And again, like with the book authors, all earnings by a project would go directly to the creators. There would be no higher ups to take a portion of the profits, 100% of it would go to the creators. The website would be sustained mostly by ads, probably. Maybe there could also be a place to donate directly to the site to keep it running. If I started it myself, I would probably buy my own servers and power them with solar panels or something to decrease costs. Idk, my knowledge of servers and how the internet works is limited, but hopefully it would be like a non-profit indie Netflix that also had books and artwork. The creators on the platform could direct the development of the platform with suggestions of what would help them with their work. Viewers could direct development by suggesting ways that the platform could be more user friendly. The whole thing would be directed by users and creators wouldn't have to go through the bs of publishing companies and studios. It could be kinda like a crowdfunding thing, where if creators needed funding they could share a little teaser about their work and people who wanted to see it come to fruition could donate to the project. People would be able to tell the stories they want without it being watered down for fear that it wouldn't make as much money if it was too controversial (y'know, like how a lot of big companies are hesitant to represent lgbt characters and stories out of fear of decreased profits and "alienating an audience"). Like, my coding knowledge is extremely limited and I can't do anything without tutorials. I have no idea how I would build a website like this or work out the cybersecurity details but damn, I really want to. I want to see creators unrestricted by the regulations of publishing businesses. I want to see the creators and stories that would otherwise get rejected by the big companies. I want to see creativity thrive, unhindered by the pressures of capitalism. And I know what I've proposed isn't exactly "free of capitalism" but at least it would be a step toward true creative freedom. It would give opportunities for so many creators to get their work out into the world when they otherwise wouldn't have been able to. Anyway, this is one of my many dreams. I dunno if I'll ever make it a reality, but I wanted to share it so maybe it can inspire someone else who has more knowledge in this area to want to try something similar.

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kayodekolade · 3 months

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Obey The Laws of wealth

Dear High Performer,

Whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.

‘What’s your fondest memory about the holidays growing up?’

Rahila asked the other day.

‘How short they were.’

As a kid one thing that always struck me about the Christmas and New Year holidays was how short they were.

It’s like you’re living your life for these three days in the year and then poof, just like that,

They’re over before you can even say the words ‘happy’ or ‘merry.’

I bet you can relate too.

It just feels so unfair.

These three days that you dream about because…

They are going to be three days you finally get to be free.

Free from the obligations of schoolwork.

Free to sleep in and stay up late to watch as much TV or play as much video games as you like.

Free to eat anything and everything.

Free to laze around and have no care in the world.

Freedom, oh how sweet the sound.

Freedom, isn’t that what we all want?

To be free.

To be unencumbered.

To be unhindered.

Freedom to know what we want with clarity,

To pursue it with certainty,

And to achieve it confidently.

Maturity is realizing that for this to happen, we need to understand the concept of freedom.

Freedom is not a life without laws.

Freedom is not to escape.

What many people define as freedom is escape.

Maturity is realizing that the more you try to escape, the more you get trapped and entangled.

Laws are good for us.

Law brings order.

We can’t escape or run away from laws.

There’s no country you get to that doesn’t have laws and rules in place as the standard of behavior.

This simply tells us that freedom is the willing submission to laws – the right kind.

The kind of laws that empower us to have dominion on the earth.

There are two kinds of laws at work in the world –

Laws that make people slaves to things.

And the laws that make people have dominion over things.

At the end of the day, we all must make a choice.

And if you refuse to choose, the choice is automatically made for you.

There is no middle ground.

It is either we consciously submit to the laws that lead to freedom,

Or we unconsciously submit to the laws that turn us into slaves.

There are laws we must obey to enjoy greater wealth and abundance in our lives, and they are:

Law of Diligence

Law of Difference

Law of Day one

Law of Daily

Law of Delay

Law of Diligence

The diligent find freedom in their work*.

Diligence and hard work are two different things.

While one is concerned with aptitude, the other is about attitude.

One is focused on the what; the other is about the why.

One is external –based, the other is internal-focused.

One is about eye-service, the other is about heart-service.

One is focused on being a man-pleaser, the other is focused on being a servant of Christ.

There are many hardworking people who aren’t free.

Best case, they endure what they do, but most times they look for every opportune moment like the holidays to escape.

Contrast this to the diligent who enjoy their work.

They enjoy their work because they’ve made the decision to bring joy and passion to what they do.

Characteristics of diligent people:

Diligence is speedy attention to a given task.

The diligent see things others do not notice.

They hear things in a conversation that others overlook.

Some problems are more noticeable to you than others,

Take note of them.

They are a clue to the solutions you carry inside you.

Diligence is the ability to anticipate what is needed before a request is made.

Diligent people are creative and discover new ways to solve problems.

They review and constantly evaluate the results of their efforts.

They are open to correction and receive with gratitude rather than resentment.

Diligent people keep their word. They keep the promises they make to themselves and to others.

Diligence is the key to excellence and makes you the topic of conversation among others.

To rule in your finances, you are either going to have to bring diligence to what you do,

Or find the work you can truly be diligent in.

Law of Difference

Develop confidence in your difference.

You don’t have to follow the worn path established by others;

You can create your own.

The premier league for example decided they wouldn’t follow the regular calendar, so they created theirs.

So, while the rest of the world is saying, ‘it’s New Year’s Day, let’s stay at home and just cuddle up in bed… ‘

The premier league guys can’t relate because January 1st is match day as far as they are concerned.

Now, is there anything wrong with staying home and cuddling up in bed on New Year’s Day?

No.

You know the motives for the things you do.

Why do you do what you do?

And why do you do it that way?

Is it because that’s the way it has always been done?

You can choose to be different and to do things differently.

‘Clean living and justice with our neighbors mean far to God than religious performance**,’ is the way wise Solomon put it.

Jesus made his mark on the world because he did not do religion.

He did not try to fit in.

You will hear him make statements like;

‘You’ve heard it said…

But now I say to you…

This year don’t go with the crowd.

Don’t just follow popular opinion.

Chart your own path.

Dare to do things differently from the way you are used to doing them

Or the way they’ve always been done.

You can dare to be different.

You can dare to be the one who sets a new standard.

Law of Day One

One day or Day One? You decide.

I actually learnt this law from my mentor, Steve Harris, before I heard The Rock talk about it.

Some years ago, he shared his story of how he strategically positioned himself to make money on the 1st day of the year,

While other coaches and consultants were waiting for the year to begin in earnest.

This made a huge impression on me.

The law of day one is a lesson he also learnt this from his mentor, popular comedian, Ali Baba.

While other people are busy re-calibrating, resting, or perhaps over-indulging,

They are already getting their work done and smiling to the bank.

Another company that inspired this law so much in me is the company, WWE.

Those guys are just amazing.

Their slogan says it all – Then, Now, Forever.

In 2022, or was it in 2021, they introduced a brand-new show, called, Day One.

The promo video had all the superstars holding one finger in the air with their game faces on.

I loved it.

It’s about the willingness to do what every other person is unwilling to do.

So, while every other person is at home, these wrestlers are working…

And the people who aren’t working will gather in front of their TV sets to watch these guys do their thing.

That’s exactly what these laws of freedom do in the life of a person.

They make the people who are willing to obey them a showpiece to the people who are not willing to follow them.

So, in your finances, or in any area of your life, to make your mark, the question you need to ask is;

One day or Day one?

Are you going to wait till 2nd or 3rd week of January when most business activities have resumed or…

Are you going to get going today?

Today is day one of the rest of your life.

A year from now…

Specifically, by December 31st, 2024, you are going to wish you started today.

How many more ‘new years’ are going to wait to see before you demand a change in your life?

Whatever you said you were going to do…

Start today.

Delay will only lead to decay.

Law of Daily

Success is not a day’s job, it’s a daily job.

Another way to say that is, the secret of your success is hidden in your daily routine.

Still yet another way to say that is, your daily practice is your strongest practice.

No matter how cliché you think any of those statements are,

It doesn’t change the truth.

Your success this year is highly dependent on creating a lifestyle that supports the achievement of the goal(s) you want to achieve.

You don’t become successful one day when all your dreams come to pass.

Success is a way of life.

A successful life is made up of successful days.

So how do you know you are going to achieve your financial goal for the year?

How are you using your days?

How are you using the hours in each day?

The difference between the rich and others is rich people do daily what poor people do occasionally.

This applies to finances, health, career, business, relationships – any goal you want to achieve this year.

Another name for the law of daily is the law of routine.

The law of pattern.

The law of rhythm.

To enjoy your life and walk in the freedom you desire this year,

What is the routine, rhythm, or pattern you are going to build to achieve your goal?

Law of Delay

The pursuit of pleasure is never satisfied***.

There are two kinds of delay.

The bad kind and the good kind.

The good kind of delay is the one I’m talking about here...

And you know it as the willingness to delay gratification.

Several years ago I listened to Pastor Mensa Otabil preach a message titled, ‘Buy The Future.’

He talked about how Esau sold his birthright - his future - for a bowl of stew.

Scripture calls it the ‘Esau syndrome:

Trading away God’s lifelong gift in order to satisfy a short-term appetite****.’

The reason a lot of people struggle with their goals is because they find it hard to delay gratification.

This is why if our results are going to be different this year, we must buy the future.

The goals we want to achieve will cost us something.

There is a price to be paid to get the prize.

For the man Moses to become the champion God created him to be,

‘He chose to share the oppression of God’s people instead of enjoying the fleeting pleasures of sin*****.’

The truth though is that in this our very fast-paced, instant-reward culture it’s very difficult to wait for anything.

Here are three things you can do to help you:

Set shorter goal lengths.

Instead of thinking about the next 12 months,

Just focus on the next 90 days and take it one day at a time.

Refocus on the goal, not the effort it will take.

The picture of the prize must be a lot bigger in your mind than the picture of the price.

Think about the reward of achieving that goal, always.

Also think about the consequence of not achieving the goal.

Celebrate the wins.

Keep a journal.

Make reservations at a nice restaurant.

Throw yourself a little dance party.

Or call a friend on a Friday evening to share with them how you stayed consistent that week.

Celebrate and integrate your wins daily.

Don’t wait till the end of the year.

Doing these three things will help you buy your future and the freedom you desire.

YOU ARE NOT EXEMPT

Whoever sows sins reaps weeds*6.

You’ve heard the saying, whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.

The statement doesn’t only work in the negative; it works in the positive too.

Obedience is a seed that guarantees a harvest of wealth and freedom.

The wonderful news is God is no respecter of persons.

His laws don’t play favorites.

Anyone who obeys will get the rewards.

And anyone who disobeys will get the consequences.

There is no neutral position.

There are no spectator seats.

There is no bench for incompetent players.

You are either for or against.

You are either playing the game to win…

Or playing the game to… as hard it is to say – lose.

This year I see you winning in your finances and every area of your life.

Obey the law of Diligence.

The diligent find freedom in their work.

Obey the law of Difference.

Don’t follow the crowd. Chart your own course.

Obey the law of Day One.

A year from now…

By December 31st, 2024, you will wish you started today.

Obey the law of Daily.

A successful life is made up of successful days.

Obey the law of Delay.

Pleasure is fleeting and temporary.

The future is solid and eternal.

Buy the future.

Buy your future.

YOUR GREATNESS IS VERY SURE.

NOTES Proverbs 12:24 (MSG) * Proverbs 21:3 (MSG) ***Proverbs 21:17 (MSG) **** Hebrews 12:16 (MSG) ***** Hebrews 11:25 (NLT) *6 Proverbs 22:8 (MSG)

NEXT STEPS

#dearhighperformer #obeythelawsofwealth #therichlife

#dear high performer #the rich life

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greatwyrmgold · 1 year

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Beat & Motion & Dreams

So, Beat & Motion seems to be establishing a major theme, one that fits the other stuff it's been doing pretty well. Tatsuhiko gave his animation dream another shot after his band fell through, and he was rewarded with a chance to keep doing animation professionally.

And this hits a personal spot for me.

There were a lot of great anime in 2021, but Aquatope on White Sands was my personal favorite. It's about an idol whose idol dreams fell apart, was given a chance to work at a struggling aquarium, and found joy in it. It aired when I was realizing my dream of becoming a biologist had failed, and was trying to find the joy in accounting work. (Which does exist, depending on the job, but that's a topic for another post.)

My point is, B&M is taking a radically different perspective than Aquatope. Aquatope is about realizing that you don't need to follow your childhood dreams to find happiness. B&M is about rediscovering your childhood dreams, vague as they might be.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a biologist. That's it, "a biologist." I wanted to be a scientist who studies animals and stuff. I never really questioned this dream, I merely iterated on it. My plan was simple: Get a basic biology degree, find some entry-level biology work to figure out exactly what I wanted to do, get a graduate degree in that field, get a better job. I failed step 2, and that's why I'm in accounting school now.

Maybe if I'd picked a field, stuck through several more years of school, and gotten a PhD or something, I could have been a biologist. Maybe that would have worked. But maybe not, and I don't think I would have done it without foreknowledge. I thought I had a dream, but I kinda didn't.

That's the thing about dreams. They're not bound to reality.

The freedom of dreams can be a good thing, but it also makes dreams hard to act on. I couldn't become "a biologist" without a more specific, more grounded idea of what that might entail...and I never got that idea. I would have basically needed an opportunity handed to me.

Luckily for Tatsuhiko, that opportunity came in the form of Nico. On one hand, she literally provides an opportunity for Tatsuhiko to follow his dream, in the sense that she hires him to animate her music video. On the other hand, she also pushes him to pursue his dream.

Nico is dreaming unhindered, not worrying about practicality or tact or anything. Tatsuhiko wants to be an animator, so he should be an animator—and he should try to be the best d**n animator possible, the most skilled, the most successful.

From a plot utility perspective, this makes Nico a bit of a manic pixie dream girl. But she doesn't just wander into Tatsuhiko's life and start making things better just because. She only wants to work with Tatsuhiko because he posted that random butterfly animation. Tatsuhiko took the first step himself, of his own volition, moving himself towards his near-forgotten dream and away from the practical yet dull reality of...a failing rock band?

In case you'd forgotten, Tatsuhiko's job before the animation thing was as the bassist in a crappy band. It lasted a few years, but broke up right before Tatsuhiko listened to a drunk woman rant at him. That lead to him digging out his old drawings, animating on a whim, etc etc.

But before that, he was in a band. A failing band. So on one hand, Tatsuhiko didn't have much to lose by pursuing his dream, which isn't a broadly applicable truth. (Contrast, say, Recovery of an MMO Junkie; Morihito chose to give up a high-paying office job to play MMOs.)

But there's a more fundamental issue here. Bands are also a common dream, an artistic endeavor which few people can turn into an actual career. So why was Tatsuhiko's animation dream successful and his band dream a failure?

I wish I could say I expected this question to be explored in later chapters, but I don't think the band has come up once since chapter 1. Analysis of this question is limited to chapter 1, which doesn't go into much detail. And the detail provided isn't great. There's plenty of framing suggesting that the band is a bad dream, but I can only find one possible reason which makes any sense.

Tatsuhiko's band dream wasn't a "real" dream, because it was forced on him by an outside source. He was talked into his band dream—which, to be clear, was genuinely held. He gets excited about it, just not in the first few panels after he's recruited.

Contrast this with his animation dream, which sprang fully-formed out of the forehead of Zeus...

...or not. It's also the result of someone telling him he should be an animator, this time an old animator giving a presentation at his school. Which is probably a good thing, because it means I don't have to try and litigate the difference between a dream that comes from "inside" and one that comes from "outside". Your insides are shaped by the outside world, after all!

So if that's not it, what's the difference? A few possibilities:

Is it honesty? As far as we know, the animator was just being nice and didn't mean it, while all indications point to the band members being genuine. So...probably not.

Is it initial excitement? Probably not; that's just an absurdly superficial reason to judge a dream "real" or not. It's probably just another way to frame one dream as "good" and the other as "bad," not the reason one is good.

Is it ulterior motive? The band members convince Tatsuhiko to join the band for extrinsic rewards, while the animator doesn't have any apparent motive at all. I guess that's not nothing, but it's barely there.

Did the author, knowing that the band was just a distraction for Tatsuhiko and not his Real Dream, not actually bother to explain why?

I think that the last factor is, at least, a significant component. Beat & Motion isn't terrible—it has its strengths, a clear artistic vision, and a solid idea of how to execute that vision—but it's no masterpiece.

The underdeveloped "band dream" thing isn't a crippling flaw. Generally, an author can just show us that a thing in the protagonist's backstory is Not Good and expect the audience to accept this as true without having to explain why it's Not Good. And this is basically that.

The problem is that the Not Good Thing overlaps with something the story considers extremely good—chasing your dreams. It's not intentionally part of the series's thematic construction, but that doesn't mean it doesn't influence it. You can't write a story about following your dreams, throw in a band failing at their dreams, and not have the latter affect the former somehow.

I hope I'm wrong. I hope Beat & Motion circles back to the question of what dreams should be pursued and which should be abandoned, because that's a pretty significant question for a chase-your-dreams narrative. (And, you know, one that's raised by the protagonist abandoning one dream.)

But that's the state of things, three chapters in.

#hopefully this falls off my queue before chapter 4 drops #beat & motion #manga #meta #media analysis #dreams #themes #eighth-grade book reports

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crownandwriter · 3 years

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Just a little something I wrote as a warmup, to try and get back into the swing of things. I’ll make my own character headers later, too, when I have time to draw them ;;

pairing venti x reader warnings mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort, not proofread lmao summary I was a little butthurt I couldn’t comfort Venti at the end of his story quest, or really tell anyone how old the Traveler is, so here we are lmao. Reader could be Traveler, or just some immortal.

It’s always strange how the dandelion wine washes the flavor of Venti’s lips but not his breath.

It’s good, you suppose, that he’s not really drunk in moments like these--though you briefly wonder how frustrating he might find it. Master Diluc once confided that Venti would down at least twenty glasses when the drink was free, and usually more. Yet here he sat, in the marble palms of a not-god memory, breath tasting as fresh as a morning breeze.

When you pull away you bring the empty bottle from his hand with. It rolls fitfully when you set it behind you, and the tantrum sound seems to bring Venti’s thoughts away from your eyes. You lay your head on his shoulder in response, toying with the ruffles of his shirt to fill the silence.

“Wanna talk?” You don’t often ask about it, when Venti is like this; he knows he’s always welcome to your attention if he needs it. Maybe tonight he needs to be reminded, though.

His eyes skirt the horizon a few more times, like a guard on duty, but after a minute he finally releases a sigh that seems far too big for his short frame and tilts his head to rest on yours.

“I’ve gotten awfully attached to the citizens these days,” he says. “I’m the God of Freedom…the world, its sights, it mysteries all call to me. But I sometimes worry that in my absence…or even if I simply blink too long…I’ll find everyone I care for has gone once again.” His painfully neutral expression slips further and further into a frown as the seconds tick by. You can’t see the wetness of his eyes from this angle, but the ever-so-slightly trembling hand he lays against your thigh gives you an idea.

“You too, one day. I’m only 2600-some-odd,” he gasps out a strange excuse for a chuckle. “That’s young for a God, you know. Time will always move forward, but some days I just…get lost. In wondering what sort of fate this is, where I watch everyone flicker in and out of existence. Where all I can do is try to tell their stories and keep them alive through memory.”

A breeze passes over the two of you, then. Slow, and lifeless, far too warm for the cool night. You pull away from Venti, watching it slip through his hair, his lashes, ruffle his cloak. A cloud passes over the moon and leeches the speckles of light from his cheeks. You give Venti this wide pause…but he doesn’t seem like he can bring himself to say more.

So, now it’s your turn.

“Venti,” you begin with a small grin. “Do you know how old I am? Guess.”

He looks at you quickly, head tipping back on his shoulder with mischievous skepticism. His braids catch the movement in adorable little sways and you can’t help the childish giggle that slips out. It doesn’t help his teasing suspicion, though.

“This is a trap, right?” He says while pursing his lips. “These kinds of questions are usually traps.” Nagging aside, he doesn’t seem keen to answer. You can hardly blame him, though, for this must seem a poor, if not insensitive, attempt to cheer him up. ‘I’m young,’ you could say. ‘I’ve got many years left.’ But the full years of a mortal would be nothing to an immortal even if they managed to go uninterrupted.

The worries for the end of this aside swim clearly in his wet eyes…why didn’t you ever tell him the truth before now?

“Venti,” you whisper, still smiling. You know I love you, right?

“Fine, fine!” He concedes, albeit with a dramatic flourish of his hands. “You win, as always, my Windblume.” Venti leans closer as he speaks, a nervous tremble swallowed from the origin of his lips as he leans closer to inspect you. It’s quickly replaced by his signature grin. “Let’s see, let’s see here… Youthful, bright eyes! Adorable nose…and a tasteful hair style…. Why! You couldn’t be a day over seventy-five!”

Venti crosses his arms in triumph and nods matter-of-factly.

You’re fraught with giggles already, and huddle closer into him like a child dancing, itching to share a new wonder. Venti puts his arms around you instinctively and smiles at the little joy brought back to your expression. Before he can speak again, though, you do.

“You’re closer than you think,” you whisper, sweetly. His wide eyes stare into yours from close distance, sharing the glints and colors between. Somehow, he begins to grasp at what may be coming next, and he sees magic crystalflies in your irises.

“Venti.” You feel breathless, touch his neck and catch gooseflesh rising. “I’m over a thousand years old, and haven’t aged a day in nearly as long. If I am not immortal…I am awfully close to it. And I do not plan on going anywhere without you.”

“Truly? Is it really so, absolutely?” A gasp slips from Venti’s lips as he takes your hands between his own. His eyes are still wet, but his expression goes from disbelief, to shock, to unhindered joy. His smile is as big as you’ve ever seen it. “Ahaha! I’ve been caught off guard…to think, it shall never wither, the Windblume of the Bard....”

“That was horrible,” you scold. Venti tackles you down into the palms of your perch, hugging tightly, wanting to never let go. His forehead hits yours, just a little too hard, but his smile makes up for it.

“No, It’s wonderful! It’s so wonderful!”

#crownwrites #genshin impact #venti x reader #venti imagine #genshin imagine

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mollymauktealeef · 3 years

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uhm, for your prompts: geraskier, with jaskier hiding geralt (and maybe ciri) from nilfgaard in plain sight, like. without magic, he manages to make the soldiers go away with empty hands? thank you!

sorry this took longer than expected! i haven’t been feeling very well recently so it got left alone for a while. hope you like it though!

warning/s: none

(ao3)

“You there!”

“Oh fuck,” Jaskier mutters sharply recognising the no nonsense tone of a solider and feeling the dread settle in his gut like a block of ice.

Geralt’s fingers twitch at his side, his swords are sadly tucked away under Roach’s blanket just under Ciri’s leg for safekeeping as she sits astride the saddle.

They’d been reluctantly placed there - at Jaskier’s suggestion - so they could move through town unhindered by locals looking for a Witcher’s aid or at least so the trio could draw a little less attention than they normally would. Something they might have gotten away with if Geralt hadn’t been sour about hiding his swords so much he’d childishly left down his hood. Revealing his rather distinctive and famous white hair for all the land to see.

And now there are soldiers.

So the idea of going incognito had clearly failed in it’s execution and now Geralt is without his weapons in easy reach as the squelch of many heavy boots marching through the mud approach them from behind.

Jaskier watches out of the corner of his eye as Geralt’s hand releases the reins for Roach’s bridle and skims along her flank to the hidden pommel slowly. Jaskier shakes his head in warning and thankfully the Witcher listens, stilling his hand.

The last thing they need is more attention and Geralt beheading the local guardsmen would be like sending up a flare for Nilfgaard.

Jaskier chews on his lip, racking his brain for a way out of their predicament. He see’s Geralt’s hand move again, not for the swords this time but to rest on Ciri’s shaking knee in comfort. The princess huddles under her cloak, shrinking away from the danger approaching them and Jaskier’s heart aches for her. The lingering trauma of being hunted has left a stain on the once happy princess that Jaskier and Geralt have tried their best to erase. But situations like these always undo that hard work in moments.

Jaskier sighs at the loss of progress shrinking deeper into the folds of her cloak and decides on a course of action, one that might just avoid darkening that stain on Ciri’s heart.

“Oi! You deaf?” Another voice yells and Jaskier straightens his spine and prepares to dazzle his audience into submission.

He spins round dramatically, plastering a wide happy grin across his face. It’s not his most eye-catching outfit but he should be able to draw attention away from the Witcher and his child surprise well enough. Presentation is key for misdirection after all.

Jaskier glances over the small patrol quickly, filing away the small details that he can use to his advantage. Just like any other ballroom or tavern he’s stepped foot in. Reading the room is how you own it and Jaskier wouldn’t be a famous bard if he couldn’t quickly and effectively discern the lay of the land. A loud tavern full of boisterous laughter needs dance music and bawdy songs, a noble wedding with dignified guests needs jaunty jigs with easy beats to dance to and when enough wine has been drunk, a few romantic epics to get everyone in the mood. The stage is a little different but the details are the same.

He silently curses as he recognises the dark armour and golden sun stretching across it and prays to whatever deity likes Geralt in one piece in the vain hope that things will go smoothly. But for now, it's up to him and every skill he’s honed at every banquet and party he’s ever been to, to get them through this peacefully.

“Fine gentlemen, what can I aid such noble soldiers with today?” he greets loudly as he skips forward putting himself between the approaching soldiers and Geralt. A few of the men flinch at his volume. Jaskier notes the overly red cheeks and bloodshot eyes, the slight sway in their stance. Too much patrolling the tavern rather than the streets and very recently too.

He has to play this right. Be loud and obnoxious and they’ll want to get rid of him quickly to ease their aching heads. Too much though and he runs the risk of raising questions. It’ll be a fine line to tread, a thin tightrope between freedom and a noose but it’s something he’s managed before and for far lesser stakes.

“Your friend, where does he hail from?” The Captain asks shrewdly, eyeing Geralt’s exposed white hair with narrowed eyes. Jaskier rocks on his heels full of nervous energy.

“My cousin you mean? Well he and his daughter come from Lettenhove of course! As do I,” Jaskier bows deeply, throwing as much theatricality into his performance as possible, “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. A pleasure to meet you, good sir!”

He doesn’t often drag out his nobility but the situation calls for it. Perhaps enough for the men to back off, in fear of upsetting nobility.

“And your...cousin’s white hair? A familial trait?” The captain asks skeptically. His title isn’t enough to brush away their questions but there is a touch more hesitancy than before so Jaskier counts it in his favour. He still grimaces a little and racks his brain for a plausible lie to help them escape the situation with as little screaming and entrails as possible. Tiny streams in deep forests are not ideal for removing Nilfgaardian guts from a Witcher’s hair after all and after this fiasco getting Geralt to agree to enter any form of civilisation will be a nightmare.

So Jaskier does what he does best.

He tells a story.

He lets his face drop into a more serious expression and sidles up closer, a little too close for comfort, for a not so much conspiratorial whisper, “No, no, my good sir. Not at all. You see, it's such a terrible thing. Truly terrible. A curse.”

At least two of the men take an involuntary step back as though such a thing could be catching. Good, Jaskier thinks snidely, superstitious morons swallow a lie father easier than a wise man.

“Twas laid upon him by a spiteful sorceress. He’s quite sensitive over the whole thing as I’m sure you can imagine,” Jaskier placed a hand over his heart as he hammed up the performance a degree or two, “My poor dear sweet cousin spurned the witches advances you see, his heart already belonged to another. Fiona’s mother, she hailed from Nilfgaard, such a sweet woman. Not that it mattered to the spiteful witch! The sorceress was quite enraged by it all and so cursed my poor cousin to bear the likeness of the ugliest creature she knew, a Witcher.”

Jaskier winces internally and sends a silent apology to Geralt and hopes the man won’t take too much offence but there’s no other option for them.

“How unfortunate,” one of the men comments in a heartfelt manner and Jaskier dabs at his dry eye in agreement.

“Yes it is and such happenstance that we should be looking for a Witcher,” the Captain says, unconvinced. But Jaskier has the rest of his audience on tenterhooks and a crowd can sway a single mind.

He scoff’s loudly and slams his hands onto his hips.

“Nothing but trouble I say, for we’ve been stopped by every knight and good soldier from here to the Pontar! It’s made our journey to Oxenfurt doubly long and I’m due to begin teaching next week! The delay!” Jaskier wails dramatically and the men collectively wince at his volume and shrillness, “Thankfully with my tenured position the faculty will be most forgiving of my lateness! But truly it has been nothing but trouble!”

“Hmm,” the Captain wavers and Jaskier pushes his advantage, leaning in a touch too far again.

“I shall tell you good sir the best way to tell a Witcher from my unfortunate cousin is the swords, for Witcher’s carry two on their backs and my dear sweet cousin can only swing a pitchfork!”

“Viscount’s right Captain, no swords,” one of the men speaks up and they all turn to look at Geralt’s back, covered in a muddy cape but bereft of the notable twin swords.

“He could have thrown them,” the Captain suggests but quietly, not fully believing his own words and Jaskier tries not to let his relief show.

“Thrown them?! Why my dear Captain, that would be a waste of fine silver and steel! Who in their right mind would throw away a silver sword! Pah! A fool, that’s who!”

The Captain ruminates for a few moments and then nods, “Right you are, carry on m’lord.”

Jaskier’s knees feel a little weak as the men shuffle round and begin their march back up the street they came. He waves them off jauntily despite the nausea swirling in his gut.

“Many blessings to you and safe journey my good men!”

As soon as the men are out of sight Jaskier stumbles as the relief falls on him like a ton of bricks. Geralt grips his bicep, pulling him back up as he stares down the street after the patrol.

“Gone?” Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

“Thank Melitele,” Jaskier exhales and drops his head against Geralt’s shoulder heavily.

“Ugliest creatures?” Geralt asks and Jaskier groans.

“Darling I apologise wholeheartedly for such a lie but how else was I to excuse your appearance?”

Geralt snorts, thankfully with more amusement than anger, “Good thinking.”

“Thank you love but might I suggest putting several fields between us and them before more questions are asked?” Jaskier points out and Geralt wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, squeezing him close for a moment before letting him stand on his own steadying legs.

Geralt takes Roach’s reins once more as Jaskier falls into step next to him, he spares a glance over his shoulder at the near empty street behind them and hopes they can put enough road between the patrol and them before nightfall to breathe a little easier.

“Are you really a viscount Jaskier?” Ciri questions quietly, hunched over under her heavy cape atop Roach. Jaskier startles at the sudden question but settles into a sardonic smile.

“Unfortunately so my darling, though the title does have its uses here and there.”

Ciri thankfully doesn’t press the issue as she flicks her gaze over her shoulder worridily. More concerned with the soldiers than his checkered past.

“I didn’t think they’d leave so easily,” she mumbles and Jaskier reaches over to pat her leg softly.

“Fear not my dear, they were easy to fool and won’t be following us anytime soon.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ciri asks, her tone skeptical and a little sharp. A princess on the run yes, but still a princess and one growing from a child into a woman and not shy about demanding she be treated as such. Jaskier chuckles.

“Simple. I saw all I needed to, to lead them astray. I’ll teach you how to read men like open books soon enough darling,” Jaskier winks and Ciri worried at her bottom lip for a few quiet moments.

“Teach me now?”

Jaskier shares a glance with Geralt, raising an eyebrow up in question and Geralt simply nods his permission. Well if his Witcher is okay with it then who is he to argue giving the young exiled princess another knife in her growing arsenal.

“Very well, what did you notice about them?”

She ponders for a moment, “There weren’t that many?” Ciri offers hesitantly. Jaskier beams encouragingly.

“Well spotted! A small patrol left in an unremarkable town. Tells us quite a bit. These fools aren’t high on the pecking order. They aren’t given more responsibility or better yet aren’t trusted with more,” Jaskier explains and Ciri leans forward in rapt attention. “What else could you see?”

“They hesitated,” Geralt says and Jaskier turns his attention on the Witcher’s soft smile.

“Very good my love,” Jaskier pecks Geralt’s cheek in reward, earning a giggle from Ciri.

“That matters?” she asks.

“Indeed, a lack of confidence speaks to their inexperience or perhaps they’ve acted hastily in the past and been reprimanded making them hesitant to act similarly again,” Jaskier explains, falling into his old teaching habits easily.

“What else did you see,” Ciri questions curiously and Jaskier hums thoughtfully.

“Dented armour that hasn’t yet been fixed, means coin is tight or flowing elsewhere. Mud caked into clothes and bulging chest plates. These men have become lazy and spend more nights in a tavern than marching around town. Ruddy cheeks and bloodshot eyes tell me they enjoy their drink, a bit too much most likely. Given the hour it was either a heavy night of drinking with a spectacular hangover or they’ve just come from the tavern. Whichever it is, their minds and body long for beds not battle and that my fair girl is where you can take advantage,” Jaskier lists and Ciri looks suitably impressed with his observations.

“Enough to confuse them?”

“Perhaps enough to lose them in a winding tale with dramatic flair,” Jaskier shrugs, remembering many a glazed drunken gaze and how he used it to his advantage in the past.

“The loudness helped too,” Geralt offers slyly and Ciri laughs as Jaskier pretends to take offence though he preens at the small but fond smile on his Witcher’s face and the ease settling around Ciri’s shoulders once more.

“Nothing makes a drunken soldier recoil quicker than a loud bright bard,” Jaskier winks.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #jask writes #nessie

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

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Plant Day!

Whumpblr, forgive me for this... xD this is either the best or silliest idea I've ever had and honestly? I think it might be both at once. Heed the tags but also just know nothing is as serious as it seems by the time you reach the end...

for @brutal-nemesis' whump of the month prompt: plant day.

Thank you @muddy-swamp-bitch for helping me work out how to tag this thing

Warnings: cutting, knives, scarification, body horror (???), corpse mutilation [!?], environmental whump, [mass] killing (???), multiple whumpers (but not at the same time), survivors guilt, curses, magical whump, whumpee with she/her pronouns, captured whumpee. Mentions of: eye whump, bugs/insects, slavery whump

The knife wasn’t sharp enough, not for this. It was a hack job, and it wasn’t going to heal pretty. It carved into her slowly, inch by torturous inch, scraping away the surface of her skin. She screamed, but no one seemed to care, it wasn’t like they spoke the same language.

The two people leaning over, peering at her, paused in their work.

I hope crows peck out your eyes

They talked and brushed away the carnage their knife wrought, tittered, went back to their work.

I hope your children never know love, or freedom

It hurt, digging deep into the fibres of her skin. Changing the surface of it forever. It was going to scar, these strange, crude letters forever marring her perfect form.

It was no worse than anything else she had suffered but she resented it all the same.

May bear excrement ruin your water source and wasps sting you to death

Her cries went unheard. And curses didn’t mean a wad of shit if no one observed them. She liked that word shit, she’d learned it from the humans long ago. Shit shit shit, it was all shit.

Long ago, in the days before, she had watched her people be slaughtered. Hacked down one by one, cut to pieces and their bodies heaved off by horses. Horses bound to do the humans bidding, such a wretched life, she thought, but they seemed happy, they hadn’t come to her aid when she called.

She had mourned and grieved her fallen brethren, watched their lifeless forms be stacked and chained together to be burned or put to some other nefarious use, and only hoped that her own pain would end so swiftly. But it was not to be. She had been left to witness, the pain hers alone to bear.

Long, long years passed, held captive in this barren, dying place. The colonies that tried to take up life in her people’s old home were uprooted, shunned. Nothing and no one could prosper here.

She waited a long time; long after the woodcutter, and the woodcutter's son, and the woodcutter’s son’s son…. and, well, she lost track of the generations a bit after that but it had been a while.

The sun was older, the earth quieter. She was cold, her joints creaked and ached and everything was heavy. She had been abandoned by her own people and the humans who had caused their destruction. She alone, left to weather the harsh… weather. Lashed with rain and beaten by the hot sun, no friends left to help give shelter. No happy little breeze now, just the violent waves of wind, unhindered.

Her eyes were cast ever skyward, and it hurt to look at the sky, but it was better than the memories that clung to the earth. She would weep, but it only made her feel sticky and sickly.

One day a mere mortal, not more than three score years and probably not even that—she noted his features were smooth and bare, no whiskers on this one— wandered by. He was dressed strangely but everything they did was strange so she didn’t pay it much attention. He laid a hand on her and she tried to shake it loose.

Stupid humans, no touching, dirty hands, ruinous hands

“What was that?” He murmured.

She thought he was a he, he had that air about him. Entitled. An extra trunk between his legs too, if her eyes weren’t mistaken.

Go back to your cities, cretin

His hand slid around her, feeling for… something. It brushed over the scar of the initials carved into her, that claiming mark.

“Tsk, this won’t do.”

He brought out a knife. Of course he did. Just like all the rest.

He cut into her and she wailed, throwing herself around and trying to get away but it was no use. He just kept on cutting, and though his work seemed like it had a purpose she couldn’t tell what it was. Her life force oozed out around the hole he was making as he cut chunks, stole away parts of her, until a hollow hole was left where part of her should be.

It felt… if not better, certainly different. They were good at change, these humans. She looked skyward again, only feeling a little better when she noticed the scarring marks were gone. He’d cut it away?

Well, more power to him, if he wanted a piece of ruined flesh so be it. She thought no more of it until he came back three moons later and talked to her again.

“I know what you are.”

Oh goodie, someone with some brains for once. Very pleased to meet you I’m sure

“I can hear you, you know.”

I doubt it

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. I know your secret, hiding in plain sight. But you can’t hide from me.”

She stayed silent, thinking, considering. If he was telling the truth…

“You’re no tree,” he murmured, stroking at her with his silly little furless paws. “You’re a wood nymph.”

Hmmph

“No, I said nymph.”

And you are a wizard, what do you want a pat on the back?

“No, just a conversation.”

She was taken aback, she hadn’t talked to anyone for years.

“You must be lonely.”

Obviously

“You’re very grumpy.”

I’ve been stuck in a tree for near three hundred years, you would be too

“There’s not enough magic left for you to get out.”

Congratulations on stating the obvious but there is nowhere I could go anyway

“I have somewhere.” He produced a small box from his pack and her heart—woody though it was—faltered. That was—

“Yes I made this from you.”

Thief!!

“Come now, it won’t be so bad. I have a wonderful collection of items, and creatures, you won’t be lonely.”

I won’t be free

“You’re not free now.”

I won’t go

“Oh yes you will.” He opened the lid of the box, ornately carved and beautifully made but still the desecrated corpse of part of her flesh. Disgusting, sickening. Very pretty but so macabre.

It was powerful magic, runes and other things that should be of no consequence but she was too weak to resist and had been for too long. She screamed, waved her branches, reached for the sky but no great eagle or eager buzzard came to her rescue as she was pulled down, down down into the tiny wooden prison made from her own bones.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” He asked as he snapped the lid tightly shut.

The box rattled with the force of her rage but he wrapped it in cloth and she felt the slide of ropes twinning tightly about her. It was strange, feeling part of herself outside of herself, when it shouldn’t have been part of herself any longer. I was dark and cool inside the box, but that was about the only good thing she could say about it.

Let me out

“No.”

He slipped her into his satchel, and she bounced and shook as he walked further and further away from her home.

Curse you

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. But no, you will be a blessing. A boon to long life, nymphs, if the books are correct. We’ll be happy together.”

I doubt it. Ridiculous boy with your toys and tools, I could never be happy with you

“Hush now, tree, or I’ll leave you in that box forever.”

Shoddy craftsmanship, you should be ashamed

He laughed. “At least I know you’re not going to sulk silently like some of my prizes. No, you’ll be more entertaining.”

She went silent, just to make a point.

“If you’re very good, maybe one day I’ll work out how to re-plant you and you can feel the mud between your toes again. Wouldn’t that be nice? A little glade, lots of life around you, plenty of growing things to watch over.”

She perked up at that, suddenly feeling… was that what hope had felt like? It had been a few decades since she’d last let herself feel it.

“See, I told you. Your old tree may wither and die without you, but you can be new and fresh as a spring bud. As long as you do what you can for me.”

So that was that, she was to be a slave? No worse than she deserved, after watching her people be killed and not able to do anything to stop it. Finally her long awaited fate had caught up to her, it was about time.

Do you have what the humans call television?

“Yes, why?”

I’ve wanted to see what it is, can’t I be curious?

“Well you won’t have eyes for a good long while until I know you can behave, but we could start with some music.”

Nature makes the best music

“You haven’t heard rock’n’roll, just wait.”

[My thought process for writing this was: hmm, plant day. Plant whump... what if... the plant was the thing that was whumped. Hahah, nah... unless 👀?

And I thought about that for like three weeks before finally churning out 1k the night before the event. Sexily unedited, just the raw chaos]

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quirkwizard · 3 years

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Top 15 Strongest Quirks

What is the most powerful? This question that has plagued the anime community for generations of fans. From the olden days of Dragonball, to the modern works of Dragon Ball Super. So, in celebration of 1500 followers, I thought I would try to form my own list of what I believe are that best of the best in terms of Quirks. But before I begin, some ground rules for this list:

-I am taking the Quirk as they are at their base with the average user. “Decay” might be able to destroy entire cities, but it couldn't do that at the start, hence why it is not on this list.

-I am keeping personal biases out of this as much as possible. If I think a Quirk is strong enough to be on this list, it is on here, regardless of my like or dislike of the Quirk itself.

-I am taking everything into account about the Quirks when writing this. So it’s not just a competition of what Quirk can blow stuff up the best or which Quirk beats another Quirk. It’s everything the Quirk is capable of and what is holding it back.

With all of that in mind, here is what I believe are the Top 15 Strongest Quirks in My Hero Academia.

15. Creation

The user has the ability to make non-living items from their body. With that description on it’s own, it is easily one of the most versatile abilities in the series. Being able to create anything you want from your body, pulling out whatever tools or items whenever the situation calls for it. The user could fulfill whatever role was needed of them, making medical supplies in one hand and a canon in the other. And all of it’s based around having fat cells to burn, a resource that is very easy to gain and is hard to burn through the point of being dangerous.

So why is at the lowest spot on this list? That would be what I think is the biggest drawback. The user has to learn everything they can about what they are making, down to the atomic configuration. No matter what you are trying to make, it’s going to take a lot of brain power to use this Quirk at all, let alone effectively. The thing is that most people aren’t going to be smart enough to take full advantage of the Quirk. It isn’t only helped by someone as smart as Momo, it needs someone as smart as Momo to be used to the best of its ability. However, I still feel like someone could still take advantage of it even if they weren’t smart, which I think is a testament to the Quirk’s abilities.

14. Meatball

While many rightly retch at the idea of this Quirk, I think that can distract from just how good it is. Just the idea of manipulating any and all raw flesh just has so many interesting and varied uses. I went over how much could be done with it before now, so I won’t go into detail here, but lets just say I think there are plenty of ways it could be applied given what we were shown the Quirk is capable of. Even if we were to judge it by it’s one showing, it’s still a pretty great ability to have, able to completely subdue an opponent from a range. That and scare the life out of anyone else.

But what keeps it so low on the list is how much the Quirk works against itself. It’s all about manipulating flesh off of the user’s body, leaving them without their body parts and much more open than before. What makes it even worse is that the user can still feel everything their body is going through, even if they are removed from it, making any usage of it much harder because people can easily damage it. And having it all be based around concentration is just the icing on the cake. It just leaves the user too open, causing them to spread themselves out too far. I still think it is a great Quirk, just not good enough to break into the top ten.

13. Dark Shadow

One of the more unique Quirks in the series, “Dark Shadow” offers a lot of strange abilities. Not only does it make it so the user always has a second ally to watch their back, but it’s malleable nature make it so it can be used in all kinds of fun ways like making armor around the user, making it slither between small cracks to get around, or even using it to fly. And that’s before it starts getting dark. Even during its weakened form in the light, it’s still a strong fighter that can keep the distance between the opponent and the user. And it’s just going to keep getting stronger when it gets dark.

But the problem with that is, when it is at its most powerful, Dark Shadow is an uncontrollable mess, completely acting outside of the user’s control. It’s strong, yes, but that kind of power is next to useless if the user cannot rein it in. The user might as well be a passenger, watching as their Quirk mindlessly destroys everything around it and hope it doesn’t break something the user doesn’t want it to. But the bigger issue is the weakness to light and reliance on what time of day it is. One is really easy for an enemy to take advantage of and the other the user has zero control over. And if Dark Shadow is beaten back too much and retreats in the user, they might as well be Quirkless.

12. Hellflame

A Quirk with a dangerously appropriate name, “Hellflame” was an obvious pick for this list. Ranging anywhere between regular flames to searing white hot fire. In terms of raw destructive power, it’s certainly one of the best in the series. And unlike a lot of other Quirks with a focus on offensive uses, Endeavor seems to show a significant amount of control over his flames. Again, power without control is next to pointless, so having that kind of sway over the fire really means a lot. Plus the user can fly with their Quirk, which is always a major bonus.

Why it’s not any higher is because of two reasons. One, it’s still a pretty big risk to use this Quirk. Not only does it heavily hinder the user’s body, slowing Enji down greatly when it was pushed in a fight, but the user cannot control the fire they make, potentially leading to some serious damages. Second, there isn’t really a lot of uses for the Quirk. The user can fly and they can burn stuff. If not that, they can burn more stuff. You can make slight changes to how you burn things, but you can’t do much else other than burning. It’s all offense all the time and if I was only judging by offensive power, it would certainly be a lot higher. While limited in its application, it still has more than reason to be on this list.

11. Compress

Man, if this Quirk got on the list it must be pretty marblelous. But seriously, safely shrinking down objects can have a lot of applications both fun and powerful, whether that be as a whole or selectively. And going by the biggest thing the Quirk was used on, a boulder that was larger then a police car, there are a lot of things the Quirk can be used on without any damages to the target in question. The user can quickly hide and transport whatever they can get their hands on, hiding objects that no would would expect to come out of such small orbs. It gives them a lot of creative freedom as far as uses go.

And if push comes to shove, the user can always tear people apart by compressing them into pieces, bypassing defenses. Though it can still be breached from the outside, as seen with Aoyama, limiting it’s capturing ability. But it’s big issue is that it isn’t very outwardly powerful, relying a lot on the user being smart enough with it to apply it properly. Another is that, while effective in what it does, the Quirk itself is rather limited. It can store objects and damage targets via selective storage. While those in of themselves are highly applicable, they still are somewhat limited, making me hesitate to put it any higher on the list.

10. Earth Flow

“Earth Flow” is really one of those abilities that gets overlooked by everyone. Which is a shame since it is such a powerful Quirk. Not only because earth is everywhere, giving the user one of the most widely available substances to control, but earth is such as a malleable solid that it can be used in plenty of ways. Making walls to defend themselves, crushing people under a wave of earth, or using that control to make Earth Beasts. She doesn’t even need to be touching in directly, as seen when she was trying to fend off the decay wave and even when she was able to control her Earth Beasts from afar.

It’s such a versatile ability, only complimented by the abundance of the resource the user can control. The only real problem here is that the earth itself is pretty weak, falling apart after a few attacks. Now while that may not seem like as big of an issue with the average person, considering that most people in the series have some kind of ability that could destroy or hinder the earth takes away some of its menace a bit. I mean the UA students were able to tear through them, with even a lot of the weaker students being able to take them down. Sure they had a little hero training, but it’s still something to note given the Quirk’s performance.

9. Flight

Another often forget Quirk in the fandom, that does not stop “Flight” from earning a deserving spot on this list. Allowing the user to fly around completely unhindered, a massive advantage in any kind of situation, what makes it even better is how the user flies. By forming a barrier around the user that it allows them to fly, it grants the user a lot of protection, both while flying and from damage as a whole. They can even spread it to others, protecting them and flying around. It’s certainly a good Quirk, but it is rather limited, just giving it a lot of mobility and defensive options. I almost didn’t even put it on the list.

And then I realized something: “Flight” has next to no real weaknesses. Sure, the barrier weakens whenever the user wants to spread it out to something else, but that’s hardly enough to really be that common of an issue since it can still allow the user to fly and protection the without any real problems. Even when it was spread out, it could still protect the user extremely well, able to keep Captain Celebrity safe from an onslaught of bombers while he was holding up an entire building. So the user could just enjoy the use of this Quirk full time with no real issues, hence why it is so much farther up on the list.

8. Black Hole

Surprising no one, the ability to make a black hole at the tips of your fingers makes it on the list of the strongest Quirks. Even if it is quite a simple ability on paper, one cannot deny the sheer destructive force that the Quirk can bring as an overwhelming vacuum of death. It’s not even like you have to touch someone to use it like you do with other deadly Quirks. The power to create a devastating vacuum is literally at the user’s finger tips, not even needing to get that close in order to completely eviscerate someone at the atomic level.

Now most people would put a Quirk like this much higher on their lists. But I’m still trying to take everything into account. That being said, there isn’t much else to the Quirk. It’s got destructive power in spades, but that only means so much, not really being to branch out from that limited scope. It also has the same problem I mention before about power being next to meaningless if someone cannot control it. Not so much that the Quirk is a threat to the user, just that the Quirk is a threat against everything else.

7. Manifest

The big thing that puts “Manifest” on the list is the number of things the user can do with it. As long as the user eats something, they can apply it to anywhere on their body, having it seemingly scale up to their size. That just opens up so many possible ways to use it since the Tamaki doesn’t even seem limited to regular food. As long as he can eat it and stomach it, he can use it with his Quirk. The user can even combine traits together, as seen with Tamaki and his coconut-octupus fingers, making for even greater potential uses.

And unlike other Quirks, it’s much easier to use and is far more reliable in comparison. All the user needs to do is eat something, even if it is only a small sample of it, and they can use it up to twenty four hours. So as long as the user is eating at all, they should reasonably have something they can take advantage of. However, while it is one of the most multifaceted abilities on this list, it is lacking a lot in raw power, mostly relying on the user’s own competence and whatever is around them at the time to carry them through a battle. Regardless, it’s still a great ability that anyone would be lucky to have.

6. Whirlwind

It’s hard to explain this one because of how obvious the reasoning of why "Whirlwind” is on here. The user can control air, something that is always around us. You would legitimately have to go out of your way to find a place without air. Even if we just go by the little we’ve seen of it, I still would put it on the list at this high. Inasa has such amazing control over the battlefield, able to push people and objects around with his power. That’s not even mentioning how he can enhance his body, pushing himself around and flying forward, another major advantage of the Quirk.

It’s not even like the air itself is weak, easily able to carry around people, or that the user lacks control, easily controlling the currents to move said people safely. The biggest reason why it isn’t any higher is because its a Quirk that focuses a lot on offense and mobility. It does both of those extremely well, but it’s lack of defensive options make the user a glass cannon. It’s actually similar to “Hellflame”, ironically enough. The main difference here is that the user has a lot more control and an easier to work around weakness, putting it a higher spot on the list. In spite of it’s lack of panel time, I am more than confident that “Whirlwind” earns its placement.

5. All For One/One For All

Out of all of the Quirks I put on this list, this was the one I worried about the most. I’m sure if most people were doing this list, they would put these two at the top spot or spots one and two respectively. I know most would put “All For One” over “One For All”, but I’d say they are about even. In spite of its growing power, “One For All” has always been seemingly able to keep ground with “All For One”. “One For All” can travel between host, able to pass on the memories and powers of the previous hosts, giving them a great wellspring of power to work from. “All For One” can steal Quirks from other people, able to pass them onto other people or apply the Quirks to their own body, capable of handling multiple Quirks at the same time.

Here’s the thing though: both of these Quirks are similar in that they need a lot of time to build up power. “One For All” is indeed an amazing Quirk, but it needs to be passed on between person to person, slowing gaining power as it travels between its hosts. “All For One” can take Quirks from other people, but we don’t know the process of that what else the Quirk is capable of. If I was ranking Quirks by how we see them in the series, these two would definitely be at the top. But I’m ranking the Quirks at their base with an average user. You need to remember that both of these Quirks needed over two hundred years to get to the level of power they have now. Not only is that extremely unfair to other Quirks but, in most cases, the user won’t be able to reap the benefits of it. However, I cannot deny the extreme potential both of these Quirks offer.

4. Half Hot Half Cold

Basically just being two Quirks in one, one of which might as well be another “Hellflame”, “Half Hot Half Cold” has more than enough reason to be on the list by that descriptor alone. But luckily, it has plenty to bring to the table on it’s own. With the ice offering a large amount of defense, the fire granting a dangerous amount of power, and both sides giving the user superb mobility, it really is a Quirk that can cover any role the user wishes. This matched with it’s stunningly large area of effect turns the user into an elemental powerhouse.

And unlike other Quirks of this caliber, Shoto has been shown to have a fine control over the ice and fire itself, ranging from large attacks like freezing over half a stadium or place ice over a comparatively smaller spot like someone’s leg. But what makes it one of the best is how the Quirk counters itself. It’s the only real example where the Quirk can prevent its own weakness, able to remove any icing over or overheating the user will have to deal with. Honestly, the only reason why this Quirk isn’t higher on the list is because I just think the Quirks above it are better.

3. Warp Gate

Being able to open portals is inherently powerful ability its own, instantly moving around wherever the user wishes. Being made of smoke is just another layer of powerful. The user is hands down one of the most valuable assets on the battlefield, easily moving people in all sorts of ways. With how the Quirk is a vapor that the user controls, it can easily cover a lot ground at a rapid rate, spreading themselves out over anywhere they are needed. And it’s major weakness about knowing coordinates is easy to deal with considering how easy that information is to learn and that the user can still apply the Quirk as long as they are within line of sight.

To top it all off, the user is effectively intangible, able to counter almost any attack that comes their way by either letting it teleport through their fog or just redirect it back at the person who attack them. It’s highly versatile ability with a lot of uses behind it, making it difficult justifying it at any number lower than three. Though it’s not without its flaws. Again, like “Manifest”, it lacks a lot of direct power. It’s a Quirk that relies more on the other person messing up rather then the user taking the initiative or having allies around that can take advantage of the portals. Plus it can be pretty slow in terms of actual use given how Kurogiri needs some set up to use his Quirk properly.

From threatening to cut enemies in half through closing portals, to relocating people to convenient positions, to making a quick escape when this go awry, this Quirk can cover plenty of ground.

2. Rewind

No surprise that this Quirk is so high. The only real surprise for many of you is that it is not number one. With something as nebulous as “reverting people to a previous state”, it gives a wide range of usage for the Quirk to work with. Everything from healing injuries like they were never there or even erasing someone from existence. In theory, the user could even undo any mistakes they did with the Quirk. It’s not wonder that it’s considered such a powerful ability, both in the series and in the fandom,

For starters, the massive control problem the Quirk has certainly is an issue, making all the amazing uses of the Quirk next to impossible to use properly because of how the Quirk can get out of control. And I don’t think that’s a case of Eri’s age. A lot kids her age seems to have great control over of their Quirk, so that’s something that likely apart of the Quirk. The use of the Quirk also seems to put a heavy toll on the user, something people don’t seem to talk about, leaving Eri hospitalized after using it on Izuku. However, I cannot deny the power and usefulness of such an ability,

1. Overhaul

Anyone who has been on the blog for long enough should not be surprised at this being number one. This Quirk has power, both in how it much it can do for the user at its base ability and how it can be applied. Being able to reshape matter, taking it apart and putting it back with such fine detail, opens a lot of doors in how it can be used. The user just has so much control over everything they can get their hands on, to the point where it is crazy to even think about. That’s not even mentioning how the user can just erase someone with a single touch, turning them into a fine paste on the wall.

And what’s the big drawback of this Quirk? The user needs to be touching whatever they want to use the Quirk on. The power to dissemble and reassemble any solid matter in any way the user wishes, including people, is only limited by the fact it is based around the user’s hands. And what makes it so much better a lot of other Quirks on this list is that the user has complete control over the process, able to selectively remove parts they don’t want, to the point where they can bring back someone they just murdered in pristine condition. It’s not trading out power for control because the user has both in excess. And that’s not even getting into the crazier stuff like fusing people or bringing back the recently dead.

#My Hero Academia #Quirks

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zoryany · 4 years

Note

Luke's com crackled. "Luke, we've got two options. both of which you're not going to like."

send me things !!

Luke's com crackled. "Luke, we've got two options. both of which you're not going to like."

Over the com, Han’s voice remained steady, but Luke had been on enough missions with him to recognize when there was an edge of panic to it. Chewie’s reaction was enough to confirm as much.

Great.

“Let me hear ‘em,” he replied, stifling a groan. No sense in delaying the inevitable.

The mission had already gone belly-up when their contact had found a buyer that would net them a bigger profit than the Alliance could offer. They would have been forced to walk out of there empty-handed if not for some quick thinking from Han, who’d created a distraction so Luke and Chewie could swipe the supplies and they could get out of there. Doing things the honest way hadn’t worked out, so they would have to settle for doing things the smuggler’s way.

Unfortunately, it seemed, that wasn’t going to work, either. “Well, ‘m not sure if you and Chewie have made it to the warehouse yet, but you might wanna head back to The Falcon. Turns out these sleemo have some, uhh… indentured workers,” Han paused, not wanting to say slaves, “that they’re willing to sacrifice if we take any of their goods. So we either take the meds and let these people die, or we leave, and…”

Let their own people die. Blast.

“No, you’re right,” Luke said, grimacing, “I don’t like either of those options.” Their people needed that medicine, quite badly in fact, but could he really accept it at the expense of so many innocents? “What are our chances of getting those people out of here?”

The com was silent, for a moment, and Luke could almost feel Han’s disbelief. “Look, kid, I know you’ve got some kinda hero complex and all, but –”

“Please!,” he shouted, desperation finding its way into his voice. “Han, please, just – just humour me, here. These are –” his voice stuck in his throat, for a moment, before he pressed on, “these are slaves we’re talking about, here. If we can’t help them then… I get it. But… if we’ve got any chance to help…”

More silence. This time, it felt decidedly… reluctant. Chewie let out a soft, sympathetic growl. “Alright, kid, fine.” Han’s grumble through the com was grudging, but it was clear he wouldn’t have said no – didn’t want to protest in the first place. If there was one criminal activity Han refused to engage in, it was slavery. “We got ten minutes, max. I’ll keep distracting these goons as best as I can. Chewie can load up the supplies while you handle the people. But we run outta time… we gotta get the hell outta here, got it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I do, yeah.”

Luke hated it. What was meant to be a simple supply run had turned into a desperate game of life and death, where he had to gamble with the lives of people he’d sworn to protect. He would do all he could, though.

He would see this through.

***

What their contact had neglected to mention was that the higher bidder was The Empire.

It was a scam they’d been running for some months now, drawing in some folks who were wanted by the Imps or some other crime lords, offering them these medical supplies at a price they could not refuse, then selling them out to the highest bidder. It had worked countless times before, and they’d managed to make it this far without being caught, so when they’d been contacted by Rebels – one, in particular, matching an especially high bounty – they’d taken advantage of that fact and contacted Darth Vader himself, the Imperial Enforcer.

Vader was making his way to collect these alleged rebels, and these criminals would walk away richer than ever. Little did any of them know what was to come next.

***

Darth Vader’s approach to the planet was unimpeded by any foolish Rebel counter strikes and unhindered by any awareness of his arrival. Good. Based on what little information he had on his son, the boy would make things difficult, so having the element of surprise would certainly work to his advantage.

Dealing with petty criminals was not a task he enjoyed making a habit of, but if it led to him securing his son, he would forgive it this once.

Upon entering the complex, he could sense something was amiss. Chaos was raging within, and frantic desperation seemed to be gripping all sentients inside. Beneath his mask, Vader scowled, scarred skin stretching painfully across his features.

“Lord Vader!” The criminal who greeted him appeared nonchalant and under control, but he could sense the distress roiling within him. “We’ve, er, hit a bit of a snag containing the Rebels you’ve come for, but rest assured, they’re still inside. Now that you’re here, though, should be no problem rounding them up, eh?”

For several long seconds, Vader allowed himself to loom, standing tall and silent as the wretched being before him squirmed in discomfort. “For your sake,” he rumbled, “you had better hope so.”

Without another word, Vader stalked off, ignoring the stuttered assurances of the criminal behind him as he followed the beacon his son radiated in the Force. The boy’s presence was intoxicating, tinged as it was with triumph and urgency. No one else mattered, not the pirates, not the Wookiee, not the smuggler -- only his son.

His son, who was frantically ushering a group of haggard looking beings towards a hangar bay.

The moment he sensed Vader’s arrival, Luke froze, panic taking the place of triumph in his signature, and he turned, slowly, to fix Vader with a wide-eyed gaze. He looked even younger in person, those pale eyes even larger, and for a moment, Vader nearly forgot himself as he drank in the appearance of this boy -- of his son.

That moment was quickly interrupted by a juvenile shout followed by blaster fire, quickly drawing Vader back into the present. The boy was shouting, firing, running towards the ship on the other side of the hangar, and Vader cursed himself for allowing his victory to be put at risk. There would be plenty of time to examine the child once he was securely in his grasp.

Another shout was torn from the boy as his blaster flew from his hand and into Vader’s, but Luke wasted no time in reaching for the lightsaber hanging from his hip. “Stop! Stay back, I haven’t freed them all yet, they’re still in danger!” Reckless naivete radiated from him now, something righteous and indignant that dredged up unwanted memories in Vader.

“Who is still in danger?” Vader did not truly care, his ultimate target within reach in front of him, but he chose to humour the boy if only to help ensure his capture. “If you were wise, you would show more concern for your own wellbeing, Skywalker.”

Luke flinched slightly at the address but held himself firm. “The slaves those pirates threatened to try and get us to cooperate.” The anger that flared within him burned hot and bright, and though it was not quite dark yet, it did mirror the rage that welled in Vader as well.

“Slaves?" he hissed, not missing the shudder that wracked Luke’s form at the swell of darkness around them

“Please,” Luke said, anger giving way to desperation. “Please, you can arrest me, I’ll come quietly, just please let me finish rounding them up and let my friends take them off-world.”

This boy believed he could reason with Vader. Or, perhaps he realized how absurd his request really was, but chose to make it regardless, possibly as a way to stall. Luke was, truly, his son, since no other being in the galaxy would even think to be so bold or reckless to attempt such a thing. Which, really, was fortunate, since no other being in the galaxy could even get Vader to consider such a request.

After a moment of contemplation, Vader finally inclined his helmet, slightly, and regarded the boy. “Very well.” Shock coloured Luke’s features. “I will give you my word that the smuggler and his... passengers will be granted leave from this planet if you give me your word that you will return willingly with me to my ship.”

“I -- ” Luke visibly swallowed as the implications of his reckless offer dawned on him, but after a brief pause, he nodded grimly and sighed. “Okay. Yeah, alright. Deal.”

The boy was foolish for being so self-sacrificing, a trait that would have to be eliminated in due course, but Vader was, for the moment, grateful for it. He would work to punish the pirates accordingly for their use of slavery while Luke rounded up the rest of the unwilling workers and then, at last, he would have his son at his side.

Once he revealed the truth, they would be triumphant and face the galaxy as they were meant to -- as father and son.

#ask prompt reply #luke skywalker #han solo #chewbacca #darth vader #luke and vader #star wars fic #my writing #I'm not sure I'm entirely satisfied with this one #but anyways here we go #silverday #silvereddaye #slavery mention

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

Exodus- Part 3

Previous Chapter

An Edolas Hermit story (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Alone and beyond the walls of the city, Impulse is on the run. Trying to find safety from the faces that haunt him, and how they always seem to know where he is.

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

Part three for everyone to enjoy! I know this isn’t how redstone works, but I’m taking creative liberty here. Chemistry class coming in handy, I guess?

Warning: this story contains general dark elements and language. Burn wounds also present in this chapter.

__________________________________-

Impulse doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until a bright light wakes him up. Beside his head, the old brass clock continues to tick away. A steady, calming pace against the silent forest. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, waiting for them to gain vision and correct from the unintentional sleep. He didn’t mean to sleep. He didn’t want to stop running, but he honestly doesn’t remember how he fell asleep.

The first thing Impulse does is open his mouth to wish Zed and Tango good morning. But he remembers that they aren’t here. They aren’t with him. They’re back in Hermitland, trapped. And he’s out here, on the run. All that time digging that tunnel digging freedom for all of them, and in a single strike Tango brought it all down. Impulse wants to be furious at him for doing that. Making the decision for him, forcing him to continue without them. But every time he thinks of Zed and Tango, he only feels loss. He just wants to see them again.

He looks around, black eyes against the white birch trees staring back at him. Watching him. Even when the bright light shines in their eyes, they never stop staring. Impulse startles nearly out of his skin at the sound of a loud door slamming shut. Impulse tries to stand, but falls back to his knees. He can’t seem to gain control of his muscles, at least not in his legs.

When he turns over, he sees he wasn’t really asleep. A bright green dart is sticking out of his legs, the vial empty of it’s contents. He was drugged. Impulse grabs the dart, yanking it free from his skin and trousers. His breath catches in his throat as he hears voices whispering through the trees. He can’t see where they’re coming from, but he knows the voices well enough.

“Doc said he got a hit on him. According to my system, he should be right nearby. Give or take a couple yards or so.” A warm sensation pulsates from Impulse’s arm as he hears Cub speak. Cub’s calm voice slithers through the infinite eyes of the forest, watching Impulse as if they’re speaking about him. As if they are Cub’s eyes.

Maybe they are. How else would Cub know where he is? Surely Cub would know how to do something like that, set up cameras within the forest. That must be it, the trees are watching him. They have to be. He has to run, he needs to put more distance between himself and the city. He stumbles and crawls, trying to regain a sense of control over his legs.

“Don’t overwork your tech, Cub. He has to come out of the woodwork at some point.” Xisuma’s voice is unhindered by his mask, and through the leaves Impulse can see the general’s face. He hasn’t seen those eyes, the scars and long ponytail since the gallows. The only time he saw any hint of Xisuma’s resolve slip away, the mention of a brother Impulse never knew the leader even had. But none of that is in his voice now. It’s sharp, like the point of a compass’s needle. Searching for it’s target.

Searching for Impulse. He manages to get feeling in his toes again, and wastes no time laying on the ground any longer. He doesn’t care if Xisuma or Cub sees him- he takes off running. Dodging and weaving around the birch forest, trying to escape the eyes that follow him in his escape. He hears the two behind him, but he doesn’t dare look back. He has to be faster.

No. He has to be smarter. That’s what got Impulse into this predicament in the first place, isn’t it? He needs to use his brain one more time, to figure out how to get himself out of this. He can feel the shadow of Hermitland still following him, overshadowing him. The eyes in the sky still watching him. He needs to get underground, where he can’t be seen.

The next cave that Impulse spots is hardly even a cave, rather just a hole in the dirt beneath a massive birch tree. But it’s dark, and none of the trees’ eyes can see him from within. Impulse wriggles himself in, the roots and rocks ripping at his clothes. He keeps his clock close to his heart, both ticking on and on- one much faster than the other. His shoe gets caught, trapped in the roots as voices grow closer. He yanks and pulls, but the tree has him captured. Can Cub control trees as well?

Impulse bites back a cry as he wrenches free his foot, the bark and wood cutting into his skin and mangling the mismatched workboot. He lost the other when he was hanged, kicking around for purchase- Zed was kind enough to notice, and find him another one. Despite the pain racking across his body, from his foot to the warm sensation in his arm, right under his tattoo, he keeps silent.

The footsteps grow closer, staggered by conversation between Xisuma and Cub. The steps stop, but Xisuma’s voice only grows louder. “You can’t run forever, kid. We know where you are. Even if we can’t see you, we know where you are. We always know.”

The tingling, warm sensation in Impulse’s arm seems to grow, his skin crawling along his tattoo. A silent gasp escapes from his lips, before being clapped shut by one hand. The other presses down on the ID tag, and Impulse closes his eyes to try and ignore the rising fear and pain. The way his skin crawls- at the pain in his arm, or the charismatic voice just above him?

Impulse turns his arm, looking to see what’s causing the burning, tingling sensation on it. Did he cut himself? Was he hit? He struggles to see in the small hovel, but he can just make out the black markings along his skin.

Except they’re red. No, that’s not right. He knows that his ID tattoo is black He’s had it since he was a child, he’s looked at it every single day. He’s looked at others, every. Single. Day. Tango, Zed, everyone had a black tattoo. But his is definitely red- not blood red, like the skin has grown angry or he cut himself. It’s a brighter shade. It reminds him of…

Redstone. It all clicks together now. It’s not the trees that are guiding Xisuma and Cub to Impulse.

It’s himself. The ink must be redstone infused, more of Cub’s brilliant inventions put to bad use. No matter how far Impulse runs, no matter where he hides, they will know where he is. They always knew where he was, there is no escape from Hermitland so long as his ID tattoo continues to locate his position.

Which means he’s only trapped himself in this hole. Impulse crawls in the tight space, looking to see if he could dig through. Like he did to escape the city. But he’s met by stone, too strong to break on his own. Impulse listens above him, holding his breath and keeping a keen ear. Xisuma and Cub walk around, trying to pinpoint where he is.

As their footsteps start to get quieter, more distant, Impulse charges. Through the roots, snapping them in his mad dash to freedom. He stumbles, but doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop when he hears Cub and Xisuma exclaim behind him. He doesn’t stop when he hears something clicking, or an arrow whiz past his head. Impulse nearly knocks himself out as he runs into the white bark of a birch tree, careening off it and continuing to run. He can feel his legs aching, tired of running. How long has he been chased? He can’t remember any more.

Lucky for Impulse, he’s faster than Cub and X. Young legs and a limber body, day in and day out of hard work on redstone lines and machinery. He doesn’t stop running until he can no longer hear or see the leaders of the city. Even then, he puts more distance between them and himself. Just for good measure.

He wants to pass out as he stops. Just to curl up against the bone white birch trees, and let their eyes gaze upon him as he sleeps. At least he knows it’s not the trees that watch for Cub. But that’s something he needs to do before he can even think of resting. He needs to stop from being tracked.

Impulse sits down, legs throbbing and ankle covered in dried blood and splinters. He turns his arm over, running a finger over the letters and numbers that mark his skin. It’s still warm, the color of activated redstone. They’re still tracking him.

“Come on, Impulse. You know redstone. How can you get rid of this?” He whispers, looking from his tattoo to the clock still firmly in his grasp. He’s never letting it leave his side. The sun on the clock is rising, firey rays emanating across the light blue sky.

Fire. Redstone can’t handle high temperatures- it causes the dust to denature, unable to carry the current. Rendering the dust useless. He always had to be careful where he laid redstone lines, making sure they weren’t near hot water pipes or somewhere fire could reach them. Impulse gulps, breathing hitching as he realizes what he’s going to have to do. It’s not going to be pretty.

And he’s going to have to do it fast. Impulse gathers wood, setting twigs and dry grass into a pile. He digs through his bag, feeling his fingers alight on a small pair of flint and steel. He may be no survivalist, but he does know a thing or two on how to make ends meet. How to make the most out of what little he has. Flint and steel is illegal contraband in the city- nothing that it does is anything Xisuma or his cohorts would want to happen. But it was a tool, made by Tango and his infinite knowledge of underground activities.

Impulse’s hands shake as he strikes the flint once, twice. Sparks cascade to the grass, burning and lighting the small fire. He feeds the flames, hands shaking as the heat grows. Once it’s burning bright, almost to the point that it’s out of control, Impulse places a flat rock deep into the coals, only a thin end sticking out for him to grab later. Now he needs his hands free, so he places his prized clock on the ground in front of him. He pulls off his white button up shirt, looking at the grass and dirt stains on it. He tugs on the sleeves, then again with more force. The threads snap, and he pulls apart the white shirt. The same white shirt that him and every other person in the city ever wore. It feels good to pull it apart. It feels like betrayal, ripping apart everything he’s ever known, everyone he’s ever loved.

His hands shake as he pulls the stone loose from the fire, the smooth grey rock hot even on the end that wasn’t submerged in flame. Should Impulse really be doing this? Can’t there be a better way to ruin the ID tattoo’s tracking without hurting himself? He’s sure if he had more time, more resources, more minds to collaborate with, he’d have a better answer. But right now, this is the best he’s got.

Impulse takes a few small breaths, in and out. Trying to build up the courage to do it. And, in one last deep gulp, he stops thinking and just does it. He presses the heated stone against his skin, crying out into the forest as the heat shocks and burns across his skin. Every nerve in his body screams for him to stop, but he doesn’t let go. Not until he’s sure the redstone has been denatured. He sees the ink of his tattoo fade to black as the skin around it turns a jaded red, and that’s when Impulse finally drops the stone.

Right onto his clock. The sharp end of the heavy slate rock punctures through the dial of the worn brass face, before the stone collapses across the rest of the face. Impulse gasps, hand holding his arm as he grasps for the clock. Completely ignoring the burning pain as he tosses the rock aside, he gasps and groans with each movement of his arm, picking up the shattered clock face.

He holds the broken clock close to his ear, silencing his gasping breath to try and listen for the telltale ticking of the gears, the clock slowly turning from day to night and back to day. But it’s silent, immobile. The brass has fractured, dented and broken where the edge of the rock punctured the face. The rest is dented, flattened and bent all out of sorts. Even if the stone didn’t fracture through the clock face, the dents would have ground the gears to a halt.

It’s broken. The last thing his friends gave him, a little piece of himself back before fleeing, and he broke it. Impulse can’t tell if he’s crying from the pain in his arms or the pain in his heart. Zed and Tango risked being seen to retrieve this clock. They knew how important such a simple little clock was to him. When anyone else would have tossed away as trash, a stupid, poorly designed brass clock, they knew it was his most precious possession. They gave it to him, thinking of him. And he broke it.

Impulse struggles to wrap the shreds of his shirt sleeve around his arm, protecting the burnt tattoo from further harm. He needs to keep moving. He can’t stop. He can’t afford to stop, not this far in. Not after everything.

But his pace is slower, sprint falling to a jog, and tears streaking as he carries the broken clock close to his broken heart.

#hermitcraft impulse #edolas hermits #edolas impulse #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft cub #hermitcraft doc #hermitcraft xisuma #cubfan135 #docm77 #xisumavoid #edolas au #dystopia au #dystopia hermits #tw violence #violence cw #cw burns #tw burns

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leveragingliberty · 4 years

Text

To The Christian Who Is Sick of Politics

Over the past five years, I have ridden a rollercoaster of emotions regarding the somewhat scary state of American politics.

From my conversations with fellow believers, I would wager many of you have been passengers on a similar emotional journey.

Does any of this sound familiar?...

During the last presidential election, I am emboldened, impassioned, ready to speak my opinion. The stakes are high, and I am not going down without a fight.

When the election is over, win or lose, I am ready to breathe a heavy sigh of relief, hoping to return to normalcy and civility, ready to think about anything but what went on in the oval office.

As time goes on, and it becomes apparent that peace is not in the cards, my passion dims and is replaced by frustration and disgust.

When my phone buzzes about twelve times a day, announcing another knock-down, drag-out, fight between grown men wearing suits and ties, I consider calling my cell phone company. Did they offer an insurance policy for screens that were cracked in fits of anger? Because if I see one more fake news notification I would not be responsible for my actions.

I decide to stop watching the news because it is bad for my blood pressure.

When I open my mouth to speak my opinion, I am shot down before I can finish my sentence, labeled a “bigot” because of something I don’t believe and didn’t do. I make a pact with myself to never speak of anything political in public ever again.

-I watch in helplessness as everything I stood for was mocked and belittled, dipped into deep, agonizing sadness as evil is paraded around as good.

-This time, as I go to open my mouth, I hesitate. I can either keep talking and get hurt, or I can go quiet and numb, let someone else speak for me.

I convince myself this is ok because no one is listening away.

-The talking heads keep shouting and fibbing and throwing dirt and it’s all just so jumbled and contorted and wrong I want to throw my hands over my ears and scream.

I am disgusted.

I am defeated.

I want to throw a rock at the television.

I am tired.

I am so, so tired.

This is the word I have heard repeated more than any other in regards to this election cycle-tired.

We are tired of the games.

Tired of the name calling and bullying that substitutes for proving your point.

Tired of the loss of logic.

Tired of struggling to know what’s actually happening.

Tired of the lies, lies, lies, told to us with smiling faces and smug, eyebrow raises.

To be honest, I’m tired of trying.

As I have heard a thousand times in the past few months, “I’m just ready for it to be over.”

But as I go to boycott the news, unfollow half my friends, and drown my sorrows in cute kitten videos, I hesitate.

Because this is what I thought four Novembers ago…“I just want it to be over.”

If this past four years has taught us anything, it’s that evil doesn’t give up.

“Win” or “lose,” darkness keeps gnawing away like a cancer, keeps eating away at the foundations of liberty.

And I am a fool to believe that the battle will be over when the last ballot is counted.

What is happening in our culture is so much bigger than a presidential election. This is about a clash of kingdoms. I am not here to discuss the merits of either party’s candidate, this would miss the point.

I am here to remind myself that whether or not I choose to tune out the news, and disappear into my own little world, America has reached a breaking point.

Whether or not I want to believe it, or ignore it, the decisions of the talking heads behind the screens directly affect my ability, not to practice my faith, but whether or not I am able to publicly share my faith in an unhindered manner.

No matter how politically incorrect this sounds, and how many people stop reading after this sentence, the progressive left aims to systematically strip American believers of the ability to publicly express their faith. They want to label the Gospel, the ultimate expression of love, as hate speech. This is not my “bias” speaking, this is simply true.

We can see it happening right now as Supreme Court hopeful Amy Conan Barrett, is under fire for her Christian beliefs. Her faith may, “hinder her decision-making abilities,” rendering her “unfit for office.”

If we think hiding in our little corners and ignoring the plight of our sister in the limelight, will save us from the same fate, we make a devastating mistake. (one that has been repeated throughout history with horrific consequences.)

The left has been pounding down the door to religious liberty for years now, hacking into our own back pockets with constant imaging rolling across our phone screens, making court decisions here and there, that may seem far away and inconsequential, but lay the groundwork to flip the legal system in their favor.

Whether or not we are given a four-year extension, someday that door is going to fall. The crushing jaws of globalism are closing in, and no matter how hard we try to wriggle free, one day they are going to shut.

I ask myself, why does this even matter for me, as a Christian? Hasn’t the church always thrived under persecution? Shouldn’t I be excited to suffer? Ultimately, I am not a citizen of the United States of America. This is not my home. I belong to a separate Kingdom in a totally separate world, to a King who will never let me down.

Shouldn’t I be justified in closing my curtains, cuddling on the couch with my babies, and watching “Andy Griffith” reruns until Jesus comes back?

It matters because God says it matters.

No, religious liberty is not required for the Kingdom of God to flourish, BUT Paul says something in 1 Timothy that gives me great pause and perspective on God’s view of government.

The Apostle Paul, possibly history’s greatest example of thriving under persecution, specifically commands Christians to pray, “For all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way. This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the Truth.”

God is not interested in American democracy because He is very patriotic and wants His children to be able to relax and enjoy life without fear of imprisonment. As John Piper explains, “God approves of our prayers for peace and tranquility because He approves of the advance of the Gospel. Peace is not the main thing; salvation is the main thing. Tranquility is not the goal, the knowledge of the truth of God, that’s the goal.” https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/pray-for-kings-and-all-in-high-positions

Liberty is precious because it is an opportunity. Whether or not we have been taking advantage of this privilege, religious liberty provides an incredible and unique outlet to spread the Gospel. We should desire and seek religious freedom not so we can live comfy lives, but so that we can leverage that freedom to reach as many people as possible for Christ. Before the jaws “shut” and He comes in judgment against this fallen planet, God wants to bring as many people as possible into the Kingdom that will last forever.

So here’s my question for the Christian sick of politics…

How are you currently leveraging your freedom for the Gospel’s sake?

In your disgust of the current cultural crisis have you inadvertently shut yourself off from the very people you are here to reach?

If you unplug, and go silent now on purpose, you may regret it when you are forcibly silenced by someone else in a few years.

So go..

Speak while you can. Tell that friend who’s been on your heart, talk about Jesus when you’re standing on the sidlelines at your son’s soccer game.

Post while you can. Share that verse. Reshare that link. Type out your testimony.

Do whatever you can WHILE you can!

“Make the best use of the time because the days are evil.”

Aren’t you glad Jesus didn’t give up when your darkness got too disturbing? When taking your sin got a little too messy?

God, give us the courage, in a time where we would rather throw up our hands and walk away, to roll up our sleeves and dive into the hard work of evangelism.

Go and love your little patch of darkness into light. Shout into your microphone until it’s ripped from your hand!

And when the hammer comes down and the door to religious liberty splinters on the floor of our nation’s capital, you’ll already know how to fight. Your sword will already be in your hand.

Let’s not waste our liberty, only to discover what a precious thing we had when it’s taken away, “The night is nearly over, the day is almost here. So let us put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light.”

Before we can blink, the sound of evil knocking on our doors is going to sound a little different. The believers are going to be feasting with the King and the world is going to be pounding on the doors in desperation, begging to come inside.

And the King will say, “I never knew you.”

When He returns may He find us on the streets, dragging in the lost to the Feast before it’s too late.

So for Heaven’s sake, go vote! Pray for our leaders! Let’s seek to preserve religious liberty for as long as possible.

DO SOMETHING WITH IT while you still have the chance.

Whatever happens in November, don’t disappear.

#election presidentialelection politics Trump Biden Christiansinpolitics election2020 republican democrat theGospel Evangelism

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fuckblizzardbearlover · 4 years

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Why ppl who think the writers dont know exactly what they are doing with Sylvannas are dead, completely and utterly wrong: a Thread

from the official overview

“ The Broken Machine The machine of death is broken, and players entering the Shadowlands will find the realm of the dead in disarray. In the natural order of things, souls are sorted and sent on to an afterlife realm appropriate to the lives they lived, but now, but over the past few years, all souls who have perished—including the innocents slain at Teldrassil—are being funneled directly into the Maw. The Shadowlands are starving for anima even as the Maw continues to grow from the glut of fresh souls. Sylvanas has been seemingly perpetrating acts to bring about great amounts of death and destruction. In partnership with the Jailer, they have been working toward a common end for some time. “

so, i’m sure this will be one of the first things we learn in Bastion. or whereever.

emphasis mine.

past few years...BFA...Legion....ok thats a pair... So what if it is not exactly a few (3 ). Draenor sylvannas didnt have anything to do, But in MoP she didnt balk at causing death at Siege of Ogrimmar or Theramore and, in the Cataclysm she wiped out 3 cities. Catacylsm is the expasnion after wrath. After she died

From Sylvannas Windrunner: Edge of Night

“What did it matter if another corpse filled his vacant throne? Sylvanas Windrunner had her vengeance. The vision that had driven her and her people for years had finally been realized. And not a single fiber of her desiccated, animate corpse cared where the world went from here.It was over now. A part of her was surprised she was even still around, without his lingering presence always tugging at the back of her mind. She backed away from the throne and slowly turned to survey the cold gray world all around her. Her thoughts returned to that place of bliss, her half-remembered glimpse of what lay beyond. Home. It was time.

.............

She longed for it. A return to peace. The work she had begun in the forests of Silvermoon was finally complete with the death of Arthas. ,,,,,,,,,,,

...........

She could feel no cold, only a dull ache. She would feel nothing soon. She already felt her spirit reaching a place of calm for the first time in almost a decade. Her weight shifted toward the edge of the drop. She closed her eyes.

.......................

"There are so many!" he barked, falling silent as she raised a finger. "We have only two dozen rangers up there," he said, his voice now a whisper. "They cannot survive that!" Sylvanas didn't turn her gaze away from the dark mass of shambling corpses crushing its way closer to the river ford. It was the height of the Third War, and hours away from Silvermoon's fall at the hands of Arthas's army.

"They merely need to delay them as we fortify the Sunwell's defense," she answered, her tone measured.

"They will die!"

"They are arrows in the quiver," Sylvanas said. "They must be spent if we are to win this."

She was brash. Empty? No—a fighter. She had a warrior's heart.................

Before her waited a grotesque, quivering mass of corpses, their armor piecemeal, their bodies broken, the stench unimaginable. Their plaintive, desperate gazes reminded her suddenly of children. They disgusted her. But their need empowered her. "The Lich King falters. Your will is your own. Are you to be outcasts now in your own land? Or do we embrace the cruel cards fate has dealt us and retake our place in this world?"

.........

These poor people: peasants, farmers, priests, warriors, lords and nobles… they hadn't yet come to grips with what had happened to them. But for somebody—anybody—to assure them that they belongedsomewhere was electrifying.

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

Already he'd come to embrace his situation, referring to humans as if they were a separate race; she made a mental note to make use of him.

.........

"The humans will serve their purpose," she answered, her mind already calculating. "They believe they are liberating the city. Let them fight on our behalf and spend themselves for our gain. They are"—she stumbled upon an analogy she'd used before—"arrows in our quiver."

The heaving mass of undead clapped and coughed and hacked gleefully in assent. Sylvanas regarded the whole mob coldly. And so are you, she thought to herself. Arrows I will aim at Arthas's heart.

................................

No more would she be the vengeful leader of a mongrel race of rotted corpses. Her work was done, and her long-denied reward awaited her

...............

“"Your people will perish!" said the dark-haired Val'kyr.

.Sylvanas thought about her people. They had come far from their decimated origins, the yearning, confused mob of fresh corpses huddled about the ruins of Lordaeron's wrecked capital. The Forsaken were truly a nation now: a fetid, gore-caked, hideous mass of lifeless husks, skilled in combat, devastating with the arcane arts, and unhindered by fetters of morality. They had been honed into the perfect weapon. Her weapon. And they had struck the killing blow for which she had built them. She cared nothing for their fate."Let them perish!" Sylvanas cried. "I am finished with them!"“

........................

She saw only darkness.

And then she felt—truly felt, for the first time in a long while. She recoiled. In agony.

Here she was, her spirit once again feeling whole, only to feel it suffer. To feel once more, only to feel abject pain. Cold. Hopelessness.

Fear.

...................

There were others in the darkness. Things she didn't recognize, because nothing so terrible could exist in the world of the living. Claws tore at her, but she had no mouth with which to scream. Eyes looked at her, but she couldn't look back.

Regret.

She sensed a familiar presence. Recognized it. The taunting voice that had once held her in its grasp. Arthas? Arthas Menethil? Here? His essence rushed to her, desperate, then shrank away in horrified recognition. The boy who would be Lich King. Just a scared little blond child, reaping the aftermath of a lifetime of mistakes. If any part of Sylvanas's soul were not at that moment torn and tormented, she might have even felt—for the first time—the slightest glimmer of pity for him.

Now the others had her. Surrounded her. Gleeful, tormenting, tearing at her consciousness, delighting in her suffering.

Horror.

This was to be her eternity: the endless void, the dark, unknown realm of anguish.

....

"Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady, queen of the Forsaken… you may walk with the living again through the sisterhood of the Val'kyr. As long as they live, so too shall you. Freedom, life… and power over death. This is our pact. Do you accept our gift?"

.....................

This was her only way out. But she didn't want to give her assent out of fear. She waited until she felt something more. A fellowship. A sisterhood. Sisters. Separate, they were all trapped. But together, they were free… and with them, she could postpone her fate.

.............................

"I was once like you, Garrosh," she answered, her voice quiet and steady, loud enough only for the warchief to hear. "Those who served me were tools. Arrows in my quiver.

......................

What he saw was a great black void, an infinite darkness. There was fear in those eyes, but also something else. Something that terrified even the great warchief.

"Garrosh Hellscream. I've walked the realms of the dead. I have seen the infinite dark. Nothing you say. Or do. Could possibly frighten me."

The army of undead that surrounded and protected the Dark Lady was still hers, body and soul. But they were no longer arrows in her quiver, not anymore. They were a bulwark against the infinite. They were to be used wisely, and no fool orc would squander them while she still walked the world of the living.

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

Now, look at the description for the Maw

“ This horrific prison houses the most vile and irredeemable souls in existence—ones deemed by the Arbiter to represent a threat to the Shadowlands if left free. Ruled by the enigmatic Jailer who none have ever seen—at least none have seen and lived to tell—the Maw inspires nightmares and legends even among the denizens of the Shadowlands. No one has ever escaped this vile place, and any foolish enough to venture there are never heard from again. “

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

So This short story was written before cataclysm launched in 2010. NINE years ago.

So yes “dur Blizz are bad writers that made sylvannas do a 180 and become evil for no reason”

NO. This was the biggest piece of characerization Sylvannas ever got outside of warcraft 3 The Frozen Throne. it establishes that she was a cold person more than willing to treat living people as objects to satisfy the needs of their military and their people. It emphasised MULTIPLE times that i highlighted that she HATED and was disgusted by the forsaken. ANd i emphasised at least twice that She has been using patriotism and their need for someone to care about them as a way to MANIPULATE them. And that was how she was. SHe didnt care about any of them They were just a tool to be used to kill Arthas. and with him gone she was ready to die.

The problem was she was ready to die because she HAD ALREADY DIED. we learn with the SHadowlands that good souls go where they are treated well, and even strong souls are treated well. but Where to evil souls go? either the maw or to the vampire place. She had died and started to enter the good place, Bastion no doubt. as a good protector of the innocent. but Arthas pulled her out and made her a monster

BUT SINCE THEN she became even more of a monster. She let her people embrace hatred. she allowed slavery and torture of prisoners for the sake of destroying life. she thought of nothing but how to USE and ABUSE people in order to get vengence so SHE could get her REWARD.

She became a “most vile and irredeemable soul”. So when she died her soul went to the Maw where it suffered with dark evil souls like Arthas’

and did getting rescued by the valkyre fix her outlook? No . she still saw her people as nothing. but she knew the horrors she’d face if she died, and so she viewed her people as a BULWARK against that.

But whats REALLY interesting is that I think Ion wasnt being completely honest . The lore says that “No one has EVer escaped the Maw of Souls”... however we know that we will do so. And we know that No one has been there. so how can anyone KNOW that no one has escaped. What if they just kept it a secret.

What if the Jailer started to, for whatever reason, decide to take over the afterlife. whether it was personal ambition or seeing the rest as redundant. And he saw this elf soul ESCAPE him. the only one to ever do so. By that Valkyre taking her place. The Valkyre are allegedly created by the souls of hte denezins of bastion, the angel people. So between having a connection to the lich king, guardian of the connection to the Shadowlands, and the fact that they are denezins of the shadowlands.. or were... it makes sense they might have had the power to rescue a soul from the Maw.....with the added help of the soul taking her place.

I emphasised other parts to because i think its important. the Valkyre USED to be denizens of the shadowlands. but supposedly Changed by the lich king. The valkyre emphasised it WASNT just a bond of sisterhood but a bond of hte Valkyre. I think in order to save her from the maw they basically had to enchant sylvannas to magically register as a Valkyre, and thats how they ‘made the switch”. so to speak.

Now remember what happened in Legion? She got a special lantern from Helya, the original Valkyr, who is a master of Death, trapping souls and creating dimensions And who has reason to hate Odyn who has his own form of afterlife?

So it seems to me that Sylvannas gained the attention of the Jailer when she was the first one to escape. and the fact that she escaped by utilizing Valkyre magic, but she wasnt bound to the ethos of most of the denizens of bastion. I think shortly after her original death she was contacted by him, possibly through the valkyre and they started their pact.

Ion said that Sylvannas does not have a master, she’s doing things for herself. However that doesnt mean that, just cus the Jailer isnt controlling her doesnt mean he might not be manipulating her.

Jailer starts to usurp the souls. Sylvannas, afraid of going to the maw. begins rampant death, in order to kill enemies and create a massive army of forsaken to use against any force that would come for her. This rampant death gains the attention of those in the afterlife, including the Jailer who gets more souls do to it. somewhere between Cata and the start of legion he contacts her. When vol’jin is dying he uses his influence to get Vol’jin to name Sylvannas warchief.

She uses her new power to go wherever she wants, which she uses to find Helya, another god of death who has a unique power. Realm magic. using the Lantern, Sylvannas uses the valkyre to send it to the jailer who cuts off the other parts of the afterlife, making it so ALL souls go to the maw. then now that the world threat is over, and she doesnt have to worry about dying herself, she uses her position of power to sew as much death as possible to feed her ally. with the ultimate plan of them destroying the natural order of life and death. She gets to be free of him and lets those she deems worthy live free. all others get to be the Jailer’s victims. no more souls wasted on the ‘good’ after lives or regeneration. no more foolish living to ruin a perfect, deathless world.

its all coming together.

#sylvannas #long post #sylvannas windrunner #world of warcraft #world of warcraft spoilers #wow spoilers #wow #warcraft

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keylethwasleft · 4 years

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Wise Mother, Coughing Infant

My first thought after I was born was "this feels familiar."

Okay, yeah, I was just trying to make that sound dramatic and mysterious; my first thought was really billions and billions of thoughts all at once, but the familiarity of it was the real hook there. I guess that's not a really great way to demonstrate what I mean, though.

I was born in so many different ways and at so many different times, but I don't think this last one was technically "being born" so much as having the cosmos sorta mush its power into itself to figure out how I managed to exist where I did. I can only guess—what's it called, circumstantial evidence? One day, there was an empty piece of stretch of Death Valley, full of unhindered sagebrush, Joshua trees, and way more scorpions and coyotes than most people want to deal with. The next day, there was a human baby.

I wanna say that at the time I knew enough about living on Earth and being human and everything not to just start crying right away. I'd done it all before, you know? Plus, I did plenty of other species on top of that, and I could remember everything as far as my brains would let me. I at least remembered being a goldfish or a tiger or a whale or a mosquito. I wasn't the best at measuring time when I was doing those ones, on account of sea snails only barely know we're snails, let alone know how long a "year" is, as decided by some random animals on a planet bigger than I could've conceptualized. Do you know what a sea snail's brain looks like? Neither do I! A sea snail has no reason to know!

The point is, I had all this experience and memory to look back on, but it didn't help. It all hit me at once like a shot. It just made me feel like... It's just not something that happens, you know? And all I could think about was what it felt like to smell and taste things as a housefly, or a hundred houseflies, and I had every opinion anything could possibly have about that. And I was a baby and a parent that could remember what it was like to miscarry, and a parent that could remember holding my newborn twins, and a pregnant feral cat looking for a safe place to lay for a while.

There's so much time stretched through my head at once now, I still kinda don't remember a lot about the timeline between being a cosmically manifested nightmare baby and becoming the Coughing Infant. Someone calling herself the Wise Mother found me pretty soon after. That's something I know for sure, but she sure as anything on or off the Earth ain't the Wise Mother for real. I never bought into that hoax—or at the very least I had doubts most of the time—but she was the only one that knew what I was. That counted for something, I guess. I really didn't have a lot of options. Most newborn humans don't get a lot of freedom of choice, even if they have memories that exist eons longer than they have.

She named her messed up orphanage after me before I even knew it was my name. I mean, I had so many, I could barely manage not to react to every name I heard. Pretty sure most of them I might not have ever even had. Some of them might've just been regular words, actually.

But like, the orphanage was called Wise-Mother-Coughing-Infant, and it started as something that...

Okay. I wanna be really clear about something: memory isn't my strong suit. Getting this all in words is just as bad 'cause I can barely remember what point I was trying to make when I'm halfway through a thought. And I know, I know all of this definitely sounds like I'm trying to blow a bunch of smoke or like I'm delusional or trying to sell you something, but if you don't believe me, you can just toss this letter in the garbage and get on with your day.

The town, though. She told me it was supposed to start as an orphanage, and I don't even think she was saying that to talk down to me because she knew I wasn't a real child and she wasn't a real Mother. I think that was just a side effect. It was always a lie or a metaphor or a mix of the two though, because the first building there was a radio tower. I was barely managing speech around then, but I couldn't figure out how to comment on the fact that the thing wasn't constructed. It just was.

But all I said in my stumbling, stuttering child's voice was, "This doesn't look childproofed."

It feels so stupid looking back, even if now I know for sure the Wise Mother didn't actually care if I said something embarrassing like 24 years ago. I think it was probably more memorable dealing with this nightmare baby who simultaneously could and couldn't manage complex thought and fine motor control. I don't even know if that thing was capable of embarrassment, anyway.

Anyway, you might guess that the radio signals coming from that tower started all the awful things that happen in this town. You'd be completely wrong, but you might guess that. The truth is, the radio signals started the town itself to begin with. Everything else is the same as the way the Wise Mother talks up and around you and through you without meaning to. A side effect. The town itself is its own awful thing.

Wise-Mother-Coughing-Infant was only the tower, then I blinked, and I was learning how to speak, and there were other buildings. A motel, a pit stop, a casino. Just a few basics. Supplies and short entertainment for the typical Mojave traveler. The words I spoke to the people that actually passed through weren't English, though. I didn't understand that, either. I couldn't figure out why the people I spoke to never understood what I was saying. I don't even remember what it was. Probably four languages all at once, for all I know.

That's sort of how the town came to be, too. It was just basics, like a messed up baby of pure cosmic circumstance learning to stand on its own two legs, but then it starts thinking maybe it actually had four. People went through, though. They took it in stride. Not a lot of tourists heading to Reno, exactly, not like it is now. Mainly truck drivers making stops on their routes. People moving between cities for business or family. If a kid you don't know starts meowing and walking on all fours, you think it's kind of funny for a second, and you go on with your day, you know. It's that dry weirdness you expect on a night drive through a nothing-nowhere town in Nevada. Not even notable enough to tell your spouse about when you finally get some cell service.

But the radio kept pumping information to the town. By the time I realized I remembered how to work the sails of a ship despite having never seen the ocean, it was a fully realized ghost town, one big enough to catch your notice real fast. But it was more than that. The memory came to me when I realized salt was in the air, and it was still arid as any part of the desert could be, enough to make you cough, but I swore I could hear the braying of seagulls when I went to bed that night.

It took a while, but eventually I started to hate how much I had to depend on the Wise Mother for. I knew too much about the world for what and where I was, for how long I'd been in it. I knew the taste of copper in cotton fiber. I remembered thinking it was nutritious, and that was the only thing that mattered to me. I knew what flying above the clouds felt like. I knew what kind of vertigo you could feel past the point of vertigo, a millisecond after your parachute fails. I knew war and disease. I knew power and how little I had ever had. And even though my body had finally grown into something resembling a human, I could hardly do what other humans did. Ones my own age. Ones much younger or older.

I can't describe to you the knowledge of what a phantom limb feels like, but a lot of people feel like they understand it even if they've never felt it. People talk about it 'cause it sounds so fake, right? But it's real to so many. I kind of get pissed off thinking about it, because I feel like a sham when I know I have two arms and two legs, ten fingers and toes, but I'm still trying to compare it to that. But I've felt that before, in bodies before this one. Maybe it's still insensitive. Maybe I've written way too much in one sitting and my mind's racing faster than I can move.

My handwriting sucks. I used to be a calligrapher. I just can't hold a pen the way I know I could before, even if it wasn't in the past century.

I have to take so many breaks and even so I'm way more independent from that thing pretending to be a Mother now. I can't remember a lot, but I'm pretty sure I know exactly when the last time I saw her was. The radio tower is really big, you know, so it's more like I'm living in the same building than we actually live together. I can leave if my body's feeling up to it. She doesn't stop me. I don't think she cares a lot about what I do, just that I am. I still don't fully get what that even is, but I still think she wanted me to be more.

She still sometimes calls this place an orphanage. I think she might really believe it is one. I think how much she doesn't get about the world is the most dangerous thing about this place.

I think none of what I’ve been writing even makes sense anymore. I don’t know what I thought I was going to accomplish by writing this to you. I guess I thought you might make some sense of it. Maybe what I really wanted was to tell even one person and lie to myself that they could ever really get it. I guess I miss knowing other people. Humans get that way a lot. I should know, I am one, right?

If I actually send you this, then you know where to find me. Try not to die before that happens.

—Coughing Infant

#sometimes write #narrow fruit #coughing infant #this is some writing i did a while back for narrow fruit lol #wanted to get coughing infant's voice down so i just went for it

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confictura2517 · 5 years

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Without the Void - part one

Started a small fanfic inspired by my idea that Umbra and his Operator would spare in the transference room. Not sure where I’m going with this, but we’ll see lol. Hope it’s good!

(Sorry for the crap picture quality)

Transference happed in a bright flash of light and energy, as Berylian leapt out upon the battle ground in a wave of void energy. He landed running, black boots drumming, as he sprinted for cover. Gunfire cracked in the dry air, giving it a foreign, yet familiar, scent one he was unaccustomed to directly inhaling. The wind touched his face, paired with the splash of water drops from the small water hole to his right. Berylian slid behind a large rock, looking back as he straightened. Sliding behind cover, he straightened and looked back.

Behind, a blast of energy announced the flight of radial javelins rippling outwards, impaling the closest assailants. Their guttural growls and dialect were lost in pain filled screams as the missiles sliced through Grineer armor unhindered. The smell of blood joined the other scents.

Berylian held his breath at the scent of blood, feeling how it made his stomach twist up in knots. He centered himself, swallowing down the discomfort, and turned upon the Vomvalysts that had drawn him out. They winged past him, small energy bolts shooting towards him. Berylian slid aside and aimed, sending a stream of void energy in one’s direction. The Vomvalyst briefly quaked, then turned white, before vanishing.

The soft plop of a sentient core landing in the dirt was Berylian’s reward, and he turned upon the second.

Around him still came the sounds of fighting and dying. Close by, the grey form of Umbra leapt elegantly passed, bullets sparing through the air where he’d been seconds before.

The second Vomvalyst vanished, core dropping, and Berylian hurried to collect both. He scanned the trees growing up to the left of the watering hole. A small flash of dark metal, hovering away in the foliage, made him turn and race after it. The glimpse had been nearly lost in the fading daylight, as the sun slipped behind the horizon over the plains. Berylian loved to watch the sunrise over Eidelon, hence their arrival upon its plains sometime earlier. He’d similarly needed to visit Old Man Suumbat for several gems.

Upon leaving the large gates, ones that Berylian couldn’t look at without recalling flashes of the Orokin, they’d only travelled a short distance before being set upon by a Grineer patrol. Even from the transference room, Berylian had been able to feel the anger which instantly encapsulated Excalibur Umbra. Berylian relaxed the transference, allowing Umbra to more freely rampage after the Grineer, moving like a great righteous hurricane with his swift Skiajati. Sudden laser bolts slamming into Umbra’s back, and the unexpected pain that came with it, had made Berylian to flinch as he felt the impact through his frame. Umbra turned, allowing Berylian to spot the incoming Vomvalysts. In the moment of distraction, a Grineer opened fire, bullets piercing into Umbra’s shoulders, with the sickening thunk Berylian so hated.

Reacting upon instinct, Berylian transferred from Umbra and set upon the Vomvalysts., allowing Umbra the freedom to hunt the remaining Grineer, without the pesky sentient’s harassing him.

Now, Berylian dodged into the trees, moving light on his feet. He slid around roots and rocks, ever keeping the bobbing Vomvalyst in his sight. The cool of the wind felt alien on his exposed face, and the sound of crickets and rustling leaves was so much louder than when he was one with a frame. Brown, dried grass brushed against his legs. The sensations bordered on offsetting, but he centered himself quickly to remain on task.

Ahead, the Vomvalyst suddenly paused, releasing several shots. Berylian slid to the left and responded in kind.

Suddenly, there was a rumble. Beneath Berylian’s heel, the dirt crumbled away. He lost his balance and stumbled backwards. Something big and cold, made of living flesh and armor, impacted the rear of his shoulders. The contact was so unexpected that Berylian twisted, blindly releasing a blast of void energy. The force knocked both himself and the other thing backwards several strides.

The ghostly white Vomvalyst burst away, escaping into the night.

Berylian caught his breath as he turned and laid eyes upon the thing which had so suddenly materialized.

Not materialized. He realized with a jolt. Burrowed.

Rising to its mangled legs from the eidolon soil was a Ghoul. Its fleshy body seemed to glisten, twisted metal armoring and weapons gleaming in the dying sunlight. With a torrent of guttural shrieks, it flew at Berylian.

Berylian sent a beam of void energy straight at the thing’s head. The Ghoul did not waiver in tis attack and swung one knotty arm at him. Berylian ducked. The edge of the Ghoul’s forearm plating clipped him in the head. The headpiece Berylian wore dug painfully into his skin. Startled by the impact, he released a second blast.

The Ghoul dropped its sword. Both mutant hands rushed for Berylian’s throat. He aimed his amp, but no energy answered.

Mutated fingers clawed around Berylian’s neck, power of them knocking his slighter body backwards. Stars filled his vision, and not ones from the quickly darkening sky overhead, as he was slammed painfully against the ground. Small rocks and scratchy grass dug into the back of his suit. The Ghoul leered over him; its foul breath hot on Berylian’s face. His elbow hit the forgotten Grineer sword hilt, and he looked at it wildly, but hesitated. His fingers clutched the burly wrists connected to the hands suffocating him.

Berylian had felt the sensation of choking before. The memory was sharp and painful, the panic that came with it like fire in his blood. His vision fragmented between seeing the stalker looming over him, and the reality of the ghoul. No! Berylian would have screamed if he could breathe.

A paralyzingly howl split the plain around them. The energy it caused made the air feel like electricity. Berylian saw white light from the deafening sound. Before him, the ghoul was sent careening over Berylian’s head and it hit the ground. The impact jolted the Ghoul’s hands from his throat. Cold air slapped Berylian as he choked in several breaths. The stars dotting his vision began to clear. He gasped, staring up at the now dark sky overhead. Storm clouds were gathering. Moonlight escaped through a thin spot and edged the overcast in silvery light which illuminated the sparse trees surrounding the short area. Rocks looked like glass, the nearby watering hole like Fortuna coolant.

Coughing made Berylian roll to his knees, hand touching his throat. His jacket had protected his skin from damage. Suddenly, there was a sharp zing of flesh being cleaved, and warm drops splattered across Berylian’s face. He jerked at the unexpected contact, realizing it was hot, Ghoul blood running down his cheek. The understanding twisted his stomach into a thousand knots. This, and the shock from memory of the stalker, made him heave.

Cool, bone-breaking strong fingers, ones that were now impossibly gentle, gripped Berylian’s shoulders. Wiping his mouth upon his sleeve, Berylian turned to meet the angry, concerned tilt of Umbra’s helm as the Warframe studied him.

“I’m fine,” Berylian coughed.

Unconvinced, Umbra’s hands quickly patted down Berylian’s arms and chest, ascertaining himself in his own way that the Operator was telling the truth.

“I promise,” Berylian added, but didn’t stop Umbra.

Upon finding no injury, Umbra abruptly scooped Berylian into his arms and began to walk with long, swift strides to the water hole. He paused, gently setting Berylian down on his feet, and stooped to dip his cupped hands in the water. Lifting a handful of water, he washed the blood from the Operator’s face.

Berylian held his breath as Umbra did, willing himself to not hurl again in front of the Warframe. Normally he had better control over the reaction to blood, but the sensation of the Ghoul’s blood seemed to burn his skin. The cold water helped, but his skin still seemed to be pulsing where the substance had dripped. He glanced back into the trees and saw the remains of the Ghoul now gutted and strewn across the dry grass. The cleaves clearly delivered by Umbra’s Skiajati.

Umbra finished his self-appointed task and gripped Berylian’s shoulder. Berylian looked up into the expressionless helm, and swore he saw anger and concern written across it more plainly than any frown of lips or crease of a brow could convey.

“I promise,” Berylian replied. “I’m fine. I didn’t have any energy for a void beam.”

Umbra nodded once and let go. Berylian felt gentle pressure in his mind, originating from the sensation of the transference link. Realizing what Umbra wanted, he obliged, vanishing in a burst of energy and light. Umbra stood alone now upon the plains, surrounded by the wreckage of the attack. He silently summoned the archwing. It appeared above, adhering to his body as he leapt skywards. The thrusters roared as he streaked back across the plains towards Cetus. The cold air washed across his armor, sending river lets of Grineer blood streaking across his dark body. They reached Cetus quickly, and Umbra boarded the drop ship to return to the orbiter.

Siting within the Transference room, Berylian frowned at the unexpected action, but did not raise protest. Instead, he severed the link and stepped from the pod.

“Operator, is everything – is that blood?” Ordis’s voice spiked aggressively.

Berylian looked down, realizing Ghoul blood streaked his jacket. “No,” he quickly replied and hurried to the personal quarters to change. Ordis began ranting about safety, words which Berylian hardly heard as he quickly shrugged out of the jacket and pulled on a fresh one.

“ – What madness might have possessed you to put yourself in harm’s way – I will slaughter the Grineer who – I am so sorry, though, I do say that the Grineer – Must pay for trying to harm the Operator – “

“Ordis I’m fine,” Berylian quickly interrupted. He was about to continue when he felt the unmistakable shudder of the Orbiter’s plating as the drop ship reattached. Moments later, the entrance to the personal quarters folded back and Umbra strode in.

Instantly Ordis’s voice filled the room with sharp reprimands, interrupting himself with angry threats, at the sight of the Warframe. Grineer blood made red trails across the dark armor, smeared by the wind of the archwing. Burns marked the impact sights of bullets and lasers alike. The bioflesh making up Umbra’s body was already starting to form small ridges and bumps where bullets had penetrated. Soon, Berylian knew, the bullets would be forced back out of his flesh as the wounds automatically knit themselves closed. Blood had soaked into the grey scarf wrapped snuggly around Umbra’s neck.

“ – How could you allow the operator to be placed in harm’s way?” Ordis was screeching. “He might have been lost again - you useless - ”

A formidable growl, rising in ire, rippled out of Umbra, silencing Ordis’s insults instantly. The cephalon made several scratching noises, like a tape resetting, as his demeanor became reserved once more.

Umbra gently brushed past Berylian to the somachord station. He lifted a small screen lying there and turned around, typing out words across it, before holding it out to Berylian.

Accepting it, Berylian read it.

What happened?

Feeling suddenly sheepish in light of the incident, Berylian explained.

Umbra took the screen back, erased the question, and wrote a new one.

Why did you not utilize the Ghoul’s discarded weapon?

Berylian frowned, thoughts rushing back to the moment, and recalled the fallen sword. He gave a helpless shrug. “The Orokin they…they only taught us with weapons used by the warframes.”

The tilt of Umbra’s helm betrayed surprise, mixed with a sudden loathing. A soft growl left him and he typed aggressively upon the screen.

You do not know how to use weapons yourself?

“I understand the theory, the application of them,” Berylian explained guiltily. “But – no – the Orokin were only interested in us learning to control the warframes. We can use the void; they never saw a need to give us weapons.”

Umbra was shaking his head and typing before Berylian finished. Just as my void abilities, yours require energy. Were you being drained of such energy; how would you survive? If cut off from your Warframes, from me, how would you defend yourself without energy?

Berylian could only manage another shrug of the shoulders. But he swallowed, implication of Umbra’s statement sinking in. Even Ordis seemed silenced for once.

After a pause, one during which it seemed Umbra felt his point had been made, he typed again.

Does any weapon in the arsenal catch your eye?

There was a tongue-tied pause. Berylian sucked on his cheek, considering the question. “The Skana?” he looked up. “Every tenno’s first Warframe used one. That or a bowstaff.”

A dash of humor was exposed in the hold of Umbra’s shoulders. A bowstaff would be too much too soon. You are not tall enough to effectively wield one. The Skana is a sound choice. It is a light and quick blade, and not too large, yet effective. You must learn to wield it.

“You’re going to teach me?”

Umbra’s demeanor almost seemed offended that the Operator had to ask. He held up the screen after a moment of pointed typing.

Yes. I will fetch the Skana.

“Wait, now?” Berylian jumped to lay a hand on Umbra’s arm as the Warframe turned to leave. “But you’re injured.”

The regal angle to Umbra’s helm announced he considered himself to be fine.

A glance at the still bloody exterior of Umbra’s body, and the ridges forming where his flesh sought to force out the bullets, made Berylian quickly lie; “I’m tired. Can we not start upon the morrow?”

“Yes,” Ordis bustled. “The operator requires rest.”

Umbra hesitated, angle of his jaw showing reluctance to stand down.

Berylian pretended to yawn.

Demeanor clearly stating that he saw through the façade clear as glass, Umbra nodded once. Tomorrow.

#warframe #operator #excalibur #excalibur umbra #fanfic #headcannons

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 5 years

Text

Time to move on

Warning: Angst. One hurting prickly porcupine warlord in modern au.

Masterlist

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Time to move on

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Every fibre in his being was screaming at him, telling him that and yet he still couldn’t move. The pale lilacs and delicate daisies adorned the seating for the simple ceremony. The soft waves lapping at the shore were drowned out by his hammering heart. He watched expressionlessly as she walked slowly towards the arch of white roses.

Her hair was flowing free, her usual style had been altered for today and he couldn’t prevent himself from looking at her. A couple of thin braids had been twisted together to create a crown on her head, small pearl accessories settled in them like sea foam. The pastel shade of her gown complimented her blushing face. She was a vision in all her blissful happiness and with each step she took, it felt like another dagger plunged into his chest.

The previous night…

Everyone had finally arrived at the small hotel and in typical Nobunaga style, a celebration party was being thrown. He called it “one last night of freedom” but it boiled down to any excuse to drink when he could finally gather everyone in the same place.

Mc had been in her room but appeared after a few hours encouraged by a slightly drunk Hideyoshi and a grinning Mitsuhide. She looked just the same as the day he’d met her. 6 years… had it really been that long? She looked a little uncomfortable glancing around the room at the men, something he couldn’t help but empathise with.

“Don’t just stand there blocking the door.” He called out to her his tone a little harsher than he had meant it to be. When she turned her big eyes in his direction, he felt instantly guilty for it. “There’s some room over here if you are looking for a seat. Or not, it’s up to you.”

“Thank you, Yasu.” She gingerly took a seat next to him at the bar and received a brightly coloured cocktail from the bartender. She looked tense. He was never very good at getting people to relax, but then again, he was never bothered by such a thing until now. She had always had this way of throwing him off his game to the point where he was at a loss at to what to do with himself.

The new semester had started and he had managed to rush out of the house forgetting to pick up his thermos. The coffee he had brewed was nowhere at hand so he had gone to the student café and that was when he met her. She was laughing and joking with ease behind the counter with the other students and when she looked at him he thought his heart had stopped.

That was the first time he saw her but It wasn’t the last. He kept going back for coffee but only on days, she was working. Never before had he been so interested in someone. They had slowly opened up some dialogue with each other that he didn’t find as frustratingly exhausting as he had thought it would be. She somehow wasn’t like other people and he was silently drawn to her.

His reluctance to admit how he felt directly ended up costing him dearly. Mitsunari had followed him one day to return some textbooks he had borrowed and in a clumsy display of short-sightedness, he had bumped into Mc as she was wiping down a table. He watched as she exchanged words in complete freefall with the smiling annoyance.

The conversations he had had with her seemed to pale by comparison as he watched the effortless grace with which Mitsunari gained knowledge from Mc and even managed to shamelessly offer to attend an exhibit at a museum with her. The coffee in his mug had lost its flavour that day and he was convinced the strawberry tart was made from ash.

Several drinks later he became more aware of the woman next to him. She had spoken to the others on and off but remained seated at the bar almost as if she was hiding. Not surprising given the fact it was the night before her wedding and she probably didn’t want to be here. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye noticing how flushed her face looked. Counting the glasses lined up next to her he made the connection quickly.

“Come on.” He got to his feet and grabbed her hand, giving it a small tug.

“Huh? Where are we going?” despite her confusion she was already moving to join him.

“To get some air, you’re drunk.” He pointed out what should have been obvious rolling his eyes attempting not to notice how warm her hand was in his.

“I am not.” Mc grumbled cutely with a pout causing him to sigh in exasperation. Everything was complicated enough in his head without this on top. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her, his emerald eyes communicating the unspoken concern for her.

“Look either you walk out there or I carry you out. Either way, you are getting air. It is going to be a pain in the ass if you collapse in here. You will worry everyone and I will have to treat you for being a drunken fool.” He still hadn’t let go of her hand and just stood there watching as she swayed slightly on the spot letting his words sink in as the gears in her mind slowly clicked round.

“Ok, I’ll walk.”

“Good” He turned away from her again and began waking not noticing the soft smile playing on his face.

“You know for a Doctor you have a terrible bedside manner.” Her complaint from behind him almost made him laugh.

“I might be a doctor but I’m mostly dealing with research. You don’t get many Petri dishes complaining about your choice of words and attitude.”

Outside the building, the moon was high in the sky sending rays of white light down onto the surface of the water. It was a beautifully serene place which made how he was feeling all the more frustrating. He didn’t want to admit the place was great, that she looked fantastic even in just her normal clothes. He certainly didn’t want to remember that tomorrow she would be marrying one of the clumsiest and oblivious geniuses that he knew. Hell, he didn’t even want to admit he thought that Nari was smart. He dropped her hand and let her lean on the balustrade her eyes travelling out to the ocean and gleaming as they reflected the dancing light on the water.

“You know I can never get a read on you?”

“What?” Her small voice was like a whisper but he caught every word none the less.

“I could never figure you out. One minute you seemed like the most disinterested guy I’d ever met but then you could do something so thoughtful just a few moments later making my heart race that I was always thrown off by you.” Fuelled by her drunkenness her uncandid honesty made his jaw drop. How long had she felt like that? His mind reeled as it tried to grasp on to something stable. He had never said anything to her, he always wanted too but it had just never happened.

“You weren’t the only one thrown off.”

“What?” She turned to him and he could see himself reflected perfectly in her eyes. He wanted to remain there but there was something else bubbling away inside his chest now. Guilt. Along with the regret and unconfessed affection he had developed a sensation of guilt for everything.

“Well you weren’t difficult to talk to but you were always making an effort and it was a little distracting. It used to throw me off sometimes.” He tried to play off his previous comment like it was nothing. Her face contorted into an uneasy smile and he felt his heart twist as he saw it. Why couldn’t he just be honest even now?

“I see. Well, I’m not sorry for doing that. You are a good guy Ieyasu… A good friend.” Her last word hit him like a truck. Friend. Yes, that was all he was now. All he could ever be to her and the reality of that suddenly took all the colour out of the world. All of the sound and light vanished until he was alone in the dark with his ‘what ifs?’.

The wind picked up, pulling her hair loose from its tie and without hesitation, he took his hand and tucked it back behind her ear. Her eyes were again fixed on him. He was close enough now, closer than before to catch the scent of her shampoo on the wind. He heard her breath catch in her throat just as his had. It felt like they were in their own pocket of time.

A hand patting him on the shoulder broke him from his memory.

“She looks happy doesn’t she?”

“Does she?” Ieyasu glanced to the man next to him and felt the desire to suddenly pull away but held still. Carnelian eyes and a knowing smirk told him that once more Nobu had seen easily through him and he hated it when he did that.

“Sometimes it's better to let things go and accept it than to hold on to things and watch it destroy everything.” Nobu returned his gaze to the happy couple at the altar. That pale cream tux and lilac blazer complimented the dress, making them look picture perfect. As much as it made him feel sick to his stomach he also couldn’t deny that what he was being told was true.

“You think you are always so smart…” Ieyasu gripped quietly and the hand on his shoulder tightened its grip for a fraction of a second before pulling away.

“You don’t need me to tell you the rest. But she is happy Ieyasu. There is some solace to be found in that for you even if right now it is the furthest thing from your mind.”

The ceremony was over and the happy couple could be seen laughing with a carefree attitude to the rest of the world as they spun around on the sand to some music. The sunlight caught sections of her hair and glittering lace embellishments making her shine like a star.

He hated this. He hated that he had let the chance slip past him. He hated ho he couldn’t say what he wanted too. He hated even more that she was in the arms of another man smiling like that for them and not him. But most of all he hated himself. He turned away from the dancing and made to slip away unnoticed back to the hotel, hoping to find some release from his on condemnation at the bottom of a bottle somewhere.

“Ieyasu!”

His feet stopped as he heard his name. He snorted at his own inability to even do something as simple as leaving unhindered.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing? What are you doing chasing after me Nari?” Ieyasu turned to notice that the silver-haired groom was not alone and bit back every other harsh comment he had.

“We just wondered where you were going. We saw you leaving and…” Mc did indeed look genuinely concerned and he couldn’t help but think she was unintentionally cruel. Bitterness flowed through him leaving a nasty taste in his mouth but he forced himself to act normally.

“Can a guy not go to the bathroom in peace anymore?”

“Oh! Of course… sorry, we were a little worried that maybe you weren’t feeling well.”

Ieyasu maintained his gruff appearance as he watched them return without him. Never before had he been so thankful that Nari was so oblivious to things. Deep down he knew Nobu had said what he did because it was true and he cared. That knowledge didn’t help him right now though.

“Time to move on…” He muttered to himself before continuing to head back to his room. He didn’t know how long it was going to take but he was certain of one thing. He wanted her to be happy. He closed his eyes and held a deep breath for just long enough his body almost forgot how to breathe.

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