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shirtlessfelix · 3 years

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Ace, David, Jake x Original Killers

Hello hello! These requests seemed to go with each other, so I've combined them into one post. They are three separate stories. Anons who sent these in, I hope you don't mind, and I hope you enjoy! <3

Ace x Sphinx Killer | 423 words

The Sphinx was the first killer that Ace wasn't afraid of. Really, he was quite underwhelmed by her, unfazed by the way she prowled around trials like a tiger stalking its prey. He thought a real tiger would be scarier, something to fear, but the Sphinx had an extra trick up her sleeve that none of the survivors suspected.

She caught survivors in her own kind of traps: sarcophagi that they may have been buried alive in if they didn't answer her questions correctly. Most of them couldn't and were lost to the fog in a matter of minutes, but Ace rolled his eyes as if he'd heard them all before. "What, a rock?" he asked in response to one of her riddles, and she stiffened like the limestone she was crafted from.

She asked him another, and another, and then another, and every answer was correct, which forced the killer to let him go and try for someone else. That was the first time she found interest in any of the survivors other than to take them for herself. Ace was a special one; maybe she did want him to herself.

In their next trial, she made a point to capture him and keep him behind, breaking the rules without a care in the world; she would have him, and he would talk. Ace was confused at first, but he didn't want to fight her; being on her good side may have been a good thing, so who would he be to turn it down? She asked him, "How did you know?" and he told her that he knew every riddle known to man.

It was a long time that they spent with Ace answering her riddles, a growing smile on his face the more surprised she became. He thought her eyes were beautiful in the moonlight, more than the jewels he was so entranced by in his life, and he told her so. She thanked him; he put his arm around her and told her to relax.

Maybe Ace was a flirtatious bastard who knew no limits, but something about the Sphinx really did hypnotize him. The Temple was cold, but they warmed each other up and found comfort in their embrace. They only separated when she was summoned for another trial, and she left him with one final puzzle to solve. The trouble was that Ace didn't know the answer to this one.

"It's you," she whispered as she was carried off, and Ace's heart nearly melted on the spot.

David x Siren Killer | 455 words

There's rarely a time when David isn't bruised and bloody after insisting that he protect his fellow survivors. It's easy for him to get ahead of himself, especially when he used to feel invincible in his life before it all came crashing down. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the thrill of an injury, continuing on even when he's bleeding through the bandages, but he also needs to realize when he needs a break.

At first, she reminded David of Anna, the way she hummed in the distance and taunted the survivors with her enchanting voice. While he was afraid of Anna's humming, the other lullaby drew him in closer, and that was how she got hold of him the first time. She lulled him into a false sense of safety before dragging him down to her underwater cage, and all he saw was a mermaid tail swimming off to find someone else to collect.

They're real? Wait, no—

He didn't know what to think. Mustering all of the strength he had, and knowing his lungs wouldn't spare him for much longer, he managed to free himself from the cage and make it back to the surface. The killer sat atop a rock in the distance, her eyes on David the second his head bobbed out of the water, and he fell right into them again, swimming towards her as his heart beat faster.

By then, he hadn't realized that she already ravished the others; she had him in her arms before his eyes adjusted to the midnight around him. "I knew you'd come back," she said. "Come lay with me, David." At first, he didn't want to, but then she started humming again.

David was like putty under her touch, so soft and sweet as she caressed the side of his face, and he tried to fight it at first. He insisted that he was fine, and he just wanted to go help his friends, but there was nobody to help. She made it so that way she could be alone with him, the tough guy who suddenly wasn't so tough.

In her arms, David was comfortable somehow, listening to her angelic voice as every muscle relaxed, and she washed his wounds. They're not real, he kept thinking to himself. None of this is real, it'll go away...

He woke up back at the campfire, skin perfectly in tact as it had been before, and a part of him thought that he may have been right. She wasn't real; even in the Entity's realm, mermaids couldn't be real. But he heard that song again in the middle of the storehouse, and his heart perked up with hope that she was there.

Jake x Poison Ivy Killer | 514 words

Having lived there for so long before being grabbed up by the Entity, Jake was a man of the woods and found solace in the Red Forest. The canopy reminded him of home, and the rain always felt good to run around in even when it was to escape one of the depraved killers. He enjoyed being somewhere that felt familiar, and overtime he got to know the forest more deeply. Imagine his surprise when he found himself with a rash.

He'd been around every square inch of the forest hundreds of times over, never once running into a poison ivy plant, but he must have rubbed his hand against a poisonous vine... where did those come from?

It was later when he found an antidote and realized that there was a new killer around somewhere, but he didn't know where. Nobody was around besides the other survivors, and as they all were too busy scratching their arms and their legs, they wondered what the Entity could have been thinking.

It was unbearable for the others as they started being swallowed by the plants one by one; first a leg getting stuck under the root of a tree, and then the other as they were dragged down into the mud. Jake was the only one left, having used all of the antidotes and waiting for when he would ultimately be killed by this thing too.

As he waited, he found that the poison ivy was disappearing, some of it sinking back into the ground, and other plants dissolving back into the air. He found it hard to believe that this was happening, especially when the ivy consumed the others just a moment ago. "It's okay. I'll spare you," he heard, and when he turned around, he just barely saw the fuzzy pink of a woman's eyes.

And then he fell unconscious, a victim of her toxins that she had little control over. She cursed herself and picked Jake up quickly, trying to pull him through the Huntress' forest and into her own, where she brought him to her ivy-entwined treehouse. She laid him down and waited for him to regain consciousness. When he did, he was understandably upset.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want that to happen," she told him, and he supposed he understood that it was an accident to some degree. He knows how pheromones work, and he understands that what she was trying to convey didn't work out the way she'd hoped. "I suppose I like you a little too much." The sentiment made Jake laugh, but the killer was embarrassed.

He looked out of the window and saw where the floor was covered in poison oak, a dark red hue that matched her hair, and he thought it was beautiful. She wanted him to lay with her and relax for a bit, but even she knew that may not have been the best of ideas. And then she told him, "I don't want to hurt you again, but I'd like for you to stay." Jake wanted to stay with her too.

#sffic #anon #req #dbd #dead by daylight #dbd fanfic #dead by daylight fanfiction #dbd ace #ace visconti #dbd david #david king #dbd jake #jake park #dbd quentin #quentin smith #fluff

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jonnyparable · 3 years

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Cottage Hills: The Mystery Plague Part III

The Plague Spreads

Its Autumn in Cottage Hills. The town's woes continue as a strange illness begins to spread amongst the villagers. Looks like Dr Tim arrived in town just in time. His clinic is overrun, as Ellen's tonics prove pretty much useless against the strange disease. For now, patients can only rest in his clinic as he observes them, and they sometimes recover after a few days, but keep coming back with the same symptoms. Those who don't recover, just get worse.

The Mushroom Man

Meanwhile, Mary, looking through Basil Reed, her father's old journals, has decided to pick up where he left off in his search for the fabled Tree of Life, and to go into the woods where he was last seen looking for it. Maybe if she can find it, she can do something about this plague. But she can't go alone, so she tells Gray about her going.

Mary:

"I know, you'll probably tell me not to go, after all, my father went, and he just up and vanished in there 15 years ago, didn't he? Left me and my poor mother all alone, a completely irresponsible man, probably killed her by breaking her heart, and look at me, Mary Reed, his daughter, following in his blasted footsteps!"

Gray:

'Well, alright Mary, I-"

Mary:

"But I have to go, I want to go, and you can't stop me! People are suffering and I-I have to do something, I have these journals, you can't tell me I should just sit here-"

Gray:

"Mary! For goddess' sake! I'm going with you. I understand why you want to go, and I think you're very.... brave, actually. "

Mary:

"Oh...G-Gray, that's -"

Gray:

"Well, let's bring my Servo, Zack, it'll be good for him to get out of the house, plus he has an inbuilt torch light. Come on!"

Gray, together with Zack, the Servo he made decides to follow her. They enter the misty woods and although they don't find any leads with regards to Basil Reed's disappearance, they don't get very far before they bump into a strange man in the woods....

The man is Olkan, the lone huntsman who stays in the woods. He is surprised to see them there, and immediately tells them to leave, as its almost night time, and its not safe at night.

Olkan:

"What are you doing in these woods? The Moon is coming, you must leave now, before I-"

Zack:

"Beep beep boop boop"

Olkan:

"Oh...well , hello..."

He and Zack immediately hit it off, and they'll end up seeing a whole lot more of each other in the coming months.

Mary then asks about her father, and if Olkan ever saw anyone else in these woods before. He then tells them of something he had seen recently. A strange figure had been coming back frequently to the woods, picking some mushrooms, which Olkan knew to be poisonous, as even the animals didn't eat it. He finally tries to warn the figure, but they ran away when they heard Olkan's voice. Olkan passes a sample of the mushrooms to Mary and Gray.

Olkan:

"Be most cautious with these. I do not know what these are, only that they are most potent a poison. Just merely picking them has made me viciously ill. There is no reason to be picking these unless one desires to craft a lethal poison from them. Take these to your leaders, for whoever is picking these might be up to no good! Now leave, you are not safe here, leave before the moon emerges!"

Mary and Gray leave, bringing Zack with them as he casts one wistful look back at Olkan and his screwdriver. (Not a euphemism) They pass the mushrooms to Harris, telling him about what happened.

The Wizard's Cap Mushrooms

Sure enough, Mayor Thomas, a mushroom enthusiast, identifies these as the Wizard's Cap Mushroom. If ingested, they can cause stomach cramps, nausea, vomiting and in some cases, even death. He passes the mushrooms to Dr. Tim to analyse, to see if there's any connection to the town's plague.

In a meeting with Ellen and Dr Tim on the situation of the plague, it's determined that the symptoms of the mystery illness seem to match up with the symptoms of Wizard's Cap poisoning.

Dr Tim:

"Mayor, I've analyzed the mushrooms you gave me and compared them with blood samples from my patients, and I've noticed that there's trace amounts of the Wizard's Cap toxins in their blood. Which means, they somehow came into contact with the mushrooms within the last 48 hours. It is my deduction that this is no plague. The town is being poisoned somehow. Whether an act of malice or otherwise, I do not know."

Mayor Thomas:

"Ellen, can anything be done to reverse the effects of the poisoning?"

Ellen:

"The poison is powerful, the toxins' potency has been amplified with dark magic. This is beyond my ability to. Unless I can find out how the poison is made, there's no way for me to craft a remedy!"

Mayor Thomas:

"This is grave indeed. If someone was indeed found picking these in the woods, it could mean someone is intentionally or accidentally poisoning the community. But how is the poison being consumed?"

Dr Tim:

"Well, however it is being done, and by who, we need to find out quickly, before things get out of hand."

Mayor Thomas:

"Ellen, do you think this is what the seer of old foretold? What shall we do? Do you think the death of a ba... "

Ellen:

"...Perhaps, I cannot say... but until then, we can only care for the sick and ease their suffering. Lives hang in the balance, Thomas."

Meanwhile...

On a distant mysterious shore, Kai and Popuri are waylaid in their trip back to Kai's hometown of Simbayang, and find themselves on the shores of a faraway land...

#the sims 2 #ts2 pictures #ts2 screenshots #ts2 neighborhood #harvest moon back to nature #sims 2 #cottage hills #harvest moon tree of life #The Mystery Plague

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embracethecringeside · 4 years

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OK, here's one: do you think that there's any genuine good in Rick? I can't make up my mind about that one. I don't think he's evil or a sociopath (a lot of fans called him that in the early days, that term is so misused), but his intense self-hatred seems to be the only redeeming thing about him. He must have some sense of morality because he knows he's done horrible things, but he makes zero effort to stop doing horrible things unless it benefits him somehow.

My short answer is yes, Rick has genuine good wrapped up in there but my full answer is a bunch of examples from the show that I would like to call Soft Sanchez moments, where Rick either does something good/says something real and genuine/or his goodness is talked about in some fashion.

Meeseeks and Destroy

Morty: Look, I want to leave now. You win the bet, okay? (Searches Rick's lab coat for the portal gun) Just give me the portal gun and let's go, please!

(Rick sees the badly beaten Mr. Jelly Bean walk out of the bathroom and pieces together what happened)

Morty: Please, I just want to... go h-home. (Tears up and holds onto Rick)

Rick: Okay. Listen, Morty. I just won a bunch of shmeckels. Why don't we use 25 of them to pay slippery stair here for a ride back to the village, and then we'll give the rest of the shmeckels to the villagers, huh?

Morty: Really?

Rick: Sure, Morty. Yeah. You know, a good adventure needs a good ending.

Rick: Good job, Morty. Looks like you won the bet.

Morty: Thanks, Rick, but I don't know if I should. You know, you were right about the universe. It's a crazy and chaotic place.

Rick: Well, you know, maybe that's why it could use a little cleaning up every now and then, you know. This one's wrapped up neat and clean because we did it Morty style.

(They portal away, but Rick makes another portal back and sticks an energy pistol through it and shoots Mr. Jelly Bean, splattering him all over the screaming villagers)

A Rickle In Time

(Puts his own collar on Morty, who disappears)

Rick: I'm okay with this. Be good Morty. Be better than me. Holy shit, the other collar! I'm not okay with this! I am not okay with this! Oh, sweet Jesus please let me live. Oh, my God I—I've gotta fix this thing, please God in Heaven, please, God, oh Lord, hear my prayers. Yes! Fuck you God! Not today, bitch.

Mortynight Run

Rick: Screw this. I’m out.

(Rick forms a portal and leaves through it. Morty tries to start the car as a Gromflomite approaches, but it stalls.)

Morty: Oooh…! Come on, come on!

Gromflomite: Get out of the vehicle made of garbage or we will open fire!

Morty: *still trying to start the car* Oh no no no!

Gromflomite: Open fire!

(A portal appears directly above the guards and water pours out of it, flooding the room. Another portal appears on the floor, and the water and Gromflomites are sucked into it. A third portal then appears and Rick emerges through it, walking up to the car.)

Rick: Stupid-ass fart-saving carpet-store motherfucker! *shoves Morty out of the driver’s seat and takes the wheel* Move!

Auto Erotic Assimilation

Rick: You got that right. But... baby, listen. Y-you're talking about taking over planets and galaxies, you gotta... you gotta just... remember to let go sometimes, you know.

Unity (Administrator): I can let go! Hey, look! You see that town across the river? Watch this.

(Planes fly past and bomb the town, blowing it all up)

Rick: Whoa!

Unity (Administrator): Ha ha! Woot!

Rick: Whoa! That's not what I meant!

Unity (Administrator): [laughing] It's okay! It's okay, I evacuated! I evacuated the town, look!

Unity (Townspeople): Hey! Right here! We’re fine!

Rick: (laughing) Oh, that was awesome! My grandkids weren't in that town, right? A-are my grandkids alive? ... H-hey, my drink is empty

Get Swifty

Rick: Take it from me, Ice. *burp* You can’t just *burp* float around space not caring about stuff forever.

Morty: Tammy… gross. Birdperson, you always stick up for Rick, but he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He doesn’t think about the consequences of anything he does.

Birdperson: And as a result, he has the power to save or destroy entire worlds. And he is the reason you and I know each other. And the reason I’m alive at all.

Look Who’s Purging Now

Arthrisha: Wait, stop! Please, don't kill me! I-I never intended to harm you, I swear. I am trying to end the festival. W-w-what do you mean? I was going to use your ship to destroy the rich assholes that run our society and save my people from the horrors of this yearly festival.

Rick: I'm not here to judge. I'm just a guy from another planet. But this girl is one of your poor people, and I guess you guys felt like it was okay to subject her to inhuman conditions because there was no chance of it ever hurting you. It's sort of the socio-political equivalent of, say, a suit of power armor around you. But now things are evened out, so, Arthrisha?

Morty: I can't help but feel ashamed about what I did back there, Rick. I guess you were right. I've got a lot of repressed stuff. I need to deal with.

Rick: Don't worry about it, Morty.Remember those candy bars earlier that we got in the first act?

Morty: Yeah, what about them?

Rick: Turns out they have a chemical in them called purgenol that amplifies all your violent tendencies.

Morty: Oh, boy. Whew! Thank goodness for that, huh? That's a relief.

Rick: Yep. Don't even sweat. You're still the same old Morty. Your character's totally protected. (camera pans out to reveal the label on the chocolate bars reads “now purgenol-free”)

The Wedding Squanchers

BirdPerson: The guest list at this wedding includes 17 of the federation's most wanted. We have committed numerous atrocities in the name of freedom.

Rick: But... but... Here's the thing. Birdperson is my best friend, and if he loves Tammy, well, then I love Tammy, too. (Cheers and applause) To friendship, to love, and to my greatest adventure yet... opening myself up to others.

The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy

Rick: And you know what? I’ll cop to it. I put a lot of strain on your marriage. It wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.

Jerry: What?!

Rick: I didn’t respect your marriage. I certainly didn’t do it any favors. And for what it’s worth, I’ll apologize to Beth for it when we get home. Whoo! Whirly Dirly! Yeah!

Pickle Rick

I’m trying to let the scripts show all the ways Rick is good before I jumped in but since this is really weird without just watching the episode I’ll just explain that Rick doesn’t kill Jaguar after he finds out he has a daughter and then they work together to escape.

The Old Man and The Seat

Tony: Can I look at a photo of my wife while you kill me?

Rick: Sure, but I'm doing her a favor. She either has terrible taste, or she's trapped in a marriage to a toilet thief.

Tony: She's dead. And I don't mind joining her. Life has been hollow since I lost her. Using your toilet was nice, though. I'm a bit of a shy pooper. I'm ready when you are.

Rick: Stay there. (goes through a portal, comes back with another Tony) Tell him what you told me.

Other Tony: What is this? What's happening?

Rick: Tell him what you told me.

Other Tony: My wife's still alive. Sh... sh... she went into remission 10 years ago.

Rick: And what did you do today?

Other Tony: Oh, I, uh, pooped on a really awesome toilet I found... Oh, ow, ow, ow, ow, oh! (Rick shoves him back through the portal)

Rick”: Don't use your dead wife as an excuse. You ( Bleep ) on my toilet because you don't know your place, and your place is nothing. So next time you stumble onto a toilet that feels too good for your ass, trust me, it is.

Tony: You're not gonna kill me?

Rick: Don’t tell me what to do!

Tony: You can make a perfectly-realized, toilet-filled simulation of heaven, but you can't share a toilet?

Rick: Don't insult my craft. The chemical is Globaflyn. It connects the whatever-you-want section of your brain to the whatever-you-have section. If your heaven is toilets, that's on you.

Tony: All of these people...

Rick: Are living their wildest, meaningless dreams and leaving me out of them.

Tony: People you refuse to kill and refuse to let into your life.

Star Mort Rickturn of the Jerry

(Rick reveals he has saved what he could of PhoenixPerson)

Okay and on to the big one where I am actually going to talk instead of just letting the script go off Rest and Ricklaxation. We see two sides of Rick, Healthy Rick and Toxic Rick. After Healthy Morty slaps Healthy Rick, and he slaps him back, he discovers the machine doesn’t actually know the difference between what is truly healthy and whats actually toxic, it goes by each person’s individual definition. Shortly after we as the audience learn that Healthy Rick? Is actually apathetic. He doesn’t care about others. All the caring and emotions are wrapped up in Toxic Rick. Everything Healthy Rick did and said is all stuff he believes are good, he apologies, he takes responsibility for his actions, he’s polite, he’s trusting, and he doesn’t try to control others, but he is doing all of this simply because he thinks he should. So it is completely selfless when he makes the bargain so Toxic Rick will merge with him, because, and he even says it, he hates having what he considers his toxins inside of him, but it’s the right thing to do.

Then of course Healthy Rick calls Toxic Rick out, knowing that he is the one with all his, “irrational attachments” as he puts it, and as much as Toxic Rick no longer wishes to be a part of Healthy Rick, he merges with him under the pretence that he will then be able to save Toxic Morty. Both act selflessly for different reasons, Healthy Rick believing it is the right thing to do, while Toxic Rick does it for Morty.

So do I believe that there is good in Rick?? Heck yes!! Good is stored in the garbage grandpa!

#rick sanchez #rick and morty #this took forever im sorry #ellie answers #long post #rnm #ram #rick sanchez has morals and a heart y'all #ellie's answers #love my awful grandpa

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perfect-fourth · 3 years

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@simpingforshauna

𝄆 Daybreak.

Getting across the Navori region would have typically taken him much longer, but there were a lot of benefits in playing the role he’d adapted since his return to Ionia. Jun Lee, as he was known to his new acquaintances, was really a rather unimposing figure despite his flair for drama. Just a placid middle aged gentleman with an air of hospitality and many fruitful hobbies, be them cooking, gardening, or fishing; the latter of which was what had brought him there in the first place.

It was quite convenient that the young woman had skill in teleportation magics, and he did have every intention of actually taking her fishing on their trip to the south. The truth of that was what had made it so easy to sound authentic in his convictions; though he knew he had ulterior motives for the specific place he’d picked. Keeping her out of his business would likely be the most difficult part, but she was not immune to the pitfalls of being human-- she’d have to sleep eventually. He trusted his own ability to distract her otherwise, and worse case, well. The satchel of assorted toxins and drugs he’d collected while in Zaun would be more than enough to aid him in keeping her away when he needed to work more privately.

Though he’d been planning to pop in on the ninja well before he’d ever returned to Ionia, his decision to do so now had been more an act of feeling than it was of logic or necessity, and one that he would follow without hesitation. He’d been through a lot those previous few weeks, and while the resulting angst was vexing at best, he would never let the opportunity to use his despair for his art go to waste. It was the only way to create.

He had been meticulously collecting every bit of recent intel on the man and his pupils that he could for...years now, but it wasn’t necessarily the most ideal of times or circumstances to go toe-to-toe with him. It was all well and good, though-- this wasn’t a performance so much as it was a rehearsal, as well as an invitation. He’d been leaving traces of his ghastly craft across the coast for the last 2 or 3 months, and still he had yet to cross paths with either of his two supreme adversaries. The mask of sanity he wore was fantastic, but he didn’t think he was that difficult to track down, had they been paying attention. He hated when his work went unappreciated.

When they’d arrived that evening, he took the girl out to the lake for a few hours, though they’d only managed to get a few measly bites. Certainly nothing worth keeping, and a disheartening prospect that gave him the excuse to retire early at a local inn he’d rented out for them. He bought them each their own separate rooms for the sake of privacy. He was very picky when it came to who he shared a bedroom with, for reasons that had nothing to do with murder.

He knew for a fact that the shadow master was set to return the following day after a rendezvous with some of his peers; the details of which he had difficulty discerning, though the information was enough for him to calculate his own actions accordingly. Luring his students out that morning had taken some patience and caution; as well as flawless timing on his behalf. At 4 that morning he meandered to the their temple in the guise of a weary, elderly traveler, a feat achieved with his impeccable makeup artistry as well as some realistic touches made by way of illusion magics. A most unintimidating look, that made it easy to approach without being immediately shot down by the ever vigilant members of the Shadow Order, though hesitations on their behalf weren’t unanticipated. He persuaded a handful of the younger member’s in Zed’s entourage to come out to the road where he'd left his cart; one wheel splintered and spun off the hinge. It was expected that at least a few of them would have the heart to help an old man in need when his tired bones and sore back were too much to handle fixing the wagon himself.

Five of them volunteered themselves, sleepy-eyed but charitable, save for one very grumpy elder member to their order who had insisted on joining them. It was the older one who Jhin had his reservations about, they’d clearly come for the soul reason of making sure nothing foul was afoot-- and something foul was very much afoot. He made sure to try and deviate their suspicions as much as possible on the stretch back out to the roads; a very particular road he’d picked to perform on because it was the only road back to the Temple of Thanjuul. Zed would have no way to avoid his invitation on his way back home; unless of course he decided to cross through the forests before reaching the end of the path. Knowing him, he would unintentionally ruin his art instillation by taking the non-road less travelled. But he would still end up knowing about it by the time he returned, even if he didn’t see it with his own two eyes first. He wasn’t going to kill all five of those who sought to aid him. He would leave one alive; not because he didn’t want to kill as many of Zed’s disciples as possible, but because the math didn’t add up. It had to be 4, or otherwise 8, 12, 16... He’d have had to go back to the temple to make that happen, and that was a risk that was a bit too dangerous to be taking without the proper precautions.

A risk that he would unfortunately end up having to take.

The four Yanléi went down without a problem, just as he’d expected-- not by way of bullet, but by way of blade. He’d decided a return to his roots was in order for this performance; the sheer force of the magic that his more extravagant weapons put off was too noticeable; and too loud at that, and aside, he felt like being more physical for this performance. Of course, he did have Whisper, just in case-- but it felt good to take down the poor unexpecting students, one, then the next, it was a little bit too easy. He was just happy he still retained most of his abilities in hand-to-hand; though in fairness, they were all still drunk on sleep. It might have been a touch one sided, but he didn’t care.

By the time he’d slit the throats of the first two, the third and fourth were well aware of what was going on, as was the older acolyte who joined the younger pair in a three to one assault. It was that one who he was worried about, and rightfully so-- Jhin could handle some lesser members of the Shadow Order in close combat, but the higher up into the Order they were the greater his chances of being absolutely demolished (at least without distance, and guns). They had much more experience in their craft, after all, more access to the shadow magic they were known for-- Jhin was far from the worst martial artist in the world, but compared to the more prominent members of the Shadow Order, and Zed himself? He hated to admit it, but he didn’t stand a chance.

He’d taken down one more of the other’s before he was compromised by way of a knife to the back of his shoulder, a hiss of pain echoing from his lungs. That would be fun to deal with later, but it was something he kept out of his mind for the time being as he retaliated by spinning round to bury one of his own blades directly into the acolytes’ gut, his motions like a dance. The magic that enchanted the weapon brought with it a flourish of colorful foliage and light, and Jhin took the opportunity to finish them off while they tried to process what had just happened to them. He couldn’t help but to smile as he watched the realization enter their eyes, they knew who he was, but there was nothing that could be done, now. A wrenching of the blade inside their stomach brought with it a new plume of illusionary beauty; their stomach ripped open to let it all out.

When he’d rounded on the last of the Shadow Master’s students, he expected the terrified boy to understand that he had no chance of surviving without his superior. He expected he’d run to tell the others; that was the plan, and he even told him he was free to go as he lowered his own weapon, stretching his limbs and cracking his neck now that he had no need to feign the appearance of an aging merchant.

“Go,” he whispered, his eyes alight with sadistic jubilation.

“Warn the others.”

He told the youth, his gaze cast to the bodies he’d left around them, and soon turning away entirely. He had to finish setting the scene, after all; and the faster the fifth acolyte left, the more time he had to work. He really shouldn’t have underestimated the honor of one of Zed’s own, though-- he’d barely had time to react when he came barreling at him from behind, screaming, prepared to take him down. But he did react, on instinct, mostly -- which meant that the swift stab he delivered into the poor thing’s throat was a fatal one.

The regret set in almost instantly, and as the last of the Yanléi fell to his knees with a burning hatred in his gaze, Jhin couldn’t help but to curse out loud-- something he very rarely did. Despite being the one to have administered the blow, Jhin found himself shambling to his own knees to grab the fallen protégé and collect him in his arms, desperately trying to mend the wound in his throat with whatever bit of fabric he could find. Jhin knew the basics of first aid, but a healer he was not, and though he’d wanted to help(for his own compulsive and selfish reasons, but still) the boy made every attempt to try and fight him off and hurt him, even as he bled out. He had to give him points for that.

“No, stop-- stop that, let me help you!” he hissed at him, his voice tainted by desperation and the slightest hint of fear. That fear would grow tenfold by the time the young man’s eyes went cloudy and distant, the last remaining light of life slipping away with the blood that now stained the artist in the most unbecoming of ways. He kept his hold of him until he was certain he was dead; and even after the fact. His only options now were to settle on five deaths, or otherwise return to the temple and take out at least three more of the ninja’s disciples. So, there really weren’t any options. Not many other people came out this way; he couldn’t kill any civilians to add to his body count when there were none nearby. He dropped the corpse he held with a thud, suddenly reminded of the throbbing pain in the back of his shoulder.

“...Damn it.”

#ic #rp #starter #read more for long post #and also tw #tw gore #more of a drabble than a starter but #long post #v v long post #I'm sorry I'm hype for some jhinteractions #tw murder #tw child death #technically teenagers but thats still p bad #jhin is a fucking jerk #poo poo on you jhin

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baekchelor · 4 years

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ａｓｈｏｒｅ[iii]

pairing: bodevan cash x reader genre: Doctor! AU, Romance, Angst summary: After a fall out with your fianceé, and an opportunity to chase your dreams, you embark into a medical mission trip to Namibia where you run into self-taught doctor Bodevan Cash. Love ensues. word count: 3.8k

❝the sea beckoned to me, and all reality was lost —swept away in the entrancing song of the tide. ❞ ―meredith t. taylor

TWO ｔｗｅｌｖｅｄａｙｓ

◄ ｐｒｅｖ

Bodevan's eyes looked like the morning sky every day after the first one you met them. Per diem, Bo's mood was bright as the sun too, although you did notice the tears confined on his bottom lid once ―when he concluded nothing else could be done and called 20:16 as Moharerwa's time of death. Bo summoned you to the OR after practising the caesarean section, as the doctor responsible for keeping Moharerwa's baby alive. Meanwhile, you were transporting the newborn into the incubator, Moharerwa went into cardiac arrest, and despite all his efforts, Bo couldn't keep her alive.

She did, briefly, meet her son, and the few minutes were enough to announce his name was Bodererwa. She thanked Bo and expressed her gratitude by naming her infant with the first two syllables of Bodevan's name.

Baby Bodererwa wasn't the only patient under your care. You treated an Irish girl who suffered from nausea and developed rashes. Rellian (Bo's younger brother) and you bonded over an uncanny case of seizures, muscle weakness and vision loss, you later diagnosed as Tay Sachs Disease. Tjiruru, a Himba man on his forties, came in with an acute case of Hepatitis C. Later, Tjiruru brought his sister, who two weeks ago, at Henties Bay's clinic, was prescribed with azithromycin for bacterial pneumonia. Bodevan figured out the medicine killed pneumonia's bacteria and caused other bacteria (that usually lives in a symbiotic relationship with the body) to produce toxins AKA Tjiruru's sister illness.

On day eight, you met, for the very first time, Danny Dupont. He was from Australia, with Kiwi heritage, and the reason why Bodevan got himself a kind-of-nurse.

Danny was diagnosed with viral cardiomyopathy, which caused his heart to fail. He came to Namibia because he didn't want to spend the rest of his days trapped in a hospital, waiting for a heart transplant. During a Safari across the Skeleton Coast, he fell in love with Peera, his tour-guide. Peera became Danny's reason to live, so he accepted to spend most of his days laying on a hospital bed if it meant he would win more time to enjoy alongside Peera. So she asked Bodevan to train her as a nurse, and Danny requested Bodevan to treat him. Now Bodevan has an Organ Donation Program running on the Himba village so, in case of any death, he can get a heart for Danny.

Today, Peera will host a "western" Birthday Party for Danny. It will be held at the hospital because Danny can't leave his cot, but Reillian will microwave a cake in a mug for him ―he saw the receipt somewhere on Pinterest―, and Bodevan managed to buy a few candles and balloons.

Also today, you're running late for your rounds. Dr Gandy video called early this morning, not to inform you about old patients, but to have breakfast with you. It was 2am for Ethan, but he ate pancakes and orange juice, the same receipt he asked room service to bring to your cabin, with the bacon crisped just like you like it, and with blueberries marmalade instead of syrup. You talked bout your medical experiences in Namibia, and that he will keep the Hamptons' beach house and Harper will have the pent-house in Soho. Ethan also said he misses you like crazy.

Guilt substituted the sugar in your coffee, souring the moment, and making clear that you wish you could say the same to Ethan. And you did, of course, you did, you lied. Truth is, Danny and his heart transplant, Bodererwa and his chances of survival, and every patient you've treated so far, keep your mind busy to the extent that, when you collide on bed, the only thought on your mind is to finally be able to rest.

Or so you tell yourself. Considering that dreamland and the pillow talk with your subconscious revolve around a particular wonderful being named Bodevan Cash.

"Morning!" all smiles, you greet as you walk into the teepee. You've grown to love the place.

"Morning, Intern!" and you've grown to love the nickname he calls you. Bodevan is teaching you about surgery, and yoga, and Hambi language, and about why the globe's entire population should be Maoists.

The boy is erudite. He was homeschooled, and his parents did a hell of a great job. To the point, Bodevan received college acceptance letters from numerous Ivy League schools. "I've got something to show you. Come here."

Bo hands you a pile of old letters. Right away, you know what they are, and you can't help but stare at each of them with your mouth agape.

"Holy Cow," your wide eyes travel to meet his. "Why didn't you go to any of this? Harvard is the best school for medicine out there."

"I never pictured myself as a Doctor," he says, while you check the charts for today patients. "I just wanted to go to college, be a normal guy. But when mom died, well...life has a funny way of trampling dreams, huh?"

"Yeah, it does," you murmur softly. "Sometimes, I just feel as if life controls me, instead of it being the other way around."

Bo looks at you knowingly, but careful of his own words, "Why do I get the feeling you're talking about your marriage?"

"I love Ethan. I'm just... if you've asked me what I wanted to do at my twenties, I would answer joining Doctors Without Borders, not getting married," you answer quietly, surprised at what has just left your lips. Hearing the inner thought that had been plaguing you for the past months being said out loud unnerved you.

"Was he upset about your trip here?" asks Bodevan.

"No. He encouraged me to do it, he even paid the ticket. I guess only because I was upset about him being married before. I know Ethan. He did this to erase the guilt from his system, to try to indulge me," you tell, fiddling with your white coat.

Bo eyes you in surprise, startled, "I-I didn't know he was married."

"He is married. They'll sign the divorce papers in two days. He never really told me, I just found out because his wife made an appearance at the hospital we both work at."

Bo remains silent for a while.

"I'm sorry. I have no idea why I'm telling you all this," you intervene awkwardly, suddenly feeling ashamed. He probably thought you were an idiot for sticking with a man who blatantly lied to your face. And you were likely making it worse by ranting on about your fiancé whom you swore a thousand times before that you were madly in love with.

But Bodevan just smiles. "No, it's alright. It helps to let things out. But if I were you, I'd tell him how I felt. If you're going to be spending the rest of your life with him…"

You sigh. He is right.

"Forget about it. What about you?" you pipe. "Any significant others?"

"N-no," he is all shy again, averting his blue orbs to the floor, as far from you as possible, and stuttering.

"But I assure you, he has ladies lining up for a shot," Peera quickly meddles, grinning. She's grabbing serum and a needle from the cabinets, probably for Danny.

You raise your brow, teasing, "Oh? Even with that 70's hairstyle?"

Peera gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. "I'm offended! I think it looks quite sexy on him, or so I heard..."

You giggle as the girl wiggles her eyebrows, Bodevan flushing red.

"I was kidding. It does," you confess.

"D-Does what?" asks Bodevan.

"Look sexy."

For a second, you don't quite realize what you'd said. But as Bo smirks, a bell goes off in your head. You feel your cheeks burn and you hastily look away from him, embarrassed. What is wrong with you?

You clear your throat, gaze hiding from Bo, "I should start my rounds."

These past few days were what you could only describe as confusing. And you had a feeling the confusion started when you accidentally told your mentor that his eyes looked like the morning sky.

It didn't help that during one of your night shifts, you dozed off on his shoulder, only to wake up sensing the weight of his head resting on top of yours, his breath on your hair, your lips near his neck.

It didn't help that over your clumsy attempts of getting into crow pose, you noticed how lovely his crooked smile was, and how when he chuckled, his eyes crinkled up at the corners.

And it certainly didn't help that you woke up to skies as clear and blue as Bodevan's eyes.

Nevertheless, you kenned something was seriously wrong when Bodevan touches your hand, and you actually feel sparks fly ―although that's medical impossible and you are a doctor, you should know. Or that when he, for some miracle, looks you in the eyes, your heart somersaults ―another impossible medical matter. Or that when he leans in to whisper some of his intellectual jokes that most of the time, you don't understand, goosebumps wash over your skin.

Something is happening, something is definitely happening, you just refuse to admit it to yourself.

At downfall, Peera and Danny urged you out of duty so you could go back to the cabin and get changed. With pleading brown eyes, Peera asked you to wear something special. She's been saving money for a while ―turns out Bodevan not only built a miracle in the middle of nowhere. In like manner, he helps the Hambi to sell handicrafts and jewellery at a souvenir store―, and the past weekend, Rellian drove her all the way to Henties Bay to buy a beautiful emerald dress. Therefore, you stopped by the hotel boutique and used Ethan's credit card to buy a gown made by a fluttering pink fabric.

When one of the hotel vans dropped you off at Bo's clinic, you're welcomed by the melody Bodevan and Danny are crafting through their guitars. They are singing Guns N' Roses' Patience, and although the one with the good voice is Danny, you can't seem to drag your attention away from Bodevan. He is wearing a suave, intricately patterned mustard jacket, buttoned low so that his chest peeks through. You hate that he looks so good in it.

A wide smile spreads across your features as you cheer for both guys once they've strummed their last chords. And then, the smile is stolen away when a tall, leggy blonde [you've never seen before] is suddenly leaning next to Bo, a flirty smirk on her lips. The girl whispers something to his ear, Bodevan goes beet red but nods anyway. To your annoyance, he follows her to the drink station Peera put together ashore.

Bitting down on the inside of your cheek, you watch Bodevan lean close into her, turning on the charms he ignores he posses. You force yourself to turn away, squeezing yous lids shut to get rid of the disappointment that is dawning your heart.

Why the hell are you getting this affected by him? He is your mentor, your peer. You've known him for a grand total of six days. Most importantly, you are engaged.

A hand carefully resting on your shoulder, pulls you off your thoughts. You turn, only to come upon Peera. "Her name is Elise. She's been trying to get in his pants since he fixed her sprained ankle a week ago."

"She hasn't managed," comments Rellian, handing you a red cup filled by what you presume to be wine. Chardonnay. 80's music blasts from the speakers shove over Bodevan's desk, and Rellian offers you a hand, "Do you want to dance?" His voice is bright and warm, and his enthusiasm washes over you. It is challenging to pint-point him as the angry teenager Bo told you about.

"Absolutely," you take his hand easily. "I should warn you, though, I'm not very good."

"That's fine. We'll take it slow." Rellian's grin is so inviting that you can't be worried about your poor dancing skills, so you happily follow him out to the beach. The song is an upbeat one, which suits his mood.

"It seems you've fully recovered from Bodevan breaking your heart a couple minutes ago," he jokes

"It's a shame he didn't do any damage," you shoot back, obviously kidding. "If I was heartbroken, I wouldn't have to dance with you."

Rellian laughs, "I'm glad you're as funny as everyone says you are. I hear you're my brother's favourite, too." It sounds as if it is common knowledge. "And that your engagement is troublesome―"

"I wouldn't call it troublesome," part of you is sick of people saying that. Another part yearned for it to be different, although you know people speak the truth. It is troublesome. Sighing, you confess, "Ethan lied to me. He is married, about to get divorced but married still. We' have been engaged for over a year, and I just found out about it a month ago."

Rellian stops dancing for a moment, shocked at what he's just heard. He quickly picks back up, studying your expression for a moment. "I didn't realize that was what was going on," he says softly, apologetic. "I mean, you know I want my brother to get the girl, but I didn't want you to get hurt."

"Thanks," you shrug. "I feel stupid more than anything."

Rellian pulls you in a little closer, yet keeping a respectful distance. "Trust me, Intern, any man who passes up the chance to be with you is the stupid one."

"Bo just passed me up..." <<Oh my god. What is wrong with you?>>

"That's how I know," he replies, followed by a thread of giggles. On cue, you glance over Rellian's shoulder and find Bodevan dancing with Elise.

Seven glasses of wine have paved their way through your system, Rellian keeps throwing jokes as you swing your figures to the beat of the music, when you hear his voice beside you, "My lady?" Rellian freezes in the spot, a knowing smirk appearing on his features. Complicit glances are exchanged, and finally, you turn on your heels to find yourself face to face, lip to lip, with Bodevan Cash. "May I have this dance?"

That feeling, that indefinable something, courses through you. As dejected as you'd felt, as embarrassed as you'd been, when Bodevan offers that moment, instead of to Elise, you have to take it. Because the song is slow, and it is Guns N' Roses, and the waves are crashing on the shore...And you're drunk.

"Of course."

Bodevan, clearly drunk as well, entwines your hands together and walks you near the seaside, where the water can dance as well, underneath your feet. He doesn't seem uncomfortable, or as if he fancied to dance with someone else rather than with you. On the contrary, Bodevan holds you so close you can smell his cologne and feel his stubble against the skin of your cheek.

"I was wondering if I was going to get a dance at all," you comment, trying to sound playful. Bodevan succeeds to pull you even closer.

"I-I needed to drink up my courage, so my second-thoughts are over. Now I'm brave enough to enjoy the rest of the night with you." This time you can blame it on the alcohol, but as both always do near each other, the two flush furiously. Sometimes Bodevan's words are like single lines of novels or movies. After dating Ethan for so long, it is weird to flirt with a guy that turns beet red on the cheeks, shy to speak bluntly. Ethan does it without an effort, he always speaks his mind, whether to compliment or with the sole purpose to hurt. They are poles apart. In every way possible. Bodevan didn't go to Dartmouth like Ethan did, Bo acquired his vast knowledge out of countless books. Still and all, he is as good a doctor as Ethan Gandy.

You are kneen on different and too stubborn to accept it, but the racing on your pulse betrays you.

"You look lovely, Intern. Much too beautiful to be on the arm of someone like me."

"Someone like you? This has been perfect, Bo."

"Agreed," he giggles. "Let's do this next year. Danny will have a new heart by then."

You look at him. Next year?

"Would you like that?"

"I won't be here next year, Bo..."

He stops dancing. "Why wouldn't you?"

On a dime, it hits him. Thank God, because you don't really want to say out loud the reason why this won't happen next year, at least not with you present, is that you'll leave in a couple weeks, get married and never come back. Despite the words ain’t articulated aloud, you know Bo has heard them, and you know he espies the water welling up in your eyes and how hard you're trying to hide them.

"Intern."

You gaze down at the wet sand. The water suddenly feels cold.

"Intern, look at me," he says gently. "I'm such a nincompoop. I had just discerned tonight is all we have and I-I misused half of it by dancing with Elise." His voice is hoarse, frustrated. "I thought you felt secure in your standing." What? You are missing something here. Bodevan sighs, not relieved, but hugely nervous. The following words are said as his ocean orbs are settled elsewhere, anywhere, but your face. "Honestly? From the beginning, I've really only looked at you, wanted you." Bodevan manages to meet with your eyes, and his gaze is emotional, and blue and so deep that it overcomes you. So, for a moment, you duck your head. "I'm having a hard time accepting that you will leave... It's fine though, you'd be surprised how infrequently I get what I truly want."

You've treated with patients for years now, you've been trained to tell when they lie, how they're really feeling, find out their buried truths. And you can tell Bodevan is hiding something, some sadness he isn't prepared to share. But he shakes it away and resumes the talking, starting to sway to the music again. "But we have tonight, haven't we?. . ."—Bo looks at your eyes. Unwavering. —"There's only you, and me, and this beach. Tonight."

It takes you a moment to attain the correct rhythm of your breath and heart. You could understand the feeling— that it is unlucky, a kick in the ass from fate. Deep, deep inside you, you feel like that daily as well.

"We do," you whisper into his neck. "We have tonight." His lips are at your ear, kissing your earlobe. The arm resting on his back draws him nearer, and he mimics the action until you're physically closer to each other than you'd ever been.

You jump over a wave, and a chuckle bursts out when you turn around and notice Bodevan chasing you out of the sea. The level of alcohol is higher in your system, and your fancy dress is soaked by saltwater.

Bodevan runs faster, and as you're about to reach the back entrance of the teepee, he reaches for your hand, dragging you against his chest.

Before you can speak, he has you up against the wall, his body covering yours entirely. Bo is breathing heavily, panting, and you're just as breathless, not only because you'd just run like a madwoman. Bodevan's proximity to you and the way you can literally feel his chest rise and fall against you with his unsteady breaths is making your brain melt —even though you know, that is medically impossible too.

“What's wrong—”

He hisses and brings his hand up over your mouth. You halt, your breath stopping as you hear Peera and Danny's grunts and moans and pants.

With a crimson streak across his cheeks, Bodevan shuts his eyes and swears softly, not removing his hand from your mouth. You keep very still, trying to stay calm by breathing in and out through your nose.

"How do we proceed?"

"The hotel van will pick me up soon."

The pants grow fainter, but you're still able to hear Peera moaning Danny's name. You don't want to disturb them, or announce your presence outside, mere meters away from they having sex. This is their special night, and who doesn't enjoy a dose of birthday sex?

Bodevan doesn't let go of you for another 5 minutes. He just stands there like that, his forehead pressed against yours. Only when you are blinded by the lights of the van approaching, he quickly drops his hand.

"Peera and Rellian will take over tomorrow. We both have the day off. So see you M-Monday."

You swallow, "Do you want to come with me? I have wine in my cabin's mini bar—"

"Alright," mutters Bodevan, shaking his head at his very own embarrassment. "I-I would love to."

"Okay."

He smiles.

Breathless. That's how you'll describe your symptoms at this precise period in time. And you had been standing still for the past 15 minutes.

Why is he making you like this?

You catch his eyes widen in surprise as you grab his hand and lead with to the insides of the van. You greet the driver and set off.

After you’ve reached Shipwreck Lodge, and you fidget with the keys to open your bedroom door, you remember Elise and their shared laughter, their noses almost brushing as they talked, and how Bo dismissed the whole thing. Uncertain about the weird feeling stirring in your stomach, you say, "So you really don't like Elise, huh? She must have been upset to see you running away with me like that..."

Bodevan raises his eyebrows, "Oh, it's no problem at all. I don't care about her. A certain other girl caught my eye, you see. And I can't ignore her. Not when she robs my attention with every small detail."

Your heart hammers in your chest. "Oh. Good for you."

Bodevan shakes his head. "Not really. She's engaged."

You almost believe he will talk further, because of the way he glances at you, his eyes sparkling with things unsaid and his lips parted. Or maybe he is about to kiss you...

But he just drags his stare back to his converse, and you grab two cups and pour white wine, hit play on your Guns N’ Roses playlist and invite him to sit down with you at the edge your mattress.

You aren't sure how long you lay there, talking to him. At some point, your eyes start drooping, as are his, and you fall asleep like that beside him, bodies over the undo bed, feet tangled together, and your hair sprawled across his chest. Without even noticing that at some moment during the night, your engagement ring fell from your finger, leaving it empty.

ｎｅｘｔ►

#sorry for taking longer than usual #IT REALLY IS HARD TO WRIT E BO #ashore #ashore:two #George mackay #George mackay x reader #bodevan cash #captain fantastic #1917

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 3 years

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Tolkien Writing Prompts

This is just a compiled list of prompts I’ve collected from Pinterest and other random places, but really only work in Tolkien’s world. I have other prompt lists that get more specific or more vague as well. If you want to use one in a request to me, just use the following ‘Character Name and Prompt No. 35 from the Tolkien Prompt list’ for example + some details if you’d like.

There’s quite a bit on this list, so be wary…. I mean, it’s only like 110 prompts… Also, I did not organize it.

Key:

‘*’ Denotes something that could be used as dialogue.

[*] Denotes a swear word that I removed.

"But what is power?" "Loyalty."

The girl wrote in the journal as fluidly as the fish swam in the sea, or birds rode the wind. It was beautiful, how gracefully she crafted her spells.

Stab Options: Slowly raise their hand to the wound and/or pull out the weapon impaling them while everyone stares in horror before collapsing to the ground from shock and/or blood loss and being caught just in time by a friend/lover.

Hide the wound beneath a dark item of clothing in preparation for the dramatic reveal later where another character touches them and their hand comes away bloody or they overexert themselves and they stumble and wince but still try to insist that they're fine, even though they are clearly in pain and struggling to stay on their feet. And as the other character peels back their jacket it becomes clear that they're badly hurt and have been for awhile.

Character A tilting Character B's chin up to get a better look at their face and the evidence of the fight. Character A delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by Character B's mouth, saying nothing as they examine it. After a brief pause, Character B's heart skips a nervous beat as Character A looks them dead in the eyes. Their voice is quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained. "Who did this to you?"

"I will deny you death until you beg me for it."

As teenagers, a boy and a girl agree to marry if neither have by their [age] birthday. Follow the boy as he attempts to sabotage every relationship the girl has till then.

"I loved the woman you were before. Not this monster."

"I dare you to touch her again."

"By the gods! You love her, don't you."

"Why am I always the one carrying you?"

"Is there a reason your knees are shaking and your hand is squeezing like there's no tomorrow?"

"You've got a little something... Right there... No, there."

"And if I don't?"

"Make me."

"Can't you pretend to love me? Just once?"

"Is that b-blood?"

"Kiss it and make it better."

"Stay by my side... Please."

"Come on, dance in the rain with me."

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on m-"

"You're not as evil as people think you are." "No, I'm much worse."

He pulled against the ropes with all his might, but they wouldn't give. "Don't bother," a voice said. He looked up to discover a thin girl bound with the same rope. Although it was dark, he could see her bruised eyes and wrists. "I already tried."

"You think you have a choice, and that's sweet and all, but it's time you take the knife and do what you were made to do."

"You-you are-" "Beautiful, a genius, immensely talented-" "Dangerous."

He was leaning against the wall trying to support his own bodyweight, and his gasps of

pain were like music to her ears.

"You just killed five men, what do you have to say for yourself?" "Oops?"

Every person on the planet is born with a tattoo on each arm. One matches your soulmate and one matches your worst enemy. However, most people have no clue which is which. You do, because they are both the same.

"I feel nothing for you. Absolutely nothing!" "Is that so?" His tone was amused, which only irritated me more. "Yep. Nothing." He took one step towards me with a smirk on his face. I swallowed, refusing to back up. He laughed at my discomfort. "Relax, Princess, I am not going to jump on you." That relieve me somewhat, until he added, "not until you ask me to anway."

"You have to go, you have to run away!" "Run from who?" "From me."

"Small fire! I said to set a small fire! This is not small!"

Two people, running away from a blind, arranged marriage, in which one is supposed to marry the other, meet on the road by coincidence and fall in love with each other.

*Not every prince is charming.

"What? Do you think I enjoy this? This infatuation of mine? This horrible need to know you are okay? To realize you can hurt me in a way no one for the past [amount of time] has been able to?" "Well, stop it then! If caring about me is such a nuisance to you, stop it! It doesn't do much for either one of us." "I CAN'T. That's what kills me. The fact that you can even ask that of me just shows how ignorant you are about the power you have over me."

Non-elves can't tell the difference between 2,000 year olds and 5,000 year olds. There is a 2,000 year old elf in the tavern counting on this.

"No one has to know about us, I know this could ruin you."

"You broke me and now you expect me to follow you out onto the battlefield? NO. The answer is NO."

"You take me instead, do you hear me? Give her back and take me instead."

"Wait, something doesn't feel right."

"Did you hear that?"

"Stay here and don't move. I'll be right back."

"You told me you were okay! You promised!"

"Why didn't you tell?!"

"How long have you been covering this?!"

"You've been trying to deal with this yourself?

"We could have prevented this!"

"If you didn't want to be a burden, you should have gotten it treated right!"

"You didn't think it was that bad? Are you looking at it?!"

"You are not fine!"

"Do you want to know the hardest thing about having a soulmate? It's not the separation in the beginning, not the endless nights lying awake, hoping and praying tha someone was made for you. It's... It's the love. It's too strong, and you can't fight it. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried... But I'm always going to love you. And I need you to know that."

"You would risk the lives of millions for one person? Why?" "Because it's not just one

life... It's yours."

"This might sound selfish, but I don't care about the world. I only care about you."

"I still believe there is a good person in you."

"It was necessary."

"Did you think I really cared about you?"

"This was my plan all along."

"There was no other way."

"How cute. Struggle all you want, you won't be leaving this place."

"This is what you get from trusting me."

"It's too late to go back."

"I'm sorry this had to go down like this."

"That's right, I lied."

"It's all for a good cause."

"You were so stupid. You should have known."

"Just so you know... I don't regret anything."

"Shame. I kind of liked you."

"This is my responsibility."

"You will no longer love me if you see who I truly am."

"I'm a monster." "No, you're not."

"You'd better put that knife down."

"But I did all of this for you..?" "I didn't want you to kill anyone."

You press your ear against the wall, just in time to hear the scream.

He/She kissed his/her brow as the world around them burned. "See you in the next life, my love." He/She whispered.

"Is everything supposed to go dark?"

"You better not die on me."

"They got a lucky shot..."

"Next time don't call me over only to find you in a pool of your own blood!"

"You need to keep pressure on it."

When a character doesn't realize they've been shot or whatever and their hand brushes against their side and comes away wet with blood, and they're just staring at it like WTF is this and then their knees just totally give out on them and they sink down, maybe gasping a little as the reality finally hits them.

A character that knows they've been shot, but waits until the rest of their crew is out of sight to put their hand against the slowly spreading stain of blood on their shirt, then trying to steady their breathing so they can follow without letting on how injured they are.

"I loved you at your darkest."

The fighter frowned when I stepped into the ring, his stance slackening a little as he took in the sight of me. The roar of the crowd was deafening as they grew rowdy, waiting for the fight to start. But he said, in a low growl of a voice, "I don't fight girls." My lip curled as I replied, "too bad, because I fight boys." And knocked his legs out from under him.

"Hand over the girl." "Not going to happen."

"You go ahead, I'll hold them off for as long as I can."

A princess runs away because of an arranged marriage, befriends a gang of outlaws, falls in love with one of them, only to find out he's actually the prince she was supposed to marry, who also ran away.

"Where is he?" "My Lady..." "Answer me."

"Something strange happened here."

"Wait, when did I take off my clothes?"

"Fix her." "No." "Because you can't or you don't want to?" "Because she'll break again. And you'll be back here, on my doorstep, begging me once more to fix something that wasn't meant to be fixed." "So you don't want to?" The healer's eyes were cold. "No."

First she realized she was pregnant, then she realized her baby would only be half-human.

The shackles grazed against her wrists as she changed position in an attempt to get comfortable.

You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise. You are fighting in a war when one of the enemy's knives harmlessly glances off of you.

My head pounded as the toxin flood my veins, but when I looked at her, I could tell what it was doing to her was much worse.

"The world is ruthless, unforgiving. I came to realize that long ago when my wife was stolen from me." She lifted her hood to reveal her face. "She wasn't stolen. She left."

"I"m the daughter of a King who forgot my name."

"Go to him. He waits for you."

*He became King because he wanted to marry you.

One night, a dark King appeared and offered me his hand, his heart, and his Kingdom.

Arranged marriage AU where I am the Prince/Princess who sneaked out to a tavern and while I was there I got into a fist fight with another patron. Fast forward to the next day where I am meeting the person who has been engaged to me since birth and oh wow your eye looks horrible, what did I do.

Your father is forcing you to marry someone you've never met. The night before your wedding you tie your sheets together and make your escape through the window. Halfway down, you make eye contact with someone doing the exact same thing a few windows over.

Our siblings are in an arranged marriage and so we see each other at awkward social gatherings between our Kingdoms.

We fell in love, so how do we convince our parents that an arranged marriage between us would be a politically good idea?

*And mighty we became.

In the heat of the moment, whether this is a fight, chase, or the characters are under gunfire; they escape and get to cover. However all is not well when Character A turns to see Character B leaning heavily against a wall, clutching at their side. Character B slowly looks up and shows a blood covered hand before saying, "so. Slight problem," before collapsing onto the floor.

Imagine your OTP getting ready for bed and Person A is sitting on the bed. Person B tries to sneak up on them with a hug or a kiss, but Person A has quick reflexes and thinks they're being attacked. So they accidentally hit Person B in the face and they fall back onto the bed. Person A quickly realizes who it was then, and keeps saying sorry really fast and hugs them and kisses where it hurts.

I knew I shouldn't watch, that she/he wouldn't want me to. But the way the water slipped around her/his bare skin rooted me in place. The moon shown down on us both, alighting her/him in beauty and me in sin.

#tolkien writing prompts #writing prompts #tolkien #prompts #writing #writing prompt list #fanfic #fanfiction

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crimsonrae · 4 years

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Across the Road, At the Brothel

Chapter Eight

Summary: Jaskier fell in love any day that the sun rose in the East. It was a trifling, pleasurable experience for him. Even when he was jumping out a window to avoid cuckolded husbands. So what happens when his trifles start to become more significant? Jaskier/OC. Some Yennefer/Geralt

A/N: Jaskier is just too adorable not to write about. This is a relationship development story with an OC. There will be smut in later chapters and plenty of angst.

Rating: Mature

Small Avoidances

"Is there a reason why we're traipsing through the woods?" Jaskier questioned for the thousandth time, "I thought you killed whatever was tracking us."

"I did." Geralt grunted as he retraced his path to the fleder's corpses.

The bard frowned as he barely sidestepped a mess of brambles, "Then why are we out here?"

"You didn't have to come." The witcher rumbled in response as he eyed the ground. His steps were still very much present in the dirt, even after almost a week and it made him wonder just how out of it, he had been from the attack. He knew better than to leave a trail.

"Yeah, I'm sure that would go over well." Jaskier drawled as he narrowly dodged a branch swinging back in his face, "All I need is for you to suddenly be attacked out here and try and crawl your way back. It was a debacle getting you into the cottage the first time and you were merely down the lane then. Can only imagine what carting your heavy ass from the woods would be like."

Geralt glared wearily at him over his shoulder, "And here I thought you were going to pester me about your girlfriend."

The bard went unusually silent as he stared at Geralt's back before uttering a faint, "She's not my girlfriend."

The look of disbelief he received in return was almost galling, "She's not... she's... I don't know what she is."

Geralt snorted as he listened to the bard flounder. He'd have to be blind not to see the way the couple danced around each other, not to mention the air grew heavy with the scents of their attraction whenever they spent more than a few minutes talking to each other. It was getting annoying.

"She's been avoiding me." Jaskier murmured woefully.

That made Geralt pause as he sent the younger man an incredulous stare. Avoiding? They hadn't been more than a handful of steps away from each other since he had returned to consciousness. Hell, he had been surprised when Jaskier had decided to come with him instead of staying back with Lyrra. What the fuck was the bard talking about?

Jaskier sighed under that look, "Lyrra has this smile. It's the one she gives to the tavern's patrons she doesn't particularly know. Polite enough, but doesn't invite for more. She's been giving it to me the past couple days... It feels like she's building a wall - I don't know what I've done wrong."

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned to continue his trek. He didn't have time for this nonsense. The brush grew thicker, but a few paces ahead a small clearing lay. The bodies of the two fleders resided within if they hadn't been dragged off by the wildlife. By the faint smell of rot in the warm summer air, the witcher knew he would still find the corpses.

"Perhaps I've been too clingy." Jaskier continued thoughtfully, "I just... I like being near her. I thought she liked it too."

Geralt refrained from sighing, he knew Jaskier could go on like this for hours if he let him. Instead, he tunneled through the rest of the brush as he commented, "She does."

The bard perked up curiously at this, a hopeful tinge in his voice as he cautiously asked, "Really?"

It was such an insecure question that Geralt nearly scoffed at his companion. It wasn't like Jaskier to be so...well insecure. The bard exuded optimistic confidence no matter the situation he found himself in, uncertainty usually didn't set in until after he barreled into trouble... or in this case, he had broken things off with his lover. The witcher glanced back at Jaskier to see a nervous edge tightening his visage. It was then that Geralt remembered how young Jaskier really was, barely a man of twenty, "You're not the reason she's being distant."

He stepped abruptly into the clearing and the sight of dark mangled flesh met his gaze, behind him Jaskier audibly heaved as the smell and sight finally hit his senses.

"Gods that's disgusting." The bard moaned piteously, "Please tell me, we didn't come out here to bring those back with us."

"No." Geralt growled as he knelt next to one of the corpses, "It's unusual to find a fleder so far away from civilization. They like crypts and sewers, not woods and vineyards."

"Which means what exactly?"

He reached for the clawed hand of one of the fleders, uncertain of what he was looking for, as several bugs flew into the air. Jaskier choked in disgust and backed himself toward the edge of the clearing. Geralt paid him no mind as he looked over the wounds he'd made – his strikes had been clean to the bodies. Their size, Geralt realized now, was smaller than the fleders he had encountered in the past, but not by much. These were the same height as him, most towered another foot above. The claws were long thick tapers, but otherwise ordinary. He scowled as he continued to scan the hairless, warted body. Already muscle and skin had shriveled, the summer heat had done little to preserve the remains. It was then he smelled it.

A sickly-sweet scent. Like rotting roses, coming from the creature's mouth. His golden gaze zeroed in on the creature's fangs as he stuck a finger along the back edge of the sharp canine.

"Oh Geralt, no!" Jaskier groaned as a black seeping liquid sledged down Geralt's arm, "I should've stayed with Lyrra."

Poison.

Geralt eyed the substance curiously as he sniffed deeply at his hand. The sweetness was worse, but he recognized a few of the underlying scents. He now understood why he had been so fatigued; the toxin would act as an anesthetic on a normal human in small doses, but what the fleder secreted would kill its prey. Geralt wasn't normal by any means and he was suddenly thankful his mutated anatomy had allowed him to make it a few miles away before succumbing. However, fleder's typically weren't poisonous either, "Fuck."

Jaskier raised an eyebrow as he dryly stated, "Good news I take it."

Geralt glanced at him with a frown as he wiped his hand in the grass, "They've been altered – purposefully mutated."

The bard's brow furrowed in confusion, "Why? What would be the point?"

"I don't know." Geralt murmured lowly as he gave the corpses a leery glance. He would leave the remains here and check back in a few more days. If he were lucky whoever had made these beasts would be looking for them. It wouldn't do to have someone running around creating new monsters for the world, "We should get back."

»»————-　　————-««

The sharp shink of metal was the only sound that disturbed the quiet air of the cottage yard and how Lyrra was able to find one of her guests as she came back from the markets.

"You know I've had my little panic problem for a while now." Lyrra stated softly as she stopped before Geralt sharpening his swords, "I don't think it's something that will go away from a few training drills."

Geralt barely paused in his actions as he settled a firm glance on her, "I don't intend to make it go away."

It wasn't just the panic she went into when she was touched, but the coil of anticipatory tension that began to wind whenever someone was behind her. She had been trained to expect an attack from behind, trained to feel vulnerable and helpless in the wake of that attack. Her reactions were enough to tell Geralt that her abuse had gone on for longer than he wanted to imagine and the lessons that her abuser had taught her would never be forgotten.

She seemed only mildly surprised at his words as she quirked a brow at him, "And what do you intend to do?"

"I intend to make you use it." He grumbled as he slid a rag over his blade and began to polish, "Acknowledge it, control it, use it, and then put it away."

Lyrra smothered a sigh as she looked almost bemused at him, "I don't understand. Why are you going through all this trouble?"

"I repay my debts."

She stared at him for a long moment, "And what debt could you possibly owe me that would incur this sort of payment?"

Geralt barely stifled a sigh as he set his sword and cloth to the side and met her stare head-on. Neither he nor Jaskier had mentioned what they had discovered in the woods to her. He didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone until he had more answers. Yet, even this was only a small reason to stay and he wasn't about to elaborate further. He didn't have to – she could very well make the connections on her own.

"It wouldn't be for playing nursemaid. This is all too much trouble for a simple act of kindness." She smirked bitterly and he saw shades of her sister shine through, "Renfri, then. I find it particularly curious that a woman you met briefly years ago has this much impact. Granted, yes, you did kill her, but you've killed plenty. Monsters and men. What made my sister so special?"

Geralt frowned disapprovingly at her words, but he recognized the provocation for what it was, wounded pride and desperate defense, "Why? Afraid you don't measure up to her?"

"I know I don't." Lyrra answered wearily, "She was strong. She took her pain and let it fuel her – she thrived from it... I'm not her, Sir Witcher. You've been looking for her since you woke."

That was true... to an extent. There was no denying the resemblance, but Lyrra's temperament was much different from her sister. Renfri, he understood. He understood her pain, her rage, and her desire for justice. He even understood her need to demolish all who stood in her path, even if he didn't agree with it. Lyrra was quieter than her sister however, he sensed that her pain went deeper. Her fear and rage simmered below a well-crafted surface, waiting for the opportunity to overwhelm. He had seen glimpses as she sparred with him. Had watched as she expended more of her energy battling herself and her instincts than she had him.

"I know you're not Renfri, Lyrra." Geralt uttered softly, "And she's only a small part of why I'm doing this. Though I do wonder, why you've indulged me so far."

Lyrra seemed to falter at his words, a faint sadness lined her stormy eyes before she grimaced and looked away, "Because... when I look at you, I see her too."

He cocked a brow and waited.

"Most people remember my sister as a monster." Lyrra explained softly, "You remember a person. I can see it in your eyes when I mention her name or I do something similar to her. You reinforce her memory and it's hard to walk away from that."

"I killed her, why aren't you angry with me?"Geralt finally demanded, "The memories I evoked cannot be pleasant. I took her from you."

"Aridea took her from me." Lyrra whispered, her eyes glazed as she fell into distant memories, "As did the mage. My Renfri died long before you ever arrived."

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He sighed heavily and he waited for her attention to come back to him, "I will stay only as long as it takes for my wounds to finish healing." He stood and Lyrra watched after him curiously as he moved for the cottage, "You shouldn't underestimate simple acts of kindness. You help heal me, I help heal you. It's that simple, Lyrra."

"How?"

Geralt didn't look back, "Come and find out.”

»»————-　　————-««

Jaskier hated this.

To her credit, Lyrra was doing an admirable job at being brave, aside from the tense set to her jaw, her mien remained expressionless. However, there were still signs that she wasn't handling the current situation well. She had turned that stark white color again and it was only very faint, but he could make out the tremor spilling through her hands. He itched to go to her, but her recent reticence with him weighed heavily on his mind. Geralt had said her reserve had nothing to do with him, but still, he was uncertain.

The witcher stood behind her, hovering just inside her personal space and not touching, merely observing, but she seemed to be anticipating some action from the larger man. What though, Jaskier wasn't sure. He knew that sometimes Geralt would press a hand to her shoulder or hip, but never in the same area. He also knew that he wanted this exercise to be over. This was the third day of them playing some variation of this little game after going through defensive stances and he was tired of it. Despite the impassivity on both Lyrra's and Geralt's face, he could sense her distress and it was making him anxious.

Logically, he knew that Geralt would never hurt her, but logic was hard to hold onto when all he wanted to do was to step in between them. When he knew that when they finally finished for the day, she would disappear for an hour and come back with tear tracks staining her cheeks.

He fidgeted uncomfortably, "Is there a point to this? I didn't think defense had anything to do with standing like statues."

A small smile quirked at Lyrra's lips at his words, but no further reaction or explanation came forth from either of his companions. Instead, Geralt tilted his head in thought as his studious gaze suddenly landed on Jaskier. He always found it rather dangerous when Geralt looked at him like that – it usually meant he was about to be used as bait for some horrific creature.

He gave the witcher a leery look and nearly missed the amused glint that entered Lyrra's grey orbs as she watched him.

"Jaskier, come here."

The bard jerked his attention back to his friend and tried not to frown as Lyrra tensed again. He hated this. Geralt stared at him expectantly and Jaskier sighed as he slipped from his perch on the woodpile. His journal and quill laid forgotten on the ground as he approached, writing was something of a chore currently anyway. Lyrra's eyes followed him curiously as he neared and he couldn't help but send her a flirtatious smile as he stood next to her. He did so love when she blushed from that grin and as expected a faint coral red rose to her cheeks, "How can I be of service?"

Geralt rolled his eyes as he watched the bard's antics, but backed up a few steps as he ordered, "Stand where I am."

Jaskier huffed and stepped into the space that had been vacated, "So, am I just supposed to stand here? What is this accomplishing anyway? Is this some secret witcher technique to make people aware of their surroundings?"

The last bit was more of a taunt than an actual question. He wasn't a complete idiot – he had seen the way Lyrra tensed whenever someone stood behind her and he knew that Geralt was trying to stop that tension from turning into something more... dramatic. He bit back a smirk as he heard Lyrra and Geralt sigh at the same time.

Geralt moved to stand in front of them both, making sure that Lyrra kept her gaze forward as he gave his next set of instructions. There was almost a look of forewarning that the witcher sent to their hostess and by the way, she suddenly stilled, Jaskier was hesitant to do anything he was asked. As if he could hear his thoughts, Geralt levied a heavy glare in his direction, "Jask, place your hand on the small of her back."

He didn't move, a sense of foreboding filling his being as he stared at his friend, "Wh -"

Lyrra sighed again and rolled her shoulders, "It's okay, Jaskier...go on."

Her assurances weren't good enough and Jaskier found himself scowling as he asked, "Can one of you please fill me in on the importance of this exercise?"

"No." Geralt answered soundly and lifted a brow at him, "The small of her back."

Stubbornly, he crossed his arms, not in the least intimidated by the witcher's glare. He was going to get a bloody answer out of one of them for this continued nonsense. Lyrra was the one to break as she kept her gaze forward and her voice unreasonably light as she said, "He's trying to keep me from falling into some bad memories. I was hurt repeatedly as a child and when someone touches my back, I remember that pain. It makes me rather useless when being attacked, apparently."

"You're not useless." While her words were unsurprising, the dark twist through his gut was as he tried to quell the urge to demand further explanation. Despite, what Lyrra may think he had ascertained some form of abuse to her person from their night at the inn. She had spoken during her nightmare, quietly whispered pleas that had fair broken his heart – he couldn't bring himself to ask after those cries when her gaze had alighted on him that night, he was beginning to wish he had. Fuck, he didn't want to cause her pain, "Lyrra, we don't need to do this."

She peeked at him over her shoulder and smiled gently as if he were the one who was being tested, "It's fine."

It really wasn't.

She turned back before he had a chance to protest.

"You've both lost your damn minds." He scoffed quietly and glared almost petulantly at Geralt as the witcher merely crossed his arms and patiently waited. He had a feeling if he didn't do it then his friend would and somehow that seemed much worse.

Nervously, he shook his hand out before hesitantly reaching up and pressing his fingers into the hollow of her back. She went positively rigid, but as he moved to yank his hand back Geralt froze him with a look.

An expectant look.

It was as if he were expecting the bard to suddenly know what to do to make this all better. He wasn't a bloody mind healer for Melitele's sake, "Tell me to stop, Lyrra."

"It's fine." Her voice was tight as if she were gritting her teeth.

Jaskier swore, he fucking hated this – desperately, he fell back into the one tool he knew how to use better than anything, "Close your eyes, Lyrra and listen to my voice."

She must have sent Geralt a look as the witcher nodded at her to follow his directions. She crossed her arms and Jaskier bit back a sigh as Geralt sent him another expectant glance. He kept his touch light as he asked softly "When you blew that dandelion into my face, what did you wish for?"

"What?" Lyrra asked somewhat bewildered.

"I know it's been a few days, but after we decided we were unfit to marry. I handed you a dandelion and you blew it into my face." He ignored the raised eyebrow from Geralt at his words and pushed on, "What did you wish for?"

"Um... nothing. I just wanted to see your reaction." Lyrra murmured.

"Oh?" Instead of pulling away as his instincts were screaming at him to do, he slid his hand around to grab her hip. A touch of humor and curiosity entered his voice as he asked, "And did I give you the reaction you wanted?"

She snorted quietly, "You were surprised... but delighted, like I had just given you a grand gift instead of a face full of seedlings."

Jaskier felt a small grin tug at his lips and he gradually began to press his body closer to her, "You did give me a gift. You trusted me to be your friend." She began to stiffen again as his warmth started to settle against her back, "Trust me now, Lyrra. Trust that it's me behind you. Trust that I will never hurt you... What happens when someone touches your back?"

"I panic." She whispered tightly.

Jaskier grimaced, "No, start smaller. What's the first thing you feel?"

There was a long drawn out pause and for a horrible minute, the bard was sure he had made a mistake, had drawn her further into her fears instead of away. Then a shuddering breath stole through her as she answered, "Ice. It feels like ice has been poured into my veins. I hate the cold."

"What else?"

She swallowed, "My heart beats so hard that I'm sure it will pound through my chest. My throat tightens and I can't seem to scream, no matter how hard I try... and I feel weak as a babe, my arms heavy and my feet slow...and I can feel him. I can feel his hands and his breath."

A nauseous roil climbed Jaskier's stomach as he began to work out just how exactly she had been hurt. Her reserve around him suddenly made more sense... By the Gods, how he hated this. He clamped down on the need to rebuke both his friend and Lyrra for making her relive these horrific memories day after day. His grip on her tightened ever so slightly as if he could drag those memories from her skin, "You're not weak. You're still here. Still breathing, still speaking, and warm, and kind. I have watched you. You take the time to chat with every customer, you take the handsy ones away from the other barmaid."

"I don't-"

"– don't deny it, I've seen you do it." He rubbed faint circles into her hips as his chest met her back, "You always greet the barkeep with a smile. You help that man – Nigel – find safe shelter when he's too deep in his cups. You speak only kindly of Madam Hatchet."

"Madam Tyssa."

He smiled at her exasperated correction, "You gave Geralt your bed and your home. You listen to me ramble. You let us try to help."

Her hands slipped down to meet his. He could feel a faint tremor through her chilled fingers and gently trapped them under his on her hips. It was an odd reverse hug they stood in, but Jaskier didn't dare move now. Instead, he buried his face into her hair and continued to whisper to her, gentle questions and even kinder observations.

The couple had forgotten Geralt as he watched her trembling subside and her pallor lessened, "Lyrra."

Her grey eyes wearily lifted for the first time since Jaskier had begun speaking and the witcher found himself softening under her wary look. He silently asked her if she would be okay to try the next part of their exercise. The part they hadn't been able to get to before. She sighed inaudibly and nodded as she unconsciously tensed in Jaskier's arms.

The bard turned an irate stare on his friend, already sure he didn't want to hear the next set of instructions, "No. Whatever you're about to say, Geralt, just no. We've done enough for today."

There must have been something in his gaze that gave Geralt pause as normally the witcher had no compunctions about overruling him. Hesitantly, he nodded in agreement, "We'll try again tomorrow."

A faint murmur of protest left Lyrra's lips and it was all Jaskier could do not to shake the woman. Was she so intent on torturing herself? His lips brushed the rim of her ear, "Tomorrow Lyrrana. I will touch you until your heart's content tomorrow."

"How do you make everything sound like an innuendo?" Lyrra asked quietly as she tilted her head back to meet his stare. A faint twinkle of amusement shined in her grey orbs and he nearly smiled in relief.

He basked in that look, in her nearness as she leaned willing against him. For what felt like the first time in millennia, though it had only been a couple of days, she wasn't staying just out of his reach, wasn't presenting her mask of polite tolerance at him. He brushed a light kiss to her brow, "Just talented that way."

Her faint blush returned under his scrutiny and he bit back the urge to taste her lips when she didn't pull away. Slowly, he linked his fingers with hers and tugged her around to face him, "You don't have to hide from me, you know? I may talk utter nonsense, but I do make a rather good listener too, my lovely Lyrra."

She stilled in surprise and a sheepish smile quirked at her lips as she realized her attempt at distance hadn't gone unnoticed, "Jaskier..."

He didn't particularly want to hear her excuses or apologies just then. He shook his head at her with an amused huff before gesturing for the cottage, "Come on. We'll talk later."

Lyrra said nothing as she let him guide her inside.

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#jaskier #jaskier fanfiction #jaskier x oc #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #Geralt #yennefer #fanfiction #fanfic

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etherian-affairs · 4 years

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Tough As Nails

T h e m fiction! A collection of four little stories based on the idea of T h e m being basically unkillable ala Hordak. Each story is about a different character!

Hera belongs to @crimson-r Carrion belongs to @strawberryoverlord Jim belongs to @helila

Enjoy!

Hera

Hera had frozen up when the bomb drone surged at her, beeping rapidly. She was sure this was her end, that whoever was coming after her today got to be the lucky one who succeeded. The blast went off only a moment after her final thoughts drifted to her Nihila.

Then she didn't die.

Instead Hera was thrown across the courtyard by the large blast, slamming into a building and falling to the ground in a pile. She hurts all over, she can feel blood on her skin, but she's not dead.

In fact it feels like nothing is broken…

Hera stands up slowly, confused and amazed. Her dress is destroyed that's clear, but she's standing. She can look at her claws, trembling but intact. She feels a particularly sharp pain in her abdomen and upon examination finds a piece of metal lodged into her. Shrapnel from the blast.

It's not stopping her from moving though.

"What the fuck?" She hears the voice speak. Looking up she finds some furry alien, a native of this planet, walking toward her tentatively. "How the hell are you alive?! That blast should have killed you!!" They sound shocked and angry. In a daze Hera glances around. There are other people, aliens, charred and burned and broken and dead. A couple others of her kind pulling themselves up with groans.

Then it clicks into place. There is a reason her species rules this empire. It has been so long since an attack has been so successful that Hera had forgotten just how durable she is. How nearly unkillable she is compared to the other species of the universe. Her eyes return to the alien approaching her, they're pulling a weapon. This little welp tried to kill her.

Hera gets angry as that realization finally really sinks in. "You Bitch!" She suddenly lets out as she surges forward.

There is another reason they are the ruling elite. Hera and her kind are an apex species, and even for one that lives as relatively sedentary a life as Hera it is not difficult to tear apart her victims head with her bare claws. The little would be assassin more than deserves it.

Hera does need a change of clothes though, that's a little embarrassing.

…

Carrion

"Well this one's dead! Moving on!" The cheerful voice of Carrion's 'Sister' could be heard over the sounds of battle. This hasn't been going great, most of their patients have been of species who are painfully susceptible to maiming and death.

Carrion can only quietly sigh at her bubbly sisters antics. "Batney. Please just focus on our task."

"She's right though, we do need to abandon the dead ones even if they are still screaming." The third of their little sisterly trio speaks up. A rather unfriendly member of the TRS line going by the name of Asclee.

Carrion opens her mouth to reply that they should at least field execute the dead ones so the screaming does not bother the others when the anti material round hits her arm. Bone breaks, flesh tears, the flak armor that TRS on this front are equipped with doing nothing against the heavy munitions. Her arm is ripped from her body entirely, the kinetic energy sending her toppling over and screeching in surprise.

"Oh my!" Carrion can hear Batney suddenly shout as she hits the ground and howls in pain. "Carrion has been hit!"

"I am alive!" Carrion hisses out as she rolls over onto her back, looking over at the mangled stump where her arm used to be. Well that's not great, though it is definitely not the nastiest wound she has seen. Not by a long shot.

"Asclee please continue helping the wounded! I will repair Carrion!" Batney declares as she scrambles over. There really isn't a better or worse option between which of her sisters cares for her so Carrion cannot complain much more than she already wants to over this. That being said she does want to complain.

"I am Fine Batney! Just get back to work." She is in fact relatively okay, her body is going into shock and her blood vessels are contracting around the wound to try and keep her alive. Everything is functioning as expected. She can likely patch this herself with some effort. It is rare for their kind to die from something as minor as the loss of a limb.

"Nonsense! You have been injured! And as a fellow TRS it is my duty to ensure you are in working condition as quickly as possible! Going forward with only two of us will be less effective than all three in the long run and even if you can fix yourself it's faster if I do it! That's just standard practice!"

Carrion growls. Batney is of course correct, even a damaged TRS is Better than no TRS on the field. Even if it causes a momentary loss in medical efficiency while another has to mend her.

"Oh my! It looks like your arm is quite gone! We will have to harvest you a new one when the battle is over! I am sure the fleet has TRS stock we can take from." Batney humms happily as she pulls her tools, beginning to cauterize and seal Carrion's limb.

Inevitably the injured TRS grumbles out a small "Thank you Sister..."

"Of course! Anything for the team!"

…

Jim

With a small growl of annoyance Jim sits back down at his desk, his favorite mug in hand and filled with Stimulant Mixture Number 69. Which is his favorite Stimulant mixture, and not just because the number is funny. Before him is a standard data terminal, moved here to help him work, as well as an embarrassing amount of paper documents.

Seriously what kind of backwater is this that they still have so much stuff in paper documents?

Jim had been brought to this pathetic world recently too see it brought into productivity for the Empire. Not uncommon, some Lord conquers a civilization and brings them into compliance and then it's up to those like Jim to make it actually worth the effort. In many ways the middle management of the Empire are really it's most important component. Sometimes it doesn't take much to bring a world up to speed. Sometimes the world still uses paper documents for important information.

Still, Jim is the best at what he does. The Empire wants to ease this planet in, common for the ones that they don't simply bomb into the stone age, which means it's up to him to dissect the local rules and regulations and pick them apart for the inevitable loopholes within.

"Alright let's see here... Where was I..." Jim murmurs to himself as he sets his mug down and picks up a file to begin looking through it.

Then he hears the ominous rumbling sound coming from below. That's usually not good. The rumbling turns into a general shaking of the room and that is even worse. When the cracking sound begins above him Jim can only look up and let out a simple phrase.

"Ah shit."

The the entire building comes down. Supports collapse, the ceiling caves, the floor breaks open. Multiple floors of perfectly adequate office complex come falling down in a roaring cacophony of death and destruction. Jim is buried under concrete and steel and is really quite pissed off about the whole thing as it happens.

He barely has time to tug on his tie to activate the locator beacon within.

He also barely knows what happens after that. The weight falls onto him, pinning him down and making it quite difficult to breathe. Not that there is much air in this pocket to begin with. He does manage to shift slowly, using all of his strength to try and get into something approaching a more comfortable position. It sort of works.

Eventually though he feels the weight lifted off of him. Just in time too he was going to have to start internally respirating soon. Concrete and rebar is pulled up and off of the HR whizz and the moment he's free enough he pushes the remainder off and stands up. Finally looking himself over and noting that his outfit is ruined.

Ah man his shoes are a mess too.

As he scowls down and picks chunks of concrete out of his skin a random emergency worker runs up. "Sir! Are you okay?!"

Jim hisses at the shorter creature, glaring for a moment. "I will be once I find my damn mug!" He declares.

The emergency worker stares dumbfounded for a moment. "M-mug?"

"Yes! My mug! It's my favorite one! It was a gift! Help me find it it has to be nearby!" Jim declares as he starts to lift up slabs of broken building and toss them aside. When they try to insist he get medical attention first he simply growls at them and they luckily back off.

He has a mug to find.

…

Nihila

The emergency sirens were really super loud and that was kind of annoying. ESS-1172 had been sleeping on the transport ship in little more than her body glove when they started, and she quickly gathered up what of her stuff she could: Gun, equipment bag, armor pieces she could stuff into the bag or carry with her.

She had to toss some of the armor aside when she got to the nearest lifeboat and found way too many people scrambling for it. Luckily a few quick shots to the heads of various people that don't matter cleared up the jam and she could get herself a seat! Strapping in with a smile Nihila looks at the few others in the lifeboat with her, none of her species, and each one staring at her terrified. "Well this is exciting!" She notes.

The small craft launches and ESS-1172 takes the moment of relative peace to look over the stuff she managed to save from the ship. Her breather, that's good, some of her hardplate. She frowns as she realizes she forgot her boots but then smiles when she remembers her lower legs are Artificial so that's okay. Her weapon as well as spare needles and toxin canisters for it, some equipment for the mission she is on, the tin of little cookies Madame made for her. It seems the most important stuff made it.

As she's closing things back up and affixing her mask something violently rocks the lifeboat and the lights inside flicker. That's never good. It's not long after that the ride gets quite bumpy. Still as they hit the planet below and her harness breaks sending her tumbling violently around the cabin she can't help but note that she's had worse drops. For instance she doesn't even crack her skull open.

As she gets up and takes stock of the situation she can hear the cries of injured or otherwise distraught survivors with her as well as the biting cold pouring into the lifeboat from the damaged prow. Well that's not good for basic survival needs. Makes this thing way less useful.

"Okay!" She looks back at the others. "pull out any bits that look useful and let's get moving!"

"What?!" One looks up. They're bloodied and bruised and wince when they move. "Shouldn't we stay here?!"

"Nah! Boats broken we'll just freeze to death." She notes casually as she starts stuffing whatever emergency rations she can into her bag and whatever other easy to carry location she can find.

"Hey!" Another survivors calls out "You can't just take that stuff!"

1172 just looks at him for a moment "oh but I can!" She grins under her mask before climbing out through the front of the boat, ripping out some electronics as she goes.

Some of them stay behind. Others follow her lead. One by one they all die. The world is completely inhospitably cold. Luckily it does all seem to be frozen water so that's a solved problem. The water problem. She doesn't really help them, pushing them forward toward some goal they all start to imagine she has. After all, she's one of the ruling species. She must know something they don't.

Naturally she does.

They're horrified when the first of their ranks die and she begins to pull the body apart for food and materials. Less so when she does it to the second. When the last one falters and drops ESS-1172 turns back and approaches. "You did good." She notes. "The best of the bunch by far."

The poor thing, a woman of a human species, looks up. "I'm sorry…"

"Oh don't be!" The assassin leans down now. "Most of you were targets." Her whisper cuts through the wind and the dying creature looks horrified, and distraught.

"W-what?" It whispers out.

"This wasn't the original plan but it really did work out. I was starting to think I was going to have to shoot you in particular though." She laughs as she begins to set up the transmitter in her bag, phoning home for a rescue. "This would have become much more serious for me in a few more hours." She adds.

As her final target dies Nihila can't help but applaud her own Hardy nature. It made this whole thing much more fun.

#t h e m #my writing #h e r a #nihila #jim from hr #carrion

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skookworks · 4 years

Text

Gallery: 1-30

I had wanted to participate in Drawlloween/Inktober 2018. I like to do a little prep for sustained events so, earlier in the year, I’d checked to see if prompts had been posted for either challenge. Nothing. Checked again. Nothing. And then I forgot until October was a couple of days old. Joining in on October 2nd would have meant I was playing catch up. I hate playing catch up. I shrugged and figured, “Next year.”

A couple of days went by and the thought became, “All year.” Instead of drawing and posting an image a day in October of 2018, I decided to post an image a day in 2019. My parameters would be simple: spend no more than a half an hour on each sketch. By starting to do the sketches in early October I’d have enough of a headstart that I was sure I’d be able to manage the pace.

I posted an image a day, every day, in 2019. I actually only did 362 half hour sketches. I misnumbered a couple of my scans midway through and didn’t realize the mistake until I got the end of the year. For December 29th and 30th I posted a couple of more complex illustrations that I finished for the occasion. December 31st was a blank image – New Year, New Possibilities.

The sketches can be seen if you look at the daily posts here for 2019. To simplify things I’m going to be posting galleries of the 30 images at a time, 12 galleries total, between now and the end of 2020. This is the first one.

#gallery-0-6 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-6 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Story Seed 43

Exploring the Last Sky Jungle

In November 1913, The Strand Magazine published Arthur Conan Doyle’s short story The Horror of the Heights. At the time airplanes were novel machines and few people had flown in them. Sure, the idea that there might be entire ecosystems up there above the clouds seemed implausible but that part of the world was unexplored enough that it wasn’t completely impossible. I read it when I was a kid, probably sometime in the 1970s. By then the airline industry was well established and the idea that huge creatures were living in the stratosphere was, at best, quaint.

The skies are full of planes and, as far as we know, no one has been attacked by any air predators. Not recently. There are two possibilities why –

The 20th century air pollution and the airline industry destroyed the sky ecosystems and by the 21st century all those animals are extinct. The aerohabitats were always fragile things. The toxins that rose into the upper atmosphere killed them. Faster and stronger airplanes tore through flocks of the creatures without the pilots even realizing it. Some of the larger and speedier beasts were mistaken for aircrafts and labeled “UFO”s.

The aerohabits existed and continue to exist just outside our perception. They were seen by early aeronauts because the lack of oxygen, greater exposure to cosmic radiation and other effects of the upper atmosphere created heightened perception. The aeronauts saw things that, with better, safer equipment, are no longer seen.

So that gives us two obvious possibilities for stories –

There are places in the atmosphere where few planes fly and where the air is less polluted. I tried doing some quick googling to find out what parts of the world see the least airplanes but came up short of useful info. The Antarctic skies is probably one region. There’s a big chunk of the Pacific Ocean with no islands and therefore no spots to refuel. I looked at satellite images of those areas in Google maps and the photos there are really low rez. Humans don’t watch the places where humans don’t go. So now you’d just need a reason to have someone go there and discover the last Aerojungle.

H.P. Lovecraft’s story From Beyond features a device called the Tillenghast Resonator. When activated the resonator allows a human being to see the creatures that exist beyond our normal, limited perception. An aeronaut in a new, experimental ultralight craft, attempting to make a new altitude record, finds him/herself in the middle of an aerohabit. The craft was accidentally constructed in such a way to alter the pilot’s perceptions and senses. The pilot can now see the air beasts. And the air beasts can now see the pilot.

Recommendations

This week I’m going to recommend avoiding Facebook. Plenty of other folks have made this suggestion. The thing is designed to keep you scrolling and I find that my attention span gets shorter the longer I’m visiting it. Last week, rather than jumping on FB first thing in the morning while my coffee woke me up, I read one or two of the newsletters that I’ve been recommending. More focused. A longer read. And, once I’d finished a newsletter, it was easier to write or work on art until I had to make breakfast.

This Week

My union has won arbitration on management’s “Consolidated Casing Initiative”. All 61 stations that have tried to implement this terrible plan are going to reconvert to regular casing and delivery. My station was on the list to join this “experiment” and I’m feeling nothing but relief.

I can think of a number of ways to improve our office and street times but, in my observation, management doesn’t ask the carriers how we could improve service. So we do the best we can.

The week has been mostly uneventful personally. The cat that was chewing on the base of his tail got a shot of steroids and antibiotics and a medicated cream that we applied on the spot for a week. The raw spots have healed and his fur is growing back. The cat that needs electrolyte infusions continues to tolerate them. He doesn’t seem to love us any less afterward.

The protests and curfews slowed down the care packages from my Big Sister this week but she did bring us salmon cakes and a chicken mushroom new potato pie. On Sunday I made up a stir fry to go with the cakes. I’m looking forward to having the pie tonight.

Nationally it’s been a mess. If you’re paying attention you know what I mean. I hope that there are positive results from all this. I don’t dislike the police in general but I also don’t trust them in general. The few times I’ve been pulled over here in Seattle the cops have been polite and easy going. But I’m an older white guy. I know my experience isn’t the experience of others. I had different experiences when I was in my teens and twenties in small towns in California. My friends and I often wandered the streets at night and occasionally got stopped. I was never arrested but the cops were often confrontational, unnecessarily so. I got lucky.

If you’re out there protesting, thank you for your service. Change is inevitable, positive change requires positive intention. Constant positive intention. Stay safe. Look out for each other. The monsters win until they lose. And they always lose.

Tuesday Night Party Club #23 Gallery: 1-30 I had wanted to participate in Drawlloween/Inktober 2018. I like to do a little prep for sustained events so, earlier in the year, I'd checked to see if prompts had been posted for either challenge.

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stanskzseungmin · 5 years

Text

Operation Miroh | Stray Kids Mafia! AU ~ Chapter 2

Warnings: None

It was dark when you woke up. The only light source was from the many screens illuminating the room.

The pain you felt from the night before had faded. In fact, you felt no pain at all, not even a crick in the neck or a sore back from laying down in your uncomfortable cot. You lifted your arm into your view rotating it and looking at it front and back, up and down. You were no longer bandaged. Your arm looked as supple and smooth as the day you were born. No scars. No blemishes. No evidence of any injuries from the incident.

Your gaze fell on the figure that was leaning against your cot.

Hwang Hyunjin, the gang’s main medic and engineer.

You smiled at the sight. He kept his promise. You stared at his side profile. His figure was illuminated by the many screens. He looked angelic. His honey brown hair was styled nicely albeit the messy strands from running his fingers through his hair. He wears a brilliant white outfit. It is skin tight with black accents. A masterful design by Hwang Hyunjin himself. Specifically engineered to improve aerodynamics. At the center of his back on either side of his spine resting snuggly under his shoulder blades are two carefully engineered mechanical wings that allows Hyunjin to glide and cover more distance quickly. Hyunjin can retract and extend them at will. It is connected directly into his nervous system via very fine needles. Because of this, Hyunjin still had full control of his wings as such as his arms or legs.

You remember the day he first put them on vividly. The sounds of his pained screams echoing through your base, his face contorted by pain, the tears forcing through his clenched eyes as the needles pierce his skin directly penetrating his nerves.

He was in so much pain. The pain mirrored the first every time he removes them and puts them back on, so he leaves them on as a permanent extension of his body. (Seungmin does the repairs directly on his body whenever needed.)

You can’t really see his face clearly, but you can already envision it from seeing it many times. His eyes were glued to his many screens. His eyes would squint and his nose would occasionally crinkle from concentration. A pair of glasses rested neatly on the bridge of his nose- glasses meticulously crafted with specialized lens to prevent and limit eye strain from staring at his many screens for hours at a time.

Hyunjin has 11 screens, one main larger screen in the center with 5 smaller ones on either side. The 10 other screens each depicted the heart rate, breathing rate, blood pressure, etc of each of the Stray Kids members. One for each starting from the eldest to the youngest, then you at the bottom right screen.

Hyunjin’s left hand was tightly gripping the side of your cot. You rested your hand over his intertwining your fingers with his. He squeezed your much smaller fingers with his larger ones in acknowledgement without turning to look at you. He let out a soft huff. You understood what he wanted from you. You detach your hand from his as he walks towards the collection of screens. You let sleep take over your form.

Some time later, you stirred in your sleep. Hyunjin was still stood stiff in front of his screens.

You felt arms securely wrapped around you and a leg draping over yours. You turned carefully to face the figure.

Lee Felix, the gang’s hitman. It’s mind blowing how effective he is. He is extremely masterful in close quarter fighting and his ability to use a gun is unmatched (with the exception of Changbin.)

He was sound asleep. His blond hair was messy and freckles littered his face like stars in the night sky. Felix was still fully geared. Looks like he just returned from a mission as evident by the dark circles under his eyes. No rest for the wicked. Memories of last night flooded your mind. Felix’s pained screams as he was caught aflamed and him crashing through the window. Hyunjin did a spectacular job tending to his wounds. Felix was apparently well enough to embark on another mission practically hours after being set ablaze.

You carefully got out of his grasp letting the Aussie sleep. You walked towards Hyunjin patting his shoulder signifying you were leaving. You didn’t dare speak to him. You knew better than to interrupt. He has 10 lives on his hands 25/8.

You quietly closed the door behind you as you entered the long hallway littered by closed doors. You began heading down the hallway to report back to your leader.

Along the way, you see Changbin heading your direction.

Seo Changbin, the gang’s weapons dealer. He was donning a black skin tight short sleeved shirt that perfectly showcases his muscles and toned chest. He wore black fingerless leather gloves and loose black pants with black combat boots to finish it off. He had several straps and harnesses attached to his body holding all his gun holsters. Gun magazines decorated his torso. An AK was slung over a shoulder held up with a sling and a sniper rifle secured to his back. He smiled at you fondly relief washing over his stern face. You smiled back remembering the scare you gave him last night. He ruffles your hair gently, his fingers ghosted down the side of your face, your cheek, your jaw before caressing your chin gently wiping his thumb over the soft skin. He walked past you continuing down his path.

You smiled widely as you continued down the hallway giving each door you pass a singular knock. Each room’s occupants briskly opened the door and sticking their heads out, each relieved to see you alive and well.

The first, Han Jisung, the group’s main hustler for money and info. The squirrel like little shit however, didn’t open the door in response to your knock. Instead, he responded with a loud kick on the other side that shook the door slightly.

The second, Yang Jeongin, the group’s youngest and unbelievable sniper. He has never missed a shot. He doubles as a secondary weapons dealer, often accompanying Changbin and even going by himself if Changbin is preoccupied. His head stuck out his door; his red hair was messy with bed head. His eyes were little slits tired from sleep. His eyes open slightly seeing you alive and well. He smiled brightly. You gently pecked his cheek; a slight blush dusted his cheeks. He retreated back into his room returning to sleep.

The third, Kim Seungmin, the group’s demolitionist. Explosives were his specialty. He does have the knowledge of an engineer and mechanic to lighten Hyunjin’s load. (Although Hyunjin will kill Seungmin if he touches or interferes with any of Hyunjin’s engineering experiments).

Like Jeongin, he only stuck his head out. However, unlike Jeongin, he had a scowl on his face from being rudely interrupted. The scowl didn’t leave his face upon seeing you though. His clenched teeth eased into firmly pressed straight lips. His nose scrunches up slightly prior to giving you a split second peck to your cheek and proceeding to slams the door in your face.

You laughed lightly to yourself shaking your head lightly. You turn to continue but you see Lee Know stumbling out of his room, a gas mask present on his face and a fog of smoke coming out of his open door. Lee Minho, or Lee Know, is the group’s decoy and toxin expert. Smokes and poison gas are his thing. He hand makes every single concoction.

Minho glances at you noticing your presence. He quickly waved at you and smiled. You couldn’t see his face other than his eyes, but from how his eyes crinkled, you knew he smiled at you. Minho then walked through the smoke into his room and left his door open. You peered into his room, but the smoke was so thick and dense you can not even see through it, just a solid color of ashy gray.

You turned the corner still facing the smoke. Minho flooding his room with smoke was not a rare occurrence. You laughed at the thought.

Without realizing, your back collided with a very firm chest. You whipped around to see Woojin.

Kim Woojin, the gang’s main bargainer. Like Jisung, Woojin’s job is to get money and info. Unlike Jisung who practically blackmails the other party, Woojin can sweet talk and let the money speak for him. (Even though Jisung uses violence to get what he wants, the little shit can’t fight to save his life unlike Woojin who can take down 5 guys single handedly.)

Woojin was dressed in a black long sleeved turtleneck and a white faux leather jacket over it. He has several accessories, mainly chains, decorating his body. His lower body was less visually loud. He has simple tight black jeans and black high tops.

He smiles at you, giving you one of his signature bear hugs and kissing the top of your head. He pulled away from you and stood to the side with an arm outstretched allowing you to pass.

You made your way to Chan’s room. Technically it’s his office, but he holes up there 25/8 it’s practically his room.

Bang Chan, the gang’s leader and hacker. His IQ is through the roof making genius Woojin appearing to have a pea sized brain.

Bang Chan’s office (room) was dark. The lights were almost always off. The only light was coming from his large monitor. He was slouched over his laptop, the sounds of his fingers dancing over his keyboard can be heard throughout the room.

He notices your presence and spins around on his chair. He showcases his famous dimple smile.

“How are you feeling, mate?” Chan asked, voice thick with an Australian accent.

You smiled and nodded slightly to him.

Chan knew you should rest, but he also knows that his knee will get capped again if he’s forcing you to sit around. You hate sitting around doing nothing when you could go out and be useful.

“So,” he started. “When do you want to start?”

Mission Briefing

Location: Civilized Countryside

Weather: Clear Time of Day: Late Day/Evening

Objective: Gather info

Date: 20XX

Partner: ???

Authors note: Since this is the first round of voting, I am providing you with the condensed mission briefing. I will not be stating this explicitly in later chapters. Every mission briefing will follow this same format. It will be your job to gather that info yourself. The full briefing will be posted before every chapter so you can check if you gathered all the correct info.

Here I have given you a mission briefing and you, the readers, will vote for which member you want to bring with you.

Remember your decisions will have consequences.

So refer back to their character profiles and stats when casting your vote.

Happy voting!

(Please refer to the Voting Rules before casting your vote.)

Crosses fingers that I get more than 3 votes and it’s not a tie.

Voting ends Tuesday, September 17 12PM PST or Friday, September 13 12PM PST if I get a good amount of votes.

I absolutely hate asking for reblogs, but please reblog if you enjoy the fanfiction, I really don’t want it to flop especially on the first voting stage T^T

Author Note 2 (I’m sorry)

So I will most likely write member scenarios prior to voting stages beginning so I have some back long, but that means for the members that don’t make it scenarios will be tossed. So... how do y’allsters feel if I do like a little contest thing during the votes? Like first few people who can accurately pinpoint the best possible member with a brief explanation why can have a choice to read one of these extra scenarios? (Note: Best possible member does not necessarily mean the member that wins the votes.) PLEASE give me feedback on this.

~Masterlist~

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thefinishpiece · 5 years

Text

Paris From Space

|Prélude|

All the universe is breathless abandon.

Atoms entangling in a game of paradox—ceaseless here-and-there playfulness.

You see the skies soggy with storm, their careful cracks of vaporous ash across dark marsh.

You hear the pulse of pressure manifested, crushing and resonant. The dogs tremble and bark. The birds dangle in mid-flight, hanging on an unseen grid.

You smell the moisture—refreshing, cold. Sometimes you forget the world is water. Rain is a decent reminder.

You taste the mellow dread of waning nostalgia. Every passing day is further from a memory you once considered real.

But in hindsight, the fringes fading from view, the minced details of sensory lushness peeling away one by one—first, you forget the scent of it; then the flavors; then the sounds; then the appearances.

Someday you may even forget the feeling—the inextricable meaning of an experience that reasoned the memory extant in the first place.

You touch the surface of everything. A nervous glaze. The stitching of molecules costumed by your fragile perception, vainly convincing itself of every object’s difference and every texture subjective.

The truth—hidden as it always is—behind a curtain of illusion, saving your conscious fragility from being frightened by the position of matter in these rules of reality.

As you look on and wonder:

If everything is everything else, then what am I?

A composed ape. Poised against the frigid metal-legs of a balcony. Posing in a slumped grace, posturing yourself unconsciously to the gravity of detached comfort. Legs bent. Arms slung. Back sloped. If a raindrop fell on you at this current moment, you might collapse.

A loosely-lit cigarette between your lips. The tip of heat wavering on-and-off, totally uncaring if its trail of crumbling conflagration ever reaches its end. A stained sleeveless-shirt, crinkle-cut by use. Undergarments slacking, spotted, indented by under-sweat. Quite the sloppy ape you are.

You flick the unfinished cigarette. An indifferent attitude. Does this bundle of moody fluids have a name? Do you have a name? It is customary for you apes to award each other names. Such superficial symbols permit you to feign definition.

Emilia.

Emilia is done observing these constellations of atoms we refer to as life. She swallows one last gulp of drenched oxygen, then retreats from the patio-wilderness back into her modernist cave. The ape must sleep. And forget how all the universe is breathless abandon.

|Act Une|

Emilia nearly choked on her croissant.

“You killed yourself? How?” she garbled, removing rogue flakes from her mouth with a napkin.

Her friend initiated conversation in a peculiar way, explaining she had killed herself the night before, only to awake in the morning alive and disappointed.

“I took the pills Jamer gave me, settled myself in a nice bath, then drank a pinot all the way through, waiting.”

Her friend sipped an exotic tea. Emilia drowned the remaining flakes, stuck in her teeth like fleas on a dog, with a whip of bitter coffee. Her throat convulsed from the heat.

“And nothing happened?” she asked, politely.

Her friend shook her head, annoyed—not at Emilia, but at her situation.

“I remember a sudden nausea. Then I started vomiting blood and pastry, the pain in my stomach so strong. It was like being grinded alive. I thought it was it for me—I remember thinking it was the end. I made my peace with the universe and all that, but then… I wake up the next morning. No blood. No vomit. No pain. Even the bathtub had been drained!”

Emilia expressed awe at her friend’s predicament.

“So strange.” she mused.

“So strange!” Her friend parroted.

It was still gloomy weather and the café was hushed in midday reverence.

Emilia and her friend cooled in silence. Until a coddled boom whimpered through the streets. Followed by a glimpse of glow. The storm was barely holding it together. But the sun stood no chance as the clouds formed a fortress, a last-ditch effort to reclaim their tempest-might.

“Did you tell Jamer?” Emilia inquired.

Her friend sighed. “No, and I’m not going to bother. Fuck Jamer, he sold me a trick instead of a death.”

Emilia agreed. She struck a mental note of never buying toxins from Jamer again. Then her attention diverted to the concrete floor, where a party of ants convened upon a parcel of croissant Emilia had spat out after noticing a corner of it was burnt. Her discretion did not extend to the searing temperature of the coffee, however, which she drank freely despite the lesions forming in her throat. Her friend sighed again.

“I’ll try again tonight. I’ll do something else this time. If only I could get a gun.”

Wasps invaded the arthropod gathering, their bulbous black-yellow behinds sweeping through the tiny ants, rolling the little troopers over like butter on toast. It made Emilia sick to watch.

Her stomach roiled and fussed.

“Oh dear, sorry to intrude on your complaints Lulu, but I feel quite nauseous suddenly.” She pinched the sides of her fatty glands in disgust and boredom.

Lulu nodded, a friend quite understanding. “Shall we take a walk? Refresh ourselves?”

Emilia and Lulu left the café and followed the Parisian street.

A peculiar aether presented itself. Oxygen was languorous. Mist curled between the cement and plastic altars of commerce, down alleyways to hideaways, elapsing the vestibules of vanity where so many spend so much to hide themselves away in cosmetic disguises and fabricated costumes. Their artifice exhibited in the store-windows on mannequins that appear more real and fashionable than them themselves.

Emilia thought it was amusing how new things pretended to be while erected upon the platforms of old. Shops stood where castles once did. Cafés in the place of cathedrals. Roads once medieval morphed modern, the only remnants of design in the curving sewer crates and occasional decorative gargoyle, perched upon a prosthetic height like skeletons bolted by metal supports in a museum. Alive in false motion. The pretense of being displayed.

Emilia, curiously, swayed down the sidewalk, her steps careful and airy. It was the respectful thing to do, she considered, for how else is one supposed to walk through a graveyard? If not avoidant of others’ peaceful beds and nostalgic crypts.

She looked up at a street-sign, which was welded unto a steel-beam older than anything else on the street, and she smiled at how it could still find usefulness even in the ages after its inception.

“We walk the same place as they did three-hundred years ago.” Emilia mentioned. But Lulu ignored it, fascinated by the passing montage of jewelry and clothing. “No, you’re right. We don’t. This is only a replica city.” Emilia muttered, defeated.

“I’m thinking—should I just jump off a roof somewhere? Perhaps a church or skyscraper. Maybe I’ll climb to the top of Eiffel and leap—no, no, they have gates for that, don’t they? Of course, I’m sure I’m not the first to think of it.”

Lulu mused on. Emilia encouraged her friend, examining the merits of her plan.

“I don’t know how effective that would be. What if, after jumping off, you suddenly grow wings and take flight? Then you’ll feel foolish.”

Her friend snickered, “Then I’ll crash myself to the ground! Or maybe I’ll fly higher, to that level where the atmosphere folds unto itself, and let myself be crushed by a blanket of gravity.”

“A remarkable idea! But now where do you get wings?” Emilia wondered.

Her friend sighed, adjusting the grief on her face. “All of this talk of failure is ruining my mood. Sorry to disparage you today. I should be more grateful to have a friend like you, Emilia!”

Lulu embraced Emilia. Her friend’s hair was scented in tones of tangerine, flecking through bits and pieces of minted beach. Emilia sniffed deeply—she wished to never end the cuddle, so she could sniff this citrus dream forever. But Lulu, first to grip, was also the first to pull back. They continued on.

Along their path, a carious fiend, whom could barely speak, adorned in leftovers.

“Spare a penny? Just a penny!” he beseeched any who would listen.

Passersby passed by, either deaf or deferent. But when Emilia and her friend came by his way, he bowed, tingling from starvation.

“Excuse me Misses, but I must say you are both the most beautiful angels I’ve ever seen in this godforsaken city. Please tell me—I’ve heard rumors—I’ve heard we are on Mars now? Is it true? Did mankind send some of its own to claim the red oasis as ours? Oh, I’ve tried to see them. I look up at it every night, hoping to see. Tell me what I see is what it be?”

Emilia and Lulu both stared at the sky, then each other, then the fiend, who was gazing upward, a wistfulness dripping from his eye, plopping to the ground in weak rain.

“I imagine them up there, looking back at us. I bet they don’t cry; they don’t miss us. They look back at this garbage mess of hideous rock and wicked ocean, thinking we deserve to be left behind. They probably look out to the cosmic horizon, where our galaxy holds hands with God, and thinks the summation of Mankind is calculated in the stars and the stars alone.”

Emilia quivered. The beggar fiend was beginning to affect her.

His face collapsed. He heaved in. Let it out. “I don’t think we were born here. I think we plummeted here from somewhere beyond. This is not our planet. This is not our destiny.”

Emilia fumbled through her pockets and scrounged up some meager change. It wasn’t enough for her, but it was enough for him. When she handed it to him, she spoke, “We’re there. Those who are, I hear they’re preparing everything for us. We won’t be left behind, I promise. They’re coming back for the rest of us.”

The beggar grinned and thanked her, quaking in appreciation. “Oh, you’re so kind! You wondrous angel! So kind. God crafted you especially, I can tell. I’d like to believe you, too. But angel, you know how we humans are. We’ll sooner see the child of God return than for those who’ve left us to come back for us.”

Emilia saddened. The beggar disappeared, a puff of lost hope.

Lulu nudged her. “Come on, just down over here is Saladin’s place. He may be able to help me.”

Her friend strolled forward. Emilia took her arm and dabbed herself dry, taking one last peek toward the sky, in vain vehemence. If only he knew it was all still the same, even up there. Still just as boring, but more red.

On the stoop, a figure in prescience rose to greet them. He had a habit of always looking around, as if always being watched, or suspecting someone of always trying to catch him.

“Salaam. Salaam. You here for the Wise?” he greeted Emilia and Lulu individually. He recognized Lulu.

Emilia was intrigued. She heard her friend speak of Saladin before, many times, but had never met him. Lulu was comfortable, if not a smidge annoyed, rushing through pleasantries to get straight to business. The weight of life was one she was done carrying.

“Omar, I wish to speak to Saladin. Is he here?”

She pointed at the building behind Omar, a destitute stack of rooms, hidden in sharpened architecture and a sallow-salmon shade. Omar replied, “Yes he is. He has time for you. What is your friend’s name?”

Omar motioned toward Emilia. How bizarre it was to be referred to as the friend for once. Emilia perked up, saying her name for the inquirer. Omar dugs his fists in to the pockets of his footie-jacket and told the duo to accompany him up the stairs.

Emilia hurried through a cigarette as they walked, the stairs sidewinding through an elevated terrace stuffed with nature’s contraptions of petal-jaws and coiling-brush.

All Emilia seemed occupied with, however, was the beggar. And she, too, became obsessed with the rumors of Mankind’s ascent—blissfully disregarding the reality she knew that nobody was going anywhere special.

And just like that, she was finished with her cigarette.

|Act Deux|

A room with a plastic aroma.

Blood-boiled bulbs bleed unto the scene. Strobes of smoke and scarlet sound.

Sandcastles painted on the walls; behind them the mystic beaches of space. Built from magenta-dust or emerald-gore, standing upon the corners of unknown planets, these sandcastles holding a trillion pieces together through sheer gravity and will.

On the floor, decorative and intricate rugs sprawling across, reminiscent of Persian palaces.

In the middle, an oval-cut booth, dressed in maroon leather, tussles of gold fluff along the precipices. Rising from this lavish throne, a figure of regard and wisdom, moving like a demigod in repose, raising a cup of champagne.

“To all my friends—time makes the blade forget!”

Everybody cheers. Electronic trumpets blare. Maidens dance; jesters spin. A decadence infused with grim detachment. They lack the music of olden whimsy—instead moving mechanically, like robotic replicas imitating a scene from context rather than reality. But this bothers them none.

And so here we are—the sound of shells snapping back to reality.

“Salaam! I am Saladin the Wise. Welcome to my harem of knowledge!”

Saladin clapped.

Emilia and Lulu were offered drinks, then introduced to a circle of sole seats beside the circular cathedra, with a nest of tobacco temples, fur-fringed pumps snaking around their bases and heads.

Aside from Saladin, there was Omar looming in the corner, vigilant.

And there was Soelle, sitting next to Saladin, ignoring the visitors, much keener to blow the mold from her knife-nails, which lunged like claws from her fingertips, stained in hot-pink blood. Smoke looped through the diamond hoops hanging from her ears. She had the appearance and the attitude of a queen.

Saladin’s smile was a huge jumble, twinkling under his round-nose and frizzy hair, and he looked more like a buffoon than a wiseman.

“Lulu, my darling swan! Why have you come to me today? What wisdom do you seek?” Saladin proclaimed.

Lulu sipped her champagne, then spoke, “I seek your guidance on a problem I can’t seem to solve.”

Saladin nodded, then his face sunk in contemplation. Then he asked, “Who is your friend? She is a gorgeous swan!”

Emilia perked up. She had been distracted, admiring the sandcastles, all their detail, from their towers to their gates to their moats.

“Emilia. It is a pleasure.”

Saladin clapped again, enthusiastic.

“Emilia! A perfect name for the perfect portrait. Come, you must indulge in my delicacies. It is only right you have pleasure in the House of Saladin!”

Saladin snapped.

From nowhere, another person emerged with trays of treats, placing them on the tiny stone-surface which stood between the cancerous contraptions, drenched in their smoke, glazed in crimson cream. Then she returned to nowhere.

Saladin gestured for Emilia and Lulu. Emilia looked at her friend, seeking a sign of procedure. Lulu flicked her eyeballs, obviously annoyed, intending Emilia to eat one of Saladin’s offerings. She stared down at the silver-tray, which held a bowl of glass candy and strips of peppered seaweed.

Lulu grabbed one of the strips and chewed it happily. Emilia hesitated. Her stomach was still disturbed from her earlier caffeine, and she really didn’t feel like munching on strange snacks. But Lulu nudged her, implying that Emilia shouldn’t be rude and accept at least one bite of whatever weird gift this wise fellow was giving her.

So she picked one of the glass candies, which felt cold in her hands. It was translucent, spherical, with two symmetrical stripes of blue sugar stretching around it. Her teeth preemptively winced, anticipating what it would feel like to chomp glass.

But she tucked it in, swiftly, then ate her worries away when the unbelievable sweetness dissolved in her mouth. Her entire throat and tongue and jaw were tingling in sensation. Her body warmed. Everything became so wet and hot and sugary. Her limbs shivered. Her torso became mush. It was the most deliciously saccharine thing she had ever tasted.

“Thank you, Saladin. I appreciate your kindness.” Emilia mumbled, still licking residue from her lips. Saladin chuckled warmly.

“You are my valuable guests. All your whims are of value to me. Come, you must try this delicate smoke. It is imported from the land of ancient time—the place where all mankind comes from. Please, you must try this.”

Saladin snapped.

Omar brought hot coals and placed them on the podium of one of the plant-vaporizers, which bubbled and brewed in delight. On the base, letters of languages unspoken for millennia, etched in gold and glue. Omar lifted one of the hairy hoses, handing it to Emilia first.

“You are a new guest in the House of Saladin. It is tradition you smoke first as well.” Omar explained.

Emilia took the tube, no questions, and sucked it with all her force.

The smoke broke upon her lungs like dolphins crashing upon waves. It soothed her welts. It was smooth as serpent-skin, slithering down into her belly, flushes of peppermint and tangerine and baked-bark, peeling the crust from her inner organs, renewing her breathe, rejuvenating her blood and sweat.

The smoke seeped through every vein, pulsating every cell along the way, orgasmic needles pricking every last cent of her body. It crawled like vines upon stone, outward in labyrinthine motion, weaving a web of sylvan silk, cradling its host in tendril embrace. Emilia was paralyzed. Yet, she was not uncomfortable.

As the smoke dissipated, her body reverted to its natural state, which felt unnatural compared to what it had just experienced. By the time she had feeling and movement again, Emilia was disappointed, drained, drowned. She had preferred being paralytic. She had preferred the smoke wearing her carcass like a costume. It was a feeling beyond human hue.

“You like it, yes? It is exquisite! Saladin only provides the best for his companions!” Saladin inhaled from his own pump, expelling the smoke in a bluster of gust, shaped exactly like a sandcastle.

And just like a sandcastle in rising tides, it was only a temporary moment until it evaporated into nothingness.

“It is the divine will that has brought you to me. Do you believe this?” Saladin inquired.

Emilia was still recovering. Lulu poked her cheek, reminding her of the material realm.

“Excuse my friend, she is overwhelmed by your luscious smoke. She is a true Frenchwoman—she’s only smoked cigarettes, never any hookahs.” Emilia blushed, then apologized.

Saladin repeated his question.

Emilia thought about it, then answered, “I believe in a cosmic will, yes. In something greater than ourselves. I believe in a higher power.” She swallowed.

“I don’t mean to offend anyone, but I don’t believe in a He or a She or a master plan or anything like that. I think it’s more like, well, there are cells, and something tells them they need to be cells and act like cells and do cell things. And then the cells do as they’re told, and everything else just sort of happens because of it.”

Saladin hunched over, contemplating. Emilia hoped she hadn’t offended him by morphing his definition of divine will into a different idea.

Arisen from his meditation, however, Saladin still smiled, still laughed in heart, and responded to Emilia, “You are wiser than you know, my friend. It is divine will that seeds grow to trees; that eggs hatch to fly; that earth rotates and sun shines. The matter of the universe is planned in advance. Even chaos is a device of this design. Even randomness and nothingness serve a purpose.”

Saladin gulped another drag from his pump, spewing smoke out in the form of sparkling stars, which levitated to the heavens, out of mortal sight.

“This higher power you speak of—it is not a singular entity. It is embedded in everything. The divine will is us. We are the higher power.”

Emilia pondered this apparent truth. Saladin, humbled, clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and bent his head backward, praying to the spectacle of everything around him.

“So, if what you say is true, then it was us that brought ourselves here. And this is true, we did choose to come here. But why is there a here or an us in the first place?” Emilia asked.

Saladin nodded, then spoke, “You ask the right questions. Curiosity is infinitely more powerful than wisdom. If the moment ever comes when you know everything, then truly you know nothing. Let me see, for you my friend, what it is you seek.”

Saladin meditated.

Emilia waited, her eyes leering over to the wall, those sandcastles still standing. Saladin whispered, under his breath, as if communing with an apparition from beyond, his voice hushed in spiritual reverence.

Emilia looked beside him, at his companion. Soelle was puffing smoke from her pump, glaring at the corner, uninterested in the conversation. Her long lashes flared with every cuff of smoke that rose through them. Emilia wondered why she was there. What insight did Soelle deliver to Saladin? What insight could he impart on her? Maybe it was a matter of yin and yang—the fountain of wisdom contrasted against an abyss of thoughtlessness. A necessary paradox, perhaps, to ensure the full spectrum of possibility, from positive to negative, whole to empty.

Emilia looked at her friend. She was sitting there, fidgeting, probably thinking about how terribly long today has been and how she wasn’t even supposed to be alive for it. Emilia almost laughed, but annulled the action because it was inappropriate, and her friend had been through enough trouble for one day.

Saladin finally sighed. Then he glistened, speaking, “My friend, you have taught me something today. You asked why the divine will is, and I have contemplated the reason, diving deep within myself for a proper view, only to realize I should have been looking outward!”

Saladin slapped his forehead. “You see, we already know the answer. We are here, are we not? So, this is why. By virtue of being at all, this is why we be. There is something because without something, nothing is undefined. Nothing requires something so it can be nothing. Its definition is dependent upon its opposite.”

Emilia and Lulu both looked at each other, confused. Saladin recognized their confusion, and insisted, “I know it seems insensible. But why are we here? We are here because if we weren’t here, we would be nowhere. And if we were nowhere, then we wouldn’t be at all—and there wouldn’t be a nowhere for us to be if we weren’t being at all. You have proven to me a wisdom I did not have before. That the question of why is answered by itself—why is why is why!”

Saladin roared with laughter, tears parading down his face.

His euphoria was infectious, and soon Emilia was laughing uncontrollably too, with Lulu following, and eventually even Soelle beheld them, diverting her attention away from her nails to watch the primates around her self-destruct in absurd relief. Though she did not partake herself, the fact she became intrigued at all was a testament to the dreadful delirium unfolding.

It wasn’t the truth Emilia had been seeking—it was so much more dooming. The truth of no truth. How haunting.

After everybody calmed, Saladin summoned a graveness to his demeanor, addressing Lulu directly, “My darling swan, it was you that desired most to come here. It is you that has a problem you cannot solve. Tell me, my friend, what is it that ails you? What wisdom do you seek?”

“I want to kill myself. I keep trying, but it’s impossible. It’s almost like I can’t die.” Lulu explicated to Saladin.

His Wiseness spoke, “Impermanence is impossible. Everything must come to an end. My darling swan, shall I guide you to what you seek?”

Lulu rubbed her chin, thinking. Then she said, “Yes, that is what I really want. I came to you for help because I knew you were the only one who could help. Your wisdom saves us all.”

Saladin bowed, humbling, “I am no wiser than a discarded shell on the beach. No wiser than a speck of dust on a shelf. You will see. I shall guide you to what you seek, but you must walk the path alone.”

Lulu nodded. “That’s fine. I have no qualms walking whatever path by myself.”

She got up from her seat, expecting to go somewhere.

Saladin smiled. “You will always find what you seek in the House of Saladin! May divine wisdom bless you, as you begin the journey toward your desire. Come, let us find what you seek…”

Saladin snapped.

A blast splattered her head all over the floor.

Emilia flinched, startled by the sudden boom. She reveled in horror as her friend stood motionless, her face missing, replaced by a hole of dangling strands, tentacles of gut and blood sprouting from a crater, her brain shattered to shreds, coils of it unraveled and stuck to her remaining bone like confetti. Her stance didn’t remain forever, and her body finally fell to the ground in a splashing thud.

Omar, who was behind her, cleaned his gun out of respect and concealed it away to its resting spot once more.

Emilia gasped in shock. She couldn’t say anything. The nausea that had been plaguing her since morning reached its breaking point, the contents of her stomach erupting from her mouth. Saladin winced, mourning the demise of his luxurious carpet.

With her insides cleared, Emilia screamed.

Soelle seemed amused. “Your friend is fine now. The best death is a surprise.”

That was all she had to say, redirecting her devotion back to her nails.

Saladin comforted Emilia, “My darling swan, she dives to her peace now! You must understand, I did only what she wanted me to do. Are you upset, my friend?”

He waited for Emilia’s composure to regain.

Once it did, Emilia, panting, spoke, “Y-Yes. Yes. I understand. Thank you. You are…” Emilia choked, chunks of vomit still clogging her throat. “You are most wise.”

Emilia rose, wobbling. Omar grasped her arms, assisting her in stabilizing. She strained her eyes as far from her friend’s corpse as she could, focusing intently on the sandcastles.

Saladin stepped beside her, observing them himself.

“Castles made of sand always fall in to the sea eventually…”

The sound of waves whispering.

Emilia, leaving, shut her eyes, the last image seen an impression of a sandcastle, as Omar and Saladin gripped her and led her outside.

|Act Trois|

I was alone again.

On the porch, overlooking a street steeped in drowsy dusk. The lamplights glowed fuzzy, balls of shiny fur humming in the surrounding night. Along the shadows, everything swirled like an abstract painting.

I looked for the painter’s brush, following the strokes, that every bit of dark which seemed out of place or smeared on. But I couldn’t find the fingers, folded on a stick, illustrating a new reality in the material of crushed powder and melted glass. I couldn’t find anyone

I sighed. Where had I been? What was I doing? Who have I become? Then I snickered. Like I ever knew who I was in the first place, let alone who I had transformed in to. Leave me alone. I didn’t want to be bothered by thoughts like that, empty and unhelpful as they are.

I was Emilia. And I needed a cigarette.

The sounds of sirens singing in delight burrowed its way through the drowsiness. I walked away from the place I had been, in to the path beside the street, joined by sleepy lamplights and intoxicated fireflies.

There were random strangers without faces. They weren’t walking anywhere; they just hung in the deeper portions of sight, clinging to darkness as if they were afraid of revealing their hideousness. I knew how that felt. I knew what it meant to hide myself away. Fuck, I needed a cigarette.

Bodyguards of the state were patrolling their areas, probably frustrated to be spending a perfectly lazy night exacting the neurotic policy of lords living in homes far away from such concerns. They carried their phallic extensions, loaded in harmful ornaments, always prepared for when the mood should sour suddenly, and chaos become comfortable in its own skin.

“Could I bother you for a smoke?” I asked one of the brutes.

Like a sulking gargoyle he gazed at me, in controlled ire, then faced away to watch other things. What a sullen loaf. No matter. I wandered further down the paved path, popping in and out of lamplights, each one more dazed than the last. It amazed me they even had any spark left. On a night like this?

Everything was so diffused. Quietness was quaking. Silence had violence. The moon, half-lit, smoked its own cigarette, a dreary squiggle of haze floating away from it, into the utter blackness of space.

The surface of the waves from a nearby riverway couldn’t even bother to reflect in a symmetrical, instead coloring the moon and stars onto its shady-sapphire surface in crayons and hatchets. The waves barely made any movement at all, tingling into triangular splash only when a duck paddled its way through. And even the ducks had their beaks at half-tilt, beady-eyes closed, feathers snoozing as they bumped off brick wall to brick wall, letting liquid inertia drag them by, slower than trees. And the trees even! Their leaves droopy, their branches sighing—the bark across their faces slung to the side in uninspired sadness. How blasé!

I wanted to shout, “Wake up!” to every passing thing, but I decided it wasn’t worth my time or energy. Then I embarrassed myself, realizing I was as allergic to effort as everything else had been on this night. At least we shared something in common.

“Do you have a cigarette I could borrow?” I queried one of the ducks while standing over a railing. His beak-snout didn’t even perk up in my direction, but he still quacked a negating quack, and drifted on from my dreams. What vermin.

Sometimes this city is a slumbering wasteland.

I dallied onward. Until I didn't recognize where I was anymore. Not that it looked any different. Just the same metropolitan mecca, intertwined by the same endless street with the same banal bazaars.

Napoleon must have lost his mind commuting across this city—no wonder he sought other shores. Such is the plight of conquerors I suppose. You wouldn't become a conqueror if you were content staying where you are.

Approaching through the veil, I spied a foggy fire. As I neared it, I kept the same pace, casual and observant. The source of conflagration was a vehicle, smashed upon by a fist of flames. How eerie. The car was doused in blaze, burning from the interior out. Its windows had been shattered, so the smoldering gift could swell instead of suffocate. And as I passed this burning car, I noticed nobody around. It was an elysian flame. The only soul was this fire, engaged by this metallic machine, which held it like a goblet, letting its insides crumple to ash and smoke without a single regard for itself.

The ethereal combustion, eternal in force.

I exited the area, leaving behind the effigy of rage and rebellion. Up ahead, a curious and callous sound—the sound of people. The sound of a crowd gathering, the hiccups, elbow-bumps, muted coughs, uncareful gossip. There was anticipation for something.

As I neared the end of the street, I scanned through the midnight mist to see the tower of Eiffel, erect in fireworks and lanterns. A bustle of randomly dressed persons were shuffled into lines, at the base of an enormous metal claw; within its palms a golden shuttle, mounted with silver wings and boosters.

On a platform overhanging the spectacle, two astronauts stood alongside a speaker, who announced in tremendous tone the events unfolding.

I roamed into the lagoon, slicing my way through dazed onlookers, through wondrous children, through trapped gazers. Up to the front, where I snuck under the velvet rope—when no one was looking, which was easy since most everyone stared at the spacecraft—and I tiptoed into my place in the front of the line. One of the pilots was down there, greeting people half-heartedly, as if the excitement of spaceflight had waned from him quite some time ago.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

Without looking at me, he said, “Somewhere far away, I hope. You mean to fly with us?”

“You’d really let me go with you? In to space?” I said, eyes deepening.

He waved me by, exclaiming, “Sure. Why not. You seem like you want to go. Why should I stop you from what you want?”

I giggled in glee, my face pelted by internal rain, frothing down my cheeks in a most unkept way. But I wasn’t embarrassed.

The pilot lifted the rope and allowed me to pass. I ambled down the railed path, up flights of stairs, winding steel grates, until I reached the entrance of the rocketship and was bestowed with my very own spacesuit and a bouquet of flowers. A French model kissed each of us as we passed through the door, in to a chamber of glittery buttons and deafening silicon-fences, supported in circular fashion around the whole corridor.

A fellow astronaut showed me to my seat, then strapped me in, whistling an old tune that soldiers used to whistle during the old war—the great one. None of them were great.

Even inside, I could still hear outside people shouting. They hollered farewells and “c’est la vie”, glad that they themselves didn’t have to ruin routine by hopping on an interstellar locomotion to nowhere. They were content to return to their lives, wandering from café to store to park, astonished by every new cage, yet unconcerned with doing anything about them. To walk among the ancient streets where knights and kings once galloped—now occupied by troopers and beggars. To ignore the refuge and embrace the resonant. To be vapid, empty ghosts, haunting a place that was happy when no one was there.

The disgruntled pilot entered, situating himself beside me. As he buckled in, he glanced at me, his face stone and sour, but encumbered with surprise. “I’ve never seen someone so happy to go into space before.”

I wiped my face dry as best I could, trying to feign my smile to death, but I couldn’t.

“I don’t know if it’s so much so going into space,” I said. “As it is a last-minute effort to forget I was never there to begin with.”

The pilot chuckled, then commanded his attention forward, to the great steering mechanisms, wheels of blasted fury. They sealed the door shut. This was it. I could feel the rumbling below me, bubbling up like a feverish nausea all its own, the ship rattling in unsettling pangs.

I reclaimed my composure, being as mature and disconnected as I could be about such a thing as what was happening. As if it was passé to be spacebound.

The countdown initiated. The two astronauts ahead of us clicked the ignition, tapped their knobs and buttons and googly gadgets. They acted as if it was simulation. As if it was vexation. As if it was something they just had to get through; a gallery or museum they hurry through, disregarding the depth of present art, eliminating the exposure to the past some revere—revere enough to have tombs built to honor these objects and their articulators.

“Have you ever seen a quasar before?” I burst out.

The pilot scratched his nose. “Only the kind I spread on my toast.”

They engaged the thrusting emotions, stirring up those memories of fuel and fusion. The resulting concoction was a nostalgic spark, a wistful thunderbolt to the cold heart of rocketship.

I turned to the other patrons beside myself, but I found them unrelatable. They all had tattered faces, worn with beaten expressions, speaking in a language I did not understand. I smiled at them though, and they smiled back, all of us connected by our collective odyssey. And the pilot, even, revealed a bar of chocolate candy from his sleeve like some kind of magician, passing it along to the younger ones next to me.

He also offered me a piece, expressing to me an amiable resentment, “It’s still a mystery to me why people want to follow the stars. They don’t go anywhere.”

I agreed with him, nibbling the sweet cocoa paste. A rapturous jubilance captured me, an overwhelming pulse of sincerity and sensation. It was like marinating in morphine.

“Prepare for ascent…” a robotic voice spoke.

I gripped the creases of my spacesuit, my stomach a cauldron of nervousness and neurosis. I was sweating. My anxiety had become palpable. The pilot noticed, nurturing his hand upon my shoulder, quite familiar with this situation, as if everyone got nervous every time they had to do this sort of thing.

“Don’t you worry,” he smirked. “Because we’re almost done.”

The pilot assured me so well that by the time he removed his hand, we had already speared through orbit. At last, we abandoned those apes. And now we were crawling through the muck of space.

Oxygen flickers on…

But I am breathless.

#parisfromspace #thefinishpiece #dilonzeres #prose #poetry #fiction #irrealism

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bluepenguinstories · 5 years

Text

Happiness Overload Chapter Thirty-Two

Needle slid in. Rough armor, soft skin. Duly noted.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--” Erupted from the soldier's mouth.

My head tilted.

“Why do you scream?” I leaned forward, inquisitive.

No response. Skin shifted to a beautiful shade of green. Teal, or something akin to it. Some may protest that teal is more of a shade of blue, but it is a shade nonetheless.

“I can imagine such a procedure would be painful, yes,” I noted. “I remember when I injected myself. I thought I had been given the lethal injection, but soon, I felt rejuvenated.”

Soldier screamed further, gasped, then made seething sounds. I took note of each one, though lacking in a note pad, my memory was all the record I needed.

“Rejoice, man! You are proof that miracles can happen! Look at this,” I pointed to my arm, or my multitude of mini hands. The soldier croaked, puffed his cheek, and looked over. It was beginning. “Yes, you may find it odd, but this is the beauty of becoming part axolotl! Who knows what you, nay, what the others may become!”

Upon opening his mouth, the soldier spoke:

“Wow! I have GOT to tell the others!”

I nodded. “You will, you will.” I handed him the syringe. “I want you to spread this gift to the others.”

I released him and slid back into the shadows of the laboratory. Multiple soldiers ran in, the alarm having been alerted to Polo and I's presence. Polo was long gone, through the vents. I, on the other hand, was about to witness the birth of the next step for humanity.

As they ran in and stormed the place, before they could notice me, my acquired froggy friend lunged at one of them and took off their helmet and plunged the syringe into their fellow's neck.

Shriek. Next was the other two, which after you had seen it in action the first time, it became less exciting; still, the transformation never got tiresome. I relished in the rebirths of these fine men.

Once the scene had played its course, I stepped out to greet all of them.

“Greetings. You may call me Gumby.” I handed each of them their own set of syringes. “Resume your duties of protecting the secrets of these halls, but do so while birthing more amphibians!”

They all puffed their cheeks and croaked in agreement. I watched as they put their helmets back on and crept back outside of the lab.

Such an accomplishment before my eyes, it was almost enough to make me weep. But as a serious researcher, I am above such novelties.

Evils of being awake, the desire to chew on a pillow. Had it not been for the errors of the pleasure center of the brain, I would have choked on cotton or down feathers by now. Instead, I had to build them, package them, send them away. So grueling. So torturous.

Wave goodbye, every day. Whimper.

Some salt in the sky, a twinkle felt. Noticed a faint whiff of freedom, though my coworkers seemed immune. Out on the assembly line, I gorged myself on pillow fluff.

Euphoria was here. I could smell it in the air. That one smell I wasn't allowed to smell, but everyone else could; the scent of happiness.

My body craved it. My mind craved it. My shadow...

Each step, I ran my fingers through the metallic walls.

“Oh, if you could appear before me right now, what image would you choose?”

I wanted to know what image I had in my mind, but the only images were the ones others had seen. They were not images that would have satisfied me.

Do I have to wait until after I die to be cremated? Impatience. Intricate, insecurities. When the group came over, some of them began to chat, some of them took a dip into some salsa – pico de gallo. One dipped twice. Same chip. When one friend smoked...

Lungs. What do they do again? Cough, every night. Since I didn't know when. Sometime ago.

Water depleted. Supply ran dry. To be the same...

Smoke, ash. To be one of them. Many little dust particles. When I watched those friends, when we sat at the bonfire, I made my wish. Residual ash from the flame, to be part of it. Alive, and, well, a part of the process.

Entire body was turned to ash. So were the friends. We were most alive, in a fireside chat.

Several truths and misconceptions, lies and questions that some may have pointed out, had they the opportunity to dissect my thoughts. Those precious thoughts.

Let's begin with the first one: that there is no cellular range in such a remote location. That all and any signals would be jammed, blocked, intercepted. Yes. Very good. We, Lilypad, had considered this, so we brought miniature tower boxes with us and scramble the tracking so anyone hoping to intercept our call would have been left confused and disappointed. So when I called the World Wildlife Foundation, the group itself was in no danger. Gay amphibious humanoids and its allies that make up Lilypad are all high in intelligence. So of course, as seasoned hackers, we would also be seasoned engineers.

Second of all, the location and purpose: Groom Lake, or as its more common to call, Area 51 – believed to be called such due to an Atomic Energy Commission numbering grid. Whether or not this was true doesn't matter much. Call it Paradise Ranch, call it Hidden Valley for what little difference it made.

What really mattered was the purpose – originally a testing ground for the CIA for the U-2 plane, its ownership was later handed over to the US air force for the purpose of crafting other experimental air crafts which continued to this day. Yes, that part was true, to an extent. There have also been those who believe beings from other planets resided within the facility and others would argue that such a notion was preposterous. Rest assured to the naysayers, that part was false, to an extent.

It was of my experience that experimental weaponry of all kind has been built and tested. Beginning with vehicles, whether air, land, or sea, it didn't matter. Then it expanded – not all at once, but funding and nudges from my former employer, The Flashbulb, helped pull things along (not to say that the CIA and US military wasn't already part of The Flashbulb, but such direct involvement was a large shift) – biological weaponry in the form of chemical agents, toxins to fill the air, genetic experiments (which I am proud to say I made myself a test subject of), armor for soldiers, technological advances that would address a potential rise in an unstoppable force of soldiers designed with the sole purpose of subjugating those who did not fall in line.

All of what I just described has been what the facility functioned as at one point or another. At the present, it's been taken over as a whole by the ETNA corporation and the entire structure shifted and changed at a constant rate due to the desires of Etna, the artificial leader of The Flashbulb's Morale Department. Etna itself, herself, has become one with the facility. The very walls, the technology, the weaponry, they all could change at a moment's notice, if Etna so wills it.

I took my strides out of the laboratory, already taken stock of what I needed, and wandered into the halls, where I continued to be lost in thought of the history of where I happened to be.

“That's no good,” I noticed as I made the mistake of stepping on a soldier lying on the ground, helmet off. Pale green skin told me what I needed to know. “Someone had killed one of my babies.”

I shook my head and walked off. Not just one, but three.

“Whoever did this, I pray they get their due. As for you three, at the least, I hope you were able to spread our gift with others before your departure from this world.”

I walked on. Somewhere, a better view would present itself. I wanted to see crowds, nay, rows and rows, lined up. Their eyes would stare up at me and I would smile. To bring my dream to life, I needed the right topography.

Etna, if you would so kindly. Make it happen.

However much she fancied herself a god, I had my doubts she could listen in on my thoughts. Or perhaps, with the angel she had fused herself, the facility, and all of its soldiers with, she just may have. See, Euphoria was not a man-made creation. While the scientific side of me reels at the thought of calling anything an 'angel', a better term may be 'alien' or 'cosmic entity', which is just what the fanatics would love to hear. Euphoria was real, and she was not of this earth.

Frozen pea hailstorm bit the head of me. Hunger struck upon stomach for days, shelter not given unto. Dwelt sidewalks, dwellings. Under bridges, overpasses, benches, nomadic. Caught some grass at a park. Bit off some tree bark. Hunger so dire. Desire.

Rained down, my memory – sign of joy. Ode to thee.

Mother used to make the best frozen peas. Children sat at dinner table, hands raised high. One of them was I. Cannot remember the rest. Such a fond nostalgia, trip down a lane taken.

Hail of frozen peas, velocity punctured skin off of facial structure. Rest of body. Still, tongue stuck out, swallow some. Smiled, shed tears, blood ran from exposed flesh. Weak and feeble, no, strong. Memory so pleasant. Tasted of fondness.

Even in decay from the favorite meal, warmth could be found from the frozen.

Best memory was the last.

Life wasn't always like this; just a couple days ago, in fact, life was normal. Or, as normal as a life could be. Cold paradise we lived in, this city. For at least three years now, the ETNA Corporation had bestowed our city with great inventions, pioneering us from a no-name metropolis to something greater. However, just the other day, a chain reaction started.

No one knows the root cause, but it spread like a virus. People throwing themselves into traffic, the very roads themselves crumbling, traffic lights changing color and becoming strobe lights, just to name a few things. While there could be no logical explanation, a quarantine over the city was issued and the next thing I knew, we were all trapped.

Or, we were supposed to be. I overheard from some CDC agents that it shouldn't spread so long as they kept the city locked down, but I wasn't so sure about that. Nor was I so sure when a statement was released from the ETNA Corporation stating that the infection was due to a substance having infiltrated itself in their elevators and causing an adverse reaction in those who rode them. 'Those exposed to the elevators (as in simply been in them) were more at risk than those who had not used them, or seldom have used them' the statement had said.

I wasn't so sure about that because I think it had affected (affected? Infected?) me as well. Even now, I thought I could feel its effects. The strong desire to...

I don't know what. My mind goes blank before coming to a conclusion. Best way to describe it would be a sugar rusk. Or drinking an entire pot of coffee in one sitting. High on cocaine. Complete manic energy. Except this high you don't come down from.

At least, that's what I would imagine. I'm not sure if that's how I'm feeling. There's just...this desire to be that way.

An object in motion stays in motion...

There was a friend I once knew, her name was Rick O'Shea. Or, her name was something else. It's been difficult to recall simple things. Or, her name could have been Beau Meringue. Or, it was one of the two, something in between. Or, her name was never important, just her presence.

She was overjoyed by the state of the city. How wonderful the elevators had been. Each time she took those trips, she described it as a new experience. The only reason I never rode on one of them was because I never liked venturing outside. Call it agoraphobia, or a strong social anxiety. Just the thought of being surrounded by others would have been enough to send me into a panic. I only felt like I could venture out when she was around.

When the city was quarantined, she was still overjoyed, much to my shock.

I told her how we should leave, how this city was destroying itself, how it seemed like everyone had become crazed and maddened by their own manic bliss. She shook her head in rapid motions, almost violent. She told me, “what is there to leave? Can't you feel it all around you? In the air, dolphins exiting your body. How you know you're right where you should be. These dolphins are here to help us.”

I begged, pleaded. She didn't look confused, but may as well. Even though I told her how it wasn't safe, how we could all die, this only made her smile widen. As if all she heard was good news and pleasant tunes. So, I concluded, I no longer had her. I would have to leave on my own.

Through careful analysis of my surroundings, I had escaped the city and as of last night, stowed myself away in a nearby motel. Where I will be soon, I only wish I had an answer.

I stood at the balcony, my gaze fixed downward at the marvelous sight: rows of soldiers, amphibious, lined up, synchronized and looking back at me. My dream was coming to light. As a collective, they took off their helmets, stared each other in their beady eyes, and stuck out their long, stringent tongues. Their tongues flapped against each other and flies descended from ventilation shafts, something I could not have anticipated, but also pleased me. Flies were caught, the soldiers having taken a break from licking each other.

With my arms outstretched, I addressed my audience:

“Rejoice! This is the ideal next step for humanity! Outsiders may not like it, but this is what peak performance looks like!”

Tongues clapped into the air. Many of the tongues caught flies. All was well.

My next set of actions would become clear: descend from the rafters to join the crowd, be carried off with them, and we would rise up, ascend from this underground, and spread our joy to the rest of the world.

Before I could do any of that, I felt a hand clasp down on my shoulder.

“Good job, brother. I see you got your wish.”

Such kind words. I knew the one behind me speaking such words was smiling from cheek to cheek. It was just like him to do so. Yet I also know that such words carried malice.

“Have you come to take it away from me?” I turned around, despite already knowing who was there. The tall figure, the shadow.

“Is that something I would do?” Marco laughed and released his grip on me.

“Have you come to kill my men?”

“I am glad, I mean that with sincerity. You gained your happiness without having to devour Euphoria. However, I still want to. Just to get a taste.”

“Is that what you came here for, then? Because if that's the case, I don't know where she is.”

“I have no need to kill your creation. You have been granted your wish, attained your happiness. I could never take that from you.”

“Then why are you here?”

He closed in and embraced me for a hug. His arms coiled and tightened around my back. It would seem his intention was to suffocate me. But in spite of the tightness, he didn't go far enough to do harm.

“She is everywhere. She is spreading her wings and giving everyone what they need.”

I struggled, but managed to reach into my pocket and pull out the syringe. I tried to stab it into him, inject him with the formula, make him subservient. Just to see what would happen. Just so he could no longer pose a threat.

But instead, the needle broke as I tried to push it into his skin. It never even made a mark.

“You think I betrayed you,” he spoke softly. “But that couldn't be further from the truth. See, I brought you here so you could get what you wanted and now you have it.”

I tried to break free. He wouldn't allow it. Was this some kind of divine punishment? Not that I believed in such nonsense.

“You should enjoy it while it lasts. For when everything in this world has experienced all this angel has to offer, it will end. The world will experience such happiness that it will not be able to contain itself and there is nothing that you, nor I, can do about that. Nor should we. The only influence I have had is where to direct this happiness, but it would have taken its natural course, regardless. When it all ends, I hope you enjoy yourself. I hope I do too.”

He released me and I could feel his presence fade. Somehow his nonsense made total sense.

This triumph I had felt was meaningless.

We found Gumby sitting on the floor like some kind of LAME-O (and no, that is NOT the name of a cereal).

I poked Gumby. Also, I looked down and noticed more friends!

“Hey, hey! Hey bud! Hey Gumbs! Gumb-o! Goomy! Hey!”

Gumby groaned.

“Hey, look! I have a girlfriend now!”

I roped along my girlfriend, who I still did not have a name for.

“Look! We tried to eat each other but then our mouths got stuck on each other and that's when I realized that's probably how people kiss!”

We demonstrated. Our mouths expanded to form a perfect circle against each other. I looked at Gumby. He still sat there.

“I don't care...” He groaned. I watched as he went to laying down and turned to his side.

“How RUDE!” My voice box exclaimed.

“The world is ending. What is there to care about?”

“Yeah! That's the spirit! It's so cool!”

In spite of my enthusiasm, Gumby sounded glum. So...glumby?

“I won. But I also lost. But then again, this is how it was always going to go. What should I have done differently, then?”

He laughed, though it sounded pretty un-funny.

“World's ending. What's the point to anything?”

“Dude! Totally! So go get yourself a boyfriend or something!”

“That wouldn't matter either.”

He closed his eyes and I let him lie there. This was getting WAY too boring for me, YO! My girlfriend and I frolicked ANYWHERE ELSE and left the lame-o to be sad or whatever.

#happiness overload #scifi #horror #surreal #dark comedy #area 51 #bad writing #happiness #angels #amphibians #gay frogs #cosmic horror

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evolutionsvoid · 6 years

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While dryads do not have the crazy amount of variety for magic as humans do, they are capable of getting quite crafty with what they have got. Though they can only manipulate the elements tied to plants and earth, there are ways to find certain hidden aspects that can be used. Some may think that power of plants and fungi may be limited to just growing flowers, but that is because they are thinking too plainly. Plants rely on sunlight to grow and thrive, thus dryads can use this system to create spells of solar energy and warmth. Another thing is that plants can produce poisons and toxins, which dryads know how to use quite well. So much so, in fact, that they have an entire class of magic users that brew and control these foul substances. They are the Venoness. The Venoness draw their powers and spells from poisons, toxins and venoms, either collecting it from the wild or brewing it themselves. Any substance that is dangerous and deadly is sought after and harnessed. The dwelling of a Venoness is often packed to the ceiling with deadly plants and bottles upon bottles of different poisons and acids. They harvest their poisons from their personal garden, but also travel into the wild to find other sources. While many would be quick to assume they are only good for death and pain, Venoness have used their abilities and talents to help dryadkind for centuries. Their knowledge of poisons and foul substances is not just good for brewing up deadly concoctions, but is also used to figure out cures and antidotes. Not only can they rid one's body of poison, but they can create very complex potions that are harmless to the drinker but are deadly to specific parasites or "even smaller beasties." Any good doctor or healer in a dryad village will know a nearby Venoness, so that they have easy access to these brews and other helpful substances. Venoness are also quite talented when it comes to breeding plants and fungi to maximize toxin production. This helps them collect more fluids with each harvest, which helps keep their stock full and ready. This same expertise has been used on other plant species that create specific products. The Nectar Pod plant dryads use to feed their growing seedlings and saplings were originally created by a Venoness, who took a species that produced beneficial nectar and then bred them to create the fluid in massive quantities. Vines that secrete irritants and mild poisons were cultivated by the Venoness, and now they are used to cover fences to keep pests away from livestock and crops. Indeed these folk are quite good at poisoning pests and foes, but they have many other uses if one knows where to look. Though all dryad species are capable of becoming a Venoness, Ivy Dryads and their hybrids often take up this role. The toxic oils they produce give them an extra connection to this art, and also insure that they never run out of a poisonous fuel.

The magic part of their craft is used to control poison like how a Hydromancer can shape water. This applies to toxins in all states, be it liquid, powder or gas. When working in their shops, the Venoness use this control to fine tune their brews and create better potions through precise and complex manipulation. It is also used to prevent their poison and fumes from leaking out of their homes and harming others. If a Venoness is hired to help get rid of pests, they can use their magic to administer poison into hard to reach areas to maximize efficiency and keep it away from young ones and pets. When it comes to the battlefield, their powers allow them to do terrifying things. Strapped with bottles, pouches and vials, a Venoness will go into battle with as much poison and toxins as she can carry. These can be used raw, but their main purpose is to fuel their Blight Vessels. Though the name can be a bit intimidating, Blight Vessels are merely hand-sized cauldrons or bowls that Venoness craft and use in the field to whip up brews and spells. It is their main weapon in combat and are wielded so that they may rain suffering and death upon the opposing forces. The Blight Vessel is often held in the off hand, so that their dominant one can pull ingredients from their person and add it into the bowl. After a certain combination is added, the Vessel is swirled about to mix and the brew or potion is unleashed. While one may think that a bowl full of poison is a delicate and unwieldy tool in battle, you would just have to watch a Venoness in action to see how it is done. To be efficient in this art during the heat of battle, the Venoness need to be agile, graceful and quick. They must keep the Blight Vessel from spilling, but also be able to mix and aim while avoiding attacks and foes. When fighting, an experienced Venoness is almost like a dancer, weaving about and releasing toxic brews in grand sweeping motions. To maximize efficiency and speed, they will put their ingredients in very specific spots on their body so that certain combinations are easily grabbed in a single motion. Every potion, powder and bottle has a place, and no proper Venoness will step out onto the battlefield until everything is in the right spot. A delay of just a few seconds can be the decider between life and death. With their personal Blight Vessels, Venoness can create a wide variety of spells and brews that they use during battle. While some warriors are specialized in one-on-one combat, these magic users are best used for tackling large groups (and sometimes entire armies). Their simpler spells can unleash choking gas that is blown into approaching forces or they can splash a wave of stinging fluid to blind attackers. As their brews become more complex, so do their spells. They can create clouds that hang above the battlefield and rain acid from above, or lob gobs of exploding goo that spray poison into the middle of enemy forces. With the proper spells and ingredients, a few Venoness can change the outcome of the entire battle. To maximize this effect, Venoness need information on the upcoming fight. Whenever there is a discussion amongst generals and commanders, their team of Venoness will be there to learn more about their foes and environment. At the very least, if a Venoness knows what species they are fighting, they can find a poison or toxin that will be harmless to dryad warriors but deadly to their foes. When given plenty of information and time for research, Venoness can come up with insanely crafty strategies and ideas. If they can learn about the types of weapons and armors the enemy force uses, they can create caustic spells that will degrade their tools in the middle of the fight. One of the most famous examples of this was when a Venoness learned that the invading force they were facing commonly wore gambesons beneath their plate armor. They acquired a torn piece of this padded jack from a defeated scout and experimented on it. After days of research and practice, she returned to her commander and inquired about where they could divert forces so that the invading army could be routed to a specific location. The plan was made and put into motion, which caused the great battle to take place in a valley. Both forces poured into the valley and the clash began. As the battle started up, the Venoness and her fellow sisters took up position up top and released clouds of strange gas into the valley below. At first the attackers thought it was poison, but they soon found that the clouds did not impede them in any way. The fighting continue until the opposing force suddenly found their armor coming loose. The clouds were not harmful to them, but they ate away at the cotton and wool that made up their gambesons. Within minutes, their armor lost its padding and hung loose upon their frame. Not only did it become ineffective, but the loose fitting metal soon impeded their movements and attacks. Unable to properly fight, the dryad forces beat them back and won the day. In some other cases, Venoness have been able to use acid to degrade rock slopes and cliffs so that they could collapse them on attacking armies. Given time and resources, these poison weavers can find some strange ways to affect the coming battle. Another major example of their use came when the demons invaded the surface world and went upon their cleansing crusade. While one army went after humanity, another massive force targeted the dryads and their forests. As one can imagine, plants versus fire was not an even battle. It soon became clear that the dryads were incapable of winning the war, as the burning army easily destroyed their forests and homes. It was then decided that the only way dryadkind could survive and end this crusade was to make it clear to the demons that their inevitable victory wasn't worth it. The dryads would use every trick, trap and cruel tactic that they knew to break their morale and make their victories as costly and bloody as possible. This was where the Venoness came in. The poison weavers studied fallen demons and used them to craft extremely potent poisons that would kill these horned foes in minutes. These poisons were given to the Ash Walkers, who coated every weapon in their arsenal with it, as well as themselves. These brave warriors threw themselves at the marching flames in suicidal attacks, knowing full well that they would die in the assault. These small strike teams were not meant to win the day, but to take down as many of the warriors as possible before they were killed. With their arrows, spears and blades coated in poison, they only had to scratch a foe to spell their doom. The Ash Walkers charged at the demon front and worked to poison as many soldiers as they could before they were slain. In the end, a group of four Ash Walkers were capable of killing over two dozen demons in an attack, which the invading force was not too pleased with. To make things even worse for the demons, the Venoness worked to make their march as slow and painful as possible. Entire forests were coated with toxic resin that released deadly, choking gas when burned. As the demons torched the woods in their march, whole platoons died as the lethal fumes destroyed their lungs and sealed their throats. Iron spikes coated in venom were buried in the soil, killing those who tread upon them. All sources of food that were in the path of the demon army were destroyed or poisoned, and the Venoness were sure to taint all water sources as well. When the demons opened up supply lines to feed their armies, the dryads made sure to attack and poison those as well. When the demons made camp or tried to rest, bombs of poison and spores were launched in. While these missiles could only kill a handful of unwary demons, their true purpose was to rob them of rest and respite. Each night the army was attacked, forcing them to stay alert and aware. In some cases, the bombs they fired off were harmless, but the demons were unaware of this deception. Dozens of other tricks were pulled, and many were driven by the Venoness and their poisons. In the end, the demon armies gave up with their crusade, believing that victory was too costly to pursue. They retreated to the Underworld and the dryads rejoiced. While the Venoness played a key role in ending the war, their job was far from done. With the enemy force now gone, the Venoness had to return to their poisoned lands and help heal the damage that they had caused.

#dryad #magic #venomancer #sorcerer #sorceress #art #drawing #monster #creature #magic class

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gesine70 · 4 years

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The most persistent grievances the Local community tends to make regarding it current Management are that they may have either been co-opted from the previous apartheid White ruling regime; are out-of-date with regard to values, objectives and procedures; are certainly not definitely and deeply devoted to the welfare from the people; are self-centered, self serving, egocentric, 'corrupt', outside of contact with The existing and foreseeable future realities; timid and cannot figure out the requires on the persons or articulate Individuals requirements in means which move the folks towards their gratification; are intellectually inept and so are not correctly educating the masses and inspiring them to realize the large electricity which lies dormant in just by themselves; are co-opted and set into strategic placement with the ANC governing administration even when they were rejected through the communities plus the African voting polity.

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My problem is: media continue to relentlessly pushes pasteurized milk and industrial juices into throats of our youngsters and ours way too. They remain shamesly stating that it is so fantastic for you personally and It's not! It is actually in far better situation ineffective as all Individuals sweet yogurts,Odd on the lookout cheeses made from the exact same pasteurized milk. Youngsters consume it, try to eat it after which you can we have to deal with multiple ailments our grandmothers never listened to about! Is just not it great! Extensive Dwell civilisation and its accomplishments. We could eliminate all preservatives from food business and substitute it with jalapeno pepper, but no - we need our chemical sector even if it slowly but surely killing us. Marijuana? Overlook it. We want our cancer individuals and lung transplants. Plenty of pharmaceutical vegetation are pumping right now lots of chemical substances so that you can eat. They can catch up with you, Don't be concerned. When you are going to turn into more mature and weaker, they will "serve" you all proper. They will drain your past pennies and may feed on the worry to become helpless without them.

#Cbd Gras

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