#the grey vest stays slaying

[gynii]

o!ranboo cured my art block, please say thank you to her

#ranboo fanart #osmp ranboo #mcyt #gynii art #she draws on her freckles #anyway i am returning to my roots of quick character drawings #and everyone cheered #also the full body outfit is based on the og oranboo design #the grey vest stays slaying

[canary3d-obsessed]

Lost Tomb Reboot Lewks: Part 12

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for both seasons of The Lost Tomb Reboot

Look 61

The first look is Wu Xie’s road trip outfit, which includes this grey and white jacket. It has a contrasting elastic waistband, cuffs, and neckline, and slanted pockets. 

This is exactly the sort of jacket that my 5th grade science teacher would have worn in 1979, and she would have slayed in it.  She awakened something in me and it wasn’t love of STEM. (Spock was responsible for my love of STEM, and various other awakenings in 5th-grade me) I’m sure it would still look great on her, because she is probably a silver haired foxy granny now, and that’s who this jacket belongs on in the current century.

Wu Xie should never have gotten within a mile of this old lady jacket.

To clarify, I’m not being gender-essentialist here; I’m being ageist. If this jacket had some contemporary detailing or interesting features to offset its last-century vibe, the way Bai Haotian’s green roller derby jacket does, it would be fine even though I’m not a fan of this sort of collar in menswear. But it’s just a nicely-made old lady jacket. Mary Berry could bake a nice cake while wearing this jacket. 

Note: Liu Sang could wear the hell out of this jacket, of course, because that man can wear literally anything and make it look like it’s made of spun pheromones.

(more after the cut!)

Wu Xie eventually improves this look by taking the jacket off and giving the camera operator a nice long look at his ass. He’s wearing dark jeans and a long-sleeve white thermal shirt, which is a great improvement. 

Look 62

The granny jacket is contrasted by the blessed arrival of Huo Daofu’s daddy jacket, and the rest of the clothing that Huo Daofu is wearing with it.  This is a dark green jacket with a nipped in waist, military styling, and invisible stitching that says "obey" You can't see it, but oh, it's there.

He's wearing this jacket of domination with jeans so tight they appear to be made of paint. I approve of these jeans so much that I might need to take a break from writing for a moment. 

Instead of shoes he’s opted for a pair of tall riding boots, just in case anyone failed to get the message.

He finishes off this look with gold rimmed glasses, pomegranate-toned lips, and an air of authority so strong that even Pangzi does what he tells him to with minimal back chat.

Later the jacket comes off, so he can wrap it solicitously around the shoulders of a person who is already wearing a perfectly good jacket.  OP looks up “service top” in the dictionary.

Underneath, Huo Daofu is wearing a grey houndstooth waistcoat. Shen Wei’s tailor would gnash his teeth in envy, if he saw the cut of this vest. This tops off a warm-toned brown shirt worn with a silver-toned watch. The watch is...round, and it tells time. He’s wearing a brown belt with his black jeans. Huo Daofu is great at combining warm and cool, formal and casual, in a single look. 

Look at this dapper bitch. Slaying this hard has got to be against his Hippocratic oath.

This jacket-free look is combined with hip posture so provocative that it sends Wu Xie into a hasty search for the last scraps of his heteronormative assumptions. Xiao Bai does her best to help.

Look 63

The beards. 

OP's family of origin is full of hairy visigoths, so Pangzi's beard is a style I've encountered before, alas. We call this a [US] Civil War beard. This one is terrible and lopsided, but at least it covers a lot of Pangzi’s face.

Wu Xie’s fake facial hair isn't terrible, but isn't great. You can tell it’s fake because everything about Zhu Yilong is inherently lovely, and this isn’t. 

Also, it's a ridiculous idea for a disguise. Wu Xie's close-trimmed chin patch and mustache are nice style, very typical for a Chinese dude. They let Wu Xie’s lovely facial structure continue to do its thing while they just provide a bit of an accent. But this is a problem, because they don't change his appearance in any meaningful way; his cheekbones are still visible from orbit. 

He’s wearing this facial hair and cap with the same vest he wore earlier to practice slingshot. This time he's accessorizing with a simple tan jacket, with an interesting buttonhole detail... 

...and with an attractive human IV stand.

Doctor doctor, give me the news, I've got a bad case of loving you you loving me.

Look 64

This look belongs to the man that Jia Kezale’s wife has replaced him with. We have to infer his look based on his shoes, and that he is presumably in the same league as the extremely hot Jia Kezale. 

Based on these shoes, which are very nice, if a little weathered, Huarache-style loafers, this other man in her life also presumably wears linen trousers and a guayabera shirt. 

*mentally pictures this person* 

ok, I guess I don't blame her. 

[Image, and shirts, from cubavera dot com]

Look 65

After having his IV fluids, Wu Xie goes for a nighttime motorbike ride, because he apparently needs to go way up on a hill to see that the hotel he’s staying in is circular.

So, what is with the Ultraman motorcycle helmet? Does it have any padding or insulation at all? Why doesn’t it cover more than 40 percent of his head and face?

And shouldn't it have a chin strap?  How does it stay on in a crash?  I mean yes I know this is a show with sentient crustaceans...yeah, never mind. I’m sure that’s a super effective helmet. 

Once the rain starts, his mustache and beard look better. Still not great, but better. Here he looks like he’s cosplaying as Zhou Yunlan.

Now he’s wet and lying on the ground because...oh, hell if I remember. Just look at him, poor moist snookums. He needs a blankie and a hot tea and a hurt-comfort fic about him and his doctor. 

This look gives the newest members of the polycule an opportunity to demonstrate their devotion, as they haul him off the motorcycle and over to a wall, and then continue to stand in the rain, for some reason, instead of going indoors. 

I gotta say, when a producer decides to pour water on Zhu Yilong, they  commit to it.

Speaking of commitment, here’s Huo Daofu holding his hand up over Wu Xie’s face like a tiny umbrella. 

Bonus 1

Look at the yellow duffle coat on that kid. She looks beautiful and classic, and the mustard yellow color just pops so nicely in this scene. 

The mustard yellow also visually marks her allegiance to gold-dragon-wearing Xue Wu. 

Bonus 2

This look is Wu Xie’s antique-scheming outfit, but now he is wearing the Sunglasses of Manpain. They belong to Pangzi, but Wu Xie is wearing them while he waits for Pangzi to collect his angst from the morgue.

These sunglasses are good to wear while contemplating the fact that, despite the many differences in narrative tropes between Chinese and Western media, the one where a female character is hurt and/or dies merely to further a male character's emotional development remains a constant.

That said, this is a nice small signifier of their relationship, as he puts these glasses on Pangzi, allowing him to hide his feelings, while hugging him, allowing him to express his feelings.

#dbmj #wu xie #the lost tomb reboot #reunion: the sound of the providence #huo daofu #canary3d-original #lost tomb lewks #my gifs

[soap-lady]

Miraculous Fairy Tale Crack Theatre! Pt. 1

So many goofy ideas swimming around in my brain and this is what I managed to scoop out. Enjoy!

Special thanks to my co-writer, @arylace

                    Every Princess Needs a Knight (Except One)

It was early morning in Le Petit Rouge bookstore. The scent of paper, warm pastries, and coffee permeated the air. Men, women, and children all walked through the various aisles searching for titles or genres to suit their tastes. In the children’s section there was a little stand dedicated for an apparently new book signing. The author? A Wilhelm Jacobs, named after the famous Wilhelm Grimm, sat before a table. A scholarly man emphasized by the clothing he wore. A lightly patterned brown tweed sport coat, a soft green cable knit vest over a white button-down shirt with a grey tie. Khaki colored slacks and neatly polished brown shoes. He seemed to be in his mid-forties based off of his salt and pepper reddish hair and beard, he wore a pair of glasses that seemed to slip down from the bridge of his nose as he read something pushing them up again.

A young woman came over to him, her red uniform showing she was part of the staff of the bookstore. She began talking about how the book signing would be presented and how they usually worked. There was a mention of what to do in case of an akuma emergency which had Wilhelm confused. He attempted to look attentive to what the young woman was speaking while he tried to calm his nerves. It was the first time his book was being translated to French, and he had worked with some other scholars to ensure that the nuances were not lost in its translation. It was arduous work and Wilhelm looked pleased for the book signing. However, as the employee left, and he was once again alone with the customers Wilhelm tried to keep his disappointment down. It was a far smaller crowd compared to what he had experienced before, yet he tried to stay positive; after all there were people coming over to see him.

“As you can see, the book is an anthology on various fairy tales from the thirteenth century onward. Sourced from the original writings in Hungarian, and German.” He spoke opening the book to reveal the drawn map on the inside of the cover to show the places or origin for the tales used.

“Did you write the book?” The mother asked curiously, her daughter appeared restless and overall bored at the conversation.

“Nein, these stories have been written by others, but I have translated and edited it from its original sources to better suit the modern version of English, German, Hungarian, and now French.” He explained thoughtfully. Personally, Wilhelm hated public speaking; and his current experiences with children were that they either loved it and sang it praises or hated it with the cruelty that only they can match “I also spent time sourcing various earlier versions of the stories to have the best, and most accurate version of each story.”

“So, you’re selling a book you didn’t write? Google translates for us.” The girl scoffed with an air of superiority, with a roll of her eyes the child told him exactly what her opinions were. “You didn’t do anything.”

Wilhelm couldn’t particularly say anything to refute her. He wasn’t used to dealing with hostile questions coming from an eight-year-old child. He stuttered, “Ach…I-I…worked for many years to…translate these stories because I believe they’re important. It’s good to remember the past and—”

“Fairy tales are boring and old. This is Paris.” The child huffed jabbing her finger at France in the book’s map. “We have real superheroes. Ladybug and Chat Noir kick villains’ butt with their magic. What can your dumb heroes do?” The girl ended her question with a raised brow. Her mother looked mortified, trying to rein in her daughter but the child didn’t budge. She wanted answers, but Wilhelm wasn’t ready to answer it, so he was left floundering.

“Um…. There are……heroes…who fight monsters; and slay the dragon…and rescue princesses. And…” Wilhelm began to say but quieted at the girl's annoyed sigh.

“Mommy let’s go. This is boring.” The girl replied now letting her mother drag her out. Said mother gave apologies to everything her daughter said as they walked out. The mother all but dragged the child out. Wilhelm just sighed at how terribly that interaction went.

“Oh, a new book?” A new voice asked. Wilhelm looked up seeing a teenager at the front of his table now. She looked to be Mediterranean descent with her auburn hair and olive-green eyes that looked at the book curiously. Her chestnut hair was arranged similar to a horse’s mane, two small side ponytails collected with orange bands that swayed with her movements.

“An anthology of fairy tales translated from the original sources.” Wilhelm spoke keeping his words as professional as possible. Already disillusioned with the other child.

“It says Germany and Hungary. Those are your only sources?” The girl asked with a frown as she looked at the book.

Oh no, another one. Wilhelm moaned internally at how the girl seemed far too flippant at a decade’s worth of work. The girl looked up at him and gave a pitying giggle.  A slight frown marred Wilhelm’s face at the giggle. It was one thing for a young child to say things, they had no social filter. But for a teenager? It was rude.

“Hungary and Germany are the sources of some of the most beloved stories. If this is an anthology of the best certainly it will use their work the most.” Wilhelm defended politely seeing the girl frown, olive eyes narrowing in distaste.

“The times have changed unfortunately. These things are just not in style lately. You could have gone to Italy and looked up the work of my ancestor Giambattista Basile.  Also, these tales seem cheesy with its goody-good tales, and well you know what they say. La troppa bonezza finisce nella monnezza.” The girl shrugged, her gaze filled with pity as she put the signed book down.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, you don’t know Italian either. Well it’s an old proverb. It basically means ‘too much goodness ends up in the trash.’ Probably where your books will end up.” The teen said, flipping her hair as she set the book down with disinterest. “Enjoy Paris.”

With only his pride and waning self-respect Wilhelm kept himself upright from the disaster that had happened with the two girls who came to his table. The rest of the hour of the book signing was sporadic at best. Minimal interactions and being largely ignored Wilhelm thought that it was a disaster having come to France. He was approached by the same bookstore employee as earlier who held a kind and serviceable smile.

“M Jacobs, so sorry but I think it’s best if we end this now.”

“Ja, bitte, that would be best,” Wilhelm nodded gathering up his things. He thanked the employee for the coffee they brought over to him as he moved towards the stockroom.

What an utter disaster, such judgmental and combative children in Paris today. They had become so enamored by the superheroes that the tales of camaraderie, of kindness, courage and bravery have been lost in favor of the new and shiny and ephemeral. They rejected the very things Wilhelm had worked into bringing it to the new generation, passing down the knowledge and stories of old. Wilhelm slumped down in a corner and willed himself to keep a presentable front. It would do nothing breaking down into frustrated tears.

                                                              *****

Elsewhere in Paris a large window opened like an aperture, scattering clouds of snow white butterflies.

“Ah,” a man in purple spoke to them, “a man who only wanted to bring the joy of storytelling is publicly shamed by one of the very children he sought to enlighten. Perfect fodder for my own fairy tale!”

A butterfly flew onto his outstretched hand. He covered it with his other hand and watched as it turned from pure white to purplish black.

“Fly away, my little akuma,” he ordered, “and evilize this sad heart!”

                                                    *****

Wilhelm sat quietly, wondering what his wife would say once she heard of his failure today. She had been so patient and supportive for longer than he deserved but what would she say now?

“My old-fashioned stories can’t compete with real superheroes!” he sighed. “But you don’t need powers to be a hero! You need bravery, cleverness and luck.”

He didn’t notice the butterfly merging with the book in his lap.

Grimm, he heard a voice say in his mind. I am Hawk Moth. Children these days don't appreciate the classics. I'm giving you the power to shape Paris into your own fairy land to teach them better. In return, you'll bring me the Miraculous."

Wilhem’s mouth stretched involuntarily into a smile. He would teach the children of Paris the true power of stories and woe betide the foolish superheroes if they tried to stand against him.

"Ja, the Piper must be paid."

Dark purple bubbles encased him in a cocoon and when they fell away the reincarnation of Wilhelm Grimm emerged.

                                                    *****

Remember, darling, be on your best behavior! We don’t want a repeat of last time.

His mother’s well-meaning advice rang in his ears and he had every intention of heeding it. Mostly. Felix had accompanied his mother on a week-long scouting mission for an on-location shoot. He knew it was just an excuse to visit her birth city but he went with her anyway. No one in London would miss him (not even his father’s family and he wasn’t sure if Bridgette counted. She was more like a class nanny than a friend.) and he was bored. Paris was a ripe little playground for him to explore and he had three main objectives while he was here:

1. Get clues regarding the whereabouts of the second ring. 2. Annoy Adrien as much as possible without getting chased by his akumatized friends again.

2.5. Annoy that rude little Chat Noir (and maybe his partner with the great right hook (for calling him friendless.)

3. Find out more about that pretty girl in the video.

Objectives two and three would be fairly straight-forward but he was a bit unsure about the first item on his agenda. He doubted his dear, paranoid old uncle would allow him in the mansion again and so he might have to ingratiate himself with that spineless lump of a human who shared his face.

Too bad a huge ball of light picked that very moment to sweep across the Parisian landscape.

Felix looked up just in time to be engulfed by the magical luminescence. Before losing himself in the glow he managed two words:

“Oh, shite.”

                                                    *****

The akuma alert went off just as Vincent was wrapping up the photo shoot. He excused himself, quickly extracted himself from Lila’s sharp grasp and retreated to the men’s room.

He had never been so grateful for a door with a lock.

“You know, one of these days you’re going to have to deal with her. Permanently,” the floating cat god chuckled to himself. “Or let your girlfriend do it. She’s good with a sword.”

The model sighed because it was a conversation he was tired of having, even with his kwami. Plagg knew him better than most people, even his father, but the tiny deity didn’t know what boundaries were.

“Plagg, Kagami and I are just dating right now. We’re not official.” He sighed. “Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to get her hopes up when I’m not completely over Ladybug.”

“Whatever, Kid. You humans and your courtship rituals. This is why I prefer cheese.” He tapped the boy’s ring. “You know what to say.”

He nodded. “Plagg, claws out!”

Chat Noir rushed out the door. He was smart enough to take a route he knew the class liar didn’t know about.

Too bad he wasn’t clever enough to avoid looking at the bright light.

“Well, this is gonna suck.”

                                                      *****

On the streets of Paris a young girl was hurrying home with a bag full of fabric. She was happy and excited; Jagged Stone had commissioned her to make a surprise birthday dress for Penny!  The woman was incredibly kind and patient; she deserved the best. Marinette’s mind was already bursting at the seams with design ideas.  The rocker was able to procure his manager’s size and measurements but the only input he gave her was, “just make it elegant, but still rock and roll. I trust your judgement, love.”

“I haven’t seen you this happy in weeks!” Tikki poked her head out of her Chosen’s purse and gave the girl an encouraging smile.

The designer’s pace slowed as she thought of the events of a month ago and her pace slowed. Pasting a smile on her face for her kwami’s sake she told her, “If Penny likes my design, it could mean commissions from other musicians as well. Maybe Clara Nightingale!”

The pair grinned at each other when gasps all around them made the girl freeze. People were running all around her, fleeing something behind her.

“Akuma!” she heard a man cry.

She started running towards an alley when Tikki screamed at her.

“Marinette! Cover your eyes!”

The girl covered her face with her hands and hid behind a dumpster. It was all that saved her.

                                                       *****

When she opened her eyes the landscape around her had morphed. Cars, electric lights and all the trappings of modern life were gone. In their place were cobblestone streets and simple dwellings and modest shops with thatched roofs. It was as if all of Paris had been transformed into the opening for Beauty and the Beast. She laughed to herself then froze.

There had been an akuma. It was entirely possible her city had been revamped to fit the akuma’s mindset.

She looked down at herself and gasped. Her simple homemade ensemble had been changed to fit the setting. The girl now wore a pink gown with a brocade overdress and a satin underskirt. The sleeves were long and the collar high. In any other situation she would delighted in the garment but with Paris transformed into Euro Disney and her partner MIA the hoop skirts would just slow her down.

She reached up and felt for her earrings, sighing with relief when they were still there. She was lucky no one had read them while she was unconscious.

She looked around for her purse and found it matched her dress. She opened in gingerly and peered inside. “Tikki? Are you in there? Paris has been transformed into some sort of fairyland. Are you all right? We’re gonna need Ladybug if we’re going to-”

“Hey! Listen!”

A glowing, tiny woman flew out of her purse. She had red hair and blue eyes. Freckles splayed across her nose and she wore a red and black polka-dotted dress. Her two pairs of wings were nearly transparent and dusted her surroundings with glitter.

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Tikki?”

The tiny creature nodded. “And you are Marinette, my Chosen. We will save Paris from the nefarious Lord Panthera!”

Tikki must not have taken her own advice and looked into the light that had transformed Paris and the pig tailed girl’s more comfortable clothing. Very well. She’d had to outsmart an akuma powerless when Tikki had fallen out of her purse before. Improv was something she had done before. Perhaps she could look for Chat Noir while she was taking down the bad guy.

The fairy turned and pointed to Chateau de Vincennes. The designer was startled to see a reddish brown dragon curled over the ramparts. “Yonder is the castle of Lord Panthera, he who wears armor that shines like Apollo, yet his dark nature eclipses all around him like the moon would the sun. There he plots with The Storyteller, architect of this kingdom.

The Storyteller must be the akuma victim and Lord Panthera? A panther was a type of cat.

Her partner wore cat ears.

The girl’s heart sunk into her stomach as she thought of having to fight her partner and friend. Again. She must make her way to this castle, past a dragon, and fight an evil lord.

As bizarre as it sounded, it still wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen to her that week.

Marinette gathered her skirts and marched off towards the castle, determination on her face  and a sparkly fairy trailing behind her.

“It doesn’t look that far,” she told herself. “C’mon, feet,” she muttered aloud.

                                                        ***** After twenty minutes of walking she realized the wearing a dress that weighed fifteen kilos over uneven cobblestones was tiring and high heels hurt like hell. Tikki flitted about, reminding her of the mission but offering little to no help.

I’d hug Chloe for some sneakers right about now.

The clanging of metal on metal distracted her from her pinched toes and she hurried towards the sound. There in the middle of a four-way intersection was Kim and Theo the sculptor fighting someone in black armor.

Marinette tried to hurry past. She had a mission after all and didn’t have time to referee a street fight. That person looked strong, even outnumbered. He’d probably be fine. Nope nope nope, I’m not dealing with that goofball.

“Surrender, knave!” Theo was saying, “apologize for your transgression and your pitiful life will be spared!”

The person in black successfully parried two attacks and briefly pushed his opponents back. “Never! I am Lord Black Cat, Defender of Justice! Your insult to my honor shall not go unanswered!”

Marinette facepalmed. Oh, kwami help me, that’s my goofball!

She found herself in a quandary. On one hand, she was relieved she wouldn’t have to fight her partner. Images of Chat Blanc flitted through her mind but she squashed them down back into her subconscious like good little suppressed memories. Then again, her partner and her classmate seemed to think they were Renaissance re-enactors so she’d have to play along if she wanted to prevent someone from getting stabbed.

For now, she’d have to think of a way to distract them.

“Enough!”

The three stopped fighting to stare at her and she immediately regretted opening her mouth.

Theo stared at her blankly, Kim frowned in vague recognition but Chat Noir…

...he stared at her as if someone had given him a gift. 

“I know you,” his voice was soft with recognition and awe. He ignored his opponents and approached her slowly. His smile was beatific and wide, green eyes shining. “I remember not your name, angelic maiden, but I know a lady of the blood royale when I see one.”

Marinette flushed and tried to deny it. “Me?! A princess? No way!” She tried to laugh it off but even she could hear how nervous she sounded. I’m a girl, like any other.”

“Nonsense!” he boomed. The feline hero spread his arms wide. “I would know your heavenly voice anywhere, my sovereign. You are beautiful and fair, both in countenance and in dress.” He vaguely gestured at her gown. “Therefore I proclaim you to be a princess.”

Tikki, give me strength! She wanted to collapse to the ground and sob with frustration but she couldn’t. She had a city to save and friends and family to rescue. It would be dangerous for her to try and approach the dragon castle with no powers so she would have to swallow her pride and allow this “knight” to help her.

What would Ladybug do?

Marinette straightened her posture and hoped she looked haughty and elegant.

Think like Ladybug.

She took a step towards the armored figure. “Brawling in the streets with common ruffians! Really, Lord Black Cat, is that any way to greet your liege?”

A jolt of electricity shimmied down the boy in black's spine. (Those regal blue eyes! That commanding tone! Who could she be but the one he was sworn to protect?)  The knight dropped to his knees, right hand over his heart, and respectfully bowed his head before her.  “My Princess, forgive me. I have forgotten my place, which is by  your side. This unworthy soul begs for your indulgence."

He seemed to be waiting for a response from her.  "Ah...much better. She waved a hand in front of her. “You may rise."

The feline gave her one of his trademark cheeky grins and for a moment everything seemed normal. “I strive to prove myself worthy of your regard, Your Highness.” He leapt to his feet and offered her his arm. Tikki flew above their heads, sprinkling fairy glitter like a benediction.

“Who? Who are you?” Kim managed at last.

The girl raised a brow at him and acted surprised. “Surely you know? I am Princess Marinette, first of my name and heir to House Dupain-Cheng.” She might be pushing her luck but she added an imperious, “feel free to bow.”

Both Kim and Theo bent at the waist towards her as she and her “protector” walked past. She gave them a small princess wave over her shoulder. “As you were.”

                                                     *****

Lord Felis Panthera, He of the Shining Armor, The Living Eclipse, was bored.

The Court Jester tried with her limited wit to entertain him and failed spectacularly. The bells of her yellow and black ensemble was giving him a migraine and he idly wondered if he could have her beheaded.

He massaged his forehead and groaned as the very unfunny blonde girl tried again.

“Okay, so the fattest knight in King Arthur’s court was Sir Cumferance. He got that way from too much pi.”

One of the court minstrels dutifully played a rim shot as the harlequin waited in vain for a laugh. Receiving none she pouted and tried again.

“So what does a zombie vegetarian eat? Graaaaaaaaaains!””

Ba dum tiss went the instrument of the huge drummer.

The jester stomped her little foot in frustration. “Do my jests not please you, My Lord?”

The honorific was spoken with great reluctance and he wondered if the girl bemoaned her lowly station in life as much as he did his boredom.

He ignored her and eyed the court scribe. The red-haired young woman dutifully took down every word spoken, even the unfunny jokes and occasionally favored the harlequin with a pity laugh. She gave him a brief smile and returned to her quill and parchment.

“They do not, Fool,” he told the jester, “take thy rest and dally elsewhere.”

“My Lord is ever generous,” she muttered and stomped off.

Lord Panthera wondered if he could spar with someone. There was no one at court who played chess, nor matched his scholarly pursuits.

To be a Peer of the Realm in this kingdom meant a daily battle with ennui.

He was about to signal the court minstrels to play for him when the court messenger, a petite lass with hair the color of roses dashed into the throne room. “Lord Panthera!”

She bowed and he bid her to rise. “Yes?” “The Royal Storyteller comes,” she sounded nearly out of breath. “He is bringing the Magic Mirror.”

Well, this was a welcome surprise. “I was told the mirror would only perform for the one true heir. How is it the Storyteller has restored its function?”

“Magic, no doubt,” she answered as  he rolled his eyes behind his hand. Trumpets flared and a middle aged with the eyebrows of a barn owl cried out, “Presenting...the Royal Storyteller!”

The man wore all black and was as solemn as a judge. His courtiers curtsied or bowed and allowed the man through. Two burly servants followed behind him, carrying a large gilt mirror covered with black cloth.

His visitor bowed on one knee. “Lord Panthera.”

He acknowledged him with a brief nod. “Storyteller.”

“With great difficulty and powerful magics I have restored the Magic Mirror to working order.” The man’s voice carried no pride just matter-of-fact conviction. “Behold!”

The servants pulled away the cloth and the glassy surface whirled with color; first blue, then green, then grey. The colors faded until a moving picture formed, one of two people, male and female.

The court gasped in awe and the young lord saw the Storyteller preen just a little bit out of the corner of his eyes. It was a rare accomplishment to be sure. He raised his hands for silence as murmurs stirred all around and there was blessed silence.

The man wore black armor with a feline face mask. Blond hair peaked out around it, making his identity obvious. It was Lord Black Cat, the knight clad in dark armor whose golden hair and sunny disposition was like the dawn that chased away the night.

His bearing was as familiar as it was irritating. The fool’s companion was much more interesting and aesthetically pleasing.

The young woman limped along with the knight. Her face looked distressed and exasperated and she occasionally gave her escort a glare.

Felis could not remember when he’d seen a young lady so beautiful.

Her pink gown was rich brocade and glimmering satin. Her long indigo hair hung in ringlets down her back. Even viewed through the mirror he sensed an air of command about her. Truly this beauty was of noble birth.

“Fear not, Princess!” the idiot knight was heard to say. “Ahead is the greatest blacksmith in the land! I am certain she can furnish you with anything you require.”

“I am putting my faith in you, Sir Knight,” the melodious voice replied, sounding tired but determined. “If we want to restore Paris and save my kingdom we must get to the castle. I can’t fight the Dread Knight in a dress!”

The vision faded and the mirror became an ordinary looking glass yet again.

Princess, Lord Black Cat had called her.

The true heir or another pretender?

That reptile on the roof had claimed to be the royal scion and his future bride. He made sure her outside now matched her inside. He hoped he would not be disappointed again.

The Lord Protector himself was accompanying her, lending an air of legitimacy to the lovely creature. Then again the foolish cat could be easily swayed by a comely young woman. Well, at least he was no longer bored. If she were another impostor, she would be dealt with in the manner she deserved.

However, if she was the rightful heir to the kingdom of Paris…

His lips quirked up as he imagined the possibilities.

Perhaps I’ve finally located a worthy bride.

He stood and addressed the court. “The knight is nothing to me, but the lady might be our beloved lost princess, returning at last.” He addressed his chevaliers. “Go forth and offer to escort the lady to the castle. If Lord Black Cat protests, deal with him, but do not allow his companion to come to harm.

The kingdom’s defenders saluted him with their swords and departed. He nodded at the Storyteller, dismissing him. If he  was about to  receive guests, potentially a royal guest, he should change into something appropriate.

He wondered if she played chess.

#miraculous ladybug #crack fic #felix graham de vanily #marinete dupain cheng #adrien agreste #fairy tales

[ameryth74]

Louis **** Title Generator Tool

** **** it 

LOL.... go!

Two letter words:

There are 107 acceptable 2-letter words listed in the Official Scrabble Players Dictionary, 6th Edition and the Official Tournament and Club Word List:

AA, AB, AD, AE, AG, AH, AI, AL, AM, AN, AR, AS, AT, AW, AX, AY, BA, BE, BI, BO, BY, DA, DE, DO, ED, EF, EH, EL, EM, EN, ER, ES, ET, EW, EX, FA, FE, GI, GO, HA, HE, HI, HO, ID, IF, IN, IS, IT, JO, JU, JY, JZ, KA, KI, KO, LA, LI, LO, MA, ME, MI, MM, MO, MU, MY, NA, NE, NO, NU, OD, OE, OF, OH, OI, OK, OM, ON, OP, OR, OS, OW, OX, PA, PE, PI, PO, QI, RE, SH, SI, SO, TA, TE, TI, TO, UH, UM, UN, UP, US, UT, WE, WO, XI, XU, YA, YE, YO, ZA

Two letter contractions: I’m, I’d

Four letter verbs:

abet, abut, abye/aby, ache, alit, ally, ante, arch, aver, avow (10).

baby,  bach, back, bade, baff, bail, bait, bake, bald, bale, balk, ball, band, bang, bank, bant, barb, bard, bare, barf, bark, base, bash, bask, bate, bath, bauk, bawl, bead, beam, bean, bear,    beat, beck, bede, beef, been, beep, bell, belt, bend, bent, bere, best, bias, bide(archaic usage), biff, bike, bilk, bill, bind, bird, birl, birr, bite, bitt, blab, blat, blaw, bled, blet, blew, blip, blob, blot, blow, blub, blue, blur, boak, boat, bode, body, boff(vulgar usage), boil, boke, bomb, bond, bone, bong, bonk, boob, book, boom, boot, bore, born, boss, boun, bowl, brad, brag, bray, bred, brew, brim, buck, buff, bulk, bull, bump, bung, bunk, bunt, buoy, burl, burn, burp, burr, bury, bush, busk, buss, bust, busy, butt, buzz (117).

ca-ca, cage, cake, calk, call, calm, came, camp, cane, cant, card, care, carp, cart, case, cash, cast, cave, cede, cere, chap, char, chat, chaw, chid, chin, chip, chop, chow, chug, chum, cite, clad, clam, clap, claw, clay, clew, clip, clog, clop, clot, cloy, club, clue, coal, coat, coax, cock, code, coif, coil, coin, coke, comb, come, comp, cone, conk, conn, cook, cool, coop, cope, copy, cord, core, cork, corn, cosh, cost, coup, cove, cowl, crab, cram, crap, crew, crib, crop, crow, cube, cuff, cull, curb, curd, cure, curl, curr, cuss (90).

dado, daff, damn, damp, dang, dare, dark, darn, dart, dash, date, daub, dawn, daze, deal, deck, deed, deem, defy, deke, dele, demo, dent, deny, dial, dice, died, diet, dike, dine, ding, ding, dint, dirk, disc, dish, disk, diss, dive, dock, doff, dole, dome, done, doom, dope, dose, doss, dote, dove, down, doze, drab, drag, draw, dray, dree, drew, drip, drop, drub, drug, drum, duck, duel, duet, dull, dumb, dump, dung, dunk, dupe, dusk, dust, dyke (75).

earn, ease, echo, eddy, edge, edit, emit, envy, espy, etch, even, exit (12).

face, fade, fail, fake, fall, fame, fard, fare, farm, fart, fash, fast, fate, fawn, faze, fear, feed, feel, fell, felt, fend, fess, fete, feud, file, fill, film, find, fine, fink, fire, firm, fish, fist, fizz, flag, flap, flat, flaw, flay, fled, flee, flew, flex, flip, flit, flog, flop, flow, flub, flux, foal, foam, foil, foin, fold, fond, fool, foot, ford, fork, form, foul, fowl, frag, frap, fray, free, fret, frig, frit, fuel, full, fume, fund, funk, furl, fuse, fuss, futz, fuze, fuzz (82).

gaff, gage, gain, gait, gall, game, gang, gaol, gape, garb, gash, gasp, gast(obsolete), gate, gaum(US), gave, gawk, gawp, gaze, gear, geld, gibe, gift, gild, gill, gimp, gird, girt, give, glad(archaic), glom, glow, glue, glug, glut, gnar, gnaw, go by, go on, goad, golf, gone, gong, goof, gore, gown, grab, gray, grew, grey, grid, grin, grip, grit, grow, grub, gulf, gull, gulp, gush, gust, gybe, gyre, gyve (64).

hack, haft, hail, hale, halo, halt, hand, hang, hare, hark, harm, harp, hash, hasp, hast, hate, hath(archaic), haul, have, hawk, haze, head, heal, heap, hear, heat, heed, heel, heft, held, helm, help, hent(obsolete), herd, hewn, hide, hike, hill, hint, hire, hiss, hive, hoax, hock, hoke(slang), hold, hole, home, hone, honk, hood, hoof, hook, hoop, hoot, hope, horn, hose, host, hove, howl, huff, hulk, hull, hump, hung, hunt, hurl, hurt, hush, husk, hymn, hype, hypo (74).

idle, inch, iris, iron, isle, itch (6).

jack, jade, jail, jape, jazz, jeep, jeer, jell, jerk, jest, jibe, jilt, jink, jinx, jive, join, joke, jolt, josh, juke, jump, junk (22).

kayo, keek(Scots), keel, keen, keep, kept, kern, kick, kill, kiln, kilt, kink, kiss, kite, knap, knew, knit, knot, know (19).

lace, lack, laid, lain, lair, lake, lamb, lame, land, lard, lark, lase, lash, last, lath, laud, lave, laze, lazy, lead, leaf, leak, lean, leap, lech, leer, left, lend, lens, lent, levy, lick, lift, like, lilt, limb, lime, limn, limp, line, link, lisp, list, live, load, loaf, loan, lock, loft, loll, long, look, loom, loop, loot, lope, lord, lose, lost, loup(Scots), lour, lout, love, lube, luck, luff, luge, lull, lump, lure, lurk, lust, lute, lyse (74).

mace, made, mail, maim, make, mall, malt, mark, marl, mart, mash, mask, mass, mast, mate, maul, maze, mean, meet, meld, mell, melt, mend, meow, mesh, mess, mete, mewl, miff, milk, mill, mime, mind, mine, mint, mire, miss, mist, moan, moat, mock, moil, mold, molt, moon, moor, moot, mope, moss, move, muck, muff, mull, mump, muse, mush, muss, must, mute (59).

nail, name, near, neck, need, nest, nick, nigh, nill(obsolete), nock, nose, nosh, note, nuke, null, numb (16).

obey, ogle, oink, okay, omen, omit, ooze, open, oust, over (10).

pace, pack, page, pain, pair, pale, pall, palm, pang, pant, pare, park, part, pash(Austral), pass, pave, pawn, peak, peal, peck, peek, peel, peen, peep, peer, pelt, pend, perk, perm, pick, pike, pile, pill, pimp, pine, ping, pink, pipe, piss(vulgar), pith, pity, plan, plat, play, plod, plop, plot, plow, plug, pock, poke, pole, poll, pond, pool, pore, port, pose, post, pour, pout, pray, pree, prep, prey, prim, prod, prog, prop, puff, puke, pule, pull, pulp, pump, punt, purl, purr, push, putt (80).

quad, quip, quit, quiz (4).

race, rack, raft, rage, raid, rail, rain, rake, ramp, rang, rank, rant, rape, rase, rasp, rate, rave, raze, razz, read, ream, reap, rear, reck, redd(dialect), rede(archaic), redo, reed, reef, reek, reel, rein, rely, rend, rent, rest, re-up, rice, rick, ride, riff, rift, rile, rill, rime(archaic)/rhyme, ring, riot, rise, risk, rive, roam, roar, robe, rock, rode, roil, rolf, roll, romp, roof, rook, room, root, rope, rose, rout, rove, ruck, ruff, ruin, rule, rush, rust (73).

sack, said, sail, sale, salt, sand, sass, sate, save, sawn, scab, scam, scan, scar, scat, scud, scum, seal, seam, sear, seat, seed, seek, seel, seem, seen, seep, sell, send, sent, sewn, shag, sham, shed, shim, shin, ship, shit, shoe, shog, shoo, shop, shot, show, shun, shut, sick, side, sift, sigh, sign, silk, silt, sing, sink, sire, site, size, skew, skid, skim, skin, skip, slab, slag, slam, slap, slat, slay, sled, slew, slid, slim, slip, slit, slog, slop, slot, slow, slub, slue, slug, slum, slur, smut, snag, snap, snip, snow, snub, snug, soak, soap, soar, sock, soil, sold, sole, solo, soot, sorb, sort, soup, sour, sown, spae(scottish), spam, span, spar, spat, spay, spec, sped, spew, spin, spit, spot, spud, spur, spurn, stab, stag, star, stay, stem, step, stet, stew, stir, stop, stow, stub, stud, stun, suck, suds, suit, sulk, sung, sunk, surf, swab, swag, swam, swan(brit), swap, swat, sway, swig, swim, swob, swop(brit)/swap, swot, swum, sync (155).

tabu, tack, tail, take, talc, talk, tame, tamp, tang, tank, tape, tare, task, taut, taxi, team, tear, teem, tell, tend, tent, term, test, text, thaw, thin, thud, tick, tide, tidy, tier, tiff, tile, till, tilt, time, tine, ting, tint, tire, toil, toke, told, tole, toll, tomb, tone, tong, took, tool, toot, tope, tore, torn, toss, tote, tour, tout, tram, trap, tree, trek, trim, trip, trod, trot, trow(archaic), true, tube, tuck, tuft, tune, turf, turn, tusk, twig(Brit), twin, twit, type (79).

undo, urge (2).

vade, vail(archaic), vamp, vary, veal, veer, veil, vein, vend, vent, vest, veto, vide, view, vine, visa, vise, void, vote (19).

wade, waft, wage, wail, wait, wake, wale, walk, wall, wane, want, ward, ware(archaic), warm, warn, warp, wash, waul, wave, wawl, wean, wear, weed, ween, weep, weet, weld, well, welt, wend, went, wept, were, wert(archaic), wham, whap, whet, whid(Scottish), whip, whir, whiz, whop, wick, wile, will, wilt, wind, wine, wing, wink, wipe, wire, wise, wish, wisp, wist, wite, wive, woke, wolf, wont, wood, woof, word, wore, work, worm, worn, wove, wrap, writ(archaic) (71).

x-ray (1).

yack, yank, yard, yarn, yaup, yawn, yawp, yean, yell, yelp, yerk, yeuk, yock, yoke, yowl, yo-yo(informal), yuck (17).

zero, zest, zinc, zing, zone, zonk, zoom (7).

IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT

(yes there are 28 ITs)

#louis tomlinson #song title #** **** it #lt1 #lol 😂 #*** **

[bnha-snacckugo]

King {Chapter One}

In a valley far from the palace, the small town of Semai was minuscule in comparison to Bakugo Katsuki’s view of the world. He was a big buff man with blonde hair, a red cape worn on his shoulders. An array of teeth formed into a necklace adorned his neck- most probably taken from beasts he’s managed to defeat.

With massive strength and big pride, Bakugo Katsuki wants to be king.

Bakugo walks along the cobblestone streets of Semai and it was weird to be back- he concludes as he watches the townspeople busy themselves over their sales in the market.

“Have you heard of the dragon in the mountains?” An elderly woman asks the stall keeper. Bakugo’s ears perk, nonchalantly walking towards the woman.

“Oh yes! That vicious thing! It’s rumored to be a big blob of red- bigger than any house we could ever make!” The stall keeper says as he hands the woman her purchased items.

“Oi, old man,” His voice was as fiery as his red eyes- catching everyone’s attention, captivating and rougher than any sandpaper you could find.

The stall keeper gasps as warm hands grab onto his sleeve.

“Hey! That is no way to treat someone older than you, young man!”

“Where’s this dragon from?” Bakugo ignores her scolding and his eyes don’t leave the glaring eyes of the stall keeper.

“Why would I tell you?” He challenges. Bakugo was not the tallest, but given his aura, anyone would be frightened.

“Because I’m gonna slay it for you townspeople.” The barbarian smirks with a glint in his eyes- he was always a cocky one. The stall keeper scoffs.

“As if you could, young man.” Bakugo lets go and the stall keeper goes back to fixing up his vegetables.

Bakugo stands up straighter- eyebrows furrowed in anger.

“Of course I fucking can! Now tell me where the damn dragon is!” He yells angrily. Multiple people turn their heads to the blond.

Judgemental eyes stare at him as he pries information from the stallkeeper.

He shakes his head and waves his hand- shooing the angry blond away.

“I don’t know you, you brat! Now leave if you have nothing better to do than scream.”

Bakugo huffs and shakes his head, forehead scrunched and shoulders hunched.

He was hard headed- no doubt, but that stubbornness leads him to prove everyone wrong. He was going to find this fucking dragon if they want him to or not.

The town soon fades as Bakugo treks into the mountains. He was used to this- the smell of trees and nature was his home. After minutes of walking with his dagger out- he hears leaves scrunch in front of him. He moves to his defensive position, keeping his dagger out in a stance ready to pounce.

A boy with red hair comes into view. A grey vest barely covers his torso and in his hand is a dead chicken.

“Hey, dude! Who are you?” His voice was cheery- a light tone. A bright smile is plastered on his face- sharp teeth making Bakugo take a step closer, ready to pounce.

“Woah woah- dude chill out!” He drops the chicken with eyes wide.

“Who the fuck are you?” Bakugo sneers. He takes a step closer and the redhead raises his hands- dropping the chicken.

“I’m Kirishima Eijirou! Nice to meet you!” He smiles against Bakugo’s glare and the blond feels his eyes melting from the warmth.

“Oi, idiot why the fuck would you just say your name like that? Dumbass.” Katsuki shakes his head- he wasn’t worth anything.

“Well, you asked,” Kirishima says picking up the meat from the ground. He looks at the blond and raises his scarred eyebrow.

“You don't look like you're from here.” He mentions, he runs towards the man- quickly walking beside him.

“Well no shit, Sherlock.” Bakugo can’t seem to stop staring at the boy's damn teeth. He looks away and stares in front of him.

Kirishima lets out a big laugh, “Where you from dude? Where you going?”

“Fuck off.”

“You do know you're headed back to town right? And it looks like you've just come out of it.”

Bakugo stops- indeed he was looking at the same road where he came from. His ears turn a faint shade of pink and he turns around.

“Well, that ain’t my fault Shittyhair. Your damn teeth are distracting. What do you, file them?” He asks sarcastically, he sees the redhead visibly stiffen. He covers it up with a laugh- less bright than before.

“Funny! Dude, you’re really cool and all but I really gotta go.” The redhead stops walking and waves goodbye to the new acquaintance.

Bakugo snarls- as if he cared.

“Bye Shittyhair.” He rolls his eyes as Kirishima walks away from him, walking diagonally from

Bakugo- swinging his arms as he lets the dead chickens flap around.

It was getting late. Bakugo has been walking for hours- looking for a place to set up was hard.

Bakugo’s ears perk up as he hears a flap of wings- and it wasn't the dead chickens Shittyhair was holding. This was bigger- larger than any bird he’s hunted down.

He turns around, he didn’t think he would see it so quickly. A large reptile flies across the sky, it’s red scales were hard to miss. Its horns were a dark bone color, teeth sharp as Kirishima’s.

He stares at the dragon as it circles the air, soon residing in a nearby cave along the side of the mountain.

Bakugo walks away from the dirt path- into the woods up to the base of the steep mountain. He finds a bunch of boulders; it was getting too dark to find another spot. He opts to move them to form a sort of makeshift cave.

He takes his faded red cloak off and throws it to the ground. He finds a bunch of small trees in an area close to the boulders and with his dagger, he breaks off an armful of wood. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and continues. He makes a fire out of the rocks he’s found along the way and the sky is lit by the bright full moon.

He stretches a little bit- taking deep breaths as he gets ready to move the heavy rocks. In one go, he rolls one to the side- stopping it to make a space in between them.

He uses his cloak as a blanket, his hands behind his head as he lays on them; staring at the stars above him.

He was gonna be king- he had to.

Bakugo wakes up with the sun barely up. It was bright.

He grunts as he sits up, stretching his arms and soon standing. The fire burnt out and he kicks the charred wood to the side.

He rubs his eyes, his skin was slightly hot from being out in the sun for a while. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair.

It’s dragon day bitch.

As if on cue, the dragon leaves the cave, flapping its large wings- the wind it created whooshing against Bakugo. He stares as the creature flies down to a stop at the bottom of the mountain.

He gathers his stuff (basically his dagger and his cloak) and walks into the direction of the dragon’s cave. He sprints- hoping to catch the dragon while it stays at the edge of the mountain.

As he walks along the dirt path, his eyes set upon the same red hair he saw yesterday.

“Oh! Angry dude! You're here again!” Bright red eyes look into his and he glares- it was too early to be this happy.

“Shittyhair have you seen the dragon?” He cute to the chase, eyeing up the seemingly tired redhead.

He freezes up again slightly- straightening up his back.

“Sorry dude I didn’t, it was nice seeing you again!” Kirishima didn’t know if he could keep this secret any longer.

Bakugo wipes the sweat on his forehead as he climbs the mountain. It’s been two days since he’s seen the dragon, and maybe going up to where it always goes will finally give him a chance of finding it.

“I don't think that’s a good idea, Bakugo!”

It has also been two days of Shitty hair trying to follow him around.

“Will you stop following around?! You don't have to trail behind me like a lost puppy!” Bakugo’s booming voice echoed along the cliff- inches away from their feet. Kirishima sighs as he climbs up an all too familiar route up to a cave in the tall mountain

“I’m just saying man, what if this dragon’s not slay-able?” Kirishima places his hands behind his head, arms flexing as he does so.

Bakugo scoffs, rolling his eyes as he looks at the setting sun.

The redhead becomes wary of the time and as he follows Bakugo’s eyes into the sun, he stops walking.

“I better be going, Bakugo. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess…”

Kirishima always acted weird when he mentions the red beast. Bakugo glares as the redhead walks back to the foot of the mountain.

‘He just wasted his time…’

Bakugo continues to walk up the mountain- a small trail along the edge of the cliff.

He looks back- checking to see whether his friend- no, excuse me, acquaintance has fully left.

His eyes set on the boy, still climbing up the mountain. He stops in his tracks and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“What is this idiot doing?” He mutters as he watches the sweaty guy climb up the mountain- a quicker way to reach the top.

Katsuki knew it wasn’t his business, but that motherfucker was hiding something.

#bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #Haretsu òkoku (The Bursting Kingdom) #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha

[aclockworkempire]

Chapter Two: The Castle, Part Three: The Keep

The keep’s corridors are cool, quiet, and creepy. I expected frenetic dashing and ducking out of sight of guard patrols, but it feels abandoned in here. The sounds of “divers alarums” from the outbuildings fade, and I creep along the passageways in my slippers, ears open for any sound. The natural light fades as I push deeper inside and is replaced by a diffuse network of eerie blue lamps. My sense of direction is good, and I make my way north.

Down a passage to my left, I hear the whirring of clockwork joints. My pulse accelerates; I flit across the junction but peek back around the corner. I see two automata, decorated much more elaborately than those in the raid on Midoro. They bear shields and lances, each with thick cables running into the machines’ elbows. These must be royal guards, not foot soldiers; their equipment, lightning powered like the soldiers’ truncheons.

I slip away and vanish down a side corridor. It leads down a short flight of steps into a larger room. No blue lamps illuminate the room, and it’s almost pitch dark. I pause to let my eyes adjust. It’s an abandoned kitchen; the pots and pans are well-used but clean, except their thin coat of dust. I carry on.

Most of the next hour is spent this way; seeing or hearing guards in the distance, ducking out of sight, keeping one turn ahead of them… By the time I’m through, I’ve memorized half of the guards’ patrol routes. I cut through unused guard stations, bunk rooms, ballrooms, and parlours without seeing a living soul, but the castle is constantly patrolled by these automata. It implies a staggering amount of paranoia. The king must expect assassins at any time and mistrust the humans he rules.

It’s hard to imagine the young Prince Link anywhere in this tomb of a keep. I think of his letters to the Archduke to petition his father, and wonder when last the prince last saw his father.

Based on what I saw of the keep from the outside, I must be near the northern face now but still too high for a useable exit. Though I have yet to encounter a single locked door, there were several scares when I peered around corners to find pairs of guards, perfectly still and silent, blocking doors to lower levels.

I’ve given up on finding a ground floor exit; right now, I will settle for roof access. Surely, I can find a way down the north wall. With that in mind, I work my way up floor after floor and find myself at a crossroads. From the west corridor, I cautiously peek up the northern way. It ends abruptly at a large and ornate set of double doors – watched by a double set of clockwork guards.

Ducking quickly out of sight, I am exceedingly grateful that their visual centers don’t recognize my tiny movements. As I try to think of a plan, I hear a strange sound – real, human footsteps. They come from the south. They sound heavy, like those of a large man. Resisting the urge to run, I sneak back to an alcove down the west passage and crouch out of sight. I put one eye to a gap in the archway’s decorative trim to see the walker.

The man who strides into view is huge and muscular. His long dark cloak and grey-brown skin make him almost wraithlike in the dim light, but a crest of flame-red hair highlights him. The cloak is trimmed with gold, and thrown back from a huge barrel chest covered by a rich burgundy vest. Light glints off a gold monocle as he glances down at a collection of papers held casually in one hand.

As he passes out of my sight to the north, I heard the whirr of clockwork joints. Are the guards accosting him? Surely not. Somehow, it’s impossible to imagine the vast confidence in that man’s stride being misplaced. He must be expected.

He might be my only chance to get through that door.

Heart pounding, I ghost my way forward again and peer around the corner. Two automata are bowing deeply to the stranger, while two more work an elaborate unlocking mechanism on the door.

“He’s become, if possible, too frightened. Too cautious. Perhaps a touch of assurance is in order…” the flame-haired man murmurs to himself, and the door opens.

The large chamber beyond gets barely a glance; enough to see a raised dais in the middle of the room, and flights of stairs sweeping around the edges to a balcony and door at the back. Pillars and a thick railing should give me cover to hide on the stairs, but my mind is all on the knife-thin path that gets me in the room.

The man strides into the room. I see the two automata that opened the door for him step into line ahead of him, as a sort of honour guard. The two left behind maintain their low bows.

I am a shadow; I am a magician’s assistant; I am not a character in this scene; I let this confident man be the main character and slink up the hallway. Five, six steps; I stop breathing as I slip behind one bowing guard. There’s less than a foot between it and the wall. I have to duck under the butt of its lance. It starts to straighten and the doors start to swing closed right in the middle of my crouch. As the weapon’s shaft arcs down with terrible, unconscious force, I plant my rear foot and dive forward into a roll.

Like a child’s fingers around a slippery minnow, the doors slam shut behind me. The sound covers my roll. I’m not two meters behind the man, but he keeps walking. I vanish behind a pillar and peer out through the railing.

With a clack, the guards go to their knees in front of the dais. (I use the sound to crawl forward, using the rail as cover, to the second pillar. The fifth pillar borders on the balcony, and my door northward out of this room.) The man bows low.

“Archduke Ganondorf Dragmire,” a deep voice rasps. It comes from a mound of sorts in the middle of the room, on the dais. I take a moment to parse what I’m seeing. A grand chair sits there, a throne. On it sits a huge man, thick white beard pouring down the front of his robes like a waterfall. He’s mostly concealed by masses of thick cables rising from the floor, entering his robes at the ankle, the wrist, the neck. Some flicker with blue light; others are tubes carrying liquids to and from the body.

“King Rhoam Calatia,” the Archduke replies, straightening. “Do I find you well? Are you comfortable?”

“As ever,” the king says. “Your ministrations leave me without pain in my body, and I thank you. My mind is aggrieved, though. I must know what befalls my people. Tell me what happens in the mists; are my citizens safe? Have the behemoths been seen recently? Do we yet have a plan to slay them?” His voice booms throughout the throne room, and yet he struggles to use it.

I carefully retreat to the wall, keeping the pillar between myself and Dragmire. The stairs are too narrow to hide me completely, but I should be virtually out of sight from below. I crawl up to the third pillar.

“Those few brave souls who must stay in the service of your military are securing more villages each week, highness,” the Archduke assures. “Just yesterday, Midoro was made safe. Its people endangered themselves and others with home grown explosives and invited lawless dissident forces to train them in a brutal, undisciplined form of warfare. All of these rogue elements are pacified, and we are treating them even now.”

Halfway around the room now, I am in Dragmire’s line of sight. The stairs narrow. Even lying down, I can see them through the railing. The guards remain kneeling, heads down; the Archduke seems intent on the king. With a shiver, I realize that the king must be nearly blind if he hadn’t seen me roll into the room. Ever slower now, conscious of every twitch of Dragmire’s face, I worm my way to the fourth pillar.

“That is welcome news,” King Rhoam says. “But what of the leviathans? It has been years now that they terrorize our air lanes. You tell me that they even dive beneath the surface of the mists, as though hunting for squid in the deeps. Our mightiest warships cannot pierce their hides with our largest cannons. What news have you on their actions? Tell me how we will defend ourselves!”

Behind the fourth pillar, I breathe deeply and slowly, try to release my body’s tension. Though I haven’t been spotted yet, it seems impossible for the Archduke not to notice the motion if I continue from here. I resolve to stay safely hidden until the audience concludes.

“Ah, the matter of these… these ‘wind fish’ as the people have come to call them…” Dragmire says with distaste. “One was sighted near Midoro before we could intervene. It didn’t damage the village, beyond, perhaps, scaring the locals out of what wits they had. Our cannons do harm them, my king; we drive them off, and none dare approach our island directly. The problem lies in killing one before it can escape. My researches continue. I am deciphering an ancient ritual to unseal a great power. When complete, I will have the power to keep our people safe from anything!”

“Is that… is that wise, my friend? That which is sealed by ancient magics was surely sealed for some reason…” The king’s voice falters now, weakening.

“I take every precaution,” Ganondorf soothes. “Leave it all to me. Aren’t you tired now, my king? I keep telling you, your body needs rest. My treatments can only do as much as you let them.”

“Yes… yes…” the king sighs. “That will be… very good…”

Archduke Dragmire stands there, attentive, expression stern, staring at the king through his small, gold monocle. Apparently satisfied, he turns… and begins to climb the stairs behind me.

I have an instant to react, as the pillars block his view. I scramble as quietly as I can up the last of the stairs. I hear his footfalls, measured, patient. Darting over to the door, I try the handle. It turns, unlatches with a soft click. With milliseconds to use, I throw myself through the door.

The hinges squeal loudly as it opens.

I slam it behind me and look for a lock. There is none.

The long hall I find myself in is lined with raised stands. On each stand, a glass case; in each case, a treasure. Skylights let in the cheerful morning sunshine, but even standing on a glass case, they’re too high to reach. Doors line each wall, and I dash for the nearest.

The door I came in flies open as if a hurricane were behind it. The door I ran to is locked.

I hear only two steps before a huge hand closes on the back of my head. I twist out of its grip, but he pulls me back by my hood and flings me into the middle of the room. With a crash, my dead weight topples a stand. The glass case atop it shatters on the floor. I tumble as I land, but can’t find my feet. I come briefly to rest amidst the broken glass, almost on top of the sturdy gauntlet contained in the case.

Ganondorf stands over me, grabs me by the collar, pulls me upright. I grab the gauntlet as he does, the only thing I can think of to use as a weapon.

“Who are you, little mouse?” His baritone washes over me. He didn’t even lose the monocle in our scuffle. “How did you get in here, and why are you spying on me?” His fingers feel like iron, and they start to reach up under my hood, around my neck.

It’s possible to win a fight with someone who is bigger, someone who is stronger. I’d been doing it onstage half my life. It might have been theater, but that didn’t mean it was staged. If I couldn’t outmaneuver the other performers, my part of the show ended early. If a strong man gets a grip on me, life becomes difficult, but I still have the twin recourses of flexibility and surprise.

The gauntlet slipped onto my left hand as if it was made for me. Flexing my fingertips into spearpoints, I thrust them into his armpits while curling my legs into my body, giving him nothing to hold but dead weight.

His fingers don’t loosen. He grins. I instantaneously feel his balance shift, feel him trying to fall forward onto me. I bring my arms around his, drive each elbow down onto his forearms. His muscular arms don’t bend, don’t react. We are falling. My palms slap together, fingertips join into a unified spearpoint aimed straight at his throat. My legs uncoil, and I land on my left knee, right foot planted.

I hope his weight crushes his throat on my hands. It doesn’t. With an implausible speed of reaction, he takes a half-step, catches himself.

We poise there for a second, his hands on my collar, my fingers to his throat, him bent over me on one knee on the ground. I see the back of the gauntlet on my left hand. The back of the hand has a triple triangle design in brass-on-silver, and there is a socket on the back of the forearm. It looks as though it once held a gem.

I take this all in at once. Time crawls by. Ganondorf tightens his grip with glacial slowness as I think.

The socket would fit my mother’s gem perfectly. The gauntlet seems ever so slightly warm, and familiar. It’s the same feeling my mother’s gem always gave me, and, I realize, the Sheikah wallet did as well. Grandmother said those were objects with their own magical potency; this gauntlet must be, as well.

I relax my right hand and pass it over the gauntlet. I let the white gem drop out of its shadow into the socket, where it locks in place with a satisfying clink. A sensation of lightness and wild freedom courses down my arm.

I look back to the Archduke’s face. His eyes are locked on the gem, left opened wide in surprise and right tightening around the monocle with furious focus.

“I am Zelda,” I cry. His eyes turn to mine, and he recoils. “Of Hyrule!”

I release the magic in the gauntlet. Left palm open and facing right, fingers straight. A great wind surges under me. Ganondorf’s grip weakens in surprise. I leap, straight up, pushed up by the gale. My left hand raises and shatters the skylight above me. I land, rolling, on the steep roof tiles.

Clockwork sentinels line the eaves of the keep like crenellations. The Archduke’s voice bellows from below for guards, and their heads turn, lock on to me. I run down the slope of the roof at them. Barely a stone’s throw worth of courtyard separates the keep from the outer castle wall, here. I can see the houses and buildings of Castle Town, built right up to the castle.

These automata are built like the royal guards inside, but with sure, steady feet built for the roofing tiles. I call on the magic of the gauntlet and gem. I make the same gesture, palm open and perpendicular to me. Mentally naming this maneuver a Gale Leap, I point my fingers forward and dive into the wind. It carries me horizontally, up and over the lances of the sentinels climbing to meet me. I travel over the courtyards, over the castle wall, and I’m falling, falling into the town.

[mrsamazingdreamer]

Just Roommates: Part 2

YAAAAAS.

HEY GUYS! A big hug and a bigger thanks to everyone who liked my story.

Check out part 1.

Here is part 2! 

Plot- Jungkook as your roommate + College adventures lol. 

Characters- Reader, Jungkook. 

Word count- 1.5k+ 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3  Part 4  

casual texting shit- part 1, part 2  

-

JUNGKOOK’s POV

Anything in the world would have been fine, but living in the same apartment as a GIRL was just a no for me. The reason why I had moved into an apartment was so that I could avoid being around the campus girls. But look at me now, I’m crying into a pillow, seeing a girl almost naked in my house. I’m so mad at everyone. They said that they will send in a ‘nice roommate’ who is perfect for my lifestyle and comfort… but no one told me that when I meet that person first will be like this. I want to die.

“I’m sorry are you okay?” a surprisingly soft noise and a warm hand lands on my shoulder. I got startled at the touch and quickly sat up straight.

“Uh I think so- never mind- I-I-I f-freaked out.” I stammered hard. From the corner of my eye I saw her, she was still in her towel, I noticed her eyes… they were very deep and from candle light reflection made them even more deep. I could feel her empathising with my situation from the look on her face.

“So, did I… I mean I should have waited and had a talk with you- “I cut her off and gave her my jacket looking away. “You will catch a cold.” I went into my bedroom without any delay or talks. I couldn’t have her sat there like that, talking to me. It was just really weird. I open my windows to just see how dark it was outside. This ‘Girl-Phobia’ of mine was really getting me to the edge. 

After all, I am a 19-year-old with raging testosterone.

I was blanked out at the thought of living with the opposite gender. Things could be just fine or maybe just so much worse. Either way, I was going to suffer.

It was 10pm and I was hungry fuck. I exit the room to see that girl was sat by the window in our living room, looking a bit sad. Now obviously, I had to do something about the person living with me being sad. Not going to lie, she was kind of cute.

ASDFGHJKL WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?????????? PLEASE sEND Help. TT

“Um, so, hi.” I awkwardly went up to her and just spat the most awkward greeting of my life.

“Oh, hey.” She looks up at me, fixing her hair and face and gave me a cute smile.

Aiggoo. Wae?!

“Earlier was really awkward and bad, so sorry about that.” I tried to makeup and apologise.

“That is fine I guess. I’m Y/N, by the way.” She told.

“I’m Jungkook. You’re new, here right?” I asked her trying to keep it chic.

“Oh, yeah I am. I think you helped me earlier today?” she said.

“Did I? I don’t know, I think I did, but, I don’t know, well, I must have, I’m too nice you know.” WTF JEON JUNGKOOK DA FUQ YOU SAYING?

“Haha, oh god, I think it was you so thanks!” she gave me shy look.

“You’re welcome, y/n.” I went to shake hands with her.

As I was proceeding towards her, I tripped onto the cushion and fell all over her.

WOW JEON FUCKING IDIOT. YOU TRIED. *SLOW CLAPS *

I was on top of a girl, ashamed and feeling awful af. She smells amazing though. OKAY WHAT-

“I’m so sorry! Oh, my god!” I locked my eyes with her as I apologise. I could almost feel her boobs which wasn’t helping at all. But I had to compose myself up. It was 10 seconds later, before I could get up off her and leave back to Korea. I felt my stomach rumble. She covers her face up and giggles in second-hand embarrassment.

SHE WILL DEFINITLY THINK IM A CREEPY DESPERATE PERVERT. FML

Y/N’s POV

“Jungkook” he is. And he is literally on top of my soul right now. Jesus fucking Christ, I could see his muscular arms and those clavicles and that slaying jaw line and that fucking face of his-

DID HE FALL ON ME, OR IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, BUT NOT GONNA LIE, I WAS LOVING EVERY BIT OF IT. JESUS, Y/N STOP IT ALREADY. HE IS YOUR ROOMMATE AND GET USED TO HIS PRESENCE NOW. ALTHOUGH ITS JUST BEEN LIKE 2 HOURS OF YOUR MEETING.

I had my eyes locked with his but my eyes were silently scanning him through, in those 10 best seconds of my life so far. I was surly heated up a little, but god, HIS STOMACH WAS HUNGRY, SO WAS MINE!

FML.

“Ahem, Jungkook.” I awkwardly spoke.

“Aish.” Typical Korean boy; He gets up off me and fixes his grey t-shirt.

We didn’t speak for like, 5 minutes. We were just sat there, in a dark room with candles and silence.

“Excuse me.” he barely heard him as he quickly left the apartment.

I just laid down on the mattress and had a mild thought on how cute this boy was. He didn’t seem like Jimin at all assuming how they could even be friends at all. I lay on cold mattress contemplating on what had just happened. I turned on some music for distraction and soon after went to pee.

It was 12 am almost and as I got out of the washroom, I noticed a pizza box. As I went near, I saw a little letter kept underneath. I was blank for a moment. I opened the letter and read it,

 ~~~~“Hi. So, I’m sorry about everything. I never planned on getting things so awkward on meeting my roomie for the first time. I hope I didn’t freak you out too much TT TT. 

Since you are my roommate now, have my contact- 0xxx0x00x0. And remind me to give you the keys later :).

p.s. this is my little apology delivery. Please eat well and dress warm for the night, y/n. 

-𝓳𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓴𝓸𝓸𝓴”~~~   

I clutched my heart and almost stabbed myself with those words in the heart.

CAN THIS MAN BE ANYMORE SEXY?! WELL, I MEAN NICE?! I was just worried for nothing. I was pretty sure he got uncomfortable too. This gesture of his made me feel all warm inside and things were no longer feeling strange from what happened earlier. I hope everything goes well.

“I wonder if he has eaten or not?” I say to myself as I stuff my mouth with the as delicious pizza as himself. Jesus Christ.

I read that letter about 15 times before saving his number in my phone. I kept the letter safe inside my diary and recalled the whole day in words. Soon after I went to sleep peacefully.

*buzzbuzzzbuzzbuzz*

MY FUCKING ALARM WAS BUZZING THE HECK OUT OF MY BRAIN.

-6am-

I saw the balcony glass door was ajar. I rubbed my eyes before focusing on what was going outside.

*SHOOK AF*

IT WAS HIM WORKING OUT.

“Oh mah gerd.” I screamed internally on seeing him wearing a vest, bandana and shorts and flexing those arms as he did the shoulder press exercise.

I went closer to see the proper image and only saw something inevitably hot. How his sweat was dripping down his neck to his chest and god had given me the chance of seeing his dark eyes being really charismatic. asdfghfjgkhlj. If this is what I was going to wake up to every morning, then I ain’t even complaining no more. 

I’M BLESSED.

Without making a sound, I moved away, not letting him know that I was lurking on him. I quickly freshened up and took a shower. I straight up went to the kitchen and thought of returning the favor, I guess. I made us both, toast, omelettes, some pancakes and orange juice. What a typical breakfast though.

“Woah, Y/N!” Jungkook exclaimed from behind me.

“You scared me!” I was trying to stay calm there.

He just giggles at the little table all full with food.

“Care to have some?” I offered him a seat which he gladly took.

“Yah, this is great!” his face had the sexiest look besides looking like a child in that moment.

“Thanks. And, thanks also for yesterday.” I told him.

“I think we’re good now?” He asked as he offered me a bite of his pancake. I just nodded and took the bite.

Y/N, THIS IS GOING SMOOTHHHH GIRL.

“Ah~ I’m so full. Thanks again, Y/N! I will go wash up now.” He says before walking towards the washroom. 

After a few seconds of him leaving, I widen my eyes in realization.

“OH FUCK NO.” 

JUNGKOOK’S POV-

This girl is really sweet! She made me breakfast. I think I will survive living with her. It doesn’t seem too bad. But I can’t let her know that I am actually uncomfortable and really intimidated by her presence. And I have major issues with her being a girl JFC. The letter really helped me when I utterly had words to say. No need to worry JK, let’s go and have a shower. Chill man.

OH MAN, HOLY SHIT.

As I entered the bathroom and was about to turn the water on, the sight I got greeted with was Y/N’s “woman stuff” and by that, I mean, serious woman stuff.

Please kill me.

Did I just see a fancy black lacy bra and its matching underwear, owned by my roommate of 12 hours?

Living with a girl was going to get a bit untamed.

-

Thanks, y’all for reading. <3 xD PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU LIKED IT OR NAH. TX.

(Part 3: coming soon!)

#jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook imagines

[alextheantichrist-blog]

The Cave Terror

Kasran the Hunter stared at the giant rushing brown form, his iron longsword at the ready. The cold bit at his muscly frame as the season's first snow fell and blanketed the ground. His slow, steady breath blew out in tiny white clouds. He was clad in only a brown leather vest and matching fur loincloth, but the cold did not bother him. He was a son of the North, thrown into the snow as a babe and forever at home in the Arctic winds.

The brown form stopped just a few feet short of Kasran and reared on its hind legs. Kasran grinned as the the Great Bear came to meet him. It was twice as large as a normal bear and five times as fierce. No ordinary man could stand up against this beast and live, but Kasran was no ordinary man.

His large, broad-shouldered frame was nothing but corded muscle. His square jaw was that of one who could bite through stone. His humongous brow showed the keen intellect that he possessed and sloped down to reveal cold blue eyes that had nothing but the primal in them. His long blond hair cascaded across his shoulders and his golden beard flowed halfway down his chest. His tight grip could crush a man's throat in an instant. His body was that of Adonis. He was a true specimen of primitive man.

He had run to its cave deep in the mountains and issued a bestial roar to challenge it. It chased him with all its might, but Kasran's legs ran with the speed of a cheetah. He managed to easily outdistance the bear and lead it to this clearing at the foot of the mountain, where a large forest grew to Kasran's left.

The Great Bear opened its massive jaws with sharp, dagger-like teeth and let loose a ground-shattering roar as ribbons of spittle flew from its mouth. It brought down its right paw in a powerful swipe and Kasran met it with his sword. A normal man would have had his bones shattered from the impact alone, but the barbarian just shrugged it off and pushed the paw away with a heavy swipe of his own.

That was when he made a grave error. He let his eyes follow the right paw for just a second, which was enough for the bear to bring its other paw round and smash it into his face. Kasran tumbled to the ground, blood spewing from his forehead. That strike would've felled an ordinary man, but the hardened barbarian was able to take it and keep his consciousness.

The bear was upon him before he had a chance to get up, swiping and biting harshly. Kasran parried and dodged the blows, but still suffered a dozen tiny cuts. He then brought his sword in a mighty swing upward and the bear backed off, lest the sword cut into its thick hide and deal a mortal blow. This gave Kasran the opportunity to stand back up and fight the bear on even ground again.

For many minutes they fought, the Great Bear slashing and biting away and Kasran blocking and slashing with his sword. He would nick the bear here and there, drawing tiny rivers of blood all over its body, but neither he nor the bear dealt a decisive blow.

The bear, sick of this long fight, decided to end it with one mighty stab from its left paw. With the speed and reflexes of a panther Kasran dodged the blow by a hair's breadth, leaving the bear to overshoot and drive its claws deep in the snowy ground. As the bear struggled to pull free, the barbarian saw his chance. He rushed into close range and with his mighty thews ran his sword across the bear's body, cutting deep. A torrent of blood and entrails spilled out of the Great Bear's body as it shuddered and let out one last dying roar.

Kasran stood up, scratched and bloodied, but otherwise no worse for wear. He had done it! He had slain the Great Bear! He then stooped by its corpse and took out his dagger to start skinning it.

After many grueling hours of walking in the knee-deep snow through a strong, gusting blizzard, Kasran finally spied the leather tents of his home. In one arm he carried the fur pelt and meat of the Great Bear and in the other his massive head.

"Kasran, you have returned," cried Lankar, his right-hand man and closest friend. His eyes grew wide as he recognized what Kasran carried. "And you have slain the Great Bear! There will be much feasting tonight! All hail our leader, Kasran the Hunter!"

After the feast, the men of the tribe sat around the campfire and Kasran told of his fight with the Great Bear in great detail.

"Amazing, truly amazing," replied Lankar, downing a mug of ale. "You are truly a god among men."

"You are right, old friend," cried Kasran. "I am truly an awesome hunter. There is no beast I cannot slay!"

Lankar suddenly grew somber. "My friend, I do respect your great prowess in hunting, but do not say such things. Those are the words of dead men. There are beasts out there that man cannot even survive, much less slay. You may have slain the Great Bear and Old Sabertooth, but don't let that go to your head. You may be strong, but you are not invincible."

"Nonsense. Name any beast out there and I shall slay it."

Lankar went silent.

"What is the matter, Lankar?" asked Kasran mockingly. "Cat got your tongue?"

Lankar sighed. "There is one beast that not even you can slay. It is called the Cave Terror."

A gasp went round the circle.

"I have not heard of such a beast."

"You have been gone for many moons in search of the Great Bear, and word just came to us from a traveling band a few days ago. It is a great evil found in a cave many paces north of here. Many men have gone into that cave, but none have returned. The men that stayed behind heard their brothers' unholy shrieks emanating from the cave, along with another, more alien sound. Those sounds were enough to break the nerve of even the hardiest of men.

"They say it is not of this world, that it came to our world from another in ancient times. It is not like anything of this earth. Some call it a god, others a devil. They say it has power over life and death. Some say it was made by the gods to punish man for his sins."

"Excellent. Now I know what I shall seek next."

Another gasp came from the circle.

"Kasran, please, do not do this," pleaded Lankar. "You do not have to. There is nothing to prove here. You are still the greatest hunter in our tribe. Many men outside our tribe have also heard of your exploits. There is no reason to walk into certain death."

"Lankar, please do not insult me so. I must prove that I'm not only the greatest hunter in the tribe or in the region, but in the whole world. I must scale the unscalable mountain, kill the unkillable demon. I must live this way, for there is no other way to live. I must prove I am the greatest among men, and this Cave Terror of yours will be a worthy stepping stone. Now, once I am fully healed from my last adventure you shall guide me to the cave."

Lankar sighed and drooped his shoulders. "If you want to go to your death, then so be it. I will not stand in your way. But know that I have tried my best to dissuade you. When you are ready, I shall take you to the cave."

"Then it is settled! Let us continue to drink and be merry!"

But no one except Kasran was able to stay merry after that.

As promised, after the hunter took three days to heal, Lankar led Kasran through rough terrain to a grey, man-sized cave.

"Here I leave you, good friend," he cried. "For I have no wish to die today. I hope that, by some miracle, you will survive. To slay the creature I believe is impossible, but hopefully your hardiness will let you come back in one piece."

"Ha! You wound me, old friend. Do you not have faith in your leader? Bah! I will show you how strong I really am when I come back with the thing's head."

With that, Lankar left and Kasran lit a torch and entered the cave.

The cave was a maze of many passageways. Giant rats, each the size of a dog, ran to and fro. Some attacked Kasran, but those he slew with one swift swipe of his dagger. He soon realized that this cave had walls much too low for him to use his longsword. So be it. He will have to slay the foul beast using only his dagger.

After many hours of walking through corridors, Kasran finally found the Cave Terror. Oh, and what a terror it was! It completely invalidated all the rules of nature. Staring at it too long was enough to drive the most strong-willed person mad. It exuded an aura of wrongness, of something that should not be. It also had the feeling of something ancient, something that was old when the earth was young. This vile creature had lived long before humanity, and it could outlive humanity by eons!

The creature was made of a jet black carapace, with many tentacles growing out of it. Each black tentacle ended in a grey talon, sharpened to a keen edge. The whole creature had the look of a giant squid, but contorted into a shape most unnatural. At the bottom of the carapace loomed a great yawning chasm with sharp, white daggers for teeth. It had what seemed to be nostrils above that, but there was no hint of eyes. It was a truly detestable creature.

The sight unhinged even the hardened barbarian, but he contorted his lips into a primal snarl and grunted with effort. That was enough to bring him back to reality. He readied his dagger in his left hand as the creature began to move towards him, its tentacles seeking him out.

Kasran was able to parry the many tentacles with ease, such was his superhuman quickness. He even managed to keep his torch both lit and in one piece. However, the creature did not let up. Releasing an inhuman screech that was enough to snap the most taught nerves, it redoubled its efforts. Its tentacles' speed increased twofold and the barbarian began to struggle. Here and there they managed to nick him and draw blood.

With a savage roar Kasran rushed the creature and attempted to plunge his dagger into its body. As soon as it hit the tough carapace, the iron dagger smashed into a million pieces. Taken aback, the barbarian decided to risk it and drew his sword with his left hand. He was able to find enough room and brought it down on the creature with all his might. It, too, broke into many pieces.

A normal man, at that point, would've feared for his life, but not so Kasran. All he felt was frustration. With a red mist clouding his thoughts, he began to pound and pound on the carapace with his left fist until it was bloodied and broken. He tried to shove the fire from his torch into its gaping maw, but the creature ate it greedily. Now he was not only weaponless, but also blind.

The tentacles pierced him in many places. Many went for his head with a force he did not expect the monster to muster. Kasran blocked those tentacles with his right arm, and he felt the pop as his shoulder dislocated. Great pain flooded his arm as it hung limp and useless by his side. One talon pierced his left foot and went through the bone and into the stone ground. With unrivaled strength Kasran tore the tentacle out of his foot with his one working arm, shooting pain running through his broken hand.

He realized he was fighting a losing battle, so Kasran did the only thing he could: he ran. Excruciating pain went up from his left foot whenever he placed his weight on it and the movement of his right arm sent more painful waves into his body. However, he had no choice. He had to run to survive. Down many passages he went, finally losing the creature after what seemed like ages.

The wounded barbarian leaned onto the wall of the cave, panting heavily. He needed to find the way out, but this place was a maze. Suddenly he heard the slimy steps of the Cave Terror behind him. He hid in a crevice as it began to pass by, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of sniffing. The creature turned to face Kasran and ruthlessly attacked him again.

The barbarian passed through the sea of writhing tentacles and reached the body of the creature. He placed his left hand on it and vaulted over it, grunting through the pain. He then continued to run.

After losing it again, the barbarian realized that, if he was to get out of this situation, he needed to use his wits. He thought back to the sniffing and realized that the creature must rely mostly on its sense of smell to find him. An idea suddenly dawned in the savage's brain.

He found more giant rats to slay, killing and skinning them with his teeth to give his broken left hand a rest. Blood poured over his body in a savage baptism.

As the creature neared him, Kasran lay on the ground and played dead. The Terror approached his body until it was inches away from his face. It sniffed and sniffed at his body, and the barbarian's heart began to beat faster and faster. Soon it was hammering in his throat, and the hunter was afraid it would give him away. The creature kept sniffing. Kasran was not sure if he had used enough rat blood. He did not know how well the creature's sense of smell was. He based it off that of a wolf, but was it enough? He would soon find out. His life was on the line. The creature moved in closer. It was almost touching him with its nostrils. It sure was taking its time. It had probably found him out. Soon it would sink its fangs into his throat and his life would be no more. Oh, what a fool he was for taking up this challenge! Now he will die not in honourable battle with a foe, but lying on the ground like a coward.

After what seemed like eons, the creature moved over him and into another tunnel. It had worked! The scent of the rat blood had fooled the creature. Now it was time to escape.

After many grueling hours of groping in the dark, Kasran finally found a small dot of light. Following it he made his way to the mouth of the cave. Wounded and downtrodden, the barbarian limped to his home.

He looked back just in time to watch a tentacle come out of the cave. The creature shrieked as the sunlight touched it and the tentacle retreated back inside.

"There are creatures out there that men should not even lay eyes upon, much less fight," he muttered as he made his way back.

#pulp fiction #barbarian #conan #epic

[thomasgmcelwain]

Genesis 42

Genesis 42

1 When Jacob saw that there was corn

In Egypt, Jacob said to warn

His sons, "Why do you look at one

Another?" 2 And he said "Indeed

I've heard that there's grain by the ton

In Egypt, go down there for seed

And buy for us there what we need

That we may live and not undone."

3 So Joseph's ten brothers went down

To buy corn in Egyptian town.

4 But Jacob did not send the brother

Of Joseph, that is, Benjamin

With his brothers, for he said rather,

"Lest some calamity or other

Befall him by men or by jinn."

5 And Israel's sons went down to buy

Among those travelling for the rye,

For famine was in Canaan's land.

6 Joseph was ruler of the land,

And it was he who sold to all

The people of the land withal.

And Joseph's brothers came and bowed

To him with face to earth allowed.

Divine example of the prophet lets

Me know it's right clever to hedge one's bets

And buy from even heathen hand the needful

If but in all it is no more than seed full.

Thus heathen lands also have role to play,

And not always for war to win the day.

Commerce is better far than staking out

With armaments and with attacking shout.

The only problem is as things go now,

There's not enough of profits in the cow

And corn, nor even in the rowdy oil.

There's just not wealth enough in honest toil.

We need to sell fear now, Beloved, whereas

The stomach has a bottom, no fear has.

7 Joseph saw his brothers and knew them

But acted as a stranger to them

And spoke roughly to them and said

"Where do you come from seeking bread?"

And they said "We're from Canaan's land

Come to buy food at Dad's command."

8 So Joseph knew his brothers, but

They did not know him from the pot.

9 Joseph remembered then the dreams

Which he had dreamed about their schemes,

And said to them "You spies have come

To see the land's nakedness numb!"

10 And they said to him, "No, my lord,

But your servants come not with sword

But in peace for to buy us food.

11 "We are all one man's sons, not rude

But honest, your servants are not

Spies, nor have we been by spies taught."

12 But he said to them, "No, but you

Came to see the land's nakedness."

13 And they said "Now what can we do,

Your servants are brothers not less

Than twelve, the sons of one man in

The land of Canaan, and akin,

In fact, the youngest is today

With our father, and one's away."

Ah, truth be told, Beloved, indeed, it's so

That one's away. The brothers do not show

The dastardly way they dealt with the one,

Oh no, they did not tell the thing they'd done.

Beloved, let me live so the truth I tell

Has nothing in it of the hidden spell.

There is enough of accusation in

The naked land for unacknowledged sin.

For gain or hidden motives everywhere

Men make threats on the livelihood and bare

Lives of others whose fortune brings them to

Their thrones in some petition for their meat.

I pray my own petitions be to You,

Beloved, alone where we two only meet.

14 But Joseph said to them, "It is

As I have said 'You're spies of his!'

15 "In this manner you shall be tested:

By Pharaoh's life, you'll not be vested

To leave this place unless your brother,

The youngest comes here from the other.

16 "Send one of you, and let him bring

Your brother, and the rest shall sing

In prison, that your words may be

Tested if there is truth to see

In you, or else, by Pharaoh's life,

You surely are spies out for strife!"

17 So he put them together all

In prison three days. 18 Joseph's call

Came to them the third day, "Do this

And live, for I fear Ælohim:

19 "If you're honest, let one remiss

Of your brothers confined redeem

In prison, but the rest go carry

Corn for famine home and be merry.

20 "And bring your youngest brother here

To me, so your words will appear

To be true, and you shall not die."

And they did so and wondered why.

When Joseph's memory turned to dreams of youth,

He turned events to make the second truth

As well. His brothers bowed already, now

The sun and moon must be summoned to bow:

Small vengeance that for thirteen years a slave

And hardly hope of else before the grave.

The one most guilty stays in prison so

The brothers watching the results can know

That God's hand reaches out in punishment

For what they did to Joseph, where they sent.

Joseph does with his power no evil thing,

Though he is second only to the king.

Beloved, give me but half integrity

That Joseph has for his felicity.

21 Then they told one another, "We

Are truly guilty for the fee

Of our brother, for we saw how

Anguish of soul had marked his brow

When he pleaded with us, and we

Would not hear, therefore this distress

Has come on us for wickedness."

22 And Reuben answered them, and said

"Did I not speak to you instead,

Saying 'Don't sin against the boy',

And you would not listen ahoy?

Therefore indeed, his blood is now

Required of us, I do avow."

23 But they did not know Joseph heard

And understood them, every word,

For he spoke with interpreter.

24 And he turned away where they were

And wept. Then he came back again

Once more to confer with the men.

And he took Simeon and bound

Him while they watched him all around.

25 Then Joseph gave command to fill

Their sacks with corn, and not to spill

But to restore each man his coin,

And give provisions for the way.

And so he did. 26 They came to join

Together, load their donkeys grey

With corn, departed on their way.

27 But as one of them opened sack

To give his donkey feed or snack

At the encampment, he saw money

In the sack's mouth, which was not funny.

28 So he said to his brothers, "My

Money's restored, and see it lie

There in my sack!" Then their hearts failed

Them and they were afraid and paled,

Saying to one another, "What

Does Ælohim against us plot?"

Joseph was moved by one thing only here:

His brothers still remembered all his fear

And anguish when they lifted him to sell

To the traders from out of the dry well.

He turns to weep, not for the grown men's part,

Nor for the years passed by nor for the start

Of a new life with all its pleasant hopes,

But for the laddie whose grimy hand gropes

A tear-streaked face, for this the ruler turns

And feels the knotty throat and eye that burns.

Joseph was moved his brothers knew regret

For what they did to him that day, and yet

He did not know how soon regret had come.

More tears, Beloved, would have made up the sum.

29 Then they went to Jacob their father

In Canaan's land and told the bother

That happened to them, saying that

30 "The man who's lord of the land sat

And spoke roughly, and took us for

Spies of the country, what is more.

31 "But we told him 'We're honest, we

Are not spies come to your country.

32 'We are twelve brothers, sons of one

Father, one's not, the youngest son

Is with our father this day in

The land of Canaan, genuine.'

33 "Then the man, ruler of the land,

Told us 'By this I'll understand

That you are honest men: Leave one

Of your brothers with me to shun,

Take food for the famine of your

Households, and be gone to your land.

34 'And bring your youngest brother for

Me to see, so I'll know your hand

That you're not spies, but honest men,

And I'll release your brother then

And you may trade here in the land.'"

35 It happened when they emptied sacks,

Surprise, each one's money in stacks

Was in his sack, and when they saw

The money they were struck with awe

And fear, both the father and son,

For what had happened and begun.

36 And Jacob their father told them,

"You have bereaved me: Joseph's not,

And Simeon's gone, and now you're sot

To take off Benjamin. All these

Things are against me and my ease."

37 Then Reuben told his father, saying

"Kill my two sons and for my slaying

If I do not bring back to you,

But put him in my hands, for true

I shall bring him back to you, do."

38 But he said "My son shall not go

Down with you, for what's left to show,

Since his brother is dead, and he

Is left alone of his family.

If anything befell him on

The way in which you go upon,

Then you would bring down my grey hair

With sorrow to the grave, beware."

I somehow don't think Reuben's plan to kill

A grandchild was the thing to change the will

Of Jacob. Human plans often are start,

Despite their wisdom and their plotful art,

Of new catastrophes. Sometimes I shrink,

Beloved, standing one day in seven to think

That task and journey would be better far

Than six in seven to fight and follow star.

Six Sabbaths ought to keep the human late

For doing all the things he thinks are great.

But such suggestion as Reuben's may be

Just about par for every human tee.

The loving You, is better far than doing

And planning for and making out the stewing.

#The Beloved and I

[thecarlileclan-blog]

Opal Carlile Age: Elder Traits: Cheeful, Neat, Art-Lover Hair: Blonde Eyes: Violet (a distinct Carlile trait) Profession: Small business owner. Mother: Lilac Carlile Father: Sherman Carlile Sibling(s): Smolder Carlile (half-brother) Partner(s): Naomi Hirano (broken up), Grey McCollough Progeny: Lavender Carlile, Amethyst McCollough Descended from: Shmoobly, Holmes, Stylinson Powers: Vampire slaying, childhood premonitions, healing (potions and massage). Playlist: Juniper and Opal (Spotify). 

There were always high expectations for Opal. I named her after my own great-grandmother, not only as a tribute, but because this is a family, which I have now followed for nearly two years, full of elemental names. 

Opal was the second-born child of Lilac Carlile, the Original Carlile Witch. As many of you know, toddlers were nonexistent in The Sims 4, until January of this year. Consequently, Opal was my first toddler. And, even as a toddler, she displayed a great deal of magical promise. Throughout her childhood, Opal was plagued by nightmares, which generally surrounded her live-in uncle, Black Cat Stylinson. As an observer, it was actually rather disconcerting. There was sexual violence in Opal’s mother’s past, and I was concerned that, perhaps, something similar was developing, but, sensing her daughter’s fears, asked her little brother to move elsewhere. Black Cat was, years later, murdered by a particularly nasty vampire named Juniper Piña. (We’ll come right back to her, I promise). Opal’s nightmares became merely premonitions of the crime that would befall him, rather than a suggestion that he might abuse her. 

As a child, Opal was close to only two sims: her brother, Smolder, and her neighbour, Juniper. 

Smolder (photographed, above, in a chequered jumper) was already a Young Adult by the time his little sister was born, but the two were still very close, even with Smolder coming and going as he pleased until he settled down with his husband, Johnny. Opal relied on him for a great deal of emotional support -- she did not get along with either of her parents, as a child -- and spent a lot of time with his eventual family. 

Juniper, however, was not a strong pillar of support. She was a teenager, someone that Opal looked up to, but June was an extremely hot-and-cold type of friend. When she was bored, the pair would play; but when she was agitated, she went out of her way to make Opal’s life miserable. On the brink of Young Adult-hood, Juniper convinced a vampire to turn her, and as a vampire, her mission to ruin Opal’s life became an obsession. 

Shortly after this, Lilac and Sherman decided that it was time to move out of the city and away from Juniper, who continuously broke into their apartment and watched their daughter sleep. And it was in Newcrest that Opal really began to figure out who she was. She delved into herbalism on nature-hikes with her mom; she converted her own bedroom to accommodate a makeshift yoga studio; she even found a boy that she liked, named Trollop. But one night, at Discotheque Pan Europa with her friends, Opal encountered Juniper who had, unbeknownst to anyone else, taken over the club and filled it with vampires. Juniper drained Opal of her Life Force, that night, stealing from her all of her relationships and a part of her memory. 

Deciding that her daughter was unsafe, Lilac sent her to an entrusted coven. There, Opal hit the books hard, studying up to be a Vampire Hunter. It was also there that Opal met her first serious girlfriend, Naomi. The relationship was passionate, but unstable, and when Opal left, trained up enough to defend herself against Juniper’s growing Vampire Army, the pair did not keep in touch. 

When she arrived back home, however, Opal’s father, Sherman -- a quiet, loyal , but altogether dissatisfied man -- had passed away, before she ever had a chance to re-engage and re-build their relationship. Juniper had also taken over Black Cat’s apartment, frequently compelling him for sex and, eventually, getting pregnant. Once he was of no use to her, Juniper turned him, and left him outside, hallucinating in the sunlight, until he burned alive. And she did this in front of Lilac. 

Opal dove even further into vampire slaying; and slay, she did. Now, that wasn’t to say that she ever disliked vampires, as a species, but those that were aligned with Juniper Piña were fair game. She slayed a huge chunk of Juniper’s vampire army while she locked herself away to have her son. Together, Opal and Lilac finally took her down, leaving the once-fearsome vampire as little more than a powerless-human-and-single-mother. 

Finally, Opal decided it was time to live on her own. She reconnected with Naomi Hirano, her first girlfriend, and became pregnant by her. (There’s a lot of same-sex reproduction in my game. Buckle your seatbelts.) Unfortunately for Opal, after coming to terms with the idea of motherhood, she discovered that Naomi was already married to Guberg Johannesberg and that she had already had a daughter, Wendy, with her. Opal broke off the relationship despite several attempts by Naomi to repair it and, now alone, moved her widowed mother into her spare bedroom to help with the coming baby. Opal spent the entirety of her pregnancy as a Plant Sim, perhaps an allusion to the powers vested in the child within her. That child, obviously, was Lavender. 

Although juggling around single-motherhood, herself, and eventually losing her own mother to old age, Opal soon met and fell head-over-fucking-heels with Grey McCollough (pictured above, see: wedding). [Note: Smolder’s husband, Johnny, died by Sunlight at the wedding.] Naomi still came around every couple of days to see Lavender, but the Grey, Opal, and Lav became an instant, seamless, little family. So, when Lavender was a little older, they decided to have another. Grey was the one who carried Amethyst, the younger of Opal’s two daughters. And, in may ways, Amethyst took after Grey a great deal more than she did Opal. She was not born with the violet eyes that she, Lavender, Lilac, Smolder, and Smolder’s eldest daughter, Britta, all possessed; instead, she had Grey’s bright blues. Instead of being interested in the family magic, like Lavender was, Amethyst shied away from it. Opal encouraged her to practice Wellness, but that was as far as Amethyst’s exploration ever went. 

After Lavender became a teen, and after Opal’s yoga studio took off, tensions began to rise in their family unit. Suddenly, Lavender and Grey were no longer getting along, but rather shouting at each other, almost constantly. Finally, Grey had enough, and she left Opal. The pair split custody -- one week on, one week off -- throughout Amethyst’s childhood, leaving Opal’s home-life on opposite ends of the spectrum: either incredibly calm and docile, or horrendously chaotic and stressful. She also took to attending a sex-club built underneath Planet Honey Pop! karaoke bar, to drown her sorrows.

Lavender left that environment the day she could, despite high relationships with her mother and her sister, to embark upon a spirit quest; desperate for human contact on her off-weeks, Opal invited her brother Smolder to live in Lavender’s old bedroom. Smolder, whose youngest daughter had just given birth to twins and desperately needed a place to stay, gave her the keys to his apartment and moved in with his baby sister, where he remained until he died of Old Age, Johnny’s urn still poised upon his computer desk.

#opal carlile #sim #sims #the sims #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims legacy #legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 legacy #original character #character design #character #my character #family #heartbreak #sims vampires #vampire slayer #motherhood #lesbian #bisexual #lilac #lavender #smolder #amethyst #grey #sherman #naomi #opal #names