#Conflagration Ooze

[workingforitallthetime]

drawn arrows unseen

part 18 / previous installments/tags

As the tiny little crowd at Mullett Arena cheers for the Arizona players taking the ice for warmups, Mason circles through the shooting rotation at the visitors’ end of the rink and looks for 98 out of the corner of his eye. He’s been on edge ever since their bus arrived at the arena. So far, nothing in the tunnels or the visitors’ room has assaulted him with Connor’s scent. It’s best to see him for the first time during warmups, anyway. At least this way he’s ready for it. Braced.

After Connor stickhandles in the neutral zone for a couple of minutes, Mason skates toward him, sliding in with his hand raised for a fistbump. That’s what you do, when you play against a buddy you won gold with once upon a time. You say hi at the red line. This is normal. Mason can act normal.

Then Connor’s scent hits him like a brick wall. Mason’s skates stutter on the ice as his entire body regresses right back to their hotel room in Red Deer. He should turn around. He should skate away, right now, before Connor looks up and sees him or scents him. But his skate blades keep pulling him forward, like they’re propelled by sheer want, like the blood beating hot in his veins is dragging his entire body toward Connor.

Connor flips his puck onto his stick and straightens up. His eyes widen. The puck falls to the ice, forgotten.

Mason doesn’t have any secrets anymore.

As Mason gasps in a desperate lungful of air, Connor’s familiar scent goes warm and fresh. Cedar wood oozing sap, melting ice dripping through the branches.

Oh fuck, Connor breathes.

The scent goes straight to Mason’s gut and ripples outward from there, sending warm waves all the way to the tips of his toes. It makes him lightheaded, unable to think straight. He strips off his glove and reaches out for the front of Connor’s jersey. 

Just before Mason’s fingers close around the kachina logo, Trevor cheerily slides in next to them. “Are we having a moment?” His nostrils flare as he inhales the miasma emanating from Mason and Connor.  “Oh, shit, we are for sure having a moment, huh?” He tugs at the hem of Mason’s jersey. “Big Mac, you gotta come with me.”

Without breaking eye contact with Connor, Mason snarls at Trevor.

“Mason.” The playfulness in Trevor’s voice is replaced with a low urgency. “People are watching.”

Trevor always knows where the cameras are. Mason nods at Connor, quick, inhaling one last sustaining breath of Connor’s scent before he wrenches himself away. He turns and follows Trevor down the boards. Behind him, he hears Jamie telling Connor to go see his trainer, now. It’s the first time Mason has ever heard him use his alpha voice.

Trevor skates with him to the end boards, staying right on Mason’s back. He nudges Mason in line for a one-timer. “So what the fuck is…”

 “I was fine,” Mason interrupts him.

“Sure you were,” Trevor says, easy, and maybe he even means it. He bumps his shoulder against Mason’s. “You just gotta let your boy get his shit together. Every alpha on the ice is gonna be after him if he comes out for puck drop smelling like that.”

Mason doesn’t realize he’s growling until Trevor honks out a laugh and slaps him on the pads. “Easy, boy. Find him after.”

It’s the best and worst game of Mason’s life. He’s on top of every puck, winning every battle, as if having Connor close sharpens all his instincts and stokes his competitive fire to a full-on conflagration. He’s also hyperconscious of Connor, painfully aware of his location whenever Connor’s on the ice. Every time Connor gets hit – and Connor does get hit, quite a bit, even if Anaheim’s lacking in the alpha aggression department this season – it takes Mason a beat to override the impulse to fight his own teammates.

Midway through the game, Connor glides toward the dot to line up for a faceoff against Mason.  A bead of sweat stands out against the white film on his neck. The trainers must have greased him up with some kind of scent blocker. It doesn’t work, or at least it doesn’t work on Mason. It just turns Connor’s icy clean scent a little chalky.

Mason reflexively gulps in a breath as the puck drops. Connor sweeps it behind him to Guenther and all Mason sees is a flash of Connor’s teeth as he takes off down the ice, leaving Mason desperate in his wake.

(next)

[stevishabitat]

As we move into summer camping and fire pit season, a reminder that if your s'more isn't ashy and/or burnt to a crisp and oozing all over the place, you haven't actually made a s'more.

Put that thing in the fire. The s'more desires conflagration.

GBBO: “A s’more is basically just an Italian merengue sandwiched between two ganache-covered digestives”

Americans:

[cagemasterfantasy]

Dnd Cosmology: Para Elemental Planes

The regions where the Elemental Planes collide and their elemental substances overlap are called Para elemental Planes.

Plane of Ash:

Planar Portal Color: Dark Gray

On the Plane of Ash also called the Great Conflagration howling winds from the Plane of Ash mix with the cinder storms and lava of the Sea of Fire. This plane is an endless storm of flames smoke and ash. The thick ash obscures sight beyond a few dozen feet and the battering winds make travel difficult. Here and there ash clusters into floating realms where outlaws and fugitives take shelter.

Plane of Ice:

Planar Portal Color: Aquamarine

The Plane of Ice also called the Frostfell forms the border between the Plane of Air and the Plane of Water. This plane is a seemingly endless glacier swept by constant raging blizzards. Frozen caverns twist through the Plane of Ice home to Yetis Remorhazes White Dragons and other creatures of cold. The Inhabitants of the plane engage in a never ending battle to prove their strength and ensure their survival. The Frostfell monsters and bitter cold make it a dangerous place to travel. Most planar voyagers keep to the air braving the powerful winds and driving snow to avoid setting foot on the great glacier.

Plane of Magma:

Planar Portal Color: Maroon

The boundary between the Plane of Earth and the Plane of Fire is a great range of volcanic mountains. The Plane of Magma also called the Fountains of Creation is home to Azers Fire Giants and Red Dragons as well as creatures from the neighboring planes. Lava flows down the slopes of these mountains toward the Plane of Fire.

Plane of Ooze:

Planar Portal Color: Chocolate

The border region between the Plane of Water and the Plane of Earth is a horrid swamp where gnarled trees and thick stinging vines grow from the dense muck and slime. Here and there on the Plane of Ooze (also called the Swamp of Oblivion) stagnant lakes and pools play host to thickets of weeds and monstrous swarms of mosquitos. The few settlements here consist of wooden structures suspended above the muck on platforms between trees. Visitors to the plane have sometimes tried elevating houses on poles stuck in the mud but since no solid earth underlies the muck even such structures eventually sink. It is said that any object cast into the Swamp of Oblivion can't be found again for at least a century. Now and then a desperate soul casts an Artifact of power into this place keeping it away from the rest of the multiverse for a time. The promise of powerful magic lures adventurers to brave the monstrous insects and hags of the swamp.

Para Elemental Plane Adventure ideas: The Para elemental Planes are extreme environments but funamentally similar to places found on the Material Plane the place where all 4 elements mingle freely.

At a symbolic level the Para elemental Planes represent the interaction and sometimes the contrast between the forces and ideals embodied by their constituent elements. The Plane of Ash for example highlights the commonality between air and fire the tendency to movement and change given a destructive tone by the raging conflagration of the plane. The Plane of Ooze heightens the contrast between stable rigid earth and steadily flowing water.

@doodl3

[gameguides]

Potionomics Ingredients List

Welcome to our Potionomics Ingredients List guide. This guide will show you all the ingredients and the magimins colours ABCDE (red, green, orange, blue & purple). We know that there are people who have a hard time finishing the Potionomics game. If you are one of those who find it difficult to finish the game, let's take you to our Potionomics guide. #Potionomics

Potionomics Ingredients List

All the ingredients and the magimins colours ABCDE (red, green, orange, blue & purple)! Ingredients List & Guide These are all the ingredients, arranged alphabetically in a list with the proportions ABCDE: - Amethyst Ore 66 66 0 0 33 - Amphithere’s Shadow 44 0 44 0 0 - Antlered Jelly 30 0 0 0 0 - Arcane Quartz 84 0 0 84 42 - Arcane Truffle 0 42 42 42 42 - Avalanche Cricket 24 24 32 32 0 - Banshee’s Bloody Tongue 0 40 0 0 0 - Barghast Canine 0 30 0 0 10 - Basilisk’s Cornea 0 22 0 0 0 - Bioplasm 0 48 32 16 0 - Blackfrost Lobster 0 0 0 0 44 - Blightroach 0 42 42 42 0 - Body Snatcher’s Sloughed Skin 0 0 0 66 22 - Bog Beet 0 27 0 0 0 - Bogeyberry 30 0 0 0 0 - Bubble Ooze 9 9 12 12 0 - Celestial Ore 0 0 16 0 0 - Charredonnay 48 0 48 24 24 - Chimera Waste 0 0 64 32 0 - Cobweb Crayfish 10 0 20 0 0 - Copper Dollop 15 15 15 15 0 - Copper Dollop 15 15 15 15 0 60 95 - Cosmic Cassava 0 66 0 0 0 - Cosmic Quartz 66 33 0 66 0 - Courtier’s Orchid 8 24 24 0 0 - Crag Crab 0 0 0 0 32 - Creeping Mildew 16 0 0 0 48 - Cubic Ooze 3 3 3 0 0 - Cyclops Skull 0 0 42 42 42 - Daredevil Pepper 0 32 0 32 0 - Daydream Pomme 0 24 8 0 0 - Dazzling Mana 42 42 42 42 42 - Death’s Embrace 33 33 33 0 33 - Delirium Shroom 0 0 48 0 0 - Desert Metal 0 12 0 0 0 - Diamond Salt 33 0 0 0 11 - Djinn Blossom 24 0 0 8 0 - Dragon Dung 0 0 88 44 0 - Dragon Tear 0 33 33 11 0 - Dragonblood Tick 132 66 0 0 0 - Dragonbreath Blossom 33 0 0 11 0 - Dragonegg Citrus 0 22 0 0 66 - Dragonfire Pearl 0 0 0 44 0 - Dropspider’s Shadow 0 0 30 20 10 - Dwarf Kraken 40 0 0 0 0 - Ectoplasm 0 70 70 28 0 - Elder Being’s Tusk 0 66 0 0 22 - Electrocution Eel 10 10 10 0 0 - Ember of Mana 24 24 24 24 24 - Ember of Mana 24 24 24 24 24 120 165 - Fairy Flower Bud 12 0 0 0 0 - Fairy Flower Bulb 4 0 0 0 0 - Feyberry 6 0 0 0 0 - Figment Pomme 0 18 6 0 0 - Fire Flower 40 0 0 20 0 - Frog Leg 0 0 24 12 0 - Fulgurite Ore 0 0 0 30 0 - Geode Citrus 0 16 0 0 48 - Ghostlight Bloom 18 0 0 6 0 - Giantstool Mushroom 0 20 0 0 0 - Giantstool Mushroom 0 20 0 0 0 20 40 - Glass Ore 0 0 0 18 0 - Gold Dollop 33 33 33 33 0 - Golem’s-Eye Diamond 0 12 12 0 0 - Golemite 18 12 0 10 0 - Harpy’s Snare 24 24 24 0 24 - Harpy’s Snare 24 24 24 0 24 96 150 - Hoarite 55 55 0 22 0 - Hocus Locust 28 28 140 28 0 - Horned Jelly 18 0 0 0 0 - Hydra Vertebra 9 9 9 0 0 - Impstool Mushroom 0 4 0 0 0 - Jelly Blossom 0 0 0 0 30 - Jelly Blossom 0 0 0 0 33 33 55 - Jotunn’s Frozen Heart 22 0 0 44 0 - Kappa Pheromones 4 0 4 0 0 - Lamia’s Shed Scales 0 0 0 48 16 - Lazuli Ore 64 48 0 0 32 - Leech Snail’s Shell 12 12 0 0 0 - Lethal Injection Eel 42 42 42 0 0 - Lich’s Femur 0 0 70 70 28 - Liquid Metal Ore 0 44 88 0 0 - Lustrous Pearl 0 0 0 32 0 - Malachite Ore 30 10 0 0 20 - Mana Blaze 50 40 30 20 10 - Mana Conflagration 35 45 55 65 75 - Mana Heart 28 28 28 98 28 - Mana Maelstrom 98 28 28 28 28 - Mana Singularity 28 28 28 28 98 - Mana Vortex 28 98 28 28 28 - Mandragon Root 0 30 0 0 0 - Mandrake Root 0 6 0 0 0 - Manwyrm Root 0 18 0 0 0 - Mass Grave Enoki 56 112 112 56 0 - Medusa Spore 0 48 0 16 0 - Miasma Spore 0 18 0 6 0 - Mosquito Plant 10 0 20 0 30 - Mosquito Plant 10 0 20 0 30 60 105 - Moss Berries 0 10 0 20 0 - Mote of Mana 15 15 15 15 15 - Murkwater Pearl 0 0 0 12 0 - Naga’s Fang 0 48 0 0 16 - Nessie Pheromones 20 0 20 0 0 - Nether Ore 0 0 22 0 0 - Nightmare Pomme 0 33 11 0 0 - Nuclear Shadow 0 70 70 28 0 - Ogre’s Shadow 32 0 32 0 0 - Orchid of the Ice Princess 11 33 0 33 0 - Orchid of the Ice Princess 11 33 0 33 0 77 116 - Orchid of the Witch Queen 28 70 0 70 0 - Pandemonium Shroom 66 0 0 0 0 - Phoenix Tear 0 24 24 8 0 - Photonic Spore 0 10 0 30 0 - Pixiedust Diamond 0 4 4 0 0 - Platinum Slime 42 42 42 0 0 - Posion Quartz 64 48 0 32 0 - Puckberry 18 0 0 0 0 - Qilin’s Tri-Horn 0 0 24 0 0 - Raiju Droppings 0 0 30 10 0 - Raiju Droppings 0 0 30 10 0 40 55 - Raven’s Shadow 0 10 12 18 0 - Reef Radish 0 30 0 0 0 - River Calamari 8 0 0 0 0 - River-Pixie’s Shell 4 4 0 0 0 - Rotfly Adult 0 0 20 0 0 - Rotfly Cocoon 0 0 12 0 0 - Rotfly Larva 0 0 4 0 0 - Rottermelon 0 0 0 64 0 - Sack of Composite Slime 0 0 30 0 0 - Sack of Hive Slime 0 0 18 0 0 - Sack of Slime 0 0 6 0 0 - Salamander’s Fiery Tongue 0 24 0 0 0 - Saltwatermelon 0 0 0 40 0 - Scimitar Crab’s Shell 32 32 0 0 0 - Sea Salt 30 0 0 0 10 - Sea Salt 30 0 0 0 10 40 55 - Selkie Lice 10 20 0 0 0 - Selkie Lice 10 20 0 0 0 30 50 - Sepulcher Widow 0 0 0 0 48 - Sequined Custard 0 0 32 0 16 - Serpent’s Slippery Tongue 0 8 0 0 0 - Shadowveil Pearl 0 0 0 20 0 - Shadowveil Pearl 0 0 0 20 0 20 38 - Silver Dollop 24 24 24 24 0 - Sinfandel 80 0 80 80 40 - Slapping Turtle’s Shell 20 20 0 0 0 - Slapping Turtle’s Shell 20 20 0 0 0 40 46 - Snowflake Spore 0 66 0 22 0 - Sorcerite 70 70 0 28 0 - Sorcerite 70 70 0 28 0 168 232 - Space Nautilus’s Shell 44 44 0 0 0 - Spark of Mana 33 33 33 33 33 - Spark of Mana 33 33 33 33 33 165 215 - Sphinx Flea 12 6 0 0 0 - Spider’s-Bait Diamond 0 20 20 0 0 - Spriggan Antler 0 0 40 0 0 - Squid Vine 20 20 15 0 15 - Static Spiderling 0 0 0 0 30 - Swamp Fish 12 0 0 6 0 - Swamp Octopus 24 0 0 0 0 - Thunder Quartz 30 10 20 0 0 - Thunder Quartz 30 10 20 0 0 60 72 - Thunderbird’s Molted Feather 0 0 30 0 10 - Thunderbird’s Molted Feather 0 0 30 0 10 40 60 - Trollstool Mushroom 0 12 0 0 0 - Underworld Pomegranate 28 28 28 140 0 - Unicorn Horn 0 0 8 0 0 - Venous Witch-Trap 28 0 70 0 70 - Warg Pheromones 12 0 12 0 0 - Watchdog Daisy 0 16 0 48 0 - Weeping Metal Ore 0 32 64 0 0 - Wendigo Antler 0 0 88 0 0 - Widowmaker Pepper 0 44 0 44 0 - Witchbramble Vine 42 42 42 0 42 - Wraith Orchid 0 0 0 12 0 - Xenoplasm 0 55 55 22 0 - Xenoplasm 0 55 55 22 0 132 166 Recipes List In case you are interested we also leave you the recipes: - Potion Health 1 1 0 0 0 - Potion Mana 0 1 1 0 0 - Potion Stamina 1 0 0 0 1 - Potion Speed 0 0 1 1 0 - Potion Tolerance 0 0 0 1 1 - Tonic Fire 1 0 1 0 0 - Tonic Ice 1 0 0 1 0 - Tonic Thunder 0 1 0 1 0 - Tonic Shadow 0 1 0 0 1 - Tonic Radiation 0 0 1 0 1 - Enhancer Sight 3 4 3 0 0 - Enhancer Alertness 0 3 4 3 0 - Enhancer Insight 4 3 0 0 3 - Enhancer Dowsing 3 0 0 3 4 - Enhancer Seeking 0 0 3 4 3 - Cures Posion 2 0 1 1 0 - Cures Drowsiness 1 1 0 2 0 - Cures Petrification 1 0 2 0 1 - Cures Silence 0 2 1 0 1 - Cures Curse 0 1 1 0 2 Read the full article

[aerial-ace97]

Mulch Honorable Mentions

As promised, I will be ranking the 40 bottom feeders throughout the modern D&D multiverse best to use for your next Big Monster Evil Guy over the course of March.  You can see the original post under the BMEG tag and this month will also fall under the tag of Mulch, which is what the month for the triad of oozes, plants, and vermin will now be referred to as.

This was still very difficult to nail down between 73 entities and while I could’ve just made it a list of 30, I didn’t want to hold out on that last 10 which I feel would still be adequate BMEGs.  Today though, we still will be going through those honorable mentions that still don’t quite hit that mark and find themselves in the 50 through 41 range.

Once again to clarify briefly, while I can’t guarantee that my bias won’t factor in on occasion, this list is what I believe to be the best of these creatures to be the final villain of a questline.  It is NOT my favorite monsters and certainly not the BEST monsters.  Please bear that in mind and don’t be too upset if your faves didn’t make the list.  I won’t be going as deeply into these ones as when we get into the real list.  There were further rules given in my previous post but without further ado, my places for 60 through 51 are as follows:

#50 - Terotricus - PF2E

I really wanted to rank this one in the list.  It’s pretty much the only PF2E monster that could’ve had a chance at qualifying.  One other gets cannibalized as the same creature under a different name but I find it quite unfortunate that no new creatures of PF2E could make the list.  PF2E even tried hard by giving this creature more than 1 paragraph, but a part from a vague connection to the Abyss, it really just didn’t do all that much.  Even still, this plant is pretty neat and I’ll always love Plane connections, but it just wasn’t enough.

#49 - Night Twist - D&D 3.5

Trees are... a difficult thing to manifest as a Big Bad.  Which makes it surprising that a good number actually do make this list with pretty decent intelligence all around.  As well as many that didn’t.  Night Twist falls in that middle category.  It has some cool mechanics for luring people in with its strange song and manifesting new tress out of the corpses it makes, but the lore just... is kinda nonexistent.  Which is shame for such a powerful and interesting creature.

#48 - Bolida - Starfinder

Here we find the first of our 3 vermin that qualified, and what do you know even the lowest made the honorable mentions.  This one was probably a break in the rules so that they could make a player race out of it, and that fact is the big reason it gets some recognition, because as soon as you say it can be a player race, that opens the door to lots of great possibilities.  Still the bolida are primarily concerned with mining, with little to no aspiration or lore beyond this and so this consideration is as far as I could consider.

#47 - Octopus Tree - D&D 3.5

These things just kind of hit the mark of evocative.  They are evil and make trouble at sea, which is not something you often see from plants and aquatic stuff really catches me.  Beyond that though, there isn’t a whole lot to go on though in terms of personality or motives, even if the theme is pretty cool.

#46 - Mountain Blight - Pathfinder

We are going to talk a lot more about the blights and why they’ve been separated into individual listings as we go on in this list and while I love them, some of them had to take the bullet.  Tundra blight took it hard enough to not make even honorables.  And mountain blight is the one that has the bare minimum lore to make it to honorables.  They kinda just chill in mountain paths and not much else compared to the more active blights we’ll come to speak on.

#45 - Myceloid - Pathfinder, PF2E

I don’t know.  These guys kinda just seem like a poor man’s myconid.  And like... for what reason.  Did Wizards not give Paizo the rights to myconids of all things?  I guess these guys are evil, but did we really need more initially evil races?  That takes away the flexibility of myconids.  These guys are fine, but they seem a tad unnecessary.   I do love this artwork though.  I would say these guys could be easily interchanged with myconids.

#44 - Etheroot - Pathfinder

These things are neat and can change their motives and needs based on whatever emotion they need to balance out with a little bit of magical manipulation.  But they don’t have goals beyond that and more importantly are extremely affixed not only to one tiny niche of content but also one tiny niche of area.

#43 - Mandragora - Pathfinder, PF2E

The mandragora arise from placing mandrake roots onto the bodies of dead demons, creating a blood seeking monstrosity.  This has interesting implications but doesn’t go much deeper than that.  There’s also implications about alchemical purpose here but I rarely go in for that for the purpose of the roleplay of the monster itself, even if that stuff should be talked about with monsters more.

#42 - Conflagration Ooze - D&D 3.5

I’m gonna be honest, there might be two kinda cheap reasons this ranks higher than other honorable mentions and part of that is it being from my fav ever monster book for any edition and so nostalgia and the other being it looks adorable.  Other than that it has cool implications to Hell, which usually hooks me more than the abyss simply because the connections are usually stronger there but it gives little beyond that to go on.

#41 - Bodysnatcher Slime - Starfinder

There are a couple of mind stealers we’ll be looking at throughout this list and I can’t even really quantify what about the bodysnatcher missed catching me, but I think I may have just been tired of mind bending oozes and plants, especially coming off of aberrations.  

[sasorikigai]

holding his partner's hand/arm so they'll keep holding him. maybe his partner plays with his hair. maybe there's shoulder kisses + his head is on his partner's stomach and his arms around his partner. his partner massaging his head and giving him kisses while he's slowly falling asleep ( basically them at early mornings, any verse )

physical affection male characters deserve more of || @sonxflight || accepting

holding his partner's hand/arm so they'll keep holding him. maybe his partner plays with his hair. maybe there's shoulder kisses

his head is on his partner's stomach and his arms around his partner. his partner massaging his head and giving him kisses while he's slowly falling asleep

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || There still remains a stubborn thread that had come between Hanzo Hasashi’s heart and soul; tugging, tugging at the abused fibers - so hard, that it would bring an excruciatingly acute pain. He finds himself tenaciously fighting the urge to tear his heart as if it was a piece of old parchment. If it was a bottle, he would break it. If it was a wall, he would tear it down, but such proverbial, overzealous passion it still wields oozes eternal resolve and indomitable strength as it conflagrates itself in an fulminating inferno. The once-physical manifestation of Hanzo Hasashi had become nothing inside him, even without blood and organs and bones, as a hollow vessel without the magnanimity of his warm heart and soul. Amongst the carnage, his macerated flesh and bones refused to sit stagnant along the warpath as his affliction and torment became the mental pollution that would birth Scorpion in the Netherrealm.

No longer, Hanzo drowns in the sound of his thunderstorm heart in an ocean of deepest exhaustion and aggravated emotions, as the symphonic repetition of his beloved’s heart pulls him in and grounds him. Air continues to hang in humid wonderment, as the split-open sun had began its descent beneath the crackle of the Shirai Ryu compounds. The effulgent radiance chasing after birds, longing to fly, as once-thick somber silence of the tenebrous night no longer brings about a florid bloom. Grandmaster Hasashi no longer dances freely to his doom; for love once thought would be absent in his life softly touches his heart with the weight of the stars, for Hanzo refuses to fight and resist this feeling anymore. He wishes this whole universe to be theirs for the taking, for their unification to last forever. 

Ryou Sakai’s featherlight, yet gravitating fingertips caressing his skin consumes and controls Hanzo Hasashi from within. Butterfly kisses and sensual bliss overriding darkness and what used to be this blinded sight and blinded mind, riddled with intoxicating melancholia to incapacitate him at night. How they scratch and cause mindful tears to swell up and down the walls of his austere, somber expression tells a tale of old and lustful delight in time, yearning to grab his beloved in the night. How the glowing starlight of his dark amber eyes reflect many far-off galaxies, bright eyes of heaven as the glory of unperturbed relaxation and tranquility settle once again atop his exquisite muscles and sinew. The settled petals gather and conglomerate along with his heated warmth, creating a heavenly mess, perhaps a parade of contradiction. 

How his long, desolate winter masquerading as spring has completely melted, for Ryou Sakai bestows a great thawing. Perhaps his beloved is a saint of undeserved forgiveness, of longing and of anguish. Graceful, long digits float in the thick strands of his beloved’s slouched head, as ever-effulgent fire paints the back of his eyelids and makes its way across his face in the form of a genuine smile. The exuberance of such inextinguishable fire in the depth of his heart will chase and conquer despairing darkness alight, for once languid, defenseless, and utterly lost soul of Hanzo Hasashi had been obliterated, to be rebirthed to become a nurturing, celebratory lantern full of warmth and compassion.  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[desdemonafictional]

Zombie apocalypse au

30 min speed write (ended up being closer to an hour)

Rattrap had two traits that made him a stand-out on the field of "not getting your guts ripped out and eaten by deranged terrorcons" and the first of those traits was that he was a coward. which was to say, he was a survivor. He was resourceful. When other mechs were running into burning buildings for their dear departed grand-mentor's ceremonial sword of office, Rattrap was already halfway into the subway vents and making for uptown. When other mechs were making grand stands and planting flags in things, Rattrap was haggling extra repair kits out of the quartermaster.

The second trait was that he knew how to engineer a big goddamn conflagration of dynamite.

"Come on come on come on," Rattrap said, three minutes into stripping the wiring from a household appliance and running out of time.

"They are crossing the boundary," Dinobot told him. "They will be upon us soon."

"You think I don't slagging know?" Rattrap shot back. "Hold the frag on, I just gotta--there's a battery under this but it's corroded in ta place and I can't get--"

Dinobot reached down and with one swift motion ripped the battery compartment free of the vacuum drone. Rattrap blinked at his hand for a moment.

"Sheesh," he said, and then got to work.

They were at the edge of the makeshift barricade here; just behind Rattrap was the relative safety of the stacked and welded furniture blockading off the local energon depot and the surrounding structures. Right now he'd give just about anything to bolt over that wall and back into the smelly cramped field hospital on the other side.

"We are running out of time," Dinobot said, in that tone that meant he'd gone all pinched in the face. "As usual, it falls on me to carry your weight--"

"My weight?" Rattrap shrieked. "You lizard brained jackplug, I'm doing all the work here! You're just standing around criticizing!"

There was a rattle of metal as Dinobot brought his sword up to rest against his shoulder. "Very well," he hissed. "I shall cease standing around."

"Yeah, yeah," Rattrap said, biting off a length of copper wiring. And then his head snapped up. "No no no wait a fragging second you--"

But it was too late, Dinobot had already taken off into the street. Down the hill where the trolley used to run, until the poor sucker got a chunk taken out of his engine by a turning passenger, violet-eyed shambling shells were crossing the first layer of trip wires that Rattrap had laid down days ago, when this motley crew of survivors first staked out the block for something defensible. But there were so many of them now, after weeks of rampant chaos and unrestrained nibbling--when one fell, another one just started the slow clumsy clamber over its body.

Rattrap swore violently, for all the good it'd do him. He just had to--and the circuit, that needed--Primus what he wouldn't give for a nice safe radio detonator--

He bolted into the street, tripping over himself in his haste, lumpy Frankenstein of a bomb tucked against his chassis. Dinobot was down there, at the bottom of the hill, sword plunging and stabbing, twisting and ducking backwards out of the swiping reach. He was holding his own in the tight corridor of the street, between the high sided buildings and the trip wire piles, but not for much longer, if Rattrap was any judge. Which he was.

Up above, there was a flash in the cloudy daylight--some frame with good long grasping limbs had scaled the side of a building, and as Rattrap pounded closer over the pavement he could see its poisonous violet eyes, the gaping mouth forced open with spiraling rows of stalagmite teeth. Dinobot reared back for another strike, all his attention fixed on the swarm before him-- the sharp point of his elbow, the hilt of his sword--

"Retreat!" Rattrap shouted at him. "Reconvene! Get the frag back, whatever you warrior types call it!"

Dinobot was too good at what he did to stumble at one surprise shout, thank Primus and all his merry monsters. But he didn't actually fragging retreat.

"Am I speaking vernacular here or what?" Rattrap demanded, but by then he was nearly level with Dinobot, and there was no point in wasting time because the damn crawler, up on the wall side, had decided to take a clumsy leap at them both. It landed on the back of Dinobot's kibble, and in the .5 nanokliks it took for Rattrap to realize how close its mouth had gotten to Dinobot's vulnerables, he'd already swung the only weapon available to hand directly at its awful slavering head.

It went over sideways. The bomb in Rattraps hands started to hiss.

"Oh slag," he said, as Dinobot staggered forward a step and then turned his gaze on the contraption as well.

"What did you do," Dinobot bot demanded.

"Don't ask!" Rattrap howled, and slung the thing deep into the gathered mass of grey and groaning bodies. He grabbed Dinobot's wrist. He shouted, "Run!"

They'd barely made it halfway up the hill when the reflection of pavement went searing bright with orange flame, the concussive force of the blast throwing them both forward, onto hands and knees, where they scrambled to push themselves forward and upright. Heat seared their backs, making joints pop and liquid lines swell dangerously, but they kept going, until they were at the barricade, and without pause or discussion Dinobot was heaving Rattrap up to the handholds and then scaling after him.

At the top of the barricade, which lay unevenly but as wide here as Rattrap was tall, they both paused to furiously vent heat from their overworked systems.

"What the frag was that about," Rattrap demanded, while his systems wheezed. "I nearly had it, you didn't need to run off and start swinging."

Dinobot snarled at him. "If I had not run off, vermin, you would be grey and oozing by now."

"Fat chance," Rattrap said. "Ain't no jangling scrap heap gonna get the best of me. I don't take chances."

"No?" Dinobot's lip curled up into a sneer. "Then what was that rushing down into the fray just now?"

"Aw, pit, don't you start."

"One might almost think you had developed a taste for the heroic," Dinobot said, teeth bared and optics glittering.

Rattrap collapsed backwards, throwing an arm over his face. "I shoulda left you to die, you big metal bird brain. I shoulda let em make scrap bits outta you."

"Hmm," Dinobot said. "Well. Perhaps next time."

[rebeinoblivion]

The Massacre

Her frame conflagrates into ashes..

As the prevaricator’s vapid orb digs into her innocent soul

Burning with dark desires..

He cajoles her with a mind that incessantly conspires

The ghosts from the massacre follows him..

As he leaves a trail of slaughtered dreams behind the radical whim

The callous Massacre of innocent adoration..

Leaving behind all the lovers with great lamentation

The lust galore.. as the naked ghosts moan and slithers across the eel..

Oozing the fetid slime as it loiters its way through caves to steal

Blood starts oozing out from her crushed emotion..

Please seal this.. lest it turns into a putrid potion

She’s dead!

And his cold slender finger slides right for another

MASSACRE..

-Reb

[lustriakeimark]

The Action Duo

Smashed cars tumbled and flew

With wheels catapulting loft

A conflagration and explosion boomed

With splinters of streaks stumbled

Of menacing red and ochre hues

A flaming and blazing view

Of catastrophe and wild chaos

Of devastating streets and cracked roads

Where electricity lit from its post

And broken bulb snapping off

An urban society of downfall

Ransacked building crumbled

And on the cloudy smoke,

Egress of duo tromped and walked

With brazen and audacious scowl

Hidden on shades of black mode

Matched with smooth denim coat

With black sleek hairs unruffled

Not a hint of cowing daunt

Unshaken by debris that shoot

Oozing with coolness bold

On your mind they stolidly posed

Like an action star in the movie show

They are the ultracoolest duo

That will rock and doom the world to bone

[shadowsblades]

write me what happened when she found out varian died 👀

UNSOLICITED ASKS↳ @goldwrynn 

          What happened was that Valeera swam all the way to the Broken Shore to kick the ashes of his ass. How did she know which ashes used to be his ass? Doesn’t matter —— Varian is just one giant ass. But what should have happened…

          Her daggers slice through the demon’s unprotected stomach, the second slash not milliseconds behind the first, blades already coated in ichor never permitted reprieve to dry splattering hot blood across the rocky terrain and upon the already matted fur of the hefty bear fighting nearby. If Broll notices the added gore, he gives no sign, locked in combat with a felguard of his own, glimpsed in Valeera’s periphery barely long enough to verify that he moves —— and breathes —— still. Derision against the slowed speed of his attacks, lording of the number of her own kills over his —— any quip she might have goaded him with ( and had goaded him with earlier, to growled rejoinder that much more entertaining for its incomprehensibility, for his inability to chide her in turn ) goes unexpressed. If her exultation over fighting alongside him and Varian once more lingers unspoiled by the severity of the battle they wage, she no longer possesses the energy to communicate it.

          They have been fighting before the Tomb for what feels like days, demon after demon dispatched without an end to their ranks in sight. Lengthy assault on the Broken Shore behind them already, the rogue’s body aches with the abuse of it, painted generously with the grisly evidence of her… contributions to the skirmish thus far, her endurance owed more to the priests desperately sustaining their ranks with blessings and healing than the skill she brings to the battle ( though Valeera would contest she brings plenty of that ).

          For every demon they cut down more materialise, reinforcements for the Burning Legion marching onto the battlefield in a seemingly inexhaustible supply. There is nothing to do but fight on. They will be victorious. They have to be.

          The air itself is scorching and sulphuric, dry heat fuelled by the felfireballs cast into their midst and the fissures of molten fel splitting the stony ground, the torridity enclosed by the thick, churning clouds above, undiminished here as it had been by the ocean air on the craggy shore. Grotesque bats shriek as they swoop overhead and blades clang all around, the almost-rhythmic clamour of metal-on-metal and the recurring flashes of green in the sundered sky above so familiar to have faded into the background of Valeera’s consciousness. Her awareness is necessarily narrowed to encompass only those enemies and allies nearest —— and dearest —— to her: the demon before her, staggering back against her latest blow, blundering forward now with a monstrous double-bladed axe larger than her body and therefore sluggish enough to dodge; Broll just there, raking his claws over his foe; Varian behind her, shouting to Greymane as he cleaves through the Burning Legion’s elite guard with Shalamayne… 

            Liadrin, somewhere up on the embankment with her Blood Knights and the rest of the Horde’s forces.

          The blare of a horn brays across the tableau, a pealing echo resounding from above —— the Horde signalling something the demon looming over Valeera forestalls immediate appraisal of, but which she prays portends something that might turn the tide in their favour. Under the sweep of the felguard’s weapon, she stabs her blades into its exposed side to the hilts, carving deep, vertical gouges through flesh and muscle that ooze blood until the thing finally topples to its knees for her to kick to the ground, as dead as a demon can be on Azeroth.

          No new adversaries step forward to take its place, but before she can spare a glance to find what has changed in their surroundings——

          “I knew we couldn’t trust her!” Genn roars, enraged snarl seizing Valeera’s attention. He stands by Varian, the area around them miraculously —— but likely only fleetingly —— bereft of living demons, both of their faces turned up to the ridge overlooking the Tomb, where the Horde…

          Cold fear compresses her chest.

          The dark figures of the archers that had been covering them are gone, and no sounds of warfare beckon from that direction.

          The Horde is gone. The horn had been a call for a retreat…

          As if they had been waiting for harrowing comprehension of their abandonment and the doom it augurs to sweep across the Alliance forces, a fresh swarm of felbats wail, soaring across the plateau like a hail of arrows —— arrows which no longer harry them as they dive towards the Alliance, raking claws over their formation. Valeera whirls to face them, lunging aside as one sweeps down towards her, its long, twisted arms grasping for a victim. She twists onto her back as she falls, throwing out a long knife slid down from within her gauntlet to pierce the thick hide covering the thing’s belly —— to no avail other than to avoid her the fate of a nearby soldier too slow to do the same, ripped to pieces that become ghastly projectiles.

          Valeera is on her feet again before her body registers impact with the ground, ducking as fireballs explode overhead, scattering the felbats.

          Skyfire has arrived, but too late. The field is chaos now, more demons than ever marching implacably from the direction of the Tomb, pushing back where Varian had resolved to push forward.

          Any hope that they might triumph here despite the odds, that they might defeat the Burning Legion before it can penetrate further into Azeroth, evaporates.

          They will be slaughtered in moments unless they emulate the Horde —— a possibility now with the gunship descending towards them.

          Valeera glances towards Varian just as he comes to the bitter realisation, “Get everyone to the gunship.”

          “I was just getting started,” Valeera complains to him as Genn bellows the order, weak attempt at lightening the severity of his glare inexorably undermined by her laboured breath and the grime congealing even in her hair, transforming the soft, golden tail into stiff stalks of muck she shudders to imagine washing.

          The king glances at her briefly, visage revealing a disgruntlement too intense to ameliorate, “Get Broll.”

          She nods, glowing eyes flashing to her right where she had last seen the druid. There, an imposing line of felguard advances, presaged by a sonorous rumble of marching leaden feet, repelling soldiers who stumble over themselves to disengage. Where is——

          A sleek, leonine shape leaps upon a demon at the forefront bearing down on a human stumbled into a fissure, tackling the hulking form to the earth and snapping at its throat.

          To think he had once chastised her for using her teeth!

          Valeera dashes towards him, hauling the soldier to their feet and shoving them blindly in the direction of the gunship.

          “Broll!” she yells after the cat, “We’re going!”

          He bounds towards her with a bloodied snout, lopes just slow enough for Valeera to vault onto his spotted back. Together, they race towards Skyfire with the last of the remaining troops, veering hazardously to evade weapons swung at them, hair and fur alike stirred by the wind of their wake. The rogue shimmies up the ladder as Broll transforms, beckoning to Varian ( because of course he hasn’t fled yet himself ).

          Things are hardly less tumultuous on deck. The whole gunship shudders with the fire shot from the cannons, the ladder swinging perilously against the hull just as Valeera turns to hoist Broll over the edge, her body anchored with one arm wrapped around the rail as the other reaches down for him, Varian’s broad frame recognisable a few soldiers below.

          Power as loathsome as it is familiar prickles the fine hairs on her arms, suddenly saturating the atmosphere, crackling and flashing menacingly amid the clouds. The Legion, once so intent on keeping them away from the isle, now determined to block their escape.

          The ship lurches to port as a colossal meteor, larger than any conjured so far and wreathed in a conflagration of green flame, plummets past her vision, billowing sultry air and pitching Skyfire even further to port before crashing into the ground below. As the gunship rocks back, soldiers without grip are flung from the vessel into the inferno of smoke, flame and blistering heat mushrooming below. Valeera’s body slams against the rail, only barrier between her and certain demise. Broll, too, barely onto the deck, teeters. Varian——

           Varian…          

          Heart in her throat, Valeera leans over the bannister, squinting down into the nebulous smog. The soldiers that were on the ladder above the king are gone, likely having plunged to their deaths, but the man himself dangles perilously from one arm, careening with the undulating rope, “Varian!”

          If he had boarded earlier…

          Broll’s antlered head appears beside her, his longer arms snagging their friend’s hand as he surges upwards for their aid——

          A dark, gargantuan shape coalesces within the blaze beneath him, and a hand considerably larger than the night elf’s reaches up through the blast to crunch into the starboard deck, shattering wooden boards and squashing metal like a crafter would clay, dragging Skyfire back to starboard just as it begins to pitch away.

          Valeera’s legs fly out from under her, cartwheeling over her head and slapping the hull of the ship on the other side of the rail, only her arm somehow still wrapped around the guard keeping her from tumbling to her death upon the jagged rocks below. Others too topple howling from the gunship, bodies sliding between the rails until the gaps are blocked by sliding debris, clanging off the metal shell of the fel reaver leering at them from below.

          Valeera’s gaze follows them, purposefully ignoring vision of the land far below, down to Varian, still there, still swinging wildly on the ladder, his face turned upon the last obstacle between the Alliance and survival. She catches his eye as he glances up again, aspect disconcertingly resolved?

          Before she can even fathom what he may be planning, before thought of him planning anything solidifies in her mind, he drops, hand deliberately slipped through Broll’s grasp, Shalamayne unsheathed from his back and aimed at the head of the thing that has them as the night elf shouts after him.

          Whatever Varian has planned, Valeera cannot let him go alone.

          She glances up at Broll, who manages only a syllable of her name in protest before she releases the rail.

          Valeera too pulls her daggers as she falls, thrusting them into the clutching arm of the demon. Her weight drags them down, tearing parallel gashes through the metal with an ear-piercing grating that squeals in her teeth. The arm falls and suddenly she is horizontal to the ground, legs hanging down in the open for a heart-stopping moment before her blades lose purchase and she falls from the fel reaver, limbs waving hectically for something —— anything, but there is nothing —— to grab.

          It somehow takes longer than she expected to hit the ground, long enough to feel calmly chagrined over the utter stupidity of Varian Wrynn and the indignity of a death by falling.

          Her back hits the stone ( somehow not as hard as she expected, either ), limbs crashing down upon it and her head whipping back so her skull smacks against it, too. 

          Alive. Somehow.

          Groaning, Valeera rolls onto her side as the fel reaver crashes to the ground, molten fel bursting from its riven head, apparently less durable than her own.

          “Fools!” Broll’s voice thunders as Valeera drags her knees beneath her and levers herself unsteadily upright, pain spasming through every inch of muscle and flesh. 

          The fel reaver is down for good, she discovers, and so are they. Her, Varian, also staggering to his feet, and Broll, who must have leaped after them both and used his powers to slow at least her own descent. Down on the very ill-fated battlefield they had just left.

          Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea…

          Skyfire chugs away from them. An army of demons too numerous to count trudge across the rock towards them, so assured of their imminent demise and the impossibility of escape to approach unhurriedly. The three of them inch towards each other and raise their weapons, tense with anticipation.

          “Just like old times,” Valeera’s ventures, determinedly buoying the tenor of her voice over the fear threatening to tremble it, “The three of us together against overwhelming odds. Forget gold —— I want a statue when we get back.”

          Not that any of them would be getting back anywhere.

          Perhaps they would get an effigy anyway, a stone tribute to the three of them in some sun-kissed garden of Stormwind, standing side-by-side as they are now —— hopefully looking more brave and less dishevelled than Valeera feels now, but Anduin would surely see to that. 

          Champions of the Crimson Ring. Slayers of Onyxia. Heroes of the Broken Shore, the plaque might read ( are they heroes even if they die in vain? probably, she thinks, there’s a whole valley of missing supposed-heroes at the gates of the city, though Valeera would prefer a statue not so large that a family of pigeons could roost within her nostril ).

          Maybe Liadrin will even visit it.

          “It used to be Valeera we were chasing after,” Broll rumbles.

          The resignation in his voice closes a hand around her throat, but Valeera compels herself to scoff at the affront, however feebly, “I recall chasing the two of you all the way across Kalimdor!”

          “Some things never change,” Varian interjects gruffly, “You two are still fighting each other when you should be concentrating on our foes!”

          A felguard finally lumbers close enough to swing. 

          “The leader!” Varian shouts as he wrenches Shalamayne in two, twin blades ringing against the broadsword of the first opponent as he shoves forward, plowing again towards the Tomb as if they have any hope of reaching it.

          Futile or not, they push through as one, weaving, slashing, grunting, somehow making more progress than the entire Alliance army had achieved.

          A spear is jabbed towards her. Valeera darts aside then in, hacking with her daggers first one enemy then another and another after that, opponent sometimes spontaneously swapped with Varian or Broll beside her.

          Once, Varian is there to fend off her attacker, his sword shoved into the demon’s chest then ripped free to press another.

          Valeera shreds the hamstrings of one encroaching on Broll, its kneeling body a momentary shield against its brethren until it’s flung aside.

          No elements to call on, Broll is forced to foster his own, flinging seeds that become roots ensnaring feet.

          Too soon, it becomes agony to lift her arms, to impel her body to move,  to dodge, to block, to attack. The leader is so close, but more and more demons encircle them, grinding their momentum to a halt bespeaking death.

          “There’s no winning this,” Varian finally heaves, somehow mustering breath Valeera does not have to spare, “Broll, take Valeera. Look after my son.”

          Daggers crossed to block the overhead swing of a broadsword meant to reave her in two, elbows quivering with the effort to hold it, Valeera scarcely processes the order before sharp talons clasp around her shoulders and she’s dragged unceremoniously from the ground, wind beat downwards by strong, feathered wings bearing her upwards.

         “Broll!” she cries, squirming desperately in his grasp, legs kicking fruitlessly, “What are you doing?! Let me go! Put me down!”

          The stormcrow the druid has become is unresponsive, stoically flapping higher until Valeera has to twist to look behind them where Varian fights on, his rapidly-shrinking figure beset by demons. He’s made it to the leader he’d identified, but there’s so many, two of them right behind him, if they could help——

          “BROLL!” she howls again, voice cracked with hysteria as her hands frantically wrench at the fleshy legs above her as if she might be able to steer him around with enough force, “Go back! We have to go back! Varian needs us! Broll! Please!”

           “Put me down so you can get him! There’s no time!” She strains for another glance back, the scene barely visible out of the corner of her eye——

          And then Varian is screaming, a long cry of escalating agony silenced by a flare of felfire, momentarily illuminating the hideous landscape in a flash of even more hideous green, “No!” 

          For a few moments more, Valeera grapples with the druid, twisting harshly this way and that, legs thrashing as if they might find purchase against the air with which to wrestle against his hold, voice hoarse from yelling, “Go back!”

          Eventually, with Skyfire swelling in size before them, her rebellion tapers, furious defiance draining with whatever surge of energy had sustained it. Her face crumples, chest so tight she chokes upon the wretched sobs that convulse within her abdomen and tremor up her ribcage to tear themselves from her throat. She slumps in Broll’s grasp, fingers lip around his claws, ears drooped and head sagging towards the sea rippling far beneath them ------ so oblivious to the tremendous loss inflicted upon her, upon Azeroth, that her outrage momentarily spikes again.

          Light damn the Horde, Light damn the Legion, Light damn Varian Wrynn!

          Hot, angry tears drip unimpeded from her chin.Tangy ocean breeze ripples her hair, dragging sodden, odious strands across her face she does not care to brush aside. 

[dragonhrte]

Destiny? Chapter Five: Out There

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for giving this work a read! Quick disclaimer, for all intents and purposes MHA/BNHA are not mine they do not belong to me. The manga and anime have inspired me to write this fiction and dialogue as well as events are given credit to the beautiful people who have blessed us with this series. Aside from standard story line events this work is mine. Here's a long one for you guys, sorry about the long wait. I've been busy with finals and such.

Please note that

*abc* is a sound effect

'abc' is internal thoughts of whomever

"abc" is dialogue

(abc) is a side note from yours truly ;)

~Love, DragonHearte

After walking home for the day I go to my room and immediately sit down at my desk. I type "Sludge Villain Incident" into the search engine, I get thousands of hits. After clicking on a few articles and videos, I find an amateur video taken from what seems to be a handheld device. The video quality isn't that good and it's also really shaky but it's the only video that taped the beginning of the sighting. The sludge monster appears to have a hostage, the camera zooms in to get a grainy image of 'Bakugo?' I would be able to recognize the utter hatred practically oozing off of him in waves. 

None of the heroes are helping him, I am not able to make out exactly what's being said. I squint at the video on my laptop, closely examining the events that are transpiring, and then widen my eyes, 'The sludge from the villain is covering his nose and filling his mouth! He's probably not even breathing!' Then, for a split second, the camera steadies and focuses on Bakugo's face. A pleading look, devoid of the ever-present scowl on his face. I quickly pause the video before I lose the image. I sit there cross-legged on my desk chair staring at the frozen image before me. 'How is Bakugo of all people even able to make that face? He truly looks like he's asking for help, not that he was helpless. But in a way acknowledging the fact he couldn't get out of that situation on his own. How can you make such a face?' I think this to myself as I stare at the image. The emotion in his eyes striking a chord deep within me. I open a new tab and search for articles on the incident, and I find the aftermath of the situation. At this point, I'm not really looking for anything specific, but I come across the date of the incident. 'This happened this past summer?' I think to myself.

 I can't help but admire the fact that Bakugo is not only strong physically shown by the group exercise, but he is also mentally strong. After enduring such a traumatic experience, he's been able to remain mentally sound. I shake the torrent of my own experiences from my mind, and turn back to the computer. I start to do my homework before I get distracted by my past.

Max is at work late, so I heat up the leftovers from dinner the night before. I set the table for one and carry my reheated meal to my spot. I eat in comfortable silence, not thinking about anything in particular, my mind wanders to the reports that I read earlier that afternoon. 'Bakugo was stuck like that for a while.' My mind flashes the image of his pleading eyes back at me. 'He was devoid of oxygen until Midoriya tried to help him. It was clearly Midoriya because the camera was able to capture a somewhat clear picture of him as he ran to Bakugo's side. Why does Bakugo hate Midoriya if he saved his life?' I dismissed the thought for the moment and put it aside to address another day.

I've gotten settled into bed and finished my homework. I turn off the lamp on my bedside table and allow myself to fall into the dark abyss of sleep.

*Beep*

*Beep*

I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock informing me that it is time to go to school. I reach over, face still stuffed in my pillow to turn it off. I miss the first two times, but I finally hit the right button on my third attempt. I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, and simply sit there for a few moments letting myself wake up. I look over at the time sleepily, and see 7:50 am. My eyes snap open, 'Oh no, I hit snooze too many times! I'm gonna be late!' After flinging away my covers and jumping out of bed I rush over to uniform, I have set out and hurriedly start putting it on. I hop over to the bathroom to brush my teeth while getting my second sock on. I grab a slice of toast on the way out the door, then I immediately turn back around to grab my phone and backpack.

I am sprinting through the halls to get to class with the least amount of annoyance on Mr. Aizawa's face when I get there. I skid to a halt right before I enter the room and try to catch my breath. I speed walk my way through the door and make brief eye contact with Mr. Aizawa before falling into a deep bow as I make my way to my seat. I walk in front of the class, then round the corner of the front row of desks. As I approach my seat, I hear a faint tutting noise. I swing my head towards Bakugo and catch him rolling his eyes and looking away from me. I bump into my desk and a short brief screech emits from it, my cheeks slightly heat up from the attention being drawn to myself.

"Schaffer, if you're going to show up to class late, be quiet while doing so," A violent blush spreads across my face as I sit down, "I guess tardiness is a trend today because All Might is late, but he will be meeting with us later on during class. Today we will be doing a rescue training. It's going to teach you how to deal with disaster relief from fires to floods. You can choose to wear your gym uniforms or not, just know that some of your costumes are not well equipped for this training exercise. We're also going to be transported to a separate training location via bus. Anyways, that's it so get changed and let's go."

When the class gets outside, we all are instructed by Ida on the proper way to board the bus. ‘Does he think we’ve never ridden on a bus before?’ I think to myself as I board the bus, I end up in the back and sit next to Yaoyorozu, it's a bit cramped in the back row, but not too bad. I keep to myself, but a conversation between Tsuyu Asui and Midoriya peaks my interest.

"Your quirk is similar to All Might's in many ways, Midoriya." Tsuyu states.

A look of complete panic comes over Midoriya, a bit more than his usual worried or panicked look, a quick thought passes through my head, 'I wonder what that's all about?' Stammering, Midoriya responds, "R-r-really? I n-never notic-ed!"

I quirk my eyebrow in confusion, and then Kirishima pipes up, "That doesn't make any sense, his quirk is different in a big way. He gets hurt whenever he uses his quirk, and All Might doesn't. His quirk is pretty cool, way cooler than my hardening quirk. It's pretty boring, I will admit though that it's handy in a fight."

I frown slightly at his comment about having a boring quirk and then turn my head when I hear Midoriya say, "It's not boring, I think it's really cool and extremely useful."

"Don't forget that in order to go pro, you also need popular appeal." Kirishima adds

"My navel laser is the perfect well-rounded quirk because it's cool and also strong." says the flashy, self-centered blonde, Aoyama.

Ashido cuts in and says, "Your quirk is great and all up until you overuse it and give yourself a stomach ache."

Aoyama's face turns bright red after this comment. Tsuyu says, "Todoroki and Bakugo have really strong quirks, but Bakugo is a giant asshole. He'll probably never be popular enough to be the number one hero."

I try in vain to stifle a laugh, thinking to myself, 'This is what the class thinks of him? That explains why I was the only one who voted for him.'

Bakugo then yells, "Who the fuck do you think you're talking about Frog-face?!"

He then jerks his head in my direction and shouts, "What're you laughing at?!"

I start to turn my head with the intent of responding, but then decide against it and resume looking at the scenery we pass by. I think to myself, 'I’m pleased to know I’m not the only one who thinks that you have a flaming turd for a personality.'

We get to our destination and file out of the bus. The class walks into the large building and there are so many different things to look at. A person in what appears to be a spacesuit approaches the class and says, "There's a zone for any and every disaster and accident possible. There's a flood zone, landslide zone, and conflagration zone to name a few. I built this facility and I call it the, Unforeseen Simulation Joint!"

'Who is this?' I ask myself, and overhear Midoriya say, "It's the space hero, Thirteen! He's a gentleman hero who does his best work in rescue scenarios!"

Thirteen and Mr. Aizawa speak briefly and then Thirteen resumes talking,

"Many of you know I have a quirk called, Black Hole, it can suck and tear apart literally anything. This is a cool but dangerous ability that has a high potential of killing someone. I'm sure many of you have an ability that fits this description. In our society, quirks are kept under control for safety. The system we have in place right now may seem sound, but we shouldn't forget that if we're not careful we can accidentally kill someone with these amazing abilities. Through the battle training you were able to experience that your quirks have the potential to hurt others. Your powers are not meant just to inflict harm, today you will learn how to use those same destructive powers to save people. I want you all to leave here today with the understanding that you are here to become a hero to help others."

When Thirteen is done with his opening statement, he takes a deep bow. The lights flicker and the fountain in the center of the building sputters for a second. I walk over to my group of friends. I poke Kirishima in the shoulder and ask, "What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know, I hope everything's okay though." he says as he casually places his arm on my shoulder.

All of a sudden Mr. Aizawa shouts out, "Huddle up and don't move," I look around at everyone in their costumes, there is collective confusion apparent on their faces. "Thirteen! Protect the students!"

Kirishima puts his other arm that's not resting on my shoulder up to his face to look out at the figures appearing in the center of the building and says, "What the heck is that? More battle robots like the ones we saw during the entrance exam?"

I go on my tiptoes and try and lift myself up to see the figures he's talking about when Mr. Aizawa says, "Don't move those are Villains!" 

"What villains would be stupid enough to come to a school full of soon-to-be heroes?" says Kirishima.

Yoayorozu asks Thirteen, "There are intruder sensors right?"

"Yes, of course!"

I think for a moment about the whole situation and then say, "Well, are they just here or are they at the main building too? Maybe the sensors aren't working because they have someone with a quirk that renders them useless... We're pretty far away from the school's main campus. There's not a lot of people here, but it feels like they picked this time specifically. So, maybe they're not as dumb as they look. Also they probably have an objective. This seems like a well thought out sneak attack."

Mr. Aizawa moves to the edge of the platform we're all on and says, "Thirteen take the kids back to the main campus, evacuate the building. Call the school. Like Schaffer said, there's a high likelihood that one of the villains is jamming the sensors with their quirk. Kaminari can you use your quirk to signal for help?"

"I can try!" Kaminari responds.

"There's too many! Sensei, you can't fight them all alone! Your quirk won't be able to nullify all of theirs. You work best as a subdue and capture hero. Your strength isn't head-on battle." says Midoriya.

Mr. Aizawa pulls his goggles up and over his eyes, then says, "A true pro hero, is well-rounded. Thirteen take care of my students."

He jumps off the ledge and plummets to the horde of villains below. My eyes widen in shock and awe as he's taking them down one after the other. Thirteen and the rest of the class start walking towards the doors to leave the building, but we're stopped by a dark smoky mass.

The smokey mass speaks and says, "I won't allow this. We are the League of Villains, we've come here with one goal in mind. To kill All Might, the symbol of peace. The schedule we intercepted promised he would be here. Perhaps he had a change of plans, it doesn't matter if they have. I still won't let you leave."

I quickly survey my classmates and see the fear in their eyes. I squint through the darkness and catch a glimpse of shiny reflective metal from the center of the mass. "There's something there in the most concentrated part of the entity." I say more to myself than anyone else. Then suddenly Kirishima is gone from my side and so is Bakugo from our group. I see them both dart forward.

*Boom* 

"You'll have to get through us first!" yells Bakugo

Kirishima shouts, "Ha! I bet you didn't think of that when you were planning this!"

"You're right I didn't. We forgot that you're not just students, but you are also going to be the world's best someday,"

"Boys, get back!" Thirteen exclaims.

The talking mass, starts expanding rapidly, blocking out the light. My feet move instinctually, sprinting towards them into the fray, with nothing going through my mind other than, 'Save them.'

An ominous message rings out, "Begone. Writhe in torment until you breathe you last breath." 

It's the last thing I hear before the darkness consumes me, and everything goes dark.

Chapter Six: Elsewhere

[tessatechaitea]

Teen Titans Spotlight #6: Jericho

Who are all the chubby children? The Quraci Newskids Legion?

If Joseph is lucky, Penny is totally hot for her father.

Arthur and Penny's plan is to destroy Qurac and replace it with a H.I.V.E. franchise. If I were Jericho, I wouldn't bother stopping them until after they destroyed Qurac. And I wouldn't feel bad about civilian casualties because according to DC's Who's Who, every single person living in Qurac is a vile terrorist. It makes it easier for writers to avoid political pitfalls! You don't just want kids in America thinking, "Fuck those Quracis! What devils!" You also want your Middle Eastern audience to be all, "Fuck those Quracis! What devils!" And since Qurac doesn't actually exist, you aren't losing any money from Quracis offended by their portrayal! Curt finishes telling Addie everything he knows even though I thought he already did that back when Joseph was still alive (wink, wink!). Adeline discovers that Lord is on his way to destroy Qurac so she rushes off to help. That leaves Curt alone to star in a wacky one page story that should probably end with fruit pies.

Apparently Marv's script was one page short and he needed to add some filler.

On the way to bomb Qurac, Penny's father regains consciousness and says those words that always make me giggle: "Penny, he's inside me!" Penny answers, "What?! Why didn't you use the warm potato salad trick?!" Penny realizes the only thing she can do is shoot her father in the head. I would probably try bluffing first but then I'm not H.I.V.E. material for a reason. But before Penny can pull the trigger, Joseph makes me laugh again:

Who forgot the potato salad now?

To save the capital of Quarc which is I have no idea, Jericho switches back into Arthur (and of course Arthur screams, "He's inside me again!") so he can attack Arthur's squadron of helicopters. Joey fails to blow up all the other helicopters so he just ejects the gas in Arthur's copter and bails out of the helicopter to hide inside some children. None of the children say, "He's inside of me!", because that would be inappropriate. Lord's helicopters begin destroying the Quraci buildings and even the narrator doesn't give a fuck about all the innocent deaths.

Because there are no innocents in Qurac!

Once again, Arthur and Jericho face off in hand to hand combat. Arthur tells Jericho, "I've beaten you once, son. I'll do it again!" Apparently Arthur doesn't quite remember his last fight with Jericho. To be fair, he was unconscious for the end of it. The fight ends when Penny shoots her father thinking that she'll somehow kill Jericho while he's still in the body. Maybe she's not as stupid as this moment makes her out to be. Maybe she secretly loved Joseph this entire time and was just waiting for the chance to kill her father!

Nope. Just stupid. And really fucking angry!

Arthur Lord manages to survive but he's left crippled. And Jericho returns to making lewd signs.

"I fuck butts now. I'm gay for cock."

Teen Titans Spotlight #6: Jericho Rating: B. I liked Jericho when I was younger because it was odd to see a sensitive hero who tried his best to resort to pacifism. Not wholly against physical violence when he had to engage in it but he definitely used his powers to try to deescalate situations. That seemed heroic to me when I was younger. And dumber, apparently, because I think comic book fandom is about loving huge fist fights! I'm totally getting on board that train now. Whoo whoo! No wonder so many people hated Tom King's run of Batman. What is the point of Batman if he's not breaking jaws and cracking skulls?!

[theblackbookofarkera]

Jibershik

Jibershik

The jibershik are extrasolar horrors that make their home in clouds of gas that drift through the bleakness of space. Through dark rites sorcerers can manifest these beasts into physicality, bind them and use them to terrorize their enemies. The jibershik appears as a writhing black mass of coiled black tendrils on a cone shaped body covered with oozing green eyes.

“The sorcerer’s tower burnt in a glorious conflagration of divine justice. With every exit sealed the abominations had no means of escape. The shrieks of pain broke above the roaring fire chilling the autumn air even more. When morning we investigated the ruins and as we suspected nothing survived. The charred corpses of the sorcerer and his pupils were of no consequence...it was the remains of his demon that was disquieting. We found no bones rather a congealed fool of fatty green slime spotted with burnt suckers and a cracked yellow beak.”

-Larson Faust, soldier of the 6th Hundrik Forest Regiment

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 1 - Of Monsters and Heroes

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1298

Summary: A summer hiatus series. The reader is a refugee from the apocalypse AU where angels pursue humans with righteous wrath under the rule of the archangel Michael. Against all odds, the reader awakens in a world where the apocalypse never happened and not everyone is who they seem to be. Does her heart truly long to save her world, or does it belong now to the last person she ever expected to give it to?

A/N: Chapters will be 1-2K a piece, bridging episode 13X18 Bring ‘em Back Alive [original post said 13X22 Exodus in error] through the finale and its aftermath (warning for SEASON 13 SPOILERS). The plan is to post an update every Thursday through the summer. Expect a smidgen of everything - angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, episode insert/coda, and smut.

Have a Masterlist Link!

Hot grit of sand between toes. Brown ridged swirl of a sea shell somehow cool to the touch on a day when everything else shimmers beneath reflective heat. Clean brine scent of breeze tangling salt-laced locks. Buttery soft taste of salt water taffy melting on tongue. Running into a wave. Twisting to brace against the impact. Limbs wild, body weightless, diving below the surface into enveloping silence – the endless blue sky and golden halo of sun an iridescent blur from this watery vantage.

When you break from the sea in a bubble burst of laughter to inhale a lungful of life there’s a man waiting. You’ve seen him before, but not here. He doesn’t belong here in his blackened overcoat, thick mass of chestnut hair parted in a harsh line to one side, a greased apparition of malevolence lurking in your happy haven of a summer day and bringing ruination to this bastion of safety in a bleak world no longer safe. Lazy sun-kissed weekends do not exist in this realm, his realm.

He leans in nearer until the ocean tide rolls back in fearful retreat from his rasping breath and you are left exposed and thrashing, shriveling in the unrelenting scorching rays of the sun.

He cups your cheeks, touch soft and tender as you recoil in repulsion. Pressing his forehead to yours, he whispers, “Be still,” in a language you do not comprehend and through no will of your own you go limp and feel a sense of comfort flowing through your veins – a spreading sort of numbness and tingling warmth to which it would be inviting to succumb.

You fight the soothing sensation, rallying your parched throat and tongue to quiver a meek protesting moan – a practically inaudible gulp denoting your crumbling resistance. You know what he offers is false. The reprieve will be fleeting – just long enough for you to regather your senses so he might sadistically smash them once more.

Features a collection of uncontrollable chaotic convulsions verging on fondness, he nuzzles his nose to your cheek, the gentle and intimate act in stark contrast to his dark demeanor and the unforgiving manner with which he treated your dearly departed comrades, one of whom is rotting in the far corner, mouth agape in awe. Working his way toward your ear, his words emerge as a lilting hum that raises the hair on the back of your neck. “Have you had enough of this yet? Will you talk? It’s simple, little one. Tell me what I must know and all of this will end. Yes?”

Your gaze flits from your dead friend opposite to the glossy pair of black leather gloves carefully laid out on the table behind your tormentor. A single beam of sunshine streaming through a boarded window illuminates them and the haze of dust hanging in the air. Forced to remove them to ply his trade of torture, you wonder briefly about the caged anger that must be provoked by the ritual and unleashed in this celestial creature who wears them to avoid begriming himself of the earth.

Grasping you by the jaw, rough fingers digging into your flesh in mounting impatience, he snaps your chin to the side to study your expressionless aspect. “Or do not tell me, and I will crack your skull to find the pretty pearl of knowledge you contain.”

Blinking, vision blurred by salt you’re certain came not from tears but from that long ago sea, you look into his milky white eye – opaque and dull like a dead fish – and the other shining sinister blue. You slowly shake your head no.

“Very well, my little one.” His upper lip skips and starts into a satisfied sneer. His fingers glide to encircle your brow.

Someone is screaming. Your brain feels like bursting with a pressure building from the inside out. Lava, molten and oozing, edges to erupt at the temples. Your teeth grit until every root rebels against the jaw, a mouthful of smoldering coals you cannot spit out. The metallic tang of blood from the chomped flesh inside a cheek chokes your vibrating throat.

The memories surge all at once – in a single second, less than a second – too much for a human brain to handle as he sifts through them. Nuances of the past rise and assert themselves in no particular order and the screaming grows louder. The man rips through every one of those recollections and sets the shattered remnants ablaze. He does not find what he seeks in this corner of conflagration, and so he delves deeper still, igniting the awkward remembrance of a first kiss at the county fair at the peak of a Ferris wheel.

A patter of gunfire, the displeased gravel growl of your angelic persecutor, and the tentative brush of lips coated with the sticky sweet residue of cotton candy to yours are the last things you experience before everything shifts to nothing.

“Over here, she’s breathing!” Dean shouts and stoops over your folded form, two fingers pressed to your jugular. He squints at your blanched lips, concerned greens roaming your pale skin, spattered purple and raw in more spots than not and caked with filth. He feels a persistent ragged pulse and begins to untie you from the chair to which you are bound. He winces as he unlashes cords buried deep into sinew and bone – evidence of your struggle.

Arthur Ketch stows one of his two withdrawn guns and steals up behind the hunter to examine his finding. Excluding the angel who managed to escape them in an armored truck, you are the sole survivor, barely flush with life, in a blood-saturated cabin significantly smaller than the mass grave of bodies heaped outside and the singed wingspans of the two dead angels out back. Humming his critical nasal summation of the scene, he eyes the jagged end of green-tinged bone protruding from the sopping wet crimson stained fabric of your pant leg and curls his lip in aversion.

Dean glowers over his shoulder at his unhelpful cohort, asking, “What?”

Ketch gestures the business end of his gun in your general direction and shrugs. “Look at her, she’s beyond saving. That fracture has festered too long. Best put her out of her misery and keep moving. We haven’t time for charity.”

Dean reaches out to swat away the smooth steel barrel of the gun and, repositioning himself between you and the itchy trigger finger Englishman, continues working on your binds, muttering, “You really are a heartless bastard.”

Ketch arches a brow, correcting, “I prefer the term pragmatic. Being a hero gets you killed.”

Dean slices through the final coil of rope around your ankle and snorts, “What about being human?”

Ketch’s heightened brow sinks into a fissure of forehead. “She’ll only slow us down. Even if she was conscious, she can’t walk.”

“I’m getting her out of here.” Dean winds one hand behind your waist and the other beneath your knees, trying his best to be delicate in his movements so as not injure you further internally or exacerbate the visible wounds.

“And then what? What’s the plan? We’ve less than two hours to get back to the rift. I don’t recall any hospitals on our route of return.” Ketch shuffles aside, watching Dean do all the grunt work of lifting your broken and bloodied figure.

“Then I take her to the bunker and figure it out from there.” Dean hoists you, cradling you in his arms. He marches forward, kicks at the door, and sunshine swallows your shared silhouettes as he steps outside.

In the brightness spilling into the cabin, Ketch admires the burnished leather gloves forgotten in haste on the table. He tucks them in his pocket for safekeeping and follows Dean into the fray.

Next: Ch. 2 - Welcome to Bunkerland

[uldren-sov]

Raike and Andra fluff or angst bbbbbbbbbbb

:)Hey do you remember something like this?

Warning: lil bit of horror

The gang belonging to the Maiden’s in the Mirror lived up to their fallen deity - fallen, like so many other gods before Her - using metal polished to a mirror’s shine with all the important things; armor, plaques, effigies, and their blades. A perfectly polished sword sparked as it skipped off Raike’s shield. The etched eye of Qokaris catching yet another blow, sending the blade screeching at contact and finding the wielder left wanting. The third strike, though, found purchase. Sliding through the defense, Raike saw the image of the underside of their own arm before red dashed the perfect reflection from their sight. At least until the mirrored blade seemed to drink deep of the blood.

They cried out, defense waivering as they lost the strength to lift the shield; indeed it was impossible for them to even raise their shield back up. And in a moment their faith was tested, they saw their reflection in the multi-paneled mirror helmet of their monstrous, undulating, rubbery adversary, and saw an end. Another end, since there have been so many ends amended since the start of this journey, but this time - perhaps they would finally be before Her Unblinking Gaze. Qokaris would find them in death and they would be able to see Her Radiance and await Her Eternal Conflagration at Her side.

You know better by now, my dear Raike.

“Raike!” And snapped from their reverie they saw the arrow in the helmet’s reflection before they even heard the whisper air as it passed by their ear. A quick volley struck the hellish aberration as black ooze first dribbled then burst forth from the punctures. Whatever it was made out of was spraying out at them, coating the cleric in the brackish inner workings of the attacker until they sagged and continued to pour out of the arrow holes, their rubbery skin unable to hold up their forms with the black ooze now spilling over the floor.

All around them was a similar sight: more of these mirror-adorned, rubber-spawns, burst forth with a slash or a stab, others in various states of liquidity as they came apart. Raike took a slow survey around, glancing back at the archer who saved their life. Andra already had another bow knocked and trained on the last living enemy before that one, too, burst forth with a gush of black, viscosity as it crumpled into a heap of rubber skin in this main hall - sanctuary - of the Maiden in the Mirror.

She looked, in between the moments of fighting, like if she could be swallowed up by her poncho - more than she already was - she would prefer it to this. And after all this, they couldn’t blame her. The worst and best thing to happen to their group, was Andra; the odd one out, the one who didn’t really ask, didn’t really choose, any of this. Yet, at least, she had some measure of compassion and concern. They prayed, sometimes, for her to keep that - above all else.

Raike let their head fall, watching themselves in the mirrored helm. They watched themselves catch their breaths with heaving gulps, watched themselves wipe the liquid from their ashy face. With a start Raike leaned down low to get a better look, their skin wasn’t that pale.

They pulled back, the reflection in the helmet did not. They watched as the face got closer and closer, until it simply pushed through the barrier. Oily black hair, ashen skin, and once-hazel eyes melted down the animate reflection’s cheeks as the image seemed to catch at the top jaw, an arm extended through the helmet, then the other, and then it lifted itself out of the helmet, its jaw catching, extending, distending, as it pulled the rest of it’s body out and lunged at Raike.

They weren’t sure if the thing was screaming or it was only them.

A horror like the one they found in the Gazer Chapel, the start of this crisis of faith, only this time the horror was them. It was all they could do to hold them off as they both collapsed to the ooze-smeared floor, grappling with a creature of their literal nightmares for one moment,

then the next,

and yet another excruciatingly terrified moment until that abomination, too, was riddled with arrows.

It turned to a similar black sludge in their hands, splashing onto their body due to nothing more than gravity.

They were numb to the strange grime of the being, not even going to start equating it to gore that was familiar. As they started drawing themselves up they heard the hurried, light, steps, rush right to them as Andra sank to her knees beside them.

“Raike! Raike, you’re not hurt, are you? Do you need to rest Are you - can I -” Andra fumbled with her words as they picked their head up. Her big eyes widened at something she saw then softened as her face fell to be heartbreakingly sad. “We should clean you up - are you okay?” And with the offer of her poncho, still on her slumped shoulders, Raike took the edge of it and simply wiped their face.

“No,” they heard themselves croak. There was a soft ‘oh’ they heard from Andra, an even softer touch atop their head, which they took as a guidance as they let themselves rest their head atop her legs. A hesitation before they felt warm hands settle over their cheek and at the base of their skull.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay, I’ll … I’ll … “ a frustrated sigh but, in all honesty, Andra already saved them twice. One day they hoped they could see just how powerful they were, both of capability and of character, but for now they were out before they could hear what Andra finally decided on.

[sasorikigai]

Emotional response: Your wife and son are dead because of you. You had too much blood on your hands to ever deserve peace and they suffered for your past. You have added their blood to your hands and no matter how you scrub, you will never be clean.

With one ask, try to elicit a strong emotional response from my muse || anonymous || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || How Hanzo Hasashi yearns for a detachable heart, a detachable brain to take them out, leave them on the bedside table, so that he may enjoy the nonexistent silence that would come after. But could he ever defy the fact that his limbs turn stone, his solemn stoicism petrified, as Grandmaster Hasashi recalls with utter chagrin the seemingly eons’ stretch of his being manifested as the walking hate, the fallen god of no mercy that would take and take everything, leaving everything asunder in the wake of his magmatic tears and ferrous stench of sanguine sprawled in his ire and vengeance. 

His guilt is rot, the inside of his body succumbing and suffocating; the mind controlling the movement, the subconscious controlling the warrior, the grieving husband and father, a wounded man’s thoughts and actions, saying, rot and burn, burn yourself ablaze in absolution as onslaught of regret further causes you to suffer in conflagrations as you transform yourself further as the heart of your everburning embers scorch the track through your trials and tribulations. 

Such accusations of Scorpion’s heinous crimes, and his own malevolence of the world causing the Earthrealm on the brink of extinction still causes immeasurable faults in his kintsugi heart and soul, which Hanzo must mend from oozing pus and precious passion. Embedded guilt and regret did transform and catalyze the pyromancer to burn himself ablaze, to reconcile and transform with the pain he caused, in order to serve and protect. Such viscerality and herculean weight of his proverbial emotions gather around the taut crease of his forehead, as dark brows pinch together, the tenebrous gaze honed with such obstinacy and indestructible dedication that no one could shatter and desecrate. “I have made my own choice, and with that, there is nothing I can do. Ultimately, I have found a way to live with that, lest what I do for the Shirai Ryu and Earthrealm may never be a salve for my guilt.” 

Grandmaster Hasashi has long relinquished the constructs of joy, warmth, comfort, embraces, and stability to welcome cold-hearted truths, discomfort, disquietude and isolation, and instability stemming from his Chaos aspect dwelling forever within. Hope may be too dangerous, too inconsistent, and too reliably wrong at times, nor he could expect these things in an idealized, perfected context and construct. Still, how blessed is he, to bemoan his chance at redemption and resurrection, as his inextinguishable and intent tenacity steer him towards the right path, as he strives to become the best version of himself. The one which he was destined to be pre-death. 

Hanzo Hasashi draws Harumi and Satoshi Hasashi with his eyes closed; their story may have been a story without a pen, nor an imagination, but in him, they become an immeasurable wick that will continue to cradle the hearth flame of his heart. However imperfect and incapable the Shirai Ryu ninja may become, or he may falter beneath greater challenges other than his own human flaws and vices, but they are the sunset stream pulverizing the raging darkness swarming within him. “My heart and soul blazes with effulgent love, because it bleeds excessively and continuously wearing their innocent blood. I may still be choked down with the lessons of my unforgivable past, but I no longer speak wrath as my vice and vengeance as my language; however unachievable peace and tranquility may become, the caliber of my ever-improving being will never wane nor diminish.”