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cheekygreenty · 3 years ago

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Little Witch - Part 10

The Darkling x Reader

*I’ve changed this part like 5 times so if there’s any inconsistencies I do apologize 😝

In a perfect world, you and Aleksander would have spent the day in his luxurious bed surrounded by his soft silk sheets. You felt an overwhelming feeling to open up to him, to tell him everything that happened to you since you saw him last, nearly a century ago, but life has a way to ruin perfect opportunities.

Wars didn't take breaks or vacations, they got more deadly as time went on and each side got more nervous as more people gave their lives to the cause. A solution was necessary and from your understanding, Aleksander still had the same plan as he did all those years ago he just had a different way to go about them. No doubt Alina was at the center of them.

You had business to attend to too. The first on the list was a meeting with the council. The King and his advisors were to be there to 'greet' you with open arms, but you were sure you'd have to put on a quick performance of your abilities to satisfy their curious minds.

Maybe that's why he gave me the shadows, to ensure my position. You quickly brushed off the thought. It didn't really matter to you why he did what he did. You had your shadows back. He claimed protection, but you knew there was a different reason behind it as well. It seemed too quick and too easy in your opinion but who were you to judge what kind of trust he truly had in you. You felt comfort that you always had piece of him wherever you went.

On a lighter note, you could finally wear a black kefta. The thought itself had you quickly leaping out of his bed and skipping to your chambers in a mere robe through the secret passages of the Palace. You didn't want anybody to see you leaving his quarters, not in the state you were in. You needed to grab a Healer and get rid of those very visible marks on your neck that Aleksander took his time creating. He intended to mark you as his own but jokes on him, you never wanted to belong to anybody but yourself.

Time passed and servents scurried in and out of your chambers, carrying information from here there and everywhere. You were already overwhelmed with tasks and your position wasn't even announced to the Palace yet. You were still the mysterious Grisha that served with the Darkling, not for.

Your vanity was covered in papers and reports in handwriting you had trouble reading and your bed had maps strung across it. Aleksander truly meant it when he said he would get you started right away and share his responsibilities as soon as he got the chance.

When the time finally came, you were escorted to the Grand Palace with Aleksander walking right next to you. The conversation was devoted to work and nothing else, Fjerdan intel, rumors of West Ravka and Zlatan, and upcoming skiff journeys but you didn't mind. You were damn good at your job, having started out in the First Army and then joining the Second Army had given you experience not even the General had, it's what made you the first pick when dealing with plans involving otkazat'sya soldiers, they respected you. I wonder if they will now.

You had spent 3 years in the First Army once upon a time. You came from a wealthy merchant family, a family full of drunks and abusers and cowards. You gave up the feeling of a full stomach and duck-feathered beds for the rations of the army once your mother admitted to you being a bastard and not worthy of the family name. What a shame. Look at me now.

You never knew what you could do, but a slip-up with a Tidemaker had you served to the Darkling on a silver platter. He was meaner then, more unforgiving. Your years spent with him after that had changed him, made him better in your eyes. You fell for him, hard, even though there was so much death and destruction in his wake. When you love somebody, it’s easy to see past all of the nasty stuff and focus on whatever is left of the good and Aleksander still had an abundance of if.

You could still remember his cold stare as he asked you what the hell you were. After pleading with him that you didn't know and his Heartrenderer confirming it, he whisked you away to the Little Palace where soon enough you had become his equal, if not his superior.

'I actually wanted to ask you something about one of the Grisha in the Palace. I seen her with Alina, red-hair, big blue eyes... she wore a white kefta?' You said as you wlaked down a mirrored hallway in the Royal building.

'Oh, that's Genya Saffin. She works for the King and Queen.' He said with an underlying tone of irritation.

'What does she do? She wears a white kefta so I'm just curious'

'She's a tailor. Member of the Corporalki. She should be wearing red, I know. But trust me the time will come' He ushered us both into a guarded room of glitering gold and pearly white walls. So tacky. I could make out the king slumped in an overdone throne-like chair.

'Moi tsar' you and Aleksander bowed much to your distastes. You hoped nobody had seen the brief look of disgust wash over your face as the Lanstov King rose and gave his advisors a raised eyebrow, signalling to you. A man wearing a navy uniform looked at you like a piece of meat ready to be devoured. I'm gonna throw up.

'Deputy General Y/L/N is it?' He took your hand in his own sweaty one gave it a wet kiss. 'You Grisha are always easy on the eyes aren't you?'

You took a step back and cleared your throat. 'Yes, Moi Tsar, it is an honour to make your acquantance' You tried so hard to keep your fists at your sides.

'And what can you bring to the war table, apart from the newest fashion' He let out an obnoxious laugh and his advisors followed. They all looked smug and spoiled. None of them had any idea what the real world looked like and yet had the audacity to sit this council. I'll show them what it means to be powerful.

Aleksander stepped away to the side and gave you a nod. You slowly unravlled your fist and plunged the room into darkness while simultanseoly blowing a strong wind throughout the space, letting papers fly in all directions and the fire go out. You relit it, and every candle in the room. The man in the navy unifrom got the runt of your powers, as you slowly medled with his heart until he breathed a worried laugh 'Stop it Girl'.

But you didn't stop, you carefully stared at the chair the man sat in and pushed it just enough for him to let out a yell. You accidently let out a chuckle that was meant to be in your head. You felt Aleksander move toward you 'All right, that should be enough' He said visibly amused too. You let it all drop.

'It's Deputy General to you' You looked at his fearful face that tried to cover by fixing his jacket and whiping away invisible dust off of his shoulder.

'I must say I am impressed. With the Sun-Summoner and... you, we will have West Ravka and the surroundings begging for our alliances.' He sat down on his chair once again and pointed to an empty one across from him and to the right of Aleksander, who unbeknownst to you had already seated himself.

'Please, Deputy General, do take a seat, we have business to tend to'

****

A painful 2 hours later you and Aleksander walked out of the Grand Palace. You had a headache and your hands hurt from clentching them so hard.

'I'm assuming you sitting the King's meetings for me is off the table now?' Aleksander mused and all you could do was give him a side-eye.

'I think I want to kill him'

'In due time'

You weren't even surprised. If he didn't do it himself you definitely would have taken one for the team. That man is unbearable; like a child in a grown man's body.

As you wallked into your home, Aleksander gently took hold of your wrist and pulled you in the direction of his quarters.

'Come'

Your head was pounding too much to say no so you obliged. The hallways were bare of people, not a Grisha in sight.

You reached his war room doors and walked in after him. He pulled out a map and laid it down.

'I've sent out a First-Army search for the Stag.'

You paused. The headache suddenly gone. Morozova’s Stag. He had tried once before and failed. The weeks following his failure sent him into a frenzy, he questioned Morazovas journals and almost burned them all, but you had gotten to him last-minute. You never doubted the stag to be real. You just never believed he would use it. He's powerful on his own unless- it's for Alina.

You audibly sighed and leaned your back against the table. Alina.

'Does she want it?'

'Does that matter?'

‘Of course it matters!’ You scorned but he stayed silent.

You turned to look at him and whispered 'What are you planning this time?' He had been dropping hints here and there, but so far there was no plan you knew of. 'I can't help you if I don't know the plan'

'No. You're better of not knowing anything. I can't lose you again' you turned you head and looked at his side profile.

'But you need me. I'm powerful, I can lead an army'

'If anything happens you can take over for me then, Deputy.' He cocked a sad smile and left a lingering kiss on your forhead before he left you standing in the war room alone and confused.

Part 11

Taglist

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal

#shadow and bone #grisha #imagine #the darkling #the darkling x reader #alexander #alexander morozova #alina starkov #ben barnes #fanfic #black general #general kirigan x reader #shadow summoner #keftas

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etjwrites · 4 years ago

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OC Backstory - Emotion Edition | Week 5: Free/Courage

Week 0: Introduction || Week 1: Fear || Week 2: Joy || Week 3: Disgust || Week 4: Sadness || Week 5: Anger ||

Is it over already? This was so much fun! I really enjoyed participating and reading everyone's pieces. Thanks to our wonderful hosts @cirianne and @kosmosian-quills for putting this on! These prompts filled my mind with layers upon LAYERS of backstory, and really helped me flesh out Brom as a character. Afallon is so much better because of it!

You probably stumbled upon something between the last prompts, that moved you. An idea that didn’t really match the prompt. A backstory character that deserved exploring. A question that stayed unanswered. For this week, I encourage you to look for these questions and explore them, write on them, and tell me about it!

In keeping with the theme of this event, I chose yet another emotion, the story behind which I'm excited to share with y'all! Brom is about 14 here. (I started writing this and it wouldn't stop. Help.) @yourocsbackstory

“These paths look treacherous,” Brom said, glancing nervously back at the way they'd come. He and Prentice had been traversing the numerous twists and turns of Hyphantria's revered caverns for quite a while, looking for all the secret entrances. Each time they explored the maze-like tunnels, they went a little farther, a little deeper.

Prentice waved a hand dismissively. “I've a sure foot.” He tapped the top of his boots with his walking staff. “Furthermore, how often have we quested here? These caves are as familiar as mine own hands.”

“We left familiar behind two chambers ago,” Brom reminded his friend. “I'm actively adding to our map as we progress.”

“If on the map, 'tis familiar,” Prentice rejoined. “No matter how new the path may be.” He patted the crystal-studded wall to his left. “In fact, I almost feel at home.”

“The whispering,” Brom said, unease, twisting in his chest. “It's stopped.”

Prentice quirked his head, listening. “Why so it has,” he said, brows knitting together before sheer panic stamped itself onto his features. “Brom, run!” He turned and dashed back through the tunnel, Brom following, the both of them slipping and sliding and cutting themselves against the sharp-edged walls.

Beneath their feet, the earth started to rumble, and dread seized Brom's heart. Would they die down here in the bowels of Hyphantria, ground into dust by the ceiling collapsing upon them? He pushed faster, past Prentice, towards the sparkling glimmer that marked one of the other large chambers whose tunnels would lead them back to the surface.

A sharp cry made him whip around and jerk to a stop. Prentice had fallen, struggling to regain his feet amidst the wobbling, unstable ground. A stalactite shook loose and crashed to the ground just where his head would have been, had he not managed to roll away in time.

Brom staggered towards him, hand outstretched, when the earth shook mightily.

Prentice flung himself at Brom.

Too late.

With a great, groaning sigh, the floor gave way, and Prentice tumbled deep into the newly formed crevasse.

“Prentice!” Brom screamed, dropping to his hands and knees, swaying with the sudden shuddering of cavern. He called his name again, peering desperately into the dark. But while the softly glowing crystal shards that lined the Shalott caves could well enough light the paths and tunnels they'd been exploring, their gentle luminescence was unable to penetrate the deep, yawning blackness that fell away in front of him.

He called again and again, but there was no answer. Either his friend had fallen so far he could not hear him, or he been knocked insensible upon landing. Neither scenario was desirable, and Brom squeezed his abruptly burning eyes shut, refusing to consider the possibility that Prentice might be gone.

No. He had to be alive. Had to be alright.

Ominous rumbles filled the sharp-toothed cavern, more stalactites falling during a particularly vicious quake.

The wisest thing to do would be to run, to flee to the next chamber and worm his way through one of the escape tunnels until he could see the sky once more.

But Brom couldn't leave Prentice here to die. He would be the worst kind of coward if he did that. His first and only friend in all of Hyphantria, who risked all manner of danger to sneak him across the boarder on occasions such as these, and showed him many of the wonders his mother's country had to offer. Brom would save him. Or die trying.

“Give me strength,” he prayed. He thrust trembling hands into his pack, withdrawing his climbing rope. He kept up the silent prayers. He felt so utterly alone, the jarring earthquake shaking and horribly distorting the natural light of the caves so he could barely walk. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he breathed, reciting the verses over and over even as his hands shook so much he could barely fasten the clips in place.

Brom tugged hard on the rope once he had tied it off, looping it around for added strength. He looped his climbing pick around his hands, aware he could lose a limb if it snagged in the wrong place, at the wrong time, yet horribly afraid to lose his means of retreat. With one of the picks he struck the vibrating wall, breaking off some crystals, which he tied about his arms.

“Prentice!” he called once more, and again received no answer. “Please be alive,” Brom prayed. “I need a miracle right now.”

Then he turned around, and—clinging to the ropes—lowered himself into the black abyss.

Brom descended for long minutes, the crystals lashed about him providing the faintest light. He steadily climbed deeper, the glow from the ceiling above diminishing until it felt like a distant memory.

This far down it was cold. The quake continued to rage, and Brom grew ever aware of a powerful thirst that made dizzy. But he dared not let go of the rope, not even to slake his needs.

His feet touched ground. He'd reached a small ledge.

Brom relaxed for half a moment, and then a terrible jolt flung him off its crumbling edge. He hit the other side of the crevasse hard, the breath knocking out of him and leaving him gasping as the rope tied around his middle yanked him to a stop. He hung there, dangling in the air, fingers barely able to brush either side.

Thankfully his picks had stayed attached, so he struck out with them, painfully aware that he'd run out of rope, and yet hadn't found Prentice. Brom gulped. He would have to climb up again and unloop the rope.

Ascending seemed to take twice as long, and Brom's arms were shaking when he reached the top. Everything was cast in an eerie blue and white glow, and Brom could feel that time was running out. If he didn't find Prentice soon, the falling stalactites might well block their path home.

Once he had the rope unfurled to its full length, Brom ventured once more into the place that had swallowed his friend. He passed the spot where he'd had to stop before and kept going, deeper, and deeper, the chill of the abyss freezing him to his bones.

And there!

Prentice's walking stick was wedged into a narrow part of the crevasse, two bloodied hands clinging to it.

Brom started crying.

One of Prentice's hands slipped, and he swore at Brom. “I didn't hold on this long for you to lose heart at the finish!” His voice was horse, likely from screaming. The shock had hit each of them in different ways it seemed.

Ignoring his friend's harsh words, words that were driven by the terror in Prentice's eyes, Brom rappelled down closer. He gathered up the slack in the rope and looped it around Prentice's waist, securing it using a knot his father had once taught him.

“You can let go,” he said, testing the rope to make sure it still held fast.

“I confess, I cannot,” Prentice said, shaking his head minutely. His clothes were torn to shreds, like he'd scraped against the walls the whole way down until his stick had caught, and he had cuts and freshly-formed bruises adorning his entire body. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a jagged cut bisecting it that stretched from his cheek to his temple.

“One hand at a time,” Brom said, getting his hand under Prentice's and shifting it from the stick to his shoulder. He did the same with the other, and the next instant Prentice was clinging to him, limpet-tight.

A massive shudder rocked the cave at that moment, and the gap widened, Prentice's stick dislodging and spinning away into the darkness.

If I had been but a moment later, Brom thought, unable to repress the full-body shiver that twitched through him. He slid one of his picks into Prentice's hand, slipping the loop over his wrist twice.

“You must help me climb, I have not the the strength to lift us both.”

“Aye, 'tis time that I cease clutching you like a babe,” Prentice said, the words meant to be joking. The fine tremour in his voice spoiled the effect.

They struck out together, Prentice and Brom, inching their way up until they reached the cavern floor. Mercifully, the distressing bucking had stopped, and they lay on the rubble-strewn ground until they caught their breath.

“Thank Heaven,” Brom uttered aloud, and Prentice nodded solemnly along.

“You saved my life, Brom,” he said.

They rose to their feet and began the arduous, limping walk back to the escape tunnels.

“I owe you a great debt. I should never have placed you in this position. I . . . I almost killed you. I would not have begrudged you had you fled and left me behind.”

“I wanted to,” Brom admitted, shame flushing his skin. “At first. I was so afraid.”

“But you did not.” Prentice paused for a moment and clapped Brom on the shoulder before they resumed their trek. “I really thought I would die. I screamed and screamed, but you didn't answer. Or I couldn't hear a response amidst the earth's pain. The longer I held on, the more I began to wonder if I were mad for simply not accepting my fate. I had myself near about convinced that I should just let go.”

“Then I saw you, descending into the pit like the Archangel Michael himself. You could have died rescuing me. You looked as terrified as I felt. But still you threw yourself into the unknown. For me. In the greater world, we are yet seen as boys, but Brom—I tell you truly—you are the bravest man I've ever known.”

They turned a corner, and the bright sun greeted them.

Additional thanks to everybody who has read and commented on my work for this event. Y'all rock!

Tag Crew: @adie-dee @writtendevastation @catharticallysarcastic @francestroublr @crystallized-ink

#it is here; it is very late. But it is done!#writeblr #am writing #yourocsbackstory #emotion edition #brom #afallon #etjwrites

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otome-writer51 · 5 years ago

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A Ninja’s Kin Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

With his menacing grin that screamed death, I knew I was done for, but I was determined to not let him see any tears.

“How does it feel?” He questioned me, “You are about to be killed by your own blade, with your enemy’s blood all over it.” ‘How do I feel?’

“I would say it feels worthless. You didn’t deserve this win, you are killing me, defenseless, in front of my children. You are a coward!” I spat every single word at him, and it was as if my cold tone made the night air feel like an endless winter.

“Ha! You just can't accept that you, such a filthy piece of trash, are going to be wiped off the face of the earth.” Laughing sardonically, he got ready to end my life.

‘I lived a good life, I truly did. So why don’t I feel okay that it is ending?’ I tried to convince myself that this was okay, that I was going to be okay, that my family was going to be okay… that everyone was going to be okay. ‘Please boys, if you’re watching, look away. I cannot bear to let you see this; this evil soul ending my life.’ Mentally preparing myself for the end ended up with me asking for one last plea. ‘Please… if anyone is... truly out there… give me one more chance.’ Closing my eyes, all I remembered of this moment was one tiny tear sliding down my face.

Swosh!!!

The sound of the blade rushing through the air made my blood run cold.

“MOTHER!” ‘Takeshi?’ My boy called out to me, and my eyes flew open. Looking in his direction, I couldn’t believe what I saw. In his hand was one of the devil’s swords. “Catch this, mother!” He threw me the sword, and in the knick of time I was able to cross my blade across myself.

Putting all my energy into it, I pushed up as his blade made a resounding clang; so loud that it could have probably been heard throughout all of Japan. ‘Whoever you are, thank you for answering my prayer,’ that thought gave me enough energy to even the playing field with this gruesome man.

He was stunned, and infuriated, that I had survived his advances. But he left me no chance to escape, and it was now a battle of wills. If anything, he was more hell-bent than before on killing me.

Sweat was forming at my brow. I was expending all of my energy, but strangely I did not feel tired. “I will not be the one dying tonight,” I hissed at him through gritted teeth.

“Don’t delude yourself with worthless thoughts. I clearly have the advantage here, you are no match for me.” He nastily snarled at me.

We were glaring at each other; both of us testing our wills as we tried to push the other to the brink. This fight seemed never-ending, with neither of us willing to give the other an open.

‘What’s that?’ I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, a silhouette that could only belong to the one and only. He was propelling through the air, coming right for us.

“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!” Letting out a blood curdling screech was my beloved Yogurt. Haru threw him, knowing the flight would scare the poor chicken.

Finally, an opening! Yogurt’s squall froze my foe, and I was able to gain the upper hand.

Using all the force in my body I drove upward, twisting in the air, knocking the barbarian flat on his back. I was now in control. I stepped over him, one foot on either side of his large body. I was ready to kill. ‘If it wasn’t for my sons watching and my kind heart, this blade would already be through your skull.’

With my enemy on his back, I raised my sword to his throat. Standing tall above him, I spat at him with disgust, “As fate should have it, the god of death evades you today, for I am a lot more forgiving than my husband.” I pressed the tip of the blade into his skin, but not enough to draw forth his crimson tears. “But I swear-if you ever lay a hand on my children again, I shall drag you by your throat to hell myself.” Punctuating every last syllable with malice, I made this man a promise he would be foolish to ignore.

Looking up at me in defeat, he resigned himself to his fate; he lost.

‘I still do not know who this man is, but I am not so daft to think he will tell me now.’ While I understood that I would never know who this man was, I knew for certain that I would never forget his face. I leaned down, getting as close to his face as I could get without touching him. Growling, I offered him two final words, “Get. Out.” I spoke in such a way that made me feel certain that the real devil possessed my soul.

Scrambling to his feet, the man retreated hastily out of our sight for good. ‘He knows better than to return here now.’ Lost in my thoughts as I watched him disappear, I failed to notice two brave warriors coming to stand by my side.

“And don’t you ever come back!” on my left, my shining light, Haru shouted at the evil man.

“And good riddance,” on my right, my brave and courageous Takeshi spat, kicking up some dust.

“Now that’s a woman right there.” Grabbing my attention with that sly phrase was none other than Yukimura. He was standing on the veranda next to my daughter, who happened to be standing next to…

“Hey there, little lady,” the man cooed with a cheeky smirk.

My husband, Saizo, was finally here. ‘A minute too late I’ll say.’

“Daddy! Father!” My sons shouted in unison, running up to give him a hug.

“Mommy!” My daughter exclaimed, checking to make sure I was actually standing in front of her. She jogged over to me and threw her arms around my torso, squeezing so tight I thought she was going to break me in half.

Haru excitedly looked up at Saizo. “Did you see that? Did you see how cool mommy was? She took that guy down, and not even for a moment did I think she was going to lose. Wait, wait, wait! I can’t forget about me,” Haru just couldn’t get his questions out fast enough. He didn’t even give his father time to respond to one before he started another one, “How about me? Daddy, did you see how cool I was? Because of my quick thinking, I helped her win. If I didn’t throw Yogurt at that guy, mom would have never gotten the upper hand.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for me throwing mother that blade, we would be having a very different conversation right now,” Takeshi made sure to let everyone know. “How about that father? I was so much cooler than Haru, right?”

‘One-upping each other already. It’s like none of their teamwork ever happened.’

Chuckling at his sons’ behavior, Saizo did not succumb to favoring one son over the other. Instead he gave them what they wanted more. “You two have many strengths independently. When you work together, you’re stronger, hm? Use that to your advantage.” Constructive criticism, yes. They loved to be praised, but they always preferred to learn what they could improve upon.

“Thank goodness you’re okay,” A sweet little voice said to me, pulling my gaze down to her. “I was so scared when I left you. I had no idea if I would ever see you again.” Burying her face in my messy robes, she held back her sobs, wanting to look strong in front of her father. I gently stroked her hair, trying to calm down her shaking body.

Yukimura was the next to speak. “What happened?”

The mood turned serious with his question. Hoping to ease the tension, I answered, “I honestly have no idea. The kids were finishing up with training, and we were about to go inside until the boys started acting like fools.” I gave them an accusatory look for their behavior earlier today.

They looked away from me, not wanting to look straight in my eyes. They were hoping I would have forgotten, but much to their dismay, I hadn’t.

“Haru went to go fetch the training sword he launched over the fence. When he didn’t come back after a while, Takeshi went to go find him. They both came back moments later, tied up and gagged in that horrible man's arms.” I recalled the day's events.

They were still fresh in my mind, ‘I don’t think I am going to forget this day for a long time.’

“What was his reason for being here? Did you get his name?” Yukimura was now the one asking rapid fire questions.

Saizo interjected, “Now, now, little lord, if she knew that, we would already know, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t hurt to ask,” Yukimura defended himself.

I decided to jump in on their conversation, “I have a very good feeling that the said man will not be returning here ever again.”

“And what makes you so sure?” The lord prodded.

“I know,” was all I said, smirking at the men in front of me. ‘I know because I instilled fear in that man that would last him even in his after life, when he ends up in hell of his own accord.’

“Well I think it’s about time to eat. My love would have prepared a wonderful meal a while ago, and it is just waiting to be eaten.” Realizing this conversation was going nowhere, Yukimura politely found himself a way to go back to his life.

Saizo wasn’t going to let him get away so easily though. “Boys, Sakura,” he called out to the kids, instantly having their undivided attention, “Why don’t you join Yukimura for dinner?”

“What!!!” Yukimura exclaimed.

“Ah, you three, your father is right. You guys haven’t had the chance to eat dinner yet. You had a late training today, and other issues resulted in you three not eating. I am sure you all are starving,” I added in, the mother in me worrying for my babies’ bellies.

“You don’t mind, do you, little lord?” Saizo asked in a tone that demanded no arguments.

“No, no, I guess I don’t,” Yukimura said with a confused look on his face, almost as if questioning how he got wrapped up in watching our kids for the evening.

“Alright, now go on, you three. Go have dinner with the little lord and his family.” Saizo ushered the boys to Yukimura.

I pushed Sakura towards him as well. “Have fun! I’m sure Momo and Yuuta will be excited to see you guys.” Momo and Yuuta were Yukimura’s children; Momo was his beautiful girl and Yuuta was his little rascal, who was much like my own rascal Haru.

Excited to finally be getting food in their tummies, and to spend time with their friends, the three of my children cozied up to the lord’s side.

“Let’s go uncle Yuki, I’m so starving!” Exclaimed Takeshi, followed by vigorous agreement from the other two youngsters.

Yukimura still wore a confused expression, but I knew he loved my children just as much as Saizo and I did. He was happy to be able to spend time with them, even though he wouldn’t come out and say it. “Goodbye!” And with that, the four of them set off to the dining hall where a delicious dinner was awaiting them.

With the rambunctious quartet out of here, my full attention was now focused on my favorite man in the whole world.

“How was your meeting?” I questioned him.

Saizo glanced back at me. “Not very exciting. Seems like you had more fun today, hmm?”

“Loads of fun, I can't believe you deal with them like that everyday.” The boys were at each other’s throats all day. “I thought Takeshi and Haru were going murder each other.”

Saizo was chuckling at my surprise for how hostile my boys got when they were training. “They are like that, yes. Even Sakura, sometimes.” Walking over to where I stood, he took a jibe at me, “You’re a wreck.”

“Seems you still haven’t learnt to be gentle with your words, my dear husband,” I shot back at him knowing full well I was a mess, but that didn’t mean I had any desire to be told I looked like one.

“Hmm, that so, little lady?” Saizo prodded, knowing full well how much I loved him for who he was.

“You know I don’t answer questions you already know the answer to.” He was being obnoxious on purpose, and we both knew that.

Flashing me a devilish grin, Saizo stepped closer, now less than an inch away from me. “Wow! You’re a mess and you stink.”

I was slightly offended by the abrasive words he used to describe my appearance, but I couldn’t let him know that. “That’s what happens when you’re as awesome at kicking ass as me.”

Unable to play along with me even once, “You were good, but you could have been better.” Saizo threw that backhanded insult at me. He could not give a compliment without leaving the rude bit aside, could he?

“Well, O Lord Assassin, if I could be so much better, how about you spar with me?” I dared him. If he wanted to question my skills, then I would show him just how good I was.

Part 5

#love 365 find your story #love 365 #samurai love ballad party #SLBP #slbp saizo #slbp yukimura #slbp fanfic #fanfic #family au #fluff #saizo fluff #badass chicken #badass wife #badass mom #adorable kids #sexy ninja #YOU ARE A QUEEN AND YOU DESERVE THE WORLD BUNNY

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eyeofmud · 5 years ago

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Run, Boy, Run

Angst August prompt exchange for @dankou <3

If he blinks there’s nothing to hold the memories back. Days on the road, empty and barren and stretching so far Carver isn’t sure where the sky ends and the way home begins, have done little but add leaden weights on his shoulders. Each step heavier than the last. Not that it matters, not anymore. Carver will walk until his legs give out beneath him if he has too, go down only when he can no longer stand up.

Grey skies cast shadows beneath Carver’s eyes and he refuses to let them shut. Rain is coming but it won’t do anything except force dirt to give way to mud. It won’t slow either of them down, not him and not the horde behind. And Maker be damned if Carver doesn’t reach home first.

His footprints leave crimson droplets in the dusty earth, the last of his bandages soaked through hours ago now. The fire in his leg died out well before he started down this road leaving numbness in its wake. His eyelids are so heavy, the burn behind them more vicious than the nothing feeling of his leg. If he blinks -

The sweet smell of death is familiar. It’s unavoidable on a farm, animals sicken and die or are slaughtered for winter, fevers take the young and old without proper care. Something to grieve, yes, but not to be frightened of. Never to be terrified of.

But darkspawn reek of horrors and paint the battlefield with cruel crimson strokes. Stories Carver grew up with could never tell the real tale of this, there is no glory to be found amongst corpses. The stench sits between his teeth and he wonders if the screams of those around him are desperate attempts to force the stink of death from their own tongues. May the Maker have mercy on their souls.

Their pleas don’t seem to have any effect on the living, or at least, not the ones the dying want. Shrill screams linger in Carver’s ears, the rumbling ones burrow through his chest, and the gurgles of the truly lost sink between his ribs to squeeze the beating of his heart. A true fear the likes of which Carver has never known.

The sword in his hand isn’t heavy and yet Carver’s arms still ache. Teeth bared in the face of a slaughter. Carver can’t afford to lose, none of them can. If this horde breaks their line all of Ferelden is lost with them.

And Carver won’t let that happen.

Jerking his head violently to the side Carver grits his teeth and forces down the bitter bile rising in the back of his throat. He just has to make it before the darkspawn do. Shuddering breaths, lungs on the verge of collapse. Carver takes step after wooden step and still the road stretches out before him. Blurred around the edges.

He doesn’t remember it taking this long.

A rumble of thunder rolls across the plain and reverberates inside Carver’s chest. He didn’t see the lightning. Dark clouds boil over head and the air is humid, thick with the anticipation of a late spring storm. Carver licks lips tasting of rust and wonders if the rain will wash clean the spoiling filth from his battered armor.

His vision swims but Carver just keeps shaking his head, like a dog with water in his ears. Sprinkling blood across the road. Not like this. The air turns sharp as he breathes, sticks in his throat and slices through his lungs, burning until nothing is left. Please, not like this.

If he blinks they’ll catch up with him. Carver’s legs are weak but he still stands, his steps wobble but he still takes them. Gasping, limping. Alone now on an empty road heading to a home he couldn’t save.

No. No, a home he will save.

Darkspawn don’t take prisoners. Not of soldiers, at least. A quick death is a blessing on this battlefield, where the blood is beginning to gather in pools and the reinforcements they were counting on aren’t coming. Retreat isn’t a word Carver will let fall from his lips and it isn’t one he hears called on the horns. Yet it doesn’t stop cowards from turning their back on their duty.

Battle descends into chaos. Lines of men break and cower and run. Carver pushes through them, don’t they understand what they’re fighting? They can’t turn away from this, not without knowing it will follow them home.

Only attacking, not thinking about the repercussions. Swinging near blindly into the horde, his first taste of battle coating his tongue with acrid hopelessness. If he can just go further, kill more. The horde is endless but even one fewer might mean they never make it far enough to threaten his home.

But there are so many darkspawn.

And Carver’s arms ache.

His chest heaves with desperation, his eyes sting with despair. If he blinks he’ll miss them, swing too wide and they’ll catch him. So Carver keeps his eyes wide open and he fights with the energy of the damned. Because he isn’t letting the horde further. Not unless they step over his corpse.

Stumbling in the road Carver falls to one knee. Collapses in the dust and tries not to scream. Not like this!

If he is going to die it will be fighting, it should have been fighting.

There’s so many of them, a roiling wave of putrid damnation. Blight. He has to make it, to warn them. Carver tries to stand but his leg, his leg

Carver screams. Voice giving out around the burning of his leg, eyes finally blinking shut. A hurlock, its fetid breath in Carver’s face as it raises a sword dripping with his blood to deal another blow. Finally.

Hip to knee a line of fire eats at Carver’s sweat soaked flesh, the sting of salt and malaise. But it’s not enough, not by far. Scream turning to shout, a sword raised to block. Carver keeps fighting, because he can’t let them further.

He can’t let them -

Hands on his shoulders. Yanking him backwards and out of range from the hurlock. Carver snarls, fights back, “Let me go!”

“Get out of here, son!” Another set of hands, a grey beard and hard eyes.

Pushing back, struggling to fight and to kill and protect. “We have to stop them what are you doing?!”

A third joining the others, forcing him to retreat, to pull back. “Saving your damn life.”

This time Carver watches the lightning strike through the clouds. It cuts through the grey in a brilliant streak of white so bright it’s nearly blue and Carver is almost prepared for the thunder. Roaring instead of rumbling, shaking the heavens with the anger of the storm, an anger Carver finds sympathetic.

The first raindrop lands on his shoulder. The second on the puddle of blood beneath his knee. And all at once the heavens part and the rain falls in a deluge of clean water. Washing the puddle from crimson to pink. Ozone replacing the lingering stench of dried blood and death.

Even if he has to crawl, claw his way through the mud, Carver isn’t going to die here, alone. Not like this.

He just can’t blink.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age origins #carver hawke #my writing #exchanges

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 5 years ago

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Keep Your Eyes On Me Part 8

Ya’ll are gonna HATE ME. And that’s ok. I hate myself a little too but I have been planning this since the moment I had Astrid/Zara meet and stay with Ivar. Am I evil? Yes. Am I mean? Yes. Am I dramatically extra? Hell Yes. But am I heartless? Not completely? I don’t think? Maybe, I don’t know.

This is how I feel about this part anyway.

@waiting4inspiration thank you again for hosting this 2k writing challenge. Please don’t black list me. *nervous laughter*. So in case you missed it. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 and part 8 is below. Enjoy- if you dare.

Part 8

As weeks turned into months and your belly grew heavier and heavier, the out suddenly seemed to loom over you and you warred with yourself. Every time you saw Ivar lose his temper, especially with Freydis and all the times you had to stop him from actually choking her or hurting her, the less in love with him you felt and the more you realized he could be a monster sometimes, he never lashed out against you because he knew you could fight back and kick his ass but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still lash out against Freydis on his bad days. But then when he was sweet and kind towards you and absolutely doting on Dyre and calling Dyre his son, the more you wanted to stay because you could see the potential in him and part of you really wanted to give him that happy ever after. But if you did stay, your fate would be the same as Freydis’ and you didn’t want to really live in fear of Ivar and his moods and you didn’t want Dyre to grow up here either. You wanted to go home. Bjorn had met his destiny and living it and so your mission was technically over but in order to insure that he would remain safe, you had to wait until the out.

Plus Sephira had put on a hell of a show and Riley and Alex had actually done you a favor in trying to intervene. Sephira had used holograms to show her ‘discipline’ although once the girls got back to base they apologized and revealed that they did actually get grounded for six months with their pay being forfeited to you as recompense as Riley was then put under the wing of a new mentor so she wouldn’t make those mistakes again moving forward and her mentor was your old mentor, the oldest and the toughest BAMF in the order- Sephira’s sister- Ruby who looked just like Sephira but was red instead of blue. You shuddered to think the paces Ruby would put Riley through because the threat of being re-trained by Ruby was enough to make any agent want to stay well within the codes of conduct to avoid it.

But now, Ivar was going to leave again and you begged and pleaded for him to get Freydis pregnant before he left so that way he’d be coming home to two new children instead of just one. You hoped it would be enough so that he might not kill her when he came back. Freydis for her part had already let resentment grow in her heart. She resented you because Ivar seemed to love you more than he loved her and loved your son more than his own. But she would hold up her vow and not act out against you or Dyre.

When Ivar left, Freydis seemed to disappear for long periods of time and you knew she was scheming with Bjorn Ironside and you made a point to tell her that you wanted to be absolutely ignorant of what she was up to and that you kept your nose out of her business and simply alluded to the fact that you knew she was seeking revenge for Baldr and that you could not blame her for following her heart in doing so and gave her the validation she sought, which pleased her greatly and instead of actually doing anything about it, you completely immersed yourself into caring for Dyre and preparing for your unborn son while also planning your own escape.

When the day of the out came, you couldn’t stop crying. Part of you really wanted to see Ivar again, at least get the chance to say goodbye to him in person but you knew if you did, you would never leave. So you created a replica of your very pregnant self on the bed, chained to it in fact, to make it look like Freydis had kept you prisoner in your own room and the week before, you had only Freydis bring you your meals in your room so that to the servants- you were simply on bedrest and only wished to see Freydis so that their own ignorance would protect them.

You made it look like you had been smothered to death by Freydis herself and that Dyre had also been smothered too before you hid yourself and Dyre in your tent in your armoire and programed a hologram of yourself to hover over the bed when you would turn it on, like it was your soul about to leave to Valhalla and you waited for Ivar to arrive, time moving at an agonizingly slow pace.

You sobbed when you overheard Ivar come into the house and call to Freydis then cried even harder when you heard his conversation with Freydis, laying bare her treachery against him. You had to hold yourself back from coming to her rescue as you heard Ivar strangle her to death all while he whispered that ‘he loved her’ as you just shook your head, what a twisted idea of ‘love’. Still, you felt like a coward, hiding in a glorified closet. But soon, she stopped struggling and she was dead. Now all you needed was for Ivar to see “you” like the scene you set for him to find.

After several long moments, Ivar pulled himself up from the floor and called to you, you wanted to answer him but you couldn’t as you put your hand over your own mouth and sobbed within your sound proofed tent. This was going to be so hard. Your heart still felt like you were pulling it out of your chest.

“Zara?! Where are you?” Ivar demanded before he went to open your door and found it locked before he got the keys from Freydis’ hip and unlocked the door and gasped in horror at what he saw.

“Zara?! No, no, no, no!!!” He yelled before he scrambled up onto the bed to look at you closer to see that your feet and your arms were chained, evidence of your struggle against the cuffs and chains evidenced by the bruises and such on your wrists and ankles. How could Freydis do this to you? He thought you two cared for each other like sisters, how could she have chained you up like an animal? Had she really hated him so much over what had happened with Baldr that she took it out on you like this? To kill your son so that your son would join hers in the pyre? If he hadn’t killed her before he would be killing her again right now. She took everything away from him. Everything. He could do nothing but sob over the dead, lifeless body on the bed before he frantically tried to cut open the body’s stomach to see if he could save the baby in the womb, maybe he wasn’t too late but even as he cut through until the waters of the womb spilled out everywhere, the lifeless and uncanny realistic babe in his hands showed no signs of life but every resemblence to himself in the face but perfect in body otherwise. ‘He would have been so handsome’ Ivar thought to himself as you sobbed harder yourself before you hit ‘play’ on the projection hologram.

“Ivar.” Your holographic projection called out in a soft whisper. It was you, the real you but with brown hair instead of blue, you were carrying a babe in each arm. Dyre in one and the computer’s projection of what your son had Ivar been the true father would look like as your hologram sat down over your corpse.

“I’m so sorry Ivar, by the time I figured out Freydis had turned traitor, she had me chained to the bed and imprisoned in my own room and dismissed all the thralls so that no one could discover what had happened to me so that word could not reach you to come to my rescue or so they could send a message to you to tell you of Freydis’ treachery either, so please, don’t take this out on them, they didn’t know.” Your hologram pleaded with him as you set your sons down on your lap and reached out to touch his face, Ivar trying to lean into your touch. “Ivar the Valkyrie have come to take me to Valhalla, but I wanted you to see your son first and I wanted to say goodbye.” Your hologram said as you showed Ivar his now living son, the holograph being advanced so that he could kind of touch it, but only gently. To touch a hologram felt like the membrane of egg yolks kind of delicate before his hands would push through the hologram as Ivar’s vision blurred with tears but he did put the dead baby down and wipe his hands off on the bed before he reached out and touched his son’s face as the baby looked up at him with eyes so blue they resembled sapphires before he cupped your cheek as your hologram leaned into his touch too while giving him a sad apologetic look before two angelic looking Valkyrie seemed to come into view and beckon you away.

“Just one more moment please.” Your hologram begged before you turned back to Ivar and tried to kiss him one last time as Ivar cried but tried to hold you but couldn’t grab anything but air but could feel your lips press against his as your hologram cried onto him, real tears falling on his face but only for a brief moment before they dissipated.

“I will always love you Ivar. I’m sorry I can’t walk with you on your path anymore. But I’ll be waiting in Valhalla for you. I swear. Please know that my soul is at peace, you have given me justice and have gotten me vengeance by killing Freydis. Also, look into the necklace I’m wearing. When I told you that I ate all of the dragon bones, I lied, I had once piece left, grind it into dust, mix your blood with it and then eat it. I don’t know if it will heal your legs but it might be enough to at least ease some pain. I should have given it to you before you left, but I refuse to leave this earth without giving it to you now. I love you Ivar. I love you.” Your hologram professed as you kissed him one last time before the Valkyrie gently pulled you too your feet and carried you way before you hologram faded and vanished into thin air, leaving Ivar to mourn you and your children. He looked at the necklace on your neck and found a tiny shard of bone on the back and did as you instructed. He both smiled yet sobbed when it eased his pain almost completely and made it so he could walk easier. He still had to use his leg braces but he gained feeling and full control of his hips and upper thighs all the way to his knees. One last miracle. He slept with your corpse that night, clinging to you and he fell into a fitful sleep but once he was sleeping deep enough that you could slip out from the armoire, you did, quickly taking your tent with you into your satchel as you were wearing a special cloak with Dyre in a special sling on your chest so that he would be protected from the elements and nurse if he needed to. But not before leaving one last gentle kiss on Ivar’s sleeping lips, a tear from each eye falling on his cheeks before you quickly got away before he could wake up and once you were outside the house, your wings emerged from your back and you flew to Bjorn. Your tears streaking your face the whole way as you used your contacts to map out your location and how to get to where Bjorn was since there was no moon to keep your flight hidden from everyone.

#Vikings #Vikings Imagines #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless imagines #ivar the boneless x reader #Keep Your Eyes On Me #Keep Your Eyes On Me Part 8 #King Ivar Queen Freydis #Yes I know I'm evil #I'm sorry.#this was so freaking hard #but Ivar did kill his wife #so there's that #It's a really messed up situation

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amerain-k · 5 years ago

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[fanmix] the fast train to kyoto

“Is this place even real? I feel like we’re in a story or something.”

“I feel much the same… I wonder what sort of story it is.”

Akashi Seijuurou is tired of people keeping him at a distance. One day on a train platform, he encounters a certain panicky point guard from Seirin. And he gets an idea. A terrible, awful, foolish idea… Naturally, he has to go through with it. The question is, will Furihata accept his invitation?

a fanmix for the beautiful akafuri fic “the fast train to kyoto”, written by @courtingstars. key lyrics under the cut.

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1. this train - madeline

[akashi, furihata]

This train’s a moving forward I’m gonna catch a ride O, this train’s a moving forward I’m gonna catch a ride Scared if I don’t board it, it’d be bound to pass me by

Hacksaw, my one hand darling, how do you do now? O, Hacksaw, my one hand darling, how do you do now? I’d gladly lift your burdens, I’m afraid I don’t know how

O it’s a, Strange and Heavy, Strange and Heavy load. O when your, quick to catch it, slow to let it go

2. midnight coward - stars

[furihata]

What can’t be decided? In the morning it will bring itself to you I can’t see what’s coming but I’m not saying it

What’s your middle name? How do you play the game? I’ll be the first to leave

When did I grow up? I don’t want to say too much I’ll be the first to leave

What can’t be decided? In the morning it will bring itself to you What can’t be decided?

Before you enter thinking maybe it will choose But I can’t see what’s coming, I can’t see what’s coming I can’t see what’s coming but I’m not saying it

3. make up words - bedside

[akashi]

pick up

waste your time make up words because I don’t know what to say speak up it’s such a blur tell me how to leave cause you never want to stay

oh how the silence leaves a bitter taste my mouth is moving just to fill the space

I know it’s hard to see but I can’t forget what you have given me

pick up share your mind make up words when there’s just nothing left to say wait up we still have time spare a moment more before you drift away

4. can i call you tonight? - dayglow

[furihata]

I feel close Well maybe I’m not, heaven knows It’s a spotlight stuck on the ceiling Why are these the things that I’m feeling? There’s so much time For me to speak up, but I keep quiet I’ll complicate the most of the mantra The power is out and I can’t turn the fan on

So can I call you tonight? I’m trying to make up my mind Just how I feel Could you tell me what’s real? I hear your voice on the phone Now I’m no longer alone Just how I feel Could you tell me what’s real anymore? Cause I wouldn’t know

5. sakurabito - every little thing

[akashi]

translation: jpopasia and otenkiame

Ahh I was tired of waiting for the spring

I’m wishing to see you When I thought of you today too The wind suddenly enveloped me And dyed me in a cherry blossom color

[…]

There’s not one single thing That is the same as another Embracing the precious memories Of the single petal in my hand I entrusted it to the sky I’ll go with you

6. my time with you (너와 나의 시간은) - vanilla acoustic (바닐라 아쿠스틱)

[furihata]

translation: sleeplessaliana

I still haven’t told you When I looked at you I pretended nothing was wrong As if I didn’t care

Actually, I’m someone Who spent so much time wanting you Your passing look, your cold smile Sometimes, they make me run out of breath We keep missing each other You and I, our time You’re like the sun inside of me That I hope will rise in the night sky

Actually, I’m someone Who spent so much time wanting you Your passing look, your cold smile Sometimes, they make me run out of breath

These small tremblings, this heart fluttering They are like gifts to me, they make me see you again It’s just feelings that I can’t throw away But my whole world is filled with you

Actually, I’m someone Who spent so much time wanting you Your passing look, your cold smile They stop me from going to you

7. all i wanted - daughter

[akashi]

All that I wanted wasn’t unwanted Oh and I wonder why I’m not wanted All that I wanted was not there But I dared Be wanted

08. attraction (이끌림) - tearliner (티어라이너) ft. kim go eun (김고은) [furihata]

translation: sleeplessaliana

I look at my side that suddenly feels strange I’m next to you and you’re caring for me Just like our hearts that we’re becoming more used to I can’t seem to draw it out

Because you held onto me, who shakes with the littlest words You treated me warmly when I was clumsy with everything You held me when I was being foolish because it was my first time

I drawing a blank again Dust is settling Dust is building up again

No one is in my heart Dust is settling

Days when I only looked forward and ran You held onto me, who resembled you

My heart was able to rest because I was next to you I smiled when you smiled

On the way to you, there was excitement On the way back, there was emptiness Loneliness

I want to see you longer Slowly, slowly I wanna hug even your long shadow I wanna embrace you I wanna hug you

09. in my little mind - hodge

[furihata]

Hello, how have you been luv? I hope everything is well with you (Hmm) Don’t mind the little things I feel They sound just a little lame to me (Hmm) Maybe we could be a little bit More honest oh, With me with you, with us Maybe we could go our ways And let it go.

I know that you have given your all Just stayin’ beside me And this is all I’m thinking My thoughts are broken Inside my little mind

10. i wish i was the moon - neko case

[akashi]

Chimney falls and lovers blaze Thought that I was young Now I’ve freezing hands And bloodless veins As numb as I’ve become. I’m so tired. I wish I was the moon tonight.

Last night I dreamt I’d forgotten my name ‘Cause I sold my soul But I woke just the same. I’m so lonely. I wish I was the moon tonight.

God blessed me, I’m a free man, With no place free to go. Paralyzed and collared-tight, No pills for what I fear. This is crazy, I wish I was the moon tonight.

[…]

How will you know if you’ve found me at last? 'Cause I’ll be the one be the one be the one With my heart in my lap I’m so tired I’m so tired And I wish I was the moon tonight.

11. when it rains - paramore [furihata]

And when it rains Will you always find an escape? Just running away from all of the ones who love you From everything

You made yourself a bed at the bottom of the blackest hole (blackest hole) You’ll sleep till May and you’ll say that you don’t wanna see the sun anymore.

And Oh oh how could you do it? Oh I - I never saw it coming Oh oh I need an ending So why can’t you stay just long enough to explain?

Take your time Take my time Take these chances to turn it around And take these chances and make it somehow Take these chances to turn it around Just turn it around.. […] You can take your time Take my time.

12. birdcage religion- sleeping at last

[akashi]

So slowly I’m losing Who I’ve sworn to be. A promise in pencil That years have made so hard to read. I’ve spent my life building walls Brick by brick and bruise by bruise… A birdcage religion that whispered me to sleep.

But time is spinning silk That coils ruthlessly; With the devil’s patience, It binds my hands so quietly That soon it becomes a part of me.

So soften these edges and straighten out my tie

And help me remember

The hope that I have compromised.

Please be a broken record for me.

13. oozora de dakishimete - utada hikaru

[furihata]

translation: lyrical nonsense

On a clear Sunday, the station’s ticket gates Are beginning to fill with color from the cheeks of those waiting for another

Today, I feel like going someplace far away Somewhere I can see the sky

If we could go flying among the clouds Then just hold me, in the vast sky I wonder if you’re still mad with me… But we just can’t help but be stubborn

[…]

So innocent and pure, you’ll misunderstand me So shut my blabbering mouth We’ve both been hurt So just embrace me and don’t complain about it

If it happens that we can meet again someday Then come trouble me once more If perhaps we can only meet again in our dreams Then just hold me until morning

I get it, I get that I’m being greedy But just kiss me, without saying it’s our last If perhaps we can only meet again in our dreams Then, oh stars soaring through the heavens, don’t go out

14. au tabi suki ni natte (i fall in love every time we meet) - BRIGHT

[akashi]

translation: carlenne

Every time we meet, I fall in love and my heart aches yet I can’t help wanting to be with you always even though I ought to have been fine on my own I don’t want to say goodbye

The more I know you, the less I can stop it but I don’t want you to hate me If you called out to me in a gentle voice I’d surely be able to tell you how I feel

If the thread of fate that I’d been about to give up on is the miracle that drew me towards you Even though I just want you to hold me tighter

Every time we meet I fall in love and my heart aches

The restless nights continue on and on I just want you to gaze at me but afraid, so I bite down on my lip

The more I know you, the less I can stop it I wonder what kind of mail to send you I’ll get closer to you in just a moment, so don’t turn away because I’ll softly hold out my hand to you

#akafuri #knb #fanmix #akashi seijuro #furihata kouki #seriously tho #just read this fic guys #beautiful writing #beautiful story #amazing characterization #you cry and smile and it's just so good #and like they fall in love with each other #you fall in love with them too #please don't note my less than basic skills with the cover #it doesn't make justice to this fic ok #my fanmix

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vannderlinde · 6 years ago

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Asunder:

..."to break apart or in two" or "to become parted or severed”...as in "a family torn asunder by tragedy…."

Rating: M Ships: Dutch/Annabelle Word Count: 4,601 Keywords: Dutch Van Der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Annabelle, Micah Bell, Traumatic Brain Injury, Hallucinations Warnings: Major RDR 2 spoilers, Potentially mild to moderate references to mental health symptoms (TBI, panic attacks, hallucinations, disorientation, anxiety), heavy references to Arthur’s death.

Preface: Dutch flees after the events of “Red Dead Redemption,” otherwise known as the last mission for players in RDR 2. The gang was in shambles, scattered, and divided. Beaver Hollow was flooded with Pinkertons and traitors. Fear took residence in the Van Der Linde gang. Sides were chosen and threats were followed through. The once favored son, Arthur Morgan, fallen. His last moments spent seeking any comfort he could from his father figure. He was denied. Any hope was ripped from him as Dutch turned his back. Arthur’s final moments were lonely, hollow, and full of fear and pain. This fic begins directly after Dutch leaves Arthur and Micah on the cliff side. Dutch loses himself.

:You’re being a coward: :Only fearing your changed mind: :Where the hell did your spine go?:

What the hell just happened? Dutch’s head throbbed as his mind threatened to give up entirely. He slumped over the front of his horse as he was carried away from Beaver Hollow. The usually powerful and radiant man was broken, utterly shattered. He gave no feedback to his Arabian as they cantered in a seemingly unspecified direction with the one goal of creating distance between them and the gunshots that echoed in the woods surrounding the camp. He trusted The Count to get them to safety; but even if he didn’t, he lacked any strength that permitted him to care. The night was foggy and turning darker with each passing hoof beat.

As he rode, Dutch recounted the events leading up to now. An unwelcome awareness crept in and his own morality became painfully apparent. The once-worshiped gang leader was done, he was nothing. He lost. The events of this horrific day sealed everyone’s fate. All of those lives that he held in his hands, those who trusted in him, he had inadvertently murdered. It all felt so final.

Dutch’s mind drifted to the cliff side, he saw Arthur’s eyes plainly as if they were directly in front of him, instead of just a memory. Fear and terror were carved into his son’s stare. It was a look Dutch had never seen from Arthur, and that made him shiver. His beloved Arthur pleaded in sheer desperation for his help, yet Dutch turned his back. In that very moment, Dutch had realized Arthur had not been unfaithful. Arthur had been wrongly labeled as a traitor. His heart sunk, and he was paralyzed with dismay. Dutch shifted his gaze to Micah, but didn’t feel rage. Micah, who mere seconds ago had beaten Arthur to an inch of life. He felt absolutely nothing towards Micah. Dutch didn’t know what to think, or how to act. So he left.

And this vividly horrifying memory- could he, in fact, trust it? Dutch wasn’t sure if all of this even happened, or was he just living stuck in a nightmare? Was he even alive? He couldn’t trust his own mind to be honest with him.

Was Arthur alive? Micah? Molly? ...Annabelle? Who was left? He forced the thoughts to vacate his mind. He could only manage to process details of his current environment: 1) the wonderfully painful stars that filled the sky; 2) The Count’s gentle, but noticeably labored breaths; 3) the smell of gunpowder which still lingered thickly in the air. Time blended, and his timelines were unlinear as he tried to sift through events of the last moments, months...years. Dutch struggled, as the confusion engulfed him entirely. It was as if he was headed directly into a pure, black void. He was so ready to give up and let the night dissolve him if it was willed so.

Coward….Coward….Weak… Fool. His mind cursed him. Dutch’s heartbeat felt erratic, his vision blurred, his head felt completely foreign to him. He tore unsuccessfully at his scarf which covered his face. His actions were desperate, as if the scarf was preventing him to breath. A panic ensued which he could not control. Dutch had only felt loss of control a few times in his life- losing Annabelle, Colm abducting Arthur, and Guarma, of course. However, over the last month or so, control seemed to be slipping away from him in other ways. He was a proud and persistent man, who needed and demanded control. But, in this moment, he was dust, he had no substance whatsoever-- Spineless.

Over the last few months, he began experiencing symptoms. At first, they were so subtle Dutch had no awareness of them at all: twitches, headaches, and fatigue. All of which, he concluded it was from the stress of running the gang. He could tell, however, the gang members were treating him differently. Feeling slightly vulnerable, this only worsened his anger he already felt over the entire situation. His first recollection of any true symptoms were a few days after the trolley station job in Saint Denis. It all started with his vision- he saw specks and streaks of light which floated softly in his field of vision. While it was noticeable, he could mostly ignore it. Occasionally, he would wake up from sleep to not be able to see anything at all. His vision would return moments later, but it was upsetting.

Next, came the irritability, which was less perceptible to him, but the others surely felt it. He had always been brutal, the life he led required it of him. This type of rage induced violence was different. John saw it when he drowned Bronte, Arthur saw it when he strangled the old woman in Guarma, and Dutch saw it when he nearly killed Molly. He was thankful that Susan stepped in, but he knew he would’ve just as easily pulled the trigger himself. This was not him, it definitely didn’t feel like him. It was like stranger took hold if him and he acted as they willed. The anger that filled him was unpredictable and impossible to dampen once flared. The stares from members around the camp and the doubt they obviously all shared weighed on him. He wouldn’t sleep anymore. If he did sleep, it was not restful, he was perpetually tense. Dutch began lashing out in unpredictable ways, it sometimes even scared him. One time, he even berated poor Tilly, the reason behind it he couldn’t quite recall. After some delay, Dutch snapped out of it and noticed her well up with tears. He dropped to his knees and begged for her forgiveness. Dutch was completely unhinged and he didn’t know why.

That is where Micah came in. At Dutch’s peak moments of confusion, he was there when Arthur wasn’t. Micah always had faith. Once his confusion and gaps in his memory became too great, the gang leader heavily relied on Micah’s consult. Micah would sit with him, and would listen to Dutch in an non-judgmental way. While following Micah’s advice didn’t always go well, it wasn’t about that. Dutch was losing himself, his ability to make reasonable and practical choices for the gang. He was afraid of appearing unfit to the other gang members. It terrified him as he was learning to live with his changing mind. Dutch was vulnerable, he sensed that Arthur and John knew this. Micah had helped Dutch when he was forgetful or had slipping thoughts. In a way, Micah was how Dutch was able to keep the facade for so long. He owed a lot to Micah for that reason. At this point, he could not even comprehend the possibility that Micah would betray him. The clarity and directness of Arthur’s words indicated that it was not a lie. Deep down, he knew that Arthur would not have fed him false information, it was not his way. It was something, though, that Dutch could not accept. Did he want Arthur to die? No. Dutch knew, however painfully evident, that leaving Arthur, was contracting his death. He left his son’s life in the hands of Micah.

Overwhelmed, Dutch abandoned the thought completely.

How did it come to this? The abrupt stop of the horse caused Dutch to snap out of his head and focus on the present. Where was he? It was still night, but he could make out that a town was out in front of him. A big town- could it be Saint Denis? He had no clue that he had been riding for that long, it had only felt like minutes. Dutch realized that he must’ve passed out at some point. He pushed himself upright into the saddle, and looked behind him. For a brief moment, panic took hold again that urged him to run back and find Arthur. He shuddered at the thought of what he would find if he did return. Still the urge remained, even with Dutch’s attempts to shove it aside. He inhaled sharply, trying to recollect himself. He was tired. Being alone like this was foreign to him, as he never went anywhere by himself. Nearly his whole life, Dutch was surrounded by people. The loss of his family was heavy, sucking the little life he had left. Not only was being alone emotionally difficult, it also made him feel incredibly exposed and defenseless. Without someone to cover him, he was at risk for an attack. At this point, even Molly would be a welcomed companion, despite the fact that she made his life hell.

He slid into Saint Denis unnoticed. Dutch knew the particular locations where he would likely run into law, and avoided them. The Count moved swiftly, but not at a desperate pace. After rounding a corner, he dismounted and hitched the Arabian a few blocks away from his destination. The streets were unusually quiet, Saint Denis was a bustling town, even at night. But, the silence of this hour was ghostly. Crouched, he navigated to the saloon. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was the best idea. Surely his face was plastered everywhere by now, and he knew it was possible that someone would notice an outlaw in their midst. At this moment, he couldn’t care at all. He entered the saloon and sat at the bar. With a stern glare, the bartender approached and poured him a drink. Dutch grunted thankfully, and also indicated he’d like to rent a room. The bartender put his palm out, asking for payment.

Dutch’s expression darkened, “I’m good for it,” he snapped sharply. The bartender backed off. The former-gang leader let his head drop into his hands as his elbows rested on the bar. Fatigue was causing him to shake slightly. He knew he needed to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t be easily accomplished. Dutch sat at the bar, unable to move for about an hour, possibly longer. His mind moved from one gang member to another and then repeated. Dutch would get hung up on Arthur every time his mind cycled through the list.

In a gentle, but startling way a presence appeared behind, placing their hands on either of his shoulders. He jumped, turning around to see a distantly familiar face. He paused a moment, unable to form words.

He finally opened his lips, but all he could get out was: “Annie…?” His voice was surprisingly soft with a slight crack. Eagerly, he stood up, reaching his arms out to her. Annabelle embraced him, and stroked his hair.

“You fool!” She cooed, “Why did you come here? They’re looking for you.” Her tone, while calm, was off-putting to Dutch.

He drifted from her touch, and stared into her eyes, “I missed you so much, darling…” A sense of peace came over him. In his confusion, he never once questioned her presence. She was as real to him as the bartender was real. No questions, no doubt. This figure in front of him was Annabelle. Annabelle smiled at him in a way that was only saved for Dutch. Dutch absolutely melted in response. He reached out to touch her, but stopped halfway before his hand dropped. Annabelle pulled Dutch into a deep hug. Dutch rested his head on her shoulder, still reeling from the day’s events.

“What have I done, Annabelle?” Dutch’s words sounded weak, almost childlike. He felt so small, so hopeless. A few moments had passed, with the two lingering in each other’s embrace. After a time, Annabelle wordlessly led Dutch upstairs to their room. Dutch reclined on the bed, exhaustion overtaking his entire body. Annabelle laid down next to him, resting her head on his chest. Everything about her presence brought healing. Peace washed over his very troubled soul. Ever so gently, Dutch caressed her head and hair, weaving his fingers through each strand just like he used to. His fingers carefully danced around her frame. His movements were slow, making sure to take in as much of her features as he could. His eyes closed, and if only for a moment, he forgot what had happened. He was at home with the gang and Annabelle, the disasters of the last few months were erased. This was short lived when Annabelle broke the silence, “How’s the gang, Dutch?” She inquired solemnly. He said nothing, finding the words were not coming easy.

“Hosea?” She asked. Dutch shook his head with a painfully blank stare. “Oh I see…” Annabelle dropped her voice off, “Well, Arthur, then?”

Dutch looked down at her, “They’re all gone, I failed, Annabelle.” Tears began to fill his eyes, distorting his vision. He could not control his feelings of hopelessness anymore.

Annabelle hugged him tighter, “Shhh...rest now, Dutch.” In response, Dutch buried his head into her wild hair, and sobbed very softly. He drifted off to sleep, while sorrow ate away at his heart. Having Annabelle here meant everything. Her touch, her voice, was just as he remembered. She was never really gone, he figured. She had always been there.

“Wake up, Dutch, they’re here!” Annabelle boomed in an unfittingly calm tone. Dutch awoke, with the sun piercing his eyes as he opened them. He had no idea how long he had been asleep for, causing him to be very disoriented. Annabelle stood by the window, peering outside at the street below. He quickly got up, looking out the window over her shoulder. Right outside the saloon were the Pinkertons. They were here for him. His heartbeat quickened as he scrambled to gather his few possessions. Dutch stumbled, barely managing to catch himself as he fell to the floor. He was in no condition to be on the run, let alone fight the Pinkertons.

“What do I do, Annabelle?” Dutch pleaded, becoming desperate. He always had a plan, he always knew exactly what to do, but this time he was unprepared. It was so apparent to him that he was coming completely unravelled, and this realization scared him more than the Pinkertons did.

Annabelle nodded, “We escape, Dutch, that’s what we have to do,” she grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the back of the saloon. They were on the second level of the building, so somehow they would have to make it down without being noticed. Annabelle led Dutch to a door leading out the back balcony. Only one Pinkerton was stationed around this side of the building. Dutch pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the man’s head. Within an instant, the Pinkerton dropped from his horse. Dutch had to kill him, but he knew that it also meant more detectives would be attracted to the gunshot sound. Quickly, Dutch and Annabelle climbed down the ladder that led to an alleyway. Before too long, Pinkertons filled the alleyway from both sides, blocking their escape route completely. All guns were aimed on Dutch. Moving quickly, Dutch shot two or three of them easily, even despite his weakened state. An opening appeared and Annabelle slipped through, throwing herself onto a horse.

“Come with me Dutch!” She called to him.

Dutch started running towards her, desperate to survive. He made eye contact with her just before his vision went completely dark.

“Annie!” he screamed.

Without warning, intense pain that started in his skull, flew through his body causing him to drop to the ground. He cried out in utter terror, a truly awful sound poured from his lips. As he struggled to get up, one of the Pinkertons took the opportunity and took aim. The bullet was targeted strategically to be nonfatal. They were meaning to capture him. Pain overtook him, and he collapsed fully. Hot blood seeped from where the bullet hit his shoulder. Dutch grasped desperately at his shoulder, writhing on the ground. The pain was burning, and he lost all control of his senses. Was this it? He wondered. If it was, at least he would be with Arthur again. The former gang leader lost consciousness, the last thing he saw was the Pinkerton detectives surrounding him from all sides with greedy expressions. They came for him like hungry wolves gathering around a fallen animal.

-There is nothing you keep, there is only a reflection-

He dreamed of Annabelle, Arthur, and Hosea. Blissfully unaware of the outside world, he blocked any recollection of what was happening to him. His body was not his own. Dutch was so withdrawn into himself, most would assume he was already dead. He wished he was. Dutch had always been a survivor, but now he viewed that as a curse upon him. In his dreams, the tension, the heartache, the weight on his soul had dissipated. Holding Annabelle and laughing with Arthur and Hosea was all that mattered to him. His dream felt real, although it was smeared with a lingering sorrow. He was unaware of just how much time had passed. Dutch tried to cling to the dream as best he could, but it was no use. Slowly, he saw the expressions and features of those he loved fade away and replaced with the view of bars of the prison transport wagon. He felt ice cold in the face of his new reality.

It took him several minutes to fully take in his new surroundings. Dutch didn’t quite know where he was, but he did know that he was being transported somewhere. He looked around, past the bars on the wagon. The Pinkertons had pulled out all the stops for him. He counted at least twelve armed guards, possibly more. In a way, he was flattered that they recruited all of these gunmen just for him. The thought made him smirk. What he couldn’t understand was why they captured him, and didn’t just kill him on the spot. That did not add up, whatsoever. Dutch slowly sat up, the unsteadiness of the wagon making it more difficult on him. His shoulder screamed in pain whenever he moved. Dutch figured the bullet was still embedded. He’d had a bullet wound before, but this one was felt much worse than he remembered. Dutch couldn’t help but admit to himself that he deserved it. He deserved all of it and more. The cart ran over a large rock, causing Dutch to completely lose his balance. He grasped at the bars to steady himself. He winced, and inhaled sharply as his shoulder responded to the jolt. Once composed, he looked down at his feet. Shackles adorned his ankles, with a chain that was attached to the cart itself. Instinctually, Dutch sought an escape. He ran the chain through his fingers looking for any weak points. Similarly, he searched the prison wagon’s door for any flaws. Any attempt proved fairly useless, of course.

The sky was turning dark at this point. The caravan of Pinkertons pulled off the road for the evening. The guards aligned themselves, fully surrounding the wagon, but faced outwards. Dutch sat and watched them all. It was much more official than he experienced with the local lawmen. He knew that the Pinkertons would do anything to see him “delivered” without incident. Little did they know that no one would be coming to his rescue. “Fools…” He muttered under his breath, menacingly.

Dutch spat, “All of this for me, gentlemen? A little excessive, no?” His voice cracked, before he chuckled quietly to himself, thinking he was awfully clever.

“Just shut up!” One of the drivers replied. Dutch reclined, making sure his shoulder wasn’t touching anything in fear of angering his bullet wound. He watched the men shuffle around. Some of them seemed genuinely proud of themselves for capturing such a legend; while others were on edge, obviously anticipating an attack.

Just as he was closing his eyes to sleep, a Pinkerton came over to the door of the wagon. The man slammed a heavy fist into the metal, intending to wake him up.

“Oh my god! What could you possibly need?” His voice boomed and echoed throughout the Pinkerton’s camp. The former gang leader shifted upright, in an uncomfortable fashion. He glared at the man standing on the other side of the bars. Was he asking to be strangled? Dutch thought to himself.

The man opened his mouth to speak, “You’re gonna hang for all you did, Mr. Van Der Linde!”

Dutch rolled his eyes, “No shit!” He shot back wickedly. His voice was increasing in volume, “I believed you lot were slightly intelligent, I now realize that you’re a bunch of pathetic FOOLS!”

The rot that he was feeling inside was not outwardly shown, but the fatigue he felt weighed him down. Dutch dropped backwards, completely ignoring the Pinkerton that provoked him. Before too long he was asleep.

Dutch awoke with a slight startle. As he pulled himself up, he caught sight of her. Annabelle was here, with only metal bars separating them. Too quickly, for it aggravated his wound, Dutch stood up.

“Annabelle- you came for me?” He asked, slightly dazed. She did not speak, but nodded soothingly. Dutch watched her in anticipation. Strangely she did not seem worried or panicked about Dutch’s condition.

“You need to get me out of here, Annie.” He spoke very softly, but his desperation was recognizable in his words.

“I can’t do that, Dutch…” Annabelle’s gentle voice washed over him. Her tone turned dark, “You are not the man I thought you were…” With those words lingering painfully, Annabelle turned her back and walked away, disappearing in mist. Dutch wanted to call out to her, call her back to him, but before he could she was gone. In a mixture of confusion and terror, and his body failing him, Dutch passed out.

This was becoming a pattern. Hours later Dutch woke up with the sun high in the sky, stinging his eyes as he forced them to open. The rocking of the prison cart was the first thing that caught his attention. He was still being transported, but he recognized the area. It looked like they were headed to Blackwater. Perfect.

Dutch’s thought was interrupted by an explosion in front of the caravan. The eruption was strategic, targeting only the riders in front of the wagon, but not the wagon itself. In the moment, the only thing Dutch saw dismembered limbs and bodies fly in the air from the men unfortunate enough to be directly underneath the blast. In the next instant the entire prison wagon was flipped. The explosion had caused the horses leading the wagon to spook, and as they bolted in opposite directions, the wagon capsized. Dutch was able to act quick enough to land on his arms rather than directly on his neck. The impact though, had done enough. Dutch doubled over in pain, and didn’t move for several moments, trying to regain himself. He was shaking quite violently. All he could hear was a mixture of screams and gunshots. Dutch looked to his left, to see that one of the drivers had managed to get himself pinned between the wagon and the ground. The upper half of his body stuck out, and he was shrieking. It was horrible. Disoriented, Dutch pulled himself up, stumbling a bit as he stood. He inhaled sharply as the pain from his shoulder returned with a vengeance. He cradled his arm, and bit his lip to keep from crying out. It was several seconds before he realized what was actually happening. Someone was busting him out.

The gunshots ceased nearly as fast as they began. Dutch scanned the environment for any signs of his rescuer. As he did, he noticed the Pinkerton bodies that littered the road, each with perfectly placed bullets embedded in their foreheads. That is when he realized who came to free him- Micah. Micah was the only one he knew of with that kind of skill with a gun. This realization shook Dutch to his core. He did not want to see Micah. At least, he didn’t want to right now. Dutch wasn’t sure what to think, but his heart was with Arthur. Micah was extremely unwelcome in this equation. Before too long, Micah made himself visible. He slinked over to the prison wagon. Dutch eyed him, with no expression on his face. Micah surely expected gratitude, but Dutch would not oblige him that luxury.

“Hello there, boss.” Micah said slyly. Dutch remained silent. “Did you have some fun with those Pinkertons?” Micah laughed, getting to work on the lock on the prison wagon. Before too long, the lock fell, and Micah opened the door providing Dutch his freedom. It was only then that Dutch spoke, his voice was unexpectedly chilling.

“Why did you come, Micah?” There was an undeniable sting to his words.

Micah nervously laughed it off, “You’re welcome.”

Dutch stepped out, but that was all. They both looked down at Dutch’s chains that laced his ankles. Micah bent down to pick the lock. In a seamless motion Dutch reached for Micah’s gun and pointed at him. With crazed eyes and shaky hands he stared down at Micah. Micah in response shifted backwards onto the ground, and slowly put his hands up. The shock was not hidden from either of their faces. Micah however could tell that Dutch was meaning to kill. He had seen this look from Dutch before.

“Dutch….?” Micah quivered.

“Be quiet!” Dutch yelled, moving closer to him, “Don’t even think about reaching for your other gun.” Dutch wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but he was filled with pain which manifested as absolute rage. He pushed the gun’s muzzle onto Micah’s forehead. Micah felt panicked, trying to come up with the words that would get him out of this. The gun rested against Micah for a few silent, tense moments.

Without warning Dutch screamed, “Did you kill him?” His voice sounded desperate. Micah had heard this voice before, but only when the gang leader was unraveling.

“I want to help you, Dutch!” Micah rasped, trying to appeal to the crazed man in front of him.

“Answer me!” Dutch bellowed in pure agony, his voice cracking as words left his lips. He didn’t even care if he was clearly showing his weakness. “Did you kill him?” His voice was louder this time. Dutch rested his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot him at any moment.

“You did.” Micah shot back, sinisterly, aiming to do harm. Dutch’s pause following those words was surprising to Micah. Dutch’s knees went weak, and he lost his balance slightly. While the gun was still aimed at Micah, it was clear the words took their toll.

Micah opened his mouth to speak again, “You need me. I will help you.” Micah’s tone was soft, trying to appeal to Dutch. He slowly stood up off of the ground, trading places with Dutch as the man sunk to the grass below. Dutch was paralyzed, what had come over him? The gun lowered off of his target, and fell to his knees. The once stoic and proud man was broken.

“It’s okay, boss. We’ve got a spot, it’s safe.” Micah went over to Dutch and retrieved his gun. He slowly bent over to steady Dutch, and helped him to his feet. Dutch began to cry openly, his cries did not sound like sadness, but of actual pain.

Dutch didn’t know what the future held, but his current path was not his choice. He followed Micah to the horses, and rode off for his new reality. He clung to the memories of Arthur, Annabelle, and everyone else who he lost and loved. He was not the same man he was a week ago, and he doubted he’d ever be fully intact again.

“I don’t want to waste away It was all I gave to you Take me back and take my place I will rise right up for you”

All the while you waste away, you’re asking “Did I really need another one to take me down?”

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 spoilers #rdr #Dutch Van Der Linde #dutch x annabelle #dutch van der linde gang #arthur morgan #Micah Bell

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crookedmoonlight123 · 6 years ago

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The Rain Woman - Chapter 15 - Icy water

A/N:- Thankyou to Juvia.Hanks for your continued support and Review after such a long break from this story, thankyou to everyone else who has followed, favourited and reviewed, a slightly shorter chapter but choc full! Enjoy!

Gray lay in the muddy ground, the dirt wedged under his fingernails, wishing he could become part of the park, tears streamed down his face, his eyes still staring at the plushie, where Juvia had stood moments, minutes maybe hours ago now, he didn’t know, he felt empty again, what had they done to her? The Juvia plushie smiled at him from her spot, although soaked by the rain Juvia had captured her own smile perfectly in the plushie, it could brighten anyone and anything. The memories of their missions, their arguments and Juvias general persistency over the years played over in Grays head. His heart squeezed, he missed her, he wouldn’t give up on her, she would never give up on him. He remembered when she melted his ice-make gungir earlier, she had become her old self, she was the Juvia he knew if only for a few moments, which meant that she was still in their and could still be saved.

The ice mage pulled himself up gradually, wincing and cursing at his ribs. Glancing over at the red tote bag proved fruitful, some potions and bandages were not destroyed in Juvias final attack. Gray walked over slowly assessing his injuries before picking up a potion and drinking it, almost instantaneously feeling the benefits of it working in his system. He found some wound cleaner and a few gauze strips to patch up the worst of his gashes and bandage for his torso.

“Right, I’m coming for you Juvia.” Gray looked up to the rain heavy skies, the colour wasn’t much different to what it was during their battle which meant that she must be close by. Gray stuffed a few of the smaller potion vials into his baggy trouser pockets, deciding to leave the plushie in a nearby hollow of a tree with the remainder of his tote bag on top of it to keep it dry, Gray strode off, looking at the ground he noticed there were footprints, three sets, not yet been washed away by the rain, it was worth a shot to follow them he didn’t remember anyone else passing by.

Juvia walked through the doors of a large house owned by her father on the outskirts of Allium Town, she had wondered why they hadn’t stayed here before. The watermage took in the magnolia colour walls with their white skirts and navy-blue carpet, almost like a beach, she walked into the living room where there was a glass coffee table, a sofa and an armchair arranged neatly around a open fireplace with old logs sat in the middle ready to be burnt. The kitchen was again simple but large and charming, a range cooker, a large kitchen sink, work counters and a wooden dining table with four seats around it, there was a small downstairs toilet which was completely white tiled. There were many other spacious rooms; a study, a dining room to seat eight guests and a few rooms for storage and what appeared to be a small library of some kind, the shelves and book all with a thick layer of dust, the house felt damp, unlived in, which was odd for a house which could quite easily be lived in.

Upstairs more rooms, 6 bedrooms, 3 ensuite and 2 large bathrooms which both held big deep bath tubs with jets which Juvia could imagine sinking her cold aching self into, shower cubicles were also in each one, a lovely ivory sink with a big rectangular mirror above and an empty counter next to it with a cupboard door so it must have been for storage.

Juvia looked in each of the bedrooms, 4 of them all had a double bed with white duvets and pillows and nightstands next to them, a white chest of drawers and wardrobe for storage, the 2 single bedrooms had a single bed each with magnolia duvet and pillow sets, and a wooden chest of drawers and wardrobe, all the rooms upstairs had the same magnolia walls as downstairs but the carpet was now cream and pristine like it had never really been walked on, it was still soft and springy underfoot. The watermage felt the house was homely, but it smelt musty, damp and unloved.

“Juvia!” Her fathers voice rang loud and clear from downstairs his voice echoing off the walls. Juvia made her way down the stairs to find her father and Mitch sitting on the yellow sofa in the living room smiling a strained smile at her as she entered. Juvia took a seat in the armchair, relaxing back against the soft spongey fabric.

“How do you find the house?” Jimquin grinned at her and Mitch looked uncomfortable his face tight and drawn.

“It is a nice house,” Juvia paused, she just had to ask, “why is it unlived in?” Juvia met her fathers gaze which seemed to falter.

“To tell you the truth…” He began, looking down at his hands which were clasped together. “I brought this house for your mother and I to live in, to move her away from Primrose Village, of course I didn’t know you were my child, I didn’t even know she was with child.” He took in a deep breath. “I would have tried harder if I had known that you were with her.” Juvia nodded.

“That explains why it is all furnished then….” Juvia thought back to her mother, with her loving smile and how she loved her garden so much tending it day after day making the most beautiful blooms. “Does this house have a garden?” The question blurted out of Juvias mouth without her realising.

“Why of course it does Juvia, your mother loved to garden, it has a greenhouse aswell.” Answered Jimquin, it all seemed a little too perfect to Juvia.

The watermage sat in silence for a few minutes, as memories came back to her, the memory of her agreeing to work with her father if he were to free her mother, how terrified her mother was for her safety. “How is Juvias mother? Did she get home alright?” Juvia asked, Mitch snapping his attention to her, eyes sorrowful as the room seemed to hold its breath.

“Juvia, your mother died on her way back home… bandits attacked her…” Her father held her gaze as Juvia seemed to disappear into herself, her eyes going wide, her hands scrunching up her dresscoat as they held onto it tightly.

“She…she…” Juvia stuttered, “is dead?” Her eyes were hollow and distant, the rain began to pour out the sky in torrents, the wind whipping and lashing against the window panes, pots and outdoor furniture bashing, crashing and flying around all over the place “Juvia needs to excuse herself.” The watermage got up without permission and made her way up the staircase into the furthest double room and threw herself onto the plump unslept in duvet, burying her head.

Her mother, her beautiful and kind-hearted mother…was…dead. Juvia felt emotion surge through her as tears began to roll down her cheeks, she wished she had gone to visit her sooner, that she had plucked up the courage to get to know her and not be a coward because of her step-father.

Juvia lay on the bed for a while, her head swimming, she felt guilty. Slowly the blue haired beauty got up, pulling herself together a bit more and made her way over to the bedroom mirror, she looked at her reflection, really looked and what she saw made the tears spill out silently again.

She was not who she wanted to be, how had she become so lost? Her mother would be disappointed in her, the way she had been acting, yet, it felt to Juvia as though it wasn’t actually her who had done all those horrible, maniac, torturous things to those poor people in the bar, that it wasn’t her who had held an elderly man by a water noose, that it wasn’t her who had held her beloved-

“Gray-sama…” Juvia whispered bringing a fist up to her chest, she had hurt him, really, badly hurt him, not once, but twice, how would he ever forgive her? She felt the tingle of the dark magic again, Juvia swallowed hard trying to shove it back down, she would control it and not the other way around.

“Juvia?” Jimquin knocked on her door, “may I come in?” Juvia felt a sudden panic, as well as a swell of anger, he had used her and nearly destroyed her soul.

“Yes.” Juvia spoke as mute as possible she had to pretend that she was still under the magics influence.

Jimquin entered and noticed his daughters red tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes, she had evidently been crying, “are you alright?” His voice didn’t sound like a concerned father but more like someone who was fearful that all his hard work would go to waste.

“Yes, Juvia is fine now.” She met his gaze, her navy eyes cold and unyielding. “Juvia would like to know the next plan of action?” Her heart thudded as she waited to her what her father plotted to do when they got Midi.

“We will gather more followers and use your power to make them yield to us, I want complete control of Fiore.” A big grin spread across his face, “I need you and your unrelenting magic to do so Juvia.” He pulled subconsciously at his suit, a greedy expression on his face.

Juvia felt her temper rising, but she had to control it, she had to get downstairs. “Juvia thinks she can more than handle that task, after all you have unlocked the true power that Juvia possess’.” The watermage brushed past her father as she felt a sudden feeling of desperation course through her, she had to get out of here, she had to get home.

Mitch was in the living room pacing, he looked troubled, oh no, Juvia thought, I forgot about Mitch, his shield could block me in if I don’t dispatch him first. The watermage chewed the inside of her cheek, her father was hot on her heels.

Gray had been walking for about half an hour in the constant, fine drizzle, he had his eyes cast down partly to keep the rain out of his eyes and partly so he didn’t lose the three sets of tracks in the mud, he felt like he was getting closer and closer. The icemage looked up through some trees, a spot just through them in a small circumference seemed to be having an absolute downpour, Juvia! Gray knew that must be her, as the rain used to follow her and only her, when she was particularly upset it would focus on one area where she was. Gray broke into a run, the sodden ground trying to stop him in his tracks, making his feet feel like leaden weights as it sucked and pulled and caked his shoes. The rain grew heavier and colder on his bare torso, soaking his bandages and flattening his raven hair, the wind was ripping off branches and hurtling them about, uprooting small trees, it appeared like it was almost like a hurricane or a monsoon. A large house came into sight, bushes and flowerbeds were strewn everywhere with furniture and smashed pots blowing about, he’d have to be careful to not be knocked over or be assaulted by pottery shards. The house had lights on and Gray could make out Juvias shape in the living room, his heart leapt as he ran for the door like never before.

“I have told Juvia about our plans in Midi.” Jimquin said proudly, as him and Juvia walked into the living room, Mitch was scowling, his fists clenched. Juvia wondered what he was so worked up over.

“Your plans to use her, us as pawns you mean?” Mitch spat at his boss, “you are willingly to destroy her soul, her life all for your own selfish gain.” Jimquin looked taken aback.

“I think you’re tired Mitch and need to rest, you know I care for my daughter.” Jimquin glared at Mitch.

“Juvia…” Juvia clenched her fists as a wave of homesickness jolted through her, “Juvia will not be your pawn-“ She started, her eyes narrowing.

“No, you could be my equal Juvia.” Jimquin tried to tempt her, Juvia could feel his magic at the ready to attack.

“Juvia does not want to be your equal!” The watermage spoke through gritted teeth, “Juvia will not be used by you, Juvia is no longer shackled to her power!” Jimquin looked worried, he fired a water cyclone at Mitch sending him flying back against the wall knocking him unconscious for safe measures after his little outburst.

“He might get in the way, was it him who turned your head? I knew I should never have put him in charge, he hadn’t been with me long enough.” Her father raged, Juvia looked to Mitch, remembering how he had tried to help her, how he would talk sense into her every time her magic got too much.

“No.” Juvias voice went soft her head bowed, “Mitch had nothing to do with it. He did as you asked, and this is how you treat him.” It wasn’t a question it was a fact. “It was Juvias mother who brought her back, Juvia would feel disgraced if she could have seen what Juvia had done, and it was Gray-samas persistence that brought Juvia back also.” Juvia looked up to him again, she had to escape, she had to get out. “JUVIA WANTS TO GO HOME! BACK TO FAIRY TAIL!” The watermage wailed as tears spilled down her face as she turned to see Gray-sama in the doorway having heard her plea for freedom, her heart jumped and squeezed as delight filled her soul, he had come back for her.

“I want you back to Juvia.” His eyes were cold and hard as he eyed up Jimquin preparing for battle.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter :D the next one will be up by Monday/Tuesday, as always please review!

REVIEW HERE---> https://www.fanfiction.net/story/story_preview.php?storyid=12261807&chapter=15/

CrookedMoonlight

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mentalanalyzer · 6 years ago

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Unadulterated Uncensored Bigotry

Maybe it’s because I’m tired, maybe it’s because I’m pissed at the world around me, but this has been on my mind for quite some time. Does your ethnicity define you? Are they ingrained in your genes? Nature vs. Nurture? While I find many parts of my personality are due to the American environment I have been brought up in, there are aspects of my personality, that I only see in Persians, despite the lack of that upbringing. Aspects that I only see shared amongst those back in Iran. How could have such aspects of my personality if I’ve never been exposed to it? And that brings me to the topic of the day. Profiling.

This is for me, my ideas, this page is seen by me (I don’t even know why I get followers when I post once in a blue moon). I will not use politically correct terminology, because my terminology comes from a universal language, and that is the fact people are defined by their appearance. Black is black, not african american. Everyone in the world calls African Americans black people. Most consider Asians almond eyed people. This is how people are defined. I will be using generalization and stereotypes, and yes there are exceptions to everything, but generalization exist for a reason. Observations are not inherently racist, unless used as such. I have nothing against races of people, there are aspects of each culture I dislike and like. However, as stated before, people do seem to be potentially defined genetically by their culture. Without further ado.

We shall start with Persians. Never have I met a group of individuals so arrogant with such a lack of humility. They are smart, crafty, intelligent, even attractive and physically fit. And they know it. And yet, we always fall. Because we are always arrogant, always thinking we’re better than everyone. We have no sense of humility, doing whatever we want with no regards to others and the consequences. Our society always rises because of our innate abilities, but always falls due to the flaws inherent in our personality. Our women, vain. They also have intelligence, and beauty, and they know it. Never have I met a group more vain than Persian women. Always striving to better than other women, insecurity rampant, and always jealous. Persian women have the most potential in all races of women, and yet I despise them the most out of all races of women. Their intelligence is rotted away with their obsession over looks. Their definition of power defined by their man. They are dominant, but become submissive as they are unable to do anything without their man. The women is battling her man, other women, and herself. A war on 3 fronts, is a war you cannot win. And it is for this reason, they always lose. The worst part is, Persians know this. This upsets me the most. They are aware of their arrogance and intelligence, and yet do nothing about. Like an alcoholic who refuses to quit.

Asians, smart crafty devils, with an absolute lack of compassion for other races and usually severe racism as well. Robots? Not quite. Robots would be indifferent, Asians are not indifferent. Similar to Persians in intelligence and their understanding of it, but without the arrogance. The feeling of superiority, masked by humility, by sub-conscious racism (giving them the benefit of the doubt). They’re quiet, and always make themselves seem less than they are, but are always planning to best their competition. Drive and determination, but with a flawed premise. No love to bring others up with them, but rather leave everyone in the dust. To use the common man for self use, and make sure he doesn’t get to the same level. A comrade has no meaning. The women are the same, but their disdain for others is even worse. The perfect counter-part as they support and go hand in hand with their man. However, often times, they find themselves weak against their man. They are driven and determined, but as soon as they find an Asian man who stands to oppose them, they crumble. As if admitting superiority. See that’s the entire problem here with Asians, the concept of superiority. Persians are always brought down by our stupidity induced by our arrogance, but Asians always see themselves as superior as above. As soon as that image is crushed, they crumble. As if being below anyone is the realization of failure. This is what I mean by a flawed premise.

Black people. Incredibly emotional, and lazy. Quick to anger, rash, lashes out easily. Uses great effort to build something, only to quickly destroy it. Hardworker...and yet I said lazy? Works hard, but not smart. Not that they can’t, just that they don’t want to. Life is hard, and yet if it’s simple, it’s not too bad. Yet complains that it’s not better, that they want it to be better, and yet doesn’t want to put the effort to make it better. Living in dreams, but never wants to make them a reality. An uphill battle that they can fight, but just that they don’t want to. Let someone else fight it for them, let them reap the rewards. Only fighting when they become emotional, but fighting out of anger, is a short fight. The fuse is only so long, and after it burns, back to mediocrity. Mediocrity isn’t a problem, if they didn’t find it a problem. Like a slouched spine. Works hard to keep you upright, but never quite does the job right. The women are similar to the women. Unsuprisingly, the women actually have more drive than the men. A culture so driven by emotions, it makes sense that the gender with more emotion is more driven. Dominant, aggressive, demanding....yet with all things extreme, easily broken. Unlike Persians with it being a fight against others and their own insecurities, and Asians with it being a fight against superiority and intelligence, with black people, it’s the fight of emotions. Don’t attack a black womens confidence or intelligence, attack her heart. That’s the walls weak point.

Arabians, all the bravado of Persians, with none of the attributes. Take the arrogance of Persians, and take away the craft and intelligence, and you get Arabians. There is a difference though, see Persians arrogance is against everyone, including fellow Persians. This causes conflict amongst Persians, which is why we are always bringing ourselves down. Arabians create a heirachy, with arrogance designated towards others that are not Arabian. Targeted arrogance you might say. A shared ideology and common belief, is all it takes to becomes uneasy friends with Arabians. You are part of the “cool kids table” now as they say. They have no superior quality outside of numbers and co-operations (which may be a quality in and of itself). One of the most unified cultures out there. This is what makes extremism so likely however. A unification of simple ideals is all that is needed to make one part of the cool kids and having disdain and arrogance towards everyone else. But who defines the cool kids? This is the infighting for Arabians, and makes it so they always form unified groups fighting unified groups; whereas for Persians it’s always a free for all. The women are basically the same. Lack of intelligence, lack of looks, and yet vain and demanding. Inferior in every way to Persian women. I’d feel bad for their conditions, if it wasn’t the fact that they treat the men just as badly as the men treat the women. They’re submissive state is only due to the fear induced by the mens aggression. Against any other physically submissive group, they would dominate. There are other cultures with men physically dominant (like black men), but they only tolerate Arabian men.

Indians. What is there to say? Racist, sexist, aggressive but weak? Out of all the groups, Indian men are the most sexist and treat women the worst. They make Arabian men look like angels. They have an inferiority complex, that they take out on the weaker groups due to lacking the balls to take someone on their own size. Their cowardness is unmatched in the world. Like the Asians, they too have a heirachy, and they strive to be the top. Unlike Asians though, they have compassion, and guilt. They will screw you over to get to the top, but they will feel bad about it (doesn’t mean they’ll do anything about it). Like Asians, they are quiet, but not out of disdain and contempt, but out of fear. They don’t bring themselves down like Asians (strategic), but rather only see themselves as lower due to the inferiority complex. This doesn’t mean they lack drive however, as they will still compete to be the top of their heirachy. Take the intelligence of Persians, but without the arrogance, and add the heart the Asians are missing, and you get Indians. Indian women on the other hand, are incredibly racist. The potential to be smart, but kept ignorant by their Indian men. Demanding, aggressive, insulting. Whereas Arabian women are physically abusive, Indian women are mentally abusive. They are like a peach, soft on the outside, but hard on the inside.

Finally....the white man. Individualism as an ethnicity. Congregation by like minds for a greater purpose, but for everyone else below them, they are tools. The white man will not come above others like Asians, but will bring others down below him. The white man doesn’t look to live like the black man, or to congregate like the Arabians, or look to fullfill a superiority complex like the Asians, or to fight off an inferiority complex either. The white man looks to control for the aim of bettering his life. Arrogant, but aware enough of that arrogance to curb it to the point it is still deterimental, but not as severe as Persians. As for the women, they are used as tools just as everyone else for the white man. The women are emotional, ignorant, arrogant, with little drive and purpose outside of be the useful tool of the white man. A blanks slate....literally. Easily influenced and written, by the white man, or other cultures. This makes it so the white women is able to congregate more easily with other cultures; if the other cultures racism allows.

Now, this may all appear negative, and it may appear I just hate all cultures, but that is just not the case. As is with everything, each culture has it’s positives and negatives.

Persians have so much potential. Their men are smart, intelligent, and can become experts in any field (as many are). Their women have the most potential out of any group. Looks and brains, can’t beat them. Asians are also smart and intelligent, always raising the bar, always increasing the competition. The women as well. Smart and determined, but humble and quiet. As long as they are empowered, they can achieve just as much if not more than the man can. Everyone can learn from black people. From all the groups, I love being in the company of this group the most. They have....soul.. would be the best way to put it. They are what it means to be human, to express yourself, and to live. Arabians demonstrate the power of Unity and tolerance. With their empire being one of the most peaceful and prosperious for it’s residents. The ability to set the petty aside and focus on the main ideals that unite all of us. Their women demonstrate how despite being oppressed and put down, you can always keep that drive and determination to be better. That no one can stop you. Indians are the nicest people in existence. Bettering their neighbor, and always trying to live with love and compassion. Their women are in fact the reasons this is the case, with mothers who teach the importance of loving oneself and ones neighbors. The white man, the centerpiece of all of this. Having the potential to unify all the groups, and have them cordially work with one another. While Persian woman are born with the most potential, white women are designed with the most potential in mind. The blank slate, combined with beauty and grace, enables them to create their own personality, and to be influenced by other cultures. Allowed to fluorish on their own, the white woman is one of the purest in all the groups.

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hela-of-ren · 7 years ago

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Blood Heritage

Request: abbygracehamiltonsolo Y/N is the daughter of Supreme Leader Snoke but, after failing to please her father with her barely controlled power, she runs away at a young age and becomes fast friends/lovers with a young Jedi named Ben Solo. Once Ben turns dark, however, Y/N realizes that she might be his only hope of escape from her fathers clutches. Even if saving him might reveal the terrible secret of her parentage to the galaxy. P.S. Thanks!! I ADORE your writing!! <3

My beautiful friend I am so sorry this took so long! My inbox was disheveled and a lot of things got swallowed into the void. BUT I GOTCHU BOO. I altered this a little bit to go with TLJ but it’s got the same idea, just added on that reader came back with Ben to the First Order to watch over him (which Snoke knows) but he keeps her heritage a secret as leverage over her. ENJOY LOVE <3

The air was thick with tension and had been so for the past few days, ever since Kylo had been defeated by the scavenger. You had flown a fighter onto the snowy terrain and half carried him back to safety; the wound on his face cutting much deeper than skin and muscle.

You had a bond with Kylo that ran just as deep, one which was forged when the both of you were more innocent so to say. You clutched the kyber crystal choker that hung tight around your neck all the more at the thought.

You were born to a nameless mother, one who had been used to breed a powerful heir and nothing more. But your father...your father was in fact Supreme Leader Snoke himself.

He had always hoped to hone you as a weapon for the first order, a powerful being that could bring his enemies to their knees without breaking a sweat. Everything had been going according to plan until Snoke underestimated just how much power you had.

Your power was nothing short of extraordinary, but the amount of control it took to hone it was exhausting and Snoke was no where near a gentle father. He preyed on your fear and failure in order to push you, succeeding one night in pushing you too far.

You ended up destroying a whole chunk of the base he had established, killing hundreds in the wake of your loss of control. With the last bit of strength you had you managed to find a small ship and put it int autopilot, programing it so that it took you to the nearest planet.

That was how you met Kylo...well, Ben at the time.

He had been the one to find your ship with his then master, Luke Skywalker. He had come to your bedside each day trying to get you to talk to him, sensing your fear and loneliness as if it were his own.

Unbeknownst to Ben, Luke had sensed the deep yet dark power within you. Disappearing into the kyber caves for a few days before coming back with a thin kyber encrusted choker. He had explained that your power seemed to be untrained and unbalanced and that this necklace would help to balance and allow the energy to flow easier.

Since then, you had never taken it off in fear of losing control again.

Through it all, you had stayed close to Ben, always afraid to get close to anyone else. He always made you feel safe yet confident whenever you trained with him; never allowing you to feel insignificant or weak.

As the months rolled by, Ben confided in you that he had been hearing voices since he could remember; voices that promised power and freedom and whispered of his darkest fears.

You knew all too well who had such tendencies to speak with such darkness, but you couldn’t reveal your parentage to Ben. He was all you had now and you couldn’t lose that.

When the destruction of the Jedi temple took place you stayed by him, knowing exactly where he would go once all was said and done. You didn’t want to be anywhere near Snoke, but you would never allow yourself to abandon Ben in fear of losing him to the darkness forever.

Snoke had secretly welcomed you back with more than a few punishments, keeping the secret of your parentage as a form of leverage over you. It was worth it as long as Ben...Kylo never looked at you with the fear everyone else had.

You stood off to the side in the medical room as a few medi bots attended to his face, his eyes set in a stony glare and his jaw clenched. He waved the bots away after a while and rested his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve made a connection with the scavenger.” He finally broke the silence.

“How is that possible?” You furrowed your brow.

“I don’t know...but I plan to take advantage of her naive nature, she’ll be here within a few hours if we’re lucky.”

“Kylo, I don’t understand-”

“I need her power to destroy Snoke, she is the perfect distraction to Snoke’s arrogance.”

“But Kylo-”

“DO NOT QUESTION ME. I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING.” You flinched and felt yourself turn cold at his tone. You nodded with a cool expression.

“Forgive me, Commander. It seems I’ve been enough of a bother.” You turned to the exit with the intent of finding the nearest training dummy and taking your anger out on it.

“Wait, Y/N-” You stopped as you felt the force reach out in a gentle hold around your hand, turning to look at his defeated expression, “I’m sorry...please...” He reached out his hand and you felt your walls crumbling. You made your way back to him until he could reach his arms around you in a tight hold, his head resting on your chest.

You reached up until you could card your fingers through his hair, sending calming waves through the force.

“You’re the last person I want to lose my temper at...I- I can’t lose you.” he whispered. You sighed and scratched at the base of his skull.

“I know you’re angry, Kylo. I also know that you’re brilliant when you set aside your feelings and think with clarity,” You tilted his chin up, “You will succeed and I will be by your side as always.” You finished by placing your forehead on his, Kylo closing his eyes and wrapping his arms tighter around you.

“Always.”

Your hands were clasped firmly behind your back as you stared at the back of the girl- Rey’s head. Kylo had warned you that she would most likely use his old name in the belief that she could bring him back to the light.

A ridiculous notion, really.

Did she really think it would be so easy and that she would be the one to do it? Foolish little girl indeed. You zoned back in when you noticed that she was now much closer to Kylo than you were comfortable with, her eyes imploring. Just as it seemed he would respond, the doors opened to Snoke’s throne room.

You knelt behind Kylo in a move that showed Snoke respect yet still allowed you to keep an eye on him. In the blink of an eye, Snoke had Rey up in the air as if she was nothing more than a spec of dust. Her screams echoed in the vast room and you suddenly found yourself remembering the feeling of being suspended, your mind assaulted by the man you called father.

A shiver ran down your spine as Snoke’s eyes fell on you.

“Oh yes, this disturbs you doesn’t it Y/N?” His voice had you turning your eyes down, “Look at me.” With that you felt your face forcefully lifted and locked in place. “Such disrespect.” He flicked his fingers until you too were lifted from the ground.

You could sense the smallest bit of worry and anxiety come from Kylo, but unfortunately, so could Snoke.

“Did she ever tell you where she came from, Ren? How she ever crossed your path in the first place?” He sneered as you struggled in his grasp, “Why do you think she posseses so much power yet never truly uses the full extent of it?” You clawed at the invisible hands at your throat.

“Supreme Leader-” Kylo tried to intercept, but was cut off.

“She was and has always been my daughter, my greatest failure.” The truth washed over the room and Kylo felt his eyes widen. “She ran like a coward when I unlocked her true potential,but luckily, her path led straight to you my apprentice.” Kylo looked at you as you struggled to breathe. “But I won’t make the same mistake again, you my child, are a lost cause that I cannot afford to fail me again.” He began to close his hand into a fist as you felt blood begin to leak from one of your ears, a piercing scream outmatching the scavenger.

Kylo felt his heart stop and sprung into action.

“NO-” Kylo felt his body freeze as he tried to attack Snoke, the alien’s cold eyes piercing him.

“Sentiment. A foolish notion, one that I will not suffer from the likes of you.” Snoke made to kill Kylo once and for all, the man falling to his knees in pain as his mind was plundered. You felt Snoke focus more on Kylo and relieve some of the pain you felt, your eye drifting to his dark form writhing in pain.

In that moment all you saw was Kylo in pain, something you had always tried to protect him from and at the end of that pain was Snoke.

Snoke.

You felt the choker around your neck heat up as your power grew and boiled beneath the surface, Kylo’s screams fueling it. The crystals began to crack at the anger you felt, a blinding fury pulsing in your veins as multiple objects began to levitate and shake. Snoke chose that moment to look back at you in surprise.

“Don’t touch him...” You growled out.

“What did you say?” He asked in outrage. You glared even deeper into his eyes as the choker began to loosen and break.

“Don’t you dare TOUCH HIM.” Your voice broke out in a yell as your power reached its peak, a blinding wave of orange light exploding around you and dropping Snoke’s control on everyone. Beams of flame swept through the guards like an inferno as the floor ripped form beneath you and flew in multiple directions; your scream of rage echoing in the room.

You felt yourself fall to the ground in a heap as smoke blurred your vision, a distant voice calling for you.

“Y/N! Y/N!” You could almost make out the deep timbre and worry until a black mass obscured your vision and engulfed you. “Y/N, Y/N look at me. Open your eyes, I have you, it’s alright.” That was Kylo’s voice you found yourself thinking as you struggled to see.

You finally opened them the slightest bit to see Kylo’s strained yet worried face above you, his eyes flickering over every inch of you in concern.

“Kylo? You’re okay...” You managed to whisper out. You coughed into his chest with a gasp at the feeling of your power completely unleased, “W-where is Snoke, h-he-” You were cut off as you glanced at the throne now cleared of smoke.

There sat your father, shrapnel embedded in every inch of his body as well as a thin piece of glass sliced into his waist; his body eventually giving out and half falling onto the floor. Kylo cupped the back of your head and pulled you into his chest.

“Don’t look.” He spoke gently to you and picked you up bridal style.

“BEN!” The scavenger yelled from behind the two of you, stopping Kylo in his tracks, “Please, come back with me. You still have a ch-” He cut her off abruptly.

“You will leave now if you know what’s good for you.” His command was low and lined with warning. She took a step closer in an attempt to try once more until he turned with you in his arms to look at her. “LEAVE,” He yelled, her face freezing in shock before she rushed off.

Kylo adjusted you in his arms and sat down by the elevator with you, keeping your head tucked into his neck as his eyes closed in exhaustion.

“I know what you’re thinking,” He broke you from your exhaustion, “Do I wish I would have known the truth about Snoke earlier? I do, if only to prevent you from ever coming back here at all.” He mumbled, “But that dooesn’t change how I feel about you, nothing ever will.” He ended with a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“My p-power-” You rasped out.

“I will help you, you will never need to hide with me. You will control it and when you do, everyone will fear the name of Y/N, Empress Ren.” You closed your eyes, trusting in Kylo and everything he made you feel.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #reader insert #star wars #request #empress-ren #kylo ren fanfiction

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drewpaints · 7 years ago

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Fiorina Campaign: Battle Group Felix Operation III

+++ASTROPATHIC DATAPACKET RECEIVED: URGENT: TEXT ONLY+++

Inquisitor Hilgen Nar Tormen of the Ordo Hereticus made request to Captain Felix to undertake with the Inquisitor the detainment for questioning on matters unknown Imperial Fist Captain <REDACTED> who was known to be active in the Fiorina Cluster.

Though within the Inquisition’s power to make such request it ill behoves for them to dictate the manner in such their requests are carried out. It was Captain Felix’s belief that it would serve no good to the honour of the Scions of either Dorn or Guilliman to meekly submit to detainment when no charge was leveled. It was decided by both brother Captains that due respect dictated an honour battle be undertaken upon which the request would be decided.

Inquisitor Nar Tormen was noted to be not pleased by this course of action. Though he was advised that he could seek alternative forces to assist him should he so wish, he did not. Chapter Master to be made aware that it is probably the Inquistor will file a missive of complaint.

+++REPACKAGE AND DISTRIBUTE TO CHAPTER MASTER+++

Narrative play mission based on the ‘Limitless Authority’ scenario released alongside the Eisenhorn mini. An Inquisitor was fielded in an observation roll (the coward) and had no abilities.

Rolling to see who the Inquistor had taken an interest it was decided my opponent’s Imperial Fists (in blue to deceive enemy intelligence) would be the defender, deploying in the center of the table round the ruins of a damaged Imperial rail terminal. My deployment was two narrow strips on both short edges of the board. Remembering my previous issues with splitting a Primaris force I deployed in a block and hoped that I could maneuver quickly enough should my opponent make for the unoccupied side of the table.

Bending to the Inquisition's will, honour must still be satisfied

Very similar to normal forces for me, I’ve pretty much stopped using scouts, particularly against Imperial Fists. A new addition is my Relic Contemptor Dreadnought and Company Champion. The Imperial Fists fielded a heavy mass of armour, Tactical Marines, Stern Guard, and deepstriking Terminators and Assualt troops; both of whom I have a fear of.

A heavy defensive line about the old town square.

What followed was a pretty bloody scrap that was over in about 2-3 turns. The attacking Ultramarines were able to claim the first turn with a lucky roll of a 6, though the majority of their movement just had them push forward to be better in range for the Imperial Fist’s shooting. If there hadn’t been so many tanks on the Imperial Fist’s side I might have tried to go for a longer range shooting duel and hope the Primaris weapons’s range advantage carried them through but, as it was, pushing up was the only option.

The starting deployment was very close to optimal for range both marine armies and a lot of fire was traded. It was also pretty intense so I forgot to take many picture until the end. Mostly the game covered both forces pushing forward into rapid fire range. The Imperial Fist Contemptor came steaming down the table and was determined to make a mess of my Aggressors, who with a very respectable advance roll had pushed ahead as my vanguard. Fortunately they were able to only lose one of their number in the fight phase and using the Ultramarine chapter tactic fall back and continue to shoot into the defending Imperial Fist Marines in the next turn.

The Imperial Fist Terminators and Assault troops came thumping down with a crackle of teleport ozone and roar of jet packs in turn 1 and 2 respectively. My only hope was that the Relic Contemptor and Company Champion could delay the Terminators (scary murder bastards) for long enough to have the Ultramarine main force defeat the resistance at the center of the table.

Part of the rules for this scenario are that the defending warlord must be taken alive, and therefore can only be defeated in close-combat. If I hadn’t been unlucky/lucky and failed to shoot-off one last defending Tactical marine I would have forgotten the Inquisitor's instructions and sent a volley of hot plasma death in the direction of the Imperial Fist Captain.

The dust settles

As the forces closed on each other Imperial Fists were able to slay the Aggressors and destroy the Relic Contemptor, a mass assault of jump pack marines delivering the killing blow and turning the venerable piece of chapter history into a smoking wreck. Where a few seconds later it’s drive core overloaded killing the last Terminator, a pair of Assault Marines, and injuring the Ultramarine Company Champion, let’s hope the Tech marines can salvage it. In return the Imperial Fist Contemptor that was towering over the Ultramarine front-line was destroyed, but it took an entire barrage of fire from the severely damaged Redemptor.

As the remaining Imperial Fists surged forward Captain Felix offered his brother Captain the chance to finish this in single combat, which was accepted only for the Imperial Fist Lieutenant and Tactical Marine to join in to nobly defend their Captain, who can fault their loyalty.

A clash of power weapons later and a crackle of energy fields and it was all over. The Imperial Fist Captain was captured; marine had faced brother marine but at least the Inquisition could take some satisfaction that their inscrutable goals had been achieved.

+++RESULT: VICTORY+++

Conclusions: What a good scenario, would make for a great last stand mission but I’d love to see it played with Guard vs a horde of Tyranids or similar.

Starting to get a feel for 40k under 8th edition, it’s certainly not as simple as it first looks once rules start interacting but it’s still pretty fast, though remember stat lines is still a bit of a process. Having laminated my Battlescribe printouts though helps a massive amount to have a stack of A5 reference cards.

Though I did a lot of damage to the Imperial Fist forces this game I’m aware that some of that came from some very lucky dice rolls that kept things like the Relic Contemptor in the fight longer that it could have done. Though I had my common problem of rolling 1’s and 2’s on d6 damage rolls, possibly keeping me keen on weight of fire rather than single high damage shots even when dealing with vehicles etc.

The Relic Contemptor is an expensive lump of points but it’s probably the most resilient thing I can hope to field short of a land raider.

As often is the case the Aggressors had the potential to do massive amount of damage but they’re so visible they’re a frequent target of incoming fire, particularly from heavy weapons. If I’m going to make an investment in keeping them alive I’ll need to lose something else from my list, though a second squad of Aggressors is tempting too.

Didn’t make much use of Stragems this game, discovering the Auspex scan is limited to infantry mid-game didn’t help my Contemptor who was supposed to be guarding my flank. As I’ve found before, counter attack is always useful.

Whilst I had my Company Champion on the table for the first time in a ladder game he wasn’t much use on his own and was only there as I couldn’t afford the points for Chaplain Ventris

My Interceptor is another thing I wonder about the value of, it’s got a lot of shooting but it costs a lot of points and has its effectiveness blunted by its air-to-air focus. Though as it’s my only really mobile unit I’m loathed to swap it out unless I was getting a lot of flexibility in return. Maybe it would be worth swapping it for little Gunship instead, though I’m also keen on getting through the shame pile at the moment.

#warhammer 40k #battle report

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getoutoftheweeds-blog · 7 years ago

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Quotes – Consuming the Wisdom of Others

2017 has been a tough year in many ways. As I sit here and reflect on everything that has happened this year, I recognize it has been a profound test of endurance. All aspects of my life have been affected. Heck, every person in my life has had to face an uphill slog this year. It would be easy to look at the circumstances and get overwhelmed. I must admit, there have been multiple occasions throughout the year where I wanted to throw in the towel and just walk away from the whole mess.

But, in my mind, it would be wrong to quit. My family and friends deserve better than that.

We all need a little change in perspective and renewed motivation from time to time. One of the things I turn to the most for motivation is quotes. I love to see the insight other people have. Quotes are a microcosm of someone’s story. They are wit and wisdom from profound insight and experience rolled into a neat little package that is easy to digest.

When I started to compile my list of quotes, I had pages and pages. Today, I pare those down to a (somewhat) short list which really speak to me about perseverance. These quotes serve as both inspiration and a kick in the butt to keep me moving. I hope they are motivating for you as well.

It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but god will not have his work manifest by cowards. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

This excerpt is from Emerson’s work Self-Reliance. Emerson was not making a theological statement, but basically saying you need to be true to yourself. In other words, if you are willing to change yourself to please other people, you are being a coward.

Do not pray for an easy life, pray for the strength to endure a difficult one. – Bruce Lee

Throughout every generation of the human race there has been a constant war, a war with fear. Those who have the courage to conquer it are made free and those who are conquered by it are made to suffer until they have the courage to defeat it, or death takes them. – Alexander the Great

Face your fears and conquer them.

So – Join the company of good men and women keep your feet on the tried-and-true paths. It’s the men who walk straight who will settle this land, the women with integrity who will last here. The corrupt will lose their lives; the dishonest will be gone for good. – King Solomon, reflecting on lessons his father, David, and mother, Bathsheba, taught him. Proverbs 2: 20-22

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat. - Theodore Roosevelt

Wise words from a man who was gritty enough to finish a public speech after being shot.

Do everything without complaining or arguing… - Philippians 2:14

You’ve got to stop living for the people who’ve hurt you and the things that have happened to you, and you’ve got to start living for yourself. Do the things that make you joyful inside. - Jolie O’Dell

You need to leave your past behind and build the future you want.

Never, never, never give up! - Winston Churchill

If you are going through hell, keep going. - Winston Churchill

Hard work spotlights the character of people: some roll up their sleeves, some turn up their noses and some don’t turn up at all. – Sam Ewing

Sam was a witty baseball player who batted left and threw right. He came from a small town and used his talents to build a successful life and a positive impact on those around him. Something I hope to mimic.

You cannot know who you are or what you are capable of until you face adversity. You cannot know the strength of the steel you hold until it strikes something solid. And you cannot know what kind of a man you are until you look hardship and difficulty in the eye, face it, and rise to its challenge. Without that test, you just don’t know. – “Nick Sadler”

The man who has no refuge in himself, who lives, so to speak, in his front rooms, in the outer whirlwind of things and opinions, is not properly a personality at all. He floats with the current, who does not guide himself according to higher principles, who has no ideal, no convictions--such a man is a mere article of furniture--a thing moved, instead of a living and moving being--an echo, not a voice. The man who has no inner life is the slave of his surroundings, as the barometer is the obedient servant of the air at rest, and the weathercock the humble servant of the air in motion. – Henri-Frederic Amiel

We receive everything, both life and happiness; but the manner in which we receive, this is what is still ours. Let us then receive trustfully without shame or anxiety. Let us humbly accept from God even our own nature, and treat it charitably, firmly, intelligently. Not that we are called upon to accept the evil and disease in us, but let us accept ourselves in spite of the evil and the disease. - Henri-Frederic Amiel

Amiel was a Swiss philosopher. He makes the gears in my head turn.

It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard...is what makes it great! -Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own

Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. – Paul, writing to his friends in Rome who were facing persecution. Romans 5:3-5

Sometimes, when everything is going wrong, when life is at its crappiest, you have just got to find a reason to smile. This crap will build hope inside of you that no one can take away.

I hope you found these quotes inspirational. I keep these written down in a place where I can get my hands on them quickly. If I need some motivation or a perspective shift, I pull out my notes and read the wisdom that these folks (and others) documented. I use them kind of like a compass. As I look over the 10,000 foot view of my life, I use this wisdom to make sure I’m bearing in the right direction.

I’m curious, what are some quotes that inspire you? Where do you turn if you need a little motivation to keep going?

We can’t wait to hear from you.

#Quotes #Inspiration #Motivation #Wisdom

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miss-pyrrha-nikos-isms · 7 years ago

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☪

5 times our muses almost held hands and one time they did.

1. Snowball Fight

A flurry of snow had hit Beacon in the middle of November, fluffy white flakes fell overnight coating the Academy in a blanket of brilliance. Between Nora’s excitement and Pyrrha’s enthusiasm, it was only natural that team JNPR found themselves caught in a snowball fight for hours. At first, it was just those four, but where there was chaos, one would find team RWBY as well. Soon their impromptu war had drawn in a good portion of Beacon’s student populace.

It wasn’t that Pyrrha had never seen snow before. Her home in Mistral was high in the mountains and snows were frequent enough, but she’d never had the opportunity to enjoy it. Given the option now, Pyrrha indulged herself and joined Nora in making snow-people and Grimm, throwing snowballs and getting into the spirit of things.

When afternoon rolled around, snow castles had been built, lines in the snow had been drawn and, to say the least, things escalated quickly. War loomed.

The world was white and crisp, laughter and cold.

Hours afterwards, grinning and exhausted, they came in from the cold to the glorious smell of hot cocoa provided by Ren. Peeling off her gloves, the redhead smiled her thanks and attempted to take a cup. She winced and gasped as a sharp lance of pain shot up her hands.

“Here, let me help. I run pretty hot.” That voice broke straight through the warm fog exhaustion cast over her thoughts. It was always welcome but never failed to put her on edge.

Before she knew what was happening, warm hands grasped hers, drawing them together then upwards. A warmth flushed her face that had nothing to do with being indoors as he breathed over her frozen hands and hugged them with his own.

‘Oh Jaune, you have no idea.’

A tingle of warmth bloomed that had nothing to do with being out of the cold.

2. Inspiration

She had an idea that simply couldn’t wait. In a brief flash of inspiration, it suddenly came to her that Pyrrha could fix everything in a simple stroke. Cardin’s bullying, Jaune’s self-confidence, their team’s performance in classes, her own wish to be closer… But this wasn’t about her- of course.

Waiting for Jaune after class, Pyrrha sent Ren and Nora ahead. This wasn’t the sort of proposition you made in front of others. Watching Cardin saunter away, she found her hands passively curling into fists and, in her enthusiasm, she missed the hand she was intending to take, grasping his wrist instead.

3. Heartbeat

To say she was impressed by his progress was an understatement. Jaune had developed swiftly since joining Beacon, a recent rematch with Cardin proving such. She was no expert, but it seemed her team leader had been flying high since then. The blonde was learning some of the techniques faster than she could teach them, his mind putting them to use in maneuverers and strategies as he was practising and perfecting it himself.

He was miles beyond the dopey idiot some of their classmates saw him as. If the white-haired heiress could see him now, glowing with the pride of new mastery, exuding self-confidence with every swing and slowly unveiling the warrior she knew he could be, she certainly wouldn’t be so quick to reject his advances. But, that would mean sharing these private sessions of the rooftop, and Pyrrha wasn’t sure she wanted to give them up just yet.

After another bout, the redhead called a break. She was getting better at judging how far she could push her team leader before he started to lose heart. For now, he was beaming. Sweat might have been clinging to his skin, and they both might have been breathing hard, but there was a glow, an air of triumph that both delighted and thrilled her. Victory became him.

Pyrrha could feel herself being drawn into a reverie, so before her partner could find it, or ask what

The Mistrali pulled two juice-boxes from her bag. Turning back to Jaune, she watched as he pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie, his thumb pressing down on his wrist, as part of a training technique she’d taught him early on. If one could take their own pulse, you could measure your recovery after a bout. As it was a tangible difference, something physical and real, Pyrrha thought it might help Jaune mark how far along he was coming.

“Oh, I can never find it.” It was almost a ritual of sorts. He would try, and he would fail, then ask, “Could you find it for me?”

With a bashful smile that had quickly become one of the many points she’d come to love about her partner, he held out a wrist. Swiftly, she stripped her left hand of its glove and gently took the back of his hand in the palm of hers. With practised ease, she found the point and pushed down lightly, feeling the faint ‘thump’ of a heartbeat.

Or rather she would if it weren’t for the thunderous sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

4. Ice

“Oh Dust!”

The redhead exclaimed as she stepped onto the ice, her feet immediately coming out from under her. As her knees made contact with the frozen floor, Pyrrha felt an arm grab her own. The sound of laughter made her cheeks burn. Embarrassment wasn’t a feeling she experienced often.

“It’s a bit tricky to start.” Bringing her to the edge, Jaune smiled as he helped her up. Careful to keep his arm under hers, Pyrrha felt their hands brush through gloves. The thought of lacing her fingers through his was tempting, but before she had the chance, Pyrrha was forced to hold onto her team leader’s arm for dear life as the skates threatened to slip from beneath her again.

“Slow and steady…” Jaune patted her arm as he tried to draw her away from the edge. “You got this.”

There was no judgement in that voice. There was the barest amount of humour, but she couldn’t blame him. Puella Invictus defeated by a pair of skates and some frozen water. And yet, under his tutelage, she got better. Within five circuits she was capable of skating on her own.

Pyrrha sincerely hoped he couldn’t tell she had been faking her incompetence for the final two.

5. Courage

Ask Pyrrha Nikos to charge a horde of Grimm and she would tear them apart without a second thought. Ask her to take on a challenging interview, and she would smile and ace it. Tests, tournaments, troublesome terrorists, she would happily take on all of them and emerge without a single flaw.

So why now did her courage dry up? Why couldn’t she look at those cerulean eyes and simply keep going, to keep saying how she felt. She urged herself to reach forward, to take his hand in her own and say what had been on her mind since their meeting in the Emerald Forest.

How hard could it be to keep going? She had already spilt her heart out to the man beside her. She had already let him become closer than anyone else had ever come before, what more damage could three simple words do?

And yet, they caught in her throat. She hadn’t been lying when she said it was all but impossible to form a meaningful relationship with anyone, and now that she had one, she wouldn’t risk ruining it over something so juvenile.

Ask her to face down a Death Stalker armed with nothing but her shield and Pyrrha would take it as a challenge. Ask her to take down four Hunters in training at once, and she’d thank you for the opportunity. On the surface, she seemed a figure of infinite courage, but in affairs of the heart, she was a bigger coward than them all.

+1- Not Alone

She felt as though she was drowning. Everything she had taken for granted about the future was thrown into disarray, and for the first time in her short life, Pyrrha knew fear. Her heart felt like lead as she looked down at her hands. In a few days, they might not even be hers…

The thought chilled her to the bone. As much as she tried to think that it was about carrying hope for Remnant’s future, everything she had wanted to accomplish, it didn’t change that it might not be her. No-one knew what that machine would do to her. Her family, her friends, the ones she treasured so much. She could easily lose them all. But, could she really put them and her own selfishness above the future?

Darkness was approaching. On the breeze, she could hear the sound of the fairgrounds, the life and light that she wanted to protect so badly. Would she still want to do that afterwards? Would she still have her own thoughts? Would she ever be able to forgive herself if any of them got hurt knowing that she could have stopped it?

As her thoughts drifted away, likewise a leaf drifted down from one of the trees. She couldn’t escape this. The wall she leant against felt like ice as the sunlight turned cold on her skin. She was alone, on the smallest, most distant iceberg there was.

In essence, it was simple.

’I don’t want to die’

Her eyes prickled as tears pooled. She wouldn’t let them fall. She couldn’t pity herself at a time like this. Beneath the ground she sat on, there was a girl who struggled for each breath, who fought with everything in her being to just keep going. All to keep hope alive.

How could she even consider saying no, when so many had doubtlessly given more to keep this hope alive? How despicable a person was she?

Her gaze was a thousand miles distant when something pink came into her vision. Looking up, she saw the person she both wanted and feared would be there. She couldn’t summon up her usual smile at his quip. Of course, Jaune was a good enough friend to try and find her after she slipped away. His presence hurt, but she was still loathed to ask him to leave. She didn’t deserve comfort or companionship.

’I don’t deserve your company...‘

Instead of saying that, she robotically thanked him for the sweets. A week ago, her biggest worry would have been how the confectionery would affect her training performance over the next few days. How she longed to turn the clock back that little bit… She tried to pull herself out of it, to give Jaune the attention he deserved, but it was all but impossible. She felt him take a seat beside her, but couldn’t do anything about it. She felt disassociated from her body, like she was floating somewhere high above everything, looking down at a dead girl walking and the boy she was hopelessly in love with.

“You were the first person to ever believe in me, you know that?” As it always did, his voice drew her attention, like it was slowly dragging her out of the mire her thoughts had created and towards clarity. She felt disconnected, but almost on instinct, her head turned towards him.

“Not even my parents. When I came to Beacon they said not the worry if I had to move back home.” His sapphire eyes glanced at her joined with a small smile. “How depressing is that?” He was carrying around pain of his own, and Pyrrha felt herself reflexively try to find a way to help. It might be the last time she had the chance to. She didn’t know what help she could be in this fragmented state, but she could try.

“I’m sure- They didn’t mean…” She floundered, looking for some reason. Jaune’s parents had always seemed nice. Surely they’d meant to provide support more than anything else…

She gasped as his hand rested on top of hers before squeezing gently. He wasn’t here to receive help. He was just there for her. Pyrrha turned her eyes downwards, then to Jaune’s face, part of her doubted it was real.

As always, there was no judgement and no assumptions. Her partner didn’t try and guess what was wrong, he just accepted something was amiss and selflessly offered his help. As broken and fragmented as she felt, her breath caught and she could feel colour coming to her cheeks.

It was a promise, that for now, she didn’t have to face this choice on her own. That she wasn’t alone.

She could have fallen for him all over again in that moment.

#RWBY #Arkos #Fanfiction #5 times +1 #Canon Compliant #I'm sorry this took so long!#Angst warning #I feel I should have done 2 and 4 a little more justice #jaune-refaire-arc

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felineechoes · 7 years ago

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Forgotten Memories Chapter 4: Don’t Forget

At my Station, I was taking a well-deserved nap after being woken up at 3:00 in the morning by Papyrus, I knew the human wouldn’t be here until later on so a nap would help as long as I wasn’t woken up.

Yet it seems to be hard to sleep when someone is sneaking up behind you, I felt a sudden shill going down my spine and I jumped ready to attack whoever was sneaking up behind me until I heard her voice.

“Sorry, did I scare you, I tend to do that quite often,” the voice in the bushed said. She stepped out of the bushes with her drooping tail covered in thorns and grey ears down. It was Amaja…she looked injured and was crying.

“So why are you crying,” I asked her. She dusted off her light aqua coat of leaves and snow then sighed.

“I am not crying actually,” she sternly remarked at my question. I could tell that she was nervous from how her tail flicked left and right rapidly and her ears perked up at the slightest sound.

“Really, well do you get out often, you seem to be very conscientious about standing still in one place?” I said sarcastically.

“I have…trust issues,” She looked down at the snow, “I lost my parents at a young age, well I never knew them and the only thing they left for me was a note that said you should never of existed, but then again my childhood is a big blur even though I am only a teenager.”

Even when I thought there was no way it could be THAT neko the universe seems to slap me in the face with the facts. This neko seemed to know him but to be sure, “So what else do you remember?”

A dumb question to ask but she never disturbed by rest of waiting every other reset until now.

“I remember a man, with boney hands who picked me up and…” Amaja grew silent for a moment until she continued, “Dust filled the air and the rest is…a blur.”

She confirmed the universe’s slap of facts, this was the neko he saved from turning to dust. Yet I still had one question, why was she here, “So why are you here?” I asked.

“To ask you something, you were the last monster I saw before I somehow…”

“Woke up at home, and in bed, yeah that happens every reset,” I responded, she looked deep in thought now, that’s when I noticed her tears were odd…they came out of one eye, the left eye which was closed, I took a bandage out of my coat and tried to reach but I was too short. That’s when Amaja came back to her senses and said, “So the gamer term for restarting, but this seems more like a rewind to me, so this has happened before?”

“Yep, plenty of times that this has happened, wait you can’t remember the other times!” I was shocked, only Alphys and I remembered resets, having another one who doesn’t remember the other times would be confused. Yet I rather not explain to her anything, she seemed like someone who has had a hell of a bad time living, yet to still have her innocence and sanity was surprising. I literally almost went crazy killing Chara repeatedly, almost, yet every so often I see their crimson blood on my hands dripping onto the floor.

“You ok?” Amaja asked me. I nodded, that was a lie, I was not okay, I relived killing Chara again, “You sure, you went catatonic for a moment there?”

“I could ask you the same thing, are you ok,” I asked back, Amaja grew silent and looked at her feet. She didn’t know how to respond I guessed. “Do you…perhaps…know why my left eye hurts and is dripping green tears?” she hesitated as she asked. I thought for a moment about what she said. I could be a similar situation to how skeleton eyes work, only if he was here to help me.

“I…do know someone who does but he is hard to reach…almost impossible, I suggest wearing a bandage over so no more green liquid flows out,” I shrugged while saying that, I literally had no idea what was going on with her.

“Can you tell me more about him,” she asked me. I shook my head to that, no one remembers him so why even bother telling them.

“That’s okay, must be hard to talk about, I know what that is like,” she looked depressed, real tears came out of her right eye, “I rarely ever get out in fear of getting close to someone but yet…I feel like I’ve known you forever, just please promise me something?”

I hate making promises but this seemed like one I could keep so I hesitated a reply, “Yeah, what is it?”

“Don’t die, I would blame myself is you did, I can’t risk losing someone else!”

“I…can’t make a promise like that…you see,” I started to explain things to her about timelines and resets, leaving out bits and pieces. She seemed to understand what I was saying and didn’t freak out about all of this. Yet I still had a feeling…someone was watching us, someone I knew well. A person who was forgotten by all but one.

GASTER

He was a mess, goopy and pallid. No one knew him…that made this easier to do. Seeing Sans made him realize he was never truly forgotten by everyone. Yet he needed more strength to fully return, someone easy to kidnap. So, he waited in Hotland in the secret LAB, guess it was easy to replace him, but he was proud of his former assistant for doing the job so well. Alphys truly is a great scientist even though she is a bit of a coward. Yet she was smart and wanted to make the Underground a better place, this was her greatest strength. He sighed, regretting what he kept from her, the DETERMINATION experiments, perhaps if he did tell Alphys then all of the abnigalites might have never been created. He shook off these thoughts reminding himself the reason he was here. His patience served him well Alphys went into the Lab to feed the anomalies. He summoned what little strength he had left from coming into this timeline to create a hand to snatch Alphys by surprise. It worked yet he could barely hear anything after she screamed.

“That was easy,” he said, “Next will be my sons!”

#forgottonmemories #fan fiction #undertale sans #undertale #undertale fanfiction #amaja #undertale gaster #my writing

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