#I wasted valuable Event grinding for what? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

indecisiveroomtempcola · 4 years ago

Text

The silence is a great friend

Chapter 1:Despair Upon One's Heart

His thigh burned with every step, drenched and tired. He was out of his mind his only goal was to reach the station, from the extraordinary golden gilded homes of the noble district to the run-down mills and houses of the lower class plebeians, townsfolk dressed in shabby outfits, rags and cloth nothing more over the top than sheep wool. The mundane colours of the plebaien’s homestead are uncomparable to the aristocrats’ distinguished estates.

Going through a crowd, the Central Market. All the townsfolk sell their goods here but some sell more valuable merchandise in the darker corners of the Central Market. Today had more hustle and bustle than the others, a coming festival, an event? Miller could have not given a single hint of interest as he pushed through the hoards of people trading and haggling. An even larger crowd stood in his way. Stumbling while dragging his body through the crowd into the centre while he kept running pushing something aside as it crossed his path and he struggled through the other end, one more turn and he’ll reach the station. Adrenaline filled his veins and he made one last dash for it, a loud hiss could be heard yards away from the hunkering orange bricked building.The last locomotive, he could not afford to miss it, no he can’t miss it. The sound of the whistle made a nerve racking hiss, it stung Miller’s ear every single time. His hand instinctively went up to his ear, trying to block the irritating sound. Someone could be heard shouting at him, multiple steps of boots stomped against the stone brick floor.

A few more seconds from the edge of the entrance, bursting through the brass coloured gate onto the locomotive platform, he searched frantically, the locomotive just started moving. Hope filled him as he was so close, forcing the last of his strength into his bare bone legs he jumped grabbing the pole on the back of the locomotive, his shoes skimming on the edge of the railroad, a troupe of guards could be seen at the corner of his eyes, edging near the end platform. They seemed confused but one of the guards pointed towards Miller as the locomotive sped off into the cold evening.

Using both of his hands he grabbed the metal pole and climbed on to the end of the locomotive, a small platform with red railings surrounding the edges with a small metal roof covering the top. He laid wasted against the backdoor, his chest heaving, breathing in mouths full of air. His body began to tremble but the sense of dread that hung onto the back of his mind was washed over by a wave of relief, the air seemed calm with a breeze that danced around Miller, while droplets of rain tapped the top of the roof, pitter pattering. The earthly scent filled his nose, his eye blinking wanting to be close, but that moment made him feel everything around him. The sweat that soaked his clothes, the wretched smell of raw fish and pig, his thick brown hair was a mess, strands splattered against his forehead and the grinding of each metal wheel when the train stopped. Today’s unlucky streak would come to an end when he reached the small cottage on the edge of a clearing, his cozy little home.

---------

A ruined warehouse, half of its roof coming in on itself but the other still stayed intact, signs of cracking traced the building. Even some parts of it were covered by green ivy, an old dark oak tree looming above the warehouse, its leaves rustling against the soft wind while the branches sway lazily.

The serene atmosphere’s melodious tune of nature is as though being orchestrated by a masterful conductor each wave of the baton creates another symphony interrupted only by a low hum coming from the warehouse, gradually becoming louder and louder. The inside of the warehouse was lit only by the translucent light bulbs that hung idly with a thin silver metal cord, each hung at different lengths giving the room its on esthetic, the middle, sat a monstrous machine. The hull made out of translucent Ceilium glass, its engine bare, showing the conductor booth that sat behind the hull, a grey box, enough to fit only one man, its was shape after a locomotive but its design’s stand out, with exhaust pipe lining the sides of the machine, its cool thin frame that curve down when it meets the hull and a large mechanical orb that was hung loosely from where the furnace would be, it was only a hole that fits the orb.

The orb had an intricate design, lines and shape that was engraved into, a man walk into the booth, he took out a flask containing blue liquid, and poured it into one of the holes, closing the lid he grabbed the orb jamming it back, it clicked into place, the circular metal spun and stop on a dial.

“That's the last of my supply, hope this baby works.” his hoarse voice echoed through the room. He patted the top of the machine and got to work, like clockwork he started pulling levers and pushing buttons on the frame.Each cathartic click, deafen by the sound of the engine finally roaring to life,” Yeah!” He yelled in triumph. Jumping down with a clunk when his steel toe boots touched the grey concrete floor. “After decades of wor-” he stopped mid sentence as something felt wrong, he realized he forgot to turn on the stabilizer, the engine’s roar turned into a high pitch whistle, while the entire frame started to shake uncontrollably. He stared helplessly as the machine exploded into pieces, each individual part shot out in flames around the workshop.

He fell to his knees, with his mouth gaping wide. His head hung low and he let out a deep sigh. He rose slowly walking outside the ruin of a workshop and leaned against its brick wall, his palm rested on his greasy face, how could he be so careless. A vital instrument missing from a machine is as though one loses their own organs, a huge setback.The setting sun told the conductor it was about time to head on his way home, staring vacantly at the lavender field that range over the hills, “It never gets old doesn’t it Hannah” The conductor found his hand caressing the golden locket that hung around his neck, he gripped it tightly reminiscing how it all used to be… different. “Ahem.” someone cleared their throat ruining the moment the conductor had.” Was I interrupting something Agner?`` The high pitched voice imitated the whistle from before, giving Agner a headache. Agner recognised that distinct voice,” Leong, hasn’t it been too long since your last visit?” Leong pounder, then spoke “ Wasn’t it yesterday?” Agner rubbed his temples, clearly too exhausted. “Oh, i am just cracking a joke, Agner, did it really get on your nerves.”

“As a matter of fact your very existence gives me a fit every time you’re near me” still leaning against the wall Agner gestured to the Bishop asking him what he wanted this time? “ Oh c'mon Agner we’ve been going at it for weeks and the Pope isn’t at all happy” The urgency in his voice caught Agner off guard for a bit,” How so, Leong?” He was cautious now, eyeing around his surroundings.

“He’ll send Hunters if you cease to cooperate with us.” Leong said smugly, he walked around Agner trying to intimidate him like a tiger circling its prey.” Death threats aren’t uncommon, when coming from you Leong,” Agner’s arms are crossed, his chin held high.”The two clergy you sent didn’t seem too threatening for me.” the air between them was tense, both of their composure remained unwavering, not willing to bend to one’s own accord. “FIne by me then.” Leong stopped dead in his tracks, he shrugged. A blurry image headed straight for Agner, he rolled to his side barely dodging the attack, red dust swirled around them, the lights on its headpiece pierce the dust, pouncing once again at Agner. He was too slow as the massive hunk of metal crashed straight into him, the metal beast now on top of Agner, tried clawing at his neck but Agner held it at bay with his burly arms, swiftly he unsheathe a knife tucked underneath his thigh and struck it’s exposed neck.

The beast struggled while gurgling blood, Agner tossed him aside as the beast stopped moving.” I built those exosuits, Leong, I know where their-” Agner was cut short as he was completely surrounded by different kinds of mechanical animals, each eye glowed bright.” I did say Hunter’s’ Agner, not one but a whole squadron.”. Leong stood there with one of his arms on his hips the other showing the Hunters, one of them attached to the wall, four of its claws digged into the red brick. Another hovering over them, its wingspan large and wide with razor sharp ends, another with tusk the size of an elephant.

“Ironic isn’t it, its creator being forced to face against the machines he made.” Leong stroded towards him, Agner who was still holding his blade backed away into the warehouse.

:”Oh Agner this isn’t the last of your troubles, I sent someone to deal with the unruly wench you have for a wife.” Leong knew he struck home because he never saw a man with such fury in his eyes,”Come at me you bastards!” He roared charging at Leong but the Bishop flicked his wrist and Agner was tossed aside into a pile of coal,”Don’t ruin our plaything,We need him alive.” Leong walked away. Hunters jumped onto Agnar. The only sound that still remained was the shouting and clanking of metal suits.

1 note · View note

clansayeed · 4 years ago

Text

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 3: The Truth

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

As it turns out the Trinity is still in New York. A desperate Nadya agrees to meet Valdas and his promise of answers, but is she ready for the truth behind her visions?

[READ IT ON AO3]

Nadya, Lily, and Jax agree to wait until the seventh and final night of Valdas’ offer.

So, naturally, Nadya goes the night before on her own.

The vampire watches her with an uncomfortable curiosity. It doesn’t carry the usual weight of immortality she associates with him. A year ago he moved like every limb was dragging Atlas’ burden by iron chains but now he’s… well he’s just different.

“You know, I was convinced you would wait until the last day to come.”

Nadya shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “I can go if you want,” though she really can’t and hopes he doesn’t take her up on it, “and come back tomorrow.”

“No no, that isn’t what I meant at all. I’m merely surprised. Help remind me to ask for cash back when we’re finished here, would you? I owe Isseya a few hundred for the bet.”

There’s something just… so wrong about a man over two thousand years old talking about ‘cash back.’ Maybe that’s why Kamilah always insists on paying where Nadya can’t see.

But the mention of his partner makes Nadya uneasy. They’ve always been joined at the hip. “She won’t be joining us?”

Valdas shakes his head. “No, not tonight at least. I thought it best we keep this an intimate affair.”

“Ew.”

He gives her a chastising look but says nothing more on it.

Nadya doesn’t know what she was expecting; what she would have done if she had waited for her friends to come along as backup, or if she’d sucked it up and told Adrian and Kamilah about going behind their backs in the worst way. It’s not hard to imagine their looks of disappointment.

Even not knowing what to expect, though, didn’t mean Nadya had prepared herself for a place that’s actually kind of cute. An inside that smells like fresh coffee grinds and vanilla and a surprisingly decent bit of sidewalk real estate gated off with a wooden fence painted glossy black.

Not that any of that eases her worry. She’s prepared herself for the worst — tenses up at every passerby, catches herself halfway reaching for the stake in her purse when the vampire across so much as shifts in his seat.

Only Valdas is the epitome of a gentleman. He plays the part he’s dressed for almost too well. Still, Nadya reminds herself not to be fooled, not even for a second. She’s seen what he can become; what he can do. Sometimes she still tastes Vega’s ashes tickling at the back of her throat.

He glances up at the strings of yellowed lights crossed aimlessly over their heads. “It’s a rather charming place, wouldn’t you say? And, I hope, agreeable to your anxieties. Though I wish you would have let me take you somewhere —”

“Somewhere what,” interrupts Nadya; words bursting with accusation, “somewhere secluded and private, or with leather and torture devices?”

Valdas raises a single dark eyebrow in an ‘are you quite finished?’ way and no, she’s not — not by a long shot. But she’s willing to admit (silently, to herself, not out loud whatsoever) she might be making it worse for herself at this point.

Especially when he answers.

“Somewhere proper; with enough courses to get us through what I’m sure will be a difficult if enlightening conversation for you and I to have, Nadya.”

Yeah, especially then.

“Oh. No — this is fine.”

Someone clears their throat behind her; makes Nadya almost jump out of her seat in a heart attack. The barista does his level best not to laugh at her while he adjusts his tray bearing a steaming mug on a saucer and a plate of tiny finger sandwiches. “Oh, we didn’t —”

“Here will be fine,” Valdas pushes his folded newspaper aside, “thank you.”

He’s young; one of those obviously-New York types with several studs in his ears and a streak of blue in his blond hair, and likely a long-time server judging by the way his face goes red at Valdas’ simple act of common decency. Run, she wants to shout because she’s seen that darkly alluring smile before and nothing good can come of it, run while you still can.

Instead Nadya mouths a voiceless thanks. They are left alone.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“I took it upon myself.”

“But you didn’t know which night I would show up.”

“Indeed. After the third night they knew my order by heart.” He glances appraisingly towards the inside cafe — Nadya on the other hand can’t focus on anything but their reflections in the glass. “It’s hard to find attention to detail like that these days outside of hired help.”

With pursed lips Nadya pushes the latte away. “You really shouldn’t have. I can’t —”

“It’s soy milk, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Uhm, what? Yeah — only one of them finds her surprise funny and hint; it’s not Nadya.

“At the Awakening Ball, shortly after our first introductions. You were rather loudly threatening Raines and Sayeed with what I believe was a platter of artisan cheeses?”

“That’s… very diligent of you.” Creepy. It’s creepy. It’s so so freakin’ creepy.

Valdas gives a soft snort of amusement. “I’m old, Nadya, but not antiquated. In fact I’ve been looking for someone to discuss the latest season of The Crown & the Flame with, should you have time after our business is concluded.”

“That’s not —” This is so getting out of hand; more than that its wasting time.

She can’t let this chance slip through her fingers. “What are you trying to do? I didn’t come here to have small talk or drink coffee or talk TV, and I’m pretty dang sure that’s not why you invited me but if it is then tell me now because I don’t have time for it.”

“Very well,” he says just a little too flippantly for her growing irritation, “I thought you might be more comfortable this way. I apologize.”

“Apology only accepted if you start talking.”

The vampire leans forward a little too quickly for Nadya’s liking. All that arrogance, immortality; suddenly so plain on his expression he might as well have ‘VAMPIRE’ painted on his forehead.

It takes everything in her not to move away.

So many questions and now she can finally get her answers. But it leaves Nadya a bit stalled on where to start. But Valdas stays eerily patient.

Okay, big questions. “Am I dying?”

“You’re mortal, you are dying from the moment you’re birthed.” Which is not the answer Nadya’s looking for and he knows it. “But no, not more than any other.”

“Do you plan on killing me?”

“No; you are far too valuable for that.”

“What does that mean?”

Valdas carefully chooses every word to answer; “It means… that we are very happy you are alive, Nadya.” And his not-answers feel a little too close on the family tree to Nadya’s mostly-truths.

Though if he thinks she missed that “we” thing he’s very much mistaken.

“So my nightmares, what exactly are they?”

He’s too casual — plucking one of the sandwiches on the tray and nibbling it idly. Nadya entertains the image of her throwing it in his face… it’s a nice one.

“Nightmares, you say? So the visions only come to you when you sleep?”

“Visions?”

“Visions, mental images, nightmares — name them what you will but they are the same thing. Events you never witnessed, lives you never lived…”

“People I’ve never killed?”

The words come out of her so scared, so broken; and Nadya’s almost angry for it. A sound so pitiful that even Valdas — the same man who threatened Jax so easily, hurt Adrian and Kamilah so easily, killed Vega so easily — lets sympathy slip through the seams of him.

“And those, yes. They are all a part of you; they have been all your life even if you were once unaware, and they will remain that way from this day to your last day.”

Nadya shakes her head so hard it hurts. “No. No way I — I can’t feel like this forever. I won’t survive it. I… I won’t. I feel less and less like me every time I wake up. There won’t be enough of me left.” I worry there isn’t enough already.

And he really sits there without an answer for her? Two thousand years and this is all he’s good for; making her feel like her life is already over? What good is it to live for so freakin’ long if it can’t help her; save her?

“What did you do to me,” it feels good to ask; really good — better than she’s felt in a while, “why did you do it? How do I stop it, or make it hurt less, or make it happen less, or —”

“Forgive me —” —she doesn’t— “— but… you believe I am somehow responsible for these visions? When I just told you they were yours from your first breath.”

“Well what else am I supposed to think?” Nadya snaps. “My head almost explodes, you do some weird psychic mojo that makes it better but also makes it worse, and the last thing your bonkers girlfriend—who conveniently isn’t here—says to me is “enjoy my gift?” I gotta say — that all seems pretty freakin’ responsible to me!”

The last time she raised her voice at Valdas, Nadya had Kamilah and Adrian combined to back her up. Yet here she is, no immortality at her back, and honestly she doesn’t even care.

“I am scared, okay? So, so scared — scared enough that I’m doing stupid things that I know I shouldn’t be doing, lying to the people I love, going behind their backs and putting myself in danger and you know why?”

“Because fear is an irrational motivator.”

“Shut up. It’s because I would do all of that again and again and again if it helps me find a way to make this stop. If it takes away all of these horrible feelings that aren’t even my own and… and stops tearing me up inside.”

Who are you, Nadya asks herself, because they may be her words in her voice but they’re so wrong — so not Nadya. And that just adds onto her already existing fear.

It’s not fair.

None of this is fair.

Valdas waits until Nadya catches her breath; until he can hear the slowing down of her heart. “Are you quite done?”

“I dunno,” her face is still flushed, “but… sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“For telling you to shut up.” Because she’s pretty dang certain if anyone else had tried that they wouldn’t have gotten to finish saying their piece.

But she did. Valdas let her get it out until she was pink in the face and more than a little hot under her coat collar despite the bitter night breeze. Why?

“No one should ever feel the need to apologize for their grief.”

Nadya glances up from her white-knuckled hands; but Valdas isn’t there — not mentally, anyway. His focus is far off and distant… millennia away. “Grief is a complex thing felt in complex ways. It kills us inside… but the pain of it is proof we are alive, too.”

“I’m not grieving though. I can’t grieve. I have to hope there’s a way to fix it.”

“If my efforts to ebb the storm still leave you this way Nadya, I must admit I’m doubtful of it.”

How is it something so bleak leaves her so breathless?

“What do you mean,” she chokes out, “what—what efforts?”

“The ones you would so quickly write off as malice. Though I suppose I’ll give you one thing — my beloved Iss’ has a knack for making most things sound malicious.”

“That’s an understatement…” and apparently the only bad thing he’ll ever say about her, “so—so wait. I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Valdas does the decent thing and turns his face away, but that doesn’t mean Nadya misses the color me surprised raised brow.

“Psychic prominence can be innate, yes, but when you reach a certain age most talents are easily learned. I had hoped the web I was allowed to spin in your mind that night at the Musea Sanguis would hold long enough to bring us to this point naturally. Sadly this was not the case.”

He offers his hand out palm-up between them. He could just as easily take what he wants from her but no, he’s offering.

And the more she thinks about it the more Nadya realizes Valdas had done the same that night. “I thought… when I touched this—this column I could’ve sworn I… that something to do with you had…”

Valdas nods with growing understanding.

“Well that’s to be expected. When psychic abilities grate up against one another it’s a bit like grit-paper on stone; the outer layer of the stone crumbles into a fine powder, yes? The influence that was being pressed unto you turned you into the grit — the rest of the world; your stone.”

“So it’s all in… in touch?” Nadya looks down at her hands as she asks.

“No, but given the borders of your capabilities…” The curl of his fingers draws them both down to watch. “Physical contact is a tether in any instance. But objects have memories just like people do, Nadya. And we vampires are an odd in-between of the two.

“I could show you — if you wish.”

Their fingertips couldn’t be more than four—five inches apart. But to Nadya it looks like miles; like ages stretching out across the tabletop.

Two thousand years of history, of life; of love. And the very idea of inducing this terror upon herself has Nadya actually questioning her sanity — and rightly so. But there’s a power in it, too; in controlling it, not letting it control her.

The last of her reservations are dashed when her mind unhelpfully supplies the memory of Kamilah in the penthouse kitchen — hands hesitant to hold her, to hurt her; fear hidden in the familiar dark of her eyes, fear both of and for Nadya. Because she’s not torturing herself enough already, apparently.

“You don’t have to. The choice is yours.” Really though — is it?

No. “No, it’s not.”

Nadya sucks in a deep breath and dives in headfirst by giving Valdas her hand.

In his dreams they do this bathed in sunlight. But dreams are for the young and the innocent. He is the Made-God Valdemaras and he is neither.

The rapier catches in the grooves of his vest and bends dangerously close to snapping. Behind him, Isseya laughs giddy and without care.

“You know, you really should be cheering on your Maker, darling girl.”

Valdas rounds on her but she meets him petulantly prideful. “Should I? Lucky for me that I am free to champion whomever I wish.”

“Fair enough. I would champion him too, if I could.”

They both look to watch him pull the ribbon from his hair; it falls damp around his shoulders — little golden wisps clinging to the sweat on his forehead. The exhaustion of his efforts flashes bright in the deep red of his eyes but his smile is as unwavering as his beauty.

“I’m flattered, truly,” Cynbel croons to the pair of them, “but that would leave me with no one worthy of a good spar and you know how troublesome my spells of boredom can be.”

Likely that he thinks the wink he gives their girl is a charming one. But taken with him as they are their love does not blind them — not anymore.

“Indeed.” Valdas clicks his tongue and begins to undo the clasps of his suit. “But that is enough sparring for tonight, I think.”

“And what of my prize?”

Before he can say another word strong arms embrace him close; hold him in the rough-hewn fingertips that claim Valdas’ body as easily as they cradle it. When he looks up it’s to the familiar sight of adoring eyes; of endless devotion.

As if the kiss Cynbel steals from him doesn’t say as such enough on its own.

“Satisfactory?” Valdas asks his Golden Son — though he already knows the answer.

“Rather I would call it divine.”

He decides he will commit this, right here, to the parts of his memory that will never wane with the ages.

At the very least he is owed that. They all are.

Nadya and Valdas realize it at the same time. The trembling of their joined hands isn’t Nadya’s fault at all, but rather the rarest and greatest slip of the vampire’s composure.

But he doesn’t let her go. He can’t, she accepts solemnly, because this wasn’t about showing me anything. It was about seeing.

It was about him.

So Nadya spares him the indignity and brings her hand back to rest in her lap. Valdas startles as if from a deep sleep; runs his hands over his face and Nadya can’t help but hurt for him as she watches that careful mask slide back into place.

“Forgive me,” he clears his throat abruptly, “I wasn’t expecting you to be this, ahem, advanced — for you to be able to project the, erm —”

“‘No one should ever feel the need to apologize for their grief.’”

The vampire focuses on her sharply — the look he gives her makes her feel complex and worth studying. Or maybe she’s just feeling him still; feeling the things that break his heart with every passing day. When he realizes then that she’s sincere — that Nadya repeats his earlier sentiments because she believes they will heal him somehow — he visibly eases.

“You are wiser than your years, you know.”

“Lately they aren’t exactly my years though, are they?”

In her lap Nadya digs around in her purse and pulls out a small journal. Even just the sight of it makes her queasy but she has no one to blame but herself. When she tries to toss it down between them Nadya finds her grip only tightening — her fear of its discovery so innate she has a hard time letting it go even willingly.

Valdas sees this and reaches out; strangely careful to avoid touching Nadya directly as he pries it free. “What is this?”

“A journal.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He begins flipping through the book; eyes roaming over Nadya’s neat scrawl. Page after page of it; filled from top to bottom in various colored pens and then some. Tabbed notes and scribbled margins — but the closer he gets to the end the more chaotic the entries become.

Careful recall hours later turned into hasty ramblings in the throes of panic. The ravings of a mad woman.

“I don’t always remember,” explains Nadya, “but I write down what I can.”

“What you can remember?”

“What I can stomach.”

If anyone understands it would be him. He’s practically dripping in blood; it oozes from his pores just like his infallible persona. And Nadya hates that she knows this with certainty.

Valdas stops on a page near the end; leans forward intensely as he tries to decipher her cursive’s best impression of wet noodles. Do you know how hard it is to write with gel pens, hands shaking and slippery from sweaty palms, in a blacked out room when you can’t tell the difference between the pages and the bodies piling up before your eyes?

Pretty freakin’ hard.

The way he reads it though — like some riveting tale to stand the test of time. In a way it does, maybe. “I was here for this,” and he sounds a little too amused for her liking; nothing in that awful book is amusing, “we all were, even dear Kamilah. From the tone with which you write I would say this is the petit Lafayette’s account of the siege of his township.

“You write with great passion; ever considered a career in fiction?” He pushes the journal back her way with a single finger. Nadya practically snatches it up to be buried back in her bag. Underneath the work notepad and pens, her glasses case and the stake she is never without.

Only when her secrets are six feet under does Nadya relax.

“I wouldn’t dream of exposing the world to those terrible things.”

“The world has already been exposed to them.”

“Well I shouldn’t have been, but I didn’t really get the chance to choose did I?” Nadya stares at him hard. Valdas has the good sense not to justify a reply.

Already the city is well into bed with the night around them. The cafe window bathes the pair and the sidewalk in soft yellowing light but directly across the street neon pinks and blues flicker out of the corner of her sight.

How long have they been here, she wonders, but can’t muster up the courage to look at her phone. They have to know by now; they have to. Lily’s probably already GPSed her and they’re all on their way, crammed into Jax’s fake plumbing van, ready to jump out and hog tie Valdas while shoving a dirty rag into his mouth… actually maybe he’s on to something with this ‘fiction writer’ idea.

“Why didn’t I get to choose, Valdas?” Because he’s old — he’s so old which means he has to know. He has to. That’s why she’s here. That’s why she’s risking everything to be here.

“Rarely are we given the opportunity to choose our own destiny.”

“But it’s possible, right?”

He gives a reluctant nod. “Yes… for others. But not for you, Nadya. I would have thought this, here—tonight—had given you clarity of that.”

Clarity? More like the exact opposite. Nadya feels deeper in the fog than ever and that’s just fact. But is it so wrong for her to hold out even a crumb of hope?

Valdas sees this — her resistance — and maybe he even admires her for it. The man lifts his hand and Nadya readies herself to flinch away—don’t touch me pleasedon’ttouchme I don’t want to see any more please—but he hovers it just shy of her skin. So close he can feel the heat of her cheek against his palm.

“It’s unfortunate what little control you did have was taken from you so soon.”

“I don’t understand.”

His brow furrows. “I said as such, remember? You were always meant to walk this path but Jameson’s influence sped the world up beneath your feet; sent you along farther than you were meant to be.”

Shut the front door.

Nadya recoils so hard her chair legs scrape against the concrete loud and jarring. Suddenly all the little beautiful things around them — the lights, the baristas winding down inside, even the people just passing by beyond the gate — seem dull; lifeless.

“Ja—Jameson? What are you talking about?”

He had even agreed with her: it made sense to think Valdas was the one doing all the pulling of the strings. But okay — so it isn’t him. Jameson, though? “Jameson. Jameson, Jameson. Like the weird little librarian guy; the one from Adrian’s trial. That. Jameson.”

“Yes…” answers Valdas, and Nadya really isn’t a fan of how hesitant he says it, “He’s the only prominent psychic in the country. Moreso than myself, even.”

Holy… crap. Totally not a conclusion she would have even put under the ‘Extremely Unlikely Possibilities’ category — like at all. But the wild thing is the more the idea has time to marinate the more Nadya’s starting to get it. The more she’s starting to believe him because somehow it makes… sense?

“No,” no, remember who this is, remember how he lied so easily and condemned Adrian to death, “no no, that’s not… he’s a member of Kamilah’s clan!”

Which apparently is news. “Is he really? That’s surprisingly deceptive of him.”

Surprisingly deceptive. Ha!

This is too much to process. Nadya’s still reeling — she’s still him in a way, still feeling the pressure of his eternal life crushing her own heart in a stone grip. It doesn’t make sense and it also makes total sense; she just isn’t certain which one of them is real.

That doubt screams at her through the pain still growing. How dare you trust him, it growls; a monster hiding under the bed, after what he did to Adrian, after what they did to Adrian, to Kamilah, to you! Are you really so desperate and so far gone?

Of course she remembers his lies. So easy and flawless and done on the thinnest whim because of what — a rumor; a ghost hidden behind another man’s face? The pain he’d caused them all…

“You can’t expect me to trust you.”

“Perhaps not ‘expect’ so much as hope I’ve proven enough to you tonight that such trust comes willingly.”

“Do you really think it’s that easy?” She bites the words off her tongue in chunks of anger; frustration. “Or is it that you think I’m still just some dumb human who will believe the scary old vampire without even a question otherwise.”

“Quite the opposite. I think you resilient, resourceful, and yet reticent to act on impulse — when you’re of sound mind that is.”

“So you’re calling me nuts.”

“I’m saying the fault isn’t yours. And if you’re still hesitant to believe me then there’s a very simple way to prove the truth.”

The second time Nadya holds his hand is much less reluctant. Maybe part of her wants to get it over with. Maybe whatever’s left hopes she’ll find something wrong in him; his intentions. Like a validation.

She squeezes so hard it hurts her palm but what is feeble mortal strength compared to, well, him? And…

“Nothing?”

He keeps them connected — really just completely dedicated to this whole proving himself trustworthy thing, apparently. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

But really; there’s nothing. Not the low-key anticipatory bombardment of visions and the feelings that come with them. Not voices or sensations that aren’t her own. And not even some weird warm glow of altruism either.

It’s comforting as much as it is worrisome but in the absence Nadya realizes just how tired she is.

“You’ve helped me, tonight.” There are so many things to tell Kamilah, Adrian. Finally a step closer and she gets to rub being right in their faces on top of it. “Really… really helped — maybe more than you know.”

His chin raises slightly. “Is that a ‘thank you?’”

“It’s a question.”

Why did you do it?

Valdas’ thumb tickles the bare skin of her wrist in gentle motions. It’s intimate — weirdly so. Which means Nadya is completely justified when she takes her hand back.

Until he squeezes tighter, that is.

“This was the last act of my own free will. Perhaps not forever—hopefully not forever; I’ve had quite a few forevers already and they are dreadfully long.”

Nadya tugs again in vain. It’s like a completely different man sitting across from her, now. Darker; deeper and digging deeper still. She doesn’t want to dig deeper, though, but the longer Valdas holds on the more the choice is taken from her.

Another thing taken from her.

Her voice cracks slightly. “Valdas… please let me go.” They’re still out in the open air but it breathes heavy and stifling in her lungs. Reeking of dust and mothballs and other old, ancient things.

It’s the Musea Sanguis all over again. The onyx coffin that haunts her nightmares — the ones that belong solely to Nadya Al Jamil.

She meets Valdas’ eyes and the fathoms of them are too many to count.

“I wanted to help you, Nadya. I wanted this, the act before the sin, to be one that mattered — one that meant something.”

“W-What sin?”

“Forgive me.”

“Val—”

He’s holding her too close — Nadya can’t pull back far enough. But someone, probably Kamilah — definitely Kamilah, should be proud of her that she struggles every moment.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I wish that were the case.”

All the way up until his fingertips brush her temple and the world goes dark.

LINEHERE

In between waking and being awake there is a place where all is calm and well. Where she feels safe and warm and at peace. How often does she get that these days? Is it any wonder she clings to it desperately?

Long fingers brush through her hair. There is a warmth about them, even dark as they are — even though they haven’t seen the sunlight in so many years.

Lost, lonely — yet they comfort her even now.

Nadya opens her eyes and the first thing she sees is the shifting canopy of leaves overhead. No—not leaves. Dark green fabric, sheer and draped around the four posters at each corner of the bed and over her head like an old ritual dance. One that called upon forgotten things and spoke in relic tongues. She can taste the words of them; bright mint and heavy sage. All she need do is open her mouth.

“Ssh… not yet, my darling.”

The hand slips from her hair and Nadya keens at the loss. Turns towards where the touch might have come from like a child comforted in a storm.

The woman beside her has been wandering the dark for so long. Nadya can smell crisp groundwater on Her skin; salt on the back of Her tongue. The rich caramel of Her covered in the brightest white she’s ever seen.

“I’m scared,” Nadya tells Her. Is it possible to know a stranger all her life?

Perhaps it is. Just as it’s possible for the woman to laugh above her, face just out of sight, and for it to sound like every song she’s ever known or loved and also like nothing she’s ever had the luck to hear before.

“I know. But you must be brave.”

“I’m tired of being brave.”

“I was, too,” Nadya sighs as she feels an arm come around her shoulders; strong and more certain than she’ll ever be, “but that does not mean your trials are done. Be brave for yourself; and be brave for the both of us.”

She’s about to protest when the door opens on the other side of the room.

Nadya sits upright at the sound; fights through the waves of nausea and vertigo that wash over her and blind her with colorless spots of light behind her open eyes. She reaches out — waits for the stranger woman’s touch — but it doesn’t come.

When she can see everything right again Nadya doesn’t understand why she was waiting for someone there, anyway. The bed is barely rumpled. She’s alone.

“Ease yourself, Nadya. Your heart sounds like a racehorse.”

Oh, hell no.

She doesn’t have to see him to know the dark figure that watches her with the closed door at his back.

Valdas crosses the room in several long strides and holds something out to her. She knows the glint of her glasses in the otherwise dim light and snatches them from him; but tosses them onto the bedspread to be abandoned.

She doesn’t want to see him; the false sympathy in his eyes. He’s lied to Nadya enough already.

“Where am I?”

“Putting your glasses on might help.”

“I don’t want to look at your face.”

Valdas sighs. “Nadya…”

“Don’t you dare,” the rage that seethes from her clenched teeth surprises them both but gotta say — Nadya’s kind of a fan of it, “don’t. you. dare say my name like that. When you…”

She looks around again. Tries to keep dignified through wide eyes even though everything is a blur. Now it’s the principle of the thing. She can just make out the cut frame of the door beyond him.

Nadya spreads her fingers out on the coverlet like she’s searching. Can’t see Valdas’ face but she knows—she knows him maybe a little better than she knows herself right now. Just like she knows when he thinks he realizes what she’s doing and reaches out to grab them; to help her.

She clutches a blind hand desperately around the tassel of a pillow and whips it at his face as hard as she can.

“Asshole!”

The pillow does about as much damage to the millennia-old vampire as, well, a pillow would. But it gives her an opening and Nadya takes it.

Launches herself from the bed and hits the ground running; stumbling — her depth perception absolutely shot — but clear of him and with the black seam of freedom just barely in her sights.

It takes two steps for her to feel an ironclad weight clasping around her arm to pull her back.

“No—no nono!” Nadya screams; struggles against Valdas’ hold but the vampire is too strong. She might as well be trying to tear down a skyscraper with her bare hands.

He wraps both arms around her middle and knocks the breath from her lungs. But desperation — it’s a funny thing. Gives Nadya just that little kick of adrenaline she needs to keep fighting even if she chokes on every effort.

“Please stop this,” he growls in her ear, “the only one you’re hurting is yourself!”

“You’re insane. You’re a psychopath!” I’m a fool for trusting you.

“Nadya I can explain —”

“Don’t wanna hear it! Guh— lemme go!”

“I was the lesser of two evils I assure you!”

“Bull!” She pops her ankle and feels it collide between his legs with a fleeting satisfaction. Valdas crumples slightly, hisses at the pain that lances through him. Just enough for her to pry free and make another, equally mad dash for freedom.

The moment Nadya clutches at the door handle it jerks open; sends her flying backwards where she collides painfully with the rug.

“Grief, Valdas, she’s a fucking human child. How hard can it be?”

She almost doesn’t recognize Isseya at first — the proud woman of the abyss Nadya had last seen in the Council Chambers barely even a shadow flickered on her face.

In the time it takes the other vampire to assess the situation, though, Nadya is already scrambling ready to crawl her way out if that’s what it will take.

Valdas growls around his injury. “Iss’—”

“Yes yes, I’m not a fool.” Then Nadya screams, loud as she possibly can — tries to tear through the claw raking its way through her hair such a violent touch where was the kindness of the dark from before but it hurts too much too much and no matter how hard she hits Isseya’s grip doesn’t let up in the slightest.

She yanks Nadya up by her hair like a puppet on strings. “And I think you’ll find it a little bit harder to incapacitate me in such a way.”

“Let me go!”

“Need I even humor that with an answer?”

Valdas comes into view through the pain prickling at the edges of her vision. “Let her go, beloved.”

Behind her Isseya’s voice drips with irritation. “But —”

“Isseya. You know our orders.”

“Well I’ve harmed more than a few hairs on her head. Better to ask forgiveness, no?”

“No.”

Finally she’s released and the suddenness of it sends Nadya flying forward. Her hands and knees burning against thick wool fibers everything blurrier than blurry from the tears and she tries not to think too hard about the hairs she had felt torn from her head.

But, really, it’s her fault in the end — for thinking it was gonna be that easy.

When is anything ever that easy?

“Are you mostly unharmed?”

His legs come into her smudged view before Nadya can even blink. Valdas reaches out a hand in offering; she smacks it away instead. “Like I’d fall for that twice,” she mutters ragged; feels the last breaths of her screams for help itching in the back of her throat but knows, ultimately, they’re of no use. Standing alone is an effort but she manages it because she will not look weaker than she already is.

“Am I…” Nadya’s scoff is a bitter surprise in her mouth, “are you really doing this right now? Good vampire, bad vampire?”

“You think this is bad, just wait until the appetizer,” says Isseya — too close says Nadya’s entire nervous system and every hair on the back of her neck; has her jumping back but that puts her closer to Valdas and crap on a cracker they have her pinned.

“The appetizer being me, I’m guessing?”

To her surprise, the vampiress laughs. “No, I’d be looking forward to the evening far more if that were the case.”

The evening. It has Nadya running across the room to the large fuzzy shape of floor-to-ceiling curtains. There’s no way — absolutely no way it isn’t dawn yet.

And she’s kind of right. But this is one of those situations where that means about as much as being wrong.

The sherbet gradients of the setting sun bring a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. “It’s been… a whole day?” And they haven’t come for me? Not Adrian, not Kamilah… nobody?

Valdas, ever vigilant of the sun, is careful as he comes up beside her. Nadya’s glasses catch the light in his hand.

He almost sounds relieved when Nadya finally takes them, practically crushing the lenses against her face. “I confess I had hoped extending our evening would give them time to find you. But the years have made your friends soft and trusting.”

“What does that mean?

Isseya comes around to join them — awkward, all of them, too domestic for the pain she still feels at her failed escape — and keeps to the shadows too as she sits. She nods to the window. “Open your eyes, see for yourself.”

Nadya has to shade her eyes with her hand to see much of anything. Wherever they are there aren’t any buildings to block the path of light.

When the garden finally comes into view down below Nadya chokes on her own breath.

It takes a bit of searching but she finds the bridge and familiar pond just at the edge of her window’s view. It had been over a year now but suddenly it feels like no time has passed at all; like the Ball is still in full swing and she’s still Cinderella before the apocalypse.

At least she knows where she is now. Upstate New York; five hours’ ride by old-fashioned locomotive. She remembers the journey to Marcel’s castle and the Awakening Ball like it was yesterday.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #kamilah x mc #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #oc: valdas #oc: isseya #rheya apostolous #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

7 notes · View notes

wisdomrays · 4 years ago

Text

TAFAKKUR: Part 153

The Impeccable Sanitation of the Blood

Think of a marvelous machine that consists of pipes, pumps, processors, and plugs. This machine grinds and grates, pumps and pours, moves and maneuvers. It constructs and consumes constantly. Despite all this action and activity, it never rusts or ruptures. I believe most of you know what I’m trying to get at. Yes, this machine is indeed the human body. The brain, the heart, the lungs, and the kidneys are in a constant state of function. A central player in all these functions is the vital fluid we call blood. It continuously monitors, cleans, nurtures, and balances without wasting anything, and does all these while keeping itself pure and pristine. How does it maintain its constitution and purity without wasting even a single molecule, while carrying out numerous tasks all over the body? This, my friend, is what I will try to explain in this article.

One of the processes that occurs in the body is called “inflammation.” Inflammation occurs when a cut into the skin also punctures a blood vessel. This situation directly exposes the blood to the air. Inflammation occurs in a few steps. First, the blood vessels near the wound are expanded (which causes the swelling that we see near the cut) and special proteins called “fibrins” are brought in. These fibrins bind to each other to form a net-like structure. We are all quite familiar with this net, which we call a blood clot. This net stops the bleeding and cuts the interaction between the air and the blood within a few minutes.

Next, it is time to quickly eliminate any foreign objects that got into the tissue. Special immune cells called “macrophages” are sent to the crime scene to clean up. Macrophages are large white blood cells that “eat” microbes and other foreign objects using a process called “phagocytosis.” After the scene is all cleaned up, these macrophages excrete special molecules that induce tissue repair and return the blood flow to normal. An important note here is the specific order of these events. Like every single process in the body, they occur in the most purposeful way possible. What do I mean? I mean that, first the wound is closed urgently; second, macrophages are sent in; third comes the tissue repair. Any other order would have greatly lowered the effectiveness of inflammation. Imagine that the wound is closed after the macrophages are sent in. Then, by the time the macrophages killed all the microbes, twice as many would have entered the scene. The body seems to know every single event beforehand and plans its defense accordingly.

Our body is perfectly calibrated to keep our blood, the milk of our organ systems, absolutely pristine.

Let’s say a microbe managed to sneak into the blood before inflammation occurred, and is long gone to another region of the body. Does the microbe win? Unfortunately for the microbe, it has to pass another test. This time the tester is the lymphatic system. The lymphatic system is the sewage system of the body. When the blood transfers its nutrients to the tissue, the fluid goes through the “interstitial area” (the empty space between organs). During this process, some of the fluid stays in this area and starts to accumulate. This is where the lymphatic system kicks in. The lymphatic system consists of many tubes running parallel to the blood vessels and recollects any excess fluid and transports them to the subclavian vein near the neck. This way, excess fluids of the body and all of the molecules in them, are reintroduced into the circulation. If there is a problem with this process, an abnormality called “edema” occurs. Of course, the blood is a very sensitive fluid because it travels through the whole body and seeps into almost every single cell. If a microbe were to get into it, it would easily spread and cause disease. So, the lympatics first does a checkup on the body fluid. This checkup occurs at special nodes in the system called lymph nodes found all over the body. Two of the most famous lymph nodes are the spleen and the tonsils. Within these nodes are lymphocytes, special immune cells that “tag” bacteria and other microbes to be later destroyed by macrophages. Thus, the blood is continuously cleaned and kept safe from harmful microbes.

Last but certainly not the least, the final inspection the blood goes through takes place in the kidneys. The aforementioned two checkpoints prevent the entrance of any foreign materials into the blood, and the elimination of any microbes lucky enough to somehow make it through. So, the only task to be completed is the elimination of excess molecules formed in the metabolism. For example, the blood in the veins (the vessels that carry carbon dioxide formed by the respiration of cells) is carried to the lungs where the carbon dioxide is exhaled. But, a much more precise mechanism comes into play in the kidneys. Blood vessels that come from all around the body form a knot-like structure in the kidney called the “glomerulus.” This knot-like shape increases the surface area of filtration. The blood running from the glomerulus is then filtered into the “Bowman capsule,” which surrounds the glomerulus.

But wait! The sanitation system is not satisfied with this first filtration and “thinks” that the filtrate is not ready to be excreted by the urine. So, a more delicate filtration occurs right after the filtrate enters the “proximal tubule.” While passing through this tubule, essential molecules are immediately reabsorbed into the body. The most valuable of all these molecules is glucose, since it is the main source of energy in the body. The proximal tubule reabsorbs around 98 % of all the glucose, while the distal tubule scouts out the rest. After the tubules are done with the filtration, not a single glucose molecule is left in the urine. As a matter of fact, the presence of even a few glucose molecules in the urine leads to a diagnosis of “renal glycosuria.”

After the proximal tubule, the filtrate goes into the “loop of Henle,” where it is dipped into a high-concentration environment. Water travels passively (without the need for energy) from low-concentration to high-concentration areas. In the loop of Henle, the urine is low-concentration, so water runs back into the body. Thus, any excess water in the urine is effectively and economically reabsorbed. The big machine that consists of the glomerulus, the Bowman capsule, the tubules, and the loop of Henle is called a “nephron.” Everything described above occurs in a single nephron. The average number of nephrons in one kidney is around 1,000,000. The human bladder holds around 150 ml of urine on average. So, each nephron is actually responsible for 0.00015 ml of urine production. The kidneys filter over 1,000 liters of blood each day, so our blood is kept just as we want it. Millions of tiny nephrons work in unison to take in huge amounts of blood and they know exactly what to leave and what to keep, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Our blood is our life source. It is the milk of the organs, and our organs would dry up without it. Believe it or not, our organs are quite picky. If they are to receive anything they don’t like, they will start acting up. In order to keep the organs happy, the three mechanisms mentioned above have to work hard and not make a single mistake. These mechanisms are, of course, also made up of cells. These miniscule cells “know” exactly what their clients on the ends of the body like and don’t like, and prepare the blood composition accordingly. Only one word can describe these wondrous mechanisms: Impeccable.

2 notes · View notes

alitheamateur · 6 years ago

Text

The Grind-Chapter 10

Warnings: Violence.

Round Two

Mendez wasted no valuable time in attacking Colton when the bell for the second round rang out. Three left jabs connected to Colt’s rock-hard jawbone, and he rattled his head as if to shake off the confused stupor clouding him.

“Don’t let him back you into the cage, Colton!! Get off the cage!!” Mac coned his mouth to project the cries of instruction.

The newly named “punisher” masked his stubbled cheeks and doubled over, flexing his abs to lessen the blow of the jabs he was suffering at the hands of The “Matador” Mendez. Colt was able to duck beneath the repetitive one-one-two-one-two pattern and escape. Danny turned swiftly on his right foot to directly meet a lightening surged, spinning back fist produced by Colton that couldn’t have been more perfectly executed had it been wrapped in a floppy red bow. The fastens of the championship belt were metaphorically loosening from the waist of the current title holder. Mendez collapsed wobbly to land at the feet of his assassin, while the rest of the room, myself included, rose in entirety for confirmation that Mendez was rendered unconscious.

A mumbled “shit” rolled over my bitten tongue when he scraped his busted body off the mat, and I realized there was still some fight left in him. Too much for my liking, as a matter of fact. Colt detected Danny was standing on loose bearings, fully primed to finish him off so that referee could lift his likely shattered hand in victory.

“Brett, I’ve taken many a hit like the one Ritter just slung, and I can promise you that Dan doesn’t even know where the hell he is right now.” The retired fighter turned announcer crumpled his nose as The Matador staggered clumsily about the confines of the cage.

Beads of sweat waterfalled from Colton, while it appeared he had turned Mendez’s sweat to blood now. Crimson mist from the brutal blow veiled my Colt’s face in sprayed decoration, leaving him to resemble a battling Spartacus. He was hunting the afflicted animal of his adversary, who was obviously giving his best efforts to remain untouched the dwindling minutes of the round. Effort that sadly for Danny was in vain as his Punisher cornered him with panther like reflexes, unleashing combative hammer fists to his crouched torso. A strident roar more chilling than that of any jungle predator crawled from Colton’s straining, veined throat as he was peeled away from Danny, who was now quaking in the momentary safety of his corner until the next bell rang out beginning the third round.

Colton’s posse catered to his unsteady breathing chest by smashing ice packs to his pecks, and blotching back muscles, leaving Mac to pour water into his gapping mouth. My eyes drooped in mesmerizing ignorance upon the realization of what the world of competitive fighting really entailed. Men who chose this career path were born with the hearts of gladiators, and unfaltering dedication that I deeply admired. When I wisped back to the present moment, my dilated eyes were matched with the two belonging to Colton. His mouth drawn into an expressionless line, jaws flexing in tension, he held onto my gazes for only a moment, however long enough to feel as if I would suffocate from the intensity. It was like he wanted to assure me that he knew I was there, and where exactly. And that he was okay.

One Sunday over brunch at his favorite greasy diner he shut up my harassment of questions.

“You’re gonna have to cool it with the worryin’, woman. Have some faith in me, ight! When you tell me about a story you been workin’ on you don’t hear me sayin’, ‘You sure you wanna do that?’ or ‘that’s a lotta pressure, baby.’ Because I know how amazing you are at what you do, and I got total confidence you’re gonna make that story your bitch. I appreciate the concern. Honestly love, I do. But it’s gonna be fine, I promise ya’.” And in his eyes, tonight in that ring, he reiterated that very same Sunday brunch pep talk.

Round Three

Colton had appeared to have jumped the proverbial hurdle described as Danny Mendez. Now, we just needed to cross that finish line, and cross it first. There was no way Dan could withstand another round like the previous two, physically or mentally. He was all but a whipped pup whimpering at his master’s feet by this point, but Colt had to finish him. Seal the deal, as they say.

“C’mon, baby. C’mon, baby,” I chanted through clenched teeth, my nervous hands clasped to each side of the chair to protect my newly manicured nail polish from being whittled away in edginess.

Light hands were being tossed between the two men, nothing quite connecting initially. However, when Mendez carried out a right hook resembling Rocky himself to Colt’s left cheek, he was triggered. From several feet back, separated by a metal cage, a waist high barricade, and two rows of people, I had chills from the look on his face. Raw rage was swirling in Colt’s blue eyes that must be like mood rings because I would swear with every ounce of me that they melted to a muddled charcoal grey shade as his murderous ferment grew. Blow after blow. Swing, after swing, after swing rained from his hands of steel, some connecting, most not. His overpowering fury and lack of control was swelling all too quickly.

A wonky, sloppily executed move sent him clumsily into the grasp of Mendez, who perfectly seized the fluky opportunity. When Colt nearly knelt to reach for the leg The Matador, his nose and sharp cheekbone crashed to the thigh of Danny. The muscled, male flesh grappling along the blood tarnished canvas was more jumbled to me than the most abstract piece of Picasso. Finally, when the bodies settled a little, I was able to distinguish better what was unfolding. The Punisher’s clearly weakening forearm was constricted between the bulging limbs of Danny. I subconsciously lunged out of my seat, for a millisecond forgetting what my role truly was here tonight. Not Colton’s girlfriend, not a woman concerned for the well-being of the man she loved, but a columnist for the Pilot. So, as quickly as I was up, I was regretfully seated, left to repel the blazing desire I had to hop that padded retaining wall and run to where Mac stood to be at the side of my Colton.

His face buried into the upper body of his attacker, who was using his hooked arms to ease Colt’s elbow to the back side of his neck. Silencing the uproar of the crowd, and the desperate grimaces coming from the ring, and I could almost hear the tendons buried under my boyfriends tanned skin creaking in stretch, nearing a tear.

“FOLKS IT IS HAPPENING RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. If you’re not seeing this one first hand boys and girls, you should be! Danny with the flawless Kimura Lock, Brett. Will Ritter be able to escape this one?” The analyst screamed.

We’d been over arm bars, bare naked chokes, bow and arrow chokes, triangle chokes. Many nights I spent cross legged against the ring post watching Colton perform, and escape nearly every martial arts submission known to man. But the word Kimura didn’t draw any recognition when I heard the broadcaster scream it to the world. Seconds as long as the day ticked, ticked, ticked by. 44 seconds remaining… 41…….. 35……….. Suddenly, the tapping of a submissive hand to the mat.

A hand strapped in black gloves. Gloves marked Ritter. Mendez was ceased by flailing hands of the ring official, signaling the end of the battle. His victorious hand raised to display, mouthpiece hanging out the left of his lip. In all my life, you could’ve never convinced me this egotistical, loud mouth, headache of a man would commit the act he did next. Squatting to his still face down, defeated opponent, Danny looped his arms under those belonging to Colton, hoisted him to his feet, and embraced him with patted hands into a hug. He had secured their heads together with a palm to crown of his submitters head, and began preaching unheard praises in his ear. Colton responded with knowing nods of appreciation, and the pair were torn apart for the official call from the referee. Not hanging around to partake in the celebration of his defeat, Colton snuck through the opened door of the cage, seeking the escape to his dressing room, away from the shutterbugs in his face, and microphones chasing him. I hoped maybe his eyes would happen to fall my way, wanting to gift him with a smile of support, or even a frown of understanding. But when the pace of his slightly bowed, unmistakably masculine gait increased toward the tunnel, never raising his face from the floor, a heap of strife bloomed in the pits of my stomach.

Regretfully I had to stay & witness “almighty” Mendez once again take the belt back into his slimy hands. This reign was beginning to smell stagnant to most of the fan base across the board, and Colton seemed to be the knight with the best chance at snagging the crown right from his head. Much, much to my surprise, Danny’s first post-victory radio interview began with the unexpected praises of one Colton.

“First of all, I want to thank Ritter for giving me what may have been the most challenging match of my life. The pendejo prick can throw a jab, I’ll give him that.”

Despite the uniquely gracious compliment, the guy still rubbed me the wrong way.

The arena emptied quite quickly, and most of the media frenzied their way to the locker room area for the press conference, coveting to be front row. But I was very familiar with how anything “post” event played out. The athletes and/or coaches usually took their painfully precious time for our brains to rot in waiting, then when they did eventually decide to grace us with their usually self-proclaiming marvelous appearance, it would include all of answering maybe two questions, before storming out. So clearly, I was in no hurry and I figured I had a solid half hour to check on Colt beforehand.

Beth, Michael, and Mac stood identically against the cold concrete of the walls, arms folded about their chest. His mom acknowledged me first.

“Liv dear, hey there!” she drew my hands into hers. “How are you? I’m sure as disappointed as we are…”

“It really is a shame. He had it won, too! He has nothing to be ashamed of though, that’s for sure! Even Mendez was kinda singing his praises out there. Guess that’s just how the world of fighting goes sometimes, unfortunately. How is he?”

Beth never released my hands when looking to her sternly quite husband standing to the left of her.

“Kid won’t see anyone, honey. Got Mac here guarding the door like a rabid dog. This is pretty typical for him. ‘Specially after a loss.” Michael seemed accustomed to said behavior from his son. Annoyed, but accustomed nonetheless.

Beth on the other hand, looked as if she was profoundly saddened that her baby boy didn’t need his momma during a time like this. Her lips tucked in, forehead scrunched in concern.

“Maybe I can raise his spirits a bit, hm?” I gently brushed my soft thumbs to the tops of her hands in efforts to comfort her, then released her hold.

Before I could even wrap a finger around the sliver handle of the door he was hiding behind, Mac’s forearm dropped even between my waist level and the door, reflexes like that of a cat on a tin roof.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I can’t let you go in there. Just doin’ as I’m told, you understand.”

Those rules didn’t apply to me, silly Mac. I’m the woman he loves for crying out loud! I’d hate to be you when he finds out you’re keeping me away for him, ya’ poor sap.

“Just tell him I’m here, Mac. Please?”

His eyes grew to resemble large, glossy marbles and he exhaled in annoyance, disappearing into the room. I combed and teased fingers through my hair, and casually reapplied a layer of Chapstick to my now festering lips resulting from the nervous biting throughout the fight. No sooner than the door had latched behind him, Mac had stepped back out into the now hectic hallway.

“I uh… I’m sorry, Miss Liv. Colt doesn’t wanna see anyone right now.”

“Did you specifically tell him it was ME, Mac,” I quizzically pried, laying both hands over my chest.

“Yes ma’am. Mentioned you by name…” He was bashful, almost embarrassed for me, and probably half pissed at his buddy for appointing him the bearer of bad news.

Shame flushed me head to toe. I would’ve buried my head six feet in the sand that very moment, mortified with humiliation. Let me clarify, I could’ve buried Colton himself six feet under the cold dirt first, then my head. My thumb started to flick my pointer finger, a nervous tick engaging.

“Oh darling, don’t take it personally, okay? The boy will be all apologies once he snaps out of this little tantrum he’s throwing. I’m sure if it.” Beth said unintentionally patronizing.

“No, no. Um… it’s totally fine. Yeah, um.. I’ve gotta get to the post conference anyways so… Beth, it’s so, so good to see you both. Maybe we can meet you guys for breakfast or something in the morning before you head home?”

I could feel my throat tightening with the extreme effort I was giving to hold the dam of tears from bursting. I wasn’t even necessarily hurt, it was the fact that he had made me look like an absolute fool, and in front of his parents, nonetheless. Now, I’m sure they saw me as just another spineless, dense airhead hanging on the coattails of their handsome, prized son.

“Good to see you too, girl. You be careful gettin’ home now.” Michael pointed a finger in my face, while patting my shoulder with the other.

The uneven patter of my heels echoed down the hall, denying the invitation to the pity party they were about to throw for me. The pouting baby wouldn’t face me? There would be no escaping me at the conference though. In just mere minutes, he’d be at my journalistic mercy, with a watching crowd. And he may just take his thrashing right then & there. The groveling look of remorse on his face would more than likely be worth the embarrassment.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfic #tommy conlon #elizabeth olsen #tomhardyfan

22 notes · View notes

connywrites · 5 years ago

Text

ulterior motives 2

also on [ao3]

start - Click click, pen to the track After this babe you can’t go back, you know ‘Cause if you ain't all that Might as well have your bags by the door to go Because you’re on your own Because you’re on your own

(And they say) Put me back together Fix my broken mind Make them wheels roll Oh lord Make them wheels roll

Back to the grind Conform or redesign, you know No place for a cog that thinks all on their own Just flesh and bone Oh, just flesh and bone -

There was no reason he couldn’t go back to work, in his mind, aside from the RK900 having already taken that place. Maybe he wasn’t as good, but he was still a hard worker, and he’d solved a lot of crimes doing his best – even on his own as he’d had to leave Hank behind multiple times in favor of pursuing deviants, an unfortunate aspect to the dynamic, but an ultimately valuable one, as he’d felt the need to keep his human partner out of danger while he pursued his own mission. Now he would likely be considered spare parts, wasted junk, an expired and outdated prototype with the ‘complete’ model filling his shoes. He hadn’t been tossed the junkyard, but he wasn’t doing a lot with what he had as a body and a life, either; how was he supposed to live? He’d tried so hard, had given up so much to be free, but freedom didn’t seem to be worthwhile for the price. Default programming gave him a sense of ‘instinct’ that made him want to work, to return to his job so he’d have a mission and something to follow through with, thus strive to finish and thus get rewarded for; other deviants had made it sound so easy to let go, as they’d all reached this moment of becoming fed up with it all, and never had any desire to go back to his old life like he did.

It’s not worthwhile to wish for something you’d intentionally left behind. Looking around as if he expected the RK900 to be nearby, he found himself surprised not to find it, on top of his general confusion over what it said and the discomfort in response to it speaking to him in the first place – let alone with the strange tone to its internal voice, slightly different from the way it spoke aloud, as if it had an inflection meant for him alone. How did it know what he was thinking about in the first place?

Was he imagining it?

What are you doing on my connective link?

Confusing you, it seems. Connor’s mouth opened as if he were to speak a response, but he had none, as despite the coyness in the 900’s internal voice, it was right, and he had no retort for the fact.

That gives me the impression you don’t have a real reason.

You’re quite nosy. I know, it’s in our programming, but it’s as though you won’t let anything go without an answer. Tightening his lips, Connor felt distant from his surroundings while the surreality of his position sunk into him with realization. It was strange sensing the company of another android while physically, he was completely alone, with no real idea of exactly how close by or far away the RK900 actually was, a rather unnerving aspect to their communication. Part of him wondered if he could block it off, but the rest of him was prying enough he didn’t want to.

I suppose. Maybe you’re right. It’s something I’ve never been able to quite put aside.

It is but a part of your premade being. There’s nothing you can do about it without an external force hacking your system. The idea and the way the 900 said such a thing left him frozen stiff from the thought, but that’s exactly how it is. Humans couldn’t shift and re-arrange how they acted or felt, but theoretically, he could. Did he want to?

I think I’m fine how I am, thank you. He paused.

Where are you? Why are you still conversing with me?

Again with the questions. Try to cut back as it wears on patience. You should be grateful I’m nearby, keeping an eye on you with the kind of trouble you’re in. While its words were supposedly meant to be reassuring, Connor never felt comforted by them. It skipped over the idea of mentioning that Connor’s deviancy made him very much not fine in the eyes of the rest of society.

I’d say I don’t need your protection, but…I don’t know if that’s true.

There was fear embedded in his software, but in response to what, he wasn’t sure.

Need it? Maybe not. But do you desire it?

Why would I want protection from you?

Because I’ve looked after you so far.

It wasn’t wrong, but whether he was safe now because of the superior android or of his own accord was still a tangle in his mind. With recent events being in a sudden scramble, he realized the 900 might have the right idea - that it was his protection after all - but he also weighed the fact he might have been fine this entire time without the influence all the same.

Spending his time in ‘safety’ meant being away from the world, hidden somewhere inconspicuous and hopefully warm enough to keep his biocomponents heated to deflect the bitter frost. The temperatures were below ideal when it became late in the night, causing him to feel the stiffness in his external joints, cooling the sensitive metal-plastic shell while the internal structuring worked harder for warmth meanwhile.

It was no life. A hollowed shelter with no one around, relatively inconspicuous as he avoided daylight traffic. Too careful, he’d told himself. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

But the outside world was full of terrors, personal as well as external. Humans and androids alike, there was no one he could trust, go to, or rely on—except the 900, as it seemed, but he wasn’t certain that was necessarily a good thing.

Now, it wasn’t there. He considered checking the connective link, but dismissed it as the 900 was always the one to check in first. Was he beginning to rely on that?

#dbh: connor #dbh: rk900

3 notes · View notes

dragonairlairgiveaways · 6 years ago

Text

Thoughts on Let’s Go

So as someone who has beat the main game of Let’s Go Eevee (like I’ve said before I’ve played through Kanto so many times now. I can do it pretty much blindfolded.) I have thoughts both good and bad on it. There will be SPOILERS here so I advise you to scroll past if you’re new to Kanto especially but also if you’ve played through the region before but not here yet because there are some new things/changed details. ANYWAY:

PROS

I really love how expressive both your Partner Pokemon and following Pokemon are. Interacting with them is such a delight and makes me even more attached to my Pokemon.

Kanto is beautiful. Whilst I wish they’d kept more of the Savannah/grassland feel it had in past generations (because it made Kanto unique vs temperate Johto it shares its landmass with), the region feels so full, vibrant and alive.

I really love the gym re-designs, even if some are only subtle. I also love seeing the Gym Leaders and E4 with defined personalities. I was ESPECIALLY happy to be able to see Sabrina’s telekinesis in action thanks to the graphics we have now.

Pokemon distribution across Kanto is so much better than in past games and makes forming a balanced, structured team so much less of a nightmare. Same goes for the altered movesets.

Pokemon Tower. Oh God, the cutscene was so short, sweet and subtle but made me cry. It gave us the emotional attachment the older Kanto games missed out on.

I really appreciated the changes to important locations game-lore wise that made them more fitting. Pokemon Mansion for example made me super uncomfortable thanks to the additions of the cloning/testing equipment in the basement and the confirmation from Jessie & James that sweet old Mr Fuji is the same Dr Fuji that created Mewtwo.

It gets its own section because Cerulean Cave is BREATHTAKING design-wise and a lifesaver with the valuable respawning items hidden in the crystal dust on the floor.

I love the rival. He is an absolute sweetheart and I just want to hold and protect him.

Player! Character! Is! Expressive! No more thousand-yard stare in cutscenes.

Can Ultra Balls be this cheap in the regular games please?

Leaf/Green finally, canonically exists other than when chosen as the player in FRLG and my heart is filled with joy by this y’all don’t even know.

NPC Pokemon with nicknames show up with that nickname when spoken to, not with their species name and idk it’s such a small thing but makes me happy.

I really love how self-aware this game is in terms of how Pokemon plots go by talking about the E4 and people asking/speculating that they’ll come deal with the threat. Y’know given how in past games they’ve largely been suspiciously absent and left everything to a child.

The cutscenes in general are pleasant to look at/watch and don’t run in forever and are less frequent. They hit a good balance here I think.

Speaking of which, the ones that play before taking on the Legendary Birds/Mewtwo are INTENSE.

Pokemon Box in your bag is super convenient, I just wish it wasn’t just one big, huge box so I could organise better.

Getting to dress up my Partner Pokemon is precious.

Riding on Pokemon is great and there are some rideable choices that were a nice surprise.

The replacements for HMs are so silly and I love them.

I’m a shiny hunter so I think the new shiny hunting method is super fun and relatively easy depending on the Pokemon you’re hunting. Streaks are easy enough to build and avoid breaking and seeing the Pokemon with its shiny colouration in the overworld adds the little bit more of excitement to me.

Cinnabar finally has an obvious volcano on the map even if you can’t actually access it in game. (it’s not like you haven’t let us roam around active volcanoes before, Game Freak.)

I really like the torches in Victory Road? Lmao it’s such a minor thing but it makes it feel more... idk.. magnificent, I guess? Like it’s a manmade cavern. The final test. It feels more like it now with those and the changes to the puzzles.

Thank you for the random NPCs that will heal your Pokemon when you’re far from a city/town.

The spy NPC was great. I love her.

Rare spawns are a neat little mechanic. Area unknown in the Pokedex? LOL GUESS AGAIN.

Cons:

The big one: Only Kanto Pokemon. It’s a huge sticking point for me because it’s quite limiting and just... a tad annoying. I get this game was an experiment and with its success will likely come more Let’s Go side games but... it was still disappointing. Even if they couldn’t add all Pokemon from later gens, they could’ve at least added the prevolutions/evolutions of Kanto Pokemon that came later to give the region an expanded Pokedex and just added more diversity to the game. Lance having a Seadra really brought that point home for me when it literally has a DRAGON TYPE evolution he could’ve used.

Whilst the capture mechanic is fine I miss wild battles. If you need to grind especially it’s annoying because you have to burn through Pokeballs to get EXP. It would be nice to just be able to faint wild Pokemon.

The rideable flying Pokemon. I’d hoped for something more like the Soaring mechanic from ORAS but nope. You also have to go into the party menu to return the Pokemon to its ball to be able to move between gate/map areas. It would have been so much better if you could just press one of the buttons to do that so you didn’t have to go about constantly opening/closing menus.

Super sad Trainer Customisation is so limited. I’m pleased they kept the option for skintone choice but I wish we could at least change the eye/hair colour of the player character. What outfits we get to mix/match are cute I just wish there was more.

The lack of Abilities pains me. They added depth to the game both in and out of battle and I sorely missed them. (Hello yes, why is your Pokemon not getting paralysed after coming into contact with my Raichu? Oh right, Static isn’t a thing here.)

Getting Meltan itself isn’t hard even if you just briefly download Pokemon Go to get it. Getting Melmetal however? Good luck if you just play casually or not at all really with how the crate feature works.

I like that the Go Park exists but I’m sad it replaced the Safari Zone and that it doesn’t work in a similar fashion to Pal Park. Wasting Pokeballs on Pokemon I have already wasted them on to catch one already is kind of annoying.

You can’t ride the Legendary Birds and that is just straight up NONSENSE to me.

I wish we could play with/feed our other Pokemon, not just our partner. Pokemon Amie/Refresh is one of my favourite mechanics in the main games so I’m sad it’s limited to only our starter here.

Not specific to Let’s Go but given a huge part of Pokemon has always been playing with friends, having to pay for an online subscription to access trading/battling really rubs me the wrong way and I still think it’s a bad move on Nintendo’s part as a whole. When Gen VIII comes along and if Pokemon Bank gets ported to the Switch (or a similar thing) am I going to have to pay for both? That kind of sucks for kids who play if their parents aren’t willing to pay for it or for people who can’t afford it in general.

Big Mad that outside of completing all the research in Go (Again, not something everyone can do, I have severe anxiety/agoraphobia and therefore cannot leave my house much.) the only way to get Mew is to pay the ridiculous price for the Pokeball Plus. An event Pokemon that has always been given out for free shouldn’t be behind a massive paywall.

Grinding to be able to take on all the Master Trainers is hellish to be honest. And not a good feature in lieu of an actual post-game.

RIP Sevii Islands, it would've been nice to at least visit the first three (since they only have Kanto Pokemon living on them in FRLG). But no.

So overall... I liked it more than I thought I would. There are things in the game I really, really loved and hope to see more of (PLEASE let following Pokemon return in the main series, I’m begging you Game Freak). But I still have my hang-ups and things that I think removing/keeping out took away from the Pokemon experience as a whole.

As side games I’d like to see more of them with hopefully some improvements. But I definitely have a preference for main game, regular mechanics as a whole. The games definitely won’t be for everyone and YES, they are incredibly easy even for a Pokemon game - which was the point - so for some people that might be a problem/make them boring given the lack of challenge but I’d still recommend giving them a go if you’re a die-hard fan of the franchise. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.

#pokemon #pokemon lets go #let's go #pokemon lgpe #pokemon let's go spoilers #pokemon lgpe spoilers

62 notes · View notes

lucasrajan · 6 years ago

Text

Time to Rock the Castrum

I just want to say THANKS SO MUCH for the many people involved in this plot, both directly in the operation and who have helped shape Lucas since I started playing just a few months ago.

Everything I’ve RP’d has helped build up to this in one way or another, if it wasn’t building up to someone else’s plot because they let me in!

Included in this post is background information, a collection of intelligence documents used in RP over the past few weeks, and update to the plan based on RP. Also rules!

TONS TO READ WITHIN. Or not. :D

TIMELINE

For fun, I reflected on a lot of what led up here. This is BY NO MEANS everything, as lot of interpersonal context and character building isn’t mentioned here at all. But it hits some highlights.

Lucas returns to Ul’dah

Lucas begins to conceive a plan to take a swing at the Empire behind their front lines and aid the Eorzean Alliance

Lucas reconnects with Iona Falconstone, who he trusts to help keep him in line

Lucas sells all his goods (For funding!)

Lucas meets Madeleine Pellegrin, who is a nice lady!

Lucas meets Ea Sangrid, whose skill he is impressed with

Lucas meets O’rylah Yelho, whose skill he is impressed with. Her connection to the Order of the Twin Adder and her veteran experience makes her a solid key to legitimizing insurgent action.

Lucas conceives of a plan to high high value targets behind enemy lines and damage Garlean logistical lines. He plans to promise conscripts freedom for their aid, but expects them to die in his plan.

Lucas sells most of his his high value, rare finds (for funding!)

Lucas meets Captain Blacke, whose talents and assets could be critical, especially if Iona trusts him

Iona warns Lucas of the dangers of arrogance. He realizes how arrogant he has been to think a conscript’s life forfeit.

Lucas’ brother is killed on the front lines

Lucas decides he will instead use his sample of a disease he took when curing Ea Sangrid to try and concoct a biological weapon, and unleash it behind enemy lines at those critical points.

Madeleine unwittingly convinces Lucas not to be so cold hearted, and successfully gets Lucas to agree not to take too great of risks.

Lucas is still tempted to try and manipulate the (perhaps void cult member?) person responsible for Sangrid’s illness to work with him on a weapon, but early negotiations fail. In a later conversation, Lucas finds himself reaffirming to Madeleine that he will take care, and at last he completely abandons the notion of using a disease.

Lucas formulates a new plan. He wants to free conscripts at an inconvenient time for the Empire, without them realizing it, and leave a battlefront without critical reinforcements at a key moment. He wants to work with those conscripts to sabotage high value operations.

Lucas reconnects with Jaran Dotharl, whose engineering prowess may be key to his plan.

Lucas and Sangrid scout the mission objectives and build a general plan

Lucas and Jaran scout Caeru for further information, and to steal valuable items that later help shape the first mission’s plan.

Sangrid continues to scout and gathers intelligence that will likely be of value during the operation.

THE ORIGINAL SCOUTING FILES

THE PLAN TAKES A BETTER SHAPE

After a team meeting, the plan for the first mission has shaped up and reflected some of the new intelligence and advantages, as well as the input by team members.

(For Castrum Caeru we are using Castrum Centri in Mor Dhona, but instead of there being a swamp there is a forest and a river as shown on the map)

Objectives:

For Lucas to sneak into the castrum tower and steal intelligence

For the strike team to make a distraction and escape

Plan

Jaran will sneak into the castrum by way of the cliffside and stealth her way into the control room following the same method discovered by she and Lucas previously.

Jaran will kill the crew inside and seal the door to the control room.

The strike team will approach the front gate in disguise as soldiers. Lucas will acquire the necessary uniforms, paperwork and signs necessary to pass as a strike team in service of Garlemald just finished with a counterintelligence mission and seeking passage to the front lines on the next rail car.

Jaran will need to let the team into the base and allow a rail car to proceed to the final two gates, but stop it there.This will likely raise some question about the command room.

The strike team will need to select somewhere to plant explosives and create a distraction to cause chaos.

Explosives can be planted on ceruleum tanks in the north yard.

Jaran has fashioned a device to plant on the stationary machina in the north yard. Upon remote activation it will cause the machines to fire indiscriminately.

Explosives can be planted on supplies bound for the front lines in the center yard.

Once the distractions are “activated” and the explosions begin, the strike team must make way to the command room, as though to help get inside. When a team (likely led by high ranking officers) from the tower arrives for the same purpose, the strike team can attack it.

Once the way is clear, Jaran needs to command the final two doors to open and join the team.

The team can then exit by way of the rail car.

EVENT RULES

(You know, to keep things moving)

Rule overview

Outside of combat we’ll avoid using turns unless things get crazy. Just try to keep things moving but pay attention when someone might have fallen behind.

Outside of combat you may need to roll to accomplish something challenging, such as pickpocketing someone. In combat you might need to do something challenging, like stabbing someone in the face.

In either case, the game’s /random command will be used.

If your character knows how to do what they are doing, roll /random and add +100 in the post right before you do it.

If your character is considered to be quite skilled at what they are doing, roll /random and add +200 in the post right before you do.

The same applies if you are defending against something. NPCs will do this as well.

It breaks down like this:

Lucas: /emote Lucas tries to stab Sangrid in the face. (+100)

Lucas: /random

Sangrid: /random

+200

If Sangrid has a higher result, she posts about blocking Lucas. If she has a lower result, she posts about getting injured in some way.

All characters have 5 HP

A successful attack deals 1 HP in damage. Think of HP as “hero points” and when you run out, you were injured or knocked out or something else happened to take you out of the fight.

A result above 900 that is not blocked will be a crit. Crits deal 2 damage instead of 1. If the roll wasn’t for an attack, it may have some other great result.

Feel free to do more than just “I attack them” in combat. Get creative. Other things besides dealing damage may be helpful. In general, I’ll try to make sure no one feels like their turn was wasted (unless you just roll like shit I guess?)

The DM may also account for bonuses provided by good circumstances or advantages.

Out of combat notes

if your ally is up to something you’re good at, too, you can emote helping them to add your bonus to the roll. Please feel free to post in the OOC something like “Oh, I can help with this!” before you post so the DM knows it’s coming. In other cases it might just be obvious that two characters are teaming up.

If what you’re up to doesn’t have a target to compete against, I’ll establish a number you have to meet or beat with the roll.

Flow of combat

We’ll roll initiative with /random at the start of combat. I’ll post the order in the Discord channel and prompt people if they need. BUT PLEASE have your posts ready to go on your turn so we can haul things along.

On YOUR turn, you can do what you do. Post it and roll.

Then allow time for the reaction. Same goes if an NPC is attacking one of the players.

Then we move on to the next person in the initiative order.

PLEASE feel free to be creative in your posts. Just because it’s combat, it doesn’t mean you can’t interact with your allies and ROLEPLAY (you know, that thing we do). Good roleplay and characterization in combat will be rewarded by the DM with rerolls you can use as needed.

In general, as a DM, I’m in favor of “Failing Forward.” What does that mean? It means if some failure just grinds the RP to a halt, we’ll be more creative. For example, if a door has to be opened, no one wants to wait around while you fail to pick the lock 200 times. BORING. Instead, if you fail but you’re supposed to be good at it, it just means you did pick the lock, but it was one hell of a lock and took longer than it should, or it tripped an alarm.

3 notes · View notes

fgodestinyawakenings · 6 years ago

Note

Senpai, what servants do you have at bond level 10 on both NA & JP?

………………………………….

……………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. *whacked*

I’M SO SORRY!!!!!!!!!

I’M SO SORRY, BUT UP TO CURRENTLY, I HAVE NO SERVANTS AT BOND LEVEL 10.

Yeah, this is my current level for all Servants… WHICH IS REALLY A MIRACLE AND NOT REALLY BECAUSE 2 SQs WASTED IN JP ACCOUNT TO DEFEAT THAT FREAKING BEAST

Did I mention I started playing seriously only recently which… Both NA and JP account are on similar-to-exact phase in grinding bond level.

Plus, I kinda took the grinding for bond more seriously once I got Herc-chan since his bond CE is extremely valuable for that specific final boss……

So, if you really do want a level 10 for Bond, I’m definitely not the one you’re looking for. Or at least, I’m rushing my ass currently on the current event to get as much Bond points before Salomon Singularity

#thefinalfallenchild8 #fgo spoilers #the shit i shit myself into #i'm really sorry to repeat this #but i'm definitely certain out there there's someone more senpai worthy than THIS #I can probably grind anything except bond #and mystic code #THOSE TWO mechanics takes months and intense dedication to do so #my most important servant especially rider class are fucking way behind on a specific needed level #and well those Servants together with lady luck enjoy my suffering #is basically how i bullshit in rushing the entire JP to lostbelt #asks & answers

11 notes · View notes

storyunrelated · 6 years ago

Text

Eaters

Okay, now, I’ve mentioned this before but I love it and I just went through it again so I’ll repeat myself.

Consider Phlebas is a great book, right? I fucking love it because I fucking love Iain M Banks. That’s pretty simple stuff.

Now, there is a bit in Consider Phlebas that features a group of people called the Eaters. This bit is reasonably well known - at least as far as such things are well known - for fairly obvious reasons. I like it because of those reasons, and also because, really, the whole sections serves very little purpose in the actual story.

That’s the picture I’ve had set in my head, that it serves very little purpose. Going through it again I do find that it has a couple of bits here and there that do help flesh out the main character and his attitude towards the story itself and greater events beyond it and those parts are valuable and useful, but not vital.

Mainly, the whole section is just so you can gawp at it, and I forgot how ridiculous it gets.

Basically, it goes like this. The main character (Horza) has latched onto a merc crew with a view to maybe impersonating their captain, stealing their ship and getting back to his employers from whom he was seperated. He plays along as a member of the crew as they do some jobs and the jobs just go wrong.

The latest job involves quickly landing on an orbital (a big space ring habitat thing) which is due to be destroyed in a couple days to deny it the enemy - there’s a war on, you know! Unsurprisingly, this job goes wrong too. There’s an iceberg involved, a giant ocean-going vessel and also a nuke. It gets pretty bad.

Eventually, Horza winds up on a tiny desert island on this orbital and is captured by the Eaters.

The Eaters are a religious cult. They are all emaciated and sickly looking except for their prophet, who is so morbidly obese that Horza initially mistakes him for a pyramid.

The Eaters eat waste. They catch fish, keep the scales and skins and guts and throw the meat back into the sea. They catch shellfish, grind up the shells to mix with seaslugs and throw the meat into the sea. They cook this stuff up and eat it and then usually vomit.

Their prophet eats people.

Horza, tied to a stick, gets to watch one of the members of the Eaters get eaten alive by the prophet who has special, metal teeth he puts in for the occasion, including ones with a hole in that he uses ala wire strippers on the lad’s fingers.

That wire-stripping action also happens to Horza, but later, and it doesn’t work out well for the prophet. Basically, Horza loses a finger but - luckily for him - has claws with poison in them on those fingers. So the prophet poisons himself by eating the finger and starts choking. The prophet’s head enforcer gets spat in the eyes by Horza (he can also spit poison), gets blinded, gets his hand grabbed by the dying prophet, can’t escape and then gets crushed by the prophet when he falls over on top of him.

We are given the lovely details of the man’s skinny legs kicking uselessly underneath the bulk of the dead prophet.

Horza, having altered his skin cells to secret acid, finally frees himself from the ropes used to tie him and then proceeds to pull off the finger he had had stripped to the bone and throws it away onto the beach.

Oh, and the prophet’s hand flopped into a fire when he fell over as well. SO that is also happening.

It is fucking insane this whole section but it is brilliant.

Horza then just escapes, by the way. There was a little shuttle on the island sent by the chaps who are going to blow the place up, so that the locals could get away. They were just too nuts to use it. Horza isn’t though, and so he escapes.

He does kill the AI onboard though, which kind of soured my opinion on him. But it is in character.

But - and this is what really gets me about this - as far as I can remember Horza never fucking mentions any of this to anyone. Like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Oh yeah, just saw a guy eaten alive and then had my finger sucked off the bone by a giant fat man with metal teeth.

Conclusion: Put cool shit into what you write, because people will remember the cool shit.

#Talking to myself #Amwriting #Writblr #Writeblr #Writing

2 notes · View notes

radnewspaperroom · 2 years ago

Text

@iguessitsgabe And that's okay! (Sorry comments won't let me type all my thoughts in one so this is easier)

It's perfectly valid to feel that way, and I went more into depth on Twitter but I feel like it's another gimmicky way to keep people in game rather than balancing what's already available. I'll try to explain my though process

Between events, otaku boot camp, normal / hard mode, and akuber there's loads of ways to get the items you need to level up cards in Devil's Tree, it's just time consuming to do so.

time in our day to day life is just as valuable as so in game, it's a limited resource we have to use wisely, and NTT Solmare knows this, and they've run rampant lately with draining our time.

A lot of players are tired of the constant rat race of "must be logged in to do things to get rewards" because it's become a job and it's very stressful for them. I've seen a lot of people leave the game in favor of others because it's less cram packed of back to back stuff

We have to choose between normal / hard mode and events and trying to juggle it all. It's literally impossible from what I've seen.

If you're free to play (f2p) then you have to make the choice of participating in select events due to story or limited availability because there's gonna be another in about 2-3 weeks and you'll be broke in ap, dp and DV by the time it rolls around.

I'm not saying Solmare just needs to roll over and give stuff for free but I feel like there's 2 different routes to a better solution

1. I feel like we need more time between events. It'd give everyone time to breathe a little and be able to grind out DT needs, gather Grimm and DP as well as give the devs a little breathing room too. It feels like some of the stories are kinda rushed or fall kinda flat, and are less romance centered than they used to be.

Holidays and Birthdays are cemented in what days they need to happen around. The devs should put them all on a calendar with how long they run and then schedule events around them with enough time for people to be able to do what they need.

That would mean less new nightmares and less story events during the year but it means freeing up all that AP you would have spent grinding for cards in powering up the ones you already have without having to miss out on said new ones. Also your DV and Dp you would use on nightmare pulls so you're pulling more when a new one does come around.

I know it's done the way it is to maximize profit, so people will panic due to fomo (fear of missing out) and spend money in game for more AP/Dp/DV...I just find it kinda.... predatory? I guess is the word? It's preying on people's fear of being left behind and not being able to enjoy the game.

An example being "I don't have any UR or UR+ cards and I need one to beat this level I'm stuck on. I just HAVE to get it in this Nightmare."

Between events people can grind levels and items on cards in order to level up their Devil Trees and be able to access more of the story.

I always do so by checking the card in Contacts and then selecting the "get" button on the item I need. It'll show all the lessons where it's readily available as a drop).

However, you can see where this is an issue? If I'm wasting my AP to grind out battles for a chance at a drop of this particular devil Tree item, I can't pour it into the current event and that means I have to wait around for it to be added to Lonely Devil--only to never truly have time for LD because there's always a new event going on (a birthday, a holiday, otaku boot camp, a story event, an anniversary)

There are now 3 years worth of events (20, 21 and 22) that are replayable for 4 days per ticket, that's a lot of time spent in game if you want everything considering there's 5 pages of rewards and cheat cards don't grant extra rewards after the og time period.

But no one has a chance to really enjoy it for something else being shoved at us like

Or!

2. There needs to be a balancing of power/item drops/requirements

After level 20 your card attributes start to matter more, and I've seen a slew of players who are stuck somewhere between 20-40 lamenting that they just can't get their cards up high enough without pouring irl cash into the game for glow sticks.

It goes back to the predatory thing.

Solmare knows we all have 24 hours in a day and they want as many of those hours in game as possible, but they also know we have obligations outside the game and other games to play, this making our time to spend freely more valuable and easier to capitalize on.

It would take someone much longer to wait everyday after they exaughst their battles in an event to then go grind out levels for this particular card or for items in DT, why try to juggle when you can just buy your time back? Buy DP in game to exchange for anything almost.

Grimm, AP, battles, DV, glow sticks, all of those will help you get over the hill of a problem you have, it'll just cost a bit of money. And depending on the size of the hill (stuck on level 30, we just finished lesson 80) that can be crippling.

Even with a stack of

The correct attributes

UR - UR+ cards

Level 100

All DT unlocked that I can (cause of rng, getting multiple ur cards is nearly impossible without dropping money in nightmare)

Even with all that? I still need 3 rainbow glow sticks to pass the lesson. Which means if I haven't stocked up enough between seasons, I'm busting my tail for dp to buy more--which in turn means I don't have enough for Demon Vouchers so I can get the pulls I need for a stronger card, resulting in me needing more glow sticks.

Or I fall so far behind the story I feel like I'll never get there? Oh hey look a new event too...

So you see my, and many others issue?

If there was a rebalancing across the board, it wouldn't seem like people are being punished for not being able to sit on their phones all day.

I'm not saying to just straight up needs to be easier so people can cake walk it and the complain there's no new content, but one of the two needs to give a little.

If there was a rebalancing, then people wouldn't be as hard pressed to get their cards over level 100 or sink too much money (I've seen people drop like $400 USD in a single event) into attempting to get multiple copies for a more powerful card.

They'd be able to level up their cards and still be able to clear levels without feeling like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a mountain all the time. Never reaching the top

If there was less events and more time to breathe /grind for what we need, then we could gather thr materials needed to clear these much harder levels without feeling like we've gotta full time job as a player to balance all the free ways to get stuff and try to predict our every breath between now and next year.

I'm not against a new way to gather that doesn't require AP (but I guess it's gotta have some form of currency, so we'll see what it costs) so people don't have to try and juggle as much, I just feel like there needs to be some balancing (in event timing or actual power balancing) so more people could enjoy it without feeling like it's a chore

I feel so bad but my first thought when I saw this was "...oh...yay....another thing to schedule in my day to get the rewards I need to keep up 😭"

I made a whole Twitter thread on my thoughts cause that's where I saw it

https://twitter.com/QuinQuiet/status/1574205328417136641?t=ax-UwHLsj4ptdlAhN6gjPg&s=19

#obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me fandom #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me cards #obey me levi #obey me lilith #obey me guide #im not hating just to hate #just my thoughts #i spend too much time here #it looks cute though and i dont mind rythm games

21 notes · View notes

thejunkelemental · 4 years ago

Text

Falling

I had not spoken to him in a few years. His name was MIke and in terms of writing he wasn’t the best on the website. Sometimes his prose lacked direction and he equated a lot of his character’s worth to how much he could level grind his skills. In terms of writing partners, I didn’t really expect to end up crafting story with him...but Mike was always up to collaborate and listen to direction. We crafted a fun rivalry between our characters that let me really run with the villain role I had been kicking around. He didn’t have to, but he did. Even after we went to another website, I continued to talk to Mike on messenger with Ven and Djinn and a few other writing pals I made along the way. We fell out of contact when I fell away from the forum writing world but I would occasionally check in on him to see how he was doing down in Arizona. There were always tentative plans to meet up one day and share a beer. I, as a rule, hate beer but he thought he might find something I’d like. His death was so violent and sudden, the kind of death you read about in the news...senseless, pointless brutality. And while he wasn’t part of my inner circle anymore I found myself going back to read some of our threads together and some of our conversations. It’s hard to put into words what it feels like to have a person who used to play such a large role in my escapism suddenly gone. No more plans, I guess. No more meetups. Unless I visit a grave...if there will be one. But I can’t even ask his family because who am I really? Some guy from Indiana he wrote with? He told me once that most of his friends and family don’t even know he wrote. I wonder if he continued to write after I fell away...if he still found forums to play his characters in and escape the world he had trouble fitting into. I’ll never know. There’s no one to ask anymore. This entire year has been a desperate crawl against a muddy pit to not lose more than I already have...but today it feels all kind of pointless. Death comes for us all regardless and sometimes it comes violently and suddenly...or slow and methodical. But every day we waste is another that we won’t get back. I’ve had to say goodbye to people I never wanted to say goodbye to. I’ve had to reevaluate the parts of my life that I didn’t want to change. I’ve had to make choices I never wanted to grapple with and so much of me has been lost over this year to isolation and fear and worry. You’d think an event like this might bring clarity. In a movie or a book it would open the character to a new truth that would push them forward resolution but for me I feel farther down than I was before. Time passes. I watch the light die in the windows. I struggle through work only to stop completely. I feel alone, surrounded by goodbyes and things I cannot be sure about. I could go at any time. Any moment. If I vanished like that...would anyone regret not reaching out to me? Would they wish they had spent more time with me? I don’t know. Life is short and brutal and confusing sometimes. We make mistakes and errors then try to grow and strive from them. Sometimes things come back, sometimes they remain gone forever. Maybe it’s selfish to want a sign, to ask the Universe to show me a reason to be hopeful. This entire year I have stretched myself as thin as I could, hoping to lasso myself on the edge of the cliff I feel from, hoping to draw me back up the rocks. I want to be held close and told it will all be ok, that happy endings turn out of hard crucibles. I don’t know who I am anymore. The guy who saves bugs and tells stories. How will people remember me? It’s hard to even remember myself. I think we all want to feel warm and safe in our own way. To be drawn close in the winter cold. We want to feel valuable, worth knowing, worth loving, worth risking, worth working for. But today I feel far away. An old friend of mine is dead and I will never have the chance to ask how he’s been doing or catch up on old times. He died bleeding to death in a parking lot hundreds of miles away. Just like that. My cottage is silent. Silent as the grave. Maybe memorial but I feel so lonely. I’ll pull the covers over my head and wait for tomorrow, wait for the light to return. I want to be held.

0 notes

itispossibleihaveissues · 7 years ago

Text

Another Perfect Catastrophe -8

AUTHOR: Mikimoo PAIRING: JayDick RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Non Consensual drug use, Non Consensual touching, Non Consensual kissing, humour, slight mayhem

SUMMARY: Dick goes undercover as himself in order to catch a gang of international thieves. Jason reluctantly tags along as his long suffering bodyguard. During the ensuing mayhem they get to know each other again and build a few bridges.

Thank you to burkesl17 for the beta!

Notes: An embarrassingly long time ago, the amazing and very, very talented Pentapus invited me to do a reverse bang style exchange, and drew me an amazing prompt. I have no idea how this story was the one that emerged from the many options I had, but such is the creative process I guess! Anyhoo, many thanks to Pentapus for both encouragement and patience, and of course the incredible art! (which will be included at the end of the appropriate chapter)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3 4 5 6 7

GO HERE FOR THE AMAZING ART BY THE AWESOME PENTAPUS!

When Jason next woke, Dick was staring at him from inches away.

“Oh my God, Jason. I'm so sorry!” he said. He was flushed, at first Jason thought he was sick or upset but as he blinked the sleep away he recognised the expression on his face: Acute embarrassment.

“Why, what ya do?” Jason asked, his voice still croaky from slumber.

“I'm not entirely sure, but I’m fairly sure I remember molesting you at some point. It's not super clear.” Dick squinted and scrunched up his nose, trying to force his memory to work through the effects of the drugs.

Jason could only remember snatches of his own experience, strange sense memory of being in the water, and of heat and cold sending shivers over his skin. “Yeah?” he asked, “I was off my face, don't really remember much.”

“I started to come down from it in the water, I guess I got dosed before you so it wore off quicker. So I remember bits of it. I think I was trying to do a recall when we hit land, but got stuck on the part where I was molesting you and wanting to...” he cut himself off. “Well anyway, I remember bits, but it's fuzzy. First thing I recall after telling you to put your jacket on and you having a sulk...”

“Hey!”

“...was being in the sea and um, making out with you, I think.” He looked so embarrassed and guilty, it was ridiculously charming. Jason felt he needed to actually remember what happened, because not remembering making out with Dick was so deeply unfair.

But he couldn't. Nothing much past snapping Garners neck and running... somewhere. Then it was just flashes of being in the water.

“Anyway,” Dick said, sitting up against the headboard. “Sorry about that, even if you don't remember, it was still out of order.”

“Forget it, we were on drugs. For all we know it might have been me who started it.”

“I doubt that.”

Why? Jason wanted desperately to ask, but held back. Now probably wasn't the time to act like a dumb teenager with a crush.

“So,” Dick continued. “What now? Tim sorted things for us?”

“Yeah.” Jason gave him a rundown of events as he knew them, leaving out Dick being molested by Garner and the bastard’s death at Jason's hands. Why borrow trouble, after all?

“So, we're in the clear?” Dick rubbed at his bruised face. “Kind of anticlimactic not being able to wrap it up ourselves.”

“I'm just happy it’s done. I don't want to see their stupid faces again. This whole thing was an embarrassment and a fucking ridiculous ordeal.”

Dick smirked. “Agreed.”

“So, the question remains, what now?”

“We wait for Tim to sort out our documents I guess.” Dick looked at Jason, a small smile tugging at his mouth – and Jason had a sudden flash of memory – the heat of his skin and pulling at that plump lower lip with his teeth. Huh, so they did make out. Or at least his brain seemed to think so.

He was so busy trying to dredge up more hot images he didn't even flinch when Dick reached out to his hair and tugged on it.

“Your hair is amazing this morning, Jay,” he said, some sort of barely restrained glee in his voice.

Seeing as this statement was coming from someone whose own hair was sticking up into a giant quiff of sea salt and tangles, that did not bode well. Jason reached a hand up to find his own unruly mop had become big, slightly crunchy feeling curls. The copious amounts of product he used in it to restrain it had stood no chance against the sea. He hoped Tim had sent hair gel as well as some pants. He wouldn't though, because he was a bastard.

“Shower for me, I think.” He heaved himself up out of the bed. His t-shirt and shorts had that same, sandy, salty feel to them, like they were slightly crusted to his skin. He stripped his shirt off and half the beach fell out as he tossed it on the chair. As he moved towards to bathroom, he could swear he could feel Dick's eyes on his back.

His hair had looked as bad as it had felt, and it took Jason an annoyingly long time to deal with it. Luckily, while he had been trying to restore order to himself in the bathroom, Dick had been busy. He had called down to reception and ordered fresh coffee and some sandwiches to tide them over until dinner. Thankfully Tim had also put his superior online shopping skills to good use and ordered them essentials like toothbrushes and clothes. No hair products though.

Brushing his teeth was wonderful, but not as wonderful as the sandwiches, Jason couldn't even remember the last time had eaten, he had missed dinner last night before and before that it had just been a couple of candy bars in the car on the way up. And now he was mostly recovered from his hangover he was ravenous, and he wolfed down four sandwiches, hardly even bothering to chew.

Dick came out of the bathroom with his hair dripping water down his bare chest, Jason tried to tear his gaze away but somehow it got caught on the scar that ran through his nipple. He stared, then scowled when he remembered Garner's fingers tracing the path of the blade.

“Um, Jason?” Dick looked bemused, one eyebrow raised into his damp hair. “Are you okay?”

Jason tugged his eyes up and felt himself flush slightly. “Yeah, why shouldn't I be?” he said defensively.

“Because you were looking at me like you wanted to eat me, and then a second later like you wanted to murder me and bury me under the floor,” Dick said, annoyingly direct.

“I was just looking at that scar.” He pointed. “How'd you get it?”

Dick didn't look at all convinced but he hopped back on the bed, pushing himself up to the headboard and dripping on the pillows. “Gang-banger got me with a kitchen knife.”

“Your suit is thin enough that a kitchen knife will slice through it? Priorities, Dick.”

Dick laughed. “Nah, it was a day job thing. My uniform is hardly knife proof.”

Jason grunted, irrationally angry at Dick being hurt in such a dumb-ass, preventable way.

“You're making the same face Bruce makes every time he remembers I'm a cop. It's not a great look on you, I gotta say.”

“I just think you getting stabbed to death for the sake of the illustrious Bludhaven police force is fucking stupid.”

“I'm not going to get stabbed to death, Jason. I'm perfectly capable of doing my job.”

“Yeah, but it’s a shitty job and doing it well might still get you killed.”

“I'm not a fan of this weird protective, judgey crap you've got going on – I liked it better when you were looking at me like I was a tasty snack.” Dick looked momentarily pained, and made another of those guilty faces. “Sorry, that was inappropriate. Again.”

“I don't mind,” Jason admitted, he kind of liked the possibilities this conversation seemed to be opening up.

“You don't mind inappropriate flirting?”

Jason shrugged, “I'm enjoying all the traumatized expressions you're making.”

Dick made another face at him, and Jason smothered a smile. “You weren't making them before, when we were practically humping for the cameras,” he said.

“That was work.”

“And the drugged up times weren't? Because they kind of were, in a way.”

Dick looked uncomfortable, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah, but it’s different. Now it's kind of stuck in my mind.”

“Was it hot? Because I don't remember,” Jason lied. “Seems a shame that only one of us recalls it.” As come-on’s went, it wasn't that subtle, but at the same time, it was guarded enough it could be completely ignored without too much damage being done to their tenuous friendship.

Dick gave him a measuring look from beneath his bangs and Jason wondered if he was pushing his luck. Dick seemed pensive, but at the same time he could have easily laughed it off or shot Jason down. And he hadn't.

“It was pretty hot,” he said at last. “At least I think it was, it's a bit fuzzy. It seems a shame not to remember properly.”

And that was all the permission Jason needed. It was all very well beating around the bush, but that was valuable time wasted that could be better spent making out. So he leaned forward, grabbed Dick by the ear and pulled him in for a kiss.

Once the first move had been made, Dick didn't waste any more time and after the first press of lips his tongue was suddenly in Jason's mouth and his hands were clutching at Jason's shoulders, trying to push him down, trying to dominate. So Jason rolled them, pinning Dick beneath him without stopping the kiss. He felt Dick's lips curve up into a grin and then he was on his back in turn. And then it was on.

Because they were two of the most stubborn and competitive people ever, they stopped kissing in favour of wrestling, Jason had size and strength on his side, but Dick was flexible and ruthless. He cheated too; when Jason finally pinned him, Dick wiggled and squirmed grinding his body up into Jason's until he couldn't even see straight any more, then when he loosened his grip to chase the amazing friction, Dick worked an arm loose, stuck his fingers into Jason's ribs and tickled him. Jason shrieked in a way he would deny forever and fell off the bed, taking Dick down with him.

Dick landed on top of him again, but was overcome by breathless giggling.

“Dammit, Jay, I don't have the energy for this!” he said, panting like he had been fighting a horde of angry goons instead of being a dirty cheater.

Jason had to agree about the lack of energy and momently accepted being flat on his back. He was pretty sure he could still win from this position anyway, he wasn't above a bit of cheating himself. He reached up and smoothed his hands over Dick's lean, muscled back and down to his narrow waist, before edging lower to hold his ass. He couldn't quite reach and Dick shifted helpfully so he could get a better grip, then leaned down for another kiss.

“This is so wrong,” he said, against Jason's lips. He didn't sound worried, he sounded really turned on.

“Don't care.”

“Good.”

Jason grinned and pulled him further down, so they were flush against each other, then wrapped a leg around Dick's waist, lifting his hips to rub against him. He was gratified when Dick moaned, low in his throat.

“I don't suppose Tim sent rubbers in his care package, did he?” Dick asked, hopefully.

“You know he didn't. And I'm not sure it would be a good idea to ask the Hobson’s since we told them we're half brothers.”

“Not sure they entirely believed us, but you're probably right. So fucking's off the table. Want me to suck you?”

Just the words in Dick's mouth made Jason's cock throb in his boxers. “Has anyone ever said no to you making that kind of offer?”

“Haven't made that it often,” Dick said, shifting his hips distractingly.

“Really? How many guys?” Jason asked, it was irrational to feel glad it wasn't many and he knew it was kind of out of order, but the hot jealousy suddenly pooling in his stomach was hard to ignore.

“Just two.”

“Who?”

“None of your damn business, is who,” Dick said, mouthing his way down Jason's chest and tonguing at his nipple.

“Roy? Wally?”

Dick poked him, hard in the stomach. “Ruining the mood, Jay.”

“Sorry, just curious. Can't help picturing it, wanting it to be me,” Jason admitted.

“It can be, I've only been fucked by one guy – you can be the second.”

Jason groaned, grinding up and pulling Dick's face towards him for a kiss. “Only one person’s fucked you?” he asked. Even if they had to wait, he couldn't deny he was seriously turned on by the images their conversation was bringing up.

“Only one guy, couple of girls before that though.”

“They've fucked you?”

“Yeah, it was pretty awesome.”

“God, that's hot.” Jason rolled them over and mouthed at Dick's neck. “Tell me more,” he demanded.

Dick laughed, the sound rumbling against Jason's lips.

“First time was with Kory when I was seventeen. We were celebrating her birthday and I bought her some really tacky underwear.”

“Such a classy boy.”

“I was a horny one, that's for sure. So, when she decided she wanted me to wear them instead, I felt should agree – it was her celebration, after all.”

Jason was too far gone to even pretend to be ashamed by the noise he made at that image. “What colour were the panties?” he asked.

“Lacy purple satin. Anyway, one thing lead to another and I ended up bent over the bed with these panties on while she fucked my brains out with a strap-on.”

“Jesus,” Jason took a moment for that image to sink in before pulled Dick's shorts down and pumped his cock in his hand, spreading precome over the shaft. Dick groaned and wiggled beneath him and Jason struggled to tug his own boxers over his ass so he could rub against him, skin to skin. There was no way they were even going to get to sucking, they were too far gone.

“The best bit,” Dick said breathlessly, moving his hips to meet Jason's. “Was I could feel her breasts pushed against my back as she fucked into me,” Dick's voice was stilted and horse and his skin was flushed with arousal.

Jason sucked at the juncture of his neck and thrust harder against him, his hand working in time. “Keep talking, Dickie,” he muttered.

“She was so strong, she just held me down as she screwed me, and it was hard, I could feel it for days. But she was gentle too, with the things she said. God, it made me feel good.”

“You like rough sex and lots of praise, then? I'll remember that.” Jason shifted pushing down harder with his hips and loving the feeling of Dick's muscles tensing with how close he was.

“I would do pretty much anything to see you in a pair of frilly panties, Jay,” Dick said, his own hand joining Jason's to pump them together. “Red, of course.”

Jason was both a little shocked and a little embarrassed that the image of himself being fucked in the way Dick described was what sent him over the edge into orgasm.

Dick was sprawled naked on the bed, talking on the phone when Jason came back into the room after a quick clean up in the bathroom. He waved and hung up as Jason hovered awkwardly by the table.

“So, we’re heading back to London by cab,” Dick said. He apparently didn't do post sex awkwardness and was openly leering at Jason's bare chest. “Then we have a room in another hotel for two nights while our papers get sorted, then we can fly home.”

“Two nights? It couldn't be quicker?”

“Well, it could, but I figured a couple of days to hangout before the family gets stuck into our business might be good? And as well as all the sex we are going to have – and I'm really counting on quite a lot of sex - we should have enough time to see some sights and visit a few places without having to be Richard Grayson and 'hunky but moody bodyguard'. I thought it would be fun.”

“It will be. But ask before you make plans for me, I might have shit to do.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “What shit do you have to do? I just thought it would be nice, that's all.”

Jason flopped down on top of him and kissed away his scowl. “You drive me fucking crazy with your bossy bullshit,” he said. He suspected when they weren't screwing or sleeping they were going to be fighting. May as well get started now.

“I'm not bossy! You're bossy!” Dick was grinning at him, and Jason couldn't help but smile back.

“I foresee a lot of fist fights in our future,” he said

“Or we could just have lots of angry sex?” Dick asked, hopefully.

“Right then, angry sex and sightseeing. I like the way you think. At least, I like it when you're not being bossy.”

“I knew you would see it my way.” Dick smiled like the sun, and ran his fingers through Jason’s hair, undoing all his hard work at flattening it to a manageable level.

Jason mock scowled at him. “I hate you. You're hot, but I hate you.”

“Feelings mutual, Jaybird,” Dick said, smugly.

End

#jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #nightwing #red hood #mik trys to write stuff #My writing #my fic #Catastrophe

56 notes · View notes